Black, Black Heart
Lightening streaked across the night sky, thunder booming loudly in the distance as the heavens opened and flooded the earth. Howling winds battered the small Irish village of Galway while The Elements themselves raged against the evil that rested beneath the dirt. A lone figure stood in the village cemetery watching over a newly-dug grave, the rain soaking him to the bone. The fierce winds racked his body, trying desperately to drive him away from the Holy Ground.
He refused to allow The Elements to hold sway over him and stood guard over the mound of dirt while he waited for his newest creation to rise. He could feel the demon within him stirring, calling out to his Childe…calling her to him. A sinister smile graced his lips when he thought of her. She was a truly magnificent sight, a child born of light, but one who would thrive in the darkness. From the first moment he set his eyes upon her, he knew she was meant for him. The power that radiated off her was phenomenal, and it called to him, though what truly drew him to her was the fire she possessed. It burned brighter than any he had ever seen, so he had made it his mission to capture her and make her his own.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the crispness of the air and the wet earth all-enveloping his senses. He tilted his head back and let the rain fall on his face when, suddenly, he felt it! His head snapped back down and he stared at the grave, his demon purring in satisfaction as he felt the demon within his Childe take possession and awaken. He could feel her fear when she woke, trapped inside her coffin. He called to her in his mind, ‘Come to me, my Childe, I am here, I am waiting.’
Darkness settled heavily upon her, weighing her down, no sight, sound, nor warmth reached her in the prison where she was trapped. She clawed desperately in front of her, searching for something or someone to cling to. Hermione opened her mouth and tried to cry out, but no sound escaped her parted lips. She shivered while the cold penetrated her body, moving blindly forward, looking for a way out.
A sound in the far distance made it’s way to her ear, but it was mumbled and low, and she couldn’t make out what it was. She walked in the direction she thought the sound had come from and was rewarded with hearing it again, but she could still not make out what it was. She pushed forward through the darkness, hoping desperately to hear the sound again. She tried to call out, but found she still had no voice. Finally, she heard it again, only much, much clearer. A voice was calling out. With no rhyme nor reason, she ran in the direction of the voice.
Come to me, my Childe, I am here, I am waiting.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, Hermione was dragged back into a conscious state, the strangely familiar voice still lingering in her mind. Darkness surrounded her, caging her in. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings. She craned her head, searching for some sign of where she was and smoothed her hands down her sides, looking for her wand. Panic welled deeply within her when she realized it was not within her grasp. All she could feel was a plush material, lining, whatever she was being held in. Tears welled in her eyes while she struggled to find a way out. The box was too small for her to move around in. She estimated that it was roughly six feet in length and maybe three feet in width. With a growing sense of dread, she finally realized what it was she was being held in. A coffin, she was trapped inside a coffin!
She cried out in desperation, begging someone to hear and help her. She banged on the lid of the coffin, her coffin, while tears slid down her face. She dug her fingernails into the plush material lining the lid and yanked hard, tearing some of it loose. She continued pulling on it, tearing it away. Her hands encountered the solid wood of the coffin lid. Using both hands, she pushed on the lid, trying to pry it open, but without any luck.
Hermione banged her fists against the lid in anger and was shocked after she heard the wood crack. She traced the crack with her finger. Balling her hands into fists once more, she hit the coffin lid, again and again, widening the crack. She stuck her fingers into the small hole and pulled hard, splintering the wood. Splinters dug into her fingers, slicing them open, and making blood flow down her hands, but Hermione ignored the pain. She pulled harder on the broken wood until she could fit her entire hand through the top of her coffin. Pulling her hand back inside, she recoiled when dirt fell through the newly-made hole. The dirt fell onto her chest, weighing her down. Hermione placed her hands on either side of the hole and pulled hard, breaking away more wood. More dirt fell through the expanding hole, covering her chest and stomach, but Hermione continued to pull on the wood until it was large enough for her to fit through. Bending her legs the best way she could, Hermione shimmied down the coffin until her head was directly under the hole. Dirt continued to fall down on her, but she ignored it. Raising her hands, Hermione gripped the sides of the hole and pulled herself up. Her head easily fit through the hole she had made and using all her strength, Hermione pulled her body through the broken coffin lid and into the dirt above it. She pushed through the dirt until finally, her hand breached the surface.
He took a step backward once Hermione’s hand broke through the mound of dirt. The demon inside him howled in pleasure while he watched her fight her way out of her grave, just as he himself had done two hundred and fifty years ago, in the very same cemetery.
Hermione dragged herself free from the grave. The rain fell from the sky, drenching her, her eyes wild and unfocused as they darted around the cemetery, yet not truly taking anything in until they landed on a tombstone. Her eyes widened while reading the epitaph.
Here lies Hermione Jean Granger. Born 19th September 1979. Taken by her Angel 25th December 2003. Beloved daughter. May she find the peace in death, denied to her in life.
I’m dead, Hermione realized while she knelt by her grave. She crept closer to the tombstone, her tombstone. Lifting a cold, wet, blood-stained hand, she traced the letters on it. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, something she belatedly realized was unnecessary. She no longer had any need for breath, nor a pulse or heartbeat. She listened to the sounds around her while she tried to make sense of everything. She could hear the rain as it hit the earth, the sound of the trees rustling in the wind, and a low hum in the distance she could not recognize while she rested her forehead against her tombstone.
Pain racked her small body when she felt someone approach. She whirled around and looked upon the face of her Sire. She took in his features, regarding him carefully, his dark hair and handsome face. His face was familiar, and she struggled to recall from where she knew him. A devious smirk graced his handsome face while he stared at her, and she thought he looked like an angel, a dark angel.
Angelus, a voice in her head whispered, and her eyes widened in recognition as she gazed upon her Sire.
“How do you feel?” Angelus asked.
“It hurts,” she replied from her crouched position.
“Birth is always painful, but the pain will pass with your first feed,” Angelus informed her.
“Feed,” Hermione said. A deep rumbling inside her told her that was what she needed.
“Soon,” he promised. “What do you feel?”
Hermione stared at him for a moment. He was her killer and her Sire, her murderer, but also her savior. She knew who he was, what he was, and what he had done to her, but she felt no anger toward him, no hatred nor rage. He may have killed her, but he had also given her life and, in that moment, she had never felt more alive.
“Everything, I feel everything. It’s like I’m attuned to everything around me, the worms burring their way through the earth, the stench of humanity on the wind. Oh, and the magic,” Hermione shuddered, “it hums all around me. I can feel it all.”
Angelus smiled at his newest Childe. He could see the excitement on her face as she discovered some of her new talents, and he couldn’t wait to show her all his world, their world, had to offer.
“Are you hungry, precious?” he asked.
Hermione nodded her head in answer and was rewarded with a smirk.
“I’ve brought you a tasty little treat to feast upon tonight,” Angelus said while he moved toward a tree to his right. A young woman was propped against it, her hands and feet tied together to prevent her escape. Reaching down, he grabbed ahold of the woman’s tied arms and dragged her toward Hermione, still kneeling beside her grave.
The young woman, no more than nineteen in age, begged and pleaded to be let go while tears streamed down her made-up face. Her cries fell upon deaf ears and were lost to the wind after Angelus threw the woman to the ground mere feet from where Hermione knelt, then took a step back.
Hermione looked from the woman to Angelus and back again. She could feel her hunger rising, and her body shook with the desire to bite into the young woman’s supple skin to taste her hot blood.
“Go on,” Angelus encouraged, “everything will make much more sense after you’ve fed.”
Hermione needed no more permission, so she slowly moved forward, stalking her prey. She could smell the woman’s fear and it spurred her on. She crawled on her hands and knees, never taking her eyes off her intended victim. As she moved nearer, the woman’s pleas turned to sobs, and Hermione delighted in them. Her cries were music to her ears.
Angelus couldn’t take his eyes off Hermione as she stalked her meal. It was a work of art, the way she toyed with the woman. He knew her lust for the woman’s blood must have been at its peak, still, she played first. He had truly created a masterpiece, one with whom he would spend Eternity.
Hermione crawled closer to the young woman, then stopped. She dipped her chest low and raised her hips, pushing her ass out in preparation for attack. Hermione licked her lips and smiled a predatory smile.
The young woman tried frantically to escape, pushing against the wet ground and trying to wiggle away. She managed to roll onto her stomach. Grabbing hold of a tuft of grass in her tied hands, she tried to claw her way to freedom.
Hermione reached out a hand, wrapped it around the young woman’s ankle, and pulled her back. She flipped the terrified brunette over and crawled up her body. She held the woman’s secured hands above her head with one hand and let the other roam over the trembling woman’s body, touching her in places she had no right to touch, finally resting it against her neck and stroking a finger over her throbbing pulse.
Angelus felt his body begin to react to the image before him, his demon purring in anticipation.
Hermione looked over her shoulder to where her Sire was standing, watching her. Her eyes sparkled once she noticed the effect she was having on him, and she licked her lips and smiled before returning her attention to the sobbing woman pinned under her.
“Oh, do be quiet!” Hermione scolded before vamping out for the first time. She felt her fangs slide down as her forehead deformed and her eyes turned yellow.
“AHHH!” the woman screamed.
Hermione smiled a cruel smile, then wrenched the woman’s head to the side. Lowering her head, Hermione ran her tongue over the woman’s pulse point before biting into her neck. Her fangs slid into the woman’s neck like a warm knife through butter. Hermione moaned when the first drop of blood hit her tongue. She sucked hard and deep on the woman’s throat. She could feel the hot blood rushing through her body, warming her from the inside. Hermione craved more of the sweet tasting blood, so she continued to draw on the wound until the last drop slid down her throat.
Hermione realized her hold on the woman’s body and sat up. Blood covered her lips and dripped down her chin while she stared down into the lifeless eyes of her first victim. Movement behind her drew her attention and she looked over her shoulder, staring at Angelus as he stalked toward her. Turning her body to face him, she waited for him to come closer.
As he moved closer, Angelus took in her appearance. She sat on her knees, her rain-drenched hair matted to her head, and her eyes wild, filled with fire. Blood dripped from her chin and the black dress she wore clung to the curves of her body. In that moment, Angelus had never wanted a woman more, not his dearly departed Sire, Darla, not his favorite Childe, Drusilla, not even his much-obsessed-over Slayer, Buffy. They all paled in comparison to the beauty on her knees before him.
Cupping her face, Angelus ran a thumb over her blood-stained lips, capturing a drop of blood. He lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked it, moaning at the taste.
“Mmm, virgin blood,” he groaned.
Bending over, he crashed his lips to Hermione’s in a brutal, dominating kiss. There was no gentleness, just fire and possession as he moved his lips over hers. His need to possess her burned inside him. He pushed her back, laying her down on the mound of dirt that was her disturbed grave, the vacant stare of Hermione’s victim upon them while he covered Hermione’s body with his own, pushing her into the overtuned earth.
He kissed a trail down her neck, biting none too gently on the soft flesh of her throat, his hands roaming over the curves of her body. Rain continued to fall from the heavens as the two of them lost themselves to their passion.
Angelus tore the straps of her dress off her shoulders and down her arms while he freed her breasts to gaze upon. His lips closed around a nipple and sucked hard, making Hermione cry out in delight. He suckled upon her breasts, tasting one and then the other while his hands skimmed down her body. Reaching the bottom of her dress, he slid the silk material up her shapely legs, then slipped a hand between them. His fingers came into contact with her lace knickers and he yanked them down. Angelus sat back up and pulled off his duster, throwing it behind him. He fell back on top of her body, Hermione’s legs wrapped around him, cradling him between her thighs. Angelus’ hand delved under Hermione’s dress again, his fingers stroking her swollen folds before he thrust two of them deeply into the writhing woman beneath him.
Hermione clawed at Angelus when he thrust his fingers into her roughly, her body burning for a release only he could provide her. She thrust her hips into his hand while she pulled his head to her for another kiss. Hermione bit his lip sharply, piercing the skin, and causing a trickle of blood to drip down his face. She smeared his blood with her tongue, then sucked his injured lip into her mouth.
Angelus growled into their kiss, his desire for her skyrocketing when he tasted his blood on her lips. Removing his fingers from her quivering cunt, he yanked open his trousers and freed his straining erection. He placed the turgid head of his penis at her entrance and thrust into her welcoming heat fiercely.
Hermione screamed out at the invasion, her body not prepared for Angelus’ large size. She dug her fingernails into his shirt-covered back, ripping the material, while Angelus continued to thrust into her, hard and fast. The pain she felt at his brutal penetration and the furious pace was offset against the pleasure she felt at being so completely filled by him. Her body screamed for more, never had Hermione known pain to feel so good. She moved her hips against his as she screamed for him to fuck her harder.
Angelus pounded his hips into her harder and harder as he brutally fucked her. He could feel her beneath him, moving with him, her cries of more spurring him on. His body burned for her while he thrust his rock-hard cock into her fluttering cunt. He could feel her getting closer to her release. Taking her hands, he pinned them in the mud above her head while he sped up his pace.
Hermione wrapped her legs around Angelus’ waist while he continued his powerful thrusting, her body singing as she neared her peak. With her head tossing from side to side, she climaxed violently, screaming into the night sky for all to hear.
Angelus increased the speed of his thrusts when he felt his own release approaching, his hips slamming against hers as he felt his balls tighten. He vamped out, showing his true face, and came with a roar. He bit down on Hermione’s throat, tasting her blood while he shot his seed deep into her convulsing body.
Removing his fangs from her neck, Angelus collapsed on top of Hermione. After getting himself under control, he raised himself above her and stared down at her. Bending his head, he licked the few drops of blood from her throat.
“From the moment I saw you, I knew you were meant to be mine,” he told her.
“Yes, you belong in the dark with me. I have so much to teach you, so much to show you. There is more to this world than you even realize. Those idiots you surrounded yourself with tried to keep you locked up in a cage. You were too smart for them, too strong. They feared your power, your strength. They tried to restrain you and make you conform into what they believed you should be, but I saw who you were, who you are. You were too great to be held down and shackled with mortality. You deserved the gift I gave you, the sweet gift of immortality,” Angelus said.
Angelus leant down and placed a kiss on her lips before standing and pulling up his trousers. He offered Hermione a hand and pulled her to her feet, watching while she smoothed her dress into place.
“How much is out there?” Hermione asked. “I know of magic, werewolves, goblins, giants, and many more dark creatures.”
Angelus laughed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “They’re not dark creatures, my sweet, not when you know what else is out there. Vengeance demons and hell gods, vampires, and every creature that gave you nightmares as a child are real,” He paused, “Oh, and a law firm in Los Angeles.”
Hermione thought about what he said and what she had learned at Hogwarts, and she had to concede that her education had been sorely lacking. What she was taught at Hogwarts about vampires had already been proven useless, seeing as she now stood in the middle of a cemetery dead, but feeling more alive than she ever had.
“You’ll show me the world?” Hermione asked with a smile.
“I’ll show you everything. This world is yours, my sweet, and you can have anything you like. So, the question is, what do you want?” Angelus asked.
Hermione thought about it, what did she want? She remembered how she came to be in O’Connor’s Pub on Christmas Eve and the events that led to her becoming a vampire. Harry and Ron trying to run her life, Ginny’s constant snide remarks, Molly’s disapproval of how she lived, the Purebloods who believed she was beneath them, and being tortured beneath the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. It all swam through her mind, the years of ridicule, contempt, and abuse.
“I want it all,” she answered while she turned in her Sire’s arms. She was going to show the Wizarding World how great Hermione Granger really was. She would make all those Pureblood elites bow down to her. She would show everyone how big a fraud Harry Potter was, and then she would make the Weasleys suffer for their treatment of her.
Angelus smiled down at his Childe and was reminded of his own rising when his Sire, Darla, had asked him what he wanted, and he, too, had replied that he wanted it all. Now here he stood in the same cemetery two hundred and fifty years later with his recently risen Childe, and she had answered the same. Yes, she truly was meant for him and he would enjoy teaching her all he knew.
“Then come, my sweet, the night is still young and we will celebrate your new life and the death of your old one.”
Hermione accepted Angelus’ outstretched hand and followed him into the night. They had much to do, and Hermione was looking forward to destroying the world that never truly accepted her.