Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Bonded in Blood ❯ Safe Room ( Chapter 8 )

A/N: I wanted to explain something that seems to have got lost in translation. I want to make it clear that my Ron is not an Evil!Ron nor is this a Ron bashing story. Ron is not crazy. He is simply being pulled in different directions by conflicting emotions and traumatised by the war and death of the past year and his actions and reactions toward Harry are influenced by this.

Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!

Chapter 8 - Safe Room

Draco's knuckles were white as he clasped his hands behind him. He stood still before the dingy glass of the window in the abandoned classroom that had become his and Potter's lunchtime haven the previous month and a half. He tried to focus his attentions on the cold mid-November rain that was pummeling the dreary looking grounds.

He was anxious. His body thrummed with nervous energy, but he refused to give into the urge to pace the dusty floors. Malfoys did not fidget and he was certainly not going to expend the energy over Potter. Instead, he pretended he was not listening for the familiar sounds of Potter's shuffled steps to approach the door and was, in fact, contemplating more important things, though he would not have been able to name what those important things could be.

Potter had not shown up yesterday. Draco shivered at the thought of being stood up again by the only person in school who had given him the time of day and showed him any considerations other than those of malicious intent. The spike of dread within him was only dulled by the look on Potter's face when he had come across him yesterday afternoon. He had looked properly guilty. Draco hoped that boded well for today's meeting, if there was to be one.

Despite his trepidation, Draco hoped that it would indeed go well. Since the night of the attack and his subsequent learning of Potter's new affliction, he had been studying up on vampires. Having no friends or devious scheming to sidetrack him this year, he had found that he had more than enough time to concentrate on his studies. Since that night, however, he had devoted himself to the task of searching out and reading all of the information that the Hogwarts library contained on vampires with fervor. Where before he had run on autopilot and studied only because there was nothing else to do, he took on the task of tracking down and collecting all the information on vampires that he could with an enthusiasm he had not felt since fifth year.

Unfortunately, there had been surprisingly little to be found in the labyrinthine book shelves of the Hogwarts library. He had had to call for one of his house-elves to bring him some of his books from the Malfoy libraries. Those were decidedly more Dark in content. He had hoped to find much more comprehensive knowledge within, but he was to be disappointed. There had indeed been more information in the Darker books, but not much more. In the end, he had resorted to including mythologies and legends in his compilation of information.

The extensive search and study helped to divert his mind from his own morose thoughts and the cruel jeers of his classmates. Without the outlet that Potter provided with his quiet companionship and attentive ear, he had badly needed a distraction from his increasing depression.

Mostly, however, the gathering of information was going to be put towards his goal of helping Potter. The two weeks alone had allowed him to take the time to really think about his tentative friendship with the Gryffindor. At first, he had merely been curious as to what Potter would become, but as he thought about the fellow seventh year it had turned into a mission.

As he read on the vampiric condition, it became clear that Potter's path would not be an easy one. He grudgingly admitted to himself that he owed Potter. Potter had become the only person left in his life that even remotely listened to him of seemed to care. In response to the bespectacled boy's open-minded kindness, he had shared parts of his self that no one had ever seen and secrets no one had ever heard. He still automatically reached for disdain when thinking of the boy on reflex, but he now acknowledged that Potter had become his only and best friend. He sneered inwardly at the very Hufflepuff sentimentality of it all, but he had come to feel that he should be there for the brunette at this time of difficulty as he had been there for Draco.

He had no idea how the headmistress was handling the situation. The books had said little about the transition from human to vampire, but what he had read had not sounded fun. There were differing accounts on just about every aspect of the change from wizard to vampire. It had been the general consensus, however, that new vampires would emerge bloodthirsty and untrained in how to go about quenching that thirst.

Draco had come prepared.

For now, however, he was just waiting to see if the sod would show up. His ridged control finally cracked and he launched himself into one of the many old classroom chairs that occupied the room, after a swift cleaning charm. He felt a little pathetic as he waited so eagerly for the boy that who he had only months before considered his greatest adversary and rival in a dingy abandoned classroom. He tapped his fingers on the scarred surface of the ancient table top in front of him. He soothed his wounded pride by telling himself that he had discovered the room first. He only needed time alone, regardless if the berk showed up or not.

The nervous flutterings in his belly stilled as he heard the familiar footsteps. By the time the door swung open, he had painted his cool mask back on.

“Potter,” he greeted with a nod.

~*~

The moment Harry approached the empty corridor, a ball of anxiety had settled hard and cold in his chest. Today had been just as bad as yesterday, his fellow students entertaining themselves with the latest scandal à la Harry Potter. He could not believe it, though, truly, he should not have been surprised. Not six months before he had fulfilled his destiny and killed “ol' Voldie” for them and the crowds still did not hesitate to believe the worst of him.

He was more than ready for some time away from the suffocating curiosity and gleeful maliciousness of his fellow students.

Unfortunately, he still had Draco to deal with, if the boy had bothered to show up at all. He fully expected the cool blonde to be angry at him for standing him up yesterday. That was, if he was not thoroughly sickened by the Golden Boy marrying his Head of House.

He shook his head in exasperation. At this point in his life it was about all he could do. He had the weirdest problems.

He hoped that the boy would show up, however, even if it was just to sneer at him. He had found to his surprise that he had really missed his time with the other boy. He had thought of him often while lying blind and deaf in Severus' chambers. How was he getting on?

Harry had listened for the past few months as the boy he had once seen as a pale imitation of his criminal father and an arrogant Death Eater wannabe, had done everything but cry on his shoulder. Malfoy had become Draco in his mind, the mask that he had presented the world crumbling down when they shared that one hour a day together. The blonde Slytherin had spilled out his hopes, dreams, and most of all, his fears and pains, out to him. Harry knew he was the only person the other boy had who would bother to listen.

He listened in horror as Draco described how those around him persecuted him. Strangers accosted him in the streets, those who were meant to protect him simply ignored his pain, and former friends were now his tormentors. He hoped the Slytherin had not been hassled too much while he had been away.

He had felt for him from that first day, understanding far too well what the other boy was going through. He knew what it felt like to be scorned by everyone and beaten down, but he also knew that Draco would never appreciate his pity. So he had simply listened and tried to offer advice; advice that had been tested and proven useful time and again through his own similar experiences, though the other boy never knew it.

Eventually, as the days passed, it was Draco who sat and listened attentively, occasionally nodding in understanding or offering his own bits of advice. It had been such a relaxed atmosphere. Draco had bared himself to the boy who, one could say, put his family in Azkaban through the defeat of Voldemort. Harry had felt completely at ease divulging some of his darkest secrets and sensitive topics.

He had talked about wanting a father figure, getting one in the form of his godfather Sirius, and losing him through his own recklessness. He had talked about the weeks on the run, searching for Horcruxes. He had talked about what had happened when he had died. He had talked about what it felt like to see his parents, Remus, and Sirius at the end. He had even hinted at his life with the Dursleys.

Harry had never had someone he felt that he could talk to like that. Neither Ron nor Hermione would have understood the things he had gone through in his life, having grown up in warm families and loving environments. He often found himself editing the things that he said in order to prevent lectures from Hermione or setting off Ron on an angry rant. They were his best friends, true, and always would be, but some things could only be shared with someone who could truly understand the horrors of the world and empathise. His friends had never known true unending cruelty outside of stories blasted on the Daily Prophet's front pages of Death Eaters and their limited run-ins with them during the hunt last spring.

Now, however, he did not know if he had ruined everything. Yesterday he had been afraid that the same amused vindictiveness that he had seen on every face that day would be seen on Draco's. He had not thought he was strong enough to face the cold glint in his steel grey eyes and scornful sneer that he remembered from their days of enmity. But he had seen the look in the other boy's eyes yesterday afternoon and it had not been what he had expected.

So, he trudged down the darkened corridor, the torches not having been lit in the unused space. He had no problem studying the dusty flagstones beneath his feet, his acute eyesight able to see everything in the hallway, as he grew closer to the room he had begun to think of as theirs. His heart floated up and lodged in his throat, choking him with apprehension. With his sensitive hearing, he could hear that Draco had come. He could hear the boy tapping his fingers on wood and bouncing his leg on the stone floor.

Slowly, he opened the old door, the wood cracked with age.

“Potter,” Draco said.

It sounded cold, his voice taking on formal tones. He stood up stiffly from where he had been seated, and struck an imposing yet aloof stance. Harry would have bet that it was a look the Slytherin had seen his father perfect.

Seeing this cold behaviour from the boy he had grown so close to hurt, but he deserved it after deserting him yesterday. He would have been worried about their continued friendship if it had not been for the relief he saw in Draco's eyes. Harry was always amazed at how easy the other boy was to read when one got to know him. Those silver eyes were an open window where his true feelings could be seen readily behind that Malfoy mask.

“Hey,” Harry replied, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it with a sheepish smile.

“Decided I was worth your time, did you?” Draco drawled in a deceptively careless tone, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed and looked at his companion imploringly.

“I'm sorry, Malfoy,” he said, ignoring the shocked look on the Slytherin's face. He had obviously not expected such a blunt admittance of fault. But really, what did he expect? He should know by now that Harry was not the subtlest of people. “To be honest, I was a bit afraid you would be mad at me for getting involved with your Head of House. I know that you guys were always close.”

“Potter, I know,” Draco announced, crossing his arms and resting his hip on the table top.

“About the life debt? Yeah, it looks like that news spread around pretty quickly, though most people seem to want to believe we've had some torrid affair in the potions classroom when people weren't looking,” Harry laughed wearily.

“No, Potter. I. Know. About the vampire thing.”

Harry froze.

He knows! Oh, God, he knows! Does everybody know? Who told him?

Harry simply stared, wide-eyed and mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to find words to help in this situation.

“H-How?! Who told you? Oh, God!” Harry finally squeaked out, ending with the moaned exclamation.

“Calm down Potter! I was there! I was there when they brought you in to the Hospital wing,” Draco explained. “No one realised I was there and I overheard everything.”

Harry let out a shuddered breath, trying to calm himself down from the near panic he had worked himself up to.

“You know,” he stated as if talking to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair and studied the other boy who remained leaning against the table, as if they were simply talking about the next Quidditch match. “So, you're not freaked out?”

“It did take me a little while to get used to the idea…” Draco shrugged carelessly.

“Oh,” Harry sighed, “That's funny, because I sure as hell haven't.”

“Well, you look a sight better than the last time I saw you,” Draco drawled, looking the Gryffindor up and down.

“Yeah, I guess it's all part of the process. My whole body has changed!”

Draco only smirked. He liked what he saw. Potter was a lot more filled out now, though his school robes covered it well, preventing it from being overly obvious.

“So what's this about you being married to Professor Snape?” he asked.

“Ugh! It's all very complicated... Harry sighed and began retelling the information he had received from Severus about the changes he had gone through and the strange relationship they now had.

“Oh,” Draco said at the end of his long explanation.

“What?” Harry asked, apprehension growing in his chest. The pale boy looked disappointed for some reason.

“It's just that… well,” Draco's cheeks began to pink in embarrassment. He had done all that research and none of it was of any use. “I did some reading and it led me to believe that you would be suffering, that you would need blood. So I brought this.”

Draco reached in his pocket and retrieved a medium sized vial. It was filled with a thick red substance. Immediately Harry blanched and then flushed in excitement. A slight tangy smell wafted from the vial and curled up his sensitive nose. He could feel his teeth begin to itch as if his blood teeth were fighting to push out and his mouth watered.

It was a vial of blood.

“I brought this in case you were hungry. It's my blood. I thought, if you need me, I would be your donor,” Draco looked at Harry shyly, offering the vial to him.

Harry could not believe it. That Draco would consider doing something like that was staggering to Harry. He offered to potentially put his life on the line to help Harry. Harry was truly grateful.

And now that the idea had been presented, Harry's mind was filled with it. He could smell the other boy easily as well as the blood. His eyes dilated in pleasure. His sight narrowed to the thumping pulse at his neck. To bite him, to have a taste of that alabaster skin and rich pure blood, would be heaven.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the bloodlust. He was still not comfortable with how much he craved blood. This was Draco, not a piece of treacle tart! But there was no denying that he wanted the other boy's blood now that it had been offered. The only thing was that he did not know how to yet. He had only drunk from his Sire. Would he be allowed to so soon after his turning? There was only one solution: ask Severus.