Author's Note: sorry this took so long. hope you like this bit. please review and tell me what you think. pretty please. sorry its not longer but the next bit is sort of boring so i thought i'd give you that all in a lump.
chapter 4: SATIATION - swept away on a dark tide
"So, why weren't you in potions today, Harry?" Ron asked as they headed towards the library. Hermione had started scheduling study sessions in an attempt to keep her two friends' grades up. "That's the third time this year and it's only been two weeks. If you miss too much more of that class Snape's bound to suspect you of avoiding it and take points away from Gryffindor."
Harry grumbled something that sounded like it had something to do with 'Snape' and 'bastard' but finally answered Ron's question. "I really wasn't feeling well," he said with a grimace. "At Quidditch practice this morning a bludger caught me full on in the stomach. Knocked me off my broom." Ron winced in sympathy.
"Oh, did poor little Potter get hurt?" The mocking voice came from a slender, blond figure leaning against the wall next to the entrance to the library. Ron started cursing silently and settled for glaring at Malfoy. They had to associate daily as it was. Why couldn't he just leave them alone? And that was when Ron noticed something that made him go pale. Draco noticed the look on his face and took the opportunity for another jibe. "And what's the matter with you, Weasley? Sympathy pains? The way you shadow Potter you'd think you two were attached at the hip." Ordinarily this would have incited Ron to see red, resolution to remain calm around Malfoy or no. At the moment he a bit caught up, however, in frantically thinking about what to do about the smudge of blood on Malfoy's lower lip.
Harry wasn't thus restrained or muted however and spat back at Draco, "Shove off, Malfoy. We haven't got time for you." Harry started to walk past him into the library when he apparently caught sight of that which had Ron rooted to the spot. "And what, did you drink blood for lunch today, Malfoy? I always thought you looked like a vampire but I thought your kind were generally more discrete about such things."
Ron saw shock fly briefly over Draco's face to be quickly replaced by another evil sneer. Almost daintily he raised a finger to his lips and looked down at the smudge of blood coldly. "Ever heard of a split lip before, Potter?" he said before raising the finger to his lips and licking away the blood, staring at Ron menacingly.
Ron shuddered and hurriedly walked past Harry into the library, quickly followed by a "whatever" and Harry right behind him. "I swear. You'd think Malfoy could come up with something better to do than harass people on their way to the library," Harry muttered as he and Ron slid into seats opposite Hermione at one of the study tables. Hermione just raised an eyebrow and set a thick and moldy looking book in front of each of the boys. "What did he do this time?"
Ron, who just wanted to get off the topic of Draco Malfoy as soon as possible, answered quickly, "Oh, just being his usual pratish self. So, what are we studying today, Hermione?" That did the trick. Soon they were up to their ears in the history of ghouls in late seventeenth century Scotland and Malfoy was completely forgotten.
Dinner in the Great Hall was lit with its usual grandeur but this was completely lost on Ron for the moment. He had the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. He had been distractedly gnawing on the same chicken leg well beyond the point of stripping it of meat as he tried to remember what it was. Harry finally had the grace to point this out to his friend, who put the leg down with a disgusted sigh. "What's the matter, Ron?" Harry asked, looking concerned. "You've been acting strangely all day and, aside from that chicken leg," here Harry paused to look dubiously at the gnawed bone, "you've hardly touched your food. Not even your spinach?" Harry ended with a question, obviously still baffled by this particular of Ron's food choices.
"I told you, my mum'll go all scary on me if I don't eat the spinach. Something about muggle nutritionists or some such nonsense." Ron started listlessly picking at the limp, green mush. Gah, this stuff was disgusting. "Don't worry about me. I've just been thinking. I've had the nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something all day but I can't seem to put my finger on it."
"I think I ran across a spell once that is supposed to find lost reminders when I was looking for a book on memory charms," Hermione said helpfully. "We could go look it up."
"No, that's ok, Hermione. Thanks though," Ron said distractedly. He had just caught sight of Malfoy over at the Slytherin table and the boy wasn't looking very good. He was rather pale and seemed to be paying almost no attention to Crabbe and Goyle who where sitting on either side of him. 'Is it something to do with Malfoy?' Ron thought to himself, desperately trying to grasp the edges of whatever was eluding him.
Just when he felt that he was on the verge of remembering Dean Thomas ruined all chances of that by choosing that moment to catapult a spoonful of mashed potatoes at Neville. The shot missed and ended up smacking Hermione right in the ear, who then turned to Dean with murder in her eyes. "And just how old ARE you Dean?" she screeched before flinging a handful of peas. Ron ducked as an all out food fight erupted at the table.
Ron was just about ready to put his spinach to good use when he felt a blinding pain in his head. A violent tug on his mind snapped his head up to stare at the Slytherin table. He locked eyes with Draco, who was now no longer looking pale but almost completely white, though his eyes blazed a startling blue.
Draco broke eye contact and rose unsteadily to his feet. Gesturing harshly for Crabbe and Goyle to stay put he quickly exited the Great Hall and Ron found himself hurrying after him, not evening remembering rising from the table.
Once outside the doors Ron looked around. He felt a strange coallesence, wiping extraneous thoughts from his mind and narrowing it to a point. The world took on an oddly surreal quality.
The silence of the hallway outside the doors, after the chaos of the great hall, hits me like a blow to the head. I feel it prickle over my skin like the whispers in the air before a storm.
Where is he?
The candles flicker in their brackets as I pass, making shadows that cavort soundless over the walls. The silence is breathing, drawing me further down this hallway.
He's close.
A gust of air is my only warning as a door to my right is flung open and rough hands grasp my robes. A sense of vertigo overtakes me as I am pulled suddenly through the door and shoved backwards against the wall. In the suspended time before impact I am vaguely aware of a pale, thin hand grasping my wrist, cold and dry against the overly sensitive skin of my arm but gentle. I expect to hear the door slam as I myself slam into the wall but somehow it has closed quietly. The air is driven from my lungs with concussive force and my skull hits the plaster with a dull thud briefly sending white hot pain lancing to wrap around my head. It recedes and I open my eyes.
yes.
A feeling of calm smooths itself down my spine as his eyes burn into mine. His fingers are still cold against my wrist and I can feel my pulse fluttering against a callus on his thumb. Strange, I always figured his hands would be smooth.
I am here.
His eyes are changed. Where before they flashed a fiery blue they have now darkened to nearly black; dark voids stark against his white skin staring back at me with an empty hunger, a need. His lips are parted as though he is winded and I can feel his warm breath ghosting over my knuckles as he lifts my arm towards his mouth.
take me.
His grip tightens and I find myself giving way before his urgency. The rough plaster scrapes at my back through my robes as I slide down the wall, arm extended upwards towards him as though in suplication.
...here.
He kneels down with me. I can feel the heat of his body from his knees where they are touching my calves. His presense is almost smothering, engulfing me and he is so close I can smell him: musky clove and a freshness that must be his shampoo. So close. I can feel the tension building in him, soon he will have to give way before it. His grip on my arm is now vice-like and I'm sure I will have a bruise later. A drop of sweat clings to his upper lip.
don't hold back.
He brushes my fingers with his lips and I feel them tremble. A low rumble is building in his throat. It rises to nearly a growl before he yanks my hand forward suddenly, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of my inner arm.
*pain*
My breath catches in my throat and I arc my back into the pain clawing its way up my arm, through my shoulder. His mouth is warm against my skin but it is the pain that holds me rigid.
Pain. Pain. Daggers in my arm. Hot. Drawing, sweeping, pulling. He is all around me.
I feel the heat radiating off of him, burning against my leg, through my robes where we touch. His hands, once so cold, seem to sear my flesh where they clutch at my arm and his mouth is a furnace over the wound that is me, split open and writhing beneath him. Whether in pain or ecstacy I cannot say.
This is what I'm here for.
As my blood drains away into him I can feel him seeping into my skin, permeating me with his presence. My eyes are glazed with his hunger, his need. His lust and fear and rage crawl behind my eyes, binding me to his urgency, to him. We are one.
We. One. Blood. Flesh. Life. Blood. Red. Darkening. Falling.
cold.
It's so cold. He has released me and I feel broken. Shattered by his absense. I am numb. The world suspends. His eyes are so dark, like eternity. His face is in shadow, a blank, a haunting presense. In the dark I can still see that his lips are stained red. And then they are decending, falling like tears to the palm of my hand. The carress is brief but it gathers me, collects me into a spark of conscience that watches him straighten and look me in the eye. His eyes are blue. I look down. Holding his bloody kiss in the palm of my hand I watch it darken as eternity decends upon me once more. My vision narrows to a point and all I am aware of is his breath, harsh in the stillness of the room. It swarms in my ears until it is mute. And the darkness is complete.
Draco straightened before Ron's crumpled form, his face haunted and pale but for the smudges of blood that covered his mouth. "How could we forget the new moon?" he whispered desperately to the stillness.
chapter 4: SATIATION - swept away on a dark tide
"So, why weren't you in potions today, Harry?" Ron asked as they headed towards the library. Hermione had started scheduling study sessions in an attempt to keep her two friends' grades up. "That's the third time this year and it's only been two weeks. If you miss too much more of that class Snape's bound to suspect you of avoiding it and take points away from Gryffindor."
Harry grumbled something that sounded like it had something to do with 'Snape' and 'bastard' but finally answered Ron's question. "I really wasn't feeling well," he said with a grimace. "At Quidditch practice this morning a bludger caught me full on in the stomach. Knocked me off my broom." Ron winced in sympathy.
"Oh, did poor little Potter get hurt?" The mocking voice came from a slender, blond figure leaning against the wall next to the entrance to the library. Ron started cursing silently and settled for glaring at Malfoy. They had to associate daily as it was. Why couldn't he just leave them alone? And that was when Ron noticed something that made him go pale. Draco noticed the look on his face and took the opportunity for another jibe. "And what's the matter with you, Weasley? Sympathy pains? The way you shadow Potter you'd think you two were attached at the hip." Ordinarily this would have incited Ron to see red, resolution to remain calm around Malfoy or no. At the moment he a bit caught up, however, in frantically thinking about what to do about the smudge of blood on Malfoy's lower lip.
Harry wasn't thus restrained or muted however and spat back at Draco, "Shove off, Malfoy. We haven't got time for you." Harry started to walk past him into the library when he apparently caught sight of that which had Ron rooted to the spot. "And what, did you drink blood for lunch today, Malfoy? I always thought you looked like a vampire but I thought your kind were generally more discrete about such things."
Ron saw shock fly briefly over Draco's face to be quickly replaced by another evil sneer. Almost daintily he raised a finger to his lips and looked down at the smudge of blood coldly. "Ever heard of a split lip before, Potter?" he said before raising the finger to his lips and licking away the blood, staring at Ron menacingly.
Ron shuddered and hurriedly walked past Harry into the library, quickly followed by a "whatever" and Harry right behind him. "I swear. You'd think Malfoy could come up with something better to do than harass people on their way to the library," Harry muttered as he and Ron slid into seats opposite Hermione at one of the study tables. Hermione just raised an eyebrow and set a thick and moldy looking book in front of each of the boys. "What did he do this time?"
Ron, who just wanted to get off the topic of Draco Malfoy as soon as possible, answered quickly, "Oh, just being his usual pratish self. So, what are we studying today, Hermione?" That did the trick. Soon they were up to their ears in the history of ghouls in late seventeenth century Scotland and Malfoy was completely forgotten.
Dinner in the Great Hall was lit with its usual grandeur but this was completely lost on Ron for the moment. He had the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. He had been distractedly gnawing on the same chicken leg well beyond the point of stripping it of meat as he tried to remember what it was. Harry finally had the grace to point this out to his friend, who put the leg down with a disgusted sigh. "What's the matter, Ron?" Harry asked, looking concerned. "You've been acting strangely all day and, aside from that chicken leg," here Harry paused to look dubiously at the gnawed bone, "you've hardly touched your food. Not even your spinach?" Harry ended with a question, obviously still baffled by this particular of Ron's food choices.
"I told you, my mum'll go all scary on me if I don't eat the spinach. Something about muggle nutritionists or some such nonsense." Ron started listlessly picking at the limp, green mush. Gah, this stuff was disgusting. "Don't worry about me. I've just been thinking. I've had the nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something all day but I can't seem to put my finger on it."
"I think I ran across a spell once that is supposed to find lost reminders when I was looking for a book on memory charms," Hermione said helpfully. "We could go look it up."
"No, that's ok, Hermione. Thanks though," Ron said distractedly. He had just caught sight of Malfoy over at the Slytherin table and the boy wasn't looking very good. He was rather pale and seemed to be paying almost no attention to Crabbe and Goyle who where sitting on either side of him. 'Is it something to do with Malfoy?' Ron thought to himself, desperately trying to grasp the edges of whatever was eluding him.
Just when he felt that he was on the verge of remembering Dean Thomas ruined all chances of that by choosing that moment to catapult a spoonful of mashed potatoes at Neville. The shot missed and ended up smacking Hermione right in the ear, who then turned to Dean with murder in her eyes. "And just how old ARE you Dean?" she screeched before flinging a handful of peas. Ron ducked as an all out food fight erupted at the table.
Ron was just about ready to put his spinach to good use when he felt a blinding pain in his head. A violent tug on his mind snapped his head up to stare at the Slytherin table. He locked eyes with Draco, who was now no longer looking pale but almost completely white, though his eyes blazed a startling blue.
Draco broke eye contact and rose unsteadily to his feet. Gesturing harshly for Crabbe and Goyle to stay put he quickly exited the Great Hall and Ron found himself hurrying after him, not evening remembering rising from the table.
Once outside the doors Ron looked around. He felt a strange coallesence, wiping extraneous thoughts from his mind and narrowing it to a point. The world took on an oddly surreal quality.
The silence of the hallway outside the doors, after the chaos of the great hall, hits me like a blow to the head. I feel it prickle over my skin like the whispers in the air before a storm.
Where is he?
The candles flicker in their brackets as I pass, making shadows that cavort soundless over the walls. The silence is breathing, drawing me further down this hallway.
He's close.
A gust of air is my only warning as a door to my right is flung open and rough hands grasp my robes. A sense of vertigo overtakes me as I am pulled suddenly through the door and shoved backwards against the wall. In the suspended time before impact I am vaguely aware of a pale, thin hand grasping my wrist, cold and dry against the overly sensitive skin of my arm but gentle. I expect to hear the door slam as I myself slam into the wall but somehow it has closed quietly. The air is driven from my lungs with concussive force and my skull hits the plaster with a dull thud briefly sending white hot pain lancing to wrap around my head. It recedes and I open my eyes.
yes.
A feeling of calm smooths itself down my spine as his eyes burn into mine. His fingers are still cold against my wrist and I can feel my pulse fluttering against a callus on his thumb. Strange, I always figured his hands would be smooth.
I am here.
His eyes are changed. Where before they flashed a fiery blue they have now darkened to nearly black; dark voids stark against his white skin staring back at me with an empty hunger, a need. His lips are parted as though he is winded and I can feel his warm breath ghosting over my knuckles as he lifts my arm towards his mouth.
take me.
His grip tightens and I find myself giving way before his urgency. The rough plaster scrapes at my back through my robes as I slide down the wall, arm extended upwards towards him as though in suplication.
...here.
He kneels down with me. I can feel the heat of his body from his knees where they are touching my calves. His presense is almost smothering, engulfing me and he is so close I can smell him: musky clove and a freshness that must be his shampoo. So close. I can feel the tension building in him, soon he will have to give way before it. His grip on my arm is now vice-like and I'm sure I will have a bruise later. A drop of sweat clings to his upper lip.
don't hold back.
He brushes my fingers with his lips and I feel them tremble. A low rumble is building in his throat. It rises to nearly a growl before he yanks my hand forward suddenly, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of my inner arm.
*pain*
My breath catches in my throat and I arc my back into the pain clawing its way up my arm, through my shoulder. His mouth is warm against my skin but it is the pain that holds me rigid.
Pain. Pain. Daggers in my arm. Hot. Drawing, sweeping, pulling. He is all around me.
I feel the heat radiating off of him, burning against my leg, through my robes where we touch. His hands, once so cold, seem to sear my flesh where they clutch at my arm and his mouth is a furnace over the wound that is me, split open and writhing beneath him. Whether in pain or ecstacy I cannot say.
This is what I'm here for.
As my blood drains away into him I can feel him seeping into my skin, permeating me with his presence. My eyes are glazed with his hunger, his need. His lust and fear and rage crawl behind my eyes, binding me to his urgency, to him. We are one.
We. One. Blood. Flesh. Life. Blood. Red. Darkening. Falling.
cold.
It's so cold. He has released me and I feel broken. Shattered by his absense. I am numb. The world suspends. His eyes are so dark, like eternity. His face is in shadow, a blank, a haunting presense. In the dark I can still see that his lips are stained red. And then they are decending, falling like tears to the palm of my hand. The carress is brief but it gathers me, collects me into a spark of conscience that watches him straighten and look me in the eye. His eyes are blue. I look down. Holding his bloody kiss in the palm of my hand I watch it darken as eternity decends upon me once more. My vision narrows to a point and all I am aware of is his breath, harsh in the stillness of the room. It swarms in my ears until it is mute. And the darkness is complete.
Draco straightened before Ron's crumpled form, his face haunted and pale but for the smudges of blood that covered his mouth. "How could we forget the new moon?" he whispered desperately to the stillness.
