St. Grogory's Primary School 1987

It was a calm afternoon, the weather wasn't too bad and it was routine for the students to have a nice recess after lunch. Harry decided to spend his time on the farther end of the huge campus yard. It was a quiet and green patch of grass with a resilient tree at its center. The spot owned an attractive ratio of warm sun, refreshing breeze, and comfortable obscurity. Harry, of course, was alone. No one wanted to deal with his bully of a cousin. Especially once the teachers looked away, because that meant one thing. Harry Hunting.

Harry knew better than to have his back turned away without a teacher in his sight. The Dudley Gang sprung at the opportunity.

"Look Dud, someone left a punching bag here just for us." Joked Piers Polkiss.

Harry always thought the rat faced boy couldn't be any more of a yes-man than if he was permanently glued to his cousins whale of an arse.

"Sod off Dudley, don't you have some pudding to steal."

"Ahh, a fat joke, well put Potty." Harry could hear Dudley's amusement growing

"What's the matter Dudley, got tired of beating up another 6 year year old?" Harry looked around he saw some of the gang looping around to block his retreat.

"This one deserved it." Dudley laughed. The circle slowly got smaller. Harry watched disappointedly at his window of escape closed like a casket. "Going somewhere Potter?" Piers taunted.

"Oi Dud, let's jus' thump 'em 'ere." said Malcolm Corner, one of the older lanky boys that Dudley somehow blackmailed into his gang.

"Now, now boys. The fun will happen soon, but why not give him a sporting chance." Dudley's beaming smile could be heard in his voice.

Harry turned around to come face to face with his cousin.

Dudley looked down his nose at Harry, to everyone else he looked like he was in deep thought, Harry knew it was theatrics.

"You get five Potter, muttered Dudley, emulating the mafioso movie he snuck to watch the other week. "Because you're family."

His smirk never left, even as Harry turned to run through the gap created for his scheduled escape.

Dudley's hounds bounded after him, with Dudley lazily keeping up the rear.

Harry had spent the last 10 minutes of his recess running for his continued good (relative) health. They would split into formation, the smaller, yet faster boys would hound Harry and try to slow him down, rocks would be thrown at his legs, back and head. This was for the next group of slower, but stronger boys to hold him down, they would normally relieve him of any valuables. Then, there would be Dudley. He'd saunter over and collect his "fox", the first thirty seconds of the punching bag, coincidentally named Harry.

That's not to say Harry was defenceless. He wasn't trained like Dudley or his goons, but he learned to hold himself well in their scraps. Swift jaw taps for those who were in his weight class and low blows, elbows, and dirt to the face for everyone else. Harry could be a right scoundrel for anyone with his ill health in mind.

That's certainly what Malcom thought when he reached out to grab Harry's baggy shirt only to get his wrist twisted and some swiped lunch room table salt in his eyes. Harry didn't look back to watch the 8 year old frantically switch between grasping his wrist and poorly try to rub the salt out of his face, but he did have a laugh at the pained cries.

"We were going to leave you for Dudley, but now we're gonna turn you into a blood spot Potter." Someone growled out.

Harry didn't bother with a response, he knew they could do it. You'd think the teachers wouldn't buy the "Harry fell off the monkey bars" routine after the 25th time.

So, Harry did his best at out running the gaping maw of a beat down right behind him. However sometimes you're just unlucky.

In a rare stroke of intelligence, the gang managed to corral Harry towards one of the dumpster alleys by the school. By the time Harry realised his mistake it was too late. Frantically diving behind one of the dumpsters towards the shadowy areas of the alley.

Harry felt many things behind that dumpster: anger, fear, hopelessness, and most importantly shame. The pain of getting jumped Harry could take, but getting a thumping you knew you didn't have too always rubbed Harry the wrong way. Worst of all his cousin would stand above his bruised form, smug like a fed cat.

The steps of his pursuers drew closer. Harry's usually calm countenance was failing and rushing panic was filling the gaps.

Tightly closing his eyes.

Anywhere, but here.

Anywhere but here.

Anywhere but-

A cool breeze flowed over the back of Harry's neck. His eyes slowly opened to find himself on top of the school roof a ways away from his last location.

"Bloody fucking Hell!" Panic started rising in Harry.

Breath erratic, fingers rapidly twitching, and eyes glazing over. Harry started to believe all the beatings caught up with him. Dudley's headshot combos finally liquified his brain. He just teleported. Like Captain Kirk and Dr. Spock from Dudley's Sci-fi shows on the tube. "That's impossible, it would be like Ma-" Harry paused. That word was forbidden in the Dursley household even the precious "Dudders" got an unusually sharp look from his parents when the word was said.

Was he a Magician?

That would explain a lot of the weirdness that surrounded him. The whispers of his freakishness, Uncle Vernon's threats to beat it out of him, the taboo of the word in the house. It all made sense. Harry was a mutant,or a mage, or a time lord like on the telly. Only one real way to find out, right? Trial and error.

Harry tried to well up a similar feeling to being trapped by Dudley's Gang. He closed his eyes and focused. He tried for a few minutes but didn't feel any change. Maybe it was just a fluke.

" !"

Harry jumped, he found his scenery had changed to the patch of grass behind his tree. It worked. Harry was special, he was-

"Mr. Potter!" Harry's thoughts were cut by an exasperated voice. "Recess ended 5 minutes ago, so march yourself inside or you'll spend the next week indoors."

Harry's Year 3 teacher started to drag him inside by the shoulder rather forcefully, but Harry didn't care. Sitting down at his desk, Harry couldn't focus on the lesson. The only thought Harry had for the rest of the day was, "What other things can I do?"

Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England

Number 4 Privet Drive was a boring house, in a dull neighborhood, in the blandest suburb in all of England. Every house in the street had a soul sucking beige brown facade filled with even more dry occupants. Every lawn was cut the same height, every car a similar shade of baby blue. No house even dared to put anything up that would let them stand out too much. Privet Drive's residents preferred to gossip than show off. And anything that disrupted the normality was treated with disgust.

Uncle Vernon called him a financial burden. Aunt Petunia called him a lazy bumpkin. The neighbors just called him trouble and why wouldn't they.

The Dursleys out of the kindness of their hearts took Harry in after his drunken, no good, hippy parents got themselves blown up in a car crash. Apparently, according to the Dursleys, Harry didn't fall far from the undesirable tree. The neighbors would know no better. The only time they saw Harry was when he was out doing chores and fixing his glasses, broken from his constant fighting no doubt. His ever unruly black hair and baggy hand-me-down clothes certainly didn't help in that regard either. No one on the inside would mind the bruises, no one on the outside saw his abuse. Privet Drive saw Harry as a trouble child, but Harry thought differently.

Harry was an observant child. He noticed the harsh gazes and hushed whispers. The less than subtle differences between how the Dursleys treated him versus Dudley. When he asked why the answer was always,

"Because you're a freak." Petunia would shriek. "It's what you deserve."

That was the answer Harry often received, at least from the Dursleys. That was always the answer. As if that one statement defined all logic, Harry was a freak.

But he knew better than to take the Dursleys at face value. He knew he was different, and understood a lot about the world around him. So he more than noticed when things that shouldn't would happen. His primary school teacher's hair turned blue after falsely accusing Harry for disrupting class, a bleeding cut from making breakfast for the Dursleys healing instantly, burning a spider that got too close to him inside his cupboard under the stairs. Harry wasn't a freak, it's just that freakish things happen to him. He'd learn to roll with it. However teleportation was the last of the proof Harry needed.

Since the incident. Harry had spent the time honing his craft. He started reading up on other Magicians, Warlocks and Wizards of old. From Houdini, to Rincewind, to Merlin himself, at least what he could find. Harry absorbed any ideas on how to use his newfound powers. Anything and everything that he thought could help him was fair game.

November 1987

Harry teleported from townhouse to townhouse. Laughing freely as he raced across rooftops of West London to get back to Dursley Prison as he'd been calling it more often lately. Dudley's gang tried to ambush him this afternoon, but Harry gave them the slip by taking the highroad.

He could teleport a few times a short distance, blinking he called it, but if he went any farther than a kilometer he would feel winded as if he sprinted the distance.

"Harry Hunting" helped with physical endurance and stunts like this helped train his magic. Harry figured if he kept at it he could join a track team. For now he'd take not dying from the commutes to and from school.

Magic was physically draining.

Missing the timing for an uncharacteristically long jump, Harry fell down into an open bin. Stunned by the fall, Harry started slowly pulling himself out of the trash. Only to be helped up by a firm hand.

"Um, thanks. Sorry for dropping in unannounced like this." Harry tried to joke.

The face attached to the hand was hidden by a hood. Harry for the life of him couldn't describe it from any memory, but his voice was young, distinct, and mischievous.

"Don' worry, n't everyday some posh bint takes a 30 foot dumpster dive, very entertainin'."

The voice changed from playful to inquiring.

"What'd ya been doin' up there anyway?" It was now Harry's time to be smug.

"You'd never believe me." He replied with a smile.

"Try me." Disbelief leaching through the playful voice.

Harry motioned for his ear, the hooded youth chose to play along.

"Magic." Harry whispered.

"Bullshit!"

Harry tried to look indignant. "It's true!"

"So fallin' in bins is the shining standard for magic these days, innit?" The hooded youth started to laugh.

Harry took offence. "Oi, I was falling with style, thank you." The laughter grew louder.

"You're a riot mate, wha's your name?"

"Harry."He replied, bringing up his hand to shake.

"They call me Starfish." The hooded boy accepted the hand again.

Harry tilted his head, eyebrows raised. "Why's that?"

"Urchin was a tad too prickly for me, a ways too ...unapproachable." He reasoned, stretching out the last word. Harry resisted the urge to snort.

"So Starfish what do you do for fun?"

Harry could feel Starfish's very Cheshire grin. "Oh many things friend, many things."

The two boys spent the rest of the afternoon, getting into trouble, showing off and generally having a good time. With each teaching the other tricks or trading jokes. Harry was overjoyed to finally find a companion, one that wouldn't be bullied away by Dudley and his gang. Harry could finally relax and enjoy himself as a normal kid.

"So what do you want to do next!" Harry had nothing to look forward to back home, Vernon was working late nights to suck up for a promotion, Petunia was having a "girls night" whatever that was, and Dudley had boxing practice.

"Oh we can go-" Starfish was cut off by a pager alarm beeping. Harry could swear Starfish's body frowned with him.

"Sorry Harry but I have to go now." Harry looked like a kicked puppy.

"Oh okay, it was nice meeting you." Harry turned to leave.

"Don' be sucha berk, mate. I still wanna be friends. Starfish mate for life and all that." Starfish waved around with dramatics. "Drop in, same time to'marra, I'll be 'ere."

With a smile and a promise , Harry turned, waved his goodbye, and began the long journey home, passing a few televisions on his way. Far too happy to stop and listen.

"This just in today another disappearance in a string of kidnappings happening in the greater London area, the 4th this month…."

March 1988

Harry discovered something in the middle of weeding the garden one weekend. Normally he would just "ungrow" the weeds back to their original states but Petunia was wary of him given his new record speed. So he'd have to sweat out in the garden to keep her off his back.

He spent a lot of time mumbling about how hungry he was that day. Petunia gave him a paper thin slice of cheese and the end piece of a loaf of bread before she kicked him out to work. Harry's stomach cried out for more ever since he started practicing magic, but Harry knew the Dursley's would only give him the bare minimum for his body to not be visibly malnourished.

While Dudley got third helpings, to complement his boxing classes.

Harry was broken from his complaining by two taps to his leg, similar to a knock. Looking down he saw a grass snake holding a frog in its jaws. If it couldn't get any weirder one of Ms. Figg's cats arrived with a field mouse, both nudging their catches towards him.

"Er.. thanks." Harry was worried that the weirdness of magic was starting to desensitize him. The snake and cat nodded.

"You. Bad. Hunter." The cat meowed out.

"Ssstill young. You Learn." The snake finished.

"You can speak English?" Harry blurted out in amazement. Both gave a so-so movement.

"That's wicked! What's it like being a cat or a snake? Do birds talk? Do you have night vision? Were snakes really cursed to crawl on their bellies for all eternity? Do you really have nine lives?"

Harry's barrage of questions was met with pure confusion on the animals end. After spending the rest of the afternoon trying, he was half successful in his questioning. He tried focusing more so they could understand him completely, but it still nothing. With Aunt Petunia coming to fetch him to start on other chores, he whispered a promise to come back later.

"And after the dishes you'll help me with dinner, am I understood, Freak?"

"Yes Aunt Petunia." Harry quickly walked off to the kitchen

Petunia shook her head and went back to the pastime of housewives everywhere, binging daytime television. Normally whatever soap opera was on but today it was interrupted.

"We have an update on the disappearances happening in the last few months, more at 8."

April 1988

It was a typical English day, the streets of London were lightly watered. Her charming citizens not giving the rain any mind. They simply spent the day plodding along, fighting the good fight.

One particular pair could be seen enjoying the nice English sunshine. A single mother dressed in her finest coat checking out fresh fruit from a stall. Her son looking to be of an inquisitive age, dressed in a bright yellow raincoat with matching galoshes tugging on her coat pleading for her attention.

"Mummy Mummy there's a boy on that roof."

"That's nice honey." Her tone one of an encouraging parent, if a little exasperated. The woman went back to her fruit, smiling fondly at her child's growing imagination only for her face to change once she saw the price of oranges.

Over on the roof high above the mundane was not just one boy but two.

"Harry, wha's so nice 'bout a roof." Starfish groaned out he was starting to get bored with sitting around, the day started with the two climbing on rooftops to sneak into a cinema, to watch "Bug-Juice" or something, it was the start of a great day. But that went to a grinding halt once Harry got into his "trance-thingy." Harry did it regularly enough for it to not be weird anymore. Once Harry had his nap they would get into some trouble or another Starfish often asked what the experience was like, but Harry would always be cut off by whatever they ran into next.

Harry never got the chance to talk about the feel of magic. What could only be described as sapphire-sea green wind flowing all around him. It never stayed too long, but would often softly caress Harry, like Petunia would to Dudley. Warmth and love, only possible from a mother. Harry was feeling rather moody after that. But magic wouldn't let Harry dwell on that feeling for too long, normally through a quick jolt to shake him out of his funk. Turns out Magic was as fickle as anyone else.

"Okay I've found something else for us to do." Harry hopped up to his feet.

Starfish's shadowy hood somehow brightened. "All right let's go…"

A sudden alarm stopped both boys, Harry solemnly looked to Starfish. The cheery mood dropped.

"Harry I'm sorry, I gotta go. We can hang out nex-." Harry stopped him with a wiry smile.

"It's fine. Do your thing, I'll see you around." Harry climbed down the roof. Starting his long walk back to the Dursley's. Walking down familiar streets, taking the train to Surrey. He wasn't sure of what to do with himself.

Only for his magic to subtly push him into an alleyway. Harry carefully stepped through the trash. "Mage Sight." Harry's eyes flashed for a second, filling with magic. He could now see a silver cord leading him in the same direction his magic was trying to nudge him. Harry followed. With each step the draw of magic called to him, a chain of fate marching him towards his destiny. It ended in a pile of rubble. Magic pooling around, anchoring his eyes to this spot.

Harry pulled back the rubbish to reveal a brown barn owl. Dead. Harry wondered what happened to it. No blood, no bite marks, no claw marks, nothing. Strange. No stranger than the letter in its claws. Fumbling over to the letter you found that it was sealed with red wax with a weird symbol stamped in. Some type of Moth? Very peculiar. Was reading someone else's mail a felony? Magic definitely didn't care and wanted Harry to see what was going on. So it was fair game as far as Harry was concerned.

As soon as he touched it a stinging sensation went through his hand. Quickly throwing down the letter Harry wondered if magic or someone was stopping him from reading their mail. Harry could admit that it was a reasonable and no doubt useful bit of magic. Harry was no slouch though. Feeling around the magic of the letter in the same way he would when lockpicking his cupboard door, a mental click told Harry his work was done. This time he picked up the letter gingerly. Feeling a tingle of success Harry made quick work of the wax seal before scanning the letter.

It was mostly gibberish, names of places Harry was more than sure were nowhere in Britain. But every so often the writer would go on and on about the search for a lost boy but it was blurred out to Harry's eyes. More peculiar magic. Harry started back on to Privet Dr.

Harry wasn't arrogant enough to think that he was the only mage around but, from all the books he read mages didn't do well with normal people. The phase "thou shall not suffer a witch to live." came to mind. But this was evidence of other mages communicating with each other. Was it just two friends gossiping or was there a civilization of wizards somewhere. Definitely something Harry would have to look into.

June 1988

It was another summer day. Harry had finished his chores and his summer packet for primary school was long completed, he'd spend the rest of his afternoon in his cupboard. He was writing down some more ideas for his powers when his lamp went out. Harry sighed, he was hoping that this charge would've lasted longer. Vernon wasn't too keen on buying Harry anything let alone batteries to power his lamp light, so Harry decided to use his magic to recharge the batteries. Luckily Harry figured out that he could make a small current of electricity to suit his needs.

"Focus, hear the static, smell the ozone, feel the tingle." Harry whispered to himself.

He had to get in the right mindset to perform this simple task. It was one of the main reasons he hadn't tried to make a fireball yet. It was the spell. The quintessential weapon of every magic slinger he read about, but Harry didn't attempt it no matter how badly he wanted to try. Harry frequently hurt himself while practicing with electricity, and fire without borders spread. So no flashy fireballs just yet. But he was getting the hang of making stable currents.

He was close to a full charge when he was disturbed by Vernon's loud yelling, causing a spark to arc out and zap him.

"Boy, get out here I have an announcement to make!"

Harry, gave his door a sour look. Exiting his cupboard, while sucking the burn on his thumb.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry mumbled and turned to find all three Dursleys in the living room.

"Listen well boy, the district manager of Grunnings is going to be at dinner tonight. Three others from my office got promotions along with holidays to Bermuda and I for one think I'm more deserving than any of them. You are to be on your best behavior, or I'll lock you up in the cupboard again."

Harry wasn't fazed by the threat. He was picking the cupboard lock a ways before he could teleport anyway, but he decided to be diplomatic.

"Of course Uncle Vernon."

Vernon huffed. "I'll be watching you for any tricks, boy. "

He turned to Petunia, "Puppet could you make that wonderful steak of your's, the boss tells me he's partial to rare meat."

It was 8:30 when a nice, yet forgettable car with tinted windows rolled down the block. Inside was the man of the hour, the district manager of Grunnings, Gyorgy Denever. He was a handsome Slavic man that looked somewhere in his late-thirties. He had silky neck length salt and pepper hair and hawkish orange-brown almost amber eyes. With high regal cheekbones and a slim nose.

He first came to the western countries fleeing the Russo-Turkish War as a baby swaddled in his mother's arms. His family fled to the then named Holy Roman Empire. He spent much of his childhood working for a semi-successful Bohemian banker running errands. He worked his way up the chain to become a profound banker himself. With his newly found wealth he drowned himself in decadence. His constant parties and feasts were still told today as local legend. It was there his humanity was stolen away. The drunken stupor of one of his outings was a perfect ambush. His group was easy pickings among the low streetlight. Without warning something bit into the necks of the party go-ers. Screams of panic and feeble attempts to fight back or hide were made.

While his entourage was being feasted upon, he attempted to flee only to be cornered by two stragglers of the scourge. They planned to use him to usurp control from their current master, by turning him into their thrall. Denever protested but his captors simply replied by sinking their teeth in him. He would have spent the rest of his un-life as a slave to the two had they not succeeded in their coup 50 years later and then turn on each other. With both masters killed Denever was free to take their older blood increasing his power and free himself from any influences.

Denever decided to spend his new found freedom hiding away from many things: Hunters, Magicals, Governments, his fellow vampires. It soon became apparent that he would need to find a consistent source of food to avoid detection. Blood Banks were not around for the next 60 years or so. When they did come up Denever decided they were obviously traps for his kind on principle alone. Gallons of blood just sitting there unguarded "Nem repül a sült galamb a szádba." Pull the other one. With no other discrete options, Denever decided to make his own personal feeding ground. Thus Grunnings Drill Company.

He first made the business to collect a healthy stock of young men for feeding in 1855. It was a time that no one would notice one or two disappearing, it was genius. Eventually, with the rise of family men coming to work for him he had to change his tactics. He would offer promotions to the more exotic corporate offices and "send off" the families with a vacation. Many were legitimate to keep up the ruse but many others weren't so fortunate. The best part was that no one could lead it back to him. Because instead of changing his appearance every 10 years or so, he would just inthrall a new CEO and Board Members, while giving himself an unassuming, but still powerful and mobile job of one of the District Managers.

Moving throughout Grunnings International offices was a breeze, no employee was skeptical when promotions were thrown about, and some thralls being made for keeping appearances. And as a tax paying, honest place of commerce that employed several thousands in Europe, Asia and the Caribbean, Grunnings was looked on favorably by many governments. With all the busy work set up Denever simply rolled a lottery to figure out who was on the menu every month, unluckily for him this week he would have to choke down Vernon Dursley.

He strolled up to Number 4 Privet Drive, drinking in the dull view.

Halfway across the lawn, he felt a shift in the air. The scent of magic wafted towards his nose. It was intoxicating. A blood ritual, with one-no two sacrifices to power it. With an underlying scent of flowers. Was Vernon a wand waver? No, Denever would have known by now and he doubted that Vernon of all people's magic would smell like flowers. No, this had to be done by a woman. His wife perhaps? Maybe she could be of use for a time before finally being a "for the road" snack. Either way, any wand waver capable of magic this strong should be dealt with first. He licked his lips sensually.

No, no reign it in.

This would be his first taste of Wandwaver since what, 1978? 79? Oh damn that Voldemort.

Still, a witch meant that things could quickly get out of hand. He squatted and put a nail to the sidewalk drawing a symbol in the concrete. A whispered word raising a barrier unseen to the mundane of the neighborhood. Standard muggle repelling ward. With that Denever got to his feet.

Finally getting to the door he knocked twice. The door swung open eagerly and in the door frame stood a best dressed Vernon Dursley.

"Mr. Denever, so glad you could make it." Vernon shuffled quickly to shake Denever's hand. Denever with thinly veiled disgust, smiled and took the sweaty gesture.

"Vernon, It's a pleasure. May I come in?"

"Of course! Please may I take your coat?"

"Certainly." And with that the Dursley's fate was sealed.

Dinner was a very lively affair, Harry had never seen Aunt Petunia laugh that genuinely, ever. Mr. Denever just had that certain charm. It was an added bonus that Mr. Denever could shut up Uncle Vernon with a sentence. Stories of worldly travels and history lessons were thrown about at the table and Harry was even allowed to chime in. He found himself liking Mr. Denever, but there was something in Harry's gut was telling him that he should be on guard around him.

Harry looked over at Dudley to get a read on him. He looked a little put out about some guy that wasn't his dad flirting with his mum. Harry could see Dudley's point. Dudley was good at reading people and Harry was exceptional at reading Dudley so if he had no real problems with the man Harry shouldn't either. So why couldn't he get the fight or flight feeling off his mind?

" Mr. Denever," Petunia cooed. "Surely a worldly man like you would be above a humble meal like this."

"Oh Az én snackem I have tasted many exotic foods but this is something I could never get tired of. A wonderful meal, by an even more wonderful woman." Denever replied, with Petunia blushing into her wine glass.

"PER-haps it's time for...uh.. dessert, dear?" Vernon half shouted, almost breaking his chair getting up. Vernon just spent the entire night watching his boss get fresh with his wife. He was beginning to believe that the dinner wasn't worth the trouble.

"Oh yes, I'll get the tart and some tea, would you like anything Harry,darling?"

Now that was a red flag "N-no thank you."

"Mage Sight" Harry whispered into his napkin.

His yes discreetly scanned the room. Everything gained a colored silhouette, all floating in magic's blue-green wind. Normal at first glance, but then Harry saw it, an oozing black and blood red thread connecting from Aunt Petunia to Mr. Denever. The thread was at a very sedated pace transferring 's jasper and crude oil magic into Petunia's brownish-grey magic. It was about two-thirds full.

"Let me help you with that Aunt Petunia." Harry quickly getting up to assist in the kitchen.

This was beyond weird. Was Mr. Denever a demon or something? Harry was never very religious. He doubted a couple of Hail Marys could undo what was happening to Aunt Petunia.

"Harry sweetheart could you grab that knife from the drawer?"

"S-sure Aunt Petunia."

" The one time she's half decent to me she's under some type of mind control blood magic." He thought, with some dark amusement.

Harry glanced over towards Petunia with Mage Sight he noticed that the crude oil-blood was rising noticeably faster than before. This time it was to her chin.

"I have to warn Uncle Vernon or Dudley." Harry started. "Yeah like they'll believe, Hey Uncle your boss is some type of magic vampire, that's magically violating your wife, raw, no rubber."

Working it over in his head, short term Aunt Petunia is hurt, long term everyone in the house is screwed. Harry quickly thought of a plan, get a reaction big enough that even Uncle Vernon couldn't ignore.

Coming back to the sitting room Aunt Petunia started divining up a raspberry tart. As she was she was cutting the tart Harry reached out and sliced his hand on the kitchen knife. Harry swiftly moved his hand up in mock surprise splattering his blood across Mr. Denever's face.

Vernon's face went through a range of emotions. Then it was stuck on rage.

"BOY! What the devil have you done!" A purple faced Vernon shouted.

He was just about to grab Harry but he was stopped by Dudley frantically tugging his sleeve.

"U-um Da!"

Vernon turned to see Mr. Denever's tongue stretch far longer than physically possible, for a human at least. His tongue stretched all the way to the corners of his forehead down to his neck. Desperately licking away at Harry's blood. His features started getting more and more corrupted. His skin turning into a pasty, macabre masquerade of humanity. His amber eyes getting a hungry glint. A laugh came. It started soft, quickly boiling over into hysterics. Aunt Petunia fainted.

"Oh that was delicious, honestly you could bottle that up." Mr. Denever's tongue reaching back to the tips of his left ear.

"Boy, what did you do?" Vernon's mind only able to blame Harry for the freakishness happening in his house. Including the transforming Bram Stoker antagonist in his living room.

"Are you serious? Yeah, I was the one who invited a Vampire over for dinner." Harry shouted back.

"To be fair Vernon, your family was on the menu the day you put in your resume." Denever cackled.

Vernon snapped. Harry had never seen him move that fast in his life. The result was Mr. Denever slamming into the back wall, taking the coffee table and some dessert with him. Vernon moved back from his rugby tackle and quickly turned to Harry and Dudley.

"Dudley, Boy, run upstairs and block the doors. Don't come out until I call you." Dudley quickly heeded the wise advice. Harry looked back for a second, Dudley grabbed his arm, focusing him back on the task of escaping danger. It didn't take long for Mr. Denever to get back up, cracking his back into place.

"Attacking your supervisor?" Denever started with fake reproval. "I'll have to write up a reprimand for that."

"Treat this as my two week notice." Vernon replied. Reaching down to collect a leg from his now broken coffee table. "No one threatens my family, especially not in my home." Vernon mentally prepared himself for the fight at hand.

Both men began circling each other with Vernon keeping Denever at bay using the reach of his makeshift bat.

Denever chuckled. "Such a shame this was just supposed to be a quiet dinner."

"I hope you get indigestion." Vernon quipped back.

"Well don't expect a good reference for your next job at this rate." Vernon swings at Denever, only for him to slowly dodge out of the way.

"Grunning has given you everything you own, company cars." A swing. A miss. "The deposit on this awful drab house." Another frantic swing knocking over a lamp.

"Everything you own already belongs to me in a sense, I'm just here to collect the debt." The next swing had much more power put into it. Still missed.

"If I knew 18 years ago I was selling my soul to a devil like you I would have doused you in holy water." Vernon replied, swinging once more with all he had."

"That's the life of all wage workers Vernon. You just happened to sell to one of the real ones." Denever caught the weapon and tossed it aside.

"Honestly, you'll be better off as my little blood bank. Your wife agrees."

Vernon grew purple with rage.

"What the hell did you do to Petun-GAkk" Vernon's question was cut short by a knife to his throat. Blood gushing from his neck like a spigot. His last thoughts were of shock and betrayal. Petunia stood behind with vacant eyes. Serving knife still dripping.

Upstairs

Harry was still being tugged along in Dudley's grip, by the time the two reached Vernon and Petunia's room. Dudley immediately dove into the closet, frantically searching for something.

"Dudley." Harry said slowly. Dudley didn't answer he was to busy pulling out a floor board.

"Dudley!" Harry repeated with more force. Dudley jumped, his focus gone from searching the closet. Harry continued after getting Dudley's full attention.

"I-I can get us out of here." Harry forced out. Dudley made a face and looked towards the door.

" What about Mum and Da?" Dudley asked.

Harry shook his head. "I could only take one extra passenger."

Dudley looked down and turned back to the floorboard, he found what he was looking for, Grandpa Brandon's service pistol, an Enfield No. 2. Collecting a hand full of bullets, he held it like his father taught him to do. Nose angled down, fingers on the side away from the trigger until ready to fire. Dudley turned back to Harry.

"I know that they -none of us" Dudley corrected, "have treated you well, I wouldn't mind or be surprised if you left, but I can't leave Mum and Da to that monster if I could do something about it." With that Dudley went out.

Harry stayed put, why didn't he just leave the second danger started. What did Harry gain by staying with the Dursleys, a faster death? Some abuse forged Stockholm syndrome. A glimmering hope of familial bonds.

No.

Harry only wanted the Dursley's to survive for his own selfish reasons. Harry didn't really care if drained them dry, or if they lived the rest of their lives as zombies. Vernon was ultimately right, the best kind, Harry was a parasite on the Dursleys. It didn't excuse their actions, but it did validate the sentiment. Harry folded his legs in meditative pose. He pushed all the self reflection, hate, anger and shame from his mind. He focused on his magic and prepared for the battle ahead.

Then, the power went out.

Downstairs

Dudley was out of his league. As he was tiptoeing towards the stairs. It suddenly went dark. His parents were nowhere to be found. And a psycho killer was roaming his living room. Dudley shakily loaded the Enfield Pistol 6 rounds for a feed would leave him 8 bullets left after that. After loading the 5th bullet in Dudley, reached back into his trouser pockets. His sweaty, shaking, pudgy hands got stuck and spilled the remainder of his ammo into the darkness.

Dudley softly cursed and crawled downstairs, following the breadcrumb trail of bullets. Eventually finding himself in the living room, pawing around for his ammunition. His hands found something sticky. Dudley gasped, the smell on his fingers coppery.

"It's Blood!" Dudley noticed the trail in the low light leading to a large mass.

"Oh God Da!" Dudley began to move towards Vernon, but was stopped by a soft laughter from behind him.

"You should worry about me." Dudley fearfully turned to find Denever slinking out, his softly-glowing predatory eyes marking his location.

"Come now, kölyök" Denever started putting some vampiric charm into his voice. "You'll join your father soon. Dudley's eyes grew dazed. The primal calling from Denever was creeping through his mind crushing his will to fight back and avenge his father. Denever's mouth unhinged as Dudley slowly drew closer.

"I'm going to die, and I can't move my arm to shoot." Dudley panicked mentally screaming at himself in an effort to stop his body.

Each second inching closer and closer to the jaws of a predator, but right as Denever leaned in to take a chunk out of Dudley's flesh a shot fired out striking near his foot shocking Denever and breaking his concentration.

Dudley swiveled his arm around to blast Denever in his chest. The recoil causing both to fall back.

Dudley quickly got back up to his feet, taking another shot in to where he thought was Denever sending a bullet sailing into the shadows .

Suddenly blindsided from his left, Dudley's pistol was knocked away. Dudley dove after the gun, but Denever grabbed the boy.

Dudley quickly scraped his fingers into Denever's eyes making him lose his hold on Dudley's arms, just enough to grab the pistol and fire again this time hitting him in the neck.

Denever stumbled back. Grasping his wound.

Dudley sensing his chance charged Denever slamming him into a wall.

Denever's daze cleared to see the business end of the Enfield.

"For Da." Dudley pulled the trigger, pasting the vampire's head across the floor. The ringing of the shot bleeding into silence.

Dudley slumped down in relief. He expected a neon colored sigh to pop up with a "You Win" in bold letters but was just met with more silence.

Soon a simmering laughter passed through Dudley, bubbling into a roar of hysterics.

"I killed someone." Dudley whispered to the dark room. "He's 's dead. He's DEAD"

Dudley looked down at the vampire's corpse. "I'll be sent to jail, my life is ruined."

Dudley stopped as he noticed the trails of blood slowly flow towards the vampire's corpse. The blood glowing as it cocooned around Denever's body. Steam escaping the wounds.

"No not yet boy. Give me a second and I'll fix that." Denever slowly got to his feet. Glowing ruby tentacles of blood crowning from his bullet wounds pushing them out as they writhed out of his skin like worms.

"I-I thought I killed you."

"Well you did step one, there's still two through ten. Consultation, you got farther than dear old Da." Chided Denever.

Dudley growled.

"Oh too soon."

Dudley responded with an attempt to unload the rest of his rounds and not a small amount of anger into Denever's general area.

He was brought back to his senses by the sound of an empty gun. The chunks of Denver finished fitting back into place, while the vampire started at Dudley with an arrogant gait. Dudley responded by frantically pointing his gun back at Denever in panic. Each desperate pull of the trigger clicking in time with Denver's steps.

Denever stopped in front of Dudley. The next moment Dudley was sent flying into the kitchen by Denever's blood tentacles, smashing him into the oven. Denever was there seconds later mouth unhinged, ready to feast on Dudley when suddenly in a flash of bluish-white sparks Harry appeared mid superman punch slamming his fist into Denever's chest simultaneously unleashing thousands of volts, knocking him away and tearing a chunk out of his midsection.

"Took you...long enough." Dudley wheezed.

An arc of blue electricity shot from Harry's hand turning the tips of his fingers black. He winced. Storing electricity was dangerous, flowing it through your body was suicidal. Harry had thought about controlling lightning after seeing his car crash scar in the mirror. He'd spent the summer practicing this feat by recharging his lamp batteries. He never had this much stored in him before, but needs must and all that.

Harry helped Dudley to his feet.

"Think you can help out."

Dudley responded with reloading the revolver. Both boys nodded.

Denever finally recovered. Harry blinked forward and threw a wild sparking haymaker to the left of Denever's head. Only to blink to the other side when the tentacles moved to block. Slamming an electrifying elbow into the vampire's chin. Denever responded with a tentacle slash at Harry, but was interrupted by cover fire from Dudley.

Harry used the distraction to charge up an arc of lightning, focusing the sparks through his arms to his palms, and arcing them at Denever.

Blood tendrils quickly threw a dining chair to take the brunt of the attack. Shattering into splinters.

Denever used the screen of wood to slam Harry away, inhuman force knocking him into the Dursley's T.V back in the living room.

Dudley made himself known by punching Denever in the face, a sizzling sound could be heard. Denever grasped at his face in pain. Burn marks in the shape of Dudley's ham fist could be seen.

"You like that you freak, garlic knuckles." Dudley taunted. Denever roared, wildly sending tendrils at Dudley. Destroying the rest of the dining room furniture in the process. Dudley took shots but Denever knocked them all away.

"Enough." Denever then used his blood tentacles to grab Dudley by his leg and hoist him upside down.

Tendrils poised to skewer Dudley.

Dudley smirked. "I think you've missed the point." Denever heard a sound similar to a drill. Looking around he found the bullets he deflected glowing with a blue light, spinning with electricity. Behind that, bloodied Harry Potter giving his best death glare.

"Magic Missile" Harry growled out. Clapping his hands together sending the magically charged bullets out turning Denever into swiss cheese.

The blood tentacles hit the floor with a splat, becoming trails of blood without vampire will power to control them. Pieces of Denever's skin peeled off in globs. For a second it looked like the boys had survived.

Only for the body to turn into Aunt Petunia.

"MUM!"

Dudley's cry went on deaf ears when out of the shadows a bone white figure smashed both boys into the now thoroughly destroyed living room.

Harry, gassed from that last attack, managed to roll out of the way of a vicious stomp from Denever, but was caught in the side by a follow up kick, knocking him near the remains of the living room coffee table.

Harry got a glimpse of the beast. Almost all of the charming man from dinner was destroyed. In his place stood an ivory Nosferatu. Shriveled skin, jagged ears, a slobbering jaw filled with two rows of fangs, haggish fingers, and large bug eyes. Quite an ugly surprise. At least he kept the amber eye color.

Harry scanned for a way out.

"Finally," Devener croaked "My dessert is here."

Dessert? Dessert!

There. A turned over plate of Petunia's raspberry tart.

Harry quickly scooped up some of the knocked over dessert, flicking a glob at Denever. Tagging him in the eyes. Harry used the distraction to charge the rest of his stored electricity and magic into his fist.

"Think of weeding the garden." Harry whispered to himself.

With a scream of pain and determination Harry lanced his fist into Denever's heart unleashing the last of his stored power, resulting in an explosion of magical force smashing every window in the house.

Harry opened his eyes to see poking out of many parts of Denever's body were thick raspberry brambles. He'd somehow flash grown raspberry seeds from the tart filling into what was thousands of magically charged wooden stakes.

Harry tiredly pulled his hand from the vampire's chest.

He was only given a few seconds rest as Denever's body erupted into sky blue flames. The blast engulfing Harry.

Harry scrambled to his feet. Wobbling a bit from the sudden loss of magic and the slow pooling of blood.

Harry was… in a tent? On a makeshift cot. His wounds were bandaged up and his clothes were only a little singed. Harry collected his things and made his way to the tent flap.

Looking around he could tell he was a safe distance away from the inferno, the EMS was bringing in the elderly and others suffering from smoke inhalation or various burns. Harry was easily able to sneak away in the chaos. Off in the distance the fire, changed from sky blue to a glowing orange, was spreading to other houses on the street. Catching on all the debris made from the house's destruction. Harry rushed to find Dudley.

"Woah kid where's the fire." A man in uniform stopped him, with a hand to his shoulder.

"I have to find my cousin." Harry tried to shake him off, but the cop was not letting him go that easily.

"Ah huh, and what would be your "cousin's" name?" The cop had a self-satisfied smile, probably still laughing at his own joke.

"Dudley, Dudley Dursley." The cop's smile vanished and Harry's stomach dropped.

"Ah… so you would be the infamous Harry Potter, I've heard a lot about you from the neighborhood."

"Nothing good." Harry thought. The cop continued. "Rumor had it that a gunshot was heard just a few minutes before this fire started." He paused. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, now would you son?"

"Nothing at all, sir." Harry tried a poker face. Only to be met with the officer writing down in his notes.

"That's unfortunate. We'll have to discuss this more back at the station, you and your cousin." The officer wrote one final line.

"I'll go and collect him, don't move from this spot." Walking off towards the crowd of people watching the spectacle of the fire.

Harry was immediately freaking out. Thoughts of making plans to book it was the only solid footing his mind. Where would he go? Was he just going to run from the law for the rest of his life? Privet Drive and law enforcement already declared him guilty, and Harry wasn't betting on the vampire story. He could make out a plan as he went along. He needed to find Dudley first. Looking around for any sign of the constable Harry went out towards the crowd.

"Harry Potter is coming in for questioning and that's final!" The voice of the officer came from behind one of the fire engines. Harry stopped and went flat to the side of the engine as quietly as possible.

"You don't understand Constable Hammond, Harry Potter is coming with us." Harry peeked around to find two oddly dressed men in what looked like modified bath robes. One pulled out a stick while the other continued.

"Harry Potter is a person of interest for our community and as such must be brought to the proper authorities."

"I am the proper authorities, Harry Potter is a menace to society and must receive the proper help or be locked away."

"Be that as it may." The second man raised his stick. "We only need to know where he is."

"Legilimens." The second man's stick shined brightly for a moment and Harry felt the sensation of magic being used. Another moment passed and the now named Constable Hammond was on the ground huffing in pain.

"Wha-what did you do to me?" Hammond breathed out.

The first man didn't look down. "Nothing you'll remember, Obliviate." A final flash of light.

Constable Hammond looked dazed, moving towards the engine to support himself. He just stood there blinking and swooning.

"Potter was told to stay near the tents, he was on his way to grab Potter's Muggle cousin, and bring them both in for questioning." The Legilimens man spoke.

"We only really need Potter the other one can burn with the neighborhood." Obliviate answered. Both men walked off towards the tent area.

Harry bolted. He needed to find Dudley now! Pushing through the crowd of spectators, not caring for the indignant squeaks from the community that threw him to the wolves. The panic was rising in him again.

He saw Dudley kneeling by Petunia. The firemen clearly given up attempting to move him for now.

"Dudley we need to leave!" Harry stage whispered a safe ways away from the growing flames and inky smoke. Firemen trying their hardest to fight the flames wildly spreading to the various houses, but the flames hadn't stopped since.

"Dudley stop being an idiot, and let's go." Harry scolded reaching for Dudley's arm.

"I'm not abandoning them." Easily shaking out of Harry's grip.

"You aren't. You're continuing your own life, you twat. It's what they would want."

"And how would you know?" Dudley finally turned to face Harry. "What is it Potter? That my parents died protecting me, huh? They didn't die for shite, they were murdered by some freak."

"And so now you're gonna curl up in a ball next to a burning house? Cut the dramatics this isn't Crossroads." The fire flared up again, another house.

"You were ready to fuck off the moment you could!"

"Well I didn't, I risked my life saving you all."

Dudley gestured wildly around them. "Well excellent job Mr. Wizard. You really saved the day."

Harry looked over to see the weirdly dressed men searching for them.

"Dudley, keep it down. See those men in robes. One of them mind wiped the bobby that asked me what happened. They're searching for us."

"Y-You don't know that." Dudley glanced over to see the men start to zero in on their location.

"I know what I heard!"

"Hey! You two!" A yell Harry recognized as the mind-wiper man.

"Dudley, run!"

The boys sprinted off, the robed men's shouting behind them. Harry knew they would give chase. What he didn't count on was a growl of "Fuck this muggle trash." And for the men to raise their sticks with a shout of Stupify.

Harry and Dudley were shot at with a red light. Harry didn't know what red bolts were but the feeling he got from them was numbing static. Very firmly placing them in the "don't get hit by" category.

Dudley only whined as the bolt nearly grazed him. Harry grabbed Dudley's hand to turn a corner into an alleyway. Harry was hit with a strong case of deja vu. Dudley started to panic. They were trapped. Dudley started yelling at Harry, for getting them cornered. The men with sticks no doubt encircling them. Harry did what he found to be the best in these situations.

He thought of getting as far away as possible.

With a great popping sound the boys vanished.

Harry couldn't feel his left leg. Oh, there it was, it just took a little longer for it to travel with him, it was another reason that he didn't do long distances. Blinking a few hundred times within an hour certainly didn't help. He didn't know where he was, but it felt and smelled like a London backstreet. His head was swimming. Black spots cutting into his vision.

"Oy kid you okay." Harry heard from the low light. He couldn't even turn his head to attempt to see who it was. As Harry went into the darkness the last thing he heard was,

"We gotta get him to Moth, he'll know how to h-."

Somewhere, Sometime in the Summer of 1988

Shrouded from mundane view by a curiously autumn forest, a small dirt and gravel road leads deep into the blended orange, brown and reds of the leaves. Past many glowing eyes of birds and beasts lay a clearing. Here stood a castle. Crafted with care in a Romanesque style, an imposing withered grey wall and three similarly colored towers with chocolate brown cone tops capping them off. Half dead vines coiling around them. Spilling down both the towers and wall to cover the only entry way.

Cautiously creeping down the gravel path was a black 1960s Wartburg 311. Two visibly unarmed guards motioned for the car to stop. One marched towards the driver's side. The window cautiously rolled down to produce a nervously shaking hand with a stylised business card in its grip. The guard quickly examining the card and with a growing smile looking towards the inside of the

"The Mistress is expecting you, try not to become dinner like the last few disrespectful bunch."

"We'll bow at the cue cards." A calm voice from the passenger side rang out

After a look of faux confidence from the driver's side the gates were slowly opened.

"The jaws of the beast." Spoke the passenger.

Driving up the way, the passenger side opened to show a man in fine black with silver accented priest robes. He was of average height and slim build, he had a square shaped head with an unpronounced chin and stormy grey eyes that were constantly skimming for danger. Camdenn Cullen, squib turned man of the cloth. For the last decades doing a careful balancing act between several masters. He was currently doing a death march towards one of his less... humane, leash holders. He idly thought about how he got in this mess, ah yes the choice of this, Azkaban, The Hellsing Celler, or the Pits. He shivered at the last two. Azkaban took your soul, the Celler your body, and the Pits, if there was anything human left of you the Pits collected the rest. His worrying ended as he was stopped at the door.

"Foci, wand, guns, and or sidearms." A burly, smushed-faced man boredly called out. He had no doubt had to repeat this line several times today. Father Cullen reluctantly put his cross in a plastic bin. His last line of tangible defense against the predators around him. The moment he did every guard in the general area, looked at him at once and smiled, some showing their pointy shark-like teeth.

"Thank you." The bored voice called out. "You know where to go." With that the door opened to the castle. Soft candlelight led the way through a forest of marble columns. Father Cullen could see various servants, bustling about cleaning or guarding hallways, some holding a young man or woman in their arms while closing into their necks hungrily. Father Cullen looked away quickly and made his way to an open ballroom area.

The walls were dark grey with layers of bone-white pronounced archways. Each layer of arches getting smaller the further up one looked. The second layer of arches even had a few balconies. The rest of the walls were adorned with stained glass and alcoves of blue flamed torches that cast more shadow than lighting. The ceiling had a pattern of the night sky without the moon, and the floors were a gray stone. Father Cullen gave these features a once over spotting the guards in the shadows of the balcony, both with machine guns. He took note of them and continued to the end of the room.

There in a throne sat a pale lady. Wearing a long, black victorian gown, dark enough to extinguish the tiniest bit of light from the shadowy room. On her head a horned black veil, with coal colored roses adorning each side. Dignified pearls parting through her hair and down the sides of her face, waterfalling into the tar black ruff around her neck. On her chest lay a silver cross twitching hungrily at her new guest. Her black makeup contrasting perfectly with her eggshell skin. She looked to be in her early thirties, but the aura that oozed out of the darkness told him of a time long ago where she and other monsters like her were allowed to roam free. He couldn't shiver, she would feel the fly struggling in her web. He couldn't sweat, she would taste his anxiety. He'd try his best not to at least look like prey.

Straight face, chin up, steel your eyes, don't give her anything.

"I bring bad news Ash Lady, Denever and possibly his operation have been destroyed." The shadows surrounding her shifted as if raising a brow.

"I also have knowledge of his killers. Two boys, one of them is Harry Potter." At this the shadow hissed in wrothful anger. Father Cullen laughed inside at getting a rise from the Ash Lady even if was just her shadow. He continued.

" He is currently undefended, lost somewhere in the London Area. The British Ministry and The Order of the Phoenix, have no idea what has happened." The shadow stopped.

"Denever and his brood were the last well established Black Court Scourge in the Greater London Area, the rest are unorganized or shackled, it would be easy for your Scourge to move in to fill the power vacuum." Father Cullen finished.

For a slogged minute there was no sound, no motion from the shadows. Then the Lady spoke.

"Ambrus, come." Her charcoal lips barely moving.

Not a moment later a small boy, eerily similar looking to Father Cullen moved to deliver a package and a letter.

The Chernobog, Isabella von Carstein, was pleased. The hunt would begin, and her collection would grow. But first...a snack.

The Vampiress dove at the boy's neck. Draining him in seconds.

Father Cullen didn't look away this time, the message was clear. Deliver Harry Potter, or become useful in other ways.

Chapter 2 Moth to a Flame