Harry's eyes fell once again onto Rebecca Yellen's face, and he blushed as she glanced back up at him. She always knew when he was watching her in a way that he couldn't describe. It was too bad she hardly acknowledged his existence at all. The gorgeous new student barely glanced at Harry before looking back down again. The other girls at least had some sort of respect for him because of all that he had been through, but Rebecca couldn't care less. And it only made him like her more.

Rebecca stared at her paper, obviously waiting for Harry to look away, but he couldn't find it in him to stop staring. She was just... so... perfect. She was so smart, gorgeous, funny... and so much better than him. At least she seemed to think so. If only she would look at him... If only she would ask him a question, tell him a joke, anything... But Harry didn't have that kind of luck, especially with too-perfect-to-be-real girls like her.

So the next step would be trying to talk to her. That was, if Harry could somehow jump his voice back into his throat and just...

"Harry?" Hermione's voice demanded. "Class just ended. You can get up now."

Blushing possibly the darkest red that he ever had in his life, Harry leapt to his feet and quickly gathered his things together. He couldn't help notice that Rebecca was staying behind, probably trying to perfect her incantation, as she was muttering under her breath with her wand outstretched.

"Sorry," Harry muttered quietly.

Hermione laughed aloud. "Harry, really, just go talk to her."

"Go... talk... to who?" he asked, feigning confusion.

"Rebecca. You're so obvious." His good friend laughed again, shaking her head. "If you don't do it now, you never will," she pointed out.

Harry sighed loudly. Hermione did have a point. He'd wanted to do this ever since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, and now was a wondrous opportunity, not likely to come again. He could talk to Rebecca alone in an empty classroom. Still, he was reluctant to just walk over there and embarrass himself. Thinking to himself, he searched his mind for a good opening line to start a conversation with her.

"Okay," he murmured, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Okay."

This, even compared to his planned afternoon talk with Professor Dumbledore, was dreadfully frightening. A lock of long, shiny brown hair had fallen in front of Rebecca's eyes, and she tucked it away gracefully. Okay. This was it. Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward, nearly running into the front of Rebecca's table.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey... uh... You're Rebecca, right?"

"Yes," she said slowly, not even looking up, "and you're Harry Potter, the boy who survived He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named."

That was a strange response. He gulped. "Yeah, well, usually people just call me Harry," he tried to joke.

"That's good to know." She mumbled the incantation once more and smiled slightly as her piece of parchment burst into flames. She had a great smile.

"Well... erm... Brilliant job on that spell."

"Thanks."

"You know, last year I started- well, no, actually it was Hermione, but I led- this DADA club, and we got busted by Umbridge at the last minute--"

Rebecca made a slight coughing noise.

Harry laughed nervously. "Erm... yeah, I'm so glad Dumbledore came back--"

"Hey Harry, is this how you usually come on to girls? Because I'm getting sick just listening to you blubber. If you're gonna talk to me, at least have something meaningful to say," she blurted out point blank.

Harry felt as though his heart had left his body. Either that or it was being ripped into shreds by a wild, rabid animal. No. Neither analogy seemed to describe the pain he felt at Rebecca's sharp words. In all of his daydreams, all of his hopes on the way this conversation would go, he'd never imagined she would say something so harsh, so... heartless. What happened to that perfect girl he'd imagined her to be?

"I'm... sorry," he muttered, blinking quickly as tears filled his eyes. "I'll just..."

Rebecca didn't even notice the closing of the door as he ran out.

() () () () ()

His heart still felt ripped to shreds, but he attempted to look calm and composed in front of his headmaster. It was a valiant attempt, but a fruitless one, as his bloodshot eyes could not be concealed. "Professor Dumbledore, I'm really scared. I think something is happening to me," Harry blurted out.

Dumbledore's serene old face creased in concern and he quickly gestured for the boy to sit down. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry slumped into the seat, trying to feign confidence but failing miserably. It had taken a lot of guts to go to Rebecca in the first place. Now to tell Dumbledore about the vampire that was afflicting him after his first confrontation had worked out so horribly... It would take even more willpower. But he was scared, and he knew that Dumbledore could be the only person able to help him. "I think... well... you see... I've been having these dreams... Well, they're nightmares really..."

The headmaster's intelligent blue eyes bored into Harry's green ones. "What kind of dreams?"

Sighing deeply, Harry took off the scarf that was hiding the two red, swollen marks on his neck. "Something... bit me. But it was a dream. How could something in a dream bite me in real life?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore gasped, staring at the marks in shock. His furrowed brows drew even nearer to one another. "A vampire?" he asked softly, as if he were afraid someone might hear their conversation.

"I-I don't know," Harry stuttered. "I think, maybe..."

"Describe the nightmare Harry," Dumbledore insisted. Seeing the boy's reluctance, he repeated, "Describe it to me."

Harry wished he were anywhere else but here at this moment. He didn't want to tell anyone about his experience... Even himself. This endless denial was all he felt that he had left. If it was true... If he really had been bitten by a vampire... He could already be becoming one of them. One of the vampires. "There was this thing, this creature... I couldn't see it in all the darkness but its claws grabbed me and pulled me to him. He...uh... it bit me. The first time I had the dream I woke up and everything was fine--"

"You had the dream more than once?"

"Yes," Harry admitted, feeling ashamed. "But the second time, a few days later, last night... Well, in the dream, it was biting me... I couldn't get it off... And I bit its arm. It let me go, but this time, when I woke up I had these marks on my neck and its blood was on my teeth." Suddenly he felt a need to cover his tracks a bit. "Well... It was probably my blood... I mean, my mouth was sore afterward, I could have bitten my tongue, right?"

"You bit your tongue," Dumbledore stated slowly, clearly in disbelief. "Harry, it still sounds to me as though a vampire has been biting you in your sleep."

The boy snorted, trying to look cool although he wasn't sure why. "It could be anything. Maybe a spider..."

"Harry."

Dumbledore's voice had gotten colder, more serious than Harry had ever heard it before. It was almost as though... he were ashamed of him. But that couldn't be right. Dumbledore had always been proud of Harry and believed in him more than anything else...

"Harry, you must face up to what has happened to you and be prepared to search for a solution. There is no clear cut remedy to a vampire bite... And if you bit back, it's even worse," the headmaster sighed.

Harry's eyes drifted up to meet the older man's. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear more bad news. "Why is it worse?"

Dumbledore's eyes glanced away from Harry's. "It is part of the process that will make you one of them," he said.

It was the worst possibility that the bespectacled boy could think of. So... he was becoming a vampire. What would happen to him now? Would he be locked up, sent away, so he didn't do anymore harm to the world? Or would they let him go free, let him destroy the lives of others just as had been done to him? There seemed to be nothing he could do. But... Harry didn't want to hurt anyone. He could fight it, couldn't he?

"What can I do?"

() () () () ()

Ripping out a piece of garlic and shoving it into his mouth, Harry grimaced as it slid down his throat. The strong, salty taste filled his mouth and stuck in the back of his throat, and he gagged for a moment. This was only one part, and the most unpleasant one, of the steps that Dumbledore had insisted he take in order to prevent him from becoming a vampire. The holy water nestled deep in the flaps of his bag was another indication of Harry's predicament. And the stake in his robe' pocket... That could be a bit hard to explain.

Not that Harry was planning to tell anyone about what was happening to him. Even Ron... If Ron knew, he would make Harry feel ten times worse about it then he already did. And Harry definitely had enough to deal with, what with the vampire and his situation with Rebecca...

Goddammit. He'd promised himself he wouldn't think about that anymore. For the last two days, their conversation had been his obsession, his only thought. That look in her eyes... How could she be so cruel? Harry insisted to himself that she was a good person, that she must have been having a bad day... But he wasn't even sure he wasn't lying to himself. After all, he didn't know her very well...

The door burst open, and Ron stepped inside, groaning loudly. "I feel sick... Oh, I had so much pumpkin pie..."

Harry quickly shoved his garlic clove under some clothes and forced a fake smile. "Ron, you're an animal. You just can't control your eating."

"I know, I know," his best friend continued, unbuttoning his pants a button. "But oh... that whipping cream was so good... I couldn't resist myself."

"Yeah." Harry couldn't think of a response at the moment. His eyes had become distant again. There was just too much for him to deal with right now. What if that thing came back for him? What if he really became something else, something horrible and evil? He tried to put it from his mind yet again, and failed.

Ron was looking concernedly at Harry's blank face. "Are you alright, mate? You're off in your own little world..."

"I'm fine," he insisted tersely. "Just... you know... beginning of the school year, you know?"

"Sure," Ron said slowly, still eyeing his best friend.

Harry tightened his Griffindor scarf around his neck. "I can't wait for the first Quiddich practice," he choked out, trying to smoothly change the subject.

"Yeah," his best friend answered. His face lit up at the subject. "Tuesday, right?"

"Right," the bespectacled boy replied with a smile. Finally this conversation had reached comfortable ground. And he wasn't even lying anymore. Harry couldn't wait to feel the rush of wind on his face, the smooth, gliding moments of the broom that he'd longed for all of last year. With the crowd cheering below him and his whole team supporting him, he supposed it couldn't feel much better than that. "I finally get to ride a broom again."

Ron grinned happily. "I finally get to prove myself, once and for all... again."

Harry laughed. "That's true enough. No Umbridge..."

"No... uh... Dobby hopefully..."

Laughing harder, Harry toppled onto his bed clumsily. "I hope so," he said cheerily. Something made a slight plop as it hit the floor, but he didn't think anything of it. That is, until he noticed Ron staring at the floor.

"Harry... What is that?"