Nocturne

by Tira Nog

Knockturn Alley was dodgy enough in the daylight, but by night, it was positively surreal. This was the part of the Wizarding World that no one wanted to look at or think about. It drew the dregs of society, as well as those the magical world had discarded. Stray orphans ended up here, the squibs who couldn't make it in the Muggle world, prostitutes, contraband dealers, thieves, murderers, rapists . . . the list was endless. Some were predators, but most were prey.

These were the streets Auror Harry Potter walked, the part of the Wizarding World he attempted to make a little safer for all.

Only several hundred yards away from their shining Diagon Alley neighbours, the shops here all had a seedy look to them. The windows were grimy and hard to see through. They were never cleaned, for this was not a place that anyone wanted to be seen.

Rubbish, human waste, dirt, and soot littered the alleys between the shops. One could hardly envision a less appealing place.

The corpse staring unblinkingly up at the snowy night sky didn't improve the ambiance any. Steam rose from the gruesome, glistening gash where the woman's throat used to be. The kill was so recent that a sunken bloodstain marked the fresh snow that had settled around her blonde, curly head.

His wand clutched tight in his fist, Harry Potter blinked the falling snow out of his eyes as he stared down at the wretched remains of the squib prostitute. He'd seen her working the streets. He thought her name was Ella or Ellie.

The bugger still had to be close. She was still warm. When vampires glutted themselves like this, they couldn't work magic for a while. There was a chance he'd get this bastard tonight.

Harry knew that he should call in and let headquarters know what he'd found and what he was up to, but any delay could mean the difference between apprehending this monster and having to deal with another corpse tomorrow night - just like they had every night for the last twelve days. They'd had a corpse a night for nearly two weeks straight, yet lost souls like the broken doll at his feet continued to work the streets.

He bent down closer to the gore-drenched body. Her right hand was clenched in a fist, as though she were clutching something. Transferring his own wand to his mouth for a moment, he pried her fingers apart, trying not to lose his dinner as the blood from her hands stained his own. Her fist didn't open easily, but when he managed it, he saw several black hairs in her palm.

Pay dirt. He quickly removed his wand from between his teeth and performed a tracing spell on the hairs. The last three times he'd tried this, the killer had been gone too long for his spell to work. A certain proximity was necessary for tracing spells to home in on their targets. Once the target was fixed, the caster could follow his prey from one end of the planet to the other, but only if the person he were searching for was still within close range when he initiated his spell. Tonight he got lucky.

His wand twitched northwards, away from Diagon Alley, down towards the equally squalid Newts Eye Mew.

Harry drew himself up to his full height, and quickly hurried towards the shadowed mew. The corroded iron gate at its entrance was unlocked and hanging open. He considered using his wand to illuminate the area, but decided that would highlight his own position far better than it would his prey's.

So he slid inside the gates and pressed his back to the nearest wall. As a precaution, he slipped out the twelve-inch wooden stake he'd been carrying in a special pocket of his robes for the last two weeks. Wand in his right, stake in his left, he studied the area between the dirty brick buildings.

The new fallen snow was rife with footprints, of many sizes, travelling in many directions.

There were rubbish bins on both sides of the mew. The buildings to his left had a pile of boxes taller than him lining the side of the building; those to his right sported stacks of newspapers that were nearly as bad. Either option offered ample cover for a fugitive, and he could see a darker slit between the buildings to his right that could be yet another alley. These Knockturn Alley mews and back streets were mazes of unmapped, unplottable alleys and passageways that were centuries old. They housed as many denizens of the underside of the Wizarding World as the buildings around them did.

Harry checked his wand. The tracing spell was still prodding him forward. To his right and the ominous back alley entrance, of course.

Taking a deep breath, he moved across the thin layer of snow covering the rubbish- strewn cobblestones.

He knew he was almost soundless, but almost soundless wasn't quite good enough, not when hunting a vampire. The creature he sought had enhanced senses and could probably hear his heart pumping blood and his lungs breathing from where he stood. The vampire could no doubt even smell the prostitute's blood on his hand and the sweat that was dewing his brow.

Recognizing that those kinds of thoughts weren't going to help him any, he trailed his twitching wand towards the slit between the buildings. He didn't relish the thought of following a blood-sucking monster into an uncharted back alley, but it was that or lose the bastard.

No choice. He had to go in after him.

The snow began falling harder as he slipped past a towering rubbish bin towards the alley entrance.

His gaze touched the inky shadow of the slit between the brick buildings. It was barely three feet wide. That wasn't going to give him much manoeuvring room.

He stepped forward. His wand twitched steadily, stopped, and began twitching in another direction. Upwards.

What the . . . ?

The lighting fast reflexes that he'd honed during the war with Voldemort had him spinning around before he could even consciously process his. A dark figure in a billowing black cape came hurtling down from above like a Norwegian Ridgeback, and seemed just about as unstoppable.

He had a brief impression that the creature was male, with strangely robust skin, a round, arrogant, aristocratic face, and burning red eyes that he knew better than to meet. His gaze focused on the only slightly safer view of the porcelain white fangs protruding from its full, deep red lips.

The vampire was upon him, hissing like a demon. The creature's physical strength was terrifying. The vampire picked Harry up and swung him around as though he were a child instead of a ten stone, fully grown man.

Harry grunted as his back impacted with the brick wall, temporarily dazed as the breath was knocked out of him. Somehow, he managed to hang on to both his wand and the stake. Those talon-like hands were gripping his shoulders now, holding him braced to the wall. Wide-eyed, he saw that dark, shaggy head lower towards his throat. The vampire's jaws were gaping open like a lion's. His breath was foul, reeking of blood and death.

"Expellicorpus!" he shouted frantically, using the raw power that had defeated Voldemort at seventeen to blast the vampire into the opposite alley wall with the force of one of Fred Weasley's bludgers aimed at a Slytherin. The vampire hit the bricks even harder than he had. Temporarily dazed, the dark creature crashed to the rubbish and snow covered cobblestones.

Harry raced over to his fallen foe. Not pausing to think, he pushed the vampire down flat on his back. Harry still had the stake in a death grip in his fist. He raised it high up over his head, and then plunged it down into the creature's left side.

The vampire's eyes opened as the stake ripped through his chest cavity.

Blood sprayed all over Harry's hands and face as the wooden stake breached the monster's body.

He winced at the chilling shriek and the unnaturally cool spray of blood. The claw-like hands gripped his with that same inhuman power, attempting to pull the stake back out.

To his horror, Harry felt his hands start to give way to the monster's superior strength. Grunting, he leaned forward and put all his weight behind his hands, pushing down with all his might. And still, it wasn't enough. The vampire's strength was appalling; even limited by the relatively constrained position, he was very close to pushing Harry away.

Thinking frantically, Harry muttered a charm that would triple his body weight. For a second it seemed that even that wouldn't do the trick, but then the stake crushed the rest of the way down, finally piercing the vampire's heart.

Time seemed to freeze. The creature's glowing eyes widened in disbelief, and then . . . a terrible transformation occurred. The vampire's flesh seemed to shrink in on itself, darkening to a tombstone grey. Then, lines appeared in the sere skin and it crumbled to dust, just as Professor Quirrell had in first year when he'd laid his hands upon him. All that remained when the metamorphosis was through were the vampire's expensive robes, its red satin-lined cape, wand, and Harry's wooden stake.

As he watched the wind stir the remains of what had once been another human being, he felt strangely empty inside. Before the wind could make off with his evidence, he put a preserving spell over the vampire's remains, the vampire's bloodstained clothing, cape, and the discoloured wooden stake. The preservation spell would keep the evidence pristine until he dropped it off at the MoM's Forensic Magic Lab.

He was sweating and breathing hard from the physical exertion, but inside, where a reaction to killing should be, there was only a numb, gaping void.

He tried not to think of it, but at moments like this, he couldn't help but wonder if the damn scandal sheets were right, if he was nothing but a killing machine that would one day turn on the society that had moulded him. He was like one of those legendary Muggle Mounties. He always got his man, but most times his man ended up dead.

Dead like Hermione. Dead like Ron. Dead like Sirius. Dead like Remus. Dead like Albus. Dead like everyone he'd ever touched or loved. Dead, dead, dead.

Sensing the danger there, he pulled back from those thoughts.

The job was all he had, and he gave it his all. That was why his success rate was so high. He never orchestrated events so that the miscreant he pursued ended up dead. He just pulled the assignments that tended to require him to defend himself, and he was frighteningly good at that.

With a weary sigh, Harry pocketed his wand. Plunging his hands in the accumulating snow, he cleaned as much of the blood off them as he could. He could have just used a spell, but he needed to feel something, even if it were only the freezing cold of the snow. When a man killed someone, there should be a reaction. It should hurt. But all he felt was relieved that no more innocent lives would be lost.

He brought a palmful of snow to his face, rubbed it over what he hoped was the worst of the splattered gore, and then wiped it off in his scarlet Auror robes. It left an even worse brown stain on their front than the fight and staking had caused, but it couldn't be helped.

Shivering as the sweat dried all over him and from his contact with the snow, he shrunk everything down to the size of a stamp, and put the remains in his pocket. That done, he rose to his feet and headed back to the front of the pawn shop where he'd left the vampire's final victim.

Still trembling in reaction to the fight, he cursed when he saw only the bloodstain where the dead woman had been. In his haste to apprehend Ellie's murderer, he'd forgotten to secure the crime scene. The corpse was gone.

Harry examined the snow on the paving stones, trying to see which way she might have been dragged, but there were only footprints. Whoever had taken her had probably levitated her away. By now, her remains could have been sold to a necromancer or be heating in a dozen stew pots.

Chief Parker was going to have his hide for this.

Thinking that he might be able to salvage something of this mess, he turned to begin a no doubt futile search for the prostitute's body.

* * * * *

Unsurprisingly, Harry turned up nothing. It was nearly midnight when he entered the Ministry of Magic building via its telephone kiosk. He was wet and cold to the bone. Too tired from his fruitless search to bother changing his robes, he erected a glamour around them so that they'd appear clean.

The statues in the lobby had been repaired long ago and showed no trace of the battle that had taken place here nearly fifteen years back. He passed them without a glance, making his way via the cranky elevator up to the ninth floor where the Dark Arts Unit was housed.

The DAU was a strange conglomeration of office and police station. There were holding cells in the back of the building three floors up on the side without windows, but the part where the Aurors' workstations were was a hodgepodge of desks, tea stations, and storage shelves.

Even at midnight on a snowy January night, the DAU was still manned, albeit by a lone Auror.

"Hi, Harry," Sam Edgeware looked up from his desk near the glass doored entrance and greeted him as he entered. The cheerful redhead looked even younger than he did. Every time he saw the rich colour of Sam's hair and his freckles, he couldn't help but think of Ron. "Gods, you look knackered. Rough night?"

"You could say that," Harry gave a tired smile. Although everyone he worked with respected him, Sam was one of the few who didn't treat him like either a movie star or a warm bottle of nitro-glycerine.

"You'll be relieved to hear that we caught that bloodsucking bastard," Sam announced with a grin.

"What?" he stopped in his tracks.

"You know we've been using that new fangled vampire detector while patrolling the crowds in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. Lewis caught the bastard at about nine tonight. We've got him in a holding cell," Sam reported as he poured himself a cup of tea from the steaming kettle on his desk. "The fiend's been asking for you."

Too distracted by the bizarre statement, he found himself questioning, "Asking for me? Who is it?" rather than telling Sam that he'd already found and killed the monster they'd been hunting.

The loo door off to their left opened.

Abu Choppe, a slender dark skinned Muggleborn Auror, stopped on his way out of the loo as he overheard their conversation. "You mightn't know who we've got locked up in holding, but the vampire knows you. It's been asking for you by name. It told Chief Parker that you were acquainted and that it had urgent information it needed to share with you. That's the only reason we haven't sent it for disposal yet."

The night was getting weirder by the moment.

"You know a vampire, Harry?" Sam asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Harry answered.

"It was probably just a ploy to buy itself some time," Choppe cynically offered. "Everyone knows the Saviour of the Wizarding World."

"Who is it?" Harry asked.

"Wouldn't give its name," Choppe said. "Said it would speak only to you. We've got its wand, but the damn tracking department's closed until seven AM. You know that place keeps Gringotts' hours. We'll ID him in the morning before we send him down to disposal. Parker said they'd keep the vampire here until you spoke to it, as a courtesy to you."

"Where is the Chief?" Harry asked, not looking forward to the report he was going to have to make about losing the vampire's latest victim's body to the ghouls inhabiting Knockturn.

"You just missed him. Meal break," Sam reported. "He should be back within the hour."

"Is Forensics still open?" Harry questioned.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, why?"

Knowing better than to even attempt to detail his night before Choppe, who would circulate the embarrassing story in less time than it used to take for one of Neville's potions to explode, he evaded, "I've got some stuff I need checked out."

"Ah. Are you going to go have an interview with a vampire before visiting Forensics?" Sam asked, without so much as cracking a smile.

Choppe chortled at the pureblood's unintentional double entendre.

"What?" Sam demanded of his laughing co-worker.

Giving a small smile, Harry nodded at Sam, while Choppe said, "It would take too long to explain."

Harry gave a thought to changing his bloodstained robes before he did anything else, so that he could drop the glamour, but decided that it could wait. He'd look in on the prisoner, drop his evidence off in Forensics, confess his cock-up to the Chief, and then head home. His shift had ended hours ago. The paperwork could wait until morning.

Leaving Sam still trying to convince Choppe to explain the joke, Harry made his weary way down empty halls with their closed office and lab doors to the holding cells.

James Griffin, a beefy, brown-eyed brunet, was the guard on duty tonight. Griffin sat behind a huge oak desk that overlooked the row of locked iron cell doors. "Hi, Harry!"

Trying to ignore the near hero-worshipping tone, he returned the greeting, "Hello, Jim."

Unlike Sam, Jim made no personal comment about his bruised state. He could probably have worn his blood-drenched robes without the glamour and received the same lack of response.

"Sam Edgeware said you're holding someone here who claims to know me?" he asked.

"Yes, the, er, vampire. Lewis wanted to send him straight down to disposal, but Parker thought it best if you spoke to him first, in case it was one of your informants. Do you want to see him?" Griffin asked.

"No, I'm just down here to admire the paint." When he saw the confusion enter Griffin's vapid features, he snapped as snottily as a Malfoy, "Of course, I want to see him."

Sam or Choppe would have told him to stuff the attitude, but Griffin just paled and stammered, "Sure, Harry. No problem. He - it's in cell nine. Do you . . . want me to come with you?"

The man looked like he was about to wet himself at the very thought of being in the room with a vampire, even if that room were specially warded to disable wands and magic inside it.

Though, Harry supposed he understood Griffin's fear. He'd felt a vampire's strength himself once already tonight. He knew they didn't need magic to kill most men. Hell, for all he knew, a vampire's powers might not even be affected by the wards against conventional magic. Merlin knew, they didn't restrict his own wandless magic.

That was a fact he kept strictly to himself. The last thing he needed was to fan the rumours that already had him pin-holed as the next candidate for Dark Lord.

The holding cells' security wards were keyed to recognize all Aurors' individual magical signatures. The door slid open just as it seemed like Harry would walk straight into it.

Like most of the Wizarding World, the cells were fairly primitive when compared to their Muggle counterparts. The bed was a coffin-sized stone shelf that was part of the wall. The mattress was thin and uncomfortable looking. It had only a single blanket, no pillow. The facilities consisted of a toilet and sink, both open to the room.

The only thing that distinguished the MoM's holding cells from a dungeon was how well lit they were. The light shone down unrelentingly on the grim surroundings.

Harry didn't know what to expect as the cell door slid open. The sight of Severus Snape sitting at stiff attention on the pallet was literally the last thing he'd imagined.

His step faltered as he entered the cell. Harry was vaguely aware of the door sliding shut behind him as he met those black and impenetrable eyes.

He hadn't seen the man in the twelve years since he'd left Hogwarts. Snape seemed unchanged, virtually the same as the teacher who'd bullied him for seven years and saved his life more times than he could possibly count. Snape's long nose was still far too big for his sallow face. His shoulder length hair was still a greasy looking, unwashed horror. Beneath his crisp white collar, the trademark black jacket with the dozens of buttons, and black robes, Snape's body was as rail thin as he remembered. The most familiar thing of all was, of course, the sour expression that made Snape's already unattractive face downright homely.

"Professor?" the word was more gasp than question.

"Potter," Snape gave an acknowledging nod.

"This . . . must be some sort of mistake," Harry practically stammered; he was so thrown by Snape's presence here.

He knew his fellow Aurors would never foist this kind of joke on him, even if they could have somehow convinced Snape to play along. And, yet, this couldn't be right. Severus Snape, hero of the two wars against Voldemort, could not be a vampire. The man was a miserable bastard, but not a blood-drinking murderer.

"Unfortunately, no. Although I have never . . . preyed upon a human for survival, your detector was quite correct," Snape said, in the tone he might have used to confirm that it was snowing outside.

He remembered that deep cultured voice. Even when he'd hated the man in class, he'd found Snape's tone rich and nearly hypnotic. Now, as an adult, he found it almost . . . seductive.

Harry gave himself a mental shake. That was part of a vampire's lethal allure - his hypnotic voice.

"You're a . . . vampire? For real?" he questioned, still unable to accept the truth that was before him.

"For longer than you've been alive," Snape answered.

"And you're telling me that you never fed on a human - in thirty years? That's impossible," he said. Abruptly, all the years of distrust were there between them. When younger, he'd hated this sadistic bastard nearly as much as Voldemort, only . . . to his knowledge Snape had never once lied to him. He was the only adult Harry had ever been able to say that about. It felt wrong to start suspecting him of lying now.

"That isn't what I said. I said I never preyed on one. I've never taken blood by force. There is a difference."

"You're not suggesting that someone volunteered their blood, are you?" he asked. The only person who'd ever seemed the least bit friendly towards the cantankerous potions master had been Albus Dumbledore, and he'd been dead since the final battle.

He stared at Snape. A horrible image of hypnotized Slytherin students lining up to feed their head of house passed through his mind.

Snape snorted. "Don't be absurd. Who would volunteer their blood to feed a . . . monster? I pay for it, of course."

"Pay?" he blankly repeated, beginning to feel like a moron.

"Potter, this is hardly pertinent to the current situation," Snape said.

"Not pertinent? You just told me you've been a vampire for thirty years. I can do the math as to how many . . . feedings that involved. I'm an Auror. My job is to protect people," he argued.

"I am hardly a threat to anyone now. There is absolutely no toleration of vampires. I believe that I'm scheduled for - what was the charming phrase your colleagues employed? Oh, yes - scheduled for disposal tomorrow morning." The first hint of fear crossed that sneering face.

Harry froze. In his shock, he'd nearly forgotten their circumstances. His co-workers all believed that Snape was the fiend that had murdered those twelve people in the sensational killing spree.

Even if he proved that Snape hadn't committed those brutal murders, Snape was right. There was zero toleration of vampires. As soon as their nature was uncovered, they were destroyed. A werewolf, though feared and often loathed, would be permitted to co-exist in the Wizarding World, for as terrible as their affliction was, it was controllable. As long as the werewolf took his Wolfsbane or was safely confined during the full moon, he was no danger to society. But a vampire couldn't survive without human blood. They were predators and killers by their very nature.

"When I was young, I hated you, but . . . you never lied to me, not once that I can remember. You're telling me now that you've never preyed upon humans, even though you've been a . . . ."

"Vampire," Snape softly supplied.

". . . vampire for more than thirty years. I want to know how you feed. It's important to me," he said.

Those dark eyes held his own. "If you must know, I would approach a prostitute and explain that there was something I wished of them that it embarrassed me to speak of or to have another person remember. I assured them that what I had in mind would not harm them or cause them any pain, but that I wished to obliviate their memory when I was done because I could not afford to be blackmailed. Apparently, it is a common request from their customers. I paid them . . . exceedingly well for their cooperation. No one was ever harmed or . . . infected by my actions."

"So they never knew they were feeding a vampire," he said.

"No. I doubt that they would have agreed had they known," Snape said.

"How often did you . . . engage their services?" Harry found himself fascinated by the whole thing.

"Twice a month," Snape answered.

"But . . . ."

"There are potions that make it possible for me to survive that long between feedings. They aren't pleasant and leave me in a state of almost constant hunger, but . . . I have always maintained my controls. No one other than myself has ever suffered for my . . . affliction," Snape said.

Harry believed him. Had anyone else told him such a story, he would have dismissed it the way he did most criminals' protests of innocence, but . . . Snape sounded like he just wanted to set the record straight. He didn't seem to be asking for anything.

Abruptly, all of the unpleasant aspects of Snape's character made perfect sense to him. It sounded as though the man were practically starving himself to death between feedings. The pain had to be intense. Was it any wonder Snape was so ill tempered all the time?

"Did Professor Dumbledore know about you?" he asked.

"Yes, as does Minerva. I know it seems preposterous, but I have never been a danger to the students."

So, two of the people he'd respected most in his life had known about Snape and kept his secret. The same way they'd kept Remus' secret before him.

Remembering that Snape had requested this interview, he questioned, "Why did you ask to see me?"

"I have a favour to request," Snape stiffly said. The uneasiness that twisted Harry 's guts must have been revealed in his expression, for Snape quickly added, "I understand that there is no toleration of my kind. I am not asking you to . . . compromise yourself to that degree."

Somehow, that made him feel even worse than if Snape had asked him to help him escape, not that such a thing were possible. The MoM's holding cells mightn't be Azkaban, but they were as secure as it got outside of those dismal walls.

"What do you want, then?" Harry questioned.

"It is my understanding that I haven't been identified yet," Snape said in a questioning tone.

"That's right. They're going to run your wand in the morning when the ID department opens," Harry said. "How come no one recognized you? You fought in both wars and were decorated for your service - "

"It's been twelve years since Voldemort was defeated and even then, to hear the papers tell the story, the Boy Who Lived accomplished that victory totally on his own," Snape gave a typically snide response. "No one remembers my part in the war. Or if they do, all they recall is that I was a Death Eater."

"But you've been teaching at Hogwarts for over thirty years. Surely, someone should have known who you were," he said, still unable to believe that not a one of his co- workers had recognized Severus Snape on sight.

"Potter, I teach in the most elite school in the Wizarding World. Hogwarts accepts only forty students a year out of the entire Wizarding population of Britain. Do you know how small a percentage that is? It would be far more unlikely if someone did recognize me these days."

"So what was the favour you wanted?" Harry asked, completely uncomfortable in this situation.

"You haven't asked it of me, but I am not the monster that killed all those people," Snape began.

Not wanting Snape to think that he believed that of him, he quickly offered, "I know. I killed the murderer tonight."

To his shock, it was nearly satisfaction that crossed Snape's face, "Good."

"Good?" he questioned, startled. "I thought that you would have sympathy for someone in his position."

A very familiar anger sparked in Snape's eyes. "Sympathy? He was out of control. His hunger was no greater than mine, yet I am not running about slaughtering people. He was a weak idiot whose indulgences have cost me my life."

"I guess that makes sense," Harry said. The longer he talked to Snape, the more upset he became. This wasn't right. If what Snape was saying were true - and every instinct he had was telling him his former teacher wasn't lying to him - Snape had committed no crimes. He'd done nothing to merit the execution he'd receive come morning. "What was it you wanted from me?"

"I realize that you can do nothing to . . . assist me in my current state, but . . . ." Snape seemed uncharacteristically tongue-tied for a moment, before he appeared to force himself to continue, "I have spent the last thirty years concealing my nature. I promised both Albus and Minerva that I would never be a source of embarrassment to Hogwarts. I know it is asking you to go against the rules, but . . . could you see that my wand goes missing tonight? Let Professor Snape simply disappear. I - " he faltered again, and then went on, "I don't want my name destroyed by this. It's all I have left. Let me die just another anonymous monster."

Harry whooshed in a shocked breath. He felt like he'd just taken a blow beneath the belt. The man was here on death row, and the only help he wanted from someone whose life he'd saved a dozen times was assistance in keeping his name from being dishonoured? The courage that took was astounding. He didn't know if he could be this dignified and controlled were their positions reversed. In fact, he was sure he couldn't.

The utter wrongness of what was going to be done to Snape shrieked through his brain.

"Even if I tried to vouch for you, there's nothing my boss could do to free you. The law against vampires is enforced 100%," he said, as much to himself as Snape.

"I'm not asking that of you, Potter. All I want - "

"This is wrong! You didn't kill those people. You've done nothing to merit the death sentence," he nearly shouted.

Snape seemed genuinely startled. After a moment, he said, "I would have thought that in the twelve years you have been out of Gryffindor House that you would have learned that the world is never a fair place."

The words could have been sneered, but Snape offered them in an oddly gentle voice, as though his former student's continuing to hold onto those kinds of ideals had in some way cheered him.

"The law is supposed to be fair," Harry said, feeling like a petulant child.

Snape sighed. "And in most cases, it is. Don't trouble yourself with this, Potter. Do you think that there is one in a hundred or even a thousand of my kind who . . . would take the potions like I do? Who would choose constant hunger or choose to pay to feed rather than hunt or seduce their prey? Most are like that blood-drunk beast you put down tonight. They enjoy the hunt and enjoy the kill. The law is there to protect society."

"This is still wrong!" he insisted.

"Perhaps, but it's not your fault. Nor is it your duty to right it. All I ask is that you . . . conceal my identity," Snape said. "Will you do that for me?"

Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair. This man had fought at his side for seven long years to bring Voldemort down. He'd taught him, saved his life, and protected him whenever possible, perhaps not with either kindness or good grace, but Snape had done it all the same. He owed this man. If it weren't for Snape, he wouldn't be standing here today. Hell, for that matter, the entire Wizarding World probably wouldn't even still be here if it weren't for the information Snape had risked his life to secure during both wars.

This whole vampire thing was mind-boggling and downright terrifying, but every minute he spent with Snape convinced him that this was the same person he'd known in school. Snape might be a petty tyrant, but he wasn't some dangerous monster that needed to be put down for the good of society.

So where did that leave him? The vampire disposal law hadn't been broken, not once in the five thousand years of recorded Wizarding history. He knew there was no way he could save Snape legally. Which left him in the dilemma of having to break the law he'd sworn to protect in order to do what was right.

He'd never done that before. In twelve years of service, he'd carried out his duties to the best of his abilities. He'd never looked the other way when a crime was being committed or taken a bribe from a lawbreaker as some of his co-workers did. He just brought his prisoners in and left it for the court to decide what was right and wrong. But there'd be no court or trial for Severus Snape. The man had been condemned by his nature, and that was simply wrong.

But did the fact that he found the practice morally reprehensible really entitle him to take the law into his own hands? That was wrong, too. Only, hadn't he already all but agreed to break the law to destroy Snape's wand to protect his identity? There were no degrees of grey here. If he helped Snape at all, even so much as to protect his name, he would be breaking the law, or at the very least, obstructing it.

"Will you do it, Potter?" Snape repeated, the first sign of desperation edging into his attitude.

His mind racing, he gave a slow shake of his head, "No."

Snape winced, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. When he reopened them, there wasn't anything like surprise there. Harry couldn't even see any true anger.

"Very well. I won't trouble you further," Snape said in an arctic tone.

"You don't understand. I - I can't - "

"I know, Potter. You can't break the law you've sworn to uphold. I can't tell you how weary I am of pigheaded, Gryffindor stupidity. Take your self righteous purity out of here and leave me to your friends' less than tender mercies," Snape ordered.

"Just shut up a minute and let me think, would you?" Harry pleaded.

"Think? What are you - "

A plan forming in his mind, he cut off Snape's increasingly angry question with one of his own, "If I get you out of here, will you give me your word that you'll stay away from London?"

"What?"

"Lewis, the Auror that brought you in, and some of the others who saw you tonight, frequently patrol Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. They'd recognize your face if they saw you again, even in a crowd. If I get you out of here, you can't come back to the area, not for a long, long time."

To his confusion, Snape's expression became even more thunderous. "I don't find that at all amusing. I would have thought taunting a condemned man beneath your pretentious Gryffindor morals."

His own patience finally reached an end and he snapped, "I'm trying to save your life, you ungrateful sod. Just shut up and let me think a minute."

Snape actually seemed speechless. Finally, he said, "Potter, the cell is warded against magic. What are you going to do? Carry me out of here in your pocket?"

"Actually, that's exactly what I'm planning on doing," he replied, loving the stupefied expression on that normally controlled, sour face.

Harry reached into his robe pocket and withdrew the evidence he'd shrunk earlier that night. Crossing the cell to the empty wall on the right hand side of the door, he bent down and put the stamp-sized bundle on the floor. Closing his eyes, he drew up all of his considerable power.

The wards were strong. Even for him, it wasn't easily done. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his brow, and Snape's gaze digging into the side of his face. But finally, when he pushed, the wards gave. The tiny objects he'd placed on the cold grey tiles swelled in size until they were a set of empty black boots, clothes, and cape.

Another moment's concentration, he transfigured the cape into robes like Snape's. He reached out and pocketed the vampire's wand. He was going to need that later.

"Very impressive," Snape's soft voice came from behind him. "Do your co-workers know you can circumvent their top level security?"

"Do you think I'd be alive or free if they did?" Harry answered.

"Potter . . . I'm not asking you to do this. I only asked that you preserve my anonymity," Snape stiffly stated.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer preserving your life. You want to live, don't you?"

Snape's gaze dropped and he gave a reluctant nod. He rallied quickly enough to ask, "May I enquire as to what you have planned, since we are both likely to lose our lives with this scheme of yours? Is that what I think it is leaking out of those clothes?"

"My superior was on meal break when I returned to headquarters. I didn't get a chance to report what happened with the vampire tonight in Newt Eye Mew. I was going to drop this evidence off at Forensics after I saw . . . the prisoner. There's no reason the killer can't have died in this cell instead of out on the street."

"You intend to perpetuate a fraud upon your co-workers for my sake? Pretend this vampire is me?" Snape asked.

"Look, I don't like the idea, all right? But it's the only thing I can think of."

"You could walk out of here right now. In fact, that is what I urge you to do," Snape shocked him by saying.

"But you still want me to waylay your wand?" At Snape's nod, he said. "Newsflash for you, Professor, that's breaking the law, too."

"It's a lesser crime."

"Do you think that'll matter to my Chief? If I'm going to break the law, it's going to be for a damn good reason - like saving your miserable hide," Harry said.

"There's no reason for us both to lose our lives."

"If this goes right, no one's going to lose their life. I'm not leaving you here to die for a crime you didn't commit. You'd better stand up so that the shrinking spell hits only you and not the bed." When Snape failed to move, he gave an irritated, "Do you want to live or not?"

Snape gave him a strange look, and said, "I just want it to be known that I have grave misgivings about this entire plan."

"You had grave misgivings about every damn thing we ever did during the war," Harry said, more exasperated than angry.

"How often was I proven correct?" Snape challenged.

"That's not the point," he actually smiled, because more often than not, Snape had been right and the Order's operations would go pear shaped.

"No, heaven forefend that logic ever enter into the Gryffindor mind," Snape countered. "As I suspect that we both will be dead or separately incarcerated in a matter of minutes, I suppose I should say that . . . ."

"Yes?" Harry prodded, not really caring what Snape said, as long as he got his skinny arse up off that bed so that he could safely shrink him down.

Sounding as if he were forcing every word, Snape said, "I appreciate what you are attempting to do for me here. I didn't expect this."

"I know. And if it doesn't work out, it was all my idea. So there's nothing to feel guilty about, all right? Now, would you please get up off that bed?"

Snape reluctantly took his feet.

He'd forgotten how tall the potions master was. Even now, Snape had a good six inches on him. Snape had to be six-four or six-five.

Harry closed his eyes and focused his power on the other wizard. When he opened them a minute later, Snape no longer seemed to be in the room. He looked down at the floor, where a mouse-sized Snape was glowering up at him in obvious irritation.

Stifling his smile, he knelt down and laid his open palm on the floor in front of his former teacher. His face twisting in visible distaste, Snape stepped into his hand. He was as light as a feather. Using his other hand to guarantee that he didn't drop the tiny man, he carefully transferred Snape to his empty left hand robe pocket.

"Are you all right in there?" he asked.

A muffled squeak that might have been a yes emerged from the vicinity of his hips, but the response was too high-pitched to translate. Figuring that an uncomfortable ten minutes or so was better than a stake through the heart come morning, Harry took a final look at the clothes on the floor with their disgusting ashes leaking out of the neck of the robe and its sleeves.

For all intents and purposes, it did look like the creature had died here.

He checked to make certain that the vampire's wand was still safely stored in his right pocket. After he removed the glamour concealing the gruesome bloodstains on his scarlet Auror robes, he stepped out into the hall.

It wasn't hard to appear shaken as Jim Griffin ran up to him. If this went wrong, both Snape and he were goners.

"Harry, are you all right? My god, man, what's happened?" the paling guard asked as his brown eyes travelled down the front of Harry's fouled robe.

"The thing attacked me. Luckily, I still had that stake in my pocket."

"He's dead?" Griffin stepped past him. The cell door opened for him and he stood there staring for a long moment before commenting, "Well, I guess we won't be needing the disposal unit, after all. You okay, Harry?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to go clean up and then report to the Chief. Thanks for your help, Jim."

Harry made a mental note that if he ever ended up in command, Griffin would definitely not be left alone at such an important post. Even in first year, he would have questioned someone with a clean face and hands who'd claimed to have just driven a stake through a man's heart.

The next hour was a blur of verbal reports and debriefing. His Chief was incredibly supportive, as was the rest of the staff. They all seemed relieved that they wouldn't have to be involved in the disposal of the vampire.

Every now and then, he would feel Snape's tiny, warm form shift in his pocket, but otherwise, he nearly forgot the man was there.

When Harry was finally allowed to go home, he made a brief stop down in the evidence room. Replacing the dead vampire's wand for Professor Snape's was almost too easy. Worried by how vulnerable the MoM was to internal sabotage, he headed to the building's Apparition point and apparated home.

Once in his flat, he quickly apparated to Hogwarts' main gates.

For all that it felt like he'd been up the entire night, dawn was still a few hours off.

The snow was still falling; only it was heavier here up north. There was over a foot on the ground. The castle looked like something from a fairy tale with its glistening white mantle. Looking at Hogwarts' mostly dark windows, its elegant towers, and spires, Harry was hit with an intense wave of homesickness. Merlin, how he missed this place. The only happy days he'd ever known had been spent here with Ron and Hermione.

But those days were as gone as they were.

Snape shifted in his pocket, reminding him of why he was here.

He carefully withdrew his passenger from his robe pocket. The potions master was like a doll in his hand. Though he probably looked more like a Muggle action figure than any doll Harry had seen.

Cautiously holding Snape in one hand, he retrieved a clean handkerchief, and then bent down. With his free hand, he spread the white cotton hankie over the snow. He didn't want to put Snape down and lose the man in a pile of freezing snow. He figured the poor sod had been through enough trauma for one night.

He lowered Snape to the handkerchief as though he were fine porcelain. Despite his care, Snape landed in a sprawl on his back on the uneven, shifting surface. It was strange to see that tiny sour face staring up at him from such an inelegant, vulnerable position.

He half-expected Snape to start growing in size before he could voice the spell to do it himself, but then he remembered that he had the potion master's wand in his other pocket. Knowing that Snape couldn't be enjoying this, he quickly muttered the reversal spell.

Even after nearly nineteen years, the practical application of magic still amazed him on some level. He watched Snape's small form swell in size until he had to bend his head slightly back to meet the man's eyes. The snow crunched underfoot as Snape gained weight and sank down through it.

Once again, Snape dwarfed him.

When the enlargement spell stopped, they simply stood there staring at each other in the freezing night, with their breaths puffing around them in the icy air.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say, but the silence wasn't exactly awkward. For the first time in memory, there didn't seem to be any animosity between them.

Finally, Snape said, "Not many men would have done what you did for me tonight, Potter."

"Not many would have done what you did when you spied on Voldemort for the Order," he countered.

"Nevertheless, I'm . . . indebted to you." Those words came hard to the proud man.

Recognizing how much Snape hated being beholden to anyone, he quietly reminded, "I can't count the number of times you saved me when I was young, sir. I still owe you a few. We're not even near even."

Though Snape said nothing, some of the stoniness left his expression.

"Oh, I've still got your wand," Harry remembered, and handed Snape back the eleven inch mahogany wand he'd stolen from the evidence shelf.

"Thank you," Snape gravely acknowledged, accepting the offered wand.

"Well, good night, then, Professor," he said. The cold of the night was beginning to accentuate both his exhaustion and the bruises he'd received in his fight with the vampire. The other vampire.

He still couldn't fully wrap his mind around the idea that Snape was like that foul creature he'd killed tonight. But, then, he supposed it was like Albus Dumbledore always said - people's choices determined who and what they truly were. Severus Snape had no more in common with that loathsome monster than he himself had with Lord Voldemort, although to outsiders they might share traits with both.

Snape appeared almost surprised; though by what, Harry had no clue. Curious, he stifled a yawn and asked, "What?"

"I rather thought that you might wish to see Minerva to confirm what I told you tonight," Snape said.

"At three thirty two in the morning on a school day? I know you think all Gryffindors have a death wish, but even we know when caution is the better part of valour."

The corners of Snape's pale, thin lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Good night, then, Potter."

"Professor?" he impulsively called out as Snape started to walk through the towering gates they were paused before.

"Yes?"

"Might I come visit you later this week? I have a few questions."

In the past Snape would have wasted no time in telling him precisely what he could do with his questions, but tonight there was no immediate sneer of denial. Instead, there came a grudging, "I suppose I owe you that much."

"You don't have to - " Harry began to protest.

"Yes, I do. You've underplayed the chance you took in believing me and helping me. I do appreciate the danger you placed yourself in on my behalf, as well as the . . . level of trust involved in releasing an outlawed monster into a school full of oblivious children. You'd be a fool if you didn't have some concerns. It's in my best interest to alleviate your worries. Will Friday evening be soon enough for you, say around eight, after detentions have ended?"

He'd expected Snape to fight him tooth and nail on this. The easy concession to cold logic was off setting. "That would be fine. Thank you."

"I believe that should be my line," Snape corrected with an urbane lift of his brow. "Till Friday, then."

"Goodbye, sir," he said.

As Snape turned to make his way into the castle, he apparated home.

*****

The week rushed by for Harry.

The following morning the Daily Prophet headlines read "Boy Who Lived Once Again Frees World of Evil," the article went on to vividly detail how he'd been attacked in a MoM holding cell by the vampire responsible for the recent wave of killings and forced to kill the creature. He was once again assaulted by his celebrity.

Whenever an article like this would appear, he'd be stopped in the streets and hounded for weeks afterwards; well, hounded more than usual. There was always a certain level of . . . fawning that went on. It made his soul ache sometimes.

Although Harry spent the remainder of the next few days at work on tenterhooks, waiting to be called on the carpet for what he'd done to help Snape escape, not a single question was ever voiced.

The wand he'd switched for Snape's was used to identify the killer as one Alexander Colmes, of Brighton. No mention was ever made of the fact that the wand the Identification Bureau processed was made of yew, while the evidence records clearly stated that it was a mahogany wand that Lewis had signed into the evidence room after capturing the vampire.

No one in authority asked him what he and the vampire had discussed for the sixteen minutes he'd been alone with the man before he'd purportedly been attacked. No one questioned why he'd returned to headquarters after his shift instead of returning home. No one asked him why the vampire had requested to see him in the first place.

Whether the failure to properly investigate the incident was due to the fact that he was the Boy Who Lived, Voldemort's vanquisher, and the saviour of the Wizarding World, or simply due to shoddy police work, Harry didn't know. All he knew was that the ease with which he'd accomplished his deception unnerved him.

It shouldn't have been that easy. He'd thought they were better than this.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, Harry was more than ready to get out of London. He supposed he could have simply apparated to Hogwarts' gates and walked down to the dungeons, but as an Auror he was conscious of violating the school's security. Also, he didn't relish causing a stir among the students. He'd had enough attention this week as it was. He'd owled Headmistress McGonagall yesterday and received permission to floo to her office.

Minerva and Hagrid were about the only two people from his past that he saw on a regular basis. Every month or so, he'd meet with one or both of them in the Three Broomsticks for dinner.

The floo system was as stomach churning as ever. When he stepped out of the hearth into Minerva's office, which still looked very much like Professor Dumbledore's, another burst of melancholic homesickness passed through him.

Albus' portrait stood on the wall beside the Headmistress' desk. The blue robed, grey bearded wizard grinned at him as he stepped onto the area rug and shook the soot off himself.

"Hello, Harry! It's good to see you. It's been far too long," Dumbledore's image twinkled at him.

His throat choking up already, Harry forced as much of a smile as he could muster. "Hello, sir. I miss, I mean, I've missed you, too."

"Harry!" Minerva's cheerful voice greeted from the other side of the room.

Getting hold of his wayward emotions, he turned to her with the first real smile in what felt like forever.

She looked very much the same as she had in his school days. There was a touch more silver in her dark hair, but her eyes still sparkled with warmth and her slender figure crackled with a pent up energy that belied her often prim and severe expression.

"Hello, Minerva," he said, returning her brief hug.

"It's good to see you," she said.

"Yes, Albus was just saying that," he said. "I hadn't realized how long it's been since I've actually been in the school."

She smiled, "Well, you're here now. You know you're always welcome and that Hogwarts will always be your home, if you want it."

Swallowing hard, he nodded. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Her eyes grew almost sad as she regarded him. "There were good times and pleasant memories here, too, Harry. Don't allow the losses to let you lose sight of them."

He gave another nod.

"You know that I'll have the DADA position opening up again next September," she said with a smile.

"Not again," he laughed, jumping at the change of topic. It was a running joke between them. Every year or so, she offered him the Dark Arts position.

"I'm afraid so. Professor Harlow will be leaving us this summer. I know we make light of the issue, but I would like you to seriously consider the opening. If nothing else, it will get you out of the spotlight for a while," she said.

"You saw the Daily Prophet article, then?" he asked, weary of the fuss.

"Yes. Severus spoke to me as well on Tuesday morning. He told me what you did for him. I know that can't have been easy. I'm very grateful to you."

"He told you what happened?" Harry was frankly surprised. He hadn't doubted Snape's word when he'd told him that Minerva was aware of his condition. However, he hadn't anticipated that Snape would so readily update her on Monday night's incident.

She nodded. "He was concerned that the school could still be embroiled in a scandal if . . . Monday 's events were to come to light."

"I don't think there will be any further problems." Harry hadn't intended to broach this topic with Minerva, but now that she'd brought it up, he found himself asking, "How long have you . . . known about him?"

"Nearly as long as I've known him. Harry, I know what the Ministry's stand on vampires is, but Severus Snape isn't a monster," she told him in her head of house tone.

"I could see that," he said, surprised by how protective and nearly frightened she seemed for Snape. "I'm not here in my official capacity, Minerva. If I'd had any doubts at all, I would never have helped him."

She nodded. "I've never seen anybody wage the battle he has against his nature. He suffers so much, fights so bravely. He's never hurt anyone - "

"I'm not here to arrest or judge him," he assured her. "I really just want to talk to him. I couldn't believe it when I saw him sitting in that cell. How did this happen to him?"

Her face tightened. "That's really his place to tell you. I don't really know the details myself. All I know is that he was quite young when . . . he was changed, barely a year out of school. Eventually, he came to Albus for help and - "

"Professor Dumbledore gave him a job and a safe home," he completed.

She nodded. "Yes. Severus has never given either Albus or myself a moment's concern when it comes to the safety of our students. I know you don't like the man personally, but he - "

"I'm not twelve anymore, Minerva. I don't dislike him. At least, not the way I used to."

She nodded, seeming less worried. "No one on the staff knows of his affliction besides myself and Madame Pomfrey."

"His secret's safe with me," he promised her, hating to see her so afraid . . . of him. "I swear I'm just here to talk to him, nothing more."

"Well, you'd best go down, then. He's been . . . very distracted today," she said.

"The poor kids. That usually means twice as many detentions as usual," he joked.

Her eyes were still shadowed with worry, but she smiled and agreed, "Yes, I imagine so. His rooms are at the end of the same dungeon corridor that the Potions Lab is on."

"Thanks. Are you free for dinner next Saturday?" he asked her, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I'd like that very much," she said. "I'll check with Hagrid and get back to you."

"Good," he smiled, thinking that things might actually get back to normal between them. Having Minerva McGonagall frightened of him wasn't something he could live with. She hadn't feared him when he'd conquered the Dark Lord, but now she was frightened of him on Severus Snape's behalf.

With another hug, he left her office. The moving staircase with its guardian gargoyle statue brought back a thousand memories.

The halls were nearly empty this late on a Friday night. He was glad he'd worn his blue jeans and heavy black jumper beneath his black wizard robes. The castle was freezing this time of year, the dungeons especially so.

As Harry walked through the familiar, portrait-lined corridors and stairs, he was unable to stop thinking about how protective Minerva had been of Professor Snape.

He wasn't at all sure what he was going to say to Snape. The man didn't owe him any kind of explanation. He really had no right to intrude on Snape's privacy this way, but he was curious.

He'd met very few vampires in the twelve years he'd been an Auror. Snape was the only one that hadn't been a threat to society. But then, it was like everything else, his job only brought him in contact with the lawbreakers. If there were other vampires in hiding like Professor Snape was, he'd never met them.

What he'd done for Snape Monday night hadn't been easy. His conscience was still troubling him. Snape was right, he needed some reassurance that he hadn't made a terrible mistake that could cost innocent children their lives. But he still wasn't sure that gave him the right to impinge on the man's privacy like this, even with an invitation.

Minerva's worry for Snape's safety around him was preying on his thoughts, making him doubt the wisdom of this trip at all. If she were worried, how must Snape be feeling? He hadn't realized it until this very moment, but Snape might be anticipating his visit the way a heretic would a visit with the Inquisition.

Finally, the heavy oak door to the potion master's private quarters was in front of him. Snape's wards were as thick as his own, which only made sense, since he'd learned most of them from Snape. Recalling how many of the skills that had kept him alive over the years that he'd acquired from his unwilling teacher, he felt almost like a traitor as he knocked upon the door.

It opened immediately. Snape stood in the shadows beside the open door. In his usual black garb, the potions master looked as tall, dark, and menacing as ever.

Appreciating just how menacing this man could actually be if he had a mind to, Harry forced a nervous smile and said, "Hello."

"Potter," Snape returned his greeting and then asked with stiff formality, "Come in. Would you care for a drink?"

Harry almost didn't hear the question; he was so startled by the nearly cosy room in which he found himself. "Ah, yes, please. Fire Whisky, if you've got it."

He could use some false courage.

"Of course. Please have a seat," Snape invited.

He supposed stiff civility was better than their usual enmity. Perhaps that animosity was a thing of the past. He really hadn't seen Snape since he was a teenager. A lot could change in twelve years.

The room was warm, nearly uncomfortably so. He opened his robes and stared curiously about him.

While Snape moved to a small table against the left wall that seemed to function as a bar, he studied the sitting room. A huge fire blazed in the hearth opposite him. Its warmth spilled over him, dispelling the damp chill of the dungeons around him.

The furniture consisted of a long grey upholstered couch with a couple of matching winged back chairs flanking it. There was a coffee table in front of the couch, end tables next to each chair and other tables scattered throughout the room. The rug underfoot was a deep green. The walls were lined with shelves that were crowded with books and odd magical artefacts that throbbed with power.

The easy chair to the right of the fire had an open book on its arm. A pile of similar tomes was stacked on the nearby end table beside a steaming cup of what looked like tea.

Snape's place had more personality than his own flat did, Harry realized self-consciously. These tasteful living quarters were not at all what he'd expected of Severus Snape, especially after what he'd learned about the man on Monday night. He was well educated enough to know that vampires didn't sleep in coffins as suggested in Muggle fiction and cinema, but he'd never thought of them living in quite so normal a manner. In fact, 'normal' wasn't a word that sprang to mind regarding anything concerning Snape. But this was nice and it comforted his jagged nerves.

As requested, he took a seat in the winged back chair across from the one with the open potions book and tea.

While he waited for Snape to bring him his whisky, he reviewed what he knew about vampires. Most of the ideas he'd gleaned from Muggle cinema were inaccurate. Vampires didn't need to sleep in either their native soil or a coffin, nor were they afraid of either garlic or crosses. They couldn't turn into either mist or a bat - unless, of course, the vampire was an animagus and the bat was his second form. Vampires wouldn't shatter to dust if exposed to direct sunlight, but like any nocturnal creature, they didn't like bright lights. While a vampire could consume human food and drink, they couldn't live on it alone.

The two facts that Muggle cinema had gotten right were that a vampire had no reflection in a mirror and that it needed human blood to survive. The Dark Arts texts he'd checked over the last week had been vague about the quantity and frequency of the vampire's need for human blood. That was one of the things he'd come to question Snape on. Snape had said that he only fed once every two weeks, but the books he'd read all insisted that even with the potions, a vampire would need to feed every few days to remain healthy.

Of course, a lack of feeding could explain Snape's horrible complexion and ill temper.

His ruminations were interrupted as Snape brought him his drink like any good host. It was almost like they were playing roles - Snape as the gracious host, himself the polite guest. He knew it couldn't last, but he was grateful for it at the moment.

Harry reached up to accept his drink, a casual thanks on his lips. When his gaze settled on Snape's face he nearly lost his hold on the cool glass.

"My god, what's happened to you?" he gasped, taking a grip on the offered drink.

Now that they were in the full light, he could see that Snape's skin was more than just sallow tonight. It was nearly grey.

Snape pulled quickly back from him. He watched the tall, lean figure cross to the hearth and stare down into the dancing fire for a time. The flickering light did nothing to improve his harsh profile, lending Snape a sinister edge as the orange light shifted across his face in patterns and shadows.

When he thought Snape wouldn't answer, the deep voice reluctantly offered, "Monday night happened. I was prevented from feeding and now that avenue has been closed to me."

"Oh." Great. He was here with a hungry vampire, and in his usual Gryffindor stupidity, he'd neglected to bring a stake. Of course, he was powerful enough to transfigure one, but that would hardly be a diplomatic way to begin his visit.

Snape's disgusted expression and tone were familiar to him of old as his former teacher all but sneered, "Don't worry, Potter. I'm in complete control."

"But for how long?" Harry couldn't keep himself from asking.

Snape turned to meet his gaze. "For however long it takes."

He read the truth in that. The only trait more pronounced than his rudeness was Snape's iron will. This man could out-stubborn sixteen year olds, and that was saying something.

"How bad is it?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Have you ever been starved, Potter? Not simply missed a meal, but missed them for days, maybe weeks on end?"

Gulping at the ravenous hunger he could now clearly read in those dark eyes, he nodded. "My aunt and uncle used to punish me by withholding food."

"It's like that. Only a thousand times worse, because I can feel and smell the substance that will ease my agony flowing through the veins of those around me. I think that is why so many of my kind snap and become . . . predatory. The torment is constant and the temptation indescribable."

"And yet you resist it," Harry softly said.

"To give into temptation is to lose myself forever. My choices are all that separate me from that loathsome creature you killed on Monday."

Relaxing a little, he gently asked, "What will you do now that you can't visit London? Hogsmeade - "

"Is too close. I would be too readily recognized in certain sections of town. I won't do anything to embarrass the school or compromise the Headmistress. You needn't worry about that, Potter."

"Actually, it was you I was thinking of," he corrected. He could see the tension in that tight held body, see how utterly unwell Snape looked. His eyes were sunken and hollow, almost glittering with pain.

Snape gave a droll, "How altruistic of you," that seemed totally forced.

A heavy silence fell between them. After a few uncomfortable moments, Snape asked in a weary manner, "You have questions?"

"Yes, but . . . they can wait until you're feeling well," Harry said. He felt uncomfortable hounding the man when he was suffering. "I can come back at a better time."

"I haven't felt 'well' in more than thirty years. There won't be a 'better time'. And if you imagine that I have any desire to do this again, you're more of an idiot than I took you for. So ask your questions so that we can be quit of each other."

Harry sucked in a shocked breath. Snape still knew how to make him feel like a rank schoolboy. But he wasn't a schoolboy. He was an Auror and the man before him represented a threat to their entire world. "First of all, I'm not your student anymore, so don't take that tone with me. If you think I want to be here, you're wrong, dead wrong. I just . . . I have to be certain I didn't make a mistake in what I did for you Monday night. I've broken laws and jeopardized both society and my job by helping you. My intervention gives me a certain amount of responsibility for both you and your actions. I . . . need to know I've done the right thing."

"Understandable. I'm sure my current behaviour isn't reassuring your concerns," Snape sounded as though he were reprimanding himself.

"Actually, it is," Harry said. "You are your typical charming self. Exactly as I remember you."

Snape released a loud, exasperated sounding breath and then moved to take his seat in the chair with the book on its arm. The book tumbled to the floor as Snape's arm brushed against it. Snape left it where it fell and gripped the chair arms. "That is hardly conducive to convincing you that I'm no danger to society. You used to consider me the anti-Christ."

That was a strange comment for a pureblood wizard to make, but even from here, he could see that many of the books on the shelves around them were of Muggle origin. Appreciating the effort Snape was making, he tried a smile and said, "That's because you were the anti-Christ - to your students."

"And you find that worth saving?" Although he could be difficult to read, Snape seemed confused.

"Being strict and dislikeable are not grounds for execution," Harry answered.

"But being a vampire is," Snape reminded.

"That law was designed to protect society from the type of killer that attacked me Monday night. You're not in his category."

"In the eyes of the Ministry I am," Snape objected.

"It's not the Ministry you have to worry about at the moment," he answered.

The words should have been a threat, but even he could hear the odd inflection in his tone.

Snape silently watched him for a moment before asking, "So what do you want to know?" His voice was a strange mix of tension and exhaustion.

Harry tried to ignore how tightly Snape was clutching the chair arms. His companion's yellow-stained, long-fingered hands looked almost like eagle talons. He was uncomfortably reminded of the creature he'd fought on Monday, a creature with the same affliction as Snape.

Recalling Snape's earlier admission, he wondered if the other man were sitting there smelling his blood and holding himself back from attacking.

"Potter, if you've simply come to gape at me, I can do without the audience," Snape reprimanded.

"I'm sorry," he got hold of himself. "I know this is hard for you."

"You don't know a thing!" Snape snarled with his usual foul humour.

"So educate me," Harry countered.

"I tried to do that for seven long years and failed miserably," Snape replied.

"Professor . . . ."

"Well what do you want to know? I've already assured you that I'm not a danger, that I don't hunt to survive. What more can I tell you?"

"Maybe . . . how this happened to you?" he hesitantly asked. "If it's not too personal."

Snape snorted. "How do you think it happened? A vampire bit my neck, induced me to drink his blood, and . . . I woke up three days later . . . changed."

"So you were attacked then?" he asked, unable to keep the question in.

There was a long silence, and then Snape gave a low, "No. That would absolve me of responsibility. Seduced would be a better word. There was no physical force applied. I damned myself to this fate through my own weakness."

"That's very . . . unforgiving," Harry said, surprised by Snape's vehemence.

"The consequences were unforgiving. I was a fool and I've paid for my folly every day of my life since."

When Harry was younger, he'd never heard Snape berate himself for anything. It made him feel more kindly towards his former nemesis, so much so that it allowed him to question in a soft tone, "How old were you?"

"A year out of Hogwarts. Eighteen, I think. I'd just started university."

"How did you meet the vampire?"

Snape met his eyes and asked in a subdued tone, "Do you really want to hear this?"

"Yes," Harry said, his stomach fluttering a little under that intense stare.

"Why?"

He supposed it was a fair question. What he was requesting to know was no doubt highly personal and really had nothing to do with his concerns for anyone's safety. "I . . . I'm trying to understand. This has shaken every conviction I ever had about you."

"There isn't much to understand. I wasn't . . . any better favoured in appearance at eighteen than I am now. I was utterly inexperienced, to boot. The . . . vampire who turned me was without exception the most attractive man I'd ever seen. I didn't stand a chance in resisting him."

Harry couldn't help but start at that. He couldn't picture this repressed loner in a sexual situation at all, let alone being wanton enough to drink someone's blood in the heat of the moment.

Snape gave a sharp, humourless bark of laughter beside him. "Another illusion shattered, Potter? Have I offended your conventional sensibilities with yet another unnatural aberration?"

"I didn't know you . . . preferred men, sir," he replied, not understanding why the fact that Snape was like him would make his heart start racing the way it was. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"You didn't know I was one of the undead until four days ago. You don't know a thing about me."

"I'm beginning to realize that," he said softly. "And just for the record, you haven't offended my sensibilities. That would be a little hypocritical of me."

He didn't know why he was telling Snape that. His own preferences were hardly pertinent to why he was here. Hell, they were hardly pertinent at all.

Preferences were only important if you acted upon them. He was honest enough to recognize that in his own way, he was as closed-off and as emotionally crippled as Snape. He simply hid it better.

"I see." Snape's eyebrow rose in an expressive gesture.

Wanting to deflect the conversation from the pathetic state of his own nonexistent love life, Harry asked, "What happened to the vampire who . . . turned you?"

Snape shrugged. "I never saw him again. I lost my virginity and immortal soul to a complete stranger I met at one of Malfoy's Halloween galas. I woke up alone three nights later in the basement of a deserted house we'd . . .sheltered in."

'Sheltered in', not 'shagged in'. He noticed the care Snape took with his words. His former teacher could have made this interview intensely uncomfortable for him by being deliberately crude. Although Snape seemed to be being quite scrupulous at sticking to the facts, he also seemed to be trying to relate his tale in a palatable manner. He couldn't help but admire him for the restraint. His years as an Auror had shown him how often people tried to manipulate their audience and make a play for sympathy while relating their stories. Snape was refreshingly discreet.

"Look, I don't understand a hell of a lot about vampirism, but it's damn clear you haven't lost your soul," Harry protested. "If you had, you wouldn't be starving yourself the way you do, and you wouldn't care about embarrassing the school."

Snape appeared shocked by his words. Finally, Snape gave a very uneasy sounding, "That's kind of you to say."

"It's just the truth," Harry dismissed and then continued with his earlier line of questioning. "Did you know what had happened to you when you woke up?"

Snape shook his head. "Not at first. I thought that I'd been drugged. My senses were frighteningly affected. When I woke up, I could hear the heartbeats of the rats in the derelict building around me. I could smell their blood, taste the dust in the air."

"You must have been terrified," Harry commented without thinking.

Snape seemed surprised by his words. After a moment Snape nodded. "Yes, but it was also . . . exhilarating. I'd never felt more alive or powerful. It was totally intoxicating - until the hunger hit, and I came to understand what had been done to me."

"How - "

Snape spared him the necessity of asking the awkward question. "There were no more heartbeats among the rodent population when I left that house."

Once he would have been disgusted by that kind of statement, but he'd seen a lot in the twelve years he'd served as an Auror. The denizens of Knockturn Alley ate far worse things than rats.

"You couldn't live on rats' blood, though," Harry said, making it a question.

"Not for long. Their blood doesn't supply the proper nutrients. After a time, a vampire who feeds only on rodent blood becomes mentally deficient. His hunger grows, while his judgement and controls slip. It's a recipe for disaster."

"What did you do after you left the empty house?"

"I . . . suppose I lost my mind for a time. I was . . . inconsolable in my rage and horror. Fortunately, I was sensible enough to refrain from becoming a hazard to society. I threw myself into my potions studies, desperately searching for a cure. It was while I was at Oxford that I began to buy whores, drink their blood, and obliviate their memories to survive. I didn't care about myself or my future, for I didn't believe I had one. I fell further and further into despair, until - "

"You went to Professor Dumbledore for help?" Harry guessed.

Snape straightened a bit in his chair and averted his gaze. "If only I'd been that wise. No, it was Lucius Malfoy I encountered. He was recruiting for Voldemort. I believe that you are familiar with the rest of that sorry tale."

Harry nodded and asked, "Did Voldemort and Malfoy know what you were?"

Snape gave a negative shake of his head. "Keeping my secret to myself was perhaps the one smart decision I made during those years."

"What happened after that?"

Snape continued in a soft voice, "It was nearly a year before I came to my senses and recognized what would happen to me if I remained in Voldemort's ranks. By that time I had taken the mark. I didn't believe there was anyone who would help me, twice damned as I was - a vampire and Death Eater." As he spoke, Snape's tone changed, becoming more animated. Harry had the feeling that Snape wanted to tell his story. After all, it wasn't as though he'd had anyone to share this with. There had to be a cathartic element to finally being able to tell someone about the horrible things that had happened to him. "In desperation I turned to Albus. The most I'd hoped for was that he would . . . deal with me himself. I didn't want to starve to death in Azkaban or be disposed of by the Ministry. Those were the only two fates I could imagine after all I'd done. Albus gave me a third option, one that held the promise of hope and redemption. He never allowed me to view myself as a monster or treated me as one. He was . . . an extraordinary man."

"I wish I'd known him better," Harry said. Hermione and Ron's loss in the final battle with Voldemort had eclipsed everything else, even Albus Dumbledore's death.

Snape nodded. As their eyes met there was a moment of perfect communion between them at their shared loss.

The unexpected closeness shocked him nearly as much as learning Snape's secret had on Monday.

"There's one thing that's been bothering me since I found out about you," Harry said, needing to air his anger.

Snape gave a snide, "Only one thing has been bothering you?"

"Well, one thing especially. In my third year, you revealed Remus Lupin's werewolf nature to the school, ruining his chances for employment in the Wizarding World."

"Yes," Snape answered, in the tone another man might have used to acknowledge putting the dog out.

"Don't you find that rather hypocritical?" Harry demanded, trying to keep a hold on his temper. They'd never done well when arguing, and he was sensible enough to realize that becoming furious with a starving vampire was probably not the wisest of strategies. "I mean, you both had similar secrets that could have destroyed you, yet you betrayed his."

"This isn't something I'd expect a Gryffindor to understand," Snape said.

"I'm trying really hard to hold onto my temper here. Cracks like that aren't helping," he warned in a tight voice. "How could you do that to him when you were in the exactly the same situation?"

"It was because I was in the same situation that I did it," Snape answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that he forgot to take the potion that enabled him to safely associate with society. He allowed himself to become a lethal hazard when all that he needed to do to prevent that from happening was drink a cure that he already had in his possession," Snape said.

"He forgot once, " Harry hotly defended. "On a night when he found out that his best friend was innocent of the murders of his other closest friends. They were extreme circumstances. Remus made an honest mistake. Anyone could have done it."

"People like your friend Lupin and me, we can't afford mistakes. When we make a mistake, innocents die," Snape said in a voice like steel. "If Black hadn't been there that night, you and your friends would have all fallen victim to Lupin's mistake."

"So you're saying that the only reason you did it was to protect us? That you got no personal satisfaction at all out of destroying him?" Harry challenged, because he knew this man's pettiness.

"I admit that I took a perverse pleasure in what I did. I make no excuses. Lupin had proven himself an untrustworthy menace, and whether you like it or not, he didn't belong hiding in a school of innocent children." Snape met and held his glare, before adding, "My disclosure was not made without personal risk. He could just as easily have revealed my secret to the populace if he'd wanted his revenge."

"Remus knew what you were?" he asked, stunned.

"His senses were as acute as my own. Though we never discussed it, he had to have known," Snape replied.

"Why wouldn't he have told, then?" Harry wondered aloud, part of him still childish enough to wish that Remus had told. Maybe Snape wouldn't be so damn sanctimonious, then. Of course, if Remus had betrayed Snape's secret, it would have cost Snape his life.

"Lupin and I were attempting to do what very few of our kind can manage - to blend invisibly into normal society. We live our lives knowing that every day our mere presence endangers those around us . . . those we might hold dear. We make a conscious decision to never allow ourselves to hurt the humans we live with, no matter the cost to ourselves. We have got to be our own Aurors, and our own jailers, when necessary. Lupin knew that he'd failed, that he'd betrayed Albus' trust and endangered every one of his students. I can't be certain, but I assume he didn't betray my secret because he knew I was right."

"What you did to him still doesn't seem right," Harry insisted.

"You make a strong case for sympathizing with Lupin, and I do allow that the circumstances that caused him to neglect taking his potion were incredibly stressful, but we were involved in a war with a Dark Lord. The circumstances weren't going to become less stressful; they were going to become more fraught. What would have been the right course for me to take? To remain silent and hope that the next time he had a stressful experience on a full moon that whatever unfortunate student he happened upon would somehow escape a werewolf unscathed? Do you have any idea how close you and your friends came to losing your humanity, if not your very lives?"

"I was there. I know how . . . dangerous that night was," Harry shot back.

"May I ask you a question, then?" Snape requested with a strange formality.

Gritting his teeth, he nodded. He knew he wasn't going to like whatever was coming.

"You're an adult now, and an Auror. You have the responsibility for thousands of lives upon you every day. If you were a teacher, responsible for the safety of the children of this school, would you want a werewolf who'd forgotten to take his Wolfsbane - for any reason - teaching here? If you were me, would you have kept silent, knowing that the next time your co-worker had a difficult day that some of your students might not survive it?"

Harry opened his mouth to defend Remus and protest that he would have kept silent because it would never have happened again, but . . . he was an Auror now. The one thing twelve years of policing the Wizarding World had taught him was that if someone broke the law once, there was a very high probability that they would do so again in the future. Snape was looking at Remus' failing in the same rigid way Aurors were trained to view their jobs, for much the same reason. As much as he wanted to dismiss Snape's concerns, he couldn't, because if he were wrong, it would be Hogwarts students that would pay the price.

"Well, if you were me, what would you have done?" Snape demanded, as if he'd scented Harry's uncertainty, and perhaps he had.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I want to say that I'd give Remus another chance, but - "

"A child might die if you were mistaken," Snape finished with a meaningful glance.

"Yes," he reluctantly admitted. Looking at Snape, he could see that the safety of his students had really been a grave concern to him in that horrible situation.

"I won't pretend that I didn't take personal satisfaction from what I did, but it was necessary."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Harry said.

"No, it doesn't. And I suppose now you have the perfect opportunity to avenge Lupin and all the petty skirmishes of our past," Snape said levelly, holding his gaze.

"This isn't about revenge," Harry snapped.

He stared at Snape, trying to take his measure as an adult. All the horrible things he'd thought of his potions teacher still seemed to be true. Snape's two most prevalent personality traits were still his sarcasm and malice. All in all, Snape was quite possibly the most unappealing man he'd ever met.

But as much as it irked him to admit it, Snape was also one of the most courageous and honourable men he'd met. Snape was sitting here starving to death, discussing the safety of his students. That took an uncommon control. Harry had seen what vampirism could turn a man into in that back alley on Monday night. Snape was almost the antithesis of that raving monster. He knew that all that separated the two were their characters and the choices they had made.

His former professor had been thrust into a hopeless situation that would have claimed most men's sanity and morality long ago, and yet thirty years after Severus Snape had been infected, he still sat here sane and relatively stable. Harry couldn't help but admire the man's courage and dignity.

Snape was a peculiar blend of seemingly contradictory traits - cruelty and honour, pettiness and dignity, physical unattractiveness and moral excellence. Harry knew that when he was younger he never would have been able to see anything other than this unpleasant man's faults, but tonight he was seeing Professor Snape as the complex individual he was. It occurred to him that for the first time ever, he was seeing the Severus Snape that Albus Dumbledore had known and trusted.

As the silence stretched, Snape finally asked, "Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"I, er, I've seen a few vampires in the line of duty. All our schoolbooks said that a person stops aging once they . . . become a vampire. Most of the vampires I met looked pretty scary when I dealt with them, but some of them were hundreds of years old and they only looked thirty. But, if you don't mind my saying so, sir, you've always looked your age. Why is that?"

"A vampire seems to stop aging if he feeds regularly on human blood - regularly, as in once a day. We actually do continue to age, but at a much slower rate. Research seems to indicate that if we feed regularly, we appear to gain perhaps a year for each century we live. I restrict my feeding to the absolute minimum to survive - once every two weeks. If I were to feed more frequently than that, the change in my appearance would be quite dramatic."

"Oh," Harry said. "The more you learn about it, the stranger vampirism seems. So little of it makes any sense."

"There is a theory that it doesn't make sense because vampirism was born of magic, not nature," Snape offered.

"Why would anybody use magic to make themselves a vampire?" Harry questioned.

"Of course, nobody would purposefully create vampirism. Even as a curse, it is impractical," Snape said.

"Then how . . .?"

Those dark eyes were regarding him as though he were fully as incompetent as Snape had always accused him of being. "I suspect that some fool with more power than brains attempted to make himself immortal and his spell went awry. If someone as powerful as you or Voldemort tried to magically alter his body chemistry to gain eternal life in the past, he might have accidentally created the condition. I've been studying its properties for thirty years now, and vampirism has far more in common with an accident of magic than a natural condition."

"Like lycanthropy," Harry said.

"Hardly," Snape corrected. "Lycantrhopy conforms to nature. It's a viral infection transmitted by the exchange of body fluids with a werewolf in wolf form. Lycanthropy has none of the scientifically inexplicable side effects of vampirism - like our lack of reflection."

"Oh." Harry had never been one for long, theoretical debates. He couldn't help but experience a pang of loss as he remembered that kind of theorizing had always been Hermione's strong suit. Returning the discussion to the practical, he asked, "So what will you do now that you can't feed in London?" He tried to keep his voice even, to make his question sound curious and not accusative. "Will you floo to Aberdeen or Liverpool?"

"The Prophet said that they're installing those vampire detectors on the floo network," Snape answered. Snape's face was perfectly controlled, but his voice betrayed his concern.

"The Prophet was trying to reassure a panicked London. Do you know how much it would cost to install those detectors on the entire network?"

"It is still safe, then?" Snape asked.

"Yes." Harry looked at the dark clad, homely man across from him. Snape's colour was so dreadful that he didn't simply look like the vampire he was, but more like a zombie or some other unwholesome creature that hunted the night.

That wasn't good. The current vampire panic might have abated some in the last corpse- free four nights, but a nervousness still permeated Britain. He'd read the Auror reports from every city. They'd received more vampire alarms in the last week than they had in the entire year before. If Snape went out looking like that to procure company and blood, he'd be reported before he left whatever establishment he flooed into.

"But?" His surprise must have shown, because Snape snapped with his usual short temper, "How you perform your duties with that open face of yours is a complete mystery. What is it you're not saying?"

"My face isn't really the problem at the moment. Have you seen what you look like?" he asked.

The grey skinned features tightened to tombstone hardness. "Not in more than thirty years. Are you trying to be facetious?"

"Oh, I forgot. I'm sorry," he swiftly apologized. That fact explained a lot about Snape's appearance.

"What is it you're trying to say?"

"Frankly?" Harry quizzed, his brain racing to find a polite way to phrase his words. At Snape's nod, he hesitantly explained, "Your skin colour is ghastly. You don't just look sick, sir. You look . . . unnatural. I'd be watching you the minute I saw you if I were on patrol, and with how frightened everyone's been these past two weeks . . . ."

"I see your point," Snape said.

"Maybe a glamour would - "

"They don't work when my system is this unstable, nor does the Polyjuice Potion," Snape said.

"Would rodent blood bring some colour back?" he hesitantly asked, cautious of offending.

Snape seemed too lost in thought to worry about the niceties of social convention. He gave a negative shake of his head. "I've consumed as much animal blood as I dare."

"You said that there were potions you could use that would help."

Those ebony eyes met his own. He could read the pain and worry in the bottomless depths of blackness as Snape reluctantly answered, "I've already passed the limit of nutritive and restorative potions my body can absorb. There comes a point when I have no choice anymore, and I simply have to feed. Unfortunately, I passed that point two days ago."

"So you've been starving for two days," he said as much to himself as to Snape.

Snape replied with a short tempered, "I've been starving for thirty years. I've been in crisis for two days."

"Have you ever gone this long without . . . " Harry searched for a word, then settled on, ". . . sustenance before?"

Snape gave a negative shake of his head. "Two weeks was always the longest I felt comfortable waiting. Come Monday, it will be three weeks since I last fed."

"That's not good," he stated the bloody obvious. "You can't go on like that indefinitely. Sooner or later, you'll - "

"I will do nothing to violate Minerva's trust in me or embarrass this school," Snape cut him off in a voice like steel. "One way or another, I will deal with it, without hunting."

The solution to Professor Snape's problem was, of course, flowing through his own veins even as they spoke; Harry was startled to realize. That it was only now that the idea occurred to him was either a testament to the former animosity of their relationship or confirmation of Snape's low estimate of his intelligence. Either way, he was startled the solution hadn't occurred to him before.

Of course, now that it had, he didn't know if he could make that kind of offer. He'd seen what hungry vampires could do to a man. He didn't want to end up like poor Ellie, drained dry. Beyond that, there was the awkward fact that he'd loathed this man for the better part of his life.

But did any of that really matter when someone was starving to death? Were his own fears and dislikes worth Snape's life? Was he that petty and weak?

There was an even larger problem to circumvent than his own reluctance, Harry realized.

Even if he were as dumb as Snape believed him, Harry was smart enough to know that his former teacher wouldn't go for the idea. At least, not straight away. It would take one hell of a fight to convince Snape to go along with reason. But he was dealing with a man who was starving to death. Sooner or later, Snape would have to give in to necessity.

His stomach lurched at the very thought of offering his blood to a vampire, even one he knew. Snape hadn't fed in nearly three weeks. Even his iron control had to have limits. There was no way either of them could guarantee that if he did offer his assistance, that Snape wouldn't lose it and drain him dry.

But was he willing to let someone else take this chance in his place? Some poor prostitute who wouldn't have a hope of fighting Snape off if he lost it? That thought was just as repulsive as the concept of feeding Snape. But as inherently disgusting as the proposition was, there was a certain poetic justice to the idea that appealed to Harry's Gryffindor spirit. Who better than the Auror who had freed the vampire to take this risk? And, all false modesty aside, who would be better equipped than him to handle the situation if things got out of hand?

He knew the depth and force of his own power. He didn't like to think about it too much, but the truth was that there wasn't a wizard in the world who could stand against him at this moment in time.

He was in perfect health. His blood was sufficient unto the task. His power was sufficient to protect him. The only thing he was lacking was the courage. There was just something utterly repugnant to the idea of feeding Snape. God knew, the man was physically repulsive enough to make him shudder at just the idea of touching him, let alone getting close enough to allow Snape to sink his teeth into any part of him.

But it was his duty. He was the one ultimately responsible for this problem, so it was his lot to solve it.

His fear was great, but his will was stronger. Somehow, he found the strength inside himself to acknowledge what was the right thing to do in this difficult situation. Personal feelings aside, he couldn't let Snape die. That was the bottom line. Everything else would have to be worked out.

Taking a deep breath, he demanded, "How are you going to deal with it if you can't risk being seen?"

"What?" Snape snapped.

"You've already admitted that you've exhausted all artificial methods. What are you going to do? Call down to the Hogsmeade brothel and have them send a whore up to the school to service you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape said.

"Is there someone here at the school who has helped you in the past?" Harry gently enquired. "Minerva - "

"No, on both counts. No one else knows, and I couldn't ask that of her, not after everything she's done for me already."

"That only leaves you with one choice," he said.

"I know, Potter. There's no need to belabour it. I've prepared a room in an unused section of the dungeons. Once I enter, the door will seal shut behind me and not open for another month," Snape said.

God, Snape was planning on killing himself! He supposed it was the most honourable course to take, given the circumstances, but it went against everything Harry believed in. He also couldn't believe that Snape would think him malicious enough to take joy in suggesting that Snape off himself, no matter how much they disliked each other.

"That wasn't the option I was suggesting," Harry quickly protested. "I didn't save your hide to have you die of starvation."

"What would you suggest, then? A visit to a Muggle blood bank?" Snape sarcastically demanded.

"Would that work?" Harry asked, distracted by the idea. It wasn't a course he'd considered, but it could be managed easily enough.

"No. The blood must be fresh and at body temperature."

It was now or never. Harry took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could, "My blood's fresh and at body temperature."

"That isn't the slightest bit funny," Snape said, his gaze skewering him.

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Absolutely not," Snape denied.

"Look, this is the only option that makes sense. You can't go out to feed looking like that. I'm here, and I'm offering - "

"I will not put myself further in your debt," Snape insisted.

"So what are you going to do instead? Wall yourself up in a tomb to slowly die? What kind of logic is that?" Harry asked.

"It's not your concern," Snape said.

"It is my concern! I damned you to this fate when I interfered on Monday. I can't just let you starve yourself to death!"

"Why should you even care?" Snape challenged.

"Because I've known you my entire life!"

"You've hated me your entire life," Snape corrected.

"Oh, for fuck all's sake! I was a kid. You were my meanest teacher. I'm nearly thirty now. I'm not going to stand by and let someone I know suffer a horrible death simply because I didn't like him at school," he argued. "You don't want to die - not like that. No one would want to go that way. Professor, please. Let me help?"

"I will not be an object of pity." The glare that accompanied those words would have withered most men's courage.

Harry had faced that baleful stare his entire seven years at Hogwarts. It made him just as mad now as it had back then. "This isn't about pity, you stupid prat. I know you and I'm not going to just let you kill yourself because it offends your pride to accept some assistance. Have you even given a thought to how your death will affect the people who care about you?"

Snape's snort was the last straw.

"Listen to me, you selfish bastard. Minerva McGonagall needs you. You know better than anyone how rare Potions Masters are these days. Where's she going to find someone to replace you? And even if she did, do you think that newcomer's going to want to take on the Head of House duties for Slytherin? Whether you like it or not, you are needed here."

"So you're suggesting that I should live because I am a useful tool to others?"

"Though I can't imagine why, Minerva cares about you. She's worried sick over all this. She spent ten minutes making me promise I wouldn't hurt you before she'd let me down to see you," Harry said.

Snape took one of his hands off the chair arm and ran his fingers through the greasy fall of hair dangling over his brow. "I know that . . . she is genuinely concerned. I should not have belittled that."

"You're not thinking straight," he softly said. "You're hungry and in pain. I can help with that. If you'll let me."

Snape dropped his gaze to the flickering flames for a moment, then turned back to meet Harry 's eyes and ask, "Do you have any idea what you're offering? This isn't some heroic Gryffindor adventure you're about to embark upon. You're inviting me to drink the blood out of your veins."

Harry gulped under the weight of that stare and the reality before him. "I know. I still want to do it. I don't want you to die, not when there's something I can do to prevent it."

"I . . . want to live," Snape confessed in a quiet tone. He sounded as though he'd just admitted to a major character flaw instead of the most basic tenet of life.

Harry shivered as he realized that the fight was over. He'd won his argument, as he'd known he would. And now . . . now a vampire was about to drink his blood.

Barely controlling his panic impulse, he took a deep breath and uncertainly asked, "How - how will we do this?"

Snape appeared as nervous and uncomfortable as he felt. "If you are absolutely certain that you wish to pursue this course, it is best if we were both comfortable. The sofa would probably be a better choice than these chairs."

"All right." Harry rose to his feet and moved to the long, grey couch, sinking numbly down onto its overstuffed cushions.

Snape followed even more slowly. He settled down close to him, but not uncomfortably so.

Harry could smell his companion as he took another deep breath. Strangely enough, for all that Snape wasn't the most attractive of men, he smelt good. It was a warm, very earthy scent, sweet, but not artificially so.

"What now?" Harry asked of the visibly reluctant man beside him.

"There are two ways this can be done. I can use a knife to pierce the skin on your arm and drink from there. Or I can . . . do it the traditional way. Each has its benefits."

"The arm sounds . . . better," Harry said, beginning to shake a bit. He thought he could handle that. Stick out his arm, and allow Snape to suck the blood there. There'd be a minimum of contact.

Snape nodded and added, "I must warn you that that method is extremely painful to the donor. My saliva has properties that numb the site and make the experience pleasurable. That won't happen if we use the knife."

"Couldn't you . . . feed at my arm instead, then?" he questioned, with the sense that he was missing something.

"If the purpose of feeding at your arm is to decrease the sense of . . . intimacy, then using my teeth in any way will sabotage that."

"I don't understand," he said, watching that unhealthy face for any hint of what Snape was trying to tell him.

Snape sighed. "To put it bluntly, my saliva acts as an intensely potent aphrodisiac. If it comes in contact with your bloodstream, you will become sexually aroused. The only way to prevent that from happening is to use a knife, and have me suck the blood off your skin rather than out of the vein itself. However, that is . . . a most intensely unpleasant experience."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling like an utter moron. He felt the heat in his face and suspected that if Snape had been feeling better, he'd be blushing as well.

As it was, the potions master met his eyes and quietly offered, "If you've changed your mind about going through with this, I understand completely."

"No, we're doing this," Harry insisted, trying to get a hold of himself. "Do you have a knife?"

Snape gave a reluctant nod. "Yes."

Snape's dread was so palpable he could nearly touch it. The grey-tinged vampire beside him looked as though he expected Harry to use the knife to vivisect him rather than the other way around.

"What?" Harry questioned, reaching out to lay his hand on Snape's arm in what was quite possibly the first voluntary physical contact he'd ever had with the man. Part of him expected the contents of his stomach to come lurching up his throat, but it was just warm fabric under his hand. There was no true sense of horror to touching Snape, for all his initial revulsion at the idea. It had been so long since he'd touched anybody outside of the line of duty or a brief hug of greeting that it actually felt good.

"Potter . . . I would ask you to . . . reconsider that course."

"You can't . . . want me to, er . . . ." Words failed him. He was blushing so furiously that he was sure he'd burst a vein and then there would be no reason to argue this with Snape any further.

He heard Snape give a noisy swallow and then say with obvious difficulty, "You are giving me the gift of life, sharing your blood with me. If you were me, would you wish to reward such generosity with pain?" Snape held his gaze and continued, "I recognize that I am quite possibly the last person on the planet with whom you would be interested in having . . . intimate relations. I give you my word that . . . you needn't touch me sexually at all in our encounter. I only ask that you don't force me to hurt you. I - I've never caused pain before when I fed. I'd rather not start tonight."

Harry gulped at the heartfelt plea. "I . . . it's just that I . . .."

What was he going to do - tell Snape that he was a thirty-year-old virgin? He mightn't be a literal virgin, but he was as close as made no difference. Snape would laugh him right out of the room. His pathetic situation was already humiliating enough without broadcasting it.

Harry tried to find a way to explain, but the words wouldn't come under that intense, hungry gaze. His own emotional problems were trivial when compared to what Snape was suffering. Snape was starving to death, but he still had the integrity to be concerned about the quality of the encounter for his partner. Snape wasn't trying to cop a quick feel or do anything lascivious with him. The other man was simply asking not to be made to feel anymore of a monster than he already did because of his needs.

"I know. This is . . . embarrassing to us both." Snape's deep, cultured voice was almost hypnotic as he said, "You have demonstrated great courage and compassion in your dealings with me. Do not force me to reward that with pain. I promise you that you will enjoy what I offer you, Harry Potter, possibly more than you've enjoyed any encounter in your life."

That wouldn't be hard, considering that most of his experience had been of the solitary kind, his panicked mind acknowledged. "I . . . ."

"You have my word that I will do nothing to take advantage of you, nor will I ever use anything that passes between us tonight against you in any way. Allow me to make this bearable for us both, please?"

Hardly able to breathe in his nervousness, he gave a mute nod.

"Thank you," Snape whispered. "Have I your permission to proceed?"

He gave another nod and closed his eyes as he felt Snape move closer to him on the couch. The breath caught in his chest as Snape's hands gripped his shoulders, guiding his body around until his back was nestled in the corner of the couch. Snape shifted a bit beside him. He gave a small gasp as his legs were scooped up and laid out on the cushions. He hadn't expected that.

"It's all right. Relax," Snape said. His voice was so soothing; it was hard to ignore the suggestion.

A little worried, Harry wondered if Snape were using some of the hypnotic powers on him that vampires were rumoured to use to mesmerize their prey. If Snape were, it put his own compliance totally in question.

He opened his eyes as he felt Snape settle against his flank. He searched that strong- boned, unhealthy face, looking for any trace of manipulation, but for the first time in memory, Snape's expression was unguarded. Snape seemed . . . concerned, about him as he stared down at him.

"Are you comfortable?" Snape questioned.

"As comfortable as a man can be with a vampire leaning over him," Harry joked.

To his surprise, Snape's thin, bloodless lips curled up in a small smile that was entirely free of malice.

"You're a brave man, Harry Potter." Snape was paused over him, their faces lined up as though for a kiss. Snape appeared to be nearly as unnerved as he was.

Somehow, that knowledge helped. The fact that this wasn't easy for Snape to do eased his nerves enough for him to say, "You used to say that the only difference between bravery and stupidity was the house one was sorted into."

Snape gave a breathy snort. His face was still lined with tension and pain, but something like humour sparked in his obsidian bright eyes. "No one has ever joked with me like this before. It . . . helps ease the . . . stress of it."

The stress of it? Startled, Harry realized that this had to be hard for Snape, maybe more difficult than it would be for most other men. Staring into Snape's eyes, he could almost see what his life had been like, see how much he hated this. And why wouldn't he? Snape was an intensely private man who didn't like to be touched, yet to survive he had to be intimate with a parade of prostitutes who probably never even knew his name.

"Go on. It's okay," Harry said, his compassion overwhelming even his fear. His mouth had run completely dry and his heart was hammering like he was staring down Lord Voldemort again, but he meant the words. He'd offered this of his own free will. It wasn't right of him to make it harder on Snape than it had to be, not when this man whom he'd hated for so many years was being so gracious and considerate towards him.

Harry had seen the tremors that had been running through Snape's rail-thin form since the time he'd entered the room, seen how Snape had been clutching those chair arms all night. He couldn't even conceive how much pain Snape must be in after not having fed for three weeks. His blood must have been tempting the vampire in Snape since he'd entered the room, but his former teacher had maintained his controls so tightly that Harry would never have suspected that his companion was under duress.

He watched Snape's hand reach for his jaw. Snape's fingers were firm, but gentle as they touched him. Those fingers were cooler than most people's, but not uncomfortably or unnaturally so.

His perspective changed as Snape tilted his chin up as far as it would go and carefully manoeuvred him until his head was braced on the couch arm with his throat completely arched and exposed.

Harry felt Snape move closer again. Warm breath tickled his neck, causing him to shudder. He was intensely conscious of Snape's greater height as the other man leaned against him to get closer to his exposed throat. He was pinned into the couch, completely vulnerable. If Snape chose to rip his throat out as that monster in Knockturn Alley had with that poor whore on Monday night, there wouldn't be a thing he could do about it. He'd be dead before he even knew what was happening.

Snape's strangely pleasing scent was all around him, heavy in the air. Harry had to wonder if there were some pheromone action going on here, too.

His heart was thundering so loud that it had to be deafening the vampire as well as him. The words 'no' and 'stop' were clogged in his throat, just waiting for him to get enough spit to shout them. He couldn't do this. He'd been wrong. He didn't have the courage. This was . . . .

Something wet and warm touched him neck, pricking his flesh up in goose bumps. Harry shivered as he realized that Snape was licking the skin on top of his jugular vein.

Snape was licking him. His mind gave a resounding 'yuck', but his body had a different response to the gentle action. He'd expected fangs - had he even seen Snape's fangs yet, he distractedly wondered - to come ripping through his skin. He hadn't anticipated anything this . . . sensual.

His touch-starved body had no defence against it.

Stars, it felt marvellous, not at all horrible as he'd expected. But then, he'd never imagined Severus Snape licking him. It should have been repulsive, but . . . the slick ministrations were glorious. Heat unfurled in his belly as Snape lapped at that same spot over and over, like a cat cleaning her kitten.

Of its own volition, his hand rose to settle in Snape's greasy hair. Harry let his fingers sort through the sticky strands they were resting against. Snape's hair really was quite . . . dirty. It was strange that the man would smell so clean and wonderful, if his hair was this neglected. The miniscule part of his brain that was still functioning suggested that perhaps Snape didn't bathe on purpose. Maybe the pheromones, which had to be the reason why every breath made Harry feel hotter, were cumulative. He was completely ignorant of such things, but perhaps the stronger a vampire's natural body scent was, the easier it was for him to seduce his prey.

Harry felt Snape's body tense on top of him at his touch. Thinking that Snape was probably worried that he'd changed his mind and was about to push him off, Harry gently whispered, "Sssh. It's all right. It feels . . . good. Real good."

Snape gave a physical start at that, but he continued licking his throat, which was really all Harry cared about at this point. An energizing warmth seemed to be sinking through his skin, spiking his respiration and heartbeat. Although he had nothing to judge it against, his body's reaction seemed more extreme than it should be to simple licking. His senses were starting to swirl as a wonderful sense of energized lethargy swept through him. It was a curious, incongruous blend of opposites. Harry felt nearly unable to move with intoxication, but alive, so fucking alive.

Abruptly, he began to understand how Snape could have been convinced to drink a stranger's blood all those years ago. Snape hadn't been some deviant, wanton slut. He'd only been human. Delight this sublime wasn't meant for mortal man.

He remembered Snape telling him how his saliva acted as an aphrodisiac and wondered if Snape were licking him to administer it. It probably should have bothered him that this pleasure was artificially stimulated, that it was all just preparation to make Snape's feeding easier, but he couldn't really muster the concern, not against something that felt this wonderful.

The tingling delight at his throat spread, moving out and downwards. Although Snape had warned him in his discreet way that it would happen, Harry still felt extremely self- conscious when his cock hardened. He tried to will it away, but with the sensations continually flooding his system, his inconvenient erection only grew bigger.

Snape's right hand left his shoulder. While the licking at his throat continued, Snape's hand trailed down his jumper. Harry gave a choked back cry as those passing fingers grazed over his erect left nipple. Even through the heavy black wool of his jumper, the contact was electrifying.

But Snape's hand didn't linger there. It continued downwards, ghosting over his muscular chest and his flat jeans-covered stomach, pausing only when it reached the throbbing flesh that was trying to poke its way out through his strangling zipper. He whimpered as the heat of Snape's palm settled over that needy bulge and squeezed him through the thick denim.

Harry was still rocking under the dizzying shockwaves of that squeeze when he felt something sharp and painful at his neck. The pain was dazzling for a moment, fully as intense as the pleasure, but then as Snape's fangs sank through his flash and found what they were looking for, the discomfort receded.

In its wake came a blinding burst of delight that exploded through his entire system. It was like those waves he'd felt when Snape was licking him, but far more intense. Every cell Harry had seemed to blaze to life at the same instant.

Under his own harsh breathing, he became aware of soft sucking sounds and realized that Snape was feeding. But the area seemed almost anaesthetized now. There was no pain at all, no sensation of his blood being forcibly pulled from his vein - nothing but that brilliant delight spiralling through him.

How long Snape sucked his blood, Harry had no idea. There was no sense of time passing. He was suspended in this ecstasy as though he'd been frozen in time. He never came, but every second felt like a devastating orgasm. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was feel. Feel and whimper.

Under the pounding, deafening beat of his heart, he could hear the pleading cries he was making. He would have done anything in that moment to sustain this feeling. If Snape had opened a vein and pressed it to his mouth, he'd have drunk it down just like the young Slytherin had done thirty years ago.

But Snape didn't do anything unscrupulous. The man simply fed for what felt like an eternity.

Harry was so caught up in the erotic swirl of feelings that he hardly noticed when those razor sharp fangs were extracted from his vein. He felt Snape's tongue lap at his neck for a while again, and then it stopped.

Harry opened his eyes to see a very transformed Snape staring down at him. Gone was that deathly grey tinge. Snape's cheeks were flushed and glowing with health. His eyes weren't hollow anymore, but bright and pleasure sated. Even Snape's hair seemed more lustrous.

Uncertainty touched Snape's expression as their gazes locked.

Harry's body was still on fire, lost in the sensual daze Snape's feeding had caused. His erection was still a living thing, throbbing in desperation now that whatever had kept his pleasure in that suspended state had ceased to operate.

A small part of his mind recognized that it was over. Snape had fed. He'd fulfilled his function here. Nothing else would pass between them. But . . . but he'd die if he didn't come . . . .

Snape appeared to work through whatever had made him pause. The doubt disappeared from his face, an unnatural tenderness replacing it.

Harry watched Snape's yellow-tinged fingers scramble to the zipper of his blue jeans. The metallic squeal it gave as Snape carefully lowered it over the bulging erection sounded very loud.

Snape peeled his jeans down his hips, taking his Y fronts with them. Harry gasped at the sudden sense of freedom as the choking trousers were removed.

When his jeans and underwear were pooled down at his knees, Snape looked back up at him.

It almost seemed as though Snape were waiting to be told to stop, but that word no longer existed in Harry's vocabulary.

Snape appeared to come to that same realization. And then Snape's right hand reached out to collect Harry 's needy erection.

He couldn't help but whimper at the feel of the first hand other than his own touching his bare shaft. Then Snape's head with its shimmering veil of black silk was lowering over his groin, and Harry 's world spun for the second time that night.

Vampires were really good at sucking. The insane thought played through what was left of his melted brain as Snape's mouth began to suck him. There was no hesitation on Snape's part, no awkwardness. Snape worked his cock like a maestro at this art, proving that his mastery of skills far exceeded potion making.

For his part, he could only moan as the pleasure barraged his already overwhelmed senses. It couldn't have been all that pleasant for Snape. Harry was so strung out, he barely lasted more than two sucks before he was flooding Snape's mouth with come.

But Snape didn't seem put out by his lack of staying power. Snape stayed with him and drank him down, sucking him until the last spurts had passed and Harry was limp under that skilful tongue.

The last conscious awareness he had was of Snape finally lifting his head up from his groin. Blackness closed in around him as mercilessly as the pleasure had and he tumbled down into a sleep that he knew might be eternal.

*****

Harry's head was pounding as though a dozen drunken mountain trolls were having a donnybrook inside his skull. His stomach was so queasy that simply opening his eyes was enough to make it threaten to disgorge its contents.

He stared up at the tasteful green velvet canopy way over his head, with no idea as to where he was or how he'd gotten there. All he knew was that his head was about to explode, if his stomach didn't beat it to it.

He didn't usually drink to excess. With his power, he couldn't afford to lose control like that. Still, he felt hung over or . . . sick. He supposed that he could be in hospital, but during the course of his duties, he'd spent a lot of time in St. Mungo's over the last twelve years and he knew they didn't have mahogany four-posters with green velvet drapes.

So where . . . ? His pain-wracked mind finally woke up. He remembered last night. He'd come to speak to Professor Snape and . . . he'd ended up . . . .

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot as he recalled precisely what he'd ended up doing with Snape last night.

God, he'd fed his blood to a vampire and then . . . .

He wasn't sure whether he was more upset with the feeding the vampire part or the having sex with Professor Snape part of the proceedings. Both were more than adequate cause for concern.

His actions of the previous night established, it only followed that this was Professor Snape's bed he was sleeping in. And it must be Professor Snape's nightshirt he was wearing, for he certainly didn't own one.

A slight noise like shifting fabric to his left drew his attention. His deductions were confirmed by the sight of the tall, black clad figure sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair beside the bed.

Those dark eyes were fixed on him, but they were neither hollow nor filled with pain this morning. Though something like nervousness was playing across Snape's harsh boned features, he no longer appeared desperate. On the contrary, as Harry took in the changes that had taken place since last night, he thought that he had never seen Severus Snape look quite so good. His skin had a healthy glow to it; his hair seemed clean and combed. The potions master would never be a handsome or attractive man, but at the moment he looked sleek and strangely sexy.

"Good morning," Snape greeted in a quietly subdued tone. He was watching him as though he anticipated some type of explosion or attack. "How do you feel?"

"Rough," Harry admitted. "You . . . look better."

"And so I am, thanks to your assistance."

Blushing furiously, he looked away from that too-perceptive stare. What was he supposed to say? Do? He'd never even had a normal morning after, let alone one this bizarre.

So while he tried to frantically compose his thoughts, he surveyed the room he found himself in. Like the sitting room, the dcor was understated and elegant. A smaller hearth took up the wall opposite the bed. There was a fire dancing cheerfully in it, warming the room.

The bedside tables, dresser, and wardrobe matched the dark mahogany wood of the bed, as did the shelves that lined the walls of this room. It seemed wherever Snape was, books accumulated.

There was a pile of what seemed to be Dark Arts books piled on the nightstand on the empty side of the bed, were their titles anything to go by. A half burnt candle stood beside the decrepit, leather bound tomes. The nightstand to Harry 's left just had a new candle on it in a matching pewter stand, so he deduced that the other side of the bed was where Snape normally slept. He couldn't help but wonder if Snape had slept there beside him last night after he'd passed out.

Which brought his brain back to what he'd done last night.

"Potter?"

He turned back at the sound of his name and winced at the pain the movement caused.

"Please drink this." Snape held out a small brown bottle. "It's a restorative potion. It should help with your headache and upset stomach."

Their hands brushed as he reached out to accept the bottle. Harry shuddered at the contact. His breathing gave a hitch and his heart seemed to pound harder. Perhaps it was the intimacy of being here in Snape's bed with what had passed between them last night still so vivid in his flesh and mind. Or maybe he was just going to be sick.

He uncorked the bottle and drank the bitter contents down. It was only as Snape wordlessly handed him a glass of pumpkin juice that he realized how worried the other man seemed.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he took a sip of the too-sweet juice.

"Strange as it may seem, this is the first time anyone has ever remembered what transpired when I fed. I . . . couldn't be certain that you wouldn't have second thoughts when you awoke."

That lush, ironic voice went through him the way the sensations of Snape's tongue touching him had.

Though Snape didn't specifically ask, he heard the question. "No second thoughts."

Their gazes locked again.

Harry held that intense stare as long as he dared, then gulped and looked away again. Startled, he realized that his head felt better. "Whatever you gave me worked great. I feel better already."

There was a pause, and then Snape gave a soft, "Good. I'm going to give you a potion to help replenish your blood. I'd like you to take it in the morning and night for the next three days."

"Thanks," he said, feeling awkward and stupid. He didn't know how he was supposed to look at Snape now. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He'd had sex with this man last night, and, though it was wrong to dwell on such things, every time he let his gaze linger on Snape, his body remembered how good Snape had made him feel.

"I . . . guess I should be going," he said.

"Your clothing is on the dresser top. I took the liberty of using a cleansing charm

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