Maledictus Creaturae

by shabbacabba

Migrated to Archive of Our Own, under the same username.

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Moonlit Stroll

"How did you know I was there? In the throne room." Harry clarified at Celestine's questioning look.

They were in the same elevator Harry had followed Tom down earlier, headed for the catacombs above, and further; the surface and Grimmauld Place.

"Ah," Celestine smirked devilishly and it made something he couldn't identify tighten in Harry's stomach. "I heard your thoughts. Begging me to tell my father not to trust Voldemort."

Harry couldn't keep the shock from showing on his face if he tried. "That's what I thought happened, the timing was too convenient, but Merlin!" He laughed. "I had no idea vampires could read minds."

"Not all of them can." She replied simply. Harry gave her his full attention.

"Any idea why that is?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "It's like any other form of magic, I suppose. Some are naturally gifted, others less so, and some lack the qualities, mental or magical, to accomplish it at all." She shrugged one shoulder, shifting her weight onto one hip, and Harry wondered why he was so conscious of her body language. He isn't like this with everyone, is he? Or has he just never noticed before?

"Luck of the draw then?"

She chuckled low in her throat. "Essentially? Yes. Although I feel that I should point out that it wasn't I who read your mind, but rather you who pressed your thoughts into mine."

"Wait, really!?" She nodded in the affirmative and Harry reeled back on his heels. "I had no idea I could do that."

"It's an exceedingly rare talent in wizards. Foster it well and it could prove very useful in the conflict to come."

"Easy communication on the battlefield, yeah?"

"Among other things. It makes having private conversations right in front of others exceptionally straightforward." Her eyes glistened with mirth, and Harry couldn't help but smile back.

"That's what you and your dad were doing in the throne room." Her smirk becomes a full blown smile, and Harry can't help but glance at her fangs again. Up close he can really appreciate how wickedly sharp they are, and how they give her smile an edge of something - not quite sinister, but dangerous in an exciting way. Like the final moments of a Wronskei Feint; all adrenaline and focus and knowing that he could get hurt if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. In quidditch that's exactly the case, but here and now? Sharing a surprisingly candid conversation with a vampire … Princess? Dutchess? Lady?

Well, he doesn't exactly know what he's doing, but if Harry knows one thing about himself it's that he learns by doing.

"So, er, Lady Celestine-" Harry starts uncertainly, wanting to be respectful, but she immediately cuts him off as gently as she could.

"There's no need for formalities between us, Harry."

"But, you're royalty! Or at least I thought you were?" He runs his hand through his hair nervously. She shrugs delicately.

"I am. After a fashion. I don't have any official titles, though 'Lady' is about as close as you could get." She looks thoughtful for a moment, before visibly shaking herself and refocusing. "Regardless. We may be oathbound now, but that doesn't mean we have to maintain any sort of formality between us if we don't want to."

Harry opens his mouth to argue the point, but the cross look she gives him has him slamming his trap shut before he says anything.

"And I most certainly do not want us to be restricted by formalities. Seems silly, doesn't it?" Harry nods his head with a sigh.

"Suppose you're right. Still don't understand why you'd want to swear an oath like that to begin with though." She tilts her head, regarding him with naked curiosity as the elevator finally comes to a stop.

"Do you truly not know?" Harry just shakes his head, and Celestine holds her arm out for him, like a Lady at a fancy ball.

"Walk with me." She commands. Harry has to swallow his nerves, and ignore how his hand wants to shake as he tucks her gauntleted hand into the crook of his arm. They set out, arm in arm, into the sparsely lit catacombs.

Harry realizes that Celestine is a full head taller than him, and he wonders when the growth spurt that hit Ron will find him. If it ever does.

"Harry," she starts, something soft in her silver eyes as she looks down at him. "You are young and brash." He flinched, but the way she smiled at him told him she wasn't being mean, just truthful.

He has to admit, she isn't really wrong there.

"You are also brave, honorable, and willing to fight for what you know is right at little to no gain for yourself. That is why I insisted upon the path I walk with you now." Harry ducked his head in a vain attempt to hide his blush. His free hand, the one not essentially holding a vampire's hand - and what a shock to the system is that thought - comes up to rub at the back of his neck.

"You have a pretty high opinion of me for having just met me." He tried to laugh it off, but she just beamed at him and squeezed his bicep encouragingly.

"You're honest with your intentions and your true self shines through because of it. The fact that you used a magical talent you didn't even know existed in your desperation to keep my father and I from dooming our people says rather a lot about you on its own, don't you think?" Alright, Harry had to admit she had a point there. He grimaced and grumbled vague agreement under his breath, but she must have heard because she chuckled lowly, clearly amused.

"Honestly, if you make that kind of first impression on everyone you meet, it's a wonder to me how the Prophet can get away with printing such obvious lies about you." Harry snorted.

"The Prophet is a rag so far in the pocket of the minister that I doubt it's seen sunlight since before I was born." He drawled, much to her clear amusement. "Course, it doesn't help that I don't, er, exactly have many friends."

Why did he say that? He hunched his shoulders in, expecting pity or condescension, but to his surprise Celestine only nodded her head in clear commiseration.

"It can be difficult, for those in the public eye especially, to make true and lasting friendships. People are not often interested in truly getting to know the heart of another, let alone revealing their own." He straightened and matched her sad smile with one of his own. She gets it. She actually gets it.

So often the people Harry met had some sort of preconceived notion of who he was supposed to be, whether they be magicals expecting a savior or muggles expecting a delinquent troublemaker. And in all his life he'd only been able to make two people see him for who he really is rather than the image they'd built of him in their head.

Sad thing is; Ron isn't one of them. For all his talk of being 'best mates,' Ron was as quick as everyone else to turn on him when his name came out of the goblet. Maybe he'd finally learn from his mistakes the previous year, but until Harry was sure that he had?

Well, until then he only had two: his Godfather and Hermione.

Maybe he'd be adding a third before long. Celestine saw right to the heart of him almost immediately upon meeting him, and even ignoring the whole 'sworn to protect and fight with you' thing, Harry has a good feeling about her.

The silence stretched between them comfortably, but as Harry realized they'd just been staring at each other and smiling for at least a solid minute he began casting his mind around for something, anything to talk about.

"Hey Celestine," he started, hitting upon a genuine curiosity of his. She hummed at him, waiting for him to ask his question. "That place, that city, what is it?"

"That!" She beamed at him. "Is the Undercity. Not a terribly imaginative name, I know." She said when Harry snorted at how dead-on the name really was. "My father founded it after the city of Londinium was recaptured from Boudica by the Romans back in the mid first century A.D. It has stood unconquered ever since." There was clear pride in her voice.

Harry's mind boggled at the thought of a place being so old and yet so clearly alive. Hogwarts is only a few centuries younger, and yet it feels nowhere near as lively as the thriving Undercity he'd glimpsed that night. Hogwarts is too empty, too dusty. Much of it is abandoned and forgotten, with only the main halls and classrooms seeing any regular traffic, while the Undercity is clean and vibrant and full of people just living their lives.

"That's incredible," Harry breathes, and it feels like an understatement. "Is it a purely vampiric city, or?" He waved his hand vaguely, as if to encompass every other possibility in one go.

"Hmm, not exactly. Ruled entirely and protected mostly by vampires, yes, but all manner of people call the Undercity home. Werewolves, clanless goblins, what remains of the free fey, two rival families of dwarves, and scores of humans, magical and otherwise, who found themselves cast out and lost, one way or the other, have found their way there. All are protected by and owe their allegiance to my father and his Legion. At last census, somewhere around thirteen thousand people call the Undercity home."

"Wow," Harry had seen it with his own eyes and yet he could hardly believe it. "Wait, muggles live in the Undercity too?"

"That depends on your definition of muggle." Harry shot her a confused look, and she hummed thoughtfully before continuing slowly. "The non-magical humans that live there can all trace their ancestry back to the squibs of magical families. Can you really call them muggles if they come from a magical heritage?"

Harry tilts his head in consideration. "I suppose not, but why did their ancestors move to the Undercity to begin with?" He's genuinely confused, and when Celestine turns to glare at nothing he's worried he's upset her somehow.

"It's common practice," she spits the words out like the vilest curse. "Among magical families to cast squibs out into the muggle world as soon as it's found that they cannot cast magic."

"What!?" Harry snarls. "How can people do that to their own family? Their children?" It doesn't make any sense! Family is supposed to mean something. Parents are supposed to do anything for their children; love them, care for them, die for them, not - not cast them out like so much trash!

Celestine frowns, and there is a righteous fury in her eyes that mirrors the one in his heart.

"The aristocracy cares for little more than their own social, political, and economical standing, often to the exclusion of all else. And the Wizarding society is nothing but the aristocracy."

"That's disgusting." Harry hisses through clenched teeth.

"Extremely," Celestine agrees, nose wrinkled as if she had smelt something utterly rancid.

"At least they have a place to go that will accept them. They deserve that much." Harry sighs, letting his anger go, so the relief he feels at the knowledge that those people weren't abandoned completely could settle in his heart.

"That they do." She must feel similarly to Harry, for she shakes her head as if casting off bad thoughts, and sends him a bright smile.

"All the better for us." She continues, smugness radiating from her like heat from a hearth. "Many of the best craftsmen and chefs in the Undercity are the squibs and their descendants, and they provide for us a strong bridge to the muggle world that the wizarding society simply lacks."

"Unity makes you stronger." Harry chuckles before sobering. "Suddenly I have the feeling that changing things without overthrowing the current regime is going to be much, much harder than I originally expected." For a moment, the sheer enormity of what they had sworn to do, in blood and honor, rises up in Harry's mind like a great beast to be slain. Their own personal dragon, bloated and festering, fed always by the fearful ignorance of the public and the greed of the elite.

"We'll find a way." Celestine said simply. The easy confidence with which she said it, how naturally referring to the two of them as a team came to her, and felt to him, warmed his heart and put a spring in his step.

"Or we'll die trying!" Harry declares. He's trying to be joking, but it comes out more seriously than he expects. He doesn't take it back, doesn't really want to. What they've sworn to do is the right thing. He knows it in his heart.

The world is rotten and corrupt. Innocent people are persecuted and cast out. Changing that is something worth fighting for, and if he dies for it then so be it.

"Ya know, up until now the only fight I've had ahead of me was the one against Tommie Boy." He says idly, letting his thoughts out as they come. Celestine regards him curiously, eyes shining in the dim light of the catacombs.

"It never really felt like my fight, ya know? It's my parents' fight. It's Dumbeldore's fight. It's the war of the previous generation, and yet it's found its way to me. I don't want to fight it." He says vehemently, only just now realizing how true it is.

"But you don't have a choice. The fight has come to you." Celestine says sadly, a note of understanding in her voice that buoys his heart.

"Yeah." He says, voice firming with resolve. "And I'll fight it despite how much I hate it. Despite how much the thought of dying just trying to end one Dark Lord makes me feel like I'm wasting my life on something that won't even make a real difference. But this?" Harry reaches over with his free hand to cover her gauntleted fingers with his own.

"The fight we have sworn to fight feels right. There's no other way to put it. It's," He huffs out a laugh, suddenly feeling ridiculous for what he's been saying. "It feels like what I'm meant to do, if that makes a lick of sense."

Her other hand covers his, sandwiching it between both of hers. If she wasn't wearing armored gauntlets it'd feel incredibly intimate, Harry tells himself as he fights back a fearsome blush.

"It makes perfect sense." She says softly, silver eyes shining with compassion and strength. "I will fight and die for the sake of my people. I cannot tell you how much it heartens me to know that you feel the same as I do." Harry smiles but looks away, overwhelmed by the strength of feeling passing between them.

"It'll take some doing, and I'm sure I've got a lot to learn by the end of this, but we will make it happen." She bumped him with her shoulder, and, startled, Harry met her luminescent eyes again.

"Take heart Harry. No matter how hard the path ahead, we walk it together. You aren't alone." She gave him an encouraging smile, and Harry smiled bashfully in return.

"Heh, yeah. I guess I'm not."

They walked in silence for a time, each lost in thought as they followed the lit path up and out of the catacombs. It wasn't long before they were ascending the stairs that Harry had flown down in the early hours of the night. At the top of the stairs, where Harry expected to see a wooden door or a stone wall where the hidden entrance was, was instead an inky void, just like what he had stepped through behind the hidden door.

"No blood sacrifice to get out?" He asked, hopefully. His hand had stopped bleeding but it still stung.

"No," she chuckled. "Even if there was, I wouldn't be asking you to make it." He shot her an inquiring look as they stepped through the darkness, and she elaborated.

"I can smell the blood from your wound. Don't want to exacerbate it again, do we?" She smirked at him, but Harry was distracted noticing that they weren't outside yet, but clearly inside the mausoleum that contained the secret entrance, and yet there was no stair. No inky darkness. Just an empty square room lit by a handful of sconces.

"What? Shouldn't we be outside now?"

"Not yet." She said, guiding him to the wall on their left. She pulled a pendant out of her cuirass, the same sigil on her armor, pressed it to her lips, then touched it to the wall, and the wall became the heavy wooden door he remembered. The door swung open, and she led a confused Harry with her out into the cool night air. She took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air after so long in the catacombs, and the door closed behind them, instantly becoming the base relief of what Harry now knew to be vampire knights standing watch over a group of wizards.

Could it be a depiction of the squibs coming to them for protection and acceptance? Harry thought so.

"The Writhing Shadow is vampiric magic." Celestine explained. Harry figured she was referring to the inky darkness they had had to walk through. "It acts as a sort of portal; transporting whoever steps into it from one shadowed area to another in an instant. Every entrance to the undercity is protected by one. You see," she said with a mischievous glimmer in her eye. "If you were to try and force your way in by demolishing that mausoleum over there, you'd never find the entrance, because the entrance isn't actually there."

"It's only linked there by the Writhing Shadow. Clever." Harry said, truly impressed. It's a simple defense, but that's the beauty of it. Celestine hummed happily, slowly swiveling her head to take in the entirety of the cemetery.

"It occurs to me that I don't know where we are going from here. Lead on, Harry."

"Right! Uhh," he looked around, trying to remember which direction he came from. Didn't he hide behind the corner of that building over there? "This way."

In no time at all they were out of the cemetery and on the streets of London proper. Harry's ratty trainers scuffed quietly along the concrete sidewalk, while Celestine's armored boots made surprisingly little noise, though she did clink gently with every step as her armor shifted with her movement.

Under the bright yellow fluorescents of the street lights, they made their way across town towards Grimmauld Place. Even in the dead of night, London never truly slept, and so cars, little more than speeding headlights attached to dark bodies to Harry's eyes, passed the pair occasionally.

Harry wondered what the drivers thought of them. A boy in too big hand-me-downs walking down the street, arm-in-arm with a beautiful woman in gleaming armor and robes. An odder pair he doesn't think he's ever seen.

"We must make quite a sight to the muggles." He murmured to his companion. She shot him a knowing smirk.

"Oh yes, at least two of them have thought that I was going to some sort of convention or faire in the area. The rest didn't know what to think." Harry laughed at that.

"Ya know, I can see it. Though I think you'd turn heads even at a convention." Where did that come from? Celestine laughed and squeezed his arm, and the two lapsed into silence once more.

Eventually they turned a corner, and Harry could see number twelve just down the road.

"We're heading just there," he pointed with his free hand. "To num- To number-" But every time he tried to say it he choked on the words. What the hell?

Wait.

"Oh bollocks, I forgot about the fidelius!"

"You're staying under fidelius?" Harry only nodded, fuming at himself for forgetting that not so insignificant fact. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

"Tell me about the place you're staying, and walk me to the ward line if you can." Celestine commanded. Harry huffed, more agitated with himself than anything else, but agreed.

"It's the ancestral home of the Black family. My godfather is loaning it to Dumbledore to use as Headquarters for his Order of the Phoenix. It was Dumbledore that put it under fidelius, and he made himself the secret keeper." Wait a tick, something about that doesn't seem right.

"Why wouldn't Sirius be the secret keeper of his own house? For that matter, why wasn't one of my parents their own secret keeper?" He muttered to himself.

"If I remember correctly, the secret keeper of a fidelius charm cannot reside within the fidelius permanently. Something to do with storing the secret within itself that breaks the laws of magic."

"Well, alright. That makes sense." Still, it irked him. If that one thing was different, then his parents wouldn't have been forced to trust fucking Wormtail of all people and they'd still be alive. The first buzzing of the ward line hit him, and Celestine came to a dead stop not a foot away from the steps to Number Twelve.

"Hmm, I can feel the wards." She muttered distractedly.

"So can I." He held his hand out, closing his eyes to appreciate the feel of magic crawling across his skin in so many subtle ways he lacked the words to describe.

"You can?" He opened his eyes and found Celestine looking at him with naked surprise on her face.

"Well, yeah. Let me guess: not everyone can." She nodded her head, something shrewd and calculating entering her eyes as she looked at him. "So, why is it unusual for me specifically to be able to sense wards?"

"It's a skill that usually takes wizards years, if not decades, to master. Even then, not many have the magical sensitivity to do it at all. That you can do it so young, and without thought, makes me wonder about your heritage."

"Whaddya mean?" He tilted his head curiously. "Is this something like parseltongue?"

"I suppose it could be a family trait, but I've never heard of any wizarding families having such natural sensitivity. It's something you typically only see in goblins, centaurs, and vampires."

"Well," Harry said, making a show of looking down at himself in exaggerated fashion. "I don't think I'm any of those." He finished with a cheeky grin. Celestine rolled her eyes and smacked his chest playfully.

"I can see that you don't have any goblin or centaur blood in you. That's obvious. But vampire blood? It's possible."

"Wait, really? But, if I was descended from vampires wouldn't I just, ya know? Be a vampire?"

"Not necessarily." She said thoughtfully, then glanced away over the buildings to the east. "But perhaps we should focus on getting inside. The sun will be rising soon." Harry looked and sure enough, the eastern sky was turning pink with the first light of dawn. A fissure of icy fear lanced into Harry's heart.

"Fuck! Alright, have you got any ideas? Cuz somehow I doubt Dumbledore is gonna let you in on the secret even if I could contact him in time." It took serious effort to keep his sudden panic from showing in his voice, and Harry isn't sure he totally succeeded.

"Just one." She held her hand out, palm forward, and Harry didn't know how but he knew that she was pressing in on the wards of Number Twelve.

"Wards do not layer so much as they interweave themselves," she explained as her fingers twitched and Harry felt something shift in the wards in response. "They all affect the same thing, the same space, defined by the same dimensions and thought at the moment of their casting. Ahhh, there you are," she purred the last, and gave a final twist and wrench with her hand, and the wards rippled gently, then lay still once more.

Celestine opened her eyes, and stepped forward, dragging Harry with her. Right through the ward line, and through the fidelius, and right up to the door of Number Twelve. She turned to him with a beatific look of triumph, and Harry couldn't help but look at her with something akin to awe in his eyes.

"How the hell did you do that!? The fidelius is supposed to be impregnable!" She laughed outright as she opened the door and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind them.

"I know the Black family's reputation for dabbling in unusual and powerful magic, and I suspected they would have some sort of blood ward tied to their property. I was right." She looked almost smug, and Harry barked a laugh as he put her explanations together.

"So because wards intermingle with each other-"

"I was able to key myself into the blood wards, and through them, the fidelius." They laughed together, almost falling into each other in their mirth.

"You're bloody brilliant, ya know that?" He managed to get out between guffaws.

"Well, it's nothing really," she said in obviously false modesty. "I've only had a little more than two millenia to learn." She finished, lips twitching as she fought to keep from grinning from ear to ear. Harry wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"Wait, are you really-" The curtains around Walburga's portrait flew open, and the disturbed hag immediately launched into a screaming rant that shook the walls, and made Harry slap his hands over his ears instinctually from how mind-numbingly loud and shrill she could be.

"Fucks sake! Will you shut up, woman!" Harry yelled, grabbing the flailing curtains and trying to force them shut. They fought him every inch of the way, but he was making progress. Agonizingly slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

Celestine stepped up next to him, pressed a single finger against Walburga's forehead, and commanded: "Pax vobis." in a low, threatening growl. Instantly, Walburga silenced. Her face went slack, and the curtains stopped fighting him.

He pulled them shut at once.

"We really need to figure out how to remove this blasted portrait before it deafens us. Or drives us mad." He muttered to himself. "Thanks for the help. What was that spell you used there? Would be good to know it in the future."

"It wasn't a spell exactly," she started, then tilted her head consideringly in his direction. "Though with the aptitude for telepathy you showed earlier, you'd probably be able to do it with some practice."

"Wicked! But if it wasn't a spell, then what…" He trailed off, letting his question hang.

"A telepathic command. One of the other uses of the skill I hinted at earlier." She smirked at him.

"Right useful that'll be. You'll have to show me how that works. Later though, right now I'm bloody starving and everyone else will be waking up soon, if the hag didn't wake them up already. I may as well get a head start on breakfast. C'mon." He turned and headed for the kitchen, waving for her to follow him. By the quiet clinking of her armor, she did.

Once in the kitchen Harry headed straight for the wizarding equivalent to a refrigerator. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what they were called. Coolers? Ice box? He pulled out a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, and some butter and set them on the counter, then bent down to root around the cupboards looking for potatoes.

"Do you normally make breakfast for everyone?" Celestine asked from somewhere behind him.

"No," he let out a little "Aha!" when he found the potatoes. He grabbed a couple and set them in the sink, then turned the water on to wash them.

"No," he said again. "Missus Weasley usually makes breakfast when she's around." He pulled out drawers until he found a halfway decent paring knife and set to work peeling the potatoes into the bin. Breakfast always puts the Weasley's and Sirius in a good mood, and he intends to use that today.

"Why do you ask?"

"You just seem rather comfortable in the kitchen, like it's something you're used to doing. A comfortable routine." Harry frowned at the potato he was peeling.

"Yeah, suppose that's true. I do most of the cooking for my relatives when I'm staying with them." Celestine leaned her hip up against the counter next to him, regarding him with shrewd silver eyes that left him feeling too exposed.

"You're awfully young to be cooking for an entire family." She said eventually, in a tone that Harry thought could almost pass for neutrality. Harry snorted, putting a bit more force behind the peeling than he really ought to as he replied.

"Yeah, well, my relatives aren't exactly good people, ya kno-OH FUCK!" The potato he was working on slipped in his too tight grip, and the knife bit deep into the side of his thumb. He dropped the potato into the sink alongside the knife, and brought his hand up to his face to appraise the damage he'd done.

Blood welled from an inch long gash right between the base and knuckle of his thumb and ran down his hand. Harry hissed through his teeth and went to suck the wound into his mouth, but Celestine's hands shot out, drawing his wounded hand away from his face and towards her own.

"Celestine!" He gasped out. She leaned over his hand, breathing deep, eyes shut. A pleased hum came from between her lips, followed in short order by a long, thin tongue. It ran from his wrist, over his palm, and across the cut in one swipe, collecting all the blood in it's way. She shuddered, mouth open, breathing hard less than an inch away from his skin. Her breath washed over the cut, warm and oddly soothing.

Harry hadn't expected her to be warm. He'd really thought vampires would be cool to the touch.

In the space between one breath and the next, Celestine's lips descended on his cut, sucking firmly but gently to draw as much vitae as she could from him without hurting him further.

Distantly, Harry thought he ought to be more concerned with what was happening. A literal vampire was latched onto his hand and drinking his blood! But even as he tried to muster some sense of alarm or indignation, he found himself mostly … intrigued.

It didn't hurt. If it did he might have tried to stop her or pull away. If anything, it tingled in an oddly pleasant way. Like he could feel the buzz of magic in her lips, vibrating against his skin where they touched. It made his heart race and his mouth go dry.

She swiped her tongue across the cut twice in rapid succession, and something in his stomach clenched, then pulled away from his hand with little pop!

"There," she said breathlessly. "Good as new!" And sure enough, when he looked it was like he had never cut himself. On the thumb at least. The crusted up slash he made in his palm was still there, looking even worse after reopening it for the blood oath, and it got him thinking.

She was smiling at him, but it was a wobbly thing, clearly unsure if she had overstepped some sort of boundary with him. Worried that she might have damaged their newfound trust in each other in a moment of weakness. Without really meaning to, he found himself saying:

"Anything you can do for that other cut?" He glanced at it and back to her face, and saw something bloom in her eyes that nearly took his breath away.

"If you'd like me to," she purred, voice like velvet. Harry swallowed. Twice. But words still failed him, so he just nodded his head.

"This might sting a bit," she warned. "I'll have to break off the scab." Still unable to make his throat form syllables, Harry just nodded again, trying to tell her with his eyes that he trusted her and it was okay.

She seemed to get what he was trying to say.

Leaning down, she pressed her lips to the wound on his palm in a soft kiss that sent Harry's already rapid heartbeat into erratic palpitations. Her lips pulled back, and she scraped her fangs along his palm, gentle as can be, sending electricity arcing up his arm and right down his spine, catching the scab and tearing it off.

It stung a little, but the pain was overshadowed by the pleasant buzz of her magic, and the feeling of soft lips pressing against his hand. She let out a pleased little hum that sent a rush of heat through him.

He had no idea what drinking blood was like for vampires, but he imagined it had to be pleasurable in some way. At least like how eating a good meal is satisfying, maybe even drug-like in its intensity. Either way, It must be driving her up the wall only being able to get such a little taste of him. The thought occurred to him that he could tell her not to worry about hurting him. Tell her to not worry about aggravating the wound before whatever she did healed it. Tell her that she could sink her fangs into his wrist and drink her fill of him.

Merlin, he really shouldn't want her to bite him. Right? Right?

While he struggled with his indecision, Celestine was swiping her tongue along the cut and pulling away to reveal perfectly clean, unmarked skin where once there was a sizable gash.

She was panting, holding his hand close to her chest, thumbs rubbing circles into his wrist and palm seemingly without thought.

"Thank you, Harry." Gleaming silver eyes opened and speared him to the floor with their intensity. "Thank you."

Harry swallowed convulsively. "Shouldn't I be thanking you?" He managed to force out after a moment. She shook her head, looking away from his eyes to inspect his hand in hers.

When she didn't speak for several seconds, Harry summoned his Gryffindor courage, and said: "Did I taste good?" She chuckled lowly, and the sound sent a shiver up his spine.

"Too good," she purred, glancing up at him from under her lashes. "And that's exactly why I should be thanking you." Harry felt his face heat and ducked his head, free hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"No worries," he said quickly. "And, uh," -what the fuck are you thinking don't say it- "If you ever want more, all ya gotta do is ask." Sweet buggering Merlin what possessed him to say that!?

She chuckled and reluctantly allowed his hand to drop. "I'll keep that in mind." She smirked at him, and for a long moment they just looked at each other. His heart, which had begun to calm, didn't speed up, but it seemed to beat harder every second they stared into each other's eyes.

"Right," he practically squeaked the word out, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, uh, ya wanna help me with breakfast?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the halfway prepared meal he had nearly forgotten entirely.

"Maybe I ought to finish peeling the potatoes, hmm?" She teased as she used her hip to bump him out of the way and get at the potatoes herself.

Harry laughed and held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! I'll have you know that I'm usually much less prone to accidents when making breakfast." He grabbed a massive skillet and the butter and brought both over to the stove. Medium flame, butter in, wait for it to melt and pretty soon they'll have a heaping pile of eggs that even Vernon-

Nope, nope. Not gonna think about them.

"Is that so?" Celestine snarked. "Damn, and here I was hoping to get a special treat every morning." Harry blushed so hard he nearly dropped the egg he was about to crack into the pan.

"Well, I mean, shit," he murmured under his breath. "Ya still can, if you really want." Wait, shit, how good are vampires hearing? He shot her a glance, and that damnable smirk told him she heard every word of that. Oh, Merlin preserve me, he thought.

Harry cleared his throat, and asked the first question to pop into his head in a desperate bid to change the topic. "Can you, vampires I mean, eat normal- er, human food?"

He busied himself with thoroughly scrambling the eggs rather than look at whatever expression that complete mess of a sentence brought to her face.

"I can, actually. Vampires need blood to survive, but we need to eat normal food as much as anyone else too. And this breakfast of yours is shaping up to be absolutely scrumptious." Harry groaned as quietly as he could, but she must have still heard because her melodic laugh rang out across the kitchen immediately after.

"Yeah yeah, keep teasing poor ol' Harry. Gonna send him round the bend at this rate." There was no real venom in his voice and they both knew it. He's enjoying himself too much to really want to stop at this point.

"You're too easy, darling," she said as she sidled up next to him at the stove, a pan of perfectly minced potatoes going on one burner while another was set up for the bacon he'd grabbed earlier.

He'd completely forgotten the bacon.

And now his brain went completely to pot at the way her voice curled around the word, as she oh so casually called him 'darling.'

"The eggs are about to burn." She said conversationally, and Harry realized he'd just been standing there, utterly lost and mindless, for way too long. With a start he also realized she was right. He gave the eggs one last good scramble and set them aside, moving the bacon pan in front of him so he would have something to focus on.

They didn't say anything for a time. Harry focused himself on the familiar task of cooking bacon; using a fork to peel the raw strips away and laying them one by one into the hot pan with a sizzle. Moving them around occasionally to make sure they don't stick. Flip and repeat. It was almost meditative, and soon he was so totally relaxed that he was humming under his breath as he cooked.

Celestine bumped him with her hip, and when he turned to give her a questioning look she just smiled contently at him. He beamed back at her and went back to humming while he fried the bacon. She swayed gently to the tune of his humming.

In short order they had a pretty decent spread of breakfast foods lined up on the dining table: eggs and bacon, hash browns, toast, a fresh pot of coffee and another of tea, for those that prefer one or the other, and orange juice. All set out and ready to go in the specially enchanted serving platters Sirius had pointed out a while back. No worrying about the food going cold. Or warm, in the case of the juice.

"Not quite a full English, but not bad for such short notice and on absolutely zero sleep." Harry smiled, pleased with their efforts, but even more pleased with how easily they worked together. It's a small thing, making breakfast together, but if they can do everything so seamlessly as that? It certainly bodes well for the future.

"You'll have to get some rest after we eat." Celestine said, a hint of concern leaking into her tone.

"I won't argue with that," he said as he fought back a yawn. "I'm beat, if I'm honest with ya. Although," here he sighed. "Missus Weasley probably won't be letting me get a wink of sleep today if I have my bet."

"Is that right?" There was a glint of challenge in her eye.

"Yeah," Harry breathed out tiredly. "She can be," he paused, looking for the right way to describe Missus Weasley's unique brand of overbearing parenting. "Well, she can be a bit much, and I don't think she, or any of the adults for that matter, are gonna be well pleased with me this morning."

"Hmm, well either way; have a seat. We can eat now and worry about all that after."

"Good thinking," he agreed, taking a seat near the head of the table. Celestine sat across from him, and he watched interestedly as she undid the straps holding her gauntlets on and slid them off. Her hands are small, almost delicate but not quite, with short, slightly pointed nails. When he finds himself watching her pick up her silverware with rapt attention he has to shake himself out of his stupor.

Focus, Harry. Focus.

He picks up his own silverware and they both tuck in with relish. They eat in peaceful silence for the most part, occasionally exchanging looks and short words about how good the food turned out. It's when Harry is just polishing off his toast and considering getting a second helping that Celestine stiffens in her chair.

"Someone's coming." She popped the last of her bacon into her mouth. A moment later Harry heard someone coming down the stairs. He checked his watch: almost a quarter after six in the morning.

"Probably Missus Weasley." Breathing deep in an effort to center himself, Harry gathers up his and Celestine's plates and deposits them in the sink before returning to his seat.

The door to the kitchen opens, and in walks Missus Weasley, already dressed and ready for the day. She stops in her tracks the moment she lays eyes on him.

"Oh, Harry! What are you doing up so early?"

Harry takes another deep breath, unsure of how well this is going to go. He gestures in front of him, at the food on the table, and more so at Celestine.

"We were just making breakfast, Missus Weasley." He says very deliberately.

"We? Well- Oh!" She finally noticed Celestine sat across from Harry, and he was sure he wasn't imagining the tightening around her eyes, or the false note in the saccharine sweetness that dripped into her voice after.

"And who is this, Harry?" Celestine cocked a single eyebrow up at not being asked herself, but otherwise didn't let the irritation she felt at the slight show.

"Missus Weasley, this is Celestine. Celestine, Missus Weasley." He made appropriate hand gestures as he introduced the two. He noticed Missus Weasley's hand sneaking under her apron where she kept her wand.

"She's a friend." He said simply, hoping that that would be enough. Missus Weasley's smile, already fake, became quite fixed.

"Is that right dearie? And where did you meet this new friend of yours?" She pulled her wand, but let it point casually at the floor for the moment. Celestine glanced at it, then cocked her head as she regarded the homely redheaded woman.

"Thats, heh, that's a bit of a story, Missus Weasley. Now if you'd be so kind as to put your wand away and sit down, we've made breakfast and it's never good to have these kinds of talks on an empty stomach, is it?" He recalls Missus Weasley using this very line on her husband on more than one occasion, and he hopes that it'll work on her now.

To his dismay, it doesn't.

Missus Weasley narrows her eyes and her wand gives the subtlest of flicks at her side. The door locks with an audible click. Celestine draws in a sharp breath and calmly puts her gauntlets back on. Harry looks between the two with wide eyes, not entirely sure what to say to defuse the situation.

"Be that as it may, Harry." Missus Weasley says, stepping towards him as if to try and shield him from Celestine's presence through sheer proximity. "I must know how she got in the house. She's not on the list of approved guests, now is she?"

Harry opens his mouth but nothing comes out. It feels like there's a hand squeezing his heart and choking away his ability to speak. He shoots Celestine a pleading look, and she gives him a subtle nod.

"Obviously I am an approved guest," she says calmly and quietly, but without ever once looking away from the witch edging ever closer to her and Harry. "How else would I be here? That is how the fidelius works, isn't it?" That brings Missus Weasley up short. Harry has to stop himself from cheering. Instead he just nods his head enthusiastically.

"Like I said Missus Weasley, Celestine is my friend. I trust her." Celestine's eyes flicker to him and away so fast he almost doesn't notice it. "You've got nothing to worry about." His attempt at soothing backfires. Missus Weasley's nostrils flare, and she raises her wand to point right between Celestine's eyes.

"SHE'S A RUDDY VAMPIRE!" Celestine stands up so fast her chair goes tumbling behind her, drawing her sword in one smooth, easy motion. "SHE'S BEWITCHED YOU! LET HIM GO YOU LEECH!" Celestine hisses, baring her fangs at the slur.

"Missus Weasley no!" Harry leaps up, forcefully grabbing the Weasley matron's arm and wrenching her aim up and away from Celestine just as a spell he didn't recognize rocketed out from her wand. She fought him, but he planted himself between the two of them like a tree. She shoves at him with all her might, but he sees it coming and braces himself, pushing back hard enough to send her back a step.

"Get out of the way Harry! This is for your own good!"

"The hell it is Missus Weasley! I'm telling you! I'm not being controlled! She hasn't done anything to me!"

The door to the kitchen opens and Sirius strolls in, casual as anything, muttering to himself. "Now why was the door locked?" He stopped, taking in the sight of Harry trying to wrestle Missus Weasley's wand away from her to protect some woman he'd never seen before.

"The hell's going on here?"

"Sirius help! She's trying to hurt Celestine!" Harry says at the same time Missus Weasley screeches.

"VAMPIRE! A VAMPIRE HAS GOTTEN ITS CLAWS INTO HARRY!"

A spell slams into them, forcefully separating them. Harry slams hard into the table, and before he registers what's happening, arms are wrapping around his waist and heaving him over the table and into a tall, armored body. There's a buzz across his skin, and he can feel something taking shape around him. The edges of his vision are filled with a hazy red smoke that recedes whenever he tries to look at it. It feels like a ward, or maybe some sort of shield spell.

Meanwhile, Missus Weasley stumbles back into the counter, her wand flying into the waiting hand of his Godfather.

"Alright, so-" Sirius starts but is immediately overrun by Missus Weasley.

"SIRIUS YOU BUFFOON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? GIVE ME BACK MY WAND WE HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE MONSTER BEFORE -" Sirius slashes his wand at her and she goes instantly silent. Her lips keep moving, and her face takes on a shade of puce that reminds Harry of his uncle in all kinds of uncomfortable ways.

"As I was saying," his godfather bites out through clenched teeth at Missus Weasley, before turning to Harry and continuing in a softer tone. "What's going on here, pup?"

Harry swallows, opens his mouth, shuts it again, then his eyes, and leans weakly back into the vampire holding him up. Fuck, but this couldn't really have gone any worse than it has, has it? What the hell is he going to say? How does he explain this?

"Be strong, Harry." Celestine whispers in his ear. "Just tell him the truth."

"Right," Harry breathes out shakily. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Sirius is looking at him with plain concern in his eyes, but no fear, and none of the strange rage that took hold of Missus Weasley.

"So, here's what happened." From the protective circle of Celestine's arms and magic, Harry tells his godfather all about his eventful night, or at least the broad strokes; from the vision that sent him following Voldemort, to the oaths they have sworn, right up until moments ago when Missus Weasley entered the room and things went so wrong so fast. All the while, Missus Weasley watched, arms crossed, mouth a thin line of displeasure, trying to disintegrate them where they stood with her eyes.

"I don't understand," Harry nearly whimpered, and Celestine's arms tightened reflexively around him. He continued, voice small and scared. "Missus Weasley has been nothing but kind to me and all my friends. Why would she try and hurt Celestine?"

"She could have never hurt me, darling. I promise you that." Celestine murmurs comfortingly in his ear, and that does make him feel better. A tightness he hadn't realized was there in his gut loosens and he feels like he can breathe again.

Sirius sighs tiredly, rubbing his hand over his face. Without looking at her, he says, "Molly, leave." She puts her hands on her hips and firms her stance, refusing to leave. Sirius lets his hands drop and glares at her.

"I'm not asking, Molly, I'm telling. Get the fuck out of my kitchen! I need to have a talk with my godson and Lady Celestine." He holds his glare unrelentingly, clearly beyond upset with the Weasley matriarch. Eventually, she stomps up to him and holds her hand out expectantly.

Sirius makes a show of putting her wand in his pocket. "You'll get this back once you've cooled off. Now, go." He jerks his head at the door. Clearly seething and wanting desperately to yell and screech, but physically unable to, Missus Weasley storms out the door, slamming it behind her hard enough that it makes Harry flinch.

Celestine notices and murmurs soft sounds of reassurement into his ear that might be words, but Harry can't quite focus on them at the moment.

Sirius flicks his wand at the door and it locks with an audible click. Harry swallows noisily. Celestine stiffens against his back. Noticing Harry's unease and the tenseness of his companion, Sirius holds up his hands in surrender, speaking in a steady, calm voice.

"Just some privacy charms and a one-way locking charm to make sure Molly stays away until she cools off. I'm not trying to trap either of you." Harry relaxes immediately, nearly slumping in Celestine's arms, before his position finally catches up with him and he straightens, face heating up with mortification.

"Now," Sirius continues in that same calming way. "Let's all sit down, relax, and we can talk, yeah? Nothing to worry about." Harry nods his head, then turns to give the vampire behind him a reassuring smile.

"I'm alright now, you can let me go." She searches his eyes for a long moment, and he holds her gaze and his smile. As close as they are now, Harry can see every little nuance of color in her eyes. To call them simply silver is a gross oversimplification. Here and there are flecks of sapphire, set in liquid silver streaked with shadows that swirled and shifted before his very eyes, and under it all the incandescent quality he's quickly coming to find oddly comforting. Her eyes are like the stars themselves; taken from the night sky and condensed down into shining silver glass suspended in a void of perfect, formless black.

She's utterly mesmerizing.

She must see what she's looking for, because she unwinds her arms from around him, letting the ward she wove around them dissipate as she guides him into a chair. She sidles around him to sit on his left, between him and the kitchen door. The protectiveness of the move is not lost on Harry.

Sirius watches all this with a faint smile tugging at his beard before moving to sit across from the two of them. He sinks into his seat with a groan.

"Do either of you mind if I help myself to some of this wonderful breakfast you two prepared?"

Harry shakes his head, and Celestine says: "Help yourself." With a wave of her gauntleted hand.

"Thanks," his godfather says as he loads up his plate. "I'm not the best at conversation, the serious ones anyway, on an empty stomach."

Harry chuckles softly, leaning his elbows on the table. "Explains why you were so bad at explaining yourself when we first met." He said, a hint of fondness underpinning the teasing in his voice.

Sirius barked out a short laugh. "Merlin, what a day that was! Has he told you that story yet?" He asked Celestine, and she shook her head. "It's a good one, but now's not the time." He piled some eggs and bacon on a piece of toast and took a healthy bite. His eyes switched between his godson and his godson's vampiric protector/partner contemplatively as he ate. Harry watched him eat, and took in the way his pajamas draped over his form, how his collar bone seemed too sharp, his cheeks still too hollow, how even cleaned up with a new haircut and trimmed beard he could still see the half-mad Azkaban escapee hiding just under his godfather's skin, and he worried.

Celestine watched his godfather with the same intensity he did, and Harry wondered if she saw what he did.

Sirius pushed his half finished plate away from him. "Alright, that's enough for now. Harry?" He perked up, meeting his godfather's eyes steadily. "Shite, pup, do you have any idea how much of a big deal last night really was?"

"Er, well to be honest I haven't really had time to think about it, no." He admitted shamefully, but Sirius waved his concern away.

"Not your fault, pup. It's been a helluva night by the sound of it. Can't really blame you for not having time to unpack it all yet. Do you know why Molly reacted how she did?" Harry looked into his godfather's troubled grey eyes, and nodded. He did understand now, after having a few minutes to calm down and think about it rationally, without the strange fear that gripped him earlier freezing his thoughts before they could form.

"Vampires aren't considered people in the wizarding world." He muttered venomously, hands clenched into fists where they rested on the table, unable to hide how much that fact rankled him.

"She didn't see Celestine. All she saw was a creature that needed dealing with. Like a fucking boggart." Celestine's hand drifted over to his knee under the tale, thumb rubbing soothing circles. When did she take her gauntlets off again? He wondered.

Sirius nodded. "You're spot on. Which is good, because that means you understand the difficulty the two of you will face moving forward." He leaned on the table, grey eyes completely serious. "Most witches and wizards think the way Molly does. Well, not in general, but about vampires. Granted, I don't expect most of them will have the wherewithal to draw their wand and accuse her outright of manipulating you-"

"She's not manipulating me, Sirius! You've got to-"

"I believe you, pup, don't worry. I'm on your side. Always." He reached across the table to cover Harry's hands with his own. "There's not much I can do for you, with the way things are." His face twisted, something like self-loathing stealing across his features before it was gone again. "But no matter what, I've got your back, Harry."

Harry ducked his head, trying not to let Sirius see how he was blinking back tears. Sirius squeezed his hands, and quite without thinking about it, Harry turned his hands over to grab hold of Sirius'.

"Thank you, Sirius. I've been so worried about how people would react, and I-" He bit his lip, shutting his eyes tight against the tears that he refused to let fall.

"I was so scared that you'd hate me." He finally managed to get out in a voice so small and weak that it made him flinch at himself.

"Hate you?" Sirius sounded so honestly bewildered that Harry had to look at him. The moment he opened his eyes, the tears he'd fought so hard brimmed and fell down his cheeks. Sirius's confusion melted away, replaced with a heart rending affection that had Harry gripping his hands even tighter.

"I could never hate you, pup." He declared. "I've made my mistakes," a shadow of the self-loathing he'd seen before was there and gone in the blink of an eye. "And I don't intend on making anymore. I love you, Harry." Harry's heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment he thought he'd heard wrong. He looked at Sirius with wide, searching eyes. Sirius kept talking, but Harry couldn't hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

"No one's ever told me they loved me before." He didn't mean to say it out loud, but in his shock it slipped out in a barely there murmur. Sirius stopped, teeth coming together with an audible clack. Devastated grey eyes pierced him to his core, and Harry wanted to shrink in on himself.

Beside him, Celestine jerked as if she'd been hit by a particularly hard stinging hex, turning to give him a searching look. He met her with his own shell shocked expression, and her shock quickly gave way to a practiced blankness that didn't quite hide the rage simmering in her eyes.

Sirius came barreling around the table, arms going around Harry desperately as he fell to his knees before his godson.

"I'm sorry, pup. I'm so, so sorry." Harry wasn't sure what Sirius was apologizing for, so he wrapped his arms around him in return. He could feel every ridge in Sirius' spine and ribcage, and again he worried for his godfather's health. Sirius lurched in his arms, and with a start Harry realized that Sirius was sobbing quietly into his neck.

"Sirius, no." He held his godfather tighter, not sure what else to do.

"I love you too. It's alright, Sirius. I love you too." His throat tightened, and this time he didn't try to fight the tears as they came.

"You're the only- the only family I've got, of course I love you too. Ya just shocked me is all." He tried to laugh, but it came out wet and far too sharp to be anything other than a sob.

Sirius wailed, an awful, agonized sound that had Harry casting his eyes about for Celestine. He can't do this by himself, he doesn't know what's wrong or how to help-

Then she was in front of him, luminous pools of silver a reassuring sight. She smiled encouragingly, and her voice whispered across his mind, slow and sweet like honey.

You're doing great, Harry. Don't think about things too much, just do what feels right.

He blinked and she was gone. No, not gone, still sat where she has been this whole time. Had that been an illusion? Or could she actually move that fast?

Harry shook off those idle questions to focus on his Godfather. He wondered at what to say for several long moments, before deciding 'sod it' and asking the only question he could get a firm grasp of.

"Sirius, what's wrong?" He asked as gently as he could. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong." Sirius laughed wetly, pulling back to look at his godson with puffy eyes.

"You sounded like your mother just now." Before Harry could appreciate being compared to his mother for the first time in his life on top of everything else, Sirius continued. "And ain't that a bloody miracle!" He shook his head despondently, a manic sort of grief chasing his tears away and replacing them with loathing.

"You should have never gone to the Dursley's. I was supposed to take care of you. I was supposed to raise you. I was supposed to put you ahead of everything else, and I let Hagrid take you so I could go chasing after revenge." Seemingly spent, his head fell and his voice went quiet. "I failed you. It's my fault that you ended up with them. My fault that you weren't told you were loved until now. It's all my fault."

"Sirius, stop." He grabbed him by the shoulders, craning his head down to catch his Godfather's eyes.

"You didn't put me with the Dursley's. Dumbledore did. It's not your fault."

"But I trusted him."

"Just like my parents trusted Wormtail." That seemed to bring him up short. "And just like Wormtail, Dumbledore betrayed that trust by leaving me with my relatives. You can't have known what happened was what would happen."

"But, I-"

"No one's perfect Sirius." Harry cut him off. "Why did you escape Azkaban?" The non-sequitur threw Sirius for a loop, and it took him a moment to answer.

"Because… I saw Peter in the paper, and it said that the boy holding him was your friend and dormmate, and I thought you were in danger."

"Sirius," Harry started, a fond amazement obvious in his every word. "You escaped an inescapable prison at the first hint that I was in any sort of danger. You haven't failed me; you've done the impossible for me. If that isn't exactly what a Godfather should be doing, then I don't know what is."

Sirius, wide eyed and mouth hanging open, barked out a laugh even as more tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Merlin, pup, you're just like your mom." And he crushed Harry against him again. "Don't ever change, you hear me?" Harry wound his arms around his Godfather as tight as he could.

"Only if you promise to stop blaming yourself. We can't build a future together if you're stuck in the past." Sirius barked out another laugh, one filled with pain and love in equal measure. After a moment he pulled away, holding Harry at arms length.

"Alright Harry. You've got yourself a deal."

"You swear?"

"By blood and honor, pup, by blood and honor."

"Good!" Harry started cheerfully. "I wanna hear your plan to get your name cleared by weeks end." Sirius' eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Harry yawned, loud and long.

"You're exhausted," Sirius stated, remembering that Harry hadn't gotten a lick of sleep the previous night. "Let's get you to bed." And he pulled Harry to his feet.

"What about Celestine?" Harry asked, before turning to the vampire to ask her: "Wait, do you even need to sleep?" She rose from her chair, a tender smile turning up the corners of her lips.

"I can go for without longer than a human can, but I could use some rest."

"Right," Harry said, then turned back to Sirius expectantly. Sirius shook his head, but he was smiling so Harry figured he was just amused.

"There are a slew of unused guest bedrooms on the second floor. Finally got the useless lump to clean them out the other day." Sirius and Harry both rolled their eyes at Kreacher's near uselessness. "She can take her pick of the lot."

"Great," Harry wormed his way out of Sirius' hold. "I'll show her the way, you go ahead and finish your breakfast."

"You sure?" Even as he asked, his eyes darted back to his half finished plate and stayed there.

"Course I'm sure. We'll talk more later, yeah?" Harry was already heading for the door, motioning for Celestine to follow him.

"Of course, pup. Anytime." The smile Sirius threw his way was so heart-breakingly genuine that Harry couldn't help but smile back as they slipped out the kitchen door and into the hall beyond. The door closed behind them, and Harry blew out a breath; beyond relieved that at least Sirius was on his side, and as an odd side effect he'd been able to help his Godfather with something that must've been bothering him for years.

"God, that was a lot." He muttered to himself.

"Are you alright?" Celestine asked him, brow furrowed in concern.

"Yeah," and he meant it. Despite everything that happened in that kitchen, Harry felt surprisingly good. "Just tired. And, well, I worry about Sirius." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"He hates it here, and I know it gets to him. He hasn't been taking care of himself as well as he should." His brows pinched together in concern. Celestine hummed sympathetically.

"It's a good thing he has you here to remind him." She remarked. Harry snorted.

"Yeah, but who's gonna remind me?" He jokes, but Celestine raises a single sardonic eyebrow, as if to say: 'oh yes, who ever indeed?' Harry laughs self-deprecatingly. "Yeah, alright, I should've known. Bloody oathbound vampires." He muttered playfully.

"Don't even pretend you don't like me, darling." She purred back, and Harry blushed and stammered for a second before deciding to just move on and pretend that his heart hadn't reacted forcefully to her teasing.

"Stairs are this way." Without really thinking about it, he held his arm out for her to take. She did, the smooth skin of her fingers brushing over his forearm as she looped their arms together. Her magic buzzed just under her skin, and where they touched it sparked pleasantly. Harry had to shake himself before he could focus enough to actually lead her anywhere.

By some stroke of luck, no one else was up yet, and Missus Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so they made it to the guest wing in short order.

"The first few rooms are taken at the moment," he told her as he led her down the hall.

"Which room is yours?" Celestine was appraising the decor as they walked, and finding it wanting by the look on her face.

"That one," Harry pointed to a door as they passed it. "I share with Ron, which seems odd now that I think about it. Plenty of space in this place, especially now that the rest of the guest wing is cleaned out. That's the loo," he pointed to another door, roughly in the middle of the long hall, as they passed it.

"The girls like to get to it early, so if you want a shower or anything before bed you'd best do it now." He warned semi-seriously. Celestine hummed thoughtfully but didn't say anything.

"And from here, all the rest of the rooms are empty. Take your pick." He gestured down the hall, where five more guest suites sat waiting.

Celestine opened the door nearest them, peering inside for a moment before shrugging and saying; "It'll do." And pulling Harry in alongside her.

Harry whistled in appreciation.

The room was much the same as the one Harry shared with Ron. Larger than Harry's bedroom at Privet Drive by a significant margin, with faded and stained wallpaper that might've been a cream color once, accented with ancient looking dark wood trim. To one side was a vanity with three oval mirrors and an impressively massive wardrobe. On the opposite side was a writer's desk with a rather comfortable looking chair sat in front of it. The desk was sat directly between two doors that led to who knows where. In the middle of the far wall was a simply enormous four poster bed. The posters lay bare, but the sheets looked soft and inviting, and the pillows nearly cried out for Harry to lay his head down, just for a moment.

Curious, Harry moves to check the doors by the desk. One is a connection to another unused bedroom curiously enough, and the other leads to an ensuite bathroom. When he turns around, Celestine is sitting on the edge of the bed, her hooded robe thrown over the back of the desk chair, working at the straps and buckles holding her armor on. Already her pauldrons and gauntlets were laid out next to her.

"Bloody hell, but this room is a lot nicer than the one Ron and I share." Celestine just laughs melodically, and Harry can't help but smile back at her.

"Speaking of, I suppose I ought to be getting to … bed." He trailed off, brow furrowing as something occurred to him.

Celestine noticed. "What is it?" Her breastplate came loose, and she pulled it over her head. Underneath she wore a snug black tunic embroidered with the same pulsing patterns as her outer robe. Her armor was well fitted and hinted at the shape of the woman it protected, but that tunic practically spelled it out for him. Harry's mouth went dry, and he had to swallow several times before he could answer.

"I … after the way she reacted earlier, I don't trust Missus Weasley not to-" He blew out a frustrated breath. "Not to try something, ya know?" Celestine grimaced as she bent over to remove her greaves.

"I'll admit, it wouldn't surprise me." Her greaves came off, and then she toed her boots off one after the other. "How well do you know her?" Harry blew out a breath.

"I'd like to think I knew her pretty well, but that was a bit of a shock if I'm honest." She shot him a sympathetic look as the armor around her legs fell away. The pants she wore clung to her like a second skin and Harry had a hard time not staring.

"I've known her since I was eleven, and she's always told me that I'm practically a member of the family as far as she's concerned, but. Well." He gave the wall a hard stare.

"Practically a member of the family and actual family are two very different things, aren't they?" If it wasn't, then she would've believed him when he declared Celestine a trusted friend. Harry thought he'd understood the wizarding world's attitude towards vampires before, but seeing it first hand was something else entirely. Harry had never seen Missus Weasley turn so much as a threatening word on anyone before. To see her switch so quickly from the warm and welcoming matron he held great affection for into a person ready to murder in cold blood chilled him to the bone.

"Unfortunately," she sighed in agreement. "Would you like me to keep watch over you while you sleep?" Harry shot her a confused look.

"What? No, it's you I'm worried about, Celestine." He insisted. Her eyes widened for a moment before she softened.

"Alright, Harry. I can set some blood protections on the door. That should keep her, and anyone else for that matter, out."

"Thank you," Harry breathed, shoulders drooping with relief. "I dunno why I'm so worried. You said she could never hurt you and I believe you, but I guess it's just- well you'll be sleeping, yeah? Vulnerable in a house with someone that wants to hurt you." He shrugged. "Doesn't feel right, leaving you unprotected."

His eyes fell away from her face to bore holes in his ratty trainers. An instant later, soft fingers were tilting his head back up amid a buzz of magic. Silver eyes, full to the brim with compassion, met his from less than a foot away.

"I'm not unprotected, darling. I'll be alright."

"You promise?" He murmured. She nodded her head confidently. Well. Alright then. "Suppose I should be going to bed then." He said weakly. Her hand moved from his chin to cup his cheek, her thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth. Electric magic shot through him, rooting him to the spot.

"I suppose you should," she replied in barely more than a whisper. Harry gulped, wondering at his inability to move, but then she dropped her hand and moved back a step.

"Goodnight, Harry." She curtsied elegantly, which in her tunic and pants just looked silly, and Harry barked a laugh at the ridiculousness that is his life.

"G'night, Celestine." He turned, fully intending to go through the door, down the hall, into the room he shared with Ron, and fall into bed.

He stopped with his hand on the knob. Ron would probably be awake by now, and failing that Hermione certainly would be. They'd have questions, so many questions, and the thought of telling another person about his eventful night so soon made something like dread settle in his gut.

He just wanted to sleep. Not be subjected to the Hermione Inquisition. Because Hermione wouldn't be content with a simple retelling like Sirius was, oh no. She'd have questions, and follow up questions, and when he inevitably found himself unable to answer her every inquiry she'd drag him to the Black family library for research that could take days.

Merlin, he wouldn't trade Hermione for the world, and he'll gladly suffer her inquisition, but he's so bloody tired. He hasn't got anything left in the tank, physically, mentally, or emotionally.

And what if Celestine is right? What if Missus Weasley does try something against him? He's sure she won't try to hurt him, not like she would Celestine anyway, but would it really be outside the realm of possibility for her to do something rash? Bring in other members of the Order, maybe even Dumbledore himself to interrogate him?

His hand shook on the knob, so Harry let it go.

"Celestine?" He turned, and she hummed from where she was getting the bed ready. "Can I-" He stopped, suddenly nervous. She turned to him with open curiosity and concern. No judgement, no impatience. Oh fuck it, go for it.

"Can I sleep here? I don't think I can handle my friends just yet, and I really don't want either of us to be alone right now." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Celestine beamed at him and threw the covers back. "Get comfortable, darling. I'll get the blood wards set up." Harry smiled gratefully and headed for the bed while she made for the door. Their knuckles brushed as they passed each other. He sat on the edge of the bed and shucked his trainers and socks, noting that his socks were more hole than sock at this point, but stopped as his hands went to his belt.

He doesn't have any sleeping clothes with him, and he sure as hell isn't about to risk getting caught by anyone in the hallway. So, how much of his clothes is he gonna wear to bed tonight?

This morning? Shit, his whole sleep schedule is gonna be wrecked for days after this.

Celestine brought her index finger up to her lips and, without hesitation, bit down hard enough that blood immediately welled from her finger tip. Using her blood as ink, she took to inscribing something on the door to the room. It didn't look like any of the runic alphabets he'd seen Hermione studying before. In fact, it looked like Latin if he had his guess.

"I didn't know you could cast wards using Latin rather than one of the runic languages." It came out more as a question than anything else.

"It depends on how you're casting the ward," she answered without pausing her work. "The runic languages are simple in that they have the fewest characters, and therefore are easier to work with when warding the wizard's way. But, when working with blood wards? Using your native language is best." She splayed her hand out on the door, head bowed in concentration. The door flashed, and the words she had writ in blood raised off the surface to hover, amidst a vaguely glowing red mist, about half a foot in front of the door.

"One more door to go, and then we can get some rest." She sighed tiredly, moving to the connecting door by the desk and repeating the process.

"This won't take too much out of you, will it?" Harry asked, concerned by how suddenly tired she seemed. "Wait!" he interjected before she could answer, and she turned to him in surprise.

"Latin is your native language?" He asked, utterly dumbfounded. Celestine threw her head back and laughed, long and loud, bracing herself on the door with one hand to keep from falling over. Harry blushed, but after a moment he laughed too.

"Alright, yeah, not as big and important as I made it seem, but still! I didn't think there were any native latin speakers left in the world." He exclaimed, visibly excited. Latin is the language spells are written in, knowing the language that intimately must bring some sort of advantage in casting magic, right?

"Latin is the official language of the Undercity," Celestine finally said as her giggling came to an end. "And all other hidden cities like it. In Europe at least. Didn't you notice in the marketplace? Most everyone there was speaking it."

"No, I didn't notice." Harry noted disbelievingly. "How did I not notice that!?" Celestine shook her head fondly, then resumed warding the second door.

"Don't worry about me, Harry. The Praetoriae Sigillum doesn't require much blood to set up at all."

"Good." Harry declared, glad that she wasn't overly taxing herself for one good night's rest. They've got a few weeks left before he heads to Hogwarts, and he would feel just awful if she had to exhaust herself just to be safe in her own room every time she slept.

Wait. Shit. Hogwarts. How were they going to handle that? They can't exactly fulfill their oaths to each other totally separated for most of the year. He could try and convince the Headmaster to let her… what? Attend the school? Teach a class of her own? Shadow him without any sort of formal acknowledgement by the school itself? Shit, his head hurt thinking about it.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow they could talk about it. Maybe even get Sirius to help come up with ideas. It'll be easier after some rest anyway.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Celestine finished warding the second door, licking her finger once to heal it, and came to stand in front of him. She looked down at him with a curiously raised eyebrow.

"What?" He asked.

"You don't seriously intend me to believe that you normally sleep in your jeans, do you?"

"Er, well no, but-"

"But, I'm still wearing my pants?" She purred, bending over at the waist to put them nearly nose to nose. "Does the imbalance make you hesitant, meae deliciae?" Her smile was nearly predatory, her fangs gleaming in the warm light of the sconces that lit the room.

"It's, it's not that." Harry stuttered out. She tilted her head curiously, inviting him to elaborate. "I guess I'm just being shy." He breathed out a short laugh. Celestine's predatory smile melted away, becoming something infinitely softer and more tender.

"Adhuc est iuvanale," she muttered to herself before straightening. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Get comfortable, Harry. Whether that means your pants stay on or not is up to you, but either way I'm going to bed."

Before he knew what was happening, she was pulling her pants down in one smooth motion and stepping out of them. Her tunic fell far enough to preserve her modesty, but left almost the entirety of the impressive length of her smooth, pale legs bare to the world and any that would be brave enough to look upon them.

Harry looked, eyes wide in shock, then appreciation, then fear as he dragged his gaze back to her eyes. What he found wasn't what he expected. He thought she'd be incensed that he had the gall to look at her in anything less than outright decency, but what he found instead was a pleased smirk and a twinkle of challenge in her eyes.

And by Godric, if Harry didn't respond to that challenge then what right did he have calling himself a Gryffindor? He undid the knot in his belt - calling it a belt is generous; any real belt wouldn't be up to the job of making his cousins cast offs stay on. Instead, he used a length of thin rope, tied twice to make absolutely sure his pants didn't sag. Without the knot holding them up, all Harry had to do was stand up and shimmy a bit, and his pants were off, leaving him in his shirt and boxers.

Now, he hadn't exactly thought this action through. If he had he might have hesitated at least a little, but as it is he practically bounced up onto his feet in his eagerness to meet her challenge.

And nearly pressed the length of their bodies together all at once. She was standing so close he could feel how warm she was. Her smirk, Merlin help him. Her smirk turned downright sultry, and Harry swallowed convulsively, but managed to send her his own cocky grin in return.

"You said to get comfortable, right?" He asked rhetorically, only waiting the barest second for her to nod her head before he whipped his shirt off in one smooth motion. Her eyes trailed down his torso, sticking firmly where he knew they would: on his chest. Harry fought viciously against every single doubt and self-recrimination that reared their ugly head, unable to comprehend where this stupendous wave of bravado was coming from.

He'd never taken his shirt off in front of others before. Even during the second task he'd had a shirt of some sort on. He always made a point to change in the privacy of the showers in the mornings and the locker rooms. No one, and he means no one had ever seen him bare-chested before, and that was no accident.

She reached out, slowly, eyes seeking permission all the while, which he gave with a shaky nod, to trace the jagged, ugly scar that stretched from the lower right side of his ribs up to just above his left nipple. The scar was slightly raised, pink, and nearly as wide as his thumb. Her hand left pleasant tingles in its wake, her magic buzzing across him and sinking comfortably into his blood. The first sensation he'd felt in that scar since the day he got it.

"How?" She asked breathlessly, eyes switching from examining his scar to his eyes and back as if she couldn't decide what to do with herself.

"I-" He doesn't want to tell her. He desperately doesn't want to tell her, but he wants her to know. Maybe that's why he could be brave enough to whip his shirt off and show her his shame. She's understood him in ways no one else has before, maybe, just maybe, she'll understand this part of him too.

"Don't tell anyone, even if they ask. This stays between us."

"Of course, Harry. I won't tell a soul." He catches her hand in both of his, rubbing circles over it with his thumbs while he gathers his thoughts.

"I told you that my relatives aren't the nicest people, yeah?" He started, and the way her expression fell told him she'd already put two and two together to make four. It really isn't that hard to figure out, he thinks. How no one else even suspected is beyond him.

"I live with my Aunt and Uncle and their son, Dudley." He said tonelessly, letting the words come without letting himself feel them. "They never wanted me. Told me as much every chance they got. One day, I messed something up, can't rightly remember what, but Uncle was more furious with me than normal that day. I think, looking back, that he must've been drunk. He grabbed one of his golf clubs, and-"

Harry's eyes clamp shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of that day. How his Uncle turned to him with apoplectic pucey rage. How he took up a nine iron and told him to 'Stand there and take it like a man.' How Harry couldn't couldn't couldn't not defend himself, so he tried to block the hits with his arms. How that just made Uncle even angrier, so he tied his arms behind him with his belt, and hit him so hard, over and over again, until-

"The club broke, and the jagged end tore me pretty good that first time." It wasn't a clean cut. The broken club dragged and tore and ripped it's way across his chest, and he knows he must have cried out, but he can't remember if he begged his Uncle to stop or if he just cried.

"The first time?" Her voice is utterly horrified, and Harry squeezes his eyes tighter, refusing to see whatever expression goes with it on her beautiful face. It'd break him, he's sure of it.

"My- my back," he chokes out. "He turned me over-" so he wouldn't have to see his 'pathetic, freakish face.' "-and, and-"

"Harry," her free hand is lifting his chin again, the pleasant tingle of her touch a distant thing as his memories threaten to overwhelm him. He doesn't mean to, he doesn't want to see how little she must think of him now painted across her celestial eyes. He doesn't want to look at her and see the regret she must feel now for ever binding them together as they did.

Because his Uncle is right. He's weak and freakish and no one loves him-

But- but Sirius does. He said so, and he would never lie to him about something like that.

But, Celestine has only just met him! She can't possibly- he shouldn't have- he doesn't want to see-

But he does. He opens his eyes and sees tears trailing down her regal cheekbones, and something almost like pride curling her lips.

"You are so much stronger than I thought." What? "A warrior and a survivor. To have gone through so much suffering, and come out the other side as the kind of man you are?" She shook her head, then leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Harry, you amaze me." Then she folded him up in her arms, one hand going to the nape of his neck to play with the short hairs there, the other splaying out against his lower back and pulling him closer until they were flush against one another. Everywhere their skin touched, and there was a lot of it showing, he felt that soothing tingle as her magic seemed to almost reach out to him now, trying to wrap him up protectively.

Her hand was touching the ends of a few of the scars that ran down his back, he could feel it, but she didn't flinch away, or hesitate. Her hand didn't so much as stutter as her fingers pressed into the very real, very physical proof that Harry was different. Was other. Was unwanted by his own family.

She didn't care. Well, no, that isn't right, she definitely cares about him, but she doesn't care about his childhood. She doesn't think less of him.

Somehow, she thinks more of him for it.

Harry doesn't understand it, not really, but he doesn't need to understand it to accept it. So he presses his face into her collarbone and lets his arms wrap around her as snugly as they can. He breathes deep, noticing for the first time that Celestine smells like iron and cotton and something floral that he can't place.

She accepted the worst part of him. She accepted it. For the first time in his life since that horrible day, Harry fully relaxes into another's touch. Nothing held back, nothing to hide, no shame, no fear. Comfortable in his own skin once more, even if only for a moment.

He feels her make a short gesture with her hand, and the lights go out. Before he can voice his confusion, her arms are tightening around him, and then they're tumbling down into the bed together. They roll a bit, and Harry ends up half on top of Celestine. He props himself up to try and look at her, but his eyes haven't adjusted yet and he can hardly even see her outline.

Except for her eyes, which shine faintly, like stars in the darkness of the room.

"We should get some rest." She answers his unasked question. Harry knows she's right. Now that he's off his feet, his eyelids feel like they have ten ton weights attached to them. Keeping them open is a struggle, so he lets them fall shut. He tries to move, to roll off of Celestine and give her some space, the bed really is titanic, but her arms tighten around him and pull him down until his head is resting on her chest, right above her heart.

"Stay, meae deliciae." She murmurs into his hair, and Harry finds that he really doesn't want to move from where he is anyway. He's so tired and so comfortable, that before he knows it he's drifting off, a contented smile on his face.

---

Author's Note: Here's hoping ya'll like Celestine. I'm rather fond of her myself, but that's to be expected, ain't it? I did create her, after all. Stay tuned for more in the coming days, and let me know what ya'll thought! Even a simple "I liked it, good job!" Raises my spirits and keeps me motivated to write.