Chapter 10

Hale thought his heart was going to explode.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, his hands shook, and sweat dripped down the sides of his face to drip from his ear lobes and land on his white t-shirt, where he felt the dampness seep into his already cold body. Quietly, breathe freezing in his lungs, he wedged open the door to peak at Deric's silent form. Through the slivers of pale moonlight grasping through the broken blinds on their cracked and lopsided window, Hale observed Deric sleeping, hands still raised about his face as though warding himself against invisible demons that would crush him and devour him if given the chance.

Hale felt wariness seep into his muscles as he slowly edged himself into the room. He needed money, and clothes. And his old cell phone, which had since been turned off, but still held some symbolic reference that he didn't dare think too long about. In the gray of the room, and with the shadows pressing and wavering in every corner, Hale managed to make his way silently over to the lopsided dresser, which its drawers cracked and splintered, to round up some clothes and his hidden stash of money, which he stuffed, as rolls, into his yellowed socks barely held in his worn and stretched shoes.

He frantically, but slowly, and with twitching limbs, pulled jeans, shirts, and sweatshirts out from the cracked drawers, praying to whatever deity listening that Deric would not wake. Hale had no way of knowing how he would react. Would Deric see him as a monster, like last time? Or a thief come to steal his valuable dust? Or would Deric take him by the hair, screaming in his face, saliva flying from a gaping hole, before throwing out fists and vitriol, and – Hale abruptly stopped, shaking, tears dripping down his face and mixing with his sweat, before hurriedly continuing his mission to gather as many of his belongings as possible. He did not belong here.

The sounds outside hid his stuttering whimpers as he quickly gathered his clothes close to his chest, before moving, even more slowly and silently, to the bedside table for his old cell phone. His legs felt boneless, and shook. As he attempted to pull out the stuck drawer, he watched Deric's face for signs of his awakening, holding his breath, eyes wide in the gloom for any sign that his nightmare was about to begin.

The drawer slowly, and with great resistance, managed to move until it was open a crack, barely enough for his hand to fit through, but sufficient. He wedged his fingers in, moving over the twisted wood; searching for the object he needed before the tip of his pinky finger hit the side. All at once Deric snorted loudly and moved, arms flinging about as though fighting an invisible foe and nausea threatened at the back of Hale's throat.

Fear struck immediately after, and Hale dropped to the ground, hand still stuck in the drawer. His breath died in his chest as he waited for Deric to settle. Hale bit his lip against the moisture clouding his eyes in the already gloomy room, as he counted stains on the bedspread, listening to Deric's horror. However, Deric only continued to scream, before he began to scratch at the air, words of anger and despair ricocheting off the walls of what was their tiny bedroom. Hale held back his sobs, hurting with him but hating him just the same. Just as suddenly as the episode started, his words turned into tiny gasps filled with tears and anguish, blubbering and drowning on tears. Hale closed his eyes and felt liquid again seep between his eyelids. In the past he had been there, with a Kleenex and his love, to help him, to hold him, to talk him down from the high, back to the disappointment, back to his body.

That was always when it was the worst. When Deric would lash out in anger, displaying his disappointment that he was now in the real world, instead of the world he preferred, a world that didn't contain Hale. That was always when it was the worst for Hale, too. When he realized that if Deric could choose, he would pick the white dust over him always and forever.

Hale need only wait before the cycle repeated, and Deric dozed back off to sleep, mumbling and humming, rocking back and forth, lost to his misery and the downward spiral. He never believed anything was real at this point. Hale grabbed the phone, and then proceeded to crawl, on his belly, to the door before slinking through the crack.

Once over the threshold he stopped, and rested against the floor, chest heaving and breath catching on his sobs, before he slowly stumbled back to his feet, body shaking. He deserved better than this. He deserved better, so much better. He quickly lurched to the kitchen, reaching underneath the sink for grocery bags from days long past, when they used to cook together and laugh together, and days were bright and full. He snuffed out the memories and stuffed his clothes and cell phone in two bags, before pulling on a sweatshirt and turning around to look over what had once been his home.

He didn't belong here anymore.

He left the key on the counter for Deric to find later, and couldn't even imagine his reaction. Hale didn't want to think about it anymore anyways. Instead, he grabbed the bags, checked that the money was still in his sock, and slunk out of his old life into a hallway filled with doors, before creeping through the shadows of the apartment hallway. His nose twitched in a grimace etched face at the stench of the hallways, and the sounds of yelling and crying behind the doors.

He wrapped his arms around himself before hurrying past a hunched figure, rocking back and forth, a band wrapped around their upper arm, until he got to the stairwell, where he leaped down steps in his rush to get outside, to just get out in the air, to a world that didn't seem to exist here in this hell.

The large doors creaked as he pushed them open into the florescent street lights illuminating the shiny and darkened streets hiding debris and old needles, before he walked over to the bench facing the street, ignoring calls for his attention from women without enough clothes to keep them warm, and turning away from cars that stopped to roll down their windows, hiding darkened and disembodied voices that asked him how much, before offering him fifty dollars and cursing him when he did not answer.

He perched himself on a lone bench, away from the alley he had just exited, right under a flickering street lamp, watching the hookers and waiting for Hermione. Soon, soon this would all be his past. He wrapped his arms tighter and hunched in on himself.

And then he waited.

Hale wasn't sure when it began, but he was aware of the goosebumps first, scattered about his arms and the back of his neck, where he felt the hair standing on end, traveling down his stomach and legs, almost as if he had been electrified. He had been drifting, not sleeping exactly, but exhausted and cold, stuck hovering. He rubbed his arms, becoming more fully aware of the quiet of the night, which appeared sudden and strange after the commotion of before. He looked up from examining his shoes to observe the deserted street, the darkened alleyways, empty and desolate. Even the junkie who had been hunched over and talking to himself, shouting at invisible ghosts was gone, his cart full of putrid garbage haphazardly swaying in the wind, wheels squeaking.

From an indefinite distance away, Hale heard a scream, a scream so horrific, so full of terror, so anguished that tears of dread gathered in his eyes and his body immediately shook, and he sat up straight, eyes frantically searching the street for any movement. From across the street, he watched the old arcade building, the lights of the building long dead, parts of the letters missing and hanging from wires. His eyes frantically searched the streets, realizing for the first time that he was very much alone. The only sounds were the pieces of debris and cans scattering, buffeted by the wind, across the pavement and the junkie's cart of bags and blankets thundering and snapping in the cool breeze.

That's when he heard the footsteps.

Something zapped through his body, a long dead instinct that ordered him to run, to flee, from back when man first relied on such instincts to keep him alive. Hale did not heed it. Instead, he turned toward the steps, unable to stop himself, eyes alighting on a lone figure walking steadily down the deserted street. Illuminated by the flickering bulbs of the street lights, Hale observed the long, red hair, which was shocking in the gloom of the dark streets, and he distinguished the long cloak, hiding any body distinction. Despite this somewhat innocent figure, Hale began to shake. His eyes traveled the cloak, noting that it appeared black in the dark of the night, although it appeared even darker in the middle of the cloak, right below the chin area. It almost appeared… wet.

The figure passed the first streetlight on Anderson Street, and that's when the nightmare began.

The first lightbulb burst, scattering glass and snuffing the light like sudden death, the wind rose and howled like hell's beasts. The figure passed the second streetlight, and that burst too, shaking in the wind. Hale's heart thudded in his chest, his breaths came in gasps, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. The figure moved faster, seemed to glide, hair like hellish fire in the darkening street. Hale's mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to move, unable to think.

Vampire. Hale knew. It's a vampire.

"Hello, Hale." the voice echoed, high pitched and hungry. "I've been waiting a long time for this. It's going to be so nice," the voice breathed across the stretch of distance between them, "to hear your last breaths, and drink your blood."

Hale fled, running in the opposite direction, aware he was going to die. From behind him, he heard lightbulbs break, the wind whipped against his face, so cold it felt like fire, and suddenly, he was flying through the air, before hitting a wall and crumbling against the bricks to the dirty ground below. Before he could regain his breath, a hand clamped around his throat, lifting him, chocking, against the brick wall. His legs flailed before he was back handed again, and he went stumbling backwards into the puddles left behind by the rain. He sputtered, trying to breathe, before he was again grabbed by the throat. He opened weary, watery eyes, clouded by terror and exhaustion, to observe the vampire, eye's red as blood, hair orange like hellish fire, the face of death itself.

A smile, more grotesque than any image, stretched across the face, which was stained red. "Hello, Hale. Did you think you could run from me? How silly. I forget how idiotic humans are, though. How you continue to try and survive when you are the scum of the earth. How fragile. How weak. I was going to make this quick, but now I think I shall have my fun."

Hale gasped back tears, and tried to breathe, hands shakily trying to remove her hand from around his throat. He was suddenly, and again, flying through the hair, before coughing and spluttering, body hurting, on the ground. He looked up to see the vampire, watched her hands curl into claws, and screamed as she moved at him.

He turned away to hide himself from the horror, before another burst of wind buffeted his body, and a figure leaped passed him and the two objects hit, the sound like thunder in the dark of the night. Hale didn't think. He just ran. Through the darkened alleys, stumbling, cutting his hands against rough brick and glass, shakily crying and gasping for breath, for a god, for help, until his legs couldn't carry him anymore. He stumbled against a brick wall, lost, afraid, and alone, before he slid to his butt, shaking and crying.

And that's when he heard the footsteps again. A wail rose in his throat before he clamped his hands over his mouth, body shaking from fear and cold. From the gloom, illuminated by the moon, came the figure of a man. Tall, and impossibly large, his face hidden in shadow.

"Please," Hale gasped. "Please, leave me. I didn't do anything. I didn't. I'm finally going to live. Please."

The figure moved forward, and suddenly, there was a spark; recognition.

"Felix?" Hale whispered into the silence, shaking, hoping.

"Oh, mon amour." The figure whispered back, before he hurriedly moved forward, grasping Hale by his arms and dragging him to his body. "Mon amour."

"Oh, gosh. Felix. Felix, what's happening, how are you here? How –" Hale broke off, tears running down his face. Suddenly hands grasped his face, turning his eyes toward the figure. Hale took in the familiar features of Felix, his red eyes, squared jaw, wet hair plastered against his head, before his hands shakily grasped at his clothes. Just as suddenly, cold lips descended onto Hale's, holding there, before gentling into something Hale had never felt before, and then Hale was wrapped in large arms, against a chest without a heartbeat.

"You must listen to me," Felix whispered harshly in his ear. "You must listen. In a few moments you will meet up with your friend Hermione."

"But how—"

"Shhh. She will find you, and you will go with her. Do not trust her. She is not a friend. She is working for a man named Albus Dumbledore, who you will meet. He will tell you things, things which are true, and things that will be false. But above all, do not trust him, either. He will lead you like a pig to slaughter."

"What! Who!?"

"Shhh. I don't have much time before they find us. Go with them. They will keep you safe. They need you, Hale. They need you more than you need them, but you need them still. They will protect you. There are many things you don't know. There is a world, a magical world, where witches and wizards live, a whole government and society hidden. In this world, there are things happening, terrible things. A monster named Voldemort has arisen, and he is leading an army of people who have abilities that will shock and amaze you, and vampires, that wish to find you and destroy you. Fear him, but do not let that control you. You will need to be strong, mon cher amour. I have been watching, you have been so strong. You need to be strong a little longer. I will help when I can, but I cannot go with you. But I will be there if you need me, oui?"

"I don't understand! What's going on?" Hale cried, shaking harshly against Felix's chest.

"You were a wizard, Hale, a wizard named Harry Potter before you were adopted by Esme and Carlisle. However, there were plans set in place, and a prophecy that cited you as the only one that could destroy Voldemort, a dark wizard who plans a mass genocide. And now, he wants to kill you, too. Victoria is dead. I took care of her. But she has left a mess. She has amassed an army of newborns. I'm afraid they will not follow Voldemort."

Hale looked into Felix's face, mouth open, breathing harshly. "But I don't have any magic, Felix."

"I know." Felix frowned, before smoothing his hand over Hale's hair before cupping his cheek.

"Then why do they want me? I don't have any magic. What can I possibly offer?!"

"I don't know. But be weary of them. They are not what they seem." Felix frowned harder, gazing across Hale's face, before leaning down to kiss Hale again, harshly and with desperation. Hale kissed him back, shaking, cold, but wanting it too much to not kiss back. How long had it been since he had been loved? Felix pulled back, put both hands again on Hale's face and whispered, "They're coming. Go with Hermione. Do not mention me, but if you shall need me, I will come. I will always protect you. I will always be there for you."

Hale opened his mouth to speak, but the alleyway erupted into light, and Felix was suddenly in the middle of a fray against man and beast. Vampires swarmed into the alley, eyes glowing red in the dark, and other figures, with long sticks, appeared from thin air, cloaked in black, and all that was heard was screams, lights, crashes and booms, and then Hale was running, following Felix, hands grasped together, ducking under steaks of light. Bodies went flying, while vampires ran past, panicking, screaming, and on fire. Yells, words screamed in Latin, filled the air, before lips were suddenly pressed against Hale's.

"We will meet again, mon amour." Felix promised harshly. "Je promets."

And then Felix was gone, and suddenly, Hermione was there, bushy hair frazzled about her head, eyes wild, mouth firm, another stick in her hand, which she raised toward him. She spoke a phrase, quietly, fiercely. And then all Hale knew was black, as he descended into darkness.