Painful. Disdainful. Inevitable. I can not complain. It is fate. I cannot stop it. Draco ran his hand down his arm gently. The touch elicited a agonizing, burning sensation, like it was set on fire, down the trail on his skin. Draco could feel it through the thick fabric of his sweater, and he winced.
Eyes widened quickly, suddenly, and he looked around to check if anyone had seen him. The Slytherin common room resembled much of the dungeons, emerald flames flickering weak light through the walls and illuminating the room in an eerie luminescent glow. Shadows coursed through the smooth, grey stone walls as the flame in the fireplace danced. The bottle green, jacquard couches were deserted, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief.
"I am getting paranoid," He said to himself, mumbling. He looked up, and out the window gravely, taking in the dusky-like morning that played on right outside. The sun was nearly up, it was dawn, and he was waiting for the others to wake up and meet him in the common room. Draco straightened, squinting his eyes. The golden rays of sunlight did not penetrate the windows.
"Should I tell Dumbledore?" He asked, voice echoing morosely. He kept awfully still, as if waiting for a reply, fingers dug deep to the arm of his couch. Nothing was heard but the breathing of his own.
Then, quietly, a disembodied whisper sounded.
"No. Do not."
---
"No, do NOT." Said Hermione, glancing up at Ron from the breakfast table. They were in the Great Hall, which buzzed quietly, of the many student's murmurs and gossips. The ceiling showed of a sunny Tuesday morning, bright, merry and uplifting. Ron's face was screwed up in a childish pout across the table, "But Herm—"
"No, Ron, look. Skipping school is –"
"It won't be anything important! It's just going to be some boring lecture!" the redhead interjected, and at that moment Harry walked into the Great hall, fixing his collar, looking over at them, smiling cheerily.
Hermione waved at him as he began striding closer, then she shot Ron an exasperated glare, "What if it is important? Ron, please don't."
"Please don't what?" asked Harry, who slid down on a chair next to Ron. Ron mumbled incoherently the reason of their little argument, and in reply, Harry inquired, "What's our schedule today, anyway?"
Ron looked into his notebook. It seemed he had just scanned it a moment ago, as it was already opened at the schedule page. He ran a finger down, then recited,
"History of Magic, Double Potions and after lunch, Charms and Care of Magical Creatures… We're gonna be with Slytherin almost all the TIME!"
Before Harry could second the notion of skipping, a loud sound of a hundred wings flapping in chorus echoed throughout the Great Hall and a swarm of owls propelled into the room. Harry spotted Hedwig easily, and she swooped down in front of him, landing gracefully without resting upon any food. Harry quickly untied her burden, gave her a pinch of bread, and she hooted, thankful, jumping off and following her friends out the window and out of sight.
"Who's yours from?" Ron asked, looking over Harry's shoulder to see the letter Harry had just opened. "Mine's from mum again," Ron continued, now glancing at his and reading through his (roughly opened) letter rapidly, "She reckons we be extra careful this year cause He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stronger and blah blah blah…"
Harry showed his letter. "Mine's from Snuffles," he said, airily, "His says the same thing. Blah blah, blah blah blah blah."
"I think we should worry," Said Hermione, discreetly. "I overheard Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall talking about it. You-Know-Who's probably gathering his minions and preparing. He's smart to make the ministry think he's not alive and on the move yet."
Ron took a bite of his croissant, eyes squinted in concentration. After swallowing, he asked, "Don't you think he WONT do anything, then? If he does something to any muggle or wizard, the ministry'll know something's up… But well, maybe You-Know-Who WILL do something…Cause my father's awfully troubled…"
"Knowing You-know-who's out and on the loose has that troubled effect, you know. I don't think he would be doing anything yet." replied Hermione. She started twiddling her wand, not knowing what else to say. Her brown eyes enlarged all of a sudden, and she gasped, hastily standing up, exclaiming, "I'm going to be late!"
"What are you talking about?" asked Harry, peering at Hermione's own watch from her wrist, "We still have thirty minutes."
He raised his eyebrow at Hermione, who smiled sweetly, and picked up her bag. "I have an extra class. Meet you guys at History of Magic!"
And then she ran off, her chestnut hair bouncing behind her back.
Ron shook his head, "Women, the weirder type of our species."
---
Classes zoomed by as usual. Harry had a hard time concentrating, though. And he couldn't even believe WHY he was so distracted. Neville Longbottom has suddenly become even cuter than Cedric Diggory, and even Harry was starting to double-glance him on occasions.
Oh this is stupid, he thought in his mind, wrenching his gaze away. Neville was a nice friend, that was what Harry meant. And he was pleasant, and handsome like Diggory.
Cedric Diggory. He had mentioned this a lot of times in his thoughts, too. A pang of guilt tightened around his heart. Even until now he couldn't forget those empty, cold grey eyes void of any twinkle, and that expression… Lifeless, haunted, hollow, dead.
All because he offered the cup to both of them. His idea, his fault. All Cedric wanted was fair and equality, not death. But in the end, probably too quick for him, he had died. It was in an instant, with no words, no preparation. He was dead before he knew it. Harry wondered if he would sympathize the same way if it was someone more deserving to die.
The first person (other than Voldemort) that jumped into his mind as deserving was – Draco Malfoy. He deserved to die, he had done so many things to ensure that Harry would suffer a living hell. He always liked the wrong things, hated all the good things, his family was clouded in darkness, he was second deserving of death.
And that very same Draco Malfoy was currently walking up the dirt road towards Hagrid's cabin. The Slytherins were late, Draco Malfoy led the way, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him. Harry eyed the attractive blonde for a bit.
Then looked away, resisting the urge of chuckling. He still had that strange cloth tied up his head. And still had that shirt that made sure that he was ultimately covered. Harry really wondered, since it was summertime, of how hot it was beneath those clothes. Draco Malfoy was a strange and impractical one.
"Move, Potter, or do you really enjoy blocking people's way? Makes you more noticeable, doesn't it, celebrity?" said Malfoy sharply.
Harry glared back at him menacingly, "And do you enjoy those clothes so much, Malfoy? It makes you look eccentric, doesn't it?"
There was a pink tinge that appeared on Draco's cheeks, but he said nothing, trying his best to remain expressionless. Goyle grunted, advancing a step forward, beady eyes squinting down, but Harry, already sensing danger, turned and walked away, closer over so that Hagrid could see him. And they all knew he could punch way harder than Goyle.
Hermione, who was busy talking with Lavander about the History of Magic project, spotted Hagrid as well and politely excused herself, walking up to the half-giant with a pleasant smile.
"Ey, 'Arry, 'Ermione! Where's Ron?" Hagrid said, slapping Harry friendly on the back. Harry stumbled forward, and both he and Hermione said, flatly, simultaneously, "In the bathroom."
"Well, 'e better 'urry, it's gonna be late— ah there's the
little runner."
Harry turned and spotted his friend
quite easily, with his flaming red hair. He was dashing his way towards them
with an enormous grin.
"Hey Hagrid!" Said Ron, stopping over next to Harry. He turned his lanky head towards Hermione, "Herm, I found out what you've taken as your extra class. You're taking up Ancient Rituals. I overheard that scary looking profes—
"—Professor Gillward—"
"—Yeah, whatever— he was talking about you and how good you've been doing. He said that at that rate, you can be able to top Lucius Malfoy, who use to be the best at his time!"
"Really?" Said Hermione, her grin widening in the pleasing news, "I never knew Mr. Malfoy was the best in— oh that reminds me, do come with me to the library later? I need to look up on a few things."
Hagrid led the trio, and the rest of the class to an open field. Maybe due to the fact that last year's unicorns had rubbed off Hagrid, or maybe because these new creatures had a hidden, dangerous mouth waiting to bite and spur off poison, that Hagrid introduced them to their new project.
"Well, er… Let's start," Said Hagrid, proud at the expression of his students, "These," he lifted an enormous hand, " Are Diricawls. Muggles use ter call 'em Dodo birds, I think. Well anyway, these are pretty harmless, and disappear at will. They originated from ol' Mauritius. 'Yer project is simple enough, ye have ta try and catch 'em. If ye do, ye get two sickles from me."
Draco Malfoy, who happened to be behind Hermione, Ron and Harry, whispered audibly to his henchmen, "Weasley will need to catch a load of these to buy a richer family. Though I don't think anyone would like to be related to him anyway."
Ron swung around, but at that moment Hermione grabbed his shoulder, "Leave it, Ron."
Harry clutched Ron's other side, resisting the urge on pouncing at Malfoy as well, saying, "It's not worth it."
Hagrid, unknowing of the little argument, continued, "This'll be your fun fer the day. Ye'll have ta catch 'em with yer own methods. The fence surroundin' the place has a charm on it, they can't escape. Ratio is one student to seventeen."
The mad chase was off. As soon as they entered the premises of where the Diricawls – or Dodo birds were kept, there were odd, random popping noises and whitish-pink feathers everywhere. Students ran about, stalking, crawling, leaping, ambushing, doing there very best to catch these fat, fluffy non-flyers. It was actually pretty cute, with those round, expressive black eyes and a stout structure, with petty little chicken feet pitter-pattering on the grass, and rounded beaks till the sudden sharp ends. They even had this high-pitched little noises that sounded like a clear bell in their throats. And the way they walked, like short penguins on a fast-forward muggle tape.
Harry had caught one on his first try, as the Diricawl had his back on him, and automatically there was a 'pluck' kind of noise and a tag appeared out of nowhere and hung loosely on the Diricawl's almost invisible neck. He look and it read, in bold letters – Caught – Harry Potter. Letting go of the first and running over to the next, Harry felt a giddy feeling. He was smiling, enormously, and laughing along with the rest of the class, catching as many as they could.
Ron had much better luck, as he had caught three in one embrace, and Hermione had the worst luck from the three. Everytime she would close in on a Diricawl, it would turn and look at her, hoot that bell noise, and disappear in the popping noise and leave pink feathers flying at her face. And the only thing she did was – laugh. The rest of the class had large grins on their faces too, and the yards were deciding-ly noisy with the fifth year's joys and shouts. The atmosphere was light and happy, it was as if they had no more troubles (except for the task at hand) and they were first years again.
As Harry closed in on his third one, there was a sudden, piercing light that shot at his forehead, and he could tell was that he was stumbling backwards as the light spread over to his eyes. He looked around, it was suddenly silent. But he saw only bright whiteness, and even if he closed his eyes in pain, the white would still be there. The silence was broken by an ear-splittening metal sound that was even more high-pitched then a Diricawl, and this sound seemed so close to his ears. Then, the sound stopped. The brightness was fading. The flash was moving away.
Red eyes. Hungry, red eyes. Harry gasped, and squinted, but in vain, because all he could see, was whiteness, and bloodshot eyes. Blood red, maddeningly wide. His scar burned.
His own, terrified green eyes shot open.
The next thing he knew he was on a bed, near a warm, friendly fire, Hermione drying the sweat off his face with a cold towel and Ron tending the flames. He recognized this place immediately – Hagrid's cluttered cabin. He could tell Hagrid was making tea, as he heard the clunking noise in the small kitchen.
"Harry!"
The redhead looked up at them once Hermione said Harry's name. Ron widened his eyes, dropped the small log he had on his hand, smiled and made a mad dash to the side of his bed.
"—Harry, you're okay—"
"—the way you were shouting and writhing—"
"—I thought you were having this seizure—"
"—Harry what happened—"
They stopped there, when Harry lifted his hand in silent request for them to shut up. Hagrid had come up from behind his Hermione, and quietly asked, "How ye doin'?"
Harry still couldn't feel his voicebox working well at the moment so he merely nodded, sitting up. Ron helped, and Hagrid offered him a cup of tea. He took it with gratitude and began sipping it as if his dear life was dependent on that cup being finished. He squeezed the heavy mug between his fingers, and felt the hot-warm liquid rolling at his tongue and venturing down his esophagus. He could feel the soothing, comforting, familiar taste of Hagrid's unique tea and it felt like his voicebox had been revived.
Harry could faintly feel the throbbing ache on his head, but he dismissed it at the moment. Putting down the cup, he smiled at them.
"—What happened?"
"—What happened?"
The trio had said the question at the same time. Harry blinked, and grinned, "Okay… Uhm, All that I know was one moment I was about to leap down on a particularly fat Diricawl and the next moment, I – err, am here."
He had missed that "Red eyes" part.
Hermione looked at him, her brows ruffled. Harry admitted she looked pretty like that, with her twinkling dark brown eyes and that long, wavy chestnut hair down her back. He set his mug at the side table and got eye contact with Hagrid, who smiled at him behind that fuzzled brown beard.
Hermione took a deep breath, "Well, for us, one minute we were minding our own business and the next you were wailing like there was no tomorrow, again clutching your scar, and you fell back. Lucky Neville caught you—"
That name made Harry's heart jump just a bit,
"—but you were still struggling mad."
Ron picked up and continued, as if this was already scripted, "Then you jumped out of Neville's grasp, and Malfoy had to pin you down—"
Yes, Harry's heart was positively doing push-ups inside his ribcage.
"And Neville –almost- made you relax again. Can you believe I actually –helped— that git Malfoy in straining you down, eurgg—"
"Ron, you did it for Harry and we all know that." Hermione said, eyeing him with a unique, Hermione know-it-all wry expression. Ron stuck out his tongue at her then turned back to Harry.
Harry, who was watching them silent for the time, asked timidly, "Why didn't you let me go to Madam Pomfrey so she could cure a possessed boy?"
They snorted.
"You were struggling so damn good we could only haul you here." Said Ron, "Neville, Malfoy and I carried you. Hagrid and Hermione were doing enough soothing every other student and the Diricawls. Wow, I can't believe your scar could hurt like that, Harry."
Harry felt as if the world stopped for a second. The only times Harry knew why his scar hurt was because You-Know-Who or some other evil dude was pretty near or feeling a bit angry —understatement— a LOT angry at that moment. When he stated this out to Ron, Hermione and Hagrid, they panicked.
"You think he's back!?" Asked Ron, blue eyes widening. Harry, feeling rather drained, just looked down at his finger which was currently coiling at his blanket.
Those red eyes.
"I'm sure Voldemort just remembered how weak he was. I think it's nothing. We better write to Snu— ehh, your mom about this, Ron."
Harry's heartbeat raced a bit. He had almost said Snuffles in front of Hagrid, who now was eyeing him suspiciously. Hermione winced unnoticeably but Ron looked as clueless as ever.
"My mom? Why on earth— ohh… Yeah, right. Forgot… Hehe…" That hard nudge on the rib from Hermione did the trick. There was a tense silence that followed, when finally, Hagrid asked. "Are ye ready ta walk, Harry? I need te tell ye 'bout somethin'… been meanin' te tell yea this for som' time now…"
Harry quietly and obediently stood up. Hermione and Ron seemed to have trusted that Harry could recover rather quickly, and true enough, Harry felt good standing up. Hagrid quietly led them to the back of Hagrid's little hut, until they came to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione gasped loudly.
"Those poor things! How could –anyone— do this?!"
Harry was shocked. There was a small paddock, in which around fifteen to twenty, chubby little Diricawls were sprawled on the ground, unmoving, blood staining their chests. Some red liquid trailed all over the place and made puddles on some parts of the ground. Ron gripped the fence of the paddock rather tightly. Harry recognized those horrifying, empty, cold eyes. The mark of death seemed to have stuffed him right in the face.
Harry heard Hagrid behind him, sniffling rather loudly. He reached out with his small, pale hand and took Hagrid's large, stubby one, squeezing them reassuringly. Hagrid sniffled again, then took a deep breath, "Someone's been killing them… A paddock after roughly three days. Anywhere I put 'em… That brute always got to 'em… Diricawls are harmless, ye see… But they could've disappeared any time... I was wondrin' why this thin' could kill so much in such short time. I even try ter watch 'em, but the moment I get busy with me old Hogwart's business, like the class n' everythin', they die… Even my Magic Foxes and Running Rabbits are dead. That's why I made ye guys chase 'em. Observin' ye, checkin' out ways of how…" He was grunting too hard for him to continue, and large tears were threatening down his eyes. He looked down, shaking his large head. The trio was quiet in respect, as they were led back to the cabin.
He continued gruffly, inside, "The bestes' way's how Malfoy and Ron does it… Ron gets em from behind," Hagrid smiled weakly at the pale redhead, "moving up to them quietly while dey're in groups. And Malfoy jus' stares at em, unmoving. Think he tries ter befriend em, cause they get close… And once they do, he swoops down te 'em… — a heck, why am I talking 'bout that pillock of a rat? Ron, I owe ye 12 sickles. Yeh earned em."
Ron's ears went pink, and he nodded, still looking at the floor. He was still in mild alarm. Harry mumbled to his large friend, quietly, "Maybe we can help you find out how to catch that thing, whatever it is."
"Do you think it's even human?" asked Ron.
Hagrid shook his head, "I reckon it's some critter from the Forbidden Forest. Whatever it is I hope we catch 'em quick.….. Oh, ye better get movin', Harry, Hermione, Ron. You missed Charms and it's your afternoon free time. I'll see you at the Halloween feast."
"Oh yeah," Muttered Ron, "I almost forgot it was Halloween…" It was a failed attempt of changing the morbid atmosphere.
Instead of going back to the common room, Harry, Hermione and Ron headed for the library. They had promised Hermione a while ago that they would gladly accompany her there. It wasn't half as bad as potions – Harry always found something interesting in the library. Now he had this urge to go researching on whatever can kill animals really quick, and why. Hagrid, after all, did nothing to deserve this horrifying predicament. Just like Cedric never deserved to die.
Harry halted right before he would have walked into Snape. He looked up at the thin, pale man. Severus stood tall, eyes sharp and as black as coal, looking down at him in a sinister way.
"Potter." He drawled out lowly. Harry took a few steps back, almost bumping over to Ron. Snape looked suspicious, "It's been five years of being your Professor… And you always have this habit of going somewhere dreadful whenever there was a tempting, free, late afternoon sun shining outdoors. May I ask why?"
"We just wanted to help Hermione on something, Professor." Replied Harry coolly. Snape would not get to his nerves this time. He would be steadfast in answering calmly and casually – or so he hoped.
Snape looked mockingly surprised, "Oh? I never knew Ms. Granger –ever— asked for help."
His tone was sour and sarcastic. Hermione's face started reddening, in a blush of embarrassment and she looked down. Harry eyed his own teacher, "Please, Professor. You're blocking the way."
Squinting his eyes down on Harry, Snape moved away, muttering, "Certainly. 5 points from Gryffindor, by the way, for being such insufferably suspicious dunderheads."
The library was exceptionally cool. It was a maze of around hundreds of overly tall bookshelves, reaching over to the ceiling, filled with books ranging from paper-thin to around six inches. The chandelier proved to be quite intense, as the light made the whole library stunningly brighter. Hermione brandished her book, Student's Encyclopedia of Rituals and Mantras by Rothmathilda Hedrowens, and placed it carefully on the table. Harry decided to look around for a bit, while Ron sat with Hermione, looking over at the encyclopedia.
"I think you like Rituals," teased Hermione. Ron grinned, "Too bad they only allow you if you're above average on every other class."
Harry sat down silently in the small, round table. He flipped the page of his found book, Enchanting, Graceful and Dangerous by Honey Dulock, looking for an unspecific animal that slaughtered innocent animals in paddocks.
"Hey, this is quite useful," Commented Ron, reading Hermione's shoulder. "the Credere Ritual. It can make someone believe that he is something that he's not! We could make Snape believe he's an overgrown maggot, see how he'll act!"
"Or we could make Malfoy believe he's a, a, a— mosquito! Wonder if he'll really buzz around and suck everyone's blood!" Harry countered.
Miss Pince, the librarian, shot them a very scary look. Harry coyed back down, pouting. Ron and Hermione sniggered a bit.
He just –had— to get over-excited because of Malfoy. He was wondering why recently, he had been acting funny around the blonde and even whenever someone mentioned his name Harry would feel something…different. His heart would beat then skip, and suddenly, everything that he actually sees reminds him of his enemy.
He looked down on his book. As if on cue, he read the title by reflex. Enchanting, Graceful and Dangerous…His heart pounded rapidly. Draco Malfoy was enchanting, in his devious way, graceful as he is an aristocrat, and –yes, Harry had to agree— the blonde was dangerous.
Hermione shook her head, half smiling. She was currently scribbling down some notes from the large book. Then she wandered off a bit, coming back with a large stack of ritual books. Ron started reading some more insightful rituals that they imagined they could do to some people. It was getting pretty ridiculous and silly by the time it was almost the Halloween feast. Only then did they realize that it was Halloween, and the feast was important to them, so they stood up, fixed their things, and left.
Harry needed to go to the bathroom. He offered to go by himself, and Ron, too preoccupied with the book as Hermione was with her borrowed ones, had nodded. So apologetically, (though knowing he wont be missed that much) he waved and ran off to the direction of the nearest bathroom.
When he walked out, clean and relieved, he had spotted someone on the floor. Sitting down with his legs spread, huddled, back facing the boy-who-lived. Harry recognized that build, and that hairstyle instantly, and he tiptoed towards Gregory Goyle.
Harry wondered why this large fellow was not with Crabbe or Malfoy. He had never seen him alone before, and well… the impression was way different. He looked less terrifying without the other two.
Beautiful green eyed widened dramatically when he saw what Goyle was doing. Or rather— drawing. He gasped a little, a bit enough for the other boy to hear, and Goyle turned, clutching his paper and quill, eyes shivering in fright, "Potter!"
Harry blinked, and stepped back as the porky teen stumbled to his feet. Harry muttered, softly, disbelievingly, "—Why—… did you draw that?"
Goyle opened his mouth wide, but no sound came out. He closed it, then attempted to say something again, but he shut it. He was red to the bones now, and in an instant, he had turned and fled.
---
He saw Potter. How could he miss the raven-head? Draco watched as Potter wheeled his way to his seat. It was the Halloween feast, and he was unusually late. Draco fingered his fork as he stared at Potter's form, as the boy was chit-chatting away to some boys at the Gryffindor table. Another person caught his eye.
Longbottom.
Draco bent his fork, in a fury of sudden rage. It didn't feel good, with that Longbottom, especially when he had seen him holding Potter in his arms, while Potter was struggling so defiantly, complaining that his damn scar hurt. Care of Magical Creatures had turned out to be a wreck all because of that celebrity. The bastard.
Draco wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what Longbottom had felt, it was painted right on his face. He loved Harry, or maybe had a crush on him, and, even though Draco didn't know why, it made him sizzle in anger. Whenever Neville, or, more recently, whenever –anyone— laid a finger on Potter, he would already possess this unfortunate aura… of hate. And not because of Potter, but of who was touching him.
Parkinson poked Draco's arm gently. Draco recruited savagely, turning to glare at her. But then his eyes soften, and he noted, "I was deep in thought."
The female Slytherin raised a slender eyebrow, "you've been thinking all day. Darling, you're jaded. All you ever did today was sit and stare. What's up with you?"
Draco shrugged, "Tired."
"Uh huh," She nodded her head sarcastically, "You're tired… And what did you do yesterday? Same thing. Sit and stare. You'd think I'd need to prod you with something."
"Mind your own business, Parkinson."
She grinned, "My business is you."
At unspeakably thee wrong moment, Draco felt a throbbing ache on his throat. Like his heart had crawled up and got stuck up there. He suddenly couldn't breathe, and he knew why. He got up, muttered some goodbye, and sped off.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
He was out the door. Making sure he was out of sight, Draco slumped upon a wall, breathing heavily. He wiped off his sweat with his sleeve, not minding the sizzling pain that it caused for his arm. He heard a voice,
"We will need human blood now, boy."
"no… I cant…"
"Scared?"
Draco stared, not answering.
"Ah, I see. You do not like the consequences, of being caught or unintentionally killing. But we need sweet blood Draco… Especially… his… his… his…"
"NO!!!" Draco yelled, clasping his hands to his ears. Draco was sure that yell would get to the Great Hall, but he didn't care. All he wanted was that voice, that was driving him insane, to shut up. But the voice did not even soften.
"Sweet blood, yes… imagine it. Listen to your origins, Draco. Listen to yourself… Let me merge a bit and I shall show you."
Draco Malfoy, the once arrogant prick, slumped down onto the floor… His world was moving up and down, left and right, topsy turvy. He felt like a javelin was forced right into his head and was being twisted, it was a terrible pain. He was heaving harder, he could not breathe again. He wanted out of it, he wished to be normal again… But alas, it was painful, disdainful and inevitable, and fate had no backdoor.
Then, it ceased. He stopped shuddering, stopped making strange noises, stopped clampering himself, stopped scrunching into the wall.
And when Draco Malfoy looked up,
He had glowing, blood-red eyes.
"Potter…" He growled.
---
Whoo-hoo! I'm still sorry for some of the somewhat unnecessary scenes! Oh well. Please review. I do have the next chapter, but I'll post it if I like the number of my reviews. Buahahaha!!! Oh by the way, I appreciate the British slang reference thingie! But I don't know how to navigate… I don't know where to go… oh well I'll just look. Philippines was under the Americans, not the Brits, so please pardon me with my grammatically wrong (ehehe) American English. God Bless!
Pythia, btw, yes. Your vampire book inspired me. I got into a vampire obsession. We all know that having two obsessions (the other still Draco Malfoy) would have a crossbeed result. Thus – Yes. Draco is a vampire. I made it too obvious, anyway.
I have not ruined it. Why? Cause he's a –strange— and –different— type of vampire………There are still a few twist here and there.
BUAHAHAHA!!!