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CHAPTER ONE: The Lust

It was raining that day. He remembered it oddly well, considering it was the day he died. He knew only what his father would reveal to him that day, and that wasn’t much to go by. He knew it had been a disappointment to his father and the Dark Lord when he couldn’t kill Dumbledore, both of which had a fury to endure.

It had been hell to face the Dark Lord after that night. Snape had tried to keep him safe, but to no avail. Voldemort found Draco in a dark alley, and crucio’d him nearly to the point of death. Hell, he’d begged for death. Malfoy’s don’t beg. His father, however, never did anything to him, except tell him that the day would come when he WOULD be able to repay the Dark Lord. And that thought alone was enough to send him into insomnia for the past month. Nightmares constantly clouded his dreams, waking him and preventing him from returning to sweet sleep.

It had been yet another sleepless night. His father came to wake him unnecessarily, and told him they were going to meet the Dark Lord.

“He has big plans for you, son,” he’d told him evilly or proudly; Draco still wasn’t sure.

His mother was crying, and constantly hugging her son. She stroked his hair and held him, until his father sent her to their bedroom. They apparated to a remote valley where the ceremony was to take place. Thunder clapped above Draco’s head, and he awaited the Dark Lord in fear. Few other people were there other than he and his father. Pettigrew, the insolent git, was twittering about, mumbling fearfully for himself. The squat man kept stealing glances at a man who had a certain aura about him. He was a gorgeous youthful man, with ochre eyes and spiky black hair. His skin was even paler than Draco’s, and even though the man looked no older than twenty, Draco was sure he was much much older. His dear Aunt Bellatrix (Draco had always despised that woman), stood smirking with her arms crossed; her dark hair blowing across her dark eyes. Then the Dark Lord finally arrived.

He apparated in front of Draco.

“Today is the day you redeem yourself in my eyes,” he told him in the hiss that was his voice.

“You see, for years I have been trying to kill Harry Potter and take over the wizarding world, but I haven’t had the power to do it. You all know the story of how he nearly destroyed me, then gave me back my life. Oh yes, how he did. I should be grateful, but I’m not that kind of a man.

“Continuing on; now, Lucius, my dear old friend, has the key to my power with him. His son, Draco. Yes, I know you are young, and it’s a pity having to watch you die,” he continued.

Draco gulped visibly and the Dark Lord laughed evilly.

“But, with death, comes the reward of eternal life. You will be alive once more after you die, but you must get in with Harry Potter and kill him. You are to woo that Mudblood friend of his, and get her under your power. Now, on with the ceremony!”

A stone table was conjured out of thin air, while Draco was forcibly bound and gagged by Pettigrew. Lightning forked across the sky, adding more malevolence to the atmosphere. He struggled against his bonds as he was laid upon the stone table. He gazed pleadingly at his father, who for the first time that day, showed signs of sorrow for his young son’s life.

“Draco, I would like you to meet Jedadiah, Jedadiah, your prey.”

The pale man named Jedadiah grinned wickedly, showing off perfectly even teeth, except for his canines, which were more elongated and pointy than a normal human’s were. His ochre eyes turned black and glinted with hunger, and he clamped his jaws shut on Draco’s neck. Draco screamed in anguish, but the gag in his mouth prevented the scream from escaping. His father turned away, pain evident on his face. The blood pooled around Draco’s pale hair, and icy pain flooded his body. ‘So this is death,’ he thought dismally. Darkness settled in and he knew no more.

*~*~*~*

A little less than a month later, Draco sat in his apartment, the one he had purchased for himself in order to keep from harming his family. He was the key to the Dark Lord winning the war. The thought still troubled him. He didn’t like the thought of using Hermione to get to Potter, because Draco had never used a girl for revenge. Well, he tried not to anyway.

He stared at his mirror, at the emptiness that was there, and threw his pillow at it. Tonight he had to hunt.

Hunting was what he hated. The ending of an innocent life to sustain his own personal living hell of death. He didn’t mind the undead part so much.

He didn’t even mind not being able to see what he looked like. The killing was what really had gotten to him. He thought of himself as a monster now, and he hated being that way. Since he’d become this thing, he had had to kill in order to survive, and with each kill his conscience subsided more and more, until he had almost forgotten he had one. The fact that he didn’t feel guilty anymore bothered him almost too much to bear.

He slowly stood up and stretched the muscles that had become more toned. Ever since that fateful night, he had slowly but surely gotten more and more attractive. Isolation helped him, because no one was around to see the changes.

His blond hair fell gracefully into his intense electric blue eyes. Those had changed too. They were once an icy blue-gray. Now they were a surreal electric blue. He grabbed his keys, and the forever-eighteen year old set off through London looking for a certain club. He tried not to go out in the day. His new, paler skin was even more enhanced by sunlight. The nightlife was jumping, even though it was barely twilight. Cars rushed by on their way to a bar, and several women (who he thought looked suspiciously like hookers) blew kisses at him as he walked. He found the club he was looking for. He entered, and his mates greeted him from the bar.

They weren’t his school mates. They were his hunting party, each one more different from the other. There was Topaz, so named for the color of his hair. He preferred to hunt gorgeous women. He was a lot like Draco, except he was more open about his feelings. Amile, of course, with her spiky black hair with crimson tips and crimson lipstick was always the life of the party. She was a feisty one, and preferred to hunt anything that moved. Several times Draco found himself falling for her heart-shaped face, but remembered the finer points of her attitude. Krys, as she preferred to be called, kept silently to herself, and often slipped away from the party to feast gorily on some innocent bystander she happened to see. She had a shock of white hair, and was forever sixteen. And finally, Jasper. He was the ringleader, and Draco tended to avoid him as much as possible. The pack of vampires was like a pack of wolves; Draco and Jasper tended to fight for the position of alpha male, while Krys and Amile had a silent war of their own over who was the higher female. And Draco didn’t feel like fighting.

They set out, Draco talking animatedly to Amile, who constantly called him her ‘vampiric angel’. It was her loving pet name for him.

Draco was a vampiric angel in many ways. His pale skin looked like it had been made by gods. He had full lips that any of his victims longed to kiss before they died. His gorgeous eyes were his prominent feature, along with his white-blonde hair. And his body was toned from years of Quidditch and weightlifting and he loved to show it off with tight sweaters and t-shirts. They walked along, until a woman caught Draco’s eye. It was time. The hunger boiled up inside of him and he succumbed to his instincts. He watched her sashay off to meet a man at the top of the street and calmed himself down. He never killed someone he knew was in love. Her scent wafted in the breeze, and he just about fell under again.

He walked along with Amile, until she found her prey. She waved a good-bye, and walked along with him. He was the only member of the party left. A girl not much older than himself came along, and he hid behind a trashcan. Her scent floated on the light wind that stirred his hair, and it left a tingling sensation in his slightly-open mouth. He could feel his mouth watering and his fangs elongating. He succumbed to his senses, and didn’t come out. The lust was upon him, and he couldn’t be stopped.

That night for the first time in many years, Draco Malfoy cried for himself and what he was. The lust was gone, but it would be back. And one day, he would have to kill a certain someone not to survive, but because it was his job.  He didn't know if he could bring himself to do that to Hermione. For the first time in a long time, Draco Malfoy cried for himself and what he had become.






A/N: Even though there is no Dramione action, I thought it should be labeled as such, b/c it is revealed that Draco has some feelings for her (see ‘never used a girl…kill a certain someone)
over twenty reads but no reviews?? im disappointed

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