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Blood-Ties	By : Beren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3675 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 1
Title: Blood-Ties

Author: Beren

Email: beren.writes @ gmail.com

Livejournal: http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=beren_writes

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: R

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury
Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money
is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Warnings: This story is set post OOTP and therefore has SPOLIERS.

Summary: Draco has a mission from Voldemort to finally kill The Boy Who
Lived. He has been subject to Voldemort's ministrations to make sure he does
not fail, but nothing is ever certain when Harry Potter is involved.

Author's Notes: Well this was a wild ride - it turned out nothing like
I thougt wat was going to, but it was fun to write :). Thanks to Soph for the
beta. Written for Fangs
for Frulie - The Feeding Time Challenge at hpvamp on LJ.

Blood-Ties

Draco moved slowly and
quietly through the almost silent school. In the middle of the Christmas holiday
there were no other students wandering the hallways, especially so late at night.
He had returned to Hogwarts the previous evening on the pretence that his mother
was visiting relatives for New Year and he could not accompany her. It was somewhat
unusual for pupils to return before the end of the holiday, since special arrangements
had to be made, but for families like the Malfoys, nothing was out of reach.

The truth of the matter
was that Draco had a mission. Only two days ago he had been taken by certain
family friends to a meeting with the Dark Lord. With his father still incarcerated
Draco was now the man of the house, and as such certain things were expected
of him. Taking the mark while still at school was inadvisable, and hence his
arm was still unadorned, but his father's master had large plans afoot and Draco
had to take part in them to maintain his family's standing in the Death Eaters.

At home it had all seemed
straight forward and completely obvious. At home, surrounded by Malfoy splendour,
it had seemed the only thing to do. To accept the Dark Lord's instructions with
the humble grace of a true follower had been the only possible course of action.
However, now that he was here Draco was having second thoughts as doubts clouded
his mind. His duty was no longer so clear as other possibilities filled his
head.

He had been prepared for
this mission by Voldemort himself, and he had specific instructions on what
he had to do, but he could not help but wonder if there was another way. Creeping
silently along the corridor he followed the sixth sense he had been given, to
where he knew he would find Harry Potter. The sixth sense would last for a good
few days yet, but if he fulfilled his mission is would be irrelevant in less
time than that.

Turning a corner he came
to the steps of the Astronomy tower and keeping to the deep shadows he began
to climb. He knew without a doubt that at the top he would find the Boy Who
Lived, and there he would fulfil his mission. Draco did not understand the Dark
Lord's obsession with Harry Potter; as far as he could see Potter was simply
an irritant, but who was he to argue with his father's master.

It had taken hours to prepare
him for the task. Lord Voldemort would not allow for failure and Draco had been
through a long, arduous ritual to make sure he would not be defeated by his
enemy. He had never thought to resist and the power he had been given would
stand him in good stead when he returned to the Death Eaters with victory behind
him. He had been instructed to find Potter and then drain him of every last
drop of blood; nothing more, nothing less. By the end of the night Potter was
to be dead and the Dark Lord would have a weapon to win him the war which was
brewing.

However, Draco found himself
pausing at the top of the stairs as he saw his victim for the first time. Potter
was sitting against one of the buttresses looking out over the school grounds,
haloed in the light from the torch above him. His prey was wrapped in a black
school cloak that made his almost disappear into the dark background.

The Boy Who Lived had been
a serious, ghost of his former outgoing self since the beginning of the sixth
year and Draco thought that alone, on top of the Astronomy tower, Potter appeared
even more withdrawn. He could see the Gryffindor's profile, and Potter's face
held far more age than his seventeen years. The green eyes that often held so
much venom when regarding him were turned away, staring at the dark sky, but
Draco could still see the overly pale skin and the tired grey bags under his
victim's eyes.

For a moment he remained
frozen, as part of him which was not the prefect Death Eater's son wondered
why this thin, insomniac wizard needed to die. Potter was barely more than a
boy and it struck him that it was a strange kind of war which pitted school
children against each other.

"Hello, Malfoy,"
Potter spoke and startled Draco out of his reverie.

He was shocked and did
not know what to do as a calm green gaze turned to him. Potter should not have
known he was there; he had activated the concealing charms Voldemort had placed
on him and he was standing in a dark pool of shadow with the hood of his robe
pulled up.

"I've been waiting
for you," Potter finished evenly.

Ideas of treachery and
some strange test of his loyalty jumped into his mind and he froze under his
nemesis' scrutiny. It was not possible that Potter had known he would be there,
not unless he had been betrayed.

"You don't have to
worry about someone ratting you out," Potter said as if this was a perfectly
normal situation, "I just knew."

The green eyes turned away
again, looking out over the grounds again.

"Voldemort probably
didn't bother to tell you that I sometimes see what he's doing," the Gryffindor
continued conversationally. "I saw the whole ceremony. Ever since he found
out we were connected he's been tormenting me with nasty flashes and nothing
useful, but his control slipped."

Draco just didn't know
what to say; he really couldn't understand it all. His eyes darted from one
end of the roof to the other, looking for Potter's protectors, but he could
see no one except Potter himself. Surely if they had known he was coming, especially
with the preparations Voldemort had put him through, then there would be Aurors
waiting to prevent his actions. It could only have been Dumbledore's bizarre
sense of the dramatic which had allowed him access this far.

"We're alone,"
Potter said calmly, as if he was reading Draco's mind, "I didn't tell anyone.
I meant it when I said I've been waiting for you. Did you know it caused quite
a ruckus when your mother's letter arrived? Dumbledore has had people here,
people no one was supposed to know about. Most of the pupils staying wouldn't
know intrigue if it jumped up and bit them; except Stevens of course, but he's
a very inept spy for a Slytherin; you on the other hand are an entirely different
matter. Dumbledore had to move very fast to make sure no one was still here
when you arrived."

This was probably the most
bizarre conversation Draco had ever had with Potter, and considering their rivalry
that was saying something. Usually they exchanged insults, but this seemed almost
polite. Draco was not sure how to take it.

"If you saw the ceremony,"
he said slowly, "you know why I'm here."

It was an open ended question;
Draco needed to know exactly how much information Potter actually had.

"You want my blood,"
Potter said calmly, "drained to the last drop. Did you know Voldemort already
took quite a bit for his rebirth? Seems rather obsessed with it."

An idea was beginning to
form in Draco's mind that perhaps Potter had finally gone over the edge. The
way the Gryffindor was talking indicated an unhinged mind and this knowledge
gave him a little confidence. Slowly he stepped out onto the roof and began
to walk towards his victim. Potter turned when Draco was about half way there
and looked him straight in the eye.

"Did you know that
one in a million human beings has the natural predisposition to become a vampire
when simply bitten?" Potter asked. "No need for the whole exchange
of blood ritual."

At the mention of blood
rituals Draco's mind immediately flashed back to the ordeal Voldemort had demanded
of him. That Potter had seen the whole thing rather disturbed him, and the connection
between them flared slightly as the memory caused adrenalin to flood through
his system. It was a reflection of the connection his father's master had with
Potter, but to listen to Lord Voldemort that connection had only ever been one
way. He remembered the taste of blood on his lips, the Dark Lord's blood, and
he remembered the spells cast over him to give him the advantage over Potter.
Only now did the doubt at the consequences of the ceremony reach out to him.

"Do you really know
why you're here?" Potter asked and pulled Draco back to the present.

"It is my duty,"
he replied evenly, after all there was no reason to play games now.

"Bollocks," his
companion said pointedly, the most animated Draco had seen him since he arrived.
"What is your reason; yours; not your father's; not Voldemort's; yours?
You hate me, tell me why."

"I don't hate you,"
he heard the words spill out of his mouth before he really thought about it
and he stopped in shock.

Draco was sure of most
things in his life, but he had thought he was sure about his feelings towards
Potter; however it seemed he was wrong. He had hated him for a long time, but
since his father had been in Azkaban, Draco had found out many things of which
he had been unaware. Growing up had been something that was forced upon him,
and the hatred he had felt had seemed childish and a waste of effort. Potter
could be annoying and the arguments they had whenever they met were very real,
but the hatred had taken more effort than it was worth and had become little
more than habitual dislike.

"You came here to
kill me, Malfoy," Potter pointed out in a very reasonable tone, "don't
you think you should hate me?"

"No," Draco said.

It was a bizarre conversation,
but he felt that in some way he owed it to the Gryffindor. If a man was going
to die, he deserved at least some honesty.

"You are my enemy,"
he gave his reasoning as calmly as he could, although the adrenaline caused
by the situation was making his heart beat hard in his chest.

"That may change,"
that was not the response Draco had expected at all, and those clear green eyes
had pinned him down again.

Potter's calm, almost disconnected
manner was beginning to annoy Draco and he lifted his wand. This had to be some
kind of delaying tactic, maybe Potter was waiting for his friends to arrive.
The strength of Potter's mind was renowned and for this Draco wanted his victim
helpless.

"Petrificus Totalus,"
he said firmly and sent the spell straight at Potter.

Everything happened so
fast that at first he could not process it. One moment he was in control with
victory in his sights and the next Potter was gone from in front of his wand
and arms wound round him, pinning his limbs to his sides. The charmed vial he
had been given to collect Potter's blood went tumbling to the ground, shattering
into a thousand pieces as it hit the roof. A hand snaked down his arm and fastened
on his wrist, squeezing until it hurt, and it was not long before his wand also
rolled away from him.

"It will not be my blood which is shed tonight," Potter's voice whispered
in his ear and for the first time Draco experienced real fear.

He could feel the power
in the arms that held him and he could not move. Now he understood Potter's
casual indifference to his presence; now he comprehended the talk of vampires
and blood; now he realised that his enemy had never been in danger at all. Potter
had only told him the truth. He had been waiting for him, waiting for a victim.

"You're going to kill
me," Draco did not ask a question; with complete certainty he knew that
he had met his fate.

It was strange, he had
never thought to die like this, and yet somehow, it seemed right that he should
come to an end at the hands of his nemesis. Potter gave a short, low laugh.

"Possibly," the
Gryffindor said, but Draco had no chance to reply as stabbing pain took away
his voice.

Sharp points sliced through
the skin of his neck and Potter's mouth clamped around the wound. Draco stiffened,
but as his captor began to drink he felt all control leave him and his muscles
began to relax. Vampire power invaded his body and took away any will he had
left and Draco found himself sagging against the form behind him, held by those
strong arms.

The power of the Dark Lord
with all his blood rites and spells was nothing compared to the unadulterated
strength of Potter as he currently was. This was true power and Draco crumbled
under its force.

In the instant when he
had been grabbed his mind had conjured up many horrible possibilities, but the
experience did not fit any of them. After the initial bite the pain faded and
Potter's mental presence swamped him with feelings of desire and well being.
He could not move and he could not fight, even as he felt his life being drawn
out of him, and yet in only moments he could not find the will to want to do
either.

The grip which held him
loosened, so that it was gentle rather than vice-like, and he let his head loll
back against Potter's shoulder. His mind sailed free of all care, almost like
Imperio when his father had tried to train him to resist it. What his parent
never realised was that he had taught him far too well to ever be able to resist;
Draco's mind was trained to obey any his reasoning told him was superior, and
he succumbed to that instinct now. Power flooded through him and it met little
resistance.

When the mouth finally
released its hold on him he felt himself being lowered towards the floor. His
body felt like it was made of parchment and he could barely keep his eyes open
as his head was rested on Potter's knee. Luminous green eyes looked down at
him, studying his face and he could not even feel the fear of dying anymore.

"One of Dumbledore's
visitors was a vampire from Europe," Potter said in a quiet tone, as if
he was sharing a secret. "The headmaster makes sure I'm in all the meetings
now, and I caught his eye. He found me later and seduced me. Didn't know I could
fancy a man until him, but he was very beautiful, and dangerous; you'd have
liked him. Lost my virginity and my humanity in the same night."

If the laugh that followed
was anything to go by then Potter found that amusing, but Draco could do nothing
except stare upwards into the earnest face of the creature which had just stolen
his life from him.

"I realised that something
was happening the morning afterwards," Potter continued to tell him, as
if it was important to the Gryffindor that he know, "but Nicholas was busy
and I couldn't speak to him. So I went to the library and looked it up; I knew
Hermione's training would come in useful one day. Lucky I did really or he would
have killed me. Did you know they did that? I had no idea."

Draco assumed that the
question was rhetorical because there was no way he could answer.

"It took three days,"
the story continued and Draco found Potter's voice hypnotic, "I've been
hiding in my dorm. There's so much they don't tell us about magical creatures
in DADA; I never really thought about it until now. It turns out that humans
who spontaneously become vampires are what they call master vampires; we have
the power to control the others. The normal vampires will kill turning master
vampires before they can defend themselves, and Nicholas would have destroyed
me like so much rubbish."

Gentle fingers reached
down and stroked a stray hair off of his face and Draco just continued to look.
Dying was kind of euphoric and he felt a strange desire to smile as the heartbeat
in his ears became slower and slower.

"I didn't know what
to do at first. I couldn't go to Dumbledore with Nicholas still here, could
I?" the words flowed over him in the strangely hypnotic dance that had
captured his mind. "Then I saw what Voldemort did to you and I decided
that you would be my first donor. Taking back part of what he took from me seemed
kind of right. We don't have to kill to feed, but you're really too dangerous
to have running around. According to the book I could command an army of vampires
if I wanted to; only the very old would be able to resist me, but I don't want
an army of slaves, Malfoy. I don't want a war where hundreds will die; I just
want a select few to help me."

The edges of his vision
were beginning to darken and Draco knew he was close to crossing over. He could
not quite understand why Potter was sitting there watching him; he had never
thought that the Gryffindor was the vicious type.

"I know you like to
win, Malfoy," Potter continued his insane ramblings, "only you never
do against me. You're tenacious and devious, both qualities that would be really
useful if you weren't so obsessed with defeating me. We shouldn't be fighting,
Malfoy, we should be on the same side: that way we both win."

Draco blinked up as his
captor, wanting to speak, but unable to say anything. His thoughts were moving
too slowly and could not comprehend what Potter was trying to say.

"Join me," were
the words that partially dragged him back from the precipice into which he was
staring. "Gryffindors are all well and good, but without Slytherin cunning,
bravery is useless," Potter sounded adamant. "I can't let you live
as my enemy, Malfoy, you know too much now, but I would call you back as my
ally."

It was becoming hard to
breathe, and Draco tried desperately to make his mind work. Potter was offering
him a choice, and part of him screamed that he could never betray everything
he had been taught to believe in, but there was a growing cacophony in the back
of him mind that spoke of power, and virtual immortality, and the hand of friendship
which had been denied him so long ago.

"You will never be
stronger than me, Malfoy," Potter said, but rather than ridiculing his
tone was simply honest, "but you can be stronger than everyone else. All
you have to do is drink."

His vision was almost completely
gone now, but he saw the dark shape that fell over his face, and it was not
long before he felt something warm drip onto his lips. Life would fade, or he
could accept the power and supernatural life that Potter was offering; even
to a Hufflepuff the choice would have been obvious. With the last of his strength
he ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the blood lying there and he opened
his mouth to allow more of the coppery liquid to be dribbled inside.

It did not taste dead and
old like Voldemort's blood had, it was alive and fresh and carried the flavour
of power. The moment he swallowed fiery pain started in his throat and the heat
rapidly spread throughout his body. It hurt like nothing on earth and every
muscle stiffened, but he could do nothing except lie there as destructive energy
lanced through every cell in his body.

He heard himself trying
to breathe; a horrible choking sound that spoke of the end of mortal life, and
his fingers tightened into claws as he felt the last of his life being stolen
from him, to be replaced by something completely different.

"Sshhh," Potter's
voice was distant and Draco could barely feel the gentle fingers on his forehead,
"I know it hurts. It will be over soon."

Draco feltif hif his whole
being was subject to invasion, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Mercifully, as he decided he could take no more, the world and the pain began
to fade away. As his last breath fled from his tortured body he drifted into
blissful darkness.

====

Draco woke to find that
the world was not quite how he remembered it, and it was not just the fact that
he was in a different place. He was now lying on a bed, surrounded by the familiar
curtains of the dormitory four posters, only the curtains on this one were red
rather than green, but what caught his notice was how vivid the red appeared.
For a few moments he stared at it as the curtain almost seemed to glow. In fact
he was so captivated that for a while it failed to dawn on him that not only
was he lying in an unfamiliar bed, but he was also wearing unfamiliar clothes.
He looked at himself and decided that yes, the oversized, ugly t-shirt and hideously
gold and red boxers were definitely not his. Before he could react, however, the the curtains parted slightly to reveal Potter standing beside the bed.

"Welcome back,"
the Gryffindor said with a smile.

Had it been a normal meeting
Draco might have been worried about his dignity, but as it was all he could
do was gape. Potter was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he felt
desires stir within him that he had never felt before. It was as if his mind
simply refused to function in the presence of such power and captivating magnificence.
In that moment Draco knew he would do anything that Potter required of him.

"Sorry about the clothes,"
his companion said conversationally and managed to break the spell, "I
know they're not what you're used to, but yours were soiled, dying is messy,
and I gave them to Dobby for cleaning."

Blinking and trying to
gather his wits, Draco could find nothing to say as Potter sat down on the bed
beside him. He could feel something between them, some kind of connection, but
the overwhelming adoration he had felt was fading quickly. Everything about
Potter was brighter than he remembered, but that went for the whole world around
him as well, so it was not as distracting as it could have been.

"What... I... something..."
Draco could find no words to express the confusion he was feeling. "What
the hell just happened?"

Potter appeared uncertain
for a moment.

"I bit you,"
the Gryffindor said with a slight frown, "and then I brought you to my
dorm."

"I remember the biting,"
Draco said, becoming more than a little agitated, "I mean just now, when
you opened the curtains. What did you do?"

The frown became a perplexed
little pout.

"I didn't do anything,"
his companion said definitely, "I felt you wake up and came to see how
you were."

"But you... and I..."
Draco could not explain his reaction and he was mortified to find that his body
had reacted as well as his mind.

He could not stop himself
from looking down at his traitorous physical shell, and for the first time he
was glad for the oversized t-shirt.

"Oh," Potter
said in a knowing tone, "did you suddenly feel like I was the most desirable
thing on the planet and you'd do anything, including getting down on your knees
and begging?"

Draco just stared, with
his mouth open; what was he supposed to say to that?

"Yeah, I felt like
that the first time Nicholas came after me," the Gryffindor continued,
and Potter was actually blushing; "I think it was something to do with
the fact that he wanted me and was projecting it. Sorry, you looked rather edible
when I opened the curtains."

Finding out Potter was
a vampire had been strange; finding out that Potter wanted him as an ally was
even stranger; but finding out that Potter wanted him in any other way was a
little too much for Draco to deal with. The fact that Potter seemed quite so
normal now was also a little hard to cope with: at that moment Draco would have
preferred the philosophical creature he had met on the roof top.

"Potter, are you schizophrenic
or what?" he demanded pointedly.

That drew a surprisingly
bright smile from his companion.

"Occlumency,"
Potter said as if it explained everything, "I've been using it since I
began to change to make sure Voldemort didn't figure out what had happened.
Ron says it makes me a little odd, but since I have you now, and I can't keep
it up forever, I stopped using it."

Draco was not sure he was
comfortable with the casual way Potter claimed him. He was pretty sure Potter
had not meant it quite the way it sounded, but it still made Draco squirm. It
must have showed on his face, because Potter became serious again.

"I won't force you
into anything," the Gryffindor said, looking him in the eye steadily, "but
I will prevent you from siding with Voldemort. You chose life, and now you have
to choose whether you are going to be a participant or a spectator."

A simple choice really,
but one that threw up all sorts of scenarios into Draco's head, turning his
back on Voldemort was turning his back on everything he had been brought up
to believe; everything his father had taught him. It would mean trouble within
his family, although with his father in prison he was the controlling factor
at the manor.

[I could snuff out your
will like a candle,] the force of Potter's mind on his made him gasp as he realised
that the mental words were simple fact, "but I meant it when I said I did
not want slaves. If you pledge your allegiance to me, Malfoy, you will have
mine in return."

Looking into what to his
new sight were luminous green eyes, Draco saw only truth. His instinct was to
look for tricks and misleading information, but he could find nothing in what
Potter had said or how he had said it. Potter was not purely Gryffindor; his
behaviour and handling of his current situation was an exhibition of that. The
way Potter had waited and schemed was almost Slytherin in its complexity, but
Draco knew that he was dealing with the straightforward part of the Gryffindor's
personality now.

"What would you expect
of me?" he asked carefully.

"Stand with me openly,"
Potter said without hesitation. "If you returned to Voldemort now he would
see what you are and use it against you. If you join my side others will reconsider
where they stand and he will lose support."

"Nothing more?"
Draco wanted to be very sure.

A flush came to Potter's
features at that and for a moment those green eyes flicked away in embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to
do that," Potter insisted, his gaze anywhere but on Draco, "but it's
more difficult to control things like that now. It won't happen again."

His first instinct was
to say 'good' and be done with it, but Draco found his eyes roaming over the
uncomfortable Gryffindor. He had admired the male form before, but mostly out
of adolescent curiosity; his tastes had always been for the female of the species,
but something about this new Potter caught his attention.

"Do you really desire
me?" he found himself asking. He had been going to say 'fancy', but it
seemed far too childish and petty for the current situation.

"Yeah," Potter
replied, clearly embarrassed, but not trying to dodge the issue, "I think
vampires are a lot less backward about these things than humans. You'll find
out soon enough."

Draco had the decency to
blush as he recalled where his mind had been going, and the Gryffindor gave
a little laugh. With if nothing else it was a damn sight more difficult to hide
things from Potter now. His companion seemed to catch everything. Draco was
still trying to decide what comeback to make, which was very unlike him, when
the opportunity was removed.

"Are you hungry yet?"
Potter asked, abruptly changing the subject.

For a moment Draco thought
nothing of the question and then he realised quite what his companion was asking.
He did not feel the way he did if he missed a meal, but there was something
nagging at him, something that made him feel slightly queasy and left him with
an annoying need at the back of his mind. Analysing the sensation he nodded
slowly.

"I think so,"
he said ly, ly, no quite sure of himself yet, "I feel sort of sick, but
not really."

It was a difficult experience
to describe.

"That's the beginning
of it," Potter said with a nod, "if you leave it, it turns into a
burning ache."

Draco looked at his companion
questioningly; he wondered how far Potter had pushed himself.

"You arrived a few
hours too late to be on time," the Gryffindor said offhandedly. "From
what I've read the first feeding is the most demanding and then vampires can
go from two to five weeks between feeds, depending on the individual."

Potter was wearing a ratty
old jumper with a large H on the front, quite a change from the dark cloak of
earlier, and he calmly pulled up one sleeve. Almost as if it was a gift the
Gryffindor offered his wrist in a gesture which caused a most alarming reaction
in Draco. Part of him jumped at the offer and he felt his mouth actually begin
to water, but his rational brain was rather scandalised.

"I drained you,"
Potter said calmly as Draco stared at the wrist as if it might bite, "so
I'm, I think the term is, sated. It won't hurt me to let you feed and I don't
think Dumbledore would appreciate you biting a random Slytherin."

It sounded perfectly logical,
but Draco remembered being on the receiving end of a bite, and he was wary about
the whole process. If he admitted the truth he was a little afraid that he might
do something stupid and mess up the whole thing. Where Potter was concerned,
his track record was not exemplary.

"If you leave it the
hunger will eventually force you," his companion said as if he knew what
was going through Draco's head, "at least this way you have some control."

Standing up Potter turned
round and sat down right next to him, offering his wrist at a much easier angle.
Green eyes observed him calmly and he had the most absurd notion to trust the
Gryffindor completely. As he slowly reached out he absently noted that really
he had already done that, after all he had let Potter bring him back from death.

Potter's skin was warm,
just like a normal human's, but Draco could feel the power running beneath it
as if his companion was a well of magic and supernatural power. It was intoxicating
and he lifted the wrist to his mouth without really thinking about what he was
doing. There was a slight ache in his gums as he felt his teeth shifting for
the first time, but it could not distract him now that he was focused.

As his fangs sliced effortlessly
into Potter's flesh there was a gasp from the Gryffindor, and Draco felt the
vague connection between them strengthen as coppery blood burst into his mouth.
It was the sweetest taste and as the liquid dribbled down his throat it had
the same effect as some of his father's more exotic potions. His senses heightened
even more and he felt reality slip to be edged with possibilities that only
ever existed in an intoxicated mind.

Colours flashed at the
edges of his vision and his body was flooded by the most delicious sensations.
This was better than alcohol; it was better than any indulgence he had ever
consumed; and it was better than sex. Every cell was alive with feeling and
he could feel Potter's desire for him, stark against the confusion of emotions
running through his own body. It was strange to realise that although he had
always thought of himself at the controlled Slytherin and Potter as the out
of control Gryffindor, in truth he was the chaos and Potter was the order. There
was passion there, but where his wants and desires shot off in many directions,
Potter was focused. With a sudden insight he realised that it had always been
this way; it was why Potter succeeded and he failed.

As blood continued to run
into his mouth and down his throat, wave after wave of the core of his one time
adversary flowed over him, and Draco came to a startling decision. He wanted
to taste that certainty, to know the power that was Potter's will, and he pulled
his fangs away from the wrist, running his tongue over the wounds in an instinctive
gesture to close them. Then he moved, sitting up onto his knees and dragging
Potter further onto the bed with surprising ease. Pushing Potter down he straddled
him and came to rest looking into interested, green eyes.

"Show me what you
really want," Draco said as he pulled his scattered desires into one need.

It was an amazingly liberating
experience to just give in to the desire, and he could not help grinning as
his heart beat wildly. He was high, he knew it, but he did not care and he wanted
to be completely intoxicated on Potter, any way he could get him.

"Are you..."
he put his fingers on Potter's lips to stop the question the Gryffindor was
trying to ask.

He did not want questions,
he did not want doubts, he wanted actions.

"Don't ask,"
Draco said firmly, "don't ask anything, just do it."

Never in his life had he
felt so free, as he threw away the constraints that had been placed on him as
long as he could remember.

"I'll stand beside
you," he said, and he meant it, "I'll kill the bastard for you if
I have to ..." something suddenly occurred to him and derailed his train
of thought, "did you know Snape is a Death Eater?"

In his strung-out brain
it suddenly seemed important to pass on that information.

"He's Dumbledore's
spy," Potter said as if the whole conversation made perfect sense.

"Oh," Draco said,
pag asg as his thoughts barrelled out of control, and then he gave up and grabbed
Potter by the front of his jumper, baring his fangs, "show me what this
means."

The moment when Potter
went from waiting to find out what Draco was doing, to participating in the
action was blindingly obvious. The seventeen year old Gryffindor vanished in
an instant to be replaced by something that was still Potter at the core, but
was also ageless and powerful. Before Draco had a chance to catch up, he found
himself flipped so that he was the one lying on the bed, and Potter's hands
were roving under his t-shirt. Potter had come to rest between his legs, and
Draco found himself sprawled, completely vulnerable to his companion's ministrations.

The T-shirt slowly rode
up his torso as Potter played, every touch making Draco purr and shiver with
delight. At that moment in time, all that he cared about was the contact between
him and the Gryffindor, nothing impinged on his world except the sensation of
touch. He had never felt anything like this before. It was as if every nerve
was twice a sensitive as it had been; his skin as enhanced as his sight or his
hearing, and he was not alone in his enjoyment.

As Draco moved off the
bed slightly into the touch, the T-shirt rucked under his arms, coming to a
natural stop and this occurrence was greeted by a small growl from Potter. Opening
eyes that had closed in pleasure, he looked up to find his companion looking
down and staring at exposed flesh and immovable fabric. Draco was quite happy
to sit up and remove the offending garment, but he rapidly found out that Potter
had other ideas. Taking the neck of the T-shirt in both hands, the Gryffindor
pulled and grinned brightly as his efforts were rewarded with a loud ripping
sound.

"Been dying to do
that for years," was Potter's satisfied comment and Draco's reply turned
into a heartfelt moan when the Gryffindor leant down and fixed his mouth on
the flesh he had exposed.

Potter might not have been
experienced, but he seemed to have natural talent as he nipped at Draco's chest
and swiped his tongue over one nipple. The shock of sensation that caused to
run through Draco actually drew a whimper from him, and everyone knew that Malfoys
did not whimper. Quite frankly, however, at that moment he couldn't have given
a damn what Malfoys did or did not do because Potter started to employ his teeth
to said nipple, nipping and suckling alternately and Draco was pretty sure he
was going out of his mind.

His whole body was alive
with sensation as if every nerve was connected to that one spot. Responsive
did not quite describe how his body was reacting, and with his last bit of sensible
brain power Draco decided he was going to die of pleasure overload. Then Potter
pushed his body down rubbing boxer-glad groin to boxer clad groin and Draco
was sure his brain exploded.

Panting he opened his eyes
to look up at Potter's flushed face as the Gryffindor sat back for a moment.
Potter appeared pleased with himself, but the slightly glassy look in his eyes
told Draco that his bed companion was about as out of control as he felt. Kneeling
between his legs, Potter lifted the bottom of his ugly jumper and pulled it
over his head, along with the T-shirt underneath, revealing pale, unmarked skin
that Draco just had to reach out and touch.

Potter was still extracting
himself from his clothes when Draco snaked out a hand and brushed his fingers
over bare chest. It was gratifying to watch as Potter shuddered at the touch
and almost lost his balance.

"Oh, Merlin,"
the Gryffindor all but moaned as he threw his clothes off the bed.

There was no time to say
anything as Potter swooped down and claimed his mouth; hard and demanding. Draco
had wanted to know what it meant to be a vampire, what it meant to be part of
what Potter was creating and now he felt it. As the Gryffindor invaded his mouth,
he felt Potter's innate power invade his mind. At that moment he could have
done nothing to stop anything that was happening, but he did not want to. He
met Potter's searching tongue with his own, and as his companion ground their
bodies together with unchecked abandon, Draco met thrust for thrust. Nothing
could have stopped the snowball as it turned into an avalanche and Draco lost
himself in the sensations running through his body until the inevitable happened.

Draco had had sex before,
on more than one occasion, but he had never had an orgasm like the one that
turned his whole body into a boneless sprawl. Everything else faded out of his
awareness as the only thing he could comprehend was the overpowering sensations
that shook him from head to foot. His vision flashed silver, and he was pretty
sure he screamed something incomprehensible, as his brain pointedly short-circuited.

When he finally came back
down and the world began to make sense again through the buzzing in his skull,
he found that Potter was still pressed against him. It made Draco feel a little
better when he realised that the Gryffindor appeared as dazed as he was. Potter
was resting on his arms so that he wasn't squashing Draco, but there was still
a large amount of skin contact.

"Bloody hell,"
was Potter's succinct opinion on the matter.

"Mmm," Draco
agreed, not feeling particularly eloquent himself.

His thoughts were ambling
through his frazzled brain and he really was not sure if he could really follow
what was going on. Potter had just dominated him completely, whether the Gryffindor
had meant to or not, and yet Draco just lay there basking in the afterglow.
He had asked for Potter to show him, but logic declared he should not have been
comfortable with what had just happened, and yet he could not care less in a
way that not even the blood high could explain. In the end he gave a mental
shrug and decided it could wait for later.

He allowed his gaze to
travel down the bed where their bodies were still in close contact and he couldn't
help grinning.

"And we're not even
naked yet," he wasn't sure why he found this so amusing, but in his semi-high,
sexually stimulated brain, the fact that they had managed to blow each other's
minds without completely taking their clothes off seemed very funny.

Potter gave him a look,
but did not comment, although the Gryffindor did slowly climb off of him and
collapse on the bed.

"Give me a minute
and I'll do something about that," Potter said with a lazy smile.

They lay there in companionable
silence for a while, recovering, and eventually the only thing in Draco's head
was the thought that he really should remove the boxers he was wearing before
they stuck to him. In the end he moved before Potter and slipped off the offending
garment quickly, but he was still uncomfortably sticky.

"Wand's on the bedside
table," Potter offered helpfully as he shifted to follow suit.

Draco stuck his head through
the curtains of the bed without thinking and was surprised to find his wand
and Potter's sitting together on the small cabinet beside the head of the bed.
Picking his up he retreated back into the warmer air of the four poster and
cast a couple of cleaning charms to rectify the sticky situation on both hif
f
and his companion. It was only as he leant out to put his wand back on the table
that he realised quite how much trust letting him have his wand showed on Potter's
part. The enormity of it tried to barrel into his brain, but the euphoria was
still with him and as he returned to the inside of the curtains once more he
was greeted by the wonderful sight of completely naked Potter.

All other thoughts fled
as he licked his lips at the vision of male perfection in front of him. The
vampire in him sat up and removed all sensible consideration from his brain
as instinct and lust took over. The problem was that he couldn't decide if he
was hungry or horny. Having partially satisfied both needs, his body did not
seem to know what it wanted more as his fangs and groin throbbed with equal
fervour.

Potter was lounging on
his elbows and Draco felt green eyes run up and down his body.

"You're still hungry,"
was the Gryffindor's succinct opinion on the matter, and Draco found his eyes
travelling to the wrist he had been offered earlier.

"For more than one
thing," he found himself saying before his brain caught up with his mouth.

That earned him a laugh
from his bed fellow and then Potter was reaching out and dragging him down on
to the bed.

"Blood first, more
sex later," Potter said firmly, "getting them mixed up could be painful."

The Gryffindor delivered
the line perfectly deadpan and it took Draco's addled brain a moment to catch
up, at which point he burst out laughing. Potter had a warped sense of humour;
who knew?

When he recovered himself
and looked back at his companion, Potter was grinning broadly, but as they regarded
each other they slowly sobered. Draco was lying in Potter's arms and he realised
slowly, that for the first time since Voldemort had returned from the dead and
changed his father into a common criminal, he felt safe. The sensation made
him feel vulnerable and he tried to push it away, but it wouldn't go.

"Drink," Potter
said evenly, as if he knew something of what was going on in Draco's head, "you
can worry about things in the morning."

Rather than offer his wrist,
the Gryffindor moved his head to one side and Draco let his eyes fix on the
pulsing blood vessel just below the surface. Too many thoughts tried to cram
into his mind and he shoved them aside with the hunger he felt building at the
offer before him. Pushing himself up on his elbows he moved up the bed and aligning
himself with Potter he slowly lowered his head te wae waiting neck. Strong arms
wound around him and held him close as he let his fangs pierce the soft skin
and then he let his cares flow away with the heady taste of his lover's blood.

====

The second time Draco woke
up in Harry Potter's bed he found himself half draped over a warm naked body,
but at least he was not surprised by his predicament. That, however, did not
prevent the wave of memories from sweeping over him and causing all sorts of
doubts to crowd into his head. He remembered the feelings of freedom and intoxication,
and the voice at the back of his mind which was pure Slytherin tried to blame
everything he had said and done on that, but, unusually, it was having a hard
time convincing the rest of his thoughts that this was true.

Letting his eyes run over
the half covered chest next to which he was lying, he mulled over his memories
carefully. Passion was the one thing that always landed him in trouble, his
temper was what always betrayed his carefully calculated schemes, but this was
a different type of passion and it had never felt like this before. Even as
he remembered he felt the stirrings of desire again, far stronger than he recalled
them being before Potter had changed him.

That was another thing
which felt strange now. His mind had tried to insert Harry into his thoughts
instead of Potter, and although his mind had corrected itself before the thought
was complete it had felt oddly intimate. In fact, far more intimate than the
physical act he remembered so clearly.

Potter was relaxed beside
him, asleep and helpless. It would be ridiculously simple to end this now and
return to the life he had had before. Voldemort would welcome a vampire wizard
with open arms, especially one who had removed the threat of The Boy Who Lived,
but Draco did not move. As his thoughts tumbled about in his head he was coming
to one inescapable conclusion: he did not want to end this.

The whys of his reasoning
were harder to track down in the jumble of his mind than the simple fact of
the matter. Potter had given him something no one else had, which seemed to
be at the core of his mindset. Potter had shown him trust. His father and Voldemort
had expected things of him for years, but they had always bound him to do their
bidding with spells or the threat of spies; Potter had taken his word. It was
a very powerful feeling to realise this, and he contemplated it for a while.

There were other, less
easily defined emotions and ideas flowing through him as well, but he did not
try to pin them down. For now it was the trust that was important and he smiled
to himself as he realised that his declaration of allegiance was true. It was
like waking up from a dream as a new life and new possibilities blazed into
being in his mind's eye. He couldn't help himself, he laughed. It was not going
to be easy, but he relished the challenge and for the first time in a long while
he found himself looking forward to the new day.

"Are you always this
chirpy in the morning?" a sleepy voice asked from beside him.

Draco uncurled himself
from over Potter and lifted himself up on to one elbow so that he was looking
at the Gryffindor. He found himself strangely unembarrassed about the fact that
he was naked and the fact that he was in bed with his one time nemesis. The
old Draco would have been horribly uncomfortable to have woken up beside someone
in such a vulnerable situation, but then the old Draco had not indulged in thoughts
of sex with Harry Potter, or acknowledged that Potter was in the least bit shaggable
at all.

"I've never had anyone
say either way," Draco said with a smirk. "I was merely enjoying the
possibilities of the new day."

That drew a knowing grin
from Potter as well.

"Liberating, isn't
it?" his companion said lightly and sat up.

Draco had to admit that,
yes, it was liberating. He was unsure as to whether the euphoria would wear
off, but he was pretty sure he would be in far too deep by the time it did to
do anything about it.

"Close you eyes,"
Potter said as he placed his hand on the bed curtains.

It seemed like a strange
instruction and Draco frowned up at the Gryffindor, not understanding.

"It'll be light outside,"
Potter said patiently, "and it will hurt like hell. I have a charm on my
eyes so the light won't get in. Give me a minute and I'll get my wand and put
the same charm on you."

"Oh," was the
most sensible response Draco could manage as he felt a little embarrassed.

Closing his eyes he waited
for Potter to move. When the curtain opened, even though he was not looking
he knew about it. Without even considering his dignity he lifted the blanket
under which he was lying and dived underneath. Even through his eyelids it was
like someone was sticking pins in his retinas. Potter was laughing as Draco
felt his companion shifting on the bed.

"It's not funny,"
Draco protested from under his shield of material, "you could have told
me it would still hurt."

"Sorry," Potter
replied, but he did not sound particularly repentant, "I didn't know it
would be that bad. As soon as I realised what would eventually happen I looked
up a spell that would help and cast it."

He thought he heard the
curtains swing back into place, but Draco was not moving until he was sure it
was safe.

"You can come out
now," Potter said cheerfully.

Very carefully Draco peered
out of his cocoon and was pleased to find that it did not hurt in the least.
Giving Potter a hard stare for his oversight, he let the blanket fall away and
waited for his companion to do whatever he was going to do.

"There are several
spells that you'll find useful," the Gryffindor explained with a grin.
"I don't know how Muggle vampires cope. Can you imagine being blind and
blistering if you're out in normal daylight for more than a few minutes? I'll
cast the one to protect your eyes and the one to protect your skin now, and
I'll show you the book I found later."

Draco nodded and sat there,
hoping that Potter would just get on with it. Only as his companion lifted his
wand and cast the first charm did Draco realise what he was doing. He, Draco
Malfoy, most paranoid of Slytherins, was waiting patiently for Harry Potter,
most reckless of Gryffindors, to cast spells on his person. He had never, ever,
deliberately let one of his peers cast a charm on him; the trust involved was
something he was not capable of, and yet here he was, allowing it to happen.
As he felt the power of Harry Potter's magic flow over him he could not keep
the amazement off his face. It seemed that the trust idea worked both ways.

"Okay," Potter
said when he was done, "you're fit to be outside. We've got a while before
breakfast ends, one good thing about the holidays, so I'll show you where the
showers are if you like."

The shellshock was beginning
to wear off, but Draco still could not find anything sensible to say. When Potter
opened the curtain this time and began to climb out, Draco just followed him.
It was the new dawn of more than just a cold winter's day.

The End
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Blood-Ties