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HP Fic - Blood Donor (Chapter Five)
BLOOD DONOR
Summary: A vampyric Draco Malfoy attacks Harry Potter at Kings Cross before the start of Sixth Year. Now, Harry must escape a deal made with his own personal demon while he prepares to face Voldemort again…but is Draco truly an enemy? HP/DM
Warnings: Slash. Violence, angst. AU after Order of the Phoenix.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Chapter One
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Blood, mixed with gristle and severed flesh, congealed on the far wall. The pungent odor of blood choked the air, even as fresh screams emanated from the body positioned strangely on the table near the far wall. Harry strode over to the body, whose limbs were twisted, contorted into perverse approximations of their original shape.
The cloaked man standing over the body, knife in hand, stopped his bloody ministrations as Harry approached. This was wrong, Harry knew, even as his long, pale fingers wrapped leisurely around the proffered knife handle. Dried blood lay encrusted under Harry’s fingernails.
Harry gazed down at the body, noting with satisfaction, even as a part of Harry tried to recoil in horror, the faint rise and fall of the still-screaming man’s heart within the gaping wound of the victim’ chest. The man’s heart lay exposed in a pool of blood. It appeared as though a surgeon had expertly cut away the flesh and sawed open the rib cage, despite his patient’s screams for mercy.
The man on the table was naked, but for a pair of ragged, blood-stained shorts. Blood and pus oozed from the numerous cuts along the man’s body. As Harry ran his hands over the wounds, he realized with a start, and that deeply horrific sense of personal satisfaction, that the cuts formed a complicated runic symbol, which traced all over the man’s body.
“You have done well, Macnair,” Harry spoke, his sibilant voice almost hissing the words. “I knew your particular talents would be well-suited for this work.”
Macnair bowed low at Harry’s praise. “I am always happy to serve you, my Lord.”
No, no, no, no! Harry panicked, desperately trying to free himself. He was trapped in another vision.
“Well, hello Harry.” Voldemort’s voice resonated in Harry’s head, even as Voldemort/Harry brought the knife’s edge to rest on the man’s still beating heart. “Enjoying the show?”
Harry did not want to have to see this, did not want to see the man on the table die by Harry’s own hand, he did not want this… Once again, Harry lashed out with all the strength his mind possessed. Distantly, he heard Voldemort cry out in anger, but a bright light that filled his vision, burning with its intensity.
Harry opened his eyes.
--
Harry woke curled up on the floor in the same dusty classroom Malfoy had left him in, with his hands clutched tightly around his scar. Blood dripped steadily between Harry’s fingers, running down his forehead, and into his eyes, bearing a sickening likeness to what had so horrified Harry in the vision.
That poor man… What the hell had Voldemort been trying to accomplish? It had looked like some sort of dark ritual…
He had to tell someone about Voldemort. Harry stood up quickly, and then clutched at a nearby desk as black dots obscured his vision. The world swayed dizzily, and Harry could not see, could only hold onto the desk like a lifeline as the world threatened to collapse. Finally, his vision returned, and the world stopped spinning. Harry released his hold on the desk, leaving bloody handprints which he hastily wiped away, and stood straight, panting heavily. He had lost far too much blood in the past twenty-four hours…
Harry spotted his wand resting on a nearby desk. He picked it up, feeling oddly grateful that Malfoy had not decided to take Harry’s wand along with Harry’s blood. The Invisibility Cloak lay crumpled in the corner near where Harry had woken. Harry Summoned the Cloak, and the slight exertion from casting the simple spell made the room spin again.
Only then did Harry notice the sunlight which had woken him. He cast a quick, “Tempus.” The glowing red numbers revealed he had only forty-five minutes before breakfast ended, and the first day of classes began. Harry stumbled for the door, still dizzy from blood-loss, only to stop, as he realized blood coated his neck and face.
--
Draco Malfoy sat in the Great Hall, eating breakfast. Drinking Potter’s blood had done wonders for returning a feeling of normalcy to Draco. Now, he could eat increasing amounts of actual food, and the sunlight streaming through the windows proved only a mild annoyance, instead of an unbearable burning.
“You should eat more, Draco,” Pansy Parkinson said concernedly, seeing only a lone piece of toast, and a glass of orange juice resting in front of one of her best friends.
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle looked away from their own mountains of food to stare at Draco. “You really should, Draco,” Vince echoed Pansy’s words as Greg nodded in agreement.
Draco glared at Pansy, who smirked down at her omelet. “I’m only worried about your health, darling,” Pansy started as her breakfast disappeared.
“In that case, darling,” Draco said wickedly, “I’m only worried about your weight.” Vince and Greg laughed raucously as Pansy glared with mock indignation.
“You know, Draco,” Pansy began seriously. Vince and Greg began to edge away slowly, sensing danger. “I think you have something going there,” Pansy gestured to Draco’s glass of orange juice. “Weasley orange really is far more your appropriate hair color.” With a flick of her wrist, Draco’s hair turned a vibrant orange. Draco glared at Pansy, leveling his wand at the Slytherin girl.
“Fix it, Parkinson,” Draco growled, fighting to keep his fangs from extending. Pansy paled slightly as some part of her brain subconsciously registered the danger. Draco’s hair returned to its normal pale-blonde color.
“I swear, Draco, you have no sense of humor,” Pansy sniffed haughtily.
Draco ignored her, seeing Harry Potter entered the Great Hall.
Potter looked terrible, Draco noted with approval. Potter’s face was terribly pale, and dark circles decorated the areas under his abnormally dull green eyes. The Gryffindor’s black hair was messier than normal. Even Potter’s clothes were hideously crumbled.
“Potter looks awful,” Pansy breathed. Evidently, Potter’s friends, the Weasel and the Mudblood, felt the same way. Over at the Gryffindor table, they examined Potter with a thoroughness that bordered on sycophantic. Their attentions nauseated Draco.
Draco, though, continued to stare at the Gryffindor table. Potter had started speaking, in a low serious voice that even Draco’s improved hearing could not distinguish from the cacophony of voices filling the Great Hall. The Weasel and the Mudblood looked grim. Surely, Potter had not told them about Draco. If he had – Draco felt his teeth sharpen dangerously.
Greg tentatively poked Draco in the arm, disturbing Draco’s graphic plans of bloody revenge.
“What is it, Greg?” Draco snapped.
”Mr. Goyle, I believe, was merely trying to tell you that your Head of House is waiting to give you your schedule, Mr. Malfoy,” a silky voice stated from behind Draco, “seeing as though you yourself are being too obtuse to notice.”
Draco winced. “Hello, Professor Snape.”
“Good to see you, Draco. I trust you will pay more attention in Potion’s class this morning?” Snape said, a hint of a warning infusing his tone.
Draco nodded. “Who do we have Potions with, sir?” Draco asked, already certain of the answer.
Snape glanced balefully across the room. “The Gryffindors, of course,” he responded dryly.
--
“You say there were ruins all over the man’s body?” Hermione asked anxiously, as they walked down the drafty halls to the Potions classroom. Harry nodded.
“That’s not good, mate,” Ron whispered. “A lot of powerful dark magic involves blood rituals.”
Harry nodded wearily. “I know.”
Hermione glanced at Harry’s exhausted expression with concern. Harry pulled his collar up nervously, trying to conceal the bite marks on his neck, which had overnight turned a subtle silver color. Hopefully, Hermione would attribute his fatigue to the dream.
Harry shuddered as he remembered the crimson blood dripping down the stone walls, and the smell, a mixture of death, violence, and gore that was nearly worse than the blood.
“You should tell Dumbledore,” Hermione counseled seriously.
“I tried,” Harry admitted. And he had, before he arrived at breakfast. Harry could not trust Malfoy, could not believe the words the vampire had hissed in his ear before he had ripped his neck open were true. But a painting had informed Harry, even as he stood, trying once again to gain access to Dumbledore’s office, that the Headmaster had departed late last night on an urgent trip.
Dumbledore’s absence left Harry unaided to face disturbing visions from Voldemort, and a frightening deal made with a vampyric Draco Malfoy.
“What do you mean, Dumbledore’s gone?” Ron whispered indignantly. “Hogwarts needs him here, right now –“Hermione’s sharp jab stopped Ron’s tirade. They had arrived at the entrance to Snape’s classroom, where the rest of the students milled aimlessly.
Harry spotted Draco Malfoy’s pale blonde head towards the back of the crowd, and glared with loathing. Malfoy, the arsehole, had just left him there, lying bleeding on the floor.
“Step aside,” Snape’s condescending voice rang through the dungeons. Harry, Hermione, and Ron hurried to move out Snape’s path as the man strode to the classroom entrance, his black robes billowing ominously.
The class filed into the room quietly, Harry being certain to sit at a table with Ron and Hermione.
“I have no idea how some of you incompetents managed to scrape the Outstanding O.W.L. necessary for admittance to this course,” Snape glared at Harry and Ron, “Rest assured, however, any mistakes will result in your immediate removal and expulsion from this class.” Snape pitched his voice low, his tone menacing.
“As such, I have taken the liberty of pairing you with a partner for the rest of the year to prevent some of the more obvious screw-ups. No exceptions will be granted.” Snape unfurled a list, smirking as the students glanced at their classmates in horror. Harry looked around the classroom, dreading the moment when Snape announced his partner.
“…Goyle, Granger…,” Beside Harry, Hermione groaned. Ron patted her awkwardly on the back.
“…Weasley, Parkinson…” Pansy Parkinson glanced dismissively at Ron, who bemoaned his fate.
“Sorry, mate,” Harry whispered. Ron waved his words off miserably.
“…Crabbe, Thomas…Potter, Malfoy…” Harry started, looking over to the Slytherin section of the classroom in dismay, to find Malfoy smirking at him unkindly.
Ron winced in sympathy. “Well, at least the git is good at Potions,” Ron tried, and failed, to comfort Harry.
No one in the class had yet made a move to join their partner, too busy berating their pairing. Snape glared. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped. “The instructions are on the board,” Snape flicked his wand, the chalkboard covered itself in minute writing, “And the potion is due in at the end of class.”
Malfoy made no move to join Harry, so Harry groaned, and gathered up his schoolbag. Harry sat down hard on the bench, burying his face in his hands.
“You look like hell, Potter.”
“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry snapped defensively, lifting his head to glare at the other boy.
“You should have finished gathering your ingredients by now,” Snape called out, circling the classroom, only to stop at Harry and Malfoy’s empty table. “Really, Mr. Potter, you are an abject failure at Potions, but I will not allow you to bring Mr. Malfoy’s grade down as well. Five points from Gryffindor.”
Harry gaped at Snape as the rest of the Gryffindor’s protested loudly. “That’s not fair, Professor, Malfoy was antagonizing him,” Hermione argued.
Snape glared at her. “Ms. Granger, regardless of whatever falsehoods you believe in that bushy oversized head, you are not the teacher here. Twenty points from Gryffindor.” Hermione’s face flushed red with embarrassment as Pansy Parkinson laughed shrilly. Beside Harry, Malfoy smirked with satisfaction.
Harry stood angrily, his hands clenched into fists, nails cutting into his palms with the effort of not rising to Snape’s bait. He just had to stay calm, relaxed, and wait for the buzz of anger to subside. Behind him, Harry heard Malfoy laugh cruelly.
Harry spun around, and punched the blonde-haired Slytherin. A loud crack, and blood spurted from Malfoy’s nose, staining his prissy white shirt crimson. Harry felt substantial satisfaction, being responsible for making Malfoy bleed, before Malfoy lunged at Harry, tackling him to the ground. Harry’s head hit the ground hard, and he lashed out with his leg, kicking Malfoy squarely in the stomach. Malfoy drew back his arm to punch Harry, - “Immobulus!”
Snape’s spell froze Harry before he could raise his arm to defend himself from the blow. All of Harry’s breathe rushed out in a loud huff as Malfoy’s fist rammed itself into Harry’s stomach. Only then did Snape lazily utter another “Immobulus,” freezing Malfoy in place, all wild eyes and snarled face.
“Fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter,” Snape spoke, his voice silky, “for the outrageous use of muggle violence on a fellow student.” Snape raised his wand. “Finite Incantatum.”
Both Harry and Malfoy could move again, and used the opportunity to scramble for their wands. “Expelliarmus!” Harry and Malfoy flew backwards, both divested of their wands. “Twenty-five points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin – yes Slytherin, too, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said in response to Malfoy’s glare.
“You two will escort yourselves up to the Hospital Wing.” Malfoy reached for his wand, but Snape tucked it away. “You will receive your wands back after you have been satisfactorily healed.”
“Any fighting on the way to the Hospital Wing will result in detention with Filch every night until the Christmas holiday. Am I understood?” Snape glared, the rest of the class watching silently.
“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered angrily.
“Mr. Malfoy?”
“I won’t cause any fights, sir,” Malfoy said finally, his promise steeped in Slytherin duplicity.
Harry strode angrily toward the door, determined not to suffer the walk to the Hospital Wing in Malfoy’s presence. Suddenly, though, Malfoy strolled beside him, his pale face almost unrecognizable through the blood. “We need to discuss the terms of our agreement, Potter,” Malfoy said in an expressionless tone as they neared the Hospital Wing.
“Fine,” Harry spat.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow night, at eleven, in the Charms classroom.”
Madam Pomphrey hurried toward them, already exclaiming her displeasure.
“Fine,” Harry glared once again, as Madam Pomphrey demanded that he sit, her voice shrill. At least they were meeting tomorrow, though. Harry needed the time to do some research, first.
--
Draco Malfoy paced inside the Charms classroom, waiting for Potter to arrive. Finally, the door opened quietly, and although no one’s form slipped inside, Draco could hear Potter’s footsteps on the stone floor.
“Take off the Cloak, Potter,” Draco commanded.
Potter unceremoniously removed the Invisibility Cloak, glaring at Draco. Clearly, Potter was upset Draco knew his little secret.
“We have to work out a better deal, Malfoy,” Potter demanded wearily. Looking closely, Draco saw that Potter’s face was tinged grey with exhaustion. “I checked, Malfoy, in the library. You made me your blood donor.” Potter gestured towards the two silver circles on his neck.
Draco cursed inwardly. He had hoped Potter would not realize the significance of the marks.
Potter continued slowly. “You need me for blood, to keep resembling a human,” Potter stressed the word ‘human,’ as though to deliberately remind Draco of his newly acquired vampyric nature. “You can’t go out into the sun without drinking enough of my blood, you can’t eat normal food. I’m the only thing preventing everyone from finding out that you’re a vampire. Better yet, unless I die, I’m the only blood donor you can have.”
Draco winced. Potter’s words carried a heavy threat, and Draco abruptly realized how vulnerable he had made himself, making Potter, his enemy, into his blood donor.
“What do you propose, then, Potter?” Draco asked dully. He waited with trepidation for Potter to say he would not agree anymore, was instead going to let Draco die of thirst.
Potter smirked, and Draco revised his previous assessment. No, Potter was too much of a Gryffindor to let him die. Instead, Potter was going to make Draco humiliate himself somehow.
Potter’s words surprised Draco. “We’re going to swear a Binding Pact, Malfoy.”
“That’s a nasty spell, Potter.” Draco was vaguely impressed. Binding Pacts were lesser forms of the Unbreakable Vow. Instead of killing a person if they forsook the vow, Binding Pacts caused a steadily escalating pain, ultimately resulting in madness if the other person involved did not forgive the transgressor. Frankly, Draco was amazed Potter even found reference to Binding Pacts in the Hogwarts Library, as they were considered a form of the Imperious Curse, and had long ago been declared a Dark Art by the Ministry. Draco did not think a Gryffindor could have enough ruthlessness to even consider casting such a spell, and said so.
Potter smiled in reply, his vibrant green eyes glinting strangely. “You are going to swear you will not drink from anyone but me.”
Draco glared fiercely at Potter, well aware that if Potter disappeared, or was somehow indisposed, he would not receive any blood.
“In return, I will swear to allow you to drink my blood once a week.”
“And if that’s not enough?” Draco growled, his fangs extending as he prowled angrily towards Potter. Vampires, especially young vampires, required blood at least twice a week. Draco, though, was a Malfoy, used to the most opulent comforts, and had been drinking blood four or five times per week.
“If that’s not enough, than too bad,” Potter sneered, “Unless you want Rita Skeeter to receive an anonymous tip that Draco Malfoy has turned into a vampire. But don’t worry; I know the Ministry laws regarding non-humans are terribly lax.”
Draco paled. If deprived of Potter’s blood for too long, he would truly begin to resemble a story-book vampire. Maybe he could hide his condition from the Ministry now, but if he started avoiding sunlight, and not eating solid food, they would become highly suspicious. Since his father’s escape from Azkaban, any wrong move would motivate the Ministry to lock Draco away in Azkaban without the key, simply because he was a Malfoy.
“Fine, Potter, I’ll swear the Pact,” Draco ground out through clenched teeth, horribly aware that Potter, a Gryffindor, had out-maneuvered him.
Potter nodded. “Give me your hand.”
Draco placed his hand in Potter’s, cheered when Potter flinched slightly.
“I, Harry James Potter, hereby formally enter into a Binding Pact with Draco Lucius Malfoy. I solemnly swear to allow him to drink the necessary amount of my blood once a week, provided he fulfills the terms of the Binding Pact,” Potter intoned carefully. A silvery chain, made entirely of magic, wound around their entwined hands as Potter spoke.
One of the more useful aspects of the Binding Pact was that it did not require a binder, just the formal swears of the two entering into the Pact. As such, the Binding Pact used to be an important part of wizarding marriage vows, utilized to root out infidelity, and keep the blood lines clear. Now, only traditional pureblood families, like the Malfoys, still used Binding Pacts.
Potter was glaring at Draco to continue. “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, hereby formally enter into a Binding Pact with Harry James Potter. I solemnly swear to not drink anyone else’s blood but his, provided he fulfills the terms of the Binding Pact.” Another silvery chain looped around their hands. Draco could feel the compulsion of the magic sinking into his skin.
“So mote it be!” Both Harry and Draco cried out at the same time, as the magic flared once, a bright silver which temporarily blinded both occupants of the room. Draco pulled his hand away, examining the back of his wrist to find a fading silver star. The star would blaze back to life with agonizing pain should Draco forsake his part of the Pact.
Draco’s excursion into his own private Hell had begun.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
[ Chapter Six ]
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Summary: A vampyric Draco Malfoy attacks Harry Potter at Kings Cross before the start of Sixth Year. Now, Harry must escape a deal made with his own personal demon while he prepares to face Voldemort again…but is Draco truly an enemy? HP/DM
Warnings: Slash. Violence, angst. AU after Order of the Phoenix.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Chapter One
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Blood, mixed with gristle and severed flesh, congealed on the far wall. The pungent odor of blood choked the air, even as fresh screams emanated from the body positioned strangely on the table near the far wall. Harry strode over to the body, whose limbs were twisted, contorted into perverse approximations of their original shape.
The cloaked man standing over the body, knife in hand, stopped his bloody ministrations as Harry approached. This was wrong, Harry knew, even as his long, pale fingers wrapped leisurely around the proffered knife handle. Dried blood lay encrusted under Harry’s fingernails.
Harry gazed down at the body, noting with satisfaction, even as a part of Harry tried to recoil in horror, the faint rise and fall of the still-screaming man’s heart within the gaping wound of the victim’ chest. The man’s heart lay exposed in a pool of blood. It appeared as though a surgeon had expertly cut away the flesh and sawed open the rib cage, despite his patient’s screams for mercy.
The man on the table was naked, but for a pair of ragged, blood-stained shorts. Blood and pus oozed from the numerous cuts along the man’s body. As Harry ran his hands over the wounds, he realized with a start, and that deeply horrific sense of personal satisfaction, that the cuts formed a complicated runic symbol, which traced all over the man’s body.
“You have done well, Macnair,” Harry spoke, his sibilant voice almost hissing the words. “I knew your particular talents would be well-suited for this work.”
Macnair bowed low at Harry’s praise. “I am always happy to serve you, my Lord.”
No, no, no, no! Harry panicked, desperately trying to free himself. He was trapped in another vision.
“Well, hello Harry.” Voldemort’s voice resonated in Harry’s head, even as Voldemort/Harry brought the knife’s edge to rest on the man’s still beating heart. “Enjoying the show?”
Harry did not want to have to see this, did not want to see the man on the table die by Harry’s own hand, he did not want this… Once again, Harry lashed out with all the strength his mind possessed. Distantly, he heard Voldemort cry out in anger, but a bright light that filled his vision, burning with its intensity.
Harry opened his eyes.
--
Harry woke curled up on the floor in the same dusty classroom Malfoy had left him in, with his hands clutched tightly around his scar. Blood dripped steadily between Harry’s fingers, running down his forehead, and into his eyes, bearing a sickening likeness to what had so horrified Harry in the vision.
That poor man… What the hell had Voldemort been trying to accomplish? It had looked like some sort of dark ritual…
He had to tell someone about Voldemort. Harry stood up quickly, and then clutched at a nearby desk as black dots obscured his vision. The world swayed dizzily, and Harry could not see, could only hold onto the desk like a lifeline as the world threatened to collapse. Finally, his vision returned, and the world stopped spinning. Harry released his hold on the desk, leaving bloody handprints which he hastily wiped away, and stood straight, panting heavily. He had lost far too much blood in the past twenty-four hours…
Harry spotted his wand resting on a nearby desk. He picked it up, feeling oddly grateful that Malfoy had not decided to take Harry’s wand along with Harry’s blood. The Invisibility Cloak lay crumpled in the corner near where Harry had woken. Harry Summoned the Cloak, and the slight exertion from casting the simple spell made the room spin again.
Only then did Harry notice the sunlight which had woken him. He cast a quick, “Tempus.” The glowing red numbers revealed he had only forty-five minutes before breakfast ended, and the first day of classes began. Harry stumbled for the door, still dizzy from blood-loss, only to stop, as he realized blood coated his neck and face.
--
Draco Malfoy sat in the Great Hall, eating breakfast. Drinking Potter’s blood had done wonders for returning a feeling of normalcy to Draco. Now, he could eat increasing amounts of actual food, and the sunlight streaming through the windows proved only a mild annoyance, instead of an unbearable burning.
“You should eat more, Draco,” Pansy Parkinson said concernedly, seeing only a lone piece of toast, and a glass of orange juice resting in front of one of her best friends.
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle looked away from their own mountains of food to stare at Draco. “You really should, Draco,” Vince echoed Pansy’s words as Greg nodded in agreement.
Draco glared at Pansy, who smirked down at her omelet. “I’m only worried about your health, darling,” Pansy started as her breakfast disappeared.
“In that case, darling,” Draco said wickedly, “I’m only worried about your weight.” Vince and Greg laughed raucously as Pansy glared with mock indignation.
“You know, Draco,” Pansy began seriously. Vince and Greg began to edge away slowly, sensing danger. “I think you have something going there,” Pansy gestured to Draco’s glass of orange juice. “Weasley orange really is far more your appropriate hair color.” With a flick of her wrist, Draco’s hair turned a vibrant orange. Draco glared at Pansy, leveling his wand at the Slytherin girl.
“Fix it, Parkinson,” Draco growled, fighting to keep his fangs from extending. Pansy paled slightly as some part of her brain subconsciously registered the danger. Draco’s hair returned to its normal pale-blonde color.
“I swear, Draco, you have no sense of humor,” Pansy sniffed haughtily.
Draco ignored her, seeing Harry Potter entered the Great Hall.
Potter looked terrible, Draco noted with approval. Potter’s face was terribly pale, and dark circles decorated the areas under his abnormally dull green eyes. The Gryffindor’s black hair was messier than normal. Even Potter’s clothes were hideously crumbled.
“Potter looks awful,” Pansy breathed. Evidently, Potter’s friends, the Weasel and the Mudblood, felt the same way. Over at the Gryffindor table, they examined Potter with a thoroughness that bordered on sycophantic. Their attentions nauseated Draco.
Draco, though, continued to stare at the Gryffindor table. Potter had started speaking, in a low serious voice that even Draco’s improved hearing could not distinguish from the cacophony of voices filling the Great Hall. The Weasel and the Mudblood looked grim. Surely, Potter had not told them about Draco. If he had – Draco felt his teeth sharpen dangerously.
Greg tentatively poked Draco in the arm, disturbing Draco’s graphic plans of bloody revenge.
“What is it, Greg?” Draco snapped.
”Mr. Goyle, I believe, was merely trying to tell you that your Head of House is waiting to give you your schedule, Mr. Malfoy,” a silky voice stated from behind Draco, “seeing as though you yourself are being too obtuse to notice.”
Draco winced. “Hello, Professor Snape.”
“Good to see you, Draco. I trust you will pay more attention in Potion’s class this morning?” Snape said, a hint of a warning infusing his tone.
Draco nodded. “Who do we have Potions with, sir?” Draco asked, already certain of the answer.
Snape glanced balefully across the room. “The Gryffindors, of course,” he responded dryly.
--
“You say there were ruins all over the man’s body?” Hermione asked anxiously, as they walked down the drafty halls to the Potions classroom. Harry nodded.
“That’s not good, mate,” Ron whispered. “A lot of powerful dark magic involves blood rituals.”
Harry nodded wearily. “I know.”
Hermione glanced at Harry’s exhausted expression with concern. Harry pulled his collar up nervously, trying to conceal the bite marks on his neck, which had overnight turned a subtle silver color. Hopefully, Hermione would attribute his fatigue to the dream.
Harry shuddered as he remembered the crimson blood dripping down the stone walls, and the smell, a mixture of death, violence, and gore that was nearly worse than the blood.
“You should tell Dumbledore,” Hermione counseled seriously.
“I tried,” Harry admitted. And he had, before he arrived at breakfast. Harry could not trust Malfoy, could not believe the words the vampire had hissed in his ear before he had ripped his neck open were true. But a painting had informed Harry, even as he stood, trying once again to gain access to Dumbledore’s office, that the Headmaster had departed late last night on an urgent trip.
Dumbledore’s absence left Harry unaided to face disturbing visions from Voldemort, and a frightening deal made with a vampyric Draco Malfoy.
“What do you mean, Dumbledore’s gone?” Ron whispered indignantly. “Hogwarts needs him here, right now –“Hermione’s sharp jab stopped Ron’s tirade. They had arrived at the entrance to Snape’s classroom, where the rest of the students milled aimlessly.
Harry spotted Draco Malfoy’s pale blonde head towards the back of the crowd, and glared with loathing. Malfoy, the arsehole, had just left him there, lying bleeding on the floor.
“Step aside,” Snape’s condescending voice rang through the dungeons. Harry, Hermione, and Ron hurried to move out Snape’s path as the man strode to the classroom entrance, his black robes billowing ominously.
The class filed into the room quietly, Harry being certain to sit at a table with Ron and Hermione.
“I have no idea how some of you incompetents managed to scrape the Outstanding O.W.L. necessary for admittance to this course,” Snape glared at Harry and Ron, “Rest assured, however, any mistakes will result in your immediate removal and expulsion from this class.” Snape pitched his voice low, his tone menacing.
“As such, I have taken the liberty of pairing you with a partner for the rest of the year to prevent some of the more obvious screw-ups. No exceptions will be granted.” Snape unfurled a list, smirking as the students glanced at their classmates in horror. Harry looked around the classroom, dreading the moment when Snape announced his partner.
“…Goyle, Granger…,” Beside Harry, Hermione groaned. Ron patted her awkwardly on the back.
“…Weasley, Parkinson…” Pansy Parkinson glanced dismissively at Ron, who bemoaned his fate.
“Sorry, mate,” Harry whispered. Ron waved his words off miserably.
“…Crabbe, Thomas…Potter, Malfoy…” Harry started, looking over to the Slytherin section of the classroom in dismay, to find Malfoy smirking at him unkindly.
Ron winced in sympathy. “Well, at least the git is good at Potions,” Ron tried, and failed, to comfort Harry.
No one in the class had yet made a move to join their partner, too busy berating their pairing. Snape glared. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped. “The instructions are on the board,” Snape flicked his wand, the chalkboard covered itself in minute writing, “And the potion is due in at the end of class.”
Malfoy made no move to join Harry, so Harry groaned, and gathered up his schoolbag. Harry sat down hard on the bench, burying his face in his hands.
“You look like hell, Potter.”
“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry snapped defensively, lifting his head to glare at the other boy.
“You should have finished gathering your ingredients by now,” Snape called out, circling the classroom, only to stop at Harry and Malfoy’s empty table. “Really, Mr. Potter, you are an abject failure at Potions, but I will not allow you to bring Mr. Malfoy’s grade down as well. Five points from Gryffindor.”
Harry gaped at Snape as the rest of the Gryffindor’s protested loudly. “That’s not fair, Professor, Malfoy was antagonizing him,” Hermione argued.
Snape glared at her. “Ms. Granger, regardless of whatever falsehoods you believe in that bushy oversized head, you are not the teacher here. Twenty points from Gryffindor.” Hermione’s face flushed red with embarrassment as Pansy Parkinson laughed shrilly. Beside Harry, Malfoy smirked with satisfaction.
Harry stood angrily, his hands clenched into fists, nails cutting into his palms with the effort of not rising to Snape’s bait. He just had to stay calm, relaxed, and wait for the buzz of anger to subside. Behind him, Harry heard Malfoy laugh cruelly.
Harry spun around, and punched the blonde-haired Slytherin. A loud crack, and blood spurted from Malfoy’s nose, staining his prissy white shirt crimson. Harry felt substantial satisfaction, being responsible for making Malfoy bleed, before Malfoy lunged at Harry, tackling him to the ground. Harry’s head hit the ground hard, and he lashed out with his leg, kicking Malfoy squarely in the stomach. Malfoy drew back his arm to punch Harry, - “Immobulus!”
Snape’s spell froze Harry before he could raise his arm to defend himself from the blow. All of Harry’s breathe rushed out in a loud huff as Malfoy’s fist rammed itself into Harry’s stomach. Only then did Snape lazily utter another “Immobulus,” freezing Malfoy in place, all wild eyes and snarled face.
“Fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter,” Snape spoke, his voice silky, “for the outrageous use of muggle violence on a fellow student.” Snape raised his wand. “Finite Incantatum.”
Both Harry and Malfoy could move again, and used the opportunity to scramble for their wands. “Expelliarmus!” Harry and Malfoy flew backwards, both divested of their wands. “Twenty-five points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin – yes Slytherin, too, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said in response to Malfoy’s glare.
“You two will escort yourselves up to the Hospital Wing.” Malfoy reached for his wand, but Snape tucked it away. “You will receive your wands back after you have been satisfactorily healed.”
“Any fighting on the way to the Hospital Wing will result in detention with Filch every night until the Christmas holiday. Am I understood?” Snape glared, the rest of the class watching silently.
“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered angrily.
“Mr. Malfoy?”
“I won’t cause any fights, sir,” Malfoy said finally, his promise steeped in Slytherin duplicity.
Harry strode angrily toward the door, determined not to suffer the walk to the Hospital Wing in Malfoy’s presence. Suddenly, though, Malfoy strolled beside him, his pale face almost unrecognizable through the blood. “We need to discuss the terms of our agreement, Potter,” Malfoy said in an expressionless tone as they neared the Hospital Wing.
“Fine,” Harry spat.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow night, at eleven, in the Charms classroom.”
Madam Pomphrey hurried toward them, already exclaiming her displeasure.
“Fine,” Harry glared once again, as Madam Pomphrey demanded that he sit, her voice shrill. At least they were meeting tomorrow, though. Harry needed the time to do some research, first.
--
Draco Malfoy paced inside the Charms classroom, waiting for Potter to arrive. Finally, the door opened quietly, and although no one’s form slipped inside, Draco could hear Potter’s footsteps on the stone floor.
“Take off the Cloak, Potter,” Draco commanded.
Potter unceremoniously removed the Invisibility Cloak, glaring at Draco. Clearly, Potter was upset Draco knew his little secret.
“We have to work out a better deal, Malfoy,” Potter demanded wearily. Looking closely, Draco saw that Potter’s face was tinged grey with exhaustion. “I checked, Malfoy, in the library. You made me your blood donor.” Potter gestured towards the two silver circles on his neck.
Draco cursed inwardly. He had hoped Potter would not realize the significance of the marks.
Potter continued slowly. “You need me for blood, to keep resembling a human,” Potter stressed the word ‘human,’ as though to deliberately remind Draco of his newly acquired vampyric nature. “You can’t go out into the sun without drinking enough of my blood, you can’t eat normal food. I’m the only thing preventing everyone from finding out that you’re a vampire. Better yet, unless I die, I’m the only blood donor you can have.”
Draco winced. Potter’s words carried a heavy threat, and Draco abruptly realized how vulnerable he had made himself, making Potter, his enemy, into his blood donor.
“What do you propose, then, Potter?” Draco asked dully. He waited with trepidation for Potter to say he would not agree anymore, was instead going to let Draco die of thirst.
Potter smirked, and Draco revised his previous assessment. No, Potter was too much of a Gryffindor to let him die. Instead, Potter was going to make Draco humiliate himself somehow.
Potter’s words surprised Draco. “We’re going to swear a Binding Pact, Malfoy.”
“That’s a nasty spell, Potter.” Draco was vaguely impressed. Binding Pacts were lesser forms of the Unbreakable Vow. Instead of killing a person if they forsook the vow, Binding Pacts caused a steadily escalating pain, ultimately resulting in madness if the other person involved did not forgive the transgressor. Frankly, Draco was amazed Potter even found reference to Binding Pacts in the Hogwarts Library, as they were considered a form of the Imperious Curse, and had long ago been declared a Dark Art by the Ministry. Draco did not think a Gryffindor could have enough ruthlessness to even consider casting such a spell, and said so.
Potter smiled in reply, his vibrant green eyes glinting strangely. “You are going to swear you will not drink from anyone but me.”
Draco glared fiercely at Potter, well aware that if Potter disappeared, or was somehow indisposed, he would not receive any blood.
“In return, I will swear to allow you to drink my blood once a week.”
“And if that’s not enough?” Draco growled, his fangs extending as he prowled angrily towards Potter. Vampires, especially young vampires, required blood at least twice a week. Draco, though, was a Malfoy, used to the most opulent comforts, and had been drinking blood four or five times per week.
“If that’s not enough, than too bad,” Potter sneered, “Unless you want Rita Skeeter to receive an anonymous tip that Draco Malfoy has turned into a vampire. But don’t worry; I know the Ministry laws regarding non-humans are terribly lax.”
Draco paled. If deprived of Potter’s blood for too long, he would truly begin to resemble a story-book vampire. Maybe he could hide his condition from the Ministry now, but if he started avoiding sunlight, and not eating solid food, they would become highly suspicious. Since his father’s escape from Azkaban, any wrong move would motivate the Ministry to lock Draco away in Azkaban without the key, simply because he was a Malfoy.
“Fine, Potter, I’ll swear the Pact,” Draco ground out through clenched teeth, horribly aware that Potter, a Gryffindor, had out-maneuvered him.
Potter nodded. “Give me your hand.”
Draco placed his hand in Potter’s, cheered when Potter flinched slightly.
“I, Harry James Potter, hereby formally enter into a Binding Pact with Draco Lucius Malfoy. I solemnly swear to allow him to drink the necessary amount of my blood once a week, provided he fulfills the terms of the Binding Pact,” Potter intoned carefully. A silvery chain, made entirely of magic, wound around their entwined hands as Potter spoke.
One of the more useful aspects of the Binding Pact was that it did not require a binder, just the formal swears of the two entering into the Pact. As such, the Binding Pact used to be an important part of wizarding marriage vows, utilized to root out infidelity, and keep the blood lines clear. Now, only traditional pureblood families, like the Malfoys, still used Binding Pacts.
Potter was glaring at Draco to continue. “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, hereby formally enter into a Binding Pact with Harry James Potter. I solemnly swear to not drink anyone else’s blood but his, provided he fulfills the terms of the Binding Pact.” Another silvery chain looped around their hands. Draco could feel the compulsion of the magic sinking into his skin.
“So mote it be!” Both Harry and Draco cried out at the same time, as the magic flared once, a bright silver which temporarily blinded both occupants of the room. Draco pulled his hand away, examining the back of his wrist to find a fading silver star. The star would blaze back to life with agonizing pain should Draco forsake his part of the Pact.
Draco’s excursion into his own private Hell had begun.
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[ Chapter Six ]
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