Title: Good Day To Be Alive
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Draco, Draco/Hermione
Rating: Hard R
Genre: Angst
Length/Word Count: One-shot, around 6,000 words
Warnings: dub-con, blood-play kinda? (vamp!fic)
Summary: Draco receives an invitation that he can't refuse.
Notes: Written for fangirlyness (on LJ) as part of the hpvamp's conversion fic exchange. The original request was Harry/Draco, Draco/Hermione, Someone in the art/story has to wear a Metallica t-shirt. Special Thanks to my beta quite_grey who is awesome and kept me from tearing my hair out and listened to me babble about vampires and Harry Potter for hours at a time. (Additional Notes after the fic)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, and I stole borrowed bits and pieces of different vampire lore for this story. But I'm not making any money! The title and the lyrics that Luna quotes are from the song No Leaf Clover by Metallica.


Good Day to be Alive


Draco Apparated to the coordinates listed on the invitation he was clutching in his right hand, still not sure why he'd decided to show up. There was, of course, the fact he hadn't actually been invited anywhere since holing up in the Manor with his mother five years previous, during the middle of the war. But if Draco was being honest with himself, the truth was he simply couldn't resist the allure of a reunion of the Slug Club, which that fool Slughorn had denied him membership to back at Hogwarts. He hadn't the faintest idea why he'd received the invitation. When it had first arrived, he'd indulged in the thought that perhaps the Malfoy name finally meant something again, but with his father still in Azkaban, and his mother slowly going mad, he'd dismissed the idea almost immediately. Clearly, someone had made a mistake with the guest list, and hopefully it would be to Draco's advantage.

Draco wrinkled his nose and double-checked his invitation to make sure he'd Apparated to the correct coordinates. He'd appeared at the edge of a sprawling, overgrown lawn, at the foot of a pebbled path that led to a large manor set at the top of a small hillside. In the shadows cast by the waxing moon that hung high in the night sky, the manor reminded him of an ancient, hulking monster; the dull, grey stone walls were crawling with green ivy and large evergreens towered over the property. As he turned to get his bearings, Draco discovered a wrought iron gate at his back, more rust than black.

Following the path up to the front door of the dilapidated manor, Draco wondered when his standards had gotten so low. He almost considered Apparating back home, but the memory of his mother's wistful expression as she'd fingered the engraved parchment invitation stopped him; he didn't have to be a master in Occlumency to know she'd been remembering a time when a party wasn't considered a success unless a Malfoy attended. He hadn't been able to deny her soft, "Oh, Draco, why don't you go?" and he couldn't turn back now.

He knocked with the silver-plated door knocker and checked his timepiece, pleased to find that he was fashionably late. The heavy main door creaked ajar to reveal a house-elf wearing a knitted sweater and a matching hat. Draco sneered; the wizarding world had clearly gone downhill while he'd been secluded away at Malfoy Manor. He trod over the house-elf's toes on his way into the foyer.

"Lippy is taking the young sir's cloak," the house-elf said, scrambling to catch up with Draco where he'd halted in front of a set of double oak doors, beyond which could be heard the once-familiar chattering of voices that was sure indication of a party in full swing.

"Keep it close by; I won't be staying long," Draco ordered, twisting his mouth into a cold line of indifference as he slid off his black cloak and threw it at the house-elf. With a nod, it popped out of sight.

As if prompted by the house-elf's disappearance, the two oak doors swung open to a crowded ballroom. Draco tipped up his nose as he walked into the room, noting that several conversations stilled at his entrance; a few witches and wizards eyed him with thinly veiled disgust while others pretended to ignore him, and took up their conversations once more.

Draco realised that his invitation was shaking between his fingers, and he slid the parchment into his pocket. He had every right to be there, he assured himself as he worked his way through the crowd, spotting a house-elf bent beneath a towering tray of various cocktails. He grabbed one and was about to take a sip when his eyes stopped on a head of messy black hair; the wizard turned, as if he could sense Draco staring at him, and Draco gaped, but quickly closed his expression and drew himself up to his full height. He was oddly satisfied by the fact that he still towered over the git, but he couldn't help the way his breath caught in his throat as his old adversary closed the distance between them.

"Potter," Draco spat, tightening his fingers around his glass.

"Malfoy." Potter greeted him with a smile, and Draco shivered despite himself. "So glad you got my invitation."

"I was invited by Professor Slughorn," Draco answered haughtily.

"Technically, I guess." Potter was still smiling and this unnerved Draco more than the nonsense coming out of Potter's mouth. He stepped closer, but Draco stood his ground. "I told him to. I was hoping to draw you out of hiding."

"I'm not hiding," Draco said defiantly. "You're the one who's all but disappeared since…the end of the war."

Potter laughed and moved closer. Draco felt dizzy, like he was beginning to suffocate. "I've been around," Potter said, his breath creeping across Draco's cheek. "Maybe you just haven't been looking in the right places."

"Who said I was looking?" Draco replied, and he smirked as Harry took a step backward.

"New day fills his head with wonder," came a sing-song voice to Draco's left. Momentarily distracted, he turned to look for the source of the strange comment.

"See you later, Malfoy." Potter's voice ghosted past Draco's ear, and Draco jerked his gaze back to where Potter had been standing, but he was gone.

"The barfliedies; they're everywhere. You should be frightened." The sing-song voice had advanced on him, bringing with it a doe-eyed blonde who was standing a bit too close for comfort.

"I'm Luna if you don't remember. Although you used to call me Loony at Hogwarts," the blonde went on dreamily. "I remember you, though. You're Draco Malfoy."

"How observant," Draco responded dryly and began to scan the crowd. Over the dull small-talk of the party, Draco could almost hear his father, drilling him on the importance of connections in the Wizarding World, and though surely no one in that room would want to be connected with the Malfoy name now, Draco couldn't help but look over the crowd with well-trained eyes.

"I wouldn't go looking for him again." Luna—Loony did seem more appropriate, really—broke into Draco's thoughts with yet another cryptic comment.

"What are you dribbling on about?" Draco asked peevishly.

"Harry." Luna was looking up at Draco with very earnest wide eyes. "He's a vampire. If you want to look for someone though, you can help me. I'm trying to find Lars Ulrich."

Draco ignored her, brushing off a bit of stray dust on his sleeve.

"Do you like my shirt?" Luna continued without pause, "I'm hoping it will help convince Lars to talk to me. He's actually seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, even though he's a Muggle. It's fascinating."

Draco spared her shirt a glance; it was black and depicted a graveyard of some sort, the word 'Metallica' spelled out in large letters. "Festive," was all he bothered to say before examining the crowd again.

"Good day to be alive," she sang, then brushed by Draco on her way to God only knew where.

"Good, she's gone." A voice came from the shadows, echoing Draco's thoughts. He whirled around to find Potter standing directly behind him.

"I want to show you something." Potter grabbed Draco's wrist with icy fingers. He wanted to struggle, but Potter tightened his grip; his touch was horribly like Imperio, and all Draco's protests died before they could reach his lips. Potter led Draco through the crowd, which seemed part automatically for them. His glass fell to the floor, forgotten.

They reached the corner of the ballroom. Potter whispered something Draco couldn't quite make out, and a door appeared briefly before sliding open. Potter pushed him through the opening into a shadowy room with buttery candlelight flicking off the stone walls. He heard the door close behind him, and the distinct slide of a lock clicking into place.

Draco gulped and went for his wand.

"You won't be needing that."

Draco's wand flew from his fingers into Potter's open palm; Draco scowled, but his heart was racing. There was a movement on the far side of the room and a woman in a shimmering red gown appeared. Draco's eyes wandered up the flowing skirt that clung to her curves, her willowy, pale arms loose and graceful at her sides, and something inside his chest stirred at the sight...until he got to the woman's long, bushy brown hair.

"Granger," Draco sneered, but she ignored him and stalked further into the room.

"What's he doing here? Harry, this isn't safe."

"Smell him." Potter pressed his chest close to Draco's back, his nose brushing the nape of Draco's neck. "He smells so good. I had to bring him to you."

Potter inhaled sharply, and Draco jumped. He hadn't yet regained his composure before Potter's hands were on his wrists, pinning them to his waist. A thin line of sweat rolled down his spine.

"This is foolish! You never should have left the room. I told you—we don't know what the effects of this potion are going to be."

"I had to…Slughorn wanted us to make an appearance. That was the agreement." Potter sounded dazed, and his grip loosened as his tongue, warm and wet, slid over Draco's skin. Draco yelped and broke free from Potter's weakened grasp, stumbling to the far side of the room as he rubbed the wet spot on his neck.

"Harry," Granger said softly, eyes closed as if she were trying to control herself, "Let him go."

"No, he deserves it, Hermione."

Draco was afraid to speak as he inched his way to the doorway, hoping that by some miracle he could escape, but Granger opened her eyes, and he froze. Both Potter and Granger's eyes were black now, and Draco's own panicked face was reflected in those inhuman, inky mirrors. There was no hint of Granger's earlier disapproval as they both began a predatory journey across the room toward him. Potter's grin turned feral.

Draco made a mad dash to the corner of the room and pounded on the door, his fists echoing the staccato beat of his pulse on the stone. Potter threw back his head and laughed.

"You can't leave unless I open the door. And I've still got something to show you."

"But Granger said—she wants you to let me go," Draco plead. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him around so his back was against the wall, and a tear leaked out of the corner of Draco's eye, trailing down his cheek.

"He's crying," Granger said softly, cocking her head, and heat rose in Draco's face. He reached up to hastily wipe the tear away but Potter seized his wrist, forcing it down by his side, then licked his cheek slowly. Draco cringed, but couldn't struggle as Potter cupped his face, cold fingers caressing his jaw.

"Shhh…" Potter's voice was soothing, and Draco's tears subsided. He trailed his fingers down Draco's chest, the buttons on his dress robes popping open as he went. "He's just scared, Hermione…" Draco's eyes fell closed as Potter's hand reached his waist, his breath hot on Draco's cheek. "Are you scared, Malfoy?"

"What are you going to do to me?" Draco was shivering violently now, his voice somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and he might have been ashamed if Potter's palm didn't feel so cool against his flushed skin, sliding up his chest, pushing his shirt out of the way. Draco's eyes fluttered open and met Granger's; she was rubbing her breasts through the flimsy material of her dress, mimicking Potter's movements. Draco's heart nearly stopped when her tongue caught on the point of a fang as she ran it beneath her teeth.

Harry. He's a Vampire. Sing-song words echoed through Draco's mind as his eyes fell closed again.

"Nothing that you don't want," Potter whispered, and Draco's blood began to descend, following Potter's hand to his groin. "I'm going to kill you now. I'm going to kill you and put an end to your pathetic excuse for a life and you're going to thank me for it."

"What if I don't want to die?" Draco had to fight to breathe past his question as Potter's hands did away with Draco's robes and shirt, leaving him bare-chested and vulnerable. And despite his words, Draco bared his neck, his pulse throbbing dizzingly in his ears.

"He's already pale…so pale. I don't think it will even make a difference." Draco barely registered Granger's voice as teeth scraped over his shoulder. A moan escaped his lips.

"So pale—you do want it, don't you, Draco?" It was a mere whisper, but Draco could hear each syllable perfectly, as if the words were frozen, encased in ice. Time slowed as Draco opened his eyes. His lids were heavy; he could hardly keep them open, and the room was eclipsed by Potter's piercing green eyes.

"Say it," Potter growled, his mouth so close to Draco's that he could feel the words roll off Potter's lips. He was drunk, he must be drunk or dreaming, and he wanted to laugh or grab Potter's head and jam his tongue between those lips whispering the most frightening sweet nothings that he'd ever heard. But he was paralysed, and this was all just an unpleasant dream.

"I…yes…" It wasn't more than a breath coalescing into insubstantial words, but something in his heart longed for Potter's bite and the blood, Draco's blood spilled on the dirty stone floor, over Potter's tongue and his lips and Potter would drink and drink and grow full with his blood, his pure Malfoy blood. "Yes, I want to die."

Potter twisted his fingers in Draco's hair, yanking so hard that his scalp burned. His neck was exposed again, his pulse frantic beneath Potter's teeth, and there was a sharp pinch of pain. His head swam; the world went red, and he could hear screaming, screaming and he didn't know if the screams came from his mouth or his mind. There was just screaming and red and blood spurting from his neck and Potter's mouth clamped down and Draco's blood was flowing, flowing, his life flowing into Potter's and Draco was sure this must be a dream because it was peaceful and right and this, this was why he'd been born.

His heart beat was like a drum, drumming, drumming, the beat growing slower and he knew he was dying. "Oh, God…Oh, God," someone was saying, but he was sure it wasn't him, because this was heaven and hell and too much pleasure to speak; he'd never felt so alive and he was dying, dying, his skin growing numb as he slid down the stone wall, and Potter was still holding him, clutching him and Potter wasn't so cold anymore, but warm and Draco was dying inside that warmth, dying curled up as close to Potter as he could get and he could feel his release, it was coming, coming…

"Harry…it's too much..." Granger's voice was fuzzy and small but she was coming closer, taking away his warmth. Draco tried to reach out for it, to keep it close, but he couldn't move his arms, and he was so cold, so cold without Potter.

Hazily, Draco watched Potter and Granger's blurred silhouettes argue as darkness steadily choked off his gaze, and the floor was too cold, stone, he thought, and then there was Loony again, and he wanted to laugh as she said, Good day to be alive.

Everthing was black.




Draco was numb. He'd expected death to be more painful somehow; with as many times as he'd heard his father threaten it (as well as the many times Draco himself had), death had sounded horrible, much worse than Crucio could ever be. But he felt nothing.

Until someone slapped him.

And slapped him again. Draco wanted to shout that it wouldn't do any good, that he could barely feel his face anyway, but he was gasping for breath and tired, so tired.

"Potter…" Draco croaked, his lips cracking, and someone was shaking him; he tried to reach out for warmth, his fingers curling around something silky, and he felt warm breath against his ear.

"I won't save you," Potter said simply. Draco managed to drag open his bleary eyes, and he saw a dim outline of frizzy hair hovering over him; he realised his fingers were tangled in Granger's dress. Potter was hunched down next to him and he could just make out the sneer on his lips.

"Malfoy," Granger whispered, and he could see brown flecks growing in her black eyes, guilt seeping darkly out from her pupils. She drew a long, sharp fingernail across her pale breast, beads of blood rising in a thin line across her flesh. The scent of copper drifted to his nostrils and he ached for it, his tongue dry, parched.

"Did you really mean what you said to Harry?" she asked softly. He couldn't believe she was asking stupid questions at a time like this. Couldn't he just die in peace? He was so cold. "Do you really want to die?"

He couldn't answer; he could hardly think. Just insane loops of half-formed ideas circling his mind. He wondered if his heart had already stopped beating. He wondered why that idiot girl's voice wouldn't shut up; Good day to be alive, Good day to be alive, Good day to be alive...

"I don't--" he rasped, unable to voice the rest of his answer, but those two words were enough for Granger. She settled herself between his thighs—God, he was going to die with Granger hovering over him? He closed his eyes to block out the sight.

There was pressure behind his head, something warm and wet trickling against his lips and he automatically licked at it; a delicious copper tang filled his mouth. His eyes flew open. Granger was cradling him close to her breast, letting her blood drip into his mouth and he wanted it, wanted blood gushing down his throat, filling his veins; he needed more than this.

"Drink," she said. "Drink—it's the only thing that can save you now."

Draco fastened his lips to her bleeding wound, sucking eagerly. Granger whimpered, and the sound was mixed with Potter's laughter, but it was muffled, unimportant, because her blood was in his belly and he sensed the power of it. He clawed at her sides as his skin erupted in sensation, white heat coursing through him. Granger's hold on his head went slack, but it didn't matter. Thick hunger driving him, Draco shifted, pressing her against the stone floor, sucking, fingers digging into her; a blinding light pierced his eyes and someone screamed.



***



When Draco awoke, his fingers were still twisted in silk, but it was softer than he remembered, and he was wrapped up in it. He yawned, rubbing his eyes before opening them to find himself surrounded by familiar green velvet curtains suspended from four gleaming silver posts. Despite the familiar bedcurtains, though, panic spiked in his chest, and he shot straight up as images from what must have been a nightmare sped dizzyingly through his mind. He could almost smell the dingy stone of the hidden room on his skin and taste blood on his lips…but it couldn't have been real, because he was safely in his bed at the Manor. Home. He fell back against the pillows.

Soon his stomach gave a lurch, and he rolled out of bed, stumbling through the velvet curtains as his stomach heaved again. He was starving, but nauseous, as if he'd had too much to drink. Slipping on the cold tiles, half-bent over and clutching his middle, Draco made his way to the bathroom. He turned the tap and splashed a bit of cold water on his face; the harsh chill stabbed at his senses, but his nausea subsided. He looked up into the mirror, cursing under his breath.

And did a double-take.

"Malfoy."

He spun around. Granger was standing just outside his bathroom, her arms crossed, a curl to her lip. Not caring that he hadn't a stitch of clothing on, Draco stalked across the bathroom, grabbing her throat through the black turtleneck she was wearing.

"You…you did this to me! Cursed me or something—"

Granger raised an eyebrow and with strength he didn't know she possessed, pried his fingers off her clothes and straightened her pullover.

"You asked me to," she said simply, pushing her bushy mane back over her shoulders.

"Well, fix it. Undo it." Draco narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking around the room for his wand before he remembered Potter taking it from him the night before. God, he must have really been drunk.

Granger rolled her eyes and pulled his wand from her back pocket, holding it out to him. He snatched it from her palm and swiftly pointed it at her, searching his mind for the vilest curse he knew.

"You can't hurt me, so just put that down…"

"Not until you fix what you've done."

"I can't fix it, Malfoy," she said, exasperated, "It's not a curse!"

He would hurt her, torture her for playing with him like this, and he summoned all the hate he possessed, remembering his father's lessons on casting Crucio. But just as he was about to speak the curse, his stomach lurched again, and he doubled over, whimpering.

"Malfoy…you need to eat." Granger's voice was compassionate, if grudgingly so, and Draco wanted to sneer, but he was too dizzy, his whole body fighting another round of powerful nausea. He closed his eyes, and a moment later felt a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged off her touch, using all his willpower to straighten up as his wand slipped from his fingers, clattering to the stone floor.

"Get dressed. We're going out."

"I don't need to go out. I'll just call a house-elf."

Granger's face screwed up. "A house-elf? You will not feed off your house-elf! That's vile!" she spluttered.

"What are you talking about?"

Her features softened. "You don't remember, do you?" She took a step forward, brushing a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead, and he winced.

And then he remembered.

He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his neck where Potter had bitten him, had sucked the very blood from his body, but there was no trace of a scar. His eyes lingered on Granger's clothed breast and he remembered the hot taste of her blood; his stomach growled.

"What did you do to me?" he whispered, his eyes wide. Her face was emotionless again.

"Get dressed." She turned and left his bedroom, his door closing with a soft click.



***



Dressed in black slacks and a black button up, Draco tentatively opened his bedroom door, half-hoping that Granger would have given up waiting on him; he'd taken at least a half-hour trying to get his hair right, which was nearly impossible without a reflection in his mirror. To his disappointment, though, she was leaning against the wall across from the doorway of his room. She straightened as soon as their eyes met, then looked him over and gave a nod of approval.

"Your hair might stand out, but I suppose there's nothing to be done about that," she murmured, her own bushy locks now pulled into a low pony-tail at the nape of her neck. Her gaze drifted to the wand clenched in his fist. "You won't need that."

He didn't answer, but tightened his hold on his wand; it was his only comfort at the moment. Granger walked toward the staircase, and despite his desire just to let her go, Draco trailed behind her. He stomach pains had lessoned somewhat, but his gut was still knotted up, even with his attempts to try to get control of himself.

In silence, they made their way down the stairs and through the maze of hallways, and Draco almost asked how she knew her way around his house, but he decided that he'd rather not know. It wasn't until they reached the front door that he opened his mouth to speak.

"My mother…"

Granger turned around, her eyes softening. "She's asleep. I didn't bother her." Draco nodded, and opened the door, taking the lead through the gardens even though he hadn't the faintest idea where they were going.

Once they reached the edge of his property, Granger grabbed his wrist, and Draco tried to yank his arm out of her grasp.

"Relax, Malfoy. I'm just Apparating us to London."

"What's in London?"

Granger gave him a half-smile, but before Draco could demand an answer again, he felt the familiar tugging of Side-Along Apparition. They arrived with a pop in a dirty alleyway. Draco's stomach was clenching painfully now, but he managed to stay upright, grinding his teeth as he again pulled away from her grasp. She let go.

The air was dank after a heavy rainfall. In the dark even the walls looked slimy, and Draco glanced down, wrinkling his nose at the muddy puddle she'd Apparated them into. He stepped away and spelled his boots dry, adding a quick Scourgify for good measure, and caught Granger rolling her eyes out of his peripheral vision.

"You'd better get used to getting dirty, Malfoy," Granger said snidely as she started down the alley. Draco ignored her comment, but stopped her with an unyielding hand on her arm.

"What are we doing here?"

"Hunting. You're hungry aren't you?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yes, but—" Draco was about to argue that it was pointless to travel all the way to London for a simple meal, but he'd forgotten exactly what he'd be feeding on now. A filthy Muggle passed by the entrance to the alleyway and Draco drew his lips into a thin frown, his stomach twisting again. "You mean Muggles right? I'm going to—oh it's sick."

"You'll get used to it," Granger said and resumed her walk down the alleyway. Draco followed after her, jogging to catch up. "You don't have to kill them either. I've found if you just take a little from several—"

"Yeah? Who says?" Draco smirked, taking a step toward her. He was pleased when Granger's gaze faltered and a hint of worry flickered in her eyes. He took another step forward. "You? Are you going to stop me from killing Muggles?" He stifled a laugh.

"Yes," Granger whispered. She was shaking, though it was almost undetectable by the human eye--then Draco realised, he didn't have human eyes; not anymore. But he could almost feel her shaking, as though her trembles were vibrating in the air. A powerful rush coursed through him.

"Really?" He was close now, his voice low and gravelly as his eyes trailed down the column of her neck to where a big, juicy vein was hidden beneath her skin. He licked his lips, remembering the taste of her; his mouth watered. "And why do you think you can stop me?"

"I made you." Her eyes were defiant, flashing with something unrecognisable before going cold. "You can't hurt me. You need me."

He took a step back. "I don't need anyone. Especially not a filthy little Mudblood." He found no satisfaction in her response, though, the way he had during his school years when he used to taunt her incessantly. She'd always bristled with irritation, even when she tried to pretend it didn't matter, but now her lips were curving into a smile.

"You've got Muggle blood in you. My blood, their blood." Granger flung her hand to gesture to the opening at the end of the alley, where the street lay, then turned back to him.

"You're a filthy Mudblood too," she spat and promptly spun, her bushy pony-tail slapping his face. She started off toward the street once more, faster this time, and she didn't look over her shoulder to make sure Draco was coming. He got the distinct impression that she didn't care if he followed or not.

He didn't.

"Good job, that. Managed to tick her off in under five minutes."

Draco, still reeling from Granger's foul words, twisted around to find Potter slinking out from the shadows. His eyes narrowed.

"I bet you wouldn't make it out of your house, but she insisted. Guess I still lost, then."

"I'm a Malfoy."

"You're name doesn't matter now."

"I'm a Malfoy. You can't get away with this!"

"What? Are you going to run to your father? He's in Azkaban, Malfoy. Not even Voldemort cared enough to break him out." Potter pushed away from the wall, striding unhurriedly over to Draco. "Even if he could do something, he'd be disgusted by you. Vampire."

Draco swallowed thickly, not wanting to admit that Potter's words were probably true. His father would be so disappointed in him, bringing this disgrace to their family name.

"Voldemort, though," Potter's tone was amused, and Draco flinched, "he liked Vampires."

"The Dark Lord saw fit to use many dark creatures—"

"The Dark Lord?" Harry interrupted with a snort. "What do you know of the Dark Lord? You hid from him as soon as you fled Hogwarts. You and that filthy traitor, Snape." Harry spat, his saliva tinged red.

"I left Snape," Draco said quietly.

"I guess that's why I didn't find him with you."

"Snape…what did you—" Draco's eyes widened. "Is he like me…us?"

Potter leaned forward, his voice ghosting over Draco's ear. "Hermione wasn't around to save him."

If Draco's heart was still beating, he had a feeling it would be racing right now, but as it was he only felt a cold dread settle deep in his stomach.

"You planned all of this, didn't you? You're mad…twisted." Despite the bitterness in Draco's voice, he shivered as Potter's nose brushed over his neck. Potter was smelling him, and without warning Potter grabbed his hips, pressing him against the wet bricks as Potter growled lowly. Draco was embarrassed when an answering moan echoed from his own throat.

"Yeah—" Potter was unapologetic, forcing a knee between Draco's legs. Draco could feel Potter's erection straining against his thigh, his own cock stirring to life against the insistent pressure of Potter's leg. "Slughorn was easy to convince—I thought you might not show, but I guess the old Slug Club was too much for your ego to resist."

"Mum wanted me to—" Draco panted, arching his hips shamelessly against Potter, his fingers clenching Potter's shoulder.

Potter growled, grinding into Draco. "Stop talking about your mum."

"Yeah—" They fell silent, the only sound between them their grunts and groans; Draco's nails dug into Potter's shoulder, and Potter let out a long hiss. His eyes fluttered shut, his cock pulsing against Potter's thigh, demanding more friction as they bucked up against one another. Somewhere in his head, he thought he'd gone mad, writhing against Potter in a dirty alleyway—it was disgusting. But Draco couldn't push him away, not when he was so close to coming, his skin on fire beneath Potter's forceful grip, the head of his cock sliding with perfect pressure against the fly of his trousers.

Draco forced his eyes open. His gaze caught on the most delicious sight: Potter's pale skin, slick with sweat. Draco ran his tongue beneath his teeth catching it on his fang, and his own blood trickled over his taste buds. He panted, needing more, and without a second thought, sank his teeth into Potter's flesh. Potter hissed again, and Draco felt the familiar sting of Potter's bite, then his mouth was filled with glorious blood; he nearly choked. A blinding light sparked across his vision, and he came hard, thrusting raggedly against Potter as he felt an unmistakable wetness against his thigh.

Draco licked his neck, laving every trace of blood he could find until the wound closed beneath his tongue. He sagged against the bricks then, too tired to let the truth sink in, that he'd just gotten off with Harry bloody Potter.

As his grey eyes met Potter's piercing green ones, Draco blurted, "Would you have killed me? Had Granger not been there?"

Potter took a step back, looking paler than normal in the moonlight in the split second before clouds passed over, bathing the alley in darkness again. He could just make out Potter's smile, though, as Potter ran his fingers carelessly down Draco's chest.

"Well?" Draco demanded when Potter refused to answer; a soft chuckle was Potter's only response. Draco let out a frustrated breath, straightening his clothes and grabbing his wand to Scourgify himself again.

"Go find Hermione."

"Why?" Draco scoffed.

"Because, I'm not going to teach you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Who said I needed to learn? I think I can manage well enough. I certainly knew how to bite you, didn't I?" He smiled a smug little smile as, just for a moment, annoyance flickered across Potter's features. Then Potter's stare was as blank and emotionless as Granger's; Draco wondered if it was a Vampire thing.

"You don't understand, do you?" Potter's lips barely moved, although Draco could sense the pleasure Potter got from toying with him; the power rolled off Potter in waves. "You're hers—you belong to her."

"You're lying," Draco whispered, panic creeping along his arms, sending the pale hairs there standing on end. He shivered.

Potter's smile grew, and he took another step forward, his voice calm and even. "No. You can't resist her call; if you try, you'll grow sick and weak, wither into nothing, saggy, wrinkled, bones pushing through skin—it's really gross—but you'll never die. You need to be near her, especially while you're so…young."

Draco scowled, drawing on every bit of his willpower to hide his growing fright. "I don't believe you. You can't know much—you're young, too."

Potter cocked his head to the side, licking his lips. "My master was old. He taught me well."

"Where is he now?" Draco blurted out, although the terrible glint in Potter's eye gave him a fair idea.

"Dead. I killed him when I was strong enough. He was one of Voldemort's little helpers, like you." Potter took another step forward, but Draco stood his ground, unwilling to be backed up against the slimy wall again. "I made him pay for what he did to Hermione, and if you deny her, I'll make you pay, too."

Draco winced. A deep laugh welled from Potter as he turned and began to walk down the alleyway in the direction that Granger had gone. Draco stood frozen, speechless.

"Why?" Potter was almost to the street when Draco put forth his soft question, and he wondered if Potter could even hear him. But Potter turned around and despite the distance, Draco could see that glint in his eyes.

"If you want to know, you'll know where to find us." And with that Potter turned the corner, leaving Draco in the alleyway, alone again.

--Fin-- Or TBC

Additional Notes: I'm in the process of heavily revising this fic because I have plans to continue this storyline over the next few months and I really want to clean up a lot of problems I had while writing this first part before I continue. Any concrit is most welcome and would be very helpful!







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