Title: The Purest Blood

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Summary: After Harry is bitten by a Vampire, he finds he has to turn to a most unexpected ally to help him understand what is happening. Harry's new perspective will not only change the course of the war, but also of his life.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: Those of you reading my story, "As the Darkness Clears", will recognize some of the storyline in this first chapter, namely Harry complaining about a lot of the same stuff. But no worries – this story goes in an entirely different direction. Also, I'm still writing "As the Darkness Clears", I'll just be working on both ^ ^

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Harry woke up with a start when someone banged hard on the door to his cupboard. Reacting instinctively, he shot out his hand in search of his wand, then remembered that the Dursley's had taken that – along with everything else – almost the moment he had returned from his fifth year at Hogwarts. Besides, he recognized the heavy breathing on the other side of the door; it was only Dudley. What time was it? He felt like he'd only dropped off to sleep a few moments ago.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Happy birthday, Harry!" Dudley chortled from the other side of the door.

Harry's eyes widened. This could not be good. The Dursleys rarely remembered that he existed, much less that he had a birthday. Dudley himself had never acknowledged it before. Reluctantly, he pushed open the door to his cupboard and crawled out, batting a few spiders off his clothes and out of his hair. Dudley was standing in the darkened hallway, a wicked grin on his face that could only mean horrible things for Harry.

Harry frowned when he noticed a strange flickering of light from under the kitchen door. What was going on? Before he could ask, Dudley mocked,

"What's wong, Hawwy? Don't you want you pwesent?

Laughing, Dudley left the room and went into the kitchen, Harry at his heels. Through the screen door that led from the kitchen to the backyard, Harry could see the dancing brilliance of a large bonfire, and Vernon, his beefy, cruel face lit by the red flames, tossing something in that looked horribly like Hedwig's cage.

"No!"

Harry pushed Dudley aside, ignoring his cousins laughter, and darted out into the yard, pausing to stare in absolute horror at the scene before him. Everything was burning... his wand, his broom, his cauldron, his books, parchments, robes and potions ingredients, and Hedwig's cage, perched on top. He gave a low cry of relief to see that Hedwig was not in her cage. Judjing by the bent metal around the door to the cage and Vernon's bleeding fingers, Hedwig must have fought back and escaped before they tossed her cage into the flames.

Despite the overwhelming heat of the fire, Harry felt frozen and numb at the sight of this birthday bonfire. His entire life was in that pile of wood and flame; everything that separated his life at Hogwarts from the dismal life he led here. And no matter how bad things at Hogwarts got, Hogwarts was his home. The only place he felt truly safe and cared for. And it was all burning away. They had burned it up.

Harry whirled to face his uncle.

"How could you?" He screamed, launching himself mindlessly at Vernon. "This stuff is mine! It's mine!"

Vernon shoved Harry off of him easily and snatched him up by the collar of his shirt, hoisting him up into the air as if he weighed nothing at all.

"Wrong. When you brought it into my house, that stuff became mine! You don't need that crap anymore! You're never going back to that school, you freak! Never! This stuff will never taint my home again!"

Vernon paused in his shouting and looked up as thunder crashed overhead and it began to rain, first steadily, then heavier and heavier with each passing second, as if it's force mounted with the fury within Harry and his uncle. Vernon smiled nastily, looking more disgusting then ever with his thinning, oily hair plastered to his face by the rain. He dropped Harry into the wet grass and gestured to the smoking pile of rubble in the corner.

"Clean this mess up. Then get inside. You start at St. Brutus' Camp for Delinquents tomorrow."

Harry stared at Vernon in shock, but his uncle only laughed, turned, and walked inside, leaving Harry alone in the pouring rain. Already soaked to the bone and shivering slightly, Harry fixed his eyes on the moon up above him, his mind blank. Water ran in rivulets down his cheeks, as if he were crying. The tears that had filled his eyes, however, were blinked back fiercely. Brokenhearted, Harry glanced over at the burned pile of rubble that was all that was left of everything he had owned. All the presents from his friends had also been burned; everything he owned except the few meager clothes he had from Dudley, as well as the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak, neither of which the Dursley's knew about, and both of which Harry kept on him at all times.

Still, they were a small comfort when everything else was just... gone. And as he stared at that pile of rubble, he imagined it was his life. Once a pile of brilliant things, things that meant everything to him, it was now just a scorched, blackened pile of wood, paper and metal, with no meaning to anyone anymore. The past six years of his life flew past his mind in a torrent of regrets, betrayals, pain, war and battle. And as he crouched there, shuddering and sobbing in the cold rain, his heart began to harden against everything his life had become.

His Headmaster had proven to be afraid of the Dark Lord after avoiding him for a year and nearly getting himself and his friends killed. His friends had betrayed him by showing that their true loyalty would always be to Dumbledore, and not to him. His godfather, the one person left in the world he trusted completely, was dead. The Order, too, had turned their back on him, turning their attention to more important things. After a month, the Dursley's had realized that no one meant to come for Harry. They'd locked him in the cupboard, and taken away all of his things, including Hedwig. Now, all of that was gone for good.

And now he could never return to Hogwarts. His uncle had already enrolled him in ' Camp for Juvenile Delinquents, as it was officially called, and he would continue to go there in September, when Hogwarts started up it's year again. Harry had been sure, when Vernon had told his sister of St. Brutus' a few years before, that he had made it up. Apparently not. Harry didn't know what strings his uncle had pulled to get him in there, and he didn't care. He didn't care about much these days. Weakly, he crawled closer to the charred bonfire of his life, and finally began to cry, releasing the tears that he had struggled to hold back.

And, just as he had years ago, when all this began, he whispered quietly to himself, alone in the darkness where no one could hear, "Happy Birthday To Me..."

Bang! Bang! Bang!

In that split second of half-wakefulness, half-sleep that came before Harry woke up completely, he imagined that the loud banging he heard was Dudley, pounding on his cupboard door again. This was especially easy to imagine after dreaming of the night of the bonfire, something he did often when he wasn't having nightmares about Sirius' death. However, he quickly woke up fully, and remembered where he was.

Harry James Potter, or, as many of the boys as ' called him, "Scar", leapt from his bed and dressed in record speed in the ugly gray jumpsuit that had been his uniform for the past two weeks, then pulled on his boots and laced them quickly. He finished making his bed just as the inspector entered the room, and he hurried to line up in a row beside the other boys of St. Brutus'.

Anyone who had known Harry before his two week stay at ' would hardly have recognized him now. It was amazing what fourteen days of hell had done to him. Because, despite it's other faults, St. Brutus' did feed it's students well, Harry no longer looked malnourished, though he was still small for his age. Instead of being scrawny, two weeks of intense physical exercise was starting to add muscle, to make his body lean and strong. His black hair naturally messy, had grown longer, and because the nurse at St. Brutus' – to her confusion and slight fear – had already discovered she could not shave Harry's head without it growing back exactly the same the next day, it had stayed that way. It was now pulled back into a small ponytail, making him look somewhat like a pirate from days of old. A new scar had been added to the one of his forehead and the one on the back of his hand, this one a three-inch scar on his jaw line from a knife fight. He also had a black eye and a broken nose, proud symbols of other fights he'd been in since his arrival.

Aside from the physical differences in Harry, there was also something... darker in him, something that had not been there before. Always, despite his difficult and often lonely life, he had been optimistic, light hearted; a loving boy who saw the best in people. While part of him still felt that way, another part of him felt broken, shattered. Many of the people he had once believed in had turned their back on him, and now he had no one, nothing. Sometimes, he wanted to get rid of the invisibility cloak and marauder's map, too, just so he wouldn't have to be reminded of the life he had left behind. But he could never make himself do it.

With a sigh, Harry waited for inspection to be over, knowing that today was going to be another hard day.

Three hours later, Harry was out in the yard with several of the other boys, doing pull-ups on a rusty pipe that had been fitted on the top of two poles outback. Their workout equipment was primitive at best, but Harry, and the others, usually looked forward to the times between chores and classes where they got to hang around the yard and work out. It was also one of the only times they were allowed to talk to the other boys, and just stretching or lifting weights was a good way to get some amount of rest. Harry glanced up at the overcast, dark sky and wondered grimly if it were going to rain, then spotted one of the other boys walking over to him and dropped down from the bar, quickly snatching a free weight when one of the instructors scowled in his direction.

The boy who approached was named Razor, or at least, that was the only name he went by. He'd been at St. Brutus' since he was ten years old, and he was Harry's closest friend in this place, or rather, the closest thing one could have to a friend in a place like St. Brutus'. Razor, despite the fact he'd been in this place six years already, was far from the toughest boy here. But he certainly looked far tougher then many of them, Harry included. His hair was shaven down to the stubble of a crew cut that all other boys but Harry were forced to wear. His dark, fathomless eyes screamed of a horrific past, and his body, stronger then Harry's, was a mess of scars, bruises, cuts and sores.

The boy got his name for his love of knives. Although the instructors would confiscate any knives they found, they never found any of Razors. When necessary, he could pull a blade from anywhere, as if he had them hidden all over his body. And he used the knives well. He'd given Harry one on his second day at St. Brutus', which Harry now kept in his boot, and he'd been teaching Harry how to use it, as well. Harry was glad for a friend like Razor, because aside from the company, Razor had also been his protector as Harry himself grew stronger, more able to care for himself.

Now, Razor grinned crookedly as he too, picked up a free weight, lifting and lowering it easily under the instructor's watchful eye.

"How ya doin', Scar?" The boy asked cheerfully; despite his harsh looks he was always friendly to Harry.

"Alright." Harry replied with a customary half-shrug. "I've got kitchen duty tonight."

Razor winked. "Me too! I bribed Scrap."

Harry glanced across the courtyard at Scrap, the smallest boy there. He was even smaller then Harry, being about two years younger. If anyone needed a knife – Razor's only bargaining tool, as far as Harry knew – it was that kid. Besides, kitchen duty was well loved because it got people out of evening workouts. If anyone needed to buff up, it was Scrap, especially if he were going to be forced to stay in this place. Scrap had only been there a little longer then Harry, but instead of making him stronger it seemed to make him weaker; he looked as if he grew more pale and weak every day.

"Great." He grinned. Kitchen duty was incredibly boring by oneself or with someone you didn't know well.

"You don't get it do you?" Razor asked, looked exasperated, "Tonight's the night, Scar!"

Harry frowned. "The night for what?"

"Our grand escape, o' course!"

Harry groaned audibly, not caring if it was rude. Razor was always trying to escape, and since Harry had arrived the boy seemed more then happy to rope Harry into his crazy escape plans. Razor had been here six years already, if none of his escapes had worked before, why did he think they would work now? Harry had already tried escaping with him last week; not because he really cared about escaping, but because Razor was his friend, and it seemed important to him. They'd gotten in a ton of trouble and still had extra chores and classwork as part of their punishment.

"I don't know, Razor..." He muttered.

"Trust me!" Razor said cheerfully, "It's perfect! We'll both be working kitchen duty! At the end of the night, when we take the garbage out back, there won't be any instructors around, and we'll be right next to the perimeter fence!"

"And how are we supposed to climb it?" Harry demanded. "We only got half way up last time."

Razor snorted. "You only got halfway up last time. I could have made it, if the instructors hadn't found out what we were up to. This time, you're stronger, and we'll have more time."

Razor looked earnestly at him and Harry sighed. He didn't see much of a point in running – he didn't know where he would go or what he would do. But his friend obviously thought he needed him to escape. So why not? He could always just get caught again later. With a shrug, he nodded his consent.

"Woot!" Razor punched a fist in the air, seeming not to realize he was still clutching the free weight. "Great! See ya at kitchen duty tonight, mate!"

And with that, Razor dropped the free weights as if they were as light as feathers, and crossed the yard to continue his workout. With yet another heartfelt sigh, Harry dropped his weights as well and hoisted himself up on the pull-up bar once more.

Kitchen duty was finally winding to a close, as Harry and Razor finished wiping off the tables from dinner and washing the dishes in the back room. Despite the fact that Harry didn't really care how the events of the night turned out, he felt nerves dancing in his belly – after all, his friend was counting on him. His knife was securely tucked in his boot, the marauder's map and invisibility cloak tucked into the deep pockets of his jumpsuit.

Across the kitchen, Razor shot him a meaningful look. He'd finished with the tables then. Harry hurried through the last couple of dishes, dried his hands on a towel and hoisted two bags of garbage over his shoulders. Razor snatched the last bag, and proceeded him out the door. They had ten minutes before they were supposed to meet up with the instructor outside the kitchen. Much past that, and the instructor would come looking for them. As soon as they had deposited the bags in the trash bin, Razor tugged hard on it's handle, and, to Harry's disbelief, began to drag the heavy bin in front of the door to the kitchen, blocking the way in case the instructor came after him. Harry hurried to help, although Razor scarcely seemed to need it. The other boy truly was very strong.

That done, Harry and Razor turned to the fence, and, as one, leapt as high as they could onto the fence, latching on with their feet and hands. Razor nearly dropped the two heavy towels he had snatched from the storage cupboard; towels that would not only help them over the wire at the top but would provide some comfort against the cold until they could find a place to stay.

"Careful" Harry muttered.

"I'll worry about these, you worry about that food." Razor snapped in return.

Harry blinked at his friend's tone, but decided the other boy was just stressed about getting caught. They climbed as quickly at they could, the cold metal of the chain link biting into their skin. Harry's feet slipped a few times and when they did his body slammed against the fence, making it shake. It was then that Harry had been glad for his exercises, the ones that not only gave him the strength to hold on with just his hands but also allowed him to haul himself up and keep climbing. They were further now, then they had been before, and Harry had to keep fighting the urge to look down, especially when he heard the doors to the kitchens rattling, and fierce, angry shouting from the other side of the door.

"They've found out." Harry muttered through the effort of climbing.

"Keep going." Razor answered. "We're almost to the top."

The boys reached the top of the fence, and Razor hurriedly used one hand to toss the towels from his shoulder over the top of the barbed wire fence. They scrambled over, the thick cloth providing them some protection. Still, Harry scratched his hands and legs more then once, and felt his jumpsuit tear when a barb got him. He prayed it didn't rip his pocket, because despite Razor being his only friend here, he didn't want the other boy to know about the Marauder's map or the invisibility cloak, nor did he want them getting damaged.

Razor snatched the blankets up again, shaking the fence roughly as he tried to untangle them from the barbed wire with one hand, as he clutched the fence with the other. Harry helped as best he could, and when the slightly worse-for-wear towels were finally slung over Razor's shoulder once more, they scrambled down. Somehow, climbing down was easier then climbing up, though Harry dreaded putting his foot in the wrong place and falling. The fence was high enough that it would really hurt to fall from this height. When they were half-way down, the instructors finally got around the side of the building.

"Get back in here, boys! Now!"

Harry felt as if they were escaping from a high-security prion, rather then a camp for 'delinquents'. An alarm was blaring somewhere within the building, and the instructors pulled out batons, beating at them through the fence or clutching at their clothes. Harry and Razor struggled out of their grasps.

"Jump!" Razor shouted.

Harry glanced down at the ten-foot drop and winced, but jumped anyway, landing hard on the ground. Razor was up first, hauling Harry to his feet. Limping slightly, Harry ran after Razor best he could, until the sight of St. Brutus' vanished, and they were swallowed up by trees on either side of them. Still, they ran, weaving between the trees to make themselves harder to find. Harry had no idea where they were, or in which direction they were heading, but it didn't really matter. Eventually, after what seemed like hours of running, they came to a small creek that ran through the woods. Without hesitation, Razor plunged into it and began walking upstream through the water, which was shockingly icy despite the early-August weather.

"Are you crazy?" Harry cried, "What are you doing? They aren't going to send dogs after us!"

"They won't," Razor hissed back, "But the police might. Stop making so much noise!"

Grudgingly, Harry followed, pushing through the water after Razor, his legs shaking with the effort of walking against the current after the climb, the jump and the run. Once again, they went on for what seemed like hours, before Razor climbed from the water and onto the bank, leaning against a tree.

"We can rest, for a while." He said. "I'll take first watch. You sleep."

Harry barely heard him. He just hauled himself out of the water, scrambled onto dry land, wrapped himself in one of the tattered towels, and dropped into unconsciousness.

They had been traveling for three days. At least, Harry was pretty sure it had been three days. It was a little hard to tell out here. They'd managed to stay in the woods the entire time, though sometimes Harry heard signs of more urban life on the other side of the trees. Whenever that happened, Razor veered them deeper into the woods. And Harry didn't know why. He was starting to get a little worried. Their food supply was practically gone – even with Razor barely eating any of it. He had no idea where they were going, or why Razor was so determined to avoid other people. He didn't think anyone would recognize them.

Occasionally, he asked Razor where they were going, what the plan was. But Razor had always replied with an easy grin and a, "Trust me, Scar". Harry was finding that harder and harder to do. Besides, Razor seemed as if he were getting sick. He looked incredibly pale, even in the dark cover of the forest, and seemed to be getting weaker, much as Scrap had at St. Brutus'. Harry had tried to get him to eat his share of the food, but Razor had refused. The other boy was also losing his temper more often, getting snappish and harsh for no reason. Harry didn't know what to make of it all, but he knew he couldn't leave Razor in the woods to fend for himself. So he trailed along after his friend, feeling exhausted, hungry and miserable.

Finally, on the fifth day, Harry could stand it no more. They'd run out of food the day before, and he was starving, on top of everything else. He simply collapsed beside the trunk of a large tree and leaned his head against the bark with his eyes closed, his expression mulish.

"Harry, get up." Razor hissed.

"No." He replied calmly, without opened his eyes. "No way. I'm not walking another step until I know when there's going to be food, or water, or shelter, or anything. I want to know where we're going."

Razor snarled his fury. "Stop joking around, Harry. Get up!"

Harry ignored him, but he wasn't prepared for what happened next. Faster then he should have been able to move, Razor lunged forward, snatched Harry from against the tree and flung him onto the forest floor. Harry gasped and scrambled backwards, Razor pursuing with true anger in his eyes.

"I'm sick of you wining and complaining." Razor snapped.

"Whining and complaining?" Harry repeated incredulously. "I've done very well, I think, considering I haven't eaten in two days! If we could just go to a town, Razor! Or if you would tell me what we were doing!"

"Oooooooh, I haven't eaten in two days!'" Razor mocked. "Get over yourself, Harry! Try not eating for five!"

"I tried to give you food!" Harry replied.

"No! You tried to give me crap! Ah, screw the mission! I'm starving!"

"Mission?" Harry demanded, but before he could get more then that word out, he yelped in shocked surprise as Razor lunged for his throat. Long fangs descended from the other boy's mouth, his dark eyes gleaming wickedly with the thought of blood in his mind.

A vampire?

Harry scrambled back once more, lurching to his feet and turning to run. He did not get very far before he was tackled from behind. As he was driven into the hard ground, he felt Razor land on top of him, the other boy's body pressing him down into the earth. Before he could try and struggle out, Razor's mouth was at his neck, the moist heat of the boy's lips and tongue on the flesh of his neck making him shiver despite himself. Then, a sharp pain as teeth pierced vein, and Razor sucked greedily on the flesh of Harry's neck, drawing in the blood and lapping it up gleefully. Harry felt the pulsing strength of the boy's mouth on his skin, the somehow erotic sucking, nibbling and licking. Then, his world started to go black, and as fiery hot pain pierced through him, he passed out.

A/N: Of course, thanks to my summary we all know that Harry will wake up a vampire! In this story I used the Twilight version of "Turning" a human, by simply biting them,rather then the Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Anne Rice version of, they drink your blood, you drink their blood. Even though the Buffy/Anne Rice version makes more sense in general, in this story there was no reason for Harry to bite Razor, so *shrug*