Chapter 8
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Draco missed casting Tempus charms. And lots of other magic. But right now, he really wanted a Tempus charm.
He’d always viewed the simple, everyday conveniences granted by magic as a natural part of life. A typical view for a wizard. Now that he wasn’t, that complacence had rendered him, more or less, functionally useless.
It was particularly inconvenient during moments like this when, despite not knowing whether it was yesterday or tomorrow, Draco was facing down one Harry Potter, insistent on having a talk right now.
Or something.
Draco figured it was going to be more of the same from this (yesterday?) morning, with Potter incoherently faltering over apologies that entirely missed the mark. Not that it was Potter's fault, as much as Draco hated to admit it. He rarely knew the sources of his own upsets.
And it wasn’t as if he was trying very hard to protest.
What the hell? What is there to lose at this point?
A week ago, he would’ve balked at undertaking such a sensitive conversation under the influence of debilitating fatigue. Right now, running on delirium and spite, it didn’t sound like a bad idea at all. Not to mention it would hopefully purge himself of this entire unwanted situation for good.
Perhaps the Gryffindors had been onto something this whole while.
Potter had pulled his desk chair next to where Draco was reclined on his own bed. The exhaustion was ebbing at his Pureblood etiquette. He’d passed over more appropriate options, like their respective desks or in the common room. If Potter was going to insist this happen then Potter was going to have to make it happen.
Walking back, Draco’s body had started to send alarms about its impending crash. His eyelids had drooped, partially obscuring the few moments that he was able to keep his vision in focus.
Ironically, this would likely work out in his favor.
Draco was wrung-out. Completely spent and way, way beyond the capacity to feel much of anything. He didn’t even care that despite holding Potter’s wand, the other still held all the cards, regardless of whether he knew it or not. All it would take was one Owl to the Ministry.
But the nervousness had dissipated the moment his eyes found his bed.
It was tunnel vision. All he could see was the revoltingly purple comforters and the promise of rest that lay in them. His neck was a bit sore, likely from having napped against actual rock and a pillow sounded like heaven Draco had never known.
On the other hand, there was Potter. Sitting on his stupid ass chair, twitching and squirming with his stupid, and apparently infinite, restless energy.
It was ruining the small amount of peace Draco was allowing himself to find in the comfort of his own bed. He sighed, resigning himself.
“I’m waiting. ”Affecting bravado was a familiar respite for him.
Potter had the gall to look startled. “Right-right- uhm, well… Malfoy-”
“Get on with it already!” Draco snapped, impatient.
They’d been going around and around and fucking around in hellish circles. And even though it had only been one bloody day it felt like an eternity. Draco was over it.
“Sor-sorry! Uhm I didn’t really– y’know plan this out or anything just kinda– hoped for the best and–”
“Potter, I swear to Salazar if you don’t get to the fucking point I’m leaving right now and I’m taking your wand with me.” It was an empty threat. Draco knew he had no authority for such a thing.
A beat. Two. Three. And then–
“Tell me what to do!” Potter’s words tumbled out in a rush.
Draco blinked.
Potter continued on, “Like I know that saying sorry over and over again no matter how sorry I am– well, it’s kind of meaningless right– and I know that you’re like– a vampire,” he whispered the word like a curse. Draco supposed it kind of was. “So I mean– I can kind of like– help you out…?”
Draco leveled an unimpressed look at Potter’s disheveled hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Ah, yes. He had wondered when Potter was going to bring this up. It was already surprising he’d made it this long without being interrogated.
“You…” he started, sarcastically, “want to help me?”
“Er-yes,” Potter stammered, unable to make eye contact with Draco.
He scoffed. “ You…. want to help….me?”
Harry looked baffled, and a bit hurt. “What’s so hard to believe?”
“Potter… what exactly have you done that would make me want to accept your help? You were threatening me not even twelve hours ago–”
“Twenty-two,” Potter corrected. “Actually.”
Draco was going to strangle him. It would be worth Azkaban.
“Twenty-two hours ago, then.” He rolled his eyes. “And you- what -think that just because you were nice for like two seconds and acted all sad and pathetic in the hall back there, I’m just going to open myself up for you to learn more that you can use against me?”
Draco regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He’d just implied that there was more that could be used against him and sorely hoped Potter hadn’t picked up on it.
He leaned back against his headboard, running his eyes over the ceiling. I do like the silver color, he reflected.
Potter was silent for a long moment. Draco decided to embrace the draw of sleep and moved to wrap himself in his blankets. Might as well rest and take advantage of being here. Draco would just deal with everything else when he woke up.
“I’ll take the Unbreakable Vow,” Potter whispered.
Draco’s eyes shot open as he shot up in bed. “Are you crazy?! ” he hissed. “Do you even know what that means?”
Potter wore a solemn look. Draco could see the gears turning in his mind. “I do…” he started slowly. “I know that… Snape took one… to protect you…”
The wind caught in Draco’s throat. What? How did he–
“And what?! ” he spat, reeling from the reminder of his dead godfather and that terrible year. “You’re going to take his place? Poor Draco Malfoy– always in need of rescue.” The truth of his own words filled him with self-loathing.
Draco knew he was weak and pathetic. Hated that Potter would come to the rescue and some part of him wanted that. But that didn’t mean he wanted Potter to know and..and especially not to try his hand at his hero bullshit with such a barbaric method.
“You’re full of shit,” he finished, wearily. Turning to face away.
A hand grabbed his shoulder and wrenched it back. “I’m not.” Potter’s voice was firm, but his eyes were desperate. He was standing now over Draco, whose mouth went dry at the sight. See? His thoughts whispered.
He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. Absolutely not. This was mad. Don’t play in-
“Why?” he asked.
“I-I-” Potter looked stunned by the question, as if promising Unbreakable Vows was something he did left and right without reason. Draco supposed that could be the case.
“I… just… want to…” he finished, completely serious.
Draco berated himself for expecting a real answer. “Whatever, Potter. Kindly fuck off now.”
But as he turned to face away again, the same tight grip returned to his shoulder. Draco yanked away. “You said you would leave me alone.”
“You said we could talk,” Potter was resolute. “We’re not done yet.”
“And we did.”
“You haven’t even heard me out!”
Potter was not going to let this go, Draco knew. He was fighting a losing battle.
With all the weariness of the world, he moved to look at Potter. Draco let his face show his exhaustion and defeat.
“Okay– so,” Potter began, completely normally. Like they were two friends catching up over Quidditch gossip. “I know I keep saying how I was a right dick this morning–”
“Because you were,” Draco muttered.
“And I wanted to… I mean– I didn’t exactly approach it the best way possible but I just wanted to know what was up with you.” Resentment flared in Draco’s chest. It was sixth year all over again.
“But I crossed the line, and I know that but I also know that my apologies aren’t going to do anything and we aren’t– friends – exactly but I also– don’t hate you y’know? Plus I didn’t expect you to actually tell me– but since you did, I could… help?”
Draco was slightly disappointed that his prediction had been correct. All Potter was offering was the same tired apologies and platitudes. No progress. No change. Just more of the same things that promised hope that Draco wanted to cling to only to fail to deliver. Potter had just added the shock value of a Vow.
Still… “How exactly would you help?” he asked, despite himself.
“Uhm– well… don’t you like, need blood ?”
Draco squinted at him. Was he stupid?
“What are you talking about? Blood?”
Now Harry was the one gaping. “But– I mean vampire, right? Vampires… drink… blood?”
“Potter, I don’t know what sort of head injury you’ve most recently been afflicted with but you should go get that checked out. Madame Pomfrey might even be awake at this hour. Rest assured, I will stay here and out of evil-doing, for whenever you return.”
Harry frowned, looking dumbfounded. “Well, what do you eat then?”
Eat? “Normal food? I presume you’re familiar with toast and mash, yes?” Draco was also preferential to a strong brew, and could have used one to get through this incoherent conversation.
“B-but…” Harry was now wearing that same face of distress from earlier, face creasing into misery. “What-....then…”
“Have you ever learned anything in classes?” he sneered.
“We didn’t learn about vampires, ” Harry mumbled, crossing his arms defensively. “Muggle stories say they drink blood and– there can be overlap so-”
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. Best not to push Potter too far. But Muggles? Ugh. As if he didn’t already have enough fodder to justify his scorn.
“That’s revolting, Potter. Truly. Blood?” Draco grimaced, remembering the metallic, thick taste. Once, Father’s cane had struck his cheek so hard, a tooth had come loose. Spelling it back had been easy, of course, but he’d had to throw up after his stomach rejected the sheer amount of blood he’d swallowed. Better that then risk another beating by showing his weakness to Lucius.
“Well- then-” Potter struggled to find the words. “What do vampires… do?”
“Do?” Draco arched a brow. “You’ll have be more specific than that, I’m afraid. We do a great many things. We breathe, walk, shit… Just like your dear Lupin.”
Potter’s eyes flashed with the reminder of his dead friend, but no retaliation came. A flicker of regret darted through Draco.
“Werewolves change during the full moon. What is it that makes vampires…vampires, then?”
Draco had been trying to avoid answering this specific question. Not that Potter couldn’t have easily found the generic answer amidst any first year textbook, but having to map such details that directly related to himself… It was uncomfortable.
“Vampires are… a species of magical creature–”
“I know that much, Malfoy.”
“Fundamentals are important,” Draco sniffed, thinking on the oddness of this borderline-teasing given the situation.
“As I was saying, vampires are a species of magical creature much like kelpies, fey, Veela, and the like. Unlike many other species though, vampires do not possess a magical core. To utilize magic, they must source it externally. I believe that is the attribute that you are inquiring about.”
“But… you can use magic? I mean– you went to Hogwarts? Did.. did you have some ‘source’ here?” Potter sounded strangely upset by this information.
Draco stopped dead. He hadn’t pegged the boy as a blood-purist who would resent non-wix Hogwarts students, given his stance on Muggles and their kind here. It had been the main factor in disclosing his secret so readily. The stakes had been his mother’s safety, and he’d figured the worst Potter would do would be continuing his barrage of suspicious looks. Potter might hate him, but he had gone back for Draco when he could have left him to burn in Fiendfyre.
He spoke slowly. His sleep-dazed mind struggled to kick into gear. He would need to be more careful now. “...No. I only received my… Inheritance.. recently… Up until then, I was, for all intents-and-purposes a wix.”
“Who’s giving you magic now, then?” Potter demanded, leaning forward with tense posture. Draco scooted away slightly.
“It… depends,” he answered, evasively. “There are various factors, but it’s always given willingly.”
“Answer my question,” Potter pressured, his eyes were darkening with anger for reasons that Draco could not even begin to guess. This was not… how he had expected this to go, with Potter’s infamous temper flaring despite Draco’s complete acquiescence of information.
“Er– my, well Mother gave me some and then, most recently, McGonagall,” he mumbled, feeling cornered.
“And who else?!” Potter was not yet yelling, but it was a close thing.
The same uneasiness from yesterday morning was creeping in. He hunched in on himself like a prey animal.
“N-no one,” he stuttered. “Just them… I’ve been just– not doing much m-magic.”
Potter immediately relaxed. Draco kicked himself for forgetting how labile Potter’s emotions had been. He had allowed his fatigue and inaccurate notions of Potter to lull him into false security again.
“Okay,” the other began. Draco waited, breathing shallowly.
“Then, you can have my magic,” Potter asserted. “I’ll be your source.”
“Er–....” Draco had no idea how to respond, torn between his own shock and the looming threat of Potter exploding.
“Just tell me how to do it,” he insisted, eyes intent on Draco.
Well… this was… unexpected. His inner voice snaked out again, reminding him of very dangerous desires and thoughts he should not be having right now.
“Well?” Potter demanded again. Draco thought through it. On one hand, this was a very, very stupid idea. Not just for his own sentimental emotions, but objectively speaking. Potter already held too much power over him and this could only add to the imbalance.
On the other hand, isn’t this what I’ve been looking for? And who could be more advantageous to align with than Potter? Keep your enemies close, Draco.
The seconds ticked by. Potter’s silence, no matter how testy, was more than Draco had thought capable from him.
“O-okay,” he replied, falteringly, scarcely believing what he was agreeing to.
Potter’s eyes glinted, pleased. He smirked at Draco. “Then I look forward to working with you, Malfoy.”