[From Samhain to the Solstice]: Harry Potter's Life Contains Too Many Vampires, Harry/OMC, PG-13

[lomonaaeren]

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Part Two

“Did you not notice?”

Harry lifted his head and concentrated on the railing running beside him, which was made of warm and shining stone, a milky grey in color. He reached out and touched it, and the railing seemed to ripple and shift towards him.

“Notice what?” Harry murmured, tilting his hand back and forth on the railing. It really did ripple, rising up to touch his fingers. Harry laughed in delight and turned to find Constantine watching him with a faint smile.

“How everything here seems to turn towards you. How it responds to Parseltongue.”

“Constantine, I’m still trying to find my feet half the time.” But Harry looked up at the ceiling, which in this part of the Court was covered by drifting mist and dangling blue flowers, and smiled as he saw the flowers rotating in his direction. “You built the Court on the corpse of a giant snake?”

“Not a corpse. It was still alive when my grandfather discovered it.” Constantine gestured, and Harry followed him down the stairs that the railing encircled. “But he did have to bargain with it for the right to build the Court on its back”

“Is Lord Elfric a Parselmouth, too?”

“No. It’s one reason that the negotiations took long years.”

They descended the stairs the rest of the way in silence. Harry had to admit that part of him was still reeling at the idea that people here looked at his Parseltongue in interest instead of hating him for it.

“Here we are.”

Harry blinked and lifted his head, craning his neck to see the head of the snake rearing above them. It was made of stone, or so Harry thought, but it was a shining grey stone that seemed lit from within by golden radiance that followed the outline of the great creature’s scales. Harry shivered in awe.

“Can you sense what it is?”

Constantine was standing right beside Harry, staring at him in that slightly creepy way he had. Harry decided to ignore how creepy it was as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. There was a magic flowing from the stone snake that didn’t feel like anything he had ever felt before. He reached out a hand.

For a moment, there were coils shifting against his touch, although Harry knew he wasn’t actually touching anything but air, and a soft hiss in his ear. The hiss carried a name Harry had never heard before but knew at once.

“Sahafassa,” Harry breathed.

Constantine said nothing, but Harry felt an impression of keen interest anyway. He opened his eyes to see Constantine smiling at him, nodding slightly.

“That is the name the Great One gave to my grandfather when he built the Court,” Constantine said. “And she told him that when someone else came who knew the name without being told by a two-legged creature, that person would be the linchpin of a powerful alliance we might form.”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. He was blushing. “I’m not—I’m not an ally of anyone, Constantine. I’m just Neville’s friend.”

“Are you?”

Harry found himself unsure of the answer to the question when it was asked like that. He ended up shrugging helplessly.

Constantine stood there and stared for a moment longer. Then he turned his head, and his discomforting gaze, away.

“Come, you should see some of the lower floors.”

Harry followed, still wondering what Constantine had meant about an alliance. It wasn’t as though Harry had relatives among the Court like Neville did, or was going to marry a vampire like Neville’s great-aunt had.

Besides, he wasn’t here to wander around the Court and ask questions of the vampires or just speak Parseltongue, no matter how interesting it was. He was here to make himself tougher, to be able to defeat Voldemort.

Harry grimaced and shook his head in annoyance. He hated that he had forgotten his true purpose for even a few days.

I have all summer. But it’ll pass before I know it, and Voldemort will be hunting me again.

*

“Come in, Harry Potter.”

Harry stepped gingerly into the throne room. Constantine had guided him here, but hadn’t accompanied him inside, saying that Lord Elfric wanted to see Harry alone. Harry was frantically revising what he had done over the past few days in his head, wondering if he had somehow been rude to a vampire.

“Calm, little one.”

An avalanche of calm seemed to fall on Harry. It was as if he had swallowed sixteen Calming Draughts at once. He blinked and coughed and got control of himself, glancing away from Lord Elfric with his face burning.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He’d survived the graveyard. He ought to be able to face this vampire Lord who hadn’t actually done anything to kill anyone Harry knew or torture or hurt him.

“It is well.” Lord Elfric shifted back and forth for a moment, and Harry finally turned back and bowed. Lord Elfric waved one of his elegant hands. “You need not bow. Not when you come before me as the heir of a powerful Lord.”

Harry’s mind flickered back to what Constantine had said the other day, and his eyes narrowed. “My lord, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any Lords other than you, and Lord Voldemort.”

“It is of Lord Voldemort that I speak.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He thought. Lord Elfric waited. Harry finally said, as carefully as he could, “My lord, I don’t know what you know about—the way I interacted with Lord Voldemort this last year, but he was trying to kill me only a few days ago. He tied me up, tortured me, killed one of my friends, and took my blood to use in a resurrection ritual.”

Harry heard his voice shaking and hated it, but couldn’t stop it. He was alive with hatred at the thought of Voldemort, and silently vowing that the next time he saw the bastard, he would make Voldemort hurt the way Harry hurt.

Lord Elfric tilted his head back and forth, the way someone else might wag their hand, clearly considering. “And why did he choose you for the resurrection ritual?”

“Because he hates me, and the ritual needed the blood of an enemy.”

“Or the blood of his heir.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know much about his family, but I know that he’s Slytherin’s distant descendant, my lord. I know that I’m not.”

“And yet, you are a Parselmouth.”

“That has to do with the magic that flew around the night that he attacked me when I was a baby.” There, Harry thought, that ought to be a safe enough version of the truth, without giving away a lot that the vampires might use against him. “It’s—like handing someone a present or something. It’s nothing to do with inheritance.”

Lord Elfric nodded as if satisfied. “I shall think about this. I make no decisions hastily. The immortal need not.”

He gave Harry a particularly close look as he spoke those words, but Harry didn’t know why. He just nodded and retreated, glad when Constantine started up from what looked like a floating cushion of mist.

“It went well?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know why you grandfather referred to me as Voldemort’s heir. I’m not.”

Constantine smiled as though he’d said something funny, but took Harry off to show him an Underhill garden instead of explaining.

*

“Harry? Are you okay? Gran wanted me to…”

Neville opened the door and stopped speaking. Harry suspected that he knew why. Harry was sitting in the middle of his bed, staring fixedly at the letter that had arrived for him a few hours ago. The scale that had sealed it lay in the middle of the bed. Harry was shuddering over and over again.

“Gran!” Neville called over his shoulder, sounding panicked.

Harry tried to shake himself out of it. He understood why Neville had shouted for his grandmother—he was probably used to having her take care of things—but Harry didn’t want to look this weak in front of Mrs. Longbottom.

As it turned out, he didn’t have a choice. Mrs. Longbottom bustled into the room, took one look at him, nodded a little, and waved her wand. Harry’s bathroom door flew open, and he heard the sound of water pouring into the tub. A moment later, steam started curling out of the door.

“A warm bath, I think,” said Mrs. Longbottom, as if saying what color grass was. “In you get, Harry.”

Harry would have protested if he could have, but his lips and his fingers alike felt heavy and numb. He lets Mrs. Longbottom herd him into the bathroom. She looked away while Harry took off his robes. Then he crawled into the warm water and cried aloud.

“What is it? Too cold?” Mrs. Longbottom raised her wand as if she would cast another Warming Charm.

“No, no, it’s hot,” Harry said, but he could feel the spinning in his head slowing down. The cold was retreating from his limbs, and he leaned back and closed his eyes. Luckily, the steam and the bubbles that Mrs. Longbottom had conjured meant she had no chance of seeing under the water and let Harry be okay with having her in the same room.

Mrs. Longbottom nodded briskly. “The best thing for a shock like this. I’ll leave now, dear, but Neville will sit and keep you company.”

Her tone said it wasn’t optional. But Harry was okay with Neville being around. After all, they shared a bathroom at Hogwarts. “All right. Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom.”

“It will be all right,” Mrs. Longbottom said softly. She didn’t reach towards him, but looked into his eyes in a way that made Harry feel like she just might be telling the truth. “If nothing else, Lord Elfric and Lord Constantine are fond of you, and powerful vampire Lords have a way of banishing any problems.”

She was gone before Harry could ask what she meant about the vampires being fond of him. Harry frowned down at the bathwater. It wasn’t as though he was like Neville’s great-aunt and married to one of them or anything.

Neville came and sat down on the rim of the tub, his face as quiet and courageous as it had been when he’d invited Harry to come to the Court with them. “What happened?”

Harry swallowed air, then said, “I’ll talk about it, but in a minute, okay? I want to—I want to think about it first.”

“Take all the time you need, Harry.”

Harry smiled at Neville, grateful for his silent support, and then reached for the soap and the potion in a small glass bottle that served as shampoo. He silently scrubbed down, partially because he did feel like he should clean himself in water this hot and partially because every time he touched his own skin, it reminded him he was alive.

Not dreaming. Not bleeding to death in the graveyard, either.

He took a deep breath and finally rolled over in the water so that he was facing Neville. Neville, who had taken a book out of his pocket that had a cactus on the cover and had been reading it, immediately put it back in his pocket.

“The letter was from Voldemort,” Harry said. “One of his bloody snake’s scales sealed it.”

Neville’s mouth fell open. “He—wow.”

Harry nodded. He did feel calmer. Some of that was the bathwater, some of that was the reminder that he was alive, and some of it was because it had been more than a month since the graveyard, now, and Harry was getting used to the idea that Voldemort wouldn’t storm Lord Elfric’s Court to get at him. “I know. And the weirdest thing is that it isn’t full of death threats.”

“What did he say?”

Harry hesitated.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Neville said, and hitched up his robe. “But I sort of had the impression that you did want to.”

Once again, Harry felt shame that he hadn’t been a better friend to Neville. He nodded and bit his lip. “Yeah. I—well, I was just thinking about whether it was something anyone should hear.”

“Gran says those are the things that you need to talk about most.”

“She’s probably right.” Harry cleared his throat. “He says that I’m his heir. And his Horcrux.”

Neville’s mouth dropped open. Then his brow furrowed. “I know what an heir is, of course—” he peeked quickly at Harry as if thinking Harry would deny that, but continued on when Harry just nodded “—but I’ve never heard of the other word.”

Harry licked his lips. The thought of trying to explain it made him feel ill, clean hot water notwithstanding. “Can you go get the letter and bring it here? Then you can read it.”

Neville swallowed, probably at the thought of touching a letter that Voldemort had touched, but he got up and trotted gamely out of the bathroom. Harry slumped back in the water and closed his eyes.

“Harry? I have it here.”

“All right,” Harry whispered, and had to clear his throat. “Why don’t you read it?”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Neville began to read the letter, mumbling the words to himself. Harry didn’t have to listen. He’d lost count of how many times he’d read the letter since it had arrived two hours ago, and he knew it by heart now.

My heir,

I am sure that you are more than puzzled as to why I am writing to you. It seems that we have both been laboring under misinformation. I went to your house in Godric’s Hollow thirteen years ago because I was following a prophecy that declared a child born at the end of the month of July would be my vanquisher. Of course, you know this. I am setting the scene. Do not tear this letter up and throw it away.

Harry had very much not known about any bloody prophecy.

I thought that I killed your parents and attempted to kill you, only to be disembodied by the backlash of my own Killing Curse. However, far more happened than that. Do not try to tear this letter up. I have spelled it against such things.

That night, you became my heir and my Horcrux. A Horcrux is a magical object in which a piece of the caster’s soul is stored, so that he may maintain his immortality. I did not intend to create a Horcrux out of you, but that is what happened. You bear my soul. I have heard from the vampires of the Riviera Pack that you speak Parseltongue and carry yourself with a grace that must be evident to all who see it as part of Lord Voldemort.

Do not try to burn this letter.

I am in the middle of negotiating an alliance with Lord Elfric’s Pack. He told me that you were residing in the Court and that you believed you had to protect yourself against me. He seemed puzzled at this, because of course no Lord who truly understands Lordship would attempt to destroy his Horcrux or his Heir. Do not try to blast this letter apart.

I will swear whatever oaths you wish that I will never harm you again. I will require a reciprocal oath that you will not try to harm me, either. Do not try to cut this letter apart.

You are facing a different situation than you were this morning, Harry Potter. You are no longer a helpless pawn in this war, and you are no longer simply my enemy. We have much to settle between us. It may be that you require a blood debt of me for killing your parents. I am prepared to pay it.

Do not try to Vanish this letter.

Lord Voldemort.

Neville’s hands were shaking as he lowered the parchment. Harry nodded to him, holding his face stiff. What the hell was he supposed to say? What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Other than trying to destroy Voldemort’s stupid letter, I suppose, he added sarcastically inside his own head.

“Wow,” Neville whispered. “Oh, wow.”

Harry nodded again. The numbness was creeping back. He ducked his head under the warm water and rubbed it over his neck to keep himself from succumbing to the cold again. He wondered idly if the properties of the bathtub were keeping the water as hot as this, or if Augusta Longbottom was just really adept at Warming Charms.

“What are we going to do?” Neville whispered.

Harry blinked at him. “We?”

Neville seemed to shrink into himself, and glanced away. “I see,” he muttered. “If you don’t want me to help you—I know that I’m not the bravest or the strongest Gryffindor—”

“No, no, Neville, I didn’t mean that!” Harry reached out of the water to squeeze Neville’s hand, and Neville smiled tremulously back. “I just—I suppose I’ve got used to thinking of myself as the only one who can really fight against Voldemort.” Neville flinched, but didn’t fall off the side of the tub. “Ron and Hermione help, but I’m always—alone at the end.”

Ron on the chessboard. Hermione on the other side of the fire. Ron on the other side of the rockfall in the Chamber, and Ginny lying helpless on the floor. Cedric lying dead.

Harry didn’t know what to do with anything now. Even Neville’s offer of help only made him feel as if more solid ground was crumbling away from beneath him, the ground of the Way Things Had Been.

Lord Elfric knew. Constantine knew.

Harry closed his eyes and clung to that knowledge. They had known, and of course their remarks made sense now. They wouldn’t be able to understand why Voldemort’s “heir” was fighting him, and would probably think that Voldemort was proud Harry had fought him and survived or something.

Had they been able to sense that he was Voldemort’s Horcrux?

The instant he thought that, Harry was sure they had. And it had probably just added to their curiosity.

He fought against the hysterical laughter that was bubbling up in his throat, because with the mood he was in, he thought he probably wouldn’t be able to stop it. He slumped against the back of the bathtub and took long, deep, thoughtful breaths until his stomach had stopped churning and he could think again.

“What are you going to do?”

Harry opened his eyes and saw Neville watching him with an unreadable expression. Of course. Neville probably thought that Harry would accept Voldemort’s oaths or something, because he wanted to stop fighting this war.

And Harry did of course want to stop fighting the war. But he wanted to stop fighting it because Voldemort was dead, not because—

A sharp prickle ran down Harry’s spine.

If I’m something that makes Voldemort immortal, then he probably can’t die until I’m dead.

Harry had no idea what to do with that information. Of course he would die to defeat Voldemort if that was necessary, and he’d thought it would be at least twice now, with Quirrell and the basilisk. But if he was supposed to be Voldemort’s destined enemy, who would kill Voldemort if Harry died?

Someone else, Harry thought with a sudden flare of spite. One of the people who sits back on their arses and pretends nothing has changed. Dumbledore, the only one he ever feared. Someone else.

“I think I have to die to kill Voldemort,” Harry said quietly, and watched the way that Neville’s face went pale and his head hung.

“There has to be some other way,” Neville whispered. “Right?”

“I don’t see what other way there could be. If I’m this Horcrux thing and I’m holding him to life…”

“There has to be some other way,” Neville repeated.

Harry sighed a little as he looked at the way Neville’s jaw had firmed. He would probably ask his grandmother, although Harry didn’t know what she would do with the information. At the moment, he almost felt indifferent to it. He just knew what he had to do, and he would do it whether or not other people had different ideas.

“Sure,” he said. “What other ways can you think of?”

Neville started chattering nervously about plants that could keep someone in a coma and contribute to potions like the Draught of Living Death. Harry listened and nodded and made interested noises at some points, and made his own plans.

*

“I can feel your sadness on the other side of the cavern.”

Harry started and turned around. He had gone wandering in the Court without a guide, exactly as Neville had said not to do, but he had found that he knew his way back to the great stone snake as if summoned. He’d been leaning against it for what felt like hours now, staring at the golden flicker on its scales. Without a sun or moon overhead, it was hard to be sure of how much time it had been.

Constantine stood in front of him, and he looked oddly—distressed? Harry hadn’t known that vampire faces could actually form that expression, but he supposed now that he’d been stupid. Of course they had emotions like anyone else.

“I found out some terrible news.”

Constantine sat down beside him in a rush, folding his legs beneath him. “What news?”

Harry hesitated, but then reminded himself that he’d thought the vampires knew. “I’m the Horcrux of my mortal enemy.”

Constantine blinked, once and then twice. Then he said, “But that makes you powerful. And surely it is good news? That means he will hesitate to kill you.”

“But it also means that he can’t die as long as I live,” Harry said flatly. He supposed it was different for Constantine, who had probably spent centuries as a vampire and no longer had to worry about dying. Maybe he thought that all living people spent as much time as they could trying to avoid death. “And I want him dead more than I want to live.”

Constantine reached out and seized his wrist. Harry blinked at him. The gesture had been abrupt, and he wondered if Constantine believed Harry would challenge a vampire to a duel so he could die or something.

“No,” Constantine whispered.

“Yes.”

“Harry, please, no.”

Harry shook his head slowly. “I’m pretty sure that you already knew I was a Horcrux. So why would it matter to you whether I live or die?”

“Do you think I spend hours and days leading all our guests on a tour of the Court? Do you think that I bring everyone here to see the Great One?” Constantine nodded to the stone snake behind Harry. “I value your company. You are interesting to me, as no mortal has been in centuries.”

“But I would still die someday of old age, even if I wasn’t a Horcrux,” Harry said. He had practiced saying what he was to himself last night, and he was beyond his initial reaction of choking disgust. All that was left to him was grim determination. “You can’t prevent it, Constantine. The only thing you can do is accept that I want to die the way I want to die.”

Constantine made a soft sound and dropped Harry’s wrist. “I must speak to Grandfather,” he said, and turned and melted into the mist.

Harry stared after him. Then he shook his head and leaned back against Sahafassa.

He didn’t have that much summer left. But enough to plan what he was going to do.

I will not be Lord Voldemort’s Horcrux.