Helllllloooooo my lovelies! So, now that the prologue is done, it is time for my typical start-of-the-story summary. Why? Because I am a nerd and like to announce my intentions.

1. First off: Vampire, werewolf, kitten, veela, imp, unicorn, even, on one slightly horrifying occasion, a sloth. But I have never read a "Harry gets turned into a Thestral" story. Why is that? I always liked the Thestrals. So, guess what? Harry's going to become a half Thestral. Woot!

2. I am still deciding whether I want to do MPreg or FPreg. I have scenes in my mind for both, and need to make up my mind soon as the chapter to decide that will be coming up in about three chapters. What do you guys think? Please let me know, as either idea is viable right now. I'll let you know once I decide.

3. The warning may go up, it just depends on how into this story I end up getting. Sometimes I get just a tab obsessive.

THANKS for all the reviews and alerts :) I was utterly blown away when I checked my mailbox and saw them all!

Loves!

Roo

HDHDHD

It was insanely hot.

Harry moaned, kicking off his blankets and ripping at his shirt with a shaky hand as the fire roared inside his blood stream. Why was it so bloody hot? Trapped inside a raging inferno where all he smelled was blood and all he heard was the frantic thud thud of his heartbeat, Harry turned and twisted, screaming as the fire seemed to concentrate on his back and stomach.

"Master?" The tone was grudging, reluctant. Harry couldn't be arsed to care as he flung himself about. The sweaty sheets clung to his skin, rubbing again his raw flesh like sandpaper. "Master must to be calming down!"

He couldn't stand it. The bed hated him, the sheets mocked him, his body rejected everything inside of him. Miserably, he hung his head over the side of the bed and vomited; his body convulsing as the bile rose thick and hot in his throat. The smell seemed more intense than usual; more vividly harsh on his sensitive nostrils. Without thinking, wanting only to escape, Harry flung himself off the bed and crawled to the corner of the room. He could feel the floorboards under the thin layer of carpet; cool and oddly soothing under his flushed and inflamed skin, the wall offering a brace of sorts to the imaginary source of his anguish. Small hands rolled him carefully onto his stomach, angling his head so that if he were to be sick again he wouldn't choke himself. He fell asleep, finally, blissfully, to the sound of irate mutterings and the comforting coolness of the house surrounding him.

Harry awoke to the smell of blood.

He lay there, on the carpet of the floor in Sirius' old bedroom, and savored the slightly bitter sweetness of it all. His body ached fiercely; the skin between his shoulder blades singing a cheerful little tune of angst. His stomach, the place where the Thestrals' sharp claws had sliced him apart so gleefully, felt tender and quivery, though not as sharply painful as it had for the last week or so. With his nose pressed to the carpet, Harry breathed deeply. The air smelled of must, dirt, and sweat. Overlaying it all, the coppery tang of blood, old and new, made his nostrils quiver and his lips twitch in a semblance of a smirk. He wondered vaguely if he was hovering on the slippery slope of mental instability, or had simply become a masochist of sorts, to find the pain in his body a source of slight relief. Whatever the case, he didn't really care. Rocking back and forth, Harry stretched his arms over his head and moaned as his joints popped back into place. If being slightly masochistic meant pain would forever be tinged with bone melting relief and pleasure, Harry decided he really didn't care.

Stumbling to the bathroom to relieve himself, Harry examined his reflection in the mirror thoughtfully as he washed his hands. His skin looked…stretched. And pale. Very pale. He must have lost a bit more weight at the end of the school year than he had realized. He examined his reflection a bit more closely, wondering if it was a trick of the mirror that his eyes seemed to fairly glow in the whispering darkness surrounding him. Shrugging it off, he headed downstairs to scrounge up something to eat. He nodded to Mrs. Black's portrait on the wall, wondering why she seemed so utterly amused; when the sound of banging and muffled shouts met his ears.

"The house has shut itself down," Mrs. Black answered his unasked question softly.

Harry blinked. "Shut itself down?"

"Umm," she agreed, looking at the closed door with satisfaction. "They can see it, but until the new master adjusts the wards the house is on lockdown."

"Oh." Harry looked at the door, listening to the muffled banging and swearing. He looked back at where the portrait was giving him a calculating look. "I'm hungry."

A slightly satisfied smile quirked her mouth. "Then you should eat," she replied calmly. Her eyes strayed to the door once again; a malicious sort of happiness lighting her face up. "They will hold."

Harry sat at the table, absently stroking the burn mark caused by the twins, remembering the shared laugher with Sirius and the colorful phrases Mundungus swore. Kreacher bowed low before him. "What would Master wish to be eating this morning?" Under his breath he mumbled fiercely; "Stupid rotten half-blood, besmirching the old and most noble house of Black. But Mistress says, Mistress says, oh my poor Mistress…"

"Shut up Kreacher," Harry said rather stiffly. The two shared an almost identical look of loathing between them, but Kreacher obediently shut his mouth with a click. Harry continued tracing imaginary patterns over the burn mark on the table. "Meat," he declared abruptly. "I want meat. Steak perhaps. Thick and juicy and semi rare."

"Meat?" Kreacher looked up doubtfully. "Master wants meat? Master has never eaten meat before. Treacle Tart and pudding and foods cooked by the breeding red haired animal, but…" He trailed off as Harry glared at him. If it were possible for house elves to pale, Kreacher certainly did. "Yes Master," he swiftly returned. "Would Master like Kreacher to turn the lights on?" He snapped his fingers.

Harry hissed in pain as the light seared his eyeballs, making everything go blurry and out of focus. "Off," he whimpered pitifully as his shoulder blades twitched strangely. "Turn it off."

Kreacher looked even more frightened than he had before as he hastily shut the lights back off; his nose squashing the floor as he bowed, trembling, before Harry. "Kreacher is sorry Master," he moaned. "Half blood, half blood, what magic is this? Filthy, unnatural beast, death, disgrace, but Mistress says, Mistress says." Kreacher bobbed his head at Harry as he backed away. "Kreacher will bring Master the finest meat, he will," the elf babbled nervously.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He hadn't realized until that moment that he had been walking around in the dark. Able to see perfectly. It wasn't until the light came on that he had needed his glasses. Shrugging it off as inconsequential, Harry ate his hastily served steak with relish before wandering back into the hallway and settling himself on the stairs. He sat there, leaning against the railing, listening to the muffled shouts and banging on the other side of the door, while Walburga watched him with that strangely intense look she seemed to adopt around him.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he muttered to himself.

"Pardon, my Lord?"

Harry frowned at the portrait. "You've never liked me," he pointed out, "and probably still don't. No need to take that tone with me. Just call me Harry."

If anything, Walburga's smile seemed to sharpen. "Of course, Harry," she soothed. "I simply wanted to clarify what you were speaking about."

Green eyes closed wearily as Harry absently began rubbing his temples. "I just, I mean." He frowned around the house. "I couldn't handle the Dursley's. I just couldn't. And I wanted to be somewhere I could be closer to Sirius, but," he gestured helplessly. "I opened the door with blood and suddenly I own this house, and now I am sitting here talking to a portrait, and I'm supposed to kill Voldemort and don't know how, and, and," he trailed off, burying his face in his hands in frustration. "What am I supposed to be doing? I thought…" he sighed.

Mrs. Black studied the bowed head intently. "Yes, Harry," she asked softly. "What did you think?"

"I thought I would know what to do once I got here," he admitted quietly. "I thought I would read a book, or find some rare dark artifact, and would suddenly know how to defeat Voldemort and take control of my life." He sighed again, looking up and towards the front door. "Or at least have an idea. But I don't know anything. I'm nothing special. And all I have done since I've been here is eaten and slept." He eyed the door again. "Maybe I should just let them in."

"Perhaps you should start with those." She inclined her head towards the bundle of papers Harry had left on the steps last night. "After all," she continued mildly, "you slept for quite awhile. Thirty six hours to be precise. Taking one more day before deciding what to do will certainly not hurt anyone."

Harry gave her a slightly suspicious look, but reached for the papers nonetheless. "What is all this?"

"Mostly information about the wards," she continued in that same overly calm tone of voice. "Various protections and charms that have been layered over the property to ensure proper security. For example," she gestured to the now silent front door, "the Fidelius Charm the old man put on the house still works to a certain extent. Those already told of the location of the home will retain their knowledge but will not be allowed entrance until you specifically add them. However, the Muggle loving fool will be unable to tell anyone else the secret, as your blood bond to the house overrides my son's casual acceptance of his rules."

She frowned at the stubbornly silent door. "Cross to the window and tell me what you see."

Warily, Harry crossed the hallway and peered out the curtains. He simply sighed in response.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Erm, Dumbledore's there, of course, so's Moony and Mr. Weasley. But… also a woman who looks a lot like Bellatrix Lestrange." He frowned at the woman in question. "Though I suppose she does look a bit like Tonks too."

"Tonks?" she asked sharply.

"Uh, yeah. Nymphadora Tonks. But she hates her name and likes to be called Tonks." He frowned at the woman. "But how can she see the house? Hmm, suppose Dumbledore might have told her."

Mrs. Black's eyes narrowed. A cruel smile made her look slightly possessed as she gave Harry's back another calculating look. "Foolish woman," she muttered before raising her voice to speaking level. "She can see the house, Harry, because she is first and foremost a Black. And you summoned her. There has not been a Lord of the manor since my husband Orion." Harry frowned, still looking out the window in confusion. "Harry, should you have accepted Sirius' inheritance, I would have spent the rest of my days happily besmirching your name and finding ways to undermine your claim. But you didn't accept the inheritance, you claimed it. By doing such, you are the new Lord and the Black's are nothing if not loyal to their Lord."

Harry jerked away from the window. "Wait? What do you mean I summoned her? You make me sound like…"

She smirked. "Like the Dark Lord? How do you think he came up with his method of communication? I have yet to meet anybody who wanted to be a pureblood as badly as he did. But you see, dear little Harry, there is a reason the purebloods stick together and share their prejudices. All the old families are bound by their blood to the lord of their manor. Narcissa, Andromeda, and Bellatrix felt it the moment you touched the door with your bloody hand. As required, they are, or should be, presenting themselves to their lord so they may reaffirm their loyalty."

"Their loyalty," Harry repeated dazedly.

"Umm. The Dark Lord can mark his followers and summon them to his side, but, like I said, the purebloods are bound by their blood. Should you concentrate," her eyes wandered to the room where the Black family tapestry was prominently displayed. "Should you concentrate you can reach anyone in the Black family by merely focusing on them. The farther down the line, the less they will be bound by loyalty, but direct descendents have no choice. They will obey their blood." Walburga studied the shocked boy before her. "As the Black heir, you are now part of their bloodline."

"But I, I mean, they," he floundered. "I don't want them in my house!"

"Then you simply refuse to allow them entrance," she calmly answered. "But they, or at least Andromeda and Narcissa, will arrive and will not leave until they speak to you," her smile turned nasty again, "or the consequences will be dire."

Harry studied the woman again. "What about Bellatrix? I doubt she'll show up, especially if she finds out it's me she has to answer to."

"Oh," Walburga's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Should she ignore the summons, she will come crawling to you eventually."

"But what am I supposed to say?" Harry whispered.

The portrait shrugged negligently. "I suppose that will come up in conversation."

Harry hesitated again; looking between the silent woman on the lawn and the watchful Order members. Tonks appeared suddenly, moving forward to try and talk to her mother, looking hurt and shocked as she was rebuffed with a gesture. "Why isn't Tonks allowed to stand with her mum?"

"You must accept her, any of them, before you accept their progeny." Mrs. Black looked terribly amused. "The summons has been sent out. If they wish to continue to enjoy the Black legacy, they will pledge their loyalty to you." She smiled again.

Still he hesitated, looking torn. "I can't believe I am listening to a portrait," he grumbled. "My life has reached a new low." He shook his head decisively. "I can't do this today. I'm tired and sore and, and I just don't want to."

"Rest assured, Mr. Potter," Walburga continued calmly, "Unless expressly given permission, they are bound by blood not to speak of this meeting."

"Call me Harry," he corrected absently. "Wait. So she didn't know it was me she was trying to meet today?"

"No, Harry," Mrs. Black answered gently. "They were summoned through their connection to the Black family. All the decedents are aware of is that a meeting would take place between themselves and the new lord of our family."

"Why do people keep using that word?" Harry complained, rubbing at the scar on his head. "I'm not a lord, that makes me sound like…" he frowned suddenly. "So Bellatrix may show up after all?"

For the first time, Walburga looked slightly hesitant. "The Dark Lord," she began carefully, "is woefully ignorant when it comes to particular pureblood rights."

Harry waited. "So… what? He feels his bond is more important than her blood bond?" A single eyebrow rose in acknowledgement. "No skin off my nose." He looked out at Andromeda. "And wasn't she burnt off the tapestry for marrying a Muggle?"

"Being burnt off the tapestry is not the same as being removed from the family," Walburga replied haughtily. "Were that the case, Sirius would never have been able to leave his inheritance to you." She studied Harry curiously. "Why do you dislike my niece so much?"

"She killed my Godfather," Harry answered flatly.

"Ah." They settled into an uneasy silence. "I presume you plan to disinherit Bellatrix. However, have you decided what you plan to do?"

"Do?" Harry looked confused. "Mrs. Black, you said Bellatrix would come crawling to me eventually." He sneered. "Although considering she kill... she was the one who…" his throat constricted. "Anyway," he said at last, "I doubt I will let her in. She can stand outside forever for all I care."

"Harry," the woman leaned forward in her portrait. "Correct me if I am wrong, but you do not yet understand what it means to control a powerful pureblood lineage, do you?" Evan as Harry shook his head, the faintest of giggles could be heard from the portrait. The brunette's mouth tightened. "Harry, my nieces are tied to the house of Black. They are bound to be loyal to you. Should you summon any of them – Narcissa, Bellatrix, or Andromeda - to your side and they refuse, the consequences will be painful and weighty."

Harry smiled uncertainly. "I don't get it. I'm not, I mean I wouldn't, curse them or anything if they couldn't make it. They might be busy or something. Or could bring their husband," he scowled thinking of Lucius Malfoy.

"That's cute," she smiled thinly. "Harry, you have the power to dissolve their marriage, reclaim their dowry, deny their child the claim to his heritage, even demand one of them produce a child with you." She paused delicately, looking as though she was enjoying herself immensely as Harry's eyes widened further. "Not to mention the fact that the binding to the house of Black is a blood bond. Should they be 'busy or something' when you summon, the pain would be excruciating." Harry blinked at her. "When I said Bellatrix would come crawling to you eventually, I was being literal."

Harry looked sick. "Dear God. Why can't you people do anything normal? I don't," Harry raked a hand through his hair again. "Look, I appreciate you telling me all this, but I can't deal with this today."

Harry sighed, returning to his position by the window as the portrait continued cackling. He watched as Narcissa arrived and nodded politely to her sister; ignoring the remaining members of the Order completely, before disapparrating away the minute she realized Harry wasn't opening his home to anyone today. Andromeda paused by the gate; hugging her daughter and running an affectionate hand over Moony's hair before she too pulled away and apparrated. Harry accepted a sandwich from Kreacher with an absent murmur of thanks, and chewed the roast beef as he watched the gathered people. Dumbledore was no longer present; Mad Eye Moody tossed an invisibility cloak over his shoulders and moved to a shadowy corner across the street. Moony looked tired, Harry realized with a pang of guilt as he watched the man hug Tonks goodbye.

He wandered back into the hallway and settled himself back on the bottom stair. Mrs. Black watched him eat. "Since I am the head of the Black house, Kreacher has to answer to me now, right?"

"Correct." She cocked her head to the side, grey eyes gleaming in the shadowy light. "Do you wish to punish him?"

Harry sighed, dropping his head into his hands again. "Not right now," he admitted. "This isn't exactly how I thought I would spend my first day of freedom. I thought I would sleep in, walk around in my boxers if I wanted to, and then find the magical key to destroy Voldemort." He winced, reaching back to rub at the tender skin between his shoulder blades. "I don't understand why I'm still hurting. Although," he pulled up his shirt, looking at the scarred flesh of his abdomen. "At least I've stopped bleeding."

"What bit you?" Harry looked up, puzzled by the wide eyes and utterly still form.

"A Thestral. It was, um," he blushed. "It was kind of my fault." He looked around until he spotted his trunk against the wall where he had left it. "I provoked them," he admitted as he pulled out parchment and quill and jotted off a quick note.

"That would explain the wild energy," Mrs. Black studied Harry carefully. "And the glowing eyes."

"Umm," he agreed absently. "Kreacher! Take this to Ginny and Ron Weasley. No one else. And wait for a response." He turned away once the house elf popped away. "Wait, what? Glowing eyes?"

The portrait ignored him. "Harry, go to bed. You look rather tired."

Harry frowned, rubbing at his eyes as he sat on the step. "How long did you say I slept for?"

"Thirty six hours."

"Then why the Hell am I so tired?" He complained bitterly. "Screw it," he muttered, stumbling to his feet. He waved absently over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs, bypassing completely the closed door of his old room where the portrait of Phinneas Nigulles stood by the bedside. He sank down on Sirius' old bed with a grateful sigh, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

His body felt smooth, powerful, and fluid. For one heart stopping moment, Harry feared he was dreaming again; possessing Nagini. Then he realized, dimly, that while he may be dreaming, he was definitely not possessing Voldemort's snake. And this dream was different. He relaxed instinctively when he realized it was no longer burning hot. Instead his body felt sleek, refined; protected by something large and leathery. Harry dimly heard someone screaming, but he was far far too comfortable to concern himself with it. Instead, he snuggled deeper into the smooth fabric that seemed to surround him and drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, he woke instantly. Feeling, for the first time in a long time, refreshed and well rested. He smiled to himself as he padded barefoot to the bathroom; yawning and stretching and scratching at his itching scalp. He ran his hands through his hair absently, noticing with sleepy unconcern that his hair was getting longer. He shrugged it off, making a mental note to get his hair cut, as he reached for his toothbrush and blobbed on some toothpaste. Harry winced slightly as he spat in the sink. Damn his gums were tender. And judging by the pink in the sink; they were bleeding as well. Grumbling about how bad luck seemed to follow him around like an omen, so, naturally, Gingivitis would tag along for a ride as well; Harry splashed water on his face and glanced uninterestedly into the mirror over the bathroom sink.

It wasn't until he spotted the large, black, leathery wings, however, that he screamed.