Blood Bound: A Vampire Tale
Disclaimer: Everything concerning Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. I own nothing, nor is this done for any purpose except my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of anyone reading this. There is no attempt to make any profit.
I wish to extend a grateful thank you to my beta readers, Amanda and Prof Roz. Any mistakes left in this story are due to my last minute revisions.
A/N Conversations in italic print are telepathic in nature.
Chapter Sixteen
When the door shut behind them, Hermione guided Harry back along the way that they had come. Seeing Dobby so terrified by his mere presence had shattered him, and Hermione was unsure of how to help Harry pick up the pieces. When they arrived at the cell where they had awakened, Hermione found their backpacks, books, and wands. She packed all of their belongings and steered Harry out of the door.
"Do you feel up to Apparating?" she asked when they were beyond the barriers. The wards dropped to let them through, and then reappeared with a new intensity after they passed. Harry nodded yes and they returned to London. Once there, it was not difficult for them to find Muggles to feed from.
In the following nights Harry spent a great deal of time on the roof gazing at the stars. It was nearly December and the roof was often covered in snow. Hermione was casting warming charms on their clothing to prevent frostbite. They did not feel the cold, and below freezing temperatures could damage their exposed skin. The simple chores of washing their clothes and researching beneficial charms gave her something to do as she considered the best way to help Harry cope with his depression.
The next evening Hermione went out to feed and when she returned she found Harry still sitting on the desktop where he had spent the day. She gently turned him so the he was sitting in the center of the desk. She sat in his lap and slipped her legs around his waist while gazing into his haunted eyes. Hermione removed the blouse and bra she was wearing and hugged Harry tightly.
"Let me help you, Harry, take my blood, it's all I have left to give you." She treasured the gift of his memories of her. Now, she hoped to repay him in kind.
She closed her eyes and waited. In a few moments she felt Harry's lips brush her shoulder at the base of her neck. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain as his fangs penetrated the muscle at the top of her shoulder, followed by a burning sensation as he began to drink her blood. Even as a vampire, the drawing of her own blood was painful. In spite of the pain, she linked her mind with his and began to guide him through her memories of him.
She gave him her admiration of his bravery in saving her from the Troll, his Quidditch matches, and during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. She let him know how much she appreciated the time he had said she was the best in their year. Finally, she shared how much she respected his resourcefulness during the rescue of Sirius, his teaching ability with Dumbledore's Army, and the way he had coped with becoming a vampire.
The burning sensation passed into a gentle feeling of warmth, she knew that Harry had closed the wounds he had made in her shoulder.
Harry drew back and looked her in the eye, "You really felt that way about me?" She could feel a rekindled sense of wonder as he regarded her. The tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. A subtle light returned to his gaze, which, in turn, made Hermione feel shy. Rather than look at him she rested her head against his chest. Harry's arms encircled her bare shoulders; she enjoyed what she could of his touch, but wished she could have felt it like she did last summer. What meant the most to her was the sound of his voice as he had spoken to her.
"Yes, Harry, and I still do," she whispered. Hermione pondered what had just taken place. They could read memories; yet, it was so much more vivid with the exchange of blood. She recalled Harry's descriptions of his experiences with Dumbledore's Pensieve. This seemed similar in effect. Harry lay back down on the desk with Hermione in his arms; they spent the rest of the night talking about it.
As the nights passed Harry began to take an interest once again in what was going on around them. He and Hermione went out to hunt together once again. The approach of Christmas was obvious from all the preparations that were taking place.
After hunting, Harry was spending a lot of time looking for the orphanage he had seen in Dumbledore's memory. He knew that the search was going to be difficult; London covered six hundred and ten square miles. The face of the city had changed as time had passed. The scars of war were becoming memories as the old was renovated. Industry that had changed the appearance of the city was itself changing. So, hoping for the best, Harry began his search for the square old building with the iron fence.
A couple of days before Christmas Eve Harry took some of the Muggle money on his nightly hunt. After Hermione had fed he took his leave of her as she Apparated back to the lair. He was feeling grateful to Hermione for helping him through the incident with Dobby. The pain of the house-elf's rejection of him was still sharp, but now he was bothered by his lack of feeling about being forbidden to return to Hogwarts. He still remembered with fondness the great events that those years had brought him. But the daily things of his life there were growing dim to him; and the events there had once brought him feelings like frustration, joy, excitement, anger, boredom, contentment, and belonging were becoming mere facts, devoid of any emotion.
Thrusting his concerns out of his mind Harry turned to the task at hand; the task of buying Hermione something for Christmas. Given that she had been concerned about the cold, he thought the perfect gift would be a pair of gloves with a matching scarf. When he returned to the lair he found that Hermione was ahead of him, as usual. When he entered the basement storage area he found Hermione had set up a small Christmas tree. It was scraggly and more than a bit worse for wear. She had rescued it from a waste bin and used magic to strengthen the little sapling. She also was able to find a few ornaments that the tree was bravely managing to hold up.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said as he entered. Her eyes went wide as she saw the package in his hands. "You remembered."
"It's Christmas," he nodded. His package joined a small box under the tree. Mortal couples might have spent the evening snuggling together before a roaring fire. The vampires spent the night exchanging memories of Christmas past.
Christmas Eve found Harry searching the area near Grimmauld Place. He was fairly certain the orphanage was not in the immediate area, but the familiar ground created a landmark to aid in his search.
He found that by midnight he was close to another landmark. It was the wizarding hospital, St. Mungo's. As he looked down on the deserted streets he thought of some of the lonely occupants on the closed ward, the Longbottoms and Gilderoy Lockhart. He was longing to get back to the lair and Hermione, but for some reason he could not explain he lingered here. He was remembering how Hermione was able to accompany him through some very vivid memories. He wondered how it would be if could really get into someone else's mind. Descending to the street below, he disillusioned himself and entered the hospital.
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Molly Weasley turned at the sound of someone flooing into the kitchen fireplace. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the clock hand with Ginny's name on it swinging into the space marked "Home". She was mildly surprised; she thought Ginny might be out longer.
Ginny stepped from the fireplace and began to brush the soot from her robe. Her expression was one of preoccupation, and Molly could not help but wonder what had happened on Ginny's date with Neville. Well, it technically was not a date; Neville had asked Ginny to accompany him on his annual visit with his parents. His grandmother was getting on, and Neville hoped Ginny might be able to help in case of trouble. Since she had already seen his parents he felt she might help without being too shocked.
Molly gazed at her daughter with concern, "Are you all right, Ginny? Was it so awful?"
Ginny shook her head no. She had cut her hair so that it hung just below her shoulders; nevertheless, her tresses accented the movement of her head.
"Care to tell me about it?" she asked as she began to prepare a pot of tea. As Ginny looked at her, Molly thought she recognized that a scabbed over grief had been reopened.
"After Neville picked me up, we flooed to his home. We had a light lunch before going to the hospital. Neville's grandmother, Augusta, was trying to be nice, but I could tell she wasn't looking forward to seeing Frank and Alice. She just can't forget how talented they were, and Neville is something of a disappointment in the magic department." Ginny thought about what she had said, "It isn't that she doesn't love him, it's just she had such high hopes that he would be more like her son."
Molly was somewhat miffed for Neville's sake, "It's high time she learned to appreciate Neville for who he is rather than for who she wants him to be."
"Anyway," Ginny continued, "when we arrived, the nurse let us into the ward. Professor Lockhart is still there, but he was asleep, thank Circe. Neville opened the curtains around his parent's beds and we went in."
"They were both sleeping when we arrived. They look older than they really are. Their hair has turned white and their faces have a lot of lines. I noticed that they are really thin. Neville kept looking at me, like he thought I was going to run away or laugh at them. So I took his hand to let him know that I was okay. I could tell by the look on his face that he understood."
"Neville went to his mother, pulled up a chair beside her bed, and took her hand. I could tell it really hurt him to see them like this. She woke up when Neville called her name. I saw her two years ago and she had this empty expression in her eyes. I really expected more of the same, but when she woke up, she looked around wildly, as if she didn't know where she was and she recognized that she was in an unfamiliar place. She jerked her hand away and covered her face."
"The commotion attracted the nurse and she came running over. 'Alice, dear, what is it,' she was saying. Alice lowered her hands as her face went blank. She began to relax and I thought she was going to fall asleep again. Then she turned to look at Neville … and … and she recognized him!" Ginny was looking at her mother with a sense of wonder on her face.
"Her voice was soft and hoarse, 'N-N-Neville? Is it really you? You look just like you did in my dream.' I looked at Augusta and she looked stunned. The nurse noticed and she summoned a chair for her. Then, Alice hugged Neville, and I realized it was the first time in sixteen years that he felt her arms around him. We all started to cry, and I think the noise woke up Frank."
"Augusta was so busy watching Alice and Neville she didn't notice Frank reaching for her hand. She gave this little shriek when he touched her and said, 'Mum?' I almost thought she was going to faint. The nurse began calling for the healers as Neville turned around to look at his Dad. Frank and Alice reached out and took each other's hands. After all this time you could still see the love in their eyes."
"Frank was hugging Neville when the healers started to arrive. I could hear them whispering about the tests that they wanted to perform. Augusta heard them too. She stood up, drew her wand, and said, 'The healer that suggests we cut this young man's first visit with his parents in sixteen years short, I will personally hex into oblivion.' I stood beside her and drew my wand too. When she saw what I did, she gave me her first genuine smile of the day."
"The healers drew back and they said we could visit as long as we wanted to."
"Neville asked Frank what had happened. Frank's voice got kind of quivery as he tried to explain. 'I was lost, son, I remember pain, so much agony I couldn't deal with it. I tried to hide; I went to places I remembered from my childhood. I was lost in the woods, a cave, and a crowded beach in Brighton. There were a dozen other places, each time the pain came back and I tried to get further away. The pain lessened at each place I hid until at last the pain was gone, but I was so lost. My memories were gone and I was so alone.' Frank began to weep. After a few minutes he managed to pull himself together and he continued. 'Last night, an old friend came to me. It was James Potter, but … it couldn't have been … his eyes were so green.' When he said that my heart stopped."
Ginny looked at her mother as the tears welled up in their eyes. Molly reached out and drew Ginny into a gentle hug. Ginny moved her chair so she could sit closer to Molly. Resting her head on her mother's strong shoulder, Ginny continued with her story.
"He said, 'we were in this dark place, it felt a million miles from anywhere. The young man told me to relax my Occlumency defenses and follow him. I don't know how we walked and I'm not really sure he didn't carry me at first. As we moved, I remember the darkness dissipating. We walked into the light and I was in the woods behind my house. I thought I saw myself there, but in a moment the second me was gone and I remembered. We walked on, and as we went I seemed to find myself, a little bit of me in each of my memories. He never spoke to me, but somehow I understood that I had been away for a very long time. He showed me Neville and you, Mum. He told me the pain was gone and I didn't have to be afraid anymore. He left me and I dreamed again. I heard voices, and you were here.' After finishing his story, he seemed exhausted."
"Neville seemed to find his voice and he asked if his Mum did the same thing. She said that she hadn't. She had tried to build walls against the pain. She hid in a hallway with a million doors trying to compartmentalize the pain. Somehow this person found her and together they tried to find the rooms where she had hidden herself. He had an uncanny knack for selecting the rooms. She tried to find out who her rescuer was; all that he would tell her was that he was just a ghost and she could call him Harry."
"Neville and I just looked at each other. Alice couldn't really describe him except to say he was very pale with dark hair. I could hear the whispers about Harry from the healers behind me. By this time Aurors had started to arrive. We all knew that Frank and Alice would have to be hidden as long as You-Know-Who is on the loose. Because they were planning security, I decided to floo home. Neville walked me to the fireplace in the lobby and here I am."
Molly was at a loss to know what to say. She watched sadly as her only daughter headed upstairs to rest. She didn't have a cure for heartbreak and grief. These were things that were beyond her magical abilities.
Ginny went up to her room and kicked off her shoes. She lay on her bed watching the sun set. After it had gone down she looked a picture of Harry that Collin Creevey had given her. Since that day at the train station seven years ago she had had a crush on him. Others had laughed at her schoolgirl crush, but that only made it hurt all the more. At last, at the moment it seemed her dreams might have come true; he had been snatched away from her. She did not understand Ron's dream, the whole concept seemed a little too perfect to her, yet she thought she knew that he was dead. Errol couldn't find him, and she believed that Ron was right; Harry would not have snubbed her by not accepting her Birthday note. It was all so very strange, the gossip about his being the Chosen One. Now, he seemingly had reached out from beyond the grave to undo one of the foulest crimes done by Voldemort's Death Eaters. She wondered what Voldemort would do in response.
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Ginny was unaware of the ripples that were spreading out from St. Mungo's. Rumors of what had happened with Frank and Alice were causing consternation in various corners of the wizarding world.
Scrimgeour was upset because the name of Harry Potter was once again in the public awareness. His name had been largely forgotten during the crisis in Manchester and subsequent attacks on the families where only one parent was magical. Scrimgeour's administration was once again being criticized for not finding Harry and he hated appearing inept. Worst of all, there was no one to blame for the situation.
The wizards at large were whispering in amazement at the achievement. They all knew the story of Frank and Alice Longbottom; now it seemed a miracle had been performed. Once again, Harry had taken on a larger than life reputation. He was known to have vanished, and there were some rumors of his death. Yet, he still seemed to be a force to be reckoned with and once again there was talk of the Chosen One.
In his hiding place, Voldemort was fuming at the incompetence of his servants in bringing him reliable facts. All he knew were the same rumors that had been running wild at the Ministry. Also, the Aurors had effected the complete disappearance of the Longbottoms, and none of his spies could ferret out their whereabouts. Things were continually going wrong with his plans. The dementors had turned on him; fortunately the Ministry was hunting them, albeit with little success. Now, just when it seemed the Wizarding world had been demoralized, this new rumor had sprung up and there was a new hope running rampant this Christmas night. He decided to redouble his efforts to recruit the werewolves in the coming days.
Meanwhile, Harry sat unknowingly at the center of the storm he had created. In their basement lair he and Hermione were exchanging Christmas gifts by the light of their wands. Humans would have found the accommodation cold and cheerless, but the warmth of Christmas past was enough for the vampires.
Hermione looked pleased by Harry's thoughtful gift. "Thanks, Harry, though you should have bought yourself some, too. You're just as susceptible to freezing as I am, maybe we can find some after-Christmas specials."
Harry could not help but think that some human traits died hard. Hermione the vampire was talking about going shopping. He smiled as she handed him the little box that he found under the little tree two nights before.
She was looking slightly anxious as he tore the wrapping paper off of the box. The box itself appeared rather old. The faded lettering on the top read, "Quality Quidditch Supplies". Harry looked at Hermione as he opened the box. Inside it he found a Golden Snitch packed in some cotton wool.
"I found it in the desk in Godric's Hollow. I thought it would be perfect for Christmas, I hope you aren't mad because I hid it from you," she asked anxiously. She spoke to him hoping to diffuse any anger he might feel towards her.
Harry looked in wonder at the golden ball. He remembered his father playing with this in Snape's memory. As he gently lifted it from the box, he felt overwhelmed at holding something he had seen his father touch. He felt a connection across the years with the father he did not know. The snitch stirred feebly in his hand. Evidently, the magic that made it work was fading after so many years.
She looked on as he smiled at her, "No Hermione, I think it's perfect," he whispered.
"Did you find anything last night? You were out later than usual," she inquired.
Harry explained that he had gone to St. Mungo's and told her how he had decided to test how far he could go into someone else's mind using their own blood as part of the medium. He told her how the Longbottom's own Occlumency defenses had kept the healers from being able to help them. Once inside of their defenses he had been able to help them reintegrate themselves enough to begin to function once more by removing some of the memories of the pain caused by the Cruciatus Curse.
Sensing Harry was in the mood to talk she decided to ask some questions that had been bothering her since their visit to Godric's Hollow. "Harry, will you tell me about the day you brought me over?"
Harry's face clouded as he considered Hermione's request. Slowly, he removed his tee shirt so she could take the blood from his shoulder. He sighed, "If you wish; it wasn't a happy day." He gathered her into his arms and closed his eyes as she bared her fangs.
As she began to take his blood, he gave her the memories of the flight from Number Four. She saw in his mind the Dark Mark flare in the sky as he flew to challenge the Death Eaters. She could feel his anger when he saw her parents dead on the floor. Hermione was a party to the panic he felt as he recognized her, helpless and bleeding as she lay in front of the bookcase. She felt his horror of the dementor and the fear that she had lost her soul. As he began to relive that fateful combat, she broke contact.
Hermione drew back from him; his blood covered her lips and fangs and was slowly trickling from the corner of her mouth. "You never told me about a dementor," she thought. Tears of blood began to flow from her eyes.
"The dementor didn't make me turn you or drink your parent's blood. It was there and I killed it, but I couldn't blame it for what I did to you," He replied.
Hermione shuddered at what her lack of understanding must have done to Harry in those first days. Yet, he had never faltered in his commitment to her. He had never failed in the love he confessed to her in the Shrieking Shack, and even before she had forgiven him. In his actions since July, he had shown not what love meant to a vampire, but what love meant to him. He had made her the object of everything she could have wished for when she was alive. Now, it was bittersweet to have found it in undeath.
"Harry, I …" she began.
He did not need to be a vampire to see the turmoil in her eyes. "I love you, Hermione. That's all that I can say. What's past is past."
She hugged him, "Thank you for your love, Harry. I'll try to be worthy of it. May I try to recover the memories you lost?"
Harry nodded his assent.
Once more she fastened onto his shoulder. Gently she moved backwards into his earlier memories. Back to his night at Number Four reliving his fear of the dawn, his disgust at what he had become, and his first taste of grief as he sent Hedwig to the Burrow. She moved backwards to the park. She felt Harry's first taste of blood lust when he had confronted Piers and Gordon. He had approached them as they had laughed at his nakedness. He had reveled in the ease in which he had captured them. He drank from Gordon first. His fangs went deep and he began to draw a blessed relief from the pain.
Suddenly, he felt the fierce anger of another. That power struck him nearly senseless, his body convulsed as he fell to the ground. "NEVER kill for blood, fledgling." The raw power of that command imprinted itself on the vampire within him. "CLOSE the wounds!" Harry writhed as the power in the command made itself a part of him. In his mind he saw the burning eyes of his sire. Eyes that burned so brightly that he could not see the rest of his face. Obedient to the post-hypnotic command of his sire, he had risen and closed the wounds on Gordon's neck. Next he turned his attention to Piers. He drank and closed the punctures. When the voice came again it was gentler, "Make them forget, fledgling." Harry focused his will upon the two boys making them forget the encounter.
Hermione now understood why he had disciplined her like he had; it had been done to him.
She tried to move backwards again. There was little to get from the vicious attack that had started the whole situation. All Harry knew from it was pain. The first blow had struck his head, which was where the strange indentation on his skull had come from. Beyond that, Hermione found that he had been thinking of her.
Hermione closed the wounds and regarded her friend with a new sense of wonder. She now knew how much Harry cherished her. No mere gift could ever mean as much as what he had given her this night.