Fic: Love In Lieu, Part 2

[nursedarry]

^o^

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?” Harry asked as Draco followed hot on the heels of his son through the Floo.

Draco stood upright and brushed minute particles of ash from his impeccable robes. He set down Scorpius' suitcase next to the large stone fireplace and watched as Albus led Scorpius through to the sitting room. Draco wondered if he should follow and then thought better of it. He wouldn’t be here long, anyway. “Just making sure Scorpius gets away okay. He might forget something,” he said.

“Sure, Malfoy, whatever,” Harry said and turned back to the teapot into which he had evidently been pouring water before the two Malfoys arrived. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

Draco eyed the kitchen disdainfully. The room was decorated the way he’d expected it —well-worn, gingham everywhere. Farmhouse Shabby is how he’d describe it. The big Aga range was lit and a huge refrigerator stood in the opposite corner. Draco wondered if the ex-Mrs Potter had had a hand in the design or if Harry was trying to decorate the house the way he imagined his parents had when they'd lived here. Since, from what Scorpius had told him, Harry had had to rebuild the entire thing from the ground up, it was unlikely there had been much remaining to work from.

Harry had moved back to Godric’s Hollow following the end of his marriage, as it was only him now that his youngest—girl? boy? Draco couldn’t remember — was away at school. Draco shuddered at the image of how claustrophobic it must get when all the Potter children were here. He felt closed in just standing in the low-ceilinged room with one other person. Draco reckoned his own kitchen was ten times the size of this one, although he couldn’t be sure; he hadn’t set foot in his own kitchen in months.

“No thank you, Potter. Not if you’re making it,” Draco said.

“I’m not going to poison you, you wanker!” Harry almost shouted.

Touchy today, Draco thought. Although Harry had misunderstood his reply to the offer. “I know that, Potty. I just don’t trust you to make it the way I like it.”

“You’re fighting a losing battle, Mr Potter,” Scorpius said as he and Albus entered the kitchen. “He’s so fussy about his food that even Mother gave up instructing the house-elves.”

Draco wasn’t sure about which to be more chagrined — the gentle insult issued by his son, or the wide grin Harry bestowed upon Scorpius following the comment.

Draco sought refuge in an argument. He scowled at both of them for good measure. “I’m not fussy. I just like my food to be cooked properly.”

“Malfoy, I’ve been making cups of tea for thirty-odd years,” Harry said as he put mugs and a sugar bowl on the wooden table that dominated the centre of the room. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the hang of it. Sit down.”

“Actually, Dad, we’re off now.” Albus rounded the table, suitcase in hand, and gave his father a hug. Draco tried not to frown and then hid it completely when Albus turned to him. “Don’t worry, Mr Malfoy, I’ll take good care of Scorpius.”

Draco decided to interpret the statement as it was — hopefully — intended. “See that he doesn’t attract the attention of any other…deviants,” Draco said, choosing his words carefully. Harry appeared to ignore them.

Albus just smirked. Draco knew there was a reason he’d grudgingly accepted Scorpius’ relationship with Albus. The Slytherin Potter was so much more intuitive than his Gryffindor relatives.

Draco shook Scorpius’ hand and then gave his shoulder a quick squeeze with the other arm. “Bon voyage,” he said.

Scorpius turned and smiled at Harry, and Draco noted the stiff nod delivered in return. It looked as though Harry were trying hard to hold something back, but then Draco may have just been imagining things. He turned to look at Potter Jr; Albus’ face remained impassive.

There was a flash of green followed by another. Then he and Harry were alone in the kitchen. The room instantly felt bigger and less friendly.

“Well, Malfoy, if you’re not having any tea, I’ve got to be getting ready to go.” Draco looked around from the Floo, where he’d been staring and worrying over Scorpius’ safety.

“Go? Go where?” Obviously Harry wasn’t aware of the new arrangement. “You’re not going anywhere. Not with Scorpius out there.”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed, splattering hot tea from the teapot he had been clearing off the table. “What are you on about? I have a life, I have a job, and I’m not after your bloody son!”

“So you say,” Draco said sceptically. “You’re not going anywhere, or if you are, I’m coming with you.” He finally acknowledged the cup of tea Harry had poured for him, helping himself to a spoonful of sugar. Maybe if Harry saw that he was trying to play nice, he’d be less hostile to Draco’s orders. “Potter, you tried to molest him in front of witnesses, including his…boyfriend.”

“Malfoy—” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“How do I know you’re not going to Floo straight to Italy?” Draco asked him.

“Malfoy, I am not going to Italy,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “But I am going abroad.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Draco took a sip of tea whilst he made the decision he’d been hoping he’d never have to make. But after reading everything he could about Proxy Vampires, he felt this had been forced upon him. Scorpius meant everything to him. And much as he hated to admit it, Scorpius meant everything to Albus, as well. “Potter, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, but I guess I’m going to have to.” Draco set down his mug and tried to be brave. It never came easy. “You can have my blood.”

“Sorry?” Harry just stared at him like the idiot he was.

“If you’ll leave Scorpius alone, you can have my blood.” Draco looked at the floor.

“What? I mean — why? I don’t want Scorpius.”

But even as he said it, Draco, looking up, could tell he wasn’t being honest, not with Draco and not with himself. Harry’s eyes got misty, his lips were parted — his face had all the hallmarks of the I really, really want that look Draco imagined he himself got whenever he fantasised about showering with most of Puddlemere United.

Harry must have realised how unconvincing he sounded, because he dropped his gaze to the mug in front of Draco.

“Potter, being you, you probably think you’re going to be able to overcome this. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco cut him off. “Hell, even Granger doesn’t think you’re immune to this, and why should you be? This magic is older even than V-Vol-... you know. To a vampire, you’re not The Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One. They’ve seen everything, and all you are is someone who got in the way.” Draco couldn’t tell if he was getting through to Harry, but he kept on nonetheless. “One of these days, you’re going to need...blood. And you’re not putting those — fangs —into my son.”

Harry reflexively reached up to touch his teeth. “They’re not fangs, Malfoy.”

“Not yet,” Draco corrected. “According to this specialist, they develop when you’re ready to feed. And you’ll need access to blood somehow. I’m offering it.”

Harry looked both slightly relieved and a bit of some other emotion Draco couldn’t immediately place. “Malfoy…I don’t know. Despite what you think, I don’t want to hurt you. Or Scorpius. In fact, I think it might be the opposite…”

Draco almost felt sorry for the man. It was clear he didn’t feel at all comfortable discussing either his new affliction or his personal feelings.

“Yes, I gathered that when you tried to kiss me,” Draco said. Feeling sorry for Harry Potter was making him queasy.

“But…I might…you know…try to do that again. Isn’t that what you’re worried about with Scorpius? I’m not sure I can just turn that off. You’ve said so yourself.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Draco said, deciding not to mention that it had taken four people to pull Harry off him the first time. Something stirred deep in his belly.

“I’ve a busy schedule: I’m outside a lot, I travel a lot; I don’t have time for a hanger-on. That’s one reason Ginny and I split up —between her schedule and mine, we never saw one another.”

Your fancying men probably didn’t help, either, Draco thought as he recalled the furore in the Prophet when Potter finally went public with that bit of information. “You’re not leaving my sight, Potter,” he reiterated firmly.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” Harry finally relented. “I just hope you can keep up.”

^o^

And they did go to the Continent, but not in the direction or the fashion of their sons. Harry needed to go to France, where another breeder, one of the main suppliers to students of Beauxbatons, was lending him a male barn owl to act as stud to a number of Harry’s females. Not all magical owls mated for life, and thus proved good stock for breeding, Draco had learned in his first lesson in animal husbandry.

Draco found the entire journey much more enjoyable than he had thought possible. He’d anticipated a jarringly long and nauseating Apparition followed by a tedious meeting of two bird fanciers. Instead, Harry had opted to fly to Brittany. Draco hadn’t been on his broom in years. It was exhilarating and much fun was had reminiscing about their days competing with one another in the air. Of course the trip had to be turned into a challenge, and they probably spent far too long mucking around over the Channel, swooping this way and that, flying so low that their boots skimmed the surface of the water, and getting so wound up doing acrobatics that they both nearly crashed headlong into a British Geological Survey vessel.

Finally arriving in Quimper, Draco went into town to shop for Christmas presents, whilst Harry did business with the breeder. The two men met Draco in town, where they had dinner and a bottle or four of cider, after which Harry and Draco opted to stay at a nearby hotel.

Up until now, Harry hadn’t seemed to be anything more or less than human, and nearly almost tolerable, although Draco suspected the cider had a lot to do with that assessment.

Nevertheless, as much as was possible, he tried to remain alert to any change of mood or behaviour Harry might exhibit. Draco wondered whether Harry might now make a move on him as he had at the party, now that Scorpius was well and truly miles away. But, Hermione had surmised that that had happened because Harry had been overcome by his lust for Scorpius, and when Scorpius had been rendered inaccessible, Harry had simply jumped on the next person nearby.

And it did rather seem as though Harry had a grip on this whole vampire thing. He’d certainly not changed in appearance; he sported no sharpened teeth, and his black-haired, green-eyed reflection was clearly visible in the mirror behind the bar.

He ate and drank, too — but now that Draco thought about it, staring at the cornices on the hotel room ceiling from the comfort of his bed, Harry hadn’t commented on the flavour of either the food or drink. Of course, that could have just been the Translation Spell he was using – Draco noticed that Harry had cast the simplest of spells, one that had probably sufficed for a routine business transaction, but that didn't allow for a language’s nuances and subtleties. Several times through the course of the evening Draco found himself translating for Harry, neither man being sober nor caring enough to manage a more intricate spell.

Regardless, it still didn’t seem like anything he should lose sleep over. Draco fell asleep thinking about devouring crepes.

He awoke being devoured himself.

Harry was lying atop him, fully clothed, mouthing his neck. He writhed over Draco, tangling their limbs and leaving a trail of saliva along Draco’s throat. Draco yelped in surprise, and Harry pressed into him. Draco’s first instinct was to push the other man off him and leap from the bed: so much for considering drunken victims off-limits. Once again Harry was the exception that proved the rule.

Then something made Draco pause. He stopped brooding and actually listened to his body. He felt good. He felt better than good. He felt divine.

Draco hesitantly wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck. That felt amazing. He did it again with the other arm. Better still! He felt Harry lift his head and peer down into his face. Their eyes locked. Achingly slowly, Harry lowered his head and laid the gentlest of kisses on Draco’s mouth. Draco held Harry’s gaze through it. They came together again. And again, each time less gently, each time pressing more of themselves against the other, until finally they were nearly suffocating in their embrace.

“Can I have you?” Harry whispered in between kisses.

“Only if I can have you,” Draco answered without thought.

“Mmm…” Harry hummed. An eternity passed. Then Harry nuzzled Draco’s neck. “Hold on,” he advised, his voice husky and low.

And Draco did—arms tight around Harry’s neck, a leg wrapped around Harry’s hip; Harry lay sprawled between his thighs, arms squeezing him tight.

Draco felt the warm breath, then the sharp teeth, and finally the soft lips as they closed on the tender skin of his throat. And it was as if he exploded into Harry’s mouth.

Now Draco knew he must be dreaming. How else could he explain the heady combination of pain and pleasure he felt as Harry sucked at his flesh? How else could he explain his and Harry’s clothes seemingly melting away as he rolled Harry onto his back? How else could he explain the inexplicable joy he felt as he slid into Harry’s body when Harry had had his fill of his own?

All Draco could think, as he shuddered and poured himself into Harry for a second time, was that he never wanted to wake up.

*

But wake he did, his face turned away from Harry, and holding Harry’s hand. As if on instinct, Draco raised his free hand to his neck and felt the wounds from their first coupling. There were marks, he could feel them.

Draco turned his head and looked at the sleeping man beside him. The white pillowcase was splattered with crimson from when Harry had pulled away, before the action of his withdrawal had stemmed the flow of Draco’s blood.

Draco gently shifted and moved from the bed, padding into the toilet where he glanced into the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, but that was natural for him after a heavy night. He lifted his head and inspected his throat. Nothing. He could see nothing. And yet, when he ran his fingertips over where he knew Harry had bitten him, he could feel two small puncture wounds. He regarded his reflection thoughtfully. After a long moment, he sighed and splashed water onto his face. Things could be worse.

*

Very little was said after Harry woke up. He dressed haphazardly, and Draco had a chance to admire the body he’d briefly possessed the night before. Harry went to his room to wash and mumbled something about wanting to have a regular meal. Draco presumed it was supposed to be a joke, but he was sure Harry saw through his forced smile.

After a quick breakfast and settling their bill, they flew home in silence. The owl Harry had bought was waiting at a window with an apprehensive but hopeful expression. Draco knew just how it felt.

^o^

They made it as far as the kitchen. Draco followed Harry into the room when he went to check Floo messages, and when Harry turned back, Draco was there and found himself trapped between the vampire and the table.

*

“You really are going to need some proper food,” Draco said, trying to adjust his clothing. They’d not removed a stitch, just shoved it aside as necessary.

“I know,” Harry sighed against his neck. “I could eat a horse.”

“Disgusting!” Draco exclaimed.

“Sorry, Muggle phrase.”

“It is almost Christmas, you know. Plenty of good food around this time of year. Do try to get into the festive spirit, or we’ll be permanently stuck in Hallow’s Eve.”

Harry laughed, warm moist breath escaping. Draco held him a little tighter.

“I love Christmas dinner,” Harry said. “I won’t be having it this year since Ginny’s bringing Neville to the Burrow with her. I was invited, but it might be a little weird for everyone, me being there while she's trying to welcome him into the family.” He rolled over and pulled Draco on top of him.

“You could always bring me as your date.”

Harry squeezed him back and laughed raucously. Draco winced and pressed a hand to Harry’s mouth until he realised what he was doing and removed it. He wiped it on Harry’s shirt.

Potter tried to give him a poke in the ribs. With lightning-quick reflexes Draco caught Harry’s wrist in his hand. He pinned it above Harry’s head.

Harry just kept laughing. “You trying to strong-arm me, Malfoy?” Harry wrapped his free arm around Draco’s waist.

Draco trapped Harry’s legs between his, knees digging into the wooden surface of the table. “I could have you on your back in an instant, Golden Boy.”

“Malfoy, I’m already on my back.”

“Just where you belong, Potty. But I’ll admit, there is something rather appealing about the idea of you trussed up like a Christmas turkey.”

Harry bucked his hips and Draco jerked upwards again. “Come on, you can tie me up later. I need to go and sort out that owl before he has his way with all my females.”

“Right, nothing like spoiling the mood,” Draco grumbled and slid off Harry’s body. “I’m going to go and check on the Manor. I’ll be back for lunch.” He reached for the Floo powder, taking the image of Harry lying half-clothed on his kitchen table with him to Wiltshire.

^o^

“Malfoy, what are you doing?”

Several days later, Draco stood amidst the chaos that was Harry’s kitchen. The table was laden with open packets and tins, utensils, bottles, and ingredients. On the cooker, a pan of sprouts was boiling over and the smell of poultry and potatoes wafted through the room.

Draco’s expression changed from one of surprise to one of consternation. “Fuck! What are you doing back so early?” He felt his face go red. Of course, that could have just been from the heat in the room. Draco had been hoping to have the meal done and set out before Harry returned. He’d then be able to tell Harry that he’d had the Malfoy house-elves prepare and deliver their Christmas dinner.

“Are you…are you cooking for me?”

Draco wanted to slap Harry’s lop-sided grin off his face. “No.”

“It looks like you’re cooking me Christmas dinner.”

“I’ve made me Christmas dinner, Harry. You just happened to come home in time to see it.” Draco slammed the lid on the pot of boiling cranberries, just as Harry moved to lift it off.

Harry made a show of sniffing the air and then smirked. “That’s not one of my owls in the oven is it?”

Silently, Draco cursed himself for not have thought of that. “Shut up.”

“Did you do all this yourself? No little house-elves here scurrying around at your beck and call?” Harry leant over and looked under the table. Draco pretended not to look at his arse, instead trying— and failing—to focus his gaze on an errant parsnip which had rolled off the table earlier. Harry spotted and retrieved it. He handed it to Draco. “These are my favourite,” he said, almost whimsically.

“Wonderful. I’ll make sure you get this one which has lain on the floor for the last two hours.” Draco tossed the parsnip onto the worktop and folded his arms across his chest. “Are you going to just stand there for the rest of the evening, or are you going to help? I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.” That last bit just slipped out, but Harry chose to be a good sport and didn’t reply with any scathing remarks.

Instead, he just smiled, set down the two bottles of Muggle wine he held in his hands, and walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

*

The surviving Weasley twin came round to the house in time for the Christmas pudding. He brought with him some sort of powder that not only made the flames on the thing turn various colours, but they also danced so high there was a danger of setting the rafters alight. Draco finally put a stop to the show when Christmas music began blaring from their dessert.

Still, the bottle of pudding wine didn’t go amiss and Draco managed a grudging thank-you toast to their guest. He stopped short of taking a sip when he realised he was thinking of George Weasley as their guest. He, too, was Harry’s guest. But for some time, it hadn’t felt that way. The house felt more like ho—

Draco shook himself.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked. “I’m sure it’s not spelled to turn your lips blue or anything.” Then he paused. “It isn’t, is it?” he asked George.

“No, but that’s a good idea! Might do that with my new range of sugar-free sweets.” The ginger man laughed. "Speaking of funny diets, how are you holding up? Any desire to turn into a bat or drain Malfoy of all of his blood?” George winked at Draco. He pretended not to notice.

Harry laughed. “No. Malfoy’s just here to make sure I don’t go and attack someone while the kids are away. I don’t think I’ll make a very good vampire.”

George re-filled their glasses. “Mum was worried about you, but she understands why you didn’t want to come round this year. But you know you’re always welcome at the Burrow.”
“Says the man who’s avoiding it,” Harry said, smiling.

“I have my own family now,” George said. “I think Mum forgets that sometimes. Especially where I’m concerned. Luckily, Ron loves the attention and stands in to play house with her.” George yawned. “But speaking of playing house, I’d better get back. Angelina volunteered me to dress up as Santa this year for the kids at St Mungo's. And if they’re anything like every other kid in the world, they’ll be up early tomorrow.”

“I think that’s wonderful, George ,” Harry said.

Ugh ,thought Draco. Though he did thank George for the wine and handed him his cloak as he left. It was only afterwards that he realised he was behaving like a house-elf. Or worse, Harry’s spouse.

*

“You didn’t seem to think much of that Santa plan,” Harry said, as he set the glasses and the empty bottle in the sink with the rest of the pudding dishes.

“I’m not sure which idea is worse: being told to dress up like Santa by one's wife, or actually dressing up like Santa,” Draco said.

“What, you never loved someone enough that you’d do anything for them?” Harry followed Draco back through to the sitting room. “Or is it just a question of giving up control? Because I’ve been learning that lesson all my life.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and considered Harry’s words. Even if he had seen the irony, he’d never admit it. Instead, he reached back and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Come on,” Draco growled. “Time to show you who’s boss.”

*


“You’re not going to use that one, are you? I’m almost insulted.” Harry grumbled.

Draco’s indignant reply came from across the room where he was retrieving things from a satchel. “Harry, I wear all the other ones I have.”

“What? Someone like you must have a hundred ties!” Harry said.

“I do have a hundred ties, and I wear them all. Now shut up, or I’ll stick this in your mouth!”

A deafening silence ensued as they both considered that last comment. If it were possible, Draco’s erection became even harder.

“Go ahead, put it on me, then,” Harry whispered and Draco advance on the bed. Leaning over, he somewhat awkwardly and self-consciously tied the piece of silver and green silk over Harry’s eyes.

Despite his whinging, losing the ability to see what Draco would do next certainly had a positive effect on Harry’s body. Draco watched as the other man’s penis filled with blood, the lure of the angry red column of flesh almost compelling him to move closer.

He resisted though, just to see Harry’s reaction. Clearly, Harry would try to anticipate what he would do next and Draco was keen to keep him off-kilter. He climbed from the bed, reached for his wand and pointed it at the door, which opened and then slammed shut at his command. Then he stood as still as he could beside the supine, blindfolded Harry.

“Malfoy,” Harry said directly. “I know you’re here. I can smell you: I can smell your blood, the breath leaving your body, the scent of your hair…” His voice died away and his cock hardened even further. Draco was amazed and flattered that these features about himself, which Harry evidently could sense, would provoke such a response.

Now Draco did lean towards that lovely cock. He blew out a breath over it, and despite how Harry had assured him that he could be sensed so clearly, Harry seemed startled.

So as not to lessen the effect the element of surprise seemed to have had, as far as the attention to Harry’s cock was concerned, Draco swallowed it whole.

Harry thrashed against his bonds, and although Draco was under no illusions about the fact that this man was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, it appeared that all reason had left Harry; he was reduced to reaction. Instead of the ties becoming undone, or objects shooting around the room, Harry seemed to be turning everything inwards.

Sooner than Draco expected, Harry filled his mouth with warm fluid. At the same time, Draco felt a surge of affection flow towards him, just as he felt it flow from him back to Harry.

Draco had already anticipated a night of physical exhaustion. Now it looked as though he’d be enduring emotional exhaustion as well. Never having felt that for positive reasons, Draco welcomed it — just as he welcomed the feeling of Harry’s teeth against his skin soon after he had pushed himself inside the other man.

^o^

“I’m sure they’re both fine. Look, the place is still standing,” Albus quipped as he and Scorpius stepped from the Floo two days later. Their bags appeared behind them in the fireplace and the boys pulled them into the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Please,” Scorpius replied and sat down at the table. Albus began busying himself with the kettle and milk.

CRASH!

A huge thud followed by the sound of something shattering came from above them and the floor shook with the force of it.

“What the fuck—?” Albus dropped the teabag he was holding and dashed from the room, Scorpius right behind him. They flew up the stairs and burst into the master bedroom, which was situated directly above the kitchen.

“Dad! What the hell are you doing? Get off him!” This time it was Scorpius’ turn to shout the order.

Harry and Draco tried to spring apart. Harry's arms were threaded through the sleeves of the bathrobe Draco was wearing. Their hands were clasped together and Harry’s legs were wrapped around Draco's torso.

Of course, trying to break away proved nearly impossible, and both men succeeded only in shuffling from one side of the bed to the other before rolling off it next to the overturned night table and the broken water jug.

They danced about trying to get themselves turned right-side out, Draco pulling the dressing gown closed and Harry pulling the duvet over himself. By now, Albus and Scorpius had had time to compose themselves and stood in the doorway, arms crossed over their chests, twin expressions of disgust and amusement fighting for dominance across their faces.

“A little privacy wouldn’t go amiss, boys!” Draco grumbled. “I don’t waltz in on you two whilst you’re in the middle of…” he trailed off, obviously not wanting to elaborate further.

“Unlike some people,” Albus muttered under his breath. If his father had heard him, or indeed understood the inference, he said nothing. “We didn’t think anyone was home.”

“Clearly,” Draco shouted, stooping to pick up random articles of clothing from the floor.

Harry, bundled in the large duvet, stumbled past them through the doorway and towards the loo. “Can we meet you downstairs, maybe? Put the kettle on, if you don’t mind,” he called.

“Already ahead of you,” Albus said. “And you might like to know, we found the vampire expert from that book. He lives in Italy.”

“What?” Harry turned around so fast, the duvet nearly tripped him.

“A little late,” Draco grumbled.

Scorpius glared at him. “Okay, we’ll just tell him to go back, then. I had invited him to the Manor later this afternoon, but if you’ve got other things to do…”

“Scorpius, that’s enough.”

“Come on, Albus,” Scorpius said and nudged him with his shoulder. “We can have a good gossip about this with everyone else instead.”

The boys were halfway down the stairs before Draco’s angry shouting reached a painful decibel level.

^o^

Everyone was settled into a sitting room in Malfoy Manor. Hermione and Professor Silva-Behann, who was much younger than Draco had envisioned, sat together, deep in conversation. After everyone had been served drinks, the professor cleared his throat.

“I’m very flattered you’d ask me here, and I value the opportunity to study what is a unique…” he looked at Harry, “example of a very rare breed.”

“That’s Potter all over,” Draco quipped.

Everyone in the room “shhh’d” him.

“Tell us, Professor,” Hermione said in her best swotty voice. “Is it true that Proxy Vampires will mimic their sire’s desires in every way?”

“Proxy Vampires will indeed be attracted to the blood of their sire’s favoured type, but they by no means need to follow this instinct for feeding as their sires do. You could have drunk from anyone, Harry — even your own family — which would be completely unacceptable in True Vampires.”

“It’s going to be a completely unacceptable in the case of this vampire, too, proxy or not,” James informed his father.

“But what about sexual attraction?” Albus interjected. “He seemed only to have eyes for Scorpius in the first few days…”

“Which he’s obviously got over now,” Scorpius said with a smirk in his father’s direction. Draco rolled his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Silva-Behann asked.

“We found them…er…together…when we got back from holiday,” Albus continued.

“And?”

“You know,” Hermione elaborated. “Together, together.”

After an awkward silence that seemed to drag on forever, the professor exclaimed, “Ahhh!” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then smiled. “Well, the initial attraction to you, Mr Malfoy,” he indicated Scorpius, “was likely the residual carry-over from his sire, but what gave you the idea it was sexual?"

Harry blushed and stammered. “Um…be-because right after Scorpius was taken out of my grasp, I had a go at Malfoy—er—Draco, and not just for his blood.”

“Harry, explain how this desire for Scorpius manifested itself. Were you drawn to him?”

Harry nodded, frowning.

“Did you truly desire him?”

Harry looked confused. “What do you mean?”

The professor sat forward and placed his teacup on the low table. “I mean, did you need to touch Scorpius in a sexual way?”

“Er…” Harry looked shiftily around the room, but then seemed to brighten. “Uh, I don’t think so. Not sexually, I think. I just wanted to touch his throat, caress his skin, and sink my teeth into his flesh, but nothing…sexual.” Albus and Scorpius had inched closer to each other during Harry’s explanation and Draco tried not to make fists with his hands. The way Harry put it sounded pretty damn sexual to him.

“And you say that you then went for Draco right after that?” The professor asked.

Harry nodded, looking very embarrassed. “Um, yes.”

“And what did you feel then?”

“Nearly the same thing, only it was…” Harry turned his gaze to the ground.

“What?”

Everyone, it seemed, was on tenterhooks. Even Hermione had paused, teacup half-way to her mouth.

Harry turned and locked eyes with Draco. “I did feel desire in a sexual fashion. Lust even. I lost control, and then I don’t remember anything.”

“And since then?”

“I’ve been…uh…feeding from Malfoy…” Harry said very slowly.

“And?” James prompted.

“We’ve been…. We’ve been…”

“They’ve been sleeping together.” Scorpius said.

Devil child, thought Draco unkindly.

“I think I understand now,” Silva-Behann said with a smile. “Harry, you wanted Scorpius’ blood because your sire did. That is all. Yes, his father’s blood is genetically similar, and that would have been one reason why you turned to him when you couldn’t drink from Scorpius. But you wanted Draco for more than that. Your body wasn’t craving Draco’s because your vampiric nature demanded it. You were craving Draco because...well, because I presume you wanted him.”

“What?” everyone in the room shouted at once.

Harry evidently needed more clarification. So did Draco, to be honest, after a bombshell like that. “So, so…there was never a curse or anything? I mean, Malfoy stayed with me here while Scorpius was away to prevent me from going after his son.”

“And did you feel like going after him?” the Professor asked.

“No. Not really,” Harry admitted.
“And did you feed satisfactorily?”

Harry glanced at Draco who couldn’t help but look back. “Er…yes.”

More than satisfactorily, Draco thought.

“And have been feeding regularly since then?”

Draco resisted the urge to shout, Yes, please let’s continue to discuss my sex life in front of our families! at the scholar.

Harry, obviously channelling Draco’s thoughts, just nodded.

The professor sat back with another smile and steepled his fingers. Draco could almost see Hermione with the same expression out of the corner of his eye. “So you thought you’d found a substitute for what you wanted, when what you had was in fact the real thing instead.”

“I was only doing this to protect my son,” Draco said. “At the time, it made perfect sense.” Harry looked up at him with those ridiculous eyes through those equally ridiculous glasses. Then he smiled and Draco knew he was lost. “I won’t deny there was always an attraction,” Draco confessed. “But I thought I’d kept it buried underneath huge amounts of resentment, revulsion, and denial.”

“Don’t forget ridicule, Malfoy,” Hermione added helpfully.

“Shut up.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Nice to know how you really feel.”

“Dad, don’t berate him too much. It sounds as though you had it bad, too.” James surprised everyone with this comment.

Silva-Behann summed up. “Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, there is no curse or hidden agenda with vampires; that’s just a myth. There is an attraction to a physical type or taste of a certain blood. Vampires only crave blood, not affection, or at least not any more than humans do. What you feel for Draco is nothing more than human.”

Every eye in the room was trained on Harry and Draco.

The professor continued. “True, the blood sustains you, Harry, and drinking it from Draco, or indeed anyone genetically related to him, rather than, say, me, for example, could be likened to the difference in taste between filet mignon to my wife’s pot roast. Do you understand? The reason you feel this way for Draco is because you just do. You can use your vampiric nature to rationalise it, though, if that makes you more comfortable.” Silva-Behann’s eyes twinkled not unlike those of another professor they all knew. Draco felt like punching him in the face.

Then he really thought about the words the professor had said. Harry was sleeping with him because he…well, loved him, and Harry’s body was responding to that, not the other way around. He had Draco’s blood and feelings to sustain him as the vampire and human he now was.

Draco glanced up at the people in the room again. They didn’t look disgusted. That was a start, he supposed. He sighed. His mother had always hoped he’d settle down after he and Astoria had split. Draco wasn’t sure this was what Narcissa had had in mind, but at least these people seemed to accept it.

Time would tell.

^o^

“Dad, you’re not putting a Tracking Charm on me, are you? I thought we’d talked about that.” Albus issued a stern warning to his father as he and Scorpius did up their woollen cloaks. The temperature had dropped considerably in the last few days.

“That goes for you, too, Father,” Scorpius echoed.

Harry and Draco were at the kitchen table, an open bottle of wine sitting between them. Both looked up innocently at their offspring.

“We could always come with you,” Draco teased. The boys made faces at the suggestion and protested vociferously. Harry smiled into his glass. “What, Potter? Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

“Malfoy,” he looked over at Draco fondly. “Why would I want to go out on New Year’s Eve to some club filled with raucous music and over-priced cocktails, when I can stay at home with you and drink for free?”


The End