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Hermione, her head hovering in the flames, sighed. "I know, Harry, but I won't be able to leave this meeting for at least a day." She looked over her shoulder, as though she thought someone might be spying on her, then turned forwards again and lowered her voice. "They're talking about promoting me if I can do well enough here."

Harry found a smile despite his worry about Ron. He knew that Hermione had wished for more power in the Ministry for a long time, because it was probably the only way that she would ever be able to achieve most of the progress she wanted, especially where house-elves were concerned. "That's great, Hermione," he managed to say. "But in the meantime, do you have any suggestions about what to do?"

"My word alone won't do it," Hermione said thoughtfully, "not when he must think that I met with you and Malfoy both at once. He could convince himself that Malfoy enchanted me, too." She nibbled her lip a moment, then said, "We need proof that Malfoy won't hurt you. But I don't know what kind of proof Ron would accept."

"Even though he's your husband?" Harry found himself obscurely disappointed. He'd been thinking he could rely on Hermione the way he used to rely on her to solve difficult problems at Hogwarts. She should have all the answers.

Hermione gave him a sideways smile. "Because you're married to a person doesn't mean you know all about them and what they want, Harry. I don't think people often know that about themselves."

"Proof," Harry repeated. He looked over his shoulder, where Malfoy leaned on the doorway and regarded him. Malfoy showed his fangs and gave a small shrug, as if to say that he had no more ideas than Hermione did. He had wanted to enthrall Ron and persuade him to accept the Long-Desired bond that way. He argued that he could do it so subtly the thrall wouldn't interfere with the rest of Ron's life and no one would ever know he had done it. He had seemed honestly astonished when Harry objected.

Then I reckon it's up to me to think of a solution.

A thought came to him so suddenly that he blinked. Maybe he could actually use his brain for more than hunting vampires and resisting the bond with Malfoy, he thought. He stood up with one hand on the fireplace and nodded at Hermione.

"I have something I want to try," he said.

Hermione's eyes promptly became shadowy with worry, which annoyed Harry at first blush, but which he had to admit was a fair reaction. "Be careful with him," she warned in a low voice. "What is it?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think you should know." Hermione opened her mouth, her face darkening with the oncoming storm, but Harry leaped into the gap as quickly as he could. Once Hermione began complaining, he didn't think he would manage to stop her no matter what happened. "The reason I don't think you should know is so that you can tell Ron you had no idea what I was going to do if this goes wrong, and not lie. He'll want someone to confide in, and he might not trust me at that point."

"Maybe I should just Floo in—" Hermione began.

Someone knocked on her door, and she looked over her shoulder and hissed in irritation, then faced Harry with an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry," she said. "It looks like I have a dinner invitation."

Harry smiled at her. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I think this idea will work. And if it doesn't, then I'll put Ron back to sleep and we'll be no worse off than before."

Hermione nodded, rising to her feet and rearranging her robes carefully around her. "Then I'll wish you good luck," she said. "I really hope to be home by next week." She tossed Harry one more apologetic glance, then shut down the Floo connection.

When Harry turned around, Malfoy was already halfway across the room to him, head cocked to the side and eyes bright and searching. He looked ready to go along with whatever plan Harry suggested, which was still mad to him. He spent a few moments breathing deeply to clear his mind before he nodded to his vampire.

"You'll need to hold me very carefully…"

*

"Wake."

At the sound of the word, Ron blinked and his snores stopped. It still took him a few minutes to stretch the sleep out of his limbs and sit up. Harry, who had been a victim of that spell himself several times, waited patiently.

Not that he could do much else at the moment, with Malfoy's arms wrapped around him as tightly as they were.

Ron set his feet on the floor and kept his head bowed. He had obviously remembered the argument, Harry thought as he saw a muscle working in Ron's jaw, and had decided that he didn't want to look at his friend right now. Harry could hardly blame him.

When he looked up at last, with a sharp toss of his head, he froze. Harry gave him a small smile and moved sideways, so that Malfoy's fangs brushed against his throat. Malfoy readjusted his grip.

He was holding Harry around the waist, leaning against the wall beside the door that led into the kitchen. He held his head at an awkward angle, so that Ron could clearly see his fangs from where he sat, pressed against the soft skin of Harry's throat. Harry had wondered if he would grow tired that way, but Malfoy had pointed out that his muscles did what he told them to, and he could hold a position for hours without tiring.

Sometimes it's convenient to have a vampire for a companion.

"Harry." Ron's voice was a whisper so anguished that Harry would have winced if he could, but Draco's arms bound him so tightly that he couldn't even do that. He hadn't meant to hurt Ron like this. About the best he could say was that. "Are you mad? Do you know what that vampire will do to you if he bites you?"

"Yes." Harry kept his voice and gaze both steady. He had to act as rational as he could and convince Ron that he wasn't under an enchantment. "I've seen many vampire kills. But I trust Malfoy. He likes my blood—"

"I love your blood," Malfoy breathed into his ear, though luckily he said it so that there was no chance Ron would hear.

"And he wants to go on drinking it. So he won't kill me or drain me to the point of death, because he knows that either way, he wouldn't get any more." Harry made his smile as wide and reassuring as he could, since he had just tried to shrug and Malfoy's tight hold wouldn't let him do that, either. "Vampires are capable of looking out for their own self-interest. I think I must have told you that."

"But you also told me that they're predators, ruled by their instincts, and when they start drinking, they can't help themselves." Ron's voice was tight with tension and disgust. He shifted forwards and then back, as if he wanted to cast a spell but had seen the way Malfoy's arms tightened warningly around Harry when he moved. "What happens if he bites too deeply one day and decides that the immediate meal is more important?"

"That's the difference the Long-Desired bond makes in him from other vampires," Harry said calmly. "The vampire can control its feeding. It doesn't attack its Long-Desired as mindlessly as it attacks other people."

Malfoy licked his ear. "And master vampires are capable of controlling themselves more than that, anyway," he muttered.

Harry raised a doubtful brow, but never took his eyes from Ron. The argument with Malfoy wasn't the one he needed to have right now. "His priority is keeping me happy. If he thinks that I need to be sheltered and protected, he does it. He gave me a massage the other night. He helped me hunt down other vampires. He'll let me go right now and step away if I tell him to."

Ron flushed. "So do that."

Harry relaxed. He had hoped that Ron would be the one to make the suggestion. The proof would be stronger for him that way. "Malfoy, step back and through the door into the kitchen, please."

And Malfoy did. Harry rubbed his shoulders and told himself he did not miss Malfoy's touch, the strong arms wrapping him round, especially since Malfoy's flesh had begun to cool again from a lack of nourishment.

Ron blinked for a moment. Then he snorted and said, "He still could have convinced you to give him an easy order that he would only obey until I believed you. Then he could order you around in private."

Harry sighed and turned to Malfoy. "Would you crawl across the ceiling, please, until you reach the middle of the room? Then you can drop down and give Ron a demonstration of your strength, as long as you don't directly hurt him."

Malfoy inclined his head, his eyelids rising and falling in slow blinks. Harry knew he didn't like this, but he had also agreed to "obey" Harry for a short time so that Ron would get used to the idea of their relationship. Harry knew that Malfoy knew that the best way to work his way into Harry's life permanently would be to get along with his friends.

A single leap upwards, and then Malfoy hung from the ceiling, his fingers finding their way into tiny cracks that Harry knew he wouldn't have been able to see or feel. He crawled to the point in the ceiling above the center of the room and wobbled for a moment. Then he somersaulted twice and came down soundlessly, showing his fangs to Ron for a moment before he turned and slammed a fist into the floor.

The house bucked. Ron shouted and leaped backwards, fumbling for his wand. Malfoy straightened up and yawned, an elaborate process that showed off his fangs more than necessary. Then he walked easily back to Harry, away from the cracked hole he had created, while Harry waved his wand to repair it. He had thought Malfoy might choose some sort of "demonstration" like that and had, luckily, looked up home reconstruction spells before he started this.

"Well?" Harry asked, as Malfoy leaned his head on Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes. Harry approved. That display of tenderness might be even more persuasive for Ron than the fact that Harry could give Malfoy commands.

Ron wiped his mouth. Then he said, "Mate, if I could believe you, I would. But all this tells me is that he finds it convenient to go along with you for a little while, not that he's actually under your control."

Harry felt instead of hearing the growl that bubbled up from Malfoy's chest. He automatically stroked the back of his neck to try and soothe his anger. He noticed Ron's eyes following the motion with revulsion, but he refused to be ashamed.

"What would convince you, then?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. "Would you want to cast Finite on me until you were reassured that I couldn't possibly be corrupted by an enchantment?"

"That would help," Ron said with a short nod. "But what would really convince me is Malfoy letting me command him."

Malfoy's head whipped up, and then he went still. Harry could feel the stiffening of his muscles, though, and knew he held himself still by force instead of because he was calm. He stroked the back of his vampire's neck again and kept his voice neutral. "That might work, if he would agree to it. But you couldn't tell him to kill himself or leave me alone forever."

Ron folded his arms, an expression of unholy glee on his face. "I wouldn't."

"What do you think?" Harry asked, making sure that he turned to look at Malfoy and only him. He had already sacrificed so much; Harry knew how he hard he was working against his instincts at the moment that encouraged him to drag Harry into a room where he would be far away from everyone else and could be protected. "Do you feel up to obeying Ron for a short time?"

Malfoy cleared his throat. His voice was thick, the way it more usually was after he'd drunk. "Yes. Provided that he abides by the restrictions that you put on him."

"I will," Ron said. His voice snapped with impatience, and Harry almost sneered. Doubtless, Ron thought they didn't need to question his word because he was the "good" one.

"All right, then," Harry said, and stepped away, leaving Malfoy to stand in the center of the room and face his best friend.

*

Draco nearly chocked in the thick stench of gloating that rose from the Weasel. He had a gleam in his eye that said he was going to enjoy this more than Draco enjoyed Harry's blood. Draco wanted to spring into the air and come down on him with ripping nails and tearing fangs. He could see the exact angle of the leap he would need to make to do it. Or he wanted to enthrall Weasley and order him not to interfere in the relationship between him and Harry, the same way he had ordered Granger.

Neither of those was possible, though. Harry would sense the thrall, since he watched both Draco and Weasley so closely right now. So Draco settled for keeping his face as blank as the face of the corpse it would naturally look like, to deprive the Weasel of the pleasure of seeing him squirm.

The excited grin on Weasley's freckled face faded to a frown before he said, "Come here and kneel down."

Harry made an aborted movement behind him. He was probably imagining right now that he should have forbidden the Weasel from humiliating Draco, Draco thought sardonically as he moved across the floor. That had been the first thought that sprang into Draco's head when he saw Weasley's evil grin. But he had not wanted to make the suggestion himself; it would have sounded too much like refusing for the sake of refusing, and not playing along like the good little vampire he was supposed to be.

When he knelt, he saw Weasley's leg twitch. Draco tensed. If Weasley tried to kick him, then he would move away. He had no intention of injuring himself, either.

He glanced up at Weasley's face and saw it widening in a deep grin. That, combined with the rage in his eyes, said that Weasley was remembering all they had done to each other in Hogwarts and anticipating the pain he would get to cause Draco in return. Draco barely refrained from snorting. Does he realize that I'm obeying out of concern for my Long-Desired, not because I'm under a sort of magical compulsion?

"Tell me that you're sorry for the taunts that you used on my family in Hogwarts," said the Weasel peremptorily.

Draco sighed. The taunts had been based on truth; the Weasleys were poor, and had had too many children, probably, Draco suspected, in quest of a girl. But he cared much less about Hogwarts than he did about Harry; those were some of the dimmest of his mortal memories. "I'm sorry for taunting your family and for taunting you about your family," he said in a monotone.

Weasley hesitated for a moment, shooting a glance at Harry over Draco's head, while his body stank of disbelief. Then he smiled and took off one of his boots. Draco tensed again. If Weasley intended to hit him over the head with the boot, of course he would resist.

Instead, Weasley held the soiled footwear out and said, "Lick it."

Draco curled his lip, but had started to bend his head when a hand clasped the back of his neck and stopped him. Harry's voice was harsh with strain. "That's enough, Ron. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you. He's shown that he'll take simple orders and that he's not an out-of-control predator who springs on every convenient piece of prey who comes along. You can't humiliate him."

"Mate," Weasley said, his voice faint.

Draco stood up and turned around to face Harry. At the moment, he didn't care that Weasley was in the room or that he couldn't forsake his childish grudges. He cared about what he was hearing in Harry's voice and what he thought he would see on his face.

Harry flinched a bit when Draco suddenly stood up in front of him; his instincts, earned from years of hunting vampires, must be screaming at him, Draco thought, leaning forwards to sniff. But yes, there was the clear anger, and Harry didn't change his expression of outrage, despite the fact that Draco could see it now. For once, his Long-Desired was defending him, and not his friends or his dead Weasley or the ideals that he'd twisted his life for. Draco leaned heavily on his shoulder and stroked Harry's cheek and forehead with one finger, ending by tracing the line of the scar. He wanted Harry to understand how very pleased he was that Harry had finally begun to accept the part of the bond that included acknowledging Draco as a person.

Harry shivered beside him, and took a deep breath that sounded as if he were trying to convince himself that Draco wasn't dangerous. Then he laid a hand on Draco's fingers, kissed them once, and said to Weasley, "Still need some more proof?"

Draco glanced at the red-haired idiot, holding Harry close. In the end, Harry was the one who mattered and not Weasley. Draco remained alert for some danger from him, but the main focus of his attention was the gentle stroke of his fingers along Harry's muscles, the way Harry jolted and then experienced calm in his arms, how his eyes fell half-shut and the tension in his back loosened.

Mine. Draco quivered, and managed to hang onto a sense of mortal propriety by the edge of his fangs. Harry would probably be upset if Draco pushed him to the ground and took his blood in front of his friend, although to Draco it wouldn't matter at all.

"I reckon not," Weasley said in a curiously low voice. "It still—it still doesn't make much sense, mate. I don't think I'll ever know why you decided to surrender now." There was scorn in his voice at the thought of surrendering, which made Draco want to bite, but he held himself back because this freak meant so much to Harry. "I thought maybe he'd enchanted you to protest against him being humiliated. But if he was going to do that, why wouldn't he have you make that condition part of the original bargain?" Draco heard the faint swish of Weasley's hair against his robe collar as he shook his head. "I don't know. Too many questions. And I don't think I'll know the answer to most of them, either."

"As long as you don't attack us." Harry's voice had a fair, easy, pleased sound. Draco stepped closer, crowding him and nearly throwing him from his feet for a moment. He was immediately apologetic about that, stroking Harry's cheek so that he could understand, but he had to get closer. Harry in a good mood was a beautiful thing, and one that Draco had seen too little of so far.

"I won't," Weasley said. "Because of you." His scent turned more hostile than before, and Draco heard the scrape of his boots on the floor, too, as he turned around to face him. "If I ever catch sight of you moving around on your own, on the other hand, and I know that you did something to harm Harry…"

Draco didn't give him the satisfaction of glancing at him again. Harry's scent had a subtle saltiness that Draco didn't think simply came from his skin. He licked, and Harry moaned and arched backwards in his arms.

He couldn't stand it any longer. Draco slid his arms around Harry's chest, holding him in the posture that he'd been holding him in when they began this little dance for Weasley, and slid his fangs home.

Weasley made a spitting sound like a cat about to be sick, and then turned and rushed for the fireplace in the kitchen. Draco knew exactly where he was going all the time, and tracked his progress so that he would know in an instant if Weasley turned around and threatened them. But he didn't, and after that, Draco could immerse himself in Harry's blood.

Harry was more responsive than before, moaning open-mouthed and panting when Draco nipped along the edges of his wounds to demonstrate the fact that Harry was his. Then he turned around and met Draco's mouth in a kiss, slicing his lips on Draco's fangs.

Draco was so surprised that he paused for a moment. Then he linked his arms together around Harry's chest and dragged him closer. Harry hissed in pain as the cuts on his lips grew worse, but he didn't pull back, and his hands locking around Draco's neck had their own eager greed, a kind of greed that Draco would have said was impossible a short while ago.

But it was happening now.

*

This wasn't love. Harry knew that. This wasn't a normal relationship. If nothing else, he knew that by the way Ron had sounded as if he were going to vomit when he saw Draco feeding off Harry.

But it was something that he needed, something dragging him back to reality one blood-flavored kiss at a time.

That was powerful. That was important enough that Harry didn't care as much as he had about Draco's vampirism or about how his friends would react. He could not expect them to make unreasonable sacrifices, but on the other hand, he could not ask Draco to make unreasonable sacrifices for them, either.

Or for him.

Seeing Draco kneel at Ron's feet had shattered something in him. Vampires were proud to the point of arrogance. Draco still had that trait. But he was subduing it for the sake of proving something that should have been amply proved already.

Harry couldn't allow Draco to kneel to anyone, except perhaps himself, and then only if Draco freely chose that.

He felt the blood flood his mouth, and Draco's tongue slide against his, cold at first but rapidly warming, and the fingers that were stronger than they should be gripping his back and sliding down to his buttocks. Draco was heavier than a mortal lover would have been against him, as if his body even now remembered the literal dead weight it possessed during the day. His mouth was harsh and demanding, and he broke off the kiss after a moment to suckle at the wound in Harry's neck once again.

Harry didn't care.

It was not normal. It was real, and it was intense, and he needed something like that to replace the hatred and the grief that had made him hunt vampires for so long.

He pushed forwards, met Draco's erection with his own, and knew that their relationship had just turned another corner.

One that he was glad to see, at last.