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Maeve’s Parlour, Knockturn Alley

Late October

Draco tilted his head to the side, closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. There was comfort in Pansy Parkinson’s tender touch, the way her lips found purchase on the salty skin of his neck just beneath the black ink of runes and numbers tattooed there, grazing it ever so softly. Goosebumps peppered his skin as he let himself sink into the heady feeling of her familiar kisses.

He exhaled and closed his eyes, basking in her safety as the two stood in front of the suite’s lone mirror. Hazy smoke clouded their reflection, and the tangy scent of sweat permeated the room inside Maeve’s Parlour like a fog of musk.

Pansy pulled away from him, letting her fingers drag down the length of his arms. “You’re distant tonight,” she mused as she retreated to the bed to make herself presentable. Her black hair, cut short in a blunt bob, framed her face beautifully. The ends curled in slightly, emphasizing the long line of her jaw. Her red lipstick was smudged outside the smooth lines of her pouty lips.

Draco stayed silent for a moment while he watched Pansy, naked, as she gathered her clothes from around the room. Normally they’d talk for some time before getting on with it, but tonight he’d been ravenous. The need to sink into her, both literally and figuratively, had been staggering. Not that he could pinpoint why, exactly, outside of a general sense of dread that had settled over him over the past few nights.

He bent over to pick his trousers up from the floor then shimmied his arse back into them. “I know,” he said simply, fidgeting with a loose lock of hair that refused to go where he wanted. He had let his hair grow longer than normal, the fringe in front falling into his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. It’s not you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“You know I’m here when you need me,” she declared, lighting the tip of her ciggie then placing it between her lips. Pale wisps of smoke coiled around her lithe body as she demurely pulled a silk stocking up her slender leg, fastening it onto the garter at her thigh.

Draco could count on two things in life: Pansy’s cunt, and her listening ear. Out of everyone, she knew what it was like to be in his shoes, to come from an upbringing like his. To be on the wrong side of a war their parents chose to fight. To lose everything they once had.

Ultimately, she knew what it was like to live without redemption. Just like him.

As he draped the soft cotton of his oxford shirt over his shoulders, Draco let his eyes trail over the criss-crossing Sectumsempra scars on his torso that had never really faded, a constant reminder that he’d been bested by Saint Potter countless times over the years. He fastened his buttons as quickly as possible, nudging the errant thought away.

Draco took one last steadying breath before tossing an extra galleon on the nightstand. Pansy snatched the coin from the table, placing it into her pocket purse. “When are you going to stop giving me more than what I charge, Draco Malfoy?”

Face turned back to the mirror, he looked at her, their eyes locking through the reflection.“When you start charging what you’re worth.”

They should’ve been married, she and him. That had been the idea before the snake-faced demon wizard crushed those well-laid plans. Now, they did what they could. Pansy worked at the brothel five nights a week, while Draco brewed illegal potions down on the other side of Knockturn Alley in the Zabini family shop, Serpents Apothecary.

He barely made enough money to rent a flat above Borgin and Burkes. One, because the fucking Ministry had stripped him of his family fortune and two, because Zabini paid him shite. His living was as meager as it was meaningless.

He had no family; the Ministry had taken care of that. His father had died from the noose. “A proper punishment for Death Eater scum,” as the Minister had proudly proclaimed when he kicked the stool out from beneath his father’s feet. His mother had died of a broken heart a few years later behind bars, withered away to nothing in the cold depths of Azkaban.

His friends—what was left of them—had done what he did. Found their own way in life. He saw Nott on occasion, when the chaotic wizard came in to buy the random potion or two. Goyle was somewhere in Scandinavia doing Merlin knows what. Pansy was here at the brothel.

It was interesting to him that the only constant person he had in life was Pansy. Some were dead while others drifted in and out of his life like ships passing in the night. Yet Pansy remained.

She sat at the edge of the bed, clasping her lacy red bra behind her. “I’ll be at The Black Lace tomorrow night. If you’re interested.”

“I hate seeing you throw yourself at other wizards, love.”

“You know it doesn’t mean anything, Draco.”

“Doesn’t mean I like to see it.”

Pansy gave a soft laugh. “We both know that’s a lie. You love watching me dance. Even if it’s on another man’s lap.”

He did like to watch her dance. He liked to watch all of them dance, but Pansy was his favorite. She was gorgeous. Kind. Familiar.

Comfort.

Yes, that’s what she was.

He wasn’t in love with her. He probably never would be, but he craved the way she gave him a firm foundation to carry on with the rest of his dreadful life. Sometimes she was the only thing that motivated him to get out of bed every morning. If Pansy wasn’t here, with her gentle spirit and seductive thrum of her magic wrapping its arms around him every few nights, what was the point of this life?

He’d yet to find an answer.

Brewing potions was…fine. Joyless, but fine. Mostly, he felt like he was in a constant state of hurry up and wait.

Waiting for someone or something to come along and either end his life or make it brighter.

It was later that night as he was walking back to his flat, when the shops of Knockturn Alley were past closing time and the seedy patrons were milling about with all sorts of nefarious business, that he caught sight of someone unexpected.

A frigid gust of wind barreled through the alleyway. Draco caught a chill and his hair stood up stick-straight on his arms. He pulled his cloak more tightly across his chest trying to block the cold. That’s when the smell of something woodsy drifted in the air. He looked up from the wet cobblestone pathway and saw a soft tuft of copper hair peeking out from beneath a black hooded cloak on the person walking past him. Something about it seemed familiar to him, triggering a memory from years past. Feeling a pull towards that orange hair, Draco spun around in a double take.

Draco’s heart leapt when he turned around and the person had glanced back over his shoulder. Peering out from beneath the hooded cloak sat a pair of icy blue eyes staring back at him. Tan freckles dotted ivory cheeks. One eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk.

Draco audibly gasped.

What the fuck was Ron Weasley doing here at half past midnight?

Serpents Apothecary, Knockturn Alley

Afternoon

Hot steam from the cauldron on the table bubbled up and around the brewing room as Draco brewed the latest batch of Marrowrot Elixir. Draco rubbed his eyes, bone tired and wishing he was anywhere but work. He hadn’t slept well last night. For some reason, the normal cacophony of late night Knockturn Alley had been kicked up a notch. The occasional high-pitched screeches of witches and wizards fighting or fucking was nothing new, but last night he had heard raucous howling and faint screams in distant alleys.

It hadn’t just been the noise that kept him awake. It was the vision of the redhead weasel in a place Draco never thought he’d be. The same thought repeated in his mind now: What the fuck had Weasley been doing on this side of wizarding London?

More than that, Weasley had looked…alluring. The angle of his face, pointed and carved in a way that showed elegance. Like he’d grown an impossible six inches since school, his body filled out and…Draco shook his head, trying to get the image out of his thoughts. It was Weasley, after all. When had Draco ever spared a second thought to the redhead wizard? Potter and Granger’s sidekick, really. Nothing special about that.

Still, the intrusive thoughts continued. Draco nearly caused an explosion by putting a flobberworm inside a cauldron boiling with the beginnings of the illegal elixir, a potent bone melter. Draco had come up with the mixture on his own, much to Zabini’s delight, who’d since sold cases of it underground. Apparently it was a hit with the Russians.

Flobberworm tossed aside, Draco focused on the task at hand.

A few hours into Draco’s shift, Zabini walked into Serpents Apothecary carrying a copy of today’s Daily Prophet. “Afternoon, mate.” Draco hated when he called him that. They weren’t mates.

Zabini, the lucky bastard, had been allowed to remain neutral during the war. At the time Draco thought he was nothing but spineless, but being spineless had paid off. His family lost nothing because the Ministry could prove nothing.

Lucky bastard, indeed.

And now Draco was working for the bloke just to make ends meet. Draco tipped his chin in quiet acknowledgment but held his tongue. The wizard was his boss after all. Zabini tossed the paper down onto the counter next to Draco’s elixir. “More bodies last night. They’re piling up.”

Draco slid his gaze to the headline, but kept his focus on the shimmering brown liquid in the pot. “A random body here and there is nothing to get your wand in a knot for. This is Knockturn, after all.”

“It’s not just one body this time, Drake.”

Draco gritted his teeth, holding his breath to suppress a snarl. He hated that name even more than mate. Much to Draco’s chagrin, he had to pretend to like him. Deep down, he despised the man.

“How many?” he managed to say after snuffing out his ire.

“Four. Two witches and two muggle men. All withered and dried up. Same as the others from two weeks ago over in Edinburgh.”

“Doesn’t seem all that suspicious,” he lied. Draco wished he would just go away so he could get on with the rest of his day. He didn’t need a friend for idle conversation about dead bodies, he needed a paycheck.

Zabini shrugged. “Perhaps not.” Out of nowhere, the dark wizard slammed his palm down onto the top of Daily Prophet.

Draco jumped, sending Zabini a malice-laced side-eye. He noted a hint of disgust behind his fellow Slytherin's sneer. “For fuck’s sake!” Draco scorned. “What was that for? You nearly ruined my potion, one that brings in a fair bit of coin for your pockets, I might add.”

The corner of Zabini’s mouth lifted in a half-smirk. Then, with a twist of his wrist, Zabini conjured a lollipop out of thin air. He sucked on the candy lewdly, pulling the sweet stick from his mouth with a pop. The move didn’t escape Draco’s attention, his eyes snagging on the wet surface of his boss’s lips, stirring that forbidden desire in the depths of his belly that Draco refused to let surface.

“Best be careful out there, Draco. Don’t let a vamp get you.” Zabini winked then turned on his heel and stalked out of the brewing room. Not a second later, Draco heard the ring of the bell on the front door, telling him that Zabini had left.

Thank fuck. The man was a complete menace.

Moribunds Pub, Knockturn Alley

Sunset

After Draco’s shift he went to the pub down the street for a quick pint. Strung out and restless, he needed a glass to take the edge off.

As it turned out, Zabini wasn’t the only one talking about the dried up bodies. Whispers of vampires and dark magic abounded. Draco didn’t put much stock into the vampire rumour. In all his years he’d never seen one. When he learned about them in school, they were described as nothing more than sickly creatures relegated to the cold and snowy forests in Europe. Besides, there were other ways to drain a body of blood that didn’t require sinking one’s teeth into them and drinking them dry. Fuck, just last week Draco had brewed a serum that did just that. He would bet the odds that whoever disposed of bodies last night had used the serum.

No, vampires were a rare thing.

He drained his glass, motioning for the bartender to pour him another.

As he waited for his firewhiskey, the image of Ron Weasley flashed in the forefront of Draco’s thoughts. The more he thought about it, the more Draco convinced himself that he hadn’t really seen the Gryffindor prat. A figment of his imagination.

It had been late. He’d been tired, fucked out, and drained of emotion.

There was no logical reason that Weasley would ever step foot into Knockturn. He and his brother were practically the Kings of Diagon Alley. Rich bastards with every witch and wizard eating from the palm of their hands. It made the bile burn in Draco’s stomach.

The bartender slid his drink down the length of the bar and Draco caught it with his hand. Amber liquid splashed over the rim of the glass, coating his hand in a thin sheen. Not one to waste a drop, he brought the soft skin between his thumb and pointer finger to his mouth, sucking the warm liquid from it.

He closed his eyes, savoring the taste of the cinnamon that coated his tongue when the pesky image of a tuft of red hair flashed before his eyes again. It was becoming an annoying recurrence.

Draco reached angrily for his glass, draining it one fell swoop. He slammed the glass down on the bar, then pushed out his stool aggressively. He dropped a few knuts onto the table and walked out. He needed Pansy tonight.

She’d distract him.

He turned right, walking briskly toward The Black Lace.

The Black Lace, Knockturn Alley

Later

The crackled sounds of a record player echoed across the dimly-lit burlesque club while Draco drowned himself in his third glass of firewhiskey for the night. He sat close to the stage at his favorite table; a spot he knew would put him front and center to the stage when Pansy finally made her entrance. Normally she didn’t dance until closer to midnight, but this was alright with him. Watching the other dancers always put him in the right sort of mood for her.

Swaying her hips erotically, another witch—blonde, pert, and wearing nothing but a lacy thong and nipple pasties—moved to the beat of the music. Catching Draco’s eyes, she moved closer to him then bent over, legs spread wide. He was eye-level with her snakeskin black heels, affording him a perfect view of her taut calves and bouncy arse. She peered at him seductively through her legs, reaching through to run her fingers over the barely-there fabric covering her cunt.

Draco’s cock twitched. He was glad for the distraction. He tossed a few knuts on the stage and the dancer reached down to grab them with her delicate fingers. When she came back up, she traced the outline of his jaw, stopping for a moment to brush her thumb across his bottom lip. He wanted to suck on it.

He sipped his whiskey, taking his time to savor the drink slowly so that he wasn’t too drunk for Pansy. That’s when he heard a familiar giggle behind him.

He turned around, catching sight of Pansy in a corner booth with none other than Ron Weasley. She laughed at something he said, running her hand across his chest in the same way she touched Draco the night before. The most shocking sight wasn’t the way she batted her eyelashes at the Gryffindor king, but the way Weasley’s eyes were fixed not on her but on Draco, like some invisible string was reeling them toward one another.

Weasley’s gaze caught him like ice. Draco’s chest felt as though a tangle of Devil’s Snare worked its way around him, unable to expand for a full breath as Ron’s blue eyes sucked him further down. Ron Weasley had all the appearance of someone aristocratic, his clothing finely tailored, hair perfectly coiffed. Gone was the goofy overeager grin of a child. In its place a luminous, yet cruel, smirk that demanded Draco’s attention.

He beckoned him with a sly smile and nod of his head. Compelled by the urge to talk to Pansy, but also by the need to figure out Weasley, Draco walked over. He couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. When Draco reached the table, Weasley gestured for him to sit.

“Malfoy,” he drawled, as Draco settled beside Pansy.

“Weasel.”

Ron’s grin widened at Draco’s remark, making him squirm uncomfortably in his seat.

Pansy slid her gaze to Draco, hands never leaving Ron’s body, her eyes warm and inviting. “Draco, darling. I’m so happy you could join us. You remember Weasley, I’m sure.”

“How could I forget?” Draco responded, a hint of animosity hidden beneath the otherwise neutral words. He had no reason to feel bitter. He didn’t own Pansy. She was free to fuck and touch whomever she felt like. Weasley stared Draco down while his hands wandered the edges of Pansy’s corset, and Draco had the distinct desire to slit his throat with a well-placed Diffindo.

Yet Draco couldn’t move, weakness overtaking his body. Weasley’s icy blue gaze tied a noose around Draco’s neck and he found himself immobilized, as if he'd been placed under a trance.

Draco swallowed, his throat dry. He clocked the way Weasley’s gaze followed the movement of his Adam’s apple, and Draco’s cock twitched involuntarily. “What brings you to Knockturn, Weasley?” Draco asked, his voice low and rough. “Are the witches on Diagon unsatisfactory to your tastes?”

Weasley’s hair had grown long, nearly to his shoulders and he whisked it back with a huff. “I’ve found that as of late, most of wizarding society has become quite dull to me.” Weasley smirked at Draco. “So, yes, I suppose things are unsatisfactory. I heard the Lace had talent too good to be true,” he drawled, fingers tracing lines down Pansy’s bare arms.

Draco watched as Ron smiled, his lips pursed and wet. A quiet laugh escaped Ron’s mouth as he leaned forward so that while he kissed Pansy on the lips, his hand reached beneath the table and also found purchase on Draco’s knee. Weasley pulled back from Pansy and she gasped, breath taken away. Shocked by the touch, Draco’s breath was equally stolen from his body.

Frozen on the spot, Draco smelled the same woodsy aroma from last night. Gaining his control, Draco swiped Weasley’s hand off his knee. “Presumptuous.”

Draco crossed one leg over the other and placed a hand on Pansy’s thigh. He needed to gain the upperhand. Knockturn was his territory. Pansy, his preferred witch. “Business not doing well?” Draco asked nonchalantly as he began to run his fingers along Pansy’s leg.

“Same as always. Simple minds will always need cheap jokes,” Weasley placated.

A middle-aged witch with frizzy short hair walked over to their booth. “The Midnight room is available for the next few hours, Miss Pansy. Emma has agreed to dance tonight in your place.” The witch eyed Draco and Ron expectantly, knowing that the price for Pansy in private would be far richer than what she’d get on the stage.

Pansy smiled and winked up at her proprietor. “The wizards are gearing up for a cock fight, I think, Miss Cheltingham.”

“Hmm,” replied the witch, as the corner of her mouth ticked up with a sly smile. She stood to the side, waiting for a decision. Pansy looked at the two of them, he and Weasley, her eyebrow raised in silent cajoling.

Enough of this. Draco needed her tonight. He tossed four galleons on the table. It was over half of what he had on hand. The most he’d ever paid for her before.

Weasley threw down eight galleons, eyes never leaving Draco.

Draco stiffened, back straightening as he puffed out his chest. He tossed the rest of his coin onto the table. Nine galleons in total. He’d have to starve for a week just to afford it.

A slow smirk crept along Weasley’s face, and with a flourish of his wand, a velvet bag heavy with galleons appeared on the table, the gold metal glistening and clinking inside. It was a sum Draco couldn’t dream of matching. Weasley exuded arrogance and it was annoyingly attractive to Draco. After all, he’d always been turned on by egotism.

Miss Cheltingham grabbed the bag. “The Midnight room is yours, Mr. Weasley. As for you, Mr. Malfoy, why not try someone new? The blonde, perhaps?”

Draco waved her off sullenly.

“Suit yourself,” Miss Cheltingham admonished as she turned on her heel and left.

“You could watch, if you’d like,” Weasley mocked, a smug smile on his lips.

“Fuck off, Weasel.”

It pained Draco to watch Weasley offer his hand to Pansy, watch her place her delicate fingers into his freckled ones as the two stood up from the booth.

“Good to see you, Malfoy,” Weasley quipped. “I do hope we run into one another again.”

Weasley had snagged his girl right out from underneath his fingertips. It enraged him beyond belief to be emasculated in this way by a wizard he once considered beneath him.

With her hand in Weasley’s, Pansy looked back over her shoulder to Draco, her expression regretful. “Do you blame me, darling?” Draco looked down at his feet then watched them disappear around the corner.

No. He didn’t blame her. In her shoes he would have done the same.

He’d come to The Black Lace for Pansy, but he left that night thinking only of him. The line of his jaw, crisp and pointed. The smell of his woodsy cologne. The soft waves of his hair as they fell upon the tops of his shoulders. Above all, Draco couldn’t stop thinking about Weasley’s unfettered confidence. His demeanor had been otherworldly and it made Draco’s head spin with jealousy.

Draco’s Flat, Knockturn Alley

Night

Later that evening, after leaving The Black Lace empty-handed and blue-balled, Draco found himself alone in his shower, his forehead leaning against the cold tile, hand gripped firmly around his throbbing cock.

He tried to picture Pansy, her slim legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped in and out of her sweet, tight pussy. He was just about to come, but then a whisper echoed in his mind. You could watch, if you’d like. His hand stilled around his cock. Now was not the time to think about the Weasel. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of red hair and glacial blue eyes to leave his brain.

He pumped again, thinking of Pansy, but before he could stop himself, Draco imagined the cock inside of her, and it wasn’t his own. Pink-tipped, thick, curved, and hard as a fucking rock, it was Weasley gliding in and out of her. Or, what he imagined Weasley’s cock to look like.

Fuck. He placed his forehead against the cold shower wall, hand pumping, frustrated that Ron fucking Weasley had interrupted his wank. Draco forced the image away, eyes closed tight, remembering what Pansy’s cunt looked like, the way her silky folds felt around his cock.

Squeezing harder on his length, hand pumping up and down, up and down, over and over. Images of Weasley’s wavy hair flashed before his eyes. His chiseled jaw, the glacial blue depth of his eyes. Draco imagined what his former nemesis looked like without a shirt, freckles peppering his chest and torso, like speckles of stardust sprinkled within the outlines of his abs. He imagined the fullness of Weasley’s lips, the way they would taste as he ran his tongue over the pouty flesh.

Up and down, up and down. Faster.

Draco’s release was near, and when he let himself imagine the hard lines that undoubtedly pointed into the shape of a V down towards Weasley’s crotch. He remembered what it felt like when Weasley had placed his hand on Draco’s knee. Lines of warm cum shot out of the tip of his cock, covering his hand in the sticky fluid. He grunted in euphoric relief as the last of his spend coated the shower wall, dripping down slowly towards the drain.

He sank against the wall, his body limp as he breathed in and out, steadying himself as he came down from the high.

He had just come thinking of a man he used to despise. Someone, who at one point in time, was beneath him. Draco let this realization sink in while the streaming water from the spout hit him in the chest. He stood there, unmoving and dazed until the water was no longer warm.

Draco spent the next few days thinking about Weasley when moments were quiet at the apothecary, or in the silent minutes of the early morning light peeking in through the window. He found himself avoiding The Black Lace and Maeve’s Parlour, his hunger and need for Pansy growing dimmer by the hour.

The sudden change in his desire was somewhat baffling. No one had ever pulled him away from Pansy. Least of all a man.

He wondered what it was about Ron Weasley that enchanted him. Draco had not seen him in years, yet the moment he had laid his eyes on the Gryffindor, it was as if the air itself shifted, thickening with an undeniable presence that refused to be ignored. Gone was the brash schoolboy whose laughter and smug smiles had made Draco scoff and roll his eyes.

In his place stood something far more dangerous. More devastating. His ginger hair caught the light like molten copper, too bright and too alive for any ordinary wizard. His face, still undeniably Weasley’s, had been honed into elegance. If Weasley had appeared like this at Hogwarts, Draco would’ve gone out of his way to befriend him. To be needed by him.

Most of all, it was his mouth that held Draco captive. He couldn’t get it out of his memory. The curve of his lips, soft and mocking all at once. Though they didn’t speak more than a few sentences to each other, Draco knew that each word from Weasley had been carefully crafted to wound and caress in the same breath. Even the cadence of his voice, low and velvet-smooth, seemed to coil around Draco, stirring a heat deep within.

He’d wanted to look away, to remember the boy who he’d made an enemy of long ago. It was futile.

What had changed? Was it simply time? Or was it something darker that shimmered behind that smile like a flame burning behind frosted glass?

His thoughts jumbled with questions he could not answer, but beneath them all was a truth he could not deny: he wanted Ronald Weasley. Against memory, against reason, against everything he thought he knew of the wizard.

He wondered what Weasley tasted like.

Serpents Apothecary, Knockturn Alley

Dusk

Draco had almost convinced himself that his attraction to the weasel was a fluke, one-time daydream in the shower. It wasn’t until two weeks later when Weasley showed up at Serpents Apothecary when Draco was closing up shop that Draco realized his attraction was just as strong as it had been before.

He had just put the finishing touches on a batch of Shadow Condensation serum when the echo of the small bell rang through to the brewing room, breaking the silence. Wiping his hands down the front of his leather apron, Draco poked his head through the door to see who it was.

“Malfoy.” Ron stood at the entrance, decked head to toe in a striking burgundy and black velvet imperial cloak, the lapels thick and militaristic, edged with gold trim. He looked expensive.

“Store’s closing, Weasley,” Draco brooded, hoping to give off an air of indifference.

“I’m not here to buy anything.”

“No, you wouldn’t be, would you?” Draco replied ruefully. “Pansy isn’t here.”

A soft huff of amusement escaped Weasley’s lips. “Don’t begrudge me that small indulgence. I did offer to let you watch.”

Heat flushed through Draco. Biting down on his chapped bottom lip, Draco acquiesced with a slight shake of his head. No. No, he didn’t begrudge Weasley for taking Pansy that night. He admired him for it. He wished he would’ve taken him up on his offer to watch.

“So why are you here?”

Weasley picked up a bottle of Dragon’s Blood, turning it over in his palm to study the label. Draco thought he saw him take a whiff of it before sneering and putting it back in its place. “I did say that I hoped we’d run into one another again. Don’t you recall?” Draco’s heart began to beat a little faster. He’d hoped Weasley had meant it.

Underneath the cool tone of his voice, Draco felt something sinister, as if Weasley was hiding something. It irked him. Draco removed his wand with a flourish, casting a Tempus. “We’re closed now, Weasley. You should go.”

In the blink of an eye, Weasley moved to stand next to him, moving at an impossible speed. The motion threw Draco off kilter and he wobbled on his feet. Did he just apparate across the room? It was the only explanation. Fucking show off.

Standing this close, Draco was accosted with the woodsy scent of Weasley’s cologne. This time, he could place the aroma and identify its distinct smells. Cedar, with hints of sage. The same fragrance he’d sported the other night. It brought him back into that heady space of strange fascination and he was once again struck by Weasley’s appearance. His skin was like freckled porcelain, smooth and perfect. Lips like sculpted marble. Not a flaw in sight. Draco wanted to run the tips of his fingers over the surface of his cheek.

Instead, he curved his hands into fists, willing the dangerous urge to go away.

Weasley leaned against the brewing table languidly. “I’m a businessman, Malfoy,” he stated, curling his fingers back to peer at his nails. “And I think you have something to offer me. A joint venture, of sorts.”

“I don’t own the shop. I brew potions for it. I have nothing to offer you.”

“Do you not value your abilities?”

Draco didn’t understand the question. “My abilities mean nothing to anyone. Least of all to you.” At this point, Draco’s blood began to boil. Was Weasley here to gloat? To shove the fact that the tables had turned unfavorably for Draco?

Setting his lips into a hard line, Weasley’s gaze scanned Draco all the way down and back up again. Draco swallowed. With a shrug of indifference, the Gryffindor began to back away towards the door. “Perhaps you’re not what I’m looking for after all.”

Wait. Wait, no. A desperate need, no, a visceral need for Weasley to stay overrode Draco’s brain function.

“Weasley, wait!” Draco rushed towards the door. “What do you want from me?”

“Come to dinner with me, Malfoy. I’ve a proposition for you.”

Muggle London

Night

It was strange to be sitting at a luxury steakhouse in the heart of Muggle London, across from Ronald Weasley. The conversation had been stilted and superficial at first, filled with jabs and cheap shots as he had tried, unsuccessfully, to gain the upper hand on Weasley. Eventually, when Draco was sick of playing the game, he’d eased up on his ire and let bygones be bygones.

The two caught up with what they’d been doing for the past decade. Weasley’s life seemed far more interesting than Draco’s, being carted around Wizarding Europe for a post-war press tour, running Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes with his brother, conducting experimental magic for new products. Courting witches of every age, shape, and size. He had it all, it seemed.

All the while Draco marveled at Weasley’s exquisite physique. Draco had always been into witches, but when he allowed himself to listen to his quiet thoughts, he reticently admitted that he found wizards equally attractive. There were the occasional glances at Zabini, and the obsession with Potter when he was younger. And then there was the time in Azkaban, when he’d fooled around with another male inmate, a memory he kept buried.

But now that Draco was coming to grips with his bisexuality, albeit reluctantly, Weasley’s gentle and seductive demeanor drew him in like the tide, leaving Draco utterly defenseless. It was intoxicating, to desire a former enemy. Weasley’s hair brushed softly at his muscular shoulders, every strand of hair catching the light from inside the restaurant. It framed his strong jawline, in an exquisitely seductive way, drawing attention to his mouth. His lips were full and inviting, and they glistened when his tongue darted out to wet them as he spoke. It was in the velvet hush of his voice that made restraint feel like sin. More than once Draco had to bite down on his lips to stifle his arousal.

Now, as they moved on to the main course, the topics became more pointed, more heated. Blood leaked from the center of the steak—rare, as he preferred it this way—as Draco cut into it with his knife, the cold silver metal scraping against the porcelain plate. Draco was unnerved, yet galvanized, at the way Weasley’s gaze was focused on his mouth while he chewed his bite. Draco hadn’t been studied in this way since, well, he couldn’t ever remember a time someone looked at him the way Weasley did now. Draco grabbed the linen napkin from his lap and wiped a bead of sweat from his temple.

While Draco relished his free meal, Weasley’s meal sat untouched. “Why bring me here if you’re not hungry?” he asked.

“I ate earlier. Besides, maybe I wanted to entice you with a little luxury. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

Draco ripped off another piece of steak, the warm meat melting in his mouth like butter. He closed his eyes, savoring the decadent bite. No, he hadn’t forgotten what luxury and money tasted like. “Am I your charity case, then?” Draco scoffed. He took another bite, swallowed. Set his fork and knife down, then leveled a glare at the Gryffindor across from him. “Why’d you seek me out? I’m nothing to you. Why the sudden interest?”

“I told you, I have a proposition.”

“So spit it out. What do you want me for? I have no money, no status. I brew potions for a meager living. What could I possibly offer you?”

Weasley took a sip of his wine, licking his lips clean when he set the glass down. Draco flicked his eyes at the clear goblet, noticing the strange and slow way the wine dripped down the inside of the glass. It was thick and nearly opaque.

“I’ve heard rumours about your…talents. Conversations with important people in back rooms and seedy alleyways have led me to believe you have something I want.”

Draco’s frustration mounted. Weasley was being coy with him. He didn’t like it. “I don’t understand,” he snapped.

“Allow me to explain. Pansy’s proprietor. She can’t help but gush about your dedication. Seems you bring in regular income for the parlour. I’m curious, Malfoy,” Weasley started, running his finger along the rim of his wine glass, catching a drop of liquid. “Why do you squander what little hard-earned coin you have at her establishment?”

“It’s none of your business who and what I spend my money on. Besides, Maeve knows nothing of my talents. She’s not a patron of the apothecary.”

Weasley licked the tip of his finger. “I’m not interested in your potioneering. Seems your flower isn’t as discreet as you want her to be.”

Ah. Pansy. A sudden and irrational bitterness coated Draco’s throat. “Is that why you bought Pansy the other night? For information about me? About who I fuck? Are you sick or something?”

Weasley smirked, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t be so crass. If a cunt can ensnare the Pride of Slytherin week after week after week, it must be a very good cunt. I wanted to see for myself.” He sipped his glass of red wine, licking his lips when a dark crimson drop spilled onto the corner of his mouth. Draco eyed the way Weasley’s tongue glistened with the ruby liquid, and once again, he was helpless to stop the twitching of his cock.

“Pansy’s mine,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

Ron smirked at Draco, a coy smile on his marble lips. “She wasn’t yours when she was down on her knees sucking me off. Anyone can be bought for the right price, Malfoy. What’s yours?”

“You sound like my father,” Draco sneered, slamming his fist on the table, jumbling glassware and knocking over the small carafe filled with Weasley's wine. The smell of copper accosted Draco’s senses as diners turned their heads, staring at the commotion. Gone were the ambient noises of restaurant chatter. It was dead silent in the room.

Weasley hadn’t even flinched, still as a marble statue. Instead, he mopped up the spilled liquid with Draco’s napkin.

He was angry at Weasley for taunting him, the sting of jealousy burning his throat. He was surprised that the source of his irrational anger was the fact that he wasn’t jealous because of Pansy. It was because she had tasted Weasley first.

Then, slowly, Weasley reached across the table and put his hand over Draco’s fist. His touch was ice cold, but it didn’t make Draco shiver. Weasley’s thumb brushed against the back of Draco’s hand, caressing his skin softly. It wasn’t until Draco looked down that he realized his hand was opened, his fingers entwined in Weasley’s.

Draco glanced up at Weasley, his heart beating like a hammer against his chest, the subtle touch between the two of them sending waves of pleasure straight through to his groin.

“Your anger is interesting to me, Malfoy. I was under the impression that Pansy was a woman you liked to fuck, and nothing more. Was I mistaken? Do you care for her?”

Draco pulled his hand away. “We can talk about my sex life another time. Tell me more about your proposed venture. What the fuck do you want from me?”

Weasley gazed into his eyes with a sultry fierceness that Draco was rendered speechless, the air sucked dry from his lungs.

“Take a walk with me,” Weasley whispered as he got up from the table and walked towards the exit.

Draco gulped down the last dregs of his firewhiskey then followed him. Who was he to deny Weasley’s request?

Diagon Alley

Midnight

Draco walked at Weasley’s side, unwilling to make eye contact with his former enemy. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He did. The problem was that when he allowed himself glances of the wizard walking next to him, he felt his free will dissipate. Weasley could tell him to light himself on fire and Draco would probably do it.

“I don’t know what to make of you,” he said, finally giving into the pull to steal a glimpse of Weasley. The line of his jaw was even more striking at this angle. No. No, he couldn’t let his gaze linger.

Weasley leaned into him, draping his arm around Draco’s waist, guiding him to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. He bent down slightly to whisper in Draco’s ear. “I’m a simple man, Malfoy. I have base needs. When those needs are met, I desire little else.”

Draco’s throat plummeted into the pit of his stomach, then swooped back up again at the insinuation. This feeling, whatever it was, was terrifying.

And exhilarating. Despite his conscience screaming at him to turn around, he was elated by Weasley’s attention. By Weasley’s desire…for him.

“You aren’t the Ron Weasley I remember.”

Ron huffed, then ran his fingers down the length of Draco’s forearm. “No, I don’t suppose I am,” Weasley lilted.

When they entered the Leaky Cauldron side by side, the air immediately shifted. Wizards and witches stared at them as if in disbelief. Any would-be whispers faltered beneath the sheer weight of Weasley’s presence. He carried himself like a creature above everyone in the room, his fire-red head turning with an air of arrogance. He was important. He belonged here, on a pedestal at the admiration of others. To Draco, he seemed more than human. He was certain others saw him the same way. Whether they looked at Weasley with admiration, fear, or jealousy, it didn’t matter. The look upon their faces was the same.

Draco looked at him the same way, his expression a homogenous blend of all three emotions. Sometimes one would overtake the other. Right now, it was jealousy. There was a quiet part of Draco that felt incredibly envious of the way Weasley commanded the room.

A thought came to him unbidden. Had circumstances not been what they were, Draco could imagine the patrons staring at him with admiration, jealousy, and fear. It was something he’d long ago taken for granted. Now, Draco realized just how much he craved that power again. He was ravenous for it.

He pushed the errant thought away, realizing that as he walked at Weasley’s side, Draco became part of the gravity. Weasley entranced, and Draco boosted the spell. Like the tension between them was the very thing that kept the room alive.

Stepping into the brisk night air, Draco’s fingertips brushed against Weasley’s, gravity pulling him close. He wanted to touch him. He needed it. Weasley’s skin was still as cold as the air itself, and goosebumps peppered his body. This confused Draco, but he tried not to think too much about it.

“I probably shouldn’t be here. I’m a pariah in Diagon,” Draco remarked, his gaze wandering to colorful sights he’d avoided for years. The obnoxious orange and burgundy lights of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes burned in the distance. Draco guessed this might be where they were headed.

Weasley rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly. You’re with me.” As if that erased the metaphorical neon light flashing above Draco’s head that read, “Death Eater HERE! BEWARE!”

As they approached the giant-sized replica of Fred (or George, Draco didn’t know) tipping his hat outside the storefront, unease filtered through Draco’s veins. What was he even doing here? What was Weasley’s proposition? He never did come out and say it bluntly. Was it sex? It seemed improbable when Weasley could clearly choose any witch or wizard he wanted.

That’s the thing about tonight. Draco unquestioningly let Weasley lead the way. He didn’t press for information, regardless of the strange things he’d seen—the thick wine in Weasley’s glass, his cold skin, his icy blue eyes unblinking. Just as the customers at the Leaky Cauldron were entranced, so, too, was Draco. He needed to snap out of it.

“How about a nightcap?” Weasley asked, breaking Draco from his thoughts.

Draco pulled his cloak around his neck a little tighter. “I’ve had enough for tonight. I’m…I’m not really thinking clearly. My head is…fuzzy.”

Draco watched a flicker in Weasley’s blue eyes, like they’d turned black for a fraction of a second. It unsettled him.

“You must come up, Draco,” Weasley insisted. “I bought you a gift.”

“A gift?”

“A flower.” Weasley pointed to the balcony above the shop.

Draco craned his neck to see what he was pointing at. Standing coyly at the railing, Pansy waved at him shyly. “Hi, darling.”

Draco quirked his head, eyes locked on his former nemesis. Weasley was smiling up at Pansy, his side profile even more unfathomably stunning. He didn’t look real. “Is this your flat?” Draco asked, if only to draw Weasley’s attention back to himself.

Weasley nodded demurely, brushing his long hair back behind his shoulders. “Come inside.”

Draco was again struck by how helpless he felt to deny Weasley’s request as he followed him into his flat. In fact, he wasn’t even sure how they entered, it all felt like a blur. Weasley’s flat was not what Draco expected. The furnishings were Victorian in nature, with intricate detailing in the trimmings and wood. Except the wood was painted black, offset by deep burgundy walls featuring subtle damask patterns in a different burgundy sheen, the patterns only visible when the lights from the sconces and candles hit it just right. Drapes as dark as the night sky adorned each side of the windows, spanning the length from floor to ceiling.

Draco had the distinct feeling he was in a mirage, that hidden behind the illusion was a lion's den. A lair for ferocious beasts. He should be frightened, but there was something calming about being here. Maybe it was Pansy’s presence.

Weasley motioned for Draco to sit, and he did, just as the redhead settled himself down into a tufted wingback chair. Between them sat a black and white marble chess board adorned with ivory and ebony chess pieces.

“Fancy a game?” Weasley asked.

“As long as I’m white,” Draco replied.

“I’ll win either way.”

Draco smirked, trying once again to feel at ease and gain some control. “I’d like to see you try.”

While he and Weasley traded moves, Pansy played the part of waitress and whore. She served them wine, whispered sweet nothings in their ears, giggled when they said something funny. When she wasn’t doting on Weasley, stealing kisses or running her hands down his chest, she’d saunter over to Draco and do the same.

She was naked from the waist up, a shiny silver chain necklace falling between her perky breasts. Lace knickers and silk stockings hardly covered everything else. He watched as Weasley lightly slapped her arse as she walked by, her bum soft and jiggling in just the way Draco liked it. He wanted to squeeze it, but Weasley beat him to it. She fell into Weasley’s lap with a gasp, laughing as he bent low and whispered something in her ear. He wanted to know what he said, but he’d never ask.

There was a part of Draco that didn’t like how well she played her part with Weasley. Yet there was a darker part of himself that relished her interactions with him. It gave Draco the opportunity to imagine what it would be like to put his hands on Weasley’s freckled body and envision how Weasley would react to his touch. It was strange to feel jealous of them both.

Despite his earlier reservations, Draco was content to let desire and alcohol consume him.

“What do you think, Pansy? Knight to E5?” Weasley asked jovially after he’d just nibbled on her ear. Draco adjusted his trousers. He was…aroused. He knew Weasley didn’t need help with chess. It’s something Draco remembered of him from their school days. Besides, Weasley had been two steps ahead of every move Draco made on the board. Weasley, for lack of a better term, was a master chess strategist.

Pansy played with the silver chain between her breasts, pulling it softly while she bit down on her lower lip seductively. Her gaze slid to Draco. “Darling, I think he’s about to put you in check.”

Weasley peered at Draco over Pansy’s shoulder. “Knight to E5.” His knight moved to the white marbled square and slashed through Draco’s bishop. “Check.”

Pansy giggled softly as Weasley licked at her neck, eyes locked on Draco while he did it. He was playing with him. Teasing. It was infuriating.

And hot. His cock ached.

“Does Maeve know you’re here tonight, Pansy?” Draco asked, hoping to gain an ounce of control.

She stood up from Weasley’s lap and walked over to the bar cart to grab another carafe of wine. She topped off Draco’s glass.

Weasley stared at Draco amusedly. “I can assure you, Malfoy, both Maeve and Pansy have been handsomely compensated for the evening. She won’t be missed at the parlour.”

There was a time Pansy would’ve sneered at Weasley—looked down on him and called him a blood traitor. She would have never put her hands on the Weasel King back at Hogwarts and now here she was, practically spread open. Draco wanted to hate her for it, but he was no better. He knew why she did it.

They came from wealth and had liked to flaunt it. Now here they were with Ronald Weasley, the proverbial flame to two fallen moths.

Pansy made her way over to Weasley, but he waved her off. She put the carafe back in its place and walked behind Draco, draping her arms over his shoulders to caress his chest. “You should’ve seen it, darling. He picked me up in a thestral-drawn carriage, and escorted me all the way from Knockturn through the heart of Diagon Alley. I felt like a queen.” Pansy’s hands snaked slowly down Draco’s body, until she reached his aching cock pressed firmly against the fabric of his trousers.

Draco glanced at Ron, his gaze sultry and erotic. Draco couldn’t take his eyes off the wizard in front of him, even as Pansy palmed at Draco’s hard length, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck.

“Pansy told me that you and her usually spend more of your time talking,” Weasley mused as Pansy nibbled on Draco’s ear.

It was true. Though they fucked nearly every time he paid for her, it was never rushed or dirty, always after he’d vent about his daily struggles. She’d listen, be agreeable, and then offer to give him some relief. He’d always thought that it gave her relief, too, but now he was more unsure. Maybe she was just a whore after all.

Weasley’s head quirked to the side. “Why is that, Draco? What kind of wizard would waste those perfect tits and tight cunt with words?” Weasley removed the cuff links from his wrists.

“A sad, beautiful, and gentle wizard.” Pansy mused as she continued her ministrations on Draco’s cock, this time moving her hands to unfasten his trousers. Draco didn’t—no, couldn’t—look away from Weasley.

Weasley began to unbutton his own shirt, slowly, so achingly slowly that Draco wanted to push Pansy off just so that he could walk over there and do it himself. Gods, how he burned for Weasley. It was unexplainable.

“A pair of sad Slytherins. I can see why you both run to the other,” Weasley mused, eyes still locked on Draco as his hands moved further down his line of buttons. Draco’s heart pumped faster.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Weasley assured, perhaps noticing Draco’s growing restlessness. “I’ve warded my flat.”

Weasley’s shirt sat in a pile on the floor now, discarded with a flourish. His muscled chest, defined abs, and angular lines on full display. He had the appearance of a Greek god, and Draco bucked against Pansy’s hand as she pulled his briefs down, his cock springing free.

Draco’s eyes narrowed at Weasley, lust simmering in his veins. Weasley began to touch himself through his trousers, his icy blue eyes flicking down to Draco’s erect cock, lingering for a moment before skimming back to Draco’s face.

Draco squirmed under his gaze. “Is this your kink, then? You really wanted me to watch? Was this what you meant when you said you had a proposition for me?”

Weasley stared at him with such intensity it drew Draco’s breath straight from his lungs.

I want to watch you. I like to watch you. I’ve been watching you for quite some time, Draco Malfoy.

Weasley hadn’t opened his mouth to speak. The words were told in Draco’s mind, like a tickle, as if Weasley had caressed his thoughts with a quiet whisper.

“How’d you do that?” Draco asked, startled.

Pansy looked up at Draco. “Do what, darling?” Despite her soft hands rubbing him softly, Draco hardly noticed her, distracted by the voice in his head.

“Is this some kind of Legilimency? How’d you get in my head like that?” Draco pressed.

You have such a beautiful head, Malfoy. Both heads.

Weasley smirked and Draco’s lips quivered at the insinuation. Pansy moved to join Draco on the chaise. She slithered down his body, taking Draco into her mouth with practiced ease. Draco gasped at the sudden heat enveloping him, mouth dropping open as his breathing grew more rapid. Weasley’s tongue darted out, licking his top lip and teeth as if he was a predator prepping to take a bite of his prey.

Look at her sucking you.

He tore his gaze away from Weasley for a quick glimpse at his favorite witch, her lips wrapped around his length. Rendered speechless, Draco felt his orgasm nearing, gasping as Pansy’s tongue licked lines along his shaft while Weasley continued to touch himself.

Look at me.

Draco’s gaze slid back to Weasley, his piercing blue eyes locked on Draco with such intensity that he couldn’t think straight. One one hand, it was exhilarating to watch the way Weasley’s hands rubbed at his own cock, to glimpse the size of the bulge beneath the fabric of Weasley’s trousers. Draco felt his heart beat faster against his chest. On the other hand, it was strange to be stimulated by the man sitting across from him while also relishing in the warm comfort of Pansy’s mouth on his cock.

With a movement faster than apparation, Weasley stood up and settled himself behind Pansy, catching Draco off guard. The scent of cedar and sage filled Draco’s senses and he nearly exploded at the close proximity to him.

Weasley’s hands palmed at the back of Pansy’s waist, gently rubbing sensual circles down her spine. The sight of him touching Pansy while she had Draco in her mouth nearly made him cum. He jerked away from her mouth, desperate to prolong the sensation. He’d always been a fan of edging, but it was usually Pansy or some other witch who toyed with him in that way. Not himself.

He was hungry for Weasley, salivating at the thought of getting his mouth on that perfectly chiseled chest, to lick the sweat from Weasley’s body like it was his only purpose in life. At this point, Pansy only served as icing on the cake.

Draco gently tugged Pansy up by the hair at the nape of her neck, planting a hard kiss on her lips. He tasted himself and it made his head spin. He was dizzy, kissing Pansy while staring into Weasley’s ravenous gaze. Pansy broke free from Draco, leaning back on Weasley’s shoulder, her back pressed against the Gryffindor’s chest. Weasley tilted her head and kissed her, reaching around to massage her breast with one hand. With the other, he reached toward Draco’s face, his cold palm resting against his cheek. Without another thought Draco turned his head, parting his lips to take Weasley's fingers into his mouth. He tasted like whiskey and salt.

He sucked on Weasley’s fingers lewdly, then, as if coming back to reality, he caught sight of Pansy out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes wide and expressive, staring at the way Draco had taken Weasley into his mouth. He thought she might be disgusted with him. Suddenly repulsed with himself, he swatted Weasley’s hand away from his face.

The weasel smirked, sucking Draco’s saliva from his fingers. “You taste like candy,” Weasley crooned.

“It’s okay, love,” Pansy moaned. “I want it like this. With you both.” She leaned back against Weasley again, turning her head to kiss the redhead. Draco stared in amazement, watching Weasley’s tongue probe Pansy’s mouth, watching her kiss him back.

Fuck, Draco liked it like this, too.

A flush of color painted Draco’s face. It should feel wrong, all of this, but it didn’t.

Then, a sudden rush of cold, hard desire rocketed through his system, and he knew he wanted to pleasure her. Because it pleasured him. So, as Weasley licked and kissed Draco’s favorite witch, fluttering his tongue in Pansy’s mouth, Draco boldly lowered himself to her wet cunt. He ripped her knickers open, then buried his mouth in her. She tasted so sweet, so hot.

He pushed a finger inside her cunt while he lapped at her. Then he slid another one in, filling her up, curling his fingers to reach the spot he knew would make her moan. The sounds vibrating around the room were filthy, desperate.

She squirmed beneath him, panting loudly, nearing her peak. He looked up through hooded eyes, and it wasn’t Pansy staring back at him. Back arched, she was blissfully draped over Weasley’s shoulder, her tits rising and falling with each heavy breath. No, it was Weasley staring back at him, eyes like a magnet, burning with unadulterated sexuality. Draco lapped at Pansy harder, faster.

Draco snaked his hand over Pansy’s belly, reaching for her breasts. When he got there, his hand met Weasley’s. They laced their fingers together then squeezed hard on Pansy’s tit. It was the push over the edge she’d needed, and she cried out in her climax.

Draco was so hard it hurt. He ached for release.

Weasley whispered something in Pansy’s ear, something soft and delicate. She sighed contentedly then turned into the chaise and fell asleep instantaneously. Draco didn’t have a moment to think about what just transpired. His eyes drifted to Weasley, their eyes locking with mutual, burning desire.

Simultaneously, they stood from the chaise and barreled into one another. Draco kissed Weasley hard on the mouth, tongue begging for purchase. The kiss was messy, filthy, all teeth and lips and tongue. Weasley pushed Draco’s already open trousers to the floor and he stepped out of them, never taking his mouth off the ferocious Gryffindor. Weasley stroked Draco’s cock as Draco fumbled with Weasley’s trousers, but soon enough those came off too.

When they were both stripped bare, he took it upon himself to back Weasley into the wall, pushing him hard against it. Draco felt a voracious need to be rough, to throw Weasley around, to gain the upperhand. To show Weasley that he wasn’t one to be fucked with. He would be the one to do the fucking.

Weasley laughed, grabbing hold of Draco’s hands with a strong grip. He began to raise Draco’s hands above his head, but Draco fought back, not willing to concede defeat.

But Weasley was strong. Inhumanly strong. Draco leaned forward and kissed Weasley again, biting him on the lip, drawing blood.

Let me take you, Malfoy. Then let me taste you.

There it was again. Weasley’s voice in his head. He was powerless to stop him. Still standing, Weasley flipped him around roughly, caging his body to his own, his back pressed against Weasley’s chest. He felt Weasley’s erect cock against his arse, and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall onto Weasley’s shoulder.

“Take me, then,” Draco grunted.

Draco immediately felt the warmth of a lubrication charm around his hole and he tensed.

Relax.

The soothing baritone of Weasley’s voice subdued him. With deep breaths, Draco tried to loosen up as Weasley pressed his thumb against his hole, rubbing small circles around the rim. He tensed again around the sensitive touch of Weasley’s fingers. At the same time, he heard Weasley spit into his own hand. He gasped when the wizard’s large hand glided along Draco’s abdomen until it gripped his cock, rubbing deftly at the length, edging Draco while in front while continuing to work him open from behind.

Already leaking for me. I wonder, are you ready for me here?

Draco nearly came when Weasley swiped his finger around the tip of his cock.

“Please,” Draco begged.

He felt the tip of Weasley’s cock against his hole, the silky skin of the head as he pushed it inside the rim. Achingly slow, Weasley pushed in further. With the sudden sting of pain, he sank his teeth into Draco’s neck, moaning as he slid in even further.

It was a shock at first, like he was being ripped apart. He didn’t know whether to push or pull, fight or give in, but as Weasley sucked blood from Draco’s neck while he rocked his hips back and forth against his arse, it turned into pleasure. Draco had never felt so full or so high as the slide of Weasley’s thick cock stretched him open.

The metallic smell of iron ensnared Draco’s senses and he relaxed into the punishing rhythm, his arms falling to his side as Weasley devoured him, pain emanating from his bite mark. As Weasley slurped hungrily at Draco’s neck, he began to feel blood dripping down his shoulder and his back, the warm, sticky substance running down their bodies like rivulets. As if not wanting to waste a single drop, Weasley began to lick up and down Draco’s back, lapping up the warm fluid like an animal.

Suddenly, the room began to spin. Draco was lightheaded from coming close and from losing blood, and he had the distinct thought that he might die. He didn’t care.

Weasley swirled his hand across the plane of Draco’s neck and shoulder, gathering spilled blood into his palm. Then he took hold of Draco’s cock again, pumping up and down. The combination of the gliding of Weasley’s hand on his cock, the push and pull of Weasley’s hard length inside his hole, and the tingling sensation of sucking at his neck made Draco feel as if he had ascended into a delirious state of pleasure. Draco couldn’t hold back anymore. He came with a grunt, eyes closed, words failing him as ropes of cum mixed with his own blood coated Weasley’s hand.

Bending over Weasley’s arms, Draco went completely still. Limp. Fucked out and drained. “Fuck you, Weasley,” Draco whispered as Weasley continued to buck into him from behind.

“No, my pretty Slytherin. I believe it’s me who’s fucking you.” Weasley continued to hold him up until, finally, he reached his release, too, and Draco slipped into unconsciousness.

Draco’s Flat

Sunrise

He woke up the next morning drenched in sweat, naked in his bed, light pouring in through the window and shining directly in his face. Draco squinted, then rubbed at his forehead, a splitting migraine wreaking havoc on his head. So bright, he thought, as he put his hand out to block the warm rays.

Everything ached. His head, his arse, every muscle in his body. Draco curled his fingers one by one, then stretched them out, flexing to get rid of the kinks.

With a crashing realization, Draco remembered why.

His hand flew to his neck and sure enough he felt two small puncture wounds beneath the tips of his fingers. Every taste, smell, sight, and sound swarmed back to him in an overwhelming tide. The sweat, the blood, the cum.

Weasley’s otherworldly body.

Pansy’s perfect tits.

Draco’s intense desires.

Draco shot up out of his bed, scurrying over to his bathroom mirror, limbs aching with every movement. Craning his neck, he examined the bite marks, dark red blood dried hard over the punctures. He ran his fingers over the wounds. They were small. Teeth-sized. The surrounding skin tinged blue with bruises.

He looked at himself, staring at his own silver-grey eyes. Dark circles had formed underneath, his face misted with a sheen of sweat. He looked half-dead.

His heart began to race when the truth of it all hit him square in the chest, unbelievable as it was—Ron fucking Weasley was a vampire. A sexy, sultry vampire who had taken advantage of Draco in every way, and Draco had let him.

His thoughts turned frantic, spiralling into more and more nonsensical observations and conclusions.

Weasley had spoken to Draco through his mind.

He had moved at inhuman speeds.

His skin? Ice cold.

He’d sipped—no, gulped—Draco’s blood.

The only reasonable conclusion was that Weasley was undeniably a vampire. All this time, in his thirty-three years of life, he’d thought vampires nothing but inconspicuous creatures who lurked in cold, dark forests. Yet Draco couldn’t deny the facts staring him in the face.

Despite his initial shock, he was surprised at how easily he accepted the truth. To be fair, one can’t be a wizard and roll their eyes at the existence of other magical creatures. He lived the impossible every single day, feeling the buzz of magic in his core every time he lifted his wand. If wizards and witches were real, the impossible possibilities of strange and wondrous creatures should be commonplace.

Weasley being a vampire should feel unsettling, yet right now all Draco could think about was how much it aroused him. Flashes of blue eyes staring into his soul snaked their way into his mind. The memory of Weasley’s massive hands coated in blood wrapped around his cock made him dizzy. The tickling of Weasley’s voice inside his mind telling him to relax forced Draco to clench his fists. The vivid thoughts were like a slow-building hunger that was quiet at first, morphing into something loud and impossible to ignore. That if he didn’t get just one bite, he’d—

Fuck! He pressed his palm against his cock. He’d need another shower.

He already knew work at the apothecary later was going to drag because he had a singular goal for the day. Get to nightfall, then find Ron Weasley.

Weasley’s Flat

Evening

Time, indeed, ticked by like dripping honey. Night fell upon Knockturn Alley and Draco closed up shop at the apothecary, then swiftly made his way to Diagon.

The door to Weasley’s flat was inconspicuously hidden adjacent to Weasley Wizard’s Wheezes. He remembered thinking last night that a Fidelius had been placed on it, but now that he had a closer look, it was only concealed to blend in with the surrounding brick.

With a steadying breath, he tapped softly on the door. No one answered. He craned his ear toward the door, listening for any rustling behind it. Nothing.

For the first time all day, he second-guessed himself. Should he have come here? Had it all been a fever dream? A night of too much drink, turned into delusion? Yet the lingering pain from being fucked and bitten remained. He was about to walk away when the door opened. Weasley stood there, framed within the door looking sweeter than heaven itself. If heaven was real.

Perhaps more appropriately, he looked hotter than hell, wearing only a pair of black trousers and nothing else. His chest, chiseled and angular made Draco foam at the mouth. He noticed spiralling scars on Weasley’s shoulder, faded to pale pink. The urge to reach out and touch him, to press his palms against Weasley’s pectorals sizzled at the tips of Draco’s fingertips like a spark of magic needing a conduit for release.

Draco was well and truly fucked. He’d fall at this wizard’s feet willingly.

“Malfoy.” Weasley’s smirk reached his azure eyes, and Draco couldn’t look away. The familiar force pulled him in again. “I was hoping you’d come back.” Weasley swung the door wider, gesturing for him to enter.

Draco stepped over the threshold, his heart pounding. As he walked by, he noticed a spot of red at the corner of Weasley’s mouth. Blood. Bright and fresh. “Did I come at a bad time?”

With a gentle touch, Weasley straightened the collar of Draco’s shirt, dragging his fingertips against the skin of Draco’s neck that sent a shiver down his spine. “Not at all. You came at just the right time.”

Draco buried his quiet instinct to run and instead reached up to caress the cold hand that was touching him. Weasley’s eyes narrowed and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. There was something in the air tonight, in this room. The atmosphere was electrically charged with sex and musk and Draco took a confident step towards Weasley to press his lips against the redhead’s, tasting the tangy iron of the blood at the corner of his mouth.

Yes. Yes, this felt good.

Wrong.

But good.

Their kiss remained gentle, inviting. Fever dream or not, Draco felt deep down that his life would never be the same. In a single evening, he had allowed himself to become emotionally invested in Weasley. He’d never let himself feel this way about anyone in his entire life, not even Pansy, let alone another wizard. A Gryffindor wizard at that. His fucking enemy. Weasley had taken just one bite, and it changed everything.

Out of nowhere, loud moans and gasps erupted from inside his flat. Draco jerked back suddenly. “Is there someone here?” He asked, feeling skeptical and frankly, betrayed.

“There is. Why don’t you come see for yourself.” Weasley turned and walked towards the sitting room where they’d been the night before. Draco rushed to follow.

When he reached the cavernous room, the smell of opium, liquor, and sex permeated the entire space. That’s when he saw not just one person, but many.

Weasley walked to the middle of the room, placing himself in the same chaise he’d been in last night, resting his arms on the back of the sofa and kicking one leg over the other. He let his gaze slide from one corner of the room to the other.

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were in the farthest corner, naked and fucking. Granger’s tits bounced against Potter’s face as he pounded into her against the wall. Zabini, Pansy, and Neville Longbottom were entwined in an embrace, snogging each other senseless. In another corner, Luna Lovegood slapped a bent over Theodore Nott with a leather whip as she pegged him from behind.

The sights before him were overwhelming and arousing. From his peripheral vision, he watched Oliver Wood palm at Weasley’s exposed chest. Draco refused to fully face the two wizards, afraid of Weasley peering too deeply into his soul, flaying him open and exposing everything he had always wanted to keep hidden.

Like what you see?

Unable to resist the temptation, Draco’s desperate gaze drifted to Weasley as Wood sucked on the redhead’s bottom lip. Draco swallowed hard, wanting it to be him that sucked at Weasley’s lip instead.

Draco palmed at his crotch, the stirrings of arousal beginning to ache as his breathing grew more stilted, more ragged.

Pansy’s erotic moaning interrupted his thoughts, and his gaze flitted to her. Longbottom ate her out as Zabini shoved his cock in her mouth. Upon closer inspection, every person’s eyes were clouded over and glossy, as if they were under some sort of spell.

Tearing his eyes from the overstimulating spectacle, Draco walked tentatively towards Weasley, sitting across from him. He gulped, unable to fully process what was happening all around him.

“I don’t want him to kiss you,” Draco stated, gesturing to Wood who was still nibbling at Weasley’s ear.

Weasley’s eyebrow raised in what appeared to be amusement. “Why? You could join us.”

Because I want you for myself, Draco thought absentmindedly, wondering if Weasley could hear everything in his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Weasley asked, as he waved Wood away. The older wizard walked away.

“Wha–” his throat caught on the last consonant. “What are you?” Draco eked out.

Weasley scoffed. “I think you know exactly what I am, Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

His given name rolled off Weasley’s tongue like a cashmere and silk and Draco tried to push the uneasiness aside. Granger’s moans grew distractingly loud in the background.

“What did you do to them?” Draco asked.

“I’ll tell you everything if you admit your suspicions, Draco.” There it was again. His first name.

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

“I’m more than just a vampire.” Weasley shrugged, taking in a deep breath. “But yes. A vampire. Does it frighten you?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered. He paused, waiting a moment before pressing for more. “The murders, the bodies in the news. It’s you isn’t it?”

“I’m a thirsty being, Draco.” Weasley uncrossed his legs, standing up to walk towards Potter and Granger. He bared his fangs, then bit down on Granger’s chest, just above the cusp of her breast. She screamed out, but not in agony. By the sound of it, Draco knew that she was experiencing an earth-shattering orgasm. Weasley drank from her for a moment, then switched to Potter’s neck as he reached his climax. The Chosen One swooped his hand around to grasp at Weasley’s neck, tangling the redhead's hair between his fingers and forcefully pushing Weasley’s face deeper into his own neck. Like he wanted Weasley to suck his blood.

Just as Draco had wanted him to suck his blood last night. There it was again. The jealousy that flowed through Draco’s veins.

Eyes fixated on Weasley, Draco began to sweat at the insatiably erotic scene. “You didn’t answer my question, Weasley.” The redhead pulled away from Potter, his mouth covered in both Granger’s and Potter’s blood. He licked at his blood-red lips, lapping up the warm sticky liquid from his face. With the back of his hand, Weasley wiped the remnants of his friends’ blood from his chin before it dripped to the floor.

Draco had the distinct thought that he wanted to smear the blood across Weasley’s face with the gentle swipe of his palm before sticking his fingers into his mouth. He had liked that sensation last night, and wondered if Weasley would suck more ferociously if Draco’s fingers were covered in blood.

Coming back to his senses, Draco pressed for more information. “What did you do to them? Aren’t they your best friends? Why not just kill them, like you do the others?”

Weasley stood up gracefully, running his hand along Granger’s wild mane of curls, caressing Potter’s cheek with the other. The witch and wizard, sated, stood up and walked to join the other orgies commencing around them.

In the speed of light, Weasley was at Draco’s side, mouth close to his ear. A tingling heat of arousal spread down his spine. “I glamoured them, Draco. They won’t remember any of this. I keep them alive because they taste good to me, and I want their sweet blood again and again. I don’t care about the ones I kill.”

“Why didn’t you glamour me last night?”

“I wanted you to remember.”

“But you glamoured Pansy.”

Weasley nodded. “Your heart is pounding, Draco. I can hear it”

I remember what it felt like to be inside you last night, too. To taste your blood.

Weasley licked at the base of Draco’s neck and it sent shivers to his cock. Draco gulped, impressed by the power Weasley displayed. The confidence. He wanted some of it for himself. Yet right now, his curiosity overtook his arousal. “Why do you bite them when they’re fucking?” Draco asked, looking around at the orgy in every corner.

“Their blood is stronger, sweeter, when they’re coming. It tastes like candy, and I’ve always had a sweet tooth.” Weasley licked his lips, then walked to sit across from Draco.

Draco swallowed again, his mouth dry like a ball of cotton. Was he breathing? He didn’t know. “When did it happen? You weren’t a vampire at school.”

Weasley threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “No, Draco. No, I wasn't a vampire at school. Do you think Dumbledore would’ve let me within a mile of that school if I had been?” He inhaled, shrugging his shoulders with nonchalance. “Do you really want to know how it happened? Bit of a boring story, actually. Might kill the mood.”

Draco, fighting to relax, leaned against the back of the chaise. “I want to know.”

Weasley snapped his fingers. “Luna, love, fetch Draco a glass of wine.” He turned to look at Lovegood, who removed Theo’s cock from her mouth and stood up, eyes glazed.

“Of course, sir.”

Draco’s eyes widened at the deference and he tensed. She brought him a glass of Merlot, then traipsed back to Theo, kneeling to take him into her mouth once again. Granger, who’d been fucked senseless by Potter, was now standing behind Lovegood, stroking her hair as the blonde witch choked on cock, her cheeks hollow as she sucked on Theo. Granger reached down and ran her finger along Lovegood’s dripping pussy, pushing her fingers inside.

The smell alone, musk and sweat, was about to send Draco over the edge.

“You can join them if you’d like,” Weasley said. “You can’t seem to look away.”

“No,” Draco gulped. “No, I want to know what happened to you.”

“The tale isn’t exciting. After the war, I went to work for George at the shop. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I felt it was my familial duty.” Draco noticed a flashing glimpse of sadness in those blue eyes. “George was mourning the loss of our brother, and could hardly keep up with the demand from the business. Soon, he drowned his troubles in drink.”

Weasley peered at Draco with hardened eyes, his jaw clenched. “He was weak, Draco. And I was forced to pick up the slack. Worked to the fucking bone, from dawn until dusk. I was tired. Exhausted.”

Draco understood that sentiment. It’s something he felt daily.

“Harry went off to become an auror. Hermione worked her way through the Ministry. I found out through Neville that they were dating.” Weasley sneered. “I was…jealous,” he said through gritted teeth. “It had been my dream to become an auror. My dream to fuck Hermione.” He slammed his fist against the arm of the sofa, the wood splintering into tiny pieces.

“I am a war hero, too, damn it!” Weasley hissed petulantly.

Perhaps stupidly, Draco boldly proclaimed, “You always were second-tier to Potter and Granger, weren’t you?”

He knew it should’ve angered Weasley. Yet the opposite happened. Weasley smiled then let out a muffled laugh. “Pathetic, wasn’t I?”

Draco bit down on his bottom lip and shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

“Not as pathetic as you are now.”

The two exchanged a heated look of…understanding. There were no presumptions between them. Weasley spoke the truth, because yes, Draco’s life now was exactly that. Pathetic.

Then the redhead glanced away and continued his tale. “One night, when I was closing up shop, my Maker found me. She was beautiful, ethereal. There was something innately powerful about her that drew me in. I was seduced by her in a way I can’t explain.”

Draco could explain it. It’s how he felt in Weasley’s presence, like he was in a trance.

“I didn’t even know her name. She brought me home and fucked me within an inch of my life. During my climax, she bit me. Drained me until I was on the brink of death.”

“What happened to her?”

“Now, that, Draco Lucius, is a gruesome tale.”

“Tell me,” he whispered, desperate to know the story. The groans and panting from the orgy around him began to fade into the background, as if it was merely white noise.

“She knew my thoughts. Knew the jealousy I harbored towards Harry and Hermione. One night, she brought them back to her lair. As an offering to me. She meant to kill them, tear them apart limb from limb and then devour their blood.” He swallowed, a cold sneer at the corner of his mouth.

“It must’ve been a shock to her that even in my vampiric state, I retained some semblance of my humanity. As much as I desired their blood, their scent burning my throat, bloodlust radiating across my body, I refused to attack them.

“Naively, I thought she’d release them, knowing that they meant something to me, even though it was nothing more than nostalgia. When I refused to join in her feast, she pounced on them. I still remember her laugh. High-pitched, maniacal. And that’s when I discovered that even as a vampire, I was still a wizard. After I shielded Harry and Hermione, I lit my Maker on fire until she was nothing more than a pile of ash.”

Draco’s breath stilled, fascinated by the revelation. “Was she a witch, too?”

“No. Which is why I was able to overpower her. She…miscalculated.” Weasley mused, eyes unfocused as if he was locked on a distant memory. “I can only speculate, but I don’t think she realized that turning a wizard would make me more powerful than her. Otherwise I doubt she would’ve done it.”

“So you’re half vampire, half wizard?”

“I’m not half anything. I’m a vampire, fully. And I’m a wizard, fully. I have the cravings and diet and sun aversion like a vampire. I’m incredibly fast and strong. I can slow down time, glamour wizardkind and Muggles alike. I’ll live forever.” Weasley smirked. “I don’t like garlic.”

I can read your mind, hear your heartbeat, and speak to your mind.

Draco shivered. “It tickles when you do that. When you enter my mind.”

And you like it. Your heart beats faster when I do.

“And your magic?” Draco pressed. He had to know more. He had to know everything.

“Still a wizard. In fact, I’d venture to guess that because of my pureblood magical lineage, mixed with vampire blood flowing through my veins, I’m nearly invincible. My magical core is stronger than it ever was before. My spells are stronger, more precise.”

That, Draco realized, sounded like an incredible amount of power and magic. His heart raced.

Weasley laughed. “Yes. You get it.” He clicked his tongue. “It makes Voldemort look incredibly stupid, doesn’t it? Why bother with horcruxes to gain eternal life when he could’ve just become a vampire. He was always a fucking loser, wasn’t he?”

Draco laughed at Weasley’s quip. “We can agree on that.”

“Do you want to know something interesting, Draco? And maybe you Death Eaters had it right all along…but it’s the darker magic that’s stronger and more precise now that I’m a vampire.”

“You’ve dabbled in the Dark? I thought you were vehemently against it. Does he know you practice dark magic?” Draco gestured to Potter who was currently getting his cock sucked by Pansy on the sofa to the right.

Weasley scoffed. “I don’t give two fucks about his opinion.”

“He’s an auror. If he knew…” Draco taunted.

“They’re weak, Draco! Their minds are so malleable, so easily glamoured,” he uttered, his voice devilishly confident. “Magic is might? No. Not like this, not like what I am.”

The power Weasley spoke about was unfathomable. Make believe. Yet, something dark awakened in Draco, something he’d buried long ago after the last ashes of the battle drifted slowly to the ground. Draco had always desired power. For fame. For notoriety. To be better than the rest.

“Are you the only one like this? Vampire and wizard combined?”

“For now.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“What do you want from me, Weasley?” Draco asked impatiently.

“Taking your blood would be too easy, Draco,” he said, gesturing around to all of his old friends, every one of them with puncture wounds somewhere on their body. On their necks, their inner thighs, their chests. “You’d be powerless to stop me from adding you to my collection of meals.” Weasley licked his lips hungrily.

“So you mean to kill me, then? Fill you up with my blood until my heart no longer beats?”

“Don’t be so macabre. Though, admittedly, that does sound like a good time. Perhaps I just want…companionship.” Weasley twisted his wrist in a circle, as if the gesture meant this was No Big Deal. It was anything but.

Draco gestured widely to the room. “Looks like you have plenty of companionship as it is.”

Weasley slowly raised his arms on either side of him, palms up. Everyone in the room stopped moving, as if they’d been turned to statues. “Don’t be a fool, Draco. These aren’t my companions. They are my meals. My harem. Their sole purpose is to satiate my hunger and my cock.”

Without warning, Weasley snapped his fingers with a crack. “It’s time to leave.” The command wasn’t directed at Draco.

Moving like a line of soldiers marching to their captain’s beat, they stood up, still naked, forming a single-file line and walked towards the door.

“Except you, Zabini. You can stay,” Weasley demanded.

Draco watched as his boss stopped in his tracks, pivoting toward Weasley as if he was standing at attention awaiting command. Everyone else draped themselves in their robes and walked out the door.

Weasley licked his lips. “I know what you think about him, Draco. I know you despise him for his mediocrity. That you find it insufferable to work for a man who didn’t have a spine all those years ago. You find it beneath you, don’t you?”

Drao swallowed, his heart picking up pace. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not full yet,” Weasley said. “And I want to play.” His gaze slid to Zabini, head tilted slightly to the side. Then suddenly his eyes narrowed deviously. “Run.”

Draco watched in horror as Zabini’s glamour lifted, his eyes turning back to their original chocolate brown color. His boss looked from Draco then back to Weasley, then down at his own naked body.

“What the fuck?” Zabini choked out. His head darted back and forth, searching for his robes.

“If I were you,” Weasley crooned, slowly rising from his seat, bearing his elongated canines, “I’d give up on finding your clothes.”

Eyes wide and frightened, Zabini sprinted towards the exit. With a speed that once again shocked Draco, Weasley pounced, teeth sinking into Zabini’s neck with a terrorizing gnashing sound. Zabini cried out in agony as the vampire ripped his throat wide open. This was more than just a mere bite, this was a death sentence. Blood sprayed from Zabini’s neck like a fountain, spurting out in pulses to the beat of his heartbeat, as he crumpled to the floor beneath Weasley’s attack.

Draco’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, he was terrified by the scene in front of him. A pool of deep red blood pooled onto the floor behind Zabini. Wide-eyed, Draco watched his boss sputter and choke on his own blood, the dark crimson liquid seeping from the corner of his mouth as Weasley buried his face into the Slytherin wizard, lapping at him like an animal.

Draco didn’t dare move, and he wondered if he, too, had been glamoured to obey. Zabini’s eyes searched the room, searched for Draco, a silent plea for help staring back at him behind the whites of his eyes.

Despite a trembling in his fingers, Draco didn’t look away from the gruesome scene. He knew he should help Zabini. He should pull out his wand and kill Weasley instead, but there was a gleeful part of him that relished in watching his boss die like this.

The sound of flesh ripping, coupled with the sucking and slurping from Weasley as he devoured Zabini nearly made Draco vomit. He’d seen death before, but not like this. His head began to spin, the smoke in the air mixed with the tang of metal brought on a wave a nausea he wasn’t expecting.

Yet he didn’t leave.

Zabini’s eyes were open, but there was no life behind them. His skin, normally dark chocolate brown, was a pale shade of gray. Weasley had sucked him dry. Draco couldn’t help but notice the muscled planes of Weasley's bare back as he sipped the last dregs from Zabini’s blood stream. Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way his muscles flexed and morphed as he moved, the way his scars highlighted the dips and hills along his shoulders and back.

Weasley was a killer. A cold-hearted killer whom Draco was irrevocably drawn to. Is this how Weasley’s Maker made him feel?

You’re scared, aren’t you?

Sitting back on his haunches, Weasley finally turned to Draco. His mouth and cheeks were smeared with Zabini’s blood, the crimson shade painting his teeth red. He licked his sharp fangs that were still dripping with bits of Zabini, flesh and bone and blood covering the entirety of his nose, mouth, and chin. He looked at Draco calmly, as if he’d just partaken of his Last Supper.

“You’re fucking deranged,” Draco snarled.

Weasley stood up, wiping his mouth as he stalked towards Draco.

Yet still you stay, Draco. I hear the beat of your heart and it’s the rhythm that makes me salivate. I hear your thoughts, and it’s the ideas that make me hunger for you. You are just as depraved as I am.

Weasley inched closer to Draco, his face mere centimeters away and yet Draco didn’t pull back. He reached down and cupped Draco’s crotch, squeezing gently.

So hard for me.

“Yes,” Draco replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Draco tilted his head up, nudging his nose against Weasley’s. The air between their lips was heavy, the tension palpable.

Weasley didn’t lean in, nor did he pull away. “We could be powerful, you and I. I have such big plans for us. Tell me, Draco. Is there anything in your life left living for?”

Draco’s head clouded with the temptation to give in. He brushed his lips against Weasley’s, then waited, the hot air of their breaths mingling in the infinitesimal space between them. Draco salivated at Weasley’s proximity.

“First, tell me why you want me,” Draco dared to demand, panting with desire. If he was going to give in, he needed to know why.

“Because I hated you for so long, but only because you had everything I ever wanted. Because you were everything I ever wanted. But now look at you. You’re so fucking pathetic. You’re practically begging me to take you. To kill you.” Weasley’s tongue darted out and licked Draco’s lips. “Now, it’s your indifference to humanity that draws me in, Draco Malfoy. The indifference is what’s necessary to live the way I do. And I want you by my side.”

“What if I say no?”

You won’t.

Weasley slammed his bloody mouth against Draco, kissing him with such intensity it made him lose all critical thought. As if the earth itself shattered, Draco was so enraptured by Weasley, that he forgot about the barbaric scene surrounding him. He didn’t care about the blood splattered on the floor encircling Zabini’s corpse or the smell of sex still lingering in the atmosphere. It only heightened the visceral need Draco had for him.

Their kisses were frantic at first, the two men grasping at one another, exploring each other with desperate touches, firm grips, and roaming hands. Weasley pushed his tongue against Draco’s lips, and he gladly let him in. Draco mapped the points of Weasley’s fangs with his tongue, and he had the thought that he wanted Weasley to bite his lip, to draw blood. He wanted to see the way the redhead’s eyes turned black with carnal want.

Weasley’s eyes did exactly that. He bit down hard onto Draco’s bottom lip, licking up the spot of blood with his tongue. Then, with the force of a bodybuilder, Weasley pushed hard against his chest. Draco flew across the room, back hitting the wall behind him with such force that the portrait hanging next to him fell to the floor. For a moment he thought Weasley had meant to hurt him—to kill him—but then Weasley glided to his side, eyes black as night, smile wide, and fangs out.

“My desires are sometimes difficult to fight back, Draco. I want to fuck you senseless right now, but there’s also a need to drink you dry. You have no idea how delicious your blood tastes.”

Gathering his senses, Draco stepped forward towards Weasley, running a hand through his hair. He straightened his back, standing tall so as to be eye-to-eye with his lover. “You didn’t seem to have a difficult time last night controlling yourself when you tasted my blood.” Then with deliberate slowness, Draco calmly unbuttoned his oxford. He wanted to make sure Weasley knew exactly what it was he wanted.

Weasley licked his teeth again, Draco watching his tongue with rapt attention, the way it slithered across his fangs. He couldn’t explain why it made him so desperate, but it did. He knew that beneath his trousers, his cock was leaking for Weasley. Draco shrugged off his shirt, tossing it to the ground.

Draco whispered a quiet spell to rip Weasley’s clothes from his legs. The clothing fell into a pile of threads at Weasley’s feet, and Draco had the distinct pleasure to watch the smile etch itself across Weasley’s face as his cock sprung free. Draco looked down at the drop of precum at the tip of Weasley’s cock, and his mouth instantly began to salivate. “Looks like you’re hard for me, too.”

A devilish gleam twinkled behind Weasley’s eye. “Yes, you’ll be perfect for me, won’t you Draco? All arrogance and swagger. I like that kind of confidence.”

Draco dragged his thumb across the tip of Weasley’s cock, then licked the wet drop of precum from his finger. “If you’re going to fuck me, and drink me, we’re going to do it my way this time,” Draco demanded as he wrapped his hand around Weasley’s pulsing cock, sliding it up and down in slow and methodical rhythm. “Take me to your bed.”

Weasley smiled gleefully. “As it so happens, I have one on hand for such occasions, though I admit it’s not where I like to sleep.”

Draco laughed as Weasley grabbed his wrist and apparated them to the next room. Draco’s back hit the soft velvet of the bed, Weasley’s naked form hard against him. “Is this what you wanted, Draco?” Weasley asked, licking lines across Draco’s chest, pressing his lips against his neck in fevered kisses. He sucked on Draco’s pulse point, but didn’t bite. Not yet.

Draco gasped at the sensation that shot straight to his aching cock. He felt Weasley’s hard length through the soft cotton of his trousers and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to writhe against Weasley’s cock with his own, skin to skin. “Take my clothes off,” Draco begged.

Weasley’s mouth traveled down the lines of Draco’s chest, taking his sweet time to savor every bit of him. He paused and bit down on Draco’s nipple, puncturing the tender skin. It hurt like hell, but Draco wanted more. He felt a brief siphoning of his blood before Weasley continued south, his wet mouth leaving a trail of blood down the middle of Draco’s torso, all the way down until he was at the waistband of his trousers.

Pressing himself into a sitting position, straddling Draco, Weasley made quick work of his belt, sliding it out like a leather whip. Then, as if physics had no consequence to him, Weasley stood up in a flash, ripping Draco’s trousers from his body like a fucking magician.

He looked down at Draco’s cock with a burning hunger in his eyes. “What a perfect cock,” Weasley murmured as he stroked it from base to tip. “I want to bite it off.”

Caught between exhilaration and fear, Draco propped himself up on his elbows and smirked. “Please don’t. I like it attached to my body.”

“Very well then,” Weasley whispered as he pushed against Draco’s chest and he collapsed back against the bed. Then, like a prowling animal, Weasley climbed along his body until his cock was at Draco’s lips, pink-tipped, thick, and curved. “Suck me off, Draco. It only seems right to put my cock in your filthy little mouth first.”

With an eagerness to please, Draco opened his mouth, taking Weasley in deep. His hands roamed Weasley’s body, pausing to squeeze his muscled arse. He licked and sucked at the tender flesh in his mouth, until the tip of Weasley’s cock bumped against the back of his throat.

“Take me further,” Weasley demanded. He didn’t wait for Draco to relax his throat, pushing against the resistance until Draco was forced to comply. His eyes streamed with tears as Weasley fucked his mouth. He was so fucking big, it hurt. Draco wanted nothing but to please him. He gagged and Weasley laughed. “You take me so good. My cock is meant to be inside you, isn’t it?”

Draco tried to nod but gagged again as Weasley pushed even deeper. He saw stars. He felt the warm drip from his own cock leaking onto his thigh.

Weasley slipped out from his mouth, then leaned down and tenderly brushed Draco’s tears away. “Such a good boy, Draco.”

Draco leaned into Weasley’s touch, kissing his palm. “Fuck me. I want you inside. Deep.”

“So demanding. You’re pathetic in the best fucking way, you know that? Always were.” Draco didn’t mind the degradation from Weasley. He would take anything from him. He was practically drooling for it.

Weasley rubbed his cock against Draco’s and Draco nearly came from the contact. Dropping his head back, Weasley laughed. “So pathetic.” He slid up and down Draco’s cock with practiced ease and it took Draco every ounce of control to hold back his orgasm.

Tracing his fingers along their erections, then gliding around until his fingers circled at Draco’s rim. Draco again felt the warm sensation of a lubrication coat his hole, and then Weasley slowly stretched him open, pushing one finger inside, then two, then three. “You open up so well for me,” he said, still gliding along Draco’s cock with his own. Then Weasley pushed Draco’s leg up and to the side, bending Draco’s knee to get him in the right position. “I want to see your face when you scream my name.”

“No blood this time?” Draco teased, as Weasley lined up his cock against Dracos’s hole.

A smirk stretched out at the corner of Weasley’s mouth. “You want your blood on your cock?”

Draco nodded, heat coursing through his veins.

With a devious smile, Weasley’s fangs extended, and he bit down on his own lip, drawing blood. Draco nearly lost it when he then spit on his cock, rubbing the mixture of blood and saliva along the shaft before he plunged it roughly inside Draco. “Nggh, fuck!” Draco cried out. “I’m not going to last long. Bite me.”

“I want you to beg for it.”

“Please. Please.” Draco tilted his neck to the side, offering the plane of his throat for Weasley. The redhead caressed Draco’s face as he thrusted in and out of his hole, brushing the back of his hand across Draco's pulsating neck, his fingers tracing a line down the protruding vein.

“Say my name, Draco. I want you to know who’s fucking you when you come.”

“Weasley, please,” Draco begged. He clamped his eyes shut, on the precipice of exploding.

Weasley slapped him across the cheek. “My other name, Draco.”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the sting of his slap and fullness of his hole sending him closer to the edge. “Ron. Please, Ron.”

He opened his eyes, only to see unequivocal pleasure and bloodlust written in Ron’s expression, his eyes black as the dark night sky. Then, swiftly and without hesitation, Ron sank his fangs into Draco’s neck, drinking his blood like he hadn’t quenched his thirst in days.

Draco cried out in pain and pleasure, the heat of Ron’s mouth and the rhythmic pull at his neck adding to the sensations. Ropes of cum shot across Weasley’s belly as the vampire feasted on him. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced in his life. It wasn’t long before Ron reached his release, filling Draco with his cum while he emptied him of his blood.

Draco was spent and losing consciousness. Ron had brought him to the threshold of death, the blood loss and toll on his body significant. He was going to die.

He wanted to die. Ever since the war, he’d been waiting to die, and maybe this was the moment it would finally happen.

Sated, Ron flopped down next to Draco on the bed, running his cold fingers through Draco’s sweaty hair, pausing every now and then to drink more blood from his neck.

He was fading, the room spinning in dizzying circles. Ron’s tender touch was his only steady grasp on reality.

“The way I see it, Draco, you have two choices,” Ron spoke, still caressing his hair with soft strokes. “In three minutes your heart will give out. It’s hardly beating at all right now. I can leave you like this, all pathetic and weak, and let you bleed out in the middle of my bed. No one will miss you. You’ll just be another body I cremate, burned to ash and forgotten about the next day.”

Ron scooped up another finger full of Draco’s blood, licking it clean from his finger. “Or, you can join me, be my companion. Because, Draco, I want to do bad things with you. Incredible things. Terrible things. Just imagine it!”

Thump…thump…thump. Draco’s heartbeat slowed. He couldn’t speak, but he could think it. Please. Maker.

“Good choice.” Ron extended his fangs, then bit into the veins at the base of his own wrist. Thick, dark blood rolled down Ron’s skin and he brought it to Draco’s mouth. “Drink.”

Whether it was desperation or desire, Draco grabbed a hold of Ron’s forearm. With what little strength he had, he sucked Ron’s wrist like it was his lifeblood.

Because it was.

Ron’s Coffin

Daylight

His body tingled with new sensations. Like tiny pin pricks traveling up from his toes, to his head, spreading out to the tips of his fingers.

Draco opened his eyes but it was dark. Pitch black like he was deep in the ocean, far down where the light no longer reached. He was surprised when his heart didn’t beat faster. In fact, his heart wasn’t beating at all.

All at once, panic slammed into him like a freight train. He tried to sit up, but bumped his head on something hard. “Ow!”

“Lumos.”

Draco gasped. Illuminated by the light of his wand, Ron’s eyes stared cloyingly back at him, mere inches away. “The sun’s out, Draco. You need to rest. Conserve your energy for your first night out. Should be a bloody good one,” he said with an impish smile.

Draco’s eyes peered at the tight quarters he found himself in. Above him was a lid made of thick cedar. He knew now where Ron’s woodsy aroma came from. Black velvet lining softened the space they were in, their heads resting on fluffy pillows. “A coffin?”

Ron held his hand to Draco’s face, brushing his thumb against his lips. “So it goes.”

Draco swallowed, sensing a dry ache in his throat different from any other hunger he’d felt before. He inhaled deeply through his nose, immediately aware of a new instinct to drink. There was a hollow yearning in his stomach, an automatic tightening of his muscles. Then, he felt it, the excess flow of venom into his mouth.

You hear them, don’t you? Their heartbeats.

He closed his eyes and listened carefully.

Draco pictured it. Hundreds of witches and wizards milling about after work, stopping at Florean’s or Ollivanders, waiting in line at Gringotts Bank. All of them, and their pulsing necks, just on the other side of this coffin. He imagined walking up behind one of them, leaning down and in, letting his lips touch the base of their throat, imagining how the hot flow of their pulse would feel under his mouth.

A new sensation began almost imperceptibly. First, a prickle at the gums, a pressure building just behind Draco’s lips. Then, with a slow inevitability, the sharp points of his fangs slid into place, his mouth reshaped into a weapon.

Ron looked at him through narrowed eyes. “There you are.”

THE END