Hermione shivered.
The worst thing about the woods at night is what you can't see. A werewolf, a manticore, a lethifold—an actual creature, no matter how terrifying, can be dealt with. It's that rustling on the side of the path, the snapping of a twig, and the infinity of horrible things that could be watching you as you walk, that are truly chilling. And, Hermione thought miserably as she trudged along beside her friends, the smarter you are, the more ridiculously overactive your imagination is.
The woods seemed to be closing in on all sides, and nothing but the dim light of the waxing moon guided them, casting ominous, misshapen shadows on the narrow dirt path they were traveling on. They had been walking for quite awhile since they had disembarked from the train, long since leaving what could pass for civilization. They collectively shivered as a blast of unseasonably cool air whirled across them, igniting a rattling hiss from the pale, flickering leaves around them. The noise strongly reminded Hermione of a Dementor.
Her eyes were drawn to a golden shimmer off in the distance. Hermione's heart leapt. Finally—shelter. She sped up slightly. None of them spoke until they reached the entrance of the building. It was small and square, with tiny, grubby windows so small Hermione wondered if they were intended to let in any light at all. There was a swinging sign creaking above the door. It bore the legend, "The Slaughtered Lamb." They all stared at it.
"Cheery sort of place, isn't it?" remarked Ron dryly.
"Well…" Harry looked around at the darkness surround them. "It's either here—or we keep walking and try our luck farther—"
"Bugger that," said Malfoy loudly.
Hermione sighed. "Let's go in. We ought to be able to find a room, at least."
As they walked through the creaking wooden door, Hermione was immediately assaulted by the similarities between the place and the Hog's Head. Both were full of odd sorts of people, and both seemed to have fallen into a grubby state of disrepair many years ago. Many sets of eyes flew to them as they entered. For a moment, they stood frozen in the doorway, pausing awkwardly as they were carefully scrutinized by the pub's inhabitants.
The pub was about half full, and many of the clientele looked rather pale and gaunt—but that could easily be attributed to the cold, dark, weather of the far north. Hermione had never been to Albania before, and from what she had seen so far, she would not be disappointed in the least if she never returned. Most people wore dark, heavy cloaks, and dark expressions.
They made their way over to a deserted table and sat down. The people in the pub seemed to lost interest in them, and resumed their precious activities of drinking and talking in low voices.
"We should talk to the innkeeper," said Hermione slowly, looking around at the dark atmosphere. "See if we can stay here for tonight." Unpleasant as that notion was, they still had a fair distance to travel and they weren't really positively sure how to get where they were going. From what Hermione had deduced from the diary so far, Ravenclaw's tomb was hidden in a cave on a nearby mountain. Or it was the cave—it was all rather unclear.
"I'll go," volunteered Harry. He departed from the table and headed towards the bar, where a man behind the counter was idly stacking glasses.
"D'you think I could get some Firewhiskey here?" asked Ron excitedly.
"Yes," said Hermione irritatedly. "But why would you want to?"
"I dunno," said Ron, slightly flustered. "Why not? I'm of age."
"Of age means they assume you're old enough to make responsible decisions," retorted Hermione.
000
Merlin's beard. They were arguing again. It was incessant. Draco sighed. He noticed an exhausted looking woman polishing a table near them with a dirty rag.
"Waitress?" he called, raising his hand as though he were back in school.
A few minutes later, she was setting down a bottle of alcohol and a dubious looking glass in front of him. As it landed with a clink, Weasley and Granger stopped arguing and fell silent, which was a rare blessing. Weasley was gawking at him.
"Are you really going to drink all that?" he asked, jaw agape.
"No," said Draco scathingly. "I'm going to take a bath in it. What do you think I'm going to do with it, you git?" Granger was glaring disapprovingly at both of them, but he went to great lengths to ignore her. If he looked at Granger, he would inevitably begin thinking about Granger, and if he thought about Granger—things would get a lot more complicated. It was easier to hate the idea of Granger, and pretend she wasn't an actual person sitting across from him.
"C'mon, share it, Malfoy," said Weasley.
"No."
"You can't possibly drink that whole thing," tutted Granger in what Draco was pleased to hear sounded like disgust.
"Watch me," he replied. He didn't have a whole lot of experience drinking hard liquor, but every once and awhile some alcohol managed to sneak its way into the Slytherin dormitories.
"Gimme some, you prat," Weasley demanded again in a whiny voice.
"No," said Draco, with a satisfied sneer.
"You're evil," grumbled Weasley, drumming his fingers against the smudged tabletop.
"Actually we prefer 'ethically challenged'." He poured himself a drink and swallowed it in one gulp.
"Oh so now you're developing a social conscience?" said Granger sourly, folding her arms.
"As long as it doesn't require me to be nice to people," he smirked, and continued drinking. Potter was still missing. He really, really didn't care. It was actually a bonus.
Weasley continued whining, and Granger continued scolding him.
000
Hermione looked around, frowning. Harry still wasn't back yet. "Where's—"
She caught sight of him. He was heading away from the counter, but not towards his friends. Hermione followed his gaze. Near the far corner of the pub, there was a young girl sitting alone at a table. Above her were two people, a man and a woman. They seemed to be taunting her—or hurting her—it wasn't too clear. The man had a grip on her forearm and was attempting to pull her from her chair. The woman was speaking to her in a low hiss, her words inaudible. The girl, who couldn't have been older that 16 or 17, looked confused and frightened.
Hermione groaned inwardly. Harry was barely a few feet from them now, a look of righteous indignation on his face. She pushed away from the table and hurried towards them, but she was too late—Harry got there first, and immediately began telling them off.
"—should leave her alone," finished Harry, glaring up at the two people in a threatening manner. The girl gave him the same look of wide-eyed curiosity she had grown accustomed to seeing from Luna Lovegood. She looked like she was ready to burst into tears.
The two people Harry was attempting to threaten stared at her incredulously. They did not look intimidated, and they certainly didn't look amused. They searched him with, shining, catlike eyes. Their faces were pale—practically white, they both had dark hair, and bright, intense eyes. After a pause, the woman smiled, revealing a row of pearly white teeth, complimented nicely by a set of pointed canines that caused the color to drain from Hermione's face. Vampires. Oh bloody hell.
"You have no business here, child," said the woman in a cool, silky voice. "Leave."
"I'm not going anywhere until you promise to leave her alone," said Harry defiantly, pointing at the girl. Hermione couldn't tell if she was frightened, or simply confused.
"Harry—" she began in an urgent whisper. Why did he always have to get involved?
The man laughed, his voice a gruff purr. "Leave," he repeated, his voice suddenly dangerous.
"No," said Harry stubbornly. "Not until—" The man suddenly lunged forwards. His movements were so quick and graceful, Hermione hadn't even noticed the change until Harry was staggering backwards, lip bleeding, from where the man had backhanded him across the face. Harry pulled out his wand and aimed it at them, furious.
The couple laughed at him. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm. Vampires were powerfully magical creatures. It would take several wizards to properly subdue one with a wand alone.
"Harry—" she whispered. "Those are vampires."
"That explains it," said Harry evenly. He continued to glare at the vampires, not breaking eye contact. The man idly licked the traces of blood off his hand.
"You're not going to take down two vampires with just one wand—" she hissed in a low voice. In an unfamiliar situation, she reverted to her default behavior—quoting textbooks. "There are several ways to kill a vampire, the most common being a stake of wood through the heart. Equally effective is the use of—"
Harry reached under his cloak and withdrew Gryffindor's blade. "Pure silver," finished Harry, stowing his wand back in his pocket and leveling the sword at the vampires. "I did do quite well in DADA, you know," he pointed out, smiling grimly. The vampires stared at the blade, the laughter quickly dying from their faces.
"Then you'll also remember that vampires are pack creatures and rarely travel—" Hermione stopped. There was a soft rustling sound, as over half the inhabitants of the pub rose soundlessly from their chairs and fixed the sword holding boy with piercing, jewel-bright gazes. Hermione hadn't noticed how deadly silent the pub had become until exactly that second. "—alone," she finished weakly, looking around at the gathered crowd.
000
Granger had wandered off to find Potter. Draco poured himself another glass of whiskey and drank it, exhaling in a short wheeze as the liquid burned it way down his throat. Weasley continued to glare at him, which was annoying. One of the pale inhabitants of the pub, a woman with a waist length crop of blond wavy hair, and glittering blue eyes, slunk over to Weasley and stroked a claw-like finger across his cheek.
"What's your name, beloved?" she purred in a seductive voice. Weasley gawked at her.
"R—Ron," he stammered. She slid her hands around his shoulders, caressing his neck. Fine jewels glittered on her hands.
"Would you like to see eternity, Ron?" she asked in a sultry voice.
"I—er—" Weasley continued stammering. Draco had yet to consume enough alcohol to tolerate Weasley's presence. He had a strong feeling that woman was going to kill Weasley if she got the opportunity, but he really didn't like him very much so it didn't seem like a much of a concern. Rising from his seat, Draco took his bottle of solace in liquid form and his glass to an empty table in a shadowed corner, where he could get disgustingly drunk in peace.
He sighed, staring blankly into his glass. Maybe he needed some different liquor—this batch appeared to be broken. It was supposed to make him feel less horrible, but it wasn't working. He was feeling inexplicably guilty, tired, miserable, and alone. Now he not only felt guilty, tired, miserable, and alone—he was also dizzy and slightly nauseated.
He couldn't think of anything to solve this problem, so he decided to drink more whiskey.
000
"Harry…" said Hermione. They were both being quickly backed into a corner as half the inhabitants of the pub advanced on them in an alarmingly menacing fashion.
"I know, Hermione," he said nervously, leveling the sword in front of them.
"Luma Solem!" shouted a voice. Someone screamed, and Hermione looked over to see Ron hurrying over to stand beside her.
"I think—I almost became someone's late night snack—" he said weakly. He looked quite pale and was adjusting his robes at the collar.
"Well, you're not too late to become someone else's dinner," said Harry, with a sort of grim cheerfulness.
"Bloody hell," said Ron. "Anyone have a plan?"
"Hey, I know. We could die horribly in a pub in the middle of nowhere before we even find a single Horcrux!" said Hermione, throwing up her hands in frustration. "That's the only viable plan I've been able to come up with so far!"
Ron furrowed his brow in frustration, looking around the room. "Well…" he said slowly. "Considering I almost had my throat ripped open, I'd say these are vampires." Harry nodded numbly. "And I actually do remember learning that vampires are highly immune to magic, plus they're already dead for most extents and purposes—so—er—"
"I have a silver sword," offered Harry. "I think that's what set them off in the first place."
Hermione felt her back hit a solid surface. They were now pressed up against the wall.
"OK!" said Ron. "Go—left! And we'll follow behind you. If we both hit them one at a time, we can probably get out that door on the side. Right?"
"Erm—ok," said Hermione, inwardly impressed. She had wondered if Ron's knack for chess would ever be practically applicable to anything other than giant chess boards guarding the Sorcerer's stone. It was reassuring to have a strategy that didn't involve being eaten by a dozen vampires within the next few minutes, however implausible that strategy might be.
She threw a quick glance across the pub towards Malfoy. He was still huddled in a corner, steadily consuming his hard liquor. She frowned. Alcohol—as she had dually noted after observing Sirius's behavior at Grimmauld Place—was not the best way to deal with pain. However, at the present time, that was the least of her concerns.
000
Lucius Malfoy was a powerful man in many senses of the word. He was strong, intelligent, and proud—a capable wizard and a venerable man—one Draco had admired above all others.
Before his father had been taken away to Azkaban, Draco had been allowed to meet with him one final time. The trials were short—practically nonexistent—but they were an influential family and allowances were made. His father had charged him with a seemingly simple task—assume his rightful place as the head of the Malfoy family. Take care of the family's affairs, take care of the estate, and take care of…his mother.
He slumped further in his seat. Merlin, he was a failure.
If there was one thing he had learned, being raised as a Pureblooded wizard—family honor was the most important thing there was. The loyalties of the Malfoy family had lain with The Dark Lord. His father had seen to that. Therefore—Draco's loyalties lie with the Dark Lord. End of discussion.
Draco hadn't regretted that in the least. In fact—he hadn't even thought about it much. A cause which reaffirmed the belief that Purebloods were practically gods and everyone else was filth had actually sounded quite appealing to him at the time. It could be the fact that he was now very drunk—but everything was making less and less sense.
One thing he knew however—the Dark Lord was not his Master. His mother was dead because of the Dark Lord. Whether or not he agreed with the Dark Lord's ideas of blood purity—which he still did for the most part (didn't he?)—family blood had been spilt, and he was honor bound to avenge it, even if it meant killing his former Master.
Master. Draco seethed. The Dark Lord had treated him like a child—like a fool. He was just a pawn, an idiot, something useful in punishing his lieutenant's failures. Draco Malfoy was not a fool, he was not a child, and he was not weak. He was going to prove it, no matter what the cost.
He was, even if it meant allying with Potter and his ilk. And Granger—well—he took another swig of whiskey. How much booze would it take before he stopped thinking?
He yelped suddenly as something landed near his feet. The room was spinning rather extraordinarily now. It was a body—a human body perhaps—but it's porcelain features were rapidly melting away into the appearance of a corpse, dead for several years. He looked over. The Golden Trio seemed to have become embroiled in an impressively violent conflict with at least a dozen vampires. Merlin and Agrippa. Couldn't they just lie low for a single ruddy day?
000
Hermione had met a vampire before, at Slughorn's party. She had even chatted a little bit with him about Mr. Worple's book. The vampire, whose name was Sanguini, had merely nodded and muttered vaguely, all the while staring at her neck. If he had moved his eyes a little lower—he could have taken the place of McLaggen, her charming date that evening.
Sanguini was downright friendly compared to this lot, who were avidly attempting to kill her and her friends.
"Luma Solem!" screamed Hermione, performing the only charm that seemed to do any good. The vampire in front of her hissed in fury, a patch of angry red boils springing up on her perfect, pale cheek. Hermione shrieked as she lunged at her.
Harry and Ron didn't seem to be having better luck. Harry had managed to stab one of them, but immediately looked horrified. The vampires seemed to take that as a sign of weakness, because he was now, pinned to one of the tables, a pair of white hands wrapped around his throat.
000
"Malfoy," choked Potter angrily, at the quite inebriated teen sitting near him. "If it's not too much of an imposition, perhaps you could get off your lazy arse and help us out a bit!"
Draco scowled at him, clutching his nearly empty bottle of alcohol, glass utterly abandoned and probably broken somewhere.
"Sod off," he mumbled. He took another swig of whiskey. They seemed to have the situation under control. They were all alive, only one of the tables was on fire, and they had managed to kill about one twelfth of the vampire population within the pub. "Clean, up your own…bloody…messh," he slurred, swaying in his chair.
Potter yelled, and slashed one of the creatures across the face with a sword. That just seemed to make them angrier.
Draco gave a long suffering sigh. "Fine…" He stood up, or more accurately, pulled himself into a semblance of a standing position. "I'll help, but only because…"
He staggered a few steps forward and then passed out, face first on the floor. Apparently, he had discovered his tolerance threshold for hard liquor.
000
A cool blast of air accompanied the soft creak of the opening door. A man stepped in—at least it looked like a man. He had a human form—but he moved with such liquid grace he seemed almost to be floating. He had a crop of jet black, slicked back hair and tawny, yellowish eyes that flickered like candle flames in the dim light of the pub. He was dressed entirely in black, with a ruby red jewel clasping his long cloak together around his pale neck.
The stranger had such an air of fascination about him. Hermione stared at him for quite a few moments before realizing the pub had fallen absolutely, deadly silent. The fighting had ceased, and everyone was staring at the man, perfectly still.
"What is this?" he asked softly, his voice a low purr. He searched the assembled crowd critically. Someone released Hermione's neck, and she dropped the ground. The vampires were gathering together, looking distinctly terrified. Hermione clambered to her feet and scampered to the side of Harry and Ron, who looked confused but relieved. Harry was looking warily at the stranger who had just entered.
"Lucretia?" asked the mysterious vampire, singling out one of the blond, female vampires. She trembled slightly. Hermione watched in awe as the younger, dark haired girl Harry had been protecting earlier raced over to the stranger and buried her face in his cloak. The girl began speaking in frightened whispers, her voice inaudible. His gaze turned to the three flustered young wizards in the pub. He walked towards them, the girl still hanging on his cloak.
"Mikhala, tells me you were protecting her," said the vampire in his silky voice. Harry nodded, looking uncertain. This man was obviously a vampire. "Mikhala is…new," he offered. He smiled, without showing his teeth. "I fear many of my brood do not welcome someone of her age and…disposition."
"Welcome…?" asked Harry, bewildered. The girl smiled at him, revealing a row of perfect white teeth, and razor sharp incisors. Hermione saw Harry's jaw drop. "You—she's—what?"
"I am Dhmitri," said the vampire. His voice was soft and controlled, but had an air of danger to it. "Forgive me for the lack of hospitability from my brethren." He glanced at the crowd of vampires in the corner, all of whom looked terrified. "It will not happen again." Hermione was quite inclined to believe him.
"I must have a word with them, excuse me…Mikhala— " he addressed the young vampire. "Perhaps you would like to share your gifts with your rescuers." He turned away towards the crowd, cloak fluttering behind him. They shrank away in terror as he approached.
Mikhala smiled at them. She looked slightly off, Hermione noticed, as though she were not entirely sane.
"Gifts?" asked Ron tentatively, obviously wondering if they had actually managed to escape being eaten.
Mikhala looked quizzically at the ground behind Harry. "Friends?" she asked in bewilderment. Hermione followed her gaze, and gasped. Malfoy was passed out on the floor in a drunken stupor. She sighed in irritation. Harry helped her lift him into a chair.
"Ugh…" moaned Malfoy, rubbing his head. "Where's the herd of hippogriffs?"
"What?" said Hermione, confused. "What herd of hippogriffs?"
"The one that ran me over," he groaned.
"Oh, stop whining," scolded Hermione. "You did it to yourself, you drunken git." Malfoy just scowled at her.
"So—er—" The vampire Mikhala was observing Harry curiously, moving his glasses up and down the bridge of his nose to peer directly into his eyes. "What—uh—gifts do you have, Mikh…hala?" Harry asked nervously.
"My mother gave me silver when I was twelve…" she replied in a singsong voice. "She's gone now. So is everyone else. They were very thirsty…and…I can see…" added Mikhala, pointing to one of her glittering blue eyes.
"That's nice…" said Hermione, now quite horrified at the implications of the girl's words.
"That's why. Why I am. Things speak to me, and I listen." She climbed up onto one of the tables and peered into Harry's face. "It's in you," she said, cocking her head and frowning. "You're running around in circles."
Ron looked at Hermione. "What the bloody hell is going on?" he hissed.
"I—I think she's a Seer," said Hermione slowly. She was rather doubtful of the authenticity of such a claim, as far as Divination went. This girl seemed rather insane, but Hermione felt a great swell of pity for her. Was she a Muggle? Had the vampires killed her family?
"Oh…" said Ron, as the girl crawled towards him, over the table top. She caressed the air in front of him with a graceful white hand.
"It's a key," she whispered in his ear. "But don't tell them I told you, that's cheating." She whispered something else in his ear that Hermione couldn't hear. Ron looked rather confused and distressed.
The girl moved towards Hermione, smiling. She leaned close to her ear and whispered. "He'll follow you, you know. To where you're going. To the ends of the Earth." She looked quizzically at her. "Is that what you want?"
Hermione was lost for words. "I…" The girl scooted away.
000
The girl leapt towards Draco, observing him inquisitively. He was sitting up, gripping the back of his chair, his eyes closed. He opened them to find his vision obscured by a pair of large, bright eyes.
"He'll come for you," the young girl said softly. She placed a finger under his chin. "But you've already made up your mind, haven't you?"
Draco swatted her hand away. "Bugger off," he said sourly.
The tall vampire returned. The rest of the vampires had fled the pub, obviously intimidated. Draco decided he liked this creature. The younger, female creature dashed over a table and hid behind his cloak.
000
"It would now seem that I owe you a debt of gratitude," said Dhmitri.
"Oh—" said Harry, quite flustered. His attempt to be noble was rapidly spiraling into a moral grey area. "It was just—"
Dhmitri shook his head. "No. I will repay you. What is it you seek, in the northern lands?"
"We could use a place to stay for the night," offered Ron, staring warily at the vampire's mouth.
"There will be suitable lodgings for you here," he replied. "But it is not enough."
He reached under his shirt and drew out a sickle sized silver pendant on a delicate chain. He handed it to Harry.
"This is my insignia," he said softly. "Wear it as a sign of my debt to you. As long as you are here, you are under my protection. No one would dare harm you in your travels through my lands."
"Er—thanks," said Harry weakly.
Dhmitri smiled in satisfaction, revealing his fangs for the first time. "Good luck on your quest, my young friends." He moved to the door with the same sort of casual elegance. "Come, Mikhala," he called. The young vampire scampered to his side, pausing for a moment in the doorway.
"What does he taste like?" she asked, staring at Hermione. Hermione gawked at her, startled.
"Mikhala," he repeated. She smiled secretively, then disappeared, leaving all four of them very shaken and confused and alone in the empty pub.
000
AN: I thought Ron should do something useful in this chapter. I felt bad for making him such an idiot. He is an idiot, but in an endearing sort of way. Also, Draco getting smashed was entertaining to me, I hope no one was offended. And in case you didn't guess, number three seemed to be a popular choice. Sexy vampires!
And in this chapter, Draco decides where his loyalties lie. Mostly they lie with himself, but it's a start. He's still arrogant and sarcastic, but not really evil, and he's a bit more mature. I think. Oh well. I think he's sexy, which is why I'm writing this fic in the first place.
If you hated the vampires, don't worry, they probably won't be showing up again ever. I hope they weren't too annoying.
Pandas rule the world: They will become allies, but not really friends. They'll be friendly (snarky) enemies fighting on the same side, lol.
Here's my (Gryffindor777) fanfiction parody tribute to this chapter:
Draco was angst. He drank an entire bottle of Firewhiskey to show how he was dying inside. Then Harry killed vampires. Draco decided that he loved Hermione, and he loved gooey, fluffy goodness, and they all lived happily ever after and had lots of children and Lucius decided to be good too. And Voldemort died. The End.
No? Well, you'll just have to wait until next chapter then, hahaha.
THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED! OMG, so many! I hope I didn't disappoint! Peace out. I'll try to update soon.