Tied to Infinity

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Tied to Infinity

Chapter II

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Saturday Evening

The Academy

Unplottable and accessible only by its students and staff, the Academy of the Seven Dials was a haven isolated from the rest of the vampire community, and indeed, the rest of the world. It was cradled in the bowels of a great valley, blanketed by forest on the north and hemmed in by a meandering river to the west.

If nothing else, no one could disagree the school was unconventional.

Its founding headmaster was a born vampire of anonymous origins, known only by the name of Constantine. In a culture where bloodlines and heredity were paramount, this in itself invited much speculation, but most were prepared to overlook this in light of the vampire's reputation.

Aside from educating vampire youth, the school functioned as a refuge of sorts to sire-less fledgling vampires--those who had been given the Blood on a whim and subsequently abandoned by their sires.

Although this aspect of the school was highly disputed and not altogether accepted by the vampire community, the school was privately founded and owned and thus few openly challenged it.

The only buildings on the campus were the dormitories, the stables, and a larger, heavily warded structure students were strictly forbidden from approaching. Classes were held outdoors, in warded arenas for combat and magic courses, sheltered alcoves for formal lectures, and a number of modified open classrooms for other lessons.

Its professors were recruited from around the globe, some coming to lend a hand in training future leaders of the vampire world or to choose a childe, others called in on favors to the headmaster. With its highly professional teaching staff and its very influential headmaster, the school maintained a reputation of high prestige in the vampire community.

Currently, the headmaster had been absent from the Academy for seven days and nights, a disappearance neither announced nor gone unnoticed.

Though many rumors were circulating around the campus as to his whereabouts amongst students and staff alike, only one man knew the truth.

Salazar Slytherin rather liked being privy to things others were not. It never failed to afford him a certain smug satisfaction and, in more serious affairs, an advantage that could be exploited.

From what Constantine had confided in him, he had come to a few conclusions.

Such as that the headmaster's absence was indubitably related to the mortal Lucius Malfoy's brat. And that Constantine had probably found a protégé in the young Malfoy heir.

Sitting in one of the school's many courtyards, the vampire listened to the not-too-far voices of vampire children playing. Though he could not see them, Salazar's keen hearing identified their voices immediately.

Two boys and a girl, all three of them stray mutts Constantine had picked up off the night streets of Dublin.

Sire-less, and in possession of powers they had no right to. Rather like the mudbloods in the wizarding world, Salazar thought.

Of course, they did appeal to Constantine's infuriating hero complex, who deemed it his personal duty to take in every wayward sire-less brat he found.

Happy shrieks interrupted his musings. Salazar looked up as the wind carried over the clear little voices.

"Headmaster, you're back!"

"We missed you, Sir. Where'd you go?"

"Will you stay?"

So, he was back. Salazar rose and went toward the voices.

All four looked up at his arrival, Constantine in relief and the children in open nervousness.

Salazar frowned, noting the all too pale tone of Constantine's skin, the way his shoulders hunched ever so slightly as if bearing a great burden.

"Unhand him, children," he commanded stonily. "Your headmaster is in no state to deal with the likes of you."

It was a testament to how tired Constantine was that he did not protest. Grumbling in disappointment, the young vampires extricated themselves reluctantly and ran off.

As soon as they were out of sight, Salazar stepped over as Constantine swayed on his feet and slung a supporting arm around his waist.

"Fool," he chided. "You should have come to me earlier."

The other vampire offered him a weak smile.

Salazar sighed in exasperation. "Come on then, let's get you to my chambers."

He Shadowed them both into his quarters, a rather spacious bedroom hemmed off from the rest of the school by an intricate set of signature-activated wards.

Even while living in a school, Salazar valued his privacy.

Salazar lowered his companion onto his bed. He removed his own outer robe and tugged down his collar before leaning down to brace Constantine. With one hand, he lifted the back of his head until warm breath puffed on the skin of his neck. A warm, wet tongue trailed down his jugular, and as always, Salazar had to force down a shudder.

"Take all you need." His voice left no room for protest.

Constantine laved the skin slowly, careful even in this condition to prepare Salazar thoroughly so as not to cause unnecessary pain. When the bite came at last, Salazar felt only a dull prick before a gentle suction drew his blood.

With his free hand, he kneaded the narrow shoulders beneath him, carefully working out the tenseness with firm, rhythmic pressure. The wiry muscles unwound and relaxed at his touch.

Salazar waited patiently until the fangs disengaged from his flesh. Constantine licked away any traces of blood and closed the wound carefully.

"Thank you, Salazar."

The older vampire trailed one long, clawed finger down the three lines of dried blood on Constantine's face and leveled a questioning gaze on him.

"He woke today," Constantine said, by way of answer.

Salazar raised one sharply arched eyebrow. There was no need to ask who 'he' was. Constantine, had, after all, prattled on about little else for several days before he had disappeared into his manor for a week.

"How is he?" he asked, more out of duty than interest.

A slow smile spread across red lips. "He's wonderful, Salazar. Just like his father, and in more than physical resemblances."

"Arrogant, vain, and utterly unbearable, you mean?" Salazar sniped, scowling a bit at Constantine's obvious fondness for the human.

Constantine laughed. "Come now, Salazar. Lucius only acts that way around you because you so obviously despise him."

"With good reason. You've told him about his change, then?"

Green eyes darkened, and Constantine sighed. "I should have broken the news to him more gently."

The elder vampire made a noise that would have been called a snort on anyone else. "The narrow-mindedness must run in the family."

"The poor boy has been through a great ordeal. Anyone would have reacted in his manner."

"And I suppose anyone would have done that?" he snarled, pointing at Constantine's face.

Despite the situation, Constantine felt a little warmth at Salazar's open protectiveness.

"Don't judge Draco too harshly. This is all very new to him, and he probably doesn't even know about magic."

"And I'm sure he'll attempt to have you prosecuted for witchcraft when you tell him," Salazar sneered. "What is it that Muggles do with witches nowadays? Oh yes, burn them at the stake. How ironic, seeing as any half-competent wizard could protect themselves against fire and you'd be burnt to a nice little pile of ashes right quick."

Constantine ignored the acidic tone, knowing it was Salazar's own brand of showing concern. "I promised Lucius I'd look after his son--"

"You've repaid your debt to that human at least tenfold by now."

"I don't do this for the debt, I do it because Lucius and his family are important to me."

"They're weak mortals who don't deserve your time of day, much less your protection!"

Constantine's features went rigid, and Salazar knew he had gone too far. His pride, however, forbid an apology from leaving his tongue.

"I'd thought you above such petty prejudices."

Salazar pretended not to hear the disappointment in the other's voice. "As a vampire Lord, you have far too many responsibilities to play watchdog for humans."

"Draco Malfoy is my childe." Constantine stressed the word delicately. "And thus, his welfare is now one of those responsibilities."

He rose from the bed and reached across Salazar's desk for a quill and parchment.

"And what a fit the Angelici shall throw when they find you chose not one of the dozens of promising young vampires at the school, but a human."

A fit you would pay to see.

Constantine dipped the quill into the inkpot and began writing. Dear Salazar really was a little unhealthily infatuated with his color scheme, he thought with fond exasperation. Green quill and silver ink--really.

"What are you writing?"

"A letter. To Lucius and Narcissa."

"Oh, for the love of--" Salazar looked adverse to the mere idea of sparing mortals even his own ink and parchment. "Fine. Coddle them, if you must. But I'll take none of their brat's cheek when you bring him to the school."

"I never expected you to," Constantine assured blithely. But knowing Draco's mouth...

He smiled. Oh Salazar, I can't wait to introduce you.

After Constantine left, Draco fell back onto the bed to gauge the current affair of things.

On the one hand, he was free of the dreaded prisoner camps. A week ago, Draco would have thought any place on Earth preferable to the freezing encampments, where he'd been kept under constant surveillance by British guards, and living off meal rations that wouldn't satisfy a child half his size.

Here, trapped in the house of a blood-drinking monster, he wondered if his present situation was any improvement.

A fairly hospitable and well-mannered blood-drinking monster, Draco conceded, but a blood-drinking monster nonetheless.

Who had turned him into the same.

Draco's stomach turned and he pushed the thought away hastily. Whatever had happened to him, he wasn't ready to contemplate it quite yet.

He looked around, wondering what he was to do now. He had no intention of running into Constantine again, but nor could he linger in this room forever. After a moment of deliberation, he resolved to look around the place. It was certain to be interesting at least, and perhaps he could learn more about his host.

The manor was enormous. Many of the rooms were locked up, but Draco found no end in fascination in those that were not.

The stiffness in his healed ankle and chest was soon forgotten as he ventured through room after room, each filled with more tantalizingly exotic furnishings than the last.

He devoted the better part of an hour examining the room that had caught his attention earlier--the weaponry room. The blades propped up in bare exhibits were dulled around the edges and all wrought in the same strange silver-streaked metal. Beautiful though they were, Draco recognized them for what they were--decorative works of art. Few would be practical tools in true battle.

But of course, their owner probably didn't know that. Nobles could avoid conscription by paying a fee or hire someone to go in their place. War was, after all, a poor man's fight.

Constantine had probably never seen a battle in his pampered life. Instead, he amused himself collecting these petty toys.

Draco sneered bitterly. He almost spun on his heel to leave when something caught his eye. In the polished surface of one of the swords, something glinted in the reflection.

He turned and saw a recess in the wall, barely noticeable but exaggerated in the distorted reflection of the sword.

It ran vertical, straight up from the ground and turned at a right angle over Draco's head, in the perfect outline of a door. He ran a finger across the indentation thoughtfully.

A dull hollow sound met his ears when he rapped on it, and so he laid one palm flat against the stone and pressed. An odd tingle like static electricity ran through his fingers and this portion of the wall flickered and vanished.

Draco recoiled in surprise. He looked to his hand, and then at what had just been solid marble. How...strange. He stared at it for a few moments more, then shrugged and wrote it off as a peculiarity of the house.

It was only then that he looked beyond into what was on the other side.

A large bedroom, comfortably furnished in shades of dusky reds and browns. There were no windows inside, but from the light filtering through from the adjoined weaponry room, Draco could see the clear signs of former habitation: a quill and several pieces of parchment on the desk, a large black cloak thrown haphazardly across the bed.

He touched a finger to the mahogany wardrobe nearby and grimaced. The room was obviously in disuse and had been for some time, if the layer of dust was anything to go by.

Strange...why would a secret room be hidden here?

Draco turned, his attention drawn to a large canvas painting hung on the far wall. He got close enough to read the small plaque beneath it: Constantine and Marcellus.

In the foreground, two men stood in easy companionship.

He recognized one of them instantly.

Physically, the first vampire in the painting looked nearly identical to the man Draco had just met. The same verdant eyes, intense even on canvas...the same jet black hair, although here it had been cut short and stuck up in every direction in a most absurd manner.

The artist had done a superb job of capturing Constantine's essence and mood. His relaxed features conveyed a sense of deep contentment, a quiet but powerful inner peace that Draco envied.

The handsome man beside him was half a head taller, his skin a golden brown and his hair sheer white despite his youth. Draco was familiar with the proud stance and strong physique; they were qualities he commonly saw in his military superiors.

Be that it may, the man was gazing down at Constantine fondly, like a brother or...something else.

The longer Draco stared at the painting, the more aware he became of a prickling feeling in his mind.

The white-haired man...Draco could not help puzzling over his expression. Was he imagining things or was there a shred of...sorrow in his eyes?

Love, devotion, protection...an anguish deeper than physical pain could fathom...

Draco stumbled back, struck by these foreign sentiments--clearly not his own yet resonating in his heart with a painful poignancy.

Beneath that was the sudden certainty he was intruding upon something deeply private.

This room had been concealed for a reason. Draco averted his eyes from the rich canvas.

Perhaps it was best it remained that way.

Hours later, Draco could no longer ignore the gnawing hunger. It had started not long after he'd resealed the hidden room behind the wall, and had been growing steadily since.

He found a platter of fresh crumpets in the parlor, but these did nothing to ease the need. If anything, they sharpened it, made it crueler somehow. Though he was loath to admit it, Draco knew this was a hunger that could not be satisfied with food.

How he hated the man who had given him these grotesque cravings.

His skin was cool to his own touch, and a film of red had descended over his vision. He did not need to look down to know the claws had regrown, and he felt the sharp tips of fangs against his lower lip.

Hadn't Constantine told him to go to the kitchen if he was hungry?

Draco growled. He was not going to do anything that vampire suggested. As if in protest to this rebellious idea, his stomach gave a painful twinge.

He paused and revised the thought. It wouldn't hurt to see what Constantine had left for him.

Draco had been expecting it, but he still sneered in disgust when he saw the corked bottle of dark red on the table.

Even from this distance, he could smell it: a rich coppery aroma that promised warmth and strength.

Just a sniff, he told himself. He could afford to indulge himself that much.

Draco unstopped the bottle and lifted it to his nose. One sniff wouldn't hurt, because as long as he didn't actually drink it--

But then a smear of blood across the rim of the container touched his lip, and dear Lord--smelling was one thing, but tasting was another altogether, and infinitely more satisfying.

Hunger wrung his stomach, and his arms moved to tilt the bottle.

Dimly, he knew he should be revolted--this was blood he was drinking--but something integral and feral inside him craved it, needed it.

It tasted nothing like blood should taste: warm and sweet, thick with copper and an underlying current of power.

He drained it without pause for breath.

Draco eyed the now empty bottle in his hand. His fangs tingled pleasurably, and a pale pink tongue traced his lips to clean away all traces of blood.

So. Vampire then. Mother will be hysterical.

Draco's explorations led him to a huge entrance door in the grand foyer. It was easily twice as tall as he was and four times as wide, carved of solid oak, and reinforced with steel bracers. Strangely enough, it was unguarded.

Nothing was stopping him from leaving this house and Constantine behind.

Would Constantine have locked him in?

Draco was almost surprised when the doorknob gave easily. He smirked in smug triumph. For all his aristocratic graces and altruistic farce, Constantine really was a fool. If he thought Draco would stay out of some misplaced sense of indebtedness, he was sorely mistaken, because there was absolutely nothing stopping Draco from--

He stepped into the light, and a thousand needles stuck his skin, stinging and burning with all the intensity of white fire. The noonday sun shone unbearably bright and enveloped his vision in a sheer blaze. With a snarl born of pain and surprise, Draco stumbled back through the doorway, blindly fumbling for the door to shut out that terrible light.

Constantine hadn't needed to lock the door all, not when Draco was trapped inside by something so utterly inescapable.

Draco lifted his arms, and saw the normally pale skin had flushed to a bright pink from the brief exposure. It was another crushing reminder of his lost humanity, and he hated it.

By the time Constantine returned, the first gloom of twilight had already descended upon the land.

If Constantine noticed the empty bottle of blood in the kitchen, he made no mention of it.

For that, Draco was thankful, but he realized that of all his new tendencies, the aversion to sunlight disturbed him far more than his hunger for blood.

To forsake the light of day for all eternity, to be bound forever to shadows and night...the thought filled Draco with a crushing despair.

After some deliberation, he brought it up as casually as he could.

"It's only temporary," Constantine explained. "You're going through a transition phase, so your needs and sensitivities are heightened. I expect you to walk in daylight untroubled by the week's end."

Draco's heart soared in relief, even as he narrowed his eyes in shrewd suspicion. "What needs?"

"Primarily, your need for fresh blood twice a day. The requirement will dwindle as you mature, of course." Constantine wisely sidestepped the topic of imprinting. He doubted Draco would take kindly to the idea that he was subconsciously developing an instinctive dependence on his sire. "As a new vampire, you also need to familiarize yourself with your new body and mind. I assume you've already noticed the physical changes."

An admittedly positive consequence of the situation, Draco conceded. "What else is there?"

"You can, but do not need, to consume normal food. You no longer have a regular sleep pattern, nor do you need to breathe." At Draco's incredulous stare, Constantine added, "Although many turned vampires choose to continue these habits for the comfort of familiarity."

There was a lot to being a vampire, Draco learned. The two of them stayed there long after the sun had gone down, Constantine patiently explaining the strengths and weaknesses of vampiric nature and Draco feigning disinterest. Although Draco worked to keep up his pretense of disgusted horror at the sinful unnaturalness of it all, another part of him grudgingly noted that his vampire companion did not resemble the soulless, animalistic monsters of the stories he had heard growing up.

Later that night, Draco contemplated this as he lay in his enormous bed.

Take away the fangs, the too-bright eyes, the vampire-ness...and Constantine almost resembled a normal, rational person.

Could the differences between human and vampire be so easily crossed?

Draco had no answer. Disturbed by these thoughts, he closed his eyes.

Constantine, I reserve my judgment for you.