Author's Note: Oh, hello again. I'm going to be busy with Seasons of Love, so I figured I'd just update this a day early before I forgot completely about it. Things start to get interesting in the next chapter, I swear. But for now, here's chapter five. In any case, enjoy the Harry angst.
Chapter Five
Harry pulled himself up, and just sat in his bed, staring at the wall. Every muscle ached, a dull thudding filling them. His jaw hurt. Not to mention how bad his teeth were… Just thinking about it – he slid back down – his fingers squeezing at them. There was a constant sharp pain, as if someone was trying to grab his mouth, compress it, and shatter his jaw.
Running his tongue over his incisors again, blood rushed inside his mouth, and he moaned at the feeling. It didn't taste quite satisfying, but he knew that a package soon had to arrive with blood in it. His was metallic and sweet, but it had such little effect on his thirst. It was like eating a single strawberry after three days of starvation. The taste was glorious – it exploded in his mouth – yet he was left almost thirstier than before, craving more.
Ron, Hermione, and Luna had decided to take turns donating blood. Harry had first refused, disgusted by the thought. They were his friends; he couldn't drink their blood! He had locked himself up in his room, refusing to do anything. A vial of blood Hermione had brought lay on the counter. In her terms it was "in case he was desperate." She said it as if it was inevitable.
Sure enough, it was.
After four days, he was left a shivering mess. A single moment longer and he had been sure he would lunge out of his house. All it would take was one bite. Or two. Fuck, he didn't even know those people. Would it be such a big deal if he was to kill a few? It would only be a handful. He could stop after two or three.
The idea of blood dripping down his throat was irresistible. He had managed to weakly pull himself up, and stumble out of the room. Harry barely had enough energy to make it to his living room, and when he did, he could smell the vial. The scent hit him like a brick wall, and stars flew behind his eyes. He attempted a half-lunge across the room, but found himself collapsing to the ground. His body shook, almost unable to support itself, and he knew he needed that blood in order to survive.
The cork popped open, and he downed the blood in a single gulp. Every taste bud sang in delight. Everything had seemed grey and suddenly bloomed into colour in that split second. The world seemed to light up, blues and greens and yellows and oranges springing up in everything around him. And reds – fuck – they were beautiful, and all over. Everything inside the room seemed to have red in it.
But that was unimportant. It didn't bother him as much has it should have. He had what he needed. The warm liquid oozed, and he licked his lips, making sure he didn't miss any spare drops. It was fucking fantastic. Harry, almost drunk from it, paused.
That had definitely been Ron's blood. Something about the taste had alerted him. It was slightly sharp and powerful, which, he wondered, how it fit Ron. Harry couldn't help but notice that it fit his personality to a certain extent. Ron never was to take things particularly lightly. When he felt a certain way, he truly felt that way. Harry was reminded of fourth year, when Ron's anger had gotten in the way of their friendship. He massaged his temple, and sighed. That hadn't had been fun.
In any case, Harry decided that it wasn't worth the risk, and gave into their wishes. If they wanted to donate their blood to him, that was fine. At least that way he was sure he wouldn't jump someone on the street. At least, it was a lot less likely that he would. And there was really no risk involved. It only made Harry feel slightly nauseous thinking about it. Other than that, any blood was good blood to his vampire instincts.
Every third day, another vial arrived. By the end of the second day, he was practically counting the seconds until the next day came. It was an insatiable thirst. He thought he might get used to it, but every time it came back just as powerfully, and when he felt that liquid slide down his throat, an unusual warmth came with it, like a glass of super-champagne.
Yet even after the blood, something still tugged inside of Harry. His fucking mate. Any ease that the blood had caused vanished within a second. Just one thought about that gorgeous blond git made him shiver. His mate – Harry still couldn't wrap his mind around it.
Still, Malfoy had been invading his dreams. Every time he woke up, Harry awoke gasping, afraid that he had – Gods forbid – actually killed Malfoy. No matter how perfect every dream started out to be – and some certainly weren't far from perfect – they always ended the same way. Malfoy would be kissing his neck, or maybe it was the other way around, and Harry would slowly sink his teeth into the first bit of flesh he could reach. It was irresistible. He would tell himself he'd only have a few gulps. Just enough to satisfy himself…
Yet it never worked out that way. The moment it hit his mouth, the animal within him broke loose and took control. No sane thoughts were possible. He would hold Malfoy down, ignoring the blond's pleas, and take mouthful after mouthful of blood. This fingers would tear at Malfoy's clothes, and then –
It was only then he would notice that Malfoy wasn't moving any more. Malfoy would continue lying still, and Harry would quickly try to do something, anything! But nothing worked… Malfoy would always be lifeless. There was nothing he could do. The monster within him would swell, and he vowed revenge, even if he knew that he was the one who had –
If he couldn't be happy, then no one could. Harry would growl, lunging out of the room.
And then wake up. He felt flushed every time, weaker, worse. And for fifteen minutes afterwards, his head would spin as he repeated to himself that Malfoy was still alive. Thinking about it was enough to make him angry. How the fuck was he going to do anything with Malfoy as his mate?
"Fuck!" Harry's hands formed fists, and he crumpled to the ground. He knew that blood wouldn't be enough after a while. If he didn't see his mate, get some sort of contact, he would deteriorate. He would be nothing. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He would still be alive, but barely so. And the pain he was sure he would feel… Weak, unable to move – it wasn't the sort of life Harry wanted to lead. But what the hell was he supposed to do?
His fingers clenched around his legs, wrapping around, squeezing them dangerously. Anger coursed through him, overwhelming him. He felt sick to his stomach, like he needed to vomit. His fingers pushed down even more tightly until –
Snap. Harry screamed out in pain as his kneecap shattered. He had grabbed it too tightly, it seemed. He screamed, as he attempted to get up. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He couldn't go to the hospital, but at the same time, he had to do something about it. Harry gasped in pain. It felt as if someone had stabbed a knife into his knee. He clutched it, and immediately pulled away.
"Shite. Fuck." Harry let his head drop back against the floor. There was the sound of something whooshing in the fireplace. Harry wasn't going to go anywhere, and he had just drank some blood, so luckily he wasn't thirsty. Still, it made him nervous every time someone came.
Hermione stumbled into the room, oblivious of Harry on the floor. "Harry!" She went into the kitchen, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle.
"Over here, Hermione." Harry sounded breathier and more in pain than he wished he did. Of course, Hermione would realise that something was apparently wrong when she saw him on the floor. Still, he felt weak somehow lying around, grimacing. The dull thud was horrible, but now that it was beginning to ease seemed simpler in comparison than his other pains. Harry winced.
Hermione gasped when she saw him, and immediately rushed over, kneeling down beside him. "Oh, Harry, what have you done?"
"My knee. It's only slightly broken." He tried to laugh, but ended up shifting his leg, and yelped. "Slightly."
"Well, at least it'll heal fast. Gods, what were you doing? How did you manage to…" She ran to the kitchen and came back with some ice. "Here, this should help with the swelling at least."
"Oh, nothing. I just gripped myself too hard." Harry's tone was bitter. "Ow, that hurts."
"Gripped yourself too hard?"
"Yes. And what do you mean by it'll heal fast? I can't even go to a hospital. Ow, fuck." He closed his eyes, and scratched slightly at the carpet. It hurt like hell.
"Well, I was reading about vampires, and they have incredible healing powers. You'll probably be fine by tomorrow." She smiled at him, and sat down on the floor. Suddenly, however, her smile wavered. Hermione attempted to rearrange her expression into a happier one, but Harry wasn't fooled.
"What?"
"You have – on your lip – it's blood." She looked away, and when she turned her head back, she had tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Harry."
"Well, it's not like you had anything to do with it." Harry's face blossomed into a smile. It looked slightly stressed, but he hoped she would take comfort in it.
"No, but I could have stopped it. What was I thinking? I told you to Apparate home by yourself. You could've easily splinched as well. You were completely drunk. All I had to do was go with you, and this wouldn't have happened!" She had tears running down her face now, and her body heaved as she sobbed.
"It wasn't your fault! It's not like you knew that he was going to be here. Hermione, you were just having fun. If you knew anything was going to happen, you would have been there. Please, calm down." He leaned over, the pain visible in his face, and hugged her. The contact made him shudder and want to vomit, but he sucked it in, feeling his stomach clench and his eyes shut for a moment. It hurt to touch someone. So wrong. It wasn't Dra – Malfoy. "I promise, it's fine. Really." She didn't look reassured.
"I should have done something though… I mean, it's common knowledge. You were completely plastered." He pulled back, feeling a wave of relief wash over him, and looked her in the eyes. Sometimes he found it helped with people.
"Look, I don't blame you in the least. He would've only gotten you too had you come. Please, don't feel guilty. C'mon, this isn't the worst thing that could happen." But it was. Harry couldn't help but feel like death had to be preferable to this. He was in a state of in between, and a constant threat to everyone around him.
It wasn't that he particularly wanted to be dead, but had he been given a choice, it would have been clear.
Still, Hermione bought it, and she managed a slight smile. Sniffling, she wiped away her tears. "I'm just being silly, aren't I?"
"Yes." Harry paused. "Why did you even come here?"
"I just wanted to make sure that you got the blood. And just say hello. Gods, Harry, you must be so lonely. Stuck inside all day long."
"I could go to pubs."
"But you don't," Hermione looked at him with concern.
"Not like I can pick up guys now. What am I supposed to do? Even a light touch from someone makes me feel mental." He rubbed his temple, and sighed.
"Oh, Harry, when you hugged me –"
"It's fine. Really. Maybe you should go." Harry's head was starting to hurt, and with her leaning so closely to him this whole time, he was starting to get thirsty again.
"I – Alright, Harry." She reached out to hug him, and stopped mid-air. "Goodnight." She turned away quickly, and ran to the fireplace, but Harry still heard her sniffle.
As soon as she left, he crumpled as well, dry sobs wracking his body. He wanted nothing more than a normal life. It had seemed unlikely before, and now it was just impossible. The bloodlust was sure to drive him mad at some point.
"Wonderful. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful!" He began to laugh, bark crazily. He sounded beyond mad. And he felt it too.
"Malfoy. What a great choice! Anything else you want to share? Is Ron going to be the one who stakes me? Maybe that would be a nice twist."
He winced, and remained facing up. His eyes fluttered shut, and his fists clenched again. Venom flooded his mouth, and images of Malfoy hovering above him flickered in his mind. The blond would lick his lips, and Harry's eyes would trace his tongue, mesmerised. Harry quietly moaned to himself before snapping out of it.
"I hate this. I hate you." He limped up, and pulled himself to the couch, stretching out yet again. His knee was already healing wonderfully. But who cared about that. If he couldn't have his mate, it wouldn't matter. That was never going to happen. Harry continued laughing hysterically, felt it bubbling forth, exploding from within him.
There was another whooshing sound from the fireplace, and Ron rushed over. "Merlin, what's going on here? Harry, where are – Are you alright?" Harry continued laughing. Had he been able to cry, he was sure he would have; he couldn't seem to stop.
"F – Fine. I'm fine." He giggled, and clutched at the fabric of his couch. "Perfectly alright. It's just Malfoy's my mate. And I can't stop thinking about him. But like that is ever going to happen. I might as well just find a stake and try to kill myself now. Can vampires even commit suicide?"
"Harry, you're not making any sense." Ron backed away slightly, looking frightened. It only made Harry laugh harder.
"Did you know that they teach us that vampires don't have their souls anymore? And I believed them. I think that's called irony."
"Yeah, it is. But you're acting really strange." Finally, Harry seemed to calm down. Seemed was an adequate way of describing. Because while Ron heaved a sigh of relief, Harry lunged at him. He grabbed him by the shoulders, and threw him down onto the couch. He looked sick for a moment, but then it passed, and his mouth moved centimetres away from Ron's face. His teeth grew out, and venom flooded his mouth. The red in his eyes seemed to glow, and he snarled dangerously. Ron tried to pull back, and a scream escaped his lips.
Harry threw him backwards, and moved away, immediately falling to the floor and clutching his knee. There it was again – that feeling like a knife was being repetitively dug into his flesh. If his knee had been healing, it was interrupted somewhere between the lunge, and Ron screaming out.
Yet Ron didn't move. He looked completely petrified. His face had turned white, and he held onto the couch stiffly. "That's what wrong with me, Ron," Harry said, panting. "I could kill you that easily, then what? I have no self-control. I'm dangerous as fuck. What am I supposed to be – overjoyed? My life is ruined."
"Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?" Ron's voice was a few octaves too high. He sounded like he hadn't been able to convince himself, even.
"Overreacting? Just a little bit. I mean, if I tell anyone, they'll only…" Suddenly Harry's voice fell from a rough scream to a mere whisper. "They'll kill me." He seemed to deflate suddenly, and looked so vulnerable. "Why did you come?"
"Hermione came back crying. I thought something might be wrong. I mean, she insisted that nothing was wrong, but you know her. I knew that if she was crying, something had to be going on. What happened?"
"She's blaming herself for everything." Harry shuddered, and took an unsteady breath.
"Oh." Regret fell upon him. "I shouldn't have come here. I should have comforted her, or something."
"Just go back to her, Ron." Harry didn't have the strength to deal with anyone anymore. He felt as if he hadn't had slept in ages. It couldn't have been more than a few hours. And his thirst was steadily increasing with Ron wandering around. The smell of his blood was starting to become noticeable.
"Are you going to be alright Harry?" Harry almost nodded automatically, but at last moment changed his mind.
"No." It was obvious Ron was unsure how to respond. He awkwardly shuffled from foot to foot as he edged closer to the fireplace.
"I don't know what to do, Harry."
"I don't know either. Just help me."
Bam. Tell me what you thought.