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Blood Price

Chapter 5: Pale and…Patricide?

(A.N.) Okay, so here's chapter five, after an incredibly long time that I appologize for. A big thanks to all readers, especially the reviewers, and to my beta, Serpent of Slytherin. Um, please enjoy!

oOo

She looked so fragile lying on the pallet, her skin barely a different color that the bleached white sheets. Madame Pomfrey was bending over her, worry creasing her brow. The woman smoothed back Samara's ebony hair, murmuring soothing nothings to the unconscious girl.

This is all my fault. Or at least mostly my fault.

I should've just left her the hell alone, but I just couldn't help myself. Samara is just so…wantable. She's cold and keeps herself distant from others. She's mysterious and, Merlin, she is fine. A pretty face and a strong personality.

I just wanted her.

And I usually got what I wanted.

Everything except Samara. She was just…just so stubborn and independent, making her vastly different than the other girls in Slytherin.

Madame Pomfrey glanced back at me, noticing I was in the room for the first time. "Mr. Malfoy? Can I help you with something?"

"Just coming in to check on Samara," I answer casually, folding my arms across my chest and leaning against the door frame.

The nurse sighed and magicked a chair over next to Samara's bedside. "She's just fainted, Mr. Malfoy, nothing to fret about. Miss Shoreglade has just been overwhelmed. All she needs is some undisturbed rest," she said, looking at him pointedly. She glanced down as Samara whimpered in her sleep and sighed, "Poor dear, she's been having such terrible nightmares since she came in."

About what? She never… Never mind, even if she would've told someone, she wouldn't have told me of all people. Samara hated me. Which was infuriating since I wanted to shag her silly. Very, very frustrating, really.

I sat down in the chair and leaned on the edge of her mattress with my elbows.

Madame Pomfrey watched us for a while, and then walked into her office. She paused, though, at the door. "If the Headmaster or Professor Snape comes to see her, I'd advise you to give them some privacy, Mr. Malfoy. And do not disturb her," she threatened as an afterthought.

Like I would stay in the same room with bloody Snape. I had no desire whatsoever to get my ass chewed by that prick. Nor was I about to wake Samara up. She'd throttle me.

Pomfrey's door closed with a decisive snap, and I was left alone with Samara. Too bad it was not the circumstances I would have rathered. Staring out the long window next to her cot, I stroked her black hair back from her sweaty forehead absently. The minutes passed by slowly and in silence.

"What…the fuck…are you doing?"

Jumping, I looked down into Samara's dark green, very awake eyes.

Covering up my surprise, I greeted her, "Good morning," I smirked, "Awake are you?"

"What do you think, asshole?" she snapped, half-shouting, "Now why, in Merlin's name, are you petting me!"

I continued to pet her head, smiling. "Um…I love you?"

She smacked my hand away and sat up shakily, looking extremely tired. "Try again." Her voice was low, chilly.

And slightly familiar.

"Just trying to comfort you," I said, grinning wider in the face of her icy anger.

Samara glared at me, eyes flashing like glacier pieces. "The hell, you were trying something."

"Would I do that?" I asked, giving her my best angelic expression.

"You tried earlier, Malfoy. And failed miserably might I add," my fellow Slytherin growled.

Damn, she didn't need to remind me. It was embarrassing enough without that. Hell, I even feel bad about it. Sighing, I said, "I am actually here to talk to you about that. I wanted to apologize." The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I never apologize, not anyone for anything. A Malfoy doesn't apologize; we do as we please and to hell with everyone else.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" she asked me irritably. "Gah, never mind. Fuck you, Malfoy," she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. My eyes followed the movement, taking in her thin body. I almost frowned. The girl needed to eat more. She was too thin, almost emaciated. Her wrists were barely more than bones covered by paper thin ivory skin.

But, damn, I still thought she was gorgeous!

"Well," I drawled, smirking seductively, "you are already in the bed." If she wouldn't accept a sincere (gasp) apology, then I was just going to have to be my insufferably charming self.

She blushed. Merlin, she blushed! So there was something inside that pretty, cold shell of hers.

"See, Severus?" an amused voice commented, "She is perfectly fine."

Oh, bloody fuck.

Turning to find Snape and Dumbledore standing at the foot of the bed, I tried to force my heart out of my throat and back into my chest where it belonged. How the hell had they done that?

"Why won't you people just leave me alone!" Samara screeched practically in my ear, "Get the fuck away from me!" She huddled against the metal headboard, looking rusty daggers at all of us. If looks could kill…

Dumbledore strode over and stood opposite me next to her cot. The old, kooky man laid a aged, liver spotted hand on her shoulder, speaking softly, "Samara, you need to try and move forward. That's all we can do. They wouldn't want you dwell on it." Samara appeared as if she was going to protest, but Dumbledore continued, cutting her off, "No. If you continue to dwell on the past, it will tear you apart." His blue eyes twinkled as he added, "And please refrain from lewd language. It's neither polite nor flattering for a young girl."

Samara set her mouth in a thin line and looked away. "I already have a little voice in my head, Professor. I don't need you as another one." Her voice wavered slightly.

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged glances.

I had a feeling that I was missing something. Something important.

"Samara, have you been hearing voices?" the Headmaster asked gently.

Voices?

"Of course not," she denied, mumbling, hair shadowing her face. She shifted her left leg, the one closest to me, away from Dumbledore. It was the same type of movement she had made when she'd wanted to keep her self-sliced up arms from view.

Now I know why she hadn't been cutting her arms and wrists.

Moving mast, I grabbed her shoulder with one hand and pulled back her gray skirt, revealing fine and numerous lines that crisscrossed her upper leg. "I knew it!" I exclaimed quietly.

"Leave me alone!" Samara lunged at me, pulling back her hand to slap, or punch, me. Presumably in the face.

I caught her wrists and moved behind her on the pallet, restraining her as she struggled furiously. Crossing her wrists and my arms over her chest, I pulled her back against me, causing her still.

Merlin, she felt good!

Leaning forward, Dumbledore inquired, "Does this voice tell you that pain will chase away your grief and loneliness?"

A small, meek nod.

"What if I told you," the old Headmaster said, "that you aren't alone?"

Snape gave him a sharp look. "I don't think—"

"She needs to know, Severus." He turned back to Samara. "My dear, your father, your true father, is Severus."

What!

She stiffened in my grasp. "W-what?"

"Severus is your father," Dumbledore repeated gently.

"Please release me, Draco." Samara's voice was perfectly calm. Polite and blank. She'd even used my name.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I told her, frowning.

"Please?"

Damn it, I couldn't resist.

Slowly, I let her go, reluctant to allow her to get off me. She leaned forward and swung her legs off the bed. Snatching something discreetly off the bedside table, Samara stood and walked up to Snape briskly, stopping directly in front of him.

Was it just me, or did something feel off about this whole thing? A bad feeling coiled sourly in my stomach.

"You…" the midnight-haired girl whisper, raising her stick-like arm.

Snape, Dumbledore, and I had a split second to realize she was holding her wand. I leaped off the bed, Dumbledore pulled out his own wand, and—

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" she roared.

Blood spurted and Snape went down. I grabbed Samara from behind before she could cause more damage. She struggled wildly, flailing left and right.

"You bastard!" she shrieked at Snape as Dumbledore knelt down to mend him. The wounds closed instantly. "This is all your fault!"

Madame Pomfrey burst out of her office, demanding wildly, "What are you doing to my patient!"

"You fucking SON OF A BITCH!" Samara continued relentlessly, not heeding Pomfrey's entrance, "I'll rip you apart! THEY KILLED THEM BECAUSE OF YOU!" Her struggles began to lose power. "They're dead because…because of you…" Her voice tapered off into harsh and violent sobs.

Oh fuck. I didn't know what to do with a hysterical female. Well, besides screwing her that is.

The nurse fluttered uncertainly as Dumbledore helped Snape. Examining my Potions teacher carefully, I picked out familiar features that also appeared on Samara's much more attractive face. I could only find four of them: the nose, albeit it was much less prominent on Samara; the solid black hair, except that Samara's was shiny as opposed to greasy; the prominent facial bones that made Snape skeletal, but Samara pretty; and, finally, that cold, piercing gaze. Yeah, that was the one thing they shared down to a tee.

Well, I guess that explains why she seemed familiar sometimes: she had moments where she used Snape's "look".

Samara shook with anger in my arms, sobbing and muttering things in a black rage.

Snape sat up slowly, and Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey hovered next to him.

So much for a happy bloody reunion.

oOo

(A.N.)Well, that's it for now. Stayed tuned for chapter six! Please review! I won't update if I don't get enough reviews!