Chapter 1

Hermione jolted from her bed. Her bushy brown hair was flat from her sweat. She rubbed her eyes, and drew the curtains back from her window. The sun was setting.

She got up from her bed, trying to erase the nightmare from her head. She hadn't had that nightmare for years. Why did it have to jump out on her like that? She didn't want to ever think about the night again. She slid out from her robes and went into the washroom.

She turned on the cold water, and lied in the tub. Slowly the water started to fill. The boy's face was stamped across her eyes. The frightened gray eyes, the pale skin that her fangs penetrated. The white-gold hair that was stained with his own blood. Everything was too vivid. She sank into the water.

"Granger!"

Someone was knocking on the door to her room. Startled, she got out of the tub, wrapped herself up with a towel, and answered the door. It was Mr. Filch, the butler of the household.

"One of them Muggles causing trouble down in the cellars," he said. "It's the one with the messy hair."

"Potter?" she asked.

"I don't remember no name of a Muggle. They just naught but food." He threw her a key ring full of heavy iron keys. "Take care of it will ya?"

Hermione nodded, and closed the door. She slipped into deep burgundy robes and stood before the mirror. She stared at herself in the reflection, and ran her finger down the scar on her left cheek. The boy's pale gray eyes flashed into her mind again. Shaking her head, she turned and left her room.

The mansion she lived in was a small one, as her status in the Vampire Community wasn't that high. She was one of the Turned, being bitten into vampirism. Those of the highest class were the Pures, those born into vampirism. There rarely were any half-blood vampires, as vampires only regarded the Muggles as food. On the bottom of the vampire hierarchy was the Mindless, those who are turned but lose their mind, becoming nothing but a savage animal with an eternal craving for blood.

On the other side of the society, there were the Vampire Hunters. Skilled wizards and witches trained for one thing only: to kill vampires. They had their own hierarchy, with pureblood witches and wizards as the top hunters. Half-bloods were mainly servants of the purebloods, and to the Purebloods, Muggles were nothing but a nuisance, for they were weak and were frequently attacked and turned into a Mindless. It wasn't hard for them to track down and kill a Mindless. It just was a menial task no one really wanted to do.

"Stop it! Get off me! Stop!"

Hermione jerked out of her thoughts as she heard yells echoing from the cellars below. She descended into the underground floors. Potter was in his cell, yelling and screaming and kicking. The cook was trying to calm him down so he could extract enough blood.

"Potter," said Hermione softly as she approached his cell. The cook stopped what he was doing and stepped out of the cell. This was the underground "storage" as the Vampires liked to call it, as it was where they kept Muggles, witches, and wizards they had captured for their blood. However, no vampire directly came to attack the "food" for blood. Just enough blood is extracted with magic so that the subject would not die. Most vampires in the household never even saw from whom the blood was coming from.

Hermione took out her wand, and took the jar from the cook. "You may wait outside. I'll handle this." The cook nodded and left the basement gladly. Potter was one of the most troublesome to handle.

"Potter, why do you always struggle?" Hermione said, entering the cell and muttering a curse to bind Potter's hands. He did not answer, but remained still. Hermione sighed, and started the extracting process.

"Because I want to see you," said Potter suddenly. Hermione looked at him. Potter was about seventeen or eighteen at most. Jet black hair with sparkling green eyes. If the boy in her nightmare didn't die… if he made it, he would be about Potter's age.

"You're the only one who calls me by my name," said Potter. "You are the only humane one. The others, they are just like Pures, wanting to be like Pures, when they were once just like me."

Hermione flicked her wand, and the blood stopped flowing into the jar. Potter stared at her. Those big, beautiful green eyes.

"I am one of them, Potter," said Hermione. "I drink your blood. You are my food."

With that, she hastily left the cell while muttering the counter-curse to unbind Potter's hands. She didn't want to hear what Potter had to say. She didn't want to hear, because she was torn between two worlds. If it wasn't for him, she would still be in one of those cells, serving her purpose as food. But now, she was one of them, a vampire, drinking out of the people that were her past, the people that she could fully empathize with. She headed back to her room, wishing to finish her shower, and hoping that the cold water would wash away these troubling thoughts.

Upon arrival, Hermione saw a pair of red eyes staring at her from the bed. It was him, clad in pitch black robes.

"I was wondering where you had gone off to," he said.

"I was… taking care of some things in the storage," Hermione replied. She felt deep hatred bubbling inside her.

"You should not be burdened with such a task," he whispered, graciously gliding towards her. "You should be treated with utmost respect. You are my personal…" he stroked her neck gently with his long, white fingers. "food."

Hermione frowned slightly at the objectification of herself. Nothing had changed. That night, he caught up with her. He gave her the punishment of a lifetime. She was still his food, his slave. The only thing changed was that she wasn't locked in that dreaded manor, and that she was one of him, a vampire.

"You like it, I know you do," he whispered. "It's much different from that disgusting behavior humans mingle in, trying to achieve the pleasure that only we vampires can experience."

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. Hermione's mind told her to struggle, but her body wanted to go on. Her body was addicted... to blood, to him, to his blood. He gently pushed her hair back, and Hermione could feel his breath against her neck. Then, without warning, his teeth sank into her skin. She felt slight pain accompanied with a tingle of pleasure. Her hands moved up to tangle themselves in his dark hair.

"Please…" Hermione heard herself whisper. "Please let me drink your blood."

He pulled away from her, and seductively wiped her blood from the corner of his lips. His eyes were glowing with pleasure and satisfaction. He pulled Hermione to her bed, and removed his cloak, exposing his neck. Hermione hungrily lunged towards him, but he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back, and towered over her.

"You know the rules Hermione," he breathed. Hermione could feel his hot breath on her ears. Then he lightly bit his wrist, and held it over Hermione's mouth. She eagerly opened her lips, as a single drop of blood dripped into her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored the taste. But it wasn't enough. She wanted more. She needed more.

"Please," Hermione begged. He smiled a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes, and stood up, letting go of Hermione's hair.

"You have a job to do," he said, ignoring Hermione's plea for more. "There is a Mindless that has run off from my manor."

Hermione was barely listening, and her eyes were fixed on his bare neck. He noticed her gaze, and he put his cloak back on, and cocked Hermione's head up with his hand.

"You need to track down and kill this Mindless. Retrieve from it a brooch with two snakes coiling with emerald eyes. It's a male, with light brown hair." He released her and walked towards the window.

"What is the importance of this brooch?" Hermione asked, finally overcoming her drive for his blood and coming back to her normal self. He turned, his red eyes flashing.

"No questions Hermione. Do the job or else I might reconsider your freedom of living here." And with that, he opened her window and disappeared into the darkness.

Hermione glared at her window as if he was still there. She hated him. But she was also addicted to him. She couldn't live without him, without his blood. He was her drug. A drug by the name of Tom Riddle.