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Dark Lord Rising	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Midsomer Murders or Troy. I make no profit from writing this story. This is a work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Melchior hung around in the Dragon's Lair from time to time. Hanging about really meant hanging about. He would knock, make his presence known and ask for permission to enter. He never turned up directly from battle, and chose his attire with great care. He kept his clothing casual, faded blue jeans and a loose white shirt with long sleeves. Combined with his feathered wings, bewitching eyes and tight bum, it ought to have been a hit. With anyone. It was a strong signal to Draco about the order of the day. Nothing work-related. As in attending his master in Hell or killing someone on Melchior's orders. Casual and laid-back. Informal. Still, there was a tension between them which wouldn't let go. Melchior tried his best to avoid clothing and attitude which could remind Draco of their days at Hogwarts. There was a speck in Draco. A very, very dark speck which refused to give in. And it made Draco keep his distance, it kept him obedient and loyal. It made him drop his pants whenever Melchior snapped his fingers, go down on all fours and let it happen. It was the speck of darkness which enabled Draco to almost switch off his emotions, down to a basic level, and go numb. It was the speck of darkness in which Draco had hidden his fear of Melchior, the endless row of memories of rapes and torture. It was the place where Draco kept the knowledge about Harry, about Draco's death sentence and what it meant. It was the bud which one day would sprout and make him a dark lord. Some time during the last six months, Draco had obviously worked hard with himself not to be carried away. He had a wife, children and a job. He had a kind master ...! Yes 'kind', was the word Draco used in his head. Remember you have a kind master. He had seen other targets and their masters in Elsewhere and understood that the Sparrows were truly among the demon clans to be the most humane. He considered himself extremely lucky. A part of him missed the intimacy with Melchior in which he had wrapped himself in, from the start when things between them had been going well. Then he had accompanied Melchior in battle, and suddenly seen that cold-hearted ferocious side of the eudaimon which Draco had encountered at Hogwarts. Draco had begun to remind himself that he ought not to forget that he was living on borrowed time, that he ought not to get too comfortable in his new life. It could so easily be taken from him. One wrong step, and Melchior could go back to the way he used to be. All of this, Melchior saw in his mind, in this speck of dark which ultimately was Melchior's own creation.

As soon as Melchior had entered the sitting room, Draco had turned to face him. Expectantly, ready to take orders. Remembering himself, he cast his gaze down, reminding himself of his self-made vow to show respect and obedience. "Would you like a cup of tea?" had become Draco's standard question. He spoke quietly, mildly, very aware of the twins who were lying on a thick blanket on the floor of a corner.

"Actually I was hoping you and I could have a cup of coffee together. Perhaps down at the Tea Room in Eoropaidh?" was one of Melchior's standard replies.

"They just woke from their nap. And I should stay at home. In case Hermione needs me when she returns." Draco stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor.

"Of course. Tea, then" Melchior said and smiled. He spoke mildly, sucking in Draco's scent even though they stood a few metres apart.

"I'll put the kettle on ...!" Draco said and walked into the kitchen. Melchior watched the children roll about, chewing away on toys and babbling on their baby-language. They both fixed their gazes on him, as if to say: 'Oh, there's that weird looking man with the fluffy things on his back.' Melchior resisted the impulse to walk over and pick up Ivory, who was his offspring by birth. Draco came out of the kitchen, looking as if he had a purpose. He walked over to Melchior, put his arms around his neck without warning and pressed his lips against Melchior's. It was on impulse, the fearless part of Draco which Melchior admired and longed for. Draco had obviously gotten over himself, and Melchior was pleased with the response. His groin immediately sprang to life by the feel of Draco's body close to his own, and he swung his arms around the blond's narrow waist and squeezed him tight. Breaking off the kiss, Draco's grey-blue eyes, partly shrouded beneath strands of platinum coloured hair, found Melchior's chocolate coloured ones. 'Am I still yours?' they silently asked, as if Draco felt the need to atone for some sort of disobedience. In those grey. glittering eyes, Melchior found something he'd just begun to discover. Draco was struggling with his conscience. He was torn inside, torn by too many things constantly pulling and battling for space in his mind. Hermione, the children. The prophecy, Melchior. His job, work prospects. Lack of enough hours in a day to get things done ...! Harry Potter and Severus Snape. Neville and an unspoken, strong commitment to this tall, handsome classmate of his which insisted so intensely on being his friend all though Draco didn't see how he could possibly deserve such a friendship with Neville. Melchior saw Draco's entire mind for a brief second, and the seemingless endless string of worries and issues parading in there. Draco would keep this up for a few years, then there was going to be a collapse. Despite everything, it would be too much. Melchior leaned in and kissed the blond again. Draco pressed himself closer, accepting the kiss, sneaking the tip of his tongue into his master's mouth. Everything about Draco's behaviour spoke strongly, and Melchior understood that the boy wanted him, wanted to be taken, to have a moment's pleasure where he could forget himself and all of his worries. It struck Melchior that perhaps he ought to be behaving more normally with Draco after all. The thing with the casual appearance and avoiding situations which put Draco in a corner, was perhaps wrong. Made it sent out the wrong signals. Melchior had refused his company for months, thinking it would be best to allow Draco and Hermione privacy to build a relationship. But Draco was desperate for confirmation of his self-worth. Hermione Granger could only give him so much of that. Grazing his conscious mind, Melchior found corroboration of just that. He had focused on giving Draco confirmation of himself through combat training, through one-on-one lessons and in actual battle. And yes, it had boosted his confidence. But there was always a frustration which lingered. Something unfulfilled, something intense and highly sexual, inside this deep, dark speck. And Melchior couldn't deny it. It was his fault. At Hogwarts, time and again he had taught - no drilled into Draco's head - that only his hole was worth something. It would take time to restore Draco's self-image. It was probably permanently damaged.

"I've already told you, my dear: If you want me between your legs in this house – which is your turf – then you must allow it. I cannot initiate anything without your permission."

"Then you have it" Draco said and swallowed. Melchior could feel the heat in that young, lean body build up, feel it grow stronger through the fabric of his clothes. Still, though the words were spoken, Melchior hesitated.

"Why ...?" Draco began, unbuttoning his shirt, "what is it that makes you hesitate? I've lost your favour, haven't I? You've got someone else, someone who's more exciting, right? I'm old news" Draco continued, his voice faltering, brimming with emotions. He finally spoke those words which had been on his mind for some months now.

"No" Melchior said and seized Draco by his waist, drawing him close again, "I kept my distance thinking you and miss Granger needed time. Neither did I expect to be the one to bear your child" the eudaimon said desperately. He crushed his lips unto Draco's tasting those lush lips tainted with the scent of caffe latte, extra sugar extra cream. Draco's favourite cup of muggle coffee on mornings when things were bad. Hermione Granger bad. He was picking up her habits in a surprisingly fast tempo for someone who was born into a hardcore Slytherin family, adding his own twists as well. They both stopped to gaze at baby Ivory who was currently on his stomach, flapping his wings, focusing intensely on stealing his brother's soother which was just beyond reach. One chubby baby hand's length away. Ivory screeched in frustration. Time to get physical. The baby boy with the tiny black feathered wings on his back focused and got up on hands and knees. Finding his balance, he moved forward on pure willpower. Reaching the soother, he grabbed it with a victorious, toothless smile. Without thinking, he sat down and put it in his mouth. Then Hugo caught his attention. His brother had fixed his eyes on the prize and gone for Ivory's baby bottle. Seeing this, Ivory spat the soother out, ready to protect his most beloved treasure. His water bottle. Draco and Melchior watched as epic battle unfolded on the floor. The first of oh so many brotherly quarrels. Melchior smiled, remembering fondly many a similar quarrel over his teenage years with his two brothers. Draco stared at them in more or less shock, wondering if it was normal, since he had grown up as an only child. Draco decided to intervene, setting things right, giving each of the boys their water bottle, hoping it would suffice. Things on the blanket settled down. War was effectively over.

"They're disturbingly bright for someone so young" Melchior said, cupping Draco's chin in his hand.#"And competitive" Draco added, before he leaned in for another kiss.

"Well" Melchior said, pausing in the kiss to say, "Hugo is the brightest and smartest. Ivory is an eudaimon and therefore a brute, relying on muscle and tricks to get his way. I think they'll balance each other out just fine."

"I - I don't think of you as a brute" Draco was quick to reply.

"No" Melchior replied mildly, "but you do think of me as a predator" he continued, moving his hands down to Draco's pants. "Are we still doing this, by the way?"

As if to answer his question, the door bell rang. Someone opened it, and Draco turned his back and quickly did up the buttons of his shirt. It wasn't Hermione. Or any one in particular. That is, it was only Satan. "May I come in?" Satan asked politely.

"Of course. Tea?"

"Thank you." Satan stepped inside the sitting room, glanced at his son and said: "Morning, offspring" before he wandered further into the room.#"Father" Melchior replied, thus acknowledging the sudden change of rank in the Dragon's Lair. He watched as Satan resolutely went over to pick up little Ivory Scorpius Sparrow Malfoy. Suddenly, it itched in Melchior's fingers, wishing he could pull the boy out of those hands. Ivory was happy to be picked up, and put on a big bright smile as he yanked the nearest tendril of hair which was intertwined with trinkets and jewellery. Satan winced and then chuckled heartily. "You're such a dear one, yes you are!" Satan prattled away quietly to the boy, seemingly oblivious to his present company. Melchior watched him quietly, shaking his head at his father. Draco, who leaned against the door frame, couldn't keep from smiling, amazed at the wonder it was to see the world's most dangerous demon cosy-talking with his baby grandson, allowing the child to pull his goatee and yank the golden rink which hung in his earlobe, taking the pain with a smile.

"Is this a social call, Sir?" Malfoy finally got himself to ask once he managed to get past the hilarious picture of the notorious demon.

"Actually, I am here to talk to you both" he said, going from high-pitched smooth baby-talk to adult serious authoritative voice. Draco shut his eyes tight and checked the impulse to double over in laughter. Melchior was too late, and a sneer left his lips. Satan turned calmly towards his son and bestowed upon him a scowl before turning his attention back to Draco. He put Ivory down on the blanket, stuffed the soother into the small mouth and straightened his back to glance at Draco again. The blond had gone to fetch the tea, and the two half-demons ventured into the kitchen, following the scent of freshly brewed tea. "I'm here because of Tom Riddle" Satan began, as he added four teaspoons of sugar to his overly large tea-cup. He then continued to swirl the tea, mingling the sugar. "Twice he has summoned me now."

"Twice?" Melchior replied, sounding concerned.

"He's getting quite anxious to get his hands on our dear young Mr. Malfoy" Satan said with a thoughtful voice, "so anxious in fact that he's less worried about Potter and his whereabouts." Satan glanced up at Draco. "So I struck a deal with him" Satan said, grinning widely at his own ingenuity. "I am going to hand him a Malfoy."

"No way!" Melchior interjected, folding his arms above his chest, seemingly oblivious to his own tea, which lacked anywhere near the same amount of sugar as his father's. Draco wisely held his tongue, and seemed to seek refuge into the refrigerator. "May I remind you of the small but concrete fact that I am Draco's master, and no one else? I get to say what happens to him, and I am certainly not letting that self-mutilated stuck-up half-breed who thinks he's a hot shot dark lord touch my Malfoy!"

"Let's not get carried away ...!" Satan began, obviously trying to calm the suddenly escalating situation down.

"Let's not get carried away?!" Melchior replied, his tone a notch higher than he'd intended. "You can't just waltz in here and make judgements like that over my head!" That brat Riddle is not laying one hand on my Draco!" Melchior growled. He put both elbows demonstratively on the kitchen table, picked up his tea spoon as if it was the hilt of a cutlass and swirled in his tea. An icy silence ensued, broken only by Draco's busy chopping and rummaging around in cabinets.

"I happen to be Satan" Satan continued, as he clasped his fingers carefully together, avoiding cutting himself with his semi-long fingernails. Usually, they would have been at least two inches longer. Because of Draco and the babies, he took the trouble to shorten them somewhat. His tone of voice had hardened now. It was always like this. Of his three sons, Melchior had been the one to oppose him the most, and if there was anyone who was hotheaded, then it was Melchior. He suddenly looked up to gaze at Draco as the blond put two small dessert bowls in front of them on the kitchen table. A familiar scent filled the superior demon's nostrils, and he took his spoon, filled it and stuffed it between his lips. His eyes closed quite involuntarily, and a streak of pleasure wafted across his features and lifted the crease across his forehead, lifted the tense arch of his dark brows. Melchior, perplexed by the reaction of his father, mimicked the movement and took a spoonful as well. Strawberry yoghurt, roasted oatmeal, sliced red grapes, sliced strawberries, banana and a big splash of good old fashioned rum. With a hint of caramel sauce. Satan was in heaven. It was plastered all over his face.The taste of banana and rum brought him right back to his days as a child on the Black Pearl, his father's ship. Such happy days. He sighed deeply, and gazed up at Draco once more. "I love you" he told the Slytherin, flashing a heartfelt and dreamy grin. "Whatever you want, consider it yours!"
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Dark Lord Rising