I don't know why I wrote this other than to fill that obligatory vampire fic that seems to happen to every author I know.

Trying not to make her amoral but that was a bit difficult.

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Harry didn't know she was a vampire until she turned eleven.

Until then, she thought that drinking a bit of blood and waking up only at night was normal. Well, it's not like her relatives ever let her out of the basement until then, but that was only because of an accident. She had freaky weird luck and she is sticking to that excuse.

But going back to the point, Harry never really knew that she was a vampire. She didn't have a craving for blood, only that blood was the only thing she could eat or drink. She never sweated, never needed to go to the bathroom and she never grew up.

That last part was the point of it. Harry couldn't mark the passing time in the complete darkness of the basement, but she did notice if her caretaker got older and older. Aunt Petunia had more white in her hair as time passed. White hair and darker frowns.

Harry wasn't stupid though.

Even though she never finished her education, she had the mishmash of several people's knowledge in her mind.

After all, blood was the currency of her kind. Vampires exchanged information through blood and received knowledge from their victims with just a bite.

Harry had knowledge in her from an old, sprightly man that had once been a professor in a university and from a kind young woman that was a housewife. She had the knowledge from an ambitious young woman that had Eidetic Memory and from a young businessman that started his business from sheer guts and bravery. She received her understanding of morality from a nun and a priest.

And then one day, a half-giant knocked on her basement door.

Harry's sensitive ears picked up her aunt's imploring and her pleading, of another person – a strangers voice – saying things in a very angry way.

Harry made up her mind the moment her door gave way. If this person made her aunt cry, she would eat him.

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"Alright there, Harry?" the half-giant asked kindly. He stopped on the threshold of her territory, shocked at the amount of venom on her face, and of how she still looked like she was seven years old.

"Is my aunt crying?" Harry asked with a soft voice. She had learned from the businessman that speaking softly when you were angry made people listen better. "Did you make her cry, sir?"

Hagrid, for that was the half-giant, looked back to where Petunia was wringing her hands in worry. But no, thank Merlin, the woman was not crying.

He told this to the girl and she relaxed.

"Thank you," she told him. "Now, tell me why you are here, or you can slit your hand and I will drink the knowledge from you."

Hagrid sat down.

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"How shall I pay for what we shop?" she asked Hagrid as they shopped.

A wide-brimmed sun hat covered her face and the rest of her body was covered, wearing a very long skirt, gloves on her hands and boots on her feet. To top it off was an umbrella.

Harry noticed the wide berth the rest of the shoppers give her and doesn't care.

Hagrid looked cheerful and very glad to be in the sunlight. "Professor Dumbledore told me to leave you the key to your vault. You should take care of it Harry."

She nodded and placed it under her hat. It would take a special sort of idiot to rob a vampire.

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Hagrid, Harry came to realize, loved all sorts of dangerous creatures. There was a sort of calming feel to his presence that made creatures love him.

There was also enough beast in vampirism that Harry recognized this and she laughed as she embraced the confused half-giant. She pitied him a little because she understood his confusion. Just two days ago, she had threatened to eat him if he upset her aunt.

Her aunt was very happy to see her in robes. Harry was, after all, the last of the family left. Uncle Vernon and Dudley had left once she got turned into a vampire.

"You look beautiful, Harry," she whispered.

Harry hugged her carefully, concentrating not to crush her aunt with her strength. She sometimes misjudged, proven by the number of broken doorknobs she had gone through before she adjusted. Sometimes, it was just safer not to touch. It was, however, folly to think she could do that throughout her life. Practice was all she had left.

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The Red Steam Engine got Harry's affection, simply because it was red.

She doesn't have many preferences in her short life, but she did prefer red, because it usually signified food.

Harry tried not to smile too much, since it made people draw away from her.

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It wasn't until nearly twilight that Harry experienced the hunger pangs of her kind.

Her aunt had spoiled her with blood, feeding her every day since her turning. Her current location made her feel, for the first time, the hunger pangs of her kind.

It was a lucky thing that Harry was a four year-old vampire. If she had been newly turned, there would have been no students disembarking the train. As it was, Harry contained herself and brooded irritably.

She contemplated asking one of the students for a meal but changed her mind once they all flinched as she turned her attention to them.

Harry shrugged and looked back outside the window with a frown.

Her eyes had turned red in her hunger and slowly but surely, the scent of fear permeated the small compartment.

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None of the first years realized how close they all came to dying once it got revealed what other mode of transportation there was to get to the castle.

Harry's instinctive hatred of water warred with the morals that she absorbed from the nun.

It was a tough battle but morals won. The boat, however, would never be the same again. Particularly the side of the boat where Harry sat, with the strange claw marks that nobody could ever explain in the later years.

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For those who had recognized what she was, they avoided her.

Those that knew what she could do, they treated her like a wild animal.

Those, however, that understood the true nature of her kind, looked at her with undisguised fascination.

It was very rare for one of her kind to be able to wield a wand (it was a magical stake enough said.) or control themselves enough to wake up at class hours and behave enough to listen to class, let alone write essays.

Potions though.

Potions was something that everybody agreed was something they all ought to avoid but were forced to attend through school rules and complete morbid fascination.

Harry and Snape had taken one look at each other and knew, without a doubt, that they hated each other without reservation.

Harry didn't even know if it was genetics or her instincts screaming at her. She only knew that she wanted to watch him explode.

And she applied that in the potions classroom, where the ingredients were a disaster waiting to happen if you mixed it wrong.

Snape, being a teacher, did his best to ensure nobody died under his watch.

Ron had taken her aside after two explosions in a row, looking a bit singed but exasperated.

"Mate," he said seriously. "I know you can't get hurt, or burned or cooked by whatever it is you and Snape are doing in that classroom. But can you at least make sure some of us learn something before you start?"

Harry cocked her head to the side and considered.

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"What's all this?" Hermione Granger asked, looking at all the small booklets stacked together, each with individual names.

Harry, because she never slept at night in a place she didn't trust and only lightly dozed in the morning, blinked at her sleepily. "It's a review book, based on all your strengths and weaknesses, with different examples and questions to make things easier," the vampire mumbled. "Ron was complaining about potions, you see."

Lavander and Parvati looked incredulous. "And you did this in one night?" they asked.

Harry nodded, still with eyes closed.

Neville, because he is the practical sort and he knew that nobody really did anything without asking for anything in return, stepped forward and got everybody's attention.

"It's really nice Harry," he said softly. "And it will help me with a lot – don't think I didn't notice that mine is a bit bigger than the others – but what do you want in return?"

Here, the seven year-old looking girl sits, looking very awake and fidgeting a little. All of them resist the urge to call her cute. The last one who had done it had gotten sent to the hospital wing for a week.

"Uhm," she started. "Blood pops are very nice. And Professor Dumbledore doesn't complain if I ask some cows blood from the kitchen but that can't replace human blood and I'm hungry all the time.."

The first years and those listening Gryffindors looked horrified.

Because they had been inadvertently starving a vampire.

Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas were brilliant people and explained the concept of blood donation. There were also enough people in Gryffindor tower to keep her well fed for the entire year and not cause anybody anemia.

Blood, just for some more review booklets. Everybody looked at her funny when she said that it was very simple.

If they didn't know she could do this, then vampires were sadly misconstrued in this society.

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The third floor corridor had initially attracted her attention because there was an intense feeling of…hunger beyond the door.

She changed her mind though once she got confronted by the three-headed dog. Hagrid's scent was all over him, and it was obvious he was the hungry one. Poor thing. Harry wondered what Hagrid was doing since the poor dog was willing to eat her of all people.

She couldn't avoid it anyway because the troll practically dragged her there, making Harry bare her teeth in annoyance.

If there was one thing stronger than her, it had to be a troll.

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"Harry Potter," Professor Quirrell said, voice deep and far smoother than he usually sounded in class.

Harry cocked her head to the side and finally realized why she had been continuously hungry for the past year. This man, this creature, had tried to break into her mind. Her natural shields had repelled him at the cost of her health and her body had asked for payment in blood.

"You vile creature," she said softly, temper shimmering just beneath the surface. "You made me drink that much blood. Nobody tells me what to do."

Aside from her aunt, that is, but nobody knew that.

With a snarl, Harry threw herself forward and bared her teeth.

Quirrell's eyes widened and his turban unraveled.

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Funnily enough, nobody ever found Professor Quirrell's body, but since everybody knew where Harry was on the night of the disappearance, nobody pointed fingers at her. The Gryffindor's were strangely proud, but when prodded, they all kept mum.

That year, the Gryffindors won the House Cup by a landslide and everybody scratched their heads in bewilderment. Even Neville Longbottom who was only good in Herbology, passed transfiguration with very high marks.

Harry just smiled beatifically and sipped her flask.

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"Harry," Aunt Petunia greeted her with a careful hug and a sparkling smile. She still looked tired and exhausted, but Harry hoped that the knowledge that she had enough blood for a month and a half would ease her worry.

It was always a worry to purchase blood. The muggles always traced it back to the buyers.

"Did you have a good year, aunt Petunia?" Harry asked underneath her wide-brimmed hat.

Her aunt smiled. "A very good year, little Harry. What about you?"

Harry just smiled.

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Do you think I should make another chapter to celebrate second year to seventh year?

Please R & R.