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The night was dark, so dark, and Draco was too hungry to think. He stumbled down an alleyway in London. He had just come from Knockturn—he had hoped to find someone his father had used to know and beg them for money, for food, for anything, but nobody wanted to help a former Death Eater.
He was in the Muggle part of London, and he imagined doing something to them. Anything. Hurting them. Begging them. Letting them fuck him. They were just Muggles.
He still had his magic. He still had a bit of hope. He could … steal some food. Yes. Of course. He could sneak his way into a dark town house, curl up in somebody’s cellar. No one would have to know.
For some damn reason, he hesitated. He didn’t want to do bad things. He didn’t want to hurt people—even if they were stupid Muggles. He thought of poor Professor Burbage and shuddered. He should have done something—anything—to save her, but he had been a coward.
Cowards didn’t deserve to live.
Draco almost stopped, he almost laid down on the dirty ground and gave up, but then he heard a noise.
Someone was following him. Someone had been following him for a while, but he hadn’t cared enough to turn around. Part of him had thought it was merely his imagination.
“Malfoy.”
Draco turned toward the sound. He only saw shadows. “Hello? Who’s there?”
Then Harry Potter stepped into the dull light of a pub window. Draco blinked, then blinked again.
“Potter?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice low.
There was something different about him. Darkness shrouded him.
“I—why were you following me?”
Potter stepped closer, his eyes almost glowing in the gloom. Draco stumbled back, but he couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. They were dark like a forest—and hypnotising.
“You should come with me.”
“W-where?” Draco was stuttering. He never stuttered.
“Back to my home.”
The dark tone of Potter’s voice made him shiver.
Draco pressed against the grimy wall. “What do you mean to do to me?”
“Nothing, Malfoy. I’m just trying to help you.”
Draco wanted to raise his chin and tell him to fuck off, but he had no other options available to him.
“Fine,” Draco muttered. “I’ll follow you home.”
*
Grimmauld Place was like a dark crypt. Cobwebs clung to the chimneypiece.
“Um,” Draco said.
Potter put on a few dusty lamps. He removed his long dark cloak and hung it up on the wall. Underneath he wore the blue trousers that Muggles favoured and a plain white t-shirt. He didn’t look so intimidating anymore.
Draco remained near the door, ready to bolt if Potter tried anything. He’s still your enemy.
“You look hungry,” Potter said.
“I am.” He couldn’t deny it.
“Come to the kitchen with me. I’ll make you something.” Potter strode to the stairs, but Draco didn’t move.
“Why are you doing this?” Draco said.
Potter turned toward him. His eyes glittered darkly. “Because you need help. It’s obvious.”
“Fuck off,” Draco growled.
Potter raised his eyebrows. “I’m lonely. I want company. Do you feel better now?”
Draco scoffed. “There’s no way you’re lonely.”
“Well, I am, whether you believe it or not. So that meal. Do you want it?”
“Fine.” Draco wanted to sound as if he didn’t care, but his empty stomach clenched painfully, causing him to catch his breath. He quickly coughed, hoping he masked the sound.
They trudged down to the kitchen, which was old and dark. Potter lit some candles and rummaged in his cabinets.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything,” Draco answered.
“There’s charms on these cabinets. I can make you anything you want.”
“What do you want?”
“I will not be eating,” Potter answered stiffly.
“Why not?”
Potter shrugged. “Not hungry. So. What do you want?”
“Steak tartare,” Draco answered snottily.
“Steak what? Nevermind. I’ll figure it out.”
Draco sat at the old table and watched Potter’s back move as he prepared the food. Potter had a nice back, the utter prick.
The scent of frying sausage hit Draco’s nose and he could barely focus on anything but his tremendous hunger. He hadn’t eaten a full meal in … five years? It was difficult to remember.
Draco wandered over to the hob, just wanting to be closer to the sizzling meat. “That’s not steak tartare,” he said.
“It’s bangers and mash.”
Draco’s stomach let out a loud growl. Potter laughed softly.
“You think it’s funny, do you? Me starving.”
“I don’t think it’s funny.”
“You brought me here just so you can laugh in my face. Well, piss off.” Instead of storming off, Draco remained at Potter’s side, staring at the food.
“Do you know how to make mash?”
“Of course.”
“This process will go a lot faster if you make it. I still need to cut up the onions and make the gravy.”
“Fine.” Draco tapped his wand to the cabinet, thinking of all the ingredients he would need for mash. When he opened the door, he found potatoes, milk, butter, salt and pepper waiting for him.
As he got to work on the mash, he felt Potter’s eyes on him. “What?” he snapped.
“Why were you roaming about Muggle London?”
“You know why,” Draco said savagely.
“Because you are homeless?”
“Your people took the Manor away from me.”
“They aren’t my people.”
“Oh, sure they are! You defeated the Dark Lord and suddenly the world decided that every single one of his supporters should rot.”
“The Manor is different, isn’t it? It was his headquarters during the war.”
“My family didn’t want it to be!”
“Your family still supported the Dark Lord. You took the Mark, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Draco hissed, now draining the boiled potatoes. “I did it to protect my mum.”
“You did it for the glory.”
“Don’t you dare talk as if you know me, Potter.”
Potter fell silent. He had just added the flour to the softened onions and sausage drippings. Draco glared at his profile. It was a very good profile with his strong nose and dark eyelashes. He still wore his stupid glasses. In the gloom of the kitchen, it was a bit difficult to make out, but he looked paler than Draco remembered.
“You don’t go out much, do you?”
Potter’s bright green gaze jumped to him. “Why do you say that?”
“You look as if you haven’t seen the sun in ages. Are you terminally ill?” Draco meant to insult Potter, but for some reason, Potter threw his head back and cackled. “What’s so funny?”
It took Potter a long moment to sober up. Still wheezing a bit, he said, “Not a damn thing is funny, Malfoy.”
“Then why were you laughing?”
“I suppose it was just the way you said it.”
“Loony bastard,” Draco muttered.
“I heard that.” For some stupid reason, Potter grinned at him.
When the food was ready, Potter served Draco and even poured him a glass of wine. At the table, Draco struggled not to wolf down his entire plate. He nearly moaned on his first bite.
“Is it good?”
“Yes,” Draco moaned.
Potter, not eating or drinking, just sat on the other side of the table and watched Draco devour his food.
“You’re a brilliant cook,” Draco said. His mood had soared.
Potter blinked in surprise. “Thank you, Malfoy.”
Nothing more was said as Draco cleared his plate. He eyed the leftovers on the hob, and Potter Summoned the pans to the table. Draco hastily scooped himself another serving.
“So, what is the real reason why I’m here?” Draco said.
“What?”
“How did you find me? And don’t tell me it was a coincidence.”
Potter looked at him for a long moment. “It’s true. I saw you several times before I decided to approach you.”
If Draco hadn’t been content with a full stomach, he might have pulled his wand on Potter. “I’ve been roaming about London for weeks, trying to find someone to help me. But I’m sure you already knew that since you were stalking me.”
“I wasn’t stalking you.”
“No? How kind.”
“You can stay here, Malfoy. You can stay here as long as you need.”
“Why?”
Potter shrugged. “Like I already said, I’m lonely.”
Draco eyed him for a long moment. “Do you want me to suck your cock? Is that what this is all about?”
“WHAT?”
“I will do it, you know. I’m desperate enough.”
Potter was sputtering. “I’m not—this isn’t—”
“I’ve already prepared myself for it. The problem is nobody in Knockturn would even speak to me, but I was only seeking out my father’s old friends. Next time, I will have to go to seedier depths.”
“Malfoy,” he growled.
“I don’t particularly want to suck your cock, mind you, but I’ll do it. I’ll do anything if it means—”
“Do you fancy men in that way?”
“In what way?”
Potter gulped thickly. His eyes had gone dark. He was staring at Draco's throat. “Do you enjoy shagging men?”
“Oh, sure,” Draco droned. “In fact, I have a preference for it.”
Potter lurched forward, but only for a second. With a soft cry, he toppled onto the floor. He jumped to his feet, expression wild.
Draco stared. “Are you—”
“I need to go to bed now,” Potter gasped. His chest heaved as he forced himself to walk backwards to the door.
Draco stood. “What is going on?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Stay or don’t stay, Malfoy. It’s your choice.” Then he bolted.
The house was quiet, so Draco heard Potter race through the parlour, then up another set of stairs. Distantly, he heard a door slam shut.
“What the fuck?” Draco said to the empty kitchen.
*
Draco didn’t leave. He was very stupid for staying, he knew this, but he didn’t want to sleep outside in the cold again. He wanted to sleep in a bed, even for one night.
He was intrigued by Potter. He couldn’t deny it. There was definitely something going on with him.
He’s probably cursed, Draco thought with a big yawn. Big deal. Everybody got cursed once in a while.
Draco took a few moments to clean up his dinner things. He put the very last sausage under a Stasis Charm and slipped it into his pocket.
Then he ventured upstairs. The house was creepy. He lit a single candle and had it bob ahead of him. The portraits scurried around him in the shadows. They were muttering to themselves.
In the parlour, he found the liquor trolley and grabbed himself a bottle of whisky. It was one of many in the trolley. Potter wouldn’t miss it.
Draco’s footsteps were loud on the old stairs. At the first landing, he spotted a few opened doors and ventured forward. Thankfully, the doors opened up to bedrooms. Most of them were dusty but there was one that was clean. The curtains on its window were pulled back, letting in milky moonlight.
Draco closed the door and locked it. He set the bottle of whisky on the bedside table, then stripped down to just his underpants. He took a few sips of the whisky, letting it linger in his mouth and burn his throat.
Draco lay back on the bed and groaned. The bed was deliciously soft. There were charms on it, he could tell. He was contemplating wanking when he drifted off.
Someone was knocking on the door. It wasn’t urgent, just insistent. Draco’s eyes fluttered open. He thought it was his mother, coming to wake him. Then his chest clenched. Did the Dark Lord want to see him for some reason?
His eyes snapped open. No, he wasn’t in the Manor—and the Dark Lord was dead. Gone. Forever.
Grimmauld Place. Potter. Right.
The knocking continued.
“Coming,” Draco said sleepily. He pushed himself from bed and padded over to the door. He opened it, still just in his underpants.
Potter loomed in the doorway. His shirt was torn open, revealing his pale but firm chest.
“Hello, Draco,” Potter purred.
“Um. Hello?”
Potter relaxed against the doorframe. He sucked his bottom lip and looked Draco up and down. “Fuck, you’re virtually starkers.”
Draco blinked several times. Potter sounded aroused. His voice utterly dripped with desire.
“What do you want, Potter?”
“Let me inside. I want to taste you.”
“What?”
“Come on, Draco. Don’t you want to play?” Potter’s eyes were so dark they looked black. There was something strange about his mouth, as if a Glamour Spell was wearing off.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Let me in,” Potter purred again. “I want—”
Draco slammed the door in his face. Potter had to stumble back so he wasn’t hit.
Draco Summoned his wand and waited. He expected Potter to burst through the barrier, but all he did was knock again.
Sighing, Draco opened the door again. “Yes?”
“Hello, Draco.” Potter grinned devilishly at him.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Let me inside and I will show you.”
“It’s your bloody house! You don’t need my permission to enter your own guest room!”
“Draco, Draco,” Potter whispered hotly. “Do you want me?” He dragged his palm over his chest, showing himself off.
“No! Now fuck off.” Draco slammed the door again and stumbled back to bed. He sat down and waited for Potter to knock again, but no other disturbance came.
Thoroughly annoyed, Draco crawled back under the duvet and tried to sleep. Outside, the sky began to turn purple with dawn.
Had Potter been drinking? Or was he truly cursed and his strange behaviour was a symptom?
Frowning, Draco fell back asleep. He would deal with all that nonsense in the morning.
*
When Draco woke up, it was just after noon and the house was still silent. Groaning, he shoved himself from bed and wandered down the hallway in search of a toilet.
The toilet was old-fashioned but it had a grubby shower, so Draco took the opportunity to strip down and have a wash. The soap was fossilised but it woke up beneath the spray of water, creating a fragrant lather.
When he was done, he set fire to his underpants and wandered naked back to the guest room. There was a wardrobe next to the bed. Inside were old dusty clothes but Draco found some salvageable underpants and trousers and was able to Transfigure a shirt that fit his slim shoulders.
Draco wandered down to the parlour, then the kitchen. On the kitchen table waited a note from Potter.
Malfoy, Potter wrote in his terrible script. I’m a bit of a night owl so I won’t be up until later. Do whatever you please in the house. The library is on the second level. It’s quite impressive. - HP
PS Sorry if I did anything weird last night.
Draco stared for a long moment at the note. Potter’s behaviour had been far from just weird.
For a moment, Draco let himself frown deeply as he pondered it, but then he shrugged and dropped the note back to the table. He had survived living under the same roof as the Dark Lord. He could handle whatever rubbish Potter dealt him.
His gaze landed on the cabinets and his stomach gave a loud growl. Right. He could make himself whatever he wanted.
At the cabinet he imagined his mum’s favourite breakfast—kippers and poached eggs—and his gaze lit up when he opened the door and found little plump fish and a handful of brown eggs.
Plucking them carefully from the cabinet, he went to the hob and got to work.
*
After breakfast, Draco set about inspecting the house. In the dreary daylight, it was more pathetic than creepy. It was obvious the house used to mean something to someone—it used to be a respected place—but now it was just forgotten.
Draco found an old grimy potions laboratory, and a room filled with just women’s clothing. He also found several bedrooms. In fact, there were far too many bedrooms. How many offspring had the Black family intended to force into existence?
On the third level was a closed door that thrummed with wards. Draco rested his hand on the door, feeling the magic vibrant beneath his palm. Somehow he knew this was Potter’s room. It was away from everywhere else, giving Potter more privacy. The question was why did Potter ward his room as he slept?
Draco took a deep breath. It almost smelled like … barn animals in the hallway. Very strange.
Further up, he found where the house-elves used to live and an attic that was filled to the brim with broken trinkets.
Then he wandered to the library. The double doors creaked open as he entered.
The library was cramped but had soaring ceilings. The black furniture looked grey because of all the dust.
There was a desk that had been recently used. On the desk was a thick leather book: Horror’s Habits: Curious Creatures and How to Avoid Them, Vol. II. The book was turned to the werewolf chapter. Draco stared at the macabre drawing of the werewolf for quite some time; then he picked up the book and wandered over to the sofa for some fun afternoon reading.
As Draco flipped through the pages, his mind drifted to Potter. Someone recently had pulled this book from its shelf and flipped to the chapter on werewolves. Why? Was it possible that Potter was a werewolf and that was why he was acting so strangely?
Draco shuddered as he remembered Greyback. Potter didn’t act anything like Greyback. No, he wasn’t a werewolf … but perhaps whatever was plaguing him was related to lycanthropy?
The next chapter was on vampires. For some reason, the illustrator for the book had decided to depict the vampire as a very sexy being. Draco stared at its black and white form, taking in its curling mouth, its pouty lips. The vampire’s hair blew in an invisible wind, its eyes glowing as it tongued its fangs seductively. Well then.
Draco skimmed the vampire chapter, vaguely taking in all its facts and figures. Nothing really stood out to him. He already knew vampires were allergic to the sun; that they drank the blood of humans and animals; that some even possessed the ability to hypnotise.
Draco fell asleep before he finished the chapter. He woke up and yawned loudly, then continued to read. The library grew dark and Draco had to flick his wand and light some candles. Then, quite relaxed, he closed his eyes for a second nap.
“Malfoy.”
He blinked his eyes open and found Potter leaning over him. “What?” he snapped.
“Are you hungry? I ordered pizza.”
“What?”
“Pizza, Malfoy.”
Yawning, Draco shoved himself up. He blinked grumpily at Potter. “What time is it?” he croaked.
“Half past six.”
“Bloody hell, I was exhausted. I slept virtually all day.”
Potter gave him a patient smile. Then Draco remembered.
“You!”
“Me?”
“You’re utterly mad, you are!”
Potter deflated. “Oh.”
Draco jumped to his feet. “What was that all about last night?”
“Sorry?”
“You—you ripped your shirt open! You tried to come into my bedroom.”
Potter cursed under his breath. He looked mortified, but no colour flooded his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Malfoy. I don’t remember what I did.”
“How could you not remember something so loony?”
“I should have warned you that I sleep walk.”
“You weren’t asleep!”
“Yes, I was.”
“You weren’t. I’m not an idiot, Potter.”
“I wasn’t myself,” Potter snapped.
“Yeah. I know. You were begging to fuck me.”
“WHAT?”
Draco smirked. “Oh, yeah, Potter. I had no idea you were so desperate for it!”
“Enough!” Potter stood very still, his hands bunched at his sides. “I’ve got pizza. For you. Are you going to join me in the kitchen or not?”
“What do you mean ‘for me’? Aren’t you going to eat some?”
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Bollocks! None of this is making any sense!”
“You’re telling me,” Potter said darkly. He headed for the library door.
Draco hurriedly followed him. After all, there was pizza.
In the kitchen, Potter had only lit a few candles.
“Why is it so dark?” Draco said.
“I like the shadows.”
Draco snorted and went to the box on the table. He lifted the lid and sighed. A cheesy pepperoni pizza waited for him. “Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“No, like I said, I’ve already eaten.”
Draco Summoned a plate and pulled out twice slices for himself. “Are you a werewolf?” he asked conversationally.
“What?”
“Also, do you have any red pepper?”
Potter retrieved red pepper from the cabinet. He set it on the table at Draco’s elbow. “I’m not a werewolf.”
“Are you cursed?”
Potter sat down opposite Draco. His mouth lifted at the corners. “Maybe.”
Draco ignored Potter as he ate his pizza. Sometimes the Muggles came up with brilliant things—like putting mozzarella and pepperoni on bread.
“Why do you think I’m a werewolf?”
Draco was too busy devouring his slice to answer. Potter sighed and drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for Draco to finish eating.
“Are you sure you don’t want a slice?” Draco said after he had consumed almost half the pizza.
Potter’s mouth lifted again. “No, thanks.”
“More for me then.” Draco carefully cast a Stasis Charm on the pizza and closed the box. He Summoned a glass of water and cast a Aguamenti.
“So … why do you think I’m a werewolf?” Potter asked again.
Draco finished draining his glass and slammed it back on the table. “Why? Because you were acting fucking crazy last night.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m a werewolf.”
Draco eyed him distrustfully. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“I promise you I’m not.”
“You could tell me right now what’s really wrong with you, but you are choosing not to. You just want to continue fucking with me.”
“I’m not having a laugh at your expense. I promise. And as I said before, you can leave at any time.”
“Yeah, yeah, but you know I don’t have anywhere else to go. That’s why you chose to mess with me.”
Potter blinked. “I chose to help you because you protected me during the war.”
Draco gaped at him, horrified. “No, I didn’t!”
“Yes! At your family’s manor. You lied and said you didn’t recognise me, but I know you did.”
“I only did that because I didn’t want the Dark Lord to kill you! I didn’t want him to win! It had nothing to do with you!”
Potter shrugged. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You protected me and now I want to give back to you.”
“By showing up at my bedroom door and begging to fuck me?”
Potter’s eyes went wide. “Will you stop describing it like that!”
“Why? Am I embarrassing you? Do you even fuck men or is it just a side effect of your sleepwalking?”
“Damn you,” Potter muttered.
Draco glared at him, but Potter refused to meet his eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing!”
“Liar liar, robes on fire,” Draco hissed.
“It doesn’t concern you!”
“You invited me into your home. Of course it concerns me!”
“YOU CAN LEAVE!”
“Fine, I will.” Furious, Draco shoved to his feet. He wasn’t thinking, oh no. He was running on pure rage.
Draco dashed from the kitchen, up the stairs. He went through the parlour, heading for the foyer, not a single coherent thought in his head. He didn’t need anything but his damn wand.
Draco made it all the way to the door before Potter grabbed his wrist, causing Draco to gasp. Potter was ice cold.
“Wait,” Potter said.
“You—” Draco fell against the door, holding his wrist as if Potter had burned him.
“Don’t go, Malfoy.”
“You’re as cold as a dead person.”
Their eyes met, and Draco saw the panic in Potter’s face. Understanding passed between them. Potter opened his mouth, probably intending to tell him another lie, but Draco didn’t give him the chance.
“You’re a vampire.”
Potter just looked at him, helpless.
“You’re a bloody vampire!”
“Malfoy—”
“Are you going to kill me? Drink my blood? Is that what this is all about?”
“I’m not …” Potter looked defeated.
“Where are your fangs? They should be visible, shouldn’t they?”
Potter threw up his arms. “You’re impossible!” He headed for the stairs.
“Wait! You can’t just leave—”
“I’m going to bed!” Potter snapped, barely looking over his shoulder.
“You better not bother me tonight in your weird vampire trance!”
Draco watched Potter stomp up to the next level. His arse looked nice in his trousers. Really nice.
“Fucking hell,” Draco growled, annoyed that he had let himself acknowledge how damn attractive Potter was. Potter wasn’t attractive; he was just tall and broad and had the most beautiful eyes—
Fuck it, Draco was going to finish off the rest of that pizza.
*
Later that night, while Draco lay in bed with a book about vampirism opened in his lap, a knock sounded on his door. Draco had been waiting for him.
Sighing, Draco shoved aside the book and crossed the room. He threw open the door and glowered at Potter.
This time, Potter was just in his rough blue trousers, his chest completely bare. He had a lovely trail of black hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his waistband.
Potter’s eyes utterly glowed.
“Are you here to kill me?”
“Oh, no,” Potter breathed, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m here to give you pleasure.”
“I want to see your fangs.”
Potter smirked. “All in good time, Draco.”
“Are you possessed or something?”
“Oh, no. Definitely not.” Potter was still smirking.
“What would happen if I invited you into my bedroom?”
“We would make love and then you would fall in love with me.”
Draco tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh, yeah? Are you sure about that?”
Potter was staring at his neck. “We both want each other, don’t we?”
“I know you want me, that’s for sure.”
“I do.” Potter, gaze still trained on his neck, licked his lips as if he were salivating.
“Fine,” Draco said, and stepped aside. “Potter, please enter my bedroom.”
Smiling dreamily, Potter crossed the threshold. Draco stumbled back, his wand raised. He expected Potter to pounce on him.
“Fuck,” Potter moaned, and his hand trailed down to fondle himself through his trousers. He inhaled deeply. “It smells so much like you in here.”
Draco was a bit distracted by Potter groping at his own prick. His sizable prick.
“Do you want to drink from me?”
Potter’s eyes had gone lidded but they now snapped open. He licked his lips again. “Yeah? You’d like that?”
“I don’t know, Potter. I don’t fancying dying tonight, that’s for sure.”
Potter took a step closer. “I won’t kill you. I just want a little taste …”
“All right, then.” As an experiment, Draco pulled down the neck of his shirt and bared his throat. “Come on and have yourself a drink.”
Potter closed the space between them so quickly that Draco barely saw him coming. His face was transformed by hunger.
Potter lowered his mouth to Draco’s neck. This close up, Draco glimpsed the creature in his expression. Draco felt the brush of Potter’s fangs against his skin. He braced himself for the pain, his wand still clasped in his hand. He would Hex Potter if he tried to take too much.
“No!” Potter cried, and ripped away. “No! No!”
Confused, Draco stared at him. “What—?”
“I can’t—I’m sorry, Malfoy. I’m—not myself.” Potter forced himself back and back until he collided with the door. He pawed blindly for the doorknob.
“But I gave you permission to drink from me.”
“You don’t understand what I’m capable of!” Potter threw open the door and fled the room.
Draco chased after him. “Wait! Don’t run away!” He followed Potter up to the third level, the shadows pressing in on him. When he reached Potter’s bedroom, the door was already locked and warded with Potter inside.
Draco banged on the door. “Potter! Open up! Come on, you can trust me!” He banged some more, but Potter never reappeared.
*
In the morning, Draco woke up very grumpy. He had himself a shower and he made himself another serving of kippers and eggs.
He wandered up to the third level and stared for too long at Potter’s warded door. Stupidly, he tried to doorknob, but of course he didn’t budge. He didn’t know anything about getting past wards. He ran his wand over the door, feeling the pulse of Potter’s magic.
Frustrated, he rested his forehead against the cold wood. He felt all tangled up inside. For some stupid reason, he wanted to help Potter. He couldn’t stop thinking about Potter fondling himself through his trousers. Potter was—he was—
“Fucking hell,” Draco muttered, and shoved himself away from the door. He needed to get a grip.
Draco went down to the dusty library. He would do a bit of research on vampires. He would figure out how exactly to help Potter, then—
“Stupefy!”
Draco fell unconscious.
*
Fuck, his head hurt. Fuck, fuck.
Draco tried to open his eyes, but the light was too much. He couldn’t move for some reason.
“Malfoy? Are you awake?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Just barely,” he grumbled.
Something prodded his temple. A wand. “I need you to wake up now.”
“Why—?” He opened his eyes. A vision of Hermione Granger swam before him.
“Malfoy, what are you doing in Harry’s house?”
Then Draco remembered. “You Stunned me!”
“I thought you were an intruder! I thought—”
“He invited me, you bint!”
Granger’s mouth went small and white. “What did you just call me?”
“At least I didn’t Stun you, Granger! Why the hell would I be in Potter’s house without an invitation!”
“I don’t know! You’ve always been weirdly obsessed with him.”
“That’s not true!”
“Oh, yes it is.” She laughed.
Draco meant to lurch to his feet, but he realised he was tied up. “Let me go this instant!”
“No. Not until I get some answers from you.”
“We’re shagging!”
Granger hesitated. “But Harry hasn’t been interested in anyone since Charlie broke—” She stopped herself.
“Who’s Charlie?”
“Ask Harry. So you’re shagging. Fine. That doesn’t explain why you’re scurrying about his house while he’s asleep and defenceless.”
“As I’ve said, Pott—Harry is letting me stay here!”
“I really doubt he trusts you that much already!”
Draco put his nose in the air. “I know he’s a vampire.”
Granger’s eyes went wide. She raised her wand again and pointed it right at his face. “No one knows that. No one.”
“Well, I do.”
Furious, Granger began to pace. “For years Ron and I have kept that secret for him. For years! And what—he shags you once and then spills his guts to you?”
“I can be quite persuasive in bed, Granger.”
“Shut up,” she snapped.
“The only strange thing is he refuses to bite me. He’s a vampire and I’m a willing meal!”
“Of course he refuses to bite you! Harry has never drank from a human.”
“Never? That’s—that’s impossible!”
“Everything about Harry is impossible!” Growling, she waved her wand and a bottle of whisky and two glasses came flying into the library. With another wave, she released Draco. “Here, Malfoy. Have a drink with me.”
Granger poured them large servings and plopped down on the old sofa. She drank deeply, then gagged a bit. “Ugh.”
Draco joined her on the sofa, his wand now in hand. He sipped from his glass. “He told me about what happened to him,” Draco lied.
“Yes, it was awful.” Granger sounded tearful.
“He said that it … hurt. And he didn’t know what to do.”
“Damn Robards.”
“Right … he should have treated him better.”
She moped her face with her sleeve. “Robards didn’t care that Harry had been attacked on the job. Harry had saved all of Britain when he defeated Voldemort, but of course the Ministry turned their back on him when he needed them the most.”
“The Ministry has a habit of doing that.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Harry said that at first he didn’t know who’d bit him, but then …”
“It was in Knockturn. Late at night. Of course he didn’t know. They tried to track the vampire down but … it was all kept hush hush.”
“That’s awful,” Draco said, and he meant it. He drained his glass and set it on the table. “I want to help.”
“What?”
“Show me what you do for Harry. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, still suspicious. “I brought the chickens.”
“The chickens?”
She drained her glass as well. “Follow me.”
They went into the hallway. By the stairs stood a cage of about five disgruntled chickens. There was a Silencing Charm on them, but they flapped their wings aggressively.
“This is how he survives … by drinking from chickens?”
“Yes. And other small animals.”
“How terrible.”
She shrugged and covered a burp. “It’s better than killing people.”
“He doesn’t need to kill anyone!”
“Yes, yes,” she said, annoyed. “Ron and I have both tried to tell him that but he won’t listen.”
“He’s come to my room late at night, trying to drink from me.”
“Yes,” she said with a grimace. “He does that to us as well when we stay over.”
Draco shot her a look. “Does he try to …”
“What?”
“Is it … sexual?”
“No! God, no!” She turned a bright red. “Could you imagine?”
Draco was relieved. “Good.” He thought for a moment. “Another strange thing is that I’ve never seen his fangs.”
“He uses a Disillusionment Charm on them. He doesn’t want anyone to see them.”
“Oh,” Draco said.
“Here, help me with these chickens.”
They went up to the third level. Draco thought they would stop at Potter’s door, but they were headed for the door to the right of his.
They entered the room, and Draco immediately noticed the feathers on the ground.
“Is this where Harry eats?”
“Yes,” Granger said as they set down the cage. She looked around proudly. “Harry’s good at cleaning up after himself, I’ll give him that.”
Draco grimaced. He didn’t like the idea of Harry feeding off live chickens in this room. There was something grotesque about it.
“You can leave, you know,” Granger said.
“I don't want to.”
“If it grosses you out or frightens you … you don’t need to stay for Harry’s sake. Ron and I are able to take care of him.”
Draco lifted his chin. “Harry told me he was lonely. Obviously you can’t give him everything.”
Her face fell. “I suppose you are right.” Then she glared at him. “But I’m warning you, Malfoy. If you hurt him in any way … if you try to stake him—”
“Stake him?”
“I will hunt you down and end you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
*
Once Granger left, Draco got to work. He was determined to save Potter from himself.
Draco took a very long bath with lots of fragrant bubbles. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, paying close attention to his arse.
After his bath, he searched through all the old wardrobes, looking for the perfect thing to wear. He found a gorgeous silk dressing gown in the room with all the women’s clothing. The gown was pink with red tassels and a glittery serpent curled seductively on the back. Perfect, just perfect.
He spent a long time standing in front of the bathroom mirror, naked except for the dressing gown. He styled his hair and powdered his body, and then posed for himself. He was pleased by the extra weight he had already gained. Eating an entire pizza by himself had done wonders for his body.
When he was satisfied with his appearance, he left the bathroom and ventured up to Potter rooms. He Conjured up sweet rose petals and dropped them in a neat trail from Potter’s door to his door.
In his bedroom, he lit an army of candles and cast spells to make the flames soft and muted and multicolour.
Then Draco lay on his bed and waited. Still quite relaxed from his long bath, he dozed for a bit, but his eyes snapped open when he heard footsteps.
Draco stretched across the bed, letting the gown fall from his shoulder, revealing a pink nipple.
“Malfoy?” Potter stopped at the open door, confused. “Why are there rose petals?”
“Come in, Harry,” Draco purred.
Potter blinked at him. “What’s going on?”
“Harry … I want you to make love to me.”
“What?”
Draco undid the dressing gown and let it fall open. He wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked himself. “Please, I want you.”
Potter gulped. His eyes were trained on Draco’s stroking hand. “Uh, Malfoy. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on, Harry. Please. I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you.”
“Isn’t this all a bit sudden?”
“No,” Draco said, voice breathy. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. I just never let myself think about it.”
Potter took a hesitant step into the room. “I’m not going to bite you, Malfoy.”
“All I want you to do is touch me.”
Potter knelt on the bed. He had come from the shower and he smelled like lovely bergamot.
“Take your clothes off,” Draco said, still wanking himself.
Gulping, Potter tore his shirt over his head, then undid his belt. When he stepped out of his trousers and underpants, Draco let out a soft moan.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah?” Potter gave him a shy smile.
“Come here.” Draco pulled him into his arms. Then Draco kissed him.
Potter made a noise and kissed him back. Potter had cleaned his teeth, but Draco could still taste the hint of blood on his mouth.
They kissed and kissed, and Draco sucked on Potter’s tongue. Draco pulled him down, aligning their cocks. Potter was already leaking. He was also cool to the touch.
Suddenly, Potter pulled away. His mouth was open, his lips pulled back.
“Let me see them,” Draco murmured.
Trembling, Potter reached for his wand. He muttered a spell and his fangs appeared. They glistened.
“Fuck,” Draco moaned, and he touched a finger to one of his fangs. It made Potter moan. Then Draco dragged his tongue over them, feeling their razor sharp edge.
“No,” Potter growled. He grabbed Draco’s arms and pinned them above his head. “I told you—”
“Fuck me. Just—fuck me.”
Growling, Potter Conjured some lube wandlessly. He held onto Draco’s wrists with one hand as he sank a finger into his arse. Potter’s eyes widened. “You’re prepped.”
“Yeah, love. That’s what I did all day. Oh, and also Granger popped by for a visit.”
“Oh?” Potter said casually as his finger buggered him.
“Yeah,” Draco said, squirming. “She Stunned me and then tied me up.”
Potter’s finger slowed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m lying here with your finger up my bum; of course I’m okay.”
Potter huffed a laugh. “Her Stunners are very strong. I’m sorry you experienced that.”
“She was just protecting you.”
Grinning, Potter leaned down and kissed him. He added a second finger. “You’re so tight,” he moaned.
“Get in me, Harry. Please.”
“Really? Are you ready?”
“Yes, you imbecile.”
Potter laughed again and withdrew his fingers. Then he got into position. With his cockhead poised at his hole, he gazed down at Draco fondly. “I really like you, Malfoy.”
“I know. Just—please” Draco clutched his bum, urging him to thrust.
Slowly, Potter sank into him. They both moaned.
“Fuck,” Potter said.
Draco squeezed his bum and arched. He groaned as Potter pulled out and pushed back in.
“Just like that,” Draco gasped.
Potter snarled, and thrust harder. He picked up pace until he was pounding into Draco. The old bed squeaked beneath them.
Merlin, it felt good to be touched like this—like something valuable. It made Draco feel like he could be loved.
“Please!”
Potter plunged into him over and over, snarling. He was salivating.
“Do it,” Draco moaned.
“No!”
Draco squeezed around his cock, torturing him. “Come on, love. Bite me. Let yourself taste me.”
“Draco,” Potter moaned desperately.
Draco pressed a finger between his cheeks, seeking out his hole. Potter let out a low moan when he found it.
“Yeah, love? You like that?”
“I can’t—”
“You can,” Draco said, still massaging his twitching hole.
Potter’s thrusts were losing rhythm. He was close to coming.
“Yes, love. Come on, love. You can do it, Harry. I want you to. I want to feel you penetrate me just like how I penetrate you.” Then Draco pushed his finger inside his arse.
Snarling, Potter yanked his head to the side and sank his fangs into his neck. Draco cried out and arched. The pain was—it was—
He felt how Potter drank greedily.
“Oh, fuck,” Draco moaned. His eyes rolled back. He was coming.
Potter moaned wetly, muffled, his mouth still latched onto his throat. He was orgasming, too. Draco felt his cool spunk in his arse.
The world went black, and Draco thought, distantly, it would be okay if Potter killed him. At least he died with a brilliant cock up his arse.
Then Draco resurfaced. His body tingled all over. Potter lapped at the bite in his neck.
“Merlin,” Draco yawned. He felt like a million Galleons.
Potter was smiling, his fangs still tinged with blood. “I didn’t kill you!”
“No.” Draco wrapped a tired arm around him and pulled him into a kiss. He could taste his own blood on Potter’s mouth. It was strange but not terrible.
“That was brilliant.” Potter was still smiling even as they snogged.
“I’m sorry some fanged arsehole bit you in Knockturn.”
“Oh, did Hermione tell you about it?”
“I sort of lied and … yeah. She told me because she thought I already knew.”
“Poor Hermione.”
“Poor all those chickens!”
Potter sighed. “I didn’t think I could trust myself, but now I know I can.”
Draco kissed him again and again. “Did you like my dressing gown? And the rose petals?”
“You’ve always liked your drama.”
“Quite.” Draco smiled. “Do you remember the Dementor costume—?”
“Don’t remind me,” Potter said darkly.
Draco laughed and snuggled closer. “I want to do that again, and again.”
“What? Dress up as a Dementor?”
“No. You buggering me. Biting me.”
Potter hummed. “It was nice, wasn’t it?”
Draco hid his face. “Can I stay here with you? I promise I’ll try to get a job—or I’ll work around the house. Anything.”
“Oh, Draco,” Potter said softly. “You didn’t even need to ask.”
They kissed again. They were both smiling.