Thomas Cloverleigh Echos of the Past (Harry Potter Fanfiction)

Chapter 1 - For Our Son

It was darker than midnight. Not a star danced in the sky, nor a flicker of the moon could be seen. Large stones marked the path in the small English town. Lined on their sides was dented and rusting lights. Flickering yellow before shattered into a nothingness. Not a soul notice this strange happening.

All far to busy in their own homes to care, and the town far to small to have any wondering their streets so late in the night. The few souls who were up were old men sitting in their boxers, falling asleep watching their shows. Crying babies passed out for no reason in their grateful parents arms.

Slowly, from one worn house to the next. People fell asleep, not even a yawn passed the lips of the lone midnight snacker. They slid to the floor, nightgown and all. If they did wake their eyes would bulge, and the whispers would brew. For out in the darkness, out any wondering eyes; was two people flying high on a single broom. A lean man riding in front looked ragged and beating, and a women clinging to a small bundle.

His name Eric Blood, Eric was notorious in the best sort of ways. A vampire hero, who saved both the siren's of Ireland, and the witches. Being a hero didn't help save him. Eric's robe laid in tatters around his shoulders, and his hands cut and bruised, shook on the handle of the broom. His black eyes were large, usually calm and filled with the light of a caring man.

Now they narrowed in determination, his will grinding his teeth. His fangs dug into his bottom lip, making them bleed. He welcomed the blood. The copper taste reminded him to live, not for the ones leaning on his back, but for the one they left behind. Tightening his hands until they turned white, he lowered the broom.

How vampire could ride a broom, though unknown to most; was not a big secret. Bound to his wife, a pure blood witch; he learned a few tricks other vampires could not. He was blessed in many ways, but cursed in another; cursed by old evils that refused to rot in their graves. Old evils that made him run from Ireland, his home; their home.

Sweeping over roofs. He saw the torn shingles of the poor outskirt town. Ignoring the pain in his chest he flew on, past the shops and chewed up pave roads. Turning at the first dirt path he took them up a small hill. The worn, and degraded manor. A grimace tore what handsome looks he had right off his face. He may not have a heartbeat, but it didn't stop his heart from hurting.

"Terra we're here." His lips did not move as he spoke, instead he talked directly into his wife's mind. Not daring to utter a word which might bring their hunters closer. Even in their minds, his voice carried his rolling Irish brogue. Something he would never loose, despite being so far from home.

"It's awful Eric, why must we leave him!" Terra replied in the same fashion, her accent more of a song than a roll. She appeared in better shape than him. Bags shagged her brown eyes, and turned her peach skin white. Her robe and long curly hair were wild and clinging to dirt. A tiny woman that couldn't look her husband in the eyes without a step.

It was a miracle that she could hold their baby. Clutching a small bundled waddled in red. Despite all the commotion, their child laid sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms. Trusting, despite everything; in his parents.

"They'll never look for him here." Eric sent waves of comfort through their link. The broom slowed to a stop, he lowered his family to the ground. Stopping in the yard of the offal place.

"We lost Veronica!" Terra cried, speaking of their third, with large tears rolling down her face. Rocking their baby more for her own comfort than for his. "I don't want to lose him too!"

"I'm sorry." Pain, soul searing pain; broke Eric's voice. Veronica was the tie, the balance between them. The lost was more than any witch or vampire to bare. Pulling Terra and his son into his arms, he gentle rocked them both. Letting her cry.