Third prompt was "vampire". This chapter carries an 'R' rating for some sensuality and imagery that may be disturbing to some readers.

LCailan

When Draco Comes

Samhain night has finally fallen, and Draco is here. He comes as darkness falls, always on this night, when the veil between those of us still living is thinnest and those who have passed into the beyond can be close once more.

The clock in my flat chimes the late hour, and I get up, moving towards the windows. It is storming outside, the wind high and the rain pelting my roof, the sound soothing to me. I put my book aside, and move to the door, where I know he will be waiting.

And he is there, tapping, the sound melding with the falling rain, his white-blond hair windblown and plastered against his wet alabaster skin. I look through the rain-streaked glass and see him; he is familiar to me, yet foreign all the same.

I open the door and bid him entrance, as I always do, and he moves with a ghostly grace. Indeed, even the golden glow of the lamps in my front room does nothing to ease the harsh purplish brushstrokes across a face of palest marble. And at first he stands, his quicksilver eyes flashing like lighting, with uncertainty and confusion, as if he wonders if this would the night I would turn him away.

Of course, I could never turn him away, I knew. He is my Draco, still my Draco, after all this time, and all that has changed since that year in Germany.

As he enters, dripping onto my carpet, he gazes around my flat. Often times, he is confused at first, for it is not me, but some sort of animalistic instinct that brings him here, as if a part of my essence is with him always. In a sense, it is true because my lifeblood- that which keeps me securely tethered in the world of the living- is the same blood that nourishes him. The dark twisted nature of the relationship that we have now is lost to me – everything always is, when Draco comes.

He walks through my flat, graceful in his deliberation and uncertainty, his long, bone-white fingers tracing along my photo frames, the wooden mantle…the knick knacks I have strewn around. It is strange that he hardly recognizes them, for many are small, insignificant reminders of the life we had once shared together…before his change.

He turns to me, his bloodless lips moving, but I cannot hear what he says because I am startled at the shock that runs through my body, awakening me. His eyes are terrifying – glimmering as if lit from within by a heat I cannot define. His gaze is molten silver, fluid, always changing, moving, and forever capturing me. I go willingly; I will never be his captive, but always his willing victim.

I am home again, he whispers to me.

I am reminded again of what he has become. Words are not necessary between us, for he reads my mind the way I read the massive tomes in my library. He is one with my mind, and eternally will be. For long moments he is lost in my recollections of our previous life together. I feel him rifling through Hogwarts memories, the way he had often derided me, how we had gone our separate ways only to meet once again, a few years later, working for the Ministry. The fingers of his otherworldly mind caress the memories of how I feel in love with him, and how there had been a time when he completed my life and nothing beyond him was necessary.

And then he turns those childlike yet darkly dangerous eyes towards me, and it is as if my heartbeat begins to match the ticking of the clock, the barely-there sound of his footsteps approaching. I take his hand, and we are joined, heat and ice. We stand there for a timeless second, and I am lost to everything else, for Draco is here.

"Come," I whisper.

He allows me into his dreams- dark, bloody flashes that fill me with wanton abandon. Beautifully radiant he stands, unashamed of what I see. Intricate fantasies of seduction, desire and utter submission bloom and unfold crimson in my mind. They quicken my heart and my blood runs hot for him. And he knows I am his – always and only his.

"Come," I whisper once more, leading him by his hand to the kitchen, where he sits, watching me with those unearthly eyes.

I move to bring the bottle to the table, a bottle I keep only for when I know he will come. It is a bottle of precious ruby to sustain him, a gift I give him, and a symbol of what he will always mean to me. I remove the cork, and the barest scent is enough. I feel his thoughts shift and darken, swirl with a delicious, keening need.

I hunger for you. Always for you.

I pour the liquid into a goblet, and am reminded for a moment of those days in school, when we would both wait for the Headmaster to lift his glass and usher in the feast. And so it is. His need is great, and his gleaming white fingers tremble around the golden goblet, but he hesitates, turning those ancient pools of silver towards me.

"Go on," I whisper, nodding, a terrific fear and strange desire swirling in the most shadowed parts of me. "Go on, it's mine. It's for you."

That is all the encouragement he needs, and he lifts the goblet to his ivory lips. The scent in the rain-saturated air is heady and cloying – it is bitter, metallic…an organic scent that drives him wild and terrifies me. He drinks and is lost in ecstasy and all I can do is watch, feeling a speechless envy. It is all he wants; it is all he needs.

And I burn for him, as I do always. Eternally.

The elixir changes him, and I can feel it. His face is no longer the color of my finest china, but the color of summers remembered, memories of the sun, and of life, warmth and the living. He is once again the man I had met working for the Ministry, both of us assigned to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He is the man I had fallen in love with those few years before our trip to Germany, and the Black Forest. It is there that the change had happened; there that he became what he is now.

He advances on me, his passion almost animalistic, and then his marbled lips are upon mine, cool as ice, but soon they warm, as one need is replaced by another. I hold him close, drowning in the desire that he always brings out in me when he comes.

Miss me?

The thought is almost a wry chuckle, and I can see the hint of a smirk on his ghostly face. I sigh. "Yes, oh, yes."

Sheer threads of incoherent thoughts flicker in the depths of my passion-drunk soul. The scent of my blood lingers on his fingers as they trace the lines of my face, and he strokes my lips. I open my mouth and it tastes strange, metallic. The dark desire swirls within me.

"Change me…why won't you change me…?"

The whisper is futile, for he never will. He never does.

He takes me to the heights of passion, the sensations and his icy closeness so delicious, so agonizing. My nerves crackle beneath my skin, the pleasure like white-hot lighting coursing through my body until he is finished.

And when I wake, I am alone, for Draco is gone as if he has never been here. I only know I feel weak and helpless, and the pleasure pain of where he has tasted me prickles the sensitive skin of my neck. I move to the window, and beyond it I see the early morning on the first day of November. Only when I realize I am alone again do I start to move forward with the first day of the rest of my life.

I no longer work for the Ministry; I had stopped shortly after what had happened in the Black Forest. I adjust my uniform and head out into the wet morning – I still use our old portkey – the one that Draco had created from an old, gold watch. Soon enough I am standing in front of the small office that houses the Society for the Tolerance of Vampires. Who better than me to lead such a group?

He is feared by many, but to me, he is eternal love. He is loathed by others, but he is my dark stranger, a dangerously erotic mingling of all my deepest passions and desires. He is my seduction, the dream of life eternal born of the mingling of flesh and blood. I am his forever, for nothing else matters when Draco comes.