The Road Not Taken

Chapter Two: Bad Men, not men

When Harry regained conciousness, he could hear voices talking above him. Before he could think, he let out a low groan. The voices abruptly stopped.

"Welcome back, little human, " said an unfamiliar voice.

There was something wrong with that statement, but Harry's head hurt like hell and he couldn't remember what it was. He opened his eyes blearily. Two men were standing beside him, while he was lying on a couch. He squinted-his glasses were gone.

"Mmmmeugh," Harry said, and flushed. What he'd been trying to say was probably something like, 'gimme my glasses', or 'do I know you'. He tried again.

"Either I've suffered memory loss, or I've never seen you before," he told the two men croakily.

That was a good point. Harry struggled to remember something, anything. Ah, yes. He had run away from the Dursleys. He felt abruptly very proud of himself. But then…what?

"We do not know you," said a man in a cold voice. Harry deducted that he was not the man who had spoken before.

"We saved your life, little-ah, boy," put in the other.

"Oh," Harry said. "Um..where are my glasses?"

They were waved in front of his nose. Harry grabbed for them, but they disappeared again, lightening fast, and his head throbbed.

"Now now, little boy, don't strain yourself. You hurt your head very bad, I think. It was…fortunate…that the skin is not broken. There is a bad bruise, I think."

Harry touched his head cautiously. Yes, the man was right, there was a throbbing, tender spot near his right temple. Harry's heart jumped. Even he knew, that if he had hit right on his temple, he could have died. However, he was not to be distracted from his quest, and demanded again to be given his glasses.

"Don't worry, boy, you'll have your glasses, I have no use for them," the man said, laughing as if he had made a great joke, "but I'd like you to answer a few questions for me, first."

Harry grew a little suspicious. Were these men, what Aunt Petunia had warned Dudley about, the Bad Men? But then again, they had saved him. From the Dursleys, too. Thinking about it, he was rather grateful.

"Okay," Harry decided, "I'll tell you if I know."

"Excellent!" The man said jovially. "Don't worry about it, I won't be asking you about world history." He laughed again.

Harry shivered, suddenly not so sure that these weren't Bad Men. The man's laugh was just creepy.

"Go on, then."

"Tell me, then, little boy-what are you?"

Harry blinked. What was he? This person wasn't a Bad Man after all. He was a Madman, of whom Vernon Dursley always had much to say. Then again, Harry had always liked people Vernon didn't like, but…maybe even Uncle Vernon could be right once in a while.

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said warily.

"He means," the cold voice cut in suddenly, "to ask if you are a wizard, a muggle, a werewolf, or some other kind of magical being."

Harry jumped, the cold-voiced man was so silent Harry had nearly forgotten about him. Now, it seemed that he and the jolly one were a pair of Madmen. He didn't know how to answer. Really-magical being? But then again, that was something Vernon vehemently protested against as well. Harry had always loved the thought of magic.

"I don't think I'm a, uh, magical being," Harry said weakly.

Jolly sounded triumphant.

"See, Ixy? I told you so, fool. I was going to be generous. But now…he is my prey only. Back off."

Prey? Harry was alarmed. He looked from one fuzzy figure to the other, thoroughly confused. They weren't…they couldn't be cannibals, surely? Not in such a respectable neighbourhood like Little Whinging.

"And I told you that his scent is not that of a muggle. Could you answer to the Minister of Magic when he comes after you for murder? There is such a thing as a mudblood. This boy may be an ignorant fool, but I am for the last time-" he glanced at Harry, and back to Jolly. " My name is Ixander."

If he wasn't in danger of being eaten, Harry would have found Ixander's irate response highly amusing. After all, he had seen Dudley fend off his mother's nicknames before. It was one of the few rare moments that he thanked the gods he had no mother.

"Ixander, Ixander," Jolly laughed, "why get angry? Are we not the masters here? It is unwise to fight among ourselves."

"What do you propose, then?"

"I say…we give him a test. Make him prove he if he is a muggle or no. After all, mudbloods can do magic, can they not?"

"He has obviously not been trained."

But Ixander was more calm now, and Harry felt that was probably bad. If they stopped bickering, they'd both talk to him. And he had a blinding headache.

"Still, magic is magic, training or no," Jolly protested.

Harry was starting to feel that giving him the nickname of 'Jolly' was highly ironic. Although he acted jolly, he seemed to fit very well into the category of Bad Men. Harry scowled.

"Give me my glasses back," he insisted.

Jolly smiled terrifyingly.

"Here you go, little boy," he cooed, dropping the thing into Harry's lap.

Harry jumped, but it was actually his glasses, not a poisonous snake or anything like that. He put it on, relieved, although they were a little cracked. He fleetingly thought that Uncle Vernon would no doubt yell at him for it, and then remembered that he was never going to see Uncle Vernon again. This thought cheered him up, and he looked up at the two men. His mouth fell open. He had been wrong. These were not Bad Men. Nor were they Madmen. In fact, they weren't men at all.

There was the fact that they were both devestatingly beautiful. Being ten years old, Harry was of the opinion that beautiful should only be used to describe the fairer sex. But these men had to be described as beautiful. Furthermore, they were both the colour of chalk. And most importantly, they both had eyes the colour of blood, the sort that only turned up in sci-fi and late night horror movies. Harry gulped. Ixander had very pale hair, almost white in colour, Jolly's was darker, a light brown. They were both very good looking if not for the eyes, but Harry thought that Jolly looked more unpleasant than Ixander. It was probably due to the fact that an unpleasant smirk stretched Jolly's lips, while Ixander kept a perfect poker face.

"I would like to play a game with you, boy," purred Jolly.

For some reason, that irritated Harry. 'Boy'. He'd had enough of it from Vernon. And if he was going to get eaten anyway…

"Don't call me boy," he told Jolly, "I have a name. It's Harry Potter."

He hadn't expected the two's reaction. Ixander drew in a sharp breath, breathed it out slowly, and glanced at Jolly. Jolly raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and looked at Ixander. They sychronized these moves so well that their eyes met at the same moment.

"Harry…Potter," Ixander said slowly, "your parents wouldn't be James and Lily Potter, would they?"

Harry was so unused to hearing other people mention his parent's names that he jumped up in excitement.

"Yes, that's right! You know my mom and dad?"

But suddenly, he thought of something. His parents were dead, and although he didn't believe for a moment his aunt and uncles' words that they were good-for-nothing hooligans, he had never in his ten years of life come upon anyone who had claimed to know them, so he had supposed that they kept to themselves. These men knew them, and looked like zombies…maybe they were ambassadors of the devil? Harry squirmed. He just had to know. So he plowed on without giving either of them a chance to answer.

"Well, obviously you do, since you know their names, but it's really too bad that I don't know you, so if you don't mind you could tell me who you are, and, well, if you really don't mind, what you are?"

Harry understood the enquiry as to 'what he was' now, as he waited expectantly.

Ixander looked at Jolly for a moment, and smiled slowly, turning to Harry, looking almost as jolly as Jolly, but Jolly didn't look so jolly now, in fact, he looked rather sour and petulant, like a mixture of Petunia and Dudley.

"Well then," Ixander said in an amused tone, "you appear to have lost, sire."

He turned to Harry.

"I must say, that it is quite an honour…and a surprise, that I should meet the boy-who-lived here, now, in this way. What we are, is a little difficult to explain. But then again, we have all the time in the world, yes?"

Jolly cracked a smile.

"My name, young Mr. Potter, is Ixander. I have not used a family name for many years. This is Sebastian Evert, my sire. We are both vampires."

Harry blinked three times, but said nothing. He had been thinking, these are not human beings, ever since he put on his glasses and got a good look at them, but to hear them actually admit to being vampires was still one heck of an experience. Maybe all Vernon's yelling 'magic doesn't exist' had made a mark in his mind after all.

He held out his hand awkwardly, a small, rueful smile gracing his lips.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Ixander," he offered.

"Just Ixander will do, Mr. Potter," Ixander said dryly.

"What do you mean, Ixander, with all this? Are you going to keep this human?" Sebastian suddenly demanded.

Both Ixander and Harry turned to look at him, startled.