AUTHOR'S NOTE: this story follows Walter's path from the day he entered Hellsing to his final confrontation with Alucard. It's my take on why Walter did what he did, and how he went from faithful butler to traitor, all because of Alucard. There is a drawing on my Deviantart site to go with this chapter.

Enjoy & Review!

CH 1

1937

The first time he laid eyes on her, she was nude. Every inch of her flaw less white skin was laid out for him to see. Back then, at seven years old, he already knew that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and ever will see.

It had started out as a bad day. A very bad day, indeed. He remembered the sunny skies and green trees passing by the car windows as the orphanage's head mistress sat next to him. She was a stern, sharp woman and she didn't like him. She didn't say a word as the car pulled in front of the mansion. He didn't understand why he was there, but he was certain it was because he did something wrong.

All of his belongings, what little of it there was, were stuffed inside a canvas bag. He had carried it to the car himself because neither the lady nor the driver could be bothered with it. The beautiful day did nothing to brighten his mood or allay the fear in his heart. The mansion seemed huge back then.

The headmistress waited for the driver to open the door for her, then motioned for him to follow as she climbed out. He dragged the canvas bag after him. The strap was much too long.

"Hurry along," she snapped. "Must you always be so troublesome, Walter?"

He nodded and quickened his step. At the front door he slowed. The house was so enormous and foreboding that he felt it was going to swallow him up. After a stern glare from the headmistress, he entered, keeping his head low.

The foyer was massive. Its walls were covered with prized paintings. A winding staircase led upward.

"Wait here," said the headmistress.

He gripped his bag tightly, seeking some source of comfort from it. "Please don't leave me alone, Miss Madeline," he begged in a small voice.

The woman shook her head, as if annoyed at his cowardice. A maid in a black uniform appeared. She exchanged words with Miss Madeline. He waited for them to finish, hoping one of them would give him some indication as to why he was here. But the maid led Miss Madeline up the stairs without a glance at him.

He stood in the foyer alone. Silence echoing all around him.

He ought to stay up, but, as he gazed down the endless halls, curiosity took over. There was not a soul in sight, and though the air was warm, the whole place had a chilling feel to it. If he moved, Miss Madeline would get mad when she returned. But part of him had already decided that if he was in trouble, he might as well make the most of it. For all he knew, he was being sold to this house to be cooked for dinner.

And that was how he came to roam the halls, peering into one room after another. For such a big house, it was surprisingly empty. Here or there he saw a maid, but most of the rooms appeared to be empty, filled with shelves of books and strange equipment.

It was at the end of the East hall that he came across the sterile room.

It was completely white and extremely cold. When he pushed open the door he couldn't help but shudder. There were no furniture in the room save for a single metal table, the kind used for autopsies in morgues. Lined along the wall were metal shelves holding various surgical instruments. Their gleaming tips suddenly made him very afraid. It was like a horror movie, where pretty girls were carved up by doctors with eye patches.

And there was a girl. She was lying on the metal table, and she had spotted him before he spotted her.

"Well, well," she said, "and what are you doing in here?"

His first instinct should have been to run, for the sight before him was quite gruesome. The girl was stark naked, every inch of skin exposed, lying on her back. At least a dozen needles connected to two dozen tubes were embedded into her skin. They stuck out of her legs, her arms, even her chest. There was a neat open wound on her side that may have been made with a scalpel, and another on her chest. At least a dozen stitches lined her right thigh. She looked like a mutilated corpse.

And yet, he couldn't look away. Somehow, despite all the blood and needles, she looked perfectly at peace. Seeing him, she sat up, pulling the tubes along with her, and rolled onto her stomach, her feet in the air as if they were conversing on a warm beach. Her hair was long and black, and her eyes were red. She had a boy's body, lean and flat, but he could tell she was a young girl, perhaps thirteen years old.

"You look like you're lost," she said, resting her chin on one hand. He gazed uncomfortably at the wound on her chest. "Oh, let me fix that."

And just like that, the wound closed, knitting itself flawlessly right before his eyes. Leaning, she pulled the needles out of her arms and legs and laid them aside. The holes on her body closed, as did the one on her side. Less than a minute after he entered, she went from a disfigured Frankenstein to a porcelain doll with ruby eyes. He watched in amazement as she yanked the stitches out of her leg.

"I hate these things. They sting like hell going in."

He studied her. She did the same to him, with an amused smile on her peach lips. Finally, he asked, "Are you sick?"

She laughed. In the days to come, he would hear her wild laughter nearly every day. "Of course not. Where would you get an idea like that?"

"You had needles in you. Needles are for when you're sick."

She extended one finger and curled it three times, motioning for him to come forward. He did willingly. She put her finger under his chin and tilted his head upward. "You have good eyes," she said.

He blushed. "Thank you."

"But rest assured that I'm not sick. This is just an experiment they're doing."

"Who's 'they'?"

She winked at him and swung her legs over the edge of the table. "That's something you don't need to learn right away, but you'll know eventually. What's your name?"

"Walter."

"I like that name," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, as if completely unaware that she wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing.

"Who are you?"

"Me?" she replied. "I'm just a common warmonger. If I see you again, I'll tell you my name. Deal?"

oOo

"That child is a menace."

Arthur Hellsing stifled a yawn and rested his chin on his hand lazily. He didn't like this woman. She wore her hair in a stuffy bun, dressed like she just stepped out of the eighteenth century, and talked like she had a ruler stuck up where the sun doesn't shine. He rolled his eyes, drummed his fingers on the desk, and wished he could turn around and stare out the window as the woman kept speaking in her shrill, unpleasant voice.

"I'm aware of all that," he said when she stopped to catch a breather. "If I didn't know better, I would think you're reluctant to part with him."

The woman laughed. "Ha!" she screeched. "I cannot wait to get rid of him, but I want to make sure that you know what you're getting into, taking in a child like that. Do you know what he did? Do you know…"

"I know," Arthur cut in. She looked quite offended, but he really couldn't care less. "Trust me when I say I have looked into the matter fully before making my decision."

The woman snorted. "Far be it from me to question you, then. Just know that if you're not satisfied, there is no giving him back, and…"

"And you should not speak of him like he is a commodity."

The woman nearly jumped out of her seat at the voice that came directly behind her. Arthur rubbed his temples. He had instructed that the vampire be kept busy during Madam Madeline's visit, but it seemed no one could stop the vampire from doing what she wanted. As least she used the door this time.

Alucard approached her master's desk and stood beside Madam Madeline. She looked the woman up and down. "You are quite the presumptuous person to question decisions made by the master of the house. Need I remind you that you are a guest?"

Madam Madeline scoffed as if supremely offended. She sat up straighter in the chair, trying to cast an air of indignation. "Sir Hellsing," she said, already recovering from the initial shock of Alucard's sudden appearance, "your daughter is quite rude. If this is the way you raise children in this house, then…"

"It's not of your concern," said Arthur, cutting her off yet again. Alucard glanced at her smugly. "I have the paperwork taken care of already, so if you could just leave the boy with me, I would be most grateful. Also, this" - he pointed at Alucard - "is not my daughter, and please refrain from referring to her as such. It's bad for my health."

The woman started to say something, but Arthur ignored her and addressed Alucard. "Did you come across the boy?"

She nodded and grinned. "He found me on his own. I was quite impressed."

"You didn't scare him out of his wits, did you?"

"Why, of course not." Glancing at Madam Madeline, Alucard winked as if sharing an inside joke with her. The woman flinched. "Though those research doctors left me in quite a frightful state, he wasn't a bit fazed. In fact, I told him to come. He will be up shortly."

oOo

The winding stairs were very, very tall and never seemed to end. Walter scaled them the way a mountaineer might scale the Himalayas.

For a minute or so he almost forgot about the fact that he was in trouble. He was thinking about that girl, with black flowing hair and needles sticking out of her body. The impression she left on him was short but lasting. After their short introduction, she had hopped off the table and told him to come upstairs, then walked out. When he chased after her into the hall, she had already disappeared. There were many questions he wanted to ask her. What "warmonger" meant, to start with.

Reaching the top floor, he suddenly realized that he didn't know where to go, but the answer seemed obvious. To his left, sitting like a slumbering giant, was a set of thick massive doors. Standing in front of it, he felt like a morsel about to be devoured. All at once he remembered why he was here. He was about to be in a lot of trouble.

He swallowed and considered running away, but then a voice filled his head.

Come in, already.

He jumped, looked around, and saw no one. Did it sound familiar? He wasn't sure. Clenching his fists, he decided it was his own imagination, and leaned against the heavy door. It swung open much more easily than he anticipated. He stumbled and nearly fell on his face. Quickly composing himself, he stood straight in what he hoped was a dignified manner.

The door opened to a cavernous office. To his left were a line of massive bookshelves packing with books and materials, some as thick as his arm. To his right, various portraits hung on the wall. One of which, he saw, was of the man currently sitting behind a large desk directly in front of him. Madam Madeline was sitting in a chair that looked as stiff as she was, eyeing him with her usual mild distain.

Standing next to the desk, hands linked behind her back, was the dark-haired girl. He couldn't imagine how she got up here so quickly, and having dressed herself to boot. She was wearing a white suit and ankle boots. Atop her head, she wore a white pillbox hat. The whole ensemble contrasted against her raven hair like snow against coal.

The man raised a hand and gestured for him to come closer. He looked about thirty years old, with sleek hair and a wide smile. The girl winked at him as he took a few steps forward.

"Walter, right?" the man asked. He nodded timidly. "Stop shuffling your feet, you're not in trouble."

He forced his feet together and planted them firmly to the ground.

"Now then," the man said. "I just heard a story about you and was wondering if it's true. Can you tell me what happened between you and… what was his name?"

"Donald," said Madam Madeline. "Donald Smythe."

Walter remembered Donald Smythe. He was a big kid, at least twice his size, and was the most stereotypical bully one could find. He had blazing red hair and too many freckles, and if there was a heart of gold in him, it was being smothered under at least thirty pounds of fat.

"Yes, sir," he said in a small voice, sneaking glances at the girl. She hasn't said anything yet.

"What happened to Donald, Walter?" the man asked. He didn't sound angry, just curious, which gave him a bit of courage.

"He's dead, sir."

"And how did he die?"

He looked at Madame Madeline. "I took a rope," he said slowly, expecting her to shush him at any time. "And I tied a knot." He mimicked the act. "And I threw it over his head. And pulled."

The girl burst out laughing. He started, and saw the shock and horror on Madam Madeline's face. The man behind the desk simply sat back. Walter looked around in confusion. The next thing he knew, the girl was behind him, her arms wrapped around his torso. She pressed him against her like a stuffed toy.

"Did you hear that, Master?" she said to the man, a wide grin on her face. "Wasn't it grand? Wasn't it absolutely amazing? There was someone he didn't like, so he made a noose and hung him until he died. Oh, how I adore him."

He blushed. No one has ever said they adored him before. She leaned down and touched her cheek to his. She was surprisingly cold.

"Will we keep him, master?" she asked with a giggle. "He'd be ever so much fun."

"Wait a minute!" Madam Madeline snapped to her feet. "This is preposterous. You can't tell me that you condone that sort of..."

The girl's face suddenly turned hard. She straightened and leveled her eyes on Madam Madeline, her arms still linked loosely around Walter's shoulders. "Sit down, old woman," she said chillingly.

Madame Madeline's eyes glazed over. She slumped down into the chair like a dead weight, nearly missing it. If she tumbled onto the floor, Walter thought she wouldn't have noticed. The man behind the desk made a gesture toward him.

"We'll deal with her later," he said casually. "Walter, I see you've already met your new playmate. She will fill you in on the ins and outs of this house. We've scoured the country to find a child like you, Walter. Don't disappoint us."

He wasn't sure what that meant, but the girl squeezed his shoulders and he nodded obediently. Her lips touched his ear and he trembled at their coldness.

"My name," she whispered, "as I promised, is Alucard."