Chapter 9
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Drac— no, Malfoy was finally back, currently sleeping off the sequelae of the day’s events. Thank goodness it was Sunday and no classes awaited them. He would need to send a message to Hermione and Ron soon.
Malfoy had been so tired he’d fallen asleep before their talk finished, still in his rumpled clothes from the day. Tufts of blonde hair were peeking out from the covers, splayed over the pillow. Harry might’ve woken him up, demanding to finish their conversation, but he’d already achieved the most vital parts from the conversation.
He could afford the other some rest.
Harry had a flash of longing for the rotation of pajamas that had featured in their previous nighttime routine. He kind of liked that Malfoy’s loungewear was so starkly opposite to his regular clothes. It made Harry feel a little more special in the other’s life.
Not that he didn’t know that he held a unique position, whether positive or not. Few people could say they had played the particular role he’d held in the former wizard’s life. It was a position he was loathe to relinquish. He also knew that particular chapter of Malfoy’s life was changing, regardless of what he wanted. Everyone’s lives were continuing on. Only Harry had come out with nothing awaiting him but constant reminders of the war.
He didn’t need to worry right now, though. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked out. Perhaps, not quite as anticipated, but enough so.
He’d regretted storming off the moment his anger had cooled. He was sure it’d been a test of sorts, Malfoy scrutinizing his motivations and fortitude. He’d failed spectacularly.
Harry kept fucking up. He did try to reign in his anger. Really. But sometimes it would just well up, overwhelming all the barriers and safeguards he erected time and time again.
And this time, he knew he’d have to do something more. Malfoy wasn’t a trusting person, and clearly was even less inclined to be so towards Harry. He’d drawn up a plan. First names, an Unbreakable Vow – irrefutable symbols of closeness.
Malfoy had confessed to being a vampire, right? Well, Harry didn’t quite know what that meant– Had he always been that way? If so, why act so strangely now? – and he didn’t know much about vampires besides the stories of them drinking blood taken from Muggle lore like Dracula. But, he sensed an opportunity.
If Malfoy had a need unique to him, something that he wouldn’t be able to access easily in a world created for wix, then all Harry had to do was meet that need to secure his place in the other’s life. Blood was easy, he decided, he wouldn’t even need to do anything. He’d seen all sorts of blood drives and the like when he’d lived in the Muggle world.
Malfoy might not take him at his word, though. He had no reason to. What’s more… it wasn’t as if Harry was the only person who could or would provide blood. Harry’s mind flashed to Zabini, Parkinson, Goyle… all had close relationships to Malfoy. How much did they know?
Harry felt another rush of irritation. Why was this so hard? Others seemed to so effortlessly secure a special, indispensable place in the lives of people around them. Why was it so hard for him? What exactly was he lacking?
Trying to calm himself down, he raked his hands through his hair again and again, focusing on the feeling. And another question, what exactly had happened in those woods? Malfoy had looked absolutely horrified. At first, Harry had suspected the girl there, until it was made clear that she was as confused as himself.
Malfoy didn’t easily show fear. He didn’t reveal vulnerabilities. Something had spooked him, and Harry had no earthly idea, short of threats that he knew to be either dead or locked away in Azkaban, what held that sort of sway over the boy.
So, when Malfoy hadn’t returned despite time creeping into the wee hours of the morning, Harry decided he’d been generous enough with allowing him space.
But what is he still doing back there? Harry had expected to find the blonde cozied up in one of his friend’s rooms. It was odd how still the dot on the Map was, as if he hadn’t moved from that spot since all those hours ago… and panic lanced through Harry. What if something had happened?
When he arrived though, unnerved by the complete silence gaping from the previously daylit alcove, Malfoy’s voice had answered him, as distant and vaguely annoyed as ever. Hair rumpled, eyes cloudy from sleep, Malfoy’d looked so soft.
Dumbstruck, he’d gone too fast, jumping for the first names and Malfoy had reacted poorly. Harry hadn’t known if he could save it. But then, the look of open-mouthed reverence on Malfoy’s face while holding Harry’s wand had lit something aflutter in his chest. He liked that look.
How was he to have known that blood-drinking vampires were a purely Muggle invention? Where had those stories come from, then?
No matter. Malfoy had agreed for Harry to be his magic source. Harry felt slightly giddy at the thought. He didn’t know what that entailed, but giving his magic would be even easier than blood. He had magical power in spades and the idea of Malfoy being powered solely by Harry’s energy was tantalizing.
Harry waited for Malfoy to wake up, tapping his foot against the floor. How long was he going to sleep? Is this normal? How knackered could he possibly be? He was aware of “average” sleep patterns in the abstract, but he had always assumed Malfoy would’ve been similar to Harry.
He didn’t want to wait anymore, but Malfoy would probably be pissed if he woke him up. Harry realized that even waiting impatiently like this might be too much a mirror to the morning before. There was nowhere else to sit, though. Before he knew it, he was pacing. Merlin, at this rate he was going to go mad.
Harry needed to get out. He wanted to fly, expel some of this restless energy. That would mean leaving Malfoy here though. Harry’s instincts rebelled against the idea. What if Malfoy woke up and decided that he wanted to renege on their agreement? He wished he could sleep. Harry estimated he was going somewhere around thirty hours without rest now.
Malfoy’s comforters rustled, and Harry snapped his head in the direction of the sound. Damn. He was still sleeping. The next thing Harry knew, he was sitting on the bed next to Malfoy’s unconscious form. His fingers twitched. Malfoy hadn’t been upset last time, right? Not really. And it's not as if he was doing anything bad. Harry reached to brush back pale locks from Malfoy’s forehead. His eyelashes were long and pale, swooping over his high cheekbones. Malfoy’s face was a bit thin, his cheeks slightly gaunt as they tapered down to a narrow chin. But his lips, though slightly dry and pressed into a frown as if Malfoy was having a bad dream, were pink and full.
Harry knew the boy’s closed eyes hid the grey irises he remembered, now ringed with red. They were interesting to look at, though unfamiliar, and Harry resisted the urge to pry open Malfoy’s eyelids. He moved his hand again to push Malfoy’s hair back from his neck, a shiver passing down his spine. Godric, but did this feel so wrong.
He thumbed over the sharpened cartilage. They were sort of pretty, he mused, like the pictures he’d seen of Tinkerbell as a child. Malfoy did resemble his idea of a fairy prince, all sharp angles, and aristocratic airs. Right now, he looked like the delicate, unmoving dolls of stores, packaged in plastic.
It was beginning to unnerve Harry, Malfoy being so motionless for so long. He was sleeping for too long, right? Harry moved his hand down. I’m just checking that he’s breathing alright, especially since he passed out before. His fingertips ran over the flat planes of Malfoy’s chest and rested against his sternum. Sure enough, Malfoy’s breaths were slow and steady, his chest rising and falling. It was hypnotic.
When Harry focused on the pattern, it was as if his own breaths down to his heartbeat lined up in tandem. Blearily, he had a fleeting thought that it might not be the best idea to rest here. Not even a few more of Malfoy’s even breaths passed before Harry was asleep, still sitting up, head propped against the headboard.
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Harry was being pulled from a wonderful dream, one where he was warm and, though he wasn’t sure why, happy. There was something he was looking forward to.
“Potter!” a voice hissed in his ear. Harry jerked awake.
“Wha-?!”
“Tell me, are you always this handsy with your roommates?” Malfoy questioned acerbically. Harry had already removed his hand, but flushed anyway.
“You were sleeping for a long time, so I just wanted to check– that you didn’t… need magic or anything…?” It was a flimsy excuse at best, and they both knew it.
“Since you’ve confirmed I am both alive and well, do you mind? I need the loo.” Harry shuffled out of the way, taking inventory of Malfoy’s sleep-ruffled hair and slightly puffy face.
After they’d both taken care of the necessities, Malfoy sat on his bed, back against the wall, while Harry had been remanded to the chair from last night. Malfoy, pink and freshly showered, had changed into one of his dark blue pajama sets, presumably for comfort. Harry usually spelled himself dry, but Malfoy’s hair was air-drying into fluffy, undefined waves. He wanted to run his hands through them.
“Would you like a picture, Potter?” Harry averted his eyes quickly.
“So,” Malfoy continued, tone matter-of-fact. “Rules. We need to establish some. And don’t think that you’ll be able to pull the wool over my eyes just because you’re doing this for me. I have many contacts I can turn to if this little agreement doesn’t pan out.”
Harry curled his lip at the reminder of how tenuous his new role was. “Yeah, yeah, Malfoy. What rules or whatever are you even talking about?”
The other was silent, considering. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, which Harry was startled to see possessed long, sharp canines. Harry watched as the skin blossomed red under the pressure before the color receded back to normal.
“First off, you aren’t allowed to do or suggest anything stupid like Unbreakable Vows–”
Harry ruffled indignantly. Stupid? “Hey–” he started.
“Shut up, Potter. You can have a turn once I’m finished.” Harry stopped talking.
“Second… you aren’t allowed to tell anyone about me or our agreement. Not even Granger or any of your Weasleys. I don’t care how muddled you are after blowing your load into the girl one, if you spill anything during your pillow-talk, I’ll– I’ll never speak to you again.”
It was a childish threat delivered in a petulant tone, but Harry was too flustered to notice. “W-what?! ” And then, “D-don’t talk about Ginny like that- Merlin.” Ron would have murdered him if he’d had even an inkling of Harry and his little sister that way. Even when they had dated, they’d never–
“I’m just covering all the bases, Potter. Salazar knows you’re about as subtle as a bull elephant under everyday circumstances, though I’m sure people are lining up for your golden cock left and right.” It was bizarre how, even though it was Harry’s penis being metaphorically dragged up for display, Malfoy’s cheeks were the ones dusted with pink.
“N-nothing like that– I mean– Merlin, Malfoy,” Harry continued to stutter. Though Malfoy looked prim and proper, he was clearly anything but. This sort of talk was, of course, common in the Gryffindor dorms, but somehow Harry had always thought Malfoy untouchably above lust and earthly desires.
Malfoy cleared his throat and Harry’s eyes followed the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Thirdly, you will have one opportunity to propose your own guidelines and restrictions. Once we have decided upon them you may not add or otherwise change them without mutual agreement. And I reserve the continual right to decline unreasonable demands and/or requests of me.” No more blackmail, Potter, you utter shit, Harry heard. He nodded.
“And last,” Malfoy looked away this time, staring at something to his right. “You are to immediately inform me of any wayward after-effects of our agreement. I wouldn’t enter this contract knowingly causing harm to you only because I would end up in Azkaban for it, but I can’t be sure and I don’t want you mobilizing the entirety of the Ministry to arrest me for this.”
Those were easy enough. However–
“For how long?” Harry blurted, forgetting the “no-talking-right-now” rule.
Malfoy paused. “How do you mean?”
“I mean– sort of, well– after this year, then what, y’know? I-” want you to need me after this year–
“Worry not,” Malfoy’s curt tone swiftly cut Harry off. “Our agreement will come to an end following graduation. We can worry about no-contact clauses and the like after establishing that this will work to begin with.” Oh. Harry wilted, though he tried not to show how much Malfoy’s words had affected him. Then, no matter what–
Harry pushed the thought away. He had a whole year. Ample time to change the other’s mind.
“Fine.” Harry breathed, it didn’t really matter what ‘conditions’ Malfoy proposed. Harry would agree to them.