There are countless misconceptions about vampires that I have encountered over the years. Some are thoroughly understandable, but some are just ridiculous.
I care little about the beginnings of things, thought they are not without merit. Many of the myths that I may find so ridiculous perhaps stem from our nefarious beginnings.
Some argue the roots of vampires originate in Egypt, others come from dubious ramblings about mad impalers from Walachia, demonic baroness' that bathe in the blood of virgins, perhaps something darker from before Rome invaded the bitter north.
The main point of this, however, is that vampires exist.
Vampires are possibly the strangest of all magical beings. To boil it down to the most bare-bones description, we are animated corpses: zombies.
Technically, we are dead, we cannot age, our hair cannot grow, nor can our fingernails, we cannot procreate and so the basic rules of a walking corps go on. We can, however, regenerate if something is lost or if we obtain injuries that would be fatal to a living being. The process of regeneration requires us to have the ability to transform into mist, then re-compose ourselves back into a fully healed form. Even for the oldest, most experienced vampires this takes a great deal of energy.
We, of course, possess the power to Turn people by exchanging blood. Turning someone is not difficult, but a full Turning takes about a decade and a half to complete, and the consequences for choosing the wrong person are dire. Not just anyone can be a vampire, and if an unfit victim is chosen, not only are they turned into a ghoul, but the vampire who turned them is left in a weakened state until they can manage another Death. In this situation, I was lucky to have chosen a victim of strong spirit and mind to Turn, thought I credit my luck more to impulse than to any kind of cleverness.
I feel the necessity, before I go on, to talk a little bit about myself and my beginnings. As a general rule, it is probably for the best that I provide a little more context for my tale and a reason for my actions.
I am still a very young vampire and I have not yet met many of my kind, save for a select few, the majority of whom I met shortly after I began working for the Ministry of Magic back in 1952, my 'Master' excluded, of course. Many Vampires were wiped out by the infamous Van Hellsing before the turn of the 20th century.
I was a sixth-year student at Hogwarts when I was Turned. The year was 1943, the Nazi's were bombing London; the war was on, and Hogwarts was hell for me.
I was not a particularly pretty girl, often considered gaunt due to the unfortunate genetics of the Black family, nor was I the brightest, or of any specific talent. I was bland, I was average, perhaps a little below. I was, of course, in Slytherin house, hating every minute of it and resenting the prefect, an insufferable muggle-born boy named Tom Riddle. I never liked those charming rakes, especially not the power-hungry ones like him.
I never spoke to anyone, avoiding trouble and keeping to myself. It was the easiest way for me to simply survive. Even though the mysterious attacks that occurred throughout that year, I still walked in silence and loneliness through those near empty halls. Despite my façade, I was breaking on the inside. I used to cry myself to sleep almost nightly, my heart aching for some kind of human companionship.
I had one professor that seemed to sense it, as if hearing my silent pleas of desperation from the back of the Transfiguration classroom. Albus Dumbledore was immeasurably kind to everyone, though he would occasionally take pity on me specifically and invite me in for tea under the guise of discussing my progress. He quickly became the only person I felt I could count as a friend, though I didn't fully trust him yet, in spite of his kindness.
My family is not the trusting sort, but I digress.
Tom Riddle is the one I must blame, or thank, for my Turning.
You see, he and Professor Dumbledore never quite saw eye to eye, and Riddle was not pleased with my newfound companionship. At first, he tried to scream 'scandal', but it rolled off of Dumbledore's back, miraculously. Riddle then dedicated himself to making life hell for me as much as he could, when he wasn't pouring over his little black diary.
Admittedly, I was an easy egg to crack. I tried, and failed, to kill myself, which only furthered my melancholic state, and made Professor Dumbledore ever more watchful over me.
One night in early December, I was 'caught cheating', and as punishment, I was sent into the Forbidden Forest, the purpose of this unusual and sadistic form of punishment vastly unknown to me.
Nonetheless, I found myself hopelessly trapped by my own mind more so than any of the 'dark creatures' that dwelt in the forest. I was a girl of High-London, the forgotten daughter of my father's travesty of a second marriage to an Oriental tempest, and I knew almost nothing of the world of a wintry night in the forest. I suppose Riddle planned this in all his cruel cunningness.
A city girl I may have been, but I knew what hypothermia felt like. I wasn't going to last another hour if someone didn't find me, and at this rate, I would never be found. All around me I could hear the sound of wolves closing in, the crunch of their padded feet on the frozen duff. The trees were so close together overhead that scarce blue moonlight leaked through. I was tired, I had lost my wand some time ago, along with my scarf. Terrified as I was, I had no choice but to embrace the fact that I was going to die here.
I found a clearing in the moonlight and sat down on a twisting tree-root, facing death with stubborn pride, and patiently waited for sleep to claim me.
I must have drifted off, but I awoke soon after to the smell of blood and the sight of a raven-haired man clad in velvet and black grappling with a werewolf. Looking at the man, I knew what he was instantly. He was beautiful in his own right, with strong, handsome features and gentle dark eyes despite their current glint of rage at the werewolf. There was blood staining the white snow of the clearing, and I was trembling with fear, though too cold to move fast enough.
I don't remember the details, save for the feeling of fear and crawling on my hands and knees in the snow. I don't know when, but there had been a wolf on top of me, bearing down on me as it's jaws sank into my shoulder. I was going to be eaten alive.
The weight was lifted off of me with great force, care being taken not to demolish my shoulder. A warm, wet rain of crimson surrounded me and I heard the man hiss. Of course, I was prey. They had been fighting over food.
Suddenly, the wolf's weight was replaced instead with the man pressing his body firmly against my back, his steel armor pressing hard against my thin Hogwarts uniform. I cried out in surprise more than anything, but I was quickly silenced when he turned my head with those icy fingers, exposing my throat in the crystalline moonlight. His face held an expression if the deepest tenderness, caring. Fear gripped me, making my eyes well with tears. What was he going to do to me?
"Try to relax, love, it will not hurt anymore…" He whispered in a heavily accented voice, the bristles of his well-trimmed beard prickling my neck as he spoke. His raven hair fell around us, obscuring my vision. His lips seemed to brush against the sensitive skin of my neck in a gentle kiss before I felt his teeth sink into my flesh, tearing at my jugular vein. I wanted to scream from the pain, my body twitching as I felt him draining the blood out of me. My heart was slowing and I was shaking uncontrollably from pain and fear, death closing in on me as the werewolves had minutes before. Suddenly, he drew back, his pale skin dripping bloody black rubies in the moonlight as he loosed the gleaming gorget from around his neck, letting go of me in the process.
"Now, my love." He whispered, tilting his head back to expose his own fair neck. "Drink your fill or die here."
If it weren't for the pain and fear that only added to my dizziness form the heavy blood loss, I would have laughed at him. I was being given a choice to live or die? Me, who saw no future, no value in her own life? I fought to voice this cruel comedy, but he'd severed my vocal cords in the process of tearing a hole in my neck so I was at a loss. The Vampire seemed to guess my thoughts, casting me a charming, smooth smile.
"My dear, you do not want to know what happens if I allow you to just lie here." His lips hadn't moved that time, but I was too dazed to notice.
With neither will nor warning, I struggled to rise from my snowy grave. He opened his arms to me and I tore into his neck with a slight degree of hesitation to my still living mind, the concept of human flesh was slightly repulsive. As I drank the tangy, metallic fluid form his veins, I felt a sudden warmth fill me as he placed his hands gently on my back. Slowly, my pain subsided and I licked gingerly at the quickly closing wound on his neck. He seemed pleased by this, pulling me away from himself and smiling kindly, flashing his pronounced canines. I still felt desperately hungry for blood, leaning in and licking at his lips to get the last drops. It was a very familiar gesture, as a lover would do, but for some reason I felt no shame around him, as if he had been a friend and companion through all of my dark years.
My action drew a deep chuckle from his chest and he pulled me away, wrapping me in his black wool cloak.
"My dear Integra." He said gently, rising from the spot in an unnaturally graceful manner and kissing my forehead in an almost paternal gesture. Gently, he lifted me bridal-style in his icy arms. "There will be time for blood later…but now, you have reason to live. I will never abandon you."
An hour later, we emerged on the edge of the dark forest, Hogwarts' gleaming lights cutting through the cerulean night. Professor Dumbledore was coming through us through the trees, his illuminated wand held high and his half-moon spectacles aglow in the dim light.
"Earl Tepes…You found her?" I head Dumbledore's concerned voice cutting clear and strong through the mist. "Integra Black?"
"I did what I could to save her." Earl Tepes said, coming closer and bringing me into the wand-light. I felt weak at this point, and simply peered at my auburn-haired professor from behind my black bangs. "Unfortunately, she did not survive."
Of course this made sense, though at the time I did not fully understand.
"We can't take her back into the castle. It's too big of a risk for other students at this point."
"I'll take her into my care. She's approaching her First Death. You may want to write her family and tell them she's deceased. I will be taking her into my care. I am her Master now."
Hours later, I lay in a dark crypt beneath the cemetery in Hogsmead. It was forbidden by the Ministry of magic for a magical creature to own any possession, but Earl Tepes had made a comfortable, almost lavish, din in the silence of the cemetery.
It was here in Hogsmead I experienced my First Death, strangely comfortable, warm and silent with the Earl sitting solemnly by my side.
.oOo.
Here I am, once again at Hogwarts, alone, and despite the 67 years I have been on this earth, terrified. Professor Dumbledore is headmaster now, and I find most of the faculty to be to my liking. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin, seems to be on to me, but I can easily fool even the most cunning mortal. Even so, vampires and werewolves never have gotten along well, though he was less dull than most and quite kind despite his subtle distrust of me.
I am not here without reason, however. I am not, nor have I ever, been one to do things on a whim since the Earl Turned me. He helped my realized the effect and necessity of my actions, for which I am ever in debt to his memory.
I forced myself to return here to these dank halls to finish my education, granted mercifully by Dumbledore, who remembered me with a fondness I don't feel I deserve. It is no longer enough that The Ministry has a Vampire on their side, for Vampires can easily be felled if one encounters a 'Van Hellsing' of sorts. Professional vampire hunters have long ago been banned under the 'Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans, section 12: treatment of Vampires'.
, but that does not mean that we are not hunted by those who don't break the laws.
I needed to finish my education, to learn to fight off these 'Van Hellsings', should they become more aggressive again. 13 years before, they had unmercifully claimed my 'Master' with their unholy fire. I was not about to resign myself to the same fate. I was the Ministry's 'Secret Weapon' against any uprisings of magical creatures. I was what they feared the most, and I was what they could not control fully. At least here at Hogwarts, I felt considerably less fear of them deciding I was 'no longer useful', and committing me to the fire. I knew of the Ministry's less than honest tactics since shortly after going to work there.
It was easy to place me back into Slytherin house. Most of the girls didn't even notice. I wouldn't have been surprised if they had been too busy catching rats with their teeth.
If anyone did raise a question, I relied on my family name and a flashing pair of angry eyes, to which they quieted down. Perhaps Voldemort had been good for something after all.
It is quite true that my father's name was Sirius Black. I conveniently left out the fact he was born in 1877, and died in 1952, and that my family had a habit of recycling names. My half-brother, Arcturus Black's son, Orion, had a son named Sirius who was currently locked away in Azkaban and conveniently served as a cover for 'my father'. Dumbledore seemed hesitant for me to use this, but eventually complied, insisting that the ruse only be used in emergencies, and even so, in great moderation.
But a week in to my stay at Hogwarts, my schoolmates regarded me with a sort of intrigued and almost reverent fear, something I was beginning to enjoy with much amusement.
.oOo. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A/N: I'm a little leery about Harry Potter fics involving vampires, after my best friend exposed me to the trainwreck of a fic called 'My Immortal' aka 'The worst Fanfiction Ever'. It made Stephanie Meyers seem like Bram Stoker (no offense, Twilight fans, it's just, I mean come on,it Bram Stoeker!!!!).
I will try not to make a mary-sue of Integra. It's kind of hard to write a fic about Vampires and not have a mary-sue, just due to the nature of Vampires. It's also very hard to write a vampire fic and not at least do a tip of the hat to Lestat de Lioncourt (oh snap! :3 No Anne Rice fics T_T).
I wrote this for a girl I like a lot. I just do. I can't help it. She's so awesome and I loves her
. This is my first legit Harry Potter fic, also my first jshojo-ai/yuri fic. It's kind of a nice break from all the Naruto yaoi and het angst.