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-Four
Minerva McGonagall surveyed the scene before her. She knew that Harry, Hermione, or both had returned to Hogwarts against her expressed wishes. At least, they had not tried to enter the school, and for that she was grateful. Nevertheless, she was going to require a very good reason for them to have returned, or there were going to be heavy consequences. She had been in Headmistress mode for so long that she really did not realize how absurd she was being. It was as though they were still alive, and subject to her discipline.
One glance at the look on Hermione's face and all of her anger evaporated. She would never have thought a vampire could appear shocked and frightened. In life, Hermione had been one of her favorite students and she was having trouble remembering that she was now undead. Hagrid, too, appeared shocked and that was unnerving as well. He was bending over a third figure that lay on his bed. McGonagall gasped at the sight of the twisted arm and the crossbow quarrel protruding from its chest. "Did you…?"
"Wasn't me that did this. Hermione came to me fer help."
The color drained from McGonagall's face, "Is that Harry?" she asked as she came to the bedside. She heard Dumbledore's admonition playing in her head, "Undead or not, Harry is the best hope we have of defeating Voldemort." Hermione nodded. With a flick of her wand, McGonagall sent a silvery shape flying toward the school. Then she bent to examine Harry.
Since she knew that Harry was a vampire McGonagall was not surprised that he was not breathing and had no pulse. She used magic to pull Harry's shirt away from the wound. It was odd to see such a deep wound with so little bleeding. "I've sent for Madam Pomfrey, but I don't know if she will be able to help much."
A short while later the school nurse arrived at Hagrid's cabin. Harry's condition took her by surprise, but she did not allow her personal shock to interfere as she tried to figure out what to do to help the unconscious vampire.
"We've got to remove the bolt without causing any more damage," the nurse mused out loud. "It's just we know so little about vampires and their physiology."
She and the Headmistress consulted briefly and decided to shrink the bolt in order to remove it. The lignum vitae bolt was semi-magical and resisted the witch's efforts to shrink it. Slowly, however, it yielded to McGonagall's power and began to shrink and finally Pomfrey felt comfortable in lifting the point of the quarrel out of Harry's chest. Instinctively, she prepared to staunch the expected rush of blood, but there was none.
Hermione anxiously watched Harry's face for signs of renewed consciousness, but she was disappointed. After several minutes they realized that the bolt was still immobilizing Harry, even though it was in his wrist.
Madam Pomfrey packed and covered the puncture and McGonagall began to shrink the bolt even further. Several minutes passed before Pomfrey gently pulled the bolt through the mangled tissue. She examined the broken bones and lifeless flesh, and then splinted the wrist.
As she was finishing, Harry opened his eyes. He did not move and appeared to be very weak. He looked in surprise at the faces bending over him, but did not react violently. "Hermione, what happened? Where am I?" he thought.
Hermione filled him in telepathically, so he could see exactly what happened. Meanwhile, the nurse was trying to close the wounds and fix Harry's broken bones. Pomfrey grew steadily more frustrated as none of her magical remedies seemed to have any effect on Harry's injuries.
Finally, she gave up in disgust. "I'll need to research this some more. Maybe there is something in the library that will help, and I'll consult with my colleagues."
Hermione stepped forward, offering Harry her wrist. She sat on the bed and cradled Harry's head in her lap as she supported him. "Take some of my blood, Harry. You haven't fed tonight." McGonagall tried to mask her disgust as Harry began to drink from her wrist. Madam Pomfrey paled visibly while Hagrid stared impassively at them.
She grew slightly alarmed as Harry showed no sign of restraint as he drank deeply; her blood was slowly trickling from the corners of his mouth. At last, she disengaged her wrist from his grasp as she began to experience the cold ache that came from not having enough blood of her own. Harry lay back in her lap. Slowly, he was becoming more aware of his surroundings, but his movements were unusually sluggish. It was as though the quarrel had caused damage to the vampire within him.
"How are you, Harry?" Pomfrey asked.
"I feel groggy…almost disconnected," he said. The nurse examined his wounds one more time. She was curious to see if the blood had had any effect. To her surprise, the hole in Harry's shoulder was noticeably smaller, and the wound in his wrist looked better around the edges, but it seemed that if blood was what Harry needed to heal, then it was going to take a great deal of it to repair the damage to his body. She walked to the door, "I hope I can find something in my books. I'll look in on you in the morni…" she stopped as she realized what she was saying. "I-I- mean I'll come by tomorrow evening." She walked hurriedly into the night.
"Hagrid, may they stay here during the day? We have a couple of coffins at the school," asked the headmistress crisply.
Hagrid nodded, "I'll come up and git 'em, right now. 'less Hermione wants me ter stay?
Hermione was grateful that they would be gone; she needed to slip off to Hogsmeade to feed. From the look on Hagrid's face he seemed to understand what she needed.
"Will you be all right, Harry?" she asked. Harry nodded. Waiting until Hagrid and McGonagall were out of sight Hermione slipped off to the village. She ambushed a couple coming from the Three Broomsticks. Her attack took only a few minutes and she took extra blood so that Harry could have some more. The fact that her blood had helped had not gone unnoticed by her.
She made her way to the Shrieking Shack and was surprised to find McGonagall waiting for her. "I'd like to know what happened to Harry," she said without preamble. Hermione explained as best she could, informing McGonagall that they had been in Bulgaria and describing the attack on them as they left their London lair. They walked back to Hogwarts along the road rather than use the tunnel. Hermione was preoccupied by her telepathic communication with Harry, but the Headmistress did not seem to notice. McGonagall opened the wards and escorted Hermione back to Hagrid's hut. As the Headmistress turned to leave, Hermione told her, "Tomorrow come to see us, Harry said he'll tell you what we've been doing for Dumbledore."
She entered, and found Harry sitting up talking to Hagrid. The half-giant was asking Harry questions about what had happened to him since the summer. Hermione shared the blood she had brought for Harry. The extra blood seemed to revive him even more.
Hagrid appeared to be getting sleepy, and as he had classes the next day, the three of them decided to turn in. Both of the vampires found it strange to be getting into coffins. They had both been exposed to Muggle movies about vampires, but neither had expected to use them like in the stories. Hermione found it odd to lie down on pillows once again. She never felt any discomfort from any surface she had "slept" on. Even after she had closed the lid she felt no sense of claustrophobia as she thought she might. After Hagrid had begun to snore, she was able to converse telepathically with Harry until the sun stole her consciousness away.
Harry woke the next evening. He used his preternatural hearing before he raised the lid of the coffin because he heard a familiar voice. Evidently, Ron and Luna had come to visit Hagrid. Harry lay still as he listened to Ron telling the latest news about the Longbottoms. Neville had been in contact with them, and had recounted the story of their recovery. Sadly, it appeared that they would not regain their ability to use magic; at least not on the level that they were able to before they were tortured. Harry was afraid that Hagrid might let something slip about him or Hermione, but the gamekeeper did not. Fortunately, it was time for supper, and Ron and Luna left to eat.
Softly, Harry opened the coffin and sat up. His movement was more normal for him; evidently the vampire was repairing the connections with his body. He could not, however, use his right hand. While he could extend his talons he could not control his fingers. Hermione helped him to stand and they opened the curtains that had screened the coffins from the casual view of anyone visiting the cabin.
The three of them waited for Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall to arrive. The school nurse appeared crestfallen as she approached the cabin. McGonagall waited for her to deliver her bad news. She could find no way to help Harry recover. Her magic used the energy present in a body to channel her healing powers. Harry's body had no energy that she could use.
She had found a little about vampires in an old medical book. The theory was that the symbiote needed the life force from fresh blood to survive. It was also able to use that energy to perform repairs to its host. A report from the turn of the century stated that most of the vampires that had been killed in those times had been injured. The vampires had been discovered because they needed so much blood that they were killing mortals. The hysteria had swept Europe, probably the numbers of actual vampires had been small, but the human necessity for fixing blame for the current problems had made the numbers appear far greater.
Harry concealed his disappointment well. He knew that he would heal eventually, but he wondered how much of a handicap his hand represented in the battle with Tom and his minions. He brushed that concern aside; he had told Hermione that the time had come to tell the Order what he had been doing.
Awkwardly, using his left hand, he placed the ring and cup on the table. He then launched into the tale of how Tom Riddle had begun his quest for immortality. He began with the lessons from the preceding year, adding in what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. He wove the narrative of his search up through the time the dementor had sucked the soul fragments from the objects. "Now," he concluded, "Tom has one piece of his soul, and the other is in Nagini. If we kill her, Tom can be killed without the threat of him ever coming back. I hope you can see why we had to keep it secret. If Tom found out what we were doing, he would have just hidden the Horcruxes where we'd never be able to find them."
McGonagall, Pomfrey, and Hagrid looked at Harry and Hermione with awe. Who would even give the tale any credence, except for the objects belonging to the founders sitting on the table before them? Each one sat in silence for a while as they tried to come to terms with the evil that was Voldemort.
"Harry," promised McGonagall, "I will not rest until I find a way to heal you and give you all the help the Order can give you to find Tom Riddle. You're right; he has been able to get away with being Voldemort for far too long. May I take these? I can hide them for you."
The others at the table looked with shock at the Headmistress. It was the first time anyone could remember that she had spoken the name "Voldemort". Harry could not help but feel Dumbledore would be proud.
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Hidden in a secret chamber in Malfoy Manor, Voldemort brooded at the reversal of his carefully laid plans. So far his quest for immortality had come to nothing. Someone had figured out what he had done, and now four of his Horcruxes had been discovered and possibly destroyed. He knew from his Death Eater's children about the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts. When this was all over that slime, Lucius Malfoy would pay for his blunder. Dumbledore must have recognized the diary for what it was.
He had heard about Dumbledore's blackened, lifeless hand from Draco. He figured that the soul-fire guarding the ring had gotten the best of the old wizard. Well, not quite, it should have killed him within a few days. He managed to get through the school year, probably with the help of some really advanced magic. Snape may have had a part in that, but something had destroyed Snape. In any case, the ring was gone from its hiding place.
He slammed his fist on the table in frustration. The locket was gone too. He had no way of finding out by whom or how long ago it had been taken. All he knew for sure was that Caracticus Burke had joined the ranks of the Infiri in the lake, which meant he had drunk the potion so that someone else could get the locket. Only a Death Eater or Muggle could have crossed with him on the boat. The Infiri would have attacked otherwise. He wondered who could have betrayed him.
Now, Hufflepuff's cup was gone. He had his spies on the look out for it, hoping that the wizard that got it would think twice about destroying something with that much historical value. Sentimentality was a weakness of those who considered themselves good. He had a group of Death Eaters standing by in case the cup came to light. Although, if it was known to be a Horcrux he did not really think that the cup would be seen again.
He snorted derisively at the thought. Dumbledore had thought himself among the good, now he was good and dead. What would the old fool think if he knew about the mistake that he, the great Voldemort, had made? There were supposed to be seven Horcruxes, but the final one had come into being outside of his plan. When his soul had been torn from his body at Godric's Hollow he had lost control of his soul fragment. It had separated as it was supposed to, but he did know where it had gone. It caused him a bitter laugh to know that the last ace he held was that he did not know what his last Horcrux was. He had tried to find it when he regained a body, but it was nowhere to be found.
"Now, what?" he mused. There was no going back now, and he dared not split his soul further. There was a point where he would begin to seriously weaken his powers if he lost so much of his soul. He did not know where that point was, and he did not want to find out.
Damn Malfoy! Why did he have to take matters into his own hands like that? Damn Harry Potter! He thwarted the Death Eaters by breaking the globe with the record of the prophecy. Thoughts of the prophecy caused him some consternation. He still had not heard it all. Harry Potter seemed to be involved in all of the setbacks that had plagued him since Dumbledore had died. He had to admit that the shadowy figure of Harry Potter had been slowly vanquishing him every step of the way.
Voldemort raged, even he could not fight shadows and ghosts. That's what the Longbottom woman had said, "…he was just a ghost and she could call him Harry." He wracked his brain trying to come up with a plan that might force Harry into the open.
As he sat there musing, he heard two screams from out in the corridor. Both were suddenly cut off. Leaping to his feet he strode to the door. There in the hallway lay his two guards. A low hiss told him all he needed to know.
He raised his wand in a gesture of triumph. Nagini had come into her full powers! He commanded the Basilisk to enter the room. He would have to shut her away from the possibility of her hearing a rooster crow, which would kill her now. Nevertheless, with her and the werewolves under his command he could attack the Ministry. If he struck hard and fast he might yet bend the wizarding world to his will. If the Ministry fell, he would have free reign to attack his real target, Hogwarts. With the children as his hostages he could command the parents. Once he had the resources, he would be able to research how to finally become immortal.
Speed was now the key to everything. He sent his Death Eaters to summon the werewolf leaders to Little Hangleton. If they would support him, the Ministry might be his; the next full moon was in seven days. Some said the world had been created in seven days, he wondered if it could be taken in the same amount of time?
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Kingsley Shacklebolt surveyed the damage. One corner of the old office building had collapsed. The rest was a tottering wreck. It was the second building to come to ruin in as many days; the second building to succumb to the forces of magic, actually.
The vampire hunter, Carstairs, had been found beneath the rubble, more dead than alive. He had been taken to St. Mungo's. He was not expected to survive, but Shacklebolt knew that Carstairs was tougher than an Ironwood root, so he would wait and see. The thought crossed his mind that he might look like Mad-Eye when this was all done.
Meanwhile, he had an investigation to conduct. The team of Auror's and vampire hunters combed the factory for clues. It was immediately determined that vampires had used the building. The traces of ammonia in the store room were a dead give away, or an undead give away, he thought. The black Auror shook his head, having thoughts like that meant he was too tired. Still, he had to see.
He examined the placement of the desks, enough for two vampires to lie on. The door bore traces of the locking spell. It had to be Harry and Hermione; no other vampires could use magic. As his practiced eyes swept the room he noticed something; there was a strip of Christmas tinsel on the floor. Upon closer examination he found a bit of wrapping paper. He really was too tired. Who ever heard of vampires celebrating Christmas? Still, his conscience accused, they had not been vampires for very long.
He trudged up the steps to the loading dock. The blood they had found was marked by magic. It appeared that Carstairs had shot one of the vampires with his crossbow. He wondered if it was Harry or Hermione. He tried to push that thought away as being unprofessional; he knew them both from Harry's fifth year. Like Arthur, he did not care for the picture he got when he remembered those great bolts Carstairs was so fond of.
Most of the others had left the scene. There wasn't much point in searching around, since the two could apparate they might be anywhere. Still, the peace of the old factory soothed him and he wasn't in a hurry to get back to the office. The loud pop of someone apparating in made him turn around. It was Arthur Weasley.
Joining up with the Auror, Arthur walked with him in silence.
After a time Kingsley spoke, "Yes, they were here. Evidently, Carstairs shot one of them. There is no way to tell which one. There are no burn marks on the concrete, so one took the body of the other."
"Does that mean that one of them has been destroyed?" Arthur asked. He was working hard to keep his voice from trembling.
"I don't know."
They continued to walk in silence; as the wind sighed through the melancholy, old factory yard.
Suddenly, he saw it. Kingsley's mouth dropped open in amazement. For long moments he stared as tears began to well up in his eyes. He knew that he had been wrong about Harry and Hermione. In spite of the evil that they were capable of, he knew from one simple act that they were fighting the evil within themselves.
Moving forward he knelt down on that hard patch of earth to get a better look. Arthur watched him in surprise, trying to understand what Kingsley was seeing.
"Inside, I found a bit of tinsel and wrapping paper. They celebrated Christmas here. Look at what they did."
Arthur looked. Within a hard area of open ground there was a carefully prepared patch of earth. A little fir sapling was planted carefully where it could get the sun it needed, but was protected from the rain that would pour down from the roof and the worst of the wind that might come in a storm.
Upon closer examination, Arthur could see traces of the tinsel the tree had borne at Christmas. Now, in this barren place, the little tree was growing again. It was a defiance of lifelessness, and a symbol of hope and springtime after winter.
Arthur smiled at the vampire's little monument to hope and a better future. He felt, at last, could share what he had heard from Lupin. It was what Dumbledore had said about Harry on that fateful night when he had come face to face with the vampire. Now, he knew that Kingsley might be prepared to listen.