Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Title: Transforming (Sequel to Claiming.)
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3800
Genre: Flangst
Status: Complete
Summary: Draco wakes up in a vampire's lair and he learns his life has changed forever


Waking up with a splitting headache was nothing new to Draco, nor was it unusual that the bed he'd been sleeping on looked unfamiliar. It was the burning pain in his shoulder and the chilliness of his surroundings that made him panic.

Draco shot up into a sitting position and looked around wildly. The room he was in was large and sparsely furnished; there were no windows to be seen, but light seeped from countless candles, all of them lit and floating around the room. The bed was the only piece of furniture that looked decent and well kept; everything else was wrecked and dusty; torn draperies and broken wardrobes were scattered across the spacious room, the floor was grimy and covered in dirt, giving the impression that whoever lived here, only ever used the bed.

A harsh throb in Draco's shoulder made him hiss in pain and he twisted his head to inspect the wound. There was no mistaking the mark on his shoulder — it was clearly a bite.

Memories of last night assaulted Draco in one horrible rush.

He had Harry Potter pressed against a tree, half-naked, his legs spread and his body bent. Draco had pounded into him like that was the best thing in the world. Because it was. Draco had wanted him so much he had almost lost his mind when Potter had seemingly disappeared, but then Draco spotted him in the shadows, watching him in a way that gave Draco hope. So he set up a trap and caught him. And Harry had been so willing, agreeing to Draco's wishes so easily, bending over and letting Draco fuck him, pushing back eagerly and begging for more. And then ...

Oh shit.

Draco shot out of the bed, now frightened that the vampire was somewhere near; he had to run before Potter returned. Annoyed, Draco realized that the only item of clothing he had on were his underpants. He looked around, searching for his clothes, but they simply weren't there. There was no sign of his wand either.

Frantic now, Draco walked around the room like a caged animal, finally spotting a door to his left. He lunged at them expecting it to be closed; however, the door wasn't locked. They did not lead outside, though, but to a lavish looking bathroom that looked a lot more decent then the room where Draco had slept.

More candles decorated the place; they were strewn mostly in front of the large mirrors that encircled the marble sink. Their positioning made the candlelight stronger, but flickering shadows hid the mirrors' reflection.

Draco moved towards the sink slowly, somewhat thankful he couldn't quite see the paleness of his face. He probably looked horrible. He certainly felt horrible.

He opened the tap and splashed some water over his face, trying to assemble his confusing thoughts.

Was he dead? Was he undead? Was he a vampire?

Draco leaned closer to the mirror, curiosity getting the better of him. He batted the candles out of his way and peered into his eyes. They didn't look dead. He bared his teeth. They didn't look sharper.

Out of nowhere, cold hands encircled his waist.

Draco would have screamed, but shock prevented him from uttering a single vowel. All he could see in the mirror was himself and yet when he looked down, the hands that gripped him looked real and they felt real. Furthermore, the body that was pressed flush against his back felt solid and threatening.

Draco turned his head slowly, gasping when he came face to face with Harry Potter. Dressed all in black, the paleness of his skin was accentuated and he looked unnatural; he looked like something that had no business existing and yet there he was, holding Draco in a firm embrace. Green eyes were focused on Draco's face, their gaze intense and entirely too close for comfort.

"Morning, lover," Potter murmured, his voice soft, but nonetheless loud amidst the otherwise eerie silence.

Draco took a shuddering breath, wishing Potter wasn't so close, or so cold. He had felt cold yesterday in the woods too, Draco realized, but he had believed that was just because they were outside during a chilly night. And he was so caught up in his own pleasure, brought about by the fact he had finally, finally captured Potter, he didn't even pause enough to sense something was terribly wrong.

"You're a vampire," Draco said quietly, accusingly.

Potter grinned, his full lips stretching, showing sharp fangs that sent a chill down Draco's spine. "I'm glad you finally caught on."

Draco felt a sudden urge to whimper, but he determinedly pushed that impulse away. Instead, he tried to turn, displeased with his position that made him feel vulnerable, but Potter's grip was unyielding. Draco desperately wished he had more clothes on; the press of the coarse fabric of Potter's cloak against Draco's bare skin was unsettling. Powerless to free his waist of Potter's clutching arms, Draco gave up, and bracing himself for the answer, he asked, "Am I a vampire?"

"No. Not yet." Potter's thumb drew circles on the skin of Draco's abdomen, the simple caress sending jolts through Draco's body. Though Draco couldn't determine whether that felt pleasant or not. "There's still one more thing you have to do first," Potter said, his hand slipping lower to touch the coarse patch of hair hidden beneath Draco's boxers.

"Well I won't do it," Draco said promptly, with courage he did not feel. He had no idea what Potter wanted, but Draco had no intention of becoming a vampire.

"Then you'll die," Harry said simply.

Draco shivered, the sad remnants of his bravery slipping away. "You'd kill me?"

Potter turned Draco around in his embrace and pressed his cold forehead to Draco's, his eyes bright with sudden power that Draco could see within him as well as feel it crackling around them. And in that moment Draco knew he couldn't fight Potter; he was trapped and there was no way out. Harry's voice was low and dark, but somewhat sad as he whispered, "I already did."

This time Draco made an odd keening sound, shaking his head in denial. "No. I'm not ..."

"The only thing that's keeping you around is me. You're bound to me now. You can choose to be a vampire, or you can choose to ... move on." Potter jaw clenched as he added more quietly, "Either way, I'll follow."

"Move on?" Draco whispered. "You mean die. That's not fair."

Harry's expression hardened. "You should have thought of that sooner. You're the one that captured me."

"I didn't know you're a vampire!"

"That makes your situation more tragic, but it doesn't change anything. I've told you your options."

"Why should I believe you?" Draco asked, not able to hide the fear that shook his body. He didn't want to be a vampire. And he didn't want to die. And he ... wanted Potter. Sweet Merlin, he wanted him desperately even now.

As though sensing Draco's weakness, Harry didn't answer, but instead, one of his hands crept upwards and grabbed a fistful of Draco's hair, not pulling just keeping his head in place. The kiss that followed was slow, and Harry's lips were cold, but it still send liquid flames through Draco's veins, his chest clenching, his body moulding against Harry's, fitting perfectly into place.

Harry's other hand sneaked lower, beneath Draco's boxers, where a single finger trailed the crease of his arse and then the hand grabbed the flesh of Draco's buttocks, kneading and squeezing so hard it nearly lifted Draco's feet from the ground. Draco's hips moved on their own volition, and he rubbed his crotch against Harry's, feeling the cold hardness beneath the rough fabric and feeling his own cock throbbing with need.

Harry's kiss turned possessive, unlike the one they'd shared in the woods when his lips had been soft and pliant. There was nothing soft about them now. Now Harry's lips were hungry and his tongue demanding, and Draco couldn't decide what he preferred, but for now he just opened his mouth and took what he could get.

After several blissful moments, Harry tore his mouth away, leaving Draco feeling dizzy and bereft, his lips tingling and his cock aching. But there was no time to complain because Potter grabbed Draco's underwear and pulled it off swiftly, kneeling down as he did so.

Blinking in surprise when Potter failed to get up from his kneeling position, Draco stared at the unruly black head and the full lips that parted as Harry gripped Draco's cock in one hand, the thumb of his other hand smearing the droplets that had gathered on the tip. Then he looked up and smiled, his fangs sharp and gleaming white. He looked so dangerous, so threatening, and Draco knew that if Harry wished he could devour him in an instant, but at the same time, Harry looked stunning. A blend of power and hunger and beauty, kneeling down submissively and looking up possessively with dark green eyes that belong to a creature not a person, and yet they promised nothing but pleasure.

Draco felt himself melting under Harry's gaze, his body ablaze with desire when Harry's cool breath ghosted over the head of his cock, before he stuck out his tongue and licked. How could cold induce such fire was beyond Draco's comprehension, but he could feel nothing but heated yearning as he watched Harry's tongue swirl wetly around his cock, his lips closing around the head, the beautiful sucking that followed threatening to undo him instantly. Draco imagined that this was the way Harry had planned to kill him. Draco would surely burn up in flames.

A movement somewhere in front of him caught Draco's gaze and he looked up to realize he had been distracted by his own reflection in the mirror. He looked terrified and alone, standing there naked, his cock jutting out, glistening with spit. It looked like Harry wasn't even there, like Draco had merely imagined that he was kneeling down, sucking Draco's cock. Judging by the mirror, Potter was nothing but a waft of cold air. But Draco could feel him, feel his tongue as it slid over the underside of his cock, and he could hear him, slurping and moaning, and humming as he took Draco's cock deep into his mouth, and then pulled back slowly, finishing his suction with a pop. Then he swirled his tongue over the head before he repeated the whole thing again. And Draco could definitely feel Harry's fingers, slick and insistent as they pushed between Draco's arse cheeks, pressed against his entrance, and breached him in one forceful upward thrust. It burned and their coldness was welcome. It felt incredible as Potter moved them in and out, his head bobbing in the same rhythm, his tongue lapping the precome as his fingers massaged Draco's prostate. It was almost overpowering, this feeling of confusion and pleasure, sending Draco to the brink quickly and he could feel his orgasm uncoiling and rushing ...

Harry's mouth was gone as were his fingers, and his hand gripped the base of Draco's cock, cruelly preventing his release. Draco whimpered in pathetic protest, and then nearly fell, tripping over the underwear that was still around his ankles. He managed to step out of his boxers and kick them away, as Harry stood and turned him around, pressing Draco's back to his chest again.

Afraid and disoriented though he was, Draco opened his mouth to complain, but his breath caught in his throat when he saw a gleam of silver in the mirror. Harry held a sharp, glinting knife in his hand, and if Draco thought that his fingers were cold it was nothing compared to the coldness of the blade that pressed against Draco's abdomen. Not daring to make a single move, Draco held his breath, wanting desperately to plead for his life, but unable to send the words past his lips. The blade dragged against his skin, never breaching it, merely threatening as Harry drew the knife upwards. Draco followed its progress in the mirror, unnerved with the image of the deadly blade so close to his body, moving seemingly on its own. It pressed against his chest, drawing lines that left reddish marks on his skin. Then the flat part touched his nipples, one at the time, the cold hardening the tender pink flesh instantly.

Then the blade paused close to Draco's neck. And then, with a sudden move, it slashed skin.

Draco cried out, for a moment thinking everything had ended and he was dead. However, when he opened his eyes, which he had previously closed in fear, he saw Harry's wrist in front of his face. A deep cut oozed red blood, the drops accumulating and dripping down slowly.

"Drink," Harry murmured quietly.

Horrified and nauseated, Draco shook his head.

"Drink!" Harry hissed, making Draco's whole body quiver. Even candles swirled for a moment as though frightened by Harry's order. Harry pressed his bleeding wrist to Draco's mouth, and Draco's stomach turned. "Drink and you'll live forever," Potter promised, but Draco shook his head. Gripping his waist and pressing his cold lips to Draco's ear, Potter added, whispering almost brokenly, "Please."

It was the plea that made Draco open his mouth, though he did not stop to think about it; the desperation in Harry's voice almost hurt. Or it merely convinced Draco that Harry had been serious when he had laid out Draco's choices in front of him.

The blood tasted like blood; Draco didn't know why he expected that it would taste like something else. It smelled like blood too. Ordinary in its salty-sweet tang, unordinary because it belonged to someone else. Draco had cut himself many times when he had been younger, and he'd stuck his finger into his mouth, sucking his blood on some natural impulse. But this was different; it was nauseating to even think that this blood was not his. Draco thought he would hurl when the thick, red liquid slipped down his throat.

It didn't get better, just worse as he forced himself to drink, Harry's unhurt hand pressing against Draco's forehead, trapping his head, making sure Draco couldn't stop. But Draco didn't intend to stop, a part of him knowing he was drinking eternity. He was saving himself.

It seemed forever before Harry moved his hand away. Draco licked his lips, wanting to remove all traces of blood, but he could still see it in the mirror, smudged around his mouth. The desire to hurl intensified when Harry grabbed his hips, and then pressed a hand on his back, forcing him to bend over. Draco gripped the sink, willing his stomach to settle, and stared at his expression, trying to see whether he looked different. But he noticed nothing.

A rustling of fabric followed the sound of a zipper being pulled open, and then something cold and hard nudged between Draco's arse cheeks. Draco took a sharp breath as Harry penetrated him, filling him slowly but surely, a tiny gasp escaping the vampire's lips. Every inch that was forced inside of him, burned a little more, and Draco's body struggled to accommodate the wide girth.

Resting his forehead on the cool surface of the mirror, Draco surprised himself by moaning loudly when he felt Harry's balls press against his arse. His cock was throbbing again, his erection renewed though Draco hadn't realized he had lost it while he drank Harry's blood.

Harry's hands caressed his sides soothingly, and he was murmuring something nonsensical, but Draco couldn't concentrate on anything except the feeling of Harry's cock deep inside him. For some reason that was almost soothing enough in itself — the fact that Harry was there, now that Draco felt confused and lost, not knowing what all of this meant.

Harry pulled back slowly, his retreat nearly as painful as his entrance, but Draco felt empty for a moment before he was mercifully filled again with a harsh twitch of Harry's hips. Gasping as Harry continued to thrust, dragging his cock over Draco's prostate and then jabbing it back in so hard stars erupted in front of Draco's eyes, Draco tried in vain to clutch the smooth marble for leverage.

He turned his head to the side, catching his expression in the side mirror. He looked utterly ridiculous. Completely naked and bent over the sink, his face pressed to the mirror, his whole body twitching rhythmically as Potter pounded into him with increasing speed. It looked as though Draco was merely pretending he was getting fucked, as thought he had bent here acting out a wishful fantasy of Harry Potter standing behind him groaning and growling as he thrust inside Draco relentlessly. But it felt too real; the wet sounds that their joined bodies made; the harsh grip of Harry's hands, the occasional stinging slaps against Draco's thighs and arse that made Draco's cock twitch; hot desire pooling in his stomach.

For some reason his mouth was full of blood and Draco swallowed thickly, looking closely at the mirror in front of him, grimacing at the pain-pleasure that Harry's unforgiving thrusts and slapping hands caused. He could see his fangs now in the mirror, and he realized he had bit his own tongue and was bleeding, but that wasn't the worst of it. He was so pale, and he looked paler every second, as though he was fading away; as though he was slowly disappearing. But he couldn't think about this now, instead, he clenched his fists and pushed back, impaling himself more firmly on Harry's cock, riding it forcefully towards his orgasm that hung tantalisingly just out of reach.

Harry's thrusts slowed down but gained even more intensity as he growled deep in his throat and shuddered violently, before coldness filled Draco's hole. Coldness turned into heat as Draco shut his eyes and screamed, the power of his orgasm shaking his body, making him wonder whether his feet were touching the ground or he had gained the ability to fly.

Crashing waves of pleasure shook him continuously as Harry pulsed inside of him, panting and caressing the flesh of Draco's arse he had previously abused.

Floating back to reality, Draco slowly opened his eyes and looked in the mirror.

He was gone.

There was nothing there; the bathroom looked empty.

Terrified, Draco jerked back, the sudden move dislodging Harry and making him edge away as Draco turned around and stared in wonder.

Everything was so bright. So colourful. So sharply in focus. The previously dim candlelight almost hurt his eyes, the thought of more light seemed positively frightening, and the warmth of the candles' flames felt too warm, the formerly cold surroundings were now too hot.

And everything smelled so nice.

No, not everything. Just Harry, Draco realized. He could smell Harry; he could smell his skin and his arousal and his blood. He could still taste his blood, the flavour had lingered in his mouth, but now it tasted wonderful. Sweet and delicious. Almost addictive.

Harry looked wide-eyed; worried and hopeful all at once.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly, but he might have as well been shouting. All the sounds were so clear. Draco thought he could hear the candles burning.

He blinked, adjusting quickly to these new senses, but not quickly enough.

He watched Harry closely, noting the genuine worry mixed with open desire; a deep powerful yearning that Draco could feel as well.

And then everything cleared and Draco was no longer confused.

Harry and he were bound together. Forever. Draco allowed the realization to wash over him, soothing him, chasing away everything else. Harry was his for eternity.

"I'm excellent." Draco meant to answer as quietly as Harry had asked, but his voice sounded like a growl, full of need. And then Draco could feel what the yearning was — he craved blood, the need for it consumed him, pushing all other desires out of his mind. "I'm hungry." Draco's voice quivered.

Harry swallowed and nodded, unclasping his cloak and letting it pool around his feet. He smiled for a moment, just a quick twitch of lips, looking as though he couldn't quite believe this was happening, but then his disbelieving, happy expression disappeared, only to be replaced by determination. He unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers fumbling for a moment before he gave up, ripping the shirt impatiently and baring his left shoulder, exposing the pale skin of his long neck.

He held the shirt open, turning his head to the side, presenting a perfect picture of a willing offering. "So feed," he said softly and Draco pounced immediately.

It was intoxicating. The feel of Harry's skin as Draco licked it, the taste of Harry, and the scent of blood, pulsing beneath Draco's lips. Harry felt so warm now, maybe because Draco's senses were heightened or maybe simply because he was cold now too. Maybe Harry was just warm to Draco.

The skin broke easily as Draco's fangs pressed down, and Draco heard himself purr delightedly as he sucked on the wound with all his might, the blood seeping into his mouth, satiating his hunger, though Draco kept on drinking, not at all willing to stop.

Harry pressed his body closer and moaned brokenly in clear ecstasy not in pain, and Draco felt different desire shot through him at once. He gripped Harry's hair, forcing him to tilt his head even more, giving Draco better access, and at the same time he pushed his leg between Harry's thighs.

He opened his eyes, staring at the mirror out of the corner of his eye. The bathroom still looked perfectly empty, as though Harry and Draco weren't even a part of this world anymore. But Draco was no longer disturbed by this. He hadn't known before but this was what he'd been after when he had captured Harry in the woods. He had been after Harry, and now he had him.

Reluctantly releasing Harry's head, Draco lifted his mouth, then licked the wound on Harry's neck, marvelling when the wound healed itself. Harry's hands caressed Draco's hair, his thighs gripping Draco's leg as he rubbed his cock against it, humping Draco's thigh unhurriedly, and Draco was forced to decide it didn't matter he was no longer a part of the world of the living, where mirrors refused to acknowledge his existence.

This, Draco concluded, tilting his head to the side and capturing Harry's lips in an all consuming kiss, this was his true home.