Grey clouds loomed. The sun settled over the horizon, as Harry's eyes snapped open to the face of Hermione, who seemed to be positively gushing with excitement. Next to her was a group of various students, the youngest of which seemed to be a third year of Slytherin —Astoria Greengrass, if his memory served him well. The study group seemed composed of quite a few seventh years, among which were Hermione and Susan, followed by Blaise Zabini and the Ravenclaw Parvati Patil.

Lavender Brown was the Seventh year Gryffindor, who seemed to be holding herself quite closely to the Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom. The boy, now practically a man, was instead eying him with curiosity, as if he had something to ask but yet couldn't at the moment.

Harry brought up an eyebrow, before commenting.

"I would have met you in the library," he pointed out. "Had you told me you wished for a meeting."

Hermione had the decency to blush.

"It was my idea professor," Susan said hesitantly. "I thought you would like to know who's in the club."

"I see," he replied curtly. The flinch on the girl's face already told him the entire story. He just rolled his eyes as he let Hermione organize the entire thing for him. The girl was easy to control and direct. She was that sort of people. The idealistic type one could use by just 'pointing' at something, and then wait for her to 'fetch' it. She wouldn't probably believe it, but she resembled more a faithful dog than a human being.

It was probably because she valued his…friendship. Such a loose word, it actually made him slightly sick at the prospect. He gazed upon the door of his office opening again, to reveal a scuffled looking Lillian with faint red cheeks.

"Lillian! Where have you been?" Hermione's question was met with the surprised look of the girl, who seemed to notice only then that he wasn't alone.

"Nowhere," his sister snapped back. Was that jealousy? Of course it was. Harry would have rolled his eyes again, but one was enough to display his disappointment.

"Lillian!" Hermione chided. Her hands on her hips just like a perfect teacher, "I was worried."

"You're not my mother, you don't have to," Lillian growled back.

"Lillian," Harry calmly said. The girl turned her eyes to him, and looked for his next words. He didn't say anything else, just stared at her with his own eyes and his hands clasped together. The girl began to fidget, before finally blurting out.

"Sorry."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Now, what books do you require from the Forbidden Section?"

"Dark Arts," Blaise Zabini began. "There is a book entitled Counter-curses. It's in the section because the curses within are explained too, and some are pretty much forbidden."

"Conceded," Harry acknowledged. "Next?"

Hermione gathered her courage, and handed him a list of over twenty books. Some mild like 'Advanced Theory on the Arithmancy Properties of Seven were mentioned together with others a bit heavier like 'Curse someone into becoming a Werewolf'.

He wrote down slips for each of them, before handing them back.

"I expect weekly updates, from one of you, about what each book has been used for. Hermione, you're the representative for your group at present. You are in charge of collecting what your group studied from those books and bring it to me. If nothing was learned, or if you didn't actually use them, then the permission slip will be revoked. Understood?"

There were a chorus of yes following that, as the students trickled outside one by one.

Lillian remained behind, winning a sort of staring contest with Hermione and Susan, albeit the latter left when he merely eyed her and then the door. It was like watching a sort of show for dominance between dogs. He supposed he could compare humans to animals, considering he was something superior to them.

"Lillian, you will be late for curfew."

"What were you doing with Susan last night?" she asked suddenly, her eyes looking down on the floor with her fists clenched. He frowned. How did she know?

"I beg your pardon?"

"Harry, you slept with Susan? She's your student!" was the girl actually moralizing him? The girl, of all people, should have been the last to try something like that.

"Lillian, how do you know this?"

His sister turned a stammering red colour, probably because he hadn't said 'no' but merely asked a different question.

"Don't change the argument!"

"Lillian, I am your professor," he hissed. "Do not make me lose my patience."

"I know, all right?" she muttered. "She came back late, I…"

"Do not lie to me, Lillian."

She winced, before slowly moving her hand to the inner folds of her robe. From there she took a crumpled piece of parchment, which she unfolded in front of him.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." She murmured those words as if they weighted lead, before finally setting the parchment in front of him.

He looked at the scrap of paper slowly morphing ink on the surface, before it rippled all across it to reveal a map of Hogwarts. There were dots, moving around the various levels of Hogwarts. He could see it clearly that in the dungeons, the names Harry Bones and Lillian Potter were etched.

He snapped the map shut a second later, before Lillian could actually see his name.

"Your name changes when you drink from someone, right?" she asked slowly. He sighed, of course that bit of information had not been exactly secret, but the implications of this map within Albus' hands…

"So that's how you knew, right?" he slowly asked as he stood up.

"Yeah, I mean…the dots were a bit too close and I know that she's pretty, so when a boy and a girl are alone they…" Lillian blushed and stammered, moving her gaze sideways as she hugged herself with her arms.

"Oh? Tell me, Lillian, what do a boy and a girl do when they're alone?" he walked around the table slowly, nearing his sister and bringing his right hand to cup her chin, a small smile on his lips.

"They…they kiss?" she murmured closing her eyes. Her face looked like a tomato, as she bit her lip in an effort not to give away her embarrassment. He gently touched her shoulder with his free hand, and then slowly neared his face to hers.

The girl actually closed her eyes, the blood of him within her marking him as more than just a brother to her senses. Maybe, had her will been stronger, she might have fought it. But he wasn't an enemy. He wasn't a Death Eater or Voldemort. He was her brother and to her, he would never be something to fight against with every fibre of her soul.

And when his lips clashed against hers, the blood flowed and the sin was completed.

Chains could be envisioned clasping themselves around the Girl-Who-Lived, chains that weren't real, but yet bound her like a slave to his will and desires. His whims were her orders and reasons of living. His suggestions were unquestionable commands. He smiled at her afterwards, gently caressing her cheek as the girl looked at him with a dreamy gaze.

"Will you lend me the map?" he whispered to her tenderly.

"I…I —Yes, yes of course," she stammered out, before her fingers nervously grasped at his robes' folds. She held her head slightly down, looking at his chest with her eyes half-closed. "I just…we're brother and sister and…"

"Lillian, my love," he cooed her, smiling as her eyes lit up like fires to stare at him lost in her daydreams. "We'll just have to keep this our little secret," he grinned at her, and she smiled back before leaning in on his chest. Her arms circled around him, and as she began to rub her side of the face against his robes, he calmly began to caress the girl's head.

Another clasp and another chain were added —nothing more and nothing less.

He slowly left the embrace, ignoring the girl's pout as he ushered her outside. He chuckled as he grasped the map, slowly beginning to read it. Albus Dumbledore was in his office, while Barty Crouch was talking with Alastor Moody in his room. He sighed as he shook his head.

Such marvel of charms…and he had never known of its existence before this day.

He sighed as he folded the map. It didn't much matter to him not having a wand. He could always ask for a Wraith to steal one for him. What he truly had wanted to see was if Wraiths were visible upon the map, but apparently they weren't. Sure, the ghosts of Hogwarts could be seen, but those of normal and common muggles? No, they couldn't.

Harry stretched, before heading off into the school. He had lessons to teach and students to mould…and he just could not wait.

The month of October arrived and reached its end without accidents. If Dumbledore had caught on with what he was doing, he wasn't revealing it. The ministry's intimidation didn't push through, and neither did he receive any letter from the Prince of London. He was sated with what he had, albeit he knew that just behind the corner, the true plan was coming to fruition.

Augustus hadn't written to him again, and neither had Ambrogino. It wasn't as if he expected more than a letter actually, and from Augustus even a postcard was most likely to become a relic to be cherished. He supposed the true prize would have been the Wraith, but it wasn't as if he could bind it to him, especially not if it was that powerful.

He was sitting at the staff table, his eyes doing their best to ignore the looks of Nymphadora Tonks, who seemed keen on getting him to talk to her. He had managed an entire month, courtesy of his Wraith-guard, without having to even talk to her. Doors wouldn't open, she would trip down stairs, she would trip in the hallways leading to him, and just in general she wouldn't even be able to near his office.

"Lillian's good with Potions, you know?" she said, once more using one of the blandest argument in the history of dialogue starting.

"Tonight's the night the groups from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrive," she then supplied, as he didn't rise to the bait. "Durmstrang has a history of dark teachers: Karkaroff, their headmaster, was a Death Eater to boot." She snorted afterwards, and resumed her eating.

"Really, you could say something, Harry," she sing-sung. "Did you lose it when you became a vampire?"

Was she now trying the 'make him angry' route? He rolled his eyes in disbelief. Why had the Headmaster taken such a…child among the professors? He knew of course: to keep an eye on him or maybe annoy him to the point where he would make a mistake.

Well, he was going to delude the headmaster…he wasn't going to commit an error.

He rose together with the rest of the staff, as the doors of Hogwarts opened to admit the delegation from the other two schools. The first to enter were the Beauxbatons students, dressed in a light blue gown that was probably not apt for the cold climate of Scotland. He eyed calmly the incoming students…there.

He could feel his beast rile up to a challenge, as a girl with blond hair and pretty skin suddenly looked queasy. The French word defined them as Veelas.

The Kindred called them the aborted experiment of the Daeva antediluvian. He had wanted the flesh of mortals to allure, so as to use them as traps for other Kindred. It had horrendously worked against that, because instead of attracting Vampires they attracted humans, and to Kindred, they tasted disgusting. They could do in a pinch, but there was a reason no Veela had ever been turned into a Vampire.

He didn't much care about the talks on their so called 'fiery nature'. They could be used and were used most effectively by Kindreds with nightclubs. Binding a couple to dance half-naked near a pole worked wonders for finances.

And the flesh market always was eager for more.

His eyes trailed off towards the headmistress of the school. The half-giant Madame Maxime, he didn't feel anything strange or off-putting, but still filed the woman for a later thorough check. The students were all seventh years, and as they sat among the Ravenclaws while the Headmistress took one of the free seats near the headmaster, he could see the effects of the Veela allure coming to fruition.

Too much Presence always made people uncomfortable. It attracted attention, brought people to stare…and it risked infringement on the Masquerade. A human being could tolerate only enough 'beauty' before his mind started to wrack itself around the concept of what it was. The 'alien' beauty defined it perfectly, but the problem was that usually, what was 'alien' was also 'purged' eventually.

Some things were best left untouched and unchanged. Veelas were only females, and more of their numbers lived secretly in captivity as breeding stock for more of them, rather than in freedom and in the light of the day. That was the truth of the world: nothing that is given comes freely.

The next to enter were those of Durmstrang, their Headmaster walking in proudly while they hit the ground with their walking sticks. Did they really have to parade their militaristic nature? He didn't actually care: he hadn't even gone outside to meet with them. As they settled at the Slytherin's table, a small smile escaped his lips.

They were brutes. Had they truly wanted to display some sort of 'anti-dark' propaganda, they would have sat with the Hufflepuff students. He merely kept his cool, settling for feigning to drink from the cup of conjured blood. He didn't need it anymore after all. His eyes travelled to where Lillian was sitting, fidgeting with her robes as she looked at him every few minutes.

Susan Bones did the same, from the Hufflepuff table.

He could add another Blood Doll, but did he really need it?

Hermione Granger could work well, since that would make him able to know what went on in Ravenclaw too. He would have to juggle her together with the other two bounded girls however, and while that would not be a problem…he knew all too well of how infighting had destroyed more than one 'harem' of Blood Dolls. To a bounded after all, no higher thought was that than love for her master.

He knew of a man, a wicked man, who had bound his own daughter. The ghoul had tried suicide twice, but once she had been completely shackled it hadn't mattered any longer. She could not bring herself to harm, because that was the wish of her master.

On the positive note, as long as they drank from his blood, they would be for all effect eternally young. Only Lillian had been transformed in a Ghoul. She, differently from Susan, could use his blood.

"Professor Potter," the thick nasal voice of the Beauxbatons headmistress cut into his head. "You are a Vampire, are you not?"

He brought up an eyebrow.

"Indeed, I am."

"How does it feel?"

He blinked once.

What…

"Excuse me?"

"To be a Vampire, it must be horrible, right?" the headmistress pressed on. "You would rather be dead, no?"

"Madame Maxime," he began calmly. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"I am just curious," the woman retorted with a frown on her giant face. "Why do Vampires keep on living?"

He blinked slowly, before crossing his arms over his chest and bringing his head slightly up, as if he was pondering on the question asked.

"Why do humans keep on living?" he answered back. "Many live horrible lives. Shouldn't they just…off themselves?"

"But humans do not have to live through the night, without ever seeing the day."

"And the opposite does not hold true? You are overestimating the boundaries we Vampires have…a common mistake fruit of European ignorance, I'm sure…and not a misguided attempt at testing whether or not I am easily riled up by crude and badly phrased questions."

Silence settled on the table once more, as the Headmaster finally rose from his seat.

A golden goblet was brought in by Rubeus Hagrid, and settled on a stone altar in the middle of the hall. Harry raised an eyebrow at that display.

"The Goblet of Fire will be an impartial judge to who is worthy enough to participate in the tournament. It will take only one student per school, and after much deliberation, only those in their age of majority will be able to enter the contest."

Noises and whines of unfairness rose in the air at those words, coming from the younger years. Harry merely closed his eyes for a second, his lips tugging upwards in a small smirk. They were complaining about not being entered in an extremely dangerous event, which had held deaths all along?

There simply was no way to appease the crowd, when set on something. It probably had to do with the prize of the tournament: a thousand gold galleons were something not to spit upon, and converted in dollars or muggle currency of any type…it would be a small fortune.

The thought of money must have caught the Weasley's mind, because he saw how the youngest of the tribe looked at her brother…and how he looked at the goblet. He carefully gave a small peek at what Moody, or Crouch actually, was displaying on his face. There was eagerness on it, a wicked smile on his face that even a blind man would have easily been able to see.

He merely returned to stare at the Headmaster's back, as he began to place an age line around the Goblet. If it worked without troubles, then he would be actually surprised of such a simple mean of defence. He gazed at Lillian, who was holding her hands on the table clenched in fists. Why was the girl blushing now, of all times?

Harry supposed there was something 'wrong' for the girl with how he stared at the goblet. Maybe because it brought his line of sight directly in front of the Ravenclaw table? He chuckled lightly as he realized that was indeed the case. The girl was jealous of him staring at the Veela.

He didn't actually want her to stop believing it, since competition between allies usually gathered more resources. The point was moot with blood-bound servants however, because they always did their best, no matter what. He supposed he could 'gift' her again for her worrying. Maybe he could call her 'cute' or something similar to that to appease her female side?

Still, as he stood up and made his way towards his class, he knew he was just a few hours away from a confrontation.

"Professor Potter," the voice of the Headmaster reached his ears then. "I hope you will be inclined in accepting for your course students from the other schools."

He brought up an eyebrow, before calmly nodding.

"Send them with their peers: I'll have more chairs and desks prepared."

The mirth in Dumbledore's eyes remained there long after he had gone into his classroom, waiting patiently for the students to trickle in one after the other.

The door of his class burst open after the few had already entered, displaying an extremely crossed Susan Bones and a slightly mortified Neville Longbottom.

"Professor!" she basically screamed, "Neville entered the tournament!"

Harry stared at her silently. He didn't even bring up an eyebrow. He just looked at her in wait for some sort of 'explaining'.

"I told you I would!" Neville remarked, rearing up its head. "What's with you and always coming to the Professor to begin with?"

"Because the Professor knows more than you, and he told you not to participate!" Susan retorted hotly. "Why do you have to act like a bloody Gryffindor? You're a Hufflepuff!"

"So Hufflepuffs can't be brave? Is that what this is about?"

"No! But you aren't ready, and you'll be killed if you participate!"

"As much as this is fascinating to watch," Harry dryly remarked, "I am currently teaching the Fourth Years."

The students in question had been looking at the debate with curiosity, but being strangely the centre of the attention, they sort of shrunk on themselves. All barring his sister, who held a smug look while she stared at Susan, short of like saying 'take that, you bitch!'

Susan seemed chastised, while Neville was just embarrassed.

"I am sorry Professor," he muttered, his eyes down. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't. It will be fifteen points from Hufflepuff for this, and I expect to be talking with you Neville, tomorrow night. The goblet will sort out the champions tomorrow at lunch I suppose, so we will have to wait and see whether I will have to congratulate you or not for being chosen as a champion for Hogwarts."

With a wink in the boy's direction, he gestured outside the two seventh years, before returning to his own class.

"Now, we were talking about the effects of holy and unholy ground on Necromancy spells...can anyone tell me why there is a difference?"

Daphne's hand rose calmly in the air, and as he pointed at her the girl answered back calmly.

"There is not a difference, except in the expectations of the wizard. Magic is inherently derived from the will of the caster, and so the stronger it is the better the spell."

"Correct, but incomplete: five points to Slytherin."

Kevin Entwhistle was the next one, with a nod from his head, the boy answered promptly.

"The expectations of the participants in the ritual are also counted in, as well as those of the people who know of the site in question: the more powerful the reputation of a site, the stronger the effects."

"Five points to Ravenclaw, but the answer is still incomplete."

The class looked around in confusion, none probably rising to the challenge. In the end, Harry chuckled and answered back.

"There is one last thing, but it is not a surprise you do not know about it. Try and find it out for an extracurricular O grade and one-hundred points to whoever brings me the complete answer. You can write home, scurry the library and ask the other professors… you can even ask the Headmaster if you wish. Of course you will have to tell me who told you…but I will not judge you even if you get the answer out of smuggling into the forbidden section."

The small murmurs in his class grew, but it was the look of determination in his sister's eyes that made him smile inwardly.

Hook, bait and sinker…

He wondered how the girl would take finding out a little hidden knowledge of the wizardry world.

In any case, as the lesson came to an end he was surprised to see the Greengrass girl remain afterwards. Lillian too was staying behind, but he doubted her reasons were as 'pure' as those of the Slytherin girl.

"Professor," the student asked as she moved closer to him. "May I talk with you in private?"

"Of course," he nodded before eying Lillian. "You can wait for me in my office Lillian, if you wish to talk to me."

His sister seemed on the verge of saying something, but she merely acknowledged his words and left.

Daphne waited a few more minutes, before finally blurting out.

"My father is interested in a business proposition."

"Your father?" he raised an eyebrow.

"He wishes to barter with you concerning the next head of the Slytherin house."

"Oh? Why does he think I would…enjoy the position?"

The girl looked downwards, her right arm surrounding her stomach in a sort of comforting action. Was she…oh, so that was why she said 'barter'.

"He thinks he can offer you things, and is not morally worried of what you might need."

"Perfect textbook answer, he gave you that line?"

"Yes," she replied with her face turning slightly green. "He said his contacts vouched for your integrity."

"He works in the muggle bank sector?" now that surprised him…he had expected Greengrass to be some sort of noble uppity title.

"Yes, he's a…" her voice trailed off into a tiny squeak, but it was enough for Harry to hear it.

"Oh… and your mother is…"

The girl grimaced, before nodding quietly.

"Yet they all…"

"My father's a good liar, and my mum's dead. My sister believes he really is a wizard too."

"I see," Harry brought his hand up to his chin in a thoughtful expression. "He is playing a dangerous game. Does he wish for backup, should things turn sour?"

"He does," she grimaced. "If this…if this comes out, then I'll be done with Slytherin."

"Your father really is keen on getting me on his side," Harry chuckled. "Might I ask what he told you to tell me, should I still prove unconvinced?"

The girl's face was now a completely green colour, as if she felt the need to retch it out. "He said I had to, or Astoria would have to try next."

"He seems a ruthless man," he pointed out with his tone perfectly schooled to neutrality. "What does he wishes from me? Political clout? Help with my contacts? Does he want me to protect you and your sister should he be discovered?"

"Vampires can procreate, can't they?" she whispered that part out as if it utterly repulsed her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "He said to tell you that he'd have a contract ready for you to do as you please with me, as long as…as long as you have our…heir, recognized."

"So he's actually telling me that I can use you as I see fit, in exchange for conveniently ignoring the fact that he wishes me dead and my hypothetical son considered the heir of the Potter fortune?"

Daphne grimaced before nodding. "The son would be a Pureblood if father's ruse is kept, or a Half-blood if it isn't, then it would be a matter of marrying him well to open the circles of Pure-Blood society."

"Does he plan to live forever?" Harry asked with an amused grin.

"It's his way to show that he cares," the girl shuddered. "He…he wants to know soon enough what you'd like."

Harry closed his eyes.

The man was probably a banker. Contacts with the Dunsirns were probably a must. Had he racked up a large debt with them? Or had the Dunsirns decided to ingratiate themselves to him by sending him a tangential help? He actually gave points to the latter options. The Dunsirns had probably thought of sending him a thoughtful gift. He supposed he should send a letter…to 'write home' so to speak.

If only he wasn't more inclined on burning them all, he probably would have.

He suspected Daphne father wouldn't survive one day after the contract was signed, especially judging by how the girl had phrased it. It seemed the idea of consorting with a Vampire was sickening for the girl, and actually, while he did value the option of blood-bounding her…the contract was enticing too.

This however seemed too strange. He had to think about it calmly. Just like it could be the Dunsirns, it could all the same be the machination of another party to have a conveniently placed excuse to have him banished from England or killed. 'Enslaving a student' was probably a crime, never mind contracts or similar…the only difference was that a blood-bound held no material or tangent proof. A written contract instead did hold one.

"Tell him I will think about this, and make sure to write how I will contact our common friends to find out if he has…any skeletons he might need removed from his closet."

The girl's shoulders trembled ever so slightly, as the girl turned to leave. She already believed herself lost, and probably she was. It didn't actually matter to him: the selling of human beings had been so common in the old ages…

Bartering for a wife was no different than bartering for slaves in some part of the world even in the present year, and since wives were actually still exchanged for sheep or camels, why did the Greengrass girl think the Wizardry society was any different?

Maybe the girl believed she would find true love? Or maybe she held a secret desire to be swept away by a charming prince. The age difference was no sweetener to the bitter pill, but it could have been much worse: if her father had racked up a debt with the Dunsirn family, they might have just asked for the girl's flesh, and she would have been eaten alive.

Sick as they were, he supposed they could have been worse.

He could have ended up bitten by a Nosferatu, or his sire might have been strong enough to resist being 'drunk' by him. Gangrels war-counsels usually did end with quite a few of their neonates dying from 'head-butting' against older vampires. The Daevas ended up losing their humanity to their vices extremely quick, and a few acts of depravation tended to generate a downward spiral of epic proportions.

Sure, there were also better choices, like the thoughtful and scheming Ventrues or the mysterious Lasombra. Even the Malkavians with their madness still held some sort of 'family feeling' that made them basically all the same, preventing backstabbing.

He had ended up with the Giovanni. The maddest bunch of mother-fuckers, and sometimes quite literally too, that held a Masquerade within a Masquerade.

You just didn't ask why your five year old nephew walked wrong the morning after your grandfather had arrived in your house. You didn't ask why your aunt seemed so keen on getting your brother alone in a room. You didn't ask why there were screams coming from your father's cellar. You did not ask why the meetings were held in a hospital at night, with fresh blood and a few babies missing from the nursery.

You did not ask. You did not care. The perversion that hid within the family was as much of a rot as the Vampires were on the world.

And that was the second rule of the Giovanni.

If the First was to Profit, the Second was to Ignore all that didn't harm you.

If you earned the family a wealthy contract worth a million, then you could do as you wished with the cousin you were tenderly in love with. If you settled deals that earned the family booming land or well-earning industries, then who cared if your uncle's daughter disappeared for a few days a week?

Nobody.

Just like nobody cares in the end for the orphan of war dying in the same instant somewhere in the world, or the man who is begging for the money to survive a cold night in New York. Just like the priest who pleads for mercy and asks for charity, yet still wears the gold, or the one who spreads the words of chastity and yet whose son goes to ravish the daughters of others at night.

It didn't matter, because ignorance was a rule the world itself bowed to.

The saying that you shouldn't look into another's mistakes, before dealing with your own, was morphed.

It became a mere 'don't look and we will not look back at you'.

Do not judge… And we will not judge you for your own sins.

Harry shuddered as he clasped his arms around himself. The cold settling in his soul as the beast growled in satisfaction. A normal human would have his blood frozen by such thoughts.

A normal human would scream, yell out his outrage at such words. He would claim himself innocent, spout nonsense about 'only monsters would think like that!' but he would be wrong. He would be wrong because while Vampires were indeed monsters, they were birthed from humans.

The Kindred's sins weren't born with the Kiss. They were just intensified. The wickedness was always in the heart of the human, and the condition just brought it out.

And for that the Daevas dance, and for that the Malkavians talk to the fractured psyche of their Network.

The Giovanni profit and their humanity is there, eroding the boundaries of proper and good with those of debauchery and sick.

Yet they hurt only themselves…humanity cannot claim the same.

Harry chuckled as the beast roared. The crashing sound of his soul breaking off a chunk was always a delightful thing to hear. Maybe that was the plan of the Dunsirns? To break his Humanity with temptation? To dent his mind with the polluted thoughts of a wicked beast?

It could be.

Yet did it matter?

Now, now it no longer did.

Author's notes

Harry lost a point in Humanity for accepting a contract to enslave another human being. He is now at Humanity Four.

The Giovanni Family is actually portrayed like that. If you feel sick, then welcome to the World of Darkness, where the Sick live and rot all the same.

Harry did not deal with Nymphadora during the time-skip of a month. The obvious reason is because he's fighting the Beast's desire to simply snap the woman's neck every time he sees her, but now that his humanity has gone down…

Next chapter, there will be blood.

(Isn't there always with Vampire stories, the blood?)