OH MY GAWD. You guys must hate me so much right now. _ I'm real sorry, but… things happen, y'know? I finally got back on track though. Rejoice. Hopefully I'll be able to stay on track, eh? Anyway, like I said, I'm sorry about the humongously long wait. Personally, I don't feel this chapter is up to my usual standards… at least at the beginning. I enjoy it more towards the end, but I couldn't figure out how to better the start, so I suppose… you'll just have to deal with it. ^^;; So one more thing before we get on with the story here.
If this ever gets removed from FFNet for content, where should I post it? If you've got a suggestion, please feel free to tell me in a review, by e-mail, or by IM (my info's on my page).
Now then, on with the chapter!
Chapter VIII: So Close
I'll never
waste another day
Searching to find the reason
Why did I choose to play this game?
This goes too far
I'll take no more
- Lacuna Coil, "Self Deception"
The next day, Draco was absent from all his classes. Though Harry didn't like to admit it, he was rather worried.
He knew enough of vampires to be aware of a fledgling's need to feed nightly, and he felt bad suddenly, standing there in the Herbology greenhouse, about the night before.
But, he reminded himself as he shoveled dirt into a large clay pot, it's not like I denied him or anything. He refused to take from me.
His face screwed up slightly as another thought popped into his head. I was the reason he felt that way though…
He shook his head. No. Malfoy started this whole thing, and he certainly wasn't going to put all the blame on himself. He, Harry, was the victim here.
"Harry?"
He blinked. It was Neville. "Er… yes?"
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, I'm… fine."
Neville frowned. "Well… if you say so. But you're using the wrong soil. I… I thought I'd let you know."
Harry forced a little smile. "Thanks."
Worst of all, he didn't feel like he could talk to any of his friends about this. All he had was Malfoy.
If Sirius were here…
But he wasn't.
Harry dumped out all the dirt he had scooped into his pot and started filling it with soil from the correct bag, clanging the shovel against the rim angrily.
He had to go and think of Sirius. Not that the memory of his godfather hadn't popped up several times since his death, but it hadn't reared its head since this particular ordeal had started, and he had been quite grateful for that. He didn't need another source of stress and distraction.
He stopped his work as he realized Neville was still standing there, looking at him.
"Was there something else, Neville?"
The other boy glanced down at his shoes as he spoke. "You seem so worried all the time, and none of us"—Harry assumed he was speaking of his other Gryffindor companions, who weren't nearly as close to him as Ron and Hermione—"can figure out why. There… isn't something going on with You Know Who, is there?"
So that's what everyone thought this was about? Voldemort?
Harry snorted. "No. It's just.. some personal matters."
Very personal indeed.
It was well into the day before Harry was reminded that he had Quidditch practice after classes.
Ron approached him in the hall, and they walked together silently for several minutes before the redhead spoke up.
"You're going to be at practice, right?"
Harry's face went completely blank. "Practice?"
"Quidditch practice," Ron clarified slowly. "Don't tell me you forgot."
"Of course I didn't forget," Harry said unconvincingly.
"Good, because we've got that match with Slytherin at the end of the week. We'll need to be in top form."
Harry stopped right where he was. "Slytherin?"
"Yes, Slytherin," Ron said a bit tersely. He turned to Harry, causing several students to be forced to walk around the two boys, shooting them annoyed glances. "Look, Harry. I don't really know what's going on between you and Malfoy, and I'm not sure I want to. But I don't like it. He's making you a mess. Don't you think you've got enough on your plate without dragging that idiot into your life?"
"How can you say something like that," Harry started, becoming aggravated, "when you don't even really know what's going on?"
"Harry, he's going to end up ruining your life, if he doesn't outright take it!"
"He wouldn't do that!"
Ron stared at his best friend disbelievingly. "Why are you defending him? Harry, this is Malfoy we're talking about! Malfoy who's tormented us since first year, Malfoy who treats us like trash, Malfoy who hates my family and calls Hermione a mudblood and wants nothing more than to push your face into the mud and take the spotlight!"
"I can't believe you!" Harry said angrily, his voice rising.
"I can't believe you!" Ron countered. "You like him, don't you? It's true!"
Harry wanted this to stop. He wanted to be out of the hallway and away from this conversation, this argument. He wanted to be away from Ron. "You don't know anything about this!" he shouted.
"Okay then, why don't you tell me about it?"
Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"Well?" Ron persisted.
"… I'm going. See you at practice." Harry started down the hall once again, heading for his last class and trying not to think about why he couldn't answer his friend.
"Harry! Harry!" Ron called after him. But Harry had disappeared into the crowd of students rushing down the halls in desperate attempts to be punctual.
* * *
For this first time in his life, Harry did not want to play Quidditch. He didn't want to see Ron again just yet, and he definitely didn't want to think about playing Slytherin.
But Quidditch matches were in the daytime, right? Would Draco even be able to play?
The improbability of that happening cheered him up a bit, and he continued on his merry way down to the pitch, broom held loosely in one hand.
It was a nice day for practice, he had to admit. The sun had not yet set and its rays crept over the ground, giving everything a warm, golden glow. The air was fairly still, but once in a while a gust strong enough to make flying interesting would whip Harry's robes about him playfully, and he couldn't help but crack a small smile.
He heard Ron's angry shouting before he even reached the pitch. Once inside, he saw his friend, red in the face and surrounded by several other Gryffindor team members, glaring pure spite at what appeared to be, Harry observed dismally, the Slytherin team.
"We have the pitch today!" Ron said heatedly. "I went and booked it myself!"
"Sorry, Weasel," said Blaise Zabini (who had joined at the beginning of the year), "but we're practicing here today. Though I doubt very much we need to." He grinned. "You can go take it up with Madam Hooch if you like."
Ron stomped over to one side, his teammates following him, and Harry realized he wasn't all that mad anymore. Seeing his friend so upset (with someone else) had about wiped the earlier argument from his mind.
"By the time I found her, it'd be dark…" he grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.
"We could use the far end," Harry suggested as he approached. "They can't very well use the entire pitch all by themselves."
"Don't bet on it," Ron replied, looking at Harry. "But I guess it's all we can do."
The Gryffindors picked up their things and headed to the other end, Ron leading them, but Harry had barely taken two steps before a cold hand landed on his shoulder.
"Your team's going to need all the practice it can get with a captain like Weasley," a familiar voice drawled.
Harry turned, scowling. "Ron's gotten loads better over the summer. You just wait for the match. You'll see." He was about to take off, but Draco apparently wasn't finished talking yet.
He flashed a sardonic smile, his hand finding its way back to Harry's shoulder, and said, "I'll see you a little later, Potter. You can count on it." And with that, he went to rejoin his team.
"… Later?" Harry repeated to himself worriedly. "What's later?"
"Harry!"
Ron and the others were waiting for him, so he shook it off and ran over to join them, though not without catching a cocky smirk from Draco out of the corner of his eye. It didn't ease his apprehension.
Practice ran smoothly, not counting a few minor bludger accidents, and as they went into the locker rooms to get changed and clean up, something pushed its way into Harry's thoughts.
The sun had been shining throughout the entire practice. In fact, it had just begun to set when they came in. But Draco had been out there with the rest of them, gliding through the air and watching avidly for the snitch.
How was that possible? Only very old vampires were capable of withstanding any amount of sunlight, direct or otherwise.
He began removing his Quidditch gear, still mulling over this little tidbit. Ron apparently hadn't noticed it either. Then again, Ron had been rather busy. The team wasn't in the best shape, especially for the upcoming match. Ron was worried, as any good captain would be.
Harry looked up from unlacing his cleats as the subject of his thoughts sat down on the wooden bench where his foot was propped up.
"Hey, Harry…"
"Hullo."
"About earlier… I'm sorry," Ron said, looking down at his feet. "I suppose I didn't have any place to say those things."
Harry was silent for a moment, fiddling with his laces hesitantly. "You're right. You didn't. But… I shouldn't have yelled at you. But I can't really explain something that I'm not sure of myself."
"Well can't you at least give it a try?"
"… I guess so. Just.. not right now."
Ron gave a little nod and glanced back at the door. "I'm gonna go on back."
"All right. See you at dinner then."
"See you."
As Ron left, Harry realized that he was alone. Everyone else had already cleaned up and gone, but he'd spent so much time absorbed in his own thoughts that he was running a bit late.
He pulled his shoes and socks off and headed to the showers, draping a towel over one side and stripping off his dirty practice clothes. He turned on the faucet and moved right into the warm water, eager to get cleaned off and leave. Dinner would be served soon and he was already getting hungry.
"You don't know what hunger is, Potter."
Harry jumped and grabbed the towel he had hung over the side of the shower stall, quickly covering himself and turning to face the intruder.
Draco flashed a sardonic smile. "You can count on it."
"Malfoy!" Harry yelled, his face red as he clutched tightly at the towel, knuckles growing pale.
"I'd love to stand here and chat, Potter," Draco said as he stepped into the shower stall, turning off the water, "but I fear I'm about to lose my composure."
Harry's back was against the slick tile wall, and the blonde was only moving closer. Harry took a brief moment to recall the other times he'd been caught between Malfoy and a wall. He did not care for the situation.
"Your… composure?" he echoed.
"I barely made it through today," Draco said honestly, eyes sweeping over Harry in a manner the Gryffindor could only describe as hungry. "You don't understand how hard it is for me to just stand here and look at you."
"Then don't just stand there and look at me," Harry said sharply. "Leave. You don't need to be here anyway, I'm not dressed."
Draco shook his head. "No. I've waited all day… I can't stand it any longer. My veins are burning."
Before Harry could respond, Draco was on him. The vampire's arms were around him, pulling him into a crushing lover's embrace, and Harry dropped his towel in favour of using both hands to try and shove Draco off out of foolish instinct.
"If you want a drink, fine, but not here! Not like thi—" Harry's words stopped quite abruptly as he felt the quick, sharp sting, then the urgent but controlled pull.
For the second time, he was pressed up against a wall with Draco at his throat, draining his life away. For the second time, his hands were clinging to Draco in submission rather than fighting to free himself. For the second time, he didn't care.
His worries passed from him slowly, leaving with the blood, and in its place came the familiar throbbing pleasure.
Draco seemed to be in another world. He had needed this so terribly. He had almost jumped fellow classmates in the halls multiple times throughout the day.
He held Harry as tightly as he could without crushing him, drinking slowly in an attempt to draw the feeling out, but still he felt Harry weakening. He would have to stop soon.
Harry could feel this as well. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he wondered if Draco would take his life.
Oh well… Harry thought distantly. He can have it…
But then the pull was gone.
Draco was still holding him, eyes closed, and Harry was amazed at how blissful he looked. How serene. How human.
The vampire's skin had more colour to it; he looked as he had at the start of term. And he was warm.
Warm. But Harry was so cold…
He felt Draco's soft lips again and he tensed, but only a kiss was pressed to his neck. He shivered. Why hadn't the blonde gotten off of him?
"Draco…" he said meekly, looking off to the side.
He felt another kiss, this time on his cheek. This was getting weird. Malfoy was being sweet on him.
"Harry," Draco murmured. It was so soft Harry wasn't entirely sure he had heard correctly.
"… What do you want?" he whispered. "You got your drink. Leave me alone."
"You're blushing."
Harry pursed his lips, growing angry. "Get off me."
Rather than getting off, Draco slid his arms around Harry and sat on his hips, knees hitting the wet tile on either side. Then, quite without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed Harry, hard.
The first kiss Harry had received from the Slytherin had been abrupt, rough, mocking. This one was… close. Deep. Passionate.
He didn't know what to do. He wanted out of there, but… some part of him was desperate to stay.
He noticed that his arms were around Draco still and thought to move them, but nothing happened. He just sat there, with Draco in his lap kissing him.
While all this was rather suspicious and surprising, Harry found himself in complete shock as Draco bore down on his hips, grinding against him. He also found himself moaning.
If he hadn't been blushing before, he most certainly was now.
Draco's tongue slid past Harry's open lips and into his mouth without warning, exploring almost possessively, and Harry's fingers clutched at Draco's shirt tightly as the vampire put a little more force behind the movement of his hips.
"D… Draco…" Harry breathed as the kiss was broken, eyes shut, "stop…"
"Why?" Draco asked softly, grazing his fangs across Harry's neck.
Harry's hips gave an unwarranted buck and he bit his lower lip, cheeks darkening. He wasn't cold anymore.
"Because… nn.. What do you want?"
"I'm claiming you, Potter," Draco murmured.
"W-what!?" Harry exclaimed, trying to push himself up. "You can't!"
Draco was undeterred. "Can't I?"
"You'd just be doing to me what Corbin did to you!" Harry blurted out.
Draco paused, then smirked faintly. "Only if you say no."
"Harry! Harry, come quick!" Ron. It was Ron. And it sounded like he was just outside.
"Harry!" the redhead called again as he stepped into the locker room. "Are you still in here?"
Harry turned as white as the vampire on top of him as Ron appeared at the entrance of the stall. Ron, however, became as red as a tomato.
"H-harry!?"
Harry tried to cover himself, but Draco was still on him. He didn't seem the least bit concerned about Ron's presence.
Ron was speechless.
"Well don't just stand there like a great prat," Draco said, annoyed. "What do you want?"
"I… uh…" Ron said rather blankly, "up at the castle…" He seemed suddenly to remember why he'd come. "At the castle. Harry, something's happened."