Harry heard the voice, and recognized it, though he couldn't place it just yet. He snorted softly. He didn't use proper Latin for his spells - he understood Latin too well, since it was the official language of the White Council, but he was shaky enough with it (damn correspondence course) that using pseudo-Latin gave his mind enough of a buffer against his spells.
Fancy? Not in the least. Harry knew what he was: a magical thug. He had a lot of power, and limited finesse. But someone thought he was fancy. Well, let them think that.
He stared at the new door, noting the blood. He remembered a scene from The Shining, blood running freely down a corridor from an elevator. Drowning in blood wasn't a nice idea. It was a bitch to get out of clothes.
Behind him, the vampires were regrouping. A spasm hit his stomach, and Harry dismissed it as unimportant. It was just the toxin. He put his back to the blood-bursting door and faced the vampires. He knew the layout of Bianca's mansion. All he had to do was make room.
Harry gathered his will and unleashed it with all the force he could muster. "Fuego!" he screamed. "Pyrofuego! Burn!"
Fire lashed out from his hands, fire so hot it was blue at the core, surrounded in shimmering white, striking the vampires and hurling them away. As soon as the route was opened, Harry began to run.