Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

THE ANOMALY

There was also that one time he worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation and put in a transferral request two weeks before the 2009 Triwizard Tournament, refusing to be involved.

Even at the Portkey Office, one of the most uneventful departments, he was terminated after his boss caught him trying to make a two-way Portkey, unauthorized. Since Aurors and Investigators used Portkeys often to go on missions, they always needed a second one to return to the Ministry. Harry wanted to eliminate that need entirely, but his intentions went unrecognized.

Stopping himself from reminiscing, Harry snapped back to reality and surveyed his surroundings. The large crumbling room he stood in could hardly be classified as one, as it had no ceiling. Despite that, however, a bed of hay and dead leaves was situated in the center. There was also evidence of kindling—a previous fire that had been extinguished. He knelt down to hover a hand over it, expecting it to be warm, but it wasn't. Harry felt a pit forming in his stomach.

Not far away from where he stood, partially hidden in shadow, there was a slab of gray rock sitting askew from a hole in the ground. As Harry inched closer, he recognized a set of stone stairs leading down into pitch darkness. He lit his wand with a quick Lumos and descended below the ruins, finding himself at the entrance of a lengthy cobblestone dungeon. 

Moonlight rained down from where the ceiling had caved in, but there was no debris scattered across the walking path. The air was hazy, but it wasn't caused by fog; Harry coughed, swatting away thin clouds of smoke.

He proceeded forward with caution and passed multiple iron-barred cells. Mid-way down the corridor, one of the cells seemed to behold the same feature he saw above ground: a makeshift bed of dried hay. He squinted in suspicion as he knelt down, feeling that the bed was faintly warm. Whomever had slept upon it was still lurking in the shadows, watching from afar. Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he found them. Or until they found him.

Hearing the shifting of cobblestone from down the hall, Harry darted out of the cell with his wand held at the ready. He advanced deeper into the dungeon, but at the very end, he found nothing. Nothing but a smoldering fire that spilled smoke into the air. He stamped out the orange cinders, suffocating them.

Weirdly enough, the same sound he heard reverberated off the walls once more. This time, the source was right above him. He looked up, and for a split second, he saw moonlight pour in.

He hit the ground several meters away from where the ceiling had collapsed, but he couldn't recall how he had gotten there. Surely, it would have taken him longer than half a second to reach where he was, on foot.

"I always knew you were reckless," scoffed a familiar voice, "but now I know you're just plain stupid."

Kneeling beside him was a wizard he hadn't seen in twenty years. He wore a tattered black suit stippled with tiny holes where the weave of cotton had split or worn out. It seemed to swallow his skinny frame and hang heavily from his shoulders. His face was weathered and sallow, and his eyes were framed with dark, cadavernous circles—like that of a corpse declared dead six years ago—one whose death left his widow with a massive inheritance.

"Malfoy?" Harry sputtered, stunned. "I thought you were dead. . ."

"Well, I'm not," Draco said matter-of-factly. "Surprise!" he cheered unenthusiastically. 

Draco flashed a fake smile that fell effortlessly into a grimace, causing Harry to notice a set of sharp fangs protruding from where his canines should've been. He blinked in disbelief, but as his eyes found Draco's pointed ears, Harry knew he hadn't imagined it. 

"You're a vampire," he concluded, uneasily.

"And you're a wanker," Draco barked. "What are you doing here?"