I don't own Harry Potter or Hellsing

  November 2, 1988 — Morning Until Evening

  A hint of pale light seeped through the tall windows of the Hellsing estate's guest room, illuminating the subtle patterns on the wallpaper and revealing floating motes of dust dancing in the snted rays. Beyond the thick curtains, the sky was a watery blend of vender and pink, the sun having just crested the horizon. It was November 2, 1988, and this dawn was gentler than the one before. Gone were the howling winds and ceaseless downpour—today arrived clear, cool, and calm.

  Harry Potter stirred beneath a tangle of soft bnkets. These bnkets were unlike anything he had known before: thick, warm, and smelling faintly of vender. He blinked, confusion momentarily crossing his features as he recalled the events of the previous day. No dusty cupboard, no stone-cold floor. Instead, a luxurious bed in a spacious room. His small body sank into the cushions, and he sighed, brushing away the st vestiges of sleep. A question rose in his mind: Was he still safe?

  He rolled onto his side, gazing at the door apprehensively, half-expecting Uncle Vernon's roar or Aunt Petunia's cold face. Instead, he heard distant footsteps along the hall, calm and measured. The hush of the morning gave everything a sense of peace. After another moment, Harry gently pushed the bnkets off, intending to sit up.

  But just as he did, the door opened quietly. He froze, heart thudding. Yet rather than danger, he saw Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing—the imposing woman he had met yesterday, her ice-blue eyes softened with concern. She wore a neatly tailored navy-blue suit with a high colr, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders in a sleek cascade. Her presence filled the doorway even though she stood quite still, as if she held all the authority in the world within her regal bearing.

  Something unexpected happened next: Integra smiled.

  Harry blinked. He had never seen that expression on her face, though he had only known her a short time. The smile was small, but it lit her eyes with gentle warmth. She crossed the threshold with measured steps, her well-polished shoes making hardly a sound on the carpet. Stopping at the foot of the bed, she pced a small tray on the nearby bedside table. The tray contained a porcein teacup filled with some steaming drink, a few biscuits, and a folded napkin.

  "Good morning, Harry," Integra said quietly, her voice low and smooth. "I trust you slept well?"

  Words caught in Harry's throat; he nodded, clutching the edge of the broadsheets that covered him. He felt both comforted and shy—no adult had ever greeted him so kindly in the morning. Yesterday had been overwhelming: new people, new surroundings, a flurry of revetions about magic, the Hellsing Organization, and hints of danger from the wizard who had abandoned him to the Dursleys. Now, confronted by Integra's calm presence, Harry found himself torn between gratitude and uncertainty. Was this kindness truly genuine?

  Integra's smile softened further. She moved closer, then stopped, carefully respecting his space. "I see you're still a bit nervous," she said gently. "I don't bme you. This must all feel very new." She reached out, then paused—she wanted to rest her hand on his shoulder, but she sensed how skittish he was. Instead, she simply kept her hands folded at her waist and offered comfort through her words. "You're safe, Harry. This estate is protected by wards even wizards have trouble penetrating. No one can hurt you here."

  He swallowed, nodding again, still clinging to the sheets. Then, in a move that surprised even himself, he mumbled, "Thank you, ma'am."

  A soft ugh escaped Integra. "Ma'am?" she repeated, amused. "That's very polite, but actually, people here address me as 'Sir Integra.'"

  Harry's eyebrows knit in confusion. "S-Sir? But you're... a dy."

  His innocent observation made Integra ugh again, a gentle sound that was rare from her. She set her posture a bit straighter and expined, "I am a dy indeed, but I hold a knighthood from Her Majesty the Queen. It is customary in this role for me to be addressed as 'Sir Integra.'"

  Harry was momentarily speechless. He had only the vaguest notion of what knights were: men in armor, from stories or maybe a cartoon he glimpsed through a crack in the cupboard door. The idea of a woman knight baffled him, yet it also captivated him. He clutched the sheets more tightly in childish wonder. "You...you mean you're a knight like in stories? With a sword and everything?"

  Integra's lips twitched, her blue eyes gleaming. "Precisely. Though I don't often roam about in full armor these days," she remarked dryly. Then she reached into her suit jacket and pulled out a small object—a silver cross pinned to a velvet cloth, the medal of her station. "This is part of the insignia I carry. It might not be a sword, but it's just as meaningful."

  Harry stared, wide-eyed, enthralled. A real knight. Aunt Petunia had once ranted that only men who sold drills or men who worked at respectable, normal jobs were worth anything. She'd never mentioned knights, especially not women knights. The idea that a woman could wield authority in any form was beyond anything Harry had experienced. Uncle Vernon always barked orders, and Aunt Petunia quietly obeyed. He formed a mental image of the tall, regal Integra in shining armor, sword at her side, fighting monsters. His face brightened with wonder.

  A moment ter, he realized he was staring, and his cheeks fmed in embarrassment. He ducked behind the bnkets again, half-hiding. Integra giggled—a soft, melodic sound that was as surprising to her as it was to Harry. She hardly recognized the warmth flowing through her. She had never been maternal, or so she had believed. Yet here she was, giggling like a doting guardian, pleased by the boy's fascination.

  "Harry, I brought you some cocoa," she said, gesturing to the teacup. "Walter made it this morning, and it should still be nice and warm. Would you like some?"

  Curiosity won out over shyness, and Harry peeked from the sheets. "Cocoa? I've... never really had it before."

  That admission made Integra's heart clench. The Dursleys had truly denied Harry simple pleasures. "Go on," she encouraged, stepping aside so Harry could reach for the cup.

  He emerged cautiously, small hands clutching the warm cup. He took a tentative sip—sweet, creamy chocote flooded his mouth, chasing away morning chill. An involuntary smile lit up his face, dispelling the weight of old fears for a moment.

  Integra watched, satisfied, then pulled a chair closer to the bed. "Today," she began, "I'd like to spend some time with you—if you feel up to it." Harry's eyes flicked to her. "I want to show you around the estate, expin what we do here, and maybe answer some questions you might have. Would you like that?"

  He nodded vigorously, then realized he was being too enthusiastic and shrank back. Integra's expression remained warm. "Don't be afraid, Harry. You can speak your mind here. No one will punish you for curiosity."

  A burst of relief and hope lit Harry's face, and he asked softly, "You...you promise?"

  Integra's voice dropped to a near whisper. "I promise."

  Morning Lesson: Hellsing and Its Knight

  After finishing the cocoa and munching a biscuit, Harry found himself carefully picking out clothes from a small wardrobe Walter had stocked for him—simple trousers, a warm jumper, socks, and a pair of polished shoes that actually fit. The mere existence of clothes that fit him felt miraculous. He moved slowly, each muscle still remembering bruises from days past, but the pain was mild now.

  Integra waited outside, giving him privacy to dress. When he emerged, she allowed herself a small smile at his neatly combed hair (Walter's doing, no doubt) and shy stance. They walked together through wide corridors with high ceilings, tall windows letting in the soft autumn light. The estate was grand, with dark wood paneling, ornate sconces, and paintings of Hellsing ancestors.

  Harry's eyes kept darting around. A small swirl of intimidation hovered in his chest—this pce was so big and refined, like a pace. But Integra's steady stride at his side quelled that fear. She matched her pace to his smaller steps, occasionally pointing out an interesting artifact on a table or a portrait on the wall.

  Finally, they entered a spacious library with tall shelves brimming with old tomes and records. The faint smell of aged paper and leather binding filled the air, mingling with a hint of pipe tobacco—an odd phantom of the te Arthur Hellsing, Integra's father. Sunlight streamed in through the tall, stained-gss windows that dispyed heraldic designs of lions and crosses.

  Integra guided Harry to a comfortable leather armchair. She took a seat opposite him, crossing her legs in a poised manner. "This is one of my favorite rooms," she said by way of introduction. "It's where I studied many long nights to learn about my family's legacy. And it is from here that I can share some of it with you."

  Harry gnced at the bookcases in awe. "Your family's legacy?" he repeated, voice hushed. He vaguely remembered she had mentioned something called the 'Hellsing Organization.'

  "Yes," Integra nodded. Her voice grew steadier, more formal, as though slipping into a well-practiced expnation. "The Hellsing Organization is an institution that has existed for centuries, dedicated to defending the United Kingdom against supernatural threats—particurly vampires, ghouls, and other dark creatures."

  She paused, weighing how much to reveal. Harry was eight, but he was no ordinary child. He had witnessed cruelty and had a magic swirling within him. He deserved the truth, at least in simpler terms. "My ancestors fought vampires and other monstrosities for a very long time. Over the generations, we refined our methods and cultivated alliances. Now, under my leadership, Hellsing is officially sanctioned by the Crown and answers directly to Her Majesty the Queen. We protect this country and its people from things most would rather believe don't exist."

  Harry stared, letting that sink in. Vampires. Monsters. He'd always been told that magic was freakish, that such things were nonsense. Yet here was this woman, calmly speaking of a world he had never known. Despite the strangeness, her voice carried an unshakable conviction. "So you... you fight vampires?" he asked, picturing snarling creatures in old horror films he'd glimpsed in passing.

  Integra offered a thin smile. "We do. And sometimes we employ one."

  His eyes widened. He recalled Alucard from st night—tall, terrifying, cd in red, with eyes that seemed to glow. The memory made him shrink deeper into the armchair. "A... a real vampire?"

  She nodded. "Alucard is the most powerful vampire we know of, centuries old. He is bound by a contract to the Hellsing family, serving us. He protects this country in his own way. He found you, remember?"

  Harry did remember—he recalled those gloved hands picking him up out of the rain, carrying him swiftly through the streets. In that moment, he had been too cold and weak to truly process fear. Now, the memory of that unnerving grin sent a shiver down his spine. But then again, Alucard had rescued him. The contradictory emotions tangled up inside him.

  Harry hesitated, then ventured softly, "He was... scary."

  Integra inclined her head. "Yes, Alucard can be frightening. But he won't harm you. Under Hellsing's command, he has strict orders to protect you. He's... let's say, complicated. I wouldn't expect you to be comfortable around him immediately. Over time, you may see other sides of him."

  Silence settled for a moment. Harry let out a small breath. This was more information than he had ever expected to learn in his life—about an organization that hunted monsters, about a knightly woman with authority, about a vampire ally. Yet, amid all this strangeness, he felt a sense of relief. Integra was telling him the truth. No one had ever bothered to tell him truths before.

  "That's... that's amazing," he whispered. "You're like a hero."

  A flicker of emotion crossed Integra's features, a mix of pride and humility. She cleared her throat. "We do our duty, Harry. We aren't always heroes in the storybook sense. Sometimes what we do is grim. But it's necessary. We fight so others don't have to."

  Harry absorbed that quietly. In his limited worldview, anyone who rescued people from vampires and monsters seemed heroic indeed. "I never knew..." he began, but words failed him. He just looked around the library, letting the significance of it all sink in.

  After a moment, Integra stood. "There's more to show you. You mentioned a few questions about my title, about the Queen. Let's walk; I'll expin."

  Strolling the Hallways: Sir Integra, Knight of the Realm

  They left the library, moving into a wide corridor lined with suits of armor and portraits of grim-faced men and women—Hellsing ancestors, though Harry did not know their names yet. Light from tall windows fell across the checkered floor. Harry walked close to Integra's side, dwarfed by her height.

  "You asked why I'm called 'Sir' when I'm a woman," Integra began, her voice echoing slightly in the hallway. "I told you it's because I was knighted. But perhaps you also wonder how that came about."

  Harry nodded eagerly, green eyes bright with curiosity. "I-I don't really understand. I thought only men could be knights, like... King Arthur's knights, you know?" He flushed, feeling silly for referencing something from a battered book he once glimpsed at primary school.

  Integra smiled. "It's an old tradition that typically referred to men, yes. But times change. When the Queen knights someone, they can be addressed as 'Sir' regardless of gender, under certain circumstances—especially in a hereditary knighthood. My father was Sir Arthur Hellsing, and I inherited his title and responsibilities. Upon reaching adulthood, I was recognized officially as the head of the Hellsing Organization, thus retaining the 'Sir.'"

  Harry let out a small "Oh," eyebrows raised in awe. "So... the Queen... she's the one in charge of the whole country?"

  "In a manner of speaking," Integra replied carefully, thinking of how best to describe monarchy to a child. "The Queen is the constitutional monarch. She's a symbol of the nation's unity and tradition. The government runs through elected officials, the Prime Minister, and Parliament, but the monarchy still holds a ceremonial and symbolic pce of great importance. My family, the Hellsings, work directly under the Crown's authority in matters of national security, particurly regarding the supernatural."

  Harry frowned in concentration. "So... you... you answer to the Queen? Is she a nice dy?"

  Integra ughed softly, remembering her few direct encounters with Her Majesty. "She is firm, gracious, and sharp as a tack. The Queen has seen much in her life, and she bears her duties with dignity. She entrusts us to protect the realm from threats that ordinary w enforcement can't handle."

  They passed a tall painting of the te Arthur Hellsing, Integra's father, depicted in his prime—a proud figure in a suit, sword at his side, a stern set to his jaw. Harry studied the painting, noticing the resembnce in the shape of the eyes and the unwavering posture. "That's... your dad?"

  "Yes," Integra said quietly, pausing before the portrait. "He was a great leader, and he taught me everything I needed to know to carry on the family legacy."

  Harry nodded shyly, not wanting to pry into painful memories. They continued down the hall.

  Childlike Wonder: Learning About Queens and Duties

  A few minutes ter, they found themselves in a smaller sitting room with a rge window overlooking the Hellsing estate gardens. The hedges were meticulously trimmed into geometric shapes, and beyond them, a hedge maze led into a small orchard. Leaves of orange and gold glistened in the sunlight, a gentle breeze tugging them free to flutter across the manicured wns.

  Integra drew Harry's attention to a dispy case: inside were medals, certificates, and formal documentation of her knighthood and commendations given to the Hellsing family over generations. One sealed letter bore the elegant cursive of a royal signature. Harry stared at it, trying to piece together all this new information.

  "Is... is the Queen nice to you?" Harry asked again, this time with a hint of childlike wonder. He had never imagined what monarchy truly meant until now. The Dursleys had never discussed the royals, except in passing or to sneer at 'fancy nonsense.'

  Integra thought for a moment. "In our professional retionship, yes. The Queen respects the Hellsing Organization's work, and we respect her authority. I wouldn't call it a friendship—more a mutual respect, grounded in tradition and necessity."

  Harry was silent for a beat, eyes on the letter. Then, in a small voice, he asked, "Does... does she know about me?"

  The question caught Integra off guard. She considered her reply carefully. "I haven't spoken to her about you personally, Harry. For now, your presence here is between us—Hellsing staff and a few close confidants. You're safe, and that's what matters. Perhaps one day, if circumstances require it, the Queen will be informed." She pced a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and this time, Harry didn't flinch away. "There is no rush. Let's allow you to settle in first."

  Harry nodded. The idea of the Queen learning about him felt both thrilling and frightening. He wondered what Aunt Petunia would think if she knew that the 'freak' was living in a manor, under the care of a real knight who answered to the Queen. The thought almost made him giggle. But a pang of sadness followed—his aunt and uncle had thrown him away. That still hurt, though he tried to push the memory aside.

  "I'm... I'm gd you took me in," he whispered, voice trembling with the weight of gratitude he struggled to express. "It's... so different here."

  Integra knelt slightly to meet his gaze. "I know. And I promise you, Harry, you will never go back to that life."

  A lump formed in his throat. He nodded fervently, not trusting himself to speak. He believed her.

  Adorable Imitation: A Tour of the Estate

  They continued their tour. Integra showed Harry the grand dining room, expining that formal dinners with dignitaries were sometimes held there. He marveled at the long table polished to a mirror finish, the tall-backed chairs with velvet cushions, and the chandeliers overhead. Having lived under the Dursleys' stairs, Harry felt he had stumbled into a fairy tale castle.

  As they moved through various corridors, Harry found himself unconsciously mimicking Integra's posture—straight back, lifted chin, purposeful stride. She caught him gncing at her from the corner of his eye, then quickly adjusting his stance to match hers. It was, frankly, adorable.

  At one point, she led him into a smaller office that served as a strategic pnning room. Maps of Engnd and Europe covered the walls, dotted with pins and notes. A rge mahogany desk held stacks of intelligence reports, some about suspected vampire activity. Harry stared at these in awe before turning to see Integra standing with her arms folded, an air of command about her. With a smile, he tried to fold his arms exactly the same way and stand the same way, feet apart, shoulders back.

  Integra observed this with a mix of amusement and tenderness. She walked over and gently adjusted his posture, tapping a finger beneath his chin. "There. That's better," she murmured. "A knight, even a little one, must stand tall."

  Harry beamed. He liked the idea of being a knight, or at least imitating one. For a moment, he forgot his past entirely. Here, he was safe, respected, and learning about a broader world that had room for courage and dignity. He felt a flicker of something he had rarely experienced—confidence.

  Walter soon appeared, bowing slightly to Integra, then giving Harry a kind nod. "Sir Integra, Master Harry," he greeted. "Lunch will be ready in half an hour, if that suits you."

  "That's perfect," Integra said. She turned to Harry. "Let's finish up our little tour and then eat, shall we?"

  Harry nodded enthusiastically. He was discovering a voracious appetite after years of near-starvation, and the thought of a proper lunch made his stomach rumble.

  They moved on, passing a grand staircase that curved to the upper levels. Harry caught sight of a corridor he hadn't been down before and wondered what y there. Part of him wanted to explore every nook and cranny—like a child discovering a new world. But he was also mindful, not wanting to stray without permission.

  "Sir Integra?" he asked tentatively. "Is there... a pce here I can py? Like... outside?"

  She paused, considering the question. "The estate grounds are quite extensive. There's a courtyard with a fountain, a hedge maze, and stables—though we no longer keep many horses. And there's a small orchard beyond the maze. You may explore, but I'd rather you have someone with you, at least until you're more familiar with the yout. It's easy to get lost."

  Harry's face lit up. "I'd like that," he said shyly.

  His excitement warmed Integra's heart. She gestured for him to follow, and they continued. The estate felt like a byrinth of hidden treasures, each corridor lined with small wonders—an antique suit of armor standing guard in a corner, a painting of a famous Hellsing knight from ages past, or a towering grandfather clock ticking away the centuries. For Harry, it was all new and magical in its own right, even if it wasn't wizard magic as Dumbledore or others would define it.

  Encounter with the Vampire: Harry's Shy Retreat

  Their final stop before lunch was a smaller parlor adjacent to the foyer. Sunlight spilled through tall windows, revealing comfortable armchairs, end tables with crystal mps, and a selection of books on a low shelf. It felt homey, a pce for casual gatherings. Integra led Harry in, pnning to show him the portraits on the walls, which included some of her father's closest associates.

  But just as they entered, Alucard appeared out of the far corner of the room. He seemed to materialize from the shadows, cd in his signature red duster coat, bck trousers tucked into heavy bck combat boots, and an equally crimson fedora perched atop his head. The lenses of his orange-tinted gsses reflected the daylight like glowing embers, obscuring his eyes.

  Harry let out a startled squeak and instinctively hid behind Integra's leg, clutching at her suit jacket with trembling fingers. Alucard, who had been about to greet them, froze mid-salutation. His lips curved in a slight smile—yet it was gentle, far from his usual predatory grin.

  Integra felt Harry's little body press against her, felt the tremors of fear that ran through him. She cast Alucard a warning gre. The vampire, centuries-old and used to striking terror into the hearts of foes, found himself at a loss. He had no desire to scare the boy, yet his mere presence did it anyway.

  "Alucard," Integra said in a clipped tone, "must you appear so suddenly?" She pced a protective hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've frightened the child."

  The vampire considered making a witty retort, but upon glimpsing Harry's terrified eyes peeking from behind Integra's leg, he realized no humor would be well-received. Instead, he inclined his head, stepping back. "My apologies," he said, voice low and resonant. "I did not mean to startle him."

  Harry's lips quivered, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. "B-Big scary man in red," he whimpered. The trauma of the st few days, plus Alucard's overwhelming aura, made fear blossom inside him.

  Integra's protective instincts fred. She leveled a severe look at Alucard. In that gre, the centuries-old vampire read the unspoken message: Leave. Now. Should he not comply, she would verbally—and perhaps physically—chase him off.

  Alucard might be a monster to many, but to Integra, he was a servant bound by loyalty and contract. He recognized that maternal fury in her eyes. It was a look that even unflinching men had learned to fear. For a heartbeat, he considered how best to retreat without further upsetting the child. With a faint flourish, he tipped his fedora. Then, in an impressive dispy of shapeshifting, he morphed into a rge bat, wings fluttering. The bat soared toward the window, phasing through the gss as though it wasn't there. He disappeared into the daylight, leaving behind only the barest echo of a chuckle.

  "Alucard, you're a pain in my ass sometimes," Integra muttered under her breath, ensuring Harry wouldn't hear the crude term. Turning her attention to the trembling boy, she gently stroked his hair. "It's all right, Harry. He's gone."

  Slowly, Harry emerged from behind her leg, still trembling. Tears welled in his eyes, and he sniffled. "H-He's so big, and his eyes..."

  Integra knelt, drawing him into a loose embrace. She let him rest against her shoulder, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. "I know," she soothed. "I'm sorry he startled you. He didn't mean harm. Alucard can be intense, especially when he forgets how frightening his presence can be."

  Harry sniffled again, tears trickling down his cheeks. "He...he saved me, though... in London..."

  "Yes, he did," Integra murmured, rubbing slow circles on his back. "He has a strange way of showing concern, but he does care." She paused, letting the boy calm in her arms. "We'll work on him approaching you more gently."

  A few more seconds passed before Harry's trembling subsided. He wiped his cheeks, seeming slightly embarrassed by his tears. Yet Integra's kind expression did not contain an ounce of censure. She simply ran a thumb across his cheek to catch a stray tear. "That's quite enough excitement for one morning," she said gently. "Shall we go have lunch?"

  With a watery smile, Harry nodded.

  Lunch in the Dining Hall: A Moment of Comfort

  Walter greeted them at the entrance to the dining hall, bowing politely and taking in the tear tracks on Harry's face with discreet understanding. "Master Harry, we have prepared a chicken broth and some sandwiches. I hope you find them to your liking," he said quietly, ushering them to the table.

  Harry sat next to Integra, feeling safe by her side. The dining hall was less intimidating now that he understood it. He stared at the cutlery and fine china id out before him. Walter poured a gss of water, then set out a bowl of savory-smelling chicken broth. Steam curled invitingly upward, and Harry took a tentative taste, eyes lighting up at the simple yet delicious fvor.

  Integra had a pte of sandwiches, neatly stacked with cucumber, cheese, and a hint of ham. She motioned for Harry to take one if he wanted. He hesitated, uncertain about the etiquette, but she nodded encouragingly. He accepted the sandwich with a quiet "Thank you," and took a careful bite.

  As they ate, Integra steered the conversation away from frightening topics. She asked Harry about his favorite color, whether he liked reading, if he had a favorite story. At each question, Harry's initial reaction was hesitation—he had rarely been asked about his preferences, and it took him a moment to realize he could answer freely.

  "I-I like green," he said. "Because I... well, my eyes are green." He flushed. "I don't really have a favorite story. I never got to read many books."

  Integra made a mental note to address that. "We have a wide variety of books here. I can show you some children's tales. Perhaps you might find a favorite or two."

  Harry's face brightened. He slurped another spoonful of broth. A comfortable silence settled, punctuated only by the clink of cutlery and the soft rustle of linen napkins. Outside, a gentle wind shifted the autumn leaves.

  Partway through the meal, Walter returned with a tray of fresh fruit—grapes, sliced apples, and small strawberries. Harry gaped. Dessert? For lunch? He could hardly believe it. Usually, he was lucky if he had a crust of bread during the day at the Dursleys'. Now, he had a wholesome lunch and fruit.

  "Thank you," he murmured again, realizing he might be repeating the phrase over and over. But it was all he could say to express how grateful he felt.

  Walter dipped his head in a bow. "It's my pleasure, Master Harry. Please let me know if you need anything else."

  Harry's gaze followed the butler's departure. A thought struck him: never had he imagined a day where an adult would serve him food with genuine courtesy. Aunt Petunia had forced him to cook for everyone else. Now, everything felt upside down—but in a good way.

  When lunch ended, Integra dabbed her mouth with a napkin and turned to Harry. "I have a few more things to handle in my office this afternoon," she said, "but after that, would you like to see the gardens?"

  His eyes lit up. "Yes! I mean... yes, please," he corrected, mindful of polite speech.

  Integra's expression softened. She gestured for him to stand. "Good. In the meantime, Walter can keep you company. Or you can remain in your room to read or rest, whichever you prefer."

  Harry considered. He still felt a bit nervous exploring on his own. The memory of Alucard popping up unannounced lingered. "C-could I stay... in the library?"

  Integra smiled. "Of course. Walter can show you some suitable books."

  Harry nodded shyly. She extended her hand in invitation. He took it, letting her lead him out of the dining hall. As they walked, he felt a peculiar warmth—someone actually cared about his comfort, about helping him find joy in simple things like reading. The morning's fear dissipated, repced by cautious happiness.

  Afternoon Interlude: Quiet Reading and Renewed Confidence

  True to her word, Integra returned to her office. She had paperwork reted to Hellsing's ongoing investigations—there was a minor vampire outbreak in the northern countryside, plus a briefing on rumored dark sorcery. But her mind kept drifting to Harry. She found herself picturing the boy's awestruck expression, the way he imitated her posture, the shy gratitude in his green eyes.

  She had never been maternal. Her father had raised her with discipline and duty at the forefront. Yet something about Harry moved her. Perhaps it was his innocence. Perhaps it was the knowledge that someone had to protect him from the cruelty of men like Dumbledore and the Dursleys. Maybe it was simply the paternal legacy of Hellsing—they defend the weak from the strong. Harry, in many ways, was as vulnerable as any victim of a vampire attack. And she would defend him fiercely.

  Meanwhile, Harry sat cross-legged on a plush rug in the library, leafing through a book of fairy tales Walter had provided. The old butler had discreetly positioned himself at a nearby table, polishing silverware or reading a newspaper—giving Harry space but remaining close enough to help if needed.

  Harry lost himself in the bright illustrations of knights battling dragons, princesses outsmarting vilins, and small heroes undertaking grand quests. Each story stirred a longing in him. He pictured Integra as the knight, Alucard as a mysterious ally, and perhaps himself as a child learning bravery. He wished his parents had lived to read these stories to him, but that sadness mingled with a curious spark of hope—maybe he could have a new kind of family here.

  Every so often, he gnced up to see Walter smiling warmly. The old butler's presence felt reassuring, a quiet guardian. The afternoon drifted by in peaceful study of vibrant pages and gentle daydreams.

  Motherly Consotion: Harry's Emotional Moment

  After a couple of hours, Integra's footsteps echoed in the corridor. She entered the library, scanning the space until she spotted Harry on the rug. A small grin touched her lips at the sight of him hunched over a book, completely absorbed.

  He noticed her presence and scrambled to his feet, hugging the fairy-tale collection protectively. "Sir Integra! Hi."

  She inclined her head. "Enjoying the stories?"

  He nodded enthusiastically. "They're wonderful. Knights, dragons, queens—some are even about girls saving the day." He flushed slightly, remembering how Aunt Petunia always dismissed anything imaginative as 'nonsense.'

  Integra's gaze flicked to the book's title. "Good. A well-rounded set of tales. I'm gd you're enjoying them." She turned to Walter. "Thank you, Walter."

  Walter bowed. "My pleasure, Sir Integra."

  "Harry, would you like to see the gardens now?"

  At the boy's eager nod, Integra led him outside. The corridor opened into a stone terrace that overlooked the manicured wns and hedges. Cool afternoon air ruffled Harry's hair as he followed Integra down a short flight of steps onto the main path. Gravel crunched beneath their shoes.

  They passed flower beds edged by small shrubs, then reached a gently trickling fountain depicting a rearing unicorn. Harry paused to watch the water droplets glimmer in the light. A sense of wonder enveloped him—this was the kind of pce he'd never dreamed he'd be allowed to visit.

  As they wandered deeper into the gardens, Integra pointed out various pnts, expining that some were used for medicinal purposes—"We rarely rely on them now, but it's part of the old traditions"—while others were purely ornamental. A cobblestone walkway led them to the hedge maze's entrance, tall evergreen walls looming. Harry peered inside, half-curious and half-anxious.

  Integra paused. "It's easy to get turned around in there. Another time, I'll walk you through it carefully. For now, let's just explore the edges."

  Harry nodded, relieved. He wasn't quite ready to go wandering alone. They skirted the maze, following a smaller path that eventually led to a cluster of orchard trees. Late autumn apples dangled from branches, mostly red, a few golden. Some had fallen to the grass, but the orchard still looked well-tended.

  "Sometimes we harvest these," Integra said. "Walter makes pies and preserves."

  Harry's mouth watered. "Apple pie?" he asked in a hushed tone, remembering he'd only ever had leftover scraps of Dudley's desserts.

  Integra smiled. "Yes. Perhaps we'll have some tonight, if the apples are still good. We can ask Walter."

  They continued strolling. A hush fell over them, broken only by a distant crow's caw and the whisper of wind through branches. Then Harry spoke, voice trembling with pent-up emotion: "Sir Integra... why are you so nice to me?"

  She stopped. He had halted in the middle of the orchard, tears brimming in his eyes. "Harry?" she asked gently.

  He bit his lip. "No one's ever... c-cared," he managed, tears slipping down his cheeks. "The Dursleys always said I was a freak, that no one would ever w-want me. Then I come here, and you... you're so kind. You have this b-big house, and you're so important, and I..." He let out a sob, hugging himself. "I don't understand."

  Integra closed the distance and gently pced a hand on his shoulder. He trembled beneath her touch, tears flowing more freely now. Slowly, she pulled him into a loose hug, letting him bury his face against her. She felt his small body shake with the force of his sobs.

  "Hush," she murmured, stroking his hair. "Don't say that. You're no freak, Harry. You're a child who deserves kindness and care. What happened to you with those retives was cruel and unjust."

  He sniffled, pressing his face into her suit jacket. She didn't compin about any tears or runny nose staining the fabric. Instead, she continued rubbing soothing circles on his back, heart twisting with sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to endure that," she whispered. "But you're safe here now. And you deserve every bit of goodness life can offer."

  The orchard's quiet offered them a cocoon of privacy for this raw, emotional moment. Harry's sobs gradually subsided into soft hiccups. He pulled back slightly, cheeks damp, eyes puffy. Integra gently wiped away his tears with her gloved hand.

  "I... I want to s-stay here," he said, voice quavering. "I'll do chores, or anything you want... just... please don't throw me away."

  Integra's expression turned fierce in its sincerity. "I will never cast you aside, Harry. You don't owe me chores for your pce here. You are not a servant or a burden. You are a child who deserves care, education, and a chance at happiness."

  Harry sniffled, blinking as fresh tears threatened. "I... Thank you," he whispered.

  She nodded, letting him compose himself. When he was calmer, she guided him gently back toward the path leading out of the orchard. "Shall we return inside? It's getting a bit chilly, and we can ask Walter about that apple pie."

  Harry offered a small, tremulous smile. "Yes, please."

  Evening Approaches: Reconvening in the Parlor

  They made their way back to the estate, passing the fountain and climbing the stone steps to the terrace. Harry's shoulders felt lighter, as though some invisible weight had lifted. He still had many questions about his past and about magic, but for now, he savored the relief of acceptance.

  Inside, the warmth of the estate enveloped them. Walter met them in the foyer, bowing once again and announcing that he had indeed prepared an apple pie for supper, along with a roast dinner. Harry couldn't contain a grin at the news. Integra gave Walter a grateful nod and told him they would be in the parlor until dinner.

  In the parlor—the same one where Harry had hidden behind Integra's leg earlier—there was no sign of Alucard. The corners stood empty, no vampire looming ominously. Still, Harry eyed the shadows warily until Integra pced a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  "He won't disturb us without warning," she said quietly, "not after this morning."

  Harry nodded, rexing a fraction. They took seats near the firepce, which crackled with a small, comforting bze. Shadows danced across the rug. On a low table rested a teapot, cups, and a dish of small cookies.

  Once settled, Integra asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to know, Harry? About Hellsing, about me, or about your future here?"

  He pondered the question, fiddling with a loose thread on his jumper. Countless inquiries warred in his mind. Yet one overshadowed all others. "My... my parents," he began hesitantly. "Did you... do you know anything about them?"

  Integra exhaled softly. She had expected this. "Only a little. I know their names: Lily and James Potter. They were said to be loyal members of the wizarding community. And I know they died trying to protect you from a very dark wizard. The details, however, are shrouded in the maniputions of Albus Dumbledore. I suspect he kept many truths hidden. But we will uncover them, Harry."

  He swallowed hard, blinking at the mention of their names. Aunt Petunia had never told him anything beyond hateful remarks about his mother's 'freakishness,' and Uncle Vernon never spoke of them at all. Now, hearing that they might have died protecting him felt simultaneously comforting and heartbreaking. They had loved him.

  "I... I want to know more," he whispered. "But I'm scared."

  Integra leaned forward. "I won't lie to you. There may be painful truths. But I believe in confronting the truth rather than living in ignorance. In time, we'll find answers—together."

  He mustered a tiny smile and nodded. Quiet settled again, punctuated by the crackling fire. Harry found soce in Integra's unwavering gaze, as though her very presence was a shield against the unknown.

  Apple Pie and a Small Reunion

  When dinner time arrived, Walter ushered them into the dining hall once more. The roast and vegetables smelled heavenly, but Harry's mind was preoccupied with anticipation for the promised apple pie. Yet as he ate, savoring every bite, he found that the day's emotional revetions had, in a strange way, fueled his appetite for life. He was hungry not only for food but also for new experiences, for knowledge, and for the warmth of belonging.

  Partway through dinner, Alucard made a brief appearance at the doorway. This time, Harry didn't squeak or hide. Instead, he eyed the vampire warily. Alucard approached with careful steps, removing his fedora and bowing slightly—a surprising gesture of humility.

  "Master," he said, directing his words to Integra. "I trust the day has gone well?"

  Harry froze, bracing himself. But there was no sinister grin, no mocking ughter. Alucard's posture was subdued, his expression more respectful than Harry had ever seen it.

  Integra regarded him coolly. "Yes, Alucard. It has."

  Alucard then turned slightly, letting his gaze flicker to Harry. "Young Master," he murmured, inclining his head. The corners of his mouth quirked up, as if trying for a small smile that wouldn't scare the child.

  Harry swallowed, struggling to decide how to respond. Then, remembering Integra's earlier reassurance, he managed a whisper: "H-hello."

  Alucard's eyes glinted behind the orange gsses, but his presence remained contained—the predator leashed. Without further comment, he backed away from the table and disappeared into the corridor, leaving Harry somewhat relieved that the encounter was brief and without incident.

  "Big scary man in red," Harry murmured under his breath, but not as fearfully as before. Integra heard him and suppressed a smile.

  Dinner concluded with the promised apple pie. Walter served it with a dollop of whipped cream. The sweet, cinnamon-scented warmth filled Harry with contentment. Each mouthful was a revetion of what life could be like: comfortable, safe, and satisfying.

  After dessert, Integra allowed Harry some leisure time, suggesting a game of chess in a smaller sitting room. Harry confessed he didn't know how to py, so Integra patiently taught him the basics, guiding his hand as he moved pawns and rooks across the board. The game ended swiftly with Integra's victory, but she commended him for learning quickly.

  "You'll get better with practice," she assured him, smiling when he said he enjoyed the challenge.

  Bedtime and a Final Heartfelt Exchange

  As the hour grew te, Harry's eyelids drooped. He hadn't stayed up this long before without punishment. Usually, the Dursleys forced him to bed early—or else let him colpse from exhaustion after chores. Now, he found the mansion's nighttime hush comforting rather than frightening.

  Before tucking him in, Integra led him to his room. She stood by the doorway, watching as Walter turned down the bed with fresh linens. Harry hovered near the bedside table, a nervous energy about him.

  Integra felt that motherly stir once more. She waited until Walter left, then approached Harry. "You've had a full day," she said, gentleness yering her voice. "From the orchard to the library to meeting Alucard again. Are you feeling all right?"

  He nodded, fidgeting with the edge of his pajamas. "It's been... amazing, and scary, and... good." His voice grew small. "I'm worried I'll wake up and it'll be gone."

  Integra's heart clenched. She pced a hand lightly on his shoulder. "It won't be gone," she promised. "This is your home now, for as long as you wish it."

  Tears threatened again, but they were tears of relief. Harry climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Integra adjusted his pillows and smoothed a crease in the bnket.

  "Will you be all right on your own?" she asked quietly, mindful of his nightmares.

  He nodded bravely, then added in a small voice, "If... if I get scared, can I call for you?"

  The request shattered the st remnants of Integra's icy reserve. "Always," she whispered, her voice uncommonly soft. "I'll be here."

  She turned off the mp, leaving only the moonlight snting through the curtains. For a moment, she hovered, unsure if she should say goodnight in a more affectionate way. She settled for gently brushing the hair off his forehead. "Sleep well, Harry."

  As she moved to leave, Harry's voice rose in the darkness. "Goodnight, Sir Integra," he whispered, a world of gratitude in those four words.

  A faint smile curved her lips. "Goodnight."

  Epilogue of the Day: Quiet Reflection

  Integra retreated to her own chambers, feeling the weight of the day's events. She unbuttoned her suit jacket, letting the tension slip from her shoulders. Her mind reeled with thoughts of Harry's vulnerability, Alucard's attempts at gentleness, and the storm brewing in the wizarding world with Dumbledore searching. She had to prepare for a future conflict, but for now, she found soce in knowing Harry was safe under her roof.

  Across the estate, Alucard stood by a tall window in a tower room, gazing out at the moonlit grounds. He sensed the boy's presence like a faint warmth somewhere below, at rest. A child with such raw magic, once tossed aside, now cherished. Alucard smirked to himself. Interesting. He loved a good game, and this one promised to be memorable. Yet for reasons he barely understood, he also felt a protective tug. He had lived centuries, seen countless children broken by cruelty. Perhaps this time, he could help shape a different outcome.

  Walter finished his evening rounds, checking the locks, wards, and staff schedules. Then he retired to his quarters, content with the knowledge that Master Harry was comfortable. He had set out a small gss of water by the boy's bedside in case of night tremors. A fatherly concern tugged at his heart—he had served the Hellsing line all his life, but rarely had there been a child in this manor. He found he rather liked it.

  And Harry, beneath soft bnkets, drifted into slumber. His dreams were a confused swirl of knights, queens, monstrous vampires who turned into bats, warm apple pie, and a blonde woman with sharp blue eyes who promised to keep him safe. For once, his dreams were not the nightmarish corridors of Privet Drive or the memory of a cold rain in London. Instead, there was light—and hope.

  Thus ended November 2, 1988, at the Hellsing estate—a day of lessons, revetions, and the forging of a tentative motherly bond that would shape Harry's destiny in ways even he could not fathom. Far from the maniputions of Albus Dumbledore, the boy took his first steps toward a brighter future, guided by Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing: Knight of the Realm, leader of an ancient organization, and the unexpected guardian who had opened her heart to a child cast aside by all others.

  AN:

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