Authors Note: This fic features a love scene, if it's too much for this rating then please let me know, I'd rather take it down than be booted by far
He sat, shivering at his desk, slowly stirring the potion before him in measured anti-clockwise motions, unblinking and unwavering but on the inside he was screaming.
Pain gnawed at his innards, a slow seething burn at the edge of everything within him to the point where he thought he could actually see the underside of his skin scorching, the blood literally boiling beneath the surface.
It was agony.
He knew he should stand up, beg permit to leave the lesson so that he could stagger out, even possibly be carried, to Pomfrey or Dumbledore or, or… but he couldn't.
He watched as his potion went from a deep, thick mud-like brown to the lightest, crystal clear fluid with the merest flick of his spoon, a double back stir sealing the mixture as he sat back, barely managing the extinguishing charm on the flame beneath, slumping as he gazed upon the perfect specimen, unable to take any delight in his achievement.
He was empty, hollow.
No, no that wasn't right.
He was full, seething to the brim… And then hollow again.
It was as though every breath in and out altered his very being at the deepest level, each layer of pain overlapping the other 'til he had no choice but to simply sit there and vibrate with the appalling wretchedness of it all, reliving each prior moment of this idiotic torment.
It was an unusual circumstance but he really had no choice about where to lay his blame.
It had been Christmas when his Father had taken him to one side and explained the supposedly brilliant plan. It was dark, beyond dark actually, it almost predated the boundaries of light and dark magic, being tied to the oldest of all magical creatures.
It was a virus, his Father told him, so old that a cure was beyond the means of any magic, having had time enough to become too great, too resilient for any body to withstand. There were, of course, counter measures, but they could only be used to slow the process unless imbibed within a day of the initial infection. In order for the virus to take hold of Potter before detection, they would need to dose him eight times at the same time, the same day each week until the sequence was complete, any interruption would mean a major adverse reaction on Potter's part, making obvious to any healer or remotely powerful wizard what would need to be done to save the hapless Boy Wonder.
Draco had, foolishly (and evoking a severe punishment) questioned the true punishment of infecting Potter. After all, whilst being a Vampire had been a curse in years past, the ridiculously false rumours of lost souls and inhuman cruelty were long gone and many now donated blood to the 'afflicted' and vampires now held jobs in the Ministry and Muggle world alike, being no longer held back by daylight what with the many potions that now protected against its fatal rays.
His father had smiled, thinly, before disclosing the reason for his Heirs abrupt inclusion in the plan.
Making Potter a Vampire was not the point of the plot. The idea in fact was to make him one of the few creatures that require a mate, just 'one' mate for life, or else they would simply pine away.
Werewolves were out, not only was the process damn near impossible to force the issue without Potters knowledge but the beasts were notoriously picky when choosing a life-mate. Veela were easier as they looked for breeding and innate power, each of which would suit their plan perfectly but the splicing of Potter's core with the famously exquisite hybrid would be extremely difficult not to mention requiring a number of years to fully achieve.
That only left Vampires. Relatively simple infection process and system of mating entirely based on power and blood.
It was almost too easy.
The remainder of the scheme was what made Draco nervous.
They were going to infect Potter during his midday meal starting from the last Sunday in October so that he would have begun the irrevocable change by the time the other students left for Christmas break, giving them the perfect opportunity to complete the process – by removing Potter's pre-chosen Mate.
The virus (placed in his food or drink by an invaluably loyal House-Elf that had served the Faithful Purebloods for years) was to be partially combined with a particular student's blood so that Potter would have no choice about his selecting a mate.
Unfortunately it seemed that Draco also had no choice in Potter's mate.
He had simply stood and gaped when his Father had informed him that his would be the blood used to attract the Gryffindor. After berating him for his slack jawed appearance (a Malfoy never gapes like the village idiot), his Father had explained the process to him. Draco's blood would be used in the serum, a handily odourless and transparent liquid, placed in Potter's drink, then slowly building up in his system as the virus attacked Potter's cells and rewrote them as Nos Feratu, whilst Draco's blood would be absorbed, bonded to Potter at the deepest level, imprinting itself where it couldn't be denied.
After Potter passed the midway point of his transformation, his body would begin to use his newly acquired senses to seek out the only person who could complete it. This of course would be when Malfoy senior would remove Draco from school and, without his chosen mate, Potter would simply pine away & die.
It had seemed simple, too simple in truth, yet despite his all too present fears about the fact that he would essentially be the person Harry Potter fell in love with, he was elated to know he would play such a major part in the golden boy's downfall. When the first dose was administered he could barely tear his eyes from the Gryffindorks face, biting back a smirk when the 'hero' drained his glass without the vaguest wince, setting the seemingly impossible in motion.
It was the 5th of November, the Muggle's famed holiday, where children celebrated the excruciatingly cruel death of a man who tried to make a political statement via explosives, when Potter had ruined it all.
It had been dinnertime, stodgy butter-crust pies, vast piles of lumpless mash and assorted vegetables, with thick, dark gravy residing in boats placed considerately between every other plate. All in all it had looked truly mouth-watering, the perfect meal for a cold winters night and not a student failed to rub their hands (or bellies, for the uncivilised) with glee.
Potter had sat down, a smile lighting his face along with every other hungry student surveying their meal, reaching for a quick gulp of refreshingly cool Pumpkin juice to whet his appetite before the repast.
He'd swallowed once, twice before setting his goblet back in place, Draco's eyes already keenly focused on the Gryffindor for his secret daily gloat, now widening slightly as Potter stopped mid-sentence in his chat with the pathetic Weasel, hand flying to his mouth as he abruptly gagged.
He then launched himself from his seat, trying to desperately to outrun his apparently heaving stomach but he'd taken no more than a few frantic staggered steps before falling to his knees, retching pitifully before his stomach appeared to empty itself of both Potter's lunch and breakfast. Potter had braced one hand against the floor, the other pressed ineffectually against his belly as his body convulsed and spasmed fitfully, the tremors shaking the brunet so severely that they shook the very glasses from his face to land in the rather gruesome puddle of somehow utterly undigested food upon the floor.
The Gryffindor made a last ditch attempt to find his feet, launching his shuddering body upright and managing to take the barest few steps away from his table and stomachs contents before collapsing sideways, eyes rolling in his head and Draco, somehow part of the gathering crowd all rushing to cluster round the fallen boy, gasped in shock.
Potter's eyes, normally that repellent green that everyone and their mother waxed poetic over, were rapidly being engulfed by the black of Potter's alarmingly spreading pupils, the brunet crying out in pain, hands scrabbling at his face as he tried to block out the light.
Photosensitivity. The second sign of full infection, preceded (by at least a week) by the body's total inability to process normal food.
Draco shivered as a cold sweat broke out across his body.
Potter had jumped the stages, leaping from gradual infection into the final stages and not only was he extremely ahead of schedule but he was transforming seemingly before their very eyes.
There were, his Father had informed him, 5 stages to the transformation, One and Two being the inability to deal with food & bright light. Three was an almost extreme strength and agility, Four the necessity for a mate bringing with it possessiveness towards anyone deemed suitable and an increased hostility to those likely or even unlikely to prevent a Vampire's chosen union. The Fifth stage was of course the desire for blood, in Potter's case only the blood of his mate would do. Given Potter's abrupt increase in metamorphosis, it was only a matter of time before he began to feel little… Iinklings/I that would tell him that he wanted, no 'needed' his mate… and then he would begin the irreversible process of finding that person.
And, unfortunately for Draco, that person was him.
Potter had begun thrashing, howling in seeming agony as the light assailed his shifting cells, the Professors almost sprinting from their table down towards their pet hero. Draco stepped back a pace or two as Weasley, the Golden Boy's supposed best friend was flung away by flailing, now over strong limbs as he tried to help his afflicted dorm-mate to his feet, crashing onto the table top and continuing along its surface, colliding with the many dishes. Sadly, Draco had been in no mood to appreciate the sight.
"Don't Touch Me!" Potter had screamed as though the hands of his friends and teachers were too much to bear, shaking his head frantically, eyes screwed tightly shut as he'd staggered forwards sobbing, falling to his knees once more in pain.
Draco had felt an awful twist then, like the roll of his own nausea but edged with something sharper, more visceral as he looked upon the writhing brunet and his trembling had increased as he noted that even in his pain and his almost blindness, the Gryffindor was still moving forward, crawling in tiny, incremental jerking motions. Moving towards Draco.
He'd wanted to run, wanted to scream but he hadn't moved, didn't so much as breathe as he watched the other boys agonised actions. He couldn't have been doing what Draco dreaded but still he had crawled forward and Draco's sigh of relief had been echoed by the surrounding crowd as Dumbledore had quickly stunned the boy, leaving him slumped and finally peaceful against the stone floor.
Draco had then watched as Potter was levitated from the Great Hall, waiting at least a full three minutes before bursting through the doors himself and running as fast as he could back to his dorms to write his Father with as much panic and urgency as he could imbue into the ink.
Malfoy senior had been at the castle by the following dawn but that, it seemed, had not been soon enough.
Potter was too precious, too beloved to not be protected to great extent and before even considering the steps to take in treating his sudden malady, the mediwitches had demanded to know what Potter had been doing immediately before his attack. Granger, with clichéd pedantry, had been able to reel off his every action from waking 'til his collapse, the notable final event being the gulp of juice from the goblet that had been helpfully left mostly full, still placed alongside his plate. Snape had taken barely twenty minutes to realise what the juice, and subsequently Potter, had been tainted with.
Draco's father had strolled through to Dumbledore's office, stating that he had urgent Ministry business with the professor, even waving documents requiring his signature before coincidentally gathering 'from that nice junior mediwitch in the corridor' that Potter had been infected with Vampirism.
He'd ranted about the security of the shambles of a school, raved about the dangers of keeping a Vampire on the premise and then he attempted to put his foot down.
If he couldn't convince the Ministry to place Potter in a secure environment (Azkaban being his location of choice) then he would quite simply be forced to remove his own child, his only heir from the path of Potter's certain impending rampage. His virulent spouting of Ministry rules and grievances long past only ceased when, with not so much as the slightest hesitation, the Headmaster had acquiesced.
Certainly Mister Malfoy could be sent home until his Father was satisfied that Mister Potter was not a threat to any other student, the Christmas holidays were only a few weeks away after all. The only concern had been that Draco would fall behind in his schoolwork but 'if Mister Malfoy would care to return for his son by lunchtime then he could join them all for the midday meal before removing both his heir and his extensive workload from the Castle'.
The triumph had been written as clearly over the elder Malfoy as the enchanted graffiti in the Quidditch shower-rooms but Draco hadn't been able to quench his own unease.
The hours had drawn themselves out 'til every second quivered over the Slytherin's fragile nerve endings as he had watched the clock with a deep sense of dread. At just after 10am a house elf had abruptly popped into being at his side, informing him that Dumbledore wished for him to come up to his office to go over his carefully arranged holiday homework, and that the password was 'Jaffa Cakes'.
He'd made his way to the eccentric professor's office, cautiously winding his way up the twisting staircase only to find himself utterly alone but for a stubbornly snoring (and sadly dilapidated) phoenix. He'd sat there, patiently he might add, for a good ten minutes before he'd felt compelled to start snooping. He'd made it through several shelves of books, ranging from the deathly dull (You & Your Beard) to the incredibly interesting (Confessions of a Succubus) but none of them had allowed themselves to be pulled from the shelves.
He had been reaching the end of yet another shelf of assorted treasures and absurdities when something, the odd frisson of awareness made him turn.
A door on the other side of the office, seemingly disguised as a cabinet, had stood open showing nothing of the room beyond but a heavy darkness and, swallowing nervously, Draco had begun edging away, all too suddenly conscious of what (or rather who) might require the safety of confinement, dark, restrictive confinement, within the sanctuary of Dumbledore's inner sanctum. He had managed to back almost fully to the door at the other side of the room before he realised his mistake.
His eyes had been fixed upon the open door across from him but what he had failed to fully consider was that the door was already open.
He'd stiffened, the terror that had been waiting patiently for something to emerge from the doorway blossoming in an instant as he'd turned, slowly, to face the person he'd just known was stood behind him.
"What have you done?" Potter had almost whispered, through lips the exact shade of red as blood, his voice lower, somehow more resonant as though it had come from far deeper within than normal, eyes blacker than shadow fixed unwaveringly on Draco's face.
"Done?" He'd whimpered back, frozen to the spot despite his minds desperate screams for him to run as far and fast as he could.
"You look… different." Potter had cocked his head to one side and Draco had noted then how he had lingered in the shadows cast by the Headmasters all too ornate and imposing furniture, his new drastically pale skin seeming to glow even in the dimness. "Do you have a… spell on, a glamour or… something?"
"No." Draco had whispered backing away as gently as he could, stepping with great care into a bright beam of noon sunlight and noting even then how the eerie brunet had needed to squint just to maintain his gaze.
"I know you. Don't I?" Potter's voice was thick and a bolt of pure fear had flooded Draco's veins as the reason had made itself known, the Gryffindor's tongue quickly flashing upwards to prod thoughtfully at the newly acquired lengthened tips to his canines, the additions giving the normally heroic wizard an all too dark and feral look.
"Um yeah, yes you do Potter." Draco had croaked back, hating the dryness of his mouth and the tremor underlying his voice. "We're classmates… remember?"
"No…" the brunet had stated decisively, stretching a long sure limb out to abruptly take hold of Draco's sleeve with scarily strong fingers, wincing as his sensitive skin lay within the suns powerful rays, "That's not it."
Before Draco had had time to do more than yelp and attempt a snatch at his lamentably out of reach wand, still resting in the inside pocket of the robes so casually left flung over his chair by the desk, Potter had used the distressing strength indicative of his having passed the third stage, yanking Draco forwards so that his back had been pressed as tightly to the wall as Potter had been pressed to his front.
"Ohhh…" He'd murmured, smiling in a way that only just pulled those ridiculously deep red lips over the gleaming teeth, "I remember now." he'd virtually purred, "You're mine."
"No. No I'm not, Harry." Draco had managed to state clearly past the chattering of his own sadly lacking teeth, "You're wrong."
Potter had shivered then, with seeming delight, leaning in to nuzzle rather horrifyingly against Draco's throat. "Say my name again." He'd demanded huskily.
"I... I'm not yours… Harry. You're mistaken." His throat had ached with the effort of not flinching away, wishing he could somehow still the pulse point so temptingly close to the Gryffindor before whimpering as the nuzzling turned to fury.
"NO!" The brunet had abruptly spat, eyes fixed on a point just past Draco's shoulder, his fingers clawed about the blond's windpipe as he'd lifted the Slytherin bodily from the floor. "He. Is. MINE and I will…"
And then he'd crumpled, taken down by the two stupefies cast at him from the Headmasters stairway by Dumbledore himself and Draco's glowering house head.
"Well," the white haired Professor had smiled, somehow twinkling even with his wand drawn, "I'd say that proves your theory rather conclusively Severus. Mister Malfoy is indeed Mister Potter's intended."
And then the world had just… fallen away.
When Draco had regained consciousness he'd been laid up in one of the nicer guest chambers reserved for visiting teachers and parents, Snape hovering malevolently at his bedside.
Without so much as enquiring as to his comfort, Snape had launched into a tirade only eclipsed by the one made back in first year when he'd discovered Draco atop the Astronomy tower, school broom in hand, attempting to launch himself out into a night storm, one of the older students having told him that being struck by lightning whilst in flight would double his innate magic. Draco had been nearly killed and expelled that night but he had rather suspected that he might still perish from the Potions Master's fury.
He couldn't prove it without veritaserum, his House Head had ranted, and the board of governors would never sanction its use on a student but he knew Draco had allowed himself to be involved in this scheme, that he had let whoever (and he didn't want to know who) planned Potter's downfall key his survival to Draco's blood and that he had no choice but to revoke Draco's permit to leave.
Potter's behaviour combined with the strange added compound found within the virus planted in Potter's had tipped the teachers and mediwitches off that the young wizard had been enchanted to require a mate and it had been Malfoy Seniors behaviour that had narrowed the field of possible choices down to Draco, it having been so important that he be removed.
They had had to keep Potter in one of the dungeon rooms, reinforced with charms strong enough to contain dragons to prevent the boy from breaking free… and finding Draco. Within moments of waking from the stupefy charms placed upon him, Potter had apparently raged incessantly, slamming furniture (and even mediwizards) into walls and howling for his mate. It was only the promise that Draco would be brought to him upon waking that calmed him, more so when they placed the Slytherin in rooms within the new vampires expanded range of senses, letting him feel the other boys proximity, even if he couldn't be near him.
Draco had been appalled, 'gobsmacked' as that atrocious Finnegan was so fond of saying at the news. He had been expected to deliver himself to Potter and even before he had begun to expostulate he had had his options near torn away from him.
Potter's immune system was not what it ought to have been, Snape had informed him coldly, possibly due to malnutrition or implied weakness in his early childhood years and so the infection had quite simply raged through his system, accelerating the transformation process well beyond its usual rate. However due to the fact that the Gryffindor had actually not suffered too great a dosage of said infection, it seemed that the process would be reversible… but not without a few minor difficulties.
Potter had still required blood, Draco's blood to be precise, and given the suspicious nature of his infection and Draco's fathers subsequent hissy fit over his heirs remaining on school property, the Junior Malfoy was in position to refuse to grant the aid that only he could offer the Boy Who Lived.
Potter had needed Draco's blood, Draco was forced to willingly offer it up or else face the Ministry to explain exactly why he would refuse to save a Hero's life.
Oh he'd fought it of course, it wasn't unnatural that he would balk at the idea of letting a newly sprung Vampire feast on the blood pumping through his veins, even bargaining wildly to let his blood be drawn and then presented to Potter in the goblet of his choice. But to no avail. Potter had to have his blood, thick and hot and directly from Draco's veins or else he would pine away, his body rejecting all attempts to heal or sustain it. Many potions were necessary for Potter's survival, in fact to keep the Vampire virus at a level of dormancy it was a likelihood that he would require treatment for the rest of his natural life.
But first he needed to recover from the current infection, and with no small amount of dread, Draco had submitted.
Given the attacks on the mediwitches and wizards, the Professors and even the few of Potters friends who had risked an attempted visit, they chose to be incredibly cautious about reintroducing the Slytherin to the Vampiric Gryffindor. The Board of Governors had been breathing heavily down Dumbledore's neck, desperate to save their hero but writhing in horror of the implications that came of virtually feeding Draco to him.
They had only waited six hours after Draco's recovery to take him to where Potter lurked, merely waiting for the chance to lay hands on his 'mate' once more. Snape had accompanied Draco into the room, the only notable features in the darkness being a large bed and an armchair or two, facing the gently smouldering fireplace. But Potter had been nowhere to be seen.
Slowly, Snape had moved into the centre of the room, wand held aloft as he barked Potter's name imperatively, Draco lingering and honestly terrified in the vague light of the still open doorway.
Then, in a flash of movement that even later Draco had found himself too fascinated by to be afraid, Potter had appeared to drop, predator-like, teeth flashing, from the ceiling directly onto the horrified Potions Master. Long, preternaturally strong nails adorned the Gryffindor's newly lethal fingertips and he had wasted no time in using these built in weapons to attack, spitting, harsh, furious words about having warned them all and how they would now all have to pay but it had taken Draco several moments after staring, dumbstruck at the hair in Potter's fists and the blood on Snape's skin before he was able to react.
"Please," he'd said, the word foreign and oddly clumsy on his tongue, feeling braver than he should have, stood trembling in the light. "Don't hurt him Potter. Let him go."
Potter had straightened immediately, hands dropping Snape like a rag doll as he stood gazing almost forlornly into the bright glare surrounding Draco. "Is it you?" He'd almost whispered, "They told me they would bring you to me but I thought… they lie, you know. They told me at first that you were not the one, that you aren't mine… but that's not true now, is it?"
His voice had woven itself through the heavy darkness, low, to Draco's ears, throbbing almost and there was a trace of sweetness to it, like a small child simply bemused by not getting its way but Draco had thrown far too many tantrums as a child to not spot the danger signs.
He'd wanted to run, to scream 'No' and deny what he knew to be, what he knew his own Father to have purposefully to have done to him. But he could not. Not only would Potter very likely have chased him, but also he would have only been running to his prison cell after Potter had expired from his very lack.
He'd had no choice and even as his inner voice shrieked and sobbed in terror, the many warnings, explanations that the Mediwizards had bestowed upon him had begun to seep down through the panic.
He could not argue with Potter, he was his… for at least the duration of the infection. Potter would see him now as a sort of romantic interest, but more than that. Draco had become to Potter that which was liked best, that which was cherished… he who was perfect and required love and protection. And he would protect him, he would even (frighteningly enough) love him… and all he asked in return was a little blood to seal their 'mating' process.
The thought of Potter's freshly acquired long white teeth sinking into him to claim him for until he had recovered had brought something akin to a sob high in Draco's throat but the Potions Master had turned hen, moving slightly from his crouched and submissive position to remind Draco with a look that he needed to respond to his... mate.
"No… it's not true I… I am… Yours." He'd said softly, lamely as though the life force had already been drained from him and he'd stepped into the room, felt the darkness wrap itself about him and then he was truly afraid.
Snape had rushed to swiftly follow the procedure recommended to him by the experts the Ministry had sent down to them, scuttling across the floor so that he was no longer between the two young wizards or even within an eight foot distance of his charge.
"There are established guidelines, Mister Potter, that you agreed to and will now adhere to lest Mister Malfoy choose to leave you, is that understood?" Draco had been unable to believe the sheer daring of his House Head when he so solemnly (if snidely) intoned these words towards the young brunet but it seemed that Potter had been all too willing to agree to anything (within reason) if it kept his intended by his side.
"Yes," he'd whispered, walking slowly almost carefully towards the Slytherin, as though afraid he might take fright and bolt. "Anything."
"Mister Malfoy agrees to stay the hour necessary each day to stimulate the bond and therefore your recovery but it always his choice concerning how long he wishes to stay past that point. That being said, recovery or no, " the potions master had glowered from within the safety of the doorway, "he may leave at any point if he considers himself to be being mistreated or threatened in any way and Professor Dumbledore will be monitoring the room himself for any signs, physical, mental or magical from Mister Malfoy."
Potter had flashed his teeth once more, squinting furiously into the brightness. "I would NEVER hurt him!" He spat and a tiny part of Draco had felt calm in the moment it took for his mind to imagine to expression on Potter's face looking back on this time after his recovery.
"See that you don't!" The slick haired Professor had snarled back, casting a grim look towards his favourite student, "I am truly sorry Draco." He'd whispered and then he'd left, the door clicking shut ominously behind him.
Draco had shivered then, cast adrift from all security and warmth in the centre of that dark room, an equally dark creature watching him from the shadows, the black eyes reflecting the dancing sparks of the waning fire and he wished then that he had opted for the prison cell.
"You are afraid?"
He could not have spoken then, not if his life had depended on it and it was only looking back later, that helped him realise that Potter truly never would have hurt him. He'd nodded slowly too busy holding back the screams to risk an attempted reply and then Potter had swept towards him, fluid and agile and Draco was cast back to their first year, out in the forest where the Darkest of all creatures, his master or no, had terrified him beyond sanity.
"Please," he'd whimpered, unable to keep the sob from his voice, the thing that he'd thought was Harry Potter, the epitome of light and good, stood before him, frowning in the dark, "Please don't hurt me."
"I will not hurt you… I… I adore you. Can you understand that?" The vampire that seemed to be Potter had whispered, lifting a gentle hand to quickly smooth away the tears spilling from Draco's eyes before he'd even had time to startle. "I ask nothing of you, I seek no pleasure from you, only… only your companionship and… and that which I must take," he'd winced, truly seeming to regret the words, "Or else I'll die and... You don't wish that for me, do you?"
It was the soft crooning, so at odds with the Gryffindor's new feral look that made Draco able to control his fear. It had taken nearly the entirety of their first hour for him to be able to speak but the shivering and the tears had ceased with the gentle tone issuing past the too red lips, somehow convinced by the tenderness, the worry, that Potter would indeed try not to hurt him.
Potter had led him to one of the chairs by the fireplace, easing him down amongst the soft, velvety cushions before refuelling the fire and giving the room a great deal more light and heat, though the renewed light glinting off the sharpened teeth did nothing for the blond's nerves. He'd then dragged the accompanying chair closer so that he was able to sit by his beloved, carefully petting and stroking at the hand that lay lightly trembling on the armrest nearest too him, even dipping down to stroke his cheek against it and sigh gently at the contact.
Gradually, then with a little more ease, their first hour together crept by. Just as Draco was beginning to relax enough to feel lethargic, having stared into the flames in silence for the better part of sixty minutes, Potter sighed and stood smiling down at him in such a way that concealed his teeth.
"You'd best leave me now." He'd spoken regretfully and (hating himself for asking) Draco had timorously enquired about Potter's need to consume his blood.
Potter had shaken his head then, the vaguest glimmer of the Gryffindor breaking through as he sighed, eyes gentle on the Slytherin's face as he'd replied that he would not feed from him while he was so afraid of him.
"But, you'll die without my blood?"
Potter had pulled Draco to his feet then, watching with a sad, wry look when the blond trembled visible when he touched Draco's silken hair.
"I'd rather wait and be weak than… than force myself upon you." He'd brushed what had felt all too alarmingly like a kiss briefly against Draco's cheek, too fast for the Slytherin to react, spinning to find Potter already by the door, shielded behind its bulk as he opened it for Draco to pass through. "When you are willing, I'll take everything you offer me," He'd crooned as Draco passed by, his eyes abruptly darker and less gentle than they had been before, "and until that time, I'll wait. 'Til tomorrow then… Draco."
And then, unharmed and only slightly less unsure than he had been before going in, Draco had found himself surviving his first interlude with his Vampire mate.
He'd walked slowly back to his room, the one he'd been granted during the time of his and Potter's shared 'illness' so that the rest of the school might not suspect that anything was wrong, finding the Headmaster waiting with a plate of cream-cakes and a pot of over-sweet tea. If Draco hadn't been having the sort of day where your loathed enemy abruptly is forced to love you and want to suck your blood, he might have been touched.
Of course his day had been shitty and so he'd simply thrown himself onto the bed, yanked the curtains closed and sat there, contemplating the misery that was existence before finally falling into a fitful sleep.
When he awoke it had already been the next day, another day in which he'd have to go play nice with his 'be-fanged boyfriend' and as though that hadn't been just the thought to put a smile on his face, a letter from his Father had been sat atop his breakfast tray.
The message was of course diluted by pleasantries and well wishes for him, praise for being such a 'good boy in these tough times' and so forth, but Draco was a born Malfoy and could easily see the real message.
'You're on your own. Don't tell if you know what's good for you. Lots of love (sort of) Dad. Kiss Kiss.'
He'd burned the missive, unable to have it there, looking so white and innocent, words on sleek white parchment all the time damning and abandoning him to a fate his Father had forced upon him.
By the time he'd gone back in to see Potter, he'd had more fury than fear running in his veins.
First they'd had tea, or rather Draco had, his favourite hot sweet blend just as before, and Potter watched.
Then they'd played Chess and Draco had played spectacularly, winning 6 games in a row, Potter being too absorbed in staring at Draco to strategize.
They had just finished an abysmally dull game of Exploding Snap (please, were they first years?) and Potter had begun a stilted conversation about the upcoming Puddlemere/Cannons match when Draco had quite simply had enough.
The cards had gone first, they'd been closest, next was the tea set, left handily by his elbow on an enchanted floating tray before turning to scatter the chess pieces with a brutal kick to the table and board, not even stopping to glory in their tiny shrieks as they flew in all directions before he turned o the partial Vampire.
"For Fucks Sake, Potter! I'm NOT here for your fucking enjoyment, I'm not here to make asinine conversation with you over games I played as a fucking eleven year old, I'm here to make sure you don't DIE and not because I give a shit but because I have to and because we all know that I'm the only one who can because Merlin help me I AM your mate so y'know what? Just do it. I'm SICK of this… this… whatever this is so just drink my fucking blood before I fuck off, got it?"
It had taken just those two words to instil a terror unlike anything he'd ever experienced, might ever experience again for that matter because in not even a second Draco plummeted from furious to frightened and it was all too late to take it back.
He'd been shouting, gesticulating wildly as he was often want to do, his hand still cast out at full arms length from his body, gesturing his 'fucking off' and somehow as he came upright, Harry had taken possession of this hand. His voice was wrong, too low, too animal, too rough, too raw and everything just 'too' for Draco and he sobbed, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he saw the red lips part, those long white teeth now whiter, longer and curving into his hand, his flesh, the sharp tips sinking into the fleshy heel between thumb and palm and…
It was… excruciating.
Not in the sense of pain, but an agony too new, too unreal to be categorised as good or bad within its first few seconds of being experienced.
He had been able to feel the white hot feel of loss, of his blood being literally guzzled from the open wound in his palm and had momentarily suffered the delusion that his heart had been pulled from his chest and was now somehow making its way through his veins so that Potter might consume it.
He'd opened his eyes and whimpered, not from the bizarre new pain but from the sight of Potter's black eyes fixed on him, hungry despite his rapid consumption of his blood. There had been desire there, triumph too as he had watched Draco watching him, pulling back gently to lap with an obscenely red tongue tip at the punctures, and Draco had shivered.
It had not felt good, he'd told himself sternly. It just hadn't hurt anything like he'd expected.
Potter had dropped his hand from his mouth then, still retaining his clasp on it so that Draco couldn't step away.
"You taste…" he'd whispered huskily, actually licking his lips as he kept his gaze locked to the Slytherin's, "…positively Scrumptious." He'd rolled the R's, actually smirking and Draco had blushed hotly with indignation as well as embarrassment. Malfoy's were never scrumptious or any other word implying sweet.
"Is that it then, can I go?" He'd blurted, wishing for a more elegant turn of phrase to better compensate for his obvious disorientation.
"Actually," the Vampire had purred and Draco had cursed himself for giving him the option, "I could use a little more… unless you'd rather wait 'til you feel a little steadier?" His tone had been officiously polite but the dark eyes mocked the Slytherin cruelly.
"Please, I'm just fine Potter, I'd be even better if you'd just get on with it already so I could go do something I actually want to do!"
His temper was fast, his words faster and his regret arrived so swiftly it was in place before he'd even finished speaking, trembling violently as he saw the victory in Potter's eyes once more.
"As You Wish." He intoned solemnly and deftly straightened Draco's arm out once more, the previously bitten palm now smooth and unblemished as it lay open and forgotten over Potter's shoulder where the Gryffindor now gripped his left wrist tightly, lifting so that Draco's sleeve fell back to expose the beautifully unmarred skin of his inner forearm.
Draco had been momentarily distracted by his flawless palm, wondering what it was in Potter's infected power that had healed him so quickly, his eyes flickering away before widening as he watched the brunet nuzzle the ivory pale skin from wrist to elbow.
Potter lifted eyes now bereft of mockery and heavy with a sort of gratification as he gently lapped and sucked at the soft flesh, partway down his forearm, Draco stiffening as he realised what Potter had believed he might find there.
'No Mark' He'd thought numbly, unable to start or scream as he watched Potter open his mouth wide and sink both sets of teeth, upper and lower, into his flesh. The blood appeared to actually spurt from the wound before Potter's lips formed a seal about it and Draco could actually hear him moan as he swallowed the rich crimson liquid ravenously.
If Draco had found the bite to his hand to be not 'that' unpleasant, then the sensation of being actively imbibed, the sharp teeth clamped hotly against his seemingly icy cold skin as the liquid life poured forth was simply overwhelming. His heart hammered loudly in his chest and he tried to lift his other hand to place it over it, to quieten it, perhaps to stop it all together but found himself too weak, the breaths then rushing back and forth into his chest with such rapidity that he'd had no chance to benefit from the air itself.
He'd whimpered, swaying as a darkness at the edges of his vision loomed, nothing to do with the deep, welcoming shadows of the room and an almost euphoric light-headedness had his knees buckling, Potter's eyes shooting open to fix upon him, a vice like grip on his other wrist then jerking him into the brunets embrace.
The rush of movement sent Draco's eyes rolling in his skull but to his horror he'd heard himself gasping in pleasure, the darker boy's heat seeming to sparkle along the frayed edges of his nerves, everything feeling so much clearer, so much stronger. He couldn't breathe but Potter held his body tight and his head had fit just so nicely in the dip between neck and shoulder, lolling there and moaning in delicious over-stimulation as the brunet pulled his teeth free, wet tongue lapping hotly at the open wounds.
The blackness receded as Potter's tongue probed and soothed and Draco had been unable to keep from whimpering as Potter's arm tightened at his waist, feeling himself pushing further into his embrace as his body seemed to still lurch and ebb with the heady tide of his heartbeat.
Slowly, much too slowly from the point of view of one who's just discovered a sort of ecstasy from being fed upon, Draco's heart-rate slowed to normal and he was able to stop whimpering with every exhale, his hips no longer shaking and jerking with spasms of an almost pleasure, unclenching the fingers gripped, white knuckled where they'd held on for dear life in the black of Potter's robes.
"I couldn't breathe…" He'd murmured, mostly to himself, feeling Potter lower his tingling arm to wrap his own about him.
"I took too much I think, you weren't expecting it… it'll be easier next time."
The words had had a stunningly sobering effect upon the blond, somehow finding the strength left to lift his head from Potter's shoulder, readying himself to force himself away, upright, walk out the door, when Potter's hand had cupped his cheek tenderly.
"You're so strong," He marvelled thickly, lowering his head before Draco had really registered, the movement. "Mine." He breathed, his lips a bare hairsbreadth from Draco's lips and it was as though lightening had shot right through him.
"Don't!" He'd startled himself with the volume of his cry, "Don't kiss me, for gods sake Potter don't kiss me!"
Then, wrenching himself from the Vampire's steadfast embrace, he'd bolted for the door, making it all of the six steps away to his own quarters before collapsing.
If Draco had found waking to Snape's visage looming over him to be alarming then waking to Dumbledore twinkling in a benign yet ultra powerful sort of way had been unsettling to say the least.
He'd been first coddled and then practically force-fed crumpets whilst the Headmaster made polite small talk in a seemingly endless stream of open sentences, each topic branching into the next, his voice low and soothing and then, just before Draco could lapse into a coma, he said,
"You should not have let Mister Potter take so much at once. The bite on your arm will require additional magic aside from his newfound talents to heal it cleanly."
That had woken the Slytherin sufficiently for him to fly into a tantrum, the kind not witnessed since his Nanny Elf had made him give up his blankie years before.
"Shouldn't have let him? How the fuck was I meant to stop him, he's RIDICULOUSLY strong and a sodding Vampire besides, not to mention that the whole reason I get sent in there is so that he will bloody bleed me dry!"
The elder Wizard had peered over his spectacles at him in great amusement before tutting half-heartedly. "Five points from Slytherin for your language, Mister Malfoy. I dislike what the Muggle's refer to as 'Potty Mouth' and will thank you to remember it, at least in my presence."
The ire had just melted away and Draco had sagged back against the substantial pile of cushions at his back, eyes drawn to the admittedly grotesque bite shaped scar now vividly adorning his forearm. He'd then turned his hand over, surprised to see his palm was just as flawless as he'd recalled, wondering why the two wounds were so different when the Professors following words had answered the question for him.
"It would seem that Mister Potter intended for you to be marked. I would attribute it to his increased possessiveness, knowing the rivalry between yourself and young Harry, I would have to assume he had expected to find another's mark there." He'd twinkled again but this time Draco had seen the steel underlying the light blue gaze. "A foolish notion, of course, but in his heightened state of sensitivity he may have felt that he needed to mark you himself in order to both claim you as well as protect you."
"Protect me?" Draco had blurted, imagining the look on his Father's face as he showed him Potter's mark in place of his Masters.
"Why yes, Mister Malfoy. Harry is really quite a remarkably powerful wizard even before he became infected with Vampirism. By marking you so clearly he is stating that you are, if you'll forgive the expression, his and were anyone to think of harming you or taking you from him then they would be warned of their impending fate by the bite mark on your arm."
Draco had turned faintly green, not from the idea of being marked for all to see as much as from the idea, the faintest notion that Potter might protect him from all that threatened him. It was not a thought he dared linger over.
"If he is as powerful as you say," he'd whispered, "then how do you suggest I prevent him from 'taking so much'?"
Dumbledore had placed a large, oddly smooth hand over Draco's, "My boy, for what ever reason, simulated or not, Mister Potter loves you and his health and happiness are centred upon yours. He may frighten you, he may even not quite know and be able to control his own his strength but he will not hurt you intentionally, Mister Malfoy. You are his mate."
He'd had no response for the white-bearded Professor, merely sitting there in quiet contemplation as the Headmaster continued to advise him.
They could apparently choose to continue the 'Feeding' process via one of two options. The closer Potter fed to Draco's heart or main arteries the more potent the blood, so depending on where he bit Draco, Potter could either feed once or twice a day. If he continued to feed from Draco's arm or hand then Potter would require his blood twice a day but at a decent interval to prevent the weakness that had assailed Draco following their last encounter. The other option was slightly more disturbing but possibly easier on Draco in the long run as he would only have to be bitten once each day and could then return to his rooms to recuperate and do as he wished. Potter would feed directly from his throat where the blood ran hot and thick that close to Draco's heart and the added potency would mean that he wouldn't require as much and could be left until after dinner each night so that Draco's days became his own once more.
Having disclosed this information and sage advice, Dumbledore had left Draco to his musings, the blond torn between the horror of that mouth closing on his throat as it had upon his arm and the freedom of being able to mostly ignore the situation for the better part of the day. By the time he'd fretfully knocked the extraneous, almost gargantuan cushions to the floor and crawled beneath his covers, he had decided he was claiming his life back.
If Potter chose to deliberately scar his throat in a misbegotten attempt to claim him then he could just fucking well pay for the treatment afterwards to remove it.
By the following morning however, he had undergone a change of heart.
All night as his body rested quietly beneath the heavy down quilt, his mind had been not so quietly torn apart.
Visions of Potter's lithe red tongue licked and prodded at his throat, his mouth kissing and sucking at the gleaming ruby drops that spilled forth from him while Draco sobbed and whimpered in his grip. It wasn't the bite or the blood that upset him… it was the erection he'd woken with, hand already cupping over the tented warmth of his pyjama bottoms, the delighted, almost pleading whimpers spilling from his dream out over his lips.
That, quite clearly, would NOT do at all. He'd taken the coldest of cold showers and decided that feeding Potter's pathetic need for his blood twice a day was really not that bad a task.
That day he went to Potter's room at lunch and fed him from his palm, returning that night for yet another pitiful excuse for a chess game and 'company' before allowing the Gryffindor to again sup from the heel of his hand.
Both times Potter had traced tiny, almost kisses over his skin, tracing his tongue round the violently red mark on his forearm, muttering thickly, repeating the same words over and over, voice low and animal, hoarse enough that Draco had been easily able to pretend he could neither hear or understand.
That night Draco had dreamed of lying before a dying fire with Chess pieces scattered all around his naked body. The Vampire had sucked his life's blood first from his throat and then from his mouth. 'Mine' he'd whispered over and over with his lips pressed tight to Draco's as he drank the blood of their kisses. Mine.
When Draco awoke the next morning he had found the bitter, hot taste flooding his mouth and his lower lip torn and ragged from his own teeth.
It was to be the first of his early morning trips to the infirmary for just such a wound.
"I know what you're doing," he'd told Potter not quite two days later, his palm cupped and ready whilst the brunet leisurely mapped his scar with his lips, "You think it's funny or clever or something but I'm telling you now, it won't work."
"What is it that I'm doing, Draco?" He'd whispered back, trailing hot lips down from the mark, over the blond's permanently frantic pulse point to kiss his palm tenderly.
"You know." He'd bitten out, letting his knees slide out from under him as he sank into his chair, the Vampire's still pushed close enough from lunch to continue on as he nuzzled and licked the salty skin of Draco's admittedly damp palm. "You know what you've been doing and I want you to stop."
Large black eyes had blinked slowly at him, convincingly showing his confusion. "I don't know, Draco. Only tell me and I will stop it for you." He'd abruptly lifted and held Draco's limp hand against his cheek, lashes flickering down to cover the dark gaze as he whispered besottedly, "I would do anything for you."
"Then stop it. I mean it." He'd growled, yanking his hand back and glaring, his hand proffered, palm up before the Vampire's mouth, grinding his teeth together as he'd waited for the sickening pull and sway of his blood flowing into Potter, ignoring the sensation that told him every cell of his being wished that it could follow.
That night he'd dreamt of being face down on the large, dark bed, naked, Potter atop him, feeding loudly, voraciously from his throat as he'd pushed his hips back and felt Potter, hard and hot and demanding what was his by rights and he'd woken screaming, coming harder than he had in his young life, the sensation of being pierced by both teeth and hot solid flesh still imprinted upon his mind.
A cold shower hadn't helped, if anything it had just made it worse, his body already wracked with tremors before the shivers came, thigh muscles trembling where they were sure they'd been spread wide and straining only moments before, blood screaming in his veins as he forced it down from fever high to miserably chilled.
He hadn't visited Potter at lunch that day, he didn't report his condition to Pomfrey as required either.
He, instead, made his way to his classes in good time, took notes, answered questions and gave every sign of being a perfect student.
And on the inside he was screaming.
Every movement of his body, made it sing and thrum with something, not arousal, it was too cold, too painful for arousal but it made his blood pound and his head swim and all the time the images of his last few nights dreams played over and over in his head.
Potter kissing him.
Potter holding him.
Potter fucking him.
He trembled and had bit back a sob as the last period ended and solemnly made his way to Potions, there to sit and chop and stir and simmer and seal and… yearn, thinking back on everything, everything he'd done and where it had all gone wrong.
It was agony.
"Alright that's more than enough time to have completed this task and I have better things to do with my time. If you think you've correctly completed the assignment please leave it with your notes upon my desk, those of you who 'know' they've botched this simple concoction leave it on my desk also and I will dispose of those myself. Class Dismissed."
Draco pulled himself slowly to his feet, not seeing the look of concern briefly flicker in his favourite Professor's eyes as he dragged himself forwards to deposit the perfectly brewed potion on his desk.
His eyes hurt, his hair hurt, his teeth hurt and he rather expected to see his blood break free of his body so desperately did it appear to yearn for Potter.
If Draco felt this awful then surely Potter must feel worse? He valiantly attempted to feel pleased by this. If he felt like shit then Potter must be at deaths door and then all this would be done with once the bloody git snuffed it.
He lurched sideways, body doubling up as a pang of something, not pleasure, not pain rocketed through him. His hands trembled as he rested them on his knees for support and surprising wash of tears quenched the burning in his eyes.
Potter. He wanted to go to Potter. Oh gods he hurt with wanting to go to him.
But he had to stay strong, he couldn't let himself be controlled this way, couldn't let the Vampire use him, brainwash him into doing what he wanted.
But what if Potter wasn't making him dream those things? What if they were a natural process of the bond? What if it was his mind and his warped perversions and his longings and his... his…
He shook his head wildly from side to side, jerking himself back upright before his blood had settled back and staggering away through the throng of students, determined to just find somewhere quiet and lay down.
If he could just be silent, be still, this would all pass. Or it would get worse and he or Potter would die and he'd be left always feeling this way, the mark on his arm burning him in grief where the bond no longer pulled at him.
He whimpered and stalled once more, leaning heavily against the stone wall and closing his eyes.
Mine, the dream voice whispered to him, Mine.
Oh god, he couldn't, he couldn't. It was wrong, he didn't need him, didn't want him and if he could just get somewhere quiet where he could just block it out, not think about Potter at all…
"Malfoy, what's wrong? Is it Harry?"
His eyes flew open, a semi-concerned, ugly, freckled ginger bastard mere inches from his face and with a strangled sob, Draco's will just snapped.
The blood that had been screaming for hours to be let loose, to run back and worship under the lips of its master surged and ran like quicksilver through Draco's veins, giving his limbs the burst of energy they needed to run as fast as they could carry him, to take him back to Potter.
"Malfoy? Wait!" The Weasel cried in alarm and Draco heard large clown feet flapping in pursuit as he raced over the cold stone floors, round corners where he toppled first years and rattled the portraits on the walls.
His heart was going to explode from his chest if he didn't make it to Potter soon. Worse it might stop and never beat again and there'd be no blood left for Potter to need him for and his body would always ache this way, burn this way, shake this way and there was no cure, but Potter, Potter's arms, Potter's lips… Potter….
"Harry..." He cried and the door slammed wide as he hit it sobbing, running without hesitation into the wide, dark room to the open armed figure stood at its centre, waiting just for him.
"Harry…" he whimpered and the world stopped there, just there as the Vampire's arms closed about him.
Draco didn't think he'd slowed or stopped, he felt as though he were flying then falling, plucked from the air into Potter's arms, borne downwards in a rush of wind and warmth 'til there was ground beneath his spine and a heavy body atop him, a warm wet mouth at this throat. "Mine." The mouth snarled and then bit into his flesh.
Draco felt his heart contract once, then twice and then still altogether and for a moment eternity seemed as though it might be about to beckon him home before it began beating again in double time, blood charging straight to the point of incision.
His arms had anchored him to the dark boy even as they'd toppled slowly downwards, legs stretching and shifting now to twine about Potter's hips and thighs, unable to draw breath once more as the brunet drank deeply of his blood.
"Hhhuhhh…. Hhuhhh… p… please… uuhhh… ohhhhh…. Hhuhhh…. Oh… gods… Potter…"
It couldn't possibly be this good, it was too much, his body couldn't take the thrills running amok through to his very core. It wasn't supposed to feel like this, it was meant to hurt and burn and… and he couldn't stop the words spilling from his mouth, imploring begging pleas for he knew not what, the pleasure building in him 'til he thought his skin would ignite, hips jerking with spasmodic fits of ecstasy till he was rutting against Potter like an animal in heat.
He could actually feel the teeth in his neck, whereas before he'd only ever registered the coldness of the puncture wound where his life's blood ran free, this time he could actually feel the strength, the silken glide of Potter's teeth through his fragile skin to where his pulse pounded wildly. For Potter. It was all for Potter.
I would do anything for you.
Draco moaned and whimpered, hips unabashedly ramming up into the cradle of Potter's pelvis, trying to find even the vaguest relief for the erection that seemed to have sprung into life the very second his blood passed Potters lips.
"Please… please…" he whispered, feeling the brunets teeth press deeper, needing and then taking more of Draco into himself, "… hhuhhh… Harry…"
At the sound of his voice said so desperately, so urgently Harry responded the only way that he could think of given his current state of mind and sank his lower teeth into the vulnerable skin of Draco's throat as well and, swallowing the rush of fevered blood, he slammed his hips down against Draco's groin and ground against him. Hard.
The memory of his orgasm in the dream paled drastically as the Slytherin threw his head back and simply howled in ecstasy, pleasure searing him down to his DNA and coming so hard, bucking and jerking wildly that he worried Potter might break his teeth off inside him and damn if that thought didn't somehow make him shake and shudder some more.
Potter pulled his teeth free with care, already lapping at the admittedly vicious wound, being sure to bathe it carefully so that it wouldn't scar as his intended's mark had, circling his hips and pressing down, crooning gently to his weak and sated mate before licking his way back up from the rapidly healing wound to nibble and kiss gently at the flushed skin of Draco's cheeks, enjoying the closeness before the Slytherin came to himself and pushed him away as usual.
It wasn't until Draco realised that Potter had stopped placing those tender, sweet, soft kisses on his skin and had tensed, growling low in his throat that he realised something was wrong.
He'd been comfortably floating on a cloud of satisfaction, his entire body weak and warm with the glow of satiation and trying to make himself concerned with the fact that he didn't mind those tiny kisses and now, opening one eye to understand the Gryffindor's displeasure, Draco found his blood running cold.
Ronald fucking Weasley was in their room and had witnessed every sodding detail of Draco's capitulation.
He was just considering how best to do away with the orange haired twat when he found himself upright, legs still locked at Potter's waist, his hands knotted into the thick dark locks (and how had they even got there?) and watching a pair of frighteningly cold black eyes as they burned a hole in the Vampires supposed friend from across the room.
"Are you looking, " the brunet spat, "at My Mate?"
"Harry, mate" Weasley began stupidly, not noting the further darkening of Potter's expression at the misuse of the brunet's favourite word, "It's ok, I'm not here to… I'm just going, I was just worried when I saw Malfoy there," another foolish gesture, Draco thought as he watched Weasley gesture at him, "running through the halls, figured something was wrong but it's uhh, it's all, as it should be. I guess, so uh, I'll be going then."
"Don't." Just one word but it shot across the room and snapped at the redhead's ears like the crack of a whip.
"Don't what, mate? What do you need, Harry?"
Draco tensed, un-knotting his legs as they finally obeyed him, sliding down from Potters embrace with not a small amount of fear as he noted the Vampire's teeth had extended once more.
"Don't dare say that word, do not so much as look at him, you… scum… you are not fit to look upon him."
Had Draco not felt so overwhelmingly terrified in light of the way Potter was leaning forward, readying himself on the balls of his feet as though ready to pounce, he might have enjoyed the horror on the Weasel's face.
But not today. Today he rather thought Potter might actually kill the ginger freak.
"Potter… Harry, I..."
The word was snarled and Draco jerked in response, one hand still resting on a tensed and trembling shoulder.
"Harry…?" Weasley said in a small voice and Draco applauded his careful few steps backwards.
"Do not speak my name… it is his." Harry advanced a step and Draco had abrupt visions of the Weasel lifeless on the floor with his throat ripped cleanly out.
"Harry." He said again urgently and clawed his fingers into the sinew of the brunet's taut shoulder and then "Harry…" before stepping in between the Vampire and his target.
"Draco…MOVE…" the darker boy began to snarl only to find two arms looped about his neck and Draco's face pressed interestingly close to his.
"Harry… forget him, you like him normally though I don't really know why but the point is I think you'd regret it if you killed him and then they'd all blame me for not stopping you so let's let the Weasel live, alright?"
He hoped rather than heard the Weasel in question shuffle a further few feet towards the open door.
"Draco..." Potter whispered, nostrils flaring, dark eyes refocusing on the blond's upturned face, "He was looking at you, watching you in my arms…"
"I'm still in them, Potter…" he whispered back and, without quite knowing why, pressed his mouth to Potter's.
He froze even as their mouths connected, unable to explain the compulsion that had moved him to behave thus but it was already too late, Potter's arms were about him, his breath was in Draco's lungs and they were kissing.
Dimly he heard the door slam and noted dully that Weasel must have at least a half a brain cell for he appeared to have left, abandoning Draco to his consequences of his actions.
"You taste…" Harry panted, his breath hot on Draco's face as he nipped gently at his lower lip, " so sweet."
"Malfoy's are never sweet, Potter." Draco spat back only to find himself hoisted roughly into the air so that he was looking down into the Gryffindor's face.
"Mine is." The brunet grinned before seizing Draco's open mouth and slipping his tongue deftly inside.
Draco couldn't quite believe the difference. Potter had gone from murderous, overly possessive mate to playful boyfriend type within seconds and not only did Malfoy's not have boyfriends but they were NEVER EVER French kissed without granting their express permission.
Whilst he was contemplating how best to regain some semblance of control over the situation, he wrapped his legs about Potter's thighs …purely because he felt the Gryffindor moving of course and wanted to be safely anchored. He felt slightly less safe when Potter released him to fall onto his back on the large, soft bed.
"You should rest now." The Vampire smiled, just the very hint of the sharp teeth gleaming at Draco in the dimness and was jerking himself upright to protest when the brunet slid up onto the bed beside him, reclaiming his mouth as he pulled him down to lay against the pillows. "Quiet now, you left it for so long that I couldn't stop myself, I took too much and you must rest now."
Draco bristled. "I left it so... Oh, fine then blame me but I told you to stop sending me those dreams and you didn't so I'm sorry but I just didn't want to see you earlier, alright? Like this isn't weird enough without you messing with my head and mmpph…"
He found his mouth abruptly covered once more, this time by a gentle fingertip against his lips.
"Sssh, you really need to rest, we can talk later." A small crease formed between Harry's eyebrows, "but... this isn't weird…Draco. You belong to me and me to you. Just like it should be." He smiled and pressed another befuddling kiss to the Slytherin's parted lips before wrapping his arms about him and snuggling them both further into the luxurious bedspread. "Sleep now, and don't worry, I couldn't send you dreams even if I wanted to mess with your head but I promise, I won't let you have any nightmares, ok?"
Draco pulled a face. Dumbledore had warned him that Potter's true character would begin to resurface as he recovered and he'd never heard a more Gryffindor-ish statement then that. Grouchily he pressed himself tightly against the brunet's chest and sighed before scowling even harder. If Potter hadn't sent the dreams then it meant that it was his head creating those thoughts… thoughts of what Potter might do to him on this very bed...
Harry chuckled and pushed back vaguely against the hardness just forming and poking him in the hip.
"Later," he smiled, ducking his head to suckle drowsily at the rapidly vanishing mark at Draco's throat. "Sleep now."
And Draco might have fought him, had he not been asleep already and dreaming of things hopefully to come.
But later didn't come that night, when Draco awoke it was just gone six am and his House Head and Dumbledore stood just outside the open door, gesturing quietly for him to leave the warmth of Potter's embrace and join them.
He hadn't been able to explain quite why it had pained him so to do it.
Before he was barely more than a foot outside the door he had found himself whisked swiftly to the Infirmary where Pomfrey had give him a lecture that made his ears bleed for skipping his check up and then a headache for allowing himself to be pulled further into the bond.
Hadn't he been listening when they explained what a good thing it was that this was purely a blood mating because emotional bonds were so much harder to dissolve? Didn't he think he was taking advantage of Mister Potter or vice versa? Didn't he think it just a little stupid to let himself even partially bond with a fledgling borderline Vampire who he'd hated since first year? Didn't he get that the more blood Mister Potter consumed of his, the harder it would be to stop? And most importantly were they being safe, because Boys or no, you can still pick odd things up in the strangest places.
It was, in all, a conversation that would feature greatly in many of Draco's nightmares in years to come.
Between them, Snape, Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey all tried to instil in him the understanding that he had to limit the bond, go back to letting Potter drink from his hands, not his throat and no more kissing unless he was fully prepared to face the consequences.
After seeming hours of these lectures Draco was not feeling particularly sociable and retreated to his new rooms, alternating between laying on his bed, sleeping and sulking. It wasn't 'til it had reached nearly 11pm that he realised that he hadn't felt the draw all day.
Quietly he had sneaked over to Potter's room, opening the door to only to have to smother a scream with his fists as he found the Gryffindor standing barely two inches away from his face.
"I thought you weren't coming," Harry said forlornly, "I thought you'd forgotten me."
Draco shook his head numbly as his mind quickly retraced its steps and the actuality of the prior days events crashed into the reality sector of his brain.
He'd kissed Harry Potter. He'd run into his arms and begged and moaned to be touched and tasted until he'd come, thrashing like one in the throes of agony, not ecstasy.
"I missed you." Harry purred and moved into kissing him and Draco would have laughed, seeing the wounded expression on the Vampires face as he sidestepped the caress, if only he hadn't ached quite so much.
"I'm tired Potter, can we do this so I can get back to my bed?" He smiled politely but felt something in him shrivel at the brunets wan face.
"Certainly," Potter said in a wavering tone as Draco proffered the usual hand, "Anything you want, Draco."
Draco felt Harry's lips trembling as he parted them to carefully press his sharp teeth into Draco's palm once more, eyes closing without their usual sheen of contentment as he gently sucked and drank down the blond's blood.
Draco swayed, unsteady.
Usually when Harry drank from him he felt hot, the puncture points cold in delicious, rapturous opposition to the heat racing through his body in an effort to be the part that was consumed by the Gryffindor but this time Draco felt only the cold, like every ounce of comfort and happiness was just slipping out of him.
"Harry," he whimpered with a tongue that felt leaden and thick as it fell uselessly against his teeth and lips, slurring his words, "Please… stop…"
The reaction was immediate. Harry leapt back as though burnt, teeth retracting faster than Draco had ever seen, managing to hold his hands aloft in seeming surrender before he leapt back forwards to catch the Slytherin before he could hit the ground.
"Wrong, all wrong." Draco whispered.
"Don't say that," Potter whimpered back, large tears gleaming in the dark eyes, "You're my mate, we're meant to be together, I won't hurt you I promise…"
"No…" Draco murmured as the brunet eased him carefully down before the struggling fire, shielding his shivering body with his own as the embers gently warmed his chilled flesh. "I mean my hand… it's not right anymore, feels wrong."
The light seemed to flare in Harry's eyes or perhaps it was just a burning ember reflected in the black depths but either way Draco abruptly felt a lot warmer.
"You… prefer it the other way?"
"Yes…" Draco murmured, unable to explain why he was blushing, " I… prefer it."
Carefully, only breaking eye-contact when his head dipped all the way down, Harry leaned over Draco's supine form, covering his body protectively before letting his teeth slip into their home at Draco's pulse.
"This… this is just like my dreams…" Draco half whispered, half laughed nervously, body already tightening, pleasure coiling low in his belly and waiting to strike at any moment, gasping softly when Harry pulled back, licking the crimson liquid from his lips.
"Oh?" He enquired wickedly. "The dreams I'm meant to have sent you?"
Draco was flustered. There was no urgency, despite the huge gap between 'feeding', Harry seemed to be setting a casual pace, taking his time to suckle softly from the wound before lapping at it tenderly, almost as though he were healing it early and...
"Oh!" Draco exclaimed hips bucking upwards in pleasurable shock, Harry's teeth having nipped into his flesh a few centimetres down, closer to his collar bone, the Gryffindor moaning at the fresh blossom of blood across his tongue.
"Tell me," Harry muttered thickly against the silken planes of Draco's throat, "what you dreamed of."
Draco bucked, hips crowding up against Harry's and pushing insistently at him as he sealed his latest wound.
"Just you," he panted roughly, uncaring that he was stepping over a line he'd have never realised existed without Potter's infection, "You feeding from me, on the bed, in front of the fire, touching me, kissing me..."
"Good Dreams," the Vampire murmured heatedly against Draco's lips where he'd leaned up to rest his forehead against the blond's, "Did you say you'd dreamed of being here, in front of the fire with me?"
Draco bucked and keened, hips jabbing his hardness against Harry relentlessly, nodding frenziedly as the images replayed themselves inside his head. "There were chess pieces everywhere and I was naked..." He froze, as Potter smile broadly, fangs and all.
"Naked," he seemed to hiss, pressing his mouth hotly over Draco's and letting him taste his own blood on Harry's tongue, the Gryffindor's fingers already pulling roughly at Draco's loose pyjama top, tearing it from his body in his haste, "What truly good dreams you have Draco Malfoy. Now, let's see if you taste as good all over."
And with that he ducked down and sank his teeth into the marble white skin barely an inch from the blond's tightly pebbled left nipple, rearing back almost immediately, gasping and Draco belatedly recalled, past the rushing in his ears, Dumbledore's words about the blood being more potent the closer the bite came to the heart.
Harry trembled. "You… you taste…. Too much. Would hurt you." and then blinking, he leant down to carefully lap at the punctures, healing them with no small amount of quivering as the rich blood passed his lips.
"That was… amazing, " he breathed before a mischievous grin not unlike the normal Harry crossed his face. "But I bet I can think of somewhere you taste even better."
And, boneless with pleasure and light headed-ness, Draco was quite simply helpless to prevent him from easing the pyjama bottoms over his erection and down off of his long legs, leaving him naked and ever so slightly blood stained in the barely there firelight.
"Beautiful…" Harry breathed, his hot black eyes raking the shaking Slytherin literally from head to toe, lingering unabashedly at the erection stood rosy and tall in its bed of white blond curls, the head already beginning to flush a dark red with need.
He began to lower his head, halting as he found a strong, pale hand pressing against his chest.
"In my dreams," Draco whispered blushing furiously, " You were naked too."
With a truly stunning display of awkwardness, the Vampire slowly peeled himself from his own pyjama top before, biting his lip and dropping his eyes and shuffling out of the bottoms.
Potter's coming back.
The thought struck Draco like the proverbial lightning bolt. Potter would come back and the vampire that so adored and needed Draco would be gone.
He stiffened, abruptly feeling the weight of a possibly life defining mistake resting on his shoulders.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked softly, hesitantly, "Don't you… don't you like me like this?"
Draco blinked and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head when he realised he was actually laying eyes on a very naked, very aroused Harry Potter.
His chest was slim, not so slim as Draco's was but then he was broader in general than Draco's elegant streamlined form. He let himself linger as he took in the dusting of black hair over Harry's legs and arms, the tiny smattering at the centre of his chest and the few dark curls sat softly at the base of a none too shabby erection.
Draco blinked again. He needed to stop staring at Potter's erection and focus before he forgot why he'd stopped before…. Oh.
"You're going to forget me." He whispered. "You're going to get better and then you'll hate me and I'll hate you and only I'll remember this."
"No," Harry whispered with such sincerity that Draco almost believed him, "I would never forget or hate you. You're my mate."
"Well… ok then." Draco smiled up at the brunet and blinked away the sudden wet grittiness of his eyes. Probably from laying too close to the fire, he reasoned.
Then there was no more reasoning as Harry leant down and bit into the soft skin at Draco's hip, smiling wickedly as he supped for barely a second, sealing the area with a hearty lick before moving downwards to pierce the even softer skin of the blond's inner thigh, sending sparks of liquid fire shooting through Draco's body straight to the place Harry was now ignoring.
Draco whimpered and writhed, breathless and unable to focus on more than the frantic bobbing of his prick and the hot mouth already moving to bite at the other hip and then the other thigh.
"Oh god… nnngggh, Harry please?" He begged as a strand of precum slipped down and hung between his glans and his belly, unable to believe just how much he longed for that mouth, dangerous and ferociously sharp, on the area of his body he liked best.
"I want to be inside you." Harry said, voice like venom in a silver goblet and Draco thrashed and sobbed at the thought, combining with his desperation to just have Harry do anything, touch anything, just as long as he did something.
"Yes… yes…anything… just… just your mouth first… please Harry, put it there, put it there I'm begging you…I … OHHHHhhhh…"
Only the first inch or so was able to fit into Harry's mouth comfortably, his teeth being far to prominent to allow for any real depth without damage and yet Draco found himself wailing and whining, almost beside himself with the need to feel Potter's teeth in him there.
"No," Harry laughed delightedly at the Slytherin's desperate pleas, "I'll hurt you, there's no way it couldn't."
"Fuck me then." Draco panted before he even realised the words were coming from him, "Flip me over and fuck me. Shove into me so hard I scream and bite me harder… in the dream we were on all fours, you leant over me, fucking me and biting into my throat, drinking me down and filling me up, all at once… Harry… Harry fuck me…"
Even before Draco had finished pleading the Gryffindor had jerked him upright, fingers digging cruelly into his hips with the force of their grip as he flipped him, just like he'd asked, the thick rigid heat of Harry's cock pressing neatly into the soft flesh behind his balls.
"Fuck you, bite you, claim you… that right?" He ground out harshly and Draco could hear the dangerously possessive tone of the Vampire lurking beneath the all too rapidly returning playfulness of the Gryffindor Hero. Draco wanted to keep this Potter, the one who liked him awhile longer and if that meant rough sex that urged out the beast residing in Potter's blood then so be it.
"Bite me first," he whimpered with an almost embarrassing eagerness, "Then it won't hurt so much when you fuck me… feels too good to hurt."
"Spread your thighs." Harry snarled without showing any sign of having heard Draco but the blond wasn't worried, somehow he felt safer naked and at the mercy of a lust crazed Vampire than he had in his own home in years.
He pushed his thighs apart as far as he could go without falling down, nearly toppling all the same when Potter made a sudden snatch for his left arm, twisting it upwards almost painfully so he could quickly lavish kisses upon the blemished skin, nuzzling the mark he'd made once more and incomprehensibly arousing Draco beyond all limits.
He moaned and pushed back when he felt Harry's hand positioning the tip of his prick at Draco's entrance, smiling when he felt the movement of the liquid seeping from the tip being dragged back and forth over the pucker to aid lubrication.
"Harry," he moaned, unable to help himself, "Fuck me, bite me… please… I can't take this much longer."
He meant it, his body was beginning to spasm of its own accord, the little remaining snatches of heat and ecstasy pinging around his body like tiny deranged snidgets inside him, hell-bent on creating as much havoc as possible before eventually bursting their way free of his body.
Carefully Harry positioned himself at the indent of his body, the snub tip resting snugly, just waiting as he draped himself over Draco's back, kissing his way sloppily up his spine and nuzzling his jaw-line for a kiss before turning his face against the silky, white throat.
"Draco?" He muttered thickly, his teeth resting just over the barrier of skin.
"Yeah…?" Draco whimpered back, already too close for delays.
"I love you." And before Draco could even react to the words, Harry bit into his throat and thrust his hips forward, effectively piercing the blond's body at each end.
The blood ran hot and fast into Harry's mouth, faster than it ever had before but then he'd never had Draco screaming and pushing his hips back and forth frantically and begging to be fucked and sucked harder, deeper, fucking himself on Harry's cock with erratic tiny thrusts back when harry couldn't move for fear of tearing Draco's skin, so voraciously did he drink him down.
It tasted like nothing else on earth and he felt a pang of regret as he recognised the unmistakable signs of Draco's impending orgasm as his heart rate seemed to triple and miss beats, his body jerking and trembling as he began the descent into bliss.
Draco had never dreamt anything could have ever made him feel so complete, so possessed, like Harry had truly claimed every inch of him inside and out and he couldn't decide what felt better, the flow of his very soul into Harry or the delightfully debauched slick sounds and sensations as he impaled himself on him again and again.
There would never be another moment like this, he knew it without doubt and it shook him to his core.
To know happiness, completeness because of a stupid spell gone wrong and to lose it by choice? It was madness and so unfair that Draco could have wept, had Harry's hand not closed about his own weeping cock and begun masturbating it vicious, twisting motions.
"Harry," he sobbed, feeling himself about to shatter, "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours…."
And Harry slammed home, spilling himself deeply into Draco as the Slytherin stiffened and went silent, his body betraying him in that too great moment of pleasure and he blacked out, Harry's strong arms holding him upright as he pulled free panting madly and nuzzling him for a response, panicked.
"Draco?" He whispered, laying down and pulling the slack form to him, "Draco it's ok, wake up, I've got you."
His own body was shaking now, pinpricks of sudden pain shooting through his skin and in fear he turned his head back to Draco's throat, biting back into the healing wound to awaken his Mate and draw on their bond for reassurance.
"Draco," He whimpered, head spinning as the black receded from his eyes, the green overtaking the pupil once more as he bit into the blond's tender flesh with his ordinary blunt teeth, "Mine..." he sobbed as he felt the world falling away from him. "Mine…" and he slipped into unconsciousness.
There were, of course, a number of questions when Draco awoke, pyjama clad and pristine in the Infirmary, but the one that had really stuck with him in the days that followed was: "What on Gods Green Earth did you think you were doing letting HARRY POTTER fuck you?"
He rather imagined Snape would calm down eventually but his point had still been a valid one.
What had he thought he was doing?
When he had awoken it had still been to the idea of a Harry Potter who Ineeded/I him, longed for him and would of course recall taking Draco's virginity but of course, that had been ridiculous.
He hadn't even been allowed to see Potter, having been casually informed by the Headmaster that they had thought it best that they be kept in separate rooms until each was fully recovered from their 'unfortunate run-in' and that Mister Potter did not remember the events after his collapse on the 5th of November and they'd be all be happy if that's just how remained.
When he'd been foolish enough to hotly question the right to silence him when perhaps he might WANT Potter to know what they shared if only to finally put to rest their over-tired rivalry routine, he'd been shut down, not just by Dumbledore but from Snape & Pomfrey as well.
Mister Potter needs to focus on his recovery and the larger issues of his new powers and how best to put them to eventual use.
Mister Potter is a narrow-minded bigot who wouldn't hesitate to scorn the very idea of what you plan to tell him happened between you and the he'll take the tiny scrap of intimacy you share and grind it into dust beneath his heel and laugh about it with his fans.
Mister Potter will have a hard enough time overcoming this infection and bearing with it for the rest of his natural life without the pair of you misusing a Bonding as a Mating and tying yourselves together on nothing more than hormones for the rest of your lives.
All good points and, had Draco given a shit, he might have valued their opinions.
But he didn't. He told himself he'd stay away, not force the issue because no matter what they said, Potter himself had said he'd never forget and he was sodding Boy Who Lived for Merlin's Sake. If anyone was going to defy the rules and remember what they shouldn't it would be him.
Only he didn't.
He walked past Draco without so much as a glance in his direction, not even noticing the apologetic expression on his best friends face as he cast a sympathetic glance (of all the horrors) in Draco's direction.
So that was that, he decided. He wouldn't cry or scream or throw a huge tantrum. He would simply get straight back on with his normal life and behave as though it had never happened.
Only that didn't quite work either.
It had been kept fairly hush, hush, his involvement with Potter's sudden 'illness' but enough whispering and backstabbing had gone on for people to ascertain that whatever Draco's part had been, it had been played to benefit the Boy Hero, and that made him a traitor.
"You can't seriously believe I've turned into a Potter worshipper?" He guffawed for perhaps the billionth time that day, but it was starting to get a little old and the wear was starting to show on his performance, fear in his eyes as two particularly huge 7th years crowded him against the wall, glaring down at him after he refused to display his mark. "I'm too young," He pointed out testily, "The Dark Lord can have no use for me at my age and therefore I... Let Go!"
But it was too late.
The only thing worse than not having the mark was to sully the space where it must and would be taken. The Dark Lord demanded it be placed upon the left forearm and so that part of the loyal follower belonged to him. And Draco had deliberately distorted it.
He'd barely had time to whimper before the first spell struck, a stupefy, always a classic, followed by the equally popular petrificus totallus, the two elder boys collapsing harmlessly at Draco's feet, Draco himself gaping as slowly the hand clutching its wand on the other side of the corridor, floating in mid-air, revealed itself to be just one part of an invisible Harry Potter.
"You saved me." Draco said dumbly.
"Yeah." Potter had snarled back as though accused of lying, cheating, stealing or all of the above.
"That's… Thank you." He wouldn't run to Potter's arms and expect to be caught. He couldn't kiss him and expect to be wanted. It was all over, all of it.
"Thank you? Did you just thank me, Malfoy?"
"Yes, it seemed fitting considering the rescue and all." He strode away down the corridor, trying to get some distance before he began screaming in frustration.
"What's going on?" Of course, Potter had followed him. Why wouldn't he? "Why do the other Slytherin's hate you now?"
"They don't hate me, they love me, I'm wonderful." He said on a bitter if slightly hysterical note.
"No? Well that's like the billionth time a Slytherin has started on you today so forgive me if I seem a tad disinclined to believe you."
"Ooh, disinclined. Well done Potter, Granger been tutoring you again? I… " He froze mid-step, voice cutting out abruptly. "How did you know I've been… having troubles today?" He clipped out tersely.
Potter stepped from foot to foot, uneasy but his chin thrust high into the air. Typical Gryffindor bravado. "I was following you." He bit out, hoarsely and Draco felt something too painful, too dangerous to be anything but hope.
"Why were you following me?" He whispered, blinking when the other boy's shoulders jerked quickly in a forced shrug of nonchalance.
Draco blinked hot, gritty eyes and smiled grimly at the sadly forgetful Gryffindor.
"Well then, I won't see you later, if you won't be following me any more tonight. Goodnight Potter. I'm… glad to hear you're feeling better."
He moved to walk away, to glide off into the night s Snape had taught him, with dramatic flair and a delight of scaring nervous first years only to find his cloak caught in a white knuckled fist.
"You're glad I'm better?" Potter quoted in a strangled tone. "Is that why they all hate you now? Because you're glad?" He narrowed his eyes. "Or is there something more?"
Draco was tired. It had been a hard few months, poisoning an enemy, gaining a lover type, losing a lover type, losing an enemy.
"Oh, there's more Potter, you're just too fucking stupid to know it. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
The fist tightened and Draco thought he heard a few stitches break.
"You know something… don't you? You know something about whatever it is I can't remember! Tell me!"
Draco slumped against the wall, feeling as old as the castle itself.
"What's to tell, Potter. You were ill, now you're better and you follow me around for no apparent reason and you seem unable to let go of my robes. There, now we're both in the know, can I go yet?" He drawled before stiffening noting the wildness at the edge of Harry's eyes. "Potter?"
"You… you just said… for no apparent reason…"
Harry noticeably twitched and Draco wanted to lean into his body and hold him close when he noted the pallor of his former mate's skin, the darkness beneath his eyes.
"I don't know why." He mumbled and Draco frowned.
"You don't know why what?" He queried gently and the Gryffindor simply went up in smoke.
"I don't know why I follow you! I follow you ALL THE TIME, I can't stay away! At first I thought I was paranoid or that I'd forgotten something else I was doing and that you just happened to be there but its YOU its always you and now I'm doing it on purpose and I can't stop, I can't stop and I don't know why! Why? Why am I doing this? Why can't I stay away from you…? GOD why can't I stop thinking about you? It's like you're in my head all day every day every time I close my eyes there you are and I can't shake you out and it never ends and then when I do see you I can't think of anyone else and when I do I want to KILL them for stupid reasons like looking at you, breathing too near you I just… I… I'm losing MY MIND and I don't know why only… only I know it's… it's not your fault…" he whimpered, "It's not you and… and I want to hate you, like normal but I can't and I want to but I just CAN'T! " His voice wobbled ominously "I... just... why? Y'know? Why can't I hate you, I'm so GOOD at it normally?"
"You're not meant to know." The words left Draco before he could prevent them, though he felt no regret as he felt the Gryffindor press closer still.
"Not meant to know what? Is this still about that virus because no-one'll tell me anything except that I'm better now and I need that fucking potion and I… I…"
"You remember something you're not meant to." Now he had Harry's full attention. "You remember and you feel and your body is telling you, telling your mind that it's forgotten something."
"What?" The word was a breath, the merest spectre of a sound and Draco couldn't quite suppress the shiver that went through him as he laid himself bare.
"Me, Potter. You forgot me." And then he kissed him.
The contact lasted not even a second before Harry burst away, spinning so his back struck the opposing wall, his hands lifted in mock surrender as he gasped and spluttered inelegantly.
"What the...? Malfoy! What the fuck?" He managed to burst in a mild explosion of noise before gulping, silenced as Draco brace a hand at either side of his head, holding his gaze for fear of losing his chance.
"You don't remember kissing me, you don't remember tasting my skin, my cock… you don't remember fucking me, Potter… at least your mind doesn't…"
"No…" the brunet gasped, the word strangled between disgust and… and recognition?
"Your mind doesn't remember me Potter, but your body, your heart your BLOOD knows me because it's my blood too, Potter. You drank my blood, you drew me in and you claimed me, like it or not." He lifted a hand from the cold stone to pull gently at his sleeve, yanking the material up, displaying the still vibrant scar tissue where Harry's teeth had left their primal mark. "I am Yours."
"No…" he whispered but he couldn't tear his eyes away and the voice… that voice…
"Yessss…." Draco whispered back, as hoarse and low as Harry and received a violent look in return.
"I. Said. No." He spat quietly and Draco evinced a casual shrug, rolling his sleeve back down with remarkable indifference.
"Fine then. I guess I'll go give myself to someone else then."
He made to move again but more to the brunet's surprise than Draco's, Harry's fist was tight on the blond's wrist.
"Careful," he whispered, oddly raw, "You promised to not hurt me."
With a wild cry Harry wrenched the sleeve back up, eyes torn between Draco's face and the mark that sang to him as though it were a part of his own body, proclaiming itself against the Slytherin's skin for all to see that Harry Potter had claimed Draco Malfoy as his own.
MINE his brain screamed and somehow, without his knowledge or permit, he had his mouth over the blond's and his arms crushing the life out of him.
"Yours," he snarled into Draco's lips, "You said Yours… you belong to me, you're -"
" - Mine." Draco agreed thickly and bit and Harry's tongue. "I was made to be yours, you claimed me, you didn't want anyone BUT me and then you forgot me."
"Sorry, so sorrysorrysorry..." he muttered, burying his face in Draco's neck and inhaling deeply. "This can't be real."
"Real? Perhaps not. But happening… Yes. It's already real enough… Harry. You chose me, it was me or death and you most exuberantly chose me and now you've got me… I am Yours."
The Gryffindor moaned low and almost painfully, understandably confused but Draco didn't care.
Potter could shove him away, he mused, yanking the brunets face back up to kiss him brutally once more, but he'd always come back, they were already a part of each other.
I love you. He could hear it, as clearly as though it'd only just been spoken, Potter had loved him briefly, madly. He bet he could make him do it again. He smiled into the kiss.
Harry pulled back abruptly, breath heaving from his lungs in agonised gulps, as much from panic as passion and Draco was no longer surprised by the bolt of tenderness that shot through him as a result.
"I, I don't understand," the Gryffindor bit out, voice faltering as every cell in his body clamoured for him to stop fighting and accept this new unexpected fate, "they... they made you do this, you had no choice… you… you can't possibly 'want' to be with me…"
Draco smiled, letting a little of his past self's cruelty slip through as he mockingly regarded his 'Mate'.
"Potter, I always had a choice, I just never had incentive enough to choose you before and… well, now?" he leaned in to place a firm, very precise but achingly possessive kiss upon the parted, nervously bitten lips. "Not even your having forgotten us could keep me from you. You are as much mine as I am yours and I 'am' a Malfoy after all. What We have… We Keep."
And, before the brunet had time to do more than blink bemusedly, Draco wrapped his arms about him and pressed a tentative, almost terrified kiss against Harry's mouth, smiling brilliantly into the embrace as the borderline Vampire crushed him to him.
"Mine." He whispered.