Blood and Chocolate

Chapter Two

In Which Draco Is Angsty, and a Main Character is Mortally Wounded

Draco truly despised Care of Magical Creatures. He wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was that bumbling half-giant fool, Hagrid, and his belief that an animal was only cuddly if it could rip off your arm on a whim. Perhaps it was because he, himself, was sometimes considered an animal, and he hated it when people would cringe or make warding signs behind his back when he passed by. Or perhaps it was just because he had to spend the first class of the day with the 'Guild of Impeccably Good Guys', a.k.a. 'those Gryffindor jerks.' Especially because their ringleader, The Boy Who Lived Simply to Put Decent Vampires in the Bedlam, seemed always to take such passionate joy in annoying Draco.

Needless to say, Draco was in no mood to be fondled with. His senses were going nuts--the smallest sound was like a foghorn bellow, the lightest laugh enough to give him a headache--and Hagrid's booming voice was enough to make his teeth grind and the fine hair on the back of his neck prickle. He knew that Aubrey had sent the rose to scare the crud out of him.

And behold her success.

He sighed.

And, of course, Hagrid just had to put him with Mr. Celebrity Git himself, Harry Potter.

If it had not been appallingly beyond school rules, Draco would have considered wringing Potter's neck when his cronies Granger and Weasley weren't looking, and feeding his manhood to the baby chimera they were supposed to be looking over.

Actually, Draco quite liked the chimera baby. He didn't know what else to call it--it had a goat's head, a lion's head, a dragon's head, a snake for a tail, and a griffon's wings and body. Therefore it could have been a cub, a kid, or a dracling--he wasn't sure which--so he just labeled it 'baby'.

"An' ye got t' be careful of th' li'l thing's chompers," Hagrid was bellowing over the half-frozen Gryffindors and Slytherins. Draco thought it was bloody idiotic to be having classes outdoors when there were blizzard warnings; it was so cold, most of the students had odd-looking lumps in their clothes where they had stuffed a portable flame-in-a-jar to keep them at least semi-thawed. Draco had no problem with the cold. He was used to it. Not a goosebump was raised on his ivory-pale skin, although he wore only his school robe (flimsy at best) over his jeans and t-shirt. Potter seemed quite miserable indeed.

"I'm sure I could get the little guy to flame on you if you want, Potter," Draco said sweetly as Harry leaned over the tiny chimera and stroked its dragon-head thoughtfully. Smoke was trailing from its slit nostrils, wavering like gray lace on the sharp December air. Harry shivered, and tried to glare at Draco. Which, he thought with a smile, was a losing preposition, because his cold-flushed cheeks and big, honest green eyes made him look about ten years old and very girlish and cute. Also, his long, dark lashes were enough to make any girl desperately jealous.

"Oh, bugger off, Malfoy. I'm not cold."

"On the contrary, you seem to be frozen solid."

"Shut up."

"Make me." Harry sighed, and rubbed his mittened hands together.

"Just what is your problem today?" he asked in exasperation, not seeming to notice that the chimera was chewing thoughtfully on the edge of his cloak.

"My problem?" Draco drawled, summoning up his Malfoy charm. "Nothing at all. I'm perfectly toasty, every girl in school is madly in love with my vampiric hotness, and I'm planning to skip the next classes just because I feel like it. And, unlike you, the teachers would never punish me." Harry scowled, not answering, and started to feed the chimera. The little creature wolfed down the herring he gave it, making pleased little grunts and warbles.

"I can tell that something is wrong with you, Malfoy," Harry said in perfect seriousness as he struggled not to get his fingers bitten off. "You usually gloat about how much you know about animals, and how I'm a clumsy oaf, and--"

"You are a clumsy oaf," Draco put in cheerfully.

"--and that's completely off the point. What I'm saying is that you are off about something. I want to know what."

"Aw, Potter," Draco grinned. "I didn't know you cared."

"Actually," Harry replied, running a hand through his black hair, coated with frosting-like snowflakes. "I don't care at all." Of course, Weasley the Freckled Wonder had to put his two knuts in on this conversation. He looked up from where he and the Mudblood, Granger, seemed to be doing nothing short of cuddling their assigned chimera, a typical Weasley grin slowly spreading on his face.

"What are you gonna do, Harry, offer up a counseling service to the troubled and distraught Slytherins? What, is pure-blood interbreeding becoming too much of a twisted knot for you sappy Malfoys to handle?" If Draco had been a vampire more like Aubrey, he would have struck Ron down where he stood. Killing, as he had learned, was not only simple, it was pleasurable, because of the predatory nature the ichor leant. Some witches and wizards had augmented strength and speed because of certain spells, lending them supernatural strength enough to squeeze the juice from a boulder, twist a tree trunk into a knot, or some other frivolous thing. Vampires, though, fought not only with their body, which could easily twist solid steel garters into bow ties, but with their mind as well. Jager, one of the oldest vampires Draco knew, had once said that the humans used only a thumbnail sized bit of their brain, while the ichor opened up access to the mind readily. He could have easily probed with his mind, found a major artery, and mentally squeezed it shut. Aubrey would have done so without a second thought.

But I'm not Aubrey, he told himself ferociously.

"Haven't you got something better to do with your life, Weasel?" Draco asked, pushing all dark and violent thoughts from his mind, lest he loose control. In vampiric life, control was the defining line between life and death. As much as thoughts of Ron flopping about in the snow, unable to breathe and not at all sure why, amused him. Ron's face blushed as red as his outrageous hair. Harry sighed and patted the baby.

"Leave him be, Ron," he said, and Weasley looked gave Draco a homicidal look. If looks could kill, Draco would be returning to the Slytherin dungeon in a matchbox.

"Ferret," Ron muttered, turning back to Hermione and the chimera.

"Hey, Weasley," Draco drawled, his usual spite twining his voice. "Just out of curiosity, when you manage to shag Bucktooth there, tell me what happens when you mate a weasel and a beaver, okay?" Ron turned away from Hermione, blushing madly--it was a well-known fact to all 7^th years that he fancied her, and Draco found that very amusing.

"Yer 'scuzed fer lunch, class," Hagrid boomed as he was attempting to bribe a chimera to spit out Neville's leg while the pudgy boy screamed shrilly. Draco gave Ron a blissfully innocent smile--he was still fuming--as he sauntered off to the Great Hall.

Ah, being a jerk left such a nice, warm, fuzzy glow inside.

*

Considering how badly his morning had started--slapped by Blaise, dumped by his girlfriend, and receiving a potential death threat from one of the most notorious vampires around--Draco's afternoon went at least bearably well.

After lunch, Professor Trelawney convinced him that he would be woefully dead within the next full moon, and that he should hire a cow as a bodyguard to protect him (he quite disbelieved the last bit, and prayed that she was wrong about him dying.). Although, Trelawney was rarely ever right, so he didn't put any faith in her claims. As if he had believed her the first nine times she had predicted his demise.

Then there had been Muggle Studies, and Draco believed that he could never live as a normal Muggle. Not when--what did they call it?--parallel parking stumped him so.

And, of course, his favorite subject, Potions with Snape, had gone out without a hitch. Not only had Neville Longbottom been re-sent to the hospital wing for getting flaming-hot ashwinder eggs down his drawers--now how could that have happened?--but Draco had successfully managed to throw half of his cauldron's Shrinking Solution on the Gryffindor lot without Snape noticing. A midget sized Harry Potter running around yelling for the antidote Swelling Solution had been quite amusing indeed. And, of course, Snape had given Harry the antidote...undiluted. So now Potter was keeping Longbottom company in the hospital wing, doing a very good impression of Millicent Bulstrode after the Christmas feast.

Draco had nearly fallen out of his chair laughing as midget-Potter was replaced with maybe-I-shouldn't-have-eaten-that-last-doughnut-Potter.

Life was sweet when one was cunning.

Draco thought cheerfully of these things as he shrugged on a dark cloak and prepared for a midnight hunt in the Forest. It had been four days since his last feeding, and at times he was aware of the small, predatory voice inside him urging him to take down one out of the multitudes of humans at the school. Always before he had made sure to drink every few days in small amounts to sate the predatory nature, but Aubrey's missive had set him on edge. Much as he fought to ignore the fluttering consciousness of her proximity, at times the strong, thick sensation of her aura was almost unbearable. Draco had been skirting the Forbidden Forest to perhaps avoid a confrontation with her, but, oddly, the feel of her aura had faded, and as he boldly strode into Aubrey's marked territory, it was almost as if she was not there at all.

Odd, that. Aubrey rarely left the Forest unless on 'business' in NYC, where her father's territory laid. And as far as Draco knew, she was still in England, haunting the Forest, her favorite hunting grounds. Draco had never been able to discern if her affinity to the Hogwarts grounds was because of his presence at the school, or if she really did like the wild prey the Forest offered. Surely a vampire as powerful as her would rather prey on a defenseless shell of a human than a werewolf, because other dark creatures tended to fight back.

A fight between a were and a vamp was never a pretty sight.

Draco jumped slightly at a resounding shattering crash, like a great tree being rent. His senses perked, he quickly crouched low, eyes darting for movement between the dusky rays of moonlight that escaped through the thick canopy.

There was none. He nearly got back to his feet, chiding himself for being over-cautious, when a dark flurry of motion burst from between a gap in two trees; Draco just barely caught a flash of silver, a swirl of bloody red, and the gasping breathing of the hunt and the hunter.

For one shining second, everything around him seemed to freeze. He felt his stomach drop out from under him, his skin turned cold in horrified surprise.

Oh my god. No.

It was Aubrey. She looked like nothing more than a frightened doe, lacerations covering her face and hands from clinging twigs that scratched at any bared skin like hands of the damned tearing at those left in limbo.

Aubrey's eyes cut sideways at him, pleading, frightened, as the hooded hunter pinned her to the Forest floor in a striking replay of the pose Draco had taken those two years past, only in reverse. The Vida held her silver blade just over Aubrey's heart; the shadows in her hood smoothed into a satisfied smile as the moonlight danced with cool fingers along the knife's whisper-sharp edge.

Draco was quite sure it wasn't exactly him that moved his body. His own shock was mirrored on the Vida's face as he collided into her with a shattering force, hearing with an odd pleasure several ribs over-stress and fracture under his fists. The Vida huntress screamed; her hood fell back to show the nearly-ageless, severe face of Dominique Vida, the leader and most powerful of the Vida clan. In desperation, Dominique thrust forward with her blade, scoring a light, burning hit across Draco's cheekbone before he grabbed her wrist, enraged, and squeezed. The bones ground together, and Dominique screamed again.

Relax, Draco lulled her mentally, feeling her taut body go limp under his. Pain is only temporary. It will end...relax...

Soon Dominique was no more than a crumpled, softly sobbing heap, and Draco pulled away from her, crawling to where Aubrey lay motionless. The snow beneath her was stained crimson. Her eyes were closed, her already-pale skin as transparent as paper, short hair clinging to her temples and neck in sweaty tendrils. Draco was quite sure she was dead.

He hadn't been fast enough.

"No," he moaned, taking one of her flaccid hands in his, searching for the ichor's quick pulse.

Nothing.

But then--oh Lord--he felt something, something weak and barely noticeable, the barest flutter of rhythm.

Aubrey was still alive.

After a moment of hesitation in which he swallowed lost feelings and pride, Draco gathered her still body in his arms, turning back to the way he came.

He needed help.

Had he not killed all his gods long ago, Draco would have prayed that someone, anyone, in Hogwarts would be willing to help.

*

Harry lay awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore Neville's snoring. Which was difficult, because the boy did a platinum impersonation of the Hogwarts Express in full chug.

Urgh. Harry buried his head in his pillow; still aware of Neville, the soft night-sounds of the world outside the infirmary's windows, and the faint burning of the Metabolite Potion Madame Pomfrey had had him take. It was really a nasty sort of concoction that, while turning his body back to normal from the effects of the Swelling Solution, made him feel as if he were suffering from a constant stomachache. He frowned at the dark.

If Malfoy were to appear before him right at the moment, he would first sock that preppy vamp one and then give him a piece of his mind. Yes, maybe he'd kick him as well, for insulting Ron that morning. Although he deserved so much more then that.

"Good evening, Potter," a cool, composed voice said from somewhere in the shadows. Harry's head snapped up, and he quickly glanced from side to side, trying to gauge where the voice had come from. He was suddenly aware that he felt about to get sick, the twisting in his belly worsening two-fold.

"Oh, don't freak out," the voice said with detached humor. "I didn't come here to scare you."

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, catching hold at last to his nerves.

From the shadowy recesses of the infirmary, a pale shape took form. White-blond hair, silver-black eyes, and ivory pale skin, looking for all the world like the fallen angel he was, stood Draco Malfoy. Harry grimaced slightly, scooting himself into a sitting position.

"Malfoy?" he asked incredulously. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing here?" Draco suddenly looked undefended, almost stripped of all the callousness and caustic personality that made him a Malfoy.

"I need your help, Potter," he said simply.

*

"Oh god," Harry whispered, running his lumos enchanted wand over the girl's still figure. Draco had insisted that no light could be lit--he explained that the girl was vampiric, and direct light on a wounded vamp was enough to kill them. He snapped back to look at Draco, whose features were as unreadable as chiseled stone. "What happened to her? Who is she?"

"Aubrey," Draco said shortly. "She was attacked by Vida vampire hunters. Now can you heal her or not?" Harry winced at the sharp unyielding quality to Draco's voice. Without replying, Harry ran his fingers over the girl's bloodied cheek, over the effervescently pale skin, marred by slashes where tree limbs had lashed around her in her flight, and the wounds on chest and stomach, where someone had efficiently knifed her.

"She's dying," he said quietly. "Blood loss--something vital has been hit--"

"But can you save her?" There was an odd wistful, longing twining to Draco's voice, like a little boy who had realized his pet had to be put down. Harry murmured "Acelpio," and the branch whips on her face and arms faded, but the major wounds still bled.

"I don't know," Harry whispered, his hands shaking slightly. "I've figured that at least one of her ribs is broken, and there's blood in one of her lungs. I'm surprised...it's amazing I can keep her heart beating at all...she's repelling magic--I can't heal anything like that." He paused, and sighed. "Come here and help me get these bloody clothes off her." The two worked in silence, punctuated only when Draco sucked in his breath in shock, turning away from Aubrey's body.

There was little hope for her survival; he knew that now.

"Light a fire," Harry commanded in his ringing tones of leadership, the kind of voice he used when coaching the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Trying to keep his panicked shaking from his voice and body, letting himself detach so that he didn't feel the sorrow or the pain, Draco complied, lighting a crackling blaze in the narrow grate. He was, for once, glad that Lucius had demanded he have his own room--the other Slytherins would have become suspicious, seeing him drag a dying girl and a Gryffindor into his room. Although, then again, they probably wouldn't care.

Draco eased himself into a chair next to the bed, silently watching Potter, wondering, not too idly, if his quivering was from fear for her survival, or that his need for blood had notched up when he had been interrupted during hunting. And, unfortunately, Aubrey's sweet ichor was soaking crimson stains into his crisp sheets.

"I need to leave," Draco said hurriedly to Harry, ignoring his look of utter bewilderment, and rocketed out the door before he could so much as squeak.

*

Taking the Hogwarts corridors at a frenzied lope, Draco's mind buzzed in a haze; he couldn't think straight, only shadows and condemning snatches of memory were slashing at him more brutally than the Vida's blade ever had...

__

"Oh for god's sake, Draco, you don't do the position like that. It's like this!" Aubrey's hair was long, then. It was long, and red, and fell like fiery silk down her back and he remembered curling his fingers in it, listening to her soft breathing, her silent laughter at his softness. She wore it in braids, looking so much like the schoolgirl she was posing as, although Draco had to admit the knee-highs, sweater, and short skirt were, oddly enough, attractive.

Aubrey smiled more, then. Then, she accepted humans, befriended them. He exchanged a guilty smile with Aubrey as she glared at him.

"Look, Bry, I'm a lover, not a fighter." Aubrey burst out laughing, suddenly and infectiously.

"Just try the ready position one more time, okay?" she begged, and he had to concede. "It's like this," she explained, demonstrating. Aubrey crouched slightly, left hand thrust forward, palm open, right arm trailing behind, elbow bent. Nodding, Draco copied her stance.

"Am I doing it right this time?" he asked, grinning sideways at her.

"Acceptably well. Now, take a deep breath." Draco did as he was told. Without any sort of warning, Aubrey launched herself at him, pinning him, and kissed him hard--the steel-melting, ground-shaking sort of kiss that only she had. After a moment, she broke the kiss, whispering, "Hel-lo. Call 9-1-1, this boy's gonna need some serious oxygen after I'm through with him..." before Draco pulled her down again and silenced her.

__

Draco pushed the thoughts forcibly from his mind, gasping. His buried predatory nature had taken over in his distraught moment--the still body of a small deer lay at his feet, and its blood dripped from his chin.

It suddenly just became too much.

Draco howled, doubling over, pain, anger, and fear swirling tumultuously inside him like he hadn't felt for so many years.

When the rain started pouring, he didn't feel it, he didn't hear it, he was dead. Just dead. Nothing was left in him to care--Aubrey was dying. With all his supernatural powers, he couldn't help her; for all Harry Potter's strength and inborn knowledge, he couldn't help her either. She was dying.

"Oh, God," Draco moaned, feeling the raindrops pool and roll down his pale face. "This is my fault."

__

"I'm not sure what you're asking me to do, Lucius," Draco admitted, running a hand through his silver hair. The man seated across the chessboard from him, Lucius Malfoy, his adopted 'father', locked him in a steely gaze.

"It's simple, Dracconis," Lucius replied, using Draco's true name as a vampire. "The Dark Lord will be raised as soon as the Philosopher's Stone can be safely secured. I want you to go to Hogwarts as a little boy, my son, and catch Harry Potter in a net. Make sure he trusts you, and then slit his throat when he tells you where the Stone lies--surely Dumbledore will tell him."

"I can change my appearance," Draco said slowly, soaking in the enormity of Lucius's plan. "I can appear physically as a child--any half-decent vampire can do that. But why Harry Potter?" Lucius smiled, flashing very white and very sharp teeth.

"Harry Potter, it seems, was only put in this universe to stop our Lord from rising. Every seer, arithmacer, and diviner has seen it in the stars, the flames, and the tea leaves. He was meant as a hero, and we will make sure he dies as a hero." Draco's brow furrowed.

"But he's only a boy--defenseless--"

"Which makes your job easier, am I right? You are a Malfoy by blood, Dracconis, and a damn good one as well. The Dark Lord has seen to it that you will be rewarded for this." Draco was slightly taken aback.

"Rewarded?" He demanded with a snort. "I am immortal. How much more can one ask for?" Lucius smiled again.

"We have, of course, researched your past...and I found that you have a loose end laying about in Azkaban...I believe her name is Aubrey..."

__

"I did it for you," Draco whispered to the sky, to the forks of lightning, to the torrential rain. "I did it to save you."

There was a voice, then, a familiar voice as someone pulled him to his feet--a blade with the word Fenris etched on it hovered just over his throat.

"Draco? By the gods, what the hell happened to you?"

*