Dracula Moon

A/N: Based on the lyrics of Joan Osbourne’s Dracula Moon, I find this story to be disturbing, but moving. I hope you’ll find it somewhere near the same. I recommend listening to the song if you’ve never heard it. It’s a bit AU, but post war, only I suppose it’s the darker side of potential outcomes. Do enjoy, and leave reviews, please.


Thick smoke filled the establishment, the air so choked with the smell of cheap wine and cigarettes, mingled with sex and a number of foul body scents that one could hardly find a gulp of oxygen. The main stage was set in the parlor, passing the entrance and the velvet draped staircase, though whores littered the darkened corridor, and there was hardly a cushion unseated. He casually strolled through, knowing the place well, finding a scrap of cloth to seat himself upon in a darkened corner of the parlor.

The walls were peeling their scant red paint, mirror fragments strung up over holes that had come about through the years. Various men of the shadiest variety were seated throughout the room, not a single one unoccupied by the various women, if you could call them that. He did not pretend not to recognize them, the men, or the women, knowing each and everyone one by face, if not name. He leaned back, the armchair suited for his voyeuristic tastes.

“Good evening, Master Snape,” the deep voice of the madam floated to his ear as she approached, her deep purple robes fitted to her figure. “A drink?”

He waved his hand, a signal for the usual. There wasn’t a weekend that passed him by where he wasn’t seated in the parlor, watching, though the days often bled together, blurring the lines between work week and its end, and on more than one occasion he found himself in the seedy establishment all nights of the week. This seemed not to bother him in the least.

The world had changed, and no longer was it a struggle between two masters, fighting to serve both equally, striving to please all sides. He was a hallow man, filled with regrets that he drowned to the bottom of a bottle or the limit of a promiscuous woman. Light didn’t stand a chance in the world anymore. Potter hadn’t been strong enough and had fallen, leaving little hope for those opposed to darker forces. But it seemed ages ago to him as the glass of bourbon was placed in front of him.

“Enjoy your evening, Master Snape,” the madam said as she drifted away from him, back to the front of the establishment. She was a woman of ill repute at best, her age showing in the many lines of her skin. There wasn’t enough make-up in all the wizarding world to hide the horrors she’d lived through, though her figure was well kept. She was round, as madam’s of such establishments often are, no longer in a condition to work every night so she supervised those that were. His attentions did not linger long as one of the girls began to crawl his way.

He recognized each and every one of them, cringing inside that it had come to this for some of them. But his face was always passive, always void of emotion. There was little he could do to help what remained of the resistance, as most were so underground they were thought to have disappeared, and it was all he could do to stay in good graces with the Dark Lord, now that his services as a spy were no longer needed. On call at the revels, and biding his time in seedy back alleys, ending up in places like this; burying his fury and regret into woman and bottle alike, these were the ways in which Severus Snape passed his days.

Her hair was limp, gangly and black. He recognized her face, though what was left of the green in her eyes had all but faded away. The scar that ran down her throat, dipping into the line of her skimpy outfit was unappealing to say the least, but it proved she had been marked. An unmistakable trait of Lucius Malfoy, the daggered tipped cane he often used to draw blood and quench his carnal thirst. She was not unattractive, but even in his choosing of which whore to relieve himself in he preferred not to take Lucius’ sloppy seconds. She continued her slow path toward him, but he made no eye contact, glancing briefly down only to be sure that to toe of his boot pressed firm against her cheek and not into her eye.

The girl, collar around her neck, made a soft mewing sound, but Severus refused to meet her gaze. Again he pushed the toe of his boot to her cheek, a bit more force behind his nudge this time. The girls of the establishment knew well that he, aside from Lucius, was one of the wealthier patrons, though only the strong ones dared to take him on. His tastes, though far less bloody than that of the blonde wizard’s, were demanding and twisted. But Severus was in no mood for an ex Slytherin student. He was sure it was Parkinson, there was no doubt about that, but the golden tag dangling from her neck said “Muffy”. If a girl in the establishment did not drag in her share she was turned out to the street, where a far worse fate than being a whore to the top Death Eaters and sleazy scum of the world awaited her. Knowing that Severus was wealthy, many of the girls would proposition him, as much as they were allowed for they could not speak unless spoken to, hoping to need only him and perhaps one other client for the evening, rather than the standard seven or eight.

He’d refused the girl before, but tonight she seemed particularly stubborn. Perhaps she had been molested far harder than necessary by Lucius as of late, but whatever her reason for wanting him, he didn’t care. With a hand quick as lightening, he reached down and snatched a handful of her hair, yanking the girl’s torso up into his lap. “Careful, Muffy, or I shall take from you more than just a pound of flesh…” his tone sent a warning up her spine. With a gruff shove, he pushed her back to the ground. It wasn’t often that the madam lost one of her girls due to the unruly nature of the men, but every now and then it was inevitable. A Death Eater would come in stumbling blind from a revel, not having had his fill of blood, grab a girl and tear her to shreds before intervention could arrive. But it was only one girl every so often, and the loss was minimal to the business.

The music was growing louder and the lights dimmer, signaling the start of the evening’s main entertainment. The top girls were lined up near the front, rubbing themselves up and down poles, spinning over themselves in mid-air, rubbing their hands between their legs, pinching their nipples and arching their spines. He knew every one of them by name, both who they were before the fall of the-boy-who-didn’t-live-to-save-the-world, and now. He could see Bullstrode, or Pippy as they called her, arms wrapped around the legs of McNair, his cock buried deep in her throat as she tried not to gag with every shove of his hand. Many of them his ex students, but that relationship had long since been severed. Cho Chang, the exotic Asian LingLing, was strung up by her long black plait, chained back to a wall near where the corridor began and he could just see the stubby form of Peter Pettigrew thrusting himself forward into her as she tried to blink back her tears. Fifi, formerly known as Lavender Brown was leading a masked Death Eater up the stairs, limping on her right leg. Even Ginger, the only known living Weasley, kept herself alive by working in the establishment. She was crawling over another girl on the main stage, her swollen pink labia dripping as the other girl thrust a wand in and out of it. He knew all too well that these wands emitted little electrical sparks, forcing the girl to look as if she were a river of unstoppable flowing cum.

Dimmer grew the lights until finally all that was lit was the stage, barring a few floating candles near men being serviced. Ginger had made her way off the stage, trying to slink away, but the hand of Lucius Malfoy had jutted out and grabbed her by her red hair. Severus shut his eyes for just a moment, concentrating hard to hear what he hissed at her.

“I think, little Weasel,” the blonde wizard chuckled. “That it’s time you were groomed properly…” and yanking the girl by her hair, he rose to his feet and dragged her off toward the velvet draped staircase. The rooms upstairs were only rented out if there was extreme noise, blood, or carnage involved, most acts and services were paid and played in the parlor. He wanted to shudder, to pull out his wand and stop the girl from whatever cruel fate she was about to receive, but that part of him that would have otherwise acted accordingly was long since dead. Ginger bore no mark on her throat though he was certain that she would when Malfoy was finished with her.

It was the start of the music in a slow and racy beat that turned his eyes back to the main stage. And it took everything he had to keep his jaw from dropping. The rumors were true. He’d heard she’d fallen, though none had believed her to be dead, and they had been right. Her skin was pale, almost white as snow, a brown tangle of curls cascading down to cover her breasts, each rosy nipple poking out from beneath the curtain of hair. He could count each rib, her flesh pulled so taught across her stomach, and her bony pelvis so pronounced, she looked as if she hadn’t eaten in years. The hollows of her eyes made her look years older, but he knew better. She, like the other girls, wore a collar, only it was silver rather than gold. Severus knew all too well that it meant she was new, hadn’t earned her keep yet, and was thus free for taking. Although she’d have to be paid for services rendered, patrons could pay what they pleased for whatever they pleased until she was proved to be satisfactory.

Her hips gyrated in a motion that nearly made him dizzy, and her lips, swollen and nearly purple had his hand in his lap before he could stop himself. The girl arched herself backward over herself, forming a bridge with her body, displaying her cleanly shaven cunt. There were whistles and cat calls, which had Severus to his feet, moving swiftly through the haze, inhaling the scent of sex and cigars, sweat, blood, and liquor as he made his way to the madam. She stood, eyes fixed on the stage, watching her latest catch at work. “I want her.” His voice broke her gaze.

“She’s new, she won’t last against you,” the woman said. “Why not Felicia?” she said, motioning to an older girl, a former member of the Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries.

Severus narrowed his eyes at the madam. “I will have her.” And he turned his gaze back to the stage. “What is she called?”

The madam rose to her full height. It was unfortunate that the newest catch, who seemed so promising, so starved and thin, would be destroyed on her first night to one of her most loyal patrons. She had hoped to get two weeks worth of good work out of her before she turned the girl over to either Snape or Malfoy, but fate seemed to have other plans. “Lala.” The madam said.

Without so much as a nod, he strode back into the parlor, keeping along the wall, heading for the steps at the right side that led up to the stage. From midway through the parlor, he could see the men queuing around the base of the steps, waiting for the girl to finish her little display. No man would challenge him, save for Lucius, who was thankfully otherwise engaged. He pushed his way past the men gathered round and with one piercing look sent them all shuffling off in various directions. “Where are the bones on that one?” Avery sneered, kicking one of the girls in the ribs. “Too fleshy for my taste,” he hissed. “I wanted that pretty new thing on the stage…”

“You always were one for necrophilia, I’m sure Snape will be ‘appy to give you what’s left of ‘er, when he’s good’n finished…” another Death Eater said.

Unbeknownst to Severus, Avery, or any of the others, the dancing girl on stage had heard every word, and it made her tremble just the slightest bit. The music had wound down and other girls were now scaling up onto the stage, as Lala ushered her way to the stairs. She tried to keep her eyes as calm as possible, but could hardly keep them from going wide with shock when his hand darted forward and grabbed her round the thigh. His fingers curled easily around her leg, almost closing his fist completely over the top part of her thigh. She was mal nourished and it showed, but he seemed not to care. Two quick shifts had the girl falling to her knees and his fingers up inside of her tight, but very dry opening. Lala winced and Severus sneered.

He yanked the girl to her feet, tugging her by the hair and made haste, pushing through the throngs of unsavory things in the parlor until he reached the madam. Lala turned pleading eyes toward the woman clad in purple robes as Severus took from her a tiny brass key. “The usual room, Master Snape, should you require anything, you know where the bell is…”

Severus nodded, and dragged Lala behind him all the way up the stairs. If the smells were thick in the parlor they were unbearable as they ascended the stairs. He moved quickly, long strides forcing the girl to trip up the steps, hardly able to keep on her feet. There was no time wasted as he forced open the door to one of the rooms, shoved her inside, and then slammed the door. Locking it with the little brass key, he banished the key away with his wand and then turned to face the girl. “On the bed,” he hissed.

Lala scrambled to her feet, trembling like a leaf in a storm as she climbed onto the bed, perching precariously on the edge of it, waiting for him to force her down or for some magical binding spell to come shooting from his mouth. She desperately wished to close her eyes, but didn’t dare do so, however, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, and thus stared at the floor, waiting.

“You’re thin,” he said. His voice was flat, but it was enough to fill the room that was otherwise silent. For as frightened as she looked, the girl did not make a sound, even her breathing was controlled and he certainly couldn’t sense any signs of racing heartbeat or anything of the like. It was only the slight tremble in her lower lip, as if she were resisting the urge to bite on it. The comment hadn’t been made for his benefit and no doubt she knew it to be true, as Severus Snape was not often one to state the obvious, he was not quite sure what had provoked him to say it.

She was silent in response. At least she knew the rules before he started, though he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of training she’d underwent before being released into the parlor. The madam had given her advice if nothing else. With his eyes roaming over her body, practically peeling the scant garment from her skin, Severus Snape moved toward her. “What is your name?”

There was only a brief second’s hesitation, before her twitching lips parted in response. “Lala, sir.”

“Is that your only name?”

Another second’s pause. “Yes, sir.” Her large, doe-like eyes were only lifted slightly from the floor. It was improper for her to gaze straight into his eyes until he’d given her permission, but also thought rude to continue staring at the ground when being addressed. That second’s hesitation was enough to know that she had not completely let go of who she once was. That perhaps, even with just a flickered inkling of dying hope, she might still be salvageable. But he was not to be a knight in shining armor to come along and rescue her from her new lot in life. He couldn’t even offer protection from Malfoy, though he was hoping that she would appear far too thin for the other wizard’s tastes.

“Take your garments off. Lay flat on your back.” He ordered her. Hungry eyes took in each delicate movement, as if waiting for the simple strain of taking off her top to snap one of her arms in two. She would break easily under his ministrations, but that was of little consequence to him. A handful of years ago it would have bothered him, but there was almost a sick satisfaction in hearing bones snap while he was thrusting into something hot and tight. Now, nothing mattered. There was nothing left inside to feel, not even the feeling of being empty. Moving slowly toward the bed, he stopped just at the foot of it. “You will obey me,” he said, tone stern. “or the breath that you draw disobedience with will be your last.”

“Yes, sir.” She trembled only slightly as she spoke, her eyes falling closed for the briefest of moments.

It was enough. His hand flew back through the air and shot forward, clutching tightly around her throat. Lala’s eyes flew open wide, and met instantly with his. “Did I tell you to close your eyes?” He tightened his grip on her throat.

“No,” she choked out.

She’d faltered. Squeezing tighter, he felt her windpipe giving way beneath his palm, and watched as the little red capillaries began to appear in her eyes. Just as he was certain she was going to asphyxiate, he released his grip slightly, sliding his hand down her throat until his fingers clawed at the hollow. “No, what?”

“No, sir.” She choked out, tears flowing from her eyes. She was unable to stop them. He sneered, leaning over her once more, and then stood up, releasing her neck completely. Her hand twitched, as if she longed to soothe her palm over her strangled skin, but she didn’t dare make a move without his command. Stretched so taught was her skin that her stomach was almost transparent. It turned his stomach to think how hungry the girl must be, or at least it would have, had he not been thinking about how easy it would be to rip through that thin skin and into her luscious, warm insides. They were depraved thoughts at best. What little self control he maintained always toed the line of pure depravity.

“You had better piss those tears out now, you’re in for a long night, and if you give me so much as one more drop of saline on that hideously disgusting face of yours, I’ll tear it clean off your head.” He spat.

“Yes, sir.” She sniffled and shook her head slightly, blinking furiously to clear the tears from her eyes.

“Spread your legs, you filthy cunt,” he sneered. There was no use for niceties, he was going to ravish her, torture her until he felt too tired to continue, and she would break beneath him, physically, mentally, and eventually she would fall to insanity. A thought in the very back of his mind couldn’t help but wonder if she’d last longer than most girls. She’d been so strong and determined, so defiant in her previous life. Though she was hardly a shell of that girl lying on the bed quaking. Hermione Granger was long since gone from the body displayed before him.

Doing as she was told, Lala spread her legs, but laid completely still on her back, waiting for the worst. She dared not to think of anything, not that happy thoughts could have come to her even if she tried, but she knew all too well that the man before her, however much he didn’t recognize her, could read minds extremely well. Her eyes were glossy as she stared up at the ceiling, waiting.

Brutal hands yanked her hips to the edge of the bed, not caring that her legs dangled over, feet scraping against the hardwood floor. He’d undone the zipper of his trousers, and his weeping prick was pulsing, standing completely erect, jutting from the dark cloth. In one quick thrust he forced himself forward and she shrieked. It was a loud, shrill sound, almost piercing his ears. She was tight, tighter than any he’d felt, and the fact that she was dry made her channel that much hotter. Gripping her hips, his fingers felt each bone as it shifted beneath him, his thrusts long and hard, quickening with each stroke.

But there was something else. A tugging, and at first he was unsure that the sensation was even real, but a moment more and it was painful. Tiny bones had tangled themselves into hair and were yanking brutally, as brutally as an underfed pile of skin and bones could yank, at his scalp. Anger flashed in his eyes as he felt the little chit tugging at his hair. What was she playing at? One hand released her hips and came down hard across her cheek, sending her face reeling in the direction of the slap. He was sure Lucius heard it from down the hall.

Her hands fell away from his hair, as her body shuddered in agony beneath him. He grunted, not bothering to reprimand her further as he continued fucking into her dry cunt, the friction almost too hot for him to handle. It was almost painful, but at least he was feeling, though he doubted very much that he was feeling because of the girl’s dry sex scraping at his swollen prick. It did not take him long to feel the sting of release. Quickly pulling himself out, he held his cock steady with one hand, red and pulsing as it was, and came over the girl’s chest, neck, and face, making sure each long spurt flooded as much of her skin as possible. “Filthy mudblood,” he hissed as he finished. He allowed his eyes to fall closed for a moment. She had attempted to fight back. Perhaps all of the fire that was Hermione Granger had not completely died off after all. This thought alone was very unsettling somewhere inside his head, but even more so in the empty cavity of his chest. Perhaps, just maybe, she stood a chance.