Warning: Vampire, blood, darkness, angst, slash,
AU, OOC, necromancy, beast, incest, BDSM, chan. Rated R-NC17. You've
been warned!
Pairing: as of now confirmed LMxHPxSS and RLxHG
Thank you for my betas: Maxim, Polluxa and Che Gilson
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter belonged to J.K Rowling or otherwise stated.
Excerpt from the CHRONICLE: The History. ID No. V01c30F1999/XIIIth Generation.
We were not supposed to be involved, you and I. The war game did not belong to us but to them. But the foolishness of men, the curiosity that killed us all, was tempting even to the saintliest of us.
We were neither and either, magical and non magical. We were blinded by the power of the Gods; not knowing the fate that binds them could destroy our faith.
Their sins we should not disturb.
Theirs.
Not ours.
Crimson 0: Chiaroscuro – Clear Dark
He closed the book with the love of someone living far beyond age and generations. He carefully laid his glasses on the table and gazed outside the window with old eyes. The wrinkles on his forehead eased, and his posture relaxed on the old rickety chair. His mind traveled back, to the time before until the time he lived through afterwards.
He remembered laughter and tears and the eras of men then.
He remembered a family, a child and a destiny, and what could be and could not.
Two children hands embraced him from both sides. Their childish smile on pink faces brought the light from the dark recesses of his mind. He laughed with them and patted their heads.
He regretted the war and the death(s).
But he never regretted living and loving.
Trinity Blood: Crimson
Stigmata
By IncubusSuccubus
Excerpt from the CARNIVAL: The Tale of Lillith. Introduction
I'm Lillith - it began - the Queen of the Night, the Mother. I'm the first. When I started the first coffin, we were called the Fallen Ones. Now they call us the Vampires, the Undead, the Kindred, with respect, and Monsters, Bloodsuckers, Sinners, for mockery.
In the beginning, the first Coffin was born from my heart: the hatred, the love, my revenge and my salvation. My heart died and was reborn to change everything I touched.
Until my true death, I watched my children be born, flourish. I watched them live. I watched them feed and hunt and be hunted. I watched them drown in bloodlust. I watched them driven into insanity. And I watched them die.
Crimson I: Nascentes morimur. - From the moment we are born, we die.
The cemetery was not a place where he usually hung out, despite his inhuman and undead nature. Unfortunately, a burst of strong magical power had erupted an hour prior somewhere in Surrey, England. By the command of his superior, he had dispatched several of his brethren to cover the eleven boroughs. Finally, he was able to pinpoint the source in a town called Little Whinging. For a small town and a dense community, it had a rather large burial mound in the middle of the forest. Hence, there he was now, trying not to dirty his expensive robes. He tightened them, making sure his figure was tucked hidden under the hood.
The man sighed as he maneuvered between the death and decay from the dead trees, between rows and rows of dark gray tombstones, personal mausoleum to some long dead and forgotten Saxon. His eyes glowed in gray blue in the darkness, searching, gliding until he found what he was looking for. He knelt before the body sprawled across a grave.
The boy (he assumed it was a boy, despite the fey like creature body of the creature), he observed, had the after taste of the power that only the dark creatures could sense. He was glad he'd found it first before the other creatures of the night.
He quickly made several assessments, cataloguing the boy's features. While the boy seemed familiar, he didn't make the connection until later. The boy was in his early teens, lithe and malnourished.
The boy was literally cut and bruised in several places; darkened blue and red decorated his pale white skin;, some broken ribs, a broken arm and shoulder, everything pointed to abuse. The man shook his head. Whoever hurt the boy, hurt him really bad. He was disgusted of what humans could do. And /they/ called his kind monsters.
He could still feel the subdued power, the youth, the innocence and the sweetness that radiated from the small figure, tantalizing his senses like cherry spice wine and dark chocolate. His nature screamed to claim the boy. The craving and desire were so strong, he barely held down his lust. He breathed in deeply, calming his nerves. The boy was too young, but yes, he could have a taste and mark him as his.
As if he was in trance, he held the boy. His heart throbbed with a sense of wrongness, but his desire won over his mind. "I shall bind thee, in blood and honor." He tilted the boy upright, revealing a long, endless strip of white skin. He nuzzled the delectable neck, couldn't resist to taste. His long golden hair fell from under the hood, brushing, framing their world for two. He gave a soft lingering kiss and a lick before sinking his teeth into the flesh.
The boy jerked upright and emitted a strangled cry. He pinned the boy to prevent unnecessary movement that could break the Contract. He drank hungrily and felt the barely audible heartbeat slowing down into a beat per second. The blood pumped fast through the circulatory system, from the boy's body into his heart's atriums and out from the ventricles through the aorta to the smaller arteries. The valves clanged open and close faster. It was loud in his ears, that which only he and the boy could hear (if he was conscious enough), vibrating, into the deep core of their hearts and souls. His body cells soon adapted to the boy's rich magic, imprinted into his own as the blood spread all over his body through his veins.
He indulged in the delicious taste so much that he barely heard a soft gasp of surprise. When he looked up from his lust-induced daze, he met up the cold, stormy black eyes of his companion.
The man, younger than him by years, lowered his gaze. "What have you done?"
"The boy is dying, and I won't let him," stated the blonde, still drunk but managing to think clearly.
"But, don't you know who he is?" said the deep, rich, dark voice, void of emotion. It was as if the younger man were suppressing any emotion out.
The blonde gazed down and smirked. "Yes, I know now. It's no wonder the boy is that strong, if he could temp me to the point I gave in. A pity to let a pretty boy die when he can be so much more."
The other dark, wiry body was stiff, shadowy-like, while the blonde and the boy looked alive and ethereal. "…" He frowned. "I…" He stopped and watched as his blond-haired companion had his whole attention at the boy and ignored his presence. He saw his companion's eyes reflect a tenderness he'd never seen before. He bit his lower lip and looked away. He could do nothing anyway. The First Covenant of the series of three, sacred blood and magic, was done. His chest throbbed.
At last the mark was done. The ownership seal glowed on the boy's neck before it disappeared under his skin. The blonde tipped in a quarter vial of blood into the boy's lips. His own blood mixed with potion. It tasted strange and salty, and bitter, and sweet at the same time.
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 as if he tried to say something.
/Heartbeat/
The man smiled. "He's going to live."
/Heartbeat/
The dark-eyed man scoffed. "Of course he will. He's the Boy Who Lived." The boy opened his eyes, still half-closed and dilated. The confused young one showed a little life, and it was enough.
/Heartbeat/
Another chuckle. "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 his embrace while his other hand took out his wand and pointed it at the boy. 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/
Nascentes morimur
A soft kiss on his forehead.
A lingering warm breath on his damp cold skin.
Gentle touches, warm loving embrace.
A searing desirable pain on his neck.
A cry of ecstasy
He couldn't remember the face of this dream shadow.
All he could do was to feel the painful lust invoked in those touches.
Nascentes morimur
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, sixteen years old and single, just woke up from his dream. A feeling of melancholy washed over his body as he tried to chase away the remnants of his sleepiness.
The day had just started; it was the crack of dawn. Normally, the Golden Boy was a heavy sleeper. But on the rainy days season, when his body felt numb and sadness crept into loneliness in his heart, Harry would dream.
And it felt so real and so unreal at the same time.
He couldn't describe it. He couldn't tell his friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. How could he, when his dream involved hands, hot kisses (with tongues!) and hard (male) bodies, hips against hips, rubbing against him in an old age rhythm?
Damn hormones.
Why couldn't he be normal for once? Oh the safe-crush-on-female ones that his roommates often talked about.
He just had to be gay.
Not that he cared or minded. Although the general populace of the magical world didn't care about teenagers' experiments, they expected the children to grow up and marry and make a family.
Great. Just great. Because he knew for sure he wasn't interested in females (after that fifth year debacle – insert shudders of horror here – with Cho Chang and Ginevra Weasley). He found himself admiring Cedric Diggorry's fine ass, on the broom, or the wild, feral look on Bill and Charlie Weasley. Even Malfoy, yes, the DRACO Malfoy was hot, in that sort of icy, rich bastard way.
Problem was, his friends were either taken or straight. Or both. Or Gay AND taken.
Harry had had a share of lovers. Secretive and satisfying, somewhat, but not fulfilling. He often found the boys his age and younger were in for the trill of 'I've done it but it wasn't my thing'. Like his past boyfriend, Neville, who he heard was now dating that Ravenclaw girl, a year younger, Luna Lovegood. And then there was 'make the other boy jealous by dating the Boy Who Lived,' like Seamus Finnegan (who was still chasing after the oblivious Dean Thomas) or Justin, who preferred his older man at the States. Things weren't going well for the Boy Who Lived, no matter how famous he was.
The thing was, Harry wanted a lover who saw him as 'Harry', with all the faults and imperfections. And he wanted older, more experienced man (men?) who knew how to make love to him and shared the most intimate details of their lives. The most important thing was, he (they) understand his occasional darkness (not evil).
Yes. Harry bloody Potter was doomed.
Harry, awake and unable to go back to sleep, peered behind the heavy blood-red drapery around his bed. His roommates, lazy as they were, were still fast asleep. If he guessed correctly, it was still six am, with two more hours before they were awake. Today was Sunday after all.
He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly, just over his lightning scar. God. It had been two years since the dreams started. Last night's dream had been intense: a long wooden stick with a snake's head between his ass cheeks and a hot mouth licking and sucking his prick – which hardened already from such a thought.
Harry touched his swollen lips. He could still taste the dream lover's lips over his, warm, moist and like molten dark chocolate. He shivered from the thought. The dreams also came when his adolescent impulse heightened.
He really, really hated the fritillary of youth. Damn, damn hormones.
He really needed a boyfriend. Or two.
Quickly, Harry took care of the, err, problem, and a Scourgify later, he was good to leave the confines of his bed. And took a long shower (and another round of relieving his libido, while his friends were asleep and the shower stalls were empty and the door was locked tight, secure with a silencing spell).
Refreshed, he went down to grab some early breakfast.
Nascentes morimur
Harry wasn't surprised when he found one of his best friends, Hermione Granger, already at the table. Her dress was always immaculate – white clean shirt and the red and gold tie tucked under the dark brown school robes. Her pleated skirt rode slightly on her upper knees. Hermione's reddish brown hair was tied neatly. Harry wasn't that bad himself. He wasn't as prim as, say, Malfoy, or as spotless as Hermione. His white shirt was tucked in his dark pants, his top button was undone (saving his tie for before class).
Hermione was reading some obscure text with her reading glasses tucked on her nose. Harry smiled at that as he peered on her reading material and rolled his eyes. No more Wizarding politics (slaves, half-bloods, Muggleborn, creature rights). Ever since she advocated for house-elfs' rights (which they didn't want), she'd grown interested in various forms of the Law for Other Species, magical and non-magical, human and creatures. It was funny that Harry had cured his eyes and didn't need glasses anymore, but Hermione had acquired ones and refused to fix her eyes (they were NOT going to have their wand near her eyes. Period). Now she looked like a (naughty, as they teased her) librarian.
He wasn't against his friend learning all that stuff – education was important after all. Heck, Harry even supported some of Hermione's ideals of equality in jobs, marriage and society for all creatures, human or not. But Hermione seemed obsessed lately. Harry didn't know what she'd found last summer. But she was driven since then.
In any case, it was a better reading material for Hermione than quoting Hogwarts: A History.
"Good morning, Hermione," greeted the Boy Who Lived.
"Hmm." Hermione turned the page and looked up. "Oh, good morning, Harry. You're up early."
"Yeah, well…" He sat down beside his best friend, flopped his bag beside him and his robes on his knees. He filled his plate with sausage, eggs and toasts.
"And it's Sunday too." She grinned, her cheek puffed in pink hue. "Not that I mind."
"I just woke up early, that's all," said Harry, distracted while pilling his plate, not really looking at her.
Hermione frowned at Harry. Her glasses tilted a little. Her reading text lay forgotten on her lap. "It's not…" She was concerned for her young friend.
"No, no. It's not /him/," He paused as he picked up the fork and twirled it between his fingers. "I've been having dreams lately."
"Go on." She wrapped her hands together on her text.
"They are weird and embarrassing." He blushed and played with his fork.
She smirked and laughed softly. "Ah." She nodded again, understanding. She closed her textbook and put it on the table and faced him. "Does anyone ever talk to you about it?"
"Sirius, last year," said Harry, quietly, still not looking at her. They went silent for a while. The death of Sirius Black, Harry's godfather was still hurting him.
Hermione cleared her throat softly, "Ah, hem, so?"
Harry scratched the back of his head. It was hard to explain to Hermione how he felt. True, Hermione was more perceptive that his other friend, Ron, but in the other hand Hermione was a girl. "Yes, well, it is normal for a guy to have that kind of (wet) dreams, right?" Hermione nodded, and he continued, "But lately (like, in the past two months), those dreams are getting emotional."
"Like?"
"I feel strong feelings in this dreams. Like I'm drowning and I can't breathe. My chest is tight with emotion and my stomach feels like lead. It's like I…"
"Fall in love?"
"Yeah, maybe." Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he muttered, "It wasn't just sex anymore."
Hermione thought silently. "Do you know who's in that dream?" she asked.
"No. That's why it's confusing. Weird." Harry knew he (they) were males. His (their) body was hard to be a female's. Again, he felt a swell between his legs, which luckily was covered with his robes. He looked around, noticing there were only two of them in the Gryffindor table; the others were on the other tables and seated quite far from the two of them. He lowered his voice. "I want to make a confession."
Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I'm gay."
"Oh." She paused. "Okay." She smiled as if she knew already.
Harry watched her expression and saw that she was uncomfortable but not against it or dramatic about it. "Okay."
Silence.
"Don't tell Ron," he said.
She snorted. "I'm not stupid. Although I don't think Ron would mind, Harry. Wizarding families are more open-minded than Muggle ones. We prefer a soul and magic match after all."
"I know, but not now. Ron can be rowdy and like hell I want everyone to know I'm gay. Maybe after … I figure out these dreams."
"Yeah, about that. You dreamt of having sex with a man?"
"Not sex." Harry shook his head. "Making love."
"And how did you know the difference?" She quirked an eyebrow and wiggled suggestively.
He blushed bright red. "I just knew. They are so… gentle and loving, I just can't shake the feeling of being loved (and possessed)."
"Wait, wait, they?" She gapped.
If possible, Harry's face became redder. "Yeah, two of them."
Hermione smiled then looked thoughtful. "Do you love them, Harry?"
"I…I don't know, Hermione."
"Do they love you?"
"I don't know," said Harry. He rubbed his face, brushing his bangs to the back. "They are weird dreams that I can't explain."
"Hum, perhaps I can research dreams and their meanings sometime today."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione. Not everything can be found in a book." He smiled.
Hermione smacked his friend on the arm lightly and smirked. "You never know, Harry Potter."
"Yeah, yeah, all right then," said Harry. He smiled at her. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She grinned.
They laughed together and Harry went back to his breakfast while Hermione took his text and began reading again. They shared a good familiar, friendship banter between their meals and reading, unaware that they were being watched.
Nascentes morimur
The silver blue eyes averted his eyes from the Gryffindor table, suddenly feeling sick. Now he regretted coming early. God. He would do anything to tear the wench away from /his/ Harry. By nature, he was a possessive creature. It was an agreeable condition to be jealous, with dignity. After all, he had a reputation to uphold, being his gorgeous blonde self. Now if only he could go on with his plan
It had been two months.
Nascentes morimur
Professor Severus Snape, tall, dark, and not handsome but interestingly appealing, frowned as he gazed between two tables, Gryffindor and Slytherin. For one, Harry Potter and his chit were far too close to his liking. At the Slytherin side, a young blonde was up to something. And it was just the beginning of the school year too. God. Sometimes he hated his teaching job, Hogwarts, his annoying-luckily-not-here-yet boss. And Saint Potter. And blondes. He groaned inwardly and proceeded to drink his bitter (extra strong) black coffee.
Nascentes morimur
Lunch came and the hall was filled with students from all houses and all years. The voice raised up several notches as every now and then some people cracked jokes or the jokes were on them. Several explosive laughs, banshees shrieking, hyenas howling were free for all on all tables. Oh, and food.
"Hmmm." Harry calmly ate his meatballs and potatoes. Hermione eat a triple-decked sandwich and read at the same time (the wonder of multitasking exclusively for women), and Ron inhaled, multiple types of food, as much as he could because he'd missed breakfast and growing boys just loved to eat, much to Hermione's disgust.
"What classes are you taking Harry? Are you going to drop any subject?" asked Hermione, after she'd finished reading, now perusing her schedule.
Harry thought for a few seconds, swallowed his food and drank his pumpkin juice before answering her friend. "I'm going to take Advanced Potions, Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, advanced Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures for my core subjects. Charms, Transfiguration, Basic Runes and Basic Arithmancy for electives. I'm dropping Divination."
In their sixth year, they had the options to take and drop several classes after the first week to test their abilities and choose their future career. Harry was optioning to become an Auror or Curse Breaker/Peace Maker. "How about you, Hermione?"
"I'm taking Advanced Runes, Advanced Arithmancy, Advanced Charms, Advanced Transfiguration for my core subjects and Advanced Runes, Advanced Herbology and Advanced Potions for electives," said Hermione as she wrote down her choices and fit them in her schedule. They had to hand over their schedule by tonight and have consistent scheduled classes by tomorrow.
"Ron?" asked Harry to his other friend, who luckily had finished gulping down his lunch.
Ron Weasley, the younger son of the Weasley family and Harry Potter's best friend, was rummaging in his bag and checking on his choices of electives. He too, wanted to take subjects for becoming an Auror or a Ministry Official like his father and older brother, Percy. "I'm not taking much advanced classes, just enough to enter the Auror division," he said. He borrowed Hermione's pen and wrote down subjects for his classes. "Let's see, Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, Advanced Charms, Advanced Divination for my core, Transfiguration, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies for electives."
"And why are you still taking Divination?" asked Hermione, puzzled and a little bit ticked.
"Why not? Sometimes they have to pinpoint the crime scene with astral projections to determine the past events on the crime scene."
"He's right, you know, Hermione." Harry and Ron had researched their career choice during summer. Grimmauld Place, Sirius's home, was filled with books, and Sirius's journal (which contained his entry and works as an Auror) helped them determine the classes they wanted to take. Hermione knew this but she just didn't like Divination (and the teacher).
Hermione hemp-ed. "Then why are you dropping Divination, Harry, if you need it for Auror-ship?"
Harry shrugged.
"Coz Harry isn't going to homicide department like I do, Hermione. Right mate?"
Harry nodded. "I prefer Curse Breaking actually."
"It is a good career choice," she said.
"And what career are you taking?" asked Ron.
"I'm not sure yet. I can go to a research department," she said, excitedly. Then she launched on the possibilities of each Transfiguration, Charms and Potions research, when, where and what universities, labs and other facilities.
Ron and Harry knew their friend very, very well (including her temper). They listened to her and nodded appropriately because they were best friends forever (and a bit afraid of female hormones).
They talked until lunch was over, when the Headmaster called for Ron via their Head of House, Professor McGonagall. Hermione went to the library for her dream research as she'd promised Harry.
Having nothing to do, Harry went to get his broom and fly around a bit.
Nascentes morimur
Professor McGonagall escorted Ron up to the Headmaster's office. After saying the password (lemon drop), she left the redhead boy and headed for her own office.
Ron was rightly nervous as he stood there waiting for the stair to the office to reveal itself. His parents had been secretive the whole summer. He didn't have anyone to talk to, with two of his older brothers working abroad, Bill as Curse Breaker in Gringotts, Egypt branch and Charlie in the Dragons reservation in Romania. He knew the two of them were in the Order's business along with their parents. And then there was Percy, who lived outside the house, working at the Ministry and loosing contact with the rest of the family. Fred and George also lived outside the house with their business (the WWW) booming, rivaling Zonko's joke shop. He supposed there was Ginevra – Ginny – Weasley. But Ginny was a girl, and younger. Sometimes Ron was…lonely, even in his own family.
As he walked up the stairs, he thought of the summer. The night before he and Ginny departed to their school, Arthur and Molly Weasley went to talk with him in their private study, without any of his siblings present. Everything talked in that hour was a secret of course, even to his best friends, Hermione and Harry. He swore secrecy (by his wand and magic).
It turned out that his parents had an important duty to the Wizarding world. Arthur explained, with details, what his role entailed. The youngest male of the family would be the [ Scribe , like his father and his father before that and always the youngest male.
A Scribe was like a secret recorder, even to his other siblings and friends. His job was to write down the specific happenings in the magical world in the [ Chronicles book. A writer such as Ron would have his own Chronicle book to write down the events that later would be history evidence for the use of the [ Watcher council.
Right now he needed to see the Headmaster on which event Ron should record.
Sometimes being best friends with Harry Potter had its perks. Ron had his share of jealousy toward his friend. But after the summer, he wondered if his quiet life was an illusion.
Ron was right to be very nervous for his upcoming task.
Nascentes morimur
Hermione was driven, to put it mildly. Between her advanced classes and homework and tests and her promise to Harry, she was also researching the history behind the magical world. Politics and Law excited and angered her.
True, the people, humans in general, were hypocrites.
It was common for purebloods to look down upon half-bloods and Muggleborns. It was downright unfair to step on half creatures, especially dark creatures. Hermione could go on, ranting and cursing in several different languages in that subject alone.
And after she found out who she was and her family in the summer…
God.
Now she wondered if there were more people like her. Hidden in this school perhaps? In the magical and non-magical society?
She had a lot of questions and so few answers. Most of the books in the library didn't tell her much, and they were oppressing the magical creatures, Mythical and otherwise. They were portrayed negatively and a deviant, mutation of normal human and/or wizard kind.
She was afraid to ask, knowing the consequences just like she'd been warned during summer. But whom should she turn to? Not the Headmaster for sure. The old man was kind, sure, but he was a wizard. Witches and wizards tended to dislike magical creatures no matter what their view or say. She just could not trust the Headmaster or the other professors.
Hermione couldn't talk about it with Ron and Harry either. Not yet at least. They were best friends, but sometimes a secret makes a girl a woman. Or so her mother said.
Anyway, besides the books, she could always mail home. Perhaps her parents could send her some books. In their collections (which she didn't know until recently) perhaps?
They did owe her an explanation, longer than they'd been willing to share in the summer.
Sometimes she wondered if her life would go weirder than being a witch and best friend of the Boy Who Lived.
Nascentes morimur
A night like this, dark with full moon, was mystical in her glory. Many magic ceremonies, events, happened in a night like this. The shadows were more prominent and longer; hiding was much easier for misfits and rule breakers.
Harry was late coming inside. Dinner was long over by then. He was exhausted from the long flight to clear his mind and refresh his body. He simply loved to fly and take a walk in the Forbidden Forest, then take another flight on the lake. The cool air was just so right during the night.
Walking across the field, then into the castle, hoisting his priceless broom, a Firebolt, Harry hurriedly passed the main hall before curfew. He was just running down the moving staircase before he slipped.
A pair of pale arms caught him and kept him from falling. "Really, Potter, a sixth year like you should know by now that the tenth step was narrower." Harry swore he could hear the smug bastard smirking. "Of course, knowing how 'Gryffindor' you are…" Might as well say Gryffindor stupidity.
Harry scowled and yanked his arm from the said blonde bastard. "Fuck off, Malfoy."
Draco Malfoy grinned slyly. "Really, Potter. I didn't know you swing that way."
Harry's face burned. Damn. Damn. Damn. Of all people he might've come across, it had to be the Silver Prince himself. He clutched his Firebolt to his chest as if protecting himself from the older bad boy.
Draco stared at the Boy Who Lived with his arrogant smirk, standing with an ego as big as the Tower of London, in his expensive, tailored to fit shirt, trousers and school robes.
The blonde boy laughed insultingly. "Anytime you want, Potter. I bet you'll /beg/ for me to fuck you." He stepped close to the wonder boy. Harry had no choice but to back against the railing. "And I bet you scream nicely." Too bad there was a broom between them or else he'd have already pressed himself against that delicious body.
The wonder boy snarled. His face was as red as a tomato. Then his green eyes flashed as he smirked slowly. "Talking from experience, Malfoy?"
"Do you want to know, Potter?" His grey blue eyes glinted. Draco placed his hands on the railing on Harry's either sides, successfully trapping the green-eyed boy.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Draco Malfoy was good. But Harry Potter wouldn't go down without a fight. "Yes. As a matter of a fact I do."
Draco brought his face closer to Harry's, almost touching. Harry could feel the heat of the Silver Prince's body seeping into his own. He was aware his body was responding to it and arching to meet the older boy. Harry cursed himself for letting it go this far. Cursed his body's reaction, his hormones and damn Draco Malfoy to hell. Why, oh, why he had to be, oh, so irresistibly sexy?
"Really, Potter?" whispered the silver blue-eyed seduction (and Harry personal tormentor). His warm breath caressed Harry's sensitive ear.Oh. God.
He was so, so close to taste that tantalizing skin. Harry's blood was pumping wildly under the musky scent that would drive anyone crazy.
Harry strengthened his resolve and pushed Draco away. "Don't." He shamefully retreated. But instead of gloating, Draco just looked at him with unreadable eyes.
His temperature was still high, and he was hard. He had to admit he was attracted to the blonde. But this boy was Draco Malfoy, for God's sake.
Draco's gaze almost burnt him, and he was almost consumed in that heat.
With his will and dignity somewhat intact, he walked away, thankfully whole and sane. Harry knew Draco was watching him but didn't stop him, didn't taunt him like usual.
Draco Malfoy was indeed an enigma. He'd changed this year (still having the holier than thou attitude, but bearable), unlike the first five years they'd been unwillingly acquainted. More mature perhaps but no more than a prat, decided Harry.
Harry kept walking, aware of those silver blue eyes boring on the back of his head.
Nascentes morimur
Malfoy watched the Boy Who Lived walk away and sighed wishfully. The Wonder Boy, undeniably, aroused him like no other man (or woman) could or ever wished. He had to admire that Quiddicth toned body. That sparkling deviant green eyes. He would take so much pleasure in taming the boy.
"Mr. Malfoy, pray tell me what are you doing after curfew?"
The blonde turned around, hands in the back of his trouser pockets, standing proudly. He grinned slyly at his Head of House. "Yes, Severus?"
The Potions Master twitched visibly and sighed. He stared at the impudent blonde. "Let me rephrase that. What are you doing here?" He stepped closer and stopped a few short feet away. Snape's dark smoky voice came out low and smooth; the other's name came out as if gliding of the tip of his tongue. "Lucifier?"
Nascentes morimur fin 191007
TBC
to Somnia Memorias
A/N: New version of Trinity Blood. For the record, this fic is not a crossover with the anime/novel/manga titled Trinity Blood nor the game 'Magnacarta: Crimson Stigmata'. Thank you. )
A/N 2: Due to the nature (coughwarningcough) of this fic, I have the back up and future NC17 rated in my deviant dot com account. incubussuccubus dot deviantart dot com
Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment or two.
