Ordinary Death

Death is a singularly odd experience, as I can most certainly attest to. I had just turned eighteen and was entering the full-flower of youth on the day I died.

I remember that day well. I could say it was an especially remarkable day, complete with the requisite thunderstorms, or that it was a day more splendid than a day spent basking in the sun, as if you were a cat.

However, I will not state that. The day I died was remarkable in its ordinariness. Most people speak of an ordinary day as if such a day could actually exist, but really, even if the day seems ordinary it is not ordinary, especially considering the type of day people attribute to be ordinary.

Most people seem to think that an ordinary day is a day resplendent with sunshine and fluffy cottonball clouds and cerulean, not blue, cerulean, skies. Really, most people are a bunch of lack-wits who have no idea about the aesthetics needed for that type of day. To come up with those colors, the sunshine, and the clouds is beyond the ken of most people, truly it is. Now where was I?

Oh yes, the definition of an ordinary day. Simply think about it. Why would an ordinary day be sunshine-filled with nary a hint of rain? An ordinary day would be a mix of storms and sunshine, of rain and pure air. An ordinary day is a day with overcast skies, a temperature of sixty-five degrees and muggy air. Not humid, as it is right before a storm, but definitely not crisp as on a perfect day.

Bloody Death Eaters, but I do seem to be rambling a lot. I think you slipped something into my pumpkin juice, you did, didn't you? Admit it already. I know you slipped something into the pumpkin juice. Stop with the mock outrage, I am not a paranoid git and even if I were, you would be too if you died the way I did.

As I was saying, the day I died was perfectly ordinary.

It was only two months before the end of my seventh year at Hogwarts, and three months before I would receive the Dark Mark from Lord Voldemort.

I did not wish to carry the Mark, but I already knew that there was no way I could get out of it. The Snape family has always been on the side of the dark magick practitioners, no matter that many of the so-called dark magicks were just darker shades of grey. The only true dark magick would be the three Unforgiviables, and even they were not designed to be dark.

The Killing Curse was designed to quickly and humanely kill murderers who were convicted under truth spells and potions. The Imperious Curse was designed to temporarily control the insane before they could hurt themselves and others in the bedlam houses. After all, everyone knows most spells and potions do not work on those infirm in the mind due to neurological connections not working quite correctly. The Cruciatus Curse was designed originally to teach aurors how to withstand torture, since the severity of the pain is controlled by the one casting it.

Damnit, Potter, didn't I tell you to stop interrupting me? I really do not care about your views on the three curses; I am being historically accurate. I did not spend my seven years as a student going out of my way to cause trouble. I studied and learned as I was getting into trouble. Yes, I admit I got into trouble, but it was not to the extent that you and your little cohorts did. Regardless, I may have been sorted into Slytherin, but the Hat still says it was a close call between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.

Before I am sidetracked again, the day I died was a perfectly ordinary day. That day was the day for the Quidditch Cup, and Hufflepuff was playing against Ravenclaw, which was the first such match in about ninety years. Anyway, I had made a practice of boycotting the Quidditch matches after Malfoy senior had bought his way onto the team, and took my spot. I was a million times better then he was, but he had more money.

Yes, Harry, I know you think Draco did the same thing, but he did not. Draco was the best choice as a Seeker, and he is very talented. He just is not as talented as you are. Anyway, the brooms were his father's idea as another way to attack me since I could not afford it to outfit the team properly.

I know you are spiking the damn pumpkin juice, and when I can prove it, you will beg for your death, Potter. No, I am not a paranoid git, will you stop accusing me of being one? Damnit, do not make me make you sleep on the couch. I really do not want to do that. You said you wanted to learn how I died, but obviously, you do not want to learn. No, I am not getting side-tracked. It is all your fault. How can it be my fault? You are the one who spiked my drink, and damnit, I am not paranoid.

Anyway, the day I died was a perfectly ordinary day. I was skivving off from the Quidditch Cup match, and had originally meant to work on my notes for the NEWT's coming up.

No, I was not as obsessed as Granger was over studying and note-taking. I had just temporarily lost control of my actions due to the sudden proximity to the NEWT's. Well, that and I was bloody bored out of my skull.

I lost my place thanks to you, so hush before I gag you. No, that is not kinky, since it will not lead to anything pleasurable to you. No, we cannot try that the next time you have a special "adventure" planned.

So there I was, supposedly locked up in my dormitory room studying when I started to get... twitchy from being indoors. I decided to go for a walk, therefore I ended up outside, exceedingly close to the borders of the Forbidden Forest. Furthermore, since Fate is out to screw me over, no, I am not paranoid, and would you think of a new word, Harry? I mean, really, I know you have read enough books to know another word besides paranoid.

As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Fate is out to get me. Stop snickering, Harry. Merlin, you are going to be the death of me.

Nevertheless, I was walking by the Forbidden forest when I heard a whimpering noise, as if a puppy was being bitten. Instead of thinking like a Slytherin, it was as if I was infected by Gryffindor rashness, and I decided to investigate.

No, I am not an old softie, and this old softie is making you sleep on the sofa for a month.

After a bit, the whimpering noises stopped, so I turned to walk out of the Forest but by then, it was too late. I had become hopelessly turned around in the Forest and had no way of finding my way out.

No, I was not lost. I was just temporarily misplaced.

Be that as it may, I heard a swishing noise, as if from those odd Muggle pants, or from something running too fast to comprehend. I pulled out my wand.

No, not that wand, the one that you use to cast spells. No, I do not mean those spells. Good lord, you have a one-track mind.

Nonetheless, I pulled out my wand, but I was suddenly staring into mesmerizing blue eyes. I tried to pull my gaze away, but I could not. I tried to move, but it was as if I was paralyzed. I had no control over my actions, and it scared me. It was more frightening then anything Riddle could think of. And I could do nothing.

All I could do was stare into the eyes. It was as if an eternity, a second, a lifetime, no time had passed. Everything I wanted, everything I hated, everything I was, everything I could never be was shimmering in his eyes.

He stepped closer, inching across the earth, as if he did not quite belong to the earth, and he did not. He belonged to the night, to the moon, to the things that creep and slither through the night.

I could not resist him as he drew me into his embrace of death. I wanted to, I tried to, but his grasp on my soul, my spirit was more profound then the grip of death unto life.

He never said a word as he gently kissed me. It was a remarkably saccharine kiss from a creature of death, yet, it was not. It was my first kiss, and my last kiss as a mortal.

He left me gasping for breath, aching for some pleasure I had never even dreamed of yearning before. Yet, before I could even solidify that yearning, he was moving. He dropped a rain of kisses on my cheek; he nibbled on my ear. Then he was licking my jugular vein, and I was arching into his embrace. I was losing my grip on myself, and as I did so, I lost my grip on life.

The first impression people have of being turned is wrong. It is not painful at all. It is a pleasure more intense then a thousand orgasms rolled into one. It is like achieving every single hidden dream, goal and desire all at once.

The prick of the fangs into your neck makes you feel more alive then anything ever has before. The first sip of your blood is so intense that you cannot faint from pleasure since to do so could make you come undone of everything your essence, soul, self contains.

But more then that, when he slit his wrist open and pressed it to my oddly weakened body, I felt cherished. And the first taste of his blood was like ambrosia. I could not get enough. It was alive, electrifying. It was as if lightening was hidden in his blood and had come to be poured into a new vessel.

I passed out, finally, too overwhelmed from all the sensations I had felt. When I woke, I was alone. All that remained to convince me his visit was not just my imagination was my lack of heartbeat and a small leather-bound journal.

I trudged back to the castle, hours past curfew now, with the faint resolution that I was screwed. I was so unworthy that even my sire did not wish me in his presence.

It was that realization that really pushed me into becoming a Death Eater. At least they wanted me, even if what they did was cruel and wrong.

After all, as I am sure you remember from Defense Against the Dark Arts, vampires are much more of a pack creature then a human. We need to belong somewhere. Not belonging can drive us mad.

After that night, I sustained on bloodpops and water mixed with pumpkin juice.

I spent hours in the library searching books for glamours and illusions so I could appear to age, and I prepared myself for my induction into Riddle's band of lackeys.

Harry, it was not that bad. I just wish some things could have been different.

Anyway, it was not long before I realized that I could not be a part of Riddle's operations. He was insane, and insane in a bad way. He was killing and raping innocents, and I could not stand for it.

I went and begged Dumbledore for his help, but you know, I have yet to tell him I am a vampire. I am sure he suspects, but I do not wish for others to know.

Anyway, about two years later you banished Riddle for eleven some years and I took the monumental task of beating simple potions into a bunch of nitwitic brains.

Yes, nitwitic is a word. It is because I say it is.

You wish to see me as I truly appear? Fine. Yes, I always had the spell sealed into place with the earring. Harry, now is not the time to attempt to seduce me. Do you really think I look "hot"? Well, no one has ever said that to me before.

Harry, I am only telling you all of this for a reason. I do not want to force you to decide, but... I think, no, I know I love you, and I do not think I could bear it if you died while I remained young.

If you want, I was wondering, would you consent to be turned? To spend eternity with me?

Yes, I really do love you, Harry.

Shhh, this will not hurt a bit. I promise you will love this.