[one-shots]: Endurance of Life, R, 1/2
Feb. 23rd, 2011 04:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lomonaaerenTitle: Endurance of Life
Pairing/: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny
Rating: R
Warnings: Vampires, blood-drinking, sex, some angst. This is non-linear and shifts its tenses between scenes, but hopefully won’t be too hard to figure out.
Word count: 14,700
Summary: Harry was hit with a curse that the Healers were helpless to stop. Now, on Beltane evening, Harry is ready to admit that Draco was right about the treatment for his condition all along.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: This was written forgraylor in the 2010 hds_beltane fest, but this is the first time I’ve posted it anywhere else. Thanks to my beta L. for her outstanding work.
Endurance of Life
Harry stands on the top of the hill, gazing down into the small meadow at its foot. The fires are already flaring there, dancing like red and orange ghosts above kindling invisible from this distance. But the shadows that shelter Harry from the gaze of the sun are becoming general, and soon his eyesight will be better than anyone’s.
Than the sight of anyone still human, at least.
Harry wraps his arms around himself and shivers.
Then he rolls his eyes at himself. Really, he should be encouraging Draco to shiver. He’s the one who has more to fear if Harry does carry out his plan.
Dense as the twilight is, it isn’t thick enough for Harry to venture out yet without risk of burning. He settles under his tree-shelter, rests his head against the trunk, and waits.
*
Draco happened to be waiting around in St. Mungo’s for his mother to come out from her latest Healing session when they brought Potter in. That was the only reason he ever saw what happened at all, the only reason he became involved.
Later, he would be unsure if that was a good thing or not.
A bustle of noise down the corridor. Draco whirled around, startled. This section of hospital was generally kept as silent as possible, to avoid alarming the people who suffered from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse and other spells that were likely to make them jumpy. But now people were shouting, and Draco could distinctly hear someone sobbing.
"Move!"
That was someone yelling at him.
Draco leaped instinctively out of the way, and only thought afterwards how unworthy such quick compliance was of the dignity of a Malfoy. But at least it gave him a wonderful view of the stretcher that the Healers carried between them, and the man who lay on it.
It was Potter. His head lolled to the side, his green eyes open and as empty as though life had already fled from him. His face was pale, and the scar on his forehead had cracked open, leaking blood down his cheek. And-Draco never knew how he had time to notice this, or to be sure, but he did, he was absolutely certain-Potter wasn’t breathing.
But the Healers still bundled him down the corridor and into a room, and they wouldn’t have done that with someone they knew was dead.
The door slammed, and Draco stood there, blinking at it and wondering what in the world that had been about.
*
Harry waits. The sun sets, as steadily as it always does-he’s got good at calculating the time in the past few months-and darkness floods the meadow. The fires grow brighter, surging and leaping. Harry smiles when he sees the wizards around them, encouraging them with magic. Hermione told him once that the Beltane fires didn’t need encouragement like that, that the magic of the day would make them grow on their own, but Hermione is sometimes wrong.
When the shadows grow deep enough for him to venture out, it’s as though someone whispers permission to relax in the back of his mind. Harry stands up and stretches his legs out; they nearly went to sleep sitting in that awkward position. He doesn’t mind, though. They’ll recover a lot faster than they would have before he got sick.
He waits, still, scanning the meadow with a focused gaze. He’d like to just dart out there and search from person to person until he finds the one he wants, but that would make him look mad or dangerous, and he’s spent too much time since he was cursed convincing people that he’s not that way. He’ll only move when he spots the right person.
A glimpse of pale, brilliant blond hair shows through the dusk.
Harry smiles, and feels the slight bite of his fangs into his lip when he does.
There.
He slips down the hill more softly than the shadows.
*
Draco stared at the door and waited, but no one came out, not even the sobbing person. So he went forwards and leaned his ear against it. There were no Silencing Charms or wards. The Healers had probably been too busy to cast them, and Draco might as well take advantage of that to find out information that could be important.
Or could affect him. As much as he hated to admit it, the sight of Potter’s scar bleeding made him feel as if he was suffocating. If there was a chance, no matter how small, that the Dark Lord could come back...
"He’s not stable," was the first thing Draco heard, snapped by someone in an agitated voice. "His heart is beating slower and slower, he isn’t breathing at all-and you think this is simple?"
"We know that he was hit with a curse," said a soft, deep voice that Draco knew. That was a Healer named Morton, who was often around in this ward because he could soothe the jumpiest patients. "And we have some information about what the curse was intended to do. Yes, I do think that the fix is simple, if we can find it, though obviously the effects aren’t."
The other Healer hissed and stomped away from the bed. Draco got ready to move in case she came out and found him standing there, but she leaned against the door instead and said, "You really think we can save him?"
"He will live." Morton’s voice was abstracted. Draco was sure that he was moving his wand in complicated patterns, trying to learn what the fuck was wrong with Potter. "Whether he’ll live as human is the question. So I reckon it depends what you mean by ‘saving’ him."
The soft sobbing in the back of the room suddenly turned into words. "I don’t-do whatever you have to. Please."
"Of course, Miss Weasley," Morton said. Draco rolled his eyes. Just like Weasley to still be endlessly hanging around Potter, even though he’s too dedicated to his job to marry the bint. "At the moment, his heartbeat is gone-"
The sobbing turned into a heartbroken wail.
"But he is manifestly still alive." There was a little pause, and Draco supposed Morton had done something to show that that was true. "And his pallor, plus the general flushing of blood through the scar, accords with the characteristics I would expect of such a curse."
"The scar?" Weasley sniffled, but got herself under control. "I don’t understand. Why would he be bleeding from there? Ron-that is, my brother-said the curse hit him in the back."
Draco sneered. He knew Ron Weasley was Potter’s Auror partner, and so they’d probably been together on a case when Potter was cursed. Fine job he did of saving the Savior.
"The curse scar is the remnant of old and powerful magic," Morton said, still as calm as though he were discussing the weather or gardening. "I am not surprised that the blood would come from there, despite the physical location of the curse. Mr. Potter’s body is flushing his mortal magic and some of his mortal blood, in preparation for the change, and the scar is effectively the weakest point in his body, so the point where both can depart his body without hurting him."
"I don’t understand," Weasley said again. Draco got the feeling she said it a lot. "Changing. What is he becoming?"
"A vampire," Morton said. "It’s fascinating. I’ve never seen a curse that so perfectly mimicked the effect of a bite."
Draco would have sat down on the floor if it hadn’t been for the need to keep silent so they wouldn’t catch him.
*
Harry walks past people who flinch a little, as though at the touch of a cold breeze, and glance over their shoulders. But Harry is already past them and gone, and making his way towards his target.
No.
It’s probably wrong to think of him that way.
His focus, then. That sounds better.
Draco senses him coming long before Harry gets there, of course, and turns around with a calm expression on his face. He acts like he expected this, which Harry thinks is ridiculous. Seven months have gone past without him showing up. Draco would be stupid if he kept hoping, just because.
But there’s the expression anyway, and Draco puts his hand out, and says, "I hope that you’re not going to be afraid to jump through the fires. I hear they consume vampire flesh more easily than human." His eyes spark, and he leans close, which is only the second uncontrolled gesture Harry’s ever seen him make, his nostrils flaring as if he wants to catch Harry’s scent. "Go up like a torch, you would."
Harry laughs in spite of himself. Draco’s always been arrogant like that, saying cruel things, ever since he insinuated himself into Harry’s life after he got cursed. His friends have listened to him or read his letters and then gasped, looking at Harry, wondering how in the world he can put up with this.
Well, Harry thought he couldn’t, for a long time. That was why he let Draco walk away and didn’t go after him. Draco wanted certain things, encouraged certain things, and Harry couldn’t deal with that. He was still hoping to get some semblance of a normal life back.
But when he finally accepted that it would never come-when Ginny finally told him, sincerely and with tears in her eyes, that she couldn’t do what he needed-when Harry realized that his predatory instincts were part of him and couldn’t be ignored or denied-he thought of only one person to go to.
Maybe he’s the only person who’s been right for me, since the curse, he thinks, and fills his eyes with the subtle light that seems to linger around Draco.
"I’ll cross any fire that you cross," Harry says.
Draco picks up the nuances Harry wants him to pick up. His eyes drop almost shut, and he gives a soundless little moan. And then he turns his head to the side, exposing his neck.
Harry watches the pulse flutter in his throat. He’s not afraid of it, now.
*
Draco went back to the hospital room the next morning-his mother was with his father, who was really better than Draco at soothing her when she woke from a nightmare-and waited until the tearful party of Weasleys left and there were no Healers attending on Potter. Then he opened the door and walked in as though he had every right to be there.
He paused when he crossed the threshold. He hadn’t realized how dim it would be with the enchanted windows covered and only a single lamp on the table next to the bed. He was still blinking, trying to adjust his eyes, when Potter growled.
Draco felt harmonics of fear awaken in his belly at the sound. This was probably the way a gazelle felt when it heard a lion, he thought absently. The more he considered the comparison, the more he liked it. Gazelles were pale and swift and graceful. And lions were heavy-footed and didn’t always catch them. Yes, it would do.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
Potter’s voice was hoarse, as though he had spent the night screaming. Draco hadn’t heard any of the Healers talking about that, though, so he thought it unlikely. Really, Healers were worse gossips than Slytherin third-years. Oh, they’d rarely mention a patient by name, but a modicum of observation was all you needed to understand who they were talking about.
"Isn’t it obvious?" Draco sat down on a chair next to the bed. His eyes had adjusted now, but that didn’t prevent the glow of Potter’s eyes from being unnatural. He was curled up on the bed, his spine bent in a way that would have been more suited to a cat than a human being. Of course, he wasn’t entirely human anymore. "Giving you a visitor of quality, since you have so few of those in your life."
Potter’s laughter was brief and unamused, just a few shades above the growl. "Get out."
"No." Draco leaned forwards and sniffed. Yes, the scent of blood freshly spilled was rising from Potter. Draco had smelled it sometimes on other vampires when he got close enough. "Your transformation is proceeding rather fast, isn’t it? How long until you start craving humans to drink from?"
Potter was motionless, then, and the stillness was as unnatural as the bending had been. Draco listened, and couldn’t hear any heartbeat or breathing, just as Morton had said there wouldn’t be. He sighed. Perfect.
"How did you know?" Potter whispered.
"Anyone could tell," Draco said, and enjoyed the panic that shone in Potter’s face for a moment before he turned his head away. "Now. You didn’t answer me. Have you fed already? Or do you need a little pick-me-up right now?" He touched his neck, sliding his fingernails down. He knew the sound was perfectly audible to Potter’s enhanced hearing.
Potter dug his nails into the sheets, ripping them. His growl sounded again, and then he said, "For your information, Malfoy, I wouldn’t touch your blood if I did need it. But the Healers say I don’t. They say that I’m not exactly like a normal vampire because this is the result of a curse, and they think they can change me back. Drinking blood would hasten the transformation. I don’t intend to do it."
Draco paused and tilted his head. He hadn’t expected this. "Morton doesn’t usually give people false hope," he murmured. "I wonder why he’s doing it to you?"
Potter whipped back towards him and arched his head in a way that he probably didn’t realize was odd, thrusting his neck towards Draco. Draco’s palms sweated, but he didn’t think rubbing them off on his trousers would help right now. It might mean distracting himself, if ever so slightly, from Potter’s barely leashed power and outrage.
"It’s not false," Potter said. "I’m different. They can change me back, they’re sure of it."
"I’ve studied curses like this," Draco said quietly. "Curses that make people vampires, centaurs, sirens. They think the original werewolves were the results of such a curse, but no one’s ever been able to duplicate it, if they were." He paused, then shook his head. "I don’t believe that, myself. Werewolves change too radically; they’re not human anymore at the full moon. You just know that some fool of a wizard imagined himself racing around happily as a fell black beast and invented the disease. And then it got out of hand. Diseases always do."
Potter stared at him in bewilderment. Draco could accept that. Potter didn’t have all the facts yet. Believing Draco would be difficult until he did. Perhaps then he could get on with the business of biting.
"If they know what the curse is and where it came from," Potter said, recovering himself, "then they ought to be able to cure it."
Draco clucked his tongue impatiently. "Knowing where it came from is a long way from being able to cure it, Potter. They never have. People who are cursed to be vampires are vampires from that day forwards-though with certain interesting differences that mean the Ministry regulates them less stringently. They can spend their time railing at the heavens and declaring they’re different, or they can get on with the business of life. Or unlife, if you prefer." He turned his head to the side in a way that he knew was attractive. He didn’t need the flare in Potter’s eyes to confirm that for him, though of course it was nice to be told.
"I won’t drink blood," Potter said.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Then you won’t grow your powers to their fullest extent," he said. "I told you, cursed vampires are different. You can get out during the day, as long as you don’t let the sunlight touch you directly, and you won’t be consumed with bloodlust if you don’t get enough to eat. You have less powerful reactions to garlic, running water, and all the other ancient things that vampires fear. And you can leap higher, run faster, hear and see in ways that humans can only imagine. Of course, turned vampires have those powers, too, but they don’t make the best use of them because they’re so focused on the hunt for food. You’re not half a mindless animal. You just became superhuman, and you should enjoy it."
Potter flinched back from him. Draco sighed. Too much a Gryffindor. It might take him a few days to take a drink, at this rate. "You sound as though you want to be cursed or turned yourself, Malfoy. Why don’t you go out and get that done?"
"As a comeback, that’s weak," Draco said. "Besides, you see how pale I already am. Undeath would render me too pale to be attractive."
Potter stared at him. "I almost think you believe that."
"I do," Draco said.
Potter shook his head several times, then buried it in his arms, "I’m dreaming," he moaned. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he looked up while Draco was busy shifting closer to the bed, under the theory that his scent might make Potter do what he was cursed to do. "Why do you care so much about me becoming a vampire?"
"Because there are things about you that attract me, but your annoying traits outweighed them," Draco said. Potter blinked slowly. Draco hoped hunger was drowning his morality. "Believe me, Potter, I’m not lying. I gave up lies after the war. They didn’t get me anywhere, so I thought I’d try and see what honesty could do. I do think you’re a berk, still, but your strength pulled me in. And you’re not bad to look at. And now you’re a super-powerful predator, and I like the idea of a super-powerful predator in bed with me. Can’t trust an ordinary vampire, though; they’re liable to let the bloodlust take them and consume too much. So now I have the chance to sleep with someone who attracts me and just became more attractive. What’s not to like?"
"Why do you want a super-powerful predator in bed with you?" Potter was shuddering, his eyes fixed on Draco’s neck, but his voice was still calm.
"What do you mean, why?" Draco asked, genuinely puzzled.
Potter only blinked some more. Draco reached up, intending to accelerate the process-
"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Get out!"
Weasley. Draco sighed and stood. "We’ll have to continue this interesting conversation later," he told Potter, and nodded to Weasley, who was staring at him as if he were a tapeworm that had just crawled out of her mouth. No, I assure you, the parasites you carry are still firmly inside you. "I was helping your boyfriend find himself," he told Weasley.
She stared at him, mouth open but eyes ablaze with hostility.
"Get out of here, Malfoy," Potter snapped.
Draco glanced back at him and shook his head sadly. "When you’re ready to accept what you’ve become, you’ll be grateful for what I did," he said, and then slipped out the door. He would just have to try again tomorrow.
*
"You know what you’ve chosen by coming here." Draco’s voice is low and intense, and his hand won’t stop working its way up Harry’s arm. His fingers flex and burrow into the cloth, and Harry wonders if they want to burrow into the skin the same way. He wouldn’t mind if they did.
"Yes, I know," Harry says, and doesn’t bother to disguise the way his teeth lengthen when he looks at Draco’s neck. He draws Draco into his arms and wishes, regretfully, that they could start right there and then. But he knows that Beltane has its proprieties in the same way as any other holiday, and they need to at least take their turn at dancing and jumping over fires before they’re allowed to lie together.
"What changed your mind?" Draco’s breath is hot and makes Harry’s head spin dizzily as he leans in to nip at Harry’s ear. Harry sighs, taking in the air that he no longer needs to release unless he wants to talk, and stands more easily. It’s wonderful how much tension he’s dropped since he came here, he thinks absently. It’s tension that he picked up in hospital all those months ago and has refused to let go ever since.
"I decided to be honest with myself," Harry says, tracing soft circles on the side of Draco’s neck with one finger. "And I got tired of the lies." He hesitates, wondering if he can trust Draco with this. But hasn’t he just said that he values honesty now? "And I missed you."
It’s definitely the right choice to trust Draco with this, if the way his eyes shine is any indication.
*
"Who did you bribe to get in here?" Potter asked. He had buried his head in his arms the moment Draco walked through the door, and showed no inclination to raise it yet.
"I’m sorry that you think I would have to resort to bribery," Draco murmured, and took his seat beside the bed. He had only sat there once, but it was already his seat, because it was closest to Potter and he would accept nothing less. "But as a matter of fact, it was Healer Monticello."
The sound of Potter’s teeth grinding came clearly to him across the space that separated them. Draco clucked his tongue solicitously. "Dear, dear, Potter. Did you think the Healers were really as dedicated to their patients as they like to present themselves?"
"I expected them to keep unwanted visitors out, at least." Potter looked up, and his eyes were larger than before, with a faint, glazed sheen to them that Draco had expected. That was what vampires often looked like when they had been kept from feeding too long. Of course, Potter wouldn’t snap into bloodlust, but the sight still quickened Draco’s heartbeat. "Don’t you realize that I’m dangerous, Malfoy? That I can hurt you?"
"Don’t you realize that that’s exactly what I want?" Draco asked quietly.
Potter stared at him, lips parted. Draco could see the bumps of his fangs if he squinted. He suspected that Potter had not let them rise fully to the surface yet. Doing so would be too much like acknowledging what he was now. "But why?" Potter whispered, shaking his head as if he didn’t understand.
"I told you already," Draco said, and then nodded as Potter twitched his head. "Well, perhaps I didn’t explain as fully as I should have. I have wanted you. I didn’t think you would look twice at me. Now I think you might."
"I’m not going to drink blood," Potter said.
Draco gave this the treatment it deserved, and ignored it. "There’s no one else who can accept you so completely," he said, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and turning his head so that Potter could see his neck. "No one else who can reconcile you to your nature so fast. Imagine what would happen if you attacked an innocent victim, or if you tried to feed from your spotless fiancée. You won’t find someone like me easily, Potter. Prejudices against vampires are too strong."
Potter’s eyes were locked on his neck. Of course they were. The glaze deepened, and his upper lip appeared to lengthen. Draco smiled. He thought Potter was too stubborn to launch himself at Draco in a direct attack the way he wanted to, but who could resist someone freely offering himself? And Draco knew how to seduce someone with gestures and words. It shouldn’t take much practice to seduce someone with his blood.
Or the moans and soft sighs I intend to give when he drinks from me.
Then Potter shook his head and held back the vampire attempting to creep out of him, much to Draco’s disappointment. He was glancing aside again. If his eyes sneaked back to Draco’s neck, then he managed to hide it well. "Since I don’t intend to feed from anyone, that won’t become an issue."
"Do you know what happens to vampires who don’t drink blood?" Draco asked, loosening a few more buttons and pushing his shirt down one shoulder. He had read once that vampires found their victims the more tempting the more flesh was bared. And beyond that, he liked the sensation of being partially naked in front of Potter. It made his flesh prickle with cold and lifted him out of himself.
"No," Potter said. His voice was a croak, and his eyes had locked on the hollow of Draco’s throat, where the pulse fluttered. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What?"
"I don’t know, either," Draco said. "No one does. Because there aren’t any." He pulled one arm free of his shirt and sat still, letting Potter get a look at what he could have, as long as he made the right choices.
"I don’t want to do it," Potter whispered.
"Well, I’m sure the laws of nature and magic will bend, now," Draco said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "If the great Harry Potter says that he doesn’t want to obey them, I’m sure they’re trembling in terror."
Potter gave him a narrow-eyed glance, then ran his tongue quickly along his lips, too quickly for Draco to check if the fangs were there. "It’s a matter of principle," he said. "And you said that cursed vampires were different from turned vampires. I ought to have a greater chance of resisting the bloodlust."
Draco pressed a hand to the bare part of his chest and fluttered his eyelashes. "The mighty Auror is listening to me? I feel so honored."
Potter folded his arms. "You don’t understand. And you’re mad. No one simply walks into his-his schoolboy rival’s room and offers him up to be eaten."
Draco spent some time studying Potter, and decided, reluctantly, that he would have to talk more about the truth. It was simple to him, but that was because he had lived with it for years. Apparently Potter would need more convincing.
"The fact of the matter," he said, "is that I like the thought of someone drinking from me. Eating from me, even, as long as it’s not fatal." Potter’s eyebrows simply climbed, and Draco sighed. "We all have our fantasies, Potter. We all have our ways of getting power and making our lives better. Yours is playing big strong Auror and rescuing people. Mine is being a necessity to someone who doesn’t want to depend on me but must. I fantasized about it for a long time when I accepted that your rejection of my friendship was final. I imagined that you would come to me someday because I was the only one who could brew a potion that you needed, or get one of your Weasley friends out of prison."
Potter scowled at him. Draco magnanimously decided to keep silent about the several exploits of Weasley’s that he’d heard about, which had had to be hushed up before the general public heard about them.
"But this is better," Draco whispered. "This is ever so much better. Because I knew that, if you were forced to depend on me for something that would let you walk away again, you would whinge about it the entire time. This time, you’ll need me. You’ll have to keep drinking from me if you drink once." He let his head fall back against the chair and shut his eyes, hoping the arch of his neck, the perfect line of his shoulder, would speak for him.
"There’s no reason I should." Potter’s voice had deepened, was guttural, and Draco arched his hips to show off what that did to him. Potter had to go through the throat-clearing again before he spoke, which amused Draco exceedingly. "What-what makes you sure that your blood will taste better than anyone else’s?"
"It’s not the taste," Draco said softly, opening his eyes. "It’s that you won’t want to drink from someone unwilling. I told you. All your friends are just like you. They won’t want to give up that much control. They would let you feed from them if you needed to, but they would stand stiff in your arms and back away again as soon as it was done. I think that trying to feed on your fiancée would destroy your relationship.
"But I-I’m a willing lover. One of the few you’ll find in a world where otherwise you’ll be condemned to rape."
Potter gave a full-body shiver. Draco smiled. This was not the way he would have chosen to win Potter, with honesty and pointing out the blunt negatives of the situation rather than the subtle positives. It was so distasteful, so Gryffindor. But many a spirited horse had to be guided with a heavy rein at first, until it learned what reins were for.
"I’ve heard that vampires can charm their victims," Potter whispered. "That they can make it-not so bad for them."
"Ah," Draco said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "Another widespread truth that applies to turned vampires, and not cursed ones."
Potter hissed for the first time, his lips fluttering up from the wind of his emphatic breath, his fangs showing. Draco licked his own teeth in response. Strong, pointed, deadlier than any sting or any snakebite.
If Potter wanted them to be. That was part of the attraction for Draco, knowing that he would lie beneath the jaws of a predator who could bite down and end his life if he would, but who was far too principled ever to do so. There was no vampire in the world like that whom Draco knew and would trust, but Potter.
The thrill of danger, without the insanity of it that putting his life in serious risk would have. Draco would be more than content if this came about, if he could only persuade Potter, but contentment would be a good start.
"What you’re saying still doesn’t make much sense," Potter said.
Draco shrugged. "It’s a fantasy I’ve thought of over and over again. And wanked to." Potter had such a lovely blush. "That doesn’t mean I ever expected it to come true. But it means that, when I saw that it could, I immediately moved to take advantage of the opportunity."
Potter shook his head in revulsion. "You’d submit to me? That’s what it sounds like."
Draco laughed in spite of the situation, in spite of everything, because it was so perfectly something that he would have expected Potter to say. "Of course," he said. "You’re too proud, too stubborn, for that."
"I’m not proud-" Potter began, heatedly and in such defiance of the truth that it was better that Draco ignored and interrupted him. After all, the great hero would be horrified later when he realized what a liar he was being.
"There’s a power in letting go that you don’t understand," Draco said. "To know that you’re about to spill saliva down the sides of your mouth-or semen down the sides of your cock, as the case may be-in longing for me, when I’ve barely lifted a finger..." He shivered. "That’s power. And you’re mistaking submission in one area of life for weakness in everything, Potter. I wouldn’t agree with you about what to do, who to spend time with, or even where we should go so that each of us could show off our new conquests. But I would give you my blood without complaint."
Potter said nothing. He was breathing in a peculiar pattern. Draco opened his eye and smiled a bit at him, wondering what was going through his head.
"I need to think," Potter said.
That is not a refusal. Of course, Draco was aware that Potter would probably need a lot more persuasion still, and he rose to his feet and bowed his head respectfully.
"Take your time," he said. "And use those enhanced senses of yours and sniff your friends when they come to visit you tomorrow."
"What-"
But Draco had already slipped out of the room. Best to leave a hint of mystery lingering behind him. No good lover revealed all his secrets on the first date.
*
Music is lifting from all around them.
Harry doesn’t think he would have been able to identify the instruments before his transformation-or even a month ago, before he gave up on trying to pretend that he was human and couldn’t hear things beyond a normal person’s range of hearing. But he can make them out now.
Drum, flute, fiddle. A higher, shriller noise that’s either a piccolo or a smaller flute; Harry isn’t good enough to sort every single sound he hears yet. A horn, of all things, ringing like a call to the hunt.
Harry’s arms tighten around Draco, and he licks his lips with such relish that Draco laughs at him, reaching up to slide a hand across his face. He seems to be tracing the subtle changes to the jaw shape that Harry’s mouth has had to make to accommodate his fangs. Harry doesn’t know if he can actually feel them, or even if he knows they’re there, but if any human would know about the changes a vampire’s body goes through, it’s Draco.
"Ready to begin?" Draco breathes into his ear.
"More than you can imagine," Harry whispers back, and then the dance starts.
The line of springing, stamping, whirling couples spills between the fires and around in a pattern that Harry’s sure is ritually significant. If he had looked at it from his original position on the hill, he might even know how. But he didn’t, and now he doesn’t care about anything except the way Draco dances with him.
Draco’s eyes are bright, and he forces himself into leaps and spinning twirls that Harry is sure aren’t natural for him. They’re too-enthusiastic, unrestrained. Draco has light in his hair and fire in his face, and he laughs as he comes down with a stagger, turning the stagger into a swift prancing circle in the next moment.
It takes some time for Harry to realize that Draco is doing it to keep up with him, because of course with a vampire’s lightness and control of his muscles, he can leap as high as he wishes and drift in circles that would make others dizzy without effort. When Harry realizes that, he smiles at Draco and begins to dance in such a way that Draco will have to appreciate it and not mimic it.
This dance is made of rings, with Draco at the center. Harry spins around, drawing the eyes of other dancers, and then gestures with one hand towards Draco, who is standing in place, only stamping a foot in time to the music now. Good. That means he knows what Harry’s doing.
Harry drops into a crouch and bows to Draco, then flips himself up into an impossible somersault and lands in the branches of a tree just as a shrill blast from the horn sounds. That lets him lock eyes with Draco and smile. Draco stands still, shivering, eyes so brilliant that Harry has to fight not to go down and drink from him immediately.
Yes. This is the way it should be. Draco is right. Harry has spent weeks denying the craving in his stomach, mouthing at food he can no longer taste and liquid that keeps his throat wet but doesn’t do anything for him, because he couldn’t find someone who would willingly, without fear, give him his blood. Even his best friends were constrained. Even Ginny, although she would have let him drink from her if he asked, saw no reason to offer it on her own as long as he could keep the thirst under control.
And Harry wants someone willing. Someone who doesn’t stink of terror.
He flips down from the tree again and takes Draco’s hand, leading him this time in a ring dance that he can keep up with. They dance down the center aisle of the other couples, all of whom whistle at them in appreciation and clap their hands in time to the rhythm. Draco is laughing breathlessly now, light spilling from the corners of his eyes, blood beating under his skin.
Harry, no longer artificially deaf, no longer pretending, can hear his heart.
Part Two.
Pairing/: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny
Rating: R
Warnings: Vampires, blood-drinking, sex, some angst. This is non-linear and shifts its tenses between scenes, but hopefully won’t be too hard to figure out.
Word count: 14,700
Summary: Harry was hit with a curse that the Healers were helpless to stop. Now, on Beltane evening, Harry is ready to admit that Draco was right about the treatment for his condition all along.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: This was written for
graylor in the 2010 hds_beltane fest, but this is the first time I’ve posted it anywhere else. Thanks to my beta L. for her outstanding work. Endurance of Life
Harry stands on the top of the hill, gazing down into the small meadow at its foot. The fires are already flaring there, dancing like red and orange ghosts above kindling invisible from this distance. But the shadows that shelter Harry from the gaze of the sun are becoming general, and soon his eyesight will be better than anyone’s.
Than the sight of anyone still human, at least.
Harry wraps his arms around himself and shivers.
Then he rolls his eyes at himself. Really, he should be encouraging Draco to shiver. He’s the one who has more to fear if Harry does carry out his plan.
Dense as the twilight is, it isn’t thick enough for Harry to venture out yet without risk of burning. He settles under his tree-shelter, rests his head against the trunk, and waits.
*
Draco happened to be waiting around in St. Mungo’s for his mother to come out from her latest Healing session when they brought Potter in. That was the only reason he ever saw what happened at all, the only reason he became involved.
Later, he would be unsure if that was a good thing or not.
A bustle of noise down the corridor. Draco whirled around, startled. This section of hospital was generally kept as silent as possible, to avoid alarming the people who suffered from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse and other spells that were likely to make them jumpy. But now people were shouting, and Draco could distinctly hear someone sobbing.
"Move!"
That was someone yelling at him.
Draco leaped instinctively out of the way, and only thought afterwards how unworthy such quick compliance was of the dignity of a Malfoy. But at least it gave him a wonderful view of the stretcher that the Healers carried between them, and the man who lay on it.
It was Potter. His head lolled to the side, his green eyes open and as empty as though life had already fled from him. His face was pale, and the scar on his forehead had cracked open, leaking blood down his cheek. And-Draco never knew how he had time to notice this, or to be sure, but he did, he was absolutely certain-Potter wasn’t breathing.
But the Healers still bundled him down the corridor and into a room, and they wouldn’t have done that with someone they knew was dead.
The door slammed, and Draco stood there, blinking at it and wondering what in the world that had been about.
*
Harry waits. The sun sets, as steadily as it always does-he’s got good at calculating the time in the past few months-and darkness floods the meadow. The fires grow brighter, surging and leaping. Harry smiles when he sees the wizards around them, encouraging them with magic. Hermione told him once that the Beltane fires didn’t need encouragement like that, that the magic of the day would make them grow on their own, but Hermione is sometimes wrong.
When the shadows grow deep enough for him to venture out, it’s as though someone whispers permission to relax in the back of his mind. Harry stands up and stretches his legs out; they nearly went to sleep sitting in that awkward position. He doesn’t mind, though. They’ll recover a lot faster than they would have before he got sick.
He waits, still, scanning the meadow with a focused gaze. He’d like to just dart out there and search from person to person until he finds the one he wants, but that would make him look mad or dangerous, and he’s spent too much time since he was cursed convincing people that he’s not that way. He’ll only move when he spots the right person.
A glimpse of pale, brilliant blond hair shows through the dusk.
Harry smiles, and feels the slight bite of his fangs into his lip when he does.
There.
He slips down the hill more softly than the shadows.
*
Draco stared at the door and waited, but no one came out, not even the sobbing person. So he went forwards and leaned his ear against it. There were no Silencing Charms or wards. The Healers had probably been too busy to cast them, and Draco might as well take advantage of that to find out information that could be important.
Or could affect him. As much as he hated to admit it, the sight of Potter’s scar bleeding made him feel as if he was suffocating. If there was a chance, no matter how small, that the Dark Lord could come back...
"He’s not stable," was the first thing Draco heard, snapped by someone in an agitated voice. "His heart is beating slower and slower, he isn’t breathing at all-and you think this is simple?"
"We know that he was hit with a curse," said a soft, deep voice that Draco knew. That was a Healer named Morton, who was often around in this ward because he could soothe the jumpiest patients. "And we have some information about what the curse was intended to do. Yes, I do think that the fix is simple, if we can find it, though obviously the effects aren’t."
The other Healer hissed and stomped away from the bed. Draco got ready to move in case she came out and found him standing there, but she leaned against the door instead and said, "You really think we can save him?"
"He will live." Morton’s voice was abstracted. Draco was sure that he was moving his wand in complicated patterns, trying to learn what the fuck was wrong with Potter. "Whether he’ll live as human is the question. So I reckon it depends what you mean by ‘saving’ him."
The soft sobbing in the back of the room suddenly turned into words. "I don’t-do whatever you have to. Please."
"Of course, Miss Weasley," Morton said. Draco rolled his eyes. Just like Weasley to still be endlessly hanging around Potter, even though he’s too dedicated to his job to marry the bint. "At the moment, his heartbeat is gone-"
The sobbing turned into a heartbroken wail.
"But he is manifestly still alive." There was a little pause, and Draco supposed Morton had done something to show that that was true. "And his pallor, plus the general flushing of blood through the scar, accords with the characteristics I would expect of such a curse."
"The scar?" Weasley sniffled, but got herself under control. "I don’t understand. Why would he be bleeding from there? Ron-that is, my brother-said the curse hit him in the back."
Draco sneered. He knew Ron Weasley was Potter’s Auror partner, and so they’d probably been together on a case when Potter was cursed. Fine job he did of saving the Savior.
"The curse scar is the remnant of old and powerful magic," Morton said, still as calm as though he were discussing the weather or gardening. "I am not surprised that the blood would come from there, despite the physical location of the curse. Mr. Potter’s body is flushing his mortal magic and some of his mortal blood, in preparation for the change, and the scar is effectively the weakest point in his body, so the point where both can depart his body without hurting him."
"I don’t understand," Weasley said again. Draco got the feeling she said it a lot. "Changing. What is he becoming?"
"A vampire," Morton said. "It’s fascinating. I’ve never seen a curse that so perfectly mimicked the effect of a bite."
Draco would have sat down on the floor if it hadn’t been for the need to keep silent so they wouldn’t catch him.
*
Harry walks past people who flinch a little, as though at the touch of a cold breeze, and glance over their shoulders. But Harry is already past them and gone, and making his way towards his target.
No.
It’s probably wrong to think of him that way.
His focus, then. That sounds better.
Draco senses him coming long before Harry gets there, of course, and turns around with a calm expression on his face. He acts like he expected this, which Harry thinks is ridiculous. Seven months have gone past without him showing up. Draco would be stupid if he kept hoping, just because.
But there’s the expression anyway, and Draco puts his hand out, and says, "I hope that you’re not going to be afraid to jump through the fires. I hear they consume vampire flesh more easily than human." His eyes spark, and he leans close, which is only the second uncontrolled gesture Harry’s ever seen him make, his nostrils flaring as if he wants to catch Harry’s scent. "Go up like a torch, you would."
Harry laughs in spite of himself. Draco’s always been arrogant like that, saying cruel things, ever since he insinuated himself into Harry’s life after he got cursed. His friends have listened to him or read his letters and then gasped, looking at Harry, wondering how in the world he can put up with this.
Well, Harry thought he couldn’t, for a long time. That was why he let Draco walk away and didn’t go after him. Draco wanted certain things, encouraged certain things, and Harry couldn’t deal with that. He was still hoping to get some semblance of a normal life back.
But when he finally accepted that it would never come-when Ginny finally told him, sincerely and with tears in her eyes, that she couldn’t do what he needed-when Harry realized that his predatory instincts were part of him and couldn’t be ignored or denied-he thought of only one person to go to.
Maybe he’s the only person who’s been right for me, since the curse, he thinks, and fills his eyes with the subtle light that seems to linger around Draco.
"I’ll cross any fire that you cross," Harry says.
Draco picks up the nuances Harry wants him to pick up. His eyes drop almost shut, and he gives a soundless little moan. And then he turns his head to the side, exposing his neck.
Harry watches the pulse flutter in his throat. He’s not afraid of it, now.
*
Draco went back to the hospital room the next morning-his mother was with his father, who was really better than Draco at soothing her when she woke from a nightmare-and waited until the tearful party of Weasleys left and there were no Healers attending on Potter. Then he opened the door and walked in as though he had every right to be there.
He paused when he crossed the threshold. He hadn’t realized how dim it would be with the enchanted windows covered and only a single lamp on the table next to the bed. He was still blinking, trying to adjust his eyes, when Potter growled.
Draco felt harmonics of fear awaken in his belly at the sound. This was probably the way a gazelle felt when it heard a lion, he thought absently. The more he considered the comparison, the more he liked it. Gazelles were pale and swift and graceful. And lions were heavy-footed and didn’t always catch them. Yes, it would do.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
Potter’s voice was hoarse, as though he had spent the night screaming. Draco hadn’t heard any of the Healers talking about that, though, so he thought it unlikely. Really, Healers were worse gossips than Slytherin third-years. Oh, they’d rarely mention a patient by name, but a modicum of observation was all you needed to understand who they were talking about.
"Isn’t it obvious?" Draco sat down on a chair next to the bed. His eyes had adjusted now, but that didn’t prevent the glow of Potter’s eyes from being unnatural. He was curled up on the bed, his spine bent in a way that would have been more suited to a cat than a human being. Of course, he wasn’t entirely human anymore. "Giving you a visitor of quality, since you have so few of those in your life."
Potter’s laughter was brief and unamused, just a few shades above the growl. "Get out."
"No." Draco leaned forwards and sniffed. Yes, the scent of blood freshly spilled was rising from Potter. Draco had smelled it sometimes on other vampires when he got close enough. "Your transformation is proceeding rather fast, isn’t it? How long until you start craving humans to drink from?"
Potter was motionless, then, and the stillness was as unnatural as the bending had been. Draco listened, and couldn’t hear any heartbeat or breathing, just as Morton had said there wouldn’t be. He sighed. Perfect.
"How did you know?" Potter whispered.
"Anyone could tell," Draco said, and enjoyed the panic that shone in Potter’s face for a moment before he turned his head away. "Now. You didn’t answer me. Have you fed already? Or do you need a little pick-me-up right now?" He touched his neck, sliding his fingernails down. He knew the sound was perfectly audible to Potter’s enhanced hearing.
Potter dug his nails into the sheets, ripping them. His growl sounded again, and then he said, "For your information, Malfoy, I wouldn’t touch your blood if I did need it. But the Healers say I don’t. They say that I’m not exactly like a normal vampire because this is the result of a curse, and they think they can change me back. Drinking blood would hasten the transformation. I don’t intend to do it."
Draco paused and tilted his head. He hadn’t expected this. "Morton doesn’t usually give people false hope," he murmured. "I wonder why he’s doing it to you?"
Potter whipped back towards him and arched his head in a way that he probably didn’t realize was odd, thrusting his neck towards Draco. Draco’s palms sweated, but he didn’t think rubbing them off on his trousers would help right now. It might mean distracting himself, if ever so slightly, from Potter’s barely leashed power and outrage.
"It’s not false," Potter said. "I’m different. They can change me back, they’re sure of it."
"I’ve studied curses like this," Draco said quietly. "Curses that make people vampires, centaurs, sirens. They think the original werewolves were the results of such a curse, but no one’s ever been able to duplicate it, if they were." He paused, then shook his head. "I don’t believe that, myself. Werewolves change too radically; they’re not human anymore at the full moon. You just know that some fool of a wizard imagined himself racing around happily as a fell black beast and invented the disease. And then it got out of hand. Diseases always do."
Potter stared at him in bewilderment. Draco could accept that. Potter didn’t have all the facts yet. Believing Draco would be difficult until he did. Perhaps then he could get on with the business of biting.
"If they know what the curse is and where it came from," Potter said, recovering himself, "then they ought to be able to cure it."
Draco clucked his tongue impatiently. "Knowing where it came from is a long way from being able to cure it, Potter. They never have. People who are cursed to be vampires are vampires from that day forwards-though with certain interesting differences that mean the Ministry regulates them less stringently. They can spend their time railing at the heavens and declaring they’re different, or they can get on with the business of life. Or unlife, if you prefer." He turned his head to the side in a way that he knew was attractive. He didn’t need the flare in Potter’s eyes to confirm that for him, though of course it was nice to be told.
"I won’t drink blood," Potter said.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Then you won’t grow your powers to their fullest extent," he said. "I told you, cursed vampires are different. You can get out during the day, as long as you don’t let the sunlight touch you directly, and you won’t be consumed with bloodlust if you don’t get enough to eat. You have less powerful reactions to garlic, running water, and all the other ancient things that vampires fear. And you can leap higher, run faster, hear and see in ways that humans can only imagine. Of course, turned vampires have those powers, too, but they don’t make the best use of them because they’re so focused on the hunt for food. You’re not half a mindless animal. You just became superhuman, and you should enjoy it."
Potter flinched back from him. Draco sighed. Too much a Gryffindor. It might take him a few days to take a drink, at this rate. "You sound as though you want to be cursed or turned yourself, Malfoy. Why don’t you go out and get that done?"
"As a comeback, that’s weak," Draco said. "Besides, you see how pale I already am. Undeath would render me too pale to be attractive."
Potter stared at him. "I almost think you believe that."
"I do," Draco said.
Potter shook his head several times, then buried it in his arms, "I’m dreaming," he moaned. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he looked up while Draco was busy shifting closer to the bed, under the theory that his scent might make Potter do what he was cursed to do. "Why do you care so much about me becoming a vampire?"
"Because there are things about you that attract me, but your annoying traits outweighed them," Draco said. Potter blinked slowly. Draco hoped hunger was drowning his morality. "Believe me, Potter, I’m not lying. I gave up lies after the war. They didn’t get me anywhere, so I thought I’d try and see what honesty could do. I do think you’re a berk, still, but your strength pulled me in. And you’re not bad to look at. And now you’re a super-powerful predator, and I like the idea of a super-powerful predator in bed with me. Can’t trust an ordinary vampire, though; they’re liable to let the bloodlust take them and consume too much. So now I have the chance to sleep with someone who attracts me and just became more attractive. What’s not to like?"
"Why do you want a super-powerful predator in bed with you?" Potter was shuddering, his eyes fixed on Draco’s neck, but his voice was still calm.
"What do you mean, why?" Draco asked, genuinely puzzled.
Potter only blinked some more. Draco reached up, intending to accelerate the process-
"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Get out!"
Weasley. Draco sighed and stood. "We’ll have to continue this interesting conversation later," he told Potter, and nodded to Weasley, who was staring at him as if he were a tapeworm that had just crawled out of her mouth. No, I assure you, the parasites you carry are still firmly inside you. "I was helping your boyfriend find himself," he told Weasley.
She stared at him, mouth open but eyes ablaze with hostility.
"Get out of here, Malfoy," Potter snapped.
Draco glanced back at him and shook his head sadly. "When you’re ready to accept what you’ve become, you’ll be grateful for what I did," he said, and then slipped out the door. He would just have to try again tomorrow.
*
"You know what you’ve chosen by coming here." Draco’s voice is low and intense, and his hand won’t stop working its way up Harry’s arm. His fingers flex and burrow into the cloth, and Harry wonders if they want to burrow into the skin the same way. He wouldn’t mind if they did.
"Yes, I know," Harry says, and doesn’t bother to disguise the way his teeth lengthen when he looks at Draco’s neck. He draws Draco into his arms and wishes, regretfully, that they could start right there and then. But he knows that Beltane has its proprieties in the same way as any other holiday, and they need to at least take their turn at dancing and jumping over fires before they’re allowed to lie together.
"What changed your mind?" Draco’s breath is hot and makes Harry’s head spin dizzily as he leans in to nip at Harry’s ear. Harry sighs, taking in the air that he no longer needs to release unless he wants to talk, and stands more easily. It’s wonderful how much tension he’s dropped since he came here, he thinks absently. It’s tension that he picked up in hospital all those months ago and has refused to let go ever since.
"I decided to be honest with myself," Harry says, tracing soft circles on the side of Draco’s neck with one finger. "And I got tired of the lies." He hesitates, wondering if he can trust Draco with this. But hasn’t he just said that he values honesty now? "And I missed you."
It’s definitely the right choice to trust Draco with this, if the way his eyes shine is any indication.
*
"Who did you bribe to get in here?" Potter asked. He had buried his head in his arms the moment Draco walked through the door, and showed no inclination to raise it yet.
"I’m sorry that you think I would have to resort to bribery," Draco murmured, and took his seat beside the bed. He had only sat there once, but it was already his seat, because it was closest to Potter and he would accept nothing less. "But as a matter of fact, it was Healer Monticello."
The sound of Potter’s teeth grinding came clearly to him across the space that separated them. Draco clucked his tongue solicitously. "Dear, dear, Potter. Did you think the Healers were really as dedicated to their patients as they like to present themselves?"
"I expected them to keep unwanted visitors out, at least." Potter looked up, and his eyes were larger than before, with a faint, glazed sheen to them that Draco had expected. That was what vampires often looked like when they had been kept from feeding too long. Of course, Potter wouldn’t snap into bloodlust, but the sight still quickened Draco’s heartbeat. "Don’t you realize that I’m dangerous, Malfoy? That I can hurt you?"
"Don’t you realize that that’s exactly what I want?" Draco asked quietly.
Potter stared at him, lips parted. Draco could see the bumps of his fangs if he squinted. He suspected that Potter had not let them rise fully to the surface yet. Doing so would be too much like acknowledging what he was now. "But why?" Potter whispered, shaking his head as if he didn’t understand.
"I told you already," Draco said, and then nodded as Potter twitched his head. "Well, perhaps I didn’t explain as fully as I should have. I have wanted you. I didn’t think you would look twice at me. Now I think you might."
"I’m not going to drink blood," Potter said.
Draco gave this the treatment it deserved, and ignored it. "There’s no one else who can accept you so completely," he said, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and turning his head so that Potter could see his neck. "No one else who can reconcile you to your nature so fast. Imagine what would happen if you attacked an innocent victim, or if you tried to feed from your spotless fiancée. You won’t find someone like me easily, Potter. Prejudices against vampires are too strong."
Potter’s eyes were locked on his neck. Of course they were. The glaze deepened, and his upper lip appeared to lengthen. Draco smiled. He thought Potter was too stubborn to launch himself at Draco in a direct attack the way he wanted to, but who could resist someone freely offering himself? And Draco knew how to seduce someone with gestures and words. It shouldn’t take much practice to seduce someone with his blood.
Or the moans and soft sighs I intend to give when he drinks from me.
Then Potter shook his head and held back the vampire attempting to creep out of him, much to Draco’s disappointment. He was glancing aside again. If his eyes sneaked back to Draco’s neck, then he managed to hide it well. "Since I don’t intend to feed from anyone, that won’t become an issue."
"Do you know what happens to vampires who don’t drink blood?" Draco asked, loosening a few more buttons and pushing his shirt down one shoulder. He had read once that vampires found their victims the more tempting the more flesh was bared. And beyond that, he liked the sensation of being partially naked in front of Potter. It made his flesh prickle with cold and lifted him out of himself.
"No," Potter said. His voice was a croak, and his eyes had locked on the hollow of Draco’s throat, where the pulse fluttered. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What?"
"I don’t know, either," Draco said. "No one does. Because there aren’t any." He pulled one arm free of his shirt and sat still, letting Potter get a look at what he could have, as long as he made the right choices.
"I don’t want to do it," Potter whispered.
"Well, I’m sure the laws of nature and magic will bend, now," Draco said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "If the great Harry Potter says that he doesn’t want to obey them, I’m sure they’re trembling in terror."
Potter gave him a narrow-eyed glance, then ran his tongue quickly along his lips, too quickly for Draco to check if the fangs were there. "It’s a matter of principle," he said. "And you said that cursed vampires were different from turned vampires. I ought to have a greater chance of resisting the bloodlust."
Draco pressed a hand to the bare part of his chest and fluttered his eyelashes. "The mighty Auror is listening to me? I feel so honored."
Potter folded his arms. "You don’t understand. And you’re mad. No one simply walks into his-his schoolboy rival’s room and offers him up to be eaten."
Draco spent some time studying Potter, and decided, reluctantly, that he would have to talk more about the truth. It was simple to him, but that was because he had lived with it for years. Apparently Potter would need more convincing.
"The fact of the matter," he said, "is that I like the thought of someone drinking from me. Eating from me, even, as long as it’s not fatal." Potter’s eyebrows simply climbed, and Draco sighed. "We all have our fantasies, Potter. We all have our ways of getting power and making our lives better. Yours is playing big strong Auror and rescuing people. Mine is being a necessity to someone who doesn’t want to depend on me but must. I fantasized about it for a long time when I accepted that your rejection of my friendship was final. I imagined that you would come to me someday because I was the only one who could brew a potion that you needed, or get one of your Weasley friends out of prison."
Potter scowled at him. Draco magnanimously decided to keep silent about the several exploits of Weasley’s that he’d heard about, which had had to be hushed up before the general public heard about them.
"But this is better," Draco whispered. "This is ever so much better. Because I knew that, if you were forced to depend on me for something that would let you walk away again, you would whinge about it the entire time. This time, you’ll need me. You’ll have to keep drinking from me if you drink once." He let his head fall back against the chair and shut his eyes, hoping the arch of his neck, the perfect line of his shoulder, would speak for him.
"There’s no reason I should." Potter’s voice had deepened, was guttural, and Draco arched his hips to show off what that did to him. Potter had to go through the throat-clearing again before he spoke, which amused Draco exceedingly. "What-what makes you sure that your blood will taste better than anyone else’s?"
"It’s not the taste," Draco said softly, opening his eyes. "It’s that you won’t want to drink from someone unwilling. I told you. All your friends are just like you. They won’t want to give up that much control. They would let you feed from them if you needed to, but they would stand stiff in your arms and back away again as soon as it was done. I think that trying to feed on your fiancée would destroy your relationship.
"But I-I’m a willing lover. One of the few you’ll find in a world where otherwise you’ll be condemned to rape."
Potter gave a full-body shiver. Draco smiled. This was not the way he would have chosen to win Potter, with honesty and pointing out the blunt negatives of the situation rather than the subtle positives. It was so distasteful, so Gryffindor. But many a spirited horse had to be guided with a heavy rein at first, until it learned what reins were for.
"I’ve heard that vampires can charm their victims," Potter whispered. "That they can make it-not so bad for them."
"Ah," Draco said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "Another widespread truth that applies to turned vampires, and not cursed ones."
Potter hissed for the first time, his lips fluttering up from the wind of his emphatic breath, his fangs showing. Draco licked his own teeth in response. Strong, pointed, deadlier than any sting or any snakebite.
If Potter wanted them to be. That was part of the attraction for Draco, knowing that he would lie beneath the jaws of a predator who could bite down and end his life if he would, but who was far too principled ever to do so. There was no vampire in the world like that whom Draco knew and would trust, but Potter.
The thrill of danger, without the insanity of it that putting his life in serious risk would have. Draco would be more than content if this came about, if he could only persuade Potter, but contentment would be a good start.
"What you’re saying still doesn’t make much sense," Potter said.
Draco shrugged. "It’s a fantasy I’ve thought of over and over again. And wanked to." Potter had such a lovely blush. "That doesn’t mean I ever expected it to come true. But it means that, when I saw that it could, I immediately moved to take advantage of the opportunity."
Potter shook his head in revulsion. "You’d submit to me? That’s what it sounds like."
Draco laughed in spite of the situation, in spite of everything, because it was so perfectly something that he would have expected Potter to say. "Of course," he said. "You’re too proud, too stubborn, for that."
"I’m not proud-" Potter began, heatedly and in such defiance of the truth that it was better that Draco ignored and interrupted him. After all, the great hero would be horrified later when he realized what a liar he was being.
"There’s a power in letting go that you don’t understand," Draco said. "To know that you’re about to spill saliva down the sides of your mouth-or semen down the sides of your cock, as the case may be-in longing for me, when I’ve barely lifted a finger..." He shivered. "That’s power. And you’re mistaking submission in one area of life for weakness in everything, Potter. I wouldn’t agree with you about what to do, who to spend time with, or even where we should go so that each of us could show off our new conquests. But I would give you my blood without complaint."
Potter said nothing. He was breathing in a peculiar pattern. Draco opened his eye and smiled a bit at him, wondering what was going through his head.
"I need to think," Potter said.
That is not a refusal. Of course, Draco was aware that Potter would probably need a lot more persuasion still, and he rose to his feet and bowed his head respectfully.
"Take your time," he said. "And use those enhanced senses of yours and sniff your friends when they come to visit you tomorrow."
"What-"
But Draco had already slipped out of the room. Best to leave a hint of mystery lingering behind him. No good lover revealed all his secrets on the first date.
*
Music is lifting from all around them.
Harry doesn’t think he would have been able to identify the instruments before his transformation-or even a month ago, before he gave up on trying to pretend that he was human and couldn’t hear things beyond a normal person’s range of hearing. But he can make them out now.
Drum, flute, fiddle. A higher, shriller noise that’s either a piccolo or a smaller flute; Harry isn’t good enough to sort every single sound he hears yet. A horn, of all things, ringing like a call to the hunt.
Harry’s arms tighten around Draco, and he licks his lips with such relish that Draco laughs at him, reaching up to slide a hand across his face. He seems to be tracing the subtle changes to the jaw shape that Harry’s mouth has had to make to accommodate his fangs. Harry doesn’t know if he can actually feel them, or even if he knows they’re there, but if any human would know about the changes a vampire’s body goes through, it’s Draco.
"Ready to begin?" Draco breathes into his ear.
"More than you can imagine," Harry whispers back, and then the dance starts.
The line of springing, stamping, whirling couples spills between the fires and around in a pattern that Harry’s sure is ritually significant. If he had looked at it from his original position on the hill, he might even know how. But he didn’t, and now he doesn’t care about anything except the way Draco dances with him.
Draco’s eyes are bright, and he forces himself into leaps and spinning twirls that Harry is sure aren’t natural for him. They’re too-enthusiastic, unrestrained. Draco has light in his hair and fire in his face, and he laughs as he comes down with a stagger, turning the stagger into a swift prancing circle in the next moment.
It takes some time for Harry to realize that Draco is doing it to keep up with him, because of course with a vampire’s lightness and control of his muscles, he can leap as high as he wishes and drift in circles that would make others dizzy without effort. When Harry realizes that, he smiles at Draco and begins to dance in such a way that Draco will have to appreciate it and not mimic it.
This dance is made of rings, with Draco at the center. Harry spins around, drawing the eyes of other dancers, and then gestures with one hand towards Draco, who is standing in place, only stamping a foot in time to the music now. Good. That means he knows what Harry’s doing.
Harry drops into a crouch and bows to Draco, then flips himself up into an impossible somersault and lands in the branches of a tree just as a shrill blast from the horn sounds. That lets him lock eyes with Draco and smile. Draco stands still, shivering, eyes so brilliant that Harry has to fight not to go down and drink from him immediately.
Yes. This is the way it should be. Draco is right. Harry has spent weeks denying the craving in his stomach, mouthing at food he can no longer taste and liquid that keeps his throat wet but doesn’t do anything for him, because he couldn’t find someone who would willingly, without fear, give him his blood. Even his best friends were constrained. Even Ginny, although she would have let him drink from her if he asked, saw no reason to offer it on her own as long as he could keep the thirst under control.
And Harry wants someone willing. Someone who doesn’t stink of terror.
He flips down from the tree again and takes Draco’s hand, leading him this time in a ring dance that he can keep up with. They dance down the center aisle of the other couples, all of whom whistle at them in appreciation and clap their hands in time to the rhythm. Draco is laughing breathlessly now, light spilling from the corners of his eyes, blood beating under his skin.
Harry, no longer artificially deaf, no longer pretending, can hear his heart.
Part Two.
