Revenge
Revenge
Chapter 1: First Blood
She leaned back and sighed with satisfaction, a powerful grin stretched across her chalk-white features. Below her Draco moaned, arching his back to the best of his ability. Her smile softened and she kissed him lightly on the forehead.
"It…It's you…" he murmured hoarsely, the wounds in his neck still offering up blood. "How…did you…f-find me?"
"Shh," she whispered, pressing her fingers to his lips. He laid back and closed his eyes, the strangest sensation taking over his entire being. He was dying, he could feel it. And yet, somehow, it wasn't the worst thing he could think of happening to him. He was comforted almost. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Shouldn't revenge have been more painful? More fulfilling to her? "Here."
Something wet touched Draco's lips and his initial reaction was to drink, to take whatever it was she was giving him because maybe, just maybe, it would prolong his life long enough to find a healer. He was only blocks away from the former St. Mungo's (now an unnamed hospital run by Death Eaters for Voldemort supporters only), he was sure of it.
He tasted the metallic flavor before his brain could register and assess the situation. His eyes flew open and he clawed at her arm. He yanked and pulled and even kicked—and yet he was no match for her strength. From the last day he saw her, nearly five years ago, she had grown steadily stronger. He wondered how even magic could protect him from her.
"Bitch," he seethed into her wrist, the blood seeping down his face in tracks.
It was the last thing he remembered until morning.
He woke up and said, "Fuck!"
"Please watch your language," said a voice.
He looked up, unable to bring himself to look at whatever bound him, and his eyes fell upon the most unlikely person.
"P-Potter?"
Harry gave Draco the best I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep smile, then turned his eyes back to whatever it was he was reading.
"How—"
"Don't worry about that now."
"Where is—?"
"Sleeping," Harry interrupted. "Which is what you need to do."
"I'm not doing a damn thing you—"
He was asleep before Harry set his wand back on the table beside him.
"But you gave the others a choice!"
Draco opened his eyes to the sound of raised voices. He recognized one of them, and the other he knew to be his captor.
"I gave them a choice because I had no use for them!" his captor yelled. He heard something slam.
"Please, I beg you, kill him!"
Draco's soul tensed. Now he knew that voice.
"And what makes you think I'd give you any special treatment, Narcissa? You murdered my father before my eyes. You're mine and you will shut up and do as I tell you!"
And then there was silence. And darkness.
Something soft touched his face. He sat up, very aware that he was no longer bound, and was struck with an agonizing hunger.
"I was afraid you might not wake," came her voice, the voice of his captor. "I may have gotten a bit carried away. You lost a great deal of blood."
"Where's my mother?" He didn't know why that was the first thing he said, but he knew he needed to know. He thought she'd been dead all this time.
"I'm here."
He turned his head, and there she was, draped in a red velvet evening gown, her blonde locks tied back from her face. She was smiling, albeit sadly, and he thought that he'd never seen her as beautiful until now; she never smiled in life.
"How long—?"
"Have I been here?" she asked, laughing painfully. "Four years, I think."
"Three years, eight months, and four days," the other woman groaned, rolling her eyes. "And not a minute goes by that I don't regret turning you, Narcissa. You've been absolutely useless to me."
"Then kill me!" his mother cried, barring her teeth.
"No," she said simply, giving a wave of her hand. "You might still be needed."
"How did you get away?" Draco blurted out.
Both women looked at him as if they'd forgotten his presence.
"From the vampires you mean?"
He nodded.
"I knew you were all looks and no brains," she laughed, shaking her head. "Did you think I would go into that war without studying all of my enemies? Vampires included. Honestly, Malfoy, use your sense. Vampires only have control over those they unwillingly bring over. Like your mum here," she said, gesturing to the older woman, who sneered and barred her fangs again. "I sacrificed myself to them and, once I was one of them, they couldn't stop me. I was gone the very next night."
"And me?"
She didn't answer, and instead came to sit in the chair beside the coffin he'd been lying in. Without a word, she leaned in, stretching her neck to him. He couldn't help but notice the pulsating vein beneath her flesh.
His hunger was satiated before he realized what he'd done.
"You're mine until I say otherwise, Malfoy," she said, dabbing her neck with a square of linen. "But I don't see myself forgiving your crimes any time in the next hundred centuries."
"Filthy—"
"Now, now Malfoy," she laughed. "I wouldn't say that. We do share blood now."
He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to be silent.
"Narcissa."
"Yes ma'am?"
"Go get Harry. He wanted to be informed the moment your son was finally awake."
"Of course."
The garden was bigger than the one he remembered from the Manor. How long had it even been since he'd seen his former home? Years, he thought. Certainly not since the middle of the war. So then maybe it wasn't that her garden was bigger than his family's, but that his scope had been diminished over time. It made sense in a weird way, a way he couldn't begin to describe. Too many new senses were crowding his mind. For example, when he looked up into the night sky, he somehow knew the rough number of stars it held.
She stood at the edge of the garden, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her eyes on some distant point Draco couldn't decipher. But she was watching him—or at least knew exactly where he was—he knew that much for sure. Because he could have told anyone her exact location without so much as having his eyes open. If he were this powerful the first night, then how much more powerful would he become? Could he eventually get away from her?
"No, Malfoy, you can't."
She stepped away from the house and was in front of him within seconds. He tried to mask his astonishment, but knew it was impossible.
"You might become as powerful as I am, but remember I will always be ahead of you. And," she paused, making sure his eyes were on her, "even if you were ever more powerful than me, it would be useless. The laws of the blood that runs through your veins is governed by me, and me alone. You will only be free when I allow it."
"I still don't understand," he murmured, looking away. He wanted nothing more than to strike her across the face.
"What don't you understand?" she laughed.
"Why would you want me around for that long? Even if it was to command my every move, it doesn't make sense." His voice steadily rose with each word spoken. "I'm the reason you're dead!" He was mere inches from her face, and yet she appeared as serene as the moment before.
"Listen good, Malfoy," she said, pressing her index finger into the flesh and bone beneath his chin. "I will never tire of having control over you. You have ruined my life, I won't let you ruin my death as well." She took a step back and composed herself, making a useless gesture of smoothing down her dress-front. "Now let's go inside. I believe Harry just arrived."
Before he could stop himself, Draco lunged forward, his arms out in the classic predatory gesture. She was in his sights, he could almost feel his hands around her neck. And then the taste of dirt in his mouth.
He rolled over, coughing, and spit out the dirt and grass.
"Please don't try that again," she sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. "You're only making things more difficult for yourself. And while I would love to see you suffer, I don't have time for games tonight. Now get up before I summon Harry out here."
In all his times at war, Draco had never truly felt danger. After surviving his great folly with Dumbledore in his sixth year, he had become quite the loyal military man. He even became the first person his age to have a real ranking position of power with the Death Eaters. And so, from then on, he was always safe, always had someone to watch his back.
Tonight, however, he felt himself digress to his sixteen-year-old self. And no matter how useless it would be, he still wished he had his wand clutched protectively at his side.
Somehow this was worse than being invisibly bound in a coffin.
"I hear you've been disrespecting to your superior," Harry said, unable to hide his smirk. Draco had to consciously hold himself back.
"Forgive me," he said through gritted teeth. "The adjustment to the undead isn't exactly easy."
"Nor is it supposed to be."
Draco found it more than a little difficult not to glare. He was Harry Potter for Merlin's sake! His life-long enemy. Hell! He wasn't even supposed to be alive! The was had ended over three years ago with what Draco and everyone assumed was Harry's death.
"Tell him how you survived," came her voice; it would be an understatement to say she was annoyed. He didn't bother to look at her. Some things were still within his control. "I've had enough rebellion for one evening. Let's keep this calm tonight."
Harry nodded and began his tale.
Ok. That's the end of chapter one! I'm really liking this story so far, but I still need to tend to my others, which I am doing, just not as quickly as I should. School and everything else in my life has been so hectic this year that I haven't even been able to read fanfiction, let alone write it. Please bear with my slowness.
Anyway, let me know what you all think of this. I've been working on it on and off all semester and I finally put the pieces together. I've had a little free-time lately and have decided to get back into writing as much as I was over the summer.
REVIEW!!
