Harry's post-Voldemort life was going about how he expected it to.

The war had been brutal, thousands of magicals killed and that didn't even include the deaths that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had caused prior to his fall that fateful October 31st.

Most of Harry's friends and family were dead now, thanks to the war. Neville, Remus, Tonks, and Hagrid had been killed during the final battle. Ron was the last Weasley still alive after vampires had attacked the Burrow a week after the war had ended. Even Fleur, Andromeda, and little baby Teddy had been killed during the attack at the Burrow. Hermoine was still alive but it would have been kinder if she had died, Ron wouldn't hear a word of it, Harry was pretty sure even though Hermione was trapped inside of her mind that if she died Ron would kill himself or go on a homicidal spree, depending on the day and his best friend's mood swings. Hermione was Ron's last anchor to life. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been killed in an attempt to bring Harry out into the public eye during the war. Dudley was still alive though to curse Harry's name.

Life post-war was often unbearable and filled with heartache. However, everything shifted on Harry's birthday, as it seemed to do quite frequently.

His 17th birthday decided to screw him over big time, although this is probably something he should expect at this point. A quiet life was never meant for him. How different his life might have been if he was who everyone believed him to be, himself included.

When Harry had opened his eyes on the morning of the 31st of July, he thought it was just going to be another day. As he stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, he knew it was going to be anything but.

As he stared into the mirror, a stranger looked back at him. He raised his arm and watched as the reflection perfectly mimicked his movements. His father's messy uncontrollable dark brown hair was gone, replaced by crimson red hair, that reminded him of his mother's. The hair fell in gentle waves around his face down to his shoulders, the ends curling up just slightly. The killing curse green of his mother's eyes had been replaced with a stormy gray near his pupil but the outside of his iris was a thin emerald green ring with spidering cracks that seemed to be trying to reach his pupil.

His cheekbones sat higher on his face, casting shadows in all the right places. His once sharp jawline had softened, giving him a more youthful appearance. Even his once broad shoulders seemed narrower now, but in a way that made him appear graceful and elegant. And his skin, oh how it had changed. Where once it had been sickly pale, now it seemed almost incandescent under the glow of the bathroom lights. His teeth had also transformed, straight and gleaming white enough to blind someone in its brilliance. It was like looking at a completely different person in the mirror.

The only thing that remained the same was his disappointingly short height. He was almost pressed against the mirror, examining the changes in his eyes and his face when he realized that he wasn't wearing his glasses but he could see, in fact, he could way better than he ever had as he watched several motes of dust floating in the air.

"What the hell?" Even his voice sounded different, smoother, not as deep. Had he been cursed?

His first reaction was to call Hermione to see what had happened to him, but then his mind caught up to that fleeting thought and he felt his gut clench in a mixture of despair and anger that still hadn't abated even months after the war had been ended. It probably would have hurt less if Hermione had been killed during the war, instead the brightest witch of her age was now trapped inside her mind, comatose.

Shaking his head to rid himself of such depressing thoughts he tried a finite on himself but that didn't do anything but make his hair a bit staticky. Maybe he should see the goblins? After the war ended Harry had paid a very hefty fee to repair the damages incurred when they had broken into and then back out of the bank, but thankfully the goblins didn't hold a grudge since he had removed a dark artifact from their bank and ended Voldemort once and for all. Small mercies.

Harry knew the goblins had more thorough tests and rituals to fix things than even the best wizarding healer. Plus they wouldn't sell the Daily Prophet a story on his condition. If the goblins couldn't help him, Harry may have to get creative to solve the problem. What else was new?

One bonus of being trapped in a stranger's body was that no one knew that it was Harry walking down Diagon Alley and then into Gringotts. Harry may have to consider less drastic ways of changing his appearance once the goblins returned him to normal so he could walk about unmolested. It was a good thought for later.

Harry approached a familiar goblin at one of the desks. "Nagrath, it is nice to see you again." Harry knew the goblins hated Harry's chipper friendly attitude toward them, but that just made Harry want to do it all the more.

"Do I know you?" Nagrath glared at Harry in suspicion.

"Believe it or not, yes. Happy to provide my blood to prove my identity since you won't believe me when I tell you."

Nagrath's eyes narrowed in suspicion, looking over Harry's appearance again. The goblin grunted and waved for Harry to follow him to one of the private offices beyond the main lobby.

As Harry entered Nagrath's office, he felt a wave of calm wash over him. The dark, secluded space was a safe haven, where no prying ears could hear their conversations. He sank into one of the sleek black leather chairs that sat before Nagrath's imposing desk made of rich, dark wood. The room was almost bare, save for a few shelves lined with old leather-bound books and a lone potted plant in the corner. It could easily be mistaken for a muggle lawyer's office - impersonal, professional, and cold. But for Harry, it was a refuge from the chaotic world outside. He had spent quite a bit of time in this office since the war had ended.

"I only know of one person who speaks to me as you do and who would feel relaxed being alone with me," Nagrath said as he took a seat behind the desk. "But if I am correct, you are right that I want proof from your blood." He pulled out a piece of enchanted parchment and a small steel knife.

Harry took the knife and pricked his finger, letting seven drops of blood hit the parchment. It wasn't the first or even second time he had had to take this test. He knew the routine well, even down to Nagrath snatching the parchment away to read it before Harry could even glance at the first blood-red words being formed.

"You must have upset the fates in a prior life for I believe you have been born under a cursed sign." That statement from Nagrath was rather startling, considering how emotionless the goblin normally was.

"If you are saying that then you must know what is wrong with me. Why do I look like this? Have I been cursed?"

Instead of answering Harry's questions, the goblin slid the parchment over for Harry to read. He took the parchment in his hands, surprised not to see what was normally presented when he took a blood test. "What the hell…"

Name: Hadley Catán Evans ( Other Name : Harry James Potter)

Age: Seventeen

Species: ½ Human (Wizard), ½ Vampire

Mother: Lily Heather Evans

Father: Blocked

Blood-Adopted Father: James Charlus Potter

Titles: Lord Potter, Lord Black, Blocked

"What the bloody hell is this Nagrath?" Harry exclaimed.

"It's a parchment that answers a great many questions I have held as the Potter account manager for many years." Nagrath blithely answered, making Harry's eye twitch. "Before you were born, your mother had come to me asking many questions and requesting some suspicious potion ingredients. After you were born, James Potter came to me to manually add you to the Potter family tree. If you had been his son in truth, he wouldn't have had to add your name to the tree, it would be there already. But many purebloods have fertility problems due to the inbreeding, so I didn't ask any questions. The problem with being blood-adopted is that your magical majority can burn away the 'foreign' blood as it were."

Harry's mind was reeling. James wasn't his real father? "What is with my father's name being 'blocked'? It also shows under titles, it has never done that before. How can I be half-vampire? I thought that wasn't possible?"

Nagrath leaned back in his chair and sighed. "If I am right, and I do not have a way to confirm that I am, then I believe your mother performed a ritual to hide your heritage based on the ingredients she had ordered from us. Add in your blood adoption and it not only changed your appearance but hid your true father as well." Harry fidgeted under Nagrath's stare before the goblin continued. "Half-vampires are rare, very rare, but not unheard of. I do not know the logistics, only that it is not impossible. But it does present a problem."

"Of course, it's a bloody problem! I can't be a vampire! Do you remember what they did to the Weasleys? What they did to hundreds of magicals during and after the war?" Harry was standing now, shaking with an anger he hadn't felt since his fifth year after Sirius had been killed.

Nagrath was unmoved by Harry's outburst. "Be that as it may, you are still half-vampire. It is probably for the best you keep that a secret. You cannot claim your vampire heritage without losing your right to call yourself a wizard."

Nagrath refused to elaborate further on that ominous statement but recommended that Harry look to get out of the country immediately before someone learned of his secret. Then the goblin dismissed Harry from his office without another word on the subject.

Despite the frustration gnawing at him, Harry couldn't deny that the goblin's words were true. He had to leave, and fast. His presence in the UK was under close surveillance thanks to both reporters from the Daily Prophet and leftover Voldemort sympathizers. Even across Europe, he was known by name and face. A mix of emotions swirled within Harry - anger at being a "freak", fear of what awaited him, and determination to survive these changes just like he had with every other life-altering change in his short life. His inner child wailed at the unfairness of it all, while his hardened war-veteran self pushed his emotions aside and began to strategize. There was much to be done before he could depart safely.