Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Harry Potter or True Blood. If I were J.K Rowling or Alan Ball, I'd be sitting on a pile of money, laughing and never going to school again.
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You do not have to have anything other than basic knowledge of Harry Potter and True Blood to read this story.
The slim shadow of a figure darted through the dark streets of London, jumping from alleyway to alleyway. The shadow reflected along the grimy brick wall and down to the asphalt, where it met with a pair of feet. The feet were encased in a pair of black, clunky boots, scuffed and slightly too small, with frayed laces tangling on the ground below. If one were to follow the feet up the body they belonged to, they would encounter a person of average height, encased in a long black cloak with the hood pulled low over the forehead. The tip of a hooked nose could just be seen poking out of the depths of the hood.
Though the figure was careful to keep himself hidden from the main streets of this seedy part of town, he held absolutely no fear. His mind was completely focused on the task at hand—his last desperate attempt. Besides, it wasn't as if he couldn't easily protect himself if need be.
As the figure hurried down another alley, the opportunity to protect himself arose. A drunk stirred in a pile of garbage at the end of the dark narrow passage, and without even stopping the man's hand, which was shoved into the folds of his cloak, twitched. A flash of red light immediately followed and the drunk fell back into the smelly disgusting pile from which he had come.
The cloaked man finally reached his destination, a narrow alley lit by a single flickering lamp, which revealed a half filled metal garbage dumpster and an emergency door, with the faded words "HARRY'S HOUSE OF DELIGHTS," peeling off at the edges.
The man stood still in the center of the passage, braced his feet, and waited.
He didn't have to wait long.
Almost too quickly for the cloaked figure to see, a large blurred shadow appeared in front of the solitary light seconds before it went out, leaving only the light of the moon to see by. And even that was dim in the London smog.
"You are not here on accident." The soft, slightly accented voice caused goose bumps to rise on the cloaked man. The voice spoke with a assurance, not doubting anything he uttered, a steely band of authority, order, and something else underlining his tone.
The cloaked man though, refused to be scared of anything as trifling as a vampire. "No," he stated simply.
The vampire was silent, and he held utterly still. The cloaked man wished he could at least see the blood sucker's face, but he stayed out of the light of the moon and in the shadows. His right hand twitched, and he gripped the item he held tight enough to cut off his circulation.
"Take off your hood," the voice commanded suddenly, and before he could even think of the implications of such an action, the man complied.
The moonlight revealed a face that was too young to be a man yet, but certainly wasn't one of a child. His age was around seventeen, just keeping enough of the features of childhood for his age to be obvious. The pale face shone, the black soulless eyes glittered, and black lanky hair hung around his face like a curtain.
"Interesting," the vampire murmured. "Now the question is, why did you come to me?"
"You are the best," the teen answered simply.
"How," asked the voice, sounding slightly amused, "would you know that?"
The boy allowed himself a small smile. "I have my ways, vampire."
"So you know what I am." There was a pause. "Yes, you have the look of one of the humans that would consider to know our type. So you know what I am. What are you here for, human child?"
"I am not a child," the teen snarled.
Now the vampire was definitely amused, and indeed, a listener might have managed to catch a quiet chuckle from the direction of the dark figure. "By my standards, you are but a babe."
The boy bit back the retort pulling at his lips, but he held it back, his eyes flashing furiously. "You will want to be paid?"
"Of course," the vampire answered. "Who doesn't?"
"I am willing to offer anything you ask."
"Anything…"the cool voice mused. "When I could have everything."
The boy's right hand involuntary twitched, causing something to flutter from the folds of his cloak. Quick as a flash, the vampire grabbed it and retreated back into the shadows, but not before the boy managed to catch a glimpse of sleek blonde hair.
"What's this?" he asked, but the boy knew it was not a question to be answered. He imagined the vampire studying what he held in his hands, and he became slightly afraid.
Finally the vampire moved into the light and the boy was able to get his first good look at the vampire. He was at least a head taller than the boy, with a lean, lithe body packed with muscle. His ice blue eyes glittered dangerously, and the curl of a sardonic smile graced his face. He held out the item wordlessly for the boy to study.
It was a photograph of a family, a rather plain looking one. There was a mother with dark hair, with a father to match, and standing towards the front were two young girls, hugging and smiling fiercely at the camera. One was plain, with dark curly hair, while the other was a stunning red head, even in her youth. The photo was worn and torn at the edges, as if it had been fondled and carried around for many years.
"What if I told you," the vampire said casually, "that I wanted her?" One long white finger pointed at the redhead.
"NO!" the boy cried fiercely. "NOT her!"
The vampire studied him with his cold eyes. "Not her? But you told me I could have anything. Did you lie to me human?"
"You can't have her," the boy said vehemently, and finally his right hand pulled free of the folds of his robes, to revel a long, wooden stick, which he raised towards the vamp's face.
The vampire stared at the stick in his face in surprise, that was quickly masked by full blown amusement. "Is this the human's idea of a stake today?" he asked contemptuously. He shook his head. "What I wouldn't give for a good hunt." Suddenly his face hardened, and his hand shot out to lift the boy by the front of his robes, until they were nose to nose. All traces of amusement were gone.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
"You're a bloody git, that's what you are," the boy sneered, struggling against the tangle of his robes. "Dirty vampire…"
The vampire shook him. "I am Eric Northman," he snarled, "and I will not. Tolerate. Threats. Are we understood?"
"Yes," the boy answered sullenly, and Eric set him down quickly, as if he couldn't stand touching him.
"Good. I will decide on my payment later. And you will give me what I require. But for now, I would like to hear what you are requesting of me."
"You do many things," the boy said carefully. "I heard that you can…request the way someone might happen to meet their end."
"Of course," Eric replied, sounding almost bored.
"Right," the boy said. "I want it slow, and I want it painful. No mercy. Reduced to begging, pleading, tears, the most humiliating experience possible."
Eric regarded him carefully, and then shrugged. "I did not take you for the type to enjoy sex that way. But if that is what you were paying me for—"
The boy's face instantly transformed into one of disgust and shock. "I am not taking about sex with a filthy thing like you! I am describing a murder!"
"Murder," Eric asked. "A young pup such as yourself had cause enough to murder already?"
The boy gripped the picture in his hand tightly. "A great cause," he agreed.
Eric shrugged. "Very well. What would you have me do?"
The boy's eyes glinted, and a malicious smile on appeared on his face. "I want you to kill James Potter."