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Blood Trail	By : pipdfunnybunny Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1511 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all characters therein are property of J.K. Rowling. I do not make any profit from this story, so please don't sue me.

Chapter List
- 1-Blood Trail
- 1
BLOOD TRAIL

Summary: A slippery trail
lands Harry Potter in more trouble than he knows when the smell of his blood
hits the chilly spring air.

Warnings: M/M Pairing, so
if you don't like it, hit the Back button. Graphic sex, and some violence. This
is NOT a fluffy story, so if that's what you're craving, I can recommend other
authors. AU/AR.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all characters therein are property of J.K. Rowling. I do not make any profit from this story, so please don't sue me. I have enough troubles, and I wrote this to make people (and me) happy. (^^,)

Author's Note: This is
going to be a relatively short series. I'm writing it because I can't stand not
to write. If you've read my other work and are wondering why I haven't updated,
check out my LJ page (See my Profile) for the full rant (sorry, it's
friend-locked). This story's pretty raw and I wrote this chapter in a hurry, so
please forgive any typos and grammatical errors. Reviews, please! It was the
reviews for my other fics that made me feel so bad that I had to write this.

Chapter 1

A Taste is All It Takes

�� The moon hung
bright and full in the clear night sky, its silvery light playing over the
glimmering countryside. It had rained the entire day and well into the evening,
but as midnight approached the clouds had been swept away, revealing a fair
number of stars. The wet landscape was beautiful, when viewed from up high: the
rolling plains that gave way to dense forest, the lights of the tidy little
town tucked away in the mountains beyond that forest, the happy stream that
wound its way along the foot of the mountains like a bright silver ribbon.

�� But driving along
in the midst of it, Harry James Potter found it difficult to find any beauty.
The traffic out of the city had been monstrous, and several collisions on the
highway had further delayed his trip. The rain had also caused several slides
along the way, and the reason he was still driving in the middle of the night
(despite having set out quite early in the afternoon) was because he'd had to
wait three whole hours for the road to be cleared. He'd had no choice but to
sit himself down at the town bar, and the alcohol exposure had been far too
tempting.

�� God knew he
needed a drink. He was entitled to more than a few, after all. A man didn't get
home after one of the worst days of his life only to find his wife in bed with
another man, and not drink. But he
knew himself too well to indulge. Alcohol impaired impulse-control, and as his
impulse had been--no, still was--to
wrap his hands around Cho's throat and snap it, he couldn't afford to let
loose.

�� So he'd reined
himself in, checked in at a hotel, and called his lawyer for divorce papers.
And when Ron had called to tell him that Hermione was pregnant with their
second child, he'd gotten back into his car and started the (on average)
six-hour drive to his best friends' home in the country. He needed something to
distract him from his troubles, and while he knew it would make him more than a
little bitter, he was going to try and absorb some of his friends' happiness.

�� On the outside,
his life didn't look like a very unhappy one until the day before. He was a
hugely successful detective swiftly making his way up the ranks, he was
wealthier than most people of his acquaintance, and he'd married his childhood
sweetheart.

�� But that was
until the Susan Bones case.

�� Susan Bones was a
pretty young woman hoping to become famous when she fell in with Blaise Zabini
and his organization. Zabini was a wealthy businessman whose fortune owed much
to blood money and shady operations, and Harry had been after him for years for
everything from tax evasion to multiple-murders. When Susan Bones had turned up
in pieces on the bathroom floor of one of Zabini's clubs, Harry had pulled out
all the stops--including the legal ones. He'd planted evidence, absolutely
certain that Zabini had chopped up one of his women (what hadn't the man done?). But then the crime lab revealed that Susan
Bones had been murdered by a rival for Zabini's affections, and the evidence
against Zabini was false. They didn't do Harry any favors, either, when they
revealed who had planted it.

�� Harry was
immediately discharged, despite his previously solid gold reputation on the
force, and his lawyer was already dealing with the legal suit Zabini had
gleefully filed against him. He'd thanked God for small blessings because there
was next to no media coverage of the case. Too many journalists had paid the
price for taking an interest in Zabini's affairs.

�� But then he'd
walked into his penthouse to find that his wife had apparently checked out of
their marriage.

�� The concrete gave
way to muddy dirt and Harry cursed, pulling himself out of his thoughts as his
car swerved too far right than he intended.

�� When it rains, it pours. The
weatherman's cheerful announcement had made him switch off the radio hours
before, because that phrase only added insult to injury. Now he wished the
bastard had mentioned how long,
because if he'd known that he'd be dragging his pretty white Corvette through
mud, he'd have put off the visit for a day or two.

�� As he regained
control over the car, he admitted to himself that he'd still have driven out to
see Ron and Hermione if a blizzard and
hurricane had magically plopped down out of nowhere. He needed people who cared
more about him than who he was,
people who'd put aside the fact that he'd committed a serious crime and
apparently wasn't a very good husband.

�� An hour later, he
felt his mood lift when he saw the first flicker of light in the distance,
indicating that he was at least nearing the edge of the forest. The trail up to
the town was steep, and to avoid driving through the stream he'd have to take a
small bridge that actually led him away from the trail, but all in all he'd
manage it in under another hour.

�� He groped through
the glove compartment for his mobile phone, hoping Ron hadn't turned in yet.
The town had a motel, but he didn't want to wait to see his friends. They were
close enough for him to not care about being rude.

�� But when he would
have hit the Call button, he saw that he had at least twenty text messages. His
phone also indicated that he had at least a dozen messages on his voicemail and
someone had tried to call him four times. Knowing he was tempting fate, he
scanned the call logs.

�� Cho.

�� The messages were
also from Cho.

�� Phrases jumped
out at him from her messages, and the anger he'd kept so well-bottled up found
the cracks in his heart. And because it hurt enough to make him want to end it
all, he tortured himself further and listened to her voice through the
speakers.

�� Crying.

�� Begging.

�� Pleading.

�� She was doing
everything he'd wanted her to do, but somehow she managed to make it hurt more.
He tossed his mobile phone onto the passenger's seat, his chest heaving. He
wondered why he couldn't see and realized that he was crying, the moisture
clinging to his glasses. He lifted his hand to wipe the tears away--

�� And drove
straight into a tree.

*�� *�� *

�� He couldn't see.

�� It was the first
thought that came into his head when he pushed his way back into consciousness.
His mouth was dry and tasted of salt and copper, and he was aching all over. He
discovered he could move his hands, and while they also hurt he moved them carefully
over his face, finding a sticky wetness he knew all too well.

�� He traced the
deep cut on his forehead, the tiny ones on his left cheek and chin. Products of
shattered glass, he was certain. Taking a deep breath, he felt the delicate
skin over his eyes.

�� His pounding
heart slowed. They weren't hurt. He was so swamped with pain that he couldn't
be sure where it came from, but the inspection had told him he would still be
able to see if he made it out of there.

�� He had to find
his glasses. In the pitch blackness they wouldn't do much good, but with them
on he could at least find his way to a clearing where the moonlight could help
him. His head was heavy, and a part of him simply wanted to slump it back and
give in, but the part that had kept him alive throughout his years on the force
knew he had to get help.

�� Feeling
carefully, he discovered that his seatbelt was still on. It was perhaps the
only reason he hadn't flown headfirst through the shattered windshield, and he
was grateful for it even as he realized why his chest hurt so much. When the
car had crashed the seat belt had knocked him back into his seat, saving him
and probably knocking him out as well. Too bad it hadn't helped his knees much.
He still had his legs and he could move the right one without much complaint,
but his left leg sorely protested against movement. Not surprising, considering
his left knee felt as swollen as a ripe melon.

�� All his fingers
met were debris, and when he felt another cut drip blood when he came into
contact with broken glass, he unbuckled his seatbelt and slowly, ignoring his
protesting muscles, leaned over the passenger's seat. Hopefully the mobile hadn't
gone flying out.

�� He concentrated
on finding what he needed and staying awake. Too many thoughts were swirling
into his banged-up head.

�� He should have
gotten laser eye surgery.

�� He should have
told Ron he was coming, so that his friend would wonder why he wasn't on time.

�� He should have
stayed put and handled his problems instead of running like a coward.

�� And this time,
when he cried it was out of frustration. He had always thought of himself as a
decent person, despite his many failings. He was usually laid-back, but he had
strong opinions when it came to his work, but the drive behind his beliefs had
made him a great detective. Maybe he didn't take Cho out for dinner or dancing
as much as she'd have liked, but he done his damndest to make up for it
whenever he could. And if he took a little pride in what he'd made of himself,
could anyone blame him?

�� He'd left his
childhood behind a long time ago, after a violent night that still gave him
nightmares. He'd grown up into a man that no one had expected him to be. But as
he sat in the darkness, bloody and broken, pathetically trying to find help, he
felt every bit like the battered boy he had been.

�� He'd distanced
himself from that boy. His real life had began when he was eleven years old,
when the police had taken him away from his nightmares. It was the reason he
had such a great love for the force. From the moment Arthur Weasley and his
squad had come barging into his family's home almost two decades ago, Harry's
life had zoomed straight up. Considering where he was coming from, improving
his life hadn't exactly been hard to do, but the change had appeared to be more
than just clean beds and regular food. Arthur had taken him in and raised him
as his own, and Harry had felt blessed from that point onwards. He'd gone on to
graduate with honors at university, lead his class at the police academy, and
do his foster-family proud.

�� And in the space
of two days he'd lost everything. It was as though he was being punished for
daring to be more than the filthy, useless bastard that his aunt and uncle had
made him believe he was.

�� His breath caught
on a sob when pale blue light flared in the darkness and his trembling hand closed
over his mobile phone.

�� He let it out in
a strangled cry when the light washed over something barely a few inches away
from his head.

�� It was a face,
that much he could be sure of. His eyes were still adjusting and with a grade
of 5.25 on each eye, his vision wasn't much to begin with. But the bright light
of the mobile phone brought some focus, and he knew he was staring up at a face
that was almost nose to nose with his own.

�� He didn't know
why he was so afraid. Well, he understood his fear a little. He'd been so certain he was alone. He hadn't heard anyone,
anything approach, but apparently
someone had been watching him through the broken passenger's seat window the
whole time. That person hadn't said a word, hadn't done anything. All he'd done
was watch. Apparently, at a hair's breadth away from Harry's face and Harry
hadn't even felt the warmth of his breath. That made the cold washing over him
sink straight into his bones.

�� Harry could see
the contours of the stranger's face, the feeble light washing over the planes
of a face that he would later realize was incredibly beautiful. But he could
grasp very little at that point, save for the abject terror he felt as he
looked up into the bone-white face. Serial killer and cult cases flashed
through his mind, and he felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat at the
supreme irony of it all.

�� The stranger
moved.

�� Harry couldn't
even scream, didn't even pull back as the stranger leaned further in through
the window. He felt a hand cup his cheek, cold and hard as marble, forcing him
to tip his head back. And then something warm and wet scraped over his
forehead.

�� Green eyes went
wide when he realized that the stranger was licking at his forehead cut, tongue
gently laving the ripped skin. The hand on his cheek tightened, and another
came to rest on his shoulder, clutching tightly. A shiver seemed to come over
the stranger, and when Harry heard him mewl it was as though a shot went off
in� his head.

�� He shoved the
stranger away as hard as he could, reeling back and dialling Ron's number. The
pain that surged through from his chest and limbs made him nauseous, but he was
as sick from pain as he was from horror. He pushed his door open, stumbled out,
and blindly began screaming for help into his mobile, not even hearing whether
Ron had picked up or not.

�� It was too dark
to see, but he stumbled forward all the same, out of pure fear. His sense had
deserted him the moment he'd realized that the person--if it indeed was a
person--had been licking at his blood, and had apparently been enjoying it. Mindlessly,
he felt the ground for something--anything--that he could defend himself with
as his knee gave out and the awareness that he couldn't outrun the stranger
crashed down him.

�� He was no longer
holding his mobile. He'd abandoned it in favor of a thick branch. And he
couldn't scream anyway. His throat was closing. He pulled himself up, not
wanting to die on his knees.

�� "Help."
He could barely whisper it as he craned his head about, waiting for the first
painful strike. "Please, help."

�� Two yellow lights
appeared on his right, blinding him. The brightness exploded in his eyes, and
succeeded in doing what Harry had thought the stranger would do. It knocked him
flat on his back and sent him sprawling back into unconsciousness.

Further Notes: So? What do
you think so far? I realize it may be a bit confusing, but I promise it'll all
be very clear in the next chapter. Again, please bear in mind that I wrote this
in under an hour, so it's pretty rough. I'm tempted to edit, but that might put
me back another couple of days and I really want to let you guys know I'm still
writing and working on updating my other stuff. Review, please! I really
appreciate any feedback!
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Blood Trail