A/N: Yes, I am continuing on this story, although I'm almost certain I vowed I wouldn't *thinking face*

Let's see how it goes, eh?

Synopsis: Sequel to Silver in the Blood. Rated: NC17 for sexual themes / violence. Scotland, 1890. Harry welcomes the new year with a heavy heart. He is exhausting himself trying to find a cure for lycanthropy but nothing seems to be working. Under the guidance of Professor Snape, Harry becomes deluded in his quest. He vows that nothing will stop him from finding a cure for Draco. Nothing.

WARNING: This story will contain graphic scenes of sexual relations between two men, violence, surgical experiments and ridiculous Victorian methods that are now outdated. Please refrain from flaming this story. If you don't want to read the warnings, then please go elsewhere. This is a story about two gay men, so I really do not appreciate any preaching about how Dramione is the best thing ever. Good for you, go and search for that then.

Anyways, enjoy the story! :D

~1st January 1890~

As the bell's chimed, echoing out over the barren, black hills, a shiver ran down Harry's spine. He clutched a glass of strong, red wine to his chest, his grip strong enough to shatter the glass in his palm. His bones ached with the cold and his jaw was tight as he stared out over the moorlands.

It had just gone midnight.

Heaving a weary sigh, he downed the last of his wine and set the glass on the narrow window sill. He was alone tonight, something he still hadn't grown accustomed to over the last two years. He almost couldn't wait to go back down to London in the next few weeks in order to collect his purchases from the apothecary. It was an arduous task but he couldn't risk his packages being tampered with, even if he entrusted his old professor Snape to aid him in his research. Ever since the newspaper's had reported on the 'JACK THE RIPPER MURDERS' -a nickname Sirius was very much enamoured with -Harry couldn't bring himself to trust any of the government officials with something as delicate as his subject matter. Especially not with someone on the hospital director's board like Slughorn. It was a chilling thought.

The only real ties he had in London, other than Severus, was his old class-mate Ronald and his wife Hermione. Ever since he had been best man at their wedding, Harry knew that they would be happy for many years to come. Thanks to his own research in the cleanliness of the hospital rooms and attending physicians, he was gladly able to assist in delivering their first child, a girl they had named Rosemarie, or 'Rosie' for short. Hermione had had no complications that most women had following the birth of her child, a huge relief to her husband and father.

Despite their reluctance to accept the facts, the hospital board had allowed Harry to over-haul their hygiene policy in the maternity ward. He didn't want to inflate his own ego, however he was almost entirely responsible for the morality rate of newborns in that area of London that year. Now, a year on, Harry often drifted between London and the Scottish Estate they'd settled at, for herbs, medicines and equipment as well as seeing his god-daughter. It was one of the few things that brightened up his otherwise exhausting days.

Drawing in a deep sigh, he reached into the collar of his shirt and toyed with the heavy silver bullet on a chain around his neck. Sometime's it would be a cool, soothing trinket that provided him with the knowledge that Draco trusted him with something as valuable as his own life. Other times, it was an oppressive weight that symbolised some form of God complex, and that left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth. Regardless of his mood, it had become a habit to toy with the chain whenever he was feeling anxious. Severus had often admonished him for being so infantile, however Harry brushed the sharp words aside.

Pressing his lips together, he turned away from the window, swiped his empty glass from the window sill, and left his bedchamber. Taking the stone steps two at a time, he made his way to the basement of the manor. The temperature grew cooler the lower down he went, however the wine cellar always managed to remain warm. It kept the wine good at least.

At the long table, he found his godfather sat at the table, eating a meal of cold cuts of meat and cheese with a glass of wine for himself. He looked up as Harry stepped through the door and brandished a knife with a slice of meat on the end. "Did you smell this Belgian sausage all the way from your rooms?" he asked with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

Harry tried to smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He sighed as he drew a chair out and sank down into the worn wood. "No, I was just contemplating over a glass of wine."

"The moon is no longer full, Harry, I cannot understand your urge to speed through the days until the next one just to try another one of your experiments."

"I just need to know if it works!" Harry insisted as he loosened the cravat at his throat. Draco often insisted it suited him, but the brunette was struggling to adjust to the new sensation around his neck. It felt like a noose and it didn't sit right with him when he was already on edge. "The waiting only proves to make my mind wonder. I don't like letting that happen when we're still testing various formulas."

"We could still be resting these new ideas for years to come, Harry," Sirius stated solemnly. "I'm afraid there is no easy answer in curing something that people still refuse to accept as an ailment."

Harry nodded. He knew the older man was right but this was no longer theoretical science and medicine; there were proven test subjects. He felt as though even Snape was growing weary of the constant experiments. He knew that Draco and Remus were, but the older lycan seemed to be more accepting of trying new formulas to try and calm the effects of the full moon.

Draco was having a hard time of it.

From what Harry was able to understand, the blonde man often felt dark and destructive thoughts and it was always evident on his face. Harry got frustrated that there was nothing he could do to instantly help the blonde man. There were days -closer to a full moon -when Draco would snap at everyone and be very short-tempered. Everything set him on edge and he often secluded himself in another bedchamber so that he didn't have to interact with anyone. Remus often claimed he was struggling, at times, to accept the lycanthropy despite how understanding their small 'family' was.

"I don't want to disappoint them," he managed to say as his eyes bored into the table-top.

The clatter of the knife on wood set his teeth on edge. A heavy hand clasped his forearm, the sensation feeling odd on his skin.

"Harry you need to stop thinking like this," Sirius scowled at him. "You have done more for all three of us in the last year and a half, than we've been able to achieve in the last decade at best."

That did not help ease the pressure in Harry's skull.

The sooner he could get back to London, the easier it'll be to implement some new ingredients into his current formula, to try and stabilise it. However, he had an itch crawling around under his skin -an itch that gave him many a sleepless night -and wanted desperately to go up to Draco's bedchamber and talk things through with him. He had been hoping to steer clear from the more medieval torture techniques that Snape had implemented, however he found that his other options were growing less and less to try.

Rubbing his sore eyes, Harry stood up from the table and excused himself from the cellar.

~0~

Draco was reclined on a chaise with a book in his hand, the moonlight filtering in through the latticed windows and casting long shadows across the rug. He wasn't in the mood to interact with anyone. He had kept himself locked away in his bedchamber since midday and had scarcely touched the meal left for him at his door.

He didn't have much of an appetite after the full-moons.

It was an unsettling piece of information that he hadn't fully accepted.

It took at least three days before he could even look at anything remotely edible beyond bread and ale. The clouds had been grey all day, sucking the warmth and the easy-movement out of the world below. As a result, Draco had a tremulous headache throbbing behind his eyelids and had simply wanted to submerge himself in his books. He had requested to read everything about Lycanthropy that he could from both Harry and Snape. He felt as though the more he knew on the subject matter of his disease, the more he could open his mind to the new treatment trials, the new experiments and formulas that Harry came up with and try to contribute to the research in any feasible way.

He loathed to feel useless.

A knock came at his door.

For a brief moment he debated on whether or not to answer it, before relenting. One could only have so much of one's own company, after-all. Twisting the doorknob, Draco schooled his features into cool indifference as the torchlight from the corridor hit him. He screwed his eyes up and blinked a couple of times.

"I wasn't sure if you were awake or not," Harry said, peering up through his messy dark hair at the blonde man.

Draco often forgot how much he towered over the young doctor. Doctor. It was surreal to think that Harry had graduated and become Snape's second-in-command. So much had changed in the last two years -and not all of it was for the better. Finding his voice, the blonde man cleared his throat and adjusted his posture.

"I've just been doing some reading. I didn't really want to bother any of you at dinner."

"We all made our own arrangements," Harry admitted.

"I see."

Harry stared up at the blonde man, trying hard not to wince at the raw scar that ran down the length of his pale throat and disappeared into his loosened collar. It had puckered nicely and should fade over time, however that still didn't mean that he was pleased with the reason behind the scar. Draco had one been a flawless piece of fine china, now he was marred and cracked and breaking before Harry's eyes. It caused him endless heart palpitations and made him feel sickened.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, desperate to find words that could bridge the distance between them.

"Harry ..." Draco's eyelids drooped down, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

"I'm sorry. You don't want company right now," Harry stated. "I'll leave you be. You might want to get some more rest."

Draco was quick as lightning, grabbing a hold of Harry's sleeve and dragged him back towards the door. Harry stiffened but didn't pull away. The sudden warmth emanating from the tall aristocrat made him shiver. "I would appreciate your company tonight, if you'd be willing?"

Harry's throat ran dry. "I would like that," he finally breathed, allowing Draco to lead him fully into the chamber and push the door shut in its frame.

Over at an ornate wooden table beside the hearth, Draco escorted Harry over to sit in one of the lavish armchairs and sank deep into the velvet cushions within. Harry was a little more rigid in his descent, however by the end of their first glass of wine together his muscles had started to finally relax. The warmth rushed through his veins and softened the edges of his mind. "Thank you for letting me in," he managed to murmur. The weight of countless other nights where the door hadn't opened at all, still haunted his mind.

"I've trying to catch up on the reading material Severus sent up," Draco admitted, pouring himself another glass of wine. "It's taken my some time to get used to the writing style."

"It does get quite tiresome," Harry agreed.

The atmosphere in the chamber was stifling.

Draco stared down into the bottom of his glass. The red wine glistened like fresh blood, the sweet, acrid flavour still burning on his tongue. "I didn't intend to become a recluse," he said. "I just wanted to gain more knowledge about this -this -deformity of mine." He practically spat the word. "I just wish I could aid you better rather simply be a slab of meat you can prod and poke with your electrodes."

Harry's eyes went wide with distress. "Draco that was never the intention to make you feel that way, you have to know that."

Draco inclined his head but remained silent.

Harry swallowed thickly. "I ... You have to know that everything I have done these last two years had been in aid of you becoming human again."

"Deep down I know that," Draco sighed. "However, the more this happens, the more I worry nothing will come of all this experimenting. We could be wasting both our lives in trying to mend something forever deemed to be broken."

"Don't say such things!" Harry hissed, his nails biting into the upholstery. Stitches broke as he leaned forward, the firelight catching on his spectacles. "You have to believe that we will find a formula that works. You have to believe that, Draco."

"I'm not sure that I can, Harry."

The silence that followed those words was harrowing. Harry felt acid burn at the back of his throat. It gave the wine a bloody taste. He shuddered and set his glass on the table with a little too much force. His breathing was harsh to his own ears. He suddenly had the urge to boil some water for a deep bath submerge himself and not come back up for air. It was a thought that often came to mind in the darkest hours of the night.

"Has your own research provided anything more to help us understand where we've been going wrong?" Draco's voice broke through the silence, swiftly diverting the subject from Harry's own, darkening thoughts.

"No," he replied tightly. "Not as far as I've seen." He glanced up, the firelight making Draco look ethereal in the darkness. "That doesn't mean the answer isn't out there. We just need to look in new places."

Draco furrowed his brows. "I don't know what it can keep going on, Harry."

"You can't make me give up now," Harry groused. "I've done so much good down in London and I want to implement some of that up here. I want everyone to be as healthy and happy as possible. That includes you."

"There's a reason we have to remain secluded in the back-end of Scotland, Harry. Let's not forget that."

"How could I?" he ground out through gritted teeth. "All you do is remind me whenever we have a moment to talk."

"It needs to be said."

"No. It doesn't."

Harry was done talking. It was as he said; whenever they had a spare moment, he was forced to face the cold, hard truth that he was the one responsible for all the events that had transpired. If it hadn't been for him, Draco could still be living in the lavish townhouse in London with infrequent contact with his own godfather, Professor Snape. Feeling mentally drained, Harry forced himself up out of the armchair and made his way towards the door. Draco didn't try to argue or to stop him, and that left the brunette feeling even more hollow than before.

Perhaps he was just too tired and needed to sleep?

"Get some sleep, Draco," he said over his shoulder, barely looking at the blonde man as he pulled the door open and left. There was no response as he dragged the door closed behind him.

Back in his own bedchamber, Harry stared up at the diagrams he'd sketched across a series of black-boards that he'd had mounted on one wall of his room. He stood, half-dressed, with numerous candles dotting all over his surfaces to help illuminate his notes. It was getting harder and harder to find new alternatives and recipes for the potions he was brewing. Aconite needed to remain a prime ingredient, there was no doubt about that. However, the other herbs in his 'to use' list were growing shorter and shorter. He only had a few left and it was nauseating to think that, if he got to the end without any reasonable results to work from, then it would all be for nought.

He'd already received a telegram that morning that his Dittany should have arrived at the apothecary. That was one of the few remaining herbs to try, and it was so low down on his list, that it made his stomach coil. He had notebooks filled with older recipes that had failed, though he couldn't single out what had failed. He lost so many nights of sleep that caused him to lose weight -maybe that was one of the reasons that Draco couldn't look at him now. Neither of them were the same person as they'd been two years prior, and that was -terrifying.

There were moments where Harry found himself wishing to be a coldhearted man like Snape. At least then he'd be able to look beyond the relationship, beyond the emotions and memories and have the undisputed clarity of mind to drive sharpened stake's into someone's extremities. Memories of that night were still nightmarish. The echo of Draco's inhuman screamed still caught him in the quietest moments, making him sit bolt upright and force himself out of bed to light as many candles as his quaking hands could. The candlelight chased some of the nightmares away, but not all of them.

They didn't reassure Harry that he was doing something right.

Maybe Snape had had the right idea from the beginning.

'No, I cannot think like that!' he berated himself, digging his nails into his cheekbone. 'If I truly believe that then I am no better than a murder! That will not show me the way forward, towards a cure.'

The real question had to be said; did he truly want to suffer through finding a cure? Or was he more content to just end Draco's evident suffering and start a new life back in London? It was no secret that the last two years had aged him so much so that -on the rare occasion he'd gone to visit his parents down in Yorkshire -his mother had fretted over his appearance. There was no way to argue with the matter at hand; he was running himself thin and was close to exhausting his few remaining options. What was to be done after the list was depleted and he had gone back to where he'd started? The honest answer was that he didn't know.

He just wanted it to end.

A/N: Yes, I'm an evil tease and it's only the opening chapter, however I hope you enjoyed it so far. Let me know x