This is a Hellsing Crossover, where Lily isn't actually what everyone THINKS she is.
When the girl was born, there was no cause for celebration, no congratulations for the parents, no happy tears.
Instead there was only sadness and the knowledge that her father should have been able to see his child born. The mother had been taken from the father of the child, and secluded until her thirst for blood had gone. She never told them that she had been pregnant, knowing they would either enslave or kill the child once born.
So in the dead of night, she fled from her watchers long enough to place the babe in the hands of a couple who took her in and raised her as their own. She would never see the child again, but she died content that she had protected the girl.
For as long as he could remember, he had been fascinated by blood. The color, the consistency, the way it moved when it came out of a fresh wound. It was something he could never get enough of.
His dream, before learning about magic, was to become a hematologist, someone who studied blood and learned how to cure diseases for it.
That dream slightly shifted to becoming a mediwizard.
When he was twelve he was bitten by a basilisk. The blood flowing freely from his arm felt strange. Almost like it had a mind of it's own. Fawkes healed the wound, but the sight would remain in him for weeks.
So much so that he developed a rather worrying habit (if his family or 'friends' had actually given a damn) of cutting his arm.
The brief sensation of pain, the sight of blood flowing freely before clogging up moments later, the strange feeling of peace and another emotion he couldn't easily identify...the thrill of seeing his own blood flowing was addicting to the point that he couldn't stop.
All the pressure he had been under the past year, and the knowledge that Voldemort would only make it a thousand times worse...cutting himself seemed to be the only real freedom he had anymore.
Strangely, he never seemed to scar after being bitten by the basilisk. At first he attributed it to the phoenix tears now in his blood, but after two months of cutting himself he discarded that theory.
Even being slammed into the pavement by that fat bastard Dudley didn't even do more than bruise, and it healed within hours.
Of course it didn't hurt that he also happened to lick the blood from his fresh cuts, which seemed to accelerate the healing for some strange reason.
It was weird though. The only creature he knew that had rapid healing and an affinity for blood were vampires...and after reading about them in the school library, Harry had quickly concluded he wasn't a vampire.
He didn't mind garlic, he wasn't allergic to silver, sunlight or any holy relics, and he could cross running water. He also couldn't turn into a bat or anything of the sort.
The only thing he did have in common was that the taste of blood didn't make him hurl. In fact he rather liked it...enough so that he had made sure to stock up on blood pops, discreetly of course.
Which was why during the two months he had in Diagon he did something many wizards would have looked askance at.
He used some of his gold to purchase a large stockpile of blood bags that he immediately put on a stasis charm. Every blood bag had the same blood type as he did, since he knew adding the wrong type would make him sick.
It had lasted him well for two years, but he was almost out. He would have to make another discreet purchase before he went to Hogwarts, as he had gotten used to biting into them whenever he was really stressed.
It was why he had nearly eaten every bag he had last year. Being hated by almost the entire school, abandoned by Ron out of jealousy, having to face a bloody dragon and near drowning, dealing with Voldemort coming back using his blood... it had been a nightmare.
Harry sighed. Honestly he didn't know why he stayed here when it was clear his aunt hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn't like he didn't have enough funds to stay at a hotel or anything.
Harry paused on his way to the lone playground, having not cared enough to worry about Voldemort's activities after the first two weeks of nothing. Obviously he was laying low for some reason, which meant the chances of the news reporting anything were next to nill. And if something did happen Vernon was sure to bitch about it when he got home.
Good thing he kept anything he wanted to keep in a bag that he kept shrunk in his pocket...though he left the wand at the house because during the summer months it was next to useless. The last thing he wanted to deal with was hearing the Ministry whine about him using magic over the holidays, so most of the time he left it in his room.
He honestly could care less if Vernon or Petunia snapped it in half or set it on fire.
Sitting on the park bench, Harry felt around in his inner pockets to see if he had a blood pack on him. He had two, much to his relief. Then the day went straight to hell as Dudley showed up...Harry spied a random twig and picked it up, making sure to make it look as straight as possible. It wasn't like Dudley had ever gotten a good look at his wand anyway.
Scaring the fat lump had been in good fun, but frankly he didn't feel like going back to that house. It's banality made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it. And it wouldn't be the first time he had slept outside.
Harry woke up an hour after dusk and realized with annoyance that he was likely locked out again.
Just to be sure (because he could always pick the locks if he had to) he went to the house...and found the back door wide open. Frowning, Harry went inside...and found the Dursleys dead. He could tell pretty quick that they had died by something magical in origin.
Since he didn't see the Dark Mark hovering about the house, he was going to guess dementors.
Most people would automatically assume he would stick around hoping to be found, or cast spells to get the Ministry's attention.
He did none of these things. The back door had been open, which meant it was unlikely anyone knew the Dursleys were dead. Realizing an opportunity when he saw one, Harry went the practical route.
He robbed the place of anything of worth, enough food to last him for quite a while, and, as a final 'screw your protection!' gesture to Dumbledore because he just knew the senile old bastard had put watchers on him, went outside and cast the Dark Mark himself over the house.
He wanted to make sure no one pinned this on him, and once he cast the dark mark, he further covered up his trail by cutting himself and bleeding on the floor, before snapping his wand into four pieces. Making it look like they had destroyed his wand after fighting him, he also made it look like they broke into the house by kicking the back door in.
That done, he donned his invisibility cloak and hauled tail to the first pay phone he could find and called a taxi. Five minutes later he was long gone from Surrey a full hour before Dumbledore's merry band of morons showed up.
No doubt the entire thing would be pinned on Voldemort or a random Death Eater...and with his wand thoroughly destroyed it was impossible for anyone to figure out he had cast the mark.
Barty Crouch Jr. was good for something after all.
Thanks to the concealment of a simple cap and some thoroughly bland robes, Harry waltzed into Gringotts with no one the wiser, withdrew the maximum amount of gold from his trust fund and then converted half of that into pounds. He walked out of the bank with more than enough money to rent an apartment.
He didn't bother to replace his wand, because he just knew Ollivander would recognize him and he didn't believe the man could keep his trap shut about Harry being alive and on his own.
With that done Harry then went out into the mundane world and replenished his blood supply, before taking the first bus into a random town far from London.
The village of Cheddar was several hundred miles from London, and was thoroughly boring. Exactly what he needed in order to assess his next plan of attack.
The dinner he had was bland, and not really worthy of note. And thanks to the use of a thick lock he was able to finish off what was left of his initial blood bags in peace.
For two days, he stayed either out of sight or kept to himself. The hotel owner just assumed he was a teenaged runaway, which wasn't that far from the truth. So long as he paid up front and didn't cause trouble, he wouldn't mention the strange kid to the cops.
Then the murders started happening. The kid seemed unusually disinterested in the whole affair.
There was a vampire in Cheddar. He could tell by the scent in the air and the mysterious murders that kept happening. Hopefully it would move on soon, but if not...well, he was going to have to Do Something about it.
Most people would be eager to stay inside when the murders started to become more frequent, or travel in groups.
Harry honestly preferred being alone, and he hated being cooped up when there was something interesting happening. Which was why he left the inn and went straight to the woods where he found a good tree to sleep in. A few stolen covers and a half-worn pillow and he was pretty cozy.
It turned out to be a smart idea when the next place to get hit was the lone inn. Every single person was murdered in the middle of the night, down to the last man. Had he stayed there he might have gotten caught up in the mess.
By nightfall the next day, the entire village was infested with ghouls. Mindless puppets of deflowered humans turned by a vampire to serve them. Pretty much zombies with an extra flare.
Regular bullets wouldn't do squat against a ghoul, never mind a vampire. And he didn't know any magic that could kill the damn things anyway. With the place surrounded by muggles, there was little chance he could slip away now, and he really didn't want to explain what he was doing in the village and possibly attract the attention of Dumbledore.
Deciding to take a nap, since the vampire clearly hadn't scented him for some reason, Harry went to sleep.
It was the voice that woke him up. Harry barely kept from yawning, before he looked down.
And found a man wearing almost entirely red clothing looking right up to the general area he was in.
"What do we have here... a little rat stuck up in a tree?"
"Fuck off," said Harry, insulted he had compared him to a damn rat.
"You don't reek of death and blood... You're not the one I'm after tonight," he commented.
"And you're not the idiot vampire from the village. You look like you have some common sense," snarked Harry. The man's smirk widened.
Harry yelped when he nearly had his hand shot off. There was a decent sized wound on his arm, bleeding freely.
He scowled and reached for his bag. To the interest of the man in red, he watched as Harry immediately bit into what was clearly a blood bag and drained it. The wound healed itself over, but now Harry was pissed off.
He came down from the tree, his bag slung over his shoulder. He looked more irritated than afraid of the red man's gun.
"How interesting. You don't smell like a vampire, yet you heal like one."
"Screw you asshole. I was only sleeping up there until that idiot in the village was dealt with. I have no interest in vampire power plays."
"And what about the ghouls he's made?"
"Ghouls can't fly," deadpanned Harry, flipping him the bird.
The vampire hunter smirked even wider. He liked this kid. He liked him a lot.
"If you survive this night, I might come find you."
"My werewolf uncle, even in his transformed state, wanted nothing to do with me. Why should I join forces with some half assed vampire hunter?" snarked Harry.
"Oh I'm really liking your attitude. Do try to live through the night, will you?"
Anyone who could cuss out Alucard without even flinching at his aura was definitely someone he wanted to keep. And that healing ability of his was something that interested Alucard greatly. Besides, Walter was getting old and could probably use an apprentice.
Harry watched the vampire hunter walk off, and glared. What an asshole.
He reached into his bag and drew out a long broom that he normally wouldn't even consider, since it drew attention in muggle areas.
However in an area infested with ghouls, he would rather deal with awkward questions than being bitten. He got onto his Firebolt and flew just high enough that the ghouls (and the vampire) couldn't reach.
From what he had seen, this was a low-level vampire. Not even really worth the title of Nosferatu.
Time to watch the show and see if this vampire hunter had a reason for the arrogance he practically oozed.
Watching the ghouls shoot him dead, Harry almost thought he was done for...at least, until he felt the unmistakeable feel of dark magic coming off the 'corpse'.
'Makes sense...who better to deal with cheap vampires than another vampire? But this jerk seems to be of a higher class than that cheap knock-off... a Master vampire maybe?' thought Harry.
It wasn't his problem.
Harry watched as the red vampire took out the lone survivor to kill the priest vampire. Obviously he planned to turn her, though he didn't see why it was his problem.
As the girl slept off the conversion process, the red vampire looked up to see Harry in the sky above.
"So, you're a wizard with a taste for blood."
"And you're either a higher class vampire than he was, or a Master vampire. Why should I care outside of finding out how quickly I can go back to hiding from that senile old goat who rules the castle in Scotland and his lackeys?" said Harry back.
The vampire smirked.
"So what do you plan to do now?" asked the vampire.
"Same thing I was doing before. Try to figure out what to do next. Though I might have to reconsider hiding, since I was bored out of my mind until the attacks started."
The vampire's smirk shifted to something sinister.
"A bored, half-trained wizard child who has an affinity for blood magic and wants to avoid Dumbledore. I might have an idea of what you could be doing rather than skulking about like this weakling," he commented.
Harry was bored enough and feeling morbid enough to actually listen to the vampire.
"And what's that?"
"Tell me, little wizard... how do you feel about learning how to hunt vampires?"