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 Twenty
The minutes crept by like hours for Victor Krum. The first thing he did was give the servants the day off. Fortunately, his parents were on a long holiday in Switzerland and he did not have to worry that they would return early.
Until he was sure that the servants were gone, he had cast a locking spell on the door. After they had all left, he arranged their backpacks and Harry's Firebolt so that their possessions were out of the way. As the day wore on, he would go to the closet to make sure Hermione still had no pulse. He had been devastated when he had heard the news from England that she was missing and presumed dead. He had always hoped that she might outgrow Harry. How often did one find the love of one's life so early? It happened, to be sure, but not often.
It was frightening to see Harry with that snarl on his face; Krum would have not thought him capable of such hatred. Still, he was Nosferatu, and Hermione, too. He wondered why she didn't have claws and fangs. The second time he went into the closet he took a towel and covered Harry's face. Those hateful red eyes unnerved him. The third time he was brave enough to pull Hermione's lips back so that he could see her teeth. He shed his first tears when he saw her retracted fangs and knew that she was truly undead. It embarrassed him to expose her secret; it felt like a violation of some kind of trust. Around noon, he seriously considered dragging the corpses out of the closet and letting the cleansing sunlight do its work. Yet, Hermione had been his first, if unrequited, love; he did not want to hurt her.
As the afternoon dragged on, he ransacked his library for every scrap of information he could find on vampires. To his surprise, there was precious little. Most of what he found was based on wizards writing about Muggle superstition and folklore, rather that any modern research. He threw his books aside in disgust.
Once more he found himself sitting in the closet with his two uninvited "guests". He pondered why Harry looked like he did. Surely, Harry knew that he had placed himself entirely in his power. The threat was empty. As defiance, it made no sense…unless, it was not defiance. Perhaps, an inner voice considered, it was an explanation. Harry was trying to show what he and Hermione were. If they had just collapsed inside his closet he might have summoned medical aid. Now that he knew what he was dealing with, it was up to him to decide. He could help or hinder, somehow, he knew Hermione came seeking his help.
The sun began to sink into the west. At last, he entered the closet and prepared to watch what few wizards had ever seen, the awakening of a vampire. He uncovered Harry's face. As the sun slid further behind the mountains, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Harry's face began to relax. His eyes closed and his lips slowly began to assume a more normal expression. His hands slowly flexed and Hermione shifted one leg. He looked back at Harry and was startled to find Harry's green eyes looking back at him. Slowly, Harry's chest expanded and he whispered, "Hello, Victor, I'm sorry about knocking you out of the way, but I had to get inside. I was afraid Hermione might have been hurt."
Hermione's eyes opened and she sat up. "Hi, Victor, I hope your invitation is still open." She offered what she hoped was a gentle smile.
Krum's eyes were wide in disbelief. He covered the lower part of his face, partially to stifle the scream that was building there. Even so, he did not miss the look of hurt that came over one of the nicest faces he knew.
As Hermione had smiled at Victor she gave Harry gentle nudge in the ribs. Harry tried to hide his hands as he retracted his talons. They both sat back and waited.
Victor's primary emotion was one of revulsion. The closest thing he could compare it to was when he found his dog after his pet had died. Fitz had wandered away as Victor had been on his morning run. He had been broken-hearted as he searched the trails for his pet. At mid-morning on the third day, he found him at last. The unfortunate dog had been struck by a car or truck. The body had begun to swell and it had maggots crawling on it. It was the first time he had confronted death. As time passed his heart healed, but it caused him nightmares for a while. As he had grown he had come to accept death as a part of life, but now he was faced with something so completely horrible that he had no words to express his feelings. Dead things should not talk or walk.
With Fitz, burial had given a sense of closure. He had been to Hermione's grave; he had not known that her body did not rest there, because news from England could be sketchy sometimes.
But now it was as if he had removed the bridal veil of his wife to find a corpse-face beneath it.
The vampires were sitting before him, waiting for him to make some kind of move. They seemed to sit there as caricatures of the vibrant people they had once been. He knew that they were pale and cold. They sat there unbreathing, unblinking, and without a twitch to indicate that they were even capable of motion. Victor slowly lowered his hands to his lap.
Almost imperceptibly Hermione's eyes were rimming with red. Victor's gaze was drawn to her face as a scarlet droplet began to course down first one cheek and then the other. He had seen her cry once before. It was at the Tournament. After the first test, something had passed between Harry and his red-haired friend, and Hermione had reacted by bawling. For some reason, he had responded to the vulnerability she had exhibited, and he found it very attractive. From then on he had tried to get to know her better. Suddenly, he recognized that deep down, a part of the Hermione he knew was still there. He extended his arms in a gesture of welcome.
She rose onto her knees and allowed Victor to hug her. Shakily, he got to his feet and invited his guests into the parlor. "Vat do you vant, Hermy-own-ninny?"
Harry allowed Hermione to fill their host in on their current situation. She did not mention Voldemort or the quest for the Horcruxes. Hermione made it sound like the Ministry had misunderstood the attacks of the Death Eaters on them, afraid that they would began to retaliate on the wizarding world in general, and that the Ministry was doing its best to exterminate Harry and her. She further explained that even though Harry had been forced to kill the Death Eaters, they did not kill to get enough blood to survive. At last she finished, "We would really appreciate being able to hide here for a few weeks."
"Vhy, here? Surely, dere are places vhere you could hide in jour own country?" he countered.
"Possibly," Harry admitted, "but with your help we can monitor what the Ministry is doing and learn the best time to go home. Hermione didn't tell you, but there is a task I must do. It concerns Voldemort and the war against him. I can't fight Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic too."
Krum considered what they said; at last he agreed that they could stay. There was an old wine cellar that remained locked at all times, they could stay there during the day.
Hermione and Victor chatted through the early evening. She remembered enough from his letters to keep him occupied until he needed to go to bed. For him, it had been an emotionally exhausting day. While they talked, Harry examined the sitting room. He determined that they were in the town of Blagoevgrad.
After Krum had gone to bed, the vampires slipped out the back door. "Where are we going, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"To the town center. We are going to present ourselves to the governor of this place. The least we can do is to try to repair our relations with the vampires." They changed into bats and flew into the night sky.
It took some time to locate the city government buildings, but when they did they sensed the presence of another vampire. He was bald and skeletally thin, with eyes that burned into the night. He detected them at the same time, but was astonished at the two bats that transformed into human figures right before his eyes.
"You are the outcast, Harry Potter, what do you want here? You have been told I cannot grant you aid." Harry should not have been surprised that telepathy surmounted the barriers of the spoken language, but he had given it no thought. He wondered how quickly Varney's decision had passed through the world of the vampires.
"I have come to present myself before the governor as custom demands. I need no aid, only to assure you I will follow the law."
"What is the law?"
"I will never kill for blood. I will close the wounds of those that have sustained me. I will leave no memory of my passing among those who are unaware of our existence."
The elder vampire bowed before him, "I may not aid thee, outcast. Follow what thee hast promised, and neither will I work against thee. Go in peace."
Harry and Hermione took to the sky once more. Harry hoped that word would get back to Varney that he had learned his lesson.
As the nights passed, Krum spent what time he could with his guests, but he was in training for the upcoming Quidditch season and his time was limited. Generally, the vampires hunted after he had gone to bed. They had hidden their belongings in the attic of Krum's home. They spent the days in the form of bats hanging in the corner of the wine cellar.
Krum grew more accustomed to the presence of vampires in his home. The immediate sensation of loathing had passed. However, there was something unnatural about Harry and Hermione that would never allow him to be totally comfortable when he was around them. Perhaps it was in the way they moved so quickly, and the rest of the time they were unnaturally still. The way they looked at each other when they were sharing their thoughts made him slightly jealous of Harry. Neither could he shake the feeling of revulsion that came when he accidentally touched one of them, their skin was cold and lifeless. The thought was never far away that sometime at night they were out somewhere drinking someone's lifeblood.
"Her-MY-onee," he asked one night, "vere do jou find people, to drink their blood?"
"I try to find criminals, Victor, thieves and muggers, mainly. Harry just takes blood from anybody, but we don't need much, only a pint or so. They would donate that much to a hospital," she shrugged. After that Krum felt better, especially after he overheard two police officers talking about some thieves that had been caught recently. They hadn't even tried to lie their way out of being arrested.
With Victor's connections the vampires were able to keep abreast of the developments in England. The intensive search had come to nothing, and it had decreased in intensity after a week. The search didn't even turn up a few "normal" vampires. The Ministry officials were upset, with not a few wondering if the vampires had a spy in their midst.
A fortnight had passed and for Harry and Hermione it was a time to plan. They talked for a few nights about what their next move should be.
At last they sat in the wine cellar trying to come up with a detailed plan of action. "I think we should go back to Godric's Hollow. If Tom had to do all of the meditation and the potion before he killed my parents then I'd bet Ravenclaw's ring is still there. He lost his body when the Avada Kedavra curse backfired on him, or that is what he said at the graveyard," Harry was saying. They were trying to cultivate the habit of talking so that their host would not feel left out of their conversations.
"Do you think someone might have picked it up? The Death Eaters may have been watching the area."
"I guess it is possible, it is just that no one was looking for a magical object, and they were all trying to find me or my parent's bodies. After that who would have been interested? They all thought Tom had been destroyed."
"Tom?"
"Something I realized when I was talking to Peter. Tom Riddle came up with the name Lord Voldemort because he was ashamed of his parents. He wanted to be a pureblood like his mother, but he couldn't. He created this other person that he could be, so no one would question his parentage. Voldemort is a character he plays so he doesn't have to be Tom Riddle. Once he is immortal he won't be Tom anymore he will be Voldemort. He's got everyone in the wizarding world so afraid of Voldemort; they won't even say his name. He's not going to fool me like that. I'm going to be like Dumbledore and name him for who he really is."
Hermione smiled, "Good idea, Harry. I think I will too. What are we going to do after we search Godric's Hollow?"
"We still have to find the orphanage," Harry replied.
"Pity Dumbledore didn't tell you where it was. What? Harry! What is it?"
Harry's mouth had fallen open and he was staring as if he had seen a ghost.
"He didn't tell me, but he did tell someone. He told Tom how to get to Diagon Ally! I didn't pay very close attention to the instructions at the time, but he did tell him." Harry almost tore his shirt in his haste to remove it. "Quick, take my memories. It's got to be there."
Hermione fastened on Harry's shoulder and together they entered his memory of the Penseive session where Dumbledore had informed an eleven-year-old Tom Riddle that he was a wizard. Somehow, with Hermione's presence, he was able to pay better attention to the dialogue between Dumbledore and Tom.
The directions were still intact, and though the references to the streets meant little; they had the general direction of travel. Their plans were set. First they would Apparate to Godric's Hollow and search for the Horcrux. Then they would return to London and search the orphanage. Since they were to operate under the threat of intensified Ministry scrutiny, Harry thought it best if they were to change their lair each night. They would alternate between Birmingham, Nottingham, Manchester, and London.
The following evening at midnight they said good-bye to Victor. They both went out of their way to praise him for his part in the war on Voldemort. Each of them could feel his nervousness around them, so they refrained from touching him, as they were leaving he told them, "It is interesting to see you jou again. My home is open to jou, if jou vish it, but next time I vish to ask qvestion about Nosferatu. I am thinking of writing book; vould jou help?"
"There are many things that must remain secret, but I would answer your questions as best I can," answered Harry. Hermione said nothing. Krum looked at her with concern, wondering what her silence meant, but her face was totally impassive. After expressing their genuine gratitude for his help, they walked into the square and Apparated with soft popping noises.
Long after the vampires had left, Victor pondered Hermione's silence on his question. He found it the most disturbing part of their visit.
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Harry and Hermione were not the only ones making plans. With suspicion of a spy for the vampires hiding in the Ministry it was fairly easy for Carstairs to get Kingsley to help him question the only vampire the Ministry had ready access to, Count Sanguini.
The Aurors conducted a mid-afternoon raid on Worple's house and confiscated the ornate coffin with the vampire in it.
At sunset, Sanguini immediately knew that he was no longer in his usual resting place. Cautiously, he pushed the lid open and sat up. He recognized Kingsley Shacklebolt and Littleton standing with a wizard he didn't know. He swiftly took the surface thoughts of the wizards standing around him, and flashed them a winning smile. He had learned a good deal about public relations from the time he spent collaborating with Gilderoy Lockhart on his book Voyages with Vampires. In many ways, Lockhart was his favorite wizard. It was a pity that his memories had been erased in that unfortunate accident. In fact, he still corresponded with him under the pen name of Gladys Gudgeon. He had modified Lockhart's memories himself and needed to find out if any of the old information was still there.
"Just a moment, gentlemen," he told the waiting wizards. With practiced ease he pulled his hair back and tied it in a queue. With a grand gesture he placed his hands on the sides of the coffin, pushing up like a gymnast on the parallel bars. In one swift motion, he pivoted on one hand, swinging his legs over the side and catching himself there. Without apparent effort he pushed himself up into the air and landed gracefully on his feet, following naturally into a graceful bow.
"Mr. Shacklebolt, there was no reason to bring me here in such style, I would have come to your office if you had requested my presence. Was Eldred upset?"
Kingsley disliked Sanguini's foppish manner and his affected eighteenth century style of dress. "He had no choice," Shacklebolt informed him in a voice that was coldly polite. "This wizard has some questions; I would appreciate your answering him after you answer one question for me. After this you will be free to go. I will see your coffin returned to Worple's home."
"Yes, sir," the wily count responded. He smiled again, but this time it did not touch his eyes.
"Does your kind have a spy here in the Ministry? Answer me truthfully." To emphasize his point he pulled a small bottle out of thin air.
"Not to my knowledge, but you must know I am an outcast from vampire society. That is the truth, and for your information, your Veritaserum would not work on me. In fact, a lot of your magic won't work on me; your magic affects energy in the target. My body is dead; it has little to no energy for your magic to work on."
Neither Shacklebolt nor Littleton could detect whether the vampire was lying. He stood there innocently looking at them with his head cocked to one side. With a sigh the black Auror said, "This is my friend, Solomon Carstairs; he would appreciate your candor for his questions. By the way, he kills vampires for a living, so be nice or you will really need that casket, and tomorrow night you won't be getting out of it." The Aurors turned to leave the room, "Call if you need us."
Carstairs and Sanguini regarded each other like boxers before the bell. Carstairs had never spoken to a vampire before.
"Do you mind if I sit down?" Sanguini asked at last. Carstairs nodded his permission and the count closed the lid of his coffin and sat down on it. "What do you want to know, though most anything I could tell you is in Eldred's book already?"
"Not this. I want ye to tell me about Har'ah Pottah."
"The wizard they call the 'Chosen One'. Sorry, I met him only briefly at a Christmas Party and he seemed preoccupied with a couple of rather attractive witches. I have heard that his powers are most impressive, but beyond that I know nothing of him, except he has disappeared."
"They say he's a vampiah now. Even if ye be outcast, ye'll have heahd somthin'. I know that 'is si'ah watched his last sun'rahs. I wondah if he knows the laws and the customs?" While he was speaking he crossed to the coffin and sat down beside Sanguini.
An expression of anger passed over the vampire's face, but surrounded as he was by wizards he thought it best if he did not respond to his questioner's rudeness in violating his personal space or his manner of questioning.
"How interesting. I'll tell Eldred, he was going to do a biography on the boy. He will be even more interested now."
While he was speaking, Carstairs gave his sleeve a gentle shake and one of his lignum vitae bolts slipped into his hand. Swiftly, he drove the point about a half-inch deep into Sanguini's back. The vampire reacted instantly; he stood to his feet in an attempt to escape the bolt. Carstairs rose with him keeping the point within the vampire's body, yet not allowing it to go deep enough to penetrate the vampire's heart.
Sanguini collapsed to the floor. Carstairs withdrew the quarrel, rolled the vampire onto his back, and straddled his chest. As Sanguini's eyes began to flutter open he placed the quarrel over the vampire's heart and pushed down. "Now, if ye value yoah existence, quit playin' games with me."
The vampire's eyes were wide with fear, his gaze focused on the wooden bolt that was burning his chest with a pain the like of which he had not felt for over a hundred years.
"Is th'ah a spy in the Ministrah?"
"No," the vampire answered earnestly, "or, more correctly, not that I know of."
"Do ye have contact with any othah vampiahs that might know of Harah Pottah?"
"Only one, his name's Stephen. He told me that there was another outcast vampire that has been seen down by the riverfront in London, not far from Warf Street. Maybe this other outcast will know more of Harry Potter." Reading the question in Carstairs eyes he continued, "Stephen is the only one of my kind that will talk with me because of my past indiscretions. I told the story of Vlad Tepes to a mortal. He published it and our secret was revealed. Fortunately, we managed to get it edited as fiction, so our cover has remained, but it was too near a thing for the governor, and he cast me out." Sanguini sank back to the floor fully expecting to be killed.
Carstairs rose to his feet, pocketing the crossbow bolt. "If I catch ye away f'um heah, yoah dead fo' suah. Shacklebolt said ye could go aftah ye ans'ahd my questions."
The count sat up slowly. "Why are you so interested in killing Harry Potter? From all the rumors he's doing some good?"
"Now he is, but aftah he's been one of ye foah a while, he won't be 'uman no moah. 'sides with the bounty I'd get f'um old Scahmgoah fo' gittin' rahd o 'is prahblam, I can rah'tiah. In style." Carstairs flashed a toothy grin at the vampire sitting on the floor. He backed away from the count and turned only when he reached the door.
Sanguini shook his head in disbelief; it was the first time he had felt soiled by contact with a mortal.
Carstairs left the Ministry with a new spring in his step. He knew more of the structure of vampire society than he let on. Years ago, in one of the lairs he destroyed he had come across a diary. He knew about the governors of the cities and that frequently, one held sway over several smaller communities. He read that they reported to a governing body made up of representatives from each country. That body was called the Synod. The Synod controlled the law, travel, and rate of reproduction. He knew of the law, but had only found reference to the customs. He knew he should have pressed Sanguini, but felt that the vampire might have chosen death rather than betray the customs. Anyway, the diary mentioned Stephen, and Carstairs knew he was one of the Enforcers, the vampire police force.
It was a simple deduction. Harry's sire had killed himself shortly after he turned Harry, based on Arthur's dates. It was far too short a time for him to have taught his fledgling much. If there was another outcast vampire, it had to be Harry, who was probably ignorant of the law and customs. He had been seen by the docks. If he wasn't there now, he would probably return sometime. All Carstairs had to do was wait.