Summary: Whilst Voldemort's prisoner, Draco is made a vampire and forced to take Harry as his first meal. With Draco managing to resist the temptation to drain him, just barely, in a moment of blind rage at what he has been forced to become, he aids Harry in the destruction of Voldemort. But even with that threat vanquished, once back at Hogwarts, Draco finds himself disturbingly addicted to Harry's blood. And amongst all this, a dark shadow looms ominously on the outline of the forest, watching them closely.

_{EDITED 14.57 23/07/2011, A few hours after posting I edited the first scene a little to make it more understandable. It's not meant to be simple though, I've worded it this way purposefully. You'll find out more later}

Not sure about this chapter at all but it's quite long to make up for it. I hope that you're still enjoying it! Please review if you have time!

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.: c h a p t e r  f i v e :.
INTENSITY AND HONESTY




  The midnight black sky above was lightless except for the occasional twinkle of a daring star, fighting amongst the darkness of the sky above to be seen. The new moon was lost in the sky and the trees below groaned ominously in the September wind, their branches whipped from side to side in erratic formation. Like furious waves beating against a cliff-face.

Two Shadows moved through the dimness beneath the canopy, quietly, stealthily. The shadows were alive. They studied the life of the forest around them, listening, waiting for something it seemed. "We don't need to bother with this rubbish," a sharp, bark of a voice cut through the quiet of the night. The owner of the voice, the largest shadow halted abruptly. Its companion stopped too, turning to face him slowly.

"We do," the second shadow assured him, leaning against the nearest tree and studying the dark glade they had stopped in. "You were there, you know as well as I that to be overconfident in this is reckless. The Dark Lord himself fell with such mistakes, we will be much wiser than he."

The first shadow gave a little grumble of impatience and folded his dirty, hairy arms over his muscled chest, also staring around the dell, his gold, animal eyes spotting movement far off in the distance where his companion's could not. The golden orbs glowed in the darkness and the second shadow looked away, unnerved by the sight of them. He wasn't entirely comfortable with Fenrir Greyback, despite their unlikely partnership.

The silence that fell was a short-lived one, as a sharp gust of wind ripped through the clearing and with it brought the sound of the others' arrival. Greyback and the smaller shadow stepped forward into the glade, but kept their bodies tensed, apprehensive of betrayal. One could not be too careful these days. The ministry was under a new rule, the new Minister, Shacklebolt a sight better than his previous three predecessors, and any underground dealings could be sabotaged by an inside spy.

The smaller shadow looked to his larger companion patiently, waiting for him to clarify these new arrivals were who they claimed to be. "They're all clean, no intruders that I can tell," Greyback elucidated, and took the final step forward to meet the newcomers. "You're late," he said gruffly.

"We had to make sure we weren't followed," the first newcomer said. All three of them were dressed in crimson, hooded cloaks which were drawn up over their heads. The disguises must have been for any potential invaders that might show up uninvited, however, since they knew Greyback was of a species that knew exactly what and who they were without having to see them. Just one whiff with the right wind told him (and hence his companion) who they were facing.

"Aurors were hovering around the entrance to Knockturn Alley, almost caught us on the way in to our apparition point. Still…" The first cloaked figure took a step forward, showing himself as the most important of them all. "We're here, now tell me just why you believe we would want to join with such…" His nose was twisted with a sneer that was visible to the golden eyed Greyback, even in the darkness, and the werewolf growled warningly.

"Such what? You believe yourself above me you rotten, inbred little ponce?" Greyback snarled. His smaller companion surged forwards, seizing his arm, stopping him in his forward motion.

"Enough, Fenrir, I will handle this," he said carefully, before turning on their guests. "We do not have to see eye-to-eye, nor even like each other, good sir, but we have similar goals and as such…are both in need of a little more fire power. We have a proposition. You work with us and we will both walk away with what we desire."

The clearing was quiet but for the low waning cry of the wind, but then, the cloaked man spoke again. "Your business is with who exactly? The Potter boy is ours and our purposes for him are not for public knowledge. What can you possibly want that corroborates with Potter's capture?"

Fenrir grinned, his animalistic fangs gleaming in the darkness. He chuckled menacingly, but allowed his smaller companion to answer.

"Revenge," Fenrir Greyback's companion replied simply, his voice coarse with venom. "Revenge that will, in turn, make your prize of Potter ripe for the taking."

* * *

The rest of Harry's Saturday was a lonely one. He had donned his cloak and taken refuge in the Astronomy Tower until it was well past curfew. He knew it was his fault as much as theirs that he sat there in the darkness, invisible to any rogue passers-by, the loneliness slowly swallowing him whole. He knew it, but he also knew now how pointless it would be to return. For what purpose? To even further distance himself from them? No. He had tried to ask for help, they hadn't understood and it only strained their fragile friendship further by trying to make them.

So Sunday afternoon found him in the same place. Wrapped in his warmest robes with the invisibility cloak over him, shielding him from the world the way James himself might have done for him, or Lily, or Sirius… But they were gone, and he was still here, wasting their sacrifice.

So who do I go to to fix myself? There was no one else left. And the people surrounding him, they didn't understand how broken he was in the first place. Malfoy seemed to understand him more than them. He shivered at the thought.

"Feeling sorry for yourself still, Potter?" Came a voice from behind him. He half-turned, still concealed by the cloak and saw Malfoy standing a few feet behind him.

"I can't see you, but I can smell you," Malfoy clarified. I know that you're here, you may as well come out."

Harry remained still, turning slowly back to look over the landscape. The tryouts for the house quidditch teams would be held over the coming week, and while he couldn't try out he longed to feel the wind on his face again. Maybe he would go for a fly later? Or a walk into Hogsmeade? The Eighth years were allowed to travel into the village as they pleased…

"The rest of your golden trio are looking for you," Malfoy said, and Harry swore he saw him sniffing the air. Trying to smell me out, Harry thought with distaste.

"You haven't been at a meal since Saturday breakfast–"

"Which for you was, what? Bed-time?" Harry snarled, tearing the cloak off his head and tucking it into his robe pocket. "I came up here to be alone, Malfoy, by myself."

"Regardless, here," the blond stepped forwards, holding out a small package. Harry frowned, confusion and unease ebbing at the edges of his mind.

"Chocolate?" he said in disbelief. "What am I? Your girlfriend? What's that for?" He watched Malfoy scowl in reaction and the offensive offering was dropped into Harry's lap. It was a heavy block of what looked like insanely expensive chocolate.

"You and Professor Snape made me aware that when someone does something for you, you are obliged to be considerate in return," the blond said tersely. "I drained you and you haven't eaten since. You're reckless and irresponsible, I thought it more likely you would coat your empty stomach with chocolate as opposed to real food. You need the sugar if nothing else, I was merely acting–"

"Like a prat," Harry cut across him. "I don't know what you're playing at but just stop. You're a selfish arse, don't pretend otherwise."

A dark look overcame those grey eyes then. "So you say a man cannot and should not change?" Malfoy demanded.

Harry couldn't believe him. Why was he so determined to seek him out when he clearly didn't want him there? "Not in a few days, no," Harry said bluntly. "It's not honest or realistic–"

"I changed the moment that thing bit into me!" Malfoy hissed. "You're impossible, Potter. No wonder you're single. You demand a change in attitude and protest when someone tries to comply. Is it any wonder you're left to your solitude?"

Harry sneered. "Miracles don't happen in a day."

"You assume it is a miracle that I show another creature kindness?" Malfoy snapped back, gobsmacked. "Does it occur to you that even before the 'change'  I had parents whom I loved, a home that I missed when I came to school, a pet I doted on? Just because you hate me, does that mean I can't have and feel all the same things you do?"

Harry scoffed, turning his head away. "You're dead," he murmured, "you can't feel anything."

Suddenly, so fast that it made Harry jump, Malfoy dropped to his knees, Harry's head shot up on instinct and his eyes met with those icy grey ones. Mere inches were between their faces now.

"Oh, I can feel," Malfoy purred. The sheer, silky tone of his voice made Harry shiver. "I can feel quite well. Better than you, I daresay, a person who cannot see the gift that is his own bloody life. A gift that many people have died to give him. No, you pretend it is worthless because then you don't have to change, you don't have to work at living. You give up. So easy, isn't it? Well, if so, then why are you stinking up the castle with misery?"

Harry's head was reeling. All of those accusations were conforming into a jumbled mess inside his head, a screaming, roaring labyrinth of chaos. He dropped his head, staring at the lump of chocolate in his lap as if it held the answers to these accusations.

"I know I'm not perfect, you arse," Harry snarled, finding his voice. "And we may have some unfortunate similarities but I did not ask you to get involved in my life. You barged into it because you needed me. I allowed it to keep you alive but that doesn't mean you have a free invitation into my life."

Harry watched Malfoy tilt his head slightly when a light breeze rushed through the tower. He swore Malfoy was trying to taste him on it as he stared at him, considering his next words evidently. Harry just stared at him, hard. He didn't know why Malfoy was bothering to put on this façade of false consideration – he didn't even know what was even in it for the blond.

"It hurts doesn't it?" Malfoy said softly and Harry's brow creased with confusion. His skin prickled at the supple velvet the blond's tone had dropped to. His eyes flickered treacherously but he did not answer. He would not dignify Malfoy's prying with an answer.

"If it hurts, if you are on the verge of losing your friends, why are you being such a stubborn prat and keeping any hope of help out?"

Harry rolled his eyes at that. "Oh, Merlin, life advice from a vampire," he bit out sarcastically. "Are you suggesting that you're a hope for me?" he scoffed at the thought.

"Look," Malfoy said through gritted teeth. "If it's my 'uncharacteristic chivalry' that's making you doubtful to the point of idiocy, you needn't worry. I have a selfish, vested interest in you staying alive. That's all. If you weren't integral to my survival I'd let you putrefy up here by yourself but I know that if you do that you'll die of loneliness or something else equally dramatic."

Harry sat quite still, unwilling to show Malfoy how those words were piercing him, like a thousand fiery needles in his weak flesh. It seemed like Malfoy had paused for dramatic affect, but still Harry refused to surrender his emotions to the prying vampire.

"And so here I am," Malfoy continued at last, his voice almost a reprieve from the silence, even if it was annoying. "I can't let you die, or I will. It's as simple at that."

It was then that Harry's body finally slumped in defeat. A low, exhausted sigh tumbled from his lips and then at last, when his eyes had fluttered shut, Harry spoke. "At least that was honest," he breathed tiredly. "I don't like being lied to, even if someone thinks it's for 'my own benefit'. I'm not a child, I can decide what I'm ready to hear."

Harry saw Malfoy raise a brow at that.

"You're a peculiar one, Potter," Malfoy murmured, "You'd prefer to hear the brutal truth rather than a sugar-coated one. What does it matter? I still have to keep you alive regardless–"

"It matters because I was lied to my entire life and I may not be able to control everything but I will control who I converse with," Harry cut across him, "I have no time for manipulative liars any longer."

Malfoy just shrugged. "I can understand that given your view, noble gryffindors are incredibly naïve. You believe everything can be solved by being only right and just."

Harry said nothing to this, but Malfoy kept gazing at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to retort hotly to his snide words. Having nothing to say and everything to think about, Harry gave another minute sigh, turning around to gaze out over the world once more. He felt Malfoy drop down beside him and his muscles tensed to flee but he managed to stay put.

Just then, the sun broke the thick canopy of clouds, the dazzling light beaming over his skin, warming him. Closing his eyes, Harry basked in it for a moment, before the slight sound of movement beside him reminded him that he was not alone.

His lashes fluttered and he reluctantly turned his gaze to Malfoy. His breath was stolen for a moment, throttled by a tightness in his chest and throat. The sun illuminated that pale skin, giving a soft glow to those cheeks and that halo of blond hair. When finally he found his voice, it wasn't as flippant as he would've like.

"You said that Snape invented a potion for you so that you could come out in sunlight," Harry said. "How did he help you? Aren't vampires supposed to turn to combust in the sun?"

Malfoy was quiet for a moment before the breath that was not keeping him alive shuddered over his lips in a sigh. "They don't turn to ash right away, it would burn slowly, like a sluggish acid eating at the skin. If the exposure was too long then death would be imminent, but it wouldn't happen like that – not like an explosion."

Harry nodded, no small part of him disturbed by the fact that he was having his first calm, civilised conversation with Malfoy, and it was about death.

"When I first returned home I was driven into hiding in my room by the sun. My world looked bleak at best, doomed to darkness," Malfoy's tongue darted over his lips to wet them and Harry flushed when he caught himself staring at that little pink organ. He winced at his own idiocy and averted his gaze to an apparently interesting patch on the stone floor while Malfoy continued.

"Severus spent most of the summer struggling to find a cure, but the best thing he could invent for me was a potion to give me some semblance of my life back. My life may be…dubious by anyone's standards, but I owe him every inch of it. A potion that if taken once a day gives me back some of my future. Or a chance at it at least."

Harry thought for a moment, finding Snape's first name peculiar at best on Malfoy's tongue. "He's done an awful lot for you considering you're just his student," Harry said, edging around insinuation. But when Malfoy didn't seem to comprehend, he was forced to continue. "Do you and Snape fancy each other or something?" The answer was quite clear from the almost nauseated look on Malfoy's face.

"That is quite possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever heard," Malfoy sneered. "Do you fancy that werewolf of yours?" he demanded. "It's the same principle. Severus has been a close friend of my parents since before I was born. I trust him with my life."

Harry snorted at that, recalling all of the times Snape had saved his life. "I trust him with mine too," he admitted, "but he's still a git."

Malfoy turned his head a fraction, Harry noted, now being watched out of the corner of one of those grey eyes. "By your standards so am I," Malfoy said.

Harry nodded. "You are that. But you're…more bearable when you're not trying to be something else."

Malfoy flashed a wily grin then. "When I'm being honest, of course, how perfectly naïve of you, Potter. Does it not occur to you that maybe it's all part of my plan to get you under my thumb?"

"I would never be under anyone's thumb," Harry said simply. Malfoy's grin twisted into a worryingly thoughtful look.

"Believe me, Potter," Malfoy said, honesty sounding odd in his voice. "that's the only reason you have any of my respect." With the sunlight bathing that pale face, Harry only just noticed how worn and tired Malfoy looked. The way he looks about a day or so before he needs to feed, he thought, confused. It had only been…what? A day? He'd gone even longer than recommended last time, why was he so worn already?

"You look a bit…well…peaky, more than you should do considering that it was only yesterday that we…I mean that I – well you know," he flushed at his own inarticulateness, and his pride was only saved by the fact that he hadn't come last time he had offered Malfoy his throat. "Shouldn't you be good until Wednesday night?"

Malfoy turned his head to avoid Harry's eyes. "That is not your concern," Malfoy said a bit too quickly.

"But…I read that sometimes a vampire might require more blood if he overexerts himself, if he engages in–"

"Your concern is touching but as I am dead I wouldn't spend too much time fawning over my health," Malfoy said stiffly, getting to his feet. Harry followed him up.

"For someone who is always saying I have a foul temper, you've got one to match," Harry said sharply. With that, he watched Malfoy turn and fly across the room and down the stairs, out of sight. He left Harry alone with his thoughts, his irritation. His life would become a lot easier if they could learn to tolerate each other at least. If they were forced together until Snape could find some sort of solution to Malfoy needing only his, Harry's blood, then it would be a lot less exhausting if they could be more cordial towards each other.

* * *

Malfoy stalked the corridors around the dungeons. Though he didn't live down here any longer, he felt at home here. It was also quiet and he needed silence right now. The halls, they were so noisy now with his vampire heightened hearing. His hands were curled into tight fists. The stolen blood was thumping in his veins, reminding him just how little was left. How infuriating that Potter notice his dilapidated state. He hadn't thought he'd need to come to an excuse, hadn't thought anyone would notice!

Professor Alaric had cornered him yesterday evening, and the torture that had followed seemed to have increased thanks to his successfulness in avoiding him up until that point. Though his superhuman body had healed all physical signs, Malfoy could still remember the agony that ripped through him and no doubt, he was in for more this week. After every defence lesson? Every time he roamed the corridor alone? Which was often? He only dared to walk here alone because he knew that the door to Severus's quarters were only just down the hall. He felt, safer knowing that, but not safe. Never safe.

He hated how pathetic he still was, despite what he was. He knew that the more of Potter's blood he drank, the quicker his vampire abilities would grow. But he didn't know that even that would help, if defending himself in any way could end in the world finding out what he was before he was ready. He could probably rip Alaric's throat out with his bare hand once his powers reached their peak. But that would be drawing attention to the presence of a supernatural creature in the castle, and then it was only a matter of time.

Besides, though vampires were politically acceptable, ripping someone's throat out was still quite illegal. And him, a death eater to boot. How could he do anything? How could he call out for help? To whimper and call for his mother and father as he had done so many times before. That cowardice wasn't part of who he was anymore. What scrap of pride he had left, he would cling to until he was nothing but dust.

However, up there in the tower teasing Potter, having (what he could only term as) a civilised conversation with Potter, when drank from Potter… It mattered little who it was with, he had felt alive with him as he never felt otherwise. Now, he could only dread the rest of his un-life. Hiding from a lunatic posing as a professor, who had some sort of vendetta against him and only him. And he could never tell anyone, if he hoped to keep his secret. He was doomed to this, this un-life forever, with a few escapes from reality here and there, and only at Potter's hand…

Potter, he thought, why couldn't it be anyone but Potter to give me this?

Stupid boy, he admonished himself, wincing at each recollection of his guard dropping like a whore's knickers in Potter's presence. He had tried to hide this side of himself, the vulnerable portion of his soul that just wanted what everyone wanted. He wanted to not be afraid to go home, wanted to smile like he meant it, wanted to not have to guard himself and his dark secret against everyone in the world. He wanted to be alive not merely breathing in this pitiful existence. And heaven help him but those fleeting moments did bring him perilously close.

When he reached the first landing on the spiral stairs, he swung his arms against the balustrade and leant on them heavily, closing his eyes so tight that he saw spots in the dark behind his eyelids. How had he fallen so simply from the place of estrangement he had worked so hard for? He had no friends. He confided nothing in his parents. He spoke nothing of his inner turmoil, betrayed nothing of his true self, and hadn't done since before sixth year. He ground his teeth, fists tightening until his knuckles were white. How did precious Harry Potter reach beyond his iron-exterior so effortlessly?

Because deep down, you want him to, a dark, vampiric voice cooed at the back of his mind.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what it was that had drawn him from his seclusion and into the great hall for breakfast Monday morning, but he had a feeling the clenching hunger pains in his stomach had a lot to do with it. He had to face the world for lessons in any case today, he may as well feed his stomach and mind beforehand. He wouldn't gain anything by hiding upstairs for an extra half hour.

As usual, when Harry took his seat in the middle of a great gap, Hermione moved to shuffle up nearer to him. She said nothing, just nodded amicably before returning to her dippy egg. Ron was on the other side of her, but he said nothing either. And there was an obvious gap between himself and his friends. Two Dudleys could've fit there.

Well you wanted solitude, he thought, remembering Malfoy's words. They stung him as he stocked his plate with bacon an egg and some toast. His stomach churned longingly at the sight, having survived only on the chocolate Malfoy had given him yesterday. Yes, he'd eaten it. He didn't want to think on what that could mean either.

The hall was alive and vibrant with voices and yet he felt so very distant from all of their bubbly vitality. He grumbled to himself, dipping a mouthful of bacon and toast into the yolk of the egg before putting it in his mouth. Food didn't taste as good as it used to…

"Good morning."

Harry almost jumped at that, and not only because he recognised the voice, or because the owner of that voice had taken the gaping, obviously empty space across the bench from him. Mostly because it was the first kind word he had heard all morning, and it was from Malfoy.

Malfoy who had stormed off when their conversation ran deeper than bloodshed yesterday. Harry looked up at him, watching the blond sprinkle brown sugar over his porridge. "Morning," he said quietly, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Malfoy was going to try and behave himself and make this impractical tension between them a bit more cordial, if Malfoy was going to talk to him, he wasn't going to stop him.

"Hungry today, Potter?" he asked, an edge of teasing to his voice. Harry raised a brow.

"Famished, you?" he replied, really wanting to ask why Draco was eating, he hadn't read anything about vampires needing real food as well. All for appearances I suppose though, Harry thought, taking another few, large mouthfuls of food. And if his table manners put Malfoy off anything remotely sexual, well, that was merely a bonus.

"What're you sitting near him for, Malfoy?" the familiar voice of Ron demanded from the side. Harry winced, preparing for what was to come.

"The seat was empty, Weasley," Malfoy replied coolly, with only a hint of a sneer. "Devoid of red-head, so unless my presence offends Potter, it's none of your business."

Harry did not have to turn his head to know Ron had gone pink and was grinding his teeth.

"Your existence offends everyone," Ron snapped. "Harry has enough to deal with, without you stinking up his perfectly good air."

Rather than leap to his feet in indignation, Malfoy merely took another mouthful of his porridge before replying indifferently. "Including alleged best friends who I have seen in his company all of three times since the train."

Ron snorted at that, an elbow from Hermione silencing him, Harry noticed.

"We aren't in first year anymore," Hermione said stiffly. "You shouldn't start a row over nothing. We've had enough fighting to last a lifetime. Malfoy was just talking to him, Ron."

"Exactly," Malfoy interjected, "no need to get jealous."

Harry winced at that.

"Jealous!" Ron cried indignantly.

"Ron." Hermione grabbed his forearm. "I for one think its very mature of Harry and Malfoy to set aside old rivalries and push on with the future. They are partners in both Charms and Defence now, you realise?"

Ron shrugged, evidently vexed that no one had taken his side. Harry felt more than slightly annoyed that they had scarcely spoken to him of late but felt as if they still had the right to stop Malfoy from talking to him. There was fault on both sides, of course, but then, if he was honest, Malfoy was the one who had been the most honest. As much as it hurt him to admit. He didn't deserve to be snubbed like that. Not lately anyway.

"Which reminds me, we're going to be in trouble with Flitwick," Harry said conversationally, looking into Malfoy's pale face unreservedly. And he didn't think the urge to talk to him stemmed just from the desire to irritate Ron, either. "We didn't work on Dual Casting." He shared a groan with Malfoy at that. It was oddly nice to feel normal for that moment. Even if it were over something bad, it was a normal bad; school, homework. When had they ever been his biggest problem? It was a refreshing change.

They had to wait until the final lesson to find out. But sure enough, Flitwick pounced on them the moment they were called upon to give the first demonstration before the class, and they simply looked at each other, uncertainly. Flitwick's little face twisted with both disappointment and anger. "I would have thought that two men could set aside their differences and be grown up enough to complete work set–"

"Forgive me, Professor," Malfoy interjected, surprising Harry with his next words. "It's my fault, I was preoccupied, I didn't spare the time for Potter to–"

"Regardless of whose fault it was," Flitwick cut across him, "You have both lived through a war, I expected more maturity and respect from you both."

The class was silent, particularly Harry, who was still reeling from Malfoy's act of taking blame which in truth, wasn't entirely his.

"We're sorry, Professor," Harry said at last, finding his words. He noticed then that, for some reason, Flitwick's expression softened a little.

"You will both make up the time in detention – tonight after dinner, is that clear?" the little Professor demanded. Both of them nodded and the lesson continued. The students were called up to demonstrate their dual casting in their pairs. A few were alright, but mostly either too heavy-handed or too feeble with their spells. They needed more practice to level with their partners. Harry paid a bit more attention when Ron and Hermione stepped into the centre of the room, before the class. Hermione was always quickest to learn a new spell, but Ron usually had trouble. It made for an interesting pair.

A frown creased Harry's brow. Hermione had been quiet so far today, now she looked quite pale as well and Harry wondered if she wasn't feeling very well. He thought Ron was thinking the same too, he looked a bit apprehensive of letting her pressure herself even further. She looked so weak. But as ever, she was determined.

Both Hermione and Ron raised their wands – almost in unison and recited their spell – almost in unison. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The feather leapt up into the air with a sharp jerk instead of the intended gentle motion. Ron jumped and the feather was thrown completely under Hermione's power.

"Granger isn't right, Potter," Malfoy leant in and whispered in Harry's ear. Just in time, Harry refrained from flinching at his close proximity. He glanced to Malfoy, who was leaning worryingly close still.

"I can smell her sweat, the strain her body is under," Malfoy elaborated. Just as Harry turned his attention back to his friends, the feather in Hermione's usually practiced control combusted in a ball of flames.

"I'm so sorry Professor!" Hermione cried breathlessly. She looked like she might collapse and Harry was grateful when Ron began escorting her back to their desk.

"Not to worry, Miss Granger, it can happen when the two powers are unbalanced," he assured her, moving onto the next pair. But Harry looked to his best friends with concern. He was sure that it had been Hermione's powers that had been unbalanced alone, not the dual cast. Their notes from the previous lesson let him know that Hermione's concentration and connection with Ron would've compensated for any distortion. Something was wrong with Hermione.

"You said you could smell something was wrong with her?" he demanded of Malfoy in a whisper.

Malfoy inclined his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye as Flitwick began an instructive speech on how they could improve. "Your body is affected by every emotion or pressure you feel. I can smell it on her, she's worn, shaky, weary and determined to disregard her magic's way of telling her something is seriously wrong."

Harry cast a glance back to his friend, worried. "Is she ill?" A fraction of a nod was his answer. He swallowed hard. "But what is it that could've come on so suddenly? She needs to see Madam Pomfrey," Harry whispered, mostly to himself.

"But whether she will or not is anyone's guess," Malfoy replied. Before Harry could respond, Flitwick turned his attention to them and they were forced into silence for the rest of the lesson. Though Harry could feel Malfoy's eyes on him the entire time.

* * *

"This is serious!" Harry insisted when he caught up with Hermione and Ron as soon as Charms had finished. Hermione was adamant she was fine, of course, but how could Harry assure her of her predicament without revealing how he knew it was serious?

"You never make mistakes like that, ever."

"I am human, Harry, I am allowed to make mistakes without it being the end of the world," Hermione replied, going over her notes from Charms where they sat in the library.

"Since when?" Ron snorted. "Anything less than an 'O' and you implode with tears."

Hermione scowled.

"Look," Harry said, leaning across the table so that his lowered voice would still reach both her and Ron. Madam Pince was glaring at them from across the room. "What have you got to lose? Just go see Pomfrey and put everyone's minds at rest."

"I am not ill," Hermione said firmly. "I don't get ill and I certainly can't afford to this year – this is our last chance to repair the damage the war did to our futures." She sat back then to look at both him and Ron. Her face was flushed now, her fingers twitching slightly where they lay on the table atop her 'Dual Casting' notes. "It may not mean a lot to either of you but it means something to me. I won't let…Voldemort have the victory of stealing any future I may have had. I studied hard for six years and I wont have them be made a waste."

"Your health is more important," Ron murmured.

"What good is it being healthy if I cannot do something with my life?" she snapped. "No. I'll hear no more of it. I know I am fine. I am simply not grasping Dual Casting as quickly as I might like, however," she held up her notes, "That is why Ron and I will study harder for next lesson. I suggest you and Malfoy do the same."

Harry fell back in his seat, he would admit defeat on the subject for now and take it up with her again later. Perhaps when there was more physical evidence. He knew Malfoy's senses were faultless but he could not use him as proof without revealing his secret.

Malfoy. Harry didn't like the way he was unsure around Malfoy. He seemed to have a 'thing' where he told the truth, but Harry knew he only did so to get something out of it and couldn't figure out what that was.

"He's been flapping round you like a vulture," Ron grumbled bad-temperedly, "I don't like it, he's up to something."

Harry diverted his gaze from them guiltily, just catching Hermione's suspicious gaze as he did so. Part of him was irritated that they believed they had a say after weeks of neglect. But then, another part was grateful that they cared and didn't want to estrange them any more than he had already. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ron headed him off.

"Oh, great, there's the git now."

Harry frowned, craning his neck to glance in direction of the exit. There he was. Malfoy, as if timing his entrance, was striding towards their table at that very moment. Very convenient, Harry thought suspiciously, getting to his feet to intercept Malfoy.

"We have detention after dinner," Malfoy said casually, ignoring the glare thrown at him by Weasley and focussing on Harry as if he were the only one in the room. It made Harry nervous, that kind of concentration. No one looked at him like that, not ever. It was unsettling.

"I remember," Harry said, though he had actually forgotten the moment he'd seen Hermione's mystery predicament. "That's not for a few hours."

"Flitwick cornered me after Charms and said that we are both to report to his classroom after dinner for our detention. I thought I should inform you since we will be practicing our Dual Casting and I require your presence for that." Malfoy glanced to Hermione then. "Granger, you look positively feeble. You should get yourself to the Hospital Wing – there'll be no one to babysit Weasley if you drop dead."

Ron made to leap from his feet but Hermione laid a hand on his arm and shifted to look at Malfoy. "Thank you for the concern, Malfoy, but it is just a little stress, that's all. Nothing to write home about."

Harry sighed, anxiety creeping over his skin. Surely it must be something serious to affect her magic like that? And so soon? He noticed Malfoy step back a little then, and Harry wondered whether it was to escape Hermione's 'ill' aura or the scent of his, Harry's anxiety. Malfoy reacted badly to his negative emotions, he recalled, even that first time in the dungeon.

"Do you have any plans for the hours up until dinner?" Malfoy asked them (Harry) after a few moments of awkward silence.

Ron snorted in amusement. "Asking Harry on a date, are you Malfoy?" he chuckled.

Harry fought the flush that wanted to rise to colour his cheeks. "Shut it, Ron," he snapped, desperately avoiding Hermione's gaze. She seemed to be watching him for something, and he was pretty sure whatever it was, he didn't want her to see it. Licking his lips nervously, he snatched up his bag. "I'll see you two later," he said to both Hermione and Ron, turning and heading towards the library door. He felt Malfoy following closely, but it wasn't until they were in the empty corridor outside the library that he fell into stride beside him. Thankfully most of the school seemed to be out enjoying the rare flicker of sunshine.

"You don't seem to know what you want with those two," Malfoy observed, meaning Ron and Hermione.

"It's different from before. I'm different. We're all trying to carry on like before when really we need to learn each other again," Harry explained thoughtfully, only realising just then that the words that had left his mouth without a conscious effort were in fact true. It felt obscenely eerie to be speaking so freely with Malfoy. Was this just a sympathy connection? He wished it would fade whatever it was. It wasn't right. He didn't trust Malfoy with his innermost worries and feelings, even if he required his blood to live.

"Why is it so difficult?" Malfoy asked.

Harry sighed, oddly (exasperatingly) touched by the interest, the near concern in Malfoy's silky voice. Whether it was because he needed Harry to live or not, it didn't matter at that moment. Besides, Malfoy needed him alive, yes, but he didn't need this, didn't need to care for his well-being and feelings.

Finally, Harry answered. "Because I'm worried we won't fit together anymore after everything that's changed."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, then said, "that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. These two are some of the most flawed human beings in the wizarding world but they care about you faultlessly. You shouldn't piss that away, Potter, it's a rare thing." He paused, surveying Harry critically out of the corner of his eye, Harry cringed at the sense in his voice, shuddered against it. He couldn't understand Malfoy's purpose here.

"They followed you into the unknown, into a hunt for the Dark Lord," Malfoy continued, "it is preposterous of you to think they might abandon you now."

Harry shrugged. "Every human reaches the point where they can take no more," he said, heading out onto the moving stairs with his head lost up in a dark cloud of when his friends just might reach that point. He was paying no attention to where he was going. He stepped out onto the first landing and carried on walking without realising that the stairs were not there. He stumbled, his body fell forwards and his eyes flew wide. His stomach flipped. His entire body tensed for the long fall down countless flights of stairs.

Suddenly a sharp pain yanked at his arm, hauling him back and up, whirling him into a cool, vampire chest. He froze where he stood, wrapped tight in two strong arms. He vaguely realised there were a few people scattered around the countless moving staircases. But regardless, he couldn't move.

Harry's eyes were still wide, his breath coming out in frantic pants and his heart thudding wildly. Malfoy's slow, needless breath danced across his ear, reminding him that his blood was also racing madly, right under Malfoy's nose. Malfoy's breathing seemed purposeful, as if Malfoy were trying to stay calm even in the face of Harry's hot, pulsing blood.

"I believe you've soared above and beyond the point where you can take no more if you have such a death wish," Malfoy said smoothly. Briefly, Harry thought he felt long, smooth fingers gliding down his spine. Malfoy's clean, musky smell filled his nose, clouded his mind. In his silence, he could just hear the sluggish sound of that cool heart beating.

"You're…you're not…you don't need any…?" Harry tried but his words failed him. It was too awkward. Luckily Malfoy understood.

"No," he said, stepping away from Harry, who looked up at the blond thoughtfully. He really did look oddly paler than usual. Why wasn't the blood sustaining Malfoy for as long as he'd thought it would? He didn't look ravenous but he looked weaker, more tired than he should.

"My blood isn't lasting you as long," Harry said at last.

Malfoy raised a brow. "Are you offering more, Potter?"

Harry glared. "You absolute arse." He shoved back from Malfoy a few steps. "I was just trying to be… Look, just forget it," he murmured, turning and heading down the stairs that were now there waiting for him this time. He tried not to think about the presence of the lower years scattered around the staircases and how his and Malfoy's interaction must have looked to them just now.

"Where were we going?" he demanded when he felt Malfoy fall into stride beside him again. "You asked me to come with you."

"Actually," Malfoy corrected, "I asked you if you were busy, you flounced out to hide your embarrassment and I followed."

Harry growled under his breath, frustrated with Malfoy's easy, casual attitude. He was so comfortable with himself all of a sudden. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it. "Fine," he snapped, stopping as if to turn back on himself. "I'll just go back then and–"

"Don't be obtuse, Potter, for goodness sake," Malfoy griped, seized Harry's wrist to stop him from bolting. His hand was lukewarm, still not icy cold as it would be when Harry's ration of blood ran out of his system completely. "The lower years are having their tryouts down at the quidditch pitch. I was just wondering if you'd care to accompany me. We're both missing our favourite sport, I think."

That stopped Harry's mind dead.

"What's your game, Malfoy?" he asked with suspicion. He yanked his hand out of Malfoy's grasp. "Why are you being so–?"

"Don't start that again," Malfoy sighed exasperatedly. "I keep gracing you with my presence simply because you're necessary to my life and I need to ensure your depression doesn't eat you into an early grave. Not only that but if you must hear it, there's nobody else in this bloody castle besides Severus that I trust enough to even exist around any longer. Not to mention that you're the only tolerable one left in our wretched year. The war revealed to me just how 'good' my old 'friends' were."

Malfoy's words had been livid, frustrated and had escaped his lips in such a garbled rush that Harry had almost missed half of them. Almost. After a second of processing, he understood quite well and was taken aback by the unrehearsed honesty. The sincerity. He smiled sadly, thinking he could relate to a lot of what had just left Malfoy's mouth.

Then of course, there was the statement he couldn't ignore. "You trust me?" he asked, almost confused.

Malfoy stared at him, a look on his voice saying he hadn't remembered saying that part aloud. He scoffed then. "Of course, you're so bloody noble it's impossible you would betray my secret even if I ripped your throat out."

Harry brushed off the brash attitude and just continued to smile absently, carrying on down the stairs towards the outside. His shadow was absent for a moment. In fact he almost thought Malfoy had not followed until he stepped out into the fairly bright afternoon and felt the vampire's cool presence at his side, sliding in as if floating on the breeze. "You know, you'll get along with me easier if you just say it as it is," Harry said, walking towards the pitch. "I appreciate honesty more than pretty sounding lies."

"I'll remember that," Malfoy replied simply, the rest of their journey down to the pitch was silent. But oddly, it was a comfortable quiet that had fallen. Harry felt almost at ease as he hadn't been with anyone in over a year. And judging by Malfoy's matching awkwardness, he guessed it was just as unfamiliar territory for him as well.

The new recruits seemed enthusiastic if anything. There were dozens of second years and upwards lining up with hopes of being part of their house team. Harry gave a sigh of nostalgia. He missed quidditch. And by the way Malfoy was staring at the students dressed in silver and green, each eagerly anticipating their turn at trying out, he guessed that Malfoy missed it too.

"I'm sure I wasn't that small when I started," Harry mused, mostly to himself. Malfoy looked to him, again, that odd intensity in his eyes that Harry wasn't entirely sure of.

"No, you were much smaller and a year younger," Malfoy mused. Harry thought he saw a glimmer of amusement in Malfoy's eye when a second year slid back off his broom and onto his arse. "And ten times better," Malfoy added.

Thankfully, the rest of those trying out were also much better than that one lone second year. The sun was still high in the sky, but flicking in and out of the cover of clouds frequently. Suddenly, a sharp breeze whipped through the stadium and Harry shivered, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. It took him a moment to remember why Malfoy wasn't bothered by the cold.

"Isn't it weird?" Harry asked carefully. "Not being affected by the warmth or cold?"

Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment before he answered. "I still feel the warmth, the cold, it just…it doesn't hurt me one way or another. The cold in particular I am used to. I am at best lukewarm most of the time. Except when I drink your blood of course."

A flush coloured Harry's cheeks and he turned his gaze to the potential recruits to avoid those eyes. He thought for a moment about those words, what they meant and why the sound of the intensity in that voice affected him so. His tongue danced out over his dry lips nervously, chancing speech. "What do I taste like?" Harry asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Malfoy tensed, he noticed, and it was a moment before he answered. "There is no specific taste," Malfoy explained, his voice oddly thick. "It tastes rich and sweet and…hot, like…like…I don't know, there is no comparison."

Harry's face was redder than ever now. He swallowed thickly. "That good?" he murmured dumbly.

"Everyone else's blood tastes like ash and real food tastes the same as…as when I was human, but I get nothing from it and so it has no appeal for me," Malfoy explained. "If I eat real food it's only for show or from habit. It doesn't give me sustenance and I cannot even digest it without your blood in my system." Malfoy was looking on him with that intensity again. "Without your blood I cannot function – it powers my dead organs."

"So you cant tolerate real food or…or anything without my blood?"

Malfoy nodded. "I cannot even absorb the potion Severus makes to protect me from sunlight without it. When I drink your blood, it does what mine cannot, it powers my body."

Harry thought for a moment. "So…if someone cut you–"

"My body would heal rapidly – as any vampire's does, but I would need your blood to be able to do that. Eventually I'd bleed my supply of your blood away in trying to heal myself, and I would need more sooner than perhaps was normal."

Realisation dawned on Harry then. His eyes widened and he stared at Malfoy. "Someone has been attacking you." It was a statement not a question. Malfoy tried to look confused, but Harry saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. "Who has been attacking you? That's why my blood isn't sustaining you for as long, isn't it?"

Malfoy snarled and got to his feet.

"Isn't it?" Harry demanded. "If you need more you can have more, but if we don't stop whoever it is from hurting you–"

A warning growl left Malfoy's throat and he turned to Potter with livid eyes. Fury struggled in vain to hide the shame. The fear. "I have no intention of asking for more than we already agreed, so do not concern yourself."

Harry watched him flounce away but sped after him. The blond wasn't going at vampire speed, so the pursuit was a short one beneath the empty bleachers. He caught up to him, seizing a wrist and whirling him round to face him. He wondered just how weakened by the nameless attacker Malfoy was if he was able to be moved by him, Harry at all. But that glare had not weakened. Those intense eyes glowed an ominous grey as they focused on him. Harry raised his chin a fraction. Obstinate as ever.

"You said you weren't too much of a coward to ask for help," Harry gasped, his chest heaving breathlessly after that sprint. "So ask me! Please! Let me help you–"

"You cannot even help yourself!" Malfoy snapped, stepping forward, spanning the gap between them until he had backed Harry into one of the wooden supports of the quidditch stands. Harry pressed himself as flat to the wall as he could. He was worried what would happen if they touched. The waves of power rolling between them were so potent he could feel them. Malfoy leant in closer, his futile breath skimming Harry's face. "How can you save me?" Malfoy hissed.

Suddenly, Malfoy's head tilted. His eyes flickered down to Harry's lips and then fluttered shut as his mouth descended over Harry's. The intensity pulsing from Malfoy's being, from the very air around them choked Harry, clogged his throat and made every muscle in his body clench. He pressed back into the wall so hard the wood dug into his skull and his lips parted with a little gasp of pain. It was enough to make Malfoy pause in his descent, so close that their lips were almost touching.

Harry's eyes were still open and he watched Malfoy's flicker again. Those shining grey orbs glistened with vulnerability, power and lust, all at the same time. With hunger and something completely foreign to Harry brewing there, a hairsbreadth from his face, he was only just aware of the cage Malfoy's arms had formed around his head, pressing into the support beam behind him.

A low, uneven breath left Harry's lips, breezing over Malfoy's slightly parted ones and Harry lifted his chin a bit, tempted for some reason to span the gap between them. There was a fire burning in his belly, spiralling up his core and bursting into an inferno in his chest. His heart was thudding wildly and he swore inwardly at it. Tempted, he was very tempted. It felt like an eternity they both stood there, almost touching, both considering crossing the line to who knew where.

Harry tilted his head a fraction again. Closing his eyes, he hovered there just a moment longer and then…

"Oi! Malfoy! Potter!"

They leapt apart. Blaise Zabini was suddenly standing there with a look of suspicion on his face. Harry knew his own face was red, his insides knotted with the humiliation the almost-kiss had left him with. Malfoy was motionless, dangerously so.

"What is it, Blaise?" Malfoy asked, his voice ripe with irritation, his jaw set.

"Flitwick asked if you and Potter could report to the empty Charms classroom beside his office for your detention – said something has come up and he's asked someone to substitute in supervising you for your detention."

Harry frowned. "Snape, I bet, perfect." He pulled the fur-lined robe tighter around him as a chill tore through him. "Err…thanks, Zabini, I s'pose." He looked uncertainly to Malfoy, not quite meeting his eyes. "Shall we go?"

Malfoy said nothing in reply, simply nodded and lead the way towards the exit of the stadium. Zabini's voice froze them both in their tracks. Again.

"You two are awfully chummy these last few weeks," the once-slytherin accused, studying them with critical eyes. He was assessing their closeness, Harry was certain of it and he shuffled back from Malfoy as inconspicuously as possible.

"We only have ourselves to please," Malfoy snapped, his words as sharp as a viper's bite. "We have no one else to answer to, least of all you, Blaise." With that, Malfoy turned and marched ahead, Harry close behind. Harry did not relish the chance to find himself alone with the suspicious ex-slytherin after all. Zabini always had been unnervingly peculiar…

The sun was fighting a losing battle with the clouds for most of their trek back up to the castle, until finally as they reached the main courtyard, it fell behind a veil of grey. Harry followed for once, sneaking a glance at Malfoy's face every so often, striving to assess the situation. But Malfoy's face was cold and empty, nothing there but death and unhealthily white skin. Harry couldn't tell either way. Eventually, however, he could take the uncertainty no more.

"What was that?" Harry asked cautiously. Malfoy kept walking but his expression twisted with a grimace. Awkwardly, Harry continued. "I…I think we almost…" He flushed, not for the first nor last time that day. He was eighteen and he had done it but he couldn't say it. He kept seeing Malfoy's eyes shining with want, feeling those lips hovering over his own. It had felt so different to the silly adolescent kisses he'd shared with Ginny and Cho. It had still been clumsy and awkward but at the same time…

It was better than anything I've felt before and we didn't even touch!

Harry blinked, trying to veil his thoughts. He had definitely not just thought that about an almost kiss with Draco Malfoy.

"Even I know you've kissed before, Potter," Malfoy said rigidly, not stopping. "It could hardly be avoided forever when my entire body does nothing but crave another taste of you every minute of every day. I'm cursed, with you, wanting you – needing you. I can never live without you and it's not a matter of choice it's a matter of force."

Harry stopped dead staring at Malfoy's back as he too paused mid-step. Malfoy, seeming to realise what he'd said, turned to face him. A flicker of regret was in those eyes, but that did not permeate the mask of indifference he didn't dare let fall.

"It's not my ideal either," Harry hissed, "but if there's anything I've realised in the last few years it's that some things are inevitable and when moaning about it gets you nowhere, there really is no point in it." His fingers curled into his palms, biting into the skin there with hurt and anger. A fine mix. "Aren't you one of the people that told me that?" Harry demanded hotly.

Malfoy met his eyes thoughtfully then, his own face bitter but not touched by anger. "No, I agree I…I lost myself for a moment, that's all."

"Which time?" Harry bit out harshly, studying that pale, shaky mask for a crack, a ripple in its calm surface. He saw two gaping weak spots in those darkened eyes, the ones that had been so full of fire a moment ago, now dwindling. A familiar silence fell over them, in which the betrayal Harry felt in his chest gave him the courage to speak frankly. He had almost let his guard down with Malfoy there, and he had paid for it.

"It must be so repulsive for you to consider touching me at all. It must make you sick that you have to drink my blood," Harry snarled. "Is it so hard to separate your hunger for my blood from a delusional hunger for me?"

A ripple of unease rushed through the dead man before him. "Yes," Malfoy breathed honestly, uncertainly. He startled Harry with his candour and the ease in which he had come to it so greatly, that Harry stumbled back a little. Harry's tongue darted over his lips and he thought distantly that he could taste Malfoy's cool breath there.

"Is your interest in me only because you pity me?" Malfoy countered with his own question, his voice harsh with discontent.

Harry considered the tense feeling in his chest, his gut and gave a sigh of defeat. "No," he replied, his voice still stiff, "not entirely. Confused?"

A small smile broke Malfoy's mask and he stepped towards Harry, slowly, smoothly, until they were close again. But not like before. This time, Malfoy was more subtle about the way he inhaled Harry's smell, as if trying to see if Harry was worth more than just a food source. But not only did Harry see his 'scenting' but he also saw the reflection of his own confusion in Malfoy's face.

Funny how you can find empathy, similarities even in your enemies, Harry thought distantly, all conscious awareness whisked from his mind as Malfoy's breath touched his face, a cool, awakening breeze.

"Very," Malfoy answered then, his voice as husky as it had been before the almost kiss. "So let's just leave it at that for now."

Harry gave a jerky nod. He didn't have anything with Malfoy, not a friendship or even affection, just…a connection, one that he couldn't begin to understand. He couldn't say he really cared for Malfoy even, but he cared about him, he cared what happened to him. And he was grateful that they were similar in their confusion as well as a few of their darker attributes. He couldn't even give himself an answer to the simplest of questions involving the vampire right now, much less give them to Malfoy himself.

Then there was that gigantic spanner in the works; Malfoy was a vampire. They were drawn together purely from Malfoy's need for his blood. Nothing more. And he needed more than that. Besides which, there were too many factors to consider, too many thoughts and reasons not to trust the vampire rattling around in his head. It was overcrowded in there right now, his doubts so deafening it made him wince. He was getting a headache.

"We have a detention," he said, trying to find a way out of the uncomfortable situation they had fallen into once again. He felt he had lost himself for a while this afternoon and he wasn't certain that he liked that, that he liked how Malfoy was wheedling into his life.

Malfoy glanced up at him from where his head had bowed, seemingly only just remembering that fact. The real world. "We do," Malfoy agreed.


~To Be Continued...