CHAPTER FOUR: A LUCKY BASTARD.


Sookie's P.O.V

The sound of splitting plastic, the stretch and rip of IV bags, was the only sound rumbling out from Bill's living room. Sookie hoped, by the Mother Mary herself, did she hope the erratic echo of rhythmic gulping she thought she heard was just that; a frightening thought.

Harriet was the sole inhabitant of the dusty room, perched precariously close to the lit fireplace, a black duffel bag containing multiple IV bags of, what Sookie was hesitant to guess, vampire blood unceremoniously flung besides her.

She was making diligent work of exhausting the duffel bag, forming her own little pile of empty IV bags crushed at the other side of her as she meticulously tore through the thick plastic with her sharp teeth and drained each one before the poor husks were dumped in the discarded pile that was gaining height with every passing minute.

"I'm not even going to ask where or how you obtained so much vampire blood, Northman."

Bill's voice drolled. Eric's only answer was a small smile as he too watched on as Harriet feasted, a little grin of flashing white and keen lips that unsettled Sookie.

They had managed to wrangle the Dhampir into the house relatively easy once Eric had produced the duffel bag from the boot of his car, and goaded Harriet in with the promise of a sweet treat. Since then, the young girl had been entirely swept up in her little prize to pay any of them much attention.

However, as Sookie personally knew, getting between any sort of vampire and what they considered food was, indeed, a very bad idea and so, their little group, Bill, Sanguini, Pam, Eric, Jessica and herself had vacated themselves out into the hallway to give the girl as much room as she needed. Yet, still give them a vantage point in watching said girl should she begin to lose interest in food and, unfortunately, gain curiosity in one of them.

"Are you alright?"

Sookie asked quietly, as she pulled herself away from the daunting visage of the Dhampir gorging itself, and in turn, scanned Jessica who had been seated in a chair in the hallway of Bill's home.

Sanguini was crouching next to her, going through the arduous motions of bandaging the gaping wound slicing across her neck. Sookie's stomach rolled at the sight of it. It was a nasty thing. Jagged and weeping and tattered. Ribbons of flesh around an eerily mouth shaped hole.

If Jessica was human, she would have been dead within seconds.

As a vampire, it would, as Sanguini had told her, still take perhaps weeks to heal.

Harriet didn't even have a hair out of place.

There was something extremely unnerving about something that could do such a thing, cause such damage, and yet look fresh as a daisy.

It took a while before Jessica blinked back into awareness, a pretty little frown crunching at her brows, her voice abrasive, sore and not once, not even for a second, did her eyes focus on Sookie or anything else in the room.

"I didn't even know she was feeding on me until she dropped me… She was in my head… I could feel her… I was on the beach… Running… Laughing…"

From over Sookie's shoulder, Pam scoffed.

"You got hoodwinked, kid. Glamoured. Pretty well, by the sounds of it. Explains how Bill wasn't alerted through the Maker-bond. Kid didn't even know she was getting fed on, or in danger, until she was being discarded. Nifty trick."

Bill and Eric, who had been standing on the threshold of the living room door, almost as if they were acting as guards between them and the girl, so small, so delicate… So dangerous, feeding in the other room, turned to answer simultaneously and that, as frightful as it was, was all Harriet needed.

One little moment.

One little brief respite from being watched.

Just a glance away.

One.

Before a single word could be spoken, the scamper of bare feet rang out, followed by a gruff, decadent chuckle that faded into smoke and shadows. Both Eric and Bill snapped their attention back to the room in front of them.

"Shit."

Eric hissed as he swivelled back around, gaze trailing around them, searching, as he edged around the hallway as Bill crept into the front room. Sookie frowned as her heart skipped a beat before it began hammering against her ribs.

Please, sweet baby Jesus, don't let it be what she was thinking it was.

Without Bill and Eric blocking the doorway, Sookie got a good view into the front room and found, as she dreaded, apart from a searching Bill, it was empty.

Two seconds. Just two seconds without a gaze upon her, and the Dhampir was gone. Bill came skidding out of the living room just as Sanguini was heaving Jessica up from her seat, snagging Sookie by the arm and dragging them both into the middle of the large hallway, pinning the two, arguably, weakest members of their rag-tag group between a condensing Bill, Sanguini, Eric and Pam.

"Stick together. The blood-bags might not have worked as well as I hoped they would, and she could still be hungry."

Eric warned and Sookie wanted to hit him. Why did he sound so entertained by the fact? Wasn't it he, his kind, that Harriet would go for? Wasn't he the one in danger? Sweet mother Mary. Tuesday night. It was a Tuesday night, and everything had gone to hell in a bloodstained basket.

Instead of soaking in the bath on her one night off, Sookie was left playing peek-a-boo with a highly dangerous creature. The hallway light flickered just a smidgeon, a fraction, along with the tiniest of jingles, crystal nudging crystal.

"Harriet? Harriet, come out!"

Bill's frantic voice was just a thrumming background noise, static, to Sookie's thumping heart as her neck craned backwards, uncomfortably so, to look up at the chandelier hanging directly above them.

Incredibly green eyes clashed against her brown.

The Dhampir… Harriet, was perched impossibly so on the very top of the chandelier, balancing precariously on two of the over sweeping bars, watching them huddle like cattle, hanging onto the light cord with one hand and holding a full IV bag in the other, squatting.

Waiting.

Watching.

Stalking.

It should have been impossible, the chandelier should have given out from her weight, and yet, when had anything made sense since Sookie had met Bill? There she was, dangling above them, ready to drop and-

"Bill…"

Sookie whispered as Harriet cocked her head, peering down at them. It was then that Sookie realised what it was exactly that unsettled her so about this image burning itself into her brain.

Harriet, despite being in the light, didn't cast a shadow. Not even a wisp of one. As if she wasn't solid herself, just an apparition, a ghost. There was something innately disturbing about something that didn't have a shadow. Disturbing and terrifying.

Bill glanced towards Sookie and then followed her gaze upwards when she wouldn't speak any further. Sookie couldn't look away, speak or breathe, until Harry's gaze snapped towards Bill, watching as he tried to smile at her and took a lone step closer, leaving the sanctuary of their little bunched grouping.

For a flash, Sookie wanted to reach out and drag him back, away, but stomped down on the urge. For one, it would do nothing. Bill was stronger than she and would just shirk out from under her straining grip. Two, she was almost afraid to move herself, in case the Dhampir took that as invitation. And finally, three, she knew in her mind that this was just a young girl, lost to her own instincts, hungry, and rightfully weary of being in a strange place with strange people.

Yet, every time Sookie tried to remind herself of that, this was just a girl, a young girl, a girl who could be as scared of them as Sookie was of her… She saw her huddled over Jessica, mouth bloodstained and gleaming in the night.

Smiling.

God, she had nearly killed Jessica and all she had done was smile.

Bill hesitantly tried to coax the girl down.

"Harriet… Harry, it's okay… We're not going to hurt you…"

There was no blur, no sign of tense muscle, nothing to give them a heads-up or warning. One moment Harry was on the chandelier, the next she was crouching on the ground, just a few feet away from them. A blink and she was there. Right in front of them.

One more blink and they could all be dead and-

The hairs on the back of Sookie's neck rose up in unison, her gut trundled, and her heart jumped into her throat.

Around vampires, even for Sookie, there was always this sense of… Danger. A little niggle that felt like you were sitting next to a relaxed tiger. It was always just a hint of it, a taste. With Harriet, be it herself or the fact she was something called a Dhampir, that feeling tripled itself, blanketed the room, smothered Sookie until she thought she couldn't breathe.

It no longer felt like sitting next to a tiger at rest, but already having her head inside its ravenous maw, the beast awake and aware and angry and salivating, seconds from biting down and chomping and chewing and-

Oh god, they were all going to-

"You're scared of me. I can smell it."

Harriet's voice was contradictory to the feeling, the aura, she exuded. It was soft and light, feathery, calm and easy, like a lullaby. It only made the feeling all the more severe until Sookie was sure she could taste her own unease, coppery, on the tip of her tongue.

Especially when, to pin her point home, Harriet's nostrils flared as her gaze lazily trailed to a flustered Jessica. Sookie's jaw tensed.

What if Harriet didn't like the smell of fear and decided to get rid of it? Worse, what if she did like it a bit too much? What was stopping her from any of this? As Sanguini explained, she had no impulse control and that alone, once seeing what that brought in the wounds decorating all Sanguini, Eric and Jessica, was horrifying.

Nevertheless, the young girl surprised Sookie when all she did was stand, drop the blood bag she was holding in one hand onto the floor and kicked it over, calmly watching as it rolled and stopped at Jessica's feet.

A peace offering.

Harriet likely didn't understand that what she ate was different to them, her food couldn't heal them like it did her. But still, the sign was there, telling enough. She was trying to communicate, in her own instinctual way.

Perhaps it was more lost on Sookie because, unlike the others in the room, she had and never was a vampire, and couldn't fully grasp the concepts of what that meant. Bill had told her enough times that they, vampires, were intrinsically different, their emotions shifted, alien to humans, their thoughts altered and even more bizarre.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

Jessica's faltering voice was cut off by Harriet bearing her teeth, the click of her fangs descending, a vicious growl cleaving through her chest and throat. Whatever Jessica had done, be it her tone, her refusal or the words she used, Harriet didn't like it. And when a Dhampir didn't like something…

Apparently, neither did Eric as he reached out and grabbed Jessica's arm, glaring down at the redhead.

"Take it."

Jessica scrambled to bend down, picking up the blood bag as the rancorous roar stopped when the offering was in her hand.

Okay, well, at least Sookie knew now, to a vampire, particularly a Dhampir, the refusal of an offering of food was a hugely impolite gesture.

She would remember that.

However, Sookie hardly had enough time to process this newfound knowledge as, then, as Sookie blinked, Harriet was in front of her, staring deeply, brows tight and knotted in the middle. Once again, her nostrils flared and Sookie's heart stopped completely.

Vampires loved the smell of her.

She knew that well enough.

And here she was, Harriet, a vampire to vampires themselves, sniffing and-

But then, against the attack Sookie was expecting, the lunge and scrape and snap of teeth into her tender neck, Harriet recoiled back a fraction, nose crinkled and hand swiping at her face, eyes slatted as she hissed like a pissed alley cat.

Before Bill, or anybody, could intervene, Harriet was back, hand around Sookie's neck, constricting and bruisingly tight, squeezing even further as she lifted, lifted right up until Sookie, this time, really couldn't breath and her feet were dangling, hanging, and-

With a fling, Sookie became airborne, sailing right towards the front door. It happened in a moment. It happened in a lifetime. Time seemed to stop having any sort of clear meaning. She felt the gust of wind. She felt herself bend in the air, flying, drifting, and she had one sorrowful, a little pathetic, thought.

This was it.

Thankfully, it wasn't.

Lucky for her, Bill was fast.

Perhaps as fast as his, clearly homicidal, daughter.

Arms draped around her, safe and comforting, cloaked, as she was again spinning, as she was whirled away from the door and crashed to the floor with a thud and a harsh knock of wind from her aching lungs. Just barely over the thundering of her heart, the gruff coughing fit of her throat finally being free from a suffocating hold, Bill gently helping her to a stand, checking her over with a frantic sort of need, Sookie heard Sanguini questioning Harriet tartly.

"Harry, what on earth do you think-"

Harry's answering tone was clipped and cold.

So very fucking cold.

"She smells foul."

Gradually, Bill helped Sookie back to a stand on her shaking legs, keeping her boxed close to the front door, as far from Harriet as possible. Sookie simply tried to regain the breath that had been struck from her as she was tossed across the wide hallway.

"Then you ask her to leave. You don't just throw people around, Harriet."

Bill declared almost disappointedly. From over Bill's shoulder, still huffing in lungful's of breath, Sookie peeked at Harriet as her head swivelled like a puppy's, innocent and wide-eyed.

"Why?"

It was such a sincere question, so befuddled and lost, that finally, the fear Sookie felt prickling at her skin and nipping at her neck lapped away as understanding dawned. Sookie's heart broke for the young girl.

She really was like a puppy.

New and unbound, unsure but primal.

In a flicker, on the back of her eyelids, Sookie saw Bill from what felt like a lifetime ago, grinning at her in that soft, indulgent way he did, slightly lopsided but so gentle…

Sookie, you cannot be frightened of everythin' you don't know in this world…

The truth was, Bill wasn't human.

Harriet wasn't human.

From what Sookie could understand of all this, Perhaps, unlike her father, unlike the rest of the vampires here, Harriet had never been human.

She had played the part once, perhaps reached as close to it as she possibly could, perhaps she had convinced herself she was in desperation, perhaps that too was a Dhampir's survival tactic, but…

But.

She wasn't. Harriet was not, and never had been, human. No on in this room, apart from herself, currently was.

Sookie couldn't hold them to the same expectations. There was so much, so very much, she still didn't understand about their race. Somethings she thought she would never understand, no matter how many times Bill explained it to her.

Sookie didn't belong here.

Not right now.

Gently, she laid her palm on Bill's shoulder.

"It isn't her fault…"

Sookie straightened out, hand falling limply from rubbing at her quickly bruising neck to swing at her side. She shouldn't be here. Not for this. It wasn't her place. She would only make things worse.

Harriet's reaction to her was evidence enough for that.

And Bill, the man Sookie loved more than she thought she could ever love anybody, didn't need this whole mess to get any worse.

"I'm going to head home, give you some time to… Well, come see me tomorrow, if you have the time?"

Bill's gaze finally left Harry and shot to her. Something traitorous inside her, that slick needy little voice of a child who had their parents snatched from her, who grew up with no friends, laughed at, ridiculed, begged for Bill to decline.

To fight for her.

To choose her over this stranger who was obviously dangerous and-

And it was a little voice. A voice Sookie was working hard to completely erase. She wasn't perfect. She was insecure. Needy. Sometimes she put her nose into things it had no business being in because, dammit, the thought of not being in control of a situation for any given length of time reminded her of that house and her uncle and those wondering hands and thoughts and-

No.

Reluctantly, Bill nodded, and Sookie sighed.

Oh, she would be here for them, both, if they needed her, but right here and now? She was no help, only hindrance and she needed to learn to take a step back. She couldn't control everything. Slowly, she slinked to the front door and slipped through, mentally wishing them all well and good luck.

She was sure they were going to need it.


Harry's P.O.V

Now that the appalling stench had wafted away with the swift parting of the blonde woman, and the hunger twisting at her gut wasn't so lurid and loud, Harry found she could now string two coherent thoughts together as she lolled back in front of the fireplace in the living room.

She liked the fire.

She liked being close to it.

The flames scorched her bare legs.

Burned.

There was something pleasant about that.

Something that made her feel…

Alive.

Harry was alive and that, well, that felt fantastic.

Of course, she didn't think the rest in the room felt the same way. Not with the way mister frowny, downy, ginger-spice and barbie were skirting the walls. Viking didn't seem to mind that much, but the others? They did, and Harry found she-

Huh.

She found she didn't really care.

Not a bit. Not much. Not at all.

That was different.

Was it?

She thought Harry, the Harry of… Before might of cared. She might have cared a whole fucking lot. But she, this Harry, didn't. There was something…

A film.

Sticky.

Dense.

It smothered everything.

Memory. Feeling. Sense. She tried to look back, remember, but it felt horrendously… Abstract. A her but not her. A diary she had read and dreamt of, learned word for word, lived through, but was never really hers. She had only thought it had been. Harry found she didn't want to look back. It was hard to concentrate as it was without muddying the waters anymore than she had to.

So many feelings, textures, senses, obnoxiously noisy urges to explore. Smelling, something Harry had never really given much thought to before, was quickly turning into her favourite. So many delightful treasures to be found lurking in the air, Just waiting to be picked like roses.

The redhead, ginger-spice-Jessica, who was standing near the window, was petrified. She tasted salty, sharp, poignant. Yes, it was definitely fear underlying her rose-berry scent.

The other blonde woman, barbie-Pam, reeked of something fresh and clean, all summer breeze and spring rain, but there, skulking in the corners was a stiffness, like damp stone. She was hesitant and weary.

Downy-Sanguini stunk of old parchment, ink and grass, but the yellow kind, dying… He was tired.

Frowny-Bill, sipped like evergreens, dew and mulled wine, but brittle, sandy-… Frustrated.

The big blonde one, Viking-Eric, the one she had bit, smelled of blanketing snow, arctic ocean, with a twist of heady spice was…

Harry took another sharp sniff.

Amused? Excited?

That wasn't quite right.

Something high and saccharine and keen, rakish like honeyed mead dusted his scent.

Still not right.

Harry couldn't pin that smell, but she liked it. It was hot and heavy and made her gums ache as her fangs threatened to fall. Yet, it was all too much. All their smells, all their voices, all this, the light and sensitivity, the hunger and pain, and still, Sanguini wouldn't leave her alone as he broke the small peaceful silence that had enveloped itself around them.

"Do you remember anything Harry?"

Remember?

She remembered how ginger-spice tasted. Sweet, almost sickly so, berries picked too soon and-

Young.

She tasted young and Harry didn't like it.

She tasted nothing like Viking.

Rich. Intoxicating. Decadent. Mouth-wateringly-

They were all looking at her.

Watching.

Harry scowled as she veered to glimpse at the flames at her side. They flickered and danced, licking and lapping over one another.

"I remember everything."

And that was the problem.

Harriet Potter remembered everything, and none of it made sense.

She remembered her first memory, the splatter of mould in her cupboard that looked like a constellation of stars, right up to her last, the sight of packets and boxes and empty wrappers littering the kitchen of Grimmauld place as she tried, tried so fucking hard, to get the hunger to stop and let her rest and-

She remembered it all, and none of it was her.

She knew those memories were ones she, once, had created. She even remembered the feelings attached to her memories. The crushing sorrow when Sirius tumbled through the Veil. The liberating triumph of watching Tom Riddles mutated carcass fall to the courtyard of Hogwarts. The bubbling cheer at a Weasley's Yule dinner.

So many memories.

So many feelings.

It made her sick.

An endless plethora of emotions and passions and sentiments. Yet, now, sitting here, there was a… Disconnect. A sticky-dense film separating her from then and-

Sick.

They made her sick and tired.

A ripple in the reflection.

Remembering made her feel like she was trying to squeeze herself into a suit of skin too fragile, too tight, too thorny. It hurt. A skin she had shed like a snake. Harry didn't understand why she felt that way, but she did. Merlin, she did.

Neither did she understand before-Harry's choices, so strange and peculiar, or why she had done the things she had done before she had, rudely, winked to stuttering life in the back of a moving truck.

Some things still made sense, in a bizarre, distant way, like she was looking at them from the top of a lighthouse, searching through the fog to find truth.

Hermione had been valuable. She was smart and often spotted the little details Harry missed. There was a use there to be had. Ron, on the other hand, complained too much, offered little and Morgana, the way he ate?

No.

He would simply have to go.

So why hadn't she gotten rid of him before?

And why had she trusted Dumbledore so?

Why had she put up with the Dursleys?

It would have been so easy, so simply, to sneak a knife from the kitchen while they slumbered and snored away upstairs and-

Why had she been so ready to sacrifice herself?

All choices she, the now-Harry, thought she would have taken or done.

So why hadn't she?

The pain of losing Remus and Sirius made the most sense, but even then, it was more on a logical loop than an emotional one. Sirius and Remus had been… Pack, yes, she wanted to say pack, not family, something else, something close, like coven but different, and losing them had been an attack on herself. An attack on herself had been a hit at her survival and right now, survival meant the most.

But Harry-… Before-Harry hadn't thought that way. She had only felt the pain, no reason or rhyme behind it, and trying to remember exactly why was like trying to remember being a toddler upset over having her favourite toy broken.

Inconsequential now.

A bit shameful in truth.

"But it's muddled. Nothing makes sense. I-… The old me, before I died, she doesn't make any sense."

And then it hit her.

Empathy.

It was gone.

Her empathy, that sappy thing that made it so easy to be in another's shoes was merely gone and it left Harry feeling dizzy and off balance. With it gone, that nagging little voice of feeling, she couldn't make sense of the time she did have it. Like telling someone to hold a ball when they didn't have fucking hands, it just dropped and smashed at her feet.

Maybe it wasn't fully gone, per-say. Harry knew, in a vague manner, if she had been the redhead, she wouldn't have liked being bit. Or, she thought she might not have. It was hard to tell when she hadn't been through it herself. Maybe she should get Viking to-

She thought she wouldn't like it, and for now, that was enough. Perhaps she would ask Viking later. Still, she thought she wouldn't like to get bit, and she thought the redhead had not liked it, so Harry could sympathize to that level at least.

Yet, it was all on rationality, systematically mapped out step by step, thought by thought, not by intuitive sympathy. Harry factually had to sit there and think it through, think it through hard, and she was sure, pretty damned sure at least, that was not something she had to do before.

Her empathy was gone.

Whatever Jessica felt or wanted meant very little, if not nothing, to her. Not before, definitely not now, and maybe never again. Why would it matter? Harry was hungry. Harry had needed it. If she needed it another time, if she was thirsty and Jessica was there… She would do it all over again.

Sanguini came closer, just a step or two, as he bent down, squatting on his haunches, seizing her attention from the fire and locking gazes with her.

"It's alright, Harry. That's normal. You're looking back with vampiric eyes. Human emotions are hard for us to translate, especially in the beginning. It'll come to you in time. You just have to practice."

Practice?

Now why would she go and do something as silly as that?

Empathy was, arguably, what led her into this mess in the first place. Empathy allowed Dumbledore to mold her into a child soldier. Empathy was what let Tom Riddle get the best of her. Empathy fuckin' let her die.

What had empathy ever done that hadn't taken, stripped or beaten her?

However, neither did she care enough, or have enough energy, to argue with Sanguini. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps one day she would find her way back to the before-Harry. Perhaps one day she would understand. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

but not today.

She knew she was different now, changed, and maybe she would never fully understand the old her, everything was so new and bright and fresh and-… but she understood the Harry that was here right now, and she, well, she only had survival on her mind.

She wanted to live.

She wanted to burn.

She wanted to fight.

She wanted to feast.

There was an itch, bottomless, scratching and scraping at the inside of her skin, between muscle and bone and-

Merlin, Harry wanted it all.

And more.

While Bill, Sanguini, Jessica, Pam and Eric had been watching her, she had been watching them in turn. Pam had deference to Eric, Harry could see it in the way her eyes darted to him before she spoke, almost as if looking for approval or acceptance. Jessica reeked of being young, regrettably tasted like it too, so, she was the last one to worry about.

Sanguini was odd.

Questionably, Harry could smell Sanguini was the oldest here, had tasted it too, and yet, he was outside this sphere. No one looked to him, no one asked him, verbally or with body language, for consent. He was an outsider in this congregation of the dead and therefore, his opinion here meant less than it should have. This showed Harry there was some kind of hierarchy established. A pecking order she now had to find the top of.

And take.

She had to be at the top.

She needed it.

It felt… Right.

Natural.

However, she wouldn't be the only one trying to take that spot, would she? Bill and Eric seemed to be in their own little power-tango on their totem pole. This man, Bill, so stern looking, appeared to fall second compared to Eric. Nonetheless, they had brought her to him for a reason.

To exert control over her?

Possibly.

Harry didn't like that.

She didn't like that one bit.

Dumbledore, Snape, Voldemort, they had all tried to control her once and back then, the before-Harry had let them like a shivering lamb being led to the slaughterhouse.

She wouldn't do the same again.

Never.

Even So, Eric was the one in command here, truly in control, the head of the snake Harry had to grab by the fang. It was slight, Bill's subjugation to him, almost reluctantly given, but it was there. He gave Eric extra room, eyeballed him every now and again, and when they had steered her back into the front room after the foul smelling one had left, Bill had let Eric choose the first seat.

It was the little things, but Harry spied them like a hawk.

An outright fight was a no-go. Viking had rightfully won last time. By a whisker, but he had all the same. Harry needed to be stronger. To be stronger, she needed better blood than these shit-bags that tasted… Dull? Stagnant? Terrible.

She wanted it fresh.

Straight out the vein.

Warm and heavy and thick on her tongue, sweet with-

To get fresh blood, she presumed she would need Viking on side, or dead so he couldn't stop her again. She was too weak, young, for a fight…

Maybe a gift?

Yes, a gift.

She would give him something he wanted, and he would give her free reign to eat who, when, and where she liked.

Quid-pro-quo.

But what do you get a stranger? First, you find out enough about them to get inside their head. How do you get inside someone's head without them knowing? Legilimency? No, too risky. Eric was old, very old. He would likely feel her prodding…

Bill lightly inched towards her, cautious, a hesitant smile on his face.

"My name's Bill Compton. I'm, well… I'm your-"

"I know who you are. I can feel it."

And she could.

A sense, a shadow, a glimmer of perception in the back of her mind. She could feel it tugging sometimes, positively yanking when she hurled that foul-one at the door, pushing her, telling her what to do and-

Yes, they had brought her here for this one to control her.

Influence her.

Command her.

It wasn't going to work.

She was done being a fucking Horcrux.

"It's going to be okay. There's no need to worry. I'm going to help you get control of yourself."

They must have taken her silence for worry. Bill said it as if he was giving her a gift.

Harry scoffed.

Control wasn't a gift.

It was a shackle.

She snarled.

"Why do I need to control myself?"

Control wasn't fun.

Control didn't give that delicious burn.

Control didn't feel like living.

She detested it.

As her snarl died off in the air, something smooth and heady reached her nose. Lovely, naive, but ripe.

Arousal.

Swiftly, her eyes zipped to the redhead. Yes, the smell was certainly coming from her. Huh, even after feeding on her, the red head was attracted… Interesting.

Eric smirked at her.

"Controlling yourself now and in certain situations can lead you to having what you want, without consequences, later on. Self-discipline is the path to gratification without ramifications. Vampire lesson number one."

Bill glared at Eric.

"Eric! No, Harry. It is important to learn to control yourself because you can hurt other people. You hurt Jessica. You nearly hurt Sookie. You don't want to hurt anyone else, do you?"

She didn't care.

If it gave her what she wanted, what was the problem?

She quite liked the sound of bone snapping…

She had been hungry; Jessica had been there. Sookie had smelled disgusting; she had gotten the smell to go away. She needed to figure out the best way to hunt; those vampires she had torn through had proven most… Informative.

However, Big-Blue-and-Blonde seemed to have a point.

It was all about control.

Who was in control. How they were in control. Why they were in control.

How to take it from them.

It was all about power and keeping it, and if holding off for a second enhanced the end result…

There was only one way to know for sure.

Persuasively, Harry let her lip tremble, a tiny wobble, felt something hot, thick, and wet begin to condense on her lashes, and she made sure to make her voice jolt just so, higher pitched, creaking like stairs she used to listen to when she was locked in her cupboard.

"I-… I-… I'm just so confused… Scared… It all happened so fast… I was alive and then I was in the back of the truck and… The pain… So much pain… I didn't mean it…"

A scrunching of her shoulders, a press in to make herself seem as small as possible, delicate and weak, a sprinkling of trembling to her hands that came up to clutch at herself, hold her arms, hold herself inwards, like a scared child, a tentative gaze to ginger-spice, timid and contrite and-

Snag.

The redhead came closer… Closer… up to Bill… Just… A… Bit… More…

"… I didn't mean to hurt you…"

Sanguini frowned, went to reach for Jessica, but he was too far away as she finally came to a pottering stop in front of Harry, falling to her knees, going as far as reaching out to place her hands on Harry's haggard shoulders.

From this vantage point, through her clean tank top, Harry could see the swell of her breasts, and, pleasingly, the light blue vein dipping into the hem of her shirt. It was still, unlike a humans, which thumped and pounded and beat with their heart.

Vampire's didn't have a heartbeat.

But they did have blood.

Sweet, honeyed-

Jessica stared forlornly at her.

"It's alright. I know you didn't… Mean… To…"

Jessica's words died pitifully between them as she watched Harry's face smooth out. Shudder, sobs, and stooped stature melting away in a wave of predatory elegance. Harry grinned, bright and cool and crisp.

Jessica lurched away, dropped on her arse, scuttling backwards as fast as she could.

Harry wasn't interested.

She glanced to Eric.

"You're right. Control does get me what I want."

Bill sighed as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Eric laughed.

"That's not self-discipline Harry, that's manipulation."


No one's P.O.V

Harry frowned at Bill. Resting there, before the fire, haloed in flames, she looked to him and frowned, baffled that there could conceivably be a discrepancy between discipline and manipulation.

"There's a difference?"

"A big difference Harry."

She appeared to contemplate that fact for a moment. Took it in and savoured the possibility. Whatever conclusion she came to, it swept her into movement. Flashing to a stand, she whizzed behind the couch Eric Northman sat on, his jacket sprawled across the arching back of the chesterfield.

"I need fresh air. It still smells of that blonde in here. I'll stay just out front."

Then she was gone, the front door slamming behind her.

Bill seemed to dance on the spot, clipping forward and backwards, rocking, debating on racing after her or letting her think in peace. When he saw her through the large bay windows of the front room, sitting on the stairs of his porch, he stilled his itchy feet.

"I think it's time you leave. This is a family matter."

Eric grinned wolfishly at him.

"Actually, you'll find it falls under my jurisdiction. She's a Dhampir, and therefore poses a threat to the populace of my area. It's in my, and the vampires of Area 8's interest, for me to make sure she settles in and learns our ways. Furthermore, as a Dhampir, it is my honour sworn duty to offer protection and guidance while she's in my area."

Bill stiffened.

"Whatever you want from her, you're not going to get it. We don't need your help"

Eric's teeth glinted in the low light of the living room.

"Why do you think I want to take and not give?"

Bill snarled, tensed, ready to lunge, but Sanguini's hand upon his chest, holding him down, halted him.

The older vampire was silent on his feet.

"Perhaps we should all take a break. It has been a long, trying night and emotions are running high. I don't believe any of us are thinking clearly right now."

Silence.

The tick of a grandfather cloak echoing from the hallway.

Eric was the first to nod, as he snatched up his jacket and swing it over his broad shoulders, tugging the hem to straighten the leather on his lanky frame. He paused.

Patted his pockets.

Delved his hands in.

Shuffled about.

They came out empty.

"My phone and keys are is missing."

Harry had stood behind the sofa.

Right where the jacket had been.

The odd way she had delayed to tell them what she was doing…

"Dammit!"

Bill flashed out the house, Sanguini right behind him.

She was sitting on the stairs.

Back to them.

"For fuck sake…"

Sanguini cursed before sending a kick out.

The visage of Harry vanished with a puff, a log rolling down the stairs in her place.

"A transfigured log. Shit."

Sanguini searched his own pockets.

He too came up barren.

"She must have snuck her wand from me too at some point."

Pam nodded to the driveway.

"Eric's car is missing."

And what did the man in question do?

He crossed his arms over his chest, leant on the door frame by his shoulder, kicked one long leg over the other, and smirked at Bill.

"And you said you didn't need my help. Not even in your care for an hour and she's already gone."


Harry Potter's P.O.V

So let's sink another drink, cause it'll give me time to think. If I had the chance I'd ask the world to dance, and I'll be dancin' with myself. Oh oh, Dancing with myself, oh, oh, dancing with myself. Well, there's nothing to lose, and there's nothing to prove, well, Dancing with myself…

The wind whipped through the open windows of the speeding car, radio blaring deafeningly as Harry hollered along to the lyrics, tapping away at the steering wheel as she zoomed down the country lanes.

She wasn't quite sure which peddle would break the car, but the speed one was absolutely delightful!

It was ingenious really.

Harry wanted to feed and be free.

To do so she needed Viking on side, as he appeared to be top-dog in the area.

She was sure he would get the rest to back off.

To have Viking on side, she needed him to be in her favour.

A gift.

She couldn't probe his mind without being discovered.

However, so many people put their thoughts right into their phones, now, didn't they?

So many messages and conversations, and internet history to scan through…

She glanced to the passenger seat, peeking at the little mobile laying on leather.

Plus, surely he would be thankful when she brought his car back, right?

The messages she had searched through already seemed useless.

A few from someone labelled tits, another with the emoji for a peach for a name, and one from someone called ginger grinch asking about… Court?

His answers were short.

Sharp.

Uninterested.

Photo's turned out to be as futile.

His browsing history all related back to a bar called Fangtasia and tax exemptions for vampires.

Worthless.

And then she saw it.

In the contacts.

Most were named by attributes. Short. Moustache. Glasses. Mole. Teeth… Long neck?

And then there it was.

Just one.

The call log in Eric's phone said he rang the number every night.

For the last five months, it had not been picked up on the other end.

Unlike the others, he was listed with a name.

Eric must respect him.

Perhaps even care.

Godric.

The last message Eric had sent to the number had been from yesterday, a threat of turning up to the… Nest? Nest, even if he had to go all the way to Dallas Texas, if this Godric did not pick up the phone the next night.

A name and a location?

It was almost like Viking wanted her to go abduct this Godric for him.

Who put their keys and phone in the same pocket, anyway?

Surely, if she did, and she carted this Godric all the way back to Bon Temps, so he would finally speak to Eric, they would all stop being so fuckin' pissy about the few measly little vampires she wanted to munch on…

She wasn't asking a lot.

Harry thought she was being real fuckin' reasonable, in fact.

Something buzzed.

Harry ignored it.

It continued to buzz.

Sighing, she turned the radio off and picked up the mobile next to her.

She glanced at the screen.

She smirked.

She really was a lucky bastard, wasn't she?

The name Godric flashed on screen.

Harry tapped the green pick-up button.


Thoughts?


Next Chapter: Godric has an interesting phone conversation…


A.N: So, I am possibly the worst fanfiction author in existence. I'll be the first one to hold my hands up to that lol. I know I left this fic hanging for over a year, and there's really no excuse for that, but I did want to say sorry. I've had a bit of a tough, busy year, and writing was difficult for a while. I'm sliding back into the groove of things though, and because I made you all wait so horribly long, here's this monstrous size of a chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!


Chapter Notes: In Vampire lore, the 'humanity' a vampire loses is often on different levels depending on the story. In some myths, they become completely inhuman, in others, the changes are less, but always, ALWAYS, a vampire loses some part of their old self, whether that be in short-term means or forever.

On this topic, I've taken inspiration from Norwegian vampire mythology. In Scandi folklore about vampires, a vampire would lose their biggest personality trait, normally a virtue, such as innocence, generosity, compassion, kindness, ect.

Arguably, Harry's one true and redeeming trait is his/her empathy. It motives her/him in nearly every choice they took in Potterverse. Me being the sadistic writer I am, when tackling the question of how much humanity Harry, in this fic, should loose, turned my eye to her empathy and liked the idea of it. I've done this for two major reason. One; I really want to see what is left of Harry if his/her empathy is stripped away. Is Harry's empathy the one thing that makes that character who she/he is? If gone, what would replace it? Without it, how far would Harry go? Two; in Scandi folklore about this, after losing that part of themselves, a vampire would actively look for that trait in their victims.

For example, a virgin turned would then go on to hunt other virgins, a priest who gave to the poor would hunt other people who did relief work. I love this mythos because, in a way, it highlights what's so tragic about the vampire as a creature, something that hunts what it once was in an irrational and frantic chase to reclaim that personality trait only, because of what they are now and what they are doing, to never get it back and so the hunt continues.

Nevertheless, as stated in this chapter, this complete lack of empathy isn't a permanent thing. It does ease (Somewhat), as Harry adapts and becomes less survival driven. However, I do want to say, in sticking with Dhampir and Vampire lore, Harry will never return to the exact same person she was pre-transition. We are going to see a darker Harry. If that is not your thing, I'd jump ship lol.


THANK YOU ALL for the follows, favourites and reviews! This chapter's for you, and I hope, even if it was a single line or word, you found something to smile about. Hopefully, I will see you guys soon.