A restless night left Harry exhausted and confused.

Was he really Dark? He didn’t feel Dark. He didn’t feel different at all, save for physically. Did that mean the book was wrong? How on earth was he supposed to know?

Maybe there would be books for vampires in Knockturn Alley, Harry thought with a shudder. It might be worth a try. He didn’t like the thought of going back into that place; but last time he had looked as shifty as everyone else and he hadn’t been bothered. Maybe that was the survival trick.

The plan was to go there after breakfast, but before he could get out of bed, he was struck with an unpleasant pain. He was used to abdominal cramps; after long periods of being half-starved at Privet Drive, he would always eat too much the moment he was allowed lots of food, and regret it the following day. But this was much, much worse than normal.

Maybe vampires couldn’t eat normal food after all? He’d had regular meals the day before, more out of habit than a need for them; plus an ice cream because, well, he loved Florean’s sundaes. Obviously that hadn’t been a good idea.

Harry lay on his bed, trying to block out the pain, searching desperately in his Defence book for any mention of vampires eating or not—nothing. Not that he had really expected it. It wasn’t exactly written with a vampire readership in mind.

He spent the rest of the day dozing, plagued with insecurities. The pain gradually lessened, and early evening Harry fell asleep entirely, sleeping much more soundly than the previous night. When he woke late morning, the pain was gone, and after his breakfast—just the blood, this time—he felt much better, and ventured forth to Knockturn Alley.

As before, Harry pulled his hood up and made his way carefully down the street, looking out for anywhere that looked like it might sell books. He was just passing the apothecary he had bought the blood from when someone strode out unexpectedly, and Harry crashed into them.

“Sorry,” he mumbled quickly, trying to keep his face hidden.

“Look where you’re going,” a voice snapped.

Harry went cold. It was Snape. Keeping his head low and hoping the man hadn’t recognised him, Harry made to retrace his steps, but a moment later a cold hand clenched on his arm and dragged him back, and his hood was ripped off his face.

“Potter,” Snape snarled, though he did it quietly. “Do you have a death wish?”

“N-no,” Harry stammered

Snape began dragging him back the way he had come, out of Knockturn Alley. Once they were safely in Diagon Alley, he rounded on him, eyes flashing.

“Maybe you can enlighten me as to the intention of your little escapade, Potter. A dare, was it? Or are you nurturing your criminal tendencies more than I gave you credit for?”

“No,” Harry mumbled.

“Well then, what?”

His mind was blank. The last person he wanted to find out the truth was Snape. But what on earth could he say?

“Well, Potter?”

“Research,” Harry said suddenly. “For, um, Defence Against the Dark Arts. The textbook didn’t answer all my questions so I thought—”

“So you thought you’d just skip over the nice big Defence section in Flourish and Blotts and get some first-hand experience,” Snape finished. “Potter, I’m sure even your—what passes for a brain—can tell that that alley is not one for the precious Boy Who Lived to wander in, let alone completely unsupervised. You get all sorts of Dark wizards in there; even Dark creatures.”

Yeah, Harry thought bitterly. Like me.

“Where are your relatives?”

Harry didn’t know how to answer this. Obviously Snape hadn’t heard about the Marge incident. Good. But if he didn’t know, Harry had no interest in enlightening him. “Around,” he said vaguely.

“That is not very helpful, Potter. Where exactly?”

“Why do you care?” Harry said before he could stop himself.

“Watch your tongue,” Snape growled. “Whilst I have no interest in being babysitter to a big-headed, reckless Gryffindor who thinks the world revolves around him, I will not let anyone say that I left the Golden Boy alone to get himself cursed, killed or turned into a vampire.”

Oh, the irony.

“Now where are they?”

“All right,” Harry grumbled. “They’re not here; I’m staying by myself in the Leaky Cauldron.”

Snape snorted. “You really expect me to believe that?”

“Just ask Tom, he’ll tell you.”

“You’re really here alone?” Snape sounded incredulous.

“It was Cornelius Fudge’s idea. Well, sort of.”

“Then the Minister is quite clearly a bigger moron than I thought.” Harry was taken aback. “He left you—you—free to wander at your own will, with Sirius Black on the loose?”

“He seemed to think I’d be safe in Diagon Alley, sir.”

“The Minister obviously doesn’t know you like I do. If he did, then he’d realise that Harry Potter is simply too superior to keep to the restrictions for his own safety.”

“That’s not true!” Harry protested.

“Then what were you doing in Knockturn Alley?”

Snape had him, and he knew it. Harry bit his lip, and Snape looked triumphant.

“Well then; since it appears no-one else is inclined to keep you in line, I’ll just have to do it myself.” Before Harry could react, Snape had seized his wrist, drawn his wand in a loop around it, and said, “Retinaculum infans.” A glowing band briefly encircled where the wand had been, before disappearing. Harry felt suddenly trapped.

“Magical leash, Potter. You cannot stray from Diagon Alley until such time as you leave for Hogwarts.” Harry’s mouth fell open in horror. “If you try to venture into Knockturn Alley, or the Muggle world, or indeed any place in which you don’t belong, I will know—and believe me, the consequences will be most unpleasant.” Snape considered thoughtfully. “Perhaps I shall even re-cast the leash when we get to Hogwarts.”

“Sir!” Harry said in a strangled voice.

“It’s for your own good, Potter. And I for one do not wish for another year running about saving your worthless hide. Now get out of my sight.”

Harry fled, desperate to get away from the man, though he tried unsuccessfully to hide it.

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. How was he supposed to find out what he needed now? A magical leash … Thank goodness he hadn’t run into Snape before he’d bought the blood, or he would be in even deeper trouble.

But that still left him with a huge problem.

In desperation, Harry headed to Flourish and Blotts, but all the books on vampires seemed to be from the Defence perspective. He didn’t want to buy too many for fear of raising suspicion, but picked out the ones he thought would be the most useful in informing himself of what to look out for. There was no mention anywhere of how to heal a vampire, so Harry hoped he would never have to know.

-

With the prospect of being leashed at school, Harry had to consider his diet carefully. So far, he’d been drinking two vials, three times a day, which felt like the right amount to fill him up. But with no idea how he would get more, Harry made the painful decision to ration it to make it last longer. One vial, three times a day—half what he should have, but even then he knew it wouldn’t last him till Halloween.

The unfortunate side-effect was that he now felt permanently hungry. Still, he was used to it, living with the Dursleys; and he figured that it was better than drinking his full now and then having to go without completely later on before he found another source. Diagon Alley had been no help in trying to find a mail order service; and besides, if it was as expensive as the apothecary had been, he would clean out his vault in no time. He wouldn’t be able to sneak into Hogsmeade with the leash, even if they had somewhere there. Snape might have some blood for potions use, but Harry couldn’t very well get it from him either. Otherwise, he was stumped.

Harry found himself yearning to tell his friends everything; no doubt Hermione, if she put her mind to the problem, would come up with an answer. But he knew he couldn’t. They were the best—really, the only—things he had in his life. The only things that really mattered, anyway. He wasn’t going to risk it.

-

Harry missed Snuffles. He had thought—hoped—the dog would turn up again, but it seemed his new friend had abandoned him. Maybe he had just stuck around as long as Harry had needed him for, then gone off to help some other wizard—or vampire—who needed it? Well, it didn’t matter. The only living creature he knew wouldn’t reject him, and he had gone. Harry was officially alone.

Since the leash had been cast, Harry had been spending most of his time in his room, struggling to see a way through. But by the fourth day, he was resolved enough was enough. He was done with moping. He had some freedom here—albeit limited—and he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

He forced himself out into the sun, exploring the shops, buying all his school provisions and didn’t try to test Snape’s leash. The last thing Harry wanted was to bring the slimy git running. He finished his homework at Florean’s, pleasantly surprised to find that a couple of sundaes per day was perfectly acceptable to his stomach as long as he didn’t eat anything more, and coveted the Firebolt on a daily basis. He was actually enjoying himself, and wouldn’t have cared at all about the leash if he didn’t have the uncertainty of the blood’s source hanging over him.