Spontaneous Action

Disclaimer: see first chapter ;P

A/N: Marietta is not an OC!

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2 Beyond the Stars

Ron swayed, and the houses of the dark alley seemed to shy away as he wanted to cling to them in a feeble attempt to stay on his feet. The snow instead clung to his feet, sucking them in, seeping cold and wet through his socks. A tiny cold hand, icier even than that sneaked under his shirt, drawing him backwards and he fell helplessly into her emb.

"Marietta," he breathed, suddenly wanting to be elsewhere, to escape her small children’s finger and their deadly grip.

"Ron," she said, and suddenly he knew that her smile earlier had been one of devious triumph and deep satisfaction. Another hand sneaked around his neck from behind, and he squeaked like a scared rabbit under her steely touch. Suddenly this was not exciting anymore. Suddenly his instincts kicked in, telling him with their age-old wordless voice that this was danger.

"My lovely, unsuspecting Ron. Did she touch you like that, that devious, vile creature?"

"Who...who..?" he stammered, but her small hands clamped his mouth shut. She was shorter than him and appeared so weak, but she had the strength of a panther as she held him in her tight embrace from behind. His eyes saw nothing but the dark sky as she tilted his head back.

"Sweet boy," she whispered into his ear, her breath a be ofe of ice. He screamed, only once, and louder than he ever thought he could. It was the last he did before she sank her teeth into his neck. He was only pulse then, only a beating heart, louder than anything, filling the sky with a beat older than him, merging with the dance of the stars, becoming so light he might reach them with a simple act of will, but will... what was will? And he became even lighter, rising beyond the stars into eternity.

ooo

"Ron!" Harry nearly fell over his body in the snow. The alley was narrow and dark, but the snow still was bright and there were tiny dark spots of something on it. They reminded him of the dead, bleeding stag and his heart raced in fear.

"Ron!" He turned his friend around, who had been lying with his face in the snow. His skin was pale and wet with snow... or tears? Sds ods of his red hair clung to his forehead. He had ice crystals on his lashes and lips, and they were not melting. Harry frantically felt for a pulse and instantly drew his hand back. It was red with blood. He froze.

He did not have outstanding marks in only one subject this year for nothing. Defence against the Dark Arts was something he seemed to obtain without any difficulty at all. And he recognised a vampire bite when he saw one.

"No!" He shook the lifeless body of his friend, that looked so peaceful and pale. He reached for his hand, only to let it fall down instantly. There was blood on the wrist, too, and an ugly bite.

"Don’t," he almost sobbed. "Don’t die!"

Suddenly the cold fingers of the and wrapped themselves around his wrist. Ron’s eyes fluttered open and his lips moved. Harry bent down to hear him and at the same time he tried to lift him from the snowy ground.

"Harry. Ron Ron croaked with almost no voice. <
<

"I’m here," Harry whispered. "It’s okay! I’m with you! We’ll go to the infirmary! It’s okay!"

Then, without a warning, Ron started to cramp in his arms, with much more power than Harry would have expected. He fell backwards into the snow with a crunching sound and Ron turned around, crawling away or trying to, and started to throw up. His breath hea heaving and hitching as he seemed to empty his stomach of all its contest. The sour smell of vomit mixed with alcohol filled the air. Harry got up and tried to comfort him. He had shut away all thoughts, ignored the nagging warnings of his knowledge, and tired to support his shoulders as he threw up. But as soon as he touched his friend, Ron’s right elbow shot out from under his torso, throwing him against the next wall. Harry groaned. This had not been Ron.

He had to accept it, and he did it with the feeling of his heart freezing, freezing faster than any dementor could ever have made it. He stood up, wiping away a tiny bit of blood on his lip where it had split. Slowly he drew his wand and waited.

ooo

It seemed like hours going by as he was standing there, watching Ron moan and curl and writhe in the snow, like a man tortured by the cruciatus curse. Sometimes his heart protested, willing him to go there and help his friend, but his mind, his guilty, cold mind held him back. Then the boy on the ground became quieter. Very weakly, like his arms and knees might break away from under him any second, he turned around to face Harry.

Harry wanted to close his eyes and run, not to look at Ron crouching before him. He imagined the faces of Vampires he had seen in his defence class, imprinted in books, looking pale and gaunt and lifeless. Eyes, dark and deep like graves, canines and blood spilt over a dead body’s lips.

But what was looking at him, shivering and from r a r a tangled fringe of red hair, was not a creature. It was Ron, his blue eyes wet and wide, his whole body shaking. Harry bit his lip. His wand started to tremble in his sweaty hands, but he still had it pointed onto his friends head. He remembered for a moment Professor Lupin, how he had turned into the werewolf that fateful night. Sirius had attacked him without hesitating, even though he had been his friend, his only friend left. Because he had known, that under this condition his friend was not his friend but only a creature. But Remus Lupin would turn into a man once the moon was gone, being a vampire though was a permanent condition.

A sound escaped Harry’s throat, half a stifled moan, half a cry, and he felt his eyes water, but not from the cold. His glasses threatened to get foggy again.

"Don’t move," he said, and his voice didn’t seem to belong to him, but to another person, a cold and powerful person, a person than was eerily familiar.

"Harry?" Ron’s voice was very small. It was not hoarse or throaty at all, but like a child’s. Harry was grinding his teeth so hard it hurt, and he feared his wand might break if he didn’t lighten his grip on it, but he didn’t. Ron struggled to get up, and he finally did, causing Harry to do a step back and wave his wand.

"Stay where you are." Again, this cool voice that he didn’t want to be.

"Harry, mate... what’s going on..?" Ron seemed to regain more strength with every second, now not sounding like a scared child but simply like Ron, confused, slightly dazed Ron. Harry drew in a shaky breath. He could not do this.

"You have been bitten by a vampire," he informed. Ron goggled at him, then he laughed, actually sounding relieved.

"Man... and I thought something was up. You really got me, this time," he grinned and made a step towards Harry. But the wand pointed at him with more emphasis made him st

"Hey, Harry...".

"I’m not joking. Look at your wrist."

"My..?" Ron looked insecure for a moment, as if unsure what to believe. He was almost scared to look at said wrist, but then he snorted.

"Man, you’re scary! I almost bought that!" Harry stared at the wrist. It was pale – and unmarred. He trembled.

"Your neck!" he cried. Ron grinned tiredly.

"It’s okay, man. You had your fun. Look, there’s nothing and I know it..." he stopped dead in his tracks. Then he screeched. His hand was bloody, as Harry’s had been. Harry wondered for a second why nobody in Hogsmeade was disturbed by their noise. And then, it filtered through his thick mind. Ron was surprised. Ron was Ron and not a creature. He was not at all out of control as Lupin had been, but simply a littonfuonfused. Think clearly, Harry, he begged himselfdn’tdn’t the books lie about werewolves, too? Maybe vampires are just... misunderstood?

He watched Ron sway against the wall, staring at his bloodied hand and his breath was hitching as he looked at him, pleadingly.

"Harry... Harry... what?"

Slowly Harry lowered his wand. It would do no good to scare Ron any further. He felt relieved now, even though there was nothing to be relieved, but the cold voice in his mind subsided willingly.

"A vampire has bitten you," he repeated. "Don’t you remember anything?"

"Ma... Marietta," Ron croaked. Harry frowned.

"Oh... no... no.. what will... I am not a.. a vampire now, am I? Am I, Harry?!"

"Ron... calm down!" Harry slowly approached him, aware that this was probably no more dangerous than standing a few feet away, as vampires are faster than any human being. Very carefully, he touched Ron’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. There were huge, huge and blue and obviously more scared than he was.

"Calm down. We will figure this out. You are still Ron." He nodded, and Ron, very weakly, nodded too.

"Try to feel your pulse," Harry advised.

"My...?" The redhead looked down at his hand, the hand that had been torn and bleeding only an hour before. With trembling fingers, he grasped his wrist. Harry watched him closely. Ron, always taller than him, stood, weakly leaning against a dark brick wall, every inch of his skin whiter than snow, and his hair dark in the shadows, but glistening. Was that snow on his hair? He was still breathing heavily, but there were no white clouds like when Harry breathed, as if his breath was cold and dry. His hair was hiding his eyes. Harry knew it, and it ached to make Ron confirm it.

"There... there is no...," Ron said, almost to low to understand.

"That means I am a vampire."

He looked up, into Harry’s eyes, and he had never seen a look like that in his eyes. He had seen Ron looking scared, and panicked, and pained, had seen him look betrayed and angry... but never like that... never so desperately, helplessly... sad.

Is it worse to know you’ll die... or worse to know you’re dead?

ooo

The single black horse that was pulling the cart did not trudge in the snow, leaving no traces of his coal-like hooves in the virginal white. No breath was coming from its wide nostrils, but his eyes were alive with red fire. The figure that held the reins was as completely black as the horse, perfectly mimicking a shadow.

The girl took the hand that helped her ithe the cart with a graceful motion. Instantly, the vehicle rose into the air, carrying them away.

Inside, a single lamp lightened black leather seats and a hooded figure in a black winter cloak and a silver mask.

"Well?" he demanded. His voice was that of a man, but very light still, with a slightly impatient edge to it.

"Everything as you wished," she said, with a smile from perfect red lips. She drew back her own hood, straightening her lush red-blonde curls. Undeth hth his mask, he smiled.

"So he is a vampire now?"

"As sure as I am one." His smile deepened into a satisfied sneer, and he laughed, only once, coldly.

"Probably a better condition than he’s ever been in!" He looked at her once again, his eyes burning into her.

"You are sure?"

"Perfectly sure." Something shone in his grey eyes for a moment, almost like surprise. Then he looked down, his sneer turning into a triumphant smirk.

"And Potter?"

"He didn’t notice. Was occupied otherwise."

"You were a good girl tonight, Marietta," he said, without looking at her. He reached into his expensive looking black cloak, his hands still gloved. She smiled, showing her small, pointy canines. She looked no older than sixteen as she leaned closer.

"I have a present for you," he said, and redrew his hand. She did not recognise the wooden stake until it pierced her heart. For the blink of an eye, she stooped to look beautiful but inhumane, and was a sixteen-year-old girl again, an actually smiling girl. Her small hands grazed his, her touch like the feathers of an escaping bird, until they, too, became dust.

He shortly opened the door of the cart, letting the dust whirl out into the freezing night air, and then closed it again, tucking the stake away and lifting his hood. Underneath it he had white-blonde hair, just long enough to tie it back, and very light skin. He also put the mask away, the small, silver Death Eater mask, that he had earned just this fall. He turned to the window, looking at his reflection and smiling slightly. He was looking more like his father every day.

"I told you that you would pay, Potter," Draco Malfoy whispered.

ooo

"Ron, we have to get inside," Harry said, suddenly realising that it was short before dawn. He did not know exactly if vampires really need tombs, but he was sure that sunlight would have a very bad effect on Ron right now. Ron hesitated. He had calmed down a lot already, and now looked not as much shaken as uncomfortable. Like something was itching him.

"Is that a good idea? I mean Hogwarts... isn’t warded against vampires, right?"

"I don’t think so. Anyway, sun’s coming out soon."

"Right."

They hurried through Hogsmeade, and Hogsmeade station, up the hill to the castle. The sky was already greying over the forbidden forest. Ron was slowing down, and Harry had to drag him all the way to the secret entry they used on their nightly strolls to get back into the castle. Once they were inside, utt uttered a deep sigh and collapsed on the stairs.

"Merlin... I thought I was going to fall asleep right then and there... the tiredness, you know..?" Harry did know, although he guessed than Ron had different reasons to be tired right now.

"What shall we do now?" he wondered. "I mean... I don’t know where vampires sleep. I hope you don’t really need a tomb!"

"Damn... whenever you need Hermione..."

"She won’t be awake now.."

"And we can’t get into the girls dormitory..."

While they talked, they had unconsciously taken the way to Gryffindor tower. But suddenly Harry stopped and looked back. He smiled.

"Of course. We are in dire need, aren’t we?" he said more to himself than to the dizzy looking Ron. And then he opened the door to the room of requirement that had just appeared behind them.

It was, this time, actually just a plain, square room without windows, but with a huge four-poster bed like in their dormitory. As he closed the door behind them, he noticed that there was a big, new-looking bolt on it. So that wal a l a vampire needed?

Ron simply stumbled to the bed. He let himself fall down on it but made a sound of discomfort and then removed a fat book from underneath him. Harry found a nightstand and a small chair. On the chair lay a pair of worn-out pyjamas, exactly the kind Ron had, and on the nightstand there was a dim lamp. He took the book from Ron.

"Don’t sleep with those clothes on, they’re wet and ... dirty."

"Mmh.."

He threw the pyjama over to Ron, feeling in dire need of sleep himself, but obviously the room thought otherwise as there appeared no second bed. He glanced at the book that had been on the bed while Ron undressed himself with sluggish motions.

‘The complete guide to Vampires’ the title read. Underneath it was, black on black on the cracked old leather cover, a bat imprinted. The script was burgundy red. Underneath the bat, the author’s name stood in small letters: V. D. de Rais.

"Well, at least its not ‘Fantastic Beasts and where to find them,’" he said dryly. But Ron already was sleeping like a stone.

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TBC!

Next: Chapter 3 – Fight or Flight

Please R&R!!