A/N: hello, once again! The third book in this series already, wow. I almost can't believe it! Well, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of Eternal.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
******
The train station was mostly empty at this time of night, only the late working buissnessmen were boarding trains home or getting off them. It was quiet, a young man's footsteps going mostly unheard.
Harry Potter walked easily through the train station, keeping the black hood of his hoodie over his head as he went. The darkness of the black material shielded his face from view, preventing his stone grey skin and blood red eyes from being seen by the other people. He walked with an air of confidence, yet his footsteps were slow and with no rush.
He reached the gates, where normally the muggles would swipe their little money cards and the gates would open, allowing them passage through to the train platforms. His eyes flickered around the area, watching as two or three men wearing suits walked past. Finally his gaze locked onto one of the security cameras, which was pointed very obnoxiously in his direction.
In a split second, the camera began to smoke, and turned to the ground. Harry hopped easily over the barrier, a few of the people passing giving his chastising looks. He ignored them, carrying on his way to one of the train platforms that had a train waiting at it.
He boarded without a ticket, flopping into one of the seats and leaning his head against the cold window. They'd kick him off at the next stop, but that didn't matter. As long as he got somewhere, he didn't really mind if they threw him off or not.
Strangely enough, no one came around to check his nonexistent ticket. Had they forgotten he was here, perhaps? He was the only one in this train car, as not many people were catching trains at midnight. He didn't question it, watching the darkened world speed past as the train sped along the tracks.
It was quiet in the train car, the only noise being Harry drumming his black fingernails on the side of his seat quietly.
Finally, the train pulled to a jolting halt. Harry stayed in his seat, watching tiredly out the window at the empty and dark station. It was indeed eerie to look at, and any normal person would probably be eager to leave the unfriendly looking place.
Harry straightened up in his seat as he noticed a familiar figure standing across the train platform.
Tall, wispy white beard that nearly reached the floor, and silvery robes. At the sight of Albus Dumbledore, Harry shrunk further into his seat and couldn't help curling his lip into a snarl of disgust. Yet when the train didn't move, and neither did Dumbledore for a full thirty seconds, he finally got to his feet and stepped off the train.
Harry stared at the headmaster of Hogwarts, and Dumbledore stared back. Both of them were waiting for the other to make the first move and say something first.
Harry didn't feel like speaking, so he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.
Over the holidays, he'd picked up smoking. Of course, he wasn't addicted, he could drop the pack in the bin anytime he wanted. It was more as if he was trying to make a statement, showing that he didn't care if his lungs were as black as tar; he wasn't using them anyways.
Dumbledore eyed him with a form of distaste. "You do realise, Harry, that if this sort of behaviour continues, I cannot allow you to return to Hogwarts?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied nonchalantly.
Dumbledore sighed. "It's not unknown news that someone broke into one of the muggle blood-banks in a hospital, and left quite a mess."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You expect me to drink that tasteless, useless garbage when the real thing is perfectly within reach and is so much better in every way possible?"
"We expect you to control yourself and behave."
Harry snorted. "Whatever, go ahead and expel me then. I don't care, I have the next five hundred years to learn whatever I want to, so it doesn't really matter anymore."
"Your parents would be ashamed to hear you say that," Dumbledore said quietly.
"And I'm supposed to care because...?"
Dumbledore just shook his head sadly. "We're going to see an old friend of mine who will be teaching this year, and then I'll be taking you to the burrow for the rest of the holidays."
"No way," Harry snarled, stepping backwards. "Not a hope in hell am I going to the burrow."
"Enough is enough, Harry. We can't have you running around and posing a threat to muggles and wizards alike. At least when you're at the burrow we can know what you're doing," Dumbledore said, his tone firm.
Harry breathed out a cloud of smoke, raising an eyebrow. "You honestly thing confining me to the burrow is going to do anything?"
"We can only hope," Dumbledore said quietly. "Take my arm."
"No."
"We don't have time for you to act like a five year old," Dumbledore said, sounding more tired than reprimanding.
Harry huffed, rolling his eyes as he did as he was told. The whirling sensation of apparation began, making him feel like he was being pulled in every single direction simultaneously.
Flying around as a cloud of smoke or a cloud of bats was much nicer. There was less of a jerking feeling, and flying that way didn't make him feel like he wanted to vomit.
When the nauseating feeling ceased, Harry found himself standing next to Dumbledore on a dark road, illuminated dimly by a few weakly flickering streetlights.
"Still trying to hide who I am, I see," Harry said with a frown, looking at his pale, white skinned hands, knowing that his eyes would be a dull and lifeless green behind his glasses.
"Only a select few know about your condition," Dumbledore said calmly, beginning to walk. "And I think it would be in your best interests to keep it that way."
"A condition? You say it like I've got some disease," Harry said with a frown, easily catching up to the old wizard. "And a select few? The whole Weasley family knows, and look at their ridiculous amount of relatives. The red-head legacy will never end."
Dumbledore didn't reply, simply avoiding Harry's gaze and carrying on walking. He walked rather briskly for a man of his age, whatever that age might be.
Dumbledore walked down a path towards a house, Harry trailing somewhat reluctantly behind him. The vampire's curiosity was piqued as he saw the interior or the house, though.
If not for the utter haphazard and dangerous looking mess that the house was, it once would've been a rather nice place. The door was broken off its hinges, swaying slightly in the night breeze and creaking as it did so. The carpet was dirty and had muddy footprints plastered all over it. All the coffee tables and couches had been upturned and destroyed, a glass chandelier lying on the floor underneath a hole in the ceiling. What Harry could make out as dragon's blood was splattered across the wall, making the place look more like a serial killer's hideout than somewhere where someone was supposedly living.
Harry could hear a heartbeat, but it was slightly muffled, slightly dulled. He turned, frowning in confusion as he realised that the noise was emanating from what looked like regular armchair. It was probably the only non-destroyed item left in the house, looking very out of place amongst the mess.
Dumbleore followed his gaze, walking towards the armchair with his wand lit. He jabbed the plush chair with the tip of his wand, and much to Harry's surprise it quickly began to unfold into the form of a man, wearing the same striped material as pyjamas that the armchair had been made out of.
He looked old, not as old as Dumbledore, but still what Harry would refer to as old. His hair was thinning, bald on top of his head. He had an aged looking face, which was morphed into a disgruntled and slightly angry expression.
"Merlin's beard, Dumbledore! Are you trying to get me killed?!" He spoke in a voice that made Harry raise an eyebrow, as his voice definitely sounded a lot older than how he looked.
"My apologies, Horace," Dumbledore replied in a tone that Harry could easily identify as being fake. "My, my. This place is a mess."
The man, Horace, shrugged almost sheepishly. "The muggles are away on holiday."
"I suppose we'd better fix this place up for them, then," Dumbledore chirped, waving his wand. The room began to fix itself, the chandelier flying back towards the ceiling, the upturned furniture standing itself up. Broken windows repaired themselves, and the dragon blood was wiped clean from the wall.
"Ah, yes, well," Horace started, clearly unsure of what to say.
"I've brought a guest with me," Dumbledore finally acknowledged the shadowy figure standing in a darker area of the room. "Harry Potter."
Horace's face turned to an expression of surprise as the dark, mysterious and somehow stunningly beautiful teen stepped into view. Harry folded his arms cross his chest, now even more unsure why he was here. He looked to Dumbledore for some sort of hint, but the man pointedly avoided his gaze.
"Horace, is it okay if I use your bathroom?"
"O-Of course," Horace stuttered in reply. "Down the hall, to the left."
"Thank you."
Harry stood rather stiffly, now completely confused. Did Dumbledore just want to get him to stay in his presence so that he wouldn't go and raid more hospitals? The idea of turning and running right now was extremely tempting, but before he could, the other man standing in the room decided to speak.
"Harry Potter, eh?" He said, chuckling nervously. "I knew your parents. Lily and James. I taught both of them, when I was still teaching at Hogwarts."
Harry frowned. He was a teacher?
"You look a bit like your father. Not much like your mother, though. She had the most vibrant green eyes I've ever seen," he mused. "Yours look a bit darker, though. I have some photos of your parents, if you'd like to see."
Harry, now curious, followed the man over to a cabinet. It had various moving photos on it, one of a flying Quidditch player, supposedly signed by the player. The others were mainly what looked like school photos with various classes of different students, differing in years. Some photos looked older than others, ripped and weathered. Some of the others looked newer though, and Harry easily spotted out a woman that resembled his mother amongst one of them.
She was smiling brightly at the camera, her hair long and her eyes bright. She looked so happy, so full of life. For a moment, a pang of pain stabbed through Harry's cold, un-beating heart. He almost felt like he'd desecrated their name, like he'd greatly dishonoured them by who he was now.
"Very smart young woman, Lily was. Excellent at every subject," Horace said, unaware that Harry wasn't really listening to his words. "I don't have any photos of your father, but Lily is in a fair few of these."
His words were true, as Harry was able to pick his mother out amongst the crowds of other smiling students in various other photos.
"Such a shame what happened. Such a terrible, terrible shame..."
Harry tried his hardest not to flinch. 'Such a shame'? It almost sounded rude, disrespectful to refer to what happened as 'such a shame'. What happened was a tragedy.
Finally, after ten minutes of Horace chatting about many of the other students in the photos, Dumbledore returned. Harry shot him the darkest glare he could manage for leaving him alone with a man that Harry had long perceived to be a complete idiot, but to his disappointment, Dumbledore didn't even raise and eyebrow.
"Sorry for being gone so long, Horace. I found this rather interesting magazine on crocheting, do you mind if I take it?"
"No, no, feel free to," he replied, frowning.
"Well then, I know that you've already made your decision Horace. Harry, it's time to go."
"Wait," the man said, following them down the front garden path. "They're hunting me down, I can't..."
"You've made your position perfectly clear. Good night to you, Horace."
Harry took Dumbledore's arm, preparing himself for the nauseating spinning and whirling feeling of apparation.
"Wait! Fine, fine, I'll do it! But I expect my own office," Horace said, looking very flustered. "And a raise!"
"As you wish. Thank you, Horace Slughorn."
******
Harry landed from apparation in the middle of what he quickly found was a pond, water seeping into his shoes and soaking him entirely from where he'd landed. A groan of frustration escaped his lips, knowing that by now his cigarettes were useless. With a sigh, he tossed the box into the pond.
In a matter of seconds he was standing at the front door of the burrow, letting out a huff of disappointment and anger. He didn't want to be here, he would rather be anywhere else.
Yet despite wanting to run away faster than the wind, he raised his hand and knocked.
Molly opened the door, a bright smile lighting her features at the sight of him. Yet it was clear that her smile was somewhat faked, her eyes betraying her smile. Her eyes were filled with a vague form of terror. She was scared of him.
"Harry! Come on in," she opened the door, the vampire stepping into the house.
Ginny was sitting at the dinner table, watching him as if she was in some sort of trance. Harry could hear her heart thundering from where he was standing, and her pupils were dilated. Harry barely registered Molly saying she was going to go up the stairs and get Ron and Hermione.
Harry couldn't help but inwardly smirk at the reaction he got when he bit his lip, seeing her intake a sharp breath and her heartbeat quicken its pace even more.
He pointedly looked away from her, folding his arms across his chest, catching sight of Hermione. She was wearing an expression of fear, yet determination. Ron however, simply looked sort of angry.
They both narrowed their eyes at the sight of him, to which Harry replied with a small smirk. "Well good evening to you, too."