Welcome to a fic that's been brewing in my head for quite sometime. And even though very few people are familiar with Vampire - The Requiem it's story is enough to pull anyone into it's world. Here I'm going to try and cross over HP with Vampire, please enjoy. AU after fifth year.

Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling

Vampire - The Requiem belongs to White Wolf Gaming.

Chapter 1 - Childe

The third day of summer found Number Four Privet Drive caught in a torrential downpour. As lightning flashed across the evening sky, it illuminated a small second story room. The room of one, Harry Potter. The-Boy-Who-Lived, the savior of the wizarding world. And as of last year, the one destined to destroy the dark lord Voldemort.

Another flash of lightning shot across the purple sky, causing a sleeping form in the room to shift. Brooding had become the focal point in his life, brooding over his parents, brooding over his friends that he had brought into harms way in the ministry the previous year, and finally the fact that his godfather nearly died. Through the quick thinking of one, Mad-Eye Moody, a desk was banished into the path of the stunned man. Saving him from falling through the veil of death and leaving Harry without a family again.

Now however, Harry was infurated with the head of the black household. Being left to rot with the Dursley's was not an ideal situation, considering there were better places to dwell. As the young man shifted under his ratty old blanket, he gazed at the peeling wallpaper. It was Dumbledore that insisted he remain in this hell hole, something about blood protection. His righteous anger was misplaced and more befitting of a petulant child, but he couldn't help being pissed off. It was all crashing down on him: the prophecy, the lack of letters from his "Friends," and that he was still in the dark as to what the dark lord was up to. If they had attached a note with his Hogwarts letter stating that he would be risking his life every year, which would all culminate into a final confrontation with a man he knew nothing about only to end with one of them six feet under, he would have told them kindly to sod off. Harry grunted and sat up, they say hindsight is twenty-twenty, maybe for normal people, but his hindsight was more like a high-powered micro-scope.

Instinctively he reached up and rubbed his scar, ah yes, the bane of his existance. The damn thing had made him famous in one fell swoop, at the same time condemning him to a half life. "A gift and a curse," was what Albus Dumbledore once told him. That. Was. Bullshit. The blasted thing was a curse from three-hundred and sixty degrees of viewing. "It came with money," blood money, bathed in his mother and father's families and their own. "It came with fame," ah yes how he loved the wizarding reporters, it seems that the wizarding world loves drama more than the muggle world, and that's saying something. "You have amazing power," Oh? Because I defeated Voldemort when I was a child? No that's not right, because that was an honest fluke. His mother acted on primal maternal instincts and accidentally activated an ancient spell, that's all, no grand story, no great power play by the light, just a mum protecting her child. "You have love Harry," this one made the black haired youth snort, oh yes, Voldemort was going to keel over because Harry got more hugs as a kid, which in itself was crap logic. Harry got a swift boot to the backside and a shove into a cramped closet if he got hurt, not a hug. If by all accounts, then Harry had the potential to be a dark wizard that would make even Riddle piss his pants. Sadly, this was not the first time the savior of the wizarding world had entertained that thought.

Harry swung his legs over his bed and planted them inside his trainers, he'd learned early that the wooden floor in his room was prone to have splinters. After pulling out more wooden spikes from his feet than he could remember, no matter how uncomfortable his Dudley hand-me-downs were, they were vastly superior to punctured feet.

He looked over at the wall where an uncovered lamp attempted to beat back the ever growing shadows of the evening sky. It's weird how life can show you things in it's own little obscure ways. Take for instance the light against the rooms shadows, it's doing a fine job, burning brightly, effectively stopping the darkness from flooding the corners of his dwelling place. However, that bulb will eventually burn out, then he'd have to replace it with another. A bit disheartening for even the most resolute of souls.

A turn of the head revealed a large grey shadow, created by his dresser, but inside that grey shadow was the jet black shadow of his bed. Slowly as the day crept on, the black shadow of the bed would engulf the grey of the dresser. Maybe they were going about this wrong? Maybe to beat the darkness, you need a stronger version? What would people think if the great hope was playing with the idea of harnessing the hatred that welled up in him at times.

As he loosened the floorboards in his bedroom and retrieved his school books he began think, honestly they'd most likely flock to him for protection no matter that he would be more evil or as evil as Voldemort. With a grunt and a shove off the floor he dusted off his pants and sat at his desk, his frustration now boiling up, as superior as the people of the magical world tried to be, at least muggles have a sense of independence. He quickly squashed that feeling of resentment in his gut, magical people were his people, and he would die for any one of them save a handful. That was him, brave and noble Harry potter.

A light chuckle escaped him and he opened his transfiguration book to the required page. It was purely coincidence that when he went to dip his quill in the ink well that he noticed a shadow dart across the front lawn. It was quickly followed by three more. At first he thought he needed his eyes checked, as all four forms moved faster than any human, and the pursuing three were actually running on all fours.

"What the bloody hell?" he muttered and reached to his desk for his wand. Instantly he assumed the worst case scenario, deatheaters were here for him. Well he wouldn't go down without a fight, but who were they pursuing? And why? Then another though hit him, What if it was one of the order memebers that watched over his house they were chasing? Quickly he gathered his raincoat and sprinted for the door.

As he entered the foyer Vernon's gruff voice came from the living room, "A bit late for a stroll, eh boy?" After using a rocking motion to remove his bulbus body from the sofa he ambled over to Harry, "What's the idea? making such a ruckus on our movie night?"

Harry looked over, and indeed it was movie night, "Sorry uncle," he admonished, quickly coming up with an idea to help the person outside, "I noticed you hadn't gotten your paper and I assumed since it was raining that was the cause. So I decided to retrieve it for you."

Vernon eyed him dangerously, trying to decipher if that was indeed the truth, "Hmm, very well then, but nothing funny and be quick. Wouldn't want you to catch your death out there would we?"

With a quick "Yes sir," he was out the door and quickly being soaked. Pulling up his hood he silently thanked Hermione for insisting that he buy the jacket. Without so much as a sure direction, he took off down the street at a full run. As his oversized trainers sploshed in puddles, soaking his legs up to the knee in water, he scanned the allyways and side streets.

As he began to lose hope, a stitch began to build in his side, and he stopped. He made a note to write the order immediately and try to find out what was going on. Althougth Dumbledore would want to "Protect" him, Harry would be demanding to know everything ASAP, he wouldn't have people dying for him no matter how important everyone thought he was.

Before he could get started towards the Dursley's a loud bang was heard and a large trashcan lid came flying from an alley between two homes. Poking his head around the corner proved to be more of a shocker than he was prepared for, and the single action that caused Harry's life to plunge into a world that was beyond the knowledge of even the likes of Dumbledore.

From the outward appearance, three ragged homeless people were trying to attack one man. The three attackers consisted of two men and one woman, all garbed in tattered jackets and shirts, bare feet, and ripped jeans. They were hunched like primates, snarling and growling, moving their bodies like animals, and circling the man in the middle like a pack of wolves.

The man in the center looked to be in his early twenties, probably about Bill Weasley's age. He was wearing a black pair of cargo pants, a long sleeve red shirt with the sleeves cuffed up, black boots, and an eyebrow ring over his left eye. Slicked back brown/black hair confirmed he was probably a local at the club down the street, "The Blackbox." The only thing Harry really knew about the place was that Uncle Vernon was in a right state when it was being constructed. The scene, to Harry, looked like three junkies trying to snag a bit of loot for their next fix.

As he was about to step in, the situation went from a normal mugging to a slaughter, and it wasn't the three homeless junkies that were winning. As the first bedraggled assailant charged, the club goer ducked and reached under the back of his shirt for something. The snarling man flew over the brunette's head and in the moonlight Harry caught a glimpse of metal in the young man's hand, it was a gun, and not a small one either. In two quick strikes the airborn attacker was howling and bleeding profusely from the side of his head. The young man had cracked his skull with the butt of his revolver.

"BASTARD!" growled the woman, "Give it back!"

The young man smirked and aimed the silver weapon at her, "I don't think so, Invictus lap dog. Go back to your master and lick his boots, then tell him the Carthians don't take well to being set up."

The second man seemed to be concentrating on something, and then Harry noticed his fingers, more specifically his fingernails, extending and coming to vicious points. "Mehket...you've sto-" he stopped upbruptly and began sniffing, rearing back on his legs, like a dog finding a scent.

In that moment Harry realized what scent he was finding, his own, and whether the Boy who lived wanted to fight or not he was about to.

The two remaining mongrels and the young man turned on him, "IDIOT!" shouted the brunette, "RUN!"

Before Harry could move, the woman bounded off the ground, ricocheted off the wall, and finally landed on the poor black haired young man with such force it drove the breath from his lungs. His wand sent skidding along the ground, and him completely defenseless.

The woman looked at the wand as it skipped into a grate, "You a hunter boy!" she began sniffing him like some kind of over exhuberant puppy, "You smell funny...and sweet, I think I'll take a taste of you."

"Get off of him!" shouted the man, Harry assumed, to be named Mehket. Then a sound rang through the alley that everyone present recognized, not because it was loud, but more because it was ominous. The sound of the hammer of a gun being slid back, "I said get the fuck off of him, you're fighting me." Before he could continue his forceful persuassion, the downed man was now on his feet and again charging. In a blink, Mehket was gone and then reappeared behind a now confused attacker, "Sorry, game over," as a crack of thunder boomed so did the young man's gun. Spraying the wall with brain matter and blood, nearly decapitating his assailent.

The next thing Harry saw shook him to his core, instead of the body dropping lifelessly to the ground, it begain to sizzle. The skin started cracking, and sliding from the bone, falling into piles of molten flesh before turning to ash. When the process was over it left a skeleton mere seconds later, that too turned to ash, any evidence that the man ever existed being washed down the storm drain.

"W-w-w-what the hell!" shouted Harry as he tried to get out from under his inhumanly strong attacker, "Get the HELL OFF ME!"

The beastly woman turned on him and snarled, "SHUT UP!" Then in one swift movement, before Mehket could react, she ripped open Harry's neck with her claws, leaving the poor boy choking on his own blood and dying fast.

"We're not done yet Carthian!" Shout the woman before she and her companion sprinted off into the night.

As Harry attempted in vain to close the open wound on his neck with his hand Mehket knelt beside him, "Bloody hell mate, she did you in good. I don't think you're going to make it." He stood and began to walk away, "For what it's worth kid, I'm sorry."

Harry made an attempt to call out to him for help, it merely came out as a strangled gurgle, "...elp...ple...ase.."

Mehket stopped and looked down on him with a frown, "You don't know what you're asking me. What you'd be doing to yourself if I help. Do you want to live so bad you're willing to accept ANY form of life as long as you're walking, talking, and capable of cognative thought?"

The boy who lived paused, what was this man talking about. He had Hermione, Ron, the Weasley's, and all his friends to protect, he didn't have a choice. Slowly he nodded his head and began choking again. He blinking, and again, Mehket was gone and Harry's head was being craddled, "Tha...ou..."

"Don't thank me..." murmured Mehket as he leaned down and sunk his elongated canines into the young boys neck.

Harry's head jerked back instinctively, as a slight pressure was applied to his jugular. Then all was euphoric, a feeling that he had never felt before, pure pleasure and unadulterated bliss. Once the preasure subsided he watched as Mehket slit his wrist and held it over his mouth, and again, Harry was in heaven. A burning sensation followed this man's blood down his throat and into his stomach, warming him to his very core. His breathing became less labored and then ceased to be difficult at all. Slowly he sat up and looked into his saviors eyes, "Than-"

Mehket placed a finger over his lips, "I said don't thank me," he stood and helped Harry to his feet, "in a few hours you might even be trying to kill me." A labored sigh escaped the man as he ran his hand through his hair, "Well we should we be going, dawn's coming and I don't think you want your first night to be your last."

A dumbfounded Harry could merely comply as a sweeping pain shot through his head, causing him to collapse, "ARRGH!"

Mehket swept him up and carried him piggy back, "Hold on, we're going. My childe."

End Chapter 1

A/N - no the man's name is not Mehket, you'll get more info in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed