Warning: Not proof. Most of my writing involved blood, darkness and angst, rated R. SLASH (LM/HP/SS pairing). You've been warned.
Disclaimer: None of this are mine. Except the plot and the experimental concept.
Trinity Blood
C & P by G.Arnet, 2002
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Crimson 01 :: Blood, Delicious as Sin
"He's alive." A soft whisper, so quietly deep in the night. The man with the dark velvety and rich navy blue cloak knelt beside the dying boy and checked the visible wounds with his eyes, which glowed eerie bright in the dark. His long hair draped over his shoulder and swept on the boy's pale-white and blue face.
"Barely," came another voice, also hushed whisper, glided like black silk, and then paused for a moment, as if he was thinking. He too, knelt down to check on the boy. His black robes enclosed around them, creating a world apart from the cold outside, a much darker barrier. Indeed the air was like piercing ice blades, caressing over the boy's exposed skin. He touched the boy with his long slender hand. The boy shivered, didn't know if it was because of the frozen air or the touches. His breath was shallow and a few seconds apart. And his half-opened green eyes were glassy dead. "He's dying. There's nothing we can do."
"Oh, but there is." The tone was mild and slow in every mystery beat. He traced the smooth skin and the scar on the boy's forehead in the most loving care. A pity. Didn't you think not? to leave such a pretty boy to die.
The taller man with the smooth-as-silk-voice gazed at his companion with his dark charcoal eyes in unreadable light. "You're going to..."
"Yes," a short answered.
"Are you sure?"
"Quite positive."
The other man shrugged and gathered the boy in his arms. The boy's head rolled up, exposing his milky white neck. "Our master wouldn't be happy."
A snort of sarcastic laughter. "He's not my master. I am my own master."
"Yes you are." A shared of mocking smile. He tightens his grip, bringing the boy close to his companion.
The long haired man whispered tightly, tinged with lust, "I shall bind him to me, /My precious/." His lips paused barely over the boy's neck, giving a soft lingering kiss before sinking his teeth into the flesh. A strangled cried and the boy jerked upright. Both men held and pinned the boy between them to prevent unnecessary movement that could break the contract. He drank hungrily and felt the barely heartbeat slowing down into an intense one on one per three second beats. The blood pumped fast through the circulatory system, from the boy's body, into his heart's atria, and went out from the ventricles through the aorta and continued the journey to the smaller arteries. The valves' clanged open and close faster. It was loud through his ears, that only he and the boy could hear (if he was conscious enough), vibrating, into the deep core of his heart and soul. His body cell soon adapted the boy's rich magic imprint into his own as the blood spread all over his body through his veins. The adrenaline was high.
The pair of dark charcoal eyes stared at this ceremony quietly. Carefully so he would not disturb and breaking the concentration. The binding contract was a complex spell which involved ancient magic as their body exchanged magic signatures. Although this scene before him was just the first step of creating a new child.
At last the first step was taken and done, but... "The next part will have to wait," he said, whipping the blood from the corner of his lips, lapping the bittersweet after taste.
"What?! You can't just leave him like *that*," spluttered the other man, slightly angry. The boy's friends and family would go after his head. Not to mention what would the Headmaster do to him. He shuddered. He might be as good as dead when the boy's Godfather found out. Oh wait, he was *dead.* So it didn't matter anymore. He calmed down after the thought while watching his companion complete his task. Whatever his solution was.
"I'll give him a substitute for my blood, that is it for now, and that shall be it." He took out a clear transparent veil, showing the glimmering light blue potion, from his expensive robes under the cloak. Next, he took a knife from his pocket and slit his wrist. The blood trickling down his pale white hand and fell into the bottle. The red droplets shimmered into the blue liquid and gave out a soft hiss before it dissolved. The blue liquid remained glowing in his hand like before it was touched by blood. His wound closed instantly, leaving a severe scar, and disappeared almost immediately.
"I hope you know what you're doing," muttered dark eyes man, rubbing his forehead slightly and nodding his approval.
"I trust your potion making is the best," his companion murmured, half-smiling, half-mocking.
"Oh yes I am," the man drawled, also half mockingly. He coaxed the boy's red lips to open with his fingertips while his companion poured the blue liquid into the boy's mouth. It tasted strange and salty, and bitter, and sweet at the same time. Yes, they knew what it tasted like as they shared the same oh those years ago. The warmth that spread all over the body was like fire, inducing the boy's cold body in a flaming touch, burning his soul into life. The boy jerked again, still unconscious, lips moving, suckling on his fingertips in the most sensuously way, and drinking the dark essence of the man. And then he let go.
/Heartbeat/
They tighten their embrace. "He's going to be okay," sighed the other as he laid his forehead against the boy. His face and lips close to the boy with only a breath apart, almost touching. His long hair creating a veil around their faces.
/Heartbeat/
The dark eyes scoffed. "Of course he will. He's the boy who lived.".
/Heartbeat/
Another chuckled. "Ah yes," he murmured. He lifted up his face and stared at the dark eyes. "One more thing to do." He gazed back to the child in their embrace while his other hand took out his wand and pointed it at the boy. The green eyes showed a little life, and it was enough. The man stared deeply into the emerald eyes, wishfully. Then a soft whisper, so soft like the wind, "/Obliviate/."
/Heartbeat/
The last thing the boy could remember, was seeing a pair of inhumanly silver blue eyes, and a few long strains of golden hair. And there was a brilliant light.
/Heartbeat/
And there was nothing.
/Stop/
A soft kiss on his forehead.
A lingering hot breath over his skin.
Gentle touches, warm loving embrace.
A searing desirable pain on his neck.
A cry of ecstasy
He couldn't remember the face of his dream lover.
All he could do was to feel the painful lust invoked in those touches.
And then, more kisses.
His dream lover...
... dream lover.
Harry woke up, feeling helplessly melancholic this morning. He murmured, "/Tempus/" to check the time. It was six in the morning. Thinking he had time before breakfast, the boy just laid still in his bed, staring at the dark wood of his bed's ceiling and its dark red curtain. All was quite, all was calm. He could hear the steady breaths of his sleeping roommates. He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly, just over his lightning scar.
A dream.
Was it? It felt so real.
Almost in the last two years, from the end of his fourth year and going through his sixth, he encountered these strange lustful dreams. It didn't involved love making or anything, not even love and desire. He just felt sad, as if they were unrequited lover, if he could call it lovers' dream. If anything, he felt he could almost tear his heart apart, as if there was something in the deepest core of his soul that shattered every time he woke up and found that it was only a dream, the sweetest sad dream. He didn't love his dream lover, but he felt the ache on the back of his mind.
The dreams always there when something really bad happened. Like when Ron dumped him because he was dating him so he could make Seamus jealous, or when Neville dumped him because he favored the Terry-boy from Ravenclaw and because, well, Terry was smarter than he was for school project such as Herbiology. God, he was so messed up. None of his past lovers date him for 'Harry'. It was always the Boy-who-lived thing stand in his way to get a steady relationship.
Then again, just yesterday he snogged Dean in the Charm class. Dean was sweet and gentle, a perfect boyfriend who knew his mood swings, but something was lacking. They gone steady for half a year now, and Harry was happy.
Right?
Dean didn't know his darker side.
Harry touched his swollen lips. He could still taste the dream lover's lips over his, warm, moist and tasted like gelatin. He shivered from the thought. The dreams also came when his adolescent impulse heightens. This was not very good without the hard on and the release he usually counted on to calm his mood swing.
The night was in the full moon, darkness embedded the castle walls like claws searching for preys. Harry was about to return to his dorm after his midnight rendezvous to clear his mind (that Dean couldn't help with). He got lost because of the moving staircases. Those damn things kept changing to different direction.
He didn't watch where he was going when he tripped over the staircase toward the Dungeon. A pair of pale arms kept him from falling. "Really Potter, as a sixth year you should know by now that the tenth step was narrower." The blonde boy, owner of those said arms, smirked. "Of course knowing how 'Gryffindor' you are..." he trailed off. His sky blue eyes clearly showing 'replaced Gryffindor with dense.'
Harry scowled and yanked his arm from the Blonde. "Fuck off, Malfoy."
Draco grinned wolfishly. His eyes flashing with mischievous glint that promised Heaven and Hell. "Of course, anytime you want, Potter."
The Boy-who-lived spluttered, face beat red. "Sod off."
"Uncreative insult, Potter. You should think a better word to hurt me. Your pathetic excused of speech almost bored me to death."
He snarled and glared at Draco with his emerald eyes that showed rage in them. They started a staring contest in the staircase, each unwilling to submit to the other. The rage in Harry's eyes dissipated and replaced by something else. Damn his hormonal impulse. Damn Malfoy. Damn the darkness in his soul for demanding pain. He was /not/ a masochist for God's sake!
The Slytherin boy grinned like a cheshire cat. "Careful, Potter. People might think you fancied me. With the look and all."
"Prat." Then Harry turned around and walked up the stair.
Draco stared at the retreating boy, marveling the well shaped back of the Boy-who-lived and smirked. That white shirt almost exposed the milky skin under it, and that wicked blue jeans cupped the Boy-who-lived's arse nicely.
"Mr. Draco Malfoy, what are you doing here after curfew?"
The boy turned around, hands in his black trouser's pockets, standing proudly. He grinned coyly, "Yes, Severus?"
The Potion Master's eyes went glassy for a moment and stared back at the blonde. "Let me rephrase that. What are you doing here?" he walked closer to the boy and stopped short a few feet. His voice was low and smooth, gliding in his tongue, "Lucifier?"
TBC
05/11/02
A/N: Shall I continue?