Drarry - Bloody Hell

Careful

Draco's POV

I wake several times during the night, unable to keep my paranoia in check.

I'm constantly aware that I am no longer in my animagus form, and if anyone managed to enter the Room of Requirement, the game would be up. They would catch me, and I would be sent to Askaban to await my trial. That is, if I'm lucky. It's likely that they won't even give me a chance to speak, before giving me a life sentence.

It seems like centuries ago when I was just a cocky, spoiled, jealous, eleven year old boy who was bitter about being rejected for the first time in his life. Now, it's hard to look back and think about my actions, and how truly foolish I was.

Some would probably say that it's 'not my fault', for I was just 'doing what my family told me'. No. I was just a weak, impressionable, arrogant, hotheaded fool, who wanted nothing more than to make my parents proud.

I scoff. What little worth my Father's praise is now. The possibility of being disowned never used to be even in my most vivid nightmares. Never, did I think that my parents would be so disgusted by me that they would never want to see me again. Never want to take walks in a garden. Never want to hear about how well I did on my potion's assignment, or how I beat Hufflepuff in Quidditch. Never send me packages of chocolates by owl, or care for me when I'm sick.

Not that it matters anymore. The special treatment stopped last Christmas. My Father was always deep in thought, yet with an odd expression on his face. One that I can only describe as a childish grin of excitement. His eyes, however, had gleamed with something close to blood lust.

Curious, how he could be so excited to kill alongside his darling Dark Lord, yet when said Dark Lord turns his own son into a bloodthirsty monster, he is still undeniably loyal to him. My Father turned on me when I needed him most. Somehow his want for bloodshed is better then mine. While he wants to kill, chooses to, the fact that I need blood to survive is crossing some sort of line. To be perfectly honest, I don't know if I would still consider him my Father even if I hadn't been disowned.

The situation with Mother, however, is slightly harder to wrap my head around. When I was first turned, and Father was ready to leave on the streets to die right off the bat, Mother argued with him. Her attempts were futile, though. In less than a week she gave up, knowing that there was no way to change my Father's mind.

My Mother has always been the most lenient. Always the one to tend to my wounds, and write letters weekly while I'm at school. At first the changes were subtle. It began with just flinching away from my touch, however, after a few days I began to grow thirsty. It was then that I noticed more differences in her behavior. She no longer met my gaze, and her shoulders grew tense whenever I entered the room.

The day that I was disowned, my parents and I stood in Father's office. My Father stood before me, a large scowl on his face. Mother coward behind him. She didn't look up as my Father presented me with the official paperwork, or when he snarled at me, "If you're not out of this house in five minutes I assure you it will be the last mistake you ever make," along with another favorite of mine, "If I ever find you here again you sick, foul, monster, I will not hesitate to dispose of you."

It's pitiful how much those words effected me, stabbing my heart that has ceased to beat. My parents, whom I worked so hard to impress, who I've looked up to from the moment I knew how to think, no longer could stand my presence. I am no longer worthy of their love, or their praise. To them, vampire's are worse than muggle-borns.

Suddenly, an odd sound echoed through the room. I held my breath. Someone is entering the Room of Requirement.

Pure terror fills me. I'm not in my animagus form! I never turned back! Even if I do so now Harry will be questioned, and everyone with half a brain knows that Harry is a horrific lier.

I'm on top of the bed, Harry still fast asleep under the covers. There is nowhere I can go. I'm in plain sight. Once this person enters the room, I'm as good as dead.

I start to shake as a figure entered the room. The room is dark, so I can only make out their silhouette.

I find myself breathing a sigh of relief. I would recognize that obnoxious hair anywhere.

"Hermione?"

The lights turn back on, and Hermione Granger stands with her hands on her hips. Her eyebrows are bunched together, and she looks pissed.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Hermione rants. "Why are you out of your animagus form? We didn't decide on this! Anyone could have walked in! What were you thinking!"

"I-I er..." I start, but can't seem to figure out what to say. They weren't lying when they say that an angry Hermione is scary.

"It's my fault," a voice says from beside me, and I turn to see that in the commotion, Harry has woken up.

"Explain," Hermione demands, "Now!"

Harry puts his hands up in mock surrender. "It's a long story..."

It takes maybe ten to fifteen minutes for Harry to explain everything, with me piping up with the occasional comment. By the time that he finishes, Hermione is staring at me, her eyes showing something between pity, guilt, and concern.

I sigh, "I don't need your pity, Hermione."

"I know," Hermione replies, "I just- how did I not notice! I should have figured this out! This never would have happened if I had just-"

I wave away her concern. "It's fine. You didn't know, and it wasn't like I could tell you. There was no way you could have known, so stop blaming yourself."

"I know," Hermione huffs, "We'll have to do this often then."

I nod. "I suppose so."

"How often?" Harry asks.

I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. "Every other week? If that's alright? The small amounts of blood are fine, it's just that-"

"You can't survive like that," Harry finishes, "I know what you mean."

I look at him oddly, so he continues.

"The Dursleys, the muggle family I live with," Harry clarifies, "Don't really like magic. Like, at all. They also hate my parents, so they liked to lock me in my cupboard under the stairs when I angered them. They often didn't feed me."

I stare at Harry, hardly noticing that my jaw has dropped. I've heard that his life at home wasn't the greatest, and he obviously wasn't pampered due to his scraggly state at the beginning of each year, but they starved him? As a child?

Looking at him, it's clear he doesn't want my pity. I settle for bowing my head with a slight nod.

"I just- I understand, yeah?" Harry says, kind of awkwardly.

"Yeah," I say in barely a whisper.

I look up, and Hermione is glancing between us, her eyebrows raised.

"It'll be dangerous doing this, so we've got to time it right," Hermione explains, "No one can catch us."

Harry and I nod in agreement.

"We need to get to breakfast or people will wonder where we've been," Hermione says.

"Alright," I murmur, before closing my eyes and concentrating. Ferret, ferret, ferret...

I feel my body morph once again, and open my eyes to find that I am once again a tiny ferret. The two Gryffindors share a glance, before Harry scoops me up, placing me in his book bag.

We leave the Room of Requirement, and head straight for the Great Hall.

I mustn't let anything go wrong. We've got to be careful.

Words: 1359