Forsaken

Time had finally lost its meaning.

Weeks had passed. Or maybe months.

Not days though, for the memories of what his life had once been were fading into the fog that filled his mind. Not years, either, for the memories still had shape and texture and color and smell.

A letter.

Not just any letter. The letter. The letter that had ripped him from his life. The life he'd barely managed to rebuild. What little happiness he had found in New York existed no longer.

And then the other letter that had followed it.

Draco,

Why don't you write? You cannot possibly hold me responsible for your mother's suicide. I am locked away, less harmful than a deaf and blind cat. I am a bird without wings, a cripple without my wand, my powers bound. There is no way I could have brought harm to her. And believe me, she's better off now.

On the other hand, I am writing from High Security at Azkaban, a prison within a prison. This is what is left of my world, an 8x8 cell shared with Jesus Irolo, a man as mad as his name.

During the day, I sometimes hear the crows caw as they fly by this forsaken island, calling out, dissonant and querulous, a perfect imitation of the damned prisoners that gaze out at them. Of course, nothing that sings would alight near this place, even with the dementors gone. No, we are left with our unholy crows, and nothing else, no solace.

The rest of the world has forgotten us, but here we still lie, crouching behind bars, behind the slitted doors, plotting murder, plotting revenge. They handcuff us even to the shower. Well they should.

Draco liked that idea, his father behind bars, handcuffed. He couldn't hurt him from there.

And I see you at night in my mind, walking in alleys, sitting in vacant lots crowded with weeds, atop muggle skyscrapers, gazing senselessly at the blinding lights of the city, at the teeming masses of humanity below you. And then, you only go back to the morose, roach-ridden apartment that you call a home, only to fall into an unfruitful sleep, haunted by nightmares.

You think you cannot bear to lose that weakling that you called a mother. Remember, there's only one virtue Draco. The Romans were right. One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.

-Father

Draco sat on the rooftop, perched upon the edge the roof. Sirens wailed below, barley audible above the racket of the city of Manhattan. Driver's honked their horns, music blared from shitty speakers, the chatter of the crowds as they streamed out of Broadway theaters, discussing the depth, wit, or comedic brilliance of what they had seen. The lights glared back at him, the neon signs of nightclubs, the flashing screens in Times Square, the tiny office lights of workaholics that were long overdue at home.

He did love it in an odd way. Even though he had a just above minimum wage job, a crime infested apartment building, and no wand, he had found happiness in New York. Just to go to Central Park for an afternoon and enjoy himself with no memories to haunt him had been sweet bliss. He had left his old life behind, his father, magic, and everything that he once had thought he needed to survive. The manor, the items of luxury that were of no use...

His cruelty.

The one thing he had regretted to leave had been his mother. But she understood, she had even told him. It had been her idea for him to leave to America after he graduated, to put even more miles between his father and him, even though his father was still caged like a dog.

And now she was dead.

Could it really be that she just couldn't grip with the terms that cruel life held, and had wished to be a part of it no longer? Or was there more to it?

There had always been more to it. It was his father, again, he knew it. His mother would not willingly take her own life, even if she had nothing to live for, because she wouldn't want to desert Draco to face the world alone, with no one to turn to in his darkest hours.

Sirens wailed in the chaos below. Draco felt another death, another soul leave this cursed plain of existence that he was still bound to.

It had shocked him at first, when he had discovered he could feel death. It had hit him like a wave at first, deaths flying from everywhere at him, snatches of names, lives that once were. After a day he learned to control it, so he would only feel deaths were physically near him.

So he hadn't felt it when she had died. It had been a cruel shock when he had received a letter from the ministry, telling him that his mother had committed suicide. He had stayed in his apartment for days, unshaven, curtains drawn, drowning in a whirl pool of depression and hate.

Then he had figured it out. What had really happened. His father was behind it. He had thought that if Narcissa died that Draco would have to come running home to England where Lucius could have even a stronger influence over him. But Draco wasn't going to let that happen, he wouldn't let his father control him as he once had.

But Lucius had been right about one thing.

He had to go back.

* * *

Rikan leaned against the side of a building in downtown London, stopping to check the time as he pulled a gold pocket watch out of the pocket of his trench coat, quickly flipping it open and grinning as he realized he was early, as usual.

A long time ago he had discovered that it always proved to be an asset if early. Since then he had always faithfully arrived an hour before the scheduled time for a meeting. Even if there was no assassin waiting for him, he could use the extra hour for other things, such as...

Rikan turned his right just in time to catch a glimmer of red hair as its owner disappeared around the corner at a brisk pace. He cleared the corner in an instant, and then he was rewarded with a more clear view of the person who had caught his difficult to catch attention.

It was a young woman no more than twenty, with brilliant, eye-catching red hair that spewed down her shoulders in soft curls, framing her rather elegant face. Her figure was hidden by her slightly bulky trench boat, but nonetheless it clung to her form vaguely, promising an astounding figure underneath.

Her checks were flushed slightly from the cold, and Rikan could tell that even the trench coat wasn't shutting out the cold as well as it should have. She was still walking at a fast pace, and Rikan soon found his feet moving soundlessly after hers.

The streets were deserted, the shops long closed. She was probably nervous about being out this late at night, and it seemed that Rikan's suspicions were confirmed as he heard twelve chimes, announcing midnight, and her pace quickened even more.

He had to chuckle softly. She was in fact the prefect victim placed in the perfect setting. It was all he could do to control himself from taking her right then, except...

Her aura was screaming 'witch'.

It was against the laws, the ministry would be furious with him, and a warrant would be out for his death or capture by one-o-clock.

But then he grinned as he remembered that there already was a warrant out for his death or capture, and that it wouldn't matter.

He stopped in his tracks as he realized that he was decided. A split second later he reached out with his power, pulling her name from her own mind.

Virginia. His lips twisted into a smile as he realized how perfect the name fit her. How it swelled with virginal innocence, sweetness, and beauty.

Then he called out to her, placed his voice inside her head like he did to all his victims, so that her mind would hear it instead of her ears.

Virginia...

He slunk back into the shadows so that when she turned around she wouldn't be able to see him.

She stopped in her tracks, and turned around, her features twisting into a confused and slightly fearful frown as she saw no one, just a deserted street.

"Hello?" she called out. Her strong voice surprised him, even though he could sense the fear hidden there.

Virginia, come here, he told her.

He could actually see her eyes widen from where he was. But then again, his eyesight was extremely powerful.

"I- I can't see you," she said, her voice tentative.

"I'm right here Virginia," he said in a rich deep voice, as he came out of the shadows. He saw her fearful glance as she eyed his muscular form, her eyes estimating his height and strength.

"Who- Who are you?" she asked inquisitively. He laughed softly, yet loud enough so she heard him.

"There are many answers to that," he said. "I am the shadow that follows you on starless nights such as this one, the fear that stalks you in deep of the night, I am the cause of your darkest hour."

"I think I'll be leaving," she said, backing up slowly.

"No you won't," he said in a dangerously low voice.

"Yes, I will," she said, pulling out her wand and shouting a curse. Rikan quickly put up a wall of power, blocking the spell. He saw her eyes widen with fear as she realized it had no affect on him. He laughed again.

She then turned around.

And started running.

Rikan laughed to himself as he started to chase after her, taking in the wonderful feeling of the hunt, feeling pleasure run through him every time she gave a frightened gasp as she felt him right behind her.

Then his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around so that she faced him. He had to give her credit as she started to scream, and made useless attempts to beat him off of her, her delicate fists clenched as she delivered blows that didn't make a difference.

He grew tired of her screams, and slammed her into an alley wall, silencing her, but her eyes remained wide with fear.

"Virginia, I've taken a liking to you," he told her in a soft voice. "But that isn't always a good thing."

He then lowered his face to her neck, quickly feeling his teeth pierce her skin. He shuddered in ecstasy as he felt the warm blood touch his lips, and he felt the young woman below him moan, experiencing a similar feeling. Pleasure jolted through both of their bodies, and he heard her gasp when he pulled away, him satisfied, and Virginia feeling the realization that death was coming for her.

Rikan slowly lowered her to the ground, regretful (more than he should have been) that she was dying.

He thought about doing it. He weighed the consequences in his mind, and smiled when he realized that there were none. The ministry wouldn't be able to tell if she was changed, just if she was dead.

"Virginia, you are dying. Do you understand that?" he asked.

Tears were forming in her eyes, he could tell she was fearful.

"Yes," she choked out, using all of her little strength left to speak to him.

"I can change that. I can give you life. I can make you like me. All you have to do is say yes."

He saw her eyes weighing the choices, deciding if she wanted to trade a peaceful death for a cursed life.

She opened her mouth to speak...

"Yes," she whispered.

His lips curved into a wicked smile. He lowered his teeth to his own wrist, biting it open and then holding it out for her to drink from.

She took it, and drank from it, hesitant at first, and then more eagerly and greedily, thirsty for the blood she had lost.

She was beginning to feel faint when he pulled away, and she fell back onto the concrete. Something was happening inside of her...

Then the darkness enveloped her fully as her heart stopped beating, and her eyes closed, never to look upon the world in the same way again.