Scabbers by overlyenthused

“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.