Blood and Chocolate

October 31st, 2002

The tough circuit parties are always the worst, Draco had been told.

And yet, foolishly, he had allowed himself to be invited to one of the worst ones, where ¾ of the crowd wasn't even human. Draco licked his lips nervously. Not that the breed of the party-goers mattered, but he would have found himself very put-out indeed if he was being sucked dry by a teenage vamp.

Actually, he was fairly sure that that cutie in red over by the back wall was werewolf herself. Ouch. Draco gave a sympathy wince for the guy she was making out with. He knew from past experience that having a partner with fangs was very little fun.

This party, Draco had learned, was one pulled off by Kale, one of the oldest and most powerful vamps around. Draco did not wish to have Kale's fangs making a pincushion out of his legs, and was therefore keeping a low profile.

For a Malfoy, keeping a low profile was a chore indeed. It wasn't his fault that he was devastatingly attractive-silver hair, silver hair, alabaster skin, and contrastingly black clothes-or that girls found the Midgard Serpent tattoo that wound from his thumb to his elbow horribly sexy. He already had turned down several far-too-nice-for-their-own-good girls already (with a nervous hand covering his neck each time), and had hoped that the fact that he had commandeered the smallest, most out-of-the-way table in Kale's joint would turn the chicks away.

Yeah right.

Draco was a girl magnet. There was no hiding from his adoring fans.

Until...

"Nice tattoo," said a voice behind him. Draco whirled, thinking he'd have to slap away another over-eager man-eater, but stopped so suddenly he almost was surprised he didn't bite his tongue off.

"Aren't you s-sp'osed to be in America, Aubrey?" The flame-haired girl, Aubrey, smiled and slid into a chair next to him. She was, as usual, dressed in tight black (black, black, black, Draco thought. It's always black with this damned lot) jeans, and a black halter top that showed off several interesting inches of flesh. The red disco lights that dimly lit the entire room gave her already-red hair a bloody halo-fitting, Draco thought. Her spiked dog collar choker indicated that, as always, Aubrey was not a fluffy bunny sort of girl.

"America? I went, I saw, I bloody conquered the joint. Like I was saying, I like the new tattoo. So, anything interesting happening around your neck of the woods, Draco? I haven't seen you at a rave in months." Aubrey said, sipping delicately from a glass of something crimson and viscous. Draco wondered if he should squirm out of his seat, telling Aubrey that he had a headache. Like she'd believe that.

"Er, well, you know how school work is, Aub." He said rather lamely, wishing that he could slither away.

"That reminds me," Aubrey grinned. "We need to talk. In private."

"Did you come here simply to stalk and then harass me?" Draco demanded.

"Got it in one." Oh my. He hadn't been serious, but was she...? He squashed down the interesting little thoughts that surfaced, and forced himself to glare at her.

"Look here. I will not be drug off and bitten again, because last time--"

"Ah, so you admit there was a last time?"

"Shut up." Aubrey gave him her most innocent smile, shrugging.

"Well, if you're going to be like that...I have to leave, I suppose. I'll see you later, Draco."

And then she was gone. No puff of smoke, no flash of light, not even the decency of a Disapperation spell's *pop*. Nothing at all. Draco cursed, banging his forehead on the table's smooth black wood. He knew, unfortunately, where she was going.

To hunt, more likely than not.

And of course, he felt morally obliged to make sure she didn't drain anybody he knew/liked.

Darn those morals.

Draco made sure his Vida blade, a slender silver knife that had been enchanted by a Vida vampire hunter, was still slipped in his thigh-high black boot.

One never knew what could happen.

*

Aubrey's territory was actually quite near Hogwarts; her emblem, a teardrop trapped in a hexagram, was clearly cut into some of the Forbidden Forest trees. But Draco would have known her territory anywhere. Partly because of the ambient tingling sensation of her familiar aura, partly because he had hunted alongside her for so many years.

Again he checked to make sure his knife was easily accessible, mentally frowning at his own nervousness. Aubrey had made it clear that she hadn't marked him as prey.

Yet.

There was a shriek that pierced the clear air, slashing the warm, shimmering night, sending a frigid shiver to chase up and down Draco's spine. He quickened his pace, wishing he could block out the tangible fear and the sudden jet of pleased power that had made Aubrey's candle-flame aura into a blazing torch of force.

Again, a scream. This one was quickly extinguished.

"Aubrey!" Draco yelled, killing his pretense and unsheathing his knife.

Draco quite suddenly realized that there was a dark shape at the edge of his peripheral vision, and he whirled. It was Aubrey, her eyes glowing like fierce flames, cradling a limp body. He fought down a roiling wave of nausea.

"Did you come to join me, Malfoy?" she asked, and her lips were gleaming red with blood. He did not dare get near her-Aubrey was an old friend, but vamps were capable of nearly anything when under the hand of bloodlust. She would just as soon abandon her other victim and turn on him. Draco took a clearing breath, narrowed his eyes, and summoned up the invisible cloak of haughty what-are-you-talking-about-I-know-exactly-what-I-am-doing that every Malfoy possessed, using it as a way too hide the fear scrambling in his chest like a caged animal.

To show apparent fear in front of a feeding vamp was to sign your own certificate of death.

"Of course I'm not here to share, Aubrey." Draco drawled with an askance gesture with one hand. Aubrey's brightly flickering eyes narrowed. She dropped her burden, and the man she had been feeding from groaned.

Good. That meant he was still alive.

"I know you wouldn't drink with me," she said in a voice just over a hiss. "A weakling like you would never dare attack a human, would you? You'd be too afraid you'd get dismissed from that precious little human school of yours. Pathetic, really." Draco could feel his anger simmering; he put a lid on it and stilled the hand that leapt to retract his silver knife.

"You're one of Indigo's fledglings, same as me," Draco said softly. "Why do you want to fight me when we share the same blood mother?" Aubrey hissed-it was clear to see that she wasn't thinking rationally, being too blood drunk to know or care what she was saying.

"Same as you?" she howled. "I think not! We're completely different-I am strong and I am not afraid, while you, Draco," and she spat his name with disgust. "Are not even a challenge for me. You, the one who plays with his food and pretends to be one of them!" Draco met her blazing gaze without a batted eye.

"Fine, then." He said simply. "Bring it."

Looking back, Draco thought that maybe he shouldn't have let her have the first move. With the agility and ferocity of a caged tiger gone feral, Aubrey launched herself at him before he could twist away, her long nails shredding his shirt as she dug her hands into his chest. Draco shouted in pain, and kicked her hard in the stomach, flipping her off him. He searched desperately for his blade, and, finding it, gave her upper-arm a brutal slash as she pinned him again. She screamed, and backpedaled away, gasping for air, her hand clutching the wound. Aubrey was obviously confused-vampires healed nearly instantly, yet this scrape refused to close up, and, Draco knew, it burned.

"A Vida blade, love," Draco explained, holding the knife up so that it caught the moonlight. "Bloody impossible to heal, that."

Aubrey's next enraged motions were too fast for Draco to follow. Before he had realized she had moved, he felt an explosion of pain as she straddled him, pinning him with incredible force to the Forbidden Forest floor. There was a brief, horrible pain as her lips met his skin just under his jaw, but the pain and ensuing dizziness melted away, and it felt oddly...good. He wasn't quite sure he wanted her to stop.

Relax. This won't hurt until you wake up...love. Aubrey's sharp voice echoed in his blissfully vague mental plain.

She's drinking from me, a rather panicked part of him realized, but the painless void her hold had over him had made didn't really care, actually. I'm going to die, and she'll suck all my blood and feel very good about it afterwards, I'm sure.

Actually, Aubrey's voice said, sounding somewhat amused. I would be horrified to kill you, dear Draco. Instead, whatsay I...mark you? She wrestled the Vida blade from Draco's limp fingers, twirled it with a small laugh, and pressed it to the pale skin just under his throat. A thin trail of silver-red ichor, vampire blood, snaked behind the knife's whisper-sharp path as Aubrey traced a line from the base of his throat, across the sharp angles of his collarbone, and ending in her hexagon-and-teardrop insignia. This, unfortunately, did hurt. Actually, it hurt quite a bit.

Against vampire skin, the deeply enchanted silver Vida blade burned as if it was on fire, turning the slow-healing scarred tissue pearly white. Draco had taken the Crutacious curse before simply because he would set his will in the thought that the curse would be over. But this wound was like being set afire from the inside out, a never-ending pain, as if he was being skinned alive. But Draco's Malfoy pride refused to allow him to cry out in the presence of a woman, if you could call her that.

"This," Aubrey whispered as she leaned over him, her fingers tracing the gossamer-thin bleeding mark. "This is for ruining my evening, Malfoy. And this," with all the soft gentleness of a rose petal, Aubrey softly kissed him, and he could taste his own sweet blood in her mouth. "is for what's to come."

*

December 5th, 2004

Draco woke up gasping for air and shaking with the aftershocks of the dream. Or, more accurately, the memory. Although the confrontation with Aubrey had been two years before, when he was only a fifth year, the scar she had given him still remained, burning like a just-set brand after dreams like these. He realized now that provoking her had been a massive mistake, and pure foolishness.

Aubrey was, even back then, a much stronger hunter than he was. Draco had never actually killed a human before; he preferred to sate his bloodlust with the blood of an animal (which he never did drain completely) or from a willing donor.

It had surprised him that when he had come back to Hogwarts after that fight with Aubrey and the Slytherin House had been informed by Dumbledore that Draco was vamp, exactly how many of his housemates were willing and wanting to see what it was like to be bitten. They probably had thought that simply getting bitten by a vampire made you one as well, as the old myth implied. A bunch of poppycock, that.

To become a vampire, you had to die. The ichor of a vampire, willingly given to a human, stops that human's heart. Then the ichor changes the human's system to require blood to live, and grants partial immortality. Draco's blood-mother, a vamp named Indigo, was the very same one that also changed Aubrey.

Draco sighed, burrowing deeper into his blankets, remembering...

May 15th, 1763

William Thomas Malfoy watched the mild spring rain drizzle down the glass panes and pitter-pat to its own unique rhythmic music on the roof of the Seven Stars Tavern. Earlier, when the rain had just started, William had been helping Mrs. Dill, the tavern owner, to serve ale to the assorted customers caught in from the sudden shower. There was Henry and his brother Thompson, whom were both farmers, nearly jumping for joy because of the rain. Uncharacteristic for Boston's spring, there had been no rain for weeks, and the newly planted crops were suffering something awful.

"A good ale for the wife and me, mi'lad!" A dark haired man called from one of the rough-hewn tables. Most of the people had left when the initial storm had let up, but one couple still remained. William hurried to Mrs. Dill, who had already gotten the drinks ready.

"Here ye go," William said amiably, setting the ale before them and being very careful not to spill. He was very clumsy for a twelve-year-old of his small stature, and was constantly "getting yer fingers in th' funniest o' places," as Mrs. Dill put it. The dark-haired man, his long ponytail bobbing, nodded his thanks to William, but his wife...he felt an odd shiver run up his spine. William had never really left the Boston, or even the Seven Stars for that matter, and had therefore not met very many people. The woman who had gratefully taken the mug from him was ravishing on all accounts, with long, smooth black hair, equally black eyes, and pale-as-milk skin brightened only by her startlingly red lips. Realizing he was staring, William bowed his head, embarrassed.

"Sorry ma'am--" The woman smiled, baring long and ivory-pale teeth.

"My name is not ma'am," she said softly, her voice making William's nerve endings spark like firecrackers. "I am Indigo, love."

*

"Malfoy," Blaise Zabini, his girlfriend, demanded irritably at the Great Hall table that morning as they ate breakfast. "What is your problem?" Draco raised a pale eyebrow in question, as if saying 'who, me, a problem? While taking a long drink from his espresso. He had found long ago the supreme joys of caffeine, and was duly hooked on his morning buzz. "You know what I mean," Blaise continued, ferociously spearing her toast with a butter knife. "You never pay attention to me anymore, and you're always gone without telling me where you're going, and half the girls in Slytherin have heard you have another girlfriend and I hope you know I will pull out your spine and roast you alive over a pit of simmering lava if you even think about cheating on me, and--" Draco waved a hand in her direction to cease her banter.

"Blaise-honey-I've just been busy. You know I'd never forget about you--"

"Humph," Blaise sniffed.

"-For any large amount of time. And of course I don't have another girlfriend. That's just silly of you to think so."

"Then what is that Mr. Malfoy?" Blaise demanded, her eyes narrow. Draco followed where her accusing finger was pointing. His black owl, Spot, was winging down to the Slytherin table, carrying a long thin box in his talons. Spot landed quickly, dropped the box in Draco's oatmeal, stole Blaise's toast, and darted off, presumably to the owlery. Surprised, Draco searched the box for a note or card-there was none-and opened the box carefully.

Inside, to his growing horror and dismay, was a single, long-stemmed black rose. It was perfect in every way: from the gracefully curled night-dark petals, to the slender stem studded with viper fang-sharp thorns that gleamed in the early morning light. Draco's breath caught, and his head spun.

"You cheating monster!" Blaise screamed, slapping him across the face. Draco winced, but he was too stunned to notice.

After Aubrey had left him writhing in pain on the Forbidden Forest floor, Draco had thought he would never see her again.

But the hexagon trapping a tear traced in blood on the bottom of the box spoke otherwise.

*