Hello everyone! So welcome to my first ever story on this site. It has gone through many edits (and will probably continue to do so) and has had many readers who enjoy it. Before I can in good mind update it, I'm going to first tweak it to be a better representation of my writing as it is now. Hope my old reviewers don't mind the makeover!

I don't own Darren Shan or Harry Potter.

Chapter 1

Darren sighed. He had been sitting around in his room for more than a few hours at this point. Lazily swinging his hammock with his toe, he stared at the same piece of rock in his ceiling, trying not to let the overwhelming regret and anxiety eat him alive. He could feel it creeping up his spine, deadening his limbs and dulling his mind. Flashes of Larten's last moments filled his mind, torturing him.

Clenching his jaw until he heard his teeth crack, Darren sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. He had to accomplish something today.

With a grunt, he swung out of his hammock, body creaking and popping as he stretched out his limbs. Royal blue robes were in a pile by his feet that he gracefully picked up and put on, sighing again as he gave a mournful look at his hammock and shuffled out of his room.

His feet dragged. Face drawn and pale, other vampires gave the young man room in the halls as he made his way towards the throne room. Worried eyes watched him, winced when he stumbled and sent prayers for his health, even when he himself refused to see it deteriorating. Since that fateful night, Darren had lost his determination to win the war. Without his mentor, father figure in a way, he felt alone in the world. How was he supposed to be the figurehead of all the vampires when he felt like he could barely keep it together himself?

He was almost at the throne room when Vancha appeared from one of the side corridors. Darren paused and offered the elder vampire a nod and half smile that was quickly dropped.

Vancha didn't return the smile, only gazed at the young man in front of him with a mixture of pity and resignation. Darren felt a small bit of trepidation, since the normally smiley vampire was being so serious.

"Vancha?"

"The other Princes and I wish to speak with you, Darren." Darren felt his breath catch in his lungs, his body tensing in a fight or flight reaction. What did they want? Why was Vancha finding him to bring him this news? Was it about the war?

Shaking these thoughts from his head, he gestured for Vancha to lead the way. "Sure."

They walked together down the hall to the grand doors to the throne room. As usual, at the end of the hall were the thrones, each occupied by their respective Prince. The only missing one was Arrow, who had been assigned field duty to watch over the squads of vampires on lookout. In the corner was a makeshift planning station that had been hastily constructed. Papers and measuring equipment strewn across its surface.

Darren hesitantly lowered himself into his seat at the end, trying his best not to look nervous, but failing when he couldn't control his hands clenching the armrests of his chair. Having avoided the other Princes as much as possible, he didn't enjoy the suddenly intimate feeling to this meeting. He knew what this about, and he didn't want to discuss it.

"Darren," Paris began, the wizened old vampire's voice sounding more exhausted than Darren ever remembered it being, "as you know, the Vampaneze have ceased their advances over the past few weeks..."

"Because of Steve's injuries." Darren supplied. After their confrontation, there had been a small surge of rebellions before they had settled, waiting. The vampires, lacking the numbers, had taken up a defensive position and had been holding it since. Neither side was making a move, not helping the Prince's stress levels.

Paris nodded. "Indeed. We are not prepared to move forward with our plans for many months yet. While we do require some leadership, the other Princes and I came to an agreement last night at an impromptu meeting-"

Darren's eyes widened and he jolted up in his seat. "A meeting?"

Mika nodded. "Very informally conducted."

"Why wasn't I told? I would have been there!" he felt a small bit of betrayal from his fellow Princes. Why would they discuss things without him? "Was it while I was in my rooms? I was just taking a quick nap-"

Paris held up his hand for silence. "As you had every right to do. If anything, you need it the most, which is what we discussed." Darren frowned, confused. "You are working too hard, Darren. Spreading yourself too thin, too far over this war effort. You have not given yourself time to grieve-"

"I have!" Darren argued, getting upset. Who were they to decide what he could and couldn't handle? In his opinion, he wasn't doing enough! There was so much to do!

"No, you haven't, Darren!" Vancha shouted, slamming his hand down on his armrest. Darren flinched, and Paris gave Vancha a reprimanding look before turning back to Darren.

"We know that you have taken Larten's death harder than most in this mountain, yet you have refused to allow yourself to heal. Throwing yourself into the war efforts has only hurt you. You're not sleeping, not eating, not doing what every vampire needs to survive, let alone gone to a healer to try and relieve your grief. You haven't even spoken to anyone about it." Paris clasped his hands in front of his grimly, looking at Darren with stern blue eyes. "Darren, we agreed that you need to be removed from the war, at least for a short while."

Darren's heart stopped. Removed? As in, no longer a part of it? 'Of course no longer a part of it! Why are they doing this to me? Are they serious! I can't leave!'

"What? I-i can't!" he exclaimed.

"But you will." Vancha said, eyes hard. "You need to leave. Need to heal."

"No. This must be a joke!" His wild eyes turned to the other Princes. "Please tell me this is a joke!"

Paris shook his head. "I'm sorry, Darren. As of this afternoon, you will be relocated to a safe hold where you will stay with an old friend of mine for a few months. It's for your own good."

"But I didn't do anything wrong!" yelled Darren, feeling offended. What did they think he was? Someone to be pitied? "You think I need a break? Look at Paris! He's barely staying awake! I need to stay here and fight!" he shouted, rising to his feet in a flurry of outrage.

Vancha was red with frustration. "We've already set it up for you so you have no choice in the matter!" he ground out between clenched teeth, trying to rein in his anger.

"I'm not going! I'm staying here!" yelled Darren, standing firm. 'I'm not going anywhere while Steve is still out there. While people are dying...'

"You're going, and that's final!" Vancha yelled back, also standing to face the smaller vampire. He had been very worried about this friend.

Darren bared his teeth at the other vampire and hissed, "Make me." he dared.

"Privileged." Vancha growled, launching himself suddenly at a shocked Darren.

Their bodies collided, falling to the floor in a flurry of robes. Vancha may have been bigger and stronger, but Darren was lithe as a cat, and quickly wiggled out of his grasp, dashing for the closed doors.

"Darren! Come back!" he heard as he ran, but ignored it as he flung open the doors to find a large crowd had assembled on the other side. Quickly dropping to his knees, he used his small stature to crawl between the legs of the older vampires and disappear from Vancha's sight.

Popping up on the far side of the crowd, he heard Vancha barreling through and swiftly took off down the hallway with no specific direction. He just wanted to get lost.

He ran and ran, throwing himself headlong down corridors as fast as he could run. Other vampires stared in confusion as he ran past, but he ignored them all. How could they? Why, for that matter? Everyone was tired, everyone was grieving. Why did he get put on enforced seclusion?

No matter how fast he ran, he heard Vancha getting closer and closer. The other vampire may be heavier, but Darren had, admittedly, not been eating very well so his energy levels were low. Without noticing, a panting Darren was nearing the Hall of Prince's again, and didn't notice a dark figure down a hall he ducked into to avoid a tackle by Vancha.

A strong arm wrapped around his middle, knocking the wind out of him, and quickly braced his back against a strong chest, trapping him. "That's no way to treat those trying to help you, Darren." Mika admonished in his whispery voice.

Darren just shot him a poisonous glare as he quit his struggling, giving in.

He had just finished mowing the lawn, clipping the hedges, watering the plants, and washing the Dursley's car and was now inside washing the dishes from lunch. And guess what? He was tired.

'At least I'm inside and not under the sun,' thought Harry positively. He sighed, giving up on the positivity almost as quickly as he tried to fake it. He had a ton of homework to finish, and not a lot of time left to do it in.

"Boy!"

Harry sighed, wiping off his hands from the sudsy water and walking to the living room where his aunt was busy arranging some flowers on a table. She glared at him as he entered, nose scrunching like he was a moldy sandwich she had bought from a dirty gas station.

"Have you completed your chores?" she asked coolly, turning back to her flowers.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." he said in a tired voice.

She nodded, not bothering to give him a glace as she adjusted a carnation, she flipped a hand at him, and "You may do as you wish, then."

"Thank you." Harry quickly slunk out of the living room and up the stairs, taking refuge in his room. He sighed on relief as he flopped onto his bed, taking a deep breath of musty air as though it were fresh sea winds. Despite it being tiny, over hot, and in need of more than a little renovation, he thought of it as the most amazing room in the house because of how few times the Dursely's had actually come inside. It was freedom, in a ten by ten box.

Harry's eyes had been just about to flutter shut when he heard an ear piercing scream shatter the silence. He bolted upright, grabbing his wand and quickly scrambled to his feet, running to the door.

Tearing to the top of the stairs, he felt his breath freeze when he saw the Dursley's huddled at the bottom of the stairs, a half dozen wands pointed at him. The other half dozen, well...

"Lower your wand and surrender, Potter!" demanded the Death Eater.

'Oh fuck.'

So here ends the first chapter of the re-vamped story! Far more dark and adult, but I couldn't bring myself to continue writing the characters the way they were. For a depressed Darren, he sure laughed a lot.

Anyways. Chapter one. Prreeeetttyyy sure I'll do a little more before heading to bed. Stay tuned ;)