Hot-Blooded

Chapter Nine

Draco wakes in Harry's bed. It takes a while to orient himself to where he is and why. The memories come back, though, and eventually, he groans and runs a hand over his face. He feels gritty, as if he's been cleaned by nothing but charms for ages.

"Draco?" a familiar but wholly unexpected voice says from his left.

He turns his head, and, sitting in one of two chairs at his bedside—looking more exhausted than he's ever seen her—is his mother.

"Mum?" The word comes out in a raspy whisper, his mouth and throat so dry he can barely manage a sound.

Draco lifts his head and looks at his chest where the stake pierced him, but there's only a round scar where it had been. He raises a hand to brush his fingers over it and traces the edges. His throat is throbbing, and the hunger is a burning ache in his stomach. He feels hollowed out and exhausted, even though he gets the sense he's been asleep for a long time.

His mother gets to her feet and moves to stand beside him, tentatively reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm here, sweetheart."

"But..."

"I've left your father," she whispers, running a thumb over his cheek. "We can talk more about the details later, but I could never abandon you. You're my son."

Draco's throat feels thick; it's an odd combination with the dryness. He can smell his mother's blood, and his fangs descend involuntarily. The thought of hurting her repulses him, but the urge to feed is still there.

"But I'm...a monster?"

"You're not a monster, you're a vampire. And a very careful one, from what Ms Granger tells me. You've never been a ruthless killer. I highly doubt you've changed so much from the boy who hesitated to kill the spiders that terrified him in his youth. Have you?"

"No," he sighs. "But I still need to—"

"I know," she says gently. "I'll let Ms Granger know you're awake. She's been doing a lovely job taking care of you."

Narcissa steps out of the room, and Draco tries to process his mother repeatedly referring to Granger as "Ms Granger" in that oddly respectful tone until Granger herself appears in the doorway.

"Draco," she says, smiling, and Draco once again considers the possibility that the entire world has gone mad. "I'm so glad you're awake."

Granger moves closer, slowly opening a bottle of what Draco recognizes by the scent as Harry's blood. "Here."

She helps him sit up and drink until he has the strength to hold himself up.

"More," he gasps, and she summons another and opens it for him. He guzzles it down, unselfconscious about the blood dripping down the sides of his mouth as he tries to quench both his thirst and the ravenous hunger as quickly as possible.

When he finishes that bottle, she wordlessly summons another. Four bottles later, he finally feels more normal. Granger has cast multiple Diagnostic Charms on him, making pleased little hums at the results and jotting down notes on a piece of parchment.

"Thank you," he says earnestly, and she nods in response. He means for more than the blood, but he isn't sure how to articulate that.

His mother reappears, a soft wet flannel in her hand, and she offers it wordlessly. Cringing, he wipes his mouth.

"Thank you," he repeats.

"Draco," she says softly, waiting until he meets her eyes to continue. "I have no problem with what you are. I left the room while you drank because I thought it would make you more comfortable. I took the opportunity to write a missive to Ms Parkinson informing her you've regained consciousness. She will want to see you as soon as possible, I imagine. Like all of us, she has been worried."