Ron woke early on Monday. His sleep had admittedly been rather hit-and-miss all weekend—too much on his mind. Knowing that he wasn’t going to go back into dreamland, he got up and quietly pulled back the hangings of Harry’s bed.

Odd. His bed—unmade—looked exactly the same as it had done yesterday.

Hospital Wing, Ron thought. It was still very early, but he couldn’t just hang around. He had to talk to Harry.

Nobody was around. Ron reached the Hospital Wing and slipped inside quietly, but was confused—Harry wasn’t there. Some of his things were by one of the beds, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Ron searched all of Harry’s favourite haunts, even venturing outside, pre sunrise. In the end he was forced to conclude that Harry didn’t want to be found.

During breakfast, Hermione kept giving Ron worried glances. He had barely touched his bacon and eggs. At least Hermione was unlikely to start piling food on him—Ron had to repress a shudder at the thought. He didn’t know what vampires could and couldn’t eat … had they really been hurting Harry all that time?

He couldn’t stand it any longer and pushed away his plate. Hermione raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment.

Ron hadn’t told her. He had admitted that he had been wrong to blame Crookshanks for Scabbers’ death, and apologised (though reluctantly—Ron was sure the cat would have eventually got him if Harry hadn’t beaten him to it), but hadn’t repeated Harry’s confession to her, no matter how curiously she enquired what had changed his mind.

Harry didn’t turn up for Charms. Ron waited for him to turn up late, but by the time the lesson was well underway, he knew deep down that Harry wasn’t coming. Hermione was under the impression that he was in the Hospital Wing again, but Ron knew better. He raised his hand and asked to be excused.

“Please sir, I need to see the Headmaster.”

-

“You’re really sure he’s missing?” Hermione queried as the two made their way down the corridor.

“I’m telling you, I looked everywhere.”

“Oh, I hope Black didn’t …” Hermione trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

Ron shuddered at the thought, and paused outside the gargoyle Harry had described last year. “Er … sherbet lemon?”

Nothing happened.

“Well, of course it wouldn’t still be the password, Ron.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking!” Ron had barely got the words out of his mouth before the gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside.

“That was the password? ‘Shut up I’m thinking’?”

The gargoyle gave Ron a withering look. If it could talk, he was sure it would have said “Of course not, you moron; Dumbledore’s just expecting you.”

“Er, thanks,” he muttered, going slightly red, and he and Hermione hurried up the moving spiral staircase.

“Enter,” came Dumbledore’s voice when Hermione raised her hand to knock. Ron pushed the door open. “Ah, Mr Weasley—and Miss Granger.” His tone dipped, sounding concerned. “Professor Flitwick sent word ahead to say you wished to speak to me. Is there something wrong?”

Ron overcame his curiosity and chose to ignore the intriguing office, coming to stand in front of Dumbledore’s desk. “Er, Professor …” He took a deep breath, for a moment his sense of fear triumphing over his sense of guilt. He paused, wondering how to phrase it.

“Am I to take it your visit has something to do with Mr Potter?” Dumbledore asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Er—yes,” Hermione said. “How did—”

“It was hardly much of a leap,” Dumbledore said simply. “Now, what is wrong?”

“He’s missing, sir,” Ron said. “I’ve looked everywhere for him; I can’t find him.”

“I see.” Any twinkle there was in Dumbledore’s eye left it. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Ron squirmed slightly. “Um … Saturday morning,” he half-whispered. “We … er … we had a fight.”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything, just kept his light blue eyes fixed on Ron, who suddenly couldn’t meet them anymore. He dropped his gaze.

“Er, Hermione—could you, um, give us a minute?”

Hermione looked surprised and hurt, but left the office. Ron felt bad, but he was determined not to give Harry’s secret away to anyone he didn’t have to. Once she was gone, he took a deep breath.

“Professor, I—it’s m-my fault he’s gone.”

“What makes you say that?” Dumbledore asked, his expression still simply concerned, with no hint of judgement.

“I-I-I t-told him to go. He—” Ron’s breath hitched and he couldn’t continue. Dumbledore moved, gently sitting him down in the chair before the desk.

“Take a moment,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Breathe deeply.”

Ron followed his advice, and his nerves settled slightly. “Harry’s a vampire.”

He wouldn’t have thought it was possible to catch Albus Dumbledore off-guard, but it looked like Ron had performed the impossible. Dumbledore stared at him, the concern replaced with shock—and after a moment, fear.

“How long?” Dumbledore finally asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“I only found out Saturday morning. He told me he got Turned in the summer.” Dumbledore’s eyes widened further. “My—my rat died and—and Harry confessed it had been him. And I—I was angry,” Ron said in a small voice. “I y-yelled at him—I said—I said—I said I d-didn’t want to s-see him again.” Ron swallowed hard. “D-do you think he m-might have—taken me literally?”

“Harry running away is definitely a possibility we have to consider,” Dumbledore said heavily. “This is not good. This is not good at all. Does anyone else know what Harry is?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s taken him this long to tell me, and I think that was only to stop me blaming Hermione’s cat.”

“I see.” Dumbledore had begun pacing, looking pensive. “Where have you already searched for Harry?”

Ron listed all the places he had looked.

“Right. This needs to be handled delicately.” Dumbledore paused. “Let’s hope he’s still within the school boundaries; we can’t afford to get the Ministry of Magic involved with this. Ronald, please return to Gryffindor Tower with Miss Granger in case Harry returns there. I will organise a search party to comb the castle and grounds.”

“I want to help look for him, Professor,” Ron blurted. “Please. This whole thing is my fault; I need to help.”

Dumbledore hesitated. “Have you checked his belongings? Seen if there is anything missing?”

“Er … no.”

“Well then, start with that while I amass the troupes. Then you may return here and we can devise a strategy together.”

Ron felt a lump in his throat. “Th-thank you, Professor. Er … are you going to tell the other teachers …”

“That Harry is a vampire? Only the ones that I know for absolute certain will not allow the information to degrade their view of him as a person.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Ron said in relief.

Dumbledore motioned for him to leave, and as Ron exited, he saw the Headmaster grab the Floo and toss a handful into the fire.

-

“What’s all this about, Albus?” Severus folded his arms, scowling as usual. He knew it had to be important for his boss to cancel all their lessons, but Albus’ idea of important wasn’t always the same as Severus’.

Unfortunately, Albus looked grave, and Severus relaxed his scowl slightly. “We have a problem. One of our students is missing.”

“Are you sure they’re not just skipping class?” Minerva asked.

“Albus, there’s no need to interrupt all our schedules to escort one truant child to class, surely,” Severus said.

“Actually, in this case, I do not believe it is simply a case of not wanting to go to class,” Albus said firmly. “And the missing student in question is Harry Potter.”

Severus groaned. Sometimes he could swear the brat existed only to drive him insane.

“And considering Sirius Black is on the loose—”

“If you’re so concerned about him, why have you only asked Minerva, Lupin and myself to be here?”

“Because,” Albus said, “you three, Hagrid and Poppy—whom I have already informed, just in case—are the only ones I can fully trust with the following information.”

“What information?” Minerva asked.

“Harry’s a vampire.”

It was a moment before Severus, Minerva and Albus all turned to look at the teacher who had spoken.

“Vampire?” Minerva was the first to gasp.

“Remus, how long have you known?” Albus said with a frown.

“Only since Friday. And I didn’t … know, not for certain. But Harry was quizzing me on—on vampires and souls and … well, I could tell his interest wasn’t academic. He was so worked up over it I didn’t like to ask him outright then—I was going to give him time to take in what I’d said and talk to him about it this week.” Lupin looked Albus in the eye. “How long have you known?”

“Half an hour. Ron Weasley told me when he alerted me to Harry’s disappearance.”

Severus, still struggling to comprehend the facts, said, “And how long did he keep that to himself?”

“Since Saturday morning, when he and Harry had a fight about it,” Albus said calmly. “That’s the last time anyone saw him.”

“You think the argument made him run away?” Minerva whispered.

“That’s what it looks like. But if he left Hogwarts, he’ll be that much harder to find—”

There was a knock on Albus’ office door. “Come in, Ronald,” Albus called.

The Weasley usually attached to Potter by the hip entered, looking around at the other teachers amassed there.

“Well, is anything missing?” Albus said gently.

“Just his schoolbag,” Weasley said, eyeing Severus nervously. “Nothing else that I can see.”

Severus gave Weasley a glare in response. This was all his fault, the little idiot. Potter was the drama queen, yes, but after two and a half years of being his best friend the Weasley boy should have known this and not driven Potter to Merlin knew where, with a killer out for his blood. This whole mess was precisely why Severus had cast the leash—

His blood suddenly ran cold. It must have shown on his face, for everyone looked at him.