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Fling Wide the Whirlwind, vampire!Ron fic update, chapter 7
Yes, it's Chapter 7. I've put this on the regular friends filter as, sadly, there is zero smut (it started out on my smut flist). I'm sure I'll remedy that shortly, and at some point, take out some purple. It's what I get for listening to Anne Rice's books on tape. This actually has lots of dialogue and me wondering just who is Martin, anyway, and when did he take over this story and why does he seem like a (relatively) benevolent Lucius Malfoy? And boy howdy. Angry, jealous Harry. None of this bodes well. And per a timely post by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geoviki, I'm reminded of why I've never before posted a WIP. Too late now.
My apologies for the formatting; I cut and pasted this in from BBEdit so I didn't have to do the italics and HTML whatnot three different places.
4:14.
The colours of the numbers on the clock shifted and morphed, but refused to change any faster than
conventional passing seconds would allow. Ron sighed. His mind wandered as he doodled on the
newspaper in front of him, having finished the crossword with ease. Harry hadn't been able to stay
awake, though he had expressed his determination to adapt to Ron's nocturnal timeframe. They
hadn't spoken about Harry's forbidden, tragically ludicrous wish that had accidentally surfaced
after their night at the Golden Monkey. To Ron's mind, there was no point in contemplating it;
such a concept was inconceivable. That he had become the creature he was was one thing; to
voluntarily Change Harry… something lowered far inside Ron's being, a primal element that
knew innately to do so would be fantastically wrong.
4:16.
He looked down at the page, startled when he realised he was decorating a word he'd written.
Firebrand. It didn't mean anything to him, wasn't a word he associated with anything, or
anyone. Yet it made him angry, somehow. Ron searched his mind for the meaning, wondering if it was
a potions ingredient he'd had to remember for some long-forgotten exam. No, there was something
about the word that made him nauseous, he was so angry. Ron's normal mercurial temperament had
actually become relatively placid since his conversation with Martin. Having much, though
certainly not all, about his situation explained to him enabled Ron to feel less manipulated, more
in control. That was a welcome sensation, one he could sense reflected back to him as Harry's
contentedness rose, seeing that Ron felt less tormented.
"Firebrand," he said softly, marveling at how two syllables could make him furious. "This is
bollocks," he seethed, deciding on a whim that now was the perfect moment to fully test his
magical strength. Harry had offered to be his duelling partner, but that'd seemed like a recipe
for rampant disaster, no matter Harry's own powers. Ron strode to their fireplace, casting a
Silencio on the walls first so as not to wake Harry.
As soon as the flames appeared, he stuck in his face. "Seamus!" he hissed, trusting that his
friend would understand why Ron needed to use the Manor grounds at this hour of the morning.
"Seamus! It's Ron!"
"Do you know what fucking time it is?" Seamus' sleep-gravelly brogue held no malice.
"Yeah. Sorry to wake you." Ron could see Seamus squatting at his fireplace, rubbing his eyes, his
hair rivaling Harry's in its state of chaos.
"Something wrong?"
"No. Well, yes, sort of. Look, can I come over and use the grounds until sunrise? Harry's asleep,
and I'm about to go out of my fucking skull. I've not really tested my magic since becoming a
vampire, and our attic isn't really the place for me to be casting some of the nastier spells I
think I should."
Though he yawned, Seamus looked sympathetic. "Sure. I'm only keyed to a few of the wards, though.
Draco's quite fond of me, but he's not stupid. He's as cautious as I am. You don't need that much
space, do you?"
"Don't reckon. Not the forest or anything."
Seamus absently scratched at his scalp through his tousled hair. "Let's you Apparate outside of
the broomshed. You know the coordinates?"
"Yes. Hey— thanks. I owe you."
Seamus smiled sleepily. "Bollocks. We're mates. Give me a couple of minutes to tell Draco what's
going on. He's up faster than a whipcrack if any of the wards even flicker."
"I need to leave Harry a note, too."
Ron backed away from the fire and extinguished it. In the kitchen he rummaged through a drawer to
find a left over sparkler, a Wheezes' product of surprising practicality. Walking quietly into
their bedroom, he wrote a short message, scanning it as the shimmering aqua letters hung in the
air, placed so it would be the first thing Harry saw when he awoke. Hopefully the message would be
moot.
He pulled on a light but warm tracksuit top, exited their flat more softly than he had been able
to as a mortal, and stood looking at the moon. Ron contemplated the light of the waxing orb, far
off in the night sky. He was stalling, but for good reason; he'd Apparated into blocked wards
before and the feeling of being jolted back was most unpleasant. After a few more minutes went by,
he Apparated to the Manor grounds.
Seamus was there, hands shoved into the pockets of a thick bathrobe. "Morning."
"Not nearly," Ron said apologetically. "Thanks, really."
"What's got you so riled up?"
Ron fidgeted with his belt, weighing whether or not he wanted to discuss his irrational word
hatred with Seamus. "Something stupid, as usual."
"Look Ron, I've been told more than once that I'm not the most sensitive bloke. Even I can
appreciate just how fucked up your life's become. You're being pretty hard on yourself."
A grateful smile meandered to Ron's lips. "Thanks, Seamus. That means a lot."
Seamus grinned in return. "Hey, since it's just the two of us, and I've no shame in asking
anything, well, d'you want to drink from me? It's an experience I'd not have otherwise, without
dying, I mean."
Ron barely suppressed a groan, but his vampire instincts couldn't have been more pleased with the
prospect. "Nothing against you," he heard himself saying as Seamus' expressive face fell, "but
it's a personal thing. Harry doesn't want to share."
Seamus looked affronted. "Didn't know he was a perv," he said, picking at a bit of skin on his
thumb.
"I said that wrong," Ron said in Harry's defense. "It's sort of intimate. In an erotic way."
"Oh, go on then!" Seamus' eyes gleamed playfully. "Who'd know? You're a Healer, or were— you can
cover the marks. You'll be in for the day when Harry gets up. Besides, you look atrocious." He put
a friendly hand on Ron's arm. "'S'truth. I don't mean to butt in, but if blood would calm you down
a bit, make you feel better, I'm just offering. I promise I won't go all gooey-eyed on you."
It had been hours since Ron had fed. Martin's admonition to accept whole-heartedly that he was a
vampire or else he'd go mad chased away any fragmented guilt.
"Okay," Ron said hungrily, allowing his senses to smell the blood as it pulsed under Seamus' skin.
Shock flickered in Seamus' expression at the speed at which Ron pulled him close, enfolding Seamus
in a one-armed embrace as he opened the collar of the bathrobe with his other hand.
"You know how much you can take without a bloke passing out, right?" Seamus said in a quavering
voice.
"Yes. I won't hurt or drain you," Ron promised in a low voice against Seamus' lightly freckled
throat. He gripped him more tightly when Seamus trembled against him. "You smell delicious."
His fangs had moved down to their full length as the scent of heated skin flooded his nostrils.
Ron tenderly licked above Seamus' artery, tracing its path on his skin before sinking in his teeth
with a heady sigh.
Blood, blood, blood. Ron was more refined at the process now; he knew to listen to the
heart as it pumped and to drink slowly, drawing the hot, succulent liquid in at languorous speed.
He closed his eyes as he feasted, marveling at its peppery quality as the blood coursed over his
tongue. Seamus moaned softly, arms wrapped around Ron for support. It seemed perfectly natural
that Seamus grew hard, his covered erection pressing against Ron's thigh. To Ron the experience
wasn't sexual, though it was most certainly carnal. He drank greedily until he began to feel
Seamus slacken. He pulled back, suckling at the wounds until they closed.
Seamus dropped his head to Ron's shoulder, breathing deep, shuddering breaths. With the fresh
blood singing in his veins, Ron felt utterly at peace, unselfconscious and invigorated. He rubbed
at Seamus' lower back until the Irishman stood up, an unguarded expression on his face unlike Ron
had ever seen on his friend.
"Well, ride me rotten," he sighed blissfully, his hazel gaze settling up on Ron's visage. "You
look like a kneazle that's dined on a tasty swallow." He paused, adjusting his bathrobe over his
groin. "Better?"
"You can't imagine," Ron said shaking his head, enjoying the expansive tones to his voice that
appeared when he was flush with blood. "I feel tremendous. Why I continue to find that surprising
is ridiculous. I'm a vampire."
"The teeth do give you away," Seamus said with a chuckle before trying to stifle a yawn.
"Here— do you still want to do your magic stuff or do you want to just go home?"
"No, this is the perfect time to test my abilities, when I'm at full strength."
Seamus nodded. "Follow me, then. Draco approved of unwarding this part that we've used as a
Quidditch pitch on occasion."
They walked together across the crunchy, frost-kissed grass, the moon hanging silently above them.
Ron perceived the wards as they approached and was rather stunned at their complexity and density.
"Draco does know the War's over, right?"
Seamus snorted. "My dragon's a bit paranoid. Can't say's I blame him. Just sec." He withdrew his
wand, incanted several chained spells and placed his hand on the shimmering barrier. Seconds later
it vanished.
"Thanks again, Seamus." Ron felt expansive and affectionate. "I'll check with Harry and have you
two over."
"Harry offered that over a week ago, but I've yet to see an invitation," Seamus said in mock hurt.
"Do your stuff and get home. I don't want to be having to explain why there's a crispy vampire out
on the lawn."
"Piss off," Ron joked. After Seamus Disapparated, he walked purposefully toward the middle of the
wide space before deciding to test his vampiric limits while his body was newly suffused with
blood. With ease he discovered he could levitate just above the ground, his shadow hovering at his
heels. He laughed aloud, his body humming with power and control. He visualised jumping upward and
let out a whoop of pleasure as he rocketed from the ground, only to return gracefully to earth
like a falling snowflake. Ron did that a few times before deciding to move on. Trying to be
methodical, he ran through basic spells before moving on to the more advanced. Buoyed by his
abilities, he became a dervish, whirling as he cast hexes and curses, finding near-maniacal
delight as the colours shot from his wand. A couple of defenseless trees bore the brunt of his
enthusiasm, as well as a few sacrificial birds and unlucky hares. He could feel the pull of
morning but fought it, trusting in his heightened power and wanting to know how close to dawn he
could stay awake.
The awful word surged back into his mind. With a snarl, he imagined the faceless presence of the
vampire who had made him, and yelled, "Avada Kedavra!," pointing at a hapless deer that had
picked an inopportune moment to appear in the distance. The energy drained out of him and he
collapsed into a panting heap, sweat pouring off of him, his clothes sticking to him like a clammy
second skin. The chirping of a few brave songbirds fell on his ears as, to Ron's horror, he
realised the sun was about to rise.
"Fuck," he said through a sob, seeing just how far he was from the line of trees. He knew if he
tried to Apparate in this condition he'd splinch himself. "Merlin, bollocks, Ron you fucking
imbecile," he moaned, crawling on spent, trembling arms and legs a few paces before collapsing.
His skin prickled, his preternatural awareness screaming at him to seek cover, to hide in the
dirt, but his muscles simply couldn't comply.
"MARTIN!" he screamed telepathically, yelling for the vampire again and again as he felt the
deadly encroaching rays of the sun's first light. He shielded his eyes against the impending
onslaught, trying to round in a tight ball as unconsciousness claimed him.
* * * * *
Ron awoke sluggishly to the scent of clean but unfamiliar sheets. He ached all over. For a few
passing, discombobulated moments, he wondered if he'd been knocked off his broom in a Quidditch
match. There was a warm body behind him. Assuming it was Harry, he attempted to snuggle up to him.
"Ow," he moaned as his skin rubbed against what was unbearably coarse cloth.
"Ron, I'm going to kill you," Harry said into the back of Ron's neck, the heated breath causing
Ron to gasp in pain and open his eyes.
"I wouldn't move much, were I you."
"Martin!" Despite the warning, Ron tried to sit up before lowering gingerly back on the bed.
"Yes, Ronald. You Summoned me. Do you remember?"
Ron probed his mind, thinking about the crossword puzzle, his anger, Seamus. Hastily he erected a
filter on his thoughts, mindful of Harry and his own transgression the night before.
"Too late," Harry said, but his voice was compassionate. Ron turned his head to look at him,
struck by the worry and relief mingled in Harry's expression. "Seamus was babbling his confession
so quickly I could barely understand him. He thinks this is all his fault. When you're able,
you'll need to go and convince him that it wasn't his blood that made you act like a suicidal
maniac."
"Ron, how do you feel?" Arthur's voice was unexpected. Ron swiveled toward the sound and saw his
father sitting next to Martin, the two sharing a pot of tea.
"Like a set of Bludgers were set on me."
Arthur nodded while Martin looked confused.
"Where am I?"
"The Manor, in a Transfigured vault." Harry disentangled himself and moved to sit cross-legged on
the bedcovering, pulling his jumper closely around him.
"Oh. Right. Fuck," Ron groaned as his memories of his spell-casting and helpless last moments on
the grass came flooding to him. Feeling stupid and sheepish, Ron sent his thoughts directly to the
other vampire. "Guess you got to me in time," he said silently, looking at Martin's wise,
cerulean eyes.
"I did," he replied aloud. "Ronald, your father and I have been getting to know one another, but I
hadn't told him that we can communicate without spoken words. Out of courtesy, I'd suggest that we
use conventional speech."
"Okay." Ron shifted again. Through the warm waves of pain, he adjusted his pillows so he was
partially upright. It was then he noticed his hands and he stared. The skin on the back was a deep
molasses colour, stopping at the wrist. "Merlin," he breathed, turning them to regard the
ghostly-pale palms.
"Martin assured us that you'll recover, though it'll take some time," Arthur said, looking and
sounding relieved.
"Your Summons gave me just enough time to find you, draw out Mr. Finnigan from this estate,
convince him I wasn't here to harm him or you, and alert him to your quickly impending death if
you weren't moved. Having lived several centuries, I'm able to withstand nearness to dawn more
closely than you. Consequently I was able to retreat to a sanctuary provided by Mr. Malfoy,"
Martin explained after a sip of tea.
"The sun had just come up otherwise Martin would've hauled you in himself. Seamus didn't trust his
dual-Apparating skills, so he had to get Malfoy," Harry continued as Ron sat, his gaze absorbed by
his bronze hands. "You'd curled up with your arms over your head. Malfoy threw his robes over you
before Apparating here, but the sun had already burned you for a minute or two. Thankfully only
your hands were directly exposed."
"That's all the time it took to do this?" Ron asked in a hushed voice.
"You cannot underestimate the sun, fledgling," Martin responded sternly. "You may never lay eyes
on her again. She will destroy you."
Ron felt ghastly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the apology intended for everyone in the room. "I
shouldn't have tested myself so close to sunrise."
"What does firebrand mean?" Harry asked, stroking the back of Ron's fingers until he saw Ron wince
at the contact. "I saw you'd written it down."
"I don't know," Ron said miserably. "But I hate it. I'd thought maybe it was a potions ingredient,
but my reaction's way skewed for that, Snape notwithstanding."
"Perhaps your Maker called you that," Martin suggested gently, voicing Ron's suppressed fear. "We
almost never make others that aren't done so out of deep affection or love. Your hair colour and
personality are rather vivid."
"I don't want to talk about it right now." Ron was vehement. "Dad, thanks for being here. I can
only guess how upset Mum is if she wasn't willing to come."
Arthur nodded, a pained expression on his lightly-lined face. "She's a strong woman, you know
that. She's angry because she can't stand the thought of you being so foolhardy, and she doesn't
want to lose any more sons any time soon."
Ron's voice was a whisper. "It was an accident. I cast an Unforgivable and it took everything out
of me."
Harry raised his eyebrows as Ron felt the nudging at his thoughts. He widened the mesh around his
mind, or that's how he visualised it. "I want to talk to you about that later," Harry's
voice sounded in his head.
"Promise. I'm famished, though," Ron communicated. The thirst had bloomed within his
consciousness, an insistent throb beating in time with his heartbeat.
Martin looked thoughtfully at him, before turning to face Arthur. "Mr. Weasley, it has been a
pleasure. Perhaps I will visit you at your department, though I well understand that my kind is
less than welcome in your hidden world."
Arthur nodded ruefully. "I'd not given vampires much thought, except in the negative, until this
happened to Ron. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were able to rescue him." He paused,
obviously waiting for Martin to make his farewells.
"Dear Arthur, I'd like to have some time alone with Ronald, and his Harry," he said, his voice
suffused with sincerity. "I still have much to explain, some of it being of a private nature." He
peered intently at Harry as he continued. "For reasons I don't comprehend, Ronald was abandoned by
his Maker. I would like to take him as my fledgling and guide him in his first years. Would you
mind leaving us for now?" he asked Arthur, having returned his attentions to the older man. "If
they give their consent?"
Ron had the distinct feeling that Martin had been asking Harry for his permission to serve as
mentor, and was profoundly touched by the gesture. He glanced at Harry and saw respect in his
expression, glad that Harry felt similar recognition in the unasked question.
"Oh. Yes, of course," Arthur said, slightly flustered. He put on an olive and aubergine striped
knitted cap and his traveling robes before approaching Ron. "Learn all that you can," he exhorted.
"I don't mind getting white hairs, but I'd rather not get them from more experiences like this."
"I believe we're with someone we can trust, Arthur," Harry said confidently, instinctively about
to take Ron's hand before Ron made a warning noise.
Arthur appeared to be pulling from a reserve of inner strength as he surveyed the room. Ron knew
that his dad could face anything after what had happened in his life and that of his family.
Between finally accepting that Ron favoured men, then becoming bound to Harry, coming to terms
with him being changed into a vampire and now this, however, he was sure that his beleaguered
father could use a hefty dose of reassurance.
"I will, dad. You can tell Mum, too."
Arthur nodded. "Please teach him well," he said to Martin. "I'm afraid our kind… we…
have done him a gross disservice."
Martin regarded him solemnly. "I shall."
The door closed softly behind Arthur.
"How damaged is he?" Harry demanded. "I cast an auralic, and his magic's only slightly dampened,
but there's more to him now than just his magic."
"His wounds— your wounds," Martin clarified, standing up and coming over to the bed to look
directly at Ron, "are not severe. I doubt you will be as fortunate next time."
"There won't be a next time," Ron vowed. "It really was an accident."
Martin and Harry both looked skeptical.
"Well, okay. I got a little cocky, and I've paid the price."
There was a weighty silence. "You're so very young, and you can grow to be a vampire of marvelous
strength and skill," Martin said finally. "But you must learn to curb your impetuosity. For now, I
wish to engage in a ritual with a dual purpose. I know that your thirst is nearly unbearable, made
worse by your blood trying to heal your corporeal self."
"If I didn't know it would hurt so much to move, I'd've been on Harry's neck in a second,"
Ron confided. "I still might, regardless."
"Don't talk around me, please," Harry said, his brows furrowed. "I can tell when you're doing it,
but I can't hear the words."
"Sorry. Just told Martin that I'm pretty bloody desperate to feed, but he already knew that."
"You shall drink from me," Martin stated.
"What?" Harry exclaimed in consternation.
"Ronald shall drink from me," the vampire repeated. "My blood is far older and more powerful. It
will allow him to recover from his injuries with far more speed."
"And I'm just supposed to sit and watch?" Harry was nearly beside himself in agitation.
"Harry," Ron said as soothingly as he could. "What's the matter?"
"This is twice!" he said emphatically, tensing his lips in displeasure. "Seamus yesterday, and now
Martin. I don't like the idea of you bonding like that with so many people."
Martin watched the interchange with a dispassionate air.
"Harry, you can't be jealous," Ron pleaded. "It's not the same when it's not you. But I have to
feed. Every day. That stuff from the Ministry is atrocious. I don't even know that it would do
anything but barely keep me alive, it's so unlike real blood."
"Seamus, then," Harry said, glowering. "What was it like? Did he taste like me?"
"Fuck, Harry, this isn't fair! I didn't get off on it, on feeding, or on him. He volunteered his
blood and Merlin knows, I loved drinking it. It would be the same if it were Fred, or McGonagall,
or Malfoy, or those bloody Muggles." Ron formed claws with his hands in frustration. "Don't know
about Remus, seeing as how he's a werewolf, but I suppose I could try and see if it'll make you be
less bloody paranoid."
"I wouldn't recommend feeding on a werewolf," Martin cautioned. He placed a hand on each of their
legs, though he'd kept his touch feather-light on the comforter above Ron's thigh. "Outside of
your world, most werewolves wouldn't let a vampire anywhere near them. While your world seems to
have very different inter-species conventions, my instinct is such that I must discourage you from
drinking from any kind of changeling or shape-shifter. Especially you, since you are already
unnecessarily complicated."
His professorial-toned voice managed to calm Ron and Harry down.
"Sorry, Harry. Blood's really just food," Ron apologised. "It's a deeper experience with
you because we're bound, but even then, I'm feeding, y'know?"
"I know."
Martin looked from Ron to Harry, having intuited their silent exchange. "May I speak?"
"Sure," Harry said, sitting up straighter. "Would you like to sit down?"
Martin nodded. Using his wand, Harry moved the vampire's chair over and he took a seat.
"Ronald was Made and abandoned, though that's not entirely the truth. He was returned to you,"
Martin said slowly, focused on Harry. A quizzical look flashed across his features. "Begging your
pardon, but — No, I'll come back to that." He resumed his prosaic speech while Harry and
Ron shared a quick 'what was that about?' glance.
"It is Ronald's good fortune that blood alternatives were provided to him in his first days. Many
fledglings are unnecessarily cruel in their initial killings, and I suspect the guilt would have
overcome him. I wish to guide Ronald in our ways, but in deference to your bond to him, I will ask
for your permission first."
Ron watched Harry's response in fascination. He wasn't sure that he'd ever felt so singularly
desired, which didn't make sense, as there were two individuals who wished to be joined to him,
albeit in very different ways.
"Do you vow never to harm him, and to protect him if he gets in danger?"
"I do."
"Will you let me join you?"
Martin appeared to be taken aback by the question. "Why would you wish it? You're not one of us."
Harry clenched his teeth before Ron saw him will his jaw to relax. "That's just it. Ron and I have
gone through everything together. This is the first thing since I was eleven that I haven't been
able to share."
"You killed Voldemort on your own," Ron reminded him, though he was stunned at the level of
Harry's distress. "And you nearly died of bloodcurdle. I couldn't share either of those with you."
"But you would've done everything in your power to do so. Don't tell me you've forgotten that you
had to be immobilised when you thought I was going to be part of some great sacrifice."
"It wasn't right!" Ron said, his anger about that situation only too ready to be reawakened.
"Harry. The scar on your forehead. It has a profound meaning, does it not?" Martin interjected
into the fray.
"Yes. I'll tell you about it some other time. It doesn't do anything now, but it used to connect
me to a really powerful Dark wizard." Harry plainly didn't wish to be sidetracked from his line of
thought. "I don't want you to make Ron into a killer."
"I am a killer."
"We were in a fucking war, Ron!" Harry yelled, leaning in. "You were supposed to kill people."
"You don't have to remind me!"
The torches on the far wall blazed toward the ceiling and a decorative glass box on a bookcase
exploded in a rainbow of shards. With preternatural speed, Martin placed his hands on Harry and
Ron's shoulders, each held in a vice-like grip.
"Silence," he hissed.
Ron was in so much pain at the contact that he passed out for a moment. When he came to, Harry was
still red-faced and glaring at Martin, whose expression bore none of the rage that had erupted so
suddenly.
"If ever I have to say this to you again, you will rue the day," Martin said placidly to Harry,
though his words could not have been more dire. "My interest in Ronald is that he learn to survive
and thrive as a vampire. I am not trying to wrest control of him from you or anyone else. If you
feel you will be mortally devastated if you don't take part in this experience, you may. You must
accept, as Ronald has, that his nature has changed. He is an immortal. To survive, he must drink
blood, and it is only because of his culture that he does not kill when he feeds. But undoubtedly
there will come a time when he will, and that guilt will subside to the point of nothingness over
time. If you interfere in that natural process you will drive him to insanity or worse, and he
will seek out the refuge of the fire millennia before he should do so. Am I understood?"
Still seething, Harry jerked his head in a facsimile of a nod.
"Good. Ronald, you should feed, but you must exert your will to come to me."
Ron knew he was incapable. His shoulder throbbed where Martin's fingers had clamped down, and the
rush of wild, anger-driven magic made him feel pathetically weak.
"Come to me," the vampire commanded, his voice a symphony of warmth and love.
Ron focused on the voice, on Martin's encouraging eyes, and his desperate, needy thirst. His body
screamed at the tortuous distance up to Martin's milky neck, but the promise of blood forced him
up. He draped himself over Martin's much smaller frame, tuning out the bruising hurt where his
skin touched the wool of Martin's jumper.
"Drink."
Ron's teeth slid past the taut skin. When the first stream caressed his tongue, Ron gasped without
removing his lips. The blood was molten light, heady and unbearably vibrant. Outside of the
tumultuous riot of rich liquid, so generously given to him, Ron and Time ceased to exist. Each
swallow was a chant of gratitude, of supplication, and rapture. He was Spring, coaxing the sap
from this tree.
With a shudder, he jerked back. "I've had too much!" he yelped, awkwardly running the back of his
unnaturally brown skin across his lips, licking at the residual blood.
Hands held his jaw. Strong fingers, like those of the statues that had transfixed Harry and him
when they went to the vast British Muggle museum in London, kept Ron from moving his head. The
bottomless sky captured in two orbs regarded him. Ron would be buried there, he just knew it.
"You aren't truly mine, fledgling."
Ron couldn't breathe, much less blink.
"You are now marked as mine, however. And I would kill for you. It is necessary that you know
that."
The air rushed into Ron's lungs. The pain from his moments in the sun had subsided to the faintest
hum, and he felt indomitable. He felt rather than heard Martin's low laugh.
"You're all too fallible, child. Go, beloved. You must deal with your Harry. He may be powerful
in your other world, but in this, he is more lost than a mortal in a maze."
Perplexed, Ron looked at the bed, only then noticing that Harry was gone.
"Oh, fuck," Ron thought, grinding the pads of this thumbs against his eyelids.
geoviki, I'm reminded of why I've never before posted a WIP. Too late now.My apologies for the formatting; I cut and pasted this in from BBEdit so I didn't have to do the italics and HTML whatnot three different places.
4:14.
The colours of the numbers on the clock shifted and morphed, but refused to change any faster than
conventional passing seconds would allow. Ron sighed. His mind wandered as he doodled on the
newspaper in front of him, having finished the crossword with ease. Harry hadn't been able to stay
awake, though he had expressed his determination to adapt to Ron's nocturnal timeframe. They
hadn't spoken about Harry's forbidden, tragically ludicrous wish that had accidentally surfaced
after their night at the Golden Monkey. To Ron's mind, there was no point in contemplating it;
such a concept was inconceivable. That he had become the creature he was was one thing; to
voluntarily Change Harry… something lowered far inside Ron's being, a primal element that
knew innately to do so would be fantastically wrong.
4:16.
He looked down at the page, startled when he realised he was decorating a word he'd written.
Firebrand. It didn't mean anything to him, wasn't a word he associated with anything, or
anyone. Yet it made him angry, somehow. Ron searched his mind for the meaning, wondering if it was
a potions ingredient he'd had to remember for some long-forgotten exam. No, there was something
about the word that made him nauseous, he was so angry. Ron's normal mercurial temperament had
actually become relatively placid since his conversation with Martin. Having much, though
certainly not all, about his situation explained to him enabled Ron to feel less manipulated, more
in control. That was a welcome sensation, one he could sense reflected back to him as Harry's
contentedness rose, seeing that Ron felt less tormented.
"Firebrand," he said softly, marveling at how two syllables could make him furious. "This is
bollocks," he seethed, deciding on a whim that now was the perfect moment to fully test his
magical strength. Harry had offered to be his duelling partner, but that'd seemed like a recipe
for rampant disaster, no matter Harry's own powers. Ron strode to their fireplace, casting a
Silencio on the walls first so as not to wake Harry.
As soon as the flames appeared, he stuck in his face. "Seamus!" he hissed, trusting that his
friend would understand why Ron needed to use the Manor grounds at this hour of the morning.
"Seamus! It's Ron!"
"Do you know what fucking time it is?" Seamus' sleep-gravelly brogue held no malice.
"Yeah. Sorry to wake you." Ron could see Seamus squatting at his fireplace, rubbing his eyes, his
hair rivaling Harry's in its state of chaos.
"Something wrong?"
"No. Well, yes, sort of. Look, can I come over and use the grounds until sunrise? Harry's asleep,
and I'm about to go out of my fucking skull. I've not really tested my magic since becoming a
vampire, and our attic isn't really the place for me to be casting some of the nastier spells I
think I should."
Though he yawned, Seamus looked sympathetic. "Sure. I'm only keyed to a few of the wards, though.
Draco's quite fond of me, but he's not stupid. He's as cautious as I am. You don't need that much
space, do you?"
"Don't reckon. Not the forest or anything."
Seamus absently scratched at his scalp through his tousled hair. "Let's you Apparate outside of
the broomshed. You know the coordinates?"
"Yes. Hey— thanks. I owe you."
Seamus smiled sleepily. "Bollocks. We're mates. Give me a couple of minutes to tell Draco what's
going on. He's up faster than a whipcrack if any of the wards even flicker."
"I need to leave Harry a note, too."
Ron backed away from the fire and extinguished it. In the kitchen he rummaged through a drawer to
find a left over sparkler, a Wheezes' product of surprising practicality. Walking quietly into
their bedroom, he wrote a short message, scanning it as the shimmering aqua letters hung in the
air, placed so it would be the first thing Harry saw when he awoke. Hopefully the message would be
moot.
- Gone to the Manor — was a bit stir crazy. Testing magic. Back before
sunrise.
He pulled on a light but warm tracksuit top, exited their flat more softly than he had been able
to as a mortal, and stood looking at the moon. Ron contemplated the light of the waxing orb, far
off in the night sky. He was stalling, but for good reason; he'd Apparated into blocked wards
before and the feeling of being jolted back was most unpleasant. After a few more minutes went by,
he Apparated to the Manor grounds.
Seamus was there, hands shoved into the pockets of a thick bathrobe. "Morning."
"Not nearly," Ron said apologetically. "Thanks, really."
"What's got you so riled up?"
Ron fidgeted with his belt, weighing whether or not he wanted to discuss his irrational word
hatred with Seamus. "Something stupid, as usual."
"Look Ron, I've been told more than once that I'm not the most sensitive bloke. Even I can
appreciate just how fucked up your life's become. You're being pretty hard on yourself."
A grateful smile meandered to Ron's lips. "Thanks, Seamus. That means a lot."
Seamus grinned in return. "Hey, since it's just the two of us, and I've no shame in asking
anything, well, d'you want to drink from me? It's an experience I'd not have otherwise, without
dying, I mean."
Ron barely suppressed a groan, but his vampire instincts couldn't have been more pleased with the
prospect. "Nothing against you," he heard himself saying as Seamus' expressive face fell, "but
it's a personal thing. Harry doesn't want to share."
Seamus looked affronted. "Didn't know he was a perv," he said, picking at a bit of skin on his
thumb.
"I said that wrong," Ron said in Harry's defense. "It's sort of intimate. In an erotic way."
"Oh, go on then!" Seamus' eyes gleamed playfully. "Who'd know? You're a Healer, or were— you can
cover the marks. You'll be in for the day when Harry gets up. Besides, you look atrocious." He put
a friendly hand on Ron's arm. "'S'truth. I don't mean to butt in, but if blood would calm you down
a bit, make you feel better, I'm just offering. I promise I won't go all gooey-eyed on you."
It had been hours since Ron had fed. Martin's admonition to accept whole-heartedly that he was a
vampire or else he'd go mad chased away any fragmented guilt.
"Okay," Ron said hungrily, allowing his senses to smell the blood as it pulsed under Seamus' skin.
Shock flickered in Seamus' expression at the speed at which Ron pulled him close, enfolding Seamus
in a one-armed embrace as he opened the collar of the bathrobe with his other hand.
"You know how much you can take without a bloke passing out, right?" Seamus said in a quavering
voice.
"Yes. I won't hurt or drain you," Ron promised in a low voice against Seamus' lightly freckled
throat. He gripped him more tightly when Seamus trembled against him. "You smell delicious."
His fangs had moved down to their full length as the scent of heated skin flooded his nostrils.
Ron tenderly licked above Seamus' artery, tracing its path on his skin before sinking in his teeth
with a heady sigh.
Blood, blood, blood. Ron was more refined at the process now; he knew to listen to the
heart as it pumped and to drink slowly, drawing the hot, succulent liquid in at languorous speed.
He closed his eyes as he feasted, marveling at its peppery quality as the blood coursed over his
tongue. Seamus moaned softly, arms wrapped around Ron for support. It seemed perfectly natural
that Seamus grew hard, his covered erection pressing against Ron's thigh. To Ron the experience
wasn't sexual, though it was most certainly carnal. He drank greedily until he began to feel
Seamus slacken. He pulled back, suckling at the wounds until they closed.
Seamus dropped his head to Ron's shoulder, breathing deep, shuddering breaths. With the fresh
blood singing in his veins, Ron felt utterly at peace, unselfconscious and invigorated. He rubbed
at Seamus' lower back until the Irishman stood up, an unguarded expression on his face unlike Ron
had ever seen on his friend.
"Well, ride me rotten," he sighed blissfully, his hazel gaze settling up on Ron's visage. "You
look like a kneazle that's dined on a tasty swallow." He paused, adjusting his bathrobe over his
groin. "Better?"
"You can't imagine," Ron said shaking his head, enjoying the expansive tones to his voice that
appeared when he was flush with blood. "I feel tremendous. Why I continue to find that surprising
is ridiculous. I'm a vampire."
"The teeth do give you away," Seamus said with a chuckle before trying to stifle a yawn.
"Here— do you still want to do your magic stuff or do you want to just go home?"
"No, this is the perfect time to test my abilities, when I'm at full strength."
Seamus nodded. "Follow me, then. Draco approved of unwarding this part that we've used as a
Quidditch pitch on occasion."
They walked together across the crunchy, frost-kissed grass, the moon hanging silently above them.
Ron perceived the wards as they approached and was rather stunned at their complexity and density.
"Draco does know the War's over, right?"
Seamus snorted. "My dragon's a bit paranoid. Can't say's I blame him. Just sec." He withdrew his
wand, incanted several chained spells and placed his hand on the shimmering barrier. Seconds later
it vanished.
"Thanks again, Seamus." Ron felt expansive and affectionate. "I'll check with Harry and have you
two over."
"Harry offered that over a week ago, but I've yet to see an invitation," Seamus said in mock hurt.
"Do your stuff and get home. I don't want to be having to explain why there's a crispy vampire out
on the lawn."
"Piss off," Ron joked. After Seamus Disapparated, he walked purposefully toward the middle of the
wide space before deciding to test his vampiric limits while his body was newly suffused with
blood. With ease he discovered he could levitate just above the ground, his shadow hovering at his
heels. He laughed aloud, his body humming with power and control. He visualised jumping upward and
let out a whoop of pleasure as he rocketed from the ground, only to return gracefully to earth
like a falling snowflake. Ron did that a few times before deciding to move on. Trying to be
methodical, he ran through basic spells before moving on to the more advanced. Buoyed by his
abilities, he became a dervish, whirling as he cast hexes and curses, finding near-maniacal
delight as the colours shot from his wand. A couple of defenseless trees bore the brunt of his
enthusiasm, as well as a few sacrificial birds and unlucky hares. He could feel the pull of
morning but fought it, trusting in his heightened power and wanting to know how close to dawn he
could stay awake.
The awful word surged back into his mind. With a snarl, he imagined the faceless presence of the
vampire who had made him, and yelled, "Avada Kedavra!," pointing at a hapless deer that had
picked an inopportune moment to appear in the distance. The energy drained out of him and he
collapsed into a panting heap, sweat pouring off of him, his clothes sticking to him like a clammy
second skin. The chirping of a few brave songbirds fell on his ears as, to Ron's horror, he
realised the sun was about to rise.
"Fuck," he said through a sob, seeing just how far he was from the line of trees. He knew if he
tried to Apparate in this condition he'd splinch himself. "Merlin, bollocks, Ron you fucking
imbecile," he moaned, crawling on spent, trembling arms and legs a few paces before collapsing.
His skin prickled, his preternatural awareness screaming at him to seek cover, to hide in the
dirt, but his muscles simply couldn't comply.
"MARTIN!" he screamed telepathically, yelling for the vampire again and again as he felt the
deadly encroaching rays of the sun's first light. He shielded his eyes against the impending
onslaught, trying to round in a tight ball as unconsciousness claimed him.
Ron awoke sluggishly to the scent of clean but unfamiliar sheets. He ached all over. For a few
passing, discombobulated moments, he wondered if he'd been knocked off his broom in a Quidditch
match. There was a warm body behind him. Assuming it was Harry, he attempted to snuggle up to him.
"Ow," he moaned as his skin rubbed against what was unbearably coarse cloth.
"Ron, I'm going to kill you," Harry said into the back of Ron's neck, the heated breath causing
Ron to gasp in pain and open his eyes.
"I wouldn't move much, were I you."
"Martin!" Despite the warning, Ron tried to sit up before lowering gingerly back on the bed.
"Yes, Ronald. You Summoned me. Do you remember?"
Ron probed his mind, thinking about the crossword puzzle, his anger, Seamus. Hastily he erected a
filter on his thoughts, mindful of Harry and his own transgression the night before.
"Too late," Harry said, but his voice was compassionate. Ron turned his head to look at him,
struck by the worry and relief mingled in Harry's expression. "Seamus was babbling his confession
so quickly I could barely understand him. He thinks this is all his fault. When you're able,
you'll need to go and convince him that it wasn't his blood that made you act like a suicidal
maniac."
"Ron, how do you feel?" Arthur's voice was unexpected. Ron swiveled toward the sound and saw his
father sitting next to Martin, the two sharing a pot of tea.
"Like a set of Bludgers were set on me."
Arthur nodded while Martin looked confused.
"Where am I?"
"The Manor, in a Transfigured vault." Harry disentangled himself and moved to sit cross-legged on
the bedcovering, pulling his jumper closely around him.
"Oh. Right. Fuck," Ron groaned as his memories of his spell-casting and helpless last moments on
the grass came flooding to him. Feeling stupid and sheepish, Ron sent his thoughts directly to the
other vampire. "Guess you got to me in time," he said silently, looking at Martin's wise,
cerulean eyes.
"I did," he replied aloud. "Ronald, your father and I have been getting to know one another, but I
hadn't told him that we can communicate without spoken words. Out of courtesy, I'd suggest that we
use conventional speech."
"Okay." Ron shifted again. Through the warm waves of pain, he adjusted his pillows so he was
partially upright. It was then he noticed his hands and he stared. The skin on the back was a deep
molasses colour, stopping at the wrist. "Merlin," he breathed, turning them to regard the
ghostly-pale palms.
"Martin assured us that you'll recover, though it'll take some time," Arthur said, looking and
sounding relieved.
"Your Summons gave me just enough time to find you, draw out Mr. Finnigan from this estate,
convince him I wasn't here to harm him or you, and alert him to your quickly impending death if
you weren't moved. Having lived several centuries, I'm able to withstand nearness to dawn more
closely than you. Consequently I was able to retreat to a sanctuary provided by Mr. Malfoy,"
Martin explained after a sip of tea.
"The sun had just come up otherwise Martin would've hauled you in himself. Seamus didn't trust his
dual-Apparating skills, so he had to get Malfoy," Harry continued as Ron sat, his gaze absorbed by
his bronze hands. "You'd curled up with your arms over your head. Malfoy threw his robes over you
before Apparating here, but the sun had already burned you for a minute or two. Thankfully only
your hands were directly exposed."
"That's all the time it took to do this?" Ron asked in a hushed voice.
"You cannot underestimate the sun, fledgling," Martin responded sternly. "You may never lay eyes
on her again. She will destroy you."
Ron felt ghastly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the apology intended for everyone in the room. "I
shouldn't have tested myself so close to sunrise."
"What does firebrand mean?" Harry asked, stroking the back of Ron's fingers until he saw Ron wince
at the contact. "I saw you'd written it down."
"I don't know," Ron said miserably. "But I hate it. I'd thought maybe it was a potions ingredient,
but my reaction's way skewed for that, Snape notwithstanding."
"Perhaps your Maker called you that," Martin suggested gently, voicing Ron's suppressed fear. "We
almost never make others that aren't done so out of deep affection or love. Your hair colour and
personality are rather vivid."
"I don't want to talk about it right now." Ron was vehement. "Dad, thanks for being here. I can
only guess how upset Mum is if she wasn't willing to come."
Arthur nodded, a pained expression on his lightly-lined face. "She's a strong woman, you know
that. She's angry because she can't stand the thought of you being so foolhardy, and she doesn't
want to lose any more sons any time soon."
Ron's voice was a whisper. "It was an accident. I cast an Unforgivable and it took everything out
of me."
Harry raised his eyebrows as Ron felt the nudging at his thoughts. He widened the mesh around his
mind, or that's how he visualised it. "I want to talk to you about that later," Harry's
voice sounded in his head.
"Promise. I'm famished, though," Ron communicated. The thirst had bloomed within his
consciousness, an insistent throb beating in time with his heartbeat.
Martin looked thoughtfully at him, before turning to face Arthur. "Mr. Weasley, it has been a
pleasure. Perhaps I will visit you at your department, though I well understand that my kind is
less than welcome in your hidden world."
Arthur nodded ruefully. "I'd not given vampires much thought, except in the negative, until this
happened to Ron. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were able to rescue him." He paused,
obviously waiting for Martin to make his farewells.
"Dear Arthur, I'd like to have some time alone with Ronald, and his Harry," he said, his voice
suffused with sincerity. "I still have much to explain, some of it being of a private nature." He
peered intently at Harry as he continued. "For reasons I don't comprehend, Ronald was abandoned by
his Maker. I would like to take him as my fledgling and guide him in his first years. Would you
mind leaving us for now?" he asked Arthur, having returned his attentions to the older man. "If
they give their consent?"
Ron had the distinct feeling that Martin had been asking Harry for his permission to serve as
mentor, and was profoundly touched by the gesture. He glanced at Harry and saw respect in his
expression, glad that Harry felt similar recognition in the unasked question.
"Oh. Yes, of course," Arthur said, slightly flustered. He put on an olive and aubergine striped
knitted cap and his traveling robes before approaching Ron. "Learn all that you can," he exhorted.
"I don't mind getting white hairs, but I'd rather not get them from more experiences like this."
"I believe we're with someone we can trust, Arthur," Harry said confidently, instinctively about
to take Ron's hand before Ron made a warning noise.
Arthur appeared to be pulling from a reserve of inner strength as he surveyed the room. Ron knew
that his dad could face anything after what had happened in his life and that of his family.
Between finally accepting that Ron favoured men, then becoming bound to Harry, coming to terms
with him being changed into a vampire and now this, however, he was sure that his beleaguered
father could use a hefty dose of reassurance.
"I will, dad. You can tell Mum, too."
Arthur nodded. "Please teach him well," he said to Martin. "I'm afraid our kind… we…
have done him a gross disservice."
Martin regarded him solemnly. "I shall."
The door closed softly behind Arthur.
"How damaged is he?" Harry demanded. "I cast an auralic, and his magic's only slightly dampened,
but there's more to him now than just his magic."
"His wounds— your wounds," Martin clarified, standing up and coming over to the bed to look
directly at Ron, "are not severe. I doubt you will be as fortunate next time."
"There won't be a next time," Ron vowed. "It really was an accident."
Martin and Harry both looked skeptical.
"Well, okay. I got a little cocky, and I've paid the price."
There was a weighty silence. "You're so very young, and you can grow to be a vampire of marvelous
strength and skill," Martin said finally. "But you must learn to curb your impetuosity. For now, I
wish to engage in a ritual with a dual purpose. I know that your thirst is nearly unbearable, made
worse by your blood trying to heal your corporeal self."
"If I didn't know it would hurt so much to move, I'd've been on Harry's neck in a second,"
Ron confided. "I still might, regardless."
"Don't talk around me, please," Harry said, his brows furrowed. "I can tell when you're doing it,
but I can't hear the words."
"Sorry. Just told Martin that I'm pretty bloody desperate to feed, but he already knew that."
"You shall drink from me," Martin stated.
"What?" Harry exclaimed in consternation.
"Ronald shall drink from me," the vampire repeated. "My blood is far older and more powerful. It
will allow him to recover from his injuries with far more speed."
"And I'm just supposed to sit and watch?" Harry was nearly beside himself in agitation.
"Harry," Ron said as soothingly as he could. "What's the matter?"
"This is twice!" he said emphatically, tensing his lips in displeasure. "Seamus yesterday, and now
Martin. I don't like the idea of you bonding like that with so many people."
Martin watched the interchange with a dispassionate air.
"Harry, you can't be jealous," Ron pleaded. "It's not the same when it's not you. But I have to
feed. Every day. That stuff from the Ministry is atrocious. I don't even know that it would do
anything but barely keep me alive, it's so unlike real blood."
"Seamus, then," Harry said, glowering. "What was it like? Did he taste like me?"
"Fuck, Harry, this isn't fair! I didn't get off on it, on feeding, or on him. He volunteered his
blood and Merlin knows, I loved drinking it. It would be the same if it were Fred, or McGonagall,
or Malfoy, or those bloody Muggles." Ron formed claws with his hands in frustration. "Don't know
about Remus, seeing as how he's a werewolf, but I suppose I could try and see if it'll make you be
less bloody paranoid."
"I wouldn't recommend feeding on a werewolf," Martin cautioned. He placed a hand on each of their
legs, though he'd kept his touch feather-light on the comforter above Ron's thigh. "Outside of
your world, most werewolves wouldn't let a vampire anywhere near them. While your world seems to
have very different inter-species conventions, my instinct is such that I must discourage you from
drinking from any kind of changeling or shape-shifter. Especially you, since you are already
unnecessarily complicated."
His professorial-toned voice managed to calm Ron and Harry down.
"Sorry, Harry. Blood's really just food," Ron apologised. "It's a deeper experience with
you because we're bound, but even then, I'm feeding, y'know?"
"I know."
Martin looked from Ron to Harry, having intuited their silent exchange. "May I speak?"
"Sure," Harry said, sitting up straighter. "Would you like to sit down?"
Martin nodded. Using his wand, Harry moved the vampire's chair over and he took a seat.
"Ronald was Made and abandoned, though that's not entirely the truth. He was returned to you,"
Martin said slowly, focused on Harry. A quizzical look flashed across his features. "Begging your
pardon, but — No, I'll come back to that." He resumed his prosaic speech while Harry and
Ron shared a quick 'what was that about?' glance.
"It is Ronald's good fortune that blood alternatives were provided to him in his first days. Many
fledglings are unnecessarily cruel in their initial killings, and I suspect the guilt would have
overcome him. I wish to guide Ronald in our ways, but in deference to your bond to him, I will ask
for your permission first."
Ron watched Harry's response in fascination. He wasn't sure that he'd ever felt so singularly
desired, which didn't make sense, as there were two individuals who wished to be joined to him,
albeit in very different ways.
"Do you vow never to harm him, and to protect him if he gets in danger?"
"I do."
"Will you let me join you?"
Martin appeared to be taken aback by the question. "Why would you wish it? You're not one of us."
Harry clenched his teeth before Ron saw him will his jaw to relax. "That's just it. Ron and I have
gone through everything together. This is the first thing since I was eleven that I haven't been
able to share."
"You killed Voldemort on your own," Ron reminded him, though he was stunned at the level of
Harry's distress. "And you nearly died of bloodcurdle. I couldn't share either of those with you."
"But you would've done everything in your power to do so. Don't tell me you've forgotten that you
had to be immobilised when you thought I was going to be part of some great sacrifice."
"It wasn't right!" Ron said, his anger about that situation only too ready to be reawakened.
"Harry. The scar on your forehead. It has a profound meaning, does it not?" Martin interjected
into the fray.
"Yes. I'll tell you about it some other time. It doesn't do anything now, but it used to connect
me to a really powerful Dark wizard." Harry plainly didn't wish to be sidetracked from his line of
thought. "I don't want you to make Ron into a killer."
"I am a killer."
"We were in a fucking war, Ron!" Harry yelled, leaning in. "You were supposed to kill people."
"You don't have to remind me!"
The torches on the far wall blazed toward the ceiling and a decorative glass box on a bookcase
exploded in a rainbow of shards. With preternatural speed, Martin placed his hands on Harry and
Ron's shoulders, each held in a vice-like grip.
"Silence," he hissed.
Ron was in so much pain at the contact that he passed out for a moment. When he came to, Harry was
still red-faced and glaring at Martin, whose expression bore none of the rage that had erupted so
suddenly.
"If ever I have to say this to you again, you will rue the day," Martin said placidly to Harry,
though his words could not have been more dire. "My interest in Ronald is that he learn to survive
and thrive as a vampire. I am not trying to wrest control of him from you or anyone else. If you
feel you will be mortally devastated if you don't take part in this experience, you may. You must
accept, as Ronald has, that his nature has changed. He is an immortal. To survive, he must drink
blood, and it is only because of his culture that he does not kill when he feeds. But undoubtedly
there will come a time when he will, and that guilt will subside to the point of nothingness over
time. If you interfere in that natural process you will drive him to insanity or worse, and he
will seek out the refuge of the fire millennia before he should do so. Am I understood?"
Still seething, Harry jerked his head in a facsimile of a nod.
"Good. Ronald, you should feed, but you must exert your will to come to me."
Ron knew he was incapable. His shoulder throbbed where Martin's fingers had clamped down, and the
rush of wild, anger-driven magic made him feel pathetically weak.
"Come to me," the vampire commanded, his voice a symphony of warmth and love.
Ron focused on the voice, on Martin's encouraging eyes, and his desperate, needy thirst. His body
screamed at the tortuous distance up to Martin's milky neck, but the promise of blood forced him
up. He draped himself over Martin's much smaller frame, tuning out the bruising hurt where his
skin touched the wool of Martin's jumper.
"Drink."
Ron's teeth slid past the taut skin. When the first stream caressed his tongue, Ron gasped without
removing his lips. The blood was molten light, heady and unbearably vibrant. Outside of the
tumultuous riot of rich liquid, so generously given to him, Ron and Time ceased to exist. Each
swallow was a chant of gratitude, of supplication, and rapture. He was Spring, coaxing the sap
from this tree.
With a shudder, he jerked back. "I've had too much!" he yelped, awkwardly running the back of his
unnaturally brown skin across his lips, licking at the residual blood.
Hands held his jaw. Strong fingers, like those of the statues that had transfixed Harry and him
when they went to the vast British Muggle museum in London, kept Ron from moving his head. The
bottomless sky captured in two orbs regarded him. Ron would be buried there, he just knew it.
"You aren't truly mine, fledgling."
Ron couldn't breathe, much less blink.
"You are now marked as mine, however. And I would kill for you. It is necessary that you know
that."
The air rushed into Ron's lungs. The pain from his moments in the sun had subsided to the faintest
hum, and he felt indomitable. He felt rather than heard Martin's low laugh.
"You're all too fallible, child. Go, beloved. You must deal with your Harry. He may be powerful
in your other world, but in this, he is more lost than a mortal in a maze."
Perplexed, Ron looked at the bed, only then noticing that Harry was gone.
"Oh, fuck," Ron thought, grinding the pads of this thumbs against his eyelids.