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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Thank you again for all the reviews!

            Harry twisted in his net, trying to soften the blow. He knew they were falling, and though so far they had plummeted through darkness for what felt like ten minutes with no interruption, he knew there must eventually be a landing. He had no idea if the landing would be stone, or water, or something else. But he was determined to prepare for if he could.

            “Potter,” Malfoy whispered.

            Harry didn’t bother listening, because he knew the words would begin another plea for his blood. He opened his eyes instead and peered down into the darkness beneath them. There was no light, though, and he couldn’t make anything out. He hissed beneath his breath in frustration and muttered a Relaxing Charm that he hoped he had mastered enough to perform wandlessly. If he hit the floor limp instead of tense, he stood less chance of shattering his bones.

            “Potter.”

            Harry ignored that, too. Malfoy was a vampire. If he hit and broke a limb, then he could will it to knit back together. Maybe not before morning, but Harry doubted that the Collector wanted to kill Malfoy, anyway. Another vampire would be useful to her in a way that a merely mortal vampire hunter wouldn’t.

            “I hear hissing, Potter,” Malfoy snapped, “and I’ll say that even if I you continue to act as if I’m not here.”

            “Too bad,” Harry mocked him lightly, though he did open his eyes and peer into the darkness to try and find the source of the hissing. “I was about to let you have some of my blood until you interrupted my meditation.”



            A deep sniff, and then Malfoy’s voice came again, full of confident superiority. “You’re lying, Potter.”

            “So you want to believe,” Harry murmured, “when in reality this wind we’re traveling through is blowing away any trace of a scent you can smell on me.”

            A hesitation, and then the sound of another deep sniff. Harry heard the first hissing in that moment, so he didn’t see any need to pay attention to an obsessed vampire’s conversation.

            The hissing made patterns over and around itself, and Harry wondered for a moment if the Collector did have her own nest, but imprisoned in wizardspace. Perhaps she intended for them to kill Harry. Then he would be a slave to every one of her spawn, a mindless creature fit only for death. Harry grimaced. He hated the idea that he might have to rely on Malfoy to save him in such a situation.

            But then he realized exactly what patterns the hissing made, and he could have laughed in relief—except that they were still falling, and there was no guarantee they would survive the fall even if they survived the collection that was awaiting them at the bottom.

            Still, it would be best to reassure Malfoy so that he wouldn’t strike out blindly when they landed. “Malfoy,” he said, “that’s—”

            And then they landed.

            Harry knew, intellectually, that the jolt that ran through all his bones should have been much stronger, enough to smash his skull and penetrate his lungs with fragments of his ribs. But, bodily, all he knew was that he wasn’t in pain. He lay on a moving bed, a rising and heaving and hissing and living bed. Something traveled across his cheek, a light tickle that Harry recognized as a forked tongue. Other people might have recoiled in disgust, but he was only relieved that it wasn’t a vampire’s tongue.

            “Hello, my brothers,” he said in Parseltongue. “It has been a long time since I have spoken to one of you, but I have not forgotten the language that binds us together.”

            There was an electric silence, and then a convulsive movement ran through the snakes. Harry felt them writhe across his limbs, holding them down and still as the magical net could no longer do; the net had vanished the moment the snakes’ scales touched their bodies. The snakes were small, slim, with none of the crushing power that Harry would expect of a constrictor. Venomous, then. He couldn’t see them, and he didn’t know if he would have been able to tell what kind they were even if he could, but he doubted that the Collector would make it her business to set them in the middle of a pit of harmless snakes.

            It was a better chance of survival than Harry had believed they had half a minute ago. He hissed again. “Will you not tell me what you are? What is your proud name? And why are you here, serving a predator who is inferior in killing power to you?”

*

            Draco shivered as the Parseltongue crept over him. It didn’t have the inherent strangeness for him that it had possessed when he was human; he could make noises that sounded exactly like that if he wanted, or worse. But he still couldn’t understand what Harry was saying, and that infuriated him. He had the right to hear his Long-Desired’s every word, to absorb the pulse of his breath and the pounding of his heart, if that was what he wanted.

            And he could see in the dark, as Harry could not.

            He wondered what Harry would say if he knew that they were in a pit full of kraits.

            Draco had studied the snakes extensively when he was still mortal; their venom was an ingredient in all sorts of poisons, up to sixteen times more potent than a cobra’s. And like vampires, they had hollow fangs through which venom could travel—though their bites would hardly soothe their victims.

            Kraits were temperamental, Professor Snape had taught him. Draco was not entirely sure that Harry could persuade them not to bite him.

            And Draco didn’t know what exactly Harry was saying, whether he might accidentally give insult or not, and that maddened him further.

            Once again, he had the instinct to help his Long-Desired, and he was being balked. He growled and threw his muscle force against the magical net—

            Only to find out that the magical net had vanished, and it was snakes who were holding him now. They coiled around his wrists and ankles, achieving by the sheer weight of numbers what strength would not have allowed them to. Draco hissed at them threateningly, and received a number of hisses back, which might have meant anything. But they didn’t sink their fangs into him, proving that they could at least smell the difference between a vampire and a human.

            “Do you mind, Malfoy?” Harry demanded, sounding haughty. Draco burned to hold Harry trapped against him and see that haughtiness turn into acceptance of his physical power. Thalia, one of the master vampires who had made him, had taught him once that the bite was not the only means of soothing a victim; many humans had an innate longing to be taken care of and looked after. When they found they couldn’t escape, they decided they might as well lie back and enjoy it. It would be my misfortune to have chosen a Long-Desired without a trace of that longing. “I’m trying to negotiate our release here.”

            “But you might insult them!” Draco snapped. “They’re kraits. Famous for being quick to bite, and deadly when they do.”

            “Then that proves I ought not to ignore them,” Harry said, and returned to his hissing. Draco sagged in the grip of his captors, warned, as a lithe body twisted past his ear, that they might take out their anger on Harry instead of him. And it was true that, whilst he was immune to many kinds of poison now, having their fangs enter his bloodstream could still be extremely unpleasant.

            So he had to lie there, helpless and dependent on someone he didn’t trust.

            It was horrible.

            And no, he told a traitorous thought of his, Harry has never felt this way.

*

            Kraits. Well, yes, that does explain some things.

            These were the snakes with the worst case of pride Harry had ever encountered. When he called them vipers, they corrected him and told him they were higher than that. “Cobras” produced only a scornful hiss. And then he insisted that they were brothers, predators traveling the same path, and they brought one that felt about six feet long to coil about his neck and hiss directly into his ear.

            “Foolish leg-owner. We are the kings of pain, the kings of cruelty and death. None can survive our bite. It is more than mere protection for ourselves; it lays even those who might crush us with their bodies, like you, out suffering. And you wish to claim that you are our brother? You smell male, and that is the only seed of your claim that can be admitted as truth. Retract the statement, or we will bite you.”



            “I hunt vampires,” Harry said, “like the one who threw us here.” He had been about to say “like the one who confined you here,” but the kraits might take it badly if he implied they were prisoners. He was probably lucky they had ignored his earlier comment about them serving someone else. “Beasts with fangs, who also cause cruelty and death because they make leg-owners serve them.” The kraits knew about service; he heard a single hiss surge from one end of the pit to the other. “I have killed over a hundred of them. Perhaps I am not your brother, but I am a cousin, at least.”

            The hissing calmed a bit, and the snake around his neck tightened thoughtfully. Harry could still breathe, however, and in fact he was getting more air than he had when some vampires clutched him by the throat in the past. He lay still and waited for them to consider whatever it was they were thinking about.

            “Give us details of your kills,” said the krait around his neck at last, in a bloodthirsty tone.

            Harry smiled. The battle with Caspar’s nest was still fresh in his mind, if only because of all the problems he’d been having with Malfoy. “The last battle was against sixty vampires,” he said. “The most powerful nest leader I’d ever faced. I let him believe that he had conquered me, because nothing is better than lying in wait and forcing your enemy to trip over his own pride.”

            A chorus of rustling laughter answered him. The kraits were exchanging tales, so fast that Harry was having trouble understanding their “dialect” of Parseltongue, which remembered times they had struck from ambush. Some of them under Harry shifted closer, still binding his wrists, but altering their position so that they could listen more easily.

            “He began to drink my blood, thinking that he had enthralled me. The vampires can often hypnotize humans the way that you can hypnotize a bird,” he added. The snake around his neck licked approval up the side of his throat. “And then I summoned a river that rushed through the cavern and obeyed my will to drown them.”



            “What happens when a vampire is drowned?” asked a small krait who was lying on the left side of his arm. Harry could feel its body along one of his major veins, and his eyelids fluttered in response. He had never felt so drugged by danger, so isolated on the crest of a roaring wave of adrenaline.

            “Their body literally tears apart and shreds,” Harry said, “the way a mouse’s body would if you bit into it and tore it apart with your fangs.”

            “Delicious detail,” sighed the small krait.

            “The nest leader survived the onslaught of the water,” Harry continued, “and that meant I had to…”

*

            Draco bared his fangs in agitation. He hated lying here whilst Harry hissed in satisfaction to the kraits. He still couldn’t understand a single word, and Harry still hadn’t offered to turn to him and translate.

            And worse, he was getting hungry.

            The scent of Harry’s body and blood called to him across such a small space that Draco’s fingers were already twitching and his fangs had lengthened in reaction. He was afraid that he would be unable to prevent himself from lunging, against the increased pressure of the snakes’ hold, and biting soon, no matter what.

            Perhaps there’s a small chance I can persuade him rationally, Draco thought, and waited until he heard a pause in the hissing. Maybe the negotiations were over.

            “Harry,” he said quietly. “I might be able to climb out of here, lifting you on my back, if you grant me some blood.”



“I knew you were going to say that, Malfoy,” Harry said, not even bothering to look at him. He was glancing at the snakes around his neck and wrists instead, as if they were human and deserved the blessing of his eye contact. “And the answer is no. You’ve already had far more of me than you should.”

Draco shut his eyes. The rage, the pride, the refusal to accept that his Long-Desired wanted so little to do with him…all of them were encouraging him to simply hurl himself against the snakes and scatter them. He could do that, his pride whispered. He was a vampire, stronger and faster and more magical than any mere wizard. He could do that, and then his fangs would be in Harry’s neck, and everything would be all right.

But the weight of the snakes pressing down on him argued otherwise, and, when he thought about it, so did one of the new instincts that had come to him when he realized that Harry was his Long-Desired.

Is it worth it to permanently alienate him, the way you will if you bite him without his permission? You want to protect him. That means protecting him even from the less important things you do. You want his blood, but it will ensure that he goes mad in his efforts to escape you. That cannot be allowed to happen.

Draco took a deep breath, feeling as if he were choking on patience, and waited until there was another break in the hissing. Harry seemed to have paused in the story or negotiations, whichever it was, that he was offering to the snakes. The kraits shifted rapidly back and forth, and then the bonds on Draco’s limbs abruptly collapsed. Harry sat up, too, rubbing his neck where the snake had squeezed and smiling triumphantly.

“Harry,” Draco said.

A tilt of his head showed he was listening, but that was all. Still, Draco took heart. Harry had his own instincts. If he didn’t, then he would have no reason to listen to Draco at all, or not try to kill him right here and now.

“You have wandless magic strong enough to hurt me if I hurt you,” Draco said. “I know that. Did you know that it’s much easier to shatter a vampire’s fangs than they’d have you believe? Direct the magic against the place where the fangs join the roof of my mouth. That’s all you have to do. Do that if you believe I’ve taken too much blood. I’m only asking for enough to climb out of this pit, and nothing more.”

Harry turned his head and stared at him. Draco felt as if he were growing a bit stronger under his Long-Desired’s attention—and the stare taught him something else. He’d spoken in a hurried manner, trying desperately to get all the words out before Harry could interrupt him. That seemed to impress Harry more than the low, compelling, seductive tone Draco had first thought to use.

“You could be lying, Malfoy,” he said. The distrust leaking away from him made Draco want to sneeze.

“I could be, but I’m not,” he said. He had felt the fragility in his fangs for himself, and he had seen Caspar break someone’s fangs that way, when the vampire had tried to steal his kill.

“Then let me have some proof,” snarled Harry, and raised his hand. The kraits immediately writhed around him in agitation.

“No,” Draco said, and ducked his head out of the way. “I need both my fangs, now and for the future. There’s a limit to how far I’m willing to compromise when I haven’t hurt you.”

A tense silence stretched between them. Draco stared into the darkness, studying the walls of the pit, hoping that he could prove his claims if Harry decided to grant him the blood after all. To his relief, they were old and crumbling stone, probably built at the same time as the rest of the tower. He was convinced this was part of the tower that the Collector had managed to isolate from the rest, at the bottom of an enormously long wizardspace.

            “All right,” Harry said at last, his words sounding as if he’d forced them through an enormous block of phlegm behind his teeth.

            Draco turned to him, his heart contracting faster than it needed to simply to keep his blood from stagnating. “What made you agree?” he whispered, and began to crawl towards Harry across the kraits. They shifted uneasily, but refrained from attacking him.

            “Because I want to hurt you.” Harry’s eyes were wide, exquisite, full of that dark joy Draco had been before. “Because I live for nothing but causing vampires pain, in an attempt to make up for the pain they’ve caused me.” He laughed, and there was nothing sane about the sound. “You must have realized that by now.”

            “I’ve realized it,” Draco said quietly, and arranged himself behind Harry, drawing Harry backwards so that his head rested on Draco’s shoulder. “And I wish there was something I could do to relieve your suffering.”

            Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “Turn back time and give Ginny to me alive. And since all the Time-Turners in Britain were destroyed, and I saw it happen…” He shrugged flippantly.

            “I know,” Draco whispered, stroking his hair away from his neck. He saw the puncture marks he’d caused before; they would always draw his gaze, the same way Harry’s form would have in a room crowded with a hundred mortals. He felt very slow at the moment, very much the opposite of the bright, sharp self that he usually was around Harry. It took him a moment to realize that it was compassion that made the difference. “I know.”

            He sank his fangs into the puncture, and shivered all over as the blood flooded them. Then the blood rose into his body, and he was lost. He circled Harry’s shoulders with his arm, tugging him sideways by instinct, trying to make him as comfortable as possible so that he would have less incentive to break free.

            Almost at once, however, Harry stiffened and gasped. Draco paused in his sucking; the blood pooled beneath his fangs and flowed down onto Harry’s shoulder in consequence. Don’t tell me that I have to keep the bargain and pull out immediately.

            “You—you did something.” Harry’s voice was high and shrill, with fear, Draco realized incredulously. “What did you do? You must have done something!”

            Draco blinked, the sheer strangeness of the declaration bringing him back to rationality. “What’s wrong? If you need me to pull out—”

            And Harry suddenly hissed and straightened, as if he were flinging off a friendly hand that Draco had tried to lay on him. “No,” he said. “I can take whatever you can give me. And I don’t care what you did to your fangs, I’ll continue.”

            Draco might have remained still and tried to question him further, but the permission was too much for him. He moaned and bit down, his free hand cradling Harry’s head and stroking through his hair.

*

            Harry held himself stiff against the bite, though doing so made it hurt more. But that was the problem; he wanted it to hurt. He didn’t want to experience what he first had when Malfoy bit into him.

            Against all his experience, against everything that he knew about himself and believed possible, the bite had injected pleasure.

            It wasn’t the extreme sensation Harry had seen roll through the minds of enthralled humans. It was more like the minor twitches he’d seen when someone naturally immune to the thrall reacted to the venom on the fangs.

            But it was there, a sharp burn that ran down his arms and made him squirm in reaction, his cheeks flushing. He could feel his cock stiffening, which was the first time it’d done so since Ginny’s death without his thinking of her.

            It was—it was—

            He could see why some humans existed who would trade the whole world for a vampire bite. Because the sucking increased in pleasure as Malfoy went on, and Harry felt more and more tense and coiled all the time, as if he were on the verge of an orgasm. But better. Because this feeling simply went on rising and rising, with no crest.

            Malfoy’s hand slid up and down his back, probably trying to soothe him. Heat dragged everywhere he touched, and a perilous twitch, like a gentle brush of a hand that threatened to turn into a tickle.

            “Stop,” Harry whispered at last. He couldn’t take more of this, because he wanted more. He’d already let it go on longer than he should have, lulled away by the warmth in his body from thinking about the monster sucking on his neck.

            Malfoy let him go with a long lick. Harry shuddered, and cried out before he could stop himself. Malfoy paused, and then lowered his head and sniffed close to Harry’s skin, as if he couldn’t believe what he was smelling.

            “That wasn’t a cry of pain,” he said. His voice was deep, rustling like the scales of the snakes around them. He turned Harry to face him, tracing the half-clotted puncture wounds with a finger. Harry had to shut his eyes.

            “You did something to your fangs,” he said when he could talk. “You had to have smeared something on them—performed some spell—”

            “Don’t you think, if that was possible, someone would have done it long ago, to drain you?” whispered Malfoy. “No one else could have you as a Long-Desired, but they could try to spare their lives.” He sounded stunned, and smug, and pleased. “No, I felt an itching in my fangs earlier. I thought the Collector had cast some spell. But now I think it was the venom altering on its own.”

            Harry forced his eyes open. He’d endured seeing Ginny torn apart in front of him. He could endure the betrayal of his own body. “Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. That doesn’t happen.”

            “It might.” Malfoy’s voice was echoing from the pit in a new way, which made Harry wish he’d reached out already to break one of the bastard’s fangs with his magic. “I read about this. The Long-Desired bond asserts itself with new instincts, and it will do anything to come to fruition. Anything, Harry. Including, perhaps, altering my venom to make it acceptable to you. I don’t know if it could do anything about the thrall, but—”

            Harry cut him off brutally. Malfoy’s voice was thick with excitement, and it disgusted him. “The single most effective way for the bond to happen would be if it gave me instincts, too,” he said. “And obviously that hasn’t happened. So the other things can’t be real.”

            Malfoy paused. Then he said gently, “The instincts are in your head, too. The books said that. Why do you think you haven’t killed me yet? Why did you agree to give me your blood when it would have been anathema to you with any other vampire? Why—”

            “You’re lying,” Harry said. Desperation blew through him like a winter wind. “You’re lying.”

            “I’m not.” Malfoy didn’t sound offended, just calm and reasonable, and that was as impossible as the venom changing and the fact that he had pulled back when Harry asked him to and—and all the rest of it, Harry thought, shaking with reaction. “I admit I didn’t tell you about the instincts at first because I wanted them to have a chance to work, to make you easier to seduce. But—”

            “Then I can’t trust you now,” Harry said, and surged to his feet, backing away. The kraits shifted away from his heels. “You’re lying about my having those instincts.”

            “Why would you believe that I’m telling the truth about concealing the truth, but not about this?” Malfoy clucked his tongue, with a hollow sound where it tapped against the fangs. “Why trust me at all?”

            Harry wrapped his arms around his body and turned away. He no longer had an erection, but the fact that he’d had one at all shocked and sickened him. “We won’t speak of this again,” he said.

            “I want you to live,” Malfoy said. “And not only to produce life for me. Because you’re strong—stronger than you think you are. You don’t have to stop living because your lover did.” There was more thickness in his voice for a moment, which sounded like jealousy, but he paused, and it wasn’t there when he went on. “I want to see you laughing again, and about something else other than death. I want to see you in the company of your friends without feeling you have to desert them for a hunt. I want to see you relaxed. I want to see you still employed as an Auror. I—”

            “You don’t,” Harry said. “Beasts don’t want things like that. Vampires can’t want things like that.”

            “I told you,” Malfoy said, and his voice was still soft and gentle, “the bond will do whatever it must to happen. Including softening me towards you. Including making me capable of love.”

            Harry shook his head. “We’re not going to discuss this,” he said, so flatly that Malfoy caught his breath. “Take me up the wall.”

            Malfoy said nothing, but simply crouched like a beast of burden—which is all he’s fit for, Harry thought savagely—and let Harry scramble onto his back. Harry linked his arms together around the vampire’s neck and said, “Climb.”

            “We’ll have to talk about this,” Malfoy said. His voice had too many echoes, of need and happiness and comfort and other things Harry had left behind.

            “Not now,” Harry snapped.

            “Then we should talk about how we’ll defeat the Collector.”

            “Not now.”

            Malfoy climbed in silence. Harry let his head dangle against Malfoy’s back and heard his own heart beating, roaring, filling his ears like the thump of it during the moments of pleasure at Malfoy’s fangs.

            Never had he wished so strongly that that heartbeat had stopped when Ginny’s did.

*

            Purple-er: Oh, yes, they will need to work together more closely—not that Harry accepts it.

            And I’m glad you’re happy!

            Thrnbrooke: Here you are!
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