A.N. Well people, let's be honest, I could have and should have done better on my first foray into writing fan fiction. Hopefully, my second attempt can overcome it's shortcomings and cover my vision. I'm also going to pace myself better, because the chapter a day I tried before obviously failed when I just stopped updating. Remember readers, constructive criticism in reviews remind me that what I create can be flawed, exposes those flaws, and allows me to strengthen weak points. Help me give you a better read

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated. But Michael and Matthew were my ideas.

Crimson Moon Child

Summary: A child, a man, an entity, a hybrid, born to blood, under the moon's caress. A slave to fate, to rule amongst lords. But is the price of ascension a fair trade?

A tall, imposing man wearing a cape stood against the light of the moon, appearing as a silhouette seemingly absorbing any surrounding light. Suddenly, he smirked and threw off his cape, lifting up a gleaming great sword into the air with one hand as two great beasts lunged forward at unrealistic velocity toward the man who radiated power. The man tapped his foot against the floor and disappeared leaving kicked up leaves where he once was. When he reappeared, his sword was between the teeth of one of the beasts and he had one hand on the handle, using the other to push against the monster. He disappeared again and blood gushed from a giant slash across the chest of the creature the man was fighting. The second one was slain easily, beheaded as it ran to attack the man.

A second figure appeared, this figure being built slightly shorter then his friend but stocky, also emanating a malevolent energy. "Was that necessary? What are you even doing here? I know those 2 minor creatures couldn't have drawn your attention so far from your home, I know your policies well, you wouldn't strike the weak." The first man searched with hawk like eyes, but what he searched for was a complete mystery. Then he walked toward a point to which he was focused, seemingly staring through the trees in that spot.

The second figure shook his head and walked quickly to keep up with the tedious pace set by his companion. "Are you even list-" The first figure stuck out his hand with his index finger up, indicating his desire for silence as he searched for what seemed to be nothing.

"What are you even looking for in a pla--," this time he was cut off by the forearm pressed threateningly across his throat, scared into petrification by the menacing crimson eyes right in front of his, and the promise of pain carried in them for any more discrepancies in the night's eerie silence. The taller man continued to stalk the land with his graceful but hurried gait, until he heard a scream. He turned around and surprised his colleague with the intensity in his eyes, running off in that direction with beyond inhuman speed. His wider friend sighed and followed him dutifully.

"Enough is enough Michael, what could possibly be so important that you're running this fast?" Michael slowed and pointed to his destination, continuing to that point with his friend at his heels. There, they saw another werewolf lying dead on the ground, but that wasn't the surprise, no, what Michael was going to was the skinny, bloody young boy with his leg between the teeth of the beast.

Michael examined the boy's wounds, cursing under his breath, while the prepubescent boy groaned in agony and flinched as the teeth were extracted, but it appeared that Michael was too late, as the boy was paling and loosing consciousness from the severe blood loss."Shit!" Michael cursed, and regretfully put his face down close to the child.

Michael's friend looked around wildly, wondering what he was doing, and when he saw Michael get closer, he opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted, "quiet Matthew, this is quite necessary." Matthew then quieted himself. Michael got back up with 2 exposed teeth, covered in blood.

Michael sighed and said, "Now, I will answer you Michael. This child is the child of prophecy, as you know, his continued existence is vital. As you saw, he was bitten by a werewolf and was dying. I gave him just enough of vampire blood to turn him in order to combat the werewolf disease. This should enable him to survive, or, supremely unlikely, the 2 could fuse and create a super being in Mr. Potter here. Now come, we must prepare."

Matthew's jaw dropped at the series of increasingly shocking statements, finally shaking his head and following after Michael. There's nothing to worry about, he thought, there's no way the werewolf and vampire curses could go without fighting each other. Ridding himself of such a ridiculous notion, he put his mind on getting back home, and the companions disappeared from sight into the night, leaving behind the full moon, and a growing child who's life was about to be changed. Whether for the better or worse, only time could tell. Fluttering emerald eyes searched their surroundings before falling back into the comfortable abyss of darkness that is unconsciousness.

A 13 year old Harry Potter woke up from a very strange dream, unsure what to make of it. The day before he had another dream with such startling realism, but it seemed to be more in the present, as if it was happening just as he was watching it, but this day's dream, it felt more like the past, something that happened a while ago. He had hoped that with the fiasco after the Quidditch World Cup the day before that his daily dose of disturbance may have been The green eyed boy hero looked around Ron's room at the Burrow, searching for anything that might dispute the realism of the dream he just witnessed, any little thing, that would lend credence to the disbelief he felt. Despite the comfort of his second home (Hogwarts being his first), Harry could feel the burn of his calf where the werewolf struck, the cold, deathly breath on his neck, and the piercing agony where those fangs penetrated his skin, replacing his quickly fading life with pure, undiluted, living cold that he could now feel running through his veins.

He could have attributed the pain in his calf and neck to an uncomfortable sleeping position, the feeling of breathing to the light breeze coming from the window. He could even call the use of his surname a coincidence, or he could be dreaming about another member of his family.

But despite his misgivings, despite what he didn't to believe, and despite all the excuses he could have fabricated, there was one indisputable factor in his dream, Harry thought to himself, expression pensive...

Those eyes... although he wanted to forget the dream, his curiosity betrayed him...

They are mine.