(So, the last chapter was not a comfortable chapter. Sex for Snape could not be anything but that and it was situation I felt merited writing. Maybe it will get better as he gains control, maybe it will be one of the gauges he uses; but for now if I made you uncomfortable I've succeeded in my goal. I am not writing a pleasant story, and by writing and reading scenes like this we know a fraction of the distress, confusion, disgust and shame our protagonist feels. For now though, that duress has passed. Now that I've scared half my readers away again, back to our regularly scheduled trauma. It will surely be a palate cleanser. Also sorry for the late update I finally got Covid and then my desktop died. I still have my phone and laptop, but it's not ideal.)

Snape stalked through the streets once more. It was midnight. And few respectable members of Muggle society were out. That suited him just fine. He was not respectable after all. What he had just done…was doing. Playing with people's lives and more. Usually it was justifiable by his need to survive until he was called on again, but what he had just done… was it needed?

It had certainly felt so at the time. It had been so long. He had felt lighter than he had in years for a brief while; now the post orgasm haze was gone and his elation at finally being able to leave his partner alive was tainted with the sick feeling he had used the woman. He had paid her, yes. It was her job, yes. He had tested his willpower. He had eaten. Was planning on doing both again and again. Yes, yes, yes. But when you added sex into the mix…

He shook his head. He would do it again though. Would like to. It had certainly been… nice. Forgetting that fact that he had almost killed her, not cared about it, and been interrupted mentally by two women he respected. Forgetting that he had found a trigger for his loss of control. Forgetting all that... It had been nice. He'd like to do it again. He'd like to eat again now. He was going to in fact.

He was four towns over currently. Just in case. The prostitute had been, as he said, nice; a pleasant start to the evening and a good evaluation of his abilities regarding his occlumency. If one that left him feeling morally confused and wanting. The pints he had gotten from her left him wanting as well. He didn't want to feed too much in one area in one night.

He looked around him as he walked, taking in his surroundings. This town was not an industrial one, it was far more recent and as such filled with all things muggle. It had popped up as a way center between two towns, not that it was needed. The streets here were far less organized and gridlike than his hometown. A perfect maze to get lost in, for others. He took a breath and listened.

With that breath the scent of roses and sandalwood wafted toward him. Then the sound of two heartbeats that were closer than others. Accompanied by the sound of panting, and a smaller heartbeat. Night owls, out for a midnight jog with a dog. They were of no interest to him.

He turned his attention elsewhere. The scent of mortals and the sound of drumbeats assailed him, but they were easy enough to sift through. It was nothing compared to the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts, let alone Diagon Alley. It was easier in fact, adult's scents were more robust and distinguishable and it was far less crowded than either location. He could smell one close by that practically exuded chocolate, milk chocolate. Along with coffee. It would be… palatable. He preferred tea after all. But blood was blood, and at least it wasn't white chocolate, or pure sugar. Or god forbid… jello. Snape nearly shuddered remembering that one meal. Lime jello. He hadn't even known such a thing could exist in blood form, and he regretted immensely acquiring the knowledge that it did. He had almost felt jiggling as he had eaten. Never again. Especially combined with caraway.

He made his way toward the smell of chocolate and coffee, far more palatable now that he had compared it with the memory of the affronting food. He turned onto what looked like a main street of the town, and saw the source of the smell. A young man with purple hair locking up a shop, a coffee shop. He was fumbling with the keys, and had been for some time it seemed.

"Fucking Bernadette, bent the fucking key. Fucking lock already you fucking fuck."

Snape snorted slightly at the man's clearly exemplary vocabulary. He walked up to, and then past, the man; casting a wandless colloportus as he did. The man's jubilant exclamations were cut short by a shudder as he walked by. It was a joy, honestly, that people could tell when they were being hunted. He still could, though it hadn't happened since the vampire hunter. He wondered briefly where the ability came from as he rounded the corner. He could hear the man's heart beat fast, he was nervous. Scared. As he walked into an alley that would bring him back around toward his quarry he listened to the man talk to himself.

"You're a grown man Tim, you're fine. Fuck I hate closin, I hate the dark, I still don' get why the coffee shop is open this late. I know we serve irish coffee but jesus. Fuck. I still have the shivers. Breathe, Tim, breathe. It was just some bloke, out for a stroll… In the dark…. Alone. Fuck. You're scarin yourself again. Fuck."

The man really did have such a way with words, Snape shook his head. He walked in tandem with 'Tim'; he behind the buildings in the alley, and Tim in front. The man mumbled to himself the entire way about fear and the stupidity of having coffee shops open late, as well as old machinery that took far too long to clean. Snape stopped just before the edge of the alleyway, waiting for the man to turn the corner. What should he do now? He ran through the options quickly.

He could just grab him. It was simple, effective, and if he apparated with him clutched in his arms, minimal chance of splinching as well. Then however he'd have to Obliviate him, or command him. It also might end with the man throwing up on him. With that distasteful thought he threw away that option.

He could use imperio, but again, the fewer unforgivables recorded on his wand, the better. A last resort. It would fade as he used other spells, but still.

He could just pull him in and cover his mouth, let the euphoria of feeding quiet him down. However, there was always the risk the man would overcome that.

He could scare the man, herd him into an alley, or follow him to his home and either conive entry or attack beforehand.

He could…. Try to allure the man. Snape sneered at that thought. It was ridiculous. All of this was ridiculous. He could easily enough scare victims when they were provided to him, when he was a Death Eater and could just let the red mist tell him what to do, hide away from the fact that some part of him, yes him, was enjoying it. The power, the fear, the control he had over the situation, something he sorely lacked for most of his youth.

He sighed inwardly, perhaps he should go to the therapy wizard. It's not like the man could tell anyone what he said, that oath was so magically binding that even the Dark Lord never considered going after mages in that profession. They'd go insane and die, and still wouldn't reveal anything. There were very few circumstances where a therapy witch or wizard could talk about what was discussed in a session. Snape had seen the contract the wizard had to sign hanging on his wall once, shrunk down to fit in the frame; it had to be at least 20 feet long when full sized.

Snape cursed, the footsteps were almost to the alleyway. He'd gotten lost in thought, this was completely unlike him. And he still hadn't decided on a course of action. To emulate the eloquent Tim, fuck.

Well, he might as well give this a shot. He took a breath and stepped forward and… Merlin, he felt ridiculous. No. He had to try this. This was a skill vampires had and one he should at least attempt to utilize. The thought of using it on his colleagues to get them to leave him alone was very tempting. Allure and commands would also be extraordinarily useful as a spy. He could tell muggles to run away, he could get people away from groups to extract information he needed. He should definitely practice this at least a little. Yes. That was enough to go forward with this idiocy.

He stepped forward again as the footsteps neared, and threw his mind out, feelings of bliss, detachment, escape. Feelings of lust and the musky smell of sex, if only the man came into the darkness… He sent those out and attempted to turn on his so called allure. It was easy to do during the actual act, or when he actually wanted to do so, but right now? It was difficult. He knew his was weak in general, it's why he used his blood so frequently. Still he saw the man stumble, waiver, and turn slightly toward him, toward the alley. Snape stepped farther back into the shadows and watched as Tim stepped in front of the backstreet. The purple haired man took a step into the canyon of buildings, paused, and shook his head.

"What…what the hell am I doing? I fucking hate the dark."

Snape cursed. This was not working. What could he offer this mortal that he would find alluring? Tempting?

Snape watched the man try to regain his mental faculties and balance, watched him try to shake away the confusion and fear. He could feel the red mist telling him to just grab the man, pull him into the alley and end his life in a bout of red ecstasy. He placated it with the thought of future meals from the same man if he let him live, of safety in darkness and pleasure in staying hidden.

It barely worked, but as Albus said long ago, barely a success is still a success. It also gave him an idea. He threw out his thoughts again, the allure, with temptations of safety, of never being afraid of the night again, of power and the pleasure of slipping into the unknown. Of release from the banal, of revenge for petty slights, and a stray thought of a key being unbent with ease.

The man swayed and stepped forward, head held in one hand while the other gripped his keys as if they held a lifeline to the light. He struggled with the external force in his mind, his wants and desires muddled with it and twisted into a burning need. Tim stumbled toward the hungry darkness, eyes blurry and head heavy.

Snape retreated further into the yawning back street, mentally pulling at the man, trying to forget how absurd this was.

"Approach, quickly. Relax." Snape's commands were simple, in line with the allure, and Tim took another wavering step.

He was almost out of the light now, just a few more steps and even his outline wouldn't be visible from the street. His foot rose, moved forward, and set down. His other foot rose, and hovered, infuriatingly in place, shaking with hesitation and fear.

Snape was growing irritated, but he had to practice this, better irritation than blind bloodlust anyway. Irritation was a feeling he was intimately familiar with, it meant he was himself, it meant he was in control. It meant he was Severus Snape, the spy, the potions master, the ex Death Eater… and not just Severus Snape the vampire.

He could smell the confusion wafting off the young man, an underlying hint of fear mixed with a weaker scent of longing and lust. Oh the jolt of surprise when he sunk his fangs- no. No. This would be a dream, a step away from reality for the young man instead of a nightmare. It would be quieter, and safer, for both of them.

"Come here, and stand still. " He issued the command with all the power he could muster behind it and the young man stumbled forward the last few steps, mumbling about safety and warm arms. Snape almost laughed, nobody had ever associated those thoughts with him before, at least not to his knowledge. Still he would pretend, complete the dream so he could enjoy a quiet meal. He pulled the dazed mortal toward him and held him by the shoulders, something adjacent to an embrace, and let the man's head fall onto his shoulder.

"Safe, keep me safe, no more darkness, please… so … scared all the time. Walking home, mugged months ago, please. Keep me safe."

And suddenly, Snape was back in the hall with young Banderknott, the scared child, about to unintentionally end a life. He knew what to do here. It would have been what he wanted to hear in the halls after the golden Gryffdinors left him tied to a banister, what he would have wanted to hear after nearly being mauled to death, what he had heard when his mother healed his face from his father's beatings. It felt completely antithetical to his being, but he remembered it, it was not something easily forgotten after all.

"I am here. You are safe." The words were not quite a drawl, not quite a croon. The felt wrong in his mouth, wrong coming from him. However he felt the young man melt into his arms seemingly comforted by them and suddenly he was at war with himself. The completely vulnerable prey in his arms made the red mist lurch forward with violent Need, his veins cried out to be filled and his gums ached beneath his fangs. He wanted to leave the man alive, make sure he survived, make sure he didn't end up anything like the scared child that wandered into the dark in search of safety… and never came out. But… he breathed in and he could taste the fear under the comfort, he wanted to feel the warmth over his tongue and down his throat, both him and the red mist wanted that. He…

The man pushed closer to him, hands against his chest like a small child searching for safety. The red mist roared, but the memory of young Banderknott gave him pause, and he moved slowly, if not gently.

His teeth pierced the skin and the man named Tim stiffened from the pain, started to pull away. Snape paused, and all was still for a moment, a calm before the storm. He pushed his teeth in further and before his meal, no Tim, could move, he began to pull at the wound.

The reaction was immediate, the man sighed, relaxed further into his death, no, dream. He must maintain that this was a person, not a meal, not prey, a person. Snape drank and the taste of bitter coffee with almonds flew across his tongue, he could feel the warmth of the cup in his hands and almost saw himself in repose, leaning against a large window watching rain fall before he got ready for the day. He swallowed, and that warmth filled him, he pulled more and the man sighed. Tim, his name was Tim.

He, was Severus Snape, the spy, the vampire. This, was a purple haired man named Tim who made coffee and was afraid of the dark. Tim, who was moaning.

The red mist flooded his mind as the sound reached his ears, demanded he take advantage of the ma-Tim's distracted state and drink till both of them spun into darkness. He resisted, focused on who he was, what he wanted. To leave this man alive.

Then Tim sighed, mumbled pleas to never stop and pushed in closer to his false savior.

Snape felt his shields crack further with the request, with the scent of the man's- Tim's, his name was Tim! Merlin, he could smell his waning fear, and red thoughts of what he could do to bring that scent back flitted across his mind. The scents and sounds were so tempting… Of course he was sensitive to them! The slightest twitch of a lip, the narrowing of eyes and the huff of a breath, all meant something. He had trained himself long before becoming a spy to notice every little thing a person did, every change in the environment. It's how he avoided many beatings from his father, how he avoided the golden gryffindors, how he slipped in and out of the spotlight as needed when he was a Death Eater.

Those skills and senses had exploded in intensity when he died, and he had worked on heightening them even more so when he became a turncoat. He should have known these sounds and smells were driving him insane, it was what he focused on when he first turned, those heart beats, the faint sound of whispers through those wood doors as he clung to sanity. Gods dammit! These smells and tastes and sounds were stronger than his shields.

Of course this was his foil, the one thing he couldn't block out or dull with occlumency. Even if he could, the risk was too great. Not noticing them could mean death.

He drank and his meal, dammit Tim, who was sporting a burgeoning erection, pushed himself against death. Milk chocolate and bitter coffee mixed with copper and almonds. He wanted more and he could tell Tim did as well. But…

"Please, don't leave…" the young man begged as if sensing this encounter was about to end. He really should end it, but- no. That was it. He should end it. He could find another. And another. And another. Perhaps he might even find someone he didn't mind killing. But this young man was merely afraid of the dark and upset over a simple bent key. Death should come to him in sixty years, not tonight. He removed himself despite protests from Tim and his own mind and held the young man's hands pulling the keys from them.

"No…don stop. Wait, stop… I need those."

"And they shall be returned to you." He extricated the keys from limp fingers and located the offending one. It was indeed bent. With two fingers he bent it back into place then returned them to the dazed man's hands. He looked at the boy, the young man, as he swayed a bit in place.

"Return to your route and tomorrow buy yourself some type of protection from assault. This was nothing but a chance encounter with a man who offered to fix your key for a kiss on your neck."

"But… 'm not attracted to men?" Said Tim blearily and Snape couldn't hold back his snort of mirth.

"You may tell yourself that if you wish. Thank you for the kiss." And with that Snape quickly retreated the way he came. From the shadows he watched and waited as Tim shook himself out of the stupor.

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. What. The. Fuck. Oh god. I'm- I like men too? I mean… Pacino was always hot but… I mean Mike from … oh god."

Wonderful. Another person who'd had some type of epiphany after he bit them. At least this was better than the last one. They had tried to kill him.

"Oh hey. He did fix my key. Oh gods I hope I don't have a hickey. What will I tell Jessica?" Tim felt his neck and winced. "Holy shit he sucked my neck till it bruised. Oh my god he sucked my neck till it bruised." As Tim closed his eyes trying to figure out what that meant Snape shot a very weak wandless healing spell at the man, barely visible, but enough to make the wound heal till it would look like he had opened an old scab or two. He didn't want to end a relationship. It would make his actions something memorable, he did not want to be remembered.

He watched Tim rush off and looked to the rooftops. With a slight pop he apparated there and followed the man's movements. He was rushing towards a parking lot filled with automobiles. Snape scouted it and immediately his eyes caught sight of something promising.

There was just one man there. Thin and tall with near black hair that mimicked Potter's in its unkemptness. He sported a jean vest with a decal of a furry mammal of some sort on the back. He was leaning against a car. Holding a bat.

A gang member. Likely one from before that mugged Tim. That meant a lone idiot muggle who thought he was the toughest on the block. A lone muggle who would not be missed if he showed up with his head crushed and half his blood on the sidewalk and the rest missing.

It meant that he could be secure that he was actually removing filth this time. This man took the cowards way out, the easy way. He had joined a gang, just like Severus. Unlike him, it was far easier for this muggle to leave, change, escape. He may be hunted, disavowed, ostracized, but he didn't have a literal tracking spell in his arm. But he stayed, and from the sick sneer on his face he stayed because he enjoyed what he did, not for any monetary or societal issues.

Snape could remember a time when such a sneer was on his face for those reasons. He had joined his 'gang' out of fear, out of hate, out of the need for power, security and belonging. He gave little credence to the pureblood superiority, not then, not now. He had, however, thought muggles inferior, but not due to their inability to perform magic or their minds, but from his experience with their lack of morals. He still hated them, but honestly, he hated most people at this point. He had learned since then that it wasn't the fact that they were muggle that he hated, but that there were still occasionally muggles who fit the description many purebloods had in their heads. This one for example.

He watched as the man stood up at the sound of hastily approaching footsteps and sauntered over to the corner Tim would round soon. The easiest thing to do would be to grab the brute and apparate away, eat his fill, then deposit the body back here. Yes. That would do nicely. Screw the possibility the man might puke, he could show the man magic and clean himself up. It wasn't like a corpse could break the statute of secrecy.

First he looked around for any bright lights that might give him away, allow him to be seen by unnoticed eyes. There were none. The lamps above the parking lot were poorly upkept, and the one above the muggle flickered on and off.

Snake stepped down from the roof as if it were merely a four foot drop, and landed behind the Muggle. A few steps forward and he had the man by the shoulder.

"What the-"

The words were cut off as Snape concentrated on a small field his mother occasionally took him on picnics to long ago. They were gone and there in a flash. The muggle staggered briefly, and then moved with surprising speed.

There was a bang and pain blossomed along Snape's skull. Everything felt off, colors had smells, he was angry about mirrored wall paper. Phoenix feathers would fall from the sky tomorrow. He blinked. Only one eye worked, but he could see the smoking gun in the starlight. It looked like a fish. The muggle had shot him. A bezoar wouldn't help. He shook his head to clear it, he could feel his skull knitting together, his brain healing and thoughts starting to make more sense.

He snarled and the gun shook in the man's hands, his eyes wide with fear. Snape could imagine the sight, flesh and bones and skin reforming in front of him. Filling a hole that had moments ago let him see the horse mane night sky through dripping reddish grey flesh and cobwebs are gold. He shook his head again, he hated when his brain was hurt during a fight.

"Fuck. What the fuck. The hell? Demon?! Fuck! I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'mgonnadie."

"You most certainly are;" said Snape with a sneer as his head finally fully cleared, "how painful it is will be up to you."

"You're not gonna take me to hell, demon!" The man raised the gun as quickly as Snape raised his wand to cast a deflection spell, but the bullet never came toward him. The gun was under the man's chin as Snape called out as the finger on the lever pulled.

"Stop!"

The gun shook and Snape could see the man's panic and determination inch the lever ever so slightly downward. He noted briefly it was the same model his father had kept in a shoebox under his bed.

"Drop the gun, do not shoot." The gun stayed in place, and shook harder. With a quick flick Snape vanished the gun as he walked forward.

"You have some impressive willpower, I-"

The bat from before was picked up off the ground and swung at his head, and he deftly caught it in his hand. He locked his eyes with his meal's and squeezed. The metal shrieked and there was a loud hiss as the hollow bat bent and pushed air out of one of the numerous places his nails had punctured it. He tugged and the bat was removed from the man's hands. The man was smarter than he looked, letting go of the bat instead of letting himself be pulled forward.

Snape dropped it beside him and sneered. The man shook, his eyes flicking to both sides looking for points of egress before staring for a moment. Then he turned and ran.

Snape let him. He continued walking behind the quickly fleeing figure. There was a river about half a kilometer away in that direction. He knew this field well, it would take about five minutes for the man to get there, tripping in the divots and holes made by moles and such.

It'd take longer if the man broke his ankle. He could hear the man cursing and panting and he chuckled as he enjoyed a leisurely walk for a moment. The grass was tall in places, most likely full of smaller bloodsuckers that fortunately found him rather unappetizing. The grass rustled in the slight breeze, cut through by the sound of panting nearby.

With a thought he apparated down to the bank of the river and waited. The hill above ended abruptly, grass hung over an edge leading to a steep incline of open dirt that wouldn't cause damage, but would definitely be a nuisance to climb if the man fell. And probably hurt at the bottom. He had taken a tumble down it once, his mother had been quite irate. It was the last time he remembered her doing magic, healing a knee he had gashed at the bottom along with the pinkie he had broken in his landing. She had not healed the rather hard swats to his rear for ignoring her and wandering off. Looking back he could tell the swats were for her as much as him, an outlet for her fear that her son had broken something far worse than a pinkie. He smirked, his mother had taught him that there was a difference between being punished and being abused, though she on occasion passed the line as well. Not often, not on her own. She mainly did it to placate his father, who preferred the belt even when sober. In those moments he learned that there are often no right answers, only less horrible ones. He had comforted her after, when she had to choose between hitting her son with a belt and letting her husband do it until her son bled.

And yet, she had not left Tobias, in the beginning, when she still had her wand and was able. Snape had never gotten the courage up to ask her why. He knew the various reasons and could not fault her. After all, if he could still love her after she chose an abusive man over him, if he could still love Lily after she had chosen his bully over him… Well. We are products of our environment, restricted and emboldened by our parentage. He had attempted to be something else, but had been pushed toward it, drawn toward it, and then engulfed. He was certainly a bully himself, his enjoyment of the current situation was rather telling after all, as was his demeanor at Hogwarts. It was only half a cover, probably. It was hard to tell at this point. Perhaps given time and opportunity he would act differently, could apply Gamp's First Law. Entropy muggles called it apparently. If only such laws could be applied to the human condition, the 'violence begets violence' 'the abused become abusers' ideas. Of course, it was questionable what parts of the human condition even applied to him any more. There was certainly something to think about. Whether it was worth examining-

The heart beat and sound of rapid breathes and footfalls grew, interrupting his thoughts. The man skidded to a halt above and froze, staring down at Severus, who stood at the bank waiting patiently. Enjoying the evening, the hunt, the faint smell of fear amidst the crisp burbling of the river and night air. Snape wondered briefly what the man saw. A bully? A monster? A man? He wondered how accurate those descriptors were, and what right people have to describe others, or themselves.

"D-demon." The man's voice croaked from dryness and fear, a whisper brought to Snape on the wind. Snape smirked, he had his answer. He'd been called worse, he was worse, he knew that he and most others who knew him would describe him as such. That was as close to a truth as one often could get, he supposed; internal and external consensus. Even then, both were still often wrong.

With a thought he apparated beside the man, who jumped about a meter in the air.

"No. But many would disagree." He said, watching the man shake. He took a breath, eager to smell that fear up close. It was a familiar bouquet, one that whet his appetite even more. He briefly longed for the days when he could subsist on food that was no longer sentient, then grabbed the man by his upper arms and pulled him closer. His scream shattered the night's peace, but it was returned with a gasp of pain as Snape bit down and sank in the sudden euphoric red thought that he would survive based on what he stole from this excuse of a man. He scowled mentally, the thought was too similar to what he was taught as a young Death Eater ridding the earth of muggles and 'mudbloods'. 'The Greater Good' was relative, it's what made morality complicated after all. However, the fact that this man had planned on beating Tim to a pulp made him no great loss, and that Snape could live with, even enjoy a little bit. As long as he kept his head.

His meal struggled, but it was no use. Snape drug his teeth through flesh and let blood flow out of the larger wounds as he kept his fangs embedded. The man's struggle only made the wounds bigger, made the blood run faster. Smoke and whiskey were the flavors that filled his mouth first. Anger and a feeling of entitlement followed. They fell down his throat as red life.

Slowly the struggles ceased, the heartbeat faltered. Snape knew he should stop if he wanted the man alive, he decidedly didn't. Or more accurately he did not care. He continued, and that struggling drum was soon silenced. He had always felt that last swallow, the one that stopped the heart was special. He didn't know why, but it was the best, near orgasmic in the flash of ecstasy it provided. One of the few pleasures afforded to him in his dead state, in his servitude toward his masters. The Dark Lord, Dumbledore, and his own hunger.

Snape looked down at the body hanging limply from his hand. He had intended to not drain the man completely so that he could dispose of the body and make it look like the man had bled out into the gutter after a fight. Now he would have to just vanish. Not a problem… Of course that might put blame on Tim.

He could watch over the youth, and protect him. It would be no altruistic act, he told himself. He'd wait until another gang member showed, and follow the violent muggle back to its hideout. Who knew how many were in the gang; five, twenty? It was a mouthwateringly tempting thought.

Snape looked back at the body. He could send a message and hope they would take the bait. Perhaps one would check tonight even. Perhaps… A feast. Although that would not exactly help him in fixing his barriers. Unless he tried once again to replicate a war between rival groups. Leave each one half full. If he cared to. He might not.

Snape looked down at the corpse and with a wave of his wand the ugly jacket was in his hand. A quick sectumsempra removed the head from the rest of the body which was transfigured into a lump of ice and dumped in the river. He then heated the water around it until the ice vanished. Even if the transfiguration was cancelled, or wore off, the body would be in infinitesimally small pieces.

Snape picked up the head and wrapped it in the jacket before shrinking it all. He had a feeling both would come in handy. He retraced his steps and found the bat, blasting it into bits. He had never been fond of using simple means to hide evidence. It could be undone far too easily in his opinion. Any seasoned auror looking for evidence would try a multitude of reversal spells when visiting a possible dumping ground. Utter destruction, or at least combining spells, was much safer.

With the evidence disposed of Snape popped back to the parking lot, or the roof nearby. He then leaned against a weather vane, and waited.

It was three thirty in the morning. No one had shown up, and Snape had grown weary of waiting. He withdrew the head and jacket and after unshrinking it all placed a tracking spell on the disgusting article of clothing. He then removed the head and vanished it. It would seem he would not need it to prove the man was dead tonight. With the flesh cooled and no longer attached to a body it in theory should not alert the ministry that a corpse had been vanished. That act was highly illegal and therefore heavily monitored.

There were ways around it for anyone who had a single brain cell. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, most criminals did not seem to.

Snape dropped the jacket and watched as it plummeted to the ground. He'd be alerted if it was moved. He left immediately after, apparating multiple short distances so he would be harder to track, just in case the ministry had been alerted.

He sighed at the time. He could eat during the day, but hunting would be far more difficult. If he could get at least one more attempt at control that would be nice.

Still. He didn't have to do this all in one night. In fact, he had discovered a trigger and something that drew him out of his mental spirals. That was quite a breakthrough.

He smiled. If only the solution could be so simple as a silencing charm, earmuffs, or cotton in his nose. He shook his head in mild amusement and decided to go out for an utterly benign postprandial perambulation. He just had to return before sunrise to reapply his lotions.