Prologue
The Dark Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, had a vendetta of sorts based on blood, all stemming from his father. Voldemort was a wizard, one of the most powerful wizards of the century, and by far the most feared. He and his band of terrorists, the Death Eaters, and been terrorizing the land of Britain since his resurfacing two years ago. Thirteen years prior, he had been thwarted by the last person anyone would have imagined…an eighteen month old boy by the name of Harry James Potter.
"And at what cost?" Harry asked the air as he lay face-up in his bed. "AT WHAT COST!" he screamed, his hands balling into fists, his eyes almost glowing an eerie, dark green.
It took a mere ten seconds before the blanket serving as a door to his room was thrown out of the way, revealing what could have passed for a buffalo in heat, but was in reality a very irate Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle. It was two weeks into summer, and already Vernon had torn Harry's door off its hinges twice. Tired of having it repaired and reattached to the wall, he had affixed the blanket to the top of the door jamb, proclaiming that Harry had never deserved a door in the first place.
"I swear to God, boy," he hissed, "if that happens while Mr. Mason is here, there will be no mercy for you. You've already scared him off once, and I…"
"So much death," Harry said quietly, cutting his uncle off in mid-sentence.
"I…what?" Vernon said.
"What would you do, uncle," Harry said, still staring at the ceiling, "if you lost everyone you held dear? Or do you hold no one dear? Do you even know what love is?" Harry sat up suddenly. "Tell me, Uncle Vernon, do you love your wife? Your son? DO YOU!" Harry screamed the last bit, turning sharply and glaring at Vernon, who swore his eyes really were glowing.
"I…y-you…just…b-be quiet when the Masons arrive…or…" Harry never heard the last bit of pointless stuttering, because Vernon was suddenly thrown from the room by an unseen force.
In retrospect, Harry realized he was finally losing his mind. Not that he particularly cared. At least if he went insane, he wouldn't have to live with himself, and his inability to fulfill his destiny just might be excused. After all, if he hadn't been able to take on his worthless potions professor, Severus Snape, he didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell against Voldemort, especially sense Hell seemed to be on Voldemort's side. What a destiny, Harry thought. Kill or be killed. Every child's dream. With those words in his head, Harry fell asleep.
Unbeknownst to him, Hell was about to have a change of heart…
Blood Hunger Doctrine
Chapter 1
Mask of Sanity
Her nephew Harry had gotten home from his school of magic two weeks ago, and his seventeenth birthday was approaching. Time was of the essence, and she knew she had to speak to Harry. The problem was that the boy kept to his room nearly all day, emerging only to pass bodily waste and to eat, or rather feed, since he really only ingested food for survival. Not to mention her husband, Vernon, would likely flat out kill her if she found out what she was doing. She had to be discrete.
And so, Petunia found herself uncharacteristically calling Harry down to breakfast, albeit in a most characteristic way.
"Potter! Stop hiding in there and join your family for breakfast, you ungrateful brat!" Immediately following her outburst, however, the house began shaking. Jesus, she thought, I've gone and set him off again. God, forgive me for this. "Now! I mean it!"
One minute later, Petunia watched her nephew walk down the stairs, her heart breaking at the sight of his defeated expression. Harry sat down at his usual seat at the table but did not even bother to serve himself. He just sat there, staring forlornly at something only he could see, for the duration of the meal. After graciously clearing the dishes, Petunia adopted her well practiced greater-than-thou persona and put her plan to action with four simple words.
"Fetch the post, Potter." Harry gave her one smoldering look before walking to the door and picking up the assorted bills, spam, and worthless junk that some marketing supervisor no doubt deemed important. He dropped the stack in front of her at the table and started towards the stairs. "Wait, boy, there might be garbage," she snapped, hating herself even more as Harry stood obediently at her side. Flipping through the stack nonchalantly, she waited until Vernon was watching the tele before very conspicuously adding a slip of paper to the stack. "Dispose of this rubbish, boy," she said while eying him meaningfully. Seeing the wide-eyed look of comprehension on his face, she relinquished the stack and watched him drop the mail into the rubbish bin after surreptitiously stuffing her scrawled note in his pocket. Phase one: complete, she thought with satisfaction.
Harry Potter was currently pinching himself, because never in real life would this have ever happened. We need to talk, Harry, alone. Vernon leaves for work at 8:30 sharp, and Dudley is going out for "tea" at 9:15. Come down at 9:30 so we can speak freely. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything, and sorry I'm about to make it worse, but I'd rather you hear this from me than find out by yourself. –Your Aunt Petunia
Either owls were about to be replaced by pigs on the wing, or his mind had officially deserted him. There was no way on earth his aunt was being…nice? No, civil, pleasant…that's it, pleasant, and apologetic of all things. Since when did anybody in this house give two shits about him?
The only possibility that Harry could conceive was that his aunt was playing some cruel joke on him. Still, there was very little she could really do to him, especially if Harry accidentally flashed his wand peeking out of his pocket should anything go awry.
Harry checked the old LED digital clock at his bedside. The numbers 8:25 glared back at him in a dull, red light. Just over an hour, he thought before descending into silent criticism of his cheap clock that didn't even have a liquid-crystal display.
Deciding at 9:32 that he was late enough, Harry stashed his wand where it wouldn't be seen and stalked down the stairs, half-expecting to find all of his old childhood bullies waiting in the drawing room to reminisce about old times. Imagine his surprise when he found his aunt sitting stoically on the loveseat. Might as well play along, Harry thought.
"Take a seat, Harry," Petunia said softly. It was a tone she had never used on him before, and Harry was momentarily stunned. Mentally shaking himself, he sat stiffly in the armchair and waited for his aunt to continue, which she did after a few moments.
"Harry, six years ago you discovered a deep secret: your magical ability-" she was cut off by a sharp intake of breath from Harry, though she just smiled gently "-I just said the M-word, didn't I? Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, you discovered your magic. Your uncle and I had been keeping this from you for almost ten years. First of all, I am sorry." Harry's mouth actually dropped at that. "I mean it, Harry. I could go on for days about what a joy you were to watch grow. You are the son I should have had, not Dudley. I love him dearly, but the boy just isn't a contender in the game of life." At this point, Petunia had to stop and chuckle at the gob smacked look on Harry's face. "Perhaps this story is best begun at the beginning."
"While it is true that I never got on very well with your mother, our disputes had nothing to do with her magic. Our abilities were perfectly balanced. For every one of her shortcomings, I had one to match it, and vice versa. We fought, yes, but we fought as sisters fought. We were two years apart, and one can't very well expect two sisters to get along with that kind of age difference; close enough to have the same interests, but far enough to never agree on them. That being said, I loved her more than anything. We sat front row at each other's graduations and we were maids of honor at each other's weddings. By the way, your father was one of my best friends."
"While we're on the subject of husbands, I want you to know that Vernon wasn't always as cruel as he is today. When I met him, he was not part of what one might call the in-crowd. He has always been overweight; it's genetic. However, we were assigned as study partners once in secondary school, and I discovered the sweet soul hidden inside. We got married right out of high school. At this point, however, he had no knowledge whatsoever of Lily's magic. When he found out, he was very…angry, to say the least. You see, his brother, Allen, was a wizard. Excepting that Allen was much older than Vernon, they were much like Lily and I. However, unlike me, Vernon did not take his brother's assassination as well as I took Lily's. Allen worked in the Ministry, and he had been approached by You-Know-Who. This was all before that monster really surfaced, back when the war he fought was merely political. Since Allen was rather high up in the chain of command, You-Know-Who tried for months to persuade Allen to see things his way. When his efforts proved fruitless, he had one of his followers, some bitch named Lestrange, murder him publicly. That day marked the true beginning of the war."
"Vernon was sixteen at the time, and when he learned of his brother's death, he snapped. He locked himself in his room for days. His parents tried to get him out, even going so far as to try to break the door in, but he had barricaded it. Eventually, his parents called the fire brigade to get him out. However, the Vernon everyone had known was gone. He appeared the same, but he became bitter and irritable. Above all else, he fostered an undying hate for the world of magic that took his brother from him. We were, at this point, together, and I couldn't bear to let him be like that alone, so I mimicked his hatred, though I never really felt it. By the time we graduated, he had gotten a lot better, and we were married a year later."
"Two years later, Dudley was born, and you a month later. I briefly entertained thoughts of the two of you being playmates and becoming the best of friends, but I never really believed it. Vernon knew at this point what Lily and James were, and therefore what you were…are. Keeping my charade up, we agreed to never let you come within a mile of Dudley, much less meet him."
"Eighteen months later, we learned that Lily and James had been murdered and found you on our doorstep. While I was busy containing my shock, Vernon deposited you in the cupboard. He was all for dropping you off at an orphanage, but I managed to convince him that you could be 'preserved' and be normal. I believe you are all too familiar with how life went from then on."
Petunia stopped at this point to catch her breath. Harry merely sat in shock and utter rapture. This revelation was too thought out to be a hoax; his aunt was telling the truth.
"Now comes the hard part," she said. "About a month before they died, Lily and James contacted me, asking if we could discuss something. When I arrived at their house, they revealed to me a secret that they told to nobody else, not even Dumbledore. When you were born, it was discovered that you had a gift, or a curse, depending on which way you look at it."
"But I already know," Harry interrupted. "I'm a parselmouth."
"A parselmouth?" Petunia asked incredulously.
"I can talk to snakes. Remember the zoo? The python?"
Petunia just laughed. "Oh, dear, Harry, you are precious!" She kept laughing for a few seconds before calming down and becoming serious. "If only it were that simple. No, Harry. I know what a parselmouth is, and I know that you aren't the first one. With respect to your curse, however, you are an enigma. You aren't exactly the first, but you are the first to obtain this curse spontaneously. It usually has to be passed to you directly from another who suffers from it."
"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted again. "I know a werewolf, and he transforms every month. If I'm a lycanthrope too, why don't I transform?"
"Again, you jump to conclusions. By the way, I assume you are speaking of Remus? I knew him as well. Anyway, you are not a werewolf. In fact, you are probably immune to lycanthropy. However, you are NOT human. Well…maybe that's going a bit too far. You are human, but you are not a member of Homo sapiens. You are what is known to wizards as Homo lamicus, an Earth-bound demon, more commonly known as a vampire. The difference between you and your fellows is that you are still among the living."
"As I said, you are the first of your kind, a living vampire. After you were born, your mother put a series of powerful binding spells, several of her own invention and tailored specifically to you. In short, she managed to harness the power of your intact life force to keep both your vampiric strength and the thirst at bay, both in order to give you time to acclimate yourself to them and because, frankly, no one knew what to expect from you. You see, usually if a wizard is turned, their magic reacts with the curse violently, and the person simply dies. With you, however, the curse has always been a part of you, and so your magic has molded itself to accommodate the curse."
"I'll let you have some time to mull this all over before I continue," she said, "I'm afraid the worst is yet to come."
A/N: There it is, the prologue and the first chapter. Before I get blamed for being cliche, let me assure you all that this will NOT be the typical vampire story. As stated in the story, vampirism is as much a curse as a gift. There will be no clans, no new identities, and most importantly NO SLASH! I'm not a homophobe or anything, but guess what, it has been made explicitly clear that none of the characters here are homosexual. Get over it.
Now, on the subject of reviews: I don't particularly care whether you review or not, but it is nice to hear from you if I write something particularly noteworthy, or of course if I do something particularly stupid. Feel free, or rather, feel encouraged to send me as much constructive criticism as you want; I need it. However, for your own good, don't flame me with useless junk, especially if you do it anonymously. Tell me I suck as much as you want, but if you can't tell me why I suck and how to get better, it doesn't do me any good and it doesn't do YOU any good.
...You all will have to forgive me for my rants occasionally.