Chapter 6

*Warning - very squicky chapter. In fact, it just gets bloodier from here on in*

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Hermione was consumed by the most delicious sensations between her legs.

"Mmmh," a dulcet voice cooed, and the spiralling feeling increased, making her twitch.

When the pressure became greater than before, she arched her back and moaned, though her throat was parched. "Ahh!"

"There's a good girl." Wet probing soon turned into a gentle suction.

Her hoarse yell filled the room when something sharp was embedded just above her pubis. She kept her eyes closed for fear of waking from the dream of being pleasured, but her hips undulated in time with the pulls drawn from her mound.

"They tell me that the blood resulting from a breached hymen is the sweetest of all," the voice purred against her skin. "I have to agree." There was another lap at her quim and then, a slight prick on the tight bundle of nerves sheathed within the hood of flesh.

Sitting straight up with eyes open wide, Hermione screamed out her orgasm until she almost lost her voice, clutching at the hair on the man between her thighs. His rumbling baritone hummed against her overly sensitized clit, making her legs quiver, and she tugged on his inky locks, pulling his face from her nether regions.

"Severus," she said, awe making her voice raspy. Her hands shook as she touched his cheeks. "You're here."

Drawing the thumb that was caressing his lower lip into his mouth, he bit lightly and gave her an indulgent smile. "Where else would I be?"

"Gone," she said so softly he barely heard her.

The forlorn look on her face made his heart ache. Soon after awakening, once he'd bonded with Hermione, he'd become conscious of something: a deep, emotional, spiritual and sexual connection had been forged when they'd exchanged blood...just like Radu had said would happen. Initially he'd scoffed at the idea, but when faced with the very real facts, he begrudgingly admitted that thinking of any kind of harm or unpleasant situations concerning his mate brought him great anxiety and even greater anger.

Releasing her tantalizing thumb, he backed away enough so that he could crawl up her body like a deadly panther, rubbing his nose on her abdomen and paying special attention to her navel area. "Precious Hermione," he said in a seductive rumble, "you are my home." He pressed a kiss just under her left breast. "You are the light to my darkness." Smirking, he darted out and licked her pert nipple. "You are the satiation to my hunger." Nuzzling his mark on her neck he inhaled and hissed out a tense breath.

Finally, he looked into her eyes, which were shimmering with unshed tears. "You are all that is good and just in this world." Placing a lingering kiss on her trembling lips, he gathered her close and rocked his erection against her inviting body. "There is no place I would not go, no length I would not journey to find you." Slipping easily into her warmth, he gently thrust until he was fully seated. "If you were to leave this plane, I would gladly follow."

"No." The words were sobbed, her arms tightening around him, riding the increasingly passionate maelstrom. "Stay safe," she pleaded. "Stay alive."

"I can't say the words...not yet." Grabbing her wrists, he raised her arms above her head to thread his fingers through hers. "But they are there, Hermione. They are there." He punctuated his last thoughts with a sharp twist of his hips, sending them over the precipice, both shouting their release to the world.

Or at least to the audience in her flat, as it were.

"Not again!" wailed a voice in the other room.

"Who is that?"

Withdrawing from her core, Severus sighed in irritation. "That is our familiar or emissary, if you will."

She tucked several loose strands of his hair behind his ear. "We have a familiar?" A frown creased her brow. "I didn't know they had vocal capabilities."

"This one unfortunately does," he grumbled. He sat up and pulled her to sit on his lap. "Hungry, pet?"

"Famished, actually." She peered in his black eyes. "Is this normal... after?"

He nodded and brushed her wayward curls off her shoulder, exposing his mark. "I was ravenous when I first awoke," he explained quietly, stroking the rapidly healing puncture wounds. "I think I was on the brink of starvation for many months before I was able to capture larger animals."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, leaning her forehead against his. "I should've come back sooner; then you wouldn't have had to go through all that."

Pressing a fervent kiss to her neck, he embraced her tightly. "It's a moot point, Hermione. I wouldn't have known why you were there, and I probably would've greatly harmed you at that time."

Easing away from him, she took in his pensive expression. "Why? Tell me."

"It will change things..." He hesitated. "Change them in a way that I'm not certain you are able to handle at this moment."

She arched a brow and he was secretly proud that she did it so well. "Ah, I see," she drawled. "Now that I'm a vampire, I'm this fragile creature that can't adapt, is that it?"

"I know how perfectly capable you are, Miss Granger," he said impatiently.

"Stop," she chastised. "It feels wrong when you call me that." She began squirming to get off his lap.

"Settle, Hermione!" He snarled the words, tightening his grip. "I was only trying to point out the obvious." When her wriggling ceased, he cupped her cheek. "I'm saying that the reason for my absence will be troubling for you, since it involves someone you..." He swallowed thickly, hating his next words. "Someone you care for."

"Tell me the truth," she whispered, worried over his pained appearance.

And so he did.

~*~

"Such a brittle thing," Charlie mused, balancing Ron's wand on the tip of his index finger.

'Not mine.'

It was annoying that he couldn't give Ron his voice back, despite the fact he could converse with them in short phrases by mouthing the words, but to go against Snape's orders was tantamount to shortening his life span in a most hurried and undignified way.

"Really? Whose was it?" Bringing the stick to his nose, the older Weasley inhaled but drew back in revulsion. "Smells like the backside of a troll!" Coughing, he broke the fragile wood in two and tossed it to the side. "Just what have you been doing with it?"

'Peter Pettigrew's.' Ron glanced at the split wand and his lips thinned. 'Always smelled bad.'

"Never could take care of your wands, could you?" Opening his navy-blue pea coat, Charlie withdrew his own twelve-inch ash wand, and kissed it. "Just like my first one, which you broke, by the way."

'Good for you.' Ron didn't outright antagonize his brother anymore. That would just lead to more cuts and bruises. He couldn't help but deviate his attention to the bedroom door when it opened, though, revealing a very pale Hermione standing there, wrapped in her familiar Gryffindor red dressing robe.

Seeing the obsessed look cloud his brother's eyes, Charlie leaned forward and thwacked Ron's nose with his wand. "Ah, ah, ah," he admonished. "For his eyes only, mate."

"Charlie?" she croaked. Closing the door behind her, she slowly walked to where the men sat.

Standing, Charlie moved to the side of the chair and gave her a mock bow. "At your humble service, milady." He winked.

Unable to help herself, she smiled. "Does nothing ever ruffle your feathers?"

Returning her grin, he shrugged. "Would I be me if I let it?" His features became sombre for a moment. "How much did he tell you?"

Closing her eyes, she swayed a little due to dizziness, but was grateful when he grasped her elbow to keep her from falling. "Everything." She opened them and gazed into his bright blue ones. "But I want to know why you're here."

Ron cocked his head to the side, to better listen to his explanation, beyond curious as to why a Weasley would go against a member of his family, even if said member had wronged someone.

Leading Hermione to the chair, Charlie made sure she was seated before saying anything. "I fought it at first...the Arsură they call it." He lifted the ginger hair away from the back of his neck and bent low for her to observe the mark. "Once they branded his glyph onto my skin, my first and most overwhelming thought was to protect Snape."

The brand was actually quite beautiful. Two infinity symbols, one vertical, the other horizontal, lying atop one another at the base of his neck. It wasn't raised or scarred flesh, like with normal brands, but a pulsing, living thing that glowed deep green when she brushed her fingers over it.

"Did it hurt?"

Dropping his hair, he hesitated then nodded. "It was like a jolt of raw magic so powerful; I've never encountered anything like it." He rubbed it absentmindedly. "The first time he was cross with me, however, it knocked me unconscious."

"When does it activate?" she asked.

He glanced at the bedroom door. "When he's in danger, or needs something and can't get it due to sunlight or some such thing. Then it doesn't hurt, just a tingle to let me know I need to obey the compulsion. When he activates it in a foul mood, that's when it's like a lightning strike." He returned his attention to her, giving her a soft look. "It'll activate with you now, too, if you're in danger and he can't get to you."

She patted his knee. "I'll try to avoid that predicament." And she really would, as she didn't want him to suffer needlessly on her account. Severus had explained the issue with souls, and while she felt lighter and freer now that she was a vampire, she did understand the concept of killing for food or your enemies versus killing for the thrill of it. She took great comfort in the fact that she didn't like the idea of hurting Charlie, but wanted Ron tortured to the ends of the world for what he had done.

"Speaking of which," Charlie drawled, tilting his head in Ron's direction. "He told you about this, right?"

Her features hardened significantly. "Release him."

He frowned heavily. "Are you sure? I can..."

"Release him." She was seething. Her eyes were glowing that indigo hue he was so familiar with. "I can take care of myself."

"But Snape..."

"Said I must deal with this on my own, and I agree." She turned her attention to Ron. "He knows if he were involved in deciding his fate that it might not sit well with me afterwards." She smirked. "He wisely decided to let me do as I please."

"I'll just keep his royal dourness company then, shall I?" Charlie rose, muttered the counter spells to free Ron, and headed off to the bedroom to join his master.

"You..."

"Jesus Christ, Snape!" Charlie bellowed after closing the door. "Put some clothes on!"

Hermione chuckled lightly, but quickly fell silent as she studied her once best friend, who hadn't moved an inch. "You took him from me." She leaned close. "All that I'd gone through, all those years searching for him, and you knew all along what happened."

Clearing his throat, Ron whispered, "I love you, Hermione." Tears gathered on his lashes. "I had to keep you safe."

Frowning, she thinned her lips in anger. "Safe from what?" She stood, leaning over him to grab his mangled shirt. "My mate?" She wrenched Ron from the chair and threw him across her flat, watching him land in her kitchen and scatter her table and chairs.

Popping his head out, Charlie called, "Everything alright?"

Snorting, Hermione asked, "Silencing spell on the flat, please?" She would've done it herself, but she left Bellatrix's wand in the bedroom.

"Yes, ma'am." Charlie strode to the front door while Hermione made her way to the kitchen.

Ron lay unmoving amongst the rubble of her furniture. He had to have sustained a head wound, because blood was trickling down his forehead, finally dripping off his jaw.

The sight enthralled her and she bent low, licking the crimson trail until she reached the gash in his hair and began suckling on it to bring more of the nourishing fluid to the surface. "God," she said softly, "it's wonderful."

"You're... sick, `Mione," Ron slurred, trying to move away from her. "Let me... help you."

Things seemed clearer to her after her turning...not just her senses, but everything had a clarity about it. She believed with great certainty that she couldn't keep living in the past when she had so longed for a future, and the fierce protectiveness she felt over Severus made her want to disembowel anyone who thought of hurting him or tried to separate them. Her conscience had a different focus now as instinct overcame logic...her ethical compass pointed due North, to her mate, and all other directions were shoved to the side. Ron's actions had left her aimlessly wandering for years, and the more she thought about it, the more enraged she became.

"Done, as ordered," the elder Weasley announced, rounding the corner.

Hermione gave Ron a feral smile, but addressed Charlie. "Your little brother thinks I'm sick." She laughed and held out her hand. "Knife, please."

"Now we're talking!" Charlie lifted his left leg and pulled up the cuff of his jeans, revealing a holster.

Tugging on the Velcro flap, he unsheathed a deadly Bowie knife, which gleamed when he ran his finger along the back edge. It was probably damning to think of Ron meeting his end via his knife, but being Snape's familiar allowed him a freedom he'd never experienced before, not even with his dragons. Freedom was the most precious thing to him. His family was suffocating, clingy, and demanding, and while he didn't wish most of the harm, there were a few members that he would dispatch without much resistance, Ron being one of them.

"When you're done admiring your reflection, could I please have it?" she queried with a snort.

"Ah, yeah, right." He blushed, clearly embarrassed for having been caught gazing obsessively at his weapon. "The saw-tooth edge will cut through almost anything." He handed her the blade, hilt first.

Whimpering, Ron fixed his stare on Charlie. "You're going to Hell for this!"

Charlie crossed his arms and shrugged, unimpressed. "Maybe, but not before you." He looked at Hermione. "You know, I just thought of something."

"What?"

"The Family Clock," he muttered. "Not sure what mine is pointing at, but I'm guessing Ron's is centred on 'mortal peril'." He rubbed the back of his neck in what was becoming a familiar gesture of consternation.

"Is there any way to charm it to random positions throughout the day so they don't know what we're doing?"

"What are you doing?" Ron cried, grabbing her arm. "That's my family!"

Shoving off his hand, she slapped him so hard that a few of his teeth scattered on the tile floor. "You never touch me again!" she snarled.

"It means heading to the Burrow," Charlie said, less than pleased with the situation. "It means leaving you and Snape unguarded."

She sighed. "Check with Severus, but I think we'll be okay for the time you're gone. Owl us or Apparate back here when it's done."

"I'm on it." He left the kitchen and headed to the bedroom.

"Now, where were we?" she mused idly, tapping the clip point of the knife against her chin. "Oh, that's right..."

"Hermione, love, please..."

He never finished his sentence. In fact, Ron Weasley never uttered another word for the rest of his brief existence.

Pushing his lower jaw open, Hermione did as Snape's sire wished to do that day in the shack. She cut out his tongue, throwing the offending organ into the trash bin. "That should keep you quiet until Charlie gets back."

Ron coughed violently, hoarsely screaming as he clawed at his face. Grabbing his wrists, Hermione pinned them to the cupboard doors behind him, then proceeded to sup on the blood that poured from his mouth.

~*~

George Weasley sat in the kitchen of the Burrow, staring sightlessly at the half-empty bottle of Ogden's finest on the table, wondering why the ache in his chest didn't abate though he had been drinking himself into a stupor almost every night. Since his parents were out for the evening, he had access to the finest of a lot of liquors that his father had stashed away for when his mother would get in a tizzy and nag him to death. So far that night, he'd found three bottles of Ogden, one bottle of Elfish wine...which tasted suspiciously sour and he wondered how long it'd been hidden...two jugs of some Muggle stuff called Moonshine that had knocked him on his arse the moment he'd removed the cork, and two bottles of Ice Fire. He especially loved that drink, finding it fascinating that when poured it was electric blue in colour, but after a few moments...if not consumed...it turned bright red and burst into flames. It was tricky, but he'd only singed his eyebrows once.

During his current maudlin exercise in imbibing himself to death, he heard the loud crack of Apparition outside the house. Cursing, he vanished...he hoped...the remaining bottles of liquor to their respective hiding spots, then weaved his way to the family room to look bleary-eyed at the clock and see who was about to knock on their door. Leaning against the wooden entryway, he narrowed his gaze on two of the pictures: Ron on 'mortal peril', and Charlie on 'home'. Fred was permanently fixed on 'lost', and seeing it sent a fresh pang of sorrow through George so keen that he doubled over, grasping his stomach as he slid down the wall.

When the front door opened then softly closed, he only had enough energy to turn his head and stare at the cloaked intruder. "Charlie?"

The dark figure stopped suddenly. "What're you doing here, George?"

Sad laughter filled the room. "Don't know anymore." He hiccupped and pointed to the wall clock. "Ickle Ronnikins is in a right mess, looks like."

"I'd say that sums it up." Charlie approached him cautiously.

Tilting his head, George gave his brother a grimace. "You sure you're... hic not the Grim Reaper, come to cart me away?"

Charlie arched his brow in contemplation, though George couldn't see it. "Do you want me to be?"

Sniffing, the once practical-jokester wiped away the tears coursing down his cheeks. "Would you think... hic me bad, erm, sad... no, not that... mad, yes, that's it, if I said yes?"

Kneeling beside his brother, Charlie pushed the fringe of lank hair away from George's vision. Even in the low light, he could tell that his brother wasn't long for this world. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed. The face that had once constantly been smiling was now hollow and gaunt. There was also a sickly pallor covering his skin, and he smelled like a sewer.

"What have you done to yourself?"

Grasping Charlie's arm, George pleaded. "Take me with you; take me home to Fred."

His brother was delusional, Charlie concluded, to the point that he thought him the angel of death. Glancing at the clock, he noticed George's picture was set at 'mortal peril', too...just like Ron's was. In the back of his mind, Charlie knew he'd be doing his brother a favour and saving Snape time on finishing his pet project. It wasn't that he lacked a conscience when it came to his family, as it flared briefly each time a relative was encountered, but his loyalty to his master and now his mate were paramount to everything else, including his kin.

Knowing he didn't want Ron's fate to befall George, Charlie sat next to him and pulled his younger brother into his lap, slowly rocking him back and forth. He began softly humming a lullaby that their mum had often sung to them when they were babes, pressing a kiss to the broken man's temple, surprised to find himself silently crying. He sobbed heavily when George clutched at his cloak and murmured, "Thank you."

Continuing to hum off key due to his throat clogging, Charlie wrapped his hands around George's neck, and kneaded the taut muscles. Several bars later, he wrenched George's jaw violently to the right, hearing multiple snaps in the bones holding his head aloft, feeling the body sag against his chest.

Charlie continued to sit in the darkened room for a good long while, mindlessly rocking his brother's lifeless body, and still humming off key. When the picture of his parents on the clock moved to 'travelling', he quickly gathered himself and stood, leaving the body on the floor. Recalling all the charms he could use, he altered every picture hand except Fred's to reflect something other than 'lost' or 'mortal peril', regardless of the actual state of things. Once complete, he pulled George to a standing position, retrieved his wand, and whispered, "Verto Lumen."

Before his eyes, George was transfigured into a classy floor lamp, complete with a ginger-hued shade. It fit the décor of the room and if his mum questioned its appearance, he knew his dad would look it over and dismiss it as one of the Muggle items he'd acquired throughout the years. He chose the shape to honour his brother's memory, being as George had always had a sunny disposition, at least until Fred had died. The clock gonged, indicating that his parents were home, so Charlie gave the lamp one last look, then turned and Disapparated on the spot.

When Molly commented on the lamp the next day, Arthur did indeed shrug and tell her it was a result of his tinkering. She accepted this explanation, even going so far as to say that she actually liked it, because it cast such a warm glow upon the room.

~*~

Holding Ron's bare foot in her hands, Hermione sliced off his toenails one by one with the knife, listening to his croaking rasps as he'd lost the ability to scream an hour ago. Snape found her that way.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," he commented idly, leaning against the doorway. "Need any help?"

She turned her blood-smeared face towards him. "You promised to let me do this by myself," she said a little petulantly.

Strolling over to her, he bent low and kissed her full on the mouth, licking at the red smudges. "Have to keep you looking presentable," he purred, rubbing his nose against hers.

Pouting, she stuck her soaked fingertips into her mouth, sucking them clean. "I'm just waiting on Charlie to get back then I can shower."

"I have another way to make sure you look pristine." He pressed his large palms to her collarbone and slid them under her robe, pushing the material off her shoulders. He nuzzled his mark on her neck and began slowly laving his way up her column of flesh, pausing only when he heard Ron groan.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" Snape inquired with a sneer. "Can't bear to see the woman you want seduced by the dreaded Potions master? Am I really that repugnant?" He broke three toes on the foot that still resided in Hermione's lap, smirking at the boy's weak moans. "Would you whimper like that if I fucked her, right before your eyes?"

"Hey!" she cried, slapping her mate's arm. "I'm right here!"

Looking somewhat sheepish, Severus caressed her cheek. "Sorry, pet."

Neither paid attention to the opening and closing of the front door until they heard Charlie clear his throat. "It's done."

Both vampires turned to him and froze. It was apparent he'd been crying; his nose was beet-red and his eyes were puffy. Rising from the floor, Snape thanked Charlie and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

"Finish it," Snape commanded, leading the familiar away from the kitchen.

Slumped on the tile, Ron showed no reaction to his death sentence. He also did not move or make a sound while Hermione stripped him of his clothes. He did, however, grunt when she took his flaccid shaft in her hand and began stroking it.

"You took everything away from me," she hissed in his ear, then abandoned her ministrations, leaving him somewhat hard despite the blood loss he'd already suffered. It sickened her that despite everything, he responded to her touch. "So I'm taking something from you." Taking a firm grip at the base, she used the saw-tooth edge of the blade and hacked off his penis. Standing, she took the misshapen organ and dropped it down the sink, and then turned on the garbage disposal. Once the grinding of the gears lessened, she turned it off and returned to the flailing man on the floor.

Grasping the hair at the edge of his scalp, she pulled it taut and started cutting through to the skull, peeling back the flap of skin, in essence scalping him bald. He struggled at first, but quickly tired, the blood loss too great to facilitate much movement.

"When I'm finished, I will stitch a cloak... or a rug from all of the Weasleys' hair." Having scraped off the last bit of stringy flesh from the top of his cranium, she held up her prize and examined it. "You should've really used conditioner, Ron. Your ends are split."

Because the skin of Ron's face was not stretched tight over his head any longer, it sagged significantly, making him look many years older. Flinging the scalped hair to the side, she began making her way down his lax body, letting her fangs descend and embedding them in his femoral artery, drawing the life-giving fluid gulps at a time. When she was sated, she licked her lips and returned to look at the man she'd mistaken for her friend, propping one of his eyes open with her fingers.

"Sleepy?" she asked innocently. There was no response, but she could detect a faint heartbeat and knew that he was mere moments from expiring. Taking the knife once more, she trailed the tip of the blade down his chest and positioned it over his heart.

"Hear me now, Ronald Bilius Weasley," she intoned in an unearthly voice. "You do not deserve a quick death and I hope you have suffered the last hours you drew breath. Know that your family will meet you in Hell shortly, for you'll be there to greet them!"

With all her might, she shoved the blade deep, feeling it pass through bone and sinew to insert itself in the floor beneath his body. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched his frame shudder then grow forever still.

Ron did indeed greet many people in Hell, but George Weasley was never among them.