Title: Blood
Author: Artemis Luna Diana
E-Mail: artemislunadiana@yahoo.com
Rating: R (eventual NC-17)
Pairing: HP/SS
Disclaimer: I own not a thing.
Summary: Thrust into the distant past and turned into a vampire against his will, Harry struggles to understand what he has become and tries to fill his one desire: to get home.
WARNING!!!!
THIS STORY CONTAINS ELEMENTS OF SLASH!!!!
IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT OR WITH THIS PARTICULAR PAIRING… LEAVE NOW!!!!
Thanks to: Katie Bell and snapeysnapesnape for the excellent betas.
Chapter One: Blood Loss
When Harry returned to his room a few hours later, he found it empty. He rushed into the kitchen area and found Quentin sitting relaxed at the table… alone. "Where is she?" Harry asked.
Quentin smiled, and Harry felt a coldness grip him. "She was going on and on about her father and death and blood, all the usual mortal nonsense. She was quite distraught. I believe she went running up the east tunnel."
Harry swallowed. "That leads outside."
"Why yes, so it does!"
Harry slammed a fist down on the table. "You just let her go! She's going to die if she steps into the light!"
Quentin's smile faded, and he straightened from his slouched position. He spoke each word slowly, enunciating each syllable in his anger. "I give you a lot of leeway, boy, but never forget that I am your Sire. I am the Rector Lamia. You will never speak to me like that again. Do you understand?" When Harry didn't reply immediately, Quentin backhanded him across the face. He stood up from the table and leaned over Harry, who lay sprawled out on the floor. "If she does not return, then when night falls again, we will go outside to find her remains." Quentin started to leave the room, but paused in the doorway. "If she does return, bring her to me immediately."
Harry stared at the empty doorway. Never had anyone struck him like Quentin had done. And never had he felt so betrayed by someone he had respected.
***
As the time passed, Harry's hopes began to sink. She still hadn't returned. He didn't understand why Quentin had turned her if he was just going to let her run off the moment she woke. He alternated between pacing and sitting on the floor where the east tunnel branched into the complex. Quentin never came to see what he was doing.
Harry didn't need a watch to realize that night was falling again. He had spent the entire day at the foot of the east tunnel. The girl had never returned. The likelihood that she had remained in the tunnels was slim. Tremors wracked his slim frame. Why? Why had Quentin turned her and then set her loose to die?!
Harry glanced up at Quentin's entrance. "Night has fallen. We will search in the area immediately around the caves. If we can't find her remains, then we must assume that a werewolf took her before the sun rose."
Harry trembled in anger, his teeth gnawing on his lips in order to control his need to scream. He didn't speak, but followed Quentin to the cave entrance. When they reached the surface, a brisk wind rose briefly, bringing with it the stench of burnt flesh and hair. Harry gagged.
Deep within the caves, Harry never noticed his altered senses, except for his vision that is. Even after the hunt the night before, he just assumed he was able to smell the blood just because he was a vampire and that was his food. Now he realized that not only had his vision been altered, but his sense of smell was increased.
He followed Quentin to the source of the smell. There, lying in the undergrowth were the remains of the girl he had fed from the night before. Her skin was black from the burns and full of marks that looked like small explosions. Like her blood had boiled within her and exploded out. Her hair had been a coppery red the day before, now it was black. Even her hair had burned in the sunlight.
Harry turned away and stumbled into the brush, vomiting. Quentin stared dispassionately at the corpse. He glanced over at Harry and sighed. He walked over to him and placed a hand on his back. Harry flinched away.
"Harry."
Harry shuddered.
"Harry."
"What?" he asked coldly.
Quentin sighed. "Harry, you must understand that not everyone can be turned. Not everyone can be saved." Harry remained silent as Quentin began to explain. "The blood drives them mad if they are weak. We only add about ten vampires to the coven a year, and we lose nearly as many in the same year. The ability to become a vampire is rare."
Harry trembled, but didn't speak.
"Harry, you had to learn this."
"I didn't need to learn it like this!"
"It's so you won't forget."
"Congratulations, you've succeeded," Harry said bitterly.
"You'll know if you can turn your victim. However, even then there are times when you shouldn't do it."
"You lecture me now!" Harry looked pointedly at the corpse of the girl, the disgust showing on his face.
"Yes! Harry, you must learn this if you are to survive."
"Why did you do it? Why did you turn me?!"
"Because you are the most powerful human I have ever seen. You could single-handedly end the war!"
"I'm just a pawn to you!"
"No! You are also my child! I care for you, Harry."
"You care nothing for me! And you cared nothing for her! This lesson is only a lesson not to trust you!" Harry stood, his legs shaky. Quentin reached out to steady him. "Don't touch me!" he yelled, pulling away abruptly. He stumbled off in the direction of the caves.
Quentin sighed. He walked over to the corpse and crouched down. "My poor mad little girl," he said and caressed her burnt hair. "I'm so sorry." He picked up her body and began walking. If her body stayed where it was, werewolves were more likely to find the cave complex. Then his son would be in danger. His innocent, little son.
***
Harry lay on his bed, eyes open, staring sightlessly at the wall. Around and around his mind twisted the information Quentin had given him, with what Quentin had done. Had time really changed so much that the death of a child meant nothing? He said he knew the girl couldn't be turned. If he knew that, shouldn't he have found someone else? So the girl didn't die? It seems stupid to kill the offspring of your food. Harry's eyes closed at that thought and his trembling began again. If you kill the children, how can they multiply? Your food source will eventually run out.
Quentin had said that the ability to become a vampire was rare. How rare exactly? One in a hundred? One in a thousand? And why him? There were others more powerful than he. Surely Quentin must be mistaken. The magical folk of the past seemed more powerful than those of the present: Merlin, the Founders, and the like. Wasn't there someone Quentin had seen who was more powerful than he? Quentin had to have seen some wizards. He said that vampires had "occasional skirmishes" with magical folk.
Were vampires evil? Granted they drank the blood of humans to survive, but did that make them evil? Why were the vampires at war with everyone? Humans, werewolves, and wizards. Was there anyone they weren't fighting with?
And the werewolves. Quentin acts as though they are more in control of themselves than Remus does. Could whatever caused the vampires to die out, also have altered the nature of werewolves, thus making the change so much more difficult?
He needed to find a wizard or witch to talk to. He needed one of them to help him get home. But to do that, he'd need to reach his Daylight Years. And to do that, he'd need to learn everything that Quentin knew.
***
Harry left with Quentin nearly every night to hunt. After each hunt, he would walk down to the river deep in the cave system to wash away the blood and to vomit. He couldn't stop the parade of faces in his mind, faces of the people he had killed. They came to him in his sleep and popped up on him when he was distracted. When his killing list reached a hundred victims, Harry realized that he had to do something or he'd go mad from the guilt.
"What can I do to stop seeing them?"
Quentin stared pensively at Harry. "You have to accept what you are."
"I have accepted. I am a blood-sucking vampire! How much more acceptance does it take?!"
Quentin shook his head. "You know what you are, but you haven't accepted it. When you can finally accept that you are what you are, then and only then, will the guilt ease. Until then, you will see their faces every time you sleep. You'll see them at odd moments during the day. And they will never leave you alone until you accept that what happened, had to happen."
Harry stared at Quentin. "What happened, didn't have to happen."
"And there is your problem. You still think of what might have been. Accept that you cannot change things and the guilt will ease. They won't haunt you anymore." Quentin sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Harry, by the time you have reached your Daylight Years, you will have probably killed over thirty-six thousand people. You are a vampire. This is what you do. Accept it and move on."
Harry felt cold. Thirty-six thousand. That was just a rough estimate. A guess, but still, very close to the truth. Thirty-six thousand. Thirty-six thousand.
***
The first thing he did was stop counting. He'd always know a rough estimate of how many he'd killed, but he wouldn't know for sure how many. The higher the number grew, the more the faces blurred together. This was about survival. This is what he had to do to live. To get home. To keep Voldemort from killing his friends, the people he considered family. He had to survive for them if nothing else.
***
"Harry! Come on! We're nearly there!"
"Alright!"
Harry shifted his polearm to prevent it from catching on the branches overhead and glanced over at Quentin. He flashed his sire a grin before continuing forward. It was a bit easier for Quentin since his weapon strapped to his back and kept out of the way on its own. A polearm is very long and since you don't carry it in your hand, it has a tendency to catch on things above and to the side of you. Harry loved it though. It was his favorite weapon. His other specialties were the staff and two daggers. So his favorite two daggers were strapped to each thigh and he used his staff as a walking stick. His wand was hidden in his right boot.
They were moving out of the caves and joining the coven. Quentin had told Harry to bring his weapons with him, they were unlikely to return to the caves for a very long time. Quentin had his axe strapped to his back, his sword at his hip, and his quiver thrown over one shoulder. His bow, he held in his right hand.
Both men also carried small knapsacks with some spare clothes in them. Harry's bag also held his journals. He had cast a feather-weight charm on the bag as well as a durability charm to ease the load and prevent the bag from breaking under the weight. He had begun keeping a journal a few days after he entered his transition. It had helped to ease the pain to write everything down on paper. Even after he had grown to accept what he was, he still continued to record what happened in his life.
"Harry," Quentin said, the smile was in his voice as well as on his face. "Are you ready to see it?"
"Yes." Harry couldn't have stopped the smile from forming even if he tried.
"Then step through there." Quentin gestured to the brush before them.
Harry pushed aside the leaves and stepped through. "Oh. My. God."
The coven wasn't anything like he had imagined. It was a city built into the forest. From the top most tree to deep under ground. Buildings were built into the trees themselves in a rough circle around a clearing. In the clearing were vampires sparring, laughing, and playing. Torches lit the area enough to see everything. There was an entrance, he could see that led underground. For the young ones, the ones who couldn't live above ground all the time.
"How?"
"The elves helped us. They taught us how to hide in the forest, to build within it, and live with it in harmony."
"The elves?"
"Yes. You'll probably see some of them tonight. The Rector Lamia before me, Elaine, was on very good terms with them. It's something I have tried hard to maintain. We need some friends; we can't fight everyone all at once." Quentin walked forward, starting down the slope towards the others. He glanced back at Harry over his shoulder. "Besides, elven blood tastes like shit."
Harry laughed.
"Come on down. Lots of people for you to meet."
"Do the elves come here a lot?" Harry asked as they walked down towards the clearing. "You didn't say."
"Oh. Yes, they do actually. They have always been very tolerant towards vampires for some reason. They don't usually associate with humans or wizards though; I've never asked them why. Anyway, after Elaine came into power, the tolerance turned to affection for some reason. I don't know what she said to them or did for them to do it, but somehow she managed it. Nowadays, it's rare if we don't have at least one elf visiting the coven."
"Quentin!" someone shouted.
Quentin and Harry looked up and saw a tall figure running towards them. It was a woman with long black hair. She wore dark brown trousers and a vest of the same color. Her skin was bronzed by the sun and seemed to sparkle in the torch light. She skidded to a stop in front of them. Her eyes were as black as her hair. She brushed a hand through her hair to push the loose strands away from her face, revealing a pointed ear. Harry's eyes widened in surprise. He didn't think that when Quentin said elves, that he meant this kind of elf. Harry didn't even think this kind of elf existed… ever. He thought Quentin meant house-elves.
"Hello, Rector Lamia," the elf said, flashing Quentin a smile. "This must be your son, Harry."
"Yes, this is Harry," Quentin said proudly.
"I've heard so much about you," the elf said smiling slyly. "You are just what I imagined."
Harry blushed.
The elf giggled. "I'm Illiona, daughter of Lord Aliras."
Harry glanced at Quentin, who smiled at him. "Her father is the leader of the elves that live in this forest."
"Oh," Harry said, then smiled at Illiona. "Hello."
Illiona giggled again. "I like him, Quentin. And I know you've been keeping him to yourself for awhile, haven't you?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I can see why."
Harry frowned. The elf had become serious, and after the light-heartedness she first displayed, it wasn't a comforting sight.
"You knew, I expect?" Illiona prompted.
"Yes," Quentin replied.
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen."
Illiona shot Quentin a look of surprise that was then quickly masked. "Hmm." Illiona's sudden seriousness vanished as quickly as it came. "I'll leave you then. You've many people to meet, Harry. Until we meet again." The elf left before either man could respond.
When Quentin would have moved forward, Harry stopped him. "What was that all about?"
Quentin winced. "Not here. I'll tell you later."
Harry scowled but released his sire. "I hope so. I don't like the feeling I got when you two spoke about me."
Quentin stared at him a moment before turning and continuing on towards the others.
Harry was introduced to so many people, he felt like his head was spinning. It was weird though, probably over eighty percent of the vampires at the coven were in the transition stage. Another ten percent were still in the birthing stage, and of those who had reached the Daylight Years, only two were over two hundred.
'I thought we were immortal as long as we continued to feed,' Harry said mentally to Quentin. 'Why is everyone so young?'
'Battles with werewolves cause heavy losses to both sides. By the time more vampires have reached the Daylight Years, another battle takes place and we lose more lives. Those losses don't count the minor skirmishes with werewolves, wizards, and the occasional lucky human,' Quentin replied. 'There hasn't been a vampire that's reached three hundred years in over a millennia.'
'Isn't there anything we can do to stop it?'
'The only thing we can do is train the children to be better than their sires. We have to end the war if we ever expect to grow. Our numbers stay around five hundred.' Quentin paused for a moment before deciding to continue. 'Also, some of the vampires who reach their Daylight Years leave the coven and travel to other lands. Some come back and others never return… those eventually allow themselves to die. There are three vampires away from the coven right now.'
'You left the coven once too, didn't you?'
'Yes. I was gone for eleven years.'
'Why did you come back?'
'I wanted to come home.' Quentin smiled at him. 'It's as simple as that.'
Harry smiled back.
"Why don't you go and find some of the younger children? You might like talking to someone your own age," Quentin said aloud.
Harry nodded slightly. "Okay."
Harry wandered around watching the other vampires interact. He didn't really understand why Quentin had raised him away from the coven. The others were all brought back to the coven and grew up together. They spent their birthing years and their transition years together. By the time they reached their Daylight Years, they knew themselves and each other inside and out. They could predict exactly what the other would do in any situation. They were so close to each other. Harry felt jealous. He missed Ron and Hermione. He missed Hogwarts. He missed his home.
"Hey!"
Harry looked up at the shout.
"Want to spar?"
Harry studied the other vampire, taking in the lean muscular body. The man looked to be about twenty-seven or so, but Harry got the impression the man was still young. Harry shrugged. "Alright."
"Then come on in the circle."
Harry stepped into the circle. "Weapon?"
The man smirked. "I'm good with them all. You pick."
Harry tilted his head to the side a bit. Either the man was incredibly good or incredibly stupid. Letting his opponent pick the weapon? "Alright. Just a moment, I'll get my weapon."
"Don't take too long, kid."
Harry and Quentin had set their things down in Quentin's home, which was situated at the base of one of the trees. Harry had kept his daggers, but had left his bag, his staff, and his polearm there. Quentin had shed all of his weapons as well as bag.
Harry fetched his polearm and returned to the circle. The man stood at the edge talking to some younger looking vampires. When he saw Harry, he laughed. "Kid, a big weapon ain't gonna help ya if you can't use it." He strode over to the table near the circle and grabbed one of the polearms.
Harry didn't bother to reply. He was a little nervous because this would be the first fight against someone other than Quentin. He beat Quentin every time they sparred with the polearms, and he knew he was good, it was just… he didn't want to embarrass himself or Quentin. He usually kept the right side of the polearm high and the left side pointed at the ground while he fought; it was just more comfortable to him that way.. He held the weapon ready in front of him.
The man struck first.
Harry reacted quickly. He brought the lower side of the polearm up, slamming it into the swinging blade. Stepping back and twisting the blades, he slashed towards the man. He stumbled back, away from Harry, and brought his polearm up to stop Harry's blade from slicing him in half.
Harry frowned. The man was not very good at all. That made things a little more dangerous. It was stupid of him to accept if he couldn't use the double-bladed weapon well. The man was just as likely to cut himself in half as he was to harm Harry. He needed to end the fight quickly so as to cause the least amount of damage to both parties.
He swung the blades in a smooth windmill-like motion, crashing the blades into his opponent's weapon forcefully. The man stumbled back and fought to keep his grip on his weapon. Harry let the left side of the polearm drop and turned, swinging the blade around him in a wide circle, bringing the left side up as he twisted. The upper blade crashed on the center of the other polearm, right between the man's hands. The man yelped in surprise and dropped the polearm. Harry let the left side drop again, swinging the right blade towards the man's head. He stopped only an inch away from the man's neck.
Harry could tell the man was holding his breath. He frowned. The man thought that Harry was going to kill him. Harry's eyes widened slightly and he stepped back, swinging the polearm to his favorite resting position: holding the weapon in his right hand behind his body with the tip of the right blade resting on the ground and the left side up in the air to the left of his head.
It was then that Harry noticed the silence. Those gathered around the sparring ring were quiet and staring at him. Harry was puzzled. What was the big deal? "What?" he asked.
"How do you do that?" someone asked.
"Do what?" Harry asked.
"Do what?" the man Harry fought repeated, shocked. "How do you use the polearm like that? I have never seen anyone move so fast. You act as though it weighs nothing."
Others were murmuring their agreement. Harry frowned again. It's true when he first began using the weapon, he cast feather-weight charms on it, but eventually he began taking them off, building up his strength. Now there were no feather-weight charms on his weapon. It just wasn't heavy to him.
"May I see your weapon?" the man asked.
Harry glanced down at the point of his blade and then back up at the man. Slowly he nodded and brought the weapon back in front of him, holding it out in a horizontal line in front of him. The man took the blade and hefted it, trying to get a feel for the weapon.
"It's just as heavy as the one I was using, if not more so." The man handed it back to Harry. "How old are you?"
"Total, or how far into the transition?" he questioned.
"Either."
"Physically: I am fifteen; transition-wise: I am seventeen; total: I am thirty-six."
"You really are still a kid," the man breathed. "I'm twenty-two years into the transition, fifty-three total." The man shook his head. "You've got a lot of talent, kid."
Harry shook his head. "Please, call me Harry, not 'kid', and I've still got a lot to learn."
"I'm Jason, and it was an honor to spar with you, Harry. We must do it again sometime, I feel I can learn much from you."
"I am no teacher," Harry protested.
Jason laughed. "You set high standards for yourself: don't know enough to be talented, not good enough to teach. Still, just the same, I think I'll stick around to see what you do next."
Later on, as the dawn began to approach, Harry and the others descended down into the underground dwellings. Quentin led him to his new home after taking a quick detour to gather Harry's things from Quentin's home. Harry set his weapons and bag down and stripped to his underclothes, collapsing onto the bed in exhaustion.
***
Harry woke quickly and effortlessly. With his eyes closed, he sensed the room around him. When he was confident there was nothing to surprise him, he opened his eyes. As his senses told him, he was alone. He gave into the desire to stretch and felt joints pop from the effort. With a barely audible sigh, he flipped back the covers and rose from the bed. The cool air brought goose-bumps to his skin, and he quickly dressed. He strapped on his two daggers and left his room.
Following the corridor up, he arrived in the common area above the dwellings. There were a few people up and moving about, which surprised Harry a little. Vampires only required about four hours of sleep, and he himself had nearly slept seven by his estimation. Why weren't more people awake?
He sat down at one of the tables meant for eating with a roll and a cup of water. While it wasn't necessary for him to eat food, it was a habit he didn't want to break and as a bonus it did give him extra energy. He glanced up when someone sat across from him.
"Hello, Harry."
"Illonia. Good morrow."
"I see you still eat food despite the fact you have entered your transition. Any particular reason why? Or did Quentin not tell you that it wasn't required?" The elf seemed amused.
"No particular reason," Harry replied. "Just an appreciation for solid food."
"You don't like blood then?"
Harry shook his head slightly. "I didn't say that. I simply said I like food. It is in a vampire's nature to love and crave the taste of blood. That can not be avoided even if one should wish it."
"And do you wish it?"
Harry set down his water; his fingers lightly caressed the cup. "At one point I did. However, it is foolish to long for the impossible. As all vampires do, I grew up."
"Perhaps you gave up to soon."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Really? Do you know something I don't?"
Illiona smiled slightly. "Of course. However, I'm sure there are many more things that you know that I do not."
Harry's hand stilled on the cup. "Oh? Like what?"
"Many things," she repeated. She stood. "I am returning to Raveya, the elven city. Until we meet again, Harry."
"Until we meet again," Harry replied.
She walked towards the tunnel to the surface, then stopped and turned around. "Harry? Do you have a second name? Quentin never mentioned it."
"Quentin does not know it."
Illiona smiled. "Keep your secrets then." She turned again and walked away. "For now."
Harry frowned. How much could the elvish woman know? And what would she do with what she did know?
Harry wasn't left to his own devices for long. Jason and a few of his friends finally came up from the dwellings and invited him to join one of their games. Apparently, Jason had decided that Harry was someone to hang around, and as he was the leader of one of the cliques in the coven, Harry was now part of the group. He stayed with the other children for most of the day before Quentin came down to talk to him. He and Harry retreated to the privacy of Harry's room to talk.
"You wanted to know what Illiona and I were talking about."
"Yes."
"Then first you must understand a few things about me and the other vampires." Quentin paused to organize his thoughts. "I had the potential to be a wizard, and because of this, I have the ability to sense the power – the magic – in others. I know that you are very strong, Harry. After a few moments in your presence, I could also sense that you had been trained to use magic. Never had I seen one so young with so much power! With such training! I knew that being so young, that I could potentially sway you to join us." Quentin seemed ill at ease. "It was what I wanted… but when you spoke… I realized that I had to act quickly. I couldn't risk that you might attack me."
"You turned me because you knew I was a wizard?"
"Nothing so simple. It was because you had been trained and could still be turned."
"Wizards can't be turned?"
Quentin shook his head. "No. They can't. A fully trained wizard is so in-tune with their magic that to intentionally cause death is very upsetting. They don't like to hurt others because it damages their magic."
"My magic is weakened?" Harry whispered. "Didn't you think at all about what you were doing to me?! I need my magic!"
"That's just it! Harry! If anything, your magic is growing stronger! I don't understand it. I had hoped that if I could convince you to join us voluntarily that your magic would only decrease a little. I was worried when I turned you that I might have caused you to lose all of your magic. After all, you hadn't done any spells. Then one day while you were training, I felt a whisper of magic from the training room. I realized that your magic was still with you! I was so relieved! I was afraid I had hurt you. But, when I walked into the training room, I got an even bigger surprise. Harry, your magic is still pure! By now, your magic should be black and unusable. Instead it's still pure and growing stronger. Illiona confirmed it for me. And your power is increasing!"
"I don't understand. What are you saying? Wizards can't become vampires because they can't hurt people. Well what about Dark Wizards? What about the killing curse? Wizards can kill just as easily as vampires and still keep their magic."
"What are Dark Wizards?" Quentin asked slowly.
Harry blinked. "You've never heard of a Dark Wizard?"
"No."
Harry sat there a moment in shock. He was living in a time when it drove wizards mad to harm someone. When there were no Dark Lords and no killing curse. The wizarding world was at peace with themselves. Harry shook himself out of his thoughts. "Never mind."
Quentin frowned.
"So all Illiona and you were saying is that you knew I was a trained wizard – well, partially trained wizard – and that was a bad thing?"
"Basically, yes. Except that when we spoke afterwards, we both agreed that we don't know why your magic is increasing or why it's still usable."
"Okay. Why exactly is that a bad thing?"
"Because when a wizard has been turned before, they went mad with guilt. Something I was afraid you were going to do. I know that you vomited every night after a hunt for the first few months. That is what Illiona was concerned about. That's why she asked how old you were."
Harry sat silently for a moment. "What did you want to tell me about the other vampires?"
"Oh. Right. I am not the only one who had the potential to be a wizard. There are a few others among the coven. They will be able to sense the power within you, though I am unsure if they will realize that you have been trained. The others, although they will be unable to tell that you are a wizard, will be unconsciously drawn to you. Don't be surprised if you make a lot of friends, Harry. You could also use some. Eventually, one day, I believe that you will become the Rector Lamia. It would be best if you had many supporters."
"I have no wish to be Rector Lamia," Harry replied shocked.
"Perhaps now you don't. However, one day, I think you will be the leader of the vampires. It will be a glorious day, my son. It's only too bad I will miss it."
"Quentin…"
"Calm yourself, Harry. I don't plan on dying just yet. You shall have at least a few more years of my company before I'm killed in an uprising. Or a werewolf battle." Quentin had stood as he spoke and was now walking out of the room. "Or trying to catch a meal." Harry could hear his voice echo down the corridor as he listed ways he could potentially die. Quentin appeared to be very accepting of his death.
Harry sighed and flopped back on his bed. He laced his fingers together and placed them behind his head. He lay staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all of the universe's questions.
He knew why his magic had not changed. He was from the future, where magic and morals were not connected. If they were, Voldemort would have been rendered powerless long before he ever got to Harry's parents. He wondered what had changed about wizards that allowed them to turn dark.
There was one thing though that troubled him. Illiona said that his magic was pure. Basically that he was a light wizard. How could that be possible with his list of victims? How could he be anything but dark when he had killed so many?
***
"What are you doing, child?"
Harry looked up to see an older looking vampire standing in front of him. He glanced down at the parchments in front of him. "I'm keeping a record of what has happened to me."
"What language is that you write in? It's not the one the Rector wishes us all to learn."
"It is my native language."
"You are a very private person. I can understand that. I am one as well. Those who are alike are sometimes drawn to each other. Continue to write, young one. I wish nothing more than to sit with you a bit."
Harry wrote a little more before pausing and looking up at his fellow vampire. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"
The vampire laughed. "Boy, don't you know it's disgraceful to ask a woman her age?"
Harry smiled. "If it helps, you don't look a day over thirty."
"Oh get on with you! I was turned when I was thirty-six." The woman smiled at Harry. "I'm two hundred and fourteen."
Harry gave a low whistle. "I envy what you must know."
"On a quest for knowledge then?"
"Yes. I guess you could say that."
"You're different from the other young ones then. They all want power. Even the Rector is not immune to its call. Do you want to be the Rector Lamia one day, boy?"
"No," Harry replied honestly.
"I believe you. Unfortunately, the responsibility tends to fall on those who do not want it. They tend to be the greatest of us. I would prepare yourself. If you live long enough, one day, the burden might fall on you."
"You are not the first to tell me thus," Harry replied slowly. "It worries me that I seem to garner such attention."
"I sympathize with you, young one. I was most fortunate to avoid the call to lead. I fear that you will not be so lucky."
Harry was silent a moment. "Why do you concern yourself with me?"
The woman looked at him appraisingly. "Perhaps because you remind me of my mate when he was young." She remained quiet for a bit. "You may call me Lorna, young one, and I will teach you what I know."
Harry blinked in surprise. "Thank you. Thank you very much." He had already heard tales of the older ones. Lorna was considered the wiser of the two women. Aluva was more personable but did not have the knowledge that Lorna possessed. Harry hadn't realized which of the two women he'd been speaking to. "I'm Harry," he introduced himself.
Lorna laughed. "I know who you are, child. When you grow up, perhaps I will call you by your name. Until then, you are still a young one to me."
Harry blushed. "Sorry."
Lorna smiled. "I take no offense. Continue your writing, little one. I will speak with you again."
"Alright."
Lorna stood and left him to his journals. Harry watched her walk away. He wondered if Lorna would have approached him if he hadn't been a wizard. If he hadn't been somehow drawing the other vampires to him. 'You shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth,' he scolded himself. He'd learn all he could from the older woman and be grateful for the opportunity.
***
{27 years later}
"Harry! Tell us a story!"
"Please, Harry!"
"A story about magic!"
"Please!"
"Alright, alright!" Harry grinned. "I'll tell you a story."
"You tell the best stories, Harry. Even better than Aluva."
Harry blushed. "Flattery will get you two stories."
"Yea!"
Clustered around the forty-four year old vampire were six children, aging between four and ten. The six were vampire born and thus really as old as they looked. Harry was a favorite among the younger children. Even the somewhat older ones preferred to learn from him than ask one of the vampires in their Daylight Years to teach them.
He spent much of his time teaching, but when he managed to drag himself away from the younger ones, he was with Jason and his gang or with Lorna. At two-hundred and forty-one, the eldest vampire had become a true recluse, speaking only to Harry and to Quentin. Harry was saddened because he knew that Lorna wished to die. Her mate had died over a hundred years ago, and she wanted to join him. When the next battle against the werewolves happened, Harry believed she would allow herself to die fighting, as her mate had died before her.
Jason, on the other hand, had become a close friend. Despite the fact that Jason was older, the man appeared to consider Harry his superior. Jason's other companions followed his lead and respected Harry above everyone else save the Rector Lamia. He had managed to acquire a fan club when he wasn't looking.
He had not seen Illiona since the morning after his arrival at the coven. She had not returned to the coven at all. Quentin had visited Raveya, but hadn't been able to determine why she wouldn't visit the coven. Or so he told Harry anyway.
His relationship with Quentin had altered significantly upon their arrival at the coven. He rarely saw his sire and soon realized that his upbringing was very different from most of the other vampires. Only the vampire-born were so closely taught by their parents. Those who were turned, only spent their birthing years and the first two years of the transition with their sires. After that, they were raised by the coven as a whole. He was still trying to determine if he got the better end of the deal.
He had a few brief flings, nothing that meant anything. On his part, there were multiple reasons not to get involved with anyone. On his companion's part there was just the main reason of every vampire in the transition. They simply weren't ready to bond. Occasionally there were vampires that bonded before they reached their Daylight Years, but it wasn't often. And when it did occur, it happened in the upper years, around ninety or so.
The more time passed, the more Harry wondered if he should even be trying to get home. Then he would think of Voldemort and remember. Even if he was never comfortable back in his own time, the people he loved would be safe. All he needed to do was survive to his Daylight Years and seek out some wizards. Then he could go home. There were only fifty-six years left.
***
{9 years later}
"There is too much noise here," Harry said over the sound of the music. "I'm going to go for a walk."
"Don't get lost," Jason replied back.
"I won't be long." Harry turned away from the celebration. Quentin had turned two-hundred and eleven today.
He walked out of the coven and into the forest. He could see a little light still from the many torches in the clearing. He sat down on a fallen long just out of ear shot of all the noise.
'Making all that noise. Some people have no respect for others.'
Harry looked around. There wasn't anyone around him that he could sense. Was he imagining things now?
'I came this way to get away from all the noise those beastly werewolves were making and instead of silence I find the noise all those bloody vampires are making. What does a snake have to do to get some peace and quiet?'
Harry blinked. He looked around on the ground for the snake. He spotted its head poking out of the log he was sitting on. He hadn't even noticed it when he sat down.
'Excuse me? Did you say there were werewolves close by?''What was that?' The snake slithered out of the log and coiled around itself to raise its head enough to see Harry. 'You say something?'
'Yes. I asked, did you see werewolves around here?''Not around here. About a day or so south of here. They're gathering for another one of those dumb battles with vampires they seem so fond of.' The snake tilted to the side a bit. 'Hey, aren't you a vampire?'
'Yes. Are you sure they're gathering?''Well, of course I'm sure. I wouldn't have said it otherwise, stupid.'
'Would you mind coming with me?' 'What for?''We had no idea that the werewolves were massing. I'd like it if you could come with me and tell everyone what you saw,' Harry replied patiently.
The snake raised its head importantly. 'I suppose I could do that.'
'Do you mind if I carry you?''No. I should be carried as a matter of fact.' Harry reached down and picked up the snake as it continued to talk. 'I believe I shall designate you as my official carrier. Wherever I chose to go, you shall carry me there.'
Harry rolled his eyes and headed back towards the coven.
"Harry! Where did you find that snake? And how did you catch it?" one of the young vampires asked excitedly.
"Not now, Lucius. I'll tell you later."
"Promise?"
"Promise," Harry replied over his shoulder as he hurried to Quentin.
Their telepathic bond had faded when Harry turned twenty, so he was unable to tell Quentin without everyone else finding out unless he could drag Quentin away to a more private area.
"Quentin, could I speak with you a moment?"
"Harry! Why must you be so serious? This is a party! Rolvin and some of the guys went and caught us some humans, we'll have blood drinks made up soon. Sit down and have a few."
"Sir, I really must speak with you."
"Well, alright, speak then!"
"In private sir."
"Oh, Harry, no serious stuff tonight. It's my birthday!"
"Rector Lamia, this is a matter of some urgency."
Quentin frowned. Harry had never addressed him by his title before. He then noticed the snake wrapped around Harry's arm. "Alright." He led Harry away to a more quiet area. "What's going on."
"Sir, I am a Parselmouth."
"A what?"
Harry looked slightly helpless for a moment before he pulled himself together. This wasn't the time to worry about timelines. "It means I can talk to snakes."
Quentin looked down at the snake wrapped around Harry's arm.
"Yes," Harry said. "That means I talked to this one. He says the werewolves are gathering south of the coven."
"No one has sensed any werewolves," Quentin replied. "I think you've had too much to drink."
'How many werewolves did you see?''I wasn't counting!' the snake protested.
'Guess!' 'Three hundred or so?'Harry looked back at Quentin. The man was staring at him in surprise. "Now, I think I've had too much to drink."
"Quentin, he didn't count, but he thinks there are about three-hundred werewolves or so there."
"There is no way that many werewolves could get close to the coven without us knowing about it."
"Are you sure?"
Quentin stared at him a moment. "Shit!" Quentin ran over to Rolvin, who was one of Quentin's closest friends as well as one of the many scouts. Quentin quickly whispered his instructions, and Harry saw the man's face pale before he dashed off and into the forest, heading to the south of the coven.
Rolvin returned about thirty minutes later. He panted out something to Quentin which caused the Rector to pale. Quentin turned to the celebrating vampires. "All children get underground now!" he yelled. "Get all the children underground! Everyone else, to me! Werewolf attack!"
Harry raced to the caverns with the other children. All the vampires still in the birthing years and the transition stage were seeking shelter underground. This battle would last well into the day. Only those who had reached their Daylight Years would be fighting. There were two-hundred and twelve below ground, and three-hundred and seven above ground. The vampires had barely recovered from the last werewolf battle, finally getting more vampires in the Daylight Years than in the transition stage. This battle would knock them back again.
Harry stood near the tunnel entrance, armed with his polearm. As one of the best fighters, he was there in case any werewolves managed to enter the coven and tried to get to the children. He had placed the snake in his room when he'd fetched his polearm. Now all he could do was wait. At his side was Jason and their friends: Olivia Waters, Tomas, and Lara. Also guarding the entrance were a few of the older children: Eric McGonagall, Alcoyne Malfoy, and Peter.
"Does anyone know how many werewolves are attacking?" Tomas asked.
"About three-hundred or so," Harry replied.
"Oh, Gods," Olivia whispered.
***
"How long has it been?" Lara asked.
"Eight hours, I think," Jason replied.
"What do you think is happening?" Tomas asked staring up at the ceiling. "Do you think we're winning?"
"Who knows," Peter said glumly.
"We'd better be," Eric said. "If not, they'll be coming down here in the hopes of ridding the world of all vampires."
"There are ten vampires away from the coven," Alcoyne said. "It's possible that even if we all die, vampires will live on."
"I don't think we're going to be dying today," Harry replied dryly.
"Why are you so confident?" Peter asked.
"I just am," Harry replied.
The group fell silent again until Olivia cried out. Olivia was the youngest among those guarding the tunnel and so the first to feel the effects. Harry bit back a cry of his own as his stomach clenched in hunger. He panted trying to keep from whimpering. The Rector Lamia was dead. There was no one stifling the bloodlust.
Harry snarled and drew his wand. He cast a barrier spell on the tunnel before any of those beside him could make a break for the surface. He fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He rested his forehead on the ground and fought to calm the craving within him. He could hear at least four of his fellow guardians smashing themselves into his barrier. He could hear the pounding of footsteps coming towards him from below. The children wanted to feed. He sat up slightly and cast another barrier spell. This time to prevent the children from killing them in their efforts to reach the surface. It was likely that some of the children were going o be trampled and killed. Someone above ground needed to assume the role of Rector Lamia before the vampires ended up killing themselves.
***
It was probably only ten minutes later, but it felt like an eternity. Harry could feel the burning in his gut begin to abate. Whomever had become the Rector in Quentin's place had calmed their bloodlust.
Without the ringing in his ears, Harry began to hear the whimpering from those around him and farther off, the crying of the younger children. He sat up. Olivia, Lara, Peter, and Tomas were lying by the barrier. They were the ones whimpering. He looked around and saw Eric and Alcoyne stumbling to their feet. Jason looked over at him.
"Alright there, Harry?"
"I think so. You?"
"I think so."
They both stood up slowly. Harry took down the lower barrier and stumbled down towards the little ones. He had been correct in his assessment. The children closest to the barrier had been trampled. He dropped down beside the one closest to him and felt for a pulse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jason stumble towards the child closest to him.
The vampires still somewhat able to function were trying to help the youngest among them: the ones who were affected the most by the loss of the Rector Lamia. Harry held his wand in a shaky hand. He managed to cast a few healing spells on the child in front of him before moving onto the next.
The faces blurred together. Some were easily healed with a bit of spit and others needed spells. A vampire's saliva held healing properties. A benefit for when you needed to save your meal for later consumption. The saliva healed most cuts, gashes, and scrapes in seconds. Even if it was used in more serious injuries that required more than just spit, it still could tip the balance in the favor of living.
When he could barely stand, Harry stumbled away from the children and returned to the entrance. He brought down the barrier in the tunnel and put away his wand. He didn't even feel it when he hit the ground. He'd passed out.
***
When Harry woke, he found himself in his room, lying on his bed. He moved and his muscles sang in protest.
'Stop moving.'
Harry stopped. He blinked, trying to figure out who had said that, then remembered what had happened the day before. His heart sank. Quentin, his sire, was dead.
'How long have I been here?' he asked the snake.
'I don't know. A day? It's kind of hard to tell time without the sun.'
'You get use to it,' Harry replied.
"Harry?"
Harry looked up and saw Olivia Waters standing in his doorway. "Olivia."
"Harry, you're awake." Olivia quickly entered his room and knelt down by his bed. "We've been so worried about you. You passed out in the tunnel. You saved so many of the children yesterday. The adults who are left have been asking after you since the battle ended."
"What happened?"
"We won, but… we lost so many. Only seventy six returned from the battle. The werewolves suffered just as many losses. Our peoples must once more try to recover from this."
"Who is the Rector Lamia?"
Olivia looked down at her folded hands. She hesitated. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's Michael Donavan."
Harry closed his eyes. "We're doomed."
"Harry, he's the Rector now. We must respect him."
"He will lead us to ruin." Harry opened his eyes. "What of Lorna?"
Olivia shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry took a shaky breath. "I have lost my sire, both mentors, and my confidante all in one day."
"I don't know what to say, Harry, to ease your pain…"
"There is nothing you can do, Olivia. Just as there is nothing I can do." He closed his eyes as they threatened to overflow with tears. "Please leave me. I wish to be alone."
"Alright."
Harry rolled over onto his side as he sensed his friend leave the room. He tried to choke back his tears, but it only seemed to worsen them. He felt the snake curl up beside him as he sobbed.
'There, there. Don't cry. Everything will be alright. It will all get better soon.'
***
TBC…
A/N:
On Harry's age: If anyone has actually been doing the math on Harry's age, you've probably had a bit of difficulty matching up the numbers. This would be because I never flat out specified how many years he spent in the birthing stage so here is the info: Harry went back in time when he was fifteen. He spent four years in the birthing stage, and at the moment fifty-three years have passed in his transition stage. This means he is seventy-two total.
Concerning some of the questions you all had: uhhh…I'm not telling! Some of you, though I will not say who, have guessed correctly on some points of the story. As I said, I will not say who or what, though. You are free to consider and think about it as much as you want. Also, you are free to discuss it amongst each other at my group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/groups/HuntressSmiles
I have placed a picture of Harry's polearm up at my group as well. I placed it within the file holding this particular story rather than placing it within the group's photos section. Feel free to check it out. You'll need to join the group though to see it.
As you can see, we are flying through the time basically as we get Harry into his Daylight Years. By the end of the second chapter, Harry will be out of the transition stage and into his Daylight Years. Also, you can see that Harry is the main focus of this story, and all the other characters are very likely to be killed off. There will be no Mary Sues and the like in this fic. While some characters will hang around till the end, all characters that are not cannon are minor and should you all ever think they are getting out of hand, don't hesitate to tell me. I want to make sure they behave themselves.
Also at the beginning of chapter two, we will learn why Harry doesn't like the new Rector Lamia and what he will do to rectify his situation. We'll also see the reappearance of our friendly neighborhood elf: Illiona. We'll also discover what it is exactly she knows about Harry.
As always, please feel free to ask me questions. If you're having trouble understanding something, then please let me know. Unfortunately, questions are more likely to be answered if you ask them at my group than if you ask me in an e-mail. I have the very bad habit of forgetting to respond back to e-mails. If you are one of those people who sent me an e-mail and didn't get a response back, I'm sooooo sorry. If you did get a response back… you lucky dogs!
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or sent me an e-mail. All encouragement is appreciated.
~Artemis Luna Diana~