Work Text:
Harry knows he’s made a mistake as soon as Malfoy walks in. He’s shivering, eyes wild, drawn to the decrepit warehouse by the spell.
There’s a body on the floor, broken and bleeding, and it’s not Harry’s. Certainly, it looks like him. Same dark hair, almond-shaped green eyes, lightning scar that has inched further down his forehead every year since the war. It’s just an illusion. A trick to get to Malfoy.
But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Rain pours in from the tattered ceiling. Malfoy, drenched and frantic, collapses to his knees next to illusion-Harry. He clutches at the body, bringing it closer to his chest, holding him gently, fiercely. “Harry,” he whispers. Then again and again, louder, his hands brushing the body’s blood-soaked hair, fingers wandering across its face, and grasping at its neck.
Robards moves quietly, his team assembling beneath the shadows. He’s smirking, as if already imagining the glory of capturing The Draco Malfoy, in all his fame and power. Malfoy, who taunts hunters with thank-you notes after miraculous escapes, who dances with the Minister at every gala despite being on every wanted list in Britain, who infiltrated the CIA and helped them investigate himself for four months before they realised who he was. For fun, Malfoy had replied easily, when Harry asked why he had done it.
Malfoy, who teases Harry about his hair or his glasses or his scar, but not cruel, not like he used to. They don’t hurt each other like this anymore, Harry realises a moment too late, as he watches Robards point his wand at Malfoy’s forehead.
“Malfoy, hands on your head, you’re coming with us.”
Malfoy holds the body tighter. “Harry, please, please wake up.” There are tears welling in his eyes.
Harry watches, frozen, as Malfoy presses his lips to the body’s forehead, a startlingly intimate display. Another moment too late, and Harry realises why Malfoy, eccentric and erratic as he is, always seems to make his way back to Harry. “Wait,” Harry calls, finally pushed to action. “Don’t—”
Malfoy doesn’t hear him, still entranced by Harry’s spell, ignorant of the reality around him. The Aurors surround him, vultures stalking their prey, and Harry casts wildly, desperate to unravel the illusion and free Malfoy.
It won’t be as bad, Harry thinks, if Malfoy manages to escape. It’ll be just another tale for him to dramatically tell anyone who’ll listen. We can pretend like this never happened. He’ll forgive me. He will forgive me. Please, let him forgive me.
The spell peels away slowly, its tendrils curling away from Malfoy, grey light disintegrating away.
“Come on, come on…” Harry whispers furiously, his gaze fixed on Malfoy’s shaking figure.
Robards, realising Harry’s plan, charges forward, unwilling to let Malfoy escape yet again. He clutches Malfoy by the bicep and drags him away from the body. “On the floor, Malfoy!” he screams, face twisting.
“No!” Finally, Malfoy stands, shoving away Robards with supernatural strength. It’s only a spark of his full power, but the Aurors fall back nonetheless. They’ve all heard stories of Malfoy, of what he can do.
Robards, crawling up from the floor, yells at his team. “Get him! Don’t let him escape!” Bright spells fly through the air, but Malfoy ducks them all.
“Stop— let me talk to him,” Harry yells, but it’s lost in the commotion.
“Who did this to him?” Malfoy roars, his grief morphing into fury. He’s still in the illusion, doesn’t realise that Harry is alive and well, trying to calm him down. “Who did this? Answer me!”
Harry closes his eyes and visualises the spell. It hangs over Malfoy like smoke, as if Malfoy is on fire, burning from the inside out. He holds the spell in his mind, grasps it with all his strength… and tugs.
The illusion begins to collapse. Raindrops suspend in midair, then vanish. The holes in the ceiling stitch together, and the warehouse morphs back into its true shape.
Malfoy stills. It’s just a moment of confusion, but that’s all the Aurors need. They grab him from behind and force him to the floor, pressing his head against the concrete.
Malfoy doesn’t resist, only turns his head to watch the body. It flickers once, twice, like a hologram, then disappears.
“What—?”
“We got you, Malfoy,” Robards leers, and Harry could hit him. Instead he watches Malfoy’s brow wrinkle in confusion. He shifts slowly, his face scraping against the ground, searching for answers, until finally, his gaze falls heavy on Harry.
Harry steps forward, but the words are caught in his throat. “I’m— I didn’t mean— Malfoy,” he tries.
Malfoy just stares back at him in confusion. “You’re alive,” he rasps. “Harry, you’re alive,” he repeats, smiling wide so his fangs peek over his lip. “Thank Merlin, Harry, I thought you were hurt. Are you okay?”
Harry nods, heart aching that Malfoy still hasn’t put it together. “Mal— Draco—”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Robards replies. “Thanks again, Potter. We’ll let you know when we’re done with questioning, in case you want a turn.”
Harry closes his eyes in shame as Robards’ words resonate in the warehouse. When he opens them again, he only sees a moment of Malfoy’s shocked expression before he’s whisked away.
-
Intellectual Property of Mr Harry James Potter
Dated: April 8th, 2009
Section below taken from Mr. Potter’s private journal to enhance the description and protection of the enclosed spell. Due to volatility of the spell’s effectiveness, as well as the potential ethical violations arising from use of the spell, it is hereby classified as an Article 9 protected spell, not for use by public citizens or any individuals without prior authorization. Definition, description, and content of the spell will be confidential and stored within the Department of Mysteries, for research purposes only.
As ancestral and experimental research have proven, many supernatural creatures come from similar origins, and thus have intersecting powers. A striking similarity is the one between vampires and fae. It is widely believed that a captured vampire, like captured fae, are bound by blood to answer their captor’s questions in full honesty.
However, because of the increased difficulty of capturing a vampire, this phenomenon is less documented within the species. Historically, there have only been two cases of captured vampires.
This spell preys on the vampire’s emotions. By creating a fictional scenario which evokes strong emotion within the target, the caster can lure the target to a preferred location and keep them trapped in the illusion for as long as need be.
As such, this spell requires intimate knowledge about the target and is not usable on wide populations. The caster must choose and construct the illusion themselves, and may choose which emotion to build upon.
The spell originates from the Imperius and expands upon simple mind control. The target is placed into an artificial world of the caster’s design, which is nearly inescapable.
Because this spell involves high degrees of manipulation, bordering on mind control, I recommend that it is not used in the field, except in cases of absolute emergency.
-
“It’s an emergency,” Malfoy smirks. “Right?” He lounges back in his seat, hands crossed behind his head. Except for the mascara smudged beneath his eyes, there’s no trace of the chaos from earlier.
“No.” Harry seethes, angry, and exhausted, and frustrated because Malfoy’s sitting there like Harry didn’t just betray him. “Please don’t do this because you’re angry with me,” Harry begs. He’d stormed in here a few minutes ago, after Robards had briefed the team on Malfoy’s plan.
Malfoy scoffs. “I’m not angry at you. If anything, I’m impressed. Didn't think you had it in you, Potter. Don’t get me wrong—it was fucked up as hell, but—”
Harry glances away, digging his nails into his palms. “I’m sorry.”
Malfoy continues. “To be fair, you literally could have just owled me for help and I would have dropped everything, you know.”
“I didn’t.” Harry clears his throat. “I didn’t know you—loved me.”
Malfoy winces, then watches Harry with a peculiar expression. Harry identifies it as hope a moment too late.
“Nevermind,” Malfoy waves his hands, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“I didn’t—”
“It’s fine.”
“I never thought—”
“I’m helping with your investigation,” Malfoy interrupts, “because I agree. Armand Dorian is an evil piece of shit, and the Dorian Coven’s potions trafficking is giving everyone in the fanged community a bad name.”
“This isn’t like breaking into the Louvre on a weekend, Malfoy. They’re dangerous.”
Ruthless. Despicable. Responsible for over fifty potions overdoses this year, not to mention all the related murders. It was the only reason Harry had agreed to trial the spell on Draco.
Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Please.”
“Are you aware of what happened to our last undercover agent?”
They’d strung her up, slit her throat, and let her bleed out. They don’t drink from traitors. It was a message to anyone who dared cross them.
“You need someone to get close to Dorian, so you have enough information to cast your spell. I can do that, Potter. I’m willing to do that.”
“Why?” Harry pleads. “Just walk away—Robards won’t charge you with anything. Even he knows you’re not dangerous, he just thinks you’re a pain.”
Malfoy shrugs. “It’ll be an adventure. Besides, all I have to do is get to know Armand Dorian as well as you know me.”
“Not that well, apparently.” Harry sighs. “I didn’t expect—I thought you’d be happy. I was trying to create a joyful scenario for you.” He glances back up. “Malfoy?”
For the first time tonight, he looks angry. “You thought I’d be happy?”
Harry grimaces. “Well—you remember what we were like in school. I just thought—”
“Would you be happy if I died?”
“What—no,” Harry replies immediately. “But you’re…” You. Harry wants to say. You’re happy and aloof and eccentric. I never could have imagined you’d be in love with me. I never could have imagined that I could hurt you. “...Different,” Harry finishes instead.
“Right.” Malfoy stands abruptly.
“Draco, wait.”
“It’s Malfoy, Potter. No need to change now.” He slams the door behind him when he leaves.
-
FIVE MONTHS LATER
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
Ron looks up, startled by Harry’s tone. “Draco? He’s probably updating Robards on the Dorian case.”
“Right. He hasn’t come in before, though.”
“Yes, he has,” Ron replies immediately. “Oh—uh, I guess he usually comes in after you leave.”
Harry tries desperately to ignore the crawling guilt in his chest.
“It’s funny isn’t it? It used to be that you were the only person in the department that he’d talk to.”
Harry clenches his jaw. “Yeah. Funny.”
Ron winces. “Have you spoken to him at all? Since the interrogation?”
Malfoy is lounging in Robards’ office, one ankle hooked over the other knee. His hair is different now, longer on the top and cropped at the sides. The buzzcut looked better, Harry thinks, resentful. Long hair makes him look like his father. Malfoy picks a small piece of lint from his maroon suit and flicks it at Robards, grinning when Robards snarls.
“Harry?”
“What?”
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Yeah,” he replies shortly. The mission is simple. Harry will accompany Draco back to the penthouse, undercover as the Coven’s new accountant. He’ll set up the spell tonight, building off Malfoy’s reports from the past months, and when the Aurors raid the headquarters tomorrow, the entire Coven will be entranced. It’s easy, and Harry can’t afford to mess up now. Not when Draco is so close to being safe, away from the Coven. Away from Harry.
“Is he doing alright?” Harry asks.
“I think so. Well, you know how he is.” Ron chuckles. “I think Robards is finally getting a taste of what you had to deal with, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Draco. He’s a menace. Robards has been halfway between wanting to kill him and fire him for the last couple months.”
“Malfoy wasn’t bad. He always helped out when he could.”
Ron rolls his eyes. “He wasn’t that bad to you.”
And the crawling feeling is back. Harry glances away and happens to catch Robards’ eye.
Robards waves him in. “Potter,” he calls jovially. Harry chances a glance at Malfoy as he enters. He looks thin, his jaw sharper, cheeks hollowed out.
“Are you okay?” Harry blurts.
Malfoy looks up in surprise. “Yeah, fine,” he replies haltingly. “Dorian wants to meet you.”
“Why?”
“He’s suspicious. Thinks there’s a mole in the Coven. He’s not allowing anyone to enter or leave without his permission.”
“What about you?”
“I’m fine. You should be, too. Just try not to act so… Harry Potter around him.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “I think I’ve got it, thanks.”
Malfoy stands, swaying for a moment. “Great, let’s go.” There’s a tremor in his hands. He shoves them in his trousers pocket when he catches Harry watching.
“Malfoy, step out a moment, will you?” Robards asks. He waits until Malfoy has shut the door behind him to start speaking. “He’s not fine. The toll of being undercover is wearing on him. I know you have your hands full, Potter, but keep an eye on him, alright?”
Harry nods, watching Malfoy out of the window. He’s chatting amicably with Ron, gesturing wildly with his hands. He hides it well, but not enough that Harry wouldn’t have noticed. “Yes, sir.”
-
Malfoy takes him to a skyscraper in downtown London. He walks in confidently, and Harry follows. The man standing in the lobby must be Dorian; blond hair, sharp cheekbones, tight-fitting suit, and a Rolex resting heavy on his wrist. In another life, he and Malfoy could have been brothers; but where Malfoy’s managed to keep his humanity, Dorian looks monstrous, his teeth too sharp and his eyes too wicked.
Malfoy spots him and leans into Dorian, whispering in his ear. Dorian smirks and bumps his shoulder with Malfoy’s. Harry clenches his jaw, irritated.
“You’re the accountant, huh?” Dorian starts, extending his hand.
“Gary Poncer, yes,” Malfoy interrupts.
Harry turns to Malfoy incredulously. Malfoy stares levelly back at him.
“Gary Poncer? That’s… an unfortunate name.”
“Well, it is… my name,” Harry replies, grasping Dorian’s hand firmly.
“I heard you can make money disappear like an alcoholic gambler in Atlantic City.”
“Uh— sure.”
Dorian grins. “Quiet. I like that. Draco here will show you the accounts. Let me know if you have any problems, or…” He leans in close and taps his nose with his pointer finger. “If you need anything to get you going.”
“He doesn’t want your shitty coke, Armie.”
Harry raises his eyebrows. Armie.
Dorian just laughs. “Say what you will about Muggles, they know how to party. Better than half the shit I churn out, to be perfectly honest.”
Harry smirks. “Maybe you should expand into Muggle drugs, then.”
“Giving me business advice already, I like him. Where’d you find him, Malfoy?”
“I have my connections, you know me.” Malfoy shrugs.
Dorian nods and pulls Malfoy close by the waist. He presses his face into Malfoy’s temple, one hand gripping his neck, and inhales deeply. Malfoy glances away, a downward twist to his mouth. He shivers slightly in Dorian’s hold. “Good boy,” Dorian whispers, before letting go. He turns back to Harry. “I gotta run. Don’t lose any of my money, Poncer.”
Harry swallows his fury and plasters on a smile. “You got it, Mr. Dorian.”
“It’s this way,” Malfoy says, walking toward the elevators.
“What the hell was that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Is he hurting you?”
“Merlin, Potter. I’m fine.”
Harry falters. “So… you’re growing out your hair?”
“Armie likes it long.”
The elevator dings before Harry can think of anything to say to that. They walk out into the penthouse suite. As modern as Dorian looked, his bedroom is still representative of his reality. Darkened windows are covered by maroon, velvet curtains. Three large, crystal chandeliers fall from the sloped ceiling.
“I convinced him to stay in the bedroom downstairs while this one is being remodelled. You said being in his space would be best for the spell, right?”
“Yeah.” Harry lets his Glamour fall and sets down his bags, beginning to unpack. Thick folders of Malfoy’s reports on Dorian’s mannerisms, scribbled over with Harry’s own notes, dandelion roots for every corner of the room, crushed lavender to sprinkle over his runes. It’s careful, gentle magic, creating an alternate reality. Harry rocks back on his heels. “Settle in,” he calls to Malfoy. “The spell takes about seven hours to set up.”
Malfoy sighs and sits cautiously on the edge of Dorian’s bed. “What do you need me to do?”
“Will you hand me the vinegar from my bag? I’m going to set up the spell here.”
“Inscribing the runes in vinegar will help draw Dorian to this location,” Draco says, sounding impressed.
“Right. Exactly.” Harry hesitates. “When I start to actually craft the spell, I might need some of your magic to draw on. It takes a lot of energy.”
Malfoy nods. They work in relative silence, side-by-side.
“Can you hand me—”
“Right here.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll need this next.”
“Yeah, good.”
Malfoy clears his throat. “So did you do all this for me, too?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Ron helped me.” Harry glances up. Malfoy is sitting against the wall, his knees drawn in close to his chest. He’s pale, or paler than usual, with dark purple bags under his eyes. “How have you been?”
Malfoy scoffs. “I’m fine, Potter.”
Harry watches him closely, then switches gears. “Tell me about Dorian.”
“He’s an arsehole. Smart, though. You don’t get to his position without being smart. He surrounds himself with the best— best hitmen, best lawyers, best potions makers. His product is high-quality, and it moves fast. He’s deeply distrustful of everyone around him. Powerful, too.” He smirks. “Not as powerful as me, but close.”
Harry chuckles. “Sure.”
“He’s a psychopath, definitely. He doesn’t… feel the way we do. I watched him—” Malfoy takes a shaky breath. “It’s why I recommended joy to be the spell’s core emotion. I’m honestly not convinced that there’s anything in the world that would make him sad or fearful or even truly angry.”
“And you? Why does he keep you around?”
“I think he likes that I’m strong. I have a certain reputation and skill set, which he finds valuable. It certainly helps that he’s somewhat infatuated with me.”
Harry stills, a swooping tug warm in his stomach. “Oh, yeah?” He knows, objectively, that Malfoy is attractive. He has big grey eyes with long eyelashes, pretty, delicate features, a new model or Minister on his arm every week. Harry had seen him feed once, his lips painted dark red, eyes hooded. He’d looked away quickly, feeling awkward and strange.
“Hmm.” Malfoy nods.
“Has he— have you two…” It’s a question that’ll give himself away, but Harry realises that he doesn’t care.
“Are you asking if I’ve fucked him?” There’s an upward quirk to his lips, seemingly enjoying Harry’s question. “No,” he replies finally. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Harry says quickly.
The smile fades. “Right.”
Harry turns back to the spell, and they settle back into silence.
It’s nearing midnight when they finish inscribing runes across each wall of the room. Malfoy’s dozing off against the wall, his legs spread out in front of him, neck crooked at an unnatural angle. “Hey, Draco,” Harry whispers, touching his shoulder gently. His eyes snap open.
“What—what time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
“Sorry, I don’t know what happened,” he replies, rubbing his eyes. “How long was I out?”
“It’s fine. Fifteen, twenty minutes at most. I’m going to start the spell now. I might need to draw on some of your energy.”
“Right, sure.” He gets to his feet, slowly. “How—?”
Harry extends a hand. “Just hold on to me and have your wand at the ready, in case you need to cast. Squeeze my hand if it gets to be too much, okay?”
Malfoy nods, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s.
Harry begins to cast. The runes, etched into the walls, glow gold. They jump forward, into the air, disintegrating into pixels before building back up in intricate patterns.
“Wait, Harry…”
Harry feels a light tightness in his hand and glances over at Draco. He’s slouched over, eyes closed. He trembles softly and squeezes Harry’s hand again. “Draco?” Panicked, Harry drops the spell, and surges forward to catch Draco by the waist when he stumbles.
“Hm, fine,” he murmurs into Harry’s ear. His arms are draped over Harry’s shoulders, face tucked into Harry’s neck in a quasi-hug.
“Here sit down,” Harry says, depositing him gently on the edge of Dorian’s bed.
Malfoy sways, then collapses backward, lying half on the bed, his feet still planted on the ground, and his eyes still closed.
Harry sweeps the hair off his forehead, running his hands frantically, across Draco’s face, chest, torso, looking for any visible wounds. When he doesn’t find any, he pulls Draco up, fully onto the bed and removes his shoes, gently unlacing each. “Stay there, okay?” he whispers, one hand on Draco’s chest, the other rummaging around in his bag.
He finds a small jar of bright yellow powder and mixes it with water until it makes a thick paste. He spreads a generous amount on the sides of Draco’s neck and waits.
“Fuck,” Draco mumbles, stirring. “Sorry. What did you give me?”
“Turmeric,” Harry smiles. “Good for vampires.”
“Hm.” He rolls over on his side, facing Harry. “Sorry, I wasn’t ready. Give me five and we’ll go again.”
“Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
He sighs. “I just— haven’t eaten in a while.”
“What?”
“Dorian—it’s a test of loyalty. He likes to see how long his inside circle can go without feeding.”
“How long is a while?”
“Four, maybe five days.”
“Hell, Malfoy, you need to eat.”
“I’m fine, I’ve gone longer. I just need to rest for a bit.”
“We’re almost at the end, it doesn’t matter anymore. Stop being stubborn.”
“I just—I can’t fail, Harry. Not now.”
“We won’t.” Harry scoots closer and places a hand against his neck. “How do you feel? The turmeric should be reacting with your magic by now.”
“Warm.” Draco winces, clawing at his suit jacket. Harry helps him sit up, holding his back, while pulling Draco’s arms out of each sleeve. Harry hesitates at his collar, then gently undoes the first three buttons of Draco’s crisp white shirt, his hands lingering near the hollow of Draco’s neck. When he looks back up, Draco is watching him intently.
“Harry?”
“Do it,” Harry replies.
“What?”
Harry’s hands wander up to Draco’s lips, pushing them up until his fangs peek out. He leans in closer and bares his neck.
Malfoy stills completely. “What are you doing?”
Harry presses in closer, straddling Malfoy’s hips, until he feels Malfoy’s lips on him. He shivers softly in anticipation.
“What the fuck, Potter?” Malfoy pushes him away, looking stunned. “No. No, no, no. Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Harry kneels over Malfoy, confused.
“No. Fuck off, I’m not drinking your blood. Merlin.”
“We don’t have time for you to go out and find someone to feed from.”
“Fuck you, Potter.”
“Do it, Malfoy.”
“No!” He shoves Harry away again, harder this time, scrambling to sit up. He draws his knees up and crosses his arms over them, defensive, as if Harry had tried to attack him.
Harry glances away, guilty and oddly disappointed. “Sorry,” he says quietly, crawling forward until he’s lying by Draco’s side, staring at the ceiling. He waits, nervous, until he feels Draco move down and lie next to him, their fingers almost touching.
“Not like… this,” Draco replies softly.
Harry’s afraid to ask what that means. “I really am sorry, Draco. About everything. I know you have the right to be mad at me—”
“I’m not mad at you.”
Harry turns to Draco incredulously. “Gary Poncer?”
Draco snorts. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little mad. In my defence, you were such a dick to me, Harry.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“How could you not have known?” Draco whispers. “I was so obvious. I mean, I figured you wouldn’t reciprocate—but to think that I would be happy to watch you die? Like that wouldn’t be my worst nightmare?”
Harry rolls to his side, staring at Draco’s profile. He inches closer and wraps his fingers around Draco’s bicep. “I don’t think I really thought you’d be happy. Maybe I was worried that you’d be happy. I know we’re not like that anymore, but there was a small part of me that wondered whether you were still the Malfoy that hated me in school.”
Draco scoffs, but Harry continues. “I didn’t realize how stupid that was until you left. And then you were just gone, Draco, and you didn’t come back, not once, and god, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Whether you were safe, whether I’d ever see you again or if you would just fuck off to America or Australia the second the case was closed, and I’d have to eat Chinese food alone for the rest of my life, without you there to tell me that I’m using the chopsticks wrong. I did a fucked up thing and I’m so sorry and I hate that you got caught up in all this because of me.”
Draco sighs. “You didn’t pull me into this, Harry. I wanted to do it.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to be a hero. Like you, for once.” He closes his eyes again. “And then, I thought maybe it would impress you.” He chuckles wryly. “You know, most of the things I’ve done in my life have been some ill-guided attempt to impress you.”
“You don’t need to impress me.” Draco’s mouth turns downward, and Harry realises how he sounds. “No, Draco— I mean, you didn’t have to impress me. I’m always impressed by you.”
“Sure.”
“No, I’m serious—”
“Harry,” Draco interrupts, rubbing his temples. “Just give me a second, okay? A couple more minutes and we can try the spell again.”
“Okay,” Harry whispers, defeated. He props himself up on an elbow and watches Draco. They’ve spent so many nights like this, in close proximity. Harry rambling about a new theory, or a new case, or hurtling questions about vampires at Draco while he lounges on Harry’s sofa, arguing every point with a wide grin.
He’s probably Harry’s best friend. Not like Ron, who’s easy, whose friendship is a given. Draco… Harry doesn’t feel content until Draco’s with him. He spends every meeting, every function, every gala, looking for that shock of blond hair, and when he finds it, he turns away quickly, embarrassed and nervous, waiting for Draco to come to him with a sly smirk and sharp words about whatever the Minister’s wife is wearing. Harry rubs absentmindedly at the sting under his ribs.
There’s a mark under Draco’s jaw where Dorian had held him earlier, and it sends a new spark of rage down to Harry’s fingertips. Draco’s pale, perfect skin marred by a browning bruise. The sheer audacity of Dorian to put his hands on Draco, on Harry’s…
“Oh, fuck.” Harry claps a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to keep his current crisis to himself. Draco’s brow furrows, then eases. There are lines around his eyes—from smiling too much, Pansy would say, and Draco would smile bigger, wrap an arm around her, and throw Harry a wink—and a scar near his eyebrow from when the Silvestri Coven had taken Harry, and Draco had rushed in without thinking— “Are you okay?” and “Yeah, I’m fine, Malfoy. Are you bleeding, are you alone?” and “Wanted to try being a Gryffindor,” before he’d wrapped Harry in his arms and apparated them away—and a tiny bump on his nose from when Hermione had punched him a second time because he’d said that Harry had a fitter bum than Ron— “It’s true, Granger, you know it,” while Ron held Hermione back, cackling the entire time, as Harry hid his face behind his butterbeer, bright red.
His hair falls pretty on the pillow, face just slightly turned towards Harry. Harry gently puts a hand on Draco’s chest, over his heart, takes a moment, or two or three, to gather his courage, and presses a kiss against Draco’s lips. When he pulls away, Draco’s staring at him with wide eyes.
“Merlin, Potter, that’s so fucking creepy.”
“Right—uh. I wanted to kiss you,” Harry replies stupidly. He tries to pull his hand away from Draco’s chest, but Draco catches it quickly.
“Why?”
“I didn’t know I— loved you,” Harry whispers. Draco still won’t look at him, his eyes squinted at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “Draco?”
“What do you want from me, Potter?”
“I don’t want anything from you. I just wanted you to know.”
“Know what? That you have some stupid crush on me because I’m here and it’s easy?”
Despite himself, Harry laughs. “Merlin, Malfoy, if I wanted something easy, I would find literally anyone else in the world. You’re the most difficult person I know. I’m pretty sure you tried to poison me last year because I told you I was Team Jacob.”
“It was a mild poison,” Draco mumbles. “And I had a bezoar on hand.”
“You gave yourself a buzzcut in my sink at two in the morning because you thought you looked too much like Lucius and told me that wouldn’t do because you could never pull off a cane and that you had daddy issues the size of your cock.”
Draco snickers. “I have a massive cock, Harry.”
“And then you grew it out for Armie, like I wasn’t going to lose my shit at that.”
“I knew you were jealous of him.”
“Fucking Armie? Seriously, Draco.” Harry takes a shaky breath. “You left for five months without giving me a chance to apologise, without speaking to me once, so I’d know you were okay and not dead or hurt or… You made me imagine life without you, Draco,” his voice cracks, “and I fucking hated you for it.”
Harry tries to get up, but there’s a weight above him holding him down. Harry peers at him curiously. “Did you just use your vampire speed to get on top of me?”
Draco shrugs, pinning Harry’s hands to the mattress and leaning forward until their noses touch. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” Harry surges forward, chasing Draco’s lips, and then his hands are everywhere: on Harry’s neck, cradling his jaw, on his shoulders, his hair. Harry pushes forward again, insistent, but Draco pulls away with a smile.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, like he’s waited so long, he doesn’t mind another few minutes. He’s gentle and sweet, nosing at every inch of Harry’s face, before carefully ridding Harry of his shirt and pressing kisses against his chest.
“Draco,” Harry groans as he moves lower, taking Harry’s cock into his mouth.
“The hair, Potter,” Draco says coyly. “It’s there for a reason.”
It takes Harry a minute to understand, before he has his hands knotted in Draco’s long locks, pulling tight and thrusting up. “Fuck, I take it back,” he whispers. “I think I love your hair.”
Draco moans around him, palming at the front of his pants.
“Now, you,” Harry says, pulling him up and clawing at Draco’s clothes. Draco grins, and in a moment, he’s fully naked. “Fuck,” Harry replies, running his hands over Draco’s broad shoulders, his tapered waist. Draco leans back down, holding himself above Harry on his forearms. “When did you get so strong?” Harry whispers, gripping Draco’s biceps.
“When you were studying theory in the library like a swot.” Then, he nips at Harry’s abs. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Potter.”
He grabs Draco by the hair and yanks him up. “It’s hard work, you know, vampire hunting.”
“Fuck, that’s so hot.” He shoves his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, one hand working Harry hard and fast, while he thrusts between Harry’s thighs. He’s murmuring incoherently into Harry’s shoulder and Harry smiles, presses a kiss to his temple.
He collapses on top of Harry afterward, wrapping his arms around Harry’s torso and holding him tight. Harry chuckles, absentmindedly petting Draco’s hair. “You okay?”
“Hmm,” he groans.
“We have to set up the spell.”
“One minute,” Draco mumbles, cozying in closer.
“I need you energised. Not just for the spell, Draco. If anything happens tomorrow, I need to know you’ll be safe. That you can take care of yourself.” Harry nudges the weight on top of him. “Draco?”
He rolls to his side, tangling their legs together, and peers into Harry’s eyes.
“I want you to feed from me.”
Draco sighs and hovers over him, stroking Harry’s cheek gently. “Harry…”
“Please,” Harry whispers. Draco’s pupils are blown black, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Harry’s breath catches recognising the pure lust on his face.
“Merlin, Potter. Don’t beg,” he replies, pressing his lips onto Harry’s jugular. “It’s going to hurt at first, and then it’ll feel good, okay?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m a theorist specialising in vampires, Draco. I know.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t experienced it.” He pulls back. “Right?”
Harry smiles. “No, you’re my first.”
“And last,” Draco mutters forcefully. He intertwines his fingers with Harry’s. “If you want me to stop, squeeze my hand.”
“Hmm.” Harry stretches back on the mattress, exposing more of his neck.
“I’m going to make it so good for you, darling,” he whispers, before he pierces his fangs into Harry’s soft flesh.
Harry gasps, the sting of the bite quickly overcome by an overwhelming pleasure. He grips the back of Draco’s neck, pulling him closer and twisting his hips up, chasing any friction. He feels Draco on top of him, pinning him down, one hand knocking Harry’s knees down, so his legs fall spread apart. Harry whines, too aroused to be embarrassed, and feels Draco’s mouth curl up in a smile against his neck. He touches Harry slowly, his fingers warm and relentless inside of him. When he finally pulls away, Harry melts into the mattress, exhausted.
He blinks back into reality a few moments later. Already, Draco looks better, his eyes brighter, his skin more vital, his movements more enthusiastic.
Draco’s watching him carefully. “How do you feel?”
“Fuck,” Harry groans, looking down at his stomach. “Did I come again?”
Draco grins. “It was hot as fuck, Potter.” He wipes the mess away with his hand, then sucks it off his fingers. “Come on, then. The spell, remember?”
Harry groans again. “Yeah,” he replies, rolling off the bed, and rubbing at his neck as he leans down to grab his shirt.
“Does it hurt?” Draco asks, sharp.
“No, it just feels weird.” Prickly and numb, as if he’s been anesthetised. Draco’s still staring at him once he’s fully dressed and situated back in the centre of the room, wand out. “What?”
“I’m really proud of you, you know.”
Harry scoffs, but Draco just watches him seriously.
“I never congratulated you but this,” he gestures around the room to the runes, still softly glowing, “is incredible magic. You proved your theory.”
Harry feels the tips of his ears go hot. He strides closer to Draco and straightens his collar over his tie. “Thanks.”
“Centuries of vampire hunters and you were the only one to consider using our emotions— our humanity —to trap us. As brutal as the spell is, it’s quite a kind concept.”
“I wouldn’t say brutal,” Harry argues, taking Draco’s hand and centering him between the runes. “You only think so because it preyed on your grief last time.”
“No, I’m glad you gave me misery. This would have been worse. To catch a glimpse of my true joy before ripping it away and replacing it with imprisonment?”
Harry nods shortly, worried about the spell’s effect on Draco tomorrow. He’s modified it since last time, so that the enchantment is less specific. Once ingrained with details about Dorian, the spell will create its own unique situation to lure Dorian in. Then, it’ll use Dorian’s knowledge of his Coven to enchant any other vampires in its path. “You should leave once we’re done.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t bear it for you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Harry sighs. He wants Draco as far from this mess as possible.
Draco grins and takes Harry’s hand, his power emanating from his palm. “I can fight off the spell, Potter. I think you’re forgetting who I am.”
He stands at his full height, the moon’s shine reflecting off his sharp angles. Harry catches a glimpse of his fangs through his sly smile. “Right,” he replies faintly.
The spell comes together slowly, the runes disintegrating from the walls and building back upon one another, creating pixelated worlds. It won’t be complete until the moment Dorian walks in, but for now, they can see millions of glowing particles suspended in the air—the gold skeleton of Dorian’s downfall.
The Aurors are waiting for their signal, ready to raid as soon as the spell is set. Harry glances back at Draco before tapping his wand against the final rune. They’ll have to keep Dorian under the spell for five minutes, to make sure that the rest of the Coven downstairs is similarly enchanted.
The room flickers twice when Dorian walks in, entranced. The pixels solidify and in a moment, they’re standing not in Dorian’s suite, but the Minister’s ballroom.
“Predictable,” Draco whispers, slouching in the corner of the room. Harry scoffs and keeps his eye on the runes. They’ll glow bright red once the entire Coven is entranced.
“Keep your mind clear,” Harry replies. “Don’t let the spell in.”
Dorian stands in the middle of the room, surveying the scene. There are others filing in, dressed in flowing, expensive robes. Harry notices with a spike of irritation that a clone of Draco is here as well, standing by the bar and watching Dorian interestedly.
The runes are dark orange now. The Coven should be almost entirely vulnerable.
“Hey, Harry?”
Harry closes his eyes and concentrates, pouring all of his energy into the spell. He lifts his hands to the runes and presses them flat against the wall. He waits for a moment, then two, three, until he finally flinches away, his hands burning. When he opens his eyes, the runes are blood red. He smirks and sends down a Patronus. Start the raid.
“Harry!”
Harry whips around. Draco’s standing cautiously in his corner, his wand out. The room flickers, rapidly switching between the Minister’s ballroom and Dorian’s bedroom. Dorian stands in the middle, frowning.
“Fuck,” Harry casts wildly at Dorian, hoping he isn’t too late. The illusion begins to break back down into gold pixels, with a deafening buzz. He thinks of the Aurors, flooding into the building. If the Coven’s not fully entranced, then they’re walking into a massacre.
Draco must be thinking the same. “Untangle him from the spell, so he doesn’t risk waking up the rest of the Coven,” he yells. “I can handle Dorian.”
Harry clenches his jaw and pulls the spell off Dorian. He feels the rest of the Coven settle back into their illusions. The pixels still, hanging in the air for a moment before vanishing. The buzz disappears into the vacuum and is replaced with a heavy silence. Dorian blinks confusedly, before his gaze falls on Draco, then on Harry, until it travels up and settles on Harry’s scar.
Bizarrely, he grins. “Fucking Gary Poncer, Draco?” he asks incredulously. “You named him Gary Poncer?”
“You bought it,” Draco replies hotly.
“Nah. I didn’t think it was Potter, but I knew you were up to something. I never trusted you.”
“So why didn’t you stop us?” Harry asks.
Dorian shrugs. “I wanted to see how far you’d get. And I’ll hand it to you, Potter, you almost got me.” He steps closer to Harry, but Draco’s there in a second, standing in his way. Dorian just smiles again. “You know what your mistake was, Potter? You let me be happy. Truly happy,” he continues. “I’d never have believed it. Me, as minister?” He laughs, wicked. “I’m a monster. Always have been, always will be.” He places a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “It might help you to remember that you are, too.”
“It’s over, Dorian. We’ve got your Coven. You’re not escaping from this.”
Dorian moves his hand up, gripping Draco’s cheek, stroking his thumb over Draco’s lips. “If I’m going down, Malfoy, you’re coming with me.”
Harry hears them before he sees them, loud crashes from around the room, the thick pounds of punches landing, the hissing of spells thrown at each other. They move around in flashes, too fast for Harry to track. He turns back to the runes, keeping an eye on their progress, looking up only when there’s a resounding crack near his head.
Dorian gets up slowly. There’s a dent in the wall where he landed, thrown viciously from across the room. He wipes blood from his mouth, never taking his eyes off Draco.
Draco snarls, his fangs extended and his eyes black.
“You’re fast, Malfoy,” he whispers. “But I’m closer.”
Harry feels his claws around his neck, pulling him away from the runes. Harry writhes in his grip, fighting away the dark spots in his vision.
Draco hisses.
“What if,” Dorian whispers, his fangs touching the shell of Harry’s ear, “I take this silly spell of yours and give you a taste?”
Harry feels him pull at the spell until it loosens in Harry’s hands and spills away. Slowly the pixels build back up, and Dorian throws Harry forward. He blinks, and he’s standing in a dark alley.
“It’s not real,” Harry whispers, desperately trying to maintain his consciousness. But it is real. He’s been here before. He was a junior Auror then, before he’d left, disillusioned and exhausted. There are other Aurors standing around the broken body. Harry warily steps closer, falling to his side when he recognizes the shock of blond hair.
This was how they’d found him, dumped in an alley. They’d assumed he was dead. Vampire attack, he’d caught in whispers, they wouldn’t have left him alive. But Harry had caught one staring at Draco’s left arm and he’d dropped to his knees to check for a pulse anyway.
He’d found it almost immediately and apparated him to Mungo’s himself, strangely suspicious of his team’s incompetence. But Draco looks different now, his lips bluer, his neck tilted at a sharper angle. Harry scrambles for his wrist, searching frantically for a pulse. “There’s a pulse,” he whispers. “There should be a pulse, where’s his pulse?”
He hears yelling in the distance, but the Aurors in the alley are quiet, watching him cautiously. There’s a murmur in the back of his mind. It’s not real.
The room flickers and for a moment, Harry catches a glimpse of Draco, the real Draco, healthy and alive, and shooting spells at Dorian, screaming at Harry to get the fuck up.
Dorian stands in the corner, his nails scraping against Harry’s runes. He’s preying on Harry’s fear. Harry stands slowly, watching the pixels fall around him. When he turns, Dorian’s smirking at him.
“Not so fun, eh, Potter?”
Harry doesn’t get a chance to reply. Draco charges at Dorian, face twisting in rage. Dorian ducks out of the way at the last second, but not before Draco pulls him in by the collar. The shift throws him off though, and the momentum sends them stumbling. Harry catches Draco’s startled expression before he and Dorian, tangled together, go crashing out of the window.
“No!” Harry shouts. He rushes to the edge, peering over the broken glass, down hundreds of feet. Dorian is sprawled on the ground, but Draco’s nowhere in sight. He steps back, shaking until he hears a familiar flap of wings. The raven lands elegantly on the windowsill and cocks his head, before hopping down and transforming back.
Harry doubles over and takes a breath. “You’re okay,” he whispers, more to himself than to Draco. He straightens. “Is Dorian—?”
Draco’s standing oddly still by the broken window, watching Harry carefully. “He’s fine, just knocked out. The Aurors are taking everyone else in.”
“Oh.” Harry exhales. “That’s it, then. We’re done.”
“You saved my life.”
Harry scoffs. “I think you saved mine, actually.”
“No—I mean… that scene, where I was bleeding out? That was real, wasn’t it? That’s how you found me after the attack?”
“Yes,” he says softly, remembering his sickening relief when he’d found Draco’s pulse, the tickle of his hair against Harry’s neck as they’d apparated to Mungo’s, the cold metal of the chairs as they told Harry the news. He had nodded and walked away, satisfied to simply know that Draco was alive. They weren’t friends, then, and Harry doubted that he’d be the first person Draco would want to see when he woke. He regrets slightly that Draco found out like this.
“You never told me.”
“What was there to tell?”
“You saved me. Again.” He strides closer and tucks himself into Harry’s arms.
“I think that’s just what we do, Draco. We fuck everything up, and call each other names, and get ourselves into ridiculous situations,” Harry says, looking around the destroyed mess of Armand Dorian’s bedroom. “And then we keep saving each other.”
“It’s what we do?”
Harry places a hand on the crown of Draco’s head and pets him gently. “Yes.” He feels Draco’s smile against his neck.
“Okay, then,” he replies, easy, as if that’s how it’s always been.