Grey clouds loomed. Harry smiled as he walked through the empty corridors of the nightly Hogwarts. He felt the familiar sensation of the shroud as thick as butter wherever he walked, as if the castle itself understood what he was planning on doing and was trying its hardest to dissuade him.
The Shadowlands screamed and shrieked as faint whispers rose from the very stones, memories of times long past, of actions done by the living decades before and still haunting, still lingering, around.
"If you add two drops of pixy blood…"
"Really! Did Miranda say that?"
"No running in the corridors!"
"We're Slytherins, what did you expect?"
"Ah! Did you see his face!?"
The voices were incorporeal, toneless, nothing more than cold whispers. They murmured incessantly, displaying themselves only to the ears of those who could listen. The empty classroom near the top of the Dark Tower was the perfect place for someone like him to do his bidding. He trudged through the green grass of the courtyard, opening the wooden double doors with but a slight push.
There was not a discernible scent in the Skinlands, everything seemed septic to say the least. The moment one delved into the Shadowlands, the past plunged deeply in the present. The Shadowlands might have been the source of the Wraiths, of the hatred pure and unbridled of past resentments and deep darkness, but they were also objective and honest.
The past could not be hidden, because the Shadowlands remembered. The past could not be changed, because the Shadowlands held it.
"Ex Nihilo." From nothingness.
The Dark Tower morphed as he stepped through, entering a tear in the Shroud and staring as the entire place just changed. Gone were the dark walls, and gone were the bars of the cells. Gone were the damp atmosphere and the thick dusty air.
It was all gone and replaced.
Luscious tapestries of pale grey, soft carpets of white, paintings and furniture both lavish and perfectly sculpted stood in place. Flickering lights of golden chandeliers lit the corridors and the halls of the Dark Tower, which in their ghostly evanescence gave a far more wicked display of what the past of the Tower had been.
Nothing could be destroyed in the Shadowlands, nothing could be forgotten. The Shadowlands were there to make people remember, to make the Wraiths remember…and they did so by consuming the very souls of those who lingered too much.
Wizards didn't know how lucky they were, that their own magic shielded them from the Shadowlands horrendous effects. Ghosts of wizards used magic as if it was their own fetter. They used magic to remain attached to the world, and because they did that, it meant that the power of controlling the fetters worked on them too.
There were no ghosts around him there, but he didn't expect them to come…unless he called for them.
Calmly he extended his fingers forward, and as he closed his eyes he hummed. The hum departed from his throat, trembling in the air as it reached through the concepts of beyond and before. Invisible chains of Will flew through the darkness of the Shadowlands, and the next instant a Wraith merged through. Harry opened his eyes then.
A bloody knife in hand and a feral smirk, twin red eyes that were the only colour it showed, the Wraith looked at him expectantly. Harry just nodded, and the Wraith obeyed. It hurled itself through the walls of the tower, disappearing as if it was nothing more than a fleeting thought.
Harry turned around, and calmly walked through the tear in the Shroud that was already closing. The wards were fighting the intrusion, his intrusion, back in the realm of the Skinlands…but they could not stop him as he passed through. The air returned, but he did not need to breath. The dust, the decay, the bars of the cells all came back in the realm of the living, leaving behind in the Shadowlands what had once been the true aspect of the Tower itself.
Harry didn't know why the Dark Tower held the weakest of the wards' powers over it, but he wasn't one to look at a gifted horse in the mouth —especially not when it served his purpose. The Wraith would do his bidding on Monday morning, and no-one would be none the wiser.
You can ward yourself against living beings, but against the spirits of the dead?
He walked outside in the still long night, when a loud howl was heard from outside the castle. He tensed, as another howl soon followed.
The sounds continued throughout the time he spent out in the courtyard, but once he closed the doors of the entranceway they silenced themselves. So there were Gangrels outside the castle now…or maybe Werewolves. He didn't know which of the two options he preferred, or if he actually preferred any of them.
As it was, he entered his office to find the familiar robed form of Susan Bones asleep in his coffin. The painting was actually looking at the scene with distaste, shaking its head with a muttering of 'scandalous'.
"She waited for you," the painting remarked. "In my times, ladies did not fall asleep in men's coffins."
"In your times things went by far slower." Harry remarked. "And Kindreds held more blood in their veins."
The painting scoffed. "Troubles of the younger generation: when Gehenna will strike, I will enjoy watching from the sidelines."
"Gehenna is a myth," Harry remarked. "Destroying the shroud is a possibility."
"Ah…Giovanni —I knew it seemed strange— the damned of the Necromancers. Is Augustus still holding your family?"
"He is," Harry whispered back. "But fishing for information from me comes at a price, you know?"
The painting shrugged. "Dumbledore believes we paintings are tied to the position of Headmaster. We aren't: we're tied to ourselves first and foremost…I suppose I died sometime after becoming an Elder perhaps. I can hope at least, this painting form is quite refreshing."
"Daeva?"
"The amount of make-up did not give me out?"
"Appearances can be deceiving." Harry replied.
"That they can," the vampire in the painting acknowledged, before shrugging and sauntering off, probably in some other painting. Harry turned to where Susan was, and gently got down on one knee near her face. He smiled, taking on the face that a charming prince would have for his sleeping beauty, and then gently began to caress her right cheek with his hand.
He gently kissed her lips, forcing the vitae through his mouth and into the girl's own throat, letting it pour and attach itself to that which already lingered within.
It was a second. It was nothing more than a fleeting instant.
And Susan Bones was forever tainted by the might of the Vitae, by the power of the Blood, by the will of the Vampire. The blood chained. The blood enslaved. The blood demanded. The crimson liquid, that sated the thirst of the royalty of the dead, bind in shackles unbreakable by the slave the human within. Susan Bones opened her eyes not as a free woman, but as a slave to all of his commands, all of his orders, all of his whims.
He could ask her to kill and she would.
He could ask her to die and she would.
He could ask her to burn, to maim, to destroy, to tear apart everything she held precious…and for him, she would. Mothers would drown their children under the shackles of blood. She would be no less.
"You're mine now," he whispered with the utmost care, breathing slowly on her face like a passionate lover. She smiled as if she had always been in love with him, as if she had always followed him, as if she had always been his. She smiled, and she acquiesced to his needs.
Her neck was soft as it was brought forward to him.
"Do not scream." He whispered to her ear, blowing lightly behind it. The Kiss of the Giovanni was painful, granting a modicum of pleasure before was something few did, and even fewer kept on doing to their ghouls. Susan merely moaned as she held one of the pillows of the coffin with her arms, and when his fangs bit into her skin, her teeth sunk in the pillow to withhold her screams.
Blood gushed out from the girl's body, pouring into the awaiting mouth of Harry who drank and slaked his thirst from such a tender container. He then removed himself with effort, quietly licking the girl's neck as she panted hard, breathing in and out raggedly as sweat and the occasional twitch coursed through her body.
Her heart was beating erratically, pumping blood to where there was none, trying to soothe the pain in any way it could. He gently brought his right hand down, to where her heart was and smiled kindly.
"Your heart belongs to me now."
And she groaned a whispered yes, before closing her eyes and falling asleep.
He merely smiled back, and then went to the desk.
One of his tools was now ready to be sharpened. Another would soon be. He closed his eyes, the willpower drained from the events of that night forcing him to fall asleep there and then. A lot of things he had done, and a lot more he would have to do. Yet the ground was being prepared, and there was nothing the others could do to stop him. As Dumbledore would realize…
He shouldn't have opened the box of sins that belonged to Pandora.
The morning came together with Susan's eyes snapping open. The red haired girl looked around flustered, before standing up quickly and with her face as red as the colour of her hair. Harry forced the blood in his veins to work, making him open his eyes just to look at the pursed lips of the girl coming next to him. Probably she had wanted to try and kiss him awake.
He coughed slightly, making an 'ahem' sound that distracted the girl and brought her a few feet backwards in fright.
"Miss Bones," he remarked calmly. "You fell asleep in my office, last night."
"Ah, I—I did?" she hesitantly looked down at her feet, wrapping her arms around her body as if to reassure herself of something. "I'm sorry professor."
"That will be fifty points from Hufflepuff," Harry's word weren't met with any open exclamation, but rather with the girl's gaze remaining down as she seemed on the verge of crying. Harry could actually imagine what her inner monologue was going on about, since it seemed she wasn't listening to him at all.
The thoughts running through the girl's mind were probably things like 'he would never kiss me' or 'I'm a failure as a student' or even a saucier 'how am I going to make him love me if I keep acting like a stuttering child?'
"Furthermore, I hope you understand that sleeping in my bed hardly accounts for why you didn't simply go back in your dorm room once tired," the next jab had the girl's face turn beet red.
Now her thoughts probably ranged from 'I'm a pervert' to 'I'll never be able to marry' or even a 'What can I tell him that won't make him sick of me? Oh Merlin, help me please! I'd die if he were to hate me!'
"So, Miss Bones, what can you say in your defence?"
"I, I…I—" the girl was now stuttering, her hands clasping together repeatedly as she looked around, like a rabbit searching for a way out. "I was…I…"
"Uhm…were you perhaps…enticed, by the smell of my bed?" he asked her with a small smile, licking his own upper lip slightly. "Maybe you wanted to see me," he stood up, slowly circling around the desk as he came up in front of her, "but I wasn't there."
Susan's eyes widened like bowls as she began to breathe hard.
"You went for the next best thing right? The place where I sleep," he smiled as he took a step closer; bringing his right hand forward to grab the girl's chin, his face moved to stand just a few inches away from that of Susan, before he whispered on her lips.
"Naughty, aren't we?"
And then he pushed her face away from him, sending the hopeful girl to fall on the ground in fright.
"You will spend one week of detention with Filch, Miss Bones. I will not tolerate such scandalous behaviour from one of my most prized pupils." He pointed to the door with his eyes. "Out with you, now."
And in tears, the girl left.
The blood would make her desire him. The blood would make do everything in her power to get back in his good graces. Yet the blood would also make her realize that his words gave her as 'his most prized pupil' and the way he had merely licked the upper lip of his? That too would turn into the girl's thoughts as something enticing and romantic.
He could have raped her and she still would have loved him for it. He could have broken her limbs and she would have demanded for more. He could have forced her to choke on her own intestines, and she would have eaten and savoured them. For him, she would have.
Removal of free will, removal of free thought and removal of everything that could even glint at the escape…that was what the third bond of blood meant. There was nothing more damning, nothing more debasing, than that. The Unforgivables meant nothing when compared to the power of the Vitae.
The words of the Malfoy spawn rang in his ears then, making him chuckle.
The ignorant fool probably believed that Vampires fought duels. He probably thought that Wizards met Vampires on an open field of grass, with no wind and possibly with the time closing in to the sunrise. Maybe the wizard had a rose in his mouth, and whipped his hair like some effeminate freak.
Or maybe he believed that Vampires were good enough only to suck blood and plead for more like some crack-addicted.
He began to tap with his hands on his desk, waiting calmly. Six hours after his wake so early in the morning, the doors of his office were banged open by a most furious Headmaster. The look of anger on the elder wizard's face was truly magnificent, and yet the calm and controlled attitude would have probably scared him more.
"Headmaster? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Mister Potter," Albus spoke clearly. "I might have done a terrible thing. I lapsed in my judgment and foolishly I believed myself able to weather the aftermath." His right hand went to his wand, as he pointed it towards him. Harry just smiled, bringing up an eyebrow at such a motion.
"Oh? What happened?" he asked with curiosity in his voice and completely ignoring the wand pointed at him.
"Do not play the ignorance game with me, Mister Potter," Albus' words came out crisp and clear. "Professor Snape died today."
"Lode al cielo." He brought up both his eyes as he sighed in relief.
"Good, so you came here to tell me this wonderful news, Headmaster?"
"I came here hoping for a confession, Mister Potter. Professor Snape was clearly on the list of people you hated, and the way he died in the middle of the class surely does not put my mind at ease."
"And why would that be, Headmaster? Of what, pray tell, did he die?"
Albus grimaced.
"A cauldron from the first rows exploded, sending a knife straight through Professor Snape's eye. It reached his brain and killed him on the spot. He didn't suffer."
"A pity then," Harry reckoned. "Still, that does look like an accident."
"Alas it is not possible for it to be one! Someone removed the protection wards from Severus' desk, and sheer luck could not be that precise in guiding the knife."
"Headmaster, I was here the entire morning, and most of the night of yesterday. The painting will certainly assuage your theory, and if he doesn't, then Miss Bones will…since she graced me with her presence, occupying my bed." As Harry smiled, Albus' face hardened as the old wizard seemed to be internally seething.
"What happened to the boy who told me how proud he was of his little sister?" the old man asked, suddenly losing all of his strength as the wand he held in his hand came loose, returning to his robe's pocket.
"He died in a world of rotting corpses, and awoke in one of keen minds and ruthless monsters the likes of which have Voldemort like a thief of candy to babies," he answered back calmly. Harry smiled then, before chuckling.
"Let me tell you this, Albus: I did not kill Severus. Knowledge is power, but knowledge of certain things…someone else did. Do not seek the Camarilla, Albus. Do not seek the Traditions. Renounce your quest on who I am or what I am…" he whispered, "This is the only act of kindness I will extend, to the one who stole my parents away from me."
With those words, he looked as the old wizard retreated, closing the door behind him without a sound. Harry closed his eyes and smiled.
Sappy tones, prepared dialogues, the hints dropped within his sentences. Albus would seek answers to the wrong questions, and the right questions would be left untouched. He had killed Severus with the mere conjuration of a bloodthirsty Wraith, one of the many the Giovanni knew by name.
The Wraith would probably be called again by someone else among the family, who would then relate to Augustus what he had used her for. In that way the Ante-Diluvian would know of his progresses. The smart and thoughtful Kindred would then acknowledge the next in line for the potion's spot on such a short notice, and Professor Slughorn would have…an unforeseen event that would radically change his way of living.
Why have a single infiltrated, when more always yielded the best results?
He let Torpor claim him once more. He actually wondered why people had to disturb him during the day. Didn't the word 'Vampire' actually mean something? As he rested into his torpor, a strange patch of grey and black drew itself along a sandy beach.
Torpor wasn't like sleep. Vampires didn't actually dream as much as they remembered, and they didn't have dreams…they had nightmares.
The patch of grey and black defined itself, like a movie shown in a sepia tone, with no sound and no colour except for white, grey and black. He looked at the cinema's movie from the perspective of the camera itself, clearly seeing the back of a few persons standing in the rows. The film seemed to be a lovely depiction of romance between two young lovers.
The girl had her feet in the water, while the boy seemed to be holding on to a volley ball beneath his armpit. There was a strong wind at the beach, the long hair of the girl flying everywhere. The boy waved at the girl and the girl smiled back, before the two closed in to one another, probably for a chaste kiss.
In that moment, the theatre began to catch on fire. The people left as the flames burned a bright red and orange colour, bursting through the walls and the roof and claiming bit by bit the entire surface until their heat reached his face.
A moment later, and his eyes opened wide as blood rushed to awaken his entire body. He stood up quickly, fear clasping at his beast who whined pitifully for but a second, before reality reawakened in it the desire to hunt and feast.
The Lust for the Hunt, the Rage of the Beast and the Fear of the Fire were the three cardinal emotions a Vampire could truly feel. The rest simply was nothing more than a recollection. Yet as he looked around and slowly made his way outside, he realized that nightmares for Kindreds always meant something.
There was just some sort of connection between a Vampire's Torpor and the things that surrounded him that couldn't be dropped off as 'chance' or 'randomness'. A fire in a theatre…he wasn't going to watch any recent soap-operas then.
Not that he could, considering he was miles away from his haven in New York.
He led himself out of his office, walking through the deserted corridors as he reached for the dining hall. The paintings were all dressed in black, as if the death of such an esteemed professor actually meant something. He stepped into the hall, and as he did he looked into the eyes of the entire assembled student body, that seemed to be all clad in black and standing on their feet. The Slytherins were looking downwards with a contrite expression as his gaze passed to look at them, while the Ravenclaw studied him with curiosity. The Hufflepuff house simply held a sombre face, while some of the Gryffindors were actually smiling and elbowing each other in joy.
He walked in the line of the staff, ignoring the slightly narrowed glare of the Deputy Headmistress. There were no tables in the room, and the candles lit in the air seemed to float slightly higher than normal.
"We are here tonight," the Headmaster spoke calmly, "to give our final farewells to Professor Snape."
Even the few snickers had died out by then, replaced only by silence.
"He might have appeared as a bitter man, and maybe he was, but that didn't mean that beyond his surface something more was hidden from the world. His greatest qualities, the reason I trusted him with teaching the students here at Hogwarts, were far more difficult to discern than his witty tongue." The Headmaster breathed in slowly, "Alas, time will always flow forward. I cannot ask you to remember him fondly, but I can ask you not to spite upon his grave. In death, all men are equal. In death, there should be forgiveness. Death is nothing more than the great next adventure, one that we must all embark upon when our time comes."
Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, the logic dictating he shouldn't give out such a visible sign of considering the old wizard's words as mad rambling. He waited patiently, as the various professors all said something concerning the deceased. Then, he took the spot.
Dumbledore's eyes were on him, as if daring him to say anything wrong about the professor.
Harry just grimaced towards him, before coughing slightly and catching the attention of everyone in the hall.
"Professor Snape was a great man. He saved my life, when everyone else would have rather murdered me." A small gasp came from Susan, as well as Hermione. "Professor Snape, Severus, was maybe a severe man, but he had heart. He might have been misunderstood for most of his tenure as a professor, but always at the forefront was his desire to keep the students safe. He had a hard life in his youth: constantly bullied, harassed and pranked and all under the gaze of the teachers who did nothing to stop this. Even his life was put at risk, and yet nothing was done." He shook his head slowly.
"This is something that should not have happened, ever. That it happened at Hogwarts, it makes this extremely sadder: Hogwarts should be home. It should be a place for students to find a family beyond their own family. It should be a place where there are no tears and no cries. And yet pain always finds the way to worm itself in."
He closed his eyes slowly, tears of blood falling down his eyes among the gasps of the crowd.
"Severus Snape will forever be remembered, and may he rest in peace."
As he turned to leave, the blood falling down his chin stilled, before slowly returning within his very pores and back into his body. The hall remained quiet for an instant…and then a robed figure departed from the mass and like a bullet of red hair, it launched itself to tightly hug Harry's frame.
Lillian Potter was hugging him, crying on his robe and trying her best to probably smother herself with them. He made a sad smile with his face, as he gently consoled her. She was probably crying for him, rather than for Snape.
"However, potions' lessons will continue regularly, starting tomorrow." Harry froze in that precise instant, still clutching Lillian to him. Albus' voice rang through the hall clearly and crisply, but it wasn't because of what the man said that he froze. He stilled because standing at the entrance of the dining hall, wearing her Auror garbs, was a figure he had hoped never to see again for as long as he could.
Nymphadora Tonks sheepishly entered the hall just as the Headmaster of Hogwarts spoke once more.
"Miss Nymphadora Tonks offered herself to take on Professor Snape's classes on short notice, and I have gracefully accepted her offer," the Headmaster smiled.
The woman sheepishly smiled, until her own eyes settled on his. Then her smile faded, to be replaced by a grimace. He slowly stopped hugging Lillian, before turning around and leaving calmly. The sound of his footsteps didn't even make an echo as he left.
This complicated things.
He touched the gold ring on his finger —the marriage band— and grimaced once he was alone in the hallway. Harry entered his classroom first, not even caring for a presentation with the woman in question. He knew her all too well.
The low growl of the beast echoed through his ribcage, the blood seemed to boil as he recalled every second of her. Paralyzed in time, stilled forever, that was nothing compared to the torture of reminiscing the past. There was only one thought in his mind by then, and that was how to get the woman out of the school. He couldn't use a Wraith again. Never kill two people in the same way: it was stupid and predictable. Nymphadora had always been clumsy…how she had ended un becoming the potions' professor at Hogwarts was a…
It wasn't.
His eyes widened and then narrowed.
His hands clenched tightly as he understood the underlying truth of the matter.
Albus had known he would kill Severus. No, even better, Albus had known someone would eventually kill the man from the very beginning. Nymphadora was an auror, last he had checked. The only way for her to be just so casually available was to have been on the ready.
If that was the case, then why the charade, why go through all of this unless…
In his anger, he very nearly entered the shroud to immediately compel back the Wraith and query her on what had happened. Maybe he was over-exaggerating, but the only logical conclusion was that the Headmaster had faked Snape's death, just so he could catch him unsuspecting further down the road.
But for what purpose?
Nymphadora was clearly some sort of punishment for his actions. It was obvious: barely the sight of the woman sent him on a howling match with the Beast, and whatever Albus was, he wasn't a fool.
Sure, the woman he had married was an auror, but she wasn't a Potions Master. She barely scrapped by with her Newt for the corps, so there simply wasn't a way she was qualified. To let her through, Dumbledore would have had to pass through the board of governors or the Prime Minister.
Two could play the game of being in line with the government however: and he would aim at the head of the Police Department. He would aim for Amelia Bones.
The students trickled in one after the other, until they finally filled the classroom. There had been a few more additions to his course. He actually wondered if it was Hermione's doing or Lillian's…or maybe the fact he didn't actually require a book when he taught?
Anyway, he had a class to teach, a plan to devise and a Ministry to plunder.
And he had yet to hear back from the Prince of London, who was certainly going to write to him eventually…especially to explain how much of a political fallout with the wizardry ministry he had forced the Kindred to sweep under the rug to avoid troubles with the Masquerade.
Dumbledore had been right however, on at least one thing.
Death was the great next adventure. Maybe it wasn't a pretty adventure, it wasn't shiny and it certainly wasn't with a happy ending, but it was something. It was a path built of entrails, of mud and blood alike that easily collapsed as if straw could do nothing to hold it. The path led to only one destination, and yet there wasn't enough width for more than a single man to walk upon it.
Hunter, Lover, Monster. Vampire, Kindred, Beast. Mindful tactician, suave talker, ferocious creature of the night…and yet it meant nothing.
You couldn't define the Darkness.
But the Darkness could pretty much define you.
And the only thing those who basked in its presence wished for, truly wished for beyond any attempt or desperate plead…was for it all to end.
Vampires didn't want to live forever.
They wanted the sun on their skin, the food in their stomachs. They wanted sleep and not torpor; they wanted laughter to be true and not a mockery. They wanted to cry tears of water and salt and not of crimson blood.
But what one wants and what one has, in life and in the world, are never one and the same.
Author's notes
And another chapter is done.
I'll be getting to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrival eventually…
But there's just so much character development-showing to do!
One thing to say: do not expect lemons. Vampires are per their nature 'sensual' creatures. This I will portray, but do not expect things to 'reach the point'.
To Vikraal:
Vampires may control any amount of Vitae (The processed blood) that is within their bodies or on them. Once it leaves them however it no longer is 'controlled'.
Vampires of certain generations may feed on animal blood (the lowest ones) but at a certain 'generation' they may only rely on human blood, and once they reach higher up they can only drink from other Vampires themselves. That's why old generation vampires go in 'torpor'. There simply isn't a vampire who would let another one drink from him without kicking a fuss. So going in torpor for long periods lowers the generation.
And no, Vampires only have blood in them, as shown in here where Harry cries tears of blood.
