Disclaimer: As with every other writer on I am a mere cheap rip-off from the real thing. (Not that I'm trying to put anyone down.) I am using characters and places created by JK Rowling. No money has passed hands (I can only wish) and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: When Harry Potter is faced with death he welcomes it, but he is given another option to continue on, and keep his friends safe. Faced with this option Harry chooses a half-life and becomes a vampire. What is to happen to the newly risen boy-who-lived?
Author Note: I don't know what exactly it is that I'm gonna do with this. I just got the short fic bug again and began writing. I doubt this'll go too far but from what I understand (what I've been told) there aren't many vampire fics on , let alone good ones. Maybe I'll write more, maybe not.
• eQuasarus •
• Death •
Time plays tricks on you when you're about to die. It is as if things slow down. Your life does not flash before your eyes, but you remember glimpses of it things you're going to miss. You also wonder what you're going to see afterwards, once death has taken you.
Then you are brought back to reality.
"You are about to die," a cruel voice cut through the fog of thought. Beneath him the boy who'd been thinking those thoughts, trying to drift away from his life, groaned in pain as he received another swift kick in the ribs. It had to be the fifteenth or sixteenth one. He wasn't even counting anymore most of his ribs were already broken. "Any last words?" the voice continued almost snarling.
Bruised, beaten, and beyond all recognition the boy looked up with great effort. To someone who had just arrived at the scene they would have been appalled if they had a soul. Then be nauseated just looking at him. It was obvious the captors cared a great deal about his health but only enough to keep him alive. Surely they wouldn't want their fun in torturing him to be cut short.
One hand, his right hand, was crushed so thoroughly that it looked like a great mass of dark purple putty. The whole right side of his body bore the signs of sickness, his open wounds festering and decaying. None of his limbs had survived without some damage. His hair, the unforgiving hair that never stayed down, was plastered to his head with dried blood. In fact his whole face was nothing more than a swirl of purple and reds.
The only things that remained recognizable were his eyes. As he stared at the Death Eater above him his emerald green eyes sparkled, still searching for a way to escape.
"I… might ask you… the same thing," he said, coughing up bits of his internal organs. They were decomposing with ever second. It was obvious he was having more than a little trouble breathing.
Then, his left arm rose, grasping the cloak of the Death Eater. "You've been warned," he said with purpose, but lost his authority as he coughed hard again, spitting a great deal of blood up on the cloak. His captor jerked away, his hood falling away from his face because of the violent movement.
The Death Eater looked down with great distaste, his face forming a nasty sneer. "So Potter, still having delusions of grandeur?" he taunted sarcastically.
Harry, once again with his face in the dirt barely, moved in response to the question. His mind was still racing, trying to discover a way out. When he was locked away there was no way out, but here… here was open and free.
"I'm leaving," the platinum haired Death Eater announced, kicking the beaten body one last time. "Take care of him, do it slowly though. Make him suffer for the death of my father," and with a sharp pop he was gone.
As Malfoy disappeared, Harry made a rash decision. Death was immanent, yes, and he had no way out. He began whispering a chant beneath his breath hoping that it would work. He'd learned it just incase he was in the position he was in now. If he was going to die here, he was going to take them all with him. They would not live to do the same horrible thing to other innocent people.
They reached for him, but before they could haul him to his feet an explosion resounded, centering on Harry but moving outward quickly. There was complete silence but Harry knew he'd failed. The decision had come too late and in his weakened state he could not even kill himself. He'd don't little more than knock the Death Eaters unconscious along with shortening the already short wick of life he was using.
Sighing Harry was glad that at least he was dieing on his own terms. For several minutes Harry could do little more than think. His life was disappearing rapidly due to the curse's strength. It should have killed him nearly instantly but he didn't have enough power to do that.
"I see that you've finally met someone more powerful than you," a dreamy female voice said. Harry didn't know where he'd heard the voice before, but he knew that it wasn't one of the Death Eaters. After trying, unsuccessfully, to open his eyes he just waited, trying to decide where the voice was from.
"You have a choice," it said after a moment. "You're dieing and you know it. I had originally come here to save you as repayment of the life debt you once put me in. It seems I am too late though, I can offer you another path, a way to continue on, but there will be consequences. You'll be forced to live as I do, in hiding."
It didn't take any more for Harry to remember the voice.
Death was not the deciding factor, it didn't matter that he was going to die. To him it was a relief, when he died he would be able to see his parents, Sirius, Cedric, Luna and. He would no longer be the protector of the world. He would be free. Death was the easy way out, but he never took the easy way. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Tonks, Dumbledore and the rest of the wizarding world were relying on him. He was what stood between them and the darkness called Voldemort.
"Do it," he grunted painfully.
"Vengeance will be yours," the voice said before the world went black.
Only a few moments later, in a house, miles away, a clock hand began spinning slowly. The silver hand, with Harry's named etched lovingly into it, had no place to go and continued spinning as if waiting for someone to discover it.