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//This is Parseltongue.//

Paraselenic

Abiku // Africa: a malicious spirit that steals the life of children by possession and destruction

Harry followed Dumbledore through the halls with a blank expression, internally grumbling over his luck. He had hoped to get a chance for a nap before this conversation; he had hardly slept at all that week. Though with his vampiric attributes he needed less sleep, all living beings required some. His adrenaline had been pushed too high for him to find any rest the night before, and now he was paying for it. By the time he had felt like sleeping it had already been time to wake up and get ready for classes, but Harry had been hoping to use lunch and his free block for a nap. He would still probably be able to do so, but he wasn't looking forward to dealing with Dumbledore in this mood.

Dumbledore called out the name of some candy or another as they reached the gargoyle, and it moved aside for them to enter the spiral staircase. Dumbledore was oddly silent during this time, the ever-present twinkle in his eye suspiciously absent. Had Harry not been aware of the Dursleys' deaths, he might have been worried.

"Sit, Harry." Dumbledore sighed as he walked around his desk, sitting and propping his chin on age-marked hands. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Harry tensed himself. "What's happened? Did Voldemort do something? Is everyone alright? Halloween isn't for four more days, surely he hasn't made his move yet…" he asked quickly, pleased with how natural it sounded.

"There was a raid last night, and I'm afraid… "

"Was someone killed?! Tell me it wasn't Remus, sir, or one of the Weasleys! It wasn't an Order member, was it?"

Dumbledore sighed and steepled his fingers. "It was your family, my boy."

Harry's eyes widened, careful pushing down the indignant irritation that flashed through him. The old bastard dared to call them his family after all the things they'd put him through? Perhaps they were his relatives, as blood relation couldn't be negated, but they were not and had never been family. He hung his head to hide any sign of the flare of temper in his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself as he responded. "Ah. So the Dursleys are dead, then?"

Dumbledore's voice was a bit troubled. "Yes, I'm afraid so, Harry."

"Alright then." Harry nodded and tilted his head back to observe the ceiling.

"You do not seem very upset… "

Harry glanced at the old wizard, an eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry that I cannot find it in me to be upset that they're dead, sir. I will mourn the last of my blood, but I will not mourn the people they were. You know very well how they treated me, don't you, sir?"

The Headmaster's eyebrow twitched slightly, giving away his irritation. "I admit they might not have been the kindest, but surely it was nothing so bad? It turned out for best, after all. Just look how wonderfully you turned out, my boy. Had you been raised in the Wizarding world, you would have become spoilt and needy. You're a good, strong boy from your experiences."

Harry couldn't help a snort in response.

When Harry didn't bother responding in words, his eyes once again trained down, Dumbledore continued. "This poses several problems in regards to Voldemort."

Harry was glad his shaggy hair hid his expressions from the old wizard, because he couldn't fight off the incredulous look that was taking over his face. First Dumbledore calls them his family, then immediately jumps into how their deaths will effect the war? If he had given a damn about their deaths, he would have blown his lid!

"What would that be, Professor?" he asked in a tight voice.

"With your Aunt Petunia's death, the Blood Wards have been destroyed, and you will not be able to renew them for your last year. This creates a problem with where you will be staying this summer. I've been speaking to the other Professors about which you could stay with for the summer and be safe… "

"Excuse me sir, but why not Grimmauld Place? The Fidelius would be more than enough to keep me safe."

"No no, you don't need to be stuck with all the Order members running in and out. Terribly boring for a young man your age. I was thinking that perhaps going to Italy with Professor Sinistra would be nice for you, or with Professor Sprout to visit her family in Amsterdam. Lovely community, that."

Harry seethed despite the fact that his allegiances would be out by summer. "Wouldn't the summer months be better spent training, sir? There is a war going on… "

"Oh, don't you worry yourself about that, Harry. After all, you have the strongest weapon of all inside you already!"

Harry held back the barking laugh that wanted to escape, sliding a strained too-wide smile onto his face. "Well, of course, Professor. However, that 'power' is only likely to work against Voldemort himself, what about if I get into a situation against Death Eaters?"

"Oh, I have confidence in you, Harry my boy."

Harry was nearly shaking with tension, eyes firmly on his clenched fists. "May I go now, sir? This is a lot to take in."

"Oh yes. Before you go," the Headmaster paused to pull a letter from the top of a pile on his desk, leaning over to hand it to Harry. "Remus sent this along to you."

Harry's eyes widened and a ghost of a real smile crept over his lips. He took the letter and nodded jerkily. "Goodbye, Professor."

"I am sorry for your loss, my boy."

Harry made sure he was out of the office before the loud snort escaped.

Narrowed hazel eyes watched as Harry Potter left the Headmaster's, a derisive sneer overtaking his face as he jogged down the deserted hall. They had been watching carefully, and knew the young man was now deeply involved in Dark affairs, even if they had not been able to confirm it. After all, they were the Dark Lord's most precious spy, an asset to his cause. They had been placed within the maelstrom itself; Hogwarts far outranked the Ministry on the rank of where everything happened.

Unfortunately, this meant very limited communication with their Lord. Their job was to watch for anything dire and try to pull the legs out from under it, but keep hidden at all costs. Snape's purpose was information gathering and relay. This person's job was the subtle dismantling of the Light's goals and plans, the surreptitious seeds of doubt planted in even the most loyal of its followers.

But the boy was obviously just as involved in the Dark as they were. They could feel it in his aura, in the expressions Potter made. He reeked of tainted power, so strong that it was a wonder Dumbledore hadn't caught on. Then again, the old man tended to see what he wanted to see. He would never look to his perfect weapon and think it was getting away from him. Dumbledore believed he had an unflinching hold on the boy.

He was obviously wrong. One only had to look to see the truth.

The person watching over Potter smirked, adjusting their robes as they made to leave their hiding place. Soon the act could drop. A new day was dawning… they could taste it.

Harry was annoyed.

Scratch that, Harry was more than annoyed. Harry was downright incensed.

After his meeting with Dumbledore, a well-meaning but utterly aggravating Hermione had latched onto him, mothering him so badly with the news of his relatives' deaths that he had been unable to take a nap. Sure, he knew she was merely concerned in her own loving, overbearing fashion, but his temper was short enough.

Once he had finally managed to escape her stranglehold, he had been cornered by a blushing and stuttering Ginny Weasley, fresh off another breakup. He had honestly thought her over her little crush, and had thought her far past acting awkward in his presence, but apparently he had been wrong. She had tried to ask him to Hogsmeade, which he had declined… as gently as possible, of course. She had grown into a beautiful girl, but she was very young still and her immaturity alone would take her off his list of possibilities even if there were any reasons to consider her. However, there were none at all for him beyond that she was mildly attractive, and he honestly didn't know if he could date another woman ever again.

Then, to put the icing on the cake, he had had to deal with Ron's ranting about his sister fancying his best mate and how awkward it was, but how he wasn't sure if he should be angry or not that Harry rejected her. He had switched back and forth between sympathizing with Harry and outright cursing at him for making his little sister cry then back to rubbing his neck uncomfortably. Harry had gotten fed up with this quickly.

He could feel that he was at the end of his rope. His patience was sorely taxed by weeks of nothing but Blood Substitution potions and animal blood, too wary of wizards realizing there was a feeding vampire nearby. He didn't want any suspicion to fall on Dante, after all, but the lack of fresh human blood was tearing at the barriers that kept him sane. He would not be able to deal with this much longer.

He flew low to the ground, his Invisibility cloak snapping around his ankles painfully. However, the stinging kept him grounded in reality, holding on to the thin strip of sanity that he retained. If he was not careful, the bloodlust would take over. As it was, he knew that for the first time in months, he was not going to be able to stop as the heart rate slowed.

Harry didn't bother with the Reversion potion. The pain was likely to send him over the edge, and he couldn't afford a rampage through Hogsmeade. Perhaps some day, but not while he was still undercover. He hated feeding in his teenage form, his stunted height and unfit body giving him a disadvantage, and that was not even counting that he may be recognized.

Tonight didn't matter, though. Tonight his meal would not live to recount the attack.

He could hear hundreds of heartbeats, all the inhabitants of Hogsmeade unknowingly calling out to him. The rhythmic drumming surrounded his senses, calling him in every direction at once. There were those lost in sleep, the beats of their heart slow and steady. There were those running through the streets, blood flowing through their veins rapidly, their pulse fluttering alluringly. Men and women, the elderly and children, Harry closed his eyes and immersed himself in the simple pleasure of having his pick of the populace. No other vampire would dare feed from a place such as this, and most would not dare to go after a wizard. While magical blood fulfilled deeper, the risk of exposure was too great in a bigoted society. Muggles had to do.

Harry slunk through the shadows, staying hidden but uncaring if he was found out. He wanted power tonight, so the first to sense his presence would be given the privilege of dying by his hand. It was a very few who were so lucky, after all.

He was surprised when it was a child.

The young boy couldn't have been more than seven or eight, matted wiry hair hanging limply over his eyes. He sat huddled in the darkness against the back of a building, knees drawn up and face hidden in his arms. Harry's heart clenched as the child looked up foggily, a wan smile tilting his mouth. The look was tired and aggrieved and far far too old for a child so young.

The moon shone at Harry's back as the dark-skinned boy tilted his face, captured in Harry's shadow. "Ah. Are you my angel, then? Finally come to take me away?"

The boy was thinner than Harry could remember himself ever being, even, with wrists that looked brittle as glass in the silver sheen of moonlight. "Surely you do not wish to die."

A rasping laugh. "But I do, Angel. I've been punished with life enough."

Harry pursed his lips and tilted his head up. "I am no angel."

Dark eyes scanned over him slowly, and Harry felt vaguely unnerved. Harry tried to ignore the way the boy's voice seemed heavy in the air. "You glow under the moon, Angel; did you know? But then… you blend into it as well. Are you a spirit sent from the moon, then? A child of Mawu? You'll take me there, then, won't you?" (1)

Harry shivered. "Sorry, young one. I'm nothing so grand as that."

"I think you're lying," the eerie child said, his smile fading. "Release me, Angel. I want to be with Mother," he nodded his head.

Harry's body contracted at the sight he was met with, eyes slowly raking over the mangled flesh of… something. His sense of smell was no greater than a humans, and having smelt nothing he assumed the kill to be fresh.

He let his eyes shift back to the small figure against the wall, a golden sheen to his eyes apparent now that Harry was looking. In his haze of near-bloodlust, he had not deemed it necessary to read the auras around him. But now he did. The boy held no magic, a squib he supposed as he was in Hogsmeade. A werewolf then, likely off his first transformation, as the full moon was the night before. A child so young, already with a death under his belt. And of a loved one no less.

"Please Angel. I wish to go to the moon. Mother loved the moon."

Harry turned glowing verdant eyes on the pitiful young boy whose breathing was controlled and calm despite asking for death. Harry's expression never twitched. "Ah. Alright. Let's send you then."

Harry was nearly disgusted with himself at how easily he was able to kill now.

Two more deaths added to his ever-growing list in one night, one a not-so-innocent child. It would have made him ill to drink the blood of a werewolf, but he had sent the child off painlessly, lying him beside the corpse of his mother with a cleanly broken neck. Even if the child was young, it would have done no good to allow someone already given up to live on. The child wished for death, a child far too wise for his years, and Harry could have done nothing but grant it. He knew those eyes, the lost but determined air they held. So he had granted peace, peace he had wished for so many times in his own childhood. Peace he was never granted because of a prophecy that laid over his head.

He had drained the first person he'd seen after that, a nondescript witch who was wandering through the streets. He hadn't put a second thought to her death, pushing her into a wall with a hand over her mouth as his fangs sunk into her neck. It was not murder in the strictest sense, though a human would see it that way. Humans killed living beings for food every day, but they considered themselves the top of the food chain. It was for this reason that vampires were feared; they showed humans that they could be the prey just as easily as the cows or chickens they led to slaughter.

Harry pushed a hand through his hair as he walked slowly back up to the castle, calm enough now to walk rather than take his broom. The moonlight shone down on him, comforting as it always was. 'Mother loved the moon,' the child had said. Harry understood this. He loved it as well. No matter the stage in his life, he had always found an odd solace in the cold light, detached and distant. As a child he had wished to visit the moon, it had become his dream for escape. He had imagined a society there where he would be treated as any other, ignored but not neglected. He imagined his parents waiting for him there on the moon, just waiting for him to come to them.

Now in the moonlight he walked lazily, letting his other senses guide him as he closed his eyes. He basked in the pale light, letting it illuminate him, uncaring at the moment if he was seen on grounds long after curfew. He was still half a mile from the castle proper, he doubted he would be seen, and surely he would be recognized even if he was.

He skirted the western shore of the lake, regarding the glassy surface with his eyes. It looked solid with no discernible breeze to move its waters, and with the squid asleep there wasn't even a ripple. Like a solid plate of black glass stretching on to the cliffs in the distance, the faint lights of Hogwarts unable to reach its surface to reflect upon it. Even the moonlight seemed absorbed.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets to ward off the autumn chill, his breaths puffing out in faint clouds from his lips. His right fist encountered a paper, and green eyes widened behind false glasses. The letter from Remus.

The moonlight was enough for his sharp eyes to read the scrawled script, eyes darting across it and fists clenching tighter with every line. His heart hurt more with every sentence, but he could feel the truth in the werewolf's words.

Dear Harry,

Hello there, pup. I was glad to get your letter; I had thought that after June you would no longer want to talk to me. I appreciate the smile you were able to give me, fleeting though it was.

I'm not sure about much of your letter. You left many hints and ambiguous messages, and I fear that I am chary to attempt to decipher many them. The less I know, the less I will have to pass on.

I am sorry if this is not what you wished to hear, Harry, but there is little I can do. I know we hardly knew one another, but you brought a light into my life that I hadn't had for over a decade, and for that I thank you. Though it is selfish of me, I will always love to think of you and remember your father, and how proud he would have been to see what a man you are becoming. This, however, cannot change many things.

I cannot tell you where I am for safety, but I am doing work for the Old Crowd in a werewolf pack. They are kind here, I am amazed constantly by how misinterpreted being a werewolf is in society. I fell into the beliefs just as anyone else, but being here is opening my eyes. Not all werewolves need be bloodthirsty monsters like Greyback. I think I may learn more about myself on this assignment than I will learn for the Old Crowd, but I suppose that I am due for something for myself.

I do not blame you for Sirius, pup, just so you know. He wouldn't have wanted me nor you to mourn him, you know, and I refuse to let life end because he has gone. He is with James and Lily now, after all. I will be back with him someday, and your parents as well. But if I still have time here, I am in no rush.

Whatever you choose to do, Harry, they will not be disappointed in you, that I can promise. While they may not understand your choices, they would know that they were your own. Just as I must make my own. I will not pass on anything in the letter you sent, but please do not send another like it. Next time I will have no choice. Despite everything, all the changes I wish to make in my life, and that you are the only thing close to family that remains for this old wolf, I cannot change so much, Harry. I am old and nearing the end already.

Take care. Please. I beg this of you. No matter the outcome of your choices, I wish your safety.

With Love Always,

Moony

Harry closed his eyes and let the now crushed paper be caught in the wind, carrying it away from him. It hurt more than he had expected it to, and for the first time Harry considered what was to come for him. If he was so affected by the refusal of someone who he valued but hardly knew, how would it feel when Ron and Hermione looked to him with betrayal in their eyes? How much harder would it be to stand on opposite sides of the battlefield from all the people who had made his teenage years tolerable?

It wasn't that Remus had turned away. Remus was, at the core of it, nothing but a friend of Sirius whom he had looked up to. He had hardly ever spoken to him, and never had the chance to become attached. But he was an indicator of just how much the coming months would hurt him.

Harry looked up at the silent moon for long minutes, as if the answers he sought laid there.

They did not.

I did a report on different cultures' superstitions of the moon years ago in high school and this one always stuck out to me, for some reason. It was the first one I thought of in this case.

(1) Mawu represented the Moon that brings the night and cooler temperature in the African world. Mawu is depicted as an old mother who dwells in the West. Coolness is an expression of wisdom and age for the Fon people.Mawu has a partner called Liza that is associated with the Sun. Mawu and Liza are regarded as an unseparable unity at the basis of the universal order. Together they created the universe. They used their son Gu, the divine tool, to shape the world. They were also aided by the cosmic serpent, Da. Mawu and Liza were twins.

Revised: 3/18/09