Title: Companions in the Dark
Author: 
yura_slash
Team: Fanon
Prompt: Death
Wordcount: 4,366
Rating: R
Warnings: vampiric bloodlust, minor character death (of an OMC) implied
Summary: Severus sends Draco to the only place that he can be safe.
Author's Note The Death card portends the destruction of a harmful attitude or belief, which is followed by renewal. I explored this meaning with the support of my Team and beta, Jamie.
Companions in the Dark
"Don't be stupid. You cannot stay here."
Draco, though he struggled to appear strong and unaffected, was shaking slightly, like a dead leaf still attached to its stem by the slightest of fibers, and did not answer.
Severus tried not to be impatient with him. "Draco, snap out of it!" His harsh tones drew Draco's attention to his face, and then to his hands, when he thrust a black, velvet bag towards him. "Here, take this and be gone. Hopefully, it will be enough."
The bag's drawstring was drawn tightly closed, but Draco knew what the bag held, and he put it in his cloak pocket carefully before swaying forward onto the balls of his feet. "Thank you—" It was a ghost of a whisper, but Severus heard it all the same. "Severus, I . . . I can't . . . you . . ." He reached out slightly towards his Godfather's imposing figure, pale hands trembling.
Severus took pity on him, and drew him into a hug. They had not done this since Draco was a boy, too young to understand what was considered courteous, proper behavior. "I will be fine. You, on the other hand, have many trials ahead of you."
"But father—"
"Will not act. I know you hold him in great esteem, but he will not act if the Dark Lord does not allow it."
A sound of distress escaped Draco, his cold face pressed hard against Severus' chest, and then he pushed the taller man away and turned, the better to conceal the emotions roiling inside him. "I understand."
"Will you go now? I've given you the address, and—"
"Yes. I'll be fine. You needed . . ." Here he ripped out a few hairs, face impassive, and pushed them into Severus' nearest hand without meeting his eyes.
Severus held the fine, white-blond strands tightly. "Goodbye, Draco, and good luck."
It was so simple. Too simple, really. The boy drank the murky, foul-smelling potion without a thought, and when his skin began to melt and his body morph, he seemed surprised, but in a dim way.
"What's this, then?"
His plebeian dialect sounded wrong coming from Draco's pert lips.
"Don't ask pointless questions," Severus snapped, thrusting a large garment bag forward into the boy's pale hands.
He told himself that he could do what he was planning, that it would mean nothing to him. The boy was a ruthless killer, like most of the Death Eaters that answered the Dark Lord's call, and just because he looked like . . .
"Take off those rags you're wearing and get dressed. You need to look the part."
Cool gray eyes looked up at him, empty of malice or calculation. "And why do I need to look like Draco Malfoy? The Dark Lord need him for something? Or me? Am I meant to be a spy?" And now his eyes gleamed with anticipation, and Severus felt sick.
"Something like that. Now, if you please . . ."
The boy needed no further prompting. When he was finally dressed in one of Draco's finer robes, Severus beckoned him. "Now, please follow me."
He trailed behind Severus docilely, like a puppy, out of the Potions lab and towards the Dark Lord's chambers. Most of the Dark Lord's followers answered to Severus readily now, just another reminder of the "Great Task" he had completed last year. Only a handful, the Carrows and Bellatrix among them, treated him with disdain, and that only because they wished to be in his place. They wished they had been the ones to . . .
In his mind's eye, an image of Albus falling off the Astronomy Tower surrounded by green light flashed before him, and he repressed a shudder. What he had to do tonight would be no easier, although he could comfort himself with the thought that it was not truly Draco who would be screaming for mercy at the end of his wand.
Draco Apparated to Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a crack!, disturbing a stray cat who'd been stalking a rodent in the bushes.
It was entirely against his instincts, which were telling him to do a runner, but he walked up the dark walk to the front door and rang the bell.
He stood on the stoop for what felt like an eternity, the cold of the night unimportant, and wondered if Severus had sent him to an empty house. Perhaps his information wasn't as up-to-date as he'd—
A loud crash and then a shout emanated from the house. Draco tensed, but when the door was flung wide and a wild-eyed Harry appeared before him, wand at the ready, he did not move. "Hello, Potter."
Green eyes flashed with fury. "What the fuck, Malfoy?" Harry screeched.
A bushy head of hair appeared over Harry's shoulder. "Harry! Be quiet and get him in here, quick! And get his wand!"
Harry was obviously unhappy with that order, but he reached for Draco and pulled him bodily into the house, before slamming the door shut and pressing him against it. The fact that Draco did not struggle against him did not make Harry less rough, and Draco's pockets were searched quickly without regard for what was torn or bruised in the process.
"Where's Ron?" Harry asked urgently, locating Draco's wand and pressing it into Hermione's hands.
"Upstairs. Asleep," she answered, her brown eyes moving over Draco's body quickly. His unMarked arm caused the both of them to pause, and then Harry found the black, velvet bag in Draco's cloak pocket, and he pulled it out quickly.
"What's this, then?" he asked, a sneer marring his features.
"Severus sent me with it. He said you might—"
Harry struck him hard, across the face.
"Harry!" Hermione cried out in surprise.
"Don't say that name to me. Don't you dare. He was a slimy snake," Harry hissed, face so close that spit sprayed Draco's face. "A traitor who deserves nothing but a noose around—"
Draco, despite his earlier resolve to remain impassive, punched Harry square in the nose. Hermione gasped, but moved quickly to catch Harry, who had been knocked back by the force of the blow.
"Fuck you, Potter! You don't know anything about him. He's saved my life by—he's done everything to help your side and you're so stupid you . . . you . . ."
Blood was spilling from Harry's nose, red and sickly sweet, and he was looking up at him from within Hermione's arms, expression fierce. In fact, he had opened his mouth and was saying something, but Draco could not hear him. No, he could not hear him over the rushing in his own ears. The quickening . . .
Panting now, pupils dilated and nostrils flared, he took in the scent of him. Of Harry. It was magnificent. Primal. He noticed, from some far corner of his mind, that Harry and Hermione were looking at him in concern. He raised his own hand to his mouth, Harry's blood had stained his knuckles, and it smelled so good . . .
He could sense their fear. Oh . . . oh that was . . .
His mouth felt weird, tingly almost, and then he was licking his knuckles and humming in pleasure. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
"Incarcerous!"
"Stupify!"
Too enthralled by the taste bursting on his tongue, he did not withstand the double assault.
When Draco came to his senses, it was to find himself sitting upright, bound tightly to a chair in a dark room. Strangely enough, a necklace of garlic was around his neck and a hideous, old House Elf was his only companion. Standing in front of him, arms crossed, it glared at him as if daring him to speak.
Draco struggled for a moment, trying to lower his head despite his neck and forehead being held tightly to the tall chair's back by a rough rope. "What . . ."
The House Elf shook its head, causing its big ears to flop wildly, and Draco decided not to try asking any more questions. Instead, his eyes rolled in their sockets as he looked around the room where he was being held, curious about where he was and who was keeping him. He had the feeling that he had lost some time . . .
His eyes lit on the Black family tree, displayed prominently on a tattered tapestry across the room. Bloody hell! He must be in the Black family house! Grimmauld Place! Potter! What . . . what was happening?! He groaned and let his eyes fall closed, too overwhelmed to try discovering anything further.
But when he closed his eyes, he only realized that his head hurt a great deal, and that the smell of the garlic was making him nauseous for some reason.
"Remus, I said I was sorry! You wanted to help, didn't you?"
Draco's eyes sprung open. Harry! That was Harry's voice coming from another room across the hall! He began to fight against the ropes holding him, vicious in his desire. His need. He needed to be where Harry was—he hungered for it.
"Professor Lupin, we need you now. Urgently."
That the Granger bitch was anywhere near Harry while he was held here? Unacceptable. He began to grunt and groan as he struggled. Sweat was making his skin slippery, and he thought that he just might—
The House Elf was moving towards him now, but Draco ignored him. Useless creatures, House Elves—Ron's voice broke through his mania.
"No, we can't tell you over the Floo, sir. It's too dangerous."
Draco growled, low and feral, and strained harder. His hand was just about to escape his bindings . . .
When the House Elf snapped his fingers, freezing Draco in place. Fucking stupid creature!
"Kreacher will not be letting you escape, Draco Malfoy. Kreacher will not be letting you hurt Master Harry, oh no he won't."
Draco seethed under the paralysis, unable to relax the muscles that had been clenched and strained in his earlier struggle. He wanted to snap that Elf's fucking neck—
"Oh my word! It's Draco Malfoy! And he's . . ."
"Yes, Professor Lupin. We believe that he's a vampire."
When Harry led the way into the drawing room, he wasn't expecting the sight that met his eyes. Malfoy . . . if he could still be called that, was frozen in a rictus of rage. His eyes, almost fully black, stared in the direction of the door, as if he had been waiting for them, or straining to reach them.
Because straining he was. Wet with sweat, fangs fully extended in his gaping mouth, he had been frozen while pulling against his bindings with all his might.
"Oh my word!" Remus exclaimed from behind him. "It's Draco Malfoy! And he's . . ."
Hermione pushed forward, and they all tumbled into the dark drawing room despite their obvious reticence to enter. "Yes, Professor Lupin," she answered matter-of-factly. "We believe that he's a vampire."
They all stared at the pale adolescent, still frozen in the act of straining towards them, for a moment, before Harry looked away. "Kreacher. Unfreeze him, please."
"Master Harry, I is not sure that that is being the best idea . . ."
Harry, Ron, and Remus' wands were extended and aimed in preparation, and Harry was not in the mood to be disobeyed.
"Just do it, Kreacher."
Kreacher sighed in obvious disapproval, but snapped his fingers. And, though they were ready for an attack, Draco immediately sagged in his bindings, eyes closed.
Harry moved forward slightly, in concern. "Malfoy? Are you okay?"
Ron's hand on his shoulder held him back. "Don't get too close, mate. He's a vampire now, and bloody dangerous."
"Harry . . ." Draco whimpered, sounding as if he was in pain.
"Why does he keep calling me that? I don't understand what's got him fixated—"
Remus suddenly stood up straighter, drawing their attention, and they saw that his eyes gleamed. "In the other room, now, I think. I need to ask the three of you a few questions. Without him nearby."
Hermione nodded eagerly and led the way out of the room and across the hall, and Harry found himself hanging back a bit to stare at Draco. His enemy. Turned . . .
"So you're saying that he turned up, without warning, and didn't fight back when you pulled him in and went through his pockets?"
"That's correct, Professor," Hermione answered, as prim and exact as ever.
"Even though you took his wand straight off?"
"Yes."
"And then he said that this . . . diadem?"
"Yes, sir. It was in a small drawstring bag at the time."
"That this diadem was sent with him, from Snape?"
"Yes, and we believe it to be one of the Dark artifacts that we've been searching for. If it is, then it changes everything—"
"He was a traitor, Remus, you know that!" Harry interjected, face red. "I won't believe that that killer, that murderer is trying to help us."
"But Harry," Ron said, looking askance as though ashamed to meet his eyes, "you did say it was one of the H- the pieces that we're looking for, right?"
"I can't be sure of that," Harry snapped, angry at Ron, though he knew he shouldn't be.
"Please control yourselves," Remus reprimanded them, before turning back to Hermione. "So, tell me, what exactly did Draco say about Snape before Harry slapped him?"
Hermione's eyes went unfocused for a moment, as if she could see the scene replayed again just by willing it. "He said—he said that Snape had saved his life somehow, and that Snape had always done everything to help our side . . ."
"He's lying," Harry ground out between clenched teeth.
Remus and Hermione ignored him, though Ron gave him a quick sidelong glance. "And then Harry struck him?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Draco—"
"He punched Harry, sir. But he was so much stronger than we could have expected, and Harry was thrown back into my arms. There was blood . . ."
And here Remus' eyes gleamed. "And then he licked his hand, correct? He tasted Harry's blood?"
"He did. He—"
"He's lying!" Harry exclaimed, interrupting Hermione's nervous recounting of events. "Draco's lying about Snape—he was a traitor!"
"Harry," Hermione said in exasperation. "If the diadem is legitimate, then we have no choice but to believe him."
"It's plausible that Snape has been working for us all along," Remus said, voice ponderous. "But that's not what is important now. We must determine what his purpose was in sending Draco here. And what the diadem means. If it is one of the Dark artifacts that you are searching for, then we," and here he looked at Harry sharply for a moment, "you will have much to think about. And vampires, once they have tasted the blood of their first wizard, do have their uses if bound . . ."
Hermione gasped. "You don't mean—!"
"Yes," Remus answered with grim determination, "a bound vampire can lend magical power to their bonded. Not only that, but the vampire would be forced to keep him safe and alive, for its own sake."
"That's—that's cruel!" she exclaimed, looking away from Remus and to Harry with wide, helpless eyes. "You can't bind him, Harry, you can't! It's beyond slavery. It's—"
Harry, who had been looking back and forth between the two of them in confusion, had had enough. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?!" he roared, standing up and overturning his chair. "Tell me now, or I'll just go in there and drive a stake through the bloody bastard's heart!" His hands were clenched at his side, and he felt the urge to pummel the both of them.
"Calm down, Harry," Ron interjected, voice low and angry, and Harry turned towards him, surprised at his tone. "I'd ask that you not upset Hermione—this ain't her fault."
Harry rolled his eyes, but Ron had managed to dispel the rage boiling inside him. "Whatever," he mumbled, before bending down to set his chair upright.
Remus waited until he was seated to explain his proposal, and when he was done, Harry was grateful for that courtesy.
"So you're saying . . . I have to let him drink my blood?" Harry asked, his voice a feeble warble.
"First we would complete the ritual. Then he would be bound to you, Harry, and unable to cause you or anyone else harm," Remus answered calmly, as if they weren't discussing the vampire in the next room attaching his fangs to Harry's neck.
"Why am I considering this again?"
"Because, Harry, it would give you unbelievable power to have a vampire bound to you," Remus said. "Not only would some of his magical strength transfer to you—and Draco has always been a powerful wizard, whatever you may think—but he would also have to protect you from harm. The ritual makes it impossible for him to sink his teeth into another for sustenance. If he wants to live, and I think he does, then it will have to be by drinking your blood, every few days, and in controlled amounts."
Hermione was shaking her head, expression dark, and Ron was looking back and forth between them, as if worried that he would have to choose a side.
"And if I kill him now?" Harry asked, defiant.
"Then we may destroy the only link between ourselves and Severus, who has provided you with this," Remus raised the diadem, which pulsed with Dark Magic and made Harry feel ill. "It is possible that Severus can help you in the future. Even if it isn't, a vampire at your side, protecting you . . . it is a rare opportunity that you have now, Harry."
Harry looked at the diadem, sparkling in the light from the fire. He knew that it was a Horcrux, despite all of his instincts telling him that it couldn't be so. He wanted Snape to be a lying, dirty traitor who had killed the Headmaster on the Dark Lord's orders, because the alternative was too difficult to fathom: that Dumbledore had wanted to die, was perhaps already dying, because of Gaunt's ring, or because of something that Harry himself had done, in feeding him the poison around the false locket.
But the diadem was a Horcrux, and Snape was apparently on their side, and he had sent Draco here for protection of some sort. Had he foreseen this? That Harry would consider enslaving Draco and bending him to his will? Or would his former professor have thought him too good and too wholesome to do such a thing?
Unfortunately, war made good men do bad things.
He looked up at Remus then, determination shining from his face and making Hermione quail, though he did not notice it. "I'll do it."
"Bloody hell . . ." Draco groaned, coming awake slowly. He was no longer bound to a chair, but was lying on a bed, and he took a moment to stretch his sore muscles before taking stock of his surroundings.
He was in another room that he had never seen before. A dark bedroom, with a small fireplace that glowed dimly, its red-hot embers all that remained of a once burning fire.
He cleared his throat, which felt dry and parched, before attempting to speak. "Hello?" he called out, trying not to sound frightened. He felt so weak . . .
A shadow detached itself from the wall, and Draco felt something in him shiver with fear. "Hello, Draco," Harry's voice seeped across the darkness like a poison.
"What's going on?" Draco asked. "Where am I?" He couldn't remember anything after punching Harry in the entrance hall, except something odd—a taste on his tongue.
Harry's face, red in the glow from the fire, was fierce. "We're still at Grimmauld Place, Draco, and you're mine now. Snape sent you here thinking we'd keep you safe from the Voldemort?"
It was barely a question, but Draco nodded fractionally and tried to answer it. He couldn't even comprehend Harry's earlier statement of ownership. "Severus—they all must think I'm dead now. The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters and my father . . . Severus was going to—" and here he faltered, too weak in body and spirit to continue. He fell back against the cool linens on the bed, which had been turned down for him, though he was not tucked in.
"Well, he'll be surprised when he discovers what we've done. And probably a little angry. But the ritual is complete now, and there's no reversing it," Harry said, a note of smugness in his voice.
Ritual? What ritual? Draco closed his eyes. "I can't deal with this . . . I'm so tired. Please, go away," he moaned piteously.
"Yes, you must be very weak at the moment," Harry said, his voice oddly soothing, but sarcastic at the same time. Draco took comfort from it, though he could not say why. "We had to take a small amount of your blood for the ritual—it was necessary for the binding. But now that that's done, you can't hurt myself or anyone else, and your magic and body will now be at my beck and call. You are, in every sense of the word, mine. And you will no longer be referred to as a Malfoy."
And the unwavering nature of his tone—it made Draco calm even further. This was not so bad, really. He relaxed against the bed and then slowly opened his eyes. Staring at the ceiling, he briefly contemplated what he had just learned. He had been doubtful, when Severus had suggested going to Harry for help, but Harry was fundamentally a Good Person. He would take care of him now that they were somehow bound together. And Draco would need it, because he was afraid. He was afraid of the new, dark nature that tainted him. That made him crave . . .
His eyes moved to look at Harry, who had drawn closer to the bed, and he could sense Harry's heart, which beat steady and powerful in his chest. At the thought of that heart, and the blood that flowed through it, his teeth tingled, and their revealed points bit into his lower lip, but did not pierce it.
"I guess you're thirsty," Harry said, looking down at Draco's fangs, which stood out in sharp relief against his pink lower lip. "Remus said that you would have to feed every few days, and after the ritual you can only feed from me. So . . ."
He sat on the bed beside Draco's recumbent form, and seemed to hesitate for a moment before removing his shirt. The sudden wave of bloodlust that hit Draco from that single action had him sitting up in the space of a second and pulling Harry to him with superhuman strength. "Oh . . ." he moaned, before sinking his teeth into Harry's neck.
The sharp pain of his bite made Harry gasp in surprise, and then Draco pulled him down to lie with him, and the lust that burst through them was as shocking as it was all-encompassing. His tongue moved across Harry's flesh soothingly as he fed, and then his hands. His hands stroked Harry's chest and back in soft, fluttering motions.
Something inside of Draco knew what to do, though he had never before thought of how to feed from someone. He drank deeply, and as he guzzled Harry's blood, he discovered a sort of mental block, that made it impossible for him to consider draining the warm body in his arms completely dry. His mind shied away from the thought the moment that he had it. But why?
Because this was Harry. Harry was his, just as he was Harry's, until the day that they died, together. Whenever that may be.
Draco moaned in pleasure at the thought of being with Harry forever, of drinking this blood and cherishing this body . . . It was so right that not even Harry, who had been so cold to him earlier, could deny it. The way that he groaned and moved in his arms was heaven, and the blood that burst across Draco's tongue and slid down his throat was hot and full of life. Draco had never been more turned on in his life.
"Draco . . . Draco . . . oh please, Draco. Please. . ." Harry gasped, writhing against him, pressing his clothed erection against Draco's hip and humping him wantonly. Magic swirled around them, filling and rejuvenating them. Draco's bite, which contained an aphrodisiac that had come into being long before the science of Potions could create one, caught them up and would not let them go.
Draco groaned again around the flesh in his mouth and began to move against Harry, as well. They thrust like that until they were both hot and sweaty and longing . . .
Draco pulled his mouth from Harry's neck, hunger for blood already sated, and licked the puncture wounds.
"Fuck . . ." Harry hissed, bucking against him, and then Draco knew that he was coming. Could smell his essence the moment it spilled from him.
"Harry," he moaned, and then he was coming, too. He clutched Harry to him, so overwhelmed that it was all he could do not to fall into unconsciousness immediately.
When they had calmed enough to hear over their own breathing, Harry stirred against him. "I didn't know it would be like that," Harry whispered against his neck. "I thought . . . I thought I would own you, and you . . ."
"Whatever that ritual was, we belong to each other now," Draco murmured sleepily. "Now shut up and go to sleep, Potter."
He felt Harry smile against his neck, and then he was dreaming. Dreaming that he could feel someone's arms around him in the dark.