Please…wake up.
Theo's eyes snapped open.
The infirmary was dark, curtains drawn tightly around him. Without getting out of bed, Theo could feel the energy of wards posted around him pulsating. In fact, he could almost see it. It's like some part of him had been opened to the magic around him and it was too much. Too much sound and taste and smell and sight; it was overwhelming. The magic of the wards. Magic to keep the room flowing with fresh air. Magic of the potions that left residue on his bedside table.
It's like he woke up and the world was turned up to the 1,000 dial when his previous settings had only ever gone to 100.
Draco's words echoed in his mind and he turned, half-expecting to see his best friend waiting up for him, asleep on a chair, but the space he was in was empty. It took a few moments to realize that it was just an echo, a half-finished memory from what could have been hours or months, or years ago. Theo had no idea how long he'd been asleep in what he could only assume was a transformative slumber.
It was as his eyes adjusted that Theo realized he was not in the Hogwarts infirmary, but at his house. He must have been moved at some point, at his father's behest. Or at Dumbledore's urging, he figured more logically, because he doubted his father cared at all what had happened to him.
There were flowers in vases on the other side of him and he turned, grasping at the cards. From Draco, and then from Daphne, Blaise, Crabbe & Goyle, Pansy, Tracy, The Carrow Sisters…it almost seemed like the whole of Slytherin had sent him some 'get better' cards.
He set down the card he'd had in his hand and looked around for his wand, but didn't see it anywhere. Frowning, and swallowing what felt like a year's worth of mothballs in the back of his throat, he flexed his fingers.
" Accio wand!"
He had only gotten a basic grasp of wandless magic previous to the current day, whatever it was. He doubted it would even work, but to his great surprise, his wand came flinging across the room, breaking through the cotton curtains with surprising strength and rocketing into his palms. The strength of the spell was overwhelming and for a few stilted seconds, Theo just stared at the piece of wood in his fingers, trying to math out a problem he didn't think he had the facilities to solve.
Hesitantly, he cast a time-telling charm. He hardly had to think of it before it was brightly shining in the air above him. It was 2 am; not that this helped him much. 2 am on the night they went home for Hogwarts? 2 AM of six months past? 2 am of a year after whatever had occurred?
Groaning, Theo stumbled out of his bed and realized he'd been placed in the basement. He wasn't surprised he'd been banished out of sight and out of mind, but he was still disappointed. As he climbed the stairs, he noticed snow falling outside. Still winter…of this year, he hoped, though whatever had occurred had scrambled his brain like that muggle blender he'd seen in Muggle Studies.
The Great Hearth room was lit with a flame merrily roaring in the fireplace. Theo saw a copy of the prophet peeking from the flames. He poked it around and on the marble floor to see the date and realized it was from December 28th, 1995. There was the possibility, of course, that it had been stored for a long time before being put into use, but he hoped this indicated it was only a few days past the date he'd seen.
He'd been asleep for at least a week.
Theo felt weird. He couldn't describe it other than everything in his body felt off. Not bad, just really, really, off.
His first thought was to owl Draco and Narcissa, who no doubt would know what to do. Or perhaps Daphne's mum. Between Narcissa and Althea Greengrass, Theo rarely felt like he didn't have a mother watching him.
He heard the sound of a glass being set down in his father's study. He shouldn't have been able to hear it, he told himself. The grand oak doors were tightly shut and it was all the way on the other side of the hall. But he had. Theo heard everything, he realized, from their house elves preparing breakfast for tomorrow morning, to the mice squeaking in the walls, to the wind howling through a crack on their third floor. It was all there, though already his mind was filtering out some sounds over others.
Theo shuffled towards his father's study. Thaddeus never liked him opening the heavy doors and coming in unannounced, but surely, he'd at least be somewhat pleased to see his progeny awake and alive, right?
His reflection in a mirror on the wall right before the doors gave him pause. The sort of pause that stopped him dead in his tracks, sure that it was a mistake what he was seeing.
Sure, he knew the wives' tale about vampires not seeing themselves in mirrors was partially true; mirrors used to be coated in silver, and that didn't give a reflection. There were other mirrors he'd passed that hadn't shown himself floating about, so it was true- and pointing him to a terrifying realization - but this one had been broken a year ago in one of his father's drunken rages, so its replacement was a modern mirror.
Theo did not look like someone who just woke up a week in an infirmary bed after a near-death experience.
He was even enchanted by his own reflection. He looked suave and even-tempered, and all of the remnants of his childhood face were gone, replaced by some respectable-looking wizard basically overnight. His skin was pale, his eyes were piercing, and his cheekbones were hollowed and high. If he'd seen a picture, he would have assumed it was his male model doppelganger, but here he was, every action he did repeated in the mirror.
His mouth hurt something awful. It hadn't come on suddenly, it had been a dull ache since his awakening, but now that he was paused, it felt like he'd eaten a shard of glass last night. Theo came right up to the mirror, groaning as he pulled back his lips to expose his gums.
There they were, clear as day. Fangs.
Experimentally, Theo poked the gum around his new pointy-sharp teeth. Tender, like when he'd lost teeth as a child. His mouth salivated as he ran the pad of his fingers over his teeth, marveling at the look of it. He touched the tip of his tongue to one of his fangs and winced as it cut. He didn't dare press his finger to test exactly how sharp, sure now they'd easily pierce the skin.
"Fuck," Theo said out loud, dropping his hands, and taking a step back. He wasn't sure the particulars of it, but he had been bit and turned by that damn vampire at Slughorn's party.
His father's study opened abruptly. Theo wondered if he'd heard his son's expletive and gone to investigate. Looking at Theo, it's like he was looking at a ghost.
At once, Theo's throat closed and his fangs tingled. He didn't understand what it meant, but he stepped toward his father.
"I thought you were dead," His father muttered, and from his tone, Theo understood. He had hoped Theo wasn't going to wake up.
"Sorry to disappoint," Theo said, "I'm not sure what I am now, but I-,"
"You're worse than a half-breed," His father spat furiously, "You're a disgrace is what you are! I should have denied you ever to enter into this house, told Dumbledore or Malfoy to do what they pleased with you. You're a thing, a creature wizards squish under their shoes," Thaddeus snapped, "And no longer my son. He died on December 20th."
Theo inhaled hard, sharp pain all at once. He'd known his father's disgust for him was not hidden well, but to be so viciously disowned tore at his heart... if he had one left.
"Father-,"
"I am not your father, devil!" Thaddeus snarled, "You have half an hour to vacate before I treat you like any other vermin and exterminate you!" His grip was so strong on his brandy that it snapped the glass as he threw his arms out, shoving Theo back.
Theo stumbled, catching himself before he fell, confused and hurt. He felt like he was eight again, sitting at his mother's funeral, unable to understand why his father wasn't crying and why he seemed pleased. There had always been whispers that Thaddeus had gotten rid of her, but now…now Theo wondered. If he got rid of those that stopped being useful to him or people that stopped meeting his standards of worthiness.
Just as he was about to turn and leave, knowing Draco would accept him into his house no matter what, his nose caught a whiff of his father's cut on his hand.
It wasn't until now that Theo realized that he was starving. His thirst was unmatched by anything he'd ever felt. It was as great as the desert, sandy and hot and endless. He felt faint like he hadn't eaten in a thousand years, and the need mixed with his anger turned into a deadly combination.
Theo didn't remember it. He thinks his mind blocked it out to try to spare him.
The first taste of blood was like drinking the ichor of the gods. He should have been disgusted the moment his tongue touched it, but there was a switch that flipped. It was not just a want, but it was a fervent and unquenchable need, but this would do nicely for the moment.
Maybe his brain pushed itself off, knowing that if it had to be someone, his father certainly deserved it. Or maybe he was lost to the monster within, and it wouldn't have mattered if it were Draco or Mrs. Greengrass, or McGonagall standing in front of him. Perhaps his absolute thirst for blood would have overtaken him and it all would have been the same.
He hoped he never had to find out.
There were some weak protests from his father, but he was already a man coming on in his old age, and half-way to drunk. If there was any magical ability left, he didn't try to use it, though Theo would theorize that it wouldn't have made a difference. He did jerk around a lot, like a fish trying to evade capture on a fishing hook, which just made the meal messy. Theo's grip tore skin, his throat was ripped in two, and Thaddeus was dead far before Theo finished his meal. He didn't know that at the time. Despite his father slipping away in his hands, the blood was still warm, like a glass of milk his mother used to bring to him, and his thirst was not yet settled.
It was about twenty minutes after Theo realized his father had stopped twitching in his arms that any sort of mental awareness returned and he took stock of the scene in front of him. His father, throat torn out, and blood everywhere.
With a startled, horrified gasp, Theo shoved his father away. He looked down and realized he was coated in blood like he'd been dipped in a stream of it.
His father remained motionless, lips twisted in a cry of agony, eyes hazy and staring off past Theo. Theo shoved himself back until he hit a wall, covering his lips with his palms as he screamed into his hands.
"What…what have I done…" He whispered to himself, shaking his head. Oh, this was it. There was no way out of this. He'd be thrown in Azkaban at the ripe age of 16…fuck, 16 forever! He'd suffer a literal eternity jailed away for killing his dad.
Frantically, as though to erase the evidence, Theo rubbed at his face, trying to get rid of the blood caking all over his skin. It didn't do much good; if anything, it smeared it around and made his face look like a morbid modern painting.
There was a whoosh of fire in the fireplace behind him and Theo swallowed hard, trying not to cry, wondering who would find him here, and how long it would be before he was carted away. He screwed his eyes shut, hyperventilating hard, and only opened his eyes when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder.
Theo looked up to see Lord Voldemort standing over him, a wicked smile on his face.
"Well done, Theodore."