AN: So...I just discovered HP/Twilight xovers yesterday. I tried reading a couple but they sucked so I figured I'd do my own. I decided to post this little chapter and see how you all like it.

Warnings: This is slash. If you don't like it, too bad.

Summary: In the midst of war, Harry gets bitten by a vampire. Now, alone in this strange, electrifying new lifestyle, Harry is sent to America, to live with the Cullens and master the art of being a vegetarian vampire. There he meets the strange, aloof Edward, whose eyes once mirrored his own…HPEC. AU in that Sixth and Seventh Years are changed - *Spoiler! Spoiler!* never happened at the end of Sixth Year, and Harry never had to bother with Voldemort's *Spoilers!* during Seventh Year. Also: this story begins in May of Seventh Year.

Disclaimer: For this chapter and the rest of the story, I do not own these characters. They are the property of JK Rowling, Stephenie Meyer, etc. etc. I own the storyline, and that is all.

Chapter One: Full Moon

When the thorn bush turns white that's when I'll come home,
I am going out to see what I can sow,
And I don't know where I'll go,
And I don't know what I'll see,
But I'll try not to bring it back home with me.

Full Moon, The Black Ghosts


Harry Potter blinked his eyes blearily once, then opened them sharply.

He could see them—the tiny, graceful dust motes fluttering around the room, threaded through with shimmering particles of light.

He groaned at the sight, beautiful as it was. With one quick movement, Harry swung his legs around the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, screwing his eyes shut against the faint scent of human lingering about the room. He felt the familiar dry ache in his throat and despised it violently.

He had done it. He had bloody attacked Hermione.

After the bite, he had woken to utter…clarity. Enclosed in a large, white hospital room, Harry had sprung to his feet, amazed at the film of light and color glowing over everything, when Dumbledore entered and explained everything.

A few week or so ago, there had been a surprise attack on Hogwarts by a small but powerful region of Voldemort's supporters. However, the Order of the Phoenix had been well-organized and casualties were limited. Against explicit instructions, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had joined the battle and Voldemort's troops were all but defeated.

Just as victory had seemed within grasp, a vampire had sprung up from Voldemort's troops and bit Harry. As he fell to the ground, the vampire was killed instantly by a barrage of spells fired from the Order of the Phoenix, and Voldemort's troops receded.

Three days later Harry awoke to a completely different world—a world of phenomenal clarity and intense thirst.

Dumbledore had gone on to elaborate on the relationship between vampires and wizards. Vampires found wizard blood just as appealing as Muggle blood, but preferred Muggles as prey since vampires were susceptible to magic. Because of this, there had been few wizards-turned-vampires over the years, but all recorded cases kept their magic in vampirehood.

Harry had listened to all this with half an ear. Perhaps the best part of his new condition was that he could now almost see—as well as smell—magic. It had hung in a heavy cloud around Dumbledore, violet and potent. His own magic he couldn't see, but he did register the faint green glow surrounding his wand when Dumbledore returned it to him. His senses had gone haywire—he had found himself swiveling his head and glancing sharply around the room, from the headmaster's visage—so new and different—to the plain white walls, which seemed alive with a thousand tiny details he had never registered before.

Also, he had frowned at Dumbledore's scent—even though his throat was parched with thirst, the headmaster's aroma of ink and magic had not appealed to him.

He had voiced in doubts in an odd, thrilling voice, boyish and smooth.

"Ah, Harry," Professor Dumbledore had replied, "I was wondering when you would ask that question. You see, a newborn vampire encountered with humans—even if it catches their scent from miles away—is quite liable to go mad with thirst. As such, I have had Professor Snape brew me a potion that somehow masks the desirable quality in human blood."

Harry had nodded, still only half-focused. He had suddenly stood and began pacing around the room. His limbs were feeling light, strong, alive—he had longed to be out of this place and springing through the castle, or testing his strength against the Forbidden Forest.

And the sharp, raw ache in his throat had worsened.

"My boy," Dumbledore had interrupted, "I must implore you to take a seat. I'm afraid you're making me quite dizzy." For the first time since he had entered the room, Dumbledore's tone lightened and his eyes began twinkling.

Harry had stopped abruptly. He hadn't realized he'd been going fast at all.

Dumbledore had sensed his confusion and sighed. "Harry, my boy," he had begun. "I…I truly am sorry for this." Upon seeing Harry's frightened expression, he'd continued, "Vampires are truly creatures of magic—they command not only grace and beauty, but incredible power as well." It had been hard for Harry to imagine himself commanding any of that.

"However, they are also…immortal."

The last bit had struck him like a blow in the stomach. He had sat down suddenly, numb to whatever else Dumbledore was preparing to say. The headmaster, sensing this, had quietly gotten up and left the room.


And so Harry had stayed in his plain white prison for another week. Pints of blood had begun to appear on his bedside at regular intervals, and he'd tried not to think about whose blood it was as he drank them greedily—though they never quite quenched his thirst. It was worse because he couldn't sleep, and so he'd lie awake into the night, wondering about the headlines, about whether he would be shunned by the wizarding world. The Boy Who Lived To Be Undead.

Finally, he'd tried to imagine another decade, another century, another millennium like this—alone and alive, restless and thirsty.

By the time Ron and Hermione were allowed to visit, safe under the influence of Dumbledore's potion, Harry had gone half-mad with isolation and thirst. His friends had entered the room to find him scaling one of the walls, another test for his strange new body.

"Ron!" he had cried in his new voice, dropping lightly to the ground, "Hermione!"

They had both stared. Behind them, he'd spotted Professors McGonagall and Snape, also staring.

Then, Hermione had rushed forward for a hug, gasping as she touched his skin.

"No, you stupid girl!" Snape had cried, starting forward.

Even with the potion, Harry hadn't been able to take it. The human against him, the faintest siren's song of her blood…her body felt so hot next to his, and he could not only hear but also feel her heart thumping erratically against his own still one.

Hermione, he had thought dazedly as his mouth had fallen open of his own accord. I'm sorry, Hermione.

"Get away from me!" he had yelled suddenly, and Hermione had sprung back, just seconds before Harry leapt after her and was hit by a stunning spell.

And now here he was, alone and thirsty once more.

He clutched fiercely at his hair. It felt good, being able to use his strength, even if the pain made him bite back a sob. Without looking up, he reached over and punched the wall beside his bed. His hand went clean through and into a deserted corridor. For a second, he thought wildly about escaping, about running away from it all—from Hogwarts, Voldemort, and this plain white room.

Then he heard footsteps, and leapt up as he scented the headmaster's approach.

"Professor!" he exclaimed, scrubbing furiously at his cheeks, even though they were completely dry.

Dumbledore was looking happier than Harry had seen him all week. "Hullo, Mr. Potter. I see you have discovered the strength of your new body." He glanced pointedly at the hole in wall, and Harry wondered if vampires could flush.

"Professor," he continued anxiously, shoving his anxiety away, "What happened? Is Hermione all right? What about Ron—I didn't attack him too, did I?" It had all been so fast—the venom rushing into his mouth, the heat enveloping his thoughts. He felt his face screw up in guilt.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm afraid I can't understand, Harry. You're speaking far too quickly."

Abashed, Harry repeated what he said slowly, enunciating each word.

Dumbledore offered him a small smile. "Both Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley are in top condition. Harry, I must ask you not to blame yourself for this mix up. Even with the protection of the potion, Ms. Granger should not have pushed your restraint so."

Harry continued staring miserably at the ground.

"On another note, Harry, I suspect that you are thoroughly sick of these living conditions by now. It was cruel of us to keep you isolated for so long, but we could not risk you wandering the grounds or the Forbidden Forest—not with the student body so near. However, it is high time you truly explore your new birthright."

Harry stared at him, puzzled.

"If you don't mind, Harry, I believe it would be best if you left Hogwarts for a year."

Harry felt his stomach clench. He had been aching to leave just a minute ago, but now, faced with the possibility of an eternity alone—

"Professor—" he interrupted. Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.

"Just a second, if you please, Harry. As I was saying, I believe that you should leave Hogwarts for a year and live in America, with a group of fellow vampires. I happen to know their leader, and I've spoken to him about your situation. He has accepted my request."

"But why—" started Harry desperately.

"You see, Harry, a newborn vampire cannot stand to be around humans for almost a year. The scent is simply too alluring to resist. However, these vampires do not partake in human blood—they only drink that of animals, which is what I have been giving you the past week. With them, you can learn not only to resist the temptation humans offer, but also come to terms with your vampire heritage. I will help you with your magical tutelage by sending lessons every fortnight. After a year, you will be able to rejoin the magical world."

Harry's stomach clenched at the thought of being separated from Hogwarts and from Ron and Hermione. "What about Voldemort?" he asked Dumbledore desperately.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Considering recent events, Harry, I believe its only fair you get a respite. The Order of the Phoenix can stave off any attacks. However, if you consider yourself ready to return to the wizarding world at any time after six months, you may do so."

Harry said nothing, frowning at the ground.

"Shall I give you some time to think it over, Harry?" offered Dumbledore, beginning to stand.

"No!" said Harry, his arm snaking out in a flash and stopping inches away from the Headmaster. He thought of spending another day in agitated isolation and fought to rein control of his emotions. "No, I…I'll do it."


The next few hours passed very quickly. Dumbledore had the house elves pack his trunk and collect Hedwig and then bring both down. He told Harry about the vampire family he would soon be meeting—the Cullens. Apparently there were seven of them—Harry tried not to feel sick at the thought of meeting them all as Dumbledore told him their names, which he promptly forgot in his nervousness.

Finally, Harry found himself sitting on his bed, perfectly still in his anxiety. Hedwig and his trunk sat next to him, and Dumbledore had left the room to get his portkey. He returned soon with Ron and Hermione in tow, Harry gasping as he caught their scent heading towards him.

While Dumbledore walked lightly into the room, his two friends stood awkwardly in the doorway, gazing at him. For the first time since his transformation, Harry truly looked at them—the way Hermione's brown eyes seemed to shine with equal parts worry and affection, and how Ron's freckles stood out against his pale skin. Around Hermione, a glowing aura of amber magic resided, pulsing faintly. Ron was surrounded by a similar aura, though it was colored a pale blue and was also rather thinner.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!" cried Hermione suddenly.

Harry was taken aback. "You're sorry?" he repeated incredulously. "I'm the one who bloody attacked you!"

Hermione shook her head wildly. "No, I shouldn't have done that. It was stupid of me. It's just that—well, I was so relieved—and now you look so…so…"

She trailed off. Despite the guilt churning in his stomach, Harry broke out into a small, relieved smile.

Hermione gasped a little at the sight and seemed to melt against the doorframe.

"Blimey," said Ron, glancing from Hermione to Harry. "I never thought I'd say this but—Harry, you're—well, you're bloody pretty."

Harry gaped.

"Well, you are," said Ron defensively. "I mean, look at what you did to her." He nodded toward Hermione, who flushed and pulled herself together.

"Oh, do shut up, Ron," she snapped. "If you must know, that's only part of a vampire's charm. I've been doing some reading—"

Here, Ron rolled his eyes and mouthed at Harry, 'Shocker'! Harry stifled a laugh, and Hermione cut herself off with an angry snort, muttering to herself about immature boys.

Suddenly Dumbledore cut in lightly, "I'm sorry to interrupt, Harry, but your portkey is ready."

Sighing, Harry nodded and turned back to his friends. He really would miss them.

"Well, I guess this is it," he began awkwardly.

Hermione burst into tears. "Oh, H-Harry—we'll m-m-miss you s-so!" she hiccupped.

Ron patted her stiffly on the back before turning back to Harry. "I guess I'll see you, mate. I'll write you." He grinned suddenly. "Try not to have too much fun with your kick arse new powers."

Harry grinned back, relieved. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be having loads of fun sucking people's blood like—like some twisted version of Malfoy."

Ron laughed. "It should've been Malfoy who got bitten. I swear, that git's only one step away from being a vampire anyway. Remember the Yule Ball? He definitely looked the part!"

They both laughed at the memory, and then Ron led the still-sniffling Hermione away. Harry tried not to let his heart sink as he turned back to Dumbledore. He picked up his trunk and Hedwig as if they weighed nothing, and the old man handed him the portkey—a small golden galleon.

"Ready Harry?" he asked, beaming. Harry nodded, despite his mind's frantic pleas to the otherwise. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"You're strong, Harry, and unless I'm terribly mistaken, you'll be fine. If you ever get too anxious, however, I find it soothing to suck on some lemon drops."

Harry felt a sudden weight in his pockets and looked up into Dumbledore's eyes, which seemed to dance. Then he felt a familiar tug on his navel and was gone.