The spell was done and then the original family formed.
No one expected the constant thirst or the hunger to kill. No one expected me to give into the temptation every single day.
I was the frail, naive one of the family, alongside my sister Rebekah.
But because of them, I reveled in the satisfaction of draining my prey of blood.
I enjoyed the moment when their bodies fell limp and the ache in the back of my throat diminished.
"Please stop! Don't kill me!" The girl shrieked and begged me to stop, but I couldn't even if I wanted to. This new feelings of vampirism haunted and controlled me.
She made me want to kill her. She feared the way my face formed into one of a monster, with teeth barring at her ready for more blood and black veins under my eyes. She cowered, her back against the tree with no where else to run.
"I beg you, you don't have to do this!"
My face returned back to its normal state, eyes no longer looking demon like, no more veins underneath my eyes, no more prominent teeth. "You're right..." She let out a sigh of relief, glad she got through to me. It was still for a moment since she was unsure of what to do next.
She let out another scream when I lunged at her and bit down into her neck. Before she was dead, I pulled back and stated, "I don't have to... I want to." Her life was draining, soon to be gone, which seemed to have sparked something in her because before I knew it, my head was pounding.
I grasped my head with both my hands and collapsed to the ground, unsure of the sharp feeling in my head. A pop occurred, then it healed but replaced by another. The pain was unbearable and unwavering. I had never felt so vulnerable in my entire life.
She wasn't letting up, in fear that I was angry now and wanting desperately to end her life. My brain seemed to not work, not allowing me to get up and run.
What do I do?
No idea came to mind since normally I was the superior. I was the vampire. It wasn't difficult to come to the conclusion that the young was a witch, just like mother. I thought they were inferior in every way.
Suddenly, I felt a tingling sensation that started in my shoulder, slowly moving down to the tips of my fingers, which were curled around the curves of my head. My right hand seemed to be freed from my hair and pointed out towards her.
"Stupefy!"
The witch flew back, her spine cracking against the hard bark of the tree where I had previously cornered her. The pain subsided as she dropped to the ground dead.
Relieved from the terrorizing pain, I sat back and stared dumfounded at my hand. What just happened?
Surely that wasn't me...right?
Once filled with confidence and fearlessness, my head swarmed with questions and doubt. I don't even know the word stupefy or what language it is or what it does. My brain almost returned to its previous state of pain because I had no answers.
I was no witch like the girl, I am a vampire and vampires cannot posses their powers. It wasn't even along the same lines as to what they do with their candles and incantations.
I was just an ordinary girl before this.
I was just someone wanting to find love.
Now I am a vampire looking for blood.
Now I am someone wanting to get away from my family.
I am not someone who can simply say something and have a girl thrown at such a great force. This had never happened before, these kind of things don't just happen to show themselves to me. These kinds of mystical powers had always been forced upon me.
What happened...almost seemed...magical.
I wake up with the sun hitting my face and the subtle noises of students talking in the common room. Despite what happened two weeks ago with Weasley, I actually feel...good.
And I am scared to admit that because I don't normally feel this way.
I could still be on my high from the amount of blood I had last night. Ron provided as usual, but a certain Slytherin boy seemed to want my attention, which I guess you could say he got.
I stand up from my large bed and put on a pair of black tights and a mid thigh length black skirt. Buttoning up the standard white button down, I notice that I had a small, almost unnoticeable stain of blood on my chin. I wipe it off and put my tie on.
After slipping on my robe and grabbing my school things, I slip out of my dorm and make my way to Transfiguration. I don't mind the class since I am able to zone out at times. I already know how to transfigure anything and everything, and I know I could do a better job than Professor McGonagall.
I take my normal seat to the far left of the class room alongside Hermione, since Slytherins had this class with Gryffindors. McGonagall wants us to integrate and while most fellow Slytherins refused, I decided at the beginning of term to do just that. As I said before, Hermione is a witch I can tolerate.
I doodle, drawing a light sketch of the owlery, a place a I had grown quite accustomed to due to the isolation. I sometimes I enjoyed keeping to myself and not wasting my time on people that were clearly not worth it.
Hermione glances over at my sketch and whispers, "Wow that is amazing." She offers a kind smile, one I return slightly.
"Thanks, I decided to learn different art forms awhile back when I traveled through Europe. It just became a habit to sketch." Hermione nods to acknowledge my response and resumes her position facing McGonagall at the front. I am surprised she let herself be distracted, even if it was for a mere 10 seconds. I chuckle silently to myself and attempt to capture the mischievous glint in one of the owl's eyes that was towards the front of the perch.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" I watch with an amused look as the piece of fabric swayed in the air, almost resembling a bird. I wrote down the newly perfected spell in my journal and explained the purpose and pronunciation, knowing someone will say it wrong.
The fabric followed my conducting hand, performing at my rhythm and not the one of the wind. I slowly drop my hand, allowing my puppet of sorts to fly back into my hand. When I practiced this form of magic, I seemed to get away from the nagging reminder of my horrid family and the unquenchable thirst for warm blood.
I felt special, unique in the sense that I was the only one. No other witch or warlock could perform a spell like mine and definitely no other immortal being could do what I was able to do.
"Felicia, where are you?" I hear my compelled human 'friend' ask from outside our living quarters.
I make my way back out from the fields towards Margaret, wondering what she had to inform me of since I told her not to call me in unless it was of the upmost importance. "You called for me?"
She cleared her throat, pushing back her orange hair that was started to fall across her round face. "A letter arrived, asking to meet with you Felicia." No one had met me other than the few shop owners in the small village, most of which spoke German.
"I wonder who that could be," I murmured slightly.
"Some gentleman with the name Mikael." I let out a groan, displeased at the fact that he had found me again. I have been running from him for years now and still wanted nothing to do with him.
I grab my belongings, frustrated that father tracked me down yet again. I had been so careful, not letting anyone know my true name. I gave them a false one, going by Felicia instead.
I walked over to Margaret and looked into her eyes,"It has been nice here." Before she could muster out a word, I pulled her to me and drank from her and letting her collapse to the floor. I find the letter from father and write a reply to him:
Stop looking for me. I want nothing to do with the family and you should know that. Attempt to track me again and I will make sure hundreds die with the blood on your hands before I come and find a way for you to experience death again and again until you wished that you had never destroyed the only way of killing us.
Angrily, I run out and contemplate where to go to next.
"Mr. Zabini, who was the first person to perform and then eventually went on to teach magic?" Professor McGonagall calls out.
I see his face contort to one of cluelessness and I want to laugh because I know that no one would know the answer. "Um...I'm not sure since I only know of the four founders of Hogwarts in the 1400s."
She sighs, "There was an individual before our founding members, a bright witch I may add." I was silly to be hopeful that the seemingly wise professor actually knew the answer.
Hermione raises her hand, "Wasn't it Queen Maeve shortly before them who taught in Ireland?" I remember her, she was not so bright if you ask me. I was glad when I heard the news of her passing in 1347 because she attempted to take credit for my spells.
McGonagall smiles, pleased with the student in her house, "20 points for Gryffindor."
A feeling of anger washes through me for some reason, angry at myself for not killing Maeve when I had the chance all those years ago and angry that people believed her claims.
I ball my hands up into fists and finally slam them on the table, creating a crack. Everyone's eyes shoot over to me, as I stand up and oppose the professor, "You're wrong."
Okay since I didn't post this chapter last night, but I am now! I am aware that the dates may not be correct in terms of Hogwarts history, but I want it to fit and work with my storyline. In the old Pottermore (RIP, you will never be forgotten), Queen Maeve was on the timeline for magic and did practice magic during the medieval era, so I decided to choose her as the 'original witch.' Also I know Alexia is a 5th year and has classes with the 4th years...it's not as fun to write chapters in a classroom without the already known characters!
Thanks for reading!