Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling; I own the ridiculous plot.

Warning: SLASH, LANGUAGE, OOC-NESS. This story disregards OotP, HBP and DH, which basically translates into: "lalala I can't hear you, all the characters I like are still alive."

Pairings: DM/HP, RW/HG, SS/SB, RL/NT

Summary: He could have been anything. A Goblin. An Orc. A Mountain Troll. Hell, he could have been the King of Dwarves, for all Harry cared. But NO, of all the magical creatures, Draco Malfoy had to be a vampire. 7th year at Hogwarts.

A/N: FINALLY! The last chapter's here! Hope you like it!

oOoOoOo

The Quidditch stands were full of chattering students, as was usual at a match opposing Gryffindor to Slytherin.

The Hogwarts staff was also well-represented by a twitching, mud-dripping Potions Master with a lapful of equally drenched, happily barking black furball. It seemed that everytime poor Severus tried to get his wand to get rid of the mess, his rather cumbersome mate tackled him to his seat and cuddled him to death. Next to them, the ever-stern Professor McGonagall pretended not to see her enthusiastic neighbors, even though Severus could swear she had snickered at him. Hagrid was in the middle of a heated argument with Professor Trelawney – something about the accuracy of a Centaur's prediction. It seemed that even Professor Flitwick had come – one could tell by the hand waving the small Gryffindor flag sticking out from behind Professor Sprout. Last but not least, Albus Dumbledore could be found searching his beard frantically; after extracting his wand, a rubber duck, a mousetrap and a red sock, he finally emerged with a victorious 'aHA', brandishing what appeared to be a slightly melted Lemon Drop, which he happily popped into his mouth.

Madame Hooch stood next to the chest containing the Bludgers and the Snitch, watching the crowd worriedly. She sent one last pleading look at the Headmaster, only to sweatdrop at the sight. Well, she had done her job of warning everyone, to hell with it. She motioned for the teams to enter the Pitch.

oOoOoOo

Harry had a bad feeling. It started in his guts, making weird knots there; it also seemed as if a bunch of pygmies had thrown a party in his stomach. As he stood behind the gates, feeling remarkably like a lame impression of Gladiator, he tried to calm down. He had no reason to panic, really. He was just playing Quidditch against his mate for the first time since their bonding, in front of a huge crowd watching their every move.

...

The elf pinched the bridge of his nose. He was doomed. To him, the mere idea of a crowd watching his mate, drooling over the vampire's graceful moves, was enough to cause his magic to sizzle and crack ominously.

"Um, Harry?"

A low, animalistic growl told Ron that he was being listened to.

"Are you sure you want to play?" the redhead asked cautiously. In order not to get glared to death, he quickly added, "Not that I don't want you to, mind you, but you're kinda scaring your own team right now, so, d'you think you could stop with the freaky display?"

The bespectacled wizard blinked at his best friend. He then looked at the members of his team, whom he belatedly realized had retreated to the far end of the room. Why did they look as if some wild beast was about to slit their throats?—oh, right. His magic. Loudly cracking and lashing out around him.

"Oops, sorry guys." He reined in his quite obvious temper, looking a bit sheepish.

"Feeling a bit possessive, are we?" Dean wiggled his brows. For the second time in less than ten minutes, Harry spluttered in an undignified manner, blushing bright red.

"Awww, come on Harry, we know he's yours," Ginny giggled.

The poor elf hid behind his hands, feeling utterly humiliated. The gate finally opened, signaling the team to enter the pitch.

"Let's kick some Slytherin ass!" Ron threw a punch in the air. He quickly faltered under the withering glare of his best friend.

"Um. Let's kick all the Slytherin ass which aren't Malfoy's. Right? Haha. Um—Harry?"

Everybody rolled their eyes at the two.

"Come on, Harry, it's time to go," Ginny pushed him forward and he came out stumbling, the crowd roaring at the sight of the proud Gryffindor team.

oOoOoOo

On the pitch, a certain vampire gave a snarl which promised a hundred years of pain to the Weaselette who had dared touch his Harry.

oOoOoOo

As Madame Hooch kicked the chest open, the two teams soared into the air, assuming their respective positions. Harry was vaguely aware of Justin Finch-Fletchley's magically amplified voice commenting the match, but he was too busy pretending to look for the Snitch.

Pretending being the key-word here.

In all the years he had known about Quidditch, Harry had never imagined how difficult it would be for him to concentrate on the Snitch. He was incredibly angry, imagining the fawning and leering girls practically undressing Draco with their eyes. Harry fumed. The Slytherin was his, dammit! Stupid girls should go look for their own personal vampire! He was suddenly pulled out of his philosophical thoughts by what had become a very familiar feeling. Indeed, as he turned to look he saw a flash of green, silver and blonde swooping down on him. The Gryffindor squeaked and plunged down in a desperate attempt to escape his attacker. Draco gave a battle cry.

The chase was on.

oOoOoOo

Ron was anxiously looking at the fast approaching Slytherin chasers when he caught sight of something shiny. He blinked owlishly and the Snitch disappeared. Shaking his head, he went back to watching the game, cursing under his breath. What the hell was Harry doing?

oOoOoOo

Harry was currently fleeing like he had never fled in his life.

He should have known that Draco would pull out such a weird stunt on him. But what the hell was that all about? In any case, Harry would not let himself get caught. Gripping his broom tightly, he urged it upwards before letting himself drop in a fake free fall. He threw a quick look over his shoulder and cursed loudly.

Not only did the vampire follow his aerobatics without any effort, he also looked like he enjoyed the chase very much.

oOoOoOo

Draco was a happy Vampire.

Nothing compared to the exhilarating feeling of chasing his mate, be it on firm ground or in the air. However, Draco quickly realized there was one thing that became increasingly bothersome, and it was the way some people down in the stands were eyeing the Boy-Who-Lived. Everyone knows that Malfoys do not share. Still zooming after his elusive mate, the vampire snarled as he flew past a row of First Year Ravenclaws "I've seen you leering at him, you pathetic leeches! Back off!" He fired a few well-aimed Tarantallegra and soon, several students were trapped in a mad tap-dance, sending a few rows into a heap of limbs. Continuing his inspection of the crowd, the blonde soon zeroed in on a bunch of male Fourth Year Slytherins, and left some of them with painful-looking pustules, warts, and various burns while he cursed others with a bad case of genital itch.

"Think I'd spare my own house? Well, think again. He's mine, bitches!"

oOoOoOo

Severus could not believe his eyes or ears. It was a massacre. And his godson was responsible for it. He could also attribute some of the responsibility to Potter if push came to shove, but still. The Potions Master tried to stand up and put a stop to the rapidly increasing number of casualties, but was forced to sit back as his mate bit down and pulled on his robes. The dog's large, dark eyes were full of mirth and he had a mischievous expression which his mate recognized as the "come on, have fun" Sirius sometimes wore when looking at him. Severus sighed. He might as well go back to watching the game. Because in spite of the utter chaos, the oblivious teams kept playing with all they had, cheered on by a fired up Minerva who kept yelling in a megaphone to make herself heard over the mess.

Everywhere Draco flew, he left behind a trail of desolation. A poor Hufflepuff got changed into a moose; another into a zebu. Most students were now possessing unexpected attributes such as horns, hoods, tails, feathers or even scales; some were cursed to speak in rimes while others had to walk on their hands. Soon, the Quidditch stands were nothing but one big multicolored, loud mess.

Severus felt the beginning of a particularly vicious headache. Would he dare look at the rest of the staff to see if any of them would intervene? The Head of Slytherin slowly turned to see Hagrid blinking at a Professor-Trelawney-Turned-Into-A-Dragon. The one thing confirming the identity of the beast was the fact that it had somehow retained the thick glasses and weird shawl, hence the puzzled look on Hagrid's face. Draco had shown up a few seconds ago, pointing his wand menacingly at the Divination teacher: "And you! I know you've been lusting after him, always telling him he's supposed to die just to get him to weep on your shoulder, huh? Wannabe mate-stealer!"

The look of utter dismay on Severus' face only expanded upon seeing Professor Sprout examine a weird variety of mushroom growing on a Second Year Ravenclaw's head, muttering a 'how interesting' every now and then. Professor Flitwick was currently tugging on his recently acquired bunny ears, marveling loudly at the silky texture. Headmaster Dumbledore was flapping his yellow wings wildly, looking like an overgrown chick. As for Madame Hooch, she was simply ignoring the circus right behind her. Was she—sulking?

oOoOoOo

Madame Hooch stood with her back to the stands, ignoring the whole mess behind her. It was not her division, anyway. She had told the headmaster, tried to warn him against it, but noooo, the damn old coot just had to brush her off as if it were nothing. Well, ha! Served him right.

So yes, Madame Hooch was sulking, thank you very much.

oOoOoOo

If there was one thing Evan MacPherson was good at, it was Quidditch. He had never really understood his fellow snakes' passion for Transfiguration, Potions, Dark Arts and whatnots. To him, there was nothing like a good game of Quidditch. It required both physical and mental strength, a good deal of strategy as well as a bit of luck. In his three years at Hogwarts, he had yet to see Slytherin win the Cup. However, now that he had made it into the Quidditch team, he was decided to contribute to his House's victory.

He was currently focusing on the Quaffle, which his team had finally intercepted. He dodged a fast approaching Bludger, courtesy of Colin Creevey, and caught the Quaffle from another Slytherin Chaser. He did a quick 360° roll and flew up vertically in an impressive display of skill. As he zoomed towards the Gryffindor posts, Quaffle held tight against his chest and aiming for his victory, Evan had to stop abruptly in order not to crash into the Boy-Who-Lived-Rather-Dangerously who had come to a halt right between him and the Gryffindor Keeper.

"What the—"

Evan was cut off by the voice of—his captain? What the hell was Malfoy doing behind him? Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere much higher after the Snitch? Evan frowned upon noticing that every time his captain made a move to turn around him and get closer to the other Seeker, Potter did the same in order to maintain the distance between them. Shrugging at their weird dance, Evan tried to fly upwards and escape the awkward situation but the two Seekers followed. He frowned again, this time listening to the exchange between them.

"Haaaaarryyyyyy," Draco was calling in a singsong voice. "Don't think you can escape from me," the vampire said with a sinuous smirk.

The elf gulped audibly, not missing the double-entendre. He quickly evaluated his situation. He was practically backed up against the Gryffindor goal posts. If he dived down or tried to fly upwards, Draco would be able to follow him easily. His only chance lay in a vertical back loop and a mad spiral dive around the post. Yes, it was worth trying.

oOoOoOo

Eryn O'Sullivan, Third Year and Beater for Gryffindor, was very proud of defending her House's colors. She had always loved fighting and had a mean right hook, which she easily converted into a dangerous swerve of her bat whenever she played Quidditch. As she nonchalantly aimed for one of the Bludgers to hit a rapidly paling Slytherin Chaser, there was a flash of gold in her peripheral vision, and sure enough, when she turned to look, the Snitch floated lazily next to her before it took off again. Unfortunately for a certain chibi elf, Eryn was also famous for her rather short-temper and loud voice.

"POTTER! WHAT THE HELL ARE YE DOIN'?"

oOoOoOo

Harry had been about to set his plan into motion when he heard someone yell his name; he was so caught up in escaping his lecherous mate that he had totally forgotten the game. Unfortunately, he was so surprised at the loud noise that he lost balance and fell off his broom.

'For once, I'll crash into the sand' he thought distractedly.

oOoOoOo

Draco certainly did not let the occasion pass. He dived right after the Gryffindor and caught him around the waist.

"Oof!" went Harry.

"Yum!" went Draco.

"Roar!" went the crowd.

-o0O0o0O0o-

EPILOGUE

-o0O0o0O0o-

After catching his prize, Draco had made a great show of kissing his mate deeply and thoroughly in the middle of the sky, right in front of the motley crowd who had gone momentary still. Once he had been sure that they had gotten his point – 1) They were a bunch of losers, and 2) Harry was his – he had promptly left the Quidditch pitch, firmly holding his only weakly protesting and bright red mate against him. Both flew back to the Castle. Neither were seen for the rest of the day.

-o0O0o0O0o-

The Quidditch match was finally brought to an end after the hasty departure of the two Seekers. The players of both teams could not quite believe their eyes when they finally got a good look at the mess in the stands. Dean raised a brow at Draco's handiwork. "Territorial, much?"

-o0O0o0O0o-

And that is how Harry Potter came to learn that he did not care much for goblins, orcs, mountain trolls or even kings of dwarves. No, of all the magical creatures, the only one he cared about was Draco Malfoy, a vampire.

And a pretty territorial one, at that.

END

-o0O0o0O0o-

Final A/N: To think I kept rambling about how one shouldn't write a fic over ten chapters cuz it's too troublesome to follow. How the heck did it become such a monster? I do realize that many people didn't think the story was at its end, I know it's rather abrupt, but I don't think I can go any further with this story. I would like to thank you all for bearing with me so far; for putting up with my spelling/grammar mistakes, my overuse and abuse of inserted sentences, anime imagery and silly references, my lack of style, my lack of plot, my going overboard, especially with this last chapter which is downright ridiculous. THANK YOU!

One last thank you to Ash of Mine, the coolest beta ever! I would never have reached this point of insanity without you!