Fallen Angel

Fallen Angel

Chapter One - Back to Hell

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Harry had been back at the Dursley's for barely two weeks, and he already knew this was going to be the worst summer yet.

The Dursleys had been shocked at how much he had changed over his fifth year at Hogwarts. He was now approaching 5'7ft and while he would never be considered very tall he was no longer considered tiny, as he had been at the start of the year, at a small 5' 4.

Then there was his hair; A month into his fifth year he had decided that he'd like to grow his hair out so that it may be a bit more controllable. He'd gone to bed that night with his mind made up but dreading the stage where his hair would be in a ridiculous bob and wishing that his hair would skip straight to the length he wanted it to be. He'd woken up the next morning feeling a little strange, staggered fuzzily into the bathroom, looked dazedly into the mirror, and screamed. The other boys in the dorm had scrambled through, fearing what they would find, to see Harry standing there staring fixedly at his hair, which was flowing beautifully around his waist. Everyone had been very taken with it and impressed with his wandless magic. Then he'd arrived back at the Dursleys.

Vernon was waiting for him outside King's Cross, not wanting to be seen near those 'freaks'. The large man frowned at Harry, then realised the he only had to look an inch down to stare into his nephews face.

Apart from his new height, there was the lithe build, from hours of Quidditch training, a pierced ear, which had been the result of too many butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks with Fred and George in celebration of the opening of their new joke shop. And long, silky black hair.

The big man paled considerably when he saw Harry was no longer the small, skinny boy he used to be. Now, he looked dark and powerful, full of hidden menace with his emerald eyes glittering dangerously behind slender, new glasses. But the boy had quietly done what he was told and Vernon's fear of Harry dropped. Soon he was telling the almost-sixteen-year-old that if he didn't behave and do exactly what he was told then he, Vernon, would lock 'that bloody bird' under the stairs and leave her there to starve.

Aunt Petunia shrieked when she saw her late sister's son standing in the hall, and started babbling about what the neighbours would say if they saw him looking like a criminal with his long hair and pierced ear.

Dudley hadn't been in when Harry had arrived back at 4 Privet Drive. According to Petunia her 'ickkle Duddiekins' was working out at the gym with his friends. Harry seriously doubted that, as the only exercise Dudley had ever done in his life was 'Harry hunting.' So, when Dudley had casually walked back in around dinnertime, coated in sweat and no longer fat but looking like a boxer - which, Harry was to find out to his misery, he was - Harry almost had a heart attack and just managed to stop him self dropping the roast potatoes. Dudley himself froze near the table when he saw his smaller cousin staring at him, wide eyes filled with shock.

Harry watched Dudley's face go through a series of expressions before settling into something unreadable, before he silently sat down at the table. He proceeded to sneak glances at Harry throughout the meal, and, at one point, purposely dropped his knife so that Harry had to bend over to get it. As Harry had straightened up he could have sworn that Dudley was checking out his ass with that unreadable look once again in his eyes.

Harry had been given a headache with Vernon telling him all the things he would be fixing this holiday so he rushed upstairs straight after finishing the washing up, tore into the bathroom, yanked off his shirt and stuck his head under the cold tap. While he knew he was being a bit over-dramatic he knew the Dersleys wouldn't giving him a painkiller if he asked and he couldn't exactly go to the Hospital Wing and beg Madame Pomfrey for a headache cure. When his headache had calmed to a dull throbbing he stood up, his wet hair clinging in strands like snakes to his slender back, sending cold rivulets over the golden skin, and the freshly inked black dragon tattoo.

Harry had then had the misfortune to glance up at the door, which he had shut but not locked. It now stood open with Dudley leaning on the doorframe, his eyes fixed on Harry with the same expression that he'd seen in them several other times that night, and then he recognised the look in his cousin's eyes; Lust. Harry just wasn't used to another boy staring at his body that way, and it un-nerved him to say the least, although, somehow, he managed to keep his face passive.

"What the fuck do you want?" Harry snapped at his cousin. Dudley's eyes re-focused.

"You'll find out soon enough," he leered, letting his eyes rove slowly over his cousin's body one last time before pushing off the doorframe and walking away, leaving Harry shivering, and not just from the cold water running down his back.

The next day Petunia woke him up by banging sharply on his door as she was heading downstairs.

By the time Harry had pulled himself up, yanked on a pair of jeans with a belt to hold them up, a black T-shirt, and run a brush through his hair, tying it back with a slim leather cord, his aunt was already screeching for him to hurry up from the kitchen.

The Gryffindor slunk into the kitchen quietly, so quietly in fact that his aunt didn't hear him, so when she had turned around to find a tall, dark figure standing behind her she had screamed and dropped the frying pan, sending burning hot pieces of bacon over the tiled floor.

Uncle Vernon went ballistic, grabbing Harry's arm and twisting it cruelly behind his back until the boy groaned in pain through his gritted teeth.

"You're going to clean up the mess with your hands and then make us all breakfast," his large uncle hissed spitefully in his ear before letting him go and slapping him brutally across the face.

So, it was with a bruised cheek and burnt hands that Harry had started his daily chores.

Two hours later, Harry was out weeding the garden when Vernon had walked up behind him and grabbed his long hair, yanking his head back.

"Your aunt and I are going up to Marge's for a couple of days. We've left you a list of things to do and I expect them to be complete when we get back or there will be serious trouble boy! Dudley has kindly said that he'll stay here to keep an eye on you. A warning to you brat, if you threaten him with any of your abnormalities you'll find yourself out on the streets before you can say unfair."

With that, Vernon and Petunia left, leaving Harry alone with Dudley.

Half an hour later Harry was bending over to pull the last weed from a bed of tulips, when two strong hands grabbed his waist and flipped him over, efficiently pinning him to the ground.

Dudley stared down at him, his eyes filled with greed and lust, a smirk on his lips in the face of Harry's shock.

"Now," the bigger boy began grinding his hips against Harry's. "You're going to play nice. God knows how you became so beautiful over the course of a year, but I want you. I want inside you."

The Gryffindor was filled with a deep burning rage. He'd already been through so much and now this! He hadn't even had time to mourn Sirius properly before hateful people were fucking up his life again. And he was scared. Beyond scared actually. Apart from Cho he'd never had any type of sexual experience and a few sloppy kisses could hardly be called even that.

Desperately he struggled like a cornered tiger under his cousin, but the bigger boy's weight kept him from pushing Dudley off and he soon collapsed panting against the ground.

Harry's panic quickly turned to horror, when he realised that all his struggling had only aroused his cousin. A sweating and gasping Harry seemed to appeal to the spoilt boy very much and Dudley always got what he wanted.

So Harry used his last resort, not giving a damn about the consequences if Vernon found out.

"I used magic to make my hair grow, Dudley. I used a wizard sport to tone my body; a sport played on broomsticks in the air. I got drunk on a wizard drink in a wizard pub and got my ear pierced by magic. You don't want to touch me when I'm soaked in magic, do you Dudley? When it's in my very blood?"

It had entirely the wrong effect. Dudley, if possible, got even more aroused, and snickered, leaning in to bite Harry's neck brutally, not caring or rather enjoying that he was leaving a mark, before whispering hotly in his cousin's ear.

"Dad told me to punish you as I see fit if you used either of those words, so I'm going to punish you very badly, Harry."

With that Dudley got up, pulled Harry to his feet and yanked his arms behind his back so that the longhaired youth couldn't get away.

The youngest Dursley marched the struggling boy with wild emerald eyes up to his room, locked the door and put the key in his pocket. Next he turned on his new CD player with a techno dance album playing out at full volume to mask any noises from the neighbours.

Throwing Harry onto his double bed, Dudley raped him and Harry's agonised screams tore through the house, but there was no one there to hear him.

The next day for Harry had been even worse. Dudley had disappeared early in the morning, leaving a silent Harry to clean himself up as much as possible, then he'd changed Dudley's bed, stripping the blood and semen stained sheets with his eyes closed. Unable to bare touching them any longer the long haired boy had shoved them behind his cousins wardrobe and left them there before rushing, as fast as his wounded body would allow, to the bathroom.

After he'd showered he still felt dirty even though he'd scrubbed at his skin until it had bled.

Another emotional scar was added to his already ragged soul.

He painfully started to carry on with the jobs he still had left to do, getting at least half of them of them finished before the inevitable happened. Harry was carefully polishing the brass in the living room when he heard the door slam and several voices.

"So where is he then?"

"I hope he's as beautiful as you say."

"Of course he is, on the outside and the inside."

"That's not fair! You got him all to yourself!"

"Well, of course, he's my cousin after all."

Harry would have given anything for his invisibility cloak in that moment but he just stood there with a heavy brass ornament in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other, frozen to the spot.

"Ah! Here he is!" Dudley called and pushed open the living room door.

Two other boys followed him into the room. Both had similar builds to Dudley. Together the three of them stood there, leering at Harry appreciatively.

"Well, I see you were telling the truth, Dudley," the one with dark hair said.

"Yeah," the other, a redhead added. "Beautiful, absolutely beautiful."

Harry remembered thinking that they sounded like they were discussing a piece of art and took a step backwards. The three trollish boys grinned nastily and closed in on him.

"He's got the most delicious tattoo on his back," Dudley helpfully supplied.

"Can't wait to see it then," the redhead grunted as he reached for Harry with a large hand.

Stupidly, the boy left a gap and, with almost inhuman speed, Harry slipped under his arm, dropping the cloth and brass, and bolted out of the room and up the stairs. He burst into his room and grabbed a quill and parchment, hearing the confused yells from downstairs. He jotted down a desperate note to Ron, folded it and yanked Hedwig's cage door open when he heard the pounding of feet up the stairs. Hedwig had hurriedly stuck out her leg, sensing her master's urgency and Harry quickly tied the letter to it.

"Go Hedwig! Take this to Ron, quickly!"

Hedwig was just stretching her wings when the door burst open and Dudley tore into the room. In one glance the larger boy took in the situation and sprang after Hedwig, grabbing her leg, pulling her from the air before she was even halfway to the window, which Harry was holding open. Outraged the white owl had screeched and sank her sharp beak deeply into Dudley's hand making the boy bellow in pain.

When Harry looked back later, everything that had taken place after that instant had seemed to of happened in slow motion.

The black-haired boy jumped forward to try and free his bird, but Dudley had already raised his free hand and grabbed her snowy head.

Then Dudley grinned at Harry and twisted.

The crack of breaking bones filled the room, followed by a terrible silence.

Harry stared at his beloved Hedwig lying limply in Dudley's big blood covered hand, the letter for Ron still tied to her leg.

With a flump Dudley dropped the broken body and kicked her to Harry's feet. The graceful boy had knelt down and cradled the small body of his loyal owl that had never failed a delivery except for the last one. He wanted to weep, but his tears had run dry a long time ago, when the first killings had started; Cedric Diggory, Bertha Jenkins, Artimus Crouch, Sirius Black, so many from the Order that he couldn't name them all and now Hedwig, all killed because of selfish, greedy men's wants.

When Harry looked up, Dudley, the dark head and the red head were all standing in the room. Dudley had shut the door and was standing in front of it to stop Harry escaping again while the other two walked over, their arousal's apparent, to the crouching emerald eyed boy.

Harry just numbly closed his eyes and hung his head as they grabbed him and flung him onto the small bed.

Maybe he deserved it, he thought as the dark head straddled his stomach, pushing up his shirt and running his hands over the smooth muscles, groaning slightly as he did.

After all, it was his fault everyone had died, he mused as the red head pulled off his shoes and socks. Then, the bigger boy reached up and undid Harry's belt and slipped a large hand under the waistband of his jeans.

Harry managed to switch his mind off, something he did when life became too much for him, but he could still feel what the two larger boys were doing to him. So, when the red head roughly entered him, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood while the dark head kissed the tattoo on his back.

Dudley, becoming too aroused to carry on guarding the door swept down on Harry, hungrily devouring the longhaired boys unresponsive mouth with his own, forcing his tongue inside his cousin's mouth and feeling the texture and taste of the slimmer boy.

Harry's glasses bumped Dudley's nose, so, with a growl, the blond boy yanked them harshly off Harry's face and threw them across the room, where they shattered against the wall, but none of the boys looked up. Harry, because he couldn't and the other three were too involved with his body to care.

They all had a go at forcing themselves inside of Harry, although it was easier after the first as the small boys passage had been lubricated with blood. But when Dudley had entered him, Harry felt something brutally tear deep inside of him. He screamed as blood gushed from the abused hole and collapsed backwards into Dudley's arms without intending to. The pain hit him in never ending, rolling waves, which made his head swim and his eyelids flutter. Harry thankfully fell back into the peaceful world of unconsciousness and when he next opened his eyes it was to find that he'd casually been dumped back on the bed after his clothes had been forced back on him.

Hedwig was still lying on the floor so, after he painfully attempted to pull his aching body off the now stinking bed - which was covered with three boy's seed and a terrifying amount of blood - and failed, he slid off the edge onto the floor and crawled towards her, his head feeling as though it were trying to go three way at once from the vast blood loss. How he wasn't dead was beyond him and he found himself wishing that he hadn't woken up at all.

One slender hand bumped against something soft and the agonised boy realised that he'd reached Hedwig. He gently picked the owl's body up and managed put her back in her cage by levering himself up by use of his chest of drawers.

Afterwards, Harry fuzzily tried to find his glasses, but, after crashing into the wall several times, all he found was a broken frame and a couple of pieces of smashed glass. They were un-fixable unless he used magic, which he wasn't allowed to do, so Harry would have to go without glasses until he could get them mended.

Then Harry heard the sound of a car pulling up the drive and remembered that he hadn't finished the jobs he had been meant to do.

"Oh, shit," was all he said, and then he sat down in the middle of the cold floor to wait for what would definitely come, which it did, a little sooner than he had expected.

"Boy!" Vernon's voice bellowed as the huge man stormed up the stairs.

The door to Harry's room burst open and Vernon tore in like a rampaging bull.

After the man had shouted himself hoarse at the boy, who had numbly been staring at the wall, trying his hardest not to collapse, Vernon realised that his words had just washed over Harry without the slender boy paying the slightest bit of attention. So, with a bellow like a wounded elephant, Vernon launched himself at his dazed nephew and punched the fifteen year old across the face as hard as the big man could. The force knocked the silent boy to the floor, clutching at his jaw, which had been broken.

Harry stared up at his uncle with empty eyes; used to the regular beatings Vernon had given him form as far back as he could remember. What his exhausted mind and body couldn't deal with was a beating on top of what had just happened. But Vernon didn't hold back and left him barely conscious on the floor, where he stayed for the rest of the day and all through the night.

The next day Vernon reattached the locks on Harry's door and the same routine that had been laid down in Harry's second year was re-started; Harry was allowed to leave his bedroom every morning and night to go to the bathroom, and food was pushed through under the cat flap at the base of his door. The only difference from his second year was that Vernon didn't attach bars to his window, he had probably forgotten.

Harry wondered dully how his uncle had missed all the blood on his bed and the blood that had been on him and his clothes before Vernon had 'disciplined' him, but then put it down to the fact that if Vernon had wondered, the big man would have reassured himself that his son had been dutifully punishing that freak of a boy and had pointedly ignored the strong smell of sex in the room. It truly was amazing how some people could absolutely refuse to see what was right in front of them - their brains somehow blocking it out; there was no starving beggar on the street corner, there was no man screaming abuse at his sobbing girlfriend in the restaurant, there was nothing that would threaten their perfect little world balancing on an eggshell.

That night Harry carefully took Hedwig's cage, wrapped some string around the handle on the top and gently lowered the cage with Hedwig's body inside out of the window and into the dense bushes at the base of the house. As he couldn't leave to bury her, that would have to do until he could.

Lowering the heavy cage made his broken arm and ribs throb badly, so, afterwards he just sat staring out at the moon, wondering if he was going to survive this summer and secretly hoping that he wouldn't.

The next day, Vernon nailed his window shut, muttering that he wasn't going to waste any more money having further bars fitted.

The big man had come up with a simple plan to stop Harry getting his mail; shutting every window in the house except one in the downstairs kitchen, he waited. As this was the only accessible window, owls would fly in drop their post on the kitchen table and leave. Then Vernon would burn the letters and packages the next morning.

The other difference was that Vernon gave Dudley the key to Harry's room whenever he went to work. So, Dudley would make a complaint to his mother about not having something that his friends had and the horse faced woman would rush out of the house, desperate to make her 'ickkle Duddiekins' happy. Then Dudley would slowly walk up to Harry's room, unlock the door, walk in and close it behind him, stroll across the floor to the blood stained bed to where his cousin was huddled, trying not to move until his shattered bones healed. Dudley would slip his hand under Harry's chin and force his head up to look at him. Then the bigger boy would lean in a kiss him and Harry's eyes would screw shut from the waves of pain coming from his broken jaw. Dudley would always rape Harry until he lost consciousness, and it was breaking Harry, piece by jagged piece.

Sometimes Dudley would feel particularly daring and creep down to Harry's room when his mother and father were asleep and rape him with his hand pressed over Harry's mouth so the smaller boy could not scream.

So, this hell went on for two weeks for Harry, with regular beatings from Vernon and even more regular rape from Dudley.

Now the night of his birth approached.

Harry woke up on the last day he was fifteen feeling ...strange.

Well, strange apart from his broken ribs, arm, jaw, two fingers, a twisted ankle, whip marks on his back from two different belts, dark bruises covering his body, and neumours deep cuts that looked as though they had been carved slowly onto his pale skin with a razor blade, the headache he had from not wearing his glasses, the pains coming from his empty stomach and the terrible pain from his ripped and torn hole.

He felt like his blood was boiling without it actually hurting, and that his bones were slowly re-arranging themselves.

The day went normally for Harry.

He was let out to weakly stand under the shower for a few minutes, only because Petunia said that if he got any dirtier he would catch fleas and she would not have fleas in her clean house. Harry emerged feeling better that he had in days, with his wet hair clean and pulled back, the bruise on his jaw had healed to a sickly yellow and his arm and ribs slowly starting to heal. Maybe once the most visible marks had gone he'd be let back out simply because Petunia hated doing chores when there was someone else there who could do them for her.

But he could never quite shake the smell of Dudley from his skin. No matter how clean he got he still felt violated and dirty, not to mention the awful nightmares he was having every night without fail. They would start with Voldemort and all of those who had died. Then it would inevitably go on to Vernon and Dudley.

Back in his prison of a room, he pulled his last set of clean clothes from his large trunk. He usually didn't wear them because they were so ...black. But now black suited his mood perfectly.

A black shirt with a silver dragon imprinted on the chest, a matching black dragon hide belt with a silver dragon buckle, and a simple pair of black trousers with a silver dragon winding up the left leg. They had been a gift sent to him by the twins at Christmas, and the card they'd sent with the clothes had made some rather mysterious remarks about 'dragons' which Harry had laughed off with Ron but still found himself puzzling over from time to time.

He slid like a snake into the clothes, which moulded themselves to his body perfectly. As an afterthought he pulled his only pair of dragon hide boots from the bottom of the trunk and pulled them on, then fished around in his trunk a little more, searching blindly for something.

His long fingers closed around a small, velvet box and he gently pulled it out and opened it.

Resting on the white silk inside lay a necklace.

On a delicate silver chain there was a dragon. Its wings were spread as if it was about to launch itself into space and its mouth was open in a silent roar. Its eyes were tiny rubies that glittered in the sunlight and something about it always made Harry feel protected. It had been a gift from Dumbeldore at Christmas. The old man had said that it had belonged to Harry's father. Once Harry had been told that he wore it everywhere, but on the train ride on the way back to the Dursley's he had carefully taken it off, knowing the Dursleys would take it from him the moment they saw it, as the rubies were real as was the silver.

But it felt right for him to wear it today. On the day he was sixteen.

He pulled it on over his head and let his mind drift back to the very few good memories he had of his parents.

His mother singing to him in a beautiful voice, but he couldn't make out the words. His father holding him by an awesome lake and pointing to the full moon which was reflected perfectly on the water, he was speaking to baby Harry in a soft, soothing voice, but Harry couldn't make out his words either.

Harry spent the rest of the day sitting on his bed trying to remember his parents, blissfully forgetting his troubles and emotional pain that was slowly tearing him apart.

Soon night feel and the cold soup pushed through the cat flap remained unheeded.

Harry watched the full moon rise into the sky through a gap in the boards on his window and shifted slightly. Pain flared through his body, reminding him that he was still a long way from fully healed.

A glance at the clock on his bedside table showed that he only had a matter of minutes until twelve o'clock.

Would life be any different when he turned sixteen?

Sixteen seemed to be a pretty important age in the wizarding world. It seemed to be the age when a child stops being a child, that their power manifests itself completely inside of them, pulling them to their full potential.

Harry remembered when Ron had turned sixteen a few months ago. The Weasley's had made such a big fuss over it, sending him gift after gift after gift. Mrs Weasley had sent him a tearful letter talking about how her youngest boy was now becoming a man and stepping into the family inheritance. After Ron's sixteenth he had been a lot more powerful in class and found lessons a hell of a lot more simple, although to start with he'd had poor control, as things he'd had to strain over before he'd put the same amount of effort into, and more often than not there'd be several small craters in his desk by the end of the lesson.

Harry glanced up at the clock again.

He now had twenty seconds until midnight.

What would happen to him?

Would anything unusual happen to him that he would inherit from his parents?

What the hell did he know about his parents anyway?

Ten seconds to go.

And what about his full potential manifesting itself inside of him?

Everyone expected him to be really powerful. Powerful enough to take on Voldemort, and Harry knew that Voldemort a.k.a Tom Riddle had been one of the most superb student Hogwarts had ever had.

How could people expect him to live up to that?

Five seconds to go.

What if he wasn't very powerful at all?

Harry didn't want to disappoint anyone and he knew that the wizarding world was waiting with baited breath to see if he'd be strong enough to take Voldemort on.

Two.

Then why had Voldemort tried to kill him before he turned sixteen if he wasn't very likely to be powerful?

But maybe he was.

One.

Harry hated other people knowing more about him than he did.

Zero.

Pain burned through his body, setting his veins on fire, making his muscles spasm, and his brain overload. The Boy Who Lived fell to the floor, gasping desperately for breath. His bones felt as if they were turning into liquid iron and rearranging themselves, twisting into impossible shapes. He wanted to scream but his voice refused to work. A gnawing sensation was behind his eyes, making it feel as though someone was ever so slowly pushing a red-hot pin into the back of his eyeballs. The pain was flooding his whole body, rearranging his bones and internal organs. Then, as suddenly as the pain had started, it was over, leaving Harry gasping on the floor.

The longhaired boy slowly pushed himself to his feet, staring around him with wild green eyes.

Everything was crystal clear, clearer than it had ever been, even when he had worn his glasses. He could see a tiny moth, which should have been invisible to the naked eye at night, fluttering around near the ceiling. Everything was almost as bright as day, faintly tinged blue.

His sense of smell was now impossibly sharp, he could still smell the Dursley's dinner from earlier drifting up from downstairs, the perfumed sent of Petunia's mud mask, and the horrible smell of Dudley's seed coming from the bed where he had raped him countless times.

He could hear the fluttering of the moth's wings, the scrapping of a mouse behind the skirting board, and the heavy snoring and faint heartbeats of his aunt and uncle. He could also hear his cousin creeping down the hall and his faster, louder heartbeat.

Harry quickly checked himself over and realised that his injuries were completely healed, the bruises had vanished from his body and his muscles were back to full form after two weeks of being trapped in a small room.

Then Harry realised another thing.

He was hungry.

So hungry in fact that it hurt.

But the pain was not in his stomach. It was all over his body, as if each muscle and vein was slowly being suffocated. A cramp soon followed the suffocating feeling. He needed something to eat to stop the pain that would soon kill him. How he knew it would kill him if he couldn't say.

The bitter scent of his own blood was heavy on the air, making his teeth itch.

A glance at the cold soup by the door told him that that type of food was not what he needed.

Outside the door, he heard Dudley pull the key from his pyjama pocket; the smooth metal rasping loudly on the cotton material to Harry's newly sharpened ears. The slim boy could hear the blood rushing through the other boy's veins; could smell it, could almost taste it.

Without thinking Harry ran his tongue over his teeth and almost had a heart attack, for, where a human's usually rather blunt canines were, there were now two very sharp and very long fangs.

Everything suddenly clicked into place as survival instinct took over; pushing down the rational part of Harry's mind that was screaming that what was happening was impossible.

He was now a vampire, and he needed blood desperately.

Dudley slowly pushed open the door.

The large boy didn't want to admit it, but he was infatuated with his cousin. Dreaming about him every night, and every day when he couldn't touch that silky skin was torture. His two friends from the gym, Tommy and Keith, had wanted to come back and have another go with the fey creature that was the Gryffindor. But Dudley had told them what his father had done to the longhaired boy, breaking his bones and leaving him useless. The blond had told them that they couldn't touch him again until he was completely healed in case they 'damaged' him beyond repair. His friends had reluctantly agreed, willing to wait if they could see the mysterious boy again. So Dudley had gleefully run home, happy to have Harry all to himself for several weeks at least. And now, tonight, Dudley had woken up and remembered that at midnight his cousin would turn sixteen. He decided to creep along to Harry's room and give him a little 'present.' Before he even realised it he was silently unlocking the 'freaks' door and pushing it open.

The second he stepped inside and turned to see his cousin standing straight and tall in the middle of the floor, he knew that something was wrong.

He stared at Harry, properly this time, not just staring at him through lust filled eyes.

This time Dudley really looked at him, and the blonde boy was terrified.

Harry stood quietly, dressed all in black, melting into the shadows. He was part of the night, with his slender figure looking relaxed but filled with a terrible hidden power. His dark hair was loose, flowing like a black waterfall around his shoulders. His skin was white in the moonlight making his midnight clothes and hair look even darker. Dudley raised his eyes to Harry's face and almost bit off his tongue. Harry's eyes were no longer emerald. They still held a glimmer of green, but the irises were swirling with silver. He was beautiful, as beautiful as an angel, but one with the darkness around him.

"A fallen angel," Dudley whispered.

"No," Harry calmly said and Dudley was shocked at how rich and musical his voice was, but, then again, he'd only heard Harry scream over the past two weeks.

"Not a fallen angel, just a vampire."

Dudley stumbled backwards, groping for the door, but Harry was too fast. With inhuman speed, the Gryffindor pulled Dudley away from the door and slammed him against the opposite wall, holding him there with impossible strength.

Harry grinned wickedly at his terrified cousin, gleefully hearing the boy whimper at the sight of his fangs.

"And I'm so hungry."

He leaned forward, staring at Dudley's neck. He could smell the blood running through the blonde's veins, could hear his heart pumping it around his body.

"I can smell your fear. It adds quite a nice tang to the blood, so I've heard."

The smell of Dudley's fear increased, his heart beat even faster and Harry's smile widened.

Harry wanted to toy with his cruel cousin some more, but he was too hungry, so he leaned in and licked Dudley's neck, making the veins stand out clearly. The larger boy shuddered under him, his body betraying him by responding to the lick his black haired cousin had planted on his neck. Harry felt his cousins body react and breathed hotly on the pale neck beneath him.

"You liked that, didn't you? Well you'll love this then."

Without further ado, he leaned in and sank his two slender fangs into Dudley's neck.

Dudley groaned loudly under him, but Harry was much too involved with drinking the life giving blood to care that the noise might carry to his aunt and uncle sleeping next door.

The texture and taste of it flowing down Harry's throat was simply the most extraordinary thing he had ever drank; He could live on it, which was exactly what he would have to do. The scent of coppery fear in the blood added an extra texture to it, making it even sweeter, making his fangs ache, desperate for more.

"What are you doing boy!"

The voice bellowed from the doorway as the light was switched on.

The sudden light momentarily blinded Harry and he recoiled away from Dudley and into the darkest corner faster than the eye could see.

Vernon and Petunia stood gaping in the doorway, hardly daring to believe what they were seeing as Dudley slid down the wall to the floor with a little moan.

"Dudley!" Petunia shrieked and threw herself across the room to her dazed son.

Vernon stared at his nephew crouching like a cornered tiger and saw red. With a roar, the big man threw himself at the boy.

Harry looked up, his eyes back to his normal emerald colour but empty again and his fangs retracted.

He'd had enough.

As his uncle sent a huge fist flying for his face Harry stood up, held out a hand and caught it mid-flight, stopping it in the air. Vernon stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, his brain not wanting to process the information he had just received.

"I-impossible," was all the man managed to chock out.

Again, the sadistic grin spread across Harry's face as he held Vernon's shaking fist casually.

"Oh, I assure you Vernon, it is very possible."

In one swift movement he let go of his uncles fist, grabbed the taller man by the collar of his pyjamas, and lifted his fat uncle completely off the floor and above his head.

"Now, what shall I do to you bastards who have made most of my life a living hell?"

Vernon grabbed vainly at Harry's hands, staring at the dark boy with terrified eyes.

"Please," a voice sobbed from behind Harry. He turned, still holding Vernon in the air to find Petunia kneeling by an unconscious Dudley with tears streaking down her thin face.

"You are my sister's son, and she would never have hurt anyone. Please, out of respect for your mother, put Vernon down and don't hurt any of us."

Her words pierced Harry through his battered heart.

Out of respect for his mother.

What would his parents say if they saw him now?

The elfin boy stared at Dudley. If Vernon and Petunia hadn't come in when they had he would have carried on drinking until Dudley had died.

Harry lowered Vernon to the ground where the man gasped for breath that had been restricted from him in the air.

The Gryffindor stood there, fighting an internal battle with himself. He wasn't safe. He needed to go away until he could control himself and find out his full potential. What if he lost control again in front of his friends? What if he hurt them? Harry didn't think he could stand it if he caused his friends any more pain. It was dangerous enough for them to care for him in the first place. Death Eaters could and had tried to hurt them to get to him, but if they were in danger from him, Harry himself? Yes, he had to get his newfound powers under control.

Harry looked up and found his only living relatives staring at him, petrified. He sighed and ran a slender hand through his raven black hair. He also needed to do something about them. Then he remembered one of the powers a vampire was supposed to have.

"Forget," he whispered and waved his hand at Vernon, Petunia and Dudley, who was still lying on the floor.

Their eyelids fluttered and fell shut. Petunia and Vernon slumped to the floor, fast asleep along with Dudley. If he had done it right, then they would have a peaceful night's sleep and wake up in the morning, unable to remember anything of the night's events.

One by one, he picked them up and carried them back to their beds.

The two puncture wounds on Dudley's neck were already almost completely healed, by the morning they would look like two old bite marks from a bug of some kind.

He went back to his room and grabbed his trunk, which was still packed, wrote a short note to the Dursley's, saying something serious had come up and that he might see them next summer, picked up his trunk that now felt as light as a feather, walked down the stairs and out of the front door into the night.

Harry walked as silently as a cat around the side of the house to the bushes beneath his bedroom window. He reached a hand in and pulled out Hedwig's cage with Hedwig herself still inside, seemingly unaffected by the sight and smell of her decaying body.

The silver moon shone down on a street, the tarmac gleaming dully under it. The light flowed up the street touching everything with a kiss. Past houses that mirrored each other exactly and on towards a small cluster of trees, a crown of velvety leaves gracing their proud heads, and onto a figure that the light of the moon caressed as he was part of the night with moonlight flowing in his very veins. It was his birthright to rule the night, though he didn't know it yet, to dance on the moonbeams and to drink from the eternal darkness.

Harry raised his head from digging Hedwig's grave. For a moment there he'd almost felt ...something.

When the hole was deep enough, Harry gently reached over and picked up Hedwig in her cage and slowly placed it in the hole. Then he started to fill in the grave until all it looked like was a freshly turned pile of earth.

Once finished, Harry stood looking down at the small grave for a long time, the moonlight saturating him in silver.

"Thank you for being my friend."

Before the musical voice had faded away, he was gone.

An hour later, Little Winging was far behind Harry and he was almost in London.

It amazed him that he could keep up running so fast for so long, but he wasn't even breathing heavily. He jumped another hedge and carried on running.

Half an hour passed and Harry found himself standing outside the Leaky Cauldron. Without a sound he stepped inside and found the smoky room empty, for which he was thankful.

"Mr. Potter!" Harry spun around faster than the eye could follow and Tom the barman blinked up at him. Harry's shoulders sagged in relief.

"Tom!" He gasped.

Tom's confusion on how Mr. Harry Potter had managed to turn around so fast was replaced by worry.

"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?"

The barkeeper reached out a hand to rest it on Harry's shoulder, but the boy jumped back as if he were burned.

"Don't touch me!"

The old man stared in shock and Harry forcefully got control of himself, he just couldn't handle anyone touching him, not with the memories of the abuse and rape still so raw in his mind.

"Fine, Tom, I'm fine. Can I have a room for tonight?"

The old barkeeper relaxed and beamed up at him, making his face look like a weathered old wrinkled prune.

"Of course Mr Potter!"

Tom shuffled round the large mahogany bar and plucked a key off a stand, which giggled.

"Your usual, room Eleven sir. Your bag is already up there."

Harry took the key from the old man, nodded his thanks and walked up the stairs wondering if room Eleven was put aside just for him, as he always got it whenever he stayed there.

The room was exactly like he remembered it, with the comfy four-poster bed and large mirror hanging from the wall.

"Hello dear," the mirror wheezed, "I must say you certainly have changed for the better since I last saw you, very nice."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing in the mirror to make sure his scar was hidden under his fringe.

"I've also changed for the worse," he murmured.

"Not from where I'm standing, handsome," the mirror replied.

With a growl, Harry turned away and spotted his trunk. He stalked over to it and flung the lid open, digging deeply around until his hand closed on what he was looking for.

Pulling out his Defence Against the Dark Arts book he flicked open the index and ran his eyes down the page until he came to 'Vampire.' Checking the page number, he opened the book to the right page to find in huge gothic script the title 'Vampire's.'

Harry read until the grey light of dawn spread across the sky, absorbing whatever would give him any sort of control. But the more he read, the more sceptical he became.

He learned that a vampire could take any animal's form at will. A vampire can talk to dark animals e.g. Dementors, Werewolves in 'beast' form, etc. A vampire can walk on water. A vampire can control people's minds and actions up to a certain point; for example, he can't control a human for longer than an hour. A vampire can walk about comfortably in sunlight, although the sun drains their powers. Garlic, crosses and holy water does not affect a vampire. A vampire is very fast at self-healing. A vampire can eat normal food but it won't give them any nourishment. A vampire needs blood because their blood does not contain any oxygen, so if they do not feed they will suffer a very painful death by every part of their body suffocating from lack of oxygen and cramping. The human or animal a vampire feeds on will forget the events leading to them being drunk from and the bite marks will heal quickly. A vampire can wipe a human's mind, making them forget certain events without drinking from them. A vampire can hold his/her breath for several hours, so most like to swim lakes and tease humans by disappearing under the surface for hours, making the humans panic, believing they've drowned. A vampire's senses are much sharper than human's; they can see clearly in the dark, they can smell human emotions, they can hear a heartbeat. A vampire is much stronger and faster than human's with incredible reflexes, it is not advisable to attack them, as you will die. A vampire can sense if another vampire is in the same room as they are. A vampire is telepathic. A vampire can do wandless magic. A vampire cannot feed from another vampire as neither contains the needed oxygen. A vampire does not need as much sleep as a human as their body regenerates when they feed. A vampire has a pair of wings in their back, hidden under the skin. They use these rarely as they can turn into any animal at will and they are quite noticeable. Since the ninth century, spotted flying vampires have been known as 'Fallen Angels' as their wings are black and they are only seen flying at night. Born vampires, known as lamies, can stop ageing whenever they like, though most stop around nineteen, however, a made vampire stops ageing at the age they are changed. Vampires can only be killed by vast blood loss, beheading or staking. All vampires are very beautiful and move with grace, they then become even more beautiful when they 'change', so beautiful that they look inhuman. When a vampire changes, their fangs come down, their eyes change to either gold or silver and they radiate a dangerous but bewitching aura. All vampires are evil and think that humans are below them as they feed on us. Many went over to You-Know-Who, so they didn't have to worry about killing their prey if they feed a bit too long.

Harry fell asleep reading; 'only lamies can have children, it is impossible for a made vampire to carry a child and it is impossible for a human and a vampire to have a child.'

As usual, he was tortured by nightmares but didn't wake until the sun was just reaching its peak.

He stood and slowly went into the bathroom to shower. Under the warm jets he puzzled over what the book had said, only lamies could have children, a vampire born from vampires, but Petunia wasn't a vampire so how could his mother have been?

Harry dressed in the same clothes he'd been wearing when he'd arrived earlier as his other clothes were still littered around his room in Privet Drive, he'd have to buy some more today along with a bird before he left.

Soon he was walking down Diagon Alley, glancing into shop windows to study his reflection, making sure his scar was hidden.

He hoped no one would recognise him without his glasses. The Daily Profit would have a field day if they found him here the day after his sixteenth birthday.

A pair of small children ran up the street laughing, not yet having to worry about the pains of the war, as they were too young to understand.

Tired smiles and hollow laughter that didn't reach anyone's eyes was all that was left with people dying every day. Harry dreaded seeing the newspaper at times, more stories about the dark mark and the press counting off the days until he left Hogwarts and could go straight to the front line with the Aurors.

Harry reached the doors to Gringott's and a couple of goblins bowed him in. Inside he spotted the most out-of-the-way desk and headed for it. The only other person within twenty feet was a middle-aged woman who looked as though she was sucking on a lemon.

"I would like to make a withdrawal," Harry quietly told a seated goblin.

The creature squinted up at him with clever eyes.

"And you are?" It asked.

"Harry Potter."

The creature's eyes widened and it pressed a black button on the left side of his desk. Two goblins silently appeared behind the seated goblin, holding the chains of what Harry had come to know as Ringers; huge bulldog type creatures with no hair and two heads, when they attacked one head would tear while the other let off a ringing wail to attract attention.

"Mr. Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal, accompany him to his vault."

Harry sighed.

If he told them he was definitely capable of taking care of himself, the goblins would take it as an insult.

The middle-aged witch watched with wide eyes as Harry walked towards one of the side doors with the two guards flanking him. He could only hope the seated goblin would encourage her discretion.

After Harry had retrieved as much gold as he would be likely to need, putting it in two separate bags, he went back up and saw the now large group of wizards waiting for him. They had all been talking eagerly to each other and went completely silent as Harry stepped through, thanking his guards and sending them off. A bitter taste rose in his mouth. That woman must have blabbed out to whoever she could get her hands on that Harry Potter was in the bank, completely oblivious to the dangerous situation she was putting not only Harry, but every other person and goblin in the bank in.

"Harry, darling!"

A voice he recognised called to him and a witch started to push her way through the growing crowd.

Harry wanted to growl, but he nodded politely as the woman broke free from the crowd and threw herself at him, latching onto his arm like a leech. Instantly he shook her off and snarled at her.

"Don't touch me!"

The reporter blinked and backed away slightly, Harry could hear her heart speeding up and growing louder in alarm. He sighed and said in a more normal voice. "Ms Skeeter, how are you?"

Since Hermione had trapped Rita in her animagus form she had been a more honest reporter, but that didn't stop her being annoying.

Her alarm dropped and she stepped forward though she didn't touch him, as she usually would have.

"Miss, please Harry. All the better for seeing you, darling, my you sure have grown in more ways than one!" She squealed excitedly and fluttered her fake eyelashes at him in what she though was an attractive way.

"If you would excuse me, Miss Skeeter, I have business to attend to."

He started to walk away but the reporter scuttled after him.

"Well, I'll accompany you, handsome, oh my you really are very handsome, aren't you. Oh, where are your glasses? You look so much better without them! Um, yes, back to business, yesterday if I understand correctly, was your sixteenth birthday?"

Harry could feel the crowd leaning in.

"Yes, that's correct."

Rita clapped her long nailed hands together in joy.

"Wonderful, Harry darling!"

Harry rolled his magnificent eyes and carried on walking over to the exchange desk.

"I'd like to exchange this for muggle money, please," he asked placing a heavy bag on the counter. The goblin nodded and carefully carried it away.

"Going somewhere, Harry?" Rita asked innocently, and a headache started behind Harry's eyes.

"Yes, away from here," he replied slowly and clearly.

Rita raised one manicured eyebrow expectantly.

"I see. Does your leaving the wizarding world until you go back to Hogwarts for your sixth year have anything to do with your inheritance?"

Harry spun around faster than humanly possible again; he wanted to literally bite the nosy woman's head off.

The longhaired boy quickly ran his tongue over his teeth, two of which had lengthened into fangs.

Rita's jaw dropped. Firstly, Potter had spun around faster than she had ever seen; turning that fast should have broken his neck. And secondly, just for a second, she could have sworn that his eyes had been silver, not green.

The crowd had backed slightly away in the face of Harry's anger. But, now that the boy seemed to have taken control of himself, they shuffled forward again to hear what he had to say.

Harry looked at the eager faces and spotted a little girl in a slightly-too-big-uniform of the local orphanage. So many children's lives had been destroyed because of the war, their parents left dead because of a madman who wanted to rule the world. The hope in the little girl's eyes reached out and touched The-Boy-Who-Lived's battered heart. He could not bear to see that small ray of light in the darkness crushed.

The little girl's face was burned into the back of his mind; long, chestnut hair pulled back into an unravelling plait, a small, slender frame dwarfed by the large uniform hanging off her thin shoulders and a small, white face with beautiful big brown eyes shining with hope and trust.

"Yes, it has," Harry stated, his eyes never leaving that of the girl's.

Gasps issued from all around as even the goblins paused in their work to listen.

"Why are you leaving us then?" Rita asked her eyes wide and confused.

"Because until I learn to control 'my inheritance' I will do more damage than good."

Rita's eyes glittered. She smelled a serious story here.

"And what is your inheritance, Harry, darling?"

The fey boy lifted his eyes from the girl and turned them on the blonde woman beside him.

Rita stumbled backwards. The amount of raw power behind that gaze burned into her with a magnitude she could hardly believe. Harry no longer looked liked a handsome if sad teenage boy. Now he looked dark, dangerous and wildly beautiful. He stood with the stance of a tiger, relaxed and casual but hidden underneath an awesome strength. And the reporter knew right there and right then that Harry Potter was the one to beat You-Know-Who. The wizarding world had always hoped he would be the one, but now Rita Skeeter knew. He was the only person strong enough, and the terrible power he would wield to complete the task the world had set on his shoulders at the age of fourteen when the Dark Lord was resurrected shone through his emerald eyes.

Harry broke his gaze away when the goblin scuttled back with his bag now full of twenty and ten pound notes.

"There's six hundred and fifty pounds in the bag, sir. Will that be enough?"

Harry nodded his head, said thank you and walked towards the crowd, which he would have to pass through to reach the exit.

He paused and seemed to be making up his mind about something. Then he turned and gracefully knelt down in front of the small girl.

"Hello," he said softly, his musical voice murmuring pleasantly through the air, "what's your name?"

The girl smiled shyly at being directly addressed by Harry Potter, her hero.

"Lily," she whispered.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Of course, Lily was quite a normal name, so plenty of girls and women must answer to that light, magical sound, but Harry suddenly felt a connection to the small girl in front of him.

"My mother was called Lily," he told her and her big eyes lit up.

"Really?" She asked happily and Harry nodded.

"Isn't there an adult here with you?" He asked a little concerned that the girl seemed to be alone in the middle of a war.

She shook her small head, her plait bumping against her hips.

"No. Zia Anna sent me to buy some food for the new kids arriving."

She stepped sideways, showing a wicker basket almost as big as her body packed with heavy food, which had been hiding behind her.

"I was just heading back when I heard someone say that Harry Potter was inside the bank. So I came in to see you."

The corner of Harry's lips quirked into a small smile.

"I'm not that special, am I?"

Lily nodded her head fervently.

"My mummy used to say that you were our guardian angel, and that you'd been born to protect the wizarding world."

There was that word again. Angel. Dudley had called him a fallen angel, and the text on vampires said they, vampires, had also been called fallen angels since the ninth century because they had black wings, were beautiful and flew at night, now he was a guardian angel as well? But Lily carried on speaking.

"So whenever I get scared, like when the bad men took mummy and daddy away to heaven, I would think of you and everything would be okay because I knew you were watching over me, keeping me safe."

Harry was about to open his mouth to say 'but I'm just human' when he remembered that he wasn't human, not anymore.

Harry smiled at the pretty little girl in front of him.

"I am honoured to be your guardian angel, Lily."

Lily squealed in joy and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely, as if afraid he would disappear any moment. Harry found he didn't mind having this innocent child touch him instead he seemed to draw strength from her warmth. There was a great 'ahhhhhh' from the surrounding witches and wizards, plus the annoying click of several cameras and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the intimate picture of him and Lily hugging would be on the front page of tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

Harry gently released the child and took her hand, picking up the basket in his other hand as if it weighed nothing at all, which to him it did.

"Come on, Lily, I'll walk you back to the orphanage."

Lily smiled up at him with joy and trust shining in her big brown eyes.

They walked towards the entrance, the witches and wizards parting before them and camera flashes still going off so someone could prove to their friends that they had been in Gringott's at the same time as the mighty Harry Potter.

Then the emerald-eyed boy's newly sharpened ears caught a whispered conversation, taking place at the edge of the crowd.

"I'm telling you, Pettigrew, now is the perfect time to take Potter out for our Lord."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"You fucking numbskull! Do I have to spell it out for you? Well I guess I do. Potter's just told us that he'll be staying in the muggle world until the start of Hogwarts. That's six weeks away!"

"And?"

"Idiot! Well, if we take him out now, no one will miss him until the start of Hogwarts, giving our master plenty of time to organise his troops for world domination."

"Oh, I get it!"

"Finally."

"But-"

"What man? Spit it out!"

"Did you see the power in him? And did you hear what he said? He's going away until he can learn to control his inheritance."

"Better we attack him now then, while he still can't control it."

"I dunno. It sounds as if he's gotten really powerful."

"Fine. We'll get a couple of the lads to help us. Four wizards against a sixteen year old and a little girl? You do the maths Wormtail."

"All right. Sounds safe enough, lets go get the guys quickly."

Harry lead Lily down the white marble steps outside with his jaw tight in anger. He wasn't worried about himself, but they planned to attack him while he was with Lily: a defenceless, innocent child. Well, he had a few unpleasant surprises in store for them.

Harry's sharp eyes saw Lily staring longingly into a sweet shop window as they passed.

"I'm starved. Shall we go buy some sweets?" Harry casually asked.

Lily almost bounced up and down in her joy.

"Yes please!"

Ten minutes later the two exited the shop with Lily happily munching on a chocolate frog and the basket weighed down with some lovely surprises for her friends.

"Now, which way's the orphanage?" Harry asked.

Lily's mouth was full of chocolate so she took his hand and pointed down a small, cobbled street.

As they walked further away from the main shopping centre, it got quieter and quieter.

For Lily, it was deadly silent and she nervously gripped her hero's hand a bit tighter.

For Harry though, with his vampire senses, the place was still alive.

His sharp eyes easily spotted the rat following them down the street, but this rat had a silver paw and it didn't smell quite right either.

Harry smiled grimly as he heard the footfalls of three other death eaters trailing them. Today was the day when Pettigrew would be brought to justice and Harry was itching to try out his newfound speed and strength to the full.

Harry spotted what he needed: a little alcove off to one side, which he led Lily over to.

He set down the basket and kneeled in front of the small girl.

"There are some bad men following us, Lily, so I have to go and care of them. Now, I need you to stay here. I promise I won't let you get hurt okay?"

Lily's eyes widened in fear and tears welled in them.

"You won't go away and never come back like mummy and daddy?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"'Cos the bad men made mummy and daddy go to heaven and left me alone. I saw them make mummy and daddy go, they used a spell that made green light."

Fury rose in Harry like a tidal wave.

This sweet child had seen her parents murdered before her very eyes by some prejudice bastards who though they were better than most. They were worse than scum.

"I'll be back, just stay here," he managed to keep the anger from his voice as he kissed her on the forehead and stepped out to meet the source of his anger.

They were getting closer and he almost pitied them for what they were about to get themselves into.

Almost.

They paused just around the corner from Harry and he could smell their nervousness.

He snorted.

"Do hurry up. I haven't got all day," he called, mocking them.

The nervousness changed to fear and they still didn't come from around the corner.

Harry's patience snapped.

"Get a fucking move on!" He ordered, and finally three robed and hooded death eaters shuffled around the corner, making a pathetic attempt to be frightening.

"About time," Harry snarled. "Any longer and I would have dragged you out by the ears."

That seemed to annoy one of the death eaters.

"You seem awfully cocky for someone who's outnumbered three to one and doesn't even have a wand!" He spat.

The other two death eaters noticed this and their fear dropped.

Harry looked casually at his nails, as if what the death eaters were saying wasn't worth his time.

"Well, yes. But you three look so trollish that you'll probably trip over your own feet, and you wouldn't know a good hex if it hit you in the bloody face."

Harry could almost smell the leading death eater go purple.

"Why, you little bastard! I'm going to enjoy making you scream before I kill you, Potter!"

Harry smirked mockingly.

"I think that you will find that you and your lapdogs are the ones who'll end up doing the screaming."

Nearly epileptic with rage the leading death eater sent the Cruciatus curse at the emerald-eyed boy, who sidestepped it looking bored. The death eater bellowed and sent hexes flying thick and fast, but Harry avoided them all with the mocking ease, and with each curse dodged he got a little closer to the three cowled men.

The leading death eater appeared to be at his wit's end and as hexes didn't seem to work he pocketed his wand and threw himself at the teenager with his friends closely following.

A fist flew towards Harry's face so he just leaned out of the way and let it sail harmlessly past. The next fist went towards his stomach. He knocked it out of the way, spun and delivered a punch in the guts hard enough to throw the lackey across the small street. The man slammed into the opposite wall and slumped to the ground unconscious. The other lackey Harry took down with a vicious kick to the kneecaps, shattering them. Then, as the man dropped to the ground screaming Harry kicked him again across the face, breaking his nose and knocking him out.

A sharp pain suddenly tore through his shoulder and he growled under his breath as blood began to saturate his black shirt.

The slight teenager turned around to face the remaining death eater. The quaking man had fired a silent slashing spell at him while his back was turned, just like the shitless little man he was. It had caught him on the shoulder and although it was bleeding a lot it was only shallow.

"This shirt was a Christmas present, you prick," Harry snapped.

The man's eyes behind his mask widened as he saw the wound slowly knit back together.

"W-what the hell are you?" He gibbered.

Harry stood there enjoying the moment, dressed all in black with his long hair floating around his slim body, framing his terrible but beautiful face. A slow, cruel smirk slid across his full lips, and his incredible eyes narrowed cruelly.

"Your worst nightmare," he hissed then pounced before the man could even blink.

The vampire teenager grabbed the death eater by the neck and lifted him off his feet as he had done to Vernon. But, unlike with Vernon, Harry didn't put the man down again as the death eater started to choke. A stench reached Harry's sharp nose and he realised that the choking man had wet himself in fear. The dark haired boy managed to ignore the smell as he focused on the man's pounding heartbeat, listening to it get slower and slower as the man's eyes rolled back in his head. When Harry reckoned the man was unconscious he dropped him and the death eater did not rise. Harry glanced around at his handy work and rolled his eyes. He reckoned he hadn't even used half of his speed or strength, so he hadn't received the full workout he'd been longing for.

Something in the back of Harry's mind was clamouring for attention, saying that he'd forgotten something or someone.

"Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them or I kill her," a trembling voice squeaked from behind him and Harry could have beheaded himself if there had been an axe handy.

Peter Pettigrew.

Harry turned slowly, keeping his hands spread in front of him.

The rat of a man stood in the alcove, one hand yanking Lily's slender arms painfully behind her back, the other held a wand to her pale throat.

The girl's eyes were wide, terrified and brimming with tears. She was visibly trembling as she stared mutely at Harry.

"If you let her go, perhaps I won't kill you," Harry said softly.

Wormtail gave a short bark of a laugh but Harry could still smell the fear coming off him in thick waves.

"I don't think you're in any position to give threats, Potter! No, I'll just take dear little Lily, was it, here with me as I walk away, and you're going to let me."

Harry said nothing as his thoughts whirred desperately. If he moved to push Wormtail away from Lily, even with his speed, Pettigrew could still fire a spell by accident, or even some sparks that could hit Lily. What he really needed to do was to scare Wormtail so much that he would just drop Lily and run like the coward he was. The young vampire thought back over the things he'd read about his new species: holding his breath for several hours wouldn't help, nor walking on water or talking to 'dark' animals. But hadn't it said about vampires having wings, and being able to do wandless magic? Once Harry had decided on a plan he focused back on what Wormtail was still going on about.

"-such a pretty little thing to. I dare say a few death eaters may want to 'taste' her, myself included."

The fat, balding man sniggered nastily, then leaned down and nuzzled Lily's neck.

The poor child let out one single, petrified whimper and Harry, knowing the pain and humiliation of rape, went mad.

A snarl that would have made Remus Lupin proud brought Wormtail's head up. The long haired boy thought about sinking deadly fangs into that fat neck and ripping it open, letting the blood run like a crimson river to the ground. Of finally delivering the revenge Sirius had so desperately wanted to deliver while his Godfather had been alive.

Peter Pettigrew's eyes widened as Harry changed; his emerald eyes seemed to glow for a moment as silver flooded them, making his eyes look like green and silver storms. His lips became redder as blood was pumped into them and his perfect skin took on a translucent glow, as though moonlight was shining through underneath.

The-Boy-Who-Lived focused on the wings in his back and felt them respond; two wings, blacker than a nightmare, ripped out of his back and through his shirt with a splatter of blood though Harry felt no pain. They were taller than him and their tips brushed the ground. Harry flapped them experimentally and decided he was really looking forward to flying without a broomstick.

He smiled, closed lipped, at the frozen Wormtail, then, he slowly let his lips part.

With a cry of horror Peter threw Lily at Harry's feet and backed away.

Harry quickly pulled the dazed girl behind him, shielding her with his wings. Then he looked at the trembling man in front of him with disgust. Wormtail hadn't thrown Lily at Harry to give her back; no he'd thrown her at Harry's feet like an adult throwing a child at the feet of wolves. So the monsters would stop to devour the child while the spineless adult got away. It was time for Harry to find out just what spells he could do without a wand, so he chose some simple but effective ones.

"Expelliarmus!"

Instantly Pettigrew's wand flew out of his chubby fingers and the sheer power of the spell threw him back against the wall, almost knocking him out.

"Pertrificus totalius!"

Wormtail's body went as stiff as a board and clattered to the ground. Only his eyes could move and they looked up at Harry in terror.

Harry snarled like a wolf and prowled forward. The sleek boy knelt gracefully next to the frozen wizard.

"Now. If you tell anyone what I am I will tear your throat out and drink you dry. I managed to steal with one of your lackey's wands and 'dealt' with you all. Do you understand? Blink twice for yes."

There were two hurried blinks and Harry let a nasty smirk slide across his face.

"So glad we understand each other Wormtail, and now you're going to get the payback you deserve for betraying my parents and dear Sirius to their deaths."

Pettigrew's eyes widened desperately but he couldn't do anything on the hard, cobbled ground.

Harry ignored the traitor and turned back to Lily, who was staring at him in wide-eyed shock. Harry opened his mouth to speak and the child gave a small squeak of fear as her eyes fixed on his fangs. Scolding himself mentally, Harry knelt down and held out a slim hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you Lily. I would never hurt you, pumpkin."

A nameless emotion flickered across Lily's small face before she frowned determinedly, as only a child could, and stepped forward.

She walked directly up to Harry and stopped mere inches from his body.

The brown-eyed girl reached forward with one small hand and ran it over the vampire boy's beautiful face, as if memorising every last detail. Then the child slowly reached over his broad shoulder and touched one of the midnight black wings, seeming to not quite believe they were there until she touched them. Lily ran her hand over the wondrously silky feathers, her eyes fell shut and she gently lifted her hand away.

"You really are my guardian angel," she whispered happily, before opening her eyes and staring directly into Harry's silver and green swirling ones.

The longhaired boy smiled gently at her before focusing slightly. He felt his teeth retract; his eyes go back to normal and his wings slide back into his back. A single black feather fluttered to the ground. Harry stooped, picked it up and slid it into his pocket.

"C'mon. We'd better get you back to the orphanage."

Suddenly there was a series of pops around them as about twenty ministry wizards apparated into the small street. After a few minutes of checking the new prisoners, a familiar voice called out.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Harry turned to see Mr. Weasley running towards him.

The flame haired man raised his arms to hug the boy who he loved like a son, but Harry raised a hand and backed away: Mr. Weasley's red hair strongly reminding him of the red haired boy who had raped him with the dark head and Dudley.

Mr. Weasley, newly promoted to a much more influential position, blinked in surprise at Harry's backing away, obviously wanting not to be touched. Arthur blinked again at the lack of glasses on the boys face, and how, without them the teenager was practically unrecognisable.

"I'm fine Mr. Weasley. I was just walking Lily back to the orphanage when four death eaters jumped us. I managed to get a wand off one and used disarming and stunning spells to deal with them."

Mr. Weasley breathed a sigh of relief and moved to absent mindedly pat the teenager on the shoulder, but Harry quickly took a step back again and Mr Weasley frowned in worry.

"As long as you're okay?"

"We're fine, Mr. Weasley."

Arthur blinked a further time and looked down. He almost jumped when he saw a pretty little girl of around six years old clinging to Harry's black clad leg.

"Hello dear." Mr. Weasley instantly cooed as he knelt down in front of her. The girl looked at him wearily and clung tighter to Harry's leg.

"Harry will make you go away if you're nasty. He's my guardian angel."

Arthur chuckled.

"I'm sure he can make me go away, but I'm not here to hurt you my dear."

She still seemed a little bit hesitant and Harry placed one slender hand on her head to reassure her. The little girl sighed, closed her eyes, and leaned happily into the touch. Mr Weasley stared; he had never thought that Harry would be so good with children.

"Mr. Weasley."

Arthur surfaced from his thoughts and focused on Harry.

As the long haired boy stood there Mr Weasley found himself musing how Harry had managed to get a wand off one of the death eaters while they all would have been firing dark curses at him and how he had finished them off so thoroughly that three of them would very likely be spending several weeks unconscious in St Mungo's, one with serious bruising to the gut and ribs, another with shattered knee caps, a broken nose and a concussion and the third with bad bruising around his neck and his throat almost swollen shut, not to mention the fact that the last one had wet himself from fear. He hadn't yet looked at the forth man and didn't know the damage, but he assumed that he was the same as the others.

Arthur Weasley knew Harry was a formidable duller for his age - he'd heard Ron, the twins and Ginny rant about his talent often enough over the past year, especially after the DA was set up - but the older man hadn't though Harry had progressed to the point of being able to take on four fully trained Death Eaters alone. Even the best Aurors took years to get that skilled!

So what had Harry done?

Mr. Weasley had always looked at Harry as the small, twelve-year-old, skinny boy he had been when he first meet him. Now the older man found himself taking another look and what he saw floored him.

Completely gone was the tiny, skinny boy with messy hair and nervous eyes half hidden behind glasses. In front of the red haired man stood a sixteen year old, tall and slim with iron hard muscles hidden underneath silky, pale skin. His hair was no longer messy; it just floated in a midnight black waterfall down his back. His eyes were no longer nervous, now they were steel hard, filled with a raw power that left Mr. Weasley as breathless as Rita Skeeter. And they were so old. The type of oldness that quietly said that this child had had grown up too soon. This child had seen too many things to be considered a child, and that this child had learned more things in his short sixteen years than most people learned in a lifetime.

"Yes Harry?"

The vampire boy stared at the man who had treated him like a son.

"When you see who the forth death eater is, believe me, it is him, no mistake this time. I suggest Veritaserum, just please don't ask him what happened in the fight. Make sure that the interrogation is done in front of the whole of the Wizengamot, it is long past time for Sirius to get his due."

Before Mr. Weasley could open his mouth to reply, excitement rising inside of him, a young ministry wizard ran up to him completely frantic.

"Sir! Sir! You won't believe who the forth captive is!"

He led Mr. Weasley over to the alcove, practically bouncing up and down to get Arthur to hurry up. Mr. Weasley was tempted to snap at the younger man, but when he looked down at the frozen man lying on the ground with his eyes squeezed shut, as if he could make everything go away if he couldn't see anything, all thoughts of snapping left Arthur's head.

"We've checked him for glamour's sir, in case it's a hoax, and he's clean. This really is him if that's bloody possible."

Arthur looked down at their captive's right hand and saw it was silver.

"Well, well. Peter Pettigrew, you made the little mistake of trying to take Harry on so soon after his Godfather's death."

Pettigrew's eyes shot open at the sound of his name and he looked up at Arthur in terror.

"He will be question by me myself later today before the Wizengamot. Veritaserum will be used. Get back to headquarters and contact Dumbeldore immediately."

The younger man bowed.

"Yes sir! At once sir!"

Arthur sighed.

"Now, Harry-" he began, turning back to ask the boy why he was in Diagon Alley in the first place. But neither Harry, nor the little girl was there.

The fiery haired man stared up and down the cobbled street, but apart from some ministry wizards, the prisoners, several gathering spectators and Rita Skeeter cornering a younger employee to tell her what happened, there was no one else in sight.

It was as if they'd vanished off the face of the earth.

As Arthur apparated back to the ministry headquarters he decided to talk to Dumbeldore about the boy after the questioning.

But the caring man was still struggling to choose whether to leave his youngest son in ignorant bliss or to tell him that something very strange was going on with his best friend.