On a Hot Summer Night

[AN]Suggestions for after her story would be cool.[/AN]

They were all beautiful. Furnished with the same old Medieval style that the entire castle was it, Severus seemed to have added a few touches of his own. The room upon entry was a living room that was covered wall to wall with bookcases, floor to ceiling. Each one full with books, many of them Hermione recognized as she owned them as well. Some of them were rare items that would have cost life savings to buy. In the center of the room were comfortable lounge chairs and couches, including one leather recliner that was faced towards the fireplace. It seemed that Severus used that chair the most often, since an imprint was firmly established in it. There was a door to the far side, which Hermione could only assume led to the bed and bath rooms.

"This is...something. Impressive. But, not out of character for you."

"And you would know my character how?"

Severus eyed her funny. Sure she had seen into his mind when he turned her. But that didn't mean she understood him. He wasn't in the mood for know-it-all Granger. He conjured another recliner next to other. He sat in his chair, and motioned for her to sit in the newly conjured one.

"Which one do you want first. My or your story?"

He was sick of playing games. Time to get down to business. Sure, he needed to treat her better than he did when she was his student. But that didn't mean he still couldn't be his old self.

"Yours. Then I'll tell you my experience, and you'll counter that."

Logical. Severus sighed and relaxed in the chair, using his wand to bring the decanter of blood from the mantle of the fireplace to the floor between them. Conjuring two wine glasses, he took one and filled it with the blood. It came from one of the Death Eaters long dead. Still fresh however from being kept in a frozen storage system. It would keep warm for now by being so close to the fire. He would let Hermione drink at her need.

"I was already teaching Potions here, at Hogwarts. In fact, I started when the year after you were born. Strange isn't it. Teaching for four years already. I was also, a member of the Death Eaters. Horrible, I know. Dumbledore offered me the job at my allegiance to him, and to be a spy. It was a Death Eater meeting. I had become great at being a spy. Not the best yet though.

"My Occlumency skills weren't as they are now. And they only are what they are today because I am a vampire. Never mind that. I was at a meeting, and Voldemort was interrogating me on something or the other. Working as a spy on both ends was hard at times, especially in those early years. Voldemort wanted me to update him on Dumbledore and the school. I slipped up. I mentioned a conversation that Dumbledore and I had in private, in which I learned that the Order was meeting on a certain day.

"Now, I should not have know this information. It would imply that Dumbledore, or one of the Order, had specifically told me something. Which meant that they trusted me. As of this time, I was not allowed to go to any Order meetings by Dumbledore's request. He said that it would present problems. Well, it sure as hell did.

"Voldemort was a great Legilimens. Greater than a vampire. Which is something. One of his followers at the time was such a creature. He was dying however. And Voldemort wanted a replacement. And he wanted it to be a punishment. For someone deserving. He summoned the follower and ordered him to turn me.

"I went easy on you. Trust me, I did. This vampire did it the old-fashioned way. First, he drained my of almost all of my blood. I was near death. Then he bit into his wrist and made me suck as much of that tainted blood as I could. And being in such an easily persuaded state, I did. It was like ambrosia for the gods. The source of my life was contained in those drops. When I had just had enough to make me a vampire, he pulled his wrist away and preceded to puncture the wounds on my neck again to drain me to death. He did this at least a dozen times. I lost count after a while. It is said that this method of turning made the new vampire stronger. And the old vampire weaker. Voldemort did this on purpose. For me, it was hell. For the other vampire, it was worse.

"At the end of this ritual, I was filled with hatred and anger. Towards everything. Voldemort killed the older vampire with flames, and gave me one of his weak Death Eaters to feast on. I drained that Death Eater like I had never known life. With no regard for it. I forgot myself. My purpose as Dumbledore's spy. I was a monster.

"Voldemort let me go back to Hogwarts. After all, I had classes the next day. But I had returned later than usual, and Dumbledore was there to meet me, to make sure I was alright. When he saw me, he knew it was too late. We formulated a plan in which I would act as if nothing had changed, and I would age slowly and normally. We had to also invent many charms to keep me alive in the day. Vampires by nature are nocturnal creatures, so we had to make sure that my blood was spiked with caffeine to keep me awake. After a while I just got used to it. And the sun-repelling spells which never existed before, came into existence because of me. I still prefer the night. I always will. But I have been living a lie my whole vampiric life. Not just a lie. But something besides my true self. And I've been keeping this facade up even after I killed Dumbledore. I figured I'll just wait until most everyone dies, but then I keep getting more and more students. And they will remember an aging Snape. So it's useless. I might as well reduce my fate to the oldest 'wizard' ever."

Hermione listened attentively. This was a story that she had wanted to hear for years. At least since she found out Severus was a vampire in her 7th year. She nursed her glass of blood through the retelling of the story, and she found herself almost incapable of drinking it, since she was so enthralled. And it wasn't just the velvet smooth voice of Severus. Or his misplaced looks. It was the sadness of the story. Once he was done, she could see that he wanted no pity from her. But she was sure that he would pity her; hypocrite she thought. Clearing her throat to take the floor she stated simply:

"My turn."