Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Give Him the World	By : bezo93 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 23603 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters. I do not make any money from this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Give Him the World
- 2-2
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A/N: This is writing itself and dragging me along for the ride. The idea of it being PWP has been thoroughly discarded because I am apparently incapable of writing something without coming up with (and including) some sort of backstory for it.
Fun fact: the majority of this chapter was written on my phone while I was stuck in traffic on the M6. Which means no sexy business in this chapter - smut doesn’t go well with heavy traffic and bickering kids D: Instead we get a bit of a look at Harry’s mental state…

When Harry woke again he was alone in the dimly lit room. Anxiety clawed at the edges of his mind trying to send him into another blind panic but it was easier to push away this time. He had woken up here before. He was safe here. Sanguini had promised him he was safe.
Sanguini wasn’t here.
A small trickle of unease fed the rising anxiety as he staggered out of bed, gaze bouncing around the room as he looked for a sign of where Sanguini had gone and why he wasn’t here. The first thing he spotted was his wand, sitting on the bedside table where he had left it. Snatching it up he muttered a quick lumos dis to brighten the lights in the room. Having his wand made him feel safer. If anything bad had happened his wand wouldn’t have been left here.
With the brighter light he was he able to see a note on top of a chest of drawers. He stared at the paper for a moment. Paper, not parchment. How odd. It had been a long time since he had seen muggle paper. Memories crept unbidden to the forefront of his mind: ink pouring from a hole in Tom Riddle’s diary like blood from a wound, a charred photo album filled with pictures of cats in the remains of his old baby sitter’s house, a blood stained notebook all he had left of the studious member of the golden trio.
Pushing through the fog of memories he picked the note up. The handwriting seemed somehow familiar even though he was sure he had never seen it before.
Harry,
Good morning little one. If you are reading this then dawn has come and forced me to my rest for the day. The house is yours to roam and do as you please, though I must ask that you do not leave the grounds at this time as it is not safe. The staff are aware of who you are and will do anything they can to assist you should you desire it. If there is something you need, ask and it will be provided.
The door to left of the bed leads into the bathroom and the white door leads to the closet. Help yourself to both. Wear whatever clothes you like for now, I will buy you a wardrobe of your own soon. A member of staff will be waiting outside the room to guide you to breakfast and show you around the house. There is a library downstairs that you may use to entertain yourself or, if you would prefer something more active, there are stables and a quidditch pitch outside.
I will join you as soon as I awake. Until then relax and enjoy yourself, you are safe here.
Love
S.
Putting the letter down, the wizard made his way over to the white door. Peaking inside revealed the largest closet he had ever seen, easily the size of his old dormitory. Racks of clothes filled the place, ranging from old fashioned lacy dress robes (ginger hair, a battered chess set, screams of agony silencing suddenly) to the latest developments in battle robes (flashes of light, a burning pain, blackness) to muggle casual wear.
Gravitating towards the muggle clothing the wizard ran his hands over the material: jumpers (emerald green and gold; christmas lights and turkey; family, friends and home), jeans (Don’t put your wand there, boy! Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!*), shirts, slacks, t-shirts, vests. Some of the clothes, he realised, were styled after muggle clothes but made out of material only found in the wizarding world (vampires’ world now?): acromantula silk shirts, dragonhide jackets, unicorn hair jumpers. All of it was better quality than he was used to. Eventually he decided on a green jumper interwoven with unicorn hair that gave it an odd silver glimmer and plain blue jeans. The jumper was slightly oversized, clearly made for someone with wider shoulders than Harry, but the jeans were the right size and both looked warm and comfortable.
The bathroom was huge. A bathtub the size of a small swimming pool took up half the room (golden eggs, giggling mermaids, spying ghosts) deep enough to swim in with tiered sides providing places to sit. In the corner was a large shower, easily big enough for three people and with an array of gold knobs that he did not know the purpose of. Opting for a shower, not wanting to keep whoever was outside the bedroom waiting for any longer than they already had been, he spent a few minutes playing with each tap to see what it did: one controlled temperature, one controlled pressure, some produced water with different scents and one seemingly did nothing at all. A few were too tight to budge so he left them alone. Maybe he’d ask Sanguini what they did.
He dragged himself out of the shower reluctantly. It was nice, the warm water. Better than the cold shower in the tent. Much nicer than the jets of icy water in the dungeon. Easier than trying to wash in streams while on the run. Tomorrow he might try the bathtub. It had been so long since he had last had a bath (sneaking around, pinefresh, so many bubbles).
The jumper and jeans were as warm and comfortable as they looked. The scent of Sanguini surrounded him: subtle, spicy, safe. The overlarge jumper made him feel protected, shielded from the rest of the world. The too long sleeves made it easy to hide his wand (stolen, not his, not really). He felt more prepared to face the outside world now (escape, fresh air, bloodied ground; pureblood and mudblood, both the same when soaking the earth). It was only a few hours until he would be with Sanguini again. He could survive a few hours.
A man stood waiting outside the bedroom door, dressed in black and silver with a collar around his neck. This must be the member of staff Sanguini mentioned in his note. Harry wondered if all the staff wore collars like that.
“Good morning, my Lord,” the man said, bowing to the wizard (my Lord, Dark Lord, painpainpain).
“Don’t call me that,” Harry said, more sharply than he’d intended. The man looked taken aback for a moment before he bowed again.
“As you wish, sir,” he said agreeably. “Would you like me to show you to the dining room for breakfast?”
“If you don’t mind,” the wizard nodded. The man gave him an odd look but gestured for him to follow.
The rest of the house was as lavish as the bedroom suite. Large tapestries and paintings decorated the walls of the hallways, all of them still and lifeless, while ornate rugs covered the stained wood floor (oak? mahogany? not holly, he missed holly). There were no windows, as expected of a vampire’s home, yet it didn’t feel dark or claustrophobic. Not like Malfoy Manner had, or 12 Grimmauld Place.
The dining room he was led to was smaller than he expected. After the enormous bathroom and the opulent hallways he had been expecting a grand dining room with enough room to seat entire parties (dining room by day, war council by night, breakfast replaced by battle plans). Instead, a small four-seater table sat in the centre of a room, a fireplace on one side and double doors leading out into a garden on the other. The table was already piled high with breakfast foods, far more than Harry could hope to eat on his own (sneaking down to the kitchen, ‘what can we’s be doing for you sirs?’, more snacks than they could carry).
“Is anyone else joining us?” he asked his guide, who had moved to stand beside the door.
“No, sir.”
“All this is for me?” he said incredulously. He didn’t like wasting food (being sent to the cupboard without supper, surviving on field rations in the tent, a week with nothing but water in the dungeon) but there was no way he could eat so much.
“Yes, sir. The kitchen staff were unsure of your preferences so they made a variety. Anything you do not eat will be sent back tot he kitchen and anything you dislike will not be made again,” the servant explained.
Eating alone as someone watched on was uncomfortable. For once, Harry was almost glad that he couldn’t stomach large portions (plates being pushed away after a few mouthfuls, odd looks as he turned down food after only a few sweets, food carefully rationed to last all summer). The food was excellent and he ate more than he could normally stomach but still it was barely half a normal portion.
Once it was clear the wizard was done eating, the servant stepped forward with a bow. “If you are done, sir, would you like a tour of the house?”
Did he want to explore the house? Sanguini had promised him it was safe. Sanguini wasn’t here. How safe was safe without the vampire by his side? Summer at the Dursleys’ had been safe. Except when it wasn’t. Hogwarts had been safe. Except when it wasn’t. His mind had been safe. Except when it wasn’t. Places were only safe when they had protectors.
“No, thank you,” he replied finally. “Could you show me the way to the library?”
“As you wish, sir. If you would follow me.”
As Harry had come to expect, the library was huge. Shelves twice his height filled the cavernous room, each shelf tightly packed with books. There were some books he was familiar with but many covered subjects he had never heard of (hours of research to solve the latest mystery, honestly, don’t you two read?*, so much knowledge but never quite enough). The deeper he wandered, the more unfamiliar the books became. Unrecognisable subjects turned into unrecognisable languages which turned into unrecognisable alphabets, until he couldn’t tell whether a book was a collection of children’s stories or an in-depth study of alchemy.
“Is there something in particular you are looking for, sir?” asked the man who hadn’t left his side since he left the bedroom, a silent shadow. Was he a guide or a guard? Harry had spent his life surrounded by silent guards. The wards at Privet Drive, Order members after Voldemort’s return, Death Eaters during his dungeon stay. Nameless presences he was told were important yet never seemed to quite work properly at the crucial moment.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, forgetting the question he had been asked.
“Damian, sir,” the servant answered, giving him a look that suggested the man thought he had a few screws loose but was too polite to mention it.
“Oh. I’m Harry,” Harry offered, not sure what else to say. Damian simply nodded, having already known. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. People had known who he was before he knew who he was (being bowed to in shops, whispers following him in the corridors, reporters hunting for stories about him). The two stared at each other for a long moment before Harry turned and headed back in the direction of the books he could actually read.
How much longer until Sanguini was awake? Surely it couldn’t be long now. Everything was easier when the vampire was with him.
Deciding to spend his time productively, he started looking for books about vampires, hoping to learn some what he wanted to know without having to pester Sanguini with questions. That plan was made difficult by an unanticipated problem; there were no books about vampires. Or rather, no books about vampires in general. Almost all the books in the library were about vampires in the same way almost all of the books in Hogwarts were about wizards. That is, they covered all aspects of vampiric topics, ranging from magic to diseases, but nothing that gave an overview of vampires as a whole.
After staring at the shelves for a few minutes, as though hoping a relevant book would leap into his hands, he finally selected one about etiquette. Etiquette had never been something he had a strong grasp of (no idea how to handle the press, no idea what to do at the Yule Ball, no idea how to conduct himself in court) but perhaps now was the time to learn. Being bonded to the Vampire King had to come with some sort of responsibility, right?
Not right, he discovered after a few of hours of reading. As Sanguini’s chosen mate he was expected to do…nothing. He was simply expected to be. Any real responsibility fell on Sanguini as his mate. The concept was foreign to Harry. He wasn’t used to people wanting nothing from him (ungrateful burden, boy hero, prophesied opponent). The only person who could demand that he do something he didn’t wish to was Sanguini himself, who never would because a vampire’s highest priority was their mate’s happiness and making unwanted demands would be counterproductive.
Harry didn’t believe it. People always had demands, even if they didn’t make them openly. Dumbledore had demanded he save the school again and again without saying a word (clues so simple to put together, tools so easy to access, opportunities so conveniently provided), his Housemates demanded he be the perfect Gryffindor (star seeker, righteous rebel, golden boy), the adults demanded he live up to their memories of his parents (just like your father, your mother’s eyes, your parents would be so proud), what would the vampires demand?
Suddenly, sitting in the library with his silent companion - Damian had not once left the room nor had he spoken - was too stifling. There was too much he didn’t know, too many questions he didn’t have the answer to, too much uncertainty about what was coming.
He wanted Sanguini. Now.
“Where is Sanguini?”
Damian startled slightly, not expecting the wizard’s question after spending so long in silence.
“He is in the Sală Răposat for the day, sir,” the man answered.
“I want to see him.”
“The Master is dead for the day, sir. The Sală Răposat is the room he stays in while he is at his most vulnerable during the day. He will not wake for another couple of hours yet,” the servant said slowly, as though he expected Harry to have forgotten that Sanguini was a vampire or to struggle with understanding what that meant.
“I know that,” Harry said, affronted. He may not have been the best student or completed his education (too much time fighting dangers to the school, then fighting a war, and now the school was too damaged for use) but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He just wanted to be near the vampire. He felt safe around Sanguini. “I just want to see him.”
Damian stared at him, searching his face for something, before asking to be excused for a moment. Unsure, Harry nodded, wondering if the man would come back of if he was taking the opportunity to escape Harry’s presence (he always ended up alone). As the minutes stretched on, the wizard became more and more convinced that Damian wasn’t coming back. Maybe he could try and find the Sală Răposat on his own? Sanguini had said he could explore the house.
Before he could gather the courage to brave exploring the unknown house alone, Damian return with another member of staff. Like Damian, the new person was wearing a silver and black outfit and a collar, though his collar was more ornate that Damian’s.
“Young Master, I am Jude, Head of the House Staff,” the unfamiliar man introduced with a bow. Harry frowned, ‘Young Master’ was better than ‘my Lord’ but not by much. “Damian says you want to see the Master?”
Harry nodded, getting impatient when the two men exchanged glances. How hard could it be to take him to a room? He was hardly asking them to find a way to wake Sanguini early, he just wanted to be in the same bloody room.
“That…may not be possible, sir,” Jude said hesitantly, unsure how to proceed. The Master Vampire had - had always had - standing orders that nobody was to enter the Sală Răposat during the day unless there was an imminent, life threatening emergency. The Master had also left instructions that his mate was to be obeyed and allowed to do as he wished, whatever he wished, with the only caveat being that he could not leave the grounds.
“Why?” Harry asked, exasperated with all the dancing around the subject (nobody ever told him everything, until it was too late for them to tell him anything).
“Access to the Sală Răposat is restricted during the day,” the man explained carefully, wincing internally at the Harry’s scowl. The young man had been very undemanding so far which made it look even worse that they were denying him the only thing he had asked for.
“Sanguini said I could go where I want as long as I don’t leave the grounds,” the wizard said petulantly, any nervousness over the unknown vanishing as his temper began to rise. Why was the one thing he really wanted to do always the only thing he wasn’t allowed to do (always had to return to the Dursleys, always had to be the Saviour, could never be just Harry)?
“Yes, Young Master, that is true. However the door to the Sală Răposat is warded. If you have not been added to the wards, you will be unable to enter without using the emergency override. To my knowledge, the Master is the only one currently added to the wards,” Jude clarified.
“He might have added me to the wards. I could try and see,” Harry suggested, unwilling to let the matter go. He wanted Sanguini, even if he had to break a few rules to get there. Rules had never stopped him before (don’t go into the forbidden corridor, don’t leave the school grounds without signed permission, nobody can break into Gringotts - breaking into the Ministry was probably illegal too).
The two servants looked alarmed at this.
“Please don’t,” Damian said, no demand in his voice but clearly serious. Jude sent him a warning look.
“What he means is the wards can be…vicious towards an invited person attempting entry,” Jude said. “If you were to try and get in and you hadn’t been added to the wards, you could end up badly hurt.” And the Master would kill everyone involved, he added silently in his head. The idea of the Master’s mate being harmed on their watch was too terrifying to contemplate.
“Don’t care,” Harry said mulishly. “Just show me the way to the room, or I’ll go and find it myself.” He’d camp outside the door until Sanguini came out if he had to.
The wizard grew increasingly impatient as the two servants had a silent debate in front of him. Quickly losing patience he stood up and walked over to the door, carrying his book with him.
Jolted out of their silent argument, the two men followed him quickly. Unable to prevent him from looking for the room alone and unable to persuade him it was a bad idea, the best they could do was show him the way and try and prevent any damage occurring.
The Sală Răposat was not what Harry had expected. Given the fancy name and the lavishness of the rest of the house, he had been expecting something more dramatic than a plain, unpainted wooden door in the basement. The only indication that the door led to anything more important than a broom cupboard were the two uniformed men sitting at a little fold-up table next to the door, ostensibly playing cards but a little too aware of their surroundings to truly be two men making the most of their break, and the hum of Sanguini’s magic against his skin.
The guards jumped to their feet as Harry approached, making Harry hesitate for a moment, but made no move to stop him. Until he put his hand on the doorhandle.
“Sir, the door is warded!” one of them said urgently, afraid they were about to witness the untimely demise of the Master’s mate.
Harry stopped, hand still resting on the doorhandle. Not because the guard had told him to but because he could read the magic pulsing under his hand (days spent in a warded cell in the training camp, only allowed out when they could read the magic to identify the wards; it hadn’t helped him in the end). The magic was pulsing a gentle warning, recognising him as friendly but also as someone not added to the wards. If he tried to enter the consequences wouldn’t be as brutal normal but it would still hurt.
Scowling, the wizard took a step back and considered the door. Short of blasting through it, there was no way he was getting past the wards. Mate or not, blasting the door off its hinges would be bad. He really did want to be near Sanguini though. The wizard huffed and drew his wand.
Ignoring the staff who had tensed, he flicked the wand in the direction of the door, placing cushioning charms on the floor and lower portion of the door. Holstering his wand he settled himself on the floor, leaning against the door. If he couldn’t be in the room with Sanguini he would settle for being in contact with the vampire’s magic and sitting as close as he could get.
Resting his book against his knees he looked up at the hovering staff. They had relaxed upon realising he wasn’t going to try and curse his way through the door but now they were having another of those silent conversations of significant looks and eyebrow movements that only make sense to friends (he remembered having those once).
“Don’t you have something better to do than stare at me?” the wizard asked, tone more curious than accusing (staring had bothered him once, now it seemed insignificant).
The guards shrugged and went back to their table to continue their game. Jude nodded, gave one final bow and wandered back up the corridor to continue what he had been doing before he was interrupted. Damian hovered uselessly.
“I’ve been assigned to serve you today, sir,” he explained when Harry looked at him. He had expected being assigned to the Master’s mate to be difficult, but not like this. He had expected constant demands, complaints about things not being up to standard, not to be hanging around uselessly. He would prefer running around fulfilling endless demands to this awkward hovering, unneeded but unable to leave his assigned task for the day.
Harry tilted his head, observing the uniformed man. It was odd here. Nobody was telling him what to do. Nobody was whispering about him just within earshot. Nobody was demanding things from him. Everybody seemed to be falling over themselves not to offend or upset him. It was a novel experience.
He wondered how long it would last.
Opening his book, he forgot about the hovering servant and the subtly watching guards. He lost himself in the intricacies of vampire politics and etiquette. As far as he could tell very little of the information would apply to him or Sanguini. It seemed the more power you held, the less rules applied (Voldemort, the Ministry, Dumbledore). Being Vampire King, Sanguini was answerable to nobody and the only rules he had to follow were those of common sense (Harry had never been good at that).
The wizard was startled out of his reading when he fell backwards. He swore as his head collided with something solid.
“Hm, that sounds much less cute when you say it outside of our bed,” said Sanguini’s teasing voice.
Looking up Harry saw the Vampire King standing over him, looking down with amusement. Rather than speak, the wizard lifted his arms beseechingly. Sanguini chuckled, bending down to scoop him up. Somehow he managed to manoeuvre the wizard into sitting bridal style in his arms without knocking his head against the door or dropping his book.
“What are you doing down here?” the vampire asked as he stepped into the corridor and shut the door. Harry felt a brief flare of magic as the wards settled again but ignored it in favour of snuggling to the vampire’s chest.
“Wanted you. Can I be added to the wards?” he asked, giving the vampire a pleading look. Sanguini smiled, kissing the young man’s forehead.
“Of course. I would have added you last night but I didn’t have time. I was otherwise occupied, if you remember,” he smirked as the wizard’s pupils blew wide as he recalled the previous night.
“I remember,” Harry said slowly, giving the vampire a smirk. “I also remember that I didn’t do anything to return the favour. I should do something about that.”
Sanguini started moving faster as the wizard used one hand to unbutton the his shirt while sliding the other hand across the vampire’s chest. Harry grinned as he kissed the vampire’s jaw, pushing the shirt off Sanguini's shoulders and as far down as he could get it while still sitting in the vampire's arms. The questions he had could wait.

A/N: no prizes for guessing how next chapter will start :p Although the next chapter may be a while, I’m doing NaNoWriMo this year so fan fiction stuff is taking a backseat at the moment.
* these are quotes from the Harry Potter books/films which may not be entirely accurate as I don’t have a book to hand, so they are done from memory.
lumos dis is a semi-made up spell, which I’m using as a lumos variant for lighting any pre-existing light sources in a room (lamps etc.) rather than just the end of the wand.
Sală Răposat means “Decedent Hall” or “Decedent Room”. Or at least that’s what the online translator told me. I don’t know, I don’t speak Romanian, but that is what it is supposed to mean.
As I have no solid plan that I’m following, is there anyone in particular you would like to see Harry get revenge on? Any character at all (unless I’ve already mentioned that they are dead, so no Dumbledore, Ron or Hermione so far), feel free to leave a comment saying who they are and why you think Harry should get revenge on them and I’ll see what I can do - any reasonably plausible excuse will do, whether it is an Order member for not doing more to help him or a known Death Eater who tortured him.
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Give Him the World