Harry Potter and the Vampire

I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, but I do own Nikolett (a.k.a. Professor Bronte). My interpretation of the characters is my own and may not co-inside with the series; I ask that you do not point this out, because I already know. This story is written in two different ways:

Text- This is in real time.

Text- This is a memory/storytelling.

Please read and review this, because it is my first Harry Potter fiction and I would most appreciate your question, comments, and concerns.

Thank you for reading this mindless dribble. :)





Harry slowly walked down the corridor to Professor Bronte, his new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's office. He had been to this particular office more times than he could even remember. With so many difference teachers for that particular class, he had been in the office for more reasons than he would like to remember.

Harry was in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, the best wizarding school in the world—at least Harry thought so. Of course, he had never been to another one, but he had met students from two other schools in his fourth year.

Harry loved coming to school more than anything, mostly because his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Cousin Dudley, the Durselys, always treated him as if he wasn't there. And sometimes, Harry admitted, he wished that it could be like that at Hogwarts; especially when it comes to Professor Severus Snape, the one man who chose not to give Harry any excuse for being alive.

But, that had nothing to do with his visit to Professor Bronte. In fact, he wasn't in trouble at all. He just wanted to talk to her. He had been sitting in his dormitory, looking at the photo album of his parents that Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts and Harry's Care of Magical Creatures teacher had given him. Harry had looked through that album many times, but there was something this time that he hadn't even bothered to notice.

In the picture of Harry's parent's wedding, his parents stood next to a man, Sirius Black who was his father's best friend and best man. But, now there was a woman in the picture Harry had never noticed. He figured she had been hiding for an unknown reason (since all pictures in the wizarding world could move).

There was no mistaking who the woman was, though. He admired her for her bravery for coming to the school to teach. For she was not a pureblood witch, Harry knew. But, what the other half of her was, he was never in formed of. She had begun to tell her class, but was interrupted by a distraction out in the hall that had ended the class early due to smoke filling the halls. (Peeves the Poltergeist had tossed a dungbomb into the corridor to annoy her.)

But, Harry would ask her, now. He needed answers. He didn't care if he got in trouble for being out of bed after hours. He needed to know so much that he just couldn't wait to ask her tomorrow.

He stopped in front of her office door that was slightly ajar and stayed silent; making sure it was safe to enter. He looked through the crack in the door; he noticed her sitting at her desk, writing what looked like a long and involved letter. He took a deep breath and knocked. He saw her look up from what she was writing and turn toward the door. "It's open." She called. Harry slowly opened the door as she went back to what she was writing. He walked into her office and closed the door behind him. She didn't raise her head from the letter again until he spoke.

"Um, Professor?" He asked, meekly. He wasn't afraid of her, but he was just so nervous that that was as high as his voice would go.

She stopped what she was doing again and turned to look at him. Professor Bronte was very young-looking. She had long gold hair that fell past her thighs and was always tied back or in a very long braid. Her eyes were very light blue that made Harry think that they were almost white and they went wide as she saw who it was. "Harry? What are you doing out of bed at this time of night?" She asked, dropping her quill on her desk as she stood up.

"I have to ask you something." He said.

"Well, I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow. You have no business being out of be at this hour." She said, firmly, but kind, as she tried to escort him out.

Harry shook his head. "No. I need to know something."

She let out a long sigh as she gave in. "All right. What is it?" He placed his photo album on her desk and opened it to the page he wanted. He pointed to the picture of his parents and the best man and a picture of her, who was obviously his mother's maid of honor.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew my parents?"

"Oh, Harry, that was a long time ago. I didn't think it really mattered." She was lying and he could tell that she was.

"Did you know Sirius, too?" He asked, pointing to his father's best man. Her eyes became sad and she dropped her head slightly.

"Yes, I did." She said.

"You went to school with them, didn't you?" He asked. She nodded. "Then, why didn't you tell me?" She sat back down in her chair and looked at him with almost tear-filled eyes.

"Because, Dumbledore told me not to. He said that you would be asking me all kinds of questions."

"Of course I would! I know absolutely nothing about my parents and their lives before Voldemort!" He almost yelled.

"Harry, listen, if I hadn't promised Dumbledore, I would have told you, no questions asked, but I made a promise." Harry lowered his head in disappointment. She did the same, then raised it again as she got an idea. "But, he didn't say I wasn't allowed to if you asked me about it." She said, giving him a smile.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes, what do you want to know?" So many questions were now racing through Harry's mind. What did he want to know?

"How did you meet them?" He asked.