Author: Lee Velviet
Disclaimer: I own nothing! All this belongs to J.K. Rowling-doesn't she rock? -Warner Bros. etc, etc.
Summary: Something's up with Draco Malfoy-he's even more evil than usual-he keeps odd hours, he's paler, he eyes blood like it's candy-could he be *gasp* a vampire? What happens when he sets his sights on the youngest Weasley? Draco goes Dracula! (Okay, melodrama aside, and the fact that I can't write summaries, please read on! ^-^)
(A/N: Hey, all. Sorry about the wait. ::Blushes:: Reality has truly intruded. Argh. I like that-Argh. Anyway, here's a new chapter-but first, I'd like to explain a wee bit about the variations I've used on Vampire myth. In this story, I've used the 'you're not truly a Vampire until you've actually "killed" someone' thing, kind of like from The Lost Boys, but I haven't used the 'You have to be invited to come in', part-I think you'll see what I mean, if you know a bit about Vampires and Vampire movies and books. My advice is-read this with an open mind, because I'm going to be using lots of different Vampire myths from lots of different places-to conveniently fit my story, of course, but hopefully you'll all like it and it will be perfectly understandable! Anyway, thanks for all the reviews, comments, e-mails and friendly advice. I really appreciate it! ^-^)
2. The Dreadful Visitor
"Midnight-The hail storm-The dreadful visitor. The Vampyre."
–Varney the Vampyre, Preskett Prest 1847
Ginny found herself unable to sleep that night-it was long after all the other girls in the sixth year dorm had fallen asleep, and she was tired, but something was bothering her…
She rolled onto her side and blinked into the near darkness-she pulled her blankets close around her neck and shoulders. She never had been able to sleep unless she was curled up in her covers as if she'd spun a cocoon. The storm that had seemingly followed the train to Hogwarts was still raging outside, and now she could hear hail hitting the windows, and pounding the walls of the castle.
Ginny closed her eyes, counting backwards from one hundred, hoping that the monotonousness of it would put her to sleep-but she reached thirty, and her mind wandered. The feeling was still there-it made her feel very uncomfortable; she likened it to the feeling she had whenever she discovered she'd forgotten something. A feeling of dread hung like a mantle over her shoulders, and she sighed, doing her best to push it away.
After a full hour of tossing about, she fairly growled in frustration and got up, stalking toward the door and dragged her blanket from her bed as she went, the end trailing behind her.
She realized she'd left her slippers behind when her bare feet touched the cold stone steps, but she walked on, hauling the blanket with her, and went down into the common room, where the fire was burning low. It cast a golden-orange light over the cheerily cluttered, over-furnished room. Thankfully, no one else was about the shadowed area, and Ginny headed with relief to a warm spot before the large fire.
Ginny made herself comfortable on one of the overstuffed red sofas and leaned her head back on a gold fringed throw pillow-she closed her eyes, and then reopened them as she caught the slight scent of Harry's cologne on it. She then remembered that he'd been laying there talking to Hermione and Ron earlier about their schedules. She put her cheek against the pillow again, hesitantly, after a moment-it felt incredibly comforting- and finally drifted off to sleep, listening to the snapping of the wood in the fireplace.
"The storm has ceased-all is still. The winds are hushed; the clock proclaims the hour of one. He advances…" –Varney the Vampyre, Preskett Prest 1847
She had to be dreaming-she just had to be.
Ginny had rolled over on the couch and briefly opened her eyes only to see that the fire had died out completely, leaving the room nearly pitch black-and a pair of unblinking blood red eyes staring down at her from the darkness.
Wake up, she told herself frantically. It's just a nightmare…wake up…
The eyes shimmered eerily, and she felt rather than saw arms reaching out towards her. A scream rose in her throat, but she was so petrified that she couldn't open her mouth to make a sound-she froze on the sofa, her muscles aching with fear.
A cool hand brushed the skin of her cheek, and then drifted down her throat, exposed by the scooped neckline of her nightgown.
Wake up, wake up, wake up-
Ginny felt her skin crawl, and she closed her eyes, terrified as she felt the hand wrap around the back of her neck. Long, cold fingers pushed through the long warm curls, and then fisted there at her nape tightly. She was jerked forward so suddenly that her eyes flew open again in surprise- and then there was a blood curdling growl as the hand in her hair dragged her head back fiercely, exposing her throat-there was a burning needle like pinch at her throat-and it was too late to scream-
"-With a plunge, he seizes her neck in his fang-like teeth-a gruesome sucking noise follows. The girl has swooned, and the Vampyre is at his hideous repast!" –Varney the Vampyre, Preskett Prest 1847
"Wake up, Gin!"
A rough hand on her shoulder shook her awake.
Ginny opened her burning eyes reluctantly and looked up into her brother's freckled face. Ron's skin was still damp from having washed his face-damp tendrils of red hair tumbled across his forehead, and he had his exasperated-get up now or I'm going to tell Mum-face on. She groaned and sat up. She'd been dreaming…but she couldn't remember what about…she rubbed the side of her neck absently under her fall of hair-it ached like mad from having slept on the sofa.
Her face began burning with embarrassment when she saw half the Gryffindor's standing around the common room staring at her.
Ginny pulled her blanket around her shoulders and stood up, feeling oddly faint, before heading for the stairs to the girl's dorms. "What time is it?" Ginny stopped and hissed at Ron.
"Breakfast time," he said pointedly, and patted his stomach.
Ginny rolled her eyes and turned around, only to get dreadfully dizzy and abruptly run into Harry, who had just come down.
"Oops." Ginny backed away, blinking as the room spun, leaving Harry to straighten his glasses and look at her curiously.
"What happened?" Harry cocked a dark eyebrow at her blanket and bare feet and ankles. Ginny felt her embarrassment grow as his eyes moved up, and then settled on her pale pink cheeks and long, unbound red curls.
"I, er…I fell asleep," she mumbled, and then ducked her head and hurried up the steps.
Harry looked at Ron as Ginny fled, and cleared his throat. "Why was she asleep down here?"
Ron rolled his eyes and shouldered his book bag. "It's Ginny." As if that explained everything.
"She looked pale-and embarrassed-is she okay?" Harry looked after her concernedly.
Ron looked at Harry as if he were mad. "What are you talking about? I never thought I'd see the day when you were asking about my little sister. Didn't you get enough of her trailing you around for three years? Do you remember the singing Valentine?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, looking annoyed. "You're point is?"
"Really, Harry-if you start asking about her, or after her, she might start getting the wrong ideas again, and then you'll never get her off your back-'eyes as green as a pickled toad,'" Ron looked at him disgustedly. "Do you really want her to start back in on that?"
"Look, I was just thinking that she looked upset." Harry pushed a hand through his hair and bit his lip. "I wasn't asking for her hand in marriage, you grouchy prat."
"Let's get breakfast," he added before Ron could retort.
"Marriage?" Ron grumbled under his breath as they left through the portrait hole, "who would ever wanna' marry Ginny?"
Draco knew instantly what time it was when he woke up. He lay in his bed, the heavy dark velvet green curtains drawn; staring into the pitch darkness-it was time to get up.
Morning.
Draco loathed morning-it was the beginning of another day, and of late, he was not at his best during the day. It was actually the time for him to rest-if he had given way to the poison in his bloodstream, he'd be sleeping quite peacefully right now-and also be quite dead. Or was it undead?
Draco pressed his hands, long, slim and pale, over his chest so he could feel the heart beat-it was still there. He woke sometimes, feeling so still and quiet, and cold, that he often felt for his heartbeat, half- afraid it would have stopped.
He knew that he was an oddity-you were either a vampire, or you weren't-the vampire drank from you, and either left you to die, usually, or gave you it's blood, and you died, and became a vampire yourself. He was neither human nor Vampire-he'd gotten stuck somewhere between, of his own choice of course, but the vampire was gaining on him, coming closer every day, and the potions he was being forced to make to try and control himself while searching for a cure or antidote, were getting deadlier and deadlier- he could very well kill himself with one of those, and save himself the undead bit entirely.
He could just hear what people would be saying if he managed to poison himself. Potter and Weasley would be jumping for joy, no doubt, the stupid gits.
He groaned as he tried to force himself fully awake-he'd fed again; the unique coppery taste of blood still lingered on his tongue, making his whole mouth tingle, and his usually clamoring hunger was unusually and disturbingly quiet. He still had the comfort of knowing he hadn't killed anyone-if he had, he'd have been truly undead by now.
Cursing out loud, he threw an arm over his eyes and tried very hard to remember where he'd been-but there was nothing. The blackouts that had become more and more frequent of late were beginning to scare him. He might be a cold bastard, but he sure as hell didn't want to go about murdering people.
Well, Potter and Weasley didn't count, did they?
Draco pushed the thought away and clenched his teeth in frustration.
It was times like these he wanted to go find that sadistic monster that had bothered giving him back a portion of his blood, and slowly roast the creature on a spit before ripping it's bloody head off and happily shoving it up it's undead ass.
A sudden thought hit him-his notes. He remembered the potions notes he'd been working on the night before in the common room and hoped fervently that no one had set their hands on them yet-
"Draco?"
Draco rolled his eyes, hearing Crabbe's hoarse, deep voice outside his bed curtains. "What is it?" A sharp note of impatience was in his voice- he didn't like being interrupted when he was thinking.
"Uh-are you gonna` get up?"
"Yeah, I'm hungry," Goyle chimed in, sounding even more devoid of thought than his companion.
Draco sighed and forced his semi-hibernated body to move. He was usually hungry too-they had no idea. "You two go on-I'm getting dressed."
"Ok."
Draco waited until he heard them exit the room before he hesitantly opened the drapes, and then quickly drew them shut again-he hissed as his sensitive eyes ached at the sight of the dim gray light shining through the room's one, small, barred window. How many times had he told Crabbe and Goyle over the past years to make sure that damned thing was bloody covered up?
It wasn't that the sunlight truly hurt-long exposure to it did, like a thousand red hot needles prickling his flesh-but it had become like a reflex for him-everything inside him curled up like a damned kicked puppy when he saw the sun. It was the first day of classes, though, and he needed to find his notes-he didn't have time to stand about and whine about his predicament.
Draco set his shoulders and stubbornly pushed aside the curtains.
He saw something-or rather, someone-at breakfast that morning that made his fangs slide down and nearly pierce his own tongue-Ginny Weasley.
Draco ran his tongue over the aching fangs, fighting against an instant rise in his hunger as he eyed her silky flow of dark, almost blood red curls, and the fiery red highlights in them. It was funny how the colors had changed after he'd been bitten. Where her hair had been a just plain mad orange color before, it had changed, become darker, more alluring… it was those curls that had so caught his attention last year- just the sight of them had made his bloodlust rage out of control-that and the sight and scent of her blood on her pale, perfect white forearm. He'd had to leave the hall before he'd taken a nasty bite right out of her. She hadn't come near him if she could help it since, but it hadn't made things easier for him. Quite the opposite actually; the smell of her fear was so strong whenever he was near that it made her almost irresistible.
Hot saliva flooded his mouth as he watched her, and his tongue fairly ached for a taste of her…she looked so frail, so small and innocent and fresh-he caught sight of Potter glaring at him from where he sat next to her, and fought back the urge to go and rip his throat out.
Draco tucked his shaking hands beneath the table and forced himself to look away, wondering at the feeling of possessiveness he felt-and over a common Weasley. He shook his head, staring at the food growing cold on his golden plate. This was it then-he was finally going truly mad, completely nutters, utterly bonkers, just plain around the bend mad.
Disgust at his lack of control made him furious, and he had to leave the table before he finally broke down and bit one of his confused looking Housemates out of pure frustration.
He headed up to his first class, studiously avoiding any large, particularly bright patches of sunlight as he passed along the corridors.
Why was he fighting it so hard? Why didn't he just give up the struggle? It would have overtaken a lesser man by now, he knew-his father's insistence on self-control had come in handy more than once over the past few years. But honestly, why was he fighting so hard? Would it be so bad? Why couldn't he just say, "Hey, I was hungry, so I ate," end of story?
Because it wouldn't end there, he knew. If he gave in, if he killed, everything he'd known would be gone. Everything he was, and could have been would be completely, irretrievably gone. The thirst would become worse, he'd never be satiated, and he'd become a near mindless unfeeling monster in his constant quest for it.
Draco paused before a full-length mirror as he walked along a second floor hallway, and grinned at his pale, perfect, wickedly handsome reflection in the mirror. The female voice in the mirror complimented him throatily, and he smirked at himself slightly before striding on, feeling a bit more like his old self.
No, he wouldn't give in-and he'd have to find a way to keep himself out of trouble during the blackouts until he could find a cure. And he would find a bloody cure. After all-what would the world be like without Draco Malfoy?
TBC
Disclaimer: I own nothing! All this belongs to J.K. Rowling-doesn't she rock? -Warner Bros. etc, etc.
Summary: Something's up with Draco Malfoy-he's even more evil than usual-he keeps odd hours, he's paler, he eyes blood like it's candy-could he be *gasp* a vampire? What happens when he sets his sights on the youngest Weasley? Draco goes Dracula! (Okay, melodrama aside, and the fact that I can't write summaries, please read on! ^-^)
(A/N: Hey, all. Sorry about the wait. ::Blushes:: Reality has truly intruded. Argh. I like that-Argh. Anyway, here's a new chapter-but first, I'd like to explain a wee bit about the variations I've used on Vampire myth. In this story, I've used the 'you're not truly a Vampire until you've actually "killed" someone' thing, kind of like from The Lost Boys, but I haven't used the 'You have to be invited to come in', part-I think you'll see what I mean, if you know a bit about Vampires and Vampire movies and books. My advice is-read this with an open mind, because I'm going to be using lots of different Vampire myths from lots of different places-to conveniently fit my story, of course, but hopefully you'll all like it and it will be perfectly understandable! Anyway, thanks for all the reviews, comments, e-mails and friendly advice. I really appreciate it! ^-^)
2. The Dreadful Visitor
"Midnight-The hail storm-The dreadful visitor. The Vampyre."
–Varney the Vampyre, Preskett Prest 1847
Ginny found herself unable to sleep that night-it was long after all the other girls in the sixth year dorm had fallen asleep, and she was tired, but something was bothering her…
She rolled onto her side and blinked into the near darkness-she pulled her blankets close around her neck and shoulders. She never had been able to sleep unless she was curled up in her covers as if she'd spun a cocoon. The storm that had seemingly followed the train to Hogwarts was still raging outside, and now she could hear hail hitting the windows, and pounding the walls of the castle.
Ginny closed her eyes, counting backwards from one hundred, hoping that the monotonousness of it would put her to sleep-but she reached thirty, and her mind wandered. The feeling was still there-it made her feel very uncomfortable; she likened it to the feeling she had whenever she discovered she'd forgotten something. A feeling of dread hung like a mantle over her shoulders, and she sighed, doing her best to push it away.
After a full hour of tossing about, she fairly growled in frustration and got up, stalking toward the door and dragged her blanket from her bed as she went, the end trailing behind her.
She realized she'd left her slippers behind when her bare feet touched the cold stone steps, but she walked on, hauling the blanket with her, and went down into the common room, where the fire was burning low. It cast a golden-orange light over the cheerily cluttered, over-furnished room. Thankfully, no one else was about the shadowed area, and Ginny headed with relief to a warm spot before the large fire.
Ginny made herself comfortable on one of the overstuffed red sofas and leaned her head back on a gold fringed throw pillow-she closed her eyes, and then reopened them as she caught the slight scent of Harry's cologne on it. She then remembered that he'd been laying there talking to Hermione and Ron earlier about their schedules. She put her cheek against the pillow again, hesitantly, after a moment-it felt incredibly comforting- and finally drifted off to sleep, listening to the snapping of the wood in the fireplace.
"The storm has ceased-all is still. The winds are hushed; the clock proclaims the hour of one. He advances…" –Varney the Vampyre, Preskett Prest 1847
She had to be dreaming-she just had to be.
Ginny had rolled over on the couch and briefly opened her eyes only to see that the fire had died out completely, leaving the room nearly pitch black-and a pair of unblinking blood red eyes staring down at her from the darkness.
Wake up, she told herself frantically. It's just a nightmare…wake up…
The eyes shimmered eerily, and she felt rather than saw arms reaching out towards her. A scream rose in her throat, but she was so petrified that she couldn't open her mouth to make a sound-she froze on the sofa, her muscles aching with fear.
A cool hand brushed the skin of her cheek, and then drifted down her throat, exposed by the scooped neckline of her nightgown.
Wake up, wake up, wake up-
Ginny felt her skin crawl, and she closed her eyes, terrified as she felt the hand wrap around the back of her neck. Long, cold fingers pushed through the long warm curls, and then fisted there at her nape tightly. She was jerked forward so suddenly that her eyes flew open again in surprise- and then there was a blood curdling growl as the hand in her hair dragged her head back fiercely, exposing her throat-there was a burning needle like pinch at her throat-and it was too late to scream-
"-With a plunge, he seizes her neck in his fang-like teeth-a gruesome sucking noise follows. The girl has swooned, and the Vampyre is at his hideous repast!" –Varney the Vampyre, Preskett Prest 1847
"Wake up, Gin!"
A rough hand on her shoulder shook her awake.
Ginny opened her burning eyes reluctantly and looked up into her brother's freckled face. Ron's skin was still damp from having washed his face-damp tendrils of red hair tumbled across his forehead, and he had his exasperated-get up now or I'm going to tell Mum-face on. She groaned and sat up. She'd been dreaming…but she couldn't remember what about…she rubbed the side of her neck absently under her fall of hair-it ached like mad from having slept on the sofa.
Her face began burning with embarrassment when she saw half the Gryffindor's standing around the common room staring at her.
Ginny pulled her blanket around her shoulders and stood up, feeling oddly faint, before heading for the stairs to the girl's dorms. "What time is it?" Ginny stopped and hissed at Ron.
"Breakfast time," he said pointedly, and patted his stomach.
Ginny rolled her eyes and turned around, only to get dreadfully dizzy and abruptly run into Harry, who had just come down.
"Oops." Ginny backed away, blinking as the room spun, leaving Harry to straighten his glasses and look at her curiously.
"What happened?" Harry cocked a dark eyebrow at her blanket and bare feet and ankles. Ginny felt her embarrassment grow as his eyes moved up, and then settled on her pale pink cheeks and long, unbound red curls.
"I, er…I fell asleep," she mumbled, and then ducked her head and hurried up the steps.
Harry looked at Ron as Ginny fled, and cleared his throat. "Why was she asleep down here?"
Ron rolled his eyes and shouldered his book bag. "It's Ginny." As if that explained everything.
"She looked pale-and embarrassed-is she okay?" Harry looked after her concernedly.
Ron looked at Harry as if he were mad. "What are you talking about? I never thought I'd see the day when you were asking about my little sister. Didn't you get enough of her trailing you around for three years? Do you remember the singing Valentine?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, looking annoyed. "You're point is?"
"Really, Harry-if you start asking about her, or after her, she might start getting the wrong ideas again, and then you'll never get her off your back-'eyes as green as a pickled toad,'" Ron looked at him disgustedly. "Do you really want her to start back in on that?"
"Look, I was just thinking that she looked upset." Harry pushed a hand through his hair and bit his lip. "I wasn't asking for her hand in marriage, you grouchy prat."
"Let's get breakfast," he added before Ron could retort.
"Marriage?" Ron grumbled under his breath as they left through the portrait hole, "who would ever wanna' marry Ginny?"
Draco knew instantly what time it was when he woke up. He lay in his bed, the heavy dark velvet green curtains drawn; staring into the pitch darkness-it was time to get up.
Morning.
Draco loathed morning-it was the beginning of another day, and of late, he was not at his best during the day. It was actually the time for him to rest-if he had given way to the poison in his bloodstream, he'd be sleeping quite peacefully right now-and also be quite dead. Or was it undead?
Draco pressed his hands, long, slim and pale, over his chest so he could feel the heart beat-it was still there. He woke sometimes, feeling so still and quiet, and cold, that he often felt for his heartbeat, half- afraid it would have stopped.
He knew that he was an oddity-you were either a vampire, or you weren't-the vampire drank from you, and either left you to die, usually, or gave you it's blood, and you died, and became a vampire yourself. He was neither human nor Vampire-he'd gotten stuck somewhere between, of his own choice of course, but the vampire was gaining on him, coming closer every day, and the potions he was being forced to make to try and control himself while searching for a cure or antidote, were getting deadlier and deadlier- he could very well kill himself with one of those, and save himself the undead bit entirely.
He could just hear what people would be saying if he managed to poison himself. Potter and Weasley would be jumping for joy, no doubt, the stupid gits.
He groaned as he tried to force himself fully awake-he'd fed again; the unique coppery taste of blood still lingered on his tongue, making his whole mouth tingle, and his usually clamoring hunger was unusually and disturbingly quiet. He still had the comfort of knowing he hadn't killed anyone-if he had, he'd have been truly undead by now.
Cursing out loud, he threw an arm over his eyes and tried very hard to remember where he'd been-but there was nothing. The blackouts that had become more and more frequent of late were beginning to scare him. He might be a cold bastard, but he sure as hell didn't want to go about murdering people.
Well, Potter and Weasley didn't count, did they?
Draco pushed the thought away and clenched his teeth in frustration.
It was times like these he wanted to go find that sadistic monster that had bothered giving him back a portion of his blood, and slowly roast the creature on a spit before ripping it's bloody head off and happily shoving it up it's undead ass.
A sudden thought hit him-his notes. He remembered the potions notes he'd been working on the night before in the common room and hoped fervently that no one had set their hands on them yet-
"Draco?"
Draco rolled his eyes, hearing Crabbe's hoarse, deep voice outside his bed curtains. "What is it?" A sharp note of impatience was in his voice- he didn't like being interrupted when he was thinking.
"Uh-are you gonna` get up?"
"Yeah, I'm hungry," Goyle chimed in, sounding even more devoid of thought than his companion.
Draco sighed and forced his semi-hibernated body to move. He was usually hungry too-they had no idea. "You two go on-I'm getting dressed."
"Ok."
Draco waited until he heard them exit the room before he hesitantly opened the drapes, and then quickly drew them shut again-he hissed as his sensitive eyes ached at the sight of the dim gray light shining through the room's one, small, barred window. How many times had he told Crabbe and Goyle over the past years to make sure that damned thing was bloody covered up?
It wasn't that the sunlight truly hurt-long exposure to it did, like a thousand red hot needles prickling his flesh-but it had become like a reflex for him-everything inside him curled up like a damned kicked puppy when he saw the sun. It was the first day of classes, though, and he needed to find his notes-he didn't have time to stand about and whine about his predicament.
Draco set his shoulders and stubbornly pushed aside the curtains.
He saw something-or rather, someone-at breakfast that morning that made his fangs slide down and nearly pierce his own tongue-Ginny Weasley.
Draco ran his tongue over the aching fangs, fighting against an instant rise in his hunger as he eyed her silky flow of dark, almost blood red curls, and the fiery red highlights in them. It was funny how the colors had changed after he'd been bitten. Where her hair had been a just plain mad orange color before, it had changed, become darker, more alluring… it was those curls that had so caught his attention last year- just the sight of them had made his bloodlust rage out of control-that and the sight and scent of her blood on her pale, perfect white forearm. He'd had to leave the hall before he'd taken a nasty bite right out of her. She hadn't come near him if she could help it since, but it hadn't made things easier for him. Quite the opposite actually; the smell of her fear was so strong whenever he was near that it made her almost irresistible.
Hot saliva flooded his mouth as he watched her, and his tongue fairly ached for a taste of her…she looked so frail, so small and innocent and fresh-he caught sight of Potter glaring at him from where he sat next to her, and fought back the urge to go and rip his throat out.
Draco tucked his shaking hands beneath the table and forced himself to look away, wondering at the feeling of possessiveness he felt-and over a common Weasley. He shook his head, staring at the food growing cold on his golden plate. This was it then-he was finally going truly mad, completely nutters, utterly bonkers, just plain around the bend mad.
Disgust at his lack of control made him furious, and he had to leave the table before he finally broke down and bit one of his confused looking Housemates out of pure frustration.
He headed up to his first class, studiously avoiding any large, particularly bright patches of sunlight as he passed along the corridors.
Why was he fighting it so hard? Why didn't he just give up the struggle? It would have overtaken a lesser man by now, he knew-his father's insistence on self-control had come in handy more than once over the past few years. But honestly, why was he fighting so hard? Would it be so bad? Why couldn't he just say, "Hey, I was hungry, so I ate," end of story?
Because it wouldn't end there, he knew. If he gave in, if he killed, everything he'd known would be gone. Everything he was, and could have been would be completely, irretrievably gone. The thirst would become worse, he'd never be satiated, and he'd become a near mindless unfeeling monster in his constant quest for it.
Draco paused before a full-length mirror as he walked along a second floor hallway, and grinned at his pale, perfect, wickedly handsome reflection in the mirror. The female voice in the mirror complimented him throatily, and he smirked at himself slightly before striding on, feeling a bit more like his old self.
No, he wouldn't give in-and he'd have to find a way to keep himself out of trouble during the blackouts until he could find a cure. And he would find a bloody cure. After all-what would the world be like without Draco Malfoy?
TBC