Content Notes:
Slash, creature inheritance, dominant (vampire) Draco, submissive (veela) Harry.
Also, no multiple mates, no sense of humor (just kidding), no Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione bashing, and there are other students who had creature inheritances. There's gonna be some swearing and probably some creepy scenes because of the dominant males who want Harry for themselves. Not sure if this will have detailed smut since I'm still writing the plot but watch out for lemon bits here and there.
Big Question:
With or without mpreg? Please review.
Additional Notes:
This fanfic is mine and has the price of a thousand dust pieces (in other words, it's free) cuz J.K. Rowling might Accio my head and drag me to court if it isn't. Stereotype Alert: SHE OWNS HARRY POTTER, NOT ME. My writing's inferior to hers and my English is third world country level (no seriously, I'm from a third world country and I do not speak English on a daily basis).
Still, I hope you enjoy this. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1: One Angry Vampire
Draco Malfoy sat proud and tall on a gilded armchair, staring at the moonlit sky. His additional appendages were tucked within the folds of his flesh, a midnight black against snow-covered muscles.
His sixteenth birthday was more than a month ago, but on nights like this, it was hard to forget.
He vaguely recalled the change, the agony, the yells of his dormmates and mutterings of his Head of House as he waved his wand. Snape had made the transition less painful and helped him learn about his inheritance.
A winged vampire. That's what he was.
At first, they thought he was a Dark veela, but when food turned to ash in his mouth and blood became his final link to sanity, it was clear that he was a special type of vampire, faster and stronger than the normal ones in wizarding Britain. His wings are a testament of power, black with hints of chilling white on the skeletal fingers and bleeding red on the edges of the membrane. His fangs are deadly, cutting and coated with constant thirst. No matter how much blood he drank, whether from a sheep or a willing donor (in his case, his mother), they all taste the same: bland and bitter like his dreadful existence.
He was more of a corpse now. No amount of warmth, rest, or oxygen can give him the pleasure of being alive again when he is nothing but a vampire—especially the Dark Lord's. He instinctively rubbed his left forearm, a remarkable span of pure porcelain.
Draco remembered how the Dark Lord tried to initiate him. The attempt failed marvelously after seven tries when his skin remained a burning white, unmarred by the angry skull and snake. It would seem that his dominant status refused to let others mark him, let alone control him.
He wildly attacked when the Dark Lord suggested he coerce his submissive mate to join their cause, implying that he'd mark him and control him if can't do the same with Draco. His attack was rewarded with several Crucios and a warded bedroom, leaving him trapped inside his sanctuary. Not that he minded, but Snape of all people had to convince the Dark Lord to use him as a weapon of his own free will, rather than forcing him to kill for him.
And to do that, he would have to train the young vampire.
Mind arts, defense, flying, wandless magic… they may have given Draco an excuse to go out and learn about his powers, but they only brought him rigorous trainings and meditation sessions that taught him to control his instincts and make them work for him, not against him. It didn't help that his Aunt Bellatrix oversaw more than half of his training, which included obstacle courses and grueling duels.
It was tiring and demanding, but it was better than being given a "special task" (possibly an assassination), that would threaten his family's safety, particularly his own. All because his father wasn't there and he obviously had to replace him.
He was still in prison, but if Draco trained hard enough, maybe even please the Dark Lord, he'd be allowed to fly to Azkaban and free his father along with other Death Eaters. But for now, the Dark Lord's letting them suffer for their failure in the Department of Mysteries. Mother told him his father's lucky to be in Azkaban instead of here in the manor where he'd suffer the Cruciatus in front of them day after day. A rather awful span of options, but he'd have to agree that his father's safer in Azkaban.
Sighing as he stood up, he was about to retire for the night when something made him stop.
A wailing cry impaled his ears, forcing him to look up. He was sure he was hearing things, but the creature inside him growled. He recognized that sound, even if he never heard it before. It repeated itself, letting it bleed in suffocating darkness. His final thought was…
His mate was in pain.
The howl tore through his stomach with one giant claw, tightening his chest with another. His mind crept to infinite voids as the vampire conquered. With all meditation forgotten and replaced with primal instinct, his wings erupted like metal shafts piercing through white-painted prisons. He smashed through the window, ripping at the multicolored webs that held him back. He vowed to kill the spider that wove them, disregarding his mother dashing to his room and Snape rushing out the manor under his window.
With one final, bloodcurdling shriek, he released a roar of magical power, razing the glittering wards with curling waves of black and silver, collapsing to a flood of impenetrable gray. When the fog settled to a gentle current, the vampire was gone.
Draco didn't know how long he flew, but smearing landscapes and shaking treetops sloping in the shadows told him how fast he's going… but not fast enough. His mate was screaming every second, louder and louder like giant sand grains in a bigger hourglass.
He finally emerged in a large clearing, sniffing the vile traces of a farm and sneering at the topsy-turvy arrangement of a huge pig pen. How could his mate live in such a place? Oh dear Merlin, please don't tell him he's mated to a Weasley. Of all the people on this planet, why does it have to be a Weasley?!
The cry intensified and all thoughts of Weasley went up the pig's arse. He'll deal with it later when it stinks.
He did a Wronski Feint dive and zoomed through a window, coming to a halt in what appeared to be a second-floor warehouse and bedroom. Boxes covered a whole wall, and in the center was a writhing boy, occupying one of two beds. Without thinking, Draco leapt on top of him and covered his body in a protective cocoon of black wings. He whimpered softly as Draco tried to calm him. The vampire nuzzled his neck and shifted his position so he was holding him in his arms, stroking his head and rubbing his back in soothing circles.
Draco inhaled his mate's scent and was baffled over its shifting nature. It was turning from musk and sweat to flames and roses, from baked goods to strips of power. Sometimes it was turning the other way around, reverting to his original scent, and other times it was turning into something else. And that's when it hit him.
His mate was having his inheritance.
With a purr of pride and delight, Draco smiled at his submissive, finally realizing what's causing him pain . It was nothing to worry about. It was just a natural process he's here to soften. No one's hurting him now, and no one will ever hurt him again.
He waited for the inheritance to be over before relaxing his hold on him. He leaned back to study his mate, wondering if he's really a Weasley. When he did, he let out a breath he's been holding when no flash of red assaulted his eyes. His breathing hitched, however, when something pleasant struck his nose. His heightened senses detected traces of Amortentia before taking whiffs of juicy apples and lovely vanilla, of something from the Manor in his childhood and wonderful clean rooms. There's something from his garden, of course, probably the narcissus flowers of his mother. He wondered vaguely why Amortentia's there and sniffed deeply to discover his true scent. Ah, there it is. Underneath the splashes of love potion, he discovered spice, rain, and treacle tart. They were all muted in favor of Amortentia, but he'd choose them all over the smell of memories and apples.
He kissed his neck, wondering if he should claim him now or even drink his blood. He tucked one lock of impossibly soft black hair behind his ear and continued to study his mate. His eyes were closed and long curls of lashes covered his lids like silky, thick grass, fluttering like wings of a butterfly. His nose was small and innocent like a baby's, and his lips were pink and parted, perfectly plump and tempting. His skin shone like the moon, ethereal with rose and pallor. His eyebrows were thick and dangerous, soft and determined at the same time. Draco traced a finger on one of them, admiring the smooth black hair and inoffensive shape as he brushed the messy bangs away. As soon as he did, he froze.
No… it can't be.
A faint bolt of pink lightning, bordering on red, dashed across his forehead, taunting him with its presence. There's no denying it. Draco Malfoy is mated to Harry Potter. It was worse than Weasley.
In two milliseconds, he took off and left the Burrow, ignoring the urge to go back and claim him.
But why? Why him? And why does Potter have to smell like Amortentia? Did he pour it on himself? Or does it have something to do with his inheritance?
Draco remembered how Snape concluded he wasn't a veela. They usually smell like Amortentia, or at least to a potions expert and a vampire. Now that he thought about it, he did feel drawn to Potter… or at least because of his inheritance. Yes, that had to be the reason why he went through all these lengths just to get to him. It's definitely not because Potter's his mate. Potter's a veela. His power must be exceptionally strong to attract a vampire like him from miles away. He steeled himself with a new determination to keep himself away from Potter and his new abilities. If he's going to turn his charm on, he will not be the one to humiliate himself like all the other boys in front of a veela.
In the armor of resolve, anger seeped through. How could he be the one attracted to Potter? Why not all the other Weasleys who made a fool of themselves at the Quidditch World Cup? He's in the Weasley's pigsty, for Merlin's sake! How could they not hear him and answer his call?
And like all trains of thoughts, he was flattened by the carriage of logic that whack you in the head with reality. Maybe Potter wasn't screaming that loud. Only he could hear him. Come to think of it now, Potter wasn't even yelling when he came. He was thrashing in silent agony, perhaps an action done too many times to become a habit. It made sense since the Weasleys would've barged in had they heard him. The only reason why he heard him is because…
No, no, he mustn't think of that. Potter is not his mate!
Another thought seemed to differ, strutting in stilettos and ready to kick him. How is he going to explain all this to his family? It's not every day he leaves the manor in a fit of rage that shatters the wards. Should he tell them he was charmed by now-veela Potter? No sir. If there is anything that'll save him from embarrassment, it's to tell them the truth…
No, no. Oh no. Merlin, no!
He is not going to give them a reason to sneer at him for having Potter as his mate, but he also won't tell them he's a veela! What on earth could he tell them?
Unfortunately, he was unable to answer that as the Malfoy Manor loomed over him.
He donned a mask of indifference as he approached it. He passed the grounds without a second glance and rushed through a window on the ground floor, coming to a stop in front of the heavy wooden door of the drawing room. He knew his family's waiting inside. He took a deep. steadying breath before turning the frosty bronze handle.
The fire did nothing to warm him, only illuminating the occupants of the room. On one side of a long table sat his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, cold and deadly with the gaze he inherited, chilling him to the bone upon seeing his own unsympathetic reflection. Sitting beside her with claws on the table is Bellatrix Lestrange, a manic grin on her otherwise aristocratic features, dark and lethal to her sister's pale complexion. On the other side sat Severus Snape, his supposed, never-official-godfather, cladded in black and greasy as ever, ready to drag the torture in silence as he glared at his student. Oh the joys of family… why in Merlin's name is he related to the scariest people on earth?
"Draco, would you care to explain why you demolished the wards as well your bedroom window?" his mother asked in the softest whisper. "And why have you left in the middle of the night?"
He took a deep, deep breath, deeper than the pit his now sheltered secret resided in, and opened his eyes to face the three alleged Legilimens. "I have found my mate." The only hint of surprise he received were raised eyebrows. His mother didn't even blink. "He was in pain," he went on. "I simply came to relieve him."
"Him?" his mother repeated.
"Yes." There goes her dream of having grandchildren. Not that Potter would agree to becoming pregnant.
"Did you claim him and proceeded to mate with him?" Snape unabashedly asked with all the apathy of a bored teacher.
"Of course not," Draco replied in equal disinterest, inwardly balking at the thought… and how he almost did it.
"Aw, little Draco's growing up," his Aunt Bellatrix cooed sickeningly. "Did itty-bitty Draco suck his neck or his itty-bitty little cock?"
Draco clenched his fists before he realized what he's doing. "No, I did not."
"Regardless of what you did or didn't do, have you found his identity?" his mother asked.
"No," he lied with ease.
"But why did you leave him?" Unsettling concern emerged in her eyes. "You know how vampires are with their mates. They need them to survive."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Once a male vampire matures, or in your case, undergoes a creature inheritance, his mate would have a subtle transformation as well. Their blood would have a special property that would soothe a vampire's bloodlust while amplifying his power," Snape dispassionately explained.
"I know, but —"
"As soon as the vampire meets his mate, whether or not his mate had a creature inheritance, he would have to drink their blood to stay sane."
He was not expecting that. "Sane?"
"Draco, what did I tell you about saying bad words like that?" his aunt pouted.
His mother clasped her hands in front of her. "Draco, we are not angry at you for leaving the manor."
Snape made a sound of disdain that Narcissa ignored. "But you should know that if you turn your back on your instincts, especially regarding your mate, you would lose all sense of humanity."
If Draco was alive, his face would've lost all color… but he already did on his blasted birthday. "What do you mean?"
"Your mate's blood would ground you and keep you mollified. In other words, it'll prevent you from becoming rogue."
"Too bad," Bellatrix clucked. "I've always wanted a rogue for a nephew."
"A rogue, as you know, is a vampire with insatiable thirst for blood," Snape droned on. "They would leave their victims completely dry or turned. They are hunted down by the Ministry, and no spell or potion can affect them. The potion I gave you would be useless and you will lose all protection from the sun."
Draco sighed, finding no reason to argue, and planning on agreeing to get this over with. "I understand. How much time do I have to drink from my mate before going rogue?"
"Two weeks," Snape replied. "And you will need another drink after the next fortnight."
Draco stifled another sigh and nodded instead. "Fine." He refrained from shuddering as he thought about it. If he had to drink Potter's blood, he'd have to do it while he's asleep. He'll wait for a week and some five days before returning to the Weasleys' hovel. And if Potter can be oblivious about it, then so be it.
"And don't forget to repair the wards," Snape added with the faintest growl. "Your mother will help you, but I refuse to take part after working for weeks on those new additions, only to have them destroyed by the very brat I was trying to protect."
Draco couldn't help but wince at that. He was not looking forward to the rest of the summer where he'd have to depend on Potter while rebuilding the wards and training under Bellatrix. He can't believe he's saying such a phrase but... Worst. Summer. Ever.