Grey clouds loomed. Lillian's gaze, as he began his lesson, seemed fixed on his eyes. He ignored it, his hand deftly writing on the chalkboard the passages to distinguish an Inferi from a Zombie. The two undead types were truly similar, except that the Inferi could die only if burned, and even beheaded it still kept some functionality. The Zombie on the other hand would stop only with its brains reduced to splatter: anything less and it would still be able to attack and function.

He had half expected Lillian to throw a fit, or say something of any sorts. Instead the girl said nothing, merely taking notes and quietly following the lesson. Harry merely scoffed mentally, and did nothing. He wasn't like Snape, who took every turn to act against the girl…only because he was actually unable to not see Lily in the girl's face. He grinned slightly. The reason he would give detentions to the girl and pass them to Professor Snape was essentially that.

The potions' master had made him live a hell of seven years: it seemed just the right thing to return the favor. The lesson finished without accidents, and as he began to put his notes back into his bag, he realized Lillian wasn't leaving still. Maybe the girl had finally gathered the courage to ask back the cloak? He ground his teeth slightly, gazing at the teen in wait.

Lillian gulped down nervously, before taking a few steps forward. He raised an eyebrow and the girl seemingly froze on the spot. He was just about to nod and encourage the girl to take another step forward, when the girl decided to do it on her own.

"Professor," the girl hesitantly said, "May I have my cloak back?"

"No." He replied calmly.

"B-But!" she spluttered, probably not expecting his curt and to the point 'no'.

"Miss Potter, do you know there are people out there who want to kill you?" he queried, his voice quiet and monotone.

"I…"

"You do then," he nodded to himself, "And yet you insist on acting like a spoiled child? The cloak is a dangerous breach of security: you have already abused its uses. Thus I am not at all keen in letting you use it again."

"It's the last thing I have of my parents!" Lillian blurted out, her hands clenching. "Please, Harry. Please! I'm not asking for—"

"Miss Potter," Harry snapped back, "Refrain from being overly familiar with your professor."

The girl was at a loss of words, but in the end she just bit her lip and nodded.

"Can we go to Azkaban?" She suddenly asked, her eyes turning to a sort of puppy-eye look. He brought up an eyebrow in answer to that.

"Why should we go there?"

"I want to talk with Sirius." The girl answered back. "I want to know why he did that. Why he betrayed dad and mum."

"In Azkaban?"

"He's in there, isn't he?" He twitched his right hand, closing and opening it as he remembered precisely what he had heard from his contacts in England during the time.

"Even if he is, why should I care? Azkaban isn't a place for the likes of you, Girl-Who-Lived." He commented offhandedly. "Peter died trying to avenge your parents. Yet you still want to ask the Black for a why?"

Lillian said nothing, but just stared at him with a plea in her gaze that would have probably moved the very rocks…but that could not move him, undead.

"When I was bitten, I overheard him talking to our father," he replied calmly. "Do you know what he said? 'James, that monster shouldn't stay in your house! It's dangerous!' I wasn't his godchild to begin with, you know that? Peter was my godfather. Yet he died, and all you think about is Sirius."

"He failed then, and mum and dad are dead, but maybe he was tortured! Maybe he didn't want to do that!" Lillian screamed back at him. His beast roared at the confrontation, as his right hand shot forward and clasped tightly against the girl's neck. He hissed and snarled as he pulled the girl upwards, starting to choke the life out of her with a single hand.

"Do not patronize me!" He screamed. "Everyone is sacrificed for your safety, and all you do with it is put yourself in danger! In your second year I was bitten protecting you during your summer escapades to the Weasleys! What did I get back for it? A stamp of monster and a dishonourable discharge!" He pushed her against the wall of the classroom, his gaze murderous.

"You think you're special? What about those who bled and died for you? Huh? Do you care for them? Do you even care that Peter fought off Sirius in the middle of a muggle street and was pulverized!? Do you care that all that his mother has to bury are ashes and a single finger!?"

"You're hurting me." Lillian mumbled, her breath starting to hitch. Harry flared his nostrils, his beast literally tearing apart its cage, trying to emerge and chew and bite upon the pitiful excuse of a girl he had in front of him. He felt bile rise to his throat, only he knew it wasn't bile.

"No. I haven't yet started hurting you." He whispered back. Then blood rose to his throat, and he pressed his lips against those of his sister. His will burned as his eyes remained open and transfixed upon the shocked and scared gaze of his sister. As his vitae poured down the girl's throat, the girl nearly choked. He dropped her then, the back of his right hand moving to clean his lips of the regurgitated blood.

"Now Lillian, are you hurt?" he asked with a mocking tone.

"N-No." She stuttered, her legs wobbling as she slowly stood back up. He hadn't given her only a single dose of Vitae. He was well fed that night, but even then he knew the bond would need at least three nights to fully mature. Till then, he saw with an amused gaze as the wounds on the girl's neck slowly began to disappear. He was protecting her now: giving unto the girl the gift of Ghouldom.

The Power the Dark Lord knows not.

Well, he was in for a nice surprise.

"Do not speak of this with anyone else." He stated, and with the fright in his sister's eyes he delighted himself in knowing that, indeed, she would obey without the need for him to use a…Discipline. The bounds of blood always transfixed their targets into a…a sort of 'state' if such could be called.

Use fear and the ghoul would fear. Use love and the ghoul would love. Use anger and the ghoul would hate. The latter one was something no sane of mind Vampire ever used, but the first too? The first too were the most common. Respect was the rarest: it wasn't a rule, but vampires usually drank from opposite genders, because the act of the 'kiss' as it was called was a highly…pleasurable one.

So why have Respect, when Love was easier to have?

And why have Love, when Fear was easier to use?

He heard his beast grumble, slightly appeased by the violence but not enough —never enough— to fully stop growling. He slumped down his shoulders as he brought his back against the wall, heavily breathing as he clutched his chest.

Sirius Black had been the Secret Keeper of the Fidelius that protected their house against Voldemort and his forces. Then, during the summer of Third Year he had delivered the information to Voldemort's side. Voldemort had attacked and yet Lillian had survived with not even a scratch. The man had been practically destroyed, and yet his forces had still insisted on looking for her, the 'Girl-Who-Lived'.

He knew of the prophecy revolving around the girl of course: why else would he need to train day and night during his youth, if not to protect his sister from the evil Dark Lord? He believed himself a knight in shining armour, going off to train to then slay dragons.

A pathetic imbecile with no brains was what he truly had been at the time.

He had been trained, rendered useless by a charm and then discarded like a broken tool.

And they still wondered why hatred was the only thing he felt for his parents, and they still had to ask why he loathed the Girl-Who-Lived. The girl had it all. She had people ready to die for her, she had people ready to lie, to bring forth her arguments, to defend her, to go as far as walk into a lion's den just to get her a bodyguard…and yet she dared ask for more.

His beast was on a rampage of murderous fury.

His hands clenched and opened rhythmically, following his desires of bloodshed and death. The howls grew just as he barely managed to grasp with his hands the closest desk. He roared once, without even understanding if it had been his voice or that of his beast to do so.

Then the desk splintered and broke, and by the time he regained his true semblance of self, he had ravaged the classroom beyond recognition.

He frowned, before calmly settling the tattered remains of his robes, probably torn apart in the destruction he had caused. The clothes beneath were still intact, a small miracle judging by how even the walls had been apparently scratched.

The door hadn't opened; thankfully the castle's wards had decided to isolate him within the room until the storm had passed.

He was also thankful nobody else had seen him. It was a grave lack of composure, and a display of weakness, to let the beast out to play.

Harry carefully began to look through the wreckage for his Professor's notes, before heading out once he had collected them all. He walked along the hallways in silence, reaching for his office and not at all surprised to already see the red haired Susan standing outside it. Her face was flushed and she seemed to be waiting for him. Neville was standing just next to her, his jaw set and his eyes seemingly torn between saying and not saying something. Harry knew the boy had merely followed along.

"I've got Neville to come and talk with you, Professor." Susan said, "I'll…I'll leave you two alone."

The girl then turned to leave, and as she did that Harry gestured for Neville to come inside the office. The boy followed, albeit he blurted out the second the door closed.

"I am not going to back off."

Harry merely brought up an eyebrow, before nodding sagely.

"I understand." He replied. "I am not going to dissuade you." He walked over to his desk, and sat down calmly. "I am sure there is a lot of excitement going on, concerning what the Triwizard tournament would be about." He nimbly tapped upon a particular sheet on his desk, the one specifying the selected tasks.

Neville's eyes went to it, and then they widened in surprise.

"I don't want help!"

"I am not giving it." He answered back. "I am letting you choose without constraints, limits or regulations… the freedom of choice and its consequences." The professor shrugged. "I might have something to do out of here however," he replied as he grabbed his goblet and drank from it, before slowly walking towards the door.

"How about you think, truly think about it here and now, and then decide for yourself after a few minutes of…careful consideration?" He walked out then, closing the door behind him and smiling gingerly.

Human nature was made of curiosity. Anything else that was said on it was pure stupidity or imbeciles trying to act like psychiatrists.

When there is a scratching sound in the night, you go and investigate. When there is a howl in the alley, you give a peek. When there is a humming sound in a room, you go and look. When something ticks, you look for the clock. When something snarls, you aim for the closest weapon. And when someone gives you the solution to your problems…you look at them because you can then safely say 'oh, I looked but I knew them beforehand'. Humanity wasn't made of saints.

He waited, five minutes, until the handle of the door opened to reveal an ashen white Neville.

"Oh well, don't talk about this to anyone else Neville." He commented, the boy's mind so easily mendable now that it was in shock, "And the only suggestion I can give you is…do not compete."

"Yeah…I'll do that, Professor —Thanks, Harry." Neville blurted out quickly, and then he left him to go and get back to the Hufflepuff common room.

He waited, his back near the door entrance, until Susan's figure appeared from behind the corner, quietly walking closer to him with tears in her eyes.

"Thank you." She replied. He nodded; gesturing for the girl closer as his seemingly refilling goblet was drank up again. He could wait one week, before reapplying the bond of servitude that was the Vitae. He could wait one week, before bringing the bond up to the second level…but such a splendid occasion? Adding to the Respect the Trust? How could he merely refuse such a chance?

And he did just that the moment she came close enough to him. He was starting to get tired of kissing people only to regurgitate Vitae in their throats, but the other solution was messy, and consisted in deliberately slicing his wrist. There was a reason Ghoulizing someone was called 'Proxy Kiss' in the Giovanni family, albeit those types of Ghoul ceremonies usually ended up in majestic orgies or literally killed the Ghoul throughout them.

The girl now looked at him with surprise and desire, the Vitae working through her veins, coming within her body and tainting her very soul. The Vampire's darkness was not just some sort of romanced stuff: Vampires held a taint, a true evil that bypassed the mere conventions of laws or morality. It wasn't as if there was some sort of Poe's description attached to it.

The Evil of Vampires went beyond the mere narrative.

It went beyond saying something corny like 'The Darkness spread throughout the soul of the innocent, corrupting and tainting all that it touched.'

The true Evil went beyond that, beyond consideration or realization. It wasn't a withering of the flesh or a decaying of the limbs…no, it was the ethereal beauty of continual and unlimited perfection. The beauty of the Kindred was not how evil their souls were…but how unblemished their bodies appeared. It wasn't how they acted, but how they could don their masks nicely. It wasn't about what they did, but what they appeared to be doing.

The smiling paedophile, the elderly cannibalistic granny, the kind-hearted serial killer that looked like Santa Claus, the average Salary-man that raped people in the alleys and much more paled in comparison to what a Vampire truly could become. When the twitch of a finger could annihilate a country, bringing forth a war of epic proportions only because someone wanted more money through arms dealings…when thousands upon thousands died and nobody felt a damn thing for it, that was the evil of Vampires.

And Vampires were innocent. They did not pull triggers. They did not directly give orders. They just let others assume they had given suggestions that should be followed…maybe.

But the 'maybe' became an order the moment it was spoken.

And that, by itself, was the true beauty of real evil. People didn't need to be pressured in doing evil. People did evil like it was their second nature. They only needed justification, of any type, sort or kind. They only needed someone to tell them 'go and do it, it's not evil'…and they went. They played with kids because it wasn't evil to have fun. They ate people because it wasn't evil to feed. They killed people because it wasn't evil to punish bad boys. They raped people because it wasn't evil to give them what they wanted. They began wars…because it wasn't evil to earn money.

Morality, conscience, laws…everything was, in the end, completely meaningless to a Vampire. Eternity, powers beyond imagination, and all in exchange of time. Surviving hundreds upon hundreds of years, there were vampires as old as Ciceron who could talk to the crowds with the same verve as Hitler during his speeches to the Nazi party.

Yet Vampires, in the end, couldn't be classified as Evil.

And that was the truth.

The sheer indescribable truth of the matter was that Vampires had no choice on the matter. They were just surviving. Night after they night they walked the streets of the cities in search of shelter and food, fending off others who sought the same thing and fighting one another for it.

True, unblemished evil wasn't killing a puppy or drowning a child. It was doing those things and not caring one bit about it. It was doing it because of habit, with no purpose, no return of interest, nothing but merely because they could.

That was the true problem. Vampires didn't care. The Giovanni's law was Profit. The Gangrel's law was 'be the biggest dog'. The Ventrue was 'be the smartest one'. The Daeva was 'be the prettiest'. The Nosferatu was 'be the most informed'. The Brujah was the 'party until you die'. All clans, all kindred, they all had their own rules and decisions…but they didn't have to follow them.

And they didn't feel compelled to do so either. They did because the Camarilla made some things easier and some harder. They did because it was the smartest thing to do, because some laws were better than none, and because in absolute chaos there would just be no way to survive the night.

The concepts of Elysium, of safe haven, or Court, meant only to those who wished they held a meaning. Like debts: he was not actually compelled by magic, power of arms, strength or anything else to protect Lillian. He was the one giving meaning to it, it wasn't as if he'd die if he just snapped the girl's neck.

But if he did that, if he betrayed his own word, then he'd lose something. And then it would be easier to lose something else.

And it would be a downwards spiral into the Beast.

And the Beast knew it of course; the Beast purred and happily gurgled every time something of Human was lost.

That was the truth on Vampires.

Whoever believed in shitty romances or romantic ideals of 'hurtful souls in need of help' had probably the need of a meeting with a stake through the head.

Evil was evil. Its name was Beast.

Harry merely kissed Susan on the forehead then, before suavely speaking.

"Whenever you need me, I'll be here." He smiled, warmly and kindly because he could. He looked with amusement displayed on his face, because he could, at Susan's flustered appearance. He grinned when the girl nodded with her face completely red from embarrassment, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she turned and left quickly.

He smiled.

Not because he was amused.

Not because he was winning this game rigged from the start.

No, only because, just like evil, he could.

And as the girl disappeared, turning the corner, he returned to his office.

"The boy read it." The painting informed him. "You know you should tell the Headmaster: it would be unfair for him to compete."

Harry shrugged back. "I'm pretty sure he isn't going to compete." A lie, a lie that rolled off with incredible ease from his tongue was out, and he felt nothing for it.

"And what if he tells someone else?"

"He won't. He's the right sort: he just didn't know what he was going to end up in. If he does, I'll tell the Headmaster." He murmured, looking back at his chalice, already filled once more. He narrowed his eyes.

He began to slowly make the blood move around in circles, hearing its tell-tale sloshing noise. He could feel the beast riled up, since that was blood after all. He sniffed at it again.

He narrowed his eyes even more.

He grasped at the chalice and slowly, calmly, left it on the desk.

"I'll be out and about." He said, turning to look at the painting. "The night is still young."

"Best of lucks," the Vampire replied with a knowing look, a small smile on its make-up covered face.

"Best of hunts," the beast whispered to itself.

One could not conjure food.

Blood was not a food, and like any other conjured stuff, it tended to disappear after a few days. Of course keeping up on his 'drinking' would entail him slowly but surely ending up filled only with conjured blood. He had no doubt it would fail to even transform properly into Vitae. He was working on a backburner: that was probably why the beast had riled up earlier with his sister's words. Here he was thinking it had been just the intensity of her words.

His beast was hungry.

The stairs held no paintings, and as he began to walk calmly through them, he waited. Now, if memory served him well…

"Meow," the meowing sound of Mrs. Norris reached his ears like a well-played tune. The cat was half kneazle and far too smart for its own good. The moment her eyes settled on him, along the circular stairway that held no paintings…

The cat's last sight was probably of a pair of pointy white teeth sinking deep into her fur.

The next night, Harry awoke from his slumber feeling refreshed. Actually, he just felt the need to believe himself to be refreshed, but in the end it amounted to the same thing. He stood up, heading with a calm and collected face to the dining hall, where dinner was meant to be served.

He sat down together with the other professors, surprised that indeed Snape was actually missing from the start. He said nothing, as his eyes began to scan the crowd. He was planning the hunt now.

"Mister Potter," the stern voice of the deputy headmistress reached him, "Might I ask if you saw someone being tardy, last night in the dungeons?"

He brought up an eyebrow at that question.

"No, I haven't. Is something the problem, Professor?" he asked, looking at the tightly clenched jaw of the old woman, who seemed to be barely repressing her anger.

"Last night, some foolish student killed Argus' cat, Mrs. Norris: they then proceeded to write on the stairways pureblood slander."

"Oh my," he replied with a worried expression. "That is most troublesome," he acquiesced. "Unfortunately I did not see anything. The only students I saw were Prefect Bones and Mister Longbottom."

"I see." There was a tightly contained nod from the elderly Irishwoman, before she returned to her dinner.

He calmly brought his gaze to where Susan was sitting. The girl was stealing bashful glances at him, like a fallen in love girl. Maybe she was even drawing little hearts with their names attached together. His gaze went to Lillian, and the scene was sort of the same, and yet different altogether. The girl was giving tentative and scared glances in his direction, drawn by the lull of Vitae within her body and yet repulsed by the fear the bond had cemented in her soul. At the same time the bond itself called to her once more, making her wish for his attention.

It was the love-fear reaction typical of abused children: he could just give his sister a hug, and she would undoubtedly tear down mountains for him afterwards.

Of course he would not.

But he could use her as a politically important chess piece to rise in the ministry. The Girl-Who-Lived, working for Vampire equality? A masterfully placed plan could have her, in the long run, to reach the position of Prime Minister...and as long as no Embraces were considered, the law wouldn't care for him.

Vampires could pretty much meddle with the humans without risks, as long as they did not meddle with those under another's vampire control, and even then the circumstances were rare where one would outright attack other kindred because of it.

The Embrace, however, required direct permission from whoever was in charge of the city itself. To embrace without permission was such an unfathomable affront of the Masquerade and of the Traditions that death was actually the least of worries.

His eyes returned to the matters at hand. He looked at the students, their tables and their mannerisms. The first years were bashful, but unfortunately had to be out of the list. He couldn't pretty much talk with them without an excuse ready. The third years upwards were a safer bet: elective changes could still be made at the beginning, and he had no doubt he could convince quite a few…blood dolls, to change.

He scanned the upper years, those who were just on their final years, already preparing themselves for a world outside of politics or hard work.

Schools were places where the young were instructed, where professors moulded their youth and made them into people and adults…schools were the birthing grounds of new individuals…and to a politically minded Vampire schools were like a market where the ripe fruits had to be carefully selected.

Draco Malfoy could be interesting, but he was a male and personally, he avoided males. Respect, even with blood, could easily degenerate into a mere junkie addiction. Females were easier to tide over and control. A hard romance, a terrific problem of the soul, and an 'I'm not read yet to go public' were all things what stemmed the tide that controlled how much was 'love' and how much was 'addiction'.

He locked eyes with a pale blond haired girl in fourth year, Daphne Greengrass. She could do as a blood doll, and her cold attitude seemed to have displaced her towards the sides of the chain of Slytherin. Maybe she was in need of a confidant, of a kind hearted soul who would melt away her heart?

His gaze then travelled to the Ravenclaws, where sixth-year Luna was gazing with a half-empty stare at Lillian. The moment his eyes went to her, she turned and stared at him. For a moment, neither flinched or averted the stare down. Her silvery grey eyes seemed to be locked on him, albeit the face remained impassive, there was a sort of stern setting of the cheekbones. He raised an eyebrow at that, and she merely took a small breath in reply.

He grinned slightly, and she tightened the grip on her silverware.

He made a small and kind smile, and she outright averted her gaze then.

She was going to be a victim before the year ended.

His face softened as it rested upon Ginny Weasley, sixth year and apparently a star-struck fan of the Girl-Who-Lived. He could use her, of course.

Then his eyes went to an ignored girl in third year of Hufflepuff. She had brown curtained hair and blue eyes, and seemed to be standing on her own within the house of the loyal…which actually enticed his interest.

He had enough blood dolls pinned down for the moment, and if the need arose to have more…well, he could always start on working on the first years.

He smiled and purposefully ignored the look devoid of twinkling that Dumbledore sent him. Maybe the man was starting to suspect what he had just brought within the castle, or maybe he was just eying him after his display with the Ravenclaw girl…

But he could try and try for as long as he wanted: he would not stop the events.

A dark storm was approaching Hogwarts, and the old Headmaster could do nothing to stop it. For the first time in the history of the school, a vampire had free reign, as a professor nonetheless, within it.

The results yielded from merely being in the school could already be counted, and if only he could get the house elves to collaborate on delivering to him fresh blood rather than the conjured one…he absent-mindedly drank from the goblet, and noticing how Dumbledore's posture relaxed he understood what the man was thinking.

Kept on conjured blood, he probably believed him unable to do anything else once he would find out. After all the conjurer could remove the blood with a mere finite incantatem, and a vampire without blood was just a corpse waiting to be turned to ashes by the Torpor.

He could respect the Machiavellian thought, albeit incomplete and crass: he should have taken into account the Beast's whims…for the beast could not be fooled. He could start a 'study with the professor' club, having them in one of the abandoned classrooms…

He flexed his fingers, keeping his posture and face completely relaxed and normal-looking, as he barely leaned against the chair in wait for the dinner to be over with.

It was then, that he heard the voice of Dumbledore reach his ears.

"Professor Potter, would you mind coming with me to my office for a chat, afterwards?"

And he couldn't help but make a slight smiling face, as he addressed back the crux of all his problems.

"Of course, Headmaster."

Author's notes

And another chapter is done. Someone (noticed) the incongruence with Sirius in Azkaban and alive Potters. Well, the answer is pretty much simpler: the events are traslated in a more future approach. (Meaning the Dark Lord was recently killed and Lillian became the Girl-Who-Lived recently) before that, Harry protected her because she was the 'prophecy' child. And Peter is Harry's godfather.

There is a difference between Ghoul servitude and Blood servitude.

The description of 'Evil' in Vampire can be more aptly described with the simple term of 'ignorance of evil is worse than actually being evil'. Vampires don't feel evil if their morality is law. Literally: a 3 humanity vampire needs to Constantly rape, torture and kill to even lose the point that sends him to the beast, and if he doesn't, then what he is doing DOES NOT AFFECT HIM emotionally or in any way. Trigger happy doesn't even describe it, because they simply 'aren't' happy. They just...do it. Like Orange Clockwork without people laughing, but doing it all with a mute film and in black and white.