"Noooooo!" Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; they missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the time.

Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of his back pocket-

"STOP! STOP!" he yelled, whacking the dashboard and the windshield,
but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up toward them-

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but too late-

CRUNCH.

"Are you okay?" Harry said urgently.

"My wand," said Ron, in a shaky voice. "Look at my wand-"

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they'd be able to mend it up at the school, but he never even got started. At that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the force of a charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Ron, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.
"What's happen-?"

Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, and Harry looked around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it. His hands were scraped and bleeding from the flying glass shards. The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.

"Run for it!" Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against his door, but next second he had been knocked backward into Harry's lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch. Ron's bat Scabbers let out a screech and clawed his way out of Ron's pocket. He landed on Harry's thumb, and Harry thought he felt a sharp nip on one of his bloodied fingers, but he quickly put the thought out of mind as the tree walloped the Anglia's hood again. The car had reached the end of its rope. It unceremoniously ejected the boys and their luggage, then sped off into the Forbidden Forest.

"Can you believe our luck?" said Ron miserably, bending down to pick up his bat Scabbers, who was screeching frantically. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get one that hits back."
He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly, and he stuffed the flailing bat into his pocket.

"Come on," said Harry, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach, "we'd better get up to the school..."

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Stiff, cold, and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," said Ron. Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at the Great Hall.

"Hang on..." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table... Where's Snape?"

"Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he's left," said Harry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!"

"Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him-"

"Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Harry spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in very deep trouble.

"Follow me," said Snape.

Not daring even to look at each other, Harry and Ron followed Snape away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.

"In!" he said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things Harry didn't really want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick, Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we, boys?"

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it-"

"Silence!" said Snape coldly. "What have you done with the car?"

Ron gulped. This wasn't the first time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he understood, as Snape unrolled today's issue of the Evening Prophet.

"You were seen," he hissed, showing them the headline: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES.
"I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow," Snape went on.

"That tree did more damage to us than we-" Ron blurted out.

"Silence!" snapped Snape again. "Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here."

Harry and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry felt extremely sick. He tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape's desk. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, they were hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Snape, but she was still extremely strict.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor McGonagall who accompanied him.

"Sit," she said.

"Explain," she directed, her glasses glinting ominously.

Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.
"-so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."

"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry.

Harry gaped at her. Now she'd said it, that seemed the obvious thing to have done. Blood rushed in his ears.

"I-I didn't think-"

"That," said Professor McGonagall, "is obvious."

There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. Harry suddenly found himself wishing he and Ron were still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow. Then again, he sort of felt like he was still being bludgeoned by its branches.

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice, nervously patting Scabbers through his pocket.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor McGonagall.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron.

Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on your punishments."

Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry and Ron as Professor McGonagall nodded once, sharply.

"You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding," she observed. Without meaning to, Harry sought out Ron's wounds with his eyes. Snape's countenance changed dramatically from an incensed scowl to a thoughtful frown as the man followed Harry's gaze.

"S'not much," said Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted-"

"The Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall. "Your sister is also in Gryffindor."

"Oh, good," said Ron. At that, Professor McGonagall took him by the arm and led him out of the office, leaving Harry staring between Snape and Dumbledore. It seemed as if they were having a wordless conversation over his head. He fought back another wave of nausea and stood. Cautiously, he turned to follow Ron and his Head of House.

"Just one moment, Potter," Snape drawled.

Harry faltered at the door. His head was pounding. Down the corridor, he could hear Ron telling Professor McGonagall about his broken wand.

"Sir?"

"Sit back down, Harry," Dumbledore said. Harry complied, crossing back to one of the spindly black chairs in front of Snape's desk and collapsing into it. His stomach was heaving. And his head felt like it was going to split open. Dumbledore dipped his chin to Snape.

"Potter," Snape began, steepling his hands, "do you feel...different in any way?"

Harry shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. He'd had worse pains than a throbbing head, an aching stomach, and some shallow scratches.

"I feel...sort of sick," he said. Snape looked at him carefully. Harry didn't like the way Snape's black eyes seemed to be staring directly into his thoughts. Unsettled, Harry watched Snape wordlessly summon a small vial from a shelf. Harry found his eyes inexplicably drawn to the thick, dark red liquid inside. Subconsciously, he ran his tongue over his top teeth.

"I don't believe it," murmured Snape, turning the vial over in his hands.

"I'm afraid I do, Severus...but how could this have happened?" Dumbledore asked aloud. Both men were regarding Harry intently. For his part, Harry was transfixed by the sight of the small vial. Without thinking, he reached for it, but Snape was quicker, moving it out of his grasp. Harry growled-growled-in frustration. He needed that vial! Suddenly, it exploded in Snape's hand. Snape let out a hiss of pain and shook the glass shards from where they'd embedded in his palm.
Completely out of control, Harry launched himself across the desk at Snape with a feral snarl. He could see Snape's eyes widen in surprise.

"Harry!" Dumbledore said. Harry found himself unable to move any further towards Snape. He looked up at Dumbledore as if he'd forgotten he was still there. With two quick flicks of his wand, Snape cast an Episkey on his wounded hand and a Tergeo on the red liquid from the vial that was seeping into his black robes and pooling onto the desk.
Harry gradually gained control of his ragged breathing and slowly sat back down. His head was pounding, so he rested it in his hands, afraid to look either man in the eye. What just happened?

"It is as we thought, Headmaster," Snape said cryptically. Harry tried to take deep breaths, scared of losing control again.

"Ah, yes. I fear this may be...slightly problematic," Dumbledore said.

Both wizards were looking at Harry appraisingly. Gasping, Harry struggled to keep the tremors out of his muscles.

“Control yourself, Potter!” snarled Snape. Harry’s head shot up from his arms and he fixed Snape with a glare. Snape returned the glare with equal-perhaps greater-contempt. His lower lip curled into a sneer. Harry shook with inexplicable rage.

“What’s—what’s wrong with me?” he bit out. He looked between Snape and Dumbledore for nonverbal answers, but neither man was giving anything away in his expression.

Finally, Dumbledore held up a hand in acquiescence.

“It seems we have much to discuss, Harry. But first, Severus, if you please—” Dumbledore began. Snape nodded sharply and silently Summoned another small vial. He caught it in between his thumb and his index finger.

"This, Potter, is a—Pepperup of sorts—it’s my own creation,” said Snape, his countenance proud but inscrutable. Harry could barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. Dumbledore reached an arm out as though he wanted to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, but Snape telegraphed what he thought of this idea with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

Dumbledore slowly drew back his hand.

“Take it,” Snape said, indicating the vial with a decisive flick of his wrist, “But—drink slowly, Potter.” His eye’s bored into Harry’s, imparting the importance of following his directions to the letter.

Harry gathered his wits and nodded. Snape handed him the vial. Both wizards watched Harry intently as he pulled the stopper from the potion and raised the glass towards his mouth. As soon as the potion hit his lips, he felt a wrenching sensation in his upper jaw. And then there was pain, the tearing, ripping sort, that made Harry see black spots in his vision and cry out.

“Aaahrrrgh!” he winced, his shout turning into a strangled growl. The vial shook in his hands, and Harry put all his effort into tipping it slowly. The potion trickled down the back of his throat, soothing the fire that had risen inside of him. He drained the glass and licked his lips.

“Wha—What?” Harry exclaimed. His upper canines had elongated into what could only be described as fangs. He sucked in a surprised breath, feeling them recede into his skull as he probed them with his tongue. The sensation was unpleasant but not painful; the aches in his head and stomach had also subsided. He ran his tongue along his upper teeth again. His canines seemed to be slightly longer than they had been before, but nowhere near the size of the...fangs. He looked at Snape and Dumbledore with wide eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked again, able to keep his voice neutral and his emotions in check this time.

Snape sneered.

“You’re perfectly healthy, Potter,” he said irritably-almost as if Harry’s good health was a personal grievance to him. Harry ignored his tone and sagged against the back of the rickety chair.

“You’re just…not. Completely. Human. Anymore.” Snape finished.

“Severus!” Dumbledore admonished faintly, peering at Snape reprovingly through his half-moon spectacles. Snape stared back, unrepentant. Harry’s throat constricted.

“Well…what am I, then?” he asked in a small voice, unsure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

“What do you think, Potter?” Snape hissed venomously. “Or do you think at all?”

“That’s quite enough, Severus,” Dumbledore chided. He rounded his twinkling blue gaze on Harry.

“Unfortunately, Harry, it seems you’ve been…changed—bitten—by a vampire,” Dumbledore explained slowly, as though he could scarcely believe it himself. Harry felt his jaw go slack.

“You’re a vampire, Potter,” Snape drawled, mistaking Harry’s astonishment for confusion.

“I’m a what?” Harry questioned, hoping wildly that he’d misheard his two professors, that he hadn’t sprouted fangs when he drank that potion, and that he hadn’t tried to attack Snape at the first sign of blood.

Please let this all just be a weird dream, Harry wished.

“A vampire, Potter,” Snape repeated dryly.

“But…wouldn’t—wouldn’t I remember that? Being bitten, I mean? How could someone bite me without me knowing?” Harry worried. Snape made eye contact with him again. Harry thought he could feel a slight pressure in his head—but maybe he was imagining it. Either way, he looked away as quickly as he could without seeming scared.

“His memory hasn’t been tampered with, Headmaster,” Snape commented. Harry’s face scrunched in confusion.

Did Snape just read my mind?

Dumbledore responded before Harry could continue his train of thought.

“Do you think, Severus, that the vampire could have been in bat form?” Dumbledore queried.

Snape frowned in thought for a moment, then gave a decisive nod.

“Were you bitten by a bat anytime recently, Potter? In, shall we say, the last hour or so?” he sneered.

Harry blinked. There had been that moment during the run-in with the Whomping Willow when Scabbers had landed on his hand. He looked down at his thumb in his lap. Yes…those could be bite marks…

“Actually, I might’ve been,” Harry began without preamble, “when Ron and I ran into the Whomping Willow—Ron’s bat Scabbers—he might’ve nipped me.” He held up his thumb for the professors to see. Snape peered at it, then got up from behind his desk and Summoned a few jars and some plasters. Wordlessly, he grabbed Harry’s forearm and pulled it towards the desk. Harry resisted the urge to flinch. He didn’t want to seem squeamish or squirrely in front of either of the men. Snape waved his wand over the incisions in Harry’s thumb, and they flashed red.

“Aaah!” Harry hissed in spite of himself. It had felt like the blood in his hand was boiling.

“Well, Severus?” Dumbledore prompted mildly.

“Most definitely a vampire bite,” Snape said curtly, opening the jars and dipping his thumb and forefinger of one hand into the salve inside, “but we knew as much, owing to the appearance of the boy’s fangs.”

Dumbledore looked like he wanted to say something, but only sent a tired look Snape’s way.

“Lucky it was your thumb and not your wrist, Potter,” Snape snarled as he rubbed the salve into Harry’s wound. His words were harsh, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. “If you’d been bitten in the wrist, you could’ve bled to death or killed another student by now—would’ve drained a child of blood, completely. The venom took longer to circulate through your body because it spread through your bloodstream from the smaller blood vessels in your thumb as opposed to the larger ones in your wrist. Thus, the effects came on gradually.”

Bled to death or killed another student? Harry paled as he realized how grim the consequences were. He’d almost attacked Snape before. He had fangs. He was a vampire now. He was a bloody vampire! His brow furrowed in concentration.

“But…Scabbers is the bat that bit me. D’you mean Scabbers is a—a vampire?” Harry asked the adults, his face wrinkling in revulsion. Dumbledore nodded gravely.

“It would certainly seem so,” he said. Snape finished bandaging Harry’s hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Scabbers is Ron’s familiar! And he was Percy’s before that! Don’t you think they would’ve noticed if he wasn’t a normal bat?” Harry exclaimed in disbelief.

“Vampires can survive off animal blood as well…or potions like the one I gave you,” Snape said. “Headmaster, I think it would be wise to send for all the Weasleys.” He sat back down behind his desk with an air of resignation.

“Right you are, Severus,” Dumbledore declared, brandishing his wand. “The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better.”

With a lazy wave of his wand, an ethereal bird erupted from the tip.

“Minerva, please escort the Weasley children to Severus’s office. Do ensure that young Ronald Weasley has his bat with him,” Dumbledore spoke to the silvery bird. Silently, it flew off, leaving Harry puzzled and diverted from the matter at hand. Dumbledore jumped up.

“Severus, if I may, could I trouble you for some Veritaserum?” Dumbledore asked. Snape nodded, then jerked his head in the direction of his potions storeroom.

“Of course, Headmaster; help yourself. I’ve a few bottles already brewed and waiting in my storeroom. Do refrain from Summoning them, though—too much magic can make some potions rather—volatile,” he elaborated.

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore nodded and walked off, humming tunelessly to himself. Snape remained motionless in his chair, his disconcerting stillness making Harry want to fidget. Harry was still curious about the great silver bird that had burst from the end of Dumbledore’s wand. Normally, he wouldn’t bother asking Snape a question unless he wanted a cutting and sarcastic retort for an answer. But his inquisitiveness got the better of him. Better to ponder about the pearlescent bird than dwell on his newest…problem.

“Professor,” Harry began, “what was that bird that came out of Professor Dumbledore’s wand?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t sneer or scoff like Harry had been expecting.

“It was a Patronus, Potter,” he replied shortly.

“What’s a—” Harry started.

“A Patronus,” Snape interrupted him, going back to pinching the bridge of his nose, “is a protector spelled into being by the caster with the emotive strength generated from a happy memory. The corporeal Patronus takes the form of an animal, but it requires considerable skill to produce. When fully formed, the Patronus can repel dementors and send messages.” Harry frowned, absorbing the information.

“What are demon—demen—” Harry huffed, trying to recall the name. Swept up in his curiosity, he’d momentarily forgotten that he and Snape were, as a rule, not on speaking terms with each other. They both preferred to keep interactions and conversations to the bare minimum—well, usually.

Snape has no problem talking to me at length when he’s telling me off, Harry thought.

“Dementors, Potter, are Dark beings that prey on human souls,” Snape’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “They are fear incarnate. Their very presence makes their victims relive their worst memories. Their most formidable and most dreaded weapon is their Kiss. They siphon the soul right out of the body, leaving behind an empty husk of a human being. The Patronus is—in essence—the opposite of the dementor.” Harry shuddered, imagining the soul-sucking Dark creatures.

“I—I can see why people would want to have Patronus guardians to fend them off, Sir,” Harry shivered. “What exactly was Professor Dumbledore’s?” He tried to keep his eagerness from showing through his voice. If Snape realized Harry was enjoying the little lecture, he’d probably put a stop to it immediately.

“The Headmaster’s Patronus is a Phoenix,” Snape said, his lip curled. “A corporeal Patronus is rare enough, but a mythical Patronus is—practically unheard of.” Harry thought he could detect hints of both jealousy and admiration in Snape’s voice. Harry knew that Snape had always fancied the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He wondered…

“Can you produce a—what did you call it?—er, a corporeal Patronus, Sir?” Harry asked with some trepidation. Snape’s face went stony for a sliver of a second, then he gave a swift jerk of his head in the affirmative. Harry waited expectantly, looking pointedly at Snape’s wand where it was clenched in his left hand.

Snape followed his gaze and sneered, “What are you watching for, Potter? You seem to be laboring under the delusion that I intend to cast the Patronus Charm. Do you expect me to put on a little show for you? To pander to your every whim because you’re the famous Mr. Potter?”

Harry reddened with indignation, but he kept silent, training his gaze on his hands lying folded in his lap. He clenched them into fists.

I was just asking out of curiosity, I didn’t bloody well expect a show, thanks! Harry fumed to himself.

The sounds of footsteps coming from deeper within Snape’s office and outside in the corridor returned Harry’s mind to the issue at hand. He looked up from his lap to see Dumbledore approaching the desk, cradling two phials of clear liquid—the Veritaserum.

“Hi, Harry!” exclaimed two voices at the same time. Harry’s head whipped around to face the Weasleys. He beamed up at Fred and George.

“Brilliant—” said Fred.

“Inspired!” George added.

“What an entrance!”

“Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow—”

“People’ll be talking about that one for years—"

“Why couldn’t we’ve come in the car, eh?” they finished together. Harry shared an embarrassed grin with Ron, then he remembered the consequences of their escapade. He paled, and the grin was wiped off his face. Snape was scowling at the band of redheads with such fierce displeasure it seemed like he was trying to stare them out of existence—or at least out of his office.

“Ah! You’re all here,” Dumbledore observed. “Splendid! Thank you, Minerva. You've done a fine job.” Professor McGonagall dipped her head in acknowledgement of the praise.

“Now, then,” Dumbledore said, looking to Ron from behind his half-moon spectacles, “Mr. Weasley, may I be permitted to examine your familiar?”

“Scabbers?” Ron asked in confusion.

“Go on, Ron,” Percy chided, patting him on the shoulder, “Let the Headmaster take a look at Scabbers for a moment.” Fred, George, and Ginny glanced among each other in bemusement. McGonagall remained just inside the doorway, watching with mild curiosity.

Ron reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out his bat, who seemed immensely unwilling to leave the pocket. Scabbers screeched indignantly as Ron wrestled him fully out of the pocket and handed him over to Dumbledore.

“Carpe Retractum,” Dumbledore murmured. A rope of light snaked from Dumbledore’s wand tip and coiled around the bat, fixing it in place above Dumbledore’s outstretched palm.

“Severus?” Dumbledore looked to the younger man. Snape pointed his wand at the bat and nodded.

“Just say the word, Headmaster,” he said silkily. Scabbers’s screeching grew louder as he struggled to free himself from the binding for all he was worth. His wriggling seemed only to amuse Dumbledore, who was watching the bat’s futile efforts with twinkling eyes.

“Now, Severus,” Dumbledore said. Snape brought his wand up in a jabbing motion.

“Revelio,” he hissed through bared teeth. For one terrible moment, nothing happened. Harry’s eyes left the bat and glanced around at Dumbledore, at Snape, and back at the Weasleys and McGonagall. An agonized screech snapped his attention back to the bat at once.

Scabbers was growing, changing, shifting before them. Dumbledore lengthened the rope he’d conjured to give the transformation room to pan out. Scabbers was losing his fur, his short legs were lengthening, his wings stretched into arms. His snout and ears shrank into human proportions. And suddenly, Scabbers was no more. In the bat’s place was a stubby, balding man with a pointed nose and small, watery eyes. He stood there wheezing, still struggling against the ropes, and darted his eyes to everyone in the room. There was a collective intake of breath all around.

Professor McGonagall brushed past the Weasleys in a daze.

“Peter? Peter Pettigrew? But how—” she breathed.

“Scabbers is a man!” Ron cried in horror, a hand covering his mouth. “Percy, look! Our bat is a man!” Percy gripped Ron’s and Ginny’s shoulders tightly; his mouth was opening and closing but no sound was coming out. Fred and George seemed to be engaged in silent conversation between themselves, glancing quizzically from Pettigrew to a crinkled piece of parchment one of them had gotten out.

Harry barely registered the reactions of McGonagall and the Weasleys. He was concentrated on Snape and Dumbledore, who were both rendered speechless after the transformation. Harry was stunned. He’d never seen either man so thoroughly discomfited. Dumbledore was positively gobsmacked; he was regarding Pettigrew with a mix of revulsion and amazement. For his part, Snape seemed to be far more enraged than astonished. He was too incensed to speak. A pulsing vein in his neck stood out, and his cheeks had twin splotches of angry red coloring.

And here I thought I’d seen Snape at his maddest after the flying car incident today, Harry thought grimly, but it turns out that compared to right now, he’d been positively friendly then.

“I—I let him sleep in my bed!” Ron wailed to the room at large, shaking against Percy and Ginny. This declaration seemed to snap Dumbledore and Snape back into action. Dumbledore gave himself a little shake and tightened his grip on his wand. In one fluid motion, Snape rose from his chair, strode over to his fireplace, reached into a jar on the mantel, and tossed powder onto the embers. Green flames jumped to life.

“Madam Pomfrey—Hogwarts infirmary!” he called.

“Severus?” Madam Pomfrey answered from the flames.

“I’m sending the entire Weasley brood through to you, Poppy. They’ve just witnessed something—” Snape’s lip curled as he spoke, “rather disturbing.”

Coming to her senses, McGonagall ushered the Weasleys to Snape’s fireplace and through the floo one after the other.

“Sorry, Ron,” Fred said.

“We’ll get you an owl,” George promised.

When the emerald tongues of flame died down, Harry turned back to Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Pettigrew. Snape had fixed Pettigrew with a murderous glare.

“This—” Snape jerked his head toward the shabby man-bat, “explains quite a bit.” Pettigrew flinched away from Snape’s vehemence. Harry could hear Dumbledore sigh softly behind him.

“It would certainly seem so, Severus,” Dumbledore agreed. McGonagall looked between her colleagues shrewdly.

“But Severus—” she began, “Peter has been alive all this time…Why weren’t you able to feel his presence?” Snape shook his head slowly, crossing his long arms over his chest to grasp the folds of his outer robes. He was clenching them so hard that his knuckles were turning white, standing out painfully even against his pale skin.

“You must understand Minerva, at the time…when I was—Well, I—we—never completed the Bond,” he sneered at Pettigrew with sheer malice. “With our mutual…enmity…Well, suffice it to say neither party wanted anything to do with the other.”

What on earth is Snape on about? Harry thought. Never completed the Bond? What— He gasped sharply and looked up at Snape. His throat felt dry.

“So,” Harry said, clearing his throat and feeling immensely awkward, “Sca—er, Pettigrew is, er, a vampire? And he bit me…and…” Harry gulped, trailing off. The three professors looked at him like they’d just remembered that he was there, still sitting in the spindly black chair in front of Snape’s desk. Harry’s face flushed and he lowered his gaze to his lap.

“Ah,” Dumbledore started, making the ropes of light that bound Pettigrew flare brightly for a moment, “I do believe an explanation is in order, Harry.” Harry lifted his head and met Dumbledore’s twinkling blue stare.

“You may not have known this,” Dumbledore said, “but Professor Snape was in your father’s year at school—”

“Really?” Harry leaned forward, his interest
piqued. Snape scoffed from behind his desk, his arms still arranged resolutely across his chest. Dumbledore sent him a reproving look, but Snape’s scowl only deepened.

Dumbledore did tell me last year that my father saved Snape’s life once; I knew they must have at least known each other… Harry mused.

“I just—I didn’t know they were the same age.” Harry said aloud. He chanced a cursory glance at Snape, but when onyx eyes bored back, he flinched away.

Gah! How does he do that? Harry ruminated. It’s like he burns people just by looking at them!

Noticing the exchange, Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile.

“Yes, Harry,” Dumbledore replied gently. “Your father was in Gryffindor, and he had a group of close friends in his house.” McGonagall nodded. She had a faraway look on her face.

“James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew,” She practically spat the last name, changing her demeanor dramatically and staring down the subject of her derision like a lioness about to pounce on her prey. “They were thick as thieves during their years here.”

Snape snarled at this, releasing his death grip on his robes to pound his fists into his desk. Harry jumped in his seat, startled by Snape’s outburst. Pettigrew let out a nervous wimper.

“Get. To. The point,” Snape ground out through clenched teeth. Harry noticed that both Dumbledore and McGonagall were frozen in place with funny expressions. “I’ll tell the boy if you two won’t—or shall I have Pettigrew explain?” Snape snatched up a phial of Veritaserum and glared menacingly at the uncharacteristically hesitant Gryffindors. Pettigrew cowered in the ropes. Harry frowned to himself, puzzled.

I’ve never seen Dumbledore or McGonagall looking this cowed, he observed.

“Severus…” Dumbledore murmured, looking strangely apologetic.

“Don’t, Albus!” Snape hissed, his voice pitching dangerously low. “Go on, tell the boy how his sainted father and his friends very nearly murdered me in our Fifth Year. But—don’t leave anything out…unless you want me to fill in the details for you…” Snape let his threat trail off, leaving his accusations hanging in the air.

“That’s not true!” Harry burst out indignantly. “Professor Dumbledore told me last term that my father saved your life!” Snape rounded on him, his robes and hair whipping about.

“Tell me Potter,” he spat, “can it really be considered a rescue if your father simply got cold feet when his friends designed a prank to kill me?” Harry shrank back in the chair. His confusion must have been plain to see because Snape went on. “That’s right, Potter! Your father and his friends proved they were capable of murder at sixteen! I’d noticed they all seemed to disappear every full moon, and I had reason to suspect that they were…up to no good. Black tricked me into following them one month, and I was attacked by a werewolf and a vampire—Lupin and Pettigrew. Your father managed to drag me back to the school before I bled out, but not before…I was bitten.” Snape finished his tirade with a fierce scowl, his black eyes flashing and his chest heaving in anger. Shaken, Harry’s gaze left Snape and focused on McGonagall and Dumbledore. From the defeated slouch of Dumbledore’s shoulders to McGonagall’s downcast face, Harry sensed Snape was telling the truth.

“So…you’re—” Harry faltered. Snape nodded curtly.

“It takes one to know one, Potter,” he bit out.

Harry blanched.

Touché, Snape, he thought wryly.

“During my final two years at Hogwarts, I was overcome with bloodlust. In order to avoid biting my schoolmates, I subsisted on animal blood—creatures in the Forbidden Forest. For my Potions Mastery, I –among other...efforts—devised a potion that acts as an alternative to human—and animal—blood. I’ve lived off it ever since. With the potion, I’ve no need of a Blood Bond,” Snape said, some of his anger leaving his voice. Harry’s eyes widened in understanding.

That’s bloody ingenious! Harry marveled to himself.

“Then…that’s the potion I took earlier, right? Sir?” he asked. Snape just smirked. But Harry’s curiosity wasn’t fully satisfied.

Looking to Dumbledore, Harry said, “Professor, if—if my father and his friends…er, nearly killed Professor Snape—and turned him…er, were they expelled or something, then?” After all, Harry and Ron had nearly been expelled a few hours ago for crashing a car into the Whomping Willow. And damaging a tree wasn’t nearly as bad as injuring a person!

Dumbledore shifted from one foot to the other, looking quite unnerved. Snape glanced at Harry out of the corners of his eyes with a carefully neutral mien. Everyone was silent for a moment. The only sound that could be heard was Pettigrew’s wheezing against his bonds. Finally, Snape snorted.

“See? Even Potter agrees with me,” he snipped, sneering at Dumbledore and McGonagall. Dumbledore’s normally warm and welcoming persona turned slightly chilly.

“Shall we return to the matter at hand?” he suggested pointedly. McGonagall pursed her lips but nodded assent. Snape huffed, shrugging his indifference. He uncorked the Veritaserum and approached Pettigrew with a feral gleam in his eyes. Pettigrew cringed away as Snape drew near, but he was helpless as Snape grabbed his throat and lower jaw and wrenched his mouth open.

“Vengeance is sweet,” Snape snarled, tightening his claw-like grip on Pettigrew’s chin.

Harry watched with equal parts revulsion and fascination.

Snape sure is strong! I wonder if that’s a vampire thing or— His thoughts were interrupted by Pettigrew’s squawk of protest.

“No! Severus! Please—” Pettigrew cried. Snape merely sneered, forcing the Veritaserum into Pettigrew’s mouth. After a few tense seconds, Pettigrew began shuddering in his ropes of light. Dumbledore grunted and strengthened his casting. Pettigrew’s eyes rolled up in his head, and his head lolled on his chest. Harry shifted as far away from the stubby man as he could.

“Who was the Potters’ Secret Keeper?” Snape asked.

Secret Keeper? Harry wondered.

Pettigrew gave another shudder, and he answered tonelessly, “I was. Sirius convinced James to change it to me at the last minute.” Harry thought it was rather disconcerting to watch, really. Snape’s nostrils flared as he digested the new information.

“Why?” The question came from McGonagall this time.

“He believed I was the one that Death Eaters least expected to be the Secret Keeper, so the Potters’ location would be safest with me,” Pettigrew explained in monotone.

“Did you betray the Potters to the Dark Lord?” Snape probed.

Pettigrew shook again, but he said, “Yes.” Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged significant glances.

“Who killed the muggles during your confrontation with Sirius?” McGonagall demanded.

“I did. And then I faked my own death,” Pettigrew smiled. With only the whites of his eyes visible, and his chin tilting listlessly on his chest, Pettigrew looked like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Harry worked hard to suppress a shudder of his own.

“I think we’ve heard enough,” Dumbledore said. Snape nodded grimly. McGonagall moved to stand behind Harry where he was sitting, and she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“May I use your Floo, Severus?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Of course, Headmaster,” Snape said stiffly. He still hadn’t gotten over his anger.

Snape can sure hold a grudge, thought Harry. He wasn’t ready to think about the things Pettigrew had said under Veritaserum just yet. He didn’t want to. Nor did he understand it all.

Dumbledore strode over to Snape’s fireplace and grabbed a handful of powder from the jar on the mantle. He swept it into the fire, crouching down to stick his head in the green flames.

“Amelia Bones, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic,” he called out.

“Albus!” a woman’s voice exclaimed from the flames.

“Amelia,” Dumbledore began gravely, “I request permission to come through at once. Ready a unit of Aurors and a Pensieve if you would, please. I have incontrovertible evidence that Sirius Black has been wrongfully imprisoned.”

“Black?” the other witch repeated faintly, the skepticism evident in her voice. “Innocent?” Snape muttered something under his breath that Harry knew he’d get a week’s worth of detentions for repeating.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said firmly, tightening his hold on his wand. The ropes of light around Pettigrew constricted briefly.

“Well, come on through, then!” Amelia Bones recovered.

Dumbledore pulled his head out of the fireplace and took one last glance around Snape’s office, nodding to himself. Pettigrew was still slumped in his bonds—it seemed Snape had been a little overzealous when he’d dosed the captive with the Veritaserum.

“Minerva, please come with me,” Dumbledore said, reeling the listless Pettigrew closer to the fireplace. “Severus…please explain to Harry…” Dumbledore trailed off. McGonagall looked between Snape and Harry, then nodded to Dumbledore. She grasped Harry’s shoulder gently once more, then took some Floo powder for herself.

Throwing it on the flames, she said, “Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic.” Dumbledore got a firm hold on one of Pettigrew’s ears, then followed after Minerva.

Watching them leave, Harry turned nervously back to the dour Potions Master.

“Er, Professor?” Harry tried. Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry took it as a sign of acknowledgement and continued.

“What’s a Secret Keeper, Sir?” he asked.

Snape frowned. He seemed to be considering Harry’s question, at least.

“A Secret Keeper,” he said at last, “is one component—the main component—of the Fidelius Charm.”

“What’s the—” Harry started, but Snape had already begun to answer his next question.

“The Fidelius Charm is an extremely ancient, multifaceted, and potent charm that can be used to conceal a secret inside an individual's soul; the witch or wizard who houses the secret is known as the Secret Keeper. A dwelling whose location has been protected by this spell is then invisible, intangible, unplottable and soundproof. The information hidden inside the Secret Keeper is henceforth impossible to find—unless, of course, the Secret Keeper chooses to divulge it,” Snape lectured. “As long as the Secret Keeper—Pettigrew, it seems—refused to speak, the Dark Lord could’ve searched where your family was staying for years and never would’ve found them.”

Harry blinked rapidly, his thoughts and emotions hacking their way through the thicket of new knowledge.

“D’you mean that bat is the reason my parents are dead? He betrayed his friends! He sold my family to Voldemort! I hate him! I hate him!” Harry shook with rage. He was clutching the arms of the chair with such force that his nails were gouging the wood. For a few seconds, Harry’s harsh breathing was the only sound in the dark, cramped dungeon office.

Snape remained emotionless during Harry’s outburst. “Do you really think Pettigrew is the only person to blame for your parents’ deaths, Potter?” he asked tonelessly. Harry peered up at him, taking deep breaths to reign in his anger. Snape’s face was an expressionless mask. Harry watched Snape slowly trace his long forefinger up and down the inside of his left forearm.

“No…” Harry admitted reluctantly, “Voldemort was the one who said the curses, I know that. It’s just—from the way you talked—it sounded like Pettigrew was supposed to be their friend…and he betrayed them…he betrayed them all…”

Snape nodded, but Harry sensed his mind was elsewhere.

Deciding they both needed a subject change, Harry asked, “Professor, what’s a Blood Bond?”

Snape’s eyes snapped back into focus; he’d returned from whatever place his mind had taken him. His lip curled, but he wasn’t quite sneering at Harry, at least not completely.

“Why do you want to know?” Snape inquired.

Harry shrugged one shoulder.

“Just curious. Sir.”

Snape let out a breath and steepled his hands together, his elbows resting on stacks of paper on his desk. His lank hair swung past his collar as he leaned forward.

“How much do you know about vampires, Potter?” Snape began carefully.

Harry frowned in thought.

“Well not much, Sir. Professor Quirrell was an awful Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher even before I realized he was carrying Voldemort around on the back of his head!” he said. Snape winced.

“Yes…” Snape agreed. “But the incompetence of your possessed professor notwithstanding, it would be in your best interest to learn as much as you can about vampires.”

Harry nodded. “Considering I am one, now, right?”

Snape smirked. “Indeed.”

“So…Blood Bonds…” Harry prompted. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced up at the gray stone ceiling.

“Very well,” he sighed. Harry tried and failed to conceal his own smirk.

“Blood Bonds,” Snape began, resuming his pay attention, Potter tone, “are arrangements between two…of our kind in which blood is shared.” Harry’s eyes widened.

“D’you mean—” he began. Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Yes, Potter,” Snape sighed, “the two Bonded vampires subsist on each other’s blood. Many vampires who desire to rise above their baser instincts have found that Blood Bonds are very successful at combatting their bloodlust.” Harry perked up at this.

“That—that’s good…” Harry said. “Right, Sir? That there’s a way to manage the, er, bloodlust without killing animals or, er, people?” Snape dipped his head slowly, squeezing the knuckles of his steepled hands.

“This would all be much easier to explain if you knew what vam—what you are now, Potter,” Snape sniffed. Harry stiffened at the pitiless jab.

Must he be so—so heartless all the time? Harry lamented to himself. The git! Of course I know what I am now, he keeps pointing it out to me. How could I forget? Why can’t he ever just be helpfu—oh! He is being helpful, he’s just being very snitty about it, isn’t he? Huh.

“You’re right, Sir,” Harry said quietly, sinking back against his chair and rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. “I don’t know anything about being…a vampire. But you must know loads about being one. Would you, er, give me an overview? And tell me more about the potion you invented? Sir?” Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry surreptitiously crossed his fingers under the desk and hoped his Slytherin flattery paid off.

Masterful manipulation, if I do say so myself, Harry commended himself.

“That would be…prudent,” Snape nodded. He cocked his head, considering Harry for a few seconds. Harry quavered but held his gaze. He felt triumphant but was determined not to let the professor see. It seemed Snape found whatever he’d been looking for in Harry’s face, because he nodded again and silently Summoned a small, leather-bound book from his shelves. It gently came to rest on his desk. He tapped his wand to the nondescript cover, and the book flew open to a diagram of a bat.

Snape rolled his shoulders and pushed the book across the desk towards Harry. Harry looked down at it without moving his hands forward to grab it. He’d hoped Snape would give him at least a preliminary explanation to vampirism. He looked back up at Snape expectantly. Snape scowled back at him.

“The vampire has traditionally been considered a Dark creature,” Snape finally said in his customary low growl. Harry grimaced but gestured for Snape to continue.
“Vampires are created—not born—with a bite. A vampire’s bite—whether in human or bat form—releases a powerful toxin into the victim’s bloodstream that causes rapid changes. Typically, the victims are—to put it simply—sucked dry before the changes manifest. However, if the victim survives the blood loss, the toxin initiates transformations—physical, mental, magical. The physical changes are quite certainly the most marked. Besides the overwhelming urge to drink blood and the physical symptoms that accompany bloodlust—stomach aches, headaches, light-headedness—the newly changed vampire’s fangs emerge when he first samples blood and every time he imbibes it thereafter. The vampire fledgling’s skin pales, his metabolism speeds up, and his senses and reflexes are heightened—” Snape broke off his lecture when he noticed Harry’s furrowed brow. Harry blushed in embarrassment under his scrutiny.

“Sorry, Sir,” Harry said helplessly. “I think you lost me at meta—metabolism...” Snape bobbed his head sharply, his curtains of black hair swinging on either side of his face.

“Fine, Potter,” he sighed. “Physically, vampirism makes one stronger, swifter, and more coordinated. It also induces a fairer complexion and—even when the fangs aren’t present—slightly elongates one’s canines. Do you understand so far?” Harry frowned thoughtfully.

I was right! Snape is superhumanly strong. And—and so am I. Or at least I will be. Wicked! he realized.

“I think so, Sir,” Harry answered after a few moments. “Being a vampire makes me thirst for blood and grow fangs. The bite will make me stronger, faster, and…paler?” His sentence trailed off into a question. Snape smirked thinly. Coming from anyone else, it would almost be a smile.

“Just so, Potter,” he said. “The last two physical changes are ones I have studied intensively. The first is perhaps the easier to explain but the harder to comprehend. Vampires can, as you’ve seen, transform into bats. The transformation is second nature to a vampire. It is much like an Animagus form, but it is perhaps easier to control and sustain. A vampire cannot, however, become an Animagus. The bat form is the one and only alternate form.” Harry’s curiosity was once again piqued; he was hanging on Snape’s every word.

“Could you teach me how to transform, Sir?” he asked breathlessly. Snape glared down his nose at Harry.

“I suppose…” he said reluctantly. Harry tried his best not to beam. Snape glowered at him for a moment, as if already envisioning the trouble Harry would cause him as a fledgling vampire.

“The last physical change is not one to be taken lightly,” Snape went on, his voice stern. He Summoned another book from a shelf. As it alighted on the desk in front of Harry, he could see that, unlike the smaller, unmarked tome, this book—or journal, perhaps—had words emblazoned on its front: On Vampirism And Its Quantifiable Impact on Innate Magic. And below the title in a smaller font, Harry read: S. Snape. He glanced quickly up at the professor.

“You—” Harry started.

“Yes, Potter,” Snape said stiffly. “I told you before that I studied vampires for part of my Mastery, did I not?” Harry nodded. Snape tapped his wand against the writing, and it flew open to a page of charts and graphs Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of.

“Vampires—theoretically—do not age,” Snape explained, taking in Harry’s blank look. Harry startled, then gaped at him.

“D’you mean I’m stuck at twelve forever?” Harry asked, his voice rising in panic. “I won’t grow up? I won’t ever die?” The thought greatly disturbed him. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, reached across his desk, and snapped his research journal shut. Harry jumped at the sudden movement.

“I said theoretically, Potter!” he snarled. “Have some sense, boy! I was bitten at sixteen, but do I look like a sixteen-year-old to you?”

“N—no, Sir,” Harry said swiftly. That question he could answer definitively.

A teenaged Severus Snape. Now there’s an absurd notion, Harry thought wryly.

“That’s because I never completed a Blood Bond with Pettigrew or created one with any other vampire,” Snape explained. “Likewise, I assume Pettigrew never entered into a Bond, either. He seems to have aged as well. Without Blood Bonds, vampires will age in outward appearance—skin will wrinkle, hair will grey—but they will retain physical strength and will continue to live on indefinitely, as long as they have adequate blood to feed off of. A vampire is immortal insomuch as one will never simply die of old age, but an Unbonded one is not ageless. Only Blood Bonded vampires appear ageless; they look to be in their twenties or thirties no matter when the Bond was established—they either grow up from childhood to their prime and stay that way or gradually de-age back to their prime and stay that way. It can be dangerous for a vampire to remain Unbonded for more than a century—I’ve heard solitary vampires can become quite unhinged.”

To appear to grow old and age outwardly, but to remain stronger than any man in his prime and never die would be quite strange…and quite terrible, Harry mused, picturing such a juxtaposition. He had many questions, but Snape continued before he could vocalize them.

“With regard to mental changes, vampirism can potentially imbue a heightened intellect,” Snape went on. His gaze dropped to Harry’s, and he sneered.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath for that if I were you, though, Potter,” he said, a tiny gleam of amusement alight in his dark eyes. “Take Pettigrew, for instance…no brains whatsoever, always following your father and Black around, worshipping the ground they walked on…” Harry winced.

“How—how exactly would those mental skills appear, Sir?” Harry asked. Snape scowled in thought.

“Vampirism can manifest as quicker mental reflexes and enhanced neural pathways—I suppose you may find yourself capable to see perfectly without your glasses in a day or two—or as innate talent in the arts of Occlumency and Legilimency,” Snape said.

“What are—” Harry began. Snape held up a hand for silence.

“Those two disciplines are of little consequence to us at the moment,” Snape stopped him. “I assure you that I will test you to gauge your aptitude for those skills at another time.” Harry shrugged his agreement with one shoulder.

Vampire lessons, bat lessons, mind lessons, Harry listed, What’s next? If I need any more of Snape’s help, we’ll be seeing each other a great deal more than either of us would like—which is the bare minimum of Potions class and the Great Hall for meals…and even that’s pushing our limits!

“Vampires who share a Blood Bond can also communicate telepathically,” Snape added. Harry raised his eyebrows, unsure if this trait was beneficial or not.

Snape finished, “As for magical power, it is common for one’s magical core to gain a slight increase in power once the transformation is complete—which, for you, should be in a few days. This power increase may have helped me become proficient in wordless and wandless spellcasting.” Harry brightened considerably at this, but he reflected it would be far too daring to ask Snape to teach him those methods of magical casting along with all the other skills he would have to learn from the man.

All in good time, Harry promised himself. But first, his most pressing curiosity at the moment…
“So—just to be sure that I understand—as vampires, we’re stronger, faster, er, paler, er, kind of smarter—possibly?—we grow fangs, we can turn into bats, we’re hard to kill—or we don’t die of old age or something…er, and we’re more powerful wizards, sometimes?” Harry summed up. Snape sighed and placed the heel of his hand on his forehead as if warding off a migraine, then he gave a slight scoff. From anyone else, it might’ve been considered a chuckle.

“In the most rudimentary sense, Potter, you are correct,” Snape said gruffly. Harry gave him a small smile.

“What about Blood Bonds, Sir? And the potion you made?” Harry urged.

“Well, I’ve already told you the basics of how a Blood Bond is established. It is sealed when the vampires drink each other’s blood and must be renewed about every month. The Blood Bond ties the vampires’ lives together. If one Bonded vampire dies, the other will, too. Once a Blood Bond is forged, it can only be broken with death. However, it may change variations as the vampires settle into their Bond. There are five main variations. Platonic Bonds are one of the weakest—the bonds of mere friends—as are Advisory Bonds—the bonds of mentors and acolytes. Then there are Fraternal Bonds—the bonds of brothers—and Romantic Bonds—the bonds of partners. Those two variations are markedly stronger than the previous two. There are also Paternal Bonds—the most common and perhaps the strongest Bond—of guardians and fledglings. In every Blood Bond, the two vampires mutually benefit. It increases their individual powers by binding and strengthening their magical cores. It even affects their souls—they’re purified and connected to each other irrevocably,” Snape said. He almost sounded wistful. Harry pondered this for a moment.

“But, Sir, er…if they’re so good, why aren’t you in one?” Harry ventured. Snape visibly tensed.

“As you may recall, Potter,” Snape ground out, his jaw clenched, “I invented a potion that divests me of my need to drink human or animal blood. I don’t require a Blood Bond.”

“Oh. Right. So I won’t, either?” Harry clarified, feeling slightly put out.

“I should think not,” Snape said decisively. Harry sighed, accepting this. Sensing Harry’s dissatisfaction, Snape sniffed.

“I can assure you my potion is quite up to the task of keeping you—and the rest of your classmates—alive,” Snape promised.

Alive. Wow. How comforting, Snape, Harry snarked back in his head. He crossed his arms stubbornly across his narrow frame.

Scowling, Snape insisted, “My potion is a derivation of a Pepperup base with elements of Blood Replenishing Potion…and some of my own experimental brews. While it can’t replicate the companionship or the power enhancement of a Blood Bond, it is undoubtedly more preferable to the other unsavory alternatives.” It was Harry’s turn to scowl.

“Well…what’re the side effects? Last year you told us that even the most harmless potions can have unwanted effects when taken on a regular basis,” Harry said shrewdly. Snape let out a growl of frustration, then he snorted derisively, shaking his head.

Ha! I do remember something from his class! I’m not completely hopeless. That’ll teach him, Harry grinned mischievously to himself.

“I’ve observed that my potion has extremely minor, mild side effects,” Snape admitted reluctantly, his scowl deepening. Harry smiled innocently.

“Such as?” he prompted. Snape’s lip curled into a sneer, but he said nothing.

“Well, if I’m going to risk my life—and other students’ lives—on your potion, I should really know what the side effects are, shouldn’t I? Sir?” Harry pressed.

“It slightly stains teeth and it…increases the secretion from sudoriferous glands in the subcutaneous tissue of the scalp and neck,” Snape snarled, his voice even lower than normal.

Harry blinked a few times, trying to process the scientific riffraff Snape had just hurled at him. He adjusted his glasses where they sat on his nose and cocked his head to one side.

“Er…Sir? D’you mean it makes your hair greasy?” he said at last, wrinkling his nose in confusion and amusement. Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. He didn’t respond directly; he just muttered darkly under his breath. Straining his ears, Harry thought he picked out the words “insolent, dunderheaded fool.” He bit back a giggle.

Why couldn’t he just say it like a normal person? Harry wondered. Is he that self-conscious about his oily hair?

“As utterly tragic as it is that its side effects offend your aesthetic sensibilities,” Snape said aloud, “I must insist you take the potion regularly. I know the headmaster will insist as well. It is unsafe for you to hunt in the forbidden forest, and it is impractical for you to form a Blood Bond.”

“What if I want to form a Blood Bond?” Harry countered.

“You cannot simply form a Blood Bond, Potter,” Snape scoffed. “As it is, you require another vampire who is willing to tie his or her life, magic, and soul to yours for the rest of your existence. Just where do you plan on procuring someone equal to that task? Wherever will you find someone who will throw in his or her lot with the Boy Who Lived—forever?” Harry shrank slightly in his chair, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I—I dunno, Sir,” he answered honestly. “Are there any other vampires here at Hogwarts?”

“Besides the two of us? One other—a first year Ravenclaw girl. Miss Lovegood,” Snape replied. “However, she is already in a Paternal Bond with her father.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
He dropped his hands from the back of his neck to his lap, clenching and unclenching his fists. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

Should I—would he—maybe we—this is bloody impossible! Harry thrashed conflicting thoughts and emotions around each other in his head.

Before he could think better of it, he snapped his head up and stared Snape down. With his deep green eyes scintillating like the Killing Curse behind his glasses, Harry blurted out, “Maybe we could form a Blood Bond.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose practically to his hairline, and his skin’s deathly sallowness approached translucence.
Eyes wide, Snape strangled out, “What did you say, Potter?”

“We—well,” Harry dithered, feeling both disappointed and embarrassed, “I want to form a Blood Bond with someone. You said that Unbonded vampires can become unstable!” Snape sighed, his eyes tracing paths along the grey stone ceiling above them.

“That instability can set in after centuries, Potter, not years. You’ve a lifetime to find a Bond partner,” he hissed. Harry glared up at him, emerald warring with onyx.

I’ll just ask Ron or Hermione or one of my other friends to become a vampire. I can Bond with one of them! Harry thought rebelliously. Snape went rigid in his chair.

“No you won’t, Potter! Don’t even think about it!” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. Harry’s eyes widened in confusion and fear.

Is he reading my mind? Didn’t he say that was one of the mental changes that comes with being a vampire? Harry wondered nervously.

“Yes, Potter. I’m performing Legilimency on you. But that should be the least of your concerns right now!” Snape continued. “Do you have any idea how grave the consequences are for deliberately turning others into vampires, Potter? And would you really consign another human—friend or not—to this fate?” Harry hung his head, ashamed.

“N—no. You’re right, Sir, I wouldn’t,” Harry promised, wringing his hands in his lap. He looked back up at Snape. They made eye contact briefly, and Snape nodded once, appeased.

With much chagrin, Harry went on, “Er, what is the punishment for deliberately changing someone? And why wasn’t Pettigrew punished for biting you? Will he be punished for biting me?” Snape’s lips twisted into a scowl.

“The punishment depends on the situation, of course,” he explained, “but one can generally expect to be sent as a plaything for the Dementors of Azkaban, the British Wizarding prison, if one turns another human deliberately and without the other’s consent. And before you get any more foolish ideas—know that the victims are much more likely to die than survive the bite, no matter how much preparation or treatment they’re given. It is, as Professor McGonagall has been known to say, ‘sheer dumb luck’ that you and I are alive. I’ve researched vampire bites…but I’ve never reached a clear conclusion, and neither have any other field experts. It seems to be mere chance that some victims die, and some are turned. The closest correlation I’ve found is wizards with more powerful magical cores are more likely to survive the bite—perhaps their innate magic aids in the transformation. And in many cases, the victims perish from blood loss sooner than from the toxin. Once a vampire starts drinking, it is nearly impossible for him to stop.” Harry paled.

I had no idea how close I’d been to dying a few hours ago! he realized.

Snape continued, “As for Pettigrew, Dumbledore fully pardoned him for turning me on accident. I’m sure the repercussions would’ve been more stringent for his second offense.”

Would’ve been? Harry wondered. He opened his mouth to ask why it was to be any different, but Snape wasn’t finished with his explanation.

“You see, Potter, none of that matters now, not after what that scum revealed under the Veritaserum,” Snape said, his eyes glittering harshly. “He’ll be receiving the Dementor’s Kiss shortly for his deceptions and his murders.” Harry’s mouth froze where it hung open.

“They—they’re going to—to suck out his soul?” Harry gasped. Snape lifted his chin and gave a small, unconcerned shrug.

“He murdered a dozen Muggles without sparing any of them a single thought,” Snape reminded him. Harry shuddered. Pettigrew was horrible, but so was the fate that awaited him.

“So…er, vampires are affected by Dementors the same way normal people are?” Harry asked after a moment.

“We are,” Snape affirmed simply. “We still have souls, Potter. How else do you think the Blood Bonds could bind two vampires’ souls to each other?”

“Right,” Harry said, flushing with embarrassment once again.

Ah, but speaking of Blood Bonds… Harry thought to himself. His expression turned coy, and he fidgeted with the hem of his jumper.

“Er, Professor? Are you sure you won’t reconsider—” Harry started. Snape’s eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, the fireplace beside the desk roared with the telltale green flames of Floo travel. Both vampires tensed at the sudden lights and sounds. Professor McGonagall stepped neatly through, dusting ash from her tartan robes.

“Professor!” Harry jumped up, momentarily distracted from his earlier line of questioning. “What’s happened with—” But McGonagall had already turned to address Snape.

“Severus. You and Potter are to meet Albus in his office forthwith. I need to get Poppy—” she said briskly. Not even waiting to see Snape’s nod of assent, she turned towards the office door and flicked her wand. The silvery mist of a Patronus shot out of its end, coalescing into a shimmering feline.

“Poppy, please prepare a bed in the infirmary for an extended stay. Be sure to cordon off the area with privacy screens and the usual protective enchantments, dear,” Minerva said to her cat. It turned on the spot and disappeared out the door, seeking out Madam Pomfrey.

Snape shoved his chair away from his desk stiffly.

“Come, Potter,” he ordered.

And here I’d thought we were really starting to understand each other, Harry sighed sarcastically. Snape swept through the office and was halfway out the door when McGonagall stopped him.

“Severus!” she exclaimed, as if just then remembering a critical piece of information. Snape halted abruptly, causing Harry to run straight into his back. Snape didn’t so much as teeter from the impact, but Harry tripped over his robes and fell back onto his rear.

“Sorry, Sir!” Harry apologized quickly, jumping up and smoothing out his jumper. Snape’s only acknowledgement of the incident was a dismissive wave of his hand. His attention was still fixed on McGonagall.

“Minerva?” he questioned. McGonagall gave a slight grimace.

Shaking her head, she said, “Do try to keep control of your temper with him, Severus. I know it will be difficult, but—”

“With whom, Minerva?” Snape said slowly, his tone turning dangerous. McGonagall shook her head again.

“We don’t have time for this, Severus!” she snapped. “Just keep calm. Now go!” Snape huffed and spun on his heel, his eyes flashing maliciously and his robes flaring dramatically.

I wonder if that’s another vampire thing? The way he swoops about everywhere…I couldn’t really see Pettigrew doing that, though. But perhaps Pettigrew wasn’t the picture-perfect vampire…Snape certainly is, though—Fred and George have always had their Snape’s a vampire theory—turns out they were right! Harry mused, trailing Snape out of his office.

Snape certainly didn’t slow down for Harry on the way to Dumbledore’s office. His long, brisk stride was uncompromising, and matching his pace left Harry feeling slightly winded by the time they stopped in front of a rather large gargoyle many corridors later.

I thought becoming a vampire was supposed to make me stronger and faster and stuff, Harry huffed to himself indignantly.

Sighing softly as he eyed the gargoyle, Snape grunted, “Sherbet Lemon.” Harry frowned in bemusement until the gargoyle jumped aside for them. Startled, Harry looked into the space that had been hidden behind the stone figure. A spiral staircase made of stone awaited them.

Snape mounted the staircase, then finally looked back at Harry and raised an eyebrow, indicating for Harry to join him. As soon as Harry gained the first step, the staircase began to move, rising around a central column. Harry jolted a little at this motion, but he soon relaxed. Moving staircases weren’t exactly out of the ordinary at Hogwarts. When they reached the top, Harry saw a pair of polished oaken doors.

Dumbledore’s office, Harry ascertained. Small wonder I haven’t landed myself in here until now. Today’s flying car incident might’ve been the closest…or my stunt with Neville’s Remembrall in my first Flying lesson...or perhaps the small complication of smuggling Norbert to the Astronomy Tower…

Harry was shaken from his reverie by Snape’s rap on the double doors.

“Enter,” a voice that could only belong to Dumbledore called from within. The doors opened before them, and Snape grabbed Harry’s shoulder and tugged lightly, urging him across the threshold.

“In, Potter,” he said quietly. Harry followed silently, letting Snape lead him along. A few steps into the office, he stopped to take in the space, peering out from behind Snape’s suddenly rigid figure. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Harry had visited so far in his year and a day at Hogwarts, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting... It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tainted wizard's hat — the Sorting Hat.

Once he’d mentally catalogued the room, he let his gaze fall on the two men standing in the middle of the office in front of Snape. Dumbledore was smiling at Harry, but Harry found it hard to tell what expression the other man wore. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might’ve been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin.

Harry grasped, I think he’s Sirius—

“Black,” Snape spat. Harry was quite sure he’d never heard so much venom injected into a single word—except perhaps into Potter.

Sirius Black gave a gruesome, frightening smile.

“Hello, Snivellus,” he leered. Snarling quietly, Snape lunged forward, his wand appearing in the clawed grip of his left hand. With a warning look from Dumbledore, Snape jerked to a stop, his robes swinging past his calves.

Turning his glare on Dumbledore, Snape hissed, “Must we do this now? It’s the middle of the night! Surely there is time for this charming reunion in the morning.” Dumbledore sighed.

“Harry Potter,” he said, fixing Harry with his twinkling blue gaze, “this is Sirius Black. Your godfather.” Harry let a small gasp escape his lips.

I have a godfather? he pondered.

With some trepidation, he stepped out fully from behind Snape.

“Hu—Hello,” offered Harry, glancing up at Sirius Black’s cavernous eyes and quickly back down at his trainers.

“Harry,” the bedraggled man rasped. “My…godson.” He took a tentative step around Snape and towards Harry. Harry tensed, expecting the two wizards to bristle at each other again, but Snape merely raised an eyebrow and smoothly stepped aside to let Sirius pass. Harry was able to breathe easily again as Sirius smiled down at him, keeping a safe distance so as not to intimidate his godson. It was nice, the way Sirius looked at him like he was glad to see him.

My godfather, Harry thought happily.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never smiled at him like that, like they were happy to have him around, overjoyed at his presence in a room. Harry hesitantly returned the smile.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Snape approach Dumbledore. They seemed to be having a quick, whispered conversation. Harry strained his ears to hear their low, hushed tones.

“—Pettigrew?” he heard Snape inquire with more breath than voice. Dumbledore bowed his head slightly.

“Kissed. Then sent to a special holding cell in the Department of Mysteries,” Harry caught Dumbledore’s murmur. Snape inclined his head, a vindictive twist spreading across his lips and into a sneer.

“My, how you’ve grown, Harry,” Sirius whispered fondly. Harry’s attention snapped back to his godfather, missing the rest of Snape and Dumbledore’s exchange. “Last time I saw you, I don’t think you came up to my knees. I bought you a little toy broomstick…it only hovered a couple feet off the ground, but how you loved it! James always said he had a little Quidditch star in the making!” Harry blushed, unused to the fondness and familiarity with which his godfather addressed him.

“I still like Quidditch, Sir,” he offered shyly.

“So I’ve heard!” beamed Sirius. “Youngest Seeker in a century! And in Gryffindor, of course. The only House for James and Lily’s son, naturally.” Sirius winked good-naturedly at him. Harry’s smile faltered.

“But I wasn’t supposed to be in Gryffindor,” he admitted dejectedly. Sirius raised his eyebrows.

Great, now I’ve done it, Harry thought glumly. I finally have a godfather, someone who has been nicer to me in ten minutes than the Dursleys have in ten years, and I blow it.

“I stand by what I said before,” called a new voice. Harry looked around wildly. Snape whirled away from Dumbledore to face the headmaster’s desk. Following Snape’s gaze, Harry could see the Sorting Hat where it was perched on its shelf. A rip near the brim was opened like a mouth.

“Yes…you were particularly difficult to place…but I stand by what I said before,” the hat repeated. “You would have done well in Slytherin.” The Sorting Hat fell silent and inanimate on its shelf again. All three adults turned to stare at Harry. Dumbledore regarded him with something that bordered on amusement, but the same countenance couldn’t’ve described Sirius or Snape. For his part, Sirius seemed confused, bewildered, even. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: it was a shrewd and calculating look, one Harry wasn’t sure how to take.

“Slytherin, Harry?” said Sirius faintly.

“I…er, I asked it to put me anywhere but Slytherin,” Harry protested placatingly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He heard Snape scoff slightly where he stood in front of Dumbledore.

“Surprised, Black?” mocked Snape. “It seems the boy is so Slytherin that he manipulated the hat out of sending him to Slytherin. Pity.” Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but Harry swiftly cut in.

“Well, I’m not in Slytherin!” Harry said hotly. “I’m in Griffindor.”

“Under false pretenses,” Snape said silkily. Harry glowered up at him. He could see a faint trace of amusement dancing in Snape’s black eyes.

“Listen, Snivellus—” Sirius began, pointing a skeletal finger at Snape.

Dumbledore cleared his throat behind the two men. Sirius reluctantly lowered his arm. Snape scowled at him, raising an eyebrow in disdain.

“I must insist that you two refrain from this childish behavior at once,” said Dumbledore. “For Harry’s sake, it is imperative that you are, at the very least, civil towards one another.” Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he looked from Sirius to Dumbledore and nodded curtly.

“Fine,” huffed Sirius petulantly. “As long as Sni—Snape keeps his trap shut, I’ll…try, too. For Harry.”

“You don’t mind that I was almost a Slytherin?” asked Harry.

“’Course not. Besides, the key word is almost, ” Sirius said gruffly. “And aside from me, my entire family was in Slytherin. Even my younger brother. They were ideological, crazed fanatics, the lot of them—but, they were my family…until Mother dearest blasted me off the family tree, I suppose…” He trailed off. Harry stifled a laugh.

I like Sirius, he decided. He’s funny. He might’ve been a big bully in the past, but he seems alright now.

“And…” Harry continued nervously. “You don’t mind that I’m becoming a vampire?” He bit his lip and shot a nervous glance at Dumbledore.

If Dumbledore found the time to tell Sirius about my Quidditch exploits, surely he’s told him about my new…condition, Harry reasoned.

Sirius looked swiftly at Snape and grimaced slightly.

“No…Harry…I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I minded that, wouldn’t I?” Sirius said rhetorically. “I mean, I befriended one who turned traitor, and I inadvertently helped create another…” He trailed off, shrugging a shoulder in Snape’s general direction. Harry nodded, feeling flooded with sudden, inexplicable relief.

“Besides,” Sirius went on, “you two aren’t the only creatures here.” He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously at Harry and crouched down. Harry watched as his outline began to blur.

Suddenly, where Sirius Black had been crouching there appeared a large black dog whose fur was rather matted and whose rib cage stood out sharply. The dog bounded up to Harry and gave him a lick on the knee before crossing the room again and turning back into his godfather. Snape and Dumbledore exchanged a significant glance.

“This explains rather a lot,” Snape said drily, folding his arms across his chest. Dumbledore held up a hand.

“Please, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, “enlighten us further.” Sirius’s mouth quirked up in a rueful half-smile. He turned back to Harry with a thoughtful frown.

“Well you see, Harry,” Sirius began, “when I was in school with your parents, I had three close friends: James, Remus Lupin, and…Peter Pettigrew. We were all in Gryffindor, and we styled ourselves as the Marauders back in those days. A year or so into our friendships, James and I noticed that Remus and Peter both left the castle once a month. They always gave excuses, but we became curious. We discovered that Remus was a werewolf and Peter was a vampire. They were both worried we’d stop being friends when we found out. Instead, James and I found a way to stay with them while they filled the needs of their creature sides: we became animagi in our fifth year. I was Padfoot, the dog, James was Prongs, a stag, Remus we called Moony—for obvious reasons, and Peter we dubbed Wormtail—again, for obvious reasons. James and I were unregistered animagi…When I was in Azkaban, I’d often transform into Padfoot to minimize the effects of the Dementors. It was the only way to stay sane…well, that, and the knowledge of my innocence, and Peter’s betrayal. Azkaban is horrible…I consider myself lucky to have retained my sanity.” At this, Snape snorted derisively.

“I was unaware you had any to begin with, Black,” he sneered. Sirius clenched his fists, the tendons of his forearms jutting out painfully on his malnourished frame.

My dad was an Animagus too, Harry noted excitedly. Now I’m kind of mad that vampires can’t be animagi… He gave a wide yawn without meaning to. Dumbledore twinkled knowingly at him.

“I do think we’ve had enough revelations for one day, don’t you, my boys?” Dumbledore interrupted jovially, clasping his hands.

“Indeed,” acquiesced Snape, returning to his mask of indifference.

“Sirius, allow me to escort you to the Infirmary,” Dumbledore said, placing an arm on Sirius’s bony shoulder. Sirius dipped his head in agreement.

“I’m very happy to see you again, Harry,” Sirius said as Dumbledore led him out of the room. Harry flashed a quick, disarming smile at his godfather. He watched them leave, then he chanced a glimpse at Snape. He appeared to be scowling less since Sirius had left the room.

That’s good, thought Harry sleepily. I do wish they’d get along, or at least stop trading insults. He looked out at the room, confused as to why it seemed to be swaying before him. He thought he heard a low chuckle come from beside him.

“You’re asleep on your feet, Potter,” a low, dry voice noted.

“Mmhmm,” Harry agreed. He just wished the room would stop moving. It was making him dizzy…and…tired…

Harry’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he felt his knees buckle beneath him. He braced himself for a painful impact with the stone floor of the office, but it never came. Instead, strong, and surprisingly warm arms caught him under the armpits. He felt himself get turned around. His face was pressed against a shoulder that was padded by layers of thick, woolen robes. The arms encircled his back and lifted him up. Harry couldn’t ever recall being carried like this. They moved a few steps and stopped again. Harry thought he could hear the crackling wood of a fire.

“My quarters!” commanded the voice. They stepped forward once more. Harry kept his eyes tightly shut. He felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He was spinning very fast—but still the arms held him. Finally, the spinning stopped, and they were moving again. The arms gently released their hold on Harry, sinking him down onto a soft cushion of some sort.

Now why couldn't we've used the Floo to get to Dumbledore's office in the first place? Maybe they wanted me to see the gargoyle and the funny staircase, Harry pondered in a haze of exhaustion. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He was so tired…

“Potter,” said the voice, “the headmaster thought it would be wise for you to stay in my quarters for a few weeks so I can monitor your acclimation to vampirism. You should be able to attend classes in a few days’ time, and I’ll have to arrange a schedule for those lessons I promised you, if you’re amenable to—Potter? Oh, very well. Goodnight.”
The hands and arms were back for a few moments, wrapping a blanket around him and pulling off his trainers. Harry burrowed underneath the blanket and pulled it up to his chin, sighing contentedly. He felt the hands return once more, softly tugging the glasses off his face. Harry smiled to himself, then relinquished the last bit of his consciousness to sleep.

“Potter. Potter. Potter!”

A voice dragged Harry out of his deep slumber. He sat up quickly, blinking away his disorientation. He didn’t recognize the room he was in or the black leather couch he’d been sleeping on. The walls on either side of the couch were completely covered in bookshelves. The wall he was facing from the couch was grey stone, with a minimalist fireplace and a black shag rug over the stone floor. Tucked to one corner was a small breakfast nook that consisted of a chrome table and two matching chairs. Harry turned around completely and took stock of a hallway with three doors along it. The voice had come from behind the middle door.

Where am I? What happened last night? Harry wondered. He caught sight of a blurry shadow moving in his periphery and remembered. Oh! The Whomping Willow—Snape—Scabbers—Sirius—I’m a vampire!

Snape strode over to Harry in his customary black teaching robes. Crossing his arms, Snape directed, “Up, Potter. You mustn’t be late to your first morning of classes.”

Harry groaned, “I dunno—I feel sort of…funny.” The fire in his throat and the sickly feeling in his head and stomach were back. Snape pursed his lips. He pulled a vial of his Bloodlust Suppressant from his robes and passed it to Harry, who accepted it with a shaky hand.

“Perhaps it’s time for your next feeding,” Snape said. When Harry hesitated, he hissed, “Drink it, Potter. I won’t have you endangering yourself or your fellow students. You must be fully sated before you leave my quarters.”

Harry sighed, remembering the uncomfortable feeling of his fangs. He uncapped the potion and held it to his lips unsteadily. He shuddered when the first drops hit his tongue and his fangs lengthened. Snape watched him for a few moments to ensure he was drinking it, then called for a house-elf.

“Batty.”

When the small creature appeared with a pop in front of the professor, Harry recoiled. Snape raised an eyebrow, then turned back to address the elf.

“Mr. Potter will be staying here for a few weeks, so I’d like you to bring down his possessions and leave them here, please,” Snape instructed.

“Yes, Professor Snape, sir,” the elf agreed. She flashed a smile at Harry and disappeared with another pop.

“Wa—was that a house-elf, sir?” Harry asked, handing him the empty vial. The potion had sated his bloodlust, but he still felt funny. Tucking the vial back into his robes, Snape inclined his chin in a nod.

He explained, “Hogwarts is home to the most house-elves in magical Great Britain. You’ve met one before?”

“Er—sort of. Not one from Hogwarts, though. Y’see, Sir, this summer, one came to my house on my birthday. He told me his name was Dobby and that I wasn’t to return to Hogwarts this year because someone was planning something bad,” Harry said in a rush.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Dobby?”

“Yeah—er, yes, Sir. He was sort of crazy. Turns out he’d stopped my friends’ letters from getting to me, and then he got me in trouble with my uncle for using magic to drop a cake on his client’s wife’s head. I got a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office or something. And whenever he said something bad about his family or whatever, he tried to hit himself. It was all very…weird,” Harry summarized with a shrug. He clutched his stomach, feeling queasy. He was beginning to think Snape’s potion didn’t agree with him, vampire or not.

Snape stared at him, nonplussed. He started, “I think—”

He was interrupted by Harry’s retching. Leaning over the arm of the couch, Harry vomited the Bloodlust Suppressant onto the stone floor. Snape curled his lips in distaste. With a wave of his wand, he vanished the mess. Harry was still coughing up vomit. The fire was back and raging in his throat. Snape gingerly leaned over and patted him on the back, looking like he’d rather do anything else. Catching sight of his martyred expression, Harry thought, I’d be laughing right now if I wasn’t so busy throwing up.

In the midst of this chaos, Batty reappeared with Harry’s trunk. Her humongous eyes blinked owlishly at the scene she saw before her.

“Mr. Potter’s things, Professor Snape, sir,” Batty announced timidly. Snape glanced over at the elf distractedly.

“Thank you. That will be all, Batty,” he dismissed her with a wave. Batty bowed hastily and left. As his coughing sputtered out, Harry caught his breath.

“Batty?” he queried, his voice rough. Snape sneered, vanishing the last of the vomit and Summoning a glass of water from one of the other rooms. Harry drank gratefully. Unfortunately, however, the water did nothing to quench the burning in his throat that had resurfaced after he vomited.

“The Headmaster has a rather irritating sense of humor. Batty is the house-elf assigned to my quarters. All the staff are assigned one,” he elaborated.

“Oh,” Harry tried to smother a giggle. “How…fitting.” He pulled a fresh set of clothes from his trunk.

“Yes, the Headmaster certainly seems to think so,” Snape said wryly. With a flick of his wand, one of the doors in the hall opened. Harry could see it was a loo and muttered his thanks.

When he reemerged, Snape was transfiguring the couch into a sleeping cot. Catching Harry’s eyes, he said, “House-elf humor aside, Potter, do you have any allergies? I believe something in my potion doesn’t agree with you. Two doses in twelve hours apparently overwhelm your digestive system.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. Really? Gee, thanks. I couldn’t tell, he thought rebelliously. Snape glowered at him.

Aloud, Harry answered, “I dunno, Sir. I don’t think so.” Snape frowned in thought. He brandished his wand and waved it over Harry a few times. His frown deepened into a scowl.

“What is it? Sir?” Harry asked nervously.

Snape sighed, “Nothing can ever be straightforward with you, Potter, can it?” He stalked over to a bookshelf and began rifling through the thick tomes.

“’Fraid not, Sir,” Harry smiled wanly. He stood up shakily and scrubbed a hand through his perpetually-messy hair. Snape found the book he’d been looking for and perused it, pacing back and forth behind the couch.

He’s so unnerving, Harry thought, watching Snape read and pace at the same time. Abruptly, he stopped pacing. Thrusting the book over the couch towards Harry, he jabbed his pointer finger at an entry. Harry squinted.

Where’ve my glasses got to? Harry griped to himself. I don’t remember taking them off last night. When he realized Harry wasn’t reading the text, Snape scoffed and pulled the tome back.

“Evidently, your body disagrees with the mandrake root present in the Pepperup component of the Suppressant potion,” Snape observed, looking pointedly over the top of his book at Harry. “If I recall correctly, Mandrakes are a part of the second year Herbology curriculum.”

“Oh. Will I be able to participate in the Herbology lesson, then?” Harry wondered. Snape closed the book with a snap and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I am more concerned with the fact that you are not safe around others because you can’t stomach my potion, Mr. Potter,” Snape sighed. “I cannot allow you to attend classes—or even leave my quarters—until we find a way to satiate your bloodlust.” Snape looked decidedly unhappy about this prospect.

“’M sorry, Sir,” Harry offered with a shrug. Snape cast a glance at a clock on the mantle of the fireplace and growled in frustration.

“My first class is in half an hour, Potter! What am I supposed to do with you?” he snarled.

“Er,” Harry began, “could I maybe drink animal blood?” Snape’s upper lip curled.

“I had been, perhaps shortsightedly, trying to save you from having to resort to that. Trust me when I say it is rather unpleasant to feed from animals,” he told Harry. Recalling that Snape himself had subsisted on animal blood until he’d developed the Blood Suppressant potion, Harry winced in sympathy. His thoughts drifted back to their conversation the night before.

Maybe there’s another option, Harry supposed. A mischievous smile crept onto his face.

“Well, Sir,” he said. Snape turned his full attention on Harry, and Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. “There’s always the possibility of a Blood Bond, yeah?” Snape stiffened, fixing Harry with a glare.

“Come, Potter. We’ll go ask Hagrid if he can spare a chicken or two,” he ordered. Harry paled as he watched Snape sweep out the door. Grumbling to himself about stuffy old vampires who were too menacing for their own good, Harry trailed along behind him.

“I heard that, Potter,” Snape called. “I could always ask Hagrid for crows instead of chickens.” Harry held back a squeak of indignation and stuck his tongue out behind Snape. Together, they strode out of the dungeons and towards the castle’s front entrance. Not many people were in the corridors yet; Harry assumed most students were still in the Great Hall having breakfast.Harry noticed it was less taxing for him to keep up with Snape’s fast clip. Clearly the vampire’s physical traits were manifesting.

Can vampires eat real food, too? Harry pondered, his stomach rumbling. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen Snape eat something. Surely, he had.

An older Slytherin boy brushed past Harry on his way back to the dungeons. Harry caught a whiff of something intoxicating and jolted with a small gasp. Snape whirled around and grabbed Harry by the collar. “Control yourself, Potter,” he hissed in a harsh whisper.

“Do all humans smell that good?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. Snape’s mouth quirked upwards in the semblance of a smile.

“Most, yes,” he replied. Harry cocked his head.

“What about other vampires?” he questioned. Snape raised an eyebrow. Slowly, he removed his fist from Harry’s robes and held the soft underside of his wrist in front of Harry’s face. Harry cautiously inhaled.

“Oh. Oh. You smell…right,” he said. Seeing Snape’s eyes narrow in confusion, Harry elaborated, “Humans smell good, yeah, but really sweet. Too sweet, I think. Almost sickly-sweet. But you smell…familiar. Comforting.” He sniffed again. “Bittersweet, like dark chocolate.” Snape scoffed quietly, retracting his arm. Without another word, he resumed his purposeful stride.

When they reached the castle’s main doors, Harry hesitated. He really didn’t want to drink chicken blood. Gathering his nerve, he asked, “Er—Professor?”

“What now, Potter?” Snape said. Harry took a deep breath.

“Well Sir, I can’t help but wondering—Why don’t you want to form a blood bond? We could have a weak one, er, an Advisory Bond?” he stuttered. Snape folded his arms across his chest and regarded Harry coldly.

“I believe I already told you, Potter: I don’t need a Blood Bond. I have the Bloodlust Suppressant potion, and I, unlike you, am not allergic to mandrake root,” he said. Harry sighed dejectedly. “Come now. I’ll hear no more of this,” Snape ordered.

The vampires walked across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut. When a breeze picked up, Harry wrinkled his nose.

“Yuck! Is that what animal blood smells like?” he griped. Snape narrowed his eyes.

“I can always find you some crows—” he threatened.

“Ugh, no!” Harry moaned, gagging on the stench as he neared the pens. Snape smirked.

“Suit yourself, Potter,” he said smugly. Hagrid emerged from his hut with a wave to Harry. Two dogs were frolicking about behind him on the gravel path. Harry recognized Fang straight away and squinted at the other black dog.

The other dog caught sight of Harry and bounded toward him, his tail wagging ecstatically. “Sirius!” Harry gasped. He ran to meet his godfather on the path. Mid-leap, Sirius left his dog form. Fang let out a bark of surprise, startling the man. Sirius faltered and landed awkwardly on the gravel. Laughing at himself, he stood and dusted off, holding his arms open in welcome for Harry. Harry grinned and met his godfather in a hug. Suddenly, he froze in Sirius’s arms. The cloyingly sweet smell of human blood overpowered his nose. All Harry could focus on was the burning in his throat. His breath was coming in heavy pants.

From the other end of the pens where Harry had left him, Snape snarled, “Black! Extricate yourself from Potter! Back away. Slowly.” Harry fought with himself for control. He let Sirius walk backwards, out of his grasp. Then, he caught sight of the shallow cuts on his godfather’s hand from the abrasive gravel. He saw the blood pooling in the lines of his palms. Harry didn’t think. He lunged.

“Potter, no!” Snape growled. In a flash, he was at Harry’s side. He wrapped his arms around the boy and held him. Harry writhed and struggled in Snape’s steel grip, flailing his limbs about ferally. He wailed in frustration. Sirius started toward the vampires worriedly. “Stop, Black!” Snape said. Sensing an opportunity, Harry lashed out at Sirius and caught his outstretched arm in a claw-like grip before Sirius could wrench it away. Hagrid advanced on the tussle and managed to wrest Sirius away from Harry before the young vampire could feed. Sirius sighed in relief, sagging against Hagrid wearily.

Harry was still fighting like a demon. “Potter is in a feeding frenzy,” Snape ground out, wincing slightly at a sharp kick to his shin. Hagrid’s eyes widened.

“I’ve on’y got four hens, Professor. An’ I don’ fancy feedin’ a thestral ‘r a unicorn to Harry, neither,” he fretted. Snape sighed heavily, then winced again as one of Harry’s pointy elbows struck under his ribs.

“Enough, Potter!” he said, his voice dangerously low. He clamped Harry to his side with one arm, then set about undoing the buttons of his opposite sleeve as Harry thrashed around in his grasp. He thrust his bare wrist under Harry’s nose. “Drink.”

Harry hungrily snatched the proffered forearm and sank his lengthened fangs into the pale skin, latching onto the blue veins that ran underneath. He drank for minutes, unconscious of anything but the bittersweet taste of blood running along his tongue and quenching the fire in his throat. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, Harry regained awareness of his surroundings. His head stopped pounding and his stomach settled. With a few last pulls on the veins, Harry relinquished Snape’s arm. He licked a trickle of blood off and watched as the incisions closed. “Er, sorry,” he said, looking down at the ground. Behind him, Snape started to sway slightly. Harry turned around just as the older vampire collapsed. “Oh no! Professor, what can I do?” he asked.

“You…get…your wish. Need to…complete…the Bond,” Snape panted. Harry’s eyes widened.

Oh, right, of course! he thought frantically. He fell to his knees beside Snape and offered his arm.

“Come on, Professor! Here!” he encouraged. Snape’s eyes fluttered closed. “No, no, no. Hang on, Snape!” Harry urged.