Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to JKR.
His sixteenth birthday. Sixteen years before, he had been born. Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived.
The sunlight was streaming through his bedroom window and illuminated his rather small room. Normally, people liked the way the sun seeped into the room and Harry wasn't an exception, but today, it didn't lighten his mood at all, somehow it worsened it. His sixteenth birthday. He would have congratulated himself normally, but he just didn't feel like it. He just wished Sirius was there. He wasn't, and this year he wasn't even going to get any letters from his godfather. This was because said man was dead. Fallen through the veil at the Department of Mysteries. Because of him...
Harry shook his head. He didn't want to fall into a depression... again. He had been depressed all summer but had vowed he would stop when he turned sixteen as he now needed to think about a way to defeat Voldemort. At the age of sixteen wizards got their inheritance. Not only their financial, but also their magical. Now, Harry had to find the power Voldemort didn't know and defeat that bastard.
He got up and went into the bathroom to shower. Afterwards he threw on some clothes that once belonged to Dudley and were quite a few sizes too big and raced down the stairs for breakfast. He had to be quick. If he wasn't, he wouldn't get anything to eat as punishment for being late.
Arriving in the kitchen and casting a quick glance at the clock that hung on the opposite wall, he found he was two minutes late. Shit. Probably... probably he could ask for some food in exchange for doing additional chores... Advancing to the table around which the Dursleys sat without even acknowledging him, he spoke up.
„Uncle Vernon, if I do some additional chores today, could I get some breakfast?"
Even before he had finished the sentence, he knew that he wouldn't be getting anything. Probably more chores, but most certainly not breakfast. His uncle glared at him for interrupting their breakfast and asking such a thing.
„Who do you think you are, asking for food? You don't deserve it! You and your kind deserve nothing but death! You taint this house with your abnormality and should be very thankful we took you in, feed and clothe you!" Vernon was outraged.
Harry was furious. He hated being called a freak or abnormal, because, in some way, he was. Not even in the wizarding world did he fit in. He endured this bashing and bullying without showing that it really hurt him to be called like that. He would never show his uncle of course. It was a weakness he wouldn't do any good revealing. He was fuming inwardly and looked as if it didn't affect him at all on the outside.
That's what he thought.
But it somehow showed, because Vernon's eyes widened in fear and he retreated a few steps his eyes locked on Harry's face. Dudley too was looking fearful and Petunia screamed.
Confused, Harry looked around to see the source of their fear, but saw nothing. They eyes were on him and Petunia now trembled. A drop of sweat made its way down Vernon's face and left behind a wet, glistering trail. Harry could see all the lines on Petunia's face, were they because of age or because of the contortion of her face. And Dudley's fearful controlled breathing seemed to be unnaturally loud to Harry. He frowned. They were probably fearing he would tell the order of their negation to give him something to eat. He wouldn't tell the order. He didn't want people around him now. He wasn't in a mood to deal with them.
He calmed down a bit and wondering once again why the Dursleys had looked so shocked, he climbed up the stairs. „You... you freak! You monster! Get out of my house!" Vernon shouted behind Harry but didn't shout anything else, so Harry assumed he had been silenced by Petunia. After all, the neighbours were quite nosy.
„I'm no freak, I'm not abnormal, nor a monster..." he muttered to himself, still slightly enraged.
He stalked into his room and sat down on the floor opposite the mirror. He wasn't a monster, he was just a boy, a boy who happened to have the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.
They always treated him like something that didn't deserve to live, like a bug. He had feelings too, didn't they know that?
Looking into the mirror, he saw a flash of something. Something was wrong with his face. He scrambled over to the mirror but still couldn't discern what it was. Discarding it as nothing, he smiled a reassuring smile at himself, to feel more comfortable. That's when he saw what looked so wrong on his features. His teeth. His canines were elongated and looked really sharp and his normally emerald-green eyes were partially silver. He didn't look like he was smiling reassuringly. He gaped.
Harry let himself fall on his bed and proceeded to stare at the ceiling as if there was something interesting up there. He was a vampire. That was for sure. They had learnt enough about them in Defense against the Dark Arts for Harry to be able to identify one if he saw one.
But... how? How could he, the ultimate fighter for the light, be a dark creature? Would he tell anyone? How would he survive? He needed blood - and the daylight... wait. No.
Vampires weren't really harmed by the sunlight. Their skin tolerated the light, but only for a certain measure.
In DADA they had learnt the reason why vampires dressed in black. The colour absorbed the sunlight quite well and therefore shielded them of the sunlight. The clothes too had to absorb some moonlight at a full moon to work properly. Harry didn't exactly know what happened if a vampire went outside without the black clothes on, but he too wasn't keen to find out. Still in this slightly dazed state, he went to get all of his black clothes. A glance onto his astronomy-calendar which showed that a full moon would be up in a week's time.
How was he supposed to do his chores when he wasn't able to go outside? Probably he could ask the Dursleys if he could do the chores whiches had to be done outside, at night.
And on the full moon he would prepare his black clothes. Unfortunately, he didn't own many black clothes. Only one pair of black trousers and two shirts. He made a mental note to buy some more when he went to Diagon alley.
His fangs could shorten if he willed them to and lengthen, when he needed them. He did so a few times in front of the mirror. He thought it looked quite scary.
Suddenly, he knew why the Dursleys had looked so horrified. They must have seen his fangs...
Now, the only question remaining was: how was he supposed to get blood? The thought of biting into someone's neck was disgusting, but it was only half as disgusting as thinking about actually drinking blood.
If he told Dumbledore, he would be sent blood and could ask questions, but why bother to ask Dumbledore about something? He would only tell half-truths and keep things to himself. That's what he had done with the prophecy. He hadn't told him till the end of last year.
Thinking about it; could his inheritance as a vampire possibly be the power he doesn't know? No, he decided. Voldemort knew about vampires. It had to be something else. Dumbledore had once hinted it had something to do with love. That, however, couldn't be it. It was too far-fetched.
Little did Harry know, how wrong he was with that assumption.
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Canary Cream for everyone,