Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse

Written by abi2301

Chapter 09

v.01: 04/25/2005

Official disclaimer:

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: due to problems with my computer, this is a draft of the very overdue chapter nine. However, as I'm going to be out for a few days and some of my friends have been buggering me to get this update, there might be misspellings here and there. Please bear with me till I finally get the time to fix every shortcoming I might find afterwards; my computer's crashed countless times due to hardware failures and getting this done was no sinecure at all.

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Chapter 09: The Oracle

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He awoke slowly from his forced sleep, his temple burning as if smoldering embers had been pressed to that part of his body. His mind was still reeling from the shock and he felt the need to vomit. Wearily, he moaned and rolled on his side, his hands moving around to get his bearings. He opened one eye and his bleary gaze fell on two dark boots, not even one meter away from his nose. Squinting to recover his perfect vision, he propped himself on his elbows, just as a sneer came from above.

"Feeling better after a nap, now?"

Asmodeus.

Asmo-fucking-deus.

Apart from Snape, there weren't two other individuals who could muster so much contempt and coldness in their voice. Two was enough. Three would be genocide.

In a raspy voice, Harry tried to retort, "what the hell-"

"You snapped, Potter. I guess your excessive agitation was caused by the hormones still abundant in your bloodstream - normally that drawback should fade away in a month or two and you shouldn't be experiencing that problem now - but I know that most freshly Turned vampires, when they are subjected to intense emotions even two months after their metamorphosis, sometimes lose control or behave excessively because of the surge of chemicals in their body. Few ever manage to completely rein in their feelings, from what I witnessed all those years. Couple that fact to an understandably unhealthy amount of stress, and I surmise you'll have something akin to a breakdown or fit of rage. Yet I guess from your anxiety that I had obviously hit a nerve - I assume you aren't very comfortable with that subject, are you?" he asked, fingering his stubble-covered chin pensively. This time his voice held no hostility. A hint of curiosity, perhaps, but he seemed to be more interested with what had just happened than riling his apprentice up. Harry grunted resentfully and got himself off the floor, his limbs aching with every movement. Asmodeus, however, made no move to help his apprentice, preferring to gaze at him calmly, as if analyzing an interesting specimen.

"My scar," Harry growled, his blood pounding in his eardrums, "is one of the things that remind me everyday why I failed to save my godfather and why I was nearly drawn to madness the previous year."

He coughed his feelings out, trying to get the panic still careening in his heart away, far from him and his memories.

"So you do have a connection with the Dark Lord," concluded the vampire with a satisfied smile, nonplussed by his student's dejected tone. Harry was now frantically looking forward to deal his master a heartfelt uppercut. "In a way it is a blessing as it provides you with peeks into your nemesis' plans although, as you have undoubtedly discovered it, the connection works in two ways. The strongest is the one who controls the filters of the 'data transmission', were I to use modern terms." He conjured a chair and dropped in it, crossing his legs and steeping his hands under his chin. His eyes bore into Harry's, as if gauging his reaction. Harry returned the look, albeit more forcefully. After a second, he felt an odd tinge at the corners of his mind, like the feel of a wet cloth applied to his skin. Instinctively, Harry used his Occlumency skills to drive the intruder out of his head.

When he no longer sensed the mental probe in his thoughts, his eyes snapped open, once again burning crimson, in rage. "Why you-"

"Quite impressive for a beginner but your skills are comparable to a blunt axe instead of the sharpened sword I would like your mind to be," Asmodeus smirked. "You successfully threw me out of your mind, although your reaction time could have been shorter," he continued calmly.

"What was the point in that-" Harry interrupted heatedly, but he never had the chance to finish his question as Asmodeus conjured a reddish flask with a flick of his wand and handed the item to his apprentice.

"What's that?"

"It's a calming draught, Potter. I won't answer any of your questions until you take at least two glassfuls of it," Asmodeus adamantly directed. Harry glared at the Nightslasher and popped the lid out before bringing the flask to his lips. The sour taste of the potion assaulted his tongue, causing his face to collapse in a disgusted grimace. It was as awful as Snape's creations. He wondered how could Remus do fine with the Wolfbane Potion every month, knowing it had a foul flavor too. With a defiant look, Harry turned to his master, resolute to have his answers given. Asmodeus tilted his head sideways and nodded sullenly.

"Now, why did I break into your mind? Simple but alarming in its own way - and I surmise I am to blame for not having done it before. I was just searching for one thing: the depth of the connection between Voldemort and you. You do realize he could have been spying on us, don't you?" Harry stopped short in his upcoming tirade. "What?"

Asmodeus' grin grew wider. "Intense feelings like rage, discontent, depression or love often trigger their sharing between the two bonded individuals. That is often why linked people feel when the other is sad or is absolutely furious. Did it ever happen to you?"

"Yes," Harry blurted, his anger momentarily forgotten. He settled the flask on the divan behind him and rubbed his forehead, worn out by the discussion.

"The reason, as I explained to you for the Berserker theory, lies in the fact that the human mind is a jumble of connections between its innumerable components. The cerebral connections are a mystery that will remain unsolved before a very, very long time, for the answer to that riddle runs beyond our realm of existence. Why? Because it calls for highly complex notions like the human soul, the life force, magic and whatnot. However, we know that certain people remember specific events with greater clarity and exactitude than other ones, which are whisked away by the forgetfulness of time. Why? Because their emotional state at those particular moments were on a higher level. Those emotions open doors, Potter. Links. That is why shocks, ordeals and other feelings engrave memories better than anything else...and why they force those artificial connections open..."

"And I've been quite..."

"Emotional," Asmodeus deadpanned. "I did indeed run you through the wringer more than once, Potter. I admit it, for it is a part of my Nightslasher training as well as a traditional moment of your novitiate." He scratched his jugular with a calculating look. He uncrossed his legs and leant back. "I might have forgotten your curse-scar for a while but the thought was still there; it is nonetheless quite fortunate that this place is Unplottable - only people acceding here by using one of my self-made Portkeys or who are permitted by myself to Apparate through the countless wards surrounding my property can get inside. So Voldemort couldn't have intruded for all what his efforts are worth," he chuckled darkly before smiling sinisterly. "But the trump card in the game - the one I was gambling on - was your vampire nature."

"My vampire nature?"

Where's the truckload of Aspirin when you need it?

"Have you experienced any mental attacks from the Dark Lord, lately? Any...disturbing nightmares?" Asmodeus asked Harry briskly, shaking off the previous inquiry.

Harry leant against the wall, his legs still quite wobbly. "No...it's just a dull feeling in the back of my mind but after a moment I got used to it - I don't even feel it anymore, at times. But I have some nightmares, at night - but they just don't make any sense. It isn't even like they're linked to Voldemort or whatever."

Asmodeus stared at him with a sharp, curious look. "Oh? And what are they about?"

Harry took a deep breath and explained. "They're always about a forest - burning. I always see trunks falling in flames to the ground and all those dreams go about is nothing but that: a forest burning. Then there's a sort of scream and that's the moment I usually happen to wake up."

"Usually?"

"There are times I keep on sleeping but I don't remember what happened next," Harry admitted lamely. And it's not like I'd want to...

"And it's always the same dream - the same images, not one iota of change? No evolution at all?" Asmodeus pressed on.

"No. Why?" Harry shot back, feeling lost with the plethora of questions and the infuriating rarefaction of answers.

Asmodeus sent him a peeved look and walked towards the door, keeping an eye on the clock above the doorway. "Dreams can be anything - reminiscences of bad moments of your life, fantasies from a tortured mind, pointless travels of your imagination or...premonitions. The latter are very rare and can sometimes be taken as bad omens. I take it you have learnt at Hogwarts what a doppelganger truly is?"

"Yeah, a spectral apparition, a double of yourself that shows up in front of you to warn you of your coming death. Usually the one whom the doppelganger appeared to dies in the next forty-eight hours. It's a human version of the Grim."

"A sort of ghost, indeed," concurred the Nightslasher with a shake of his head. "Some say it is a demon, like the famous dog of the Baskervilles, from that Conan Doyle novel. But they are messages from the future...twists of fate...sometimes meant to ensure that the path of destiny is indeed followed and not trifled with...self-realizing prophecies, if you want. The message you receive, telling you what happens in the future incites you to make sure that it does turn out that way. And the prediction indeed becomes reality BECAUSE you took into your hands the task of fulfilling it."

"So you think I'm given a prediction?" Good, he thought glumly. Another wicked prophecy to shove under my arse.

"Maybe," mused the vampire, stroking his ponytail. "Or it's just foreboding or a hint of what is to come. A sneak peek, to use popular terms."

Harry didn't look any more comforted by that; in fact, he was less than thrilled to have another message from the future on his hands. Yet he attacked the problem from another angle. "Could it be Voldemort's doing, after all? He already tried it on me last year..." he choked. "...And he succeeded only too well in making me believe false visions."

Asmodeus stopped short in his stride and spun back to look at him in the eye. "Did he? Interesting - so he has learnt to control the link," he muttered sullenly, running a finger on his lips. "So he could have had the leisure to strengthen the bond by adding a fraction of his mind to yours..."

"He what?" Harry shouted.

Asmodeus didn't bother to repeat - instead, he went to the closest divan in his vicinity and sat in it, allowing himself to recline in the plush piece of furniture. "How do those attacks from him manifest themselves? Have you experienced those exchanges of feelings?" he questioned briskly. Harry, irritated by the lack of answers, snapped back.

"Headaches, mostly. Nightmares at night or Legilimency attacks; it depends on his mood."

Asmodeus' eyes flickered briefly. "Ah, yes. Predictable. Headaches, you said? Have you felt them lately? Were they the same as before?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Now that you remind me, no and no. What are you getting at?"

Asmodeus smirked, fingering his wand in a satisfied manner. "Bonds are usually made between beings of the same species, Potter. Because both bonded are of the same denominator and therefore are like clips that can latch onto each other. However..."

"I became a vampire," Harry completed, his anger ebbing away with the realization. The other vampire's nostrils flared in grim enthusiasm. "Exactly! As I explained during our first meeting with your guardian, all human beings, even the non-magical folk, have a magical signature. An aura, if you want. An imprint of yourself. The image, the essence of your soul. An ethereal identity card. By becoming a vampire or a werewolf, that signature changes drastically into something completely new and the main features that allow other beings to recognize you as a human being are distorted into a new set of information or are replaced by something utterly different. That was why the Ministry couldn't locate you; because your soul was no longer the same as before and the enchantments cast to recognize it by its extremely specific readings couldn't locate their target anymore. Your soul's external layout, which permitted the spells to lock on you, looked like that of someone else."

"And it should work for the mind; is that what you're hinting at?" Harry guessed wearily.

"Well, Muggles say that the number of gray cells doesn't change between birth and death apart from the occasional loss due to shocks and commotions but I was obviously wrong," his interlocutor sneered. "You caught on it quickly - most satisfactory. Certain bonds are chiseled into the mind, but most specifically the soul. Which means that the common denominator between you and Voldemort are no longer the same. You can no longer feel him and, in turn, he can no longer feel you."

"A bit like radios changing frequencies," Harry commented.

"It's the same principle," agreed the Nightslasher, tucking his hands under his chin. Harry sighed deeply, feeling an profound sense of relief in his master's explanations. At long last he was no longer linked to the man he despised - no, hated - the most on this planet. After a year long of mental torture and subliminal deception, it was probably one of the best news he had received so far. The only downside to the revelation was that he could no longer use the connection as an early warning sensor. After all, it was the mind-link that had enabled him to witness the attack on mister Weasley and saved his life. He was roused from his fevered thoughts by the cold, sharp voice of his master.

"Enough dawdling - and back to the Incineritus Curse, Potter. The curse consists in a stream of fire released by the wand's tip, much like a flamethrower would behave. It isn't your mere ignition spell, which sets fire to object. Those, Potter, cause the target's surface to overheat and catch fire. Even if the material is rock or something uninflammable. However, for fluids like water, the ignition spell will cause the target - water, for instance - to merely evaporate. For the Incineritus, it's different, as fire is directly conjured." He took his wand out, and fingered the carved tip before twirling the tip between his long fingers. At certain moments, Harry could compare the Nightslasher to a maestro with the way he would wave his wand around, as if leading an invisible orchestra.

"The incantation is Incinero, and the wand movement is a swish and a sharp jab towards the target. It's just when you jab that you say 'Incinero' - otherwise you will easily suffer from a misfire and its consequences," he said, smiling sadistically. "Usually it involves the wand taking fire and turning the wand-hand into smoldering ashes."

"Rather cheering," Harry commented dryly, wondering why the other vampire wouldn't still forego his sadistic shenanigans.

"Making mistakes and fixing them is one of the best ways to learn, Potter," the vampire snapped, tugging his ponytail. "How do you think toddlers learn that fire or a working stove is not something to be too close to? Because they burn themselves, Potter," he growled. "The lesson is sent through his nerves in the shape of unadulterated, surprised pain and engraved in the owner's brains for decades to come! They will learn that the action they made a few milliseconds ago was a bad mistake and that they're paying the price of knowledge. With each experiment, with each attempt to know your environment better comes another ounce of experience. And pain is one of the best teachers, however bitter and harsh. The lesson is instantly learnt and leaves no place for contradictions. Even fear, Potter, is as good an instructor as pain. There is a saying telling us that 'fear is nothing but the beginning of wisdom'. The child lost in a dark forest would then realize that it would have been better for him to stay home and not move from there. And he'll take the lesson to heart...because he'll have played, danced with Death, even from afar."

"I didn't think about that in the Forbidden Forest," Harry retorted glumly.

"Come again?" Asmodeus blinked.

"I went a couple of time unaccompanied in the Forbidden Forest around Hogwarts and I assure you that coming back wasn't my first thought," he elaborated, undeterred by the vampire's snappish attitude. He had to stand up for himself and not become the wincing coward the previous apprentice had become. God knew that selling pizzas with pepperonis wouldn't be an efficient weapon in the least against Voldemort. Unless, of course, he planned to choke his nemesis to death with mozzarella - but even then he wasn't sure about Voldemort's tastes to begin with.

"I see," Asmodeus grumbled, stroking his chin. "But then again I can hardly consider you as someone abiding by the rules. Unnatural would be the first term coming to mind."

"Gee. Thanks for the compliment," Harry scoffed. After all, coming from the former Auror, he could only take it as a compliment. The day Asmodeus would get on his knees and praise his qualities would be doomsday. And the second where Voldemort would disguise himself as a nun and scream around 'I'm the pumpkin queen!'

"Don't thank me, Potter," snidely returned his master. "It's only natural."

"That's what I thought."

"At least you know what to expect," Asmodeus shot back. "And not be caught off-guard!"

"That was perfectly foreseeable, you know?"

"I can't say I went to great lengths to make myself unpredictable. I save that part for duels."

"I know," Harry said, rolling his eyes. As if he'd ever change...it's as unlikely as Voldemort doing a lap dance in front of Rita Skeeter.

"I trust you do," sneered the Nightslasher with a smug expression. He straightened his collar and glanced at the window with narrowed eyes. "However, being unpredictable does have its flaws, especially when it comes to giving your friends a good impression of which mood you truly are in currently or give them wrong ideas about your thoughts or allegiances. But it does serve as a mask at times to deceive those you might alienate from yourself...or make enemies."

Harry suddenly had a flashback about Luna Lovegood's queerness but refrained from pointing out that particular case to his master. "Are you...suggesting me to become...unpredictable? Aside from our usual sparring?" Harry asked cautiously, clearly uneasy with the concept.

The Nightslasher smoothened his breast pocket with a calloused hand and shot him a glare that was obviously filled to the brim with contempt. "Maybe not to that extent - as I told you, there are ups and downs to that type of behavior and you can easily make a wrong decision - even some that you can't mend no matter how hard you try to do spin control. What I'm merely asking you to consider is to create a mask," he declared, emphasizing his last word. Harry's eyes widened.

As thoughts raced in his head, he was unceremoniously called back to reality by the cold, satisfied voice of his master. "Yes, I'm indeed aware of your initiative to come back to the wizarding world, undercover."

Harry's mouth snapped open as a look of revulsion and disbelief ran through his forest green eyes. Gripping his wand tightly in his hand, he took a step back, stopping brutally as his back met a low table behind him. "How did you-"

"You do realize that each time I beat you, your concentration wavers?" Asmodeus interrupted with a smirk.

Harry's face was before long drained of its blood.

What the fuck-

"I often use that trick to catch a glimpse of my opponent's plans or tactics, as the Occlumency walls suffer from the blow I indirectly inflict. I consider it to be fair game since a battle is not all about fair play but a game that needs to see its winner declared as soon as possible."

Still reeling from the bombshell Asmodeus had brazenly dropped on him, Harry managed not to choke at his interlocutor's wording. In the meantime, his irritation meter didn't cease its ascending course towards breaking point. "Game?" he sputtered indignantly.

Is this guy thinking that the wizarding world's world is a giant Cluedo?

Asmodeus chuckled darkly, caressing his ponytail. "I'm talking about a game in its most primordial meaning, Potter. A competition where two or more camps try to implement their ideas or superiority in the other's side. A challenge meant to prove who's the strongest between the contestants or who's the fastest, depending on what the game is all about. War, if you want, is one major game. Entertainment is a concept that comes after...or not, depending on the game's purpose."

Harry then proceeded to calm himself a little, slightly appeased by the Asmodeus-ish explanation. He could swear that that man had a side definition for every term in the world or a certain vision that would itself become the meaning of the subject at hand...at times, it was really hard not to bristle with all the sous-entendres the vampire provided or the twisted notions he sometimes offered to those he spoke to - in this case, to Harry only, to the aforementioned individual's annoyance. It was a blessing in its own way that vampire hormones had given him the wherewithal to understand a bit of Asmodeus' ideas but it was hard to keep the pace with the sullen-looking, former Auror.

"Back on topic, Potter," resumed Asmodeus. "Besides the fact that your mind was unprotected when I beat you during our duels - which, I suppose, couldn't be helped since you are a hatchling, especially in the eyes of a vampire, going back to the wizarding world as a nameless, hidden individual was the only option left for you lest you expose yourself to risks and questions, I am sure, you wouldn't dare try to take and receive. You would not only have to explain why the Ministry's documents do not locate you anymore but also disclose the location where you had been staying put all that time, as well as what you were doing and who had you met. I am sure you understand I can do much better with my solitude intact," he sneered. "And the same goes for Priscilla and her sister," he hissed warningly. "They already had enough trouble in the past, so it is in your best interests not to bring the wizards' attention on them."

Trouble in the past?

"I assume you want to make a rather discreet return to your erstwhile peers, don't you?" he questioned, rubbing his finger on his lip thoughtfully. "That won't be easy - even a toddler can see that."

Tell me something I don't know, then.

"Since the wizarding world will be back on wartime status and the resistance is reportedly reorganizing itself to respond effectively against the Dark Lord's followers, I'll expect the Ministry to be on its guard as well as extremely suspicious of everyone on the forefront of the conflict - that is, if you were to make your presence known and affirm yourself as a contender in the war. They'll want to know where you stand and what stance you'll be adopting."

"Perfectly foreseeable," Harry snapped, trying pitifully to give the Nightslasher a piece of his own medicine. Without much success, to say the least.

Asmodeus shrugged, unimpressed with the outburst. "But that is nothing technically speaking - the aftermath will be more interesting and harder to deal with."

"Meaning?" Harry questioned, losing the pace with his master.

Asmodeus' smirk returned full force, now that he was back in control. "The cinch, Potter, will be trying to remain a rogue unit. Becoming one is no hustle at all. Keeping things that way is much harder. The Ministry will want to have all assets in their hands - a rogue wolf on the lookout is prone to wage war his own way and therefore have divergences with the wizarding government. That means, not keeping secret things that the Ministry would like to, like the incompetence of certain offices, the inexperience and inadaptability of the newer Auror squadrons, etc. And a mouth that isn't bridled by the Minister of Magic is a threat in itself. Why do you think that Hitler and Stalin massacred a few generals even in wartime? Because they were a problem with the way those leaders ruled their country."

"And I will be a loose cannon," Harry completed. "A threat."

"Exactly," Asmodeus approved, his smirk widening aggravatingly. "Besides, you don't belong to the government - and only vigilantes and Hit Wizards approved by the Ministry itself have the right to kill - and not only in self-defense. And those have therefore a leash on their neck and a gag binding their lips together. If you don't cooperate, you'll be considered as a terrorist. If kill without a specific license from higher instances, you will be officially branded a criminal or a dissident fomenting a coup to topple the Ministry and seize power. And what do officials do with terrorists or first grade criminals?" he questioned rather jovially - a terrifying sight for Harry.

"They get kissed."

"Kissed?" Asmodeus started.

"Kissed as in 'kissed by Dementors'," Harry corrected, chuckling weakly at his unsettling the ever-composed vampire.

"Ah - you scared me for a moment, Potter," Asmodeus said, eyeing his charge with fake caution. "Anyway, either you act as a guerrilla fighter and remain undercover the whole time or you choose to resurface but will be forced to acknowledge your identity and nature for what they are. And...face the consequences."

"Out of question," Harry added forcefully. "I ran away from the wizarding world for a reason and I won't go back to be rewarded with what I sought to avoid."

"Exactly - so you'll have to lay low and only strike when the situation calls for it, when the wizarding world is attacked or when you deem a preemptive strike necessary. The other quandary at hand will be information - or should I say, intelligence - knowing where and when to strike is crucial and depends on the amount, accuracy and nature of the information gathered on the way - and it often implies having sources within the wizarding world. I doubt calling on some former classmates of yours will be enough to provide you with the means to accurately locate the areas to 'visit' as well as garner some tips on that weakling Voldemort's strength - I mean, manpower. You'll have to get your hands dirty and use questionable informants, not idiotic simpletons who can only blurt hearsays and other wild rumors with the conviction that they're offering crucial information. Intelligence gathering is a shady job, which is as safe as walking on a sword's edge. You have to be street smart to even consider conducting such a tedious, risky task - and you have neither sufficient background nor experience to qualify for that endeavor."

Harry bowed his head - to be truthful with himself, he reluctantly had to admit that he hadn't thought about this - now that he had severed his ties with the Order, he no longer had any reliable sources of information about the Dark Lord's whereabouts, thoughts and moves. And, the more he thought about it, the more he had to concede to his critical self that Dumbledore's organization had, after all, given him but very little information on Voldemort's projects. Only snippets or the general idea, but nothing of use. And as he kept thinking about it he always came back to the notion that he had led himself in a stalemate that had been lying in wait for him since the very start.

He had cut his leashes free but freedom had come with a price.

He was a fish out of water. Blind and powerless, tactically speaking.

So, basically, if it was unrealistic to attack the Death Eaters, the only option left to his hands was to defend the wizarding world each time an attack would come. Unless he forced himself to act like a spy at all moments, which was, to say the least, absolutely unthinkable. He couldn't see himself slipping in the Ministry of Magic or in the Aurors' headquarters, creeping around and squatting in some darkened corner of some high official's office and eavesdropping on ministerial gatherings. There were hundreds, if not thousands of wards and other secrecy enchantments in that accursed place and the first step he'd make in restricted areas would trip those devices off - alerting his presence to a flock of law enforcers with the Killing Curse already on their lips and their wands trained at the first intruder they'd spot.

So...

Was just responding to Death Eater attacks and trying to contain damage enough? No. It was just delaying the inevitable - and paving the way for a harsh and long battle of attrition. A war where only the side having the largest resources, the strongest determination or the most durable assets would ultimately win, albeit not without dire sacrifices. And God knew how the wizarding world, that had long festered in its own delusion of peace and prosperity, had grown brittle to such assaults. Hell, Harry thought, had he squealed Voldemort's name in the middle of Diagon Alley, he would have been rewarded with fifty or more cardiac arrests around him, as well as mass hysteria. He couldn't count on his former fellowmen, no matter how tough the current Aurors were. They came from the population and the population would prove to be a hindrance in the long term - asking for comfort and messing with the Ministry's attempts to root Voldemort out of his hidey-hole. They were completely unprepared for the arising of a Dark Lord freed from his slumber.

Peace, while it was awfully delicious to those who tasted it, was the worst of poison when confronted to the reality of this world. It undermined everything.

Comforting apathy, after all, was another form of corruption.

As for preemptive strikes? As Asmodeus stated, it depended on intelligence. Which meant - nil. Right now, that is. Therefore, if he couldn't strike at the limbs of the hideous monster he was about to fight, he needed to swipe at the head, where the brains resided. Hopefully it would cripple the rest, although reality was far more fickle than common belief led people to think it to be. And Voldemort, just now, was far better a duelist than Harry was or would hope to be in the next few years, should that amount of time be granted to him. The fight at the Fountain of the Magical Brethren had convinced Harry of that assumption. He wouldn't stand a second against his nemesis.

He needed weapons.

Magic he could gather, thanks to Asmodeus.

Morale he could keep, with Priscilla and Lizzie's cheerfulness.

Knowledge he could gain, with Hermione's help.

But as for experience, it came forth with time.

And time he didn't have any of it.

As much as he hated it to be, his only hope to get rid of the pureblood-wannabe that was Voldemort resided in a thrice-accursed prophecy, that, by the way, proved to be a double-edged sword. Not only did it reveal Voldemort's sole weakness, but it also implied that the spoken-of vulnerability was not one-sided. Fairy tales didn't exist in this world - and drawbacks to an advantage were to be expected.

The prophecy, for more than one individual, was both a blessing and a curse.

A disheartening contradiction in itself - so promising yet so dreadful.

How could he work that out? Harry asked himself. How could he circumvent the limits set around him and free himself from the Damocles' Sword hanging high above him, threatening to break and fall upon his head? He was left but with very few options and he wasn't sure he could exploit them to their fullest. Hermione would gladly provide him with information from the Order's side but she wouldn't allow him to pit himself in the battle, even for other people's sake. Not now, not here, not when she had the chance to make him improve himself. She believed, in a way, that knowledge was power - but she (as well as Harry) was also aware that braveness had its own flaws and that it often led to recklessness, which, in turn, was only one inch away from foolishness.

No, no, he told himself, there had to be something else - and the only clues he had to the assets he would require to wield in the war to finally topple Voldemort from his throne of terror and ruin were in the form of clues. Powers the Dark Lord knows not. He had yet to decipher that part - and...

He was suddenly stricken by a stray thought.

And he didn't know how much he would curse his decision that night - as well as congratulate himself in some distant future.

"By the way, what do you know about prophecies?" Harry asked Asmodeus.

---

"A prophecy, did you say?" his interlocutor questioned, fingering the stubble on his chin with his polished claws.

Harry, judging by how the Nightslasher was standing, stiff and leaning forward, saw the gears of some terrible machine turning behind those chillingly cold, calculating eyes. Obviously the vampire was suspecting something but he had yet to see his assumptions confirmed by his apprentice.

"Yeah - some seer dropped it on me slightly before my birth. In fact, even if she does seem like a fraud at first sight, she is gifted with foresight - the only crimp to record is that she doesn't remember her predictions because she falls in a trance every time she predicts something," Harry explained with some difficulty, remembering how Trelawney had successfully foretold Pettigrew's outbreak and his return to service to Lord Voldemort as well as his being marked as the equal of the Dark Lord. "It still remains that everything she told us did become reality," he concluded uneasily.

Asmodeus lapsed into a slightly tense silence, his eyes glazing in concentration. Finally those ice cold orbs hardened and snapped back to Harry. "I assume you have her name?"

"Trelawney. Sybill Trelawney - she's employed as Hogwarts' divination professor but she's quite a joke there, even though some girls do find some appeal in her mystical blabbering," he answered, thinking about Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. The 'middle-aged' vampire nodded silently before settling back to his perusal. "I am indeed familiar with that name - she must be the great-great-granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney, who quite made the news in her time. Her ancestor, if they are, which I highly doubt it to be a false assumption, related in any sort, predicted with a lot of accuracy a lot of deaths during her lifetime and some catastrophes that occurred in the beginning of the eighteenth century, like the Great Magically-conjured Wildfire of Diagon Alley in 1722. It is said that some genes skip several generations but, in reality they are never lost. Merely remaining dormant within their bodily cradle until a descendant worthy of fate's consideration or plain lucky finds a way to successfully 'activate' that ability within himself."

Harry acquiesced, wondering if, deep inside his body, slumbered some powers that could eventually be awakened. He will have power the Dark Lord knows not...came the unbidden voice of Trelawney. He was thankfully jarred from his reminiscences by a rather irked Asmodeus. "Snap out of it, Potter. Don't go daydreaming on me," he hissed, his eyes flashing. "As I was saying, predictions can be either countered or changed depending on how destiny fluctuates. Not all prophecies come out respected point by point. There are...variables, for lack of a better term."

"Like...becoming a different creature?" Harry asked tentatively, a formerly forlorn hope flaring inside of his soul. The pensive nod he received from his mentor increased the feeling tenfold. "Yes...which brings me to a rather crucial question - have you paid a visit to the Oracle?" he questioned, his ever-present scowl deepening.

"The Oracle?" His repeating the world with a quizzed expression didn't seem to appease the older vampire as he grumbled with annoyance.

"I gather you haven't otherwise you wouldn't have reiterated that word," he snapped. "Well, gather your coat and follow me," he instructed, pointing at the garment dropped in a nearby divan. Harry snatched the clothing and put it on, feeling like they were indeed going outside. A few minutes later, Asmodeus and Harry found themselves standing in the front courtyard of the mansion, rubbing their hands together to fight the biting frost. "Blasted temperature - always dropping even at summer," Asmodeus grumbled before fishing in his robes' pocket. "Take this," he ordered, handing his apprentice a small book about London's underground. Harry guessed it to be a Portkey, a theory proven correct when Asmodeus took out his wand and tapped the item, muttering a sullen, "salvation".

Once again, Harry found himself spiraling through the Floo Network, whirling inside an intangible world awash with iridescent tones. After a few minutes of wandering in an imaginary universe, his feet slammed onto solid ground. He reached out with his hand and found a wall, upon which he leant for a couple of seconds, trying to quell the growing dizziness within him. Floo traveling doesn't agree with me - that's a given. And after being stunned and nearly being driven mad by an already insane vampire... Looking up his eyes fell on Asmodeus, who was now looking out for eventual threats or suspicious signs.

"Where are we?"

Asmodeus sniffed in response. "Thomaston Ridge - an ancient area once rich with coal but now empty of that mineral since the British government sent thousands of men to dig their way through the entrails of Mother Earth. Once upon a time there were a lot of barracks here - the living quarters for poor, eternally exhausted miners whose numbers kept on growing on an explosive scale during the Industrial Revolution - all forsaking their farms to get a job in those reportedly heavenly factories, only to find many a hardship, poor sanitary conditions and strings of accidents on their workplaces. When the underground supplies waned there were no more reasons for the workers to dwell here and they were redirected to another industrial basin. In the meantime, the high population concentration provided the local vampire community with proficient hunting grounds. Some of our kind even started to call this place hallowed grounds until its residents moved out. But vampires remained, since they got...kind of attached to the area. We have committed it to our memories as a sanctuary, where some of the Elders now dwell. Think of it as a pricey residential area for the VVIPs."

"VVIP?"

"Vampiric Very Important Person."

"You're having issues, you know," Harry sighed, taking a long look at his surroundings and discovering that he was in fact, standing in a darkened alley whose walls were made of red, moss-covered bricks that reeked of urine and decay. The ground was littered with various pieces of trash and muddy soil.

"Look who's talking!" Asmodeus snapped, before striding towards the back of the small passageway and coming to face a broken statue of a cherub. Harry stood there, puzzled by the incongruous presence of the work of art in a place were only ruin and abandonment reigned. "What is..." he tried to ask but Asmodeus beat him to it by pressing two fingers onto the bronze eyes of sculpture. Harry jumped aside as he heard a rumble on his right and witnessed a whole block of stone sliding apart to reveal a richly decorated Gothic archway, lit by two blazing torches. The device reminded him so much of Diagon Alley that he forgot to follow a rather brisk Asmodeus who had to recall him to the living world with annoyance.

Harry entered the archway and into the doorway, which seemed to lead downwards, into a large basement of sorts. This time the construction seemed to be better kept, a sure sign that it wasn't a derelict building left to crumble under its own weight through dozens of decennia. Their steps echoed loudly as they walked forward, sinking deeper into the confines of earth. "Where are we?" he inquired uneasily, not relishing the thought of heading somewhere unknown to him. Asmodeus growled under his breath and answered.

"We're in the abode of the Oracle."

"You still didn't tell me who she was," Harry interjected, miffed at the lack of information he was given. Asmodeus seemed ready to explode at that but did nothing; a strange atmosphere lingered in the air, one of hieratic dimensions, sacred almost - one that didn't call for blasphemies and uncouth words. "The word is self-explanatory, Potter. She's a Seer but one of rather impressive experience since she is nearly a millennia old."

"A millennia?" Harry gaped. "Are there still vampires from that time still alive?"

"Why wouldn't there be?" his master grumbled. "Vampires are experts at dissimulation and self-protection. We have lived in tight communities secluded from the outer world. Our residences were shelters. Havens. So provided we are not disturbed in any respect by any war or unwanted attention from Muggles and Wizards, why can't we survive through centuries till the end of times?" he questioned, his tone putting an end to the discussion.

"And why are we here tonight? Are we going to ask her about the prophecy?" Harry pressed on. Asmodeus shook his head.

"No. We are going to ask her for a new one," the vampire deadpanned as they arrived in front of two large, steel doors. Upon both of them stood a blazon of a crimson cup, embossed with a silver, crescent moon and beneath the recipient, two crossed swords in gold.

"WHAT?" Harry shouted.

"Silence!" Asmodeus hissed. "We're in the home of the Oracle and no disturbance will be tolerated by her assistants! If you so much as speak too loud without the leave of the Oracle herself, you'll be branded as a blasphemer and thrown outside without any form of ceremony! This place, Potter, is considered as sacred. Think of it as the Vatican of the Vampiric cult or whatever name your mind will manage to invent!"

Harry nodded and Asmodeus pushed the doors open, before ushering a silent teenager into a large chamber that looked much like the inside of a 17th century cathedral with its columns and intricate decoration laden with gold and silver. Glancing around, Harry spotted at least a dozen vampires, all speaking in hushed tones with an almost reverent look that told much about the importance of the place. "Come with me, Potter," Asmodeus hissed so as to not be overheard. "Take care not to give your true identity in these places - the Oracle doesn't have any allegiance towards the Council and will not divulge your name but I cannot guarantee an identical behavior for the other occupants of this building."

"And if someone asks my name?" Harry returned, feeling his throat clogged with worry.

"Try to think about a pseudonym - but don't try names either too banal or too strange to our ears otherwise you'll spark their interest and I'm sure we could do better without any unwanted attention right now," was the frosty answer. Which nearly compelled Harry to grab his master by the neck and strangle him on the spot, like some goose being readied for dinner.

Harry nevertheless ignored that rather enticing image and chose to grumble under his breath, schooling his countenance into the blank one he had mastered over the past days. His steps became less clumsy and unsure and after a couple of seconds, his gait was that of a man already acquainted with the surroundings - as if he had already been here a dozen times before - a detail that didn't go unnoticed to Asmodeus' eyes, who gave him a thin smile in return. It was at that moment that a calm voice made them stop.

"It's been a long time since we saw of you here, Latifas."

Asmodeus turned around to face a long-haired vampire who looked like he had taken a bath consisting of white paint and flour. He obviously was an albinos but he went as far as to emphasize his illness by wearing immaculate, almost shiny clothes that resembled a lot that of wizards', only that they were much more ample and more simple in their design. "Skinnard. I didn't know you still lingered in such a hallowed area," Asmodeus responded, his tone as warm as an Arctic wind. The way his eyes narrowed at the sight of the long-faced albino was a clear sign of an long-lasting feud between the two of them. "Circumstances sometimes force me to ask for the Oracle's advice - her word is holy, after all - and..." his blue, piercing eyes turned to bore into Harry's, who had a hard time trying not to shiver under the chilling stare. "...I see you didn't come unaccompanied. A new...Apprentice, I gather?"

"I do not remember indulging myself in accompanying other people lest they be under my tutelage or actually from the old crowd," Asmodeus answered as calmly as he could, stressing the adjective pointedly. The wide smile the Nightslasher got in return obviously put his nerves to the limit. "Indeed, and I suppose you are doing fine on your apprenticeship course, mister...?" the vampire asked, with a sweet voice that reminded the young wizard of a male version of Umbridge - therefore a good reason to be weary of his interlocutor, if not miffed. "Higgins. Andrew Higgins. And, yes, I'm very satisfied with the lessons I'm getting, thank you for your solicitude," he said very carefully, trying not to sound too offensive. From the corner of his eye he noticed that they were now stared at by most of the bystanders and apparently heavily discussed in hushed tones - something his master had wished to avoid but to no avail.

Asmodeus had, apparently, far less self-control than he usually let on, as he grabbed Harry's shoulder and with a firm hand, began to lead him away. "I need to see the Oracle right now, Skinnard, and very little time is left to spare. May the moon bestow you with good blood," he interrupted with a final tone, before nearly dragging his student away, under the amused gaze of the vampire entirely bedecked in white. They could both still feel a dozen pair of eyes, if not more, following them as they delved deeper into the halls of the construction. "Bloody-"

"I assume I am not to trust him overmuch?" Harry asked offhandedly. Asmodeus' shot him a glare that told more than could ever be voiced. "Reuben Skinnard is one of those upstart vampires who deem that since they were sired by Ancients that have taken centuries to build their power, that they are entitled to do whatever they want and be given more leeway by the Council than reasonably," the former Auror explained, his voice trembling with rage. "I don't know how many times I had to report to the Council about his little escapades in the non-magical world for a little snack - the problem was that his father held, that is, until a few years ago, a high position among the Council before he died of leukemia. Until old Itzak Skinnard finally departed, Reuben was completely untouchable - remember that offences here, as well as insults, do not stop at one individual only. If you insult someone, you then most likely insult the whole family or clan. It's a downscaled version of the mafia - loyalties of the group's members pass from a previous leader to his son and so on, so I suggest you stay away from him - you don't have protectors at the moment so even in the vampire community you're basically defenseless, politically speaking - and that's all that matters right now," he clarified in hushed tones, as they made their way under a baroque looking ceiling covered with esoteric symbols of the moon and the stars. Most of them were runes but there were a score of pictograms and other images he couldn't recognize.

"Sounds like a Malfoy to me," Harry snickered. Asmodeus scowled. "That family still exists?" He harrumphed then regained his composure. "Not surprising - mistakes always reproduce themselves over time. Predictable. Ever since old Fergus Malfoy became a Slytherin that bloodline has turned into a crowd of scum," he groused. "I thought dear old Lucius wouldn't either have the balls or sufficient knowledge to father a son but I assume it wasn't the case and he managed to get what he wanted?" he sneered. For once, there was no contempt directed at him, which was a pleasant surprise.

"Well," Harry said in a mock-pensive way, "there's that dunce at school...pale white skin, bleached hair, pointed noise, haughty expression, blue eyes, and a vocabulary that limits itself to synonyms of the word 'purity' and also, 'mudblood'. What does that tell you?" he offered, waving his hand dismissively.

"Damnation," Asmodeus cussed, just as they walked under a high archway made of thousands of carved bats clinging to each other and glaring at the spectator underneath. Harry couldn't help but notice how the cult of the night and its many attributes - fauna and symbolism - were glorified in the surroundings. Figures, he thought, otherwise why would they call themselves the people of the dark?

He snickered at one particularly ugly chiropteran, whose long, sallow face reminded him strongly of an equally unpleasant Potions Master. The chilling look sent his way by another Snape wannabe, however, was what made his vocal chords freeze into place and observe a nearly religious silence.

The room Harry entered in was a surprising mix of rich decorum and stern architecture, whose bluntness and simplicity reminded him of the Gothic era - yet the furniture in the entrance as well as the fine carvings adorning the walls clashed strongly with the austere surroundings yet flowed together in their own fashion. Marble and dark, finely wrought metal wove in intricate patterns, with sculptures jutting here and there from the rare alcoves and pieces of furniture set in the corners. Gargoyles and odd assorted items that reminded him of some occult cult littered the area, although they didn't radiate a sense of disorder. However, what struck Harry more was not the appearance of the chamber but well what resided in its center. Surrounded by four lamps that smelt of incense and whose dim light cast eerie shadows on the walls and high ceiling, a throne was set on a prominent dais. There sat a woman entirely bedecked in black and wearing veils around, like a cloak that reached to the floor like overlapping waves of darkness. On her sides, two other female vampires, judging from their bodies, stood silently, gazing at the arrivals with shady eyes.

Asmodeus strode over to the dais before stopping five meters in front of the throne and bowing deeply in obvious reverence. Harry repeated his master's gestures, understanding that here came the critical part of tonight's visit. The woman reclining in the refined seat in front of them was the Oracle.

"We have come to you for your Word, O Oracle," the Nightslasher intoned, his head still bowed and his eyes not meeting the seer's. Harry didn't dare look up either, although, when their interlocutor spoke up, he could hear the smile through her words. "It has been two centuries since I first saw you, Latifas. I gather the years have treated you well, apart from...those harsh moments?"

To his utmost astonishment, Harry could hear Asmodeus nervously gulping. "Aye," he answered, seemingly unwilling to deepen the matter.

"I see," the Oracle concluded. "The one next to you is the one who needs my Counsel and my Word."

"Yes, he is."

The Oracle smiled then turned her gaze to the young wizard.

"Then look at me, Childe," she addressed him.

Harry, mustering all his strength so that he wouldn't wilt in front of the being in front of him, lifted his head to look at her. His eyes slightly widened at her sight. It was as if the darkness surrounding her had receded and her veils suddenly disappeared, leaving him with the sight of a woman in her early thirties, with long, dark haired that flowed behind her back and brilliant, almost blinding blue eyes. Her face was smooth and still remained young yet he could feel the power and wisdom of eons exuding by her pale, almost alabaster white skin - a strange mix that sent chills through his very bones. As her eyes raked over his thin frame, Harry felt like being probed by invisible hands, delving through his body and into his very core, stripping him from the sense of anonymity he had gathered around him for this very night. After a dozen seconds, he felt relief rushing through him as the sensation dulled than faded to naught. A smile appeared on the Oracle's face. She reached to her right and grabbed a calyx, which she brought to her lips to feed on the beverage inside - most likely fresh blood, from what Harry's nostrils told him. He could feel fear, foreboding and nervousness crawling up his limbs as her azure eyes burn holes through his head, boring into his barely hidden scar.

"You are the one who lost his parents to a master of sorcery turning to the dark," she said simply, almost with laziness. Harry was rather a sight after that, staring open-mouthed at the long-haired woman who seemed slightly amused by his antics. "How...?"

"We are imparted with Knowledge, youngling. We just know. Don't ask questions that linger in that field for we neither have the true answer and even if we did, we would be sworn not to partake it with you," she warned. "You seek here for advice. You are lost and you don't know where your home truly is despite the fact that you sleep under a warm roof filled with happiness. You feel torn between two places, one of which holds your heart and the other your soul. Your sense of duty and your throne of desire are in conflict.

"You wish to depart from a place you do not trust anymore; you have been lied to, spurned and hurt. You have the words of Fate weighing on your shoulders and you cannot but feel that all hope is lost. You have been welcomed by the People of the Dark but you cannot determine whether to shake the proffered hand or leave it for an old, familiar one. You seek for help and support. You desire to see the Path."

"I...I do," Harry stammered, feeling that he had at least to say something so that he wouldn't look too much like a fish out of water. The Oracle smiled at him indulgently, the amusement not fading one bit from her dark eyes.

"Very well," she intoned, pushing her veils aside and revealing her face a bit more. "Let the Words of the High Ones be hearkened unto this world. Listen well, young one, for there will be no repeating of Their Words." She then grabbed the calyx a second time and murmured words that even Harry's enhanced hearing couldn't pick, before drinking the liquid.

Harry was about to ask for a clarification of her warning when it began.

The Oracle threw her head back just as her eyes rolled backwards. Froth began to form at the edges of her fanged mouth and her limbs shook with growing convulsions. The temperature in the chamber suddenly chilled and Harry could see his breath melting into mist. The drapes gathered around the woman's seat started to flap with an unseen force and the air started to shift, before finally turning into an implacable wind that surrounded the Oracle as if she were the vortex of a small storm, which began to fill with eddying darkness, as if she had mustered a giant Shadowcloak around her slender form. The two assistants stepped back, extending their arms wide and chanting under their breath, as if inciting their mistress to go further and ease her task.

Finally her head tilted forwards and her blood red eyes bore onto Harry's face like those of a mad dog focusing onto its prey. His mind was now filled of otherworldly visions filled with twin orbs of fire, that swirled around, causing him to panic. He couldn't see anything but those two organs devoid of pupils, burning with an inner power. At long last, as if she had concluded her appraisal of the young man, she opened her mouth, her voice eerily harsh - almost like that of a man.

Twice fallen has the Soultaker been,
He whose eyes are of forest green,
Bears the sign of holy thunder
And now awakens from his slumber
By the hands of Dark Lord and vampire
Through many a hardship long and dire
Changed in body, lost in mind,
Ever wondering which is his true kind
He treads the path of Death and Life
Burrowing deep in a world of strife
Fighting back while never wavering
And lashing back like a sea foundering
Red his blades and dark his soul will grow
Like a grim wraith swinging its ugly mow
He shall cleave his way through his nemesis' ranks
Like a storm that tears apart a castle's flanks
Two he shall choose to be at his sides
And Two he shall mark as his brides
To unveil the true meaning of his existence
And discover a reason for renewed resistance
Two Chosen will be the bulwark of his soul in times of need
When Death is awoken, and the world falling into greed,
As leaders are tumbling, folks are despairing and life is waning
As the great battle of the two sorcerers is at long last coming
Water shall be sundered and ground shall be cleft
Air shall be splintered, homes of life will be bereft
Heads will roll and blood shall be spilt
But since hope will be finally rekindled
Like a flower that at night does never wilt
The light by darkness never has dwindled
The Soultaker rises anew, adorned with glory
Heralding a war terrible, dreadful and gory
The Light he shall lead but the Darkness he shall embrace
And his newfound power he shall wield like a deadly mace
Beware of my warning, people of the dark
My words no doubt in you will find their mark
But time grows short and countless lives are uselessly spent
On petty purposes that on begetting death are bent
Hearken unto the Chosen One as he walks to his wars
For his Destiny is now written in the brightest stars
High in Heavens he shall ultimately dwell
When the fire of war fate will finally quell
He has at long last arrived and now in shadows linger
The last, mighty blood-warrior of old - the Soultaker.

As the last word resonated through the chamber, a hush fell and the commotion died as suddenly as it had appeared. The veils the three women wore stopping flapping and dully fell back, as if nothing had ever disturbed their state. Harry's eyes were still on the Oracle, transfixed by the sight he had just witnessed. For all it was worth, it was indeed much scarier and impressive than Trelawney's involuntary performances. He had never seen a Seer give a prediction on her own, as if making a simple call to the deities above and getting the answer as readily as one would give another a phone call. When the Oracle's head rolled back forward numbly, Harry was ready to bolt out of the room. He had seen and learnt too many things that night - and he knew that if anything else would befall him, it would be for the worst.

A low rasp ripped him from his daze, causing his eyes to return to the Oracle's shivering frame. The woman gurgled loudly, tensed then collapsed, her chest heaving. Her assistants suddenly seemed unnerved by the display. Asmodeus' sharp hiss didn't bring any comfort to the new turn of events. The vampires slowly strode forwards, as if shy to enquire about their mistress' health - although Harry could pick up the stench of fear in the release of pheromones flooding the chamber. The Oracle shivered then drew herself up, her eyes hooded and her breath pattern still as erratic.

"So They have said, and so it is decreed," she intoned, weakly gesturing at her servants to withdraw. Her underlings seemed hesitant to do so but complied nonetheless. "I trust you have heard Their word?" she asked, her pupils hardening at the frozen wizard. Somehow Harry felt as if swimming in the hazy currents of a dream - tinted with the undertones of bitter reminiscences. The Oracle had behaved quite like Trelawney had, her whole being seized by an unearthly presence - one that could put Voldemort's personality to shame in terms of harshness. And prophecies didn't go well along with the Boy-Who-Lived, judging by what happened each time a prophecy about him had been pronounced.

A sharp jab in his back brought him back to consciousness and the first thing his frazzled mind caught was the glowing eyes of the Oracle, boring into his as if scouring his very soul. Slapping himself mentally, Harry managed to stutter a, "I...I did, mi - err, milady..."

"You will address me as the Oracle, Childe. As you are still a youngling I will disregard that mistake; nevertheless, pay attention not to make that same mistake in the future...when we'll meet again," she interrupted, frowning. Harry gulped. "When we will meet again, mi - oh, hem, Oracle?"

The woman gathered her shawls around herself twirled on her long locks between her fingers, bestowing him with a cryptic smile. "We will meet again, Childe. We always do, especially when you have eternity in front of you."

If I'm entitled to taste it, Harry replied mentally, remembering his predicament with the Dark Lord.

"I - I see," he stuttered, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the suddenly chilling premises. The night was again biting into his flesh - something he had not felt ever since he was Turned. "Nevertheless, you should do well to commit Their word to your mind, Childe - in dreary or joyous times they might be of great assistance to you. And when Fate will come at your doorstep on the verge of an important decision or at the prologue of a critical event, you will know what to do."

Self-fulfilling prophecies, Harry commented silently, his mind still elsewhere. He was struggling with the urge to bolt out of the room and cause a major incident within the Oracle's abode. However, the perspective of being barbecued alive by an incensed Asmodeus because of such an impair was not delighting in the slightest. He bowed his head, concurring with her words.

"Very well, Childe. This is where we part - and remember, heed Their words as they are hints to your direction. Your path is still yet to be decided. Everything can happen in the meantime but the end result will be the same, as devised by instances of higher standing. Fare thee well, youngling; may the Moon be benevolent in your hunts and may blood be sweet to your lips."

He stammered an awkward thanks at the blank-faced Oracle, barely cognizant of the fact that Asmodeus was all but dragging him out of his position and to the outside. As he walked out, forcefully guided by his master, he could feel the seer's eyes on his back, her smoldering sight glued on his slender, almost too thin frame - a sign of attention he was not comfortable with at all.

Harry stumbled into the antechamber, at long last releasing his breath and gasping for air. The wafts of incense ceased their assault on his nose and the choke grip that held his throat constricted seemed to recede into nothingness. He was barely cognizant of his master snatching his arm with no small amount of force and dragging him away, into a nearby chamber that seemed like a waiting room. Seats and sofas were set in front of each wall and the contrast between its austerity and the overwhelming, esoteric atmosphere of the Oracle's lair threw him back into his senses. Soon enough he found himself facing a stone-faced vampire, whose countenance promised no good at all.

"Sit here," Asmodeus snapped, pushing his student in a plush divan. He fished in his coat's pocket and drew out a small vial full of a reddish liquid, which he handed to Harry. "Drink this," he ordered. Harry complied, recognizing the calming draught his master had given him to drink not even an hour ago. He popped the lid open and took a swig of the drink, happy to feel the building headache ebb away, no longer hurting his head with a vengeance.

He exhaled loudly, bowing his head in resignation.

Someone must have cursed me today - that's the only explanation. Otherwise I have the mother of bad lucks.

He sealed the lid and returned the flask back to its owner, still silent.

Strange. He hasn't exploded yet...I think it's a bad sign. People always say that bombs with delayed detonation are more dangerous - so I suppose I must worry about this.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Asmodeus' lips cracked, snapping into a livid scowl.

"Damn it to hell, Potter! I wonder how you manage to always get embroiled in a muck nobody would wish for!" Asmodeus began to rant, his brows fusing together and his eyes narrowing threateningly. If one had enough courage to look at him right now, he or she would be gazing at the epitome of pure exasperation. Madness, however, wasn't far away in the list of possible descriptions.

"I didn't ask for it! Remember? You're the one who took me here!" Harry protested angrily, tired with the blame game. "Now I've got two prophecies on my conscience - not one anymore!"

"I wasn't talking about that, Potter!" Asmodeus shot back, whipping an accusing finger at his student. "I was referring to your name!"

He wasn't sure about this but Harry had the impression that Asmodeus' cloak was billowing with swirling darkness, which wasn't a comforting sign. Vampires, incidentally, had very little self-control despite their secular endeavor to control their animalistic instincts.

"My name?" Harry asked dumbly, clearly thrown off tracks. "What has the Potter family name got to do with-"

Obviously, it wasn't the correct statement to hand out - and it didn't appease his interlocutor in the slightest.

"We are talking about your NICKNAME, Potter!" Asmodeus shouted, aggravated by his student's slowness. "The one the Oracle gave you! The SOULTAKER!" he raged, his face turning a slight shade of puce. Harry recoiled at the agitation that overtook the other vampire; obviously, something was amiss in the whole situation but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get his finger across the sensible subject.

Not that I'd protest against his having a coronary, a part of his mind simpered. But then again he has no heart to begin with so it's useless harboring hopeless dreams.

"The...Soultaker?" he repeated slowly, wracking his brains to remember the Oracle's words.

The haze that had fallen on his mind had still not ebbed away - and the lightheadedness he was experiencing didn't help him face an irate Asmodeus at all. He would have gladly given his Firebolt away to have Fawkes trill on his side right now and coo him back to full awareness.

"Yes. The Soultaker," Asmodeus flatly replied. "Rarely does the Oracle give a nickname to someone calling for her Word. In most cases, we gain our nicknames through our hunting nights, feats or fights. Those directly named by the Oracle herself find themselves bestowed with a LOT of importance in the vampire community! It's as if Queen Mum had said hello to you on the television and given your name to the entire nation - it makes you stand out of the crowd," he explained none too amiably. He paused for a second then turned to glower directly at Harry. "I was given my nickname through my Nightslasher training - and only the most powerful beings in our community get hailed or named by the Oracle. Only them. Not mere peasants or your average middle classes drunkard! And her giving war names is even rarer!" he raved, his feet resuming their usual pace.

"War names?" Harry pressed, still lost.

No, Asmodeus would be the last individual on this planet to ever use makeup so I guess that must be blood flooding his face. Weird...

Coronary was by now the last problem Asmodeus would need to worry about, judging from his worsening complexion.

"Bonecrusher - Skullripper - Lifeshredder - Swordwielder - Headbreaker - Bloodshedder - Soultaker. THOSE are war names!"

"Bonecrusher?" Harry asked, appalled. "You vampires do have a flourish for finding odd monikers," Harry half-sniggered, half-coughed; under his mask of relative befuddlement, however, reigned annoyance, resignation and horror at having another burden forced on his shoulders, as well as a new label to add to his growing pile. The arctic glare he received in return silenced him faster than an uppercut would. "Erm...sorry."

"I do have a...'moniker'...of my own, Potter..." Asmodeus said frostily, his eyes narrowing. "As do you...need I remind you 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'? I am...flummoxed by how easily you forget such a thing, however trivial it may sound to you. Besides, it is in your best interest not to eschew that notion...well, that tradition, as most vampires build their reputation and honor on it - when you mention a certain war name, a lot of stories, labels and other messages come along. They command respect from you and if you laugh at a certain name, no matter how ridiculous it sounds, you could very well alienate yourself from our society - making yourself a few powerful enemies in the process. Names are harbingers of awe but also of fear, Potter. That numbskull Voldemort learned it a while ago and put that knowledge to good use," he snapped, leaning forward. "Never forget that."

"I have heard too many wizards cringing or stammering when I mention his...nickname, thank you. I think I'm far too used to it to easily forget," Harry replied, his patience wearing thin by the second. Asmodeus sneered then drew back, his cloak returning to its former state - unmoving and unmarred by eddying shadows.

"Then stop questioning the matter - the conclusions are already there for you to use. You may rebel against them but I advise you against going on an all-out war; you'll be wasting your breath and saliva on something far too entrenched in the wizarding and vampiric society to fix in a fortnight. There are things that have survived through decennia and even centuries so don't presume you can get rid of them in even a century or two, no matter how much sweat and blood you lose in the process."

"Maybe if Voldemort dies it'll stop," Harry sighed, knowing very well that the fear Voldemort had given birth to during his years of terror would survive him for many decennia. Even Hagrid had winced when he had revealed You-Know-Who's name to a small, raven-haired and bespectacled, eleven year-old child at his birthday - despite the ten years having gone between the Dark Lord's demise and that very moment. There were things in life that wouldn't die without putting up a good fight. "But I surmise I'm hoping for too much?" Harry said sardonically, stealing Asmodeus' words from his mouth before they were spoken. The vampire grumbled his assent and returned his gaze to the corridor in front of them, his fingers twitching. After a few seconds, they were once again in the great hall, where a hush fell on the audience gathered there as the two former wizards emerged from the Oracle's abode. For a scant second, Harry feared that someone might have eavesdropped on them but as curious gazes shifted back to their former direction, his shoulders slumped in grateful relief. Thankfully, Skinnard wasn't there anymore yet someone else had replaced him.

"Asmodeus."

With an aggravated grunt, the Nightslasher whipped around to find a black-clad vampire leaning casually on a nearby pillar, clutching an armful of papers. "Malachi," he returned much more calmly, without hostility this time. The two men strode over to each other, before trading a handshake. "Long time no see, ole mate. How's the weather in your blood-hole?"

"Gloomy," came the flat answer. "You know how Scotland's treating me but I'm fine by it - it fits my everyday mood fairly well," Asmodeus continued tersely, earning himself a hearty laugh from his companion. Harry remained two steps behind his master, unsure whether he should join in the conversation or not. Easy interaction wasn't his forte, especially with people who he didn't know. What is unknown was a potential threat, as his master had once said. "And this guy, there," Malachi interrupted, pointing to the young wizard with a gloved claw, "am I to assume he's another of your students? I remember the last one..." he chuckled.

"Don't you dare remind me of that dilettantish, incompetent weakling!" hissed Asmodeus, eyes flashing crimson. Harry could almost see smoke coming out of the vampire's ears. "It was bad enough Wilfred asked me to tutor him and I foolishly accepted as a way to repay my debt - that boy was far more a failure than I thought he would be! The only useful thing he did for me was forsake his apprenticeship and become a pizza delivery boy, nothing more, nothing less!" Harry cringed, already drowning in a bout of foreboding, dreary enough to make Sybill Trelawney proud of her student. Don't talk about me, it'll be a disaster, don't talk about me...he supplicated to whatever deity remained in its elysian realm high above.

"And this one?" Malachi snickered. "I gather he'll be a milkman when he'll be done with you?"

Fucking-

"Hmph, he might," Harry's master answered, disdain creasing his features. "Anyway, he's better than nothing, quite above average but not extraordinary. Quite interesting, in overall. 'Promising' would be too generous of me but I guess it still applies to him, to an extent." Could have been worse, Harry thought, unconsciously releasing his breath. And generous is still an understatement for a walking, snappish, blood-sucking iceberg. "But he was as clumsy as a freshly castrated ox in the beginning, I should say."

WHAT IN THE BLOODY-

Malachi's eyes were glittering rather eerily at him; he couldn't decide, in his indignant mood, whether to be worried or intrigued by that sign. "I see. Sorry not to have introduced myself," he said, with a mocking curtsey, which Asmodeus interrupted with a "stop this travesty, for Dracula's sake! Can't you leave your shenanigans home?"

"Spoiling all the fun as always, I see," Malachi smirked back. "Anyway," he resumed, extending his hand at Harry, "I'm Malachi, Malachi Lifeshredder," he introduced himself. Upon Harry's dumb blinking, he clarified, "that's my nickname in the 'field'."

"I told you," Asmodeus smugly declared.

Malachi threw his companion a mirthful glance then returned to Harry. "Pardon me for the indiscretion, but what's your true name?" Malachi plastered a hurt expression on his face, puckering his lips in mocking disapproval. The snicker coming from Asmodeus told Harry that, indeed, this was a question that would normally have offended a normal vampire but Malachi didn't seem to obey to those rules. The frown on the dark-haired man, however, collapsed into a rogue grin. "I forgot it a while ago - when you become a vampire, your records in the government don't matter anymore. You're dead - a ghost - and most of us, in the process, lose our names and gain nicknames, which we adopt readily. As years go by, we are far too used being called by those new names to still bear our former ones. Becoming a vampire...is like a new life, if you see what I mean...so, I'm sorry but I'll pass for this time."

"Last time I checked, he went by 'Jezebel'," Asmodeus sneered, crossing his arms.

"Hey! I resent that - that's a woman's name for blood's sakes, Skullripper - not a man's," Malachi protested. Skullripper?

"Could have fooled me," was the immediate answer.

"No wonder," his interlocutor grumbled. "Anyway, I must get going - besides, I'd like to share a word with you anytime soon, Skull. Things out there are getting a-going. I'd need some advice from your part - it's growing hectic as we are speaking." That made Harry's head turn and the young wizard caught in extremis the almost imperceptible blink his master gave at the request. "You know how to call me. Old ways are best, although the new ones are quite useful too...that mobile phone is quite neat, I must say," he grinned. "About time those mortals provided us with something that comes in handy when we need it. See you later, Asmodeus, errr..." he trailed off, remembering that Harry had still not introduced himself. Drat! the young man cursed. He was, however, spared the trouble by his master, who conveniently interjected, "Harry, but he goes by 'Andrew' here. We'll talk about this later." The steely tones conveyed the message quite well to the long-haired vampire who nodded with an undecipherable expression and took his leave, striding towards another room with his arms still full of papers and ledgers.

"Seems quite a lively place," Harry commented casually, looking at the baroque architecture with slitted eyes. As his gaze swept over the large expanse, he noticed that most bystanders were now cluttered near the walls and not lingering near the center of the chamber, as if somebody or something had compelled them to pursue their incessant chatter slightly away. Perplexed he turned around till his eyes fell on a tall individual, hooded and bedecked in ample robes, making his way with a host of a dozen other vampires, gathered around him like a praetorian guard. Harry's eyes narrowed in curiosity at the man who was now walking towards the Oracle's abode, before Asmodeus regained his attention.

"It is a haven for all - a sanctuary that must be kept unsullied till the end of this world, at all costs. Here no feuds are allowed exist and many are those who come to mingle here - however, it is no place for sycophants or agitators - they would be slain in front of everyone for troubling the sanctity of this area," Asmodeus answered curtly, before grasping Harry's arm and dragging him towards the exit, the hooded man and his entourage forgotten in the blink of an eye. Once again, eyes were drawn to them as they got themselves towards the stairs that led to the outside world. He could hear the Nightslasher hissing softly as gazes locked on the pair, curiosity washing over it.

"Damn, damn, damn," Asmodeus cursed. "It went worse than I thought it would go!" he nearly shouted as they climbed the winding staircase at full speed. Harry had a great deal of trouble keeping pace with his instructor, while trying to understand what was at hand. "Had it not been for Skinnard we would have come and gone in all discretion, by Lestoat's fangs. Bloody, good-for-nothing, dirtblood-licker..."

Harry listened to the stream of cuss words flying off the former Auror's mouth, paying but little attention to his vehement expletives. Instead, the gears of his mind were in motion, processing what he had heard during the few minutes that they had spent in that underground complex. Finally, he spoke up, interrupting Asmodeus' still ongoing raving session. "Is the Council reliable?"

Asmodeus' glare cut holes in his eyes but he didn't heed the irritation aimed at him. "What's that for a question, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, unwilling to be deterred by the recent developments as well as the increasing annoyance of his master. Which was hard work for him indeed. "Well, you guaranteed me that the Oracle wouldn't divulge my new prophecy to anyone but since that Skinnard ruined our little come-and-go expedition here, is there a chance that they'd learn about me and decide to take steps?" Asmodeus' reply was as immediate as it was harsh. "Don't be an ass, Potter. They are completely unaware of your true identity - besides, why would they bother themselves with the apprentice of a former Nightslasher who incidentally chose to live in autarchy a while ago?"

Harry frowned, then sullenly offered his riposte, "well...you just said it 'autarchy'. Why would someone who had shut himself off his community suddenly come back? And with an apprentice, on top of that? I don't know, but judging from my experience at Hogwarts, I wouldn't be surprised if people didn't start gossiping about it, even for the sake and pleasure of badmouthing others. And since that...err...Skinnard and you don't seem to get well along..." he let his sentence hanging there and he was rewarded, shortly thereafter, by the clenching of Asmodeus' jaw. "I understand your logic but I still doubt the Council would do anything about you - they'd merely acknowledge the fact but go as far as summon your for an interrogation? Not a chance in Gehenna, Potter," he snapped irritably.

"Surprising," Harry sneered, trying to undermine his teacher's arguments - at least for once in his lifetime. Score in my favor. "I was accused of breaking a couple of laws last year and I still had to be judged in front of the entire Wizengamot, therefore..."

He narrowly avoiding crashing into Asmodeus' back as the man stopped in his tracks, before his head revolved slowly to face his student. "The Wizengamot. The entire council," he repeated slowly, his face advertising, 'stop shitting me or I'll use your teeth as tenpins next time I'll go to a bowling center'.

"Err...yeah," Harry confirmed, not sure where this would go.

He was flabbergasted to see Asmodeus' shoulder slunk low and his head droop with an exasperated sigh. "You're definitely abnormal, Potter," he growled wearily.

Harry rolled his eyes at his master and was about to resume his walk when he saw the other vampire stiffen then grab his elbow with clawed hands. "It seems that we will have to take a shortcut," he hissed lowly before taking his apprentice towards one of the many corridors that could be found every ten meters in the staircase at a perpendicular angle. "Where are we going?" Harry questioned, alarmed by the change of plans. He noticed that the walls had lesser decorum than before and from time to time he would spot cobwebs here and there, hinting that the path they were taking was leading them to lesser used areas.

"A group of vampires is currently dillydallying at the entrance - and from the looks of it, we'll have to choose another way out of here to avoid unnecessary attention. We must contain damage."

Harry nodded, not one bit too happy with what had happened that night. He was certain that in one way or another, there would be prices to pay and sacrifices to make. The two set out for their new journey, but this time, instead of dashing upstairs, their new path wound deeper and deeper into the entrails of Earth, quite to the confusion of the younger vampire. They passed a small anteroom guarded by huge, towering gargoyles and turned to their right. The air was slightly staler but only a vampire's nose could notice the change. "Where are we going exactly?"

"There are three other hidden entrances in the neighborhood. One is in an old forest, hidden behind some rocks and two are built within secluded alleys, far from prying eyes and ears. We're heading for one of the alleys - the forest is less safe than one could be led to think. Since it is a quite empty area, save for the local fauna, vampires do tend to chat around the rocks as they believe it's a safe place to talk - hence a higher probability to meet unwanted people on our path. We'll be walking through the Archives - that was where Malachi was headed, a library that has held chronicles and records of Britain's vampiric community for thousands of years. Only scholars go there nowadays and they are likely to concentrate on the works gathered there than on bystanders."

For five minutes they walked, hastily dashing through endless corridors and other passages, under many arches and other ornate gates. For Harry, it was like traipsing inside a labyrinth chiseled in the likes of a Renaissance cathedral. Suddenly, Asmodeus' grip tightened and their pace quickened. "Damn - I didn't know there were so many of them here," he grumbled, without explaining whom he was exactly referring to. Harry scowled as they nearly broke into a run - making it all the more difficult for his worn out being. They finally got inside a large mezzanine, which seemed to overlook an inner courtyard surrounded by dozens of pillars. Harry, despite his increased abilities, was by now panting.

It then seemed like a stroke of fortune when Asmodeus stopped in his tracks, but the look of the Nightslasher's face told his apprentice that his brutally freezing in place was not a good omen in the least. Harry's senses stretched outwards, trying to discover whatever caused his master to curtail their progression. He was then rewarded by a small feeling at the edge of his mind, like a caress - a sort of natural warning that other vampires were in their immediate vicinity.

"The hell be with them," the former Auror snarled, then snatched his charge and pulled him - no, threw him at the railing between them and the courtyard beneath. Harry grasped the stony surface, gripping the ledge tightly between his fingers to prop himself up. "What the fuck-"

"Jump!" Asmodeus hissed, already swinging his legs over the marble wall.

Harry looked back with wide eyes. "What?" he choked.

"I told you to jump - they're coming here!" was his razor sharp answer.

"Who?"

"We don't have time, Potter - jump!" Asmodeus growled, gripping his apprentice by the collar and forcing him to climb over the cold railing and let his feet dangle in midair. Six meters beneath them laid the shadowy surface of the courtyard, its floor seeming awfully solid to the young vampire. His head snapped back towards the other vampire, his face filled with disbelief. "But -"

He never had the chance to express his protest as a brutal shove in his back pushed him off his support, causing him to fall towards the ground. Head first.

Time seemed to come to a crawl as foot by foot, then inches by inches, the floor came to meet his body, its shiny, polished surface glaringly precise in Harry's eyes. His sight stretched out, filling in every microscopic crevice laid bare in front of him, as if he needed to find every imperfection in the world around. His fall seemed to have been slowed down - as if every law in this universe had been reversed by the hands of an unknown deity. Harry noticed the abrupt change in his perceptions and perceived the sudden thrill in his spine and how his body seemed to chill, followed by the now quite familiar quite, soft chills that coursed through his limbs. Slowly but surely, as his body rushed to meet the ground, his hands and knees moved forwards - downwards.

Then-

Harry landed on all fours like an oversized cat, his muscles bending to absorb the shock. He was surprised to feel no pain in his straining ligaments and no pricking sensation in his bare hands - when he normally should have felt something that would make him wince. Startled, he adjusted himself into a kneeling position and quickly examined his palms, confused to see no scratch or blemish on them. The skin was absolutely intact.

He had once again gone berserker - allowing his instincts to take over and save him from rather nasty injuries. If only he could call upon those abilities without a life or death situation...

He choked quite anticlimactically as a hand grabbed him from behind, hauling him onto his feet then, without missing a beat, pulling him towards an empty archway. During those mere five seconds he had completely forgotten about Asmodeus and their current predicament. And the old (in mortal terms) Nightslasher had never been bestowed with a lot of patience in his life. "Get a grip on yourself, Potter!" the stalwart vampire snapped, forcing Harry to resume his run towards safety. The wizarding world's Chosen One could hear faraway voices in their wake, probably those that Asmodeus sought to avoid and that were now entering the mezzanine. Harry had by then found himself already walking on a rather slippery staircase, that reminded him a lot of Snape's potions. The fumes from the professor's potions, however, weren't thankfully there - although the torches on the wall were doing a quite good rendition of Hogwarts' darkest passages.

"We're taking another shortcut - now we're at the back of the Archives' room - right behind the backs of those we were about to meet - we won't go near the bookshelves and the room itself since there are antitheft wards erected around but we'll remain close to the walls. These are old passages, so they are less likely to be monitored either by magic or by eye," the Nightslasher whispered, leading Harry forwards. The dull pain in his legs was now making itself known to his brains - probably increased by exhaustion and the frazzled state of his mind.

Harry nodded and kept walking, through chambers filled with stacks of parchments, books, huge and dusty tomes, until they found themselves stepping in a large, domelike structure that also served as a crossroads. However, Harry's musings were cut short as he hard Asmodeus softly growling. He was about to ask why when-

"Damn it to hell, they're coming from the other side!" Asmodeus cursed, shoving Harry towards the nearest wall. He looked upwards and spotted, towering above them on a stony cornice, gripping the outthrust with its clawed hands and viciously baring its sharpened fangs at them. "There!" Asmodeus exclaimed. He thrust his finger at the elaborately carved column that bore the statue's weight and pulled Harry towards it. "Climb - we're going to hide up there."

"On the gargoyle?" Harry sputtered skeptically.

"I thought you knew how to Shadowcloak, Potter?" Asmodeus stormed back.

"Oh hell," Harry replied, pulling himself upwards albeit with great reluctance. The column, thankfully, was of Corinthian design, meaning that the barrel looked like a great sheet of cloth tightly wrung out - creating spinning bulges that allowed the two vampires some leverage to climb up, towards a cornice situated four meters above the floor. Harry gripped the marble edge tightly and bent his arms. He swung his legs sideways, using the momentum to get his feet to catch the ledge. He squatted as he gathered himself up, passing under the stony creature's mighty bat wings, trying to relocate behind the wide limbs and find a hideout. Asmodeus, suddenly at his side, proceeded to Shadowcloak himself, transforming his body into a thin layer of ethereal darkness that encroached upon the gargoyle, till it became like a second skin, clinging to the carved, grimacing creature. From afar, nobody would ever see the difference as the statue itself was ebony black and gave no reflection of the dim light. A vampire wrapping himself around the landmark would be completely invisible. Harry took the cue and imitated his master, becoming another shadow a few seconds later, finding refuge near the gargoyle's hind legs, away from view.

He huddled closer to the gargoyle, his insubstantial body enshrouding the statue like a flimsy coat. He didn't dare peer over the edge, for fear of attracting the Nightslashers' attention. Whispers came to him from beneath - softly muttered words his enhanced hearing helped him pick up.

"I am sure they were here - but how in Gehenna did they get away?" exclaimed one of their pursuers. Footsteps soon followed, as the men beneath Harry scattered to get their bearings and locate their prey.

"This place is rumored to be like a sponge - full of holes and cavities - maybe they took one of the secret entrances. After all, not all of them have been discovered and some have fallen into oblivion," came the strained answer, dripping with impatience.

"And how could they know about them if we don't even do?" snapped the interlocutor, before a third voice cut in impatiently. Harry was tempted to peer over the edge and yell at them but he wasn't sure he could perform that stunt without getting mauled by Asmodeus.

"Enough bickering, you two. Raleigh, Mathias, you go back to the second level and tell the detail there to regroup near the main hall at the second junction. I have the feeling that our targets aren't far away - if they are intelligent, they will go to the catacombs - since they are still linked to the old mines and therefore to the old mining complex. We'll head there before they have a chance to bail out."

"What about the other entrances?" the first man asked, drawing sighs from his companions. "Can't they-"

"Don't be daft, Mathias," snapped a fourth person. "There are wards all over the place - we would have known if they had gone that way. Obviously they haven't."

Harry retreated a bit in his makeshift alcove, trying to reduce his profile and make himself as invisible as possible. Risking a sideway glance he spotted Asmodeus' shadow slithering up the gargoyle's, neck, silently inching towards the ledge. Harry was probably a Gryffindor by heart but he knew that there were boundaries he was not to trespass this night. And to end us as barbecue meat as part of a Nightslasher's meal was the last of his wishes. A soft clatter accompanied by the rustle of cloth signaled the departure of the law enforcers. Asmodeus' shape automatically coalesced back to its normal state. The vampire bent over the edge and risked an eye, checking the surroundings before beckoning to his apprentice with a wave of his hand. Reluctantly, Harry followed suit, allowing his body to return to full solidity. The two jumped from the gargoyle and landed meters lower, in utter silence. Harry didn't have the leisure to look around as Asmodeus grabbed his elbow and towed him towards the nearest hallway, without a backwards look. From the confines of his mind, Harry could still sense the other vampires in the immediate surrounding and he knew that the longer he gallivanted there the likeliest it was for him to be discovered.

The two sprinted through a maze of corridors and stairwells, their journey stretching deeper into the buried cathedral of sorts, either going deeper or higher. He scraped his elbows and shoulders countless times on the walls as they turned abruptly, switching paths to confuse their pursuers, whom, Harry realized, were still near - meaning that they had figured out Asmodeus' trick and were now in hot pursuit. As they thundered through the stairs, Harry could feel his legs begin to ache and his lungs burning with every breath released. His speed suffered from his increasing exhaustion. Asmodeus seemed to have noticed that as he suddenly thrust his arm in Harry's direction and glared at him. "Bite it - it will replenish your body."

"Bite?" Harry wheezed.

"YES, BITE," Asmodeus exploded. Harry shook his head and grabbed the proffered limb, before bringing the wrist to his mouth and sinking his fangs into it. His mind didn't dwell on the taste, as a divine flavor suddenly sent his senses aflame, driving him into a state close to exhilaration, as blood seeped through his lips and fell on his hungry tongue. After a few seconds (during which Harry had to make sure he didn't trip while sucking the life fluid out of the other vampire's arm) Harry released Asmodeus' arm and muttered his thanks. A sharp tingling at the back of his head suddenly caused him to hiss, as if he something unseen had angered him. Asmodeus apparently had experienced the same signal, as he abruptly stopped in mid-stride and spun around, his own fangs growing exponentially. "Curse them - we won't have time to reach the entrance. Shadowcloak yourself, Potter. We'll have to fight them here."

"Fight? I didn't learn how to fight using the Shadowcloak," Harry protested angrily. Now that he had drunk some blood he could find enough strength to complain about the situation. He wondered if the small amount of vampiric manna he'd been given would allow him to fend off seasoned Nightslashers, but he intended to give it a try. He braced himself then rehearsed the mantras Priscilla had taught him, wishing for his body to turn once again into shapeless shadow. "Leave them to me, then - but shadows can fight against shadows, Potter. A wizard can't do anything against Shadowcloaked vampires but one can't say the same about Shadowcloaked vampires. Just ram into them and knock them off their feet - that'll be enough. I'll deal with them afterwards."

Harry nodded (or at least thought to, as his shapeless form didn't have a material head to begin with) and readied himself for the confrontation. His immaterial eyes pierced the darkness beneath him, his sight stretching forward through the dimly lit staircase and seeking out for his target. He finally found them - small, blurry shapes growing in the distance, swishing towards him at high speed - Shadowcloaks. He glanced left and noted that his master had also become a great mass of swirling black, hovering menacingly above the steps, tendrils of darkness angrily whizzing in midair. He could almost feel the tension in the air - like crackling electricity sending his senses into overdrive, as insubstantial adrenaline flowed through his 'veins'.

The shadows stopped in their flight as if examining them then rushed forwards, as if pouncing on them. Harry rose higher, letting one of the five shadows barrel beneath him and ducked to his right, in time to avoid a second pursuer. He swirled around the face his opponents and missed a direct collision with a third Nightslasher, as a great cloak tried to wrap around his intangible body. He flew to the ground and began dodging the flurry of Nightslashers soaring in the staircase, like great birds hunting each other. Harry flung himself to the left and found himself behind one of the Nightslasher. Remembering what Asmodeus had instructed him to, he threw his body at the vampire and pushed with all his might, hoping that his immaterial hands would indeed find something to exert pressure on. Surprisingly - and to his greatest delight, he felt a report in his imaginary fingertips and applied more force. His momentum drove him farther with his target, eventually ramming it into a nearby wall. However, Harry's sense of satisfaction was short-lived as the Shadowcloak cushioned itself by behaving like a rather flexible bubblegum - and suddenly, Harry found himself thrown back into the opposite wall, as the Shadowcloak expanded back to full volume. Harry cartwheeled in midair and as he spun wildly around, his gaze fell on one of the torches affixed on the walls. His imaginary hand grabbed the item, took it off its bronze mount and swung it in a wide arc, causing the Nightslasher to back off in order to avoid the flames. Harry repeated the gesture a couple of times, effectively interrupting the other vampires in their fight and the torch drew large circles, threatening to set the antagonists afire. Somehow Harry knew that fire was one weapon he could use against his peers - by the way it flickered in front of him he automatically knew it was a foe and not something he was immune to. Instinctive.

The Nightslashers paired up and as Harry skipped to the side to avoid the encroaching Shadowcloaks, he didn't see a swirl of pitch black hurl itself at the young wizard, causing him to loosen his grip around the torch and let it go. The burning piece of wood clattered on the floor, its light putting the surroundings aglow for a moment before it weakened. It was now harder to discern what was true shadow and what wasn't. Although he had enhanced eyes, Harry still had a hard time determining what was a threat and what was just empty air. As his eyes darted from left to right, the wind was knocked out of his lungs, as he was flung on the ground by a Nightslasher rushing at him from behind.

Harry felt his throat being constricted, as if someone was trying to choke him; looking downwards he spotted a ribbon of eddying black tightening on his body, attempting to squeeze the life out. He was about to lose consciousness when a muffled grunt erupted somewhere near and the offender wrapped around Harry's black found himself airborne. Harry immediately turned around to see Asmodeus' ominous shape towering above him, a strange, infuriated hissing sound emanating from the hovering pool of shadow. He could tell that his master was not happy in the least. Looking around, Harry spotted a man lying on the ground, his temples bloodied and his face a bit bluish, as if he'd been strangled, too.

From the corner of his eye, he picked two black shapes hurling themselves at the pair. Harry repeated his earlier moves, sidestepping the two Nightslashers before throwing himself at a third opponent sprinting behind his colleagues, with the desperate hope of hitting a painful area or at least make him back off. The young wizard was rewarded with a vicious snarl as the Nightslasher bounced back, its shadow twirling rather angrily. Had he had hands to move around, he'd have been covering his head, judging from how the vampire behaved. Obviously, Harry had struck at a VERY painful area - probably the face. Without skipping a beat, Harry lashed out once again and his foe was thrown back into a wall, before soundlessly slinking to the damp ground. The huddle of shadows flickered for a moment, before it turned into the hunched body of a gaunt man whose nose and forehead were bleeding quite profusely. Harry didn't have the time to gloss over his victory as something barreled into him, sending him 'tumbling' down the stairs, before he manage to rise to the ceiling, cursing under his breath. Looking downwards he saw another man, wearing the Nightslasher's attire, eagle-spread and unmoving. Harry winced in compassion, knowing how brutal Asmodeus could be. His eyes darted upwards, in time to see his teacher pounce onto the last vampire and holding him in a vicious hold - till the mantle of black shuddered a couple of times, struggled weakly then became limp. Harry stared at Asmodeus' Shadowcloak, realizing that the former Auror had taken on four Nightslashers by himself and dealt with them without any apparent problem.

Asmodeus reverted to his 'human' form and glowered at his apprentice, beckoning him towards the upper part of the staircase. There were neither welts nor bruises on his face and Harry could only wonder how he had managed to get out of a fight unscathed and still full of energy. He let go of his interrogations and fell in step behind his master, resuming their run towards the exit. Behind them, the fallen torch finally gave in to the dampness and its flame finally went out, plunging the scenery in heavy darkness.

"Hell and damnation!" the Nightslasher swore under his breath, his face definitely livid. He might have been victorious but it seemed that the only times Asmodeus ever glossed were when he was persecuting his disciples - or so Harry deemed.

And a certain student couldn't have put his master's expletive in better words.

"Really a strange night, Potter," Asmodeus commented sardonically, obviously none too pleased with the latest development. What was even more eerie was the fact that Asmodeus was resuming their discussion as if nothing had occurred in the meantime - and his breathing was even, not winded, a fact that perplexed Harry although it was no surprise to him. "Not only is there this prophecy to keep fresh in our minds, Skinnard gets to see you and I, I in turn meet someone who tells me that things are hectic and I see Nightslashers swarming over the place and keeping tabs on areas that should theoretically be half-forgotten by the newer generations - then we have a brawl in the holy of holies of the vampiric world. A real blast, if I were to talk in a modern way."

Harry sighed loudly, tired with the Nightslasher's sarcasm. "What were they doing there?"

"I don't know - but this year has been marked with strange sights and occurrences, Potter."

"And you are telling me that?" Harry interjected tersely. "Somehow that sort of sentence is getting very old, in my opinion."

"Vampires are immortal - age doesn't matter for us - but the repetitiveness of our time does," Asmodeus snapped. "Anyway, the only thing I can deduce is that there is something going astray in the community - only the Council can assign guards to specific areas and I doubt the Nightslashers would be zealous enough to take the initiative and decide to guard practically abandoned paths on their own. They have better to do in the meantime."

"The Council?" Harry offered.

"Possibly - but the councilmen and councilwomen can order the Nightslashers around without having to answer to the Council as long as it is for the sake of our community's security. It is one of the only cases where the Elders can act independently from each other - otherwise they must convene and discuss matters together before making decisions."

"I didn't see Nightslashers when we came here, though," Harry observed, clutching his throat to ease the ebbing pain on his jugular. "By the way, can they determine our identities? I heard them talking about wards."

Asmodeus shook his head, and his words weren't biting for once in his lifetime. "Not exactly - I know where you're heading - a vampiric version of forensics using wards, eh? It's not possible here and besides, even if there are libraries and archives as well as halls for bootlickers and other celebrities, it still remains the abode of the Oracle. Only her living and working quarters need wards - as well as for the libraries, by the way. But the rest doesn't require security systems. Seeing Nightslashers patrolling the mansion is something quite rare, too - as people might see it as an attempt from the Council to meddle with the Oracle' business and try to manipulate her - if not blatantly seize control of the power she holds over our society."

"I see," Harry said, noticing that they were going higher than before - and were most than likely heading for the ground level, this time. Logically the exit shouldn't be far away.

"It's also a sanctuary and only security matters warrant the presence of law enforcers - a very old law. The only way our identity could be found is by interrogating the wards on who walked through the front gate and who didn't. People usually enter and exit the monument by the same area - so, if they ever manage to get the Oracle's cooperation in this, they can know whoever messed with them - but otherwise..." he trailed off, running a hand in his crew-cut hair. "On the sidelines, I noticed that those Nightslashers were deliberately masking their presence by using a variation of the Shadowcloak - hence the reason why I didn't locate them in the first place."

"How did you locate them, then?" Harry questioned, feeling his former exhaustion returning ounce by ounce. His onetime exhilaration was ebbing away, replaced by an odd sense of weariness. His feet were beginning to hurt and they felt like packs of lead - and as if woes didn't come alone, he could sense a headache churning in his head, promising him a not-too-agreeable remainder of the night. He already felt the pain beginning to ravage his mind like a harvester reaping its yearly loom.

"By experience," Asmodeus replied curtly. "Don't forget that I've worked with them so I know how they proceed. Noticing them becomes a second nature after some time."

"Do you think it has something to do with us?"

The older vampire said nothing then slowly answered, seemingly uncertain about his words. "Maybe. I'm not sure whether we are the direct cause of this increased surveillance but we might be linked to it...in some way or another. The other hypothesis is that we are suffering from a massive case of bad luck and we were here the wrong day and at the wrong time."

Wooden torches were now replaced by oil lamps and the walls were no longer made of old, granite stones but of black marble, finely chiseled and without imperfection. They were obviously in a rather recent gallery, which left Harry awash with high hopes of finally seeing the end to this night's painful martyrdom. Somehow, he felt that it had been even worse than his little escapade to the Ministry of Magic, despite the fact that he and his master had gone off better than the previous time. The comparison was unjust, unrelated and completely irrelevant but the burden on his shoulders seemed greater than ever, as if shackles had been added as some divine retribution to his attempting to bring an end to everything.

"Bad luck? That's something I'm getting accustomed to, too," Harry groused, his mind instantly going back to that lone individual calmly walking through the large hall, with the other vampires making way for him, like the sea parting to let Moses walk through. The comparison wasn't that irrelevant or stupid, now that he thought about it - and the entourage of the mystery person reminded him a lot of the Nightslashers he had just seen - same attire, same stride, same demeanor. The similitude was nearly baffling.

"Then take a bloody subscription!" the Nightslasher growled, throwing his hands in the air

Been there, done that. But I request a reimbursement for quality abuse.

They entered a huge antechamber full of statues of tall, gaunt and sinister men - obviously vampires that had left a name in their community's history. God knew whether Harry would join them anytime soon in that hall of fame. He hoped not - even if there was some honor at hand. An umpteenth flight of stairs finally appeared in front of them, heading upwards. Asmodeus' pace then increased noticeably, forcing Harry to quicken his. Three minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of a blank wall, with in its middle a carved wolf's head, holding in its snout a large black ring, which the Nightslasher grabbed and pulled. A low rumble then rose from the ornament as if it took life, till the pane of stone in front of the two vampires began to move, rotating on hidden hinges and unveiling a dark, dampened alley. A whiff of fresh, cool air told Harry that they were now safe and two steps away from liberty. His master paid no heed to his feelings and unceremoniously dragged him out of the doorway, leading them to a shadowed spot. Just as he set foot outside, Harry felt a tingle on his neck. "Wh-what was that?"

"What?" his companion hissed, obviously daring him to bring him any more bad news.

"I felt something - was there something around?"

Asmodeus shot him an exasperated glare and ground, "that was vampiric magic, Potter - just what we were mentioning a while ago. Wards that prevent human beings from accessing the sanctuary without either the Oracle's leave or the Council's. They prevent Apparition, too. You can only access this mansion if you are a vampire and, or if you are invited in. Otherwise the wards will repel any form of intrusion, especially from wizards, werewolves, veelas, giants and other magical creatures deemed unworthy of being granted entrance to this palace. The Oracle is much like a princess or a queen, hence the presence of numerous security measures. Note that the Oracle's Word supersedes that of the Council. In her own way she holds more power than those aristocrats - and consequently more value in everybody's eyes. Her prophecies are invaluable."

"Does she?"

Asmodeus sniffed, his eyes darting from left to right, surveying the surroundings for any Nightslasher lying in wait and ready to pounce on them like rabid dogs. "She is much older than you think, Potter. She walked the nights eons ago. Nobody knows exactly when she was born but she was already there when Rome reached its apogee. Some say that she even witnessed Great Britain being invaded by the Romans and the Empire tumbling under the hands of the Goths and other barbarians," he grumbled. "She has been the guideline of many leaders who asked for the Advice of the Gods. Have you ever heard how a certain French president relied on his daily horoscope to make his own decisions? How many rulers, in the Middle Ages, have lent their attention to the clergy or asked for the counsel of a priest or a holy individual? By controlling what gives society a reason to live as well as a promise of a better future, you can control their reason to exist and eventually society itself. Religion or anything touching to higher instances are sources of ultimate control. However, according to our ancestral laws, the Oracle has no real prerogatives...except that all vampires hearken unto her like children would raptly listen to their own mother."

"Are there castes here?" Harry asked, his nose flooded with the thousand fragrances of the night, with its dominating dampness and the unmistakable stench of decaying flora, grime and dirty stone. Somehow it felt better than the sharp, oppressive scent of the underground facility underneath. It didn't smell of freedom and safety, even it those were nothing but subjective notions.

"Castes? Not quite. Clans and families, yes. But no predetermined social echelons - unless you count power or wealth as a denominator and in that case, yes, there are echelons, as in every form of society in this world."

"Naturally," Harry commented wryly, then frowned. "Tell me, does Priscilla - and you, by the way - belong to a caste or a clan or is she an outsider?"

"Why are you asking that?" Asmodeus asked, more civilly than he normally would.

Harry shrugged, once again feeling a thousand tons settling on his worn shoulders. His burden was growing heavier by the minute as the boundaries of his world got more and more defined - and not always in the best of ways. He was a barely born immortal but it was as if he had aged a hundred years in five seconds. "Just wanted to know, that's all - what I can rely on and what I can expect from others. My strengths and weaknesses."

"There's quite a list of those."

"Tell me about it."

"Another time, maybe - anyway, Priscilla and I are Rogues."

"Rogues?" Harry repeated, his ears perking up at the term.

"Rogues, Potter," Asmodeus explained with thinning patience, "are vampires that have no allegiances, except to the Council. They used to be called Peasants in the Middle Ages but the word changed halfway through the Renaissance as certain individuals, former Rogues, started their own clans by bringing their relatives and friends, sharing Immortality with them. As they gained power, the name lost its derogatory meaning and it was replaced by something more up to date and accurate in its own way. Rogues are, literally, people without a leash around their neck. We are our own masters. Just like you."

"So I can only expect support from the Council?" Harry sighed resignedly.

"If they decide to be benevolent, yes. If they see past your being a potential tool, yes. Otherwise they'll be wary of you, although they are far too powerful to expect you to be a threat to their dominion. But they'll only lend their strength and resources if they are forced to. They won't break the headlock between the Wizarding World and the vampire community without the assurance that they will win the sudden change in the balance of powers. Besides, Rogues are basically people that don't have any masters and therefore are sort of potentially more troublesome than Clan members, who can be controlled. Therefore, even though you won't be ostracized for not belonging to any Clan, officials will think twice before offering their help in any endeavor of yours. Because there is no guarantee you will stick to the laws of old. For those who are under the auspices of Clan heads, there are politically less risks, although it doesn't make those higher-ups any less annoying in terms of power."

"I see."

"The bottom line, Potter, is that you are basically alone. Malachi and some others can help you but behind the scenes - they cannot be implicated in others' business, as the risks are too high."

"What about you? Are you the reckless, selfless type or do you prefer to stay put and watch from afar?" Harry asked quietly. He could almost feel the air turning into stone as the question hung unanswered. Finally, Asmodeus turned to him, his face unreadable.

"I do not gamble, Potter. I need to ascertain myself of certain things before acting."

"Meaning?"

"It'd depend on the situation."

Harry shook his head; he knew he wouldn't get any clearer answer from his master and the tension was too thick in the air to keep this discussion going on for long. Adding more to his own discomfort was also out of question. He nodded at Asmodeus, who produced from his cloak the Portkey for the journey back to Priscilla's apartment. He grabbed hold of it, closing his eyes as he imagined what tomorrow would look like. The night suddenly seemed colder than it previously was - an eerie feeling, even for a vampire accustomed to it. The jerk behind his navel signaled his departure from the ground a second later.

Two seconds later the small, dampened alley had returned to its previous, abandoned and silent state.

---

When Harry's feet entered in contact with linoleum instead of cold brick, he was satisfied to see that he had not lost his footing, like he always did each time he traveled by Portkey or Floo Powder. Turning around, he saw that he wasn't in Asmodeus' mansion but back in Priscilla's apartment. The lights were dimmed and it seemed that the blonde vampire was still waiting for them or was still up for some reason.

Asmodeus cleared his throat, just as Harry's roommate's voice floated from the kitchen. "Harry? Ya back?"

"I'm here, Cilia," he called back, taking care not to speak too loud. Lizzie was probably deep in sleep right now but vampires were, for a fact, bestowed with an excellent hearing. Five seconds later, he managed to give a weak smile at his guardian as she came in the living room, holding a mop and some cutlery in her hands. "Modie? What ya doin' here? Somethin' wrong?" she questioned, the worry in her voice evident.

The Nightslasher rolled his eyes and grumbled, dropping himself in the nearest sofa. "That's the understatement of the century, Cilia," he growled. "It was an utter nightmare."

"What?"

"I had to take Potter to the Oracle," Asmodeus began.

"Tha' Oracle?" Priscilla sputtered. "Why would ya need ta go there?" she asked, bewildered. "Ya were supposed ta train him, not get around in places like that!" she protested, indignant with the news. One part of Harry's mind was tempted to laugh at Asmodeus' feeble attempts to calm down the agitated vampire but the other told him to sit still, remain silent and mourn the situation. And his survival instinct made him choose the second option. Leaving one Nightslasher to deal with a furious young woman.

Said young woman then turned her back to the former Auror and whipped around to stare at the sitting wizard with flames dancing in her blue eyes. "An' you - why did ya go there?" she spat, quenching the faint glimmer of hope in Harry's heart. His last chance to conclude the night on a good note was shot to hell when his roommate bore holes in his own eyeballs. Harry was very much like a prisoner being hanged by then, judging by how constricted his throat felt. "Err..."

"Don't ya 'err' me, young man," Priscilla hissed, her fangs growing. "Why?"

Harry was feeling quite lost - how, by the way, did he manage not only to, in succession, have a history lesson, be pelted with a bout of twisted philosophy, receive revelations about his scar, lose control on himself, be stunned, receive another maddening set of discoveries and a sermon about his future plans, then go to Thomaston Ridge for an interview with the Oracle. It was making his mind spin. He was, thankfully, spared the trouble by a begrudging Asmodeus.

"Because I led him there."

The immediate consequence of the admission was Priscilla's wrath finding another target. By the way she turned back, tightlipped, to glare at the former Auror, she wasn't surprised at all. She knew that Harry wouldn't probably do something like that on his own - especially when he knew very little about the vampiric community. "As I thought - so now, for the last time, WHY? AND WHAT FOR?"

Harry hissed at her and nodded at Lizzie's door, inciting her to shush to keep her sister asleep. Asmodeus drew his wand and immediately cast a privacy charm, re-enabling Priscilla to yell in the now completely acoustically sealed off expanse. "ANSWER ME!"

"Cilia," Harry began, before Asmodeus interrupted him, obviously mustering his calm to confront the ire of the young woman. "Potter had a question about prophecies and the only way I thought to help him out and in the same instant introduce him to a part of our world was to lead him to Thomaston Ridge, to the Oracle's chamber."

"Harry's world is HERE, in this HOUSE, in this TOWN. The wizarding world and the vampire community are both SOMETHING ELSE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" she screamed. Harry frowned at her notions of what his life would be, although some part of him, deep beneath, agreed fervently with the idea. Yet he didn't like the idea of having his perceptions of life already decided for him by someone else. Priscilla was obviously trying to protect him.

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!" Asmodeus shouted back. "Damn it, woman, listen to me and calm down! Sooner or later Potter would have had to meet his NEW peers - especially when he'll need assets for his role in the wizarding world. He needs to know what he can rely on, what he should distrust and where his boundaries lie - his going to the Oracle was something that could only be delayed but not prevented or avoided, by Dracula's blood!"

"Then why now?" Priscilla returned, almost pleadingly. "Why now, of all moments?"

"It couldn't be helped," Asmodeus answered, lowering his tone in accord with his interlocutor. "What happened in the Mansion was also unpredicted and it seems that our world, the world of our peers by blood and name, Cilia, is also moving of its own accord - and from the likes of it, not in the most comforting of ways. We both made our moves at the same time, unaware of each other, that's all."

Priscilla rubbed her eyes, letting out a frustrated breath. "Of all tha' things ta happen," she murmured, her accent back.

"I know, I know," Asmodeus amended. "Consider it bad luck or a nefarious set of coincidences, but somehow we got noticed by Nightslashers who were keeping an eye on the Mansion and got hunted down."

"Nightslashers," Priscilla repeated quietly. Which was not a good sign.

"Yes," Asmodeus confirmed, trying to defuse the situation as fast as possible. "Nightslashers. Something happened in the meantime and we were caught in the crossfire. The consequence was that, while we were trying to get out unnoticed, we had to break into a run and we had something short of a run-in with a group of Nightslashers dispatched to patrol the area. We had to knock a few of them out by using the Shadowcloak. But our identities remained safe in the end."

"Good Lord in Heavens," Priscilla lamented.

"That's not all," Asmodeus continued, his tone now grim.

"What else?" Priscilla exclaimed, losing her self-control. "What else went awry tonight?"

"We met that Skinnard whoreson in the Great Hall," Asmodeus said briskly, although his eyes were watching the female vampire uncertainly. Harry, for his part, was startled to see her figure stiffen and hear her breath hitch. Slowly, she turned her head towards her former master. "Skinnard? As in, Reuben Skinnard?"

"There is only one Skinnard in this world, thank the gods for that blessing," Asmodeus replied softly, though with conviction. "Although it's already one too many for everyone's good."

If that could ever happen in this world, the female vampire lost all of her anger then proceeded to pale, before letting her hitched breath out. "That is bad," she exhaled.

"We already knew that," the Nightslasher provided, biting his lip.

"No," Priscilla emphasized impatiently. "I mean, real bad. If they were to learn..."

"I know, I know," Asmodeus interrupted her, "that's why I am in a rather foul mood tonight. That bastard was the first to shoot our cover to hell and gone, although Potter's name was thankfully not revealed in the very end. Yet he managed to bring unwanted attention upon us - and from what I witnessed, those who were rotting their feet in the Hall were quite known for their proclivity to gossip around certain...circles. I especially saw that Abelamus scoundrel - as dandyish as ever - shamelessly leaning in to catch more about our conversation."

"Oh my God," Priscilla lamented, burying her face in her hands. "I remember what Clyde recounted to me the last time that bas-"

"Cilia," Harry broke his silence, reaching for her shoulder, "it's okay, that guy doesn't know I'm linked to you. The only information Skinnard could have possibly gained tonight was that I was Asmodeus' apprentice, that's all." His attempt to placate Priscilla obviously failed as she kept her distressed expression - before it turned into one of aggravation. She shook her head wryly and vacated her chair. Harry frowned, quite perplexed by her disheartened and changing mood. "What-"

"We'll talk about this some other day, Potter," Asmodeus snapped from behind him, bringing a deep scowl to his apprentice's face. God knows for how long will my great zeugmatic remain intact with all these bad news and interruptions, Harry groused mentally, stepping backwards. The look he volleyed at his master nonetheless marked his assent as well as a tacit, 'you bet we will'

Asmodeus didn't miss the message and grunted his cold acknowledgement before turning to the balcony, scowling and grumbling all the way. "Anyway, Cilia, I'll be on my way - I have other things to attend tonight," he said with less animosity than before. "We'll talk about this a trifle later but I figure all of us need some rest from all this madness."

It was said that 'hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned' but the one who had proclaimed that famous saying obviously had not met certain members of the female population. The way Priscilla whirled around, eyes burning with indignation was hardly describable and conveyed more messages than words could do in a dozen lifetimes.

"'Madness' is hardly an appropriate-" she began hotly, her accent once again magically vanishing.

"I know, I know," Asmodeus snapped again, although there was no irritation behind his tone. Just force of habit, ironically. "That's why I need to check things around first before making any decisions. I've been away from the community for too long and I fear the atmosphere as well as the situation may have changed in my absence. Which means, Potter, that your two next evenings training with me are cancelled," he added with a glare. Remembering his earlier reasoning about gaining experience for the upcoming war, Harry wasn't sure whether to rejoice at the news or shout his rage at the world.

He nevertheless addressed his agreement in the form of a nod and turned to gaze at a silent Priscilla. "Well, good night, you two."

Harry returned the parting words but was surprised to hear nothing from his roommate.

With a swirl of his Cloak, Asmodeus took off from the balcony, a great shadow disappearing into the darkened skies. Harry stood at the doorway, his hands gripping the metallic frame and his eyes following the tiny speck soaring above the nearby roofs and fading away, into a sea of black. Wordlessly, he turned away, closed the glass pane behind him and returned to the couch, next to Priscilla. He buried his head in his hands and swore silently. The hand he felt on his shoulder didn't, however, console him. "Murphy rules, as tha' Yankees say, Harry."

"Don't remind me about my bad luck streak, Cilia, please," Harry implored from his makeshift cradle.

"As long as ya don't blame yarself for it, then I won't say anythin'," she corrected him. "So don't hold yarself responsible for tonight's mess, 'cause it's pointless. What's done is done - I admit." She sighed loudly then shuffled towards the kitchen. Harry heard her rummaging for a couple of minutes before she came back with a bottle of gin and two glasses. He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Gin?"

"Figured ya needed it," she shrugged emotionlessly. Harry now understood why people found liquor so enticing and drowned themselves in that well of oblivion.

"I don't need to get wasted tonight, Cilia; I think I'll pass," he differed.

"One glassful won't send ya ta Nirvana an' back, Harry," she retorted, forcing the item in his hands before pouring the beverage inside. "An' I don't care if ya swore never ta accept anythin' from me anymore - just make an exception for tonight."

His snort was enough to justify her evolution from a smirk into a smile. At least he still could see the humor in the situation. The alternative would have been worrisome.

"So...anythin' I should know before Modie tells me?"

"I think you know everything," Harry answered uneasily, his mind reeling with dreadful memories. He didn't think it would do any good to talk to her about Voldemort and his connection to her. The reasonable amount of bad news for the evening had been exceeded by far too much.

"Yar nose is gettin' longer," she chided him. Harry nearly started at her tone, which made sure he got her message. Lying or equivocating is not an option. "Ya're no Pinocchio, but I can tell when ya're not sayin' somethin' important."

"Am I really that readable?" he inquired softly, scratching his fingernail.

"Vampires are more receptive than ya think. It's sort of...inborn. Besides, we've been cohabitatin' long enough for me ta draw some conclusions about yar behavior."

"I guess we have," he admitted.

"So? Don't I deserve at least tha' truth?"

Harry gulped, finding the act of admittance to a friend more difficult than ever. It was a burden he was not really fond of distributing to others, knowing that those who partook such knowledge would also get their change of risks. Yet, again, Priscilla was already in danger because she had taken him in, so it wasn't really like her status would worsen or lighten with the new set of news he'd tell her. Everything in its due time, he admonished himself.

"The Oracle...sort of...dropped a nickname on me. A...'war name'," he whispered.

If she was surprised then she was more skilled in hiding her emotions than she led people to believe - and Harry knew how experienced she was in keeping her face blank at moments.

"Really? Then that would explain why Modie seemed rather flustered..." she murmured.

"Why?"

"Harry, people directly named by tha' Oracle are sorta very important persons...they're always destined ta do...very, very great things. Dracula was one o' them. An Oracle called him 'Tha' Impaler' an' look what he turned up doin' for a livin'. Harry, those are like...VIPs. Modie must be thinkin' that he should train ya tha' best he can 'cause it would be his responsibility ta transform ya into what tha' Oracle predicted ya'd be. It's now his duty ta turn ya into a killin' machine an' I think he's wonderin' whether he should intensify yar apprenticeship or not."

"Oh."

"And...what did tha' Oracle name ya?"

Harry gulped and looked at her straight in the eye, searching for support, then looked away when he had mustered enough strength to speak. "The...Soultaker."

And with that single word, uttered in disgust and foreboding, a night ended for the two vampires.

---

A/N:

The prophecy here was pure torture; originally I planned to write it the traditional way - with rhymes and with the same number of syllables - but the challenge was too great and the mental effort too excruciating. I came up with two drafts but ultimately decided to forego the last one and use the first, which seemed more...organic. Anyway, the whole oracle thing here was to introduce Harry to the traditions of the vampiric community, of which we'll be seeing more members in the near future. The scene was taken from the Aeneid and is based on Greek/Roman mythology to show you how far vampires can delve into mysticism. Some points I'd like to clarify: having to suck blood out of one's neck is not dark in Harry's opinion since he doesn't either kill or harm his preys - his bites, remember, do not even leave scars. Embracing the dark, in Harry's opinion, means being willing to nearly wantonly kill, hurt and destroy . Since he's a vampire, he knows that his only way to survive is to bite people - but the boundary between 'borrowing' blood for survival and gratuitously mauling someone with the intention to hurt or kill is the limit that leads to darkness. For him, the dark arts are the embodiment of a philosophy aiming to kill and hurt, but for no 'good' reasons. That's what he was afraid of - of becoming like the Death Eaters and Voldemort - and that's what pushed him off the edge in the end of the chapter, thanks also to Asmodeus' comments and the building stress. As for the French president, well, François Mitterrand was said to pay extra attention to his horoscopes and even had his private astrologer, Elizabeth Teissier. One small inconsistency some of you might not have noticed: if the Ministry's trackers reported Harry as being dead, shouldn't his Gringotts account be then sealed (as he is officially considered 'dead') and subjected to some old protocol pertaining to inheritance and whatnot? I just remember that - yet Harry still managed to withdraw money from his account. Now...people will be telling me...the whole pursuit scene was completely pointless but there were a certain number of points there that were necessary for ulterior scenes as well as certain individuals' background. Other key characters were introduced here. Genuine action will spring up in chapter 11 - chap 10 will have some moments, though.

Now...people will be asking me...why Hermione as the girl of Harry's dreams instead of...for example...Priscilla? There's a symbolic reason for that but you shouldn't despair...Cilia still has her word in here...the story isn't at the end of its development, after all. Think of those two girls as Harry's past and present. Living links to his two worlds. There are some things that are going to change but...darn, I'm not gonna tell you. Just keep reading. And thanks for the support. God knows I need it in those abnormal times. Anyway, the delay was caused by university exams, accountancy studies and my becoming a moderator at a forum and my consequent lingering there to clean the area a bit. Sorry if I dawdled too much for this chap. An overheating motherboard and budget issues (preventing me from replacing it) decreased my writing speed considerably, too - the reason why ch.9 is SO overdue. Next update will be the FIXED version of chapter nine. I'll resume my work on chap ten anytime soon; HP-AVC is NOT abandoned. Not at all.

Oh - last note: due to several occurrences(that I've heard of in certain circles around here) that bear testimony to FFN's dislike of authors that answer readers' reviews, I will no longer address the reviewers here unless it's an important issue. Sorry, guys, but that's the way it is. A few mistakes have been pointed out and I'll fix them ASAP (which means sometime in the future but not NOW as I've become quite a busybody).

Until next chapter,

ABI2301