All righty then. Chaper three. You have no idea how amazing it is for me to finally be able to share me work, and to know that people actually like it. When I lived with dad and stepmonster, they always made me feel like a freak because I wrote slash and read it. They read everything I had ever written, and even hetero novels were tossed because it wasn't conservative enough for them. So, thank you all so much. Now, I know I told you a little about what was going to happen this chapter. By the way, if you haven't noticed yet, this is slash.

A.N. A few grammatical changes, nothing really important in content.

Disclaimer: Greg, Katherine, Gabriel, and Liam are all mine (hisses territorially) sadly, the rest are not.

Harry Potter and the Alliance of Blood

Chapter Three

Harry walked into the Great Hall for lunch, still feeling rather dazed. The room was empty, except for Greg, who seemed to be just sitting down. Harry walked over and took the seat across from him, and food bloomed on the empty plates.

"So where's Katherine?" Harry asked as he selected his meal.

"Studying. Of course. Bloody Ravenclaws," Greg replied, rolling his eyes.

"I know what you mean. Hermione never takes her face out of a book."

"Hermione Granger? She's rather famous among our House for hitting Draco," Greg chortled, before lowering his voice into a conspiritorial tone, "Most of us have secretly wanted to do that for years. He can be all right if he cares to be, but he's the most spoiled person I've ever encountered." Harry laughed and nodded, agreeing totally. That was one of the main reasons he disliked Malfoy, along with the fact that the Slytherin wouldn't leave his friends and parents alone, and he was a future Death Eater.

"He's still one of the hottest people alive, though." Harry coughed on his bacon, cheeks turning red again.

"He's number two on the list of the Most Eligible Bachelors of Hogwarts," Greg said idly, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. Harry took a drink also, and forced himself to stop blushing. It wouldn't hurt to find out all he had missed while drifting mindlessly through the halls of Hogwarts. Harry was rather susprised he wasn't dead already. If he had failed to notice girls snogging girls and guys holding hands with guys in the halls, Harry didn't know how he had escasped being captured in net by the Death Eaters.

"So, who's number one?" Harry asked, rather curious as to who could beat Draco Malfoy. He hated to admit it, but the Slytherin was rather nice to look at, though, of course, he hadn't been checking him out or anything.

Greg looked at him strangely, "Well, you, of course." Harry dropped his fork. He was about to wildly protest when he realized something.

"Well, I don't really count, since I'm the most eligible because I'm the Boy Who Lived," he replied calmly.

Greg snorted.

"Harry," he said, as if speaking to a retarded child, "have you looked in a mirror lately? You're gorgeous! If you weren't a virgin I'd probably shag you myself." Harry knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice.

"What! I-you...what are you talking about?" Harry squeaked. Greg burst out laughing for almost a whole minute, while Harry stared increduously at him, his cheeks flaming red.

"You're so cute! The look on your face..." Greg choked out through giggles. After a few seconds, he stopped, wiping his eyes.

"Harry, I don't guess you noticed, but people have been ogling you since the start of fifth year, and you just got better," Greg said gently, still grinning madly.

"But I...I-I'm short, and I'm scrawny, and my hair's always a mess, and I have horrible glasses, and I won't tan!" Harry protested, looking rather frightened of the prospect of people checking him out.

"Some people like people shorter than them, you're not scrawny, you're lithe. And you have rather nice muscles in all the right places, and they're lean, not bulky. Since you're hair's gotten longer, it's been too heavy to stick up all that much, and since it's so adorably messy it looks like you just got out from a long roll in the sack. As for skin, well...I hate to sound terribly girly, but you glow rather like the moon. And your eyes...they're so big and pretty. You could get rid of the glasses. But don't worry, Harry, I could go on about your physical attributes all day."

Harry just gaped at him like a fish as he searched for what to say.

"In any case. Though Draco is the most beautiful ice prince specimen I've ever laid eyes on, you look like someone to fuck all night and wake up next to in the morning. Draco is, stereotypically, a one-night stand, you'd belong to someone for life," Greg said calmly. He looked way too amused. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Wait a second, you said if I wasn't a virgin... How do you know I'm not a virgin? I could've been with lots of people," Harry declared with more arrogance than he felt. He ignored the earlier statement, as it was completely and patently ridiculous. Greg shot him a look and Harry knew he didn't need to bother.

"Someone's staked their claim on you, anyway, so even if you had shagged half the school you'd still be off limits." Harry was instantly furious, and the rage started to swim up from the depths of his soul.

"Staked their claim! So let me get this straight. Someone declared that I belonged to them?" Harry said quietly, his vision going red. Greg bit his lip.

"Harry, calm down. Nobody declared anything. They just...it's obvious that he likes you and wants you. He hasn't said anything, of course. It's kind of an unspoken agreement among Slytherin." Harry felt the anger rapidly melting away, replaced with weariness.

"I'm sorry. I have a bad temper," Harry said quietly. The food rapidly melted away to be replaced by dessert. Harry sighed. He rather regretted its loss.

"Don't worry about it. Here, eat a creme puff. Sugar always makes me feel better," Greg replied, equally quietly, pushing the plate piled with creme puffs across the table. Harry took one and gave a small smile. They both ate the creme puffs silently.

"So, who is it?" Harry asked, snatching up another sweet. Greg gave a wicked smile.

"Now, Harry, if I told you, that would ruin all the fun. And we can't have that," Greg tsked. Harry scowled, but rolled his eyes and laughed after a moment.

"Maybe for you!" And they laughed and ate creme puffs.

XXX

Harry was rather nervous as he hurried towards Gabriel's office that night. He had missed dinner because he had collapsed into bed after luch, feeling drained, and slept until five before seven. So now he was going at an almost-jog to meet Gabriel, and his insides felt all squishy. He wasn't quite sure why he was nervous, but he figured it might have something to do with the fact that Gabriel was some of vampire king and might try to eat him. Plus, the only time Harry had handled a sword was in the Chamber of Secrets, and his success had been more luck than anything else. He didn't know what he had been expecting when he asked Dumbledore for a way to defend himself without magic, but he hadn't expected swordfights. He could just imagine standing in front of Voldemort, dressed in a fencing suit, with a sword, yelling, "En guarde!" Harry chuckled at the mental image, and it echoed strangely in the empty corridor, sounding strangled and tense. Finally, he reached the door to the classroom, which was open. Gabriel and a man Harry had never seen before were waiting, standing in the light of the sun which had already set, but left a lingering reminded of the day.

"Close the door," Gabriel said, and Harry obeyed, staying at the opposite side of the classroom.

"Harry, this is Liam. He'll be assisting tonight." Harry's eyes went to the other man, studying him. He was in a pair of blue jeans and a green muggle t-shirt, looking just as relaxed as he could be. Unlike Gabriel, his skin looked like he had spent a lot of time outdoors. His hair and eyes were both a golden brown, and he looked a lot less intimidating than the Prince.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, taking a few steps forward. The Daywalker flashed a friendly grin.

"Likewise."

"All right, Harry. We're going to start with a demonstration of what we'll teach you, and then we'll get started on a couple of blocks. Step back," Gabriel said, and Harry obeyed. Gabriel stepped into his office for a moment and game back out with two gleaming pieces of steel, and tossed one to Liam, who caught it expertly. The swords were fine examples on craftsmanship, both gleaming, their hilts set with engravings and jewels. The two faced each other, and after a moment, Liam gave a nod and the two met in a clash of steel and a few sparks. Harry watched in fascination as the two battled. It was like...a dance. Gabriel's face was set and cool, while Liam was grinning, his eyes sparkling. At first, it seemed Liam had the upper hand. He was driving Gabriel backwards, and the black-haired man put in fewer and fewer swings and jabs and more and more blocks. Harry was sure than Liam was going to win, until he saw the man falter. He was tiring. In the gap, Gabriel brought his sword up, and it met Liams again, and they ground against each other, opponents each trying to push the other back, bearing down furiously. Liam wasn't grinning anymore. Slowly, Gabriel forced Liam to lean back, until Liam pulled away, intending, Harry could see, to execute a quick turn and bring his blade to Gabriel's heart. However, the prince gave a step back, and brought his sword up, and Liam froze, the blade centimeters from his throat. Liam lowered his sword, stepped back, and bowed deeply.

"Thank you, my Prince." Gabriel nodded, and the two turned to Harry, who was staring at them in awe. Then he grinned.

"Cool! I can't wait to do that!' he exclaimed. Liam laughed a little breathlessly. Gabriel smiled.

"So, did you learn anything?"

"Well, Liam was enjoying himself too much. He should've been focused on winning, not having fun. He could've paced himself more, because he wore himself out really quickly. Also, when he broke out of the lock, he should have moved faster, and he didn't have to do that turn to stab you in the chest. He could have just stepped back and brought his sword up. He was either showing off or he wasn't thinking clearly enough to know there was more than one way to get out of the situation without leaving himself exposed for a hit," Harry said slowly at first, becoming more sure of himself as he continued. Sword fighting didn't seem too hard. Gabriel seemed very pleased.

"This isn't going to be as hard as I thought it would be." He stepped into his office again and came out with a simple black leather sheath with a silver hilt protruding from it. He handed it to Harry, who drew the sword. It was simple, just plain steel with a steel hilt. Harry liked it. He looked up at Gabriel.

"Let's get started," he said. Gabriel gave a nod, and they began.

Harry stumbled back to Gryffindor Tower an hour and a half later, feeling rather sore, but happy. Once he got used to the difficulty, Harry knew he would love sword fighting. When he got up to the dorm, he wasn't feeling sleepy, since he had napped for several hours, so he decided to finish unpacking. He hadn't gotten around to it after he arrived on Friday, because he had been so angry and anxious, and he had been rather busy today. The first thing he pulled out was his calendar, and he was startled when he realized that his birthday was the day after tomorrow. He grinned, because that meant he would be able to hear from his friends. But then he frowned, because someones 16th birthday was significant in the wizarding world. Every witch and wizard was born with magic, but it wasn't until their sixteenth birthday, when it seemed magic considered someone fully mature, that their powers reached their full potential. Almost every single wizard or witch born had a specialty power, some type of spell that they could naturally do well. Mrs. Weasley was good at cooking and housekeeping charms, while Fred and George were good at pranking charms, and Neville had an affinity for magical plants. When someone came into their power, they were supposed to immediately decide what to do with their lives, based on their gift. Harry had felt rather bad for one when his friend had turned sixteen in March the prior year. He had complained to Harry that he didn't know what the hell he wanted to do, he was only sixteen. When Harry had stared blankly at him, he had explained. It turned out that Ron was one of those people whose powers didn't mature until they were seventeen. Harry had secretly thought that that was a good thing, since Ron had a little growing up to do. Harry wondered then what he actually wanted to be. He supposed he could be an Auror, but he didn't really want to spend his life fighting forces of the Dark after he defeated Voldemort. He was already weary of fighting, and the war had barely begun. Then there was Quidditch. But Harry played Quidditch for fun, for the freedom of flying on a broom, and the thrill of competion. He was afraid that if he made it a career, it wouldn't be a release any more, it would just be something he did so he could eat. So what did that leave? He couldn't think of a damn thing.

"Ah, fuck it," Harry muttered, tossing the calendar back into his trunk, and pulling out a sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill. He hadn't done McGonnagal's assignment,and he could unpack later. He dipped the quill in the ink and poised it over the parchment...and drew a blank. Well, he supposed he could start with the easy things first. He was brave, obviously, since he was in Gryffindor. He was impetuous. He was angry. He thought quickly, but not before he spoke. He was defensive of those close to him, though, come to think about it, there weren't a lot of people he was close to. He didn't try to touch anyone, but really wished others would touch him more, but he didn't like strangers touching him. Harry grinned. So he was a tactile defensive touch addict. He supposed it really screwed with someone's psyche when they lived in a cupboard under the stairs. His face fell when he realized that it wasn't funny at all. All right. So, he really wanted to prove himself, and he didn't give up, he was a horrible liar, which is why he supposed he wasn't in Slytherin, he was overly curious, a pretty good leader, he could act compliant when all he was feeling was defiance, he had a tendency to take more reponsibility than he was able, he had a quick temper, and now that he knew that he needed to be more cautious, and sometimes he might not be able to be brave, he was trying to change. Harry set the quill, ink, and parchment on his bedside table. Hopefully, that's what McGonnagal wanted, because he really didn't want to do anymore self-analyzing. Harry sighed and got back to unpacking.

XXX

Harry had arrived at McGonnagal's office promptly at eleven o'clock. It was now 11:45, and the Transfiguartion teacher had yet to look up from his list of traits. Every once in awhile she would mutter a question to him along the lines of "to what extent?" or "do you display this openly or inwardly?" She also kept consulting a large, very battered-looking book. McGonnagal hadn't spoken for a good ten minutes, so Harry started when she spoke.

"You're definetly a large feline. I was thinking a wolf actually, was almost certain, but you aren't dependant on your 'pack,' so to speak. You are actually quite independant, bonding with a group out of necessity, opputunity, or lonliness. The only problem is there are many great cat species. You aren't a lion, since you do the "hunting," unlike the male lion. Snow leopard's out, too. You don't hide." McGonnagal said all this with a distracted air, making "hmm" noises after the snow leopard comment. Harry suddenly realized that McGonnagal was truly in her element.

"All right, Potter," the professor said after a few minutes, putting her stern air back on like a garment as she handed him the book. "Read the big cats section, page 428, I believe, and drop by the day after tomorrow, same time, and let me know what you think. We'll start on some mind-clearing and concentration things then. You can go." Harry murmured a thank you, stood up and walked to the door.

"Oh. And, Harry." Harry turned and looked at her.

"You're doing well." Harry nodded, repeated his thanks, and left as quickly as he could. He had a feeling she wasn't just talking about becoming an Animagus.

Lunch was slightly awkward. Harry had spent a dinner and breakfast with both Katherine and Greg following his and Greg's eye-opening discussion, but Harry hadn't been sure how to incorporate Katherine into this new ease with the Slytherin. Harry supposed that, as a supposedly future, partially gay guy he was expected to suddenly start liking shopping or something and chat with girls all the time. Greg certaintly did. The two constantly talked about "adorable" people, even turning to him and asking his opinion, even though he hadn't told anyone about what Dumbeldore had done. Harry wondered absently whether he had a sign on his forehead that said: I'm destined to be a gay vampire prince's boyfriend!

"He's so cute! All denial-ly and stuff!" Greg sighed in a very dramatic (gay?) manner.

"I don't think denial-ly is a word, and just because Harry doesn't wish to comment on our tastes in men doesn't mean he's in denial. Maybe he just doesn't like talking about guys all the time. Is that it, Harry?" Katherine said in a motherly sort of way.

"Uh...er-I...well...ummmm-" Harry whimpered helplessly, turning red.

"Awwww!" the two exclaimed together, and Harry felt a mixture of mortification, disgust, amusement, and confusion. God, I hope I never ever act like that, Harry thought.

"Why do you think I'm gay anyway?" Harry asked, slightly angrily, though he wasn't quite sure why. Greg and Katherine appeared startled.

"Well, everyone thought so, the older students, anyway. The Cho Chang incident was a big hint, but really, it's just kind of a...knowing," Katherine said slowly.

"And I knew because I recognize the signs. The irrational anger, the equal amount of closeness between male and female friends, the venomous way you started to act towards Malfoy. It was obvious really," Greg stated. Harry stared a little, not sure what to say.

"What do you mean about Malfoy?" he finally said, feeling a growing dread.

"You noticed that he was gorgeous, and acted angry so you wouldn't notice anymore," Greg replied promptly and primly. Harry thought he would have looked like a psycologist on television if he hadn't had perfectly spaced blonde highlights. Harry didn't reply and excused himself a few minutes later, heading for the dungeons. He was quite sure what to think because he had assumed that him ending up with a guy was totally coincidental. He hadn't really thought that he had been gay before, because he wasn't girly or anything like that. But...

He had reached the Potions classroom door. He knocked softly and Snape called in his usual dangerous voice, "Enter." Harry walked in. Snape was sitting at his desk, writing something again. Harry was slightly relieved that it didn't seem they would be going into Snape's office today. A chair was pulled in front of the desk.

"Sit."

Harry sat. Snape stopped writing and looked at him for a long moment, his face unscrutable. Harry found himself remembering the day before and looked away, blushing. Trying to think of Snape as a human, let alone a sexual one, was very difficult, not to mention strange.

"You used Crucio on Bellatrix Lestrange. Why?" Snape finally said. Harry took a breath. The mere thought of Lestrange made the cold anger rise.

"I was angry. She had just killed Sirius and was taunting me. I wanted to hurt her," Harry replied tersely, feeling ashamed. He added a "sir" as an afterthought.

"It lasted merely seconds. Do you know why?"

"She told me it was because you have to really want to harm someone, that righteous anger wouldn't work for long, sir."

"True. Dumbeldore wanted to keep you innocent, Potter, but that is impossible, now. I'm going to teach you how to properly cast the Cruciatus. Go stand over there." Snape gestured, and Harry obeyed. Snape went to stand against the opposite wall, slightly to one side, and waved his wand, conjuring a small black square made of metal that hovered in the air.

"Crucio is a simple spell, which is what makes it so dangerous. Any enraged individual can cast it. Just recall things you hate: events, people, places. You won't be taught this in school, but a trick we were taught is to put those most hated things in a specific part of your mind that you can access at any time. I don't think you have the maturity and experience for that, though. Now, focus on the square, focus on those things you hate, and say the spell." Harry thought about the Dursleys first, but he didn't hate them. They were ignorant, prejudiced, and falsely superior, along with hypocritical, and he disliked them, but it wasn't hate. Malfoy...it was a rivalry, mostly. Malfoy most assuredly hated him, but everything the Slytherin did was to feel superior over Harry, who couldn't bring himself to hate this rival who, admittedly, spiced up life. Everyone needed an enemy to argue with, not to kill, though that was a role Malfoy would probably fill soon. Now Lucius Malfoy...yes, he hated Lucius Malfoy. He had used an innocent girl out of revenge and an attempt to bring back Voldemort, and he had killed and hurt hundreds or thousands of unknown people, directly or indirectly. Harry hated Umbridge, no doubt about that. Then, Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as Voldemort. They had all been responsible for the death of his family, and they were a threat to his life and sanity. He hated Privet Drive, and the pity he had seen in the eyes of some, and the unfounded judgement in other eyes. He hated feeling helpless, he hated losing, and he hated traitors. The hate swelled and swelled, and he added the hot anger he had always carried, and the cold rage he had recently acquired, and he imprinted this feeling of hate on his memory and knew he could never forget it.

"Crucio," he whispered, his green eyes like ice and narrowed in a look Snape had seen only rarely before. The temperature in the room dropped, and a high zing rent the air as the spell hit the black square. Harry stood panting, his face still a mask of hatred, as Snape let out a low whistle as he read the magical readout on the strength of Harry's spell.

"Very, very good. Especially for a second timer. You must hate the world, Potter," Snape said, his voice holding a small, teensy amount of admiration, though his closing sentence was sardonic.

"No, only five people," Harry whispered in reply, as the feeling drained from him, leaving him feeling weak, sad, and ashamed. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Who does the Boy Who Lived hate? He Who Must Not Be Named, Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange. I was sure you hated Dolores Umbridge, but that doesn't leave room for your relatives, and myself, and Draco."

"Professor," Harry said quietly, "you may be unpleasant, and unfair, and hate me for something I didn't do, but there are things more important than you mocking my intelligence or parents. There are things more important than Quidditch and House rivalries. I don't have the energy to hate you and Draco, and the Dursleys are simply a fact or life." Harry was surprised he had dared to speak that way to Snape, but the Potions master didn't reprimand him. He just gave a slow nod, his face thoughtful.

"Wise and true, Potter. Maybe you aren't as much of an idiot as I thought you were. Let's try this again, see if you can sustain that strenth. Now."

"Crucio."

Harry walked slowly to the Tower. His head was a jumble of thoughts impossible to gather, and he felt infinetly weary. He hadn't really understood what it meant to have magic until now. He hadn't bothered to think about where it came from, or how he used it, and knowing was strange. Snape said that this knowing was the first thing Voldemort taught a new follower: how to feel the very prescence of your magic, and feel yourself using it.

"So...you thought he was someone worth following if he could teach you this?" Silence.

"Yes. Of course, it helped he looked human when I first joined, and that the leader of the Light seemed to be a fool. But I was wrong." The last words were spat.

"Thank you, Professor, for telling me that." No reply.

"Cast the spell again, Potter."

But the magic wasn't disturbing. What made Harry feel confused was how much hate he had, and how much anger. And he couldn't help but wonder if the Dark Lord had the same feeling inside, towards different people. Was he Dark and evil, like Voldemort? Dark Arts were addicting, or so everybody said. What if he killed Voldemort, only to leave the Wizarding World with another enemy, who had once been a saviour? Needless to say, Harry was feeling very depressed when he stumbled up the stairs to his dormitory. Dinner would be in a hour and a half, and he decided to rest awhile before going down.

Harry woke with a start, a scream caught in his throat. He had dreamt of drowing in a sea of blood, and the smell and taste had been so real. He licked his lips and discovered he had taken a bite out of the bottom one. He reached up to touach it and winced, his fingers coming away red in the light from his lamp.

Harry went into the bathroom and grabbed some tissue, applying it to the lip. There was blood on his chin, and Harry decided he might need to go to the Hospital Wing before going to Gabriel's office. Harry's eyes widened and he rushed back into the bedroom, grabbing his wand and muttering, "Tempus." The time appeared, shining green in the air.

"Shit!" It was 11:52. Harry sank down onto his bed with a sigh. He would apologize tomorrow. He cast a charm he had learned from his extensive time in the Hospital Wing. He closed the wound (he had practically bitten through) but it was still sore, and could probably reopen. He would go to Madame Pomfrey tomorrow.

11:56. 4 minutes to go. Harry had the horrible feeling that something terrible was going to happen. Nothing could be normal for Harry Potter, oh no. He was probably going to sprout tentacles or something like that. 11:58. Harry supposed he would have talent in the curse area of magic. 11:59. An idea occured to him. If he focused on his magic, like Snape had taught him, maybe he could feel the change. He rapidly descended into a level of his mind he hadn't known was there, and he metaphorically reached, and he could suddenly feel it. It had a feel to it, though he couldn't identify the magic as a sensation, but it felt cold, and...electric. 12:00. The magic burst in streamers of power, expanding yet remaining the same. It...quickened, and Harry gasped aloud at the sensation. Momentary pain seared over his scar, but it was fleeting, and nothing compared-

to the pain in his heart. He felt so lonely, and lost, and sad that he wanted to die...no, he had a responsibilty, he had to live. And it would get better, if all went well. Just one more month...

Harry's eyes snapped open and he found himself lying sprawled across the floor. He tried to sit up, but gave up when his head swam strangely. He felt half in and half out of his body, and kind of floaty.

"At least I don't have tentacles, " Harry murmured, then discreetly checked. After a couple of minutes, he felt almost normal again, and he stood up. He didn't feel any different, like a sudden inclination to go study Tansfiguration. Harry took a deep breath, and reached for his magic, before rapidly pulling back and sitting down on the bed with a rapid exhalation of breath.

"Wow." It felt like, instead of an almost separate entity, the magic was now part of him, running through his veins, infusing the air he exhaled, and it was almost sparking with electricity.

"I really hope this is normal," Harry whispered, knowing instinctively that there was no way it was.