Author's Note: Oh, so, I've failed at updating it seems. I have been busy in my defense. Exciting things include going to Dragon*Con and meeting Tom Felton this weekend, so that was pretty exciting.

But I'm going to do two chapters in an attempt to make up for it. *holds out Dark Mark-shaped cookies and pouts*

Chapter Nine

Harry woke up the next day curled in a ball on his bed. He could hear commotions outside, and Ron and Hermione's voices faintly run out from somewhere, perhaps his kitchen. He didn't particularly want to face them. They would ask how yesterday went, and Harry would have to explain. Glancing over to his dresser beside his bed, he looked at the letter Malfoy had left him. Well, this time Harry was sure Malfoy wouldn't try to check up on him.

It was only when he grabbed it that he noticed Malfoy's scent had completely vanished. It smelled like his room, and the only reminder that Malfoy had ever held it was in the quickly written words. Sighing, Harry pulled himself up and looked around the room. But he didn't pick up any clothes in the end. He simple grabbed a bathrobe and lazily slung it over his shoulders. He would have to face them sooner or later. Maybe he should just get it over with.

"Hey there, sleepyhead. You must have slept well." Ron already had a glass of red wine prepared for him as if this was some standard breakfast, like fried eggs and bacon. Ron cheerily waved at Harry before offering him one of his own chairs. Apparently the ginger was in a good mood.

"Oh, hey guys." It was difficult to form a smile, especially with such bad news in store. They seemed to think, if their smiling faces were anything to go by, that yesterday went well.

"So, this time we didn't have to save you. Or, well, untie you. It seems like a little plea of letting you have fresh blood worked well after all."

"I –" They seemed so happy for him, and the last thing Harry wanted was to spoil their mood. But really there wasn't much else to say. "I managed to screw things up in other ways; don't worry."

"What happened?" Hermione and Ron both took seats opposite him, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. Their expressions were identical. Both of them bore a look of concern that lightened slightly with his chuckle.

"I said something I didn't mean to. I think I hurt him. Or, well, I know, I hurt him. He stormed away. He was –" Harry collapsed, head on the table. His breathing was raspy and had he been able to cry, it was clear he would have been sobbing. The last thing any vampire wanted was to hurt his mate, physically or emotionally. Harry had barely been able to sleep, and spent a good part of the night replaying last night's events.

"What did you say to him? It couldn't have been that terrible." She shared a glance with Ron that Harry didn't see.

"He said something completely unexpected. Probably the only sentimental thing he'll ever say to me. I hugged him, and he flipped out. So, I told him it was the first time I saw he had a heart."

"You said what?" Ron's jaw dropped and he threw his hands up into the air. "You're helpless. I thought you were supposed to be nice to your mate."

"I didn't mean it; you know that." Harry trembled. The words had slipped out so easily.

"Yeah, but it doesn't make it fair. I understand why he would get mad." Hermione sighed. "Was it fine before you said that?"

"I don't know. He seemed uncomfortable discussing anything. I should have just stayed silent. I have to ruin everything, don't I?" His fucking mouth – the whole fucking situation – he screamed in frustration. Both Ron and Hermione jumped back, surprised.

"You didn't ruin everything," Hermione added, attempting to comfort him. The words didn't really console him at all. After all, Hermione looked slightly concerned herself, and the words seemed to be used in a bad attempt to soothe him. Not that he could blame her – he was trembling as she spoke.

"Malfoy is just very...proud, and words like those hurt everyone. I can only imagine that he took them even more harshly. He's just dealing with a lot." That was true too. Draco had sacrificed so much. Malfoy, God dammit. Harry clutched his head. But why would Malfoy help him? He clearly didn't care.

"No. He doesn't give a shit about me. He's just doing it for some reason to help himself, most likely. All in all, this is great fun, Hermione, really. Now all I need is for the Ministry to find out and hunt me down. That will really get the party started, don't you think?"

"Harry! Bloody hell, calm down, mate. It's not the end of the world. Malfoy didn't send an owl telling us he wanted to call it off. He just needs time to let it blow over." Ron reached over to give him a comforting pat on the back, but stopped midway, hand in the air. He looked at it as if he couldn't believe it before taking a deep breath.

"I hate being a vampire." He grabbed the glass of red wine and downed it in one gulp. Just as the chink of the glass against the wood sounded, there came a whoosh from the fireplace. "You invited someone else?" He was about to ask who when Luna popper her head in the doorway.

"Hello, Harry." She sat down beside Harry and grinned. But all three of them followed her with their eyes. She wore a necklace with a pendant obscured with what appeared to be silver glitter. She noticed everyone's gaze and followed it down before cheerfully adding, "Rolf gave it to me. It's supposed to ward off the Krumpletons." Her voice was serious, and Harry barely managed to stifle a laugh. Some things really would always be the same, and Luna's little quirks were definitely here to stay.

"What's a Krumple – err –" It was usually best to go along with things like this. Once he'd gotten past the weirdness, he found that Luna's creatures were actually interesting. And, in any case, it was something to keep his mind off of Draco. Err – Malfoy.

"A Krumpleton hides in the garden at night. If you're not careful, it can bite off your toes. Daddy's writing an article about them to put in the next Quibbler." Harry nodded, and as he did so, his spirits suddenly lifted. It was nice that Luna still believed in all these creatures. Her strength in blind faith never decreased, and even Hermione had come to respect it.

The rest of the night was spent laughing, and Harry's thoughts slowly pulled away from any blond best-left-unnamed mates. It was ridiculous how much of an impact Ron and Hermione had on his mood. He couldn't express exactly how much he appreciated their constant help. They relentlessly strove to make him happy. Harry could only imagine that Ron and Hermione were tired of acting as amusement for Harry, and Luna would certainly be much happier spending her time with Rolf.

Yet they came the next two nights again. Each night they managed to distract him, but each night seemed to provide another challenge. He wasn't only getting thirstier, but he ached for Malfoy's mere touch. He wasn't sure if he should contact Draco or just wait for the blond to come first. What if he got angry? But what if Malfoy expected him to be the one to get in touch?

By the third night, he couldn't help it anymore, and he grabbed a quill and parchment, deciding to write Draco a letter himself. Maybe if the apology and request were personal, he'd be more willing to accept them.

Draco,

I know this letter won't make up

for what I said to you only a few days ago. I understand

if you're still angry, but it hurts to know that I've hurt you. You agreed to help

me when you easily could have turned me in, and I appreciate it. I'm not very good with

words, as you can probably tell. I just hope you accept my apology. Whenever

you can next meet up, I'd be forever in your debt. I hope

you can accept my apology.

Harry

Harry realised only after he had finished writing that he had no clue where to send it. Malfoy probably wasn't at work at this time, and he certainly lived somewhere by himself. The only problem was finding out where that "somewhere" was.

After a moment or two of internal debate, however, Harry decided to send the letter to the Malfoy Manor. If nothing else, they would send it to Draco or give it to him the next time he visited. Draco would have to realise that he was attempting to be personal with his apology. He wasn't using Ron as a scapegoat for communication. Maybe he'd still be able to appreciate it. Harry hoped so.

He could picture Draco reading it, wetting his lips with his tongue, and nervously biting the lower one, a pink tinge in his cheeks. He would come to Harry, announcing that his apology was accepted and let Harry lean his head on his neck. The gesture of openness, Harry imagined, would be purely blissful.

But just the thought made his pants uncomfortably tight, and those pink lips and nimble fingers lingered in his mind a moment too long. His breath became shallow as he imagined Draco, posed but spread out across a bed, willing and open beneath him. His icicle eyes would open, and he'd say, "Fuck me. Bite me," his voice low and raspy. And his fingers would clench around the sheets as he exposed his neck.

"Fuck," Harry muttered, rushing to his bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, his hands fumbled at his pants, and he tried to calm his heavy pants. But Draco continued flashing in his head, and the venom dribbled on his chin. It was nearly impossible to swallow all of it, and it didn't get any better when his cock finally sprung free into the air, away from constricting clothes. His hands reached down and wrapped around his weeping cock.

Harry cried out, thrusting his hips forward. His entire body pulsated, on fire, drawing in a tidal wave of white noise. He jerked upward and his thumb played over the tip with exactly the right amount of pressure. In his mind they were Draco's hands, and he could hear the blond cry out as he bit him. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen Harry's jaw clamp around air, but, in his mind, blood overtook all other senses.

A crescendo of moans and gasps reverberated around in his head. He was so close. His hand frantically moved up and down, and he felt himself building up. His own blood mingled with the venom as he bit down on his lower lip. The actual taste of any blood, even his own, was enough. His stomach clenched as he came violently. Sparks few around him and his entire body spasmed one final time. He lay still on his bed when it had finished, staring at his hand, which was now coated in sticky white.

It took a moment to relax before he finally sat up again. Saying that he felt fine would have been a lie, but he certainly felt better than before. Of course, the longer he lay there, the quicker the feeling went away. It wasn't like that would ever happen, anyway. Harry's eyes clenched again and his hand fell from his now-flaccid cock. With effort, he pulled himself up and dragged himself over to his bedroom. Turning on the water, he waited for steam to fill up the room. It almost choked him with he finally entered. The air was so moist it was difficult to breathe. And the water was so hot it almost burned his skin.

Harry let out a hiss of air, but didn't pull away. He just let it wash over him, and he clenched his fists, driving them into the wall. He had to get stuck with this. It could have been anyone, but it was him. It was always him. The water continued to beat at his back and his jaw remained clenched. It was too hot to adjust to the water. Instead he endured it until it slowly ebbed to coldness. Only when he shivered did he turn off the water and step out.

He threw on an old, baggy t-shirt and some sweats before walking to the living room and splaying out on the couch. He didn't particularly feel like sleeping in his bed tonight. He had just adjusted to be comfortable when there was a tapping at his window. Harry pulled back everything to reveal the owl, a new letter in his beak. Harry's heart leapt as he snatched it and tore it open.

Potter,

One thing I should warn you: never send letters to my house. You were lucky that I should be here to pick it up before my father. He's taken an uncomfortable habit of trying to find out everything there is to know about my life. I'd rather he didn't have your letter to read.

On another note, you should have thought to apologise earlier. You caught me last minute. I'm off for a photo shoot in Venice. I won't be able to visit you for another five days. I guess you should have summoned that dubious Gryffindor courage earlier. You'll just have to deal with it, I suppose, until Sunday.

Draco Malfoy

Harry scowled at the message before disgustedly ripping it up and screaming in frustration. The owl jumped with a hoot and glared angrily at him. It proceeded to ruffle its wings and fly off. Harry had left him to fend for himself most of the time.

So, it actually had been lucky he had been around earlier to send the letter earlier. The letter! Harry pulled out his wand, or at least tried to. He had no clue where he had last put it. Running to the bedroom, he seemed crazy. And his only reminder – only thing to keep him satisfied – was the letter.

He searched everywhere, even drawers, but it was nowhere to be found. Nor in the bathroom. Or kitchen. In fact, when he finally found it, it had been a few metres away from where he originally stood. "Reparo!" Desperately, he tried to fix the only remainder left. The pages reformed themselves, weakly, and Harry clutched it before inhaling deeply. At least it still smelled faintly of Draco. But that was only if he pressed it as closely as possible and breathed in really deeply.

Still, five days of this simple letter would not sustain him. Draco's scent would have faded considerably, if not disappeared at that point. And while he didn't need Draco to survive, he knew pain and weakness would certainly accompany the lack of the blond git. Harry couldn't help but wonder whether it really would have made a difference had he apologised sooner.

Picking up a quill and parchment, he looked at the owl again, saying, "Fred, don't leave just yet." Had owls been able to roll their eyes, Harry would have been convinced Fred had done it.

Still, the owl waited, watching Harry scribble out a quick letter to Ron and Hermione. Harry asked them to just stay away from his house for the next few days. He knew he was likely to be in a foul mood, and he didn't want them to be victims of his spurts of uncontrolled violence. Knowing his tendencies, he would likely blow up, and it was best that no one was around then. He attached the letter to Fred's leg and sprawled on the couch. Upon closing his eyes, he fell asleep.

Ron and Hermione sent blood via owl. It was delicious, and Harry couldn't deny that he was thankful, but with each passing day, he felt weaker. His entire body began to feel sore, and his dreams, however filled with the blond, were never enough to compensate. By the fourth day, he stayed in bed, only moving to turn.

It was as if someone had sapped all the energy from him. Despite this, he debated going out and trying to find Draco. Of course, when he tried to imagine how this would bode, the images were almost comical. The only thing that Harry knew about Draco's whereabouts was Venice, which didn't really provide many limits. Just as he had predicted, Draco's scent had faded away from the letter, and it lay at the edge of his bed, the creases worn from overuse.

The only thing that really kept him going was the thought that tomorrow was the day that Draco finally came back. If he didn't come visit, Harry was sure he'd find the energy to find the blond git. Draco probably was going to chuckle – hell, he probably already had a good chuckle over the amount of power he had over Harry's happiness. But Harry didn't even care anymore.

He would get to see those blue eyes and blond-white hair. Every detail that he'd projected in his mind the past few days would be right in front of him. How many times had he come in the past few days with just that picture in mind? Harry moaned quietly to himself and shut his eyes, trying to fall asleep for the countless time that night.

Yes, tomorrow would indeed be glorious.