Blood and Chocolate

Blood and Chocolate

Chapter Three

In Which Potter Has a Vision and Draco's Ego About His Appearance is Trod Upon More Than Once

A/N: Er, I hope my Japanese is accurate--I used a dictionary but only God knows if I put it together right...

"Draco? By the gods, what the hell happened to you?" Draco hissed, grabbed the man who was holding a blade to his throat by the arm, and flipped him over his shoulder. The man landed on his back with an explosion of breath, and Draco was able to get a good look at him. He looked about nineteen, with black hair, black eyes, and contrastingly pale skin.

A vampire.

Instinctively, Draco snapped the Fenris blade from his hand, smiling slightly at the surprise on his face.

"I should have thought," Draco said coolly. "That you would have learned not to sneak up on people like that, Aubrey."

"Call it habit," Aubrey, the dark-haired man said as he got nimbly to his feet. "Now let me repeat my question: what the hell happened to you? You're a mess, Dracconis." Draco laughed bitterly.

"A mess? Well, you haven't seen what happened to Bry, either. Now she's a mess. It's funny-not ha ha funny, but like, ooh, déjà vu funny-that you just happen to show up when she's dying."

"Draco," Aubrey said quietly, a sharp, steely undercurrent to his voice. "What did you do to my girl?"

*

Harry sat back in the chair next to the bed, exhaustion cementing him in place. He looked down idly at his watch-a normal old Muggle watch whose hands pointed out that it was three a.m., and he should be in bed. Not watching over a vampire girl as she died.

"Harry," said a voice to his left. "I need you to draw a Draxagram." Harry threw a short glance at Hermione. Draco, he thought, would probably kill him if he knew that Harry had ran up to Gryffindor Tower, woken up Herm, and begged her to help. Malfoy didn't like Hermione; Hermione was a Mudblood...but she also was the most skilled witch in school, and if anyone had the ability to save this girl, it was she.

"Harry, are you listening?" Harry looked up from his perusal of the floor and his own thoughts.

"A who and what?"

"A Draxagram," Hermione repeated firmly, shredding a length of bloodied linen to make due as a bandage. "It's Circle magic-obviously some outside magic is interfering with the healing spells we've been trying, and if I can weed out that magic--" she scowled and struggled with an especially tough bandage. "-I can use a simple Ascelpio to fix her up." Harry nodded, fishing his wand out of his pocket.

"Right. How do I do it?" he asked.

"It's not that hard," said Hermione. "All you have to do is draw a pentagram in a five-pointed star with your wand tip. I can take it from there." After several quiet moments of work, Harry sat back on his heels, surveying the tracery of pale, glowing gossamer. Hermione took a deep, wavering breath, and touching her hands to the vampire girl's heart, she began her chant.

The Draxagram burst into silver-blue flames.

Harry yelped, stepping back, eyes wide. The star-fire danced and sparked icily, turning the walls of Malfoy's room aquamarine with the effect of a pool's reflection. Without warning, the flames leapt higher in their dizzying waltz, turning blindingly gold, and Harry saw the shadowy forms of the two girls in their fiery prison before he had to look away, his scar burning.

At first, the pain was a gentle reminder of his mortality, then it erupted into something harsh and fierce, almost the same sensation he had suffered when Voldemort had faced him three years before....

__

He had known these women, once. They were small and sinuous, nearly identical, one with long, sunshine-gold hair, the other with hair the tone of blood, yet darker. The one of Light watched him, her face an unemotional mask, her white cloak billowing and swirling around her pale form. The other refused to meet his gaze, her body tensed with something that could have been anger, a full black hood hiding her face in shadows.

It was like standing before Life and Death; one obviously the embodiment of sunlight and truth, the other...the other reeking of what happened in the Dark to those who were unwary.

"Why are you doing this to me?" the shadowed one suddenly cried, her voice taut as steel wire and twisted in pain.

"Doing what? What have I done to you?" he demanded, aware of the distant rumble of thunder, the tumultuous clouds interweaving, hinting that the storms were to come. "What have I done?!" he shouted over the howling winds.

Slowly, the Daughter of Darkness drew back her hood.

Her eyes gleamed a harsh, bloody red.

He sucked in his breath with a hiss, backing away, but already he felt that familiar, enticing, electric pain lancing through him...

__

Harry was aware of a voice. It was Hermione, he thought, and she was screaming something at him. Her hands were on his shoulders, shaking him.

What?

"Harry!" she cried. "Harry! Say something, Harry!" Harry blinked, wishing she'd stop shaking him-it was giving him whiplash.

"Herm!" he yelped, grabbing her hands. She was near tears, her breathing ragged. "I'm okay, really!" She was silent for a moment. Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and started sobbing into his shirtfront. He awkwardly rubbed her back; not at all sure what else he was supposed to do.

"Oh Harry. I was so afraid that the Draxagram's magic had somehow backwashed on you...you just yelled and fell over-I wasn't sure what had happened..."

"To be truthful, I'm not sure either. How's our patient?"

"Healing," Hermione said, realizing how close she was to Harry and scooting back. She nibbled absent-mindedly on her thumbnail. "She'll be fine in a little while." Harry sighed. He could have kissed her. Now, though, with Draco have disappeared five hours before, even Hermione was starting to look frazzled and worn, her already-frizzy hair a true abomination to any fashion-conscious witch.

There was a murmur from the bed, and, in painfully slight motions, the vampire slowly opened her eyes. Hermione leaned over her, checking her bandages and looking generally solicitous, and the girl screamed. She started yelling then, her voice hoarse, in a language Harry couldn't even begin to understand.

"Kaibutsu!" the vampire howled, hunched in an animalistic fight-or-flight pose, her eyes darting. Hermione's brow furrowed, and she rapidly shot a sharp reply back, in the same language.

"Shizuka ni shite kudasai!" Hermione said strictly, and the girl silenced suddenly, looking up at them both with large, frightened eyes.

"What was she saying?" Harry asked quietly. She shrugged.

"She speaks Japanese. I think she was screaming for a dragon, or a monster, or-something. I couldn't quite understand, so I told her to quiet down." Harry sighed and shook his head.

"Draco. She was calling for Draco."

*

Draco had always thought Aubrey was an odd fellow. He was nearly three thousand-not horribly old for a vampire, but still-and was known as the ruthless and charismatic 'owner' of an American city, New York. Big city. Big vamp.

Although, Draco didn't think he was too horribly creative, seeing as he named his daughter after himself. Or maybe he was more of an egomaniac than Draco had previously thought.

Draco glared at the older vamp, not caring that his shoulder-length silver hair was mussed appallingly, sodden strands clinging to his face, or that his school robes were sticking to him because of the pouring rain, or even his muddied state. Aubrey glared right back, suddenly sober and very, very angry because of Draco's mention of his daughter.

"What happened to her?" Aubrey hissed.

"I'll be damned if I know," Draco replied flippantly, crouching slightly to lower his center of gravity, just in case the other vampire thought about attacking him. Surprisingly, Aubrey lashed out mentally; Draco skidded backwards in the mud, his senses roiling because of the assault.

"You've already been damned, Dracconis," Aubrey replied coolly, black eyes flashing his inner rage. "We all are. Now where is my daughter?"

"Vidas," he growled shortly, still smarting from his attack. "Dominique was trailing her-would have killed her if I hadn't intervened." Aubrey looked very much as if he disbelieved this, and his hand hovered at the leather wrist-sheath that held his Fenris blade.

"And where is she now? I'll slit your throat if you left her to die." Draco smiled ruefully, tilting his chin up defiantly.

"Do I look like a man who washed out an old friend?" he asked softly. Aubrey's eyes narrowed; his gaze was cold, calculating, like a bird of prey that knows its quarry well.

"Actually, you look like hell."

*

The vampire girl hadn't said much since waking; she simply huddled in the thick covers that Harry had piled on her like one who had never known warmth before, taking a steaming cup of tea from Hermione with a quiet "Doomo arigatoo gozaimasu". Hermione had explained to Harry that she had said "thank you very much", which was comforting in an odd way. If nothing else, the girl was coherent. That was good.

Hermione had attempted a conversation with her, and had found that she didn't want to say much, like a trauma patient or something.

"Onamae wa?" The vampire looked slightly shifty, watching both Harry and Hermione as if she was wondering if they'd hurt her if she offered her name.

"Watakushi no namae wa Oni Aubrey desu," she replied slowly, taking a deliberate drink from her tea, though not breaking eye contact. Obviously, she was the 'ever vigilant' sort. Mad-Eye Moody would have liked her.

"Aubrey Oni, huh?" Hermione said, looking perplexed. "Well that's funny."

"What's funny?" Harry asked, not wanting to be left out.

"Well," she said. "In Japanese folklore, the Oni are a type of ghost, or storm demon. They brought torrential rains that resulted in death or devastation." Harry sighed.

"Now isn't that comforting. Um, could you ask this Aubrey if she's all right?"

"Of course." Hermione turned once more to the vampire, and translated Harry's inquiry. "Ogenki desu ka?" Aubrey took another sip of tea, then said, quite clearly-

"I'm fine, thank you." Harry nearly bit his tongue in surprise.

"W-what? You speak English?"

"Er, yes. I was a bit fuddled when I regained consciousness-didn't know where I was and all that-so I slipped back into using my native language. I'm very sorry if it was an inconvenience."

"Not at all," Hermione said amiably, grinning despite herself. She was pleased that Aubrey was doing better-she was no longer the pale thing at death's door she had been a few hours earlier. "You're sure you're well?"

"Yes," Aubrey said quietly, then stared at the green-and-silver coverlet of Draco's bed, which she had been picking at nervously. "Where is Dracconis?"

"Draco, you mean?" Harry asked, a touch of coldness brushing his tone. "He dumped you here, fetched me, and ran off. I've no idea where he went, or when he'll be back, or--"

"But it's important!" Aubrey shouted suddenly, with more vigor than should have been possible of a person who had been so close to death. "Jager and Fala-the Dark Lord-they're going to--" Hermione put a placating hand on the vampire's shoulder as she struggled to get up, gasping and wincing in pain, her cheeks flushed.

"Stop it!" Hermione said sharply. "You'll re-open all your wounds and just hurt yourself more-Draco will be back, he's--"

"Back already," said a precise voice from the doorway-Draco-as he quickly strode in, measuring up Hermione, Harry, and Aubrey in a razor-sharp glance. "Glad to see you're alive," he added to Aubrey.

"God, Draco," she replied in answer, looking at his waterlogged and bedraggled appearance. "You look like hell."

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair, only succeeding in dripping mud and rainwater in a growing puddle all over the floor.

"So I've been told," he said tiredly, ignoring her as she stuck a pert pink tongue at him. Draco stepped forward, cradling Aubrey's chin in one hand, silencing her.

Sleep, he gently prodded into her mind, willing her to relax and let go of the pent-up emotions that kept her livid. She fought, as was her nature, but eventually her heavy eyelids closed and she slumped backwards just as he caught her. Normally, he wouldn't have been able to even dream of breaching her mental barriers, but Aubrey was exhausted and wounded, which left her vulnerable. He was suddenly glad he had found her and not some other vampire-some other vampire that would most likely have held a grudge to her, and would have slit her throat in her weakness. After he soothingly laid a cool hand on her fever-hot forehead, making sure she was still breathing evenly, he turned, eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"Now who in the world did you manage to save her? I owe you, by the way. At least now I can tell her father that no, your daughter is not dead, sir."

"I used a Draxagram to pull apart the magic that was keeping us from being able to use magic." Hermione explained timidly, obviously not wanting to call too much attention to herself.

Draco's hand unconsciously slid from lightly touching her forehead to running his fingers over her soft cheek; realizing this, he pulled away as if he had been burned.

"Using a Draxagram to null the enchantments of a Vida blade," Draco mused. "I'll have to remember that one for future reference."

Draco looked up at Harry and Hermione, who were both watching him carefully. He sighed.

As of that moment, they were officially 'involved'.

And according to Aubrey, something big was definitely going down.

*

The wait until morning was difficult.

After Draco had shooed Harry and Hermione back to the Gryffindor Tower, the pair had nervously huddled in the Gryffindor common room until dawn, discussing what had taken place. Hermione was the most shaken; she curled up on the couch nearest the fire, staring into the flames without really seeing them. Which made for a very brooding setting, but it gave Harry the heebie-jeebies. Suddenly she turned and looked at him, her doe-brown eyes large and frightened.

He looks good like that, she thought to herself, referring to the fact that the effects of the Swelling Solution were just wearing off, leaving his normally gaunt face with a slight roundness of the vestiges of childhood. He looked younger, and more knowable. As if she could read his thought and actions like she used to, when they were children. Not that she was going to say, 'hey Harry, you should gain some weight so I can feel like I can read your every move'. Yeah right.

Simultaneously, Harry was thinking about Hermione as well.

She looks good like that, he thought, referring to Hermione's long hair, which was curling around her hips. Usually, she used liberal doses of Madame Hasanna's Hair Straightener, but the potion had worn off during their work that night. She seemed worried that her hair would frizz and cloud like it had done in their younger years, but she hadn't realized that the frizz had turned into sweet, little-girl ringlets.

"Herm," Harry said quietly, and she jumped and looked back at him. "D-d'you know that your hair looks, uh, good like that? I mean, not that it doesn't look good otherwise, but--" Hermione smiled slightly before returning her gaze to the fire.

"Thank you." She paused then, and sighed. "I don't know what to think anymore. God, I'm so tired I can't see straight, but I have this feeling that we're not going to get a decent night's sleep for a while." Hermione let her cheek rest on Harry's shoulder, closing her eyes and savoring the moment, just for once. He heaved a sigh, and, cautiously, ran a hand through her curls, trying desperately to imprint in his mind the way she smelled, the silkiness of her hair, and the way her little hand felt when it touched his.

"Hermione," Harry began, hearing the nervous edge to his own voice. "I just wanted to say that I--"

"Oi! Harry! Where've you been? We've been looking all over for you-oh, am I interrupting something?"

Sometimes, Harry had to fight the urge to kick Ron Weasley very, very hard.

*

Draco glanced over at the Gryffindor table to see how his 'friends' were faring. No, no, friend was too strong of a word. Allies, maybe. Or perhaps nice acquaintances that just happened to have helped him.

Harry seemed to have fallen asleep in his cereal. Ron the weasel had helped him up, spluttering and dripping milk, and Draco had had to distract himself from laughing hysterically by buttering a piece of toast he had no intention of eating, and then putting it on Pansy Parkinson's plate. Ms. Parkinson, as all the Slytherins knew, was a fervent anorexic, and fainted at the sight of food.

The resounding crash as she fainted into skinny little Blaise Zabini, knocking her over as well, was enough of an episode that Draco was able to slink over to Harry (still wiping Cheerios off his glasses) and whisper "Ten 'o clock, Slytherin dungeons," to him before he casually sauntered out of the Great Hall.

*

As Aubrey slipped into a feverish coma, she dreamt, and as she dreamt she remembered...

May 12th, 1524

Oni, four-year-old daughter of Saya Kino and Ayashii Kuroi, tilted her babyish face up to the branches of the ancient cherry tree, giggling as the soft, pink petals twirled and drifted like floral snow, catching in her hair, settling in the folds of her robe. Under the protective arms of the sakura no ki, Oni would pretend that she lived in a world of simplicity and the fragrance of cherry blossoms, a world that father did not 'disappear' in, a world that mother did not look pale and unhappy, but sweet and rosy, as a mother should.

Oni caught a petal and rubbed it against her cheek, trying to memorize its silky touch.

Mother had asked her to stay here; she did not know why. Oni had not objected because she loved the world of her cherry tree. She ran her tiny fingers over the knobby, cracked bark, tracing the ruts and indentions. Mother had asked her to do a lot of things, like make her drink the foul-smelling liquid an old witch-woman had given her, and asking her to touch an odd metal object that made Oni's hands burn. After each time, Mother would start crying, and would not tell Oni why.

Father would explain, she thought. Yes, Father would explain if he hadn't left. That was when Mother had become so ill and unhappy.

"Oni?" That was Mother's voice, wavering and high. "Oni, love, are you coming to help me with the laundry?" Oni smiled automatically; any reason to explore the riverbank was wonderful in her young mind.

___

There were hands holding her down, strong, unrelenting, not caring that her lungs were burning and she couldn't find air.

There was only the cold, icy pain of the river water, and the knowledge that the one forcing her under the current had loved her, once.

Oni closed her eyes and stopped struggling, lapsing into an unconsciousness she'd never awaken from.

__

Gasping, her heart racing, Aubrey snapped awake, her senses tense. She was still in Draco's room, and he had drawn the curtains around his four-poster bed closed so that she wouldn't be disturbed. That was very like Draco, actually.

Aubrey found her clothes folded neatly by the bedside; she quickly dressed and decided that she was going to leave, and never, ever, ever, ever come back. She could find new territory. She didn't need the Forbidden Forest, really.

But maybe she should say goodbye to Draco...

Aubrey slapped the thought aside; reminding that inner voice she labeled 'AlmostSortaKindaNice!Aubrey' that no, she couldn't say goodbye to Draco because he was her reason for leaving in the first place.

That, and the knowledge that the world was ending.

A bit of a downer, that.

Aubrey sat cross-legged on the bed, arguing with AlmostSortaKindaNice!Aubrey and AbsoluteBitch!Aubrey until classes ended for the day.

It was so very hard to be evil when you had a split personality.

*

Imbrium: Right then. Aubrey's okay. *Neo and Kumo, Aubrey's only fans, cheer in the background* Oh shut up. *Neo and Kumo decide that Imbrium is set on giving her author's note, and shut up* What was I saying...? Oh yeah. This chapter is mostly confusing, I think, but it pieces together nicely with the rest of the fic. At least it's supposed to. And Kumo, if you're laughing at me, I swear I will rip off your toes and give them to Snape for Christmas, because this is my first fic and I am WINGING IT!!! *Author regains composure after screaming at the top of her lungs* Er...yeah. Okay, next chapter we have Hermione doing background checks, some past surprises, Aubrey's neato sword, prophesies and persistent death threats, and the end of the world as we know it.

Too bad.

--Luvs,

Imbri