Harry Potter Harry Potter and the Endless Night

[The Ero-Sennin]

Posting it here because SB gonna SB!


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Disclaimer: The following is a fan-written parody. Harry Potter is property of J.K Rowling and is published by Bloomsbury Publishing and Arthur A. Levine Books. Hellsing Ultimate is property of Kouta Hirano and Studio Madhouse, and licensed by Geneon, Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, and Funimation. Hellsing Ultimate Abridged is the Crack-Addicted Ass-Baby of TeamFourStar. Please support the Official Release.


When the First Wizarding War began, the Ministry of Magic reassured their Muggle counterparts that there was nothing wrong. The band of Dark Wizards calling themselves the Death Eaters weren’t a threat at all to Muggles, in fact they had the situation well at hand and under control.

And then an army of giants rampaged through several towns, killing hundreds.

And then werewolves swarmed across the southern coast, resulting in dozens more killed.

And then the snakes… Oh God the less said about the snakes, the better.

And then the Death Eaters themselves, strolling into homes and murdering entire families in magical and creative ways.

The Ministry of Magic worked very hard to sweep all this under the rug. Windstorms, disease outbreaks, a spate of faulty gas lines explained away most of the deaths and they were quite successful in keeping the Muggle Ministry in the dark about how bad the war was. However, while you could pull the wool over the eyes of the Prime Minister… there was no fooling the Queen: something was not right in her Country.

Which brought us to this fine Halloween Night. The air was clear, the Moon was full, and the Dark Lord Voldemort was a man on a mission to kill the ever-living-fuck out of a year old baby boy. Thanks to a man on the inside of the forces that opposed him, finding the infant was no big deal. Even better, no one of his opposition had the faintest clue that he was coming.

Lifting his hand, Lord Voldemort pondered knocking on the door and then blasting the first person who opened it, but then he thought “I want the whole world to know what kind of twisted bastard I am”, so he blew the door clean off its hinges.

As the door fell to the floor, on fire, the first future cadaver he saw was one of the biggest pains in the arse he’d known since the start of the war: James Potter. Three times he’d fought this cocky cock and each time he’d gotten away with a smug smile and V-sign held in the air. Seeing him bolt to his feet with an absolutely dumbfounded look on his face was easily the most satisfying thing Voldemort had experienced since he killed his Father.

Granting him three seconds to comprehend what was going on, he killed him on the spot with Avada Kedavra, and chuckled after he crumpled to the floor.

He looked up and caught a glimpse of Lily Potter’s feet as she bolted up the stairs in a mad dash for–presumably–her spawn’s room. With machine-like fluidity, he swept across the living room and up the stairs, easily banishing the wards and traps Lily had left in her wake before coming to cast his shadow over her and the crib she stood beside.

He lifted his wand and pointed it at her. “Stand aside, Lily Potter, it’s not your life I seek.”

In these tense final seconds of her life, she found it absolutely baffling that Voldemort would give her a chance to live. To her merit, she didn’t give it a second thought.

“Never,” she said.

Voldemort sighed in annoyance. “Well, Severus will be sad to hear that.”

And there was that satisfying look of utter confusion again. “What about Severu-?”

In a flash of green light, Lily Potter hit the floor in a heap, dead.

That was that. The bodies of the parents Potter were now slowly cooling and voiding their bowels, leaving their precious child sitting in his crib, staring uncomprehending at his death as it loomed over him. As he looked down at the babe, Voldemort considered his options. He could turn the boy inside out, that would be quite horrific, he could set him on fire and just him–he could only imagine Dumbledore’s nightmares after infant’s smoldering skeleton–or even better… he could blow the little shit to smithereens.

Before Lord Voldemort could properly decide on a fitting death for the child, he noticed something crawling on the infant’s shoulder. A centipede, a grotesquely large one at that. Another one skittered across his lap, before another one went up around his neck and then down his body. As Voldemort took a step back in confusion, he noticed that the centipedes were everywhere, crawling across the crib, the floor, and up the walls.

“Hey, I know you’re busy but-”

Lord Voldemort whirled around to aim his wand at the voice, and found a tall youthful man wearing a red overcoat with an equally red fedora atop his head. The man then pointed down at the floor, at the body of Lily Potter.

“… Are you done with that or can I just help myself…?”

Lord Voldemort flicked the Killing Curse at the man, creating the third dead body to litter the floor of the Potter home. Who was this freshly made corpse and how did he know to follow him? What’s more, why did he ask such a baffling question?

The night only got stranger, when Lily Potter’s hand suddenly clutched at his leg. Lord voldemort looked down, as LIly’s head rolled up and she looked up at him, blood pouring from her mouth and eyes, before speaking in the same voice as the newcomer. “You know, that was very rude.”

Lily’s grip suddenly became stronger than a giant’s, and Voldemort could hear his bones cracking before he flung a curse at Lily’s arm, destroying it. Thrown back by the force of the curse, Lily fell back against her son’s crib… and began laughing as she rose up like a marionette on string.

“My, my… I’ve forgotten how much Wizardkind Magic stung!” Lily’s possessor said even as her body began to break down and become absorbed into a black, amorphous flame covered with many glowing red eyes.

Lord Voldemort kept is wand aimed at the creature, his thoughts racing. What was this creature? Where had it come from? But most importantly… why didn’t it die?!

Whipping his wand over his head, Lord Voldemort went Hard as A Motherfucker, unleashing a barrage of curses and hexes straight for the beast in front. The curses impacted with the mass, pushing it back against Harry’s crib and driving the crib itself against a wall. The dark form seemed to absorb the spells and hexes, even as they popped out individual eyes and tore chunks of it away. Unimpeded completely by the damage, the monstrosity just laughed before a Thompson Submachine Gun clutched in a white gloved hand emerged and began spewing fire at him.

A Shield Charm blocked the bullets, and when the barrage stopped, Lord Voldemort whipped the weapon free from its owner’s hand and smashed it to pieces against the wall.

The disarmed hand wiggled its fingers, before the eyes turned to the destroyed Thompson. They all then refocused on Voldemort in contempt. “You wrecked my gun.”

The monster’s form then began to coalesce before Lord Voldemort’s eyes, shifting and reshaping until it became the man in the red coat, complete with fedora and orange-tinted sunglasses. He scowled at the Dark Lord. “I liked that gun.”

Lord Voldemort had used fear as a weapon for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to feel it. Now that he was remembering it? He was not a fan. “… What are you?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m not.” Alucard grinned broadly. “Something you can kill.”

Voldemort realized that he had to get out of this house and kill the brat before this… this thing decided to test the extent of his power. Whipping the wand around his his head again, he pointed the wand at the creature. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Like a Death Ray from Science Fiction, the spell barreled into the man in red and pierced right through him.

And then a split second later, the Potter Cottage in Godric’s Hollow exploded, showering the neighboring homes in wood and mortar.

- - -

Ten minutes later, several British Army Armored Personnel Carriers barreled into Godric’s Hollow, joined by several helicopters, all bearing the red and black Coat of Arms of the Hellsing Organization. The racket sent the primarily Wizardkind population already startled by the explosion into a confused terror, and many took to hiding. There was something frighteningly abnormal about these Muggles and their vehicles, they were not fooled or turned back by the wards that protected the town.

With a landing zone cleared, one of the helicopters of the organization touched down, and bursting forth from it came the furious leader of the Hellsing Organization: Arthur Hellsing.

“YOU BLOOD-SOAKED, HERPES-INFESTED TWAT!” he roared over the rotors as he marched from the helicopter to the blown out ruin, where Alucard was snacking on the remains of James Potter.

Alucard looked up from his after battle meal. “I’m not your wife, Arthur!” he shot back before Arthur punched him in his whorish mouth.

After Alucard smashed into and knocked over a barely standing wall, the Undead King lifted a finger to the air. “Seriously dude, not your wife.”

“Alucard answer me this: What did I tell you to do?”

Alucard sat up. “Watch the house in the event Death Eaters arrived to follow through with their silly prophecy.”

Arthur nodded. “And what did you do?”

“Watch the house in the event Death Eaters arrived to follow through with their silly prophecy.”

Arthur pulled out a revolver from his fashionable red suit and shot Alucard with it, dropping him on his back with a thud. “You were also, explicitly ordered to immediately intervene if a Death Eater came within sight of the house.”

Alucard was up again. “Yeah, about that? I was waiting for like three hours before anyone showed up. I got bored, I called up a hooker, she was delicious.”

“And while you were having a snack, the king of Death Eaters himself comes along and blows the whole family to smithereens!”

Alucard took offense to that. “Arthur, I am appalled!”

Arthur stared at him.

“Hookers are not food.”

Arthur prepared to shoot him again.

“Also, whole family? Yeah right, he only went two for three.” One of Alucard’s hellhound familiars materialized from the shadow created by his coat. It then opened its mouth–revealing a sleeping Harry James Potter, perfectly unharmed except for a lightning-shaped scar where Lord Voldemort’s spell had struck after going through Alucard.

Arthur looked in surprise at the sleeping baby, and then back to Alucard. “What happened to Voldemort, then?”

“Fuck if I know, but given the explosion and the fact that bits and pieces of him are lying all over the place? I’d say that he’s pretty fuckin’ dead.” To emphasize, Alucard held up Voldemort’s mostly ruined, already rotting head and began using it as a puppet.

“Know what I could go for right now?” he asked out the corner of one of his many mouths while manipulating the torn and bloodied jaw of Voldemort’s head. “Some me!”

Seeing the Potter boy alive and well and quite convinced that Alucard had cleaned up, Arthur left Alucard to amuse himself with desecrating remains and hummed in approval as an opportunity like no other presented itself. He walked over and picked Harry up from the jaws of the hellhound, before holding him up high.

“You can sleep through anything, can’t you lad? Much like my little one,” he said with a growing smile.

Cradling the sleeping child close, he turned and headed back to the helicopter. “Alucard!”

Alucard looked up from making the remains of Voldemort’s head kiss the remains of his arse. “Yeah, chief?”

“Go on for a walk tonight. I’ve got to convince Walter to adopt this kid.”

“Man, I hope Integra’s half as fun as you are when she takes over the family business!”

As the helicopter lifted into the night, the Wizarding World’s greatest mystery began. On that fateful Halloween night, Lord Voldemort entered the home of Lily and James Potter with intent to kill little Harry, and when the first Auror arrived on the scene hours later, they found a burnt ruin in the place of the Potter Cottage and hysterical accounts from Wizards of Muggles that could see through the illusions that hid them.

Lord Voldemort was gone, blown to bits.

But what had become of the Potters?

And who was “The Crimson Fucker”, whose name was spelled in blood before the remains of the Dark Lord?

Harry Potter and the Endless Night
Prologue​

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Party! Party! Party!
I wanna have a party!
I need to have a party!
YOU'D BETTER HAVE A PARTY!

Oh Party! Party! Party!
You gotta party hardy!
I'm gonna have a party!
OR ELSE YOU WILL BE SORRY!

 

[jaredstar]

this is why i really need to read disclaimers. the entire time i was reading it in alucards voice (the teamfourstar version) and i didnt realize that that was intentional

clap clap clap clap clap

 

[DaJuggernaut]

My reaction to the disclaimer alone pretty much went like this: "Oh... Oh...! OH. YES."

 

[NTP]

Houston, we have no problems.

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

Oh look, more.


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Harry: The following is a fan-written parody. Harry Potter is property of J.K Rowling and is published by Bloomsbury Publishing and Arthur A. Levine Books. Hellsing Ultimate is property of Kouta Hirano and Studio Madhouse, and licensed by Geneon, Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, and Funimation. Hellsing Ultimate Abridged is the collaborative effort of TeamFourStar. Please support the Official Release.

Harry: *Fidgets* … D-did I get that right?


“And that’s my plan,” Arthur said to his trusted Butler and top vampire Hunter, Walter C. Dornez, in the office of Hellsing Manor a little later that evening.

Walter, who had become as splendid a Butler as he had been a professional killer and vampire hunter, met Arthur’s plan with skepticism. “I have some reservations.”

“And what would those be, Walter?”

“You want me to raise this child,” he indicated the softly slumbering Harry Potter cradled in his arms.

“Yes,” Arthur said.

“To be my eventual heir and replacement.”

“Yes.”

“To one day take my place as the Hellsing Family butler, protector, and general go to man in times of crisis.”

“Correct.”

“And to be an upstanding Englishman and servant to Crown, Church, and Country.”

“Bloody Christ, Walter, yes. What’s your point?” Arthur demanded.

“You want this boy to be all of those, without him falling under the influence of-”

And then Alucard materialized through a wall. “Hey, Artie! Did you know it’s possible to shove a human body up a cow’s ass?”

Arthur and Walter as one, stared at Alucard, and then looked to one another. In Walter’s arms, Harry let out a sleepy yawn.

Not hearing a no, Alucard continued. “Well, the trick is to-”

A bound and sealed Alucard smashed into the wall at the bottom of the deepest crypt of the Hellsing Manor. At the top of the stairs, Arthur and Walter stood.

“And you’ll stay down there until we need you!” the former declared before slamming the door shut.

Harry Potter and the Endless Night
Chapter 1: Harry James Dornez​

Ten Years Later…

Doug Livesay, 36 years old, was a man who often complained of the excesses and abuses the powerful freely and flagrantly performed against their fellow man. Proudly, he boasted, if he were in the same position as those of his financial and political betters, he would be a paragon of virtue and dedicate his life to cleaning up his community and improving the lives of those whose lives needed it.

So of course when vampirism granted him the strength of body and swiftness of mind to make the world a better place, he immediately set out raping and murdering women in the middle of the night. Like tonight, as he single-mindedly stalked a fleeing woman through a heavily wooded park.

With his heightened senses, tracking her was no problem. He could see in the dark better than any cat or owl, he could smell her keener than any dog, and.he could hear her footsteps, gasps, and even her racing heartbeat from a hundred yards back. He was in the absolute thrill of the moment, so singly focused on the fleeing woman in white, that it was no surprise that he was blindsided by a thrown knife that embedded in his knee and burned like the motherfucking surface of the sun had been pressed into his skin.

“The bloody fuck is this?!” he shouted in anger.

Stumbling forward, the freshly made vampire howled in pain and grabbed at the straight-bladed throwing knife, before ripping it out and screaming when the metal burned his hands. He stared down at the blade, silver, about twenty centimeters in length, and the words Hellsing ARMS written in fancy cursive along the blade.

“Hellsing?” He asked.

“Terribly sorry for that, I missed,” a very young boy said.

Mr. Livesay quickly scanned the dark park, and then focused on the moonlight gleaming off a pair of wide-rimmed glasses. They belonged to what was certainly a child maybe no older than ten dressed as a butler: black shoes, black trousers, a white shirt with a black vest and black tie.

“I was aiming for your balls.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking like that to me?!” Livesay demanded, falling into the trap that those in power tend to: that anyone who went against him had no idea who he was up against.

The boy did not hesitate to introduce himself. “My name is Harry J. Dornez, Vampire Hunter and Butler for the Hellsing Estate. This evening, my Master has asked me to clean up the garbage in this park.”

Mr. Livesay bared his fangs and laughed. “You cheeky shit, just for that I’m going to bugger you til you shit out your intestines!”

Harry made a face at that, and pulled out a pair of black leather driving gloves. “Disgusting. It’s a good thing I brought my gloves.”

He’d just finished pulling the second glove tightly on, when Livesay closed the thirty meters between himself and the boy, arm outstretched to strike him down. Looking up at him, Harry’s green eyes narrowed as he held up his right hand, and with a sleight of hand movement produced and flicked another knife into the vampire’s left eye.

Livesay stopped and staggered back, howling in pain, as Harry wiggled his fingers before fanning out a dozen more knives, six in each hand. With dramatic flourish, he tossed the knives away from him to his sides, before folding his arms and willing the blades to suddenly fly off and jam themselves deeply into the vampire’s neck, chest, stomach, and legs.

“WHY DOES IT HURT?!” Pepper spray didn’t hurt, knives didn’t hurt, hell not even bullets hurt! What made these knives burnl?!

“There’s no use telling you.” With his remaining eye, Livesay looked at the boy who brought him low, who was twirling a final knife around his thumb much as a bored child would a pencil.

The boy grinned. “Because you won’t live to appreciate it.”

Livesay’s good eye widened in horror as he froze at the sheer menace the boy radiated, as all good prey should.

“Accio,” Harry said, and the knife he’d first thrown into the vampire’s knee rocketed from its resting place and lanced through the beast’s heart on its way to Harry’s free hand.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the knife Harry twirled vanished, before he took his last knife and pushed it into the palm of his hand, the blade disappearing into the glove. He then turned and looked towards the trees. “The target’s been destroyed and made quite the mess… but it’s still tidier than when I arrived.”

The person he spoke to, the woman in white that the late Mr. Livesay had been pursuing, emerged from the forest. She was a gorgeous woman despite appearing in her early forties. She had sharp gray eyes and long, voluminous black hair kept out of her eyes with a red headband that circled her crown, and noticeably full lips.

Carlotta Pinkstone pushed strands of her tousled black hair from her face before smiling to Harry. “Well done, Harry! Your grandfather will be so proud of you.”

Harry returned the smile as he removed his gloves and pocketed them. Tonight had been his tenth vampire hunt and his seventeenth kill. “Thank you, Ms. Pinkstone.”

The two then jumped when they heard the audible pops of the Apparition spell. Hearing the sounds, Carlotta smiled nervously and led the boy off. “They’re getting quicker and quicker…!”

She led Harry into the trees and hid behind one, pulling the boy close to her as her dress changed from white to a much harder to see black and gray. Not a second later, four Aurors converged on the spot they’d been standing.

Peeking behind the tree, both she and Harry spied that the leader of this particular group of Aurors was Alastor “Mad Eye” Moody himself, the grizzled Auror’s Mad-Eye darting around before focusing on the corpse of the vampire. “Bloody hell, another vampire.”

“Poor bastard,” one of the lesser and unrecognized Aurors said.

A woman Auror in the group covered her mouth. “Who would do this to the poor thing?”

“A bloody-fucking nutjob,” a third Auror not Moody lamented.

Harry resisted the urge to retch and laugh at the same time, as Ms. Pinkstone rolled her eyes.

Moody looked to his three Aurors. Being a man who despised the bloodsuckers personally, he found their sympathy for it disdainful. “Focus on the task at hand. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

Even as Moody said this, his Mad-Eye suddenly focused on the tree the two operatives of the Hellsing Organization were hidden behind. His less mad, more disappointed eye narrowed at this.

“Armando, Buford, on my mark apparate to take the flank and fire stunners,” he said to the two male Aurors. “Tonks, keep position here and bag ‘em if they come your way.”

The two older male and lone young female Auror nodded and readied their wands. Behind the tree, Carlotta looked down at Harry and winked.

Moody nodded, and prepared her wand. “3… 2… 1… mark!”

Three of the four wizards Apparated, quickly appearing in the prescribed positions, and let fly stunner spells that hit Tonks, who had been suddenly switched with their intended targets.

“Damn it Tonks, you had one job!” Moody yelled. He then looked above her head and narrowed his narrowable eye when he saw the Hellsing Coat of Arms plastered to the tree.

- - -

Harry James Dornez is ten years old, and as described above, he is the latest and youngest badass little butler to grace the Hellsing Estate. Since he could first walk, his grandfather Walter has trained him in combat, in the occult, and in butlery, honing him into the sort of man mentally unhinged billionaires would be able to rely upon.

“Good morning, Harry, did your mission go well?”

Harry stood a little straighter and mentally hoped his appearance was in proper order when he was graciously greeted by the person he’d been literally raised to serve, the quiet yet pretty daughter of Sir Hellsing, Integra. The twelve year old heiress to the Hellsing family and the one person Harry liked most of all in the household short of his Grandfather greeted him as she left her bedroom, presentably dressed for the day.

“Oh, it was just another trash vampire. I’m getting better at my one-liners though, I think. When he asked why my knives burned I said ‘There’s no point in explaining it to you, you won’t live to appreciate it’ right before I put my knife through him,” he explained as the two began down the hallway of the lavish estate.

Integra hummed. “Oh, that’s a good one. Mind if I borrow it?”

“If you would quote me beforehand.”

Integra nodded. “I’ll be sure to.” She furrowed her brows. “I wonder where these freak vampires are coming from.”

“Grandpa thinks it might be the Nazis,” Harry offered.

Integra briefly rolled her eyes upward. “That’s rubbish. Clearly this is the work of Africans.”

Harry gave Integra a disbelieving look. “Africans, Miss?”

Integra nodded resolutely. “Africans.”

For a moment, Harry feared that Integra might have picked up her father’s opinions of the blacks.

In two years, he’d be in awe of her prescience.

In ten years, he’d be laughing his fucking arse off.

Speaking of her father, Integra and Harry arrived at the door of Sir Hellsing’s bedroom. Reaching up, Integra knocked and shortly afterward the head butler of the Hellsing estate and Harry’s grandfather Walter C. Dornez opened the door.

“Good Morning, Miss Integra, Harry,” the thin, black-haired and monocle’d textbook definition of classy greeted the two children.

“Good morning, Walter, how is my Father holding up?” Integra asked.

“Oh, better than a man in his condition ought to be.”

Walter looked over to the bed, where the bedridden and dying Master of House Hellsing lay comfortably. At his bedside, Ms. Pinkstone–dressed as a Victorian-era Maid–was measuring a dosage of morphine for him. Cracking one eye open, he looked at the mature witch.

“Carlotta…” he said weakly.

“Yes, Sir Hellsing?” She asked.

“I don’t… I don’t need the morphine… just… just…”

Ms. Pinkstone looked from the needle to her Master. “Yes?”

“Just show me your breasts, so I can die a happy man.”

Ms. Pinkstone jammed the morphine needle deep into his thigh. Prompting a scream of agony from Arthur that lasted up until the witch pushed down the plunger of the needle ten seconds later, sending the sweet release of painkillers into his system.

The glasses worn by Integra and Harry, and Walter’s monocle, turned opaque as they contemptuously watched Sir Hellsing slowly go from bed-ridden agony to functionally human.

“He could stand to have a little more dignity,” Integra said sharply.

“Quite,” Walter and Harry agreed in unison as they adjusted their respective spectacles.

Sir Hellsing immediately perked up at the voices. The gaunt, bearded man, his redddish brown hair having turned a stark white years ago, beamed sunnily to his daughter and her servant. “Integra! Harry! Come on over kids! Let me get a good look at you before Carlotta stuffs me into a K-Hole.” When the two joined his bedside, he smiled to Integra. “How’s your training going, dear?”

“My fencing instructor says I’m competent enough to win Gold in the Olympics. I would very much like to participate.”

“Where are they holding them next?”

“Sydney.”

“Absolutely not.”

Integra huffed. “Why not?”

“Because fuck Australia, that’s why not!”

Integra puffed her cheeks and glared at her father, who then patted her on the head. “Besides, dear, your skills are not meant to be wasted in sport–they are to be applied directly to the enemies of God with extreme prejudice, and that is more satisfying than any gold affirmation.”

He looked to Harry. “Speaking of, I heard you had your tenth successful mission, Harry!”

Harry quickly stood at attention. “Y-yes Sir Arthur!”

“Well done, m’boy! You’re already a spitting image of your Grandfather. As a reward, I want to give you a very special mission. Walter here just relayed it to me.” Arthur nodded to Walter, who held up a manilla folder with Top Secret stamped on the front.

Harry took the folder and opened it, Integra leaning in to look as well. Inside were pictures of a merchant ship. “What’s this?”

“This ship left the Rio de Janeiro five weeks ago and disappeared into the North Atlantic. Yesterday evening, right after you and Ms. Pinkstone left on your mission, it appeared just off the coast of Scotland. When the Coast Guard sent a crew to investigate, the crew did not return and the ship vanished shortly thereafter.”

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“According to the radio contact, the coast guard crew encountered possible ghouls and were torn limb from limb.”

“How awful…” Harry murmured.

“Not really, they were just Scots.” Arthur coughed briefly upon receiving a glare from Integra. “At any rate, The Hellsing Organization will be investigating the matter, and as both a reward for your tenth mission and a birthday gift, I’ve decided that this will be your first solo mission.”

Harry gasped and smiled. “Really, sir?!”

Integra soured at this. “Are you actually making this decision, or is this the morphine talking?”

“If it were the morphine talking I wouldn’t need the bloody Ketamine,” Arthur replied. “So what do you say Harry? Are you game?”

Harry’s eyes were sparkling at the prospect of being trusted such a dangerous and important task. “Yes! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

Arthur laughed. “That’s the spirit! Always remember your duty to the Anglican Church, Her Majesty, and to your country!”

“Father! I refuse to allow for this-!” Integra protested.

“Nope, we’re doing this. Carlotta, my Ketamine please.”

“At once, Sir Arthur,” Ms. Pinkstone said before sending her employer and Master off into a drug-induced stupor. Almost immediately, the head of the Hellsing House was in a wonderful world beyond sober comprehension.

Integra shot an impotent glare at the witch, who only gave her a weak smile. “He’s much better like this.”

“And you needn’t worry about Harry,” Walter added, earning her gaze. “He is more than capable for the task. He would not be a member of Hellsing if he were not.”

Integra looked at Harry, who stood straight and proud, ready to throw his very life away for his country if need be. Identifying that zealotry, Integra pouted and pointed directly between Harry’s eyes. “As the future heir to the Hellsing Organization, you have one single order from me Harry J. Dornez that you must follow at all costs above all others!”

“Yes Miss Integra?” Harry asked.

“You are not to die without my express permission, do you understand?”

Harry smiled big. “Of course, Miss Integra!”

Integra nodded resolutely. “Good, now go prepare for your mission.”

- - -

The M/V Zeppeli had departed from Rio de Janeiro Brazil for the port of Houston with a very sensitive cargo. As previously mentioned, however, midway through its trip, it lost contact and vanished up until its appearance off the Scottish Coast and most recently deadly close to the Emerald Isle. The 100 meter long transport ship was already badly degraded from over a month adrift. Rails bent and torn from the rough seas, life-rafts missing, and almost all the lights out.

This is what Harry parachuted onto a little after dark, when the ship finally revealed itself again, with only the lights of the distant Irish coast and the full moon overhead illuminating it. Unhooking his parachute and stripping out of his jump suit, Harry adjusted the tie of his Butler uniform and smirked.

“Well, let’s tidy up,” he smartly announced before taking one step and stepping on the recently blasted human head, inadvertently crushing it underfoot.

He looked down, and sure enough found the rotting remains of a ghoul smushed around his dress shoe. “Bloody hell, I didn’t mean literally.”

The deck was awash with dead ghouls. Judging by their attire, they were the crew of the ship, plus the Coast Guard crew that boarded the ship. What was troubling him, though, was that this bunch seemed to have been killed by high-powered gunfire.

“I came underdressed,” Harry lamented before he heard gunfire from below deck. “Nothing that can be done about it now.”

The repeated reports passed below him, and Harry followed them up to the wheelhouse of the boat, before a door leading below decks there burst opened and a blonde young man dressed in a long gray coat and black sunglasses burst out backwards, firing a pair of SIG Sauer GSR pistols into the the doorway.

“JUST DIE YOU BLOOD-DRINKING, PISS-FOR-BRAINS HEATHEN HERETIC WHORE!” the dual-wielder yelled as he kept firing into the doorway, before he pulled a grenade from inside his coat and whipped it inside. Turning around, he dove for cover behind the ship’s large cargo hatch as the grenade exploded.

Panting, the dual-wielder rested his head against the side of the container and crossed himself. “Father in Heaven, give me the strength to overcome this…”

“A sorry time to ask I know, but why do you do that?”

The dual-wielder jumped and turned to point his pistols at Harry’s face. Seeing a little boy out to sea on a ghoul-infested ship confused him just long enough to prevent him from immediately splattering the boy’s brains out all over the deck.

“That dual-wielding thing. Do you do it because it was cool in Tomb Raider, or what? And… and… ” Harry stopped and sniffed the air before making a face. “… What is that smell and why am I reminded of John Lennon?”

The dual-wielder lowered his guns. “Who the fuck are you?”

Harry gasped, forgetting his manners. “Oh, I’m Harry and I’m a vampire hunter. You are?”

“Heinkel, and I don’t need help. I’ve got this well under control.” Heinkel, as he called himself, briefly peeked over the hatch towards the doorway but kept both pistols trained on Harry.

Harry examined the young man and noticed right away the priest’s uniform and shiny little cross that dangled around his neck. His grandfather warned him of the odd chance of encountering these types wherever there were vampires or other nasties causing a mess in or around Ireland, but what were the odds that his first solo run would pit him against Section XIII of the Vatican?

“I didn’t come here to help, I was sent to clean up the mess here. I’m a Hellsing butler, after all,” Harry explained after eying the guns the young man still had trained on him.

“Hellsing?!” Heinkel focused all of his attention on Harry, standing and pointing one gun at his face and one at his heart. “Repent, Protestant swine!”

Harry looked from one gun to the other, and then back to Heinkel’s face. “I’m not eleven yet, but I still know when a gun’s empty.” He indicated the locked back position of the slides, exposing the barrels. “The slides are locked back.”

Heinkel’s face screwed up in frustration when his bluff got called.

“That’s why I was curious about the dual-wielding thing, how do you reload if you get surprised like this?” Harry said as he produced a knife from his glove.

Heinkel answered that by dropping both pistols and in one smooth motion drawing another pair of pistols from inside his coat. Before he could bring the guns to bear on the other boy, Harry quickly threw his knife at Heinkel’s face, prompting him to lean back under the blade and offering Harry the quick opportunity to leap back from the Catholic Paladin.

Back upright, Heinkel aimed at Harry as he swept his hand in front of him, leaving a trail of knives that deflected Heinkel’s gunfire. The knives then pointed at Heinkel and propelled straight for him, only to be deflected by more gunfire.

As the last knife was deflected, Heinkel saw the kid was gone. Quickly he looked up, and saw a pair of thrown knives come at him from above. He dove and rolled forward, turning around and using his guns to parry slashes from Harry as he landed behind him.

“Fucking Protestant biter!” Heinkel roared as he deflected several more strikes and tried to shoot Harry in the face. He missed as Harry ducked and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back.

“Biter?!” Harry asked as he threw the two knives at Heinkel.

Heinkel deflected both knives with guns and opened fire again. “You ripped off Father Anderson’s style you little shit!”

Harry dashed away, staying outside the trajectory of the shots before throwing two more knives at him, knocking the guns from his hands.

“I have no idea who that is!” Harry declared indignantly as he produced a dozen more knives and threw them up into the air above Heinkel’s head. With a dramatic point downward, he directed the knives to suddenly launch themselves down at Heinkel from different directions.

As the knives came down, Heinkel swung off his long coat and used it to scatter the knives. Throwing the coat away Heinkel leaped back while pitching two grenades at Harry.

Harry acted instinctively, producing a pair of knives and throwing both as the grenades reached him, the impact of the blades knocking both explosives back as he jumped back over the railing of the ship. He just made it over the railing when both grenades exploded, the shrapnel and shock wave passing above him.

Falling towards the water, he threw another knife with a length of garrote wire wrapped around it and managed to loop it around the railing, stopping himself before he touched the cold, calm waters below.

Feet planted against the side of the ship he took a deep breath. “Bloody hell, with how Sir Arthur and Grandpa went on about these priests, I thought they’d be pushovers.”

And then there was Heinkel, standing on the railing and aiming his pistols down at him with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oh bollocks.”

Harry broke into a run across and then up the hull of the ship, as Heinkel fired after him. Jumping onto the railing, he jumped again as Heinkel mercifully ran out of ammo. Three more knives drawn, he threw them at the paladin, who performed a snap kick to deflect all three. He then threw both his pistols at another pair of knives thrown after the first trio, deflecting both, before reaching behind his back and pulling out two more pistols from the back of his pants.

“How many guns do you have?!” Harry yelled as he slid for cover behind the merchant boat’s main cargo hatch to avoid the subsequent hail of bullets..

“You ask me after pulling how many knives out of your ass?!” Heinkel snapped back.

Harry considered moving from his position, but he was out of breath. Luckily it sounded like Heinkel was out of breath too. Unluckily, it was giving him as much time to think up a plan out of the stalemate too.

He then heard the sound of something land atop the hatch and roll towards him. He rolled over and scrambled as fast as he could from the grenade Heinkel rolled over the top of the doors.

As he got up into a sprint, his eyes widened when he saw a second grenade sailing in a graceful arc towards him. Behind it, Heinkel was kissing his cross and tipping it towards him. “Bollocks.”

Both grenades exploded, and Harry was caught up in their blast.

Letting go of his cross, Heinkel snorted in satisfaction. “Protest that, heathen.”

He heard a pop directly above him, and two thrown knives disarmed him again. Looking up in disbelief, Heinkel quickly leaned back as Harry fell from above, swinging one more knife straight down–aiming to slice into his head.

Harry landed in front of Heinkel in a crouch, amazed that he had managed to somehow perform apparition at that last possible half-second. He looked up at Heinkel, who stared at him in similar disbelief that the kid had somehow survived two point-blank grenades.

Then Heinkel’s shirt, neatly cut down the middle, fell open.

A second after that, her exposed pink lace bra popped open as well.

An emergency snub-nosed revolver normally held in place by said bra dropped to the deck with a clatter.

“… Happy birthday to me…” A dumbly staring Harry began to quietly sing.

Her face entirely red, Heinkel kicked Harry in the chin, throwing him onto his back. Luckily, the blow hadn’t knocked him unconscious, and he kicked up onto his feet with another pair of knives ready to go as Heinkel trained another pair of pistols on him.

An uneasy stillness fell between the two as they gripped their weapons, plotting and planning their next seven moves and the countless contingencies that went with each one. Tension grew tighter, Hellsing Butler and Iscariot Paladin trembling in fervent anticipation.

Then a flash of light struck Harry, and he dropped his blades before his arms and legs locked together and he fell forward with a cry. Heinkel quickly followed the flash of light, and stopped when she found Alastor Moody and three Aurors aiming their wands at her. “Fucking Wizards!”

A barrage of stunners struck Heinkel then, causing her to drop her guns and pushing her further and further back with each consecutive blow before she finally collapsed, unconscious.

Only able to move his eyes, Harry looked from the now unconscious paladin to the intervening wizards, one of them still keeping a wand on her. This wizard looked to Moody and that Tonks Auror as they went to Harry. “I think this is a Muggle Witch Hunter, should I use an unforgivable?”

“They have cause enough to come after us, do you want to get them in a real uproar?” Moody snapped back.

Moody’s mad eye suddenly darted to Harry, and Moody himself shoved Tonks aside as Harry managed to break the full body bind and whip two knives at them. The knife aimed for Tonks missed, while Moody himself snatched the knife aimed for him out of the air and hit Harry with a stunner that threw him backward.

Staggering backward, Harry shook his head as he already felt the world spin. Another trio of stunners hit him, and much like Heinkel, he fell to his knees and then onto his face. Consciousness fading, he looked up at Moody and Tonks, the latter leaning down and caressing his cheek.

“This is really him?” she asked. “This is Harry Potter?”

“Aye,” Moody said as he joined her side. “The boy lived.”

As darkness overcame him, Harry had a single thought:

Who the bloody hell was Harry Potter?


= = =


Oops.

 

[MilesMortim]

Oh, I can't wait to see how badly the wizarding world botches this one.... They're almost as bad as the church in Hellsing.

Let the demolition commence!

 

[alucard964]

alucard vs. the wizarding world. i'll take the guy in red any day over some trumped up wizards.

 

[Wharpt]

Alucard, Integra, and Harry for the Trifecta win. :yay:

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10673186/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-Endless-Night

And we are live,

 

[NTP]

So is Tonks already in the field that soon after graduating? Are you slightly altering her age? It's periphery and wouldn't bother me, but I'm just curious timeline wise. From what I can understand it's 1991 as of the end of that chapter; time for Harry to start Hogwarts and, as of the end of the spring, Tonks would have just graduated in canon HP universe.

Regardless, I await the Crimson Fucker with eager anticipation.

#420yoloswag4jesus

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

After one total revision, here we are!


= = =


Heinkel: The following is a fan-written parody. Harry Potter is property of J.K Rowling and is published by Bloomsbury Publishing and Arthur A. Levine Books. Hellsing Ultimate is property of Kouta Hirano and Studio Madhouse, and licensed by Geneon, Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, and Funimation. Hellsing Ultimate Abridged is the collaborative effort of TeamFourStar. Please support the Official Release.

Heinkel: Non-canon because Hirano didn’t want to redraw Maxwell! What a load of bullsh-


As her personal butler, Harry was responsible for preparing and serving all of Integra’s meals, and in the two years he’d been doing it he’d become wonderfully skilled at it. Especially in preparing breakfast for her, as it was was the most important meal of the day. He, and only he, would personally bring the tray to her bedroom and leave it at her bedside to allow the aroma of freshly cooked food to rouse her from her slumber.

When he began going on missions, the thing that Integra began to fear most, would be waking up and not finding breakfast waiting for her. Though every morning after, there it was, hot and ready for her. So when Harry went off on his first solo mission, she reassured hersef that come the morning breakfast would be waiting, just like every other morning to date.

Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, it was to the room-filling aroma of a freshly prepared breakfast sitting covered on the table at her bedside.

Inhaling deep, Integra let out a relieved sigh and sat up in her bed to pull the tray onto her lap. Of course Harry would come back, he wasn’t allowed to die after all. She expressly forbade it.

“Ooh, scrambled eggs,” she said happily as she removed the tray’s lid and picked up a fork. Digging into the eggs, she brought them to her mouth and took a bite.

Ten seconds later, Integra smashed open her father’s bedroom door, finding Walter and Carlotta gathered with several Hellsing officers, her Uncle Richard, and one of the organization’s financial backers, Sir Shelby Penwood, who all recoiled from the fury in the normally timid girl’s eyes.

“WHERE IN THE HELL IS MY BUTLER?!”


Harry Potter and the Endless Night
Chapter 2: Hospitality


Where indeed…

After having been hit with a fair amount of stunners, Harry awoke in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He was lying in a hospital bed, and secured into it by several heavy straps over his chest, waist, and and thighs. That was the bad news–the good news was that he was still in his clothes, and his captors hadn’t removed his gloves.

He opened his eyes and looked around, he was in a white, pristine hospital room. On the wall to his right there was a picture with a soothing picture of the sea rolling in onto a beach at sunset, True to the nature of the Wizarding World, the waves were actually moving in. Similar pictures, one of a snowy mountain, was on the wall in front of him, and one of a grassy field, was behind him. Sitting underneath the beach picture and just to his right from the door was Auror Tonks, whose head was bowed.

Harry could hear snoring from her.

He looked to his left was the window, and quickly recognized the London skyline. Well, at least Miss Integra wouldn’t have to go too far to find him. Given that it was already morning and the sun was coming up, she was probably on her way now.

Looking down at his hands, he wiggled his fingers before summoning one of his thin, straight-bladed knives between the index and middle. Before he could begin carving himself free, Tonks suddenly snapped awake.

“Huh? I’m just resting my eyes!” she yelped, before noticing Harry’s eyes were open. “Oh! You’re up.”

“Where am I?” Harry immediately asked.

Tonks smiled at him. “St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, in London.”

“Why am I here?” His gaze narrowed into a glare.

Taken aback by said glare, Tonks’ smile disappeared. “Oh! Well, you took a few stunners-”

“About that, why did I take a few stunners?” He was getting increasingly agitated with each question.

And Tonks more timid with each answer. “Because you broke out of the full body bind-”

“Why did you use that on me?!” The full weight of his ire seemed to come straight from his eyes, searing into hers.

“Well, we intended to capture you without injury but-” she babbled in a fright

Harry leaped out of the bed and got in her face. “WHY WERE YOU TRYING TO CAPTURE ME?!”

Tonks, her hair and face turning white, backed from him, speaking very quickly. “B-because when we realized you were Harry Potter we were ordered by the Ministry of Magic to rescue you from the Muggles and reunite you with your actual family so you could attend school at Hogwarts and hopefully grow up to become a fine young wizard I’m so sorry I was only following orders please don’t hit!”

Harry stood back and straightened out his vest before adjusting his tie. “Quite, very good Miss Tonks that will be all.” He nodded to her. “Good day.”

Terrified, Tonks quickly nodded. “O-of course!”

This was the most surreal nightmare she’d ever had. Maybe if she went back to sleep it’d stop. Closing her eyes, she did just that as Harry found his shoes and prepared to depart his room.

Around the corner on the very same floor of St. Mungo’s (the fourth floor, to be precise), Auror Armando, a smarmy Latino wizard with a sick jet black pompadour and even sicker sideburns, and Auror Buford, muscularly built Auror with similarly black hair that reached down to his manly hips and a face like it was sculpted in stone, approached where Harry lay.

“I’m certain of it, The Crimson Fucker has to be Dumbledore,” Buford insisted. “It was 1990, he was leader of the Order, he wore red, he even had a phoenix.”

“No, no, no, no, no… it cannot be Dumbledore, because Dumbledore was called Sorcerer Supreme.”

“You can have multiple aliases. Also, I think you have that backwards,” Armando said as they rounded the corner just as Harry stepped out of his room and into the the white, sterile hallway of the hospital. He looked to Harry with Buford. “Hm?”

Noting them, Harry brought both hands up to adjust his glasses. “Oh don’t mind me, gentlemen. I was just checking out.”

By the time both Aurors had their wands out, Harry’s first salvo knives were lacerating their hands, disarming them. The next salvo of knives splattered their blood all over the walls and floor as each of Harry’s narrow blades connected with their shoulders, elbows, knees and groin.

‘It’s a good thing we’re in a hospital,” Harry said as he walked past the two men who lay in blinding pain, careful to avoid the blood to not leave a trail. Reaching the intersection the two Aurors came around, he peeked around for any sign of Aurors and upon finding none turned left and jogged towards what he hoped were the stairs.

- - -

Downstairs and not quite yet aware of Harry’s violent escape, Alastor Moody did his best to resist blowing his own head off with a blasting charm as he waited for Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge to arrive. The reason he resisted was the massive and wholly unnecessary media presence that occupied the ground floor of the hospital.

This all had started when Harry Potter had been discovered alive. Armed with this startling revelation, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge summoned not only the Unspeakables, but pulled Moody out of retirement to lead the actual efforts of recovering the boy from the mysterious muggle organization he was in custody of.

Good! This was a delicate mission and it required a lot of finesse and secrecy, more than any normal wizard could offer. For reasons even Moody himself was not allowed to know particular details about it–keeping this operation hush-hush was imperative, for the sake of keeping Wizard and Muggle relations peaceful. The surly old wizard was fine with that.

That said, immediately setting up a news conference to announce Harry’s living status and his retrieval from said muggles only hours after the boy had been rescued in poor taste at best–the stupidly arrogant at worst. And Moody always saw things in the worst possible light on principle.

“Alastor Moody you salty dog! Why did I not make you Head of Law Enforcement?!” And here was Minister Fudge taking Moody’s hand and shaking it vigorously.

“I’m not a fan of politics, or politicians,” Moody groused back as he went along with the handshake. The gaze of his mad eye darted past Fudge, and Moody grimaced when he spied a crowd of witches and wizards outside the hospital, cheering enthusiastically and waving signs welcoming home the boy.

Still shaking his hand as representatives of the Daily Prophet and other news sources began taking pictures, Fudge laughed. “I haven’t met a wizard or witch alive who is.”

“Right,” Moody said before getting to brass tacks. “Cornelius, this isn’t a good idea.”

The short and portly Minister found that odd. “You mean all of this? Nonsense, this is Harry Potter’s homecoming, why not celebrate his return?”

Moody stared at Fudge with both eyes. “Did Albus suggest this?”

Fudge chuckled at that. “Oh I didn’t bring it up with him. Not much reason to, after all.”

“Minister Fudge! Auror Moody! A picture for the Prophet?” a photographer asked as he held up a camera.

“Of course my boy!” Fudge replied as he remained shaking Moody’s hand. The flash went off, capturing what would be the last precious seconds of order and civility in the hospital.

As the cameraman lowered his camera, a pretty blonde reporter with rosy red lips that matched the crimson of her nail polish stepped up. “Minister Fudge, Alastor Moody, Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet. Could either of you tell us the condition of The-Boy-Who-Lived?”

Before Moody could open his mouth to answer, a woman healer spoke with great urgency and panic in her voice over the PA system. “Attention all patients and guests. St. Mungo’s will be entering emergency lockdown. All patients and guests are to stay in the predesignated Lockdown Areas and not to be out in the hallways. All security staff are to report to the third floor immediately.”

Moody and Fudge stared up at the PA speaker, as a man’s voice shouted out. “Merlin’s balls, why are there so many knives?!”

“Correction, security staff on their way to the third floor are to report to the second floor immediately. Additionally, healers are required on the fourth and third floor. And if there are any Aurors on the premises–PLEASE HELP!”

Moody shut his shuttable eye as Fudge went ghastly pale. “Oh fuck a duck.”

Rita held up her notepad. “Can I quote you on that?”

“Yes,” Moody said before he tapped his walking stick onto the ground and disapparated.

- - -

On the second floor, stunners flew and impacted with the now very unconscious body of a hospital security wizard, used by Harry as a human shield. From under the defeated mage, a pair of knives flew and struck the wand hands of the casting wizards. As his shield dropped to the ground, Harry tossed another six knives up in the air in front of him, before pointing forward, willing the knives to become missiles that struck the two wizards and tagged a third behind them, dropping them all with injuries.

“I’m not really all for this, but you are all being unhealthily insistent,” he said sternly as he produced another trio of knives in each hand.

There was a pop behind him, and Harry quickly spun around and found Moody had appeared behind him. Tapping his walking stick against the ground, the old wizard glowered at him. “Lad, do not make the beating I’m going to deliver unto you worse than it’s already going to be.”

Harry had recalled how easily Moody no-sold his surprise knife throw before. He had himself a badass over here, and he wasn’t being facetious. He readied his knives.and smiled. “Yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy paying you back for chasing me around, old timer.”

He let fly three knives, and each one was smartly deflected by the ram’s head on the end of Moody’s walking stick.

Tapping the stick onto the ground, Moody cast a stunner as Harry ran straight for him. Harry went left and jumped to avoid the stunner, Running across the wall, he leaped to kick Moody in the head.

Once more, Moody’s walking stick came into play, blocking the kick. From his very brief perch atop the stick, Harry threw down his knives, which went through the smoke left by his disapparition

Landing on the spot Moody stood, he jumped off and onto the opposite wall, avoiding another stunner as he threw more knives at Moody, who had reappeared further down the hall. The knives, however, were just as quickly banished back at Harry, who landed on the floor and ducked low under them.

Harry let out a whistle as he stood, before he produced a single knife and pointed it at Moody.

“Geminio!” he called out, and the air directly in front of Harry was full of dozens of knives that oriented themselves to point at Moody before launching themselves.

Moody growled and waved his staff. “Ventus!”

A blast of wind hit the knives, scattering the knives into the walls, floor, and ceiling in front of Moody. Beyond the cloud of blades, Moody caught a glimpse of Harry running around a corner. He was heading for the stairs again.

He disapparated, apparating in front of Harry and firing a stunner straight for the boy’s head.

Ducking under the stunner, Harry slid on his knees towards Moody, throwing knives on the way. “I got you old man!”

He sprung up, slashing at Moody with a knife clutched tight in his left hand. When Moody blocked with his walking stick. Harry let go of three knives in his right, and willed them to drill into Moody’s gut.

Moody was faster, avoiding the knives with a simple sidestep before punching Harry in the face with his free hand, launching him back into the wall.

Leveling the walking stick at him, Moody fired another stunner, smashing Harry flat against the wall, before landing a full body bind curse upon him. Drawing back his walking stick, Moody hissed a “Tch” through his teeth.

As before, Harry began to struggle against the full-body bind, slowly looking up at Moody, who could respect that. “Just like your parents, you don’t give up easily. That’s admirable.”

“I know,” Harry said as he began to decompose to dust.

His normal eye becoming as wide as his Mad-Eye, Moody froze as Harry popped up behind him, his hands drawing outward and causing the lights overhead to reflect off the strands of garrote wire connected to his now fingerless gloves.

The wires snapped taut around Moody’s limbs, pulling them up over his head and forcing him to drop his walking stick. More wires locked around his legs, his waist, his neck, and face, securing him in place.

Moody only needed a split-second to realize what happened. The boy hadn’t just cast Geminio on the knives! “… Bloody brilliant.”

Planting his feet, Harry pulled with all of his strength, and let out a yell as he lifted Moody off his feet and swung him around–slamming him into the doors to the stairwell. Running after him, Harry charged the immobilized Moody before jumping and kicking him in the chest, sending them both through the doors and down the stairs.

End over end, both tumbled down the four flights of stairs, past the first floor (bowling over several security and Aurors rushing up to join the battle), before they came crashing out at the ground floor, Harry surfing atop Moody’s cbest as the old Auror slid to a halt.

Panting, Harry looked down at Moody before looking up at an awed Wizarding Press and horrified Minister Fudge.

“Bloody Hell,” he said, “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Slipping off the fingerless gloves, Harry reached into his pocket and calmly pulled out his own leather riders before putting them on his hands. Looking at the wizards in front of him, he fanned out a dozen knives in each hand.

“Right then,” he began to his audience, “if any of you are interested in experiencing what it’s like to be stabbed with a lot of knives, I encourage you to further impede my checking out of this hospital.”

Next to Fudge, Rita Skeeter looked back and forth from the boy to the Minister, who was growing increasingly horrified. She could not help herself. “Minister Fudge, is this…. Harry Potter?”

Harry’s glare sharpened at the name.

“That would be correct,” another old man spoke. Fudge and Rita both looked back and stood aside quickly as the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Grand Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards Albus Dumbledore stepped forth.

Harry didn’t hesitate, quickly throwing all twelve blades at Dumbledore, who with a simple wave of his hand stopped them all in mid-flight before they could reach him. “Now, there’ll be none of that, Harry. No one here wants to hurt you.”

Harry wasn’t surprised. This was Dumbledore, bar none the most powerful wizard in the Wizarding World. “Beg your pardon, Professor Dumbledore, but after what I did upstairs, I highly doubt that.”

As if on cue, six Aurors quickly rallied around Dumbledore, and leveled their wands at Harry. Staring at them, he adjusted his glasses with both hands. Cornelius likewise rallied. “Harry Potter, calm yourself at once! It’s as Albus says, no one’s your enemy. We’re only trying to help you!”

“The full body bind and the stunners that landed me here speak otherwise… Cornelius Fudge, was it?” Harry retorted, prompting stares of disbelief from the press aimed at Fudge.

“We needed to get you away from those muggles, my boy, I apologize for the force we had to use, but it was necessary!” Fudge retorted quickly.

“Do not try to spin this, Mr. Fudge. Without any warning, you had these Aurors come after me, aggressively, pursuing me everywhere I went!”

Fudge nodded. “Yes, but do understand, the circumstances required-”

“What circumstances, Mr. Fudge? What required you to send Aurors after me instead of a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts?” Harry looked around the room. “I’m sure many people in this room would like to know as much as I do!”

Dumbledore too looked to Fudge, who opened his mouth to offer an answer, but stopped short of saying it. Suddenly, he looked like a man wishing for something, anything to happen to get him out of this situation.

The sound of a diesel engine running at full output suddenly filled the air, followed by screams that started from outside the hospital and worked their way in as recognition dawned like the morning sun. Then there were explosions, as a four-wheeled armored personnel smashed through not only the under-renovation clothing store that served as the hospital’s front, but through the wards keeping muggles out and into the front lobby of St. Mongo’s itself, sending patients, staff, and press diving for cover lest they be crushed by the flung debris or the vehicle itself.

Stepping from atop Moody, Harry smiled when he saw the Hellsing Emblem, proudly emblazoned on the front of the APC.

The dust hadn’t even begun to settle, when the Aurors protecting Fudge and Dumbledore trained wands on the light-armored vehicle as its rear ramp hatch fell open with a clang. Ready to cast stunners, the Aurors behind watched as Integra stepped out of the cloud of dust. . She looked among the gaping civilian wizards and the Aurors, before she announced.

“My name is Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. You Wizards have taken something that belongs to me, and I am here to reclaim it.”

The sound of blades moving through the air was followed by the wands of the surrounding Aurors being neatly sliced by the fine, nearly invisible strands of Walter’s garrote wire. The Butler himself stepped out beside Integra, as Ms. Pinkstone lifted up the armored vehicle’s turret hatch and stood, sweeping the armored vehicle’s automatic cannon from side to side threateningly.

Spotting Moody, Ms. Pinkstone’s face lit up and she waved. “Oh, hello Alastor!”

“Carlotta,” Moody replied, polite but curt, and retaining as much dignity as a hogtied man could.

As the Aurors raised their hands in surrender, Integra found it immensely satisfying–but the sudden urge to light a victory cigarillo was a little weird.

Integra walked over, followed closely by Walter, before she gave Fudge a deadly look. “Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, I presume?”

Fudge grew flustered. “Yes, but who-?”

“I have already introduced myself, and I will not repeat it! Minister Fudge, when I woke up this morning, I awoke to a full breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, toast and tea. It smelled delicious and was presented as if prepared by a five-star chef.”

Fudge grew more perplexed. “I see-?”

“However, the eggs were not slightly runny, the bacon wasn’t charred at the ends, and the tea had only two spoonfuls of sugar.” She stepped up to Fudge, her blue eyes sharp with anger. “That is how I knew that my personal butler had not returned from his mission, and that is why I have tracked him down and driven a French-made Armored Personnel Carrier through this hospital. If he is not returned to me in fifteen seconds I will have Walter here strip you of your clothes, string you up like a puppet, and make you do the bloody Macarena!”

Cornelius Fudge did not know what a Macarena was, but it sounded aggravating.

“There will be no need for that, Miss Integra,” Harry said as he stepped past Fudge and Dumbledore. “I was already letting myself out.”

On seeing him unhurt and not a strand of hair out of place, Integra almost lost her noble composure. Stopping herself mid gasp, she gave Harry an icy look. “Harry, when we return you will be preparing me a proper breakfast.”

Harry smiled. “Of course, Miss.”

“Miss Hellsing?” Dumbledore asked as he stepped forward.

Integra looked from Harry to the older wizard. “Yes, and you are?”

“I’m Professor Albus Dumbledore, I’m the head of the International Confederation of Wizards,” he introduced himself. “I take it you’re a representative of the organization that employs Harry?”

Integra nodded quickly. “That is correct.”

“Allow me to apologize for the actions that have resulted in Harry being sent to St. Mungo’s. It was wholly unjustified and has clearly done more harm than good, regardless of the intentions.”

Fudge looked almost betrayed at Dumbledore’s apology, but in the interest of not wanting further attention, he kept his head bowed.

“And for what reason has the Ministry of Magic taken these unjustifiable actions against my organization?” Integra demanded.

“Concern for him, mainly. He is of the age where Wizards and Witches his age begin proper education in the ways of Magic. Knowing his position in your organization caused some alarm among members of the Ministry, who felt it prudent to rescue him.”

“So that is why they didn’t send a normal letter,” Ms. Pinkstone said. “I was wondering why an owl hadn’t come by yet.”

“The boy is a magnificent fighter, he employs his magic well,” Moody said then as Dumbledore freed him from the wires. “As a proper Wizard, he’d be a force to be reckoned with.”

“That is correct,” Dumbledore agreed. “Educated fully in the ways of Wizardry, Harry could offer even more to your organization than he can already. Hogwarts can offer that training.”

Integra was obviously wary at this. “So after kidnapping my butler with the intention of ‘rescue from my organization’, you want to offer a chance to teach him? I’m sorry, but you would have to offer me a great deal to even consider trusting him to you.”

“I assure you, no one is going to do anything untowards to Harry while he is in our care, myself and Auror Moody would see to that,” Dumbledore reassured her, and Moody nodded in agreement.

Integra nodded. “I will require a little more reassurances than that.” She looked to Carlotta, then back to Dumbledore. “I would like Harry’s current tutor to accompany him, as my representative while he’s undergoing education at the school.”

Fudge blanched at the very idea. “H-Her-!”

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye, as he clasped a hand on Fudge’s shoulder and pulled him close. “I see nothing at all wrong with that. Miss Pinkstone is not only a well-known witch in the community, but more than qualified to teach at Hogwarts.“ He looked to Fudge, that gleam becoming deadly. “Isn’t that right?”

“O-oh of course… of course!” Fudge said in a slight panic before looking down to Integra with a frightened smile.

For some reason, Dumbledore reminded Integra of SIr Irons just then, and that reassured her somewhat. “In that case, I will allow for Harry to be educated within the Wizarding World. I will have other caveats, but we can address them later.”

She nodded her head politely to the two. “If that will be all, then we will be on our way home. Harry? Walter?”

“At once, Miss Integra,” both butlers said as they fell into step behind Integra.

Fudge was still sputtering as the three boarded the APC. Looking down from the turret, Carlotta smiled and blew a kiss to Moody. “Until next time, Alastor.”

“Carlotta,” Moody curtly replied as she ducked down into the turret and pulled the hatch down and closed. Engine growling, the APC backed slowly out of the hospital and through the clothing store front, before turning and driving off down the street.

As the vehicle drove out of sight, Fudge turned to see Dumbledore chuckle in amusement.

“My. this upcoming year will be an interesting one,” Dumbledore said as he drew his wand and went to start repairing the hospital.

He had no fucking clue, and if he did, boy there were dudes who wanted to party with this guy.

Aboard the APC, Integra sat across from Harry, who relaxed in his seat and leaned against Ms. Pinkstone.

“So,” Integra began, “since your birthday present from Father was so awful, would you like for something to make up for it?”

Harry closed his eyes, and then a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “Actually, Miss Integra, all things considered… Sir Arthur’s present was great.”

Integra blinked in confusion, searching for a meaning to that. “Oh?”

- - -

ITALY

“A-CHOO!”

A bag full of swag from her trip slung over her shoulder, Heinkel walked up the steps to the Cathedral Headquarters of Section XIII of the Vatican, the Iscariot Organization. She had gotten a chill from being left unconscious on that boat all night, and was pissed as all hell that not only had she lost her shot at killing that Hellsing brat, but it was Wizards who cost her that shot.

She’d just reached the top of the stairs when the doors opened and a pair of Catholic Priests/Inhuman monsters stepped out.

“Ah, welcome home wee lass,” the blonde, relatively younger looking of the two men greeted with a Gaelic accent as they passed.

“Afternoon, Father Anderson, afternoon Father O’Mally’O’Connel’O’Carrol’O’Reilly’O’Brian’O’Sullivan… who is also Italian.”

The second, inexplicably named priest dipped his head politely to Heinkel, and the the newly arrived Nun went on into the mansion.

Passing the threshold of the mansion, Heinkel sniffled and then sneezed again. “Damn it.”

“Is someone thinking about you, Heinkel-chan?”

Heinkel looked up and saw a pretty Nun of Japanese descent who, like seemingly everyone in this god damned organization, was wearing a pair of glasses… glasses that immediately reminded her of that Protestant brat. “No, I caught your cold.”

Yumiko Takagi gasped. “Oh no! I’m so sorry! It didn’t interfere with your mission, did it?” the young Bride of Christ asked.

“No, it’s just annoying as all hell,” she continued on. “Now shove off, I have to deliver my report to Father Cornelius.”

“Hai!” Yumiko replied.

“And we’re going to work on your English when we’re done! Or Italian. Or Latin, or whatever the fuck we’re speaking I don’t know.”

Marching down the hall, Heinkel reached the doors to the office of Iscariot’s leader, Father Cornelius, and opened the door. “Father Cornelius?”

Behind the desk, an older English gentleman looked up over his mountain of paperwork spread across his mahogany desk and nodded. “Ah, welcome back Sister Heinkel. How was the Emerald Isle?”

“About as beautiful as pea soup,” Heinkel reported. “The job’s done, the vampire’s dead, and I’ve recovered all I can from it.”

She hoisted the bag up and dropped it on the desk. Father Cornelius stared at the bag. “Was there anything of particular note, Sister?”

“This vampire was stronger and more durable than previous specimens. Took over a hundred rounds and a grenade to kill it.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a large glass jar. “I managed to recover this from its corpse. It was lodged right into what was left of its brain.”

Cornelius took the jar and stared at it, before blinking in confusion.

“… Is this a microchip?”


= = =


Ahhhh FREAK OUT!

Le Freak, C'est Chip

 

[Mick]

That is actually the best Hogwarts could get at this point considering their screwup in 'rescuing' him in the first place.

Now though I'm wondering if Vamps attacking Hogwarts is likely or not.

 

[autobot314]

On the caveats: I get the feeling something, or in this case someone is going to be...guarding, for lack of a better term, the stone. Hogwarts, meet the true Crimson Fucker.

 

[NTP]

On the caveats: I get the feeling something, or in this case someone is going to be...guarding, for lack of a better term, the stone. Hogwarts, meet the true Crimson Fucker.

Think he's still sealed in the basement and I doubt Abridged!Integra would ever trust Alucard to guard anything. If Arthur's health is any indication, we'll see him soon, though.

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

Hehehe... hahahaha... AHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!

Posted super late, may be weirdness in the text.

= = =


Tonks: The following is a fan-written parody. Harry Potter is property of J.K Rowling and is published by Bloomsbury Publishing and Arthur A. Levine Books. Hellsing Ultimate is property of Kouta Hirano and Studio Madhouse, and licensed by Geneon, Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, and Funimation. Hellsing Ultimate Abridged is the collaborative effort of TeamFourStar. Please support the Official Release.

Tonks: And yes, I did pretty much sleep through all of that. And yes, I am paying for it by scrubbing the Auror Headquarters toilets with a toothbrush.


One month later…

“… And that’s basically how I got enrolled in Hogwarts,” Harry James Dornez, or rather Harry James Potter as he would go by during his school year, finished explaining to his cabin mate aboard the third carriage of the Hogwarts Express, a ruddy-looking red haired and freckled boy by the name of Ron Weasley, who up to this moment had been slavishly hanging onto his every word as he told his story of vampire hunting and Auror fighting.

Ron blinked owlishly at Harry, who sat across from him, dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater as opposed to his classier attire. Sitting back, the youngest son and second youngest child overall of the absurdly prolific Weasley family digested what he’d just been told.

“That’s amazing, but I’m confused about something.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Since you’re going to Hogwarts, who’s going to make Miss Integra her breakfast?” he asked.

Harry smiled. “Well, every weekend I have to take a portkey back to London so I can assume my duties as her personal butler. But until then, she’ll have to suffer Walter’s exceptional cooking.”

Harry looked out the window of the train at the rolling English countryside and felt a pang of guilt. SIr Arthur had succumbed to his illness only the week before, entrusting the organization to Integra. It was a tall order for a twelve year old, but Sir Arthur believed that Integra could do it, Walter and Ms. Pinkstone believed it as well, and knowing her as well as he did Harry believed she could do it even better than her father did.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Ron asked.

Harry looked back to his traveling companion and managed to smile again. “Oh, just thinking of Miss Integra. Since Sir Arthur’s gone, the entire organization’s been left to her.”

“Blimey… will she be all right?” Ron asked.

“She’ll do splendid. Besides, her Uncle Richard is there to help her with everything she needs. She’s in good ha-”

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” a terrified and alone Integra chanted with every footstep as she ran hard and fast for her life down the hall of Hellsing Manor from her power-hungry, crazed, and possibly traitorous Uncle and his henchmen.

“Come back my niece, my dear little Integra, my… fraulein… Uncle Richard just wants to have a chat~”

Hearing him cock a pistol after that just made her run harder. “SHIT!”

Harry Potter and the Endless Night​

Chapter 3: A Sorted Affair​

Sitting in her cabin aboard the train, Hermione Granger had her nose buried firmly in her book Hogwarts: A History, and was soaking up its info like a sponge. The bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl who would one day grow up resembling an actress way too hot and sober to have come out of a career of children’s films, had so far enjoyed her journey into the Wizarding World except for a couple of issues.

The first one was the uneasy feeling that common sense was at a premium in the Wizarding World. Being a bright girl, though, she chalked it up to the fact that Wizards and Witches were so reliant on the convenience of magic that the idea of any alternatives not involving magic were alien to them.

The second and harder to shake issue was the suspicion and distrust that she was getting from her fellow classmates–particularly the more full-blooded witches and wizards in training. That bitch sitting up in the first carriage of the train, Pansy Parkinson or whatever, called her a mudblood and flipped her off the second Hermione introduced herself as coming from Muggle Parents.

While that bitch would be going down harder than JFK Jr. soon enough, the racist atmosphere would probably take a lot more work.

She looked up from her book? “Harder than JFK Jr.?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “No, EgyptAir Flight 990 definitely.”

Her cabin door opened and a round-faced and chubby-looking kid whose helpless expression screamed “punch me!” to anyone sadistic enough to take up the offer peered in. “Excuse me, but I lost my toad, c-can you help me find him?”

Hermione closed up her book and got up. “All right, let’s go. My name’s Hermione and you are?”

“Neville Longbottom,” the boy shyly replied.

Hermione stopped, and after a moment of staring at him aghast, embraced him in a hug, pulling him close to her to his surprise..

“Uh… w-what…?” he began.

“Neville… where I come from, having a name like that would get you punched in the face every day. But I’m here for you, and I won’t let you get punched,” she promised.

Neville wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but this was the first time a girl ever hugged him for anything, so he went with it.

“So why a toad as a pet, Neville? They’re not very useful as such,” Hermione said as they strolled down the corridor from the second carriage to the third.

Neville looked down. “My Great Uncle gave it to me…”

Hermione frowned. “Why would he do that?”

A toad was an awful thing to give to a child, they weren’t good for much these days, what with the laws in place against using such animals for potion making while alive. Even worse, they were slimy, ugly, and they tended to smell funny. Giving a Wizard Child a toad as a child was tantamount to slapping a “Kick Me!” sign on their back.

“He said I needed a pet, and that a toad and I had a lot in common,” Neville replied.

Hermione nodded. “Huh, your Great-Uncle must hate you.”

“I think so, too,” Neville replied. “But I’m used to it.”

Hermione thinned her lips briefly before she knocked on the first door they reached on the third carriage. She knocked on the door, before opening it.

“… She’s in good ha-” Harry stopped and looked over at Hermione and Neville. “Oh, hello!”

Hermione gave a surprised start when she saw Harry. “Hello Harry.”

Harry nodded politely to her. “It’s good to see you again.”

Neville heard Harry and gaped at the boy. “Harry… are you Harry Potter?!”

“He sure is,” Ron said–still quite proud to have made his acquaintance.

Most unexpectedly, Neville shoved Hermione out of the doorway. “Run!”

Hermione resisted the shoving. “Neville! What on Earth-!”

“Harry Potter is a madman, insane! He nearly killed a dozen people at St. Mungo’s!” Neville gasped as he turned around and tried to place himself as a shield between her and Harry.

“In my defense, I was only trying to check out and they insisted on stopping me,” Harry replied.

Hermione grabbed Neville by the shoulders and turned him around to face her. “Neville, I’ve met Harry before; he’s perfectly harmless so long as you’re not hostile to him.”

Neville found that hard to swallow, particularly given the story his Great Uncle spun him of that dreadful day. Of blood splattered hallways, knives sticking gruesomely from bodies, of the terror that the boy radiated when he brought Mad-Eye Moody low before the Minister of Magic himself.

Hermione, sensing his dread on the increase, bopped him lightly on the head. “Calm down, he’s perfectly safe.”

To emphasize, she ushered him into the room and sat Neville next to Ron before taking her own seat across from the two boys and next to Harry. “Honestly…”

“How did you meet Harry?” Ron asked, hoping for another sick-nasty story.

Harry spoke. “Well, it wasn’t anything dramatic…”

Three weeks ago…

“We’ve gotten your wand, telescope, cauldron, phials, and scale. Next would be your books,” Integra said as she, Harry, and Ms. Pinkstone made their way through the narrow and convoluted streets of Diagon Alley. Despite the crowded street, the trio appeared to command a wide berth, mainly because of wizards and witches recognizing them from the papers and getting the fuck out of their way.

“I hope they’ve at least updated some. The books were all older than sin back in the 30s,” Miss Pinkstone said of Hogwarts’ required reading materials.

Harry looked up at the witch, who looked around and then pointed. “There we are, Flourish and Blotts! This is one of my favorite places, they’re very sympathetic to the cause.”

“For the chance of gaining an entirely new market, why wouldn’t they be?” Integra asked as they walked in and found the front of the store a hive of activity. Children of all year levels were going back and forth, some accompanied by parents, others by their friends, and still others by only the mountains of books they carried.

Integra, being a bookish girl herself, was suitably impressed. “I think I’ll be spending a few hours here.”

She could barely contain her eagerness as she all but skipped off down the nearest aisle and began scanning the shelves for anything sufficiently interesting to read.

“And like that we’ve lost her,” Ms. Pinkstone mock lamented before leading Harry down another aisle. “Come along, Harry! Let’s pick out your books.”

Down the aisle they went, Ms. Pinkstone picking out several books and Harry trailing behind with an eye out for anything she missed. As they passed through an intersection in the aisles into an emptier part of the store, Harry heard “Ugly bucktoothed mudblood” get hissed and stopped to investigate the racial slur.

Peering around the tall bookshelf, Harry spied a large-boned, almost square-shaped black-haired girl shoving a smaller, bushy-haired girl back against the opposite bookshelf and chuckling about it. The smaller girl didn’t seem to react much, just holding tighter to the four books she carried to avoid dropping them.

“That was uncalled for,” Hermione Granger said in a trembling voice to her tormentor, Millicent Bulstrode. “I nearly dropped my books, and I would’ve had to pick them all back up.”

Millicent looked down at the books Hermione carried, and then back up to the timid looking girl–before she grabbed her books from her and dropped them to the floor. “Oops. Looks like you’ll have to pick them up.”

Looking heartbroken at the prospect, Hermione sighed and lowered herself down to her hands and knees to gather up her books. As she neatly stacked them, Millicent chuckled and kicked one of the books just out of her reach.

Hermione looked up, but kept her head low. “Please, I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry…”

When Hermione crawled over for the book, Millicent moved in front of her and lifted a foot to rest upon her head, before grinding her heel into her bushy hair. “You told me you were a mudblood.”

Hermione, as the heel ground into her head, spoke. “And you should be sorry for that.”

“And you should be sorry for that.” Millicent said, before she stopped and blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

Hermione then grabbed Millicent’s planted ankle, before rising to her feet and yanking Millicent’s from under hers, dropping her onto the floor with an audible thud. Before she could let out a cry, Hermione’s foot came down on her throat, cutting it off to a squawk.

Behind her, Harry’s mouth fell open in shock.

“Millicent, was it? I’m very new to the Wizarding and such, but not to bullying. I’m a very bright girl with very defining features, and that makes me a prime target for such behavior.” She gestured to her bushy hair for emphasis. “So here’s something I want for you to remember, one simple little thing you can tell all your friends, and it’s this:”

She leaned down closer, applying more pressure to her throat. “Do. Not. Fuck with me.”

She removed her foot from the gasping girl, and stepped back. “Now pick my books up, bitch.”

When Millicent completed the task and retreated in fear, Hermione smirked in satisfaction and turned around to continue on her way–stopping when she saw Harry gaping at her.

“That was bloody wicked,” he said after a moment.

Stone still for a moment, Hermione’s face became a cute shade of red from embarrassment. “Oh um… I’m sorry about that… she was being rude and I just can’t stand such a- ”

“Don’t be sorry! I saw the whole thing! She called you a mudblood and shoved you, didn’t she?” Harry glanced off in the direction she went briefly. “If you hadn’t been baiting her for that takedown, I would’ve done knocked her down a peg myself.”

Hermione recoiled a bit, surprised he saw through what she was doing. “You noticed?”

“Well yeah, that girl weighed as much as two of you. There was no way you’d be able to take her down fairly.” He then held up his hands, pantomiming a twist. “But if you’re going to do that. next time try to get one of your opponent’s legs in a lock so they don’t get out from under you.”

“I actually considered going for a submission, but I didn’t want her to make too much noise. Besides, she was confident enough in her own size that the idea of being taken down and having a foot to her throat would obviously be inconceivable to her.”

Were Harry only a few years older than he was now, he’d be deeply in love with this girl. But as it was, he just thought she was really flippin’ cool. He thrust out his hand to her. “I’m Harry.”

“Hermione Granger!” she replied as she shook his hand–then realization dawned on her. “Wait, you wouldn’t be Harry Potter, would you?”

Harry nodded, still smiling.

Hermione smiled a little larger, and she shook his hand more firmly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Harry Potter.”

In the present…

Neville stared, slack-jawed at Hermione after Harry relayed the story. Ron, in contrast, was excited. “Bloody wicked! Do you do that to anyone who messes with you?”

“Just the ones who have it really coming,” Hermione humbly replied. “I’m not some delinquent school girl brawler or anything of the sort. I would just like to have a productive school year like anyone else.”

“If anyone tries to beat me up, you’ll have my back then right, mate?” Ron asked.

Hermione smiled. “A friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine… unless you’re a twat.”

“Ron’s far from a twat,” Harry reassured her. “Why, when I met him on the platform, his sister was crying, begging for him not to go, and he was trying his best not to cry himself while telling her that he had to.”

“Aww!” Hermione cooed. “You’re a sweetheart!”

“Harry!” Ron cried, rubbing the back of his head as he blushed deeply in embarrassment.

Neville was having a difficult time wrapping his head around this. But, a common theme immediately emerged: Harry and Hermione were raised by muggles, and both fought and casually talked about fighting like it was no big deal. His great uncle often told him that muggles weren’t a terribly bright lot, but he never said anything about them being barbaric monsters who fought and killed people for fun!

“See? How can someone so pure be a twat?” Harry insisted.

And then like Bloody Mary or Biggie Smalls, the door opened again, and everyone looked up to see the well-gelled and pompous Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway with his gorilla-like friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Draco had opened his mouth to make some sort of asinine statement about Harry Potter’s arrival and his alleged hanging out with a Weasley, when he actually recognized the boy factually hanging out with a Weasley.

Neville and Ron, who recognized Draco Malfoy, watched in amazement as Draco’s expression bounced around from surprise to disgust to fear and then to terror. Then, dramatically, Draco pointed at Harry.

“What are you doing here?!” he yelled in fright.

“I’m a student,” Harry said.

It was amazing how he didn’t bite his tongue off with his teeth chattering like that. “No, but… but what about…?!”

As Crabbe and Goyle stared at Draco in confusion, Ron had the decency to ask. “What are you on about?”

Hermione smiled. “Oh, I know this one!”

Three Weeks Ago…

“It’s been so nice of you to help us, Ms. Pinkstone,” Mrs. Granger said to the witchy woman as she led her group now plus two more muggles and their muggleborn daughter, through the chaos of Diagon Alley.

“Yes, we’ve been having a spot of difficulty finding our way around since we got here. Seems if you don’t wear robes and a hat, no one wants a thing to do with you,” Mr. Granger added.

“Well, that’s just the climate of the community. It’s inexcusable but a sign of the times,” Ms. Pinkstone said before they arrived at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

Upon walking in, Ms. Pinkstone called out. “Hello Witches and Wizards~ my Master is a very wealthy young lady and would like to receive preferential treatment such wealth grants her~!”

Seeing several employees immediately abandon their customers and practically fight each other and the crowds in the store to get to them, Harry gave Hermione a sloe-eyed look. “Some things are universal.”

Hermione giggled as a positively giddy young man managed to elbow aside his competition and reach Ms. Pinkstone and Integra. “Welcome to Madam Malkins! Please, come right this way, young Miss!”

Integra then snapped her fingers. “I would also like preferential treatment to my entourage,” she said of the Grangers.

“Of course, Miss.” the clerk said as the woman he elbowed shot him a dirty look while on her way to tend to the muggle family.

Some time later, Harry stepped out of a changing booth, dressed in a shiny black wizarding robe over the gray sweater and black slacks of the Hogwarts uniform. Sipping from a fancy drink, Integra let out a judgmental hum. “No, that’s rubbish, try the other one.”

Harry sighed and went back into the booth, to strip out of his seventh robe tried on.

“Goodness, have mercy on the boy and let him pick out what he wants,” Ms. Pinkstone suggested.

“His sense of style is rubbish. Do you remember the one time I let him dress as he wanted to?”

Ms. Pinkstone looked up and to the right, but due to flashback constraints, she immediately recalled it. “But it was cute how you two matched.”

“Please, he looks awful in all of my dresses and you know it.”

“You said I looked great in your school uniform,” Harry called from beyond the curtain.

“Harry, skirts and dresses are two different things,” Integra pointed out.

“Ah, M-Ms. Pinkstone, a little help?” Mr. Granger called with a bit of urgency.

Ms. Pinkstone looked over. “Of course, dear.” She rested a hand on Integra’s shoulder before heading off. “What happened?”

“My wife, she was trying something on and…”

“Oh, say no more! I’ll be right there!” she said as she followed Mr. Granger towards another part of the store.

Idly taking a sip of her drink after seeing Ms. Pinkstone make a beeline straight for the lingerie section of the shop. “I didn’t think they’d have something like that.”

Harry stepped out again, wearing a green robe with an attached hood. “How’s this?”

“Terrible, change into something else,” she snapped at him.

With a sigh of acquiescence, Harry went back into the changing booth. As Harry disappeared behind the curtain, another boy sat next to her. Noticing the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and unusually well kept (for what she’d seen of wizards so far at least) boy, Integra hummed in curiosity.

“Excuse me, but are you going to Hogwarts?” she asked politely.

The boy, Draco Malfoy, turned and looked at her, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at the sight of the extremely pretty girl. He immediately put on a charming smile and the worldly Integra immediately recognized where this was going. Fortunately, she thought he was pretty cute so she was happy it was going this way.

“Yes, my father’s buying my books right now, and my mother’s looking at wands,” he said in a bored, relaxed voice that screamed upper class and matched up perfectly with his nigh-spotless appearance. Good for Integra, she wasn’t really keen on the idea of dating below her status.

“It’s bloody boring, I’d rather go have a look at the new racing brooms. The Nimbus 2000 just came out, and I want to grab one before they’re all gone.”

Ah, broom flying, Ms. Pinkstone took her on that once. Afterward Integra decided that such a thing was stupid and insane, and helicopters or portkeys would be her preferred mode of transport. “I’m sorry, I haven’t much stomach for it. My tutor took me flying once and I nearly fainted.”

“Oh, you get rather used to it after the first few times.” Draco smirked some before he whispered low to her. “Children aren’t normally permitted to fly on brooms, but I’ve been doing it since I was seven.”

Oh, he screwed the rules too?! He was cute and a bad boy! Integra hadn’t been this fascinated by a male since her father brought N*Sync to be her personal entourage for the day as a birthday gift.

Unconsciously, Integra began to toy with her hair, pushing it out of the way of her face and glasses. “Really?” When he nodded, she only became more fascinated. “Have you ever fallen off?”

“Plenty of times, once broke my arm and my broom and I had to walk for hours back home to get it fixed.” Draco rolled up his sleeve, showing off a pale scar along his forearm. “My Father insisted on having this removed, but I thought it was wicked.”

Good looking badboy with scars to prove he wasn’t a little bitch? Integra was sold! She smiled demurely at him. “My name’s Integra, and you are?”

Draco put on a cocky smirk that made Integra all fuzzy inside. “Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Integra felt enlightened. So that was why Ms. Pinkstone squealed whenever James Bond dropped his name in the Connery films. She then noticed something to Draco’s right, and stared with wide eyes.

Blinking at her sudden look of surprise, Draco looked right and fell right off the bench when he found Harry standing over him, radiating a menacing, dark aura, that cast him in near total darkness except for the light gleaming off his round glasses.

“Miss Integra, I have picked out a selection of robes. We should rejoin Ms. Pinkstone and continue on with the shopping, lest we be late getting home for tea,” Harry said in a calm, cool voice as he stared beyond Draco’s eyes and into his very soul, his glare promising great and horrible challenges that awaited him if he dared make a move towards his Master.

The spell cast upon her by the pretty boy wizard broke under the force of Harry’s indomitable aura, and Integra gave Draco a brief, apologetic look before rising to her feet. “So it appears, lead the way Harry.”

As Harry led her away, Integra looked down to Draco before removing from her pocket a dainty white handkerchief with blue embroidery and handing it to him. With a final smile, she waved and followed on after her butler.

Much in the same way Harry’s terrific presence broke Integra’s spell, the gift of her handkerchief broke Draco’s, and he regained his wits before he could lose bladder control. Looking down at it, Draco developed the dopiest smile ever. “Integra, what an amazing girl.”

“Sweet Merciful Christ! What the fuck is that woman wearing!” Integra screamed from the side.

“Just help us get it off! Harry! Get your gloves! And watch out for the tentacles!” Ms. Pinkstone advised.

“You’re doing fine, love!” Mr. Granger reassured his moaning wife.

Luckily Draco didn’t hear that as he clutched the handkerchief to his chest. “A true Lady.”

The Present…

“You… that Dark Butler! You’re Harry Potter?!” Draco yelped as he continued pointing at him.

“A pleasure to see you again Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” Harry teasingly replied.

“Where’s your Master?!” Draco demanded.

“Miiss Integra is a Beauxbatons student,” Harry lied.

Of course, a pretty and sophisticated witch like her would go to to a school like Beauxbatons.

As Draco sagged in disappointment, Gregory asked, “I read in the Prophet that you went mad at St. Mungo’s, how did you get out of being to Azkaban?”

“It’s a pretty long story-” Harry began.

“But it’s totally wicked! Harry’s a vampire hunter!” Ron quickly added.

“Vampire hunter?” Gregory and Vincent asked together.

“But that’s illegal,” Draco said.

“Oh, I hunt criminal vampires, werewolves too… all manner of evil magical creature, really. My Grandfather and Miss Integra’s father have trained me very well at it.”

That quietly pulled all three boys into the room, Gregory remaining by the door, as Vincent sat next to Neville and Draco next to Hermione. “Have you killed any Vampires?” Draco asked.

“I’ve killed about seventeen in ten hunts, and I only started hunting about… two months ago,” Harry explained.

“Wicked,” Vincent said.

“I know, right?” Ron asked.

Hermione smiled and turned to Draco. “Wait until you hear the story about the vampire rave.”

“Oh, that’s a really cool one,” Harry said before he began describing at length his ninth mission involving a party at a muggle warehouse where three vampires made about a hundred ghouls and he, his Grandfather, and Ms. Pinkstone were tasked with clearing it out.

Suffice to say, by the end of the story, there wasn’t a person in that cabin who thought Harry Potter wasn’t the baddest motherfucker on the train. Even Neville was impressed.

He was still plenty terrified, though.

- - -

“What house are you hoping to get in?” Harry asked Ron as they and their new small circle of acquaintances made their way through the stairs and corridors of Hogwarts for the school’s great hall.

“You mean what house I’m going to,” Ron replied. “Every Weasley ever has gone into Gryffindor, no exceptions. All five of my older brothers went into Gryffindor.”

“How big is your family?” Hermione asked.

“Well, there are seven of us kids. Six boys and one girl.”

Draco was amused after hearing that. “There’s a girl Weasley?”

“Yeah, first girl in generations in fact,” Ron said proudly.

“She’ll be renown for the novelty alone,” Draco said.

Ron agreed with a laugh, before asking in turn. “What about you?”

“I’m a shoo-in for Slytherin, my mother and father both were Slytherins.” Draco glanced in Harry’s direction. “And you, Harry?”

“I’m hoping Slytherin, myself,” Harry replied. It was practically a Dark Wizard factory after all, and knowing who’s who in Dark Wizardry would make hunting Dark Wizards a world easier.

Draco then looked to Hermione. “What about you, Granger?”

“Ravenclaw, Slytherin would be nice too I guess… but I see my chances there are very small.

Harry nodded meaningfully to Hermione, but it appeared that Draco had caught onto it rather quickly.

“You’re a Muggleborn?” he asked.

“Yes, is that a problem?” Hermione asked.

Draco glanced from Hermione, to Harry, and then back to her. “Not really. My parents don’t care much for Muggleborns.”

“Well as long as you think differently,” Hermione replied with a smile.

Harry looked over to Neville, who until this point had been rather quiet. “Hey Neville, what about you?”

Neville looked down. “I don’t know, my Great Uncle says I’m more fit for Hufflepuff than any of the good houses.”

“Neville, I’m going to punch your Great Uncle if I ever meet him,” Hermione decided.

“Besides, there’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory is a Hufflepuff and he’s wicked,” Draco added.

Ron grinned and pumped his fist. “Bloody right! Cedric Diggory is the best!”

Harry and Hermione, being the clueless muggle-raised, asked together. “Cedric Diggory?”

Ron laughed. “You think you’re awesome, Harry? You should hear some of the stories about Cedric. It’s crazy!”

Before Harry could ask Ron to elaborate, they finally reached the Great Hall, and Harry was immediately taken by surprise at the size of the room, the magical projection of the night sky, and the hundreds of older students already seated at their four long tables. Looking back among the other first years, he noticed something else… there were a lot of them, too.

This school was fucking huge.

“Goodness, there are so many new students!” Nurse Poppy Pomfrey whispered aside to her coworker and friend Professor Pomona Sprout at the fifth table at the end of the four rows where the school’s staff sat.

Professor Sprout, House Head of Hufflepuff House and the herbology teacher, nodded. “Yes, and almost half of them are Muggleborn or Halfblood.”

Sitting on the other side of Professor Sprout, the goblin-esque Professor Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw Charms Master, shook his head. “Looks like we’ll need to make our classrooms a tad larger. It’s as Dumbledore predicted.”

“And there he is, Harry Potter. He looks exactly like his father, better posture though..”

Flitwick, Sprout, and Pomfrey looked to their right to the Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master, Professor Horace Slughorn, before following his gaze to the crowd of First Years. They weren’t the only ones staring, nearly every student who picked up a paper in the last month were all looking–directly at Harry Potter as Draco explained to him the legend of Cedric Diggory.

”... And when the boat came to shore all the Quintupeds were…” Draco suddenly noticed how quiet it had gotten, and then noticed the stares.

With ears sharp as his, Harry could pick out their murmurs.

“… That’s Harry Potter…”

“… He’s really a first year…”

“… The Maniac of St. Mungo’s…”

“… The Vampire Hunter…”

“… The Boy Who Lived…”

He could hear it all in their whispers and see it in their expressions: Fear, admiration, even anger, but most importantly… awe.

Miss Integra would be proud of the first impression Harry made.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, Transfigurations teacher, and a slew of other titles, wasn’t one to miss an opportunity, summoning forth the venerated Sorting Hat and the notably less venerated Sorting Stool. After a few moments of silence, the tattered, yet still pointy hat began to stir, before a rip near its mouth opened and it began to sing…

“COME ON AND SLAM! AND WELCOME TO THE JAM! COME ON AND SLAM! AND WELCOME TO THE-!”
Wide-eyed, Professor McGonagall grabbed the hat and smothered it into silence, before looking immediately towards one of the four tables, specifically to a pair of redhaired and freckle-faced twin boys who went from containing their giggles to laughing loudly.

Most of the Wizard students had no idea the cultural relevance of that strange yelling, but the Muggleborn and/or raised got a kick out of it.

“Hah, we’re British but we know where it’s from,” Harry said as he and Hermione shared a chuckle, while Draco, Neville, and Ron just shared confused looks.

After Fred and George Weasley were left suspended from the ceiling by their feet and the hat unjinxed, it sang its song and Professor McGonagall produced a long parchment. “When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the hat. Once it decides where you will be sorted you will take your seat at the table,” she explained before calling the first name. “Abbott, Hannah.”

As the girl in question got up and headed over, Harry looked over at the staff table and the adults who would be responsible for his education and well-being for the next nine months. Outright, he noticed that nearly all the teachers were staring at him in turn with vested interest. All except for one.

One teacher, a youngish-looking dressed in dark robes and a large purple turban was looking off to the side, as if distracted by his thoughts, and the moment Harry noticed him, he felt a burning sensation in his forehead. It actually caused him to wince, as he reached up to touch the source of his pain–the lightning-shaped scar.

When he looked towards the turbaned teacher again, he was talking amicably with Professor Slughorn, and the burning had passed. How unusual.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, I just had a thing…”

“A migraine?” she asked.

“No…”

“A seizure?”

“No… it felt like someone jamming hot needles into my forehead.”

Hermione nodded. “Ah, got a Limp Bizkit song stuck in there.”

“No, no… nevermind. Who’s that turban guy?”

Hermione looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know…” she looked to Draco. “Your finger seems to be on the pulse of Wizardry, Draco.”

“Quirinus Quirrell, he’s going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year,” Draco said.

Harry hummed. “What happened to the last one?”

“She got caught doing inappropriate things with a Seventh Year Hufflepuff and had to resign.”

Ron slowly turned his head toward Draco. “How would you know-?”

“Being the son of a member of the Board of Governors has its perks,” Draco explained.

“What other perks do you get?” a very interested Ron asked.

“Oh, lots. Best school supplies, preferential treatment in shops… and you’d be amazed what kind of things your parents will openly talk about long as you pretend to be too naïve to understand any of it.”

Hermione looked over to Harry. “Universal indeed.”

Harry smirked back and nodded.

McGonagall called out. “Ahem! Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione looked away from the conversation and with an embarrassed jump to her step hurried over to the Sorting Hat and Stool combo. Taking her seat, Hermione smiled to Professor McGonagall before the hat was placed over her head.

Unlike the students up to her, the moment it was put in place, the hat sat quiet and still, as if it was having trouble deciding. Hermione, looking up, cocked her head to the side as the hat began to grumble.

“You’re a strange one! Finally, it’s nice to have a challenge for once!” the hat then said aloud. “You’re shockingly brilliant, you’ve grown up your entire life outsmarting everyone around you…”

“Do go on,” Hermione said.

“That cunning and resourcefulness! I’ve only got one destination in mind!”

“Ravenclaw,” Hermione quipped.

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat shouted, before its facsimile of a brow quirked. “Eh?”

“Good for her,” Draco said. “She probably would’ve been killed if she went to Slytherin.”

Harry gave Draco a questioning look. “Elaborate?”

“Slytherin House rarely has any muggle-born, and those that get sorted in… they tend to get sorted out,” Draco explained

“Ominous,” Harry and Ron said together, before Neville Longbottom was called up and rather unceremoniously sorted to Gryffindor. He was in such a hurry to get to the table, that he left the Sorting Stool with the Sorting Hat still on his head.

“They don’t really sort out muggle-born, do they?” Ron asked as Neville was asked to come back with the hat.

Draco shrugged his shoulders. “Well, every other year or so since the war ended, a muggle-born or two will end up in Slytherin and usually during Christmas they will die in some tragic accident. Usually a gas main explosion that kills the entire household.”

“Is that a fact?” Harry asked.

“Well, one lucked out back in the 98-99 year when he avoided an auto accident that killed his parents over Christmas… but he was so depressed that during Easter he drowned himself in a lake.”

Ron shivered. “Blimey… that’s dark, mate.”

“Malfoy, Draco!” McGonnagall called out.

“It is what it is,” Draco said as he got up.

He walked up to Professor McGonagall but before he could even sit down, the hat said, “Look kiddo, just go to Slytherin. There’s so much gel up there the next seven kids are going to come out rocking that prissy look and I can’t bear to subject them to that.”

As the children laughed, Draco glowered at the hat. “You’ve made a powerful enemy this day,” he growled before he went to Slytherin table.

After a number of kids who would have no bearing on the story (except maybe Pansy Parkinson) got sorted, Harry was up on the Sorting Block, hands folded in his lap as Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

“Well,” the hat said in a voice so low only Harry could hear, “aren't you the formidable one? Quick with the blade, and now you want to be as quick with the wand. Gryffindor, they’re prone to get into the scrapes you’re looking for… but no. No, you’re not that sort, you come from cruelty, from death, from madness!”

Harry hummed.

“You’ve known it from a very young age, and you know it fondly. You go face the beast but you come back human. Hufflepuff, that’s where I should put you.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “Hufflepu-”

“But no, you’re dead set on…” The hat then shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”

There wasn’t as much applause as there’d been for Draco, as Harry walked over to the Slytherin table, but Draco still rather graciously shoved another Slytherin out of his chair and offered it to Harry, who took it gratefully.

As he sat, he felt that burning sensation from his scar again, and picked up a spoon to examine it. He shut his eyes tight, as the pain seemed to bore into his skull, before he took a deep breath and looked into the reflection of the spoon, directing it towards the High Table.

There was Quirinus Quirrell, staring straight in his direction.

When he turned his head to look in the High Table’s general direction, Quirrell averted his gaze and the burning stopped. Well, this was interesting.

As Harry sat back and watched Ron go up to the Sorting Stool, he began to wonder why Quirrell gave him such a bad vibe… and how long it would take for him to find the perfect time and place to end him.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the sorting hat suddenly shouted, snapping Harry from his train of thought.

Everyone in the room was staring in astonished silence, from Staff to Second Years, no one could believe what they’d just heard, and no one was more bewildered than Ron Weasley himself, who opened his mouth and shouted:

“What the fuck?!”

- - -

Okay, she could salvage this.

Integra was in the basement, where her father directed her to go in case she needed some serious salvation… and there was nothing but a tightly bound, mostly dessicated corpse down here.

This was bad, but she could salvage this.

She scanned the room. There were no weapons to be seen, nothing that looked like buttons or levers revealing more secret passages, and no tools to aid in her escape. Just the corpse and what looked like a boombox with a tape loaded in it. Why was there a boombox with a tape loaded in it?

She conceded that it was looking worse by the second and things were already shit.

On the bright side, she was in the basement, hidden-

“Oh dear Integra~”

ShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShi-

She was then shot, the bullet passing through her arm, and she fell forward as her blood splattered all over the corpse.

SHIT!

She turned around and looked up at her Uncle Richard, her unhinged, power-crazed Uncle Richard, who was disconcertingly serene as he walked up to her.

“Uncle, please tell me why you’re doing this,” Integra pleaded as calmly as she could without hollering in pain. Being shot hurt.

“Try to understand, Integra,” Richard Hellsing replied, “I waited twenty years to take the reigns from my brother. I thought him becoming a father would cause him to see the light and step aside from leading this organization.”

“You do realize I probably have at least three hundred bastard half-siblings, right?” Integra asked.

Her father may have been Protestant but as far as contraception was concerned he was a “devout” Catholic.

One of Richard’s henchmen whistled, impressed, and earned a sharp glare from his boss for it.

“Whatever the case,” he quickly said as he pressed the barrel of the pistol between her eyes, “with him out of the way, all that’s left between my birthright, my title… is my sweet little fraulein.”

Integra heard a click, and shut her eyes tightly.

Instead of the echoes of a gunshot and oblivion, Integra heard a long guitar chord, followed by a drum beat.

Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!

Opening her eyes, Integra looked up to see her Uncle staring in horror at something behind her. Slowly, she turned to look back as well, and her eyes widened as well.

See me ride out of the sunset
On your colour TV screen

The corpse was moving. It was not just moving, it was thirstily licking up the blood she had spilt, dragging his tongue through it and slurping it into its mouth.

Out for all I can get
If you know what I mean

The creature’s arms, bound behind its backs, shifted and struggled against the black bindings holding it in place, before they began to rip and tear.

Women to the left of me
And women to the right

With sickening cracks, the arms grew in size before they tore completely free, his hands slamming onto the cobblestone floor of the basement, cracking it and causing all three men to leap back in fright.

Ain’t got gun, ain’t got no knife
Don’t you start no fight…

The music trailed off and stopped, before The Crimson Fucker lifted his head, orange glowing eyes freezing Richard and his henchmen in place. Slipping his blood-dripping tongue into his mouth, Alucard grinned.

“… Cause I’m T-N-T.”

And then there was blood everywhere.

“OH WHAT THE FUCK!” the man to Richard’s left screamed as he was messily shorn in half.

“Ow my life,” the man to Richard’s right said as he was impaled, flipped upside down, and then exploded into messy chunks, sending blood and viscera splattering all over Richard and Integra.

Lifting his gun, Richard screamed like a little girl as he began shooting at Alucard, and then began screaming properly like a man as his shooting hand was sliced off by the nigh-unstoppable monster.

Her hand clamped over the gunshot wound, and covered head to toe in blood, Integra found herself at a loss for proper words to say in the situation, and opted for what just seemed to fit the situation. “Well fuck a duck.”

Falling to his knees and clutching his bloody stump, Richard whimpered as he stared up at the beast. “W-what are you? Why is there a vampire in the Hellsing Manor?”

Alucard stared down at him. “Really? Come on, Dick, you were there for the meeting, weren’t you?” He rolled his eyes. “Christ, he wasn’t.” He then shouted at Richard. “There was a meeting, Dick! Where were you, Brazil or something?!”

Richard began to sweat profusely.

Alucard looked over at Integra. “Can you believe this guy? Did Artie at least tell you, chocolate milk?”

“I didn’t find out either until Father was on his deathbed,” Integra noted.

Alucard gave pause. “Wait, Artie’s dead?”

“Yes, and Uncle Richard tried to usurp me, which is why we’re all here,” Integra answered.

“Did he die balls-deep in a hooker?”

Despite the pain of her injury, Integra was not above a flat, acerbic look. “No, but the cause of death was related.”

“Yes that sounds about right. Where’s he buried-”

“Cremation.”

Alucard looked up to the heavens. “Damn it, you really did have the last laugh!”

Well that certainly explained why his instructions for his cremation included crossing his arms over his chest with middle fingers raised before he was shoved into the oven.

“Oh well,” Alucard then said as he looked down at Richard. “I guess I’ll have to make due with the beta.”

Richard whimpered as Alucard began to advance on him, before Integra spoke up. “Not so fast, whatever you are.”

Alucard looked back at her. “Hm?”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Alucard, but you can call me The Crims-”

“Alucard,” she sharply cut him off, “this man waited until my father was dead and all the people who could protect me from him were away from my house so he could kill me and take what my father has entrusted to me. You will not drink this man’s blood, you will not kill this man.”

Richard sagged in relief, until he saw the murderous, steely cold and hard glare she locked onto him.

“A bloody death at the hands of a monster is far too good a consequence for his actions.”

There was a moment of silence before Alucard began to giggle, which turned into a chuckle, and continued to grow until it became a maniacal laughter that echoed off all the walls and into the heart of the heart of Richard’s fear.

Grabbing her shoulder as his laughter stopped, Alucard leaned close to her, grinning from ear to ear. “Well in that case… where’s the closest dairy farm?”

= = =

When Hellsing bleeds, The Crimson Fucker shall walk the Earth.

 

[MilesMortim]

Oo~hhhh! This keeps getting better and better....

I wonder if Alucard will wait and ambush Harry once he is back at Hellsing manor, or surprise him at school in full 'Crimson Fucker' style?

 

[rukia8492]

submitting form M04R

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

Hey, I added what would've been the cold open to Chapter 4 to the backend of Chapter 3. Because it all makes more sense. Check it out.

 

[NTP]

Excellent callback. I had that ideal split second of confusion before remembering.

Muito bom. Obrigado.

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

Guess what, motherfuckers?

This bitch is out the oven.


= = =


Richard: *Whimpering* Th-the following is a fan-written p-parody. Harry Potter is property of J.K Rowling and is published by Bloomsbury Publishing a-and Arthur A. Levine Books. H-Hellsing Ultimate is property of K-Kouta Hirano and S-Studio Madhouse, and licensed by Geneon, Madman Entertainment, M-Manga Entertainment, and Funimation. H-Hellsing Ultimate Abridged is the collaborative effort of T-TeamFourStar. P-p-please support the Official Release.

Richard: There I said it, now tell me what is going to… wait… what are you going to do with that cow?! N-no! NO NOOOOO! *Shlorp*


“Welcome home, Harry, how was your first week of school?” Integra greeted Harry from behind the heavy oak desk in what was now her office in Hellsing Manor, overlooking the distant London Skyline from the second floor.

In front of the desk, Harry bowed his head. “Largely uneventful.”

Tuesday

Professor McGonagall smashed open the door to Dumbledore’s office, wild-eyed with fright. “Harry Potter has gotten into a fight with Peeves! There are knives everywhere!”

Dumbledore spat out his tea. Behind him, his phoenix Fawkes squawked loudly in surprise.

“The classes aren’t very difficult in the least, much easier than the primary education I’ve received from Grandfather and Ms. Pinkstone.”

Wednesday

Professor Slughorn swung open the door and marched in. “Professor Dumbledore, Harry’s somehow made an Essence of Insanity Potion! Half of my students are rioting in the halls, and the other half think they’re trees!”

Dumbledore jumped from the sudden arrival, startling Fawkes–who flapped his wings rapidly.

“Much harder to deal with are the teachers, honestly.”

Thursday

Pansy Parkinson opened the door to Dumbledore’s office, terrified. “Professor Quirrell’s stuck to the ceiling! And on fire!”

Dumbledore nearly choked on a lemon drop. Fawkes exploded.

“But I think the next week will be much better.”

Friday

An almost giddy Professor McGonagall swept into Dumbledore’s office. “Professor! Potter has exorcised Peeves! Ah, after one thousand years, we’re free!”

Dumbledore, halfway to signing a letter of expulsion, looked up and smiled before crumpling up the letter and tossing it at the pile of ashes that was once Fawkes, who incinerated it when he flared back to life.

“I’m glad it’s gone so well for you, Harry. It’s been better than my week,” Integra said with a weary sigh.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Richard attempted to kill me so he could gain control of The Organization. He almost succeeded, except that Father told me of the Unstoppable Vampire God we keep locked in the basement. Suffice it to say, Richard is now stuffed up the bum of a cow on a farm off the A10.”

Harry processed that for a moment. “We have a vampire?”

Alucard passed through the wall holding a stack of CDs, causing Harry to jump a bit. “God damn it, Freddie’s dead, Jerry’s dead, Kurt’s dead, Bradley’s dead, all of Metallica is dead.”

Integra looked up at him. “Metallica isn’t dead-”

Alucard held up a copy of the “I Disappear” single.

Integra winced in sympathy before looking to Harry. “This is Alucard, Alucard this is Harry, my personal butler.”

“Sup, Mini-Walter,” Alucard said in greeting.

“Charmed,” Harry replied.

“You certainly are,” Alucard hinted.

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“What?” Alucard immediately answered.

“Now that introductions are out of the way, there is much work to be done,” Integra declared. “While my Uncle is out of the way, he has supporters in the MOD and in MI6–turning or terminating them will be a top priority in the immediate-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Chocolate Milk.”

Harry wondered what he meant by Chocolate Milk and then remembered how inexplicably brown Integra was.

“What is it, Alucard?”

“Well, while we were making some Stuffed Tenderloin a la Hellsing, I read some of Dick’s mind to acquire the nouns necessary for dealing with the supporter problem and then went for a little walk.”

Integra was about to ask what he meant by that, when Walter, looking rather shaken, stepped in. “Miss Integra, Sir Irons has called and while I could hardly understand his incoherent yelling, I was able to make out something about a cow pasture and several department heads within the MOD and MI6.”

“Completely unrelated, but I learned that you can stuff at least three guys up a cow’s butt before you got problems,” Alucard said.

Harry and Walter stared at Alucard, silent, while Integra just reached up and adjusted her glasses.

“Well done, Alucard. You should go on more walks.”

She would come to regret saying this.

Harry Potter and the Endless Night
Chapter 4: Big Dog on Campus​

“… And then I spent the entire weekend helping him update his media collection,” Harry finished explaining to Ron and Draco in the Great Hall. The Hufflepuff had come to join the two upstanding young men at the Slytherin Table despite the glares of disapproval from the Prefect of the Gryffindor Table.

Ron blinked owlishly. “A vampire that likes Muggle entertainment, that’s bloody weird Harry.”

“That’s your concern, not him shoving people up cows arses?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders. “Well he is an Unstoppable Vampire God.”

Draco was practically seething with jealousy. All his family had was a ruddy House Elf. The Hellsings had a Witch, a Vampire Hunter, The-Boy-Who-In-Fact-Lived, and an actual Vampire as servants!

He was being a good sport about it at least. “How does one become a Hellsing Butler?”

Harry lifted his right hand and began counting off the requirements. “To make the cut, one must undergo strict training in Cooking, cleaning, groundskeeping, chauffeuring, serving…”

Draco nodded with Harry.

Harry moved over to the left hand. “… Unarmed combat, armed combat, firearms, poisons, improvised weapons…”

Draco stopped nodding as Harry went back to his right hand.

“… Sailing, driving, piloting, stealth, infiltration…”

Now Ron was staring blankly, as several other Slytherins looked over to Harry, who’d gone back to his left again.

“… Assassination, body disposal, and first aid. And that’s just to start.”

Draco stared at Harry, who then smiled brightly. “But before you can start training in that you have to swear unfailing loyalty to the Hellsing Organization and to its head.” The smile became colder as Harry leveled an icy gaze on Draco. “Which includes keeping any and all personal feelings you may have about the head of the Organization to yourself and never acting on them. Ever. Even if the opportunity presented itself to you perfectly.”

Ron looked back and forth between the two boys, and expected Draco to drop dead on the spot. However, the young Malfoy took Harry’s intimidation as a challenge. “… That doesn’t sound too difficult.”

“The organization has a term for men who answer like that, Malfoy.” Harry said after a brief moment.

“And that would be?”

“Employed.”

Draco did his level best not to be all smug about the praise. Before he could fail at it, however, Hermione calmly strode over from the Ravenclaw table. Harry, Draco, and Ron looked over to her, and found that she was in fact calm in the same sense the ocean was calm as it retreated from shore before a massive tsunami.

Across the table from them, sitting between a pretty blonde-haired girl building a tower from her potatoes and a brunette more enthralled with the book on her lap than her lunch, a raven-haired, hard-faced girl with a bobbed hairstyle glanced up and smirked at Hermione–who folded her arms as she looked down upon her three male friends.

“Is everything okay, Hermione?” Harry asked.

Hermione tightened her jaw for a moment before she answered. “No it is not, Harry. Someone took my copy of Hogwarts: A History and wrote ‘Filthy-faced Mudblood’ on the inside with ink that won’t come out.”

She took a deep, fury staying breath. “I’m understandably upset about the slur–and irrationally furious that my book was defaced in such a manner. That said, with the exception of you, Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, I am going to question every Slytherin at this table as to the identity of the book defacer. Depending on how you answer, I might have to kick your arse.”

To emphasize her threat, the table the Slytherin children and Ron were sitting at shook violently, loudly rattling the silver and flatware atop it..

The raven-haired girl stopped smirking at Hermione and looked at her food. The blonde devouring her tower of mashed potatoes, and the brunette more interested in her book than her food both immediately edged away from her without diverting attention away from their preoccupation.

Hermione looked over at the incriminating move, and sighed. “Pansy Parkinson, was it you?”

Had anyone gotten a proper look at Pansy’s face at that moment, they would’ve seen the fear a child cornered by a very large predator. It was fleeting, however, because in that fleeting moment she rationalized that she was a Parkinson and a Pureblood, and as such, she could easily hold her own against an egg-headed, bushy-haired, buck-toothed, mud-blooded Ravenclaw.

“It was me, Granger, what of it?” she challenged.

The egg-headed, bushy-haired, buck-toothed, mud-blooded Ravenclaw pitched herself into a diving leap across the table and tackled Pansy off her bench and onto the floor.

“Bloody wicked!” Ron exclaimed as he stood up on the bench to get a good look of the beatdown before the inevitable swooping in of the Professors.

“Punch her gob in!” Goyle cheered.

“Knock her teeth out!” Crabbe added.

Harry took a sip of his pumpkin juice before looking to Draco, who had begun cutting into the steak on his plate. “I’m thinking of asking Miss Integra to hire her up as well, you don’t have any problem working alongside a Muggleborn, do you?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Draco replied before resident Keeper of the Keys and half-giant Rubeus Hagrid finally intervened, picking the two girls up by the backs of their robes and holding them out of reach of one another’s viciously flailing limbs.

“I WILL END THE CONCEPT OF YOUR EXISTENCE, GRANGER!” a bloody-nosed Pansy yelled.

“I WILL CARVE ‘SCUM-EATING TROLLOP’ ON THE INSIDE OF THE BACK OF YOUR SKULL!” Hermione, bloody scratches raked across her face, shrieked back.

Harry felt that burning in his scar again, and glanced towards the High Table. There was Quirrell again, avoiding his gaze.


“For someone as brilliant as you are, you are frighteningly quick to violence,” Ron said to Hermione later that afternoon in the library.

“Well it’s like I’ve said before, Ron, I was bullied a lot in primary school. It’s completely eroded my ability to suffer harassment from anyone. I would’ve had to change schools repeatedly if I didn’t keep my grades up so high.”

Neville, who had been studying with Hermione, wanted to express more alarm about her violent tendencies–but he was more concerned about the acceptance of said violent tendencies by the school staff. Sure, Hermione was wonderfully kind to him, but she got into a fist fight in the middle of lunch in front of nearly every teacher and got away with it without even any points being taken from Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Wasn’t Gryffindor supposed to be the violent maniac house? It had three Weasleys!

“No one told me that Wizarding School would be this terrifying,” he said aloud.

“It’s not that bad,” Harry said as he looked up, he was sitting across the table piled with (mostly Hermione’s) books, reading a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Neville grimaced. “It’s easy for your to say, you hunt vampires and werewolves, and leprechauns for a living!”

“I’ve never actually seen a leprechaun before,” Harry admitted. “What are they like?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders. “I heard when you catch them, they give you muggle breakfast cereal instead of gold. What’s up with that?”

Harry and Hermione shared a look, and silently agreed it’d be funnier if they just said nothing.

Neville sighed and hung his head. “I’m barely above a squib. Why couldn’t I have smashed my head open when Great Uncle Algie pushed me out the window?”

Harry wanted to punch Neville’s Great Uncle Algie so very badly. “Neville, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll do fine, it’s only the start of the first school year.”

Hermione agreed. “That’s right, you’re going to be a great wizard.”

“Gryffindors always turn out all right,” Ron said. “My brothers Bill and Charlie were terrors, and they came out great. Bill works for Gringotts as a Curse Breaker, and Charlie punches dragons.”

And while they were on the subject of punchable things, up walked Pansy. “Granger.”

Hermione looked up at her. “Please tell me you’re here to give me an excuse.”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Pansy replied as she folded her arms and looked down her nose at Hermione. “You’re such a smart girl, how are you with a wand?”

“Splendid,” Hermione replied sharply. “Professor Flitwick even says I have potential as a duelist.”

“Good to hear. I challenge you to a Wizard’s duel. Wands only, no contact–which means you’re forbidden to lay your mannish hands on your opponent.”

Hermione looked down at her hands, and then back up at Pansy with even hotter contempt. “Where and when?”

“Midnight, the cordoned off corridor. No one will interrupt what I’m going to do to you.” With that, Pansy smirked and left, Hermione glaring after her.

“Oh no, Hermione don’t do it! You’ll get expelled for sure!” Neville quickly pleaded.

“Bollocks to that, I’m kicking her arse,” she seethed back.

“But dueling is forbidden!”

“I know that, Neville.”

“If you get caught past, you’ll definitely get in trouble.”

“I know that, Ron.”

“You could always tell a Professor that Pansy plans to be out past curfew.”

“I know that, Harry. But I am going to duel her.” Hermione lifted her right hand, balling it into a fist. “The bitch said I had ‘Man Hands’.”

The three boys looked away from the great aura of anger that radiated from Hermione and silently agreed that while they conceded that girls were becoming increasingly interesting to them, they were still super weird.


So it came to be that later that evening, that Hermione crept out of Ravenclaw Tower, her robe flowing behind her as she made her way down the spiral staircase with fire in her eyes and attempted murder on her mind. EgyptAir Flight 990 just took off and it was on its bloody date with oblivion.

At the bottom of the steps, she scanned the corridor for any sign of the Gray Lady, or any of the school’s ghosts, and after seeing none stepped out into the hallway.

Harry was standing atop the arch of the doorway, looking down at her. “In Wizard Duels you usually have a Second to pick up where the duel left off in the event you die.”

Hermione jumped and looked up at him. “Oh, hello Harry.” She looked away again as Harry dropped down and landed next to her. “I highly doubt that I’m going to be killed by Pansy Parkinson, but thank you for the consideration.”

Together, they began walking for the forbidden third floor corridor, Harry sliding his hands into his pockets as he strode shoulder to shoulder with Hermione to her left. “So, do you have a strategy for Pansy?”

“I’m going snap her wand like a twig and punch her in the face repeatedly with my man hands.”

Wow, she was really bitter about that. “Well, I’ll be there to prevent any cheating.”

“Me too, the more witnesses the better, right?” Ron said as he emerged from around the corner as they entered Hogwarts’ Trophy Room and joined Hermione at her right.

Harry and Hermione looked to him in surprise. “Ron, you didn’t have to,” the former said.

“I want to. Besides, I want to know what they’re hiding back there.”

Harry hummed. “Well, I hadn’t even consider that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as they reached the door. “Now, now… it’s likely some manner of renovations.”

“Renowhat?” Ron asked.

“Renovations, you know, modernizing the building?” Hermione said as they stepped beyond the threshold and into the half-circle of dim light that illuminated the otherwise dark corridor.

Harry was quick realized how odd that sounded. “Hermione, why would they need to close down a part of a magical school to renovate it?”

Hermione stopped, and palmed her face in embarrassment as Harry and Ron shared a light laugh. “Oh, I can’t believe I forgot. Someone please kill me now.”

The heavy door suddenly slammed shut behind them and when the three whirled around they heard Pansy’s voice from the other side. “Gladly, Granger. Colloportus!”

Hermione quickly rushed to the door and grabbed the handle. “Parkinson you twat!”

Harry pulled out his wand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He waved his wand and pointed it at the door. “Alohomora.”

The door unlocked with a click, but when Hermione opened it, there was a solid stone wall beyond it instead of the third floor trophy room.

Harry lowered the wand. “Well, that’s not right.”

Hermione had her wand out and pointed it at the wall. “I’ve learned a spell for this.”

Before she could cast it, however, all three students heard a low, angry growling from behind them. Harry looked back, adjusting his glasses as he peered into the dark. His eyes widened when he saw three sets of glowing eyes glaring at the three students.

Harry lifted his wand aloft. “Lumos…“

A light grew from his wand, before the rest of the room’s lighting came to life and revealed the form of the beast.

They were dogs, but their size implied they were gigantic, easily as big as a double decker bus. As the lights grew brighter and revealed their absurd body plan, Harry remembered Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

“Why is there a giant three headed dog in this corridor?” he asked even as he pulled on his gloves.

Barking viciously, the cerberus launched into a full gallop straight for them.

Hermione and Ron promptly panicked as they fled the doorway for the nearest corner of the hallway.

Far more composed, Harry threw knives into the faces and mouths of all three heads, the sting of blessed silver causing the polycephalic dog to rear on its hind legs and howl in pain. Tossing a single knife into the air, Harry caught it as dozens more appeared in the air around him. When he threw the knife, the others followed, embedding themselves into the beast’s chest, forelegs, and necks.

“The Church of England sends its regards to your master, hound of Hell,” Harry muttered, before the dog slammed its forepaws down and began to tense up. Then, like a shower of steel, the knives dislodged themselves its body and fell to the floor before the bloodied beast lunged for Harry with all three sets of teeth bared.

Harry jumped and kicked off the wall over the dog’s heads and ran down its back before springing to the floor. Landing behind it, he turned to face it as it rounded and charged for him. The middle head of the dog attacked, Harry sliding under it and throwing two knives into its neck before rolling out of the way of the paw it attempted to crush his head with.

Getting up, he jumped back from the gnashing jaws of the leftmost head, and dodged them right into a lunge from the middle head. Palming its nose, Harry vaulted over its snout and landed on its crown. Throwing a knife into the dead center of its skull, he only had a moment to reflect on the knife bouncing off before he was tossed off by a rapid shake of its head.

“What the hell do you do to stop this thing?!” Harry asked after he rolled back on the floor. He jumped to avoid the right head’s jaws and threw more knives into it, causing it to rear back again. As he hopped back to open the distance between him and the dog, his heel struck against an unexpected ledge, and he fell onto his back atop a wooden trap door.

“What the…?” Harry stopped before looking up at the dog bearing down on him.

“Bloody hell it’s going to kill him! And then it’s going to kill us!” Ron yelped. “Oh my Go-!”

Hermione, who had managed to calm down from a terrified panic, grabbed him by his collar. “Ron! Ron! Keep calm!”

She looked at the large dog, as it continued to try to get Harry into its belly in as many pieces as possible. “We have to help Harry!”

Ron looked at Hermione, at the dog, and then back at Hermione. “HOW?!”

Hermione looked back at the three headed dog, then back at Ron. “I have a plan, but you have to absolutely trust me.”

Hesitant for a moment, Ron took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. What’s your plan?”

Hermione waved her wand and pointed it at the three-headed dog’s rightmost head. “Incendio!”

A fireball shot from the tip of her wand, smacked right head of the polycephalic dog and exploded, causing it to howl loudly with pain. All three heads then turned to look at the two of them.

Ron let out a squeal of fear before Hermione grabbed his shoulders and leaned close. “Now we use our legs and run like hell.”

The dog, mid-charge, pounced on the two other students, who quickly scrambled out of the way and ran for their lives towards Harry.

“Hermione I thought you had the door!” Harry called.

“I have a better idea!” Hermione shouted as she threw another Incendio at the dog’s right head. “Harry! Focus all your attacks on the middle head!”

Harry looked up at the dog, and threw a single knife at its nose, nailing it clean in the right nostril causing it to yelp in pain. Enraged, it only sped up trying to run down Hermione and Ron so it could get to Harry.

Hermione grabbed Ron and dove to the dog’s left, its gnashing teeth barely missing her bushy hair as it barreled past for Harry.

Harry waited and rolled under the middle head’s lunge. Scrambling underneath its body and back onto its feet, he got up and ran to join Ron and Hermione, who were running towards the blocked door.

“This is bloody mental!” Ron yelped as the beast gained on them.

“It’s exciting, though!” Harry replied.

Hermione looked back at the charging dog, then at Ron, before she shoved him to the left and dove to the right.

Stumbling across the floor, and scrambling into a corner, Ron looked up at the dog as it went from a gallop to a slow stalk, glaring at all three of them.

Harry backed against the doorway, and looked over at Hermione. “Okay, now what? We still don’t have the firepower to take this thing down.”

“You’re right, we don’t!” Hermione said as the three heads growled loudly.

“Then what do we do?!” Ron yelled, before the dog lunged…

… And fell flat on its chins.

Ron, uncomprehending, stared at the three-headed dog as it lay sprawled out in front of them. “What the…?”

Harry tilted his head. “Okay?”

The dog got back up, snarling. Its left head gashed its teeth at Ron, the right head barked at Hermione, while the middle head growled at Harry. Once again it lunged and fell flat on all three chins. Each head wanting a particular child, but none agreeing on a particular order.

“You were reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, weren’t you?” Hermione asked Harry. “Like the Runespoor, each head has an independent mind, and when those minds can’t agree on something, this happens.”

The dog reared up again, the heads shaking out the cobwebs before the left head growled at the right and middle head. The middle head, taking offense, growled loudly back the left, before snapping at it with its teeth. The left head, grossly offended, actually bit the middle head, which was also bitten by the right head and it cascaded magnificently from there, the three headed dog prancing around the broad corridor, its heads locked in combat.

Harry looked to Hermione, and smiled.

“You’re going to say: ‘You’re bloody dangerous, Hermione Granger’,” Hermione stated with a smirk.

“You’re bloody dangerous, Hermione Granger,” Harry said, before he laughed.

At that moment, Harry was bowled over by the stone wall blocking the doorway tumbling onto him as a pile of dust. Through the dust cloud, the towering form Rubeus Hagrid emerged, with umbrella in hand.

“FLUFFY! ‘EEL!” the half-giant bellowed, prompting the now-named Fluffy to stop fighting and obediently lay flat before his master.

Hermione, seeing Harry getting up from the pile of dust left by the transformed door, looked to Ron and mouthed “Fluffy?”, earning a confused shake of the redhaired boy’s head.

“Merlin’s balls, if yeh’ve eaten-” he stopped and looked down at Harry, and then side to side at Hermione and Ron. “You’re alive?!”

“Yes, but not for lack of trying on Fluffy’s part,” Hermione answered.

Hagrid gawked at all three children, and let out a boisterous, relieved laugh. “Not a scratch on yeh!”

He helped Harry up to his feet and dusted him off, as Professor McGonagall and Flich came in next. Seeing the bloodied state of the hellhound, Filch laughed. “I told you the kid could hold his own against your mutt, Rubeus.”

“It’s a draw, Argus,” Hagrid muttered back as McGonagall took over.

“You three! Do you have any idea how many rules you’ve broken?!” the head of Gryffindor House demanded.

“A fair amount?” Harry asked.

“Yes. One hundred points from Slytherin, fifty points from Ravenclaw, and fifty points from Hufflepuff for these infractions,” McGonagall sternly declared.

Harry recoiled some. “A hundred? Why?”

“Because Pansy Parkinson is the reason that you’re all out here.” McGonagall looked over to Neville, who looked relieved to see the three other students alive, and morose that they were probably going to hate him forever for snitching.

Harry, seeing Neville’s look, smiled. “Thanks Neville, we probably wouldn’t have made it out if you hadn’t gotten help.”

“Pansy’s shot Slytherin in the foot for the House Cup, so I feel better,” Hermione said.

Her expression then darkened as she muttered, “Another sacrifice is required, however…”

Clearly to whatever profane Muggle God she worshipped to have her evil Muggle mental powers, Ron thought.

“Well then off to bed, all of you!” McGonagall barked. “Argus, see Potter to Slytherin, Hagrid, take Wesley to Hufflepuff. I’ll see these two to their towers.”

“Yeah, of course,” Filch said as he prodded Harry with his broom. “On with ye!”

As staff and students went their separate ways, Harry slipped his hands into his pockets and hummed. “Mr. Filch?”

Filch snorted and looked towards Harry. “Yeah, boyo?”

“What is Fluffy supposed to be guarding in there?”

“Yer mum, boyo,” Filch hissed.

“... My mum’s dead,” Harry said slowly.

“I know! So ‘e’s got an easy job, don’t he?” Filch asked.

“... You’re an arse,” Harry said plainly. Filch huffed. “And that didn’t make me less curious about it, either.”

“Damn,” Filch grumbled. “All right, look… Fluffy ain’t the only thing waitin’ to spring on whatever goes down that hall. There’s a big to-do with wha’ever’s up there, but God forbid they tell me what it is. I’m just the hired help, hrff… Ya find out, tell me will ya? I wanna know what’s gonna get me killed, or mangled, or me soul ripped out of my chest.”

“Will do,” Harry replied. “If you die, can I have Mrs. Norris?”

“You already got a pet!” Filch grunted. “She’s goin’ to my niece!”

“You have a niece?” Harry asked.

“I got lotsa things,” Filch ground out. “And she’s cute, too, so don’t think about makin’ any moves on her!”

“I’m eleven,” Harry said.

“So? I’m lettin’ you know now so ya don’t get ideas later, you lousy Potter men are all the same way with women…”

Harry nodded and kept pace with Filch. He actually had something interesting to bring home to Miss Integra this weekend. What on Earth could they be hiding below that trap door?


“One hundred points! We’re one hundred points in the hole and it’s only been a week!” Blonde, mashed potatoes-obsessed Slytherin First Year Tracey Davis bemoaned as she, Pansy, and fellow roommate–book-obsessed Slytherin Daphne Greengrass–made their way to breakfast.

“From the sound of it, Potter and the Weasleypuff snuck out to be Granger’s partner in the duel and they all got caught by Filch. Every house but Gryffindor lost points,” Daphne said without looking up from her own copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

“Ugh! We’re going to lose the House Cup to Gryffindor because you had to go after a Ravenclaw!” Tracey whined to Pansy.

“Hmph, the Mudblood put her hands on me.” Pansy clenched her fists. “She was supposed-”

“To get mauled by a giant three-headed dog.”

“Mauled by a giant three-headed dog!” Pansy’s eyes flew wide. “Huh?!”

Hermione reached over her shoulder and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt before turning her around to face her. Marching her, she drove her back up against the wall and glared at Pansy as she clenched her free hand into a fist and lifted it.

“My friends and I nearly died you twat!” Hermione hissed at her as she easily held Pansy down despite her resistance.

“You’d save me a lot of trouble if you did,” Pansy sneered, “Mudblood.”

Pansy shut her eyes and flinched when Hermione cocked back her fist to drive it flat into her nose. However, the blow didn’t come.

Opening her eyes, she blinked when she saw that Professor Quirrell was holding Hermione’s fist back. The turbaned teacher was looking down upon her with an uncharacteristic gravity in his expression, like he was actually succeeding at being intimidating

“Miss Granger, while other t-teachers will excuse your deplorable, brazen behavior on account of your prodigious intellect, I will not. If I catch wind that you’ve continued to bully Miss Parkinson, I will give you detention. Do you understand?”

He let go of Hermione’s arm, and she lowered her hand. Taking a deep breath, and nodded to Professor Quirrell. “Sorry, Professor Quirrell.”

“And to Miss P-Parkinson?” Professor Quirrell suggested.

Hermione looked to Pansy, who was smirking rather proudly that she’d been saved from having her face rearranged in alphabetical order, and released her grip. “I’m sorry, Pansy.”

“There we are,” Quirrell said, pleased to see the situation resolved. “Now head along to breakfast now, Granger.”

Hermione turned and walked away briskly, her hands clenching to fists and shaking as she departed. As Stacey and Daphne continued on without her, leaving Pansy with Quirrell, she turned her head and looked up at him with grateful adoration.

Quirrell smiled coldly down at her, before speaking in a low voice. “You did very well, Pansy.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” she said softly, eagerly back to him as her eyes glazed.

“Now then,” he said in a raspy, powerful voice not quite his. “… There is still much work to be done.”


= = =


OHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

[rukia8492]

this will get interesting

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

Happy Boxing Day!

= = =

Filch: The following is a fan-written parody. Harry Potter is property of J.K Rowling and is published by Bloomsbury Publishing and Arthur A. Levine Books. Hellsing Ultimate is property of Kouta Hirano and Studio Madhouse, and licensed by Geneon, Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, and Funimation. Hellsing Ultimate Abridged is the collaborative effort of TeamFourStar. Please support the Official Release.

Filch: Now I’d best be on my way, the torture chambers don’t run themselves.


“I gotta say, Mini-Walter, I like the knife throwing, but you’ll never be able to really appreciate watching someone’s head explode,” Alucard said to Harry as the two walked through a forest around the midnight hour. “We need to get you a gun.”

Harry scanned the trees around them, then looked up to Alucard. “I have several guns, actually.”

“You do not have guns, you have Glocks,” Alucard corrected, “The key difference being that one is used to kill things, and the other is used to make Americans feel more secure about brown people looking at them funny.”

Harry looked down the path ahead. “Well I still prefer knives to guns."  Harry's tone became menacing as he stared into oblivion. "There's nothing more satisfying than the rush I get stabbing deeply into someone and watching their life drain from them.”

Alucard grinned. “Ah, the intimate killer. I can appreciate that; I myself like to indulge in a little impalement when the mood is right.”

“Careful, you’ll burn my ears off with such bawdy talk.”

Harry looked around for any of those annoying little busybodies that began following him around since he began going to Wizarding School.

“Still,” Alucard said, “There’s something to be said of a gun.”

“And that is?” Harry asked.

Before Alucard could answer, there was a cracking and splintering of branches, before a young woman dressed in a red mini skirt, purple fishnets, combat boots, and black leather corset fell from the trees and landed in front of them in an excessively sexy three-point crouch. She had beautiful pale skin (sans the self-inflicted cutting scars up and down her arms), long ebony hair with purple streaks and red tips that reached her mid-back, and icy blue eyes like limpid tears.

The painfully goth woman stood up. She seemed to recognize Harry and bared her surprisingly straight fangs. She then spoke.

“My name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I’ve been sent here from the future to-”

Unceremoniously, Alucard drew his titanium nitride-finished Hellsing ARMS Casull, took aim, and fired at the goff. The explosive .454 round blew much of her head off in messy chunks of bloody meat, bone, and purple highlighted black hair.

Alucard looked to Harry. “That.”

Harry, impressed, nodded. “Well said.”

Harry Potter and the Endless Night
Chapter 5: The Saint Nick Versus​

“Ah, Christmas, my favorite time of the year. A chance to sit by the fire, enjoy some fine wine, and spend time with those you hate a little less than everyone else,” Alucard said as he indulged in some wine with two youngsters in his basement.

“Quite,” Walter said over his own glass.

“Indeed,” Carlotta agreed.

“It won’t be quite the same without Arthur around, damn his soul,” Walter said over his glass.

Carlotta stirred the wine in her glass with the slightest movement of her wrist. “We can’t expect Sir Integra to throw a Christmas Party like he did.”

Alucard smiled fondly. “Good times, those. I remember the last party I before I was locked up.”

“Yes, and so does the South of London,” said Walter, who wanted to forget as much as the South of London.

“Well we need to do something. Much as I enjoy reminiscing about all the Krauts we killed,” he said to Walter, “and staring at your fascinatingly resilient tits,” he said to Carlotta, “It just won’t be Christmas without a proper party.”

Walter hummed. “Well, Sir Integra and Harry won’t be in for the next several days. I can’t see why a party isn’t out of the question.”

Alucard would throw one even if it was. And on that note, Alucard emptied the wine glass and tossed it aside. “Walter, you call up some hookers. Witch tits? Find me a Challenger Tank. We’re having a Christmas Party that’ll have Ol’ Artie crawling out of Hell to get in on!”

“Cruiser Mark Eight, Challenger 1, or 2?” she asked.

“Whichever you think will be harder to wrap around a telephone pole, I wanna work for it this year!”


A long, chilling shiver ran through Integra as she sat in the back seat of her car.

“Are you cold, Sir Integra?” Harry, who was sitting next to her and conspicuously dressed in more pedestrian attire, asked.

“No… I just had a bad feeling about Alucard,” Integra said.

“I think Alucard is the last person you should worry about,” Harry assured her.

“I know,” Integra gravely replied.

“Everyone else though…” their driver said with a chuckle.

His attempt at lightening the mood was missed somewhat by Integra and dismissed outright by Harry’s eye roll.

As Walter was vampire-sitting, the two children were being driven through the snow-covered streets of Surrey, England by one of the Hellsing Organization’s military arm–Captain Gareth Henderson.

Harry wasn’t particularly fond of any of Hellsing’s regular soldiers. While they were fantastic at their job, they had a very poor tendency of forgetting that Harry was well and capable of doing his. Still, Integra admired them and even knew all their names so he kept his poor opinion of them to himself.

Integra looked meaningfully at her butler. “Are you nervous, Harry?”

“A little,” Harry admitted.

“We can leave at any time. Just say the word and we’ll be back at Buckingham Palace with the Queen and the Family in an instant,” Integra reassured him.

Harry looked out the window at the Christmas-lit houses they slowly passed on their way to their destination. “No, it’s fine. I mean this is my family. I didn’t think I had one of my own, well… other than Grandfather and Miss Pinkstone and Sir Arthur and you. I want to make a good impression on all of them, and maybe even learn a little more about my parents through them.”

Several Days Ago…

Sir Integra Hellsing was leader of a paramilitary organization dedicated to eradicating evil creatures that threatened crown and country, noble by birth, and somewhere in the top 50 in line to the throne itself. However, at the end of the day she was still a twelve year old girl who liked twelve year old girl things and that’s why Dumbledore and Harry apparated into her office to find her dancing to N*Sync.

“Sir Integra?” Harry asked as he tried to repress his smile as she danced in time with the chorus of the catchy pop tune from over the pond.

Somehow hearing Harry’s voice over the very loud music, Integra froze mid step and whirled around to face her Butler and the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

“H-HARRY!” she shrieked, her face a brilliant shade of red.

“Oh, I rather like this music,” Dumbledore said cheerfully before Integra slammed down her finger on the stop button of the CD player.

Taking a deep breath to regain her composure, she quietly pretended the embarrassment never occurred. “Professor Dumbledore, to what do I owe the pleasure of you arriving to my home…  which is supposed to be warded against Apparition.”

“Ah yes, I noticed that. You may want to have those looked at,” Dumbledore suggested, “But I brought Harry back here personally for Christmas Holiday because I wanted to bring to your attention something that could benefit not only Harry but your organization as well.”

Integra sat down at her desk. “I’m listening.”

“Well, there’s an ancient ritual called sacrificial protection wherein if one willingly chooses to be killed to protect someone that they love, then the loved one will be protected from any and all dark magic cast upon them from the killer and those connected to him,” Dumbledore explained.

Integra furrowed her brow. "But wait, wouldn't that mean that someone Harry loves would have to die for him?"

"Someone already did. The scar on Harry's forehead is the very point that he was struck by the Killing Curse. Unless such a protection was cast on him, he would have certainly be killed."

Integra blinked and then reasoned it out. “So Harry is immune to Dark Magic.”

“For the most part. There is is a secondary ritual that will bolster the original protection. This could be of great use to you, specifically against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters… of which there are many.”

Integra stopped. “Wait, isn’t Lord Voldemort dead?”

“Everyone seems to think so, sir,” Harry replied.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to inquire about this one myself,” Alucard said as he materialized through the wall, “If I remember correctly, I saw Voldie blow up into chunks from a Killing Curse coming back at him and unless you’re me you don’t come back from that.”

He stopped and considered the implications… before a great and terrible grin spread across his lips. “Oh please tell me he came back from that.”

Dumbledore stared at Alucard. “Beg your pardon… but you would be…?”

“Oh, this is Alucard, the most powerful weapon in the Hellsing Organization’s arsenal. When there are things I want especially dead and to know that I want them dead, I send him.”

Alucard grinned. “But you might know me as…”

“The Crimson Fucker,” Dumbledore said in awe.

The Crimson Fucker, who faced Voldemort and killed him was also Dracula, a vampire so powerful at his height that no wizard worth his salt could lay so much as a cantrip on him.

It’d been so long since Dumbledore had been so erect.

Alucard hummed. “And you… you’re Albus Dumbledore! I’ve heard about you during the war!”

Dumbledore breathed out a humble sigh, but was inside giddy as a schoolgirl to be recognized by the Crimson Fucker. “Oh, I didn’t do much-”

“Mini-Walter, I want you to get a good look at this son of a bitch, he killed almost as many Nazis as Walter and Me… purely through collateral damage.”

Integra was almost hesitant to ask. “… What were you trying to kill?”

“Not so much kill as forcibly restrain,” Dumbledore replied with a small hint of embarrassment. Alas, Gellert had to involve his followers… and those two SS Battalions, and that Panzer Battalion, and that Bomber wing… and all of those werewolves–he still felt a little awful about incinerating that one Captain’s entire unit.

With a somewhat raised respect for the old Headmaster, Integra sat up a little straighter. “You can tell me more of it later. Now then, how exactly can Harry gain invulnerability from Voldemort and his followers?”

“It’s rather simple, I can cast a charm on Harry that strengthens the Sacrificial Protection for as long as he is allowed into the home of a blood relative,” Dumbledore replied.

Integra grew surprised. “He has living blood relatives?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “A muggle aunt, Petunia Dursley.”

The Present

“You needn’t worry, Harry,” Captain Henderson said. “At the end of the day, no matter how different or awful they are, family will always be who you've always called it. And it’s like you said, the Hellsing Organization will always be there for you, even us regular blokes”

Harry looked over at the soldier. “Thank you for the platitude, but I didn’t ask for your opinion on the matter. Please just focus on driving and dying when we need you to.”

Integra pinched his cheek, indicating that he had gone outside the acceptable limit of backsass in her company.

“Ow!”

Chuckling, Henderson pulled into the driveway. “Here we are, 4 Privet Drive.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Integra said as Harry immediately moved to get out of the car so he could let her out. Much to his chagrin, she chose to let herself out.

“Sir…” he tried to say.

“You’re not serving as my butler this evening, Harry. Just worry about getting to know your family and having a fine time with them. It’s Christmas after all,” Integra ordered him.

“Of course, sir,” Harry said while reflexively bowing.

Captain Henderson then offered a bit of advice. “Even if you don’t have a fine time, remember that they’re family and whatever happens try to enjoy the spectacle.”

Harry gave Henderson a dry look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means no family is perfect, and no Christmas Dinner is perfect without a disaster.”

“You’ve been to too many Hellsing Christmas parties,” Harry criticized.

With Captain Henderson behind them, the two children walked up to the front door. After a moment of hesitation, Harry reached up and rang the doorbell and waited. Soon enough they heard heavy footsteps from the other side, and the door opened to reveal a great mountain of a man with a large face and a bushy mustache.

Vernon Dursley looked down upon the two children on his doorstep, and immediately became drawn to the familiar face the boy had. It took him back, immediately, to a cocky cock who rode on a broom and claimed to have an income of pure gold.

The temptation to slam the door in the faces of the lot of them sang in his ear loudly, but he ignored it.

“Ah, you’re Lily’s boy,” he said gruffly.

Harry quickly nodded. “Yes, er… Harry.”

“VERNON WHO’S AT THE DOOR?!” a loud voice bellowed from further in the house, causing both the children, their escort, and their greeter to jump.

Vernon paled slightly and looked back. “It’s Harry, he’s arrived.”

Heavier footsteps, approached the doorway. “Well, let him in out of the cold then!”

Vernon stepped back and allowed for the three to enter. Unzipping his coat as he crossed the threshold, Harry found himself face to face with another mountainous person. This time it was a woman, or a man who preferred the comforts of crossdressing and openly dared anyone to criticize his taste while emphatically cracking his knuckles.

“… A-Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked in a quiet, hesitant voice.

The woman(?) snorted loudly. “I’m your Aunt Marge, Petunia’s in the kitchen.”

She looked past him to see who else had come along with him, and spotted Integra. Seeing the otherwise  impeccably dressed and superbly poised pretty young lady, Marjorie Dursley’s demeanor flipped on its head.

“Oh and who would you be, dearie?” she greeted Integra in a sweet voice.

“I am Harry’s benefactor, Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.” She curtseyed accordingly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dursley, Ms. Dursley.”

“Take her coat, Vernon!” Marge demanded before she noticed Captain Henderson, and her face lit up even more at the sight of the handsome soldier “… And you would be, good sir?”

The Hellsing Soldier quickly fell upon his years of training and dealing with grotesque horrors to muffle his internal scream. “I’m the chaperone for the evening. Gareth Henderson.”

Having taken Integra’s coat, Vernon went to offer to take Captain Henderson’s as well. But Marge quickly muscled past and managed to get around him.

“Please allow me to take your coat!” she insisted as she placed her hands upon his broad shoulders and squeezed.

Captain Henderson didn’t muffle the scream this time.

The party from House Hellsing were ushered directly into the sitting room of House Dursley after being relieved of their coats. Sitting there on the floor was a blonde-haired boy who was as big around as two Harrys side by side, playing an excessively violent video game on the living room television.

“Dudley, get off the telly, our guests are here,” Vernon demanded.

“I’ve almost beaten the boss Daddy!” his son, Dudley, whined back as said boss began kicking him around like it were an afterthought. “No! NO!”

He threw down his controller with a great yell of anger, breaking it in half. He quickly got up. “Daddy! I want a new game, this one’s rubbish!”

Harry and Integra looked to one another.

Vernon was quick to try to head off his son’s incoming screaming fit. “Dudley, I’ll get you one soon. We have company-”

He failed. “I WANT IT NOW!”

Harry and Integra looked to one another again.

“Now Vernon, what kind of father are you to deprive your son?!” Marge demanded before she walked over to the Christmas Tree and pulled from under it a large box addressed to the boy addressed as Dudley. “Dudders, I’ve got you something better than a new controller.”

Vernon protested this at the very first instant. “Marge, presents aren’t for until tomorrow-”

“Nonsense, one present isn’t going to hurt the lad,” she said before she handed the boy the box, and with the speed of a ravenous wolf on a deer carcass, he tore away the wrapping.

“A PLAYSTATION TWO?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Dudley shrieked as he held up the box in question.

Integra, horrified but making no show of it, leaned aside to Harry and whispered. “So this is how the middle class lives.”

“How wretched,” whispered back Harry.

“Yes, yes Dudley you can play it all you want after dinner, but it’s time to meet your cousin,” Vernon said in a desperate attempt to wrangle his spoiled rotten son.

He was a little more successful this time, as Dudley turned from his father towards the indicated cousin. “You’re Harry?”

“Yes?” Harry asked.

“My Mummy and Daddy said you’re a butler, where’s your tuxedo?” he sneered derisively.

Harry was taken aback somewhat by the question, but took it with grace. “I don’t wear a tuxedo. It’s a three piece suit but without the-”

“Go get me some juice from the kitchen, butler!” Dudley immediately ordered him as though he were the hottest shit lording it over the lowest toad.

A sudden stillness followed, as Harry was struck bemused by the sudden nastiness from the boy.

The sound of the sharp breath Integra drew in through her teeth that broke the silence would haunt Harry’s nightmares for the rest of his life.

“Harry is off duty at the moment,” Integra said with a calm reminiscent of a mirror-smooth pond with a very large, hungry crocodile lying in wait just below the surface. “He is here to meet and spend time with you, his family, not work.”

Dudley stared at Integra. “Are you his girlfriend?”

Harry blanched in disgust at the very idea, as did Integra.

“No, I’m his master,” said the latter, “He grew up under the same roof as I, and has been trained expressly to serve me before anyone else.”

She looked over to him meaningfully. “I couldn’t ask for anyone else to be at my side.”

Harry stood straighter, his tumultuous thoughts about this awful cretin soothed by the pride with which his master spoke of him.

Dudley, being a mean-spirited twit, missed the importance and feeling in Integra’s words. “So does it mean he has to do everything you say? Can you make him hop on one leg and bark like a dog?”

Before Integra could reply, Dudley’s eyes seemed to glimmer at the possibility. “No! Make him act like a monkey! And sing Bye Bye Bye!”

Integra was about ready to happily demonstrate to Dudley how her beloved butler was also trained to dismember rude, entitled twats, but Harry was quick to intercede on her before her rage broke.

“Sir Integra, Dudley did request a drink did he not? Perhaps I should get it for him? From the kitchen?” he pleaded with her.

Integra misinterpreted his saying that as less wishing to meet his actual blood-related aunt, and more poisoning Dudley’s food. “… Of course Harry, go get Dudley some juice.”

Happy to be in full butler mode again, if out of uniform for the duty, Harry smartly stood at attention and bowed. “At once, sir.”

As he left the living room and walked towards the hallway towards the kitchen, he muttered aloud to himself. “So these are the people my Aunt chose to spend the rest of her life with?”

Honestly, he was well past the point of wondering if the enhanced blood protection was worth it. He opened the kitchen door and stepped in, where he found the usual organized chaos that a kitchen tended to be when food prep was going at full tilt.

At the center of the maelstrom, watching a pot full of potatoes boil furiously with a glass of wine in one hand, was a reddish blonde-haired woman who bore a striking resemblance to his mother.

Hearing the door open, Petunia Dursley nee Evans looked to her nephew and was initially struck–as Vernon was–by the boy’s striking resemblance to his father. The wide green eyes, however, were definitely those of his mother’s.

Frozen briefly he shuffled his feet a bit and bowed politely. “Oh… hello Aunt Petunia,” he said awkwardly as she scrutinized him.

She was silent long enough for her to blink twice as she stared at him. “Harry?”

“Y-yes. I just came in and…” Harry stopped when Petunia set down the glass, wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her dress, and walked over to him. Harry braced himself when she reached him, her steely gaze seeming to bore through him.

There was something to be said about having low expectations of people, Harry pondered, because Petunia suddenly grabbing him up in a very tight hug was the most satisfying surprise he’d gotten this Christmas so far.


Harry wasn’t the only person having a less than ideal Christmas. In London town proper, at the Surrey Quays Shopping Center, Draco Malfoy was suffering an excruciating and humiliating punishment for crossing his father.  It had all started the very night after he returned home for Holiday from Hogwarts…

Several Days Ago

“Absolutely not!” a furious Lucius Malfoy decreed to his son at the table of the large, dark, and drafty dining hall of the Malfoy Manor. “No son of mine, no Malfoy, will be a… a… servant to a blood traitor!”

“It’s not any servant, it’s a prestigious and honorable duty!” Draco said. “Only the very best can be a Hellsing Butler!”

At her side of the table, her dinner interrupted by the shouting match between spoiled son and bratty father, Narcissa Malfoy, the somewhat aged if still beautifully elegant head of the homestead, regarded her Draco with concern as he stood up to his father for once.

“The best at what, polishing shoes? Serving tea? Kissing taint?!”

“No! I-” Draco stopped on that last one. “What?”

“You’re not going to become a butler!” Lucius hissed again.

“But I can do it!” Draco said.

“Dobby can do it! That is what Dobby was born for! Do you want to be seen as equal to Dobby?!”

The Malfoy family’s house elf then popped in. “Did Master call for Dobby?”

Lucius punted him across the room. “No!”

The projectile house-elf bounced off the wall.

“Lucy, dear, could you not kick him?” The wretched thing was already brain-damaged enough as it was.

“Not now, Sissy!” Lucius said before he whirled dramatically back upon his son. “You want to be a servant? Fine then! Why don’t we get you a taste of what to expect?!”

Today

And that’s why Draco was at the Surrey Quays Shopping Center, “volunteering” as a Christmas Elf for the Shopping Center Santa who entertained muggle children while their parents desperately shopped for those precious last minute holiday gifts.

All this punishment was doing so far, though, was giving him a sense of empathy that his father sorely lacked. None of the other volunteers, for all their cheery smiles and eagerness to assist the jolly old red man, were terribly excited about the job either and he couldn’t blame them. Those who were usually lost their love for it after the third or fourth time a child screamed for something called a PlayStation 2 and then punched them.

The day shift Santa still had an awful black eye from the disgustingly fat boy who punched him over one of those stations of play, but Draco was more concerned about the actor’s legs. The filthy pig of a boy was as wide as two Potters side by side and probably weighed more than his father.

He looked towards the line of impatient children and their parents. The evening shift Santa hadn’t quite arrived yet, so until then it was the job of the elves to keep the kids calm and reassure them that Santa was very busy getting ready to deliver presents and rubbish like that.

“MUMMY WHERE’S SANTA?!” a little girl at the front of the line shrieked to her mother.

“Santa will be along soon, poppet. Please don’t make a scene…” her mother pleaded with her.

“BUT I WANT SANTA NOW! I WANT A DOLLHOUSE MUMMY!” the girl screamed. “WHERE IS SANTA?! WHERE IS SANTA?!”

The other kids joined in, growing more hostile with every chant.

“Bloody hell…” Draco moaned under his breath.

One of the elves, an older muggle teenaged boy who was doing the volunteer job as part of a juvenile hall punishment, looked to Draco and sighed. “Aye Drake, you’re a good kid. You don’t deserve this.”

Draco thanked the teenager with a nod. That was another way that his father’s punishment was backfiring. Turned out that the other volunteers liked having Draco around and treated him like a comrade in arms against the waves and waves of muggle commercialism. As such, Draco was holding muggles in much higher esteem as he came to understand them.

Another elf, a young woman with a terrible height deficiency, just shook her head. “I would give for anything to happen and just end this,” she said.

“Yes, as would I,” Draco commiserated.

“HO! HO! HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!” boomed a familiar voice, and the children went from riotous to rapturous. The evening shift Santa, by far the more popular and enthusiastic of the Santas who worked the Surrey Quays, had finally arrived.

He was a jolly old man who fit the Father Christmas archetype perfectly. Tall, large, sporting a majestic beard white beard, a twinkle in his eye, and excess jolliness. He reminded Draco of Professor Dumbledore in most respects, and sometimes wondered if he in fact was, but was hesitant to confront him.

“Sorry for being late, I had to wrangle the reindeer some, but now I’m here and I have a very special present for all of you good little boys and girls. Ho, ho!” Santa’s promise brought more cheers to the children, and some confusion to Draco.

He looked to the older teen from Juvie. “Are we giving things away?”

“Don’t know, roll with it,” the teen replied.

Santa took a seat and patted on his lap. “Now then,” he said jollily to the little girl who screamed for a dollhouse, “I bet there’s a sweet little girl who wants something extra nice this year. Come tell Santa all about it!”

With a happy squeal, the girl ran over to Santa and hopped onto his lap. “Santa! Santa! Santa! Santa! Santa! I want a Barbie Dollhouse! And a Bratz sports car! And a Pink Gameboy with Pokemon and…”

As the girl eagerly ran through her list of Christmas wishes, Santa smiled warmly, then grinned wide… unnaturally wide. Noticing the size of his smile, and those unusually white and sharp teeth, Draco tilted his head slightly.

“Huh…?” He then remembered what Harry had told him about the job that he was so eager to have, and went paler than he already was.

“Oh no.”

And with a geyser of blood that got all over Draco’s face and front, Santa ruined Christmas.

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

At the Dursley home, Harry had momentarily forgotten about the juice he had been tasked to get Dudley as his Aunt Petunia held him tightly, like he was the most precious thing in the world. After meeting the Dursleys, he’d come to expect every other reaction in the world.

“A-Aunt Petunia…?” he spoke hesitantly.

Petunia squeezed him a little tighter, before pulling back and looking him over. It surprised him to see her on the verge of tears despite smiling–especially given how awful her husband, child, and sister-in-law in the other room were. “Of course Lily and James would have a handsome son.”

Harry was taken aback by the praise. “Th-thank you.”

“Did you want a snack or something before dinner? It’s done, it just needs to be set out.”

“Oh, no. I actually came to get Dudley some juice,” Harry replied.

Petunia scowled for a moment. “You don’t need to get him anything; he can wait until dinner.”

She smiled again to Harry. “It’s so wonderful to see you, Severus said that you’d been lost with your parents.”

“Severus?” Harry asked.

“A wizard I know,” Petunia replied with a noticeable curtness, before continuing, “I was certainly surprised when Dumbledore told me… I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

“Really?” a surprised Harry asked.

At that moment, Dudley barged into the kitchen.

“Where is my juice, butler?!” he screeched practically in Harry’s ear.

Before Harry could properly eviscerate the boy on reflex, Petunia stepped in angrily. “Dudley Dursley! You do not speak to your cousin like that!”

The prat wasn’t having any of it. “I told him to get me a juice and he hasn’t gotten me it! I want a juice, NOW!”

Harry had quickly composed himself and, right before Petunia could give the bratty child a proper slap across his fat face, quickly went into the fridge and produced a can of juice for Dudley.

“Your juice, sir.”

Dudley stared at the juice, and then at Harry. “Open it!”

Harry popped the tab without protest and offered the can to him. Satisfied, Dudley snatched the can from him and began drinking it as he left the kitchen for the dining room.

As the door swung shut behind the larger child, Harry turned to face Petunia, who was draining the last of the wine she had in her glass.

Her not being happier suddenly didn’t sound like giddy hyperbole.

Lowering the glass, Petunia sighed as the sweet, soul-deadening effect of alcohol suppressed her urge to truly and viciously rail at her vile offspring. She tiredly apologized to her nephew. “I’m so dreadfully sorry for him, my Dudley must have everything his way. Since he found out about you he’s been demanding a butler a his own.”

And Harry rightly surmised that Dudley expected Harry to be his butler now. He would have to disabuse him of the notion before dinner's end. “I don’t mind it Aunt Petunia, I can suffer a prat for a Christmas dinner with family.”

“PETUNIAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Marge suddenly bellowed. “YOUR SON IS GROWING HUNGRY! DINNER BETTER BE READY SOON!”

Petunia began to fill the wine glass again. “I’m going to mash the potatoes now, Marjorie. Have a little patience!”

“BE QUICK ABOUT IT, YOU LAYABOUT!”

Petunia looked down at her near overfilled wine glass, then at Harry, and then back at the wine glass.

She then lifted the bottle to her lips and proceeded to chug it for several moments until it was drained.

“There is nothing healthy about that, Aunt Petunia,” Harry advised.

Petunia smiled to Harry. “It keeps me down just enough so I don’t murder that oaf of a woman.”

Well, that just made everything worse? “I see…”

Petunia, despite her threateningly high blood alcohol content, skillfully went back to dinner preparation. “Would you like to help me set the table while I finish this, dear?”

Harry forced a smile. Was this how Christmas Dinners went down for normal families?

“I'd love to.”


Meanwhile, with Draco, Christmas was still ruined. In fact, it was becoming ruinous as he fled through the shopping center, screaming at the muggle shoppers to run. Behind him, a shuffling, groaning wave of pale purple-eyed ex-persons known to wizard and Hellsing alike as ghouls surged over shoppers too confused by the screaming boy dressed as an elf to run.

Fortunately panic set in quickly enough, and soon much faster people were leaving the evolutionary out-of-luck to be dragged down and feasted upon by the ravenous mob of undead.

“FOR ALL THAT’S BLOODY GOOD IN THE WORLD RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” he screamed again during his fleet-footed flight for the front door.

“HO! HO! HO!” he heard the Mall Santa bellow from behind to above him as the terrifically nimble freak vampire leaped from level to level. “DON’T POUT! DON’T CRY! SANTA CLAUS IS HANDING OUT ETERNAL LIFE!”

Draco glanced up ahead fast enough to catch a glimpse of Santa slam into a gawking woman fangs-first and smash her into a wall with tremendous force.

Oh if he only had his wand he would… Oh what the bloody hell would he do?! He was a first year! He could barely levitate a feather, what was he going to do against Insane Vampire Santa?!

He looked back again to the carnage and wished he hadn’t. The crush of ghouls had slowed–because dozens of people who had run for other exits in the shopping center had inexplicably doubled back right into the many arms of walking death. Why were they running back into the ghouls?!

“HO! HO! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” And there was Mall Santa, laughing like a loon as he powerbombed some poor bloke from the second level of the shopping center into the mosh pit of death and depravity on the ground level.

“This is insane,” he muttered, “H-how does Potter fight this?!”

Draco looked towards the doors he’d been running to. A large crowd of people yet to be set upon by monsters was trying to squeeze out and in their panic it wasn’t happening fast enough. He looked back at the ghouls and the mist of blood that seemed to hang over them, and swallowed hard.

These people were doomed if something didn’t happen, if someone didn’t do anything, and he was doomed with them! How could Draco hope to impress the Lady Hellsing and become her Butler if he could truly be no better than Dobby?!

And with that question, something galvanized within him. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the distracted horde of ghouls. He wasn’t out yet! His nerve had impressed Harry Potter, the most dangerous Hogwarts student since Lord Voldemort! If nothing else, that raw nerve would get him through this! He was a Malfoy, not some freak’s food!

“Ho, Ho, Ho?” Santa slowly stood from the mass of his undead thralls, his jolly red attire now stained crimson. He stared at Draco.

“Ah! My little helper who ran away! There’s much work to do! We need to spread the spirit of Christmas and I need everyone aboard!” as he spoke the other Volunteer Elves, now thoroughly ghoulified, shambled forward to his flanks and moaned hungrily.

Draco merely closed his eyes and huffed, before he shot mightily venomous glare that actually stayed vampire Santa for a moment.

“How dare you speak to me like that, you trash?” he demanded, “Do you even have the faintest idea who I am?!”

Draco tore off the ridiculous hat and fake ears. “Of course you wouldn’t, a rat in a gutter would only know sewage.”

He posed fabulously and hooked a thumb to himself. “My name is Draco Malfoy! One thousand years of the finest elite in the world lies in the blood that courses through me, distilled and purified to true perfection! If you think that for a moment that you will get to taste a single drop, you are fatally mistaken!”

Insane Vampire Santa blinked several times, actually taken aback by the sheer nerve of the kid in front of him, before he grinned. “Elite blood, hm? HO! HO! HO!”

He then leaped for Draco. “YOU MUST BE DELICIOUS!”

At the last moment, Draco smirked. “Dobby! Protect your Master!”

Santa smashed face-first into an instantly conjured barrier, created by the tiny big-eared, bug-eyed house elf that stepped from behind Draco. With a thrust of his hand, the House Elf sent Santa flying into one of the shopping center’s supports with enough force to shatter part of it.

“Young master is in danger!” Dobby quickly said. “You must escape with Dobby!”

Draco swept his arm dramatically. “No, not until we’ve gotten the people behind us to safety!”

Dobby looked back at the muggles too panicked to notice the hope flickering behind them, and then back to him. “Young Master is helping muggles? But that is not allowed, young master will get punished.”

“Are you questioning me, Dobby?” Draco asked calmly, but angrily.

Dobby’s ears drooped, before he quickly looked ahead at the advancing ghouls. “Dobby will do as Young Master commands.”

Draco nodded. “Very well. Dobby, prevent these monsters from getting past where I stand!”

The small House Elf conjured forth a great deal of magic before erecting a barrier directly in front of himself and his master. The white-glowing barrier extended across the ground level and all the way up to the first and second levels above. The ghouls attempting to advance crashed against it, and futilely beat against it–unable to advance a step further.

“Excellent work Dobby, maintain this!” Draco commanded before turning to the survivors behind him. The light of the barrier cast him in an imperious silhouette, and drew the attention of the muggles who had previously been nearly killing each other to escape.

Draco took a deep breath, and then shouted at the top of his lungs.

“DO AS I COMMAND OR DIE! THE MONSTERS CANNOT ADVANCE SO LONG AS THIS LIGHT SHINES! YOU WILL REGAIN WHAT ENGLISH DIGNITY YOU HAVE AND LEAVE THROUGH THESE DOORS IN AN ORDERLY FASHION, GIVING PRIORITY IN QUEUE TO INJURED, YOUNG, AND ELDERLY! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”

Panic receded at Draco’s instruction, and the crowds began exiting the shopping center in a more orderly fashion. Breathing heavily from relief and the rush that he had managed to achieve something, Draco looked back through the glowing barrier, and at the ghouls beyond it. Insane Vampire Santa had fled, and Draco hoped he hadn’t gone far.

“Dobby, as soon as we’re finished here, we’re going to go vampire hunting,” Draco said bravely.

“Yes, Young Master,” Dobby obeyed with noticeable reluctance.


The Christmas Dinner spread at the Dursley table was splendid, roast turkey, potatoes, stuffing, brussels sprouts, and so many other delicious staples. The places were set with finest china, excellent glassware, and the silverware looked like it came from at least three generations. It all looked and smelled wonderful. The only thing at the Dursley table that could take away from it were the Dursleys themselves.

And they were doing their ardent best.

“The Special Air Service you say, Captain? My, my… but you’re so wonderful with children as well! Mrs. Henderson must be so lucky to have a great man like you,” Aunt Marge cooed to the young Captain–who would much rather go for a stroll in South Armagh in full uniform while singing God Save the Queen than suffer the desperate woman's obvious advances.

Eager as he was to throw off said advances, Captain Henderson did not catch the intent of that heavily loaded statement until It was too late. “Oh there is no Mrs. Henderson.”

Harry would've had a bit of amusement at the subsequent look of dread on the Captain’s face if not for the large and dangerous looking dog that was sitting between himself and Marge.

Harry loved dogs, he even had nothing against Fluffy once all wounds were healed. However he took issue with poorly raised, antisocial kill-engines who were perpetually one careless movement away from maiming someone. Ripper was a pitbull terrier crossed with a PCP-abusing pro wrestler and had about as pleasant a disposition, given his teeth baring at anyone who wasn’t Marge.

Petunia openly opposed Ripper’s place at the table, it was supposed to be her house after all, and released an agitated sigh. “Marge could you please put Ripper outside while we eat?”

Marge condescendingly laughed off the very idea. “Nonsense, Petunia. My sweet Ripper is a member of this family too.” She speared a piece of turkey with her fork and fed it to the dog, before taking another piece with the same fork and eating it.

This won a particularly disgusted grimace from Harry and Henderson. Integra had missed it, because she was stuck in a corner between Vernon and Dudley, the latter boasting over his impressive collection of material possessions like it mattered to a girl who owned an abomination against creation.

“… And for my birthday I got 37 presents more than the year before! I even got two gameboys so I could trade Pokemon with myself,” he said proudly. “I was even able to get a Mew.”

“That’s nice I suppose,” Integra said with a well-acted smile.

Vernon was doing his best to hype up whatever nobler qualities Dudley possessed. “Ah yes, he’s quite the genius at telly games. They say in the magazines that one day they will become a professional sport, and at his rate Dudders will be a world champion.”

Integra wanted to commend Vernon attempting to see the bright side of the horrid mess that he sired, but optimism was easily mistaken for delusion.

“What kind of stuff do you have? You’re rich, right?” Dudley asked her.

Integra smiled at the opportunity to backhand these oafs and see if they could realize it. “I don’t nearly own as many… things. I have a CD player with a modest collection of my favorite music, I busy myself with more active pursuits than toys and video games.”

She wasn’t disappointed. An embarrassed Petunia glared subtly at her son and husband for bringing their weak game to the table. Vernon wore the sting of the criticism as well, and Marge… well she just barged on through.

“Don’t own many things? My dear, you should be proud of your wealth! Boast it to the world, why… you should’ve come through that door wearing a ten thousand dollar dress, showing us lesser folk what true success is.”

Marge nodded in agreement with herself then looked to Petunia. “It’s what I’d do.”

Captain Henderson had been relieved that Marge’s attention had gone somewhere else–for all of three seconds before she placed it back on him. Much like with Vernon and Dudley, she tried to put herself out there again.

“I’m no nobility, but I’ve made quite a wealth for myself with my dog breeding. Why, I have so much money I don’t think I’ll ever be able to spend it all myself.” She batted her eyes at him.

South Armagh. In broad daylight. With targets tattooed on his shaved head.

Integra’s innocent smile hid well her contempt. “Oh I could never; why my dear late father would come from his grave and scold me badly.”

Petunia gave Integra a sympathetic look. “You poor dear, you have my condolences.”

“Thank you, but I’ve gotten along well without him thanks to Harry.” Integra smiled warmly again to Harry.

Marge leaned over. “What about your mother, dear?”

Integra grew mildly panicked. “Oh, she’s… not around…”

According to Walter, the subject of her mother was better not discussed lest the accidental mention of her name summoned her from beyond where even the Old Ones feared to tread. And that was the impartial account of the marriage between her and Sir Arthur.

Captain Henderson remembered the Lady Hellsing. He also remembered fearing for his life every second he was alone with her.

He would still prefer that to the amorous looks from Marge.

Marge let out a snort. “Honestly, some women are just unfit to be mothers if they are to be like that.”

Her eyes darted to Petunia accusingly as she said this. The only person at the table who didn’t notice it was Dudley.

Petunia Dursley née Evans was a thin, slight woman who had drank an entire bottle of wine within the last two hours.

That said, even if she was stone cold sober she wouldn’t have taken that from her sister-in-law.

Without missing a beat, Petunia agreed. “Yes, some of them thankfully don’t have children at least.”

Marge almost choked on her wine. “Pft…”

Integra and Harry both exchanged looks.

Captain Henderson used his glass of water to hide his smile as a true Christmas Dinner began.

Vernon’s face flushed a deep red in embarrassment as his wife attacked his sister. Not now, he thought in dread, not in front of their wealthy dinner guests. Dudley was too busy stuffing his face and thinking about what he’d play on his new PS2 to care what the adults were on about.

Next to them, Integra watched the scene closely, paying close mind to how Harry reacted to the back and forth.

Petunia’s venom stung, but it wasn’t enough to take down the beast that was Marjorie Dursley. In fact, it just pissed her off enough to drop the subtext–no alcohol required. “I hope you’re not inferring that I would be as awful a parent as you, Tunie,” she said with domineering arrogance behind a condescending smile.

That set something off in Petunia and she stood up. “Yes I am!” she snapped, causing the entire table to go silent. She pointed accusingly at her. “How dare you say that I am a horrid parent, when you take every opportunity to undermine me?!”

Dudley again paid the outburst no mind, content with stuffing his face.

Harry grimaced.

Marge stood up, towering over the table. “Undermine?! I’m only treating my darling nephew as he ought to be treated! You’re the one who always shrieks and punishes him over the smallest thing! Someone needs to act like a proper parent in this household!”

“Says the woman who raises dogs because no man can conceive the notion of marrying her!” Petunia shouted back.

Captain Henderson tore off a turkey leg and held it up in salute to Mrs. Dursley. It just wasn’t Christmas dinner without a fight, and this one was not disappointing in the least.

Vernon rose, gesturing to placate both women. “Petunia, my love… Marjorie… can we just…?”

“At the very least I can raise something!” Marge shot back. “I practically live here because you need all the help you can get!”

“Your help is as welcomed as a back-alley stabbing!” Petunia snarled. “It is all the time with you! If I had bloody known I’d be married to YOU as well when I met Vernon, I would’ve gone off and tossed myself into a river!” Petunia leaned across the table, pointing at her. “You miserable, controlling, lonely sow! You couldn’t get a man to love you for your money!”

Captain Henderson laughed into his palm and poorly disguised it as a cough. Vernon was ashen, stuck between backing up his wife, and deferring to his sister… whose face had gone purple with rage. Reflecting her mental state, Ripper began growling at Petunia, loudly.

Dudley continued to stuff his face.

Integra was fascinated.

Marge was agape. “Did you just…?”

Petunia leaned across the table towards her. “I. Bloody. Well. Said it.”

Mount Marjorie exploded. “Well, I never! I always knew you were no good! Vernon thought he had a good egg after meeting you but you really are a disgusting Cokeworth trollop just like your sister!”

Petunia froze, and both Harry and Captain Henderson realized that she was about to spring across the table to attack Marge and subsequently get mauled by a very vicious dog… and her pitbull.

It was at that moment, that Integra had quite enough. She rose up and tapped a knife to her glass, getting everyone’s attention. “Well! This has been an enlightening experience, but I’m afraid that I simply cannot stomach anymore of it.”

Petunia snapped out of her rage blackout, and Marge turned to Integra with a look of embarrassment that she just made a scene in front of a rich noble. Vernon, Dudley, Harry, and the Henderson looked to her as well.

She set the glass and knife down and looked to Harry. “Harry, I have a question.”

“Yes, sir?” Harry asked.

“Is the Ms. Dursley related to you by blood?”

“No sir, only Petunia and technically Dudley.”

Integra nodded. “Yes, quite.”

She looked to Henderson. ”Captain?”

“Aye sir?” Henderson asked.

"Please take Ms. Dursley out to the backyard and do with her as you would do to a particularly bothersome troublemaker back during your time in Ireland."

Henderson was on his feet in a quick instant, a brilliant smile on his face. “Aye, aye, sir!”

He took Marge by her arm. “Please, right this way, Miss. This won’t take long.”

Against the Hellsing soldier’s strength, even the mountainous Marge found difficulty pulling away. “What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?!”

Vernon stood up. “Yes, what are you doing?!”

“Mr. Dursley, I would suggest that you sit down or you’ll be next,” Integra advised in a cheerful yet deadly tone.

“Let me go,” Marge demanded, before she called to her dog, “Ripper, come here boy! Help your mummy!”

Henderson was all smiles as he looked back to the dog now up and padding towards him threateningly. “Aye, that’s a good dog, you’re more than welcome to come along too.”

He swung open the curtained backyard door and forcefully shuffled Marge out, all while ignoring the dog nipping at his leg. As soon as all three were out, Henderson slammed the door.

Not two seconds later, all three remaining Dursleys jumped when they heard one gunshot, the beginning of Marge’s horrified scream, and then another gunshot followed by complete silence.

Henderson smoothly strolled back in, slipping his service pistol inside his jacket. “Deed’s done, sir. Thank you for the pleasure.”

“It’s Christmas,” Integra simply said.

Vernon was utterly pale. “Did you just…?!”

“Have your sister murdered?” Integra asked. “Yes. I can do that, for you see I am one of the thirteen most powerful people in all of England. The police will come, certainly because of the noise complaint.”

“I didn’t bring my suppressor, sorry for that,” Henderson piped in.

“When they ask me, I will tell them what happened, who I am, and they will clean up the scene and make this all go away as if nothing happened.”

She looked to Petunia, and smiled warmly. “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Dursley.”

It was at that moment that Harry realized that Sir Arthur was smiling up at his daughter from the pits of Hell.

Vernon just kind of stood there for a moment, his expression reflecting the tumult of emotions going through his head, before he settled on the one that felt right and began to cry.

“Ten years… ten years of her badgery… and it’s over…” he wept joyfully. “Bless you, Lady-”

“Sir.”

“Bless you, Sir Hellsing,” he wept correctly.

Dudley… well he already got his PS2 so he didn’t really care. He didn’t like Ripper slobbering all over his stuff, anyway.

Petunia was still kind of standing there, shocked. She wondered, for a moment, if this was all a very pleasant dream now and if she should be waking up any moment now? She pinched herself, and when she found she could very much feel pain (dulled as it was by the wine), she smiled pleasantly and sat right back down.

“Yes, bless you indeed, Sir Hellsing,” she said to Integra, “Now then. Shall we continue with Christmas Dinner?”

“We do have some time before the police arrive,” Integra said, “Harry, please pass the potatoes.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Nonsense, Harry,” Petunia said as she took the bowl. “Allow me.”

“Splendid, there’s still a turkey leg, Marge usually nicked those for herself and that awful dog,” Vernon said, “Hey there, Captain, could you?”

“One turkey leg, coming right up,” Henderson said as he began to cut off the turkey leg.

It was as the spirit of Christmas returned to the Dursley Table, that a cellphone rang. Surprised by the sudden intrusion Integra reached into a pocket and produced her phone and checked the caller ID. “It’s Commander Fargason, I wonder what he could want.”

She answered it. “Hello, Commander.”

Five seconds later, her eyes widened. “How many?”

All eyes at the table were on her again.

“… What do you mean an entire shopping centre?!” she shouted. “WHERE’S ALUCARD?!”

Her expression went blank. “He’s taken a Challenger 2 and is joyriding around London with a dozen what.”

She brought her fingers up to her nose and pushed up her glasses off the bridge to pinch it. “Of course. Walter and Miss Pinkstone are with him? Of course.”

She took a deep breath. “We will be there momentarily.”

She ended the call and rose from her seat. “Harry, I hate to put you to work this Christmas, but it would appear that there is Shopping Center full of ghouls that need to be dealt with.”

Harry smiled, somewhat gratefully. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

“Ghouls?” Vernon suddenly said, startled.

“What?” Petunia asked, before it dawned on her. “Oh dear, you’re mixed up in that lot as well, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but unlike those silly wizards we are ordained by God, Queen, and Country to hunt down and murder that nonsense wherever it may appear to offend British sensibility,” Integra said as she got up. “Harry?”

Harry rose, and adjusted his glasses.

“At once, sir.”


When the first call came in that Santa Claus was going on a rampage at Surrey Quays and killing everyone in his path, the dispatcher rightfully dismissed it as a crank call from someone who’d watched a bit too much Futurama. After the twenty-third call in as many seconds, the dispatcher professionally handed the situation over to the Police, who referred it immediately to the Hellsing Organization.

About twenty-five minutes after that, Armored Personnel Carriers and Helicopters bearing the Hellsing Coat of Arms were on the scene, cordoning off the shopping center and coming face to face with a rather puzzling situation.

“What do you mean the doors won’t open?” Captain Peter Fargason demanded after hearing the call from a Rover parked at the main the entrance of the shopping center. The old squaddie had been out enjoying some brandy at the Officer’s Pub when he got the call to muster and save the bloody day and as such was not drunk enough to deal with what was going on.

“We found a number of survivors who’d made it out the North rear entrance, when we attempted to move in to find more, the doors locked and we couldn’t get in. “

“Drive a bloody carrier through the doors!” he ordered the men who called him from the rear entrance of the center.

“We tried that, sir, the doors wouldn’t budge,” came the reply.

The Captain Picard-looking motherfucker (save for a +3 Moustache of Badassery) stroked the parenthesed moustache. “Did you try shooting the glass?”

“Expended half our ammo, sir.”

Another soldier looked over from the radio handset he held. “All other entrances are similarly sealed, sir! Nothing we can do can get them open!”

Yet another soldier called out. “Men attempting to breach service entrances and emergency exits cannot approach them. They get close and then forget whatever the hell they were doing!”

Fargason’s suspicion that a Wizard had did it was not so much sneaking as clumsily groping in the dark, knocking over everything it touched and making an intolerable racket. “Bloody Wizard shit, well then attempt to breach a wall. We need to get in there and secure any survivors and make sure we can control when and where those ghouls can get out.”

“Aye sir.”

Somewhere near, somewhere uncomfortably close to all of this action, a complete lizard bitch of a wizard or witch held aloft their wand and gave it a wave. On their unspoken command, every door leading into the shopping centre and the hordes of ghouls inside were flung open, and with them, the undead masses began surging out.

Fargason looked up and gaped at the doors crashing open, and the ghoulish horde that came staggering towards his Rover and the two APCs worth of men that were waiting outside. “Bloody hell, open fire!”

The well-trained men of the Hellsing Organization really didn’t need the order. The cannons on the APCs and the rifles and machine guns of the boots on the ground came to life. Blessed silver by the bucket load did not come out of the barrels however. Instead it was frogs.

Frogs being fired at a considerable velocity, but nevertheless frogs.

Fargason recoiled when he saw ghouls getting battered and dismembered by Armor Piercing Amphibians but not being put down. He quickly pulled out his sidearm and fired a few shots. His dead on marksmanship put a frog in the mouth of every ghoul he targeted.

“… Someone is having me on,” he said calmly, “And I don’t like it.”

At that moment, a much more effective barrage than various species of frog fell upon the ghouls advancing heedless to the Hellsing men. Harry’s silver knives were like an acid rain, destroying the undead with a speed and efficiency that had the men with Fargason cheering.

Flipping gracefully through the air, Harry turned his descent to a triple axle to right himself and stuck the landing. “Tally-ho!”

“Harry, my boy!” Fargason greeted. “There seems to be a wizard about helping these ghouls. Could you?”

Harry looked over, surprised. “A wizard? Unexpected.”

Henderson quickly brought his car up behind the Rover, and both he and Integra disembarked.

“What’s the situation?!” Integra ordered.

Fargason stood at attention and saluted. “Sir, the ghouls have completely overrun the mall. It would also appear that a Wizard is assisting the vampire behind this while impeding our efforts in destroying the monsters.”

“A wizard? Unexpected,” Integra unwittingly repeated.

She looked to Harry. “Harry-”

“Already on it, sir!” Harry declared before he sprang off onto one of the nearby street lamps, and then shot off into the night.

Fargason’s radio suddenly screamed to life. “Commander this is north entrance team! we’re being pushed back! Our ammunition’s coming out as badgers and crows, and they’re attacking us!”

Fargason, Integra, and Henderson looked north… and saw sure enough that in addition to the advancing ghouls, large badgers clawing at the legs of the Hellsing Soldiers and crows swooping them from above.

Integra could feel the blood vessel that would one day burst and kill her throbbing. “Where the bloody hell is Alucard?!”

I can’t stand fake ass bitches!
Lying-ass niggas and you punk-ass snitches!

That question was answered much sooner than she’d ever imagine it were, as a Challenger 2 Main Battle Tank, precariously ridden by attractive women scantily clad in skimpy winter clothes at best, lingerie at worst, suddenly came drifting around the corner behind them, the music of the esteemed late Tupac Shakur blaring loudly from the speakers strapped haphazardly to the turret.

I can’t stand fake-ass bitches!
Lying-ass niggas and you punk-ass snitches!

The tank hadn’t even stopped its skid when its barrel–being straddled by a particularly bold young woman carrying an RPG-7–oriented itself and fired with a roar. The canister round from the tank immediately shredded the horde of advancing ghouls in addition to the ammunition-turned-animals that had turned on their shooters.

“Ah, there he is,” Fargason said.

From the hatch of the Challenger 2’s turret, Alucard popped up with one arm wrapped around a lovely black-haired young woman and a glass of wine in his free hand. “Heeeeey Chocolate Milk, Merry Christmas~”

Integra stared at Alucard and the hot mess that he brought with him. “This is exactly what I signed up for, isn’t it?”

Alucard did not sugarcoat it. “Yyyup.”

Integra heaved a sigh. “Where’s Walter and Carlotta?”

“I dropped them off ‘round back, they are having the time of their lives.”

He snapped her fingers and pointed in the hooker he held, and the hooker in his embrace snapped her fingers and pointed at Fargason’s radio as she winked.

“South Rear team here, Carlotta’s mopping up!”

The helpful report was immediately followed by:

“North Rear team reporting, Walter’s taking out the trash!”

Hearing that, Henderson looked towards the doors Fargason’s men had been stationed at. “Strange… where are all the other ghouls?”

Alucard noticed it too. “You know, I came all the way from the north end when I heard there were hundreds of these things and I’m feeling kinda gypped.”

He gestured to his ladies of the night. “I had the girls kitted out and everything. I didn’t even have to pay extra for it!”

He stopped and grinned. “But I did.”

“And that’s why you’re our favorite~” the prostitute he held said as she squeezed him.

Fargason looked to Henderson. “Captain, gear up and take a team in to find out what’s going on.”

Henderson saluted. “Aye, sir.”

Integra looked to Alucard. “Take a small break from your fun and games and go hunt the vampire responsible for this. They say he’s dressed like Santa Claus.”

“Ooh, a chance to finally get off the naughty list,” Alucard said before he extricated himself from the tank hatch. “Girls, take five.”

Standing atop the turret and letting his red coat unfurl behind him, Alucard looked down and then around. “Where’s Mini-Walter?”

“He’s taking care of the other problem.”


If there was one helpful thing that Wizarding School taught, it was that Dark Wizards tended to bask in their treachery. A Wizard cursing and charming muggles was likely to stick around and watch them suffer from the best vantage possible. Just north of the shopping center were two high rise apartment buildings, where Harry easily found and got the jump upon the robed figure with wearing a golden skull mask and a tall conical hat.

His knives, whipping down upon the robed wizard, narrowly missed thanks in part to the wizard noticing the movement out the corner of their eye. Landing on the snow covered rooftop, Harry produced several more knives and stared at his opponent.

“Well now, who might you be?” Harry asked.

The wizard responded by hissing “Avada Kedavra” they raised and slashed their wand towards Harry, loosing off a green ray of light that the Wizard Butler narrowly avoided.

“You know,” Harry said as he avoided another of the deadly bolts, “The Killing Curse…”

He dodged yet another of the spells. “Isn’t nearly as difficult to avoid as many who fear it believe!”

He quickly whipped a knife at his attacker, who cast a different spell, turning the knife right back at Harry. The boy wizard let the blade vanish into his right hand’s glove while throwing another off the hip with his left.

The knife glanced off the wizard’s mask, even as they fired another killing curse at Harry.

Harry slid underneath it, using the snow to give him the momentum he needed to sweep the wizard off their feet. “Tally-ho!”

Rolling up onto his feet as the Wizard flailed about, Harry drew a knife and swung down to put the blade into the wizard’s neck, but to his surprise the Wizard blocked it with a cane held in their free hand.

“Oh?” Harry quickly backed away, avoiding the wizard’s wand as they both got up onto their feet.

The kicked up snow whirled around him as he watched the wizard rise, their hat lost to reveal platinum blonde hair that cascaded downward past their shoulders.

“Harry Potter…” the wizard snarled at him.

“Wizard arse,” Harry replied to his opponent.

The wizard suddenly apparated, much to Harry’s surprise, and became a cloudy black streamer that shot past him. Harry wasn’t dumbstruck for long, quickly turning around and throwing two knives as the wizard exited apparition at the very edge of the roof and spun around to fire a killing curse at him. The curse struck home, but appeared to instantly disperse before even actually touching Harry, to the Wizard’s disbelief.

Harry’s two of the knives were much more effective. One struck the mask, shattering it, while the other struck the raised arm of the wizard, which spared his heart the blow.

As Harry summoned a third knife to put into the wizard, they apparated away, this time leaving no streamer at all. Like a human body being sucked violently into a straw, they vanished with a lingering pop.

“Haa… haa… haa…” A panting Harry blinked several times and looked down at his chest, when he realized what just happened. “Bloody wicked… it worked!”

He then heard an explosion, and looked back towards the shopping center. “Ah, oh my.”


Insane Vampire Santa had in fact gotten far, having escaped onto the ice-covered waters by the Greenland Dock through the waterways that ran underneath the shopping center. The moment he caught sight of the APCs and soldiers with many guns surrounding the place, he decided it was his best opportunity to mosey on out. It would do him no good to be caught up against all of those army guns.

As he walked onto the thick ice, towards the narrow channel that connected the docks to the River Thames, he let out an ecstatic laugh when he heard nothing but gunfire coming from the shopping centre. The army would be preoccupied with his thralls, and he would be free to spread his gift throughout London. It wouldn’t take long at all for him to have more than enough ghouls to tip the balance against such a naughty city.

“Ahem, forgetting something, are we not?” Draco called out to the Vampire.

Insane Vampire Santa whirled around, and found Draco standing on the ice behind him. Dobby stood at his side, coming up to the young wizard’s knee.

Draco gestured to his neck. “There’s still a one thousand year pedigree that you have yet to properly sample.”

Insane Vampire Santa grabbed his round belly and let out a great jolly laugh. “HO HO HO! You’re quite the brave little man!”

In an instant, he was glaring with murderous intent at the blonde boy wizard. “I will tear you in half and drink from your ruined entrails as you beg for death.”

Draco sniffed. “Riiiight.”

The Santa was a blur, his footsteps shattering the thick ice all the way to Draco. It was Dobby who acted as Draco stood still, smugly staring at what by all accounts would be his horrible death racing towards him. Holding out his hand, Dobby’s House-Elf Magic grabbed Vampire Santa out of the air, stopping him cold.

“W-what?!” Insane Vampire Santa demanded.

“Up,” Draco ordered.

On Draco’s command, Dobby lifted Insane Vampire Santa up into the air.

“Let me go, you little shit-”

“Down.”

Dobby levitated him downward, at high enough a speed to crack the ice under Insane Vampire Santa’s chin. “URK!”

Draco held out his hand. “Up, down, left, right, down, down, down, left, then right again.”

Dobby obeyed and Santa went up then down onto the ice. Then he went left, into the wall of the channel, before being slammed into the opposite wall. As he bounced off the wall, he was slammed down again, then again, then again, before violently whipped back and forth once more.

Insane Vampire Santa rolled across the ice, and tried to get up again, the impact having put him under the street that crossed the channel. Draco smirked.

“Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right.”

Insane Vampire went up twice into the underpass, then downward into the ice twice with enough force to shatter it the second time. He went into the walls again with greater force.

Dobby held aloft the maniacal bloodsucker, who was looking quite bloodied for his troubles. “What shall I do with the nasty creature, Master?”

Draco folded his arms. “Hmm… I suppose I’m done amusing myself with it.”

His smirk became a nasty grin. “Tear it in half.”

As Dobby held up his other hand to do just that, Insane Vampire Santa suddenly grinned, and with a mighty throw whipped a chunk of ice he had gripped in his hand straight at Dobby. The House Elf barely had time to react, and was struck flying backward past his master.

Draco grew wide eyed and looked back. “Dobby!”

He turned back, and there was the viciously grinning Santa Vampire, hands raised to wring his pure-blooded neck. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Not so much without your pet, now are you?”

Draco dropped onto his rear on the ice, and began to scramble back from Insane Vampire Santa.

“Now, it’s time for a naughty little boy to get what’s coming to him~”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Insane Vampire Santa stopped and looked up to see Alucard standing on the ice, wearing his own smile. “Ho, Ho?”

Draco turned to face Alucard, and stared. Who the bloody hell was this?

“You know, some people would pay an arm and a leg for a chance to be Santa Claus,” Alucard informed Insane Vampire Santa.

Before Insane Vampire Santa could form a response, gunfire roared from Alucard’s titanium nitride-finished piece, the explosive .454 rounds hitting and blasting off his right arm and left leg.

As Insane Vampire Santa collapsed, howling in pain, Alucard lowered the gun just a little. “That should about cover the cost… but let’s be sure…”

Two more shots took off the other arm and leg, leaving Insane Vampire Santa more Insane With Pain Vampire Santa.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!” he bellowed. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Draco stared in amazement at the gruesome result of Alucard’s accurate shooting, then looked up at Alucard as he walked by and towards his eviscerated prey.

Insane Vampire Santa looked at his ruined limbs, and then back up at Alucard, who stood over him, still grinning. “Wha… what the…? Huh?”

“You know, I have this whole schtick where I let a guy beat on me a bit, tear me apart to messy chunks… and then I pull myself together and brutally kill them when they realize how fucked they are.” Alucard looked back at Draco, and then back at him. “But I literally just watched you get your ass handed to you by a ten year old wizard and his House-Elf.”

He then removed his hat and tossed it casually over his shoulder for it to land upon Draco’s head, before taking Insane Vampire Santa’s hat and placing it upon his black-as-the-void hair. He then grabbed him by his suspenders “So instead, I’m gonna do this!”

Over on the shore, the Challenger 2’s barrel angled skyward, and the hookers inside and standing atop it all shouted as one. “PULL!”

With great ease, Alucard yanked Insane Vampire Santa and threw him straight up into the air, right into the sights of the Challenger 2. The tank’s gun roared, and a high explosive round struck Insane Vampire Santa and blew him into a rapidly incinerating mist.

As the freaky vampire became a rapidly expanding ball of flame, Alucard hummed in satisfaction. “That one was for you Arthur, you son of a bitch, Merry fucking Christmas.”

He then looked back at Draco, who was staring in silent awe up at him from under the brim of his hat.

“I’m gonna need that back.” He looked up at his newly acquired Santa hat. “… In a few hours.”

With that he strolled back over to the shore where the tank was. “Well that about wraps things up here, girls. What say we get this party going again?!”

“Okay, Santa-baby~!” the vivacious and voluptuous crew of the tank sang back.

The dope rhymes of the great, late Tupac Shakur blaring from the tank’s speaker system soon started up, and the Main Battle Tank was off like a rocket, overturning cars and causing mayhem as it drove back off to do whatever its driver damn well pleased.

Draco just sat there, still gaping at where Alucard had been standing.

Luckily, Carlotta was along to get him and Dobby out of there moments before the cracked ice completely fractured and they could fall in.


Draco was still in a trance of awe as he sat in the back seat of Integra’s car. Integra, Carlotta, Harry, and Commander Fargason were standing outside, the whole lot of them now sipping tea to fend off the cold winter night while Harry was debriefed.

“A gold mask and a pointed hat,” Carlotta said with a grimace. “A Death Eater, one of Voldemort’s followers.”

Harry nodded. “It definitely was. I took a Killing Curse to the chest and the blood protection worked like Professor Dumbledore said it would.”

Integra spat out her tea and looked to him in horror. “Harry!”

“Well I couldn’t help it, he had me quite good with that apparate trick of his. At least I think it was a him… he apparated away before I could get a good look.”

“What did he look like?” Carlotta asked.

“Long blonde hair, rather feminine… had a wand and a cane.”

Carlotta narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like Lucius Malfoy. Oh this will be a treat.”

Harry glanced towards Draco, and then returned his attention to Integra and Carlotta. “What should we do about this? If it was Draco’s father, that’s going to make our friendship a bit of the rough sort.”

Integra looked to Draco. He had acquitted himself well against a vampire, albeit with help from his House Elf, but what he lacked in practical skills of his own he made up for with raw nerve. Raw nerve that a Hellsing could not only respect, but employ…

A smile graced Integra’s lips. “Miss Pinkstone.”

“Ah, yes sir?” the old but vibrant witch answered.

“Send an owl to Professor Dumbledore, tell him that I wish to meet him in the morning regarding what happened here tonight. And, ah… who is the current head of your Aurors?”

“That would be Amelia Bones, sir. She and I go way back, and she is quite the pleasant person. Makes excellent cake for tea.”

“Contact her as well,” Integra ordered, “I believe I have found myself yet another dependable butler.”


Inside the eerily quiet Surrey Quays Slaughterhouse, Captain Henderson had found the answer to his dilemma, but it was the sort of answer that left more questions. The unaccounted for ghouls were all present inside, and they all had been butchered with violence that would have Alucard proud. They were everywhere, pieces of them were at least, and for all intents and purposes, not another living thing could be seen or found.

Except for one, and that gave Henderson an uncomfortable clue as to what was responsible.

At the very center of the shopping center, he found a bushy-haired and blood-splattered girl sitting with her knees drawn to her chest in the only open space of clean floor in the entire (literally) bloody mess. Just outside of the circle, numerous ghouls hacked to pieces or pulverized with explosives lay in heaps around her.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Henderson muttered, more to himself than the girl, when he saw that the circle itself was made up of pages from the Catholic Bible.

He looked over to the girl, who looked slowly looked up at him with the sort of stare a serviceman would have after days of non-stop combat.

“Hey, did you see who did this?” he asked.

Hermione Granger looked around at the mess around her, and then back up at the man. She was rather grateful he didn’t ask if she was all right, because seeing your parents turned into meat paste by Insane Vampire Father Christmas was not something you were all right after. “… It was a girl… a nun… with a sword…”

She blinked, and looked at her blood covered hands, before looking up at him again.

“And… an angel…”

 

[zerohour]

Well, this was entertaining.  I suppose we should worry about the international incident Iscariot provoked by showing up in Britain.  Heinkel seeing Harry again will amusing, though I suppose Hermione could be talking about Anderson...
Honestly hoping that Harry will dress Draco down about relying on Dobby before putting him through training from hell so he does better next time.  Seriously, a butler relying on another servant to do their job?  How crass.
Good to see this continued after so long, and hoping there will be more to come!

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

Well, time to start giving reason for people to come here.


===


Henderson: The following is a fan-written parody. Harry Potter is property of J.K Rowling and is published by Bloomsbury Publishing and Arthur A. Levine Books. Hellsing Ultimate is property of Kouta Hirano and Studio Madhouse, and licensed by Geneon, Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, and Funimation. Hellsing Ultimate Abridged is the collaborative effort of TeamFourStar. Please support the Official Release.

Fargason: Well disclaimed, Captain.

Henderson: Thank you, sir!


When the Wizarding War ended abruptly in 1990, the forces of good had triumphed over the forces of evil thanks in no small part to Crimson Fuckery. However, while most Death Eaters who weren’t killed by Dumbledore, Moody, or various Potters, Prewetts, Weasleys, and Longbottoms went to jail for their crimes, the smarter ones managed to weasel their way out thanks to such things as wealth, prestige, and snitching.

Some of these smart Death Eaters were so successful in their Houdini-esque escape of karma, that they actually found themselves in the very positions of power they tried to take by force. Many found comfortable jobs in the Ministry of Magic, while some held onto their vast wealth and influence. Others even gained fame and fortune for telling of their experiences as Death Eaters.

Almost all, however convinced they were of Lord Voldemort’s demise, at the very least still believed in the cause they championed: the elimination of muggle-born wizards and the subjugation/extermination of all muggles everywhere.

Avery was a second generation Death Eater, the son of one of the original founding Death Eaters back when they were known by the much cooler name, “The Knights of Walpurgis”. Back during the war he had a modest showing, didn’t die, and got out of jail with a “I was Mind Controlled” defense. After that, he went to work in the Ministry as a license maker, and made life for many a mudblood a living hell by making them jump extra hoops for certifications.

All-in-all, he made it out quite well, he had no complaints about his life now. But as with Houdini and death, karma caught up with him in the form of a very scary masked man dressed in black, who was currently holding his head under a barrel full of rainwater.

Had Avery a wand, or his hands not tied behind his back, he probably would’ve been able to cast a charm to protect himself from this, but he didn’t. Instead, he had to wait for the masked man to pull him out of the water before he aspirated too much of it.

“You know, Mr. Avery, this is every bit as unpleasant for me as it is for you,” he said in a droll-sounding voice.

The masked man was a young-looking one in his late twenties or early thirties dressed in a slim black jacket, pants, and a black scarf that hung loosely around his neck. He had slick, shoulder-length black hair that framed his face well. The mask that covered his eyes, nose–with long tear-like streaks that ran down his cheeks–made him look intimidating enough.

“My jacket’s sleeves are getting wet and it’s rather cold in this barn.”

“What… what in Merlin’s name… is wrong with you?!” the assaulted and confused wizard demanded. He had every right to be the latter, he’d been walking from his office to the floo so he could get home from a long day of sticking it to the muddies, when this arsehole suddenly had him in a full nelson.

And now he was being steadily drowned, and it was not pleasant.

“Word on the cobblestone streets, is that you and a few of your Death Eater friends have been meeting up in secret when you’ve long claimed to have been under Imperius during that particularly unpleasant time and should have no desire to do it again,” the masked man said. “Tell me, what’s all that about?”

“I-I don’t have to explain myself to you-!”

“Explain it to the barrel, then.” With that, Avery was dunked face-first into the water again. After about seven seconds, he was yanked back out.

“Sorry if the barrel’s not much of a conversationalist, it is an amazing listener, though.”

“Y-you’re mad!” the former Death Eater screamed through a mouthful of water.

“Not particularly. A madman would be using Cruciatus to get what he wants out of you. Do you want me to be a madman?”

That seemed to change Avery’s tune just a little bit. “W-we meet, yes… j-just outside Hogsmeade… near the school!”

“How many of you?” the masked man asked.

“There are ten of us!”

“That’s quite the number, who would’ve thought that so many of you would meet as Death Eaters after being under Imperio? Is it something you do to cope? Because I can understand.”

The masked man pulled back the drenched jacket sleeve of his left arm, revealing a brand of a snake protruding from a skull’s mouth. “All this is how I deal with my time in.”

Seeing it, Avery grew wide-eyed and tried to look back at his assailant. “What the devil…?!”

The sleeve was yanked down, and the masked man grabbed Avery again in preparation to dunk him back in the bucket. “Why Hogsmeade, Avery? And don’t try to lie.”

“B-because one of our own is on the inside at Hogwarts! He’s seen the Dark Lord! He knows that he still lives!”

“How often do you meet?” he asked.

“Once every full moon, s-since October!” Avery yelped.

“Why haven’t the Dark Marks been activated?”

“B-because it’s too close to the school!”

The masked man stopped, and rested his head against the side of Avery’s. After a moment, he seemed to tense up. “Bollocks… you’re telling the truth.”

Avery looked towards the masked man in disbelief. “L-Legilimency?! What was the point of the barrel?!”

“Because it’s hard to do Occlumency when you’re busy being drowned you pillock,” the masked man said.

He then looked to the barrel. “And on that specific note, it’s time we end our association, Mr. Avery.”

Avery began to struggle. “Y-you can’t do this! I’m an employee of the Ministry! Who… who do you think you are?!”

The masked man suddenly shoved Avery forward, stopping with his head just inches above the surface of the rain barrel’s filthy water, and leaned close.

“I’m the Half-Blood Prince,” he quietly replied, before shoving his head under the water.

As Avery began to kick and struggle, the masked man pulled back and waved his hand, freezing the water solid and trapping his head underneath. Producing a single lily, he tossed it upon the struggling man’s back as his struggles began to cease.

After casting a charm to dry out his jacket, the Half-Blood Prince ran his fingers through his slick hair and hummed. “The next meeting’s a few weeks away. Well, at least it will give me time to prepare treats for everyone.”

Harry Potter and the Endless Night
Chapter 6: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Kill Them​

Since the dust up with Fluffy, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had taken to spending time with Hogwarts’ resident half-giant and gamekeeper Hagrid after all bygones were made bygones. On days where they didn’t have class at tea time, the could be invariably found at his homely little shack either by themselves, in pairs, or all together, enjoying excellent tea brewed by a proper British butler and cakes that may or may not have been made out of rock.

In all honesty, Harry and Hermione were a tad wary to try them–Ron enjoyed them plenty enough, though.

On this particularly nice day in early May, all three students were joined by Neville in their daily ceremony. The young Gryffindor had only recently found out of the tea meetings, and at Ron’s insistence he shyly joined them.

“Good ter see yeh in high spirits again, Hermione!” Hagrid said cheerfully to the young witch as Harry served the two of them some tea. “Yeh bin so quiet an’ sad these last few months.”

Hermione smiled. “Well, it took some adjusting, but everyone has been wonderfully supportive in Ravenclaw. And during Easter Break I began volunteering.”

Hagrid grinned. “Joined th’ Muggle Guides, eh?”

Hermione let out a small giggle. “Oh no, something a little more involved…”

During Easter Break

A hail of bullets tore apart a target at the end of a firing range. On the other end of the range, dressed as a Victorian Maid as Carlotta tended to be, Hermione released the trigger of the empty P90 submachine gun she clutched properly in both hands.

Just behind her, Harry and Integra broke into light applause.

“W-wow,” Hermione said as she looked down at the gun, “This… this has quite the kick.”

“But you held on marvelously,” Integra said, “So what do you think? Your style?”

Hermione hummed as she considered how she handled the gun. “Can I try the Stechkin again?”

And now the present

“… And it has proven extremely effective in helping me recover from what happened.”

Her gaze kind of darkened. “Though there is still a need.”

She took a sip of tea and brightened. “Excellent tea as usual, Harry!”

Harry had finished pouring Neville’s cup, and returned to his seat. “Thank you.”

“That’s me girl, yeh’re strong as yeh’re smart!” Hagrid congratulated, to which Hermione beamed.

Neville, who kinda, sorta, passive-aggressively blamed the tragedy on Harry due to the fact that violence seemed to follow him everywhere, had a foreboding suspicion that Hermione’s post-trauma therapy involved being mixed up with whatever Harry was. Still, it seemed to really help put her back towards being the girl she was at the beginning of the year instead of the quiet recluse she was between Christmas and Easter Break, so he wasn’t going to complain about it.

Now, Ron on the other hand, had been completely morose for the last three days as if someone had murdered his parents. Even now, as he nursed his cup of tea, he appeared ready to cry.

The reason? Well, it was so relatively mundane that Neville found it a cherished breather from all the other intensity.

“What ‘bout yeh, Ron? Why the long face?” Hagrid asked as he too noticed that Ron seemed very little interest in anything, not even the rock cake he tore into like a challenge to all dentists everywhere.

Ron looked up. “Oh, it’s just… I can’t find Scabbers anywhere. He’s completely vanished.”

“That’s no good!” Hagrid said. “I know a thing ‘bout losin’ a pet.”

He sighed lamentably. “I ‘ad me a Norwegian Ridgeback. Named ‘im Norbert… then word got out, Slughorn ‘ad me ship ‘im off not a week after ‘e hatched!”

“A dragon?” Hermione asked, aghast. “But owning one is illegal!”

“Don’ be a narc, Hermione,” Hagrid said.

“I’m not being a narc, I’m just saying they’re illegal.” Hermione crossed her arms. “Even I know that snitches get stitches.”

Hagrid shook his head. “Wish I knew who ratted me out.” He stopped when he saw Ron’s head droop low again. “Oh, sorry there, Ron.”

“You’re fine,” Ron said.

“We looked all over for him,” Harry said, “Not even his older brothers in Gryffindor could help.”

And the twins Fred and George could get anywhere in the school, an ability that vexed Harry even now. He needed to know their secret…

“Perhaps you could offer us some insight, Hagrid?” Harry continued.

“Aye, I know a bit ‘bout Scabbers, a clever, old rat. Bin ‘round since Bill an’ Charlie were startin’. Hard to say what goes on in those beady eyes.”

Hermione made a face. “That long? That rat must be beyond ancient!”

“Venerable, even,” Neville said.

“Nuttin’ strange ‘bout it, magic creatures live lots longer o’er muggle sorts.” He gestured to the extremely large Great Dane that had laid his head in Neville’s lap the moment he sat down. “Ol’ Fang ‘ere, I ‘ad ‘im since the 70s.”

The dog yawned, revealing vicious-looking teeth, before settling back to snore softly.

“Now if yeh wanna talk mys’try, I gots one fer yeh,” Hagrid said. “Summat be killin’ unicorns out ‘ere in the Forest. Found ‘nother one dead this morning, I did. Blood drained outta ‘em.”

Hermione, who liked Unicorns, gasped.

Neville, who loved Unicorns, nearly fainted.

Ron, who dreamed of being a Unicorn in his younger years because his sister loved them, nearly crushed the teacup in his hand.

Harry, who shared Ron’s dream to this day, was mutedly aghast. “You would have to be awful evil to do that.”

“Who… or what would do such a thing?!” Hermione demanded.

“I dunno, but would be nice if I ‘ad some ‘elp in findin’ who,” Hagrid said, before leaning in closer to Harry, “‘int-‘int.”

Harry paused. “Oh, you want me to help you find the Unicorn Killer? Su-”

Ron slammed his fist on the table, and the whole shack shook. “BLOODY COUNT ME IN!”

Neville, who was now cradling a startled Fang in his lap as though he were another, more popular Great Dane, gaped at Ron after looking around at the shaking rafters of Hagrid’s home.

Hermione was similarly startled… but now oddly fascinated by Ron.

Harry adjusted his tie, and nodded. “Of course, Hagrid, I’d love to assist you.”

After all, with Alucard around and Hermione to train, it had been since Christmas since he hunted something with a pulse that needed to be stopped.

“I… I would like to come as well,” Hermione said after finally tearing her eyes from the fist-shaped indent in the table left by Ron’s punch.

She looked to Harry. “It’s the sort of thing I’ve trained for, after all.”

Neville knew it, Hermione was caught up in that mess! “Can I come, t-too?”

Everyone else in the shack, including Fang, looked at Neville in disbelief.

“Er…” Hagrid was looking for words to say, but saying the boy ought to not go because he was as soft as butter left to sit out for a few hours would’ve been unprofessional even for him.

Hermione was gentle with him. “Neville, I think this sort of thing might be dangerous.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron agreed.

Neville bowed his head, quickly defeated. “I suppose you’re right.”

Hagrid, relieved that he didn’t have to tell him no, reached over and patted Neville’s small shoulder with his giant hand. “I know yeh worried ‘bout yeh friends, but don’ be. Harry an’ Hermione are strong, and Ron’s a got tha’ Prewett Madness like ‘is brothers, Uncles, and Mum.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Prewett Madness?”

“I promise, though,” Harry said, “Whatever I kill out there, I’ll have it stuffed and mounted for you, what do you say, Neville?”

Neville, who loved Unicorns but was still very concerned for his friends, nodded. “I… I suppose. You will be careful, right?”

Harry nodded. “I swear upon my magic, I will, and so will Hermione and Ron.”

“You’re bloody well right!” Ron said.

“Of course,” Hermione said before she looked to Ron. “What’s this about Prewett Madness?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders.

Neville, reassured, managed to smile and nod. Inside though, he had his still very valid concerns.

Outside the shack at that very moment, her ear close to the open window, Pansy Parkinson wore a beatific smile, before she discreetly pushed away from the side of the cabin and began skipping off towards the Forbidden Forest.

Down the path of the forest she trotted, heedless of the overwhelming danger that lurked within it, until she came onto a solitary figure that stood in a dark clearing with the light completely blocked by the trees. Hands folded behind her back, she bowed politely to the figure, that had its back to her.

“Ickle Harry is coming out tonight, Hagrid finally has had himself enough of cleaning up dead unicorns, my lord,” she reported.

“Finally,” the dark figure hissed back at her. “What perfect timing, as well…”

Pansy smiled. “Will we be destroying them?”

The figure raised a finger, “Of course! It will happen this very night.”

Pansy nodded. “If I may, my lord, I have an idea to ensure it.”

“Go on?” the raspy voice replied.

Pansy brought her hands up in front of her and clapped them together. “A hostage and meat shield. A foolish toad who can be easily tricked to coming here out of dire concern for his ickle friends.”

“Longbottom?”

“Longbottom.”

The raised finger quickly turned into a thumb’s up. “Good shit. Get on that.”

As Pansy was about to leave, the voice called out. “Oh, don’t leave quite yet. I have a few gifts for you.”

Pansy beamed. “A gift, for me?!”

The dark figure then tossed a flask over its shoulder to Pansy, who caught it. “When you’re in mortal trouble, drink this.”

Pansy caught it, and bowed again. “Thank you, my lord!”

“But that’s not the best thing,” the dark, awful figured declared.

“What could be better than this reassurance, my lord?”

“Why, a new pet.”

A large object dropped from the trees and landed in front of Pansy, who did not jump back in fear or flinch. As she stared at the creature that appeared before her, she slowly looked up and grinned as many, many more creatures began to slowly descend towards her.

“Oh… my favorite,” she purred happily.


Later in that afternoon, Dumbledore returned to his office after his usual afternoon of patrolling the school to mess around with student and staff alike in his usual cheery old manner. He shot the breeze with Minerva, watched the Hufflepuffs practice their quidditch (that new substitute seeker of theirs, Cedric Diggory, what a guy!), sat in on a potions class transfigured as a statue, broke up a fight between Percy Weasley and nine Slytherins (for the latter’s sake), and nicked off to Hogsmeade for a pint with Carlotta while they reminisced about the war. All in all, his day was quite wonderful.

“Lemon drop?” The Half-Blood Prince offered the wizened old wizard the second he walked in.

And then it wasn’t.

“Oh dear,” Dumbledore said upon seeing the smartly dressed masked man seated at his desk. “Hello, Severus, I didn’t think it would take you so long to get back.”

“Well, it did take until about Christmas for certain news to reach me. Fancy that.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Petunia told you, didn’t she?”

“The very first owl I got from her, yes.”

“Oh dear,” Dumbledore repeated.

“After that it became readily apparent why I was wasting my time in Albania. He who I was looking for was most certainly not there anymore. When I return, I find out of more news that somehow took a great deal longer to reach me than it should have.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I suppose you blame me for withholding that information.”

“I could, but it wouldn’t matter much, now would it?” The Half-Blood Prince asked.

“Not really; there is nothing you could do to me unless I let you.”

The Half-Blood Prince agreed. “Yes, I’m most certainly not into that sort.”

Dumbledore nodded, sadly.

He popped a lemon drop into his mouth before standing up. “All I really want to know is why.”

“Severus… how many bodies have you left between here and Albania and back?” Dumbledore asked.

The Half-Blood Prince patted Fawkes on the head, before looking over. “Not enough.”

“Exactly; the last thing Wizarding Britain needs is another mass-murdering Dark Wizard running around doing as he pleased.”

The Half-Blood Prince seemed hurt by that. “Honestly, Professor, what do you take me for?”

“A revenge-driven maniac who will kill anyone in his way without hesitation.”

“… True, but what do you know me as?”

“A revenge-driven maniac who will kill anyone evil in his way without hesitation. The problem is, my dear Severus, is that the war is ten years over and the people you’re murdering left and right are either renounced or reformed,” Dumbledore replied. “At least in the eyes of the general public.”

“Yes, but as I’m sure you’ve divined in your old age… the general public are pillocks,” The Half-Blood Prince argued.

Dumbledore let out a sigh. “You’re much like a young Alastor, you know.”

“Yes, and speaking of I visited him several weeks ago. He was quite happy to see me. We had tea, he gave me the whereabouts of Mr. Avery.”

Who had been found face-down in a frozen barrel in a barn outside of London. Due to the proximity of the spate of human enemas given to cows, it had been written off as more of the same.

“This is what I was concerned over,” Dumbledore said. There was quite the outcry over the death of the ex-Death Eater, particularly among other ex-Death Eaters.

“Worried that my mere presence will start another war with the Death Eaters? Well you’ll be relieved to know that no such thing will happen.” The Half-Blood Prince patted Fawkes again. “Young Mr. Potter’s return to the Wizarding World did that all on its own.”

He plucked a feather from the phoenix, who consented to the procedure. “I have simply rushed to join it.”

As Dumbledore watched, The Half-Blood Prince tucked the feather into his jacket… before giving him a wry look. “And the battlefield is closer than you think.”

With that, he disapparated, vanishing with a pop.

Staring at the empty spot, Dumbledore sighed. Severus Snape was always a brilliant lad, so much so that he offered him the position of Potions Master back in the day. Of course, with all of the torture and murder of other Dark Wizards creating a schedule conflict, he had to reluctantly decline.

Now he was back, performing his murderous trade in Britain again.

Dumbledore would be adjusting his robes awkwardly whenever he thought about it.

“Oh my dear Fawkes, if I were only fifty years younger,” he lamented to his phoenix companion.


Later that evening, as the scattered clouds pulled back to reveal an ominously full moon, Argus Filch and Mrs. Norris left Hogwarts with three small robed figures following behind them in a straight line. It was Harry, Ron, and Hermione, being led to Hagrid’s shack for their night patrol.

Under normal circumstances, Filch would be happy to be leading students off to the Forbidden Forest to leave them with Hagrid. Any child doing this sort of duty was being punished for some infraction of the rules and rightfully deserved the extremely high risk of dismemberment and death that came with setting foot in such an aptly named place. That these three were volunteering for this didn’t sit right with him.

Not that he’d admit it. Appearances to uphold, and all.

“Night like this, with the moon full and the air so clear–good night for werewolves,” Filch gruffly said.

“I’ve never actually killed a werewolf before,” Harry admitted, “Hope they’re not anything like the one my Grandfather fought.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re worse,” Filch warned.

Somewhere hidden off in Brazil, the sudden maniacal laughing of a Waffen-SS Captain who had been otherwise perfectly silent for the last 55 years sent his subordinates (and, surprisingly, his superiors) running for their very non-standard lives.

“What’re yeh fillin’ their heads with, Argus? Ain’t werewolves in the forest!” Hagrid called over to the approaching group. “Not since Albus was through back in ‘93.”

The very christmas after that incident, Hagrid got a new fur coat that was extraordinarily warm and comfortable. Filch too received such fine werewolf wares, but he gave them to his niece as a gift.

“Just telling them what sort of nonsense they might get into. That forest is full of evil things, wrong things. ‘Specially if they’re killing Unicorns.” Flich sneered. “World’s gone mad if something would kill something so pure–my niece loves those things.”

He then scowled at Harry. “So you’d better find it and kill it so she’ll have some to look forward to when she starts next year, boyo.”

Harry wondered why Filch kept mentioning his niece to him. She loved Unicorns, Mrs. Norris, and was allegedly cute, so she couldn’t be that bad.

“I certainly will,” Harry assured him.

“Good lad,” Filch said before nodding to Hagrid. “I’ll be back for ‘em in the morning, what’s left anyway.”

With that, the caretaker and his cat left, and a bemused Hagrid looked down at Harry. “Nicest I’ve ever seen him bin ter a student.”

Ron scratched his ruddy hair. “That was nice?”

“Well, enough o’ that. We ‘ave work ter do,” Hagrid then said before bringing up the lead with Fang on it. “Come now, I wanna show yeh summat.”

Hagrid turned and walked into the forest, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione sticking much closer. It didn’t feel like very long, but before they knew it they were in near pitch darkness–the dense leaves overhead all but blocking out the light of the moon. Shadows loomed around them, made longer and by the white light that shone from the tip of the umbrella that concealed Hagrid’s wand, carried in the half-giant’s free hand.

Ron swallowed nervously, as he scanned the darkness around him. He felt safe knowing Hagrid, Harry, and Hermione were close… but he was still just a normal student surrounded by monstrous people.

The group soon came upon something that glittered in the light cast by Hagrid’s umbrella, a puddle of silvery liquid at the food of a tree.

“This here,” Hagrid said, “Is Unicorn’s blood. Fairly fresh, found lots of it spread ‘round.”

Harry knelt down close to it, before looking around. There were many such splotches of blood. “So it’s wounded… walking…”

“Aye,” Hagrid said. “The plan is we find it, an’ if there be summat after it, we kill the beasty and be done with it. Not ter hard, aye?”

Harry nodded. “No, not at all.”

He stood up again. “This isn’t my first enthusiastic walk through the woods.”

Hagrid felt that sounded more ominous that really should have. “Harry, Hermione, yeh take Fang and go down the path that way.”

He pointed off into the forest to his right. “Ron an’ I will go o’er ter the lake. If yeh get inter trouble, send up red sparks, and if yeh find the unicorn, send up green.”

Harry took the lead from Hagrid, and smiled to the oversized dog. Fang, who smelled blood and horror but also a gentle fondness for dogs off from Harry, licked his face.

“Hehe, thank you Hagrid,” Harry said after scratching Fang behind the ear. “Come along, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded and then looked to Ron. “Be careful, Ron, and good luck!”

Ron nodded back. “You too,” he wished while wondering why those two would need such well-wishings.

He looked over to Hagrid. “Why’d I even say that? It’s not like there’s something those two couldn’t handle out there.”

Right as he said that, Ron wondered why it suddenly seemed so ominous.


With Fang trotting between them, Harry and Hermione searched further into the foreboding darkness of the forbidden forest. A light charm off the tips of their wands illuminated the path and the glittery blood of the injured unicorn. The brilliance of its luster meant that this was fresher, giving them hopes that it was close.

“Say, Harry, what does Sir Integra think of unicorns?” Hermione asked.

Harry hummed. “Well, for her eleventh birthday she wanted to ride a unicorn, so Professor Pinkstone, Grandfather, and I attempted to find one for her.”

Hermione stared. “Somehow I can’t imagine a unicorn approaching any of you on peaceful terms.”

“Actually, unicorns are very appreciative of people who destroy monsters,” Harry said. “So we were able to find one.”

Hermione was surprised. “Really! What happened?”

“Well, we brought it to the property and introduced it to Integra,” Harry said, “And it let her ride on its back around the mansion’s grounds.”

“I can’t help but feel that a second shoe is about to fall,” Hermione aptly observed.

“Almost immediately after, Sir Penwood showed up with his gift… and the unicorn abandoned Sir Integra on the spot for him.”

Hermione gaped at Harry. “You mean… Vice-Admiral Penwood…”

“Owns a unicorn, and they are the dearest of friends.”

Hermione blinked slowly, several times, as she processed that. “… Huh. I expected a more violent outcome.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “So did I.”

Fang suddenly lunged ahead, tugging Harry behind after him, as his sniffing caught him on to something. “Whoa!”

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed as she pursued the dragged along young butler, who was pulled along by the Boarhound until it leaped upon and tackled to the ground its quarry, who it began licking enthusiastically.

Harry peered down at Neville, who was squirming under the slobbery affection of the Boarhound. “Neville?”

“Harry!” Neville said, but Fang was licking his face. “I came… to warn… you…!”

Harry tugged on Fang’s lead. “Yes, yes, you love him. Could you please let him speak?”

Fang, tail wagging hurriedly, withdrew and Neville sat up to wipe his face of drool. “Harry, I came to warn you of something terrible. I know who’s attacking the unicorns!”

Harry and Hermione shared a look, before the latter urged Neville to continue silently.

Neville nodded. “It’s Pansy Parkinson.”

“Oh please tell me this is true,” Hermione said, desiring an excuse.

“How do you know?” Harry asked.

“She told me,” Neville said.

Wait. “Why would Pansy tell you that she-”

Neville pointed his wand at Harry’s chest. “Avada Keda-”

A swift kick to Neville’s solar plexus from Harry knocked the wind out of him and sent him to his knees. As Neville crumpled to the ground coughing and wheezing, both Harry and Hermione found Pansy standing on the other side of the clearing, leaning back against a tree, wearing a black long-sleeved leotard and skirt. In her hand, she held her wand, and around her waist was a simple black cord from which a silver flask hung. She had a mildly disappointed look on her face.

“Hello Potter, Granger,” she greeted them.

Hermione was happy–she had an excuse.

“Well,” Harry said as he produced a few knives. “I’m sure you came here with every intention of being clever and intimidating and the sort, but I’m only going to go straight to inflicting extraordinary amounts of harm upon your person.”

“The bloody hell you are, Potter,” Hermione said as she readied her wand. “Respect the queue.”

“Then by all means, ladies first,” Harry insisted. He needed to keep his eyes on the clearly imperiused Neville after all.

Pansy giggled. “Ahuhuhuhu… if you’re concerned about queue do not worry. There will be plenty to go around for the two of you.”

Harry suddenly became very aware of the fact that the shadows beyond the clearing were moving. Oh, and Fang had slipped his lead and was running in the other direction as fast as a Great Dane could reasonably run.

Hermione stopped, and recoiled when a spider the size of a football slowly crawled up from Pansy’s back to her shoulder, and then onto the side of her face. When she glanced to Harry she saw he was looking up, and when she followed his gaze her mouth fell open when she saw more spiders–gigantic Acromantulas the size of draft horses–descending from the leaf canopy overhead.

As more of the spiders, ranging from the size of a rat to that of a small car, began to emerge from the trees that ringed the clearing, Pansy giggled again as she brought a hand up to pet the acromantula on her face.

“Ahuhuhuhu… there will be more than you can ever handle!”

With the simple gesture of her nodding her head, the Acromantulas attacked Harry and Hermione.


Over with Hagrid and Ron, the only hint that anything was amiss came with an observation from Hagrid.

“Huh, I don’ see any Acromantulas abou’.”

That made Ron nearly stumble mid-step before he shot his gaze up to Hagrid. “I’m sorry, there aren’t any what about?”

“Acromantulas, I raised one when I was a student.” Hagrid shook his head. “Had to let ‘im go inter th’ forest after a scandal.”

Ron stared at Hagrid, still disbelieving. “There’s an A-Acromantula in the forest that you just decided not to mention?”

Ron was terrified of spiders, extremely so. Mostly because of a thing involving a very large spider when he was eight. The less said of it, the better.

“Well, there’s a lotta more than one. Aragog-”

“Oh Merlin, you named it.”

“-was lonely, so I got ‘im a wee girlfriend to keep him company.”

Ron’s mouth moved, but words did not come out. There was a breeding pair of Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest. As terrified as he was of Spiders, he knew his enemy well, and he knew how many of those horrors even one couple could make.

Finally, a word did escape his lips. “… WHY.”

Hagrid stared uncomprehendingly at Ron. “Acromantulas ain’t that bad, at least Aragog isn’t. Actually rather good conversation, an’ th’ kids are cute.”

Ron’s gaze unfocused for a moment, as he tried to comprehend Hagrid’s apparent love for spiders, and found only a winking void as his mind blacked out the imagery of a spider in a friendly setting.

He snapped out of it. “Acromantulas are horrible monsters! Why would you even want one?!”

Hagrid looked a bit offended. “I’ll have yeh know that Acromantulas are the victims of many misconceptions. Fer one, they ain’t vicious.”

Back over with Harry and Hermione, a horse-sized spider nearly crashed upon Harry after leaping at about the speed of one at full gallop. Harry narrowly avoided the spider, while Hermione used Petrificus Totalus to stop another spider cold before it could launch into its own leap.

“Yeh’re likely to see one or two small ones at most ‘less yeh walk right into their nest.”

Gloves on and knives out, Harry let fly a barrage of blades, impaling numerous smaller attacking spiders and putting out the eyes of two larger examples. Turning around, he tossed a single knife that became a dozen, and banished them into the head of the giant spider that had lunged on him before.

“Incendio!” Hermione yelled, causing another large spider to burst into flames, before she swung a great kick into a football-sized one that had thrown itself at her, punting it over more of the advancing beasts.

“Prefer ter ambush prey, too. Ain’t the sort to chase and fight yeh. So long as yeh stay on the path, yeh’ll be fine.”

Going back to back, Harry and Hermione looked around at the surrounding mass of arachnids, Hermione with wand ready, and Harry with handfuls of knives.

“Too many,” Harry said.

“Something of a problem,” Hermione replied.

Ron asked, “And what if you happen to be wrong about everything you just said and Harry and Hermione have run into Acromantulas and are fighting for their very survival?”

“Well, they got Fang along.”

At that moment Fang ran up and leaped into Ron’s arms, much like he did Neville’s. The impact of the large dog landing in his arms did very little to budge the young Weasley, who turned his flat stare away from Fang to subject Hagrid to it.

“That don’ mean anythin’,” Hagrid quickly said.