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Bonded in Blood	By : AikawaAkihiko Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 37017 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER AND MAKE NO PROFIT FROM THIS STORY

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Beta reader: Much thanks to Iriya!

Chapter 2- Draco

Draco could not suppress the gasp that surged past his lips when he heard the Professor announce that he turned Potter into a vampire. Rumours had always run rampant among the students that the Potions professor was a dark being, but that was just one of many bits of gossip that was spread about the acrimonious man. Now, here Draco was, witness to the declaration that not only was the rumour true, but he had also infected the bleeding Saviour of the Wizarding World!

Draco stealthily sat himself up straighter in the bed, leaning back against the metal bars that served as a headboard. He laid back, perching his head closer to the top edge of the half wall that separated the infirmary into two sections of two rows of beds. The other occupants of the room could not see him in bed and seemed to have forgotten that he was there at all.

“Who could do such a thing?!” wailed the nurse. Draco could hear her robes shuffle with her agitated movement.

“Poppy, it looks that all evidence points to it being an attack by a Death Eater,” the Headmistress said sadly, a frown heard in her low voice.

“They’ve left their calling cards all over the boy,” Snape said sourly.

Draco heard the mediwitch gasp. “My goodness! They’ve burned the Dark Mark right into him!” she exclaimed in clear distress. “I don’t know if the burn healing paste you brew for the Hospital Ward is strong enough to cover up burns that deep, Severus.”

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own exclamation at the news. Death Eaters? In Hogwarts? he thought with building trepidation. It was well known that Hogwarts’ wards were nearly impenetrable; Death Eaters could not get in without the Headmistress knowing about it. That must mean it was a student or one of the teachers. He wrapped his arms around himself to hold in a shiver as images from the past flooded his mind.

Over the past two and a half years, he had become quite familiar with the brutality of Death Eaters. It had been the most frightening and eye-opening time of his live. He had received the “honour” of bearing the Dark Mark, while underage and under crushing pressure from the Dark Lord and his parents, before his sixth year. It had been burned into his forearm and, as he would come to see it, forever marked him as a slave to a megalomaniacal maniac.

His whole life, he had seen Lord Voldemort’s band of followers as more of an elite club of sorts, where the most select and privileged wizards gather and make plans for the betterment of the wizarding world. Yes, he had been aware of and well acquainted with their use of the Dark Arts and taking the law into their own hands, but Draco had always been told that they had been driven to it by those low and unworthy families who opposed their inherent right to power as ancient and noble pureblood families.

He had never truly realised what Death Eaters did and when he finally experienced it, experienced what duties his father performed for the Dark Lord and the atrocities he carried out in his name, what he had been doing for decades, he was crushed, disillusioned, and traumatised. By then, however, the Dark Lord was ensconced in his home, their name and influence had diminished severely among the Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord had his eye on him.

Draco remembered well the night he had received his orders from the Dark Lord; kill the headmaster and get the Death Eaters inside of Hogwarts. He knew then it was a suicide mission, punishment for the failures of his father. How could a sixth year student be expected to defeat and kill one of the most powerful wizards alive? At the time, he was still loyal, however, and he did not see as he had any other options anyway. The Dark Lord was headquartered at Malfoy Manor, his parents were virtually held hostage under his thumb. He would complete his mission to the best of his ability to bring pride and distinction to the Malfoy name, even if it meant his life.

By the end of the Great Battle, however, both he and his family knew there would be no saving their names, reputations, or their hides. His father had claimed to have only followed Voldemort after being placed under the Imperius Curse after the last fall of Voldemort, and it would not be an excepted excuse this time, especially now that all three of the Malfoys had taken part in the activities.

To Draco, the Battle of Hogwarts was simply the event that marked the time his life had reached a whole new level of horror. The dead had been gathered in the Great Hall, their bodies laid out side by side on the ancient stone floor. Their families and friends gathered around them, some roamed from body to body in search of missing loved ones. In the midst of the calamity, the Malfoys had huddled at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, relishing the fact that they had survived and where together.

As the confusion died down in the hall, sorrow and grief began to turn into anger and vengeance as everyone awoke from the shock of what happened and Draco and his family began to be noticed. Suddenly a call was raised across the room.

“YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER! MURDERERS! DEATH EATER SCUM!” The screams of the irate woman faded away into incoherent sobs.

The stifling silence that filled the massive hall pierced Draco’s consciousness with a growing prickling of dread.

And then, seemingly as one, the crowd of mourners turned to face the Slytherin table. The Malfoys were not the only former Death Eaters at the table or in the room, but they were the most prominent and recognizable – a feature that, until now, was only a source of pride to the arrogant family. The crowd rushed at them, drawing their wands seemingly as one, and prepared to exact their revenge. His father, acting quickly, pushed Draco off his chair and under the table, his mother following after.

From under the table Draco could see the crowd trying to get at them but they were held back by another group of people consisting of various good Samaritans. They tried to soothe the enraged crowd and urged them not to be too hasty. “If we did this, we’d be no better then them,” they kept saying.

Immediately Aurors swarmed the Great Hall. Most helped with crowd control while others began to round up the few Death Eaters who had not bothered to run. Draco watched his father’s legs disappear from under the table as he was dragged away. His mother was grabbed around the waist and hauled from her hiding spot next to him, her eyes wide with fear and her hands reaching out to him. Draco was yanked up from under the table by the hair, his wand taken from him, and then bound in ropes.

It would be the last time he was to see either of his parents.

Professor Snape’s deep voice called him back to the situation at hand. “I have some stronger batches of burn salve back in my quarters,” he responded grimly. “Besides, I believe the changes that will occur once the transformation takes place will heal much of the external damage.”

He heard the rustling of sheets and the murmur of a spell. “Minerva, how could this have happened? How could anyone get away with this with all the extra security you and the Ministry have set in place?” the mediwitch inquired.

That is a very good question, thought Draco. Draco, unfortunately, was very aware of just how ineffective those extra security measures were. He cradled his arm in his lap. It was still sore, even though the Skele-gro had mended his snapped Ulna and Radius; the result of having been jumped - again! – by a group of vengeful Gryffindors. Yes, Draco was quite acquainted with benefits of those “security measures”.

New and stronger wards now encompassed the grounds and surrounded the castle. The entrances to the dormitories were reinforced with stronger wards than ever before, and the entrances to the castle barred the Dark Lords magical signature. No one baring the Dark Mark could enter the premises unless they were specifically keyed into the wards. Both he and Professor Snape, as well as the three or for other former Death Eater students, had had to be keyed into the wards in order to be able to cross through the front gates.

Auror patrols were set up in conjunction with the Ministry. They roamed the halls and the grounds, acting as watchdogs on the lookout for suspicious activity. The Professors and other staff took on strict supervision of the students and inflexible enforcement of the rules. All of the measures were useless against someone who was determined to get around them.

After he had been released from Azkaban, he had hoped to escape the perils of being a former Death Eater in a post-Voldemort world; hoped that he could find sanctuary at the school, even when he knew it was just a fantasy. The actuality of the situation was confirmed the moment he reached platform 9¾. A powerful Stinging Hex was cast his way. The perpetrator had been, unfortunately, shielded by the hustle of the crowd and therefore remained unknown to him. The Aurors that sauntered up and down the platform, were supposed to be watching for trouble. They had watched him drop, holding his stomach, pain blooming in his abdomen and his regal features contorted in distress. Noting that it was a Malfoy, and therefore no one particularly undeserving or of any importance, they looked on with indifference before turning away completely.

It had been no less than he had expected. After the Battle, he and his parents had been imprisoned in Azkaban. He had sat in his cell for weeks, hearing no news from the outside world and nothing about his parents or their trial. The Ministry rushed to try the most prominent Death Eaters, the most bloodthirsty of the Dark Lord’s inner circle, including the Lestranges, the Carrows, Professor Snape, and, of course, the Malfoys.

After a month spent wasting away in the dark and dingy cell, he had been taken to trial. There, he threw his Malfoy pride to the wind and begged for the mercy of the Wizengamot. He would not survive Azkaban and he knew it. With the help of Professor Snape – who had previously been acquitted of the murder of Professor Dumbledore after a viewing of Pensieved memories of their planning his death and his actions after - as well as his testimony regarding his knowledge of Draco’s moral struggle with the assignment to kill Professor Dumbledore and the fact that he was truly a child pressured into taking the Mark, he was released.

He had lived the rest of the summer, alone and grieved, at Malfoy Manor. His parents, some of the firsts to be convicted after a short but damning trial, were not so lucky. His father had been Kissed before he could even say good bye to him. The pillar of strength and head of the family was gone from his life. His beloved and beautiful mother was sentenced to rot away for life in Azkaban, a leniency only afforded after Potter had testified that she had saved him from certain death in the Forbidden Forest. Draco had roamed the halls of his childhood home, alone and afraid, whispering to the ghosts of what had been.

That did not shelter him from the outside world, however. The wizarding world, released from the hold of terror that the Dark Lord had over them, lashed back at all those who were publicly ousted as supporters. Every day, owls swooped in with howlers, hexed packages, and cursed objects. The Daily Prophet regularly blasted his name in the paper, calling for his punishment or imprisonment. On the rare times when he left the Manor, he was openly attacked by bitter victims of Death Eaters or their families. He had very few champions. Everyone had deserted him.

“Gracious, I just don’t know. We have employed every security measure we could to keep the students safe,” the Headmistress said bleakly, before seeming to perk up as an idea struck her. “Severus, I assume you are going to take him to your quarters during his period of transformation?”

“Yes, Minerva, and thereafter. I will be needing the time out of class to care for him. He will be vulnerable during his change and I need to be there as his Sire,” he answered.

“Yes, of course,” Professor McGonagall nodded absently and sighed in resignation. “Well, that will certainly take care of his security while he recuperates.”

Draco wondered what kind of transformation Potter would go through. They had learned a little bit about vampires in their third year Defense Against the Dark Arts class with that werewolf Lupin, but it was mainly about how to defeat one, not the particulars about the species.

That was also something to think about. He did not really know how he felt about Potter being turned like that. He did know that he certainly found no enjoyment out of the fact that he was nearly beaten to death, not anymore. Now he would be just as outcast as Draco, for being a vampire. He wondered if his status as The Defender of the Light would save him from the treatment he would normally receive now that he was a vampire. Hmph, he thought, rolling his eyes, of course it will. The bloody idiot will probably make it into the new craze. All the most fashionable wizards and witches will just haveto become vampires, or else risk being shown up by their friends.

He had to admit it though, he was just a little worried for Potter. Only a little. A miniscule amount, really. Barely even worth thinking about. Potter had kind of become the only person that was even remotely nice to him who was not employed by the school (and therefore was required to be at least civil to him).

He recalled that first week back in school. His fellow students, right down to the first years, were unrelenting in their torture of him. He was not the only one, but he seemed to have been made into the symbol of all Death Eaters at the school with the constant press of his trial over the summer, so he was targeted more than the others. Tripping Hexes, Stinging Hexes, Jelly-Legs Jinxes, being petrified and left in broom cupboards, andcovering him in painful boils, were only a little of what he had endured from the students every day. All of this happening under the “watchful eye” of teachers, staff, and Aurors. The Weasel especially loved to lob a Slug Vomiting Charm at him at every chance he got, all while grinning brutishly, enjoying the chance his broken wand had botched in second year.

By the end of the month, Draco was tired, sore, lonely, and severely depressed. He was barely able to make himself get up for classes, just wishing to sleep away the day and escape the hell that had become his life. But he did not dare. Not only would it be the beyond ill-advised to leave himself so vulnerable- sleeping in the dormitory while others were awake and mischievous- but it was also a sign of weakness. Professor Snape was already keeping an eye out for him- after a particularly malicious attack by a group of fourth years, who spelled his bed full of angry venomous snakes one night- and he had taken to bursting into tears recently; he hardly needed to give anyone anymore reason to find him weak and prey on him.

One day, after the morning’s Ancient Runes class, he had rushed to escape the busy hallways, where the stampeding children offered the perfect amount of noisy activity to cover up a good hex sent Draco’s way. He ran through the corridors that emptied as the student body moved to the Great Hall for lunch.

Finally he had reached the deserted classroom on the sixth floor he had discovered earlier in the week to escape the attacking hoards. It had obviously been quite some time since anyone had come to this part of the castle. Cobwebs decorated the ceilings and the paintings were nearly covered in dust. Old, musty, and broken furniture had been precariously stacked against the walls. He perched himself on a dusty window ledge and looked forlornly out at the lake, hiccupping back the desperate sobs that wanted to break from his throat, tears sliding down his cheeks from glistening grey eyes.

The room was dank and dark just like his life had become. Never in his life had he been considered anything but superlative and deserving of the best, but now everyone was against him. Last year, he had practically run this school as a Death Eater whose father was in the Dark Lord’s inner circle. Now he wandered deserted hallways like another nameless ghost.

He was startled out of his desolate thoughts by the door swinging open. Draco snapped around, raising his wand in a defensive posture. He had learned through repeated experience to never assume anyone was friendly and never leave your back to them.

Standing at the door was Potter. He pressed himself to the door, as if he was trying to keep something out. Potter blinked stupidly at him, before appearing to gather what wits he had about him. He focused on Draco, who continued to stand ready for battle.

“You alright?” he asked in a hesitant voice.

“Wh-what?” Draco asked, his voice watery with tears. At the sound of his voice he remembered he had been crying and hurriedly wiped his tear stained face with the back of his hand. How humiliating! Caught crying like a child by Potter of all people! he thought, breaking his self-imposed rule and turning his back to the boy across the room in an effort to save his dignity. Potter may be many things, but he had never been a bully. He had not done or said anything to Draco since they had been back so he was not worried about being attacked.

“You mind if I hide out here with you for a while? Those people just won’t leave me alone!” Potter said, mercifully diverting attention from Draco’s tears.

Draco snorted. Since his defeat of the Dark Lord the previous spring, Potter had been hounded by the wizarding world, chasing him around like a celebrity. Draco had watched from the shadows as day after day he was bombarded by desperate students (and the occasional house-elf) who asked for autographs, pictures, kisses, or dates from the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

“Poor, Potter. It must be so hard to be hoisted on a pedestal as one of the greatest wizards in history. What’s wrong? Getting tired of your little fan club?” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the window again, pressing his forehead against the chilled window in hopes that the cold would sooth his tear-swollen face.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Potter sighed and sunk into an old unused desk. “So… are you alright?”

Draco turned and looked at him, studying his face and measuring his sincerity. He would have never dreamed of having a civil conversation with Potter before this year, but he was so lonely and so depressed it was a relief to think that someone actually wanted to listen.

Draco was desperate for a sympathetic ear and once he started talking, the flood gates could not be shut until every sorrow he had was out. He tried to maintain as much of his dignity as he could while tearfully describing his troubles to Potter, who sat quietly listening, commenting with the occasional sympathetic sound.

Potter sat with Draco for hours, both missing several of their afternoon classes, speaking in hushed tones to each other. When they had finally exhausted everything they had to say, they parted company, with not just a little awkwardness. The next day at lunch, however, both seemed to find themselves back in that deserted classroom. Draco would never say so, but in the month that followed, he had come to see that hour of lunch as the best part of his day… even if it was Potter he spent it with.

In the Infirmary, Madame Pomfrey sighed loudly. “Well, that’s all I can do for him right now. He needs to rest before I start on the non-life-threatening injuries. To much magical healing at once causes such a drain on one’s magical core, that it is sometimes worse than none at all.” Draco heard the sounds of the mediwitch fluffing Potter’s pillow and adjusting his bedclothes.

“It would seem a good rest would do us all some good,” Professor McGonagall exhaled tiredly, before taking her leave. “Let me know if there are any changes. Poppy. Severus.”

Draco heard the creak of a chair being sat in and the rustle of the mediwitch’s long robes as she moved passed him, on the other side of the wall, and toward her quarters on the far side of the room. He settled back down in his bed, as quietly as he could with the use of only one arm.

He closed his eyes and let out a silent sigh as he relaxed against his pillow to ponder the events he just witnessed. Opening his eyes, he gasped, startled out of his reverie by the appearance of a tall, menacing figure standing over his bedside in the dark.

“Mr. Malfoy, I take it you had an enthralling night?” Professor Snape inquired lowly, glaring intently at him.

“Um. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Draco said, not just a little intimidated.

“I trust that you have the brains to use a bit of the discretion that I know has been invested in that pointy head of yours. I also trust you know that the consequences, if you choose to forego the use of discretion in this matter, will be…severe,” Snape sneered down at him, a deadly ice in his voice.

“Yes, Professor,” Draco responded breathlessly.

“Good.” The professor gave him one last forbidding glare before moving away. “Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” Draco called hoarsely.
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Bonded in Blood