Carpe Noctem (DRARRY)

Chapter 5- You're Kissing The Wrong Dude, Dude

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Chapter 5- You're Kissing The Wrong Dude, Dude

~Harry's POV~

Watching Draco speak to another boy, laugh with another boy, and smile at another boy made his insides squeeze as if his heart had stopped pumping blood, as if his mind had given up thinking in favour of an almost-silent buzz.

Hm. Weird.

Harry couldn't get it out of his head. Draco was definitely an idiot... He had almost started crying, for Merlin's sake. He didn't know Draco could cry.

Nevertheless, Harry had seen the boy- Freckles- and there was something off about him. Maybe it was the way he stuttered too much for it to be realistic, but Harry was just judging. Maybe it was the cold intelligence behind his dark eyes, but Harry was just imagining things.

Wasn't he?

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~Draco's POV~

Draco laid in his bed, sighing. Harry's scent was still ingrained into the forest green sheets, strangely enough. It would be hard to fall asleep with the image of his enemy- his friend?- in his head.

Finally, he wasn't hungry. After a good drink from a human's neck, he could be full for weeks... And Harry's grin brought an unknown feeling to pool in his fingertips and flutter along his spine like damp butterflies. Harry's sounds when he drank Harry's blood made him feel strange, too. An emotion he had never had; this fierce wanting, primal and embarrassing.

But as he laid there, his thoughts wandered beyond Harry and beyond Freckles. It drifted to boys with yellow eyes and switchblades flicking out with an almost-silent shhk. And he was almost grateful for the dark thoughts; they brought him back down from the cloud of cotton candy he was floating on back to earth. Back to lying on a forest green comforter.

Who were they? Did they know Draco was a vampire? Did they want to kill him?

His head hurt. Spiralling down into the abyss of overthinking was breaking down his mind, but the boys with the yellow eyes were a troubling problem.

His Allies? Seriously? A name like that could be in a trashy mystery novel. Why not choose a more interesting name, like... The Midnight Crusaders... Or... Blood Red Murder... Or...

He sighed and waved the thoughts from his head, sinking into the cool sheets.

Maybe it was time to stop thinking. To sleep. A part of his mind whispered, You'll only wake up again; what's the point? But he silenced it with a shake of his head. Yes, his clothes were still on, but the bed was comfortable. And yes, he hadn't brushed his teeth, but he'd do it in the morning... Probably. Sure, it was maybe eight p.m at the latest, but who cared? After all, he was Draco Malfoy. Who was going to tell him what to do but him?

That was when it all went wrong.

That one moment; when he put down his head and smiled because nobody would dare to hurt him. The moment you let your guard down is the moment your enemy destroys you.

It was then that everything went to hell.

You'd think it would start with angel feathers burning or seraphic screams; instead, it was the silence that was truly deadly. Because if any man can walk without a sound, or breathe without a whisper, he's not a man. He's something else; the things that stir the rose petals and draw the breath from your lungs before devouring, and devouring, and devouring.