Is it just me or has Barbie become REALLY REALLY scary?
Author's Notes: Does no one appreciate the effort I put into my violence? Maybe I should have done it direct POV, made people scream in sympathy… grr. Mixed metaphors can be found in the first paragraph. And this chapter there is some POV switchage but I've put double spaces in to help clear things up… everything is coming together you see.
Disclaimers: There are things I do own; like the hole in my socks. My big toe pokes through the seam. There are things I do not own; like Harry Potter. I'd rather not be sued.
Kynight: What indeed. I'm still trying to figure that out, but whatever happens to him is dedicated to you. (It's a good thing if I put him through hell right?)
Calmardaa: Ack! I feel so honored (again, exclaims that she should self advertise more often). By the way, I happen to love your fic… "E-hem" ::clears throat:: ANY ONE THAT HAS NOT READ CALAMARDAA'S "BLOOD & NAILS" AND IT'S SEQUEL "SMOKE AND MIRRORS" NEEDS TO DO SO IMMEDIATELY. Thank you."
Emeline: Continuing continuing! I too am excited, everything's coming together. Why… I believe this may be the climax!
KittenBabyGirl: What I have planned for Moldywart will be far worse than what he did to Harry. Just in case you were wondering though, I was working under the assumption that a bone-breaker curse breaks every bone in the body (not including unbreakables like ear bones) therefore, because Dumbledore believed that Harry had been inflicted by a bone-breaker curse, things had to have been bad.
Weasley Wonders: All your questions shall be answered presently (as in, this chapter). I'm so happy you still like it. You reviewed my first chapter, and every one since, so I'm assuming I'm doing a good job. Really though, tell me if things get too out of hand.
TenshiNoKoori: You are the first person to have remarked on my chapter titles, and I'll let you know their secret… 1, the first four chapters or so… the first short paragraph gave me the chapter title ie. "The man continued watching." = Voyeur. Then because it was a vampire story, I decided to go with foods; Starch in the Gravy was the Jelly equivalent of "The Plot Thickens" and well… Lamb Chops I came up with that in the grocery store… ah the delicious taste of Lamb with mint jelly. It didn't hurt that Voldy was a bit like a lamb led to slaughter, as was Harry. This one you'll just have to figure out on your own. ^_~. Sorry, that was long winded I know, but I've been dying for someone to ask that question, absolutely dying! Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing for me!
Em parker: I am so unimaginably happy that you like Draco in this one… I got really out of character with him, but as long as it works for you… a hyperactive nymph? Really?
Flowerfunleah: I promise I really do, this chapter brings mushyness (at least a little bit, with brutality thrown in as per the norm) and the next comes bearing the sweet fruit of a kiss (at least I hope it does). I'll try not to leave you hanging for too much longer, if you're still unsatisfied by the end of chapter ten, I'll write and email you (as I can't post something that explicit) a very lemony sequel, I promise.
Katrina: Your assumption is basically correct, and I don't know if I'll bring this up later so I'm going to go ahead and say it. Harry's closeness to Scion, because Scion recently fed off of him or something, makes him resistant to magic because he is now bound to the vampire and vampires are resistant to magic. Keep in mind that I'm pulling abilities/resistances of vampires right out of my ass, so everything is relative. I don't know if Voldemort was resistant to magic or not because no one's tried to spell him yet save Scion who has a hold on him anyway. Too much information? Probably. As for your second question, yeah, it's slash. I promise, it's slash. Friendship fics are boring, there's no later sexual innuendo or anything, friendship fics are painful. (That cracks me up, at my last party; my friend and I were yelling that back and forth to each other "Do you know… the Muffin man?" "The Muffin man?" "The Muffin Man." "Yes I know the Muffin man. W-Who lives on Drury lane?" "Well she's married to… the Muffin Man" "The Muffin Man?!" "THE MUFFIN MAN!!!" It was good stuff. Though I've been thinking about it and I've decided that Draco is a bit like a Parfait. "You got a tissue or something 'cause I'm droolin' just thinkin' about it." Mmm. ^_~.) Wow, that was long.
Jollinar: I'm glad you didn't think it was too brutal… or at least I think I'm glad. I must say, I could have done a better job of making everyone squirm with a direct take instead of a retrospective one, but… I liked the plot potential with Malfoy there to tell him. It was a good plot device. ::pats plot device on it's back::
Zeynel: I'm happy that I'm keeping you happy with the rate I'm writing at. I had to survive school (or an English paper) this week so the chapter took longer, but it can't have been that bad without me for a day. (^_~) Ah but I tease.
Snako: I do believe I've read some of your work… ah yes, Minutes of Gold. Great stuff. Anyway, I'm really happy you read this (and do you know what… I put Veela in the summary just for that purpose. Aren't I horrible?)
In Darkness Found, Light Revealed
Chapter 8: Poultry
So it was a bit ignoble. He had waited long enough for his Birdy to come, he had extended every available option save going up to the castle and dragging him out. With the recent attack by 'Voldemort' everyone would be suspicious and any cloaked figures entering the castle would be eliminated. Immediately. It was dangerous to make his move so shortly after his trump card had gone down, but with his pawns dormant, he needed to bring out the bigger pieces.
Now Birdy was on his way. Perhaps overriding his mind had been unnecessary, Harry had been through a lot, to call Harry to him would have been something simple, requiring mild incentive. But having risked his loss once that day, Scion was not willing to do it again. Any interference could have deterred Birdy from his course, more failure was not acceptable.
He could no longer wait for his Birdy, over time the obsession had grown. The more he saw of Harry, the more he had to have until the very thought of Birdy sent him reeling into the boy's mind. It was conceivable that Harry's ability to avoid him stabilized Scion's fixation on him. No one before him had resisted him for so long, even that first night in the clearing had been something spectacular to behold. Though Harry's body had not made a single move against him, his mind had blocked him out until their second meeting, though Harry had no inkling of the event. It was immensely fortunate that Birdy hadn't remembered his 'dream,' if he had, Scion would have been in trouble. Since the second meeting, it had been easy to infiltrate and control his mind but it had been nearly a week between the first encounter and the second. The risks he'd been taking, the unnecessary hazard he'd subjected himself to, Birdy had somehow revived him. Scion was beginning to think that this 'Birdy Mania' would never end, and he didn't mind.
Eventually Birdy would be released from his control to become more of a partner than a slave, but until then he couldn't risk Birdy's running away. The stubborn young man had thus far done everything in his power to avoid the summons; he would do everything in his power to escape the evil. It would be an impossible feat for Scion to alter the memories of all of Birdy's friends and acquaintances. Birdy had been easy prey because he had fed from him, tasted him physically as well as mentally; the people he knew, however, were extremely powerful. There was no way to escape them, he and Birdy would have to remain on the run until they forgot him or died, whether naturally or with a bit of help.
A whimpering rang clear through the forest. Someone else had lost his mind, but he wouldn't be getting it back. Scion rolled his eyes and snarled, he was pathetic, more than willing to deal in pain, Tom was unable to accept it. It hadn't taken long for his mind to snap, he was now a wretched thing, curled up against a tree that he believed might comfort him. His red eyes were closed and seeping yellowish, pussy tears. Reduced to a sniveling, Scion would tease him until Birdy made his appearance, even kicking twigs at him made him scramble away in fear. Perhaps he would allow Birdy some fun before Tom died, fun in the form of revenge. After all, nothing was sweeter.
***
Malfoy followed Harry deeper into the forest. He was afraid, and so, had wrapped himself in the invisibility cloak as he ran to catch up. It was eerie, following Harry, watching his toes as they dragged along the forest floor; it was terrible and thrilling to see. Harry was in danger, it would fit his father's every ideal to just let him sail, oblivious to his doom, but Malfoy was still tailing him. He had no reason to do so, he merely felt compelled. Malfoy had learned very early on that if powers higher than he wanted him to do something, he should do it. And so he raced across the grounds, following Harry's moonlit silhouette, he ran to the Forbidden Forest.
Was this what Harry felt like when he ran towards Voldemort that afternoon? Had he simply felt compelled despite his terror or did he really believe he could defeat him? Did Harry run towards the Three Broomsticks out of a sense of duty or was he just trying to discover the source of the mayhem? Harry wasn't fighting the pull, but he still looked as though he were on a tether. Malfoy didn't know whether or not he was looking forward to seeing whatever was on the other end of that leash, but part of him was relieved. At least he was there, if Harry got himself into serious trouble (like he had a strong tendency to do) then he would have some back up. Or at the very least, if he died, Malfoy would be able to tell Dumbledore the story.
They were depressing thoughts, true, but the overwhelming surge of power he'd felt in Hogsmead and just a few minutes ago had given way to a pervading sense of doom. He was planning ahead, thinking logically in the face of his dread, Malfoy's father would have been proud.
It wasn't the Dark Lord's style to draw his enemies out against their will. He waged guerilla war, invading people's dreams and attacking strategic families, families that would cause a lot of news, but he didn't have the power to pull someone as heavily guarded as Harry from the castle. It was too soon after his latest attack, he would have to retreat and lick his wounds. Then again, there were no wounds, he had simply left, leaving mystery and destruction behind him. No, this wasn't Voldemort, this was something else.
Were this a platonic force, it would have appealed through Dumbledore, and certainly would not conduct it's meetings in the Forbidden Forest. Something this powerful had to be dark, it had to be dangerous. Malfoy had the distinct impression that this had something to do with Voldemort's attack. He grew increasingly more certain as time passed and he was still making the trek through the forest, moving deeper into the shadows as he followed the seemingly unconscious boy. In other words, this was not good. Not good at all.
Finally, they reached a clearing, Harry's flight stopped and he fell to the forest floor. There was crying echoing from the trees, the smell of fear was thick in the air, though that could have been radiating from Harry, or himself. Somehow, despite that the area was open, the air was heavy and thick, lacking oxygen. Malfoy was terrified.
Harry crumpled to the ground in a heap, his eyes still staring blankly ahead – unfocused, and motionless. A strong pair of arms, ghostly arms, wrapped around the fallen boy; lifting him to a chest that was indistinguishable from the looming darkness. As Harry's assailant drew him into the shadows, he was slowly revealed to the fleeting moonlight as something more sinister and more innately human than the forest had seen before.
Malfoy stopped breathing, frozen by his horror, he stopped moving. His hands shook as he steadied himself against a large elm tree, using its low branches as a shield from the evil before him. He slumped to the ground as his vision blurred, desperately making no sound as he gulped in air, mouth gaping open like a fish. He was invisible, yet oh-so-vulnerable. It was cold, he realized suddenly, icy cold, his teeth chattered against his lower lip, his hands were white with the strain of fisting them around his wand, he was nauseous and shivering, it must have been cold.
Malfoy felt the power penetrating the air, raw power that was crushing his lungs and causing his heart to beat out a tattoo of panic. He was quaking as he saw Harry drawn into the brutal embrace. It was a gentle sort of brutal. Scion cradled him, crushing Harry's body to his with a soft sort of ferocity that defied logic. Everything about the situation defied logic. No one should have been able to infiltrate Hogwarts, an unconscious boy, floating across the grounds should not have been able to escape suspicion, yet somehow he had. Harry was here, Draco had followed him.
The demon was crooning, cooing to Harry in baby-speak as he softly nuzzled the boy's cheek with the mania of one who's deepest desires had just been fulfilled; and in a way, they had. "Shh shh, don't be afraid, soon everything will be just perfect." He nipped at Harry's neck gently, accidentally drawing a tiny droplet of blood, barely visible to the human eye. But it was visible to his. His Birdy was so soft, so pliable, like a newborn baby – yet his blood screamed of tragedy, flavoring it with a purity that he'd never known before. It was more than merely intoxicating; Birdy's blood was the vampire's ambrosia.
Scion lapped at the tiny abrasion, then slowly it widened as he pierced the tender skin with his venerable fangs. He would have been unable to stop, reveling in the pained, sweet, metallic taste of his long-awaited prey, but a sudden terrified whimper reawakened him to his surroundings. "Ah yes beautiful Birdy. I have a gift for you." The ancient slowly turned with his hard-earned quarry still in his arms, turned towards the broken Tom Riddle, who had not uttered a sound.
Malfoy could not see Harry anymore; the boy had been fully concealed by the darkness. Nor could he see the 'gift' that 'Birdy' was supposed to receive. Upon seeing the mark on Harry's neck, the blank complacency in his eyes, Malfoy had to bite back a scream. A vampire, Harry, in essence, had been kidnapped by a bloody vampire. It explained so much and yet so little. Vampires were naturally, or unnaturally, resistant to external magic's, they had their own form of power that was capable of rivaling the most powerful wizards, but mortal magic had no effect on them. Spells and incantations slid right off of them, it made sense that a transfer of power might have occurred, giving their victims the same impermeable, preternatural shield, but that meant… That implied that Harry had met this beast before, on a number of occasions. Was it voluntary or compulsory? Had Harry invited this? The thought was dizzying. Fortunately his scream had been attributed to Harry's 'gift' whatever that was. Would Harry too be feeding from the living tonight?
Slumped against a tree was Birdy's gift. Harry saw the blood red, slitted eyes; he recognized the waxy, pale skin and the body forged of his own blood. Some repressed part of Harry's personality, perhaps his soul, recognized that this was a man to be feared, a man at whose hands he had nearly died on numerous occasions. A thunderous wave of horror shuddered through him as he shrunk into Scion whimpering. All things considered, the vampire was the lesser of two evils, and having had the ability to reason stripped from him, Harry ran towards it.
"Yes my pet," Scion crooned, "he is yours to play with."
Harry didn't want to play, he whimpered and shied away, turning to bury his face in Scion's shoulder, trying to escape the horrific image of Lord Voldemort.
"No my pet, you have to see." Murmured Scion, turning the boy around again. Harry had been reduced to nothing more than a child, his memories and knowledge of the world outside his imagination repressed to the brink of oblivion. But something in his deepest psyche, something that had been ingrained in him since birth and compounded by endless experience told him to fear this gift. "He'll never hurt you again dearest. Never again."
It was true; the once great Voldemort had become less than a beaten dog. He had become a lesser force than a tic – an irritant, and nothing more. Holding on to the tree he had become dependent upon since shortly after the attack on Hogsmead, he was a pathetic creature. Something in Harry longed to rebel, something in him longed to save Riddle from this absurdity. He had once been a sight to behold, a towering monolith of ambition and personality but he was now a broken thing, a disgusting wretched thing. Harry didn't want this to happen, even Voldemort, for nothing less than sheer gall, deserved to die honorably.
"Dearest. Watch now. Soon, all this power will be yours. With a thought, you will be able to level your enemies. Learn." Scion taught. He raised a hand in Tom's direction and the tree he'd been so desperately latched on to split in half. Riddle cried in terror and tried scrambling to a nearby boulder; Harry was awash with pure sympathy – emotion without the inhibition of experience. "Do you see? He is nothing. I control his every move, if he breathes, it is with my permission."
With a simple flick of Scion's wrist, Riddle was on his feet, thick yellowed tears seeping from his snake like eyes. "He will never be able to hurt you again." It was with a vindictive thought that Scion did to Riddle, what Riddle had done to Harry, snapping every one of his bones into pieces, crushing them into dust. Starting with his toes, Scion's spell moved up, slowly grinding his bones into dust as the fragments stirred his nerve endings to agony. Riddle's lungs collapsed under the demands of gravity, clogged by the powder his own bones had formed, his heart made a few feeble attempts at beating, but it was being weighed down by the pressure of his deflated organs as they turned to soup without the support of his bones. He no longer looked like a man as he flopped to the forest floor like a rubber body suit. Voldemort had not bled a single drop, nor had he had the opportunity to scream as his voice box was ground to dust and his larynx crushed.
Harry whimpered on his behalf.
Scion frowned in deep thought, he thought the gift of Riddle's life delivered on a silver platter, would please his Birdy, but then he smiled in realization. Harry's compassion was the majority of his appeal; Harry wouldn't have wanted Tom's life, but his own freedom from Voldemort's grasp. He was so adorably naive, so innocent and perfect. It would be a pleasure and a privilege to introduce his innocent little Birdy to the darker aspects of his power. In time.
He couldn't see, and he couldn't stand not seeing. Malfoy had to move, he had to get back to Harry. Slowly, agonizingly slowly he rose to his feet, desperately trying to keep his knees from creaking and belying his position to the heightened senses of the vampire. He stood; keeping the invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around him so that it could not catch on a stray twig and make the noise that would spell his doom. Slowly, watching every move his foot made within the cloak, he moved across the ground, barely stirring the leaves and loam underfoot. Somehow he would reach Harry and get him back. Though how was a mystery. What Malfoy nearly tripped over as he was finally able to see Harry again, was a corpse. In the most abstract sense of the word. The body was more of a dry puddle than anything else, a dry puddle that had once been the most powerful wizard in the world. A puddle that had once defeated Dumbledore in combat. Malfoy felt his knees go weak, Harry was completely ineffectual, how was he, a mere student, going to kill a vampire?
Malfoy did his best to remember everything he had learned about vampires through his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, but he came up remarkably short. His entire school career had been defined by new teachers every year, miscommunication and misunderstandings abounded. Often they learned the same thing twice, but more often, they learned nothing new at all. Especially nothing new about vampires. There was no hope; all he remembered were the Muggle superstitions. A steak through the heart, a garlic wreath around the neck, silver and crosses, he was obviously ill equipped to deal with this type of monster – the closest thing Malfoy had to a steak was his wand, he didn't even want to think about summoning the rest. So what could he do? He had to get Harry out somehow, but there was no way to do so. Harry was in the sadistic grasp of a vampire, a vampire that turned his childhood scourge into a puddle of goo.
The blonde gave a short, desperate little laugh. At least one of his worries in life had been alleviated. Realizing his mistake too late, Malfoy's eyes widened in fear, his terror had been overlooked, blamed on Voldemort, but surely the vampire had heard his laugh. How ironic. [1]
Scion had heard. His head jerked up, fangs tearing away from Harry's neck though they wanted nothing more than to ignore it, but that would have been impossible. To deny the threat was to invite danger. "I feel you little mortal." He cooed. Harry slumped forward, no longer supported by Scion's broad shoulder, he was too weak to hold up his head and on a deeper level, ashamed. Scanning the trees with the utmost caution, "and now I see you," he spotted him.
These foolish mortals. Magical influence slid right off of vampires, their vision pierced through invisibility cloaks, and their hearing shattered silencing spells. Any and all magic was nullified when used against them, no matter how long it took to create, or how powerful.
At their first meeting, Riddle had tried a spell so ancient that it ruffled his hair. But Avada Kedavra had done nothing more than that. Tom, so confident in his powers, it had been so much fun to bend the haughty boy to his will. The boy standing before him in no way measured up to the sheer audacity. Riddle had been spiteful, this boy was quaking.
Said quaking boy slowly removed Harry's invisibility cloak, pulling it from his tousled hair like a child emerging from under the covers. His eyes were wide and his hands balled into fists, his taut nerves unable to relax them. Malfoy didn't know what he'd gotten himself into, and most of him didn't want to know. Why the hell had he followed Harry at the risk of his own life? Why on earth had he been so stupid? He should have run the moment he realized what was going on, he should have hightailed it back to the castle in search of someone with a degree in psychiatric care. Though, things as they were, dying now, would save his family thousands of dollars in therapy sessions. He found himself laughing in a twisted despondent sort of way.
"Why do you laugh boy?" Draco didn't know the answer to that question. He knew he was going to die, he knew without a doubt that his will to live would be overpowered by the vampire without hesitation; maybe he just found the situation funny. There was no point in being here, there was no point in sacrificing his life for nothing, there was no point in any of this. All of the fights he'd had with Potter over the years, everything he'd worked so hard to obtain, would be for nothing. This was incredible, the sense of hilarity that was swamping him with the desire to laugh as he cried. All of his efforts had been completely and utterly futile; there was absolutely nothing that mattered anymore.
He didn't want to die. He wanted nothing more than to life on, he wanted to be a bastard and enjoy it. His heart was pounding, he could hear it, feeling beating against his rib cage. Malfoy was sure that the vampire could hear it too. The desire to run for his life was tempered by logic, he wouldn't leave this forest alive, if he somehow escaped the vampire, a number of other terrible things would jump at the opportunity. So what was he going to do? Somewhere deep in his soul, deep in the confines of his most secret heart, there was a kernel of something else. An emotion other than fear, one that contradicted his sick sense of irony, and one that negated the need to run. Altruism. In the heart of Draco Malfoy arose the need to protect himself and others from the evil that stood before him. So this was compassion, this was what hero's and martyrs felt like? Now that really was absurd, and Draco laughed harder than ever. This was ridiculous.
"Why are you laughing boy? What do you find so amusing?" Scion was incensed, his very presence struck fear into the hearts of everyone that encountered him, but this boy – this thing that didn't even deserve the title of boy – was laughing at him!
"Oh. Nothing."
Post Author's Notes: [1] I don't do these often as is evidenced by my former chapters, but I felt the need to explain that comment. As you know, or as the myth goes, laughter is supposed to extend your life. Draco's morbid, and equally ironic sense of humor (ironic because the nefarious Voldemort was killed by someone that no one has heard of.) almost killed him and most probably shortened his life because he laughed.
Okay, the last part was corny and I didn't end it here, in fact, I didn't even reach the climax but! Oh yes, there is a but, I have all of my cards on the table, and the next chapter on my monitor… look for it in theaters near you. Lol.
3526 words. WAI WAI!!!