A word of warning. This story is bordering on the edge of M rating. If you're afraid of blood and violence, turn back now. When the imagery becomes truly grotesque, the offending chapter will have another warning. Oh, and I don't own many things.
Bleeding the Magic
Harry Potter and Vampire the Masquerade crossover
Tasting the Power
Harry woke up, covered in sweat, his breathing heavy and almost as fast as his beating heart. In his dream, however, his heart had been as still as a piece of marble, and he had been incredibly hungry.
He sighed, licking his lips - there was a faint trace of blood on his lips - his own - apparently he had bitten his lip while dreaming. It was a salty taste, with a hint of... Her. He shuddered with his whole body, not really understanding himself if that wave of feeling was pain or pleasure.
Then, he accidentally touched a mental switch - he still had trouble with fine control - and his room, the one he had slept in since he could walk - the spare Dursley bedroom - suddenly flared into life. The edges where sharper, the darkness - lighter, and the sound of sleeping Dursleys reached him as clear as if he was standing next to them. He shook his head, trying to get the senses back into the box they had suddenly sprung from, but then, he noticed something that reminded him of her - the light step, the quiet move - the whole presence she carried with her - somewhere outside.
He jumped up from the bed, grabbing his wand from the nearby table. With a wave of his wand and a whispered spell, his window was unlocked and slightly open. He smiled, longingly, and took a few careful steps nearer. Yes - there definitely was something outside the protections - in this state of his senses he could easily feel the edge of them, humming just outside the fence.
Was it Her? He couldn't tell, but he hoped that She had come to see him. He felt that it was Her.
Dumbledore had told him, hundreds of times, to never leave the wards, unless it was in the daylight and even then, only together with Dursleys, but would it really be that wrong if he checked?
He shook his head - the headmaster was wise, but he wasn't a child anymore. With his wand, there weren't as many creatures out there that would pose a threat to him.
He blinked - Harry was already at the window and looking down, at the street - there was a silhouette that made his mind scream at him. She was here!
He opened the window completely and sent a spark in the air. With his senses as sharp as they were, it was like standing next to the birthing sun. He knew that she could see even better - in fact, he cursed silently - the whole display wasn't necessary. He should have waved.
She did exactly that - waved lightly, and with his desire to speak with her, she could bend the prohibitions of the wards - he heard her voice as if she was standing next to him and whispering in his ear.
"Harry," her light and pleasant words echoed in his mind. "Come outside."
"Yes," his answer was whispered out loud, and he quickly summoned his Firebolt from the wall - it had been perched next to the poster of the Gryffindor quidditch team. His teammates were looking at him curiously - at least those, who had woken up from the slumber due to his movements.
"Harry," came another message as he was readying to jump from the second floor window with his broom. "Take everything you need - you need to leave them today."
He smiled - she was saving him a trip back to the house. He left the firebolt hovering in the air next to the open window, and started casting spells one after another. With this amount of magic in the air, it was starting to get harder to push the spells through, but he had someone to try his best for.
The school trunk opened, then, a few drawers from his bedside cabinet followed suit, revealing bundles of folded clothes. He scanned the room, and intoned - "Pack!"
Just like Tonks had done a year before - seemingly ages ago - everything in the room, except the empty owl's cage flew into the trunk - his school books from the table, with some unfinished summer homework, the magical books from the bookshelf, the clothes from the cabinet next to the bed. Even his magical posters folded and quickly thair found places in the trunk. It was a good trunk - slightly larger from inside - otherwise half of the stuff wouldn't have fit at all - and not too large to be comfortable to carry. The socks, of course, didn't fold themselves, but he didn't think that as important - even though he would have liked to know the trick. The trunk closed with a quiet thump.
Then, he sat on the Firebolt, tied the cage on the trunk with another short spell, and took the last glance around the room. Nothing seemed to be missing.
He dove through the window, his trunk following behind him, guided by his wand. Carefully, he descended at the other side of the street, right next to her. The wards let him pass without anything more than a tingle.
She smiled, her fangs glittering in the faint lights of the street.
"Did you miss me?" she almost hissed.
"Oh yes," he replied, his heartbeat a few times faster than usually.
"Good," she smiled, and his heart melted. "Now, before we go, could you do one tiny favour for me?"
"Anything." He breathed out, his head spinning from her closeness.
"I'd like to see the fireworks," she leaned towards him, whispering in his ear, her fangs brushing against his neck, leaving a tiny scratch. "Conjure some fire for me. Like we practiced all these nights."
Harry shivered from the pleasure and raised his wand. This was substantially harder - he leaned on her presence, on the receding trace of her flowing inside his very soul. Fire started slowly, from the bottom of the house, gaining momentum, and then, suddenly, spreading upwards, engulfing the whole house in the flames.
"Good." She licked his neck, sending another shiver down his spine, closing the scratch as if it was never there. "Now, mark it with his mark."
"I," he stuttered, "I only remember the incantation."
"You're a great wizard, Harry," she sang into his ear once more. "Do it for me. I'll let you have a drink, too."
He raised his wand up in the air, the reflected fire dancing in his eyes, feeling the distant, primal fear of fire in her, unconsciously stepping between her and the flames of the house. "Morsmordre!" he said in a clear voice, dark light launching upwards.
"You're the best ghoul I have ever had," she took out his Cloak from her small bag and quickly hid both of them from any curious observers there might have been.
The Dark Mark burned high in the night sky.
Harry regretted that he couldn't Apparate - it would have saved them a lot of the valuable time. Instead, they were taking the underground, heading slowly toward the centre of London, already riding in the Central Line. The cloak was wrapped around them and she was hugging him gently, teasing him with small breaths against his neck. She still hadn't bitten him properly, and he was aching for the usual pleasure. Her body was cold, soothing, and her heart was silent. It was eerie, really - Harry thought to himself - he missed her heartbeat the most. It had been a constant detail over all their meetings beside the last.
They first met by a happenstance - by a stroke of good luck, really. It was not very long after Harry had lost his godfather, and his friends were mostly writing short, uninformative letters. The only thing he had, was to amuse himself with the tiny bits of magic. Playing with transfiguration was his favourite pastime - and the Dursleys had quite a lot of little souvenirs just for the occasion. His uncle hated it with a passion. It probably was one of the reasons Harry liked it so much.
His family, or rather, the family he had lived with, were the Dursleys. A rather unpleasant bunch of muggles, crude, rude, and thinking highly of themselves. And, they hated magic with all their hearts. Yet, the wards that kept him safe relied on the blood of his relatives. Thus, it had been the only safe choice - living with the people that hated him and his world. It probably would have been a life in hell but for the Ministry and their laws. 'Protect the Magic' had been their motto through the years. Every Muggle family any wizard or witch lived with were evaluated. If they didn't meet certain criteria - these actually varied from one Ministry Evaluator to another - enhancements were made upon their minds. In the worst cases, the child would be moved to another family. Harry didn't know the details, but he had heard about the long and arduous process Albus Dumbledore had to endure to ensure the best available protections for the Boy-Who-Lived.
Each time Harry cast a spell, he saw bottled up hate, and flexing muscles of his uncle. Sometimes, he felt like his uncle was trying to scream at him in rage, yet all that would came out were 'Harry, are you hungry?' or, at worst, 'wouldn't you prefer your own room for your schoolwork?'. That dark evening, though, Vernon managed a deadly phrase. "Wouldn't you like to go and play with magic outside?"
It might have been the weakening of protections of the enchantments, but Harry, distraught about the death of Cedric Diggory, didn't even think before nodding, and complying. He went outside, not noticing that the second he crossed the wards the cold evening became even colder. Harry only cast a spell to keep himself warm and went into the night.
Soon, he ran into Dudley. They had generally tolerated each other, yet mostly spent time apart from each other. Harry's cousin probably hadn't been under that strong of an enchantment, either.
"Harry," he called, waving. "Little cousin, looking for some trouble?"
"No, Big D, just taking a walk." Harry replied with just the same amount light teasing. "What are you and your girlfriends up to?"
Piers hit him on the shoulder. Lightly. "Shut up, Harry."
"We're going to try and sneak into the nightclub," Dudley admitted. "Hey-" a sudden thought came to him - a rare occurrence, judging by Harry's observations. "-want to join us?" And he waved his hand as if he had been holding something, like a conductor in the concert.
Gordon frowned at that, but didn't say anything.
The unsaid bit was obvious. Harry thought for a while - he didn't want to spend the night with Dudley's gang, but he could lend a hand - it wouldn't hurt, would it? And, Dudley was kind of family. Even with his fat unbearable self.
"I'll walk with you up to the club," he winked at his cousin.
"Good," Dudley was grinning like Christmas had come sooner than expected. "Guys, this time we're getting in for sure."
"You always say that, Big D," Malkolm whined.
Harry just shrugged, thinking if he really wanted to help - playing with muggle minds was borderline illegal. Yet, everyone was doing it every day. But, his friends had written for him to be more careful. Then again, what could go wrong with a drop of magic? In the end, he decided to risk it.
After half an hour, Harry was walking home from the club - it had taken but a simple charm, and his cousin had gotten inside with his fake ID. Or course, judging by their cleverness so far, they would get thrown out after a few minutes. And Harry didn't want to stay for that-
Suddenly, it was incredibly cold. Whatever charm was giving him warmth, evaporated, and he heard a distant scream of a woman. Dementors. He readied his wand and started looking around. It was a small flyover he was walking on, and there - he saw a shape swooping down on him, and then, another.
"Expecto Patronum," he tried to cast, but, was a second too late. The first Dementor had slammed into him, sending him over the rails, grabbing his neck with a dead, rotting hand, and holding him high up in air. Harry could only wiggle his legs like a fish out of the water.
The Patronus - Harry did finish the incantation - launched himself at the Dementor at that very moment. It screeched and pulled back. Harry suddenly found himself falling downwards. With the Dementors taking most of his focus away, he managed only half a spell before hitting the ground and screaming out from pain.
It hurt quite a bit judging by the pain, his leg was broken, his arm - bruised, his side hurt, and his wand had been lying somewhere a few meters back.
His patronus had scared the dementors away, and was fading out - what if they came back?
Pomfrey could patch him up in a few seconds, but he couldn't do it himself, could he? The leg was feeling more numb with the passing seconds, and he felt the bone protruding outside and blood tickling on the ground.
Then, when he had almost passed out, he saw Her. She didn't look much older than him, perhaps a year, two or three at most. She wasn't very high, her shadow touching his under the flickering street lights. Even in the darkness, she looked beautiful, as if she fit with the dark colours seamlessly. She leaned towards him, touching his face. A warm hand. A drop of warmth in the cold night made her like a lamp for a butterfly.
He wanted to ask her for help, but he only managed- "me..."
His voice was getting weaker, the blood loss taking a heavy price. She understood him, though, her dark hair shining strangely in the night.
"You're going to be alright," she promised, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'm going to help you."
He saw blood in her eyes, and for a second, he felt afraid, shocked with a primal fear of something he didn't recognise, but should have. And then, there was darkness.
He woke up to her heartbeat. Completely even, without a smallest deviation. Thump, thump, thump. Constant. He raised his head, looking around. They were in the nearby park, he was lying on a bench, his head leaning on her legs. She was looking at him with a smile, her hand playing with his hair.
He jumped, falling down from the bench and rolling onto the ground. His hand went for his wand, and- He saw her giving it to him.
He snatched it rather quickly, rudely, and pointed it at her face. "Who are you?"
He looked down - his leg looked as good as new, and he did feel fine and fit.
"I," he stuttered. "Thank you." he lowered the wand. "How did you...?"
"Magic." She replied, grinning, and took out a small wand, twirling it betwen her fingers. "You should really know better, Harry Potter."
She followed her words by pointing her wand at herself, and then, Harry blinked a few times, she was gone.
He probably imagined it, but he could swear he heard her distant laughter in his mind.
And she didn't even tell him her name.
They got off at St. Paul's station, after a lengthy ride. Getting off the train was very trivial, yet felt like an accomplishment - they managed to do so without being seen by anyone.
She closed her eyes for a while, and when she opened them, she was smiling smugly. "They didn't follow," she let him have that piece of information, even though there was no need for him to know it. Harry was grateful for that - every time She explained anything to him, any doubts he could have had shattered like they were never there.
Harrie stayed invisible under the Cloak, allowing her to lead the way. It was but a few minutes and a stairway or two and they were there - The Museum of London. Harry hadn't ever been there, nor did he know anything about the place, yet the whole building felt familiar. Close to something he could call home, however alien the thought was.
The night was dark, and the main entrance, was of course, closed shut, but that only meant that they couldn't enter through the second floor. Beneath the main entrance, opening straight into the street, there was a metal gate, locked with a but a simple lock, and behind it, there was a door that looked quite sturdy by itself.
He was ready to offer assistance, with a charm or two, but she, apparently, had a key. It was a worker's entrance, Harry realised, no visitors would ever go through there. The inner door opened as easily, and they were inside. She closed everything behind them, punched in a nine digit code into the alarm system - Harry couldn't help but try and memorise the sequence - what if she needed it again in the future, but forgot it?
They took a few turns in the unlit hallway, walking up to what looked just another door in the hall. However, this time, Harry even felt a tiny hum of magic - he wouldn't have felt anything if not for his bouts of increased awareness. They opened that door too - a third key, looking more complicated than previous ones, was used to open their way.
The door led to a downwards staircase, not very deep - maybe half a storey lower than one would expect from a basement. There was a security camera watching their descent. Yet, she didn't want him to keep hidden, as she gestured for him to give the Cloak back to her, hiding it quickly in her bag once more.
Once Harry was fully visible, and the camera had a good chance to see him in the dimly lit staircase, she curtseyed at whoever was watching, motioning for him to follow. Thinking that it wouldn't hurt, Harry bowed his head, and only then let himself go after her. He felt her slight smile, and immediately felt a surge of pride.
"I need you to be careful," She said, as they reached the first unlocked door at the end of the stairs. "Doctor, most probably, won't talk to you directly, but if he does, reply to your best ability. Don't ask him anything, unless absolutely necessary."
Harry nodded, compliant, yet slightly afraid. He didn't have any contact with any of the other Kindred before, and it was a chilling thought to meet someone old and powerful. If they decided to harm Her, what could he do to help - he wasn't sure about holding his ground against anything that She was afraid of.
And she had been - he couldn't read anyone's mood that well, and Kindred were even more complicated, their emotions ran weaker - were a lot less pronounced. Thus, the realization, that under her calm exterior, there lies a deep, primal fear coupled with hints of respect for whoever they were going to meet...
He shuddered, steeling himself - it wouldn't do to show weakness to anyone, dead or living. The room they entered, was almost empty - it looked more like a storage room than anything important, yet there was another door at the end of the room - the basement level probably ran under the whole museum.
Harry's fears of meeting other Kindred, beside Her, always revolved around a huge table, where tens of frighteningly old ancients would stare at him, trying to decide what they were going to do with the Boy-Who-Lived.
Here - the room was empty. Only shadows were dancing inside - a shadow court to decide his destiny.
A single half-burnt candle was all the lighting in the room. On top of a small marble pedestal that looked like it was directly from the museum upstairs, there was a small clay bottle, its lid held in place with a wax seal. The candle was right next to it, the flickering light playing on the uneven sides of the bottle, casting strange, swirling shadows into the room.
"Rebecca," Harry could swear that he heard a whisper in the air, masked with the playing light. He turned his head, looking for the speaker, yet finding none - there hadn't been a living soul in the room, had there?
She, however, turned towards the candle, and started speaking. It was some kind of language that Harry had never heard anyone speak before. The sentences were said with a practiced ease, and with her voice it had a somewhat humming sound to it that was pleasant to listen to.
Had that been Her name he heard second before? Harry knew that she didn't like sharing it, nor did she ever answer his questions about it, so, with her turning so sharply, it must have been. It was a good name, he thought, why did she not want to use it was, probably just another of her little quirks - like a certain young Auror, who hated her given name.
She told the unseen presence Harry's name, and after a few more words, she fell silent.
Again, there was that strange, bodiless voice, and, it was speaking in the same language she had - Harry couldn't understand a word. This time it was harsher, yet more pronounced, even more easily flowing - spoken like a native - her speech was good, but thinking on it, it required her quite a lot of focus. This disembodied voice, however, spoke like he had never spoken any other language in his life.
The conversation went back and forth for a few more minutes, and Harry was already getting tired of being on the edge - he was afraid that he would be asked something in that language, whatever it was, probably from some eastern country or taken from some forgotten nation of the past. What would he have to do - he couldn't understand even the tone of the conversation - one couldn't read the mood of a voice that didn't have a body.
Then, she turned to him, and translated. "He wants you to drink this." And with a swift motion, she placed the bottle in his hand, breaking the seal, wax falling onto the ground in little pieces, the scent of vampire blood filling the room.
Harry's eyes widened, his whole body shuddering from the scent - it wasn't her blood, yet it smelt similar - with his lack of control over his heightened senses - he naturally felt the smell as clearly as one could. The smell itself was enough to send shivers of pleasure down his spine.
However, there was a drop of doubt - why was he going it - some hidden part of him asked - it wasn't Her blood, why would he want to drink it - what would it do to him, why-
He started draining the bottle at record speeds, all his doubts disappearing without a single trace. He gulped down the last bit, licking his lips, and dropped the bottle, which shattered as it hit the ground.
Whenever he drank her blood, he had to grab hold of something as every time it was followed by an intense feel of power and pleasure, so intense that he could barely stand straight. This one drink hit him as a tidal wave, like a storm coming suddenly on a bright day. Like a hit from a battering ram. He leaned on her, shuddering with the feel of power surging through his body. The world spun from his control, the surge of colours and voice suddenly assailing him, something battering at his mind, touching him, watching, screaming, shouting and whispering.
She held him as he lost the impossible battle against his own mind, everything giving way to darkness.
The updates are going to be very sporadic. This might not be a very long story, too. Blame ocs for everything.
Or, better yet, go and read something else of mine while you wait. For a (complete) crossover with some plots going in the background, where Harry is as clueless as here, there's tToM, for a Harry who was bitten by werewolf - FFF, for a Harry, Daphne and a funny mess with time - SitC, and for something else entirely, there's HtRO.