Title: Blood

Author: Artemis Luna Diana

E-Mail: artemislunadianayahoo.com

Rating: R (eventual NC-17)

Pairing: HP/SS

Disclaimer: I own not a thing.

Summary: All Harry wants, is to go home.

Spoilers: HP & the Sorcerer's Stone through HP & The Order of the Phoenix: Chapter 18. Events diverge before Chapter 19 begins.




Thanks to: Namie Louise, snapeysnapesnape, Kes, and Shadow for the excellent betas and double thanks to Namie Louise for 'Rector Lamia'

Prologue: Bloodlust

Yesterday had been the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army.

Harry smiled slightly as he thought of the meeting. They were pulling one over on Umbridge. It was going to be difficult to schedule meetings around three Quidditch team practices, but somehow they'd manage. He was sure of it.

Harry rubbed his neck, wincing slightly. He was tense. That woman made him so angry. He didn't think Malfoy, Snape, or even Voldemort could piss him off as well as she did. He walked out of the school and crossed the lawn, heading toward Hagrid's place. The half-giant was still gone, and Harry missed him.

The October wind bit at his exposed flesh, and Harry wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his hands under them. Ignoring the slight shiver his body gave, he kept walking. When he reached Hagrid's hut, he sat down on the front step. He wasn't sitting long when he heard a peculiar noise coming from the Forbidden Forest.

At first he dismissed it, thinking it was simply one of the many inhabitants of the forest. When he heard it again, he realized the sound did not appear to have come from an animal. Instead it sounded like someone talking.

Harry stood and cautiously approached the forest. He drew his wand. It was possible that it was only Snape out gathering potions ingredients, but it was also possible that it was Death Eaters. Carefully, he entered the forest.

The noise had stopped, and Harry halted about twenty feet in. He could still see the edge of the forest clearly, even if the area was a little dark. His skin crawled, the area felt… funny. Frowning, he tightened his grip on his wand. "Sirius would kill me if he knew I was in here," he lectured himself. "It's probably just one of the centaurs. Lumos." Instead of the light he expected, Harry felt a jerk in his stomach and knew no more.

Harry woke slowly. He blinked and raised a hand to his throbbing head. He felt sick. He could feel his wand in his right hand, and slowly sat up. He was still in the forest. He looked around but didn't see the edge. He tried to stand, but it made him sick, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, vomiting. He spat and then struggled to stand again. He felt so weak.

He took a few steps before he collapsed to the ground. What was wrong with him? What had happened? He rested his weakened body against a large tree. He put his wand away, afraid he'd lose it in his current state. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he could just rest a bit. His last thought was 'Sirius is going to kill me.'

Someone was speaking. Harry opened his eyes, and his vision swam. He could make out a man through the crazily tilting view his eyes were providing. Harry didn't recognize him, and he couldn't understand what the man was saying. His eyes closed; he couldn't keep them open. He felt himself being lifted into the man's arms and slipped into unconsciousness once more.

The next time Harry woke, he realized he was lying in a bed. He still had his glasses on and tilted his head to see where he was. The room – if you could call it that – was more like a cave than anything else. The bed was simple and made of wood with what felt like a hay mattress. The sheets were coarse, as was the blanket. He sat up slowly, expecting nausea to strike. When there was no dizziness, he sighed in relief. He flipped the covers back and swung his legs over the side. He was even more relieved to discover he was still dressed in his school clothes. He reached into his pocket and felt his wand, happy to find it still there. He stood up.

The man from before walked into the room. Harry frowned when he said something. He couldn't understand what the man was saying. It sounded like something he should be know though. He wondered in horror if he was no longer able to speak. "What did you do to me?!" He understood himself fine, but it was obvious the man didn't understand him.

The man was Quentin Smith.

Quentin stared at the man-child who reeked of power. He had found the man-child three days walk from the coven. He sighed under his breath. He had hoped that he could do this with the stranger's cooperation, but that obviously was not meant to be. He stepped forward and grabbed the stranger by his clothes. Quentin was surprised to feel the man-child begin to retaliate. He knocked the man-child to the ground and pinned him there. With one hand, he turned the stranger's head to the side. His teeth sank into the child's flesh with ease. The blood was hot and tasted almost smoky. The man-child continued to struggle. It wasn't until he was nearly drained that the lure of the vampires began to invade his senses. Quentin shivered in pleasure. The stranger was powerful indeed.

Harry felt lethargic. At first he had struggled, but now, the feel of his blood being drained was blissful. He couldn't stop the small groan that escaped his lips. He felt the man pull away and whimpered at the loss. The vampire looked down at him, smiling, Harry's blood staining his lips. He said something, but Harry was still clueless. The vampire bit his own wrist and pressed it to Harry's mouth. He said something more, his tone soothing and encouraging. Unwillingly, Harry sucked the blood into his mouth. The first taste was enough to make him moan in pleasure. He drank greedily as the man continued to smile down at him.

'Ah, you're awake. Very good.'

Harry opened his eyes and tried to process that the voice he heard was in his head.

'Don't be alarmed. What is your name?'

Harry saw the man sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at him expectantly. "Harry." He decided not to say his last name until he figured out what was going on.

'Well, Harry, my name is Quentin Smith. You may call me Quentin, Sir, Lord, Father, or even Master should you so desire.'

Harry stared at the man's unmoving lips, barely registering what the voice was saying. "What is going on?"

'Speak to me mentally, my child, I cannot understand the words you speak.'

'What is happening to me?' Harry thought to himself in horror.

'You have become a vampire.'

Harry stared at him in shock.

Quentin frowned. 'Do you realize what this means?'

'Vampires aren't real,' Harry's mind screamed at him.

Quentin chuckled. 'We are quite real, Harry.' The amusement died, and he looked almost sympathetic. 'I see that I have much to teach you.' He stood. 'Try and get some rest. We will begin early tomorrow.'

Harry closed his eyes. "Oh, please, let it all be a dream," he whispered. "A very bad, very twisted dream." (1)

Harry woke to the feel of someone shaking him. "Go away, Ron," he said sleepily without opening his eyes.

'Harry, wake-up.' Quentin's mental voice was tinged with annoyance.

Harry shot awake. 'Oh my God, it wasn't a dream!'

Quentin rolled his eyes and dragged Harry from the bed. Harry followed him into the next room, noticing they were in some sort of cave system. Harry shuddered. It wasn't hard to figure out why. 'Sit,' Quentin said and pulled out a chair for him. Harry sat down hesitantly. Quentin rounded the table and sat across from him. 'Eat.'

Harry frowned and stared at what looked like bacon and bread. 'I thought vampires drank blood.'

'We do. However, you are not ready to experience the bloodlust. I am smothering yours. You won't feel even the most remote desire to feed. Until I release it, you need to eat regularly, just as you would if you were human.'

Harry began to eat. He pretty much figured out that Quentin could hear his thoughts if they were focused, but he didn't seem to be able to pick up on anything deeper than surface thoughts.

Quentin watched him in silence. After awhile, he spoke again. 'I think it would be wise to explain the bloodlust to you first.'

Harry swallowed hard, for once completely intimidated by someone other than his Uncle. 'Okay.'

'Every vampire must obey the needs of his body. Just like a human, we require sleep, shelter, and food. It's the food aspect, though, that invokes the bloodlust. Vampires must have blood to survive. The amount of blood needed depends on the age of the vampire. The bloodlust is a survival mechanism created by the need for blood. However, the bloodlust can backfire, which is why control is necessary. The Rector Lamia, the leader of the vampires (2), is the one who provides the control that each vampire needs to survive. If for some reason, the current Rector Lamia was unable to control the bloodlust, you would hunt and feed until you were sated. Should the sun rise before the lust cooled, you wouldn't care. Any vampire out in the sunlight would die because they would be unable to comprehend the danger that they were in and would burn to death. Control is vital to a vampire's survival.'

Harry had lost his appetite when Quentin began his lecture. Now he felt like he was going to throw-up. 'I can't control my bloodlust?'

'By yourself, no. Truly controlling the bloodlust is impossible. The Rector Lamia has the greatest influence upon your bloodlust. Fortunately for you, I am the current leader of the vampires and your sire, which is why I am able to completely smother your bloodlust. However, I will not always do so. For the rest of the vampires, I exercise a minimum amount of restraint upon their bloodlust. They are able to feed but still keep their minds. They aren't ruled by their need for blood. Unfortunately, I cannot keep them from going out of control if they lose their self-restraint. You are the only one whose bloodlust I can smother to this degree."

'Can I affect my bloodlust at all?'

Quentin shook his head. 'Not at your age.' He leaned forward slightly. 'A vampire's bloodlust is controlled by his will, but a willful child has no hope of controlling his own bloodlust. The will required to control the need to feed comes with age and experience as well as your body's familiarity with changing the blood of your meal to suit your needs. The strength of your will dictates the amount of control you have over your own bloodlust. Those with the strongest willpower have the potential to become the Rector Lamia.'

'Well, how old are you then? How long was it before you became the Rector Lamia?'

'I am 158 years old, and I've been the Rector for forty-six years.' Quentin paused as he realized Harry probably didn't know the significance of that feat. 'Most Rector Lamias only rule for twenty years or so before they are either killed or die in battle. The longest rule was over two thousand years ago by Ulma the Wise, who ruled for one hundred and nine years.'

'How is it possible to accomplish anything when the leaders are constantly changing by such dire events? And what battles were you referring to?' Harry asked, totally distracted from his original line of questioning.

Quentin looked surprised. 'Battles with werewolves of course. There are some occasional skirmishes with humans of both the magical and non-magical kind, but mostly it's werewolves.' Quentin thought about Harry's first question. 'What exactly do you want us to accomplish?'

Harry blinked. He didn't know what to say.

Quentin frowned slightly. 'Anyway, you are going to stay here for a few years until you are capable of defending yourself. I won't have my child being killed by werewolves or jealous vampires before he's even ten years old.'

Harry swallowed. 'Years?'

'Yes. You have much to learn.'

'I have to go home.'

Quentin sighed. 'Harry, you can never go home. The sooner you realize this, the better off you'll be.' He stood. 'Your body is still adjusting to the change. You need to rest some more.'

'No, you don't understand, I have to go home! They need me!'

'Silence, Harry. Do not speak to me in such a manner again. Now, follow me. You must rest.'

Harry stood, angrily, and followed Quentin back into the bedroom. He climbed into bed. It was then he noticed that he wasn't wearing his glasses. Harry's mouth dropped open in shock. Perhaps it shouldn't have been such a surprise, but still. Turning into a vampire had given him perfect vision. He shivered slightly. Perfect vision to hunt with. His sleep was by no means easy.

Harry sat on his bed feeling awful. He wanted to go home. Needed to go home. He didn't want to be a vampire. How was he suppose to fight Voldemort like this? He fought back angry tears. It would be stupid to try and escape. One: he didn't know where he was. Two: he had no idea what weaknesses he now had. He kind of figured that sunlight was one of them, so it would be stupid to run off because he could get caught in the sunlight. Three: he believed there might be werewolves running around in the forest. Four: he had no idea how anyone would react to his being a vampire.

Perhaps that was the greatest motivation to stay. Hermione had told him that vampires had died out centuries ago and all that was left were partial vampire humans. There were no more full-blooded vampires. Harry felt suddenly squeamish. He'd prefer not to think about blood of any kind.

'Oh, good. You're awake.' Harry looked up to see Quentin standing at the entrance. 'I think it best if we started teaching you to speak.'

'I can speak!'

'I meant, speak my language.'

'Oh. Whatever,' Harry muttered, happy to be putting off any more talk of blood.

'After that, I'll teach you to read and write.'

Harry didn't bother to say he already knew how to read and write - he understood what Quentin meant.

And so they began.

Quentin's language came easy to Harry for some reason. He still couldn't shake the feeling that he'd heard it somewhere before though he couldn't remember where. Once Harry had a firm grasp of the spoken language, Quentin dragged out something that looked like the old Egyptian papyrus, a quill, a sharp knife, and some ink. Harry was a little dubious. He didn't see what was wrong with using good old regular parchment, but if Quentin wanted to teach him to write on papyrus, what was the point in arguing?

As Quentin began to write the alphabet down, Harry frowned. The more Quentin wrote, the more Harry became confused. Compared to Hermione, he might not spend much time in the library, but Harry was by no means stupid. In his old Muggle school, he was at the top of his class. He recognized the alphabet Quentin was scribing as Ancient Greek.

"I brought this written language back from a place called Greece," Quentin was saying as he finished writing the alphabet. "We Celts just haven't had a need for written language. I believe that vampires will find it useful, however, which is why I am teaching it to you. Word of mouth isn't always the most reliable source, you know?"

Harry nodded dumbly. That so could not have meant what it sounded like.


Harry tried to pay attention to Quentin, but found it difficult with all this newly-discovered knowledge swimming in his brain. Quentin eventually decided to stop for the day since Harry seemed to be having such trouble, and sent Harry off to study.

Harry collapsed onto his bed in a daze. 'It can't be true! It can't be real!' his mind screamed. He lay in total shock. Ancient Greek. Celts. Passing knowledge by word-of-mouth. He was sitting smack-dab in the ancient past. The reason Quentin's language had seemed so familiar was because it was the ancient form of the Gaelic he had heard Seamus speak. By his estimation, it was somewhere between 700 BC and 100 BC, that was about the time that travelers had brought written Greek to the British Isles. It was somewhere around there anyway; he only vaguely remembered learning about it in Muggle school. 'I just want to go home!'

He could honestly admit he was terrified. He had no idea how he got here and no idea how to get back to his own time. If he wasn't completely nuts. Maybe he was just making something out of nothing. And if he was in the past, he was in serious trouble. He hadn't any idea where to find a powerful, intelligent, light wizard or witch. And even if he did find one, he was so far back in the past, he'd be lucky if they knew a disarming spell. Did the wizards of this time use wands? He cursed Professor Binns with all of his being. If Binns hadn't been so boring, maybe he'd know a little more about magical history. All he could remember from that class was the numerous Goblin rebellions, which were of no use to him.

He tried to clear his mind of his shock and fought to think. 'What do I do?' He wasn't aging, so theoretically, he could just hang around until someone figured out a way to send him home. But to hang around, he'd need to figure out how to defend himself and how to take care of himself. He knew next to nothing about the time era he was in. IF HE WAS EVEN IN IT! He'd need to learn as much as he could from Quentin. His heart sank as he remembered the other obstacle. He'd need to figure out what it was to be a vampire. Because if – when – he returned home, there would be no one to help him figure it out.

{three months later}

"Wake-up, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes to see Quentin standing over his bed.

"You need to learn to wake-up quickly and on your own. I'm not going to always be close by to wake-you up. And what if you get attacked in your sleep?" Quentin lectured as Harry climbed out of bed sheepishly.

"Come on. Today we begin your physical training."

Harry followed Quentin out of the room. "Physical training?"

"Of course. You didn't think you'd catch your prey with your good looks did you? You certainly won't stop a werewolf with them."


"You will of course learn how to use every weapon in the armory and then chose three to specialize in."

"Armory? Just when are you going to show me around this cave system?"

"When I'm certain you won't try to run off."

Harry scowled. He wasn't planning to 'run off' until he knew everything that Quentin knew.

{two years later}

"Excellent! Now move faster!"

Harry ducked and rolled to the side as the axe came swinging towards his head. He didn't speak. He wasn't supposed to. He blocked, defended, and simply got out of the way as the need arose. He wasn't supposed to attack. Harry had discovered ten seconds into training with the axe, that he hated it. Unfortunately, it was one of Quentin's favorite weapons.

"Okay, that's good."

Harry was panting and sweating heavily. "I hate the damn axe."

"I know," Quentin said cheerfully. "Which is why I began with it." Quentin walked over and set his axe down on the table of weapons. "Staffs."

Harry set his axe down and picked up his staff. He sighed. Just once, he'd like to best his teacher in something. That wasn't likely to happen any time soon though. Quentin was one hundred and fifty six. That was a lot of experience to beat.

After getting beaten soundly once again, Harry put his staff up. Quentin smiled at him. "I've decided to be a little easier on you today. Work on whatever you wish to, and I will return in six hours to get you for dinner. That will be all for today."

Harry grinned. "Okay!"

"But, you'd better be training!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Quentin laughed and left the room. Harry grinned and rubbed his hands together. 'Whatever I want, huh?' Harry quickly strode over to the two dual-bladed polearms (3). It was a weapon that looked as if someone had taken two swords and mashed the handles together. He picked up his. He'd designed it himself after seeing Quentin's, and Quentin had taken the design to a blacksmith. It had been Harry's birthday present – his turning celebration.

Unfortunately, it was a lot heavier and harder to wield than he had imagined. He'd been very disappointed. Quentin had then explained to him that he could begin his body's aging process again. Harry had refused. He didn't want to return home looking any older than he had when he left. Quentin was a little surprised Harry hadn't wanted to continue aging, but hadn't pressed him on it.

Harry began his exercises.

The first time he had tried to wield it, he'd nearly cut himself in half. Quentin had laughed and asked him what he thought was going to happen when he swung the blades. Harry stopped half-way through.

'If only it were a little bit lighter,' he mused. Harry blinked. "Duh!" He quickly put the weapon up and dashed out of the room. He passed by Quentin on the way to his bedroom. "Just need to get something real quick!" he called over his shoulder as he ran by. When he reached his room, he lifted up his pillow to reveal his wand. He picked up the wand and dashed back to the armory.

It had been a little odd not using magic, but Harry didn't want Quentin to know what he was capable of. After all, Quentin was being tight-lipped about the nature of vampires, so he didn't see why he couldn't be secretive too. It was frustrating. Quentin taught him how to wield the weapons in the armory, gave him a few warnings, and that was it. He was still confused about the whole bloodlust thing. He hadn't felt any desire for blood, even when Quentin left for a few weeks. How could he be a vampire if he didn't drink blood?

He cast a few charms on the blade to make it lightweight, more durable, and change the balance a bit to make it easier to handle. He put his wand up his sleeve and picked up the polearm. He started his exercises again. The blades seemed to sing as they slashed through the air. He began to increase his speed.

With his new found confidence – and slightly altered weapons – Harry's skills began to radically improve. He decided later, that it was the dumbest thing he'd ever done. Now, Quentin felt it was time to teach Harry to hunt, something that Harry had been dreading since he'd first turned.

"To begin with, I need to tell you a bit more about vampires."


"To begin with, some of the things I told you when you first turned were lies."


"Vampires have three stages of development," Quentin continued as though Harry had not spoken. "The first stage is called the birthing. This is the stage that you are in right now. The birthing stage is after the turning but before the first hunt. In vampire-borns, this stage is skipped completely."

"Vampire-borns?" Harry asked confused.

"Oh, sorry. Vampire-borns are those who are born vampires, not turned."

"Okay," Harry said, understanding the term but not how it was possible.

"I'll go into them later. In the birthing stage, there is no need for blood to survive."

"So I can stay like this forever! I don't have to kill anyone!" Harry interrupted.

"I wouldn't recommend it. One: you will always have your weaknesses. And two: if you stay in the birthing stage too long, it will kill you."

Harry gulped.

"After your first hunt, you enter the second stage: what we call the transition. In this stage, fresh blood is required at least once a month as the bloodlust burns through the old. This stage is where the bloodlust is the strongest. The transition takes a hundred years."

"What are we transitioning to?" Harry asked, worried.

"The third and final stage is known as the Daylight Years. When a vampire reaches its Daylight Years, it is able to walk about in the sunlight without fear. The last stage also has a decrease in the power of the bloodlust. Fresh blood is only needed once every three months."

Harry started to speak, but Quentin held up a hand to forestall him.

"Although, I say fresh blood is only needed once a month after the first hunt, if you do that, you will not reach your full potential. To become strong, to control the bloodlust on your own – as you desire so much – fresh blood is needed much more frequently."

"How frequently?"

"At least three times within the span of five days. Though it is best to feed once a day or more."

Harry slowly digested this information. There was no getting around killing someone, and once he began, there would be no stopping. If he stayed in the birthing stage, he would be unable to go into the sunlight and it would eventually kill him. There was no way to fight Voldemort like that. But, was his life worth the lives of the people he would kill? Also, would his hunting change the future – his present? Could he end up killing Albus Dumbledore's ancestor and thereby ending the old Headmaster's existence? If Dumbledore wasn't around, would Grindelwald have taken over the magic world? And even if he failed to, who would have slowed Voldemort during his first rise to power? If he killed one of his ancestors, then he would cease to exist. But, if he didn't exist, then he couldn't come back and kill his ancestor. The possible paradoxes were mind boggling.

There was only one choice available to him. He was going to have to hope and pray that he was meant to have traveled back in time and those he killed were meant to die. He gulped. He was also going to have to live with the deaths of innocents on his hands.

"Are you ready?" Quentin asked.

Harry hesitated slightly before replying. "Yes," he said firmly.

"Then come. Night will fall soon, and the hunt will begin."

Harry followed Quentin through the cave system. "When you said you lied, you meant that all that crap about controlling my bloodlust didn't you?"

"Yes. I needed to terrify you into staying. I didn't want you to run off and get killed."

"Once my bloodlust begins, can you control it?"

"Control it? No. Influence it? Yes. All I can do is make sure that it doesn't go out of control. I cannot stop your need for blood, nothing can."

Harry had no reply.

"Harry, we all begin with feelings of guilt. No one wants to kill, but it is our nature. It is what we must do to survive. Eventually, you will come to accept this, and it won't bother you. Humans will become just food to you."

Harry halted, and Quentin turned back to look at him, puzzled. "Let's get one thing straight. It is possible that one day I might accept that I must kill to live, but I will never consider them to be just food, and I will always regret taking a life. I will always wonder what I have taken from the world, what good that life could have done. I will always hate taking a father from his children and a daughter from her parents. Do not assume that acceptance means I like it." Harry walked past his startled teacher.

"There is a woodsman and his daughter that live close to us. When the man's wife died, the villagers believed that he was the cause. He moved his daughter and himself out of the village before they could be run out."

"How old is the daughter?"

Quentin frowned. "She's about seven summers, I believe."

"We are going to kill a seven-year old child!" Harry hissed.

"Yes. Why? Too young for your tastes?"

"A child!"

"If it bothers you so much, turn her if it will make you happy," Quentin replied annoyed.

"I wouldn't know how."

"And I wouldn't recommend it."

"Then you do it!"

Quentin scowled. "Does it mean so much to you? The life of one girl-child?"


Quentin smirked. "Alright. I'll turn her for you." Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. There was something about the expression on Quentin's face that didn't bode well for the girl or Harry.

They exited the caves in silence, and Harry followed Quentin nervously. It had been almost three years since he'd been outside, and knowing that werewolves were running around just itching to kill a few vampires did not make him feel any better. He had two daggers strapped to his thighs, and as he walked, his fingers brushed the hilts. Quentin carried his axe strapped to his back and a dagger in his left boot. The new moon was out tonight, they weren't likely to see a werewolf.

Their steps were soundless as they made their way towards their unsuspecting prey. They stopped a little ways from the woodsman's home. Quentin turned to Harry. "When you smell the blood and see the beating of it beneath the skin, your teeth will sharpen and your instincts will take over. Take the girl-child. I will take her father."

Harry nodded nervously.

Quentin was right. He could smell the blood long before he saw them. Quentin took out the man easily, and Harry's instincts took over as he grabbed the girl. His teeth descended painlessly, and he leaned forward sinking the newly emerged teeth into the young flesh. The girl flailed against him, but he could think of nothing beyond the taste of her blood. It was only a few seconds before she stopped protesting and embraced him with a whimper. It only seemed to fuel his hunger as he growled involuntarily and tightened his grip on her.

As her embrace slackened, Harry slowly began to recover. He released her neck immediately, and she went limp in his arms. He laid her down on the floor and looked up to see Quentin watching him. "Do it! Turn her! You said you would!"

Quentin stepped forward and knelt beside the girl. He bit his wrist and pressed it to the young mouth. Harry watched, immobile, as she latched onto Quentin's wrist. She made contented cat-like noises as she fed off of his Sire – their Sire. Her mouth became slack and her eyes closed. Quentin looked up at him. "It's done. Carry her. We need to return to the caves."

Harry deposited the girl in a room Quentin set up for her and then retreated to the river deeper in the cave system where they gathered drinking water, bathed, and washed their clothes. He looked down into the water, his reflection revealed by the light of the torches in the churning depths. Blood was splattered on his cheek. His lips were stained with it. He shivered as he remembered the taste of the girl's blood. He began to retch and while he did throw-up, no blood came up. His body had already absorbed it. He was now in the transition stage. The bloodlust had begun, and next time, Quentin would not be turning his victim. Blood wouldn't just be on his face; it would be on his hands as well.


Author's Notes:

Okay, before you ask, the girl (who will remain nameless for the entire fic) is going to die at the beginning of the first chapter. She is not, I repeat, NOT a Mary Sue. She is part of a lesson that Harry has to learn.

Since Harry is back in the BC's, Severus obviously isn't around. This means that their relationship does not begin until Harry returns to his own time. However, Severus is the love of Harry's life, they will end up together, yada yada yada, it just won't be immediately. Sorry.

To find out about progress and/or lack of progress head to my yahoo!group or my livejournal. The links are in my profile. All NC-17 chapters and/or interludes will be posted at my yahoo! group since FF.Net doesn't allow the rating anymore.

Well, I think that about covers everything…

-Artemis Luna Diana-


(1) This line is a quote from Farscape. John says it after his arrival in the Uncharted Territories in the episode Premier.

(2) Rector Lamia – Master Vampire

Rector: guider, leader, director, ruler, master

Lamia: witch, vampire

(3) when I first pictured Harry's weapon, I saw him wielding a weapon that looked as though someone had taken two swords and mashed the handles together. It wasn't until I was taking a break from writing, by playing on my Playstation2 that I realized what I had modeled his weapon after. If you've ever seen Zidane from FFIX, then you know that he alternates between using two daggers and what the game creators called a dual-bladed polearm. So, I used their name for Harry's weapon, as I've no idea if it really exists or not. (I asked around before I realized where I'd seen it and no one knew.)