Blood of a Vampire

Title: Blood of a Vampire.

Author: Andrastre.

Email: [email protected] , or [email protected]

Rating: PG13 for angst, adoption, Vampires and child beating.

Summary: This is a Hogwarts fic, but not until you get well into the story. Its about a pureblood orphan, protected by a mysterious vampire, who gets adopted by a French family, and then goes to Hogwarts. She's an original character, and is based on the vampire Carmilla, a historical person I found in a book by Manuela Dunn Mascetti. The research for this fic took me ages, so you better appreciate it.

Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Harry Potter and everything to do with them belong to that goddess, J.K.Rowling. Mircalla of Karnstein is from Manuela Dunn Mascetti's book, "Vampire, The Complete Guide to the World of the Undead". Morgaine, Blanche, their foster, and their real families belong to me, an I'm damn proud!

FEEDBACK! Is very much appreciated, since Constructive Criticism is necessary to develop my poor writing skills!

CHAPTER 1: Dream.

What do you say,

To a dream that won't go away?

The TGV train started to slow down, as, over the intercom, a French voice announced that they were approaching Poitiers station. In a first class carriage, a little girl lifted her baby sister up, and started frantically combing her own hair, murmuring admonitions about "being polite, and remember to speak French" to herself.

Both girls were dressed in black, a black duffel coat tightly fastened, and black Alice band holding back the older girls hair, the baby in a black smock, with black cot blankets. They were in mourning for their parents, Viscountess Penrose who had died four months earlier giving birth to the younger girl, Blanche, and the Viscount, who died of a broken heart two months later. Their lawyer had immediately, in accordance with their fathers will, arranged adoptive parents for the little girls in France, who would be paid a substantial amount for their upkeep.

The older girl, Morgaine, was eight years old, and already missing the comforting housekeeper of their manor in Ireland. The train stopped, and she stumbled out, dragging her sister and their bags. She stood, bewildered, on the platform, staring round.

A French guard approached her:

"T'est perdue, petite? Comment tu t'appelles ?"

Morgaine glanced up and, looking down her nose at the man, answered in very correct French-

"Je suis la Comtesse de Karnstein, et je vous suis très obligée, monsieur, mais je n'attends que ma voiture."

He stared down in surprise at the diminutive child, who, despite being half his height, had made him feel like the lowest sort of servant, facing a Queen.

At that moment, a fat country woman swooped down on the children, and dragged them off to an old, muddy range rover, gabbling in French.

The guard stood bemused, trying to remind himself that France, at least, was a Republic, and that he was a grown man, frightened of no one, least of all a child.

* * *

Morgaine stood, leaning against a wall in the playground of the French Collège, lost in thought. Since that day three years ago, she had grown taller, taller in fact than most of the girls in her class. Her skin was waxy white, her features fine and very delicate, and her large eyes, which were so dark a brown as to seem black, and astonishingly sparkling, had been fixed unblinking on the opposite wall for the past ten minutes. Her hair had not been cut for three years, and was unkempt, but tightly tied back. She was unnaturally thin, and her clothes, though clean, were very worn and much too small.

She was wondering, detatchedly, if she started singing or talking, whether anyone would hear her, or if she had actually disappeared without realising it. Long periods of time spent without interacting with anyone can do that to you, when you're surrounded by people. You begin to feel as if you're someone else, looking ut through your own skull, like a window frame, and even to seriously think you're invisible.

She worked hard in school, coming top of the class, and had quickly picked up fluent French.

Morgaine shifted slightly, moving her back where the scars from yesterdays beating still stood out, livid and painful.

Her success in class, however, had hardly helped her make friends. The French kids were slightly in awe, and called her "strange": she was one of the "mad English", obviously dirt poor, adopted, her hair was no colour they'd ever seen before, and her eyes never seemed to blink. She might be a year ahead of herself, being not yet eleven and in sixième, and therefore a year younger than them, but some made the old sign against evil behind her back.

* * *

Later that evening, she moved quietly around the farmhouse kitchen, getting supper, Blanche silently following her- she always watched Blanche herself, when she could. Neither girl spoke, for fear of disturbing their foster mother, playing with her son, the little boy who was the reason for Morgaine's beatings, and Blanche's neglect.

Monsieur and Madame Sabourin, in despair of ever having children of their own, had adopted the girls, partly for the money, which they invested in their farm, but mostly for extra labour as they grew older. A few weeks later, Madame Sabourin discovered she was pregnant. From then on they bitterly resented the girls presence, and showed it.

That evening, after school, Morgaine had already helped Monsieur Sabourin on the farm, and cleaned the house. She would do her homework later on, when the others went to bed.

Late that night, then, she sat in the darkened kitchen, working. That day had been the last of the school year, but several teachers had set holiday projects, and besides, she wanted to work, since she saw knowledge as a way of escape from here.

A knock on the window made her look up from her History textbook, and she crossed the room to open it. A white owl fluttered in, and landed on the table, dropping a letter onto her book. It was drooping with weariness, and she hurried to fetch it some ham from the fridge, which it devoured gratefully, before taking off.

Morgaine blinked. If it weren't for the letter on the table, she would doubt her own eyes. She opened the envelope, and started to read.

The first thing she saw was a letter, in English, informing her that she had a place at somewhere called "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry", and that to go there she should catch a train from Platform 9 ¾, Kings Cross station, London, on the first day of the new school year. It was signed by someone called Minerva Mcgonagall, calling herself deputy headmistress. Enclosed was a long list of things which she would, apparently, need to buy before she went there.

She laughed bitterly. If this was someone's idea of a joke, it wasn't funny. Firstly, she lived in France, and her foster parents would never let her go to school in England, much less pay for it, as she supposed someone would have to. Secondly, she was sure there was no "platform 9 ¾ ", and thirdly, she had no money for all that expensive new school stuff.

Just for a moment, when she was reading that letter, she had thought she might be allowed back into her parent's world, that world of magic she was forced to leave when, three years ago, the Muggles adopted her. That she might be able to escape from life at the farm, and the local high school. Reality was a bitter disappointment, and she put her head down and cried.

After a while, having exhausted her tears, she sat up, and saw a bat, perched on the back of the chair opposite. She grinned wryly.

"I suppose that you, too, have a message for me?"

The bat, with a theatrical flutter of wings, dropped an envelope onto the table.

"Oh. I don't expect it would be any good to say I was joking? No, bit late now, isn't it. Well, thank you."

The bat inclined his head in a courtly manner, and Morgaine reached for the envelope, and opened it.

Dear Morgaine

You don't know me, but I knew your mother. Use the enclosed train tickets to get to London, and go to a pub called "The Red Goblet". It is marked in red on the map, near to Waterloo station. Be very careful, speak to no one, and go straight to the bar-tender. Tell him that you are Morgaine De la Fee, Countess of Karnstein, and that Garnet sent you. If you have any problems from other people, show them the enclosed note. If you have problems, or questions, ask the man at the Red Goblet, he knows me. Ask him to tell you which streets are safe for you, and which aren't. Do as he says. This should enable you to catch the Hogwarts express at the end of the summer, and to take your rightful place at Hogwarts, as your parents wished, and as they provided for. I'll be watching.

Garnet.

Enclosed within the letter were a map of London with, as he had promised, the Red Goblet marked in red, and the quickest rout to it from Waterloo, TGV train tickets from Poitiers to Lille -Europe, two Eurostar tickets to Waterloo, and another note. It said, briefly,

"The bearer of this note is a pure-blooded witch, under my official protection, to be allowed free circulation. It would be unwise to meddle with her or hers, unless with my express permission."

It was signed, again, "Garnet".

As she perused this, Morgaine's face had been getting steadily more luminous, and when, having read it all, she looked up, it was to give the bat one of the most dazzling smiles he had ever seen.

Still grinning, she tore off the margin from her book and scribbled a reply.

"Mr. Garnet, Who are you? I remember my mother, when I was very little, said that I was to trust you always, if we ever met. So thank you, a million times, thank you.

Morgaine DelaFee-Penrose

She gave this to the bat, and carried him carefully to the window, watching until he disappeared into the night. Then she sat down to think.

* * *

The next morning, she rose earlier than usual, and with a sense of purpose. Creeping down stairs, so as not to wake anyone, she went straight to the kitchen fireplace, and pulled out two loose bricks, to the left of the mantel. Behind this was a cavity, where Monsieur kept his and his wife's passports, and the girls birth certificates and adoption papers. Morgaine removed these two last mentioned, with a grin of pure wickedness on her face. She was, she reminded herself, holding the Sabourins only legal hold on her and her sister.

She didn't linger long, however, but skipped outside to the hen huts, where she collected half the eggs, and hid them in the long grass away from the house, then hurried back to bed.

Later that day she sold the eggs at the market, along with those she had left, and that had been collected after by Madame, keeping the money from the eggs she had stolen, and giving back to the Sabourins only part of the money.

When she got back from the market, she took Blanche up to their room, and tried to explain things.

"Listen, Blanche. Remember what I told you about our Mamma and Daddy in Ireland?"

The three-year-old nodded solemnly.

"Well, we don't like these French people, and I'm sure they wouldn't have either, and they wanted me to go to a school in England, but Monsieur and Madame won't let me. So we're going to run away, tonight, and I'll take you to England with me. You mustn't tell anyone, but just come when I say, and don't make any noise. OK?"

"Will we see Mamma in England?"

"No, but we'll see her friends."

Blanche nodded, and ran back downstairs.

* * *

AN: Translation of the french:

A French guard approached her:

"You lost, kid? What's your name?"

Morgaine glanced up and, looking down her nose at the man, answered in very correct French-

"I am the Comtesse de Karnstein, and I am very much obliged to you, monsieur, but I am waiting only for my car."