A witty comment from every chapter. ^_~
Author's Notes: Yet another chapter, this one should be a little better than the last because it occurred to me that nothing significant happened last chapter save the demonstration of Harry's ferocity… I dunno. I split my lip, really bad at the corner of my mouth you know? So I can't open my mouth very wide to talk and it's made me affect this English accent thing. Instead of talking, I've been writing, writing up a storm, I hope you (my one reader) appreciate it.
Disclaimers: I own them not, sue me not. The idea is ludicrous anyway ne? If I were making those kind of profits, I wouldn't be incapable of buying my hermit crab (Spartacus) a new cage.
In Darkness Found, Light Revealed
Chapter 3: Come Hither Stare
This could not continue! This tragic farce of vowing to kill the boy then failing at the last moment, stroking his soft skin instead of piercing it as he should have done, it simply could not continue. Every time he failed he risked being discovered, persecuted. It was an increasing danger, one he could not afford. This childish infatuation had to end and it had to end now! It was time to try a new tactic.
It would be decidedly unwise to turn the boy, given his recent desire to keep him. He was a liability, someone loved by the mortal world, someone that would force suspicion were he to disappear. He should instead settle for a minion, someone that was below the bar that had been set by the enigmatic boy. Though that would never satisfy him. To think that a simple meeting in this very clearing could result in such… frustration, it was beyond him how the boy had effected him so, infected him with a desire to be near him. The boy would die, he would satisfy his craving and leave the boy to die, be eaten by the spiders in the grove. The boy's death would solve his quandary, he could then return to the life he didn't live before. He could gorge himself on his sweet blood then leave him to rot, end of problem.
But there was a problem. There was no way to kill him, his ghost would haunt his every waking moment, hang over his head in an ominous cloud of despair. There was just something about him, something enrapturing. It would be better for his Birdy to live on as his plaything, better for all parties involved, save perhaps Birdy. Birdy's well being, however, was not his concern; he cared not for the feelings of a mere mortal or for that matter, anything beneath him. Birdy was just a pet. He would lure the boy to him get his darling to fall from his nest, and then he would die. It wouldn't be a difficult matter; he just had to enter the boy's sub-conscious. The blood he'd taken, the bond he'd shared, it ran so deep that with a thought he could see his Birdy's dreams, feel his Birdy's pain.
It was ingenious really, with his pet coming to him; he would be easier to turn, easier to control. He couldn't have risked it before tonight, but because of his pathetically routine visits to the boy, he could easily control his mind now. If it was cheating the boy out of his dignity, he felt no guilt. There was only so much he was willing to do for honor, and denying himself one of his recent obsessions was far beyond that line.
"Come to me little one."
With a thought, he was there, silently watching what the boy watched, seeing as his Birdy saw. For such a high-flying creature as his little pet, the business he was conducting was demeaning. It was of no matter; his mortal life would be left far behind, lost as an unspeakable past. That was the beauty of immortality, time was irrelevant, the past was of no consequence just as the future was preordained inevitability. Birdy would come and be claimed, then he would live forever without this unbecoming memory.
"Come to me precious Birdy."
There was no response from his prey but that expected. His intriguing little boy was so tired; he would not even feel the intrusion unless he was particularly skilled in the art. The boy would merely feel a compulsion to wander into the Forbidden Forest, he would meet an overwhelming desire to obey the summons.
All he required was patience.
It would not happen tonight, he knew. The castle was too well guarded for that, but it would happen soon. His prey would be drawn away from his safe little nest, exposed to the cold reality of his dreams. No, not tonight, but Birdy would flee his nest eventually, he would hear the summons, he would come. Whether he wanted to or not.
Patience.
He could wait. Wait and wait and wait for all of eternity he could wait. But he wouldn't. The feeder made the call stronger, his growing appetite for this ordinary boy not sated by the promise of later. Waiting wasn't an option with his current prey, not as it had been with his victims of the past. Something about the boy appealed to his deeper nature, stripping him to his primal core and revealing his ferocity.
The boy would be his and they would waltz through eternity, feeding and reveling in all that the night had to offer. Romanticizing the brutality of their lives, the boy would make a fantastic edition to the monotonous drill of feeding, taking, raping, killing it would all be beautiful through the eyes of another. Birdy would live until he grew tedious. He would live on until his mysteries were unraveled like fabric and his secrets grew regular. Birdy would come, Birdy would go, perhaps not for a long while, but Birdy would go.
First, however, Birdy would come, and he would be waiting. Lingering in the shadows, luring his brave Birdy into the night with him. He would be there, lying in wait. And Birdy would come.
***
"Are you all right? You look pale."
"I'm fine Mum." Harry asserted, shoving Hermione's hand away from his forehead. He wasn't ill, and he wasn't feverish, he was just… tired. He'd been having strange dreams for over a week and the detentions with Malfoy didn't help his state of mind. More often than not they'd been running to midnight and past, every night for a month he'd been trapped in some manual labor to end it with a nightmare. Harry was tired; maybe he would take a nap in History of Magic.
"Very funny Harry. At least I'm not Ron's Mum." Hermione answered, miffed and amused by the joke. She shoved more breakfast at him, cutting up his waffles for him as Ron rolled his eyes expressively. "Maybe you should eat more."
Harry tried a few bites, but it just turned to cardboard in his mouth. There was no reason for him to eat something he wouldn't enjoy, so he put down his fork and listened to his friend's playful banter.
Hermione was thumping Ron on the back as he recovered from a sudden coughing spurt that caused him to choke. Seamus was congratulating Dean on his first Quidditch goal and Neville was fighting with some impossibly thick syrup. He smiled at their antics and absorbed all the happiness he could in order to counter the misery of his next Potions lesson.
Speaking of Potions, he was going to be late if he didn't hurry. Gulping down his orange juice, he sped off in the direction of the dungeons intending to be early for once. In his current state, he was liable to make a mistake and blow up the dungeon, there was no reason to give Snape more grounds for ridicule by being late. The Potions master was not afraid to employ cruel and unusual punishment.
Harry wasn't late to potions that morning, but he was late to detention. Professor McGonagall glared daggers at him while Malfoy snickered behind her. "I'm sorry Professor, I got caught up in my homework."
He barely contained laughter as she nodded curtly and let him off the hook with a simple warning, "Mister Potter, you are here to be punished and while homework is an admirable pursuit, I suggest you keep your eyes on your watch."
"Yes Professor." They were cleaning all of the toilets, the Muggle way of course, apparently giving the house elves a break was suitable punishment for delinquent students. They had both healed very quickly with the magical aid of Madam Pomfrey, there was no question of why they were forced to endure this demeaning agony. Dumbledore was trying to teach them a lesson; between the indefinite detentions and being forced to work together, the headmaster was obviously trying to put a stop to their constant fighting. Thus far, his plan had failed in a spectacular way.
McGonagall locked them in the bathroom and left them, tired of their constant bickering. She confiscated their wands and delivered an ultimatum that made them shudder. "If either one of you is so much as bruised when I collect you, I will make sure you have detention until the rest of the year."
Left to their work, Harry took the far left stall and Malfoy took the far right. They scrubbed dutifully until the toilets were shining; they then moved to clean the sinks, working in perfect harmony, but also in oppressive silence. They cleaned every bathroom in the castle this way, McGonagall came to collect them when she sensed that they were done, and moved them to another toilet. It was four hours of long, grueling work, and the thought of bed was all that was keeping the boys from falling over.
Finally they were done, every toilet clean, every sink scrubbed, and every floor wiped down. Feeling like a zombie, Harry moved towards the Great Hall; he had become disoriented and had finished his work in an obscure corner bathroom in the east-tower, a place he rarely visited. Surprisingly Malfoy joined him, shrugging away Harry's speculative stare because he too was lost.
He was too tired to care, so tired that he briefly considered exiting the double doors in search of some fresh air and the strength to get him back to the tower. In fact, air sounded like the perfect remedy for the weariness that was crushing his bones, yes air.
"Potter? Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Harry didn't even hear him, he just kept moving towards the doors. Air. He didn't even feel it when he fell.
"Oh Jesus, Potter. What the hell are you on?" Harry had passed out about three feet away from the doors and landed heavily on his side. Malfoy brought him around with a few gentle slaps and eventually a spell. "Enervate."
Harry opened his eyes dizzily, wondering what the hell Malfoy had done to him. He didn't remember fighting with the blonde, but it was known to happen. In fact, he didn't remember much at all, the last thing his memory would recall was the rim of a toilet bowl as he scrubbed it. "Wha?" A moment later he came to his senses and realized that Malfoy was leaning over him with a wand pointed his direction and deduced that he must have been hexed, "Get off me you git!"
When leaping to his feet landed him on his rump, Harry realized that he couldn't stand, something Malfoy obviously saw because a moment later he was being hoisted to his feet from under his arms. "Come on Potter, get up, let's move. That's a boy."
Harry snarled and jerked away from the supporting grip of his rival, only to go crashing to his knees once again. "Jesus Potter, I'm trying to help you!"
"Get the hell away from me! I'm fine!"
He clawed at Malfoy's arm but the blonde was having none of it. "No you're not. Come on; get up, which way to Gryffindor dorms?"
Harry was finally forced to accept Malfoy's help, however grudgingly, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet once more. He didn't have the strength to argue as Malfoy led him to his own dormitory, treating him like a child by half-carrying him. Harry was still dizzy, not having received the air he so craved, he was falling asleep against the other boy and crashed to the floor once more because Malfoy was having an argument with the Pink Lady and not holding on to him.
"Oh for the love of… Potter, what's the password? Come on, wake up, you've got to get to your dorms and this hag won't let me in."
"I beg your pardon!"
"It's uh…" Harry thought for a long moment, his brain had gone numb and fuzzy; he really, really needed some air, he needed to get outside. "It's Constantinople."
The portrait of the Pink Lady swung open with an affirmative 'creak' and Malfoy heaved Harry inside before following him. The Slytherin sniffed, feeling a distinct sense of superiority, everything in this room was hectic and disorganized, while clean it felt… messy.
Malfoy rolled his eyes as Harry stumbled towards a window and shoved the nearly unconscious Gryffindor into an arm chair, opening the window himself. Harry probably wouldn't remember his uncharacteristic kindness in the morning, something he was grateful for as he pushed his way out of the common room. Having Potter ask him about this morning would be a disaster. Knowing Potter, it would be a public disaster, one he was not ready to deal with at the moment. He was disgusted with himself, but for some reason he was reluctant to leave Potter lying on the floor for anyone to find. There was something dishonorable about it.
Draco Malfoy fled to the sanctuary of the dungeons with a great deal more on his mind that toilet bowls.
Post Author's Notes: I do believe that I see the emergence of a plot! I also see that I have a petulant vampire. I mean, did you hear him whining in the first paragraph… does baby want a bottle? By the way, yes, I'm aware of the fact that our Darling Draco ::snickers:: was out of character, I know it, you know it, lets move on. DM/HP slash is out of character, I just do my best. Just out of curiosity, Gryffindors are in the west-tower, right? Well, in this story they are.