A Vampire's Soul

A Vampire’s Soul, chapter twenty-nine

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, slight Harry/Ron, Harry/Remus, slight Harry/others, other male/male, other threesomes and pairings (het and slash)

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Vampires, so there’s blood mentioned; violence; death; Slash; slight Het, multi-partners. ALSO, there will be a few OCs, only because I need them for the story/plotline.

Words: About 5,077

Notes: There’s Original Characters in the fic, and I apologize. Harry’s role in the Daywalkers’ world is growing, thus there needs to be Daywalker characters (as well as other Werewolves). This is post-HBP. There are SOME spoilers for Deathly Hallows in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, nor do I own anything from Dracula or from any other show. I do own all the other characters in this story that isn’t in the Potter books.

.-.

He didn’t think he’d get used to this. Draco quietly went to the kitchen, pulled out a jar of dragon blood from the refrigerator, and took a few good swigs. His craving for human blood was beginning to grow, and he could feel the monster inside him snarl and gripe. He nearly decided the hell with it and just go out and suck some mortal’s blood, but he was afraid of losing control, and then what would happen? If he accidentally killed some innocent, he’d never hear the end of it. Especially from Harry.

His soulmate and beloved Sire, Harry, had come home with his best friend, Ron, and told of what they had to do in order to retrieve the sword back and destroy the Horcrux. Draco was surprised that nothing unforeseeable happened afterwards, what with that crazy Dark Daywalker prowling the woods.

They didn’t talk much, and Harry had left to bite Luna… or maybe it was Ginny. Didn’t matter; Harry deserved to have as much blood as he wanted. He had no idea why, but he felt obligated to wait until Harry told him to go ahead and take someone’s blood.

There had been times when he wondered why they hadn’t been having as much sex as they should have, or why they haven’t been taking blood together, like they first did when they sealed their bond. It worried him… a little. Was there something wrong that he hadn’t realized before, and because of it, Harry was ignoring him?

Draco shook his head, putting the jar back into the refrigerator, which had only a little bit of blood left in it. Why worry over something that wasn’t really worth worrying over? They had bigger things to deal with right now, like destroying Voldemort once and for all, and trying to decide on how to deal with Algol.

What made that crazy vampire turn so evil like that? The only thing Draco could think of was what Voldemort had done to himself: split his soul.

That couldn’t be, though. How could a vampire split its soul?

.-.

Patrick Mizar was an above average looking bloke with shaggy, blond hair and brown eyes, and stood at about five feet, six inches. He was nearly an elder; real age: eighty-six, but he still felt as if he were twenty-four.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass and stared out at the darkening sky. He could still remember when he was first bitten. He had been attacked by a horde of soulless ones, just as Harry had been, but he wasn’t as in such dire need to have someone transform him into a vampire. Patrick somehow survived the attack, and later he found out it was because the one that saved him was a Daywalker.

‘You would have been dead by now, if it wasn’t for me,’ he had said. Patrick was in awe of this man; he was tall, dark-skinned, and very intimidating. He didn’t know what had come over him, but at that moment, Patrick wrapped his arms around the man and thanked him with a kiss.

It must have just been because of the frightening ordeal he went through, or it could have something to do with how the planets had been aligned that night. Whatever it was, he wanted that man right then and there.

The man was amused, and it hurt him to see him smirk, a haughty look in his eyes, so Patrick ripped himself away and ran.

It was stupid, because he was already low on blood in the first place, and the further he ran, the weaker he became.

It was lucky then that the man—the Daywalker—caught up to him. He would have been dead.

Patrick smacked his forehead against the glass, delighting in the sound it made. He couldn’t feel it much, but it still made him feel a little better. He could tell the window was cold, but it didn’t bother him. What was bothering him at that moment was fast asleep in the other bedroom, across the hall.

The scent was driving him crazy. Why this? Why now, after all this time? He didn’t think that something like this would happen. Granted, it had been decades since he’d taken a lover of any kind. Although, he nearly had Nicholas as his lover about five years ago. It didn’t turn out, but they stayed good friends.

Patrick sighed. There was nothing for it. He knew what was going on, and probably the others had figured it out as well. He’d actually found the one: his soulmate.

He scrubbed at his face and then rubbed at his eyes in annoyance. Why her? WHY? Why couldn’t he have another Daywalker as his soulmate? Or a werewolf, even? Why this young mortal? What will happen to him? She’ll reject him, he was sure of it. She was already frightened of him.

But he had to do it. If he didn’t… he might end up like Vega.

.-.

“Mmm, yes…” Proudfoot moaned, tipping his head back. Everyone else was either off resting or out getting blood. Nicholas had decided to pounce on his soulmate instead, pinning him to the couch by the fireplace and working his way down Proudfoot’s body. Nicholas was tender, keeping his fangs sheathed as he lipped and kissed carefully down Proudfoot’s neck, to the middle of his chest. The moment Proudfoot felt that mouth on his nipple, he arched and hissed between his teeth. Nicholas wasn’t only sucking on his nub, but he felt a few light nips from those pointed teeth, and it brought a shiver to his spine.

They were naked, skin sliding against skin, sweat on sweat; Nicholas ran his tongue down to taste the droplets off Proudfoot. They’ve done this only a few times before, but it had been a while since their last time. Both were revved and needy, withering and moaning and touching, not caring about the outside world or what was going on around them. They didn’t care that they were naked on the couch with no sheet to cover them. Proudfoot was pink with embarrassment for only a short time, and then all thought fled his mind the moment Nicholas’s lips found his.

They slid easily together. Proudfoot spread and raised his legs for his soulmate, and Nicholas took delight in pushing himself deep within Proudfoot’s body, finding it completely open and ready for him. They became one; they were one strange creature moving as if in agony by the fire, basking in the glow of both the flames and their own bodies. Nicholas’s fangs grew at an alarming rate, but he didn’t use them, not yet. He nipped at Proudfoot’s shoulder, chest, neck, cheek, nipple… but he didn’t bite down. Once, Proudfoot was sure he was going to, but he let up in time. It still throbbed where his fangs had indented. Proudfoot pushed upward into Nicholas’s stomach, trying to get more friction. Upon noticing this, Nicholas smiled and moved away from Proudfoot’s cock. Proudfoot groaned in irritation.

“Not yet,” whispered Nicholas. “You’re not going to come yet.”

“Please,” Proudfoot begged softly, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “Please.”

“No,” said Nicholas into his ear, keeping his stomach sucked in so that Proudfoot couldn’t touch him. “I will have you maddened and weeping first.”

“Beloved!” Proudfoot wailed, sinking his nails into Nicholas’s arms. He held fast, clenching his teeth and baring his throat in surrender. The light from the fire made Proudfoot’s skin glow enticingly, sweat drops looking like little pearls. He lapped up a few of them, delighting in the salty taste, and then latched his lips around a part of skin and sucked until blood blossomed beneath it. Then he moved and started on another patch of skin, sucking until he could feel the pulse beating hard and fast on his tongue.

He wanted to feed on his soulmate’s blood so badly, but he knew that even if he made Proudfoot bleed, he wouldn’t swallow. Although he had his own brand on Proudfoot’s neck and body, sinking his teeth in and letting the blood flow out and onto the cushions, he never swallowed. He actually liked watching his beloved soulmate bleed, and the thought startled him only for a minute, but he knew, deep down, that it was just a kink of his. All Daywalkers had their kinks, and being the gentlest of them all, it was surprising that this would be his.

Nicholas marked his soulmate as his hips continued to move, impaling his love with his cock, whimpers and whines emanating from his love’s mouth. They were both close, he could feel it. He sped up, and Proudfoot tried to arc his body even more, to feel him, and finally Nicholas took pity on him and bore down. Wet flesh came into contact with his skin—warm from the fire and activities—and Proudfoot moaned. Or was that him?

“Want to come—want to come…”

Nicholas bent down, nipped at his lover’s ear and said, “Yes, come for me, my darling puppy…”

Proudfoot wailed, as he knew he would, little tracks of tears flowing from the corner of one eye, and he came. He came and came, dampening the Daywalker’s skin. It was warm, and sticky, and he could smell the heady salt wafting up between them. Out of instinct mostly, Nicholas broken open the skin between Proudfoot’s neck and shoulder, and then released him immediately when he accidentally got a sample.

The biting act in and of itself gave him that little push to go over the edge, and he spilled inside his lover.

It was then that the fireplace flared up, turning green, and out stepped Harry. All three froze. Nicholas, still embedded within Proudfoot, turned his head to stare at Harry, and Harry stared back, eyes wide. Proudfoot went red and tried to hide his face into the throw pillow.

Finally, Harry spoke. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know…”

Nicholas laughed, and Harry seemed to relax a bit more.

“It’s all right,” he said. “We should have taken it to the bedroom, but it was so nice and warm here, by the fire. Wouldn’t you agree, love?”

Proudfoot nodded, face still turned away from them, hair falling into his eyes.

“Well, um… I didn’t interrupt much, did I?” Harry asked, his cheeks were growing more and more pink by the moment.

“Oh, no, of course not,” said Nicholas. “We just finished when you dropped in, unannounced.”

“I’m really sorry—“ Harry began, but Nicholas waved a hand at him.

“Don’t worry about it.”

It was then that Nicholas noticed Harry was carrying something, almost hidden behind his back as if he were embarrassed to be lugging it around. He squinted, the firelight behind Harry making him appear almost in shadow.

“What it that?” he asked.

Harry started, confused at first, but then he understood and brought the item out from behind him. “What, this? Oh, it’s just Godric Gryffindor’s sword.”

“What are you doing with it?” Nicholas asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He was just barely becoming aware of his cock softening and slipping out of Proudfoot, who still had his head turned away, cheeks warm.

“Well, we already used it,” said Harry.

“We?”

“Well, when I say ‘we’ I mean… Ron. Er…” Harry paused. He couldn’t remember if they knew about the Horcruxes or not. He decided to play it safe. “It wasn’t anything bad, really… just routine.”

“Hero stuff?” said Nicholas, smiling. Finally, he rose from atop Proudfoot, who immediately leaped up to find his clothes. Harry tried not to stare so much, feeling his breath shorten and his throat go dry. They really were a remarkable pair; very attractive.

“Y-yeah,” he finally answered. “Hero stuff.” He couldn’t help it; his eyes had a mind of their own. He ogled Proudfoot’s backside, and then strayed over to Nicholas, whom was getting dressed slowly, as if he didn’t have a bashful bone in his body. The other Daywalker’s penis was thick looking, even though it was limp, and uncut. He didn’t get a good look at Proudfoot’s, but he did try; he only got a glimpse of dark curls and what looked to be the back of his balls.

Nicholas’s hand touched his cheek, jerking him back from his gazing. “He’s lovely, isn’t he?”

“What?” said Harry, blinking and feeling warm.

“My soulmate, Proudfoot,” said Nicholas, not seeming upset about the fact that Harry was staring at all. “He’s a vision.”

Proudfoot cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, and Harry felt his face growing even hotter.

“Er, yeah, I suppose,” said Harry as calmly as he could.

“That’s right, you have your own soulmate to ogle now,” said Nicholas. “It’s all right, though, I don’t mind it if you look at mine.”

“Nicholas!” Proudfoot gasped in indignation.

“Well, I won’t let just anyone see my beloved this way,” explained Nicholas. “You’re lucky,” he added, giving Harry a wink.

Harry looked away, unsure of what to say to that.

“Well, we better go scrounge up some food before we go on a hunt. The others should be back soon. Would you like to join us, Harry?”

“Er… yeah, ok.”

Harry had a lot to do, but he could stop for a while and have some tea and whatever else they were having. Besides, he hadn’t talked to them in a long time, and in a way he sort of missed it. He’d been so busy with other things he hadn’t had as much time as he liked being with others like him. Except Draco, of course, who was at this moment still at Grimmauld Place. He hoped Draco wasn’t too worried for him.

“I can’t stay long, though,” he finally said as they entered the kitchen. “Draco doesn’t know that I’m back… from my mission, I mean. Well, Ron and Hermione are back there, so maybe they told him where I went.”

“Why did you come back here?” Nicholas asked, putting on a pot of tea and then opening the refrigerator. Harry spotted a few jugs of blood with labels on them before Nicholas took out what he was looking for and shut the door. Harry seated himself at the little nook in the kitchen, next to Proudfoot.

“I need a safe place for the sword, for now, while I go… do other things.”

“I see,” said Nicholas. He was making toast, eggs, bacon, and bangers. Harry found he didn’t really have much to say. He looked to Proudfoot, who was watching Nicholas’s every move. He understood what that look meant; he had caught himself staring at Draco every now and then. Just the thought of Draco right now, however, was putting a painful lump in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” Proudfoot asked, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. Harry didn’t know just how long he had sat there, staring off into space, thinking about Draco. He sighed, gathering his thoughts.

“Oh, just… thinking,” he said lamely. “Er, about Draco,” he clarified when he saw the questioning look on Proudfoot’s face.

“Miss him already?” said Proudfoot, smirking.

“Er, yeah… I suppose…”

“You suppose?” said Nicholas, banging a pan onto the stove, turning the fire on underneath it. He turned to stare at Harry, eyes filled with something unfamiliar. “Excuse me for saying this, Harry, but isn’t that who you should be with tonight?”

“I will be with him,” said Harry hurriedly. “Just…” he sighed again, staring at the kitchen countertop.

“Just what?” said Nicholas. “Just that you don’t really care for him anymore?”

“NO!” Harry snapped, surprising even himself. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s troubling you?” asked Proudfoot.

He didn’t want them to get involved with things, but as he thought on it… no, he didn’t want anyone else to bear his burdens. He needed to do this on his own. He shook his head rapidly, waving his hand in the air in front of him.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” said Proudfoot. “Come on, you can tell us.”

But Harry continued to shake his head.

“Leave him be,” said Nicholas. “There are some things people don’t want to talk about.”

The corner of his lips lifted in something of a smile. “Thanks, Nicholas.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling. “Now eat your bangers.”

“Draco and Remus aren’t here,” joked Harry. Nicholas and Proudfoot eyed each other, and then burst out laughing.

.-.

“Severus, wait!” Remus panted, running after Snape. “What’s the hurry?”

“You must see this, Lupin,” said Severus. “Now, hurry up or I’ll leave you behind.”

Remus cursed aloud, a branch catching in his hair. They were in the Black Forest, and Snape had asked him to come with. He hadn’t said why, but Remus trusted him.

They finally came to a halt at the top of a jagged ridge that looked out over a vast clearing. A few feet from the clearing was the river, and between the clearing and river were tents bearing small smoke stacks on them. Wizarding tents, then.

“What in the world?” Remus whispered.

Snape glowered at the tents below. “Death Eaters,” he whispered.

Remus didn’t know what to say at first, not sure if he should be surprised or not. He settled with sighing heavily and shaking his head.

“Should we tell Harry?” Remus asked quietly.

“We should warn him, yes,” said Snape. “But let’s not be too hasty. I need your expert nose to tell me if you smell anything.”

“If I smell… Severus, you know damn well that my senses don’t work like that if I’m a human.”

“You should still be able to catch a familiar scent,” explain Snape. “If not, then I will inquire a vampire.”

“And just who do you plan to ask to help you? More importantly, whom do you want sniffed out? Aren’t you one of them still?”

“Yes, but I’m not supposed to be down there with them,” explained Snape. “You see, the Dark Lord had given me a different job than theirs,” he nodded at the tents. The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon and onto the valley. When it started to get lighter, they ducked behind some bushes and watched.

“What job?” Remus whispered.

“I cannot tell you that,” said Snape. “Yet.”

They watched the scene below them as a couple Death Eaters came out of their tents and tried to restart a fire that had went out during the middle of the night without magic. If Snape and Remus hadn’t been paying attention to just the campground and Death Eaters, they would have noticed the raven perched in the tree above them.

.-.

Harry just barely remembered that he had to speak to the head vampire about a few things. He didn’t know as much about Daywalkers—or vampires in general—as he liked. On his way to the throne room, he met with a couple Daywalkers that he barely got to see. One he thought was named Oberon, and the other was Ethan Daniels. He remembered Ethan from the forest, but he didn’t know him that well. Ethan had dark hair, brown eyes, and was about Harry’s height; he wasn’t too handsome, but the glow around him made up for it. Ethan had salt and pepper hair, only slightly taller than Harry, and had only a bit more sexual appeal than Ethan.

“Harry,” greeted Ethan, bowing.

Harry smiled slightly and bowed back. “Ethan.”

“What business do you have?” Oberon demanded.

“Now, now, Obi,” said Ethan. “Don’t be like that. You know that our master likes Harry.”

“Yes, I know, but one can never be too careful. And don’t call me Obi,” he snapped.

“You must forgive him, Harry,” said Ethan nonchalantly. “He got up on the wrong side of the coffin this evening.”

Harry nearly laughed at the dry tone in which Ethan spoke, but stopped himself. “Wait, you have coffins?”

“Some of us do,” replied Ethan.

“Those that have the right to be called vampires do,” said Oberon, sneering.

“Those that—what?” said Harry, not sure if he should be offended by that comment.

“Never mind that, Harry, it’s all right. Oberon is just very proud to be a vampire. He rarely calls himself a Daywalker, and he claims to dislike garlic.”

“The stuff is vile,” grumbled Oberon, and he melted back into the shadows after realizing that he was no longer needed. Ethan sighed.

“I’ll go announce you now, Harry, just wait here.” He opened the throne room doors carefully and slipped inside. Harry stood there, arms crossed over his chest, and waited patiently. Ever since he had become a Daywalker, he had noticed that he’d had more patience than he usually did. but Oberon’s unseen figure in the shadows annoyed him a little. He had never known any kind of vampire like Oberon, except maybe Betelgeuse, but that was neither here nor there. Betelgeuse, at least, called himself a Daywalker and seemed to care for his kind, but Oberon didn’t seem to like being here. Maybe he had no other place to go.

The doors opened again and Ethan peeked his head out. “Prince Vlad will be with you in a few minutes, Harry. I’m sorry there’s no place for you to sit while you wait.”

“That’s fine, I’ll just take that corner over there.” And then he transformed himself into a wolf and curled up in the dark corner, feeling better now that he was covered more with shadows than with the torch lit hallway. No wonder Oberon liked to stay in the shadows, it felt somewhat more secure.

Five minutes passed, and Ethan told him that he could see Vlad now. He transformed back into a human and followed Ethan into the throne room. It was just as well decorated and as elegant as he remembered. Prince Vlad greeted Harry with a warm smile, and Harry couldn’t help smiling back. Vlad may be his Master, but he felt more like a father figure.

He bowed in respect. “Prince Vlad.”

Vlad stood from his throne and carefully made his way down the stairs toward him. “Harry, my friend, it’s good to see you. How are you and Draco doing these days?”

“Er, well… I have a few questions for you, if that’s all right.”

Prince Vlad placed a hand onto Harry’s shoulder and steered him toward the side door. It led into a hallway that Harry recalled that went to the weapon room, but they didn’t go that direction, they went the opposite. Vlad opened a door to their right and ushered him inside. It was a very cozy looking room with a fireplace gently glowing in the hearth, a few comfortable looking chairs, and a bed in the far corner.

“We’ll have more privacy here,” Vlad explained. They sat in the chairs by the fire.

“Thank you, sir. My first question is about the Dark Daywalkers. What do you know about them?”

Prince Vlad hummed and steepled his fingers, touching the tips of them against his lips in thought. For a second it looked as if he wasn’t going to answer, but then nodded.

“Yes, them… they’re something of an anomaly. You see, sometimes a Daywalker doesn’t want his soul, so he embraces the darkness. Then there are those that become Dark, through other unknown means.”

“You mean, they used to be normal Daywalkers? And why wouldn’t a Daywalker want his soul?”

“It all depends on the person that got bit, I’m afraid,” said Vlad. “And yes, some that used to be normal Daywalkers, like you and me, can turn into Dark ones. Some believe they—the Dark Daywalkers—are worse than the soulless ones.”

“So, this Algol person we met in the forest, did Moon tell you about him?”—Vlad nodded—“Yeah, he claims to be a Dark Daywalker. Could something have happened to him, or did he just reject his human side?”

“It’s hard to tell, at the moment,” said Vlad warily. He stared into the fire. “I’m sure we’ll discover the truth soon enough.”

Harry nodded, and then waited for Vlad to continue on the subject, and when he saw he didn’t, he decided to ask his other question.

“Can a Daywalker, or any kind of vampire, be put under the Imperius Curse?”

“Only if their soul or mind is weak. For instance, I wouldn’t be able to be put under the spell, but a young Fledgling might, unless he or she has a strong soul.”

“I see. So, some Dark Daywalkers might be under Voldemort’s spell?”

“It’s hard to say.” Vlad stood and calmly walked over to the window on the other side of the room. Harry got up to follow him. Prince Vlad looked out the window; the fog was thick tonight. It might not even be normal fog.

“So,” said Harry, when Vlad didn’t continue. “The Dark Daywalkers are with Voldemort of their own free will?”

“Quite possible, yes,” said Vlad. Harry stared at Vlad’s reflection in the window. That brought up another question.

“Are Dark Daywalkers like soulless ones in a way? I mean, that they don’t have a reflection or that they don’t like the sunlight?”

“Yes. It’s possible they’re like soulless ones in that manner. But don’t underestimate them, or figure them wrongly. We’ve got quite a fight on our hands if they did go over to Voldemort’s side.”

After a while, they walked back to the throne room. Harry was only a little curious as to what Vlad was doing before he was able to speak with him, but he decided not to pry. Sometimes asking too many questions made you look like a fool.

When Vlad sat back down on his throne, he signaled to Harry to stay for a minute. “I have something to ask you, now,” he said.

“Yes, sir?” said Harry.

“Have you and Draco gone out and hunted together yet?”

Harry blinked. “I don’t understand, sir.”

“He’s your soulmate, correct? You must go on a special Honeymoon hunt with him, otherwise the bond you two have together might fall.”

“But… wait, I don’t understand…”

Prince Vlad sighed, but it didn’t sound impatient. “Harry, my dear Youth, it is like any other marriage; you consummate, you go on a Honeymoon, and declare love to each other eternally. Daywalkers that don’t do this will usually end up depressed out of their minds, and sometimes it leads to suicide.”

Harry was shocked, but not shocked enough to ask more on this.

“You see,” said Vlad. “I knew of a couple long ago that had become soulmates. This was years ago, mind you, and even before that there hadn’t been a couple like them a century before. They were drawn to each other, they loved each other, and they made each other theirs, but what they didn’t do is go on their traditional Honeymoon. It is called a Honeymoon for a reason. The newly married couple must go out into the night together, under the New Moon, and kill together.”

Harry’s jaws dropped. “K-kill? But, what if I don’t want to kill someone?”

“That’s what they claimed, too,” said Vlad sadly. “I don’t know if you can get away with just drinking someone’s blood together. All I know is, in the ancient ways, a soulmated couple were supposed to go on this Honeymoon to make their first kill, together.”

Harry stood there, stunned. He knew he had killed before, but it had been an accident. But kill for real? Wouldn’t that hurt his soul? And he’d have to hurry faster to destroy Voldemort then, if he had to hurry and take this Honeymoon with Draco. Things were going too fast. Harry placed a hand onto his forehead and sighed.

“I know this is rough for you, Harry,” said Vlad gently. “But if you don’t want to lose Draco, you have to do this soon, either on this upcoming New Moon, or the next.”

“I have to defeat Voldemort before that, then,” Harry groaned.

“Ah, you are afraid of getting your soul split if you kill?” Vlad said. He got up from his throne again and came down to stand in front of Harry. “I am a very old, and very wise, ‘Vampire’, and although there are only a handful of things that I don’t know about, there is of one thing I am certain: You will be able to do it. I believe in you.”

Harry looked up, eyes shining. “Master?” he whispered.

Vlad laid a hand onto Harry’s shoulder. “You can do it. Your soul will be fine when you defeat Voldemort. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Really?” said Harry, not believing in what he was hearing.

“Really. Daywalkers are different than humans, Harry. Our souls are locked within our bodies. Oh, we could definitely split our souls if we really wanted to, but we’d have to want to badly enough in order to do it. If you don’t want your soul split, then it won’t split.”

That made Harry feel even better. “So, I should go on this Honeymoon with Draco, during the next New Moon?”

“Yes, you should, if you wish to keep him.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “I do.”

.-.

It made better sense now, what he’d been feeling toward Draco lately; it was estrangement. Sure, they still talked, but the feelings they had for each other were changing. Harry guessed that if they didn’t go on their Honeymoon real soon, they would continue to drift apart, and maybe their Marriage would suffer, not to mention their sanity. He was only speculating, of course, but he didn’t want to take that chance. He had to find Draco and talk to him.

When Harry got back to Grimmauld’s Place, determined to find Draco and talk to him, there was an owl at the window. He let it in, took the letter, and then watched as the owl soared out into the night sky again. It was from McGonagall.

Harry,
The quill had been identified, and I don’t know if it’ll make things easier for you or not. It did belong to Rowena Ravenclaw. However, I don’t know if it has any particular spells on it to make it special. It might just be an ordinary quill. I will keep you posted on any discoveries that are made.

Headmistress of Hogwarts,
Minerva McGonagall

Well, that was something, thought Harry. He quickly stashed the letter into his robe and made a beeline for his bedroom. He hoped that Draco was there when he entered.

.-.

Edgar soared through the foggy skies toward its destination. It didn’t have far to go, and it landed onto a shoulder. A hand lifted to feed it some dead grubs.

“Well done, my pet.” The shadow stayed on the figure, except for its legs. He began to hum. Then he laughed into the night. “Send in the clowns.”

TBC

I deeply apologize for this being somewhat late (then again, I never set a specific date when this was to be posted), but I have started up school again, so writing will be slim—again. But not to worry, I will do a bit of writing whenever I get the time. My homework comes first. Thanks everyone for your patience.