(A/N: This is just something I've wanted to do for a while, and now that I've finally got my laptop for college it's easier to just bust it out and type. And please forgive my love for creature!fics. I can't help myself. I love music, fantasy, and slash (and non-slash) and this little drabble/one-shot series pretty sums it up. So thank you for even giving this piece a chance)
"I am on the mend
At least not I can say that I am trying.
And I hope you will forget the things I still lack."
"Time to get the seeds into the cold ground.
It takes a while to grow anything,
Before it's coming to an end."
("Sowing Season" by Brand New)
Sowing Season
"It's not as bad as you think, you know… You could 'ave done a lot worse", he said leaning against the lightest, exuding nonchalance. It's light illuminated the scene before him. Though he was far from horrified as the young man felt in the street, still clutching his friend who he had feasted on not ten minutes prior to his arrival, he still felt something akin to empathy. The young man continued to cry and wail into his companion's chest.
By fifteen minutes, however, he had had enough.
"Oh stop you're wailing! He's just another human, there'll be plenty more to befriend, and even more than that to feed on. So I suggest you pick yourself back up", he demanded leaning away from the post and walking to the young man, "wipe the blood, tears, and shite off you're face, and put yourself together."
The young man looked up to the other man walking towards him. Only in desperate times had he called to him for help. In all others he wished the other man never existed. Otherwise he never would have been in a situation like this.
"He's dead. And I killed him… My best friend. The only one I had left, and I feed on him like a fucking meal… How could it not be as bad as I think?", the young man ended with a shout.
The other man raised an eyebrow, and drop his gaze to the young man's friend still lying on the asphalt, in a pool of his own…fresh… blood. The man would be lyric if he didn't think the fallen friend wasn't appetizing, his smell overwhelming his sensed, but he held back. He would find something or isomeone/I to quench his thirst later. For now, he had to help his pathetically weak brethren.
"He's not entirely gone yet, you blubbering idiot. If you would take your head out your arse and stop crying like a fucking pansy, you would 'ear that friend of your's heart is still beating, albeit faintly". Not second later, the young man had his head to his friend's chest, trying desperately to be proven wrong. Three seconds in, and there it was. A beat.
The young man stopped breathing, wanting to hear another. And there it was again. He looked up, "Well? What do I do? I can't apparate to St. Mungos, they'll know I bit him! And I don't think he'll survive the trip!"
The other man kneeled down besides the younger man. The empathetic feeling rose once more. "Do what I did to you", he offered silently.
"I ca - I can't do that him", the younger man exclaimed, "he'll never forgive me if I turned him."
The man exhaled, "Ronald… Let your friend decided for himself. But for now, it's either let him bleed to death as he is, clean up the mess, and then bury 'im without anyone bin' the wiser… Or turn 'im in the next thirty seconds, because that's all he 'as left, as I see it from all the blood loss."
The young man, Ron, looked down to his last friend in the world, and prayed to whomever would listen to a monster's prayer, that he wasn't making a mistake, and bit into his own wrist, letting his own blood travel to his friend's mouth.
"I'm sorry, Harry"