I was trying to write a new chapter for About Time, but a dark and brooding wampir processed my mind, and I wrote this instead. So…there you go. Enjoy! XD
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A Study About Wampir
Author—Samion Herpene
"It is rather ironic that the so-call pure-blood vampires cannot breed among themselves as many people believe they do. The rumor that their bites are contagious like werewolves' is also not true. In rare cases, one can be turned into a vampire through biting, but not without a strong will to be transformed and an enormous amount of pain. That is why vampires, when facing the danger of going into extinction, would lure human with their power and breed with them. The resulted half-breed vampires, also know as Dhampirs, would carry part of the power of the vampires. The strength of the power varies from individual to individual."
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The first time he showed up, the first time she has a memory of him, was when she was six. One of the girls in her Primary School has pushed her down the swing she was sitting at, simply because she preferred to read books rather than play with the other kids. Her right arm had slid over a sharp rock on the sands, and she felt her wrist sprained. It hurt so bad, but she bit her bottom lip hard to stop herself from crying, knowing it would only let the girls that were snickering feeling they had won.
It was a quiet corner that she found and stupidly assumed no one would come look for her. But no. Apparently Batty the social queen didn't like the idea of letting the "annoying teacher's pet" read quietly by herself. She and her gang made a habit of finding her out and bully her when they were bored of talking about boys and cakes and dressings.
"Oh, look, the 'teacher's pet' has hurt her 'dingdong' arm." One of the girls said with mockery. "However can she answer questions in classes?"
The other girls laughed and started calling her names, just like they always did.
"Leave me alone!" She yelled, tears falling down her cheek the moment she opened her mouth, no matter how hard she tried to control them.
The girls only laughed harder, and one of them picked up a handful of sands, seemingly ready to throw them at her.
She closed her eyes and covered her face with her left arm, moving her body away so that the sands wouldn't land into her bloody arm. And wait...and wait...and nothing. All of a sudden, the laughter ceased, and the air became couple degrees cooler.
The unusual quietness unnerved her. Slowly opened her eyes, she put down her arm, only to fall into…total darkness. Completely, utterly darkness.
Not the darkness that enfolded you when you closed your eyes at night, and certainly not the darkness that would happen when you closed your eyes in broad daylight.
She opened her mouth, ready to scream, but something cool pressed against her lips and stopped her. It felt like…a finger?
"Shhh" She heard a quiet yet alluring male voice rumbled in her ear, and a calmness she never felt before possessed her.
A cool and smooth hand touched her elbow, and she felt her arm being gently picked out. She winced at the pain. Tears started to fall freely.
"Shhh" She felt cool airs brushing against her skin, and something chill and soft touched her wound and her wrist. Suddenly, all the pain disappear, only a tingling sensation lingered on her skin. She frowned, opening her mouth wanting to ask questions. Who is he? What is he? What happened？
But a hand gently draw her eyelids down startled her, and when she opened her eyes again, all she could see was an empty playground, neither the girls nor the stranger reminded.
She gasped when she looked down at her right arm.
It was healed.
And the girls never bothered her again.
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"Dhampirs were born with the drive to seek out other Dhampirs as mates, therefore reproduce pure-blood vampires and replenish the species. The vampire nature within the Dhampirs would not show itself until the Dhampirs were mature and strong, normally around the age of twenty. So that they would not be executed by the frightened human."
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She has told her parents about the strange angel that has come to her rescue. They told her it must be her personal angel who was to guard and protect her. They also said she should keep it a secret or else the angel would not come again. She did just that, guarding the secret. Not that she had many friends to talked about it.
He had shown up a couple more times after the swing accident. Every time she was in some accidents involve bleeding; every time she was engulfed in pure darkness, unable to see him.
The most awkward one, she remembered, was when she was ten years old, experiencing her first period. The darkness came when she had got to bed that night. She could feel his gaze resting on her, searching for wounds.
"I am not injured." She said, didn't feel quite embarrassed as most of the girl in her age would when facing their first transformation to womanhood. Her mother has explained to her the scientific concepts of the event. And naturally, she has done some readings on the topic. It was just a natural occurrence, no shame talking about it. Still, she felt heat creeping up her cheeks. "I am on my period."
At this point, she had already figured out what caused his visits—her blood. Or more precisely—the bleeding. A paper cut might not warrant anything, but cuts from skate blades definitely would.
Did not ask how she knew.
Sometimes she wondered if he was some kinds of a healing vampire. Attracting by blood like a vampire, but instead of feeding on blood, he helped to heal people.
She felt his uneasiness through the darkness. It seemed that she had developed the ability to pick up his mood somehow, even though she could not see him. Of course, it could just be her mind doing tricks to her.
The darkness and coolness that always associated with his visit started to fade, like sea waves drawing away from the shore. She knew he was about to leave.
"Night?" She called out softly; the easing stopped. All these times, never once did he communicate with her. Not only did she not know how he looked like, but she also didn't know how he sounded like. Still, he didn't seem to mind the name she gave him. Night, with the same sound as knight, perfectly sum up his role. He came with darkness like night but was also her knight. "Thank you."
A quiet huff was all she got as a response, and then the darkness was gone.
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"Among Dhampirs, the strongest was the one born as witches or wizards, which were called Wampirs. Wampirs, unlike Dhampirs, were born with destined mates. Once mature, male Wampirs will be called by their mates blood. The female Wampirs could choose to accept the male Wampirs' courtship or reject them. If the male Wampirs matured before the destined female Wampirs, they will have the instinct drive to protect their destined mates. Such instinct impulsion will only sedate with the official rejection from the females."
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The first time he came to her side without her bleeding was when she foolishly added a cat hair into the Polyjuice on her second year. He showed up after Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape had already checked on her. When the darkness pressed onto her, she sensed a repressing anger. She could hear the ruffling of clothes, but then nothing. The knowledge that he was here but she could not see him made her already stressed-out mental state shatter even further. "I am sorry. Night, I am sorry." Her tears, those that she tried to suppress when facing the matron and Professor Snape, flowing down her cheeks. Her hand stretched out, trying to touch something, anything.
Her fingertips got in contact with cool skin of his hand. She grabbed hold of it like it was her lifeline and tried to pull it close. He resisted just for a moment before gave in with a quiet sign. She felt his hand gently patting her head with a bit of awkwardness that seemed to always be there even though it wasn't the first time she sought comfort from him. She cried not-so-quietly into his hand until exhaustion took over and she fell asleep with tears stained on her face.
When she woke up the next morning, she saw a heavy tome sitting on her bedside table. The spine of the brown leather covered book was slightly cracked, its once golden title has faded into dim bronzing pieces. She could barely make out the name—An Ever-increasing Record of Polyjuice Potion Accidents and How to Avoid Them. She giggled softly and opened the book, only to be surprised by a short note that floated in front of her face.
Don't get into troubles with those two imbeciles again.
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"The phase 'destined mate' is rather misleading for it may make one relate it to the concept of 'soul mates' in the magical world. In truth, these two are, though similar in some ways, widely different. While 'soul mates' is believed to be two parts of one entirety, like 'yin and yang' in ancient Chinese philosophy, 'destined mates' are paired up because of their abilities to produce strong pure-blood vampire offsprings.
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Of course, with 'trouble' as her middle name, she had soon gotten herself into the situation that made her ended up as a stone statue.
This time his disapproval was so thick it was almost visible, along with his concern. But she was so grateful for his presence that she launched to it like a starving man launched to a basket full of foods. She had been trapped inside her own body, a senseless prison of darkness. She could not feel; she could not hear; she could not see. She had lost track of time…
Until he came.
Though she could not see or hear him, the feeling of him—solid and strong—was like a silvery ray of moonlight shining down a pitch-black dungeon. Safeness and calmness washed over the maddening nothingness.
Don't go. Please, Night, stay with me. She begged soundlessly in her mind, hope beyond hope that he could understand what she needed.
He did. He didn't leave as he normally would.
Finally, she relaxed, her conscious slowly drifting into dreamland.
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'Destined mates' are thought to be magically compatible. Unlike soul mates who are also mentally compatible, destined mates don't necessarily always form emotional attachment to each other.
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She found out who he was in her third year when Professor Snape tried to protect them from Professor Lupin the werewolf. She was shocked by the familiar scents she smelled.
It took her whole two weeks to process the knowledge. In the end, she decided to wait and see.
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Ironically, only those pairs that share a strong mental bond will produce powerful offsprings. Therefore, the courting is a essential part in a male Wampir's life."
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The Yule Ball had gone so well until Ron opened his big mouth and ruined her fantastic mood. She rushed to the rose garden to clear her mind, breathing heavily from all the anger their arguments had caused her.
She was just so happy for feeling beautiful once! Ron was such an idiot! He was supposed to be her friend! He was supposed to be happy for her!
She let her feet carried her around the rosebushes, didn't pay attention where she was going. When she finally calmed down a little, not at the edge of cursing a certain redhead with some nasty curses, she found herself stepped into a secluded corner. The garden must have been magically expanded for the occasion, for she has walked for at least fifteen minutes and still hadn't reached the end of it.
Huffed a sigh, she sat down heavily on the stone bench. The warming charm cast upon the garden had kept the temperature at a pleasant warmness; soft winds shuffling the brushes, bringing faint scents of roses to her nose; music from the great hall had somehow found its way into this corner as well, must have some enchantments involved.
An unexpected longing welled up inside her. Sitting here in the dark, alone and angry and a little sad, she desperately needed someone to comfort her.
There was only one person that could do that.
"Night…" She murmured, picking at the nearby rosebush, ideas running around her head. Couple minutes later, with a looked of determination, she tightened her hold on the rose thorns—
The darkness descended upon her in mere seconds. She smiled and relaxed into the soft cocoon of security and peace only he could bring.
"Hello, Night." She greeted him eloquently, feeling his cool fingers carefully picked up her hand. His thin lips came in contact with her wound. Ever since her parents told her about wampirs and "destined mate" after her first year at Hogwarts (apparently her father was a vampire and her mother a Dhampir), she had often thought about who was behind the darkness. She always imagined him to be someone like a vampire she had read from storybooks—black hairs and golden eyes and good-looking and all that. It would be a lie if she said she wasn't almost shocked to death when she learned about his true identity. But a firm believer in Fate that she was, she trusted there must be a reason for him to be her destined mate. So in a typical Hermione Granger fashion, she dealt with the shock by spending an enormous time in observing and researching about her Potion Master—to the point that was almost obsessive. The more she learned and saw, the more she realized what an intelligent and skilled wizard he was, and the more she found him a complicated mixture of mystery and conflicts. It didn't help that one thing she loved a lot was a good puzzle. And what an intriguing puzzle he was! She mused, welcomed the sizzling sensation that always came with wound healing.
"Night, will you dance with me?" She had held onto his hand before he finished with her wounds, her voice quiet and unsure. It was an impulsive decision that she regretted almost instantly.
He was apparently caught off-guard, the silence and stillness after her question could probably chock an elephant.
She was about to say something to mend the damage when he grunted and silently nudged her up with a hand under her elbow. Standing up with a little wobble because of her inability to see, she fell into a warm yet solid chest, scents of herbs, musk, potion ingredients and something fresh yet earthy filled her nostrils.
She blushed and strengtened herself.
With a soft huff, he rested one large hand on the small of her back. Another engulfed her newly healed hand. A subtle pressure from his fingertips was all the warning she got before he led her into a slow dance.
She had thought it would be a disaster, with her being 'blind' and new to dancing. Yet he led her with a not-so-surprisingly grace and confident, guiding her with ease. It was like floating on the sea surface with her eyes closed, letting the current swayed her around. She smiled, gave in to the almost dreamily sensations.
His hands lean and strong, holding and guiding her like a conductor directing an orchestra. His movements smooth and controlled, muscles flexing underneath her palm. It was so much different from the dance with Viktor, which was playful and a little clumsy—she had to constantly think about how to move, which foot to step forward, and things like that. With him, her wampir, all she needed to do was follow, trusted him to be there if she fell.
The song ended too quickly for her liking. With a swift final turn, he pulled her closer just before she felt the ground underneath her feet disappeared for a few seconds.
She yapped in surprised and opened her eyes, finding herself standing somewhere near the great hall, her companion nowhere to be seen.
"Herm-own-ninny?" Victor's voice calling from around the corner. She rushed toward him, mind still dazzling from the surreal dance she just experienced.
A dark form solidified into thin air once the blue-robed young lady disappeared. With a deep frown, he pulled out his wand and blasted open the nearby rosebushes.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Vaughan! Quinlivan!"
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"The protective strike will grow stronger when the destined mates' get more emotionally involved, as with the healing power between the pair. While Vampires show strong resistance to many Dark Magic and Objects, Dhampirs and Wampirs only have weak to moderate resistance.
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The night Harry came back with Diggory's dead body and the news that Voldemort was alive, she was so anxious she could not sleep. She had stayed up until around four in the morning, disoriented thoughts crashing inside her brain, creating a huge traffic accident scene. Among those chaotic voices, ideas, images, memories, one scene kept replaying again and again, like a broken repeater that was trying to get back to work.
"Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…"*
"I am."*
She could not stop worrying about him, on top of worrying about Harry and the return of Voldemort and all the crazy things that was happening around them. It was clear to everyone at the room what Dumbledore had asked Professor Snape to do—he was to return to HIS side. With news of Crouch Jr.'s death no less.
She was worried sick. All she wanted was for the morning to come so that she could see if Professor Snape would be on the high table…
Suddenly, she heard some strange wing-flapping sounds came from somewhere nearby, and something hit hard against her bed curtains. She almost screamed from all the terror but held herself. There was a familiar sense lingering on her skin, like being poked by tiny feathers. "Lumos." She slowly opened her curtains and saw the thing that had 'attacked' her was squeaking and whimpering weakly on the ground. Moving her wand for a closer inspection, she almost immediately realized what it was. Or more precisely, who it was.
"Night!" She cried, voice muffled behind her hand. Quickly kneeled down and gently picked up the deeply wounded vampire bat, she retreated behind her bed curtains and hurriedly applied layers of privacy charms around them.
"Oh my holy Merlin, Night." She was panic and rearing with anger by what she saw.
Multiple wounds were covering his furry body, some of them were bleeding, some of them were hissing black smokes, some were deep enough to see bones, while some were like caused by a crazy cat.
"What have they done to you?"
Her eyes were stinging, she blinked hard, tried not to cry. Crying now would only make matters worse.
Think, Hermione, think!
The vampire bat was struggling on her hands, seemingly attempt to turn its head closer to her skin. That was when she remembered something that her mother once jokingly told her.
"You know, maybe next time you can cure him for a change. Poor thing kept running to you when you were hurt. Must be rather tiring."
"Cure him?"
"The blood of yours can help him cure, sweetheart, just like his can help you, especially if there were Dark Magic involve. It is one of the benefits of having a destined mate."
"Shhhh, it is alright, I know what to do." She cooed softly, tenderly putting him down on the cover, then exposed her wrist to his muzzle. His fangs instantly sank into her skin, long, red tongue eagerly lapping on the blood that was rushing out. She felt the familiar tingling sensation ran along her arm, slowly spreading through her veins. She watched in awe how the wounds on his skin stopped bleeding and hissing, skins and flashes started to seal back together. When he kept drinking, she began to feel a little light-headed, her eyelids suddenly grew heavy. The last thing she knew, she had laid down beside him—carefully so that he could still have access to her wrist—and closed her eyes.
When her alarm started off in the morning, she found herself wrapped securely by her warm cover, a vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion waiting on her on the bedside table.
The bat was gone.
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Wampirs, being part wizards (witches), normally are better at defeating Dark Magic than Dhampirs, which means they have better chance to survive when suffering a Dark curse and their wounds would heal faster. The recovering process can be advanced by drinking the blood of their destined mates."
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Almost like Fate decided it was time to reverse their roles, she often found herself curing him late at night or early in the morning. Sometimes she knew after seeing the Potion on her bedside; sometimes he came when she was still up late studying or reading. She had suspected he only came to her when he hurt terribly because she had caught sight of him leaving the Hospital Wing some early mornings, face pale and hands shaking.
It got worse during breaks. He would show up all beaten and bloodily at random times, and she found herself constantly concerned about him.
One time, he had appeared when she was reading in the garden, enjoying the sunshine. He had crashed right into her arms, body shaking and convoluting, eyes rolling back. With no visible wounds appeared on his body, that was the scariest one she had experienced because she didn't know what was wrong and what to do. When she tried to feed him her blood, she found his jaw locked and she had run out of ways to try to open them. At that moment, she felt powerless like she was still a six-year-old, unable to fight back when the girls were humiliating her.
What's good about having magic if she couldn't even help him when he was suffering? She was such a useless destined mate!
She couldn't remember how long she had spent on tenderly caressing his furs, murmuring every soothing word she could think of, while struggling to stop her tears from falling. When he finally relaxed enough to feed on her blood, she was so relieved that she nearly fainted.
It was the hardest summer break she had experienced, not even the visit of her beloved grandma could cheer her up. Her anxiety abated only marginally when she stepped onto the Hogwarts Express with Harry and Ron, knowing it was just the beginning of the breaking down of everything around her
At least Professor Snape wouldn't be summoned as frequently.
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The reasons behind the curing power between destined mates have yet to be studied. One of the famous beliefs is that the mates are so magically compatible that their blood contain magic power that can strengthen up each other's magic field.
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It had been a crazy year—with the secret DA meetings, trying to silently defeat Umbridge and her sidekicks, occasionally playing the role of a personal healer, and attempting to keep up with her studies—she felt like a puppet being dragging around by invisible strings while Fate laughing down at her and her friends.
Crazy that it was, most of the year passed without her ending up in a hospital bed. Just when she thought she might have a year without serious injury, the battle of DoM happened. And she once again found herself laying on the bed of the Hospital Wing, chest hurting like fire burning her skin.
Later that night, he came.
The comforting darkness only lasted for a short time, not even long enough for her to talk to him. When the blackness drifted away from her, she looked around with confusion, until she spotted the vampire bat that was watching her intently at the end of her bed. A folded note and two crystal vials laying in front of him.
She reached for the note and unfolded it, wincing slightly because the simple action had stretched her muscles around her refuse-to-heal wound. Briefly wondered what charm has he used to disguise his distinct spiky handwriting, she hastily glanced through the missive.
"Umm." Cleared her throat nervously, she looked up from the note with heating cheeks. "I see."
The bat gave her a very un-batlike wave of exasperation, nudging the vial with ruby color liquid toward her.
'The Dark Magic residue from the curse is hard to chase out without my blood. First, drink the vial of elf-made wine with my blood mixed with it. The wine will cover up the smell of blood. The alcohol will increase the blood flow, makes it easier to drive the residue out.' She has moved by how he spent the time to explain what each item was used for, rather than just wrote something like 'drink this, then drink that, then do that', which admittedly would be more Professor-Snape-style. She opened the vial and took a sip, swirling the wine inside her mouth. Even without being an expert, she could tell the wine was of high quality. And just like he has written, she could not taste a hint of blood on it. She knew she wouldn't find blood appealing until she 'matured.' It was rather nice—sweet even—for him to consider covering it up. She tilted the vial, finished the rest of the liquid in one go. Which probably wasn't the best idea she could have… She coughed, feeling the alcohol rushed up through her veins right into her head.
The bat was glaring at her, disapproval radiating from his dark furry body.
"Sorry, just want to get this done." She blushed, and decided to blame it on the alcohol.
The bat shook his head slowly, flapping his wing and move himself to the head of the bed, dark claws pressing against her shoulder for her to lay down.
'The residue needs to be drunk out and properly disposed of.'
Head spinning, face blushing, she laid down on her back, loosened the buttons of her nightgown to just revealed her wound. His blood seemed to have worked because she felt the burning intensified, like something was tearing on her tissues and trying to crawl out.
She bit hard on her lower lip, eyes closed, hands curling tightly around her bedsheets, trying hard to control the twisting of her body.
Magic swirled, and she felt a cool hand covering her eyes. A low muffled voice murmured a soft incantation near her forehead. The pain eased, so did the feelings of her upper body. She opened her eyes and saw he has once again turned into the bat. His fangs sank into her scar. A flow of thick dark oily liquid slowly exuded from the round opening, twisting and hissing almost as if it was alive. The bat efficiently sucked it up into his muzzle and disposed it into the second vial with silvery rune floating along its thick glass body, one wing covering the top to prevent its escape.
She watched him repeating the same motions—sucked, transferred, suckped—again and again, feeling like partially anesthetized patient watching her doctor doing surgery on her. She should be relieved that the process wasn't as sensual as she had imaged after reading the note, but somehow she wasn't. Instead, she felt—
Sighed, she dropped back on her pillow to let her tortured neck relaxed. The action cause her head to spin and throb, so she closed her eyes, then soon felt her conscious being dragged down into deep, deep slumber.
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Trust is essential in the courtship. If one broke the trust, all the synchronizing harmony would be disturbed, magically or emotionally.
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When Harry told her Professor Snape had killed the headmaster, her world collapsed.
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Did I mention the dark wampir has a rather charming brown-haired mate? Oooops, apparently the wampir doesn't like someone else calling his mate 'charming'. I have to go hide when his mate is trying to stop him from killing me. Ciao~
PS. * parts come from Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire
PPS. Please review!