Part Eight of 'The Long-Desired'

[lomonaaeren]

Title: The Long-Desired (8/13)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Creature!fic,(vampire Draco), angst, violence, profanity, sex, bloodplay, past canon character death, dark (arguably insane) Harry. DH spoilers, but ignores epilogue.
Summary: Sequel to ‘Viper.’ Harry is more determined than ever to prevent Draco from taking Harry as his lover and Long-Desired, which Harry sees as slavery. Draco turns to Harry’s friends for help as Harry spirals down into self-destruction.
Author’s Notes: This is the third of the ‘Two Hunters’ series, which begins with ‘Mongoose and continues in Viper, and it will be the last one. Reading this one isn’t recommended if you haven’t read the others. It is also a dark story, and not very fluffy. This one will probably be between nine and thirteen parts long, updated irregularly.

Part One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Harry opened his eyes slowly. He was lying in a hollow, he was certain, not much bigger than his body. Softness covered the bottom of it, but it didn’t feel like the softness of blankets. He blinked and fumbled about for his glasses, only to realize that they were still on his face and so he should be able to see his surroundings better than this.

A body lay on top of him.

For long moments, Harry’s muscles went stiff as he tried to overcome the frantic idea that it was Hermione’s body and he had somehow murdered her and couldn’t remember anything about it. Then he remembered other things, and groaned. The body on him vibrated with the sound, but didn’t stir.

Staring past its shoulder, around what looked like the edge of a boulder and up through the small gaps in a temporary roof of leaves and heather, Harry could see the red light of sunset.

Malfoy had dragged him to a burrow, he decided slowly. Vampires were good at finding or making temporary shelters in cases where they wouldn’t be able to get back to their own preferred lairs before the sun rose. And of course going through Harry’s wards to the house wouldn’t be an option for Malfoy if Harry wasn’t awake.

Or he didn’t want to make it an option. Harry still remembered the way Malfoy had blazed through his wards the night he had almost sacrificed the hawk.

Malfoy had dragged him here, and then lain down on top of him, though logic would dictate that Harry should be on top of him in case the sun crept through the tiny gaps in the roof. On the other hand, the protective instincts that Malfoy claimed to have would probably say that he should shelter his Long-Desired from rain and other threats.

He said he would burn for me.

A fit of shivering overtook Harry, and he whimpered in spite of himself. He remembered more now, and knew that he must have fallen asleep standing up, in the circle of Malfoy’s arms. Malfoy hadn’t awakened him. He had made sure that Harry was as comfortable as possible instead and then—died on top of him.

Harry pushed at the cold weight, mindless for a moment, before rationality took over. Malfoy wouldn’t wake until the sun set, and despite the redness of the light, that time couldn’t be here yet. Otherwise, he would have stirred when Harry pushed him. Harry had seen a half-awake vampire seize a net that Harry had draped over her and drag it to her mouth, shredding it with her fangs before she knew what it was.

For the moment, he needed to stay here.

Harry tried to relax, despite all the sudden prickling itches on his body that he couldn’t reach and the pebbles biting into his shoulders and back. Perhaps it was for the best that he couldn’t flee for now and put wards between himself and Malfoy. He needed to think about what had happened, and he couldn’t do that with too much distance.

Start with the obvious.

Ginny was dead.

Of course she was. He had seen her ashes scattered himself, felt them roll through his fingers, thick and greasy. But now he couldn’t hear her voice anymore when he called, ringing back from the corners of his brain in answer to his cries. His memories of her seemed smaller and thinner than they ever had before. The image of her as she had been in the moments before the vampire attacked, running across the field, her hair streaming behind her, her face alive with laughter and love, was still there, but no longer the most important thing in his universe.

Harry felt, for a moment, as though someone had ripped his heart out of his body and told him that he would never have it again, because he hadn’t taken sufficiently good care of it.

Then he took a deep breath and asked himself the more difficult question. How long is it since you did anything for the real Ginny, instead of your idea of her?

And the answer was there, of course, if he looked for it, just as everything else seemed to be. The last time he could have helped Ginny was the day he had killed her murderer.

That one vampire had drained her dry. Not all the vampires in the world. Every killing he’d done after that had been for his own sake, in the hopes of easing his guilt and grief.

Harry shivered again. He drew his arms together under Malfoy’s bulk and checked the angle of the light again. Dimmer than before—some clouds must have come out—but lower.

That left him adrift. If he couldn’t kill out of vengeance, then what could he kill for? And what would he become and be if he didn’t hurt vampires? Maybe he was Malfoy’s Long-Desired and Ron and Hermione’s best friend, but he couldn’t define himself solely in terms of other people.

Malfoy promised to give me something to live for. Maybe I should wait and trust him, see what he comes up with.

It wasn’t a perfect solution to the problem, because Harry had the feeling that Malfoy wouldn’t see anything wrong with Harry simply being his Long-Desired. But it did promise an answer, without forcing him to decide right now. So he returned to other ideas.

There could be no falling away from this. Malfoy had seen his weakness. Harry had to live with the idea, not pretend it had never happened. Vampires were notoriously difficult to use Memory Charms on, and Harry already knew that he couldn’t kill Malfoy.

And you accept that?

Harry licked his lips. The indignant question came from a part of himself that still thought it worthwhile to fight to the death against the bond, even if he couldn’t win. There was always suicide. There was always making sure that both he and Malfoy died in the hopeless battle.

But his breakdown last night had brought him face to face with a truth he’d forgotten: he didn’t want to die.

He wasn’t willing to die hunting vampires. He wasn’t willing to commit suicide so that he could be free of Malfoy. It was only that he thought he should, if he had nothing to live for and would simply be a burden on people.

If Malfoy could help draw him away from that black whirlpool and back into some sort of active life where he actually helped people and had friends and did something more than obsess about vampires, Harry would follow him.

Then an elbow knocked against his chest, and the dead weight on top of him turned liquid, the marble dissolving into water. Malfoy was waking.

Harry hesitated, thinking of the way that Malfoy had held him last night without demanding anything, then reached out and made a gesture of his own.

*

It was quite the most pleasant waking Draco had had since he had become a vampire. Warmth surrounded him and nestled against him, and then someone drew his head down and pressed his mouth against more of that warmth. Draco would have resisted in sheer surprise, but the smell that filled his nostrils was too wonderful. He licked his lips and felt his fangs fold down reflexively.

“Here,” said the owner of that warmth, whose hands stroked up and down Draco’s back in the most soothing way. “I know what you did for me, and I don’t intend to simply take and take without giving. Take from me.”

Draco only needed the invitation; he knew he only needed the invitation, though not why. He leaned forwards and sank his teeth into the yielding skin, aiming by instinct so that he would only open a vein to drink and not to drain his prey to death.

The blood hitting his tongue was a shock that brought back memory and desire at once. This was Harry who had invited him to his throat, and was now stroking Draco’s hair back from his forehead with light hands.

Harry.

Draco felt an enormous, greedy possessiveness invade him. It was intolerable that someone else might see Harry right now, or try to harm him or take him away. Draco clamped his hands into place, one on Harry’s neck to hold him steady, one around his shoulders so that he could hunch closer and shield his Long-Desired. He snarled steadily, in warning to any other predators looking on, and then paid attention to his drinking.

Light. Light on water. Light on blood. Blood drowning him deep in pleasure, in rushing warmth that made his heart glad to beat and his eyes glad of the faint darkness that he opened them to encounter and his skin glad of the faint burns on his back where sunlight must have touched him. All of this came from Harry. His body had suffered to shield Harry from brightness that might have woken him too soon. Draco had to take pleasure and joy from that.

He let his self-consciousness melt and drip into the blood, and as he did so, he felt Harry rock against him, his hands running up and down Draco’s sides now as if he had some strange mania to count all his ribs.

This was a gentler pleasure than they had shared before, and Draco knew that neither of them would come to climax. It didn’t matter. There was enough contentment of its own kind in the way their half-erections rubbed against each other, and the way Draco’s skin grew warmer as Harry’s skin cooled, and the way that Harry stirred and groaned and arched, as if Draco’s fangs were bringing him back to some idea of what living meant.

And Harry had invited him. Draco clung to that fact in the face of the tide of difficulties that he saw coming down on them.

When he finished, he licked the wound shut and leaned back on his heels to watch Harry. Harry gave him a dazed smile, and Draco frowned, tracing the puncture wounds with one finger. Harry shivered, but the shiver wasn’t as strong as it should have been, and there was a grey tinge to his skin Draco knew he hadn’t put there.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” he demanded.

“Er.” Harry blinked at him, and then past Draco at the stars above the hollow they lay in. “Yesterday morning, it would be,” he said quietly.

Draco leaped out of the hole, utterly destroying the roof of branches and leaves that had covered them, and then bent down and lifted Harry. Harry stiffened at once and craned his neck around so that he could look Draco in the eyes.

“I can walk,” he said.

“I don’t think you can,” Draco said. “You need strength, especially since I took your blood when you hadn’t had any food for a long time.” He nuzzled his head into Harry’s neck again, scolding himself for not waiting. His Long-Desired had already proven that he didn’t always know what was best for him. “Let me through the wards around your house so that I can make sure that you get some food.”

Harry gritted his teeth for a moment, as though he didn’t understand what the problem was. Then he sighed and said, “All right, but it’ll take a few moments to destroy anti-vampire wards that ancient and strong.”

“I don’t care,” Draco responded, and the next moment he was running away across the moor towards Harry’s house, letting his arms and their muscles cradle Harry against the jounces that he would experience otherwise. Harry clung around his neck and uttered a constant stream of grumbling complaints.

Draco let him. They would neither do Harry harm nor put Draco off from what he planned to do for Harry’s own good.

*

Harry uneasily finished the last bites of his sandwich—piled high with cheese, ham, and pickles he hadn’t known he had in the house—and then leaned back in his chair. Malfoy had watched him eat every bite, his eyes avid.

It was even worse because Harry knew that, this time, the vampire wasn’t simply fattening him to feed on.

Harry licked his lips, and Malfoy’s eyes followed the motion of his tongue, too. Harry brought one hand down hard on the table, but didn’t have the satisfaction of making Malfoy jump, because of course he had seen the motion coming long before with those enhanced eyes. Harry scowled at him. “Do you have to pay that much attention to me?”

“To my Long-Desired, who until recently was teetering dangerously on the edge of self-destruction?” Malfoy splayed his fingers beneath his chin and leaned forwards across the table. He was impossibly elegant, even though the blood he’d drunk had given him more of a flush to his porcelain-pale cheeks. “Yes, I think I do.”

Harry took a deep breath and restrained the temptation to start an argument. He had to remind himself that Malfoy had seen him in his weakest moment. Nothing could ever obliterate that. Harry needed to treat Malfoy a bit better because, otherwise, he had a weapon to use against Harry that Harry couldn’t counter.

And perhaps because he sheltered you and some of that shite he was babbling about might be true after all.

Harry crossed his arms, forcing the notion away from himself, and said, “I’m not used to someone thinking I’m worth this much attention.”

“Get used to it,” Malfoy said, without an insulting snap to his tone. It simply sounded as if he were making a statement about reality. “It will happen for the rest of your life, which is likely to be extraordinarily long.”

Objections sprang to Harry’s lips about not wanting to outlive his friends, but he put them aside. They weren’t the main point of this conversation. “I simply don’t understand,” he said carefully, “how you can be content like this. Vampires need variety. I know that. One of them once told me that it isn’t a desire to kill that makes your kind drain so many victims, but a boredom with the same taste of blood over and over, and the fact that death is more varied than watching people slump to the ground with papery skin and bleeding throats.” Harry concealed a shudder. The battle to kill that particular vampire had been vicious, since he was also a wizard and had somehow maintained the Animagus ability that allowed him to change into a bear. It had been Harry’s hardest challenge until Caspar and the Collector came along. “How can you be sure that you won’t be bored with me?”

Malfoy reached out and stroked his forehead. Harry shivered, though his hand was only cold in the center of the palm. “You’re mortal,” he said. “That means inherently changeable. And I have reasons to study and admire the smallest flickers of your personality. I will not grow bored.”

Harry licked his lips again. “All right. But I still don’t see that we can live together on any sort of rational basis.”

Malfoy laughed. Harry jumped as though the vampire had shocked him. Well, that laughter felt like a shock, so rich and warm and deep that Harry would have been certain he was hearing a human laugh if he didn’t know better. Malfoy leaned forwards when the laugh was done and fastened his eyes on Harry’s face. “Harry,” he said, and his voice dripped with the sound of a purr, “neither of us has ever been any good at rationality. Don’t start expecting the impossible from us now.”

Harry stared at the table. He wanted to raise more objections, but none were immediately coming, except ones so far away—like the objection that he would outlive his friends when he hadn’t even accepted immortality yet—that Malfoy could wave them off. Yet it seemed impossible that this should be it.

“So we accept this and live together?” He looked at Malfoy, shaking his head. “There must be something else that would prevent it.”

“I anticipate problems.” Malfoy folded his hands in front of him, and Harry found himself fascinated by the contrast between the slightly blood-warmed skin and the transparent, glassy nails. Malfoy noticed him looking and flashed his fangs. Harry looked away and forced himself to concentrate on Malfoy’s voice. “For example, your best friend does not seem to know of my existence yet, and I can hardly imagine that he will be happy about your next lover being a Malfoy. There will a problem with the Aurors. You have not been to work in several days. Do you still have a job? It will make a difference. And if you wish to keep up your hunting, then many things must change. I have no intention of losing my Long-Desired because you charge into a dangerous situation and rely on your luck to save you.”

That, at least, was an accusation that Harry thought he could answer. He looked up with a frown. “I planned.”

“For vampires in general.” Malfoy extended one long arm across the table and ran his finger up and down Harry’s ribs. “Not for the individuals that you encountered. With Caspar, you would have died if I had not been there. Likewise with the Collector. But that was not a contingency you could plan on. I would feel more comfortable concerning your ultimate survival if I knew that you had taken the time to the study the situation beforehand.”

Harry folded his arms. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“But I require more for you than that,” Malfoy said, “even if you do not for yourself.”

Harry blinked hard and stared down at the table, avoiding those elegant hands with his eyes this time. Once again he’d run up against the idea that Malfoy cared for him, in a way, and would do his best to keep Harry happy and safe even though Harry hadn’t done anything for him.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said simply, because he knew that Malfoy would smell his fear anyway. “It’s trying to change the habits of a few years in a few days.”

Malfoy put his fingers beneath Harry’s chin and tilted it up so that Harry was looking him in the eye. “I understand that,” he whispered. “What you don’t understand is that I’m not asking for a few days. I’m asking for years, and more years. You’ll have all the time you need to change. What I need is a commitment, and answers to some questions. Do you plan to continue hunting? Do you plan to keep your Auror job?” His fingers pressed in, and Harry knew that he couldn’t have turned his head if he wanted to. “Will you let me stay with you here in this house and hold you in my arms when I wish?”

Harry swallowed, and watched Malfoy’s eyes dilate as Harry’s throat bobbed against his fingers. Then he said, “I think each of those questions requires a separate answer.”

Malfoy nodded, never looking away from him. Harry shuddered faintly. The intensity in those eyes wouldn’t let him hide even if he wanted to, and it was disconcerting, since he had just begun to realize how much of the last few years he’d spent hiding.

“I don’t know if I want to keep hunting or not,” Harry said. “That’s the question that will take longest to answer. I—I know that I can’t keep doing it the way I was, and that you would have to come along. But I’m not sure that if I have the same impulse to do it, now that I know I was burying my grief for Ginny instead of avenging her.” He hesitated. “Do you think you might get bored, if I don’t hunt and so don’t give you something to do?”

*

Draco felt the strong temptation to laugh. That question showed how very naïve Harry still was about the nature of the Long-Desired bond.

“I could never become bored with anything you chose to do,” he said, and ran his fingers up and down Harry’s neck. Harry shivered and relaxed as if it had been that croon. Draco reminded himself to remember that useful gesture for later. “You will find something else to occupy the nights, I am certain. And so will I.”

Harry nodded shortly. “As for whether I want to keep my Auror job, I don’t think so, not right now. I’m not putting the attention into it that I need to. I won’t be able to help people if I’m always thinking about myself.” He folded his arms and hunched his shoulders as if he were cold. “I can barely even remember the details of the cases I’ve handled in the last months, except the ones that concerned vampires.”

Draco smiled. “I think that is the right decision,” he said. “You have done enough in your lifetime to help people. It’s time for you to relax and focus on what will make you happy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and seemed to gain back some of his confidence as he said sarcastically, “I know you won’t believe it, Malfoy, but for a large portion of my life, helping other people was what made me happy.”

“And now it’s not,” Draco said, refusing to let the larger point get drowned in Harry’s tangents. “So. You’ll give up the Auror job, with perhaps the option to take you back later.” He had noticed that much from Harry’s initial words, so it was not a challenging conclusion to come to, but Harry still blinked and gave him a wondering look. Draco preened a bit. It would be pleasant for him to keep surprising his Long-Desired. Despite what Harry had said, Draco thought it far more likely that Harry would become bored with him than the other way around. “And the answer to the last question?”

“I slept in your arms last night,” Harry said in a low voice. “It wasn’t—terrible.”

Draco smiled, and waited.

“Yes,” Harry said, rising to his feet and shaking his head as if still dazed at his own daring. “You can stay.”

Draco stood up and rounded the table. Harry watched him come with narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, which fell open slightly when Draco touched him. Then he leaned towards Draco’s shoulder and shut his eyes.

“You do deserve this,” Draco whispered. “Someone who is focused only on you, who finds your blood and magic pleasant, who cares for you because of the person you are instead of the heroic deeds you have performed. You may not think you merit it, but you do.”

“Can we not talk about that right now, please?” Harry’s voice was tense and strained.

“Of course.” Draco sniffed slightly. Harry was in pain, probably from lying in the same position most of the night and all of the past day. “You need a massage at the moment, I think, and a warm bath.”

Harry gave him another startled stare. Draco smiled gently back, and steered him in the direction of the bathroom.

*

This isn’t love, Harry thought. I know it isn’t, and not just because the books said so. But it’s bloody hard to tell the difference.

Part Nine.