I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists. Thantos Bifactor belongs to Anima Celeste.
Wanted: Beta Reader with knowledge of Japanese and/or German grammar
Unholy Purity
Part One: Demon Blood
Chapter Seven: Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor
Beauty and the Beast
Singer
Nightwish
Remember the first dance we shared?
Recall the night you melted my ugliness away?
The night you left with a kiss so kind
Only a scent of beauty left behind
Ah dear friend I remember the night
The moon and the dreams we shared
Your trembling paw in my hand
Dreaming of that northern land
Touching me with a kiss of a beast
I know my dreams are made of you
Of you and only for you
Your ocean pulls me under
Your voice tears me asunder
Love me before the last petal falls
As a world without a glance
Of the ocean's fair expanse
Such the world would be
If no love did flow in thee
But as my heart is occupied
Your love for me now has to die
Forgive me I need more than you can offer me
Didn't you read the tale
Where happily ever after was to kiss a frog?
Don't you know this tale
In which all I ever wanted
I'll never have
For who could ever learn to love a beast?
However cold the wind and rain
I'll be there to ease your pain
However cruel the mirrors of sin
Remember beauty is found within
. . . Forever shall the wolf in me desire the sheep in you . . .
12 Grimmauld Place
Sleeping proved more difficult then originally thought to Ron, since he couldn't properly get comfortable with his wings folded tightly to his back. He rubbed his tired eyes and pressed his warm cheek against the metal of his bed's headboard, which did nothing to soothe him to sleep. He could still hear the voices of the Order drifting upstairs through his open bedroom door, despite the late hour of the night, and knew they were talking about him. For once, his name was mentioned where Harry's had always been put, and it wasn't as glamorous as he had always suspected it to be. He turned over to lean against the wall, wincing as he put too much pressure on one wing and scowling very darkly as he cast a sharp look at them.
True, Ron did like flying on a broom, but he had not enjoyed his brief ride on a Thestral last June and probably wouldn't like flying of his own accord. With a tired yawn, he ran his hand through his darkened hair. Just what the bloody hell was he anyway, some sort of demonic angel? He shifted again and gave a soft cry as his wing folded strangely again.
"Why can't I just rip the stupid things off?" he muttered darkly, falling onto the pillow of the bed and scowling even darker. He felt his eyes start to droop shut but they jerked open suddenly as he heard a woman's voice whisper sharply to his left, speaking with a thick German accent he didn't prefer too much.
"Fledgling rafen, I must speak vith you and I trust that you vill not scream." He gave a small yelp and turned to the window, standing straight up. Ron's wings unfurled in response to his fear, giving him a slight sense of security.
The window – which had been sealed by Mad-Eye Moody's magic – was now wide open, bringing in with it the cool zephyrs of the summer night and a very short girl of about nineteen, clutching a bundle of black fabric to her chest as she climbed into his bedroom. She was slightly odd looking, with black-streaked platinum hair pulled into a thick braid while her skin was as lifeless and pale as a corpse's. Set beneath finely shaped eyebrows was a pair of eyes colored clear and icy hazel, her facial features not much different then the blood German's. Her runner-like body, one that was both slim and muscular, was clad in a uniform style skirt and blouse, golden medals pinned to her left chest, several in the shape of skulls and feathers. Her top, which clung like leather to her torso and made her chest look enlarged (much to his distaste and embarrassment), had a low back and from either side of her spine were black wings – two to each side. Four raven wings, like his own, yet slimmer and with less of a shine.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" he said, speaker braver then he felt, since he was without his wand. The girl smiled in a sadistic, evil sort of way and folded her wings. "I am first-class archreaper Sergeant Verlust Strum. I am here to bring you something, as demanded by the rafen Seraph Silfen." Her voice was icy and her thick accent was deeply annoying, in his opinion. She held out the package in her arms to him, standing as rigidly as a soldier did. Scowling darkly, Ron looked at her folded wings.
"Are you, like me?" he asked, feeling awkward and rather stupid asking the question. Strum sniggered as well, pulling back her blackened lips to reveal slightly pointed teeth. "Ja, I suppose I am, if you want to consider literal means." She nodded at the parcel in her hands, "Take this rafen. It's your uniform."
Ron blinked rapidly. "Uh, uniform?" She scowled darkly, her eyes flashing despite the lack of light in the room. "Your. Uniform," she repeated slowly, then began to recite in a monotone like reading from a book, "As a Reaper, you are expected to come to the aide of your Seraph und commanding officers at a moment's notice. Und vhen you are assigned a charge, you are expected to see your charge to the fery end. These rules hafe been set down by the charter of the Reapers und written by Herr Silfen Strum, rafen Seraph und violation vill be punished on counts of treason, meriting the remofal of one's vings und beheading."
His mouth opened and closed rapidly for a long time, unable to say anything. He was suspected to be some sort of soldier to people he didn't give a damn about, on a minute's notice? Strum grit her teeth and shoved the parcel into his arms. "I vill leafe for a moment, und I vant to see how you look in your uniform vhen I return. I might hafe to tailor it." There was a note in her voice that proved she was not looking forward to the idea.
Walking swiftly back to the window and sitting halfway through it, she stood perfectly still as her wings molded back into her flesh. He winced slightly for a moment, and looked at what he was now holding. It was a neatly folded uniform, like hers, though without the medals and trousers where she had a skirt. It was reminiscent slightly of an old German World War II uniform – what were they called again, Nazis? – complete with a stupid looking hat, although the sleeves here were adorned with crimson thread in the shape of flames. Making sure Strum's eyes were out at the London cityscape and that his bedroom door was closed, Ron dressed in the uniform.
The only problem getting it on was his wings, which refused to fold correctly when he needed them to. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the shirt, his bare feet slipping in the baggy pants and shivering when they touched the cold floor. It felt nice for once to wear overlarge clothing; it was a change from his constant too-small hand-me-downs, though it was just about as annoying. Strum turned her head a little, smiling when she saw him dressed in the black outfit. It was too long in the pants and the shirt touched his fingertips, the whole ensemble clashing with his hair and eyes. She seemed to notice this and walked back over to him.
"This is no good; you're just too scrawny of a fledgling . . . Hmmm." She stood back and looked him up and down. "Listen, whoever you are," he said, taking a single step forward, "I want you to explain a few more things about what the bloody damn hell is going on! Why do I have wings and why the hell did you make me get dressed in this stupid uniform?"
She rolled her red eyes and licked her lips. "I'm not a storytelling, rafen, und I don't plan to efer be." He ground his teeth and Strum spoke in a cool voice, waving her fingers through the air. With a jump, he felt the shirt and trousers adjust themselves to fit his form perfectly. How had she used magic without a wand and why did it feel so right to be in a military uniform?
"Do you hafe any guardians I can speak to about you?" There was a note in her words, like a threat, that told him not to deny her request. He nodded and sighed. "Come on," Ron said, moving towards the door. He was pulled back sharply by his right wing by Strum, who had her wings revealed and her eyes narrowed in anger.
"Never order your superior, fledgling," she snarled icily, walking in swift strides across the room and down the hall. Ron was dragged by his wing, wincing and grimacing in pain. Her fingers pierced the tender skin beneath the feathers and it hurt like hell, though his frantic mind was on the reaction the Order would give to this woman – this archreaper, according to her. His money was placed on one idea, that Verlust Strum was not going to walk (or fly, he reminded himself) out of Grimmauld Place with all limbs attached correctly.
Ron assumed it was the clicking of her boots that first alerted the people in the kitchen, but it was the sight of her pitiless eyes and black wings that spurred them into action. Tonks and Lupin (who both looked exhausted after their frantic searching for Harry) drew their wands in instants while Mrs. Weasley took both a kitchen knife and her wand. Strum looked neither concerned nor vaguely frightened, merely raising her nose in arrogance.
"Guten tag," she said with a slight bow of her head, "I am archreaper Sergeant Verlust Strum, here on the orders of my Seraph Silfen Strum on matters of this fledgling." She pulled him into view and Mrs. Weasley nearly screamed, Tonks taking a look at the uniform he was dressed in. She probably would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious, and he probably would have to.
"Who the bloody hell are you!" snarled Lupin, already edgy from lack of sleep and worry, not to mention the coming full moon. Strum stiffened. "I believe I just introduced myself. I mean you no bodily harm und merely wish to discuss the terms of this fledgling. Do I need to speak slower for you humans?" Ron wished he could hide, looking from each of the adult's faces of mingled fear, shock and anger. He swallowed and stood still, wings twitching and hoping he looked brave.
"Would you mind explaining what those terms are, or how you even got into this house?" asked Tonks, her eyes flashing various colors. Always a danger sign. Strum raised one eyebrow.
"That is unimportant, but vhat I vant to say before I leafe is that this fledgling," she jerked her head at Ron, "Has a job to fulfill unless he wishes to face the penalty of treason, vhich I am sure he will not enjoy. I have experienced it once, und I must commend that re-growing body parts – especially one's wings – is not the most pleasant of experiences." Ron was sure he wasn't the only one who was nauseous at the thought and his wings folded very tightly to his back.
"And what is his job?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her voice high and scared with her eyes growing wider and wider, "What do you claim he has to do?"
Strum looked the redhead witch straight in the eye, both of about equal height, and said in a cold monotone, "Rafen Reapers are the vassals for the dead. They are those who escort the departed to the lands beyond life, beyond existence, und vithout proper training und knowledge, they too join the specters." The last line was spoken with a malicious sort of pleasure, since her lips curled at the edges in a thin smile as Mrs. Weasley fainted.
Ministry of Magic, London
Courtroom number ten was filled with the muttering violet-clad citizens that made up the high court in British Wizarding government, all eyes upon the people in the bottom floor. The Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, looking worse for wear and tired as hell, glared sleepily at Albus Dumbledore and the two strange Americans he had only ever heard in name – Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor, Harry Potter's godmother and her husband. Both had just arrived from New York a few hours ago and immediately come to the Ministry, demanding Lily Potter's son. Fudge had to admit that just by looking at the couple, he was already beginning to dislike them.
Atlanta, with a sinewy and lanky build, had thick platinum hair tied in a high ponytail and milk white skin beneath a dark green poncho and dress, her hands – clad in the pale material of lace gloves – clutching multiple rolls of parchment. Her vermilion eyes, which were as round and bright as a doe's, were surveying the court with distaste and dark excitement. Her husband was about as normal looking as she was, which wasn't saying much. He could have only been thirty, maybe a little older, with outrageously long black hair streaked with wolf gray at his right temple, his skin a hard tan and rugged like a traveler's. He had adorned the classical American look – jeans and a loose fitting jumper – though his brilliant amber-brown eyes stood out in his dark face, as did the crescent-shaped scar that stretched from his right temple to chin.
"We are here to discuss the question of guardianship over Harry James Potter, age fifteen," said Fudge in a weary voice as his secretary began to scribble violently, "Brought on by Mr. and Mrs. Thantos Bifactor of New York City, with charges against Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts. Prosecution: Thantos Deamon Bifactor, professional violinist," (several people sniggered), "And Atlanta Wilhelmina Windstorm Bifactor, professional activist for animal and sub-human rights and priorities and a professional violinist as well."
Atlanta nodded from the pit, taking a seat in the chained chair, crossing her legs and looking perfectly content. "Defense: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School. I call this hearing into order." Had this been a muggle court, this would be the time where he'd bang a gavel, though Fudge wasn't too fond of the idea of a judge carrying around a giant wooden hammer. Atlanta got to her feet at once and looked at them with unflinching crimson eyes.
"Ladies an' gentleman," she began with a thick accent mixed between a Brooklyn and Southern American one, "An' I use dat term VERY loosely, I have evidence dat proves dat the kid known as Harry Potter technically, since I know ya'll love dat, is under da protection o' my husband and me. 'Cuz his aunt an' uncle are dead, da will o' Lily and James Potter states dat," she said, fumbling for a moment as she unrolled a scroll of parchment and shoved the other ones into her husband's arms, "'In da evident dat my husband an' I are no longer able to take care o' our son Harry, he shall be placed under guardianship o' one Sirius Black.'"
"We know this, Mrs. Bifactor," said Amelia Bones agitatedly, "Please skip down to where it states that you have custody over him." Atlanta glared at the witch and thumbed through the words, humming about two seconds of a song before speaking again in her annoying voice. "'If my sister an' her husband are unable or unwilling to accept guardianship over our son an' Sirius Black is in a similar state, custody is granted to his godmother Atlanta Windstorm – Bifactor now. In da event dat she is unable, pass the kid along to Remus Lupin den Peter Pettigrew an' so on an' so forth.'" Atlanta smirked wryly at Fudge, "So I want my godson!"
"There is the matter of your restraining order upon him," said Fudge coldly, "At the time of the Potter's murders, you were deemed unfit to raise him, do to past criminal records." Atlanta rolled her eyes as whispers ran through the Wizarding court room and she shifted her weight to one hip. Her eyes were narrowed.
"I broke an arm or two an' insulted a few people, dat ain't criminal amigo. Dat just makes me a jerk, an' a jerk is still fit to raise somebody. I mean, it's prejudice if ya wanna take it dat far . . ."
"Atlanta," said Thantos harshly, his voice lacking her annoying tone and featuring a slightly deluded British accent. The woman quieted as quick as if he had slapped her, lowering her shoulders lightly.
"Dumbledore, what do you say?" asked Madam Bones, turning her gray eyes to the aged wizard, "Given evidence." The man had remained silent but now stood, eyeing the couple rather strangely. Was it hatred in his eyes, or was it sorrow?
"Minister, Mrs. Bifactor renounced her magic and title as a graduate of Hogwarts around fifteen years ago, choosing to live as muggle. For her husband, I am not sure of."
"I'm a wizard," cut in Thantos, narrowing his brown eyes sharply, "Pureblood and descendent from Charles Lionel of Ireland, I believe you know of the last Wizarding duke?" People muttered for a minute at his revelation, though a look from Fudge silenced them. Dumbledore bowed his head and continued.
"And, according to law, a Wizarding child will not be raised in the home of muggles if there is a next option. For Harry Potter, it was decided last month that he would be adopted into the Weasleys if something were to happen to his aunt and uncle. I stand by that."
"So yer gonna ignore da will o' his parents!" roared Atlanta, her fists balled into tight hands as she dropped the last will and testament of Lily and James, "Dey wanted me to raise him if nobody else could, an' I ain't gonna let ya ship him off somewhere cuz of one stupid lil' document!"
"Mrs. Bifactor, restrain yourself!" said a wizard from the back of the Wizengamot. Atlanta marched up to Dumbledore, looking as though she was out for blood. "I know I ain't da best woman in da world, but Thantos is as good a father as any an' accordin' to his parents, we're what's left o' his inheritance! Ya gonna send him off to a werewolf? A dead man, a convict o' a family o' Irish?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Mrs. Bifactor, fifteen years ago you said that you had no objections to letting Harry live with his aunt and uncle."
"An' I didn't! Lily said she was gonna let her kid move in wit' dose muggles cuz dey were her sister if Sirius Black couldn't take care o' him. An' since ya'll didn't want a jailbird to be lettin' da kid learn to read an' write, he went to Petunia Dursley. I was fine wit' dat. Now, though, she an' he husband are dead, so it's my turn." Thantos pulled his wife back, giving her a sharp look. Again, Atlanta's protests died down instantly.
"However that is true, I was placed in charge of Harry's living arrangements when he was a child, according to Lily and James and the Minister of Magic. I do not deem you two worthy guardians."
Atlanta opened and closed her mouth rapidly, as though no words could describe her outrage, so Thantos spoke for a change. His voice was cool and even, sad almost, yet one could also call it a monotone. "Mr. Dumbledore, I have never had the pleasure of being your student, yet you look like a reasonable man. Just because my wife can get emotional does not mean she is unwilling or unable to raise her best friend's son, and her brother and parents are just like anybody you would find in this court room – upstanding and proud citizens of the magical community. We have a fair wealth, live in a safe area and would be more then willing to allow Harry to continue his schooling in England. I have no criminal records and, aside from the restraining order Atlanta has here, she has no further crimes and disgraces to her name."
Though his words sounded sincere, there was something about the man's look and appearance that Fudge didn't like. Maybe it was his weather-beaten skin or unruly hair, or even his eyes, that looked inhuman and disturbing. Dumbledore seemed to share Fudge's views.
"I am not saying that you have any thing less then a good house, but I do not feel that you would provide sufficient protection for somebody in Harry's situation. Would you be willing to put yourself and your wife at risk to protect him?"
Atlanta fought against her husband's bounds. "I thought I made it clear dat I couldn't care less about my life when I became his godmother! An' he wouldn't live in a muggle neighborhood, he'd be wit' a ton of yer magic folk!"
All eyes turned to Dumbledore. The wizard closed his eyes for a moment of pained thought, then spoke in a voice of forced calm. "Given the evidence provided by Mrs. Bifactor at this hearing, I have no choice but to issue custody over Harry Potter to her and her husband." Atlanta, all traces of rage gone from her face, threw her arms around Thantos's neck and her legs around his middle. Dumbledore left without another word, looking angry without words. Fudge turned to the woman on his right, the Head of the Department of Magical Child Care, Mademoiselle Alouette van Cur.
"Draw up the adoption papers," he said with a sigh and then turned back to the cheering Mrs. Bifactor, "I presume you are aware of his disappearance and charges in the involvement of his aunt and uncle's deaths." Thantos nodded, still clutching his wife. "We are aware and take responsibility. Permission to be excused from the courtroom?" The question threw Fudge off guard and he nodded slowly.
Thantos left the court room, clutching his wife like a parent did to a young child, his thick black ponytail swinging behind him.
12 Willow Avenue
The soft click-click against glass was what awoke Hermione. She blinked rapidly, pealing her face from the thick pages of a thick tome entitled The Encyclopedia of Obscure and Strange Magical Creature and looked to her window. Hedwig, her feathers gray from ash and soot, was perched upon her windowsill, looking at her with tired amber eyes. Next to her perched a barn owl, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. With a sleepy hand and unfocused eyes, she unhooked the latch on her window and let the owls in.
"Hey girl," she cooed sleepily, standing up and rubbing her eyes, "You rest for a while, I'll get Harry . . ." Still trying to shake her mind awake, Hermione took the paper and paid the owl, which promptly flew from the room. Yawning widely as her fingers curled over the thick material that was newspaper parchment, she strode from her bedroom and onto the landing. Intoxicating aromas of cooking eggs and bacon wafted up from the kitchen, though it was early for either of her parents to be up. Frowning slightly, she walked downstairs and to where the early morning sunshine flooded in through pale yellow curtains and a sliding glass door.
Harry was at the stove, the amulet cloaking his wolfish qualities, sleeves rolled up and hat removed, cooking breakfast. His eyes looked tired behind the red-hued glasses, his skin a slight pallid color, though looked perfectly content surrounded by a ton of food. He jumped when she said his name softly, turning sharply.
"Oh, erm, good morning," he said, turning back to the skillet, "I couldn't sleep, so just get a plate if you're hungry."
"I didn't know you could cook," she said with impression in her voice, grabbing an empty plate and looking over scrambled eggs. He snorted in mirthless laughter. "Ever since I was six I've done the Dursley's meals. Too lazy to do it themselves, I guess." She looked at him intently, especially at the bags under his eyes and the slight grayish-white hue on his brow.
"Why couldn't you sleep?" she asked sympathetically, filling her plate none the less, "You don't look too well."
He chewed his bottom lip and looked over his shoulder at her, his glasses falling half-way down his nose to reveal amber-flecked green irises. She suppressed a shiver, seeing that he pupils had contracted slightly and the irises had widened. "I think the amulet restricts sleep, and even with a lovely set of fuzzy ears I kept hearing ever little creak and junk. I just gave up on sleep."
"You shouldn't have, you're looking really pale," she said softly, unfolding the Prophet, "You feeling okay?" He nodded slowly, taking a piece of bacon, though he turned sharply at her yell. "What, what?" Hermione was staring in shock at the front cover, looking over the loopy type that spelled out the title of the article.
"I can't believe this . . . It's wonderful! Harry, come look!" He turned off the stove and hurried over, adjusting his visor as he read over her shoulder. The article that had earned the front page was under a black and white picture of a smiling woman waving frantically and a surly looking man with long hair. The headline read 'AMERICAN WITH CUSTODY OVER BOY-WHO-LIVE'.
Godmother Revealed
By Damian deLorme
Early this morning, the godmother of Harry James Potter (the celebrated Boy-Who-Lived) Atlanta Bifactor arrived at the Ministry of Magic with the will of the late James and Lily Potter, demanding guardianship over her godson. After an hour of discussions by the Wizengamot, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore, Bifactor and her husband were granted custody.
The woman (pictured above, left) known as Atlanta Wilhelmina Windstorm Bifactor works and lives in New York City, New York, United States as a professional violinist and activist for animal and sub-humans creatures such as vampires, werewolves and oni (Japanese creatures with horns, fangs and control over elemental magic). Her husband Thantos, the last living descendent of the magical duke, Charles Lionel of Dublin, also works as a violinist for a living. Some know Atlanta from her brother, Zephyr Windstorm, who is the American ambassador for werewolves in the International Confederation of Wizards, despite being of non-magical properties.
Article continued on pages eight and nine. See GODMOTHER.
"That's Atlanta Windstorm?" asked Hermione in exasperation, looking at the small picture above. The woman had very pale hair (it was hard to determine the color in the monochrome photograph) and a mad grin on her face, making a peace sign with her fingers. Harry's attention lingered more on the man behind her, who's dark gaze was unpleasant looking, his unruly hair pulled into a long tail that touched his waist in a bunch. It looked a lot like a foxtail, in Harry's opinion, but there was a faint flicker of white on the man's right cheek. As the photographic Thantos Bifactor turned his head, Harry caught sight of the long scar that disfigured his youthful face.
He had seen that scar before, he was sure of it, though he knew he had never seen that man before. Harry chewed his tongue for a minute but didn't let his mind linger long on the puzzle. After all, there were greater things on his plate to deal with.
"My godmother . . ." he breathed, smiling to himself in a wistful manner. Hermione smiled next to him, ladling ketchup onto her eggs. Her smile turned to a quick frown when she saw Harry start coughing heavily, leaning against the counter.
"Maybe you should sit down for a while," she said soothingly, "You really don't look too well." He shook his head and sighed, turning of the skillet. "I'm just tired Hermione." His voice fell on deaf ears as Hermione narrowed her eyes darkly.
"Don't lie to me," she said coolly, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes, "You're as pale as a vampire."
"Don't make comparisons like that," spoke a cold, smooth voice from the kitchen window. Hermione gasped in horror and Harry reached into his pocket, his fingers curling around the trigger of his gun.
Leaning against the window, that Harry was sure had been shut a moment ago, was a tall man of about thirty masked in shadow from head to foot. He wore a thick coat over his wrinkled red and black suit and a large hat whose brim hid everything but his dark red eyes and shinning white fangs. In his gloved hands he held a highly polished revolver with the Nazi swastika and a cross scratched onto it.
"Who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in my kitchen!" yelled Hermione, reaching for the kitchen knives. The man held up his hand and grinned, showing that all his teeth were sharp fangs the color of his translucent skin.
"Relax, I'm forbidden to harm either of you. Technically, I'm not supposed to be within a mile of this guy," he said darkly, jerking his head at Harry, "But I always found that rules are made the cause trouble to blame on others." He had a fluid, hypnotic voice and his eyes glistened horribly. Harry drew out the gun and Hermione eyed it with fear on her face. The man outside rolled his eyes and leaned in through the window so his long arms touched into the bottom of the sink.
"Mind unlocking the door so I could come in? This sunlight feels like a bad itch," he drawled lazily. Hermione froze and turned to look at the man, more particularly, his bright red eyes. Harry could see the cogs working behind her eyes, probably figuring out who (or what) this unknown figure was. The stranger's lips twitched in shadows and he looked at Harry.
"Atlanta's godson, 'eh? God your scrawny, worse then my old man. Think you're a big man, holding that gun," he leaned in further so half his body was in through the window, "Wolfhound?"
"Who the hell are you?" he snarled, tightening his hold on the gun. Hermione didn't like how his eyes were widening behind the glasses. The stranger licked his lips and then his long fangs. "Alucard Dracula, crowned heir of the vampires and named godfather to any children Atlanta and her bastard husband produce."
Harry's eyes widened and dropped the gun. Something stirred at the back of his mind. The name was familiar to him, like how Tom Riddle's had been, like long lost memories. Alucard laughed harshly and jerked his head over at the door. "Open the damn door Potter." Hermione snapped out of her frozen state. "Why on Earth are you here?" The vampire narrowed his eyes darkly. "Alright, move out of the way wolfhound."
He pushed himself in through the window, falling onto the floor and straitening up, pulling back his hood to reveal corpse-pale skin and thick black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. He grinned at Harry.
"I am here on a message from Atlanta Windstorm, to you wolfhound." He craned his neck backward to look at Hermione, grinning wider. "And you're Hermione Granger? Not much in the ways of looks, so sad." She scowled darkly and he laughed, shaking his head and sending loose strands of his dark hair before speaking in a bored voice.
"You and any lackeys you want to invite have been given an invitation to Dracula Manor for your birthday," he said with revulsion, "Today. There Atlanta will finalize her adoption papers and there will be much rejoicing. If anything, go there just to taste Kairai's blood mixed with sake."
Harry's face paled further and he looked like he was about to be sick, Hermione similar. Alucard slipped his gun into the pocket of his cloak and curled a lock of his hair around two fingers, turning to the food Harry had prepared.
"I'm here to bring you to my old man's house and Mrs. Bifactor," he said lazily, helping himself to some food, "And there dear dad will undoubtedly explain what is happening to you." He tore off his glove to bite a vein with one of his canine teeth, slopping black blood over his food and eating it hungrily.
Here Harry was violently sick in the sink next to where Alucard stood. The vampire made a face, licking his wrist. "You'd of never survived World War II."
End Chapter Seven: Atlanta and Thantos Bifactor