hpvamp | The Vampire's Curse // Rated R/NC-17

Title: The Vampire's Curse
Author: BlackestHole
Pairing: HP/OMC
Rating: R/NC-17
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JKR. Sebastian and all other unfamiliar characters belong to me,

cruumbs.
Warnings: slash, violence, sexual situations, foul language, homophobia, possible character death, spoilers (SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP)
Summary: Over a thousand years ago, Godric Gryffindor cursed his former lover, a vampire, to protect his magical heir. In a language unknown the curse was spoken, and the vampire, Sebastian, knows very little of what's actually in store for him as he is forced to watch over sixteen-year-old Harry Potter. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) for he and Harry, the curse was very specific, and now the two find themselves in uncharted territory, involving other vampires, magical creatures, friends, enemies, Voldemort, and, most importantly, each other.
Other Notes From Author: Under my old user name,

blackesthole I posted this story in

hpslash and was invited over here by

saladbats. I decided to post it. Chapter 2 will be posted here and there soon enough, but it can already be found here

blackesthole_ff for those who don't want to wait.

Chapter: 1: The Wrath of the First Gryffindor
Chapter Warnings: violence, foul language, allusions to slash

Melisse Gryffindor would have gladly given her favorite dress if it meant she could apparate, even if it was only for a few moments; a minute was all she needed, really. She was more frightened than she had ever been before in her short seventeen years of life, and it didn’t help that the shadows surrounding her seemed to be leaping for her. Briskly, she strolled through the deserted streets of the dim, muggle-inhabited village of Constance, which was just a few miles south of Hogwarts, where she lived, and surrounded by part of the dark forest that stretched even into the dank muggle territory.

The young witch had been warned by her father, the world-renowned Godric Gryffindor, more than once about being out late after nightfall, not that she needed to be warned. She knew what terrors awaited her under the thick blanket of the night, when the sun was not there to protect her from the darkest and cruelest of magical creatures, having witnessed the early demise of her mother at the hands of a vampire, one of the foulest and darkest of creatures, at the tender age of three. The teen felt that, as soon as she was away from the unsafe muggle territory and safely nestled in the warded grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which her father had helped to find long before she had been born, that she would be safe. Her father would be there, waiting for her, and angry and disappointed with her for disobeying him and putting herself at risk, but relieved that his only daughter was safe.

In the distance, the dark-haired girl could see the tall towers of the relatively young school of witchcraft and wizardry in the distance. In just a few minutes, she would be safe with her father and brothers, Christopher and Arthur.

However, just as she was celebrating her good fortune, the heel of her shoe caught on the cracked sidewalk and she pitched forward. Cold, smooth fingers curled around her arms, stopping her fall, as strong, lean arms reached out and caught her, protecting her from what would have been a nasty mess of bruises and a dirtied and possibly torn dress. Melisse looked up, an apology and a thanks on her lips, but her voice died in her throat at the sight before her.

Beautiful. There was no other word for it. He was completely and utterly beautiful.

Marble white skin that should have made him appear unhealthy and malnourished instead gave him an ethereal, unearthly glow. Long, white-gold hair fell over his ears and touched his neck, brushing his shoulders, so different from the revered style of her age. A few of the shorter pieces fell into his eyes, creating alluring shadows on the high, sharp cheekbones. Eyes like liquid silver stared at her from beneath long, ebony lashes which were half-dropped coyly over them, and full, flushed pink lips were curved into a seductive smirk, revealing straight, white teeth. The sight of slightly elongated canines was completely lost on the smitten young witch as she stared. “Are you okay, miss?” he asked her in a soft purr, startling her.

“Y-yes,” stuttered the oldest child of Godric Gryffindor. The young man, who she guessed to be around twenty or so, helped her to stand upright; he didn’t let go of her arms when she was steady, however, and instead held onto them in a tight grip that the enthralled teen, even if she had been aware of, wouldn’t have been able to pull out of. Instead, Melisse’s attention was focused on the handsome being standing before her, his lips curled in a soft, easy smile, and his eyes glittering.

Melisse stepped back slightly, still ignorant of the cold hands that held her arms hostage, and looked the strange man over. She was not disappointed in the slightest.

He was at most six feet tall, and elegantly slender for a man. This, however, did little to make the pale being any less attractive, and only added to his unearthly beauty. Melisse felt unworthy, even though she was only looking at him. He was dressed in a pair of simple black trousers, leather boots which she should have realized, as a young witch just completing her magical education, to be made of dragon leather, and a black silk shirt that complemented his skin and eyes. Some of the upper buttons were undone, revealing a stretch of the smooth skin of his chest, unblemished except for a white scar that started near his collar bone and climbed up to his neck to a spot just under his left ear.

“Are you lost, miss?” the young man asked, and not kindly, either, as he slowly pulled her into the alley that he had appeared out of. The seventeen-year-old daughter of Godric Gryffindor remained unaware of the fact that she was being pulled into a dark alley, one that would have made her mother, had she still been alive, cringe, by the strange, ethereal man. The deceased Ravenne Gryffindor had never liked anything that was less than clean, and had also been terrified of dark, enclosed spaces, such as the alley in consideration. Ravenne had been murdered when Melisse was a child, but the young woman had been told many times that with her hazel eyes, long, curly black hair, and small, petite form, she looked very much like her mother had before she had died. Melisse did not remember anything of her mother, except for the scream erupting from her lips as she died and the terrified look on her pale face. She often only remembered this in her darkest nightmares.

Melisse did not notice the small spark of recognition that appeared in the eyes of the young man, but she did see that his smile, which had been losing its kind edge, became a little more vindictive. Melisse shivered from the sight of it, but no because she was afraid. Far from it. She liked his smile. It was dangerous. He was dangerous. He, a young unknown man in a muggle town, was forbidden to her. It was a wonderful, freeing feeling to be with him, here, like this. Melisse snapped out of her musings when the young man asked, “Are you, by any chance, related to Ravenne Gryffindor?”

“She was my mother, kind sir,” Melisse replied. She became sad, her eyes dropping to the ground, before she looked back up at him from beneath her lashes. “She was killed by a vampire when I was just a small child. I witnessed it happen.” Something in the stranger’s face changed, but Melisse mistook his expression for one of sympathy. “I thank you for stopping my fall, sir. The maids would have been distraught if I-.” A finger to her lips stopped her from telling him of how her lady maids would have been distraught to find that she had dirtied yet another of her mother’s old dresses on the way back from yet another party that her father would have disapproved of. “I’m Melisse Gryffindor,” the young lady introduced herself when the finger was hesitantly removed. “And who might you be, good sir?”

“Sebastian,” said the young man, in a way that hinted she should be aware of who he was. Melisse found that she couldn’t, although not for lack of trying, remember. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of her mind, where repressed memories from her forgotten childhood were stored, the name Sebastian, accompained by his visage, was connected to a deep fear she had discovered when her mother had had her life taken, but the part of her brain that was connected to impulses and attractions was too enthralled by the young man smiling at her in a deliberately frightening way, and this attraction was slowly taking over the rest of her mind. She felt trapped by his eyes. She couldn’t, and therefore didn’t, remember why she was so frightened of him, nor that she should in fact be frightened of him.

Sebastian released one of her arms, leaving behind a red, irritated mark in the shape of a handprint on her light skin. Melisse didn’t notice, although she could distantly feel the dull, throbbing pain in her freed arm, and a tight sensation cutting off circulation in the other. Softly, he use the very tips of his fingers to lift her chin, and slowly, her lashes brushed her cheeks as her hazel eyes closed. Leaning forward, Sebastian brought his lips down on hers, causing her to gasp in surprise.

Amazing. That was the only way to describe the kiss. Although Sebastian’s lips were so cold that she wondered, somewhere deep inside, how they belonged to someone so obviously alive, the kiss caused a searing heat to spread throughout her body; it served to further intensifty her attraction to dangerously irrational levels. She would kill to feel this. This was not a normal kiss, but Melisse was blissfully unaware of that, at least in this moment.

However, all rational thought flooded into her when sharp teeth sank into her bottom lip, breaking the skin and causing blood to well over the soft flesh. Melisse pulled back with a sharp cry, and Sebastian, without a trace of remorse, whispered, “Sorry,” before pulling her back to him and sucking on her bottom lip, roughly licking away her blood. He pushed down on her bleeding lip with his own cold lips, causing more blood to pool. Melisse whimpered, disgusted with herself for being aroused by his actions, and at the same time wishing he would take her further as he continued to suck religiously on her lip.

Finally, and far too late for it to even matter, she made the connection between the young man and her greatest fear. Melisse pulled back with a wild cry, but Sebastian only laughed as she pushed him away, licking some of her blood from his own lips where she had stained them. Only that was wrong; it had been he to stain her, with his cold, uncaring lips, rough caresses, and enchanting smile.

“Y-you killed my mother! Monster!” Melisse cried, trying to desperately find a way out of this mess, a way to escape his satisified smile. She turned away, preparing to flee from the alley, but only stumbled back a moment later when Sebastian was suddenly in front of her, blocking her only way out. “Get away from me, vampire fiend!” She pulled out her wand, which she had doused with a vampire-repellent potion, from the folds of her dress, and pointed it at him with a shaking hand, trying to find a spell to use against him.

Sebastian smirked, undisturbed by her sudden, unsheathed weapon. A pale hand shot out, closing over the hand and her fingers. Sebastian hissed, face twisting, clearly not having expected the repellent, but didn’t let go. Smoke rose from the places where his hand touched the wood as his skin sizzled, and Melisse whimpered again, feeling his blistering skin burn her own fingers. Her skin was ridiculously delicate; she bruised easily. Jerking her forward almost immediately, a small hiss escaping his lips once again, Sebastian pulled Melisse flush against his own body, and, with one hand still holding the wand, he reached up with the other hand and twisted her head back by her hair, revealing the pale skin of her neck, and the throbbing artery. Despite her anger and fear, she found the hard body pressed into hers enticing, and was even more frightened as the will to fight began to leave her. “Lea-leave me be! I have nothing for you!”

“Ah, but you do, Melisse,” Sebastian purred into her ear, leaning further down. Melisse was disguted with herself when she found that she still found his actions pleasing to the flesh when, instead of biting her right away, he began to suck and nip at a spot on her neck, where she knew he would soon bite her. This did nothing to quench her unwanted thoughts, however. She clenched her eyes shut, losing her will to fight; she was unable to fight this attraction, and she was scared for her life.

Thoughts fled her and all blood rushed to her head when, long after the moment in which she was prepared to give into her body’s wants and her subsequent fate, two sharp fangs sank into her neck. Tears leaked from beneath her tightly closed eyelids as she whimpered, but with only one hand free, fighting the vampire was useless. It would have been useless even with all her limbs free, as her strength was no match for his supernatural abilities. She could have done no damage, even if she had wanted to, and surrendered.

Her eyes popped open and tears fell freely down her face when he pulled his mouth away slightly, before plunging his fangs back into her neck, freeing more of her blood from her veins. Black spots danced on the edges of her vision, already closing in on her, as she felt her body weaken from the loss of blood. She could not even whimper. The last thing she heard before her last breath fled her and her heart ceased to beat was the sound of Sebastian’s voice, although she could not understand his words. “Burn,” she whispered before she died.

Sebastian appeared not to have heard her. “Sweet dreams, my dear Melisse,” the vampire whispered into her ear as her life faded. He pulled away, letting her body crumple to the ground, and licked the last of her sweet, sweet blood from his lips, sighing in pleasure. “Only seventeen and already tainted, Melisse. It’s too bad. The blood of a virgin is much sweeter,” he told the woman at his feet, although he knew she could no longer hear him. He sighed again and, after smoothing down his shirt and spelling away the drops of blood that had found their way onto his shirt, he leaned down and gathered the young woman into his arms, cradling her body almost lovingly against his chest. “I wonder how your beloved father will react to losing yet another member of his family, and to the same monster as last time. I assume it won’t be pretty.” He smiled dazedly at the thought; blood was intoxicating - the best drug for a vampire. “Tsk, tsk. The fool should have kept a shorter leash on his property.”

Sebastian smirked and walked away from the alley, planning on showing Godric his lifeless daughter in person. Seeing the look on his face would be worth any scars he would most likely walk away with, like the one that traveled up his neck. He scowled darkly as he remembered how he had gotten it; it had been right after his first feed and Godric had caught him on the edge of the dark forest. The founder of the Gryffindor house had tried to fight him and had only succeeded in earning Sebastian’s eternal interest when he had nearly stabbed him with one of his prized daggers. “I feel almost sorry. Almost,” he continued talking to her as if she could hear him. This was not about her; this was about Godric.

How he loved to push Godric’s buttons. He always had, even as a student in the very school that Godric had founded. It had stemmed more from an attraction to the dark-haired founder, one which Godric had indulged when he was in his sixth year and shortly into his seventh, when he had suddenly broken off their affair when he had met his wife, the fair Ravenne. Godric would pay for breaking his heart until one or both of them died in the process, although he would never admit aloud that Godric had hurt him.

Once he reached the forked gates, he scaled them easily, Melisse’s lifeless body dangling over his shoulder. As he passed through the magical barrier with a small jolt of displeasure in his stomach, he was able to hear the sounds of her father and younger brothers searching for her. “Melisse!” they cried as they quickly moved, all heading for the gates and forest, their magic staffs outstretched and lit. Arthur, the youngest of the three Gryffindor children at thirteen, was the first to spot his older sister as Sebastian carefully laid her on the soft, dewy grass near the tall gates.

“Father! It’s Melisse!” the young boy yelled fearfully. Cristopher, who had just turned fifteen a fortnight ago, and Godric, who was already well into his fifties, ran over to the young, terrified boy, who immediately grabbed hold of his brother’s robes as their father bolted past.

“No! This can’t be! Melisse!” Godric’s heart, already weakened with lost, nearly stopped when he saw the murderer of his beloved wife kneeling over the unmoving form of his daughter. Sebastian leaned back on his heels as the wizard neared, and the relatively young vampire stood up as he came closer, brushing off any grass that had stuck to his clothes and stretching his long limbs with leisure.

“She was a delicious meal, Godric. I was severely disappointed to find her blood tainted, however,” he told the man comfortably, running his hands down over his body in an indecent manner as Godric ran over. He was perversely delighted when Godric followed his moves for a moment before turning his attention to his fallen daughter.

Godric took one look at the knowing smirk on Sebastian’s face and looked away, unable to fight for the moment. He felt all strength leave him as he fell to his knees next to his daughter’s body. Tears stinged at the corners of his eyes. Then he remembered what Sebastian had said, about his daughter being tainted.

“You violated her,” he accused, looking up.

“No,” said Sebastian, looking disgusted at the very idea, scowling. Then, he smiled leeringly. “I would have, of course. It would had made the score far more even in my books.” He saw Arthur and Christopher exchange a confused look, and smirked at Godric. “I was too hungry to wait. I’m almost happy that I decided not to go through with it,” he inspected after a moment, looking at his perfectly manicured nails. “I like to be the one to deflower the virgin.”

Godric surged to his feet, a sudden pure, unadulterated fury flooding his body, his staff outstretched. He glared at Sebastian in a way that made it clear that if looks could kill, Sebastian would be dead countless times over, until his mangled body could take no more of the pain, and then he would be killed again. In a voice that could melt steel if that where possible, Godric asked, “Why her? If you wanted to destroy me, vampire, you could have killed me instead!” He smirked vindictively at the vampire; they both knew Sebastian couldn’t kill him. “Sh-she was a child! She had her whole life ahead of her! Why make me suffer in this way?”

“Why make you suffer in this way?” repeated Sebastian spitefully, disgusted by his words. “Do you really think this has everything to do with you? Are you that selfish, Professor?” The last word was whispered in the breathy way that had once made the founder’s blood boil for an entirely different reason than it did this time. “I was a fledgling when you killed the only family I had!” the vampire burst. “I suffered because of you and your cruelty! I still do, every day that passes. I find this fair. You will suffer as I do, Godric. I will not stop until I have killed every last one of your kin, and then I will destroy you! You did this to yourself!”

“A vampire,” Godric began harshly, “cannot suffer because a vampire cannot feel.” Sebastian glared at him, smiling coldly. The man knew nothing of his suffering, and he wasn’t speaking of how he had been left alone, a newly transformed vampire, without a sire to help him through the first stages of his transformation, or of Godric’s treatment of him during his school days. “But now, you will know the true meaning of suffering, because you will feel, Sebastian. You will feel.”

Sebastian laughed shortly. “How are you going to make me feel, Godric? Are you going to do something to me, Professor?” He began to laugh again when he suddenly found himself unable to move. Thick ropes had wrapped themselves around him from both sides, sprouting from the staffs of Christopher and Arthur, and bound him to the school gates. He struggled against them experimentally for a few moments, only to find that they tightened when he moved.

“Involving your sons in this, Godric?” he hissed, and the founder merely glared at him. “What is this? What are you doing?” he demanded in a voice that would have made hell freeze over, multiple times. “Untie these ropes this instant!”

Godric grinned in a nasty way. “Not a chance,” he said, then continued as if having a pleasent conversation over a cup of tea on a midsummer afternoon. It reminded Sebastian unpleasently of the past; Godric had remarkable self-control; he was unreadable and unpredictable at most times. The only problem with this was that his words were far from pleasent, or designed to arouse, when he spoke. “I developed it myself, vampire. You will learn the true meaning of suffering. This is a curse that you will not break free of or adapt to.”

The founder then proceeded to explain the curse that he had put together with the help of ancient spellbooks and texts. The curse, which Godric referred to as the Vampire’s Curse, would put Sebastian into a deep sleep until his magical heir turned sixteen, the very age that Sebastian had been when Godric had taken him. “Is there anything you have to say in your defense?” asked Godric when he had finished explaining the curse, a satisfied smile on his face.

Sebastian looked up from the browning grass that his silver eyes, now darkened to a storm gray, had been fixed on, an expression so beyond loathing on his beautiful face as he looked at the founder that it was startling to see. He noticed that Arthur, Christopher, and Melisse’s body had disappeared, and only he and Godric remained on the grounds. “You bloody bastard!” he spat. “If I had destroyed all that you hold dear, this would be more than punishment enough, and I only murdered your wife and daughter! But force me to serve your heir like a common housemaid? That is beyond unfair! I truly wonder that you aren’t the founder of the Slytherin house!”

“My words to you, vampire, when you murdered my wife, were that you would pay for your crimes in a way that would hurt,” Godric told him coldy. “In a way that I saw fit.” Godric stalked toward Sebastian, coming up close enough so that their breath mingled. “I developed this curse, but at the last moment I decided not to use it. I still have a soft spot for you, it seems,” the founder added, holding Sebastian’s eyes for a moment before he looked away. “You changed my mind, however, when you killed my only daughter, the light of my life. You say that you wish to kill every last one of my kin? Now you will serve my own magical heir, the finest of my kin, and feel the pain of your former kills as you protect him. Know this and suffer for it, Sebastian. You did this to yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Sebastian hissed in response.

There was silence for a moment. “Where did I go wrong with you, Bastian?” the founder murmured, almost as if to himself, and he reached up as if to touch Sebastion’s face, but stopped just before his fingers came into contact with the pale skin of his cheek. Sebastian closed his eyes; scathing words and hatred he could take, but this was not a torture he wanted to be subjected to.

“It’s not your fault. It never was,” he said quietly, and he was almost sure that Godric didn’t hear him, but in the next moment, warm, calloused fingers were on his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes and behind his ear. It was an intimate gesture, one that Godric had been prone to follow, long ago, when he had been a student and they had been alone. He swallowed roughly, part of him wanting to tell Godric to stop, to not hurt him like this; another part of him wanted to beg for the founder’s forgiveness, to curl up in his arms and be coddled and comforted, like after a time when he had been hurt flying; there was another part of him that wanted to kick and scream and then let the older man shag him into a mattress; and then there was a bigger part of him that wanted to tell the founder to piss off and die. It was confusing.

Godric finally seemed to pull himself together, and the hand dropped from his face as the founder took a few steps back, reaching into his pocket. “I’m sorry for this, Sebastian, I truly am, but I need to do what I think is right.” Sebastian didn’t open his eyes, but a half-sob, half-growl escaped his lips as the founder scrambled away.

I hate you, Sebastian thought to Godric. The curse was extremely long and complicated; it involved a potion, which included blood from both Godric and Sebastian, that in the end Sebastian was forced to drink and Godric had to smear into a cut he made on his arm. I hate you for doing this to me. The words were spoken in the ancient language of magic, prized by mages and dark wizards. I hate you for making me feel. Sebastian could understand very little of what Godric said, but he knew that when he awoke from his magically-induced sleep, he would have to obey every direct order from the heir and protect him or her by any means necessary. I hate you for hurting my feelings, for taking my body and my heart when you needed comfort, and turning me away when you found someone better suited to your needs.

His soul was returned; it had never actually been lost, but it had been indeed pushed far down inside him, locked in a box where he could ignore the guilt he would otherwise feel for the things he had done and would do no more. I hate you for doing this to me because you were hurt. What about my feelings? This was the part that hurt most, the part that he would always dwell on. There were words mixed into the spell that Godric said with difficulty, words that included soul mate, honor, need. He didn’t understand; nothing made sense.

I hate you for making me feel like this. The very last thing that Sebastian saw as everything earthly faded from his vision and his eyes dropped shut was Godric’s face; the mixed expression of pity, relief, sympathy, smugness, love, hate, regret, and satisfaction would haunt his nightmares for the next thousand years or so while he slumbered in a limbo found on Earth, but separated from it completely by magic at the same time, inaccessible and unplottable. “I hate you... for making me... hate myself,” he said aloud as everything faded.

The curse kept him updated on each of Godric’s direct descendents and heirs. The vampire was allowed to see small bits and pieces and large chunks of lives, loves, and deaths of each child born into the Gryffindor line. His subconcious stored new lingos and styles, remembered languages and family secrets as well as personal ones that may or may not come in handy when he awoke, and watched as each child became an adult. He saw how they all entered Hogwarts, some entering Gryffindor, others Ravenclaw, a few Hufflepuff, and even fewer Slytherin, and watched as some scoffed at the idea of the veela vampire.

Over the years, he became a legend, or rather, Godric became a legend in which he played a small role - the big bad that faced the the greater good and lost, badly. He was bedtime story told to small children of how brave Godric Gryffindor had been during his life, and then the words, “Yes, and I just met the veela vampire,” were used as often in wizarding conversation as “Once in a blue moon,” was used in muggle. Very few knew of the secret relationship between vampire and founder, and those that did kept it a secret from all but the one chosen to pass it on.

Sebastian woke up over a thousand years after Godric had placed the curse on him, to find himself lying uncomfortably in a rose bush outside of number four, Privet Drive, on the morning of July 30, 1996, just as an owl flew overhead through an open window into a room on the second floor of the large, square house.

Letting loose a string of curses and profanities that would have made even the oldest and toughest sailor blush, he sprawled bonelessly and inelegantly in the rose bush, finding the small cuts and scrapes that he gained from the thorns more than a little welcoming to his tired, abused body, and muttered in an undertone, “See you in hell, Godric.”