Blood of the Enemy :
Crimson
Draco was wasted. Very wasted. He raised his bottle of Firewhiskey and drank again. He had just received news that his mother had died the night before. Of grief, they had said. Because of Lucius in Azkaban, doomed to a life of dementors and insanity. Loneliness, mourning and impending depression had finally seized her and led to her suicide.
Draco couldn't care less about his father. But ... his mother was different. She had regarded him with pride; with love. His father had just wanted him to become Voldemort's slave, like him, and rise to power. To become his right hand man, his trusted confidant.
Draco snorted. His father could Avada Kedavra himself and Draco wouldn't bat an eyelid. Fool of a man. He took another swig of mead, feeling it dull his senses.
He was in the Hog's Head. It was the middle of the semester. Dumbledore had allowed him out for the night – to 'calm himself down', he had said.
Well, he was bloody well calming himself down like this. Draco looked at the bottle in his hand, bleary-eyed. It was now empty. Scowling, he threw it to the floor, where it shattered, scattering emerald glass. The bartender glanced up sharply.
"Oi, you bloody kid! You clean that damn mess up!" he growled.
Draco smirked drunkenly at him. "What if I don't want to?" he said mockingly.
The bartender looked ready to explode. He started menacingly forward towards Draco's table, swearing furiously, armed with a broom.
The other customers had glanced up at the first sign of trouble, but by now had obviously lost interest and gone back to their drinks, unperturbed. The bartender beating someone up for soiling his already filthy premises was apparently not an uncommon incident.
Just when Draco was sure he was about to get knocked unconscious by the raving bartender, a darkly cloaked figure stepped smoothly in the man's path, shielding Draco placidly. From what Draco could make out in his drunken state, the intervener was pale skinned, with hair of the black night.
"No need to get so upset," the stranger said softly.
What happened next made Draco frown and sober up a little.
"...Yes, no need for me to get so upset," the bartender recited blankly, stopping in his tracks, eyes curiously glazed over. His arms dropped limply to his sides. The wielded broom fell to the floor.
"Nothing happened here," the stranger said, smiling.
"Nothing happened here," the bartender agreed, still wearing that strange, hypnotised look.
"You should go back to your business." Still smiling.
"I should go back to my business." The bartender turned away and walked back to the counter, looking perfectly normal. He busied himself, wiping off a glass.
Draco looked suspiciously from the stranger to the bartender, still frowning and now nearly fully sober. Then, the stranger turned around and sat down at Draco's table.
"Good day," he said cheerily, friendliness etched in every line of his face. "Mr. Malfoy," he added.
Draco regarded the stranger warily. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than himself. He was exceedingly good-looking, Draco had to admit.
"Who are you, and how do you know my name?"
"Just call me Mikel," the stranger-now-known-as-Mikel said easily, still smiling happily. "Would you like to continue this conversation in my rented room upstairs? I have a rather sensitive nose, and all this dust and dirt is, I'm afraid, getting the worst of me."
Draco was forcibly reminded of numerous prostitution scenarios. And, somehow, he didn't think the rooms in the Hog's Head would be any cleaner than where they were now. Mikel was obviously lying through his impossibly white, game show host teeth. But he figured he was safe, seeing as he was ... male, and a trained wizard. Unless ...
"You're a very queer man, aren't you?" Draco said, imitating Mikel's preppy tone. He snickered to himself, wondering whether Mikel got his cryptic question about his orientation.
Mikel raised an eyebrow, smirking. "No, I shouldn't think so. Now, my nose is now getting quite disagreeable with me - " Here he paused to insert a mock sneeze. " - so if you wouldn't mind ... my room?" Mikel once again displayed those perfect, even teeth.
Draco obliged, deciding that he didn't really care even if this guy was a psychotic serial killer slash rapist. He was feeling reckless and brushed away all hesitation and doubt.
When they reached Mikel's room, Mikel sat down in a large, ratty armchair, and motioned for Draco to take the seat opposite him. A single light bulb hung from the crumbling ceiling, providing mediocre light and flickering at intervals.
"What am I here for again?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow appraisingly.
Mikel no longer had an incessant grin plastered on his face. He now looked deadly serious, and – Draco noted – quite dark, looming in the shadows. A side of Draco was now fervently regretting having agreed to come up – yet the other side was still morbidly fascinated by this mysterious, unknown being.
"Mr. Malfoy, I am here to make you an offer," Mikel said quietly. Draco waited silently for him to continue.
"It is an opportunity given to very few, only to those who are deemed worthy. It promises great power, and can have a very great impact on the lives of those who accept."
Draco shifted in his seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Mikel got up and walked over to Draco, looking at him with striking blue eyes.
"Mr. Malfoy ... I was sent here. Sent here ... to make you a vampire."
Hearts jumped. Eyes widened. Throats closed. Draco stared.
He was completely, utterly shocked. "A ... vampire?" he croaked, barely audible, his brain screaming disbelief.
"Yes, a vampire." Mikel moved back to his own armchair. "But not an ordinary vampire, no." His icy, pale blue eyes bore into Draco's grey ones. "The kind of vampire that does not bear the weaknesses of normal ones – the kind that can walk in sunlight, resist the Holy Cross ... and yet has all the powers of an ordinary one."
"I – I didn't know anything like that existed," Draco managed, forcing the words out.
Mikel let a cool smile pass over his lips. "We don't exactly go around advertising it on shiny, flashy blimps and kids' cereal boxes. It is better to be unheard of and safe than to be feared and hunted."
"But – how was the first of ... your kind made, if you're not like normal vampires?" Draco could hear his blood coursing through his body, thumping in his ears.
"By the birth of a child, with the mother of vampire blood and the father of a werewolf."
"...But – why? That ... doesn't make sense!"
Mikel had been examining a hole in the cushion of the armchair, but he glanced up when Draco spoke.
"Sorry, what did you say? You really shouldn't mumble like that, can't hear a thing you're saying."
Draco repeated his statement slowly, feeling a little annoyance spark.
Mikel shook his hand beside his ear in a 'no-go' gesture and leaned back lazily into the armchair. "Nope, sorry, no idea what you're talking about."
Draco scowled. Idiot.
"So, what do you say, Mr. Malfoy?" Mikel asked, raising a brow. "Do you want to join us? Do you want to come to the - shall I say ... dark side?"
Draco hesitated. The reality of the offer still had not caught up to him. Everything seemed surreal; dreamlike. Then a suspicious thought struck him.
"But ... why me? Of everyone out there ... why me?" Draco said confusedly.
Mikel smirked. "Well, you see, we Meta-Vampires – or whatever you want to call us – are very select about who we allow to join our ranks. There is just one condition you have to meet, though it is extremely difficult to do so."
"And ... what would that be?" Draco said hesitantly.
"You have to be – well – heartbreakingly beautiful."
This superficial revelation caused Draco's eyebrows to disappear into his fringe.
"...Heartbreakingly ... beautiful?" he said slowly, not entirely sure he had heard right.
"Yes," Mikel answered, shrugging. "I mean, you wouldn't exactly want horribly trollish people going around at night sucking people's necks." He shuddered, as if repulsed at the thought. "Of course, normal vampires aren't that picky, but then again they're weaklings compared to us. So, actually, it's considered very flattering if you are given the opportunity to be one of us."
Draco was still doubtful. "But ... how did you get my name?"
"Oh, we picked up a phone book, jabbed at a random spot on the page with a stick and got a picture off the Internet to check if you were worthy."
Seeing Draco's utterly blank look, Mikel rolled his eyes. "That was a joke. Pureblood, eh? No, actually we noticed that article in the Daily Prophet about your mother having ... passed on. Didn't you see it? There was a picture of you there, and Rosetta and Jaiden both thought you were good enough, so they made me come and get you. Lazy slobs," he added under his breath. Looking up into Draco's eyes, he frowned. "Aren't you convinced yet? Most people would kill to be amongst us, and here you are, still having a friendly debate with your moral rights."
He had obviously sensed Draco's painfully apparent lack of conviction and battle of doubt. Mikel got up and moved over to Draco's side, so quickly that it almost seemed like he had apparated.
"Think of the power ... None of the weaknesses, but all of the perks ... Teleportation, immortality, regeneration, godly strength, mind control, telekinesis..."
Draco's head began to spin. He wanted this, God he desperately wanted it. Yet, the thought of taking – sucking the blood out of people made him cringe. But he wanted it. And he decided.
"Alright," Draco muttered breathily. "Yes ... yes."
Immediately, Mikel yanked him out of his chair and backed him up against the wall. Draco was surprised. Mikel had him helplessly pinned, displaying the extent of vampire powers. His breath came heavily, bending hungrily over Draco's neck. Draco felt teeth graze his smooth, pale skin, yet not marking it; as if the vampire was taunting him.
Draco could feel Mikel exhale, his breath chilling. Mikel had his arms pressed tightly against the wall, his touch so impossibly cold that it seized Draco's muscles, making them stiffen. He closed his eyes and waited.
It happened quickly. Draco felt a sharp, piercing pain as Mikel broke through his skin. His cold, damp lips met the surface of Draco's neck, drawing blood. Draco could feel it coursing through his body, leaving him light-headed, slightly weak – yet exhilarated. His heart pounded in his chest; he could hear it. Then, Mikel stopped and drew back, a telltale smear of blood decorating his pale lips. He licked it off with his tongue, icy eyes meeting Draco's. Draco found himself missing the sinful sensation of his blood being taken away from him.
Then, Mikel sank his protruding fangs into his own wrist. Draco was startled; he hadn't been expecting it. Two tiny beads of blood formed on the surface of Mikel's skin. He held his wrist up to Draco's mouth, still looking into his eyes.
He had not been told, but Draco knew what to do. He slid his mouth over the wound, slowly drawing the vampire's blood into his body. At first he recoiled from the coppery, metallic taste, but soon he found himself craving more, drinking ravenously.
Then, Mikel pulled away, although reluctantly. "That's all you need," he said quietly. "Now, you are a vampire."
Draco had almost forgotten the purpose of the blood exchange. But ... he could sense the difference. He could hear better, he could see perfectly clearly even in the dim light. He felt stronger, so immune; completely in control. Draco remembered his punctured skin, and instinctively raised a hand to his neck. But he found that the wound had since healed.
Mikel was watching him, a smirk forming on his face.
"Yes, nice, isn't it?" he drawled. "Now, sit down, I have a few things to tell you."
Draco slid into his seat reluctantly. He was itching to experience his newly gained powers.
"Okay, about blood-taking," Mikel said in a business-like tone. "Vampires just have to take a little more than your average Red Cross donation maybe once a day or less – you'll know when you can stop."
Draco had no idea what the Red Cross was, but he tilted his head up in acknowledgement anyway.
"Your powers – you'll figure them out as time passes. Now, here's the important part. Since we are not susceptible to normal vampire killing methods, the only way to kill us is by taking off our heads; and anything relative to extremely grievous harm. Also, vampires can only feel the harshest of temperatures, so you won't really be needing extra insulation other than your skin come winter. But we find it best to go along and put on a jacket or something anyway. Walking around in a blizzard with only a single shirt on is bound to arouse suspicion."
Draco tilted his head again – his equivalent of a nod.
"And before you can convert anyone into one of our kind, you have to seek the opinions of at least three other vampires. Drop me an owl and I'll arrange it. But bear in mind we have very high standards, so be selective."
Draco snorted inwardly. Heartbreakingly beautiful? He seriously doubted the odds of finding someone who met that requirement at Hogwarts – besides him, of course.
Mikel, as if he had read his mind, raised a raven brow amusedly.
"You can teleport back to your school. It's different from apparation, so the barriers won't affect your ability to emerge in the grounds."
With that, he turned and swept away, but paused and looked back in the doorway, smirking sarcastically.
"Oh, one more thing. Have fun."
Wee. I've been dying to write this for ages. :) Also, I couldn't resist slipping in a few obvious Star Wars and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory references. Heh, I'm such a goon. :P Currently, I'm concentrating on other stuff, but I will update this if I have time. Yes, this is a DM/HG fic. Hah, now their love is even more forbidden! XD Oh, and join the dark side! We have cookies!