Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Viper	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7435 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; that belongs to J. K. Rowling. I am making no money from this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Viper
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 8-Part 8
- 9-Part 9
- 3
- 4
- 5
Thank you again for all the reviews!

            A loud banging at his front door woke Harry. He groaned into his pillow and sat up slowly, blinking. He’d already told Austin and Stone that he was taking a personal day, and they’d even looked pleased about it, because they thought it meant he was “relaxing” and giving up on the McFadden and Gowan cases. That was exactly the sort of thing they deserved to think, and Harry had been careful to act more subdued than usual around them when he told them he wouldn’t be in to work.

            Then he remembered the wards he had added to the house last week, and nodded as he stood. There were only two people who could penetrate so far into the mazes and nests of defensive spells, and neither of them was likely to be running Austin and Stone’s errands.

            He flung a shirt on—he’d slept in trousers, with spells that mimicked the good effects of shoes wrapped around his feet, in case he had to run from vampires—and padded through the bedroom and the large central room to the front door. Everywhere he looked, he could see traces of hard angles that Ginny would have softened, sharp corners that she would have hung muffling counterspells around, and empty spaces that she would have filled. She was more interested in that than he was. Harry suspected that his childhood with the Dursleys had whittled away any interest he might have had in knickknacks and photographs hung on the walls and the like.

            Besides, he liked his house this way. That way, Ginny was present for him in what wasn’t there as much as what was.

            He opened the door, and Hermione stormed in and whirled around to face him, her robes floating around her. Harry shut the door and opened his mouth to invite her to sit down, then looked at her expression and closed it again.

            “We’re losing you,” Hermione said, low and precise. “Or it would be more accurate to say that you’re losing us, since you’re certainly not just drifting away from us. You’re actively forcing yourself away.” Her hands clenched into fists. “You’re an idiot, Harry, and this way of mourning Ginny isn’t doing anyone any good.”

            Well. Harry scrubbed thoughtfully at his face with one hand. Hermione had been less forthright around him in the past; she seemed to take the point of view that he needed to grieve in his own way and it would do no good to talk him out of it. That had certainly changed.

            “It’s not only about mourning her,” he said, meeting Hermione’s eyes. “It’s about preventing more innocent people from losing their lives.”

“You’re subsuming every other interest, every other passion, and every bit of normal life in this obsession.” Hermione’s voice grated. “If it was just about saving innocent lives, then you would put in as much time as you do for your Auror work, and no more. I know you, Harry Potter, and you can’t fool me. This is about misplaced grief and hatred.”

“So what if it is?” Harry regarded her curiously. “I still don’t see why it hurts you and Ron so much.”

“Because you could be killed.” Hermione’s voice snapped on the last word, sounding like a tree in the middle of winter. “Because it’s not healthy. Because we want to see you moving on and doing something else with your life, and you aren’t.” She folded her arms and moved a step back from him. “That you could even ask that question shows how lost you are.”

“This is what I’m doing with my life now,” Harry said. “And about the McFadden and Gowan cases, I know I’m not wrong. They were both vampire hunters, did you know that? And the statues and portraits that were stolen were memorials of their victims.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “How did you learn that?”

“I researched more deeply than the Aurors who first took up the cases, that’s all.” Harry shrugged modestly. He knew he could count on Hermione’s interest in finding information to distract her. “And then I noticed that all the portraits stolen were in crimson frames, and I remembered how vampire hunters in other centuries sometimes used those frames—because they’re the color of blood—to mark their victims, and—”

“Give that information to the Auror Department, then,” Hermione said. “You should. You’ve been removed from the cases, Harry. Do that, and then come to dinner with Ron and me. Do you know how long it’s been since you did something normal like that?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I need to sleep today, Hermione.”

He hoped she would accept that as a normal statement, the way that Ron certainly would have, but she only folded her arms more tightly and squinted at him. “Because you’re going hunting tonight, right?” Her voice was shrill.

“Hermione—”

“This is worse than I thought,” Hermione said. “And Ron was right, and it won’t do any good to argue with you. You didn’t even see that you might be hurting us, for God’s sake.” She walked past him and stood with a hand on the door for a moment, as though gathering her strength. Then she turned around and shook her head. Her face looked weary, drained.

“I’ve done everything I can,” she said. “Talked to you, talked to other people about you, tried to get you interested in other things than hunting vampires, tried to introduce you to people, tried to tell you that Ginny wouldn’t want you to live this way. And everything, you resist.” A tear shone at the corner of her eye, but she blinked hard and it went away. “I reckon I’ll have to wait until you come back to us on your own.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue that he had never gone anywhere, he’d just become a different person—and who wouldn’t, when the woman he loved was murdered in front of him?—but Hermione opened the door, slipped out, and quietly shut it behind her.

Harry hesitated. For the first time in a long time, he had the strangest urge to go after someone mortal walking away from him.

But practicality won out. He couldn’t convince Hermione, except by abandoning the hunt, which would be to abandon his principles. And he hadn’t told either her or Ron about Malfoy, because that would mean admitting he’d been weak enough to let a vampire go, so that would involve more explanation and more argument. Meanwhile, he’d be losing the hours of sleep that he needed to be fresh when night came.

And with a vampire like Malfoy, so intent on not being bilked of Harry’s blood, specifically, rather than just any blood, it could be deadly.

Harry turned back to bed, and took a vial of Calming Draught with him, so that he could be sure he would fall asleep.

*

The difference in Potter’s mood and demeanor when he’d had a little rest was astonishing. Draco smiled thinly as he watched Potter lope up to the white boulder. He couldn’t compare the experience of Potter’s rest with his own; during the day, he simply died again, surrendering to a dreamless void, and regaining consciousness when the sunlight began to fail. But he appreciated sleep for the beauty it increased and empowered in his Long-Desired.

“You realize,” he remarked when Potter stepped up to his usual cautious distance of five feet, “that we have no idea where to go.”

Potter’s lips twisted up into their own smile that showed more of his teeth than necessary. Draco wondered who he was trying to impress by showing them. Not a single one of them was sharp enough to cut skin. “I do,” he said. “But the nest, or the vampire, will come to us. I can call them, and I did, last night after I left you. It’s natural to think that they would come after me eventually, since I’m a vampire hunter, but if they’re only searching out and killing hunters who took their spawn or sires, then maybe not. I can’t be sure that I’ve ever slaughtered vampires who belong to them.” He tilted his head back and scanned the darkness of the sky for a moment, as if he believed the first attack would come from above.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “How can you call vampires to you?”

Potter looked sidelong at him with eyes full of malice and laughter. “It’s a gift.”

Draco started to argue further, but then the wind shifted to the west, and the strange, enticing musky scent that had filled his nostrils the other night filled them again. He took a step forwards in spite of himself, his nostrils fluttering. His hands reached out. He noted absently that his fingers had curled into claw shape, as if that was the natural position for them to be in when the scent came.

“What’s wrong with you, Malfoy?” By the sound of the voice, Potter had backed away from him and was readying his wand.

“Something wonderful,” Draco whispered. His voice was throaty, and he wondered if he should be alarmed at that. The only time he had sounded like that was when he was under Caspar’s dominion and anticipating the favor of his sire’s attention. He took another step, and then crouched. The scent was further away than he had anticipated. Clearly, he would have to run to it.

Potter muttered an incantation, but Draco didn’t care what it was. He shivered and trembled. He had to get to the scent, and fast.

*

The charm Harry had cast to sharpen his own sense of smell didn’t reveal anything interesting. Either it was meant as a vampire lure only, or the charm couldn’t render his senses anywhere near as delicate as a vampire’s.

Or both, he thought, and watched Malfoy. He was still creeping forwards, straining as if against an invisible tether, his hands spread wide. He would leap in a moment, or run, and then Harry would lose track of him.

And loathe as he was to admit it, a vampire whose first “loyalty”—if any vampire could be said to have that quality—was to him could be of wonderful help in defeating other vampires.

He considered for a few moments whether he could do anything else, and then regretfully shook his head and held his wand over his palm, murmuring, “Diffindo.” The spell created a cut stretching from the base of his thumb to the far side of the hand. Harry grimaced at the pain, but made no sound. He’d had far worse.

Malfoy’s head snapped around the moment the cut opened. His nostrils flared far wider this time, and Harry was staring into miniature graves in his face. He held back his own revulsion and extended his hand.

As Harry had hoped, the blood of his Long-Desired was more potent bait than whatever Malfoy smelled. He advanced with delicate dancing steps, eyes locked on Harry’s hand. Harry thought he knew what a man feeding sharks must feel like.

He waited until Malfoy was reaching for his arm, and then twitched his wand sideways, casting two spells in rapid succession. One forced a gout of blood out of his hand, spraying it in fine droplets towards Malfoy. The other erected the most powerful Shield Charm he knew, one which had stood him in good stead with vampires before.

Malfoy leaned in with a primordial groan like an epicure’s on spotting a French dish, and lapped at the air with an extended tongue. He shuddered, and his head rolled back. Harry spotted a motion down the line of his body, and his eyes followed for a moment before he realized what it must be and shuddered himself, turning away. Malfoy was painting a brutal enough picture of sexual ecstasy. Harry didn’t see any need to watch him harden.

Malfoy panted and whined. Harry strengthened the shield and waited patiently.

“It tastes so good,” said Malfoy, like that was a revelation. Then his voice sank. “Harry. Let me have some more.”

“If you’re a good boy,” Harry said, and drew his wand along the line of the cut. He didn’t dare just bandage it, because then the blood would continue to emerge for a short time before it clotted and constantly draw Malfoy’s attention. That scent would distract him enough. Harry would need to heal the cut and make it seem as if it had never existed.

“Let me suck it.”

Harry glared furiously at Malfoy. His voice in need sounded like Ginny’s when she got exceptionally husky, and he didn’t need the image that the words briefly brought him before reality reasserted itself.

She’s dead, he told himself. She’s always going to be dead, and if you’d had enough wits to have studied vampires before she died, like the threats they were, then she would have lived. Don’t forget that.

“No,” Harry said. “Did you really think I would?” he added contemptuously. Then he reconsidered. The expression on Malfoy’s face was comical: his lips slightly open, the tips of his fangs showing like a child trying to hide a sweet in his mouth, and his eyes overly bright. Harry’s blood had probably affected him so deeply that he wasn’t in control of his actions at the moment.

“I can make it so good for you,” Malfoy crooned, and his fangs slid all the way out as he opened his mouth fully.

“No, you can’t,” Harry said. “Immune to the thrall, remember? And to the poison on your fangs that sometimes soothes the bite, too.” He could see the poison, which was normally invisible, so close was he to Malfoy. It looked like a slight translucent shimmer against the lower points. “It would just be a painful pulling sensation that I have no desire ever to experience.” He strengthened the shield again. Malfoy had crouched, the way he might if he intended to tear through to Harry and force him to yield his blood. “Now, are you ready to go hunting again or should we give up this night, too?” He let his impatience show in his voice.

*

I want to make him feel so good.

Draco’s head was reeling. He had fantasized about the taste of Harry’s blood, yearned after it, and tucked every memory of the previous bite into the crannies of his mind, but that was nothing compared to drinking it again. Every muscle was separately alive; every thought in his head leaped up new tracks and spawned new thoughts, ideas for research and pleasure that would entertain him through the endless nights.

It was only right that he do something to reward his Long-Desired for the amount of joy even a few drops of that nourishment, the food Draco was meant to eat, could afford him.

But Harry’s words had reminded him of the problem. A normal vampire could use the Long-Desired’s willing permission to charm and enchant him, and create indescribable feelings. But Harry had never really given permission, and he could resist all the normal tools of giving pleasure.

Draco studied Harry thoughtfully, ignoring his question for the moment. They had more nights to hunt the Long-Desired couple, and if Harry was right and he had magic that could lead them straight to Harry and Draco, they wouldn’t have to spend much time seeking them out, either. They could hunt from ambush, Draco’s favorite tactic.

The question of how to reward Harry was much more important.

Harry rolled his eyes as Draco studied him, though, unaware of how assiduously Draco was thinking about pampering him, and said, “Are we doing this or not, Malfoy?” He jerked his head to the west. Draco didn’t like the abrupt gesture. He wanted to see Harry languid, dripping with so many things, sweat and blood and venom and wine, his eyes half-lidded and his smile sleepy. Even when he’d been tired the previous night, he hadn’t been sleepy in the way that Draco would have liked to see him.

Trusting.

“It’s obvious there’s something to the west that attracts vampires,” Harry continued. “I’ve never heard of a nest leader with the power to compel vampires they didn’t sire to join the nest, but it’s possible that a Long-Desired couple would use their magic for exactly that. So we should search to the west first.”

He was a Gryffindor. They appreciate honesty, don’t they? Honesty and sweet words. Draco edged a little nearer, trying to appear as human as he could, but proudly conscious that he couldn’t get rid of all the grace in his movements. “I want you,” he said. “I wouldn’t do anything bad to you. Simply hold you.”

“‘Hold’ is an interesting word,” Harry remarked, apparently to the air. “It can begin a lot of phrases. Like ‘hold you prisoner’ and ‘hold you captive,’ just to name two.” His eyes rested on Draco, and they shone with distrust that made Draco reach out instinctively to soothe it, only to recoil when he brushed the edge of the magical shield and something like fire stung him.

“I don’t—don’t look at me like that, Harry,” he said, and his voice cracked in spite of himself.

Harry stared at him, then snorted with laughter. “This is rich, Malfoy,” he said. “Don’t tell me that I’m hurting your feelings.”

Draco snarled at him, showing his fangs again. It felt good to have instincts he could do something about, in this case to display his natural pride. But the other instincts, the ones he had told Harry would override a vampire’s normal ones in the formation of a Long-Desired bond, clamored in his head, making it hurt. Protect him, possess him, pleasure him. Get him to trust you.

There was no way he could fulfill them, and it was making him angry.

“Stop this nonsense,” Harry said, and his voice was as sharp as Draco’s fangs, but with disgust and not arousal or remorse or any of the other emotions Draco had hoped to hear. “Let’s go hunting.”

Hunting. Draco’s attention focused on the word. That was the boundary keeping him away from Harry, far more so than this stupid shield charm. Harry only cared about destroying his own kind; none of his heart was left free to appreciate Draco’s virtues. Get rid of the desire to hunt, and Harry would be his.

In that case, gratifying his longing to destroy the other Long-Desired and his or her vampire was a stupid thing to do.

But maybe, when Draco had helped Harry do that and Harry exulted over the corpses…maybe, then, if Draco spoke gently and came close before Harry could throw up his guard, maybe then he would listen…

Draco was willing to risk anything for another taste of that blood, and he had already told himself to be patient since he was immortal. He inclined his head now and turned to face the west. The scent was no longer so tempting compared with the blood in his nostrils, so he could evaluate it from a distance.

“It is vampire magic,” he said, after a moment of studying it and sniffing out the separate components. “That’s the only magic I know of that can embody pure emotions in scent, whether or not the person involved is feeling those emotions. And this promises protection, safety, comfort, and excitement. And fresh blood,” he added, because Harry watched him expectantly, as if to say that he knew that wasn’t all, and Harry appreciated honesty.

“Good,” Harry said, and his voice unfolded into new registers that Draco hadn’t been able to hear before, because he had been without the blood. He banished the shield at last, and came up to stand beside Draco. “Then I’m going to Apparate along the path of the scent. You follow, and tell me when it starts leading in a different direction than straight west.”

Draco looked at him—it could only be a brief glimpse, because Harry was so tempting now that he knew he would attack if he looked much longer—and then turned back to the west. “You can’t smell it?” It made him feel absurdly warm, far more so than the circulating blood could have possibly done for him. Harry needed him. Harry required his guidance to solve a problem.

“No,” Harry said. “But it leads straight west, doesn’t it?”

Draco nodded.

“Marvelous.”

Harry was another creature altogether when he grinned like that, the passion brilliant in his eyes, his hands twitching in front of his body before slowing down to grip his wand, his teeth slowly appearing from behind tightly closed lips. Draco wondered if he knew how much he looked like a vampire, how many qualities of his nemeses he had adopted.

And then Harry Apparated, and Draco turned and began to run along the path of the scent. It would be no trouble to keep up. The night was warm and young, and he was full of blood, and beside his Long-Desired.

*

It made sense, Harry had to admit, as he crouched behind a stone and examined the tower in front of him, for the Long-Desired and the vampire to take over an abandoned wizarding area, especially one under an Unplottable Charm. The abandoned areas had either been given up by their owners as too expensive, or lost even by those owners. Harry doubted they would have found it themselves if the scent hadn’t led Malfoy there.

And, of course, with wizard magic among them, it would be no trouble for a nest of vampires to renew old wards and charms that would keep them comfortable.

The tower itself was the last remnant of a manor house that appeared to have gone utterly to wrack and ruin, and was little more than a tumbled heap of old stones. The tower itself had stones around the foot, but stood straight for the most part, very thick and very round, like a medieval donjon. There were few windows, but a door at the bottom, facing the rock Harry and Malfoy crouched behind.

And Harry could see no sign of vampires, despite Malfoy’s insistence—and his belief—that this was where the scent came from. They had hidden themselves well.

They’re resisting their instincts. They could act as intelligent as normal humans, and maybe more intelligent, with that cold intelligence unscarred by emotion or frantic need for blood. Harry bared his teeth in a hiss. It’s practically my duty to kill them.

Malfoy edged closer to him from the other side. Harry absently keyed an Impervious Charm that would turn his skin too hard to bite through and went on studying the tower. He could dismantle the wards; that was not the problem. But there was no way to do it quietly. He wondered if one impressive, shattering burst was really the way that he wanted to introduce himself to this nest. Every nest was different, and he had to think on his feet at least as much as he needed to plan.

Malfoy’s tongue licked the air beside him. Harry shifted away and focused hard to keep his heartbeat from getting too fast. In his eagerness to destroy the vampires in front of him, he shouldn’t forget the one beside him.

“What now?” Malfoy whispered. His voice sounded odd, but Harry suspected that was another side-effect of drinking his Long-Desired’s blood.

Harry opened his mouth to explain their options, but just then, the door at the base of the tower opened. A young woman crept out; Harry could tell from the way her chest heaved, even before he saw the color in her cheeks, that she was mortal. He had a modified Lumos Charm on the tip of his wand that allowed him to see without showing to anyone else, like the light in a shielded lantern, and that was enough for him to make out blonde curls and terrified blue eyes, too. She swallowed and stood looking back at the tower for long moments.

Then she broke into a run, towards their stone.

“Escaping prey,” Malfoy said. Harry nodded and moved to the side. He wanted to catch her, to ask for information about the nest or the vampire, but he didn’t want to do it in such a way that she would scream and awaken the silent tower.

He arose smartly behind her as she sprinted past, and clasped one arm around her waist whilst he clamped his wand hand over her mouth. The woman tried to scream anyway, but Harry nudged the air out of her with his tight clasp on her waist. Malfoy sauntered up on the other side of him, and the woman’s eyes widened even more.

“Vampire,” Harry was sure she said against his palm, even though he couldn’t make out the word.

“I know,” Harry said into her ear. “But we’re here to destroy the vampires, not join them. I’m a hunter. I need to know anything you can tell us about the vampires in there.”

For a moment, her eyelids fluttered fast, and he thought she was about to faint. But then she gulped and nodded, and when Harry whispered to her, “Can you be quiet?” she nodded again. He pulled his hand back.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Lucy Moore.” The girl stared at them with yet wider eyes, and Harry saw that she was younger than he’d thought, probably sixteen. Well, then, she’s entitled to be a little silly.

“And the vampires took you to feed on?” Another nod. “Then how did you escape?” Harry demanded. Beside him, Malfoy cocked his head and sniffed hard, and Harry knew he would be sniffing for the scent of a lie. Harry approved. An enchanted victim, which most of those under a vampire’s thrall could be counted as, usually didn’t tell the truth, or at best told some garbled version of it.

“I was lucky,” Lucy said. Her hands twisted together, but her words came tumbling out all at once. “There’s another hunter in there. He came just after nightfall. He did something that baffled them all, and half the nest fell asleep and the rest attacked him. I think he killed most of them.” Lucy shivered. “The enchantment on me fell off, but for a lot of the time I couldn’t do anything. I just tried to stand up and fell. But then he cornered the nest leader in a room up the stairs and did something to her that made her scream horribly, and I could run.”

Harry grinned, especially when he looked sideways and Malfoy gave him a slight nod to show that he could smell no lie. “We’re lucky,” he said. “Is the door you came out by the only way out of the tower?”

Lucy shook her head. “There’s another around the corner, opposite that rock.” She indicated a huge, angled black boulder that sprawled on the ground. “But don’t ask me to take you there.” She shivered, and touched the two puncture wounds on her neck. “I only just escaped, and—and—”

Tears were trembling on her eyelids, and Harry said quickly, “That’s all right, we won’t ask you to. Just tell us about the layout of the tower.”

“A big—a big round central room on the ground floor, and then stairs, and then a bunch of rooms on the first floor in a star pattern, and then more stairs, and a single room upstairs.” Lucy began to back away from the tower, staring at it. Harry could see her heart beating with fear. “I have to—I have to go.” And she ran off, her hair and the thin, pale gown she wore whipping behind her.

Malfoy snorted. “Idiot.”

“At least she gave us some information,” Harry said, and checked that his weapons were in place with a quick sweep of his hands up and down the sides of his body. “Let’s go.”

*

Draco relaxed when they found the second door exactly where the silly girl had told them it would be. He had wondered if she had been confused from the venom he could smell in her system, a great amount of it, but perhaps enough of that had faded when the other hunter killed the nest leader, as it seemed likely had happened.

Harry stood contemplating the door, a small, wretched gate with a twisted iron handle, in silence. Then he gave a small nod and moved a step forwards.

The door swung open.

Draco snarled and tried to leap, but he was too slow. A tall vampire stood framed in the doorway, clad in black, her hair a shining weave of blonde and brown and her eyes sharp blue. Draco knew without testing the matter that she was a master vampire—the will in her face was too obviously her own—and that she was already weaving magic around them with a speed and skill Caspar had never displayed. That magic caught Draco and held him upside-down, and then it caught Harry and wrenched his arms behind his back harshly enough to make him cry out.

Draco screamed himself, a hunting bird’s cry, and nearly broke free of the web. But the vampire renewed it, and arched an eyebrow. “An incipient Long-Desired bond,” she said. “She did not tell me that, the naughty girl.” Then her voice turned indulgent. “Well, she does know how much I enjoy learning new things for myself.” Her voice rose. “Lucy!”

And the girl who had “escaped” from the tower stepped out from behind the black boulder, and strode towards the vampire, who put a hand beneath her chin and smiled adoringly into her eyes. Lucy smiled back.

The Long-Desired and her vampire. Draco wanted to close his eyes for the sheer depth of his foolishness.

The vampire turned Lucy around so she stood with her back to the vampire’s chest, and then sank her fangs into her throat. Lucy responded with an eager hum and a sigh that made something in Draco’s chest wrench with jealousy, because he could not imagine Harry doing that. And, yes, there was that expression of rapture and trust on her face that he had so longed to see on Harry’s.

The vampire looked up, blood glittering on her fangs, and smiled. “Lucy you have met already, of course,” she said. “I am the Collector. Welcome to my collection.”

*

SP777: Oh, I do have a way. But that’s the reason there will have to be a third part to this series.

If vampires and their Long-Desired could form a community, that might be possible. But the vampires would still have the urge to show off for their Long-Desired in a way that would probably involve killing people at some point, and get them noticed.

Thrnbrooke: Yes. I think you can see here that Draco is beginning to change his mind, but he does it because of the blood; he cares the most for Harry when Harry is feeding him. Which Harry is not willing to do, of course.

orpiment99: Thanks!

Of course, if Harry wins, he will kill Draco, while Draco wants to keep him, soothe him, pleasure him, and feed from him, so that’s another problem. ;)
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Viper