you woke the lion up

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18th November 1997

For an entire week, they spend their time watching Gringotts, observing all those that enter and leave through the grand marble doors. It is a heady thing, to sit upon a rooftop beneath this cloak and watch eyes slide right over their forms, Jasper thinks.

Sitting, waiting and watching is what he is best at; as a vampire the need to fidget, the need to shuffle and adjust positions is lost upon him.

Impossibly still, Jasper sits upon the shingles of the roof and he takes note of everything. Of every single person that passes below, be they with the enemy or just scared citizens attempting to pretend everything is normal.

It pains him to watch the later, as he feels both their desperation and their defeat. But it stokes a fire in him too. It is so painfully clear they were unsatisfied with their situation, yet they do not stand up and fight. They sit back, praying and hoping for another to solve it all for them, to fix everything that is wrong. They do not even try.

Jasper tries not to focus upon the citizens too much for that reason, even if he must look and search for all the information he can among their crumpling forms.

The Death Eaters are just as easy to identify; they walk with a smugness to their steps, a surety that they are higher upon the chain of command than those that pass them by. It does not mean that they do not suffer though.

For every three steps, they turn their heads, look for threats, and there is caution in their eyes. Riddle, this Dark Lord that threatens his companion's life, is true madness contained within a barely human form according to Hariel Potter. Jasper trusts her words, trusts her to not underestimate her enemy, be it the man with desires upon her life, or a slanted roof into on sending her tumbling.

His arms are wrapped ever so carefully around Hariel's waist, loose enough that the constant fluctuation of her ribcage as she breathes sees her sides brushing against his forearms again and again.

Sitting within his lap, the redhead witch watches the people go by with recognition flashing in her eyes. These are people to her, some of them she will have spoken to, some of them she might even consider friends. Strangers and nothing more to Jasper, but some of those down upon that cobbled street have meaning to Hariel.

The familiar scent of her warm skin is thick beneath the heavy drape of the invisibility cloak, the delicious aroma of blood absent in the face of her charm work.

Even encased in his cold arms, Hariel does not shiver. If anything, she presses herself a little more into his hold every so often and the memory of her almost falling from the rooftop upon their first day staking out the bank flashes once again through his mind. She is not safe up here on her own, with only a human's capability when it comes to balance and agility. Without him, she would have tumbled off by now, would have probably been discovered.

It feels good to know that he is contributing.

"Bellatrix."

Her voice is a curious mixture of loathing and excitement and she speaks, leaning forwards and forcing Jasper to tighten his hold upon her, for fear of her meeting this 'Bellatrix' far sooner than would be preferred.

Upon the street, a woman with eyes as mad as her hair strolls to the bank. She is not like the others, there is no caution in her limbs, no fear. Jasper has never seen insanity like this, such a lack of self preservation he has only ever witnessed in newborns. That alone puts him on edge.

Resting his head atop Hariel's mane of red curls, Jasper watches the woman stalk through the alley, how everyone does their utmost best to get the hell out of her way.

"Riddle gave the diary to Malfoy, and the locket was linked to Sirius' brother," Hariel whispers beneath her breath, low enough a human would struggle to hear but it comes loud and clear to Jasper's ears, "Bellatrix is his most loyal."

Jasper needs no clearer words than those.

With the skilful movements afforded only to a vampire, the blond American stands, a startled Hariel curled up bridal style within his arms and invisibility cloak balanced carefully upon their forms.

Following this Bellatrix when she appears to have a permanent ten feet of personal space around her is not difficult in the slightest.

.

Moving through the bank however, proves far more challenging.

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Even though Hariel's heartbeat is hidden beneath her charmwork, even if their scents are masked and the cloak erases them from sight, it still feels as if the goblins know they are present.

Jasper moves slowly, his red haired companion having shuffled about until she is all but sat in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist and arms thrown over his shoulder in an almost intimate embrace. Logically it makes sense, he guards the front, capable of holding Hariel's weight in one arm while the other is free to defend them. She protects his back, her wand clenched in one hand, sharp green eyes as alert as her posture is tense. Working beneath this cloak, it is not really possible to stand back to back without risk of exposing themselves. It is, after all, designed to be used by one person alone and Jasper is not exactly the shortest of beings.

"Take me to my vault, you filthy creature!"

Shrill and vicious, 'Bellatrix's' voice rings through the bank, several customers flinching at the demand.

Jasper stealthily approaches and he needs no spells to silence his steps, so steady he walks.

Shadowing the woman, the vampire finds himself led into a hallway, where white marble gives way to black stone. There is the distant roar of a waterfall, thunderous in the way it bounces off the descending cliff faces, the only indication as to just how far into the earth this depression stretches.

Taking a seat upon the back of the iron cart, Jasper takes a moment to ensure Hariel is comfortable seated upon his lap before he tucks the edges of the cloak beneath his thighs.

As they rumble through the vaults, Jasper learns that the 'Thief's Downfall' is no match for Hariel's cloak, and that some wizards believe it a completely logical idea to protect their wealth with dragons.

Needless to say, creatures that suspire fire are something Jasper does not need a warning to be cautious of. While reasonably certain he can get out of the firing range quick enough, he would rather not put that to the test.

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This Bellatrix whom stands among Riddle's most trusted makes it easy for them. She screams, demands the goblin retreat from her vault, that he is not worthy to look upon the vast wealth she has accumulated, collected from her husband's family, from those she has killed and stolen from.

Jasper stands beside Hariel, the green eyed witch tucked neatly against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her waist and ready to pull her to safety if any form of dangers dares to rear its ugly head. He has precious few friends, enough to count upon one hand. Peter. Charlotte. And now, Hariel.

Of those three, Jasper would leave none of them to fight a war alone.

But it is only Hariel that he would protect so viciously, because she is far more delicate than his coven-mates. Hariel Potter is warm, caring. But she is also so damningly human, so fragile and breakable and mortal.

He will not allow death to grasp her before she is ready.

If part of him hopes that she will forever deny the entity, that she is secretly spinning about the concept of immortality within that pretty little head, he tries not to dwell upon the idea too much. Only if she asks, he promises himself.

Only if she asks.

The vault door opens with an ominous groan, and it is not even a second later that Jasper has shed the cloak, snapped a wand, and restrained the enemy agent. Hariel silences her before she can scream.

Up close, those eyes are beyond wild. There is uncivilized, and then there is savage. It is discomforting to realize just how much this woman reminds him of a newborn vampire.

Does she too lust for blood? Is that perhaps why she is so enthralled with this 'Dark Lord', who seems to do nothing other than shed the blood of innocents wherever he goes?

"Unhand me!" His crazy captive snarls when the hidden daggers fails to so much as puncture his skin. in fact, it just bounces straight off of his ribs, creating a series of tinkling clings and chimes as it skips across the ground.

"Why would we do that?"

"Potter!" The name is hissed with venom, the struggle returning to the woman's limbs and Jasper shifts until he has her in a secure chokehold.

One wrong move, and he'll snap her neck.

Right now, his companion just stand opposite him, arms folded across her chest and wand tapping against the curve of her collarbone, deliberating.

"What do you know about a golden cup that your Lord treasures?"

In an instant he can feel the woman's emotions surge, a panic lacing through her and Jasper knows in that moment she understands exactly what Hariel is talking of. The way her eyes dart so quick to the open vault; it's obvious.

"It's in the vault," Jasper concludes and the struggle grows ever more frantic, dark promises of death and destruction leaving from between her poisoned lips.

"You'll hold her?" Hariel asks and all Jasper can do is nod, watching as her red hair disappears into the vault.

The chorus of Bellatrix's cursing is joined mere seconds later by clinks of metal against metal, and after what seems like an eternity, Hariel comes spiralling back out upon a wave of ever multiplying gold. He can smell burning flesh, she's injured, and it is only the knowledge that this woman he restrains is deadly that stops him from rushing to her side.

"Got yourself a vampire, lickle-Potter? How would dear Sirius feel about you consorting with such a dark creature!" She cackles, the panic and fury as hidden as glittering gemstones in shallow waters. It is as evident to him as Hariel's mounting fury, surging and frothing like the early warning signs of a tsunami.

"Where are you friends, deary? Are the dead? Did they leave you all alone? Maybe I killed them too, like I killed Sirius Black!" It's sung off key and clearly a taunt, but Hariel still falls for it. The very tip of her wand is pressing dangerously into Bellatrix's cheek, lifted by her mad grin.

"You don't have the guts. Lickle Potter couldn't use the Unforgivables when it counted, and now her precious Godfather's dead."

Hariel punches her.

It's a good punch, a solid right hook that indicates a fair amount of practice.

Bellatrix's nose pops, blood gushing down her face and Jasper stops breathing. He doesn't dare to look at it, but he can sense the liquid, hyperaware.

"We're not going to kill her," Hariel says, calm even as Bellatrix thrashes in the cage of his arms, clearly seeking retribution for her broken nose.

For a moment, Jasper believes this to be the end of it, and he mentally begins to prepare his argument as to why leaving an enemy, especially such a high ranking one, alive is a bad idea. His companion pulls the rug out from beneath his feet before he can speak though.

"As far as the goblins will know, she fell off the ledge."

Bellatrix goes still for a second, as if absorbing her words and their meaning, while Jasper himself checks to see if Hariel is serious.

But she is, she truly believes this woman deserves death.

So with no hesitation in his movements, Jasper throws the woman back and over the edge.

.

Hariel's human hearing does not register the sickening crunch, the queasy sounding splat that she makes against the very bottom of the chasm.

And for that, Jasper is thankful.

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20th November 1997

Stopping before a bench within the semi-magical village, Jasper seats himself upon the sturdy wood, only to find Hariel copying his movements, so close that their thighs brush against one another.

Not since they escaped undetected from the bank, golden trophy in hand, have they been this close. Jasper can recall scaling the cliff face, Hariel's legs wrapped tight around his waist and her arms clutching at his shoulders while she desperately attempted to keep the cloak around their forms.

Since then she has kept her distance, emotions a thrumming storm, a muddled mess that gives Jasper a monumental headache whenever he tries to decipher them. Were he to attempt describing what sensations he gets with that sixth sense, there would be only one coherent way to do so. It's like looking upon a Jackson Pollock painting, a mess of markings and colours with no feasible way of being truly translating into clarity.

The only option he has truly been capable of, is to wait.

So wait he has.

He has watched Hariel stalk about the tent, attempting to figure out where her enemy would hide a 'diadem', has walked silently alongside her as they make tracks through the secret magical sections of her country, always in disguise. Hariel's brown wig has been very entertaining, whereas Jasper has simply mixed soot into his hair and washed it out when their undercover work is done.

He's not quite sure what she has been thinking about; is it the casual murder of Bellatrix that upsets her? Surely not, Hariel has accepted this is war, and war leads to deaths. He can hardly see her bothered as to the fate of her godfather's killer.

That though, still leaves him stumped as to the cause of her quarrelling emotions.

Thin digits peeking out the thick wool of her fingerless gloves, clench into the fabric of her trousers, curling up into tight fists.

Jasper watches the action with curious eyes, painfully aware of how the shifting of fabric pulls ever so slightly against his own pants leg. His boots crunch against the gravel as he adjusts one leg, leaving his thigh pressing against Hariel's, unwilling to remove it now that she has decided that the close proximity between them is favourable.

"Whitlock?"

Tilting his head to the side, Jasper catches Hariel's eyes, watching as she worries her lip between her teeth, small puffs of hot wet air curling out from beneath her nostrils.

"Yes, Darlin'?"

"If, if I get hurt..." She trails off, as if struggling to find the right words, and Jasper cannot just sit here and allow her to suffer without even the slightest showing of support. He takes one hand with his own, slowly working her fingers free until he can intertwine them with his own.

The wool is rough against his palm, but so perfectly warm. He draws Hariel's captured hand onto his thigh, back of her palm resting against his jeans as his own hand covers hers.

"Take your time, Darlin'," he whispers, incredibly conscious of her eyes upon his face. How they trace down from soot stained hair, following the sharp line of his jaw, resting on his lips for a moment before her gaze flees to their surroundings.

"I need to win this war," she says with all the certainty of a man who knows the sky to be blue, the sun to be warm, "and I can't die before that. If becoming a vampire means I can keep up the fight, if I'm in danger of dying, will you turn me?"

Were he actually in need of oxygen, perhaps in that moment it would have caught in his throat.

She is so much closer, neck arching upwards and chin tilted in his direction. If he turns his head just a bit, presses ever so slightly forwards; Hariel's grip on his hand tightens, her throat works to swallow.

"If that's what you want, Ma'am."

"I think I prefer Darlin'."

Her breath is so hot against his lips, eyes so bright and daring as she stares.

"I won't let you get injured." It feels important that he clarify this, because while Hariel has asked for it, has requested he turn her when the only other option is death, he has no intention of allow another to harm her.

"I know," and it is said with such surety, such underlying happiness and admiration; nobody has ever looked at Jasper like this before.

He wonders what it would be like, to lean that little bit closer, to catch her lips with his, to have their noses brush ever so slightly against one another as they find the right angle. He silently encourages Hariel, hopes his eyes reflect the same desire and curiosity that hers do. He wants this, but he needs her to be sure, will not allow himself to push her, to pressure her.

Yet, she leans forwards, until there's barely an inch between them.

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"Harry!"

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21st November 1997

Jasper had formed his opinion of Hariel's 'friends' long before he met them.

It is not a favourable one.

After their sudden reintroduction to Hariel's life, that opinion has only fallen further.

So close, so close he had been able to experiencing the warmth radiating from Hariel's lips, the thrumming of the blood beneath. The baby fine hairs that cover all skin, invisible to the human eye but oh so clear to vampiric sight. The delicate mosaic of various greens within her eyes.

All ripped away from him when Hariel had jolted at the calling of her fiends.

Friends that are still adamantly suspicious of Jasper even now.

It is late into the night, the morning sun soon to dawn to the east. Jasper sits outside of the tent, because while Hariel may have become comfortable enough in his presence to forcibly pull him into the tent, there is another female now. Jasper knows his manners, unlike the bumbling redhead who is already snoring away. He shall not impose upon a lady's sleeping quarters, so instead he will once again remain on guard outside.

Hariel's 'friends', Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, are incredibly uneasy around him, and Jasper tries not to take too much satisfaction from that. Especially when Hariel so readily leaps to his defence.

The moon is bright, gleaming off the dulled surface of his silver flask, Hariel's blood sloshing about within it's cavity. The sound does not drown out the whispered words from the tent though.

"You almost kissed him," Miss Granger hisses, voice low enough that no human other Thant he intended recipient would hear her.

"Almost," Hariel whispers, and Jasper stills, the flask falling silent in his grip. Hariel, Hariel knows he can hear everything that goes on within the tent when it is not protected by an audio specific charm. Which can only mean that she wishes for him to hear this, to know this.

Jasper does not dare to move, irrationally terrified that the slightest noise will drown out Hariel's confession.

"Why? He's a vampire, Harry."

"He's also Major Whitlock of the Texan army from way back in the day, and he's a survivor of the Mexican vampire wars. He's saved my ass from snatchers and helped me retrieve a Horcrux. He's got these stupid manners that won't let him stay in the same space as a sleeping woman and he's always calling me Darlin' and he doesn't care that I'm the Girl-Who-Lived."

There's something to those last words, that last point, that indicates it should have a lot more weight that Jasper considers it to hold.

From the sigh that escapes Miss Granger's lips, she's aware of it too.

His stomach feels as if it is clenching, and he feels like a blind man in the perfume department, completely overwhelmed with sensation.

He flees, staying in the range to hear approaching enemies, but quite unable to remain so close.

.

When Hariel emerges from the tent, it is nearing midday. She seems well rested, as if she had not spent a good portion of the night bringing her friends up to speed and the holding a discussion upon feelings with Miss Granger.

"Hogwarts!" She cries, bouncing up to him with the same excitement that overtook her face upon escaping Gringotts.

"Well good morning to you too, Darlin'," Jasper chuckles, taking in the flustered blush that graces Hariel's cheeks for a moment. He does not pay any real attention to her friends, instead offering up the packet of blueberries he'd picked up from the shop on his way back.

They shuffle over one another in the plastic casing, jostling for position. Hariel's smile is an almost blinding thing, reverently accepting the blueberries with a wide smile. They are her favourite fruit after all.

"Thanks, Whitlock."

"My pleasure, Darlin'."

Her smile brightens, from something polite to an expression of complete sincerity. the choked gagging that the uncouth Ronald Weasley mockingly produces is ignored, Hariel peeling back the lid to pop a handful of the berries into her mouth.

For a moment, her eyes flick up to meet his, hand catching his own and dragging him towards the tent.

"Come on, we've got to discuss plans to get into Hogwarts."

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His hand will smell of blueberries, and while it is not a pleasant scent to him, putting up with it is reward enough to hold Hariel's hand.

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24th November 1997

They make their plans to sneak into Hogwarts, huddled up in the living room of the tent, the humans sheltered from bitterly cold winter winds.

He can see how Miss Granger's eyes follow their movements, how she takes careful note of their proximity.

When they seat themselves, Hariel places herself close enough to Jasper that their thighs brush against one another, how when Hariel passes him his flask or he offers her a cup of tea, their fingers linger far too long over one another's than is entirely necessary.

Jasper cannot quite tell if she approves or not, if she is just being cautious because Hariel is currently in a delicate position, or because he is a vampire and poses a high risk to her health. Hariel seemed rather certain that her parents would have liked him though, simply for the fact he has done his best to keep her safe.

Now, as they walk along through the forest leading to Hogsmeade, Jasper plucks at the wild flowers that stubbornly persist in the face of the winter chill.

Once he has a reasonable amount in his hand, he strides past Miss Granger and Weasley, falling into step beside Hariel and offering her the little bouquet. He has no idea what the flowers mean, having only the bare basics of the language down from his time as a human. Certainly it covers none of the tougher English flowers that, while not quite thriving in winter, seem capable of weathering out the harsh conditions.

Cheeks rosy from the biting cold, Hariel beams at him, accepting the flowers. Her hair is braided, the wild curls forcibly tamed, and she threads the wild flowers between the strands.

Something in Jasper warms to see her do something with them, even though he had gathered the little collect on nothing more than a whim.

"Thanks, Whitlock. Should I expect some more?" Hariel asks, drawing in all of his attention once again.

"Maybe in the future, Darlin'."

It is not like his entire world has changed in the face of her, she has not become the focal of his orbit. That still remains his life as a vampire, his struggle to find a better solution than killing people for their blood. Feeding from animals, the freely given blood Hariel offers, both have their problems.

His vampirism is still the sun to his earth.

Yet, Hariel has the potential, no, she is quickly becoming his moon.

A companion, one that orbits the sun but still circles him too, with enough strength to effect him, to change tides and illuminate parts of him the sun fails to reach. Her presence, it brings him closer to a state of completion, a chance to be at peace with who he is, someone to accept him.

He wonders if she has accepted that he stands as her moon at the moment, accompanying her as the gravitates towards her focus. To destroy this Dark Lord.

Maybe one day when Jasper settles into a way of dealing with his vampirism, and one day when Hariel is free from her appointed task as defeater of the Dark Lord; maybe one day when they have both conquered their suns, they could find a new one together.

"Come on, we're nearly there," Miss Granger proclaims, appearing at their side.

A hand finds Jasper's, Hariel's fingers holding tight.

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Hogwarts is a magnificent sight, even from the distance of the little village.

They are hastily shuffled into a nearby pub by a man Miss Granger identifies as a friend; Jasper still keeps himself between Hariel and these strangers. He listens to everything that is explained, listens as Hariel describes the diadem they are there to retrieve, as she tentatively voices her opinion that just maybe the snake Voldemort holds so close to his side is the final Horcrux, that the one time had possessed it, the sensation had been the very same to what she later discovered the Horcruxes gave off.

This whole thing makes Jasper uneasy, he has no idea what he is about to walk into, not really. All he can say for certain is that Hariel will march with or without him, the burden weighing heavily upon her shoulders.

He will not allow her to carry that alone.

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Walking through the halls as stealthily as possible, Jasper can secretly admit that he now understands Hariel's tales, her tone of voice whenever she spoke of this place. It is not just the building, though certainly the castle holds an ancient type of charm to its walls.

No, there is something else, something extra, that just pulls a person in with the promise of safety, warmth and home.

Something magical.

"Two approaching around the corner," Jasper whispers to Hariel, shifting until he stands by her side.

Miss Granger comes forwards, her own wand in hand, and the second they round the corner, both fire off jets of red. The two males crumple to the floor, sprawled awkwardly in a manner that Jasper learns to indicate they are 'stunned'.

"Malfoy," Hariel hisses, staring down at the blond male in disgust.

Without hesitation she snatches up his wand, throwing it towards him and Jasper catches the delicate piece of wood between his pale fingers.

They stuff the stunned duo into a closet, Miss Granger spelling it with a locking charm to ensure they would not be escaping before their self appointed task is complete.

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As the mangled diadem drops to the stone floor, Jasper steps back and grimaces at the taste in his mouth.

Human food is disgusting, but that does not mean he has suddenly developed a taste for metal either.

Hariel stares down at the former Horcrux and there are shadows around her eyes. She is so close to completing her task, just one more of these Horcrux things to go and then she will be finished.

"How do we get the snake? That is, if it is even a Horcrux?"

"It never leaves his side," Hariel murmurs, eyes narrowed and a scowl upon her face. It is not an expression Jasper sees upon her features often, not since he destroyed the necklace that had been influencing her emotions upon their first meeting.

"We have to get him here then," Weasley concludes, and though it irritates Jasper, he has to agree with the boy.

It galls him, the idea of putting children in danger, but from a strategic point of view, this is the best place that they can make a stand.

A castle, after all, is made to withhold against invading forces. Surely it's creators would not have left it magically undefended either, though Jasper's knowledge upon that is woefully lacking.

"Okay then," Hariel murmurs, her hand finding Jasper's and giving a delicate squeeze, as if trying to ground herself, "let's go take over a castle."

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25th November 1997

Hariel stops outside of a grand set of doors, the hushed whispers of subdued children wafting out from the minute space between floor and threshold.

Both Miss Granger and Weasley look nervous, but Jasper has eyes only for Hariel.

Her small hands are clenched tight, thin fingers curling in protectively towards the centre of her palms. Momentarily, her limbs shake, if only for a second until she steadies herself.

A solider about to go into battle; Jasper recognises her look well, has worn it more times than he cares to count. Perhaps to the point that the expression now wears him instead.

"Snape's headmaster," Hariel breathes, and there's an acid in her tone as she speaks that name, the name of an enemy for sure. Greasy hair, beaked nose, look of constant disdain, these are the three key features he recalls of Snape. The other little details -potion-stained fingers, dark eyes, swallow skin- swirl about in his mind. Indentifying and disabling 'Snape' will take him a fraction of the time it will take Hariel to even react to his presence.

This is his assigned task, and Jasper shall not fail.

That does not mean he is pleased to be allowing Hariel to walk straight into what is currently enemy territory with only turncoats to watch her back.

Subduing Snape is his priority, but Jasper does not lie to himself, he will attempt to be everywhere at once in order to ensure Hariel is safe. For his friends number a precious few, capable of being counted upon one hand with fingers left to spare.

He will do all that he can to ensure their safety, and if that means going to war once more, then march Jasper shall.

Hariel inhales, the shifting of her bones against muscle ever so audible to his ears, and she throws open the doors.

Jasper is through the moment the gap is large enough to permit him, shooting up the isle between tables before the humans within can even begin to react.

There is a jolt of shock within his target, the ever so slight rounding of his eyes as his body jolts in surprise, but there is not enough time to register, to consciously react before Jasper is ploughing into him.

The wizard goes down hard, Jasper rolling the two of them until he has the column of a neck within his hand, fingers curled around tender and fragile flesh, holding the struggling body high before him.

The man who has made himself Hariel's enemy may be tall, but Jasper is taller still, stronger by far and it takes him little effort to hold this man out before him like a sacrificial lamb.

There's screams in the room, wands are drawn and pointed not just at Jasper but at a variety of people.

And within this hurricane of panic, Hariel stands with her mane of red hair, green eyes reflecting the lioness she only just manages to keep caged.

Jasper has only ever hunted one mountain lion before, just before he left for England. A female, she'd been ferocious when he first found her, tearing into her prey and yet completely unaware that there was an even greater predator stalking her.

He tries not to reflect too much upon that, to ignore that he watches constantly to catch a threat Hariel doesn't see. It is the soldier in him, not paranoia.

Perhaps if he repeats that enough, he will begin to believe it at some point; he's hopeful.

"I'm going to kill Voldemort," Hariel says, and even as people shriek at the name, even as the turncoats flinch at the address, she continues on without any indication she has noticed, "I'm going to kill him."

And that's it.

She doesn't expand on her plans, but really she doesn't have to. Not to Jasper, who knows exactly what Hariel wants from life now, what she wants to make of her life.

Hariel wishes to not be famous, to not be the 'go-to hero' whenever there is a problem. She wants a normal life, and Jasper cannot fault her for that, will help fight for that.

If part of his wishes that she will allow him to be part of that life, for however long or short it may be, a part in whatever way they can work out; well, Jasper will discuss it with her when there is no longer a war on.

The man in his grip struggles once more, stripped of the wand he once held; that'd been the first thing Jasper had removed from his person. Perhaps some limbs will follow.

This Snape does not dare to meet his eyes and for once that is perhaps not because of their colour.

Because Jasper's perception of this greasy human has been tarred with a brush Hariel wields; no doubt that glistens in his gaze.

.

They retreat to an office, Hariel and he, his captured prisoner and the Deputy Headmistress. Or should that be the acting Headmistress now?

Jasper's not particularly bothered over the technicalities; he has a battle to plan, more information to learn and in all honesty, the title of one woman doesn't worry him too much right now.

More importantly, the potential Headmistress has stunned Snape, allowing for Jasper to calmly drag him behind them as they walk, not that the vampire would have been hindered in any way were he not stunned.

There would just have been more chance of Snape being able to harm Hariel if that were the case, not that the man would have been strong enough to escape Jasper's vampiric strength regardless of his state.

He stalks after the two women, Hariel speaking in hushed undertones as she catches McGonagall up to speed with all that is happening at this moment in time.

He can see she is as twitchy as the turncoats when it comes to him; the fact she has even managed to turn her back upon him is impressive indeed. The quick glances she keeps shooting at his form, using the reflexive surfaces of the hallways -shining armour, great glass windows, brass candlesticks- to her advantage shows she's certainly not comfortable with him, for all that Hariel proves to be completely at ease with his presence.

Good senses.

Not that he would harm a woman who holds Hariel's respect like this.

The members of the resistance group, the Order of the Phoenix, are rounded up the enemies that preside in the castle.

Once that is complete, they will begin on building the wards, McGonagall explains as the stalk through the corridors.

Jasper watches the paintings that move upon the wall, noting how each and every one of them sneer down at his prisoner, a look of vindictive justice housed in their gaze.

It would seem Snape has not in any way, shape or form, made friends or allies.

Regimes fall everyday, and only the smart ones are granted survivors. These Death Eaters; well should -when- Hariel's side wins the war, there will not be shown any kindness. Not in the face of how they have acted; they do not deserve it.

The headmistress' office is a startling thing, with oh so many portraits that don't even put up the pretends of being asleep.

Dumping his captive in one of the sturdy chairs, Jasper releases him as soon as McGonagall proves to have him secured, prowling over to the window. He will not be much good for the interrogation, it is best to leave the questions to those that know what to ask.

Instead, he lets his eyes sweep out of the windows, cataloguing every last inch of the grounds that stretch across the immediate surroundings, breaking down the features in order to collect all of the relevant information.

Strategic weak points they need to defend, stronghold they need to exploit to their maximum potential, a bridge that needs destroying if they wish to remain defensible.

There's a fair amount of work that needs to be done.

.

"Don't give them even a second of breathing room."

The interrogation is over, the enemy masses have gathered on the distant edges of Hogwarts grounds, and Jasper stands besides Hariel as they stare out of the great oak doors of school's main entrance.

Everyone else within is rallying, following whatever plans they have set for when under attack. Only with Jasper's additional suggestions; Hariel had made sure they took his comments and added them to the plans, explaining Jasper has fought in a war of his own once before, so he damn well knew what he was doing.

Several of the witches and wizards had looked disgruntled to be following his recommendations, but whatever legend Hariel commands among these people is taken seriously.

When she stated they should follow his instructions, they snapped to attention with only minor complaints expressed in low tones and grumbles. Not loud enough for Hariel to hear, but certainly not quiet enough to escape his notice.

Not that they seemed to remember the advantage of vampiric hearing that is.

"If that's what you feels for the best, Darlin'."

He doesn't remind her of just how many she is sentencing to death by including him in this battle. Not that he would ever leave her alone to fight such a war.

Even if she told him to leave, Jasper would be unable to. Not when she is so fragile, so painfully mortal in her every breath and every gesture.

She knows exactly how many people he could tear apart here, has seen it when the snatchers descended upon them all those weeks back.

Rotating his wrist about, Jasper keeps his eyes on the shallow leftovers with his flask, the scent of Hariel's blood cooling through the air at the motion.

It's for the best he feeds right now, even though it's only been a day since he last indulged. That way there's only a minuscule chance he'll get distracted by the blood during this fight. It will put all of his control to the test though, every last scrap he's managed to gather during his scant few years living as a 'vegetarian vampire'.

Around them, the magical wards of the castle give an wailing melody of shuddering complaints, battered by the enemy upon their doorstep.

Though Hariel is quite unable to see them, the masses are as clear as day to Jasper.

Far more than the groups of Newborns he's fought before, but certainly not as dangerous. For them to be dangerous, they would have to capture him.

None of the enemy knows that Hariel has a vampire on her side, and if there's one thing from Maria's memories that has proven true, it is that the magical folk need an advanced warning, they need time if they want to have a chance at stopping a vampire.

They're just not quick enough to do so.

All he has to watch out for is the literal fire the Wizards can conjure.

That and the spell of instant death.

Hariel has already informed him of the incantation so he knows what to listen out for, but it behaves in the same way as all other flashing spells; brightly coloured and moves in a direct line. He'll be able to dodge it easily.

Now he just needs to ensure Hariel does not get hit by the curse.

"Kill the snake as well, if you can please."

"Of course, Darlin'."

And as the wards give another stuttering quiver, Jasper takes hold of Hariel's hand, pressing a light kiss to the tops of her knuckles.

And then it begins.

.

The battle passes quickly for Jasper, a return to the environment he knows oh so well. For he has lived and breathed battles, it has his body singing an old belting soprano of a song, the lyrics of the tune never quite forgotten in earnest.

He tears through the first batch before they have even managed to organise themselves, but that is why the canon-fodder goes for the first charge. They are expendable.

After a minute or two, the enemy come to understand just what is moving in a blur, what is snapping the necks of their fellows and leaving them in crumpled heaps.

They begin by summoning up fire, surrounding themselves in the blazes too sweat pours down their brows.

It's irritating, and Jasper has to get clever over how he takes them down; it slows his kill rate, but doesn't stop him.

It's easy to tell the more dangerous ones from the ones of relatively little significance. They're further back, and far more dedicated to the cause than those just looking for the violence or to get a high off the power of winning a fight. They stand apart, taller and prouder, more focused than the others.

Not to say that they are stable examples of sanity though.

There's a moment where a smell so foul catches his attention, and at the same time Jasper finds himself doing battle with a true Child of the Moon. Not hunted to extinction as Caius of the Volturi triumphantly believes. Just hidden from his reach.

If they are all like the one before him, than perhaps one of the Volturi lords has the right idea.

It is perhaps the most difficult fight that he's had in decades, but while this man has gotten high off his senses that put him superior to a human, Jasper stands above even him.

Outside of his werewolf form, he's not capable of besting Jasper, Jasper who has torn through Newborns like a child through wrapping paper, Jasper who has seen more battle than perhaps any other that stands upon these lands.

The Child of the Moon falls at his hands and Jasper moves onto the next.

There's so many bodies occupying this field, both living and dead; thankfully the enemy has been considerate enough to wear something resembling a dark uniform, so Jasper knows just who to target.

The whole battle comes grinding to a halt when a giant of a man troops up, steps heavy and carrying a limp figure in his arms.

For a moment, Jasper's whole world stops, because he can feel the despair curling off of that man and he can see familiar red curls spilling from the still body he holds.

The earth shattering anguish nearly cuts Jasper's knees out from under him and he takes a whip of fire to the shoulder as a result of his sudden stillness.

He cannot even remember throwing his flask, forever housed in the Hariel-expanded pocket of his jeans, with enough force to send it right through the man's chest.

His eyes are only centred upon Hariel's motionless form.

Senses stretching, sheer relief rushes through him because even through the thunderous applause of so many heartbeats, he can hear Hariel's nervously beating away.

From the smugness of her most hated enemy, he seems sure that the redhead is no longer among the living. Leaving Hariel the perfect opportunity to strike.

Jasper has no intention of giving her play away, nor those he have any desire to really look upon the state of absolute desolation that occurred in his chest for the sole moment he believed her dead.

He'll address that later.

There's a moment of gloating as everyone stops, until one of the other students makes a passionate speech, snatches a sword from a hat and beheads a snake.

Hariel flashes into action and the battle begins anew.

.

.

26th November 1997

The early morning after the battle finds Jasper sitting within the most magical room he has been exposed to as of yet.

The Room of Requirement is an exceptional thing, allowing him to create a place where he feels completely comfortable.

A reflection of the tent he has spent several weeks in, back before Hariel's turncoats made their way back to her.

There's a few differences, noticeably the absent odour of cats, but it's clear exactly what this room is suppose to be. Strange how no matter the long stretch of life he has 'lived' so far, it is a place he has spent so little time in that he feels safest.

Already Jasper has stripped and showered, the blood of his fallen enemies swirling down the drain, disappearing to who knows where. His jumper and jeans were exchanged for a tee-shirt and loungewear jogger bottoms, in white and grey respectively.

Right now, he's sitting on the sofa in his usual position, waiting for Hariel to emerge from the bathroom.

She'd been so busy helping the survivors, organising things, staring at a small cracked stone on a ring -Jasper has no idea at what point she'd acquired it, certainly not before the battle- that he'd eventually had to physically pull her aware to get some down time.

The Room of Requirement is perfect for that, hidden from everyone who could disturb Hariel for something other than a threat to her safety, while also having the additional benefit of being an environment Jasper knew Hariel to be comfortable in.

Because there is something wrong.

He can feel it in the turbulent emotions that war within her, the way she sometimes stares out into the distance, witnessing something that even Jasper's superior sight cannot pick out. He's not sure what has changed in the past twenty four hours, but he knows that it was something important.

Just like what has occurred in his own chest, what carved out a hallow place within his ribcage, a hole that was only momentarily filled with a flood of relief when he registered Hariel's continued heartbeat. It has all drained out now, leaving a dry cavity that longs for the drought to end.

Jasper's just not sure how to go about that.

All he has been able to conclude is that Hariel's importance to him weighs far heavier than he first believed.

His hearing picks up on the shower turning off, and it's only a few moments later that Hariel sluggishly makes her way into the room.

The mane of hair that usually frames her face has drooped with the water it houses, now spiralling down over one shoulder in thick limp tangles. She's wearing a simple pair of pyjamas, the same pair he's seen her wear throughout their stay within the actual tent.

It only painstakingly showcases just how pale her skin has become, how dark a contrast the smudges beneath her vibrant eyes creates. Without doubt Hariel does not look her best, perhaps the worst he's seen her since the moments before he realises just what the locket has been doing to her emotions and mind.

The smile she gives him is not the warmest, nor does it light up the room. It looks pained, as if she's dragged the expression out of some pit just to prove a point.

He thinks she's beautiful for it.

"Darlin'," Jasper greets, watching cautiously as she doesn't stop at the space beside him, instead taking a hold of his arm and peeling it back from where it'd been resting in her lap.

Quickly, a skinny warm body replaces it, legs curled up and wet head resting on the broad expanse of his shoulder. She's physically exhausted, emotionally drained.

But instead of leaving to seek comfort in solitude or with her friends, the brilliant little witch has come to him instead, creating herself a little cocoon of warmth with just Jasper to protect her from the outside world.

He wraps his arms right around her waist, pressing his cheek against the scorching warmth of her forehead, eyes fluttering shut. He's a vampire, and vampires cannot dream.

But he doesn't need to, this is as comforting and wistful as he imagines a good dream would have been.

At some point, Hariel slips into a deep slumber, the room providing a crackling fireplace nearby in order to keep Hariel from getting too cold. Body heat is not exactly something he is fantastic at providing.

Lying down with Hariel on the large sofa though, running his fingers across her scalp and smoothing out her hair, holding her in her sleep as she starts to shake, that is something he can manage.

It's completely innocent, just lying there with this girl in his arms, and Jasper realises he could do this every day for the rest of eternity, for the remainder of his existence and be utterly content.

When Hariel wakes, there's no surprise, no panic. It's as if waking in his arms is completely natural.

Dark lashes dust against pale cheeks, green cresting beneath the shifting eyelids. She's radiating heat, painfully human body shuffling about within the protective cage of his arms. The back of his forearms brush against the bare skin of her back, exposed by the worn shirt that sits around her waist instead of the hips it should reside at.

Jasper's not complaining.

One of his fingers strokes at her side, the dip that comes between the end of her ribs before the rising swell of her hips. The room's quiet, only crackling of the fire mingling with the light little putters of Hariel's breathing.

Jasper doesn't dare to, the proximity will probably be the end of him. Hariel looks so blatantly tired; that she lets down her walls enough for him to see this…

Their noses bump against one another, the tips pecking against one another as the human in his embrace stretches her neck.

Then lips meet his, and it's the start of something new, something he is not used to.

A fragile trust, a clumsily built bridge, the foundations shaky and unsure. It might stand, it might crumble. It might last as an ice-cream in beneath the sun, or it might weather the test of time as a grand castle built a thousand years ago stands upon a hill.

It's new, but for Jasper who has lived more than a century and seen a vast amount, it is a good kind of new.

.

.

24th May 1998

It is startling, just how quickly six months can pass by, startling just how much and yet, how little can change during that period of time.

The first, most noticeable thing, is that they no longer live in a tent. They no longer live in fear of a man that has haunted Harry's every step since childhood. For he is dead now and finally, at long last, the redhead can step forwards knowing that he will not be lingering down the next dark corner.

Instead, they both now reside in Grimmauld Place.

It has been years, an incredible amount since Jasper has been able to call a place home.

But that is what Grimmauld is quickly becoming, even with the snark of Kreacher the house-elf acting as the official 'help' of the ancient household. The little being seems quite torn on what to think of Jasper, because while he may have once been a muggle, the house elf clearly approves of his being as a 'dark creature'.

Jasper isn't too sure of the whole thing, but Kreacher dislikes both Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and on that the American amusedly agrees. They are Harry's closest friends, and some might think it is petty of him, but he will never forget that they left Harry on her own.

A part of him is thankful though; otherwise the pretty redhead may have never given him the time of day otherwise. Then he wouldn't have this.

.

Sat up to the kitchen table, Jasper wraps his lips around the blood-pop, watching Harry dance about in front of the stove.

Kreacher is off doing some form of shopping, and task Harry thrust upon him so that she could have a go at cooking for a change. The same thing happens every Sunday.

She's wearing a pair of denim shorts, a burst of early English sunshine allowing for such appeal. Most importantly though, she's paired it off with one of his button up shirts, the one he'd gotten fro it was the same green as her eyes, worn unfastened with a simple white camisole beneath.

The sleeves, too long for her slender arms, are rolled up, coming to a stop just short of exposing her elbows. She looks wonderful.

As if sensing where his thoughts are, Harry cocks her head back over her shoulder, eyebrow rising in lieu of a question.

"It's a good song, Darlin'." And it is.

Jasper will never get the chance to meet Sirius Black, but the man had good taste in music. The crooning voice of some sixties songstress glides through the air, the tune coaxing a cheerful swaying from Harry's hips.

There's smears of cookie batter up the tanned skin of her arms, a splash on her cheek.

Jasper hides his grin behind the blood-pop; she looks damn adorable.

Near six months, just a few days short before they can celebrate a half year of an official relationship, and she only grows on him more every day.

Going out on their weekly dates, surprising each other with gifts or gestures or even just displays of such obvious trust…

This must be what having a mate is like.

Jasper's already well aware he's in deep, probably far too deep. But he wouldn't have it any other way, because this is Harry.

If he's lucky, then she'll fall just as deeply for him, will sink into this state of permanent bliss such as what currently surrounds him.

If he's not that lucky, then at least he got this time with her.

There's a flickering thought for her morality, but Jasper is quick to banish it. It's not a topic he wishes to approach right now.

"Still up for going to Diagon today, Whitlock?" Harry asks, grin wide and bright.

"I wouldn't leave you unaccompanied, Darlin'."

.

Diagon Alley is so very different than when Jasper was first here.

Sitting upon his favourite haunt, the very same rooftop he and Harry used as a stakeout, Jasper waves to the little group of children that spot him. Perhaps more people would have noticed him were it sunny.

But for all that the air is warm as summer approaches, there is a fine layer of clouds blocking the actual sun from shining, shielding Jasper from its revealing light.

With his legs thrown across the edging of the roof, feet dangling above the street, Jasper can hear how the children whisper to one another, excitement bubbling. How the man on the roof is a vampire, and not just any vampire but he's Hariel Potter's vampire and that they're gonna get married, the newspapers say so.

And there's one child that proclaims such a thing can never happen, because Hariel's a witch and Jasper's a vampire and witches don't marry vampires, her daddy said so.

And there's another child that says if Hariel doesn't want him, then he only has to wait around for a bit and she'll be willing to marry him instead.

Jasper chuckles at that last bit, cradling his head in one hand, elbow resting on his knee.

He wonders if this is what he pictured as a human, joining the army and becoming a famous hero, have the crowds flocking and the ladies swooning. He can't picture his younger human self imagining such a thing, but it has been so long since he daydreamed of anything that Jasper isn't too surprised that the memory remains stubbornly out of reach. He doesn't care too much; the memories he's making now are far more enjoyable.

He's flicking through a book on wizarding history, only stuff from back before Hogwarts was even built.

Part of Jasper wishes to see what kind of magical history America houses, what things were like during the era he was once human in.

How much of the world he has yet to learn about, events long since past that he thought he knew as much as one possibly could do, and yet now he learns there has always been a secondary tale to any event. A reflection in another world so like his own, but so incredibly different too. Jasper's so involved in his book that he almost misses it.

A flare of emotions -emotions previously hidden and suppressed so very very well and he hadn't been paying attention he should have been paying attention- and then one of the shop explodes.

The shop Harry is in.

.

He shifts through the wreckage, tearing at wooden beams and uncaring of where they land.

The culprit died far too quick, Jasper having tore his jugular from his throat, barely thinking of anything other than that this cretin has attempted to kill Harry.

He wishes he'd drawn it out.

Harry's curled in on herself, heavily injured, lifeblood leaking out and staining the rubble. Her heartbeat's weak, a tiny fluttering, a dying hummingbird.

She's a witch, her body tougher and more resilient than that of a regular human's; it's probably the only reason she hasn't died instantly in that attack.

Jasper snatches her up and flees, mind whirling and the only thing he can think of is safety.

A safe place for Harry and he.

Grimmauld.

.

As he lays Harry down upon her bed not a minute later, mad dash over and already leaving his mind, it becomes evident she is dying.

Jasper is not perfect, he is not a good man, though he strives to be.

Selflessness is not a trait he can ever claim to have.

.

His fangs break skin.

.

.

27th May 1998

Harry does not wither in pain. She does not flinch, she does not cry, she does not appear to be effected in any way if one were to look only at her gestures.

But Jasper can taste the thick scent of sweat as it beads across her skin, he can feel the desperation, the plea to just die and let it all be over with, to finally escape the pain that burns through her veins with the burning force of a thousand suns.

She asked him, should she ever fall graciously injured with such a high chance of death, she asked if he would turn her.

Even after the war was finished, the one time he had brought it up, Harry had sat quietly for a few minutes. And then in a breath so low, she had proclaimed if she were ever to be in danger of dying, she would still like him to 'save' her.

With his hand in hers, thumb stroking across the back of her knuckles, Jasper wonders how anyone could bare to turn those they loved when not faced with death as the only other option.

Harry is suffering before him, because of him, and he cannot do anything to help.

Perhaps it is worse for him than any other; he can feel everything, every stabbing and burning sensation that scorches through Harry. It magnifies his guilt exceptionally well, leaves him whispering apologies, admitting truths that she'll never remember when this moment is over.

He speaks of Peter and Charlotte, how they are the corpse thing he has to family. How he wishes for something like they have, and how he feels he might have found that on Harry.

How he's fallen perhaps far too fast, and that he is far too selfish to allow death to take her. Not when he could do something about it.

Truths fall from his lips, fall heavy and strong as he admits that if he were to spend the rest of his eternal life with anyone, he'd quite like to share it with Harry.

Vampires fall hard and they fall fast, and he would honestly never wish to emotionally trap her into anything.

It is why he speaks of this now, when she will not remember just how much he has come to rely upon her, because he will not see her pressured. He will not push to have her remain with him.

Because he values her far too much to ever limit her freedom.

.

Her heartbeat finally stops, and Jasper waits with baited breath her eyes to snap open.

.

Only, they do not.

.

Instead, impossibly so, her there's a single beginning thump.

.

And her heart starts beating again.

.

.

.

.

.

20th March 2006

"I met another young couple some years ago."

The leader of the Volturi, Aro, begins. His pale hands, the skin disturbingly wrinkled, fold over one another as his eyes begin following a tale Bella cannot quite see.

"They were rather like you, a vampire that fell in love with a human. A very romantic notion, even more so when you consider that the human was more than willing to leave her whole world to remain with the one she loved."

There is a silent dilemma somewhere, she just cannot see it.

Bella tries not to shiver as the ancient vampire's eyes lock upon Edward's form, the weighty gaze of god judging a sinner.

"One little bite, and the venom races through her body. Three days of never ending, unthinkable pain. Her heart stops. And then, impossibly, horrifyingly, it starts beating again. We are unsure why, but the woman's body not only rejected the venom, it refused to change her. Even when they approached us, hoping for answers, even when I personally attempted to change this girl, she remains stubbornly human. A great loss, for she would have made an exceptional vampire."

"You should consider yourself lucky, Edward Cullen, that eternity with your love is an option open to you."

.

.

.

You can all thank 'Lucinda Silver' specifically, because that review was lovely to read and inspired me. So here we are.

Well, here's the second and final part. I have plans for a sequel, but when I have the time to write it, I'm not sure. After all, all of this story was wrote on lunch breaks at work, and while travelling and such. (Speaking of which, I'll probably have to go back and edit a lot, fix the mistakes at some point.)

So, when I get 'round to writing it, the sequel will be called 'you with the lion's roar'.

EDIT; the sequel is up if you'd like to read it. Also, the lovely VelvetKissAtMidnight has made me a gorgeous cover for this here story, so a very lovely thank you to her.

Tsume

xxx