Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, make no money from anything, and am writing this purely for personal enjoyment.
AU. The story starts at the beginning of Harry's seventh year, but ignores the events of HBP. No parings, Snape mentors Harry. OC's, but they will not be the focus of the story.
Apologies for the lack of update last week - I was on holiday, and didn't have internet access.
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Harry sneaked down to the common room early. It wasn't as inconspicuous as practicing in his dorm, but the sound of the other boys hammered on the edges of his nerves. He settled himself, and started the same exercise again, with the same, nonexistent results. Sighing, he took the opportunity to stretch.
"That isn't going to work."
Harry flailed his arms to keep his balance, and turned to the source of the interruption.
"What?" he asked Neville blankly.
"Doing the same thing over and over again. It doesn't work. If you aren't making any progress with one method, then you need to come at it from a different angle."
"But he said to do it this way."
"What's more important to you, learning how to do it, or proving 'him' wrong?"
That has nothing to do with it, Harry thought mutinously. I'm just obeying orders. Finally, his situation and his manners caught up with him. This was hardly the way to remain inconspicuous about the whole affair.
"I'll keep that it mind, Neville. Are you on your way to breakfast?"
"Still a little early. I'm checking on something in the greenhouses, and then I'll be along."
"See you there, then."
Neville nodded and walked out, but popped his head back in.
"Think about it, Harry. I know you're not used to struggling with things, but it's not worth hexing your wand to spite your spell."
Harry looked after him, a little perplexed. Neville had changed this year. Or had he always been like that and Harry hadn't noticed before? He shook his head, and scrambled up the stairs before anyone else woke up. Note to self: don't do any exercises in the common room no matter what the hour.
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Harry thought about Neville's strange advice on and off all day, but decided in the end that while he had a point, he was wrong in this case. What was important was following Snape's instructions until he gave in and taught him how to defeat Voldemort – no more and no less. He was soon distracted from his thoughts as he crashed quite solidly into the back of Malfoy. What did he expect, stopping for no reason in the middle of a corridor?
"Watch it, Potter! Didn't your parents raise you with any manners? Oh I forgot. Your parents didn't raise you at all."
"Well, at least I wasn't raised to be an utter prat!" He retaliated lamely.
"Potter!"
Oh great. Snape. Harry turned sideways and backed off as far as the width of the corridor allowed – no way was he going to turn his back on Malfoy.
"Yes, Professor?"
"That'll be ten points off Gryffindor for your language."
"But Professor!"
"And detention. Immediately, with me."
Harry growled under his breath as he followed Snape, ignoring Malfoy's mocking laughter. Snape didn't have to take off points just because they needed more time together this evening. And if Snape had just given him some vials of blood like Stephan had, they wouldn't need this little feeding session at all. He stood, long suffering, in the centre of the lounge and waited to be told what to do.
"You will spend two hours scrubbing the practice room floor after feeding tonight."
Harry looked up from his feet in consternation. It hadn't been an excuse to get him down here - Snape was actually punishing him!
"But... But Malfoy started it!"
"Unfortunately, I am not in a position to dictate Malfoy's behaviour. Fortunately, I am in a position to dictate yours. Two hours before feeding."
His breath was momentarily taken away by a stomach cramp, which, all things considered, was a good thing. Harry despondently fetched the cleaning supplies from the lab, and made a start. Even with his new vampire stamina and healing powers, his back and knees ached by the time Snape finally came to release him.
"Very well. The procedure for accepting blood from a superior is this – you will kneel, with your hands firmly behind your back, and ask for blood. After I agree, you will tilt your head back and open your mouth. At no point in this procedure will you make physical contact with me, is that understood?"
"What the... I'm not doing that!"
"You will if you want blood."
"Stephan never asked me to do anything of the kind."
"Elder Stephan, Harry."
"He said I could..."
"No, he didn't. Using his name without an honorific in the wrong company would get you severely punished. While I might find that amusing, I hardly think that Elder Stephan would do that to you."
Harry blushed.
"Elder Stephan was required elsewhere by the council when you were first reborn. That meant that certain short-cuts could be taken for someone as untrained as you. But now you need to learn and follow protocol."
"But why?"
"For one thing, you will, sooner or later, have to interact with other Strigoi, and most of them are not as patient as I am. The rites need to be instinctive by that point, or you will make a mistake. Secondly, I am not about to throw millennia of customs away because they offend your foolish muggle sensibilities."
"I don't care. I'm not kneeling, and..." Harry pursed his lips in an expression of distaste.
"If you wish."
Harry was surprised at his easy victory - there had to be a catch.
"You can continue to feed off rats. In two weeks time, at our regular scheduled session, we will see if you've changed your mind."
"I won't," said Harry with his arms crossed. He felt like a petulant child, but what kind of person did Snape take him for to ask that of him?
"We'll see," repeated Snape maddeningly. "Now, recite for me, please, the four things that can kill you."
"Incineration, dismemberment, starvation and uhh... exsanguination... "
"No, you moronic twerp. Exsanguination simply stops all your organs from functioning. I asked for things that could kill you."
"But it would kill me in a sense."
"If you are too stupid to figure out what I was asking for, then let me clarify. Four things from which you can not return."
"ahh, well..."
Eventually Harry conceded defeat.
"I don't remember the last, Magister."
"Prolonged contact to the wood of a wild rose."
"Oh, yes. That."
"I don't know how you managed to survive childhood. Did they label the stove as 'hot' for you?"
"No, Magister. I'm sorry, I'll remember in future."
"Any three dangerous situations."
"Exsanguination!"
"Besides that."
"Being kept away from my birth soil, uh... mental disconnection, and, and, exposure to werewolves?"
"Well, the last is only your reaction to them, rather than any danger they may pose, but I'll accept it. You'll also want to stay away from an upir until you are a little older. It won't recognise what you are, but you will make it nervous, and that might make it dangerous."
"'It'? Upir aren't animals."
All Harry knew of them was the usual instruction given in DADA, but they were perfectly sentient magical beings, he knew that much.
"So speaks someone who's never met one. Your average lesser vampire is about as related to us as mice are to muggles."
Harry opened his mouth again, but was quickly interrupted.
"Enough! You may go. We'll continue your lessons next time."
"Yes, Magister," muttered Harry, rolling his eyes. Some sleep did sound good, after all.
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Two weeks, and another chance to get blood from Snape. He had wondered if he would give in, if he would be that weak, but he knew now that he would. He looked at himself in the mirror, and acknowledged the shameful truth to himself – by now, there wasn't much he wouldn't do to get any amount of Snape's blood. He washed his face and composed himself to hide the tell-tale signs of longing before heading down. At the bottom of the stairs he was forced to stop - Ron and Hermione were sitting on one of the couches, alert and watchful. Harry realised with a sinking heart that they were waiting for him. Hermione had tried to drag him off to a quiet spot a few times already this week, but he'd been busy with Snape's assignments, and hadn't known what to say in any case.
I don't have time for this now!
He could sneak past them, but the door opening would be a dead give-away. And if they chased after him or even called after him, they'd be drawing attention to him that he really couldn't afford. He withdrew into the shadows and removed his cloak. He'd better clear this up before they reported him or anything else damaging. He could feel their eyes boring into him as he crossed over to where they were sitting.
"Yes, I'm going out tonight, no, I'm not doing anything stupid," well, any more than usual, "and no, I can't talk to you about it."
"You don't trust us anymore, Harry," said Hermione, sounding more defeated than angry.
"It's not that! I just can't tell you about this!"
"Tell us about anything, then. What does the prophecy actually say? And don't tell us you don't know."
"Why have you being getting cramps?"
Harry thought he had been hiding his hunger better than that. Who else had noticed? Would they think anything of it? He'd have to admit this to Snape, who would insist he killed more rats.
"How is it that you seem to spend all your time studying, but aren't doing any better in any of your classes?"
"What are your plans for after school?"
Harry stayed silent. They were right - he couldn't talk to them about those things either.
Eventually Ron said wistfully, "I remember when we used to tell each other everything."
"We grew up, Ron! I don't know if you noticed, but we're at war."
Did they not think he too wanted to reclaim their carefree childhood? Not that it had been all that carefree, and he remembered large portions of times when they had not 'told each other everything', even if Ron seemed to have conveniently forgotten them.
"Harry!" chided Hermione. "We know there are some things you can't tell us, but of late, there seems to be nothing you can tell us. We're not asking you to tell us the details of the Order's plans. We just want to know how you're doing. What are you having problems with, and what are you enjoying? Who are you getting on with, and who have you been arguing with? How do you feel? Are you happy, scared, angry?"
"You haven't even been bitching about teachers or homework to us anymore, Harry. What's up with being polite to Snape and Malfoy? Is Dumbledore still keeping things from you? Where are you planning on living next summer?"
He longed to tell them with all his heart. He has been so desperately alone in his vampirism all this time. But what could he say? He couldn't tell them about his hunger pangs, even in an indirect way. He couldn't tell them about his weird relationship with Snape. He could probably tell them it scared him that he might die, but he couldn't explain to them how it scared him that he might live. Hermione was smart, and she was almost fanatical about trying to work things out. He simply could not afford to give her any clues - if they figured out his secret both they and he would be killed.
"You didn't even come to our last quidditch game. Did you even know that we won? Ginny was really upset that you didn't even congratulate her."
"Harry, we really have been trying, but you have to put some effort into this too. If you can't tell us anything or spend any time with us, then you're not being a friend."
"We've discussed this, and, well..."
"When you're prepared to be our friend again, come tell us."
"Until then, we can't cope with the stress of worrying about someone who doesn't care."
They finished off this obviously rehearsed speech as they stood. After less than a moment of silence, they walked off to their separate dormitories.
Harry wanted to run after them and protest, but there was nothing to say. He ducked out of sight to pull his invisibility cloak on again – he would need to run to make it down to Snape in time.
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