Author's Note: I'm addicted to vampire!Draco fics, so I figured I'd write one myself. Plus I recently found a copy of a short story anthology dedicated entirely to vampires amongst my belongings (now that my apartment has finally dried out), and I've been on a major vampire kick ever since. I've been rewatching most of the Dracula movies too: I firmly believe that the 1979 version with Frank Langella is the ultimate best vampire movie of all time. This fic will probably be a two-shot, possibly a three-shot depending on reader reaction (hint, hint - review!).

Warnings: Serious smut, sort-of lemon, language, you get the picture. Take the rating seriously, people, 'cause I mean it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, because if I did, ooh... it would not be appropriate for children, let's just say that. First off, they'd be Harry and Draco Potter-Malfoy. Secondly, Sirius would be alive and kicking - and in bed with Remus. Thirdly, Severus would be mourning James, not Lilly. Yeah, I have somewhat unorthodox taste in pairings. So sue me. (Actually, please don't. That's the point of this disclaimer!)

A.N.2: This is, probably, the most smut I've ever written in a single chapter of a fic. Like, seriously. This is pretty hot stuff. Not to say that I'm patting myself in the back - on the contrary, I have no idea if this is any good at all. I've written pretty heavy stuff before, but that was in a different fandom, one where NO ONE EVER REVIEWS. It's like a fanfic-author's definition of hell. Except that said fandom also has Gerald Tarrant, which is fanfic-author's heaven, so... it all balances out. Anyway, the point is, I've never gotten any feedback on that sort of thing, so please tell me if the smut parts are good. Which constitutes most of the fic, actually, so... yeah. I realized afterward that this might be pushing the whole rating issue, but I couldn't bear to edit, so you're getting the full steamy version. Besides, I've seen worse on here.

A.N.3: Fic title is a line from Hellfire, from Disney's the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The song Draco sings later in the fic is called Cold Blows The Wind, by Bellowhead. It's a very old English folk song, about a young woman who mourns her dead lover so strongly that she keeps his spirit from resting in peace, until he awakens and convinces her to let him go. It's both romantic and quite morbid, and I think that's exactly what vampire!Draco would be like.

A.N.4: I realized after this was mostly written that, at least as far as I remember, only seventh-years are eligible for the role of Head Boy or Girl. However, for reasons of plot (more like reasons of smut) that was inconvenient, so let's just say that they can be picked as early as sixth year.

When Professor Dumbledore made the announcement, there was stunned silence throughout the Great Hall. Finally, someone at the far end of the Gryffindor table asked in a trembling voice, "A - a vampire?"

Dumbledore nodded, beaming, eyes twinkling brilliantly. "Precisely. Without further ado, please welcome Professor Stefano Calvierri."

The tall, dark-haired, somber-looking man rose and bowed. The applause was widespread, but somewhat stilted. Ron looked over at Harry, blue eyes wide. "Blimey, a real vampire? You'd think that after Lupin Dumbledore would have learned his lesson!"

Hermione was sitting on the edge of her seat, quivering with excitement. "A real vampire for a DADA teacher! That's amazing, most vampires wouldn't be willing to share any of their knowledge with humans: they're very secretive!"

"You're telling me." Harry muttered under his breath, careful to keep his voice low enough that his friends didn't hear. They, of course, had no idea that there was already a vampire in Hogwarts. Speaking of which...

Harry glanced curiously across the Hall to the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was glaring up at the staff table: it was too great a distance to be certain, but Harry thought he could see the faintest hint of fangs poking past the pureblood's upper lip. Carefully biting back a grin, Harry looked back down at his dinner. If Draco was already getting territorial, tonight was going to be brilliant.

Harry had found out that Draco Malfoy was a vampire during fifth year. The young vampire had been prowling around late at night as part of his 'Inquisitorial Squad' duties, and had caught Harry on the way back from a DA meeting. Harry remembered that night as vividly as though it had happened only days before. It had been only days before Halloween...

Flashback:

Harry hurried down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower, heart pounding. How the hell had he lost track of time like that? With the number of students now part of Dumbledore's Army, it would be a miracle if they all made it back to their dormitories without being set upon by a teachers - or worse yet, someone in Umbridge's accursed Inquisitorial Squad.

He heard a soft sound behind him and spun around, skidding to a halt, his heart racing with exertion and fear. The shadowy corridor looked deserted, the moonlight giving only the faintest trace of illumination. He stood stock still, his hand clutched tightly about his wand, peering warily into the darkness.

"Who's there?" he asked, quietly enough that if there wasn't really someone already there, the sound wouldn't attract unwanted attention from elsewhere.

A soft, low chuckle echoed through the darkness. Harry jumped involuntarily, taking a step backward, unsettled by the sound. He tightened his grip on his wand, hand starting to shake slightly. The finely honed instincts for danger that he had developed over the years were tingling urgently, warning him, but he couldn't pinpoint the source. A shockingly familiar voice spoke, unsettlingly close to him.

"A little late for you, isn't it, Potter? Shouldn't you be sound asleep, safe in your bed in your precious Lion's den?"

"Malfoy?" Harry said, still staring around the hallway in shock. "Where are you?"

The low chuckle sounded again, then Harry felt cool breath on the back of his neck, chill and startling. "Right here."

Swallowing a yelp, Harry whipped around, wand raised high. Malfoy was leaning against the wall a few feet away, smirking, his arms folded over his chest. He raised one eyebrow elegantly, lips curling in a mocking smile. "Skittish at night, aren't you, Potter? Afraid of the big bad Dark Lord... or just me?"

Harry stared at him, unable to process that. Oh, it was an insult, but it was uttered in an almost teasing tone of voice, and the blond looked entirely too cheerful for Harry's peace of mind. "What the hell, Malfoy?"

The Slytherin laughed softly. The sight was rather entrancing: his eyes fell half-closed, long lashes brushing over his pale cheeks as his head tipped back against the wall, exposing the lean column of his throat...

Harry's cheeks burned as he realized the path his thoughts had strayed down, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Just because he was starting to question his sexuality didn't mean he was attracted to Malfoy, of all people.

"Look, Malfoy, can you just dock however many points you're going to take and let me get to bed? It's been kind of a long day, and I'm beat." As he spoke, he unconsciously scratched at the viciously itching scabs on the back of his hand, where the words I Must Not Tell Lies were carved into his flesh. The scabs pulled and tore, allowing a slender trickle of red to flow over his skin. "Shit!" He clamped his hand over the wound, blocking the flow of blood.

Malfoy's head snapped upright again, and a disturbing look of hunger filled his grey eyes, pupils dilating visibly as he pushed off of the wall and walked closer. Harry froze, deeply unnerved and considering the wisdom of just bolting: this strange, almost otherworldly Malfoy was seriously creeping him out. Malfoy's expression was a strange mix of hunger and concern, though, as he looked at Harry.

"You're bleeding." It wasn't a question. Harry blinked.

"Yeah, how did you know?" He started to wipe the blood from his hand onto the leg of his trousers, but Malfoy was faster: a pale hand shot out and grabbed Harry's wrist tightly, dragging his hand up. Harry gasped involuntarily: Malfoy's skin was cold as ice, so chill it almost burned. Malfoy seemed oblivious, but his eyes narrowed dangerously as he saw the words carved in Harry's skin.

"That bitch..." Malfoy looked back up into Harry's eyes, his pupils even larger than before: it was decidedly eerie, seeing his eyes almost completely black. "How long has this been going on?"

Harry hesitated, bewildered. Why was Malfoy acting so strange - or concerned for his welfare, for that matter? And why was Harry's heart suddenly beating so fast? "Since the start of the year. Every time I get detention."

Malfoy made a peculiar hissing noise, then he lifted Harry's hand further, bowing his head-

Harry's breath caught sharply in his throat, and the floor seemed to lurch underneath him. Malfoy was licking the cuts on the back of his hand, lapping at the carmine droplets like they were some kind of chocolate delicacy. The Slytherin's tongue was as cold as the rest of him, and the sensation felt so good yet so wrong at the same time that Harry staggered. Malfoy moved forward with blurring speed, catching Harry with an arm around the waist and guiding him to lean against the wall, his eyes shimmering strangely as he did so. "Easy, Harry. Relax, and this won't hurt." His use of Harry's first name did nothing to steady the off-balance Gryffindor.

"What..." Harry started, bewildered, but the sentence dissolved in a choked-off moan. Malfoy had raised Harry's arm again, and bitten Harry's hand, right on the cuts. The bite didn't hurt - there was a strange sensation of cold that seemed concentrated in two sharp points, like someone was poking him with two little icicles - but the main reaction of Harry's body was a near-overwhelming wash of pleasure that made his knees go weak. Malfoy shifted his mouth, nipping a few more times, then he lifted his head and admired his handiwork. Harry's jaw dropped.

The torn flesh was healing right before his eyes, the small tears that Malfoy had made along with the words from the blood quill. They simply healed over and disappeared, the skin repairing itself like Mrs. Weasley's enchanted knitting, even erasing the beginnings of a scar from the repeatedly engraven words. Harry jerked his eyes up to meet Malfoy's expectant gaze, the Gryffindor's heart beating as though trying to break free of his chest as he whispered, "Merlin... Malfoy, what are you?"

The blond chuckled, licking his lips in an almost obscenely sensual way, his eyes glittering. "Why, Harry, can't you guess?" He leaned forward until his mouth was only an inch or so from Harry's ear, and the paralyzed Gryffindor could feel the other boys' breath on his skin: cold, as cold as the rest of him. "There's more than one reason why they call me the Prince of Slytherin, Harry." Malfoy purred into his ear. The sudden flutter of a cold tongue on his skin made Harry whimper softly, the sound almost suppressed yet escaping anyway. Laughing softly, Malfoy drew back enough for Harry to see his face, and smiled.

The action revealed long, glisteningly white fangs that reached from his gums almost down to his lower lip, slightly curved and razor sharp.

Harry nearly stopped breathing altogether, his eyes huge as he stared up at Malfoy in shock. "You're - you're a vampire!"

"Of course." Malfoy purred, his eyes narrowing slightly. "If anyone had bothered to inform you of the important details of the wizarding world, you would know that the Malfoy line has been interwoven with the Tiarnaí Scáth clan for centuries."

Harry's head was spinning now, but he clutched at the tidbits of information like a lifeline. "Tiarnaí Scáth? What the hell is that?"

Malfoy smirked. "It's Old Irish for Lords of Shadow, you plebeian." The insult sounded almost fond. "They're the royalty of the Irish vampire clans. Ironically enough, they were also responsible for the near-extinction of the human Finnegan line... but for now, you don't need to worry about any of that." He leaned in even closer, his eyes fluttering half-shut again as he inhaled Harry's warm, human scent, the look of undisguised hunger spreading over his face once more. "All you have to do, is relax... and feel."

His lips crashed down onto Harry's, cold and hungry and demanding. Harry shuddered as he felt the vampire's cold arms wrap around him, lifting him away from the cold stone and into an even colder body. The sheer amount of cold should have made him shy away, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect: he found himself draping his arms around Malfoy's neck and arching up into his embrace, desperate to feel more of that glorious chill. He felt more than heard a minute chuckle against his mouth, then a slick, icy tongue was sliding along his lips and he instinctively parted them, inviting the vampire in.

Another of those strange, hungry hissing sounds, and Malfoy dove in, his pale hands gripping Harry's shoulders almost painfully as he thrust his tongue deep into the Chosen One's warm, inviting mouth. Harry whimpered involuntarily as the vampire's long nails dug into his skin. Surprisingly, Malfoy's hold loosened slightly, and Harry relaxed enough to return the kiss - passionately. Malfoy's tongue curled and twined with his own, coaxing Harry to respond, and there was no human being who could have resisted that invitation.

Eventually, the vampire let him up for air. Harry sagged slightly in Malfoy's arms, gasping and flushed, feeling as breathless and weak-kneed as if he'd just run a mile. He was achingly hard and absolutely desperate for more, never mind that until today he'd forced himself to hate the Slytherin for being a stuck-up snob. Malfoy gazed down at him, his eyes filled with unfathomable hunger, and murmured, "Tell me to stop, Harry. Tell me to stop now, and I'll leave and never touch you again."

For some reason, the thought of that - the thought of Malfoy just walking away and leaving Harry there, alone - made the Boy Who Lived's heart ache. "Don't." he pleaded softly, almost voiceless, clutching at the blond helplessly. "Please, Malfoy, don't leave, don't stop."

A smile spread across the blond's face, a rare, genuine smile with no trace of a sneer. "Call me Draco," he whispered, then he pressed Harry hard against the wall and sank his fangs into the Gryffindor's throat.

Harry keened as another wave of intolerable pleasure rolled over him, leaving him drowning in ecstasy. Draco's fangs tugged roughly at the soft skin of his throat, tearing through flesh and muscles until hot blood splashed freely into the vampire's waiting mouth. Draco moaned too then, the sound setting Harry's senses on fire: he bucked helplessly into the blond's embrace, his eyes fogging over from the mixture of blood loss and bliss.

Lost in the excruciating pleasure of the bite, Harry nearly blacked out as his orgasm crashed over him, leaving him weak and helpless in the vampire's arms. Draco's fangs were still buried in his neck, sucking greedily at his blood, his tongue lapping wetly over Harry's skin. Dazed and disconnected from the force of his climax, Harry rested limp and compliant between the hard stone and Draco's lean body. He dimly felt Draco's fangs slip free of his flesh and his cold tongue soothe away the wound, then Draco lifted his head, licking his lips hungrily as his shining silver eyes fixed on Harry's face.

"You taste like heaven." he breathed, dipping down to press a swift kiss on Harry's lips. Harry tasted the faint bitterness of his own blood in Draco's mouth, finding it repulsive yet strangely compelling. He fought to regain some control over his lax muscles, blinking up at Draco at he whispered breathlessly, "Wha... what happens now?"

Draco smiled. "Now, I take you back to Gryffindor Tower." he murmured, laying a last, possessive kiss on Harry's mouth. He could feel the cold rasp of Draco's fangs against his swollen lips. "You go to sleep like a good little Gryffindor, and wake up in the morning and go about your life... and three days from now you'll meet me here, same time same place, and we'll discuss things then. Alright?"

Harry barely had time to nod before exhaustion and loss of blood overcame him and he slid down into darkness.

End Flashback:

"HARRY!"

Harry jolted slightly, blinking to find that Hermione was waving her hand in front of his face, looking exasperated. He offered a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, I kind of zoned out there for a minute. What did you say?"

"I said, why do you think Professor Calvierri keeps staring over at the Slytherin table?" Hermione said with a touch of asperity in her voice. "Honestly."

Ignoring this last, Harry looked up at the staff table. Dumbledore had finished his speech during Harry's reminiscences, and most of the teachers were busy eating. The new DADA teacher, however, was staring hard at the Slytherin table, as though searching for something. Harry bit back another grin: apparently, Draco's vampiric signature had been spotted. He shrugged innocently.

"Maybe he doesn't like Slytherins."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, slowly returning to her dinner. Harry's friends had no knowledge of his relationship with Draco: he had told them that he was seeing someone from another House, but most people assumed it was someone from Ravenclaw - and a girl, for that matter. No one suspected Draco. The one-time infamous rivals had stopped fighting in public, a miracle in and of itself as far as most of the student body was concerned, but there was no hint in their daily interactions that they met after hours in darkened corridors to... well, engage in extracurricular activities.

Or at least, they had at first. These days, Harry had the password to Draco's private Head Boy chambers, and they spent their nights together in the luxury of Draco's ridiculously indulgent silk-sheeted cloud-soft bed. If there were advantages to having a vampire for your lover (such as having all wounds healed by the all-but-unbelievably-effective healing serum in his saliva, meant to stop victims from accidentally bleeding to death), there were definitely advantages to having the Slytherin Head Boy for your lover as well. Head Boy, because they got a private room: Slytherin, because the members of the House of Serpents were taught that if you could afford luxury, there was no shame in indulging. Harry was also coming to appreciate the value of a soft bed and a private room: if nothing else, it was nice to sometimes sleep in a quiet room that wasn't filled with the snoring of four other boys.

One thing that Harry had discovered about vampires, though, was that they were insanely territorial. Seamus had been flirting with Harry a few weeks before the end of term last spring, not out of any serious intent, but just because that was what Seamus did: Draco, though, barely restrained himself from racing across the Hall and tearing the Irish boy's throat out.

On the plus side, the possessive, jealous rage that Draco worked himself into made for some fantastic sex.

Still, if Draco was that squirrelly about Seamus, he was going to flip now that there was another vampire in the school. Harry wondered if vampires could sense that someone had been marked as another vampire's mate, like werewolves could. He sincerely hoped so - and if not, he prayed that Professor Calvierri wouldn't even hint at taking an interest in Harry. If he did, there would be bloodshed.

Harry wasn't sure what Draco's feelings for him were, but he knew his feeling for Draco. Somehow, between an admittedly amazing frotting session in an abandoned hallway and the end of sixth year, Harry had fallen in love with his intensely seductive undead lover. Their forced separation over the summer had not dulled his feelings in the slightest, only intensified them and made them more painful. Completely surrounded by his friends on the train to the school, Harry had yet to see Draco alone, but they had written to each other over the summer and made plans for a reunion in Draco's rooms tonight. He hadn't told Draco of his increased feelings yet, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to take that risk: Draco had never given him any indication that he was in love with Harry, just that he desired him. Of course, by the same token, he'd never indicated that he didn't love Harry either. He'd even stayed faithful to Harry, something that shocked the Boy Who Lived, who'd spent quite some time hearing tales of the Slytherin Prince's conquests. He didn't want to jeopardize what they had, but it would be wonderful if Draco returned his feelings... hell, were vampires even capable of love?

That might be one upside to having a vampire for a teacher, Harry thought suddenly. Surely Professor Calvierri could tell him whether vampires could fall in love? If it was at least possible, then he'd grab hold of his Gryffindor courage and confess to Draco. If there was no hope - then he'd enjoy what they had while it lasted, and count himself blessed that he'd had even this short time with Draco. Keep his heart protected, so that he wouldn't simply shatter when the vampire left him.

Even in the privacy of his own head, Harry had a hard time convincing himself that such an endeavor had any chance of success.

~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~

That night, after Ron and the other seventh-year boys had fallen asleep, Harry pulled on his invisibility cloak and crept out of the dormitory. He slipped out through the portrait hole and made his down the familiar pathway to the Head Boy's rooms. The portrait guarding them changed to reflect the House of the occupant: it was now a gleaming silver serpent, twisted and coiled in upon itself, in a knot so convoluted it was difficult to see where it began and ended. Harry smiled, anticipation thrumming in his veins.

"Drákontos." he whispered.

The portrait opened soundlessly, allowing him inside. The moment he crossed the enchanted threshold into the small common room/study area, he heard Draco's rich, sweet voice drifting from the bedroom.

"Cold blows the wind o'er my true love, cold blow the drops of rain

I never had but one true love, and in green woods he lies slain

I'll do as much for my true love, as any young girl may

I'll sit and weep down by his grave, for twelve months and a day

But when twelve months they were up and gone, this young man, he arose

What makes you sit by my grave and weep? I can't take my repose."

Harry crept to the doorway and leaned against the frame, heart catching in his chest. Draco was sprawled out atop the thick comforter, wearing green silk pyjama pants with no shirt: the deep green silk made a striking contrast with his alabaster skin. His eyes were closed, his hands folded under his head, as he sang softly to the empty room.

"One kiss, one kiss from your lily-white lips: one kiss is all I crave

One kiss, one kiss from your lily-white lips, then return back to your grave

These lips, they are as cold as clay - my breath is heavy and strong

If you were to kiss these lily-white lips, your life would not be long

Oh don't you remember the garden grove where once we used to walk

Go pick me the finest flower of the morn: it will wither to a stalk..."

Harry felt his heart flutter almost painfully as he watched the young vampire singing, his pale chest barely stirring, yet his voice rising and falling with the pure clarity of a professional singer's.

Then suddenly, Draco's eyes flared open, and he sat half-upright on the bed, gazing straight at where Harry stood still concealed by the invisibility cloak. Harry's breath hitched audibly, and Draco smiled wickedly, even as he continued to sing, his pale eyes fixated on Harry.

"Go fetch me a flower from the dungeon deep, bring water from a stone

Bring white milk from a virgin's breast, that baby never bore none

Go dig me a grave both wide and deep: do it as quick as you may

That I may lay down and take a long sleep for twelve months and a day!"

Harry, feeling suddenly breathless, tugged off the cloak. Draco's smile softened as he gazed at his Gryffindor lover, then he let the last notes of the song die and spoke, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

"I missed you over the summer."

Harry felt a dazzling smile spread across his face as he moved forward, stopping out of reach of the vampire sprawled elegantly across the bed. "I missed you too." he admitted, drinking in the sight of his beloved.

Draco's smiled widened, and he lifted one eyebrow. "Where's my welcoming kiss, then, Potter?" Harry's surname was uttered not with the hate it had once held, but an affectionate teasing note that sent pleasurable tingles through his body.

Grinning like an idiot, Harry leaned down and pressed his lips against Draco's. The vampire moved with the languid grace of a predatory cat, already licking hungrily at Harry's lips as he reached up to wind his arms around the Gryffindor's torso. Harry let himself be pulled down onto the bed, deepening the kiss eagerly. He deliberately dragged his tongue along the tip of one of Draco's fangs, enjoying the vampire's strangled moan as a little of Harry's blood spilled into his mouth. With inhuman strength and a swift, sinuous movement, Draco flipped them over, pinning Harry underneath him. Harry sank back into the soft pillows, smiling in delight as his lover's cool hands skimmed down his sides. Draco straddled him, still stroking along his ribs and chest as he leaned down and purred, "You're becoming quite the teasing little minx, Harry. I might try to do something about that, if I didn't love it so much."

Harry arched under his much stronger lover, practically melting in pleasure as Draco easily ripped his shirt off and returned his hands to bare skin this time, slim fingers deftly finding all the places Harry was most sensitive. The touches were light and tormenting, teasing him until he was practically sobbing for more. Draco, his breathing unaffected even by the deliciously erotic sight of Harry Potter writhing underneath him, continued his deliberately torturous musing.

"I wonder what your little Gryffindor friends would think of this, Harry, if they could see you now? In bed with a vampire and, worse still, a Slytherin: imagine the Weaslette's shriek if she knew..."

"Merlin, Draco, stop teasing me!" Harry practically begged, shuddering under Draco's expert hands. "I've waited for this all summer, just fuck me, please!"

Draco chuckled, leaning down to ghost his lips over the racing pulse in Harry's throat. "Oh, I will." he promised, his voice thick with lust as he dug his rather sharp nails into Harry's chest, drawing a gasp and involuntary buck from the Boy Who Lived. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk without wincing for a week: I'm going to make absolutely certain that you'll be thinking about tonight for that long. And I'm going to make absolutely sure that when you're in that bloody Italian's class tomorrow morning, all you can think about is me pounding you into the mattress."

"Draco!" The combination of the vampire's rich, silken voice and his sensual torment of Harry's upper body was enough to have the emerald-eyed teen practically mewling with lust. Draco finished tearing off the rest of Harry's clothing, eyes shining as he pounced on his prey.

He more than made good on his promises.

By the time Draco was done with him, Harry was utterly wrecked. There were love bites littered across his chest and shoulders, and a particularly vicious one right on his throat. His tan skin was sheened with sweat, his emerald eyes glazed over in lingering pleasure, his raven hair even more of a mess than it usually was. He was sprawled over the rumpled green silk sheets, far too exhausted to move, while Draco draped himself half-over Harry's pliant form and proceeded to continue licking at his neck like it was a particularly tasty lollipop. Harry succeeded in forcing his eyes to open and gazed up at Draco in tender amusement.

"That's a very odd habit, you know." he managed to croak, his throat hoarse from screaming.

"I can't help myself. You taste too good." Draco murmured, his own voice thick and slightly slurred from his recent surfeit of blood and pleasure. "Besides, if I left this many marks on you, your Gryffindork friends would think you were attacked by one of Hagrid's pets."

Harry chuckled tiredly, then remembered some of his musings from earlier. "I'm guessing Professor Calvierri can tell you're a vampire: will be he able to tell that we're together?"

"Depends." Draco said slowly. Harry blinked, fighting the pull of sleep.

"Depends on what?"

"On whether you let me leave this one." Draco touched the tip of a slender finger to the wound on Harry's throat. A slight smile flickered over Harry's face.

"So you want to leave the world's most noticeable hickey on my neck, right exactly in the one spot where my collar won't hide it, so that our new teacher won't make a move on me." He paused, making a show out of considering it, then met the slightly uncertain gaze of the vampire on top of him and grinned dazzlingly. "I don't see why not."

Draco beamed. "Thank you." he whispered, kissing Harry tenderly on the mouth. "You have no idea what that means to me, that you're willing to let me mark you..." He finished soothing the other bites, leaving the one on his neck mostly untouched, then settled down to lie close behind Harry with his arm draped over the Gryffindor's waist.

"Sleep. I'll wake you up in time for breakfast." he purred, lightly stroking Harry's raven hair. Harry managed a last, exhausted smile before he slid down into the velvet darkness, safe and secure in his vampire lover's embrace.