Draco drifted in and out of consciousness for several days—or, at least, what he assumed to be several days. The room never seemed any brighter or darker. Every so often he would wake and sense a presence in the room with him, someone sitting beside his bed or in the arm chair across the room. He didn't speak to them, nor they to him. The silence was thick and secure; he relished in it.

He didn't see Potter again for a while. It was always Remus or Tonks that sat with him. After a while, they began their attempts to coax him into conversation or get him to drink from the cup they held. He refused to do either, unwilling to face the situation head on through words or action.

Draco had heard stories of vampires, had studied them, even, when he was in school. He knew the signs—pale skin, dark circles under the eyes, cold to the touch. He also knew that newborn vampires were extremely sensitive to light—more so than their more experienced counterparts—and that they needed nourishment every few hours to survive. At the rate he was going—if he really was a vampire—he wouldn't survive the week.

'For the best, I suppose,' he thought to himself one evening as he pretended to sleep. (Tonks had been peppering him with feeble attempts at conversation since she had relieved Remus an hour earlier.) 'Better to live no life at all than this cursed half-life.'

Harry Potter paced his sitting room, pissed beyond reason.

"Why does he have to stay here?" he spat, glaring at Remus who sat across the room.

"He doesn't have anywhere else to go, Harry," Remus replied quietly. "The Death Eater's obviously have it out for him—Voldemort doesn't order vampire attacks on whim. It's risky, sending them out."

"Alright, so he needs protection—but why do I have to be the one protecting him? I never offered my house to be sanctuary for Death Eaters—"

"Draco is a clean man, Harry, and you know it."

"Fine!" Harry roared, throwing himself moodily onto the sofa. Remus sighed and moved to sit beside the boy.

"I know you and Draco have had a difficult past, but this is the perfect time to move past it all. There are limited people we can trust nowadays, Harry. We need all the allies we can get. He's in a vulnerable position right now—totally at our mercy. He's scared. He won't drink the donor blood we've been offering him, and at the rate he's going he won't last much longer unless we get some sort of nourishment into him."

"Isn't there some way you can force it into him?" A pointed look was all it took for Harry to groan and run a hand through his hair. "You're right, that was stupid. So what do we do?"

"There is a potion that acts as a blood replacer for vampires, but it's complicated. We'd need an expert."

"You aren't suggesting…"

"I am. I'm afraid he's our only option."

"Great."

"Good evening, Nymphadora," a deep, chilled voice said from the doorway. Draco's eyes shot open at the familiar sound. But what was he doing here? Draco turned to look into the black eyes of Severus Snape. In his hand he held a vile-looking potion—a sickly acid green colour that looked as though it would burn its way down the throat of the poor bastard who tried to drink it. He had a bad feeling he was about to be said bastard.

"Good evening, Draco," Severus greeted, sitting on the edge of Draco's bed. The blonde pushed himself up into a sitting position, his back against the wooden headboard. He eyed the potion in his former potions master's hand warily. Severus must have read the question in his eyes. "Clever little potion, this," he said, gazing fondly at the bottle. "Rather like the Wolfsbane, it aids in calming the more wild instincts of a vampire. It's a supplement that will give nearly the same nourishment to vampires as blood. Though the taste is far worse, I might guess." He uncorked the bottle and offered it to the blonde. "Drink up."