A/N: Vampire stories, I love them. :P This is set in seventh year…let's say that, for now, most of what happened in HBP didn't happen and that DH still doesn't exist…Yeah. The story works that way, I think. Yeah.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I do not claim to own anything, heck, I'm broke. If I owned Harry Potter, would I be broke? JK Rowling owns all and…well, she just owns it.

Prologue

In the early morning hours of Monday the eleventh day of August, Harry James Potter the Boy Who Lived, resident Gryffindor Golden Boy, one third of the Golden Trio, Wonder Boy, The Chosen One, son of Lily and James Potter, and not to mention the expected saviour of the Wizarding World, woke up dead.

Naturally, this came as a rather large surprise to our boy hero.

Harry sat up in bed, the pitch black darkness of night familiar and calming as he tried to make sense of what was happening, or rather, not happening.

First, he noticed that his heart wasn't beating. Alarming, to say the least. Next, Harry realised that he could see everything around him clearly, though it was still very much dark, and he wasn't wearing his glasses. Immediately after this a new realisation came to him as Harry spotted himself in the mirror. He almost cried out in fright.

His hair was the same colour, the same length and thickness – it was even still messy. His eyes were still as green as ever, though they seemed to glitter as he stared. His scar was still there, marring his otherwise unblemished skin. Even his skin was the same honey brown; and his muscles remained Quidditch-toned…

Really, the only difference Harry noticed were the wings protruding from his back. They definitely weren't there when he fell asleep last…

Harry fell back into his small bed, and winced as he fell awkwardly on his wings. He frowned at them, their inky black colour mixing in perfectly with the shadows of his small room. If he his eyesight hadn't suddenly gotten so sharp, he wouldn't have seen them as anything more than a pool of darker darkness.

Sitting so that he didn't squish his new appendages, Harry tried to think of what could have happened to him in a few short hours. He glanced at the clock. It read thirty one minutes past four. There wasn't anything significant about that, he reasoned.

His window was just as it was, closed and latched. Hedwig was away, delivering one of Harry's twice-weekly letters to Ron and Hermione. She wouldn't be back until later that day.

The door to his room was the same, too. The locks hadn't been forced, and the empty bowl that had held dinner was still sitting where it had been.

So…no one had stolen in and done anything to him.

Harry huffed disconsolately, placing his elbow on his knee while resting his head on his hand – and yelped in surprise. He hurriedly pulled his hand away from his face, and stared in confusion at the dark blood that stained his suddenly very long and very sharp fingernails.

"What the hell!?" Harry whispered, feeling as though his whole world were falling away, reality leaving him for several drawn-out moments.

Then he yelped again as he realised that talking had hurt!

Raising a tentative hand to his mouth, Harry touched his index finger to the inside of his lip, and he started to panic when he brought the hand back into his vision. Blood, there was blood on his fingers again!

He took a deep breath – and panicked even further when he realised that he wasn't breathing!

A cold sweat broke over his chilled skin – chilled? Since when was his skin so cold!? – And he looked around wildly for an answer. Though that was silly, why would there be an answer in his room? He ran his tongue nervously over his teeth.

His eyes widened further, and he grimaced. What the hell happened to his teeth!?

Harry wanted to cry in frustration and confusion. It was all too much for him to take in. What did this mean? What the fuck had happened to his body – could he fly with those wings?

And then…like a beacon in a fog, the answer came to Harry almost as if it had been the most obvious thing in the world, and he had been foolish not to realise it sooner.

He was a vampire.

"Great…" he said sarcastically. Another thing to set him apart.

But for some inexplicable reason, this knowledge calmed Harry down immensely. He even smiled slightly in satisfaction from knowing the truth. Far from making him feel odd, or like a freak, he only felt a sense of calm, and acceptance. Like he knew, deep down, that this was what he was supposed to be.

Then, a thought came to him. What should he do? How would people react when they found out that he was a vampire?

What could he do? That was a thinker.

He studied Hedwig's empty cage for a few long moments and then stood up, catching his wand in his hand as he did so.

Making a snap decision, and following some weird instincts that were suddenly warring around his mind, Harry gathered everything from the secret spot under the loose floorboard and put it in his trunk. Somehow knowing that he wouldn't need it, Harry tucked his Invisibility Cloak in the trunk, too.

Next, he gathered everything else of his that was strewn around the room. After dumping it all in the trunk Harry fished out a piece of parchment, some ink and a quill.

Harry wrote a short letter to his friends, and after re-reading it and deeming it acceptable, Harry put the quill and ink back in his trunk, locked it and placed Hedwig's empty cage on top. Folding the letter, Harry slid it into Hedwig's cage.

He briefly considered writing one for the Dursleys, but decided that they wouldn't really care if he disappeared.

Standing back, he brandished his wand in a silent spell – hardly marveling that he could even accomplish that when he hadn't been able to no matter how hard he tried last year – and watched passively as all this worldly possessions thus far disappeared.

Sighing, Harry pocketed his wand and opened his window.

He wanted to know if he really could fly.