A/N: Oh, I'm embarrassed now!!!! If I could blush, I would be red as a cherry! I'm such an idiot, please forgive me!!! [especially all the other girls out there, I should know how to spell that!!!!!}
Hi, the next set is the excerpt from the book, as requested! Now, the guy mentioned, I have no idea who was around during that time, so I made a name up. But that shouldn't matter, please read!
Disclaimer: I am not JKR. I do not work at Warner Bros. I am not old enough to drink. There. Explains my situation.
Last notes...
[Author's notes]
11......
From the records of Walter Sinclair, philosopher and warlock...
The day is December the fourth, in the year 1932. The air has chilled us to the bone, but our searches have been successful. We have rooted out and nearly condemned four accused vampires, all we shall see if they are truly that. Already one, an Edgar Evans, shows no weaknesses, and we have been unable to receive any information from said creature. He is being held currently in a secluded, warded off room at the School Hogwarts of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it being the safest and most secure position that comes to the minds of the Wizengamot. Some are saying we should make peace with the creatures, the Vampires, but I hold my doubts...
The Vampires were thought to have died out, only three have been found in the past one hundred years, and they were men on their deathbeds, expelling final secrets before the last breath. But now, so many have decided to show their faces, some who were on the Wizengamot. I was not surprised to see that all were male, it must be a trait.
As to whether Vampirism is brought on by being bitten or that it is hereditary, concerns me not. What matters is that, now, over fifty have banded together, in hopes of forming a treating between their kind, and ours. Little do they know, though, the preparations the wizards of the Order are preparing. They are currently employing the top potion maker of our time to concoct a tonic that will quickly dispose of the vampire it is given to...
Here ends the accounts of Walter Sinclair
Over the next century, the Order managed to collect information regarding the whereabouts and current situations of thirty vampires, all of whom were sought after and were promptly disposed of. Accounted information was stored away in the Department of Mysteries, both for future reference and as a chronological filing system...
And with that Draco slammed the book shut, unable to read the text any longer. He threw it down as he rose, unconcerned of where it landed, and quickly made his way up the steps, practically jumping the mall in his haste, only to find Harry still out on the balcony, deep in thought. He was leaning against the wall opposite to the right of the door, eyes almost glazed over completely. His knee was drawn up, the other leg sprawled along the cement floor, one arm resting upon said knee, while the other lying limply upon his lap. But as Draco kneeled in front of him, Harry shook his head and blinked slowly several times.
"You know, you look rather dead when you do that," Draco said quietly; "If it weren't for your pulse, I'd take it you were."
"I'm not," Harry said groggily; "Draco... Edgar... Edgar Evans... he was... my grandfather..."
"What?" Draco asked; "Harry, I can understand if the book made you upset, but really...!"
"No, I have it now," Harry said. His hands moved as he spoke; "Evans married, and sired a daughter, my mother. She then married my father, which caused her to become a Potter, hence the existence of my being and what I am..." he sighed; "What page did you read?" he asked wearily, looking at Draco with his lifeless, dulled eyes.
Draco pitied him almost instantly just from the sheer look of it all, how Harry seemed so close to death, as if knocking upon its door, yet too timid to actually walk in. "The one that had the folded corner," Draco replied finally, sitting in front of Harry and crossing his legs.
Harry nodded, his head turned to gaze out towards the fields and Hogsmead. He sighed, letting the silence hang like a veil of tension an dulled confusion. It made since now, most of it...
"Harry, honestly," Draco said; "You are being such a drama queen," at this, Harry looked at Draco perplexedly; "You heard me," Draco said, "Just because one wizard decided to write down some stupid accounts of yester year, and then another bastard published it, does not mean a thing," he paused; "I'll have you know that if you had read ahead, you would have found that your grandfather, along with two others, escaped."
"Really?" Harry asked quietly.
Draco nodded. A little white lie wouldn't hurt the situation further. But was it a lie? Sabet said that Edgar Evans had been killed by the Ministry, but he had fathered a child... Draco just let the thought slide; he had no need for a headache.
"Yes, really," Draco said, "Now, are you going to have a cry... or I can just kiss you and make it better," he added quietly, leaning forward.
One eyebrow rose skeptically on the ebony haired youth's features, and Harry smirked; "Hmm, the latter's very tempting," he mused wearily, looking at the ground and idly picking at the granite; "But I have too much on my mind at the moment..."
Draco sighed, blowing his bangs from his face as he did; "Well, if it's answers you want," he said nonchalantly, sitting down and leaning back with his weight on one arm, hand pressed against the ground and dangerously close to Harry's leg. Harry saw the hand, and drew his legs up to a cross- legged position.
"I'd like them," Harry said quietly, looking at Draco through his hair that neatly veiled his face.
Draco looked at him, smirking; "I could make you beg," he teased cunningly, eyes glittering with malevolent mischievousness.
Harry shook his head; "Guess I'll read that book again," he drawled, rising.
"Hang on!" Draco rushed, taking Harry's wrist as he rose. Harry brought Draco up with him, and Draco gazed at him; "You don't have to do that. That book is bad, even I won't so much as read more than I must;" he paused; "We could see Sabet, or one of the Lesser Elders if you're that desperate."
"I'm not desperate," Harry said hotly, wrenching his wrist from the blonde's grasp as he walked inside. Draco groaned, casting a glare to the sky, before he followed. Harry was in his room, donning a black cloak. As he fastened the last clasp, his wings appeared in a gentle flutter of midnight feathers. Draco leaned against the archway, one eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms and watched Harry.
"Where are you going?" the blonde asked.
"I'm going to get answers," Harry replied bluntly, casting him a look that simply read I dare you reply.
"I thought you weren't desperate," Draco drawled, regardless.
"I'm not," Harry said as he put on boots. After he did, he straightened out, and held out his hand.
From the desk, a rolled parchment came, lifting from the small shelf and floating across the room, unraveling as it did. Harry caught it, and Draco moved over as his counterpart read it over. But before the blonde had a chance, the letter burst into flame in Harry's hand, and fell from his palm in a small cloud of ashes, disappearing before they ever got the chance to touch the ground.
"Who was that from?" Draco inquired.
"No one," Harry said simply; "I'm going out—"
"Well that's apparent," Draco muttered sardonically.
"—And if Snape asks, tell him I'm... having a fit or something," Harry said, rolling his eyes as he walked out of his room, Draco tailing not too far behind. Harry found himself back on the balcony, and jumped onto the railing.
"Be careful, will you?" Draco asked quietly.
Harry turned and looked at him oddly; "I thought you'd try and keep me from doing this," he said just as so, his voice barely a whisper.
"I have a feeling you'd run away if I tried," Draco said, smirking; "Go, I'll keep ickle Snapey at bay, provided he comes, of course," he added.
Harry nodded, and with a powerful beat of his wings, took off, his boots leaving indentations in the bar as he kicked off.
Draco watched the dark figure fly higher and higher, out of sight as it mingled with the dark rain clouds. He sighed, and then turned to go to the study.
He had a book to destroy. /But how?/ Draco thought, cackling in his mind as he reached said room, /Oh, the possibilities are endless, and I'm not short on frustration.../
The book did not last very long.
---
Snape sat in the room, glowering. He was not happy with his current situation, being seated amongst the Order in the confines of the old room at Grimmauld Place. He was a little comforted to see Remus there, the werewolf and he having formed a friendship of sorts when it came to their vampire godsons. But the Weasleys and all the others Snape did not like, and he found it hard to tolerate them.
Of course, Dumbledore had gone over the Death Eaters and Voldermort. Snape was made to stand and give his report, then he sat back down in his chair and crossed his arms, glaring at any who dared eye him. But his attention was caught when the subject came to a certain young man, one he had grown to care for as a son over the course of his stay.
"What of Potter?" Kinglsey, the black wizard from the Ministry, inquired. His eyes drifted to Snape though. By now, everyone in the Order knew of Harry's whereabouts.
Dumbledore nodded gravely, cleaning his spectacles with the hem of his sleeves. Snape sighed; he was going to have to stand again, he knew it.
"Harry is fine," Snape said, ignoring the gasp from Molly Weasley and Minerva McGonagall. Gods, he wasn't that bad, was he? /I don't give a rat's arse what they think anyway/ Snape thought smugly.
"Hmph," Kinglsey said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.
"If I were lying, I'd be dead by now," Snape said cynically; "By one or both sides, in fact," he added, glancing ruefully at Dumbledore; "Mind you all, though, he is not the boy you think you know. You have no idea who you are dealing with..."
"Oh, do enlighten us," Tonks muttered, rolling his eyes.
"I will," Snape said, rising; "This is a young man who lived a hell of a life, and he grew up far too quickly. He hid behind masks his entire life so as to not disappoint any of you," his hand pointed at every face, skipping Remus of course. His hand fell, but his glare was still strong and focused.
"This is a young man who still cries in his sleep from his losses and the fate so unceremoniously given to him," Snape continued; "I have been forced to stop giving him sleepless dreaming potions because they are addictive, and sometimes I wonder if he shouldn't just drink it as if it were water! You are all blind to his plight, you were, and because of that, the boy grew up not knowing love or kindness at all. All along he knew there was a veil, and all it took was the one person who considered him family to fall through a veil of his own, for realization to strike.
"And strike it did. Now he knows more than you all fear for him to;" Snape's gaze finally rested on Dumbledore, who was hanging off of every word with masked regret and fear; "When he finds out everything you all have done to him, to cause his life to be molded as it has, he will surely hate you all..."
"You helped us, you bloody hypocrite!" Fred Weasley shouted angrily, jumping up. George pulled him back into his seat.
"I did no such thing!" Snape roared, outraged; "I was too busy playing spy, weaving in and amongst DEATH EATERS while you slept in your cozy warm beds! The least I wanted to do was hurt someone else, let alone a small child!"
Fred continued to glare at him.
"But why do you care?" Tonks asked angrily, glaring daggers at the Potions Master.
Snape turned to her, sneering; "Because," he said, "I have had enough of this. I thought I only knew what you—" he gaze glanced to Dumbledore again; "—lot made, not the boy within."
"Severus, these accusations are quite outrageous," Remus said quietly.
"Of course they are!" Severus said, moving away from the table, pushing his chair back as he did; "But then again, look at the age we're living in. Nothing is normal or commendable it anymore, seems," he paused; "I must leave now, it's getting late."
And without another word or passing glance, save for the weary look he received from Remus, Snape left.
---
Flying was possibly the most lifting and calming experience Harry could have thought possible. It might have been the feeling of the wind fighting against him as he flew above the clouds, or the ever constant thought of possibly touching the stars, though that was a thought and nothing other than that was so appealing. Harry made a pact with himself that he would fly more often. He felt granted a large gift for being able to do such a feat, and relished in it greedily.
He closed his eyes as he took a sudden dive, only to catch himself before he fell too close downward. Harry flew upward again, dodging around a cloud and coming once more in touch with the sky. He felt alive, a feeling he rarely had. He felt... fulfilled, like he was whole... for the most part.
Harry opened his eyes as a mountainous range came into view. He had flown over the ocean, and was now in France. It was quick traveling, flying, especially once one had perfected the skill with every spare moment devoted to practice. But Harry's mind was now focused on his quarry, finding his supposed leader, the Elder of Elders, and the letter he had found in Draco's room came to mind.
Go follow the trees where the crows roost most, then take to the left and unti the water falls from the sky. From there, journey through the tunnel of hell, then upon exit take through the eyes the sight of glowing land, and hence one's eyes shall rest upon the manor...
Harry blinked, causing the world to come back into view. He was flying over pine trees, and upon looking down confirmed the prescience of crows. The loud birds were cawing and causing all manner of disturbances. /Now, I have to go left/ Harry thought, making a sharp angular turn in said direction. He began flying slower, so that he could get to his destination taking the correct path.
Soon, the sound of flowing water reached his ears. It was far off, but close enough to where Harry could even smell the crisp scent of the liquid. He followed it, like an eager hound, and soon he could see a towering cliff, a waterfall centered on it, flowing down for what seemed a hundred or so feet. Harry hovered before it, looking up, and indeed it seemed the water fell from the sky. /Too easy/ Harry thought, smirking as he shot upwards, scaling the waterfall and coming over it in a matter of seconds.
Harry hovered again, looking around. Above the falls and the cliffs, it was a mere, desolate plain. /There is no way this is all in France and hidden/ Harry thought as he decided on flying straight ahead. /It's just impossible. But then, I'm dealing with ancient magic and a vampire.../ he continued flying, until he saw that the land took a sharp incline.
Harry paused as he reached the hill, seeing a deep hole in the ground. Harry stared deep within it, and was satisfied when it was only a cave. Harry landed. It seemed wiser to travel this left by foot.
As Harry went through the cave, sounds of bats and of dripping water, and the occasional sound of rocks falling. Soon, the path began to slant downwards, and Harry began wondering if he had taken the wrong root.
Then, after half an hour or so, he stopped.
There was a solid wall in his way.
Harry looked at the wall, the possibility of a hidden entrance fresh on his mind. But no, there was no secret anything, just the wall of solid limestone. Sighing, Harry looked up, then mentally slapped himself.
Of course, there was a small skylight, a hole in the ceiling that let moonlight come through, casting a faint shade of grey on the area. Harry spread his wings, and kicking off jetted skyward.
He barely made it through the hole; it was almost too small for him to go through with his wings against his back. Harry let out the breath he had been holding, and looked around again. He breathed in the fresh, warm air, glad to be out of a world so like the ether.
He stared in amazement at the ground about thirty feet below him. The plants were letting off an odd, eerie glow, giving the fields a green aura. Harry's gaze went to the skyline, and he smirked with success. Looming in the distance was a manor, a gothic mansion one might say. Harry began flying towards it, picking out the large, lit windows situated on the second floor, a parapet around them.
And that is where Harry chose to land.
Upon landing, Harry became on guard. He saw that there was a door off to the side, and cautiously, the youth walked over to it. A weary hand reached out and took the knob, then Harry entered the home.
The room was a study/living/library room of sorts, large and vast. There were floors upon floors of books alone, and it reminded Harry greatly of Hogwarts. The center of the room was actually two steps down into the floor, a little depression that held couches, chairs, and rugs covering the stone floor. There were stone gargoyles and other fixations around the walls, but Harry's eyes fell on the figure standing by a globe that was positioned off to the side.
The man was tall, lean, and almost lithe. His narrow face was handsomely even, the features placed delicately. His sparkling black eyes seemed to shine in the light, the silver evident in them. His black robes clung yet billowed around him. Long, firm fingers delicately traced an invisible path on the globe.
"Ah, Mister Potter," the man said in a clear accent; "I was wondering when you would come."
"Sabet?" Harry asked roughly, eyeing the man.
The man chuckled and nodded; "Such brusqueness," he mused, walking away from the globe; "Yes, my name is Morste Sabet. I come from a long line of Vampires. And... I suppose that is why you are here... to have, what I will take as, many questions answered."
"Yes," Harry said.
"Well, come over here and we'll discuss this by the fire," Sabet said kindly, walking over and sitting down in an armchair on the right of the fireplace. Harry took the one to the left, facing th e older vampire, and the questions began...
- - -
A/N: Mwhahaha I'm wearing the Cliffies out with this story!!! Ha-ha-ha!!!! Review, please!