Part Twelve of 'The Long-Desired'
Title: The Long-Desired (12/13)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Creature!fic,(vampire Draco), angst, violence, profanity, sex, bloodplay, past canon character death, dark (arguably insane) Harry. DH spoilers, but ignores epilogue.
Summary: Sequel to ‘Viper.’ Harry is more determined than ever to prevent Draco from taking Harry as his lover and Long-Desired, which Harry sees as slavery. Draco turns to Harry’s friends for help as Harry spirals down into self-destruction.
Author’s Notes: This is the third of the ‘Two Hunters’ series, which begins with ‘Mongoose and continues in Viper, and it will be the last one. Reading this one isn’t recommended if you haven’t read the others. It is also a dark story, and not very fluffy. This one will probably be between nine and thirteen parts long, updated irregularly.
Part One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Harry lifted a robe off the rack in Gladrags and looked critically at it. He had measured Draco before he died that morning, but he still wasn’t sure that he’d found robes that would look good on him, even if they were technically the right size.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
The voice was so slow and heavy that for a long moment, Harry didn’t recognize it. Then he did, and turned around with his heart beating a quick rhythm in his ears.
Mrs. Weasley, her arms full of robes, gave him a strained smile. Harry cleared his throat, and waited for the guilt over failing Ginny to assault him. It was that guilt that had mostly kept him away from the Weasleys, except Ron, since Ginny died.
But the guilt didn’t come. Harry frowned for a moment. He had thought before that maybe weeping in Draco’s arms had driven the emotion out of him, but he’d never had any proof before that that might really have worked.
“I don’t often come here,” he said, realizing that he had to answer Mrs. Weasley’s question somehow. “But I needed new clothes. It was time.” He gave Mrs. Weasley an uncertain smile, wondering if that was the right thing to say. Her eyes had widened, and she seemed to hear something in his words that he hadn’t intended to put there.
He didn’t expect her to step forwards and put her arms around him.
“Oh, my boy,” she whispered into his ear, her hand stroking his hair and the back of his neck at the same time. “I hoped that you would be able to start again at last. I didn’t know if you ever would.”
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Weasley?” Harry hugged her back, still uncertain, which kept his arms stiff. He wondered what Draco would say when Harry got back to the house and Draco smelled another person on him. Of course, since it was a female person and older, maybe he wouldn’t be jealous.
“I wanted you to live again after Ginny died.” Mrs. Weasley stepped away, her eyes wet, and wiped at them with the back of her hand. Her smile was wide and sad and knowing. “But you seemed to have stopped. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure your heart beat, dear. I wanted to invite you over and let you share your grief with us, but you refused so many invitations that I gave that up at last.”
Harry swallowed. It was difficult to do. “I didn’t want-I’m the one who didn’t save her, Mrs. Weasley. I didn’t want to intrude on you when you must blame me.”
“We never blamed you,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly. “Not once.” She reached out and gave his arm a little shake. “You would have known that if you’d come and talked to us instead of refusing our owls.”
Harry felt his face burn with humiliation. To know that he’d wasted so much time, that he could have been part of the Weasley family even now, in the way that he’d always been Ron and Hermione’s best friend-
And then he reminded himself that guilt was useless unless it drove him to action, and that he wouldn’t have appreciated the Weasleys even if he had them during the past few years. He would have neglected them and taken them for granted the way he had with Ron and Hermione. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t known they would forgive him, because that way he could make a fresh start now instead of being tentative and apologetic.
“We’re going to be having a farewell dinner for Charlie this Saturday,” Mrs. Weasley was saying. “He goes back to Romania on Sunday, and goodness knows when we’ll see him again. Will you come? The dinner starts at six.” She gave him an appealing and yet defiant glance, as if to say he would be stupid if he refused the invitation.
Harry smiled. He knew that Draco could get along without him for a few hours, especially since some of that time would be when he was dead. “Yes, I’ll come. Thank you so much, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Call me Molly.” She leaned up and patted his cheek. “And don’t ever waste so much time again.”
“I won’t,” Harry promised her, and watched in wonder as she left Gladrags. Then he shook his head and went back to sorting through robes for Draco, wondering absently in the back of his head how the Weasleys would react when they learned his new lover was both a Malfoy and a vampire.
*
“Dementors. I know that Britain’s had a problem with them since the end of the war.” Harry leaned up to put a pin in the map of Britain that he had stretched across the wall. Draco leaned his head on the couch and admired the stretch of muscles in Harry’s back.
“But Dementors don’t have blood that I can drink,” Draco murmured. “And they can only be driven away, most of the time, not destroyed. I’ve read stories of wizards who managed to destroy them, but at a terrible cost.”
Harry turned around to scowl at him. He looked beautiful, especially since Draco had made him drink some of the Blood-Replenishing Potion and he was no longer as pale as he had been immediately after Draco fed from him. Draco considered that he himself brought quite enough pallor to the relationship and didn’t need any more. “We should think about what we can do to benefit Britain, and Dementors are the greatest threat.”
Draco snorted and lifted his head. “I’m not thinking about what we can do to benefit Britain,” he said, circling around the couch. “You can if you want to. But I’m thinking about what will make the best hunt for us.” He laid his hand along Harry’s neck and paused to watch his pulse throb, then continued. “We need blood. We need a threat sufficient to challenge your hunting skills and keep us busy for a time in planning and training. I don’t think Dementors qualify.”
Harry dropped his eyes, frowning. Then he said, “I know you’re right, but going about the hunts that way feels selfish.”
“Why?” Draco leaned forwards, placing his fangs against the puncture wounds. Harry’s breathing rate increased, and he tilted his head to the side in invitation, but Draco shook his head and pulled back with some difficulty. He had simply wanted to view Harry’s reaction, not drink more blood when he’d had his fill. “For years, you did everything that you could think of for the British wizarding world. You saved everyone’s lives. Why shouldn’t you live selfishly now? No matter what you do, it can’t repay their debt to you.”
“But I lived selfishly when I was hunting vampires,” Harry pointed out. “I have to make up for that.”
Draco could smell the dusty reluctance underlying his words. Harry wanted to be convinced otherwise; he wanted to think that he didn’t really have to do anything that he didn’t want to, that he could choose the creatures he hunted and not think about the trouble they were causing other people. Draco was happy enough to fulfill his desires. His job here was to give Harry pleasure, after all.
“You’re making up for it,” Draco breathed into his ear. “The people you hurt were your friends, and me. You’re making it up to us.” He licked Harry’s throat, because that would make Harry groan and turn towards him. “And you could argue that you hurt people who were relying on you to do your job as an Auror, because your attention would always be on something else. But you’ve quit your job now and stopped thinking that you owe everyone something. The public doesn’t have to rely on you to protect them from Dark wizards.”
Harry’s eyes opened. They had a light glaze to them that pleased Draco. That wasn’t a sign of Harry’s mind weakening, the way it might have been with almost any other Long-Desired, because pleasure was becoming something expected instead of a novelty to Harry. This glaze was a sign that Harry had decided to consider himself and Draco instead of everyone else in the world.
“You’re right,” Harry whispered. “We can hunt werewolves if we want. And rogue centaurs. And the merfolk who steal ships. And don’t winged horses sometimes attack other people if they get one of the magical diseases? And I know that I read a book about vampires once that also mentioned Dark unicorns…”
Smiling, Draco laid his cheek along Harry’s and let him plan.
*
“Hullo, Harry.”
The Weasleys seemed to have decided that the best way to deal with his long absence was to pretend that he’d never been away. So here was Charlie offering him his hand like always, and Fleur with baby Dominique in her arms and Victoire hiding behind her robes giving him a bright smile, and Bill nodding with an enthusiasm that caused his fang earring to sway.
Harry greeted them all and said to Fleur, “Have you decided that two children are enough?”
Fleur gave him a complacent smile. Her silver hair shimmered around her face, and she looked proud and smug and more beautiful than ever. Harry could admire her from an emotional distance, now that he had Draco in his life, and maybe his admiration had increased because that kind of paleness and brightness was the ideal for him now. “We have discussed it,” she said. “And come to no conclusion.” Her eyes brightened. “But it is much fun trying.”
Bill was the one who blushed and took Fleur’s arm as if he would herd her to her seat. Harry turned around in time to receive a bone-crushing hug from Molly and a proud beam from Mr. Weasley, who held Harry’s hand when he’d shaken it and looked at him for a long time.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” he said quietly, during a lull in the conversation around them when Molly was complaining happily to Charlie that George couldn’t come because he was so busy with his shop and courting Angelina Johnson. It was plain that she was glad George had recovered to that extent.
Harry focused his attention on Mr. Weasley and forgot about listening to Molly’s conversation for now with an effort. He nodded a little. “I know that-now,” he said. “But it took me a long time to learn it.”
“What taught you better?” Mr. Weasley’s eyes were very kind and very sharp. He hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand yet; in fact, he squeezed it a little harder, as if he wanted to make sure that Harry didn’t slip away from them again.
“A friend,” Harry said. He hadn’t found the words that would let him introduce Draco to the Weasleys yet, and he was painfully aware that they might be years in coming. Well, he and Draco had years, and he didn’t think the Weasleys were about to leave him alone again. “He was the one who helped me see that I was dishonoring Ginny by acting as though her death had ended my life. In the end, I listened to him and decided to come back to the land of the living.” He smiled at Mr. Weasley in embarrassment and hoped that that would be enough, that he wouldn’t decide to probe further.
Maybe Mr. Weasley could see that desire in his eyes, or maybe he assumed that Ron was the friend and there was no mystery here. Either way, he beamed and stood up to hug Harry in turn. “You must call me Arthur, you know,” he said, “as you’re calling Molly by her first name now.”
Harry hugged him back, then turned. Ron and Hermione had just entered the room, with Percy behind them. Harry nodded and smiled weakly at an astonished Percy, whom he’d never been very comfortable with, but his eyes were on his best friends.
Ron was looking at Harry as though he had never thought that Harry would come back to the Burrow. Maybe he thought Draco was going to keep me cooped up for the rest of his life and only let me out of his sight when he died, Harry thought. Hermione had a quiet, approving expression on her face, which turned anxious when she looked back and forth between Harry and Ron.
Harry took a deep breath and straightened his back. He didn’t want to give anyone cause for anxiety, and he wouldn’t pretend that nothing was wrong-even though he had to conceal some of the particulars of what was wrong as long as the rest of the Weasleys didn’t know about Draco. He walked towards Ron and reached out to tap him on the shoulder.
“Getting along all right in the office without me?” he asked lightly.
Ron blinked twice. Harry could read the blinks easily. You want me to pretend that everything’s normal and we’re just conversing like ordinary blokes?
Harry nodded slightly. Ron sighed and then admitted, “Not the same without you, mate. Austin and Stone keep asking me to take on another partner. But I don’t want another one.” His eyes were hard as he looked at Harry and sent out his own silent plea. You’re coming back, aren’t you? Tell me you’re coming back.
It was the hardest thing Harry had done in years-hunting vampires had been complicated, but not emotionally difficult-to look him in the eyes and say, “Maybe you should take on another partner.”
Ron looked stricken. Hermione leaned over Ron’s shoulder with a speed that told Harry something about her expectations. She had probably thought that he would use Draco to recover his “normal” life, the life he’d had before Ginny died. She hadn’t anticipated that he would change things so radically.
“But what will you do if you don’t stay an Auror, Harry?” she asked. Her eyes darted around, but she seemed to decide that Bill and Fleur were standing too close for her to ask all the questions she’d like to. “What will fill your life? It has to be something besides one close companion.” She gave him a significant look.
“I know,” Harry said softly. “But I can’t pretend that the past few years never happened, and those are the skills that I cultivated. I never cared enough about being an Auror. I just liked the fact that I had access to Potions stores and protection from the Ministry in case I needed them. I made a terrible Auror, really,” he added. “I’m going to become a Dark creature hunter instead.”
“If you hunt vampires again…” Hermione’s face was full of warning.
Harry shook his head. “Everything but. I know that I’m not rational on the subject, and I accept that.”
“So you still hate them, even though…” Ron made a vague gesture, since Molly was bustling past them with a load of plates. He looked inexpressibly relieved.
“Yes, I do,” Harry said quietly. He knew that he didn’t think about vampires, the random vampires he had hunted and killed because they hunted and killed human beings, in the same way that he thought about Draco. He was aware that Draco was a vampire, he would never let himself forget that, but he kept making exceptions for him.
He didn’t see any need to apologize for that. The only people his ethical inconsistency could matter to were Draco and him, and Draco didn’t seem bothered by it. Harry wouldn’t be, either.
“Good,” Ron said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s sit down at the table and talk about something else for a while. Like how fantastic Mum’s cooking is.”
Charlie overheard him and snorted. “You’re only saying that because it saves you from having to cook yourself,” he said. “Or maybe from having to eat your wife’s cooking.”
That started Hermione on a loud course of defending herself, while Ron slinked to the table with the look of someone hoping that people would forget about him. Molly bustled about and scolded them all, shooting Harry a look of satisfied love and wonder that made him smile back in spite of himself.
This was the life that he had missed while he was walling himself up in grief and guilt, he thought as he took his seat.
He didn’t intend to miss any more of it.
*
Draco stepped back and raised an eyebrow. The robe Harry had bought him was his size, and it had the great advantage of looking stylish-at least stylish enough to Draco’s eyes, which were no longer those of a fashion-obsessed mortal; he had only one obsession now-and not smelling of dust.
But the color.
“White, Potter?” he asked, looking at his Long-Desired. “Really? The shade of innocence?” He shook his head. “I can see that you have some misconceptions about me that should have been corrected by now.”
Harry snorted defensively and crossed his arms. His scent grew heavy with irritation, such that Draco had a hard time smelling the cloth of the new robe through it. “That was the one that was handsomest,” he said. “I didn’t think you would care about the color.”
“I might not have cared,” Draco said with great precision, “if it was some color other than white. A color that will make a mockery of me in the eyes of anyone who knows what I am. A color that will stain when anything splashes on it, including blood.”
Harry sighed in disgust. “Do you really think that Dark creatures will care what you look like? And you’re acting as though that’s the only robe I bought you.” He turned around and strode out of the room before Draco could react, leaving Draco to blink and open his mouth slightly. Harry had seemed so doubtful about buying clothes for him that Draco hadn’t thought he would buy more than one robe.
But he came back in with an entire rustling armful, and then dropped them on the bed in front of Draco and glared at him.
Draco reached out a trembling hand and ran it down the cloth of the nearest robe. It was red, and it felt as rich to the touch as a king’s cloak. Draco wasn’t sure what fabric it was; it felt like silk, but tougher. This was no cloth that would tear at a careless touch. It had probably been strengthened by dragonhide, and would not have been cheap. He licked his lips and whispered, “How much did you pay for this?”
The silence coming at him from the other side of the bed had turned hostile, and Draco heard the increasing beat of Harry’s heart. He blinked and looked up at him to see Harry part his mouth in a credible snarl. It no longer mattered so much to Draco that he didn’t have the length or sharpness of tooth to carry out the part.
“Do you think that’s important to me?” Harry asked, his voice hushed with fury. “I don’t have anyone to spend my money on but you and me, and I’ve never cared for expensive furniture or books the way Hermione does. I never spent most of the money that I earned from being an Auror, either. I made most of my weapons. Why do you think I would care about the cost when spending a few Galleons can make you happy?”
“It was more than a few Galleons,” Draco murmured, and tensed himself to leap over the bed.
Harry didn’t even pay attention, which was a testament to how far he was wrapped up in his anger. Most of the time, no predatory movement from a vampire was beneath his notice. “I don’t care! I wasn’t going to haggle over prices when I thought that this robe might look good on you and I knew that you would like it, and-”
He choked as Draco landed lightly beside him and reached out to put one hand on his shoulder. Harry drew in his breath and eyed Draco doubtfully. Draco eyed him back and smiled as he bent to kiss one cheek.
“It makes me absurdly happy and grateful that you considered my happiness,” he whispered. “But you won’t make much money as a Dark creature hunter, either, at first. I want you to have some available to tend to your own needs.”
Harry opened his mouth as though to protest even that minor evidence of care for him, then shut it and laughed. Draco waited patiently for the explanation of that laughter. He knew from Harry’s scent that it wasn’t amusement at his expense, which was the only reason he didn’t start remonstrating immediately.
“We’re a regular pair,” Harry said, when he could stop the chuckles. “Both concerned for each other’s comfort above all, to the point of getting angry with each other for not sharing our most important goals.” He grinned up at Draco.
Desire took Draco by the throat at the sight of that smile, and he bent and kissed Harry before he thought about it. His unfolded fangs nicked Harry’s tongue and lips, but he groaned in a way that said he didn’t care and started to drag Draco onto the bed.
Draco drew back when he felt something softer than sheets beneath them, and shook his head. “We’re not copulating on top of my brand new robes,” he said. “Hang them up properly, and then we can think about it.”
Harry threw back his head and whooped. Draco narrowed his eyes, because, this time, the amusement had a distinctly different flavor.
“I don’t know what’s funnier,” Harry said at last, mopping his hand across his forehead, “you saying ‘copulating’ or thinking that any of the mood remains after that.” He paused, then added, “Or maybe that you’re back to thinking about clothes in a way that makes it sound as though you haven’t changed at all from Hogwarts.”
Draco sat up haughtily. “Hang up the robes,” he said. Whatever stupid things Harry was saying, it remained a fact that the robes had wrinkles from their sitting on them and needed to be hung up.
Harry did as asked, chortling the while. Draco drew over to the other side of the room, determined to do what he could to soothe his offended dignity-
And cope with the fact that his dignity was less powerful than his peace at the thought that Harry was happy.
Part Thirteen.