Prologue
Fate is a curious thing, the idea that something is predestined within your own life, that every path you take and choice you make leads you to something that has already been determined. I guess when I really think about it my fate was sealed the second that the now deceased dark lord held a wand to my face and tried to erase my existence. The months following the battle were ones of parties and drinking, so much drinking. I think myself, Hermione and Ron single handedly managed to drink enough to keep half the pubs and clubs in wizarding Britain afloat. The first thing I’d done after defeating Voldy was get myself a flat. It was small and sort of claustrophobic but it was mine and I loved it nonetheless, it wasn’t far from Ron and Hermione's smaller flat either which made life easier. We defeated Voldemort, bought our own flats, moved in within the space of a few hours and then set to the parties. Honestly I’m not sure any of us have ever been this drunk, maybe ever, the first two weeks after the battle was spent in a state of inebriation for all three of us.
It could have happened at any point, it could have been anyone and the chances were if i hadn’t woken at 11am feeling surprisingly fresh on a random Tuesday i would have probably accidentally turned myself to ash leaving my front door.
Instead, and very luckily I whipped open my curtains in my bedroom, and promptly set my hand on fire. Obviously shat myself and then yanked the curtain back to their original position effectively stopping whatever the ever living fuck was happening to my hand. I think really at this point I was in denial because my first port of call was to unlock my phone and facetime call Hermione. She answered after 4 rings
“Harry James Potter, It is 11:03 am and I am hungover as fuck, you better have a damn good reason for waking me” Her voice was muffled but mad, her tight dark curls spread out on the pillow behind her, the duvet tucked up to her eyes as she scowled at me. I could see Ron’s bare chest in the background, all pale skin, covered in freckles and ginger hair.
“Well my hand has just caught fire when I opened my curtains so I’d class that as a damn good reason” The tone of my voice was light and playful but the words had Hermione’s eyes flying open and locking onto mine
“What?” her golden eyes were wide, staring at me through the screen of the phone, I could have said it again but really would I be the chaos goblin Harry Potter if I didn't set my hand back on fire? No I would not, and with that in mind I promptly shimmied the curtain open again and stuck my hand in the beam of light. I heard the breath she sucked in through her teeth, as I yanked it closed again and ended the flames that were sputtering on my hand.
“So, do we think I've gained a new party trick or are we thinking the same thing?” I joked but her eyes were still wide, still staring almost unseeing at me.
“Harry” She said slowly “Only one thing bursts into flames when they come into contact with sunlight” She began, I knew this, maybe I just didn’t want to face it just yet the irony was too great. I wasn’t listening as she spoke, I was stripping my pyjama bottoms from my legs and examining all the bare skin I could see for two distinct puncture marks, two fangs.
“Harry, your wrist” I heard her, vaguely, she was muffled, maybe she’d shoved her head back under the covers. When I looked up she was sitting up, the white sheet a beautiful contrast to her dark skin, she was clutching it to her chest. Meanwhile I was naked as the day I was born on the screen to her, with my ears ringing as I poked at the place she told me too. It was there, there was no denying it, two red and puckered puncture marks, equal space apart, they looked a minimum of 24 hours old but no older than 72 hours really. There was purple discolouration around the mark, and they were still tender. I groaned.
“Harry, why are you nude on the phone to my girlfriend at 11:30 in the morning?” Ron's voice was thick with sleep as his watery blue eyes opened and squinted at me. The roaring continued in my head as Hermione began to explain.
“Unfortunate mate. No more quidditch for you” Oh great Ron was joking about it now, It might have been that, or it might have been something else but I started laughing. Oh the Irony, I’d spend essentially all of my life fighting dark force, I’d personally cut down so many dark creatures it was laughable. Merlin what the fuck even is my life anymore?
“Harry… Mate we’re concerned” Hermione’s voice was soft but loud enough to get my attention as I looked up at my two very mortal best friends. “What’s so funny?” She asked
“The irony, Hermione, that’s what’s funny” I choked out, her eyebrows lifted. “It’s funny because I’m Harry Potter, defeater of dark lords, saviour of the wizarding world, the boy who lived twice, I’m the poster child for love and light magic. The chosen one, and I’m a fucking vampire. I’m an immortal dark creature whose primary diet consists of blood” I wheezed “I’m also a quidditch player, lover of sunlight, half bloody Mexican to boot and now I can’t go outside for fear of managing to set myself on pissing fire” I couldn’t see through the tears in my eyes. It’s funny in a horrible sort of way. My life has never been my own, I've been hunted and tortured and held captive, I’ve been tied to grave stones and had my blood stolen from me, I've fought dark lords and creatures alike and now I am one.
“You don’t have to give up sunlight Harry. There’s enchantment, spells we can do” Hermione began “Nothing has to change not really, you’re still Harry to us either way, creature or not.”
“Yeah Harry ‘Mione is right you’re our best friend nothing has to change” Ron really wasn’t good at sounding reassuring but I nodded anyway “I wouldn’t let just anyone stand naked on the phone to my girlfriend on a random Tuesday morning” Ahh that’s more like the Ron I know, making jokes and trying to redirect the conversation. I was in no mood.
“Ahh sort of like you wouldn’t have a threesome with just anyone Ronald?” Hermione choked on her intake of breath and Ron’s face went redder than a tomato.
“Exactly” He wheezed out before hiding his head under the covers once more.
“I’ll come over and do some enchantments, you’ll have to figure out if you want to remain in the little flat you have now or if you want to go somewhere else.” Hermione was being very level headed, but I simply nodded and ended the call. I didn’t want to have to make these decisions now, I wanted to smoke and drink and do all of the muggle drugs I could possibly do because I’d earned it. How naive of me to think that I'd earned my life, my freedom, I’ll never be free, never be able to make choices that aren’t already predetermined.
I walked in a daze to my little bathroom, the mirror hung above the sink and I stared at the perfect stranger that resembled me in it. I’d heard about vampirism changing someone in more than just the bloodlust sense of the term. How it changed you physically, turned you into the perfect apex predator. I believed it now, staring at what could only be myself in the mirror. At least I could see myself in the mirror, that particular stereotype didn’t apply. My eyes were different, they were darker, more like an emerald shade than my mothers shade of spring green, heavily lashed and dark, they were quite alluring actually. My hair was darker, from its rich mahogany colour to pitch black, so black it could have been blue really, it didn’t stick up in weird ways anymore, I’d been growing it so now it resembled Sirius more than anyone. My skin was odd, not a blemish to be seen, but retaining its golden hue from my father, what little fat I had on my body had virtually vanished overnight. Then there were my lips, they were even and plump and pink and hiding two elongated canine teeth, fangs, my fangs. I scrubbed a hand down my face, almost wishing when I opened my eyes again this would be some alcohol induced fever dream. It wasn’t a dream. How the fuck am I meant to maintain the whole chosen one thing, to remain in the wizarding world without loosing myself? I can’t, the realisation that I couldn’t remain wasn’t as startling as it could have been. I could still stay connected to the wizarding world, I simply couldn’t spend most of my time there anymore.
I opened my laptop and began searching for somewhere else to live. Something else to do since a professional quidditch player really wasn’t much of an option anymore, too many variables. Actually any profession in the wizarding world was bound to be a bad idea. Anything that gives me more ties there than actually necessary is a bad idea.
6 Months Later
I was sitting in the muggle club’s V.I.P section, Hermione and Ron to my left as I watched the bodies in the crowd. I was seeing if anyone would be brave enough to approach me, if anyone caught my eye at all. Ron shifted nervously in his seat, this made him nervous; I could understand the first few times we’d done this I'd killed the people I drank from. He hated it, he hated what I had become but not me. Hermione could usually placate him, usually explaining that there was no choice, I hadn’t decided to be this way, I was a vampire whether he liked it or not. I was watching a sandy haired man in the crowd, his gaze kept jumping to me, I smiled. He would do, sandy hair and deep blue eyes, I could see the pulse thrumming in his throat, the flush on his cheeks, taste the sweat dripping down his bare chest. I knocked back the rum in my glass and made to stand, Ron's clammy fingers clasped my wrist.
“Try not to kill him” He muttered, I nodded and made my way into the crowd. He hadn’t been brave enough to come to me, but I'd make an exception, sometimes one had to make exceptions. I could tell you all about how we danced, how he trailed his hands over me, how I gripped his waist in a bruising hold but all that really matters is that the man came home with me. We made it to the lift before his mouth was on mine, before I was pushing him into the wall of the lift as we raced to the penthouse. I heard the door shut to my house before I saw it, I couldn’t see much of anything considering the stranger was tearing at my clothes and sinking to his knees once he managed to get me out of them. Clothes ended up scattered around the living room as I took him on the couch, sinking into him to the hilt, rocking against him, my hand moving in swift motions between his legs. I waited, letting him get close to the finish line, to the orgasm he clearly craved before I struck, sinking my fangs into the side of his throat. He jerked, moaned low and pushed himself back against my cock, faster and faster his motions frantic as my mouth moved as his throat, taking his blood into myself as he took me into him. One long, hard pull and he shouted, dragging me with him over the finish line. My mouth still moved as his throat, he was shaking under me as I remembered Ron's words Try not to kill him mate. Fucks sake. I released his throat with a groan, nicking my tongue on my own fangs and running it over the wounds, erasing their existence. There was a part of me that wanted to kill the stranger, wanted to drink and drink until there was nothing left, I struggled with that part of me a lot. I moved myself off the couch, brushed the sandy hair off the man's forehead and sighed. He was looking right at me, eyes sleepy and sated as he yawned.
“You should probably get going,” I muttered, watching how the man's expression changed from tired and almost floaty to disappointed as he moved to grab his clothes. I should have felt bad, I should have let him stay but I couldn’t. Letting anyone stay in my home with me for any length of time was a struggle. I struggled to not give into my instinct desires, I struggled to resist the urge to sink my fangs back into them and drink until they’re dead, I tried very hard to not actually kill anyone that I drank from. That’s not to say they didn’t end up dead anyway. I’d killed so many people, to begin with it was because of the war, because I had no choice. Then it was a lack of control, I couldn’t live without blood, but couldn’t stop before I killed them. Nowadays it was a combination of bloodlust, of not wanting to stop, of wanting to kill them. God my family would be disgusted with me.
The man stood, dressed and I walked him to the door, I opened it and sighed. I had to use a compulsion on him, he couldn’t remember anything about me or my home. I gripped his chin between my pointer finger and thumb, looked into his eyes and began speaking in that weird tone my voice does when I use a compulsion.
“You will remember nothing about this place, you will remember nothing about me, you will remember the club, you’ll remember having sex but nothing else. Remember nothing about me.”
The man's eyes went glassy and unseeing as he nodded and left, I closed the door, walked to the kitchen and poured myself a large amount of rum. I swirled it around the glass, before downing it in one, turning and stalking to my bedroom.
I dreamt of the man, of him begging me for mercy, to not kill him, to not drain him dry. I did it anyway, I laughed when he was dead. The kind Harry Potter people once knew was dead. Only Hadrian Black remained now, the vampire, the monster. There was no goodness left within me, nothing remained of Harry James Potter, not even an inkling.