The Price of Survival

Chapter One

There were green flashes flying all over the battlefield, making those on the side of light drop like flies. The cacophony of curses, the screams of the tortured and the moans of the wounded and dying blanketed the area with a surreal aura of pain that threatened to overcome them all. All but the un-dead and Harry Potter. He ignored the incredible pain in his scar as he crept up behind Voldemort who was too engrossed in casting Cruciatus on his old foe Dumbledore to notice anyone sneaking up behind him.

Harry's mind was focused as he raised the gun from his side and brought it up behind Voldemort's head. He paused for only a second before he pulled the trigger, blasting Voldemort's brains over the surrounding area and fulfilling the prophecy. Harry's surroundings suddenly seemed as though someone had filmed the battle and was playing it in slow motion. He could hear nothing but the blast of the gun as he killed the person who had ruined his life. He was overcome by an unfamiliar feeling of peace that had escaped his grasp for as long as he could remember. In this tentative moment of peace, he failed to notice the creature slowly walking up behind him, or the soft breath ghosting across his neck before sharp fangs pierced the soft flesh covering his jugular.

He was instantly brought out of his reverie by the sudden pain. He struggled in vain to escape the strong arms which held him captive as his blood was sucked from his body. He kicked; he shoved and did everything possible to pull himself from his captor's grasp. After a while he ceased trying to escape as the loss of blood was weakening his strength and resolve. It seemed as though fate had other plans for him than he himself had in mind. Life didn't really seem to be a part of his destiny's agenda. With this resigned thought in his mind, Harry slipped out of consciousness.

ooooo

It was at that moment that those on both sides of the battle noticed their leaders slumped against the ground. The Death Eaters, fearing their fates with the Ministry now that the Dark Lord had been defeated, began apparating as far away as they could. The Aurors only managed to stun a few before the only ones left on the battlefield were the forces of Light, the fallen, and various magical creatures. Before anyone could forget the creatures of Voldemort's forces, Charlie Weasley's voice rang out, yelling his comrades to kill or capture them before anyone else was killed. In the fierce and almost joyous resurging of the fight, Remus Lupin made his way past the leader of the Order towards the young man he considered his son, fearing for his safety. As he worked his way towards the centre of the battlefield he noticed a slender, feminine figure bent over his young charge.

He rushed forwards, wand raised, and hoped that nothing un towards had happened to Harry. He reached them just as the youthful looking woman stood and looked over at Remus with a cold-blooded smile twisting its way across her features. Remus felt his heart drop down from his chest as he realised what she was. The vampire gracefully ran off and swiftly disappeared from view into the surrounding forest. His gut twisted as he looked down at Harry, lying prone in the mud. There were bloodstains drying along his neck, contrasted greatly by the paleness of his complexion and the blackness of the hair framing his face. But this is not what scared Remus the most. It was the blood upon his smooth lips, and, when opened, in his mouth that brought back the feelings of horror from when Remus himself was bitten by a werewolf; memories that threatened to overwhelm him. How could this happen to one who had done so much to save the world from destruction? Harry had sacrificed his life for the greater good of the world and now, fate had dealt this sickening blow. To have this "life" of darkness thrust upon him was just not fair.

Before Remus could break down with the injustice of it all, he created a barrier around Harry, as he did not want him hurt before the Order could perform the ritual to keep his soul. As soon as Remus had done this he looked up to see how everyone was faring as they finished this awful battle. There were less and less charms and hexes flying and the fight was dying down. He called out to Charlie, whom he had gotten closer to over the war, and gestured for him to join them. Charlie had just turned towards them when a nearby troll was relieved of his bat by someone who was fighting them, and it flew over and hit Charlie hard on the back of his head, cracking his skull in two.

"NOOOOO!" Remus screamed, running over to his friend. As he knelt down beside him, Remus finally broke down and fell to his knees in a state of shock; brought on by seeing too many of his friends die fighting evil. With Sirius and Arthur, Kingsley and Mundungus and all the acquaintances in between, and then seeing Harry lying there in the mud, blood on his neck and in his mouth, it was all too much to take. He sat, staring unseeingly at the macabre scene in front of him, and his brain shut off.

ooooo

Severus Snape walked swiftly along the entrance hall of his chilly home as soon as he had apparated from the battle, unable to stay for fear of some irksome Ministry Auror mistaking him for a loyal servant of the Dark Lord. It was with a sigh of relief that he removed his Death Eater mask for the last time. The robe, though, was not so revolting to him, its billowing monochrome matching most of the garments in his wardrobe. A wardrobe filled with black robes and capes, as extensive as his veritable wardrobe of matching scowls, sneers and glares. It was always the best way to accessorise.

When he thought of the downfall of Voldemort, he almost laughed at the divine justice of killing the pureblood loving mudblood with a muggle weapon. If the Dark Lord still lived he would have screeched at the injustice of it all before finding some unsuspecting victim to serve as a sounding board for a few rounds of crucio before making some other ridiculous, unfeasible plan for the capture, torture and death of the Potter boy.

The Potter boy. Well, young man really. Severus scowled as he grudgingly gave his respect to the lad for ridding the world of Voldemort's megalomaniac menace. It certainly did not mean that he'd slack off on the boy during his classes, as Potions was an art, and Potter only had the finesse of a six-year-old's errant scribbles with a crayon. Had that know-it-all Granger not prodded him along so much, he would not be still in the NEWT level class.

It was with these musing running through his mind that Severus made his way into the gloomy sitting room, lighting a fire in the neglected hearth before striding wearily towards his much-loved liquor cabinet and pouring himself a well deserved shot or two of a fine Firewhiskey and sat down tiredly on the couch before the fire. It had been a long battle and quite hard to fight his "fellow" Death Eaters without them noticing, and at the same time try to avoid the curses flowing from the side of light, unable, as usual, to distinguish him behind the mask he wore. He silently berated himself from his downward train of thought, as this was a time to celebrate. Or, at least, a time where his life was in no further danger than one of Longbottom's legendary exploding cauldrons bringing about his early demise. Finally, Severus thought, it was a time to rest. How little did he know.

ooooo

It was a few minutes later when the battle was finally over. The ministry Aurors had taken any remaining Death Eaters to the Ministry lockup cells until they could await their trials, before being handed over to Azkaban. The exhausted members of the Order of the Phoenix now had the chance to make their way to where the turning point of the war had occurred. Tonks was the first to arrive, her hair the subdued brown she had worn for battle. As soon as she saw Harry's bloody body she called out to the nearest person.

"Minerva! Get here quickly!" she shouted over her shoulder to the stern older woman.

"What seems to be the matter with him?" Minerva replied, walking swiftly from Albus who was now being taken care of by mediwizards towards the metamorphagus, who was bent over Harry, checking for a pulse, and then, with great trepidation, checking the inside of his mouth.

"I think that he's been turned," Tonks replied, her face ashen, "look at his neck, Minerva, he's lost a lot of blood, and there's more, here, in his gob."

"I hate to agree with you, Tonks, but that does seem to be the case," Minerva added, "We must get him back to Poppy as soon as we can."

"Why not St Mungo's? They'd have more experience with that type of thing, surely."

"Yes, but can you imagine what the Daily Prophet would make of it? 'The-Boy-Who-Lived-Forever'! Plus, they'll have their hands full with Albus. And we must do the ritual so he can keep his soul," Minerva reprimanded.

"Quickly, then. Apparate him outside the wards and get him to the Hospital Wing. I'll gather the others, and we'll see about organising the ritual. You just get him to Poppy as quickly as you can."

"Sure thing, boss." Tonks replied, before grabbing a hold of Harry's cold body and apparating them to the road leading to Hogwarts.

ooooo

"POPPY!" Tonks yelled, running through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She clumsily barrelled through the swinging doors of the Infirmary, shouting for the Matron. Poppy Pomfrey bustled briskly toward the sounds of Tonks' urgent shouting.

"What is this? Who is that?!" Poppy replied, and then she saw who was miraculously held up in the young witch's arms, "quickly, this bed over here."

"No, he'll be in need of an isolation room, Poppy, one without windows." Tonks gravely countered, "As we think he may have been turned." The Matrons eyes widened at the news, but she quickly took it in stride, and showed Tonks to an isolation chamber off the main area of the wing. Tonks placed him carefully onto the bed then stretched her back, spine cracking from the effort of carrying the seventeen year old from halfway between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. It was a wonder she, undoubtedly one of the clumsiest witches in existence, hadn't tripped.

Poppy came into the room, a grave look on her face, wand in one hand and various vials of potions in the other. As she walked up to Harry, she began querying the metamorphagus.

"When did this happen? If he has been turned, we only have 36 hours before he wakes, and when he does, he'll be hungry."

"I'm not quite sure, but within the hour, as it must have happened after he defeated You-Know-Who. Minerva and I only found him twenty minutes ago, and he was cold by then. But it must have been within the hour Poppy, but how could this happen to him? I mean he just killed You-Know-Who! He's only seventeen! It's not fair!" Tonks answered.

"He killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Thank heaven above! Oh, the poor thing! He's been through so much," Poppy clucked, "he's always been here for one thing or another! Be it that dratted Quidditch or some ridiculous adventure...and with no family either! Poor thing," She continued on, and she checked him over for injuries. There wasn't much she could do as he was technically dead and therefore unable to take any potions. She would just have to wait.

"Now, now Poppy, lets just let him be, and then we'll go and check on the others, I'm sure you'll be inundated with people coming from the final battle," Tonks distracted her, before carefully tucking the covers over Harry's cold body and walking out of the room. She worriedly looked over her shoulder at the still young man before closing and locking the door safely behind them.

ooooo

Minerva sighed as she looked around the field in which the final battle was fought. The carnage was spread over the acreage, fallen friends, foes and beasts together in their deaths. The cries of the wounded were less now, as the mediwizards and witches carted them off to the crowded wards of St Mungo's. She glanced over at Charlie Weasley, who died such an unnecessary death, and hoped it was the last death she would have to witness of her dear students. She may be strict with them, but after teaching them for seven years and watching them grow into strong young men and women, she grew quite attached to them. Especially those on her Quidditch team like that poor young man Harry, or his famous seeker predecessor, Charlie. She just wondered how Molly Weasley was going to cope with this further death in her family. After Arthur was killed by a sudden Death Eater attack at the Ministry, her elder boys, Bill and Charlie, had been helping her so much.

It was times like these that Minerva McGonagall was very glad that she didn't have children.

ooooo

Back at the Hogwarts Infirmary, Poppy went to check on her current charges before any more injured were brought to her while Tonks went down to the Entrance Hall to meet up with Minerva. She currently had only two under her care, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley. Despite the trend of previous years, the young men were not recovering from a heated fistfight, but from injuries sustained in the War.

The youngest Weasley boy was not faring well. He had been in the infirmary for a week already and his injury was not easy to treat. He had been caught up in an unexpected raid at the Ministry while he had been there helping his father with the unbelievable backlog of work which had occurred since Voldemort's rise. He had been fighting alongside his father when he was struck with a nasty curse on his left leg. An obscure Dark Arts curse, it degenerated all the tissue on the affected limb. Poppy had been unable to reverse the curse, and it was too late by the time the Potions Master arrived, and they had had to amputate. The infection had been hard to treat and she had only just been able to save him.

As Poppy went over to check on Ron's vitals, she noticed that he was stirring, and hurried over to him. It was the first time he had shown any real signs of life since he had been admitted. He mumbled something incoherent and wearily blinked open his eyes as she walked over to his side with a nutrient potion in her grasp.

"Where am I?" Ron muttered before noticing the white walls and iron bedstead of the hospital wing, "why 'm I here?" he corrected, directing this latest missive at the Matron.

"You've been here to heal up, Mr. Weasley," Poppy informed him, "now drink this up before you ask me anything else," she admonished, before bringing the vial up to his lips.

"What day is it?" Ron asked, now that he had drunk the contents of the vial. He was starting to feel a little more awake now.

"You've been in here for a week, Mr. Weasley, so today would be Monday. Now just wait there one moment before I tell you anything further." Poppy left his bedside and quickly made her way into her office. She grabbed a bit of floo powder and went to fire talk to Mrs. Weasley. The green flames whooshed and she put a call in to The Burrow.

"Molly, Ronald has just woken up, if you would like to come through the fire, please?" Poppy called into the Weasley's lounge room, before Molly hurried over and made her way into the Infirmary.

"How long has he been up Poppy?" Molly asked as she made her way into Poppy's office and bustled towards her son.

"Just a few minutes, dear, I thought you'd be the one who should tell him about Arthur," she said sympathetically, "and Harry has killed You-Know-Who! I always knew he had it in him."

"He has! I'm so glad he got rid of him. Well, that should cheer Ron up considerably," Molly answered just before she reached the curtain around her youngest son's bed.

ooooo

In a cold gothic mansion on the outskirts of London, a chillingly beautiful woman walked confidently across polished hardwood floors, through a huge arched doorway into a richly decorated library, full of tomes of curses and first editions of valuable literary works from across the world. She made her way past the large mahogany desk and deep crimson velvet drapes over the windows to the crackling fireplace where she gracefully sat on the lap of an extremely handsome young-looking man. A victorious smile graced her elegant features before she passionately kissed her companion, never tiring of his presence.

"It has been done, my love, I have sired the infamous young man, he shall be ours," the woman proclaimed, making her lover smile deviously along with her, "his blood was so delicious my love; it pulsed with power and innocence." She licked her lips in ecstasy in remembrance of the sweet blood of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"You have done well, my love," the man growled, "now give me a taste of it." He sunk his teeth deeply into his lover's porcelain neck and drank as she arched her back at the glorious intimacy of their passion.