Chapter 2: Draco
Draco wiped the rats blood from his mouth. It was not as satisfying as Human blood, but it would do. There had been no food at the park, except the girl, of course. She had suprised himj. He didn't like suprises. But now he remembered the way she had held him with her eyes, and the slight taste of fear in the night air. He regretted having left so fast.
He had crouched in this alley behind a row of shops for twenty minutes now, catching and drinking, catching and drinking. They were now hiding, the rats. They knew something was up. Big cat, he thought, and smiled a thin glittering smile.
Time to move on. He stood and stretched lean muscled arms reaching skyward. He wore a T-shirt despite the cool fall night. It was black like his jeans, like the high top chucks trimmed with white. He was fond of black, shadows, he thought.
Night. It satisfied him to wear black yet his laces were red. "Blood," he had whispered that evening at the thrift store, when his fingers would not leave them alone in the bin. They tangled around his hand unti he had to fling them from him or buy them. He handed a dime from the gutter over to the woman with the supsicious frown and fled to this same alley to put them on.
Where would he go from here? The Park? Maybe that girl had left by now but maybe not. I should go anyway, he thought, and smiled again, the same glittering smile. She was beautiful, dark like the night, but this, as if one of his brethen had already claimed her. A frown changed his features suddenly then disppeared as quickly. No. She did not have the smell of that upon her. There was something voluptous about her, though, that reminded him of Death. Green eyes too, he thought, and chuckled at his particular preference.
But she had startled him. He had found that park two weeks ago, and no one came at that time of night. He had let his gaurd slip. That was Dangerous and foolish. No, he would not go to the park, he decided. It would keep. She had sat there with a familarity that suggested habit. He would see her again. He would go to that house instead. He had only a few blocks to walk from here. He would see what that boy was up too.
Draco left the alley cautiously. It was good to be seen at the same place often. It was an excellent hunting place, he did not want to lose it. He walked the pavement with shoulders hunched, hands in each poket, as if against the cold. Who knew who was watching? He would have to get a coat. The Street he traveled intersected the alley that ran behind the houses on Chesnut Street. He made a right. Five houses along he stopped at the end of a long backyard.
There were no lights on at the back of the house. The yard was mottled with moolight. Draco flowed from shadow to shadow between the trees and bushes, as if a shadow himself. He might have been a cloud in front of the moon. He reached the rough brick house and crept to the okay tree at the corner. With the ease of a cat he scaled the Tree and flowed up to a perch on a Sturdy Limb. He barely rattled the brittle Autumm leaves that still clung tenciously to their twigs.
He could see into a bedroom. It was an anonymous room. The walls were bare, nothing there to suggest the personality of the occupant. A boy of six or seven curled with a book, reading by moonlight and a teddy bear close to him. Lay in the bed. YOu'll ruin your eye sight boy, Draco thought, and grinned wickedly. It was a thicked book than you would expect a six-year-old to be reading, and Draco itched to see the title. Occasionally, the boy would supress a laugh and shake his head, whisking his delicate white hair through the moonlight.
Then the droor opened. Gold stole silver as the hall light shone into the room. A young Woman stood in the doorway, smiling as she caught the last fury of the book being concealed under the covers.
"Christopher," she said softly. "It's a little late to be playing. It's nearly midnight. Settle down dear. Get some, sleep."
"Uh-huh," the boy answered, and snuggled into his pillow. She blew him a kiss nad left, closing the door.
Draco saw the boy lying there with his eyes open, staring into the night smiling. There was a growl in the back of Draco's throat he could barely contain. It almost chocked him. He climbed down the tree before it burst from his mouth. It was not the right time or place.
Below there was a clatter in the kitchen. Dishes were being put into the dishwasher, and two sleepy voices were talking. He leaned closer to the window.
"........should have settled in by now," came a Man's voice.
"But it's hard for a young child," the Woman answered, "adjusting to a new home."
"It's been a month."
"Yes, but after a year in that home, and God knows what before?"
"Yeah, Guess you're right."
"He's a sweet boy."
"A bit quiet."
"Oh. he'll be a brain. You'll see."
That man laughed. "Got it all planned out, have you?"
"Sure. Nobel Prize."
He laughed again. "Come on let's go to bed." The light went out.
"It'll work out, you'll see." said the Woman. "You can't expect perfect when you adopt an older child."
"Yeah it's a pity about that delicate skin as well too. Damn sensitive. Maybe it we....." his voice faded into the center of the house.
Draco sat in the bushes for a long while. He breathed the night, made plans, and abandoned them. No one in the house stired. Dreams shimmered in the windows; all except one window, where dark hunger beckoned.
Finally, Draco heard the first predawn bird cry, and he rose to his feet in a singly supple motion. His body made no protest at the barking of the vigil.
It was as if it were only seconds ago he had crouched there to watch. Silently he left the yard by the wya he had come, and accompanied by awakening birds, he made his way back what was home this week, an abandoned elementary school on Jeniffer Street.
He pulled aside a board and slid through a smashed window into the pricipals office. The room was grimed with dust and cobwebs, had once been a synonym for hell to the sixt graders, but now all that was left was an old file cabinet with only one drawer working and a desk with rusted seams. There was no chair. Built-in shelves lined the room, and the wooden floor had once been clean. A battered suitcase sat on of the shelves.
With the board back in place the room was dark. The dawn found it's way through the planks here and there; needle thin rays spot lighting dancing motes. but the barely pentrated the dark. This did not bother Draco. He did not need much light to see. He took down the suitcase, and opened it. Inside was a small painting in gilt frame. It was a family: a man, a woman with a baby in her arms, and a small child. The Varnish was cracked and old. Beneath the painting was soil, dark dry soil, as almost as flyaway as the dust in the room. Draco ran his fingers through the soil and sighed. This was his sleep; the soil of his homeland. The earth he would have rested in for eternity, if he had truely died.
It was a taste of death, perhaps. It restarted him. Without he would waste away to nothing and become shrivled. Unable to move, unable to feed, but still unable to die. An undead hell.
He raised the painting to his lips and kissed it softly, then replaced it in the suitcase, cloes the case, and flished the latches shut. He needed rest but not the comalike trance that sometimes took him. He could always tell when that was coming. It took a big feed: a human feed. Now he just needed a dormant period to recharge, so to speak. He lifted the suitcase off the large desk and slid it into the cubbyhole beneath. He crawled in after it. He curled, incircling the case, and wrapped his arms around it, clutching it as if it were treasure.
He lay there eyes open staring beyond the room, beyond the school. Before he leapt into a dream, he thought of the girl again. "Beautiful," he whispered. "Pale as the milk of death, think and sharp like pain." And he drifted out to the stars.
A.n/ Draco seems evil. But you have to wait to really know what is Draco's past in this story....yes, yes I know confusing. But in the later chapters Draco's mysterious past will unwravel.
Brethen- it's A Vampire group...not really good at explaning
The other story's WILL be updated soon. All in time. I am writing and typing these As I am "Sick" so it will take a while. And On My Profile it says you can find me on Mugglenet. Well right now I am not able to get on. So Just email me at: : or:
Thanks...Please read and review. All you have to do is press the Wonderful "Go" button. smiles
A.N/ I Want to Say thanks My friend "Spideria". Her story's inspired me to write. Her story's are wonderful. If you have time check them out. She deserves some kind of award for her creativity
Draco wiped the rats blood from his mouth. It was not as satisfying as Human blood, but it would do. There had been no food at the park, except the girl, of course. She had suprised himj. He didn't like suprises. But now he remembered the way she had held him with her eyes, and the slight taste of fear in the night air. He regretted having left so fast.
He had crouched in this alley behind a row of shops for twenty minutes now, catching and drinking, catching and drinking. They were now hiding, the rats. They knew something was up. Big cat, he thought, and smiled a thin glittering smile.
Time to move on. He stood and stretched lean muscled arms reaching skyward. He wore a T-shirt despite the cool fall night. It was black like his jeans, like the high top chucks trimmed with white. He was fond of black, shadows, he thought.
Night. It satisfied him to wear black yet his laces were red. "Blood," he had whispered that evening at the thrift store, when his fingers would not leave them alone in the bin. They tangled around his hand unti he had to fling them from him or buy them. He handed a dime from the gutter over to the woman with the supsicious frown and fled to this same alley to put them on.
Where would he go from here? The Park? Maybe that girl had left by now but maybe not. I should go anyway, he thought, and smiled again, the same glittering smile. She was beautiful, dark like the night, but this, as if one of his brethen had already claimed her. A frown changed his features suddenly then disppeared as quickly. No. She did not have the smell of that upon her. There was something voluptous about her, though, that reminded him of Death. Green eyes too, he thought, and chuckled at his particular preference.
But she had startled him. He had found that park two weeks ago, and no one came at that time of night. He had let his gaurd slip. That was Dangerous and foolish. No, he would not go to the park, he decided. It would keep. She had sat there with a familarity that suggested habit. He would see her again. He would go to that house instead. He had only a few blocks to walk from here. He would see what that boy was up too.
Draco left the alley cautiously. It was good to be seen at the same place often. It was an excellent hunting place, he did not want to lose it. He walked the pavement with shoulders hunched, hands in each poket, as if against the cold. Who knew who was watching? He would have to get a coat. The Street he traveled intersected the alley that ran behind the houses on Chesnut Street. He made a right. Five houses along he stopped at the end of a long backyard.
There were no lights on at the back of the house. The yard was mottled with moolight. Draco flowed from shadow to shadow between the trees and bushes, as if a shadow himself. He might have been a cloud in front of the moon. He reached the rough brick house and crept to the okay tree at the corner. With the ease of a cat he scaled the Tree and flowed up to a perch on a Sturdy Limb. He barely rattled the brittle Autumm leaves that still clung tenciously to their twigs.
He could see into a bedroom. It was an anonymous room. The walls were bare, nothing there to suggest the personality of the occupant. A boy of six or seven curled with a book, reading by moonlight and a teddy bear close to him. Lay in the bed. YOu'll ruin your eye sight boy, Draco thought, and grinned wickedly. It was a thicked book than you would expect a six-year-old to be reading, and Draco itched to see the title. Occasionally, the boy would supress a laugh and shake his head, whisking his delicate white hair through the moonlight.
Then the droor opened. Gold stole silver as the hall light shone into the room. A young Woman stood in the doorway, smiling as she caught the last fury of the book being concealed under the covers.
"Christopher," she said softly. "It's a little late to be playing. It's nearly midnight. Settle down dear. Get some, sleep."
"Uh-huh," the boy answered, and snuggled into his pillow. She blew him a kiss nad left, closing the door.
Draco saw the boy lying there with his eyes open, staring into the night smiling. There was a growl in the back of Draco's throat he could barely contain. It almost chocked him. He climbed down the tree before it burst from his mouth. It was not the right time or place.
Below there was a clatter in the kitchen. Dishes were being put into the dishwasher, and two sleepy voices were talking. He leaned closer to the window.
"........should have settled in by now," came a Man's voice.
"But it's hard for a young child," the Woman answered, "adjusting to a new home."
"It's been a month."
"Yes, but after a year in that home, and God knows what before?"
"Yeah, Guess you're right."
"He's a sweet boy."
"A bit quiet."
"Oh. he'll be a brain. You'll see."
That man laughed. "Got it all planned out, have you?"
"Sure. Nobel Prize."
He laughed again. "Come on let's go to bed." The light went out.
"It'll work out, you'll see." said the Woman. "You can't expect perfect when you adopt an older child."
"Yeah it's a pity about that delicate skin as well too. Damn sensitive. Maybe it we....." his voice faded into the center of the house.
Draco sat in the bushes for a long while. He breathed the night, made plans, and abandoned them. No one in the house stired. Dreams shimmered in the windows; all except one window, where dark hunger beckoned.
Finally, Draco heard the first predawn bird cry, and he rose to his feet in a singly supple motion. His body made no protest at the barking of the vigil.
It was as if it were only seconds ago he had crouched there to watch. Silently he left the yard by the wya he had come, and accompanied by awakening birds, he made his way back what was home this week, an abandoned elementary school on Jeniffer Street.
He pulled aside a board and slid through a smashed window into the pricipals office. The room was grimed with dust and cobwebs, had once been a synonym for hell to the sixt graders, but now all that was left was an old file cabinet with only one drawer working and a desk with rusted seams. There was no chair. Built-in shelves lined the room, and the wooden floor had once been clean. A battered suitcase sat on of the shelves.
With the board back in place the room was dark. The dawn found it's way through the planks here and there; needle thin rays spot lighting dancing motes. but the barely pentrated the dark. This did not bother Draco. He did not need much light to see. He took down the suitcase, and opened it. Inside was a small painting in gilt frame. It was a family: a man, a woman with a baby in her arms, and a small child. The Varnish was cracked and old. Beneath the painting was soil, dark dry soil, as almost as flyaway as the dust in the room. Draco ran his fingers through the soil and sighed. This was his sleep; the soil of his homeland. The earth he would have rested in for eternity, if he had truely died.
It was a taste of death, perhaps. It restarted him. Without he would waste away to nothing and become shrivled. Unable to move, unable to feed, but still unable to die. An undead hell.
He raised the painting to his lips and kissed it softly, then replaced it in the suitcase, cloes the case, and flished the latches shut. He needed rest but not the comalike trance that sometimes took him. He could always tell when that was coming. It took a big feed: a human feed. Now he just needed a dormant period to recharge, so to speak. He lifted the suitcase off the large desk and slid it into the cubbyhole beneath. He crawled in after it. He curled, incircling the case, and wrapped his arms around it, clutching it as if it were treasure.
He lay there eyes open staring beyond the room, beyond the school. Before he leapt into a dream, he thought of the girl again. "Beautiful," he whispered. "Pale as the milk of death, think and sharp like pain." And he drifted out to the stars.
A.n/ Draco seems evil. But you have to wait to really know what is Draco's past in this story....yes, yes I know confusing. But in the later chapters Draco's mysterious past will unwravel.
Brethen- it's A Vampire group...not really good at explaning
The other story's WILL be updated soon. All in time. I am writing and typing these As I am "Sick" so it will take a while. And On My Profile it says you can find me on Mugglenet. Well right now I am not able to get on. So Just email me at: : or:
Thanks...Please read and review. All you have to do is press the Wonderful "Go" button. smiles
A.N/ I Want to Say thanks My friend "Spideria". Her story's inspired me to write. Her story's are wonderful. If you have time check them out. She deserves some kind of award for her creativity