Harry's eyes skimmed the crowd. Already he wished he hadn't come. He had been a big enough curiosity before; now he was a curiosity and a freak. The only noticeable difference was that people gave him a wider berth. They still gawked, of course, at the scar, but now they also stared at his teeth.

A young woman made as if to approach him, gripping a glass of liquid courage in her hand. Harry smiled, knowing exactly how he looked when he combined that particular grin with a certain warning flash of his eyes. She faltered and moved away. Harry sighed in relief.

Hermione was beside him suddenly, gripping his arm.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Do I want to leap on any of the guests, tear out their jugulars and feast on the spurting blood, do you mean?"

Hermione scowled. "No, that is not what I mean. Er… You don't, do you?"

Harry scanned the crush of warm bodies and sighed. The urge to feed was there, as always, but it was controllable. Mostly, Harry was bored.

"I'm fine, Hermione. I'm filled to the brim with Blood Potion. Your guests are safe. What is this ridiculous party for, again? And why did you drag me here?"

"It's a retirement party for Dawlish, don't you remember? And I dragged you here because you've been moping about your house for months. You need to get out more."

"I've been moping because I'm a fucking vampire, Hermione. The goddamn sun will kill me in the daytime, and at night I want to suck the life from other human beings. It's not exactly conducive to a happy social life, and to getting out more."

"Well, it's not a death sentence, either," she snapped. "You're still basically you, but for paler skin, and the fact that you don't need your glasses anymore… and the whole sunshine and blood drinking thing—but that's not the point, Harry. Just because you're different doesn't mean you have to give up and—"

"Hermione. We've had this argument before. Several times, in fact. I'm here, all right? I'm here mingling. I have a glass of wine in hand. I'm chatting with people. Okay?"

"Whom have you chatted with?" she asked cagily.

"Lots of people," Harry lied, but his eyes narrowed dangerously and Hermione backed down with a sigh. She gave him a quick hug.

"All right. It's enough you're here, I suppose. But don't try and sneak off without saying goodbye."

She disappeared into the crowd and Harry sighed, immediately drifting back into his ennui. He began to sidle toward the door, heedless of Hermione's warning. He planned to escape at earliest opportunity. Harry had nearly reached the portal when it opened and an elegant figure strolled in, arresting Harry's motion, as well as his ability to breathe.

A midnight blue cloak was removed and tossed heedlessly over an arm while grey eyes impatiently scanned the milling people. Harry knew they were grey, even though he couldn't see them from his vantage. Harry had been the victim of that dagger-sharp gaze enough times to have the exact shade memorized. Storm clouds, mist over the moors, quicksilver, polished steel…

Harry had not seen Draco Malfoy since before… well, before Voldemort. Before Harry's turning. Before the defeat of the Dark, and Harry's resulting personal hell. Harry's mouth was suddenly dry and he felt very, very… thirsty. There was something indefinable about the Slytherin. Something he had never noticed before.

Harry slipped through the throng, no longer headed for the door. He disposed of his untouched wine glass on the way. Malfoy moved, his eyes searching for someone, missing Harry completely. He walked with his usual arrogant stride, ignoring everyone he passed, but for a cursory nod to those that greeted him. Harry caught him when he passed a darkened hallway. Caught him and dragged him into the dark.

Malfoy's wand was out and pressed into Harry's diaphragm, even as Harry was pushing Draco into the wall. Damn, but Malfoy was fast. One of the best, Hermione had said. Malfoy would likely be Head Auror by the end of the year. Harry cared nothing for that. At the moment, he cared for nothing at all but the insane, overwhelming, maddening hunger that had gripped him the instant Malfoy had walked into the room.

Harry's hands were on Draco's shoulders and he leaned close… not touching… not yet… just close enough to drink in the astonishing scent of him. Close enough that if Harry pursed his lips just a bit, he would be kissing the smooth, pale, delicate flesh of Draco's throat.

"Potter!" Malfoy snapped. "Give me one good reason why I should not hex you into insensibility."

"I'm already insensible," Harry murmured. "Oh god, you smell like sunlight and summer." Harry drank in Draco's essence and realized his hands were trembling and he was extraordinarily turned on. He hadn't realized he could still feel sexual attraction! He wanted… oh how he wanted… to slice open Draco's flesh… just a bit… and drink the sweet blood he sensed just beneath the surface. But nearly as much as that, he wanted to tear Malfoy's clothes off and press him into the wall… thrust into him… consume him and fill him at once. "Like orange blossoms and wildflowers."

"Why are you breathing on me, Potter? And what are you—?" Malfoy's words choked off into a loud gasp as Harry shoved his hips forward, crushing Malfoy's wand between them and pressing his erection into Draco's groin. Harry moaned against Malfoy's throat, finally touching the warm skin—it was nearly Harry's undoing. He licked ever so gently, trembling, shaking with the effort it took not to tear his sharp fangs into Draco's flesh.

"Is this some new vampire kink you've acquired?" Malfoy asked, but his voice was ragged and breathy, and the sarcastic tone was not quite as potent as usual. Harry felt Draco's chest hitch as his lips slid over Malfoy's throat, carrying his tongue on a wet path over the jugular… the vessel containing Harry's worst need… Harry felt the edges of his control slipping away.

Draco had quite forgotten he was holding his wand, even though it was currently digging quite painfully into the flesh of his hand and crushing one of his ribs. He had forgotten everything except the feel of Harry Potter's breath on his neck and the sound of his smoldering voice saying the most insane things…

"…you taste like candy floss and chocolate, and jasmine tea…"

Harry was lapping at his throat now, and Draco knew that was a very bad thing. He knew what Potter had become—everyone knew. Next Potter would be ripping open a vein and drinking Draco's lifeblood. He had to be stopped. Oh bloody hell that felt nice. Harry's hips thrust forward again, earning a distinct whimper from Draco that nearly shocked him back into his right mind… until Potter kissed him.

Harry's lips locked onto Draco's and his tongue plundered Draco's mouth—no gentleness there. Harry was like a ravenous beast, sucking, lapping, teeth clashing, fangs… oh god, he had fangs and they were… they were… interesting. Draco curiously explored one with his tongue and immediately regretted it. The sharp edge of it slashed him, sending a rush of blood into their joined mouths. Harry, trembling wildly before, suddenly froze, and Draco felt a shudder pass through Harry's body.

He sucked gently at Draco's tongue and Malfoy felt a feral rush of desire that Harry could not have failed to notice, pressed as he was so intimately against Draco's body. A moan sounded from Harry's throat and his hands moved from Draco's shoulders to cup his head in a tender embrace. Holy fucking hell, Draco thought as Harry sucked again, even more gently, and Draco suddenly realized he was going to orgasm in a darkened hallway, fully clothed, next to a room full of people with Harry Potter attached to his face.

The same thought seemed to occur to Potter and he suddenly wrenched himself away, so quickly and harshly that he actually slammed into the opposite wall. Harry poised there for a moment with eyes wild and lips parted. His hair was longer than Draco remembered and quite attractively mussed. He looked infinitely fuckable and the fangs only served to give him a dangerous edge…

"Oh god," Harry said hoarsely. "I'm so sorry. I've never done… never felt anything…like that…"

Neither had Draco, frankly. Before he could gather his thoughts enough to comment on the fact, Potter pushed himself away from the wall and, with a last muttered apology hanging in the air behind him, fled. Draco's brow furrowed. It was nearly ten minutes before he felt composed enough to step out of the darkened hallway. When he did, he went looking for Hermione Granger.

ooOoo

Harry sat on his couch in the pitch-black room holding a glass of Scotch. It was rather stupid to be drinking Scotch, because it simply didn't have the same effect any longer. It was impossible for him to get drunk—except on Draco Malfoy's blood, apparently, though he shied away from that thought immediately—but he still enjoyed the taste, so he sipped at it while his mind replayed the scene at the party, even as he desperately tried to keep from doing so.

What the hell had happened? Draco had been like a fucking magnet. And why Draco bloody Malfoy, of all people? Just because he was more gorgeous than any mere human had a right to be, he was still a massive thorn in Harry's side, especially since Harry had been forced to listen to Hermione's stories for the past six months. Draco, the Auror Supreme. Draco had single-handedly saved four Aurors when a booby-trapped spell had tripped and Draco had Apparated them all—all!—to safety. Draco had crushed an illegal animal-smuggling ring. Draco this and Draco that. Hell, even Ron had joined the Draco Malfoy Fan Club when the Seeker of his beloved Chudley Cannons had nearly been killed by a hexed broom and Malfoy had tracked down the culprits. Perhaps all the stories had tainted Harry's view of the Slytherin and made him far more attractive than he really was.

Harry remembered how Draco had looked in those last moments—propped against the wall, silver-gold hair disheveled, platinum eyes wide, lips parted, wet and slightly smeared with blood… Harry groaned and drew a shaking hand over his forehead. No, it wasn't the stories. It was just Malfoy. It had always been just Malfoy. The stupid blood lust was only magnifying it.

A knock sounded at the door and Harry groaned. Hermione. She was going to kill him for fleeing the party without her permission. And for molesting her favorite Auror. He set his drink on the side table and went to the door. When he flung open the portal, it wasn't Hermione Granger's annoyed visage that met his gaze, it was Draco's.

He nearly shut the door in a panic.

Draco grinned as his eyes lazily traveled over Potter, who was clad only in jeans. He looked even better in skin than he had in the semi-formal robes he'd worn at the party, Draco mused.

"Well, after you snogged half the life out of me, do you think we're on intimate enough terms for you to invite me in?" he asked.

Potter flushed and Draco was pleased to note that vampires could still have that subconscious reaction. Harry stepped aside and Draco swept into the house. He walked into the parlour, noticing that the place was completely dark. Harry quickly lit several candles with a flick of his wand. Draco sat down one of the sofas.

"Um… drink?" Harry asked nervously.

"Cognac?"

Harry went to the sideboard and poured some liquid into a snifter. Draco was amused to hear the glass rattle slightly. Potter was definitely spooked. Harry handed him the glass and their fingers brushed for the merest instant. Potter reacted as if electrified. Draco pretended not to notice.

Harry sat on the opposing couch. Draco slouched back into the cushions and sipped his drink. Harry perched on the edge, looking like the very portrait of tension.

"So," Draco said conversationally, "How did it happen? I've heard rumors, of course, but the truth is generally far from gossip."

Harry looked confused for only a moment, until he caught up to Draco's train of thought.

"I was worried about the werewolves," Harry said. "They were traveling with vampires at the time—werewolves cannot turn vampires, of course, and vampires cannot abide the blood of werewolves. Voldemort was using them both to attack helpless Muggles."

Harry relaxed a bit, delving into his memories. He did not sit back, but some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

"On the day of the final battle, I stood and confronted Voldemort, as expected. You were there, I remember. I saw you from afar, fighting with the Order and using some Dark spells that had Moody raving at you for weeks…" A grin touched Harry's mouth briefly, before it twisted into a grimace. "And then the final confrontation—Voldemort's death, and my miraculous survival." Harry laughed shortly. "The Boy Who Lived—Twice. Much good that it did me. We all thought the danger was past, except for the mopping up. I remember staggering into the forest, seeking my tent. I was exhausted. Fenrir Greyback stepped out of the wood. I barely had enough energy to stop him—he was strong. A veritable maniac, even without the full moon. I finally managed to Stun him. I remember falling, and I saw someone else—god, I thought it was you. He was slim, with blond hair, and he rushed forward as I fell. I remember him holding me and I stupidly let down my guard… I probably even called him by your name. There was a bite and then a curious lethargy. I don't remember anything else until I woke up at St. Mungos, days later."

Draco felt curiously guilty, and somewhat humbled. Potter had let down his guard because he had thought the vampire to be Draco. He had probably allowed the bastard to bite him.

"Does this vampire thing cause you to behave irrationally? Not that you were ever particularly rational, that is."

Harry scowled, a look so familiar Draco nearly laughed aloud. It was definitely still Potter beneath the pale skin, and huge green eyes, and deadly fangs.

"No, it does not. I already apologized for this evening. I don't know what came over… why are you here?"

Draco leaned over and set his glass on a nearby table.

"Well, you bolted before you were finished, and I thought you might like to continue where you left off," Draco said carefully and then smiled, because truly, the look on Harry's face was priceless, for all that it lasted a mere moment. After that single instant, his gaze became positively predatory and Draco felt a slight thrill of alarm. Potter slid off the sofa and actually crawled across the intervening space like a stalking panther.

His hands touched Draco's knees and then slid gently over his thighs to the waistband of his black trousers.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked hoarsely. Do you know what you're allowing?

Draco shook his head. "No, not really. But do go on."

"I thought senseless bravery was a Gryffindor trait."

"Apparently you haven't cornered the market, yet."

Draco's mouth went dry and his heart thudded heavily in his chest as Potter unfastened the belt and freed Draco's engorged erection. Harry cocked a brow.

"No undergarments?" he asked casually.

"They chafe," Draco explained and then sucked in a harsh breath as Harry's tongue caressed the length of his shaft. Draco's nails dragged over the fabric of the sofa as his fists clenched.

"Unbutton your shirt," Harry ordered and swiped again. He sucked gently at the edge of the glans and Draco actually bucked for a moment before he controlled himself and raised shaky hands to unfasten his buttons. Bloody hell, Potter's eyes were practically glowing as he watched Draco reveal more and more flesh. Harry's hands moved over Draco's abdomen and he tried not to shiver at Potter's touch.

When Draco's shirt was open, Harry took all of Draco into his mouth. For a brief instant, Draco was afraid those razor-sharp teeth would cause some severe damage, but Potter was careful. Very, very careful, for all that his hands trembled on Draco's skin. Draco wondered how tenuous Harry's control was—even with the potions, he had to be craving Draco's blood quite badly.

His control lasted longer than Draco expected, at any rate. He continued to draw lips and tongue over Draco's cock—carefully, so carefully—until Draco exploded in a scintillating haze, unaware that his hands had found Potter's hair. Harry released him gently and rested his cheek against Draco's flank. His breathing was ragged, almost tortured, and his hands trembled on Draco's skin.

"I need… oh god, I need…" Harry murmured.

"I know," Draco whispered. "It's all right."

Harry's head rose and he stared at Draco in amazement. Draco smiled softly. For a terrifying creature of the night, Potter was still quite the sweet, naïve Gryffindor.

"Are you sure?" he asked unevenly.

Draco ruffled the dark hair gently.

"Just make sure you leave some."

"I'll try not to hurt you."

Draco expected Harry to slide up and do the traditional neck-sucking routine but, as usual, Harry surprised him. Turning his head just a bit, Potter dragged a fang over the flesh of Draco's flank, near the mass of blond curls. Draco felt nothing until Harry's tongue drew over the wound, and then he suppressed a hiss at the sting. It felt no worse than a paper cut, and quickly became extraordinarily erotic.

Harry's hands were splayed over his skin and he lapped at Draco's blood rather than sucking at it. Draco found himself becoming hard again as he slid one hand over Harry's soft, maddeningly messy, hair and dropped down to rest on a smooth shoulder. Potter moaned softly and moved his hands down to fumble with Draco's boots. He tugged them off without halting the languid motion of his tongue. He did pause long enough to drag Draco's trousers off. Socks followed, tossed aside haphazardly. Draco grinned, wondering if he would find them again later, and felt a flash of amazement. He would never have imagined he would lose his socks in Harry Potter's house.

Harry's mouth returned to Draco's groin and took in the blood that had started to trickle downward. Potter quickly Summoned his wand and Draco felt a rush of warmth as Harry cast a Healing Charm. Draco was surprised.

"Is that all?" he asked. He'd lost more blood in Potions Class gashing himself with a careless twist of a paring knife.

"I'm drunk enough," Harry said in a voice tinged with amusement. Potter launched himself upward and Draco felt arms wrap around his neck. A hard chest pressed against his. Harry's jeans were rough against his legs and Draco's hands immediately began to remove them while Harry's lips fastened on his. "You're intoxicating," Harry murmured between kisses. "You taste like sunshine. Like fine wine and black currants…"

Given Harry's normal propensity to rail incoherently at Draco, he found himself enchanted by the Gryffindor's unexpected sensual verbalizing. Harry countered the sweet words by gripping Draco's shirt tightly and wrenching him sideways onto the couch, shedding his confining jeans in the process. Harry's body covered the length of Draco's and his hands were suddenly everywhere.

"I didn't know vampires were into this sort of thing," Draco gasped when Harry pulled back for a moment to catch his breath.

"Neither did I," Harry admitted. "Maybe they're not. Maybe it's just me… into you."

"I like the sound of that," Draco said seductively and Harry began to make it literal, rather than figurative. Into me, Draco thought and it spun crazily through his mind as his hips rose to meet Harry's. The suppressed passion in Potter's kiss had driven him here and the unleashed passion was even more than Draco had expected. Harry's hands were rough, gripping, clawing, and clenching into Draco's flesh, leaving bruises and scratches. His mouth was the opposite—everywhere, like the hands—but gently, never biting, nor bruising, but caressing, teasing, softly tasting.

Harry's thrusts were extraordinary. Inexperienced, but astounding, nonetheless. Draco had never felt anything so incredible, and wondered how much of it was caused by Potter's never-ending string of endearments panted against his skin with every hot breath. Harry's hand squeezed and twisted on Draco's cock with each thrust—Potter couldn't bruise that, thank heaven, and when Harry shuddered and sighed one last, "beautiful" Draco lost control and hot fluid spilled between their sweat-soaked bodies.

Harry sprawled bonelessly over Draco and his hands finally ceased their motion; for a moment, at least, until the gentle stroking began once more. Draco chuckled.

"For a vampire, you're awfully sweet," he commented.

"Do you want me to bite you again?" Harry threatened.

"Before, or after?"

Harry laughed.

"Your choice."