Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse

Written by abi2301

Chapter 01

v.01: 04/04/2005

Official disclaimer:

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

Chapter 01: The Beast He Became

The night was cold as always.

For the lone figure that trod back to his abode in that small town in Surrey, the chill had almost become as familiar as his breathing abilities. Not only did he feel it inside but on the outside too. The cold that lingered over his skin was like a welcome caress, a soft whisper that did not bite despite its aggressive nature. In fact, it almost made him feel alive.

Which was quite a panacea for his countless problems, which plagued his mind like a never-ceasing storm.

The slight wind played with his senses, galvanizing his dying soul from the lethargy it had relinquished itself to. It had been nearly half a month since his godfather had died before his eyes. Twenty days since he had returned from harm's way, numb in the inside and consequently lost all connection with reality. He had sent less letters to his friends than he had previously promised, for he couldn't find within him neither the will nor the strength to converse or jot his feelings down on a single piece of parchment. He had lost so much in so little a time that he didn't dare give up more parts of himself lest he lose himself in a dark abyss of despair.

Deep inside Harry Potter dearly felt the loss of Sirius, the only closest thing he had to a father - the only one he could relate to in terms of family by blood or commitment. The worst, in his opinion, was that his godfather's death was the result of a terrible mistake he had so brazenly committed while it could have been easily prevented. If he hadn't foolishly rushed down to the Department of Mysteries instead of using his enchanted mirror Sirius wouldn't have come to the rescue and meet his fate at the hands of Bellatrix Black. He wouldn't still be behind that accursed Veil of Death, lingering in a limbo world nobody could escape of.

Harry had taken, during the past weeks, the unhealthy habit of walking alone in the evenings till midnight, much to the unvoiced displeasure of his uncle and aunt. Unsurprisingly, his relatives didn't mind much about Dudley's late homecomings, as long as he returned before nine o'clock... but in Harry's case, as always, his behavior was completely scandalous according to the Dursleys' standards. But they said nothing as they feared the arrival of Harry's guardians - the Order of the Phoenix' members - and the punishment they would receive should those individuals learn they had hurt or annoyed Harry during his holidays. In consequence they had cut him some slack, leaving him to mull over his depressing thoughts and drown in a somber resignation. At daytime he would either stay indoors, reading some unknown books without really memorizing its contents or stare into space or remain outdoors, taking long walks and sit for hours in the small park nearby. Of course, the neighbors had looked upon his actions with disapproval, remembering the lies the Dursleys told about their nephew, how he attended St Brutus' Center for Incurably Criminal Children and was being held by the police as culprit for some terrible crimes he was never - scandalously - convicted for. They didn't condone his scruffiness and apparent laziness either but those concerns were the least on Harry's list.

In reality, he kept on mourning Sirius, recalling each second of how his godfather's body had arced in midair towards the Veil, never to reappear. Mystifyingly, he had shed no tears ever since that fateful night. There was too much void within him to find the mere strength to cry and break down. He had become cold, withdrawn and sullen. The guilt was too high within him and he didn't feel like deserving happiness. Everyone around him had in a way or another become hurt and ended up dead, like Cedric Diggory or Sirius Black. He wanted to slash his nails across his body and draw blood, to slam his fists into a stony wall and break its unmarred surface and to throw his head back to howl his pain at the moon, like a wounded wolf.

But try as he might, he couldn't.

He stopped in his tracks, under a lamppost, feeling his eyes accommodate themselves to the sudden glare. He lifted his gaze towards the light bulb and stared at the swarm of insects that flew around the glowing contraption, desiring their destiny. Oh, how he wanted to have nothing to worry about, to discard his hell of a life, to become small and simple, to live and die like any form of life in this planet...

Damn you.

He closed his eyelids and sighed deeply, feeling his heart constricting upon Fate's newest taunt. Every step he took in his life was a reminder of how existence - much like the ground - was inherently hard. Every breath he took was a testimony of how depended on air and many other things that would not always be with him. And each thought he had was about his family.

His father. Lost because of what his son would be later in life.

His mother. Sacrificed for a child destined to kill.

His godfather. Killed because of his stupidity and rashness.

Too much was too much. He needed something to take the pain away. A catharsis.

And here I am looking at the stars, alone, while I could have been with Ron and Hermione, talking about more cheering subjects than this piece of crap, he groused resentfully, imaginarily shaking his fists at the heavens and blaming them for his sorrows.

Little did he know that ten meters behind him he was being stalked by a tall figure draped in dark robes, eyeing its prey with beady, slitted eyes. Its footsteps were muffled by the damp darkness swirling around it, like a mantle of sorts and shielding its body from the surrounding world. The only feature an eventual bystander could distinguish from afar were the bright red, glowing eyes that pierced the shadows, like laser beams, their gaze latching onto the unaware wizard mindlessly strolling ahead.

As seconds ticked by the distance between the pair diminished with a grim finality.

Still unaware of his company, Harry kept prodding at the gloominess that pervaded his mind, wondering about how his life could get any darker. With the arrival of Umbridge last year Hogwarts no more had the role of refuge to the raven-haired teenager but had become something akin to a prison - a house of torture from which he had to escape before it would swallow him for ever and never spit him back out. With that thought the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly felt a trifle unsafe, as he wondered about where he could hide from the Dark Side. Grimmauld Place was still under the Fidelius but with Kreacher gone the location wouldn't remain secret very long if it wasn't already betrayed to the Malfoys therefore to Voldemort himself.

And -

Wait a minute.

What's that-

The chill of the night suddenly grew exponentially, making the hair on his neck stand straight and tremors run through his spine. The bite of the frost suddenly became painful as a whiff of cold air slashed across his skin, tearing his nerves with the pure, unadulterated premises of unmistakable fear. Harry remembered that phenomenon, having experienced it countless times around Hogwarts or other specific areas - it was one that always happened when someone was on the verge of -

Attacking him.

As a Seeker in Gryffindor team, Harry had over the years toned his body and refined his reflexes, all of which enabled him to act slightly faster - a very welcome ability in dueling or hand-to-hand combat, although wizards and witches seldom resorted to that type of fighting. As the realization sunk in, Harry spun backwards, his hand flying straight to his trousers' pocket, reaching for the wand it contained - just as a heavy, rock-hard mass rammed itself straight into the young wizard, sending him barreling onto the unyielding pavement along with his assailant.

What the heck? Harry thought, just as a fist flew into his chin, connecting painfully, filling his visions with imaginary stars and drawing some blood from the split skin. Harry responded with a violent kick, eliciting a muffled curse from the other figure, that kept on trying to pin its prey onto the ground - with mitigated success. In consequence, the scuffle resumed, increasing in violence and desperation.

The pair rolled again around, eliciting a grunt of pain from Harry and a growl of frustration from the attacker. The teenager tried frenetically to shake his opponent off but the grip the stranger maintained on him was too strong to break. Instead, the man - as Harry assumed he was - elbowed the young wizard in the stomach, making him gasp for air and clutch his midriff in pain. As Harry panted to recover his breath he felt a strong hand slam into his throat, nearly choking him out and threatening to crush his Adam's apple inwards. The man then proceeded to lift him off the ground, effortlessly. The fingers around Harry's neck tightened, making the wizard see bright spots in his vision, as his bloodstream's oxygen percentage dropped significantly. Where is the Order? WHERE IS THE ORDER? he thought desperately, glancing left and right to see the familiar shapes of his companions-in-arms.

Harry's attacker saw his prey's head darting from one side to the other and couldn't refrain himself from chuckling in dark satisfaction. "Don't worry about them, kid. They can't see you right now," he declared, obviously relishing the fear that flashed through the Boy-Who-Lived's eyes. That's it, I'm doomed, Harry realized. So much for sixteen years spent in pain just to finish like that...

Surprisingly, instead of keeping him up, off the ground, the figure bent his arm, drawing Harry closer to his face, as if wanting to have a private chat with the barely conscious wizard. Harry tried to pierce the darkness that hid his enemy's face but failed. Either he was masked or magic prevented anyone to gaze upon his features - in both cases no features could be determined by eyesight. Harry twitched faintly, trying a last time to get away from the man's grip and run to wherever he would find safety - which meant, not here. Anywhere but not here. A glint appeared under the figure's hood, as amusement flickered in the stalker's crimson eyes. Harry gasped as exhaustion took him over. His attacker kept on staring at his weakening opponent as he drowned in the throes of death, of slow, painful asphyxia and strangulation. A deep chuckle came to enforce Harry's suspicions of dealing with a mad, sadistic man. "I'm sure you understand tomorrow will be a hard day which you'll have to wake up to...?" the man taunted, mocking his prize's helplessness.

Then, slowly but surely, the distance between the two beings' faces decreased. Harry suddenly felt like a death convict walked his last steps towards the execution room, where the electric chair would be waiting for him. The young man kept on staring at his attacker with a strong, nearly insulting defiance. Insolence would be more appropriate a term to qualify the glint that shimmered in his widening pupils. I won't back down, even if I am to die. I won't back down. Then as Time came to a crawl, Harry was suddenly flooded with images from other times. Other people. Other places.

Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione, King's Cross Station, the Department of Mysteries, Sirius, the lake near the castle, Remus...his entire life passed in front of his mind's eye. That's it. I'm going to die. So -

Then all happened in a blur.

Harry didn't see the man lunge at him, at the junction of his chest and the neck, near the jugular. He instead felt the white-hot pain caused by sharpened teeth sinking into his flesh, ripping the skin apart and drawing blood in fountains. The shock nearly sent him in to oblivion but the adrenaline that flowed through his veins kept him from passing out. His own life fluid was splashing against his clothes, drenching him in a deluge of crimson. He...he's a vampire, Harry realized, horror-filled comprehension dawning on him like a dozen sledgehammers. He felt the creature's canines pressing deeper, into his innards, hungrily sucking the blood out like a thirsty man would down his drink with a straw. Harry sensed his insides being drained and himself going extremely pale. His brains weren't functioning as well as before as they were deprived of their feeding substance.

He tried to say something but nothing came from his constricted voice box. With a final sigh, Harry James Potter prepared himself for his own death.

I guess this isn't so bad - I'll finally be able to see you again...Cedric...Sirius...Dad...Mum...

Then something else, more astounding, happened.

Harry was at that moment on the very verge of fainting when he felt himself suddenly slamming into the rough surface of the paved sidewalk, his bruised cheek raking across the mechanically chiseled stone, nearly splitting the already damaged skin. Gasping for breath and holding on for pure life, he brought himself to lie on his back, holding a weak hand onto the copiously bleeding bite, trying to quench the flow of spilling blood. He found himself gagging, his head trashing wildly as he tried to get rid of the pain. Then among the whirlwind of thoughts that flurried through his fevered mind, he remembered the vampire. Where? He's probably still there waiting to finish me off...

He glanced left, preparing himself for the worst but instead saw something that made his heart stop.

The vampire was on his knees, vomiting loudly, his body riddled with violent spasms. He saw the creature's skin begin to crack and veins popping up, as if dark ink had replaced blood. Horror filled the young wizard as he saw his attacker roll on the ground, with his limbs flailing in agony. The man's mouth then snapped open, letting loose an ear-shattering scream that echoed through Magnolia Crescent. Harry, in his daze, spotted multiple darkened windows lighting up as people woke up in alarm from their peaceful slumber, awakened by the soul-tearing howl of the dying vampire. What's happening? he thought, petrified by the ghastly sight that bode no good at all.

Then, in a glaring flash, the man's body burst into flames. Harry weakly scrambled to his feet as his breathing returned to normalcy and tried to get out of that area, as soon as possible. Muggles would come in a matter of seconds, closely followed by a night shift police squad and Harry wasn't prepared to deal with them. Need to go...out...somewhere ... Out...he muttered mentally, trying to refrain his vision from spinning. He glanced behind him, towards the front lawn of a large property, that of the McKinnons, and found a large number of small trees, which would provide him with an excellent hiding place. Excruciatingly, each effort drawing remnants of his strength away, Harry staggered towards a couple of bushes, holding his ripped shirt against his oozing wound. He took a last glance backwards just in time to see a body writhing in red flames turn into ashes.

No need to stay here and try to understand, Harry. Get the hell out of here. Before anyone finds you.

He tried to run but his lightheadedness got the better of him. As soon as he rose from his hideout, he felt his head being flooded with colors. The next thing he knew, his face was resting on some humid moss, the greenness of the surrounding specimens of flora darkened by fresh blood. He glanced upwards and found himself gazing at a makeshift roof made voluminous shrubs and bushy branches, which effectively concealed him from view. Urgh. Settling his weight upon his elbows and using his arms to raise his torso, he resigned himself to his helpless predicament and managed, without encountering too much difficulties and pain, to prop himself up against a yew tree's bark, feeling the rough texture rake against his battered back, oddly finding comfort in this new predicament. As long as you feel pain then everything's okay - you're still alive. It's when you start losing your perceptions that you need to get worried.

Grunting in exhaustion, he tried to get his bearings but failed miserably. He could hear sirens in the distance, closing on Magnolia Crescent. Let them here for a moment - then go as soon as you feel better, he thought to himself. BLOODY HELL! he snarled to himself as pain coursed through his collarbone, threatening to send him in the hands of Morpheus.

That bloody bastard tried to kill me, Harry realized, as he brought his blood-soaked hand to eye level. He suddenly felt no longer weary but quite alert. The night was literally flowing through him. He could hear leaves brushed by a gentle breeze and night creatures crawling around to resume their nocturnal life's activities - nearly insignificant rodents roaming across the landscape in search for fresh food. He felt people scurrying on the street and gasping at the strange scene before them: a mass of charred flesh mixed with burning ash near a big pool of blood. He heard night birds soaring through the sky, waiting for a prey to pass beneath them and to swoop down for the kill.

But above all else, Harry smelled the blood.

Surprisingly, the coppery-scented liquid didn't fill him with a sense of revulsion but more with a strong feeling of...longing. Of desire. Lust. Craving. It felt like a sweetness he desperately needed, more and more intoxicating by the minute. An overwhelming beckon. He could sense it swirling around him in soft wafts that kept on tempting his nose and his self-control. I need blood, Harry thought, with a viciousness foreign to his previous self. I need...BLOOD? What the fuck? he asked, bewildered by the sudden change and reverting to his old being. What's gotten into me? Why do I suddenly crave for blood? Why am I acting so irrationally? What's happening? he asked the world around him. He got on all fours and started crawling away, as if trying to escape whatever what tormenting him. He needed to get out - the McKinnons would surely come on the street to see whatever happened and they would probably find him. Police dogs would probably be used to track him down and he couldn't allow that. The foliage wouldn't provide him with a semblance of safety much longer. WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME? he wailed inwardly.

Harry whirled around, as if expecting someone to come out of the blue and give him the answer but darkness was his only correspondent. Odors came to him unbidden and small sounds crashed against his eardrums like the waves of a sea in turmoil, assaulting his senses relentlessly, each time increasing in intensity. He could now easily picture his environment, complete with living beings and moving objects. It seemed like he had eyes or ears everywhere, as if he had been bestowed with an overwhelming awareness. A reluctant omniscience. As he took in the information he was getting, he observed his insides going numb. The feeling started from his stomach and spread outwards, a sudden chill flowing through his arteries. This time the night and its low temperature were for nothing in the phenomenon. Harry touched his own arm and was terrified to be rewarded with a contact with an ice-cold limb. Merlin! Why do I feel so...so cold? Where's my...s...strength...warmth...?

He looked skywards, gazing at the moon that pierced through the clouds, like a beacon in the darkness. A sign of salvation. Ironically, the orb of silver just seemed to mock Harry's ordeal, instead showing him the truth behind his changes.

That bastard...he recalled his aggression and how he had fought against his opponent. How the man had sunk his sharpened canines into his flesh.

His heart froze as the realization took place. He'd been bitten.

By a vampire.

A vampire.

He suddenly felt nauseous as the implications sunk in, breaking his frenzied mind. No...it can't be true...it CAN'T!

But it did.

He had been bitten.

Harry stared once again at the moon, glaring at the lonely planet with all the hate he could muster, directing his rage at the new blow Fate had dealt him. He felt like roaring to the skies, venting off his frustration and pain, but the inarticulate cry he wanted to let out wouldn't come out of his mouth, like stifled by a more powerful, restraining influence.

The only sound that came from his voice box was not a painful moan but a throaty snarl.

And oversized fangs glistened in the chilly night.

To be continued...


Know the drill? Read and review. Yeah, I know Vampiric!Harry is overdone - AngelicDemon 16 (Mara and Becca) and some others already did it before me. Just giving the thing a try with some changes and input from other universes. What will they be? Dunno. I'll see. Just got some ideas. Oh, please, last thing: no flames (cf. profile page) or complaints about the pairings...if you don't like it just search for a better story. You've got a lot of choices in FFN. Note: HP-ASIT's chap 05 is 95 percent complete but for some unknown reason I feel dissatisfied with what I came up with. Expect delays in that section - I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with that series in the long and short term. Planning sucks.

Last thing: I know, it was slow, but it was my depiction of how Harry contracted vampirism. An event that would shatter his life. Next chapters will cut on the crap. I swear. ;-) On a side note, I'm trying to write a variation of this series - same first chapter, different themes and outcome but I don't know if I'll give it the green light as it turned out to be harder to type. Maybe not. I'll see it later.

In the meantime - buh-bye!