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ravenpan (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ravenpan) wrote,@ 2007-10-31 15:19:00 |
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FIC: (Harry Potter) Turn Of Love
TITLE: Turn of Love
SUMMARY: It can be frightening to awake to everything having changed - but a familiar Voice carries its own sort of comfort.
PAIRING: highlight to see *Harry/Draco*
Warning: Slash, Blood feeding, Vampire, Epilogue Compliancy
Author:ravenpan
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they just live in my head :)
A/N: my first non rp'd vampfic! Please let me know what y'all think!
Cross posted my fandom Journals: LJ (flocked), GJ, IJ, JF
Cross posted hpvamp on: LJ, GJ, IJ (note, not there yet as I'm not a member there on GJ and IJ yet *chuckle*)
When he first woke he hadn't realised what had happened to him. Everything was brighter, louder... more. An all-encompassing ache was now fading, and he felt tingling at his throat, in his throat.
He felt hungry. So very hungry.
He closed his eyes against the brightness of the dim room, trying to catalogue what had happened. A hand stroked through his hair, as though comforting him, allowing him the time he needed to calm his racing-
His heart wasn't racing.
...Nor was it beating at all.
"Just listen to my voice," it was familiar, but richer than he remembered. "Don't Panic, I'm right here."
"I don't..." his voice sounded scratched and unused.
"Just relax," The Voice spoke again. He assumed it was The Voice's hand that was petting through his hair. "Relax, I've got you. You're safe. You're not dying anymore."
"My heart... What have you done to me?"
"I kept my promise."
He couldn't help taking a shuddering breath, despite that he didn't need it. "My son...."
"You will see him again," The Voice reassured.
"I promised to watch him... play quidditch next year...."
"You will."
"I won't." He finally opened his eyes, but shut them again with a heartbroken sound. "I'm dead...."
"Nonsense, you're still alive."
"My heart-"
"May not be beating, but a beating heart isn't what declares death or life. Not in our world, you know that - you know more about our world than I ever will."
"The sun...."
"There are spells for that." He felt the hand that was stroking through his hair travel down his cheek softly, and he drifted to sleep.
The second time he woke, he carefully opened his eyes. The room was not painfully bright now, but still incredibly well lit, despite the fire barely warming the coals in the fireplace, and the lack of candle light.
"Drink this," The Voice from before told him, helping him to sit and pressing something warm and yielding to his mouth.
He was so hungry, he couldn't stop himself from latching on, sucking hungrily at the wounded wrist, both hands holding it in place.
"That's it... that's right... drink as much as you need. When you're stronger we'll find you something more suitable," The Voice told him, now stroking his hair once more. "For now, rest... there's so much healing left for you, so much of that human sickness to eradicate from you before you are well again. I'll take care of you."
The words spoken washed over him, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth, of safety, of life that wasn't.
"You'll see your son again, I promise," The Voice was whispering against his hair now as he continued greedily drinking that coppery, thick something. "You'll be able to watch him grow up now."
He opened his eyes, lifting them in attempt to see who it was caring for him, but they could go no further than the sumptuous mouth curled in a soft, protective smile. The mouth formed a single word, and he felt himself drifting off, gently lain down on the softest mattress he'd been on in years.
"Sleep."
The third time he woke, it was to the sound of The Voice speaking with his wife. The sound of her sounding comfortable with him, but worried, and him reassuring her.
"He's waking up."
A moment later, he felt smaller hands on him, touching his face, his hands, "He's so cold."
"But he's alive."
"Yes... he's alive. Oh Darling!" she rested her head on his chest and wept quietly as he opened his eyes, raising one hand to gently curl in her hair, letting her know he was indeed there.
"I'm here." His voice seemed stronger than it had before, but the hunger was still so strong.
"Remember what I told you?" The Voice asked, and his wife nodded against his chest, sitting back and resting her wrist over his mouth.
"Drink, Darling... you'll get better soon if you drink from me, too."
"I don't want to kill you...." Something in him knew what he'd become, but he was afraid the moment he said the word to himself, it would be over, he'd be mindless.
"You won't kill her," The Voice told him, the bed sinking down on his other side, that large gentle hand petting his hair again. "I promise I won't let you kill her. I know that you love her. Now, drink."
The scent of her blood running through the veins in her wrist was already overwhelming him, as well as the thundering sound of her steady heartbeat. She was not afraid, even while he himself was terrified. What happened? Why couldn't he remember.
"Drink," she told him, pressing her wrist against his mouth.
Before he realised it, his fangs had pierced her soft skin, and warm, living blood coated his tongue. He swallowed greedily, his hands holding her wrist to his lips now as he drank.
He'd never tasted anything so good, not in his entire existence.
He could hear the soft whimpering of his wife, but that was overwhelmed by the soft encouragement of The Voice. "You're doing so well, just a little longer. You're both doing so well."
"Where is my wife? What have you done with her?" he demanded hours later, upon his fourth waking.
"I have done nothing with her," The Voice told him from somewhere in the shadows. "She is resting in the other room, she's had a blood restorative potion and will be right as rain in no time."
He thought about it a moment, then pushed himself to sitting on that glorious bed. Hands came and helped him sit back, but then retreated quickly once more before he could see whom they belonged to.
"Do you remember, now?" The Voice asked, ever patient.
He could have sworn he saw a soft glow from the shadows. A glow of unearthly coloured eyes.
Eyes that glowed like the Killing Curse.
It all came flooding back to him. The loud crack of sound that accompanied a ripping pain in his chest, then another in his spine. The ground coming up too quickly. Screams. Shouting. The sound of Aurors obliviating.
He remembered feeling himself lifted up, being apparated to the hospital.
The sound of the Mediwizard sadly saying he could do nothing to heal these muggle wounds, and best let him be comfortable.
He remembered how difficult breathing had been, every breath rattling through so much blood, how much he wanted to sleep, even as his wife held his hand and begged him to hold on. To stay with her and their son. He hadn't any feeling in his legs. Everything sounded like it was coming from so far away.
"I was attacked by... a muggle?" he asked.
"No," The Voice replied. "A wizard with a muggle weapon... someone who refused to believe the war ended twenty years ago."
"Oh...."
Then he remembered the sound of a door shutting, the feel of wards stronger than he'd felt in years erecting themselves around the small room. His wife's soft scream as something pierced his throat and through pain brought the welcome oblivion. "You turned me, didn't you?"
"Would you rather have died? Left your family alone?"
"No." He looked up again, squinting, as though to see the features surrounding those glowing eyes. "Who are you? Why would... I don't know any...."
"Vampires?"
He nodded dumbly.
"I didn't want to see your family torn apart. I didn't want another child to lose a parent."
"Do I know you?"
"We were lovers, once. A long time ago."
"That's impossible. I've only been with one man, and he certainly is no v.. no Vampire."
The Voice stepped out of the shadows then, letting the dim candle's light lick over his form, mussed black hair doing nothing to hide the familiar features.
Familiar even without the glasses that so often accompanied them. "Harry...."
He nodded.
"Since when are you-"
"A vampire?" he asked, moving to sit on the bed beside him. "Several years now."
"But I've seen you, in Diagon Alley, at the train station - broad daylight."
"I told you, there are charms."
"Does your family know?"
He shook his head.
"Surely your wife-"
"I've got the glamour of a heartbeat," he explained. "I can show you how to have one too."
"Your glasses?"
"Just glass."
He looked up, caught in the impossibly bright green of Harry's eyes. "I still don't understand."
"There's nothing to understand," Harry said, his hand cupping his cheek then moving to pet comfortingly through his hair again.
"I can't believe you would... that you would Turn someone lightly... even just so their family wouldn't lose them. You'd have turned the whole world, if that were the case." He shook his head slightly, despite leaning into the hand now cupping the back of it. "Why?" he asked again.
He felt Harry's lips against his ear. "Because I need you," he murmured before turning his head.
He met the kiss with a small sound of submission, of finding that one thing he'd missed so much. Harry still tasted the same, just a small tang of copper. His tongue explored his mouth hungrily, learning the shape of it all over again, licking along his fangs, then stroking along his tongue in forbidden adoration.
"Mine," Harry whispered, pressing him back down into the soft bed.
"Never stopped being yours," he whispered back before his mouth was captured again, and he submitted to the tender kiss fully, completely.
When the kiss closed, he felt Harry nuzzle him, then pull away. He drowned in the emerald fire of his gaze, his unbeating heart caught in his throat.
"I love you, Harry," he whispered.
The smile he was gifted was soft. He thought perhaps a smile like that would surely start his heart again, but he accepted now that it never would. That was alright, though... because when his family was gone, he wouldn't be left alone, he'd have Harry by his side.
"I love you too, Draco."
And he'd remain at his.
-END-
TITLE: Turn of Love
SUMMARY: It can be frightening to awake to everything having changed - but a familiar Voice carries its own sort of comfort.
PAIRING: highlight to see *Harry/Draco*
Warning: Slash, Blood feeding, Vampire, Epilogue Compliancy
Author:
ravenpan Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they just live in my head :)
A/N: my first non rp'd vampfic! Please let me know what y'all think!
Cross posted my fandom Journals: LJ (flocked), GJ, IJ, JF
Cross posted hpvamp on: LJ, GJ, IJ (note, not there yet as I'm not a member there on GJ and IJ yet *chuckle*)
When he first woke he hadn't realised what had happened to him. Everything was brighter, louder... more. An all-encompassing ache was now fading, and he felt tingling at his throat, in his throat.
He felt hungry. So very hungry.
He closed his eyes against the brightness of the dim room, trying to catalogue what had happened. A hand stroked through his hair, as though comforting him, allowing him the time he needed to calm his racing-
His heart wasn't racing.
...Nor was it beating at all.
"Just listen to my voice," it was familiar, but richer than he remembered. "Don't Panic, I'm right here."
"I don't..." his voice sounded scratched and unused.
"Just relax," The Voice spoke again. He assumed it was The Voice's hand that was petting through his hair. "Relax, I've got you. You're safe. You're not dying anymore."
"My heart... What have you done to me?"
"I kept my promise."
He couldn't help taking a shuddering breath, despite that he didn't need it. "My son...."
"You will see him again," The Voice reassured.
"I promised to watch him... play quidditch next year...."
"You will."
"I won't." He finally opened his eyes, but shut them again with a heartbroken sound. "I'm dead...."
"Nonsense, you're still alive."
"My heart-"
"May not be beating, but a beating heart isn't what declares death or life. Not in our world, you know that - you know more about our world than I ever will."
"The sun...."
"There are spells for that." He felt the hand that was stroking through his hair travel down his cheek softly, and he drifted to sleep.
The second time he woke, he carefully opened his eyes. The room was not painfully bright now, but still incredibly well lit, despite the fire barely warming the coals in the fireplace, and the lack of candle light.
"Drink this," The Voice from before told him, helping him to sit and pressing something warm and yielding to his mouth.
He was so hungry, he couldn't stop himself from latching on, sucking hungrily at the wounded wrist, both hands holding it in place.
"That's it... that's right... drink as much as you need. When you're stronger we'll find you something more suitable," The Voice told him, now stroking his hair once more. "For now, rest... there's so much healing left for you, so much of that human sickness to eradicate from you before you are well again. I'll take care of you."
The words spoken washed over him, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth, of safety, of life that wasn't.
"You'll see your son again, I promise," The Voice was whispering against his hair now as he continued greedily drinking that coppery, thick something. "You'll be able to watch him grow up now."
He opened his eyes, lifting them in attempt to see who it was caring for him, but they could go no further than the sumptuous mouth curled in a soft, protective smile. The mouth formed a single word, and he felt himself drifting off, gently lain down on the softest mattress he'd been on in years.
"Sleep."
The third time he woke, it was to the sound of The Voice speaking with his wife. The sound of her sounding comfortable with him, but worried, and him reassuring her.
"He's waking up."
A moment later, he felt smaller hands on him, touching his face, his hands, "He's so cold."
"But he's alive."
"Yes... he's alive. Oh Darling!" she rested her head on his chest and wept quietly as he opened his eyes, raising one hand to gently curl in her hair, letting her know he was indeed there.
"I'm here." His voice seemed stronger than it had before, but the hunger was still so strong.
"Remember what I told you?" The Voice asked, and his wife nodded against his chest, sitting back and resting her wrist over his mouth.
"Drink, Darling... you'll get better soon if you drink from me, too."
"I don't want to kill you...." Something in him knew what he'd become, but he was afraid the moment he said the word to himself, it would be over, he'd be mindless.
"You won't kill her," The Voice told him, the bed sinking down on his other side, that large gentle hand petting his hair again. "I promise I won't let you kill her. I know that you love her. Now, drink."
The scent of her blood running through the veins in her wrist was already overwhelming him, as well as the thundering sound of her steady heartbeat. She was not afraid, even while he himself was terrified. What happened? Why couldn't he remember.
"Drink," she told him, pressing her wrist against his mouth.
Before he realised it, his fangs had pierced her soft skin, and warm, living blood coated his tongue. He swallowed greedily, his hands holding her wrist to his lips now as he drank.
He'd never tasted anything so good, not in his entire existence.
He could hear the soft whimpering of his wife, but that was overwhelmed by the soft encouragement of The Voice. "You're doing so well, just a little longer. You're both doing so well."
"Where is my wife? What have you done with her?" he demanded hours later, upon his fourth waking.
"I have done nothing with her," The Voice told him from somewhere in the shadows. "She is resting in the other room, she's had a blood restorative potion and will be right as rain in no time."
He thought about it a moment, then pushed himself to sitting on that glorious bed. Hands came and helped him sit back, but then retreated quickly once more before he could see whom they belonged to.
"Do you remember, now?" The Voice asked, ever patient.
He could have sworn he saw a soft glow from the shadows. A glow of unearthly coloured eyes.
Eyes that glowed like the Killing Curse.
It all came flooding back to him. The loud crack of sound that accompanied a ripping pain in his chest, then another in his spine. The ground coming up too quickly. Screams. Shouting. The sound of Aurors obliviating.
He remembered feeling himself lifted up, being apparated to the hospital.
The sound of the Mediwizard sadly saying he could do nothing to heal these muggle wounds, and best let him be comfortable.
He remembered how difficult breathing had been, every breath rattling through so much blood, how much he wanted to sleep, even as his wife held his hand and begged him to hold on. To stay with her and their son. He hadn't any feeling in his legs. Everything sounded like it was coming from so far away.
"I was attacked by... a muggle?" he asked.
"No," The Voice replied. "A wizard with a muggle weapon... someone who refused to believe the war ended twenty years ago."
"Oh...."
Then he remembered the sound of a door shutting, the feel of wards stronger than he'd felt in years erecting themselves around the small room. His wife's soft scream as something pierced his throat and through pain brought the welcome oblivion. "You turned me, didn't you?"
"Would you rather have died? Left your family alone?"
"No." He looked up again, squinting, as though to see the features surrounding those glowing eyes. "Who are you? Why would... I don't know any...."
"Vampires?"
He nodded dumbly.
"I didn't want to see your family torn apart. I didn't want another child to lose a parent."
"Do I know you?"
"We were lovers, once. A long time ago."
"That's impossible. I've only been with one man, and he certainly is no v.. no Vampire."
The Voice stepped out of the shadows then, letting the dim candle's light lick over his form, mussed black hair doing nothing to hide the familiar features.
Familiar even without the glasses that so often accompanied them. "Harry...."
He nodded.
"Since when are you-"
"A vampire?" he asked, moving to sit on the bed beside him. "Several years now."
"But I've seen you, in Diagon Alley, at the train station - broad daylight."
"I told you, there are charms."
"Does your family know?"
He shook his head.
"Surely your wife-"
"I've got the glamour of a heartbeat," he explained. "I can show you how to have one too."
"Your glasses?"
"Just glass."
He looked up, caught in the impossibly bright green of Harry's eyes. "I still don't understand."
"There's nothing to understand," Harry said, his hand cupping his cheek then moving to pet comfortingly through his hair again.
"I can't believe you would... that you would Turn someone lightly... even just so their family wouldn't lose them. You'd have turned the whole world, if that were the case." He shook his head slightly, despite leaning into the hand now cupping the back of it. "Why?" he asked again.
He felt Harry's lips against his ear. "Because I need you," he murmured before turning his head.
He met the kiss with a small sound of submission, of finding that one thing he'd missed so much. Harry still tasted the same, just a small tang of copper. His tongue explored his mouth hungrily, learning the shape of it all over again, licking along his fangs, then stroking along his tongue in forbidden adoration.
"Mine," Harry whispered, pressing him back down into the soft bed.
"Never stopped being yours," he whispered back before his mouth was captured again, and he submitted to the tender kiss fully, completely.
When the kiss closed, he felt Harry nuzzle him, then pull away. He drowned in the emerald fire of his gaze, his unbeating heart caught in his throat.
"I love you, Harry," he whispered.
The smile he was gifted was soft. He thought perhaps a smile like that would surely start his heart again, but he accepted now that it never would. That was alright, though... because when his family was gone, he wouldn't be left alone, he'd have Harry by his side.
"I love you too, Draco."
And he'd remain at his.
