Chapter 3

Entering the fortress and taking in the opulence surrounding him, Charlie Weasley issued a loud, appreciative whistle. "Riches do not consist in the possession of treasures, but in the use made of them," he quoted Napoleon reverently. He craned his neck to gaze at the fresco adorning the ceiling, but a slap to the back of his head made him wince in irritation.

"Eyes ahead, Weasley," Snape instructed. "Study art on your own time."

"Still rethinking that whole saving you situation," he grumbled, rubbing the stinging skin where he'd been smacked.

"Rethink all you wish; it's too late to retract your actions."

"I stand by my initial assessment of you being an intolerable malcontent."

The vampire walking ahead of them turned his head slightly and laughed. "He will make a good trimis for you, frate."

"Hold up a tic." Charlie came to a halt, refusing to walk further. "I'm no one's lackey."

Snape frowned again, but watched with interest as Bujor's eyes...which were normally brown...turned indigo and bore a hole right through Weasley. "Then, tânarul meu prieten," he said, laying a hand on Charlie's freckled cheek, "why are you here?"

Caught in Novac's hypnotic gaze, the redhead was compelled to answer truthfully. "To keep Snape safe."

"Is that all?"

"To satisfy my own curiosity about vampire life."

Bujor smirked, but did not alter the trance. "He is foolish and reckless, this one," he told Snape. "He possesses a tremendous amount of willpower and will not be easy to convert." Breaking eye contact, Bujor stepped back. "But once he finds a worthy goal with clear objectives, he will devote himself to success."

"Ah, frate Bujor! Ce ai..." Another vampire, dressed in much the same fashion as his counterpart, approached the trio from atop a set of massive marble steps, making his way slowly to the bottom.

"Copile?" the man asked softly, staring at the tall wizard.

He glanced between the men in hopes that someone would translate.

"You're his sire?" Charlie posed incredulously.

Never taking his eyes from Snape, the vampire answered the question. "I am Radu Novac, fifth prince to the Novăceştii clan."

"What happened to the other four?"

This earned Radu's attention and he turned to face the ginger man with a scowl. "I killed them."

"Right." The dragon-keeper swallowed thickly. "Shutting up now."

Radu narrowed his eyes, studying him. "You look familiar..."

"Don't recall seeing you or yours at any point in the past." Charlie leaned in. "Think I'd remember that sort of a meeting."

Tapping his forefinger against his lips, Radu studied him until comprehension flooded his expression. "Ah, yes, the wagging tongue!" He gave the younger man a feral smile. "Come to have it cut out, finally?"

"Not sure what you're on about, mate." Charlie laughed weakly, stepping away from the group. "And while my mum often scolded me for nattering too much, I'm not sure she'd take kindly to having said offending organ hacked from my mouth."

"Leagă-l," Radu hissed at the other vampire, but Charlie had already bolted down the hallway they'd just passed through. Bujor quickly disappeared in the same direction.

Moving to follow, Snape was forced to stop when Radu's hand pressed in the center of his chest. "Bujor will retrieve him."

"No harm must come to the boy," Snape ordered, trying to shove off Radu's hand. "He saved my life."

"Roşcatul saved your life?" He looked genuinely confused. "What has happened to you, copile?" Radu tenderly caressed Snape's cheek. "You are so malnourished. Has your Anhelo Nex not been a proper helpmeet?"

"My what?"

"Your Anhelo Nex?" Frowning in frustration, Radu tried to explain as best he could. "Your companion?" Nothing again. "The one to help you? She is a carrier of the antigen." A blank look was all he received. Searching his extensive memory, he sought a name the wizard would recognize, suddenly remembering the letter he'd received last week from Britain. "Hermione Granger?"

Snape scowled fiercely. "What does Miss Granger have to do with my condition?"

Fixing his penetrating glare on the thin wizard in front of him, he growled, "I am the one responsible for your condition, not the girl." Radu hissed at him, showing his fangs. "She is meant to help, not to hinder you."

The Potions master wanted to retaliate, his lip nearly curling into a sneer, but his sire's voice was compelling and demanded obedience. "I can't remember anything," he bit out through clenched teeth.

"That cannot be," Radu countered, shaking his head. "I told her of this, commanded her to return to you once..." He broke off, frowning in regret. "Unless she didn't survive." Immediately, he dismissed that thought due to the letter in his study, the one requesting information on his copile's whereabouts.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Severus reiterated in annoyance.

Laying both palms against Snape's temples, Radu peered into his eyes searchingly. "Arată-mi trecutul tău," he whispered.

Severus' mind was probed extensively regarding the missing night so long ago. With stunning clarity, Radu brought forth every moment that had been lost to him, including those leading up to his conversion. Snape wanted to scream in horror and anger at the memories laid bare before him, but, held captive by his growing fury for Ronald Weasley, he kept his silence.

When Radu retreated from Snape's mind, his face mirrored the Potion master's, though he didn't realize it. Cupping the shaking man's cheek, Radu wiped away the stray tears that had escaped. "We will make it right, copile."

Severus knew there was only one thing that would make this travesty resemble anything remotely right.

Weasley had to die... most horribly.

~*~*~

As if the throbbing at her temples wasn't bad enough, Hermione's head now felt like she'd taken a bludger to the brain... multiple times. Moving to sit up, she soon realized she was bound by restraints, and tried desperately to recall how she'd arrived in her bedroom trussed up like a common criminal.

"Stop fidgeting, Hermione," someone murmured in the darkness. "Even you won't be able to break that spell."

That voice sounded so familiar...but why? Her head was too fuzzy to distinguish the speaker. What was the last thing she remembered doing? Focusing her concentration through the pounding ache in her head was difficult, and she bit her bottom lip in frustration as tears welled in her eyes. "Please," she whimpered, hating the frail sound. Having considered this a dire situation, she'd gone for sympathy. "Let me go."

"Not likely." There was shuffling and another spell muttered to light the room with candles. "We'll stay safe and cosy for a few days. Then you'll see."

The tears that had already pooled at the corners of her eyes now seeped over when the meagre glow from the numerous flames became too much for her increasingly sensitive vision. She squeezed her lids shut and turned her face away when a pewter holder with a lit taper was shoved near. "Don't!" she hissed. "It hurts!"

"It's in your mind, Hermione," the person said with a tsk, as if they were disgusted with her behaviour. "You just need to be around people that love you. You're so obsessed with this... this..."

"Ronald?" she whispered incredulously. Only he would have trouble with her ongoing determination to find Snape and not be able to properly voice his thoughts on the matter. "Did you do this to me?"

"See? This fixation you have on finding a dead man just isn't healthy; it's made you completely barmy."

"Let me go. Now!" She tried moving her feet, but they were bound as well. "You'd better not be around if I get loose."

He cast long shadows with his tall frame as he approached her at the side of the bed. "Shhh. It'll be alright." Placing a palm on her brow, he shook his head with a worried expression. "You're really cold." He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "And you're as white as a sheet."

"Get out!" she managed to scream, instantly regretting it. The sound of her voice roared in her ears, threatening to pierce her eardrums, causing her to sob in earnest.

Hermione closed her eyes and felt a dip in the mattress on the left side before Ron began caressing her face, pushing back the damp strands of her frizzy curls. "I can't, love." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I've got to show you that all this bloody nonsense is in your head, and that you're not on the verge of dying if you don't find that greasy bat."

She tried turning her face away from his attentions, but he gripped her chin and held her immobile.

So, she did the only thing could think of.

"Bloody hell!" Ron snarled, wiping the saliva she'd spat straight into his eye. He retaliated by casting Silencio, followed by a full Body-Bind. "It's a good thing I love you, Hermione." He breathed heavily, nose to nose with her since she couldn't move an inch. "Or I would've hexed your arse something fierce."

Unable to respond, but cognizant of all that happened, she felt her stomach threaten to rebel when he started placing what he probably considered 'love nips' along her jaw and neck, pausing once or twice to murmur something lewd about how he knew she was a dirty girl. Dirty girl, indeed. If she ever got free and he was within grabbing distance, he'd find out how pathetic that label was and go straight from 'dirty girl' to 'fucking evil bitch'!

"We'll get married in the spring," Ron mused aloud as he moved away and sat up, unaware of the boiling rage in Hermione's eyes. "The Burrow is just the place around that time of year. The cherry blossoms are right gorgeous, and Mum'll have the orchard all decked out like she did for Bill's wedding, though we'll definitely have more people there."

He glanced over at her still, prone body, and patted her arm. "Harry'll be back from his vacation by then to be my best man and Ginny can be your..." He gestured wildly. "I don't know... whatever you girls do during a wedding."

Her jaw began to ache with how forcefully she was trying to open it; she wanted desperately to break the hex he'd placed on her and then do unspeakable things to his person, maybe even an Unforgivable. Or two. His constant blathering irritated and worried her in turns; it seemed as if he were the one with a mental issue, not her.

"Mum'll make the cake, too," he continued, oblivious to her murderous thoughts. "You know, she wanted to make Bill's, but Phlegm would have only 'ze best Franch boulangères' bake it." He grimaced. "She's a right snob, that Fleur. Worse than the Malfoys, if you can believe it."

Merlin, his French was terrible! And sure, Fleur was a bit on the... persnickety side, but she was nothing like Draco or his father...not even close. Wait. Why was she justifying this conversation, even though it was completely one-sided and the other party was as deluded as Trelawney and her stupid Divination class? Mentally slapping herself, Hermione tuned Ron out and concentrated on nonverbally dismantling the hex he'd placed on her, hoping she didn't give up too easily from utter exhaustion.