Myrtle is screaming murder, murder, as she kneels over Draco’s prone body. Her hands go through his chest as she attempts to stop the bleeding. There is no sanctuary in her translucent hands, and Draco’s panic wanes, matching the slowing beat of his heart.
When Lord Voldemort commands him to drink, Draco’s mind often drifts to Sectumsempra, perhaps because Sectumsempra had gotten him into this mess. If not for Sectumsempra, Draco’s immortality would have remained undiscovered. Draco’s mouth fills with the metallic taste of blood as he reflects that his situation was a consequence of Harry Potter’s actions. Draco doesn’t blame Potter- of course Potter had not known his little stunt in the bathroom would have led to this, Draco living with only The Dark Lord for company. Draco drinking his blood a few times per month.
“That’s enough, thank you Draco,” Tom Riddle says. Obediently, Draco unlatches his teeth from Lord Voldemort’s wrist. He does not have fangs, so breaking skin is an unpleasant affair every time. Draco is always fascinated by the quick transformation, Riddle’s face is youthful, handsome even. Just before his eyes had been red and bloodshot, skin wrinkled like crinkled parchment, face snakelike in appearance.
“I have some affairs to attend to. Will you be wanting anything? I will be back in a week or so,” Riddle says. He always spoke more loosely, more unguarded, after one of their sessions.
“Only books, please,” Draco requests. I want to get out of here. I want to see my parents. Are they alive? Would you tell me? There isn’t much for him to do. He and Riddle live in an abandoned tower. Draco knows it’s guarded to the gills with spells. Attempting to escape is futile, Draco has tried many times before.
“You can’t leave me, you’re the only one I’ve ever loved,” Riddle told him after the first escape attempt, not realizing how much his words had disturbed Draco. Draco thinks often, immortality is overrated. Maybe he’s already in hell.
Draco had always assumed the tower was untraceable, like Hogwarts to muggles. But Harry Potter was in his tower. He looked 34, even though Draco understood he was ten years younger. Potter had stubble on his face and his eyes were tired. He was wincing.
“Is there anyone here? I need help, my hand is hurt,” Potter says, still looking around.
When Harry found the tower, it had been completely by accident. The rebel mission had been a success, leading to the possession of key Death Eater wands. Harry’s hand had been sliced up, but it was a small price to pay. The only thing that mattered was there were no rebel casualties. Hermione had lost her leg to a nasty curse. Ron had more scars than Harry could count. Harry himself had a chest warped by an enemy’s explosion. Still, Harry didn’t care to lose his hand, so he had transfigured a rock into a shaky broomstick and flown up to the tower he’d stumbled across. The tower was isolated and in a heavily forested area. It looked ancient. Harry didn’t know if it was muggle or wizard.
“Please, can anyone hear me?” Harry pleads. His hand is bleeding a lot, even though he tries to tamp down the flow with his other. His limited knowledge of healing spells will not remedy the damage caused by this kind of dark magic.
“Let me.” Harry spins around, regretting it as his vision tunnels. “May I-” Harry’s vision is failing him, but he makes out long blonde hair. Harry nods quickly, worried he’s going to pass out. He feels his hand being lifted, and his vision slowly starts to clear. He sees Draco Malfoy, looking no older than 16, with his lips to Harry’s bloody hand. Mezmorized, Harry watches as the cuts start to close.
“What-” He begins. Malfoy lifts his head. His lips are blood red but unstained. He looks like he did as Harry remembers him, with the exception of his long blonde hair. It trails down his back, falling at his waist. “You died. I killed you. Sectumsempra is always fatal. Snape said-” It doesn’t make any sense. Harry had seen Draco Malfoy bleed out on the floor. Malfoy had died at his hands.
“Sectumsempra is as fatal as Avada Kedavra,” Malfoy says. “You survived Avada Kedavra.”
“How-” Harry’s speech is failing him.
“I am a vampire. I inherited this from Dracula Malfoy.” Malfoy explains.
“You don’t look like a vampire,” Harry says, disbelieving. “Where are your fangs? Wait, do you stay in this tower because you can’t go out in the sun?” Malfoy scowls, showing off his teeth, which are fangless. Suddenly, Malfoy’s face pales. Harry didn’t think it was possible, his face is already porcelain like in its youthfulness and color.
“I stay in this tower because-” Malfoy begins, and Harry listens, growing more and more horrified.
“You need to leave,” Draco finishes, heartbeat starting to pick up. “He could be back any second,” He fears that Harry will be unable to leave, hoping the rising panic he feels is concealed. When Harry mounts his broom, Draco is deeply relieved when he easily flies out the window. But when Draco tries to follow, he’s unable to. A magical barrier- for there is no window for Draco, no escape, not today.
“Just leave,” Draco says.
“I’m going to get you out,” says Harry. Draco doubts he’ll ever see Potter again. He hasn’t felt hope in a long time. But as he drinks Lord Voldemort’s blood, his thoughts flood to Sectumsempra, and Potter. If Potter had gotten him into this mess, maybe he could get him out, Draco thinks, feeling hope for the first time in years.