Blood Bound: A Vampire Tale

Dementor149

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Horror
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 15/04/2007
Last Updated: 28/07/2007
Status: completed

Through no fault of his own Harry becomes a vampire. Yet, he carries on his war on Voldemort. Which battle will prove the more difficult; the war with the most evil wizard of our time or the struggle to maintain his own failing humanity? Begins after the events of Half-Blood Prince and makes an immediate detour into the Twilight Zone.

Chapters

1. untitled

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Chapter Twenty

21. Chapter Twenty-one

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

28. Blood Bound: Alternate Ending

1. untitled

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 One

Harry Potter shook his head as he carried the pizza up the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive. It sounded like Ron and Hermione were going at it again. The three of them had been cooped up in his bedroom for the better part of the nearly three weeks they had been home from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and their nerves were wearing thin. The trio had tried to spend as much time away from the Dursleys as possible, but the summer was unusually cold and damp. The heavy fogs had persisted for more than a year. They were forced by the bad weather to stay indoors much of the time.

He smiled at the memories of his first day back at Privet Drive. He still felt Dumbledore's death most keenly and he was glad that Ron and Hermione were coming to stay with him. It was when he told the Dursleys that some of his friends were coming that the sparks started to fly.

Aunt Petunia was most adamant that Harry would not be allowed to co-habitate with a girl under her roof. It wasn't until Harry told her that the “girl” was an adult witch and quite capable of making sure the Dursleys spent the summer masquerading as slugs in the garden that she began to relent.

Hermione arrived at the front door just as Harry's threat was sinking in. Although Hermione tried to be polite, her efforts were met by stony silence.

“Besides,” Harry continued to his now terrified foster parents, “she is going to be here with her boyfriend. I'm going to be the one chaperoning them. Ron is an adult wizard and he can turn the garden into a miniature salt flat, if you get my meaning. So you better be nice to them when he arrives.”

He and Hermione left his aunt and uncle muttering to each other as Harry carried her suitcase and overnight bag upstairs to his room. As they left the kitchen, Hermione stopped to take a long look at the door under the staircase, and then she followed Harry up the stairs. “Harry,” she whispered, “should you be telling them things like that?”

“What they don't know won't hurt them, and might help us,” Harry replied.

“I don't mean about turning them into slugs, as far as I'm concerned, they deserve it. I mean telling them Ron is my boyfriend. He still hasn't asked me to be together with him.”

Harry experienced a momentary pang at the thought of Ron and Hermione being together and him being excluded from their relationship. That thought occasionally haunted him since that day in the greenhouse. Due to Ron's jealousy he didn't think that the three of them could keep their relationship close. Ron still got angry when he thought about Hermione snogging Victor Krum and he still was suspicious of Harry when he found him with Hermione. Hermione was still hurt by his fling with “Lav - Lav.”

Neither of them had time to deal with uncomfortable memories because Ron arrived at that moment. Harry and Hermione heard the Knight bus arrive with a bang. Ron couldn't Apparate yet, and he and Harry were planning to take the test together after Harry's birthday. Harry went downstairs and introduced his red-haired best friend to his aunt and uncle. Ron didn't seem put off by the Dursleys lack of welcome as he had had dealings with them before. Harry helped Ron carry his burdens upstairs to his room.

Ron had brought two camp cots as well as his clothes and toiletries. After he laid them on the floor he placed a bag of money on Harry's desk. “Bill got the money you requested from Gringotts.” Harry looked at the pile of Muggle money that he had exchanged his Galleons for. It seemed that two hundred Galleons equaled something over two thousand pounds. He didn't think that the Dursleys would share willingly with his friends, so he had taken it upon himself to look after their needs. The rebuke that Dumbledore had given the Dursleys the summer before had not changed them at all.

“What now?” Ron asked.

Their first order of business was a shopping trip to Little Whinging. Harry led them to a hardware store, and a store to buy some inexpensive sheets so that they could build a privacy screen for Hermione. After a bit of supper, they returned home.

In the first week he showed them around the village and his favorite places. They didn't talk much together as they were all still deeply grieved by Dumbledore's funeral. They ate lunch and dinner out so as to keep out of the Dursley's way. Hermione would take the opportunity to phone her parents and let them know how she was doing.

Harry also subscribed to The Daily Prophet so that they could keep up on the war news, but mostly they read the obituaries. They hated them but could not seem to be able to help themselves. It seemed that the war had slowed somewhat. Evidently Voldemort had taken out most of his primary targets in the previous year and now was trying to sow terror mainly by keeping everyone guessing on where he would strike next. The number of Dementor attacks, however, was slowly on the increase. It gave Harry some small satisfaction that a great many of the DA members could cast a Patronus Charm.

During the second week the weather had closed in and it rained five days out of the seven forcing them to stay indoors. In between the rain showers they went shopping and had bought some snack food that would keep without refrigeration, and had pizza delivered a few times. Ron was still puzzled by Muggle customs but he was rapidly developing an appreciation for Muggle food.

Hermione had begun to take the lead in trying to get Harry to make some definite plans for after the wedding which had been moved back until the fourth of August. The healers hoped to be sure of all the effects of Bill's wounds and the wait would give them another full moon cycle. All Harry could concentrate on was passing his Apparition test and visiting his parent's graves at Godric's Hollow.

Finally, on that second weekend, Harry had started to discuss with them what he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve. The discussions were tentative at first, but as the weary days drew on, some vague plans were coming into being.

This Friday after rising and getting ready for another day, which included an inspection and discussion of the obituaries, Harry embarked on the tale of Hepzibah Smith and Hokey. They had discussed the memory before, but now they were trying to try to understand what Dumbledore had been trying to teach Harry.

Hermione had been growing more irritable all week. Now she started griping about the way house-elves were treated.

Ron raised his eyebrows and began, “Are you still on about `spew', Hermione? You didn't say anything at all about it last year. I hoped you had given all that stuff up. Can't you get it into your head that they LIKE taking care of humans?”

“Exploiting a magical creature's natural tendencies doesn't make what wizards do right, Ron. Hokey slaved for Hepzibah all those years and the Ministry didn't even think twice about blaming her and locking her up, just because she wasn't human. It's disgusting,” Hermione shot back.

“But didn't you say that she confessed, Harry?” asked Ron defensively.

“Yeah, but Hermione's right this time, Ron. If she hadn't been a house-elf the Ministry might have looked more carefully at the case, and the theft of the locket and cup might have come to light sooner. I guess we'd still be in the same situation with the Horcruxes and all,” Harry added thoughtfully, “but maybe Tom Riddle might not have been able to become Voldemort with such secrecy and we could have begun to fight him sooner. Riddle used the fact wizards don't care about house-elves to cover his escape. With an organization like S. P. E. W. around he might not have been able to get away with it.”

Hermione shot Harry a small thankful smile.

Ron raised his hands in surrender, “All right. You win. I'm getting hungry, could we get some more of that pizza stuff?” He looked at Harry, desperately trying to change the subject.

With that Harry had gone downstairs to order the pizza. Now as he came back up the stairs carrying the pizza they had ordered he could hear Ron and Hermione arguing.

Hermione's voice sounded unusually shrill as she said, “I'm not going to give up on S.P.E.W., Ron! Not now! Not ever!”

They both turned around as Harry entered the room. Hermione looked to be near tears and Ron's ears were getting red. Harry nodded at the door. Understanding what Harry wanted; Hermione drew her wand and cast a silencing charm so they wouldn't disturb the Dursleys. Harry put the pizza down and opened the box.

Ron turned his attention to the pizza. Hermione stared at him for a minute or so, and then she walked over to the bed. “I'm sorry, Harry, but I've got to get out of here,” she said in a flat tone of voice. She threw some of her things into the overnight bag, “I'll be back the first of next week.”

Ron was very pointedly staring at the pizza with a tightly set expression on his face.

Hermione stalked to the door and disappeared down the stairs.

Harry grabbed a couple of slices of pizza, wrapped them in a napkin, and followed her down the stairs calling, “Hey! Hermione wait up!” He caught up to her at the bottom of the staircase and steered her to the back door.

Once outside her tears spilled over. “What's the matter with me, Harry? He hasn't tried to be alone with me since we got here.”

Harry just stared at her, wishing he knew what to say. Encouraged by his experience with Ginny he stepped forward and took Hermione in his arms. “He probably just doesn't feel comfortable with that kind of thing here. I know I wouldn't,” he explained. Hermione gave him a watery smile.

“How are you and Ginny getting along? I see she hasn't written.”

Harry released Hermione and stepped back. He sighed, looked at the ground, and mumbled, “I broke up with her at the funeral. I don't want her to be a target while I'm hunting Voldemort.”

An odd expression flickered across Hermione's face, “Are you going back to her when Voldemort is finished?”

“I guess so, if I survive … but I just don't know; an awful lot can happen. I just can't forget Dumbledore's hand,” he shuddered.

Hermione stepped in and hugged Harry, trying to reassure him. Harry looked into her eyes and suddenly pressed his lips to hers. For a moment the world was forgotten and there was only the touch and taste of their kiss. She released Harry and they stepped apart, both of them looking guiltily at the back door, but there was no sign of Ron. “I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me,” Harry whispered.

“Maybe when I get back we can talk in private.” Hermione was staring into Harry's eyes as though looking for something. “But for now, I really need to go.”

“Thanks for coming, Hermione. I appreciate you and Ron coming to stay with me. It's been the best time I've ever had here.” Harry pointed at the back corner of the yard. “You can Apparate from there, the bushes will hide you.” He handed Hermione the slightly squashed pizza. She took the napkin, walked to the back of the yard, performed a graceful pirouette, and vanished with a soft pop.

“Get in here, Harry! Now!” growled Uncle Vernon as Harry came through the back door. Harry frowned as he followed his uncle into the living room. Vernon whirled and poked a fat finger at Harry's face. “Dudley and I are going to a Smelting's alumni benefit and I want your word that there won't be any `funny business' while we're gone. You understand me?” he hissed.

“Yeah, I do, believe it or not,” Harry replied as he tried to control his resentment. “It is only a week more before I'm gone for good. But in the meantime there will be no `funny business' as you put it.”

Vernon may have wanted to say more, but the thought of the adult wizard upstairs cowed him. He dismissed Harry with a derisive nod of his head.

Harry trudged back up the stairs. He found Ron sitting on his bed with his back up against the wall. With the departure of half of his friends, plus the attitude of his uncle, he was feeling rather put out.

“Why did you have to go and upset Hermione for, Ron?”

“It's probably just her monthlies, Harry. She'll get over it. If you hang around Ginny long enough, you'll see. Besides, she just won't give up on that ridiculous `spew'. She just wants to set them all free? Then what are they going to do?” He shook his head in disbelief.

Harry sighed, “You ought to give just a little, it's ridiculous to you, but it's important to her. Are you ever going to try to compromise?”

“Why?”

Harry just stood looking at the floor. He hadn't thought to mention to Hermione why Ron had been snogging Lavender. Now he just couldn't bring himself to enlighten his other best friend as to how he might get closer to Hermione, or warn him that unless he did something positive soon he just might lose her interest in him. Suddenly he came to the realization that Ginny must not have mentioned their breakup to her brother. He was saved from the possibility of further discussion by the sound of thunder and the noise of raindrops as they began to pelt the windowpane.

Not wanting Ron to be mad at him he suggested, “Wanna play some chess?”

Ron brightened considerably, and started digging for the chess board. They played through the noise of Vernon and Dudley packing their things for the trip. The house grew quiet as they left. Playing through the early afternoon they talked about Quidditch and wondered how the house team would get along without them.

A frantic tapping on the window drew their attention. Looking outside Ron's tiny owl, Pig, was desperately beating his wings against the glass. Ron raised the sash and drew the little bird into the room while Harry started rummaging for some owl treats.

After reading the note that Pig had delivered Ron collapsed onto the bed.

“Oh, great!” he announce in a disgusted tone. “The robes are ready for the ceremony, and Phlegm wants everybody to try theirs on to make sure they fit. Mum wants me to come home for the weekend to help with the preparations.”

Harry couldn't help concealing his disappointment. “You need to go. It's not every day your brother gets married.”

“Why don't you come, too? Ginny would be glad to see you.”

Harry had faced fewer things as difficult as saying no to Ron. He was afraid that he might not be able to resist Ginny and get back together with her. He was already feeling guilty for kissing Hermione and he really didn't want Ginny to be in greater danger because she was his girlfriend.

“N-No …,” he managed to stammer. “This should be a family time, Ron. There will be plenty of time for guests later.” Ron tried unsuccessfully to get Harry to change his mind as they packed. They finished off the pizza and he and Ron walked down the stairs and out into the evening.

The sun was setting beneath the wrack of clouds, staining their undersides with a fiery gold that was rapidly fading into reds and purples as they made their way to the park so that Ron could catch the Knight Bus home. The air was cool and crisp after the freshening rain. When the bus arrived, Harry pressed a galleon into the conductor's hand before Ron was aware of what he had done. Harry smiled as he waved to Ron. The bus disappeared with a bang.

Shoving his hands into his pockets he started the lonely walk back to Number Four.

As Harry walked along he thought about the kiss he had shared with Hermione. He really enjoyed it, but wasn't sure what it meant. When he rounded the corner of Privet Drive he almost ran into a tramp. “Sorry, I didn't see you,” he smiled as he managed to side step the strange, smelly old man. “Are you lost? I might be able to give you directions if you tell me where you are going.” Underneath his broad-brimmed hat the man's eyes glittered in the twilight as he smiled back.

“Thank'ee, young zur, `Tisn't many who'd be so perlite to a stranger. But nay, I be fine.” His voice sounded gravelly from disuse. The tramp bowed to him and went on his way.

Harry had been so involved in his own troubles, he had forgotten what a little courtesy could mean to some.

Albus Dumbledore had tried to protect Harry from everything he could anticipate, but even the wisest can't see everything. He had preempted most forms of magical attack, but could do nothing about Muggle violence. In view of what happened after, it was ironic that the object that ended Harry Potter's life was a wooden croquet stake.

The attack came as he passed the hedge three houses down from Number Four. With a whistling crack, the wooden stake exploded against his temple. His broken glasses fell from his face. He dropped face down on the sidewalk, blind with pain.

Involuntarily, he pushed up, instinctively trying to escape. The club came down on his back again and again, driving him to the sidewalk. Unable to cry out, he rolled on his side.

A second assailant, wearing cowboy boots, kicked him several times. Harry didn't feel much pain. His mind registered the force, but the agony from the first blow masked the pain of the rest.

Four pairs of hands scooped him up from the sidewalk and dumped him into the bushes beside the walk. Harry hit the ground and slid into unconsciousness.

************************************************************************

“Harry! Harry!” Petunia was calling Harry to supper. She was lonely and didn't want to eat by herself. Her rare moment of kindness cost her everything.

As she was closing the door, a sharp blow knocked it from her grasp. Four men in dark clothing shoved her back into the entry hall. She didn't even scream as something very sharp poked her in the side. She stared in horror at the men surrounding her. Swiftly her consciousness drained away and she sank to the floor. When Vernon and Dudley found her early Sunday afternoon, there wasn't even a drop of blood on her immaculate floor.

The four fanned out through the Dursley's home efficiently picking up easily pawned items, and checking the places most people kept cash. Within fifteen minutes they left through the back door, without much evidence they had been there at all.

************************************************************************

Harry was trying to crawl out of the hedge, blood oozing from where the branches of the bush had cut him. His hand encountered a heavy shoe and he tried to look up.

The man in the hat was looking down at him, “Ye be a fighter, lad, I'll give ye that, but they've killed 'ee. Sorry, but `twill be on'y a short time an all be o'er.” He pondered the bleeding teenager at his feet. Then swiftly, he bent, and with a strength that belied his gaunt frame, picked up Harry's broken body. “Mayhap, ye'll make summat of a second chance.” With that the stranger vanished into the night.

-->

2. Chapter Two

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…

************************************************************************

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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3. Chapter Three

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.

Chapter Three

Hermione Granger was a mess, and she knew it. She had been bedridden since Saturday by the absolute worst period of her life. Up until now, on Tuesday evening, the only thing that came close to providing relief was the hot water bottle she had pressed against her lower abdomen. Hermione had had cramps before, but nothing like this. Thankfully, they seemed to be easing. However, the letter she had received from Ron had done nothing to improve her disposition. She was going to turn him into something really nasty—if she didn’t kill him first. How could he just run off and leave Harry?

She could only think that Harry felt betrayed and deserted by his friends. Her main concern was that he had begun his search for the Horcruxes and they would never see him again. She couldn’t bear the thought that he might believe that his friends had gone back on their promise to be with him, no matter what happened; and she was angry that he had not even sent a letter saying goodbye.

Wizards from the Ministry had come by on Monday evening to ask her a few questions about Harry. Because she was ill, the visit had been brief, and they had promised to keep her updated. Now was the first time that she regretted buying Crookshanks instead of an owl like she had originally planned. The bandy-legged, part-Kneazle snuggled closer in an attempt to comfort her. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she tried to catalogue her emotions. She felt angry with Ron for leaving Harry and at Harry for leaving her. Hermione tried to compartmentalize the pain in her body and the pain in her heart. The first pain was because of her period; the secondary pain was because she wanted to help Harry and now he was gone to who knew where. Finally, she felt frustration because she had no means to communicate with her friends. Why, she complained, did this all have to happen now?

Darkness had fallen outside as Hermione tried to regain control. Suddenly, Crookshanks sat up. He was making a low, growling sound deep in his throat. She was unable to think of what could be wrong when her mother called out from downstairs, “Hermione, you have visitors from the Ministry! Will you please come down?”

“Coming!” she answered. She took off her nightgown and put on a light sweatshirt and a loose pair of blue jeans. She stepped into her slippers as she walked into the hall. Crookshanks ran lightly ahead of her down the stairs.

Hermione froze at the foot of the stairs. There was a red flash and Crookshanks flew backwards out of the room. There were four masked wizards holding wands pointed at her parents. Both of them had blank looks on their faces as they said in unison, “I don’t know where Harry Potter is.”

“Then we have no further need of you.” Hermione knew that voice. She had heard at her first potions class at Hogwarts.

“No!” she cried out as she ran to protect her parents.

“Avada Kedavra!” The wizard moved his wand slightly and pointed it at her mother. “Avada Kedavra!” As her parents fell silently to the floor, the blank expressions never left their faces.

Hermione stopped, too stunned to move further. The Death Eater closest to her pointed a wand at her and incanted, “Crucio!” Hermione recognized this voice too; it was Bellatrix Lestrange. That thought vanished as the pain in her groin multiplied by a factor of one hundred and spread throughout her body. She sank to her knees as she screamed in pain.

After a minute or so Bellatrix stopped the curse, “Where is Harry Potter, mudblood?” she hissed. Hermione was gasping for breath and didn’t answer immediately. One of the other Death Eaters cursed her again while Bellatrix cast a silencing charm on the room.

Snape stopped the torture after a couple of minutes. While the others were laughing over Hermione’s shrieks of agony he pointed his wand at her and commanded, “Imperio!” The pain vanished from Hermione’s body at once. As her mind was floating peacefully along a silky voice said, “Tell me where Harry is.” She was so grateful that the pain had stopped that she wished she knew where Harry was so she could tell the voice. Then, at the back of her mind, a voice that sounded like Harry said, “Why tell them anything, Hermione? They killed your parents. Aren’t they your enemies?”

Hermione drew a shuddering breath, “Know … I don’t … I … no! I won’t …”

Understanding that Hermione was fighting off the Imperius Curse Bellatrix used the Cruciatus Curse once again. The Death Eaters were laughing at her screams and didn’t notice as Snape cancelled the silencing charm.

Bellatrix used the curse for a full five minutes before she lowered her wand. She was allowing Hermione to catch her breath before resuming the questioning. Given respite from the pain Hermione wordlessly summoned her wand from her bedroom. She shakily pointed it at the Death Eaters standing over the bodies of her parents, not realizing that Bellatrix had been watching her. Lestrange flicked her wand, and a jet of red light slammed into Hermione, and knocked her backwards into a heavy bookcase that stood in the hallway.

Hermione’s body shattered the front of the bookcase and showered her with broken glass. One large, heavy shard sliced into her arm just below her elbow; the blood began to spurt from the severed artery. She stared stupidly at her arm, too deep in shock to react. After a few moments she fainted.

Angrily, Snape repaired the glass. “The Dark Lord commanded we leave no evidence within the house. Thanks to your stupidity we can no longer question her. Come!”

“Should we not kill the mudblood also?” queried one of the other Death Eaters.

“No,” proclaimed Bellatrix, “she is to be left for the dementors to kiss. The Dark Lord intends this attack to be example to all the mudbloods that support the Ministry.”

“Then your precious dementors had better hurry. At the rate this one is bleeding, there will be only mud when they arrive,” jeered Snape. All except Bellatrix joined in his joke.

As the Death Eaters stepped outside, Snape commanded, “Morsmordre!” The Dark Mark flared into existence above the Grangers home.

“No evidence, Snape?” said Bellatrix haughtily.

“Within the house was the command. I have killed for the Dark Lord, it is my right!” he snapped. The four Death Eaters vanished as they Apparated away. Several people were watching from their windows as the four figures disappeared. Moments later a new chill seemed to settle on the neighborhood. The families drew together inside their homes as a nameless dread approached. Only one brave soul could summon the nerve to call the police.

The Ministry of Magic was searching for Harry in a series of ever widening circles. The Magical Law Enforcement wizards combed the neighborhood looking for Harry’s body. Because they knew that his glasses had been found outside, they did not search the house again.

At Number Four Privet Drive Tuesday waxed and waned. In their respective homes, Ron and Hermione spent the daylight hours fretting and worrying about Harry, the object of their concern passed the day in a state of vampiric suspended animation. As the sun sank below the horizon Harry began to stir. Just before he became conscious a voice within his mind addressed him.

“Fledgling, I am sorry that I will not be able to guide you. I have acted rashly and you will likely be the one to suffer for it. When I brought you over I thought that you were human; as I hid you from the sun, I found your wand, and now I know that you are a wizard. I would have guided you, but your kind has always hunted mine and perhaps they can aid you in ways I cannot. By the time you rise for the first time, I will be no more. Six hundred years are enough and I will end my existence in the sunrise, but never fear, for you have been avenged. There are three things I wish to teach you, the rest you will know by instinct.

“First, never kill! Take only the blood you need to survive. The blood of animals will quench the hunger, but the blood of humans alone will strengthen and sustain you. Be careful, as injuries to your body will take a long time or a great deal of blood to repair.

“Second, close the wounds after you feed. The wizards hunt us as it is, we do not need to have the humans hunt for us as well. The power resides within you, but you must actively use your will to harness that power.

“The last is a reinforcement of the second. Do nothing to call attention to yourself and the other vampires. We exist only because we remain secret. While we rule the night, we are helpless during the day.

“Farewell, Fledgling. Crossing of vampire and wizard is a rare thing, although not unheard of. I feel you are called to some high destiny and more than chance has brought us together. Farewell.”

Harry came out of his trance to the familiar vision of his cupboard. Once again, he was gripped by indecision. He knew he needed help, but didn’t know where to turn. After what his sire had said about wizards hunting vampires, and remembering the Weasley’s old-school attitude toward house-elves, his first thought was to go to Hermione.

Going to his room, he gathered some clothes, instinctively picking dark colors to blend in with the night. He swung his black cloak around his shoulders to break up his outline and packed his Invisibility Cloak. He gathered his money and packed his spell books into his book bag for no reason other than habit. Mounting his Firebolt, he flew out of his window leaving Privet Drive for the last time.

He gained altitude and flew towards London. Harry wasn’t exactly sure where Hermione lived, but he had an idea of the general area from some of their talks at Hogwarts. He had a vague notion to find her number in the phone book and then use the telephone to call for directions.

As he flew towards the east end he saw the Dark Mark flare to the Northwest. Instinctively he altered his course. He could not allow the Death Eaters to go unchallenged. Arriving at the house he angled sharply down and landed at the foot of the steps leading inside the back of the house. His cloak billowed behind him as he ran up the stairs and into what he recognized as the kitchen.

The darkness within was no obstacle to his sight. He quickly took in the two corpses in the sitting room and the crumpled form in the hallway. He could smell blood! The vampire within him reacted; he had not fed this night and he could feel the cold pain of his hunger welling up. He felt his fangs extending.

Then he sensed his adversary. A dementor was bending over the body next to the bookcase. It was in the process of lowering its hood. The skin of its glistening, bald head was of the same grey, rotted looking flesh as its hands. The creature rose slowly to its full height and turned toward him.

Harry realized that vampires must see differently than humans. He had looked into the face of a dementor before; where there was once a blank expanse of flesh, there were now two whirlpools of energy. He could see it drawing power from the world around it. Yet it did not seem to affect him. This close to the thing, he should be hearing his mother screaming, but there was nothing.

The girl at the monster’s feet groaned slightly, and Harry looked at her for the first time. A spasm of horror passed through him as he recognized Hermione! Without thinking he launched himself at the dementor. It floated backward, toward the front door, before his onslaught. Harry didn’t go for his wand; he just slashed at the thing with his talons.

The dementor tried to grab his arms, but Harry was just too fast. His right hand tore through the dementor’s heavy robe while he grabbed the dementor’s arm with his left. He recoiled in shock! He had expected to feel an arm with bones; instead he encountered a soft, muscular appendage that gave no resistance to being bent.

Suddenly, the thing began mewling in terror; its psychic defenses had never before been breached. It was not a sound he heard with his ears, but something he felt with his mind. Fearlessly, he renewed his attack. He slashed at the thing’s robes. His claws tore thorough the heavy material like it was cheesecloth. He ripped the robe from the beast and made a new discovery. The monster before him had no legs; its lower body tapered to a point. What he had taken to be a head was just another appendage; it was just an extension for the thing’s mouth. The robe seemed to impart a human form, but it was some kind of disguise. Harry loathed the dementor as never before. Dementors were some kind of psychic leeches. They floated around sucking the happiness from their human prey; destroying souls when they could.

He raged at what this thing was trying to do to Hermione. In a fury, he set upon the dementor and tore into its flesh. Where his talons cut, the thing began to ooze a thick, greenish ichor. The dementor tried to retaliate by beating at him with its tentacles. Harry could no longer think of them as its arms. Harry caught one and with a strength he did not know he possessed he tore the limb from the monster. Dropping the tentacle, he continued his attack. He slashed it again and again, ripping through the creature’s tough hide. The thick, greenish fluid was now plopping to the floor in a small stream. Slowly the dementor began to sink to the ground like an obscene blimp. It slowly collapsed as its fluids poured onto the floor. The whirlpools where its eyes should have been went dark as it deflated. The voice in Harry’s mind died as it did.

As he stared, hardly believing the thing to be dead, it began to evaporate! In less than a minute it was gone without leaving a trace behind.

Harry turned and went to Hermione. He tried unsuccessfully to rouse her. In a near panic he tried to find something to bind her arm with, but he could not recognize anything as suitable. Gently he pulled off the bloodstained sweatshirt and pressed his lips to the slash in her arm. He remembered how he had closed the wounds when he had fed from Piers and Gordon. Harry took a couple of deep swallows of Hermione’s blood. His vampire nature reacted to the blood greedily. It was only with a great deal of will power that he stopped drinking and began to force the wound to close. It was beyond his power to close the cut completely, but in a few moments the flow of blood began to slow down.

Harry took a few moments to assess Hermione’s condition. Her heart was beating wildly and somewhat erratically. He pressed his palms against his temples in an attempt to focus his thoughts. He immediately thought of going to the Weasleys, but once again his sire’s warning about wizards plunged him into confusion. He didn’t know why no one had come to investigate the Dark Mark yet, but he was afraid to be here when they came. In the end he reacted according to his vampire nature; he would make Hermione a vampire too.

He knew he needed more blood if he were to bring Hermione over; but she had so little left. He knew this because she was pale and her lips were turning blue. In desperation he went to her parents and took what blood he could from them. Without the beating of their hearts it was hard to suck the blood. He grimaced because the blood was getting cold and he could tell that the life force was leaving it. After three or four minutes he had taken all he could. Try as he might he could not close the punctures he left in their necks.

Crossing to Hermione he placed his hand under her neck and gently lifted her head. First, he took what blood she had left. Then he focused his will upon her and commanded “Drink!” She reacted as though she had been slapped. Her eyes flew open in surprise. Harry sliced his wrist and pressed the wound to Hermione’s lips. Her face was expressionless as she swallowed the blood. Within a few moments she began to suck harder, and Harry began to feel the beginnings of the pain he experienced upon his first awakening as one of the undead. Still allowing Hermione to drink, he pressed his face to carpet and tried to suck more of her blood from the carpet. To his surprise, he had some success with this endeavor and the pain in his body lessened somewhat. After another minute or so Hermione stopped drinking and lapsed into unconsciousness. Harry noticed the cut he had made was still bleeding; with an effort of his will he stopped the flow of blood.

Suddenly, he felt a disturbance in the night air. Even before he heard the popping noises of wizards Apparating, he knew they were coming. Harry picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder. He then stripped off Hermione’s bloodstained jeans and knickers, and wrapped her body in his Invisibility Cloak. It was too awkward to carry her and his Firebolt so Harry carried Hermione back into the kitchen and out of the back door. He returned for his Firebolt, and as he exited the house, he heard the sounds of people approaching the back of the house as well. They were not close, but were coming fairly quickly.

The house immediately behind the Grangers was dark. Harry drew his wand with difficulty and wordlessly incanted, “Wingardium Leviosa!” It was odd to see Hermione’s head and feet levitate off of the ground, but he was delighted that he could still do magic. Unfortunately, his new talons made it difficult to use a wand. He managed to guide the still form through the backyard and over the fence, which he vaulted quite easily. In a moment he magically unlocked the back door and passed inside with his burdens.

He located the bathroom, removed his Invisibility Cloak, and laid Hermione gently in the bathtub. It embarrassed him to leave her naked, so he left to find the linen closet. As he explored the house he learned that the occupants were on holiday; they had left instructions for the housekeeper, who would be back on Monday. Harry located some towels and covered Hermione as best he could. She was slowly writhing and groaning softly even thought she was unconscious. The blood-smell of her menses alternately attracted and repelled him, so Harry moved silently about the house keeping watch and checking on her periodically.

Through the late evening and early morning he could hear the commotion from the Granger’s house. The Aurors and Muggle law enforcement people came and went, all of them efficiently performing the jobs they had trained for.

Shortly after midnight, Harry heard someone approach the house. The Muggle police were canvassing the neighborhood and taking statements. He could hear them talking quite plainly as they came to the front door. Alarmed, he was preparing to attack them as they entered the house, when one said to the other. “Blimey, Ben, it’s here on the report, they’re off on holiday. Won’t be back for two more weeks. We’ve been keep’n an eye on the place. Jus’ give it a check an’ let’s be off.” The front door rattled as the policemen checked the lock. Harry followed the heartbeats as they circled the house and checked the back door. He relaxed as their footsteps moved away from his hiding place. He and Hermione would be safe here until she crossed over.

About two thirty in the morning Hermione’s heart stopped beating. Harry anxiously kept watch. For long minutes she was completely still and Harry was afraid she had really died. Then she started moving slowly, flexing her fingers and toes. Harry resumed his rounds, returning to clean her and hold her hand.

With the approach of the dawn Harry took a sheet from the linen closet and wrapped Hermione’s sweat-soaked body. He carried her to a closet and cradled her in his arms as the daylight stole his consciousness.

At nightfall on Wednesday Harry rose and returned Hermione to the bathtub. Donning his Invisibility Cloak, he slipped out of the back door to hunt. A nearby park netted him a couple of young people sitting together on a bench. They were kissing, and he easily took them by surprise. The power of his mind ensnared theirs, and within five minutes he had taken the blood he needed. Then he vanished into the darkness.

Before returning to Hermione he walked past the front of the Granger’s house. The front door had been sealed off with tape, marking it as a crime scene.

Back at the house he examined Hermione again. Her incisors and fingernails were noticeably sharper. Having nothing to do, Harry spent the night trying to come up with some plans for after Hermione regained consciousness. He wasn’t sure how long it would take. He had been on his way back to Number Four on Friday, the next thing he knew he awoke in the culvert on Monday. He hoped Hermione would wake up on Friday, but he would have to wait and see. Having fed he found it easy just to sit and feel the night pass around him. He was now aware of the night creatures on every hand and he felt amazement that he had not noticed them all before.

Around midnight he sensed a wizard in the house behind him. He was going through the house, and from the faint noises he made Harry could tell that he was searching it. He almost left Hermione to go and get a better idea of what the wizard was searching for, but he decided against it; he had Hermione’s wand and that was all that mattered.

As dawn broke, Harry hid once again in the closet with Hermione. Arthur Weasley returned to the Burrow with Crookshanks in his carrier. When he released Crookshanks, the cat darted under an old chair and refused to come out. Ginny was stroking Hedwig’s feathers. The owl had been very skittish since her arrival on Tuesday afternoon. Addressing the worried faces around the breakfast table he said, “It is worse than we thought.”

Wednesday had been bad, but this Thursday was one of the most frustrating days Ron could remember. The Muggle police were involved and their presence hindered the Magical Law Enforcement wizards. No one would, or perhaps could, tell him anything. With the search for Harry taking valuable manpower, and the sensational nature of the attack on the Grangers generating wild speculation instead of hard facts, tempers were short at the Ministry of Magic. Ron spent the days alternating between anger, grief, and the wild hope that Hermione would be found alive.

To make matters worse the wedding plans were still pressing. Bill and Fleur both offered to let the date slide, but Molly would not hear of it. There was a war going on and she was desperately trying to continue life as normally as possible. “Besides, I’ll go mad worrying about Harry if I have nothing to do. You two deserve all the happiness you can get. You never know how long you’ve got,” her eyes filled with tears, “just look at what happened to p-p-poor Hermione.” With that Molly broke down and began to sob. Bill gathered his mother in a big hug as Fleur went to make her a cup of tea.

Ginny spent the day worrying about Hedwig. The owl just sat on a perch outside the door ignoring the food Ginny had offered. Finally, she was so frustrated that she just commanded, “Hedwig, you stupid bird, eat this!” To her amazement the owl took the treat she had been unsuccessfully offering for over an hour. After that she ate whatever food Ginny offered, and as the sun set Hedwig flew off to hunt. At dinner Ginny told Charlie what had happened. “It was like she was under some kind of spell or something,” she concluded. Charlie had no answer; as far as he knew, spells for controlling the human mind didn’t work on animals, and the spells the trainers used on post owls were closely guarded secrets.

Dinner turned out to be a quiet affair as a pall of gloom hung over the wizarding world in general and the Burrow in particular.

4. Chapter Four

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. Statements and conversations rendered in italic print are telepathic in nature.

Chapter Four

Harry spent a quiet Thursday night. He left Hermione in the closet where he had hidden from the daylight and went to hunt. The park was empty, but he found some young toughs hanging around the back door of a small pub a few blocks away. All he had to do was drop the hood of his Invisibility Cloak. At first, they had had terrified expressions on their faces; but when their eyes met his, he could feel their wills crumble, and they did as he commanded. He did not even need to speak in order to get them to obey. He quickly took the blood he needed, and sped back to Hermione’s side.

By the time dawn approached, her talons and fangs matched his. He knew that her awakening could not be far off.

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As the sun disappeared below the horizon on Friday, Harry woke again. His vampire self examined its surroundings, cataloguing sounds, smells, and the sensation of living things nearby. He slipped out from under Hermione’s body and peeked out into the hall. The house was deserted. Harry pulled Hermione out of the closet and left her in the hallway.

Harry patrolled the lower floor, looking for people moving on the streets. Realizing he needed to feed for himself and Hermione; he took his Invisibility Cloak, and slipped out of the back door. Once in the back yard he heard noises coming from the Granger’s house. He quietly vaulted the fence and crept up to the back door. He could hear two voices coming from inside the house. It was a man and woman discussing some movie that they had seen.

He drew his wand. His claws still made gripping the slender wand difficult. He gestured and wordlessly commanded, “Alohomora!” The lock opened and Harry entered the kitchen. Harry didn’t have to breathe, but he sniffed the air. The strong aroma of cleaning fluids assaulted his nostrils. Opening the kitchen door a crack, he watched the couple scrubbing the bloodstained carpet in front of the bookcase. Dropping his cloak he entered the hallway as the man was standing up. “What say we call it a day? We can come back—,” he froze as he saw Harry standing there, as still as death.

The woman turned to face the direction her partner was facing. She gazed into a pair of glowing, red eyes. The cleaning rag dropped from her gloved hand, and the scream stuck in her throat.

“Sit down in there!” Harry pointed a clawed finger in the direction of the sitting room. The workers turned and shuffled into the room. They sat together on the sofa, facing front like two statues. The power of Harry’s will held them there. They could still move their eyes, however, and the woman watched him approach like a bird would regard the approach of a serpent. He passed out of her range of vision; she felt fear building within her. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she felt something very sharp touch the side of her neck. Without warning a feeling of intense, golden, pleasure overwhelmed her senses and she slid slowly into hot, black unconsciousness…

“Sleep, until I command that you wake,” Harry drew back, wiping the blood from his mouth. He had taken blood from the two of them; nearly twice what he had taken from Piers and Gordon. He left the two and returned to Hermione.

She lay on the floor in front of the linen closet covered by a sheet with a throw pillow under her head. Harry was glad that she had not awakened while he was feeding. He knelt down a short distance away and waited.

About forty-five minutes later Hermione’s eyes slowly opened. Harry was startled by the red glow in her eyes. He stood and went to her. A spasm of pain passed over her face; Harry felt sorry for her because he remembered his own pain when he woke for the first time. There was no recognition in her expression as he bent over her. To his surprise she bared her fangs and slashed at him with her talons. It was only because of his vampire reflexes that he was able to avoid her attack.

Hermione rolled over, and moved into a crouching position, ready to spring at him, ready to kill. Her face was devoid of any expression except pain. Harry stepped back, focused his will upon her, and commanded, “Stop!” She recoiled as though she had been struck a physical blow.

The vampire within her recognized her sire. Hermione collapsed to the floor. With her face to the ground she raised her hands in supplication, “Please, Master, don’t hurt me again.”

Harry’s heart broke; he had never before heard Hermione beg for anything. He quickly knelt before her. “It is the hunger, drink.” He noticed that the cut he had made in his wrist was still open, although it had stopped bleeding when he had willed it to. He concentrated on his wrist and the blood slowly welled up in the wound.

Hermione raised her face from the floor and timidly began to drink from Harry’s wrist. The blood she took had been energized by his being a vampire, so she needed less of it than if he had been mortal. It made him feel strange to realize that in a very real sense Hermione had gone from being his friend to being his child! Though he had only been a vampire for a few days Hermione would be depending on him to show her what to do.

She stopped drinking and sat down, looking lost and forlorn.

“Hermione, you must always close the wounds after you drink .It’s an instinct, you know how,” he thought gently. He held his wrist out to her. She took his wrist, and once again brought it to her lips. He felt a faint, gentle warmth, and when he looked the cut was gone.

She rocked back and stared at him. Her hunger sated, the red light slowly faded from her eyes. It took a long minute or two, but as she gazed at him her thoughts came into focus. She gave and involuntary gasp and whispered, “Harry, is that you? What happened?”

Harry started to reach for her, but stopped when he caught sight of his clawed fingers. He did not want to cut her or have her think less of him because he was no longer human. “I don’t want her to see my hands like this,” he thought. Suddenly, he felt an unpleasant, twisting sensation around his finger tips. His talons retracted! They were still sharp, but the same length as when he was alive. “I didn’t know they would do that!” he thought with surprise.

Hermione moved her lips; Harry knew what she said even though no sound came out. “Do what? What don’t you want me to see?” She put her hand to her throat as surprise registered on her face. She shook her head not understanding what was wrong.

Harry gently cupped her chin and looked into her eyes, “You don’t need to speak to me, Hermione. Just focus your thoughts and I’ll know what you’re thinking. The reason you can’t talk is because you aren’t breathing.”

Hermione blinked at him, some of the memories of her last hours of life were coming into her consciousness. The pain of the curses that had been used on her clouded those memories. Rather than entertain those thoughts, and the hazy memories of her parents falling to the floor after the deadly, green flashes, she concentrated on the mystery at hand. “I can hear you…but you’re not talking…am I dead?”

Harry’s face fell as she asked the question that he had hoped to put off until she was more conscious. He remembered that first night, and how hard it was to get a grip on his thought processes. “Not quite,” he answered.

Hermione looked down at her body, realizing that she had no clothes, she grabbed for the sheet to cover herself. She had the sheet half way to her breast when she froze in horror. For the first time she noticed her talons. She began to shiver and Harry knew it had nothing to do with being cold. Hermione was terrified.

“Hermione …” he began. Now he knew what Dumbledore had been going through after the Tournament. There would be no good in putting off the pain in the question Hermione was asking. “Hermione, you are a vampire. You were dying…I didn’t know what else to do.”

He took the sheet and wrapped it around her.

“Dumbl ...” she shook her head as she remembered that he was dead, “the Weasleys or Professor McGonagall, they can help me.” Her thoughts were confused; Harry could tell that she was grasping at straws, searching for some hint of the familiar in a world that had been shattered.

Harry could feel the turmoil in her thoughts as he helped her stand up. She was thinking that the Ministry had dealings with vampires and that someone somewhere would know what to do. Arthur Weasley worked for the Ministry; he might know who might help her.

“Hermione, if you remember Professor Lockhart’s book, the Ministry hunts vampires. My sire told me he had hidden from them for six hundred years. But if it will make you happy we’ll go to the Weasleys.”

Something clicked in Hermione’s brain. “Harry, are you a vampire too?” Harry nodded to her. She grabbed his hand, “Where are your claws?”

“That is what I was talking about at first. They retract. Look.” He willed his talons to extend, and with that unpleasant twitch, they did so. After a moment he retracted them again. Hermione looked mildly intrigued and retracted her talons as well.

“Let’s go back to your house so we can get some of your clothes.” Harry put his black cloak around her shoulders and took the sheet. He folded it and put it back in the linen closet and replaced the throw pillow. He quickly checked the bathroom for any evidence of their presence, there was none. He had cleaned it the night before.

He led her out the back door, levitated her over the fence, and they walked into her home. As they entered the hall she clutched his arm. “There’s someone here!”

“They won’t hurt you. Come on; show me where your room is.”

She led them upstairs, and Harry left her to get dressed. When she joined him Harry saw that she had selected dark colors as well, “Get your cloak, it will help you blend in with the night.”

“May I bring my books too?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded and smiled at her.

“Anything else you might need before we go?” he asked. Harry watched as she tried extra hard to think about what she might need. After a few moments she went into her parent’s room and returned with an envelope full of Muggle money.

“Mum and Dad kept some emergency funds in a safe place, we might need it. How are we going to get to the Burrow?”

“We’re going to fly on my Firebolt. Wait on the back porch while I get it.” Hermione looked too frazzled to protest.

Harry returned with his broom. He handed it to Hermione to hold, and went into the sitting room. Without much difficulty he lifted each of the sleepers from the sofa and set them in the hall. “When you hear the back door slam you will awaken. You will believe that the fumes from the cleaning fluid overcame you. Tomorrow, when you return here to work, you will have no memory of me.”

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A short while later they were flying back to the Southwest. Harry flew close enough to Little Whinging to get his bearings and then he turned westward, following the track he remembered from six years before when he, Fred, George, and Ron had made this trip in the Weasley’s flying car.

It was past eleven when he finally spotted the sprawling, crooked old house. Harry swung wide before descending gradually; he did not want to frighten Hermione. They touched down just outside the orchard and began walking toward the back door. The wind was sweeping through the fields, hissing in the grass. Heavy clumps of cloud were flying before the waning moon. Harry watched Hermione as she noticed her sharper hearing. He was listening to the creaking branches in the orchard; searching for approaching danger.

There was a sudden crack and a wizard appeared between them and the back door. Harry and Hermione instinctively crouched down until they could identify the intruder. The wizard looked around, as if sensing something amiss in the darkness beyond the garden. When he did so, Harry recognized Percy Weasley. After a minute or two Percy adjusted a stack of files he had tucked under his arm and knocked on the back door.

Arthur opened the door and Percy went inside. Harry and Hermione quickly closed on the back door. The frogs in the garden sensed the vampire’s presence and fell silent. The chickens hushed at their approach, huddling together on their roosts. They had no difficulty hearing the conversation coming from the Weasley’s kitchen.

“Hello, Ron, you still up?” inquired Percy.

“Been waiting on the news the Aurors promised me. Have you seen Tonks?” The worry was evident in his voice.

“Not today. Been attending meetings for Mr. Fudge. He has to report to Minister of Magic Scrimgeour.”

Ron’s only comment was a snort of disgust; though Harry was close enough to pick up Ron’s stray thought. “So you’re still the errand boy’s errand boy.”

“Where’s Mum?”

“She’s sedated. Been going spare over Harry’s disappearance and the Grangers being murdered. The Healers gave her something to help her sleep,” replied Arthur bitterly.

“I’ve brought the reports you requested …,” Percy hesitated.

“You used to call me Dad. That was always good enough before,” said Arthur, the hurt sill obvious in his voice.

Percy became more formal, “Yes…Dad…the reports you asked for. May I sit down?”

Arthur must have nodded because Harry heard a chair scrape on the floor.

“Which one first?”

“The report on the Grangers,” Arthur suggested. Evidently he was regaining some kind of control; his voice sounded more normal.

“The Muggle police suspect some kind of cultists who think that they are vampires. There were puncture wounds on the parent’s necks, evidently inflicted post-mortem. The coroner can’t determine a cause of death for them. They haven’t found Hermione’s body, and suspect she was kidnapped for some kind of ritual. The coroner said that she couldn’t have lived very long after she was taken, judging by the amount of her blood they found at the scene. For some reason they stripped her and left her clothes—,”

Harry was watching Hermione as Percy spoke. Her face scrunched in grief as Percy clinically discussed the deaths of her parents.

“No! Not Hermione!” interrupted Ron. “She was a witch! No Muggles could have done ANYTHING like that to her. She would have fought! They’re wrong!” Ron stormed from the kitchen. Harry could follow the sounds of his footsteps on the stairs as he made his way to his room.

Hermione, responding to the anguish in Ron’s voice, took a step towards the door. She caught sight of her sharp fingernails and hesitated. The realization that she was no longer alive hit her again. Harry could tell that she regarded being a vampire as something to be ashamed of. Heartbroken at the cruelty of her fate she sank to her knees. She would have screamed aloud if she had had any breath to give voice to her cry.

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. Trying to offer what comfort he could.

“What brought that on?” Percy’s voice sounded bewildered.

“Ron fancies—fancied Hermione. That and he feels he is responsible for whatever happened to Harry,” Arthur responded sadly.

“Ron and Hermione were together?”

“Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything to us about them being a couple. Ron may just have assumed that they were because Hermione never declared otherwise. Who knows if they discussed it when they were staying with Harry? But he’s seems to have had feelings for her for a year or two.”

“Hmmm, I would have bet that Hermione would have fancied Harry. Harry and Hermione were pretty close for the first three years; and in the third year Ron and Hermione had that big squabble about Scabbers. I wasn’t there, but I heard Ron was acting like a right little twit after Harry was entered in the Triwizard Tournament; Hermione was the one who stood by him. Of course he has grown up since then.”

“Love is a strange thing, Percy. Their relationship might have worked out or it might not, it just seems sad that they won’t get the chance.”

“He’s right about the Muggles though. The Dark Mark was conjured over the Granger’s house. The Death Eaters were there; the witnesses all report that they were terrified of them. The statements agree that there were four of them, but none of the statements mentioned them carrying Hermione away with them,” continued Percy.

“Did the Aurors consider that they transfigured her body? Although, transfiguration wouldn’t explain why they left her clothes behind. You might ask about that. Also, does somebody have an idea why You-Know-Who would attack the Grangers?” asked Arthur.

“I overheard one of the Auror’s briefing Minister Scrimgeour about a source that has been feeding information to the Ministry. The source said You-Know-Who is concerned because he’s lost contact with Harry. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Dumbledore knew that Harry and You-Know-Who shared some kind of connection; he thought it was through Harry’s scar. Is there any news about Harry?”

“Nothing, he’s simply vanished. No one has been able to find a trace of him beyond his glasses, which were broken and had his blood on them. That information is classified and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it. You said Ron was staying with Harry. Ah! So that’s why he is in the reports,” Percy said thoughtfully. “Do you think he’d help if we searched Number Four again? We need to do it soon. Harry’s uncle and cousin are moving out.”

“I’m sure he would. He’s been desperate to do something. I have another question for you. The Muggle police are usually pretty good. Suppose there are Muggles involved, what would they want with Hermione? I just can’t see the Death Eaters taking her. Because she was Muggle-born, they would have just killed her.”

“Check out the bottom file. It has information about Muggles who believe that they are vampires. The report contains some horrible information. The Muggles involved are really sick. She was on her period, which might make her a target for some kind of ritual. We know it wasn’t real vampires. The real ones don’t leave marks.”

The sound of the chair scraping the floor let Harry know that Percy had stood up.

“Do you mind if I keep these for the weekend? I’ll drop them by your office first thing Monday morning?”

“They’re confidential; I’m not supposed to let them out of my sight.”

“Well, why don’t you stay here for the weekend? Your mother would love to see you, and it would take her mind off Harry and Hermione. If you don’t want to stay the weekend, I’ll be finished tomorrow afternoon, and you can take them then. You are planning to come to Bill’s wedding next Thursday, aren’t you?”

“I was thinking about coming.” Percy said uneasily. “I’m pretty tired, I guess I’ll stay.”

“Good, there is a spare bed in Ron’s room,” Arthur’s voice betrayed his sadness, “It was set up for Harry, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be using it, and if he does turn up we’ll make room for him somehow.”

Harry could hear Percy walk out of the room and up the stairs to Ron’s room. Hermione rose and began walking toward the orchard. There was something unnatural in her gait; it appeared she was walking in her sleep. Harry reached out mentally; he felt that Hermione had retreated into herself and her vampire was guiding her footsteps.

He chased after her. It only took a gentle touch to stop her. She looked at him with empty eyes. “They think I’m dead. Ron…everyone...What will they think if they know I’m…we’re…undead,” She looked down at her fingertips. “We’re not natural…unclean. How could I just think I could walk in and talk to them…I drank blood from you…”

“Hermione, I can’t say that everything is all right, it’s not. This is new, and you’re not yourself, you need to grieve, and you’re not thinking. It takes a couple of days before your mind starts working again. Hold on, it will get better. Try to be patient. We’ll come back when you have had time to adjust.”

Harry was preparing to mount his broom when he heard the sounds of wizards Apparating. The popping noises were coming from the other side of the orchard, close to the village. He knew that anyone Apparating that far from the Burrow could only be trying to hide their approach to the house.

“Hide in the shadow of those trees,” he commanded Hermione. “I’m going to see who these people are.”

The red began to glow in Hermione’s eyes again. She stretched her fingers as her talons extended. Silently she made her way to the spot Harry had indicated. Once she reached the trees she blended into the shadow, remaining unnaturally still. By not moving she was practically invisible to any human observer.

Harry had no trouble seeing in the darkness under the trees; even though the windswept clouds mostly obscured the moon. He moved with the swift grace of a leopard through the trees until he heard whispered voices on the village side of the orchard. He paused, gauging the enemy. There were six separate heartbeats. A chill swept through him as he heard the orders.

“Amycus and Alecto will move on the right. Samuelson and Goyle on the left. Higgs, you come with me. Kill all you find, except the youngest two Weasleys, you will know them by their red hair. The Dark Lord wants to question them. Be swift and silent.”

“Rookwood, I thought Fenrir was to be here too?” asked Samuelson.

“He was delayed, the Dark Lord said to proceed without him. Remember, the girl and the young man, death to the older blood traitors and their wedding guests. If there is any question paralyze your target and we’ll sort them out before we leave.”

The Death Eaters began walking toward the Burrow. Harry pressed himself against a tree as they passed. Once inside the trees the Death Eaters began to spread out. Burning with anger at the cowardly attack on those he considered his family, Harry angled to the outside of the line of Death Eaters. He was tracking the largest of them. Swiftly he closed the distance. Reaching out with his mind he willed his target to stop. The man slowed and turned around. Using his vampiric power to dominate his victim Harry snared the man, and held him fast. Goyle’s eyes were wide with fright as Harry closed in. With a swift slash of his talons the young vampire ended the Death Eater’s life. Goyle fell to the ground without making a sound.

Harry moved on Samuelson next. A heavy blow from behind knocked him to the ground. Stunned Samuelson rolled over, and looked into the burning, red eyes that stole his will from him. Harry did not even consider using magic. The beast within him exulted in combat; reveling in its strength, claws, and fangs. Harry focused his mind on his victim, “You came to hand out death, and instead you find your own.” The last thing Samuelson knew was pain.

“Hermione, the Death Eaters are coming! They’re planning to kill the Weasleys! Take them!” Harry commanded.

He crept toward the trees where he told Hermione to hide. He watched as she slipped behind Alecto and stabbed her fangs into Alecto’s jugular vein. By the time he reached her Hermione had taken most of Alecto’s blood.

“Never kill for blood, Hermione.” His mental blow almost struck her to the earth. He knew that she needed to be disciplined quickly or the hunger would control her.

She let Alecto fall from her embrace. “Please, Master, I need the blood to heal my arm.”

“Then feed from more than one victim; and close the wounds,” Harry instructed. Hermione obediently bent over Alecto. There were no wounds on her neck when Harry looked down at her. Alecto was twitching uncontrollably as she lay on the ground. “You thought it was funny when Dumbledore was injured and helpless. It’s not so funny now that you are in the same position, is it?” A moment later she lay as dead as Dumbledore.

Amycus felt something had gone badly wrong. He turned to find his sister only to walk into two pairs of glowing, red eyes. Never in his life had he extended mercy to an enemy; he received none now.

Higgs and Rookwood fell under Harry’s talons before they had reached the garden. Rather than risk setting off some kind of alarm, they dragged the bodies to the orchard. Harry used the Firebolt and ferried the fallen Death Eaters to the village where he dumped them in an alleyway.

Not wanting to allow for easy identification of the Death Eaters, Harry summoned every rat he could sense. He hoped that it would slow the authorities, both Magical and Muggle, enough to make an escape.

He flew back to pick up Hermione and complete one final task at the Burrow.

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The following morning Molly went to the kitchen to find Arthur fast asleep at the table.

“Arthur, sweetheart, why didn’t you come up to bed?” It took her several minutes to wake her husband.

“I’ve been doing some reading for work. Guess I fell asleep,” he answered groggily.

“Where on earth did those come from?”

“Percy brought them to me last night. He’s upstairs and might stay the weekend.” He looked at Molly with a hopeful expression on his face. His wife just sighed, shrugged, and set about preparing breakfast.

Drawn by the smell of breakfast cooking, Fleur made an appearance a few minutes later. She was wearing an azure colored, silk, dressing gown, and was brushing her silver-blonde hair.

As she sat down at the table she wrinkled her nose, “Do you smell zat?”

“What?” asked Molly suspiciously. “I don’t smell anything.”

“A long time ago I am smelling zis…this scent. I ask my Grandmuzzer what is zis, and she tol’ me it is a vampire.”

“Well, there are no vampires around here, are there Arthur?”

“Not that we know of. One would think that a vampire would steer clear, since we have a werewolf around occasionally.”

Arthur stood up, “I need to contact Professor Flitwick this morning.”

Molly looked concerned, “Why?”

“I just think we might need to reinforce some of our defenses. I woke up with the idea; somehow I feel that it’s very important. Especially after the attack on the Grangers.”

As Arthur went to freshen up, the other Weasleys were waking up. A new day was dawning at the Burrow.

5. Chapter Five

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.

Chapter Five

Saturday continued to be an unusual day at the Burrow. Bill greeted Percy and did his best to make his brother welcome. His brush with death had taught him the value of familial relationships. Percy tried not to show it, but he was deeply shocked by the extent of Bill’s scars. The reports had not managed to accurately convey their magnitude. Ron and Ginny had both taken deep offense on behalf of their parents and were determined to make Percy earn his own redemption. Fleur, while aware of the story, tried to make Percy feel welcome at breakfast because Bill did so.

Percy made no abject apology, but neither did he try to pretend that everything was back to normal. With practiced ease he kept the conversation to non-controversial topics while managing to soothe the ruffled feathers of his younger siblings. After breakfast, he pitched in to help with the little chores that had to be done before the wedding.

Just before noon, Dawlish and an Auror named Littleton came to the Burrow at Percy’s behest. They collected Ron to make another search of Number Four. The trio returned with interesting news a couple of hours later. None of the Aurors had known of the loose floorboard under Harry’s bed. They noted that Harry’s Firebolt, wand, school books, and money were missing.

The Aurors still had no leads as to where Harry might have gone or whether he had taken his things before or after he had been attacked.

Ron didn’t enlighten the Aurors about Voldemort’s Horcruxes, and they told him nothing of Harry’s bloody, broken glasses that had been found down the street from Number Four. Ron’s mind was eased somewhat. It seemed Harry might have gone after the Horcruxes alone. Ron hoped that he might eventually contact him for help. The thing that still bothered him the most was how he was going to have to tell Harry what had happened to Hermione.

At tea time another guest appeared at the Burrow. Headmistress McGonagall came to visit with the announcement that the Board of Governors had decided to re-open Hogwarts in the coming school year. They knew that a large portion of the former students would not return, but for those who wished to come back, the teachers would be there for them. She was contacting as many of the students as she could in an effort to see how many would return.

After a brief consultation both Ron and Ginny decided to finish their schooling as best they could. It had been decided by the governors that each family would make its own travel arrangements rather than risk the Hogwarts Express.

McGonagall carefully avoided making mention of Harry and Hermione in the presence of the younger Weasleys, but as she was leaving she managed a brief discussion with Arthur. The Order of the Phoenix had been paralyzed after the death of Dumbledore, and McGonagall was trying to put together some semblance of reorganization. Molly and Arthur both wished to continue, and would make no objection if their younger sons wished to participate. The stern Professor left the Burrow nearly in tears. She felt the grief of the Weasleys concerning Harry and Hermione compounding her own, but also some wonder at their courage to persevere in the face of the enormous difficulties the future presented. In spite of their own problems the Weasleys were always trying to comfort others.

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As night was falling on the Burrow, bringing Saturday to a close, it was reviving two vampires in London. Harry had flown back to the city after planting the idea that Arthur needed to strengthen the defenses at the Burrow.

As they had flown over the south of London, Harry located an abandoned factory on the bank of the Thames. They entered at a large loading dock. The dock was open at each end to accommodate a rail spur. Dust covered the floor, and it was obvious that no one else had entered the place in years. The manufacturing floor had been stripped of whatever machinery had once been employed there, and all that was left were wires hanging from the ceiling and pipes coming out of the floor.

They had found a flight of stairs leading down to a large basement. The place was a maze of piping. In one corner Harry had located an office that had been converted into a store room. It was filled with a fair amount of office furniture. He had stacked the chairs in a corner, placed some desks end to end, and used magic to clean the dust away. He was glad for the work; it kept visions of the dead Death Eaters out of his conscious mind. Hermione just stood inside the door watching him. Her eyes looked as empty as they had when she had walked away from the Burrow.

“Lie down here,” Harry ordered gently. She had complied without argument. Harry folded her cloak and placed it under her head. He closed the door and locked it with “Colloportus!”

A short while later Harry could hear the odd hissing sound that heralded the dawn. “What’s that noise?” asked Hermione.

“Just the dawn, don’t worry, everything will be okay.” As the sun had broken over the factory Harry’s consciousness slipped away and he had fallen into dreamless darkness.

As the setting sun saw McGonagall’s departure from the Burrow, it brought an instant return to consciousness for Harry; as well as the return of some unpleasant memories. He sat up on the desk and looked around. Hermione’s eyes were open too. She looked at him, her eyes blazing in the dark.

“Are my eyes glowing too?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Let me see your arm,” he asked. Hermione sat up and rolled back the sleeve of her tee shirt. Harry was pleasantly surprised; Alecto’s blood had nearly closed the gash in her forearm. Unbidden Alecto’s dead face flashed into his awareness, he savagely shoved it out of his thoughts as he tried to decide what to do.

The familiar ache in his joints told him he needed to hunt, but the need was not pressing. Hermione was just sitting on the desk, wrapped in her own thoughts. Harry looked into her mind; all he saw were memories of her parents. The memories were accompanied by a profound feeling of sadness and loss. It made him feel uncomfortable to intrude so he withdrew before she could notice he was there.

Harry decided to leave Hermione to her grief. Taking his wand he slipped out of the door. The basement was alive with small insects and rats. He stopped to feel their energy. They scurried to get away from him; and he realized that they had all left the office where he and Hermione had spent the daylight hours. Walking along he realized he could actually “see” their life energy even when they were burrowing through old papers. He examined a thick, wooden post. The presence of termites gave the wood a brighter color than that of an adjacent post that had none.

The night sky was another wonder. The stars pulsed with power. Harry could only see a few because the lights of the city overpowered the fainter ones, but each of the ones he could see shone with its own unique signature. The planets looked unmistakably different because they reflected the light of the sun. The planets and the moon, now just past full, were comforting reminders of the sun that he could never see again. He stood for a long while just gazing upward.

Wrapping his cloak around himself Harry moved along the fence until he found a place where he could get through. The streets in the immediate area were dark, dreary, and devoid of life. A cold, thin mist was rising from the river.

Harry began walking toward the traffic that his ears told him was a few blocks away. Along the way he heard voices coming from an alleyway. He turned to his right and walked past the careless piles of trash and junk. A few yards in he came upon a small group of boys planning some act of burglary. Harry was surprised at their youth; the oldest appeared no older than him. Not that it mattered; all he needed was some of their blood. He left them sleeping peacefully, not caring that someone else’s possessions were safe for the night.

Returning to the factory, he had Hermione share the blood he had taken. When she had closed the cut he had made in his wrist he asked, “Are you okay?”

“No I’m not,” she snapped.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. He remembered how she tried to talk to him about Sirius.

“Not now, maybe later.” She turned her back to him. She was sitting cross-legged on the desk, staring at the corner.

With that Harry left the office and made his way to the roof of the building. The factory was three stories tall, which placed him above the glare of the street lights. He sat on the parapet and looked out over the city.

The memories that had been stalking him all evening at last pounced upon him. He started to tremble as he tried to begin to deal with the guilt. Six human beings had met death at his hands the night before, and he did not know how to cope. In desperation he pulled the Chocolate Frog card of Dumbledore out of his pocket. He had been carrying it since the funeral.

Somehow, the picture was managing an expression of stern disapproval. Tears of blood streaked down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t know what else to do,” he whined to himself.

Inside his head, Dumbledore’s voice asked, “How does it feel to be a killer, Harry?”

“Awful,” he thought truthfully. “Like when I used the Sectumsempra Curse on Malfoy, only a million times worse.”

“Then there may be hope for you.” In his imagination, the expression on Dumbledore’s face softened somewhat. “The people you destroyed, what were they going to do?”

“They said they were going to kill the Weasleys and kidnap Ron and Ginny. Take them to Voldemort.”

“If you had alerted the Weasleys, what would have happened?” Harry remembered the gentle tone Dumbledore would have used.

“I guess they would have fought them, like at the Ministry.”

“And…,” the voice prompted.

“I guess some of them might have died. It would depend on the spells they used.”

“In your experience, what spells would the Death Eaters have used?”

“Avada Kedavra.”

“Would the Weasleys use a spell like that?” his imagination asked.

“Probably not, although I think Mrs. Weasley might, if her children were threatened.”

“Harry, killing can be justified, on occasion; but it is never easy nor without consequence. During war time people are killed. Remember, it is better to injure than to maim, and better to maim than to kill. However, sometimes there is no choice. It is always better, for your own sake, to use the least violent means necessary. You must plan. Last night you had no plan, did you?”

“No.”

“Then I would say that you did the best you could, given the circumstances. However, you wanted revenge, true?” Harry nodded miserably. “Revenge is always sweet at first, but believe me; it always turns bitter in the end. Avoid it from now on.”

“I will,” Harry answered.

“Treat this as a sharp lesson, Harry. As you think about it, remember how Ron and Ginny would have fared in Voldemort’s hands.” The voice in his head fell silent.

Harry looked down at the card, Dumbledore had disappeared again. He wiped his eyes on his tee shirt, glad that the blood would not show against the dark blue color. Gathering himself, he went back down to the office feeling a little better.

Hermione lay on the desk with her hands folded across her breast. She looked at him as he entered and locked the door.

“Harry, did you really drink my parent’s blood?” her tone was one of hurt.

“Yes, I’m sorry, but…yes, I did,” he replied guiltily.

Hermione said no more, but turned her face away from him. Harry folded his cloak to use as a pillow, lay down, and waited for the dawn. It did not seem that they waited long.

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Sunday at the Weasleys began quietly enough. Percy had left after Arthur had finished with the files on Saturday, but Fred and George had come to help out with the wedding preparations. Sunday was the only day of the week they closed their business. This morning Molly was marshalling the family with more of the tasks that had to be done before the wedding. Ron was unusually glum so Arthur tried to talk to him to find out what was bothering him.

“Partly, I’m just afraid that he’s gone off without me. He promised to do something for Dumbledore, Hermione and I were supposed to go with him. Herms and I had a fight and she went home, Harry was kind of put out with me about it. Then, the Grangers were…” Ron choked back the tears. “If she had been with me…and Harry, maybe…maybe they would’ve left her folks alone.”

He drew a shuddering breath, “Mainly, it’s Harry’s birthday. He’s seventeen today and I can’t help but feel something really bad happened to him, and it’s my fault for not being there. I still want to believe nothing has happened, but I’m losing hope.”

“Go on,” said Arthur, “Why are you feeling he hasn’t gone off on his own?”

“Hedwig, he’d have taken her in case he needed to send a message, I don’t think that she would leave him, and there is no one to take care of her at his uncle’s house. Not to mention the fact that she was acting so strangely when she got here.”

Arthur nodded, “I don’t know what else you could have done. You tried to get Harry to come, he just wouldn’t. You told us he thought that this should be a family time; can you think of any other reason why he wouldn’t come?”

Ron shook his head. Suddenly, Molly called out, “Arthur! Arthur! Come quick. Something is wrong with Errol!”

By the time he and Ron made it to the shed where Errol roosted, Molly was in tears and the rest of the family was gathering. Errol had fallen from his perch and was lying on the floor of the shed. Arthur gently examined the fallen owl.

“He’s dead,” he pronounced sadly. “Well, he was very old. Guess it was his time.” He untied a small envelope from the owl’s leg. “Whose is this?” he asked.

Ginny spoke up, “Mine, it’s a birthday note I sent to Harry.” Examining the letter she began to sniffle, “He wouldn’t even open it. He hates me.”

All the male Weasleys looked at one another, thoroughly baffled. Molly placed her arm around Ginny’s shoulders and guided her back toward the kitchen. Arthur buried Errol in the garden. Over the years he had buried several pets, usually with solemn funeral rights for the grieving pet owner. This time, however, he was the only one in attendance; everyone else had disappeared. Arthur suspected his sons were speculating about what was wrong with Ginny.

The chores continued for an hour or so until Molly came round to announce that Harry had broken up with Ginny at the funeral. “He didn’t want her to be more of a target for You-Know-Who. As if we weren’t the most famous blood-traitors in the world.” She was upset with Harry for hurting Ginny’s feelings. Arthur knew that would not last long, but it was an explanation of why Harry had avoided coming to the Burrow on that fateful Friday.

Ron came to Arthur after Molly left. “Harry wouldn’t snub Ginny like that; I wonder why Errol couldn’t find him. If Harry were dead, Errol wouldn’t have been able to find him, would he?”

“I would guess not. You think that’s why he returned with the note?”

Ron’s answer was a miserable nod.

After lunch Kingsley Shacklebolt’s head appeared in the fire. He looked puzzled. “Arthur, I’m working on a report for Minister Scrimgeour, and I could really use your expertise. Will you come to my office?”

With so many of his family upset Arthur was reluctant to leave, but he really owed the Auror so he promised to meet with him.

A short time later he was sitting in Kingsley’s office. “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday. Coffee?”

“Sure,” Arthur replied. “Black with sugar, please.”

The tall Auror returned with a steaming mug of coffee and sat down.

“I understand you looked over the reports of the Granger investigation. I’d like to get your thoughts on the Muggles’ conclusions about what happened there.”

Arthur spent about fifteen minutes explaining what he knew of the Muggle police procedures. He was puzzled; he would have thought that Shacklebolt knew all of this better than he did. He was also feeling strangely relaxed.

“Tell me what happened after Percy arrived with the files.”

Arthur related his discussion with Percy. Kingsley looked interested and asked a few questions. Arthur could tell he was checking his story against something he already knew. He began to feel slightly alarmed.

“What happened after Percy went up to bed?” Kingsley asked.

“I read the files; fell asleep reading them, in fact. Molly woke me up at the table yesterday morning.”

“Why did you speak with Filius Flitwick about increasing the protective spells at the Burrow? You did speak with him, didn’t you?”

“Yes, it was just a feeling, like some kind of premonition. I don’t know why.” Suddenly, Arthur realized what was going on. “You’ve given me Veritaserum, haven’t you? Something’s happened.”

“Come!” Kingsley shouted. Several Aurors entered the office with Percy in tow. Percy looked slightly dazed and Arthur knew he had been questioned also. “First, we need to examine your wand, just a formality.” He took Arthur’s wand and preformed “Prior Incantato”. The only spells that appeared were those Arthur had used in cleaning up around the Burrow. Shacklebolt stopped when the first work related spell appeared. Satisfied he handed back the wand.

Shacklebolt vented a heavy sigh, “Five wizards and a witch were found dead in Ottery St. Catchpole yesterday afternoon. They were dumped in an alleyway and they were all Death Eaters. We needed to know if you were involved. Since you were interested in increased security it was a natural assumption.

Arthur was stunned. “Death Eaters were going to attack us! Why? What happened to them?”

“It’s difficult to tell what happened to them. In twelve hours the bodies were savaged by vermin; which has made identification uncertain. That, in itself, is a mystery. The witch, we believe, was Alecto. Her neck was broken. The others possibly were attacked with knives. Since you didn’t hear anything, and your wards didn’t alert you, apparently there was no magic used.

Arthur sat musing. At last he muttered, “There was no full moon, so it couldn’t have been werewolves. My son’s fiancée said that she smelled a vampire. Is that possible?”

Kingsley looked dubious, “Smelled a vampire?”

“She’s part Veela, her grandmother, I believe,” said Arthur.

The tall, black Auror shrugged. “It isn’t very characteristic of a vampire. They never call that much attention to themselves. I would think it unlikely a vampire would attack a group of wizards. It is even more unlikely that a vampire would try to get into the Burrow. It would have known that you are a wizard. What brought that thought up?”

“Just the Muggle police report, they mentioned vampires. You discounted that didn’t you?”

“Yes, for the same reason. Whoever did that left puncture wounds on the parent’s necks. You know, as well as I do that real vampires don’t leave wounds.”

They all lapsed into silence for long minutes. Each one was absorbed in his own thoughts. At last Percy spoke up, “Any ideas on the identity of the other Death Eaters?”

“Since Alecto was there, one is probably Amycus, her brother. The others seem to have been Goyle, Rookwood, and Terence Higgs. The sixth one is unknown to us.”

Percy was surprised, “Terence Higgs, the Slytherin seeker! I didn’t know he was a Death Eater, he never seemed the type.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“The real question is why; You-Know-Who never bothered about us before. What made him notice us now?” asked Arthur.

The Aurors looked at one another. Kingsley spoke up, “You know how cruel he is. Probably he thought with your preparations for the wedding you wouldn’t be ready. He just wanted an opportunity to spread a little more terror.”

“We would like the chance to look around, there might be a few more clues to be found,” suggested Littleton. “We could come tomorrow to help with your new security and look then. If that is alright with you?”

Arthur readily agreed. “See you tomorrow. Just don’t mention any of this to my family. They have enough troubles as it is.”

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Harry woke and sat up on the desk. His first thought was how unusual it was that he never felt any pain from his body, even though he had passed the day in an unnatural or cramped position. The discomfort he felt on waking was the hunger; the second discomfort he felt was a return of the guilt he was feeling last night.

A noise beside him informed him that Hermione was awake as well.

“Why did you feel you had to steal my parent’s blood? Wasn’t mine enough for you?” Hermione’s thought was sharp and hot with anger.

Harry was surprised by her vehemence. “You had lost a lot of blood. I didn’t know how much I needed to make you into a vampire. I hadn’t fed because I was coming to you for help,” he explained.

“Why did you want to make me a monster like you?”

“You…were dying…I didn’t know how to help you.”

“So you dragged me into Hell with you? I thought we were friends,” she snapped viciously.

Harry was deeply wounded by her attack. He was still wrestling with the guilt from the night before, and now Hermione’s unexpected attack paralyzed his thoughts. He could only sit with his mouth hanging open.

Seeing Harry was helpless, Hermione continued her assault. “Didn’t Dumbledore teach you there were worse things than death? Don’t you think being reduced to vampirism to survive is one of them?” Her observations pierced him like arrows.

“Can’t you see what you’ve done to me? All my hopes and dreams are gone!” she complained bitterly. “How could you?”

“What…,” Harry gestured helplessly. He desperately wanted to heal Hermione’s despair.

Hermione appeared to break down, “I wanted to do something for our world, Harry. I wanted a family and children like my parents had. Now, what good am I? I’m…we’re…just some kind of parasite; taking blood from people who have real lives just so we can exist from sunset to dawn.”

Harry was crushed; all he was trying to do was help. He could not think of how to explain that his thought processes at the time were so confused. He had only been a vampire for a day. He had not been able to think. Taking his cue from the way she had behaved on Friday night he tried to apologize, “Please, Hermione, I’m so sorry about you and Ron…” Tears of blood began to creep down his cheeks.

Hermione blazed at him again, “Ron? Ron! Don’t you understand? What you stole from me went back way before you and Ron came into my life! These are dreams I’ve had since I was a child, Harry. I’ve wanted children since I was a little girl. For a time I dared hope they might be ours.” Hermione paused, as she began again her thoughts became more strident. “Then after you broke up with Cho you went for Ginny. You never gave me a thought? After all I did for you? Ron was at least available, he thought of me as a girl, even though he hates every thing I think is important. If we’d lived, I might have made it work, or I might have found someone else to love me since you two don’t .But you stole that from me. Why couldn’t you just have let me die?” Her own tears started to flow.

Harry could not look at her; he was adding another measure to the load of guilt he was heaping upon himself. He could think of nothing to say that did not sound condescending or like he was excusing himself. He felt guilty because he was the one that had made her a vampire.

Hermione swiped at her tears, staring angrily at the blood on her hands. She grabbed her cloak and began to clean her face and hands. Then she stood up straight, squared her shoulders, and looked Harry straight in the eye. “Well, I’m leaving. I’m going now, and I never want to see you again, EVER!”

The force of her thoughts actually rocked Harry backwards. Hermione walked to the door. She slashed her wand and the door opened. She stalked into the basement. It was not hard to follow Harry’s path to the stairs, but as she went along she began to slow down. She was just noticing that the world looked different. She was puzzled by the strange things she was seeing. It did not take her long to realize she could see the life energy of the animals and insects around her.

The slowly dawning sense of wonder at her new found powers drained the anger from her mind. Rash action was not a part of her nature; now that she was cooling off she began to think about what she was going to do.

Harry tried to pursue Hermione but the pain of her words took the strength from his heart. He sank to his knees. Hadn’t he fought the dementor for her soul? Why couldn’t she see how much it cost him to drink her parent’s blood? Couldn’t she see that he was precious to him? At that moment he knew. She couldn’t know because he didn’t realize until just now how much she meant to him. Now she was gone.

Hermione was almost to the door leading to the stairs when Harry’s voice rang out.

“HERMIONE-E-E, PLEASE DON’T GO-O-O! I NEED YOU-U-U! PLEASE…please…don’t,” His voice echoed weirdly among all the pipes; but it was his real voice and not the telepathy he had been using. Hermione stopped. Her mind came up with an dozen accusations about Harry’s behavior in the past, all the times she had helped him, how he had never said thank you. She had kissed him and he hardly noticed. Slowly, she resumed walking toward the door. She could be free; it would all be behind her. Something new might happen.

As she reached for the doorknob her voice spoke from her memory, “We’ve had time to turn back, we’re not going to.” And Ron’s voice adding, “We’re with you whatever happens…,” Whatever had certainly happened; but they had promised. What was she going to do? In all the strangeness and despair one thing had not changed; Harry needed her. It was something familiar she could cling to.

She drew a breath and whispered to the darkness, “Damn you, Harry Potter.” She turned around and walked slowly back the way she had come. For two nights she had tried to think, all last night she had thought about her parents and her dreams. She kept experiencing her attack on Alecto, experiencing the feelings of disgust and horror. She looked at her arm. Harry’s blood had done the trick, the wound was gone.

Hermione opened the door. Harry was on his knees, staring at the floor, broken in a way she had never seen before. The glimmers of pity vanished in a moment; she despised him for being weak. She had long admired him for his bravery and determination; at this moment he didn’t seem to be the Harry she knew.

He looked dully at her, “Well, Harry, what do you need?” she snapped at him.

He looked down at the floor. “I need you to help me find and kill Voldemort. I may have died, but the prophecy says I am the one with the power to vanquish him. He will keep coming after the people I care for until he’s dead.”

Hermione was silent for a moment and then she thought, “I promised to help you and I will. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t hate this…and you.”

Harry thought quietly, “Hermione, I understand better than you know. It was my fear that brought you under this curse. If I had been able to think clearly I would have let you die, or just left you in the hope that help might have come. I came to you for help, and I fought to keep what I felt I needed. It was selfish of me. Since you will keep your promise to me, I promise that when Voldemort is dead, I will see that you are laid to rest as well.”

Hermione was provoked by his reasonable attitude, she wanted to yell at him some more. She was still in pain, still grieving the loss of her parents, her life, her hopes and dreams. “How are you going to do that?” she asked sarcastically.

Harry was stung, he felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. He felt his vampire nature begin to stir. He fought to keep it under control, but Hermione was trying to hurt him, and it was reacting to the rebellion in its child. Harry was emotionally drained by guilt and Hermione’s anger toward him; he just couldn’t stop it.

Hermione noticed the change cross Harry’s face. His expression became hard, his fangs protruded over his lip. It was an expression the like of which she had never seen before. The power seemed to coalesce within him; it coiled like a snake preparing to strike. He rose to his feet; flexed his fingers and extended his talons. She took an involuntary step backwards.

His very thought hissed at her, “Dance.”

Hermione’s body began to twitch. She tried with all her will power to stop, but her body began to move in spite of her efforts. She was performing a silly little dance she had learned in primary school.

He pointed at the door. She danced out of the door into the basement. Harry followed her out, and pointed his wand a large pile of old papers. “Incindio,” he commanded. The papers burst into flame. “Put your hand into the fire,” he smiled. Hermione was chilled at the sight of his fangs.

“No!” she thought. She desperately tried to will her body to stop, but she couldn’t even slow down. Step by step she moved to the fire, extending her hand. She knew the fire would burn her, but it made no difference; she was an observer in her own body.

“Stop,” he ordered. “Hermione, do you doubt my power now?” he asked, his thought was harsh.

Her eyes had gone wide in fear. Hardly able to think, she just shook her head no.

“When Voldemort is dead, I will make you face the dawn; you will sit on some roof top and enjoy the view.” Suddenly, his thought softened and he continued sadly, “When night has fallen I will gather your ashes, and see that you are laid to rest with your parents. Don’t be afraid, I will make sure that there will be no pain.”

Harry extinguished the fire. Hermione could feel him reign in his vampire nature, and she was shaken to the core of her being by the power he had over her. At any time he wanted he could have stopped her. At the same time, she felt that if she had passed through that door he would have let her go.

He was in control again. “Hermione, I’ve lost too. Hedwig won’t come near me. I looked forward to taking my Apperition test with Ron. Today is my birthday, but I’ll never be an adult. I’ve never had much to dream about, except to have someone rescue me from the Dursleys, and that never really came true. I understand only a little of what you’ve lost, but I will do all I can to help you through this awful time.”

He turned away from her and walked slowly out of the basement. She heard him climbing the stairs. For the rest of the night his thought pierced her anger like a balloon. Every time her sense of injustice began to swell she heard him say, “Today is my birthday, but I’ll never be an adult,” and it just took something out of her. She had come back to keep her promise, unaware he had bound her to himself with something far more sinister, a bond of blood.

6. Chapter Six

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 Six

In the silent darkness, Hermione stood alone. Her emotions were in turmoil; fear, anger, grief, frustration, humiliation, and pain were the major players. This thing was not the Harry that she knew, but somewhere, within the vampire, Harry still existed. She had heard him when he called out to her.

Her own motivations puzzled her; she had come back to offer her help. Why had she provoked him? All through her Hogwarts years, when people had poked fun at her, hadn’t she tried to rise above the teasing? Never before had she baited someone that she knew was hurting. The thought occurred to her that now she was different, too.

She did not know how long she stood there. Her body did not grow tired or restless, so that she was unaware of the passage of time. Hermione stretched out her consciousness, aware that the small creatures were moving away from her. It caused her new pain to think that even vermin rejected her presence as something unnatural.

The vampire part of her nature took note of the pockets of life energy in the room. Like a spider spinning trap lines, she expanded her awareness through the building. She discovered that Harry was up on the roof. His presence was a hole in the web of life that filled the old factory.

Hermione followed the tracks in the dust up to the roof. Harry was sitting on the parapet looking out over London, his mind totally preoccupied. He said nothing as she approached. “Harry, I’d like to apologize,” she began.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Hermione,” he answered. “I’m the one that destroyed you.” She had no answer for that one; it was true.

After a moment she continued, “I shouldn’t have provoked you. When I came back I really was offering to help. I need to think that promises mean something.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, “Would you really have made me put my hand in the fire?”

“I wouldn’t, but my vampire would have.”

“I thought you were the vampire.”

“Not entirely. It is a part of me, it shares my consciousness and memories, and it seems to be growing. It gives me awareness, strength, and speed; but it is not me, it takes over sometimes. I seem to be watching myself do things, like killing those Death Eaters. I’m not sure I wanted to kill them, but it was just so strong, I couldn’t resist it. I was so angry because they wanted to kill the Weasleys and take Ron and Ginny to Voldemort. I just couldn’t let them do that. Since I wanted to hurt them, the vampire-me just took over and killed them.”

“I’m not going to kill for you, Harry,” Hermione declared. “I’ll help in any way I can, but I can’t kill anyone.”

“I won’t make you. I promise. Vampires don’t kill for blood, anyway. We aren’t supposed to call attention to ourselves.”

“Who said that?”

“The vampire that made me did. I told you before, but I guess you forgot.”

Hermione thought about what he said. Mostly, she concentrated on his first statement; Harry had not asked to be a vampire. Her feelings were a long way from forgiveness, but she could see that he was not entirely at fault. Some vampire had turned him into a creature like itself. It saddened her that his life was so miserable that he could just sit in silence rather than yell at the unfairness of it all; a life that had been so empty that being reduced to vampirism was just another obstacle on the path he had decided to pursue. The thought occurred to her that he really had not had the opportunity to make choices for himself; orphaned at one-year-old, ten years of neglect, even at Hogwarts he was constantly boxed in by Voldemort’s plans and minions, and finally hounded again by the most evil wizard of the time.

Hermione suddenly noticed the stars. They were what Harry had been gazing at. “Amazing! The stars are so beautiful,” she said at last.

“Yes, they are.” Harry was glad that she no longer felt the need to strike out at him.

She pointed to a fiery glow that had appeared on the horizon. As they watched, it was slowly rising toward the zenith. “Is that the dawn?”

Harry nodded. “We have about forty minutes to get under cover.” High in the air, a flying airplane was touched by the sunlight. To Hermione’s eyes it appeared to burst into flame, though it proceeded on its way without harm.

“Tonight, I will teach you to hunt, unless you want to go on drinking from me?”

She considered his offer. “All right, Harry. I might need to do it if you aren’t around; but I hate the idea.”

Together they walked down the stairs to the basement.

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The Aurors came to the Burrow at mid-morning. While a couple of them aided Arthur in increasing the range and power of the wards protecting the homestead, a small group began examining the grounds for clues at to what had happened to the Death Eaters.

The group enchanting the Burrow finished first, and moved to the orchard. The second group, under Littleton’s authority joined them a short while later.

“From the direction of the tracks, it appears that the Death Eaters Apperated to a spot over there. They then moved through these trees toward the house. Whatever got them came from outside as well. It followed them, taking them out one by one. Evidently, none of the Death Eaters knew that they were under attack until it was too late.”

He showed Arthur a diagram he had made of the property; “We found blood at each of these places.” He indicated little X’s on the drawing. “Goyle, here, the unknown here. Alecto and Amycus here. Amycus passed the spot where Alecto was attacked, and then doubled back. Rookwood and Higgs were here, near the edge of the garden.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief, “What could track, attack, and kill six Death Eaters without using magic, and kill without making a sound? I never heard a thing, and I wasn’t far from the back door.” An odd expression crossed his face, “I just remembered! It was so quiet, not even the frogs in the pond were making any noise, whatever it was it must have frightened them. I don’t know what it is, but it must be monstrous.”

The Aurors stared at one another. As if Voldemort was not bad enough, it appeared there was some new horror on the loose. It did not matter much that it had attacked the Dark Lord’s minions, there was no way to tell whom it might attack next. Each one of them could not help but wonder if they would survive it.

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Monday evening Harry rose from the desk. The cold pain from the hunger had trebled since yesterday. Hermione followed him a few seconds later; her face grimacing at her own discomfort. He drew his black cloak around his shoulders and gave his Invisibility Cloak to Hermione. She was looking unhappy at the prospect of hunting for blood.

As he approached the entrance he noticed that the magic that they had used to lock and unlock the door had imparted energy to it. Against the dark of the wall, the door had a soft glow. He stopped to stare at it.

“What is it?”

“Dumbledore said magic left traces, and you could sometimes even recognize who cast the spell by the style of the magic. I just wonder if he could see magic like we can, or if he used some other sense.”

Harry used his wand to open the door. He feared to say too much, afraid to shatter the fragile peace that existed between Hermione and him. She followed him up the stairs and out on to the loading dock. The weather had turned cloudy and a gentle rain was falling.

They made their way to the hole in the fence, slipped through, and headed toward the noise of the traffic. The streets were deserted as before. “What are you looking for, Harry?”

“I’m looking for someone who is alone; or a small group of people. You have to…,” he hesitated. What did he do to his victims?

“You mean like hypnotize them?” she asked helpfully.

“I guess so; it just seems I’ve never found anyone who could resist me. It’s more like some kind of domination. I don’t have to make verbal suggestions. When I look into their eyes they just know and obey. I even know what they‘re thinking.”

They walked thorough the rain in silence. Each one was searching for the life energy of their prey. Finally they reached the street carrying the traffic. The glow of the streetlights was harsh to their eyes, and the glare of vehicle headlights almost painful.

Harry removed his cloak, realizing that in the bright light he would call attention to himself. The few Muggles on the street would find the garment unusual. The road led from the docks on the river to the warehouses farther in from the water. There were a few offices and small businesses catering to the shipping trades. Scattered among them were several pubs and rooming houses for sailors. Now, in the early evening, there were small knots of people queuing up at the bus stops and cars with workmen heading home after work.

Hermione shed the Invisibility Cloak and walked beside Harry as they made their way away from the river. As they walked along, Harry began to realize how out of place they looked. The people here were all in their mid-twenties and up; Muggles old enough to have jobs.

They trudged along trying not to call attention to themselves; mostly looking down at the pavement to keep the light from hurting their eyes. They were aware of prostitutes standing in the entrances of the alleyways; drunks or junkies hiding deeper in. At last Hermione asked, “Harry do you have any Muggle money with you?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me.” She turned into a small store. It was a small shop that sold magazines, books, and personal hygiene products to people who were passing through. Hermione bought two pairs of cheap sunglasses, a comb, and brush. The middle-aged Asian clerk looked at them with an expression of combined pity and disgust. Harry looked into her mind. She thought they were a couple of drug addicts. He realized that they must be a sorry sight. They were too young, pale, and drenched to the skin; obviously in pain because they needed their drugs. His clothes were overly large hand-me-downs; she thought he was a runaway, dragging his poor girlfriend down the road to ruin with him. In a bitter flash of insight, he realized she was right. The only thing she missed was the fact that they needed blood, not drugs.

Hermione handed Harry one of the pairs of glasses and they walked to the door of the shop. “Miss!” the clerk called. Hermione walked back to her. She smiled and passed a card to Hermione. “If you need help…” Hermione looked down at the card. The address and phone number of the Warf Street Mission was printed on the card.

Hermione was touched. She gave the woman a small smile; she drew a breath and whispered, “Thank you.” She returned to Harry and they left the shop. Harry looked at her quizzically. “She’s trying to help,” Hermione explained.

The dark glasses helped their sensitive eyes and made walking much easier, though the pain of the hunger was becoming more intense. Harry turned down an avenue and they began walking back in the direction of the factory. At last he found what he was looking for. A lone woman was sitting on a bench at a bus stop. He drew Hermione into an alleyway, “Put on the Invisibility Cloak and watch.”

Hermione watched as Harry approached the woman. She was beginning to look afraid as he drew near. Suddenly her expression melted into a dreamy smile. Harry came up behind her, bent over her shoulder, and kissed her on the neck. His attack was over in less than two minutes. As he drew away, walking down the block, she appeared to come to herself. She looked around. Seeing that Harry had passed, she began to relax and paid him no further attention. Harry waited for Hermione at the corner. Even from a distance Hermione could see that Harry no longer looked so pale. His face was relaxed because he was no longer in pain.

When she caught up to him she asked, “What did you do to her?”

“She was thinking of her boyfriend, she had had a really good date with him. I just made her focus on him and didn’t allow her to feel the pain of the bite. I just took enough blood to make the pain stop,” he explained.

Harry held his wrist out to her. Hermione just shook her head. Together they walked on toward a shabby apartment building. There was another bus stop in front of it. “I have an idea. Wait here.” Hermione gave him the Invisibility Cloak. She walked the length of the block and sat down on the bench.

It was not long before a bus pulled up. Several passengers exited, the driver waited expectantly for a minute, and when Hermione made no attempt to get up he called out to her. Hermione waved him away, without bothering to look up. The driver shook his head at her rudeness and drove away, shifting the gears noisily in his disgust.

The little scene caught the attention of the passengers, but as Hermione continued to sit, apparently oblivious to her surroundings, they began to drift away, all except for one middle-aged man who continued to stare at her.

“Miss, is there something wrong?” he asked softly. Hermione ignored him. He sat down on the other side of the bench. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” he spoke somewhat louder. “If you need a place to go, I can make a few phone calls; find some place that will take you in.”

Hermione looked at him at last. He could see the pain in her eyes. He reached out and gently touched her arm. His fingers rested on her fore arm briefly, before he drew back in surprise. Hermione’s skin was cold and hard, her flesh was almost like cold modeling clay. It was the flesh of a corpse. The man’s eyes went wide with surprise, and Hermione struck. She swiftly entered his mind. He was thinking of a relationship out of his past, remembering a girl that looked something like her, and the joy and amazement of a first kiss.

To the casual observer it would have appeared that the man was giving Hermione a comforting hug. Her bushy hair covered the side of his face and neck. She felt her fangs pierce the skin of his neck as she targeted the vein beneath his ear. As she drew his blood, the warmth spread through her body. The cold and pain vanished; she could think more clearly. Remembering what Harry said, she stopped drinking when the pain was gone. She bent her will on the puncture marks on her victim’s throat and the wounds closed. She stood up and thought, “When I am gone you will forget me.”

The man woke up from a very pleasant daydream. He was thinking of his girlfriend, Carol. They had been eighteen and it was the first time that he had kissed her. As he looked around he could not remember, for the life of him, why he was sitting here thinking about Carol. She had been dead for nearly ten years, victim of a train crash. They had never married, but she had always kept in touch, and he still missed her. With a sigh he stood up and made his way home.

Harry and Hermione watched him go. As they left the alleyway from which Harry had watched Hermione feed, he nodded his approval of her tactics. Hermione’s emotions were in turmoil. She was feeling shame and was seething with anger at what Harry had done to her. “Don’t you smile at me like that, Harry Potter!” she snapped. “That poor man was just being kind; he was trying to help someone he felt was in trouble. I USED him; took advantage of his kindness. Just to prolong my own useless existence.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Hermione, you caused no lasting damage,” thought Harry.

“Not to him, maybe, but certainly to me. I purposely deceived him. What is that going to do to me? Is that what you want me to become? Something you have to watch all the time because you can’t trust me?”

Harry did not press, though deep within his thought he could never conceive of a Hermione that was untrustworthy. Instead he turned toward the factory and began walking. Hermione burdened by shame, followed behind him.

Hermione wanted to be alone, so she allowed Harry to draw steadily ahead. She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she did not realize Harry had stopped. The collision brought her to her senses. Following his gaze she saw what had brought his abrupt halt. The factory was about four blocks distant; in the yard of the factory there were four dementors. They were behaving oddly. Hermione had seen them gliding along, but these appeared to be dancing. Each one was moving in a circular pattern, moving in and out like square dancers. At intervals one would touch another, sliding its arm into the sleeve of its partner. They would then withdraw and bow to one another.

Looking back at Harry she watched him surrender to his vampire self. His face became hard. He removed his sunglasses and handed them to her. His glowing eyes were a hellish red. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, extending his talons. He drew his wand with his right hand. She expected him to cast the Patronus Charm. Instead, he spun lightly on his toes, it was a tribute to his determination that he vanished without a sound.

Hermione began to run. As a vampire she did not need to breathe. Energized by the blood she had taken she ran, light and swift, more swiftly than the fastest human, yet there was not the slightest hint of a stitch in her side.

Ahead of her, Harry appeared slightly to the left of the dancing dementors. He slipped his wand into his pocket and lashed out at the nearest dementor. Harry tore at the monster; slashing its arm. Hermione saw it glide away from the others, attempting to escape from Harry’s onslaught. The wounds were dripping a thick, greenish goo that spattered on the ground. The thing set up a weird howling that Hermione felt in her mind rather than with her ears. Harry rounded on the wounded dementor and tore it again. Now he slashed it across its body. This time the ichor was accompanied by semi-solid globules that must have served as organs of some kind. The horror sank slowly to the ground as it died.

Harry took advantage of the surprised dementors. He attacked the next closest one as it straightened up from its bow. Harry tore it from behind raking its back from its shoulders downwards. Its inwards poured swiftly onto the ground. Unlike the first, it died without a sound.

Hermione had covered half the distance to the factory when Harry attacked the third dementor. This one, too, began to howl as it tried to fend Harry off with its arms. Hermione was shocked as Harry tore the creature’s limbs off. It spun around several times before it crashed into a wall and sank slowly to the ground.

The last dementor loomed over Harry. It appeared to be somewhat larger than the others. It reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. The monster’s strength must have been prodigious because it lifted him from the ground, and hurled him at a fire escape hanging on a wall of the factory. As the beast threw him, Harry twisted like a cat and clawed the inside of the creature’s arm. It set up a despairing wail as it began to bleed. Harry had the impression of sharp, hard corners as he flew toward the fire escape. Suddenly he came to a gentle stop, floating inches from the steel framework. He looked around and saw Hermione lower her wand, lowering him to the ground in the process.

Hermione entered the yard looking in amazement at the dying dementor. She noted the energy in the blank places where its eyes should have been. She realized that once they had been cut they did not stop “bleeding.” The last dementor sank to the ground as she approached. Swiftly the carcasses began to evaporate. Within five minutes they were gone. If she had not seen it with her own eyes she would not have believed they had been there.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he grinned. “This neighborhood should be better off without those things hanging around. We destroyed them, that’s not quite useless, is it?”

Hermione could only shrug.

“We need to get out of sight. I don’t want to be seen if the Ministry comes to investigate.”

“Investigate what, Harry?”

“My Apperating, for one thing. The dementors for another.”

Hermione just nodded and headed back to the loading dock. Once back inside the factory she located a loo and went inside. Harry followed to find her using a dusty mirror to brush her hair. The tip of her wand glowed faintly, but for a vampire the light was more than adequate.

“It is a relief to be able to see my reflection; Muggle legends say vampires don’t cast a reflection in a mirror.”

Harry was puzzled. “Why wouldn’t we? Our bodies are still real, still subject to physical laws. I wonder what would have happened if I had hit that fire escape? I know it wouldn’t have killed me, but what would have happened if I had broken a bone?”

“Let’s hope we don’t ever find out .But I guess that if you were crippled badly enough the daylight would destroy you.” Changing the subject Hermione thought, “Harry, tomorrow we need to get some new clothes. The ones you are wearing don’t fit and it makes people notice you.”

“Okay,” he answered. Harry went back to the loading dock for a while. Wizards from the Ministry did not come. After a couple of hours Harry retreated back to the basement.

The following evening the two of them packed and hid their belongings. It was not long before they caught a bus heading closer to the center of London. The early part of the evening was taken up by shopping for clothes. They quickly realized that they did not need much. They would probably be traveling and would have to be carrying whatever they owned with them. Fortunately, by using magic, they could easily stuff what they had into a couple of backpacks.

For the first time Harry bought his own Muggle clothing. Hermione added a blouse and slacks to the pair of jeans and tee shirt she already had. As they wandered around the area Harry spotted a specialty store, after a quick conference with Hermione he convinced her to add some military style clothing to their wardrobe. What they bought was advertised as Battle Dress Units or BDU’s. The ones they selected were midnight blue, rather than the camouflaged ones. The heavy cloth would protect them from abrasion, since they were preparing to fight. Lightweight boots would give support to their ankles. He also bought some knee and elbow pads, Hermione went along but she was looking rather dubious about the whole thing.

After leaving the store Hermione shrank their purchases, and they spent some time looking around. Harry caught Hermione staring at the couples as they strolled hand in hand, or parents with their children. He did not have to enter her thoughts as he read the envy on her face.

Their hunger was beginning to press on them as the night passed. Harry steered Hermione away from the more brightly lit areas toward the seedier establishments. It was not long before they were accosted by a small group of rowdy, young thugs. They began by calling Hermione to leave Harry and join them for a few drinks. Smiling, Harry took Hermione’s arm and began to move away from them. He purposely led them down a small, dark side street before they began to run. The gang, believing that they sensed fear, began to give chase. Once away from the main street Harry turned into an alleyway.

The gang pelted into the narrow alley to find Hermione standing near the back; Harry was nowhere to be seen. Laughing, the leader asked, “What happened to your boyfriend? He run off and left you for us?” Even if she had not been able to read his thoughts, Hermione would have known what they were planning to do.

She gave a deep sigh, and then she said, “No, he’s right behind you.”

“Ain’t fallin’ for that one, Lovey,” he smirked.

“You should listen to the lady. She’s telling the truth,” Harry said from the head of the alley. He had Apperated behind them.

The gang whirled around at the sound of Harry’s voice.

“You should also be more wary of people you meet on the street. Not every one is what they appear to be.” Suddenly Hermione stepped into the alley behind Harry.

The toughs looked behind them, Hermione was gone. Most of the thugs backed away from the pair. The leader drew a butterfly knife from his back pocket. With a flick of his wrist he opened the knife and advanced on Harry, “I don’t know how ya did that, but I ain’t afraid of you.”

The man slashed with the knife. Almost without appearing to move Harry caught the man’s wrist, stopping his swing. He tried with all of his strength to move the knife, but Harry held his arm motionless. Harry read the man’s mind, his name was Harvey.

Harvey began to make small noises, unable to say anything in his fear. Harry bent Harvey’s wrist and the knife dropped to the ground with a clatter. Without effort Harry forced him to kneel down.

He felt movement and looked up. Harry had removed his sunglasses. Unable to help himself, he looked into Harry’s eyes. Then Harvey’s world went black…

He stirred a few hours later. Shaking with fear he looked around. Everyone in his gang was unconscious, sitting with their backs up against one of the walls that formed the alleyway. Whimpering with fear he deserted his gang and his knife. He felt he had to get away from the dark. There were horrible things in the night, and he vowed never to be in the dark ever again.

Emboldened by the Ministry’s lack of response Harry and Hermione Apparated back to the factory. Since the toughs had attacked her Hermione did not feel so bad about feeding from them. Harry was relieved at the apparent solution to Hermione’s problem with taking blood from innocent people. Within the city there were always going to be petty criminals around for her to feed on.

Wednesday night they decided to make a trip to Diagon Alley. Hermione was dissatisfied with her cloak. The one from school was getting too small. They Apparated to the back of the Leaky Cauldron and Hermione tapped the brick.

After nightfall, Diagon Alley looked even more dismal than it had on their visit the previous August. Many of the purple placards were gone, though most of the pictures of the Death Eaters remained. A chill mist was rising as they drew their cloaks around themselves to hide their Muggle clothes.

They need not have bothered, the street was deserted. They made their way past Flourish and Blotts, relieved to see that the book store was still open. The Apothecary was open as well. Apparently, the stores where the proprietors lived above the store itself were still open. They were desperately trying to make a living within the climate of fear that had gripped the wizarding world.

They walked on, past Florescue’s boarded up ice cream parlor and Ollivander’s wand shop. Fortune smiled on Hermione as Madam Malkin’s was still open. It did not take long for them to buy new, larger, hooded cloaks. Madam Malkin remembered the sale, but she could never describe the young couple that bought the cloaks.

As they left the shop Harry suggested, “Let’s go check out Fred and George’s shop. I don’t want to enter, but I need to know that they are doing okay.”

Hermione made no objection. They donned their new cloaks and moved up the street to where Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was located. To Harry’s bitter disappointment the store was dark.

He realized that Fred and George represented normality to him. He wanted to believe that normal was somehow indestructible.

He reached out with his vampire senses; he knew that the shop was empty of living beings.

“Harry, all their merchandise still seems to be there, let’s go closer,” Hermione suggested.

“Just a minute,” he answered. Harry felt another presence on the street.

He was trying to find out where the person was when Hermione thought, “Harry, I bet Fred and George are at the Burrow. Bill’s wedding is tomorrow.”

Harry filed that bit of information as he continued to search the area. He was sure someone was nearby. “Hermione, can you see anyone?”

“No.”

Harry pulled Hermione back toward the shops. He focused his hearing. Suddenly he pinpointed a faint heartbeat off to his left. He moved toward the sound. The heartbeat was coming from a deserted shop across the street from the Weasleys. As he drew nearer he began to pick up stray thoughts from the person. Harry positioned himself where he could see inside the building.

The watcher was grumbling to himself about the menial nature of his duty. Suddenly, he made up his mind to leave. Harry watched as a slim figure moved into his line of sight. Just before the young man Apperated away, Harry recognized his old nemesis, Draco Malfoy!

He turned to look at Hermione, “The Death Eaters are watching the joke shop. Voldemort must be planning to move against them too.”

“Harry, I was right. There is a note that says they will be open on Friday.”

“Good, if the Death Eaters are coming, we are too.” They Apparated back to the factory to make a few plans.

7. Chapter Seven

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 Seven

Harry stirred at sundown on Thursday. He swiftly rose from the desktop and began his preparations to leave. He put on his new clothes and did a quick “Scourgefy” on the ones he had been wearing. Hermione did the same thing.

“May I use your Invisibility Cloak this evening, Harry?” she asked.

Harry handed her the cloak without a word.

He donned his new hooded cloak, gathered his wand and Firebolt, and swept out of the office. Hermione joined him on the loading dock. “See you on Stoatshead Hill,” he thought, and with that he Apperated away. Now that he was a vampire, the pressure was not so bad and neither did he feel suffocated by the act of Apparition. He appeared at the top of Stoatshead Hill. Moments later Hermione, with a soft pop, appeared beside him.

Harry gave her a small smile, but he noted she did not return it. He did not want to pry, but he was curious. He tried to see what she was thinking. Her mind was closed and he did not wish to force his way into her thoughts, so he mounted his Firebolt. Hermione climbed on behind him and he kicked off.

He kept the Firebolt low; gaining altitude only to check his bearings. Harry flew in a wide circle trying to detect any wizards who might be guarding the ceremony. He approached the Burrow from the front. Harry touched down on the road that led to the house; he and Hermione kept close to the hedge running beside it as they approached the Burrow. Harry remembered the first time he saw this road, the time Fred, George, and Ron rescued him from Number Four.

To vampire ears, there was a great deal of noise coming from behind the Burrow; he could hear whisperings and a great collection of heartbeats. He looked, but Hermione had pulled the hood of the Invisibility Cloak over her head and had disappeared. Harry ran to the corner of the house and merged with the shadows there. He kept absolutely still; since the human eye tended to track movement in low-light situations, his dark clothing was almost as good as an Invisibility Cloak.

The ceremony appeared well underway as Bill and Fleur were at the front of the crowd. They were facing each other, surrounded by a bright glow. The crowd murmured appreciatively as the nimbus died away. The aged testor was saying, “I present to you our new family, Bill and Fleur Weasley.” Harry could see the proud smiles on Ginny and Gabrielle’s faces as they regarded their older siblings kissing each other. Harry did not recognize either the maid of honor or the best man. He supposed if all had gone according to plan, he would have been introduced. It wasn’t hard for him to locate the rest of the Weasleys; their red hair identified them all.

The ceremony seemed to be over. All at once, the guests stood and began to congratulate Bill and Fleur. After presenting their best wishes to the young couple they began to drift away, either Apparating, flying away on brooms, or entering the kitchen to use the fireplace to floo home. In a surprisingly short time all of the guests were gone, and only the family was left. Harry could tell from the tables set up on either side of the chairs that the guests had eaten before the ceremony. There were some sandwiches and punch left over.

The bride and groom, their robes glowing softly, were moving into the kitchen. As they passed inside, Harry moved to where he could see. Before Ron shut the door, he noticed that there was a supper laid for the family. He felt a pang as he realized that there were two empty chairs that had been removed from the table and set on either side of the fireplace.

Even though the door was closed he could hear what was being said. Arthur was giving a toast, “Though this is the happiest of occasions, it is not what it should have been. There are two, as near as family, who have been lost to us. Before we begin our feast, let us have a moment of silence in honor of absent friends. To Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.” It was not as silent as it should have been. Harry could hear both Molly and Fleur crying softly; through the curtains he could see the dim outlines as they supported each other.

Harry became aware of the smell of blood. He moved a couple of steps forward and to his right, and placed his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. He pulled the hood back; Hermione was crying too. Her shoulders shook as the tears of blood streamed down her cheeks; but because she was not breathing she did not sob. There was something terrible in the silence of her weeping. He could feel her despair, she felt forever barred from the wedding feast, an eternal outcast from humanity.

From within the kitchen low conversations began. There was speculation about what had happened to Harry and Hermione and talk of the continuing war and the coming school year. There were queries into Bill and Fleur’s plans for their honeymoon and their new lives together. Finally, there were a few jokes and laughter lightened the mood of the wedding party. At last there came the scraping of chairs and the voices of Fleur’s family making preparations to leave. After several minutes passed, voices spoke in French and the whooshing of flame gave indication that Fleur’s family had gone.

There were more goodbyes and Bill, then his bride left as well.

The doorknob rattled and Harry withdrew to the shadows. He tried to draw Hermione with him but she resisted. She pulled the hood of the Invisibility Cloak over her head once more. Ginny opened the door and walked out, heading to the roost where the chickens were. Ginny entered and Harry caught a glimpse of a familiar white owl. For the first time that night the profound sense of what he had lost hit him again.

In a few moments Arthur, Molly, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and Ron came outside. Wielding their wands they began to put away the trappings of the wedding. Tables, chairs, food, and linen began flying, stacking, and packing. In short order all was set to rights and the Weasleys retired for the night.

From the shadows, Harry wondered what Hermione was going to do. Before the Weasleys began their work, he noticed the door open slightly; Hermione had gone inside the house. Harry did not know whether to be angry or frightened, but there was nothing he could do. If he moved to the door he might be seen, and he had no wish to hypnotize his family. After the Weasleys had gone inside, he was afraid that if he opened the door from the outside he might set off an alarm. All he could do was wait.

The stars wheeled overhead. Harry was feeling lonely, he understood a little why Hermione was keeping him at a distance; she rightly blamed him for her present predicament. He resolved to demonstrate to her that he would keep his word to release her from an intolerable existence, while trying not to intrude on her grief. As time passed, he could tell from the change in the rhythms of the Weasley’s heartbeats that they were all asleep.

Upstairs, Hermione had watched Ron prepare for bed. She calmed his mind and he fell asleep. She approached his bedside, listening to his heartbeat. This close she could smell his blood. The hunger stirred within her and she toyed with the idea that she could make him a vampire too. She could condemn him to endless nights of hunting for blood. Then she thought about the way he behaved in school. He stole a Fanged Frisbee she had confiscated, that fiasco with Lavender Brown, and Harry told her he had thrown a knife at his brothers. He was certainly insensitive and lazy. He strutted when others noticed his accomplishments, bragging endlessly when others showed the slightest interest. How would he handle the powers that came with being a vampire? If he called undue attention to himself, he would doom them all. How long could they last if the Muggles learned that there were real vampires? The Ministry of Magic and the other vampires would hunt him relentlessly; they would have to. How would the Weasleys handle the disgrace of having a monster in the family? She loved them too much to take Ron from them; she loved Ron too much to hurt him like Harry had hurt her. In the end she bent down and kissed him. Ron reacted sharply to the touch of her cold, dry lips. He tried to brush her kiss away. Hermione was crushed; it seemed that even in his sleep Ron recognized the touch of her unclean lips. She straightened up and entered his mind.

It was after midnight when Hermione left the Burrow. She joined Harry, and they made their way to the spot where he had hidden his Firebolt. “What did you do?” he asked.

“I said goodbye to Ron, and I took the memory of the prophecy and the Horcruxes from his mind. Now that he believes we are dead he might have told what he knows about it. Voldemort might attack because he will believe that there is no one to stop him. Everyone else will despair because they will believe that there is no one to save them.”

Harry could not fault her reasoning.

“You will keep your promise, to kill me after Voldemort is dead? I don’t know how long I can do this,” she whined.

“Yes, Hermione, I will give you the peace you long for,” he promised. They mounted the Firebolt and flew back to London.

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The next morning everyone except Ron gathered for breakfast. Molly went upstairs to rouse him, but when she knocked on his door he said, “Come in.”

She found him sitting up, staring into space. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Will you be coming down?” He nodded absentmindedly. Molly turned and left, she was disturbed by the blank look on Ron’s face.

Just as everyone was tucking into the porridge, eggs, sausage, and toast, Ron came down. Percy was filling Arthur on some leads in Harry’s disappearance. Ron looked at them and said sadly, “You won’t find Harry, he’s dead. Hermione is too.” Ginny dropped her glass and stared at him.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Arthur. Everyone was looking at Ron as if he had gone mental. Not even Fred or George tried to find something flippant to say.

“I saw Hermione in a dream last night. She came to say goodbye and that she was going with Harry.”

Molly came and laid her hand on Ron’s arm, “Want to tell us about it?”

Ron’s eyes filled with tears. “I dreamed I was walking in the orchard. I came to a fence,” he looked defensively at his family, “I know there is no fence there, but there was in my dream. I looked across the fence, and Hermione was sitting in the grass. She was wearing a white dress and she had little white flowers in her hair.”

“She smiled at me and said, ‘Hi, Ron.’ I asked her where she was and she told me she was in the land of the dead. I couldn’t help myself; I asked her what had happened to her, and she … got this funny look and … and she said that she couldn’t remember exactly … that she remembered being afraid and in a lot of pain … but then she smiled again, and said that it didn’t matter now.”

“I tried to climb the fence, but I couldn’t get over it. She laughed and told me that I was being silly. Her laughter was beautiful; she didn’t laugh much when we were in school.” He shrugged his shoulders, “I wonder why we didn’t laugh together.”

Ginny couldn’t help thinking, “Because you kept hurting her feelings,” but she said nothing.

“Anyway, she said the only way to cross the fence was to die. Then she got serious and told me that I’d cross the fence one day, but she hoped that I wouldn’t be in a big hurry. She stood up and pointed to a grove of trees across the field, ‘Harry’s over there, he wants me to tell you goodbye. He said to tell you what happened to him wasn’t your fault.’ I could see him too. Like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. He was waving to me. I asked Hermione why he didn’t come to the fence. She told me that once you were across the fence you could only move away from it. ‘I waited to say goodbye to you. Harry told me not to come to him until I had, since we can’t come back.’ I asked her where they were going, and she pointed to a mountain. It was the biggest mountain I’ve ever seen, but there was no snow around the top. ‘There is a city there, Harry and I will wait for you.’ I asked if she and Harry were going to get married, I don’t know why I asked that. She just laughed at me again. ‘Love isn’t like that here, Ron. It is deeper, richer, and it is eternal. It isn’t exclusive like it is in marriage, but it isn’t physical either. Marriage and sex are for where you are. Earthly love is transcended here; your earthly love is like the first step on the path. You will learn to love differently here.’ Then she got up and began walking toward Harry. She turned once and said, ‘Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. We will think of you often. As much as we can, we will help you fight You-Know-Who.’ Well, she didn’t say You-Know-Who, but … and then … they were … gone.”

Ron’s voice trailed off as he tried to come to terms with his dream. The rest of breakfast was silent except for Molly’s “Repairo” on Ginny’s dropped glass.

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Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes did not open until twelve o’clock. Partly it was decadence on the part of the twins, who firmly believed that one’s sense of humor did not function until high noon. Mostly it was because much of their business was Owl Post. The first part of the morning was spent preparing orders to be shipped.

They had Apparated from the Burrow at ten-thirty. By then Ron had begun to develop a sense of closure from his dream. Because of their mail order business, they had not lost too much in being closed for a couple of days. Verity, the salesgirl, arrived at noon, and the window displays once again lit up.

Business was rather slow during the afternoon, but it was rather early for the students returning to Hogwarts to begin their shopping. Fred and George were experimenting in their workshop through the late afternoon hours. They could hear the sound of the bell announcing the few customers that came and went.

Darkness had fallen and the twins were finishing their experiments for the day when Verity came into the lab. She looked rather frightened. “Could one of you help this customer, I don’t know why but this person just gives me the collywobbles.”

Fred and George were intrigued at what kind of person could upset such a grounded, out-going witch like Verity. Together they entered the front of the store. Standing between the shelves was an ominous figure, clad in a black, deeply hooded cloak, exactly the kind the Death Eaters wore. The customer was standing very still, apparently reading the descriptions of the jokes on the shelf. There was something in the air, a kind of psychic warning that this person was dangerous.

Fred and George looked at each other nervously. Fred then stepped toward the customer speaking in a bright, cheery voice, “Good evening, is there something I can help you find?”

The hooded figure did not speak, but it plainly shook its head “no.” As Fred approached it held out a warning hand, bidding him to stop. Fred stopped. He could not help but notice the outlandish way the person was clothed. He thought he recognized the swell of breasts so he now thought of their customer as she, but she was dressed in a dark, heavy cloth outfit consisting of a jacket and trousers. She was also wearing pads on her knees and elbows, as well as lace-up boots.

Suddenly, the figure stiffened. Before he could react the figure closed on him. She grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him toward her. Once he was off balance, she forced him gently but irresistibly to the floor. Now that he was down she drew a wand, and moved toward the front of the store.

The front door was kicked open with a resounding crash. Verity screamed as several hooded and masked figures stormed into the room. George grabbed Verity and pushed her down behind the counter. He quickly drew his wand and stood up.

Red flashes erupted from the front of the store. Their mysterious customer was blasting the intruders with non-verbal stunning spells. The Death Eaters fell back before the onslaught. The mysterious figure jumped over the display and landed in the doorway. It grabbed two Death Eaters and slammed them together with bone-jarring crunch. The broken Death Eaters sank to the ground as the lithe figure slipped into the darkness.

George hurtled out the front of the store. There were loud shouts and curses coming from the surrounding darkness. The night was rather dark, with clouds scudding across a waning moon. As he waited for his eyes to adjust he began to notice that there were cloaked forms lying in the street, all of them were masked.

Several loud cracks announced the arrival of Aurors from the Ministry. Someone shouted, “Halt!” at George.

He shouted back, “I’m George Weasley, this is my shop! The Death Eaters are attacking us!”

With the arrival of the Aurors, several black, cloaked figures began running down the street towards Knockturn Alley. The Aurors lit their wands and began to sort out the situation by casting binding spells on the fallen.

George and a couple of Aurors ran after the fleeing Death Eaters. Somewhere ahead of them a panicked voice cried out, “What are you doing? Let me go! Let me go!” As they closed the distance, George saw two figures struggling with a third. It appeared that the two were pulling the third away from the entrance to Knockturn Alley. The sound of footsteps announced that several other Aurors had joined them.

The Auror next to him cried out, “Halt! You there, stop that! Let him go!” He began firing stunning spells at the trio.

Distracted by the attack, the duo let their victim go. He twisted away and fled down Knockturn Alley. The twosome sped further down Diagon Alley. George and the two Aurors continued their pursuit of the pair; the rest of the Ministry wizards followed the Death Eaters down Knockturn Alley. Once the Death Eater had escaped from them, the duo rapidly drew away from their pursuers. George was somewhat out of shape and began to lag behind the Aurors, fighting a stitch in his side. One of the Aurors fired several more stunning spells after the speeding pair. A few, George swore, hit them, but the magic apparently had no effect.

A comfortable distance ahead of the Aurors, the couple slipped between two buildings. George knew, given the construction of the street, that it was a dead end for them. When he arrived at the spot, the Aurors were using their wand lights to scan the space between the buildings; there was no one there.

“Where could they have gone?” one was asking. “Are we outside the anti-Apparition jinx?”

“I don’t think so. Kingsley said the jinx covered the whole alley.”

After several minutes of poking around they gave up. They walked back to the store discussing the speed of the Death Eaters they were chasing and the apparent ineffectiveness of their magic to stop them.

Once back at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, George gave a statement about what had happened. Verity had calmed down, but he found it slightly alarming that Fred was still quite shaken by his experience. Fred gave a statement to the Aurors, but George knew that his brother was hiding something.

It took a while before all the unconscious Death Eaters were hauled away. Verity gave her statement and left for the day. The twins gave her the next day off, with pay. Sometime, in all the commotion, Arthur arrived to check on his sons.

After everyone was gone he went with them to their rooms above the store to ask them a few questions about the attack. George poured three shots of Old Ogden’s Firewhiskey as he told them about the chase down the alley. After he finished he said, “All right, Fred, I know you’re hiding something, what gives?”

Fred turned pale, “You’ve got to promise you won’t tell Ron, not ever! If you don’t, I won’t say.”

“Okay.”

“No, I mean swear,” demanded Fred.

“All right, I swear I won’t tell Ron what you say.” George and Arthur looked at one another, surprised by Fred’s earnestness.

Fred drew a deep breath and polished off his whiskey in one gulp; “I saw the face of the person in the cloak when she forced me down behind the display.” He paused, trying to summon the words he needed. “I touched her hand. Do you remember when Aunt Martha died? We dared each other to touch her?” George nodded. “You remember how her hand felt?”

“Yes,” George replied.

“Her hand felt like Aunt Martha’s, cold and hard. I saw her face … her hand was dead … but the way she moved … I don’t think that she noticed that I saw her face … and fangs. Merlin’s beard, it was a vampire.” He began to shake. “I saw her face, it was Hermione Granger.” He covered his face with his hands. “My God, George, Hermione is a vampire.”

George swallowed hard, Arthur looked shocked beyond words. “Fred, what do you think about the other one outside? They were all wearing those hooded cloaks so; I couldn’t tell who anyone was. But I’d bet that the two that ran off down Diagon Alley weren’t with the others. All the real Death Eaters made for Knockturn Alley. They were about the same size…”

“Harry” all three of them said as one. Harry and Hermione together in Ron’s dream was too big a coincidence. “They must have come to the wedding. You think? They’d have to be close to plant those thoughts in Ron’s mind,” asked George. Arthur nodded.

“That’s the second time they’ve come to the Burrow.” Arthur confided about the Death Eaters coming on the previous Friday night, and what the Aurors found on the following Monday. “The fact that they are vampires explains a lot. It also seems that they don’t mean us any harm. They got me to increase the wards around the Burrow.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Fred.

“Don’t tell anyone else about this. I need to decide what to do, who to talk to,” answered Arthur. “What would they want with that Death Eater?” he wondered aloud.

“You mean besides having him for breakfast?” quipped George. His joke broke the tension in the room. It felt good to laugh, because the thought of Harry and Hermione being undead hurt too much to cry and they needed to do something.

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The Firebolt dropped out of the sky and swooped to a stop on the broad, shadowy loading dock. Evidently one could fly out of Diagon Alley, but could not fly in. Harry was furious that the Aurors had interfered with his capturing one of the Death Eaters. He just stood there seething as Hermione walked toward the doors leading into the factory.

“Hermione?” thought Harry, “I wanted to thank you for going into the store. I know it was hard for you to be that close to the Weasleys. You were great.”

Hermione stopped for a moment. Her emotions were in turmoil again. She was grieving once again the death of her dreams and hopes of finding someone to love her. It was still so easy to blame Harry for doing this to her. She ignored him and proceeded to their lair. She could think of it no other way, like she was now some kind of beast.

She changed her clothes and sat brooding in the dark as the hunger grew within her. Hermione’s conscience was reproving her about her ignoring Harry’s attempt to compliment her. In the past he was so self-involved that he did not seem to realize how much she sacrificed for him. Now, at least, he acknowledged she had done something difficult and she had thrown it back in his face.

“Harry?” she called. He did not answer. She tried to feel him, but he was not within range of her awareness. Hermione walked back up to the dock, but Harry was not there. She moved on to the roof even though she knew he was not there either. The stars were beautiful and she relaxed as she watched the interplay between the clouds and moon.

As the night went on she began to feel somewhat disturbed. Harry had never left her before. She tried to feel him, but he was still beyond the range of her senses. The hunger was becoming more insistent. At last she left the rooftop and made her way down the street toward the apartments.

Hermione wasn’t far from the bus stop when she felt a human presence stalking her. The man needed money and he was not particular about where he got it as long as he did not have to work for it.

As he approached her from behind, he gloated about easy prey. When he awoke in the alleyway the next morning he wondered if anyone had seen the truck that must have hit him. It was a long time before all the bruises faded and he never went back to that neighborhood again.

Hermione returned to the lair. She wondered if she could figure out where Harry had gone. After a time, she tried to focus her thoughts on Harry, stretching the boundaries of her vampire senses. She had just fed and the hunger no longer disturbed her concentration.

She entered a trance. Instead of feeling everything around her, she focused on Harry, trying to feel his location. Suddenly she seemed to have a vision. She was in a dark, quiet place, surrounded by shelves of books. “Harry?” she thought. It was as if a door slammed in her face and she was thrown back to the lair. Hermione sat up on her desktop bed, she was aware that Harry was nursing some deep pain. He was somewhere trying to find something. He was aware she had contacted his mind and he had violently shut his mind against her. A wave of sadness flowed through her conscience, now she regretted her earlier rudeness. Harry needed her; it was the one thing that still made her feel useful. She realized that in trying to hurt Harry she was only wounding herself.

It was not long before she felt someone Apparate to the loading dock. She felt Harry approach and opened the door for him. “Harry I’m sorry,” she began, “I was rude to you earlier this evening. I promise to be more polite in the future; it will help us work together.”

Harry merely nodded his head, but she could feel him relax his guard somewhat. “Where did you go?” she queried.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Neither of them said anything further and they spent the rest of the night brooding about the gulf that existed between them. Harry felt the enormity of the task before him, and wondered how he could kill Voldemort when his victory would cost him his only friend as well.

When they rose the following evening Harry asked Hermione to follow him. He took some Muggle money and his Invisibility Cloak. Dressed as Muggles they made their way to the bus stop. They caught the bus and rode toward central London. After making a couple of changes Hermione knew that they were headed back toward the section if London where she had grown up. Hermione tried looking into Harry’s thoughts trying to figure out what he had in mind, but he had shut her out.

At last Harry led Hermione from the bus and they began walking along a quiet street. The night was soft and cool. The persistent fogs that beset England did not form on this evening. Their vampire senses did not record the presence of humans on the street.

Harry proceeded to a church several blocks from where they descended from the bus. At the gate to the churchyard he drew his wand and unlocked the gate. “Why are we here, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“I needed to show you something,” he replied. The pair wandered for several minutes as Harry tried to find his bearings. Harry seemed to find what he was looking for and they headed toward a park-like area of the churchyard. In the center of the garden was an octagonal structure adorned with brass plaques. Hermione felt a sense of foreboding as they approached.

“It seems like you’ve been saying goodbye to everything that you knew, hoped for, and dreamed of. I brought you here so you could make another farewell, and so that you know that I will keep my promise to you.”

On the south wall he pointed out three plaques, one name on each one. They read: Hugh B. Granger, Hermione J. Granger, and Janet K. Granger. The date of death on each of the plaques was the same. “I brought you here so that you could say goodbye, and see where you will be resting after Voldemort is finished. I won’t be far, but I know that you’d like some privacy.”

He started to turn, but Hermione grabbed his arm. The enormity of death and its awesome finality was on the verge of overwhelming her. Harry placed his arm around her shoulders and stood beside her. After a while Hermione began to calm down, at last she sighed and said, “Thanks Harry, I think I would like some time alone.” Harry was startled to hear her voice, but he liked it just the same. Harry draped the Invisibility Cloak around her and he walked away.

Harry found a bench within sight of the mausoleum and sat down. Again, he was coming to grips with the idea that defeating Voldemort was going to cost him something he now realized was very precious – his relationship with Hermione. In spite of his emotional pain the vampire within him was enjoying the feeling of moonlight on his skin; he spread his senses into the dark. Suddenly, he was aware of someone Apparating nearby. Harry moved toward the person who was approaching the mausoleum. He was able to hide behind several large gravestones as he attempted to find out who was approaching.

The robed figure looked rather small as it came on. As the person drew up to him Harry could tell it was a woman. He threw a small stone to attract the visitor’s attention. With surprising speed the witch turned with her wand drawn. Unfortunately for her she looked into Harry’s eyes and she was caught. Harry swiftly dominated her. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Nymphadora Tonks,” she said blankly. The woman’s features flowed like water and Harry recognized the Auror.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had a friend who was kidnapped, her parents are buried here. I come here to talk to her spirit, since I believe she is dead. I want her to know that I am doing everything I can to see she is laid to rest with her family.” The Auror droned in a monotone.

Harry quickly got Tonks to tell him everything the Aurors knew about Voldemort and the dementors. “Tonks,” he commanded, “You will hear my call, and you will come to this place. You will not remember me, but you will obey. Drink!” Harry cut his wrist and forced Tonks to swallow some of his blood. “Go home now; be at peace about Hermione, she knows how you are trying to help her. She is grateful to you, smile when you remember her.”

Harry gently led Tonks away from the churchyard. “Your grief is lessened by your visit. Farewell for now; be ready when I call.” Tonks disappeared and Harry returned to Hermione. She did not seem to have noticed Tonks’ interruption.

After a time they left the cemetery walking more closely together than before. “Thank you, Harry. This place is beautiful.”

“We will come back, but tomorrow night we will leave for Manchester. The dementors appear to be massing there.”

The following evening they packed their belongings and flew to Manchester.

8. Chapter Eight

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 Eight

Arthur Weasley took two days to try to decide what to pass on to the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix. The logical person to contact was Kingsley Shacklebolt, even though he was still doing double duty providing security for the Muggle Prime Minister.

It was a couple of days more before Shacklebolt could see him. At last they got together over a quick dinner in the Leaky Cauldron. Business in the pub was not normal, but at times there were a few gathered there. Tom, the bartender, provided them a cozy booth in the back where they had some privacy.

Arthur opened the conversation by asking if Kingsley had seen the reports on the attack at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Shacklebolt indicated that he had, remarking that Fred and George had done extremely well for themselves considering the sheer number of attackers. He also remarked, “Most of the ‘Death Eaters’ involved were new. Two-thirds of them didn’t even have the Dark Mark. They would have earned it by capturing the twins.”

“What did You-Know-Who want with my sons?” asked Arthur.

The tall Auror chewed his roast beef thoughtfully before he answered. “We’re not exactly sure. You-Know-Who didn’t tell them, he just issued the orders. There is still some speculation that he is searching for Harry, your sons know him and …,” he ended with a shrug.

“No word on Harry?”

“No.”

Arthur looked into Shacklebolt’s eyes, “What if I told you that there is some information that was left out of the reports on the attack?”

Kingsley’s face clouded with something like anger. He placed his silverware down, and set his powerful hands flat on the table before him. “There could be serious repercussions for withholding information in an investigation of this magnitude,” his voice was low and dangerous.

“The twins are protecting their younger brother, Ron. The situation is not sinister, but it is extremely personal. I’ve approached you so that the information will be available to those who need it without it appearing in the Daily Prophet.”

“What do they know? I will guarantee that what you tell me will be on a need-to-know basis. However, if it is truly serious, I might not be able to protect them from Scrimgeour.”

“Fred saw Hermione Granger in the shop that night. She is a vampire. Your reports should cover that there was a pair that moved away from the main body of Death Eaters, probably Hermione and her sire. Given what I told you at our Sunday meeting, I’d bet that her sire is Harry Potter.”

Arthur was stunned by the expression that crossed the Auror’s face; Kingsley appeared to be having trouble breathing. “By Faust’s staff, please, not now … and two of them.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Vampires are bad enough, but vampires that can use magic? If what you say is true, well think about it, didn’t you ask what could kill six Death Eaters and not use magic? Harry couldn’t have been a vampire for more than a week. Dumbledore was over a hundred, and you know what his magic was like, imagine what Harry or Hermione could do after three or four hundred years of study. Even You-Know-Who would be like a child against them.”

“They never tried to hurt us. We think that they were actually in the house.”

“That’s because they haven’t been vampires very long. As the years pass, they will become less and less human, give them a century, and you won’t recognize them. Vlad Tepes was the last vampire wizard, and the even Muggles have heard about that one.”

Arthur looked puzzled.

“They called him Dracula, it means ‘son of the dragon’ in Romanian.” He shook his head and added, “It can equally mean, ’son of the devil’.”

Suddenly, the Auror was no longer hungry. “I need to look into some things, and I’ll get back with you.” He stood and left in a great hurry.

Arthur sat back in the booth. This had not gone as he had thought it would. It seemed to him Harry was trying to carry on his fight against Voldemort. It broke his heart to think of two teenagers that he loved as much as his own children were out there, probably confused and frightened. He could not understand why they had not sought his help.

A few days later Kingsley called Arthur to his office. He was livid. “We were standing on the answer all the time.” He handed Arthur a Muggle police report. “The very night we learned that Harry was missing, we got a report of that massacre. I never even thought to follow up on it.”

The report described a bloody killing in Little Whinging. Four men had been literally torn to pieces in a rooming house. The officers could not believe their eyes, and could only determine how many victims there were by piecing together all the parts. The most telling evidence was in a footnote appended to the report. All of the items missing from the Dursleys were recovered in the apartment.

“Meet me in Little Whinging in the morning; we need to close the investigation,” the Auror said brusquely.

The next day Arthur met Tonks and Shaklebolt at the police station. After talking to the officers that had investigated the killings and Harry’s disappearance, Arthur asked about the Dursleys, he found out that they had left town after receiving a rather large insurance settlement.

They took a car to the rooming house. In the car, Arthur was introduced to a scruffy, hard-bitten little wizard named Carstairs. His dark brown hair was closely cropped, and he sported a scar running from his left eye to his chin. In spite of his sloppy demeanor his eyes were keen and bright.

“Carstairs is a vampire hunter for the Ministry; he’s one of the best. Killed about twelve so far,” said Tonks. Tonks appeared uneasy around him. “He’s also from the States, that’s why he talks funny,” whispered Tonks.

The rooming house was a square, unappealing place, with a flat roof. Carstairs made a cursory examination of the room; he then announced his intention to go up to the roof. “Vampiahs don’ nahmally kill like that, they’ah usually veahry prah’cise.” Carstairs speech had an odd cadence and he seemed to scoop each word or phrase with a rising inflection on the last syllable.

Once outside he made a careful examination of the surface of the roof. “Heah,” he said pointing to an odd spot on the tar. “Ye see wheah the tah ‘as melted. You-ah vampiah likely killed ‘im self. Sat and watched the sun come up.”

“They do that?” ask Arthur, “Why?”

Carstairs shook his head, “Don’ know fah shuah, but it must get lonesome after a coupla’ hundaht yeahs, all ye knew is gone. Was t’ live fah?”

They continued to search the roof for more clues, more out of habit rather than doubting what the vampire hunter had told them. Tonks found an old, soft hat with a wide brim. There were scorch marks on it.

“Lemme see that,” demanded Carstairs gently. He gestured with his wand as he spoke a soft incantation. The inside of the hat glowed blue. “That’s youah vampiah’s all rah’t. Don’ undahstand how, but theah bodies me-tab-olize blood, tu’n it into Ammonia. If they’ve woan somthin’ foah awhile ye can detect it. Ain’t no doubt about it, Mr. Shacklebolt. Theah was a vampiah heah, but he won’ be causin’ ye moah trah’ble.”

The group made their way to the street. “How do you kill them, Mr. Carstairs?” asked Arthur.

Carstairs opened the trunk of the car and withdrew a large case. He tapped the case with his wand and gently opened the lid. Inside the case lay a large crossbow made of gleaming mahogany. Carstairs then showed Arthur a bolt made completely of heavy, greenish-brown wood. “What kind of wood is this?” he asked.

“Lignum vitae,” Carstairs answered. “Iahnwood some cawl it.”

“Ironwood,” Arthur turned the word over in his mind. “Lignum vitae, that’s also Latin for ‘wood of life’?” he added thoughtfully. Carstairs nodded. “Did a vampire give you that scar?”

“Nay, Mistah Weasley. T’was cuttin’ some Iahnwood, ‘n tha axe handle busted.” He grinned.

“How do you find them?”

“Crahm’ rahpo’ts mostly, if you find a rahduction in crahm’, especially gang activities, without a’ incrah’es in police prah’sence, might have a vampiah. Usually a yowan. Most all you ever kill are the yowans; lessen you find a la’ah. Then ye can stake ‘m and cut off theah heads, else drah’ag ‘em in tha sun. Vampiahs rah’ly kill, but gangs and crah’minals ah tahgets of oppuhtunity, all of ‘em out late,” he laughed. “Wo’d gets arah’ound, the crah’minals move on, and the vampiahs do too.”

Arthur was struggling not to look sick. It was hard for him not to imagine either Harry or Hermione shot with one of those bolts, or found and ignominiously staked and beheaded. The fact that Carstairs took such a delight in the grisly aspects of his work made it hard to like him.

Arthur thanked him, and he gratefully Apparated back to the Ministry. In the light of these new facts and Shacklebolt’s fear of the situation, Arthur was unable to contain himself. He quickly contacted Remus and McGonagall asking for a meeting of the Order.

He, Fred, and George met in McGonagall’s office with Tonks and Lupin.

Since Harry’s disappearance, Lupin appeared worse than ever. It was as though his heart had been torn out; all that was keeping him together was his relationship with Tonks. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face deeply lined, and he had gone prematurely gray at the temples.

“What did you want to tell us, Arthur?” asked McGonagall crisply.

Arthur looked uncomfortable, the last thing he wanted to do was cause Remus further pain. “I have some rather bad news about Harry Potter,” he looked at Lupin. “Are you sure you want to hear this? We could carry on without you.”

“Is what you know definite? I’ve found all the speculation about Harry’s disappearance the hardest thing to take.” Lupin’s voice shook as he said this.

“There is no absolute certainty at this point, but all the circumstantial evidence points to my supposition being correct.”

“I’d rather know than not, what happened to Harry?” Lupin replied.

“Worst news first, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are vampires. Hermione was seen by my son, Fred, the night their store was attacked.”

McGonagall and Tonks cried out in surprise and shock. Lupin looked as if he was having trouble breathing, “Poor Lilly and James, to think that so much promise has come to this. How do you know?”

“The night Harry disappeared; he took Ron to meet the Knight Bus. About this same time, four men broke into Number Four and killed Harry’s aunt. Subsequently, the four Muggles were killed, literally torn to pieces. If Harry were on his way back home, they probably attacked him at that time. We know that the four were the ones that killed Harry’s aunt, the police recovered the Dursleys belongings there.”

“We know that there was a vampire in the area, we found his hat at the building where the four were killed. He must have been furious, what if he saw the attack on Harry and it provoked him into a killing rage? A fight of four against one might do that, he took revenge for what they did to Harry. Why he made Harry a vampire is anybody’s guess.”

“When Harry rose as a vampire, he tried to go to Hermione Granger. For help or trying to find something familiar, I guess. He arrived after her parents were killed, but before the Aurors. That is why her folks had wounds on their necks; Harry wouldn’t know that he couldn’t close the wounds once they were dead, a fledgling vampire’s mistake. Hermione was injured, we know because of the amount of her blood that they found; but still alive enough for Harry to make her a vampire as well. I believe that You-Know-Who had her family attacked because he lost contact with Harry’s mind when his body died and the Grangers were easy targets.”

“He tried to attack us as well. He lost six Death Eaters in that assault. At last, Harry and Hermione were trying to come to us, but were thwarted by the Death Eaters. That morning my daughter-in-law said she smelled a vampire. She is part Veela, and that is an innate ability of theirs. For some reason they fled after winning that fight. I believe Harry and Hermione came to the wedding, they said goodbye to my son, Ron, by planting a dream in his mind. They came to the defense of Fred and George, which is where Hermione was seen. I know that she is a vampire, and given what I know of what went on before, I suspect that Harry is too.”

Lupin nodded his agreement, “It makes sense.”

“Kingsley is a member of the Order; I think he should be aware of this as well,” said McGonagall.

“He already knows. That is why I came to you; he is preparing to destroy them.”

“Maybe they should be destroyed, I can’t imagine Harry or Hermione enjoying drinking blood or attacking people to get it,” said Lupin miserably. Arthur looked at him incredulously.

“What do you want us to do, Arthur?” asked McGonagall.

“Help them, they’ve done nothing but try to defend us.”

“What can we do? There is no way to bring them back to life,” McGonagall replied.

“Then, at least, don’t try to kill them until we have had time to assess what kind of threat they represent. It seems Harry is still trying to fight You-Know-Who, let’s try to help him.”

After a minute of silence, Tonks said, “I’d vote for that. Until I know what kind of threat they really are, I won’t take action against them.”

At last, they all agreed not to actively hunt Harry or Hermione, and to shield them from the vampire hunters and Aurors if they could.

“Remus, why are vampires and werewolves such enemies?” asked George.

“I’ve never met a vampire, but I’m told that they are incredibly alien. Even though we are cursed, we still operate as a part of this nature. That includes the realms of life and death. Even though our transformation is forced, we are a part of life, of nature. A vampire is something that comes from ‘outside’ to inhabit and control a body at the time of death, they trap a soul that should move on. They possess some kind of anti-nature that creates a mindless fury within the beast that we become at the full moon. In the meantime we are their food like everyone else.”

The meeting quickly broke up. As they walked toward the Apparition point, Arthur was somewhat pleased at the outcome of the meeting. As he looked up at the moon he wondered where Harry and Hermione were and what the future held for them all.

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9. Chapter Nine

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 Nine

The Firebolt flew swiftly northwest slipping through the scudding, medium-altitude clouds. Hermione was seated behind Harry, with her head resting on his shoulder. He could see flashes of her thoughts, she was thinking about the park, and the mausoleum where her parents rested. He could sense her longing to be truly dead. Harry was experiencing pangs of anger and hurt when he realized she was not enjoying the beauty of the countryside below, but was concentrating on death. He shoved his feelings deep and concentrated on keeping a steady course.

Being undead made the flight far more comfortable than when he had flown from Little Whinging to London. He could feel only a little of the cold, and experienced none the stiffness that came from maintaining the same position for long periods of time.

At last, Harry did not need the compass; the lights of the third largest city in Britain guided him. As they flew north of the urban area, he recognized the ship channel that linked Manchester with Liverpool. He dropped swiftly down and angled back toward the docks. As they approached the city he noted the closed factories of Manchester’s once thriving textile industry, the slums north of them, and the now deserted docks of the port. Despite the changing economy the city still succeeded; he remembered from school that this area had been inhabited since before the Romans had come to Britain.

It did not take long to find a place to hide from the daylight. They found an old, windowless structure with a high fence that looked like it had had something to do with electrical power at one time. It was growing late before they found an area with some people. Harry did not find it difficult to find a straggler from a group of university students who were partying late. By the time he had fed, he found Hermione had preyed upon another would-be mugger. The man woke the next day with an intense desire to confess his crimes to the police.

As they awaited the dawn Harry retreated to the top of one of the old factories in the area. He expanded his awareness of the life force around him. There was a sense of fear and nameless dread pervading the area. He could not sense the dementors directly, but he could feel the hopelessness they produced in the nearby neighborhoods. It was too close to dawn to go hunting for them, but tomorrow would be another story.

Hermione woke the next evening to find Harry with an open textbook practicing magic. It was not hard for her to pick up that he was practicing a variation of the Disillusionment Charm. “Why?” she inquired.

“I’m trying to find a way to hide a door by making it look like a part of the wall. It should be useful in the future.”

“How much of a future are you planning, Harry?” She appeared to be only vaguely interested in his answer, but it was the first question she had asked since they had left the graveyard.

He shook his head, “My sire was at least six hundred years old, Hermione. This is the first time I have been away from someplace that isn’t connected with Little Whinging, or Hogwarts. When I’m done with Voldemort, I’d like to see some of the world, even if I can only see it at night. You’ve been to France, skiing, and I don’t know where else.” There was a bitterness creeping into his thoughts, “I want to see something besides war and death before…” Harry looked at Hermione with a strange expression on his face. “I almost said before I die.” Hermione was silent as Harry stood up, “Let’s go, I can feel the fear, the dementors are here.”

Outside the air was thick with fog. The dementors drew energy and heat from the world around them; as the air grew cooler, a dense mist formed around the waterways of the city. They mounted the Firebolt and flew out over the metropolis. Here, close by the docks, the fog was heaviest. The streetlights appeared as orange-yellow globes suspended in the mist. Harry guided the broom along the streets. The vampires could sense the people hidden in their homes and apartments. It did not take long before they found their first dementor. It was gliding slowly along the narrow, damp street of one of the poorer areas of Manchester. Harry drew his wand and slashed with a non-verbal “Sectumsempra!” The dementor vented a psychic shriek as it spun in sluggish circles, slowly sinking to the pavement.

Hidden by the fog, Harry and Hermione quartered the area at low altitude, dodging buildings as they loomed suddenly out of the mist. In the course of a few hours they found seven of the disgusting creatures roaming the slums. Harry refined his technique. The Sectumsempera Spell was the most effective weapon against the dementors. It worked best if he could target the area between the dementors “shoulders”; perhaps that was where the creature’s brain was located. In any case, they died without making a sound if he could cut them there.

As they worked their way toward the center of the city the fog diminished in thickness. Harry had to be more careful to keep from being spotted. Evidently, there were not as many dementors in this area and a few people were about the streets. The vampires landed in the large city park as the hunt became less for dementors and more for food. Harry ambushed a young couple kissing in a clump of bushes. He drank from each of them and Hermione fed from him. While Harry had been hunting, Hermione had found a newspaper. She folded it and slipped it into one of her many pockets. After leaving the park, the hunters moved into the southern part of the city.

As the pair flew southward the fog thickened once again. They found several more dementors as they drew closer to the moors. It was hard to dodge, steer, look for dementors, and strike, so Harry and Hermione switched places. Hermione would not fly as fast as Harry, but they found it a more equitable division of the workload. Dawn was burning on the horizon before they decided to stop. Hermione landed and they Apparated back to the old power station. It was far faster than trying to find their way in the dense vapor.

The next evening Hermione read the newspaper while Harry was practicing the Disillusionment Charm. She was disturbed by the stories in the paper. The Muggles knew something was wrong, but had no idea what. Suicides were epidemic, and there were an increasing number of people being found in a catatonic state. Many were on the verge of leaving and there was a general feeling of near panic. The civil government was on the verge of breaking down. There were appeals to the populace to try to maintain calm.

The fog was not as dense around the docks on the second night of the hunt. There were a few people out this evening. Harry watched from the Firebolt as Hermione hunted for blood. She found and attacked a burglar trying to break into the back of a small shop. She left him in a conspicuous place and under a hypnotic suggestion to confess when he was found by the police.

Harry was far less finicky; he drank from a man waiting for the train. The mist seemed heavier toward the east side of the urban area. The level of fear proved to be an accurate measure for locating the prowling dementors. In the course of the night they killed fifteen of the monsters.

Harry noticed several of the dementors were deformed, one or the other of the arm shaped tentacles were missing the “fingers.” The last one he killed before they returned to their lair afforded a brief time of examination. The monster’s left tentacle was nearly two feet longer than its right, and came to a single point. Hermione ripped the robe open to expose the appendage. The creature was evaporating, but there was evidence of a small growth with five little nubs protruding from the top of the “shoulder”.

Hermione stared in horror. “Harry, these things are reproducing. They just bud off from one another, almost like bacteria.”

“Then those four, back in London. Do you think that they were … mating?” Harry’s thought was incredulous.

“I don’t know, but I read that worms do that, exchange genetic material by lying side-by-side.”

Once again they Apparated back to the docks. The hunt had taken on a new sense of urgency for Harry, but when they arrived back at their lair Hermione sank back into her lethargy.

The third night came without mist. Evidently the dementors had withdrawn from the immediate area. Hermione stayed at the lair as Harry took the Firebolt and flew south over the moors. He circumnavigated the city, finding no trace of the dementors. When he returned Hermione was staring into space, evidently waiting for Harry to tell her what to do. Harry had fed, and allowed Hermione to take enough blood to ward off the hunger.

When they rose the next evening, Harry finally realized that Hermione had stopped brushing her hair, even though she still carried the brush. Her hair was matted and plastered to her head. Even though they had tried to clean the place a little, her cloak and clothing had collected a great deal of dust, and her face and hands were smudged with dirt and grease. He was also beginning to notice an odd odor coming from their clothes.

On this, the fourth night of their hunt, they encountered their first wizards in Manchester. It was very early in the morning when they came across four robed figures just south of the park. Harry flew close enough to scan their thoughts. They were Aurors, named Satchell, Boulton, Carbury, and Fiske. Harry had Hermione follow them by remaining out of their sight above the nearby buildings. Even at that distance Harry could feel their nervous fear.

Suddenly, a dementor appeared, gliding out from between two buildings. The Aurors tried to use the Patronus Charm to drive it away, but the presence of so many dementors in the city was already drawing the happiness from them. As the dementor bore relentlessly down upon them, Harry could sense that it was calling for others, in much the same way as they “screamed” when he cut them.

The Aurors were desperately crying, “Expecto Patronum,” over and over again. From the other side of the park Harry could see more black-robed figures moving into the battle. The wizards began retreating to the west. Unfortunately, there were more dementors coming from that direction, too. The Aurors were surrounded.

Harry remembered what it felt like to be attacked like that, the sensation of drowning in your own worst memories. As the dementor came closer, the wizards began to collapse. First Carbury, who appeared to be the youngest, staggered and fell. Boulton and Satchell grabbed his arms and tried to Apparate. The proximity to so many dementors ruined their concentration and they failed. Fiske tried to burn the dementors using the “Incindeo” incantation, but their thick hide defeated the flames. Fiske collapsed next and the dementor closed in on him, lowering its hood.

Harry could wait no longer, Hermione kicked off and steered the Firebolt down toward the embattled Aurors. “Sectumsempera,” he commanded, but he was too far away. The spell seemed to have a range of about one hundred feet. As they drew closer, he tried again. This time the spell sliced through the dementor’s “neck”; the horrible head of the thing hit the pavement with an odd squelching noise.

Boulton and Satchell did not notice. As the Firebolt swept over where they stood, they collapsed as well. Hermione managed to stop the broom and Harry slid off. A small number of dementors were approaching from the east; Harry cut them down. The dementors stopped, sensing the destruction of their fellows. Slowly they turned and began to flee. The closest dementors were to the south, Harry ran down the street. He overtook them within a couple of blocks and annihilated them. Unfortunately, by the time Hermione caught up with him, the pack of dementors to the west had dispersed.

The vampire duo quartered the area, but only found four more of Voldemort’s nightmare minions. Harry and Hermione returned to the scene of the battle. The Aurors were still unconscious. Hermione sent a stream of red sparks into the air as a distress signal. They quickly retreated to an alleyway and in a minute or so a number of Aurors Apparated to the rescue. When all the wizards were safe, the vampires slipped away undetected.

The apparent helplessness of the wizards in the face of massed dementors was a disturbing surprise to Harry. It did little good to wonder if Goblins or Centaurs would have fared better in the battle; the wizards had burned those bridges long ago.

The fact that the Ministry had tried to intervene was not lost on the dementors. The next night was free of the fog and the feeling of dread had diminished. Harry and Hermione slipped out of their lair to hunt. It was becoming a matter of procedure for Harry to feed first. He would then follow Hermione as she hunted, following her on the Firebolt.

Hermione fed from another mugger, and they flew to the top of one of the tall office buildings in the downtown section of Manchester. Hermione took Harry’s arm and pointed out over the moors south of the city. There on the horizon a line of thick, white mist was forming.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded that she was. They mounted the Firebolt and Hermione guided the broom in a high arc over the town, out of sight of anyone who might be looking up. As they flew Harry could sense the presence of a number of wizards in the city center, evidently the Ministry was expecting a major attack.

The speeding Firebolt left the city behind as the hunters flew out over the moors. Ahead of them Harry could make out the robed forms of several hundred dementors advancing on Manchester. Hermione landed on a small rise in front of the monstrous army. Harry slipped down the small hillside as he prepared his assault. From his past experience he knew that the Sectumsempra Spell had a limited range, so he moved in close before attacking.

As soon as he judged that he was in range, he began slashing the dementors. Even though they were incredibly alien, the dementors were not unintelligent. Realizing that they were under attack, they turned and began to bear down on Harry. As he cut each one, it maintained its position in the line, shielding those coming behind it for as long as possible. Slowly, they began to force Harry backwards, bending their line in an attempt to surround him.

Harry tried to change his tactics, he realized what the dementors were up to and that they had the numbers to do it. Focusing his concentration he attempted to summon his Patronus. To his dismay, none of his memories made him happy enough for the spell to work. He didn’t have time to dwell upon what was happening to his emotions. The dementors were beginning to work their way around him.

He began to retreat more quickly. The faster the dementors moved in their attempt to surround him, the more of them he was able to attack. Yet, it did not seem to be enough; there were always more of the monsters moving in to take the place of their fallen comrades.

From her position on the hill, Hermione recognized what was happening. Harry was fighting bravely, but he was simply being overwhelmed. Suddenly she realized that she had to do something. “Harry! I’m coming!” she called. She kicked off from the hilltop, the Firebolt wobbled uncertainly as she fought to control the broom. Harry saw her fly from the hill, gain control, and swoop directly toward him. She was flying faster than she had ever done before. A kind of joy invaded his consciousness; Hermione had broken out of the listlessness that had gripped her since the beginning of the trip to Manchester, at that point he was glad he had not Apperated like he started to.

“Expecto Patronum!” he cried. The silver-white stag burst from his wand. It charged the advancing dementors and scattered their advance. Wheeling around, it ran down the monsters that were trying to flank him, buying Hermione time to reach his position. He climbed up behind her and they renewed the attack from above.

The dementors usually glided over the ground, but that did not mean that they were incapable of flying. As Hermione guided the Firebolt over the crowd of dementors many of them began to rise in ungainly flight in a desperate attempt to stop Harry’s attack. Hermione dodged them with relative ease. Harry found that the flying dementors died more quickly than those closer to the ground.

Since the vampires were immune to the dementor’s psychic attack, there was little the monsters could do except scatter. The crowd of dementors began to break up scattering to the south, east, and west. Because of the limited range of the Sectumsempra spell, many were beginning to escape, until Harry’s Patronus began to herd some of them together. After an hour or so they gave up the chase. Harry felt elated, he had destroyed a large number of the dementors, and he lost count after three hundred.

At last they could catch no more of the fleeing dementors; Hermione turned the Firebolt towards Manchester. It was about one o’clock when they arrived at the old power station. They dismounted and Harry gently reached out to hug Hermione to him, “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“I couldn’t let them get you; I remember how that dementor tried to throw you into that fire escape. They would have torn you to pieces. I promised to help you, but I haven’t been doing much,” she thought sadly.

Together they passed into the powerhouse.

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Earlier that evening the Aurors were stationed in the center of the city. Most of the populace was gathered indoors. Even though the dementors had withdrawn from the urban area, the nearness of so many still cast a pall over most of the citizens.

Tonks was questioning Boulton about what had happened the night before.

“I don’t know what happened, Tonks, the last thing I remember is trying to Apparate away from the dementors. I guess Satchell sent the distress signal, I didn’t think of it.”

Tonks looked at him strangely, “Satchell said that you were the one to call for help, he didn’t think of it either.”

Boulton frowned, “I know that I didn’t, but if Satchell says he didn’t then I don’t know who could have. I guess he didn’t remember doing it because of the dementors, Fiske and Carbury were both unconscious by then.”

“Well,” continued Tonks, “the one of you who did send the distress signal is up for a citation. Kingsley will want to do a Prior Incantato to determine who did it, since none of you remembers.”

The Aurors returned to the southern part of the conurbation each determined to do his duty in the face of the expected invasion. Kingsley turned up around ten o’clock to oversee the operation.

Kingsley, Littleton, and Tonks gathered on the top of one of the large office buildings scattered around the old city. “Earlier we could see a mist forming south of the city, for a time it appeared to be drawing closer, but now it appears to be dispersing,” reported Tonks.

Kingsley nodded absentmindedly. “Anything else?”

“A couple of posts reported seeing a flash out on the moors. It was magical in origin, but we didn’t have anyone stationed out that far. Were there reinforcements that we didn’t know about?”

The tall, black Auror shook his head. “No, it is hard enough to fight these dementors when we are all together. It wouldn’t be safe to place someone that far out.”

Tonks Apperated back to her post. Shackelbolt and Littleton remained on the top of the building. A couple of hours passed without the feeling of dread growing any stronger. In fact, the sensation of fear was noticeably less. All throughout the city, the Aurors had been steeling themselves to do their duty, but as time passed the expected attack was becoming a non-event.

“Something’s happened out there. Get some people on brooms and see if you can find out what’s going on,” ordered Shacklebolt. A short while later a team of Aurors flew out over the moors. They found nothing to indicate the battle Harry had fought for them. He and Hermione were far to the west and heading back to their lair by the time the Aurors arrived at the hill from which Hermione watched Harry fight.

It was nearly two o’clock when Kingsley called off the operation. “I don’t know what has happened, Littleton. Send everyone home, we’ll debrief later today. Then I’ve got a meeting with Arthur Weasley tonight. Tomorrow, we will begin the anti-dementor patrols and see what turns up.

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The following evening Harry tried to sense what was happening. For the first time the feeling of fear that pervaded the city was gone. In the minds of the populace it was like waking up from a bad dream.

Harry crept out of the lair and made a survey of the streets around. The people were not traveling far, but at least they were not cowering indoors. It did not take Harry long to locate a lone human to feed from. He returned to find Hermione gathering their clothes. She used magic to clean the dirt and grease from their fighting clothes, but wanted to use more traditional methods for their regular Muggle outfits.

They set out on foot to scout the area. Within a few blocks they found a seedy apartment building. She used her vampire powers to secure a key from the night manager and opened a cheap flat. The first thing she did was take a shower while Harry found some coin operated washing machines and started their laundry.

It was nearing ten o’clock when Harry finished his shower. While the wash up did little for the way they felt, it did improve their overall appearance so that they would call less attention to themselves.

They returned to the lair with their things and Hermione set out to hunt. She set out for the business area east of the docks wearing her hooded cloak. There were usually some petty criminals in the area victimizing the shops. Harry followed her on the Firebolt. He cruised over the rooftops on the opposite side of the streets so he could watch her.

This evening pickings were proving to be slim. It was after midnight and they had detected no Muggles. Harry was about to ask Hermione if she wanted to move closer to the center of the city when he heard the soft, sharp crack of some wizard Apparating into the area. He went on high alert for threats and gained some altitude so that he could see more of the area. As he watched Hermione was momentarily enveloped in a blue glow.

Suddenly, he detected movement on a rooftop. A wizard was there, he appeared to be operating some kind of crank. It was obvious he was watching Hermione as she moved along the narrow, dark street. Harry drifted down toward the rooftop watching intently. The figure crept to the edge of the rooftop, knelt down, and shouldered something. The interloper was aiming a large, cross-shaped object directly at Hermione. Harry recognized what it was; it was a large crossbow, like the one Hagrid carried on his journeys into the Forbidden Forest.

Harry sensed the hunter’s thoughts. The man was preparing to fire! “Hermione! Duck!” he commanded as the wizard’s hand tightened on the lever that fired the bolt. The vampire within him empowered the thought to its child, Hermione immediately dropped to the pavement as the heavy quarrel sang through the air. It passed through where her heart would have been if she had remained standing, with a sharp crack it hit the sidewalk behind her and ricocheted off a brick wall.

Harry dropped from the broom just behind the vampire hunter. He grabbed the collar of the man’s cloak and threw him backwards onto the roof of the building. The man’s eyes went wide in terror as he took in Harry’s glowing, red eyes. Harry could read his thought, “Great Hecate! There’s two of ‘em!” Harry swept in and dragged him up, just as Hermione Apparated to the rooftop.

“Don’t hurt him, Harry! Just make him forget! Please, I’m not hurt.” The vampire hunter, whose name was Rickel, was near fainting when he realized that the vampire he tried to shoot could use magic. It was as if his worst nightmare had just come true. Usually when he missed he could just Apparate to safety.

“Okay, Hermione, I won’t kill him. Take his blood as punishment though; he deserves that much.”

Hermione smiled as her fangs became erect. Rickel squealed in terror as she approached him. Harry turned him, forcing him to look into his eyes. The vampire trapped Rickel inside his own mind. He could not move, and he felt all the pain of Hermione feeding from his neck. When she was done she said, “Harry, don’t let him go. I have an idea.”

Hermione explained her idea to Harry and he agreed. “That’s brilliant, Hermione. I wouldn’t have thought of that.” She entered Rickel’s mind, planting thoughts like she had done with Ron. When she was done she Apparated back to the lair, Harry promised he would follow soon. He had noticed a ghost of a smile at his praise of her idea, it made what he had to do more difficult that it would have been otherwise.

Harry mounted his Firebolt and flew down to the street. He found the chip in the pavement from the crossbow quarrel; he followed its trajectory to the wall. There was also a gouge in the face of the brick. The task took about ten more minutes, but at last he found the heavy bolt. To his surprise it was made entirely of wood. Even though it had taken a chunk from the sidewalk and a brick wall it was practically undamaged. The four-sided head had been blunted on one edge and a chip was missing from just behind the point. Yet it was still very sharp. It was made from a greenish-brown wood, very heavy and, obviously, very hard. As he hefted it the wood seemed to make his hands prickle as if it were covered in very tiny thorns, rather like a nettle. He wrapped it in a piece of cloth he found in a nearby waste bin and hid it carefully in one of his pockets. He then Apparated to the lair.

Rickel woke the next morning wondering what he was doing on a rooftop. He tried to recall the events of the night before, but suddenly he was gripped by an extreme sense of fear. He hands were shaking and he was almost nauseated. He knew something had frightened him very badly. There were vague impressions of a hooded, black cloak. Then he remembered! There was a dementor in the area, he was hunting unsuccessfully for a vampire and this dementor had come at him out of the darkness. It was so close he could not do anything but try to shoot it with his crossbow. It was like a miracle! The bolt had killed the oncoming monster. He had to report this to the Ministry.

The next evening Harry proposed that they leave Manchester. The dementors were no longer affecting the city that they could discern. He thought it might make more sense to chase them through the smaller towns to the south. Bradford, Leeds, Sheffield, Nottingham, Birmingham, and Stoke-on-Trent seemed likely places to resume their hunt.

The idea that they had been discovered was also giving Hermione cause for disquiet. She agreed that shifting their hunting grounds would be a wise thing. She thought that the dementors might try to lose themselves in a large city and would be making for London eventually. To that end she suggested that they go to Sheffield first and decide where to go from there. Harry, grateful that she was showing an interest in what they were doing, readily agreed. They packed and flew out toward the east, heading for Sheffield.

10. Chapter Ten

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 Ten

The Riddle House in Little Hangleton was three years more the worse for wear than when the Dark Lord used it last. The deserted house smelled of dust, mildew, and decay. Since the death of old Frank Bryce no one even made the pretense of keeping the old manor up. A few of its windows were broken and the lock on the doors would not deter someone determined to enter. The garden was overtaken with weeds and the walls were completely hidden by the ivy.

To Lord Voldemort it had one advantage; all of the Death Eaters knew where it was. Voldemort could call them to him there without worrying that one of them might betray one of his real hiding places. He had called such a meeting with his most trusted remaining servants. Something had slipped and he was furious.

His plans had called for the social collapse of the city of Manchester. With the Ministry of Magic focused on the situation there, his Death Eaters would have had more freedom to attack those that still opposed him. Old Scrimgeour would never be as ruthless as Barty Crouch, nevertheless he was far more competent than old Fudge and the Aurors under his command could be a nuisance. The destabilization of the Muggle government would have been a useful side effect.

Since the death of Dumbledore things had been going wrong. First, he had lost his mental connection with Harry Potter. He recognized that it was not Occlumency. The boy had just vanished and Voldemort could not admit to himself that he was afraid. He worried that Potter was possessed of some power that he knew nothing of. Still, as best he could determine, the Ministry was searching for the blasted boy, too. The prophecy weighed heavily on his mind. All his attempts to question the boy’s friends had gone awry; especially after the partly successful attack on the mudblood. Bellatrix had paid for that mistake. He fully suspected the rumors of Potter’s death were some kind of smoke screen; it might be one last trick of that meddlesome old fool, Albus Dumbledore. At least that operation had gone right. He might have underestimated young Draco; the boy hadn’t been able to kill Dumbledore, but he had gotten the Death Eaters past the castle’s defenses.

Second, the loss of six Death Eaters was a serious blow. His inner circle of reliable servants was shrinking, and still the blood traitor Weasley clan was unscathed. They were pure bloods after all; he expected that their defenses would be formidable, but not so difficult that six experienced wizards would not be able to cope. In any case, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Snape, and Fenrir were the last of those that had been with him from before. Lucius, Avery, Macnair, Mulciber, Nott, Doholov, and Crabbe were still in Azkaban after the fiasco at the Ministry of Magic. Jugson was useless to anyone and was in a locked room at St. Mungo’s where the healers still struggled to deal with the effects of the time warp in the bell jar. The rest were dead.

Third, the poor showing of the new recruits to his Death Eaters irritated him; he had lost fourteen in the attack on the Weasleys’ joke shop. The quick response by the Ministry was quite suspicious; he wondered if there was a traitor in their midst? Was it Wormtail, Snape, or another he had not considered?

The traitors would have to wait because his operation in Manchester had failed, and the dementors were coming to report.

The room grew noticeably colder as the dementor entered. It was huge, nearly eight feet tall. The Death Eaters instinctively drew back from the monster. Its voice was high and cold, almost like modulated static. “My Lord Voldemort, I have come to report that we no longer have sufficient numbers to overthrow the city as you ordered. As we approached we were attacked. Almost three-quarters of our numbers were destroyed.”

“Destroyed? By what?” snarled Voldemort.

“Unknown. I did not encounter it, but it was reported to me that it must have been one of the silent ones.”

“Silent ones?” Voldemort raised an eyebrow; this was a new excuse.

“In this Frequency and Rhythm most beings sustain and do not perceive,” the dementor explained. “There are also many here that resonate, you are able to bend and twist the flows of power. You sustain and you perceive. There are some that do not sustain, neither do they perceive. I have not studied this; I know only that they are. The rarest of beings perceive, they sustain, but they do not resonate. It may now be that one of the silent ones resonates and perceives. If so, none of my kind has survived the encounter to report.”

The Dark Lord was irritated; he was in no mood for riddles. The dementors were useful tools, their innate abilities to intimidate and terrify were considerable. He had used them, but he had never taken the time to understand them. The Death Eaters cringed; they had seen Voldemort in this mood before. Bellatrix moved uneasily as she licked her lips; if she moved too quickly the cuts the whip had left would still bleed. The Dark Lord had been of the opinion that a few scars would remind her to be more considerate of the consequences of her actions. It was obvious that he was still in the mood to administer lessons.

Voldemort drew his wand, pointed it at the dementor, and yelled, “Crucio!” He had never tried this spell on a dementor; there had never been any need. The dementor floated impassively as Voldemort cursed it; indeed the air in the room grew colder as the monster fed on the energy from the curse. The noise it made sounded like the hiss of rain on a thin, metal roof.

“My instrumentality is not as yours is, my Lord. This harmonic will not hurt me. However, if you continue, I will defend myself.”

Voldemort’s rage redoubled the power of his curse, but to no apparent effect. The dementor turned its head; Snape cried out and collapsed as the dementor swiftly and painfully drew the emotional energy from his mind. When Snape hit the floor, Voldemort lifted the curse.

The dementor bowed, “My Lord, we will serve you as we have done. Why do you wish to injure those who only desire to remain faithful? It is true that our capacity is diminished, but we wish to carry out your commands as we are able.”

The Dark Lord was in no mood to be reasonable. He leveled his wand and commanded, “Avada Kedavra!” This time the dementor emitted a most satisfying shriek as it was pushed backward against the wall.

For long moments the dementor was silent. When it spoke again its voice was weak, “So be it. We will serve you no longer. Beware the shadows, for you are now our enemies. I perceive you wish to destroy me. I am not as you are. My being and instrumentality are not separate as yours are, and these harmonics cannot kill me.”

“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort hissed. The dementor shrieked again and slowly sank to the floor.

The Dark Lord grinned at his fallen foe, “You may not die from my spell, but we will see if you can starve.” He magically sealed the room’s windows and doors as the Death Eaters carried Snape’s unconscious body out of the room.

They gathered outside, “Take Snape to his home and have Wormtail tend him. Check here each day to see how long it takes for a dementor to die of starvation.” With that each of the Death Eaters Apparated back to their hiding places.

After an hour or so the dementor slowly rose from the floor. It scanned the cage Voldemort had set up for it. He had sealed the windows, doors, floor, and ceiling, yet there was one hole in the flows of power the dementor could detect. The fireplace in the room had a large chimney. Even though it was blind in the human sense it could perceive the difference between metal and brick. The years of neglect had taken their toll on the metal in the damper and it did not require much effort for the dementor to wrench the damper from its place in the chimney flue.

The dementor dissolved the robe it had generated for itself. Its inwards were primarily liquid, the tentacles and back provided its only musculature, so it could squeeze through amazingly small spaces much like an octopus. The dementor began the slow process of squeezing its bulk up the chimney. It took several hours, but the dementor escaped the cage. Voldemort was quick to condemn others for a fault he also possessed; he did not pause to consider the consequences of his actions.

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The city of Sheffield had been a center for heavy industry for over a century. It was famous for its silver plate, steel, and cutlery. Harry and Hermione had hunted its streets for several days; the university students had provided a ready source of blood for Harry. Hermione still preferred petty criminals. Together they had mastered the Disillusionment Charm for themselves and for doors, for Harry it was a great victory, as it pulled Hermione out of her shell. They occasionally communicated with each other about the hunt for the Horcruxes and the dementors. Of the latter it appeared they had made a mistake. They had not found a single one since Manchester.

Though Hermione had improved, she still could be very moody. Tonight she was sulking on the roof of the ancient cathedral, looking at the stars and calculating how long she would have to endure her existence as a vampire. She did not know Harry had the crossbow bolt hidden in his backpack. He was not in the mood to try to talk to her tonight, though he longed for someone to break the loneliness he was feeling. Loneliness was his major emotion these nights; even the mastery of a new spell did not bring the joy it used to. He felt his emotions were losing their edge, just as his body had lost much of its sense of touch. It was almost like he was wearing a glove over his emotions.

Harry decided to Apparate to Diagon Alley. He wished he could contact Ron, but he approved of the way Hermione had said goodbye and felt it better that Ron would grieve and move on. Nevertheless, he still missed all the Weasleys.

Harry grabbed his hooded cloak and headed for a quiet park just south of the abandoned shop where they had set up their lair. He appeared between the buildings where he had stashed his Firebolt the night he and Hermione had broken up the raid on Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. He crept down the alley to where he could see the gaudy joke shop. Again, he felt that if the twins were okay, that the world could be normal.

A new sign had been added to the store. It was in the blackboard style he had first seen at the World Cup. The handwriting endlessly wrote out the specials and the Owl order address. Curiosity gained the better of his caution as he moved to a point where he could read the sign.

Suddenly, a new message appeared on the blackboard. “Harry or Hermione, please come in, we have some important things that we need to tell you.” The message began to repeat itself and Harry was torn as to what he should do. Memories of the attack on Hermione convinced him that perhaps he should make contact. Of all the wizards that he knew, he trusted Fred and George the most. Their rebellion against unreasonable authority was what he most admired about them.

As he approached the door, it opened by itself. He stepped into the dark shop and the door shut behind him. He began to make his way toward the counter when a voice spoke out of the darkness, “That’s close enough. Is that you, Hermione, or is it Harry?”

Rather than answer the question Harry dropped the hood of his cloak. Two wands flared at opposite ends of the counter. Harry flinched at the sudden light, shielding his sensitive eyes.

“Sorry,” the twins said as one, Fred extinguished his wand and George shielded his light. Harry fished the dark glasses out of his pocket with such speed that from George’s perspective they appeared out of nowhere.

The moment of silence stretched into minutes. Harry felt the emotions of the twins; they were deeply grieved that he was, in truth, a vampire. They were afraid of him, but were also experiencing some kind of awe at being in his presence.

He drew a breath and said, “Don’t worry; I’m not going to hurt you.” He bared his fangs in a wicked grin. Sensing their fear, he just could not resist. He moved to the counter with all the speed at his command. Before the twins could begin to react, he was there. “If I were, you’d already be dead.”

George, who was closest to Harry, recoiled in shock, “Merlin’s beard! Harry, don’t do that!”

Harry retracted his fangs; he tried to smile normally and failed, “I’m sorry, too. How did you know that I was here?”

“That’s one of the things we needed to tell you,” said Fred as he walked over. “Dad talked to a vampire hunter, he said that your body produces ammonia now. We set up a ward that detects the ammonia in your clothes; it also set off an alarm in the store. You and Hermione need to keep your clothes as clean as possible, or the Ministry vampire hunters will be able to detect you.”

Harry immediately remembered the blue glow. He had noticed it but Hermione had told him that she had not.

“Another thing,” began George, “are you feeding from criminals or gangs? If you are, the vampire hunters check the police records for changes in the crime rates. Then they target those areas.”

“I don’t, but Hermione does. She even made a couple of them confess to the police. No wonder they found us in Manchester,” Harry replied.

“Dad wants you to know that Kingsley Shacklebolt is trying to destroy you and Hermione. He’s sure that given time you will be a bigger threat than You-Know-Who. In all probability, the vampire hunters will be working with the Aurors now. Keep a low profile.” Fred informed Harry.

Harry was sobered by the information. He had liked the Auror and the fact that he was now an enemy was just something else that he had lost since becoming a vampire.

After a few moments George asked, “Was it you, or Hermione, that gave Ron that dream?”

“Hermione,” replied Harry sadly, “I never would have thought of anything like that.”

“Tell her we appreciate what she did for him. He is taking all of this pretty hard. The dream really helped.”

Harry nodded his promise. “How did the Ministry show up so fast that night the Death Eaters attacked?”

“Dad put two and two together. He knew they attacked the Grangers and those bodies you dumped in the village sent another subtle message; we were the only ones left who might know what happened to you. How did you know?” asked Fred.

“I came to see if you were all right. I saw Malfoy in the shop across the street the night before the wedding. I guess they would have attacked sooner if they would have known that you were going to be closed.”

“Well,” continued George, “it was a wrench to close for a couple of days. But Mum has been in a right state since you disappeared and the Grangers and your aunt were murdered. It was just a part of our familial duty.”

“Aunt Petunia is dead?” Harry was shocked; she was after all his last remaining blood relative. The twins told him about the burglary at Number Four. As they explained what had happened, Harry thought about how her murder made him feel. Somehow, the grief did not touch him as deeply as he thought it should have, even though she was never very kind to him. He was more concerned about the family that did show him kindness.

“Does anyone else know that I’m a …,” he could not bring himself to say the word. For the first time he felt some of Hermione’s shame.

“A vampire?” finished Fred. “The only ones who suspect are Shacklebolt, Dad, Lupin, Tonks, and McGonagall. The only ones who know for sure are us. Believe me, the only one who will know for sure after tonight is Dad, though he’ll tell the Order.”

“How did you find out?”

“It wasn’t too hard to figure out after I saw Hermione that night. She gave me quite a shock. What did you want that Death Eater for?”

“I wanted to question him about where Voldemort is hiding.”

“You’re going after … You-Know-Who?” whispered George. He and his twin showed the same expression of shocked surprise.

“He’s been after me since I was a baby. Don’t you think he deserves some of his own back? You won’t tell anyone, will you? I need to take him by surprise if I can.”

“Harry,” Fred said with an overly dramatic expression of pain on his face, “you grieve us. Haven’t we proved we can keep a secret?”

Harry gave the twins a real grin, the first one he was able to muster that night. “Yeah, I suppose you can.”

“You can come here if you need anything, Harry. Hermione can too. We owe you both more than we can ever repay.” George held out his hand.

Harry appreciated the way they tried not to flinch from the touch of his undead flesh, but he could see it in their minds just the same. As he left the store he realized that not every hand was raised against him. For the time being, that felt really good.

He arrived back in Sheffield a few minutes later and he headed straight for the cathedral. He located Hermione sitting on the roof, and within moments he had joined her. Without a word she tapped him on the head with her wand, hiding him with the Disillusionment Charm.

“Fred and George said to tell you thank you for giving Ron that dream, it has really helped.”

“You went back to London?” she asked.

“Yes, I didn’t want to disturb you. Hermione, Fred and George don’t care that we’re vampires. They wouldn’t be really comfortable around us, but they said they’d help if we need anything. They warned me that the Auror’s are hunting us and the vampire hunters will be joining them. We’ll have to begin taking a few precautions.”

“Like what?” It seemed, for the time being, that she was interested in what Harry had to say.

Harry explained what the twins told him about how the hunters found their prey. She knew that she would have to adjust her feeding habits. They decided to change their hunting areas in order to minimize her effects on the criminal population.

She also began planning on how to do their washing. Harry was delighted; he had not seen her so engaged by anything since they left Manchester. For Hermione’s part, having a goal made her feel somewhat better. Harry hoped that if she felt more useful, Hermione would feel happier.

“I wish I could get into the library, we might find a charm to block the detection spells the vampire hunters use.

“You mean the library at Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, is there another one?” Hermione inquired.

“There might be a few useful books at Number Twelve.”

“We could look there if you want to.” Harry gathered that she was as reluctant as he was to return to the gloomy old house.

Contact with the twins had spurred his adventurous nature. He remembered what Ginny had said about anything being possible if you had enough nerve. “Why don’t we Apperate to Hogsmeade tomorrow evening? I guess the school will be open this year, since Fred and George are advertising their Skiving Snack Boxes. We might be able to get in if there is no one there.”

The following evening, as soon as the sun had set, they Apparated to the only wizarding village in the United Kingdom. It nearly proved to be a disastrous mistake. Hogsmeade was evidently a bit further west than Sheffield; the disk of the sun had not quite sunk below the horizon. They were saved from serious burns because they appeared in the shadow of the Hogshead Tavern. The sunlight stole their powers and very nearly their consciousness. It took several minutes for them to recover from the dazzling light of the setting sun. Fortunately, no one came to investigate why they had nearly collapsed.

It was a sharp lesson that they immediately took to heart. They would have to consider the time at their destination if they Apparated. It was possible for them to Apparate to their own destruction if they appeared in the sunlight.

Once it began to grow dark the duo headed for Hogwarts. Even from a distance Harry could see the energy of the wards. A dome of faint light covered the castle. As they drew closer to the boundary, the defenses appeared as ghostly flames that flared to a height of fifty feet. Hermione responded to the sight by taking hold of Harry’s arm.

Harry was spared the decision of whether to touch the flames or not. They were halted by an invisible barrier a few yards from the flames. Hogwarts was shut against them.

Unwilling to admit defeat, Harry wanted to try the secret tunnel from Honeydukes. Hermione suggested that they try to get on the grounds from the Shrieking Shack. She thought it possible that the wards would alert the castle and they might escape more easily from the grounds than the castle.

The trip to the Shrieking Shack was accomplished without incident. The door yielded to Harry’s spell and they slipped inside. The tunnel entrance was still open and they easily navigated the passage to the roots of the Whomping Willow. Evidently the wards stopped at ground level, this gave Harry hope that the tunnel from Honeydukes would be useable as well.

Harry touched the knot that froze the tree; he and Hermione stepped out onto the grounds. Nothing happened as they walked toward the greenhouses. There were no apparent alarms as they made their way to one of the side entrances. Neither of them was surprised to find that the doors were all locked and it would take more than the “Alohamora” spell to open them.

Harry, unwilling to admit defeat when they had come so close, wracked his brain for a way to get into the castle. Meanwhile Hermione spread her vampire senses as far over the grounds as she could. Hagrid’s hut was empty and so were Professor Sprout’s quarters near the greenhouses. From the outside, it was difficult to detect anyone deep inside the castle, but she felt safe in assuming there was no one near the wall.

After thinking a while, Harry realized that he could try the entrance associated with the worst memory of his life, the Astronomy tower. As Quidditch Captain he knew the passwords to get into the broom storage shed. A short time later they were flying to the tower. Harry kept close to the walls to minimize the chances of anyone seeing them and he touched down on the tallest of the castle’s towers. “Alohamora,” he commanded, the lock opened and they stepped carefully onto the spiral staircase leading down into the castle. Hermione disillusioned them to help hide them from the portraits in the halls.

The interior of Hogwarts was silent and still, as if it was still in mourning for Professor Dumbledore. At the bottom of the tower they scanned the vast interior of the school. To the limit of their senses, the school was deserted.

The path to the library was familiar, yet they moved cautiously. The last thing they wanted to encounter was Peeves or one of the house ghosts. Fortunately, they had no need of light, their vampire eyes could see in the darkness of the halls. As they moved toward the library Harry sensed the presence of the Bloody Baron. The ghost registered as a cold spot in his mind. The Baron was not moving, and Harry guessed that he was down in the Slytherin common room.

Once they were in the library, Hermione went to the charms section and began scanning the titles. After a few minutes, she pulled several volumes took them to a table. With the light of her wand she began going through the books. Harry did his best to help, but between them they could not find anything that would be directly helpful for defeating the vampire hunter’s detection spells.

As the hours passed Hermione began taking notes. Once she turned her attention to writing down what she had learned, Harry began keeping watch. He was finally able to sense all of the house ghosts; the only one he could not find was Moaning Myrtle. He could not help but wonder what had become of her, especially since she had developed something of a crush on Draco Malfoy the previous year.

At last Harry had to put a stop to Hermione’s research; he needed to maintain a safety margin for returning to Sheffield. Reluctantly she returned the books to the shelves and gathered her writing materials. “If you don’t have enough information we can come back some other time,” he suggested

“Let me work with what I have and then we’ll decide. In the meantime we might check the books at Number Twelve.”

Together they left the library, slipped silently through the halls to the tower, and flew to return the broom to the shed. As they made their way back toward the Whomping Willow, Fang began to bark at them. Harry quickly noted that while they had been in the library Hagrid had returned home.

They began to run; with their vampire reflexes and speed, they did not find it difficult to get past the branches and into the tunnel. Once inside Harry tried to sense if Hagrid was alarmed by Fang’s barking. As far as he could tell, the half-giant was unconcerned. Hermione tugged on the hem of his cloak and they made their way back to the Shrieking Shack.

Harry noticed that Hermione had a small smile on her face as they left the little house. She noticed that he was staring at her. “That was almost like old times, Harry. It feels nice to be in familiar surroundings.” Harry nodded his agreement. Side by side they walked back to the village, enjoying the feeling of the moonlight on their faces.

They were so involved with the moment that neither noticed the shadow come out of the woods. The dark figure followed them to the village. It kept its distance, noting that when they reached the Hogshead Tavern they Apparated away. The lonely figure waited for the dawn, sitting in the woods near the Shrieking Shack, and at the rising of the sun it too Apparated away on business of its own.

11. Chapter Eleven

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 special thank you to Strider, your stories provided the solution to a difficult problem.

A/N Conversations in italic print are telepathic in nature.

Chapter Eleven

Harry and Hermione Apparated back to their lair in Sheffield. Hermione had only a little time before the dawn; she spent it preparing her research for the following evening.

Harry spent the night searching for dementors while Hermione poured over the notes she had taken. She tried to correlate the material in her notes with her school texts on charms. After the first night, she knew that she had set herself a daunting task. Harry returned from his hunt; he had taken enough blood for Hermione. He was disappointed in his inability to find any more dementors and the two of them decided to move on.

The next night they flew to the town of Lincoln. It did not take long to determine that there were no dementors in the area. After only three days they prepared to leave.

The next town on the schedule was Nottingham. Lupin had told Harry that the dementors infested the foulest places on earth. Harry was not sure what he meant. He and Hermione had examined some very nasty places in the industrial cities they had searched. Now they also searched the nearby Sherwood Forest. Evidently, Lupin had not meant trash dumps, bogs, or swamps.

His meaning became clear when Harry finally found a few dementors. The monsters were infesting one of the shoddier areas of the city. The dementors inhabited the rundown places where the poor and downtrodden victims of despair tended to gather; the slums and near prisons, places where people could only dream of something better. The dementors came to steal even that meager comfort from them. When Harry figured out what was going on his fury knew no bounds. It only took a few minutes for him to annihilate the dementors.

In Nottingham they began to establish a routine for their nights. The first thing they did was to make sure their clothes and cloaks were clean; often they would take advantage of an inn to shower each evening. They shared the duty of doing the laundry. Once they were sure that their clothes were clean, they would get the blood they required to survive. In practice this was often coupled with the hunt for the dementors. They usually ended the hunt just after midnight. Hermione had changed her tactics. She still fed from criminals, but each night she would change the area. No longer would she make them confess immediately, now she planted a suggestion that they would wait for a week or two before they turned themselves in. When they returned to their lair they would practice the magic from their textbooks and try to find some way to overcome the detection spells of the vampire hunters.

Nottingham was fairly small, but since they also searched the forest it was a fortnight before they moved on to Leicester. The Romans had founded the city. While it was an industrial center, it lacked the heavy factories of the other areas.

Now that Harry had a better idea of where to look for his prey, he had hopes that the search would go faster.

Hermione sat alone in the vacant store that had become their lair in Leicester. Harry had flown off into the night. She had come to a dead end in her search to find a counter spell for the detection spell that the vampire hunters used. She knew she was going to need more information. It was now well into September and she knew that Hogwarts would be in session. Harry had said that they could try to get into the library again if she needed to, but at this point she was not at all sure she was desperate enough to try.

Her thoughts turned to Harry. He had been different ever since the wedding. He never intruded into her reveries about her former life; he had complemented and encouraged her whenever he could. Even when she was hunting he was never far away. She had been grateful when he had warned her about the vampire hunter, but he had made no further mention of the incident. He had been somewhat withdrawn until he realized that she was not angry with him for forcing her to continue her vampire existence.

She realized he was paying more attention to her. She wondered why; if they were still alive she might have hoped he wanted to be more than friends. As it was, he had no one else. It made her a little curious as to what he was feeling, but somehow she was not very motivated to find out. The grief that had once been so sharp was not producing the melancholy she would have expected at this point in time either. She wondered what was happening to her.

As she brooded, her hunger was growing as well. There was an uneasy awareness stirring at the edge of her conscience. It was a faint, growing enjoyment of the hunt for blood and a secret, wicked pleasure that came when her fangs met the resistance of soft flesh. She delighted when it gave way and the warmth of the blood ended her discomfort, making her feel alive for a time. Hermione covered her face with her hands; if she would have been breathing she might have sobbed in fear about what she was feeling. There was no doubt; the vampire within her was changing her, and she knew that she did not like what she had the potential to become.

Suddenly, she felt Harry approaching. She shoved her feelings deep inside of her mind and took a few moments to change her expression. She did not want to give Harry an excuse to probe her thoughts.

When Harry returned she felt his disappointment; he had not encountered any dementors this evening.

“Harry, why don’t we take a break from hunting the dementors? I know it isn’t your favorite place, but may we check out the library at Number Twelve? My original research has reached a dead end and I need more information.”

Harry pondered her request for a few minutes. “Okay. When would you like to leave?”

“We’re all packed. Unless you have something you need to do we can leave right now.”

Since their encounter with the vampire hunter Harry had begun to think about security. “Kingsley may have someone watching the neighborhood; we’ll have to be very careful.” They disillusioned each other after Harry shouldered his backpack, “See you at Grimmauld Place.” He gave her a small smile, spun on his toes, and vanished with a small crack.

When Hermione arrived in the neighborhood a few moments later she found Harry standing silently examining the area with his vampire senses; there was no indication of anyone else being aware that they were there.

They entered the hallway quietly, the drapes in front of the portrait of Sirius’ mother were open, but she seemed unaware of their presence. Hermione hoped that she would be unable to detect the undead.

The first thing Harry did was to find a hiding place for them to spend the day. By unspoken consent they would not use the bedrooms they had used before. Even though the Order had abandoned the old house they could not be sure the members did not use it from time to time.

Harry instinctively avoided the basement because that was where Kreacher had stayed for so many years. They picked an unused guest room on the third floor and spent the rest of the night cleaning it.

After arising the next evening they made their way to the library. Harry still did not possess the knack for research that Hermione did. While he did enjoy reading, the endless cross-referencing that Hermione did became boring if he did it for too long. The main problem here was the material that they found on charms was very general, most of the books contained charms of the household variety.

Hermione was disappointed, but she tried not to show it. “Well I guess we will either have to go back to Hogwarts or contact Fred and George for more information.”

“I’d rather contact Fred and George, but it’s too late to go to Diagon Alley now. Don’t you need to hunt?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. Shortly, they were on the streets hunting for blood. The neighborhoods in the area were largely deserted. Hermione was beginning to wonder how far she would have to go, when she became aware of a faint sobbing coming from a dirty alleyway. Motioning to Harry, who was keeping watch from his Firebolt, she pointed him toward the alley.

At the end of the alley she saw the crumpled form of a young woman, her clothes had been torn and she was bleeding from a severe beating. Hermione crouched next to the girl and scanned her thoughts, not that there was much doubt about what had happened. Moments later Harry touched down and the two of them gently picked up the shivering form.

It did not take long to locate a hospital. Standing outside the emergency entrance Harry used his vampiric senses to scan the emergency department. He located a person who was daydreaming. Because of the nurse’s state of consciousness he was able to plant the thought that there was an emergency just outside. The vampires drew away at the sound of hurrying footsteps, and in moments the alarm had been raised. Harry smiled his approval of Hermione’s actions, and her face softened with a smile of her own.

As they walked from the hospital, Hermione located a burglar attempting to force his way in to the back of a pub. Although he had nothing to do with the young victim Hermione had discovered in the alley, she was not inclined to be gentle, and he was plagued by nightmares for the rest of his life.

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The next evening a faint chiming interrupted George’s preparations for bed. Fred was out with Angelina Johnson; their on-again, off-again relationship was on for the time being. A glance out of the window revealed two cloaked figures standing across the street. A flick of his wand opened the front door of the shop.

By the time he reached the first floor, the vampires were already inside and the door was closing behind them. “Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” George asked politely.

Harry drew a ragged breath; “We were hoping you might be able to help us with the magic the vampire hunters use to detect us.” His voice was hoarse with disuse.

“I’ve tried examining all the revealing charms I could find, but I can’t create a counter-charm,” added Hermione. Her voice was hollow and somewhat deeper sounding than George remembered.

George grinned, “We’re way ahead of you, my friends, and we were hoping to see you again.” He went to the lab and returned with a small box. “Take these.”

Harry took the box from George. In it were two small amulets on long chains. “These will beep when a vampire hunter uses the detection spell on you. The reason you couldn’t find a counter spell is because the charm isn’t based in revealing magic. The spell is a derivative of ancient tracking magic that originated in the United States. The vampire hunter that developed it is from America; his family used to be hunters and trackers two hundred years ago, now he collects bounty on the vampires he kills for the Ministry.”

“How did you get the spell?” asked Harry.

“We didn’t, your ex-girlfriend did. Dad invited Carstairs the vampire hunter to dinner. We needed to find out what the Ministry told him about you two. You best be careful, Ginny is considering a career in vampire hunting. Asked all kinds of questions, Carstairs was only too happy to spill his guts. The slimy git thinks she’s the type to be successful at the trade. Brave, smart, and determined; that’s our Ginny.”

Hermione looked disturbed, “Does she know that we’re…”

“No, and she won’t from us. She may change her mind; she can be flighty sometimes. But, Harry, you and Hermione left a big hole in her life; she’s trying to move on. It’s not been easy for either her or Ron.”

“How are they doing?” asked Harry.

“Before they left for Hogwarts they were functioning, got their chores done, and even laughed at our jokes once and a while. They’ve matured a great deal; take life a lot more seriously now. Ron even asked Luna to help him study. He is a lot more serious about being an Auror, I think he wants to avenge you, Harry.”

“What’s going on at Hogwarts?” he queried.

“Well, they only have half the students they had before, but all four houses have students in them. They are more informal about the classes, since they have so few. They let students advance at their own pace now. Everyone drills at Defense Against the Dark Arts. The ones from the old DA are acting as tutors. Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna are real leaders at the school. The houses are a bit more cooperative with each other, but some of the Slytherins are kind of on the outside, especially those whose parents are Death Eaters.”

“How do you know all this, George?” asked Hermione.

“The staff provides regular updates about what is going on at the school. It keeps the parents from becoming too nervous, plus if something happens the students are informed more quickly.”

“What is happening to the Order?” Harry asked anxiously.

“And why is Kingsley Shacklebolt so afraid of us?” interrupted Hermione.

“Ladies first, Harry. Evidently, there was a vampire-wizard some time ago by the name of Vlad Tepes. I suppose he gave the Ministry a good deal of trouble, but I’ve never heard of him. I think he’s afraid you’ll be a worse threat than You-Know-Who, given time.”

Hermione appeared stunned, “I didn’t know Dracula was a real vampire.” George could only shrug his shoulders and look puzzled.

He turned to face Harry, “As to the Order, we’ve reorganized under Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Lupin, and Dad. Lupin is still keeping tabs on the Werewolves, seems You-Know-Who is trying harder to mobilize them. For some reason the number of dementor attacks has fallen off in the past fortnight. The Ministry is being tight lipped about it, and something is up. The Aurors have been training with the vampire hunters lately.”

“That’s because of us. I’ve been hunting the dementors. We’re immune to their psychic attack and I killed a lot of them at Manchester. We realized the vampire hunters could kill them too. Their crossbows should be effective if there aren’t too many of them together.”

George nodded, the front door opened suddenly as Fred and Angelina entered. She looked surprised to see George talking to customers at that time of night. Her eyes went wide as she recognized Harry. Just as suddenly her face became a total blank as Harry used his power on her.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Harry, “We’ll just be going now; thank you for everything.” He and Hermione headed for the door. “When you hear the door close you will awaken and remember nothing, Angelina. You did not see us, George was here alone.” Hermione walked to the door as Harry followed. Just before he stepped into the darkness he said, “We’ll contact you again if we find out any more about what the Ministry is doing.”

When the door shut Angelina stirred and shook her head. She smiled at George and asked innocently, “What are you doing up this late?”

The twins looked at each other, impressed by Harry’s powers, “Waiting up to chaperone my wayward brother, what else?” he smiled. “How about a nightcap?” Angelina nodded and the three of them went upstairs together as two vampires vanished into the darkness.

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Hermione was sulking by the time they returned to Grimmauld Place, “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, “It’s just that I’m not used to failing when I attempt something like this. Sometimes in the past year or so, it felt like no one needed me anymore. Ron had that fling with Lavender, you were taking lessons from Dumbledore and then you got together with Ginny. I was feeling left out. Then, when I began to seriously consider doing things on my own, you turned me into a vampire. Now, I just feel so empty all the time.” She would not allow herself to acknowledge her growing fear at the sense of pleasure that hunting was giving her.

“Well, you used to have the best library in the world at your fingertips, now we don’t have anything. If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same emptiness. Really though, Hermione, nobody can do everything, but you do come very close.” Harry offered her an encouraging smile.

Hermione could not quite smile back, but she thought, “Thanks for noticing.”

“I mean it, Hermione; I don’t know what I would do without you.” Harry said truthfully.

The next evening Harry and Hermione held a council of war. They sat, unmoving, gazing into one another’s eyes, as they passed their thoughts back and forth. The only light was the dim, blue glow from the tips of their wands.

“What are we going to do next? We set out to destroy the dementors, and we seem to have slowed down their attacks. I know they are still out there, but if they aren’t attacking any more what about finding the Horcruxes?” Hermione began. “Do we have any ideas on where to start looking?”

Harry explained his thoughts on the matter to her. He began by reviewing what he knew of the Horcruxes. Dumbledore believed that there were seven; the diary Harry had destroyed in his second year, which had begun Dumbledore’s search; the ring Dumbledore had destroyed, which had also cost him his hand; the locket and cup which had belonged to the founders of Hogwarts and were stolen after the murder of Hepziba Smith; the fifth was still a mystery; the sixth was probably Nagini; and the seventh resided in Voldemort’s body.

Since the summer he had begun to consider where to look, since Voldemort collected trophies to represent his victories, it made sense to consider where he had fought his battles. He recounted the night at the cave. Voldemort had terrorized two other orphans there; Harry supposed it had marked some kind of epiphany to young Tom Riddle. He had marked the event by hiding a Horcrux there.

“We thought we had the third Horcrux with the locket, but the note inside said it was a fake. R.A.B. said that he had destroyed it.” Harry thoughts were bitter. “You looked in the library for him didn’t you?”

“Yes, but the people I found had no connection with Voldemort that I could discover. Have you been thinking about who it might be?”

“What if it wasn’t someone important? Are there many wizard families that have last names starting with ‘B’?” Harry asked.

“The Bones family, but they’ve all been Voldemort’s enemies. The Boots, I’m not as sure about them, but Terry was nice enough. The Blacks are all gone, Sirius was the last one,” Hermione thought.

Suddenly, Harry remembered what Sirius said, “Hermione, Sirius’ younger brother Regulus was a Death Eater. Sirius told me that he didn’t approve of all the things that Voldemort was doing, he tried to back out and Voldemort had him killed. What if he found out about the Horcruxes and that is why Voldemort had him killed, or maybe he died destroying the Horcrux?”

Hermione’s eyes went wide with surprise, “Harry don’t you remember when we were cleaning? There was a locket we found that wouldn’t open, could that have been the Horcrux?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember if it had any markings, but we might try to find it. At least it’s a place to start.”

“If it’s not here, maybe Mundungus has it, or knows who has it,” Hermione suggested.

Harry could not believe that the start of the hunt for the Horcruxes could be this easy, and he steeled himself against the bitter disappointment that must come if the locket was not here. He tried not to consider the revenge he would take on the old reprobate if he had stolen the locket. Although, he thought as they made their way to the basement and Kreacher’s old lair, Sirius had tried to get rid of all that stuff as junk, could he seriously call it stealing?

The basement was festooned with spiders’ webs, since people quit coming on a regular basis the opportunistic arachnids had moved back in. There were several piles of junk in various parts of the room. Hermione began to search close to the door, while Harry went to the pile of old blankets that comprised Kreacher’s nest. He carefully searched through them trying not to be too disappointed when he did not find anything but a few old pictures and trinkets.

Hermione picked up on Harry’s disappointment, “Harry, the locket wasn’t that important to Sirius’ parents, and probably Kreacher didn’t value it either. Just keep on looking.” Taking heart from Hermione’s words Harry began searching in a far corner.

It was tedious work as they slowly went through the litter. Harry came to appreciate the grim determination Kreacher had shown in rescuing a large number of items that Harry was sure had made their way into the trash. Kreacher had shown some amazing ingenuity in hiding the items that he had “rescued”. Fortunately, many of the items were magical and were visible to vampire eyes, glowing faintly under the rubbish.

Just when Harry had decided that it would have been too easy for the locket to be in the basement, Hermione called to him, “Harry! I found it! Come quick!” She held aloft the heavy, golden locket. This time Harry noted the serpentine “S” on the face. It also glowed with the traces of residual magic.

“We couldn’t open it before; do you think it’s safe to open now?” she asked.

“I think so, Hermione. It took a while for the soul fragment to drain Ginny enough for Riddle to take form. If we just open it once it should be safe. You don’t believe Regulus destroyed it?”

“I don’t know,” but Hermione looked dubious just the same.

Rather than stay in the musty, old basement the vampires made their way back up to the sitting room. Once more they sat up through the early morning hours trying to open the locket. They failed in all of their attempts until Harry had an idea. “Hermione could you conjure a snake?”

Hermione waved her wand, with a voiceless, “Serpensortia!” She conjured a large, reticulated snake that coiled on the cool floor.

Harry focused on the snake and said, “Hesssh Haaath Sha” while holding the locket in his hand. With a quiet click the locket fell open. Whatever the inside had originally looked like, it was now a blackened ruin. Whether it had been subjected to a corrosive or some kind of magical fire they could not tell. Much as the Basilisk venom had destroyed the diary. Harry was sure this Horcrux was dead.

“Well, Sirius, your brother is revenged; he really did destroy a part of Voldemort’s soul. I hope he rests in peace,” prayed Harry.

Hermione was looking with relief on the blackened interior of the locket. “That’s three down and four to go.”

Harry noticed the weakness beginning, “It’s almost dawn.” Together they started up the steps their hearts lighter than at any time since the funeral. It seemed that they were making some headway at last.

12. Chapter Twelve

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 Twelve

Sunset brought new activity to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry looked at the destroyed Horcrux; he was almost unable to fathom what it meant. For months he had been dreading to walk this road and now it was upon him. He really was no nearer to having a plan to find these things, but one had just dropped into his hands. He hoped it was an omen.

“Harry?” Hermione’s thought disturbed his reverie.

He turned to look at her, “What are we going to do?”

Harry shrugged, “When all else fails, just carry on with what worked before. It’s my turn to get the laundry.” He smiled at her. He secretly hoped he could get a better handle on the situation with a little more time, perhaps the wash cycle would provide enough.

“I think I’ll find a library or a bookstore, there is a book I want to read.”

“Dracula?” Harry grinned.

“I know it’s thought of as fiction, but since it seems to have a basis in fact, it might be useful. It won’t help us against Voldemort, but it might give us a clue about what the Ministry is afraid of.”

Harry nodded his head in agreement. Information was what Hermione was best at. Since she had failed to come up with a counter to the detection spells of the vampire hunters, he realized that it was the best way to keep her spirits up. Succeeding at a new project might restore her confidence.

Since ammonia is soluble in water, Hermione wanted their laundry washed Muggle fashion. They had located a washing machine in a nearby apartment building. Harry washed their cloaks and BDU’s, dried them with magic, and shrunk them to fit into small bag. As he was returning to the gloomy old mansion he experienced a growing sense of foreboding. By the time he had packed everything away he was feeling positively alarmed. He put on his Invisibility Cloak and grabbed his Firebolt on the way out. He slipped quietly out of the door and began flying over the neighborhood looking for Hermione.

Suddenly, he experienced a flash of rage; he knew that somewhere nearby Hermione was feeling furious about something. He slowed the broom and searched with his vampiric senses; he located Hermione a few streets away, her anger guided him like a beacon.

He saw her on the street below talking to a Muggle. He was puzzled as he watched her, she appeared chatting normally, but he could feel the waves of anger coming from her mind. Rather than interfere he braced his foot against a peaked roof and cocked his head to listen.

“Yes, I’m lost,” she was saying, “Could you help me find Grimmauld Place?” She was clutching a plastic bag to her chest as if to protect herself from the stranger’s appraising stare.

“Yeah,” the stranger said, “It’s this way. By the way, my name is Don.”

Hermione introduced herself as Elizabeth Bathory.

They began walking down the street and Hermione began chattering about how she had just moved into the area, how she didn’t have any friends, and her prospects for finding a job. Her guide nodded as he listened to her without comment. Harry was amazed that Hermione could sound so calm, when he could plainly sense that she was in a towering rage.

From his vantage point he could see a second young man slip out of an alleyway and walk toward the pair. The three of them met under a streetlight, and the second man greeted the first. He was introduced to Hermione as Sam. Don led the way for two more blocks and then he turned away from Grimmauld Place. Hermione played along.

As the trio approached the center of the block, Sam began to whistle a cheery tune. Harry had followed the group, now he could see a third man step from the shadows. He could tell that Hermione was being gently herded toward him.

Harry considered the newcomer. He looked rather like Cedric Diggory, with the same fine features. His eyes, however, were light blue, and among the coldest eyes Harry had ever seen.

Don spoke up, “Hey, Leo! Look who we found. Her name’s Elizabeth and she’s new here.”

Leo gave Hermione an appraising leer. Looking up at Don and Sam he said, “Plain little bird isn’t she?”

Hermione looked at Leo, feigning a look of fear, “Why are you being so rude? I don’t even know you.”

“No, little Lizzy, but you will. Might even be the high point of your life, being with a bloke like me.”

Hermione dropped the sack with her new book and backed away from Leo. Don and Sam closed ranks behind her, blocking her escape. Hermione hung her head, looking at her trainers. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered. Leo jerked his head toward the alley.

Don and Sam grabbed Hermione’s arms as Leo reached out and cupped her chin. None of them held her for very long. When they touched the skin of her arms they realized that something was not right. Hermione’s arms were clay-like and as cold as the evening air. They stepped back in surprise, “Leo, somethin’s not right,” whispered Sam. “Her skin feels weir…,”

In the meantime, Leo tipped Hermione’s face upward, and he looked into eyes that were glowing like the fires of Hell. His cry of surprise died in his throat as Hermione bared her fangs in a grin that the devil himself would have been proud of.

Leo froze in shock. Hermione stepped back quickly and grabbed a handful of Don’s shirt, and without much apparent effort, she threw him into the alley. He landed hard and lay in a broken heap. Whirling around, she backhanded Sam with such force that he landed on his back in the middle of the street.

Leo was mewling in terror as Hermione extended her talons. With the speed of a striking snake she slashed them diagonally across his face. Her claws cut the skin across his eyes, nose, lips, and chin. Like lightening, she crossed the first cuts she made. “Will you dare to show your ugly face to the world now?” The power of her thought slammed Leo backward. He continued to scoot backward as Hermione advanced upon him. Wielding fear like a weapon she broke his mind with the power of her vampiric will. “You’ll never hurt anyone again you pathetic little…,”

She never finished her thought as Harry dropped like a thunderbolt into the battle. He planted himself between Leo and Hermione, “Stop!” he commanded with all the authority of a sire over its fledgling. Hermione hissed her frustration at his coming between her and her prey, but she obeyed.

Harry grabbed the miscreant, and lifted him to his feet. The blood flowed from Leo’s face on to Harry’s hands. “When you are questioned, you will confess that a rival gang has done this to you because you, to use your expression, ‘diddled the wrong popsy’. You understand?”

Leo tried to nod. Harry threw him backwards and watched as he began to stumble away from the terror that would be forever at his heels. By the time Harry turned back to Hermione, she had pulled Sam from the street and buried her fangs in his neck.

After a few minutes he commanded, “Enough,” Hermione dropped Sam callously to the sidewalk, after closing the punctures on his neck. She turned to face Harry, her eyes still blazing. Harry could begin to understand how he had killed those six Death Eaters. Hermione, with her vampire ascendant, was truly terrifying. He could still sense the rage burning within her. He approached and grabbed her wrists allowing her to struggle against his strength. For long minutes they stood as he wrestled with her. Their arms moved in slow circles as he helped her spend her anger. Slowly, the red light faded from her eyes as Hermione regained control and at last he looked into her familiar, brown orbs.

Her face became a mask of anguish as she thought, “Oh, Harry! What have I done?” She began to tremble as she looked at the blood on her hands and the spatters on the street. Sam was unconscious and Don lay groaning in the alley.

“Go back to Number Twelve, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he ordered gently. Hermione picked up the book and slipped into the darkness. Don was staring into the sky as Harry came and stood over him. Harry commanded him to confess his involvement with Leo and planted the idea they had been attacked by people he did not know. He fed his hunger from the hoodlum and released him to the darkness.

Harry found Hermione washing the blood from her hands but it was not doing her much good, as she was crying. The blood streaked her face as Harry took her in his arms and held her tightly. She was aware of the pressure, but there was no warmth or real comfort in his embrace.

“It was so strong; I couldn’t resist… it … when I came out of the bookstore … they were there. I saw him, I recognized him from that girl’s memories … I just wanted to kill him … I couldn’t stop myself … if you hadn’t … hadn’t …”

Hermione’s anguish started Harry’s tears. He tried to hold back his own emotion, but the guilt and fear rushed in upon him again. Remembering the comfort of Hermione’s voice when they were in the cemetery where her parents were buried, Harry whispered, “It’s not your fault, Hermione. I did this to you … I had no idea it would be like this … I’m so sorry … so sorry.”

Hermione drew away from him and stared in surprise, he was speaking to her. Because it was spoken, somehow his thought seemed so much more personal and heartfelt. “I didn’t know it could be like this, Harry,” she thought. “If your vampire was in control when you made me, you couldn’t have fought it, at least not alone,” she hung her head in shame at the memory of the way she had treated him in those first few days. At last she looked into his eyes and said, “I forgive you, Harry.”

Harry felt a great weight lift from his shoulders and he looked at Hermione. He could see the truth in her eyes. She did forgive him. Gently, he licked the blood-tears from her face, “No reason to have another load of laundry tonight. I’ll treasure these tears in memory of your forgiveness.” The power of her tears tingled on his tongue.

She gave him a genuine smile and she licked his tears dry, “I’ll treasure these tears because you care for me.”

For a few moments it seemed that they were alive again. The feeling of friendship was strong, but all too quickly the feeling faded and Hermione, ever practical, thought, “What are we going to do now?”

Harry thought for a few minutes, “We’ll have to clear out. The Muggle police might be fooled, but a vampire hunter will recognize the marks of your claws. Kingsley will be suspicious about the location because he knows about the mansion. I guess he didn’t think I’d come back here, but the place will be watched now for certain. Let’s Apparate back to the lair at Nottingham, tomorrow we’ll fly to Birmingham to see if the dementors are there. While we’re there we can think about finding the other Horcruxes.”

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Arthur Weasley had not been given to brooding, but it now came with the territory. He had always liked getting out of the office, but now mostly he shuffled papers, gave orders, and brooded. He most often wondered how the world had come to be like it was. As he thought about it, Voldemort’s tactics were becoming more obvious. His attacks on Muggles caught the Ministry’s attention and when the Aurors committed themselves, his Death Eaters were able to attack his real targets in other areas.

The wizard population has always been scattered, and now they were being driven further apart. Old feelings of prejudice were being magnified by the fear of strangers that might be in league with Voldemort. The families where only one parent was magical were where Voldemort was striking hardest. A single witch or wizard was no match for half a dozen Death Eaters. Now many of those families were fleeing England. Each day the Dark Lord had fewer to oppose him.

There was a soft knock on his door. “Come in,” he invited.

Kingsley stuck his head into the office. “You hungry? I came to invite you to lunch.”

“Not really hungry, but I could do with some tea. I’ll be right with you.”

Once out of the office, the two friends walked from the Ministry building to a small restaurant. Kingsley ordered a light lunch and they took the opportunity to talk in private.

“Have you heard about the latest dementor attacks?”

Arthur thought for a moment. “You mean the two down in Surrey?”

“That’s the one. The two victims were Death Eaters.”

Arthur almost dropped his teacup in surprise. “You mean the dementors have turned on Voldemort? Why?”

“The Ministry would really like to know the answer to that question. Not that we’ve been able to talk to one.”

Arthur looked surprised, “They can talk?”

Kingsley looked at him with an exasperated expression, “Of course they can talk. We negotiated with them to have them guard Azkaban didn’t we?”

“I just never thought of it before.” He did not say how much he disliked thinking about anything that had to do with dementors.

“Now that we know how to kill them, we can’t find them anymore.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to realize the obvious, “Well, if you were coming to kill me I’d hide too. You know they feed off of our thoughts.” That particular realization made Kingsley’s face satisfyingly blank.

They ate and drank in silence for a few minutes before Kingsley confessed, “I guess you were right about Harry being a vampire. They were at Grimmauld Place a couple of nights ago. I checked this morning and found traces of ammonia in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I also found this. Do you recognize it?” He handed Arthur a heavy gold locket. It was open and the center was destroyed.

“No, I’ve never seen it before. How did you find out Harry was there?”

“There was an attack in the neighborhood, the victim was confessing to a string of assaults. He said a gang attacked him with knives, but Carstairs says it was a vampire’s talons that made the wounds. Can’t say he didn’t deserve it, but his face is a total ruin. It’s even worse than Mad-Eye’s or Bill’s. He’s lucky he wasn’t blinded.”

“How can Carstairs be sure?”

“The depth and spacing of the cuts match the spread of a person’s hand. I guess Hermione was there too. I found this in a waste basket.” He held out a sales receipt from a bookstore. After the senior Weasley took it he said, “Tonks checked this out for me, the person that bought it was a girl and she bought “Dracula.”

Arthur started to chuckle, then he burst out laughing, drawing looks from the nearby customers, but the thought of a vampire reading “Dracula” was just too much. Despite the stress and worry the war was causing, plus the fear of what Harry and Hermione could become in time, even Kingsley was unable to resist the irony, and he burst out laughing as well.

It was the best Arthur had felt in weeks. He did not tell Kingsley that Harry and Hermione had talked to Fred and George, or that they now had amulets that could help protect them from his vampire hunters. Somehow, he could not believe that if Hermione was still reading she would be that different from the young woman that he knew, though the report of the vicious attack on the Muggle did give food for thought. He wondered what lessons Hermione would draw from the old story.

“So they’re gone again?”

Kingsley wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. “I expect so.”

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Birmingham is the second largest city in England, and had once been the center of its metal making industry. The days of the Industrial Revolution were long behind it. The industry was cleaner now, but the soot stained bricks spoke eloquently of its past.

The city is enclosed by a ring of industrial towns that provided a good deal of cover, both for vampires and dementors. After a good deal of searching, Harry and Hermione created a lair in the basement of an old apartment building.

In the aftermath of her attack on Leo, Hermione had pulled back into her shell. Harry had tried to convince her that it was her sense of justice that had provoked her so. She had been deeply distressed to find Leo’s victim in the alleyway, and her basic hatred of injustice in any form caused her to use her vampire powers to stop a vicious predator. Harry was pleased that she seemed to draw a measure of comfort from his observations, and at least showed some small interest in their activities.

In the next few days she was very cautious about hunting, and she also fed from a few people that were not engaged in some criminal activity. Fear drove her to feed from innocent people and her conscience bothered her somewhat. She was envious that Harry could steal blood from anyone without it bothering him.

Hermione breezed through “Dracula” in the space of three evenings. They talked some about the book, but there was nothing of any real help in understanding the Ministry’s attitude toward vampires. The pair of them could, if they wished, create an “epidemic” of vampires. That was bad, and what the Ministry was apparently afraid of. However, it overlooked the fact that they were helpless during the day and could be killed by the humans if the secret of their existence got out. Not to mention that the more vampires there were meant there would be fewer humans left to feed on.

Harry resumed hunting for dementors and in the first few nights managed to find and kill a few. The dementors seemed to be becoming extremely wary and were making themselves hard to find.

The other bright spot was the fact that the library at the University in Birmingham was open all night.

One evening as Harry was returning from his hunt in one of the outlying cities Hermione contacted him, “Harry could you come to the library?” He replied that he would, and about half an hour later he was looking through the stacks searching for her.

It took a few minutes for him to find her poring over a book. “Harry, why haven’t we gone to Godric’s Hollow? You wanted to last summer.” She offered him a small smile.

Harry was deeply touched by her question. It was also the first time since she had lost control of her vampire that she was making a suggestion about something for them to do. After a few moments he shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know where it is, and there is no one I can ask now.”

“We could have asked Fred or George, but I found it.” She turned the book toward Harry and pointed just west of Salisbury. There along the banks of the Wylye River was a small dot labeled “Godric’s Hollow.” “If we hurry we can make Salisbury, and tomorrow night we could fly to Godric’s Hollow.”

Harry gave Hermione a grateful smile; instinctively he reached out to touch her hand, “Thanks, Hermione. That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever done for me.” Even though his sense of touch had been degraded by his death, Hermione’s hand felt cold and wax like. She started at the touch of his cold, dry skin on her hand. Their smiles wavered at the realization of what the other was feeling. What once would have been a very pleasant intimacy was stolen from them.

“It’s all right, Harry. You just surprised me, is all. Besides, I can hear the gratitude in your thoughts.” She reached out and took his hand, “and you can hold my hand if you want to.”

Harry curled his fingers through hers and pulled her to her feet. The guilt at what he had done to her swept over him again. “Don’t you go feeling all guilty again, Harry Potter. I see it in your eyes. I told you I forgive you, and I mean it. Let’s go.” As they walked from the library Hermione held his hand and walked more closely beside him as they made their way to the lair.

As Harry was pushing the Firebolt swiftly southward his thoughts wandered over the past few days, and he had an epiphany of sorts. He realized that as much as he hated feeling regret or hurt, it was in those feelings and in response to those feelings in Hermione that he felt the most human. The vampire side of his nature was strongest in anger and if things were normal he felt empty. He understood better what Dumbledore had tried to teach him the night Sirius had died; the pain of his grief did mean that he was human. He wondered what might have happened if he had let Hermione talk to him about Sirius, perhaps he might have discovered how precious she was to him before he had lost her.

As they approached Salisbury they flew just east of Stonehenge. Harry could sense a strange power in the old megaliths, but he had no time to attend to it now. The dawn was less than three hours away.

They examined several buildings in the center of the city but could find nothing suitable for a hiding place. At last Hermione suggested the cathedral that they had seen as they approached the city. Harry had been impressed; the spire of the old church was the tallest he had ever seen. Hermione charmed the door lock and they entered the nave. The silence in the ancient church was awesome. They quickly passed through the nave and approached the apse. Time was pressing as they found their way into the choir loft. Finally, Harry found a storage area where they could hide for the day. A light coating of dust indicated that the area was seldom entered and they had a reasonable chance of remaining undetected. Harry Disillusioned the door to the small storage area and the two vampires settled in for the day.

The normal commerce of the day ensued, tours came and went, and all the while the humans were unaware of the presence of the undead at the edge of their lives. The sun set over the Salisbury plain and consciousness returned to two bodies hidden in the great cathedral. Harry helped Hermione to her feet and the two of them warily sensed their surroundings for the presence of humans near their refuge.

They could feel the life force of some people still in the building, but no one was in the immediate area. As softy as shadows, they stole through the great nave and out into the fresh air. Before setting out on the final leg of their journey they Disillusioned themselves. Hermione climbed onto the Firebolt behind Harry and they set off.

Harry followed the course of the Wylye River to the northwest and a little better than an hour later they were looking down on the lights of Godric’s Hollow. The village was nestled in a small valley and surrounded by hills arising from the plain. The river bounded its eastern side and a narrow lane wound through the low hills to the main road, which passed to the southwest.

As they flew low over the village Hermione noticed that the lane became the main street. At the center was the village square and the street continued to the edge of the river. Five smaller streets crossed the main street and were lined with houses. There were two between the square and the river and three between the square and the edge of the town. A few of the secondary streets passed into the countryside providing access to the farms which dotted the landscape around the village. From the air it did not appear all that different from Hogsmeade.

The second major thoroughfare ran parallel to the river. It was here that the village church was located. Across the road from the church the churchyard extended down to the bank of the river. As Harry headed for the edge of town closest to the churchyard Hermione noticed a fair amount of activity in the village itself.

They touched down on the lane and they began walking to the churchyard. “There’s something going on in the village,” she thought. Harry nodded his agreement and they made their way cautiously into the community.

As they moved eastward into the village they began to hear the laughter of little children. Their high, clear voices shouted “Anything for Halloween! Anything for Halloween!” Hermione caught the familiar scent of the currant filled “soul cakes” of her childhood. For vampires the nights blended into one another. During the days there was no sense of the passage of time. They had been vaguely aware that September had passed, but as they hunted dementors in the slums and industrial areas they had failed to notice the approach of Halloween.

She looked at Harry with concern; she could sense the intense mental activity as he came to realize what day it was. Sixteen years to the day that Voldemort had been here. That he had been ripped from his family and exiled to the Dursleys. On this night Hagrid had flown him away from here on Sirius’ motorcycle, and now on the Firebolt that Sirius had given him, sixteen years later Harry Potter had returned home.

13. Chapter Thirteen

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 Thirteen

The moment of realization stretched into eternity. If he had been alive his heart would have been beating fast and hard, he might have perspired and he would have been filled with nervous energy. Now there was nothing, Harry stood as still as one of the gravestones in the churchyard. He closed his eyes and willed the turmoil of his thoughts to cease as he began to consider the task at hand.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes again; it calmed him to watch the stars and moon. The sky was filled with small, scudding clouds that raced over the gibbous moon. Hermione, standing nearby, offered her own support in the form of her quiet presence.

“Let’s go to the cemetery,” he thought at last. As he began to close silently on the collection of headstones that marked his goal, he wished that he might summon a night mist, but that was a power of the vampires in fiction. Slowly, he made his way among the shadows and Hermione followed.

The churchyard was large with many, whitewashed graves. It took a while as they searched the tombstones for the names of Harry’s parents. Occasionally they were forced to remain still as a constable checked the churchyard; the police were afraid that someone on this Halloween might be up to mischief.

As they searched Harry noted a pair of graves that were somewhat apart from the regularity of the other tombs. He beckoned and Hermione followed him. There were no obvious markings on the headstones that even a vampire could see; yet there was a hint of magic around them. The moonlight shone brightly on the white marble surface of the stone; suddenly the names “James Potter” and “Lily Potter” appeared, glowing in pale silver. Harry knelt beside his parent’s graves.

Hermione stood back, giving him a moment in the presence of his parent’s graves, as he had given to her when they visited the cemetery in London. Harry raised his eyes to her and she went and knelt beside him, instinctively her arm wrapped itself around him. As they watched, a mist began arising from the earth between the graves. Harry was surprised, yet he sensed no danger nor did he feel any alarm.

The mist coalesced into the seated form of Albus Dumbledore, and the familiar voice of his former headmaster spoke to him, “Hello, Harry, you have come to your parent’s graveside at last. I do not know at what time in your life that you are making this visit, so let me introduce myself. I am Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“I knew your parents, Harry; they were two of the finest people I have had the privilege of knowing. Now, in the months since they were murdered, we feel their loss even more. The evil wizard that murdered them has disappeared, hopefully forever, but they would have helped us build a better world. You are growing up away from the life that your parents knew. I truly hope that your life is a full one, and I look forward to having you study with us, if you have not already begun doing so.”

“I have left this in order to help you to locate your parent’s house. The Fidelius Charm is still in effect, so no one that is with you will see the house, or rather, what is left of it. Sirius Black is your parent’s Secret-Keeper, unless you see him in Azkaban and get him to tell those with you where the house is located, they never will. I doubt Sirius will be of much help to you, he may even be dead by the time you hear this. Health and sanity do not usually long abide behind the walls of the prison. You were part of the original secret, so you will be able to see the house. Fortunately, you may guide anyone with you through the door. Once inside they will be able to see the house. You must do this anytime you come to visit unless Sirius lets more people in on the secret. I will tell you now that there is not much left beyond the living room and kitchen. If you go there, I sincerely hope you find what you are seeking.”

“To find the house, exit the churchyard and turn right. Go down to the corner and turn left. At the second street, turn back to the right and follow the lane past the town limit. Keep following the lane for about a quarter of a mile. The house was on the right side of the lane. The path to the front door begins between the two holly trees.”

The misty form of the headmaster began to dissolve; within a minute it was gone. Harry rose to his feet and turned to the gate of the cemetery. Hermione rose as well. She grabbed Harry’s sleeve as she noticed the mist begin to take shape once more.

Harry watched as the form changed. Dumbledore was standing now; his expression was one of concern rather than relaxed as it was before. “Harry, a further word, if you please. As you can guess, I cast that spell several years ago. Now, you have lost your godfather at the hands of Voldemort’s servants, and we know that it is Peter Pettigrew that betrayed your parents. What I said before is still relevant, but now you must be prepared for the Death Eaters to be watching the area. If they attack you, get inside as quickly as you can, for they will not be able to see you there. Now, I know that you, too, are a fine wizard. Your parents would be proud of what you have become. I hope that the stalwart Mr. Weasley and the indomitable Miss Granger are there with you at this time. You will doubtless be searching for the Horcruxes; I wish you the best of luck. Remember to let those who love you support you all that they can. I know you do not wish to put them in danger, but we are stronger together than apart. That is Tom’s greatest weakness; he can trust no one else. Farewell, Harry. Our acquaintance has brought a great sense of pleasure to me and I count it a great honor to have known you.”

The mist lingered for a few moments until a gust of wind blew it away.

Harry stared at the spot for several minutes. Hearing Dumbledore’s voice again tore open an old wound in his heart. He closed his eyes and saw the broken body falling from the tower once again. Hermione saw the memory in Harry’s mind and reached once again to touch his arm. “Thank you,” was all he thought.

“I wonder if he knew he would have passed on before we saw that,” Hermione wondered. To that Harry had no answer.

It was ten o’clock when they left the churchyard and made their way through the town. The young children had cleared the streets and the vampires could detect several gatherings in the houses and pub. The streets were deserted.

They made their way down the lane. The clouds caused the night to darken at intervals, but the moonlight seemed unusually bright at times. Harry’s thoughts were shrouded once more and Hermione wondered if it would comfort him to hold his hand, in the end she decided to leave him to his own thoughts.

Harry wasn’t sure of his thoughts. All he was sure of was that he was coming back to the place where everything had started and made him what he was today. He remembered the green flash. Thanks to the dementors, he had heard his mother’s begging Voldemort not to kill him. He was not sure he wanted anything more.

The holly trees were there as Dumbledore described and the path between them lead around a stand of oak trees that made the house difficult to see from the lane. Harry led the way to the trees. There, behind a wildly overgrown hedge, lay the remains of his parent’s hideaway.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“Just a hedge, but it looks like something that has been touched by magic.”

“Stay close,” Harry said as he slipped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. Harry pushed the door open, surprised that it was not locked. Hermione was surprised to have a room appear around her as she stepped into the remains of the house.

The place was a ruin covered in dust and cobwebs. The sitting room at the front of the house had been ravaged by the passage of time and the fact that all of the glass was gone from the windows. There were a few wooden chairs that were serviceable but the cushions of the sofa were rotten with mildew. Down a short hallway, rooms opened to the right and left. The bedrooms were on the right side. It was that side that had sustained the most damage. Most of the outer wall was gone and the roof had collapsed leaving a small space just inside the doors. The kitchen was on the left. To Hermione it looked a lot like the kitchen at the Burrow.

They split up. Harry started examining what was left of the bedrooms. Hermione returned to the sitting room. She found an old desk in the corner and began searching through it.

Harry realized his parents had slept in the front bedroom. The plaster was falling off of the walls and the paint was so faded that there was no way to tell what the original color might have been. The bed was in much the same shape as the sofa. A once-handsome armoire was crushed by the fall of the roof. The weather and countless small animals had attacked the clothing within. Especially poignant was his mother’s crushed hope chest.

Harry entered what had once been his nursery, not that there was much left. His crib was against wall; the mattress had fallen to pieces. Harry supposed Hagrid had wrapped him up in the bedding when he had taken him from this very room sixteen years before. As he examined the walls he wondered what had caused all the devastation. He remembered the way the “Avada Kedavra” curse had damaged the security desk and the Statue of Magical Brethren at the Ministry of Magic, he supposed that was explanation enough. There was no way to tell how many times Voldemort had used the terrible curse here. He stood silently wracking his brain trying to remember anything else about this house.

Hermione softly entered the room. “Did you find anything, Harry?” she asked. Harry shook his head looking stricken. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she continued.

“There is nothing here. I don’t have any memories of this place.” She could feel his disappointment.

“It was a long time ago and you were very young, Harry. I don’t have any memories of my early childhood.”

She reached out to caress his face as she tried to offer comfort. As her fingers touched the side of his head she felt something strange. There was an indentation in his skull running along the side of his head over his ear. It was not very noticeable, but once one was aware of its existence it was evident. “What happened here?”

Harry followed the track of Hermione’s fingers. He thought for a moment, “Something else I don’t remember.” He cast his thoughts back to the summer. Suddenly a spasm of pain crossed his face. Hermione looked concerned, but the moment passed. “I remember pain, but nothing else. I remember you leaving Privet Drive, but I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in a culvert. That is my first memory as a vampire.”

Hermione put aside that discussion for a later date. She had never inquired how Harry had become a vampire, but now was not the time. “I found something you might be interested in, come see.” She led Harry back to the desk she had been looking through.

Most of the books in the desk were weather worn; in the main they dealt with household accounts and schedules, but the notebook she handed him was in pretty good condition. Harry looked through the pages. He recognized that the book contained some very involved notes on transfiguration. Suddenly, he realized that these were his father’s notes on becoming an animagus. He smiled at the first tangible evidence of his father’s prowess as a wizard. His look of gratitude was all Hermione needed.

“This isn’t what I was hoping for,” he thought. Hermione said nothing. “I guess I was hoping to find some instructions, some indication of what to do, but there’s nothing here. I believe the next place to go is Borgin and Burke’s in Knockturn Alley.” Harry placed the notebook in his backpack and together they Apparated to their initial lair in London.

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After dark, Knockturn Alley lost much of the dismal shabbiness that was evident by daylight. By night, it just looked as dark as the arts it supported. The furtive activity actually increased in the hours of darkness when its denizens were wont to prowl anyway. Still, even the most powerful among them shied away from the ominous presence that moved among them on this evening. No one was sure what it was, for no vampire had ever come here in living memory.

Most wizards, even the dark ones, had little to do with vampires. Public opinion swung between two poles: those wizards, who wanted them exterminated or the crackpots, like Eldred Worple who considered them to be misunderstood brothers. No one knew that the Ministry regarded Sanguini with dark suspicion; for even the most powerful Legilimens was unable to penetrate his closed mind. Most there wondered what his motives for befriending Worple really were.

The vampires just regarded the wizards as dangerous and melted into the night whenever they sensed one coming.

As the early evening passed, the sense of danger faded and the street became quiet. It was after midnight when two hooded and cloaked figures moved on Borgin and Burke’s. A business fueled by greed never truly closed, and even in the dead of night the proprietor, Mr. Borgin, responded to a heavy knock on his door. Indeed, some of his best acquisitions came long after regular business hours. Nor was he surprised that his latest customers wished to disguise their identities. Dressed in his cap, nightshirt, and a heavy bathrobe that had seen better days, he bowed his customers into his shop.

Harry thought Borgin’s business must have suffered since he was here last. There were not as many items displayed for sale. Harry knew where the necklace and the Hand of Glory had gone. He noted with anger that the Vanishing Cabinet was still here. He wondered what had become of its twin in the Room of Requirement. It was a reasonable assumption that business was bad because many of the Death Eaters that were part of the richest of wizarding society were now in Azkaban. Under the pressure of the civil revolt fomented by Voldemort, many were forsaking their usual way of life resulting in the downturn of Borgin’s business.

“How may I be of service, Master?” unsure of whom he was talking to Borgin adopted his most obsequious tone of voice. Hermione remembered his oily manner from the time she came into the store a bit over a year ago.

Harry pulled back the hood of his cloak and snared the man’s mind. “We have need of information.” He pointed toward the back and obediently Borgin led the way.

In a dingy office behind the sales room they found a map of England. The map was full of pins, each with a number attached to a small tag. The numbers corresponded to a series of entries in an old ledger. The entries described various magical items that the firm of Borgin and Burke’s was interested in acquiring.

“We want to know, Borgin, how many items do you know of that can be traced to the founders of Hogwarts. We know about Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup. Are there any others?” demanded Harry.

Borgin’s face twisted in pain; it appeared that there was something inside of him that was fighting Harry’s control. Harry stopped pressing and Borgin relaxed somewhat. Harry looked at Hermione.

“Perhaps he’s under the influence of some kind of memory charm.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Harry.

“Release him and let’s see what he does,” Hermione suggested as she moved away from Borgin.

Harry withdrew his power from the shopkeeper. Harry and Hermione hid as the man shook off the hypnotic influence. In a few moments Borgin sat down, took up his quill, and began to write. His hands trembled as if he was in great fear. Harry read his surface thoughts and found them clouded and confused. The memory charm was very powerful and the one who cast it had taken great pains to conceal himself. Harry recognized the effect of a modified memory from Dumbledore’s Penseive. Borgin rose and began to seal the note that he had written. Harry once more used his vampiric influence to stop him. As he stood there, Hermione took the note from his hand; Harry commanded, “Sit down, Borgin.”

Hermione examined the note. It was of little help. All it said was, “Someone has inquired about the items you possess.” She shook her head as she realized that someone was very good at covering his tracks, and “that someone” was probably Voldemort.

Leaving Borgin where he was Hermione began to examine the entries in the ledger.

Hermione read swiftly through the old book. She appeared to be getting no useful information. As she scanned the last of the entries, Harry began to question Borgin, “Where is Burke?”

“Dead. He disappeared about seventeen or eighteen years ago. He left with a client to recover a valuable heirloom, but he never came back.” Borgin said in a monotone.

“Who was the client?”

“Regulus Black, he said he knew where Slytherin’s locket was. Caracticus was mad for it. He had sold it to a collector once and he wanted the chance to sell it again.”

“Did Burke have any personal papers?” asked Hermione.

“In there.” Borgin pointed to an old chest. The lock did not respond to the vampire’s attempts to use magic to open it. At last, Harry just tore the lock and hasp from the front of the worn, old chest. When they opened the box, a dart shot from under the lid. Fortunately, Hermione suspected something of the sort might happen. Because of her vampire reflexes she was able to catch the dart just short of Harry’s shoulder. He nodded his thanks.

Despite the decrepit appearance of the old box the contents were arranged in a neat and logical manner. Hermione located a similar ledger to the one she had been examining; it had been hidden under a false bottom. It did not take long before she found a discrepancy. There was one number more in Burke’s ledger than in the one Borgin used. It took some time to find it, but at last she found a note about a signet ring belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw. It was a large, golden ring embossed with an eagle.

“This might be it, Harry.” She smiled as she pointed out the entry. “I guess Voldemort found out about the ring and made Borgin forget about it. He also wanted to know if anyone else was trying to track these items so he made Borgin alert him. I also guess that neither Borgin nor Burke trusted him and Voldemort didn’t know that they kept duplicate records.”

Harry focused his thought on the hapless storekeeper, “You’ve fulfilled your task, the letter has been sent. You will forget that we were here. Be at peace.”

They left the store and Apparated back to their lair.

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In the nights after their return from Knockturn Alley, Harry took to sitting on the roof of the old factory building. He was trying to remember his lessons with Dumbledore. He knew now that three of the Horcruxes were destroyed. Those were the diary, the ring, and the locket. He knew that Voldemort retained one-seventh of his soul, Nagini probably had another, and Hufflepuff’s cup had been used to make the sixth. Then there was the mystery one; it seemed that Ravenclaw had had a ring, too. Perhaps it was time to consider where the Horcruxes might be.

Voldemort liked trophies; perhaps he marked a place of special significance by hiding a Horcrux there. He wondered what the cave represented to Voldemort, aside from its difficulty to get to. The memories of the woman at the orphanage indicated that the two orphans that Tom had taken there had never been quite right again. The cave had been very well defended. Dumbledore had run afoul of the curses Voldemort used to defend his Horcruxes; in the end he was killed by them. Harry now supposed that the ring had taken Dumbledore’s hand and the potion was a slow poison too. He was probably dying when he had asked Snape for help, but the Death Eater turned Potions Master finished the job the potion had started.

As Harry thought he came to the conclusion that one of the Horcruxes was at the orphanage. It would have been special because it was there he learned he was a wizard. Trying to find the orphanage in London was going to be hard. Then he remembered the way Voldemort boasted of how he beat death when he was hiding in Albania. Harry supposed a Horcrux might be there, but how long was it going to take to search a whole country? He thought he would go down and get Hermione’s counsel.

Hermione had been pouring over James’ notebook. As Harry entered the old storage room Hermione smiled at him, “Harry, what would you think of becoming an animagus?”

Harry forgot what he was going say about the Horcruxes. “Why?”

“It might provide you with some survival advantages, Vlad Dracula was probably one. At least that’s what the story says.” Harry was delighted; it sounded like the old Hermione was back.

“How long would you be willing to work on it? I promised to lay you to rest after we finished Voldemort.” Harry tried to suppress the pain that thought brought to him.

“We could be done in a couple of weeks, give or take a few days.” Hermione grinned.

“I thought you said that it took years. At least that’s what you said during the Triwizard Tournament.”

“That’s what I thought based on what I knew at the time. It took years for Sirius and your father to work out the problems. The notebook saves us the research. The potion involved is the one that Polyjuice Potion is derived from. It is even more complex than that because it has to remain in your body for life; in addition, your father’s potion had to take into account the final changes of puberty, so the potion for adults is not as complex. You’re dead, Harry. Your body doesn’t change at all so it will be much simpler.”

“There’s more to it than the potion, isn’t there?” He knew that from what he had scanned the first night.

“The potion traps the energy from the transfiguration spell that enables the transformation, but once that is done the process is mental. It doesn’t even require a wand after that. The incantation isn’t that difficult; remember Malfoy, the incredible, bouncing ferret? Same spell. You remember Professor McGonagall, she turned into a cat without a wand,” she reminded him.

“I like it,” thought Harry, grinning at the memory, “but where are we going to get a lab and potion ingredients?”

“I’d bet we could use Fred and George’s, you could even offer them the notebook. It could bring your father the recognition he deserves. This notebook is a real breakthrough in transfiguration. They will be researching this for years. The Weasley’s could benefit from marketing some of these things after the war is over.”

Late the next evening, Fred and George were standing puffy-eyed and tousled as the vampires entered their shop. Anyone passing by would have wondered why wizards were entertaining Muggles at such a late hour. The vampires were wearing their casual clothing rather than their cloaks.

Hermione, in her excitement, tried to talk, but nothing came out; she had forgotten to breathe. In the meantime George asked, “Harry, what happened to your glasses?”

Harry drew a breath and answered, “I don’t know. Anyway, I don’t need them now. We came because we have a favor to ask of you.”

George bowed, “Anything…”

Hermione, at last, began to explain her idea as Fred and George looked over the notebook. The twins were clearly impressed by it. It did not take them long to recognize the value of what they had seen.

The next night they began. Harry provided Fred with the key to his vault. While the goblins were suspicious of whom he might have received it from, they were honor bound to grant him access. Fred also knew that the Ministry would never know from the goblins that the vault had been accessed or that Harry Potter might still be around.

The potion required many expensive ingredients, fortunately, even though they were costly, they were not particularly rare. While the twins brewed the complex potion, Harry and Hermione practiced the incantations that would complete the process. They found it the most challenging transfiguration spell they had ever done; Hermione thought Harry was almost desperate in his determination to learn it also. It took nearly a fortnight for Hermione to master it, and Harry was only a step behind her all the way. The dawn was approaching the day after Harry finally mastered the incantation; Hermione lay down on the desktop in their lair waiting for the dawn to steal her consciousness. Just before the sound of a bonfire raced over the old factory she wondered why Harry was working so hard on the incantation, it was not like he was going to cast it on himself.

Fourteen days after they started working on the process, the potion stood ready. Hermione was watching with great interest as Harry prepared to drink the potion. According to the instructions the potion was measured for Harry’s body mass. “Here I go,” he thought to Hermione. The twins just smiled, they could tell when Harry was speaking telepathically to Hermione. There was a particular softness in his expression when he was doing so.

Harry drained the cup. He stood there momentarily as Hermione prepared to cast the incantation. Suddenly, Harry bent over and was violently sick. His friends stood back watching in consternation as Harry’s body rejected the foreign liquid. While the twins were shouting “Scourgify” Hermione quickly went to Harry, “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I guess we vampires can’t tolerate anything except blood,” he thought weakly. It took nearly half an hour for Harry to regain his strength.

Hermione fussed over Harry as the twins looked over the potion ingredients. At last Hermione cut her wrist and offered it to Harry; he gratefully took some of her blood. She felt a faint sensation of warmth and noted that Harry had closed her cut. After feeding he looked noticeably better.

“Hermione,” began George, “why don’t we infuse the potion into blood. It shouldn’t interact with the other ingredients, and then Harry might tolerate it better. The only drawback is that the process will take a few hours.”

Tight-lipped, Hermione agreed; she had come too far to admit failure. Once again she cut her wrist and allowed the blood to flow. “We need to go, Harry,” she said as Harry closed the wound once more.

“You go; I’ll be along in a few minutes.” Hermione Apparated away, and Harry, as good as his word, followed soon after.

The next evening they tried again. This time, Harry was able to hold down the potion. Hermione cast the transfiguration spell. “Well, Harry, that should do it, can you try to transform?”

They all stood by waiting to see what kind of animal Harry would become. Swiftly, Harry began his metamorphosis. “Wicked!” the twins cried out together. Harry shrunk down as his fingers elongated into wings, and almost in the twinkling of an eye, he became a bat that began flying swiftly about the room. With her vampire hearing, Hermione heard Harry echo-locating the objects in the room. He had lost none of his skill as a flyer just because he had changed form. After a few minutes of flight he dropped neatly onto her shoulder.

Hermione tried to contain her disappointment. She had hoped his natural nobility would translate into something more majestic, something more like the stag his father became. The bat swiftly clambered down her arm; instinctively she cradled him in her hands, and began stroking his soft fur with her thumb. She lifted him and looked into his eyes; she could almost see Harry looking back at her. She smiled.

“How do I look?” he inquired.

“Just like any other vampire bat. A little larger than most, I believe.” She didn’t tell him she could still feel the strange indentation in his skull. It was there even in his animagus form.

Harry squirmed in her hand and dropped into flight, swooping just off the floor. He hovered at about knee level and transformed again, this time into a large grey wolf. Even Hermione stepped back at the fierce look in his yellow eyes.

The twins looked at each other in amazement, “He’s got two animagus forms; that’s unheard of.”

“I figured that if Dracula could do it, I’d try,” Harry said as he reverted to his human form.

“Here, Hermione, I want you to become an animagus, too,” he said as he handed her a goblet of the potion.

“But, Harry. I wanted you to have it; I want you to have every advantage. I’m not going to be…”

“I know, Hermione, but while you are here, I need you to be able to keep up with me. Please.”

Hermione hesitated for a few minutes. She considered that he was asking her, even though he could command.

He offered the goblet to her again, “Please, Hermione,” he was near begging. He was also talking.

“I didn’t think that I gave them that much blood.” She thought.

“You didn’t; the blood is mine. I wanted you to be as safe as possible for as long as necessary.”

Shyly, she took and drained the goblet. Harry performed the incantation. In a moment Hermione had transformed into a wolf. Harry dropped to his knees beside her, scratching behind her ears. She marveled at the sensation. In animal form her body was more sensitive that of her human vampire form.

They discussed it for a while, but came up with no satisfactory reason why vampires were limited in the animal forms that they could take, but it was astounding that they each had two forms, and that was an amazing advantage indeed.

An hour later two bats flew into the night.

14. Chapter Fourteen

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 Fourteen

In the week following their becoming animagi, Hermione spent most every night learning to fly. Each animal form imparted some natural advantage, so that flying came more naturally to her when she was a bat. Even so, Harry challenged her to fly among the pipes and wires of their lair. They played endless games of “Follow the Leader” and each night her confidence grew. As the dawn approached, the last thing she heard was Harry praising her effort and complimenting her increasing skill. For a time she almost forgot that she was a vampire.

At last, it was time to continue the hunt for the Horcruxes. Harry explained that he felt they should return to Hogwarts. There were some of the children of known Death Eaters attending school there. Because they had been unable to find any Death Eaters since the raid on Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, it seemed the logical place to start.

It was a cold November night when Harry and Hermione returned to the Shrieking Shack. Since they could not be sure of finding a place of total darkness in the house, they spent the day in the tunnel leading to the Whomping Willow. It was also the first time they spent the day in animal form; hanging upside down from an old tree root a little way down the passage.

The next night, they stole into Hogsmeade, lurking near the entrance to Honeydukes. As the last customers left, Harry crept to the window. As the clerk turned the sign from “Open” to “Closed” Harry struck. He quickly hypnotized the man and forced him to open the door again. The vampires entered the store and made their way down to the cellar. Harry quickly located the trapdoor and swept down the stairs with Hermione close behind.

The total darkness was no handicap to vampire eyes and they came to the stone slide leading up to the statue of the one-eyed witch. They crept up to the statue with little difficulty; their preternatural hearing indicated that there was no one nearby. As they emerged onto the third-floor, Harry wished he had taken the Marauder’s Map when he left Number Four. At the time he could not have conceived of ever needing it again, and he briefly wondered what had become of it.

“We must not be seen, Harry,” thought Hermione. Harry nodded in agreement. They abandoned their human forms and flew down the corridor on their way to the dungeons. Emerging on the staircases leading down to the Great Hall, they made a couple of lazy circuits of the entrance. The presence of bats in the castle, except at Halloween, was unusual, mostly because of all the owls in the vicinity, but it was not unheard of. None of the people in the hall or moving to the stairs noticed them. The vampire duo made their way to the Slytherin side of the entrance. At this point one could go either up toward the tower where Ravenclaw house was located or down into the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was.

There, at the sound of a familiar voice, Hermione checked her flight. She reversed and flew back to the stairs leading to the Ravenclaw tower, where she expertly touched down. She stealthily moved into the shadows where she could observe the couple talking quietly at the foot of the stairs.

Harry realized that Hermione was no longer following him. He executed a swift, climbing reversal and flew back the way he came. He landed at the top of the steps and in the lumbering run, peculiar to vampire bat species, followed Hermione. One glance at the couple kissing on the stairs explained everything.

Ron was kissing Luna, but there was none of the hungry frenzy that he had displayed with Lavender. Harry could sense comfort and gratitude in Ron’s mind, yet deeper within there was still a deep feeling of pain. Hermione’s thoughts were closed to Harry’s gentle probing, but she was trembling. Harry sidled up to her, nestling against her folded wing.

The happy couple broke their kiss, Ron looked into Luna’s eyes and he whispered, “I don’t deserve to be this happy. I would’ve lost my mind if you hadn’t been here to help. Thanks for taking the time to help me with this. I’m sorry about your mother, but at least you understand. Every day I expect to get an owl from one of them, but they’re never going to send me one. They never found Hermione. I can’t forget the day she left; if I’d just been a little nicer… maybe Harry wouldn’t have been there alone. I can’t help but feel respons…”

Luna placed a finger over his lips, “Shhh. You did your best, Ronald. No one knows what will happen an hour from now, despite what Professor Trelawney teaches. I tried to blame my Mum for dying, but it wasn’t her fault, it was an accident. Harry and Hermione weren’t accidents, but it wasn’t their fault that they died, it was other people being cruel to them. You know Harry and Hermione don’t blame you, so you shouldn’t either. They were your friends and would want you to be happy.” She hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder with her forehead under his chin.

Ron placed his arm around her shoulders and gently stroked her hair. “I suppose you’re right.” With a heavy sigh he released her, “I’ve got to study for that potions exam in the morning, old Sluggy’s testing us on advanced antidotes. I’ve got to pass this for my N.E.W.T.s.”

“Don’t worry too much, Ronald, you know the material. You did very well on the quiz we made for you.” She started up the steps; at the landing she turned and blew him a kiss. Ron pretended to catch it. Then he turned and made his way across the hall to the staircase, on his way to the Gryffindor common room. As he walked past he placed his foot within inches of the two vampires hiding on the floor.

After he left, Harry nuzzled Hermione’s wing, made a soft chirping noise, and walked to the steps. He launched himself into space and soared down toward the dungeon. A few moments later he flew back up the steps and made a circuit of the hall. As he passed overhead Hermione launched herself into the air and followed.

The dungeons could be confusing to those that did not know their way around them. Most Gryffindors only knew how to get to the potions classroom, although Harry and Ron had been to the Slytherin common room once. Now, as vampires, the task was made easier by their preternatural senses. The muffled sounds of conversation drew them in the right direction, and the energy from the magic that made the hidden door work, also made it stand out from the rest of the wall. Resuming their human forms they disillusioned each other and prepared to enter the Slytherin common room.

As he had done at the hospital, Harry used his telepathic abilities to touch the mind of a daydreaming student. He slowly planted an irresistible call that was answered by a Slytherin first year. Once the door was open, Harry and Hermione slipped in. Harry remembered the richly carved mantelpiece, the high backed chairs, and the green, hanging lamps, although the room seemed lower now, and he had forgotten the rough, stone walls.

He and Hermione moved slowly along those walls, stopping and standing still when someone looked up from their work, or when they moved to chat with a different group. There was little of the boisterous behavior of the Griffyndor common room. The conversation was subdued here, as if the room itself inspired conspiracy.

As always, Crabbe and Goyle were together, fortunately for the vampires, they were engaged in a whispered conversation with Theodore Knott. Harry could hear as Knott and Crabbe bemoaned the lack of communication with their families. At least they were alive, Goyle countered, his father was dead. Harry felt a pang of guilt for that; he had died in the Weasley’s orchard trying to carry out Voldemort’s command.

While Harry was eavesdropping Hermione was lulling the students nearby to sleep. One by one they succumbed to her vampiric willpower. At last Harry spoke to the trio. They looked up in surprise and he quickly snared their minds. He questioned each of them about Ravenclaw’s ring. None of the three knew anything about it; if their Death Eater parents were in possession of it they were not telling. Especially, after learning why the Dark Lord was so angry with the Malfoys over the careless handling of Voldemort’s old diary. He gained the locations of the three boy’s homes, and after making careful notes he modified their memories so that they would not remember his being there.

Bitterly disappointed, he called to Hermione, “They’re of no use to us. Let’s get out of here.” They turned their backs on the roomful of sleeping Slytherins and entered the hallway. As the stone panel slid shut, they changed once again into bats and flew back the way that they came. Rather than return to Honeydukes they detoured to the Astronomy Tower, frightening a class of third years coming in from their lessons. Professor Sinistra angrily waved her wand at the two pesky bats in an attempt to shoo them on their way.

Owls eat bats when they can catch them, but the birds realized that there was something unnatural about these intruders and they gave them a wide berth. Harry dodged the branches of the Whomping Willow and dropped onto the edge of the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack. As he looked back at Hogwarts, he could see the light on in Headmistress McGonagall’s office and there seemed to be something going on. The magical wards around the school seemed to have brightened. There was, however, no sign of pursuit. He turned and followed Hermione down the tunnel.

He resumed his human shape as he entered the Shrieking Shack. He found Hermione standing at the window of the second floor bedroom looking out into the forest. Her arms were crossed as she held herself; her thoughts were guarded as Harry approached. He stood beside her for a little while. At last he sighed and said, “I guess seeing Ron and Luna like that really hurt.” The tone of his voice was a little rough since he used his voice so seldom; he hoped Hermione would hear and feel a sense of sympathy.

Hermione turned to look at him; her features were hard, as she considered what to say.

“Not as much as I thought it would, he really does deserve to be happy,” she thought. “It feels like Luna is good for him, he’s actually studying. I never could get you guys to study properly.”

“According to Fred and George, he and Ginny have matured. Pity it took our dying to make our friends grow up. It’s a hard lesson to find out you’re not invincible. Anyway, you most often came across sounding like our mother, rather than our friend,” Harry replied.

A ghost of a smile played across Hermione’s lips as she turned to face the window once more. Harry stood with her for a time. He was lost in his own thoughts, considering his own feelings for Hermione, feelings that had come to his consciousness that night when she tried to leave him. Times of stress or hurt seemed to bring them back to him, but many nights he did not feel them at all. It seemed his human feelings were slipping away.

He turned and walked down the hall toward the stairs. He stopped at the head of the stairs and pondered what to do. At last he turned and said, “Hermione, I love you.” For some reason the words seemed to vibrate with a power all their own.

Hermione started at his words, and she whirled around to face him. Her expression was confused as she stared at him. Slowly she dropped her arms to her sides as her hands clenched into fists and then relaxed again. Harry could feel sparks of anger in her mind, as well as, surprise and bitterness, both conflicting with … was it hope?

Her eyes burned into his, trying to read his thoughts, not sure of what she was getting. Harry was confused too. He had never deeply considered his feelings, and was never good at conveying them to others. Embarrassed, he dropped his gaze to the dusty floor and slowly turned away.

“What, exactly, does love mean to a vampire, Harry?” Her words and tone were not exactly an inquiry, nor were they an accusation, but there was something of both in her question.

His eyes burned red as he looked at her, “It means you are now free. I release you … no longer are you my fledgling … my child. You are now my equal.” Something within her exulted. A barrier was lifted, of his own free will; Harry had broken the bond of blood that had forced her obedience.

“It means that I put your needs and desires first,” Harry continued. “I will do all in my power to protect and comfort you, for as long as you walk with me, no matter the cost.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “Go, if you want to, I can’t stop you now.” He stood quietly, completely still, as only a vampire could.

Hermione considered his words. Part of her wanted to flee, to go and do what she wanted. To leave the hunt for the Horcruxes behind, to lay down the responsibilities that weighed on her mind, to dance in the moonlight. Once again, she remembered the promises she made. Not knowing he could command her, she had offered to help him. Now, she felt the full weight of her promise, she had to be true to her heart, and decided to stay. Harry had offered her love, but she still did not know what he meant. As they had walked together her own feelings had slipped away, often she did not feel anything, either good or bad. Without feelings, just what did that offer mean?

Harry studied the eddies in the dust on the floor. He almost expected her to run into the night leaving him forever.

At last she spoke to him, “Harry, look at me.”

He glanced up at her. To his surprise, Hermione was standing in the moonlight naked. Her clothes lay on the floor around her feet. She was inhumanly beautiful; her skin was like flawless alabaster, marked only by her nipples and the triangular patch of hair between her legs. In the moonlight she appeared to glow. Harry thought that anyone, vampire or mortal, could not fail to fall in love with her.

She approached him almost seeming to flow like water, but with the predatory grace of a great cat. She studied his expression; even a vampire could look stunned. She caressed his face and ran her hand down his chest, rubbed her hand in circles over his flat stomach, then she reached down and undid his belt and unbuttoned his trousers; all the while their eyes were locked. Not for the first time, Harry regretted the lack of sensation that was part of being a vampire. He was aware mostly of the pressure of her hand.

His pants dropped to his ankles, followed by his boxers. Hermione continued to caress him, at last she broke eye contact and looked down at him, and Harry could tell that she was curious, so he removed his shirt. Holding on to the newel post he kicked off his trainers and removed his socks as he watched her face. She seemed to be disappointed.

“What would have happened if I had done this last July?” she queried.

“Before or after I died of embarrassment?”

“I just read some romance stories. Some of them described what sex was like. I just wondered …”

Harry understood, “Hermione, it’s just a matter of blood, I could … I mean … if you wanted me to …I’d try…” Hermione was pleased and amused by how flustered Harry had become, somehow it was something she needed.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “My body couldn’t feel it anyway. Somehow, Harry, I knew that you loved me. I began to notice it after Bill’s wedding.” She threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. She was prepared for the cold hardness of his lips, and for once it did not matter.

When they broke apart, Harry bent down and gathered his clothes. Drawing his wand he summoned Hermione’s clothes as well. “Follow me … please.” He led her downstairs. There under the stairway was a cupboard; it was well back from the windows. Taking their clothes Harry made what amounted to a nest in the cupboard.

Harry drew Hermione in and lay with her on top of him. He caressed her back and thighs while kissing her. For long minutes they tried, hoping against hope, to feel something more than they did. It was no use. Harry could smell the blood of Hermione’s tears. Once again he licked them from her beautiful face. In a few minutes her tears subsided and she hugged him once more. The cold press of vampire flesh was meager comfort, but far better than no comfort at all.

They lay together, unmindful of the cold. If they had been mortal they would have been shivering uncontrollably. The hours passed as dawn approached.

Suddenly, Harry had a thought, “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me again,” Hermione pressed her lips to his. As she did so Harry shared the memory of the kiss he had stolen in the backyard of Number Four. Hermione could feel the soft, warmth of her lips as Harry kissed her. She experienced his taste of her on his tongue and felt the power of that kiss pass thorough his stomach and on to his knees.

She drew back in surprise. “That is what you were like to me,” he said. Something within her melted, she pressed her lips to his and she gave him the memories of what it was like for him to hold her, the way he offered her comfort and the way his warm, tender lips felt on hers. She gave him the wonder of her impression of him and hopes that when she returned they might begin a relationship of their own since she felt that Ron had rejected her.

They were lost in each other’s memories as the sun stole them away from one another.

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Memory charms in the wizarding world were not illegal, neither were they something to be taken lightly. So when the wards alerted McGonagall that memories were being modified she reacted sharply. She sent the house ghosts to find out what was amiss while she summoned the rest of the staff to the entrance.

The house ghosts began their search for the intruders. They had been nervous since the Death Eaters had invaded last spring, and performed their task swiftly, unimpeded by walls, ceilings, or floors. Yet, by the time they reached the Slytherin common room, all they found were a bunch of sleeping students.

The staff spread out, searching as best they could, but they were looking for wizards that could perform magic. They ignored the pair of streaking bats, not understanding the threat they posed.

The staff pressed the prefects into service, enforcing the curfew.

Lastly, she alerted the members of the Order of the Phoenix about the intrusion. When word reached Remus Lupin, he immediately Apparated to Hogsmeade. He appeared near the Hogshead Tavern and proceeded to the Shrieking Shack. He knew it was his best chance to find them, not that he was sure of what he would do if he caught them.

The first time he had seen them something within him wished it had been the full moon so that he might attack them. They were so unnatural; they filled him with feelings of loathing. The thought of those two poor souls trapped in a monstrous half-life made him burn with anger. If they had not been so wrapped up in each other they would have detected him following them.

As he approached the shack the sun was cresting the mountains, he had not passed them on the way to Hogsmeade, and now he wondered if he was on a wild goose chase. Still, he had come so far; he might as well see it through.

Lupin charmed open the door to the small building that had seen so much pain, although later it had become a gateway to adventure. He carefully searched the tunnel; he went all the way to the Whomping Willow without finding anything.

After returning he started to search the attic, although the sunlight pouring through the cracks gave him to know that no vampire could exist there. He moved down through the house checking all the nooks and crannies, not sure what he was looking for.

The rooms downstairs yielded a great deal of light. Vampires would avoid these areas, as well. He was about to give up, believing he had missed them, when he remembered the cupboard. He might have thought that Harry would have avoided such a place, given his memories of Number Four.

It was there he found them, huddled naked together in a pathetic parody of human lovers embracing one another. He was not sure what he had expected, a pair of monsters, all fangs and claws, but all that was visible were two teenagers that he loved. He swiftly checked them and found two corpses, no heartbeat, no breathing, stiff, and cold. The werewolf within him raged, but pity for the only son of his school friend stayed his hand.

15. Chapter Fifteen

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 Fifteen

Night fell.

This evening, Harry’s return to consciousness was sluggish. It was as though some powerful enchantment was fighting to keep him dead. Suddenly panicking, because he no longer felt the weight of Hermione’s body, he struggled to sit up. At last, he managed to rise and open his eyes. He realized he was no longer in the Shrieking Shack, but in a small room made of stone. The room was lit by candles burning at his head and feet.

His hunger was raging within him; he had not fed since the night before last. His back protested when he sat up, and the sensation of having his joints filled with ground glass returned when he swung his legs over the side of the stone bier on which he had been lying. He was surprised to find that he was clad in a lightweight, white, linen robe.

“Hermione!” he called frantically as he looked around the room. Relief flooded him as he saw her lying next to him on a similar stone bier, dressed in a white robe as well. Her hands had been folded across her breast; she was barefoot, as he was, with candelabra at her feet and head. He stood and crossed to her.

“I’m awake, Harry. Where are we?” her thought whispered through his mind. “Is there anyone watching?”

Harry cast his awareness as far as he could. Again, he felt resistance, but there was no one around that he could detect.

“Not that I can feel.”

Hermione grimaced as she sat up. She, too, noted that they were in a small stone chamber, and the sensation of enchantment in the air. “Hogwarts,” she thought to Harry.

“Probably,” he agreed. “The question is, how did we get here?”

“Someone must have found us in the Shrieking Shack, I wonder who, and why they didn’t destroy us.” As usual, Harry found her logic impeccable. She continued, “These are burial robes, I believe. Do you think that they know we’re vampires?”

The candles went out, plunging the room into darkness, not that it was a problem for a vampire. There was a soft click and the door swung open slightly.

Harry quickly examined the room; there was nothing else here. All he and Hermione had were their amulets. Their wands, books, and clothes were gone.

They made their way to the door and Harry pulled it open. Outside the room a hallway extended to the right and left. The only light came from a single torch set in a bracket in the wall. As he and Hermione exited the room the torch went out and a few yards down the hall to their left a second torch guttered into flame.

Harry looked at his partner; she nodded in the direction of the lit torch. Together they moved down the hall. Torch after torch sprang to life as they approached and died as they passed. They followed the hall, made a couple of turns, and ended before a heavy, ironbound door.

Hermione prepared for battle by extending her talons and bringing her fangs erect. Her eyes blazed as they pushed open the door. Harry extended his talons and entered.

The room was large and dimly lit. There was a fireplace to the left, but the fire had burned low. The only other illumination came from four lamps hanging from chains.

Two-thirds of the way across the room the air shimmered. Evidently, someone had erected wards for self-defense. There appeared to be three people behind the barrier. One of them was sitting behind a large desk. There was another figure seated in a second chair, but the third was standing, his wand was drawn. They saw no furniture on the near side of the barrier.

“That’s close enough.” The feminine voice was firm, but not threatening. Hermione halted and cocked her head to one side as she listened. She knew that voice; it was Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts and the head of the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry continued forward a couple of steps. He drew a breath and asked, “What do you want with us?” His tone was defiant. His eyes blazed red as he attempted to see whom he was dealing with. He recognized the figure with the wand as Professor Lupin and the seated figure as Arthur Weasley.

“Are you really Harry Potter, or are you just using his body?” demanded Lupin.

The red light in Harry’s eyes died as he answered, “I’m what’s left of the Harry you knew. I’m a vampire now, and it has taken my body, memory, and molded itself to my personality, but it is not me.”

Not sensing an immediate threat, the vampire within him withdrew its power, like a bat furling its wings. Harry flexed his fingers and retracted his talons. Arthur Weasley’s knuckles grew white as he gripped the arms of his chair. He now knew exactly how six Death Eaters died in his orchard.

McGonagall shuddered at the change, even though Harry suddenly looked more human. Hermione standing behind him with fangs and claws spoiled the effect. “Were you in the castle last night?” McGonagall asked as she struggled to keep her voice calm.

Harry nodded his assent.

“Then it was you and Miss Granger that modified those student’s memories? Why?”

“It is important that Voldemort not find out that they were questioned about certain things. Professor Dumbledore left me a task and I am trying to complete it.”

Arthur and Minerva exchanged glances. Suddenly, Lupin pointed his wand at Hermione as he shouted, “Get out of my mind!” Hermione flinched as though she had been slapped.

Harry reacted instantly; he leaped in front of Hermione, crying, “No!” His eyes blazed with red light. As swiftly as a fencer’s riposte, he focused his will upon Lupin. His thought was unaffected by the wards, which protected only against magic, and burned like a laser through Lupin’s Occlumency defenses. In a moment, Lupins’s wand clattered to the floor. Both McGonagall and Weasley leaped to their feet, drawing their wands as well.

For long moments the adversaries looked at one another through the wards. McGonagall could not help but think that Kingsley was right; perhaps Harry and Hermione should be destroyed, but now it was night and the time that they could easily have been killed was past.

Hermione stepped from behind Harry. Her eyes were still red, but she, too, had retracted her fangs and talons. “Please,” she began, her voice quiet. “I’m sorry, Professor Lupin. Most mortal’s minds are so open. Unless you fight it, their thoughts just seems to catch you and draw you in, but with your defenses up, it made your mind feel smooth. I just found it soothing, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Lupin considered what she said, given what Harry had just done to his defenses; he had little doubt that she could have done the same thing. He struggled to contain his beast now that he had suffered an attack. In the end, he managed to nod his acceptance of her apology.

Once again McGonagall tried to talk to the vampires, “Mr. Potter, what did Professor Dumbledore ask you to do? Can you tell us?”

“He told me not to tell anyone. If word gets out about what I am doing the task will be much harder, if not impossible. The final goal is the destruction of Voldemort, but to attack him now won’t do any good. He’ll just come back like he did this time. Ask Dumbledore’s portrait, he might tell you.”

“Believe me, I will, Mr. Potter. Did you find the information you were seeking?”

“No, Professor.”

“I’m sorry that so much effort was wasted.” She conferred with Arthur and Remus. Harry smiled slightly; he could hear every word of their whispered conversation.

She turned from her exchange and spoke to her former students. Harry thought it best not to let her know that he knew what she was going to say. “The wards allowed you entrance because we didn’t think to remove you from the rolls. It was never considered that two students might be counted among the undead; after you leave tonight that will change.”

“I will not allow the students to be in any more danger than they already face. Did you take blood from any of them?” She continued after Harry shook his head. “Do you deny that you are dangerous?” Harry felt the sting of guilt as he momentarily relived that night in the Weasley’s orchard. He bowed his head in acceptance of her statement.

“We will return your belongings and allow you to leave, but if you ever return here we will destroy you, whatever the cost. Do you understand?” Her tone brooked no debate. “Do you have any questions?”

“How did you find us, and how did you bring us here?” Harry queried.

“I found you,” answered Lupin. “I was in the woods outside the Shrieking Shack the night you left there. When we heard that there were intruders at Hogwarts, I came back and retraced your route. I didn’t encounter you, so after the sun rose I searched the house. As to the method of transport, it was very cliché.” He nodded at the rear of the room. There were two oblong coffins stacked there that had gone unnoticed during their discussion. “I also provided the robes; I couldn’t very well transport you the way I found you.”

If it had not been so long since they had fed, Harry and Hermione might have blushed. “Thank you, Professor Lupin, we’ll remember your kindness,” said Hermione.

“Harry,” McGonagall continued, “I must protect the students. If you will promise not to return here, the Order will give you what assistance we can. You are not alone in your struggle against … our common enemy.” Even Professor McGonagall had not conquered her fear of Voldemort’s name.

It was with a great deal of sadness that Harry and Hermione prepared to depart Hogwarts. It had been like his first home. As they turned to go, the door opened and a house-elf entered carrying their clothing which had been laundered and neatly folded.

The little elf was still wearing his tea-cozy, however his ears were drooping and there were lines in his face that had not been there before. It appeared that he, too, had been grieved by Harry’s disappearance. Harry gave a genuine smile at the sight of Dobby. “Hi, Dobby,” he said. He knelt down and reached out to take the clothes from the little elf.

Dobby started when he heard Harry’s voice and looked up at the people before him. A look of recognition passed over his face and the clothes tumbled to the floor. Harry had expected a joyful greeting from his friend, but instead Dobby’s huge eyes grew even larger and a look of terror took over his expression.

He began to tremble as he slowly backed away from the vampires. “Not Harry Potter, not Harry Potter,” he covered his eyes as he continued to chant. It was impossible to determine whether it was a lament over Harry’s fate or the recognition of the vampires within.

Harry crept forward, “Dobby, it’s me, Harry. I’m not going to hurt you.” Hermione, Arthur, and Minerva cringed at the pain in Harry’s voice. As he moved forward the elf appeared to become ill as they watched.

Dobby gave a loud, keening wail, and began crying “Monsters, monsters in the castle!” He blindly began to crawl, desperate to get away from the vampire before him. Seeing his friend was trying to escape Harry stopped. Dobby crawled until the corner stopped him; he curled into a little ball, alternating between screaming and weeping hysterically.

Harry tried to shove the vampire as deeply as possible within himself as he tried, once again, to talk to the inconsolable house-elf. He was creeping forward once more as he begged Dobby to look at him. As he drew closer Dobby was violently sick. Hermione stepped in to drag Harry away from him.

As she pulled him away from Dobby, the others could see the blood streaming down his face. When she lifted him to his feet, the blood began to spatter on the front of his robe; the patterns blooming like roses of blood.

Hermione flung her arms around Harry and she held him close. “Harry, he’s not human. We must affect Dobby differently; you make him ill if you get too near.” Harry did not respond to her voice. She could feel the despair re-awaken in him. He managed to hide it most of the time, but she now knew that he felt as much an outcast as she did. He just hid it in his sense of mission. The task that Dumbledore had given him gave him something to do beside brood about the death of all his former relationships

The humans watched as Harry dealt with another trial. Hermione had seen him this way once before. He sank through her hug and fell to his knees on the floor. He had stopped breathing, so he made no noise. Bowing to the ground he shuddered as he wept, one taloned fist beating on the floor.

Dobby managed to lift his terror stricken eyes to Headmistress McGonagall. She signaled him that he could go. The house-elf snapped his long fingers and vanished with a crack. The headmistress hoped that he could find some consolation among his own kind and resolved to check on him later.

Arthur tried to go to Harry. He was nearly in tears himself, but Lupin held him back. “No, Arthur” The Weasley patriarch turned angrily on Lupin. “I know he’s in pain and you want to help, but Arthur, Harry’s not himself. He could kill you without meaning to. This is Hermione’s place now.”

Hermione waited a few minutes before gently lifting Harry to his feet once more. She wiped his tears away with the sleeve of her robe. He looked at her; his face was a study in misery. He stood silently as she gathered their clothes. She paid the humans no further attention as she led Harry from the room. The door closed with a soft, but heavy boom.

Their leaving left a heavy pall in the room. The humans were silent at the scene that they just witnessed. It was true that Harry and Hermione were extremely dangerous. Their powers as vampires were formidable and the fact that they were a team was an unprecedented development.

Yet, even the werewolf pitied them. They were totally helpless during the day. They had all seen what their bodies had been like when Lupin brought them in; it was almost like an instinct to lay them out as if for a funeral. If they had not known the truth, a funeral would have been logical. With the setting of the sun everything changed, they were re-animated by the otherworldly things within them, and there was no defense against the powers they wielded; but at what cost? There was no denying the look of misery on Harry’s face as he tried to deal with another severed friendship. The most monstrous truth about the whole situation was that somewhere in that dead body, the soul of Harry Potter was trapped. It appeared he was experiencing the whole range of human emotion with no outlet. He was carrying on the fight that had been thrust upon him by the will of a madman because he felt a duty to do so, and, now, he was fighting without anything like a reward, no hope of a normal life when it was all over.

“I can’t conceive of what it must be like for them. It almost seems a stake through the heart would be an act of mercy,” McGonagall said finally. “Harry has something to do, something to strive for, how do the other vampires cope?”

“Evidently, they don’t,” answered Arthur. He told them about the probable fate of Harry’s sire.

“The question then becomes what do we do? He wants to fight You-Know-Who, but what happens if he wins? What if he becomes a worse threat what we’re dealing with now? Do we kill him while we have the chance? Do we wait to see if he wins and then kill him? How long will he be anything like human?” Lupin began to pace as he wrestled with the dilemma facing the Order.

At last he slammed his fist on McGonagall’s desk, “It just seems like such a bastardly thing to do to kill him after he saves us! I don’t think I could do it, could you?”

Weasley and McGonagall just shook their heads. Lupin gave into his anguish. He put his head down on his arms and cried.

McGonagall tugged on Arthur’s sleeve and they left Lupin to his grief. As they made their way towards her office she said, “I’ll call Tonks to come for him when he’s had a chance to calm down. He was one of James’ best friends, to have to deal with Harry being a vampire, I just can’t imagine…”

As they reached the Great Hall, Arthur turned to leave. “I need to get home to Molly. I’ll be in touch.” As he left he pondered the question of just how close he might have come to losing Ron to the same fate as Hermione.

McGonagall entered her office. Dumbledore’s portrait asked, “What’s wrong, Minerva, you seem extraordinarily troubled this evening?” Several other portraits expressed the same concern.

“It’s about Harry Potter, Albus.”

“What kind of trouble is he in now? Fighting with the Slytherins again? Still crossing swords with Scrimgeour about what I was doing last year?”

“No, he’s not even in school this year.”

Hearing this Dumbledore’s portrait appeared concerned, “Where did he go? What is he doing?”

“What ever task you set him to do,” McGonagall replied much more crossly than she meant. “He never told anyone what it was. He didn’t tell me this evening, either. What ever it is, he’s out there trying to do it, only now it is so much more difficult, because now he’s a vampire.”

Even the portraits were stunned by her news. “Some vampire turned him last summer, just before his birthday. Hermione Granger is a vampire, too. What is he trying to do, Albus?”

“He is trying to defeat Voldemort. A task which Voldemort himself gifted Harry to do. It is complicated. We must be secret, because of Tom Riddle’s attempts to become immortal. I can only say that the task must be done in stages, or the Dark Lord’s strategy will succeed. If Riddle gets wind of what Harry is doing he will just go to ground and you will never be rid of him.”

“Although, since Harry is a vampire, Voldemort will not be rid of him either,” Dumbledore observed. “It might give a new understanding of the prophecy.” He explained about the prophecy Trelawney had made. “It gives an interesting twist on the ‘power he knows not’ phrase does it not?”

McGonagall sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Help him all you can, Minerva. Undead or not, he is the best hope of defeating Voldemort that we have.”

“I’ve seen some of his powers in action, Albus. I’m frightened by him.” She recounted the whole episode ending with the discussion she, Remus, and Arthur had after the vampires had left.

“You need have no fear about Harry Potter, Minerva. There is too much love in his soul to pose a danger to anyone but our enemies.”

“I don’t understand, Albus.”

“Consider what you have told me about his actions. He is wounded by the realization of a lost friendship with a house-elf; if he did not love would there be such pain? He can no longer participate in our world, yet he fights to save it. Is that not love in its highest and most selfless degree? His search is love in action. We consider vampires to be soulless, cruel, and self-indulgent. Look up the story of Vlad Dracula in the history files; Harry is nothing like he was, even though they are both vampire-wizards. It is that love that threatens Voldemort the most. He has no understanding; he believes that love is a feeling. He sees it as something that he can use to manipulate others. Therefore, he views it as a weakness. He has never realized that love is more an act of the will than it is a flutter of the heart. Their will is the foundation of the love that holds Mr. Potter and Miss Granger together. Tell Remus that if he can overcome his natural hostility to Harry he has nothing to fear.” With that Dumbledore’s portrait fell silent.

After a few minutes of reflection McGonagall rose and made a call to Tonks. She escorted her to the room where Remus was brooding about what to do about Harry. She told them both about what Dumbledore said about love.

She took her leave of them and made her way to the chamber where they had taken Harry and Hermione. The vampires had gathered their belongings which had been left there for them, packed their clothes, and had left through the door at the end of the passage. The torches had been set to guide them out.

She found the blood spattered, white robes neatly folded and left on the biers. She stared at the stains left by vampire tears, she held them to her breast, and wept as a mother might weep for a lost child.

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16. Chapter Sixteen

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.

17. Chapter Seventeen

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.

18. Chapter Eighteen

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 Eighteen

The sun dropped behind the mountains. The vampires went up stairs to find Peter eating a simple meal. He had evidently been busy gathering wood for the fire. While the cabin was not in the best of shape it did block out the cold wind.

“Peter,” said Harry, “did Lord Voldemort keep a cup or a ring here in the cabin?”

“No …, Harry,” he replied obsequiously, “not here, but perhaps in the cave.”

“There’s a cave? Where?”

“About a half mile from here, it is up the slope between here and the ruined castle.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to decide what to do. “We need blood, that has to come first,” he thought to Hermione. “I’m going to the village. Would you search the cabin while I’m gone? If Peter says neither of the objects is here I believe him, but I’d feel better if we searched ourselves.”

Hermione followed Harry outside to wish him luck. Away from the city the clear sky was ablaze with stars. Evidently the winter had been mild; the snow covering the ground wasn’t deep. A keen wind blew through the peaks of the mountains to the north. As it sighed through the trees it brought with it the howl of wolves. They both stopped to listen to the mournful sound. Hermione remembered reading “Dracula”. Examining the area for the first time she was impressed at how accurately Bram Stoker had described the countryside. The wolves howled again and she thought, “You’re not going to go on about ‘the children of the night’ are you?” being here brought that passage to life.

Harry remembered the line Hermione was referring to, “No,” he smiled back, “but I was thinking about Lupin. They all looked pretty upset that we’re vampires.” It was the first time he brought up the experience at Hogwarts. “I just thought the howling sounded lonely and I realized how isolated it must have seemed for him sometimes.”

Hermione patted him on the arm. Harry thought for a while, “If there are wolves around maybe…” He transformed into a wolf and looked up at Hermione, “I won’t draw too much attention.”

As he bounded down the mountainside, Hermione watched him go. She was concerned for him. Ever since the night he brought Wormtail to the lair he had been closed and businesslike. Hermione knew Harry was hiding something. It did not cause him the same pain the incident with Dobby had caused him, but he was not himself. Now that he was gone she resolved to have a little chat with Peter Pettigrew.

Harry approached the village with caution. It seemed to have grown somewhat since Peter was last there. There were approximately three hundred souls in the town. Harry located a small inn. He hid in the darkness picking up the surface thoughts of the occupants. The customers were very happy. Most of the villagers worked in the nearby chromium mine. Albania was one of the leading producers of chromium and the discovery of a new vein was expected to ring in a new era of prosperity to the little town. Already, they were working to improve the docking facility on Lake Fierzes in anticipation of the barges that would carry the ore away. Harry wandered around the little town observing the townspeople as they went about their business. Not that there was that much activity. The people worked hard and most went to bed early.

There was a police station in the town and it boasted of having a patrol vehicle left over from when the Communists ruled the country. Now that the Communists were gone there was a small church and a mosque. They were located on opposite sides of the town.

It was also a place where the people remembered how to deal with vampires. As he moved through the residential areas, he was sickened by the pervasive smell of garlic. Most of the doors and windows had been treated with the pungent little herb, and Harry’s sensitive sense of smell was reacting badly. He was glad that he didn’t need to breathe, nevertheless the smell was oppressive and he began to move away from the area.

He backtracked to the inn. As he approached, the back door swung open and a barmaid exited with a large box of bottles. Harry transformed and used his power the snare her. He left her a few minutes later and hurried to locate another victim. He was fortunate enough to catch the lone police officer napping in the patrol car. Once more in the form of a wolf, he returned the way that he had come and made his way to the lonely cabin on the mountainside.

He found Hermione searching the cabin as he had asked. She looked up as he entered, it was obvious that he had fed and she was sure he had taken enough for her. Hermione commanded Peter to remain upstairs as she beckoned Harry to the basement. “Tell me about the village,” she asked. She seated him gently on the workbench.

As he described what he had seen and felt she moved behind him and began to massage his shoulders. Harry wished he could enjoy the feeling of her hands on his body. Slowly she unbuttoned his BDU jacket and pulled it away from his shoulder. He felt her lips on the base of his neck. He reached up to caress her face as she asked, “What happened to Snape?”

His mind immediately began to replay the awful scene as Hermione’s fangs penetrated his shoulder and she slipped past his mental defenses. He tried vainly to stand and pull away, but she held him fast as she shared his horror, watching Snape’s body shrivel in the flames. At last she allowed him to pull away from her. He whirled around staring at the blood dripping from her mouth.

“Why did you hide that from me, Harry? I want to help you; do you think I can’t see when something is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t mean to kill him, not like that,” he confessed.

“Of course you didn’t. I could see that it was an accident,” she thought as she wiped the blood from her lips. She stepped forward, kissed his shoulder, and closed the wound she had made.

She slipped off her blouse, “Drink from me; there is something I want to show you.”

Harry began taking her blood, reliving the Death Eaters attack on her family. “Snape killed my parents, without a moment’s hesitation. He deserved everything he got.” Her expression was one of anger.

Harry closed the holes he left in her shoulder. He slipped the straps of her bra down and returned the caress she had given him earlier. He knew the gesture was symbolic; she could not feel it much, either. Yet, he tried to soothe her emotions by touching her shoulders and neck as he told her, “Revenge isn’t the way, Hermione. Justice would have been better; he should have been turned over to the Aurors. There’s nothing that can be done to return what he took from you or your parents.”

“That may be true, but the world is far better off without Snape in it,” she said angrily.

Harry nodded his agreement as he took her face in his hands. He was trying to calm Hermione’s anger and offer comfort for the loss of her parents.

“Remember this, Harry; at first, you struck out in anger. You felt you wanted Snape to die, because of how he treated you, what he did to Dumbledore, and now that you know what he did to me. But you didn’t really want to kill him, the proof of that is in what you are feeling now. If you really wanted to kill him you would be glad, and you aren’t. What happened was an accident. You have to separate what was deliberate, like his killing my family, and what is accidental, like knocking over a lamp. In his death you are only indirectly responsible. If you had had your wand you might have been able to do something.”

Harry felt somewhat better for having talked to Hermione. Together they continued to search the basement, but they found no evidence of the Horcrux they sought. At the approach of dawn Harry went up the steep steps to the cabin. Peter had gone to bed and the fire had burned low. He threw a couple of logs on the fire so that it would not be so cold after the sun rose and descended the stairs.

Hermione had already transformed and was hanging in the corner. She spread her wings and Harry joined her.

The next evening, both vampires ventured to the little town seeking blood. This time they ambushed a pair of workers coming home late from the mine. It still bothered Hermione somewhat to take blood like this, but now there was no choice. In a small village the criminal element was negligible.

Not wanting to waste time they Apparated back to the cabin. Peter was waiting to guide them to the cave. The cabin was situated somewhat over half-way up the mountainside. Above it, to the east, a sharp ridge began that ran up to the top where the castle was. The village was down the mountain to the west. Northward the ground fell away steeply as erosion carried material down to the lake. To the south the ground sloped gently away. The terrain was heavily forested with dark pine trees with a scattering of fir trees.

It was not a place where cloaks would help them much and they left them in the cabin. Their BDU’s and boots were exactly what were needed. They gathered their wands, gloves, and scarves. Even the vampires cast warming charms to keep out the pervasive cold and the three of them set out to climb the ridge to the cave.

They followed the ridge upwards. Not far from the summit the trio entered a flat place. The ridge began to climb more steeply and a narrow path branched northward. The path was about ten feet wide and the face of the cliff rose vertically above them. To the left the slope was also very steep and would have required experienced climbers to gain the path from the shore of the lake. Several hundred yards from the flat area there was a fissure in the face of the cliff. It was the entrance to the cave.

The entrance was narrow and they were forced to walk single file. The passageway was about fifty yards long ending in a room of moderate size. The temperature was far warmer in the room than outside and there were a few stalactites. They removed their gloves and scarves and had a look around. At the back of the room was a great pile of fractured rock. There had been a substantial cave-in and whatever existed beyond was forever blocked by a massive fall of boulders.

At first glance it was an ordinary cave. To a Muggle it would have appeared uninteresting and might have been a place for young adventurers to explore for a picnic. To a vampire, however, there was a rectangular area on the floor that shone with magical energy. A powerful wizard or an initiate would have known of its presence.

Wormtail spoke, “There is a passage beneath the rocks. The Dark Lord never allowed me to enter nor did he tell me the password.”

Harry remembered his journey to the cave with Dumbledore. As he examined the enchanted rock he noticed a small indentation in the stone. He placed the tip of his wand in it and commanded, “Alohomora”. The stone did not move.

Next he cut his wrist and allowed the blood to fill the hole. The stone began to glow more brightly. Again he used the unlocking spell, but with no effect. Hermione ran her hand over the stone. Harry followed her example, his hand, however passed through the stone; he fell forward a few inches as his hand dropped beneath its surface. Hermione tried again, her hand rested on the surface of the door.

“Maybe you need to pay with your blood to gain entrance, Hermione.”

Hermione grimly cut the skin of her palm and allowed the blood to fill the indentation. She closed the cut and tried to slip her hand through the door. The stone remained unyielding.

“Try casting a spell on it and see what happens,” suggested Harry.

Resisting the temptation to try to blast the door with a “Reducto” curse she tried to unlock the door. This time her hand, too, passed through the surface of the stone.

Together they stepped onto the doorway. As the illusion vanished they saw a series of steep steps leading down to a passageway beneath the cave in.

“Stay here, Peter. Build yourself a fire and wait for us,” Harry commanded gently.

Together the vampires passed down the flight of steps. At the bottom they entered a narrow passageway. It was circular and inclined gradually upward. There were small chambers cut into the walls, each was set with heavy wooden door, no different from the dungeons at Hogwarts. They opened a few. All were empty, in some there were rusted sets of manacles hanging from the wall.

The passage spiraled upward. Higher up the chambers were larger and had the appearance of work rooms rather than prison cells. At last the hallway leveled out and through the door they could see a large room filled with bookshelves. When they entered they noticed there were several cavernous fireplaces along the walls and quite a few lamps hanging from the ceiling. The floor was tiled with mosaics of magical symbols and despite the feeling of great age there was no dust anywhere. The passage entered the back of the room. At the opposite end there were copyist’s desks, a lectern, and a doorway. The doorways, before and behind were flanked by suits of ornate armor.

Harry and Hermione continued their exploration by crossing the library and exiting the opposite door. There were stairs leading upwards. The space above the library was broken into rooms of various sizes and were obviously classrooms. The furniture was very old and fragile, and here the centuried dust lay heavy on everything. Climbing once again they entered an area where the walls were falling and they recognized that they were in the ruined castle.

“Harry, I wonder if this could be the Scholomance, the school where Vlad learned to be a wizard. It’s mentioned in “Dracula” and I remember Professor Binns said a little about it in the History of Magic. They taught the Dark Arts here, it was said the devil claimed every tenth scholar.”

“The chance to learn really dark magic is possibly why Voldemort would want to come here,” observed Harry. “I wonder how long ago the school closed. This place looks like it has been deserted for centuries.”

“It may be that the school exists somewhere else, perhaps with a different name,” concluded Hermione. Both of them were thinking the same thing, perhaps its name was now Durmstrang.

“Anyway, the library is still protected by magic. It might still be in use. Let’s go back and check it out. Suppose this is where Voldemort learned to make the Horcruxes. Maybe we can find information on how to detect and destroy them.”

They returned to the library and began examining the books. They were all hand bound and hand written in old languages. Many were in Greek and Latin, but there were books lettered in runes or other ancient scripts. Not a few featured coded writing in strange alphabets or alchemical symbols that could only be read by initiates of some forgotten wizard. There appeared to be no system of organization.

Both Harry and Hermione could read a little Latin as many of the older books in the library at Hogwarts were written in it. Hermione could, of course, translate the books of ancient runes. Neither of them was familiar with Greek.

Harry was deeply disappointed, he expected to find a Horcrux here, but there was none that was immediately obvious. They backtracked to the cave, where Wormtail waited for them. As they emerged from the magical doorway he noted the disappointment on Harry’s face.

He appeared anxious to please as he asked, “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“We found a library, but we can’t read the books. Most of them are in Greek or Latin. You don’t read Greek, do you?”

“Yes, master, I am fair in Greek, and better in Latin. I used to help the other Marauders with their studies. Is there something I can help you translate?”

The vampires looked at each other. There had had to have been a reason why Peter was included in the group, perhaps he was the key to them all becoming animagi. It had been said he wasn’t really good at magic, but he must have been good at something.

Harry returned to the library and took one of the books from the shelf. As he approached the door the suits of armor closed the entrance by crossing their halberds over it. He took another step forward and the suits of armor began to move ominously as if preparing to step off of the platforms on either side of the door. Harry began to back away. The suits of armor pulled the deadly looking pole arms back to their sides. Harry replaced the book and exited the library. Evidently Peter would have to pay to enter here as well.

The next evening began a new routine. The three of them would come to the library after Harry and Hermione fed. With the village being so small they had to shift their food gathering activities to the small town of Kukes, located about twenty five miles to the east. Peter had been there before so he knew where to exchange their money and purchase the food he needed to survive. The vampires alternated their own blood gathering expeditions between the village and Kukes. As the time progressed Harry left Hermione and Peter reading and he began searching for the Horcrux he hoped had been placed here.

As the nights passed it became obvious that the subject of Horcruxes was not much discussed even among dark wizards. It became apparent that the library possessed some organization after all. Various shelves contained books that pertained to certain areas of magic; there were shelves devoted to transfiguration, charms, hexes, curses, and enchanting objects.

It was among the last that they began to find references to the evil things. At last, in one of the old Latin texts they found a description of the process. A wizard had to perform a series of ritual meditations to prepare his soul for the split. The object that was to contain the soul had to have been enchanted beforehand, or some object that was already magical. Once the murder had been performed the wizard would, by the power of an incantation transfer part of his soul to the object. Hermione, who understood the type of switching spell involved, shuddered when she read the incantation.

Given what they found out, Harry and Hermione came to the decision that there could be no Horcrux at Hogwarts. There was nothing to indicate that Voldemort learned the process there, more likely that he had found everything he needed here. Once he had the objects he wanted to make into Horcruxes he could have made them all at once, or more likely, he had made one or two at a time and waited to perform some special murder to make the others.

A few days later a new piece of the puzzle fell into place. Peter translated from a Greek text the description of a potion that was a part of the process. The potion produced an altered mental state that helped the wizard guide his soul fragment once it left his body; it had the side effect of helping a wizard draw power from his soul fragment within a Horcrux. Peter had been feeding it to Voldemort to help him sustain himself while he waited for the Triwizard Tournament to end.

This information helped explain why he had chosen Nagini as a Horcrux and had needed her venom as part of the potion. Nagini was a Basilisk. She might be immature now, but had a potential lifespan of several hundred years. When she died, Voldemort, who probably planned to be immortal by then, could transfer the soul fragment to another object. It also explained his interest in Hogwarts; what better place to hide his Basilisk-Horcrux than in the Chamber of Secrets, a place only a parselmouth could enter?

The following evening Harry and Hermione fed from the village. They met Peter after he finished his supper and they prepared to walk up to the cave. The trio had arrived at the cabin early in January, now February was drawing to a close. Early on, they had checked the area for people that might have wandered into the area. As time drew on, they had checked the area less frequently; it proved to be a serious mistake.

They were walking up the ridge. Peter was in front, with Harry and Hermione walking a few paces back talking about the ramifications of Nagini being a Basilisk. Suddenly, they walked into Peter. He had stopped and was looking up the slope at a dark figure that was blocking the path.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Could it be Wormtail? The Dark Lord wondered where you had gotten off to when Snape died.” Harry recognized the voice at once. The figure was Fenrir Greyback.

Wormtail, enslaved as he was to Harry, said nothing, neither did he flinch away from the werewolf’s accusation.

Greyback emitted a low growl as he recognized the presence of two vampires standing behind Wormtail. His eyes began to burn as he bared his sharp, yellow teeth. Grinning triumphantly, he looked back over his shoulder. A full moon was rising over the mountains. Shortly, he would be at his full power.

Not knowing what to expect, Harry and Hermione extended their talons. The vampires within them prepared to do battle with the ancient enemy.

“What are you doing here, dog?” Harry’s focused thought rocked Greyback.

“Gathering the clans of Europe to aid the Dark Lord,” the werewolf managed to growl. Under the rays of the full moon, he was transforming into a huge, shaggy wolf. His mind was so far gone he failed to recognize Harry; his beast was ascendant and all he wanted to do was rend and slay.

He pounced so swiftly that even a vampire was hard pressed to react quickly enough. Fenrir bounded down the ridge, blind to all else except the vampire before him. Harry grabbed Peter and pulled him out of the way as Hermione leaped in the opposite direction. As the werewolf bounded between them, Harry raked his talons along the werewolf’s exposed flank. The talons cut deep, and the blood poured from the cuts as the werewolf howled in pain.

Greyback was used to prey that did not fight back and was unable to move nearly as swiftly as he did. He checked his charge and pivoted with blinding speed, marking the targets before him. He gathered himself and leaped at Harry with his maw agape.

He did not reckon on Hermione’s swift response. She reached out with preternatural speed and strength, grabbed his forepaw and slung him into the trunk of a nearby tree. The collision would have killed an ordinary wolf; and even a powerful werewolf like Greyback was stunned. Unfortunately for Hermione, she had been unable to plant her feet correctly and now she slipped in the snow. As she struggled to regain her feet, she was sliding down the gentle slope.

Fenrir crouched momentarily, shaking his head. As he surveyed his enemies, he noted that one of the vampires was down in the snow. Once again he pounced, now targeting the struggling vampire. Harry stepped in front of the werewolf’s charge, grappling with the beast by grabbing its throat and one of its paws. His muscles strained as he caught the great werewolf; he arrested the beast’s forward momentum and held him aloft, using all of his strength to hold the snapping jaws away from his face.

Hermione was still trying to regain her footing and Harry was having difficulty, the sheer weight and strength of the werewolf was proving impossible to manage. Fenrir kicked him in the stomach with his hind legs, the heavy blows forced Harry to bend at the waist and fall with the snarling beast squarely on top of him.

Harry grimly managed to fend off the monster’s jaws with his hold on Greyback’s throat, but the werewolf was now in a position to maul him with its own claws. As the beast transferred its weight to its hind legs, Wormtail entered the fray. Using his silver hand he grabbed at the wounds Harry had made on the werewolf’s left flank. The werewolf’s flesh smoked and charred as Peter tore the skin away from the underlying muscle. In his agony, the werewolf pulled sideways, tearing itself away from the vampire’s powerful grip. Fenrir bounded up the slope a short distance and rolled in the snow to cool the burning in his flesh.

Wormtail pulled Harry to his feet and moved to help Hermione as well.

“Hermione, get the silver knife from your potions kit,” Harry ordered. They had been carrying their school things for months. Now, maybe, there was a real use for her old potion kit. Hermione Apparated back to the cabin.

Greyback had been frustrated in his initial attack. Now he was slinking back down the ridge, growling his hatred, unsure of which target represented the greater threat. Harry and Peter were advancing up the slope, with Peter keeping to the trees along the edge of the drop-off. He was not as fast or strong as Harry and he needed to keep his right hand, the silver one, toward the enemy.

With a loud pop, Hermione reappeared near the Harry. With a nod of his head, he motioned Hermione to move to his right. The noise distracted Peter and he looked at Hermione. At that moment Greyback struck. He leaped down the slope toward Harry. At the last moment he side stepped, throwing his weight against Peter, knocking the little wizard off of the cliff, then leaping once again at Harry.

Harry leaped sideways also, avoiding the werewolf’s charge. Once again he raked Greyback with his talons. This time, he caught the beast’s muzzle; the monster’s left eye exploded, the skin ripped back from the werewolf’s skull, and three deep gashes were cut into the werewolf’s shoulder. Greyback continued down the ridge a short distance, dodging among the trees. Hermione came up to Harry and passed him the little knife.

They were standing side-by-side as the werewolf bore down on them again. As he approached Hermione transformed herself into a wolf and leaped away into the brush. Distracted by the sudden transformation, Greyback watched her as Harry stepped in to attack. He drove the knife into the werewolf’s side. His strength was such that Harry drove it completely into the werewolf’s body, handle and all.

The great wolf crashed to the ground. His jaws champed together as he writhed in his final throes. The silver was swiftly poisoning him and in a minute or so he lay still. “Is he dead?” Hermione asked.

In answer Harry nodded at the body. Even in the light of the full moon Fenrir had returned to his human form.

The vampires changed into bats and flew down the cliff side, the slope was not vertical, but it was pretty steep. Peter had fallen about twenty feet and rolled down the rough mountain side for another two hundred.

He was stirring feebly when they reached him. Blood was trickling from his nose and his mouth had a pink froth around the corners. His left arm was badly broken. Harry gently turned him on his back, taking care not to hurt his damaged arm.

His breathing was ragged and shallow. When he spoke the blood flowed faster from mouth, “I’m free, even from you, vampire.” He was wracked by a coughing fit, he rolled over and a large amount of blood flowed onto the ground, followed by a deep groan. He was plainly dying.

“I’m sorry, Harry for…betraying your parents,” he whispered. “I was so afraid…”

“So you gave up my parents for your own life, by your own choice you lived all those years as a rat and when you finally went back to Voldemort your treatment was even worse, I saw the way he treated you in my visions.” Harry’s tone was bitter.

“You don’t understand…he’s so powerful…the things he can do to you…”

“No,” said Harry, with a new measure of understanding. “He is just like you, so afraid of dying he hides behind the name of Voldemort. It’s like a mask, he scared you and the other Death Eaters with it, it’s so powerful even he believes in it, but behind it he’s just like you, a little coward who wants to exist so badly he’d tolerate the most cursed existence just to live a little longer. He doesn’t care who he has to sacrifice just as long as he comes out with his skin whole. Did he come to you before or after you became my parent’s secret keeper?” Harry hissed angrily. Yet as he regarded the history of the pathetic creature before him he was moved by pity.

“Before, he wanted…access to Sirius’ money…and he hated your father for refusing to come to his side. I hoped to keep on the outside…but he knew I was hiding something. He threatened me… and I gave in…”

Harry knew Peter would not last long, in memory of his father’s former friend he resolved to be kind. “Thanks for saving me from the werewolf back there.” There was real gratitude in his voice as he tried to smile. He thought the last thing Peter should see was a semi-friendly face.

Peter shook his head, “I owed you…” A spasm passed over his face, with a gasp, he died. Harry gently closed Peter’s staring eyes and he slowly stood up.

“We can’t leave him here,” said Harry, “He was my parent’s friend and a Marauder.” He and Hermione searched for a relatively flat place and they buried Peter under a cairn of stones. By the time they finished the dawn was burning above the low mountains to the east.

“We can’t stay here now,” said Hermione. “Voldemort knows Greyback was here and about the library. If more of them come during the day there is nothing we can do. They will destroy us.”

Harry nodded his agreement. Together they went back to the cabin for their things. They left all that Wormtail had there so that it would look like he was hiding there alone. There was one last disagreeable task to perform, and then they Apparated back to England and the cover of night.

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Arthur woke to the sound of Molly’s screams. The sound was coming from far away. He leaped out of bed, grabbed his wand, and flew down the stairs to the kitchen.

The screams were coming from outside, so he threw open the back door and ran into the garden. Molly was standing there in her bathrobe and rubber boots. Her egg basket lay forgotten on the ground as her hands were covering her face. His focus was totally on her as he ran to her side, “Molly, what’s wrong?” he demanded.

Molly threw herself into Arthur’s arms and buried her face in his shoulder. He threw his arms around her and looked around for the source of her fright. His eyes grew wide in surprise and horror as he noted the new addition to his garden.

He guided Molly into the kitchen. There was only one course of action; he led her upstairs, placed her in bed, and said, “Obliviate.” There was a little of the sedative potion left, he gave it to her and left her gently sleeping.

“Harry,” he thought, “what have you done?” He went downstairs and made some tea. Then he called Kingsley Shacklebolt. As he waited for the Magical Law Enforcement wizards to arrive, he tried to think of what was going on with Harry. First Snape was killed, now this. From what Tonks had said about the meeting with Carstairs and Shacklebolt, it seemed Harry was on some kind of rampage. He was deeply afraid for Fred and George; how long would it be before Harry could not distinguish friend from foe? Was Harry trying to threaten the wizarding world? He was a vampire, after all. But why here, why not at the Ministry? No wizard had threatened him that he knew of.

No, he answered himself; he had seen him break down when Dobby reacted so badly. He could not believe Harry could become so callous so quickly. Was he trying to send a message, perhaps a warning to Voldemort? Then why not at some Death Eater’s home?

Perhaps he was letting him know Bill had been avenged, or was it something like a cat bringing one a dead bird? Kingsley was afraid Harry’s humanity would disappear, but this was so far beyond what he would have expected Harry to have done. His young life had been filled with horrors, vampirism not the least, had Harry gone insane? And what part had Hermione played in all this?

His thoughts were whirling, with no clear answer in sight when the flames in the fireplace turned green. Shacklebolt and Littleton stepped into the kitchen. Weak kneed and nauseous, Arthur led them into the garden.

There, on a pole, was the head of Fenrir Greyback.

19. Chapter Nineteen

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 Nineteen

“Harry, I can’t believe you did that! The Weasleys must feel awful!” Hermione sounded alarmed as she stood there with her arms akimbo, reminding him of Molly Weasley.

“No, Hermione, I wanted them to know Fenrir is dead. They can tell Bill and Lupin that the one that ruined their lives is gone; he paid for what he did. Mr. Weasley can tell the Ministry and maybe everyone will breathe easier now that the monster is dead,” Harry protested. Nevertheless, he was looking down at his feet, as he wondered if Hermione might be right.

He had sent her ahead to London, because he did not want her to know what he was going to do. It was the work of a minute or two to take Fenrir’s head, and only about ten to plant it in the Weasley’s garden, then he had Apparated back to the factory in London. What he had not expected was her horrified response when he expected her praise.

“Harry, in the old days we used to do that as a threat or warning, don’t you realize that is what Arthur and Molly will think that this is? Kingsley is afraid of us as it is, now you’ve made it worse,” she chided gently.

Secretly, she realized that Harry’s vampire had done it. The battle with Fenrir had given it control; and by the time Harry had come to his senses, the deed was done. It bothered her that some small part of her had enjoyed smashing Fenrir against that tree, and she was disappointed that she had not hurt him worse. She wrapped her arms around herself and wondered how long it would take before the vampire within her would began to do things like this?

Seeing the rather woebegone look on Harry’s face, she reached out and took his arm. She sighed and said, “What’s done is done, and it won’t be any use fussing anymore. Maybe we can explain to Fred and George.” She smiled at him and gave him a reassuring hug before she left Harry on the roof of the old factory and went down to gather what she needed for her night’s research at the library.

As Harry brooded on the roof he slowly became aware that he was being watched. He looked down on the street below and sensed a figure standing in the shadows across the street. As he touched its mind he knew it was another vampire.

Aware of his knowledge, the vampire stepped out of the shadows. He was powerfully built with dark hair gathered in a long ponytail. He was dressed in a black ulster and had on heavy boots. Harry ran down the stairs as Hermione was coming up from the basement. He pointed at his wand and she handed it to him. He motioned her to stay out of sight behind him as he exited the loading dock. He stood there facing the other vampire across the street. Even at a distance he could see the vampire had strongly chiseled features set in an arrogant expression. His eyes were almond shaped and reminded Harry of Blaise Zabini.

“Lawbreaker, you are summoned by the governor to appear before him for judgment. You have not presented yourself before him, as custom demands. Be at Westminster Palace at midnight. If you fail to appear as commanded you will be hunted and destroyed.”

The dark figure turned and began walking swiftly down the street. Harry Apparated to the corner ahead of him and as he approached Harry stepped into the sidewalk in front of him. The vampire’s eyes went wide in shock as he turned to see if Harry was still standing at the factory. Before he could do anything else, Harry gestured with his wand and ropes bound the newcomer. The vampire was probably very strong, but he could do nothing against the ropes Harry had conjured. At last he slipped and fell helplessly to the sidewalk. Harry again waved his wand and the dark haired vampire was hanging upside down before him.

“Who are you?”

Harry could feel the other’s anger and embarrassment as he hung there, but he refused to say anything. “Fine,” thought Harry, “I’ll leave you like this on the factory roof over there. I want to see if any of my rope will be left tomorrow night.”

Sensing the truth of Harry’s intention he thought, “I’m Stephen, the governor’s chief Enforcer.”

Before Harry could reply someone else entered their conversation, “Stephen, I told you to be polite. Why did you disobey?” The voice made Harry think of golden honey.

Harry spun around as a beefy, middle-aged man approached. He was very tall and was wearing an impeccably tailored suit under an Inverness cape. Except for the fact he was extremely pale and he moved with an inhuman grace and speed, he might have passed for a mortal.

Stephen’s eyes went wide as he stuttered, “G-g-overnor Varney I-I-I—”

“Disobeyed my direct order that you be polite to this young vampire, who, by the way, is more powerful right now than you or I will ever be.” Harry noted that the governor’s face had heavy jowls that reminded him of Aunt Martha’s bulldogs. Varney’s bushy eyebrows met as he expressed his displeasure with his Enforcer.

“Will you please release my foolish servant, Harry Potter?” Seeing the startled expression on Harry’s face, “Yes, after your little demonstration I guessed your name. Is your consort, Miss Granger in the factory? Never mind, I can feel her presence there.” His too-wide smile revealed his fangs; Harry noticed that all of his teeth were sharp, just like some kind of shark. He suddenly felt that the honey was undoubtedly poisonous. Harry shuddered at that smile, and he sensed that in spite of what Governor Varney had said about his power, he felt that it would be unwise to provoke a confrontation. With a wave of his wand Stephen crashed to the pavement as the ropes vanished.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. Stephen, you may go about your business. I will render my judgment and bring it to the council later tonight. Mr. Potter, will you please walk with me?” Stephen hunched his shoulders and walked swiftly up the street.

“Please forgive Stephen, he trusts too much in his vampiric gifts and believes we are the top of the food chain. He won’t accept there are older powers in the earth. I, however, know better.

He began walking up the street, away from the traffic and into the areas even more desolate. He traveled at a seemingly normal pace, yet it ate the blocks like a wildfire.

“Why, didn’t you present yourself before the council? We are far less sticky about travel these days,” he chided amiably.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“Didn’t your sire teach you the customs? Come, I have observed you obey the law, why do you ignore the customs?”

“My sire taught me the law; he left it imprinted on my mind. But I don’t know who he was, he destroyed himself without teaching me,” Harry thought defiantly.

The governor halted abruptly and stared at Harry. The young vampire thought that there was interest in the expression, but disbelief in the elder vampire’s eyes. “May I examine your memory?” Harry nodded yes. “Think of your first days,” Varney instructed. Harry looked into the governor’s eyes, suddenly he felt as thought he had been transported through time to that cool July day. Harry thought back to the attack and how he woke up in the culvert. How he had attacked Piers and Gordon and how his sire had instructed him and left him the message.

After a few moments Harry seemed to come to himself; he looked at the elder vampire before him. The governor was lost in thoughts of his own. He smiled at Harry; this time it appeared far more genuine, “Martin of Canterbury was your sire. Giving you a second chance would have appealed to his sense of justice, since those mortals killed you. However, I’m surprised he got involved. He was growing very tired, but it was irresponsible of him to bring you over and not instruct you.” Varney appeared angry at Martin, but the ancient vampire was now beyond the governor’s power.

“He told me when he discovered that I was a wizard that he hoped they would help me. But when the time came I panicked and ran from them. I don’t understand; what was he was tired of?”

“He was tired of existence. You will understand, eventually. Observe a few mortal lifetimes and you will see. They grow, Mr. Potter, and they age and become tired. Often, they become ill and there is pain. They look forward to the release of death. In that moment you can sense a feeling of freedom in them as they slip away. You will come to envy them, and the release of death, until at last; the pain of your unchanging existence will be more than facing the pain you will experience in your final sunrise. I have seen this many times in my two hundred and fifty years.”

They walked on in silence for a few minutes as Harry processed the information he had received. Varney looked at him and thought, “What am I to do with you, Mr. Potter? What are you doing? I have tried to contact you before, but you and Miss Granger come and go in the blink of an eye.”

“My former headmaster and my friend, Albus Dumbledore, gave me a task before he died. I am trying to fulfill it. I can’t speak of what it is, he told me not to,” Harry answered.

“Wait just a moment, if you please, Mr. Potter. Fudge, come to me. I command it.” Varney lifted his head and spoke to the air. His voice had an odd resonance to it, but it was deep with none of the spectral quality that Harry noticed when Hermione spoke to him. He supposed he sounded different to her, too.

Harry goggled at the voice he just heard; and was having a harder time processing what it said, when Cornelius Fudge, pin-striped cloak, lime-green bowler, and all Apparated to them about five minutes later. He had the remains of a large sandwich in one hand, a tumbler of whiskey in the other, and a vacant expression on his face. Harry noticed that he did not look well. His face was lined and what hair he had was even grayer. He had lost some weight but it made him look ill rather than better.

The governor stared at Fudge, who began answering his questions like a monotone machine gun. “Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He is dead now. Yes, Minister Scrimgeour is most upset that Harry Potter has disappeared. No, he wouldn’t tell anyone. The minister knows he’s a vampire. The Aurors and vampire hunters are after him, but they can’t find him. They fear him because he took the head of one of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s servants. It appears he has declared war on us; he is responsible for the death of several other wizards, but there is doubt, all of them were servants of You-Know-Who.”

Varney addressed Harry once more. “You know that it was this business with that head that made it imperative that we meet; it has really upset the wizards that know you are one of us.” Varney looked at Harry with consternation. “Why are you going after Voldemort, what are you planning to do to him, and what are your plans for afterwards?”

Harry was startled at the depth of Varney’s knowledge and he answered without thinking. “I’m going to destroy him because he killed my parents and he’s been trying to kill me ever since he murdered them. When this is over, I want to see some of the world. I’ve never had the chance to go anywhere.” Harry realized that Fudge had been in Varney’s thrall for a long time; therefore it should not surprise him that he knew a great deal of what passed in the wizarding world.

Seeing that Harry was staring at Fudge, the Governor commanded him to leave and the wizard Apparated away again.

“A very lucky and useful acquisition, I caught him in a youthful indiscretion many years ago. He has taught me a great deal about the world. Do you have any questions?”

“How do I contact the vampire council?”

“Appear at the city hall of the city you are in at midnight. A representative of the local council will be there. However, as you do not wish to be a part of vampire society at the present time…” Harry started to protest, but the governor silenced him. “Since you are engaged in a vendetta with a wizard, we cannot allow ourselves to become involved. It would be too dangerous for us. Stephen can handle most any vampire; you bested him with a wave of your wand. At such time as your vendetta is over, we will welcome you, should you still desire it. Till such time you will be labled Outcast, and no vampire will either aid you or thwart you. I will pass word to the Synod of my judgment. Know this, Harry Potter, the name of Voldemort had darkened our councils as we have debated how best to cope with him. For my part, I wish you well. Anything else?”

“Your teeth…,” Harry blurted.

The governor smiled that shark-like smile, “It comes with age, after a hundred years or so your teeth will be like mine.”

Varney turned and began walking away. He rounded a corner and vanished from Harry’s sight and his vampire senses.

Harry Apparated back to the lair and found Hermione waiting for him. They discussed what had transpired between Governor Varney and him, each of them admired the secrecy with which the other vampires had managed to observe them. Hermione Apparated to the library as Harry wondered what to do.

He decided the best thing to do was explain to Fred and George what he had been trying to say by leaving such a grisly token in their parent’s garden. He Apparated to Diagon Ally and walked close to their shop. The windows were dark and his senses told him that no one was there. He waited to see if there was a message for him on their sign, but after reading the advertisements several times it appeared that they had not left a message.

He supposed that he ought to go to the Burrow to apologize, but he wasn’t sure how to contact Mr. Weasley or Fred and George, he was sure he didn’t want Molly to know that he was a vampire if she didn’t already. He remembered that the secret of his being a vampire was known by only a few wizards. Only Lupin, McGonagall, Arthur, Fred, and George had actually seen him, he didn’t count Tonks because she would not remember him. Scrimgeour, Kingsley and a few of his Aurors probably knew, but Harry was pretty sure most of those hunting him did not know his actual identity.

Taking his cue from Varney, Harry Apparated to the cemetery where Hermione’s parents were entombed. He knew instinctively that Tonks would answer his call, but he was unsure of how to contact her. He centered his mind on Tonks, trying to see and hear through her eyes and ears as he was inspired by the book “Dracula”.

He passed into a trance there on the bench under the stars. He felt that he was in a room somewhere; the lights were dim and he could hear soft music coming from a Wizard Wireless. He vaguely remembered hearing music like this when he stayed at the Burrow. Suddenly, he realized he was in the kitchen of the Burrow! Tonks was visiting Molly and Arthur. He could hear the voices as they sat and talked. Evidently Fred and George were there too, for they interrupted from time to time with a funny comment. The topics of conversation were light and unfocused; apparently they were trying to get away from the stress of the war. He could sense that Tonks was worried about Remus and she did not know where he was. She was passing the time with all of the friendly faces she could find. He basked in the feelings of love and companionship as the conversation drifted.

He became aware that the feelings changed; clearly Tonks was preparing to leave.

Through her eyes he saw the back door and the garden beyond. As she walked out of the anti-Apparition ward he sent her a command to come to the graveyard as he had instructed her. He withdrew from her mind and waited.

In less than a minute she had appeared before the octagonal structure where the Grangers were buried. Harry went to her. She appeared as unfocused and blank as Fudge had been. During the course of the questioning Harry found out what had been going on in England.

The news that Snape was dead had spread through the wizarding world like a fire. There weren’t too many that had known of Harry’s accusation of Snape being the one that murdered Dumbledore, but many remembered him as a teacher.

Tonks related the meeting in Shacklebolt’s office when he had alerted Carstairs to the problem that he felt Harry and Hermione were becoming. In the weeks following, the vampire hunters redoubled their efforts to locate them. They were severely handicapped because they were after vampires that could Apparate, and it was making them all very tense.

It had been a difficult time for Tonks personally; she knew that Harry was a vampire, yet she had sworn not to betray him to the vampire hunters until the Order knew what kind of threat he represented. Nevertheless, she had helped organize the search for him, all the while hoping not to find him

Harry realized what a great stroke of luck they had been granted. When the vampire hunters had been looking for him in England, they had been in Albania. They were sure to have been discouraged because at the time that they were trying the hardest to find them he had not even been in the country. He now realized how his vampire nature had betrayed him. He had been hidden, but now he had once more called attention to himself. He and Hermione were in greater danger than ever before. The Ministry would renew its efforts to find them in the face of the perceived threat he and Hermione represented.

“Tonks, thank you for not betraying us,” he thought. “Go home and be at peace, you will not remember this when you wake up. No matter what happens, I am grateful for your friendship. I hope, when all of this is over, you can be happy with Remus. Good bye for now.”

Tonks Apparated away and Harry Apparated back to the lair. He appeared on the loading dock and was walking toward the stairs when a hand reached out and pulled him into the shadows. Harry was startled and angry. His eyes flashed red and he extended his talons as he prepared to attack the person that was holding him against the wall.

“Wait, Harry, it’s me,” Hermione’s thought was nervous. “At the library my amulet beeped twice. There were vampire hunters near the library, so I came here to wait for you. I think they are looking for us.”

“They are, and it is because of that stupid stunt with Greyback. We’ve got to get out of here, but I don’t know were we could hide,” Harry was rapidly growing more concerned as he discarded possibilities. The wizards would be checking everywhere they could and they knew the places that had been known to him when he was alive.

Hermione thought, “There’s one place we might hide that they may not think of. You’ll have to side-along Apparate with me.” Harry appreciated that there was not a hint of “I told you so” in Hermione’s thoughts.

Harry nodded and went down to get their belongings; his mind was racing as fast as his hands and feet. He knew that the Misuse of Magic office had detected him before. They did not know who did the magic, but knew where it had been done. If they did magic, and the Ministry did detect it, it would give away the location of their lair. He returned to the loading dock and gave her his thoughts on the matter.

Suddenly, their amulets emitted a quiet beeping noise. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm and held her still, because she had instinctively risen on her toes. Quickly he slung on his backpack, handed Hermione hers, and mounted the Firebolt. After kicking off, he gained only enough altitude to clear the fence and sped down a deserted street to the river. Together, they raced eastward keeping low to the water as Harry dodged the ships in the channel leading to the sea. Once they cleared the London area, Harry slowed the Firebolt and turned toward the shore. They touched down in a vacant field and tried to calm themselves. Harry could tell the close call had allowed Hermione’s vampire to try to gain ascendance, she was struggling to control it.

“Are you ready?” she asked. Harry took her arm.

“Where are we…” he tried to ask, but he was trapped in the constriction of the Apparition process before he could voice his question.

They appeared in a quaint village square surrounded by opulent mansions. The green was an immaculate park with benches, sculptured trees, and well tended beds for flowers. There were no flowers in the winter, of course, but it was obvious that the work was a year round effort.

Harry recognized all of this in a moment before he registered Hermione’s horrified gasp, “Oh, my God, I forgot.”

He looked toward the east, at the mountains rising behind the village. The majestic peaks were crowned with fire and golden flames were shooting overhead. Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him to the door of one of the houses on the eastern side of the square.

The home was built of gray stone, with tall windows framed in elegant curtains. Harry could see smoke coming from the chimneys on both sides of the house. Hermione raced up the steps and began pounding desperately at the door.

She had forgotten to breathe and she was telepathically shouting, “Victor! Victor! Help us, please help us!”

A voice spoke from behind them, “Hermy-own-ninny, is dat jou?” Victor Krum was coming up the steps behind them dressed in running clothes. He was wiping his face with a towel and had a ring of keys in his other hand.

Harry looked at Krum, behind him he noticed the steeple of the local church blaze with light as it was touched by the rising sun. Krum was looking at Hermione with an expression of disbelief on his features, “Vat are you doing here? I heard that you were…”

Hermione’s eyes rolled upward in her head as she collapsed into Harry. He quickly wrapped his arms around her as Krum hurried to unlock the door.

Before he could turn and ask Harry if he needed help, he found himself flying down the hallway. Harry had grabbed the back of his sweatshirt and thrown him two-thirds of the way to the staircase that rose to the second story. Angrily, he rose from the floor and whirled around, as he did so he heard the door to the closet next to the entrance snap shut.

He stalked to the closet and threw open the door. Hermione lay with her back against the wall, apparently sleeping. Harry had collapsed onto his side with his head in Hermione’s lap. Krum rolled him over and recoiled in shock. Harry’s eyes were open, but instead of the green that Victor remembered, his irises were glowing blood red. His mouth was fixed in a snarl that showed off his fangs and Krum noticed the claws that tipped his fingers.

With trembling hands he felt for Hermione’s pulse, there was none. In addition, her skin was cold as the snow outside and hard. Victor Krum looked in horror at the figures in his closet. Running his fingers through his hair, he whispered, “Mein Gott, Nosferatu.”

20. Chapter Twenty

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.

21. Chapter Twenty-one

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-one

Two cloaked and hooded vampires appeared between the two holly trees. They had spent three weeks in Bulgaria, and though the winter was still harsh in Western Europe, in England the weather was moderating slightly as spring approached. This night was plagued by a moderate fog. It crept in banks that interfered with the line of sight; at one moment it was almost clear, five minutes later one could only see fifteen or twenty feet.

Harry followed the path to the hedge with Hermione right behind him. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and guided her through the front door. There was no need for discussion; they both went into the second bedroom and began to shift the debris. Using magic, they began levitating the large pieces of the fallen roof out of the room. Underneath the roofing material, they found the outer wall of the house and began removing that. It was tedious work that was only made easier by a combination of magic and vampire strength.

At last, they began to sift through the small pieces of wood, plaster, and dust that covered the floor and was sealed under the fallen roof. Hermione was using a spell that caused a jet of air to blow from the tip of her wand, while Harry was down on his hands and knees searching along the floorboards.

Harry finally found the ring under a collapsed piece of furniture that might once have been his toy box. Together, they smiled in triumph. After the awful time he and Dumbledore had had in the cave, finding the second two Horcruxes had been easy. Harry wondered why Tom had not come to retrieve this one; surely he knew where it was?

He held out the heavy, golden ring to Hermione who took it with a slight shudder. Who would have thought this small object would have been at the center of so much heartache? Voldemort had destroyed how many lives to get it here? Whom had he killed to obtain such a treasure? Then, he had destroyed Harry’s life and murdered his parents to create a hiding place for a part of his soul. This was magic at its most despicable.

“Does it really have a piece of Tom’s soul in it?” she asked.

“I hope so. It is here where my mother died, and we believe he marked special murders by creating trophies to mark his victories. He wanted to mark his triumph over the prophecy by killing me and my parents.”

Hermione nodded as she handed it back to him. Harry placed the ring in a box and packed it in his backpack. They turned to leave; neither felt the desire to stay in this place where a gallant and loving mother had met her untimely end.

The fog had lifted somewhat as they stepped out of the house. As they walked around the bushes shielding the ruin from the road, a dark shape rose from the shadows and commanded them to halt.

The vampires stopped and turned to face their assailant. The figure was hooded and cloaked also; and they found themselves staring down the length of a magic wand. Harry would have known that voice anywhere; it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Without giving the witch a chance to say anything further, he dropped the hood of his cloak and said, “Hello, Bellatrix, I wondered when our paths would cross again.”

Even though her face was hidden behind a mask, Harry could hear the astonishment in her voice, “Can it be? I have captured the elusive, little Harry Potter. The Dark Lord is so anxious to question you.”

“Are you sure you’ve captured me? There are two of us and only one of you,” Harry observed nonchalantly.

Bellatrix seemed not to have noticed that Harry was speaking to her. “You have shown remarkable discipline, to have remained hidden for so long. Did you not care that your friends sacrificed themselves to hide you? Your mudblood refused to tell where you were hiding; you might have been proud. We tortured her and her screams of agony were delicious, but she wouldn’t betray you. Do you know if she died before or after the dementor sucked out her soul? We could never find out.”

Harry refused to be baited. Instead he answered tersely, “She couldn’t have told you even if she had wanted to. She never knew where I was.”

Bellatrix’s laughter chilled even the undead, “That’s good to know; I was concerned that I was losing my touch.”

Hermione stepped forward and dropped her hood. “You might be surprised to find out that the dementor didn’t get the mudblood’s soul; Harry came along and stopped it. In fact, the mudblood in question is right here.”

Recognizing Hermione’s face in the moonlight shocked Bella out of her reverie. With a scream of anger she pointed her wand at her and commanded, “Crucio!”

Hermione stood impassively, unaffected by the curse. “Of course, I did die later,” she continued conversationally. “Your curse won’t work on me now.”

Harry stepped forward and plucked the wand out of Bellatrix’s hand, and with no effort snapped it in half. He grabbed Bella’s robe and threw her against the side of the house, stunning the Death Eater.

Marching purposefully around the bushes Harry grabbed Bellatrix and dragged her into the ruin of his parent’s home. Hermione came running after him calling, “Harry! Harry! What are you going to do? Harry, where are you? Please, Harry, let me in.”

As she stood there, an arm appeared out of thin air and pulled her back into the house.

Once inside, Hermione found Harry had tied Bellatrix to a chair. He approached her, pulled back the hood of her cloak, and ripped the mask off of her face. Bella’s heavy-lidded eyes blazed defiance, “If you hurt me, I can assure you that the Dark Lord’s vengeance will be swift, merciless, and cruel.”

“Not as cruel as I am going to be to you, dear Bella,” Harry replied silkily. “I owe you for what you’ve done to my friends and to Sirius.”

Hermione placed a restraining hand on Harry’s arm, “Remember what happened after Fenrir. Please don’t do anything else like that.”

Bella’s eyes widened in fear, “You killed Fenrir? How?”

Harry smiled at Bellatrix. As he did so his fangs dropped over his lower lip and his eyes began to glow red. The once fearless Bellatrix Lestrange began to whimper as Harry approached. As he reached out to touch her face she twisted and tried to get away from his touch. He looked over his shoulder at Hermione, “Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing this time.”

Bella began to scream. Long, loud screams that spoke of fear, frustration, and pain. She screamed until Hermione’s Silencing Charm cut her off as abruptly as turning off a switch.

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Word flashed through the wizarding world that Bellatrix Lestrange was once more in custody. She had been found wandering around Salisbury. The Muggle police that picked her up reported that she was incoherent, though when they checked she was neither drunk or on drugs. She had no identification and was wearing a tattered garment that defied depiction.

When they broadcast her description it was quickly discovered that she was a wanted criminal and the proper authorities were notified. The proper authorities showed up with almost bewildering quickness for the Muggle police forces.

They were invaded by smiling brothers in law enforcement. All had ready phrases like, “Good show, old man” or “quite a feather in your caps this”. As the senior officials tried to find out who they had captured they got further stock phrases like, “it all rather hush-hush” or “that’s strictly need-to-know, and you don’t need-to-know, old chap”.

It was later likened to a cyclone that quickly blew itself out and left nothing behind except for a few “you’ll get full credit down the roads”, “pip pip, cheerio, and all that rot”, and in answer to most any open ended question, a resounding “quite!”. It left the Muggles wondering what had just happened, but like everything else, it blew over and, in time, everyone got back to business as usual.

Later that day, Rufus Scrimgeour accompanied Kingsley Shacklebolt down a rather dingy hall at St.Mungo’s on his way to interview the infamous Bella Lestrange. He found her restrained in a bed, in a private room surrounded by a small knot of healers. They were headed by the legendary healer, Marcus Galen.

The Minister of Magic nodded to the healers and immediately began to pay attention to the prisoner. Bellatrix was staring at the ceiling, apparently uninterested in her new visitors.

“Hello, Bella, good to see you again,” Scrimgeour offered sarcastically. “You’ll find Azkaban somewhat more pleasant now that the dementors are gone. I suspect it will seem a grand reunion with your old Death Eater cronies.”

Bellatrix looked sideways at the minister before spitting at him. Scrimgeour stepped backward out of the line of fire. While all attention was on the Minister of Magic, she managed to slip her hand out of the restraining cuff. It had been fastened by someone with a misguided sense of kindness. With the speed of a striking snake she snatched the wand of a nearby healer. She pointed the wand at Scrimgeour and cried, “Kveadada Avdavrada”.

Kingsley pulled the minister back and two other Aurors threw themselves between the wand and the minister. The healers looked at Bellatrix waiting expectantly.

For a moment she lay there with a look of pure poison on her face. Suddenly, she was gripped by a spasm of pain. She cried out as she went totally rigid; it seemed that every muscle in her body had knotted up. The wand clattered to the floor, forgotten, as her body arched up off of the bed, supported by her heels and the back of her head. Bella screamed through her clenched teeth until she ran out of air; then, unable to draw a breath she finally collapsed, unconscious, on the bed.

Galen looked at one of the healers, “Same as before?”

“Yes, sir. Not so bad as this, but essentially the same.”

This time Galen fastened the restraint himself.

Scrimgeour did not know what horrified him the most. The fact Bellatrix got loose, the fact she tried to kill him, or what just happened to her after she tried to use magic. “What’s the matter with her? Did something scramble her mind?”

“Not exactly, Minister,” answered Galen. “She appears to have suffered an attack on a deeper level than that. Magic emanates from our wills. Our bodies form a crucial bridge between the unseen realm of our souls and the material world we inhabit. Bellatrix’ magic was attacked at the deepest level of her mind, just where it is joined to her soul.”

“But the scrambled incantation—,”

“Is a symptom of what has happened on the deeper level; the same thing happened when she tried a non-verbal spell earlier. The pathway the energy takes from the will, through the brain and body, to the focal point of the wand has been disrupted.”

Slowly, Scrimgeour was beginning to understand, “Then, effectively, Bellatrix is a squib? Can she be healed?”

Galen nodded, “Yes, she is unable to use magic. Without knowing what or how it was done, I don’t think we can help her. If we tried, we might do greater harm; but given that she just tried to kill you, do you want us to try?”

The Minister of Magic shook his head, “As soon as she can be moved, send her back to Azkaban.”

The minister’s party left the room, as they came to the stairwell at the end of the hallway they met a small group of reporters from the Daily Prophet and a couple of smaller newspapers that had sprung up when wizards had begun to distrust the larger paper. The attention of the reporters drew a number of visitors and patients to the stairwell because they recognized that someone important was coming.

Bill and Fleur Weasley were among the small group of patients gathered at the foot of the stairs. Fleur frowned as Scrimgeour began to address the group. Bill was continuing to allow the healers to examine his case as it might help someday help cure those who were affected by Lycanthropy.

“The Ministry is pleased to announce that our law enforcement wizards have recaptured one of the principal Death Eaters that escaped from Azkaban nearly two years ago. Bellatrix Lestrange was picked up in Salisbury early this morning by Muggle police in cooperation with our Aurors.

She has apparently suffered some kind of magical injury and will be returned to Azkaban when she can be moved.”

“Minister Scrimgeour, how was she injured if she was picked up by Muggles?”

As if in answer Bellatrix’ voice screamed once again. It was faint this far from the room and through the closed doors, but it was clearly audible to all the people in the hallway. “Damn you, Harrreee Pottterrr!”

Scrimgeour’s face was fixed in a mask of fury as he pushed his way down the stairs and out into the lobby. “It seems the Minister is upset,” Bill remarked to Fleur as they left the hospital a few minutes later. Fleur giggled as she nestled under Bills arm.

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After dropping Bellatrix in Salisbury Harry and Hermione Apparated back to Manchester. There was a little time before the sunrise so they sought a cleaner place than the old power station to hide from the daylight. Just to the north of the ship channel they found some deserted apartment buildings and moved into the basement.

It took a little time to clean it, but it offered a door that could be closed and hidden by magic.

Once they settled in Hermione asked, “What did you do to Bella?”

“I scrambled her ability to use magic. By taking her blood and entering her mind, I was able to stop the flow of her power through her brain, plus I planted a post-hypnotic suggestion that will cause her pain if she tries to injure someone by using magic.”

Hermione nodded. She still had memories of the pain the Cruciatus Curse had caused her.

The next night the vampires apparated to Diagon Alley. They knew the general direction that Tom had come from to get here and during planning it had seemed a simple task. However, once in the real world, the task was not so simple. The hours passed and there was still no sight of the square building with the iron fence.

During the search, each vampire had taken the time to feed; there was a growing feeling of expectancy as the hours passed. Harry had been on the receiving end of Tom Riddle’s diabolical traps and he wondered if he and Hermione would be able to overcome the trial that was set before them.

As midnight passed, Harry grew discouraged. When he was human, he had all of the hours in which to hunt; now he had to consider that he must be finished while he could still move. The daylight hours were denied him.

“Let’s give it up for tonight, Harry,” Hermione suggested. “We need to get back to Birmingham, I’ll check the library while it’s still dark, and we can come straight back here tomorrow.”

Harry reluctantly agreed and they left London. Harry stayed with Hermione, but neither of them could find anything helpful in the University library. Discouraged, they went back to their lair.

It was raining on the second night of the search. Bright flashes of lightening lit the night and the thunder rumbled ominously in the background. Once again, they began to search the streets. It had been less than twenty minutes when a bolt of lightening in the clouds attracted his attention. As the thunder rolled over them he recognized the orphanage to his right. They had found it at last.

The old building was deserted and had been for a few years. It had begun to show signs of neglect, but for now it was in good shape. As they prepared to enter the building, Harry gave Hermione the Invisibility Cloak and he hid the Firebolt in the entrance.

Moving through the structure, it was apparent that the place had been shut down in an orderly manner. All of the furnishings had been taken away, probably when the orphans had been moved to newer quarters. Harry wondered what had happened to Mrs. Cole.

After examining the first floor, the vampires were undecided as what to do. Harry had almost figured on finding the Horcrux in Tom’s old wardrobe and now the furnishings had been removed. Hermione suggested they try to find a basement. She believed that if anything was left behind, it would be there.

They encountered a problem in that after a thorough search of the first floor, they could find no evidence that the building had a basement; or, at least, there was no way to access it from inside. The vampires stole out of the front doors and cautiously made their way around the building.

On the side of the building, they found an old coal chute which was an encouraging sign. The entrance to the basement was at the back of the old building. Harry charmed the door open and they entered the basement.

The basement was a dank and dismal place. There were a number of the old wardrobes standing around the walls of the basement. A good deal of the middle of the room was taken up by an ancient boiler and its associated piping. The vampires made their way through the room. On one wall, there was a set of rickety steps leading upward to a door. From what he had seen, he thought it might lead up to the kitchen, but there was no sign of the door upstairs. Hermione suggested the doorway might have been walled over, perhaps to keep the children from sneaking down to the basement.

“Why would anyone come down here?” Harry asked.

“For the same reason Hogwarts’ students hide in broom closets.” Hermione shook her head at Harry’s naiveté.

Harry examined what was left of the old coal bin, as Hermione continued to examine the stairs. In the center of the far wall there was a rather ominous iron door. To vampire eyes, it was obvious that it had been touched by magic. The vampires knew that a wizard had been here.

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

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-Two

The realization that magic had been used here caused the basement to become a remarkably sinister place. A sense of evil made the space seem to shrink, as if the walls were closing in on them. As the rain began falling, water began finding its way in. The sound of dripping water began to echo through the still, dank air, as thunder boomed dully in the background.

Harry carefully moved in on the iron door, the top of which was slightly above the level of the floor. It was reached by a descending flight of steps that had been cut into the concrete floor. It seemed obvious that it had been added after the original building was completed. Harry stood at the top of the stairs as Hermione approached. She gently took hold of his arm as they stood, staring at the door. As they looked, they became aware of a gentle scratching noise. The sound was coming from an old wardrobe standing next to the door, against the wall. The scratching became more insistent, gradually becoming louder. With a suddenness that made the vampires jump, the door swung open.

Two misshapen figures fell to the floor and quickly began unfolding themselves. The skeletal figures rose to their feet. The skulls had very little flesh about them and from deep within their dried eye sockets something glittered with an uncanny malevolence. The bodies had an almost mummified appearance; leather-like skin hung in folds leaving gaps that exposed the bones underneath. They began moving, stalking toward Hermione with outstretched hands. The lack of flesh on their hands gave them the appearance of claws.

Harry pushed Hermione behind him and drew his wand against the oncoming Inferi. Hermione reacted first by firing a stunner across Harry’s shoulder. The red flash had no affect on the monster. Harry remembered Dumbledore’s telling him that things that dwelt in the dark feared fire and light. He pointed his wand and cast a non-verbal “Incindio” at the nearest Infirius. Instantly, the thing burst into flame, but it felt no pain and it continued the attack. Hermione pointed her wand at the burning Infirius and commanded, “Reducto”. Her spell shattered the thing’s pelvis and it collapsed onto the floor. Though it could no longer walk, it tried to crawl towards them.

The second Infirius moved away from the fire, but it still came on. Harry thought, “Lumos.” Light blazed from the tip of his wand. The light stopped the second Inferius as it sought to cover its eyes. Hermione smashed the thing with three quick blasting spells that destroyed its mobility, yet it did not die. She stared as it twitched feebly on the floor. Meanwhile, the first Infirius was still trying to crawl toward them. The fire continued to consume it; after about two minutes it stopped crawling, and after a further few minutes burned, completely away leaving only a fine, white powder. Harry burned the second Infirius as well.

They looked at one another and at the numerous wardrobes placed against the walls. How many more Infiri were concealed here? What had triggered these two to attack? Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

Once more, they moved to the edge of the steps. Harry went down first, his talons extended and his wand at the ready. He remembered the cave; grimly he cut the palm of his hand and applied blood to the door. With a loud click and the groaning of rusted hinges, the door swung slowly inward. Hermione followed Harry down the steps. When she reached the bottom, she took his injured hand and closed the wound.

Hand in hand, they entered the dark space behind the iron door. The room beyond was large, and square. There were several benches and an ancient radio sitting beside the door. A few bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling. Turning to the right, the vampires began to explore the room. At the back was a store room, now empty and festooned with spiders’ webs. Continuing around the room they found nothing of interest. It was a bare and dismal place. Harry wondered if he could have been wrong about the cup being here.

“What was this place?” he asked Hermione.

“It looks like a bomb shelter, the building is old enough. If the city was under attack the children could have been brought here.” She gestured to a faded poster that bore a circle with yellow and black triangles.

“It doesn’t make sense for Tom to hide the Horcrux so well that it couldn’t be found. For it to work it would have to try to possess someone so he could take their life energy. When he took enough he could have a body once more. At least, that’s how the diary worked.”

Once again they searched the storage room. This time Harry noticed a gray metal door set into the wall. Its hinges protested as Harry pulled the door open. Several large cockroaches spilled out of the open door. Within the cabinet there were several pipes and valves. Harry knew enough about Muggle plumbing to guess that these pipes controlled the water and gas going into the orphanage above. As he examined the enclosure, he noticed that some of the bricks at the back had no mortar between them. Carefully, he began to remove one of the bricks. As the brick came free, he felt a tingle pass through his undead flesh and the space began to glow. He jerked his hand back as a ghostly flame swept through the enclosure. A few cockroaches that had not fled were burned to ashes. Immediately, Harry remembered Dumbledore’s blackened hand, and he wondered if he had found the cause. It seemed his vampire reflexes had saved him.

Harry looked into the space behind the brick and saw a gleam of gold. As he did so, another insect crawled into the space. Once again the flames flashed, destroying the intruder. Hermione gently pushed Harry aside and plunged her hand swiftly into the space, “You will need your hands, Harry. I won’t after Tom is dead,” she thought. Hermione, because her hands were smaller, was able to hook the cup on her talon and draw it from its hiding place. The flame swept over her hand, causing her to cry out in pain, but the magical fire caused no damage. They both looked at her uninjured hand in wonder. The fire evidently fed on the life force in the flesh. Their undead bodies had no energy to feed the flames.

They were interrupted by a soft hissing sound. Harry thought of snakes, but he realized that the sound made no sense. What ever it was, no animal was making the noise. He looked into the cabinet and noticed that something was stirring the dust. Hermione thought, “Gas!” The magical fire had melted a spot in an incoming gas line and the flammable gas was escaping around the valve. As they turned to run, they saw that the iron door was swinging shut.

The vampires tried the unlocking spell to no avail. Instinctively Hermione tried to Apparate, but she could not disappear, it was now obvious that an anti-apparation jinx was in effect in the cellar. The cleverness of the trap became apparent. An injured wizard would try to blast the door open. If he caused a spark, he would be killed in the explosion. If he waited too long, the gas would suffocate him, and if he did find a way out, the Infiri would tear him to pieces. As if on cue, the sound of scratching began on the iron door. Hermione’s taking of the Horcrux had activated the Infiri.

It was obvious that Tom had never considered vampires to be a threat, but his trap might be successful anyway. His magical fire was ineffective against the undead, and he and Hermione did not need to be in a hurry as they no longer needed to breathe. Unfortunately, their undead flesh would not be protected by a Flame Freezing Charm so that a spark could incinerate them all.

Harry’s mind was in overdrive as he tried to consider his options. The bomb shelter had no direct ventilation to the outside; the only way was to open the door. Suddenly, the door began to swing slowly open. The door was responding to the Infiri, allowing them entrance. “Hermione, change form and get up on the ceiling,” Harry commanded. He could only hope to gain time; his best weapon against the Infiri, fire, was denied him.

Hermione did as Harry ordered using the thumbs on her wings and claws to gain a purchase near one of the light bulb wires. Harry took the cup in his teeth and transformed into a bat as well. He flitted about the ceiling near the store room, hoping to draw the Infiri to himself. He was glad to see that most of the Infiri began to move in his direction, but to his consternation they moved far more swiftly than before and the extra weight of the cup was making flight awkward.

“Go!” he thought to Hermione. She dropped and flew toward the door, dodging two Infiri that tried to grab her. To Harry’s surprise, they followed her toward the door, but he quickly lost track of what was happening to her as a score of Infiri closed in on him. He was able to keep close to the ceiling, which was only about eight feet from the floor, but they were leaping to try to catch him. Fortunately, even with the cup, he was able to dodge them. They took no notice of their injuries as they smashed themselves against the walls and ceiling. Often they would grapple each other, tearing and breaking themselves in their frenzy to get the Horcrux. Harry was grateful for the small size of his animagus form; the Infiri were clumsy against small, fast targets. Even vampires would have been overwhelmed if they had to stay in their human forms. Using a similar strategy to the one he used against the Horntail, he drew them into the corner and then flew around the room to the door. In one desperate burst of speed, he skimmed the ceiling, dropped over the head of an Inferius, and flashed through the door.

He climbed vertically upward as soon as he cleared the door. Once in the main basement he had a little more headroom in which to maneuver. He was horrified to see that there were several dozen more Infiri here. Most of them were following Hermione as she flitted around the pipes. Fortunately for her, the structure of the boiler was preventing the Infiri from getting too close. Harry’s plan of just heading out of the door evaporated. He would not be responsible for setting all of these monsters loose on the surrounding neighborhood.

To that end, he flew to a corner and dropped into his human shape. Drawing his wand he silently commanded “Colloportus!” shutting the door to the outside. As the Infiri began to track him once more, he began to search for another way out. The stairs provided no answer as the Infiri would just escape that way. Trying to buy time, he used the “Reducto” spell to immobilize the nearer Infiri.

Then he saw it! He fired another “Reducto” at the coal chute, dropping the heavy, wooden door to the floor of the coal bin.

“Hermione,” he cried, “out the coal chute.” She broke away from the protection of the pipes and arrowed out of the now open chute. He grinned in triumph as he saw her escape. Just then, he felt an Infirius grab his wrist. Savagely, he slashed at the thing with his talons. It had no effect, just like the “Sectumsempra” spell he had tried in the cave. Changing his tactics, he frantically smashed in the top of the monster’s skull with his fist, and then he broke the arm off at the thing’s elbow. Finally, he placed his booted foot against the Infirius’ chest and kicked it into the others. In spite of the damage he had inflicted upon it, the Infirius was not dead. Sidestepping the nearest monsters, he ran down the wall, leaped into the air, and transformed into a bat once again.

Harry dodged the oncoming knots of Infiri and flew up and out of the chute. Hermione was waiting for him outside. As he flew out, he dropped the cup into her hand, and he took his human form again.

Hermione summoned their belongings, “Where to?” she asked.

“You Apperate to Birmingham, I’ll join you in a few minutes. I’m going to burn this place down. We can’t let the Infiri loose.”

Hermione nodded her agreement. Now that they were outside, they could Apparate.

After Hermione left, Harry waited a few more minutes. He pointed his wand down the coal chute and incanted, “Incindio!” As he spoke, he began to turn, vanishing with a loud crack just as a jet of flame shot out of the chute.

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The next morning it was all over the Muggle news. An old, abandoned orphanage had burned during the night. It was thought that lightning had set off a gas leak in the old building, but Voldemort wondered otherwise. He eagerly waited for a report from his spies in the Ministry that some wizards had been killed. He wouldn’t admit that he was frightened. There was little to tie him to the place, but there might be a few who knew that he had grown up there.

He had discovered through Snape that Dumbledore had been nosing around, looking for people that remembered him when he was younger. Now, he wasn’t so sure that his Horcruxes were safe. He resolved to check on them when he got his report from the Ministry. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he had lost Fenrir in Albania, followed so closely by Bellatrix in Godric’s Hollow. He had had that place under routine surveillance, hoping to catch Harry Potter there. Now, it appeared that he should have sent more of his Death Eaters. Bellatrix had disobeyed him once again, and it seemed she had paid a heavy price. He had instructed everyone to get help before trying to take Harry, but she wanted all the credit for herself.

He rubbed his long-fingered hands on his temples as he pondered what Harry had done to Bellatrix. He could not understand how Harry could have become so powerful in such a short time; Snape had been convinced of the boy’s mediocrity. Now Snape was dead. He knew that some in the Ministry blamed Harry for his death. No one knew what had happened to Fenrir, but he knew that Arthur Weasley thought Harry had done it. Now Bella was back in Azkaban and she blamed Harry. The prime question now had become “What was Harry doing at Godric’s Hollow?”

There was a knock on his door. One of his servants brought him a sheet of paper. Voldemort scanned the paper; it was the report from the Ministry. There were no known deaths among the Ministry personnel or anyone else in the wizarding world, for that matter. The orphanage had been completely destroyed, with the rubble collapsing into the basement. At first thought, he believed that his secret was safe. He would have to rescue the cup from the basement and find a new hiding place. With a sigh of relief he sank back into his chair to take a nap.

As he sank into sleep he came to a sudden realization, jerking awake he grabbed the report again. With trembling hands he read it over again. Now he knew, without a doubt, someone else knew about the Horcruxes. He realized that if the cup had not been discovered, the Infiri would have been in the wardrobes and the Muggles would be screaming about bodies being found in an orphanage, or else there would have been some Ministry activity to cover up that fact. Since they weren’t found, it could only mean that they had been active and that meant if no one had died, that someone must have the cup.

Grabbing his wand he Apparated away.

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The following evening, the two vampires looked at the golden treasures that they had captured. Because of the magic within them they appeared to glow softly in the darkness. It seemed a pity that two objects with so much history had to be destroyed just to insure that one madman would finally die as well.

“So how do we destroy them?” Harry asked as he leaned across Hermione’s shoulder.

“I did some research on gold, Harry. About the only ways to destroy the objects are to melt them or dissolve them in some kind of acid. If we’re going to melt them, we need a temperature of one thousand sixty three degrees Celsius or hotter, and none of the fires I can conjure are that hot. The only acid that will dissolve gold is aqua regia. There are a couple of solutions of Cyanide that will dissolve gold, Sodium Cyanide or Potassium Cyanide, but they’re poisonous and the Muggles control those pretty tightly.”

Harry’s brows knotted together as he struggled to remember, “Snape told us about aqua regia, the alchemists called it that just because it can dissolve gold, can we make it?”

“We could, it is made from three parts Hydrochloric Acid and one part Nitric Acid.”

Harry began wondering where he could locate the chemicals and the jars that would hold the Horcruxes while they dissolved them. He also wondered what would happen when the parts of Tom’s soul were released. He had no desire to be splashed by powerful acids.

“Why don’t we scout out the chemistry labs at the university?” Hermione suggested. “If not there we could go back to Fred and George. We’ll have to talk to them sooner or later, won’t we?”

Harry nodded as he gathered his cloak and wand. Together they walked out into the night, heading for the university campus. As they made their way through the streets of Birmingham each was also searching for someone to feed from. As they passed through one of the more run down sections of the city, Harry became aware of a familiar sense of fear. Hermione slowed her pace; Harry knew she felt it too.

He stretched out with his vampire senses and turned to the left moving along a trash strewn alley. A quick turn led him to a court yard. There, standing in a silent row were four dementors. They were feeding from the residents of a dingy apartment building.

Harry pointed his wand and began to cut the dementors down, one after another. They died silently, slowly sinking to the ground. They vampires watched as the monsters evaporated. Then Harry did a quick turn around the courtyard, looking for more dementors. There were none.

Side by side they moved toward the passage to the street, when, suddenly a fifth dementor loomed out of the darkness of the passage. Hermione started and leaped backwards as Harry extended his talons. The dementor halted and regarded them silently; Harry could see the energy patterns where its eyes should have been. Slowly, Harry drew his wand again.

“Are you going to destroy me also, silent one?” The voice crackled in the air like a burst of static.

Stunned, Harry replied, “You can talk?”

The dementor bowed its head, “Yes. I am familiar with your mode of communication, but not many others of my kind are. You can perceive me, you also resonate, but you do not sustain. Are there many like you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“The other silent ones, they neither sustain us nor do they perceive us. They do not resonate. Do you understand now?”

“No.”

“You resonate; you are able to influence the flows of power. You created harmonics that destroyed my people.”

“He means magic, Harry. I think he wants to know if there are other vampire-wizards, like us,” interjected Hermione.

“I’m not going to tell you, dementor. Your “people” destroy innocent humans, sucking out their souls, and leave them worse than dead. To be in your presence brings only misery and pain. I hate you, all of you.” Harry fought his rising anger, he did not want his vampire insinuating itself into the situation.

“What is a soul?” the dementor asked. The voice had no inflection, betrayed no emotion. It was almost as if it were produced by an instrument or a machine.

Harry stared in surprise. “You feed on them, suck them out of us. How can you not know what a soul is?”

“A soul is being. I understand your term. We need your being in order to continue our people. It sustains through the time of new growth. We hold it until it changes Frequency and departs. I do not understand your anger; many of your beings change Frequency each rotation of your world.”

“Are you talking of death?” Harry’s mind was reeling as he tried to come to terms with the idea that the dementors were rational, had agendas, and perspectives that were not human, up until now he had considered them mute animals. He would have bet money on the next question.

“What is death?”

“It is a time of ending. Humans die and they don’t interact with us anymore. They don’t walk or talk. Their lives are over and we can never be with them anymore.”

“Your perception is flawed, silent one. There is no ending; there is always continuation, but at a different Frequency. There may be separation for a time, for not all change to the same Frequency. Nevertheless, the change comes to all beings. I sense that this causes your energy state to change. Why?”

Harry was grieving for his lost friends as the dementor spoke. “We love each other. It causes us pain when someone we love dies and we can’t be with them.”

“What is love?”

Harry and Hermione looked at one another, how could one explain something as personal as love to a being that seemed incapable of perceiving it? A whirlwind of thoughts and memories flashed through his mind.

He turned back to the dementor, but before he could speak it said, “I perceive your thought. The two of you love each other and many beings around you. Loss of connection changes your energy state. I do not understand why you cling to those who have changed Frequency and ignore the many beings with which you might have connection? Neither do we harm the instrument with which the being interacts with the world. Is that not enough.”

Hermione was becoming increasingly intrigued by Harry’s dialogue with the dementor. She interjected, “Connection is not always easy in humans.” She thought of her relationships with Ron, Harry, and Krum, and projected the stream of her consciousness at the dementor. She also tried to communicate how the empty bodies affected those that loved them.

“Your thought is unusually clear, yet you do not sustain, your energy state is shielded.” The dementor regarded them intently. “You are not your own being; I perceive your symbiont. It is slowly conforming itself to your being. In time you will be one.”

“Does this mean you can’t remove our souls?” asked Hermione.

“No, I cannot, silent one. I have never seen this before. Your symbiont holds you as I would hold another being, yet you do not change Frequency. This is most curious.”

“Dementor, can you take a being from any instrument?” asked Harry. He had had a sudden inspiration.

“Until now, I would have said yes, but your beings are imprisoned by creatures that I cannot affect.”

“Dementor, if you will attempt to aid me, I will spare your existence,” demanded Harry.

“What do you wish of me? I am in your power.”

“I wish you to kiss two objects. There are parts of a being within them. I will tell you that they are part of Lord Voldemort’s being. Do you have an objection?”

“No, silent one. Voldemort is our sworn enemy. He wished us harm, even though we still wished to serve him. I will do as you ask.”

The three of them made a strange procession through the streets of Birmingham. Fear of the dementor cleared the area around them and they saw no one as they journeyed to their lair.

Once there, Harry brought out the cup. The dementor slowly dropped its hood. “There is a being within the object.” It brought its shapeless maw close to the cup. The air grew noticeably cooler as the dementor focused its power on the cup. For long moments, the cup glowed more brightly. Then a mist began to form around the cup. As it drew away from the gold, the mist took on the shape of a human being. The soul fragment began to twist and struggle, as if it were aware of its fate. Slowly, inexorably, it was drawn into that terrible black hole. The last thing he saw was the small figure cover its ghostly face with its hands as it was swept away. Hermione had looked away as the mist took form, she couldn’t bear to watch as the soul fragment was consumed.

Harry just felt cold as he watched the completion of part of the task Dumbledore had set him. There was no joy in the destruction of his enemy; despite the fact Harry tried to remember the many crimes of which Voldemort was guilty.

Next, Harry brought out the ring.

The dementor looked up at him.

For Harry, the bottom dropped out of the world as the dementor said, “There is no being here, silent one.”

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

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-Three

Harry could not believe what the dementor had just told him. “But it must be; Tom prepared it to be the Horcrux.” He looked desperately at Hermione. “What could have happened?”

Hermione began pacing like she had done before the bottles seven years before. Harry knew her mind was working on the problem.

In order to help, he began talking out loud to himself, trying to come up with an alternate plan. What other victories might he mark with a Horcrux? His first thought was Tom’s triumph over his father? That would mean that the Horcrux would be in Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton. The drawback to that idea was that it would put two Horcruxes too close together, one on each side of the valley. Now that he considered it, why was he so sure that Tom could keep a Horcrux at Godric’s Hollow? It seemed that it would be difficult to establish sufficient security to keep it safe. He was wondering what the next step should be. Tom would hear about the fire at the orphanage. What would he do then?

“Hermione, I just know he went to Godric’s Hollow to make the Horcrux. He entered the cottage and dueled with my father. He came into the room to kill me and my mother sacrificed herself. When she died, she gave me the protection of her blood. He then cast the killing curse at me and it rebounded…”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “When the curse rebounded, it tore his soul from his body. His soul split as it was supposed to; but the problem is that without his body and wand, he couldn’t direct where his soul fragment went. It must have attached itself to the most powerful magical object it could find. It should have found its way into some other object in the house.”

“We didn’t find anything; we searched, remember? Might have it attached itself to a wand?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so. Wands aren’t magical in themselves. The core focuses the magic, which comes from the soul. It’s like an antenna capturing and directing what the dementor calls the ‘flows of power’.”

“Wait - the snitch! It’s magical.” He began digging in his back pack, scattering the contents as he dug for the small box.

With a grin of triumph he held the snitch out to the dementor. Again the cold, electric voice of the dementor told him, “There is no being within this instrumentality, silent one.”

Harry collapsed in defeat. “Do you have any ideas, Hermione?” He was wracking his brain in an attempt to come up with anything else he knew of that might have belonged to his parents. Suddenly it clicked; he looked at Hermione with astonishment. How could he not have realized it before? “Hermione, the only thing it can be is…”

“Your dad’s Invisibility Cloak,” Hermione gasped.

Harry’s mind was whirling as she dug through her backpack for the cloak. He remembered the dreams; they started after the Christmas he received the cloak. The visions occurred most often when he was in bed; the cloak was hidden in his trunk stored underneath it.

In later years, as he used it, he guessed that he was being affected by it. Tom could influence his mind from a bit farther away, like he had when he convinced him that Sirius was being held in the Ministry of Magic. Last year, even Ron and Hermione had used it enough to be influenced by it.

Ron had always hated being poor, but he had never stooped to stealing. Yet, last year he had kept the Fanged Frisbee that Hermione had confiscated. He had been inflamed by lust, using Lavender, treating her as an object, just because Ginny had taunted him about his lack of romantic experience.

Hermione had likewise been affected. She had never begrudged anyone’s success, yet she had been put out by his success at potions. She had never been jealous before, but Ron’s fling with Lavender had really upset her. Before, she would at least listen, last year she ignored his theories when they did not suit her expectations.

He had started showing signs the previous year to that. True he had been grieving Cedric, but his anger had been out of control. His own attraction toward Cho had turned into lust for Ginny last year. He had not really considered it at the time, but his letting everyone believe that his work in potions was due to his own genius, was really cheating. No wonder Hermione had been upset.

Harry realized that Dumbledore had been right. The scar was the connection, but neither of them realized that the power came from a bit of Voldemort’s soul residing only a few feet away, hidden in his father’ old cloak.

Hermione drew the silvery cloak from her backpack and presented it to the dementor.

“There is a being within this instrumentality, silent one.”

This time the process took longer, the figure was larger, but its struggle was equally futile against the dementor’s power. Harry could see the look of terror on Tom’s now snake-like face before the fragment was swallowed up.

Harry was trembling when the dementor raised its hood once more. He nodded at the monster and commanded, “You may go.” The creature disappeared into the night.

Hermione stood beside Harry looking into the darkness, “I wonder what will happen to the soul fragments. If a soul is not together, I wonder what happens when it changes? Do you think that it might not be strong enough to go to a different Frequency and be trapped in between?” To that Harry had no answer.

“What now, Harry?”

“We need to move to London. Tomorrow we’ll go talk to Fred and George. I need to explain that we meant no threat and we can give the cup and ring to them; these objects need to be returned to the wizarding world. Perhaps they can hide them at Hogwarts until Tom is destroyed.

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Remus Lupin looked over the campfire at the other ragged souls huddling around. The werewolves of England gathered in loose communities in rural areas. They were required by the laws of the Werewolf Code of Conduct to get as far as possible from humans during the time of the full moon. So they tended to drift, much like gypsies. Looked down upon by wizards as being diseased and despised by Muggles who regarded them as thieves and beggars, life was never easy.

Now, there were promises of better times ahead. The Death Eaters had been among them, promising that they could have a greater say in the world in which they lived. Voldemort was promising that he would support them, gather them together in communities where they would rule the surrounding areas. All they had to do was swear allegiance to him and fight for him against the wizards that had always run their lives.

Lupin and the other werewolves that had come from wizarding stock tried to warn the others that Voldemort was a liar. They described the way he had deceived so many others, how those that served him were often sacrificed to aims that were not their own. He had been moderately successful in defusing the discontent that Voldemort had been creating through his agent, Fenrir Greyback.

But shockwaves had reverberated through the werewolves when the death of Greyback had become known to them. Even though many had disliked him, or feared him because of his innate viciousness, he was still one of them. No one knew how or why he had been killed. The Death Eaters were quick to lay the blame on the Ministry of Magic. Who knew what the motives of the wizards were? Did they have some new spell that they would be using on those who did not toady to their demands? They had all suffered at the hands of wizards or witches like Dolores Umbridge. What new humiliation was being planned against them?

Lupin feared the werewolves of Muggle stock were listening to the Death Eaters as never before. It would not be long before their leaders finally gave in to their own despair and Voldemort’s lies.

He wandered away from the camp, he would not be missed. A short time later he Apparated to the Burrow. He was disappointed to find that Tonks was not visiting this evening. Molly drew him in and forced him to eat. He sat there chatting about the world in general while they waited for Arthur to come home.

With the arrival of the Weasley patriarch things got a bit more serious. Molly acted as secretary while Lupin gave his report. The Order needed to know what was going on with the werewolves and were grateful to Lupin for his undercover role among them. Noticing that Arthur made no mention of Greyback or Harry, Lupin asked no questions either. At last, Lupin prepared to depart the comfort of the Burrow. He was preparing to leave when Molly pressed a sack full of food upon him. With tears in his eyes, he gave her a huge hug and made his way into the darkness.

Arthur left Molly to clean up and he followed Lupin out of the door.

“Thanks for not mentioning Greyback. Molly doesn’t know the details about his death.” He told Lupin about finding Fenrir’s head in their garden and how he had modified her memory. “She knows only that he is dead. The charm keeps any details from staying in her memory.”

“Any ideas about what happened to him? I might be able to diffuse some of the anger among the werewolves.”

Arthur bit his lip, taking a deep breath he said, “Harry happened to Greyback. I found his head in my garden. It was stuck on a pole, just like in the old days. The claw marks were unmistakable. It was a vampire. No one but Harry or Hermione could have done that.”

“I don’t know what has made him so inhuman so fast,” Arthur continued. “Kingsley thought it would take years. Those six here, then Snape, Fenrir, and finally Bellatrix,” Arthur was counting on his fingers as he ticked them off, “with all the evidence pointing directly at Harry. At least Bellatrix is still alive.” He shook his head, “I just don’t know what to think anymore. Maybe Kingsley is right; we should destroy him.”

Lupin looked at his friend. “War is making Harry like this. We don’t know the circumstances surrounding the attacks, but each time Harry is provoked, that vampire within him digs itself deeper. It has to be changing him, and when he becomes a danger to their secrecy, I’d bet even the vampires will be forced to move against him. Meanwhile, I can’t use this; the werewolves will just come to see that much more danger in the world and possibly join Voldemort that much faster.”

“Do the werewolves know about vampires?” asked Arthur.

“The Muggles among us don’t. We’d like to keep it that way. The Ministry would have its hands full. The werewolves would be moving into the cities to find the vampires during the day. We can’t risk a conflict like that coming to the notice of the Muggles. Who knows what the vampires could be capable of, or what they might do to protect themselves?”

“Have you heard about the latest hysteria at the Ministry? Since we couldn’t find any vampires when they decided to crackdown against Harry, many have decided that the vampires have someone in the Ministry spying for them. No one knows who to trust anymore. If You-know-who moves against us now, he might just be able to take over.”

“How many know about Harry?”

“We are being told that there is a rogue vampire making trouble, some have heard of Vlad Dracula and think that this is something like what happened then. Only a very few know that the ‘rogue’ vampire is Harry. On the plus side, many are pointing out that this vampire is moving against the Death Eaters, no one else has been killed. Then, there is what many are calling the ‘Christmas Miracle’. Frank and Alice Longbottom are recovering, and Harry’s is being named as the cause of that.”

“It is like Dumbledore said; maybe there is too much love in Harry’s heart to pose a danger to anyone but Voldemort.” He related what McGonagall told Tonks and him about Harry.

As Lupin apparated away, Arthur returned to the Burrow with a renewed sense of hope. He was sure Harry could have killed Bellatrix if he had wanted to, but he did not. Maybe there was some hope for him after all.

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Carstairs appeared on the roof of an ancient office building. The sun hung just over the horizon as he squinted at the old factory across the street. He was pretty sure this was where Stephen had encountered Harry. He knew that checking the factory was the surest way to find if the vampires were hiding there, but since they could Apparate, he felt it would be safer just to wait for a little while each day for them to emerge. No reason to face whatever traps the vampires had engineered to protect their lair.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, he shouldered his heavy crossbow and aimed at the loading dock. He knew to expect two of them and he had a second crossbow down on the second floor.

Within the factory, the vampires were preparing to leave for the evening. Harry hoped that Fred and George would speak to them, in spite of what he had done at the Burrow. It felt good to pack away their combat gear for an evening and just look like normal humans for a change. Hermione was wearing a sweater and jeans, while Harry pulled on his light jacket.

She was heading out while Harry packed up the Hufflepuff’s cup and Ravenclaw’s ring. He ran swiftly up the steps and walked out on the loading platform. Hermione was waiting for him so that they could Apparate to Diagon Alley. She turned to look at him as Harry scanned the street before him.

A sudden movement attracted his attention to the building on the far side of the street. He recognized the shape of a head and shoulder above the parapet. Guessing what was coming next he threw himself at Hermione crying out, “Hermione! Get down!”

Carstairs sighted his weapon and pulled the firing lever, the heavy cross bow jumped as the lignum vitae bolt fired from the weapon. Without looking to see if he had hit his target, he apparated to the second floor.

Frantically, Harry leaped. He snatched at the bolt as he shoved Hermione off the platform, to the safety of the railroad tracks below. He was successful in knocking her aside, but he missed the speeding arrow.

The bolt pierced his wrist, the force of the bolt was re-directed slightly and the sharp point buried itself in Harry’s shoulder just below his collar bone. Instantly, he lost consciousness and crashed onto the hard concrete, driving the bolt even deeper into his chest.

Hermione grabbed her wand as she landed on the track below the loading platform. Her vampire was alert to the presence of danger. She heard the soft crack of a wizard apparating. Her preternatural hearing pinpointed the window where she saw the curtain twitch.

Carstairs had dropped the first crossbow and grabbed for the second. This was the most critical part of his plan. He didn’t know if he would get Harry or Hermione, but he fully expected the other vampire to apparate to safety. A swift glance showed that one of the vampires was down. He hoped that the other vampire would expose itself giving him a second shot before the shock of being under attack wore off.

He had not counted on the swiftness of vampire reflexes combined with powerful magic. Suddenly, the wall before him exploded. He was slammed backwards into a wall and his last awareness consisted of the realization that the building was collapsing on top of him.

Hermione leaped onto the platform. She knew she could not stay here long. One corner of the building across the street had collapsed under the power of her blasting spell. She did not know if the vampire hunter had survived, and she really did not care.

“Harry?” she thought as she rolled him over, “are you all right?”

He was unconscious and unresponsive to her touch. His right arm had been twisted and pinned to the left side of his chest. The quarrel had gone deep, but Hermione was pretty sure it had missed his heart.

Fighting a growing sense of panic, she knew she needed help, but she had no idea of where to turn. The vampires had labeled them outcast, so there was no help there. She thought about the Weasleys. She might go there, except she could not be sure of her reception since Harry had pulled that stunt with Fenrir’s head. Fred and George had said that they would help, but Harry had not had time to explain, and there was no where for them to hide in Diagon Ally. It seemed that there was only one place that they could go, Hogwarts. She hoped that if she didn’t enter the school itself McGonagall or Hagrid might be able to help Harry.

Her vampire strength meant that she would have no difficulty carrying Harry. She gathered him up, cradling his wounded arm against her breast and holding his head between her cheek and shoulder.

In moments, she was standing outside the Shrieking Shack. She hoped that Lupin might accidentally be there, but a quick scan of the area revealed no one nearby. It was rather difficult to navigate the narrow passage to the Whomping Willow, but in the end she made it. Taking only a moment to immobilize the hateful tree, she plunged on to Hagrid’s hut, hoping that the half-giant would be home.

Even as she crossed the lawn to Hagrid’s, she could feel the alarm emanating from the school. Fang was reacting as well. He began barking, and Hagrid, unsure of what was going on was opening his door with his crossbow in hand. Undaunted, she hurried on and climbed the steps to Hagrid’s small porch.

Hagrid reacted to the figure that had appeared so swiftly out of the darkness by leaping back into his house. As Hermione had approached, Fang had stopped barking and had begun backing away, his tail tucked between his legs. When she set foot upon the steps, he howled and fled for the cover of the forest.

Hermione had never seen Hagrid look afraid, but as he stood there it seemed his hair and beard was standing on end. There was a wild look in his eyes, as if he could not comprehend what he was seeing.

“Hagrid,” she said in a small, plaintive voice, “it’s me, Hermione. Please help me.”

To Hagrid the voice was dry and hollow, but it did sound rather like the Hermione he remembered. But he thought she was dead. He had read the reports, heard the students talking, and had seen Ron’s grief.

As ever, he was moved to pity by a voice asking for help, and he knelt in the door. It was a shock to recognize the bushy hair and familiar face. There was something wrong with that face, and then he realized that there were dark streaks coming from her eyes.

He reached out gently and touched one cold cheek. Examining the tip of his finger in the firelight he recognized that it was blood. “My Gawd, Hermione, yer a vampire,” he groaned. He scrambled to his feet and beckoned her to enter. “What’s tha matter?” If he thought that there could be no worse surprises that night; he was wrong.

Hermione entered the room and laid her burden on Hagrid’s bed. “It’s Harry, Hagrid, he’s been wounded, and I can’t get him to wake up.”

With trembling fingers, Hagrid felt for Harry’s pulse; there was none. “Hermione, he’s—”

“A vampire, too. He’s the one who turned me.”

Hagrid was reeling from the shock. He had encountered vampires before, he knew how heartless and cruel they could be, but now Harry and Hermione were undead too. He had heard the rumors about Harry in connection with some of the events since Christmas, now some of it made sense.

He was examining the wound in Harry’s shoulder when the door to his cabin flew open. Headmistress McGonagall entered with her eyes blazing and her wand drawn. “What is going on here?” she demanded.

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

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.

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

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-Five

Harry sat brooding as he waited for Hermione to return. McGonagall refused, with Hermione’s approval, to let him hunt until his arm was better. They were probably right. He remembered Hermione’s attack on Alecto, he had had to stop Hermione or she would have drained the Death Eater dry. Still, it chafed to sit here reading while everyone was doing something else.

He cast the book aside and stretched out with his vampire senses. Many of the student’s thoughts were open to him. With effort and concentration he was able to pick out individual thoughts from the background of noise. The Slytherins were all nervous; it was apparent that there was something going on. The students knew no details, it was just that their parents were on edge and they had picked up on it. Many of the Ravenclaws were preparing for the end of year tests. The hubbub of review questions, the recitation of potion ingredients, and the cross-referencing of dates reminded him of studying with Hermione; all except for one, and she was dreaming of her red-haired king. The thoughts emanating from Hufflepuff were varied as the textures of the earth itself; warm, comforting, and rich. Harry withdrew his thoughts from there, for they reminded him of what it felt like to really be human. The Gryffindors were being themselves; boisterous and free. Yet, underneath the camaraderie there was a deadly purpose to their studies, they applied their knowledge to teaching the others how to defend themselves against the dark powers that gathered at the edges of their world. All of them were remembering one shining ideal – Harry Potter. Harry withdrew his power in embarrassment, but he wondered if other vampires did this? Did they move into an area and live in the lives of the mortals nearby?

Hermione entered the hut; she and Hagrid had gone to Hogsmeade. He could tell that she had fed from the faint flush of her cheeks. She drew close and Harry hugged her. He gently brushed his lips along the line of her jaw and bent down to throat. He gave her the memories of a warm, summer day down by the lake so that she would not feel the sting of his fangs. He tried to be conscious of the amount of blood he was taking, sure that the vampire within would take all it could to heal his damaged body.

A sudden knock on the door, forced him to draw back. He glanced at the dreamy expression on Hermione’s face before he used his vampire senses to see who was on the other side of the door. It was McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. He swiftly closed the punctures he had made on Hermione’s neck and with a flick of his wand he unlocked the door. McGonagall looked suspiciously at Harry, he was wiping his mouth; and taking note of the way Hermione appeared to be waking from sleep. She frowned her disapproval; she obviously felt that there was something suspicious going on.

The two witches immediately set to work. Madam Pomfrey examined his wounds and McGonagall announced that she had a couple of spells she hoped would help Harry. The nurse said she could see noticeable improvement, but the progress was going slowly.

After Pomfrey finished, Mcgonagall tried the spells she hoped would help heal Harry’s wounds. She tried the spells, and several variations, to no effect. McGonagall was not used to failure and did not conceal her disappointment well. The nurse began splinting Harry’s wrist once again.

Harry offered what encouragement he could, but he did not have long to try. Hermione gave an excited exclamation and pointed at something silvery outside the window. McGonagall opened the door and admitted a patronus in the shape of a silver wolf.

The patronus entered the room and stood still. A voice spoke from the silvery form and it faded away when the voice was finished. Harry recognized Tonk’s voice saying, “Lupin is on his way. He has urgent news for the Order.”

Within fifteen minutes Lupin arrived with Hagrid in tow. He stopped short when he saw the two vampires sitting at Hagrid’s table with McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Relief flooded his face, “I’m glad you survived, Arthur is worried sick that one of you was destroyed in the attack at the factory.”

“Harry has been badly injured,” McGonagall said. “He can’t use his right hand and we can’t heal him.” Seeing how crowded it had become in Hagrid’s hut she ordered, “Follow me to my office. We’ll use my private entrance.”

They made a strange group crossing the lawns to the castle. Four humans followed by a wolf with Hagrid carrying a second wolf. With a wave of her wand she opened a concealed door in the castle wall and a rotating spiral staircase lifted them to her office.

After arranging her guests she called the meeting to order. “You have news, Remus?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that Voldemort maybe moving against the Ministry. He’s summoned the leaders of the werewolf clans to a meeting. The Death Eaters have been apparating with some of them. With the full moon coming up, I’d bet he intends to move against the Ministry next Friday. Something has happened to force his hand.”

Harry spoke up, “I think I can tell you what happened.” Harry told Lupin the story of the Horcruxes, he also added the information about what had happened in Albania. He told everyone that Fenrir had attacked them, and how Peter Pettigrew died. He finished with an apology about his behavior and his belief that Nagini was a Basilisk. Lupin was as stunned as the rest of them had been. The portrait of Dumbledore nodded and smiled at Harry.

“So what are we going to do?” asked Madam Pomfrey. Harry had never seen her at any of the meetings of the Order, but since McGonagall had included her at this strategy session he could only suppose that she was a member.

“Dumbledore told me that you were our best hope against Voldemort, Harry. We need to find a way to heal you as our first order of business,” said McGonagall.

A small voice spoke from a corner of the room, “Headmistress, Dobby will help Harry Potter.” The little elf would not raise his eyes and was obviously very nervous. He was wringing his hands together, and Harry half expected to have him start punishing himself for daring to speak to the Order.

All of them looked at the house-elf in surprise. “How did you know—,”

“House-elves knows things, Headmistress; we goes all over to clean and care for the students. We hears things and sees things, and hears things from outside. We know that the noble Harry Potter is still fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, mistress. Harry Potter is injured. Dobby can help. It is important to save us all.”

“When can you do this and what do you need for us to do?” McGonagall asked in surprise.

“Dobby can help right now, mistress. You must hold him, the monster in Harry Potter will not understand, the monster will try to fight.”

“Will you consent to this, Harry?” asked McGonagall. Harry nodded nervously. Hermione took his hand in a gesture of reassurance. The Headmistress gestured with her wand producing a floating stretcher and a raised platform for the little elf to stand on.

Harry’s gaze was locked on Hermione’s face as he lay down on the stretcher, she could read the anxious look in his eyes. Lupin conjured ropes to bind Harry’s waist and legs to the stretcher. Madam Pomfrey cast a silencing charm on the door. Hermione held Harry’s hand, while Hagrid positioned himself at the head of the stretcher.

Dobby was trembling as he approached the platform; he kept his eyes downcast and stumbled once before he reached the steps. The sound of chanting suddenly filled the air. The voices were high-pitched and somewhat squeaky, but the effect was soothing rather than unpleasant. The vampire’s eyes glowed red as the music continued; briefly Hermione covered her ears, and then she ran to the window. McGonagall followed, looking down she saw that the house-elves had gathered on the lawn and were singing. Slowly, the red light died in her eyes and she returned to the stretcher. The light was gone from Harry’s eyes as well.

Slowly, Dobby reached out his trembling, long-fingered hands and wrapped them around Harry’s injured wrist. McGonagall marked his expression as one of extreme disgust; it was as though he was dealing with filth unnamable. Hermione took his good arm, while Hagrid placed one hand above Dobby’s and his other huge hand on Harry’s chest. The elf’s face hardened as he began to concentrate.

Harry’s body went rigid and he screamed in agony. He extended his talons and tried to strike Dobby. Grimly, the determined house-elf held on. It was all Hermione could do to hold his other arm and even Hagrid was hard pressed to hold Harry down. He twisted and tried to bite those holding him, but all he succeeded in doing was to cut his own lips with his fangs. His scream stopped when he ran out of air, but he continued to twist and buck against the restraining hands of his friends. His champing teeth created a bloody froth around his mouth.

It seemed to take forever, but at last Dobby released his wrist. Harry sank back nearly unconscious; he twitched and shuddered, and to everyone’s delight the fingers of his right hand twitched as well. Madam Pomfrey examined his wrist in amazement. There was no sign of the terrible wound, either in his wrist or on his chest.

The house-elf sank to his knees for long moments. Then turning his back on Harry, he stumbled toward the entrance to the Headmistress’ office, and as he did so the chanting stopped. McGonagall left Lupin, Hagrid, and Hermione to tend Harry; she and Pomfrey followed Dobby.

“That was amazing, Dobby. How did you heal him?” asked McGonagall.

The elf looked at her with his enormous green eyes. “Your magic is young, mistress. When you have grown up we will teach you to give where there is not, so that you too can make what is not into what it should be.” The witches were mystified by his statement, his most un-Dobbyish smile, and the wisdom in his eyes. The moment passed; and it was as though a curtain was closed between them; and he was a simple house-elf once more.

“What was the chanting for, Dobby?” asked Madam Pomfrey.

“It was to bind the monster’s mind powers, mistress. If we had not, the monsters would have destroyed us all. May Dobby go, mistress? He is very tired.”

“Of course, Dobby, and thank you very much for your help.”

“To help Harry Potter fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is honor enough, mistress.” With that the house-elf walked wearily down the staircase, and into the waiting arms of several house-elves that met him at the bottom.

They returned to find Hermione kissing Harry on the lips; her excuse was that she was closing the cuts on Harry’s lips. Lupin released the ropes and Hermione helped him to his feet. Harry was still rather groggy, so the vampires went to sit on the steps to the Astronomy platform that formed a part of the Headmistress’ office.

As the Order debated it was obvious that there was no time for involved plans. Voldemort’s minions had slipped up; none of them connected Lupin with Hogwarts, or knew of his membership in the Order of the Phoenix. The best that the Order could do was strike quickly, thus preempting Voldemort’s attack on the Ministry.

With all the death and destruction the war in the wizarding world brought on by the complex plans of its participants, it seemed ironic that all the scheming on both sides would come down to one simple fact. The Order knew where Voldemort was going to be at a certain time, and they could strike to take him out. It was now early Tuesday morning. They had two days to gather what forces they could; the attack would begin at sundown on Thursday.

McGonagall looked at the two vampires whispering together on the stairs. It appeared that Harry was recovering quickly, and neither was suffering any ill effects of the house-elves magic. She also noticed that Lupin was spending a lot of time observing them.

“Why don’t you two go back to Hagrid’s,” she suggested. “We need to make lists of the people we can gather in two days, and figure out whom we can trust in the Ministry. We can plan further tomorrow night.”

The vampires left. Turning to Lupin, McGonagall asked, “Is there a problem with them?”

“No,” he replied sadly. “It’s just that they have changed since the last time I saw them. Haven’t you noticed? They’re breathing, but they don’t need to. They talk to one another instead of using their telepathy.” He paused looking at the faces around the table. “Don’t you understand? They’re trying to be human.”

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As they walked back to Hagrid’s, Hermione had her arm wrapped around Harry’s waist as she supported him. “It looked horrible, Harry. What did it feel like?”

Harry was silent as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I couldn’t tell if it burned like fire, or froze like ice. It just seemed to combine the pain of both. Part of my brain told me I was being shocked by electricity; the pain just seemed to flow along my nerves. The oddest thing, though, was that the power was alive, it seemed to feel sad, as though its heart was breaking. I wonder why.”

He drew Hermione to his side and they walked on to the hut.

There was not much that they could do, so Harry decided to return to his coffin early. His thoughts were coming into focus and he was coming to a realization. The Order was talking about forcing a confrontation with Tom in two days time. In two days, possibly three, Hermione would be gone forever. Memories of his conversation with the dementor came again into his awareness, their separation would not be forever, but would last as long as he walked the night.

He wondered if she really loved him. He had told her that he loved her, but she had never responded in words. He thought about all of their nights together, how she had followed him, done his bidding without argument. It was like their school years, when she was always looking out for his best interests.

She had always been so patient with him, but never gave ground if she felt the situation was dangerous. He remembered their fight back in their fifth year; he was so desperate to walk into Tom’s trap. They had made a compromise and gone on together, and she had almost died.

Her kindness came to him too. She never stinted in spending all the time necessary to help him with his magic and to understand the world around him. Of course, she was like that with everyone; helping Neville to find Trevor and giving him advice in potions class. She aided Ron with his homework too. He remembered how she had explained what was in Cho Chang’s mind.

Thinking of Cho, he wondered if Hermione had been jealous; if so he had never recognized that about her. She might have felt jealous back in fifth year. He based that on her comment back in their lair the night she almost left him. But when he needed her, he never saw it; she was there for him. It was only after she had fallen under the influence of the Cloak-Horcrux that he had ever seen her act out her jealousy, and even that had been relatively short lived.

As he thought on, he realized that she had never bragged or belittled anyone because she was his friend. How many would have used a relationship with him for their gain? Slughorn had tried and Romalda Vain had wanted to. Parvati might have gained something, but he was not really close to her, so he didn’t know.

Hermione had never been demanding, she had just always been there for him. He had never consciously provoked her; indeed he had lied to her to keep her from being disappointed in his behavior. All the sparks had been between her and Ron, so he knew how she behaved when she was angry. Nothing he did really made her angry; well, that was not quite true. When he had cheated last year, she had been pretty upset about it. Yet, she had never turned her back on him, and had always tried to point him in the right direction. He wondered what would have happened if he had admitted the truth to old Slughorn. Hermione always seemed to appreciate truthfulness.

For all these months she had borne the curse of vampirism for him, hoping and longing for the time when he would keep his promise and free her from her blood thirst. He had hoped she would come to want to be with him, but comments she had made along the way made him realize that she had never changed her mind. In Bulgaria, she had refused to answer Krum’s question. Her comment about not needing her hand after Tom was dead came back to haunt him. She had never ceased hoping for the peace of true death.

He realized that he could never doubt that she loved him; she had loved him for as far back as he could remember. It showed in every action, every time she had helped and he had never said “thank you”. Her love positively glowed in her admiration of his achievements and her hopes for his future, even when he became a vampire. Hadn’t she tried so hard to help him become an animagus?

Harry was dimly aware of the blood leaking from his eyes. Hermione loved him, even if she never said so. He could almost curse his blindness. She had been right in front of him all the time and he had been too stupid to notice.

His path had never been plainer. He said that he loved her; he was going to have to prove it by keeping his promise. He would lay her to rest beside her parents; his sacrifice of his desires to her needs would be the highest expression of his love for her. Hadn’t he told her that he would “…do all in my power to protect and comfort you, no matter the cost”?

He wiped his eyes. The time for him to weep for Hermione would come soon enough, but he still had a couple of more nights to be with her.

The morning broke, and Harry slept.

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The next night Harry woke, he immediately realized that the coffin was no longer at Hogwarts. He could hear Muggles fairly close, and there was the noise of trains in the background.

“Harry!” Hermione called, “where are we?”

A feeling of deep relief swept through him as he realized that they were still together.

Before he could expand his vampire awareness to find out if anyone was near he heard Lupin say, “Harry? Hermione? Are you awake yet? The coast is clear.”

Harry opened the coffin and sat up. “Where are we?”

“On your way to Little Hangleton. The coffins will arrive there tomorrow afternoon. When the sun sets you will be in a position to attack Voldemort there. For now, you are in York. I take it you will need to hunt?”

“Very well,” he said when Harry nodded his assent. “I have a hotel room here. You can shower and change. Then, do what you have to do.”

The vampires did as Lupin suggested. They dressed in casual clothes and went out into the city; it did not take long to secure the blood they needed. Hermione found a couple of burglars trying to break into a small store. Harry paid special attention to the look of disgust on her face after she finished with them. Their hunger satisfied, they walked around the city enjoying the historical landmarks, almost like Muggle tourists.

Harry walked with his arm tightly around Hermione’s waist. She wondered what he was thinking, but he had closed his mind to her. “What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked at last.

He shook his head. She drew apart from him and took his hand. “Are you anxious about facing Tom?” He wanted to pour out his heart to her, to ask her to reconsider and stay with him, but he could not. He would not ask her to keep drinking blood, not when she obviously hated it so much.

“Yes,” he answered meekly, taking the opening she had offered him. “Tomorrow night, either he will win, or we will. I don’t see any second chances.” Hermione hugged him tightly, just as she had done so long ago at Number Twelve. Harry tried to capture the feel of her, imprinting it on his memory, so that in months or centuries to come he would have this memory of her.

The horizon was burning red, so they returned to the train station and their coffins.

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The next morning, three people came to travel with the coffins. Two wore the black of mourning, a young man with red hair and a badly scarred face, the other his beautiful, young wife. An older red-haired man was giving them some last minute instructions.

“Basically, keep an eye on the freight car. We can’t risk anyone trying to open the caskets. Just see them to the train station in Little Hangleton, and someone will meet you there.” Looking about to make sure no one was listening he followed with, “Then, you can take up your positions with the rest of the Order. The caskets will be taken to an undertaker, so don’t worry about them after you sign them over.”

If Bill and Fleur had questions, they kept them to themselves. The trio walked to the storage area where the coffins rested. Arthur presented his documents and the porter took the oblong boxes to the loading dock for the train. He noticed Fleur wrinkle her nose as the coffins passed by. She looked at Arthur in surprise.

Arthur sighed; it was a risk the Order had been prepared to take. “Yes, my dear. There are vampires in those coffins. They are sworn to help us against You-Know-Who and we need their help very badly. I won’t tell you not to look in them, but believe me, you will be happier if you don’t.”

Thirty minutes later the train pulled out of the station, with Arthur waving good bye from the platform. The young mourners took their places in the car and tried to pass the time. They took turns checking on the coffins and Bill could tell that curiosity was overcoming his wife.

He was trying to read a Muggle newspaper. He found it curious that Little Hangleton was mentioned. Some strange disease had struck all of the poultry. There were no live chickens or roosters within twenty miles of the place. Nervous farmers were clamoring for the government to do something.

Fleur entered the compartment. No longer did she have to pretend to be grieved. Alarmed, Bill gave her his handkerchief. She ignored it as she pressed her face to his shoulder, and sobbed against him. He wrapped his arms around her until she regained her composure.

“You looked, didn’t you?” He was not angry, but it was not a question. She nodded her head without raising her face.

“It is ‘orrible, Bill. But, I am theenking I am glad to look, to remembair.”

“What’s so horrible?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Bill decided to share in the pain of whatever secret his father had tried to shield them from. After he heard he made a quick trip to see for himself.

They made the rest of the trip clinging to one another. Bill found the identity of his charges a bitter pill to swallow. The words kept echoing through Bill’s head, along with the picture of the two empty chairs at his wedding supper.

Fleur had said, “The vampires, they are ‘arry Pottair and ‘erminy Granj’air.”

.

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

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-Six

Little Hangleton was at the center of a gentle valley that ran roughly northwest to southeast between two large hills. The roads were bordered by hedges that screened the small farm cottages from view. The Riddle House was on the eastern side of the valley, perched on the hillside above the village. Below it, the graveyard and church lay between the manor and the town.

It was late afternoon and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood on the top of western hill. Looking to the southeast, he could see the old house, its surrounding lawns, and the small cottage that had once been the home of Frank Bryce. Behind the old manor from his viewpoint was a large belt of trees. Here and there, the Auror could see the smoke from campfires in the woods. From Lupin’s report that was where the main group of werewolves was hiding from the Muggles in Little Hangleton.

Behind him were the Aurors that he had brought from Ministry. There were some forty that he had known for years and felt that he could trust. No word of this operation had leaked out of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. The Minister of Magic did not know that they were here. He knew that if they won that Scrimgeour would grab all of the credit; if they lost, well, he probably would not be alive to care.

A light flashed from the top of the other hill. He smiled at the Muggle trick; the flash had come from a mirror, catching the light of the setting sun. No one wanted to use magic yet; no one wanted to tip off You-Know-Who before they had to. The flash told him that the Order of the Phoenix was moving into position. He was glad that they were there. McGonagall and crew were among the most powerful wizards and witches in existence, but for all their power and expertise they did not deal with violence the way he and his Aurors did. He hoped that they would not be drawn into the main fight with the Death Eaters.

To his utter amazement, he saw the Knight Bus accelerate out of the village. It rounded a corner and disappeared with a bang. He concentrated on Little Hangleton, trying to see what was going on. He observed a number of small figures moving into the town. He grabbed an Invisibility Cloak and broom and flew off the hill. He made a circle, and entered the town from the side opposite the manor. Once in the town he observed the new comers. He recognized several of Harry’s friends, Ron Weasley in particular.

Keeping out of sight, he noted that they were hiding as well. Each of the Hogwarts students was casting sleeping spells on the buildings. The spells were really simple and probably would not attract the attention of any watching Death Eaters. The students moved methodically, making sure that the Muggle citizens would never know what happened on this night.

Kingsley waited until Ron was right beside his hiding place before he pulled back the hood of his cloak and whispered, “Whose idea was this, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron started at the sound of his voice, but Kingsley quickly found himself looking down the length of Ron’s wand. “Bloody Hell! Don’t do that, I nearly jumped out of my skin.” Ron recognized the Auror and wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand.

He took a moment to regain his composure, “It was Lupin’s idea, and the Order is doing the same thing to the werewolves up behind the manor. We don’t want You-Know-Who to have them fight for him.”

“Then what?”

“We hide in the town and keep any Death Eaters from breaking through.” He noted Kingsley’s frown. “We’re not allowed to go any closer to the manor than the church, that way we can pick them off in the graveyard.”

The black Auror looked dubious.

“We’ve been training all year. Most of us are in our seventh year; we let a few sixth years that were really good come, but they’ve got to stay behind us. We might not be the best at dueling, but we can fight from ambush. We owe it to Harry; he started training us.”

To that Kingsley had no answer. He flew back to the hill, glad he did not have to garrison the town. He would have to remember that Lupin was quite a tactician. He found Littleton, and had him select five Aurors to back up the DA. They were not to enter the town, but were to stand by on the road into town to help the students if it became necessary.

As the sun dropped behind the hill, Ron and his troops were concluding their task. They finished by casting spells on the few who were moving around the town. Suddenly feeling tired, they moved to their homes and all were quickly falling asleep.

Ron ended up near the funeral parlor as he completed bewitching his assigned homes. Luna came up beside him, and together they moved to the front of the building. As they tried to find a place to hide, Ron heard the sound of a door opening at the back of the building. He knew that there was something special about this place. He had seen it marked on a map his father had, and he knew that Bill and Fleur had been here earlier that afternoon.

He moved quickly to the back of the building, before he could reach the corner he heard the door close again. He jumped past the corner with his wand drawn, but to his disappointment all he saw were two creatures flying toward the graveyard. Watching them against the darkening sky, he concluded that they were bats. Satisfied that there was no threat behind him, he and Luna found a covered place from which they could observe the graveyard. It caused him some disquiet to remember that this is where Voldemort was reborn and Cedric Diggory met his death.

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Beneath the rapidly darkening sky, Shacklebolt was about to signal his Aurors to move forward. Their orders were simple; arrest the Death Eaters. They were to be captured and killed only if necessary, but everyone was sure that unless victory was swift, that many would die this night.

Suddenly, two small, winged shapes appeared out of the darkness. “Bats, wonder what they’re doing?” thought Kingsley, he grew suspicious when they altered their flight and arrowed straight toward him. The bats slowed, dropped low, and transformed into two hooded and cloaked figures. The stunned Aurors recovered from their shock and leveled their wands against the new comers.

“Put your wands away, these are friends.” Somehow, he was not totally surprised that Harry and Hermione had become animagi.

It took all of the Aurors’ trust and discipline to do as the tall, black Auror commanded.

“We have scouted the house for you.” Harry’s voice was a quiet and somewhat menacing hiss. Tonks thought it familiar, even though the voice was dry and reedy. “The main body of Death Eaters is on the first floor, there are more in the basement of the house. It sounds like some kind of meeting is going on there. There is a pair of sentries at each corner of the property and a group of eight in the cottage.”

“Look!” gasped one of the Aurors. He pointed to the eastern hill. A wall of mist had formed on the hill top and was rolling down the hillside, even though there was no wind to drive it.

“We have help, my friends,” explained Shacklebolt. “That is intended to make the werewolves sleep, so they can’t interfere with our assault. The people in town have been put to sleep as well.”

He looked at the ominous figures before him. “Thanks for your reconnaissance; it’s time to go.”

The Aurors moved past the cloaked figures. A few minutes later he looked over his shoulder, they had vanished. It took them nearly half an hour to walk to the bottom of the hill and to approach the cemetery. When they arrived at the low wall surrounding it, they met one of the cloaked figures.

“Wait here,” was all it said. Tonks gasped. She knew that voice! It was Hermione Granger. Trembling she stepped forward, but the figure held up a warning hand. “Later, Tonks.” Several of the Aurors looked at her in surprise.

Out of the darkness, several hooded figures were walking forward. All of them appeared dazed. Following them was the second mysterious figure from the hilltop. “Prisoners,” it said. Tonks could have slapped herself; how could she have not recognized Harry’s voice? She wondered what had happened; Kingsley and Carstairs had been after these vampires since July. Now they were allies? Still, she was glad for the Order’s sake. Plus, it relieved her guilt over promising to shield them from the Ministry.

The Aurors looked puzzled; how were they going to guard sixteen prisoners? Reading their thoughts, Harry commanded the prisoners, “Sit down here, and do not move until you are commanded to in the name of the Ministry. You will be yourselves at the rising of the sun.” Obediently, they sat, while the Aurors removed their masks and took their names. Harry was surprised to see Draco Malfoy with the prisoners. He was glad that he had unwittingly kept part of his promise to Snape. He just hoped that Narcissa was not inside.

With the sentries captured, Kingsley moved on his next objective, the gardener’s cottage. The vampires had slipped away while the Aurors were busy with the prisoners. Now, as he moved through the cemetery, he wondered how easy this was going to be. Voldemort’s outer defenses had fallen without alerting the main force in the house. His misgivings were soon realized.

Tonks grabbed his arm, “Infiri, coming from the graves behind us,” she said. Her tone was unusually flat and she had a far away look on her face, as though she were being controlled from a distance. He had no time to ponder this development as the cries of surprise and shock came from the rear of his formation.

Under assault from the Infiri, the wizards had no choice but to begin to defend themselves with spells that conjured fire and light. The Aurors began to gather together to better concentrate their spells against the relentless onslaught of the Infiri.

From his left, out of the darkness, the vampires arrived on his flank. He paused in amazement at the speed and ferocity of their attack. Harry and Hermione almost appeared to dance through the knots of Infiri. Their spell of choice appeared to be a non-verbal “Reducto”. They whirled through them, smashing them with magic and inhuman speed and strength. Seeing what they were doing, he organized his defenses: some of his Aurors would stop the Infiri by immobilizing them, others would turn them away using light, and the last group would incinerate the fallen Infiri with fire.

Harry was furious that his own attempt to penetrate the Riddle House had been interrupted by this diversionary attack, but he could not leave the Aurors to be overwhelmed by the undead minions of the Dark Lord. It did seem that he and Hermione had an unfair advantage; the Infiri ignored them in favor of attacking the living.

Nearly a dozen Aurors were down, and even the vampires were being pressed by the numbers of Infiri, when help arrived from an unexpected source. Hagrid and Grawp came striding out of the trees; Hagrid was bellowing instructions to Grawp. The giant uprooted a small tree and began smashing the Infiri, sweeping them away like an overgrown farmer with a scythe. Hagrid, though not as large as Grawp, was able to keep the Infiri from closing in on his half-brother, by using a tree branch as a heavy club. Finally, a small figure dropped into the melee from a speeding broom. Filius Flitwick gestured with his wand and a rolling wave of fire swept through the oncoming Infiri, unlike the fires the other wizards conjured, Flitwick’s flames consumed them instantly.

With the help from the vampires and giants, the Aurors had been able to stop the Infiri at the edge of the cemetery. None could help but feel a sense of triumph when the last of the undead warriors was destroyed; but they knew that it was a diversion, meant to gain time and cause dismay and disruption among any attempting to storm the house.

The defenders were now alerted and the deadly, green streaks of the “Avada Kedavra” curse began to flash from the house on the hillside.

McGonagall and Moody had followed Flitwick on brooms. They quickly moved to cast Disillusioning Charms on the giants, who were quickly targeted by the defenders of the house. Having done all they could Hagrid pulled Grawp back to the cover of the forest. The threat of their attacks would cause the Death Eaters to think twice before risking a confrontation.

Kingsley, Tonks, and Littleton confronted the teachers, “Please, Headmistress, take your teachers and get back to the cover of the trees. We appreciate that you are powerful in your own right, but you are more important than we are. You have it in your power to shape our future, and if the students in the village are any example, it is a bright one. We desperately need for you to survive this, I’m not saying don’t fight, but please do it from cover.”

Reluctantly, McGonagall obeyed. As she and Flitwick left, Moody and Lupin joined the Aurors. Together they turned to face the house. Kingsley nodded and the Aurors gestured with their wands sending a wave of power smashing into the front of the house.

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Voldemort knew that the house was under attack from the moment the Infiri were activated. It came as a surprise, but he quickly recovered. Most of the werewolf leaders were behind him, and now the few that were undecided were trapped with the others.

The Dark Lord stormed up from the lower level to find his worst fears realized. He was under attack by the forces of the Ministry of Magic. He noted that several of his followers were trying to Apperate with no success; he knew that the Aurors had sealed off that avenue of escape. He was giving commands about defending the house when the manor was shaken by the power directed against it. Several windows blew out, showering the Death Eaters with shards of glass.

Upon receiving his orders, some of his servants began to reinforce the walls with magic, while others tried to heal their brethren. He realized that the broad lawns created a problem for the Aurors. They had no cover from which to approach the house. If his servants could keep them pinned down he could use Nagini in a flank attack on the cemetery walls. Her small size, about twenty-eight feet, would prevent them from seeing her coming, and the power of her gaze would kill anyone looking into her eyes.

He had sixty Death Eaters in the house and the eighteen werewolf leaders. Though the werewolves could not use magic, many could partially transform this close to the full moon. He decided to send nine of them, along with twenty Death Eaters, as a diversionary attack on the cemetery. His plan was to have them advance on the graveyard, then have them retreat. If his forces did not use Unforgivable Curses, he knew the Aurors would not either. With their attention focused, Nagini would have free rein to attack from the flank.

The Dark Lord issued his orders and set his plan in motion.

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When help arrived from the Order, the vampires renewed their assault on the house. They transformed into bats and flew toward the house. Once there, they circled the house seeking an entrance. Harry was trying to decide what to do when the Aurors struck the house.

With his preternatural hearing, Harry was able to hear some of the commands Voldemort issued to his followers. He and Hermione landed and hung from the eaves of the old house. Focusing his concentration, he warned Tonks of the coming attack. He had heard no details; but he knew that the attack was a diversion.

He waited for a few minutes to see if he could gather a few more details about Voldemort’s attack. Then he heard a cold voice, venomous with hatred, “kill…kill them all…all the intruders…strike, bite, and killlll…” Nagini was coming! He sent a final warning and dropped into the air.

Swiftly they quartered the area, searching for the Basilisk. Remembering that Fawkes suffered no hurt in the Chamber of Secrets, he hoped that by flying above the serpent’s field of vision he too would not be hurt. He knew that he could not die again, but if he looked into the creature’s eyes that he might still be petrified, like Sir Nicholas had been.

He picked up a soft chirp from Hermione, a noise different from the clicks they used to echo-locate. Swiftly he banked in her direction. There on the ground he could make out the sinuous shape speeding toward the wall of the cemetery. Entering a dive, he swept ahead of the Basilisk, dropped behind the low wall, and resumed his human shape.

Closing his eyes was the hardest thing that he had to do. He seldom realized how dependent on his eyes he was; now they were his worst enemy. Spreading his vampiric awareness, he began to search the area around him.

He heard, rather than felt, the snake cross the wall. “Kill…I smell blood.”

“No!” he cried in parseltongue. Nagini stopped. Harry could sense the serpent coiling to strike.

He heard a hiss of surprise as the Basilisk regarded him with its deadly gaze. “You are not warm. What are you?”

“I am your death.”

Harry received a telepathic warning that the snake was striking. He swiftly leaped aside and struck with his talons. If he expected a repeat of his combat with Fenrir, he was wrong. The Basilisk’s heavy, overlapping scales resisted his talons so that his claws slid along the snake’s side as it rushed past.

Turning, he transformed into a wolf and tried to gain some separation from his enemy. He heard the snake sliding across the graves in pursuit. Harry broke to his left and resumed his human shape, knowing that Nagini would have to coil before she struck again.

The slithering noise stopped as Nagini hissed her frustration. Harry was trying to sense exactly where his opponent was when he heard Hermione give a cry of triumph. She telepathically sent him what she was seeing through her eyes. She transformed in mid-air and dropped onto Nagini’s back. Wrapping her legs around the serpent’s neck, she plunged her talons into the area behind the Basilisk’s skull. With a mighty effort she ripped her hands apart, severing the spinal chord.

The Baslilisk died instantly, dropping to the ground. Hermione rolled clear because the serpent’s body began to coil and thrash about violently. Averting his eyes, Harry grabbed the snake’s neck and with a flash of his talons, finished decapitating it. Hermione gestured with her wand and created a hole in the ground, into which Harry kicked the Basilisk’s head. He knew that it could no longer kill with its eyes, but its venom was a potent as ever. There was no reason to risk anyone being bitten accidentally, if the jaws were still reacting.

“That’s the last one,” he said. “Now, Tom is mortal again.” He opened his arms and swept Hermione into a huge hug. “You were brilliant. I wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out, but at last it’s done.”

The sound of battle attracted their attention. The diversion was in full swing, except that now there would be no main attack.

Harry nodded at the Riddle House, “He’s waiting and we still haven’t found a way in.”

Hermione smiled at him, the light of battle still gleaming in her eyes. She pointed at the path leading from the gardener’s cottage to the main house. “If subtlety and subterfuge have failed, we can always fall back on brute force.”

Harry smiled back and they made their way to the kitchen door. Harry checked the kitchen; he detected two heartbeats within the room. His eyes met Hermione’s and when she nodded he jerked the door off of its hinges, together they stormed into the room. A stunning spell hit each of them as they surged into the room. Harry quickly reacted with a non-verbal “Petrificus Totalis” and was pleased to see his target fall onto the floor. Moments later Hermione stunned her target as well.

He recognized a very blond head of hair gleaming in the semi-darkness. He turned Narcissa Malfoy onto her back. The Death Eaters were quickly bound and hidden in the kitchen.

With silent nods to each other, the vampires moved into the house in search of Tom Riddle.

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

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-Seven

As the vampires moved along the first floor, they began taking out the defenders hiding there. The Death Eaters had been forbidden to attack until the members of the diversion were on their way back; so they were hiding, watching their fellows fighting. With their attention focused elsewhere, it was a simple matter for a vampire to creep up behind them and steal their wills from them.

Harry was wondering in which room he would encounter Tom Riddle. Yet, as he moved along the musty hallway, he felt that Tom was somewhere below him. There was something in the house that was calling to him. When they finished with the Death Eaters on the first floor, Harry began seeking the stairs to the basement.

Fate took a hand when a Death Eater came down from the second floor and made a bee line to the back of the house. Harry and Hermione followed silently as the cloaked figure led them to a back staircase that went down to an underground floor in the mansion.

The lower floor appeared to contain the servant’s quarters and storage rooms. The vampires hid as the scout bowed low and entered the room crawling on his hands and knees.

“Well, what is it?” Tom snapped.

“My Lord,” Death Eater’s voice quavered. “There is no sign of Nagini’s attack. The Aurors are continuing to bombard the house; and many of those you sent forward have been stunned or paralyzed.”

The Dark Lord flew into a towering rage. “Crucio!” he cried. After torturing the unfortunate messenger for a short time he screamed, “Must I do everything myself? Go back to your post. I will come shortly.”

Voldemort had risen to go and fight when a wave of indecision rolled over him. He paused in confusion before sitting back down. This was a new experience for him. Something had changed within him, he felt … diminished. He nodded as he continued his internal dialogue, never before had he felt so weak, so indecisive. His intellect was intact, but the fighting spirit, the fire that had once been his had grown cold. He wondered if this was the result of the Horcruxes being missing or destroyed.

Harry and Hermione waited until the sound of the Death Eater’s steps retreated up the stairs. Harry smiled at his partner and thought, “Wait here.” He pulled back the hood of his cloak and walked toward the room where Tom Riddle was hiding. He could sense the indecision in the being before him; Tom was desperately trying to be Lord Voldemort, trying to convince himself that all was not lost.

Tom was sitting in his throne-like chair, holding his face in his hands. Harry stood in the doorway and said, “It is all gone, Tom, and I’m here to finish what you started seventeen years ago. You are wondering why you don’t feel like your old self? I have destroyed your Horcruxes. All you have left is one-seventh of your original soul.”

Tom Riddle looked up in surprise, into a pair of eyes that were as red as his own. He stood uncertainly to his feet, stunned as if he had been hit by something heavy. “What…Who are you?”

“You know who I am, Tom. Doesn’t your blood tell you? Hasn’t it been warning you since last July? I feel it. In fact, it called me to you.”

Tom’s eyes jerked to Harry’s forehead. The scar was almost hidden by the pallor of Harry’s skin. “Harry Potter,” he hissed. He raised his wand and commanded, “Avada Kedavra!” Harry swayed with the force of the spell; it even caused his cloak to billow out behind him. However, the magic had been designed to work on humans, and the vampire-symboite was unaffected by the magic. Now, Tom’s eyes went wide with fear as Harry stepped forward. Twice more Tom repeated the deadly curse, each time with no effect.

“You can’t kill what’s already dead, Tom.” Harry gestured with his wand. The movement was so fast that Tom had no time to react, and his wand went flying from his hand. The would-be Lord Voldemort was stunned. Harry could see it in his mind. Defeat was staring him in the face, and his mind could not accept it.

Something within the monster snapped, standing once more he screamed, “I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.”

Harry paused. “No, you’re not; you are Tom Marvolo Riddle. I can see it in you, Voldemort is just a mask you frighten people with, and you even believe it yourself. Dumbledore knew better. He showed me what you were, a bully and a thief from the start. You would never share anything, keeping everything inside yourself; never allowing anyone in; you rejected anything anyone tried to do for you. You believed sharing, even happiness, made you weak. Well, you stole from me and I want what you took from me back.”

Harry never imagined that face could look horrified, but it did. “What are you?” Tom whispered.

Harry smiled, showing Tom his fangs, “I am a vampire, just like you. I only take blood though, and just what I need to survive. You, however, feed on power, and you selfishly want all of it there is.” Tom Riddle began backing away from Harry. “Something else, Tom, you’re a coward. When Dumbledore was in the position you are now, he stood his ground. You can only be brave when you have the upper hand.”

Moving swiftly forward, Harry caught Tom by his shoulders. “You stole my blood from me, and now I want it back.” Tom’s scream was cut short when Harry’s fangs pierced his throat.

Harry began to try to draw Tom’s blood, but he immediately encountered a problem. The body Tom inhabited was constructed by magic. There was no real circulatory system, further, the blood had been corrupted by that magic and it was now a vile, black poison. Harry entered Tom’s thoughts; his mind was a whirling tornado of incoherent fragments. It took a few moments for him to decide what to do. Cradling his victim with one arm, he drew his wand with the other. Pointing the tip at his lips he commanded, “Accio, my blood.” He was grateful to Snape for teaching non-verbal magic.

As he began to swallow the bitter poison that was his own blood, he thought of Hermione; once again her love and kindness were helping him to reach his goals. Little had he realized how valuable this simple spell would be, when she taught it to him four years ago.

To take his mind off the sickness that was beginning to permeate his body, he recounted to his opponent, the search for the Horcruxes and how each one had been destroyed. Deep within his own mind, Tom Riddle howled in fear.

Unknown to Harry, Hermione had crept into the room. She was watching in horrified fascination at the scene before her. At what point it happened she could not begin to guess, but when Harry had taken enough of his own blood back, the spell that held Tom’s body together was broken. His physical form began to disintegrate before her eyes. In a couple of minutes Harry was falling to his knees. All that was left of Tom Riddle was a fine white powder and several large globs of putrid meat.

Tom Riddle was not quite finished, however. The prime motivation of his life was to exist. It had driven him to depths of depravity few had ever explored. It had driven him to drink Unicorn’s blood, knowing that he would be cursed. Now, that motivation drove him to use the last power he had left. He would try to possess Harry Potter and his task was made easier by the fact that Harry had his “blood” within his body.

His spirit followed the paths of the bond of blood into Harry’s mind. He beat himself against the prickly, alien thing he found in the way. He began matching himself to it, trying to move around it and into Harry’s soul. It took every bit of concentration he had, and slowly he began to seep past the vampire; he was succeeding.

Harry was aware of what was happening in his mind and soul, but the poison in his body was slowly robbing him of the ability to fight. He dared not turn his attention away from the attack Tom was mounting on his mind, even as he was becoming ill from the blood he had taken.

Hermione looked on in fear. She knew something terrible was happening, but she didn’t know what. Gently, she rested her hand on Harry’s shoulder and entered his thoughts, trying to strengthen him with her love. The effect was immediate.

As Tom slipped into Harry’s mind he was met by the thoughts and encouragement Hermione was sending Harry. The weakening will that was slowly surrendering to him was suddenly energized. The power of her love, a love that took no thought for itself, joined with the will that knew its own need. In his surrender to Hermione, Harry rejoiced in the connection they shared, and thoughts and memories filled his mind.

It had happened once before, the thoughts of the love he had for Sirius had defeated Voldemort. Now, faced once again by love, Riddle rejected it again. Surrounded by its burning light, the soul fragment that was Tom Riddle imploded, fleeing the light into the only darkness that it could find. He fled deeper and deeper into himself, until he reached the point where death would have brought him anyway. As the dementor would have said, “The being has changed Frequency.” Tom Riddle vanished and would trouble this Frequency no more.

With his enemy vanquished, Harry was violently sick, his body rejecting the vile fluid that was poisoning him.

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The battle had raged outside the house until all of the raiding party had been captured. The Aurors were at a loss about what to do. There was a vast open space to be crossed, but the response from the manor had been lacking. They had no way of determining how many Death Eaters remained. Kinglsey was thinking of sending a scout under the Invisibility Cloak to see what they could find out when the Death Eaters began to scream. Even those that were unconscious were twisting violently, tearing at their forearms.

The awful noise brought the Order of the Phoenix to the front of the house. They all stood and watched helplessly as the Death Eaters suffered. Then as quickly as it started it was over, every Death Eater was unconscious on the ground.

Arthur Weasley bent down and pushed the sleeve of a Death Eater back. The dark Mark was gone leaving behind it a wound like a bad burn. Realizing what had happened, he began to run toward the manor house, followed closely by Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur.

Several loud cracks made him stop just short of the door. A quick glance showed him that house-elves were appearing on the grounds and were moving to help tend the wounded. With a practiced gesture, he blew the door down and ran into the house.

He followed the entry hall to the rear staircase. Without hesitation, he took the stairs leading down. Arthur Weasley followed his heart; it was easily the best part of him. He searched the rooms and it did not take him long to find Harry and Hermione. Harry was lying on his side, with Hermione trying to help him by wiping his face with a clean cloth.

The elder Weasley started to enter the room, but the stench drove him back. Using a Bubblehead Charm for air, he re-entered and started cleaning the room. Fred, George, and Bill joined him in a few minutes; Fleur was waiting outside to summon aid if it was needed.

Members of the Order and a few Aurors came to Fleur; they were wondering what to do when a creature came flying down the stairs. It was some sort of half man and half wolf. The wizards needed several stunners to stop the werewolf’s attack. They looked at one another as they realized that not all of Voldemort’s forces had been rendered unconscious. Carefully, they moved into the house with Lupin in the forefront. It was hoped that he might be able to negotiate with the rest of the werewolves.

As the battle raged above them, Arthur wanted to take the time to talk to the vampires. Arthur helped Harry into Tom’s chair and helped Hermione clean him up. Bill and the twins were quickly and efficiently removing all traces of Voldemort’s magically created body.

“Thanks,” he croaked when they halted their ministrations for a few minutes. He twitched his wand and summoned Tom Riddle’s wand. He pressed it into Arthur’s hand. “For you. This is the Order’s victory…don’t let Scrimgeour claim all the credit.”

“What’s been going on, Harry?” he queried.

Harry managed a sickly grin, “That’s a long story. Professor McGonagall can fill you in on all the details. Mostly what we’ve been doing is to remove Tom Riddle’s anchors; after we did that we were able to destroy him.” Harry briefly recounted the story of how Riddle created the Horcruxes and what he used them for.

All of the Weasleys were suitably impressed/horrified by Riddle’s plot to gain immortality. The elder Weasley recovered quickly, and turned to the matters that concerned him the most. “What are you going to do, Harry?”

The vampire was taken aback by the question. Before he could answer Fred stepped up, “Harry, you don’t look too good, even for someone that’s dead.” He held out his arm as he rolled up the sleeve of his robe. “Take some of my blood…please.”

Harry looked at him with a horrified expression on his face.

George closed in on the other side, “Look, Harry, what happened here isn’t going to stay secret for long. There is a group of students in the town, the Knight Bus brought them; the Aurors mostly have families that they will tell as soon as they get finished here, because they will want them to know that they are all right. They will also be sending notifications to the families of those that were killed or injured. You’ve got to get your strength back if you are going to escape.”

It was almost comical the way Harry looked back and forth between them with his mouth opening and closing, almost like a gold fish.

Fred resumed the attack, “It’s not like you haven’t taken blood from people before. I know you won’t hurt me. You’ve given to us; let us help you for a change. It is a gift, Harry, take it in the spirit in which it’s offered.”

Harry looked at Hermione. She shrugged her shoulders, her expression said, “I can’t tell you what to do.”

Reluctantly, he took Fred’s wrist, cut him with a swift stroke of his talon, and took some of his blood. The whole time Fred had a dreamy look on his face. When Harry looked up at him the wound was gone. The effect of the blood was immediate, Harry looked stronger in moments.

George held out his arm, and Harry took some of his blood as well. As he finished, a female voice cried out, “What in heaven’s name is going on here? Good Lord, Arthur…vampires.” Molly looked wildly between all of the faces before her, “Bill, Fred, what…is that you, Harry? No…no…not Hermione, too? Oh my God, Arthur, they’re vampires.” Her eyes were wide and staring.

Before she could say anything further, Hermione stepped up, her eyes glowing red. The twins had an idea of what was coming, but Arthur was stunned. “Molly,” she began, “you will forget what you’ve just seen. You never entered the mansion tonight; you fought outside and then tended the wounded. You have finished your grieving for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. It is time to move on. When you think of the last battle with Voldemort, you will believe that somehow, Harry reached out from beyond the grave to influence the battle because it was his destiny to do so. Go in peace, Molly; enjoy your life, your children, and your grandchildren.” Wordlessly Molly turned and walked out of the room.

Arthur was grateful to Hermione for taking care of Molly so gently, and he returned to his question, “What are you going to do, Harry?”

“Ultimately, I will find a peaceful place and enjoy one last sunrise.”

Arthur remembered the vampire in Little Whinging and shuddered. “I’ve talked to another vampire,” continued Harry, “It happens to most of us, otherwise you mortals would be up to your eyebrows in vampires,” Harry smiled, showing his fangs. “In the meantime, I want to see some of the world; it’s a beautiful place, especially at night.”

“Are you going to contact Ron and Ginny? They may eventually find out what really happened to you.”

“No, I’ve had a small taste of what happens when the living spend time with the undead. It can get awkward. I don’t want to create that kind of jealousy.” Arthur looked puzzled. “Eighty years from now, I will look just as I do now. I don’t want to take the chance of Ron or Ginny being envious of my ‘eternal youth’. It’s a price they really don’t want to pay.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Harry.”

“A vampire I met told me that the pain of existence gets to be too much. Vampires don’t change, while the rest of the universe does. Hermione and I are standing still, while you are growing up. Dumbledore said that death was the next great adventure. Until we destroy ourselves, we’re stuck. We can do many things, learn more about magic, even help others; but my feelings are fading, my emotions too. I find less and less that brings me any joy. On the other hand, there isn’t much that makes me really sad, either. I feel so empty some of the time. I’m afraid of how long it will be until that emptiness is all that is left.” With that Harry bowed his head.

“Harry, for what it is worth, we owe you more than we can repay. Wait a few years until Ron has moved out. When he does, I will close his room and seal it from the light. The window will be a door, just say your name and it will open to you. When the years grow too heavy, it can be a sanctuary for you. Something familiar in the vast seas of time,” he smiled. “As long as there is a Weasley at the Burrow it will be yours, Fred and George will make sure it is kept for you and Hermione, I promise.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, but he could not read her expression, and her mind was closed.

Kingsley appeared at the door, followed by McGonagall and Fleur. “Harry, you might want to consider leaving. I just got word that Scrimgeour is on his way, apparently not all of my people are as trustworthy as I thought. All of the Death Eaters and werewolves are in custody.”

Refreshed and strengthened by the blood of his friends, Harry stood. He, McGonagall, and Arthur walked up the stairs and out of the front door, with Hermione, Fred, and George close behind. Bill and Fleur lingered whispering to one another.

Outside of the house, they paused for a few minutes watching the house-elves as they helped the wounded. Harry stretched out with his powers, touching the minds of the many creatures on the lawn. As he drew his hood back over his head he looked at McGonagall, “You’re wondering about the house-elves and why they help like they do. From their perspective, they are teaching us how we ought to behave. They’re teaching by example.” He reached out and put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders as he drew her gently to him. “I won’t say we won’t visit you ever again, but it’s best we allow you to grow undisturbed. Farewell, my friends, we won’t forget you.” With that, they transformed into bats and flew into the night.

Walking hand in hand, Tonks and Lupin approached the somber group standing before the old mansion. Tonks spoke, “Kingsley, we’ve a lot of work to do, yet. The werewolves need to be moved from here. Tomorrow night is the full moon.” The tall, black Auror nodded. “Now, there’s something else we need to look into.”

“Now, what?”

“You knew Carstairs died this morning?” said Tonks, her voice carefully neutral. Kingsley nodded looking confused. “His body disappeared from the morgue tonight and nobody knows what happened to it.” Tonks hesitated, biting her lip. “There is also a missing person report, Worpel says that Count Sanguini has disappeared; do you think that there could be a connection?”

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The bats flew over the cemetery. The DA was walking to join their teachers in front of the Riddle House. Harry felt a small sense of pride as they passed beneath him, and he smiled at Ron and Luna bringing up the rear, walking hand in hand.

Certain that there was no one around, the vampires transformed and reentered the back of the funeral home. Silently they gathered their belongings and slipped out of the door.

Neither spoke as Harry jerked his head toward the lane leading out of the town. They slung on their backpacks, repositioned their cloaks, and began walking out of the village. Neither had thought to ask about the anti-Apparition wards.

“It’s over at last,” Harry said as they passed the sign welcoming visitors to Little Hangleton. Hermione slipped her hand into Harry’s as they walked under the bright moon.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To the Gaunt’s cottage. I just wanted to see it for myself.”

“You were brilliant, Harry. You did everything Dumbledore asked of you and at last the wizarding world is free.”

Harry gave her a small, quiet smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you. In spite of all of the hardships, you never stopped giving. The victory tonight is a testament to your dedication and…love.”

Hermione stopped when he said it. Gently she wrapped her arms around Harry and held him close. She nestled her forehead under his chin and whispered, “You’re welcome, Harry.”

It took a little time to locate the overgrown path to the Gaunt’s decrepit hovel. The years had dealt with it harshly and there was little left standing to make it even seem like it had once been a house. Harry wondered where the ring had been. The remains of a cellar indicated a possibility, but it had fallen in and there was no way to explore.

“I’m going to change clothes,” he said. He dropped his pack and began pulling off his cloak, BDU’s, pads, and boots. Hermione decided to do the same, so she moved into the trees, seeking a little privacy. After she changed clothes, she seemed vaguely interested in looking around, so he let her wander. When she wasn’t looking, he slipped the crossbow bolt out of his backpack. The wood prickled and stung against his skin, so he wrapped it up in the rag in which he had been carrying it. He examined the ground, and found it sufficiently hard for his purposes. If he could drive it deeply enough and they fell, perhaps it would pass all of the way through her and pierce him as well. Hermione wouldn’t rest with her parents, but maybe she would forgive him. He had decided that he did not want to face the years without her.

“Harry, would you hold me again?” She asked from behind him. With a heart that seemed to be growing heavier by the second, he turned around. It seemed he had been wrong when he told Arthur that there wasn’t much that made him feel sad anymore. This was pain almost beyond enduring, but it was the cost of love and he was more than willing to pay.

He was glad that she was almost making this easy. Hermione pressed her body against his; “Harry,” she started, “I’ve been thinking…” she started. He pressed the arrow against her back. She felt the sting of the wood as the point came through the material of her tee shirt. Realizing what Harry was trying to do, she launched herself against him, crying, “Noo, Harry, don’t…please…wait…” She pushed with such force that Harry fell over backwards. She lay still and unmoving against his chest.

In a near panic he rolled onto his side. Hermione’s eyes were open but lifeless. Harry drew the bolt out of her back; fortunately, it had not gone very deep. He waited for a few minutes, hoping and begging for her to be all right. Suddenly her eyelids fluttered. Gently, she reached up to touch his anxious face. “I wanted to tell you I changed my mind about walking with you.”

Harry sat back and then helped Hermione to sit up. She appeared weak, but as she had not borne the bolt as long as he had, the effect was diminished. She sat cross-legged and looked down into her lap. “When I asked you to lay me to rest, I was being selfish. I thought my existence was my own. That I was going to have to…” she smiled up at him, “to ‘live’ it on my own. Then, when you said that you loved me, and you showed me by being with me, I began to understand that I had a partner to help me. So, Harry, I love you too. I’ll need your help, because I’m afraid I am coming to enjoy hunting for blood too much. Promise to help me be careful and I will walk with you. Where you walk I will, where you lead, I will follow; and when you decide I’ll walk into our final sunrise with you. I wish I could feel it more, but I do love you.”

Harry pulled her to him and kissed her dry, cold lips. There was something special about that kiss, since she had said she loved him. Not because of intense feelings, but because of the assurance of her willing faithfulness. Together, they could face any trial, even without the feelings. She had demonstrated that she was truly his partner, and that would always be enough.

Standing, he helped her up. “What are we going to do?”

“Paris is lovely in the spring. I’d like to show it to you. Then, we’ll go where ever you want to.”

“Since we have time, why don’t we learn Greek? There is a whole library we can explore.”

Hermione beamed at him.

Harry fished out his Firebolt from his backpack, and expanded it to its normal size. “Paris is a bit far for tonight, how about Number Twelve for the day and Paris for tomorrow night?” Hermione responded by hugging him, even a little feeling was better than none.

Within a few minutes they were high above the clouds, speeding toward London. The black canopy was ablaze with stars and the man-in-the-moon seemed to smile with extra brightness. The cascading moonlight colored the vast canyons of the clouds with silver and blue-gray. Their endless night beckoned as it opened before them. How could they have doubted? The possibilities were never-ending.

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28. Blood Bound: Alternate Ending

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.

Alternate Ending

A/N First a grateful thank you to my dear wife who puts up with my obsession with Harry Potter. She offered much needed criticism and helped me see where someone that is not so immersed in the books as I am might not understand something I wrote. Next, she told me I had to “fix” Harry and Hermione, it wasn’t right for me to take someone else’s characters, break them like I did, and just leave them like that.

I tried to explain, “But, dear, they’re dead. There is no magic that can bring them back to life. All the books say so.”

“You need to fix them. I know you can do it.”

“But…”

She gave me ‘that look’ and said, “Fix them.”

So, in the finest tradition of husbands everywhere, I summoned up my very best, “Yes, dear” and here you are. I did my best, but really, the story ended last chapter. ; - )

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The sunset woke Harry to the agony once more. He opened his eyes to the same bleak cell and the sight of Hermione’s dirty, bare feet. She was lying on the other stone bier, facing him. Harry tried to turn his eyes from the sight of her wasted body, but the pain of moving his head was too much for the moment. Harry couldn’t tell which was worse, the pain in his body or the one in his heart.

He and Hermione had flown to Number Twelve to spend the day before flying to Paris. When they woke, they were here. It was a square stone cell, about twenty feet on a side. There were two stone biers and nothing else, not even the hint of a door.

The nights had run together; how long they had been here Harry had no idea. At first, they had fed from each other until all the life force had gone from their blood. Then, the starvation had begun in earnest.

The ordeal had done terrible things to their bodies. Hermione’s forearms and calves were practically skin and bones. The blood vessels in her thighs stood out because the skin had shrunk against the muscle. The bones in her pelvis were obvious and her pubic area looked painfully stretched. Tonight, he refrained from counting her ribs, and he tried not to dwell on her once beautiful breasts. They hung from her chest, useless sacks of skin, with only her nipples to show what they were. Her hair, matted and dirty, framed her wasted face. Harry could see the glitter of her eyes from the sockets into which they had receded. He was just now marking how skull-like her face had become.

“You’re awake?” They had reverted to telepathy, because the air was heavily tainted with ammonia. It would probably be quite poisonous to anyone who entered unaware.

“Yes.”

“How are you?” he asked.

“Something’s happening. I can’t see very well. It’s like the vampire is severing its connections to my body and shriveling up. Almost like it was preparing to hibernate. Do you think it can?”

“I don’t know, Hermione, but my vision has been getting misty for a while, maybe for two nights? I feel weak, and I can’t think clearly anymore. Why, Hermione? Who would do this to us? If they wanted us dead, why not just use a stake?”

“Maybe because we killed, Harry. I guess someone wanted us to suffer before we died.”

He thought about the six Death Eaters he had killed and about Fenrir; perhaps some relative had found out and moved against them.

He tried to relax; not moving, and just letting time flow over him. The sound was so subtle that he almost missed it. It was a gentle grating of stone on stone. Gritting his teeth, he rolled over and looked straight up. Slowly, parts of the ceiling were opening up, revealing the stars. He stared at them knowing that they presented some danger, but he was too muddled by starvation to realize what it was.

“At last,” Hermione thought. “They’re going to burn us. All the pain will be over this morning.”

“I’m coming, Hermione; if it’s the last, I want to be with you.” It seemed to take all of his willpower to make his body move. He finally tumbled to the floor. He was crawling through the little strips of cloth that littered the floor, the remains of their clothing and shoes. They had ripped their garments literally to shreds in an effort to take their minds off of the pain caused by the hunger. He had covered half of the distance, his body was screaming in agony every inch of the way, when Hermione fell to the floor in front of him.

When they met, Hermione put her face against his chest, flinging an arm protectively over him. In silence, they awaited the dawn together. He looked up enjoying the fading beauty of the stars.

The golden fire began streaming overhead and the light grew intolerably bright. The hiss that heralded the coming dawn was still faint when Harry sensed movement around them. In that intense light, Harry could see nothing, but he could feel hands tugging and pulling him.

They were separating him from Hermione! He tried to fight them off, but he was too feeble. In desperation he cried, “No…please no…just let us die together…PLEEEEEASE!”

The hands took no notice of his protestations; he felt himself being set up with his back against the bier. Something pressed itself against him. Smelling blood, the vampire reacted instantaneously and brutally. His fangs came erect and he bit into the person before him. He sucked greedily at the blood, while a voice in his mind urged him, “Drink, Harry Potter.” He became aware of the heartbeat of his victim. It slowed, fluttered, and stopped. At that moment the dawn roared over him. A blast of immense heat and pressure crushed him. In his last moments of awareness he heard Hermione screaming his name. Harry tried to answer, but to no avail. In horror, his mind fled the noise, heat, and anguish at the thought of his Hermione burning in the daylight; oblivion overwhelmed him.

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“Annoyance shouldn’t be a part of being truly dead,” Harry thought. There was an unusual sound in his ear, the one pressed against some cool, hard surface. There was something familiar in the bothersome, soft, throbbing, though. He opened his eyes. All that he could see was grey. He blinked; slowly, the world swam into focus. It did not seem fair that the next great adventure should look like the prison cell in which he had died.

He tried to get a better look and something amazing happened. It was as if his eyes were telescopes. He squinted and his field of vision grew tighter and tighter, yet, the center of his focus became clearer, showing more detail at each stage. At last, he could see all the little variations in color and structure in the surface of the rock. By widening his eyes his field of vision widened.

He took stock of his situation. First, he noted that his thoughts were still muddled. Second, he was lying on his side, evidently in the same cell in which he had been imprisoned. The air was pleasantly bright and cool. A gentle breeze washed over him and he could hear birds chirping nearby.

With difficulty, he tried to move his head. It took an almost unbelievable effort, but he was able to see that his body still appeared wasted. Unconsciously, he sighed; this was not what he thought it was going to be like. He tried to sit up and then the pain exploded in his head. It stabbed through his head, blinding him he cried aloud in pain as he collapsed back onto the floor.

“Harry?” a familiar voice answered. “Is that you? What’s the matter?” Lost in his pain he didn’t hear the sound of a body dragging itself toward him. It was not until later that he realized that something in his chest seemed to skip at the sound of Hermione’s voice.

Once he lay back down, the pain eased somewhat. At last, he recognized Hermione’s anxious face peering at him. She lay beside him, cradling his head between her hands. He felt her hands grow warm, as he seemed to feel music well up within him. The pain quickly vanished.

“What? How did you do that?” he asked in amazement.

“Your skull was fractured, Harry. It happened when you were attacked last July. Now that…” Her voice trailed off. Her eyes, which appeared huge in her pinched face, went even wider. “Harry! You’re breathing, and you have a heartbeat. Your face, it’s warm!”

As he watched, tears formed in her eyes. Her tears, clean, clear, and pure splashed onto the floor. Scooting forward she pressed her soft lips to his. It was as it had been last July; warm, tender, and powerful. It was even sweeter than when he had stolen that kiss from her in the Dursley’s backyard. “You’re alive, Harry…we’re alive. How?”

Harry shook his head as watched her sink back to the floor, exhausted. Hermione appeared to slip into a light sleep. As he looked, he noticed a faint grimace on her face. Staring more deeply at her he seemed to “see” her power flowing within her. As a vampire, he had grown used to seeing such things; now that he was alive again he could wonder how this was still possible. As his gaze followed those flows he noted a disturbance in her lower abdomen. It seemed the source of her pain. Gently, he reached out and slid his hand between her thighs, cupping his hand against her. It seemed a small matter to smooth the energy flow there. Hermione seemed to relax, sleepily she said, “Winky says that if I’m going to let you touch me like that, we’re going to have to get married. Thanks, Harry…it doesn’t…ache...any…” Harry heard her begin to snore.

Softly, a voice spoke inside his head, “It is Dobby, Harry Potter. We is giving sir and miss a chance to live. It is not in any being’s power to return the dead to life, but we is sharing our lives with the great Harry Potter and Harry’s Granger. Dobby could feel Harry Potter when Dobby healed Master’s arm. Dobby found out that sir was still fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. House-elves watched, sir, we brought you here so Dobby could give sir a chance. The monster, the anti-life, had to be weakened and forced to release you. As the sun destroyed it, Dobby came and held Harry Potter; other house-elfs protected Harry Potter’s body. Dobby is helping re-connect Master with his body.”

“Shortly, Dobby and Winky will be gone, but our souls have left an imprint on your souls. Sir and Miss have now a great responsibility to learn about elf magic. Harry Potter must teach the wizards how to live with other magical creatures. Elfs have tried to show wizards how to act; now Harry can tell, and wizards will listen. Harry Potter is now outside of the wizard’s world, yet sir is held in great honor, house-elfs hope the wizards will listen.”

“I…will…try…” answered Harry as he dropped into sleep.

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He was startled into awareness by the slamming of a heavy door. Minerva McGonagall’s crisp steps echoed in the room, “Good Lord, Harry! Hermione! Don’t either of you wear clothes anymore? Death does not excuse everything.” Her face crimson with embarrassment, she conjured stretchers and blankets. Surrounded by a group of house-elves, she headed toward the hospital wing.

It was not a journey that she could have undertaken in secret. Several groups spied the figures on the stretchers and it was not long before Harry’s name was flying through the halls of the school. In short order it was circulating through the wizarding world as well.

Madam Pomfrey had had few such challenges in her career. Although Harry and Hermione were alive, they were barely so. Their life processes had been non-existent for nine months, and she knew she needed help in getting them started again. She did what she could and called for help.

As she was in her office, a shocked Ronald Weasley was sneaking into the ward. Quietly he stole around the curtains; while there were two beds there, only one was occupied. From the way the sheets were disturbed it seemed obvious that Hermione had joined Harry in his bed. She was nestled against him with her head tucked under his chin.

It had seemed obvious, from a distance that the figures were Harry and Hermione, but once he got close he was no longer sure. They were changed beyond their unnaturally white skin and extreme emaciation. He gazed at Hermione’s face; her eyes appeared more than twice as large as he remembered. Beyond the fact that her arm was little more than skin and bone, her hands were narrower with longer fingers. The same change was noticeable in the foot that stuck out from under the blanket. The most startling change was her ears, however. Where her ear protruded from underneath her bushy hair; he could see that it was larger and softly pointed.

Harry had undergone similar changes, except that his ears were more sharply pointed and bat-like than Hermione’s

He stood there, watching them sleep. To say that he was shocked and confused was an understatement. He became aware of someone standing by his side; a quick glance at her dirty blonde hair brought an uncertain smile to his face. He looked into her face, noting the anxious look in her eyes as she searched his.

A small noise from the bed attracted their attention. Harry’s eyes were still that startling green color. “Hullo, Ron. Guess I should have gone with you to the Burrow.” Ron could not help staring into those huge, green eyes. There was wisdom there, wisdom born of knowledge, experience, and pain. Harry’s voice had changed. It sounded dry and hoarse.

“What happened to you, Harry? Your aunt was murdered; your uncle said you did it. Where have you been? I dreamed that you died.” He waited but Harry had fallen asleep again.

“We did die, Ron,” Hermione explained. “Well, almost, Harry was turned by a vampire, and I was dying after the Death Eaters attacked my family, so Harry turned me into a vampire, too.”

“Vampires,” Luna gasped weakly. “Did you give Ronald that dream?” she asked looking at Hermione.

She looked back at Luna with her expressive brown eyes. Luna felt the power of her gaze, and it made her feel uncomfortable.

Hermione’s attention was focused on the ring on Luna’s left hand; the one holding so possessively onto Ron’s arm. It was hardly more that a bit of gold wire, with a tiny diamond set in it. “What a beautiful ring, Luna. That stone is perfect, and your love glows in it like a fire. Are congratulations in order?”

Luna blushed, and looked at her feet, mumbling something about Wackspurts.

Hermione turned her attention to Ron, “I’m sorry for us, Ron. I hoped for a while we might be more than friends, but I’ve given myself to Harry. What he and I have been through, no one else could understand. We’re not exactly human anymore, but I would still want him anyway. I’ve never found anyone that made me feel more complete.”

Ron nodded, “Yeah, I asked Luna to marry me. I thought you were dead, and she’s been a real blessing these past few months. I couldn’t have made it without her.” He gave Luna a huge smile and wrapped his arms around her.

Hermione smiled at her friend. “I pray you’ll be happy, Ron. I hope we can all be happy now that, thanks to Harry, Voldemort is gone,” whispered Hermione. Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.

McGonagall appeared at Ron’s side, “I’ll see that you are both excused from classes. The healers will be here from St. Mungo’s shortly. Your friends will be taken there. I will arrange for you to visit during the Easter break. Now, on your way; there is nothing more that you can do here.”

“Are they going to be okay?”

“Only time will tell, Mr. Weasley, but I hope so.”

Within the hour Harry and Hermione had disappeared into St. Mungo’s, and no one could find out what was going on with them. The reporters did notice one thing; house-elves were coming and going, and it did not appear that they were there just to clean. The healers were actually talking to them.

Ron and Luna were permitted a couple of visits over the holidays and word leaked out that Harry and Hermione had been married in a private ceremony. The only other comment was that their condition was improving. Ron lost track of them as his N.E.W.T.s were upon him and he was studying hard.

With his tests behind him, he retreated to the Burrow for a few days before preparing to take the entrance exam to the Auror academy. The test scores arrived with the notice that he would be able to take the exam at the Ministry in a week. There was also a note from Headmistress McGonagall asking him to drop by Hogwarts that afternoon.

He apparated to the gate and walked up to the great castle. As he approached he heard laughter coming from around the side. Upon investigation he found Harry and Hermione were there. Harry was standing, watching Hermione run lightly back and forth along the handle of his Firebolt. Ron was stunned as he watched Hermione stop and began to guide the broom in a series of lazy figure eight’s while standing on the handle.

“I don’t understand, Hermione. You have eye sight that’s only about a million times better than an eagle, a sense of balance and coordination that would make any athlete green with envy, and we can do wandless magic, but you are worried about shoes?” He looked at Ron shaking is head in disbelief.

“Just look at my feet, Harry James Potter; shoes are going to be a nightmare,” she complained.

Harry held out his hand as Ron came over to them. “Congratulations on passing your N.E.W.T.s, Professor McGonagall told us.”

“Thanks. What are you two up to?” Ron was looking at them. They were both dressed in green tunics and they had a couple of backpacks setting against the wall of the castle.

“We’re going to spend a couple of months in the forest. We need to get away for a while. Hagrid and Grawp are going to guide us.”

“What is this about wandless magic?”

Harry explained, “Since the elves healed us, we’ve gained the ability to use their magic. We need some time away while we learn to use it.”

“And then?”

“We’ll be coming here to finish our seventh year,” chimed Hermione.

McGonagall and Hagrid walked up. “Death does excuse a few things, Mrs. Potter. Are you ready to go?”

“What about the centaurs?” Ron blurted.

Hermione smiled sweetly, “We’re not human, I don’t think they will bother us. We’ll just stay away from the spiders,” she added seeing the look on Ron’s face.

Harry had shouldered his back pack, as Hermione tied on a pair of sandals. “We just wanted to say goodbye for now, Ron. We’ll be in touch after we come back. I think the Aurors will tell us how you are doing and maybe we can get together for Christmas. Oh, you asked ‘and then’, our long-term goal is to take over the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. Scrimgeour should be pleased. It’s high time Dumbledore’s goal of a real community of magical brethren becomes a reality. If we had had the centaurs, goblins, and house-elves on our side, Voldemort wouldn’t have gotten so far. ”

Harry and Hermione both hugged Ron.

“Ron,” said Harry. “I just wanted to tell you that as you train, that it is important to do your best, but take some time to look at the world around you, take it from me, there aren’t many things better than to walk in the sunshine and the ability to enjoy the flowers along the way. I lost those things for a time and there was a great sacrifice paid so that I might have a chance to enjoy them again. I don’t want you to lose them by indifference. Take care, mate, until we meet again.”

With that Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid started off towards the forest, walking through the warm sunlight.

Ron watched until they had vanished into the trees. “I will, mate, and I’ll remember what it cost you to buy our freedom from Voldemort, and I’ll do my best to make sure no one else forgets it either.”

With that, he and McGonagall took a walk themselves. It was long and slow, full of happy memories and bright sunshine.

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