Blood/Magic - Harry Potter/True Blood (1/9)
Title: Blood/Magic
Author: Jane Westin
Fandoms: Harry Potter/True Blood
Pairings: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape; Hermione Granger/Eric Northman
Rating: M
Summary: Fourteen years after the battle for Hogwarts, Hermione saves a vampire's life.
Timelines:
I've used dates from the Harry Potter Wikia site: http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Main_Page
As such, Hermione is 33; Severus is 52. Eric, of course, is somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand.
Alterations to Rowling canon: Severus survived the battle; Ron and Hermione had no children.
This is set at the end of Season 3 of True Blood, five years after vampires have come out of the coffin. Spoilers for True Blood abound!
Thanks to lazaefair for beta-reading (and for providing inspiration - without that meme, this story wouldn't exist, and it was just such fun to write!).
June 6
She found him smoldering, and what else could she do?
"Mobilicorpus," she murmured, lifting his charred and ashen body. She performed a quick spell to keep Muggles from noticing him, and then she carried him home with her.
She put him on the kitchen floor, because, after all, the potions and ingredients she needed were in the apothecary's cabinet (and admittedly it did cross her mind that she'd hoovered all the carpets in her small apartment only two days before and it wouldn't do to have cinders all over them already). Then, trying to ignore his quiet moans of pain, she set about healing him.
It took less than a quarter of an hour for her to realize that there was something very, very different about him. When the third potion did nothing, she dropped to her hands and knees beside him. Put her fingers to his blackened throat and felt no pulse. Pulled her hair back and pressed her ear to his inexplicably intact T-shirt: silence.
"What are you?" she whispered.
The single word he uttered was barely audible.
"Blood," he rasped.
Oh, for God's sake. She'd brought home a vampire.
"Is blood really the only thing that will heal you up?" she asked, annoyed. "Because I'm rather attached to mine, actually."
His eyes opened then, and if she didn't know better, she would have thought he was giving her a withering look.
"Blood," he said again.
"Nullus confundum," Hermione said, exasperated. "Ugh." She got to her feet and reached for the knife block. She selected the sharpest one she had.
"You'd better appreciate this," she said, and carefully opened the vein at her wrist.
When the first drop touched his lips, he opened his mouth. By the third, he was trying to grab her arm.
She jerked her hand away. "I don't think so," she said. "If you can't be civilized about it, you'll have to find your blood elsewhere."
That look again. His eyes, she saw, were blue.
She dripped blood into his mouth until the cut on her wrist started to clot. He grunted impatiently.
"Oh, just hang on." She stuck her arm under the faucet, wincing, until the wound re-opened and bled freely once more.
At two minutes, the char started to crumble and fall away. At four, he was moving and shifting. At ten -- as she was starting to wonder if he would ever finish healing -- he sighed, long and loud, and there was a blur of movement and a whoosh of ashy air, and he was standing beside her.
"You could have warned me," she said, coughing.
He didn't appear to have heard her. "I can fix that, if you want," he said, taking her wrist in his fingers.
She glared up at him. "A thank you would suffice," she said, pulling her hand away. "And just how would you fix it, anyway?"
He tapped his throat with two fingers. "Vampire blood has healing powers," he said.
Her eyebrows went up. "Does it, now?"
"It does." He opened his mouth, just a little, and she saw his fangs. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure," she said. "I assume that these healing powers aren't common knowledge."
"You assume correctly," Eric said.
"Why not?"
He rolled his eyes. "If you were carrying a cure for most injuries and illnesses around in your body, would you want six billion humans knowing about it?"
"Hm." She tilted her head. "Good point."
"Right." The fangs snapped back.
"In any case," she said, "I don't need it." She went to her apothecary's cabinet and retrieved the little glass bottle of healing potion. A few drops, and the wound closed.
He was at her side immediately. "What is that?"
"Excuse me," she said crossly, "I don't even know your name."
"Eric Northman." He kept his eyes on the bottle. "Where'd you get that?"
"None of your business, thanks." Hermione replaced the bottle in the cabinet. As an afterthought, she found the blood replenishing potion and, shuddering, swallowed a noxious mouthful. "Yuck."
He turned his gaze on her. "Who are you?" he asked.
"You ask a lot of questions." Hermione locked the cabinet.
"So would you, if you woke up in a strange apartment with a strange woman who has a bottle of something that shouldn't do what it does." His posture slackened visibly, and he sauntered away from her.
"It won't work on you anyway," Hermione said.
"What about a fairy?" He looked at her over his shoulder.
Hermione frowned. He was too casual, too relaxed. "You're clearly trying to hide something," she said. "I don't particularly care what it is, but if you're thinking of stealing any of these potions, you should know that there are Tracing spells on everything I own and I will get them back."
"Tracing spells?" He spun to face her.
"I don't think I need to hide from you," she said, tapping the wand tucked into her belt. "Witch."
He studied her, his gaze even and assessing. "Wiccan?"
"One of those ridiculous hippies who fanny about in diaphanous gowns sprinkling salt in their footprints?" She scoffed. "Hardly. They're about as magic as the deli department of the Piggly Wiggly."
"So you're the real thing."
In response, Hermione flicked her wand at him. Immediately, his T-shirt burst into blue flames.
"Goddamn it." He batted at them.
Another wave of her wand, and the flames were gone. "Proof enough?" she asked coolly. Then: "Now that you're healed, I think you ought to be on your way."
"Wait a minute." He came toward her. "That liquid."
"Potion," she corrected.
"Potion." He rolled his eyes. "Right, whatever. Potion. You didn't answer my question. Would it work on a fairy?"
She shrugged. "That depends."
"On what?" He was staring at her intently. His eyes were really blue.
"On what kind of fairy you're trying to heal." She crossed her arms. "There are fifty-three different types of fey. It might work on a humanoid fairy. Likely not on the more far-removed ones. It'd be quite dangerous to try, though -- these are potions for humans."
"I'd like that potion," he said.
"No," she said.
"Give me the potion." Still staring.
There was a long silence.
"I'm sorry," she said, after a moment, "it's not up for discussion."
Finally he broke eye contact and scowled. "What the -- "
"You can't glamour me." Hermione let herself smile.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then: "How did you -- "
"I'm not an idiot," Hermione said, smirking. "As soon as I realized you were a vampire, I enchanted myself."
"How -- " He shook his head. "Impossible."
Hermione chuckled. "Not impossible." She put her hand on the doorknob. "Now," she said, "it's dark out, and I have work to do. If you please. And oh -- " she opened the door -- "just in case there was any...ambiguity...I revoke your invitation." She smiled at him.
He went.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Two nights later, he was standing on her doorstep.
"What do you want?" she said.
"You're interesting." He looked better, as better as someone undead could: blond hair neatly swept back, black leather jacket, black tank top, black jeans. He was wearing a pair of expensive-looking boots that, Hermione gauged, were not actually distressed by any sort of manual labor. "May I come in?"
"You may not." Hermione took her keys out of the basket, stepped onto the porch, and closed the door behind her. "You may, however, tell me why you've reappeared at my door at eleven o'clock at night."
"What's your name?" he said, following her down the stairs.
"Hermione." She let him catch up, then walked to the bench in front of her building and sat down.
"I couldn't exactly invite you to brunch," he pointed out. He sat down beside her.
She sniffed. "I don't know why you'd invite me to anything," she said.
"Are you always this snooty?" He was frowning at her.
She raised an eyebrow. "Snooty?"
"Yes, snooty."
"You hardly have room to talk, Eric," Hermione said. "You barged into my house -- "
"You brought me in," Eric interrupted.
" -- didn't even apologize for utterly dirtying my kitchen, didn't breathe a word of thanks for saving your life -- "
"You didn't save my life."
" -- tried to glamour me and steal my things, and on top of all that -- " She glared at him. "You seem incapable of not interrupting me."
"If you wouldn't talk so much, I wouldn't have to interrupt," Eric said irritably.
"I don't know why I'm fighting with you," Hermione said. "You're nobody to me."
"We're not fighting."
"Fine." She folded her arms and sat back. "Then what are we doing? Inasmuch as there's a we, which realistically, actually, there is not."
"Do you make those potions yourself?" Eric asked.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"
"Because if you do," Eric said, "I want to hire you."
This was Chapter 1.
Skip:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8