A/N: I decided to take a crack at a Harry Potter Slash fic. It's going to be angsty and probably dark. Oh, to hell of course it's going to be angsty and dark. If you read please please please review it. Do you know what risk I'm taking with this? Holy Hannah have you tried living in a very Christian house? And mind my parents and I share the same computer so... anyway; review this I want to know if it's a good one and if I should keep going. NOTE I'M RISKING MY EXISTENCE WRITING THIS FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT
Pairing- Harry/Draco
P.S. I also have a het-themed story (ahem, no slash pairing, sorry), "the Dark Torch of Anglithae", if you're interested in reading that instead of this.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, you all know that.
(1)......
No one would ask this upon anyone, no one in their right mind. And yet here he was, lying all alone on the floor, to weak and beaten to rise to the bed. It hurt to no bounds, black and blue everywhere. The pain seemed to ignite his blood in a furious heat, though he knew that his own emotion had produced such feeling. His mind ticked almost monotonously, not coming to a standstill as it raced around with thoughts. Thoughts he wished would die... though death would be a blessing at the point, to him, at least.
And not another soul had bothered to see about his well being. Not a one he knew and considered with love had even sent him word of them, a note stating they remembered his existence. Over a month thrown to the past, and he was alone, now more so than ever. His loyal companion, though through the form of a bird, had been slaughtered callously and left at his feet by malicious teens of her gender and age, counterparts of his cousin's manipulation. He had buried his companion away from the hellish home, in a field where his loyal friend might lie in familiar habitat. And then, again, he was left alone with none but his own self, his own mind, and thoughts...
And yet, memory bared no remorse at redeeming him of hellish nightmares turned into sadistic fantasies, one being his raping by his cousin, a heinous act committed by the one he was forced to call blood through his mother, though she was held to no blame for his situation. It came once, a brutal taking of blood and seed, and many times after that. Each occurrence left him beaten and bloody and torn, worse than the one before.
And beatings so barbaric that Child Services would shoot the culprit haunted his already shattered psyche. The bruises still a menacing reminder of what was, what is, and what is to come. It sickened him to see the pallid blues, blacks, purples, greys and greens, a collage along his flesh of pain and suffering. But no, even when he refused to cry or scream, the beatings would not end. No, they dragged on, for hours on end it seemed, though in reality (a land at times forgotten), it lasted a few mere minutes. Yet the sheer volume of pain was enough to last a lifetime of souls uncounted and untold.
He had tried, several times before, to end his existence. But none had been successful enough or given time to take affect, he would be dragged back to the realm of the living. Yes, so close, deep in the abyss that led to the End, then unceremoniously stopped, and brought back to the place he dreaded most. Yes, he had tried, seven times, and yes, seven times he had failed.
His blood ran cold at the thought, though it kept up the steady flow. If only it could run dry, he had often thought, just if his heart would stop beating...
There in a body, where in which lies a poor, depressed and wretched soul...
The words from no one came into his head, the voice implacable and it concerned him none to whom the owner of it actually was. But it echoed, continuing on...
Where upon the moon's fading light, a redeemed essence resigns to Fate, cursed over with Destiny's whip lashes and Fatigue's eager dealings...
Etching into his memory, boring into his soul like fired markings... echoing whispering never ending the haunting they caused, the truth that made him fear the words...
And by the sun's assent to the sky, may be the like of which no one dares know, might that soul come, resurrect in a world of disdainful wishes and weary glances...
It sounded like a prophecy, a declaration of the future, a changing message meant to instill knowledge of the Unknown...
And along lost causes, fear endowed power, long forgotten uses of the gifts bestowed to the magic folk of old...
Pain coursed through his body, the anger receded to leave room for the pain to flow. His blood boiled more, worse than before, and his skin crawled as his bones began to rearrange, twist and contort to fit a new form. He wanted to scream, he tired, but no sound passed through his blood-stained lips. Instead, he arched his back, joints cramping as the voice echoed on...
Bestowed to you, by blood right and sheer will of doom, gifts sought after, often mourned...
It was louder, booming in his head. His mouth was set ablaze with pain, his body stretching several painful inches, hair spilling down his neck and slowly to his shoulders, fingers cramping as they clawed out at air, in an effort to latch onto something to try to ease the pain of burning joints...
Night is thy chosen time, on the day of birth...
His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he swung his fist out to grip the bed. He arched his back as his spine seemed to jump from his body...
Weary soul, thyne path is of waiting, take note ye are not the first to travel it alone. Revel in this wondrous gift, ye who is the rebirth of a House...
And it receded, the pain left in slow, shallow waves...
Chosen were ye to recreate a withering race...
A shaky, thankful sigh escaped parted lips as his head finally rested down on the floor...
Arise, arise... thy genesis awaits...
And Harry opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. It was still night, he could tell by the grey glow from the moon, but everything was clear. Clear... he wasn't wearing his glasses. He was on his back, on the floor spread-eagled and confused, if not dazed. He sat up, groaning as he rubbed the back of his head and neck. Wait, his hair had never been this long before - not ever... And, nothing was broken, not a single ache or pain...
Harry jumped up, dizzied by the quickness of the sudden move. His mind rushed for a split second before he gathered his bearings. Then, his head turned to stare at the mirror. His skin was clear of bruises and scars, his muscle tone was now lean and attractive, and he was a good three inches taller, an easy six foot in height. His raven hair now fell to his shoulders in unkempt waves, though not harassing his head like before. His complexion was fairer, but still tan. He held up a hand and stared at the long, lean and slender fingers, what could be called artist hands because of the dexterity-look.
Harry looked down. The baggy pants he was currently wearing were almost not long enough to cover his feet. Another sign of the change. He was thankful his outward appearance had only softened and become toned to perfection; he was an Adonis by any other name.
Harry still felt his inner pain, and it soon returned to him. Even this new- found beauty, inside was still beaten, mangled, and torn.
Harry sat on the bed, but upon laying his head down he sat up again. An awful, acrid smell permeated from the mattress, the smell of his cousin's semen. How he could smell that he did not know, nor did he care, only that he was now sickened dramatically. Harry made to rise, but then, he caught the sounds of floorboards creaking under foot, a foot weighed down by muscle.
Harry's soul caved in at the sound of the doorknob turning. Yes, it was his birthday, he as sixteen. The Divine Entities had done something to him, something he feared would affect him greatly somehow. He wanted to just blow away, or fade into the shadows, but no, so was not to happen as the door opened.
Dudley Dursley, Harry's seventeen-year-old cousin (held back, you know. Failed sixth grade, I believe), entered. He had changed over the year, having gained muscles in exchange for the fat. But he was still the ever- presence of fear and pain for Harry, a constant source of horrid hell.
"Happy birthday, cousin," Dudley whispered as he closed the door. He locked it, and moved to the bed.
Before Harry knew it, Dudley was on him. The larger boy pinned Harry as he always had, and brutally attacked Harry's mouth, quickly forcing entry and ravishing his mouth. Harry squirmed, the feeling of helplessness returning like a wave of regret over him. But he fought against the larger boy still, freezing only when he felt something long, and hard, against his leg. Harry looked down, and grimaced. Draco smiled, letting out a husky breath as he pulled away.
"Keep at it," he whispered into Harry's ear; "It only makes you even more beautiful. I don't know what awful thing you did, but damn it paid off," and he ripped Harry's pants away, then Harry's shirt. Harry cringed as Dudley ran a course hand down his body, and then Harry did something he never thought he could do.
He threw Dudley from him, reversing their positions. He felt a need for something, but it was not lust, oh no, it was a hunger... nostalgia for a food he could not acquire through fodder... it could only be conceived from...
Harry stared at Dudley's neck; "Not again," he whispered, glancing up at Dudley; "I won't let you again," he voice was musical and deep, melodic in a since.
Dudley was transfixed by Harry's eyes. The green irises swirled, the emerald tainted by silver and flecks of gold. They burned with power, intensified by a passionate emotion called hate, despise, malice. Suddenly, Dudley came to his senses, and felt Harry licking a spot on his neck. Dudley couldn't help but moan.
"You like that?" Harry asked, barely a whisper; "You'll love this..."
Harry ran his tongue over his enhanced canines, the sharp tips coarse against his tissue. Baring them, Harry drove his fangs into Dudley's fleshy neck. Dudley let out an inaudible scream, and Harry fed. He fed on the crimson life, the blood of another. It filled him, gave him a contented feeling in his soul. It was a nourishment beyond any other.
Minutes later, Harry pulled away. He licked his fangs and mouth clean, savoring the last taste. Then, it dawned on him at what he had just done. He had gone on instinct, hadn't thought rationally until the act was done, and he was fed. Fed... he had drunk Dudley's blood. Harry sat there, atop his large cousin, staring at the mark he had left. Now, it looked like a bite mark, but something told him that, in the morning, it would resemble nothing more than simple insect bites.
Harry got up, standing beside the bed. He quickly put his pants back on all the way, securing them with a belt, and then rushed over, unlocked and opened the door. He then ran back, and pulled Dudley up. Harry froze, realizing his strength, the picked Dudley up before walking out of the room and carrying the now unconscious boy into his own room and setting him down on the double bed. Harry then rushed back into his room, and closed the door. He rushed over to the loose floor board, pried it open, and retrieved one of his DADA books. He quickly got back on the bed, ignoring the smell, and flipped to the section on VAMPIRES. It read...
'Vampires- considered as dark creatures, though they take a human form- definition; one which needs to consume blood to live. Vampires are able to travel during the day, but the sun weakens their powers some what. Vampires are capable of telepathy and wandless magic, have heightened senses, and are considered immortal, though most do not survive long enough. Vampires are often thought of as fallen angels, partly for their astounding beauty and also for the pair of black wings they possess. The wings in question blend perfectly with the Vampires skin when folded against its back. Vampires are able to talk to Shadowed Animals (I.E., crows, ravens, wolves, etc.). Vampires have the ability of mind control, though the affects where off after a time (a Vampire can only control a human for an hour). Rosary beads, holy water, and the like do not affect a Vampire...'
Harry snorted as he read, then felt his fangs. They were there. He had become more beautiful, as well. Reaching back, he felt the wings. /I've got to get out of here/ he thought, closing the book and rising. Harry quickly put his book aside, and opened his trunk. Having cast a bottomless pit charm upon it a year prior, he unceremoniously threw his dark clothing and supplies into it. Minutes later, Harry was ready to leave. He then threw on a black tank, and stared at his trunk. /Shrink/ he thought, and held his hand out over the trunk. In a matter of moments, the trunk vibrated before shrinking down to the size of a matchbox. Harry picked it up, and put it into his pocket. He then went over, and put on his socks and shoes. Harry thought about leaving a note, and though he didn't feel the need, in case an Order member stopped by.../No one cares, what's the point?/ Harry thought as he wrote out a quick letter and left it lying on his bed.
Trunk in his pocket, Harry opened his window and climbed out onto the roof. He felt the breeze rustle his long hair around his face, and Harry sighed. He basked in the moonlight, extending his arms. /Come on/ he thought, and he felt his wings unfold and spread wide, like an arch or black, glorious feathers around him. Harry brought the left one around to the front, the appendage wrapping around his side, and felt a feather. Yes, they were real. Harry spread his wings again, thinking how best to leave the hell he was forced to call home. /No, no longer/ Harry thought, kicking off the roof and souring into the sky.
Harry was amazed by how quickly he left Surrey behind him, the small community dwindling into the past as he sped away. Harry clearly saw the land below, deciding to best follow a road until he got to London. He stayed well above the clouds, often feeling as though he were flying just beside the moon. It was nearly full, two more days and it would be the Night of the Wolf, as Harry secretly referred it to.
Nearly thirty minutes later, Harry found London, and he landed in an alley. Looking around, he quickly went out onto the sidewalk, taking it to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry pulled out his trunk before he entered, making it back to its original size. He found it incredibly light, but thought better to play the week gangly boy he had been for so long. Setting it down before taking the side handles, he then pushed the door open and entered the pub/inn.
---
Tom looked up from his work, to see a young man make his way in, dragging a large trunk with him. Tom squinted, recognizing the unruly raven hair at a first glance. But its length caught him off-guard, and only when the young man lifted his head and he saw the piercing emerald eyes, with no glasses to shield them, did he realize that the young man was in fact Harry Potter.
"M-Mister Potter, sir!" Tom said, coming around the bar and moving over to Harry; "Ha-how are you? A bit late—or rather early, I should say, for you to be out and about!"
Harry nodded; "I uh, had to get away," he said uneasily; "Could I have a room, please? I might be staying here for a while."
"Of course, Mister Potter," Tom said, and with a flick of his wand, Harry's trunk was transported. Tom then produced a key from his apron pocket; "Number eleven, as always, Mister Potter," tome found it hard to lift his eyes from Harry, and he was straight as they came...
"Er, thank you," Harry said, suppressing a shudder from the hand-to-hand contact. Trauma from rape and brutality had still left a mark upon his psyche.
Tom eyed Harry worriedly, but took Harry's actions as just adrenaline fatigue. He nodded; "Well, you're luggage is up by now," he said, "Good eve' to yeh, Mister Potter."
Harry nodded, and went up the stairs at a swift jog. Tom watched him go, slightly taken aback by the teen's quickness. But the aging man shrugged it off and went back to his duties before retiring for the night.
---
Harry entered the room, and as if by instinct the mirror chimed; "Oh, welcome back, dear. Ooh, you do look dashing, more handsome than previous!"
Harry looked at the mirror, seeing his reflection. He shook his head, and saw his trunk by the familiar bed. Harry went over to the window, staring down at the street. He saw a lightened blue and shades of yellow-pink on the horizon, it was early. Yawning, Harry turned and fell onto the bed, not bothering onto change out of his clothing as he closed his eyes and hugged a feathery pillow. Soon, sleep overtook his weary mind and soul, whisking him away to slumber.
---That night, in Scotland bythe castle Ruins...
the room was damp and cold, comatose images of the dead and dying aligned along the walls in patterns of morose fatigue. It was a dismal arena of a bloodbath ritual, where they came to come. Black robes and cloaks amiably swishing to stillness were the only sounds as a circle was formed around an opaque blue orb situated upon a stand, a silvery light from the moon coming through an opening in the ceiling, which was easily fifty feet over the highest head. Many whispered quietly, oblivious that they were being watched. Those silent realized this though, and stood firm and still, attentive and waiting. Soon, their leader swooped down, standing beside the orb and its stand.
"My brothers and sister," he said, "The Chosen have created another for our masses... He is just now used to his new abilities, his calling. He is Harry Potter, the one the wizards have chosen to save them."
A boy pulled the hood from his head, and this was a sign that the others could, as well. His hair was a light blonde, shining from the moonlight. He stepped into it fully, his voice clear and musical, like all the others; "Brother," he said, "Are you positive?"
The leader nodded, removing his hood. His face was elegantly long, eyes, nose, and mouth all placed in the right places to give him a royal look. His dark eyes glittered with enthusiasm, and he replied; "Yes, Brother Draco, it is the Harry Potter. A darker Harry Potter, but not someone we cannot encourage to lighten... who will go and greet him?"
"I will," the blonde, said; "After all, this could be a good thing, having him with us."
"It will change things for the wizarding community, you know," a female voice piped from the circle.
"As it will for us," the leader said; "Who honestly thought that bloodlines ran so long...?"
"What?" several asked quietly, Draco being the loudest.
The leader chuckled; "Brother Harry's grandfather was one of our own, on Lily's side... and once our own, always our own."
The blonde remembered the stories The Leader often told the Youngers, as all of the young to the world were called. And not the world outside the dank chamber, nay, but the world of the Vampires. Lily's father, what was his name?, Edgar or something, he couldn't remember, had indeed been one of the them. He had become an elder even, but was killed by the Ministry. It was covered up by a potion gone awry. He wondered if Harry even had the faintest idea. But further thoughts were halted by the leader's following statement.
"Brother, you will find and console our newest. I am aware of your childish 'house' rivalry, but something tells me it will no longer have a part. Now, it is late," he sad to the group; "We all know who it is we must take to, watch, stand by. The night wanes, the lights dwindle. This old chamber fades, as our facades are placed along the masks we must wear. Peace to you."
And with that, the meeting ended. Everyone left, by Disapparating or simply walking. The chamber faded into darkness, and the moonlight faded. The orb alone glowed, changing from a soft, majestic blue, then it too, was extinguished by unknown entities.
---End chapter one---
A/N: I know, no slash yet. Well I can't jump right into it yet, now can I? And I'm not sure if I'm even going to continue this, it all depends on reviews! Thanks if you do review, I'll love ya for it! Oh, and silence isn't golden in this aspect. REMEMBER, I AM RISKING A LOT ON THIS (thought I'm not trying to guilt trip you into anything....) JUST REVIEW
Pairing- Harry/Draco
P.S. I also have a het-themed story (ahem, no slash pairing, sorry), "the Dark Torch of Anglithae", if you're interested in reading that instead of this.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, you all know that.
(1)......
No one would ask this upon anyone, no one in their right mind. And yet here he was, lying all alone on the floor, to weak and beaten to rise to the bed. It hurt to no bounds, black and blue everywhere. The pain seemed to ignite his blood in a furious heat, though he knew that his own emotion had produced such feeling. His mind ticked almost monotonously, not coming to a standstill as it raced around with thoughts. Thoughts he wished would die... though death would be a blessing at the point, to him, at least.
And not another soul had bothered to see about his well being. Not a one he knew and considered with love had even sent him word of them, a note stating they remembered his existence. Over a month thrown to the past, and he was alone, now more so than ever. His loyal companion, though through the form of a bird, had been slaughtered callously and left at his feet by malicious teens of her gender and age, counterparts of his cousin's manipulation. He had buried his companion away from the hellish home, in a field where his loyal friend might lie in familiar habitat. And then, again, he was left alone with none but his own self, his own mind, and thoughts...
And yet, memory bared no remorse at redeeming him of hellish nightmares turned into sadistic fantasies, one being his raping by his cousin, a heinous act committed by the one he was forced to call blood through his mother, though she was held to no blame for his situation. It came once, a brutal taking of blood and seed, and many times after that. Each occurrence left him beaten and bloody and torn, worse than the one before.
And beatings so barbaric that Child Services would shoot the culprit haunted his already shattered psyche. The bruises still a menacing reminder of what was, what is, and what is to come. It sickened him to see the pallid blues, blacks, purples, greys and greens, a collage along his flesh of pain and suffering. But no, even when he refused to cry or scream, the beatings would not end. No, they dragged on, for hours on end it seemed, though in reality (a land at times forgotten), it lasted a few mere minutes. Yet the sheer volume of pain was enough to last a lifetime of souls uncounted and untold.
He had tried, several times before, to end his existence. But none had been successful enough or given time to take affect, he would be dragged back to the realm of the living. Yes, so close, deep in the abyss that led to the End, then unceremoniously stopped, and brought back to the place he dreaded most. Yes, he had tried, seven times, and yes, seven times he had failed.
His blood ran cold at the thought, though it kept up the steady flow. If only it could run dry, he had often thought, just if his heart would stop beating...
There in a body, where in which lies a poor, depressed and wretched soul...
The words from no one came into his head, the voice implacable and it concerned him none to whom the owner of it actually was. But it echoed, continuing on...
Where upon the moon's fading light, a redeemed essence resigns to Fate, cursed over with Destiny's whip lashes and Fatigue's eager dealings...
Etching into his memory, boring into his soul like fired markings... echoing whispering never ending the haunting they caused, the truth that made him fear the words...
And by the sun's assent to the sky, may be the like of which no one dares know, might that soul come, resurrect in a world of disdainful wishes and weary glances...
It sounded like a prophecy, a declaration of the future, a changing message meant to instill knowledge of the Unknown...
And along lost causes, fear endowed power, long forgotten uses of the gifts bestowed to the magic folk of old...
Pain coursed through his body, the anger receded to leave room for the pain to flow. His blood boiled more, worse than before, and his skin crawled as his bones began to rearrange, twist and contort to fit a new form. He wanted to scream, he tired, but no sound passed through his blood-stained lips. Instead, he arched his back, joints cramping as the voice echoed on...
Bestowed to you, by blood right and sheer will of doom, gifts sought after, often mourned...
It was louder, booming in his head. His mouth was set ablaze with pain, his body stretching several painful inches, hair spilling down his neck and slowly to his shoulders, fingers cramping as they clawed out at air, in an effort to latch onto something to try to ease the pain of burning joints...
Night is thy chosen time, on the day of birth...
His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he swung his fist out to grip the bed. He arched his back as his spine seemed to jump from his body...
Weary soul, thyne path is of waiting, take note ye are not the first to travel it alone. Revel in this wondrous gift, ye who is the rebirth of a House...
And it receded, the pain left in slow, shallow waves...
Chosen were ye to recreate a withering race...
A shaky, thankful sigh escaped parted lips as his head finally rested down on the floor...
Arise, arise... thy genesis awaits...
And Harry opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. It was still night, he could tell by the grey glow from the moon, but everything was clear. Clear... he wasn't wearing his glasses. He was on his back, on the floor spread-eagled and confused, if not dazed. He sat up, groaning as he rubbed the back of his head and neck. Wait, his hair had never been this long before - not ever... And, nothing was broken, not a single ache or pain...
Harry jumped up, dizzied by the quickness of the sudden move. His mind rushed for a split second before he gathered his bearings. Then, his head turned to stare at the mirror. His skin was clear of bruises and scars, his muscle tone was now lean and attractive, and he was a good three inches taller, an easy six foot in height. His raven hair now fell to his shoulders in unkempt waves, though not harassing his head like before. His complexion was fairer, but still tan. He held up a hand and stared at the long, lean and slender fingers, what could be called artist hands because of the dexterity-look.
Harry looked down. The baggy pants he was currently wearing were almost not long enough to cover his feet. Another sign of the change. He was thankful his outward appearance had only softened and become toned to perfection; he was an Adonis by any other name.
Harry still felt his inner pain, and it soon returned to him. Even this new- found beauty, inside was still beaten, mangled, and torn.
Harry sat on the bed, but upon laying his head down he sat up again. An awful, acrid smell permeated from the mattress, the smell of his cousin's semen. How he could smell that he did not know, nor did he care, only that he was now sickened dramatically. Harry made to rise, but then, he caught the sounds of floorboards creaking under foot, a foot weighed down by muscle.
Harry's soul caved in at the sound of the doorknob turning. Yes, it was his birthday, he as sixteen. The Divine Entities had done something to him, something he feared would affect him greatly somehow. He wanted to just blow away, or fade into the shadows, but no, so was not to happen as the door opened.
Dudley Dursley, Harry's seventeen-year-old cousin (held back, you know. Failed sixth grade, I believe), entered. He had changed over the year, having gained muscles in exchange for the fat. But he was still the ever- presence of fear and pain for Harry, a constant source of horrid hell.
"Happy birthday, cousin," Dudley whispered as he closed the door. He locked it, and moved to the bed.
Before Harry knew it, Dudley was on him. The larger boy pinned Harry as he always had, and brutally attacked Harry's mouth, quickly forcing entry and ravishing his mouth. Harry squirmed, the feeling of helplessness returning like a wave of regret over him. But he fought against the larger boy still, freezing only when he felt something long, and hard, against his leg. Harry looked down, and grimaced. Draco smiled, letting out a husky breath as he pulled away.
"Keep at it," he whispered into Harry's ear; "It only makes you even more beautiful. I don't know what awful thing you did, but damn it paid off," and he ripped Harry's pants away, then Harry's shirt. Harry cringed as Dudley ran a course hand down his body, and then Harry did something he never thought he could do.
He threw Dudley from him, reversing their positions. He felt a need for something, but it was not lust, oh no, it was a hunger... nostalgia for a food he could not acquire through fodder... it could only be conceived from...
Harry stared at Dudley's neck; "Not again," he whispered, glancing up at Dudley; "I won't let you again," he voice was musical and deep, melodic in a since.
Dudley was transfixed by Harry's eyes. The green irises swirled, the emerald tainted by silver and flecks of gold. They burned with power, intensified by a passionate emotion called hate, despise, malice. Suddenly, Dudley came to his senses, and felt Harry licking a spot on his neck. Dudley couldn't help but moan.
"You like that?" Harry asked, barely a whisper; "You'll love this..."
Harry ran his tongue over his enhanced canines, the sharp tips coarse against his tissue. Baring them, Harry drove his fangs into Dudley's fleshy neck. Dudley let out an inaudible scream, and Harry fed. He fed on the crimson life, the blood of another. It filled him, gave him a contented feeling in his soul. It was a nourishment beyond any other.
Minutes later, Harry pulled away. He licked his fangs and mouth clean, savoring the last taste. Then, it dawned on him at what he had just done. He had gone on instinct, hadn't thought rationally until the act was done, and he was fed. Fed... he had drunk Dudley's blood. Harry sat there, atop his large cousin, staring at the mark he had left. Now, it looked like a bite mark, but something told him that, in the morning, it would resemble nothing more than simple insect bites.
Harry got up, standing beside the bed. He quickly put his pants back on all the way, securing them with a belt, and then rushed over, unlocked and opened the door. He then ran back, and pulled Dudley up. Harry froze, realizing his strength, the picked Dudley up before walking out of the room and carrying the now unconscious boy into his own room and setting him down on the double bed. Harry then rushed back into his room, and closed the door. He rushed over to the loose floor board, pried it open, and retrieved one of his DADA books. He quickly got back on the bed, ignoring the smell, and flipped to the section on VAMPIRES. It read...
'Vampires- considered as dark creatures, though they take a human form- definition; one which needs to consume blood to live. Vampires are able to travel during the day, but the sun weakens their powers some what. Vampires are capable of telepathy and wandless magic, have heightened senses, and are considered immortal, though most do not survive long enough. Vampires are often thought of as fallen angels, partly for their astounding beauty and also for the pair of black wings they possess. The wings in question blend perfectly with the Vampires skin when folded against its back. Vampires are able to talk to Shadowed Animals (I.E., crows, ravens, wolves, etc.). Vampires have the ability of mind control, though the affects where off after a time (a Vampire can only control a human for an hour). Rosary beads, holy water, and the like do not affect a Vampire...'
Harry snorted as he read, then felt his fangs. They were there. He had become more beautiful, as well. Reaching back, he felt the wings. /I've got to get out of here/ he thought, closing the book and rising. Harry quickly put his book aside, and opened his trunk. Having cast a bottomless pit charm upon it a year prior, he unceremoniously threw his dark clothing and supplies into it. Minutes later, Harry was ready to leave. He then threw on a black tank, and stared at his trunk. /Shrink/ he thought, and held his hand out over the trunk. In a matter of moments, the trunk vibrated before shrinking down to the size of a matchbox. Harry picked it up, and put it into his pocket. He then went over, and put on his socks and shoes. Harry thought about leaving a note, and though he didn't feel the need, in case an Order member stopped by.../No one cares, what's the point?/ Harry thought as he wrote out a quick letter and left it lying on his bed.
Trunk in his pocket, Harry opened his window and climbed out onto the roof. He felt the breeze rustle his long hair around his face, and Harry sighed. He basked in the moonlight, extending his arms. /Come on/ he thought, and he felt his wings unfold and spread wide, like an arch or black, glorious feathers around him. Harry brought the left one around to the front, the appendage wrapping around his side, and felt a feather. Yes, they were real. Harry spread his wings again, thinking how best to leave the hell he was forced to call home. /No, no longer/ Harry thought, kicking off the roof and souring into the sky.
Harry was amazed by how quickly he left Surrey behind him, the small community dwindling into the past as he sped away. Harry clearly saw the land below, deciding to best follow a road until he got to London. He stayed well above the clouds, often feeling as though he were flying just beside the moon. It was nearly full, two more days and it would be the Night of the Wolf, as Harry secretly referred it to.
Nearly thirty minutes later, Harry found London, and he landed in an alley. Looking around, he quickly went out onto the sidewalk, taking it to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry pulled out his trunk before he entered, making it back to its original size. He found it incredibly light, but thought better to play the week gangly boy he had been for so long. Setting it down before taking the side handles, he then pushed the door open and entered the pub/inn.
---
Tom looked up from his work, to see a young man make his way in, dragging a large trunk with him. Tom squinted, recognizing the unruly raven hair at a first glance. But its length caught him off-guard, and only when the young man lifted his head and he saw the piercing emerald eyes, with no glasses to shield them, did he realize that the young man was in fact Harry Potter.
"M-Mister Potter, sir!" Tom said, coming around the bar and moving over to Harry; "Ha-how are you? A bit late—or rather early, I should say, for you to be out and about!"
Harry nodded; "I uh, had to get away," he said uneasily; "Could I have a room, please? I might be staying here for a while."
"Of course, Mister Potter," Tom said, and with a flick of his wand, Harry's trunk was transported. Tom then produced a key from his apron pocket; "Number eleven, as always, Mister Potter," tome found it hard to lift his eyes from Harry, and he was straight as they came...
"Er, thank you," Harry said, suppressing a shudder from the hand-to-hand contact. Trauma from rape and brutality had still left a mark upon his psyche.
Tom eyed Harry worriedly, but took Harry's actions as just adrenaline fatigue. He nodded; "Well, you're luggage is up by now," he said, "Good eve' to yeh, Mister Potter."
Harry nodded, and went up the stairs at a swift jog. Tom watched him go, slightly taken aback by the teen's quickness. But the aging man shrugged it off and went back to his duties before retiring for the night.
---
Harry entered the room, and as if by instinct the mirror chimed; "Oh, welcome back, dear. Ooh, you do look dashing, more handsome than previous!"
Harry looked at the mirror, seeing his reflection. He shook his head, and saw his trunk by the familiar bed. Harry went over to the window, staring down at the street. He saw a lightened blue and shades of yellow-pink on the horizon, it was early. Yawning, Harry turned and fell onto the bed, not bothering onto change out of his clothing as he closed his eyes and hugged a feathery pillow. Soon, sleep overtook his weary mind and soul, whisking him away to slumber.
---That night, in Scotland bythe castle Ruins...
the room was damp and cold, comatose images of the dead and dying aligned along the walls in patterns of morose fatigue. It was a dismal arena of a bloodbath ritual, where they came to come. Black robes and cloaks amiably swishing to stillness were the only sounds as a circle was formed around an opaque blue orb situated upon a stand, a silvery light from the moon coming through an opening in the ceiling, which was easily fifty feet over the highest head. Many whispered quietly, oblivious that they were being watched. Those silent realized this though, and stood firm and still, attentive and waiting. Soon, their leader swooped down, standing beside the orb and its stand.
"My brothers and sister," he said, "The Chosen have created another for our masses... He is just now used to his new abilities, his calling. He is Harry Potter, the one the wizards have chosen to save them."
A boy pulled the hood from his head, and this was a sign that the others could, as well. His hair was a light blonde, shining from the moonlight. He stepped into it fully, his voice clear and musical, like all the others; "Brother," he said, "Are you positive?"
The leader nodded, removing his hood. His face was elegantly long, eyes, nose, and mouth all placed in the right places to give him a royal look. His dark eyes glittered with enthusiasm, and he replied; "Yes, Brother Draco, it is the Harry Potter. A darker Harry Potter, but not someone we cannot encourage to lighten... who will go and greet him?"
"I will," the blonde, said; "After all, this could be a good thing, having him with us."
"It will change things for the wizarding community, you know," a female voice piped from the circle.
"As it will for us," the leader said; "Who honestly thought that bloodlines ran so long...?"
"What?" several asked quietly, Draco being the loudest.
The leader chuckled; "Brother Harry's grandfather was one of our own, on Lily's side... and once our own, always our own."
The blonde remembered the stories The Leader often told the Youngers, as all of the young to the world were called. And not the world outside the dank chamber, nay, but the world of the Vampires. Lily's father, what was his name?, Edgar or something, he couldn't remember, had indeed been one of the them. He had become an elder even, but was killed by the Ministry. It was covered up by a potion gone awry. He wondered if Harry even had the faintest idea. But further thoughts were halted by the leader's following statement.
"Brother, you will find and console our newest. I am aware of your childish 'house' rivalry, but something tells me it will no longer have a part. Now, it is late," he sad to the group; "We all know who it is we must take to, watch, stand by. The night wanes, the lights dwindle. This old chamber fades, as our facades are placed along the masks we must wear. Peace to you."
And with that, the meeting ended. Everyone left, by Disapparating or simply walking. The chamber faded into darkness, and the moonlight faded. The orb alone glowed, changing from a soft, majestic blue, then it too, was extinguished by unknown entities.
---End chapter one---
A/N: I know, no slash yet. Well I can't jump right into it yet, now can I? And I'm not sure if I'm even going to continue this, it all depends on reviews! Thanks if you do review, I'll love ya for it! Oh, and silence isn't golden in this aspect. REMEMBER, I AM RISKING A LOT ON THIS (thought I'm not trying to guilt trip you into anything....) JUST REVIEW