Chapter 28 metaphorical fire

It was the following morning. He had returned home after another hour of wandering to apply his lotions again and read for a bit. He'd been reading about various crests in the UK and Europe for a good while, hoping to find one that matched his goblet. He looked to his left as the aforementioned item appeared again, this time with the blood from some 1st year student based on the smell, or lack thereof. The charms had worked and the goblet was teleporting all over the castle apparently. He had intended to consult Dumbledore first, but it was too late for that now.

It was near noon when he put down the book on crests and family names. It had gotten him nowhere on Mr. Lee's true identity. So far he had only verified there was no relation to the actor or the Death Eater. Next he was onto the name Basarab. After a break. He wanted to take a closer look at the blood replenisher recipe he had gotten from Poppy. Before that though he needed to send a letter to Dumbledore. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a self inking quill and tried to figure out how to word it. After a few moments of thought he began to write.

Albus,

I am attempting to recover away from the castle. It has gone reasonably well so far and, barring interference, shall continue in such a manner. You may tell the students I was on an errand and a relapse from the earlier potions incident has me recovering in my quarters, or a hotel in France. It does not matter. Do not elaborate on the potion further, except to say that if the culprit comes forward now, I promise only three months detention instead of expulsion. Or decapitation. Whichever you think is more in line with the current rumors surely flying about.

I'm sure you are the one covering my classes at this time and would appreciate it if you continued to follow my curriculum. Do try not to give the students too much leeway, as I would like to return to my classroom being in one piece. The students also being in one piece would be preferable as well, but more optional. As I am sure you are aware, simply adding the ingredients in the wrong order can, on occasion, cause explosions, and as teachers we should attempt to discourage that.

I have confirmed that it was you who enchanted the punch two New Year's ago. The black widow is apt in this instance. Either warn me, or don't do that again. Unless you wish to tell me who I'll be meeting up with beforehand and have their substitute prepared.

The goblet Kettleburn touched is mine, it does nothing it didn't do to him. If you see it, I think it will be a good lesson to keep one's hands to oneself.

I will once again reiterate my wish to be left alone while I recuperate. Send someone at Their risk.

Severus Snape

Snape reread the letter and, satisfied with the contents and lack of anything incriminating, folded it, put it in an envelope, and sealed that with wax. He addressed it to Albus and stuck a sickle to it with a sticking charm and sent it off to the Diagon Alley owlery. He did not want it to be traced to his location. He scowled, thoughts of the man had brought on a rather unpleasant sensation. Itching. The addiction was rearing its head. He sighed and grabbed a vial and took a single swig. Glorious. Ozone filled his mouth and stars fell onto his tongue. He swallowed and the itching ceased immediately, replaced by intense yearning. He wanted more, but at the same time, a glorious feeling of fullness pervaded him. He wasn't hungry. He could ignore the want, he had ignored what he wanted for years, this was no different. He capped the vial and put it back with the others. He breathed in and out a moment, gathering his thoughts, his will, and then turned away.

Now for the recipe. He was about to remove it from the drawer when a small ding and a vibration from his wand stopped him. He withdrew it and regarded the piece of wood. It vibrated again in his grip and he smiled. The jacket had been moved.

He quickly transfigured his cloak into a lightweight trench coat and donned it before apparating on the spot. He stood on the roof of the building he had dropped the jacket from the night prior. A young man with dark skin was examining it, looking back and forth nervously. He wore a jacket with a similar logo on the back.

Snape smirked, he was in luck. All he had to do was follow the man and he'd have his next meal, maybe his next five, set. Maybe he'd just have a feast. And he could practice building up his barriers. The red mist had been a tad quiet today, and while the reprieve was welcome it was also disconcerting. After it had been a near constant companion some days, and an annoying whisper most it was odd to find it silent.

He watched the man quickly hide the jacket beneath his own and jump into a black vehicle. It roared to life with an ungodly stench. As it started to move the sun glinted off the top, causing Snape to squint. It was bright out, and he felt the sun sapping his energy. He wouldn't have his speed, or strength, in the direct unwelcome light. But he was still a wizard.

Snape cast yet another spell, this time on the vehicle. Sequoris was a spell of his own invention. The tracking spell he had long used. It worked well, but was easily gotten rid of if noticed. And it was easily noticed by anyone with an ounce of ability. It did however last quite a bit longer than other trackers, a few days instead of hours. It was perfect for muggles. Or wayward children stealing ingredients to make bootleg alcohol under their beds.

He watched the vehicle pick up dust and rush away. He apparated down behind a larger vehicle and slowly walked toward the direction his wand was pulling. He was in no rush.

He walked through numerous streets; main, small side, back alley, even residential. The buildings went from new, to old, to thatched roof, to industrial, and back. He walked for a good hour, ignoring stares, enjoying not having anything to do but walk towards what would most likely be a rather nice experience. He frowned at some young children on a playground, the loud noises they made and the smiles he didn't really get to experience or share in. They would find out the world was rarely full of smiles soon enough, he had just found out earlier, that's all. He hurried on as some parents looked his way warily. Soon a small forest surrounded him, and it took up a pleasant half an hour. When he came out the other side he was in a commercial storage area. He cast a disillusionment charm and walked forward. He had a feeling his walk was at an end, and so was the blissful feeling of fullness provided by Dumbledore's blood. He was hungry again, and at such a perfect time.

The building he was pulled toward was dilapidated with broken windows and ivy slowly destroying the brick walls. Somehow, it was still in better shape than the rest. Numerous cars and motorbikes sat out in a parking lot overgrown with weeds. The double doors were closed.

Snape looked at the cars; he vaguely remembered them being extremely loud on occasion. He sent a knockback jinx at the bumper of a green one and it began screeching. Intermittent horn sounds echoed in the lot and soon enough the double doors to the warehouse burst open.

Men flooded out. He slipped in as the last one exited, between their exclamations of annoyance and the quickly closing doors. The doors closed behind him and he stepped to the side before taking a look around. The inside of the building was nothing interesting. Two metal tables under flickering lights from two hanging lamps. The ceiling was high to support the shelving units made of metal and compacted pulped wood that filled the rest of the large room. Double doors at the back led to the rest of the building. That's all he had time to take in before the doors opened behind him and the ruffians spilled in.

He looked up and apparated to the rafters, minimizing the chance of being walked into, and hoping for a better vantage point. He watched as they surrounded the two tables metal, one had the jacket on it. They discussed the disappearance, and as the conversation went on a smell wafted up to him.

Fear. The smell of it filled his nose, his throat. Coming from so many people the scent was strong, near palpable. It meant one thing, food-

He shook his head, as if he could fling away the red haze muddling his thoughts and replacing them with instinct. He was here to hunt, on his own damn terms.

He stood on the metal rafter, invisible, and watched the men below mill about. They were concerned, trying to figure out what had happened to their compatriot. Arguments were breaking out; whether the jacket was left as a taunt, a clue, or by accident. Which possible gang had taken him out, or had the mafia, whatever that was, finally come to collect? He watched them argue and discuss for a while before one stormed out in frustration.

Snape dropped from his perch and, after confirming no one had noticed the sound his feet had made on hitting concrete, quickly followed the man through the still swinging door. He was walking down a long hall towards the exit, mumbling about idiots and cigarettes. He was bald mostly, a slight bit of white hair on the back of his head denoting either stress or age. A quick somnus tria had the ruffian falling toward the ground, and Snape had him in hand and was dragging him into a side room before he hit the floor.

The room was empty, save some muggle electrical tools and trash bags, he had suspected as much based on the lack of heartbeats. He locked the door behind him and took his meal slowly, careful not to wake the man. It was over far too soon. The older man was anemic. His thin blood had tasted of anger and something bitter Snape didn't recognize, and was glad not to. Still, he had had that last drop, and was rather eager for more. There were quite a few men in the gang, far more than he had guessed. Enough to enjoy as well as practice and build his shields. He was making up for about ten years worth of missed meals after all. Damn being a 'good person' for now, he had an excuse and a reason and he was damn well going to use it until it wore out like his sanity surely was.

He dropped the body unceremoniously. He reached for the door and paused, looking back at the glassy eyes in the slack face. He sneered. No, the faces of these men would not be ones that haunted him in the late hours. They were absolute scum. They deserved what they were about to get, and more. This man's passing had been relatively peaceful, all things said.

He grabbed the corpse's foot and unlocked the door. It slammed open as he threw the body into it. The corpse skidded across the floor in a mess of limbs, rolling to a halt against the opposite wall as he left the room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the long hall. He recast the disillusionment charm that had dropped from lack of concentration and smirked as the voices in the warehouse stopped. Snape headed towards the main doors, standing to the side and moments later they opened and the man who had driven the car that led him here stepped through.

"Fuck. Shit. Guys! Simon's dead!" He yelled as he rushed forward. A cacophony of disbelieving expletives sounded behind the man, muffled as the doors closed. They swung back and forth, and as another man walked through Snape slipped through beside him. He stood to the side as a line of men dutifully shuffled toward the scene. They all wore the jackets with that same furry mammal, a muskrat, he sneered. It was easy to remove evidence of their allegiance, but they seemed to have no desire to.

He waited as the men walked by him, crowding into the hall. Finally there was one left, quickly following the one before him. He cast a wordless silencio on him and sheathed his wand before leaping into action.

He grabbed the man from behind, hand covering his mouth and pressing down, the other hitting him in the back forcing him to expel air so he had none to scream with, just in case. He pulled him aside and around behind some shelving units filled with bags and boxes of things he was sure muggles would find very interesting. A quick incarcerous bound him nicely.

The man's mouth moved frantically. Pleas, curses, explanations. All silent. Snape removed his hand confident his spell had worked. He didn't care to know what the words were. To know meant to empathize, and he didn't want to empathize, he wanted to eat. He didn't care, he didn't.

The man's frantic eyes looked at him and Snape cursed as he recognized the word children coming from his silent mouth. He grabbed his wand and cast a legilimens. His fears were soon allayed. The horse faced man had a sister with children, he provided for them, needlessly and out of guilt. The sister obviously hated him and wanted nothing to do with her 'drug lord' of a brother, even if it meant a bit of padding between paychecks.

He sheathed his wand and with his hand now free and his guilt dashed to pieces he bit down. Walnuts and cigarettes, the memory of a motorbike on an open road. The man struggled, hitting him slightly with the little movement the ropes around his arms afforded. It might as well have been a massage, and a Swedish one at that as the man's movements slowed. Soon there was another corpse to add. By that time a few of the men had returned, muttering amongst themselves. He wondered how long it would take for them to realize another of their number was missing. He dropped the body and moved silently through the aisles of metal shelves, listening.

The word vampire reached his ears, but it was quickly followed by sounds of derision. He recast the disillusionment once again, it always fell when he fed. This time he stood by the exit to the outside world as he watched the men return from the hallway. A silent colloportus on the door behind him had the lock click into place quietly, and as soon as the last man was through the other door he repeated the action.

It didn't take long for them to find the second body. The scent of fear filled the air again. Heady, strong, tempting. He'd have one more and then work on his occlumency. He took a deep breath, he hadn't smelled fear like this in a long time. It was the fear of the unknown, of death, of him. His students often feared him, true, but it was completely different. This was true fear. Maybe two more. Maybe three. There were enough after all, milling about like sheep.

He stood back and waited while the frantic men looked at the new body. A few had their guns out. That could pose a problem. Not a terrible one, but still. He counted how many were left. Twenty Two. What would he do with them?

Eat them, of course. He frowned at the thought. That had come rather unbidden. The scent of fear was overwhelming. The red mist seemed to be very…prevalent suddenly. Fear meant food, meant hunting, meant blood and slowing hearts. He smelled it, stronger than any of their scents. The sounds of fearful shouts made his gut ache for more.

No. He was here to practice occlumency while he fed. He stepped forward and waited for another to foolishly separate themselves from the group. They did, not five minutes later. The young man he had followed here walked over to look behind the shelves for an intruder, gun held up in front.

Snape waited till he entered a row of shelves at least three away from the main group and then stalked behind him, a silent invisible killer. A wave of his wand vanished the gun and grabbed the suddenly empty hands. Before the man could shout out he had bit down.

He thought on the worst things he could do to the man, the pain he could inflict, the months of meals if he kept him locked away. The red mist roiled at that thought. He ignored it, telling himself there was always more food elsewhere. And easy food waiting at Hogwarts. He started to concentrate on his barriers, but the red mist wasn't finished.

The red thoughts countered that that wasn't as fun. There was no hunt, no chase, no fading hearts.

He returned that there wasn't as much magic in this blood either.

But he could hunt wizards elsewhere.

That drew notice and was risky. And killing needlessly was not who he was.

What was he doing now?

Removing filth. And enjoying it.

There was no counter thought.

The man whimpered and he drank the taste of mushrooms sautéed in olive oil and the smell of gasoline faster, one hand over their mouth and the other grasping both the man's hands painfully. Snape took a moment to relish the fading heartbeat and then the empty husk hit the floor. He moved and faded into the shadows again, the disillusionment recast quickly.

Conversations with the red mist. He snorted. Perhaps the therapy wizard was the way to go.

He watched as the men milled about, quickly becoming aware that another member was missing. They were walking around in pairs now. Soon they found the body. They argued, exclaimed, guns were pointed, one tried to leave. Panic set in as they realized the doors were locked. The fear scent was even stronger now. It smelled heavenly, like purpose.

Snape raised a brow at the dismissive nature with which some approached the door problem. One brought out a tool kit and started to take apart the doors from the hinges.

Well, yes. That was one way to get around that problem.

He shot a heating charm on the hinges and cries of pain echoed. Exclamations of ghosts and hauntings were given an eye roll from him and numerous other gang members. The men regrouped and set up a search pattern to cover the warehouse. A few took the time to drag the bodies to the center. Mentions of vampires rise as the men pointed at the neck wounds, they were again dismissed. After fifteen minutes of arguing a search pattern was agreed upon and set to work. Snape followed the group of three, sure that one would fall behind.

He followed them for five minutes, then when it became apparent that they would not separate, cast a tripping jinx and smirked as the other two went to help the fallen man up and he refused, telling them to keep going. Pride was dangerous when it made one stupid. He was quite familiar with this fact.

The man was pulled into a corner and behind some boxes, and dropped two minutes later with nary a thought from the red mist. Snape checked his shields, they seemed to be… better. He went over his exercises and was pleased when he felt the cracks shrink. He once again got to the malleable aspects of himself and paused. This was where he floundered last time.

He was Severus Snape. Potions Professor at Hogwarts and Ex Death Eater Spy for Order of the Phoenix. He was a Death Eater, and he was not. He was a spy for the Dark Lord, and he was not. He was a bat, and he was not. He was 400 and he was not. He-

"There!"

There was a bang and blinding pain sliced through his arm and he turned and snarled. The man blanched at his visage, and fired again, this time hitting his neck. Snape cast protego duo and backed against the wall. He had thought he could rest here for a few minutes, this alcove made of flimsy boxes had not been part of the search routes they had discussed.

He had been mistaken.

He was quickly confronted with 20 men, mortal muggles brandishing guns. He held his shield spell up as they fired, the loud noises causing him to wince. The guns seemed quieter than the few he'd encountered, but were still loud to his ears. The bullets clattered to the ground and he could make out exclamations of confusion and horror between the bangs. The smell of fear grew, overwhelming in its intensity. There was food nearby. He pushed the thought aside and put more effort into his shield spell.

The men were still shooting, and Snape sighed. They would run out of their ammunition eventually. The bullets kept coming and he fought the urge to yawn. However when he saw one of them take out something and put it into their gun and start shooting again he frowned. This could take quite a while indeed.

He looked at the men, wide eyed and fearful. They were confused and scared at being confronted with an unknown enemy, therefore they immediately fell back to a violent reaction. Fight or flight. A basic reaction for anything with a brain that could make choices. Well, some of his students might prove otherwise. He looked at the man at the end of the line. He could try enthralling him, convince him to shoot at his fellows, it would sow enough chaos for him to do something else. But what? He couldn't leave now that they had seen him, he'd have to either obliviate or kill them all.

A small voice in the back of his head whispered red words of correction. He wouldn't kill them all, he'd eat them all. He snorted. That was a given. Merlin, that smell was making him hungry. He looked at the man on the right again, shaggy haired and shaking he had noticed he was being observed. He had tuned out their words from the beginning of the altercation, but listened in now.

"Guys, it's looking at me!"

"I can see that John. Why?"

"Why what? I don't fucking know!"

"You didn't help it in here?"

"Bloody hell no!"

Snape smirked. "Of course you did."

The man paled at his words and looked at his compatriots stuttering at their narrowed eyes. This was all too easy.

"I-I-I didn't!" John's words shaking as much as his gun.

"Shoot them."

Severus doubted it would work but much to his surprise the man turned his gun on his allies. Immediately half of them turned their own weapons on him and John only had time to shoot once before he was peppered with bullets. Snape took that opportunity to throw a wave of fire at the men. They screamed even though the blast only singed them. He vanished 4 guns while they panicked and waved his wand to close very old shutters and block out the sun. They screeched as they closed and many men looked up, startled. He took advantage of that and the ones wincing from the fire to cast a quick carpe retractum, pulling the limp body of John towards him. The man was near dead, but his heart still beat.

Snape held the body in front of him and bit down on the man's wrist, letting him absorb the bullets that once again started flying. It wasn't long before John was empty and Snape looked around for his next meal. He ignored the confused cries and exclamations and focused on the leftmost man who still had a gun. Another carpe retractum and the man had replaced John and was under his teeth as well.

He died far too quickly, too much of his blood spilt on the floor. He did not like that. He breathed in. He couldn't smell anything but fear now. Prey was nearby. He knew that. It was his. He had trapped it… them here.

Snape shook his head. He couldn't think with all this fear, all this noise. Everything was so loud. There were new guns, louder ones, shooting at him now. They sounded like a drum tattoo as they spat metal. He was vaguely aware that he had started to be hit by some, his mortal shield being torn to shreds.

One hit a bone in his calf and he bit back a yell. He didn't want to pull another body, such a waste of blood. Such a waste of fear. It smelled so good, like dinner.

Why was it so hard to think suddenly? He took deep breaths, trying to focus. The scent of fear hit him, filled him. The panicked voices that the sound of muggle machinery intermittently covered. But he could hear them, smell them. The whimpers, he had caused them. The smell. His. All his doing. He shook his head. It was so hard to think.

Another bullet hit him, his arm this time and he snarled, and went to cast Protego once more.

A bullet hit his neck as the shield went up, and another his head, through his right eye. The world turned red, red flowers of sand and words wooden in tone, pain blossomed in his skull. Sight, gone, metal piercing. His shields fell. All of them.

Screams, delicious fear. Paint it with crimson wands across hungry fingers falling in sweet steps toward darkness. Warmth, feet flying, warm metal was paper, easily torn from hands that treated it as an idol.

Life. Stolen. His. He could hear them. Meals. His. Fear. His. Screams. His. His. His… All his.

His eyes opened, and he blinked. His head pounded, throbbed painfully. His hands gripped struggling flesh and his mouth drank warmth.

Snape shook his head and continued drinking. His head had been injured again. He felt a bullet glance across his shoulder but ignored it. He healed quite fast, but he had just come to, the heart that beat in his throat from the life he stole was fading quickly. All his injuries were gone in fact. How much had he eaten?

He hurried his meal along toward oblivion with quick swallows and dropped it when he was done. Another shot was fired and he looked down. A man, frantic and blubbering was crawling away on the ground. One arm pulling him and the other holding the shaking weapon. It clicked repeatedly, the sound taunting the man and bringing a smirk to Snape's lips. Snape vanished it with a wave and a word, glad to see he had managed to keep his grip on his wand, that was muscle memory at this point.

He looked around. The smell of fear was as heavy as the smell of blood and sweat now. Bodies littered the floor, all pale and empty. He listened, there were three heartbeats left. Just three out of the 18 that had been left.

He looked down at his clothes. Tattered and full of bullet holes. He rubbed his hand across his head. It came back red, his blood from the smell. He scowled and marched toward the blubbering man as he sheathed his wand. He scrabbled against the floor in an attempt to move away but he was easily lifted up and his neck bared.

"Nonononono-"

He was ignored. And soon he was dead, his vanilla taste lingering only briefly as Snape swallowed that last heartbeat. He looked around for the other two. One was slamming his fists against the door in desperation, quickly dispatched in rivers of blood pudding and roasted carrots. The last one was hiding very well under bags of sawdust, but his heartbeat and heavy breaths made him easy to find. There was no way to obliviate this and leave the man sane, not searching for answers. Not looking for lost friends. And just killing him was such a waste, he hated waste. As he dropped the last body he sighed. The fear scent was still there, but its fading presence meant something different now. A successful hunt.

He felt sated, he knew what that felt like. The only thing left was that slight tug telling him to eat, as if it was dinner time in a few hours and he'd skipped lunch. He ignored it and cast mending and cleaning spells on himself as he looked around. Finally surrounded by silence he took the time to think.

What the hell had happened? He understood that a head wound did strange things to the mind, but the thoughts this time had seemed a bit too organized. Too red. Had he just… lost control and eaten until he'd come to his senses? What had caused that? It had been so hard to think with that smell of fear and-

He cursed. Of course. The smell of fear and the sound of screams. If the woman's moans had been a trigger of course the smell of fear and the sound of screams would be even worse. Dammit. Dammit. He had been so engrossed in the heady smell and the strategy of hunting that he hadn't even thought of that.

Dammit!

He'd come so far! Not just with his shields but with with… distancing himself from this half of him! From the part that might as well still be a damn Death Eater! Ridding the world of these men slowly and methodically was one thing, making sure the world was safer for their absence, even if it was an excuse, was one thing! But this wanton murder and gluttony! No. That was what they did!

What he wanted to do.

He pushed the red thought away.

"Dammit!"

His yell was accompanied by his fist slamming into a nearby shelf and it crumpled, the metal buckling. Unsatisfied he withdrew his wand and slashed it through the air, sending the metal shelf and its contents flying into another, both tumbling to the ground in a cacophony that did nothing to quell his self loathing and rage.

"Dammit!"

He had failed. Horribly. The blood that sat in his stomach and veins felt heavy and sour. More ill gained than normal.

"DAMMIT!"

The shelf nearby flew through the air and crashed into another as he slashed his wand through the air and let his anger dictate what happened more than any spell. How could he hope to regain control if he was at war with this damn red mist? If locking it away meant that any accident or scent of fear could mean catastrophe? He was a fucking vampire, could he even seperate that part of himself from….

Himself.

He sagged, shoulders hunched and sighed. He felt his mental shields. They were of course just as bad as when he had come here, any progress made had been lost. In fact, they were worse. Almost gone.

He sighed once more. Perhaps it was time to build them up from scratch again. Should he just drop them? His stomach churned at the thought. He wasn't even sure he could. Half of his shields were just the mental exercises he did that kept his emotions in check, kept that surface false mind up for show. He looked around. He could almost imagine each body in black robes. Some with green ties, others with yellow, blue or red. He cringed. He could not return. Control. He had to regain control.

He cast a quick tempus. Seven PM. He had been here for hours. He apparated outside and looked at the building. It looked completely normal from here, a secret graveyard. A monument to his failure, hiding it from the world while taunting him. He raised his wand.

Demonic flames sprouted from its tip, the heads screaming in roaring hunger born of hell and fire. He directed the maws toward the building, and they devoured it as voraciously as he had devoured its inhabitants. He stopped the spell and watched as the fiends chewed and gnawed and destroyed the building, slowly fading into normal flames over the next hour.

He watched the fire, pondering their similarity. They would both eat, if given the chance, until nothing remained. The difference was he had control, and supposedly, morals and choices. At least, he thought he had those. He wasn't so sure now. How could one have morals when they seemingly weren't allowed to follow them? Either by his job or his affliction he was cursed to do things he thought, knew, were wrong.

Fire, fire had no compunctions about what it ate. He stared at the flames and briefly wished he were so lucky. He thought of Mr. Lee and discarded the thought. He refused to be like that monster. If he had no control, no choices, no morals, he'd damn well go get them again.

Tonight too.

But for now, he stared at the flames as they erased his faults, everything but stone and metal would be ash in there. Like he would be someday. So he stood and stared at his future release and present failures, and when he heard sirens, he apparated away.