Title: Sanguis vita est
Rating: 18+ (Suitable for Mature Readers Only)
Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Warnings: Abuse, Anal, Angst, Bad Language, Blood, HJ, Male Homosexual relationships, Slash, Oral, Rim, Violence, Graphic Lemon/Lime (scenes of a sexual nature) and most importantly Vampire sex!
Disclaimer: I do not own ANY trademarks of 'Harry Potter'. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. and others who aren't me. I merely own this story which I make no money from.
Summary: Whilst Voldemort's prisoner, Draco is made a vampire and forced to take Harry as his first meal. With Draco managing to resist the temptation to drain him, just barely, in a moment of blind rage at what he has been forced to become, he aids Harry in the destruction of Voldemort. But even with that threat vanquished, once back at Hogwarts, Draco finds himself disturbingly addicted to Harry's blood. And amongst all this, a dark shadow looms ominously on the outline of the forest, watching them closely.
Author's Note: Sanguis vita est: Blood is life. This is a vampire!Draco story and also an 'Eighth year' story, but I aim to put my own twist on both, as with me, angst and sex plague the plot and nothing is ever simple. Love/Hate is my one true love with stories, so expect the transition for Harry and Draco into lovers to be rocky. I don't do 'and they immediately fall in love' stories. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I should update once a week I think since it's all written out and I'm just editing it through.
Please note this is the censored version (no sex is shown and will be cut out). To read the sex scenes please visit the links on my profile page.
.: THE COLD STRANGER :.
A burning, uncontrollable inferno burst through his lungs, as he gasped for breath. His fingers scrambled, biting into the side of the basin he was being shoved face-first into. He screamed as pain ripped through his body at the repetitive starvation for air, his entire body tensed, struggling to remain upright, struggling to fight the control of the enemy trying to submerge him once more. He had already lost count of the number of times they'd done it today alone.
Today, yesterday, the day before…
He'd lost count of how many days he'd been their favourite toy in the dungeon, how many different tortures they'd exorcised on him.
He felt white-hot agony tear through his chest with every panting breath, as if the thick, unforgiving talons slicing into his sides were ripping into his ribs as well. He cried out, steeling his jaw against the desire to whimper, growling instead, trying to keep what remain of his pride, what remained of his life.
Behind him, the monster with his claws lodged in him, chuckled darkly.
"Such a handsome, proud little boy you were. Pure and white," the creature growled, "Now look at you…" The claws lodged in his sides were suddenly torn free and Draco gave a low, spluttering gasp. Blood splattered across his front and he winced, not daring to look down. He knew four huge gaping claw tracks had been carved into his sides, just like the angry red scars across his chest.
A flash of light, a memory from his 'old life' reached him. He was a boy sitting on his mother's knee, watching her plait her gorgeous hair. "Malfoys are beauty and perfection, Draco," she purred lovingly. "That is what we are. That is all we are." He shuddered now at his mother's words. He was no longer beautiful, no longer perfect, and every death eater that tortured him knew that stung more than any wound or torment.
It meant he wasn't a Malfoy anymore. Wasn't his mother's son, his father's heir…
Suddenly, those bloody talons seized his dirt-ridden blond locks and shoved him, without warning into the stone bowl once more. He inhaled the vile water, choked on it until his head swam with agony and he felt himself drifting. Then, just as the promising darkness reached him those claws yanked him back out, into reality. Again and again.
"You thought you were too good to let the Dark Lord sully your pretty little body, hmm?" The brute snarled in his ear, raising a bloody claw to Draco's right cheek, just to the side of where his eyebrow ended. He tapped it menacingly. And Draco flinched. Not my face, he winced, wondering how his mother, if they ever got out of this, would ever be able to look at him if they ruined the one thing he was good for…
He was vain and arrogant and proud, and his tormentors – this one, Fenrir Greyback in particular, took pleasure in ripping it all away. One layer of skin at a time…
"You don't get it, do you, boy?" Greyback barked, pressuring the claw so Draco set his jaw again against screaming in the flash of pain. "Wussy little faggots like you don't say no to the Dark Lord, not unless they're strong enough to back it up. Or have someone stronger to hide behind!"
Draco spluttered at last. Days, weeks, months, he didn't know how long he'd suffered this, but he was crumbling, breaking apart as that claw tore a neat, bloody gash down his face. He screamed. "NO!" He cried out, pathetic, weak, he didn't care. "STOP! I'll do what you want! Just stop it!"
His eyes flared with agony as tears rolled down his wounded cheek, salt reaching the gash. He cried again, catching sight of the prisoner that had been chained to the wall since yesterday through a veil of tears. He'd been forbidden to be touched by anyone but the Dark Lord, and Draco had been…too engaged before to take notice him, but now he did. And he could taste the despair mix with blood in his throat.
Large, green eyes stared down at him, Harry bloody Potter, stared down at his broken, miserable self, shamed, naked, ruined…
"Seen your dinner have you?" Greyback chuckled darkly, seizing him by the hair and dragging him to his feet. Draco's legs trembled from the weight of his own body but that didn't matter, he was ripped across the room by his hair only to be thrown to his knees before Potter. His body slumped from exhaustion as well as shame.
The door to the side opened but he was too weak to even lift his head to see who had been invited in to take a chunk out of his soul. He swayed weakly where he knelt, not able to stop himself from flinching as something was thrown to the icy stone before him. It took him a moment to recognise the sound of chains clinking together, the sound of ragged breath and a body under stress as it tried to right itself.
Eventually, Draco forced his head up a fraction, just enough so that he could see Potter kneeling before him through his dirty, matted curtain of blond hair. They were so close their knees were touching and he grinded his teeth together as he forced his head up a fraction more to meet those eyes. Green and vibrant and untouched by the rot of this place, they shone in the dimness, furious and yet desolate at the same time. He saw Potter fight the bonds of chain around his wrists. That was a sign, Potter hadn't been here long, else he would've been too weak to need chains to prevent his escape. Like Draco…
"…The fair one," came Greyback's bark of a voice, and Potter looked up just as Draco dropped his head again, the last of his strength failing. He was resigned to his fate, he had been stripped of all life, all that remained was to be stripped of his existence and he could rest in peace. Potter's presence was not the torturous beacon of hope they might've hoped to use to torment him. Then Draco froze.
Greyback had suggested Potter was his…dinner?
Before he could process the possibilities, the hair at the back of his neck was seized roughly and his head jerked back so that he was forced to look into Potter's eyes. He gasped in pain, blinking as he felt Potter's musky breath on his cheeks. What were they planning?
A wretched shudder coursed through him when a hard, cold body pressed in behind him. It was too cold, too swift and precise and graceful to be Greyback and the smell spiralling up through his nostrils, it was so sweet it made him light-headed. "Hmm," a long, low purr sounded against his ear, making his back straighten in anticipation of pain. Instead, a slow lick up the side of his throat, just under the ear the cold stranger was breathing into made him hiss with pleasure.
Despite the coolness of that mouth, a heat unparalleled in this universe sped through his veins, like a swelling, icy inferno in his core. Despite his weakness, he tried to turn his head away, but the hand that had gripped his hair slid round to grip his head just under his jaw, on the opposite side to where that mouth was tormenting him. It forced him to look at Potter, even as his body jerked weakly. His breath was coming out in frantic pants now, panic surging in his gut. He was torn between longing for death and the end of this torment and the longing for the completion of the ecstasy burning through him. He cried out again quietly, the sound pathetic and shameful to his ears.
To his credit, Potter didn't wince, didn't turn away in disgust. On the contrary, he held his gaze firmly, his face hard as if he were trying to will him some of his own strength to survive whatever he was about to endure. Ever the martyr, Potter, his mind hissed, just as that cold mouth opened a little, hovering over the throbbing pulse in his throat.
"Yessssssss," the cold stranger purred, "the fair one indeed. He is ripe with self-loathing and hopelessness, so wretched and tormented." Draco shifted restlessly, wanting. Wanting an end, wanting more more, his body and mind longed for two different things. Sweat beaded his brow now, his skin aflame. The cold stranger, the man chuckled against his pulse. "Yes little one, my saliva is designed makes your pulse frantic, your blood blush and surge, just for my pleasure, my appetite." With that, two sharp points pressed firmly on Draco's throat, but not hard enough to break the skin.
"Stop!" Potter snarled, his shackles rattling as he rose up on his knees, struggling as if to break free and slaughter them with his bare hands. Draco, too drugged on that scent, that coldness, that saliva on his throat did not even blink, just stared dazedly at the Boy Who Lived, fighting for his life. "Take me! I'm stronger than him! Drink my blood! He'll die!" Potter insisted.
"That's exactly my aim," the cold stranger murmured.
"Sit down and wait your turn, Potter," Greyback growled, seizing the hair at the back of Potter's neck roughly and yanking him back into his position in front of Draco. Potter hissed out a curse but remained still under the threat of the werewolf's meaty fist, helpless as he watched the cold stranger, the vampire give him a final, fascinated glance before sinking his fangs into Draco's waiting throat.
Pain burst in Draco's throat briefly, before the pleasure swamped his body. He groaned in hapless ecstasy, his body going limp as the cold stranger drank from him. And all the while Potter's brilliant, green gaze stared into him, watched his body quiver and his mouth move with little pants of need. The cold hand not holding his head in place swept up over his naked, heaving chest, dancing over his sweat-slicked skin like a lover's caress, goosebumps rising over his skin in its wake.
"Isn't that pretty?" Greyback's voice registered in Draco's hazy brain but the words seemed nonsense to him with this red-hot bliss making his mouth water. "The Malfoy heir, a whore for death," the werewolf chuckled darkly, tightening his grip on Potter's hair as the boy snarled and struggled. "Doesn't it just make you hard, Potter? Watching him panting like a blood-stained bitch in heat? He was dizzy and weak with blood-loss and pain a second ago but it doesn't stop him taking it like a slut, hmm?"
"Take my blood instead!" Potter demanded hysterically, his voice raw. "He can't take anymore! He's dying!"
Suddenly, those fangs ripped free of Draco's throat, tearing a gaping hole in his throat and a scream of absolute agony from his lips. The haze of pleasure was still there but now a river of blood was cascading down his torn body, his body cold and trembling. Dying. Draco spluttered and choked, his hands flying up to his wounded throat, tears spilling over his lashes in thick rivulets.
Potter's eyes widened then and panic surged anew in Draco's chest. What had Potter seen that was evidently more horrifying than him dying slowly from having his throat ripped out right before his eyes? He found out, when the cold stranger's free arm slid up, blood oozing unnaturally slow from his wrist.
"Drink it, my little fair one," the cold stranger purred in his ear. Draco's tongue swept across his lips nervously, and he tried to shake his head in negation, but the grip on his jaw rendered him immobile.
"N-No. No!" Draco gasped, his voice husky from his prior screams. Another, low chuckle against his ear making his stomach churn.
"It wasn't a request, fair one," was the only reply he got, before that wrist was smashed against his lips. Draco clamped his mouth shut, the vampire's wrist pressing against him with bruising force, but then the hand holding his jaw slid up a fraction, those nails slicing into the bleeding gash Greyback had gouged into his cheek. And Draco's mouth flew open in a scream, the vampire's bloody wrist sliding into place.
Blood swamped his mouth and he had no choice but to swallow or choke, but as soon as he swallowed, he wished he was dead.
The vampire's bite was a kiss of pure, unadulterated pleasure, but its blood was like drinking live electricity. It fried the blood in his veins, cell by cell, spreading through his organs like acid, killing him slowly, slowly. He screamed bloody murder, his body shaking with spasms as it died. Then, suddenly, everything stopped. His heart rate dropped, so slow it was barely moving, his body went cold, his mind went blank and his skin paled dangerously until his lips were blue. Eyes blind, hearing dulled, taste and touch, all faded by the fire in his blood.
He was vaguely aware of movement, of noise, even the throbbing agony in his body and the dryness to his insides, as if their life and moisture had been sucked up by a drought. Then, his senses came alive with a scream of pain from in front of him. His eyes widened, his vision bursting back with a flash of white, his tongue lolling in his mouth and his ears picking up the rapid thumping of a human heart. His body arched as the smell of rich, coppery blood reached his nose, whisking up his nostrils and feeding the flames still burning inside. He was still cold, still in pain, but not his stomach churned with an unnatural, insatiable hunger for the blood he could smell.
Blood. He knew it was blood because that was all that mattered, the only thought he could process. He panted at the delicious smell, his body quivering with need. Fingers still had hold of him, as strong as any chains and he longed to shake them free so that he could reach that d'orderve, that feast he sensed right under his nose.
His vision was back, but it was hazy and unnatural. The world was black and white, glowing, like he was on an ethereal plain, everything in greyscale except that vibrant trail of thick, delectable blood that oozed from the deep gash across the cheek of the creature before him. That was the richest crimson, shining and beckoning him in. He vaguely recognised that the creature whose heart was fluctuating close to him, whose breath touched his own stinging cheeks, whose eyes stared into him imploringly, but that was not important. Nothing was as important as that blood and he let out a low, pitiful whine of longing for it.
Suddenly, the iron grip on his torso and head were released, so abruptly that he swayed warningly for a moment before catching himself. The foul-smelling canine thing holding his prey stepped away also and Draco barely registered a low chuckle of amusement as he edged forwards. The body before him was stiff with fear, pride and anger and…sadness?
Draco tasted the salt of it on his breath and his brow furrowed. Prey should be just the right amount afraid and aroused, shuddering with both, with longing but never sadness. Something in his churning, starving gut knew that, somehow. He leant in closer, considering the rigid body and realising he must've been chained to remain in such an awkward position, arms behind his back so firmly. No matter, for Draco's hand slid behind that neck, tugging him forwards by it so that that body arched into him subtly. His fingers slid up into dark locks and he crooned softly at how perfect the hiss of pain was that left those blood-flushed lips.
So close now, he could feel the vibrations of that heartbeat against his own chest, the violent heat of that flesh against his cold hand. He could smell so much fire, life in this creature. He wanted it, more than he wanted the inferno in his organs to stop. And somehow, he knew that the taking of this beauty's fire would extinguish his own pains. His tongue reached out, dancing along that gash on Potter's cheek. He growled softly at the tang of that blood on his tongue, his head spinning, his body pleading for more, more crimson water to quench his unnatural thirst.
"M-Malfoy, you don't have to do this!" That was a low insistent hiss from his prey and Draco tilted his head a little. Yes, he knew this sweet-tasting morsel, but all he was concerned about was that he wanted more of him and that he couldn't take it while he was rigid and unyielding. Something in him knew to make the body supple and limp as a kitten in its mother's grasp.
The gash had healed with his saliva, but it was not a main artery anyway and he couldn't drink from it effectively. No. Instead, he nosed the flesh he had just licked softly, tongue darting out to lap at the little splatters of blood left from the initial cut. But when his tongue touched the corner of the boy's mouth, he gasped, heat radiating from him in thick, intoxicating waves.
Draco smirked. Following the line of that mouth, he traced the shape with the very tip of his tongue and that body shuddered in response, arousal, Draco could smell it on him as potent as the sadness that clung to those lashes. He pressed in, free hand sliding around to the small of the creature's back, holding him so that they were flush together. Were he human, were he capable of thinking in terms of anything other than this burning thirst, he might've been embarrassed that he was still naked, as it was, the arousal in his little meal only made the blood pound faster and he tilted the boy's head more, exposing that delectable column of throat.
With an appreciative groan, he mouthed the honey-hued flesh, allowing his fangs to graze the pulse. He had to get the blood to the surface, get it pounding with a need to rival his own get the most satisfaction. He knew this. Suckling lightly on that frantic, pounding vein, he felt his own saliva make the body beneath him hotter, the blood faster, surging beneath the flesh as if waiting to burst into his mouth like a juicy truffle.
"Malfoy!" His prey gasped against him, the telltale hardness of his prick pressing into Draco's own crotch, which was hard from want of that body as well as the fluid rushing through it. "Malfoy, d-don't! You…you remember me. I'm… I'm Potter, Harry Potter. You're Draco Malfoy, you…you go to school with me, you fought with me. Your mother is Narcissa Malfoy, your father is Lucius Malfoy." His voice was hasty and desperate, verging on panic but his skin was as supple as silk under his influence. Under the drug of his saliva.
"Y-You're Severus Snape's favourite student!" His prey insisted, trying to remain lucid with everything that he was, it seemed, by his husky, distressed voice. "I punched you in the face once! You kicked me in mine, broke my nose. My best friend calls you 'ferret', I…I nearly killed you with a spell in the girl's loo last year! Malfoy! We were both put here by Voldemort! You can come back to yourself, you don't have to–!"
Then, his prey was silenced by his fangs sinking into his throat. Pleasure burst through Draco's body as blood flooded his mouth. His dry, rotten organs renewed, a pale glow filling his cheeks and power pulsing through every limb, right down to his toes, which curled as he leant into his prey for more.
The body under his thrall was limp, skin soft and yielding, but those arms were still struggling for freedom from their chains, that mouth still moving with pleas for recognition instead of being inebriated with ecstasy. He sucked a little more softly but allowed more of his intoxicating venom to ride down his fangs, hoping to lull his victim into surrendering to the mind-blowing sensation with their aphrodisiac properties. Groaning at the rich taste still, Draco nuzzled into the dark hair, riding the sheer bliss out.
"M-Malfoy…s-stop! Y-You're…you aren't a murderer. You…you can't kill me." The words barely made sense to him, but the soft husky voice made his blood-high soar. "D-D-Draco!" Potter screamed. And then it hit him, as hard and fast as the blood on his tongue. Potter. Harry bloody Potter. Draco's eyes cleared, the fog of animalistic, primal desire was swept away and he stilled in his sucking.
"M-Malfoy?" Potter panted, obviously sensing the change. Draco's stomach churned at the thought of drinking blood, at the memory of guzzling it down like a pint of water. He shuddered, his hands coming to rest on Potter's shoulders. With the primal hunger gone, he wasn't quite as in touch with his instincts anymore and didn't quite know how to disengage from Potter without hurting him.
"What's the matter, fair one?" The cold stranger purred from the distance. "He is your first meal, no one tastes better to you than him, he is yours to take, to rape, to kill. Can you not sense his lust? Take him! Kill him!"
Draco's stomach lurched. He swore he was going to gag. A vampire, he was a vampire! Could vampires even be sick? He wished to Merlin he could retch up Potter's blood now and curl up. He wished his organs had rotted away instead of being revitalised on nearly draining Potter dry.
Perhaps it was his new condition, but he realised he had been unnaturally still now for a good few minutes, with his fangs the only thing stopping the flow of blood from the pinpricks he'd made in Potter's throat. Slowly, with all the delicacy and accuracy this disease gave him, Draco lifted his head slightly until his fangs were free of Potter's throat. Potter shuddered, as if he'd been tickled more than bitten, proving Draco's care had paid off. Draco paused, blinking as he dimly recalled lapping at the gash on his school-rival's cheek. Before he had even really contemplated doing it, his tongue had swept out and closed the punctures.
Potter gasped, toppling back slightly now he was free, staring at him with wide, hazy eyes. His mouth opened as if to speak, but the cold stranger's hiss of displeasure cut short his words.
"You fool!" He hissed, launching forwards and seizing Draco roughly, nails biting into the blond's shoulders. "You must always drain your first! Always unless you–!"
A bone-chilling roar filled the room, ricocheting off the stone as Draco flew at his sire, fangs bared, blood staining his body. He didn't care about his nakedness, he didn't care about his slowly healing wounds that had been inflicted by Greyback. He didn't care about Potter, or Voldemort, all he cared about was this monster that had raped his body and stolen his humanity. His pure blood, the only thing he had left after…
His nails, hard as diamonds stabbed into his sire's flesh, his body pinned him to the wall and he screamed out his agony. He swore he felt the stone tremble with the sound. "You turned me! You made me a monster! A vampire! A vampire! I'll kill you!" He spat, raising his arm, but just as he did Greyback lunged for him. And the door flew open, Lord Voldemort framed in the doorway.
"Two of the world's most feared creatures, unable to incapacitate two adolescent boys," Voldemort sneered derisively, striding confidently into the room, his wand arm outstretched, and turning on Harry. Leaving a ravenous Draco scratching and clawing at the cold stranger. Greyback stepped away from both with a seething snarl, understanding Voldemort's implied actions. Stranger was to be left to deal with his spawn himself. If he could not do that without help, he was unworthy of life in Voldemort's eyes.
Voldemort turned on Potter then, on the boy chained on his knees, splattered with blood but with no visible wounds as he glared up at him.
"Such fire, Harry," Voldemort chuckled darkly, pressing his wand into the boy's chin and forcing his head up so that he could stare uninhibited into those obstinate eyes. "You glare at me so, even as you sway from blood-loss and agony?" the Dark Lord breathed venomously.
Harry wrenched his face from that grasp, his eyes darkening, his hands clenching in his chains, skin burning with the way he willed his magic to break him free of this.
Suddenly, from the corner of the room, there was a blood-thirsty screech, inhuman in pitch and Harry's head whipped to the side, watching with wide, horrified eyes as Draco… No. Whatever Draco had become guzzled at his sire's throat before wrenching his head back, ripping the demon's throat out in one, swift movement. A vile snarl of fury left Malfoy's lips as he spat the bloody matter on the floor.
Reaching up, Malfoy tore the burning torch from the wall above where he had pinned his sire. The blood he'd taken from Potter had made him that much stronger in that instant. Strong enough to land a stalling blow to his sire and that was enough to give him time to end him. The body in his grasp was hard as stone but it was dead, dead even for a vampire. And he will stay that way, for what he has done, Draco thought, gaining a glimpse of conscious thought back as he thrust the shaft of the torch into the demon's chest, with a force so brutal it pinned the vile creature to the wall, like a dead insect in a glass case.
Harry felt bile rise in his throat where he knelt, his jaw dropping, his belly churning in repulsion of what he'd seen. He winced, and then that wand was at his throat again, shoving his head back so hard Harry cried out in pain.
"Only me, Harry," Voldemort demanded, "you will look only at me. You will look right into my eyes as I kill you. I had hoped to watch your old school friend rip your throat out but since he denied me the pleasure…" With that, his wand arm raised.
Everything happened in slow motion then.
Harry's entire body tensed for the blow, he was sure Voldemort wouldn't take the chance on him now, wouldn't mess around with lesser curses and give him opportunity to escape. After all, the only reason he had been captured so easily was because he had wanted to be found, had wanted to end it now. He had charged into the fray recklessly in search of Voldemort to end him once and for all now the horcruxes were gone, but now he couldn't see the way to turn the tables.
A fiery flash of green glowed at the tip, on the cusp of casting, on the cusp of ending Harry's life. His entire body throbbed with agony, his vision blurring from the blood-loss. That wand came down with the shape of the spell, aiming square between his eyes. A harsh, brutal laugh ripped from the Dark Lord's lips, the slow syllables of the death sentence rolling over his tongue.
Then, suddenly, a chilling snarl filled the air. Harry wished he could close his eyes, he felt his skin quiver at the sound. The biting laughter of his enemy was cut short, strangled by a scream of agony and Harry watched as Malfoy launched himself onto the Dark Lord's back, sinking his fangs into the monster's throat.
Malfoy winced as blood rushed over his tongue. His nails, hard as diamonds sank into Voldemort's chest, keeping his grip. The blood tasted vile, like drinking liquefied dirt. Surely blood was blood? Surely Potter's should taste no different to the Dark Lord's? His eyes narrowed then as the taste sharpened in his mouth, acidic and rotten. The taste of dying. But he held on, determined to make this brute pay for what he had made his family endure, for the family home he had tarnished with blood, for his childhood, lost to his reign. Revenge for allowing that icy corpse to steal his humanity, his perfection all because he had refused to be his catamite.
Malfoy turned his gaze on Potter as he tore the holes in Voldemort's throat wider, not drinking, allowing it to cascade over his body, staining his crisp robes. Potter was still kneeling there, still watching as if this were all a bad dream. Not sure how much longer he could hold this monster, Malfoy gave an urging, growl. Potter looked into his eyes then, blinking, his tongue darting over his lips, hesitating.
Malfoy's stomach clenched at the sight, wanting like never before, desperate for another taste, the foul flavour under his mouth the only thing anchoring him to what must be done.
Why was Potter hesitating?
Finally, as if slapped into reality, Potter launched himself upwards, ramming his shoulder into the Dark Lord's hand and knocking the wand from his grasp. Voldemort howled, Draco tore the gaping wound in his throat wider. Potter rolled onto his side, snatching the wand up with his bound hands and turning it, frantically muttering the spell to eradicate his bounds.
Draco felt the Dark Lord's magic surge beneath him and he willed his own magic to his aid, his fangs and nails rooting deep in evil flesh to hold him, just a moment longer. Just a moment, he insisted, and his revenge would be as sweet as the blood he had stolen from Potter's veins…
Harry scrambled to his feet the second the chains fell away, turning the wand on Voldemort, the world still moving in slow-motion, Harry stared into those blood-red eyes, every death this monster had created flashing before his eyes. His tongue swept over his lips again. His arm trembled.
Draco tore his mouth free then, ripping a chunk of flesh with him.
"Do it, Potter!" Draco snarled.
Voldemort tensed, reaching back in that moment of distraction and throwing Draco across the room. The newborn vampire slammed into the wall, falling forwards onto his hands and knees. He jerked his head up just in time to see Voldemort undone. He saw Potter turn the wand on its master, a vibrant, dazzling light bursting from the end of his wand.
"Priorae Incanvore!" Harry cried, with all the conviction, all the desperation and confidence that made him Harry Potter. Draco's eyes went wide as the light swelled with heat, with a fiery brightness to rival the sun. He was thrown flat against the wall with the strength of it. The glistening blue light swallowed Voldemort whole, his screams ricocheted off the walls, shrill and piercing as the smell of fear and sizzling skin filled the air.
Focusing his heightened senses then, Draco swore that in that prolonged moment, he saw faces, bodies in the light, incorporeal and vague, but definitely visible to his sharp, vampire eyes. The faces were drawn as if in agony, like zombies, but they screeched with otherworldly delight as they clawed at the Dark Lord's body, searing his flesh from bone wherever they touched. What made his already icy blood churn in his veins was that he recognised them, recognised some of the hundreds of faces. The Potters, Charity Burbage, his teacher he had been forced to watch die, dozens of death eaters he had sat beside at the gatherings…
These were all of the people Voldemort had killed, all of them exacting their revenge, tearing his flesh from his bones, burning him to a crisp. And those screams, they were their last cries, Draco realised, the noises they had made as they died, being played over and over again until he saw blood leaking from Voldemort's ears.
"I…I CAN…NOT DIE!" Voldemort screamed, his voice a gurgling, sickening howl of anguish. "A BOY!" He cried, and if his eyes had not been devoured in their sockets Malfoy was sure he would have seen the evil wizard crying with the sheer pain. "He was just a boy! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!" And with that his tongue burned with the rest of him. The light swelled again and Draco swore he heard a female voice screaming, "Please! Not Harry! Kill me, not Harry! Have mercy!" Draco flinched at the blinding light then, a final flash dying with that sound, leaving a pile of smoking, revolting ash lying in the middle of the dim dungeon.
Draco's body slumped. His head bowed to his chest and his brain began to process everything that had happened in the last few minutes. He was a vampire. He could feel the thirst clenching in his belly even as Potter's blood was warm and rich inside, keeping his cold heart pumping lethargically. His skin had become a touch warmer, his heart a touch stronger as he had devoured that blood, and Voldemort's blood, although it was surely the same as Potter's, felt as nutritional as dust to him. At the memory of Potter's rich, sweet blood, his tongue swiped across his lips, encountering his bloody fangs in the process.
A frown creased his brow as he tasted Voldemort on them still and he winced as he touched a point to his tongue. They were sharp. His mouth felt awkward with them extended, as if he couldn't fully seal his lips, or even stop the saliva from drizzling from his lips while he salivated over the memory of how Potter had tasted…
What have they done to me? he wondered, aghast, drawing his knees up and burying his face in his hands as despair clawed at his throat. Voldemort was dead, finally dead, gone forever, he had helped to rid the world of him, and all he could think about was Potter's blood? He, Draco was a vampire, was ruined, was a monster, a thing. He was scarred, impure, imperfect and all he could think about was the saccharine taste of Potter's throat.
Is that all that will ever matter to me now? Blood? Carnage? I cannot even weep for my lost life, for the disgust that I will see in my own mother's eyes when I am reunited with her, because I am already mourning the loss of Potter's taste…
His hands clenched, his nails digging into his hair, blood weeping from his skull into his eyes. He did not care.
Across the room, the door flew open and Draco knew that Greyback was gone. Seconds later, the room was full of aurors, aurors fussing over Potter, over the pile of ash and the dead vampire pinned to the wall, completely oblivious to Draco's presence he was so still, so camouflaged thanks to his new body's power.
Potter was silent as he was questioned ruthlessly, however. At the back of his mind, Draco heard the words he was asked, but could not make sense of them, he did not care. Potter's footsteps approached him then, and the tendons in Draco's neck tensed in anticipation of the end. Potter would end him surely, he would end his suffering, kill him for being such a revolting, blood-thirsty thing.
Yes, Draco thought longingly. Potter had seen the way he had torn into the vampire and Voldemort, had felt Draco's insatiable, animalistic hunger when he had taken his own throat. Potter will end me. He was sure. And yet his expectations were dashed when he heard the flutter of cloth and felt Potter's tatty, common travelling cloak draped around his shoulders to conceal his nudity and preserve what remained of his shredded pride.
Slowly, Draco raised his head, staring up into those deep green eyes and the tumultuous thoughts reflected within. Potter held his gaze for a moment, speaking without words it seemed, before allowing himself to be tugged away by the Order. The werewolf Lupin and his mate by the smell of her, swirled Harry away, leaving Draco alone to the mercy of the Order of the Phoenix.
Potter had spoken up for him and his mother at the Wizengamot, of course. Thanks to Draco's aid in vanquishing the Dark Lord and Narcissa for calling the Order as soon as Potter had been captured, they were released with their good names cleared. Lucius was placed under confinement to the manor for three-and-a-half decades, with a restriction on his magic on everything but first year spells. But that was nothing compared to what they would have lost, had Potter not been such a noble, foolhardy Gryffindor. They had their lives back.
Despite the miracle of their freedom, Draco's pride was still broken, his world was still gone. He wasn't beautiful or perfect anymore. He wasn't Draco Malfoy anymore. Not his father's perfect heir, not his mother's precious son…
He hadn't even thanked Potter at the Ministry that day, had simply walked away from the courtroom without so much as a glance back.
Before a mirror in the grand entrance hall of Malfoy Manor Draco now stood. He adjusted his tie, even though the mirror gave him no reflection. He straightened his new school robes then, not daring to look into the mirror where his image wasn't. His scars from Greyback and the cold stranger may have faded, but he was still a monster, a vampire. Spoiled. That's what he was. And no matter how much his mother cried that he was still her beautiful boy, he couldn't believe it. He saw the revulsion in her eyes…
But he had to try regardless, he had to act the part of the superior, Malfoy heir for her. Had to try to make her proud, she deserved that much if she loved him enough to lie and tell him he was beautiful.
The students who would've been in seventh year at Hogwarts last year had been invited back for an 'Eighth Year' to complete their education that the war had ruined. Not everyone had agreed, not everyone was healed enough from the trauma, or had even survived to take the opportunity, but with Severus's help, Draco had. He would fight for his place again.
The only thing he had to offer before now was beauty and perfection, as his father had said. As the Dark Lord himself had said, and now that had been stripped away, he was just going to have to find something else, or try at least. It seemed a lost cause…
His mother, who had been surveying him silently from the stairs, hobbled over to lay a kiss on his cold cheek. Draco tensed but allowed it and then forced a smile as he bid her goodbye, following his floating trunk out of the manor. It seemed hopeless, a lost cause, but he was too afraid to give up, to die, too much of a coward to take the easy way and just fade into nothing. Just shut himself away. He had always been told he was so important, that he mattered and now it looked as if he didn't…he was scared to death that it was true. That he was nothing. Scared to death that's all he'd ever be…
He had a new year ahead of him, a chance to seize his life back, but he was terrified he wouldn't be able to. Terrified to be a failure.
His mask fell into place as he left his home, arrogant, conceited and stuck up as ever. No one could see that the war had touched him, no one could know that he was a vampire. No one. It had been kept quiet, the only person that knew outside of his parents and Severus was Potter and for some reason, the boy had kept quiet. But he knew he would not be allowed back at Hogwarts if the Headmistress knew what he was, if the students knew just what would be supplementing his usual diet this year. Draco winced, the taste of even the finest rats could not wash the lingering taste of Harry Potter from his tongue.
Draco shivered as he walked into the sunshine. He had Severus to thank for this miracle, he could not have done this when he was first turned. He felt the warmth on his cold skin. It even stung his eyes a little but he could suffer it quite well. What was insufferable was this unquenchable thirst, this unstoppable clenching in his gut, the fire in his veins and the longing for that delicious, coppery sweetness of Potter's blood. He knew he would have to keep away from Potter this year if he even stood a chance of not sinking his fangs into him in the middle of the classroom.
Harry sighed as he trailed quietly behind Remus, who was pushing his trolley, Tonks walking close by his side with baby Teddy in her arms. Platform nine and three quarters was busy despite the lack of students returning for 'eighth year'. As he understood it, only fourteen students from their year had agreed to come back, some dead, some afraid, some just…not able to face it. He could respect that. If he'd had something else to do with his existence he wouldn't have come back either. As it was, Hogwarts was his only home. That was the real reason he was coming back, selfish, pathetic but true.
They came to a halt as Remus loaded Harry's trunk onto the train and Harry's gaze wandered over to the little first year standing rigid under his mother's fussing, her hand carding through his hair affectionately, while the father pressed the child's owl-cage into his grasp. "Take care of him," the father said to the boy, tilting his head to the owl. Harry felt his chest tighten. He thought when Voldemort died all his problems would vanish like a slither of smoke. But he was still plagued by nightmares, guilt, still afraid of the powers Voldemort's death had imbued him with. Still have nowhere to call home, he thought.
"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks piped up, setting a hand on his shoulder. Harry turned slightly to find both her and little Teddy watching him with matching amethyst eyes and violet hair. "Your head was in the clouds, Harry." She followed the path of his gaze to the boy and his parents then, giving a sad smile. "Remus and I were thinking, perhaps for Christmas, we could scrape together enough to get you an owl. You must miss Hedwig awfully and of course, you'll need an owl of your own now you're heading back to school."
Harry tried to smile, not having managed it for a good few months now, not even when he realised Voldemort was finally gone. She had misinterpreted his staring, she couldn't know that her and Lupin's valiant efforts to make him feel at home in their new little cottage in the middle of (a flowery) nowhere in Essex. Siddlebury cottage was no bigger than Privet Drive and was a little shabby due to Lupin's lack of funds but it was warm and he was welcome there. But you don't belong there, the bitter, shadows of Harry's mind hissed. He wanted to, badly. He wanted to belong to Lupin and Tonks, but he couldn't help but feel he was a pity-lodger, a burden left behind by Lily and James Potter. He wasn't their son, wasn't theirs, not the same way little Teddy was.
Suddenly, his thoughts were cut short as Lupin returned to his side to pull him into a tight hug. Harry sighed, his body tense at first. So ungrateful, his mind spat. They've done everything to make you feel at home, stop with this 'poor Harry' tripe!
Hugging Remus back fiercely, Harry held on for a minute longer, before regretfully letting him go. He loved Lupin and Tonks, as much as he had Sirius, he just felt awkward around everyone these days, and he could not help but wonder if they regretted taking him in once they'd seen what a state he was in after the war's end. Killing Voldemort had left him a little empty, aching, a bitter shell of the boy he had been when he'd first come to Hogwarts. And Harry loathed himself for it.
"Say goodbye to Harry, Teddy," Tonks babbled, lifting Teddy off her hip and pressing him into Harry's arms. The five-month-old yawned widely, his big eyes staring up at Harry as he smiled around the fist he was chewing. Immediately, his hair grew darker to match Harry's and he gurgled softly. Harry smiled awkwardly. He'd always wanted a family but he wasn't quite sure how to act around babies just yet, particularly such a small, vulnerable one that wasn't his.
"See you at Christmas, Teddy," Harry said softly, kissing his head and handing him hastily back to Tonks. "See you at Christmas," Harry repeated, hugging Tonks and then Remus again. "I'll write. Don't worry about me, just take care of yourselves."
"That goes for you, too," Remus murmured with that same, warm smile. A familiar group of voices caused them all to look then and Harry blanched as Ginny Weasley gave him a contemptuous look before disappearing onto the train. It was a surprise to Harry that Hermione waited on the threshold of the carriage Remus had loaded his trunk into. But no sight of Ron.
"They'll come around, Harry," Remus reassured him, evidently having seen his face fall. "They've stuck by you through worse." Harry just nodded dumbly. He couldn't get his head round the fact that Ron was angry that he didn't want to sleep with his sister. But then, Remus was talking again, distracting him from his wonderings.
"Remember, Minerva has made special allowances for your year since you are technically adults, but with those privileges come responsibilities," Remus warned him, "And you can firecall us whenever you need to talk, don't forget that."
Harry nodded, giving them a final, forced smile before heading onto the train, walking straight past Hermione but feeling her following him quickly.
"The Weasleys love you, Harry, whether you're with Ginny or not, you know that you're like another son to them," Hermione leapt straight in, no small-talk necessary. Harry sighed, turning to face her.
"And you're telling me this, why?" Harry asked, his neck prickling oddly. He frowned, scratching at his throat absently as he stared at his friend. The wound had been a bit tender over the summer but it never ached like this.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron can be…stubborn. You have to see it from his point of view, Harry. He had this image of it in that thick head of his, of his best friend and his sister, of you finally being his real brother. All of us a proper family. It's…it's hard for him to let it go, particularly as you didn't explain why you–"
"I don't have to explain myself," Harry seethed, jaw tight, that odd tingle still buzzing through his skin. He rubbed as his neck again, irritating the skin until it was red. Hermione winced, swatting his hand away.
"Do stop that, you're making it red-raw," she snapped. "And I never said you had to explain anything, I am merely trying to explain what Ron sees from his point of view. He sees his perfect world shattered for no reason. And that's not your fault, I just think that maybe if you were to tell him–"
"Ron's already made up his mind," Harry cut across her, leaning back against the window and closing his eyes. The train hadn't even left the station and already they were arguing, just as he had expected. "And you were with me, both of you on that Horcrux hunt. You should know better than anyone why I cant just pick up where we left off like Ginny thought we would, why I can't just to pretend to be who I was before. The war changed me, taking life changed me, I cant pretend it's all alright because it isn't!"
Hermione recoiled at his voice, and Harry saw some people leaning closer to the doors of their compartments to listen. He'd only given one interview of what had happened on his part, to the Quibbler, and had refused any contact from the media after that. It was no surprise they were as nosy as ever.
The itchy, tingling in his throat became unbearable then and Harry snarled in frustration, whirling around to check it in his reflection of the window. It looked red from where he'd been rubbing it, but aside from that it was normal, the same old golden-tinted skin and the same iridescent, almost circular scar that Malfoy's bite had left. He frowned, wondering if the pale scar was finally fading at last. He had tried ointments, potions, spells, even a glamour or two but nothing had affected it.
A magical scar, Remus had said, when he had caught him staring at it in the mirror. The werewolf had pointed to the old wounds marring his own face and smiled sadly. Remus most likely assumed Voldemort or Greyback had caused the wound, if only he knew.
"I wish you would tell me what type of curse they used on you to make that," Hermione said then quietly, startling him from his reverie, "I am sure if you told me, even the colour of the curse, I could try and find something to get rid of it for you." Remus, Tonks, Hermione and the Weasleys had all asked about it, even the media, but Harry had simply turned a deaf ear. It wasn't his secret to tell, what happened that night. He knew that vampires were accepted in society on the whole, but he wasn't sure if Malfoy's condition would be greatly appreciated in a school full of students. So he had kept quiet.
"Not like I'm not already scarred, Hermione," Harry replied despondently, "I'll live, it's just another wound." He saw the pain whip across her face in her reflection then and his chest clenched tight with regret. "I'm sorry," he said, turning to face her, leaning against the window again. "I'm sorry, I know you only want to help me, I just…give me a while, yeah? It's only been a little while and I…I need time to get over this."
Hermione considered him a moment, her eyes glistening wetly but a smile touching her lips. She nodded slowly. "Of course, Harry. Just…don't shut us out. Ron's being a prat at the moment but we're here for you. Let's do this together, alright?"
Harry nodded, waving his wand to shrink his trunk and put it into his pocket. "I'll meet you in the compartment in a bit," he said, "Maybe you can butter Ron up for me before I join you?"
Beaming, Hermione gave him a swift hug before nodding and heading through to the next carriage. "Watch where you're going, Malfoy," Hermione hissed and Harry's head snapped to the side, just in time to see both of them stepping back from what looked like a slight collision. Hermione carried on up the carriage, Malfoy, however, paused on the threshold for a moment, before stepping closer. He shut the door behind him and then the one next to Harry, leaving them both alone in the cramped area between the carriages.
Stiffening in anticipation of an attack, Harry's hand slid down for his wand as Draco tugged the blind down over the window in the carriage door. He faced Harry fully then, his stormy grey eyes shining likes stars in the dimness. His skin was pale, but clear and smooth and a frown found Harry's face when Malfoy's lips quirked into a smile and there was no glimpse of the fangs that had scarred him.
"I never thanked you for what you did for me and my family at the Ministry, Potter," Malfoy said huskily, his voice rich and smooth like caramel. Harry raised his chin defiantly.
"No, too busy storming off like a pillock," Harry spat, feeling awkward. He had seen Malfoy in a pitiful state when he had first been 'captured' had seen him endure unimaginable torment, every strip of his beloved pride stripped away. He wasn't sure how he should look at him now. The man that had been with him in the dungeon that night deserved more respect, but the boy he was showing himself to be right now didn't. "I would've done it for anyone in your position, Malfoy. You helped me to take down Voldemort in that dungeon, I couldn't have done it without you."
Malfoy tilted his head a little, his blond locks falling into his dazzling eyes as he considered Harry for a moment. "You did it for me even though I ripped open your throat and drank your blood?" Draco asked, honestly curious, not understanding how Potter could have forgiven that.
Potter's eyes darkened and his hands tensed into fists. "You were mad with the change, it was a miracle you didn't kill me, I read a lot over the summer. About vampires. The thirst for your first is meant to be undeniable, yet you resisted."
The blond's lips curled in a sneer. "Don't make it sound so glorious, Potter. I ceased because I was repulsed with myself. I was disgusted with myself for guzzling at your throat, disgusted by being tainted. It made me sick to my stomach, that's the only reason I let you go." He caught sight of something then, and his dead heart thumped a little harder as he stepped closer, the smell of that blood he wanted surging up into his nostrils. He shivered involuntarily, his eyes locked on the sight of the pearly scar at Potter's throat.
"Rubbing one off with the scar, Potter? Surely you couldn't have enjoyed my bite that much that you're frustrated at the loss?" He growled huskily, the hunger churning in his stomach. Potter was alone, helpless, he could pin him here and take him and no one would know any different…
Harry snarled suddenly, shoving Malfoy back hard and reaching for his wand, holding it against the vampire's throat. "Don't presume that because I forgave your weakness that we're friends, that it's alright for you to joke with me, or flirt with me. I saved you and your family from Azkaban but that's it, I don't want repayment, I don't want to be your friend, I don't want to talk about something…something personal like that with you and I most certainly don't want your pity fuck or whatever it was I saw in your eyes just then."
Malfoy chuckled darkly, leaning his head to the side, for some reason wanting Potter to see how his flesh did not yield under the pressure of the wand, wanting him to see how strong it was. "Did it occur to you that I didn't come here to fight, Potter? I came here to thank you."
Potter's sneer grew, his eyes glowing with rage behind his glasses. "Did it occur to you that you're really crap at it?" Harry spat, pressing harder with his wand. "I just got out of a war, Malfoy. A war in which I was our side's number one weapon. Perhaps you might consider that before you delude yourself into thinking that I want this!"
Stepping closer, ignoring the sharp pinch of the wand in his throat, Draco smiled dangerously. The sound of that blood was flooding his ears, he could hear Potter's heart thudding rapidly, smell the faint hint of sweat to his musky scent. The memory of Potter's blood on his tongue flooded his senses. For that moment, his pride dissipated like water on the sun. His instincts surged like a beast at the bars of his cage, desperate for a taste of freedom.
Potter was freedom to him, an escape from this eternal hunger. The animal blood he drank did not sate him, Snape was researching, had even tested a few donated human blood samples but nothing had quenched his thirst as apparently one drink should. In the end, if he could not find some satisfaction when he fed, he would be driven mad by thirst. Everything he drank was as Voldemort's had tasted, like ash in his mouth…
Suddenly, the train lurched into movement, throwing both boys off their feet. Harry stumbled back onto the wall behind him, his arms flying out to save him uselessly and Malfoy fell forwards against him, effectively pinning him between his hard, heavy body and the wall.
Harry took a sharp in take of breath despite the pressure on his lungs.
"This?" Draco breathed, his cool breath dusting Harry's cheeks. "And what exactly is this, Potter?"
Harry growled warningly, before shoving Draco back hard again, keeping his wand between them. "Perhaps you should read about your own condition, Malfoy," he replied indifferently. "The way you're acting towards me, the reason you came to me, it isn't because you wanted to, it wasn't to say thank you. I don't want a pity fuck from a slave to his instincts and after being the wizarding world's weapon for the last seventeen years, I have no desire to be your whipping boy."
With that, Potter threw open the door and stormed off up the train after Hermione, leaving Malfoy to ponder his words.
Vampires did not need to breathe, but some freshly sired, like Draco, simply felt more comfortable allowing the habit to continue. He took a deep breath of air, composing himself and then his pride sank its fangs into his chest as his control flooded back. He had let the monster swamp his pure blood, everything that made him who he was. He winced at the thought of losing himself to the hunger, just as Snape had predicted. Turning and heading the opposite way to Potter, Draco made the conscious decision to raid the Library as soon as they arrived at Hogwarts. Evidently Potter knew more about the vampire's curse than he, he would just have to change that, especially if it led to a greater understanding of the monster he had become.
If those cretins at the ministry had not stolen our family's archives I might have had a chance of understanding before Potter ridiculed me with my ignorance.
Taking a seat in the slytherin carriage, he kept to himself. He had made his decisions on what to do next, consult the library and then Severus, but he could not help but be plagued by the cold stranger's warning, icy words. They haunted his mind. "He is your first meal, no one tastes better to you than him, he is yours to take, to rape, to kill. Can you not sense his lust? Take him! Kill him!" Draco winced, his hands clenching into fists, nails biting into his palms as he tried to shut the memory out. Still it revolved in his head like a foreboding, cursed mantra. "You fool! You must always drain your first! Always unless you–!"
~To Be Continued...
A/N: Priorae Incanvore [Pry-or-ay In-can-vor-ay] is a spell I made up. 'Priorae' meaning prior 'incan' derived from incantation and 'vore' which is a modified use of 'devour'. So in basic terms, the spell means to be devoured by prior incantations. Please do not use this/copy this in any way. Ask first for permission and credit me if you wish to use this. Thank you.
Much love and best wishes!
x chuu x