Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything even remotely associated with him. All of this happy wonderfulness belongs solely to JK Rowling until she is hit on the head and decides to will it all to me so I can write the seventh book. I'm praying for that day and am taking requests now for plot twists in the event that it actually does happen. Keep your fingers crossed.

A/N: I'd like to say thank you to the reviewers who voiced concerns about the understandability of chapter one. I don't have a beta, so any help with editing and whatnot is much appreciated. Just to clarify, the first bit of this chapter is a dream. nods The rest is not. And I'll taking a bit of creative license with some of Draco's classmates, I know these people didn't all live at the same time, but in the world of fanfiction, they do. So I hope you enjoy.

Social Vampire

Chapter Two

Through narrowed eyes, Draco watched him. Though the young man didn't know exactly who "he" was, the blade he was revolving through his fingers couldn't be construed as anything more than a not so subtle threat. The weapon looked ancient, but positively deadly in the pale grip. For some reason, though, the filed edge wasn't even irritating the fingers it was being expertly threaded through. The man's eyes came up to meet Draco's and for a moment he was flustered, not expecting the sudden contact or the feeling that he had missed a step while going down the stairs. Startled though he was, he found that he couldn't look away, instead opting to fall farther forwards into them until he felt as is he would never escape again.

"Like what you see?" the man asked, managing to sound both suggestive and bored at the same time. His hand had not stilled. "I suppose you'll want me like all the rest?"

Draco felt a shudder of both revulsion and excitement at the proposition, feeling an irresistible pull towards the creature before him. A low laugh cleared the fog from his mind and he turned his head to see the woman from before. She was dressed simply, yet elegantly, the diamond on her neck the only adornment she needed. Though not traditionally beautiful, being simply more striking than anything else, she was nonetheless remarkable on account of her soft golden curls and the way she carried herself. She stood impeccably straight and moved with an air of both grace and deadliness. It was as if she had grown up in both finishing schools and the art of poison making, delicate, yet more than capable of killing someone and feeling not even the slightest remorse.

"Please disregard the pathetic drivel of my," she paused for a moment as though analyzing her thoughts, "I suppose you could call him my husband." She nodded, mentally accepting it, "Yes, that title will do. Don't pay any mind to what he says, he's only an incubus. They are all libido and no brain."

The man grinned at Draco's carefully school away expression of shock. "What she's trying to say is that I only want to get in your pants," he said pleasantly, one leg pushing himself up from his sitting position to saunter closer to his new prey. "Which is true, so please, feel free to ignore me. Unless you actually want what I'm offering." Draco violently shook his head, ignoring the strange urge to beg him for just that. "I don't care if you don't want it, mind you, I'll take you anyway."

"Asmodai," the woman hissed, her eyes momentarily flashing. "Leave him alone, he belongs to me."

"I get what I want," he reasoned with her. "That's how it's been for centuries now."

"If you take one more step towards him, you die a thousand deaths."

With a mockingly respectful nod he sat back down and resumed fiddling with the almost dagger, now with a sulky look. "As you insist."

"You can't be here." Draco had finally found his voice. "Your kind can't come inside the church." He sounded a bit panicky, even to himself.

"Ah, but there you're wrong," the woman replied smugly. "As you can see, we're all very inside the church, and we're all very much alive. In a manner of speaking, of course."

"And their children may enter into the congregation of the Lord in their third generation," the incubus softly quoted Deuteronomy, his eyes blazing wickedly in the candle light.

"That can't apply to you," Draco gasped. "That was only to a certain set of people," for the life of him he couldn't remember, "and you don't believe in that sort of thing anyway."

"Even the very demons of hell believe in the Christ and they quake and tremble at his name," Asmodai sneered, again spouting scripture to meet his ends.

"You dare to mock the Lord in his own house?" Draco asked incredulously, almost believing that lightning would burst through the ceiling and smite the offensive creature.

"Enough," the woman cut in. "Mr. Malfoy, I'm tired of listening to your voice and Asmodai, your incessant quotations are wearing thin my patience. If we could please settle this affair and be on our way, I would be more than pleased."

"Just say the word, my lady," the incubus drawled, "and I'll gladly turn him for you."

"Fool," she spat. "If you touch him, I will banish you to hell for the rest of your existence. Don't think that just because you belong to me means you have an immunity to my wrath."

"Please," he scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in her general direction. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, don't tempt me," she warned. "Just remember Asmodai, I could have left you to him."

He paled almost imperceptibly, his deathly white color turning into an all out pallor. Yet somehow it still managed to look more than simply attractive on the demon. He was positively radiant with his new found anger. How dare she bring to light such unfortunate times, times that he had spent countless thousands of years trying to bury. For far back in the dark and shadowed recesses of his mind he trembled at the very thought of him, but he refused to give in to her threats. "Fine," he snapped. "I won't touch your pathetic little human."

With a sharp flick of his wrist, the blade he'd been twirling shot across the room and imbedded itself into the soft flesh directly below the right side of Draco's collarbone. The boy let out a choked sound as he was knocked from his sitting position onto his back. The hard wooden pew dug into his spine as he tried not to writhe in his agony. Malfoy's did not show pain. He'd been hurt many times before, but nothing like this. The torture was far too intense, it was more than he could have handled in a hundred lifetimes. In that moment he gave up. He cursed his father, the laughing vampires, the church he was being held captive in, and the very blood that was running tainted and discolored through his veins.

---

Draco rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying hard not to fall asleep at the café table where he sat. Though he was a regular at this particular spot, it wouldn't do for him to fall face first into his morning coffee. The drink had no physical gain for him, it didn't aid in sustaining him in the least, but he enjoyed it still. Besides, it was far too engrained in the weave of his life to be so easily cast aside. Carefully sipping the bitter drink he felt himself relax a bit, the overcast nature of the day making it enjoyable outside even for him. Today might not be half so bad as it had shaped up to be upon awakening. Running late and splitting headaches could be done away with in time, so the day would logically be looking up soon. Except, of course, for school.

Draco let out a slight groan. Today was his first day of school. It wasn't as though he had forgotten. Quite the contrary, really. He'd never been to a public college before and the young Malfoy was more than just a bit anxious about the prospects that it might be bringing him very soon. He had stayed up later than usual the night before because of his nerves despite the promise he'd made to himself to go to sleep early. It was just that it was getting harder and harder to sleep during the night and stay lucid during the day. The light wasn't fatal, but it was unpleasant a great deal of the time. Being conscious during the day went against every natural urge inside him, but he was determined to have as normal of a life as he possibly could, his condition considering. Sleep didn't come easily, and when he finally did drift off, it was into the now familiar world of nightmare visions and snippets of memory.

"At least I remembered this time," the boy mumbled to his rapidly cooling coffee cup, one finger idly tracing the rim. Ever since his transformation, as Draco so delicately referred to it, he'd been plagued by the same returning dream. Usually he couldn't recall it when he woke, instead it chose to be a vague collection of thoughts strung together in orders that didn't make sense. But this time was different. Now he knew every nuance of his dream, every last tiny and insignificant detail. He knew how the candlelight had oozed across the walls, he knew how it felt to charge up flight after flight of stairs only to find yourself ill at ease and wary. There was no aspect of the dream that he didn't understand. Yet he wasn't surprised by any of it. Nothing was out of the ordinary, for the dream ran exactly as the real life event had. His gloved left hand subconsciously drifted up to run over the jacket covered scar the dagger had left behind. Instead of being white like his other minor defects, this one in particular was different. It had healed far more slowly than any other wound he had ever received and upon closing, instead of turning faintly to silver and disappearing, it had turned an angry black that stood out prominently against his pale skin.

He still didn't know why this was. Medically speaking, it didn't seem possible. Then again, he wasn't trained in such things, so for all he knew it could be perfectly normal. He could only assume that the strange discoloration was because right after it had been inflicted, most of the blood that would have gone to healing and clotting was sucked out of him. Draco heard the church bells chime a quarter to the hour and winced as pain shot through his head. That was another thing he didn't enjoy dealing with, the bells. And they were ringing all the time. On the hour and every fifteen minutes, plus every time there was a wedding or a funeral. So basically the damn things never stopped to give him a moments peace. And now they were signaling that he had to be getting off to class before he was late. It would never do to be anything less than punctual on the first day, even if he no longer was a Malfoy.

He took a final sip of his coffee and winced at the now not even lukewarm liquid. It was high time he was off.

---

Draco arrived first to art class. He had learned through the course of the day that it was most prudent to arrive early so he wouldn't get stuck in a bad seat. The previous class had been philosophy and he'd ended up sitting directly in the path of the light streaming in through the window. Needless to say, that had been most unpleasant. But he came to realize that he needn't have hurried quite so quickly, for the room he found himself in wasn't admitting any kind of light.

The windows were all obscured by heavy black drapes, giving the room an almost eerie feel. There were candles in sconces flanking the door and placed sporadically around the room so the students who were yet to arrive could easily see in the absence of natural light. Draco chose a seat near the center of the room, leaving space on either side of him for others to sit. He was in desperate need of some new friends and there was no harm in leaving room around himself to promote that fact.

After a few minutes, people began to slowly filter in through the doors, all looking around curiously at the new setting. Apparently this particular professor was the only one with a penchant for darkness during one of the year's brightest and most inviting months. A boy with smiling eyes came in and immediately made his way to the seat to the right of Draco's.

"Bonjour!" he said brightly, "Is this seat taken?"

"Not at all," Draco replied, pulling the chair out for him and extending a hand, "Please, have a seat. I'm Draco. Draco Espere."

"Henri Matisse," the boy returned, taking the offered hand. "Wonderful to meet you, Monsieur Espere!"

The class room door swung shut with a slam and everyone's heads came up to take in the appearance of their new professor. Draco immediately understood the décor for it matched the man perfectly. Cloaked in black, the only white they could see on the man was his face which stood out in stark contrast to both his clothes and his hair. He had a scowling face, completed with a hooked nose and eyes that looked as though they could tear you apart with the greatest of ease.

"That's the professor?" Draco whispered to his new seatmate, his eyes never leaving the man at the front of the room. "He looks positively terrifying."

"Oui," Henri replied, sounding delighted, "I was hoping it would be him."

"Why, do you have a death wish?"

"No," the boy said with a laugh. "He's positively brilliant, a living legend. That menacing figure is none other than Severus Snape, one of the most renowned artists of our time. His work is marvelous."

Draco's eyebrows rose in the most miniscule fashion. His family had been fortunate enough to have one of the man's paintings and it was one of his personal favorites. It was just strange enough from all the others to really stand out and just dark and twisted enough to make his mother frown at it every time she would walk past, demanding of his father why they kept such a thing in plain view where everyone could see it. The painting was that of a sort of angel type man, though his wings were black and tattered. The man was suspended over a sea of fire by ropes around his wrists that were cutting into his fair skin. Naturally his mother found the whole thing terribly appalling. Draco always fancied that he was a fallen angel being punished for something and would often stop to look at it when he passed.

He was about to voice his impressed sentiments when the professor began to speak.

"There will be no lesson today," he said quietly, demanding the attention from everyone in the room on presence alone. "I merely want you to paint. The only requirement is that it must be a self portrait, nothing more. Begin."

"Oh, splendid," Henri said delightedly as they both began pulling out supplies. "This should be a lovely time."

Draco didn't say anything to this, he was too busy thinking about what he could possibly put down to represent himself. He looked over and saw Henri already smearing red paint across his canvas and lifted his eyebrows in amusement.

"My hair is a bit reddish in some lights," Henri explained with a grin, his paintbrush not stopping. "And this is a wonderful shade, I just couldn't refuse something so appealing."

"Of course not!" Draco said, pulling out a tube of black paint in response. "My hair is quite dark in certain lights."

"That's the spirit!"

The two painted in a companionable silence for quite some time before checking the others progress. Henri had painted a jumble of eye jarring colors, all meshing together to form something that could have very possibly been his face to someone on hallucinogenic drugs. Draco had painted himself off center and all in very dark shades against a solid red background, looking almost as though he were surrounded in a sea of either blood or wine.

"Very good Monsieurs Espere and Matisse," said a low voice from behind the two. They turned around in surprise to see their professor standing over them observing their work.

"Thank you, sir!" Henri said delightedly, thrilled to be singled out by their artistically renowned professor. Draco merely nodded his thanks. His eyes briefly met those of his professor and he was momentarily pulled in, recognizing something in them that he saw in his own every day. It was anger and pain and hope all at the same time yet not there at all. The barest of smiles crossed the man's face and he nodded, acknowledging his pupils epiphany. Draco's face broke into an amazed grin, knowing that he was to be in very good and capable hands. There was nothing to fear now.

"If you'll stay after class for a few moments, Monsieur Espere," the professor said quietly, "I'm sure we can find something interesting to discuss."