[HP/Angel/WoD/DBFS] "In My Time of Dying" (2/6)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. Vampire: the Masquerade belongs to Mark Rein-Hagen. Angel belongs to Joss Whedon. Dun own nothing. Except Zechiel. And Erin.
Title:: “In My Time of Dying”
Author:: darkjediprinces
Fandom:: Harry Potter/World of Darkness/Angel
Rating:: R/M
Warnings:: Gore
Summary:: It was supposed to be just a night on the town with his friend. It turned into the worst nightmare he’d ever lived.
Characters:: Harry, Beckett, Zechiel, Lucius Malfoy, Erin, Angel, Serena, Olivia, Victoria, Bloodlines minor characters
Pairings:: None.
Timeframe:: 2006
In My Time of Dying
Chapter 2: Beckett
“Du bist der Wächter der dunklen Macht
Die Schwarze Sonne, sie gibt dir Kraft
Der kalte Mond erleuchtet dich
Dein Antlitz stolz und Hoheitlich”
“You are the watchman of dark power
The Black Sun, it gives you strength
The cold moon illuminates you
Your countenance, proud and regal”
-“Mondengel”, E Nomine
Erin was panicking. Harry was nowhere to be seen. She had just gone to get more coffee, and when she had returned, he was gone. She stopped passersby and asked if they had seen him, describing him as best she could. Some of the good Samaritans she stopped passed on the description to others, and soon, there was a whole ruckus on the street.
Ruckus that made it perfect for someone to slip in and out of a nearby alleyway undetected.
A tall, pale man with long, dark hair emerged silently from the alley, carrying the limp body of the young man everyone was trying to find. They disappeared without a trace soon after.
* * *
Harry returned to consciousness with pain exploding through every fibre of his being. He opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, someone gently placed their wrist to his mouth. A thick, sweet liquid dripped onto his tongue. Feeling the pain starting to ebb, Harry leaned forward, grasping the person's arm and drinking in more. After a few moments the arm was forced away. Harry opened his eyes; everything was blurred. Where're my...
“Looking for these?” A light baritone voice said. The figure before him held out something, which Harry hesitantly took, and, feeling the plastic lenses of his glasses, unfolded them and placed them back over his eyes. They weren't the round glasses he had worn in his youth; he had since traded those in for a pair of thinner, rectuangular frames.
The man before him, currently rolling his sleeve down over the wound on his arm, was tall and extremely pale, with long dark hair and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He wore mostly brown, a shoulder bag sitting at his feet filled with books and old sheets of parchment.
He's not the one who attacked me, Harry thought. That one looked different... Swallowing, Harry hesitantly asked, “Who are you?”
“You may call me Beckett,” the man said. “I imagine you're confused; Gangrel tradition dictates that newly Embraced Childer be left to fend for themselves for a time, but... your friend was causing a ruckuss and it was best to make sure you couldn't be found.”
“Erin?!”
“She's out looking for you. She won't find you. Not unless you want her to, and I hope you don't. It's probably better to think you're dead or missing.”
Harry sat up and attempted to get out of the bed he was lying in. “What? No! I'm not going to-”
Beckett calmly laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and forced him back to his seat.
“Ow...” Harry muttered, rubbing his shoulder.
“Sit. There are things to be explained.” Beckett removed his sunglasses, revealing eyes that glowed a feral red. “You have just been Embraced in to the Kindred race of vampires. Your Sire was a member of my own clan that I have been trailing for some time. He disappeared just after he attacked you. However, he is not a mentoring sort and probably wouldn't have come back for you if you survived. As I said earlier, Gangrel tradition dictates that Childer be left to fend for themselves for a time. You're lucky I saw the attack, or you would've been on your own.”
Harry simply stared at Beckett, a puzzled expression on his face. After a moment, when Beckett hadn't said anything more, he asked, “The... Kindred? I only know of one race of vampires, and.... they don't call themselves that.”
Beckett chuckled. “Just as there are many sub-races of humans, there are also many sub-races of vampires. We Kindred are different from the vampires you have... encountered in the past. There are 13 Kindred Clans, the only one of which that is important right now being the Gangrel, our own Clan.” Beckett bent over and dug around in his shoulder bag. “Your Sire,” he continued as he searched, “is named Zechiel. He is what we call antitribu, meaning he doesn't follow the Clan's usual political direction. He is a member of the Sabbat, though he does not say so openly. He is also an assassin.” He straightened, holding a notebook and flipping through it, idly. “I have been trailing him for some time, taking a break from my usual studies, so I can get rid of him... the rest of the city's Gangrel, few that they are, are nervous around him.”
“He's... an assassin? So he attacked me deliberately?”
“More than likely, yes.” Beckett continued to search through the notebook. “Ah yes.... a few nights ago Zechiel visted an apartment building which... he did not have a Haven in. I presume he was meeting a client, one who may have been interested in your death. You don't... have any enemies that you know of?”
“Uh, yeah, actually, quite a few,” Harry muttered.
Beckett smiled a little. “There's a good chance this client did not want you Embraced. Zechiel has a habit of rebelling against authority, it's something common to most Gangrel... Moreover, Zechiel didn't have permission to Embrace you, not that he would have ever sought it anyway. The Sabbat are deadset against the Camarilla.”
“Sabbat? Camarilla?”
“Sects, political movements. The Camarilla are present to keep the Kindred in line, to make sure we aren't discovered by mortal Witch Hunters. Therefore they control the number of new Kindred being Embraced. In order to Embrace a new Childe, a Kindred must seek permission from the Camarilla Prince of the city they live in.”
“Sounds familiar,” Harry muttered, thinking of the Ministry of Magic. Except, the Ministry didn't attempt to control wizard population...
“The Sabbat seek the destruction of the Camarilla and the subjugation of humans,” Beckett continued, not seeming to hear Harry's comment. “They're animals, in the worst possible sense of the word, but they are a force to be reckoned with.”
“So most Gangrel follow the Camarilla?” Harry inquired. “You said earlier that Zechiel was a member of the Sabbat, and an... antitribu?”
“You learn fast, boy. But no, actually, most Gangrel are independent of both sects. We prefer to be on our own, out in the wilderness, away from the cities and thus far from both sects.”
“So what brings you to the city?”
“Research. And, of course, Zechiel. That was something that came about later, though. Zechiel has lived here a long time. I was originally here to research an artifact known as the Ankaran Sarcophagus... Long story, not enough time to explain it. Hunting Zechiel is a favour from a friend.”
“Who?”
“A young Tremere I met about two years ago. She wasn't very fond of him when she ran into him. Apparently someone wanted her head and hired him to kill her. Or it was a Sabbat assassination. She hasn't the time to hunt him herself, unfortunately, too busy helping her Primogen run his Chantry.”
“Tremere?”
“Another Kindred Clan. Mages, the lot of them. This one-her name is Serena-has my respect and trust, but all others of the clan are not to be trusted. Scholarly though they may be, they are experts at deception. Chantries are Tremere havens and gathering places. The Tremere Primogen has one downtown. He's busy with his Camarilla duties, making Serena busy with helping him run the Chantry. Therefore she can't hunt Zechiel herself, although she's stated numerous times what she'd like to do to him.”
“And... the Primogen?”
“The leaders of the Kindred Clans for a certain city. The Gangrel don't have one here, as I've said, we're largely independent from both sects. And most of the Gangrel here in the city are Sabbat anyway.”
Harry rubbed his temples; He was starting to get a headache. Beckett slid the notebook back into his shoulder bag.
“Your Sire will not help you. So I think I will. In exchange for one thing…”
“What’s that?”
“You help me kill him.”
Harry raised both eyebrows. “Why do you need my help?”
“He’s older than me… As Kindred age, they get more powerful. And as far as friendly Kindred go, you are, shall we say, convenient.”
“…How old is he?”
“400 or 500 years dead. Possibly older.”
“And you?”
“I am about 300 years dead. I’ve tried taking him out before, I came out with some very severe injuries.”
“I won’t stand a chance, then.”
“But you also have magic, am I wrong?”
“…You know about the wizard population.”
“I am an historian,” Beckett stated, grinning. “Most Kindred know about them, we just don’t talk about them. No reason to. They leave us alone, we leave them alone. There are a few wizarding Kindred but they’re not common, and most of them are Tremere. You’re probably the first Wizard to become a Gangrel.”
“Why not ask your Tremere friend?”
“As I said, she’s busy. Her sisters are too.”
“…Sisters?”
“Mortal sisters, older sister Olivia, of clan Ventrue, younger sister Victoria of clan Malkavian. Ventrue are entrepreneurs, businessmen, politicians… Malkavians are insane.”
“Insane… how?”
“Many ways. Victoria is schizophrenic, I believe. She also has a tendency to speak in riddles. Other Malkavians are different. The Baron of Santa Monica has split personalities, for instance. Anyway, about Zechiel… will you help me kill him?”
“Does he need to die?”
“He’s Sabbat. They all need to die. They’re bad news. But for now, he alone will do. Plus, he did Embrace you against your will. Surely that would be a motive?”
Harry remained silent for a moment. “In return you’ll help me adapt to being Kindred?”
“Of course. I couldn’t ask you to do something that might get you killed without offering something in return. All Kindred need a mentor, be it their Sire or someone else.”
Harry thought for a moment before nodding. “Alright. If I help I can find out which of my many enemies wanted me dead… It was probably one of the remaining Death Eaters, but there are several in the area, so I’d need to find out specifically.”
Beckett smiled. “I’d be willing to help you with that as well. It’d be another thing condemning Zechiel. We have a deal, then?” He offered a pale hand. Harry took it.
“We have a deal.”
Title:: “In My Time of Dying”
Author:: darkjediprinces
Fandom:: Harry Potter/World of Darkness/Angel
Rating:: R/M
Warnings:: Gore
Summary:: It was supposed to be just a night on the town with his friend. It turned into the worst nightmare he’d ever lived.
Characters:: Harry, Beckett, Zechiel, Lucius Malfoy, Erin, Angel, Serena, Olivia, Victoria, Bloodlines minor characters
Pairings:: None.
Timeframe:: 2006
In My Time of Dying
Chapter 2: Beckett
“Du bist der Wächter der dunklen Macht
Die Schwarze Sonne, sie gibt dir Kraft
Der kalte Mond erleuchtet dich
Dein Antlitz stolz und Hoheitlich”
“You are the watchman of dark power
The Black Sun, it gives you strength
The cold moon illuminates you
Your countenance, proud and regal”
-“Mondengel”, E Nomine
Erin was panicking. Harry was nowhere to be seen. She had just gone to get more coffee, and when she had returned, he was gone. She stopped passersby and asked if they had seen him, describing him as best she could. Some of the good Samaritans she stopped passed on the description to others, and soon, there was a whole ruckus on the street.
Ruckus that made it perfect for someone to slip in and out of a nearby alleyway undetected.
A tall, pale man with long, dark hair emerged silently from the alley, carrying the limp body of the young man everyone was trying to find. They disappeared without a trace soon after.
* * *
Harry returned to consciousness with pain exploding through every fibre of his being. He opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, someone gently placed their wrist to his mouth. A thick, sweet liquid dripped onto his tongue. Feeling the pain starting to ebb, Harry leaned forward, grasping the person's arm and drinking in more. After a few moments the arm was forced away. Harry opened his eyes; everything was blurred. Where're my...
“Looking for these?” A light baritone voice said. The figure before him held out something, which Harry hesitantly took, and, feeling the plastic lenses of his glasses, unfolded them and placed them back over his eyes. They weren't the round glasses he had worn in his youth; he had since traded those in for a pair of thinner, rectuangular frames.
The man before him, currently rolling his sleeve down over the wound on his arm, was tall and extremely pale, with long dark hair and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He wore mostly brown, a shoulder bag sitting at his feet filled with books and old sheets of parchment.
He's not the one who attacked me, Harry thought. That one looked different... Swallowing, Harry hesitantly asked, “Who are you?”
“You may call me Beckett,” the man said. “I imagine you're confused; Gangrel tradition dictates that newly Embraced Childer be left to fend for themselves for a time, but... your friend was causing a ruckuss and it was best to make sure you couldn't be found.”
“Erin?!”
“She's out looking for you. She won't find you. Not unless you want her to, and I hope you don't. It's probably better to think you're dead or missing.”
Harry sat up and attempted to get out of the bed he was lying in. “What? No! I'm not going to-”
Beckett calmly laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and forced him back to his seat.
“Ow...” Harry muttered, rubbing his shoulder.
“Sit. There are things to be explained.” Beckett removed his sunglasses, revealing eyes that glowed a feral red. “You have just been Embraced in to the Kindred race of vampires. Your Sire was a member of my own clan that I have been trailing for some time. He disappeared just after he attacked you. However, he is not a mentoring sort and probably wouldn't have come back for you if you survived. As I said earlier, Gangrel tradition dictates that Childer be left to fend for themselves for a time. You're lucky I saw the attack, or you would've been on your own.”
Harry simply stared at Beckett, a puzzled expression on his face. After a moment, when Beckett hadn't said anything more, he asked, “The... Kindred? I only know of one race of vampires, and.... they don't call themselves that.”
Beckett chuckled. “Just as there are many sub-races of humans, there are also many sub-races of vampires. We Kindred are different from the vampires you have... encountered in the past. There are 13 Kindred Clans, the only one of which that is important right now being the Gangrel, our own Clan.” Beckett bent over and dug around in his shoulder bag. “Your Sire,” he continued as he searched, “is named Zechiel. He is what we call antitribu, meaning he doesn't follow the Clan's usual political direction. He is a member of the Sabbat, though he does not say so openly. He is also an assassin.” He straightened, holding a notebook and flipping through it, idly. “I have been trailing him for some time, taking a break from my usual studies, so I can get rid of him... the rest of the city's Gangrel, few that they are, are nervous around him.”
“He's... an assassin? So he attacked me deliberately?”
“More than likely, yes.” Beckett continued to search through the notebook. “Ah yes.... a few nights ago Zechiel visted an apartment building which... he did not have a Haven in. I presume he was meeting a client, one who may have been interested in your death. You don't... have any enemies that you know of?”
“Uh, yeah, actually, quite a few,” Harry muttered.
Beckett smiled a little. “There's a good chance this client did not want you Embraced. Zechiel has a habit of rebelling against authority, it's something common to most Gangrel... Moreover, Zechiel didn't have permission to Embrace you, not that he would have ever sought it anyway. The Sabbat are deadset against the Camarilla.”
“Sabbat? Camarilla?”
“Sects, political movements. The Camarilla are present to keep the Kindred in line, to make sure we aren't discovered by mortal Witch Hunters. Therefore they control the number of new Kindred being Embraced. In order to Embrace a new Childe, a Kindred must seek permission from the Camarilla Prince of the city they live in.”
“Sounds familiar,” Harry muttered, thinking of the Ministry of Magic. Except, the Ministry didn't attempt to control wizard population...
“The Sabbat seek the destruction of the Camarilla and the subjugation of humans,” Beckett continued, not seeming to hear Harry's comment. “They're animals, in the worst possible sense of the word, but they are a force to be reckoned with.”
“So most Gangrel follow the Camarilla?” Harry inquired. “You said earlier that Zechiel was a member of the Sabbat, and an... antitribu?”
“You learn fast, boy. But no, actually, most Gangrel are independent of both sects. We prefer to be on our own, out in the wilderness, away from the cities and thus far from both sects.”
“So what brings you to the city?”
“Research. And, of course, Zechiel. That was something that came about later, though. Zechiel has lived here a long time. I was originally here to research an artifact known as the Ankaran Sarcophagus... Long story, not enough time to explain it. Hunting Zechiel is a favour from a friend.”
“Who?”
“A young Tremere I met about two years ago. She wasn't very fond of him when she ran into him. Apparently someone wanted her head and hired him to kill her. Or it was a Sabbat assassination. She hasn't the time to hunt him herself, unfortunately, too busy helping her Primogen run his Chantry.”
“Tremere?”
“Another Kindred Clan. Mages, the lot of them. This one-her name is Serena-has my respect and trust, but all others of the clan are not to be trusted. Scholarly though they may be, they are experts at deception. Chantries are Tremere havens and gathering places. The Tremere Primogen has one downtown. He's busy with his Camarilla duties, making Serena busy with helping him run the Chantry. Therefore she can't hunt Zechiel herself, although she's stated numerous times what she'd like to do to him.”
“And... the Primogen?”
“The leaders of the Kindred Clans for a certain city. The Gangrel don't have one here, as I've said, we're largely independent from both sects. And most of the Gangrel here in the city are Sabbat anyway.”
Harry rubbed his temples; He was starting to get a headache. Beckett slid the notebook back into his shoulder bag.
“Your Sire will not help you. So I think I will. In exchange for one thing…”
“What’s that?”
“You help me kill him.”
Harry raised both eyebrows. “Why do you need my help?”
“He’s older than me… As Kindred age, they get more powerful. And as far as friendly Kindred go, you are, shall we say, convenient.”
“…How old is he?”
“400 or 500 years dead. Possibly older.”
“And you?”
“I am about 300 years dead. I’ve tried taking him out before, I came out with some very severe injuries.”
“I won’t stand a chance, then.”
“But you also have magic, am I wrong?”
“…You know about the wizard population.”
“I am an historian,” Beckett stated, grinning. “Most Kindred know about them, we just don’t talk about them. No reason to. They leave us alone, we leave them alone. There are a few wizarding Kindred but they’re not common, and most of them are Tremere. You’re probably the first Wizard to become a Gangrel.”
“Why not ask your Tremere friend?”
“As I said, she’s busy. Her sisters are too.”
“…Sisters?”
“Mortal sisters, older sister Olivia, of clan Ventrue, younger sister Victoria of clan Malkavian. Ventrue are entrepreneurs, businessmen, politicians… Malkavians are insane.”
“Insane… how?”
“Many ways. Victoria is schizophrenic, I believe. She also has a tendency to speak in riddles. Other Malkavians are different. The Baron of Santa Monica has split personalities, for instance. Anyway, about Zechiel… will you help me kill him?”
“Does he need to die?”
“He’s Sabbat. They all need to die. They’re bad news. But for now, he alone will do. Plus, he did Embrace you against your will. Surely that would be a motive?”
Harry remained silent for a moment. “In return you’ll help me adapt to being Kindred?”
“Of course. I couldn’t ask you to do something that might get you killed without offering something in return. All Kindred need a mentor, be it their Sire or someone else.”
Harry thought for a moment before nodding. “Alright. If I help I can find out which of my many enemies wanted me dead… It was probably one of the remaining Death Eaters, but there are several in the area, so I’d need to find out specifically.”
Beckett smiled. “I’d be willing to help you with that as well. It’d be another thing condemning Zechiel. We have a deal, then?” He offered a pale hand. Harry took it.
“We have a deal.”