The Unbitten

See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.

Chapter Three

Harry grimaced slightly as he stepped out of Gringotts into the bright sunlight in the Alley, the much brighter light temporarily making his eyes hurt. His sight not quite adjusted, he saw a menacing shape quickly approaching him, and tried to duck away.

"Potter!"

'Oh, damn: Mister Snape. And he sounds angry,' Harry thought. He flinched as the man reached for him.

"Decided my time was worth nothing, did you?" the greasy-haired man accused. He didn't wait for a reply, but grabbed the robe's collar at the nape of Harry's neck, then dragged him along behind him. "Your dilly-dallying has cost you, Potter. There is now not enough time for you to shop," the man lied. "I have a couple of purchases I must make, and then we'll be heading back to Hogwarts."

Harry was too intimidated to complain. Besides which, he was conditioned by the Dursleys to expect to be locked up and/or not fed if he did.

Snape dragged Harry to the apothecary, the boy stumbling and half-running as he tried to keep up, off-balance due to the potions master's rough handling.

"Wait here!" he ordered. "And if you dare wander off, I'll use your guts for potions ingredients!"

Through the window, Harry watched the potions master looking through a few shelves, then talking with the clerk, and getting more agitated by the second.

Snape strode out of the shop, his face even darker than it had been before. Without a word, he again grabbed the neck of Harry's transfigured robes, and started off in a new direction. "Next week!" he muttered, sounding mortally offended.

From that, Harry inferred that whatever Mister Snape had been looking for, the apothecary was currently out of stock and wouldn't have more until the next week. Snape evidently didn't want to wait.

They made a turn into a narrower lane, and continued walking. But Harry noted that there were quite a few more questionable-looking people here: not all of them, but definitely more than in the other street.

"Please, sir," Harry said, still struggling to keep his balance and keep up, "is this Diagon Alley, too?"

The greasy-haired man almost didn't reply, but... "No. Knockturn Alley. It's a bit more dangerous than Diagon Alley, but quite safe if you keep your wits about you. Do not, under any circumstances, take it into your empty head to go exploring here!"

Harry shook his head in mute acceptance of the order, looking askance at a hag selling what looked like fingernails and toenails from a tray hung 'round her neck.

He sighed with relief when they came to a stop in front of another apothecary, although this one had rather a lot more disturbing... things... in the window. He was a little tired, but he was surprised that he had any energy left.

"Stay right here, Potter," Snape said, dire threats in his voice. "Do not move even so much as an inch! Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied in a tiny voice.

"You had best hope so." With that, the potions professor turned and entered the shop.

Less than thirty seconds later a strange, but friendly voice addressed Harry. "Hello, lad! Enjoying your shopping with your father?"

Harry looked away from the apothecary window. The man speaking was of average height, if a little overweight. He had pleasant features and a friendly expression, but something was a bit... off about him. Still, he didn't seem dangerous.

"He's not my father," Harry replied, looking back into the window. So he didn't see the man sidling closer.

"Ah. That makes sense. You're much too bonny to be related to the likes of him," the man replied.

Harry started to turn to look at the man and tell him to leave him alone, but he never got the chance.

The man grabbed him, putting one hand over Harry's mouth to prevent any unwanted noise, and apparated away.

They appeared with a rather noisy *crack* in front of a stone-walled, low-roofed, thatched cottage half covered in vines. As soon as he caught his breath, Harry started struggling; but even with his new strength, he wasn't quite strong enough to get away from the man.

"Ah, you're a sweet thing, aren't ya, honey?" the man cooed. "I can see you're just gagging for it. You and me, we're going to have lots of fun."

Harry wasn't quite sure what the man was talking about, but he knew that he'd been stolen away. Snape wasn't pleasant, but he was a link to something known, and the 'something off' about this man had quickly become 'something terribly wrong'.

And for some reason his Uncle Vernon's vitriol-rich voice reverberated in his memories, condemning 'those damn faggots' and their 'unnatural ways', including 'corrupting our precious children'. He still didn't quite know what it meant, but his instincts were kicking up something fierce, telling him to get away - escape - attack, if necessary.

Adrenalin began to flood Harry's system, and his eye-teeth started to lengthen.

The man grabbed the back of Harry's neck and pulled him into a fierce lip-to-lip contact that was probably supposed to be a kiss; but as he drew back to enjoy the delicious look of helpless fright that was supposed to be on the boy's face - that had been on the faces of all his other victi- lovers...

He didn't even have time to scream.

Harry wouldn't remember what happened until much later, but when Harry came back to himself he felt unusually full, and he was lying on top of a... well, what used to be a man. Except most men had throats, as well as necks. This one had a large hole in his.

Horrified, Harry scrambled backwards away from the corpse. After staring a couple of seconds he started backing away, his eyes locked on the sight. When he stumbled over something, forcing him to look away, he finally turned and fled.

It was about a week before anyone stumbled over the scene. By that time animals, insects, and normal decay had disguised the cause of the pervert's death quite well. Not that anyone cared who or what might have killed the man after they got a look inside the cottage, where the very well preserved bodies of eleven boys were found in 'artful' poses throughout the house.

~*~

Professor Severus Snape stepped out of the apothecary, and cursed when he found Harry gone. "Brat just couldn't follow directions, could he?" he muttered as he started off to find the boy. "Of course not! Just like his father, as I always thought!"

A couple of minutes later he stopped dead in his tracks, cursing himself for his stupidity, and Harry for causing it, before casting 'Point Me Harry Potter' on his wand. It didn't move. He faced another direction and cast the spell again, to make sure of the direction, and was stunned when again his wand didn't move. There were only three explanations: Potter was in a Fidelius-protected area, out of range of the spell, or he was dead. A cold feeling of dread came over him.

"Damn it all, the old bastard will have my head," he muttered, referring to Albus Dumbledore.

~*~

Harry ran until he could run no more, both from fatigue and the fading light. He wasn't hungry, for which he was grateful, although he adamantly refused to think of the reason for his lack of hunger. He huddled into the exposed roots of a large tree, and drifted into a restless sleep. As he slept, his body and magic accessed the excess blood Harry had ingested, and began correcting the deficiencies that years of malnutrition and abuse had wrought on his body.

Harry's skeleton, nerves and internal organs were first, correcting weaknesses, quickening reaction times, then erasing scars (which were a weakness in the skin), although the scar on his forehead was only slightly affected, making it hard to see, and toning muscles. There was just enough energy left over to correct Harry's eyes which, besides having been affected by malnutrition, had also not had the exercise that the eye muscles needed due to spending so much time in a dark cupboard. On the other hand, the cones and rods in Harry's eyes were much more numerous and powerful due to his magic having tried to help him see in dim to no light, and the vampire in him now took advantage of that, making his eyesight, both day and night, better than that of most vampires.

There was little else the vampire magic could do for Harry at the moment. As he grew older and his body and magic channels developed more, more could be done: but not now.

Harry was amazed at not needing his glasses when he woke up, but didn't notice the other improvements. He wandered the mountains for two more days, catching and draining a rabbit once (thinking he'd been really lucky, rather than being fast enough to do so), but not having the means to cook the flesh, he left it behind. If he hadn't been so thirsty he might not have overcome his reluctance to kill the rabbit. As it was, it was quite a while before he managed to spit out the last of the fine rabbit hair from his mouth.

Late in the morning of that day he came across another cottage, this one better maintained than... the other. There was an elderly man sitting in a chair outside his door, soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the view. He looked older than Dumbledore, but without the extra-long hair and beard.

Harry hunkered down in the bushes and watched the old man, wondering if it would be safe to talk to him. He was craving some real food. He even had money to pay for it.

"If you mean no harm, you're welcome," the old man called out, looking in the general direction of where Harry was hidden. All the same, he had his wand ready to hand.

Harry froze, shocked that he had been discovered. Then he slowly stood, as there was little reason to hide any more, but made no move to approach the house.

"Ah. Just a young one, then," the old man said. "Well, come on then, lad."

Harry slowly moved forward, but stopped again about ten feet from the man, poised to run, if needed.

"If you mean no harm, then you've nothing to fear here, child," the old man gently said. Feeling the magic in the boy, he pulled his wand from his sleeve, and conjured another chair about five feet away from his own. The invitation was obvious.

Harry didn't move. "You're a wizard too, then?" he asked.

"That I am. My name is Albert Frost - retired wand maker," was the response. "And you?"

Harry hesitated before answering. He wanted help, but he was a bit wary of strangers after what had happened to him. "Harry," was his only answer.

"What brings you out this way, Harry?" Albert inquired.

Harry shrugged. "Lost," was his monosyllabic reply.

Remarkably, the old man did not ask Harry about his parents, as most would have done. "How long has it been?" he asked, instead.

Harry looked at him, confused. "How long has what been?" he inquired.

"Well, you don't seem to be quite human," Albert began, noting how the boy tensed, at that, "but I was wondering how long you've been lost." He continued quickly, afraid the boy would run off. "I noticed before I first addressed you," he explained. "It's why I kept saying 'if you mean no harm'." He wasn't quite sure what species the boy was, but he was too young to be out in the wilderness on his own, regardless.

Harry started to turn away.

"Are you hungry?" the old man asked, knowing that most young boys were always hungry, and if the lad had been lost awhile...

Harry didn't turn back, but he turned his head enough to see what the old man's motives might be. All he could see there was concern.

"Two days," Harry said.

Now it was Albert's turn to be confused, until he recalled his earlier question. "I don't think it would hurt my pantry to give you a meal or two," he said as he slowly got up from his chair. He didn't want to startle the boy. As it was, Harry was watching him most warily.

- - -

"I've relatives stopping by in a few days," Albert said apologetically as he sat across from Harry, watching him eat. The boy had seemed to be afraid to enter the house, so the old man had brought the sandwiches out to him. "So I'm afraid you'll have to be gone by then. My youngest daughter's husband is an auror, and if he catches wind of your... condition, he's likely to curse first and ask questions later. Best to avoid the possibility"

"Oh," Harry said, setting down the sandwich he had been working on, and pushing himself away from the small table the old man had conjured for him.

"Relax, son," the old man said in response. "I said 'a few days'. There's time for you to bathe, eat, and get well rested."

Harry looked at him for a moment, then slowly scooted his chair back up to the table and began eating again. He really was hungry.

"How old are you?" Albert asked a couple of minutes later. He couldn't just send this boy out into the wilderness again, part vampire, or not (he'd first sensed Harry's strangeness, a part of the talent that had allowed him to become a wand maker, and had since caught glimpses of his teeth while the boy ate). Maybe he could come up with a solution for him.

"Ten, in a fortnight," Harry replied, before taking another large bite of a sandwich.

"That close, eh?"

Harry nodded, not being able to answer with his mouth full.

"In the next valley over," the old man said thoughtfully, "is a school. To learn magic. I believe they'd take you in - as a student. You have funds?"

Harry looked at the man warily, then slowly nodded his head. "Not on me, though," he lied.

Albert noted the lie, but rather approved of the boy's caution. "Good. They're not cheap, but not as expensive as Hogwarts - that's another school of magic, up north." They also didn't usually take students younger than eleven, but it had been known to happen. And if he had a talk with the present headmistress...

Harry nodded again, but didn't let on that he knew of Hogwarts. They'd locked him up, and when they let him out, his guard had been a really mean man who had let him get kidnapped. He wasn't sure he wanted to go back there. Maybe this other place was better.

They'd talked - or rather Albert had talked and Harry had answered questions when he couldn't avoid them (not always with the truth) - and then the old man had shown Harry to the bathroom, where Harry took a deliciously hot bath in a serviceable claw-foot tub. Afterward he'd dried himself off, but was understandably reluctant to put on the filthy robes he'd worn for three days, two of which had been spent in the wilderness. However, they were the only clothes he had. But when he turned to put them back on, he was shocked to see that they had reverted to the hospital pyjamas the robes had been transformed from. They weren't in any better condition, though.

Dressed in the pyjamas, his bottomless bag from Gringotts hanging from his neck under the top, Harry rejoined the old man.

"Oh, no. No, that won't do at all," Albert muttered. Louder, he said, "These were your robes?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Well, it's just as well I dug these out for you, then," the old man replied, holding out a clean pair of pyjamas that were close to Harry's size. "My great-grandson's," he explained at Harry's look. "I think he may have left some robes as well; I'll see, come morning."

Harry just stood there, undecided what he should do.

"Well? Take them, boy," the old wand maker gently insisted. "Those things you're wearing aren't fit for rags, let alone clothes."

Harry took a step closer and held out his hand. When Albert didn't move, Harry inched closer, and let his hand close over the fabric. The old man let go.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, retreating.

Albert made a small 'shooing' gesture at Harry. "Go put them on, then," he said.

After he'd shown Harry to one of the guest rooms (he had three, due to expanded space), Albert sat and thought for awhile. Then, decided, he got up and went to his workspace. He hadn't made a wand in quite some time, but the room was there just in case he decided to keep his hand in. It wanted cleaning, though.

When Harry woke, he discovered a robe draped over the end of his bed. Putting it on, he found it to be a little on the small size, but he wasn't about to complain. The old man had no reason to help him at all, so he was grateful for any help he could get.

Albert called him to the table, and they shared a breakfast of Weetabix with milk, tea, and toast. Afterward, the old man asked Harry to follow him into his workroom. Harry, more relaxed now, but still cautious, did so.

"I told you I was a retired wand maker, didn't I?" Albert asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Well, I like to keep my hand in from time to time; don't want the skills to get rusty, do I? And since you're likely to be going to that school I mentioned - you have decided to at least check the place out, haven't you?" At Harry's hesitant nod, he continued. "Anyway, you'll need a wand. Almost all the others students will have got theirs from shops in Diagon or Knockturn Alleys, which is quite a distance from here. So if you'd indulge an old man, I'd like to try my hand at making a wand for you."

Harry was shocked. "Y-you don't have to do that, sir," he stuttered. He didn't know much about the sticks, but every witch and wizard he'd seen so far had one. He admitted to himself he'd really like one for himself, but this old man had already done so much for him - fed him, even let him sleep in a real bed!

"Nonsense! You can't be going to a school of magic without the tools you'll need."

"But-"

"Half the time I'm bored near to death out here," Albert interrupted. "Are you trying to take away my chance to break the monotony?"

Harry blushed, embarrassed. Verbally driven into a corner, he gave up and shook his head. There was only thing he could say. "Thank you, sir."

"Good! Now that's settled, I'd like you to look around the room. See all those square sticks over there?" the old wand maker asked, gesturing to the contents of a rack of shelves that took up most of one wall.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied almost questioningly.

Those are called wand blanks," Albert explained. "All different kinds of woods, there: even a few that can't be found any more. What I want you to do is go over there, close your eyes, and try to find any that you can feel. Running your hand just above them might help. Now what you feel might be warmth, a coolness, a tingling, or anything else out of the ordinary. Pick out as many as you feel something from. There's a step ladder there to help you reach the shelves you might have difficulty with."

Harry blinked at the old man, then slowly approached the shelves and began his appointed task. He didn't really know what to expect, despite the man's words, and was half expecting that nothing would happen at all - until he felt a warm tingle under his fingers. Opening his eyes, he picked it up and took it to the man.

"A good start," Albert said approvingly. "Now continue with the rest of them, and let's see how many you're attracted to, eh?"

With a small frown, Harry said, "Okay," and went back to the shelves.

When Harry was done, there was quite a small stack of woods.

"Very good!" Albert exclaimed. "Now we start the winnowing process."

"What's 'whin-o-wing'?" Harry asked.

"Weeding them out, my lad," the wand maker explained. "Picking out the ones you have the strongest affinity for, and putting the rest back."

"Why didn't we do that in the first place?" Harry asked, although he didn't let his annoyance show.

"It would have been much harder, wouldn't it?" Albert stated, more than asked. "You'd have to remember where each one was."

Remembering all those woods, Harry reluctantly agreed.

Out of the twenty-odd wand blanks Harry had picked from the shelves, he cut the amount down to nine, and then five: Gabon ebony, padouk, daemon bloodwood, lignum vitae, and silver yew.

"Now, which one gives the strongest sensation, young Harry?" Mister Frost asked.

Harry closed his eyes and ran his hand over the woods, concentrating fiercely. "This one..." he finally said, "but this one is so close! I... Can we use both?"

Albert frowned. A composite wand was possible, yes, but very rare and rarely needed. But given the nature of this boy, and the properties of the woods chosen... "Yes," he said, drawing out the word. "It's not usually done, but I think maybe we should, this time."

"I don't want to be a bother," Harry said quietly as he stared at the floor.

"I said I'd make you a wand, lad, and that's what I'm going to do. Nor am I going to do a slipshod job just because you 'don't want to be a bother'. I've my professional pride to think of, you know."

Harry was a little confused by the way this old man's attitudes seemed to keep switching so often, but still staring at the floor, he just nodded his head, hoping it was the right response.

"Right then," Albert said firmly. He picked up the two wand blanks, directing Harry to put the others back on the shelves.

"But... I don't know where they go, now," Harry said worriedly.

"Doesn't matter, lad," the old man cheerfully told him. "If I need to make another wand, the recipient will pick out what he or she needs, same as you did."

Reassured, Harry picked up the pile of discarded blanks and put them carefully back on the shelves.

In the meantime, Albert put the other two blanks on a pewter platter and, using a red wax stylus, wrote a few runes around the edge of it, then waited for Harry to rejoin him.

When Harry had rejoined him, Albert said, "Now we need to pick out a core."

"A core? You mean something's inside the... wands?"

"Why yes, lad. You didn't think they were only made of wood, did you? If that were the case, anyone could just pick up a stick from the forest floor and start doing magic. Where would I be then, eh?" Albert winked and smiled at Harry to indicate he wasn't entirely serious about that last sentence.

Another process of elimination later, and all Harry had picked out was a large scale of some kind, a little larger than Harry's hand with the fingers spread wide. However, he had a nagging feeling that he needed more. He absent-mindedly started playing with a small hank of his hair, tugging on it from time to time; and then one tug, a little harder than the others, pulled out several strands of hair. Harry stared at them briefly, then went to throw them on the floor. He stopped himself, however, and with a small frown, handed them to Albert.

"I... I think these need to go in, too," he said.

Albert laid the hairs on the two blanks, on top of the scale, which had come from a large basilisk, and started drawing more runes on the pewter platter. Harry nervously chewed a finger - and punctured it with a fang.

"Damn - dang it!" Harry said, correcting himself with a wary look at Albert.

The old man looked at Harry, his eyes narrowed, then reached for Harry's hand. Harry, thinking he was going to be punished for cursing, started to draw back, but not seeing any anger in Mister Frost's face or eyes he hesitated, and then allowed him to take his hand.

Albert drew Harry's hand over the core ingredients, and allowed a few drops of Harry's blood to drip on them before the finger stopped bleeding on its own, and healed.

Albert completed putting the needed runes around the edge of the platter.

He said, "Now, Harry, I'm going to cast a spell on these items to make them into your wand. But it will be more finely tuned to you if you try to push some of your energy into it while I'm doing that."

"How do I do that?" Harry asked.

"Put your hand over them and picture yourself pushing energy into your wand. Make it happen."

Harry frowned in confusion, still not knowing how he was supposed to accomplish that, but nodded, determined to do his best, anyway.

"Go ahead," Albert urged.

Harry held his hand over the wand ingredients on the platter, screwed his eyes shut, and concentrated.

Albert, watching with the sight that was needed for anyone who wished to become a wand crafter, didn't notice anything for a few moments, and then was satisfied when he saw a glow develop around the boy's hand. It started to flow into the wand components, and he prepared to cast the spell, when the glow around Harry's hand started intensifying, and became so bright that he had trouble seeing. He hastily cast the spell before he would be completely blinded by the energy coming from the boy's hand.

Albert's spell was not only supposed to combine the wand components into a wand, but direct the energy donated by the client. It only worked in part. Albert watched in astonishment as vortices raged over the platter and around Harry's hand.

Harry's hand! Albert quickly drew Harry away from the platter. "That's enough, Harry. Thank you," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and collected.

It was less than a minute that they watched what was happening on the platter, although Harry had to look away every few seconds in order to keep from getting dizzy, but finally the energy storm subsided, leaving a very beautiful wand behind. It was mostly black, with streaks and a few swirls of reddish-orange wood along its length.

Albert approached it, then picked it up and handed it to Harry.

"There you go, Harry: eleven and a half inches, ebony and bloodwood, with a basilisk scale core."

"It's beautiful!" Harry exclaimed. Then he asked, "Where did the rest of it go?"

"The rest of it?" Albert asked.

"Well, it would have only taken one piece of wood - blank - to make this, so what happened to the rest of it?"

Albert gave a low laugh. "It's all there, Harry. Oh, some of it might have been lost to the energy needed to create the wand, but otherwise, it's all there. The wood is more dense - stronger. Oh! And your blood - your blood in the core makes sure you can call it to you from wherever it might be."

"And my hair?" Harry asked.'

Albert frowned. "I don't know. I just decided to trust your instincts," he admitted. "Anyway, why don't you give it a wave? See what it can do?"

The results would haunt Albert the last few months of his life. A black, winged, snake-shaped form appeared, liberally dotted with what appeared to be stars and galaxies, with green novas for eyes. It wasn't so much a flying snake, despite it's subsequent actions, as a snake-shaped hole into another universe. It flew once around the room, then settled on Harry's shoulders before fading away, seeming to soak into Harry's body, although except for a liberal dose of astonishment, the boy didn't seem to be affected.

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

A/N: to find out about the magical properties attributed to various woods, go to http://www.goldentreewands.com/magicpropertiesofwood.htm