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 Seventeen
As the week passed into the New Year, Harry continued his search for the orphanage. Meanwhile Hermione was concentrating on trying to find something in the public records and court documents. She reasoned that there would have to be some court record committing Tom Riddle to an orphanage.
Tonight, Harry lent his wand to Hermione; she had been using it for light, as she kept her own for defense. After she Apparated to the library, Harry took off on his broom to search once again. Harry decided to follow the river eastward, past the docks, and into the industrial areas. He flew around the great chimneys and electrical wires. As he passed eastward, the factories and mills grew scarcer and many of those that were left were deserted.
The hours passed as he quartered the area. There was nothing here that reminded him of the orphanage. He continued to search, now hoping to find some lone mortal to feed from and perhaps a dementor. Staying hidden was more difficult here. He kept close to the rooftops and chimneys, trying to stay out of sight from the street. He decided to take advantage of an old mill. He hoped to use the chimney as a vantage point from where he could get a better look at the miserable streets below.
As he was preparing to gain altitude and make for the great chimney he noticed movement on the street. A short, bent figure was scurrying past a decrepit law office carrying a bag of groceries. Harry stiffened as he recognized Wormtail passing beneath a sign advertising the services of "Dewey, Robbum, and Howe". Harry struggled to keep from descending on Wormtail like a hawk stooping onto a rat. He decided it was more important to follow Wormtail than destroy him out of hand.
Harry wished he'd kept his wand since he had no idea of what he might be running into, but he did not allow the lack of a wand to deter him. Rather than risk being seen, he hid the Firebolt on the roof of the law office and transformed into a bat. He would have to remember to change his shape when he was searching areas where the people might see him.
He flitted after the fleeing wizard with the silver hand. Many of the streetlights were not working, but it mattered little to the agile bat. He followed right to the last house on Spinner's End. Putting on a burst of speed, Harry beat Wormtail to the door. As Wormtail looked to his left to make sure he had not been followed Harry transformed on his right side. The nervous little wizard unlocked the door and as he did so, Harry reached out and touched his shoulder. Wormtail started in surprise and looked into Harry's glowing, red eyes.
A few minutes later Harry stepped into the tiny sitting room. Snape was sitting at a rickety table pouring over an old spell book by the light of an oil lamp.
"Finally," Snape sneered without looking up.
"Good evening, Professor," Harry's voice was icy with contempt.
Snape whirled around, an expression of anger distorting his features. In spite of his surprise, he swiftly stood and drew his wand. The stool upon which he had been sitting went flying. All that registered in his mind was Harry's unruly mop of black hair and the sound of Harry's voice. "Potter," he hissed.
Instinctively, he pointed his wand at Harry. Whatever spell he had been going to use never left his mouth before Harry stepped forward and slashed with his razor sharp talons. Snape's wand was cut in two. The ex-Potions Master stared stupidly at the pieces of his wand as they fell to the floor. Harry's rage at Snape boiled over. In that moment, all of the anger he had bottled up since the death of Dumbledore overwhelmed his capacity for rational thought, and the vampire within him took complete control.
Harry backhanded Snape with enough force to send the black-clad wizard flying backwards over the table. Snape impacted the bookshelf with sufficient force to break his back; the snap was clearly audible. He dropped into a sitting position, stunned by the power of the blow he had received. He was trying to understand what had happened when he looked up at his nemesis. Two things registered simultaneously in his mind. The glowing eyes let him know he was dealing with a vampire; the second thing he realized was that he was on fire. The edge of his robe had caught the oil lamp on the table. The lamp had shattered upon impact with the floor; the burning oil flowed onto his robes and against the bookshelves that lined the room.
There was no pain as the fire burned his legs, but he instinctively tried to beat the fire out with his hands. The flames shot up the bookcase as the old paper and vellum began to burn. Snape began to panic, he was making desperate, inarticulate noises as he slapped unsuccessfully at the flames. His greasy hair burned away in a flash. Snape, realizing he was doomed, covered his face with his hands.
The vampire exulted over his enemy at the same time as Harry's soul looked on in helpless horror as his enemy was transformed into a ball of fire. Snape had taught Harry that the mind had layers like an onion. Now, because of his vampiric telepathy he could see several layers of Snape's mind at once. All that registered in the outer level was pain. Deeper, however, he was railing about the injustice of his situation, that a stupid accident would end all of his schemes. A part of Snape's conscience was filled with loathing in the presence of a vampire; but a tiny bit felt pity for Harry, in spite of his hatred, this was not a fate he would have wished on the boy. Deepest of all he was worried about the Malfoys. Lucius was one of his few, true friends, and he was genuinely fond of Narcissa and Draco.
Without a wand there was nothing Harry could do. His anger had vanished when he realized Snape was going to die, and it was not a death he would have wished on anyone. He managed to focus his thought on the deepest levels of Snape's mind. With all the power he could muster he sent Snape a final thought, "I'll save the Malfoys for you, if I can." Whether Snape understood or not Harry would never know, but the power of his thought stunned the doomed man, sparing him the final agony of the burning.
The room was quickly becoming an inferno. Harry backed quickly out of the house and commanded Wormtail to run to the office where he had hidden the Firebolt. Harry transformed into a bat and flew after him. As they reached the office a few minutes later, Harry could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. It was not long before he was speeding up the river with his new prisoner.
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The next afternoon Tonks and Carbury were poking through the ashes of Snape's house at Spinner's End. The Muggle authorities had gently been removed from the situation. In any case, all that had been of interest to them had been the identification of the body that had been discovered in the ruin. A few Obliviators had tidied up the questions. None of the neighbors knew any thing about the strange man that they saw there occasionally. He had always been surly and had discouraged acquaintance. Now, they remembered nothing at all.
"Are they sure it was Severus Snape?" Carbury was asking.
"Yes," answered Tonks. "The healers have ways of identifying badly burned bodies." The Aurors were surprised by how little was left of the room. The books had provided enough fuel to create a miniature firestorm within the room. What was once a table had been reduced to ashes, the chairs, stool, and sofa had faired little better. The heat had burned through the ceiling and consumed the rooms above the sitting room.
They both looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Tonks winced as she recognized Carstairs walking up the street. He was dressed in heavy work boots, jeans, heavy flannel shirt, and sleeveless, down filled hunting vest, with a woolen cap pulled down over his ears.
Tonks looked at the new arrival. "Carbury, this is Solomon Carstairs, he's a vampire hunter." Carbury looked at the man in awe and a little disgust; a man that lived by collecting bounties was something of an outlaw, but vampires were dangerous and hunting the hunters inspired a certain respect.
"Shacklebolt ast me to look in on the scene. Ye ain't been messin' ahround too much with it, have ye?" Carstairs answered the question he read in Tonks' face.
Both Aurors were stung by the question, but they wouldn't allow personal feelings to get in the way of an investigation or dealings with a fellow investigator. They shook their heads no and Carstairs entered the sitting room. He stayed close to the walls as he looked around the space.
The scar-faced, little vampire hunter carefully examined what was left of the shelves and studied the relationship between the table and the door. He spent a few moments examining the pieces of the lamp on the floor. At last he came around to the ashes of the table and looked at the door. He closed his eyes and spent a few moments in deep thought. With a heavy sigh he opened his eyes and looked down at his feet. Crouching down he began examining the ashes on the floor.
With a cry of triumph, he lifted a thin, blackened strip from the floor, moments later he found a second strip with one end partially enclosed in charred wood.
Chagrinned that Carstairs found something that she missed, Tonks asked, "What is that?"
"Wand coah. Looks lahk drah'gon heahtsinew. Sumthin' cut it in two."
"What does that mean, Mr. Carstairs?" asked Carbury.
"Considahrin' the condition of the body, Snape was fighten' somebody. Any ideas who?"
Tonks and Carbury looked at one another. "Snape was the one that killed Albus Dumbledore, at least according to Harry Potter. He was an ex-Death Eater. Apparently, he went back to You-Know-Who or he was spying on him, depending on whom you talk to," answered Tonks.
Carstairs nodded his understanding. "So he had lots of enemies. Well, I've done all I can do heah. I'll make up my repoaht to Mistah Shacklebolt. Take cah'ya, both of ye." With that he stepped lightly out of the ruin and proceeded up the street.
Later that evening Tonks, Littleton, Dawlish, Satchel, and Boulton gathered in Kingsley's office to discuss Snape's death. Kingsley was the last to arrive after finishing his work for the Prime Minister. Everyone looked up in surprise as Carstairs followed him into the room. The vampire hunter's robes were somewhat shabby, but were clean and presentable.
"I've asked Carstairs to attend."
The Aurors discussed the details of the case. Snape had been burned to death and he had been alive and most probably conscious when it was happening. The fact his back had been broken indicated that he had been fighting when he died. The main question was who he had been fighting.
There was no consensus about who it might have been, or if there had been a falling out among the Death Eaters. The odd fact was that Snape's wand had been not been broken; it had been cut. Examination of the dragon heartstring proved that.
"What could have cut it?" asked Satchel.
The general agreement was a large knife or a sword, but who might carry such a weapon these days?
Kingsley sighed, "Solomon, could it have been a vampire, and if so, could you tell us anything about the vampire that might have done it?" Tonks looked sharply at him, wondering if he was going to tell what he knew about Harry.
"Could 'a been a vampiah," Carstairs said thoughtfully. He stood and demonstrated what he was talking about. "If t'was a vampiah it entahed and su'pahzed Snape. 'e stood and pulled 'is wand; the vampiah stepped close 'n cut 'is wand with its talons, then backhanded 'im." He swung his hand in a downward arc, and then reversed the direction. "Judgin' from the trahject'ry of Snape's body the vampiah was rah'ther shoaht and light; else the brahk in Snape's spine would'a been lowah. There must be a considahration of mass as well as strag'ngth in computin' the ballistic. The healah's rahpoa't didn't mention cuts on the body and considahrin' the location of the lamp, I'd say the fiah was an accident. The assailant, vampiah or not, didn't mean to kill 'im, at least not by bu'nin' 'im."
Shaklebolt did not know whether to be relieved or not. A short, light vampire fit Harry's description. He had known that Snape and Harry had hated each other and he had to wonder if Harry had taken the time to hunt Snape down. The bit about the fire being an accident was comforting, if for no other reason that he did not want to believe that Harry was becoming a cold-blooded killer. His name had come up in connection with the Longbottoms and he wanted to believe that Harry could be a force for good. Still, he had to consider that it was not Harry anymore; it was a vampire.
Silence fell over the group as Kingsley contemplated the situation.
Carstairs spoke up, "Mistah Shacklebolt, what ah ye be hidin' from us. I undahstand the need for secrahecy, but theah's somethin' ye ahn't tellin' us." He looked around at the group of Aurors. "I'm nevah goin' to be a paht of youah polite society, wouldn't dream of tryin', but I'm not stupid 'n I don't apprah'ciate youah withholdin' info'mation 'bout somethin' that might conce'n my safety. Vampiah huntin' is rah'sky enough that seven in ten ah us don't get to rah'tiah. I would be in youah debt if ye'll tell us what's on youah mind."
The Aurors were stunned that an outsider would speak so plainly, especially to a highly respected official, but Carstairs did not waver.
As last Shacklebolt sighed, "All right, based on your expert description of what happened to Snape, I think you're right. It was a vampire that killed him and I believe the vampire in question used to be Harry Potter. I guess for you that means that there is at least one and almost certainly two vampires out there that can use magic. Harry was able to produce a corporal patronus at age thirteen, won the Triwizard Tournament at fourteen, and has been called the "Chosen One" since last year, in case you haven't heard of him."
Shacklebolt paused for a moment, "Harry was from Little Whinging. One of his friends was Hermione Granger, a Muggle born witch, Tonks can tell you about her. She was as gifted as Harry; she went missing and was presumed dead because her parents were attacked by Death Eaters. She has been seen since; I know that she is a vampire. Harry probably turned her. So, that is what you are up against. Two of our most talented young people and now they are vampires."
Carstairs nodded. "By youah leave?"
The black Auror nodded and Carstairs left the room. The meeting went on into the night as the Aurors discussed how to cope with Harry as a vampire.
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Hermione stirred at the setting of the sun. She rose up on one elbow and scanned the room. It was unusual for her to rise before Harry, but on this evening Harry lay unmoving on his desktop. As she watched his eyes flicked open. She lifted her gaze to the corner of the room to check on Wormtail. He was asleep and tied to a chair.
"We can't keep him here, Harry. He's still alive."
"We're not; he's going to guide us to where he found Voldemort in Albania. I hope there is a Horcrux there. If he's going to be too much trouble in human form we can force him to turn into a rat."
Harry stood up and commanded, "Wormtail, wake up!"
Wormtail's eyes popped open as if he had been slapped. Harry waved his wand and the ropes vanished. The man dashed from the room heading for the loo. The vampires had no fear that he could run, Harry had enslaved him by forcing him to drink some of his blood. It was fortunate that he had been shopping when Harry found him; he had food for his immediate needs and the vampires still had an adequate supply of Muggle money.
"Are you making any progress at the library?" Harry asked.
"Some, but I still haven't found any reference to Mrs. Cole or Tom Riddle."
"Will it set you back if we leave for a while?"
"Not that I can see. What are you hoping to find?"
"Voldemort hid there after his body was destroyed. Since I think he marks victories or important times in his life with trophies, I hope he has hidden a Horcrux there. He boasted that he fought off death there when he created his new body after the Triwizard Tournament. I'd say he thinks Albania is victory enough to place one there, what do you think?"
Hermione nodded her agreement.
Wormtail returned to the office and stood just inside the door waiting for orders. Hermione looked at him and commanded. "Get yourself something to eat."
"Thank you, Mistress," he crooned as he fell to his knees. He was creeping on his knees toward the bag of groceries.
Hermione looked at him with an expression of disgust, "Walk like a human being; I'm not Voldemort," she snapped. Wormtail stood up, but he still bent low, as if preparing to be struck.
While their human prisoner ate, Harry and Hermione packed their belongings. They each took turns watching as the other left the lair to feed. It was nearly ten o'clock when Harry approached Wormtail.
"Peter," he said in what he hoped was a kindly tone, "I need for you to show me where you took care of the Dark Lord in Albania." He entered Peter's thoughts and found the location. "Tell me about the house there." Wormtail cleared his throat as he began to speak. Harry reached out a taloned finger and placed it across Wormtail's lips. He and Hermione could both see the primitive little cottage deep in the forest, pictured in his memories. It was small consisting of a single room with a couple of windows, but it had a cellar. They could hide there during the day.
"We'll have to hurry. It will be coming dawn there."
Using the memory as a guide the three of them Apparated to Albania. They appeared before the cottage. Looking around they found themselves in a heavy forest of pine and fir trees. They were half way up a mountain, on top of which perched the ruin of a once great castle. Below them was a long narrow lake. Looking northward they could see a range of extremely rugged mountains. Wormtail told them that the mountains were the Albanian Alps. The stars were wheeling in the crystal clear air and Wormtail's breath was steaming in the cold of the bitter winter night.
The cottage was obviously abandoned and the door was not locked. It consisted of a single room not all that different from Hagrid's cottage at Hogwarts. There were four chairs and a small table in the center before the fireplace and a rough bed in one corner. It made Hermione slightly nervous. She wondered why vandals would not have stolen the furnishings. The kitchen had a few utensils and a couple of pots, and some wood had been left from when Wormtail had been here before. Within minutes he had started a fire in the large fireplace. After he stopped shivering, Hermione asked him about the place.
Wormtail explained that the area had a bad reputation among the people, especially the castle on the peak. The closest village was down the mountain on the shore of the lake, and none of the people would willingly climb the mountain. The locals were a subgroup of the ethnic Albanians called the Ghegs. They had been in the region a long time and had legends about witches inhabiting the castle in ages past.
"What did you have to go to the village for?" Harry asked.
"To buy food, Master. The Dark Lord did not require food, but I did."
"Don't call me Master, Peter. Call me Harry."
Peter flinched as if he had been severely rebuked, "As you wish … Harry."
"Is the village large or small?" he was wondering how careful they would have to be in getting the blood they needed to survive.
"There are about two hundred people in the village."
The window was growing brighter by the minute. "Do not stray from the cottage today, Peter," Harry commanded.
Harry and Hermione headed down into the cellar. It had been a workshop of sorts. Harry could tell that it was here that Peter had brewed the potion that kept Voldemort in his intermediate body. Harry was sure Wormtail could not consciously betray them. However for safety's sake they transformed into bats and spent the day hanging from the ceiling in a relatively cozy corner of the dismal cellar.