hpvamp_mods (hpvamp_mods) wrote in hpvamp,

vampgift fic for angelsotherlove from your secret vamp

Title: Newborn
Author: carvedwood
Gift for: angelsotherlove
Pairing: vamp!Harry/Draco
Rating: pg13?
Disclaimer: All characters depicted belong to JKRowling and I'm making no money.
Summary: The monologue of an expectant "papa."
Authors notes: This was a little different for me, and rather more difficult than I expected. Angelsotherlove, I know you hoped for a bit of smut, but I just couldn't work any in. While I'm sorry for that, I hope this is still a good kind of surprise.
Original request: Vamp!Sev/Harry, Vamp!Harry/Draco, Vamp!Draco/Severus; no watersports

As it turned out, I really was the last Horcrux.

Isn't that called irony? When the truth of a situation is the exact opposite of what it's supposed to be? I could swear that's the proper definition, but what do I know about literature? I would ask Hermione, but Hermione isn't around anymore. Not that she doesn't want to be, you understand. That's part of the irony, isn't it?

I really wish I remembered the definition of the word. I'd go find a dictionary, but it's already late, you're late, and I don't think there's much time left. You'd probably sneer at me and tell me that it would be ironic for me to do my own research, but then, what the hell do you know? Nothing, that's what. You never did know as much as you thought you did. Certainly not as much as you wanted to know. For all the running around you did, sneaking after us, lying in wait to find out something you could run to tell the professors, you never really had a clue, did you? You still won't, probably, even when you finally wake up. If you wake up.

Goddamnit, wake up! I'm bored, I'm hungry, and it's getting close to sunrise. What's this supposed to be, your fashionable entrance?

I was talking about Horcruces, wasn't I?

That's right, the irony. My mum died - and you can laugh all you want, but your mother didn't exactly cry when I took you instead of her, did she? - yeah, my mum died in order to keep me alive, and look how well that ended. What a hero I turned out to be. Warrior for the Light, the Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore's man... and for what? To end up the last piece of the puzzle, the last bit of Voldemort's soul that needed to be extinguished. Finding and destroying the other Horcruces was easy in comparison to finding a way to let me live, even though I had to die. There was a prophecy. Did you know that? Of course you didn't.

Neither can live while the other survives. That was the prophecy. It just meant that it had to be one of us, me or Voldemort. To the death. And that's what happened - my death made Voldemort really alive. And what's alive can be killed. By a power the Dark Lord knows not. Dumbledore figured that the power I had was the ability to love - not exactly true. Love is a power, I suppose - it's what gave me the strength to do what I had to do. I rather think, though, that my power turned out to be the ability to embrace death. Something else Voldemort couldn't do... the coward. The selfish bastard of a coward.

For Chrissake, are you going to stay in there until the worms eat what little brain you did have? Stop being a wimp and come out of there! Being dead isn't so bad. You don't have to study for NEWTs, and you won't grow old. Of course, you can't exactly go for a tan. Not as though that's something that would worry you, though - I remember the day you got a little pink on your nose, when the Quidditch game went on too long. I thought you were going to burst into tears. Well, no worries, if you ever manage to drag your sorry arse out of there, tears won't be what you burst into should you stay in the sun too long.

Sorry, a little grave humor there. Get it? Grave humor? Death is a funny thing. Take Voldemort, for instance. You weren't there when I finally offed the old bastard, of course, but you should have seen the look on his face when I pulled his heart out of his chest. It was hilarious. He looked so surprised. Well, I suppose he had a right - it's not everyday a person gets to see his own heart beating in front of his eyes. I bet he still thought he would survive, too, right up to the moment he died. And he did die, by the way. We didn't tell him before I killed him, but I got every last one of those Horcruces, including the one inside me. I can't talk to snakes anymore, but the wizarding world is free, and I don't have to worry about Death Eaters now.

Of course, I traded Death Eaters for Aurors, but it's not like I ever had a normal life to begin with, did I?

I suppose it was funny, too, how mad Snape looked when it happened. When he died, as well, I mean. Do you know, there were some people who still insisted Snape was innocent, even after all he did? Not me, though. I didn't care if he was just playing a part, being a spy. What did he ever do, after all, that made up for the fact that he killed people? Not just Dumbledore - other people. You know he did. He never was the incompetent that you were when it came to murder. He was partly responsible for my mum and dad's death, to start out with, and then there were all the people he killed or hurt on Voldemort's orders. All the pain and hurt he caused before he was a teacher, and afterward... he deserved to die. All of them did. I'm not the least bit sorry I killed any of them, either.

Nope, not a bit.

I'm rambling. It's to be expected, I suppose. I'm bored. The moon's setting soon, and you're still not ready to come out. At least, I hope you're just not ready. I hope you're not lying there, crying because you can't figure a way to get out. That would be pathetic, you know. Not surprising, of course, but really pathetic. I have every intention of keeping you around for a very long time. I hope you're not going to be more trouble, more pathetic, than you're worth. I'd have to regret my decision, then, and you wouldn't like that very much, would you? Some day, I'm going to petrify you, break your nose with my bootheel, and then leave you under an invisibility cloak to face the morning. I may or may not rescue you in time to keep you from becoming very uncomfortable. There's nothing you can do now to avoid that. Believe me, though, there are much worse things I can do to you if you make me regret keeping you around.

I was talking about irony. The part about Voldemort wasn't the only ironic thing to come out of this whole crapbag of a situation. We solved the problem, Ron, Hermione, and me - mostly Hermione, but Ron and I helped, I swear. We figured out that I was a Horcrux, and that I had to die. We even figured out how I could die and still manage to stick around long enough to kill Voldemort. Then I killed Voldemort, and now there are Aurors who would kill me, the Golden Boy, if they could find me. Isn't that ironic? What's more, I can't marry Ginny now. She puts flowers on my grave still, though. It's better this way, to let her love my memory. She'll go on without me, and I'll go on without her, and the funny thing is, just this time last year, I thought we'd go on, but together. Or at least, I'd hoped so. The ironic thing about that is, I bet she'd want to be with me if she knew, but I can't let her. The same is true for Hermione and Ron, better friends than anyone you ever knew. Or ever will know. All these years, and my friends were my strength. Now they're my weakness. I can't let them be around me too much, or I might... you know... snap. Eat them, or something.

Becoming a vampire does funny things to your morality, you know. You'll find that out soon enough. Or maybe not - you never had much morality to begin with.

You're the last thing that's ironic. And me. The two of us, together, forever. Who would have thought just one year ago that tonight I'd be waiting to spend the rest of eternity with you, Malfoy? Not me. Probably not you, either. Not that I have any clue what sort of sick things pass through your head sometimes - other than the worm that's probably burrowing into your brain through your ear right now. I bet you're wondering why I chose you? Out of all the people in the world, why you?

Well, why not you? You've always been there, after all. You were the very first person I met among my classmates. Do you remember that day in Madam Malkin's shop, Malfoy? It's too bad you were such a little prick - who knows how all this might have turned out? I wonder what you'd say if you knew that my dislike of you has always been personal - it never had anything to do with your family name. Other people liked you because you were a Malfoy. But the people who disliked you? That was always your own fault. Still, you were always there for me... to make sure that any suffering I was going through was made that much worse by your interference.

Hermione - you know, the girl you always called a Mudblood? - tried to tell me that you weren't really at fault in Dumbledore's death. I know better, though. I know that if you had just gone to him in the beginning, when you knew what was at stake, when you really understood what you were supposed to do... If you had just told him then, everything would have turned out differently. I know it would have. Dumbledore could have figured out how to make things work out right. Instead, you had to bring Death Eaters into the school. You had to confront Dumbledore up there on the tower, leading those Death Eaters right to him. To us. You were the one who made me see him die. It was entirely your fault. Sure, I've been hurt by others. Voldemort to start with, and Bellatrix, Snape, your father. But never quite as badly as by you. You hurt me most, because you weren't supposed to. You were supposed to be like me, too young and scared and innocent to really be at fault for all the crap that Voldemort was putting us through.

You weren't innocent. You weren't too young, or too scared. You were the exact same age as me; you still are. And I know I wouldn't have made the choices you did. I wouldn't have done what you did to Rosmerta, to Katie, what you almost did to Ron. You're the reason Bill is scarred and Dumbledore is dead. You did it. It's all your fault. And you don't even have the excuse of not being loved enough when you were a little boy.

I remembered how to turn you into a vampire from what I had to go through to become one, myself. Hermione doesn't know what I've done - I'm not going to tell her. Neither are you. You see, my best friends are going to go on with their lives, living under the sun, being in love. They'll live and eventually they'll grow old, and they'll die. That's what they're supposed to do. That's the natural order of things, and what Voldemort didn't understand, and what your father and aunt and all the other Death Eaters didn't understand, is that death is an even more powerful force than love. It's what's supposed to happen. It's clean.

It won't happen to us, though. We're outside the natural order, now. We're not exactly dead. We're nothing like being alive. We're monsters. We're the opposite end of what being clean, being right, means. I had to suffer through this, and now so do you. It's what you deserve.

Perhaps one day, centuries from now, I'll get tired of it. I'll let you find the sun, or take a stake through your heart, or deliver you to those half a dozen other ways to die that we learned in Defense classes. Not any time soon, though. You hurt me, and you have a lot to make up for. I'm going to hurt you back, Malfoy. It's going to be nasty.

I can see the dirt over your grave shifting a little - my eyesight is so much clearer now, I don't even need glasses. I can count the little bits of dead grass in the dirt that's moving. Are you moving it, Malfoy... Draco? Are you coming out now? Come on, come on, you can do it. Come out of your shell, little chick, and cheep at me. I want to hear your confusion, your fear. I want to see the look on your face when you finally understand what's happening. I want to watch you as you think to yourself, Oh, Merlin, this is real. Sometimes I think that your realization is all I need to see, all I need to know to make all of this worthwhile. Come on, Malfoy, you're almost out. Dig a little faster. Try harder. I can see your hand now, breaking through. There's your head. Come on, you can do it. Pull yourself out of death and come back into the world.

That's it, my precious boy. You're out of that cold, nasty grave now. Aren't you glad? Rest a moment, here in my arms. I've got you. I won't let you go. Soon I'll make sure you have something good to eat, something to make you grow strong. In a moment. Right now, I want to hold on to you, look at you, marvel at you. I'm going to give you a life you've never dreamed of before.

My infant.
Tags: all fic, conversion exchange, harry/draco, pg13 fics

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