Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. ::shivers:: Scary.
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(A/N: Okay…::deep breath!::
First off, the French Viscount de Moriéve is based on an actual account of a vampire – named 'de Moriéve' – who supposedly existed for nearly a full century after the French Revolution. The info comes from the 1997 edition of The Vampire In Europe, by Montague Summers. In addition, of course, I have borrowed a quote or two from the movie Queen of the Damned. I am inspired by many things, so please don't think badly of me if you come across anything similar to something or someone else. It's not always intentional. I always try to credit anything I do use. I always manage to twist quotes out of context, I guess - so if you read one and are confused with it's relevance to the story, sorry in advance.
If my French is off – it's been a looong time - I'm sorry about that too! Let me know, so that I can correct it. I also ask that you readers continue to remain open minded about this story – and to remember that in the Wizarding world, witches and wizards live for much longer periods of time than Muggles! (Yes, I am obsessed!) To those of you who asked, the prophecy from the first chappy will come into effect 'much' later.
Thanks for reading!
~Lee ^_^)
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8. The 'Malevolent Benefactor'
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"Hide not your talents, they were for use made.
What's a Sun-dial in the shade?"
– Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard
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He had been leaning against a wall in a state of rare, lazy repletion somewhere in a corridor on the third floor. After having had a taste of some foolish, misdirected Hufflepuff, he suddenly found himself standing at the edge of the forbidden forest. The fingers of fog within reaching out to him were so thick they seemed to wrap around his calves and ankles, as if to pull him forward.
Draco eyed the wall of endless blackness before him with a slight sneer of distaste.
"Still have tastes for the melodramatic, don't you, de Moriéve?"
"Still loathing the power I have given you, I see," came the amused, lightly accented retort.
Draco felt a snarl creep onto his face as he whirled to face the monster standing behind him.
In one furious, flashing movement, Draco had his wand withdrawn and pointed directly at the intruder.
"Ah, young one…it is…good to see you again." The creature laughed from where it stood beneath the shadows of the trees.
"You'll forgive me if I don't say the same," Draco stated coldly, his rage slowly building.
The next short, chilling burst of laughter made him gnash his teeth.
"You've grown even more since I've seen you last – it's a pity you weren't able to move that fast when I first came upon you, eh?"
Draco kept his wand trained on the creature in severe distrust. He didn't bother asking what the vampire wanted – he didn't care.
"Wondering why I'm here?" The vampire asked sardonically.
"Actually I'm wondering which incantation would be more apt to kill you - slowly…"
"As arrogant as ever – I saw such potential in you even as a boy, you know. That cold confidence, that composure – and I watched it grow in you, these past years…"
Draco narrowed his eyes and stiffened his spine.
"If I didn't know better, young Malfoy, I'd almost accuse you of having some misplaced, lingering respect for life, the way you've skulked about, refusing to kill."
Draco gave his head a sharp shake. The thing had been watching him. "I have respect for my life – you know better than to assume I'm wasting my time brooding over taking the lives of others, de Moriéve. It's the simple fact that I have no wish to walk about looking like a corpse – and I imagine, after nearly three centuries, it isn't quite so easy for you to impress the ladies."
After a long silence, the vampire stepped forward into the moonlight, and Draco, even after having steeled himself for the sight, fought not to take a step back.
Though the memory of the vampire's attack was forever imprinted on his mind, the fierce, brutal visage of the thing standing in the flesh before him still made his gut clench slightly in fear.
This was it. This was the thing that he would become if he ever killed. Draco's own vanity in that moment was nearly enough to dispel any thoughts of ever giving in.
Where de Moriéve had a voice as even and cultured as any old world nobleman, it was deceiving, and at direct odds with his appearance.
The old vampire was powerful enough to draw his victims to him, powerful enough to appear to his victims in any manner he wished – but Draco could see him as he really was – and he could bet Potter that Voldemort had nothing on 'looks' compared to de Moriéve.
The man was tall and very gaunt – his skin was pale, paper thin and ashen gray in places. His hair was long, a dirty blond, and threaded through with coarse gray. The thin lips, high cheekbones, and unnaturally bright, piercing silver eyes may once have been striking, but now looked shrunken, cadaverous. The whites of the vampire's eyes were no longer that – they were now pink, red-rimmed and blood shot, and his sharp fanged teeth were yellow, protruding and just downright disgusting.
Cloaked in ragged, rusty black robes, he looked nothing like the powerful Viscount and wizard he had once been so long ago – and Draco had no intention of following in the creatures footsteps, hiding in the darkness, constantly hunted by Aurors and Unspeakables.
"It's been a while since you've fed, hasn't it." Draco commented in a purposely-emotionless tone.
De Moriéve sighed, but the hunger burning in his eyes belied his calm outward expression.
"Alas, oui – but the forest has been a place of refuge for me many times before – it is full of life – and I'm sure it will be no time at all before I am back to my full strength."
Draco felt his lip curl at the thinly veiled threat.
The vampire smiled menacingly. "Come, come, Malfoy – put away that wand. I have not come to harm you."
"I find that very hard to believe considering your actions in the past," Draco stated scathingly.
"I have spent these past centuries in near solitude. Is it wrong that I might seek out some form of - companionship, every now and again?"
"Immortality sounds like a good idea until you realize you're going to spend it alone, doesn't it, de Moriéve?" Draco couldn't help but dig, his anger escalating. He'd wondered for years if he'd ever again come face to face with his attacker, and now his control was strained to the breaking point at the vampire's presumptuousness. He wanted to throw his wand aside - and rip the bastards throat out with his teeth.
The vampire only laughed, again sounding not quite sane. "I am enchanté to see that le malingnité I saw in you years ago has grown so very well. C'est magnifique, oui, so beautiful and wicked. But what is this? Do you think I am angered so easily, enfant? That so called control I understand your father is so fond of spouting off about, is in my blood as well…" de Moriéve's sharp, cold features moved into a demonic smile.
Draco's angry sneer faltered.
The vampire began to lazily circle him, and Draco ground his teeth as his every sense screamed at him to move.
"What are you going on about, de Moriéve? How do you know my father?"
Frozen, rancid smelling breath brushed the back of his neck, and he stiffened his back again in reaction. It was unsettling in the extreme to be the recipient of this slow stalking again, after he'd been the predator for so long…but it just went to show how arrogant he'd been. His 'power' was nothing compared to de Moriéve's'…
"Well, I cannot say I know the man in any true depth – but I was, in point of fact, very, very close to the family in the 'old' country…" The vampire paused before Draco, and as realization dawned, he stared into silver eyes - the aged, experience-ravaged mirror of his own.
Draco did take a stumbling step back at this revelation.
There had been rumors, things murmured in secret about his powerful Wizarding ancestors that his father had forbade any residing at the manor to speak of – but he'd never lent any credence to the ridiculous gossip –
De Moriéve…how had he not thought of it before? The vampire had revealed his name at their first 'meeting' – Draco had known his grandfather had changed the family name when he'd moved to England at the turn of the century, but why – no wonder he'd left their ancestral France -
"Of course, you may call me arriére-grand-pére, if you wish…"
Draco continued to stare at the creature is disbelief.
The vampire cocked an eyebrow fiendishly. "No? Ah, well…"
"Why?" Draco heard himself ask harshly.
"Why? Why did I give you your power, your gift?"
"Gift?" Draco snorted. "It's more like a curse."
"Tell me, young Draco - if you truly loathe it so much, why did you share it?"
Frozen, he stared at the creature in disbelief. He knew about Ginny? "How did you know?" For the first time, a kind of fear stole over him at the thought of Ginny Weasley being anywhere near de Moriéve.
"The same way you knew that I was near," de Moriéve shrugged gracefully. " We can always sense when another of our kind is around, you know – "
"I'm not one of 'your kind'," Draco pointed out furiously. "I never will be."
"Of course – that is your choice," the vampire said with another careless shrug. Then the unnatural light in his icy eyes turned malevolent.
"But…what of the other?"
Draco felt his heart lurch in his chest. "Stay out of it," he whispered to the vampire warningly.
De Moriéve continued pacing again. "This – friend of yours…how is it that she has not killed yet?"
"You will not come anywhere near her," Draco promised with a snarl, a small part of his mind wondering at the sudden possessive rage he felt.
"Ah…so it is a female, oui?"
Draco clenched his teeth at his own stupidity. His small loss of control could cost Ginny her mortal life if de Moriéve had something up his moldering sleeve – which he doubtless did. "She's no one – nothing."
"Is she? I wonder – "
Solitude…companionship – his head wrapped around the words suddenly.
"She's not for you." He told the thing that was his great-grandfather in an arctic tone.
De Moriéve's chin jerked upward in insult. "You know nothing," the vampire told him in a tight voice and with an expression that Draco again realized eerily matched his own. "You have no claim on her – you yourself have said she is nothing. Perhaps – "
"Perhaps nothing. She's not like me by choice, you fool. Moreover, she will remain under my protection until – "he cut himself off and bit his tongue in punishment. The bloody vampire seemed to have a way of making him speak very uncharacteristically out of turn.
"Oui? Until? Still looking for a cure, are you?" De Moriéve shook his head in amusement. "There is no cure – you are the one acting foolishly here, enfant. It is your fate – you have in your hands the power to become one of the most feared and respected dark wizards of all time! You could crush Voldemort, gather armies, rule the world – you are wasting your gifts!"
The vampire was utterly mad. "Why not do it yourself, grandfather?" Draco asked mockingly.
"Insolent, aren't you? Like me," De Moriéve chuckled, the fanatic gleam in his eyes fading.
"Never like you," Draco promised coldly.
"I am too weak, in answer to your question – too old, too tired. Do not doubt me, I am powerful – but you have the makings of a dark wizard as none the world has ever seen, young one. I could almost smell the anger, the power emanating from you that night in the forest – and you were only an untrained child. You were greatly afraid that night, oui – but your conceit, that air of superiority you carried beneath the fear, made it impossible for me not to take you – imagine my surprise at discovering my own blood flowing in your veins. I was nearly too late to save you, you know – I hadn't much control then, as I'd been hunted for many weeks before seeking solace in the forest -"
"You never answered my other question," Draco cut in rudely. All his talk of blood was making his hunger stir again. "Why didn't you just leave me to die? Why did you bother returning my blood? And don't bother telling me it was because you felt some kind of paternal responsibility."
The vampire stared at Draco avidly for a moment, and then smirked and arched a blonde brow.
"It pleased me to, at the time. I was…bored."
Being on the receiving end of a stinging insult was something Draco found he did not care for. It had been for nothing – his childhood, wasted…he opened his mouth to recite a forbidden dark incantation that would have reduced the vampire to ashes – and landed him in prison, thanks to the wards on the school grounds – but in the blink of an eye, the vampire was gone, back into the inky depths of the forbidden forest. Only a sliver of his mad laughter remained.
"Au revoir, enfant…"
Draco closed his mouth, and lowered his wand at last, both infuriated and shaken by the encounter.
He'd never really suspected he'd ever see de Moriéve again – but now he knew better than to think that he'd seen the last of him.
Especially if he'd set his sights on Ginny.
She seemed to have a profoundly odd effect on the Malfoy men – he himself was proof of that. He'd been drawn to her, time and again – and de Moriéve was already more than interested, sight unseen.
Unfortunately, Draco knew it wouldn't be long before Ginny was being stalked again – and not by him, this time.
He'd have to keep a tight rein on the girl – she'd be safe on the grounds, and within Hogwarts – but if she ever ventured into Hogsmeade, or the forest – but what did he care, really, what happened to her? It would be a godsend, nearly, if de Moriéve decided to take the girl off his hands. He wouldn't have to chase her around, keep her under control, or fear that she would give them both away –
And Weasley and Potter would have the Ministry on him in an instant if he let anything happen to her.
"Fuck!"
His incensed, frustrated curse was answered by a distant laugh.
Draco sent a scowl at the trees, and whirled around, stalking back toward the castle.
~*~
"Night tine is a season
Feel the cold wind blow
And I toss and turn
And I walk the floor
Here I go again
The night just walked in
In walks my fantasy
My mind takes no prisoners
Pities no one
It spares not even me
Until the harm is done,"
-' In walks the Night', Heart
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Ginny was standing by a window near her bed when he returned to her.
Potter and her brother were nowhere in sight.
"Where'd you hide the bodies?" He couldn't keep himself from asking her in dark amusement. It looked as if the Dream Team hadn't been able to tough out 'baby-sitting' Ginny.
Ginny took his breath away as she turned to face him, her small, slim body and lush red curls outlined by the moonlight.
"Hermione owled them – she needed their help with something."
' - And they probably jumped at that excuse,' he thought darkly. "Do you need to feed again?"
The girl surprised him by laughing – it wasn't a happy sound, however.
"Again? I feel hungry all the time! It doesn't ever really go away,"
Draco crossed his arms against an unwelcome surge of pity and commiseration.
"I was sitting here, feeling sorry for myself, you know. And…I thought about what it must have been like for you, being so young…I mean, just the thought of what you must have gone through, and alone – "
"Don't pity me," he found himself snapping. "Or are you forgetting I was the one who got you into this bloody mess in the first place?" He didn't want her pity – it made him furious, just as it had earlier.
She looked at him with a troubled, intense stare, and then turned back toward the window, rubbing her arms as if she were cold.
"Get into bed – you have to be freezing," he ordered, noting her bare feet.
"It won't help – I can't get warm," she mumbled, lowering her head until her hair fell forward to hide her face.
Draco felt a tug somewhere in his chest, and felt his jaw tighten in reaction. "Go."
Surprisingly she didn't resist. She crawled into the bed listlessly, and pulled the blankets up to her chin, her eyes downcast.
He swept over to her bedside, steeling himself against the scent of her, and rolled up his robe sleeve.
She finally looked up at him, her eyes wide and brimming with tears, and shook her head vehemently.
"Don't – Draco, I don't want – "
"You will, if you don't want to tear into the throat of the next unaware person who walks in here to check on you," he told her warningly. "It could very well be your dear old Mum. You need to feed a lot in the first days, to be able to exert some control over yourself."
Ginny made a choking sound, and then he caught her eyeing his arm in dismay.
"I can't – I hurt you before – god, I can't look at it – "
Draco gave his healing wrist only a cursory glance before he rolled his eyes and growled in disgust. "Give over Weasley – you know you want it. Besides, do you really want to go bouncing off the jugular of someone else? Potter, perhaps? Your brother?"
Ginny swallowed, and closed her eyes. "No."
"Then shut up and drink," he stated callously and held his wrist to her lips.
She licked her lips as he watched, and he caught himself staring in avid fascination. It was far too intimate; her drinking from him this way – eventually something was bound to happen –
He hissed slightly as she quickly sank her slender fangs voraciously into his wrist.
As before, with the pain came the disconcerting pleasure – and the nearly overwhelming need to taste her again. Her blood, her lips, her skin – he didn't care what it was, he just needed –
Draco took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes to the sight of her lips against his skin – it was a bad move. Every sensation intensified tenfold – the gentle brush of her tongue against the wound proved to be his undoing.
He was suddenly jealous of the soft, almost loving attention her mouth was giving his wrist as he opened his eyes again and watched her.
"Ginny."
The single word came out as a growl, and she looked up at him with red-orange flames burning in her dark irises.
He caught her chin in his hand, and lowered his head to kiss her. The taste of his blood on her reddened lips and warm tongue made him groan and unwillingly deepen the kiss.
She tasted like everything sinful in the world – and it was enthralling.
Draco soon discovered it wasn't just the blood lust that drew them together – in most respects he was still just a regular teenage boy, a virtual slave to raging hormones…and apparently Ginny was feeling the same way.
On the other hand, she really just felt sorry for him.
The thought made him kiss her harder, and he accidentally nicked her lower lip, making her gasp in pain. He soothed his tongue over the tiny wound, sucking at it slightly, making her shiver.
He was so caught up in the kiss he nearly failed to hear the footsteps approaching outside the door.
Draco pulled away from her with a huge effort, his chest heaving as he fought for breath.
The pale, beautiful redhead looked up at him dazedly, breathing just as hard as he was.
He shook his head in disgust again at his lack of control, and used his thumb to quickly wipe away the traces of blood at the corner of her lips.
He frowned at her, putting a finger to his lips when she made as if to speak – and then, thankfully, the footsteps outside the door veered off in another direction.
Draco sighed raggedly as he looked down at Ginny – it was a good thing no one had come in – one look at the girl and whoever it had been would have known exactly what they had been up to. Her innocent arousal seemed to be written all over her flushed face.
She blinked up at him as if waking up from a deep sleep, and he couldn't help the smug smirk that appeared on his lips. She was looking too tempting – and he wasn't sure his self-control could handle a repeat performance of the kiss they'd just shared.
"Go to sleep, Ginny," he said in his most compelling voice, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I'll be here in the morning."
She caught his hand, and then abruptly dropped it as if she'd realized what she was doing.
"Wait – I – I don't know if I can trust myself – what if someone comes in – "
"If someone comes in, someone comes in," Draco said tiredly. "You'll be fine – for now."
"But – but what if I do something? What if I hurt someone – "
"You seem to be under the misconception that I care," he stated crossly. He'd never had a great deal of patience, and he was weary.
"W-what?"
"Ginny, I could care less if you 'hurt' someone – just keep my bloody name out of it, will you? I'm going to bed."
She made an angry sound and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.
He scowled at her fiercely.
"Stop acting so superior," she told him spitefully. "Like you haven't worried about hurting someone – "
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Weasley. You actually think the reason I haven't killed yet is because I can't bear to take a life? You are an innocent, aren't you?"
"I haven't killed for the sheer fact that I want more than what this half life can give me. Vampires are powerful creatures, but they have their weaknesses, and I won't become one of them. I was meant for far better things than becoming a bloody worthless parasite," Draco said bitterly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to his much-abused wrist, which had begun throbbing meanly.
"A-are you saying you could kill? That you would willingly take a life?"
He looked down on her with an unkind smile.
"I had no problem nearly relieving you of yours, did I?"
"Don't fool yourself into thinking I have some profound, great fondness for human kind, Ginny. I was practically born to stab people in the back – my parents are particularly proud of that trait. I'm willing to do anything and everything possible to achieve my ends, and yet I have half the people in this school convinced I had a 'hard childhood', and can't truly be blamed for my 'misdeeds' because I've been abused, or misled. What do you think, Ginny? Do I make a 'tragic figure'?" He smirked at her, enjoying the scandalized look on her face.
"You're evil," she muttered beneath her breath.
"I try." He turned his back on her, and stopped only when he got to the infirmary doors.
"Goodnight, Ginny. Sleep well – believe me, you're going to need it..."
"Is that really all you have to say about this?" She watched him from her bed with narrowed eyes.
Draco shrugged and pushed through the doors. He had plenty he could say – but he was in no mood to say it. "You know that old saying – brevity is a virtue."
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" - The hardest victory is victory over self." – Aristotle
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TBC ^_~