(A/N: due to a PM from a faithful reviewer of mine, I was to do a Harry Potter fanfiction where someone had to be a vampire. So this is a bit of a challenge, but I don't mind really, since vampires are so cool, and yeah. This will put Chess Piece and Paopu For You to a short hiatus until I figure out what to do with them. The plot's getting nowhere. Aynway, this is not related to the manga Vampire Doll in any way or form, I haven't read that manga either; eh, enjoy and beware.)

Disclaimer: I have to write this otherwise people would sue me. Alright, I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters, they all belong to the brilliant mastermind that is J. K. Rowling. I just have fun messing with her characters, so there is no need to take my three dollars and twenty-one cents.

oh, and SIRIUS IS STILL ALIVE THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER BOOK 5 SINCE I CANNOT STAND PADDY BEING DEAD. It was so sad, I had a tantrum; which I rarely do.

... moving along.

ps- I'm not British; I use USA spelling.

Vampire's Doll

Prologue: Inheritance

Harry Potter's Point of View

I, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived (to be more accurate, the Boy-Who-Just-Will-Not-Die to a certain dark lord), the supposed Savior of the Wizarding World, the Golden Boy, the idol of Witch Weekly, the spotlight of the Daily Prophet, the main feature of the Quibbler, the now seventeen-year-old, am no more than a creature of the darkness. It was funny, really, I thought I was on the light side. Somewhere along the road, it went terribly wrong.

I wouldn't say horribly wrong, oh no, not at all. For this wasn't the first time something negative had happened to me, but I must say that I am suprised, very suprised. I was just sitting here, on my bed after cleaning the Dursley's dishes, wishing myself a happy seventeenth birthday. It was late night, about eleven. The Dursley's had Aunt Marge over again, that pug-faced woman who I was definitely not happy to see. On the brighter side of the evening, none mentioned about that little incident when I inflated her to the size of a giant balloon at the age of twelve. That moment was priceless. Scary, but priceless. If one could have seen the look on her face... I really wanted a camera. Of course, people only sold digital cameras now and I highly doubt that electronics would work in the presence of the magic surrounding Hogwarts. Ah, I am rambling.

Anyways, after dinner the Dursleys had a parting with Aunt Marge, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The three Dursleys, tired from what ever the reason may be, made their way up to their respected rooms. Of course, not with Uncle Vernon painfully reminding me first that I had to do the dishes. Ho hum, I've forgotten all about the bruise. ... I was doing the dishes, with much hurry of course, since the clock was ticking. By wizarding standards, I was going to become legal of age, and I surely didn't want that moment to be when I was bending over the sink, trying to scrub that last oil stain of a few million glass plates. After I finished, there was about half an hour until midnight, so I quietly made my way to the cupboard. Ah yes, the cupboard. They had locked me back there due to the strange normalacy of sixth year. Figuring that I could not do magic without the fear of spending the rest of my life in Azkaban, it was cupboard time for me.

Of course, there was the option of living with Sirius; but in the Department of Mysteries in fifth year, he was badly injured and still believed to be the murderer of man. Peter Pettigrew had resumed the rat animagus form and fled into a nearby shadow. Sirius apparated out before the Ministry could come, but if I lived with him it would be suspicious and I wouldn't want to put my Godfather in that kind of danger. Even though Grimmauld Place was a place of suspicion, there was no reason for me to meddle in the "conversation between the organzied and adult witches and wizards." (A/N: see? I couldn't never kill poor Paddy. Rowling was evil doing that, but we still love and worship her greatly nevertheless. Dumbledore is still alive, the 6th book never happened).

I do tend to ramble a lot, don't I? Well, everything was going normal that night. I made my way to the cupboard, slightly suprised to see Hedwig out of her perch. Ever since we had gone back here to the old room at the end of fifth year, Hedwig haven't been getting enough of her nighly exercise or food. I took the little piece of meat I scrapped from the leftover dishes and fed her while she cooed contently. The small alarm clock showed 11:45. It was then that I noticed that something was moving. Squinting, I stared at the figure, readjusting my glasses.

"Dobby?"

"Oh, Harry Potter sir," the house-elf looked very startled to see me. "I was called by Harry Potter's friends to drop by his birthday presents. That was the last one. Wishes to Harry Potter a merry birthday."

With that, he went pop. Just a small pop, but a pop nonetheless. I strained my ears in caution to hear if anyone woke up: no one, good. Dobby had acted a bit weird than he normally did. I sat on the little cot I called a bed to see a strange book. It was a black leatherbound hardcover with a lovely cursive-fonted title. That reminded me of Malfoy's handwriting.. strange. I squinted at the title, dissapointed that there was not much of an adequate source of light.. one 20 Volt lightbulb doesn't do much. Finally, I read the title: Inheriting the Vampire.

Vampire? That sounds like something Hagrid would be into. I thought again; nah, probably not. Hagrid was into acromantulas and blast-ended skerwts, and more of the multi-legged creatures (i'm referring to 3 or more), incapable of human speech. Vampires were an alternate topic. They were like the fair Veelas, except deadlier and could abandon their mate without dying. Now this really brought me to thoughts. I didn't own the book, so it must be a gift. I wondered who...

A small piece of parchment fell out of the book. There was a difficult but recognizable handwriting that I knew all too well.

Dear Harry,

Congrats on living to seventeen-years-old. It means now that you're a legal adult in the wizarding world. So, what do you think? Up to legally "defend yourself" against those troublesome muggle relatives? You can live on your own now, so feel free to come to Grimmauld Place. You have access to your bank in Gringotts now, I trust you are sensible enough not to spend it all. Otherwise, I suppose it would be nice to have a companion with me in here. The house gets lonely a lot. The Order are barely here, and the portrait of my wonderful mother is still hanging there, beautifully screaming obscene words and curses. Just the life, is it not?

Anyway, I need to tell you something important. Or perhaps you would figure it out by yourself. I hope this book guides you. Whatever you do, DO NOT think biting your self would solve your hunger issues, because it just does not work. If you are hungry, go raid the fridge. I've sent a few packets of blood attached at the end of this letter (shrunken, of course. Don't worry, if you squeese these they'll un-shrink). You are to drink ONE daily, at least until we get you out of that dreadful place.

In response to your last letter, yes I am still alive. Otherwise, who would you think this is writing do you? The Grim? Haha, your old Divintation teacher was a funny one. Seriously, big black dog could have just done it, but the Grim? She's definitely gone ballistic. Dudley's not getting any better, is he? I hope your ankle's alright, shame you can't heal it with magic. Sorry I can't be there to help you and all, situation's tight at times. Now my mother's screaming again, something about keeping myself tidy. Catch you later Harry, hope you follow your common sense and not your instincts, we wouldn't want another dark lord on the rise, do we? Nah, one's just enough.

With much love and air hugs,

Snuffles (pawprint)

I smiled to myself. Ah yes, Snuffles is by far my favorite letter sending. Snuffles Sirius' animagus form as the big black dog that looks remarkably like the Grim... that means some time I can connect with my real family. I wonder what he meant by biting myself, though, and what the packets of blood were for. It was 11:58. I was so excited; 2 more minutes until I turn 17, 2 more minutes until I was a legal wizard, 2 more minutes until I can open up all those presents my friends (and others) sent me, 2 more minutes... until I learned the truth.

The truth, that I was a creature of the dark, bounded by the laws of magic to serve the dark lord, Lord Voldermort himself. The two minutes had passed, and Harry Potter ceased existance. Strange though, I don't feel dead. No, for I am undead. I am Harry Potter... the vampire.