Chalice of Blood

Chalice of Blood

Chapter 1: Beginnings

Vampires were once a noble race. While they were persecuted, they learned to deal with their persecution and move on. Over the centuries, they have deteriorated to nothing; they follow those political values that will enable them to drink the blood they need to survive and live without fear of being scorched.

The life of a vampire is long, grueling, and is not a forgiving one. A vampire must learn to live with constant betrayal and threat.

A vampire has always had to truly know himself in order to keep his sanity and dignity; in order to truly know others, one must understand the consequences of their actions, or lack thereof.

~*~

Harry stepped out of the taxi and onto the crowded street. The parking lot was a whirlwind of people scrambling to make it to wherever they wanted to get to on time. Harry smiled. He was glad that he had come early, perhaps he could find a quiet alcove in which to lurk until he caught sight of his friends. He did not wish to bring attention to himself. He whispered a quick concealing charm, and continued to walk.

As he wandered through the station, people immediately parted for him. This was good. People were acknowledging the presence of someone, but not whom. It was perfect. He reached the barrier between platforms nine and ten and walked briskly toward it. In a few moments, he was in the wizarding world.

It was not as busy here as it had been in the Muggle world; the primary train running from this station today was the Hogwarts Express, and that didn't leave for another hour. He gave his ticket to the clerk, who was packing up his things sleepily. He had had the night shift. Harry nodded his thanks, and found a bench to occupy.

He pulled out his book, Gothic Tales for the Modern Wizard, sighed at how light the reading was, and opened to his bookmarked page.

He had already read most of it. The story he was currently reading was actually written by a Muggle. However, it was a Muggle who had connections to the wizarding world. He found it very interesting, and it was soon after that he finished the book and put it aside.

Ever so slowly, witches and wizards started to fill the platform. They made Harry sigh. All of these people ... like him, and yet he could never be the same as they. Throughout his life, he had found it a trend to be unique. Now, he was deadly unique. Terrifyingly unique. But he could do nothing about it; this much he knew. He would be daft to think that he could change both who he was and what he was. It would have been very easy for him to change the who, but the what was impossible. And perhaps he didn't want to go through with either of those transformations after all.

It was getting to be late, fifteen minutes to eleven. Ron and Hermione should be arriving shortly. And they would, of course, be arriving together. They had gotten together over the summer, both looking for comfort from their hauntings. Harry had been the one to convince both of them that they should be together, that they were well suited for one another. He had communicated through letters, nudging each of them in turn that what they were feeling was perfectly natural and that they should go for it. Things had, of course, been slightly awkward, as they had not seen each other since the end of the school year when they first got together. Most of their relationship thus far had been through owls. Toward the beginning of July, however, Hermione's family was evacuated from their house, and they took to the Burrow. Things had, of course, been uncomfortable at first, seeing as how they were together and living in the same house. New rules had been made about curfews and such, though that was also partially because of the war.

Harry, however, had not stayed with the Weasleys this summer. He had gone traveling. It had been Dumbledore's idea toward the middle of the summer, as the Death Eater attacks had been coming closer and closer to his hometown. Dumbledore had many connections, and Harry stayed in pubs, taverns, and even in the homes of the headmaster's friends. He traveled all through Europe this way, and even into Asia. He had first gone to Ireland, and then into Denmark and Germany. From there, he had traveled down into France and Spain, and then over into Hungary and Turkey. He had, however, not visited the Middle East; things there were hardly safer than if he had stayed and waited for the Death Eaters to attack. So he went into China, down into India, into Japan, and then traveled through Russia back to spend the last two weeks of his vacation in Diagon Alley.

It was almost time. There was Malfoy, proudly strutting among his fellow Slytherins, and there was Cho. Harry blushed as she passed. She was talking animatedly with her friends; he was glad she was doing well. Last year was a hard year for her, and he had not made it any better. But now, now she was happy. Truly happy.

And there, there was Hermione. Harry whispered the counter spell to his concealing charm.

"Harry! There you are!"

Harry heard her voice, and turned to smile at her. He saw her smile of happiness turn to one of shock, and a dazed and bewitched expression crept onto her face. She waved her fingers at him, and Ron hugged her from behind, not noticing Harry. Ron had finally mustered the courage to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend, and thus was able to snap her out of her daze.

And Hermione was a lucky girl. She and Ron had been in love for who knew how long, and now she was finally with him, and he was lucky to be with her. Harry smiled when he saw them. Hermione's hair had obviously been brushed well, and it looked as though her mother had finally managed to pin her down and force her to wear slight makeup. She was by no means surprisingly different, and Harry had the slight impression that she would look exactly the same as she always had tomorrow.

Ron looked up from nuzzling Hermione's neck and stared at Harry, his jaw dropping.

"H-hey ... what ... happened to you, mate?"

Oh, no, not again. Harry thought. He looked down at the clothing he had chosen for the day. He was wearing baggy khaki green pants. His boots were black, and what Ron couldn't see was that they went halfway up his calf. He was wearing his white starch school shirt, and underneath it a grey long underwear shirt. His hair was it's normal black, but the bangs had grown out to cover his eyes and were parted to one side. There was an electric blue streak shaping the right side of his face, and his ears had been pierced; he had porcupine quills puncturing them. He was wearing shaded contacts; his eyes looked black to anyone who looked. He imagined he must have been quite different from last year.

"Er - Let's just say I've changed a little," He smiled gratuitously, and a puzzled look came over his face. "Do we have a compartment?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, and her brisk attitude was back. She marched off to their compartment, and Harry fell in step with Ron.

Their compartment was quite small this year; there must have been a lot of people eager to reserve the large ones. That was okay with Harry; less people came to visit in the smaller compartments, and he didn't know how much he could handle of people at the moment. He stowed his luggage quickly and efficiently.

When he turned around, Hermione and Ron were telling him that they had to go to the Prefect's department.

Harry remembered the last time he had been on a train; it had been rainy, and London had been dull and dark. The buildings had come slower and slower, and finally the train stopped on Platform 5 of King's Cross station. He had hauled his things out of the luggage slots, and dragged them off the train.

The Muggles around him had been loud, obnoxious, whirling in every direction and he was too tired for them. He hadn't slept in a while, it being dusk at the moment, and he needed desperately to get to the Leaky Cauldron.

He called a taxi, and the driver asked him where he wanted to go.

"Just ... drive around for a bit, please, I've no idea what the name of the street is." Harry had requested.

The taxi driver leered at him, but turned the ignition on and informed Harry that he expected a large tip.

They drove through the city, Harry every once in a while recognizing a bend, and he would direct the driver on where to go. It had taken half an hour before Harry became bored with everything.

"Er - so, what do you normally talk about with your passengers?" He asked, not knowing whether it was appropriate or not.

The driver scowled. "The bloody strike. Since I'm not on strike, I'm constantly working overtime."

"Turn here." The driver did. "So you're angry?"

"I bloody well am angry, because I have to be driving constantly, and then a bloke like you comes up and doesn't know the way. Get your own damn car." He snarled.

Harry was taken aback, and he looked out the window. The sun had set, and the stars were out. Somehow, he wasn't tired anymore.

"Perhaps I will."

"Eh?"

"I said, 'Perhaps I will get a car.'" Harry said, louder this time, the driver getting on his nerves.

"Oh." The driver kept driving, and Harry said, "Ah, there it is!"

The driver pulled over, and waited for Harry to get out. The sun had set, and Harry wasn't moving.

"Do you want me to open the bloody door for you?" He turned and snapped.

"No. I want to get a car." Harry returned, and the driver could think of nothing except the fact that the boy's eyes were black, black as night, and he was looking at him, with something glittering behind them. It was as if his eyes were reflecting the sky; there was no moon, no stars. Only darkness. He noticed how pale the boy was, and how fragile he looked. How very hungry.

Suddenly, Harry leapt forward and latched onto the neck, pulling him forcibly into the backseat. The man struggled, his heart beating faster and faster, in time with Harry's heart. The man panicked; he could feel the puncture, the fangs, and the bleeding. It must have been that vein ... the jugular vein? No one had ever survived it's sever.

The boy's face was twisted, and his tongue lapped the blood eagerly from his neck. This was a vampire. But ... they weren't supposed to exist, were they? And the man realized that he was going to die. And he thought of ... something, neither he nor Harry had known what, his mind was too dizzy from the loss of blood. His skin was starting to flap; his muscles to tighten. Harry felt the last gasp for breath, and his chest was still. The man's eyes were unfocussed, staring. They were staring at him.

Harry leapt apart from the man, startled that it had happened. A dead man was lying beside him, and he hadn't even meant to kill ... just to feed ... but his eyes were forever staring, his mouth agape at the terrible proof that vampires existed. And then ... then came the images.

All of the man's memories had assaulted Harry; his wife was screaming her woes at the top of her lungs; someone had died. His little boy went off to school for the first time, while the younger son struggled in his arms, trying to go too. There was the time he was fired from his job for being an alcoholic, and Harry felt the buzz of the drink in his new blood. Now, there was the strike, walking past his co-workers holding signs, asking for more money and dignity. And there was the rainy night when he picked up a strange boy with dead black eyes ...

Harry couldn't take it any longer. The keys were in the ignition, and he stepped into the frontseat. He had never really driven himself anywhere before, but now he didn't need to. They had stopped a block from the Thames.

On second thought, Harry grabbed his trunk from the back, and set it on the curb. And he put on the gas. He drove straight into the river, and swam away as quickly as he could. He watched the man and his car sink slowly into the river, and he tore himself away from the sight and ran the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron.He had been admitted without question, and Hedwig had waited for him. There was no idea that he had just murdered, no one asked him how he had come to get blood on his shirt. Perhaps that was because he was wearing a coat, but the fact of the matter was, it was too easy to hide the fact that he was a vampire.

Harry shook his head, the memory being pushed from his mind, and he saw that the train was moving and they were well outside the city. The hills rolled past, and Ron and Hermione were coming. He tried to smile for them, and they didn't detect the quiver in his jaw. They were more concerned with other things.

The second she sat down, Hermione pounced on him.

"Harry!" she whispered harshly. "Now, before you snap at me, I am being quite ... reserved ... about this. I didn't shriek at you back there because I know how much you hate being stared at. So I'm going to try and ask you my questions rationally. What have you done to yourself?"

Harry smiled. He had known this would come. As much as he dearly loved his friends, he found them to be quite predictable. He already had a speech planned for them.

"Well, I guess I just changed over the summer." Hermione opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he held up a hand and snapped, "No, Hermione, wait until I've finished." She closed her mouth. "Ron, you know how at the age of sixteen wizards come into their full power?" Ron nodded his head. "When that happened to me, I changed. A lot. I realized how stupid I've been all these years by disregarding school as much as I did, as you both already must realize, and I've gained a certain respect for knowledge. I see more sides to stories than my own, and I started to read more. I've read a lot of wizarding literature, and, thanks to you Hermione, I read a lot of nonfiction. I got into art, and have filled many sketchbooks with my work. Most of what happened to bring about this change must be kept secret, but you both know that I spent most of my summer away from England. There, I met a lot of people and was exposed to a lot of new things. I gained a wisdom that I had previously not had, and it has changed me."

Hermione took all this in, but hurriedly asked her question.

"But why have you changed your appearance?"

"That's another story. I just ... wanted to learn how to deal with pain more, so ... I pierced my ears. And then stretched them, using gauges. Right now I have porcupine quills in ... And the hair, well ... I just wanted to have some fun, I guess."

Neither had anything else to say. They were slightly curious, a bit scared, and more than a bit respectful. Harry had come full circle. He had once been a gangling child, lost on a platform and unknowing of how to deal with his new world. Before that, he had been an abused child. Now, he was a fully-grown, wise human being. And a handsome one at that. They had always loved him, but now they respected him. What they didn't know was what had brought upon him the change in the first place. Harry ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the sensitive canines that lay ready to lengthen and make him grotesque. They could not know. It was highly important, for his sake and for the rest of the world that no one knew. If word got to Voldemort, then Harry would be dead. It is not easy to kill a vampire in battle. But it is quite easy to kill them in their sleep. The techniques, while often hard to come by, are quite easy to follow through with. Before Ron and Hermione gained their wits back after the simple befuddling charm he had put them under, he decided to change the subject.

"So how have you guys been? I haven't had a full-blown report from you in quite a while."

Hermione smiled.

"We've been grand. It's been a bit hard, because Ron's parents were very strange about having me over, and there were all of these new rules, but I think we've overcome them ..."

Harry allowed himself to merely half-listen to her as she continued speaking. He had heard it all before. Ron did the same, smiling like some sort of deranged sap. Harry supposed he didn't quite know how to take it. While Harry was happy for the both of them, it was hard sometimes to listen to Hermione talk about their relationship. It only reminded him that he didn't have anyone to be with, and probably wouldn't for a long time. At least, not an open relationship. He wanted a lover; not what he and Cho had had, of course he didn't want another relationship like that. But he wanted to honestly be in love. He wanted to be held, comforted, and he wanted the same in return.

"Oh! That's right, I finished the book you sent me." Harry interjected as her talking got to be slightly too much for him.

"Great! How did you like it?" Hermione asked.

"It was very interesting. I really liked the part where they talked about reviving the old standards ... finally, someone explained to me the reasoning behind not wanting Muggle-borns in the wizarding world. Granted, I thought it was a ton of bullshit, but hey, at least it was explained."

"You didn't throw it down immediately?" Hermione asked.

Harry laughed. "No, that would have been me last year. This year, I'm far more academic-minded."

"And why is that? Why did you finally listen to me?"

"I just thought about how stupid it was of me to be involved in this war, whether it was my choice or not, and not understand what was coming at me and what powers I had and could use."

"Good. I was worried about you ..."

"Yeah, I should have been more worried about me ... But I have everything pretty much straightened out," Harry shuddered at the lie, and decided to bring the topic to something else. "I have this book for you to read too ..."

Ron groaned loudly. "Oh, no, can't we just talk about Quidditch?"

Harry laughed again.

"Of course, Ron, after I've given Hermione something to amuse herself with."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell, fine."

Harry went into his trunk and summoned the two books he was looking for. One was the book Hermione had given him; the other was a book on the history of civil rights in the wizarding world.

"Here," he said. "It's really quite interesting. If you read between the lines carefully enough, you can find all sorts of interesting things." Hermione was inspecting the cover. She looked up, as if to ask a question.

"No, it's not written by a pureblood. It was written by a Half-Blood, who went to Beauxbatons in the fifties. It's pretty old, but it'll do. It was written just before Voldemort's first rise to power."

"Ooh, this should be interesting. Thank you."

Hermione lovingly opened the book and started to breeze through the table of contents. Harry turned his attention to Ron, who looked overjoyed.

"Gosh, you have no idea. Being without you all summer, it was really, really hard to be obsessed with Quidditch. I mean, I tried talking to Hermione, but she just doesn't get it. Oof." Hermione had elbowed him slightly. "Anyway, guess what?"

"What?" Harry asked, a gleeful light in his eye.

"The Canons are winning! They've had such a good year, and their Seeker this year is absolutely amazing. Harry, you must ..."

The two boys continued on in this vein for quite some time, getting to talk to one another once again. The relationship between Harry and Ron was not one that was easily kept up through letters. While Hermione and Harry could easily correspond for hours because they were both proficient writers, Ron didn't like to write as much. Consequently, his voice and way of speaking could not be as easily conveyed through writing, and Harry had basically kept up their correspondence based on where he was and what crazy thing Ron's mum was doing.

The woodland outside whizzed by quickly, and as soon as Ron seemed to run out of things to say about the Cannons, Harry felt himself stop breathing. He needed to get out. The room was too warm, his throat closed, and before he could politely say that he needed to leave, he burst out that he wanted to get some air and left the compartment.

The hall was slightly better; he did not feel that he was entirely closed in, but he moved through the compartments anyway. He needed fresh air, and to be away from people. He still had the problem that had posed itself before; he couldn't quite figure out why it was that being in company for too long bothered him. He dreaded classes, when he would be forced to be around people.

There had to be a solution. A solution to all of this claustrophobia, these feelings of dread and lust for ... something ... whenever he was around people.

Harry had made it to the platform, and welcomed the cold air. It was an overcast day; it looked as though it might rain soon. Harry took several deep breaths and immediately felt himself calm. It was in this state of mind that he had come upon realizations in the past, and it was in this state of mind that he realized what it was that he was lusting for. Blood.

He shuddered. He didn't want to steal blood from his friends; they were too healthy and kind. But he needed it, craved it. Any other food would make him squeamish, any other food would turn his stomach. He needed that life force from people, and couldn't imagine how to abstain from it, survive, and not lose control.

Control was really what it all came down to. Harry remembered his behavior last year and shuddered. He had been such a tempest of pent-up emotion, pent-up anger that he had not been in control of himself at all. Perhaps he would need to spend less time with the people he cared about.

Which only spurred him on to the belief that he should swap houses. He could get a second sorting - the Sorting Hat seemed eager enough for him to not be in Gryffindor - and he would no longer have to worry about losing control of his vampirism in front of his friends.

That was it. He had to go through with it. He had to talk to Dumbledore.

The lights of Hogsmeade were in view. He took one last breath of fresh air, and then went back to get changed into his robes. This would be an interesting year.