Author's Note:

Main Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Side-Pairings: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnegan (Decreased); More shall be displayed as the fic continues.

Brief Summary: Draco Malfoy is a vampire slayer. His sole purpose in life is to kill as many vampires as he can. Since wizard's blood is poisonous to vampires; he has been rather successful. His most recent hunt has eliminated several of the foul creatures; including their leader... or so he thinks. The vampire house leader, Harry Potter, was somehow able to survive and is now stronger than ever. Harry is now out for revenge. He will stop at nothing to kill the grey eyed wizard that almost destroyed him.

Warnings: M/M sex, mild violence, Wizard bashing and a brief gory battle scene.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to David Heyman. The original characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story. Any similarity with any person/people is simply coincidental.

CHAPTER 1: The fabric of fate intervenes

Two months earlier:

Jamming the syringe into the gel-tipped shotgun cartridge, Draco Malfoy filled the last of a dozen bullets with five milliliters of his blood. He did this every Sunday night.

It was a ritual. He needed rituals. After nearly two centuries of living, rituals kept his life on track and his focus sharp.

He'd been stalking the House Gryffindor for weeks. They laid low and never made a mistake. He attributed that to their leader, Harry Potter, who was known to keep a very tight rein on the House members.

No unnecessary kills—that was their law. A dead vampire was never an unnecessary kill; that was Draco's.

A count over the weeks had determined nearly two dozen in the House. The number of enemies didn't faze Draco. He was a wizard. So long as he kept his back to a wall and his gun loaded; no long tooth was going to mess with him.

The vampire's choice was to either run or take a blood bullet and explode into ash. He preferred the exploding part as opposed to running. But they could run forever; He'd never give up his quest to annihilate every bloody long tooth on this Earth. It was a promise he'd made to his parents on the eve of their gruesome deaths.

Draco checked the sawed-off shotgun for a full load and fitted it into the leather holder strapped across his back. Another belt strapped at his thigh secured a silver dagger, the edged metal soaked in his blood.

He wore leather chaps over tight-fitted black suede pants and a white button-down beneath his leather vest. The shirt was new and Draco felt a brief pang at wasting such an expensive piece of clothing but as always, his urge to look good worn out. Encasing his feet in his custom made Italian loafers, Draco turned towards the huge mirror on the wall.

The first thing he noticed was how tired he looked. It may have something to do with the recurring nightmares waking him up at sudden intervals of the night. His mother's dying voice rang in his mind and the blonde-haired wizard flinched.

Shaking his head to get rid of his suddenly morbid mood, Draco reached back and secured his shoulder-length platinum strands out of the way with a ribbon. His dragon-hide gloves slid on and snapped with a resounding snap.

He was ready.

The only thing that could take him down tonight was reluctance and he knew it wouldn't bother him. For beyond the innate determination that fueled the fire in Draco Malfoy, lived an indelible image of his parents' dying faces. No matter the notches Draco marked on his gun or the plunge toward darkness that occurred when slaying tipped his magical balance, that image would never be erased.

Not once did he question his relentless quest. For if he did, the truth might be harder to face than a house of bloodthirsty vampires.

Today was the long-awaited meeting between the two breeds. The leader of the vampire clan had been restless the entire morning, wondering how the wolves would react to his demands.

As the sun was setting, Harry's patience was almost at an end. He quickly set out from their warehouse with his battalion of vampires. Once they had reached the meeting grounds, the wolves sent him a messenger stating that there would be no communication-gathering this night. After growling at the quivering envoy, Harry Potter could be seen pacing around his House members. No one dared to interrupt him.

As it was, Harry was seriously pissed off.

The nerve of Fenrir Greyback, the leader of the wolf pack. He had insulted Harry with his blatant disregard for the vampire/wolf relations.

And while he preached peace to his House, Harry would not stand back and watch the wolves creep onto his grounds and begin to terrify those he had sworn to protect.

"We'll snuff him out of his lair." Blaise Zabini, second in command to Harry, suggested; finally breaking the ugly silence. "I'll gather the troops?"

He looked rather excited at the prospect of battle but Harry sighed.

"No. They have shown us their fear. It is enough."

For Harry would not march his men into needless battle when negotiations can bear equal fruit albeit in more time. He would have personally liked nothing better than to strangle Fenrir but the vampire leader knew that would not be beneficial for his house.

He could sense Zabini's tension, the need to react and charge into danger; as it stiffened his cohort next to him. Never would Blaise completely accept the peaceable ways of House Gryffindor but Harry was reassured in knowing that he did try to embrace them. The man had not killed for survival in the three years he'd been with them.

With a whistle, Harry called the nine vampires who had accompanied him and Blaise into a circle in the middle of the dark alley. They would regroup and disperse. Harry hoped there wouldn't be too much dissent against the wolves' behavior.

What Harry hadn't expected, however, was the sudden light blinding them all momentarily.

With a feeling of premonition, he had looked around for a means to escape and realized the bad tactical error in assembling everyone in a tight target.

Too late! He thought. We are doomed to…

The first cry of "Wizard!" froze Harry's blood and jumbled his thought process momentarily. He had thought that it was a betrayal by the wolves.

Two of his cohorts went down in a flash of sizzling flesh and blood. Their cries were unreal, choking screams as their bodies were destroyed by the surprise attack.

It could only be a vigilante wizard, armed with blood bullets—the Dark Mark.

"Bastard," Harry swore and sought the direction of the attack, while calling out to the others. "Retreat!"

Another comrade Lee Jordan—a friend for fifteen years—exploded before Harry. He caught bits of flesh and blood against his palms. So quickly they were taken down. It was not right.

How to stop it?

Blaise caught his gaze and nodded. He was on his way out—every vampire for himself and woe to the fool who did not flee.

Harry turned and spied a glint of pale silver in the narrow alley between two brick buildings but it was around fifty strides away. The wizard. He stalked the shadows; sure and relentless.

There were two vampires left standing beside himself. Panicked, they raced toward the approaching menace. Harry let them.

He, meanwhile, caught hold of Seamus Finnegan in his arms. The Irish man had been hit but he would not be reduced to ash like the others; for he was a mortal supplicant to the House, one who sought immortality and wanted to be with his vampire mate Dean Thomas, but first must prove his dedication to the Dark.

Harry dragged his dying body behind a rusted Dumpster.

A bullet shrilled past Harry's head and hit the brick wall right above his shoulder. A glass-tipped bullet that contained wizard's blood.

A scout had once obtained one of the bullets for the House's study but a drop of wizard's blood infused into a vampire's bloodstream, took a manic trip through his body and ate him from the inside out. It proved a quick yet excruciating death.

Something stung his shoulder. Fiery bites ate along his neck and cheek.

Harry dropped Seamus onto the tarmac and slapped at the incredible pain. It sizzled down his torso and up, under and along his left arm; eating into his leather clothing and gnawing at his naked flesh.

"No." Harry croaked mindlessly. He'd been splattered from the bullet that had hit the wall.

Staggering against the unreal pain, the raven-haired vampire dropped to his knees, landing beside Seamus's body.

The Dark Mark sizzled into his torso. His heart pumped furiously as if trying to outrun the inevitable. He slapped at the burning flesh, rolled over it to make it stop but did not cry out.

He was dead to the wizard.

And in a moment of clarity, he knew what had to be done. He needed blood. Lots of it.

Even as his flesh fell away from his bones, Harry ripped into Seamus's throat, drinking his blood and slapping his hands over the mortal's gaping chest wound to coat them in blood. He bathed himself in Seamus's fleeting life but it didn't seem as if he could ever stop the burn.

Listening, keen for the intruder, he realized his own pulse beats ceased.

His heart—

He gripped his chest but felt his insides.

Blood.

Ribs.

Organs.

His vision blurred. Breath stopped.

Drink or die at the hands of the wizard.

Harry did not even entertain the second option. He couldn't die. There was too much at stake.

He would not die. He thought again, with a fierce conviction.

Additional Author's Note:

The POV's may keep changing. They shall be clearly demarcated in case they do. For those waiting for the romance, a couple more chapters are still left before that boat sails…

Thank you for those Followed/Favorited the story. Reviews would be appreciated and even answered, if I get the time.

And so we know how Harry was reborn…