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 last minute revisions.
Chapter Two
Just after sunrise on Monday morning Ron descended from the Knight Bus. Shouldering his belongings he made his way toward Privet Drive. The fog had let up somewhat and the birds were singing as Ron passed through the alleyway, and headed for the Dursleys. As Ron approached Number Four, he thought that the house looked strange; there didn't appear to be anyone home and Vernon's car was gone. Ron was surprised because he was sure Mr. Dursley was usually having breakfast at this time of day.
As he came to the walk leading to the door he noticed a police car parked on the other side of the street. He felt that something was very wrong as he saw two policemen exit the car and start toward him. He was unsure what to do. His father had always spoken of the Muggle police with a measure of respect, but for some unexplainable reason, the appearance of these two caused him to feel alarmed.
These policemen were not in the uniforms that Ron had seen others of them wear as he, Harry, and Hermione had walked around Little Whinging. One was tall and dark, the other short and rather square looking; his hair was sandy and short. Ron thought that he had met his match when it came to freckles. Their manner was business-like and rather cold. The short one did the talking. "My name is detective McDonald and this is detective Kellaway. May I ask who you are and what you are doing here?"
Ron tried not to stammer as he answered, "My name is Ron Weasley and I'm staying here for the week with my friend, Harry Potter. Just knock on the door and he'll tell you who I am."
The two detectives glanced at one another. "When is the last time you saw Harry or the Dursleys?"
"Friday evening, I left Harry at the park on the next street. I had to go home to Ottery St. Catchpole for the weekend. Harry is expecting me back this morning. Harry's uncle and cousin left Friday afternoon, and I last saw his aunt when I left about sundown."
"There is no one home here at present. You will come with us to the station; we would like to ask you a few more questions."
Ron was fighting panic, he wondered if he should run for it. He had never studied memory charms, and he knew that they could be dangerous, not to mention getting him into serious trouble with the Ministry for attacking Muggles for no reason. Screwing up his Gryffindor courage he went with the policemen. They searched him before putting him in the back seat of their car. The tall one found his wand in the inside pocket of the Muggle jacket he was wearing. They looked at it suspiciously. "What's this?"
"That's my wand," he replied shakily. "I'm learning to be a wiz- uh, I mean … that is … I mean a magician." He would be forever grateful the Fred and George for stocking Muggle magic tricks and for having a father that was fascinated by them too. He reached into his bag, and showed the policemen the deck of trick cards he had gotten from the shop the last time he was in Diagon Alley. The detectives relaxed somewhat, but they kept his wand.
Ron rode quietly in the back seat of the police car to the station. He was ushered into a small room with a table and a few chairs. The room temperature was uncomfortable, but Ron could never remember if it was too hot or too cold. All he was sure of was that it was rather stuffy and smelled of stale tobacco.
He answered the detective's questions as truthfully as he could. He described what he knew of Harry's relationship with the Dursleys, and how he and Hermione had been visiting Harry during their break from school. All the while, he was experiencing a growing sense of panic as he couldn't help but wonder where Harry could have gone.
After about twenty minutes he could stand it no longer and blurted out, "You said there was no one home, where's Harry?"
"We were hoping you would tell us!" McDonald snapped.
At that moment the door popped open and short, middle-aged woman entered. She had ice-blue eyes and iron-grey hair, closely cropped. The new comer surveyed the room with an imperious expression, though her eyes lingered on Ron a bit longer than McDonald might have expected. "What is going on here?" she demanded.
McDonald's initial expression of irritation vanished at once as he and Kellaway rose to their feet. "Inspector, it's good to see you again." The detective was now in something of a quandary as how to answer the inspector. During the time he had been questioning Ron he had come to the conclusion that the young man had been telling him the truth. This was set against the accusations that Vernon Dursley had brought against Harry and the two friends that had been staying with him. He quickly decided to lay his cards on the table and see what kind of reaction he provoked in the young man. "We are questioning this suspect in connection with the murder of Petunia Dursley."
Ron shot to his feet as the color drained from his face. "Harry's aunt's been murd…," He was gasping for breath from the shock. "Oh, my God! What's happened to Harry? I swear they were both fine when I saw them Friday evening." All he could think of was that Voldemort had done something to Harry and he hadn't been there to help. While the detectives were focused on Ron the inspector moved away from the door and to a position behind them.
McDonald had seen his share of acting during his career. He was certain that either this suspect was very, very good, or his reaction was one of genuine shock; he was inclined to believe it was the latter. "Well, Inspector Tonks, what do you-," he turned to find the inspector was pointing a slender rod of wood at him.
"Obliviate!" Ron saw both McDonald and Kellaway lose their focus. "You will return to your watch in front of the Dursleys. You saw no one try to enter. You were never here. You will be surprised at how quickly the morning passed. Now, go!" Both of the detectives left the room as Tonks lowered her wand. "What happened, Mr. Weasley?" Tonks manner was as coldly professional as McDonald's had been.
Ron told Tonks the whole story of the previous three weeks. "How did you know that I was here?" he asked as he finished.
"Your wand triggered a charm that has been placed on all Muggle police stations. The Ministry is notified when the police bring a wand into one. Most adult wizards would never run into trouble with the police, but an underage witch or wizard might. In case you are wondering, all Aurors hold the rank of Inspector with the Muggle police forces."
"What happened to Harry?" Ron demanded.
"I don't know. That is why you are coming to the Ministry with me to answer a few questions. We will need to begin an investigation at once." Ron followed Tonks as she went through the police station modifying the memories of every one there. Afterwards they gathered his belongings; when they finished there was no evidence of Ron's ever being there. "You'll have to side-along with me to the Ministry."
The two of them spent nearly three hours going over the situation. Aurors and other Magical Law Enforcement personnel were called in, briefed, and sent out to search. A veritable blizzard of notes and reports began circulating as Ron left for home.
When Ron got home the first thing he did was to write Hermione. He had thought of going in person, but Tonks told him to remain at the Burrow where the Aurors could communicate with him. He explained what happened, and that the Ministry was beginning an investigation. He told her to expect visitors from them also. After sending Pig along he collapsed onto his bed, unable to keep from blaming himself for letting something happen to Harry. He felt he should have tried harder to get Harry to come home with him for the weekend. Over and over the question repeated itself, where was Harry and what had happened to him?
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Harry opened his eyes. He lay on his back, above him stretched a gray, curved surface. All about him was still, cold, silence. A nameless stench was resting against his sense of smell; he refused to admit it into his nose. He tried to sit up. Suddenly, pain exploded into his awareness. It flared in his joints; they felt like they were filled with ground glass. His body was a burning ache, as though he had been lying on ice. He gave up on the idea of sitting when he realized he was in a drainage culvert. As he lay still the pain subsided leaving only the ice cold agony of his hunger.
Ahead of him the culvert stretched into darkness, about ten feet behind him the opening was lit with a harsh, orange light.
Harry began pushing himself backwards out of the culvert. The recent rains had left the bottom of the culvert with a heavy layer of mud and water. The journey seemed to take hours but at last he was free. He stood naked in the moonlight, trying to figure out where he was, what had happened. He found that his back and especially his thighs were caked with filth. He bent to get some leaves to clean himself with. As he gathered them, he found his clothes neatly folded and hidden. He also found his wand.
He cleaned himself as best he could, but did not dress; the moonlight felt strangely soothing to his skin. Squatting down he tried to remember. He knew he was Harry James Potter, a wizard, this was summer break, and he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His friends were Hermione and Ron. His enemies were Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He could see faces, his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He remembered his teachers and Dumbledore's funeral. He remembered kissing Hermione and putting Ron on the Knight Bus, but he couldn't remember how he came to be here.
Here, he recognized, was at the back of the park. He remembered being here in summer, the night he and Dudley were attacked by dementors. Attack-attack; there was a fragment of a memory, some kind of attack.
Something stirred in his awareness; it was something furtive and small. He stretched out with his senses. It was warm and throbbing with life - a rat! He caught it with his mind. It froze in fear. Harry snatched it. Without realizing what he was doing, he tore it and pressed it to his lips. Warm, salty life poured into his throat, and the ache within him abated a little. Searching, Harry quickly located two more. He willed them to be still; he caught and drank them as well.
The pain in his joints eased and the cold in his body lessened. His mind cleared. Harry was trying to decide on the best place to find more, when he heard voices. He froze and waited for whomever it was to approach.
Piers Polkiss and his friend Gordon were on their way to visit Dudley. It came as a complete surprise when they found Harry standing motionless in the moonlight. They looked at each other and sniggered; he must be completely mental to be standing there naked like that.
Gordon stooped and picked up a small rock, he threw it at Harry, calling out, "Hey, freak!" The rock hit Harry on the shoulder.
They both laughed again as Harry turned to face them…
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Piers shook his head, trying to clear it, as he did so he noted a sharp pain in the side of his neck. Gordon was standing next to him, staring into space.
"Polk, I don't feel so good, I'm goin' home. You?" Gordon said, his voice sounded groggy.
"I'm going to see big D," he answered. They separated and Piers went up Magnolia Crescent and took the alley to Wisteria Walk. He rounded the corner on Privet Drive to find a police car parked in front of Number Four.
His knock on the door was answered by a severe, middle-aged woman in a blue suit. She appraised him coolly.
"Who are you and what do you want?" she asked.
"I-I'm a friend of Dudley Dursley, may I see him?" Piers stammered.
"He's in the kitchen," the woman said, moving out of the way.
As he passed the living room he saw Vernon talking to a police detective. Vernon was crying; the tears were coursing down his florid cheeks. "It was that freak Potter boy, he killed my Petunia, and stole everything he could pawn."
"Mr. Dursley," the detective cut in, his tone indicating he was tired of Dursley's endless recriminations about Harry, "What is his motive? It was you that said he has no friends therefore he has no transportation. If he took the items to pawn why have they not shown up in any pawn shop he could reach? I must tell you that these inquiries about the Potter boy have originated very high up in the ministry. All the evidence we have indicates that he is a victim as well. All we want to know is what he was doing last Friday"
"I don't know. He was here when Dudley and I left for an alumni meeting. We came home on Sunday afternoon and found-found…the house broken into…and my wife…" Vernon broke down again, and McDonald could get nothing more out of him.
Piers went into the kitchen; Dudley was sitting there with a television remote in his hand. He changed the channel about every twenty seconds. He looked up as his friend entered. "My Mum's gone Polk, we found her when we came home yesterday. The funeral is Wednesday, will you come?" He was speaking in a monotone not much above a whisper.
"Sure, Big D, what happened?"
"Somebody came in … stole … and left. They killed my Mum," Dudley's voice was empty.
"Who?"
"Don't know, Dad thinks its Harry. I don't think so, but if I find out whom, I'll kill him."
"That's tough, D, what can I do?" He was unnerved; he had never seen Dudley like this before.
"Nothing but help me kill the one who did this," Dudley growled.
Piers tried to talk to Dudley but he couldn't anything out of him but single words or threats. He had no concept of shock, but knew he was getting nowhere with his friend. At last he gave up, "I'm leaving. See you Wednesday, Big D."
Dudley nodded and went back to switching channels. Piers headed out of the kitchen and proceeded to the front door. The policewoman stopped him. "When was the last time you saw Harry Potter?"
Piers face went slightly blank, "I don't remember exactly. A week or so ago, I guess. May I go?" Tonks nodded curtly. "Good night." he said absentmindedly and began walking into the night. Tonks stared after him. She made up her mind and followed him.
A short while later she walked up to Kingsley Shacklebolt who was standing by the hedge a couple of houses down from Number Four. "Did you find out anything more?" He asked in his deep, melodious voice.
"There is something odd about that Muggle boy, Piers Polkiss. He appears to have had his memory modified. I used the spell to reverse a memory charm, but it didn't work. The modification is deep and very powerful; I didn't want to push too hard."
"Go on," prompted Shacklebolt.
"I asked him if he had seen Harry and he told me it had been a week or so. I recognized the effect of the modification so I went after him. After I performed the charm I asked him again." Tonks shuffled her feet as she looked down at the ground. She sighed and looked at her boss. "He didn't answer, his face went totally blank, and he wet himself. I cleaned him up, modified his memory again, and sent him home. Did you find anything?"
It was Shacklebolt's turn to look uncomfortable. He held out a broken pair of glasses. Tonks recognized them as Harry's at once. "I just found these here. There is blood on them and in the bushes too. A team swept the area but they found no sign of him. All of his belongings are in the house, except his wand. I guess we will have to adjust our spells so we can try locating his body. I feel as though something has gone very wrong and I don't think we'll find Harry alive," he said sadly.
At that moment McDonald came running up to Tonks. "I just received a call from the station. There have been several murders at a rooming house on the other side of the village. We have to go, do you wish to come?" McDonald was looking positively ill. Murders were just not normal for a small village like Little Whinging, but it all seemed to be part of the disasters that had befallen the country in the past year.
Tonks shook her head, "No, detective, I'll get the reports in the morning. You go ahead." After the Muggle officers left Tonks said, "I'll widen the perimeter and we'll start the search for Harry's … Harry's … body immediately. Merlin's beard, Kingsley, I just can't think of him as dead."
With the departure of the police, Vernon and Dudley were leaving as well. Vernon refused to stay in the house where his wife met her untimely end. The two Aurors watched until the vehicle was out of sight. They then Apparated away; Kingsley went to inform his superiors and Tonks to resume the search for Harry Potter. Neither knew that they were being watched from the shadows across the street.
Harry had dressed and made his way toward Number Four. His senses seemed to be attuned to the rhythms of the night, and even standing in the darkness between the houses he could see as though it was daylight. Indeed, the glare of the streetlights was almost unbearably harsh. He could hear the sound of radios and television sets all along the street. He could even hear the faint heartbeats of the Muggles in the house he was standing next to. As he stood there he realized his own heart was not beating. The shock took the strength from his knees. He tried to cry out but no sound would come because there was no air in his lungs. He needed to think! He fought a sense of panic as he tried to understand what was happening. He drew air into his lungs, "What's wrong with me?" he asked himself. He could still speak if he remembered to breathe.
He stood and ran swiftly across the street; hardly realizing he covered the distance in a fraction of the time it would have taken him the previous Friday. He knew his window was not locked. Standing below he leaped up, and caught the window sill. Without effort he pulled himself up and into the window.
As he entered the room Hedwig began to frantically scrabble about, beating her wings against her cage. She hooted as if in great fear. Harry tried to shush her, but no sound came out. He drew a breath and said uncertainly, "Hedwig, it's me, Harry." His voice had no effect on his beloved owl. Concerned that she would injure herself he focused his attention on her. "Hedwig, be still," he commanded, willing her to stop instead of talking to her. Instantly she froze, just as the rats had done. As Harry reached for the door of the cage he received another nasty shock. His fingernails had grown. They were at least an inch long, sharp and pointed, almost like the points of knives.
He opened the door of the cage. "Hedwig, fly to the Weasleys. Do what they tell you," Harry commanded. He stood well back as he watched the owl disengage herself from her cage. Silently she swooped into the night.
Going to the bathroom he prepared to shower. The only light he needed was the small night-light that Hermione had brought to help her navigate an unfamiliar bathroom. As he looked at himself in the mirror he knew at last what had happened to him. Fangs protruded over his lower lip. He had seen them in pictures - he was a vampire. His first feeling was one of disgust. He was becoming more conscious of himself and his actions of the past few hours; he realized he had fed from Piers and Gordon. He had actually drunk their blood! The next feeling that hammered him was that he would never become seventeen and be an adult. He was desperately disappointed that he could not take the Apperition test with Ron. He didn't even know if he could still do magic. With a bitter laugh he realized he was afraid to try. He didn't want another of those letters from the Misuse of Magic Office. How long he sat on the commode trying to accept what had happened to him he didn't know. He stood for an even longer time in the shower. He was unable to feel the temperature of the water. Instinctively he knew not to let the water get too hot as it would damage his skin, but he was hardly aware that he was even wet. After washing away the dirt and filth from the culvert he stood again before the mirror, silently assessing his new situation. No wonder Hedwig went berserk. He had read that all animals feared vampires; he knew that she wouldn't come near him again if she could help it. The thought of losing her caused him to shed his first tears as a vampire. In the mirror he noted the two streams of blood leaking from his eyes.
He washed them away and went back to his room to dress. As he did so he became aware of an odd hissing sound. He turned and looked out the window. The eastern horizon was glowing like fire. The fear of the dawn seized him. Of the few things he remembered from his brief reading about vampires in Lockhart's book, "Voyages with Vampires," was that sunlight deadly to him now. He turned from the window and fled down the stairs.
At the foot of the stairs he came to an abrupt halt. Although he did not need to breathe he had not lost his sense of smell. He inhaled through his nose. The odor was faint but something inside him recognized the smell of death. Someone had died here. Harry had no time to ponder. The windows were brightly lit. Dawn was bearing down on him like an onrushing train. He made for his cupboard. As he lay down under the stairs he could hear the dawn sweep over the house with a noise like a bonfire. It swept away his consciousness and he slept as one truly dead.
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