A Different Kind Of Hero

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This IS a Harry Potter fanfic, although you don’t see a canon character for a few pages. The introductory chapter was largely (VERY largely) inspired by the prologue of Undead and Unemployed by Mary Janice Davidson, an awesome book I recommend to all vampire lovers.

CHAPTER ONE: Prologue

The wreck was baffling. The car in question had crashed into a telephone booth at a very slow speed beside an old alley. A large object hit it from above, collapsing the top of the car. Moments later, the car sustained a heavy blow on the side that forced the compact to roll. The source of these damages could not be located, though the driver claims she crashed into the booth while yawning.

The driver, a sixty-two-year-old Caucasian nurse by the name of Mary Sue McDonald, was found waiting beside the demolished vehicle with minor injuries. McDonald denied the offer of hospital care and consented to be taken to the precinct for an interview. The interview was conducted by detective Conner Wilcox.

The driver was proven to be free of drugs and other mind-impairing substances prior to the interview.

“Okay, the tape recorder’s going.” Wilcox tapped the black case and set it on the table, surveying the woman sitting at the other end of the table. Her hair was blond with a bit of gray and bound in a tight bun. She wore revolting purple pants under a crisp pink shirt with purple flowers, her nurse outfit that she had been wearing during the time of the wreck. There were several bloodstains on her legs, but the woman still went on strong. Her lips were pulled tight as she glared silently at Wilcox behind bifocal glasses. “Before we get started, would you like a drink? Tea or coffee?”

Mrs. McDonald narrowed her owlish eyes at the young yet balding man in front of her, who was dressed in a clean gray suit. “No thank you, Detective, I gave up caffeine years ago.”

“But you’ve had such a rough evening,” Wilcox pressed. His voice was rather grunt-like, matching his large and stubble-ridden chin. “Are you sure you don’t want something to calm your nerves? We do have decaf.” Mary Sue McDonald scowled deeply and wrinkled a twitchy nose at him.

“When I say no, I mean ‘no’ and you’d best listen the first time!” Wilcox’s eyes darkened for a moment, but the stubborn woman was only given a tense smile in response.

“Alright, no drinks then.” The man’s beady eyes took a swift glance at tape recorder. “Now, if you’d kindly retell the events of this evening?”

The woman gave a barking laugh, leaning towards the detective with a mad glint in her eyes. “Well, I did hear they’re having one hell of a storm off in India,” she whispered conspiratorially. “And I had a mighty interesting night at work. There was this fellow in emergency care who’d swallowed a dozen metal nail files; what he was thinking, I’ll never know.”

Wilcox’s beefy fingers clenched into fists. He knew he’d been challenged, but he dared not bother the woman who’d come on her own volition. “Mrs. McDonald, I meant the events that led you into this room.” This only delighted the woman more; she clapped twice and leaned back in her cheap metal chair with a great wicked grin.

“That’s more like it; specifics!” she chuckled. “I won’t answer to a man who can’t even ask the right question.”

“Mrs. McDonald,” Wilcox hissed. “The events. Please.”

“Don’t rush me!” the woman snapped.

I always work really late evenings, you see, since I’m a nurse. This was a particularly late night. That man, the one who’d gone and swallowed a dozen nail files? He kept us busy until about eleven. I normally go to bed at ten, you see; so, when I got ready to get set to go home, I was dead on my feet with exhaustion. There was a rather long light near 7th street where I nearly fell asleep at the wheel… It was about two blocks later that I crashed into the phone booth.

“What made you crash into the phone booth?” Wilcox interrupted, stroking his thick, whiskery chin with his large hands.

“I’m getting there, you impudent old prune! Do you think rushing me is going to do you any good?” Mrs. McDonald admonished, swelling menacingly within her flowery purple nurse uniform, gray eyes flashing. “Whoever thought you were fit to do these interrogations- sorry, interviews- must have been having delusions about your adequacy!” A muscle jumped in Wilcox’s stubble-ridden cheek. The woman smirked and leaned back in her seat, diminishing again to a regular old lady.

“Questionings,” Wilcox rumbled. Mrs. McDonald’s face fell slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“Questionings,” Wilcox repeated. “Not interviews. Not interrogations. Questionings.” Mrs. McDonald bit her tongue and glared at the man. His lips twitched into a smile; he’d taken control of the conversation. “Please continue.”

“Alright,” McDonald grunted.

I crashed because I yawned, simple enough. I yawned at the wrong time. I took my hands off the wheel on accident. My car hasn’t had an alignment in years. It swerved straight into that damn booth.

McDonald fell silent.

“That must have been terrifying,” Wilcox said stiffly, more for the purpose of encouraging her to go on then to actually comfort her. McDonald glowered at the man without any pretence of liking.

“Of course it was. How could it not be? I got knocked face first into my steering wheel!” Wilcox sank into his chair, his face bearing the expression of a man slapped by his wife. “And that little car was cramped enough before it smashed in on itself. I had to cut the damn airbag open with a knife just to make it stop suffocating me. Yes, it was terrifying!”

She fell silent once more, smoothing her purple pants and allowing Wilcox enough calm to sit upright. A blond hair fell out of her bun and into her face, but she did nothing to remove it. Conner Wilcox leaned forward, watching the nurse’s face. “I was under the impression that the initial collision only damaged your car’s bonnet,” the detective pondered suspiciously. “What hit you from above and how did your vehicle end up on its side?”

McDonald’s eyes brightened and she mimed a clap of glee. An opening had been spotted. “If you would shut your yapper and let me decide on the best way to put it, you might actually hear those answers before Christmas!” she laughed wickedly. Wilcox ground his yellowed teeth and said nothing. A few seconds passed where the sound of the tape recorder seemed loud enough to overcome internal monologue. “There’s a good lad.” To Wilcox’s immense relief (as well as surprise), Mary Sue continued her tale.

I was mighty shocked when I crashed into that horribly placed phone booth. I was also mighty tired, and as soon as I got the airbag out of my face I wanted to say, “To hell with reporting this!” and go to sleep there and then. I did just that.

“You went to sleep inside your car while it was still grinding into the phone booth? Do you take any sleep medications?” Conner asked quickly.

“Do I look like a tweaker?” McDonald sniped. “I had a bad day, and I was tired, so I went to sleep! I didn’t flee the crime scene or anything!” Wilcox subsided, but Mary Sue McDonald was still glowering at his balding head through her bifocals.

To the detective’s immense annoyance, she stopped talking once more. Not wanting to push things, Wilcox stared at the spinning tape recorder, tapping his beefy fingers on the crisp gray desk. The woman still stared at him with annoyance. “Would you like something to drink?” the man eventually asked again, his voice level.

The woman’s thin lips twitched into a smile. “Why yes, I would like some lemon soda and whiskey,” she requested waspishly. Wilcox proceeded to bite his lip and snarl quietly, shoulder shaking slightly with masked restraint.

“Madame,” he bit out, “You came here to report some suspicious behavior and a car accident. Even considering your tale so far, I’ve began to… suspect that allowing you into this building was an accident. Do not waste my time. I want to go to bed tonight just as much as you do.” The blond sobered.

“I’ve just been having an internal struggle,” the woman stated. “I’m not certain I should tell you anything at all. I was threatened, you see, and if I keep my mouth shut I might never see the consequences.” Wilcox’s shoulders froze in place, though his face went slack and his fists unclenched.

“Threatened? By a telephone booth?” Wilcox asked incredulously. McDonald’s rosy cheeks puffed.

“No, you dunce! By the wizard-vampires!”

Neither moved in the long silence that followed.

“Wizard-vampires,” Conner numbly repeated, eying the woman as if she’d gone mad.

“Wizard-vampires,” Mary Sue reassured him. “I’m not on drugs, and I’m not nutters. They’re the ones doing the suspicious behavior, they’re the ones who threatened me, and they’re the reason my car is still upside down with a boulder-sized dent on the top.”

“Are you really…?” Conner laughed, trailing off, shaking his head, completely dumbfounded.

“Serious? Yes! And I would explain, if you’d stop interrupting!” Mrs. McDonald fumed. “I’ve already said enough to put me in the asylum, so I might as well finish the bloody story, if only just to make you stop asking!” Still shaking his head and staring at the woman, Conner Wilcox nodded and allowed her to continue.

I woke up at about four in the morning- a bit surprising, considering the traffic and how unlikely it is that nobody would pull over to see the wreck. Before you ask- don’t look at me like that! I knew it was four because I have a watch. I was still miffed and annoyed, but I figured I’d dilly-dallied enough. I was going to get out of the car and find a working phone, but then I saw… them.

“Them?” Wilcox pressed.

“Well, her, actually,” McDonald corrected herself, eyes turned to the side and gazing at nothing through bifocal lenses as she thought. “I only saw one to begin with, then I saw the other two.”

The one I saw first was a little girl; at least, that’s what she looked like. I saw her out my right window. She was standing on top of that old broken-down church.

“Could you describe her?” Wilcox pressed, glancing meaningfully at the tape recorder. Mary Sue bit her thin lip, smearing her pale pink lipstick.

“Of course. I don‘t think I‘ll ever forget any of them.”

This girl was thin, black, and she dyed her hair bright orange. Long hair, by the way, very long, and it must have been straightened. She looked to be about the age nine. Oh, but you should have seen her eyes, she had these great orange eyes, with cat-like slit pupils, and they glowed in the dark; I knew right away that she couldn’t be human. She was dressed up in the funniest clothes I’d ever seen. One shoe was yellow, huge, maybe ten sizes too big. I think it was her left… No, it was her right. She had a big yellow T-shirt over orange running shorts.

“Any identifiable marks?” Wilcox asked slowly. His expression had worn from anger to shocked disbelief to polite interest.

Mrs. McDonald leaned back in her hard metal chair, crossing her pink flowery arms in thought. “Well, there wasn’t any logo to be seen on her shirt, but damn if the orange hair and freaky eyes aren’t identifiable.” Wilcox frowned to himself for a moment before peering back up at her.

“And what was she doing on the roof?”

“Staring.”

“At what?”

“Me.”

She just kept staring at me for the longest time. She was such a funny sight to see, I couldn’t help it but stare back. When she looked away, I just about fainted, because I hadn’t been breathing. I don’t know if that was her doing or mine, but it wasn’t pleasant. It took me a minute to catch my breath again before I looked up and saw what had distracted her.

A couple boys had walked out from the alley between the church and the house next to it. I say boys… No, they were just as human as she was, and they were much older by appearance. They were holding hands like any couple would.

“Description?” Wilcox repeated. Mary Sue shook out of her spacey storytelling zone and glared at him.

“They were both whiter than the moon,” Mrs. McDonald swore. “They were about seventeen, I’d say. They did a lot of laughing, and I was close enough to see they had fangs. One of them was a wiry little thing with pretty black hair and big bottle-green eyes. He wore…” The woman’s eyes glazed over as she tried to recall correctly. “He wore black pants, a green shirt, and this fancy black robe with green cuffs.”

“Was this a bathrobe?” Wilcox questioned, watching Mary Sue’s face.

She shook her head. “No, silk or something like it. It was the kind you’d see a kid wear on Halloween, but it wasn’t paper-thin, and it looked like he’d been wearing it a lot.”

“And the other boy?”

“He was taller.” Mary reflectively tapped her long nails on the table. “Platinum blond hair. And he had class, he had style. He wore all them tight black clothes with fancy silver snake patterns. Lots of silver jewelry, mostly snakes and skulls. His robe was definitely ten steps beyond your Halloween costumes; it almost looked like a black kimono that hadn’t been tied shut.” After a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. McDonald leaned toward Conner Wilcox, letting him see her serious expression. “The silver dragons were moving.”

Detective Wilcox stared at her blankly for a moment, cleaned his ear with a finger, and asked, “Pardon?”

“The patterns on his clothes were moving,” McDonald repeated. “It wasn’t just moving cloth. There were two silver dragons on his black robe, and they were chasing each other around his body. It was like watching kittens play.”

Utterly flabbergasted, Wilcox slumped in his chair, staring at the woman’s face. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious! I told you, they weren’t human!”

“Did their clothes lead you to believe they were… wizard-vampires?” Wilcox demanded, sitting upright one more and frowning his stubbled chin at the woman. “Perhaps his robes were made of some fancy holographic fabric? I heard they were working on something like that.”

“No,” McDonald cut in. “No, I also thought it was a fancy holographic fabric. I didn’t think they were human, but the fabric didn’t phase me too much at the time. It was the things they said and did.”

The balding Wilcox quickly glanced at some papers that he pulled from a folder on top of the table. “Did they have any distinguishing marks aside from their clothes?”

“As a matter of fact, yes!” Mary Sue blurted excitedly, her eyes lighting up. A bit of graying blond hair fell from her bun and gave her a truly wild look. “The one with green eyes had a scar on his forehead, shaped a bit like a lightning bolt.” Wilcox frowned, pulled a pen from his pocket, and wrote something on his paper.

“And the other man?”

“He had a tattoo on his forearm,” Mrs. McDonald continued. “Actually, they both had the same tattoo. It was black, shaped rather like a skull with a noodle coming out of its mouth… or perhaps it was a snake? I didn’t see it very clearly, I only got to see them when they took their robes off later.”

Wilcox began to chew at the tip of his pen. “How old did these tattoos look?”

“Almost brand new. The lines were still crispy and clean. Why, does that matter?”

“It might be possible to ask around local tattoo parlors to identify them,” Wilcox nodded. “Assuming that they need identified at all. You’re getting so riled! I’m making some decaf, whether you like it or not.” He slid his chair back and marched purposefully toward the machine in the corner of the room. Mrs. McDonald watched every fold of his gray suit as he grabbed a cup and prepared the machine. “Do continue. As long as the tape hears you the first time, I don’t need to.” McDonald nodded complacently.

The boys were about twenty feet away from me when they stopped and leaned on the church fence for a breather. I stayed still in my car; for some reason, I really didn’t want them to notice me the way the girl on the roof did. They didn’t seem to notice her either. It was especially obvious when she called out, “Have you found her yet?”

“I assume she had a human voice?” Detective Wilcox chuckled to himself, banging on the coffee machine that was taking too long.

“No,” McDonald groaned. “She had a parrot voice. Of course she sounded human! I’m under the impression that most real monsters do. Anyway, she yelled out, ‘have you found her yet?’ and all hell broke loose.”

Her yelling caught the boys by surprise. The blond kid jumped a mile high. He didn’t like the surprise. He yanked this wonky magic wand out of his-

“Magic wand?” Wilcox chuckled.

“A stick,” McDonald sniffed with annoyance. “Just a stick with a handle. The kind fairy tale witches and fairies use to channel their powers and use magic with.”

The blond guy pulled a stick out of a pocket in his cloak, pointed it at the girl on the roof, shouted something I didn’t quite make out, and she got hurt. Fine, I’ll clarify! He cursed her. He said some sort of spell and it hurt her. I couldn’t see exactly how he’d done it, but he was torturing her from the ground while she was on the roof. She started twitching and screaming, and damn if I wasn’t scared out of my mind.

“How…?” Wilcox began to ask.

“I don’t know,” McDonald repeated. Her gray eyebrows were drawn with stress; it was clear that she, too, thought this part of the tale was sheer madness. “I don’t know. All I can think of is magic wands and curses. She was hollering and thrashing like she was on fire, but I couldn‘t see anything physically hurting her.” Wilcox studied her face with an unreadable expression on his.

“You do realize this is completely insane?” Wilcox asked flatly.

“Yes. But it gets better.”

The smaller guy with the lightning scar yanked the wand out of his buddy’s hand and started talking to him, real quiet-like, so I couldn’t hear what he said. The girl on the roof stopped twitching and yelling. She just sort of collapsed and nearly fell off the edge, then got up a moment later. She might have been foaming at the mouth, she looked that pissed.

Now, this is the part that made me dead certain they weren’t human. The girl took two running steps, jumped, and sailed all the way to the top of my car. That was the damage to the roof. She jumped on it from all the way on top of the church and she didn’t hurt her legs a bit when she landed. Now, I had ducked as soon as I figured out where she was going to land, but the bent-in roof smacked me in the back of the head anyway.

“You sustained a head injury?” Wilcox interrupted. “Can I see?” McDonald obediently turned her shoulders and neck, allowing Wilcox a view of the back of her head. A small trickle of dried blood remained in her gray-blond head, accompanied by a sizeable bump several inches below her bun. “That looks painful.”

“It is,” the woman sighed morosely. “Anyway, the girl landed on my car…”

I got a mighty bump on my head, and when I looked up, the girl was already on top of the blond boy. She may have looked scrawny, but she was like a ferocious little kitten; all cute and fluffy until you reach the claws and teeth. She knocked that blond guy over with no sweat, and next thing I knew she was trying to rip out his Adam’s apple.

“So, the child assaulted the boys,” Wilcox noted, marking something else on his paper and closing the folder again. “No, the blond. Did the brunette do anything to stop her? What were you doing?”

“I was saying obscene things under my breath and rubbing the bump on my head,” McDonald sighed reasonably. “I didn’t even try to get out and help. If you’d seen this girl, you would have known why. I’ve watched lots of fighting tournaments in reality and on TV, and I’ve never seen anybody move that fast. I knew I’d get killed if I tried to help, and I was a bit surprised that the blond boy hadn‘t already died. You should have heard him scream! He couldn‘t keep up at all.”

“The brunette-”

“He pulled out his own wand,” Mary Sue McDonald began again. Her fists knotted over her purple nurse pants. “He pointed it right at the little orange girl and said, ‘Petricrusectum Incendimortalus.’” The Detective held up a hand to stop her, and handed her a steaming mug of decaf coffee.

“Do you like it black?” McDonald nodded, took a deep gulp, and replaced into her seat. “So, this boy with the scar, he cast a spell on her as well?” The woman nodded. She took a deep breath before going on.

This spell was different. That girl started to scream like banshee before she caught on fire, and- get this- blood started spurting all over the place, like a water balloon being poked with a needle. The blood caught on fire too… It was everywhere. Oh, did I mention the fire was green? If I wasn’t scared before, I was scared then, and I was dead certain they were all demons. I didn’t want to get mixed up in it any more.

Did you know, normally, people go nuts with pain when they’re on fire? They at least flap their arms or run and thrash around, but that girl locked up like a soldier in rank and fell flat on the ground, toasting away. I was certain she’d been killed, and just as certain that the fire would make my car explode if it got any closer. I tried to start the engine going, but the car was too busted and it wouldn’t start up.

Next thing I know, the car was knocked on it’s side. It did a flip in the air before it landed.

“How did that-?”

“I had no idea at first,” McDonald stated, taking another large gulp of the coffee. “It turns out that the blond guy noticed the fire getting close to my car, and he knocked me out of the way.” Wilcox poured a cup of coffee for himself, glaring at the dull gray table, a scowl set firmly in his face.

“That’s not possible,” he stated. “No teenager can throw a car.”

“No human teenager,” McDonald corrected him.

“Wait…” Wilcox suddenly snapped up to glare at the woman. “You told me the blond had been assaulted, that he’d gotten chunks of flesh torn out his neck.”

“And so he had,” the nurse replied. She too was frowning. “And it probably should have killed him, but it didn’t. By the time I got another look at him, there wasn’t a scratch on him.”

The car landed facing them, so I could still see and hear their every word. I was left sitting on top of the left door with a cut on my leg- don’t ask how I got the cut, things happened mighty fast when the car flipped. The blond was standing a few feet off, looking proud of himself and taking off his robe. He hung it on my tire and winked at me… that’s when I saw the tattoo on his forearm. That little girl was still burning there. The boy with the scar was just standing there staring at the girl as she burned, but the blond pointed his wand at her and cast some sort of spell to put her out.

“Put her out?” Wilcox repeated, his eyes widening. “Do you mean they killed her?” McDonald stared at him blankly for a moment before laughing and shaking her head.

“No, no. I should have said he extinguished her.” She sipped again at her coffee, only to find the cup empty. Without a word, Wilcox took it from her hand and went to refill it with the last of the coffee that remained in the pot. The nurse stared at the tape recorder in silence. “Half the tape is gone and I haven’t even gotten to the good part,” she sighed. “I’m not sure I-”

“Here,” Wilcox interrupted, sliding the full cup back over to her. She took a swift gulp and set it down roughly.

“I’m not sure I can go on with this.” Her gaze was intently fixed on her hands.

Wilcox looked up at her curiously. “Why is that?”

“After that point they were revealing secrets left and right,” the blond whispered. “The sort of thing that only I would tell people about. They’ll find out I went blabby…”

“Your protection can be arranged,” Wilcox encouraged her. “Now, if you would please-”

“You don’t understand anything, do you, you pompous ape?” McDonald snarled. “They don’t need telephone books to find me, they don’t even have to know my name. I’m a marked woman.” The detective raised an eyebrow as he sat back down.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Wilcox demanded. “Your protection can be… Madame, what are you doing?!” Flustered, the man covered his eyes, for the purple-clad nurse had began to unbutton and remove her shirt.

“Look,” McDonald commanded. “I am literally a marked woman.” Wilcox cautiously uncovered an eye, saw that she had only exposed a shoulder, and relaxed. His calm was short-lived.

On her shoulder was a bite wound that hadn’t healed and didn’t bleed. Two particularly deep punctures interrupted the clear marks of a human bite. It wasn’t even scabbed over. Wilcox flinched, clearly reeling his mind for alternatives to what he clearly saw before him. He slowly reached towards the wound, looking to the woman for permission. “It’s real. You can touch it, it’s not going to smear off like stage makeup.”

Wilcox only tapped it once before pulling his hand away with hardly disguised disgust. McDonald smirked as she pulled her shirt back up and buttoned it. “You’ll have to talk to Karen so the bite can be identified and disinfected,” detective Wilcox mumbled, gulping back his small wave of nausea. “Who did this?”

“The little Negro girl,” McDonald nodded. “Do you see why I didn’t want to tell you now?”

“Ma’am,” Wilcox muttered. “I know you’ve been shaken, but a bite in the shoulder isn’t a tracking device. We can arrange for your protection if you feel you truly need it. Say what you came here to say.” Mary Sue gave him a hard look, dropped her gaze, and nodded.

So, the blond did some sort of spell that extinguished the girl. I figured she’d need serious medical care about an attack like that, but my sense of self-preservation didn’t let me step in at that point. It’s a good thing. Just like the blond boy had healed so fast from her assault, the little girl sat up two seconds later looking just as healthy as when I first saw her, unless you count her burned and bloody clothes.

She wasn’t too happy about the ordeal. The moment she popped up, she started screaming and cussing at the boys, especially at the brunette. They didn’t seem to care all that much about what she said… They were actually whispering to each other and giving me funny looks, but that girl just kept carrying on like a hungry baby. She had really poor grammar; poor babe was talking in third person and called everyone else by their pronoun names; you know: he, it, they.

“Wait,” Wilcox interrupted. “Third person meaning, she referred to herself by her name instead of saying ‘I’?”

“Why, yes,” McDonald sneered. “Unless my language teachers have been lying to me all these years, that’s what third person is. I’m glad you paid attention in class.”

Wilcox glared, but he refused to take the bait. “What did she call herself?”

“Adyn, sometimes Adonis,” the woman mused.

Wilcox whispered ‘Uh-don-iss… Ay-din…’ to himself as he jotted the word on his paper. “Go on.”

Right. She just kept cussing and carrying on. I didn’t really catch everything she said, but a lot of it was about somebody called ‘mom-goose’. She also seemed to think that the brunette was living one big hairy lie. She did mention wizards a few times, and vampires, but I don’t really see why she mentioned them. She called the brunette Harry right before he cut her off.

The detective bit his pen for a moment before writing down the name and nodding for Mary Sue to continue.

Basically, he hit her over the head, and he told her that he’d changed his name to Vorgulmortis. He also said that the blond next him should be called Dragon from then on. Now, that brunette- will you recall who he is if I call him Vorgul? Right, he pulled the girl onto her feet and told her that he’d kill her if she didn’t shut up.

“Was his tone threatening, or just his language?” Wilcox asked distractedly, running a beefy hand through his balding hair.

“Just the language,” McDonald sighed. “I mean, he was smiling when he told her to shut up or face his mighty Vorgul-ish wrath.”

The kid went ape. She told him that he was going to destroy the hopes of every wizard in the world, and that he was going to ruin everything he’d always represented. Now, I didn’t catch everything, but she said that this scarred boy was a hero for killing some big bad wizard called the Dark Lord, that the Minister had Vorgul’s picture on his desk and her best friend had a poster of him on her wall- and here he was, turning into the evil thing they worshipped him for having destroyed. I think the scarred brunette taking the name Vorgulmortis was an intentional kick in the balls for all the wizards out there; don’t ask why, I could just tell by the way they said the name, they said it like a dirty word.

At first I thought it was completely insane, that the girl was a subhuman nutcase hobo, but no… They started talking back to her. She told Vorgul that he was living a destructive lie, and he... It was like watching someone confess to a crime on a dramatic mystery show. Vorgul admitted to living a lie, but… What were his words? He said his “lie” was that he wanted to “eclipse the greatness of Lord Vandermond.” Wait… No, it was Voldemort. Maybe that’s why Vorgulmortis was such a foul name, it sounded like Voldemort.

Wilcox’s eyes had hardened. It took the witness several seconds to look up and notice his expression through her bifocals. She frowned. “Something wrong? Do you know this hard-ass?” The Detective almost jumped in his seat.

“No,” Wilcox said sharply. “No, I don’t personally know any Lords. I was just thinking. That name sounds familiar.” Mrs. McDonald shook her head, realized her bun was falling out, and let her graying blond hair down with a sigh.

“So, Detective, do you always look constipated when you think? I could use that as a guide to see whether or not you’re listening to a word I say.” Conner Wilcox growled low in his throat and straightened his suit, frustrated at the woman’s impudence.

“What happened after the exchange of words?”

“Oh, but that wasn’t the end of it.”

This Vorgulmortis guy, he told that skinny little girl that the only thing stopping him and Dragon from becoming dark wizards was the fact that they were vampires… He started ranting then, saying that the girl’s mum had to die for them to become wizards again.

“Adonis’s mother?” Conner repeated, scratching his stubble-ridden chin with his left hand whilst writing something down with his right. “So, given the conversation, you were… led to believe… that the girl’s mother turned the boys into vampires?” McDonald frowned with her thin lips and nodded.

“They never said that directly,” the snaky woman restated. “But boy was it ever suggested; and unless every movie and book I ever read was chock-full of crap, killing a vampire’s master will make them turn human again.” The detective narrowed his small, dark eyes at her, almost as if sizing her up. “Don’t you give me that dirty look, Detective. I know what I’m talking about.”

Now, I was just stuck there in my overturned car watching. The blond guy- that Dragon- the more the brunette talked, the more nervous this blond guy seemed to get, and he kept watching me like I was going to eat him. I’m pretty sure he was worried about how much I was learning from their talk. He didn’t do anything, though there were a few times I thought he might snap a spell on me.

The boy with the scar just kept on raving. I gathered that he was hunting the little girl’s mum, and that he needed help to find her because his “old methods weren’t working anymore”. She just stared at him like she wanted to rip his guts out while he ranted about her blood-sucking whore of a mother.

Dragon eventually smacked scar-boy in the back of the head and told him to shut his psycho trap. He pointed me out and told both Vorgul and the girl that I had been there the whole time and seen too much.

I knew I was in trouble then, so I grabbed my purse and tried to open the passenger door to get out- it was above my head, you know? I managed to open the door, but I haven’t been in the best of shape lately, and I couldn’t pull myself out.

Detective Wilcox listened with sharp interest. McDonald nervously took a small jar of lip balm from her pocket, and as she began to apply it, a loud click echoed through the room. Both jumped slightly in their seats. “What was that?” McDonald asked wildly, grasping the chest of her flowery purple shirt.

“Just the recorder, ma’am,” the Detective said apologetically. He slowly pulled the recorder to his person, looking over the buttons for a short time before punching down the black eject button. McDonald relaxed as he calmly replaced the tape and set the device back on the center of the table. For a brief moment, his fingers fumbled over the buttons. McDonald’s eyes narrowed as he pressed ‘record’ and ‘fast forward’ at the same time, and quickly corrected himself by pressing ‘play’ and ‘record.’

“Any day now? I want to get this over with,” McDonald snapped.

“It’s ready,” the Detective grudgingly informed his witness.

Alright… I was trying to pull myself out, but I just couldn’t do it. Then that little black girl appeared right over the door. I was trapped, and damn if I didn’t think I was going to die. She pulled me up out of the car by my collar and dragged me down on the ground next to the smashed phone booth. Those boys were just staring and not doing a thing, like they’d planned it or something.

That girl, she just bit me and dropped me like-

“Through your clothes?” Conner Wilcox asked skeptically, tapping his pen on the table.

“Yes,” McDonald replied stiffly. “And before you bother mentioning it, the blond boy used a spell to mend my shirt.”

It only stung for a second. I was a bit confused when she dropped me. She was just smirking her pretty little head off. The blond boy, that Dragon- he asked what she did that for, and then he pointed his wand at me and said this funny word that I can’t remember… it fixed my shirt. That Adyn girl, she just started laughing and she said I was marked. She said they wouldn’t have to worry about me telling because I’d die if I did. So help me, I believed her, but here I am telling all these secrets and I haven’t kicked the bucket yet!

With that, they totally ignored me. That freaky boy with the scar seemed to realize he was only making the girl mad instead of impressing her, so he softened his tone and actually asked her for help. That seemed pretty ridiculous to me, since his goal was to kill her mum… But she agreed to help find her. She said she had her own reasons, that she still needed her mum- oh, now I get it, her “momgoose” was her mum! Sorry, thinking aloud.

“She agreed to help these boys murder her mother?” Conner demanded, scratching frantically at his paper with his pen. Mary Sue narrowed her owlish eyes, nodded, and opened her mouth- but the Detective cut her off. “If you’re about to say something sassy, you can keep those jaws of yours clamped firmly shut,” he warned, twirling his pen through his fingers in a slightly threatening manner. Mrs. McDonald let out a bark of laughter.

“I was going to continue recounting the events, you presumptuous old-”

“Go on,” the man interrupted, patting down his tie with a smirk. McDonald bit her tongue and continued on with her tale.

The final result was a truce. They agreed to help each other find this vampire mother, but then they got all fighting again, because that scarred boy still wanted to kill the woman. They ended up agreeing that when they found her they’d have a four-way duel, and the winning side would get their way. I figure that’s a horrid way to go about things, but I didn’t want them to notice me again.

So, when they finished their plotting, they shook hands and that crazy girl ran off without telling the boys how to meet her again. Now then, those boys, they whispered with one another for a minute, all hush-hush-like… Then they told me that they would find me and kill me if I breathed a word about what happened.

Then there was a funny popping noise, and they vanished, just like that. I was left there for another fifteen minutes or so before I got the nerve to get on the phone and call in for help.

That’s all there is to it.

With that, Mrs. McDonald folded her hands in her lap. Conner seemed dazed at the abrupt end of her story, but he soon began to scribble away at his paper again, brows knotted in thought. True to Mary Sue McDonald’s earlier accusations, he really did look constipated when in deep thought. “That’s it, then? Can I leave?”

“Not just yet,” Conner said quickly, jotting down a couple more letters and setting down his pen. “I’d like you to clarify what happened. Less detail, more simple facts.”

The witness bristled with indignation. Out of spite, the nurse began to retell her tale with annoying brevity and sped speech. “I got sleepy and crashed into a telephone booth, then that orange-haired Negro girl popped up out of nowhere, then those two boys popped up out of nowhere, then they exchanged curses and toppled my car, then they talked about their world domination schemes, then they dragged me out of the wreck and bit me, then they decided to help each other find a woman that the boys intended to murder, then they left.” She took a deep breath, and began to speak at normal speed once more. “Yes, that’s all I have to report; a car accident and a few kids planning murder.”

“Vampiric magic-using kids,” Conner added under his breath. McDonald scowled and picked up her purse to leave, but the Detective grasped her by wrist.

“Wait. There’s one more question I have to ask.” The nurse wrinkled her nose at him, but didn’t move. “Do you think what you saw was real?” Her face fell blank. “Do you truly believe in the existence of wizards and vampires?”

The old nurse pulled her wrist away from the Detective, surveying him with her owlish eyes. “Before I moved to London,” she whispered, “I served as a nurse in a camp for the Americans in the Vietnam War.” Wilcox patiently waited for her to get to the point. “I was young then, and I learned a lot from being there. One of the lessons I took with me was this; ‘Any man who doesn’t believe his eyes is a man that goes home in a bag.’ I witnessed those boys casting spells with my own eyes and ears; I have the bite to prove that girl was a vampire and the wrecked car to prove the whole incident happened.”

“So…”

“So, yes, I believe in wizards and vampires now. And I believe that the hero Harry has turned against the other wizards, and he’s planning murder.” Mary Sue McDonald proudly puffed up her chest. “And no amount of people telling me I dreamed it up is going to stop me from believing!”

Conner Wilcox seemed to sink into his chair. “Really…” he whispered. He quickly packed up his paper and pen, then stood and brushed a bit of lint off his suit. He had the strangest expression on his face, a mix of loathing and disappointment. “Oh, dear, Mary… But that really wasn’t the correct answer.” He pulled a black wand from his slightly open suitcase. “Avada Kedavra.”

THIS IS THE SEQUAL OF DKP. DKP ISN'T ALL POSTED YET. BUT I THOUGHT I MIGHT PUT THE START OF THIS ONE UP FOR READERS TO GET A TASTE OF WHAT'S COMING AFTER DKP

DG

CHAPTER TWO: Life Goes On

All that gives humans power over animals is the lack of instincts.

All that gives vampires power over humans is the lack of a heartbeat.

Humans can stop themselves from having sex. They can stop eating and drinking if they so please; it may kill them in the end, but “instincts” will never force a man to get a glass of water and stick a plate in the microwave. It is this control over their actions; this ability to NOT fly South during the winter and NOT swim upstream, this power to ignore what their bodies tell them, that has allowed humanity to dominate the planet.

One can argue that the “hunting instincts” passed from sire to childe are unstoppable.

But I’m just another vampire that can control his thirst for blood.

“Unless it’s mine,” Harry scolded Draco, having heard these thoughts with crystal clarity from the other side of the room. It was a part of their bond, which had only strengthened when Draco finally killed him. “I’ve got so many hickeys that can be traced back to you, I almost look like I’ve got daemon-chicken pox. You’re a bloody sadist. You know that, right?” Draco smirked and strode to the side of the pearly tub from the doorway. The blond wasn’t the least bit perturbed by Harry’s glare. The Gryffindor give his wand one last, futile flick at the recent bite just above his heart. It wouldn’t heal; none of Draco’s bites ever healed completely.

“It it my fault that you’re still tasty?” Draco chuckled, perching himself beside the edge of the tub, resisting the powerful urge to grab his beau from behind and give him yet another patented Malfoy hickey. “Besides, you enjoy it. You’re a blood masochist. You know that, right?” Harry gave him a baleful look, involuntary pouting out his lips as his green eyes flickered. Draco was enchanted. “You’re too cute sometimes. Girly, even.”

The once-bespectacled Boy-Who-Lived set his wand beside the great bath, green eyes becoming distant as he thought.

Draco loved to watch Harry’s bottle-green eyes. They had always been that color, but before Draco became a vampire, he never bothered to notice. The first time he saw Harry’s eyes through the eyes of a vampire, he decided those were the most beautiful eyes on Earth. Draco still didn’t care that Harry hadn’t recognized him at first. Hell, Harry hadn’t even realized he was being bitten by a vampire!

Giving in to a minute urge, Draco ran his white fingers through his mate’s dripping black hair, smiling as he recalled what a shock the truth had been for him. They had kissed only once before Harry knew the truth, but Draco knew he loved Harry the moment the Gryffindor accepted him for all that he truly was. Harry didn’t seem to notice Draco’s touch. His eyes fell shut, his expression fell blank, and he relaxed against the side of the ivory bathtub; Draco was miffed at the very idea that he could be ignored. “Harry?” Draco whispered. He received no answer.

A small ripple in the tub water made the smaller vampire’s hair flow back, thereby giving Draco easy access to Harry’s shoulders, which Draco had found to be one of the wizard’s sensitive areas. Seizing the opportunity by the horns, Draco snaked his arms around his brunette boyfriend, pulled him close, and dragged his cold tongue across Harry’s milky skin.

“S-s-stop that!” Harry squeaked, shaking himself free from the blonde’s grip. Draco laughed to see Harry trembling; if Harry were still alive, his face would have been bright red. “Do you even know why people take baths?”

“To get clean?” Draco drawled, cocking an eyebrow.

“Exactly! I’m in here to get clean, not dirty! And I’m trying to relax, not excite myself!” Draco smirked and stood, amused by Harry’s flustered behavior and the fact that his guest felt the need to hide amongst the bubbles.

“I think I can do all the exciting for you,” Draco purred. He knew perfectly well that Harry was having an awkward time as far as sexuality was concerned; the boy in the bath was still shy of the very idea of sex with anyone, let lone a male. Despite Draco’s best efforts, Harry had never consented to go past kissing, cuddling and the occasional intimate bite.

The abashed young man bit his lip, drawing a tiny drop of blood with his sharp teeth as he cautiously kept out of Draco’s reach. “Is there any particular reason you’re even in here?” Harry whispered, trying to change the subject.

“Now that you mention it, yes,” Draco sighed, resting his chin on the glittery edge of the tub basin. It wasn’t a pleasant subject, but he had to bring it up… “Do you regret it?”

Harry’s eyes darkened. He knew perfectly well what Draco meant.

“Regret what?” he asked anyway.

“The things we did last night.” No longer hot and bothered but simply distressed, Harry glared. Draco pressed on. “Meeting Adyn…? Agreeing to help the little leech? Not Obliviating that old nurse? Killing that homeless boy for dessert on our way home? Do you regret these things? You’ve been distant since then.” Harry’s lip twitched into a small frown.

“I wish I knew how to Obliviate,” he told Draco quietly. “It would have been a great favor to that woman if she’d only forgotten what she’d seen. But, hey, we couldn’t have done the memory charm, right? We couldn’t have helped that.”

“And agreeing to help Adyn find Niles…?” Harry made a strange noise; it was both a growl at the back of his throat and a Parseltongue obscenity from the tip of his tongue. It was just one of the small things that made Draco slightly unnerved about the Gryffindor; ever since he learned that Harry’s knowledge of Parseltongue was unnatural even by Parselmouth terms, he got a fleeting image of Harry as Lord Voldemort whenever a hiss left those lips.

That moment was gone as soon as it began. “Well, we all want to find Niles, don’t we?” Harry snapped. “Sure, maybe we’re ’helping the enemy,’ but I don’t see the point in working alone. We might need her help.” He took a deep breath to relax. Not that he needed the oxygen; it was merely a habitual action to calm himself. “In fact, I’m certain that we’ll need her help before the end.”

Draco wanted to ask what ‘end’ Harry was talking about, but he thought better of it.

“But what about the boy?”

Harry sank several inches in the water. “He was sick, starved, and homeless. He would have died anyway.” There was an edge in his voice that challenged Draco to disagree. The blond couldn’t. Certainly, the boy they killed wouldn’t have lasted another two days, but it was the first time either of them had killed someone- and it had been for food. That nagging part of them that was still human had already began to come up with excuses for their actions, a mere seven hours later.

“I just wish that the Ministry would send a bit more sustenance,” Draco sighed, sliding out of his silky black pajama top. Harry shivered, his eyes widening in appreciation for a moment before he politely looked away. “They barely send enough to keep one vampire healthy, and you’re stuck with hardly anything. It’s their own damn problem if we have to start killing to survive.”

“But they don’t know I’m here,” Harry protested. Draco was slightly annoyed by his companion’s desire to defending the Wizarding populace. “They don’t think there’s a second vamp here.”

“So go out of hiding!” Draco spat. “I’m not going to live off half a blood ration every other day because you don’t want to pay for your crimes against humanity!” Harry looked decidedly uncomfortable. It took Draco a moment to realize that the Parselmouth was nervously holding his right forearm, which bore the same Dark Mark the Death Eaters wore; they both knew these marks had nothing to do with Voldemort, but the Ministry would never understand. The fact that their marks were on the right arms instead of the left would mean nothing to a judge, even if Voldemort would sooner go shopping in tutu than brand a wizard’s right arm. These marks were from love.

“But Draco, my arm…” Harry whispered, clammy wet fingers tightening into claws against his own pale flesh. Draco winced as Harry’s sharp nail pierced this skin. Lost in his agitation, Harry didn’t seem to notice. “I can’t just walk into the Ministry Office to announce I’ve been casting Unforgivables, inventing hybrid curses, and killing children! And then showing them the Dark Mark? They’d kill me on spot!”

“They would,” Draco conceded, glowering pointlessly at the floor. After all, he’d been chased from the Ministry by hex-flinging Aurors last time he’d simply stopped in for directions. Paranoid bastards.

“So, what exactly am I supposed to do?” Harry demanded. “I know you don’t like starving- hell, I can’t say I enjoy it either- but if you can just hang on until we’ve slain Niles and turned human again, the Dark Marks should vanish. We can go and turn ourselves in then.”

“Unless, of course, you decide by that time you really would like to be become another Dark Lord…” Draco laughed as Harry attempted to splash his pretty clothes with bathwater. He missed by several feet; the pale ex-pureblood was far faster than the flying water. Draco couldn’t help it but laugh at the small victory. “Have mercy, Master!” Draco pretended to plead.

Harry’s features suddenly became very wicked indeed. “If it’s a Master you want so badly,” Harry hissed mischievously, “Than come to my side, servant.” He lurched from the tub to grasp Draco’s thin wrist. Realizing he was about to be dragged into the tub with his pajama bottoms still on, Draco began to struggle, but the fledgling Harry was stronger and heavier than him.

“No!” the blond yelped as he was dragged bodily into the tub. Harry laughed as Draco sprang from the water, coughing and sputtering. His once-handsome silk pajamas clung to him like cling-wrap. “My beautiful clothes!” he wailed. Harry fell against the side of the tub, trying in vain to suppress his laughter. Draco angrily began to remove the drenched pants. “Damn it, Harry! These things are dry clean only!”

Harry had clearly acquired a bad sense of humor in the short time he’d been so intimately acquainted with Draco, for his laughter only became more malicious. “Does this mean your pants are shrinking?” he cackled.

“Yes!” Draco squeaked, tugging frantically at his buttons. “They are! And quickly!” Indeed, Harry could see the waistband contracting on the blond, who conceded defeat and ripped the things clean off before they could constrict him any further.

No longer laughing, Harry had but a moment to gape at Draco’s nude form before the blond hopped into a particularly bubbly part of the massive ivory tub. “Now I’m going to have to buy a new pair,” Draco pouted.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, though his dim eyes made it clear that he wasn’t.

“Wanker,” Draco growled. “Those pajamas cost two hundred galleons.”

“What a rip-off!” Harry exclaimed. “Why spend so much money on clothes that look better on the floor?” Draco allowed himself to smirk.

“Ah, but it’s usually worth the gold when somebody else removes them for you,” the blond drawled. He rather enjoyed the way Harry’s sweat had a slightly red hue; that and the fact that he was naked in a hot tub gave Draco a very pleasing assortment of perverse mental images. “What are you thinking about?” Draco asked casually.

“Well,” Harry reflected, turning away from his blond beau. Draco tried to keep his gaze off the curve of Harry‘s neck. “First and foremost, I’m thinking about breakfast.” Draco’s smirk wavered slightly. Harry was clearly not in the mood. I’ll just have to mend that… “Than again,” the Gryffindor mused, sweeping Draco’s soggy form with his brilliant green eyes. “Why go down there for a cold bottle when I can stay here and have a hot vampire?”

That certainly brought a smile to Draco’s lips… before Harry set about crushing them with his own.

CHAPTER THREE: Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

Had the bathtub not been magical, Draco and Harry would have been prunes by the time they pulled the plug. Harry had complained loudly that he’d forever reek of Draco’s French soaps; Draco only smirked, not considering this a loss in any way. “Besides, if you smell like a Malfoy, who’d be dumb enough to pick a fight with you?”

“Too many people to list,” Harry grumbled, as he pulled on yet another outfit borrowed from the Slytherin’s wardrobe. The silvery vampire took a break from drying his hair to watch his boyfriend dress. The Gryffindor clearly didn’t have eyes on the back of his head; if he did, he might have noticed Draco salivating when he pulled tight black pants over his arse. “Do we have enough blood left for breakfast?”

“No,” Draco resentfully sighed. “And we don’t get any more for three days, so we’ll just have to tighten our belts and deal with it.” He had to tear his eyes away from Harry’s belt, which bore a pewter snake that moved realistically and spoke gibberish in Parseltongue.

Deciding that he’d pounce on Harry if he didn’t leave, the master of the house retired to the bedroom, debating what he should wear on this particular Thursday. His massive wardrobe stretched across most of the room, and was divided into sections by garment, and divided once again by whether or not they looked “proper” or “hot”. Today was obviously not a day for formal wear. Black, black, and black? Silver, black and green? Taking a second look at the storm outside, the pale pureblood decided that a pair of thick black pants and a warm gray sweater would be best.

“Seeya downstairs,” Harry chirped as he left. Draco didn’t dare to glance at his edible boyfriend.

Several minutes later, the blond descended from his bedroom to the kitchen, with all the relish he could muster. He flung the doors open, strode in swaying his hips and showing off his clothes, tossed his hair… and was completely ignored.

“Morning, Draco,” Granger mumbled through her toast. Her fluffy brown hair was looking decidedly untidy; it was twice as big as usual and draped over the shoulder of Ron Weasley (who also suffered from bad hair). They were both clearly fixated on whatever was on the table. It must have been a crossword puzzle, because Granger continued to say, “You spelled ‘Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia’ wrong!” and Ronald hastily corrected himself with his wand.

“Tea and toast?” Harry offered from the far end of the kitchen, holding a kettle in his soft hands.

“Skip the toast,” Draco replied, vaguely annoyed by their lack of complete adoration for his appearance. “It doesn’t do me any good these days, and I never did like jelly.” Harry only chuckled and poured some tea. Draco was about to take the cup from Harry’s hand, but then he recalled… “I’ll be right back.”

Draco was gone almost as fast as if he’d Apparated; he knew Harry would see this as rude, but he didn’t care. He was going to make it for it.

Up the stairs, down the hall, turn right, down the next hall, aha, the bedroom. Not a full three seconds after fleeing the kitchen, Draco heaved open a dresser drawer, smiling at the contents before gathering them in his arms and speeding back towards his boyfriend.

“What was that about?” Weasley demanded, jotting down another word on his crossword, which Granger swiftly corrected.

“This,” Draco said imperiously, kneeling before a stunned Harry and presenting him with a small box.

“Is… that can’t be, you don’t seriously mean to…?” Harry sputtered, utterly shocked. Had he been mortal, his cheeks would have been red by now. Draco would have laughed at the priceless look on Harry’s face, but that would ruin the moment.

“Open it before you make assumptions,” Granger warned Harry. She’d clearly seen the not-quite-serious look on Draco face. The apprehensive Gryffindor cautiously took the box from Draco’s hand, fumbled with the lid, and opened it.

And he laughed.

“Happy late birthday,” Draco cackled, getting off the floor. Inside the box were a few late birthday presents for his mate, not a wedding ring as the box had suggested.

Harry began to pull out small bags of gifts from the tiny box. First came the huge pack of Bloodpops. This was followed by a pair of silky green boxers (Ron looked rather uncomfortable), a gift certificate from a local sushi restaurant, and a new robe. “Merlin’s ASS, Draco!” Harry choked, pulling out a small bottle of raspberry scented massage oil/lubricant.

“Have you no shame?” Granger guffawed, nearly as amused as she was scandalized.

“None at all,” Draco assured her, egotistic smirk planted firmly in place. “There’s one more gift…” Harry reached in the bag once more, just as a loud screech came from the window. It was a large Scops owl, with a rather important-looking bit of parchment wrapped around it’s leg.

“I’ll get that,” Ron offered, springing up from his seat and dashing to the window. He was clearly desperate to get away from Granger’s perfectionism and Harry‘s new boxers. Draco smirked, watching the youngest remaining Weasley as his new magical eyes surveyed the parchment. “It’s for you, of course,” the freckled redhead informed Draco, before having even opened the letter.

Though he’d been loath to do it, Draco was the one who purchased the ridiculously expensive magical eyes for Ron; after all, he was the one responsible for Ron’s blindness. The very sight of those big buggy eyes always made Draco laugh; not only did they look ridiculous, but they were also a strong reminder of a rabid ferret attack. Harry hid his smile behind his tea, setting his last present aside for the moment.

“It’s from SpellSecure,” Draco mused out loud, unfurling the imperious paper. The owl promptly fled the scene.

“SpellSecure?” Harry repeated, an eyebrow raised.

“They do security for the Manor,” Draco informed his chosen mate. “They keep the Muggles away and alert authorities about break-ins… All that important stuff.” His gray eyes skimmed over the page curiously. “Oh, Merlin, no…”

“What is it?” Granger asked quickly, stiffening her back, alerted by Draco’s tone.

The young Malfoy curled the page back up and tossed it angrily onto the table. Stupid security companies. Stupid mother… “Well,” Draco began, “You know how my mother went missing for months and my father was in Azkaban?” He was answered by nods. “It turns out that nobody was here to pay any of the bills. Our security’s been cut off, and even if I pay now, they won’t get it running again until next month.”

Ron gaped.

“How tragic,” Granger sighed, with a great grin spreading across her face.

“This isn’t funny!” Draco snapped. “Now we’re going to get door-to-door salesman trying to butt in and make me buy their dirty candy bars and cleaning products! And the religious nuts…” Thoroughly annoyed at the very thought of these disruptions, Draco kicked a chair and plopped unceremoniously into it. Granger only chuckled and went back to the crossword. Harry wasn’t looking too concerned either. In fact, Draco realized, he looked quite happy with this news. “What’s so bloody wonderful about this, Potter?”

“Nothing,” Harry replied with a serene smile. With that, he dived into his gifts one last time, pulling out another small box.

Draco looked back up as Harry opened the last present. I hope he likes the color… Harry’s bright green eyes widened as he removed the object from it’s box.

“Oh, wow,” Hermione whispered. Ron’s mouth was dangling open; the object in Harry’s hands must have been worth more than the Burrow before it was destroyed.

It was a snake necklace. It’s body was made of emerald and silver, its eyes made of ruby, its chain platinum. As Harry lifted it in the light, the little thing lifted its head and hissed softly. Draco watched in happy fascination as Harry hissed back, a smile playing at his lips. The conversation lasted almost half a minute before Harry finally clasped the necklace around his throat, allowing his gift to make itself comfortable on his clavicle.

“What did she say?” Draco asked after a moment.

“That you’re a right bastard for leaving her in that tiny box for a week,” Harry answered, a huge grin plastered on his mug. “Dragon, she’s… she’s beautiful. How much did she cost?”

“I probably could have bought all the Weasleys as slaves with all those galleons,” Draco mused, deciding to ignore Ron and Granger’s dirty glares. “She was made by Slytherin’s great grandson. Do you like her?”

“So far she seems a bit stuck up, but after you, I’m ready for anything.” Despite Weasley and Granger groaning in disapproval, Harry grasped Draco by the hips and pulled him in for a kiss. The blond enthusiastically tangled his hands in Harry’s smooth black hair, kissing Harry back, relishing in the close contact. Granger coughed softly. This only inspired Draco to slide a hand down Harry’s spine and cup Harry’s buttocks. The pale vampire absolutely adored the soft gasp from Harry’s soft lips. To Hell with Granger and Weasley.

Draco would have pulled Harry to the floor and snogged his boyfriend senseless, but a sudden knocking at the door interrupted them. Cursing, Draco untangled himself and fixed his (now disheveled) collar. Harry also appeared mad about this disturbance.

“Religious nuts, or salesmen?” he barked at Weasley, who turned his Moody-like eyes to the door and replied, “Nuts, complete with Bibles, raincoats, and pamphlets.”

“Speak of the devil and he dances straight to your doorstep?” Harry chuckled. He suddenly sobered. “None of use are, uh, dressed properly to speak to Muggles.” He gestured to their entirely magical wardrobe. Draco swore again.

“Then how- heeeeeeey,” Draco gasped, suddenly looking very demonic indeed. “Why even pretend to be Muggle?” Hermione gawked at him, dumbfounded. “I want to see the looks on the faces when they see a pair of gay magic-using vampires!”

“Do you have a psychotic wish to join your father in Azkaban?” Hermione asked quietly.

There was another knock on the door.

“Harry?” Draco asked, turning his misty gray eyes to his partner. Harry was staring at him as if he’d gone mad, shaking his head and clearly itching to step away. “Ah, fine. I’ll handle this alone.” In an impressive whirl of cloak, Draco was at the door. He smirked as her twisted the doorknob and pulled the thing open.

At the fine marble doorstep stood two women, both clearly Muggle and clearly Christian. The younger one, a vaguely pretty brunette in a heavy coat, bore a huge pile of pamphlets; the older one was lugging a huge box which appeared to be full of bibles. The vampire was amused to see crosses around their necks; they would affect him just as negatively as a good night’s sleep.

They were both gawking at his clothes.

“What can I do for you?” Draco asked cheerfully. The older woman blinked, recovered her wits, and smiled calmly at him.

“We just wanted to know if you’ve accepted the hand of Christ,” she stated. Though the words never left her lips, Draco knew was itching to say, “you’ve clearly done no such thing.”

Draco reflected upon his answer for a minute. “What would I stand to gain?” The younger woman shifted her feet, looking slightly upset. Of course, religion shouldn’t be about personal benefit. “I mean, really. I’m fairly certain that I have everything I want. I’m dirty rich and I’ve already got somebody to love me.” A soft cough came from the kitchen. Draco smirked, knowing Harry had heard every word.

“Will that matter when you’re dead?” the younger woman asked softly.

“Oh, certainly. I intend to take my lover and my money with me into the afterlife. I like explosives, you see.” The women didn’t hear Harry laughing in the kitchen. It was the older one who seemed most bothered by these words.

“But you’ll go to hell,” she informed Draco, scowl set firmly in place. “Especially if you kill your girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” Draco corrected her, relishing in the way her eye twitched.

“This one’s lost,” the younger one whispered.

“What do you mean, ‘lost?’ I never said I wasn’t open to the idea.” These words dramatically boosted the moods of the ladies at the door. The younger brunette even cracked a small smile. “Heaven, huh? I could go for that, but I don’t really trust in this whole religion thing.”

“Well, you should,” the youngest said, pulling out a card from her stack of pamphlets and offering it to Draco. “It’s better to put your faith in Christ than in the hands of a gay lover. You could come to our church next Sunday and see for yourself.” Draco took the card and pocketed it. I’ll burn it later.

“I don’t really know how to be faithful,” Draco mumbled. He hoped Harry didn’t hear those words; there would be questions later.

“You can start by reading the Bible,” the eldest lady chirped, handing one to Draco with all speed. This is the big chance. The pale vampire held the book lightly, keeping his eyes on the green cover but focusing on the rhythmic thumping of their hearts. He tried not to smile as his eyes began to glow red and his snake-like fangs began to extend. The women didn’t notice. “You should probably start with the book of Mark.”

“Thank you,” Draco said curtly, “Mark, is it…” He opened the book to a random page.

And then he dropped it. A small choking noise fled his throat.

“Sir?” the youngest asked, slightly affronted. Draco paid her no mind. He let their combined heartbeats lull him for another moment… before letting himself fall flat on his face, twitching his body a couple times after impact just for effect. Alarmed, the older woman pulled the younger one back. “Are you alright?” Draco could hear Harry creeping up from behind; curiosity had obviously overcome his desire to stay out of it.

Already pleased with his acting skills, Draco smirked and let a harsh hiss slide from his lips, attempting to imitate Harry’s Parseltongue. The ladies at the door took another step back. Twitch. Twitch. Draco forced his face to bear no emotion as he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, flashing his red eyes and needle-sharp fangs at the women.

Draco opened his eyes and mouth as wide as he could and….

“You can’t have this one!” Draco roared, absolutely adoring their high pitched screams as the ladies bolted back down the driveway, skirts bobbing frantically behind them.

Harry fell to his knees… and laughed. “That was brilliant!” he chortled. High on his success, Draco got back on his feet and dusted his cloak, smiling like a maniac. Harry dashed forward to give him a tight hug. “Cruel, but brilliant!”

“I know,” Draco laughed. “And you love me for it, don’t you?” Still laughing, Harry nodded and buried his face in Draco’s cold chest.

Draco suddenly became aware of how very cold Harry was, how cold they both were. He wrapped his arms around his precious Gryffindor, feeling the clamminess of his skin right through the thick robes. It was with a sudden jolt that he realized he was just as cold, and that they would only get colder and weaker until the next shipment of blood came in…

“Say,” Draco whispered. “Did you know it usually takes three minutes to run all the way down the driveway?” Harry’s laughter died as he listened. “And there are so many large trees to block the view of the road.” Harry must have realized what he was talking about, because he was off Draco in a flash.

“Wasn’t it bad enough to kill that homeless boy?” he demanded, in a strangled whisper. “We can hold out for a couple days.”

“Really?” Draco asked carefully, taking in every exposed part of Harry’s body; the slick black hair, the stark white skin, the reddened lips, the dark circles under his eyes, the cold blue blood vessels… “Because you look like shit.” Completely thrown off by Draco’s harsh assessment of his appearance, Harry’s mouth feel open. For a moment it looked like he was going to yell, but his expression quickly faded into defeat.

“So do you,” he admitted quietly. “What do you suggest?”

“I think we should grab those girls before they make it the rest of the way down the road.”

That was really good I can't wait for more

well, havent written much for ages. will write hopefully soon

DG

im an sooooooooooooo sorry. Jess is the writer for the nxt chapter and she hasn't emailed me it yet. my computer crashed and deleted all my files :'( im so sad now. shall try and get more done. won't be up till prob end of holidys or more

OMG, that is soooooooooo long from now. 🙁

i know. it's just jess is a pain is isn't here. she's on holidays. *thank god*

I tink you should write the next part yourself

yer i am, its on my laptop. it's gunna prob b big.

Good, I cant wait

ok, i think that was chapters 1 and 2. i now have 3 and 4 if i haven't posted 3 yet. I wrote 4 and Jess wrote 3 ... so ... yeah