Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

MISUNDERSTANDINGS

Let me talk to him, Samsara whispered in Draco's ear. 

But it wasn't a suggestion. There was a rising in Draco's chest that he was unable to push back down, like a surge of flames clawing at his insides. "Harry," he attempted, "get the knife."

"What?" Harry asked sadly, hoping Draco would take it back.

"Samsara is trying to front," Draco said with urgency, gripped by fear. In times like this, there was only one place his mind went: Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.

He made sure the Floo was unlocked and available as a potential escape route, if necessary. Though Samsara could peer into the Slytherin's mind and read his thoughts, Draco was unable to do the same with his. "I don't know what he's planning. Or what he'll try to do," he explained frantically. "Promise me that you won't hesitate. . ."

Harry couldn't promise such a thing. "I can just restrain him, can't I?"

"Please," Draco urged. "I can't bear to think of him hurting you, through me."

Harry backed away from Draco, slowly, as if every step meant one closer to his demise. He picked up the dagger, preparing himself for what was to come. "I . . . promise," Harry strained.

Draco let go of the reins and transformed before Harry's eyes; his ears pinched into a point; his canines grew sharp, and his gray eyes swirled into a deep shade of scarlet.

Samsara's voice was rough like a rumbling thunderstorm, "Missed me?"

"Not bloody likely," Harry spat, "What do you want?"

Samsara languidly raised his hands in surrender, gesturing to the dagger in Harry's grasp, "I'm not here to fight you, Harry. I simply want to clear up some. . ." His eyes narrowed, "misunderstandings."

"Like?" Harry glared, not letting him usurp the upper hand.

"I get the feeling you think I'm evil," Samsara drawled gravelly, "I assure you that I am not."

"Easy for you to say."

Samsara didn't waver in his resolve, unshaken by Harry's belligerence, "I only go into feeding frenzies when I haven't consumed blood for a long time. That being said, it's been four days since Draco or I have fed on anything." Even as he smiled, his words were threatening, "He doesn't let it show, but we're both a little antsy."

Harry's cheeks went warm, feeling stupid and inconsiderate. He had invited a halfling vampire into his home without a source of blood for him to feed on. In hindsight, that was certainly high up on the list of the most dangerous things he's ever done. Whether or not Draco would have accepted the offer, Harry should have at least had something to curb vampiric thirst on hand. 

Just then, the living room Floo illuminated with green flames, and a wizard with short ginger hair bounded out from the blaze. Samsara grabbed Harry by the wrist and raised his hand, halting Ron in midair.

"What did you do?" Harry growled, threatening Samsara with the silver dagger as he tried to pull away and rush to Ron's side, "let him go!"

"Relax," Samsara said calmly, momentarily tightening his grip on Harry's wrist. "I froze time around us so that we could finish talking."

Harry wanted to ask a million questions—He knew Draco could slow time, but could he freeze it too? Would Ron remember this strange encounter when everything returned to normal? How long would this state of limbo last?

Not wanting to speak to him for longer than he needed to, Harry only looked back at the vampire in furious astonishment, "What else is there to say?"

"You want him to bite you," Samsara surmised, "don't you?"