Chapter 2
The morning sunlight seemed to burn holes through Draco's eyelids. "What a fucked up dream," he muttered as he reached to pull his bed-curtains closed. He groaned when he couldn't find them; he hated when he had to open his eyes too early. He tried to turn over in his bed, but found only air. Wait a second. Where is my bed? His eyes snapped open and he stifled a scream. Draco Malfoy found himself 40 feet in the air upside down.
"Holy shit! What the bloody hell!" he yelled. He looked up to see his feet, or rather, his claws attached to a tree branch. "AHHHH!"
An hour later Draco had finished screaming like a girl and, after assessing the situation, found that not only could he fly and be a reasonably functional bat, but he could also change back into his human self anytime he wished. He fluttered to the ground and transformed into his "normal" self, before sighing. He slowly took his pale hands to his teeth, running his fingers over them. They seemed normal, but he knew that he was never going to be normal again. I am a vampire. It didn't seem real, it couldn't be real. I am… dead. Was he really? He looked the same on the outside as far as he could tell, yet there was a coldness that dwelled in his heart that would not go away. He felt for a pulse, and was not surprised to feel nothing. The previous night, the nightmare that became reality, had killed him.
Snape smiled? That seemed impossible. Furthermore, he could have sworn he heard the professor moaning. This disturbed Draco for only a moment before he decided that any one would be crazy not to moan in the presence of one Draco Malfoy, sex god. Moreover, it was a weird night; he could have been imagining it. The night was more than weird. It was the worst damned night of my entire existence he thought to himself. Now he was stuck in a forest, god knows where, all alone and a newly made vampire. He had no idea what he was capable of, what he could or could not do, it was as if he woke up and found himself in someone else's body. There were so many questions running through his head at a thousand miles per hour. Why can I sit in the sunlight without burning to a crisp? How long can I go without drinking blood? Am I going to spend the rest of my life in hiding?
"Of course I'm not." He said aloud. Sure, Snape had just saved his life, but he couldn't possibly expect him to spend the rest of it avoiding all wizard contact. All his life, Draco's destiny was to be a member of high society; he had been taught in every social aspect of the wizarding world that you could imagine, and then some. The young Malfoy was destined for great things, and all of that would be lost if he stayed here, a sitting duck. There was no way that he would be able to live if he just threw that all away. No, Draco was going to do things his own way.
Still, something was troubling him. This couldn't be his entire fault, it just couldn't. He half wanted to blame it all on Snape, yet he knew, and Snape knew, just what Dumbledore had told him the other night. I just don't have it in me. He slammed his fist down; he wanted to break something terribly. Why couldn't he do it? He failed, he failed at his biggest chance for something bigger, and now he was stuck here in some godforsaken old forest with a new lust for blood. He closed his eyes, wishing that it would all go away, wishing and hoping for an answer to all of his hopeless questions that were eating him alive. It was then that it hit him like a ton of bricks.
"Harry Potter," he spat, with a hungry look in his eyes. Yes, that was his answer. If it weren't for Potter, he would be one of his vast mansions sleeping in. His mother would be cooking breakfast with a warm smile on her face, happier than ever that her son was back for the summer. His father would be home, safe, and Azkaban would be a far away thing that they'd laugh at over the morning paper. Hate flowed through his blood, fresh, rekindled. Yes, Harry Potter was the cause of all this, Harry Potter ruined his once lavish life, Potter was the one who put his father in prison, Potter was the one who turned the once respected name of Malfoy into dung. Harry Potter killed him last night.
"Fuck Potter. Let him go to hell. Let him pay for what he's done to me!' Draco stood up and started pacing, compulsively tearing out strands of his hair. If there was one thing that he had to do, it was to get revenge. Revenge for his mother, for his father, and most importantly for himself. He took his hand and cupped it in the river. A toast, to me. To what I have to do. To the path that I am about to take. Cheers, to Harry Potter, the boy who never lived to be a man. He took a deep sip and smiled. Death is sweet.