Many canons were used as reference for this fic. Most predominantly is Brom Stoker's Dracula, although I've adopted one tiny thing from League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. People who aren't at all familiar with Stoker's characters (or major novel events) will find this fic annoying as it references and uses them like mad.

As this takes place at an earlier era in time than the anime, all of the characters will either be from Dracula or will be OCs, but they won't be random in origin or thrown into the fic recklessly. Rather, almost all of them will have subtle but apparent significance to canon, and they won't be wasted (besides, there are only three). In the beginning, the fic will be split very evenly into distinct arcs for the sake of OC exposition.

Queen Victoria (1819-1901) is used as a character here and she's to become an antagonist. Her history doesn't need to be known because I'm totally fictionalizing her with some factual evidence in order to make her my own.

If you've reached this far, you obviously are interested. Please, go on.

"I've…decided," she said, "to follow in the footsteps of my father."

"But why?" he said. "You love the children, and they will be crushed at this."

"It is because…" she sobbed, " I am unclean. I am no longer fit to teach innocent children any longer. I am unfit and Jonathan hates me."

"…Jonathan has been blinded and overwhelmed, and the children has nothing to do with his rejection. The children need you. You cannot allow this to break you, dear Madam Mina…not when you are so strong…"

"But don't you see, Professor Helsing? It was because of Jonathan Harker that I was so strong."

-- London, 1878. Whitby.

"Telegram for you, Mrs. Harker. From a Mr. Van Helsing."

Mina Harker paused, surprise flitting across her features. Abraham Van Helsing? Surely…not?

"Missus?"

She shook her head. It didn't matter anyway. It would be good to speak to the doctor again. But it had been so long since…

"Yes, Perkins. All right, thank you. Put it over there and I shall get to it in due time." She waved towards the writing desk, an absentminded gesture and an obvious dismissal.

The butler inclined his head, and then did as commanded. Just as he was leaving, however, he paused in the doorway, steps slowing to a stop.

"Yes, Perkins?" Mina said, without even looking up from her reading.

He hesitated. "Mrs. Harker." At the trepidation in his voice, she looked up. "The Master has also given word of his return to London. Shall I prepare the guest room for his arrival?"

Her heart grew cold and felt suddenly leaden with the news. Jonathan was coming back home? Unconsciously, she thought of this as not only her home but his as well. But she knew it wasn't so.

Not anymore.

When Mina replied, her voice came out as nothing short of frosty. "Of course. Do as you will to see to his comfort when he arrives." She immediately regretted her unusually terse tone as soon as she saw him flinch. Softening her expression, she said, "I'm sorry, Perkins. I—I did not mean to be so curt."

Perkins stiffened, straightening smartly. "No need for apologies, Mrs. Harker. But…what he also said in his missal was that to inform you that a barrister will be arriving at noon. In regards to your divorce," the old butler said; he knew this to be a taboo subject in the household, and so he glanced at her with wary eyes.

She seemed not to notice, though Mina did draw in a sharp breath. So soon? And nearing Christmastime, no less.

"Is that all, Perkins?" She tried keeping her voice as even as possible. She was good at it, too, having had plenty of practice ever since she had to run her own household, when Jonathan left her to...

Her lips trembled. Surely her voice hadn't wavered as she thought it had?

"Yes, Mrs. Harker." Perkins's tactfully stifled manner never gave him away.

"Then you may leave."

He did so. Quickly.

And once she was completely sure the door was closed securely behind him, she let her face crumple into utter despair. Numbly she stood, her book falling with a thud to the ground from her lap, but the sound fell on deaf ears. Stumbling, she sat down at her writing desk, eyes unseeing.

She buried her face in her hands, a sob escaping her lips.

When had everything gone so wrong?

But the moment of self-pity swept away as quickly as it had come. Furious, she wiped her tears away with her sleeve, struggling in vain to compose herself. Crying over her doomed marriage! Crying over her divorce! Mina felt disgusted at herself. But though she stopped crying, her heart wept bitterly.

But she'd long stopped listening to her heart.

When Jonathan Harker would arrive, she would handle the whole matter coolly. She would not cry. She would not yell. No, instead, she would handle the meeting like the sensible, mature woman she was. She would smile prettily up at the lawyer and act as if the whole matter didn't hurt her as much as it did.

She would endure and discuss.

Endure...and discuss.

Yes.

And when the lawyer drew up the divorce papers, she would not cry. She would not.

She would not.

-- London, 1879. Whitby.

Not too long ago would she have cried joyously at his nearness, their closeness. She loved him, loved him more than he'd ever know. But that love withered and died away…

Rejection ran deep, after all.

Like a statue, Mina sat woodenly at her desk. Her back straight, her shoulders upright, and her posture stiff. Her skin seemed to glow a wondrous luster, as if a gentle halo of light was reflected off her skin. She had thought it was a trick of the light, until a couple days ago she realized that a miracle was taking place within her. But then she realized it was a curse in disguise.

How could she not have realized…?

She never did get to tell him. She didn't see any need to, not now. Not when he was so intent on divorce. And she would keep it that way, of course! If he wanted her out of his life, than so be it. Her affairs were her own…and he would no longer welcome her openness, would he? Of course not…of course…not…

Evidently, her dear friend Van Helsing heard of the awful news. His telegram expressed his urgency to see her. When they scheduled a meeting—and met they had—they had a joyous reunion. Yet Mina thought that he could see the taint of her sorrow and bitterness in her every motion, her every move, for so deep had the whole affair seeped into her soul.

"I remember a time when my tears were quelled by the Professor's soothing presence…but no more, for I am inconsolable."

Abraham Van Helsing had expressed his sadness at the Harkers' bitter ordeal. What stuck her deeply was that he meant it, as she knew he would've. He had, once again, offered his help at anytime she wished it, as he had given the oath to her months before when…when he still plagued them.

Hearing him swear his oath again, however, made her considerably warm, and it showed in multitudes of gratitude that rolled off of her.

And though she didn't know it then, she would be in need of Van Helsing's services very…very soon.

However much she hardened her heart against Jonathan, Dracula, and the like—however much she hated that lasting aspect of her life…she could not bring herself to hate her newborn child. She loved that child. It was her own, yes, her own precious babe…

Van Helsing was extraordinarily cheerful when he pronounced one Madam Wilhelmina Harker a mother of a beautiful baby girl. A child unlike no other. So unnaturally beautiful yet so in likeness to its mother from which it came from…it was beloved and cherished. Raised both collectively by Mina and the Professor, it was loved and happy.

The babe was christened Wilhelmina Lucy Murray, named after her mother, her middle name in honor of Mina's dead friend. Dead. Killed by the Count, and then murdered by their own.

But…all good things must come to an end. It was a near two years later when Van Helsing would discover something that made his blood run cold. Something that shocked him so badly, horrified him so much, that he fell to his knees and wept bitter tears.

The child had inherited Dracula's damned disease—!

-- London, 1881. Whitby.

"Is there no other way?" Mina whispered brokenly. She clutched her child to her bosom and cried softly, "Can she not be healed?"

Dr. John Seward hesitated. "Mrs. Harker, the matter at hand, it—"

Abraham Van Helsing calmly raised a hand to stop him. Seward fell silent, grimfaced, but nodded tersely. He would allow his old mentor to soothe the hysterical female.

For who else could be so tactful when delivering such terrible news?

Still…it did not stop him from looking shamefaced and guilty.

Van Helsing embraced Mina comfortingly, as a sorrowful father would, and slowly whispered words to her into her ear. It had the desired effect; Seward was amazed to see Mina visably compose herself, as if she'd shed her cloak of despair and adorned a calmner one anew.

Once more, Seward felt his admiration for his old teacher grow.

Whichever words he chose to comfort the mother with, it worked as a balm as for a weary soul would. Though Mina Harker looked dreadfully pale, solemn, and fearful, there was something alight in those eyes of hers. Something…something absent before when the mother was forefront and was frightened for her babe, but was now present when the levelheaded Mina Harker of old appeared.

A show of such strength, of such courage, in the face of all this insanity, humbled the doctor in ways more than one. He stepped forward and clasped her two hands in his ones.

"Wilhelmina," he spoke quietly, but determinedly. Mina looked up quickly, surprised at his unusual address of her, so intimate, but Seward continued on, voice firm with hope. "The professor and I will do everything within our power to help you through this ordeal, for had we not promised as such all those months ago? Had the professor not sworn that whenever the time came that you needed his assitance, he would come unhesitantly? And I, as a grieving doctor then, for my dear Lucy had died, not cast aside all inhibitions and promised to help you then as, yes, I do now?"

At his heartfelt words and oath, Mina wept all the more, but it was tears of joy, not sorrow, that fell from her eyes. "Oh, John Seward, how good you have been to me! How good you all have been to me! If I could I would repay your kindness tenfold, and," here she turned to Van Helsing, "to you, the man who I will trust my babe to unerringly, there will never be a day where I will not come forth and offer my help to you whenever it is needed, whenever times are dire, to repay the favor you've bestowed upon me then as you do now."

"Madam Mina." Van Helsing's voice surged with adoration, a deep sense of love. "You need not repay the favor for I, as well as John here, know just how grateful you are to us. No, are we not friends, or even siblings, for the bond that we share between us is strong? We will come to your aid willingly, and you will come to aid us willingly. I know this and revel in it!"

"I do not deserve such love or kindness—no, I do not deserve them at all! But I cherish this gift of yours so very much. I sought comfort and I found it within you two unfailingly, and I love you all the more! And now my babe—my God—my babe…"

"Hush now, Madam Mina," Van Helsing said, and his voice was soothing to the ears. "This is not goodbye or farewell. You will see me frequently as I will you. And whenever you need me just contact Dr. Seward here and I will come immediately!"

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you…"

Seward smiled, eyes suspiciously bright. "Well, now," he said in a brisk sort of tone. "What is the name of your child?"

"I never did tell you, did I?" Her words held something akin to wonderment. Van Helsing chuckled, not bothering to wipe his face of fresh tears.

Mina rocked her baby and cooed softly before carefully handing her over to the doctor. Seward looked down at the babe in his arms in awe.

Happily, the child giggled and waved its arms into the air.

Mina gave a watery smile. "Her name is Wilhelmina Lucy Murray."

Seward's eyes softened as they peered closely at the baby's own. A smile rose to his lips, slowly, in delight. "Lucy, then, is it?"

Mina laughed, a cheerful sound. It was the first she had in what seemed months. "How Lucy would've been warmed at the thought!" she said. She spoke fondly not of her own daughter, but of the Lucy of old, the friend who had died many years ago.

And yet, somehow, Seward didn't feel bitter at the thought. He felt sadness, yes, as he always have at the mention of Lucy Westenra's name, but somehow, just somehow…he felt quiet content.

It was the child.

"Yes," he agreed softly, "she would."

-- London, 1884. Helsing Manor.

"Papa…Papa, won't you tell me another story?"

Van Helsing smiled gently, but firmly, as he tucked his ward into bed. It was times like these that he regretted his decision to take in Wilhelmina and regretted lost times with his own son.

He would have turned nine-and-ten years this year.

Yet…so much joy had been brought to him from the moment this child had first taken his hand and called him 'Papa'…but that was joy tenfold denied to his beloved friend Madam Mina.

A heartsick, heartbroken woman. He did not deserve her happiness.

Brushing back the girl's unruly bangs, Van Helsing murmured, "Mina, do you remember…your father?"

The child shifted under the sheets and peered up into his face. It made him inwardly cringe to see the open confusion on her face. "But, Papa, aren't you my father?" she said.

"I'll never claim a child that was never mine!"

Eyes sad from the memory, he gave her a solemn look. "No, child," he said. "I am not."

Wilhelmina fell silent, her face scrunched up in an expression of what seemed intense concentration. Van Helsing waited patiently for her to finish thinking and was rewarded when a small smile lit her face.

He'd didn't expect her to be sad, after all. Not for the man she'd never known, not for the father who'd rejected her, a mutual and unconscious action on her part as well. And definitely not when she was still yet so young, too young, to have remembered much of any angry words about him from years past. But her words next surprised him.

"It's all right, Papa. I know you aren't really my father."

He shot her an inquisitive look, genuinely curious. "And how did you know that, Wilhelmina?"

Her face scrunched up even more. "It's because you're so old, Papa! You are a grandpapa much more than a papa!"

A loud burst of laughter came out from Van Helsing. What a delightful child! "Ah, Mina…Mina! How you make me laugh so!"

Wilhelmina giggled and accepted the hand that ruffled her hair playfully. "Papa!" she shrieked. "Papa, you're ruining my hair!"

"Oh, ho ho? Is that so? Then…what happens if I do this!" And then the old man set upon her, tickling her sides, taking in her smiles and laughter with every stroke, drinking in her joy and relishing it. Finally, the two of them lay on the bed, side by side: Van Helsing, chuckling, and Wilhelmina, grinning.

After a comfortable silence passed between them, the little girl turned her head to the side to look at her father's face. She smiled, poking at the stubble around his chin.

He batted at her hand half-heartedly. Giggling, she kept poking him, twisting away in mock fright whenever his hand got near in capturing hers. This continued on, this little game of theirs, until at last Wilhelmina tired of it and flopped onto her back in bliss.

"Child…remember when I asked you about your real father?"

Sensing a change to the mood, she sat up and nodded vigorously. He smiled gently when he saw how attentive she was being, and continued.

"I ask because…" he hesitated. "Child, I have received some awful news a fortnight ago about an old friend. Something has…happened to your papa."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Wilhelmina…your father has—died."

"Oh." Wilhelmina's eyes became downcast as she started to bite down on her lower lip—a habit, he found, to be one whenever she felt anxious or worried. She looked up. "I never met him, Papa."

Of course, he realized suddenly. She wouldn't have, would she? "Would you like to?" he said, the contours of his face softening with his words. "My presence is requested at his burial in a week and the funeral beforehand, but I was wondering if you would like to go, too. To meet your father, child."

Her eyes were luminous in the dark, shining brightly as moonlight lit around her frame with a soft glow. They glinted crimson as she spoke. "Yes, Papa. I would like that very…much."

And somehow, Abraham van Helsing mustered a smile.

-- London, 1893. Helsing Manor.

His beautiful, beautiful little girl—no, that wasn't right…she was a young woman now, of only five-and-ten. His daughter…

Why was I so blessed? he wondered dimly. How could I, Abraham van Helsing, have deserved such a child that was such a source of pride and joy in my life?

That child had grown up to be just as wonderful and warmhearted as her mother, but just as passionate and outspoken as her father. That child was now an adult.

And now his heir.

"Mina," Van Helsing rasped out. "Mina—where…where…?"

"I'm here, Papa!" Two small, warm hands clasped one of his withered old ones. Undeserving ones. "I am here! And I'll not leave you now—never ever!"

He turned his head to where he heard her voice and smiled. "Ah…Mina, Mina," he said. "You do this old man's heart well. I'm so proud…"

"Papa…Papa…please don't say it," she said. Her face, open and vulnerable, twisted with her tears. "N-not now…not ever…"

His smile turned sad when he felt the inevitable drops of wetness running down her cheeks and falling off her chin. Smoothing away those tears with his good hand, he allowed her sobs to quiet down before he continued.

"I've done many things that I'm not proud of, Mina. Many past transgressions that not even the Lord Almighty could have ever completely forgave of this old carcass of mine."

"Don't say that!" she said. "You're a good man, Papa—a good man!"

A ghost of surprise flitted across his face before it settled into a wry expression. "Thank you, Mina…but many would beg to differ. Many, many people…"

"I don't care about them at all!" Wilhelmina declared. "To me, Papa is Papa, no matter who he was or what he'd done in the past! I…I love you! I don't care what you've done! A-as long as Papa is with me…e-everything will be all rig-ght…"

"Oh, child," Van Helsing said, "oh, child…I only hope that God will one day forgive me once more for what I am about to do." He shut his eyes tightly, murmuring, "Forgive me…"

"P-Pa…pa?"

"Mina." His voice had taken on a surprisingly strong note as his eyes snapped open. "Mina, listen to me, child, and listen well."

"I am, Papa."

"Very good. What I am about to tell you is so very important, Mina, so very important that you must somehow move past your grief one day to full heartedly accept what I'm about to impart to you."

"But—but that means…"

"You must forget about me," he said, a firm undertone to his voice. "You must forget all about me. For the future."

"I'll never forget you!" Wilhelmina cried. She clasped his hand, which still rested on her face, and held it there. "I'll won't forget, Papa…you can't ask me of that, Papa, anything but that."

"Mina…" Van Helsing said with a sigh. "Mina, what I'm about to tell you is larger than me…larger than us. Even everyone in this city, this country—and even," he chuckled, dry, "this world."

"Is…is this secret really that important, then?" She felt very small.

"Yes."

"So important that I even have to forget…you?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Remember…do you remember a man named Jonathan Harker?"

Wilhelmina racked her memories for the name but turned up blank, feeling that it should have been known to her. "No, Papa. No, I don't." But when he sighed, she felt she'd disappointed him somehow. Failed him, even.

"But," she added hastily, "the name is familiar to me. I know that much."

"That man…was your real father."

A bare glimpse of wood. A somber crowd of grim-eyed faces. A flash of the whitest and palest skin, alarming in its complexion….Eyes widening in revelation, she blurted out, "The funeral!"

"Yes, yes, the funeral—his…funeral."

"Then what you told me back then—?"

If possible, Van Helsing looked even older, and his face became drawn, thin, and shadowed. He answered rather heavily. "Yes, Mina," he said, "what I told you then was true and is still true."

"You weren't lying then," she said in a voice quite small. "You really weren't lying when you told me about...about monsters."

She sounded so hurt, so…so fragile that he had to close his eyes, for fear of letting her see the vulnerability in them.

"Fifteen years ago, everything I had told you at Harker's funeral had indeed happened. I did not lie to you then, Mina, and I will not lie to you now: Vampires exist in this world, atrocities spawned from evil waiting to consume us were we to allow ourselves to fall. This is the truth of the world we live in. The dead walks amongst us, watching and waiting and wanting to consume all of the living."

"But no one else knows? No one can stop it? H-how…"

This, he knew, would be the hardest part yet. "There are those," he said carefully, "who hunt these…these monsters, these creatures of hell. Organizations, even, which dwell in secret behind society to protect those who could otherwise not do themselves."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Mina," Van Helsing's face betrayed nothing, "the Hellsing organization is one of those factions of vampire hunters. And I have been leading them since your birth."

"Wha…what?!" She stood up abruptly. "Papa, what are you saying? You can't possibly mean—!"

"Yes, I do mean it," he said. "For years you have suspected me strange, yes? Eccentric, even; you've avoided saying my name to the people of the town for fear of being looked down upon with sneers and prejudice. Even amongst your friends are you guarded, careful to hold me at arm's length."

"Oh, Papa!" She looked horrified. "But I did not mean to—"

"I forgave you," Van Helsing interrupted. "I forgave you long ago, time and time again, because I knew it was one of my many failings, something entirely of my own fault. 'I did not tell her,' I said to myself, and so my own child thought me strange. I just—I only hope you'll someday forgive me." There was a raw quality to his voice, his last words somehow meaning more.

But Wilhelmina looked overwhelmed with it all; she did not seem to catch the subtleties behind his fervor. Instead, her face was alight with knowledge, a horrified type of understanding where she knew she would never be ignorant again. "Is this…Hellsing organization your secret then?" She clasped his hand. "Was this why you would not tell me what you did when you worked? You killed…monsters?"

"Yes," he said. "I was hoping—no, I was begging for this day not to come. I did what I had to do: protect Britain, protect the Queen, and above all, protect Her Majesty's people. But what I had failed to foresee was the possibility of having no heirs…I did not ever suspect that my son would—" Abruptly breaking off, Van Helsing stopped to compose himself. He never finished his sentence.

"I am the heir, then, Papa?" Wilhelmina said. "B-but…I am not ready! I couldn't possibly—no! You can't ask me of this! Papa…"

"Think, Mina, think! What have you been doing all these years? Why have I taught you countless things, brought you with me as I conducted experiments for the scientific community? Time and time again, what have I been teaching you?"

"No…no, but…"

"Why were you more intuitive, more intelligent than your own peers?" he continued on. "And why have you learned skills, techniques, things that ladies should not know? I have been preparing you for this day ever since your mother, Wilhelmina Murray, had died and had given you to me!"

Wilhelmina stared at him.

"You," Van Helsing finished breathlessly, "are more ready than you'll ever know, Wilhelmina van Helsing…my daughter."

When she said nothing, he feared the worst. Closing his eyes tightly, he said, "I know that you are shocked, Mina. And angry. I—this old man has too many failings, too many to even count, but my worst one, the one I regret the most…was that I had kept this all from you. To cloud your life with confusion, for causing such grief and pain for you, and to manipulate you as a man no better than one playing at God. I will understand…if you hate this worthless man now, Mina. I'll understand…I'll understand…"

He waited sorrowfully, eyes shut and yet desperate to see her face, but he felt only the faint traces of her trembling through their clasped hands. And so when he felt her pull away from his touch, he knew—he knew he had failed.

Van Helsing almost wept right then and there, but held in those tears. A man like him did not deserve to weep. Remorse. Only pure men could express their worth as such.

But when his daughter suddenly flung herself at him fiercely, hugging and sobbing with tears of her own dripping down onto his face, he felt himself let go. He opened his eyes and he, too, started to sob. Fresh, great gulps of them—crying like he'd never cried before, because this was his daughter and she had forgiven him.

She had forgiven him.

"What must I do, Father," she said, pulling back to look at him with solemn but adoring eyes, "to make you proud?"

Abraham van Helsing felt as if a great burden had been lifted from him, a burden he had shouldered, willingly, since his boyhood, ever since he'd encountered those monstrosities of the night, ever since he vowed they'd all suffer at his hands, ever since he had worked towards the creation of his lifelong goal—that ever distant and impossible dream…

Hellsing.

And then, quite abruptly, Van Helsing started to laugh. He laughed, a laugh half choked with a passion he barley understood but reveled in, and an almost giddy feeling erupting in him demanded to be released—an old kind of laugh of his that he had done so frequently in his youth, whenever he came one step closer to his goals, when he'd met and saved his friends from fifteen years back, when he'd stopped the monstrous No-Life King, his lifelong enemy, when he saw his darling little girl cry, laugh, shout, pray—

He was home. He was finally…finally home.

The thing I don't like the most about Hellsing fandom is how so many Dracula characters are put down by authors to the extent that they never flesh out their personalities—or even consider them. These are not 2-dimensional piss poor antagonists who blindly experiment upon a 'helpless' Alucard. Yes, Abraham was of a singularly objective, cold, and scientific mind in the novel, but was he so heartless that his sadism towards Alucard in fandom justified? Abraham only acts cruel to the extent that it necessary, and any cruelty from him would only come from the necessity of meeting Dracula head-to-head...but no more. He does not find pleasure in pain, not like a certain vampire lurking about canon.

In any case, I wish people would paint more sides of Abraham than just the doctor who will take any means to meet the end. I can't stand the thought that these characters are only there to be a plot device to make Alucard suffer in his early imprisonment years. It gets old, fast.

Now that my rant is over, I have to say that I rather like this chapter since the tone fits the times and the novel. Also, Mina and Jonathan only divorced in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, where Mina's still a vampire. In the book, she has a son with Jonathan, which they name after a dead character. Here, I've made Mina pregnant throughout the whole Dracula mess, and it seriously screwed up her kid. Wilhelmina's vampiric nature is latent at the moment and it doesn't really become an issue until later.