Chapter Notes:

Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

Thank you to my Beta Readers: AuntLynnie, Gryffindor_Slytherin, MargotLeFaye, Misdemeanor1331

I wrote this because I started picturing Alexander Skarsgaard as Draco. And after watching True Blood, I had to get this out of my system. If you like True Blood, you'll like this. Hopefully. :)

Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy was standing on his balcony, looking out into the night with a deep sense of longing that would not go away. The wind picked up and ruffled his hair. The bare skin of his chest would have prickled if his body would still have been able to physically react to the cold. Staring up at the moon and stars, he took a slow, deep breath.

Lately, the arrangement hadn't been enough for him. He felt like an animal, trapped in a cage. A grim expression graced his features. He was an animal in a cage. He didn't belong here anymore; he never did. The desire to escape and run free was becoming unbearable. Not only that, but Draco had started to wonder if the Dark Lord suspected he was more powerful than he let on. He had been careful but it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out.

There was no longer anybody holding him here, so what made him stay? The supply of magical blood?

He heard his house-elf and a human approach long before the knock sounded on the door. Draco sniffed the air. It was Greg. He looked over his shoulder and sniffed again. Greg and someone else with a scent that he didn't recognize.

Curious, his bare feet padded on the hardwood floor as he approached the double doors leading to the hall corridor.

"Enter," he said, his voice echoing off the walls.

The doors opened and his elf came through and bowed.

"Master, Gregory Goyle is here."

Draco motioned for the elf to let him in. The doors swung open wider and Greg lumbered through carrying a small body wrapped in a white sheet. The sheet was a sharp contrast to the black Death Eater robes that Greg wore. Draco eyed the motionless bundle.

The now unmistakably female smell became stronger as they entered the room, and to his surprise, he found that the scent was familiar. Who had been caught this time?

Draco took a few steps forward and heard Greg's heartbeat quicken at his approach. Like the others, Greg feared him since that fateful mission. Most of the Death Eaters were wary around him now, but he didn't want to alarm anyone within the Dark Lord's ranks, least of all the Dark Lord himself. So he kept a low profile, and didn't do anything that would cause anyone to question their assumptions.

In the meantime, Draco took on the role of the executioner. Killing prisoners suited his new nature just fine. He sneered at the memory of his aunt leaving him for dead, not realizing that he would return, changed forever. At first, his mother and father reviled him; they were sad and angered by his transformation. But ultimately, their love for him won out and they accepted him. The lives of the Malfoys had been hanging by the thread of the Dark Lord's whim for far too long.

"The Dark Lord wants to question this one personally. You need to weaken her first," Greg explained, eyeing him.


It was a question, but Draco made it sound like a statement. Greg swallowed under Draco's scrutiny and continued, "Beat her, fuck her, torture her, drain her, do whatever it is that… that your kind does. It doesn't matter, she's filth."

His eyes flashed to the bundle. Suddenly, he knew that it was her. Greg released his hold so that her body would be dumped to the floor. In the blink of an eye, Draco rushed over and caught her while his old friend from school recoiled from his proximity.

Warmth. He felt her warmth against his torso, chest, and arms. He bent his head down, burying his nose in the sheet and inhaling with a deep shuddering breath. It was her.

Greg's mouth opened in shock after witnessing the lightning-fast reflexes, and then curled in disgust at the display of Draco's baser, more primal nature. He snarled and Greg took a half step backwards.

"Don't kill her yet," he tried to admonish Draco with a tone of bored superiority, but the slight crack in his voice belied his worry.

He continued to look uneasily from the body to Draco, unsure of what to do. He didn't know whether he should oversee the torture to be sure that the Dark Lord's orders were followed, or to exit Draco's very unnerving presence.

"Leave," Draco growled.

The one word command left no room for argument, and Greg left, utterly repulsed at what his childhood friend had become. Draco paced back and forth in anticipation while staring at the white bundle on the floor, unsure of what to do. He paused, studied the bundle and flexed his forearms.

He wanted her. It had been two years since he last saw her. He was still human then.


Draco was running as fast as he could, a Silencing spell cast on his feet. The Dark Lord had been tricked. Much to the Death Eaters' surprise, the old French castle was a trap and there wouldn't be a prisoner exchange. Somehow, the Order had found out that the captives had already been executed and the exchange was a farce. Someone on their side must have decided to exploit the situation and make a trap of their own. The Dark Lord's army had never seen it coming. The trap was planned with a cunning and ruthlessness quite uncharacteristic of the Order of the Phoenix, and it was executed brutally. More members of the Order had arrived to collect the surviving Death Eaters that were too injured to return.

Draco was only alive and in one piece due to his extreme paranoia and cold, hard skill. Both were a result of himself and his family being on the Dark Lord's shit list for years, and wondering when the axe would fall. It was only a matter of time, really. He probably wouldn't live to see his twenty-first birthday, and for what?

A fucking war over Pureblood supremacy.

He had tried to persuade his father that they should abandon everything and flee, but to no avail. His father was a coward, and his mother wouldn't leave his side. They'd likely be found and killed anyway. He didn't know how well they would be able to hide with their Dark Marks.

He doubled over from the exertion of sprinting up and down corridors and ducking into alcoves. The saliva in his mouth was thick and he bent his head to spit on the ground. Wiping his mouth of spittle, he cursed his rotten luck in a harsh whisper. His Portkey had fallen from his pocket while he had narrowly escaped the first explosion. He was sure it was near the south entrance. At the time, he was too busy dueling to notice, and now he had to make his way back. Maybe it would be better to hide and wait until the Order had finished combing through the castle grounds. Better yet, if he could get outside the range of the anti-Apparition ward, he could be back at the Dark Lord's lair within seconds. The question was… how?

He thought he heard something and abruptly stopped breathing. After casting a spell to enhance his hearing, he strained his ears and heard hushed voices approaching from the end of the hallway. Panicked, he looked back and forth, but found no place to hide. The distance to the exit of the corridor was too far off; he'd never make it in time. In a last ditch effort to hide himself, he plastered his body against the stone wall and cast a Disillusionment Charm, hoping that if he stayed still enough, whoever it was wouldn't notice the telltale shimmer of the spell in the dark of night. He did his best to control his breathing, but it was hard.

A deep male voice from down the corridor was amplified for him to hear.

"What do you think it is? That dragon on the emblem looks to be made of gold."

Was that Longbottom? The sod had his Portkey. Maybe his luck was improving.

"I'm not sure, Neville. It doesn't appear to be dangerous, but it's been charmed with… something. Here, levitate it into this pouch. Don't touch it."

His pulse quickened at the sound of the female voice. A voice now familiar from his reminiscing of their moments together.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. Of course it would be her.

Thinking of her was distracting; he was unable to temper the sad longing that accompanied his memories of her, but he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. How could he get his Portkey back? And how could he do it without hurting her? If they passed by him without noticing how he was hidden (not impossible, but highly improbable if they were searching for stray Death Eaters) he could stun both of them from behind.


Seeing as how he didn't have any other bright ideas, he focused on the one he had. He'd have to stun Hermione first. She was the better duelist by far. He saw them approach by criss crossing across the hall and running in bursts. They were both dressed in black, and her hair was tied back in a tight bun. Their movements seemed graceful and effortless. They must have practiced the movements so often for it to resemble a dance. One would be flat against the wall, wand ready, while the other made a diagonal dash towards the opposing wall.

He watched them progress down the corridor, and mapped out approximately where they would be to see if he should attempt moving. It seemed like they would pass him unnoticed when all of a sudden, Longbottom tripped.

Draco rolled his eyes impatiently and found that Hermione was hilariously rolling hers as well, as she silently hurried to help him up. However, his amusement was short-lived as he realized that the fall had ruined their pattern and she was now sprinting directly towards him.

Adrenaline rushed through his body and he held his wand in the attack position. What would she do if she noticed him? She was truly terrifying in battle. He'd witnessed it, and didn't know how he'd fare to be on the receiving end.

She pumped her arms as she ran, glancing back over her shoulder to ensure that they weren't going to be attacked from behind. She turned to face his spot on the wall, furrowed her brow and skidded to a halt five feet from him. He raised his wand but other than that, didn't dare move else she hex him.

Her hazel eyes were studying the disturbance against the wall with trepidation. It was hard to see his Disillusionment Charm in the dark but she was facing him directly now. Her eyes narrowed and he watched the rise and fall of her breasts as she caught her breath.

It would be point blank. He should stun her now and deal with Longbottom. He should, but he couldn't. Not her.

His head bowed in resignation.


"What's wrong?" Longbottom asked warily.

Hermione waved for him to be quiet and slowly approached Draco with her wand out. She was just as painfully beautiful as he remembered her, but hardened around the edges—they all were. Somehow, the hardness only amplified her beauty.

He should take off his mask so that she would recognize him, but was afraid that the shimmery movement would cause her to attack.

By now she would have realized what she was looking at, and her eyes searched the area where she estimated that his eyes would be. Knowing that she was in the presence of a Disillusionment Charm, she would be wondering why whoever had cast the spell hadn't assaulted her already. Fortunately for Draco, this meant that she wouldn't attack him hastily.

"What is it?" Longbottom asked again, and made to approach her.

"Stay back!" she hissed, not taking her wand or her eyes off of Draco. "Keep watch of the corridor exits!"

She muttered the counter spell and tensed as he appeared before her, glancing down to the tip of his wand which was almost touching the tip of hers, and then back up to his face.

Slowly, he lowered his wand.

"Who are you?" she demanded, not dropping her guard for a second. Cautiously, so as not to incite her into attacking him, he dipped his fingers under the chin of his mask and lifted it off his face, removing his hood with it.

"Malf-" Longbottom started, but Hermione hushed him, and he stood still.

"Keep watching the exits," she whispered harshly, and Longbottom obeyed.

She must be ranked highly now. Something clicked and he made the connection. Draco raised an eyebrow and stared down at her over the tip of her wand. "It was you who planned this, wasn't it?"

He couldn't keep the admiration out of his voice. The corner of her mouth twitched into a half smile, and then disappeared as regret entered her eyes. She couldn't take pride in something that resulted in the death and injury of so many people, enemy or not.

In a soft whisper that only he could hear, she told him simply, "Come with us."

He swallowed. He would follow her anywhere if he could.

"They'll be killed," he answered, just as quietly.

She nodded. She knew. She lowered her wand, relaxed her stance, and closed the gap between them.

Searching his face, she continued, "It's a standing offer. When you're ready."

He studied the sadness of her hazel eyes, reflecting the despair in his own. He wanted them to be somewhere else, but it was never their time… not in this life.

He gave her a sardonic smile. "I doubt I'll live that long."

His chest ached. He longed to touch her, and he eyed Longbottom, who was making his way towards them, wand at the ready. The situation was clearly making the shit-for-brains uneasy.

"Hermione, what's going on?"

Ignoring Longbottom, he motioned to the pouch tied to her belt. "You've got my Portkey."

Wordlessly, she untied the pouch from her belt and handed it to him. Her fingers lingered, touching his in the faintest of caresses. Longbottom began to sputter a protest, and Hermione's hand dropped. Draco's hand remained, holding the pouch and still tingling from where she had touched him.

Looking down at the pouch in his palm, he exhaled slowly in relief and curled his fingers around the fabric.

Longbottom, clearly disturbed by what he was seeing, started sputtering again, "You're…wait! You're going to let him go?"

Hermione set her mouth in a determined line, nodded as if she were debating and then agreeing with herself, and then turned around.


She turned back to Draco, and he could see the faintest of tears in her eyes.

"Hurry," she urged him.

"Hermione, I…"

Adrenaline surged through him. He didn't know when he'd see her again, if ever. Feeling reckless, he circled her upper arm with his fingers, pulled her close to him and cupped her face. Staring into her eyes, he slowly rubbed the softness of her bottom lip with his thumb. Her breath hitched and her gaze flicked from his eyes down to his mouth and back. He could take her now, they could leave, they could run away from all of this. He leaned down to kiss her, and he brushed her lips lightly with his. But before he could deepen the kiss, she gently pushed him away, biting her lip and shaking her head.

She looked up at him and a lone tear spilled over her lashes and made its way down her cheek.

"Hurry," she implored again, her voice barely a whisper.

Never taking his eyes off of hers, he opened the pouch, dumped the Portkey into his hand, and vanished.


With a great deal of excitement, Draco uncovered her body with a swish of the sheet. He was quite unprepared for the onslaught of hunger and desire that overtook him. Her scent, ten times stronger now, assaulted his senses and she was naked. She was lying on her back with her left leg over her right, covering her private area. For a split second, he was paralyzed. The object of his desire for so many years was laid out before him. Hair, lips, eyelashes, stomach, smooth skin, breasts, legs, throat, and the stream of her sweet, sweet blood.

As the saliva pooled in his mouth, he felt his fangs extend and he became painfully hard. With a grunt, he fell to his hands and knees, crouching over her like the predator he was.

He was aroused and hungry, ready to take and violate her body in every way imaginable. He heard her blood pumping just under her skin. Placing a hand on the back of her knee and encircling her lower thigh with his fingers, he closed in on her throat. As he approached the pumping of her artery under her skin, he felt the tendons and muscles of her leg and gave it a slow squeeze. He cupped the back of her head with his other hand and threaded his fingers through her hair, reveling in its softness.

A low growl left his chest and he slid his hand up her leg to dig his fingers into the suppleness of her rear. He lifted and tilted her head in such a way that her throat was entirely exposed to him, and rubbed his thumb over the skin of her neck. He felt the pulse of her rushing blood and the stream got louder, calling to him, until all that he could hear was the rhythmic pumping of her heart thudding in his ears. He leaned down and licked the length of her throat, savoring the taste, and readied to sink his teeth in.

He'd fuck her into the ground and drain her until there was nothing left. He would ravage her and bathe in her blood. It would be glorious. Hermione would…


He paused and closed his eyes to block the image of her tempting body laid bare before him. Gently, he laid her down so that her warm softness wouldn't arouse his lust. He turned his head towards the patio doors, trying to clear his nose of her scent with the fresh night air coming in from the balcony. He tried to listen to the wind, to the animals outside, to the curtains fluttering, to anything that would distract him from the beating of her heart and the flow of her blood. It was difficult, struggling with and finally controlling his predatory nature. Not without considerable effort, he sat up on his haunches and slowly backed away from her.

He needed to get outside and feed on something else so he could clear his mind enough to think through his options. In a flash, he was gone.


When Hermione awakened, the first thing she realized was that she was lying on a floor. More specifically, she was lying on a rug. The second thing she realized was that she was naked. Fighting the urge to cover herself, she feigned sleep while furiously trying to remember how she had gotten here in the first place… wherever "here" was. From the way the air flowed around her and the slight coolness she felt towards her feet, she guessed she was in a large room, and there was an open window near where her feet pointed. She wondered if she was on the ground floor. Her hands itched to reach around her to see if her wand was nearby, but she knew that it was hopeless, wishful thinking.

She tried to concentrate on remembering. How much time had passed? What time of day had she last been conscious? It must have been noon and very bright outside because her last memory was of a blinding light. But that couldn't be right, she and Ron were trying to help Harry escape the Forbidden Forest with Ravenclaw's diadem, the fifth Horcrux. There was hardly any direct sunlight there.

Suddenly, it came back to her. Padma was there, injured. Hermione split up with Ron so that he could watch Harry's back while she got Padma out. She didn't understand why Padma was there in the first place, and that fact alone set off warning bells. The three were to have back-up if needed, but they had not signaled for anyone to come. Furthermore, Padma was not one of those assigned to be back-up for the mission in the first place. She hadn't been quite right since Parvati's death, and had deteriorated over the past two years. As such, she was generally given a wide berth with little responsibility.

Upon being asked, Padma had successfully given her personal password, thus confirming her identity, and had not given the password indicating she was being coerced in any way. Hermione ignored the sense of wrongness she felt about the situation and went right on to assessing her friend's injuries. It had seemed that the most serious of them was on her upper right thigh, causing a lot of blood loss.

"Sorry," Padma said in a barely audible whisper.

"What?" Hermione asked, as she concentrated on closing the lacerations. When she looked up, a bright light emitted from the end of Padma's wand.

And now she was here.

Padma must have thought she could buy a safe passage to the other side. That was both disappointing and a terrible loss. She had been with them from the beginning. Intelligent, brave and loyal, Padma was a true soldier and friend. Hermione hoped that her betrayal was temporary insanity brought on by Parvati's death, and not a lack of faith in their cause or change in her true allegiance.

Or maybe she was giving her too much credit and the bint just wanted revenge for Hermione's role in her twin's death. With the way Padma had been acting lately, and her erratic behavior, it was impossible to tell...

It had been a frustrating year all-around, and many in the Order despaired of ever winning. They watched their numbers slowly decrease without any apparent progress in what appeared to be an incredibly damaging war of attrition. But a recent lead had led Hermione, Ron and Harry back on the trail. She was certain that they had managed to destroy the fifth Horcrux without her, and they knew where the sixth was.

Nobody but the three of them knew about the Horcruxes, and fortunately, they weren't physically able to talk about it to someone else. The Unbreakable Vow had been her idea, and all three agreed that it would be for the best. The control over her own fate gave Hermione more courage to face whatever torture was planned for her to extract names, locations and strategies. She could commit suicide by attempting to tell her interrogators precisely what it was that her captors would want to know. It put her in control of what otherwise would be a truly horrifying experience that most likely would end in her death anyway.

She wondered if she could chance a peek at her surroundings without alerting anyone to the fact that she was awake. She didn't sense anybody in the room, and the only sound she could hear was the occasional rustle of a curtain. From the sound of it, the window must be fairly large. Or maybe the ceiling of the room was high. She guessed that she was roughly twenty feet away.

Since the right side of her face was pressed against the sheet, she chanced opening her right eye a crack. Her nose and hair would hide any movement that she made involuntarily so she could retain her guise of unconsciousness. Her eye was only opened slightly and so everything in her line of sight was blurry. She could make out that she was in a very opulent sitting room of sorts. There were a few tables and chairs, and a sofa almost directly across from her.

She almost flinched. Almost.

She saw the bottom half of someone, obviously male, sitting on the couch with one leg extended outwards towards her. He appeared to be wearing only black trousers. No shirt, no shoes. He was well built, and tall. From her angle on the floor, she couldn't see his face. She hadn't felt as nervous when she thought that she might be alone in the room, but now there was an unknown man not ten feet away from her, staring at her nakedness. Knowing that she was being watched made her feel her vulnerability that much more acutely.

Goosebumps spread over her body and her nipples hardened. She heard a low growl emanate from the area where the man was sitting on the couch. Was there an animal in here too? She didn't sense one. Then again, she hadn't sensed the presence of the man sitting on the couch, either.

She saw his legs straighten as he stood up and walked towards her. Her heartbeat quickened. He was very tall indeed. She smiled inwardly. He would fall… hard. His bare feet padded on the ground until he was almost within reach. She could bite and rip through his Achilles tendon with her teeth. He would fall and she would go immediately for his wand. If it wasn't in his hand, it would be in his trouser pocket. Roughly 90% of wizards were right handed, so she would go for his right side first. If she couldn't get his wand, she would gauge his eyes out, knee him in the groin and break his collar bone. In that order. If the bastard had answers about her situation, then by Merlin, she would get them.

He was standing next to her now. Was she ready for this? Yes. She held her breath, and counted down. She could feel the adrenaline racing through her body and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Ready? And three… two… The man's voice cut through her thoughts.

"There's no use in attacking me, your movements are ten times slower than mine."


Her eyes snapped open to see a bare-chested Draco Malfoy towering over her. Her heart leapt and a smile of pure happiness lit up her face. He was alive!

She heard the low growling again, and with a start, realized that it was coming from him. Seemingly entranced, he was staring down at her nakedness, raking his eyes over her in a dangerous, predatory manner. Her smile faltered. Something was wrong.

Furiously, she wrapped herself in the sheet, jumped to her feet and backed away from him while scanning her surroundings for exits and weapons. Draco's eyes followed her movements, but he stood completely still. Slowly, his lips spread in a lecherous smile and to her horror, she saw that he had fangs.

Her heart plummeted. They were vile. He had so much potential. He didn't belong with them and they knew it. She always felt helpless when she thought of Draco. Much as she yearned for him, much as she wanted to help him, he was stuck, surrounded by evil. How had he done it all these years? Was it his strength of will? Or the love that he felt for those close to him? Through it all he had managed to hold onto his humanity.

And then they took even that from him.


Hermione walked hurriedly down the corridor. It was night. She had felt increasingly isolated this year from Harry and Ron, like a third wheel. And she was lonely. She wanted to clear the air between her and Harry at least so that she could better tackle what remained of her friendship with Ron. But she couldn't find him. Out of habit from last year, and the good memories that she had from being a part of the DA, she found herself returning to the Room of Requirement, and encountered Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle walking down the corridor from precisely that direction, arguing furiously in hushed voices. They all stopped as soon as they saw her.

She considered turning heel and striding off in the other direction, quickly. That might save her a confrontation with all three, but her retreat would only encourage them later. Not to mention that she had just as much of a right to be here as they did. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and continued down the hallway. She would just ignore them.

"Well, well, well," Crabbe taunted her. "Dirty, little Mudblood. All on her own."

She tried to continue on her way without looking even remotely in the same direction as the three. She didn't care about Crabbe and Goyle, it was Draco that unnerved her. They had become very close that night in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and had understood each other as only two suffering people can. She was scared of what she would see in his eyes now. She wasn't afraid that it didn't mean anything to him, she knew it did. But she was afraid that he would regard her in the same way that he always did, as if nothing had changed between them.

Goyle stepped directly in front of her, blocking her path. He gave her a threatening smile.

"You should leave, Mudblood," Draco said to her, struggling to keep his voice impassionate.

Her heart sank. So he was going to pretend that nothing happened. She felt betrayed. And hurt. She closed her eyes, willing the tears away, and reopened them before slowly turning to face him. He was flanked by his two oafish friends, and looked positively sick. Taken out of context, it almost sounded like he was warning her. She felt a tingle of fear race down her spine at the barely contained panic in his expression.

He was.

The double meaning was lost on Crabbe and Goyle, who continued to tell her that she didn't belong at Hogwarts.

Draco's eyes were pleading with her in a way that his mouth couldn't, and now she saw that he was absolutely terrified. Not just for himself, but for her.

"Get your filthy self out of our way," he repeated, more in control of his voice. "Leave."

Soundlessly, his eyes widened in fear and he mouthed the word "Now."

Adrenaline was racing through her body, but raw terror rooted her to the spot.

Crabbe and Goyle misinterpreted her fearful expression to mean that she was afraid of them and Crabbe closed in on her threateningly.

"Come on," Draco said with nervous irritation. Without taking his eyes off of her, he tugged on Crabbe's sleeve, pulling him away from her and motioned for Goyle to follow him. "We've got work to do."

"Your days are numbered, Mudblood," Goyle threatened with a snarl, pointing back at her as he walked on with Draco.

She stared after them as they walked swiftly down the hall.

Leave where? From this corridor? From Hogwarts? Something was going to happen. Harry had been right all along. Whatever Draco was involved in, it had him petrified. And now, watching the three leave the corridor, so was she.

Like after a gunshot at the start of a race, she took off in a sprint in the opposite direction, following a roundabout way to the Headmaster's office. After several attempts of hurriedly whispering various kinds of Muggle candy to the gargoyle guarding his office in between gasps for breath, she concluded that he wasn't there. Biting her lip worriedly until it bled, she decided that Professor McGonagall would be the best person to warn. However, she never got the opportunity. Not ten minutes after she had left that corridor leading to the Room of Requirement, Draco returned to let Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, and several other Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

She didn't realize it until later, but Draco Malfoy had saved her life.


From what she knew, vampires turned from Muggles had little sense of morality, at least, not in the sense that humans did. She didn't know a damned thing about vampires turned from wizards. Until now, she'd never even heard of a vampire turned from a wizard. What she did know was that vampires were dangerous. They were slaves to their hunger and desires until they had aged considerably, human only in appearance.

He was lost completely. No hope. She choked out a sob, and her voice shook with despair.

"What did they do to you?"

His grey eyes glittered down at her through his fringe.

"It could have been worse..." As if to prove his point, his eyes lowered to her throat and rose back to meet her eyes again. He was clenching and unclenching his hands.

She noted that there was a French window to her left, thirty feet away, leading out to balcony. She had been off a bit. From the view of the Mumford tree outside in the moonlight, she estimated that they were three stories high; too high to jump without breaking a leg or worse.

It was commonly thought that vampirism took away the magic in the wizard's body and blood since the change in state was, in actuality, an affliction of both, but there was no recorded evidence. She didn't see a wand on Draco, so apparently that was true. Vampires weren't much of a challenge to an armed and trained wizard with his wits about him. But to one that was unarmed, the enhanced speed, reflexes and strength were extremely difficult to overcome.

Double doors to the exit of the room were roughly ten feet behind her, but she would meet guards in a mad dash for the building exit. Draco would catch her anyway, and she had no hope of outrunning him. Ten times faster, indeed.

She studied him, putting one hand out into the air between them so as to keep her distance, and one hand clutching the sheet to her body. The Order hadn't seen or heard of Draco Malfoy in over twenty months. She thought that he had been executed. They knew that his father had died from injuries sustained in one of the battles not three months ago, and his mother passed away soon after from illness. However, their intelligence could not confirm her suspicion regarding Draco. This, apparently, was why. The Death Eaters were shamed enough that the likes of Greyback were originally among their ranks. But a vampire? And one turned from the purest of bloodlines? Draco would be an embarrassment. They had more supporters now and could afford to be more exclusive.

If Draco were still human, he undoubtedly would have helped her. They had connected with each other before, deeply. And he had saved her life multiple times. Now he was a vampire. How much did vampires retain of their human feelings? She just didn't know. But seeing as how she had been betrayed by Padma, stripped, and brought to him, she had to assume that he was with her in order to kill her, or torture her, or both.

The thought made her want to vomit.

His growling stopped and she abruptly focused on his predatory stance, and then his grey eyes, now turning slightly silver. More inhuman. He was pale, beautiful, and terrifying. An Angel of Death.

But she didn't have to die tonight.

Her mind raced for what she knew about vampire weaknesses. Sunlight? It was night, and she had no idea how much time she had until dawn. It was summer, so the days were longer. But sunrise could be anywhere from a half hour to eight or nine hours from now. Garlic? There wasn't any food in this room, and she had no idea where the kitchen was. Silver? Surely there had to be something in this room made of silver, unless he had purged his living quarters of it. She'd have to keep her eyes open, and stall him.

Could she talk to him?

Her eyes lowered to her left. Could she make a stake out of that table leg?

He was slowly approaching her, and sniffing the air as he did so. His head tilted, following wafts of air as they traversed the space between them. Was it her scent that enthralled him so? He turned back to her and she was struck by the intensity in his grey-sliver eyes, hungry and lustful. She clutched her sheet more tightly to her body. A slight movement drew her gaze to his mouth. He was flicking the tip of his fang with his tongue, and watching her.

She was in trouble.

Chapter End Notes:

So would Draco make a good vampire or what?