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Draco Malfoy & the House of Seraphim	By : KaliDiah Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > General - Misc Views: 20460 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Angel, or Harry Potter or their associated characters, settings, or concepts. They belong to their various creators & distributing agencies, and have only been borrowed for entertainment purposes with no intent to profit.

Chapter List
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Title: Draco Malfoy & the House of Seraphim
Sequence: First in the Dragon's Blood Trilogy
Fandoms: The Potterverse and the Buffyverse
Author: Kali'Diah
E-Mail: kalidiah@gmail.com
Pairing(s): Angel/Spike, Draco/Blaise (male), surprise pairing
Rating: NC-17
Summary: At the close of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy finds himself terribly alone. Abandoned by his parents, he feels he has no one to turn to. A simple wish in front of a simple mirror changes that ... And everything else.
Distribution: If you wish to archive this story, please drop me a line and let me know. Thanks.
Background / Spoilers:
Harry Potter -- Spoilers through Order of the Phoenix, with a slight alternate ending.
Buffy: the Vampire Slayer -- Spoilers through the end of the series.
Angel: the Series -- Major spoilers through Season Five, until the episode " A Hole in the World" (the sarcophagus never arrives, therefore, Fred is not replaced by Illyria). After that, minor spoilers for the rest of the series.
Warnings: Contains content that may be offensive such as M/M sex. For the comfort and convenience of my readers, I have attempted to keep the more graphic sexual depictions confined to their own chapters, which will be marked with a double asterisk (**) in the drop-down menu. Therefore, if you do not wish to read the sex scenes, you can skip over them. In the chapter following, I will summarize anything else important that may have taken place.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, Angel: the Series, or the Harry Potter series. None of their associated characters, settings, or concepts appearing in this story are mine. These belong to their various creators and distributing agencies, and have only been borrowed for entertainment purposes. I am receiving no payment for this work, and have borrowed these characters/situations only out of deep and reverent love for them.

This story started out as an innocent Buffyverse-Meets-Potterverse story. All conspiracy theories and Evil OOC Characters were brought to you by my paranoid beta, Aimee. You can blame her when your favorite character gets horribly maligned.
Special Thanks: If it weren't for two people, this wouldn't BE here. First, I would like to thank Aimee, my beta and Official Harry Potter Consultant. She is just plain ... ravyesque. ~heheheh~ I would also like to thank Sora-chan for her support and inspiration. Remember: SWISH AND FLICK, POINT AND CLICK! You both rock.
AUTHOR’S NOTE – 04/19/11: Wow, it’s been a while. At the writing of this note, it’s been nearly FOUR YEARS since I’ve updated. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologize enough, and though I do have reasons I can’t help but feel they’ll come off as nothing more than poor excuses. Often I have said, “I need to update,” but then something shiny would go past and I’d go traipsing after that. Such is the price of being an Aries. However, just recently I have begun working with my father on an original novel. It has reignited my love of storytelling (it has also made me realize I love commas a bit too much) and I don’t want to leave my readers in a lurch any longer. Besides, you guys loved me before I was famous (I’m not yet, but dammit, I am DETERMINED), so I should treat you with the gratitude you have earned.

As such, I am going through this story and fiddling with things a bit. No major plot points will be changed, but some wording might get reworked and a lotta grammar will be hammer out (boots random comma). Also, formatting will be fixed and made uniform throughout each chapter; please let me know if the new setup works or if I should tweak it some more.

BUT, before I do that I will be uploading a new chapter (though it may be a tad shorter than normal) to tide everyone over. At least I hope it will. I also have a brand spankin’ new email that alerts me on my phone, so I’ll KNOW when someone is trying to catch my ear (because honestly, I have a serious problem with remembering I HAVE email addresses, much less checking them).

On another note, I have lost touch with both my betas (Aimee and Sora), so I’m hoping things won’t get too choppy while I snag a new one. Seriously, if there are any parts that just don’t flow or are confusing, don’t hesitate to tell me. The perfectionist in me will thank you.

AND DAY-UM KALI IS LOVING THE EDITING TOOLS! SCORE!

Draco Malfoy & the House of Seraphim

The Sword that once belonged to Godric Gryffindor hung in Albus Dumbledore’s office. It had not been touched in three years, not since young Harry Potter had used it to defeat Tom Riddle’s basilisk. It was lonely; it had no one but the Sorting Hat to interact with and that was never easy. The Hat had a tendency to rattle on and on about nothing in general. Of course, the fact that no one could really hear the Sword anymore was no help at all.

So, it just hung there on the wall, watching and waiting. Waiting for the young wizard to once again claim it, and use it for what it was meant for: defeating evil. It was good at that, and prided itself on it. And Harry had been just the one to wield its inherent power. No one, other than Godric himself, had been able to do that. But Harry could. He may not have realized it, but the Sword certainly did.

The Sword could also feel the energies of the Universe shifting. It knew that something major was going to happen, and as usual, Harry Potter was going to be in the middle of it. Soon, now, it thought. Soon we will be reunited, and together we will defeat the darkness. Soon.

With an internal sigh, the Sword of Gryffindor waited.
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Draco Malfoy stalked through the stone halls of Hogwarts, barely containing his rage. His face was set in a hard mask of anger, his silvery eyes brewing with a deathly storm. His school robes fluttered around him due to his speed and from his arms swinging violently at his sides, hands clenched into fists. Other students took great care to remove themselves from his path as it was clear he was making allowances for no one. He was not even watching where he was going, and the fact that he had walked this route so many times over the past five years was the only thing keeping him from falling down stairs or careening into walls.

The end of his fifth year was turning out be less celebratory than it should have been. His father, Lucius Malfoy, had somehow escaped from Azkaban (which in truth was no great surprise to anyone, much less Draco). Then with his mother, Narcissa, Lucius had gone missing, apparently forgetting that he had a son. Draco had just spent the last hour and a half in the Headmaster’s office with members of the Ministry of Magic, telling them over and over again that no, he did not know where they were, nor what their plans were. And quite frankly, he just did not care anymore.

As they were not certifiably dead, he still had no access to the family account at Gringott’s. Not that it would matter, as the Ministry had not only seen fit to freeze all the family accounts, but had forbidden him to return to his own damn home over the summer break. Of course, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was more than willing to let Draco stay at the school until they could find somewhere “safe” for him to hide out. It would just be him, Professor Snape, the Headmaster, and the house elves, as everyone else would leave for the summer holiday. Oh, joy, the Slytherin thought. Just what I need.

He finally arrived at the Slytherin dorm entrance and snarled out the password. A tiny and barely-noticeable snake set into a rather ordinary stone in the wall swiveled her head to regard him. With a hiss she seemed to ask him something. He could have sworn the creature looked ... worried. But as he was unable to understand Parseltongue (unlike that blasted Harry Potter), he had no clue what the snake had actually said. He just shook his head at her, feeling somewhat bad for not being able to answer the question, as that was rude. A jackass he may be, but he knew his manners. Even so, the serpent seemed to understand. She nodded twice, returning to her original position, and then the door swung open to allow Draco entrance.

He started for the dorm room he shared with the other fifth-year male students of his house, breezing by the few Slytherins in the common room. However, as he passed the stairwell to the storage room, he made a detour. He had gone up there several times in the past. It was the only place he could let his emotions out without anyone knowing. Far be it from a Malfoy to let anyone know he actually had such frivolous things as feelings. So, as he had done before, he made his way to the dark, dusty storage room, cast a lock charm on the door and a silence charm on the room itself.

Then, he dropped to his knees and screamed his rage, curling his fingers into claws and hunching over as he did so. Once his breath was gone, he sat, wide-eyed and panting. After a few moments of quiet fuming, he jumped to his feet and began to pace like a caged animal ... if a snake could pace. He raked his fingers through his platinum, shoulder-length hair. His blue-grey eyes scanned the room sightlessly, never settling on anything for more than a second.

First and foremost, he was angry. Downright seething. Forgotten. They had just forgotten him! Not even a note to let him know they cared, but just had to leave. He was not expecting them to give him a reason, or tell him where they would be. All they had to do was tell him they were going, and that they loved him. The last person he needed to hear of it from was that addled old kook, Dumbledore.

Anger quickly gave way to insecurity, and in turn to outright fear. What was he going to do now? Yes, he could stay the summer and the next year at the school. But, what then? He would have another summer to worry about. No money, nowhere to go. What would he do? Unless they turned up dead. He was sure the family fortune would be transferred to him ... right? True, he had his own accounts, but they were still under his parents’ control until he was of age, and they would have been barely enough to survive a year on his own anyway.

The anger flared again, and he picked up something from on top of one of the many crates. He could not be sure what it was, but he could tell it was breakable. He threw it against the wall with such force that the shards flew clear to the opposite side of the room. One, however, came at him, and as he stood dumbly, it cut his face. He growled at his stupidity, but it was short-lived.

The sadness barged in, although it was the emotion he tried to avoid the most. Both anger and fear were great motivators when channeled correctly and once under control he could do that with finesse. Sadness, however, was a destroyer. It would drag him down into the quagmire and hold him there, until he gave up trying to escape and just succumbed to the depression. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, using every ounce of his will to squash the growing emotion. He succeeded for the most part, although a small twinge still remained.

He walked over to a dirty mirror to check his face. He shook his head in annoyance at seeing the cut. Stupid git, he thought. He drew his wand from his sleeve and with a sigh cast a quick healing charm. The cut disappeared almost instantly. He then moved closer to the mirror and sighed once again.

He was a Malfoy all right, albeit an abandoned one. The chiseled features were always a dead give-away, as well as the clear eyes. And of course the trademark shock of near-white hair just finished it. He always did his best to keep an air of nobility around him. And it had been frightfully easy to instill fear in most of the other students, regardless of what year they were in. He had perfected his sneer to the point that people would shudder just thinking of it. He was nearly a carbon copy of his father, which pained him even more.

He had received many messages before his parents vanished, each one an attempt to convince him to join He Who Should Not Be Named as a Death Eater (though not one damned one of those letters ever mentioned disappearing off the face of the planet, thanks). He had stalled as long as he could, having no desire to go down that road. He had seen what had it had done to his father, and by association his mother. Where his father had once been a strong, independent, and well-respected man, he had become a slave to the Dark Lord, jumping at his every order. Draco did not want that future. He refused to give up his free will to what seemed to be a madman posing as a wannabe god. Hell, he refused to give up his free will to anyone.

It had been hard to defy his father, knowing that it was a tremendous risk in doing so. Draco was far from stupid. When his parents had fallen off the wizard radar, so to speak, his father became more of a threat to him and he damn well knew it. The Dark Lord’s madness seemed to be contagious the longer one stayed in his employ and Draco had seen hints of it over the winter holidays the past year. He had no doubt that it was only a matter of time before Lucius came looking for his son. Even if he had to drag the boy kicking and screaming, the senior Malfoy would do what he felt necessary to bring his boy to the darkness. Too bad he had already been claimed by the light.

Of course, no one knew of that last part. Not even Dumbledore, who, despite his seeming senility, knew practically every damn thing that occurred, inside Hogwarts and out. Everyone just thought Draco would either remain neutral, maybe even possibly give up wizardry altogether once graduated, or eventually give in to the temptation of evil. But secretly, he had devoted himself to the light, even going so far as to perform a ritual of dedication to Apollo, the Greek god of light and truth.

He absently brought a hand to his chest, where he could feel the lyre pendant that lay hidden beneath his robes. It had given him comfort over the last few months. Every time he touched it, it was as if he could feel the deity's warmth and strength surrounding him. It was one of the few things that had kept him sane. Even so, he was unsure how much longer he would be able to keep up the facade.

The constant pushing from his friends in the Slytherin House was absolutely no help. Most of them were on the path to becoming servants of the Dark Lord themselves and kept pressuring the young wizard to join them. “It’s only natural,” they kept saying. How could he possibly tell them that it wasnot natural in any way, shape, or form? At least not for this Malfoy.

The pressure was becoming unbearable, and he could feel himself starting to crack. He was alone and had no one to confide in. No one would ever understand what he was going through, as if anyone actually wanted to listen in the first place. Gods forbid any of them find out he was not what he pretended to be. Well, not anymore, at least. Granted, he no longer whined as much as he had the first few years at Hogwarts, but he still essentially acted the same. After all, he was Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy family and power. He was strong and confident, and damn it, he did not cry.

Even so, the tears began to well up in his eyes as he still gazed at his reflection. “I wish ...” he began. “All I want is someone who understands what it means to be me. To have been drawn to the dark then brought to the light. To have been abandoned and alone. Someone who got through it, and who can teach me how to. I wish I could have a real family, who just understands.” He gently traced his fingers over his reflection. “That’s all I wish.”

With a final heavy sigh, he removed the enchantments on the room and left. As he did, the mirror glowed slightly and the surface seemed to shimmer and shift. It then showed a murky image of a night-filled alleyway … and two men fighting for their supposed lives.
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To the casual passer-by, it would seem to be a regular fight, perhaps gang related. Even so, no one would dare to stop and help. Gods forbid anyone in Los Angeles, California give a damn about anyone but themselves. Of course, the two men surrounded by the seeming thugs did not seem to mind that no one came to their aid. In fact, they preferred that others kept from interfering.

The smaller of the men was a blur of motion, dodging blows this way in that, and striking at the most unexpected moments. His platinum head danced through the darkness, and his smile beamed brightly. His movements were graceful, one melding into the next flawlessly, as if it had been choreographed months prior. His compact frame seemed to bend and twist in ways that seemed inhuman, but he never once faltered.

His larger and somewhat darker companion was not as quick-footed as his smaller ally was, but he was no less a fighter and just as graceful. The sheer strength behind his movements was devastating. Together they spun about, punching and kicking at their attackers, in perfect time with each other. Almost as if they had been doing it for centuries.

Finally, the blond made it clear that he was done playing. He pulled out a piece of sharpened wood and plunged it in the nearest chest. He was right on the mark, and the vampire exploded in a shower of ash. Before it could settle to the ground, however, the larger warrior had slain two more. In no time, the fight was over, and the two darkly-clad men were covered in vampire remains.

“That,” the blond said, brushing at his coat, “was fun.” His unmistakably British accent bounced about the alley, and it was nearly musical.

“Of course you would find a life or death situation fun, Spike,” the other man replied with a voice that could only be classified as American, though no one region seemed dominant. He ran his hands through his brown hair, groaning at the amount of vampire dust that had gotten stuck there.

“Oh, come off it, Angel. You know you enjoyed it! This beats sitting behind that desk any day!”

The two began to move through the maze of alleys. “Yeah, it has been a while since I’ve really thrown down. Gotta admit, it felt good.”

“See?” the younger vampire said, his crystalline blue eyes dancing in the streetlights. “We need to get you out more often. You’re more fun when you’re kicking ass.”

“You are just ... weird,” Angel teased with a chuckle.

“Yes, I am.” Spike beamed at his Grand-Sire. “I’m also odd, strange, and just a touch wonky.”

This set Angel to laughing heartily. He sobered some before saying, “You ever notice we only get along when we’re fighting demons?”

“That’s because we have other people to focus our aggressions on.”

Angel looked at his brat of a Grand-Childe with wonder. “Why, I do believe you are right. Wow, maybe they were wrong, and you didn’t fry every last brain cell with all the bleach in your hair.”

“ ‘They’ who?!” Spike demanded indignantly. Angel could only laugh again. Nevertheless, Spike continued. “I’ll tell you, it takes a lot to pull this look off!” He turned to a trash pile against one of the walls and pretended to fix his hair in an old mirror. “Though, I’m sure you can imagine how difficult it is, not having a reflection an’ all.”

“Me? Oh, no, not at all.” Joking sarcasm laced every word. Even so, he stepped directly behind the smaller vampire and peered into the mirror.

Spike sighed. “You know, all your ... well, our ... friends, they don’t understand. They don’t know what it’s like to live in the world ...”

“Yet forever be apart from it,” the dark vampire finished. “I know. Makes it hard as hell to just exist some days.”

“Yeah.” Spike contemplated his non-reflection again. “They don’t know what it’s like to live with what we’ve done. They think, oh, they have souls now, so everything’s all right. Well, it ain’t. Hurts like bloody hell, it does.”

Angel felt the sudden need to wrap his arms protectively around his Grand-Childe. He knew it was his demon instinct, and his soul recoiled at the thought. But, amazingly, the demon won. Slowly, he draped his left arm across the younger man’s collarbone and snaked his right arm around his slender waist. “I know, William,” he crooned softly. “Believe me, I know.”

Spike leaned back into the unexpected embrace. Though he was surprised at the sudden compassionate display by his estranged elder, he was not about to ruin it. It had been a long time since he was the one being comforted, and not the one doing the comforting. His left hand hooked onto the arm across his chest, and his right hand entwined with the hand on his left hip. This was nice. Very missed, and very nice. “I wish there was someone else, you know? Someone else who knew. Looked evil in the eye, felt the pull, but stared it down and said ‘no’.”

“A kindred spirit?” Angel murmured playfully.

Spike chuckled. “Maybe. More like ... family. I miss family, ‘Gelus.”

Angel pulled away from Spike and began to walk away. “I’m not that person,” he said, slightly angered.

Spike whimpered at the sudden loss, and looked back at the mirror. “I ... I just wish ... Damn!” He then ran after his Grand-Sire. This was turning out to be a sucky night.
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Draco Malfoy & the House of Seraphim