~ Chapter 5

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose absently as he flipped through his notes. The library, deserted for most of the year, had become a bustling and noisy hub full of students frantically cramming for their exams. Madam Pince had been frowning so hard for the past two weeks, Harry thought that her face might stick that way.

They'd be better off studying in their common rooms, it would be much less noisy, he grumbled to himself. The last exam is after lunch anyway, if they don't know the material by now, fat lot of good it'll do them to try to memorize for Transfiguration.

Harry had reviewed his notes for second year a little unhappily. He had managed to finish his readings for fifth year only two weeks ago and hadn't had time to properly start on the sixth year books before the exam frenzy had taken over the school and the library. Even unused classrooms were taken over by cliques or loners; there were few places that Harry could go to be alone.

"Honestly Ron, stop that! We had to turn mice into snuff boxes last year, there's no way McGonagall is going to test us on first-year material again." Hermione admonished, flicking her wand at the hairy box on the table and turning it back into a mouse that promptly scampered away. "And if you're going to do it then do it properly – if McGonagall sees the rabbit ears twitch on your rabbit slippers, she's definitely going to take off marks."

Ron glowered at Hermione, "Not everyone is a little Miss Perfect. If I want to transfigure a mouse into a snuff box then I'm going to transfigure a mouse into a snuff box. You're not the boss of me!" Despite their harsh words, Harry could tell that there was underlying warmth to their verbal parries.

A little envious, Harry sighed and decided that the group of Gryffindors sitting next to him were too much to take and got up for a walk around the halls until lunch.

Trailing his fingers along the stones on the wall, he ambled slowly and only walked in a very general direction toward the Great Hall.

Maybe I should study in the Chamber of Secrets, he thought to himself before immediately dismissing the idea. Last time I was lucky and only ended up with a bruise; next time, I might end up in a snake's belly or who knows what else. Besides, he reasoned, it was dark, dank, and smelly down there.

xxxxxx

Harry had very few possessions and had made sure to pack his trunk the night before, right after the end-of-term feast where he'd made sure to nab as much fruit as possible. His dorm mates had collapsed in dramatic fashion, moaning about exhaustion, eating too much, and sleeping too little but Harry had felt no such tiredness and hadn't wanted to deal with the chaos of packing in the morning. He'd even made a special trip to visit the house elves to request more food. Then, he'd cast preservation spells on the fruit and bread and cheese and packed them carefully into his trunk which was mostly empty except for his carefully organized school robes, one change of clothes, and shrunken books; the empty space he filled with food.

Then he'd shrunk and enlarged the trunk without a wand until he was sure that he could pull it off during the summer. The Ministry couldn't charge him with use of underage magic unless he used his wand.

So, it was with some satisfaction as he watched Boot, McDougal, and Entwhistle scramble about finding odd colour socks, crumpled pieces of parchment, and chocolate frog wrappers. Terry Boot had his head stuck under his bed as he tried to reach for one of his shoes. Professor Flitwick had told the Ravenclaws that he would come to get them in the morning and to be prepared to leave by ten o'clock sharp.

Harry murmured tempus under his breath and shook his head. Terry Boot was only half-packed with only fifteen minutes remaining. Harry watched in amusement as Kevin Entwhistle threw a piece of McDougal's Gobstone set to him from across the room with a shout. The exam results had been posted last week and his dorm mates had all performed fairly well. Boot had been particularly pleased because he had tied Draco Malfoy for second place overall. Hermione Granger, despite her fixation on bossing others around, seemed to have done well nevertheless and had come in first. Harry had performed exactly as he'd hoped he would: twelfth from the bottom, passable but only just – the sort of mark that would have made a parent or guardian shake their head.

Humming very quietly to himself as he waited for the seconds to tick by. Professor Lockhart had been embarrassingly arrested during their Defence exam. Apparently, he'd stolen the basis for his books from less attractive witches and wizards and then obliviated them. However, being rather untalented in magic, he'd bungled the spell that he'd cast on his latest victim and after ten months, the witch had managed to break through the spell to notify the aurors (1). Harry had taken to reading the Daily Prophet every day and had read that Lockhart would be given a hearing before the Wizengamot; the likely sentence was several months of community service and a very severe monetary penalty.

Just then, he heard Professor Flitwick's magically charmed voice call all the students to the common room to proceed to the station.

Harry had already shrank and charmed his trunk so that he could tuck it into his pocket when his classmates were sleeping last night and so he walked calmly towards the door as Terry Boot sat heavily on his trunk a few more times in an attempt to squish everything a bit more so that he could close the lid.

xxxxxx

Harry hated riding on the train.

The Hogwarts Express was a magical scarlet steam engine with brass finishings and a polished wood and leather interior. The cabins were very comfortable and spacious and were never too warm nor too hot. There were thick velvet drapes on the large windows and there were polite witches who walked past with many tempting sweets on trolleys. The wheels had charms on them so that the train never shook and there wasn't excessive noise. And the Hogwarts Express was his one way of getting to Hogwarts so his distaste was greatly offset – but Harry still hated the experience of being in the train every time.

He always tried to find an empty cabin to himself but invariably, by the time the train took off, several other people would end up sitting with him. If he was lucky, he would be joined by no more than three other strangers who were quiet and more interested in sleeping or reading than conversation. Unfortunately, Harry usually ended squished up against a wall as a group of friends all sat in the empty seats of his cabin chattering loudly. Like now.

Harry sighed through his nose as Pansy Parkinson jabbed her elbow into his ribs and didn't bother to apologize. Crabbe sat on Pansy's other side whilst Goyle sat across from Harry and glared at him dully. Malfoy sat next to Goyle and feigned disinterest as he watched Pansy tease Crabbe mercilessly.

"Aww, ickly Crabby still needs his cruppy?" Pansy waved a small stuff crup around out of Crabbe's reach as he tried to grab it from her. Cackling gleefully, she stood up and continued to wave it around as Crabbe became more desperate to get the stuff animal back.

"Give – give it back Pansy." Crabbe huffed as he ducked and lunged for it.

Malfoy's mask of indifference cracked as he watched the display eagerly.

Parkinson tossed the crup to Malfoy just as Crabbe would have reached it. Draco behaved much in the same way and taunted Crabbe until Harry thought that the boy would cry with frustration. Unlike Parkinson, Crabbe wasn't willing to grab and tug at Malfoy – even if he really wanted to retrieve his crup. Finally, Draco tossed the stuffed toy to Goyle, who blinked slowly as he regarded the object that suddenly appeared on his lap.

"Goyle!" Crabbe cried in obvious relief, "Gimme it back."

"Okay?" Goyle said and held the thing out to Crabbe, who quickly snatched it back and stuffed it into his trunk.

"Ugh, Goyle, how much more dimwitted can you get?" Pansy pouted and slumped back into her seat, jostling Harry again as he tried to read a potions book that he'd made a copy of from the library. The rest of the ride continued much in the same vein.

It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time the Hogwarts Express arrived at Kings Cross station. Harry watched as his classmates and peers were greeted by enthusiastic family members and friends with hugs and kisses; he furrowed his eyebrows and clamped his lips tightly together and told himself that he should be used to this by now. That he wouldn't be affected by it – or at least, wouldn't show his envy to others who would just misunderstand his reaction and taunt him.

Harry didn't bother looking around for the Dursleys. Instead, he hunched his shoulders and grimly reminded himself of how useful it was to learn about the wizarding world in general: by reading an ad in the Prophet, he'd learned about the Knight Bus and with that knowledge, he'd be able to avoid his nine hour walk to Little Whinging this year. He'd owled in advance for the fee and though it was a bit extravagant, Harry didn't spend his Hogwarts stipend frivolously and had managed to pool together the eleven sickle fare.

xxxxxx

Petunia Dursley sat in front of her vanity as she buffed foundation onto her face and hummed quietly. Dudley was spending the week with his friend Piers Polkiss and Vernon had left for work after eating breakfast. Drawing in her eyebrows carefully, she decided to be bold today and go for a look that she'd seen in her favourite ladies magazine. Then, she'd go out and do a bit of shopping and come back to shine the windows.

Closing her eyelid, she dusted a faint green colour over it and repeated the same action on her other eyelid. Blinking a few times to rid herself of any loose powder, she pursed her lips and looked at herself critically in the mirror. The green eyeshadow brought out the colour of her eyes, which were a vague bluish green. Suddenly, she recalled her sister Lily who had also had green eyes, right? What colour were they again? She furrowed her eyebrows. She knew that she knew what her sister looked like. There was a portrait-like image of Lily in her mind like a fuzzy old Polaroid, still and unmoving; the picture started beneath her shoulders and showed a grinning face of a very pretty young woman. Brown… maybe red hair? How could she believe that she knew her sister's appearance when apparently she couldn't? A wave of dizziness hit her – as it always did whenever she thought of her sister, her brother-in-law or Harry Potter for any length of time longer than a passing thought. Petunia fought the dizziness and tried to remember.

What did Lily look like as a child? Surely she would know. But no matter how Petunia searched her mind, she couldn't remember. She remembered her own fifth birthday party; she remembered visiting the zoo with her parents; she remembered going off to school for the first time and meeting other children. But nowhere in her memories could she find Lily: no memories of Lily running, or crying, or laughing. Only that still unmoving image. Petunia realized that she had no idea how tall her sister was before she died.

The dizziness had turned into a pounding headache and she ignored it as best she could, something inside of her – some instinct – told her that it was very important that she try to remember. How did Lily die?

'She was driving drunk with her husband next to her at night when it was raining; they were running away from criminals who were going to kill them for their gambling debts.'

She blinked. Did she attend the funeral? Petunia didn't know.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as the make-up brush fell out of her hand and clinked on the top of her vanity, startling her out of her thoughts.

Harrumphing to herself, she pursed her lips and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, this would do. The green was very chic, as the magazine had enthused. She raised an eyebrow and admired the effect in the mirror; perhaps she would visit number seven and show off to Margaret, who had recently been flaunting a new scarf.

Batting her eyelashes at herself, she vaguely wondered what she had just been thinking; for some reason, she couldn't remember.

"Must not have been very important," she said, and shook herself a little.

Giving herself one last glance before she left for the day, a stray thought snuck into her mind. Lily was very pretty. Yes, her mind replied nastily, but she's dead now so I win.

The rest of Petunia's day was a great success. She'd found some steaks that were on sale at Tesco and she'd also managed to gain the envious admiration of the ladies of number seven and number four at tea – she'd glared down number three who'd also sported a new look. Afterwards, she'd shined the windows as she'd planned and waved at the postman when he'd passed – she'd giggled to herself at her little flirtation.

Returning inside, she looked briefly at the time as she removed her outdoor apron for her indoor one. Both Vernon and Dudley had complained horribly about their new diet and it hurt her heart that Dudley wasn't happy but all the doctors and nutritionists that she had consulted all told her the same thing: Dudley and Vernon needed to lose weight or face the consequences. Terrified at the prospect that a stroke or heart attack would snatch her Duddikins away from her forever, she had stood her ground and insisted on the fruits and the vegetables – besides, all that salad meant that she didn't need to do anything but wash and cut, no cooking necessary. But now, with Dudley away for the week and Vernon griping, Petunia had given in and had promised to cook some 'real food' for dinner. Knowing that she wasn't very good about the kitchen, she thought that she'd give herself plenty of time and start preparations immediately.

Just as she was putting the potatoes into the pot, a knock sounded at the door. Dumping in the large newly peeled potatoes, she glanced at the time: nearly three o'clock. Taking off her apron and wiping her brow – why couldn't Vernon just eat salad? She hated cooking – she smoothed her hair and attempted to calm her frazzled nerves as she made her way to the door, mystified by who it could be.

xxxxxx

Sanguini sometimes dreamt of the old days. In his dreams, music and lights lit up large ballrooms filled to the brim with men and women, dressed to impress, dancing and flirting and laughing. At the center of it all was his lord, aged by long years and the loss of his daughter; he sat, implacable, uncaring, and silent. But the party swept on gaily around him, confident in their vitality, in their riches, in their excess. Then Sanguini would shudder awake from those dreams.

How blinded they all were to the obvious. Flaunting their existence to the rest of the world by holding highly inconspicuous parties, they tread in the waters of danger – even in those days, vampires were not welcome. But for a while, the Ministry had turned a blind eye; the vampires donated generously, even if it was illegally, and the politicians were happy to take any money they could. The wizards were too busy dealing with Grindelwald to bother with the vampires; they could not afford a war on two fronts when they were hanging on the precipice of survival. So the vampires, stupidly – So stupid! He would cry to himself, silently at night, clawing at the earth in his frustration – became more and more bold and glutted themselves without care on the blood of those who had lost their homes, on children, and even on aurors. Without their King to hold them back, they degenerated to little more than beasts despite their airs, their flowery manners, and their pretty clothes.

His lord was the last pureblood in Britain and was as powerful as any pureblood before him – but like his ancestors, he had governed very little even in his youth, uninterested by statecraft. And like many purebloods before him, he had very quickly lost interest in governing at all. But unlike his predecessors, there were no other purebloods to take his place. His daughter had escaped their world, stifled by the power games and by the bacchanalian lifestyle. So, the rest of the vampires acted without care, drawing power from their King whilst knowing their lord had turned into a statue that would do nothing to stop them.

How quickly they all fell when the Ministry tuned their eyes upon them, fat on the laurels of victory, swift on the heels of Grindelwald's defeat. The vampires stood no chance against an army of aurors who had recently faced war. Disorganized and mired in their luxurious lives and always squabbling between themselves because their King would not intervene on their disputes, it seemed like they all fell within one night.

And now, now, as Sanguini crept along the backstreets and alleys of London, he made sure to be careful to stay in the shadows. He tried not to let shame and despair overwhelm him: he had nothing to offer his lord, he barely managed to scrounge an existence. Sanguini had not missed the tattered state of Harry's clothes, but his own clothes fared even worse and he had no others to offer his King as a replacement. He had no riches to give either. He had lost all his finery after the Ministry 'confiscated' them. He had no domicile with which he could offer Harry shelter, not even a shack. No shelter, no finery, no clothes. Sanguini could remember the look on his lord's face as he'd turned to leave Hogwarts those many months ago: distressed, clearly begging him to stay. But Sanguini could not even offer the comfort of his presence – as a vassal, his humiliation was complete. If he was captured, he would be executed and if his execution led to Harry being found out, then all hope would be lost and vampires like Blodwyn Blud would reign. His nails gouged into a telephone phone as he blinked away the prickling in his eyes and slowly shook himself. It would do no good to dwell on the past now. He needed to focus.

He slowly made his way towards towards Surrey and towards hope.

xxxxxx

Harry walked off the Knight Bus with difficulty. A journey that should've taken a normal car almost two hours had taken the Knight Bus only thirty minutes. Swaying a little and feeling like his stomach had ended up in his mouth and his heart buried somewhere in his intestines, he waved to Stan and tried not to feel more nauseous as he watched the bus zoom off.

Heaving a sigh, he walked up to Number Four Privet Drive and knocked, wishing that he were anywhere but here. He patted his pockets nervously as he waited for someone to open the door; he could sense that someone was in. His uncle's car wasn't in the driveway – but he was probably at work. Dudley would probably be hanging about the park with his friends as he did every summer so Aunt Petunia was likely home.

Hearing the sound of footsteps inside the house, he stepped back from the door to meet the face of his aunt. For a moment, she looked at him uncomprehendingly as if he were a stranger. Her eyes wandered over his faded and overlarge clothes, his large, bulky, and scratched glasses, and his messy hair. Even though Harry took care to keep clean – his appearance always belied the amount of time that he spent grooming.

Just as he thought she was about to snap at him and ask him what he wanted, he saw her eyes blink with recognition.

"Oh. It's you." She deadpanned and a look of general displeasure washed into her face, which Harry was rather horrified to note, was rather green looking from all the makeup that she had put on.

Suddenly, she snapped her head around and peered at the neighbouring houses. She grabbed him roughly by the upper arm and dragged him into the house, slamming the door.

xxxxxx

Harry breathed harshly and blew as gently as he could on his hands, which were a bright fiery and painful red, but even that hurt. Petunia had made Harry make dinner but when Harry told her he needed to take the potatoes out of the pot because they wouldn't cook properly without being cut smaller or without some holes poked into them, she'd dumped the whole thing – boiling water and all – into the sink and onto his hands. Then, she'd made him start over and make the steak as well. Harry had worked as quickly as he could, the burns on his hands were incredibly painful and it was all he could do not to whimper. The moment the food was served onto plates, she'd locked him into his cupboard, where he still sat crouched over in pain.

He knew that he needed to run cold water on the burns otherwise they would just get worse – but he had to wait until the Dursleys were asleep before he could sneak out into the garden to use the hose. He couldn't risk getting found out by using the kitchen tap.

Finally, he felt the thumping of footsteps – lighter ones, his aunt, heavy ones, his uncle – on the stairs as the light bulb in his little cupboard under the stairs swayed a little and dust from the low ceiling fell down. He squeezed his eyes shut as the noise passed and it was all he could do not to bolt out of the cupboard and out into the yard where he would finally have some relief.

No, he told himself, I've waited for them finish dinner and I've waited for them to finish watching the television, the last thing I need is for them to find out I can sneak out – they'll be asleep soon, I just need to hold out 'til then.

He pressed his forehead against his knees and kept the skin on his hands from touching anything by holding his hands away from his body. The pain was incredible – his fingers twitched and he was getting dizzy – already, ugly looking blisters were starting to form; if he was in so much pain despite his vampire constitution, he shuddered to think what it would be like if he were only human. Finally, after guessing that fifteen or thirty minutes had passed and at the edge of his endurance, he concentrated on the door of his cupboard and heard the satisfying click of lock opening. Careful not to agitate his hands, he used his should to nudge open the door and climbed out as silently as he could. Just as quietly, he nudged the door closed with his knee and quickly snuck out to the garden in the dark.

It was very painful to turn the spout but he reminded himself again of the necessity and gritted his teeth against the sting. Finally, he collapsed against the side of the house and heaved a sigh of relief as the cold water flowed over his hands and into the small drain that was connected to the sewers.

"My lord."

Harry scratched his hands against the brick of the house as he turned, startled by the sudden voice.

"Argh," he cried, as quietly as he could, and hunched his shoulders.

"My lord, what's the matter? You're hurt."

Through the slits of his eyes, Harry made out a dark shadowy figure crouched next to him.

"Sanguini?"

"At your service."

Harry allowed the vampire to gently draw his hands away from his chest so that Sanguini could inspect them.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" Sanguini asked quietly, voice pinched and alarmed.

Harry breathed harshly and just shook his head.

"We need to fix this now before it gets worse; already you look like you have a fever. Here," Sanguini held his own wrist to Harry's mouth, "you need blood. You're very weak."

Harry turned his head away but a smooth and cold hand stopped him.

"My lord, this is not the time. You cannot deny what you are." Sanguini's eyes bore into his, full of earnestness, urgency, and passion. "Please, I promise that this will not hurt me."

Again, he held his wrist to Harry's mouth and after a moment of hesitation, Harry carefully fit his teeth around the proffered limb gently bit down.

Looking at Sanguini worriedly as he retracted his incisors and sucked a little on the wound, the blood filling his mouth, he was relieved to find no sign of pain on the vampires face. With his eyes closed and mouth slightly open, Sanguini looked very peaceful and – a strange combination of relief and pleasure shone on his face. Harry drew his eyes down to the grass; the expression seemed very personal and he felt a bit awkward to have seen it.

Focusing on the taste of blood, Harry couldn't decide if he liked it or not. As a child, he'd had the taste of it in his mouth and it had never appealed to him – in fact, the metallic tang had always revolted him a little. But now, perhaps because his vampiric nature had been awakened, the taste was much easier to accept. The bitterness and the coppery taste – all the harshness of blood was diluted and mellowed though it still burned a little on the way down, similar to the effect to of alcohol. A taste to be acquired with time.

Harry already felt the healing in his hands as they tingled pleasantly. The blisters were receding before his eyes and the swelling had decreased dramatically. Still drawing blood into his mouth, Harry watched as the redness also faded. Deciding that it was time to stop, he withdrew his mouth and lapped at the dainty wounds his small fangs had left.

Sanguini gave a happy little sigh as Harry retreated and fluttered his eyes open.

Harry chewed a little at the inside of his lip, uncertain what to think about drinking blood for the first time, as a silence drew out between them.

Deciding to put that aside for the moment and think about his philosophical problems later, he said "Um, thank you. I didn't ah, hurt you, did I?" He gripped at the grass self-consciously.

"No, my lord, not all! It's a great honour." Sanguini crouched even lower so that he met Harry's downcast eyes, "Please believe me. It wasn't at all painful. You were very gentle and you even healed the bite – you see?" He showed Harry the small bite marks that were already fading into pinpricks as the skin healed. "I'm very happy to be of some use to you, my lord!"

Though his voice was very quiet, his ardent sincerity came through and Harry couldn't help the blush that suddenly stole across his face at Sanguini's wholeheartedness.

Looking away from Sanguini, Harry muttered, "You don't have to call me 'my lord' all the time – just Harry is okay." Looking at the vampire from the corner of his eyes, he was happy to see him nod in agreement.

"How did you know where to find me? I wasn't sure that you would come."

"I've been following you for quite some time and I was with you as you walked from London to Little Whinging last year. But I wasn't sure that you were who I hoped you to be so I didn't announce myself until recently. I will always be with you until you have no more need of me, Harry. This is my pledge to you." Sanguini gently brought his newly healed hand to his lips and kissed it in reverence.

Harry blushed again and looked away.

"I will only be tempted to continue like this if you continue to blush." Sanguini's smile was all teeth.

Harry stared at him. "Are you," he hesitated, "are you teasing me?"

Immediately the vampire sobered, "I have not lied to you – please do not doubt the sincerity of my words. However, I admit that I may be overacting a little to incite a response." Sanguini patted him on his head. Harry scowled at him and smoothed out his hair.

Afterwards, with far less awkwardness, they talked a bit more before Sanguini finally shooed him back into the house with a promise that he would return the following night and every night for the rest of the summer.

xxxxxx

For the next few weeks, Sanguini would spend a few hours each night talking with him, answering whatever questions Harry could think of, allowing Harry to feed, and then leaving him alone so that he would have some private time to think and read some of his school books. But each night he returned and Harry became more and more comfortable with him.

"Why did my mum leave the vampires? Is aunt Petunia also a vampire?"

"Ah, isn't that a difficult question? Short of asking her yourself, I think she left because she was tired of the way that the rest of the vampires were living at the time. We indulged ourselves a great deal in material things but despite our wealth, many of us were very unhappy. The suicide rate has always been very high amongst vampires you know? Even today, I think that it's the single highest cause of death amongst our race. As for Petunia Dursley, she's is not your aunt at all. When your mother, Lily, escaped to Hogwarts, she fabricated a false identity for herself. As far as I can tell, she enrolled as a Muggleborn witch. I don't know how or why she decided on the Dursleys to be her family." Sanguini sneered. "If I had the means of providing for you, I would not hesitate to snap their necks for what they do to you."

Harry touched Sanguini's arm. "It's alright – can you tell me how my parents died?"

Sanguini sighed. "That is a story that's a bit long in the telling. I'll start at the beginning. Have you heard of Grindelwald?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Grindelwald was the most fearsome dark lord of his time. Even today, people are hesitant to speak his name. He held a reign of terror over Europe and for a long while, people were uncertain whether they would be able to stop him. Britain was no exception and the Ministry threw all their resources into the war. Once the war was over – despite the fact that it was Albus Dumbledore who ultimately defeated Grindelwald – the Ministry enjoyed a long period where the populace had great faith in them and they had absolute power. The only threats to that power came from various creatures: centaurs, mermaids, werewolves – and yes, vampires to name a few, who had long annoyed the Ministry. So, to further establish their authority, they chose to target the vampires and the werewolves, this allowed them to flex their muscles to intimidate their enemies and also other creatures.

These two races had behaved wildly in the past mostly due to nihilistic leadership. Despite their power, they were easily overwhelmed when confronted with an organized front of aurors. Their riches and their rights were taken from them. Laws were made to push them to the edges of survival: unable to hold a job or own property, even the vampires who quietly went along with the changes died. The ones who resisted were executed. For vampires, purebloods are our fount of power. Your very existence, Harry, gives me strength as one who has pledged myself to you; you would similarly give strength to other vampires who will inevitably pledge themselves to you in the future. Your grandfather was the reigning pureblood during that time and because he was so despondent after the loss of his daughter – the Ministry was able to kill him very quickly and once he died..."

"So the Ministry is behind all this?"

"It's very likely that they found out about your mother – the very existence of a pureblood would threaten them – and killed her and your father."

"So what about me? Why didn't they kill me?"

"I'm not sure Harry. It is likely because they thought you weren't a pureblood. Remember that I had to bite you to awaken you vampiric nature? You mother would have hidden that aspect of your being when you were born so as to safeguard you from those who would do you harm."

Harry was quieted. "So I'm the last pureblood in Britain? I don't… have any other family?"

Sanguini sighed and stroked his hair soothingly. "I'm very sorry Harry. But even a hundred years ago, purebloods were very rare. Today, I think there may only be twelve purebloods alive in all of Europe."

"And they don't want to come to Britain because they'd be hunted?"

Sanguini nodded. "Why would they leave their home countries where they live like royalty?"

"So, what is a pureblood exactly? I've looked them up but I can't find any mention in my school books."

"I'm not too surprised," Sanguini said with a smile, "remember when I said that purebloods are very rare?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, vampires are not, in general, keen to tell others about our way of life. And purebloods are a very closely guarded secret; I wouldn't be surprised if only a handful of wizards know that pureblood vampires exist.

You already know some of the differences, right? You don't burn in the sun, you can sustain yourself on human food – for all intents and purposes you could pass very easily as a simple wizard. However, you hold great power over other vampires. Your blood is the least diluted blood of the vampires of old. In you is a Will and this Will is what allows you to rule us. Without purebloods to keep us in line, vampires are a lawless and disorganized lot." He said with a sneer as his eyes seemed to look far away.

"What do you mean by 'will', Sanguini?"

"It is easier, I think, to explain what you can do with it than what it is, exactly. With your Will, you can use your voice or a gesture to command us to do your bidding – and we would have no choice to but to obey."

"So, if I asked you to skip in a circle, you'd do it?

Sanguini gave a little laugh. "Not like that I won't. You need to…" he waved his hands around vaguely, "speak with conviction. Whenever I was under your grandfather's Will – it was like, I was floating on a cloud. Aware of my actions but having no control over myself at all. Try making me again."

"Sanguini, skip in a circle."

Sanguini shook his head.

"Sanguini, skip in a circle!"

"I don't think speaking more loudly would help. You need to – you need to really want me to do something, I think."

Harry thought about it a little bit. To really want something to happen. He furrowed his brows and thought of wanting to leave the Dursleys, of wanting to be at Hogwarts, of wanting to know his parents. Emotions that he usually kept bottled up bubbled inside of him, threatening to burst. Beating them back so that they wouldn't overwhelm him but fanning them so that they didn't die down took some effort and a lot of focus.

"Sanguini," he said quietly, "skip in a circle."

He stared a little dispassionately through the haze of control that he maintained on himself as Sanguini skipped in a thoroughly ridiculous manner around the Dursleys' backyard.

"Stop."

Sanguini slumped bonelessly next to the bushes.

"Yes," he said, his eyes shining very brightly, "that's it."

xxxxxx

Before the summer was over, Harry had discovered that Sanguini was a ruthless taskmaster. Every night, he would drill Harry to practise commanding him until it was easier and took less time for Harry to muster up his determination.

Sooner than he realized, his birthday passed and they were well into August and soon Harry would have to return to Hogwarts.

Lying in the grass and enjoying the cool night air after a hot day, Harry asked a question that he'd been wondering, "Sanguini, how old are you?"

"Oh my! How rude! To think you'd ask a gentleman his age." Sanguini cried in false affectation.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"To be honest, I'd stopped counting after a while. If I had to guess I'm say, maybe three hundred years old? I'm not sure."

Harry stared at him. "You're three hundred years old?" For a second, he felt a bit awkward that the man he'd been joking with and had developed something like a friendship with was so much older and than he.

"Oh my, you're making me blush!" Sanguini giggled, breaking the tension.

Harry rolled his eyes again, "You haven't grown up in three hundred years!"

Sanguini smiled at him. "Maybe not. But I'm likely to be one of the older vampires that you meet – the vast majority of vampires don't live past the first two hundred years."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously.

"Suicide." Sanguini said with a shrug and flopped back onto the grass. "Living alone for a long time tends to make us very depressed and then – well, a stake through the heart, a fight with a werewolf, a step into the sun – if you seek it, death can be easy. With the way things are recently, vampires are dropping like flies; they either kill themselves or are killed by the Ministry."

"But you…"

"I've had a purpose Harry. My duty was to guard your great-grandfather and your grandfather after him. Now, my duty is to you. It is remarkably easier to keep living if one knows one's purpose."

"Oh," Harry said quietly and was silent for a moment before asking, "When will I meet the other vampires that you've spoken about?"

Sanguini sat up and looked down at him very seriously. "I did not want to put you into danger by allowing them to meet you until you were comfortable exerting your Will. There is a duality to your nature Harry. While purebloods are the rulers of other vampires and feed upon them, the blood of a pureblood is the sweetest ambrosia to any vampire. It will give us unparalleled strength, speed, and power. If one of them had attacked you before you were able to defend yourself, I shudder to think of the consequences."

Harry stared at him, breath a little shallow as he realized the danger that he was in. "Do you want my blood too, Sanguini?"

Sanguini's eyes softened. "I will never drink your blood unless you offer it to me freely – it is the highest gift that you can give, never give it under pressure nor frivolously. Love your subjects Harry, but always remember that you need to exert your Will over them. As for myself, my purpose is to serve you and any heirs that you may sire."

And with that, summer soon drew to a close and bidding farewell to Sanguini, Harry returned to Hogwarts.

(1) The witch in question had very hairy warts on her nose and her chin and had managed to scare off several grindylows. Hence the title of Lockhart's book: Games with Grindylows.

Author's Note: Whew – this was a long chapter! I wanted to continue onwards with the plot so I wanted to get Harry's summer over with this chapter but I may have bitten off a bit more that I expected. I wanted to thank everyone for the lovely reviews so far; they're my fuel to write faster.

I also wanted to respond to some questions that have popped up:

Harry has just finished second year and is unaware of the identity of the man with whom he has a link – for that matter, Voldemort also doesn't know Harry's identity.

I hope this chapter has been illuminating regarding Harry's relationship to the Dursleys.

Sanguini is deeply ashamed that he is unable to perform some of his duties as a vassal and servant to his King – regardless that he has yet to develop deep personal bonds to Harry, to Sanguini, it's a matter of pride and it is deeply humiliating that he cannot provide for Harry. He also can't follow Harry to Hogwarts for fear of discovery and arrest.

So far, I've yet to create any of my own characters – Blodwyn Blud is a character from HPVerse that was mentioned on a Chocolate Frog card, the students from Ravenclaw are taken from either book or movie canon, and Madam Edgecombe and Mafalda Hopkirk exist in the books. In general, I'll try to use existing characters as much as possible (though many of them will be quite esoteric, hahaha).

I try to update at least once a week usually on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday.

If you have this story on your alert list but don't see the new chapter – it's probably because the site takes a while to update. Often times, even I can't see my new chapters until several minutes have passed.

Next chapter: third year! You'll find that I'll zoom through it fairly quickly and we'll soon arrive at the much awaited fourth year, where much of the action starts.

Thanks again everyone, you make my day!