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As usual, Disclaimers apply. I have finally updated! Haha! My computer cannot stop me!! Thanks, Pythia, for posting that notice up for me, I owe you.
I do hope all my readers would read this fic with great interest, and not forget to review!
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"Blonde hair? Do you really think Malfoy knows the Gryffindor password?"
Hermione lifted a finger, "But we change the password every week since Snu— Sirius came!"
Harry watched his two friends debate on this, leaning forward on either of his sides. He, as usual, had told them of the night intruder and they seemed fairly alarmed.
"The Fat Lady said she didn't see anyone come in last night," Said Hermione, with her bossy sort of voice. Harry inwardly sighed. The way she talked felt like he was being lectured by a teacher… it was downright annoying. Harry knew she had a pleasant character, he only wished she had a less know-it-all attitude…
His female friend continued, unaware of his thoughts, "If someone could break in, they must have Dark Powers."
"Maybe it's You-Know-Who!" Exclaimed Ron, oblivious of who else might be listening. He brought his long arm up for a quick gesture, but toppled his bronze goblet clumsily. He dived down under the table to get it. Hermione rolled her eyes.
It was truly lucky that breakfast was a very noisy time and place, at the volume rate of their little chat they were surprised they did not acquire curious stares. They were, of course, relieved as hell. If people heard them talking about Voldemort they would have assumed the Great Harry Potter was up to another celebrity-bound adventure just like every other past year.
"Voldemort does –not- have blonde hair." Said Harry wryly.
Ron shrugged, his flaming red hair arising from the horizon of the table. "Sorry. I never saw him."
Awkward silence.
Harry sat up straight and looked around, as if bored. But God only knew he wanted a glance on Malfoy. He found it mildly surprising that the blonde was staring back at him with his grey eyes. They both looked away quickly.
"Well," said Harry, looking down on his toast and steering back to the topic, "It would be better if you never see his ugly head anyway."
The course of their chat shifted after that. Hermione paid little interest to their next topic – Quidditch. Instead her attention was trained upon Malfoy. Was Malfoy really the culprit? How was he still alive and well, if he had flung himself out of the window last night?
Besides, there were a few other blondes in the school.
But why was Draco acting so strange lately?
Maybe Harry was hallucinating.
He was never delirious before.
On and on did this mindful debate continue in her head.
"Herm?" Harry asked, politely worried. Hermione looked up from her trance-like thinking. She didn't notice that she had been pondering for a very long time. She raised a brow at Harry, who smiled, "You'll be late for your Ancient Rituals."
…
"Oh dear God no!" She screeched, shooting up from her chair and frantically reading her watch. She grabbed her russet muggle bag, waved and ran off, "AHHH!!!"
Ron blinked, the head of the fork in his mouth, "I never knew she could scream that loudly."
"Only when it involves her classes." Muttered Harry.
---(The Slytherin's Area)// Simultaneous to the above scene//
Draco blinked, a bit amused. He had just heard, with great volume, that Pansy Parkinson was sexually craving for Blaise Zabini. That was pretty funny. *She* was pretty funny. Imagine, suddenly shouting her thirst for him out loud! Draco did not look at her. Give her a bit of peace before everyone burst out laughing.
But then… Draco frowned. He did not hear anyone's response. As if she had not said anything. But that was absurd! He heard it loud and clear! He knew his classmates would not pass this great opportunity to taunt, even though Pansy was a Slytherin herself! What was going on?!
"-It couldn't have been him.-"
Now that was Potter's voice. Draco couldn't believe that his soft, natural voice was able to reach the other side of the Hall. The Slytherin glanced up at the Gryffindor table, as he was facing thus. Potter looked stunning as always, though sandwiched with Weasley and Granger. They were talking about something vaguely serious, it seemed.
He heard Potter's voice again.
"-Was it him? COULD it be him?-"
It was definitely Potter's voice. It was definitely how the boy talked. The only problem was, Potter's lips did NOT move. Draco widened his eyes greatly. What the hell was happening to him!?
Some odd click snapped into his head right away. Was he reading the Boy-Who-Lived's mind?! Why? How?
This was part of his "change", he countered. He was truly morphing into someone –or something— he was not. And he would not be able to stop himself soon. He would hear that voice again, stronger than before, beckoning him to merge and become one.
Beckoning him to bite Potter's beautiful neck.
Last night, Draco was glad Potter had woken up. The fear and panic that flooded his own senses were enough to make him snap back to the old 'Draco'. The voice had faded slightly, and he practically felt those burning, red eyes flash back into the cold grey ones. He felt himself slide back in control of his body and of his actions.
And he had fled.
He was being chased by Potter, though. Curse that boy's courage. Draco had no escape, he did not know how to maneuver himself properly in the Gryffindor room, without stirring anymore boys into conciousness. He had been desperate, and it was actually a relief when he felt his body wash out of his own grasp again, eyes flickering back to red.
He could not control himself.
And he had, by impulse, jumped off the window.
When he had dived down, feeling very stupid and frightened, he heard that voice talking to him, telling him it was alright. And he had… relaxed. That voice seemed to have a comforting ease to him, that time. Like a real father.
And what shock he met, that night, was the terrible, but wonderful feeling of flying…without a broom. He had flown down safely, fluedly, noisily, and caught a stray bird. He killed it, ripping the poor animal, feeding hungrily on its blood. It was less sweet then his other victims, but it was needed.
Soon afterwards he lurked back into the shadows, back to his own common room, down into the dark, wintry passageways of Hogwarts… The dungeons.
He was sure that voice had forgotten to tell him that he could also read minds. Well, one mind at the time, and he couldn't control it. He wanted to hear more of Potter's thoughts, but it seemed as though he could not catch anymore.
Instead, his cold grey eyes traveled down Potter's slender form as he sat there, eating breakfast. That boy, from Quidditch, was perfectly toned and in shape. Draco could practically feel the radiance of his soul through that gorgeous body. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could hear his heartbeat as well, steady and rhythmetic.
Luring him.
Harry's naive modest actions showed little of grace, but even less of awkwardness. It was… normal. Fluid somehow, appeasing, yet distinctly and alluringly natural…
"-I need to see Malfoy. Ugh, my heart's throbbing again.-"
Draco gulped as he heard that. Potter's green eyes scanned around the room and stopped square on his. Their eyes flashed as they locked on to each other. Draco could feel his own heartbeat thump rapidly. He looked away as fast as he could.
Potter said his heart was throbbing…for me? Draco thought, trying his best to calm himself. Was this his imagination? His stomach somersaulted. Did Potter like him? Did Potter actually have a crush on his mortal enemy?!
Draco inwardly rejoiced. He felt his feelings soar. But he would not admit why.
No. He probably knows I was there last night. He's scared of me… maybe he knows what I am…He watched as Potter leaned in to talk to Granger, who seemed busy with her own thoughts. Draco tried to pry into that mudblood's brain but failed. Instead, he got to read Lavender's thoughts about becoming a Divination teacher.
When Granger left screaming for who in hell's name cares, Draco heard Fred Weasley's perverted mind to… his own… brother!?! Oh dear… he tried to shut out those obscene lines but it was impossible. Instead the blonde Slytherin slumped down on his chair. He could just feel the small blush that was creeping up his face.
It would take some time before he could use this well, he supposed. He bent forward to the table, took a bite to his French toast, leaning back subtly and continued hearing thoughts. Line and line of miscellaneous things from various students of the school. It got pretty boring after a while, but could he help it?
A strange eerie metal sound screeched into his ears momentarily. He bit his lip. It seemed as though his mind-reading capabilities had temporarily gone. And that a low voice replaced it…
"You pushed me out again, boy…" It hissed, "I do not understand why… No matter… Why don't we merge forever? You do not need this Wizard training any longer. You will have great powers on your own. Perhaps you like the archive of reading you have now, don't you, boy? You can play Quidditch without that repulsive broom… You could kill all you wish… Boy, this is a great offer……"
"No." Draco said quietly, making sure no one else heard. He was determined to stay in school. He wanted to stay. Somehow, Hogwarts dug deep into his heart, past his walls of icyness and aloofness. It was his home now, and it was a shame to leave it. (Damn sentimental things.)
He also wanted to stay so he could torment the life of his rival. So he could ogle the famous boy. So he could be close to the Boy-who-lived, and regretfully, the-boy-who-made-his-heart-a-flutter. He wanted to be normal wizard for Harry Potter.
He was shocked at what he had just thought. No, that last thing he thought must have been a mistake. He didn't care about Potter, he just wanted to torment that poor boy.
So he would stay in Hogwarts to do that.
Just then he realized, that by wanting that, he became determined to overpower his own "origins." His own DNA. His own blood.
Could he?
"I see you still have not accepted whose line you belong in, boy… very well… But we will merge again… soon…"
---
Quidditch season drew near. Harry tried his best to shelve away thoughts other than his Quidditch training. It was incredibly hard. His mind always found a track out of concentration and drifted over thoughts of his personal life. Draco Malfoy was particularly hard to overlook, especially since he kept popping out often anywhere he went.
The contact of the eyes. The smirk that played on his nemesis' face. The stares that blonde would give. What happened to Malfoy? Why was he acting so strangely? Harry was trying his best to stop from blushing beat red every time Malfoy would brush against him unintentionally in the crowded corridors.
Was it unintentional at all?
Of course it was, he thought. Why would the Slytherin want to brush up against him? Of course it was accidental. What stupid thoughts.
And of course, his thoughts were also upon Neville. Neville was incredibly polite, as he had noticed, and extremely nice. Aside from Ron and Hermione, Neville would be one of the closest Gryffindor friends he had. True, he was still clumsy, but it was endearing. And, as Harry quickly learned, Neville grew out of his stuttering cowardice, and proved himself a brave and daring Gryffindor. He was always first into dangerous tasks at almost any class, and made Harry stand in awe of the sudden change.
He was still a failure at Potions, but Harry did his best to help him. In exchange, Neville would teach him about Herbology (and probably the rest of the subjects, as he had suddenly excelled). He and Neville, along with Hermione and Ron usually sat around the common room at night, pondering over homework and topics for school. The official study group.
Why he could still remember –
Harry shook his head. There he was again, thinking about something else other than his training. He gripped the handle of his broom hard, and pushed it downward, feeling the cold rush of wind whipping through him as he plunged. Nearing the green field he pulled up, his feet almost skimming the tiny grass leaves gently.
He pulled up farther, so that he soared up in the air, tasting the wonderful breeze that blew into his face. He smiled, swirling once, twice, swerving to the left, and diving slightly again.
His Quidditch match was tomorrow. He should train completely. Tirelessly. He should persevere and be vigilant in Quidditch.
He peered down from his sky-scraping altitude, and spotted the two heads of his best friends. They were at the bleachers, patiently waiting for him while chatting animatedly. Although, Harry mused, he knew that they were probably arguing again.
A swerve to his right. A drop then a rise. It was so thrilling to fly.
He lunged down again.
Then his quick, green eyes spotted something… or rather, someone standing at the edge of the bleachers, watching him, expressionless. It was a blonde with red eyes.
*Red eyes?*
Malfoy had *red eyes*!?!
"HARRY!!!"
Hermione's voice. That yell made him snap back into reality, and he glanced at what lay in front of him. Grass. He was shooting down in steep dive, immitating a bullet racing straight into hell.
He pulled the wood pole of his broom hard, trying his best to save himself from the fall. Luckily, his broom was obedient and he was able to level it back before the tip hit the ground. But his knee skidded the hard soil deeply, painfully, before a particularly large rock bumped his left knee, bringing enough force to make him tumble onto the field, his broom rolling violently askew.
The ground was hard beneath him and his knee felt like it was skinned.
He sat up right away, a faint dizziness clouding his thoughts briefly. Harry lifted a hand on his face, relieved his glasses were still there and in one piece. He winced as the sizzling pain engulfed his left knee, but he tried looking around to get his mind off it.
He could see the distinct figures of Ron and Hermione, a bit far off, running towards him with pale, worried faces. But he looked around some more, looking for someone else.
Malfoy was nowhere in sight.
Strange.
---
"Mad I tell ya," mumbled Ron as the trio made their way to the Infirmary. Harry could see the blood seeping unto his dark pants. He winced as he limped away, holding Ron and Hermione's shoulder for support.
Ron continued, "You gave as both a fright, Harry. What the hell do you want to prove?"
"I wasn't trying to prove anything. I told you, I just warped into a trance. I was reflecting on… odd things."
"—Oh just what were you thinking?!" exclaimed Hermione, finally exploding after a line of silence, "You could have broken your neck, you could have cracked open your head, you could have—"
"Thanks for being such the optimist, Herm." Noted Harry in a monotonous, irritated voice. The pain on his leg was cutting his temper in half.
Hermione adjusted the strap of her muggle bag, cocking her head snootily, "Hmph."
They made their way to the infirmary to Ms. Pomfrey who kept making disapproving remarks about having fifth years too much free time. "I can't believe Dumbledore allowed fifth years to have free times on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays… All the trouble they'd get in and the injuries that are bound to happen…"
The day went on eventless, if you disregard Hermione and Ron pecking Harry with questions of what happened. Normally, Harry would tell them all about it right away, but this time… He couldn't. He didn't know why he was so reluctant to tell them about seeing Malfoy with glittery, red eyes, he just felt like he shouldn't.
He didn't see Malfoy until supper time. And when he did see his rival, he glanced up at him several times, (thankfully no one noticed) and observed that Malfoy was still acting strangely. Now wearing his Hogwarts robe with a scarf on his neck, a band on his forehead and green long-sleeves, Draco Malfoy sat staring at his food. Not eating. Not talking.
This wasn't the Malfoy Harry knew. The Malfoy he knew would be chatting boastfully about bullying his father into buying him this and that, these and those. He would be talking about how his mother gave him an extra fifty galleons for his weekly allowance. He would be eating with gluttony (yet with class), sneering at anyone who wanted to get the particular piece of chicken he had.
But this Malfoy was quiet and restrained. Almost… Delicate. Like if someone would jump up to him and shout "Boo!" he would scream and faint. He seemed to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Harry caught sight of his eyes.
They were grey.
Like they had always been.
Had he been imagining it? Had he seen nothing and fell because of it?
* * *
"…Can't stop fate..."
Who is that?
"…Can never change destiny…"
Harry couldn't distinguish that downcast voice.
"…Cannot change who I am..."
The voice haunted him though…
"…Cannot change my origins…"
* * *
Harry Potter woke with a start the very next day. Neville was shaking Harry lightly into consciousness. Harry had a very odd dream, forgotten now that he was staring at a blurry face. He groaned, and felt someone handing him his glasses. He set it atop the crook of his nose, and blinked,
"What's up, Neville?"
Neville smiled. "Change of plans, Harry. Your Quidditch match was moved to next week. This match is between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Ron told me to finally wake you up, he was busy accompanying Hermione to her Ancient Rituals… God, you slept like a log."
By this time Harry was sitting up, listening to Neville reverently, who sat at the edge of his bed. His stomach flipped when he realized that his Quidditch match was moved. And he had been training so hard!
"Alright, thanks Neville." Said Harry, smiling at the other lad. Neville smiled, blushed slightly and proceeded out of the room. Harry found himself staring at where Neville had sat. He blinked, dazed, and proceeded to change and run down to the Great Hall.
---
"—THAT'S— what your WEARING?!" Screeched Adrian Puccy, the present Slytherin Quidditch Captain. He was a thin seventh year, with dark-green eyes and an equally dark complexion. Blaise often teased him about looking like a monkey, and many had to agree, if they stuck a monkey tail on his arse and stripped him of his clothes, he would have been sent to the Zoo.
Draco stuffed the last handful of his Hogwarts Robe into the small, bronze compartment, slammed his locker shut and whirled around to face him, "Yes. As a matter of fact, it is."
"Holly Cripes, Malfoy, I never thought you'd make this much of a fool to yourself. Get out of that ridiculous sweater and that cap and that –what is that, a French SCARF!?"
"It's freezing."
"You never use to complain."
Suddenly, Draco Malfoy was pinning his Captain by the hem of his shirt. Adrian's back pressed against the cold lockers a bit painfully. The dark captain thought he had seen a flash of red on those blue-grey eyes, but put it aside at the moment.
"There are only two paths for you to choose, you git." Snarled Draco, " its either you mind your own monkey business, or that I leave you here for you to find a NEW seeker."
Adrian had nothing to say. Truthfully, Draco Malfoy was now second best as the seeker. (Harry being first). Draco seemed to have known of his valuability, because then he smirked.
Taking a deep breath, the Slytherin Captain looked down, "Alright Malfoy. But you better win this, or else I will have you out of this team."
Without saying another word, Draco Malfoy let go of his captive, swung around and headed off to the field. In that bizarre attire. Oh Adrian could just hear the laughter of the crowd when they saw that blasted fifth year…
*
*
*
Flutter.
Flash.
Catch.
*
*
*
It had happened so quickly. Harry couldn't believe his ears or eyes. He was sitting there, stunned, like the rest of the school, oggling at the Quidditch match. The finished Quidditch match.
"That was bloody quick!" Exclaimed Ron, Harry was pleased that he was not the only one whose mind blanched.
"That just, just… impossible!!!" Commented Seamus Finnegan, who sat at the bleachers behind them. "The snitch was bloody moving! How could that Malfoy catch it so quickly!?"
"I've heard that when the snitch is moving in it's quickest speed, its impossible to touch, or to even see! The snitch does pause at some point, so that the seekers can spot it, but other than that it's practically invisible! Am I right, Harry?" Asked Hermione.
"…Yup."
Hermione shook her head, staring down at the field, where the Ravenclaws were shaking hands with the now-zealous Slytherins, "So HOW did Malfoy catch it if it was moving… That's a first!"
"It's like Malfoy has this sense of detecting snitches!" Injected Ron.
"His eyesight is…too good…It's like he's not human…" Muttered Seamus.
Harry, Hermione and Ron began to debate on this as they made there way back down from the high bleachers. The catch was very startling on everyone's part, even Professor Hooch had to ask how it happened four times. Draco Malfoy, wearing his clashing clothes above his Quidditch Robes, had won for Slytherin! Five minutes into the game and suddenly Draco Malfoy produced the snitch in his hand. He did not dive, he did not dart, he just "caught it as it flew by."
Harry could practically hear his mind reeking in thoughts of how he did it.
"Potter." A voice drawled out.
Harry turned and looked straight into Malfoy's stormy bluish-grey eyes. He dared not to speak, because anyway, he had nothing to say. He didn't want to go congratulating his arch nemesis, but he did not want to provoke a fight… people would say he was jealous or as spiteful as the Slytherins.
But he did wish that Malfoy would say something mean. Something nasty. Something he always said. It would give him an excuse to fight Malfoy, like he always had. It made Harry feel comfortable when they would fight, because of its routine this past years. It was quite a shock when Malfoy's next words were,
"I need to talk to you."
There was a smirk played on his lips as he spoke quietly. Harry glanced at Crabbe and Goyle who were at Draco's either side, looking at him expressionless. Malfoy's eyes shifted as he saw where Harry's attention went.
"Ah. Crabbe. Goyle. Shove off."
They looked extremely confused.
"I said shove off."
It took a few more moments before the two stared at Malfoy, then at each other, shrugged, and walked away, mumbling incoherently. They kept glancing back, shooting Malfoy bewildered looks. Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't quite different, for they too were puzzled by this.
"Well, Potter. What are you waiting for? Tell your little friends to scuttle away. I need a word."
Ron and Hermione glared, but before Ron could hot-headedly retaliate, Harry spoke, "Whatever you want to tell me, Malfoy, you have to tell Hermione and Ron, too."
Yes, Harry definitely had his cool today.
Malfoy sneered, "Scared?"
Harry glared icily, but refused to take the bait. Looking at him with the most bored expression he could muster, he said, "If you don't want to tell me, it's fine with me."
Malfoy's expression changed violently, and he was about to snap back with a mean reply, but no words came out. He took a deep breath instead , then with a cocky expression, he mouthed, "Fine."
Grey eyes flashed around quickly. Reassured no one was watching them, as Crabbe and Goyle went with Millicent, Malfoy glared. "Follow me."
They obeyed although a bit reluctantly, suspicious that Malfoy would get them into trouble again. They weaved through scattered students who all had spare time due to the fact Draco Malfoy's catch was THAT unexpected and quick. The allotted Quidditch time was converted into joyful free time.
Finally, Malfoy brought them to what it appeared to be a small, luscious garden surrounded with forest-green bushes and dwarf trees. Harry looked around, and was surprised to realize that he had never seen this place before. How could he have missed this very isolated and beautiful garden?
"This is behind the 17th Herbology greenhouse, isn't it?" Asked Hermione. Malfoy merely nodded, too busy scanning the area for any life forms. Finding none, he turned to them.
"If this gets anywhere, Potter, Granger, Weasley, I swear I will hunt you down and kill you for the worthless little suckass' you are."
Ron's eyes went wide. "WHY YOU LITTLE—"
"—You'd think WE were the ones who dragged YOU here—" interrupted Hermione.
"SSHH!!!"
They both stopped when Harry warned them. He glared at Malfoy, "Look Malfoy. We're staying here to listen or whatever, don't make fun of us if you want to keep your audience."
Malfoy's expression distorted into one of clear rage, like a while back, but instead of shouting at Harry, he muttered, teeth clenched, "Fine. Sit down."
Obeying grudgingly the trio sat on the grass. Harry watched Malfoy sit across from them. He inhaled, smelling the scent of sweet freesia and it occurred to him that the bushes surrounding them were blooming profusely. Such beautiful fragrance that wafted into the atmosphere…
Finally, Malfoy spoke, in a more deadpan tone, "Hn. Never thought of where to start…" Then he changed his face to one with a greater smirk, but Harry saw through that fake façade rather easily. There was something bothering him, almost saddening Malfoy, and he tried his very best to not ask.
Suddenly, Malfoy looked up at them, "It started this summer."
Ron was about to say something cynical, but Malfoy cut him off, "I know you're wondering what the hell I'm talking about."
He finally dropped that sneer of his. Though instead of showing his true feelings, Malfoy fitted another fake expression on his face – one aloof and not caring. As if the world could die and he wouldn't give a damn.
"Well, I woke up and realized that I was… bathed in blood. My clothes, skin and hair tainted and my sheets were soiled too… I felt a terrible pain on my arms, and I found out that… they…" He sighed, solemnly, and pulled up his sleeves, beholding to the world the countless harsh, deep gashes, red and raw. It looked disgusting to see the many lines that covered the pale flesh, but Draco looked even amused.
"Funny, isn't it? Waking up one day to find yourself a mess."
Ron was speechless, and he even leaned back, as if totally revolted by the wounds. Hermione looked equally shocked, but she tried her best not to show it. Harry merely blinked, and quietly, stuttering, "W-who…?"
Malfoy looked straight into his eyes. As if liking the reaction he was seeing, the blonde held his colorful French scarf and threw it to the grass beside him. There, on his neck, were more, large wounds slicing across. He was mutilated.
Malfoy was on the verge of taking off the cap he wore, when Hermione covered her face with her hands and whispered, "Please. You don't have to show us…"
"Oh," Said Malfoy, unfazed, "I have to tell Potter. You decided to come along."
He took off the cap that hid his forehead. Harry peered intently. There was another wound there, but the cut wasn't ordinary. It was a number. Someone had carved a number on Malfoy's forehead.
"Forty-seven." Said Malfoy, smirking at Ron's greening face. Ron didn't hide his nausea at all. Malfoy ignored the other two, looking at Harry rather sternly, "It was my father, Potter. He and my uncles did this."
Harry was flabbergasted. He just stared at Malfoy, not believing half of what he said. Malfoy's father? The one who spoiled his son had mutilated him one night? The father who bred his kid so snootily would mar his own heir like a common wacko? What was going on?
Hermione gasped. She had gathered her courage to peep in between her fingers and she didn't like what she had seen. But instead of screaming like a normal, annoying girl, she forced her hands down (which were now in fists) and tried her best not to look at Malfoy's wounds. Keeping her eyes on the grass, she whispered, "Talim…"
"W…what?" Asked Ron, watching her a bit worriedly. His panic-stricken eyes asked her with great intensity, and Hermione fidgeted under his gaze. She felt quite uneasy with a shaken Ron staring at her like that, but Hermione shook her head… Concentrating on the matter at hand. Brown hair swinging, she said, "Malfoy. You're a Talim!"
Malfoy smirked. "I'm glad one of you has a bit of knowledge, I'd die explaining all that."
"A Talim…?" Asked Harry curiously, getting over the initial shock. Hermione glanced at him, furrowing her brows and reaching for her bag.
"You read this in the library," Said Hermione, directing her speech to Harry. "I borrowed it after you read it. I also wanted to help Hagrid on that Diricawl massacre, and so your book was of great interest."
She pulled out the book, Enchanting, Graceful and Dangerous of which Harry immediately recognized. Ron looked as clueless as always, but didn't say anything, keeping his temper in check as Malfoy adjusted his clothes back so that his gashes weren't exposed. He looking detached with this whole ordeal, but Harry knew, inside was a tremorous storm of icy emotions.
Hermione skillfully flipped through pages until she stopped and skimmed over. As it was a habit to read to them out loud, Hermione cleared her throat, and started,
"Talim vampires are rare and almost extinct. They are often pale and blue-eyed in their younger years. They act mysteriously and darkly, and are often bred aristocratically. They have a strong sense of pride and ambition, and are cunning and devious."
"Sounds like someone we know, doesn't it?" Grinned Malfoy smugly.
Hermione glanced at him and back at her book again.
"Children are relatively normal until their 15th birthday in which they are reborn. Their families perform a ritual in which the male division of the family damages the teen's arms and neck with the very tip of a silver knife. The father would then carve a number on the teen's head. The children will develop a sudden thirst for blood, sharp but small fangs and a second persona. It is said that when their scars fade, it is a sign that they have grown fully, and their two personas or two spirits will merge into one. And when they have merged, they have lost all human compassion and are soul-less, cunning, blood-thirsty beasts."
Hermione inhaled, checked if they were still listening intently, before continuing,
"Talims are loyal to the Dark Side, and usually, to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They are therefore considered dangerous and evil."
A glance between Harry and Malfoy.
"Talims are immune to almost anything, (garlic, stakes etc.) not like their other cousin vampires. But they can get weak in the sun and react violently when seeing silver blades. Talims are able to sense desire and strong emotions, and can hear the blood coursing through a human's veins not like any other creature. They can hypnotize, like any other vampires, with their eyes that turn either red or yellow.."
"Red." Said Harry, but he guessed it was too inaudible because no one replied.
Hermione ruffled her brows, holding the book closer to her eyes and squinting.
"The only was to Stop a Talim is to… kill it. There is no counter curse, no potion or spell that can… convert them. They must… be… killed, there is no… other way. Killing a Talim you must—…" She trailed off. Ron immediately leaned forward, "Must what? Must what!?"
"I… I don't know…" Said Hermione softly. It was quite a change to hear that answer from her. She looked at all of them solemnly, "There's a large blot on this page… I can't read anything else…"
Malfoy, raised both his eyebrows in mild surprise, a smirk inching into his face again. Making a side remark, he said, "Hm… Books explain way better than my father does."
He stood up quietly, watching three of them. Ron jumped to his feet at once and exclaimed, "You're the one who killed those Diricawls! No wonder you could catch them really quick, you hypnotized them!"
"Yeah, " Draco said, rolling his eyes, "That ruddy giant owes me thirty-six sickles…"
Harry stood up and helped Hermione to her feet. He looked questioningly at the blonde, asking, "Why tell us, though? Do you want US to kill you?"
"No."
"Then why?"
Suddenly, Malfoy swept up to Harry until they were an inch apart. Harry was brave enough not to move, but his eyes showed a tad bit of fear. Malfoy looked suddenly pained, and troubled, like a lost child as he said, "Because you're in danger, Potter. My Talim self wants *your* blood, I cannot stop it soon…" He inhaled and said, smoothly, "I'm afraid I might kill you, Potter. I almost did, that night… That's why I'm warning you…"
"…But… You heard what Hermione said," Ron pointed out, "The only way to stop a Talim is to KILL it!!"
The truth rode upon the atmosphere, thickening it like lingering fog. Malfoy's grey eyes lowered, "I guess… That's right. So if you're planning to kill me… At least, do it right."
Harry couldn't believe what Malfoy did next. Malfoy's cool lips pushed upon his own, in an innocent kiss. His lips were soft and Harry's heart fluttered vigorously. He felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, and he was dazed… The next moment, Malfoy broke it, smiled a true smile, one Harry had never seen, and brisked away hurriedly.
The trio was too surprised to say anything.
--*Blahs*
I'm so sorry for this being delayed for such a long time! My computer is broken (using school property right now) and I have been unable to write continuously. My grammar in this chapter is a far cry from the last. This is because Mariki-chan/Anima-sama agreed to correct my mistakes last time. Her presence is missing in this fourth chapter. I was planning on giving her credit at the end of this fic, as she was to edit the whole story, but since I am unable to send email (take too much time on this blasted library) I cannot let her beta for a while. Darn it. Darn it all. I'm sorry anima-sama… Maybe copy this and uhm… snail mail me your version? Nah, too much effort…
I apologize for troubling you to answer my infamous thought of Snuffles not being in the book. I am deeply mistaken, and had probably missed the page as I flitted by. Thank you for the responses, though, and thank you for the heart-warming reviews that make the day (and work) worth it. Oh! I have to goooo!!! Please wait for the next chapter! And review! It makes good inspiration and motivation! God bless!