Author's Note: Just a warning - this chapter has more angst than any other. Well, almost. But it's really, really dramatic. And there's not really much humour. But, anyway, here you go. I hope you enjoy it, in any case.

Chapter Two

Even though his sleep was dreamless, Harry tossed and turned. There was a mounting pain like liquid fire and it spread writhed through all of his veins. At first, his heart seemed to freeze – it struggled to beat but eventually relented into stillness. It seemed to work its way like a melting block of ice. It formed a thick not, like a solid, and melted to liquid, reaching further and further. And when it got to the tips of his toes, it suddenly stopped. Only a dull ache remained where it had once felt his nerves were being flayed.

Harry opened his eyes.

He woke up feeling unusually lethargic and thirsty. It wasn't any regular thirst. Harry felt as if he hadn't drunk anything for days, weeks even. The back of his throat burned. His entire mouth was as dry as a piece of parchment. When he swallowed it only hurt more, and he shivered. Upon seeing his wand on the floor, Harry grabbed it and muttered, "Tempus." 10:45 shimmered briefly in the air before disappearing. All thoughts about his throat fell from his mind. "Shit." He was already two hours late for work.

Grabbing the vial in his pocket, he uncorked the sobering potion. A horrid smell wafted up, and he pushed it away. In fact, he didn't really have a headache now that he thought about it. Harry decided he could manage without it, and put it on the counter next to a whiskey flask-looking bottle of Armani Attitude cologne. He got to his feet, and opened the door of the bathroom.

Light flooded in, and pain shot through Harry's body. It felt like his skin was on fire, everything ached, and his muscles weakened. With a final effort, he shoved the door closed and sobbed into his hands. The pain started to ebb away, but Harry remained pressed against the floor, curled up into a ball. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees.

Last night was slowly coming back to him. There were the hands that grabbed him, the dark chuckle, the pain in his neck, followed by pleasure, and the weakness and darkness. With trembling hands, he pushed himself up off of the floor. His head tilted away, but he slowly gazed toward the mirror, swallowing painfully.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there. He could see every detail of the shower behind him. Through him. Each dent in the tiles was clear, and yet he was gone, as if hiding under and invisibility cloak. Harry gagged, and closed his eyes, unable to look at his lack of reflection. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. He was a vampire. It was as plain and simple as that. And he would need to drink –

The moment the thought of blood burst into his mind, the pain in his throat redoubled. He felt his teeth lengthen, and slid his tongue across the tip, moaning as it cut and his own blood flowed into his mouth. He could only imagine what it would be like to bite someone else, feel real human blood flow into his mouth. He could almost feel the flesh breaking under his skin, the warm liquid spilling down his throat. He licked his lips and groaned as venom flooded his mouth.

But suddenly, the drained, dead person in his mind moulded a face. He could see Ron lifeless, and then Hermione. Bodies piled up around him, of people he cared. There was Ginny and Luna and even Seamus. Harry shivered, trying to swallow the venom, trying to curb the imaginary coppery taste which overwhelmed his taste buds. He wouldn't kill anyone. He couldn't!

Harry backed up against the wall, and slid down it. He could still see images of ripping out people's throats. He could just picture the tender flesh shredding as he clenched his teeth around a neck. The blood would sink into his mouth, overwhelm him. It would taste so fucking fantastic. But when the blood was gone, nothing would remain but a stagnant shell. Hermione and Ron – everyone dead at his touch. He couldn't allow that to happen. And behind his fear, behind the horror, there was still that thirst. Harry knew it wasn't ever going to go away.

Again, he curled his arms around his legs and gave a dry sob. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. He had been assigned tasks as an Auror before where he had killed vampires. He had killed them. And now he was one. They had been told that vampires were dangerous and ruthless, not easily controlled. He could remember the training they had about staking them and dodging their attacks. Harry shivered, remembering how he had been told not to feel pity because they were soulless creatures. He had been told not to dwell on their past. That didn't matter. What did matter was that they were a threat to society, and they deserved a second death.

Yet he wasn't soulless. Of that much, Harry was sure. He was dangerous. He wasn't to be around other people. But he most certainly had a soul. He could see his friends smiling faces, and he cared – it was amazing how much he did. The bloodlust was there, and it was overwhelmingly powerful, but he wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself if he killed anyone.

Harry could only imagine the guilt. It had been bad enough after the Wizarding War. So many had died in his name, and after seeing the pile of dead bodies, Harry had retched and retched for hours, not allowing anyone to even lay a hand on his shoulder. With every person he saw crying, another weight shackled itself to his heart. Even when Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to a year in Azkaban – the once-proud man reduced to nothing but sobs and shivers – Harry had felt as if it was somehow all due to him.

And to kill a person himself – that would be so much worse. And to know that they had lived their last few moments in complete agony... He wouldn't be able to live with himself after something like that. It was against anything he'd ever believed in. A twisted smile crossed Harry's face as he imagined himself holding a stake over his heart. Could vampires even commit suicide?

Harry managed to pull himself and he stripped himself of any clothes. What he needed right now was a cold shower. He couldn't concentrate like this. Even beneath his logic and reason screaming at him that he could never hurt anyone, the thirst pulsed and grew like a hideous thing in his veins. It was beyond painful. The only way he had ever managed to clear his mind was by taking a cold shower. He wasn't sure if it would have the same effect on him now that he was a vampire, but it was at least worth a shot.

When he stepped into the cold water, he yelped. It stung him like it always did, and his eyes screwed shut. His entire body shivered madly, and even his teeth chattered as he wound his arms around himself. It was as painful to take a cold shower as it was to dip a cut in lemon juice, but at least the pain drew his mind away from other things. And he focused all his attention on it, the thirst slipping away for the time being and all worries detaching themselves and floating away like loose balloons. It was almost liberating. Or, well, it would have been if the pain from the cold water wasn't almost unbearable.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, Harry pulled out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself. Upon looking around, he realised that he didn't have any other clothes to put on. "Shit." He sat down on the lowered toilet seat and sighed as the shivers subsided and the thirst started to flare up again.

"What do I even know about vampires?" he asked aloud. "Fuck! I spend my life devoted to killing bad guys, and now I'm one. What the hell am I supposed to do?" Angrily, he kicked out, his foot colliding with the wall. He winced in pain, and sighed. He had to try to think about this logically, if that was even possible at this point.

Harry felt a tug at his still heart. He blinked rapidly, and clenched his fists as he felt a wave of loneliness crash down upon him. It was like someone was pulling it forward, wrapping their fingers around it, preparing for tug-of-war. He felt it again, painful, shattering. There were phantom fingers tracing his jaw line, and Harry could feel non-existent lips pressing kisses against his. And the blood – he could just feel it. It would be better than anyone else's. But why...

As he remembered, Harry massaged his temples. Of course he felt this way. Vampires had mates. Or, as they had always stressed to him during his Auror training: vampires had human mates. It was painful for the vampire to live without them. They could survive without them, but most vampires sought them out, anyway. The Ministry was usually alerted about a new vampire by finding a raped, drained body lying on the streets. The mate's blood was too irresistible for a vampire. And yet after a mate was killed, even by the vampire's own hands, the vampire usually went on a killing spree. Harry shuddered.

A sudden thought popped up in his head. What if his mate was a girl? The thought revolted him even if he figured that it wouldn't matter much if he found her. If he did, all he would be able to think about was her blood, her touch... Venom poured into Harry's mouth again, and he winced. That thought was too absurd. It just didn't feel right. His mate couldn't possibly be a girl. Repeating the thought over and over again to himself, Harry slid down the wall, wondering what he would actually do if he met his mate. And it could be anyone.

Leaning against the floor, Harry shut his eyes, and the next thing he knew, his thoughts were growing fainter in his head. The dream world presented itself and Harry dived in gladly, tired and ready from an escape from this hell.

When he woke up, Harry managed to pull himself up and look around. Well, it hadn't been some terrible nightmare. He was still in his bathroom, and images of ripped-open throats still clouded his mind. As he walked over to the door, he hid behind it and cautiously opened it a bit. No sunlight streamed inside. Picking up his wand, he muttered, "Tempus," again. This time 18:45 shone briefly in the air. Pulling the door the rest of the way open, he felt and unnerving surge of happiness at how dark it was. Night was good. It didn't burn. In fact, he felt stronger.

Pulling himself over to the kitchen, he set his wand on the table and walked over to the cabinets, opening a few out of habit. They were nearly empty other than a few pieces of candy, mainly chocolate frogs. As an Auror, he was so busy that he usually ate out, work sitting beside him on the table. It didn't even matter anyway. As a vampire, none of this food would be appetizing anyway. He scowled as images of what most certainly would be appetizing played over and over again. His eyes lay upon an empty wine bottle, and his eyebrows rose slightly. A bead of wine still clung to the opening, though, and Harry leaned down, dashing out his tongue to lick it and moaning. That didn't taste so bad. And it looked like blood.

There was suddenly the distinct sound of fire crackling, and a bump. Harry stiffened, turning to face the entrance of the kitchen. Who had gotten into his house? What was he going to do? Concentrating, he somehow managed to use wandless magic to form binds, pinning him back to the counter. Whoever it was, they probably didn't want to be eaten alive.

"Harry, mate, where are you? Are you sick? We missed you at the Ministry today."

"Ron," Harry choked out, already started to smell the blood as his friend walked closer. Venom exploded in his mouth, and all he could think about was how sweet it would taste to tear through the flesh. The blood would drip down his throat. There would be so much of it. Oh, Gods, it would be so delicious.

But it was Ron, dammit! He couldn't hurt his best mate. It was impossible to try to decide what he wanted, and before he could think about it any more, Ron's head popped through the door frame.

"Harry, what are you doing –" Ron cut off as he noticed the chains around Harry's wrists and the terrified look in his eyes. "Bloody hell, who did this? Lemme get you down." He took his wand out of his robes, and Harry's eyes widened in fear.

"No, Ron! Don't!" Ron froze, wand poised, looking at his friend curiously.

"Harry...why are your eyes red?" Harry swallowed some venom and clenched his teeth together as images of Ron, drained and ghostly flashed in his mind. "Harry?" Ron started to back away, glancing behind him.

"I was drunk yesterday." Ron shook his head.

"What does that have to do with any of this?"

"There was a vampire. I didn't realise until he grabbed me. I couldn't react in time. I didn't even know what was going on, really." He was slowly explaining, smelling Ron's fear. It was noticeable just beneath his heartbeat. He could hear Ron's heartbeat. Harry closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.

"Fuck. What are you going to do?" Ron asked the question quietly as if he didn't wish Harry to hear.

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Ron?" Harry thrashed forward as Ron tilted his neck a little, exposing it more. "If they find out, they'll have no choice but to kill me. It's standard procedure." Harry suddenly stilled, realizing what that meant. "They'll kill me..."

"They won't. They can't. You're Harry Potter," Ron babbled, looking helpless.

"It doesn't matter who I am. I'm a vampire. I'm dangerous."

"But you defeated Voldemort!"

"It doesn't matter what I did! Don't you get it, if they don't kill me, I'll kill someone else." Harry shuddered, and swallowed heavily, wincing at how dry his throat felt. He was so thirsty...

There was another sound of flaring fire, and Harry's eyes widened.

"Harry? I brought you something to eat." It was Hermione's voice now. Harry took an unsteady breath, and started coughing. Something burned. A shudder went through his body. Whatever she had cooked, it had garlic. His body trembled against the bonds and his skin tingled.

"Go away. Leave!" Harry hoarsely yelled. Hermione, probably concerned, only ran toward his voice.

"Harry, Ron, where are you? What's happened?" She stopped at the doorframe next to Ron, her mouth forming a perfect o-shape as she saw Harry, furious, eyes wide in anguish. Harry's coughs became worse as she got closer. His throat was on fire, and not from thirst. She had to get away.

"He's a – a vampire." Her eyes were wide in fear.

"Gar-lic," Harry managed to choke out, weakly collapsing against his bonds. The pain from the garlic mixed with the pain from being so close to someone so filled with blood was getting to be too much. He wouldn't be able to stay conscious much longer. Hermione seemed to belatedly realise what was happening, and dashed for the fireplace.

Even after she had left, the garlic scent still lingered slightly. But it was much better than before. Harry took a big gulp of air, eyes still slightly burning.

"I need to go to Hermione. I don't know what she's going to do, but I've never seen her look so scared, even when Voldemort was in power. We'll work something out. There has to be a cure... Something, somewhere. I won't tell anyone. We'll just tell the Ministry you're taking a spontaneous vacation or something." Ron turned to leave, but Harry spoke, so faintly Ron almost thought he had imagined it.

"Yeah, there's a cure. It's called a stake to the heart." Harry shuddered, watching with sad eyes as his best mate walked away. There was the sound of flames and a murmur of Ron's voice, and then silence.

The bonds around his arms and legs disappeared, and Harry hit the floor on all fours. Pressing his head against the floor, he heaved dry, miserable sobs.

Tell me what you think.