Chapter One

Ron Weasley was a sidekick. He knew what everyone said about him, despite many believing him to be stupid. He was Harry Potter's best mate, a part of the Golden Trio and really, he was the most boring one. The one that wasn't special. The ordinary one. With so many siblings, Ron was used to going somewhat unnoticed and didn't mind it, truthfully. But if he was going to be called boring and not special and just an ordinary sidekick, it should have been true.

Ron shouldn't have been attacked and bitten by a vampire in the fields surrounding the Burrow, which were supposed to be very safe. That could never happen, right? And especially not to him.

Wrong, Ron thought miserably as he trudged home in the dark, blood dripping down his neck and staining his ruined clothing. All he had done was go for a run, a bloody jog around some bloody fields, and he'd somehow gotten himself into a dangerous bit of trouble.

It was one excuse to never do it again. His head spun, and he nearly fell over.

In a spur-of-the-moment effort to keep in shape for the upcoming Quidditch season, Ron had left the house about an hour ago and slowly began making his way around the fields that surrounded it. There were some old tracks, and he ran along them without meeting a single soul along the way. He'd just finished trekking up a large hill, out of breath and with a stitch growing in his side when he heard it.

A distant whisper, a disturbance in the wind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Warily, Ron scanned the forest around him, searching his pockets for a wand he didn't have. Of course he didn't with him. Why would he? He wouldn't be in any danger around his house. Ron's eyes found the horizon, his gaze locked on the setting sun for a few moments as he forced himself to relax. He wasn't back at Hogwarts yet. Not to mention, usually the trouble only started when Harry and Hermione were around, and that wouldn't be for a few weeks yet. Ron was looking forward to seeing his best mates again. Although tensions were only escalating with the war, he wanted to make the most of the summer while they had no homework to do and warm afternoons to be spent playing Quidditch and lazing about.

He swallowed hard and carried on, running perhaps more quickly than usual past prickly shrubs and trees thick with vines. Usually he liked it, the jumbled feel reminding him of his home, but not now. Now all he could think of were all the possible places to hide. Suddenly there was another noise: a crunching sound that elevated his pulse even higher. Ron paused behind a tree and realised he'd only edged closer to where it came from; he should have been running away, but from where he was hidden it was easy to just crane his neck, trainers crunching on the undergrowth, and get a glimpse of whoever or whatever was following him.

There was nothing.

Ron shook his head, wondering if there had ever anything there in the first place. Maybe he should start getting to bed sooner if lack of sleep was causing him to hallucinate. He continued to speed up, wanting to get home as fast as possible. The light was fading fast and his mother would want him back before dark - especially as the newspapers had begun giving information about how to protect your family from Death Eaters. For the Daily Prophet to be giving out such advice was a true sign of how bad things were getting.

Ron glanced up and saw he was almost home. Just this stretch of field to go, then through a small forest and up a hill.

The suspicion that there was something behind him was mounting rapidly again. He turned his head and saw nothing but dry grass swaying in the wind behind him - but his fear was not mollified in the slightest. Ron ran faster, panic beginning to set in. A loud snap of a branch drew him out of his thoughts, but he didn't stop. He had no wand. If some animal had decided to attack him (that was his only explanation) then he had to get home sharpish before it struck.

Ron reached the end of the small forest, and saw the last hill swelling up ahead of him.

There was a good minute where it was just the wind swirling past him, nipping at his face. Then he heard footsteps, real footsteps. Heavy, solid, each one marked with intention.

What the hell was going on here?

Ron tried to run, but before he could even turn back and see what was actually following him, he felt himself being yanked back, arm grabbed and twisted ruthlessly until he shouted out in pain. A grimy hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him. Ron was pulled impatiently across the ground back into the shade of the trees, and only then was the strong grip on his arm released. Ron twisted around and finally glimpsed his assailant.

It was a thin man masked by the darkness, wearing a long cloak encrusted with grime; he had grey-looking skin and filthy fingernails, and greasy locks of dark hair that rivalled Snape's.

The man lunged closer, and Ron scrabbled at the ground to try and push himself away.

"Get away from me!" he bellowed. "I don't know who you are, I swear I haven't-" Ron was cut off by the stranger bending down and covering his mouth again, effectively smothering Ron. It was then that his hair parted to reveal a pair of blood-red eyes.

They burned with hunger while Ron's widened in fear. He made more colourful noises of smothered protest, and though he tried to prepare himself for whatever was coming, he failed to consider that the stranger might do what vampires were most known for. The stranger opened his mouth, revealing a gleaming pair of elongated canines which were promptly sunk into Ron's neck. The skin broke immediately, and he could feel blood being drained from above his shoulder, whereupon it was eagerly consumed.

Ron tried to escape, he did - but the vice-like, freezing cold grip on his throat was excruciatingly painful, and the pain and fear was so overwhelming Ron could feel his consciousness slipping away. Although, maybe it was better if he didn't remember this.

Finally, the stranger unclenched his mouth from Ron's neck and turned to face him, eyes glittering madly like rubies and streaks of blood either side of his mouth. Out of it as he was, he still caught it when the stranger rumbled menacingly, "Now it's your turn."

Before he could process what that meant the man was unleashing his fangs again and tearing them across his own wrist, rivers of scarlet dripping down his arm. The stranger grabbed Ron's face roughly and forced his mouth open, watching as blood disappeared down Ron's throat. Just a little more... And then it was over. Ron had choked and spluttered, but still the blood was swallowed, and the deed was done.

The stranger stood again, wobbling like a drunk, and disappeared. Whether he apparated or ran Ron didn't know. Didn't care. He lay there weakly in the dirt, feeling the blood working its way through his system. There was a dull thudding in his head that made it impossible for him to move and it was like he'd been paralysed from the neck down.

Ron was doomed. His fate had been sealed before the madman had even vanished into the black.

Vampires were supposed to be monitored by the Ministry, or locked up. Not prowling around Ottery St Catchpole looking for their next meal. To become a vampire, they had to drink your blood and then you had to drink theirs. It had been covered in Defence Against the Dark Arts in fourth year, and it was one of the only subjects Ron shone in. So by that logic, he was now technically a-

Dear Merlin, don't let it be true. How would he explain that one?

Maybe if he'd had his wand things would have gone differently. His head thudded again and Ron groaned, clutching his forehead. Blimey, that hurt. But he pulled himself to his feet again somehow. He tried to sort out his feet, tell them to go one after the other in a straight line, but they refused. All he wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep - but then, it might come back. Wait, why would it? It had already destroyed Ron's life. If it came back and killed him, he might just thank it.

He pressed a hand to his neck and found it still bleeding; whipping his shirt off to staunch the flow did barely anything, and it worried Ron how painfully slow his pulse was, the space between each beat dragging on for eternity. How was he supposed to get past his parents looking like this? Or should he tell them the truth? He could. He should. What if the next time Ginny went out for a walk she was attacked by the same feral creature?

On the other hand, even just a rumour of you being a vampire was enough to have you locked up. They were despised in the wizarding world, but... this wasn't something Ron could hide, was it?

Ron decided he would wait until morning. It wasn't so late that everyone should be asleep yet, but hopefully his family would be in their rooms by now. It was only him, Ginny and his parents home at the moment. If, in the morning, Ron woke up and he was still him, still normal (perhaps there was a slim chance), he would tell them. If not... Well, then it was fair to say he was done for.

Ron swallowed, and tried to ignore the dread that weighed him down as he walked up to the Burrow.

His head was absolutely killing him, the pain forcing his eyes shut; he hoped that sleep came to take him away again, but he was afforded no such luxury. The burning went on and on, scorching from his brain to his neck to his stomach and then to his toes, chasing away the dregs of fatigue and only leaving more pain behind.

Somehow he had gotten up to his bedroom without seeing another soul. Ron heard voices in the living room, but ignored them and continued up the stairs, pulling himself along using the banister, then the wall, moving inch by inch until he could crash onto his bed. Ron had fallen into a state somewhere between slumber and consciousness, but every time he closed his eyes he was back under the night sky, that vampire biting into his neck.

He pushed himself up against his pillows and found that some of the pain had subsided, allowing him to open his eyes and look around his room properly. Merlin's beard... why was everything so bright? His room had always been vibrant what with the Chudley Cannons posters, but this was unbearable.

Ron shut his eyes again and yawned, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. His hand touched something wet and warm.

He opened his eyes again, and remembered.

Limping next door to the bathroom, Ron locked the door and examined the mark on his neck. There were two fresh puncture wounds marring the skin, still oozing blood. He grabbed a towel to stop it, hissing when the rough fibres brushed over the wound. He glanced into the mirror to see himself pale and drawn-looking, blue eyes wide and fearful.

Would they soon turn red?

Ron shut his eyes, head swimming again, and leaned against the sink. Somehow it was morning already, the blue sky too bright and birds chirruping too loudly. They squawked wretchedly, and Ron turned on the tap just to cover the noise. He must've turned the tap too far, though, because the top came away under his hands like the metal was flimsy as cardboard.

Hopeless, he put the broken top beside the tap and sank to the ground. What was going on with him? Well, he knew, but he didn't want to. Merlin, he never wanted get up again - everything was so wrong, too loud and too close and it felt like someone was hitting him repeatedly over the head with a Beater's bat. Ron was exhausted.

What happened last night had been no accident, it had struck him. Ron groaned, birds still burrowed right in his ear. Ron knew it... Merlin, the stranger had even mumbled, "It's your turn now," right before forcing his blood down his throat.
Again the thought of telling his parents crossed his mind, because Ron was really starting to feel frightened. But he couldn't now - he decided he would at breakfast. It was only a few hours. Shaking, Ron went back to bed.

Ron dreamed terrible dreams of becoming a vampire, sleeping during the day and spending his nights feasting on humans. He dreamt he became a sinister creature like the one that had attacked him the night prior, and stalked a young boy that looked eerily like himself.

He snapped awake just as he was about to spring, heart thudding. But it seemed lethargic, struggling to pump in a steady rhythm. Ron felt like he was suffocating as he was unable to draw breath into his lungs.

He had heard all sorts of stories from dad about how they dealt with vampires at the Ministry. Imprisonment, execution... if this was Ron's future, it would be grim. And what about his family? What would they think if he was a vampire? The night before he'd been sure his parents wouldn't report him to the Ministry if the worst came true, but what if they were afraid of him? Vampires were known supporters of You-Know-Who, just as werewolves were. Would his parents give Ron a chance as they had Remus Lupin? Ron would have said yes, definitely, but vampires were worse than werewolves. They drank human blood.

Would anyone trust him after this?

No, no... he was thinking too far ahead. This wasn't definite. Ron couldn't be a vampire. He just couldn't be. It was insane to even consider. This was all just crazy some dream, and he'd forget it by tomorrow. He just needed to go back to sleep; there was no point jumping to conclusions now.

Ron Weasley was not a vampire.

Not yet, at least.