It was Dudley Dursley's tenth birthday, and he was involved with one of his favourite pastimes - Harry Hunting. But he and his friends had been having a harder than usual time; Harry was proving to be even more elusive than usual. Usually if a 'hunt' went on too long after losing sight their quarry (it never started unless Harry was in his vicinity), Dudley, being more than twice the weight he should be, would have lost interest and given up, but since it was his birthday and he was a year older, he felt that giving up would have been babyish, and he was stubbornly keeping to his goal.

It never occurred to him that the hunt itself was uncivilised. Harry Potter, his cousin, was a freak after all, and deserved nothing less than to be beaten up for the grossly obese boy's amusement.

Not that Dudley shared the reasons behind that philosophy with his friends. Weird things happened around Harry. He could do... magic. In his family, that word was worse than any amount of curse words, right up there with 'witch' and 'wizard'. It wasn't normal! And the Dursleys were all about being normal - what they believed was normal, at least. Few people, if they got to know the Dursleys even slightly, would have thought the family 'normal'.

The gang of boys finally found and trapped Harry in the bushes in an odd corner of the local park. Harry didn't even try to plead for mercy. Due to other episodes over the years, he knew there would be none. But because Harry had led them such a chase and refused to show fear (which Dudley thought of as the 'respect' he 'deserved'), the beating the obese boy meted out was far more vicious than anything Harry had experienced before, Dudley's 'friends' mindlessly following Dudley's example, egging each other on. It was only when Harry was lying still on the ground looking almost dead, blood flowing freely from several gashes, that they stopped their attack.

Viewing the results of their efforts, fear crept up on the boys, and they fled the scene. One of them, a Fred Appleby by name, rang up emergency services as soon as he'd run home, leaving an anonymous tip about the beaten, bleeding, and unconscious boy.

When emergency services arrived and found Harry, he was still bleeding. He was given a saline solution drip into his veins on the way to hospital, but the doctors there decided he needed whole blood, so he was typed, and a blood transfusion was started.

Dumbledore finally tracked Harry down about half an hour later. He hadn't paid attention to the warnings from the various magical 'gadgets' that tracked Harry's well-being at first. He had got used to the almost daily flashes and warblings from some of them over the years, counting those as just the usual trials and tribulations of Harry's childhood.

True, Harry's life wasn't easy - far harder than most children, in fact - but he believed Harry's spirit would only become stronger by weathering and surviving those troubles. The boy would also be far more grateful to be removed from that situation when it came time for him to attend Hogwarts, and therefore far more compliant. He needed Harry to be a good little soldier. Having the boy think too much for himself... Well, it just wouldn't do.

By the time he noticed that the alarums were much more severe this time, it was too late to do anything to rescue the boy.

He went first to the Dursleys and, when he didn't find the boy there and received no useful information from Harry's Aunt Petunia (Vernon, Harry's uncle, was at work, and Dudley was hiding out at his best friend, Piers Polkis' house trying to establish an alibi), he disillusioned himseld and did a 'Point Me' location spell. It worked, but was slow because it didn't show distance - just direction. He had to stop every once in a while to do the spell again - and again, and again, as he homed in on Harry's location.

By this time the doctors had stemmed most of the bleeding. They had yet, though it was planned, to do x-rays and other tests to search for internal injuries as well as broken bones.

They didn't get the chance.

Dumbledore walked into the surgery where Harry was being worked on. He spent little time castigating himself upon seeing Harry's condition, but almost immediately began mumbling spells under his breath: first he cast a variation of Petrificus Totallus on everyone in the room - one that froze them in place rather than causing them to snap into the usual rigid, upright, 'at attention' position, and then to find out exactly what was wrong with the boy before trying to stabilise his condition as much as he was able. Albus was not a medi-wizard however, so as soon as he'd done what he could, he Obliviated every muggle in the room of any knowledge of Harry before casting a Mobilicorpus and then a disillusionment spell on the boy before removing the Petrificus on the muggles. He then carefully apparated the both of them to the outskirts of Hogwarts' wards and hurried up to the castle, Harry's body floating along in his wake.

He didn't think of the emergency services personnel or other hospital staff, which would cause quite a few problems within the hospital later when Harry turned up missing.

"Albus!" Madam Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's medi-witch exclaimed in shock as he quickly strode into the school's hospital wing, Harry's body floating along behind him.

"I'm afraid this young man has been involved in a bit of a fracas, Poppy," the headmaster remarked. It would have taken a sharp ear to hear any hint of the urgency he felt.

"How badly?" she asked of the boy's injuries, even as she directed Dumbledore to a bed and began casting diagnostic spells on the boy.

"Quite, I'm afraid," was the old man's response.

"His heartbeat is too slow,and he needs a blood replenishing potion," Poppy reported a few minutes later, even as she cast a summoning spell to retrieve the blood replenishing potion she wanted, along with a few other potions that would be of use: healing draughts, bone mend, bruise balm, and so on.

"The muggles were putting foreign blood in him," Albus thought to inform her a couple of minutes later, "at one of their medical care centres."

Poppy's head whipped up from administering the potions to her young patient as she gave the headmaster a sharp look for not immediately proffering that information, but decided the old man had other matters on his mind related to this boy, and turned back to her work without a word.

Blood was a powerful substance, especially in the magical world. And given that many old 'pureblood' families had magical creatures in their bloodlines, it was anybody's guess how foreign blood would affect them: one reason of several why the magical world used blood replenishing potions rather than blood transfusions.

Knowing this information now, Poppy cast several spells designed to reveal the status of a magical person's basic being, and sighed in relief as they all came back with negative results.

"Still human," she said thankfully to the old man watching, before going back to doing what she could to heal the boy.

Some of the tension around Dumbledore's eyes relaxed as he gave a small smile and nodded his head in grateful acceptance of her diagnosis.

It was premature.

In the small hours of the morning, Harry's injuries began an accelerated healing. In a matter of a couple of hours, wounds that should have taken about a week of Poppy's spells and potions to mend - several weeks by Muggle methods - had healed without a trace. Harry's still unconscious form slipped into a normal sleep as he turned onto his side and relaxed.

To say that Madam Pomfrey was startled when she went to check on her young charge that morning would be an understatement. The spells she had cast on the young man the night before should have wakened her if there was a change in his status. But then, they were geared to detecting a deterioration of the patient's health: not healing.

Harry woke at the sound of her gasp. He looked at her, and a fantastic thirst overcame him.

Fortunately for Poppy, having been the lone medi-witch for Hogwarts for decades, she was used to unusual situations, and her stunning spell caught the boy before he could reach her. She hurried to the fireplace in her office and threw in a pinch of Floo Powder.

"Headmaster Dumbledore's office!" she snapped out.

"Albus!" she called, as soon as the flames steadied.

"Poppy?"

"I may have been a bit premature in my diagnosis last night," the medi-witch informed him. "You might wish to come here. Now."

"Stand aside, my dear," Albus told her as he grabbed and threw a larger amount of Floo Powder on the fire. A moment later he stepped through into the medical ward. "Now, what is this about?" he asked.

"I about had my throat punctured, if not entirely torn out," Poppy calmly informed him.

"I'm sorry?" Albus inquired, bewildered.

"Our young patient," Madam Pomfrey clarified. "I believe we now have a young vampire on our hands."

"He wasn't bitten, Poppy," the headmaster averred. "At least I saw no sign of it."

"Nor I," the mediwitch confessed. "Nevertheless, I know of no other humanoid beings with fangs that go for the throat. He's completely healed, so it's no surprise that he'd need blood. That much healing takes a lot of energy."

"Could the foreign blood have triggered such a change?" Dumbledore inquired. By this time both Albus and Poppy were standing over Harry's inert form, both of them casting spells in their own areas of expertise to verify that yes, the boy on the floor was indeed a vampire, although one with a few anomalies. For instance, the boy still had a heartbeat, albeit a slow one. That alone kept him from being labeled as one of the undead. But a living vampire? It was unheard of!

Poppy slowly nodded in response to the headmaster's question. "But I wasn't aware vampires could breed!" she protested quietly. "The undead giving life? How? And from which bloodline? I thought the Potters... But Lily was Muggleborn - wasn't she? The slow heartbeat..." she murmured to herself as her mind returned to her patient. "I should have known."

Dumbledore wasn't surprised she'd guessed Harry's identity, although he could have wished otherwise. Even as emaciated as the boy was, the resemblance to his parents was fairly clear.

"Nonsense, my dear," he said, trying to reassure her. "That could have been caused by many things. You couldn't have known."

Poppy shook her head, but didn't say anything. She knew he was right, but on a personal level, she wasn't entirely convinced.

"What do we do with him?" she asked.

"Put him in one of the isolation rooms, for now," Dumbledore replied, "and then we should try to find some blood for him. Is animal blood acceptable?" he asked.

"It should keep him alive, at least," the medi-witch replied, "although I rather doubt he'll like it, much."

"I'll contact my brother, Aberforth," the headmaster said, mostly to himself. "He knows a butcher."

"The poor boy," Poppy said softly, then set about moving her patient to one of their few isolation rooms.

"Make sure it's as fresh as possible," she shot back at the old man, before he'd gone too far to hear.

"Enervate."

Harry woke just in time to see a swirl of white cloth disappear around the edge of the room's door, which slammed closed a moment later. His body was tingling (from the spell cast on him, although he didn't know that), and his unfamiliar surroundings left him confused and apprehensive. And the strange dream he had, of attacking a lady who smelled... delicious? He would almost have preferred to be in his cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys, if only for the familiarity. But a delicious smell coming from somewhere close to him diverted his mind from all other matters.

His nose led him to a large ceramic pint mug perched on a bedside table. It wasn't quite the same kind of smell as the lady in his dream had - nowhere near as good - but it still smelt very appetising. Harry picked it up, taking a deep breath through his nose, smelling the contents. He looked inside the mug and saw a viscous red fluid, which he didn't recognise¹. Harry hadn't much experience with a large variety of foods or drinks, but it looked a little like tomato juice, even if it smelled nothing like that beverage. He took a small sip - delicious! - and started drinking. When he had as much as he wanted, he was surprised to find that the mug was still half full. He could have sworn he should have emptied it.

It was only as he was licking the last remnants of his drink from his lips that he discovered the fangs in his mouth. He immediately stuck a finger into his mouth to feel them, and accidentally pierced it on the tooth he'd meant to explore. He yanked the finger out to look at it and noticed it bleeding, so stuck it back in his mouth to suck on it. That was when he recognised the flavour. Blood? He'd been drinking blood? He peered into the mug, then stuck the tip of his finger into the fluid. When he pulled it out, he sniffed the finger and took a tentative lick at the substance on it.

It was. It was blood!

Harry almost felt nauseous, except that it still smelt so good. But how could he drink something like that? Harry wasn't the least bit happy with himself. He was so wrapped up in the horror of what he'd done that he didn't hear the door open behind him.

"Are you feeling better, Mister Potter?" came a kindly, but cautious voice from behind him.

Harry spun quickly and crouched, ready to dodge any attack coming his way. "Who are you?" he asked. "And where am I? What have you done to me?"

"Relax, Mister Potter," Madam Pomfrey replied. "I will answer your questions, or at least those I can, but I need for you to answer a few of mine first, please." From the fact that young Harry had yet to attempt to attack her, she was sure he had drunk enough blood to sate his needs for the moment, and was at least somewhat in control of himself. The way he had moved, though! More like a forest predator than a young human. Or like a vampire, really, which was more to the point.

Poppy went over to the bedstand where the mug rested, keeping Harry in view at all times, and was surprised to find it half empty. The vessel was enchanted to hold over a gallon of liquid: a prank gift to Albus from his mates in his younger years, when he was prone to enjoying the odd pint. And the cup held a very odd pint indeed, at about eight times that amount. Albus had thought it appropriate to pass on the gift to someone else who would be needing the odd pint from time to time.

Poppy had thought the joke in very bad taste, but couldn't deny that it might come in handy. She had made her own addition to the charms on the mug, of course: a preservation charm, to keep the contents fresh, and at body temperature.

Harry stared at the middle-aged woman. She was dressed strangely, in what looked like a very old-fashioned nurses' uniform, albeit with a few differences, but she didn't seem dangerous. He wondered what the stick she was pointing at him was for. It wasn't much, as a weapon, although it would probably hurt if she poked him with it.

"Okay," he finally said.

"Good. Now, are you feeling better?"

Harry made an almost panicked sound at the back of his throat. "NO!" he yelled. He no longer hurt, but surely drinking blood wasn't normal?

"You still hurt? Where?"

"I don't hurt!" the boy replied impatiently.

Poppy's grip on her wand firmed, and she readied a stunning spell. "You're still... thirsty, then?" she inquired.

"No!" Harry said again, this time in frustration. "What's happened to me?" he fearfully demanded.

Poppy relaxed, if only fractionally. "I'm afraid your muggle healers rather did you a disservice," she said.

Harry's face scrunched up in puzzlement. "What's a 'muggle'?" he asked, his curiousity overriding his need for other answers - for the moment.

Poppy observed him for a moment, wondering why he was ignorant of the term, and then replied. "A muggle is a person without a magic core."

Harry snorted. "Magic doesn't exist," he said dismissively, but was interrupted before he could again demand what had happened to him.

"Now, whoever told you that?" she asked, seemingly amused. Had the boy been raised by muggles? On the other hand, that might explain the lad's ignorance.

"It doesn't!" Harry insisted. "My aunt and uncle..." Harry paused in thought. His aunt and uncle had often lied to him. It would make sense if they'd lied about this, too, but...

His aunt and uncle? Well, that certainly filled in a part of the picture. Poppy remembered overhearing one of Lily Evans' conversations when she still a pupil there, ranting about how hateful her sister had become since she, Lily, had started Hogwarts. And then Minerva had related, a few years back, how Lily's sister's family had become the worst sort of muggles. But surely the boy hadn't been put with them?

"Can you prove it?" Harry asked, pulling Poppy's attention back to the here and now.

The smell of blood wasn't one of which Poppy was fond, so she used the mug as her target. Pointing her wand at it, she turned it into a vase filled with blood red roses. She'd turn it back, later, but never let it be said that the medi-witch was devoid of a sense of humour.

"What's that?" Harry asked after the woman's wand, after seeing what she did with it. Of course it could be a trick...

Following Harry's line of sight and seeing what the boy was looking at, she said, "My wand. It's not impossible to do magic without one, but few have the magical strength or the will: so few, if any witches or wizards are without one."

Harry nodded, although he didn't really understand. "So 'muggles' are people who can't do magic?"

Poppy hesitated, loathe to get into that discussion just yet. "For the most part, yes," she replied, "although it's hardly that simple. But your other questions?" she said, trying to get Harry back on track. The sooner he knew the worst, the sooner he could begin dealing with it.

"You want me to do what?" Snape asked.

"We require a genealogy potion," Dumbledore repeated, "and I would like you to brew it."

"May I ask for whom you would need such a thing?" the Potions professor inquired irritably. He hated being interrupted, and had been part way through a rather tricky potion when the headmaster had demanded his attention.

Dumbledore hesitated, but realised that if Harry was to come to Hogwarts in a year's time, all of his professors would need to know Harry's secret in order to most effectively defuse any problems as they arose.

Making up his mind, the headmaster said, "Harry Potter."

Severus stared at the old man. "You're out of your bloody mind," he said, "if you expect me to do anything for that brat."

"You've yet to meet him, Severus," Albus replied, reproach in his voice. "How can you have judged him yet?"

"He's James Potter's son, is he not? Reason enough."

Dumbledore sighed. "And not even an hour past he attacked Poppy," he replied, but was interrupted before he could continue.

"There!" Snape enounced triumphantly. "Blood will out! He... Just what is he doing here, anyway?" he asked as his mind caught him up. "Isn't his eleventh next year?"

Albus' eyes started twinkling. "You've kept track, then?" he inquired.

"Out of dread, I assure you," the potions master replied dryly.

"Of course," Albus said, amused disbelief apparent in the words.

"If he's attacking staff already, I believe I've cause," Snape declared.

"It wasn't his fault, Severus; he was thirsty."

"Thirs-" Severus was far from being slow of mind, but the headmaster's pronouncement completely threw him off. What in the world would cause a ten year old boy to attack someone because he was thirsty? "What is he, a bloody vampire?" he asked, throwing out the question as being the most bizzare of possibilities.

"Exactly."

Snape stared at the old man, then turned and headed back to his workstation. He'd need to throw out the ruined potion and start over. "You've had your jape, headmaster," he threw over his shoulder. "You've wasted some expensive ingredients for it, so I hope it was worth your time."

The headmaster's voice wasn't loud, but it carried as he said, "I'm afraid I'm completely serious, my boy."

"Ha, bloody ha," Harry said, in a deadpan fashion.

"Would you care to offer your own explanation then, Mister Potter?" Poppy inquired.

Harry had to admit that the middle-aged woman's explanation would explain why he'd drunk blood and enjoyed it, but it was just too weird! There were the longer-than-usual extra-sharp teeth in his mouth as well, though.

"Don't they have to sleep in a coffin or something?" he asked.

"I'm afraid that most of what you may have heard about vampires will have been eroneous," she replied. It was true even amongst those of the magical world, whose members had to cope with several other intelligent species. More often than not they did so by claiming themselves superior, often inventing 'facts' to back up their claim.

"Erone...?"

"Wrong," Poppy clarified. "Although you're just a bit different from any vampire of which I've ever heard. You, even if it's a bit slow, have a heartbeat."

Harry looked at her, his expression one of utter confusion. "How?" he asked desperately.

Poppy correctly inferred that the boy was asking about his status as a vampire, rather than his having a heartbeat.

It took some time, but Harry finally accepted what the woman was saying, although she couldn't answer all his questions. She simply didn't know the answers.

But as for magic, he had to see several examples of it in action, as well as a runespoor (a magical, three-headed snake) and a couple of other small, magical creatures (all courtesy of Hagrid, since Professor Kettleburn was gone for the summer). Although Harry had been hard to convince, it wasn't the magic or the huge man who brought the animals - although the magic and the man was very impressive - it was actually the runespoor that had broken his wall of doubt. It wasn't that it had three heads - after all, he'd heard of all sorts of sports in the animal world while he was in school - but the fact that he could understand what the thing was saying. Of course most of what it was saying was each head arguing with the other two. Weird. But Harry had been taught quite well by the Dursleys not to talk about strange things, so he didn't let on.

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Copyright © Shamyn Whitehawk, April 01, 2008