g to sense the boy… Potter… through his blood after having another sip from the vial. He had no such luck besides a slight tug in one direction that faded quickly. Nothing else. It annoyed him. He was out of practice on many fronts, slipping in others, and plain inexperienced in some.

So, tonight, there would be no distractions. Tonight he was going to test his willpower and skills. Tonight he was going to hunt with the intent to eat for the first time in over 8 years. For the first time on his own, ever. Most importantly, he was going to attempt to leave his meals alive, though he had 'no reason' to.

With his colleagues and students there were ample reasons not to kill. It would cause distrust in his workplace. It would be bad for his career as a spy. It would be harder to find meals in the future. It would change people's opinion of him which would mean adjustments in his lifestyle. He also didn't want to kill them, being tolerant of his colleagues, fond of some, and not supportive of killing students in most situations.

However, feelings and emotions were irrelevant in this case. The fact that he himself did not particularly care for wanton murder, especially of children, was irrelevant. Remorse was irrelevant. All those were easily twisted or even completely thrown away by the red mist. Hard facts, ones that were hard to manipulate or even made a case for future hunts being more difficult, those were needed to maintain control here. Emotional and moral reasons could come to the fore once he built up his shields again. His sense of self had to be strong so he could build that false layer and make a shield.

These people, these unknowns, it would be quite easy for them to vanish into the night with no one the wiser. He would of course eventually head to a town a bit farther away so if acquaintances happened to, for some unknown reason, find out, it wouldn't be connected with him. He needed as few reasons as possible to leave these people alive. If there was a single fact to bolster his willpower, he could use it to build up Occlumency shields.

He needed to be at his weakest so he could build up his willpower and Occlumency based around literally nothing besides himself. Anything else could be picked apart by the red mist. There had to be no weak points. Morals could be twisted, emotions were a weakness already. He had to start with nothing.

The worst that would happen is he would shrink and pocket a few bodies tonight. He did not like that thought, well the red mist did, but he did not. His body count never sat well with him in the late hours. He did not enjoy killing, well part of him did, but he did not. He had to believe that, he had to nail that down as Fact to live with himself from day to day. He was quite sure that if he was human he would have 'grown out of' that phase, grown sick of the killing. He had started to, before he was turned; however he had seen no way out that ended in something besides a very painful death that prevented him from protecting those he cared for; which at the time consisted of Lily.

He had received it anyway, that painful death, and survived. …Mostly.

He smirked as he trudged under the lamplight that was not yet cutting through the night, but mingling with the red of a painted sky. He was kidding himself. All of him had survived that ordeal, but the part of him that told him darkness was safe had been twisted, engorged, made rabid. It whispered to him. Loudly when he was first turned, then quietly in the late hours at Hogwarts, and more recently, urgently in the back of his skull. If the red mist had a will of its own he'd say it was angry at being put in a small mental box and swept under the rug for years, besides being let out for the occasional late night fantasy. Even then it was tightly chained. These days, the chain had grown weak from rust caused by that Damned Fucking Potion. Not to mention emotions and hunger being pent up for over 10 years.

Snape swallowed, calming himself with a few breaths and thoughts of the truths his shields were based on. His anger was always the hardest emotion for him to control, fortunately it was also one that wasn't contrary to any of his personas or jobs. It was propitious, for his anger was a vital part of him; a tool, a shield as much as his Occlumency was.

He could use it to cover up his unwillingness to torture the undeserving, his regrets, his remorse. Even his longing and what remained of his ability to love were easily pushed aside by his vindictive anger. So that emotion was allowed to come through his shields more than others. Although the rest of his emotions seemed to, recently, be as angry as the red mist at being locked away. They had gained a bad habit of sneaking out alongside his infuriating vampiric proclivities… Despite the fact that the mist and his more benign emotions were often at odds.

These emotions might be helpful in curtailing the mist, if it weren't for the fact that actually showing or acting on such emotions would most definitely garner attention after all these years. Thinking on memories and emotions, detached and clinical, was one thing, acting on them was another.

Whether they were ones of Lily, murdering muggles in a back alley, or trying not to throw up while pretending to enjoy torture, it didn't matter. Control, discipline, at all times. Some emotions would betray the truth of his allegiances, others could cause him to betray the allegiances themselves. He almost had in these past months.

So, tonight was for letting that red mist out, for him to listen to the whispers and see what they said. For instance, now they were saying that if he hopped too and from enough towns, far enough apart, it could be far more than dinner tonight. A feast. His pockets near leaden with meaty paper weights.

Yes. These were the thoughts causing those damn chinks in his shields, caused by them. A vicious cycle. The red mist, his darker vampiric tendencies, caused such thoughts. Such thoughts strengthened that side of him, making the cracks grow, meaning more thoughts, red mist, and other unwanted emotions, escaped.

He had a tendency toward the dark already, he needed no more reasons to sink further. He needed reasons to stay here, ones that he could think on without hinting at his true motives. He had no right to call on pure tools though. There may be reasons for his actions, but to call on righteousness, the triumph of good over evil? These were not his to rely on. Redemption might ring true, but it felt wrong to call such a goal his own, despite his wants. He had no right. He could quote it to Minerva or Dumbledore, but it was not his. No matter how much he wanted it.

No. Remorse. Revenge. Rage. Those were his. These grey words were his impetus. He would never be redeemed. That was impossible for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was his condition. He had done far too much wrong for his own betterment, safety, and amusement before he came to his senses. Far too much wrong to talk of some selfish goal of false redemption that would allow him to walk into the light, even without his affliction. So, he toed the grey line, always at the risk of tripping over the edge into darkness.

Tonight he might very well do so.

Better here, killed by aurors for his failure, than in the school. For that would surely be what happened if he failed this exercise of self control. He could not allow that to happen.

He stalked down the sidewalk. The houses in this industrial town were all identical. Everything was soot grey, it suited him. Made him feel welcome. Yes, this place was nothing. One person missing here, if he failed, would be acceptable. This was an overlooked town, nothing happened here. One disappearance wouldn't raise a head, more than that would. He'd need to choose carefully who he was going to risk… killing. The thought felt heavy, sunk like a stone in his stomach while the mist urged him on.

He got a few glances from some young couples taking a stroll. He checked his attire. No, it wasn't that, it was decidedly muggle. Black pants, black shoes, a grey dress shirt, and a black coat. No, distinctly disgustingly muggle. Except of course his long hair. Most respectable men didn't wear their hair long in the muggle world. Perhaps it was that mixed with his respectable attire. Or his posture. Or his scowl. Or his gait.

He slowed his pace. He was not in a hurry tonight. He took a breath and focused. Who was here in this maze of back streets? Alone preferably. He had been meandering in thought for at least a half an hour or so, and it was now near dark. Who was out? There was one heartbeat nearby, alone, slow. He turned a corner and made his way toward it, toward the newer part of town that didn't look quite so uniform. The smell from the woman was strong, cigarettes and makeup nearly covered up her natural scent of spice and oranges. He turned another corner.

He was on the main street. He didn't like that, but it's where the woman was, and she wasn't moving. Leaning against the street lamp. Shit. A lady of the night. A prostitute, and she had seen him.

"Ello. Lonely this ev'nin?"

She had shoulder length black hair with grey eyes looking at him from a round face. Her chest was very openly displayed. Most of her was very openly displayed. There was nothing left to the imagination as tight leather stretched over her hips and a shiny clinging red fabric barely contained her breasts. Her boots went up to above the knee with numerous buckles that shone in the light of the outdated lamp she stood under. It wasn't what he usually liked, but she had a heartbeat, which was very much his type this evening.

He weighed pros and cons as he walked towards her down the block.

Cons. If he did not ask for something sexual she would grow suspicious. Perhaps enough to break out of a thrall. He could obliviate her after the fact but it did not help in the now. An imperio would work, but the fewer unforgivables recorded on his wand the better. So, he would need to do something resembling sexual besides 'kissing her neck'... which meant he might kill her if it went too far. Control during an orgasm was difficult, especially if he was eating. It was the excuse he gave the Dark Lord; to avoid joining in the 'festivities', not wishing to end his 'comrades' fun prematurely. He sometimes wondered if he should 'join', to end their pain; just pretend to engage and quickly kill them instead. There was no good option there. He was trying to avoid death tonight though. Which brought him to…

Pros. If he did mess up, most likely few people in a position to do anything about it would care. Especially since open solicitation in one area was illegal. Looking at her, considering how comfortable the woman looked here this was obviously a frequent spot of hers. He vaguely recalled his father complaining about the legality of it, he couldn't remember if he was in favor or against though. Anyway, if she did end up a cold corpse in his pocket, it would be no problem as long as no evidence of his actions remained. This would also be a very good test of his skills, he had hoped to work up to this, but it could be a valuable comparison for the rest of the night. That is, if he didn't manage to take a meal before they started.

Decided, he stopped in front of the woman and raised a brow.

"If you have an adequate location I might be… persuaded."

"Well aren't you all proper. Sure, back alley or room? Room is extra 'less we go to your place."

"And the cost for the former?"

"Two hundred fifty pound for somethin' quick."

Merlin, he hated this culture. It was, however, going to get him a meal, so he nodded and followed the woman down a side street. The meager center of town that Spinner's End sported had one main street of shops with a few eateries, an antique store, pharmacy, and general store. He wondered briefly if Clara's restaurant was on the street as he followed the woman under an overhang and around a dumpster.

What an utterly disgusting place to have sexual relations of any kind. He was surprised when he was led further past it and around to a door barely illuminated by a very old almost faded bulb.

"And we are sure the residents are absent?" He asked. It wouldn't do to be caught doing any of the things that might happen.

"One hundred percent." Said the woman as she backed him against the wall. He almost gasped as she roughly grabbed his groin. "Not excited yet, are we?" She mused at feeling his currently disinterested member.

He sneered his response. "It takes a tad more than a pretty face and some bare skin to pique my interest. You want your money? Work for it."

"Well aren't you a fun one?" She grinned and spit out some gum on the ground nearby. Mint, from its smell, no it was too strong for that. It was gum that had bits of a crushed mint in it. An odd choice, but everyone had their own quirks he supposed.

Snape was about to reach forward and start enthralling her when she squatted down. The woman was fast, very fast for a human. She was certainly adept with her fingers by how quickly she had his pants open in the front and how suddenly he felt cold air on a spot that hadn't seen the night sky since before he'd died.

(Explicit scene available on AO3)

The next hour was a blur of lust and blood. The red mist descended, clouding his senses as much as the lust. He hadn't meant to, he tried so very hard, but but…. It'd been so long, it felt so good. And he… was a monster, surely this was what he was meant to do, all he was good for? Stealing joy and warmth and life and blood. She writhed beneath him, so alive and tasting of oranges and wine. He was so hungry for everything she was offering. And he was a monster.

His ability to occlude left him, his mantras relating who he was failed. Movement and heat, the sounds she made were enticing, and awakened something, called something. Red mist roiling…And…

He was a monster. And he was doing what monsters like him did, falsified sensations until prey willingly fell into his arms and down his throat. He was surely a monster for doing this, he'd done it to his… allies even. To…

From the depths of heaven, or hell, a familiar voice came with a question.

"What would Lily think, Severus?"

He recoiled at the memory of Minerva, flagging and brought back to himself as the reality of who he was, what he'd done, why he was here and all his failures, crashed around down him. He needed control, and he Would have it. But he needed quiet, that, her voice, had to be a trigger.

He forayed on with this realization; he made new mantras, he bid her be quiet, he removed his teeth, telling himself he was satisfied with what he'd taken. But… release evaded him. She had found hers, and his still refused to come. Still, he refused to risk her life by having his teeth on her when he did. Even if it would… maybe just a taste.…no. No. He had to just…

She bit him. And pain, as usual, was his salvation. Release, and she was … alive.

He felt limp and weak, relaxed like he hadn't felt in years. Aftershocks of white hot pleasure shot through him, and they continued after he extricated himself and fell down beside her, breathing heavy false breaths, fingers twitching every so slightly. There was silence except for her heart and the movement of exhausted satisfied muscles pushing air around. He closed his eyes and breathed, feeling the life moving in him, filling him. Warmth. The memory of a summer storm and citrus. The warm living creature next to him, her deep breaths a small reminder of the tumultuous storm that lived in her blood, and would briefly live in his.

He smirked in the darkness. He had succeeded. The woman beside him was alive. His smirk faded quickly, he hadn't succeeded through his own occlumency skills alone though, he'd been pushed by a memory. He had, however, controlled the situation and found out a trigger. Sound. Sound was a big trigger it seemed, at least in this situation.

He would need to find out if it was the same in less sexual situations as well. His body cried out for more. He'd satisfy those urges tonight, as much as he was able. He'd hunt, eat, stalk, and drink his way through the suburbs until he could rely on the strength of his occlumency again. The fact that he was going to enjoy it, was besides the point. He had already begun to. He had no desire to turn back now.

"Wow. That… That was intense. Been a while for you?"

The woman's voice brought him out of his reverie. He ignored her and in the dark rolled over on his side so his actions were hidden even more. He grabbed his wand and vanished the condom. It could complicate matters if she saw that it was filled with blood instead of what was normally there. He then stood up and situated himself, buttoning up his trousers and then magicking his socks and shoes on before sheathing his wand in the dark.

"You could say that. I am paying the remainder of your fee in gold, I'm sure that is not a problem." He said, putting 50 galleons on the dresser.

"Wait. I… I don't normally ask this-"

"Then you should probably continue that practice. And tell no one about me." The command lay in the air and he watched her nod her assent.

"But…will I see you again?"

Godsdamnit. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. Muggles were so much more susceptible to vampiric blood, of course she'd want more, want him again by proxy. However, oranges and spice and wine… that's the flavor he'd wanted. He let his eyes wander up and down the woman before him, tired and tangled in sheets, covered in sweat and teeth marks. This had been a pleasurable encounter. And she was alive. If he could manage to control himself, rebuild his shields, perhaps this could be a reward.

He let his wand fall into his hand and flicked it. Her wounds healed slightly, not too much as to be odd though. He then twisted his wrist so the wand jumped back into the holster. Opening the door so his face was visible he nodded to her.

"You indeed may. I had a surprisingly enjoyable evening."