Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

BACK TO THE BEGINNING

Kreacher Disapparated grouchily after making a hearty soup dinner—something easy to prepare Harry and Draco for the chill of tonight's winter freeze. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the few remaining flurries glittered like falling stars in the moonlight.

The opalescent snow on the ground had dimmed considerably, but the wind chill only worsened as the night went on.

Draco opened the fridge to find something to drink and paused, arms falling slack at his sides, "Harry . . . what in Merlin's name is this?" His fanged grimace was crooked and uneasy.

Harry looked where he was pointing to see that Kreacher had completed his task; two dozen red cartons sat on the lower shelf, each with white fang graphics near the top that made their purpose very obvious.

Harry knew Draco wasn't asking what they were—blood boxes from the brand Sanguist. Rather, Draco was beside himself, wondering why they were in the fridge to begin with.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, unphased. "Those are for you. It's been a while since you've had any. I imagine it's been difficult."

Draco found it very hard to be upset by such a gesture, but he was still put off by a tiny detail. He showed the back of the carton to Harry, nose wrinkling in disgust at the ingredients, "There's human blood in this."

"I know that," Harry replied gently. "Samsara said he'd stop fronting if you-"

"If I drank human blood myself?" Draco interrupted bitterly, knowing what Harry was going to say. "He just wants me to do his dirty work."

"But you don't have to do anything—you don't have to hurt anyone," Harry tried to persuade him, "and Samsara won't hurt anyone on your behalf if you keep him fed. He promised."

"And you trusted him?" Draco snapped, looking at Harry as if he were the dumbest creature on the planet.

Harry thought for a moment. "I trust that I'd rather him front while he isn't hungry."

Draco's lip twitched in irritation, "And what if that doesn't stop him from attacking the nearest human he can find?"

Harry swallowed hard, standing his ground, "That's what the silver dagger is for, is it not?"

Draco fell silent at Harry's adamance. Despite how much it bothered him, Harry had carried the blade with him wherever he went. The dagger wasn't for Harry's peace of mind; it was only for Draco's.

What would Harry gain from convincing me to drink human blood? A vile thought crossed Draco's mind, Is it so I'll be more compelled to drink his?

But Harry spoke up with full sincerity, "I'm sorry for inviting you to stay here without considering how much you would have to sacrifice."

Draco snapped out of his self-loathing reverie. Of course. Harry wasn't deceptive. Hell, he was rarely selfish. It was a little shocking, considering he was the Chosen One. You'd seriously think the Boy Who Lived would have more of an ego, but most everything he did came from a place of altruism and chivalry. 

Bloody Gryffindors, Draco thought.

Draco looked at the carton of Sanguist in his hand. It looked like a juice box, but it obviously wasn't one. It had a foil top meant to be punctured by fangs. As Draco bit down, the scent of blood flooded his lungs and he felt disinclined to breathe.

He pulled away, expecting Samsara to front, but he never tried to. Draco eventually reasoned that the human blood's pungency had been diluted by the half that was animal in origin.

Still, Samsara's voice thrummed through Draco's head, enticing him to drink. We don't have to be enemies, Draco.

Draco scowled, trying to shut him out. He was afraid, but he couldn't find the words to articulate that his fear didn't end at Samsara's potential rampage. More than anything else, he feared being unable to stop, once he got a taste for human blood.