A/N: I am SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY that this was So very late. One: I caught a string of the flu. Two: I have barely gotten any free time. Three: I had exams and so much homework. But I have let you all down, so please forgive me!

Thank-you to everyone who reviewed!

Disclaimer: I OWN JACK SQUAT…. sigh but not Harry Potter. Nope… Damnit.

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Sabet entered the private infirmary rooms, and Adam jumped from his chair by a desk out of surprise; "Sabet, what—?" he began, but upon seeing Amos, Adam went into action; "Quick, put him on the bed and get rid of his cloak and shirt;" he then turned back around and pulled out clothes and potions from a nearby cabinet.

Sabet did as he was told, laying Amos down on the bed. Amos hissed as his shoulder met the fabric, and he stiffened when Sabet removed his cloak and shirt; "Amos, you must talk to me," Sabet said calmly as he examined the other vampire's shoulder;" You must not go to sleep, understood?"

"…Morgan…" Amos coughed, his voice raspy, trying.

"Shh, she is fine," Sabet assured quietly; "Amos, continue talking. You must fight the potion…"

With all his capabilities, Amos tried to nod, a simple movement of his head; "It hurts… all… over," he whispered, opening his eyes and squinting. He stared at the ceiling longingly, and closed his eyes as he began whispering; "Dieu m'épargne s'il vous plaît de cette torture… ((1))!"

Adam came over with a vial; "Amos, can you hear me?" he asked, and was replied with a nod from the ailing vampire; "You need to drink this;" he pulled the cork from the vial, and Amos stared at it through squinting eyes. Adam held Amos's chin gently, lifting his head back, and poured the contents of the vial into an open mouth. Clear as water it was quickly drained and Adam set it down, walking away to get bandages. Sabet helped him dress the stray wounds, but Adam wished for the shoulder wound, where the deadly bullet had struck, to be left bare.

"Why?" Sabet asked.

"Actually, I'm planning on using a Muggle method to save him," Adam said; "I've been reading up on it." he added quickly for good measure. "It's called a 'blood transfusion'. Since we have access to such fluids instantly down in the cellars, I have sent someone out to gather what I'll need from a hospital. I'll then switch his blood out with another's…"

"But, won't that interfere with his vampirism?"

"…Shouldn't. I won't remove it all. I'll combine a charm that will filter out only the poison. The transfusion will replace any blood that's lost in the process…"

"Adam, you have a head on your shoulders, but so help me if Amos is hurt worse now…"Sabet warned, pushing his hands off the bed and stepping back, his eyes never leaving Adam's. The younger vampire did not show fear or bow his head to avert his gaze, no, he was not a fool, and Sabet knew this.

"You know me too well Sabet to accuse me of such a failure," was all Adam said, then he turned his attention to Amos; "Amos, I'm about to perform a procedure that might hurt. I'll be using Muggle devices. Are you okay with this?"

A weak nod from the vampire in question, and Sabet left quietly, hearing Adam draw a curtain around the area. Sabet walked towards the steps, and saw a flighty witch/werewolf rush past, a carrier with blood and several Muggle things, shrunken down of course, within it. Sighing, Sabet began his decent to the parlor, where he would wait for Faust to come and discuss the matters at hand.

"… And then I walked back down the aisle, walked over to the Slytherin Table, held Draco's hand and kissed him then and there. Really my way of saying 'fuck you all' to those who'd lied me and used me."

Sirius shook his head as he chuckled quietly to himself. He rubbed his brow, and said; "My how you've changed, Harry," he sighed, looking at his godson, wearily, worriedly; "I just can't believe this. I mean, there were times when I thought Dumbledore was hiding something, but… all of this scheming, brought upon you. It's… it's quite a lot to take, in all honesty."

"Sorry, love," Remus said; "But, it has taken us three hours to tell the tale, and I'm hungry."

Harry's eyes brightened at the mentioning of food; "Ooh, food sounds good!" he said with an almost childish smirk. He got off the edge of the bed; "I'll try and find Sabet."

"Be careful, Harry," Remus and Sirius said in unison, both watching Harry exit. When Remus heard his footsteps trailing away, he then turned to his long-lost lover, a sad look in his eyes; "I missed you so much, Sirius," he said solemnly; "I was so lonely, I… I thought… the worst…"

Sirius held his arm open, and Remus laid at his side, overcome. Sirius wrapped his arm around his lover's shoulders, sighing. As Sirius began to nod off, he heard Remus whisper; "Will things get better? Will it ever be like before?"

"No one's brought back the dead yet, have they?" Sirius muttered as he closed his eyes, and he felt Remus shake his head. "But we can try to get close to what we had…"

Harry walked quickly down the hall, eyes darting everywhere, taking everything in. The castle, or Manor, as it was referred to as, was very large, and each hallway was almost identical. Harry stopped on what he thought was the sixth floor, and stood there, frozen, in the light of the fading sun cast through a stain-glass window. He was bathed in Gold, and for a moment he sighed and closed his eyes as he felt the warm sunlight. But his eyes snapped open when he caught the sent of salt… tears. Soon crying came to his ears. Harry quickly found the door the noise and scent came from, and knocked once. The crying stopped, but Harry heard faint snuffling.

"Who is it?" a woman's voice called weakly.

Harry opened the door slightly, and poked his head in; "Narcissa Malfoy?" he asked, stepping in fully and drawing a gasp from the woman.

"Harry Potter!" Narcissa whispered, her pale blue eyes wide with surprise. For once, she did not try to compose herself; "Where am I? Who were those two men! Is this something with the Order? Why aren't I unconscious? I'm supposed to be ill! This isn't right, I—!"

"Shut up!" Harry said loudly, and for a moment, Narcissa was silent and stared at him, outraged; "How dare you silence me!" she suddenly shrieked; "I'll have you—"

"What, hanged?" Harry snapped; "Gods, woman, calm down! I didn't even get five words in edgewise before you started going on and on with your quandaries! Now, slow it down and take a breath."

Narcissa glared at the dark haired youth, and crossed her arms. She closed her eyes and sighed, rubbing her temples; "Excuse that," she said calmly, looking out the window with faded sky-blue eyes; "Now, Harry Potter, why are you here?"

"This is a respite place for me," Harry said, "But, I should get the owner to come see you…"

"No, you will do well to tell me what's going on NOW."

Harry gritted his teeth and bit his tongue to hold a harsh remark. The woman had a strong determination to stay the aristocratic princess she'd always been; "It would take too long to explain," he said heatedly; "And for your sake, you'd best show me the respect I deserve."

Narcissa rolled her eyes; "Boy, all the fame must have gone to your head," she said snidely.

Harry just stared at her, anger mixing with slight confusion. How could she say such a thing, when she herself felt the pressures of the public eye as well? "And I thought Draco got his caring from you," Harry muttered, before opening the door. He only halted when Narcissa spoke.

"Draco? My Draco? Oh, please tell me he's doing fine!" She begged, the topic of her only son changing her mood drastically.

Harry turned back around, and faced the woman; "He's fine," he said, "Why would you ask?"

Narcissa looked away, out the window; "His father escaped," she said quietly.

"Yes, we're all aware of that, but—"

"Lucius will surely have a price on his son's head," Narcissa said, sighing. She looked at Harry; "You've changed," she said; "Quite a lot."

"I've been getting that from a lot of people," Harry said; "But yes, I have."

Narcissa was silent; "Harry, what is going on?" she finally asked tiresomely, wearily looking at him.

Again, Harry was silent. Had she used his name? His first name, no less? Consciously, he knew that somehow, an agreement had been reached. Somehow, there wasn't to be anymore bickering between them. Perhaps it was the look in her eyes; so tired, distant, confused and frustrated. Or perhaps it was the lack of glow to her face, no arrogant sophistication. For the first time, Harry was seeing her as a normal, average woman. Not a Malfoy, or a witch, or a Death Eater's wife, just a woman thrown into this vortex of hurt and sorrow.

And so, Harry walked back in, closed the door, and walked over to collect a chair in the far corner. He brought it back over to the side of the bed, sat down in it, and then began talking to Narcissa Malfoy, a woman he thought he was supposed to hate and be on opposite sides of, but yet, he could not find himself there.

Draco tried to carry on, but the constant worry over his mother left him somewhat distant. Blaise and Pansy stuck at his sides like guards; though they did not know what was bothering him, and he was not about to tell them, they could tell something was wrong from the moment Draco came out of his room—alone, at that. They had asked where Harry had been, but all Draco said was that he was over-stressed and had been taken to a retreat. He had to agree though that Lunch was the worst.

He, Blaise, and Pansy, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, had entered the Great Hall, most heads turning to watch them sit, as usual. But all had noticed the lack of the ex-Golden Boy at breakfast, and he was still missing almost four hours later. Draco had gotten food, but instead of eating it, he merely drew his fork through it, lost in thought. His senses seemed heightened, and he knew he was more on-edge than usual. It was nearing the middle of September; soon the Harvest Moon would be rising. Inwardly Draco cringed; he remembered last year, just before he had inherited the vampirism, and how horrible it had been. He hoped that this year would be different, however unlikely it was that it would be any different.

"Draco?" Pansy said quietly, calmly; "You're not eating."

"Not hungry," Draco muttered, his fork falling from his hand. Without his wand or hand, Draco moved the plate away from him. It slammed into Blaise's, sending food into the boy's face. Blaise yelped in surprise, then an almost growl-like sound escaped his clenched teeth as he wiped his face with a napkin. Pansy couldn't help but chuckle, but Draco was neither moved nor amused. He glanced at Blaise, eyes devoid of emotion.

But as a sudden scent that he loathed began to draw near, Draco turned. His back had been to the other tables, but now he saw a familiar and disliked redhead heading over, followed by the mudblood, Seamus, and Dean. Why he referred to the latter two, he really had no clue. And openly agreed with Draco and Harry, or perhaps it was because he had never truly despised them, despite Seamus' bloodlines. But all thoughts aside, the Gryffindors approached the Slytherin Table.

"What do you want, Weasel?" Draco sneered, standing up. Pansy rose as well. Blaise got up, walked across the table, and stood to Draco's free side.

"Conference," Was all Ron said through gritted teeth. Draco could smell anger and worry coming from him.

"In the library," Seamus piped up, walking up to stand between the two slightly.

Dean nodded when Draco glanced at him. The Malfoy crossed his arms, looking at the four; "Fine," he said, "I wasn't hungry anyway."

"Alright, ferret boy, where'd Harry go?"

Draco had barely sat down when Ron all but attacked him with questions. They were once again in the private room in the library from before. Seamus glared at Ron as he and Dean sat down. Hermione too gave him a scornful glance as she sat down. Blaise and Pansy had already sat down on a love seat, staring coldly at Ron.

"He's gone to a retreat house, with Professor Lupin," Draco stated calmly, "But then again, why would you care?"

Ron was silent, then Hermione said; "We were merely curious, Malfoy. After all, the first DA meeting is only a few days away."

"I'm well aware of that, Granger," Malfoy snapped.

"Dra— err I mean Malfoy — what's got you in a tizzy?" Dean asked mock aggressively.

"I've had a migraine all morning long, Thomas, and I'm warning you to tread carefully," Draco said warningly.

"Can we just move on?" Pansy asked snidely, "We've only got about half an hour before our next class."

Hermione nodded; "Well, we need to plan the curriculum for the DA. We'll be meeting in the Room of Requirement again, like last year, and—"

"I'll tell you what would be good 'curriculum'," Draco said, rising; "How were the members on curses? On charms focused around defense tactics? What about the skills they would need on the battle field? Do you even know who exactly you'll be up against? Do you—?"

"Draco, they get it," Pansy said, then she looked at Hermione heatedly; "Look, whether you like it or not you know that we're going to be valuable in the future. We have knowledge that no Child of the Light would ever learn, least they cross over. Do not try to act like you run the show, Mudblood, because you are far from leading anything."

Hermione sat there, thoroughly thunderstruck. These Slytherins meant business. But then she became angry, how dare they talk to her in such a way.

"I'm done here," Draco suddenly said, heading for the door. He opened it and left, slamming the door none too gently.

Pansy made to follow him, but Blaise held her hand and stopped her. She looked at him and shook her head, then glared at the Gryffindors; "You've no idea what he's going through, don't begin to judge him. We'd all act that way too, if our parents were taken."

"Oh, he cared about his father that much?" Ron scoffed, snorting; "I guess the old saying is true; Like father like son. Draco's probably going ballistic now that his—"

He never got the chance to finish. Blaise had lunged from his seat, and punched Ron square in the Jaw. "We're done here, as well, Pansy," Blaise said, offering his hand to his girlfriend. Graciously, she took it, and when both left the room Blaise closed the door, then ran down to the nearest aisle before looking at Pansy with a seriously stare; "How'd you know what was bothering Drake?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"I didn't! I just figured that it had to be something that had to do with his mother!" pansy replied in the same tone.

And then Blaise sighed; "I think that is the problem, love," he whispered.

Sabet stirred crimson life into his brandy. It was that time of year—feeding time. Since he had sworn upon his own death not to feast on a living thing, for fear of killing it, he substituted his instinctive urges to hunt with quick excursions to the cellars below where blood was kept in cooled and carefully regulated chambers. The vampire sighed after his first sip.

His parlor was his haven, Sabet had to admit. Sectioned off in a private wing, he retreated here often, to escape the chaos that he could normally tolerate. But with everything that was going on, Sabet was beginning to lose patience with the world around him…

"I can imagine that 1897 brandy with 1950 blood would be a careful mix to drink…"

Sabet turned in his seat to see Faust standing in the doorway. With a nod, he entered, and took a seat opposite of Sabet. Faust saw that there was a glass of the same crimson brandy, and he took it. Sipping it he had to admit it was a very fine taste, but he knew he needed to get down to the point of things.

"That witch did not come easily," Faust said; "After all, she was at Saint Mungos… it was crawling with Aurors and the like," he took a sip from his glass; "Morste, I fear that the wizincoma is getting too close to us. Just the other day I was walking through the village at the base of the mountain, and I could have sworn I felt his presence."

"All in paranoia, my good comrade," Sabet said; "Ellis Vander will be too busy hunting out werewolves in Russia at this time," he paused; "…But if he was last seen in Switzerland… there is no telling what is going through his mind…"

"… What will we do, once the time arises?"

"I will take care of things. If not I, then you, and if not you, pray tell the young Harry Potter could."

Arthur Weasley passed in his office. Back and forth, back and forth; he had memorized the locations of every squeaking plank. He rubbed his hands together nervously. Finally, he sat down behind his majestic mahogany desk, idly rearranging a stack of papers already neatly put to the side.

Then his secretary poked her head in and said; "Minister, Ellis Vander is here. He says he has—"

"Yes—of course, send him in," Arthur said distractedly.

The secretary disappeared, and Ellis Vander strode in, and air of serenity around him. Arthur motioned for him to sit down in the leather chair before the desk, and Vander did. For a while, nothing was said; the two merely inspected each other.

"To what do I owe such an honor, minister?" Vander suddenly asked.

"Well, Mister Vander, I am in need of your… services," Arthur said; "You've done a great deal for the ministry, and in the past you've been rewarded greatly," he rose from his seat, and taking a file from the top of the stack, he opened it up and placed it before Vander; "But I have an assignment that is… a little unorthodox towards your training…"

"What might this assignment be, Minister?" Vander asked.

"Well, as you can see, that is the file of an Invalid," Arthur said, sitting down again; "His name is Morste Sabet, but he has been known simply as Allivander Ross."

"What do you mean by invalid, Minister?" Vander asked.

"Oh, well, it's merely a term that says someone has cut themselves off from our world, or that they have been exiled, or, technically, never existed."

"And… This Morste Sabet, he falls under…?"

"The second. He was exiled after being found to be a Vampire, and has since, supposedly, 'disappeared'."

"So then, why chase after someone who could be dead?"

"Sabet was spotted in the City of Nice, in France, chatting it up with a young man at a local pub. A witness over heard their conversation, and reported that Sabet was going on about 'a safe place to nurture one's powers and being kept safe from those wanting to persecute his kind.'"

"So… he's running a haven of sorts… for vampires?"

"And werewolves, elves, banshees, veelas, the creatures that evolve through humanly means," Arthur sighed; "He's also, supposedly, gathering forces to rise up and overthrow the Ministry. There is word that the vampires have their own government, a democracy of sorts," he paused; "Do they?" he asked, looking at Vander seriously.

Vander shrugged; "I've never had contact with any of my kind;" he said; "I wouldn't know."

"Well," Arthur said; "I want you to find Morste Sabet. He's obviously a leading figure, and if there is going to be a vampire up-rise, it's best we stop it before it ever happens."

Vander nodded, then smirked; "May I ask what you find so amusing, Mister Vander?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, nothing, Minister, just that… well, I do think I've met this Morste Sabet before," Vander said.

"And…?" Arthur urged.

"I do believe that, I think I might know where his 'haven' is."

"Brilliant, my good fellow! Simply brilliant! Once you've located it, you must alert me and I will give you enough Aurors to take care of the job."

"Thank-you kindly, Minister, but I have and forever shall perform my tasks on my own," he rose, "I bid you good day."

"And you as well, Mister Vander," Arthur said, and watched as the wizincoma left his office. Shortly after, an Auror entered the room, by the name of Rodger Edinburgh.

"Rodger," Arthur said, walking over to the Auror. He came close to he other man, so that he could whisper into his ear. He whispered; "Keep an eye on the wizincoma. I want someone watching him ALWAYS. 24/7. Nightshifts, dayshifts, whatever, just don't let him out of your sight. When he seems to be on to something, follow him. Once he's done his job, take care of him. I don't want him back in my office unless he's dead. Got it?"

"Of course, Minister."

TBC 3

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