Chapter 18

BETA: the wonderful Krysania

The Undertaker's Kiss was a little tavern hidden in the busy streets of central London. It was sandwiched between an Italian restaurant and an office supply store. From appearances, it looked completely unremarkable, with black-and-red interior and decidedly eighties atmosphere. Unremarkable and cheap.

Of course, as with many things in life, appearance could be deceiving. This was certainly true of The Undertaker's Kiss.

To the Muggles, it was a common, if not somewhat shabby, little pub; to her intended victims, it was a brothel/crack-house disguised as a common little pub; to the Wizarding world, though, it was the home for a coven of Vampires.

And, to be fair, they were all right.

Think about it, the idea was pretty ingenious. Why go out hunting when you can attract a steady supply of willing victims, to your very door, just with the promise of sex and recreation? When unsuspecting Muggles come to The Undertaker's Kiss, looking to buy drugs or pleasure, the vampires simply offer them some potions and wait until their foolish victims become drugged beyond comprehension.

Then, they simply take whatever they want.

The vampires were always unique in the sense that they were free. They were unbound by the Ministry's laws, by governments and, most importantly, by life itself. They moved freely between the Muggle and Wizarding world, watched as governments rose and fell, unbothered by the changes around them. The vampires held a different sort of power than wizards. Although they couldn't use magic— a privilege of the living— they were no less lethal, which made it very hard for the Ministry to domesticate them... A fact that annoyed Voldemort to no end.

The vampires were the children of the night, eternal and damned.

But they were free.

Harry walked past rooms that leaked sounds of grunting and moaning. Where some poor, drugged chap was, in no doubt, writhing with pleasure, under the illusion that he is engaging in a session of passionate love-making; whereas, in reality, a vampire (or two) was suckling him dry.

However, luckily for him, vampires have their rules too. These civilized Vampires didn't tend to kill that often, lest to draw attention to themselves. But if some sessions went a tad too far and some muggles ended up dead...well, no one's got too bothered by it either.

Muggles, there were billions of them, after all.

Harry found the office of his Ward Teacher, who incidentally was the head of this coven. He cracked open the lock with a simple ward-breaking spell and slipped inside. Harry knew he had just set off the alarm in the room, so he sat down and waited. The Teacher will know to come soon.

In front of Harry, there was a fat man lying unconscious on the carpet. Harry peered at the man curiously. He looked... vaguely alive.

Dinner, perhaps?

The vampire entered without a sound. His graceful movements glided like a dancer with impossible speed, as he suddenly appeared in front of Harry. He was a tall, well-built fellow, who looked about late forties, with pale skin and long dark hair pulled in a ponytail. He was dressed in an impeccably fitted Muggle suit, dark-blue with silver cufflinks, where, most peculiarly, one of the sleeves draped loosely over his shoulder... as the man only has one arm.

The vampire lifted the unconscious fat man off the floor, easily, hoisting a grown man with one hand like he was no heavier than a chicken.

"Harry," he exclaimed, shaking the poor sap violently. "My boy. How are you?"

Harry let out a long suffering sigh.

"—I'm over here, teacher," Harry waved from the couch. "Forget your glasses again?"

"Aye, yes," answered the vampire cheerfully, dropping the unconscious man with a loud thud. "And here I thought you've gotten fat."

The vampire smiled with his customary warmness, white fans flashing at Harry.

Mr. Trafalgar held many strange dispositions for a creature of the night. Often, he appeared pleasant, thoughtful and controlled... less tortured than many of his counterparts. Harry thought he must've been great fun when he was alive.

Once, Mr. Trafalgar was a Wizard himself, a scholarly man, a proper Ward Master— but now he was none of those things. Harry thought he must've been a well-respected man, once, with skills to rival any Ward Master in the world. And Harry couldn't understand why the man chose to give up his magic to become a vampire — perhaps for immortality or eternal youth or some common desire like that...

Harry envied the vampire for their freedom, but he wasn't tempted to become one. He loved his magic too much to give it up... and he still needed its power to accomplish his murderous goals. Besides, judging by the rampant nature of many vampires, immortality wasn't all it cracked up to be.

Everything had a price, even death.

"Look at you," exclaimed Mr. Trafalgar, pulling Harry into a hug with his one good arm. His touch was cold, but his voice was warm and jolly. "You've gotten so big. Tall. And pretty."

"Handsome," Harry corrected, returning with a huge grin of his own. "And you look wonderful yourself, teacher, exactly the same as always in fact."

The vampire patted his shoulder and sat down next to him.

"So tell me— what news brings you here?"

So Harry told him. He told his teacher about his encounter with Voldemort and his need for an explanation about where he learned Warding. Mr. Trafalgar listened patiently as Harry explained— no offense— but the Ministry would not approve of him associating with vampires. And, right now, Harry very much desires to not be scrutinized.

"Too bad about your medallion," nodded the vampire. "I'm quite interested in its construction."

"I'll make another one," Harry shrugged. "As soon as I get my hands on some Valyrian gold. Those are expensive."

"Actually, I might have some lying around... somewhere. I'll send them to you. Gold seem much less alluring now...that I no longer desired to impress women. As for your explanation, I have an old friend down in Suffolk, a bit of a hermit, but respectable. You can claim access to his library... I'll write to him to let him know— that is — if he's still living."

Harry nodded, that seemed tame enough for the Ministry.

Then, Harry hesitated. Something has been nagging in the back of his mind, ever since the day he went to visit Pettigrew.

Pettigrew's terrified voice.

"NO! PLEASE! — I didn't betray you, James. I never told them about Harry, about how you faked Harry's birthday! I swear on my magic, I didn't tell them... I didn't..."

But Harry was certain his birthday was August 1st, 1980, because healers and lawyers checked him, many times, on the day he inherited the Potter estate. There was no way to fake that... unless—

"Teacher, is there ways to magically mask someone's real birthday?"

"Why, yes, I can think of six methods on top of my head."

"Is there one that's undeletable by spell-work and lasts for a lifetime?"

The teacher scratched his chin thoughtfully. "That's more difficult... I believe there is one... from an old, obscure Light Magic book. Some sort of a concealment potion, I believe—"

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"May I have a look at this book?"

The vampire raised an elegant eyebrow, but agreed. "Very well, I'll go get it. Wait here, my boy."

"Thank you, sir."

Harry was always grateful for Mr. Trafalgar's generosity toward him. The man was brilliant; Harry was determined to work hard to make his teacher proud of him. In retrospect, Harry was glad that Tom set-up their first encounter — even if that encounter nearly got Harry killed.

See, Harry met the vampire through a completely hilarious incident that was partially the result of Tom's scheming and partially the result of some friendly canines.

/Past/

Little Harry trudged through the thick undergrowth of the darkening forest, his wand in front of him, lighting the empty path with a faint "Lumos". The trees were endless, birches and elms, yews and pines; tall and ancient, they stretched as far as the eye can see. In the sky, the sun was setting, lighting the clouds aflame with its orange glow. Owls hooted. Something growled in the distance.

It was getting late. Harry was lost.

Harry ticked in annoyance. It was times— like this —that he wished he knew Apparition. Technically, being fourteen, he was still too young to get a license. But...hey...breaking laws never stopped him before.

The summer wind swept through his hair, and it danced in the fresh air. Harry's curls weren't as tight and uncontrollable as it was when he's younger, now it settled into nice waves around his shoulder, shiny and soft, black as a raven's wing.

Harry and Tom were spending their summer in Ireland, at a castle property owned by the Malfoys. Narcissa had gotten sick and was hospitalized, so they basically spent the whole summer unsupervised, in a remote little Wizarding village, which suited their purposes just fine, as Tom begun training him in Dark Arts.

It was enlightening. Tom's vast knowledge of all Magical arts was extraordinary. All the power the spirit commanded, expressed through an infinite darkness, beautiful and terrible at once, was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. It mesmerized him; it awed him; it changed him.

To able to learn from someone like Tom was amazing. Tom was amazing.

But, off course, Tom was also a total arse.

Tom had brought Harry to the woods, threw him into a pile of leaves, and then Apparated away without an explanation; thus, leaving Harry stranded in the middle of no-where, irritated and confused, trekking through some bloody forest on empty stomach.

Fucking arsehole.

Suddenly, the woods became very silent. Harry heard a rush of footsteps. He barely managed to dodge a fist that came from the darkness. He swirled around, jumped backward and sent a "Stupefy" in the direction of his attacker.

The red-light bounced off an extremely large man. The muscular stranger leered at him from behind mattered grey hair and whiskers. Powerful muscles showed beneath a tattered fur vest; strange tattoos covered him from head-to-toe. The man had a broad face and beast-like eyes, with pointed teeth and long yellowish nails.

He did not look friendly.

Snatchers. Harry cursed under his breath. Shit.

"It's a night of full moon," growled the man. "Boy, how stupid are you to enter MY WOODS?—"

Harry took a step back. He lifted his wand.

"Don't even think about it," warned the man, lifting a fist that's as large as Harry's head. "Or it's really going to hurt—"

The man lunged for him. His large body bounced off Harry's shield charm, but Harry couldn't stun him before another set of powerful arms grabbed him from behind and threw him to the ground.

A punch connected with Harry's jaw; there was a crunching sound, he buckled in agony as a hand pressed his face into the ground. Dirt pressed into Harry's mouth. The hand squeezed hard. Harry was choking.

Then, they took his wand.

"Let's try this again," said the beastly man. He yanked Harry up by the hair and held his face close. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Ha...Harry," Harry struggled out, spitting out dirt. "Harry Malfoy. I'm a proper citizen. Half-blood. I have identifications."

The man rummaged through his pockets. "I see no papers."

"I... I forgot them," muttered Harry. "Listen, if you can take me back to Daergonsburry... I'll call my family and I promise they will reward you handsomely for my return."

"Malfoy? —" frowned the man, regarding Harry with calculating eyes; his breath stunk of dead things. "The Coinmaster's family— that Malfoys?"

"Yeah. Lucius is...my father."

The beastly man raised an eyebrow. He snapped his fingers. Two other men emerged from the shadows. They dragged Harry a short while to a clearing, where there were a faint camp-fire burning and another body lying on the ground. From the man's silhouette, he looked like a Muggle, wearing a Muggle t-shirts and jeans. He only had one arm.

Before Harry could get a good look at the man, the snatchers tied them together with some rough ropes, back-to-back, with the rope cutting into Harry's stomach. Harry's arms bound tightly against the man's much thicker one. Then, the three kidnappers looped the other end of the rope on a tree branch and hauled them up. The ropes tagged painfully around Harry's midsection as he swung in the air, his feet dangling thirty feet off the ground, hanging above like the way camping bags were hung in the trees to avoid bears.

Through out it all, the one-armed man said nothing. He didn't even squirm. Perhaps he was unconscious.

"Look," chuckled the man, pointing at Harry. "Our little truant tended out to be a fat, golden trout... or so he claims. Guess we'll find out soon."

"But... Fenrir," murmured one of the men. "What if he's telling the truth?... It's a full-moon night... and... if we kill a Malfoy—"

Fenrir waved a hand. "If he dies, we'll bury the body in the woods. No one will ever know."

"I ain't letting him go. That's fo' sure," Fenrir roared. "The little truant is worth a lot if he's telling the truth. Of course — that is — only if he manages to survive the night."

/Past/

It didn't take long for Harry to figure out why he's hanging in a tree. Well... now that he knew— all he could do is praying for the ropes to hold steady.

The bright, pale full-moon shone down on the three creatures below their feet. They looked like some sort of monstrous, deformed dog-human hybrids. Hairy, with thick, bulging muscles, and claws the size of daggers, they stood on their hind-legs and snapped at the two delicious humans hanging in the tree. Their mouth opened below Harry's feet, just three red, gaping holes of teeth and saliva... waiting hungrily as dinner swung in the air.

"Stop squirming," said a lazy voice from behind Harry. "You're making me dizzy."

Harry cranked his neck, but couldn't see anything of the man, who shared his terrible situation.

"You are awake?!"

"Correction, I was awake the whole time. My eyes were just closed... and I want to find out if they belong to any pack nearby. Hmm... Seems not. Are you a wizard, boy?"

"Yes—" Harry tried his hardest to sound brave, as calm as the strange man, but his childish voice cracked pathetically.

Beneath them, the creatures howled, a terrible, animalistic screech that send shivers down Harry's spine.

"Curious, you must've been the one the other boy mentioned—" murmured the stranger.

Before Harry could ask any question, he felt his body flying through the air. Terrified, it took him a while to realize he was not falling. The strange man held Harry in one arm and leaped to a higher branch; the ropes, somehow cut into pieces, fell away. The man placed the boy on the branch, and stood still, elegantly, on the swaying tree like it was no different than flat ground. For a moment, they peered at each other curiously.

The man grinned, long fangs unsheathed from his red-lips, his skin flawless and ghastly pale. He only had one arm— the left one — with the other sleeve hanging empty from his broad shoulder. On his nose sat a pair of round glasses that looked exactly the same as Harry's.

Harry shuddered; suddenly he wasn't sure if he was safer here or with the werewolves.

The man spoke, with a low, authoritative voice.

"Watch this, wizard child. The moon doesn't only bless those wretched dogs... Hmm... Since they aren't from a pack known to my friends, well, I don't have to hold back."

The man jumped off. Dark clouds blotted out the moonlight, and the campfire had long since extinguished, leaving Harry in complete darkness, grasping onto rough branches for dear life. He couldn't see a thing below him, but he could hear a fierce battle happening. There were sounds of smashing, trees breaking, barking and yapping and fiendish snarls, then desperate wails of wounded animals. After a long while, when the blood-cuddling noises faded into silence, the man reappeared and took Harry down to the ground.

He handed Harry's wand back to him. Harry took it, careful not to get any blood on his hands. The werewolves were gone, running off in defeat, presumably.

The man's eyes glinted golden in the darkness. Blood soaked his t-shirts. He licked some blood off his powerful hand, long razor-sharp claws retracted into his flesh.

"Yuck," said the stranger. "Dog food."

Harry stared.

"Werewolf bloods are highly contagious," warned Harry weakly.

"Highly contagious to humans, maybe—" The man smiled, in the way elders often smile at children, but, with blood smeared across his handsome face, the stranger's smile became more terrifying than reassuring. "Tell me, child, how old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Then, you are younger than my son... And— pardon the eye-sight of an old man— but... are you a boy or a girl?"

"..."

Damn it, Harry lamented, he really needed a hair-cut.

"A boy," answered Harry reluctantly. He clutched his wand; its warm magic reassured him. It seemed the man isn't going to eat him. "I... I didn't know vampires can have children."

"Ah, sharp one, aren't you?" The vampire nodded. "We are not the same as human parents. They birth the gift of life; we bring the gift of death. But, nevertheless, the responsibilities are the same— if you make a changeling, they become your children, your responsibility,"

"—Tell me, child, why are you wondering the woods at night."

"My brother brought me here," Harry grumbled. "I don't know why...Maybe he wants to kill me."

The vampire inspected his face, as if assessing the truthfulness of his words.

"Your brother— he wouldn't happen to be a boy about your age, blonde with a pointy nose, who saunters around like he owns the world?"

"... That's him alright."

The vampire's smile widened; under the moonlight, his perfectly normal features somehow seemed stone-like. Inhuman.

"Funny enough, he lured me here too. He stole something of mine... Say, child, do you know where he is?"

Harry looked into the vampire's golden orbs, remembering Tom's words about finding Harry a new instructor. Then, it all clicked in his head. Tom set all this up! He wanted Harry to meet the vampire for some reason, and he was willing to risk Harry's life for it.

Urgggh! Internally, Harry was seething with anger. He had enough of Tom's games!

"Yeah, I know where he is—" Harry nodded solemnly. "Tell you what— Mr. Vampire — I'll take you there and I'll even help you murder him."

Harry must've drifted asleep on the couch. As soon as he heard the door swing open, though, he startled awake. There was a swoosh of movement, suddenly, something heavy leaped on top of him, pressuring him down with cold arms. Soft lips pressed against his neck, fangs barely touched his skin, a cold and dead breath sent warning signs rippling through his body.

"DON'T. MOVE. —" warned Harry, bright green eyes flew open.

He held a dagger to the chest of the vampire on top of him; the sharp tips cut into his attacker's t-shirt. Harry's eyes met familiar, bluish-violet eyes, which were on the pale face of a fifteen-years-old boy. The boy had a tall, narrow nose and red-lips that seemed too large for his face. His wavy, blonde hair barely reached his shoulder, and framed with his face with an intense, golden colour that looked very different from the Malfoys' platinum blonde. An odd little smile danced on his lips, not quite threatening, but not quite friendly either.

The boy, no, vampire sneered, his blade-like fangs inches away from Harry's throat. For a moment, a predatory glint passed in his eyes and Harry tensed, for he knew that this particular vampire can be very unpredictable. Then, the boy threw back his head and laughed.

"Just messing with you, dear friend. You've gotten slower."

"Quick enough to kill you," mumbled Harry, pushing the boy off him with annoyance. "Get off me, Silver. You're drooling on me."

Silver Trafalgar was Mr. Trafalgar's "son". None of the other vampires liked him, because he was so young when he was made a changeling, but, out of respect for Mr. Trafalgar, no one ever protested. Fifteen was on the edge of acceptability by Vampyre laws, but, in truth, everyone knew, it was too immature for the burden of immorality. Personally, Harry thought Silver was not helping his own case by acting crazy at times. The boy was prone to flights of fancy or fits of rage, and, with his vampire powers, such unpredictability can be very dangerous.

Harry and Silver used to get along very well. When they first met, Harry was fourteen and Silver was a new changeling, they played together a lot— chess and duelling and reading, Silver was very impressed by Harry's magic. But, as Harry grew older and Silver remained the same, the young vampire began to resent Harry, resenting him for his future and for his ability to wield magic. Sometimes, Harry caught the vampire staring at him with a vicious sort of jealousness, pale violet eyes fixed on his face, cold and hungry. And, of course, the stares angered Harry. They ended up arguing a lot... sometimes, even out right fighting that injured both of them.

Now, Harry tended to avoid Silver, too bad the vampire won't pay him the same courtesy.

Call it friendly sibling rivalry, or whatever — except both of them held enough power to destroy many houses. And that was why Mr. Trafalgar forbade them to ever duel inside his coven, and they both respected the old vampire enough to obey his orders.

"Now, play nice, children," said Mr. Trafalgar as he entered, carrying a large book in one arm.

Silver stood up, and gave Harry a mocking bowl.

"I apologized," said the young vampire. "I forget living children still required their naps."

"None taken," replied Harry, flashing a forced smile at Silver. He pulled out his wand and repaired the boy's t-shirt. "And... I apologized for damaging your shirt. I thought I was being attacked by a savage."

Behind the elder vampire's back, they exchanged glares of dagger.

The man laid the book on the table. In the dim-lights, Harry recognized the book. It was large and heavy, with leather-bound covers, which were embedded with round, river pebbles; it didn't have a title or authors, but its immeasurable value was plain for all to see. Harry gasped. His mother had a book, which looked exactly like this one.

Harry turned to Mr. Trafalgar, "Teacher, may I borrow your book for a bit?"

The vampire's dark eyes inspected him, his expression grim. For a moment, Harry thought the man was going to refuse, but then, the man laughed. His warm voice filled the room.

"Of course... In fact, you can have it, my boy. I have no use for spell books anymore. But, promise me, you'll take it easy, child... Unlike us, you have limited years to live. Enjoy it while you can."

Harry thanked him profusely and then picked up the book.

On its first page, the book's preface read.

"We hold the powers of the Light. Her spells and her secrets, which ought to be locked from mortal eyes. Her power is no less treacherous than that of her sister's — the Dark, the feared one — and yet, she is not feared as she ought to be. Her powers shall not be taken in vain. We warn you. We know you shall not listen, as men never heed wise words. Still, to be true, to be warned— magic require sacrifices— what the Dark takes from the enemies, the Light takes from the self. Which is the crueller Mistress? We do not know. We do not speak. We keep.

Be warned."

Harry ran his finger through its supple covers. The leather's black-colour faded with age but somehow it remained smooth, shiny with a dangerous allure. He flipped through it, and opened to the chapter on Concealment Potions. He combed through the chapter carefully, then, finally found what he was looking for—

There was a spell to temporarily reverse the effect of Age Concealment Potion, which would allow Harry to determine if Pettigrew was telling the truth.

Harry cleared the wooden table. (Although that fat man still lay nearby, unmoving. Now Harry was sure he was dead). With his wand, he drew a Ward circle on the table. It glinted golden, like gold lines curved into the dark wood. The two vampires watched him work in silence. Mr. Trafalgar, no doubt, thought Harry worked rather slowly and Silver was probably confused, as he has zero magical knowledge.

Harry pointed his wand to his temple and murmured,

"Dias Aperioss."

Harry felt a coldness trickling down his wand like a stream of water. He shuddered, the coldness spread rapidly to his toes. He lifted one finger above the golden Ward circle, then he snipped his skin with a dagger. All three of them watched as Harry's blood slowly dripped on to the circle, sizzling as red touched gold, as life mixed with magic.

His blood began to rearrange itself — slowly but surely — into words.

The scarlet, spinney writing said "July 31, 1980."

Author's ramblings:

SORRY! Exam season again. Will school never end?

Special thanks to my reviewers— ulqui's-girl, osm, Snow-owl01, Guest, DORE, StarrieSkye, nisci, Polki, dot dot dot, brightsun89, Dedicated4reading, AM, , phoebe turner, daithi4377, KatzeIason69, Mjkat, thebellowingpixie, Relent1ess, August Pyro, xDarklightx, Krysania

And, as always, a huge shout-out to my BETA, Krysania !

Blooper # 5:

In the forest of the night, when Harry is being interviewed by his teacher, stalker-Tom is watching him from the shadows. Everything is going according to plan.

Stalker-Tom is wearing his outdoor stealth uniform, camouflage pants and a headdress made of leaves, with the invisibility cloak draping over his shoulder. And yes... his uniform looks terrible, which is why he's also wearing the invisibility cloak.

Stalker-Tom's inner thoughts:

Filthy dogs, get your paws of what is mine... Oh, wait, I sent you there.

Excellent. The vampire is keeping his end of the bargain. He's keeping Harry safe.

Harry's hair is getting too long. Although he does look adorable, it also makes him look like a girl... Besides, no one need to find out he's cute other than me.

My legs are getting numb. Stalking is hard work.

Harry's probably mad he missed dinner. I should've packed him a snack. He's still growing, after all.

Okay, the meeting's going well. Good, good. Of course, he's impressive for his age, old-man blood-sucker, I raised him after all.

Harry looks pretty mad... Maybe this isn't such a good idea... Nah, I'm brilliant.

His eyes look pretty when he's angry. Green and burning and shit...

Okay, they are leaving. I should return before them.

But before Tom moves, the three wounded werewolves run across his path. They're whimpering pathetically like beaten dogs. Tom smiles. He raises his wand. Tom decides on teaching them a lesson— about touching what belongs to him.

(...But you are the one that set-up everything... You're totally unreasonable, Tom.)

And that was how poor Fenrir and his two associates end up in the Intensive Care Unit of St. Mungo's Hospital, bed-ridden for two whole months. They never told anyone about what happened in the forest that night, about how they got beaten up by an one-armed vampire and a ghost wearing a bunch of leaves.