Round 4: - Flying - Team A - "Early Sunsets (1/2)"
Title: Early Sunsets (or Flying Is the Most Fun a Boy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off) (1/2)
LJ username: hull1984
Team: Ron
Prompt: Flying
Rating: PG-13
Length: 14,000 words
Warnings/Notes: vampires, blood letting, references to non-con (non explicit), hints of non-con, coercion.
Summary: After The War, the worlds of Muggle and Wizard are forever entwined - too much death, too much blood, too many losses shared. The Muggles have demanded that there be no more secrets, that the walls between the two worlds be forever levelled.
As the Wizarding World learns to live along side its new neighbour, for some, other more pressing realities have to be dealt with.
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
Early Sunsets (or Flying Is the Most Fun a Boy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off) (1/2)
The best thing about being a vampire was the flying.
Taking a deep breath, he looked down to where the lights of the city glittered prettily far below. Stepping closer to the edge, he stretched his arms out wide, took a moment to enjoy the warm air ghosting through his hair, then, grinning wide, he fell forward and swooped.
Definitely the flying.
~~~
Things were different after Voldermort’s defeat.
There were a lot more zombies for a start.
Ron tapped his quill on the edge of the desk and frowned at the report in his hand. He loved his job, he really did, but there’s no denying that he had assumed that being an Auror post-Voldermort might be a damn sight easier than being one during his reign of terror.
Unfortunately, what he, and pretty much the rest of the Wizarding World, had failed to take into account was the possible effect that Voldermort’s demise might have on the rest of the Dark Folk.
No one had realised, that while it was undoubtedly true that Voldermort had indeed been ‘a bit of a bad egg’ (and Rita Skeeta really shouldn’t be allowed to write biographies) what he had also been, was bloody good at suppressing all the other darker elements of society (well, until he was ready to use them for his own nefarious purposes, of course).
Take zombies for example (and Ron really wished someone would take the zombies), apparently, The Dark Lord had had a particular dislike for them (he said they gave him the willies). And well, while Ron had never thought to find any common ground with the slit-eyed bastard, he definitely had a point there. Of course, when it became known that Lord Voldermort had declared open season on their heads, the zombies, not being as slow - physically or mentally - as some Muggle films would have you believe, had soon made themselves scarce. No one knew where they had gone, only that they had gone.
Werewolves, as everyone knew, had pretty much stuck around during The War, fighting on both sides. Some, like Remus Lupin, soon achieving cult status; his grave instantly a place of pilgrimage. While the likes of Fenrir Greyback became the star of many a scary story passed from child to child around a camp fire, or by torchlight under a duvet cover (the ensuing nightmares leading to more than one inevitable grounding of an older sibling).
As for Elves. Well, if the Elves ever showed up again frankly they were all fucked.
Nobody ever talked about the Elves.
The vampires, on the other hand, had gone to Europe. A surprising choice perhaps, given the climate, but it was all part of the agreement that they had made with The Dark Lord. Once he had conquered Britain, Voldermort had planned to enlist the vampires’ aid in taking over the rest of Europe, it was essential, therefore, that he keep them close at hand. So, they had scattered across Europe, mainly Italy, some parts of Southern Spain and, most notably, Paris.
The details of this sinister pact had only come to light following the end of The War, when several senior captured Death Eaters had confirmed its existence, and revealed the full extent of its contents. Ron remembered feeling sick to his stomach when he’d read that in exchange for their assistance, Voldermort had promised the bloodsucking bastards a percentage of humans on which to feed, planning to hand-over whole families, so the vile creatures would have several generations, vintages if you will, on which to dine.
Following the end of The War, the vampires had wisely chosen to remain abroad, emerging only gradually, to slowly establish a power base in most of the major cities of Europe. If they caused problems in Europe the news never made it as far as Britain. In a post-Voldermort world suddenly flooded with zombies, golems and feral werewolves this came as a relief - one less group of Undead fuckers to deal with was all to the good.
Ron re-read the last part of the report - the part that mostly concerned the long and very messy clean-up following the zombie sit-in at a Muggle Job Centre (once again, they had been claiming discrimination on the grounds of being dead) - and found himself thinking wistfully of vampires. Really, how bad could they be?
His musings were interrupted when Harry walked into their shared office and sat down in the chair behind his desk with a loud sigh. He dropped a large manila folder onto the desk and glared at it.
Ron looked up curious. “Okay, so who stole your broomstick?” He asked.
Harry shook his head. “I wish it was that straight forward,” he replied.
Leaning forward, he picked up the folder and waved it in the air. “You might want to take a look at this.” He made a distasteful twist of his mouth as he lowered the folder and pushed it across the desk towards Ron.
Ron shrugged and opened the folder. Several photos fell out onto his desk. He picked one up and looked at it, frowning. “You know, Harry, it would be nice if you gave a bloke some warning, or at least waited until after lunch, to share your holiday photos.”
Harry let out a hollow laugh, but didn‘t say anything. Clearly he wanted Ron to study all the photos and the rest of the contents of the folder before commenting.
The next few minutes passed in relative silence, save for the occasional huff from Ron as he digested the report.
When he’d finished reading and examining the photos he placed the last piece of paper onto his desk, leant back and crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap, he looked over at Harry.
“Vampires,” he stated baldly. Served him right really, for tempting fate.
Harry nodded, before running his hands through his hair. “Yeh, that’s what it looks like.” He stood up and started to walk back and forth behind his desk. “And more than one if the bite marks are anything to go by.”
Ron grimaced. “Oh yuk.”
Harry smiled wryly at that. “Quite,” he said.
“So,” Ron said, sitting up in his chair and resting his hands on his desk. If this meant his holiday next week was cancelled he was going to have to kill someone. He narrowed his eyes at his best friend. Very probably Harry.
“So,” Harry repeated, turning to face Ron. “So, no rest days and all the over-time you could possibly wish for until we catch the fuckers.” He grinned.
Ron threw his snitch paperweight at his head.
Luckily, Harry’s seeker skills hadn’t been dulled by lack of practise. He ducked just in time. Straightening up he shook his head. “Now really, Ron, is that any way to treat a present from your little sister?”
Ron didn’t reply. Well, not verbally.
~~~
Three days later they were no closer to finding the vampires responsible for the carnage captured in the grisly photos. They did, however, have several new photos to add to the board in their office. None of them were very pretty.
Ron was lying on the old, worn leather sofa that was tucked against the furthest wall. He ached. Everywhere. Even his hair. He felt as though he hadn’t slept for days. Probably because he hadn’t slept for days.
He’d like to put it all down to the current investigation but he couldn’t. Harry always made sure, no matter the temptation to stay, that they both left the office long enough to ensure a decent amount of sleep.
But Ron hadn’t been sleeping. Which for a bloke who had been enjoying an average of nine hours a night for as long as he could remember - come hail, shine, or Voldermort and all his minions - came as a bit of a shock.
What’s more, he couldn’t figure out why. It was certainly true that when he left the office each day, his head was still thrumming with all of the shit they‘d had to deal with, all the possible leads and evidence, chasing themselves round and round in his brain until he felt his head would explode. But well, that was pretty much normal when he and Harry were in the middle of a case. It had never actually stopped him passing out comatose on his bed once he made it home.
Not until now.
There was just something about this case.
Or maybe it was the way that every night when he left The Ministry he felt strange eyes on him. Day after day, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone - or something - was watching him.
Even when he reached home, behind locked door and windows, hidden by blinds and curtains, head under the bedcovers (not that he‘d ever admit that last bit), he still felt eyes on him.
And if he ever did manage to drift off into an uneasy slumber, it was only to jerk abruptly awake moments later, shivering from the cold, and with the ghost of sour breath still on his neck.
He hadn’t told Harry. Not because he thought he couldn’t; he knew Harry would believe him. And he wanted to. He really did. But it was just so long since he’d said I’m not okay, that now he wasn’t sure he could.
It would pass. It was just those photos (and the bloody details lying in every line of every report). It was inevitable that he’d start having nightmares about vampires stalking him and eyeing up his neck as a tasty snack, right?
Ron groaned, rubbing his hand across gritty eyes and turned to face the back of the sofa, beginning to doubt the wisdom of getting up in the middle of the night and returning to the office. An hour later he’d actually started to fall into an exhausted drowse, his body finally relaxing, seeping into the old familiar shape of the worn leather.
~~~
It was dark when he left the office that day. Ron yawned, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He was looking forward to a long, hot shower when he got home and some well earned sleep. His feet moved as if on auto-pilot in the direction of his Apparition Point.
Except it seemed to be taking an awful long time to get there.
Looking up, Ron frowned. That was odd. He didn’t recognise the street he was on. Shaking his head, he turned and headed back the way he had come. Only to come up against a dead end. Huh.
Oh come on. He couldn’t be lost. He’d been taking the same route home for the last two years. He turned again and peered into the gloom. It had suddenly grown very dark, and a cold mist swirled around his body making him shiver.
Fuck. He suddenly felt like he was in the middle of one of those creepy fucking nightmares he’d definitely not been having.
He reached into his robe to grip his wand, only to find it wasn’t there. What the fuck…
A cold hand reached out from behind him and took hold of his chin in a firm grip. Ron struggled to free his head as a second hand wrapped around his chest and pulled him back against a solid body. Icy breath wafted over his collarbone as his head was wrenched painfully to the side to expose one side of his neck.
“Missed me, Weasel?”
A tongue stroked slowly across his pulse point. Ron gasped briefly before screaming in pain as his flesh was suddenly sliced open by two sharp fangs biting down, blood spurting in bright red ropes of colour across his face and chest.
Ron sat up with a cry.
The light was still on and he looked frantically around the room.
It was empty save for him.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He slumped back onto the sofa with a groan.
He was so fucked.
Malfoy.
Sweet Merlin. Not even Harry knew about Malfoy.
He ran his hands through his hair and refused to acknowledge how much they were shaking.
Remembering came all too easily. It had been during their sixth year at Hogwarts. He’d been angry at the world and only too happy to take it all out on Malfoy.
It hadn’t gone quite as planned...
~~~
Ron was jealous of Harry.
Well, of course, he bloody was. Why would this year be different to any other?
The fact that the jealousy included Hermione this year, just made it that much more, well, every thing…
Ron stormed along the hallway fuming quietly to himself. Fuck Harry and his latest fucking fan club! Who’d want to be a part of that, anyway? Not him. He was bloody glad to be out of it.
He stopped abruptly and paced up and down the deserted corridor. He was just sick of it, so fucking sick of always being the one cast aside, overlooked. It was so bloody unfair. He’d had it the whole of his damn life. With five older brothers you’d think he’d be used to it, used to coming last - yeh, even behind Fred and George - and how bloody insulting was that?
All he’d wanted was a ‘normal’ friend - or, actually no, someone drab, someone a little boring would have been bloody brilliant. Someone who might even be a little dazzled by Ron’s own mediocrity. Someone who might have been grateful for his attention for a change.
But oh no. No, he’d got Harry bloody Potter. Saviour of the fucking Wizarding World. And yeh, he loved the four-eyed little git but Merlin, he was so fucking tired of everyone and their bloody aunt falling all over themselves to kiss Harry’s arse. Fuck, even his stupid bloody little sister had a crush on him. She’d probably get picked by Slughorn next, just for having such good taste in fantasy boyfriends.
Fucking Slughorn and his stupid bloody club. Now Hermione was pulling away from him too. Soon she and Harry would be ignoring him completely in favour of cozying up with the rest of Slughorn’s gorgeous little group of protégés.
No, things were all too clear - Ron was being left behind. And it bloody terrified him.
Just then, something in the corridor ahead of him caught his eye. A shock of white hair.
Malfoy.
Ron smirked viciously. At least he wasn’t the only one being left behind. Malfoy hadn’t made ‘The Club’ either. Bet that had gone down well with daddy. He clenched his fists at his sides, overwhelmed by his choking anger. Fucking Ferret. And he suddenly knew how he could work off all the terrible energy thrumming under his skin.
He started to walk quicker, following after the Slytherin boy.
A few minutes later he was standing outside one of the old abandoned bathrooms. What was Malfoy doing here? No one used this bathroom, most people didn’t even know it was there. Shaking his head, Ron pushed his curiosity aside - at least he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed. He pushed the door open and walked inside.
And stopped.
Malfoy was hunched over one of the sinks. His shoulders were shaking and he seemed to be talking to himself; Ron thought he could just make out little gasps of “I can‘t, I can‘t”. All at once a cold shiver of dread ran through the length of Ron’s body as realisation hit him like a bludger to the head.
Fuck. Malfoy was sobbing.
Shit. Not good, very not good. Ron didn’t handle crying. Ever.
If he could just back out quietly without the Ferret noticing. He had one foot raised ready to step back when Malfoy looked up and their eyes met in the mirror above the sink.
For a moment Malfoy’s face was frozen in panic, a look that soon morphed in to cold fury. He span around to face Ron and snarled out, “What are you doing here, Weasel?”
Not bothering to wait for any sort of answer, he walked quickly over to Ron, stopping mere inches from his face. “Spying for bloody Potter, are you?” He spat out. “The great Harry Potter too busy with his fawning little fan club to do his own dirty work, so he sends his pathetic little sidekick,” he sneered.
Ron had been stuck to the spot up to that point, torn between the urge to turn and run, and the more unsettling urge to reach out to Malfoy. He’d looked so pitiful; too small, too vulnerable huddled over the sink like that. When he’d faced Ron his eyes had been red from tears that were still falling, his face all blotched and snotty. And all the fight had gone out of Ron - how could he have been mad at that? It would have been ridiculous.
Malfoy’s words - hitting a raw nerve as they did - snapped him out of his indecision. He suddenly knew exactly what to do. He reached back his arm and punched Malfoy right on the end of his pointy little nose.
The force of the blow sent Malfoy sprawling backwards onto the floor. He lay there panting, blood gushing from his abused nose. Then, he looked up at Ron and started to laugh. “Predictable as always, Weaselbee.”
It was all too much for Ron. He launched himself on top of the other boy, punching, kicking, biting, using any means he could to make him bleed, to make him hurt.
Malfoy was no slouch either, returning the blows with fists, elbows, knees, any weapon he could find.
They tumbled across the floor, first Ron on top, Malfoy the next, neither boy letting up their assault, neither willing to give an inch.
Ron would never be able to say when he realised punching and biting had become clutching and kissing. It was just one thing one moment, something else the next, equally desperate, equally violent but oh, so fucking more.
Afterward.
(Well, actually it was a damn sight less awkward than Ron would have supposed - you know, if that particular mental scenario had ever been put forward for consideration.
Malfoy had been pretty decent about the whole thing really.)
Malfoy was the first one to come to his senses. He pulled his hand out of Ron’s underwear, and stood up (a little shakily but that was to be expected). Tucking himself back into his trousers he looked down at Ron, wide-eyed.
Ron noticed that he had two bright red spots of colour on his cheeks and smiled. He felt inexplicably proud.
“Argh.” Malfoy’s hand shot up to press against his mouth, as if to stop any other sounds escaping.
Then, he turned and left.
Ron had started laughing hysterically at that point.
Three days later, Ron had been alone in the changing room after Quidditch practise, when Malfoy had strode in, and without a word had backed him up against the nearest wall and snogged his face off.
He knew he should have pushed him away; should have told him to bugger off. But well, it was hard to talk with a hot tongue in your mouth - especially when it wasn’t your own (that was his excuse and he was sticking to it).
It became a fairly regular occurrence after that. Each one seeking the other out, sometimes meeting in the middle as they both came searching.
Until.
Look, it wasn’t like that. Ron hadn’t ever thought it was anything. It was Malfoy. Obnoxious, arrogant Malfoy.
It was just that Ron was long past the whole gay freak out and also wasn’t dead. So yeh, he got that Malfoy was fucking hot. He paused and thought about it for a minute. Okay, yeh, well, apparently he’d figured that out before the gay thing. Huh.
But the point. The very important point was, he had no feelings for Malfoy. Uh uh. None. Other than enjoying getting off with him, which well, teenage boy so pretty much any warm body would do. But it wasn’t like he wanted them to elope to Canada and adopt babies or anything, so the whole break-up when it came was fine.
Except, of course, it wasn’t a break-up.
It couldn’t have been.
So, the --
“Fuck off, Weasley.”
-- when it came, was fine.
Really.
It’s not like Ron felt like he’d been physically punched. Or anything.
Just because he’d been curled up with Draco - Malfoy - on a bed in the Room of Requirement, with fingers running gently through his hair, only minutes before.
It’s not like he’d been moments away from asking Malfoy to stay.
So, really it was all for the best.
“You were a casual fuck.”
He knew that. Oh come on, it’s not like he was stupid enough to fall for the enemy.
He’d known what this was.
This.
This thing.
Just a thing.
“You didn’t think you were special, did you?”
Yeh, right, Ferret.
Special. Oh Merlin. Now that’s funny.
“I used you, Weasel. I thought you might spill some information about the Order of the Phoenix while we were fucking. That is all.”
Spill.
Spilled my heart out, you heartless bastard.
“Now, please get off me, so I can get up and go and wash off your stink.”
Yes.
Malfoy had been pretty decent about the whole thing really.
~~~
By the time Harry turned up, sleepy-eyed and yawning, Ron was on his second pot of coffee and desperate to get out of the building.
Harry frowned at the blanket folded neatly at the bottom of the couch.
“Fuck Ron, you know Hermione is going to kick my arse if she finds out that you slept here again,” he whined.
Ron huffed. “Oh cheers, Harry. You’re concern for my well-being is overwhelming.”
Harry sat down behind his desk and shrugged. “It’s Hermione, Ron.”
He had a point. Ron nodded. “Fair enough. But she won’t find out unless you tell her.”
“Or,” a familiar voice put in behind him. “If she happens to turn up unannounced and sees for herself that yet again, Ronald, you are failing spectacularly at looking after yourself.”
Fuck.
Harry gave him a weak, apologetic smile; bastard had known she was planning on coming. Ron just had time to narrow his eyes at his squirming friend before Hermione was in front of him, concerned eyes raking over his face.
“Oh, Ron.” And to his utter surprise she knelt down and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
“Um.” He looked helplessly over at Harry who just shrugged, clearly equally at a loss.
A few awkward moments passed before Hermione finally released him from her death grip, only to turn around and glare at Harry.
“Harry!” She snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me he was this bad?”
Harry had barely opened his mouth to reply, when she turned back to Ron, and stroking her hand gently through his hair, she sighed softly. “Oh, Ron, you look like shit.”
Ron stared blankly at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. Harry joined in almost immediately and eventually even Hermione was giggling quietly, even as she shook her head at them both and looked on the verge of tears.
~~~
Hermione hadn’t stayed long; she had a class to teach at 9am (after obtaining her Muggle degree in Chemistry she had taken up the Transfiguration post at Hogwarts; personally Ron thought it was a huge waste of her skills, but Hermione had been adamant that there was no finer calling than that of “shaping young minds.” Yeh, right).
She’d just stayed long enough to lecture them both on the importance of keeping regular hours, eating nutritionally sound meals and going for brisk walks in the fresh air.
Harry had been very apologetic after she left, explaining that she had waylaid him at home the previous evening and before he had even realised it, he’d found himself telling her all about their current case and - “yeh, sorry mate,” - Ron’s subsequent insomnia.
Ron wasn’t cross. He sympathised; he’d been on the wrong end of Hermione’s interrogations enough times to understand. He was just a little shocked that his own restlessness had actually impinged on Harry’s consciousness enough for him to admit it to Hermione. It’s not that Harry was selfish exactly, but he could be pretty self-absorbed, he was usually oblivious to anything that didn’t effect him directly.
Ron really needed to get some sleep.
~~~
The vampire killings were starting to get really fucking annoying.
They made no sense, which in a way made lots of sense - if it was one blood-sucker on a random rampage. But that really made no sense whatsoever.
Vampires did not tolerate mavericks. You were a part of a clan. Or you were dead. Individuals were not allowed to act alone. And they’d already established at the start that the bite marks on the bodies were not made by one vampire. It was definitely a group effort.
But why would any clan draw attention to itself this far from its’ own territory?
There seemed to be no connection between the victims. None of them were related, worked together, knew each other or had ever mutually dated anyone.
There was nothing.
No pattern.
“Ooh,” Ginny said, as she glanced at the map pinned to the wall. “Nice spiral.”
Then she kissed Harry and left to pick the children up from school.
Harry and Ron had spent the next ten minutes staring at the pins stuck in the map, daring the other to be the first one to speak.
Harry broke first.
“Fuck.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ron supplied. “She’s always been freaky.”
It was probably quite a tactless remark to make to a man about his wife, but then Harry didn’t exactly rush to Ginny’s defence. (Professional pride was a very special pride after all).
So, they had their first solid lead. (yes, Harry, I promise never to tell Ginny that it came from her). The murders had occurred in a spiral pattern that centred on The Ministry.
Their first response was to put the Minister of Magic on high security alert.
Their second, was to examine the body left on the Ministry steps the next day and say, “eew”.
Harry rubbed absently at his scar (it no longer hurt like it had when Voldermort was alive but he still rubbed at it when he was stressed), “It’s almost like a cat leaving a dead mouse on the doorstep,” he said.
Ron looked down at the body and grimaced, “half a dead mouse, Harry.”
They both looked down at the remains that were yet to be identified (it was going to take some detailed dental work - not necessarily the victims) and shook their heads.
Of course, now that the thought had been planted in his mind, then Ron couldn’t shake it - if it was a game of cat-and-mouse then who was who?
Could it really be Malfoy taunting him?
He’d heard rumours.
Just by chance.
It’s not like he’d gone out of his way to find out what had happened to the stupid bloody git.
But he had heard. Things.
Like how Malfoy had moved abroad with his mother following his father’s death (a rusty knife to the heart, courtesy of a zealous Voldermort supporter in Azkaban).
They’d kept a low profile to begin with, obviously wary due to their recent notoriety. But, gradually after a year or two, they had been seen out and about again, mixing in the best society. Malfoy had even been linked with several eligible young ladies (Ron had snorted at that - really, who was he trying to kid?)
Then, they’d received word of the emerging vampire clans. Malfoy had been thought to be mixing in ‘questionable’ circles. He’d dropped from sight about a year ago and nothing had been heard since. His mother’s sudden death had been reported at about the same time.
Malfoy had not attended the funeral.
~~~
Ron said goodbye to Harry and walked towards the corner of the street. The Apparition Point for his District was a ten minute walk in the opposite direction from Harry’s.
In theory he could still Apparate anywhere, there were no wards against it, but anyone caught contravening the new Muggle Integration Laws faced severe penalties; it just wasn’t worth the risk (apparently wizards suddenly appearing next to them, heralded by a deafening crack, unnerved some Muggles).
The pavements were wet from the earlier rain. Ron smiled, taking a deep breath, he loved the smell following rain, always had. He stopped abruptly, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of deja-vu. A shudder ran through him as he remembered the nightmare he’d had about Malfoy. Fuck. He’d be glad to get home. He shook himself out of his thoughts and walked briskly on.
Something made him stop. Why was he walking this way? Harry’s owl had said to meet him in Knockturn Alley. He had a vague moment of wondering what owl just before he Apparated.
The Alley was empty. That was odd, there had never been any time day or night, that Ron had ever known that area of town to be deserted. Something was definitely not right.
Harry. He needed to find Harry. He didn’t know why, but something was telling him to find Harry.
The same something that was telling him to walk into the fog. Ron shook his head. This wasn’t right.
Harry.
That’s right, Ron. Harry. Harry needs you.
Ron walked towards the voice. Harry needed him.
By the time he stopped again, Ron was soaked in a cold sweat that left him feeling sick to his stomach. He was also lost. And wanting to wake up now. Please.
Someone laughed.
It didn’t make Ron feel any better.
Someone laughed louder.
“Oh, you sweet boy.”
A tall, willowy man emerged from the grey shadows. Ron watched warily as he stepped closer. The man was pretty, feminine almost, with long, wavy hair and a bewitching mouth.
Ron was torn between paralysing fear and hello.
The stranger smiled, “Oh definitely hello, Ron.” He winked.
Ron frowned. Fuck. Was this git reading his mind?
The other man laughed.
“Let me introduce myself.” He reached out his hand. “I’m William.”
Ron didn’t remember raising his hand but suddenly it was in the other man’s - William’s - and he was turning it around and licking Ron’s wrist. Seriously, what the fuck?
William looked up at him from under hooded eyes, “All in good time, dear boy. All in good time.” And the bastard bit into Ron’s wrist. Jesus fuck.
Ron must have blacked out or something because the next thing he knew, he was standing, unable to move as William walked slowly around him, occasionally brushing a hand across his body, the contact making Ron shiver with the need to shrink away. His wrist was throbbing but he couldn’t move his head to look at it.
“Mmm, Draco has good taste.” William leaned up against Ron’s back and breathed into his neck.
Ron tried again to move away but it was as if he was being held in a full body bind, unable to move anything. But that wasn’t really right either. He’d had the body bind thrown at him enough times to know what it felt like. This wasn’t it. He tried not to panic, even as William’s arms wrapped around him and he started to undo the buttons on Ron’s shirt.
Someone chuckled. “You never did have any patience, Bill.” Another man, this one even taller than William, stepped forward until he was pressed up against Ron’s chest. “Really, William, you need to learn to savour your food.” And he reached his hands up to still Williams where they were still working on Ron’s buttons.
Ron sighed in relief. (Sadly, an all too short-lived feeling).
The taller man released one of William’s wrists to reach a hand up to Ron’s cheek. A sharp finger nail scraped across his skin, slicing the soft flesh open. Ron gasped in pain, the feeling of blood sliding down his face, sickening.
The man - fuck, fuck, fuck, vampire - pushed closer. “Oooh, he’s quite the responsive one, isn’t he? Draco was definitely holding out on us.” He turned Ron’s face to the side, easing William’s access. William lapped hungrily at the blood.
Ron would have closed his eyes if he could.
William groaned. “Sweet Jesus, Gabe, he’s fucking delicious.” And he stretched across Ron’s shoulder to press his bloody mouth eagerly to the other vampires.
Well, this was fucked up. Seriously fucked up. There was no denying that in normal circumstances - normal circumstances being those where he wasn’t about to be eaten alive by vampires - the sight of William and Gabe licking greedily into each others mouths, pressed up against him all the while, would have been fucking hot.
Of course, the fact that he was about to be eaten alive by vampires and he still found it hot was just fucking sick. And also a terrible time to discover that whatever it was that was holding his body immobile apparently wasn’t holding all his body immobile. Shit.
The two vampires broke their kiss. Gabe rolled his hips up against Ron’s. “Oh yeh, very responsive,” he growled into Ron’s face. Then, he brought his hands up to hold Ron’s head in place as he pressed their mouths together.
Ron resisted as best he could in his current paralysed state. Until a soft voice whispered in his head open.
A coaxing voice he couldn’t resist, a sweet voice that he didn’t want to resist or deny.
He needed to do what this voice said, God he wanted to.
Oh.
His lips parted and Gabe’s tongue snaked inside just as William licked across the pulse on his neck.
Fuck.
~~~
It took Draco three days to find him.
(Part Two)
LJ username: hull1984
Team: Ron
Prompt: Flying
Rating: PG-13
Length: 14,000 words
Warnings/Notes: vampires, blood letting, references to non-con (non explicit), hints of non-con, coercion.
Summary: After The War, the worlds of Muggle and Wizard are forever entwined - too much death, too much blood, too many losses shared. The Muggles have demanded that there be no more secrets, that the walls between the two worlds be forever levelled.
As the Wizarding World learns to live along side its new neighbour, for some, other more pressing realities have to be dealt with.
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
Early Sunsets (or Flying Is the Most Fun a Boy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off) (1/2)
The best thing about being a vampire was the flying.
Taking a deep breath, he looked down to where the lights of the city glittered prettily far below. Stepping closer to the edge, he stretched his arms out wide, took a moment to enjoy the warm air ghosting through his hair, then, grinning wide, he fell forward and swooped.
Definitely the flying.
~~~
Things were different after Voldermort’s defeat.
There were a lot more zombies for a start.
Ron tapped his quill on the edge of the desk and frowned at the report in his hand. He loved his job, he really did, but there’s no denying that he had assumed that being an Auror post-Voldermort might be a damn sight easier than being one during his reign of terror.
Unfortunately, what he, and pretty much the rest of the Wizarding World, had failed to take into account was the possible effect that Voldermort’s demise might have on the rest of the Dark Folk.
No one had realised, that while it was undoubtedly true that Voldermort had indeed been ‘a bit of a bad egg’ (and Rita Skeeta really shouldn’t be allowed to write biographies) what he had also been, was bloody good at suppressing all the other darker elements of society (well, until he was ready to use them for his own nefarious purposes, of course).
Take zombies for example (and Ron really wished someone would take the zombies), apparently, The Dark Lord had had a particular dislike for them (he said they gave him the willies). And well, while Ron had never thought to find any common ground with the slit-eyed bastard, he definitely had a point there. Of course, when it became known that Lord Voldermort had declared open season on their heads, the zombies, not being as slow - physically or mentally - as some Muggle films would have you believe, had soon made themselves scarce. No one knew where they had gone, only that they had gone.
Werewolves, as everyone knew, had pretty much stuck around during The War, fighting on both sides. Some, like Remus Lupin, soon achieving cult status; his grave instantly a place of pilgrimage. While the likes of Fenrir Greyback became the star of many a scary story passed from child to child around a camp fire, or by torchlight under a duvet cover (the ensuing nightmares leading to more than one inevitable grounding of an older sibling).
As for Elves. Well, if the Elves ever showed up again frankly they were all fucked.
Nobody ever talked about the Elves.
The vampires, on the other hand, had gone to Europe. A surprising choice perhaps, given the climate, but it was all part of the agreement that they had made with The Dark Lord. Once he had conquered Britain, Voldermort had planned to enlist the vampires’ aid in taking over the rest of Europe, it was essential, therefore, that he keep them close at hand. So, they had scattered across Europe, mainly Italy, some parts of Southern Spain and, most notably, Paris.
The details of this sinister pact had only come to light following the end of The War, when several senior captured Death Eaters had confirmed its existence, and revealed the full extent of its contents. Ron remembered feeling sick to his stomach when he’d read that in exchange for their assistance, Voldermort had promised the bloodsucking bastards a percentage of humans on which to feed, planning to hand-over whole families, so the vile creatures would have several generations, vintages if you will, on which to dine.
Following the end of The War, the vampires had wisely chosen to remain abroad, emerging only gradually, to slowly establish a power base in most of the major cities of Europe. If they caused problems in Europe the news never made it as far as Britain. In a post-Voldermort world suddenly flooded with zombies, golems and feral werewolves this came as a relief - one less group of Undead fuckers to deal with was all to the good.
Ron re-read the last part of the report - the part that mostly concerned the long and very messy clean-up following the zombie sit-in at a Muggle Job Centre (once again, they had been claiming discrimination on the grounds of being dead) - and found himself thinking wistfully of vampires. Really, how bad could they be?
His musings were interrupted when Harry walked into their shared office and sat down in the chair behind his desk with a loud sigh. He dropped a large manila folder onto the desk and glared at it.
Ron looked up curious. “Okay, so who stole your broomstick?” He asked.
Harry shook his head. “I wish it was that straight forward,” he replied.
Leaning forward, he picked up the folder and waved it in the air. “You might want to take a look at this.” He made a distasteful twist of his mouth as he lowered the folder and pushed it across the desk towards Ron.
Ron shrugged and opened the folder. Several photos fell out onto his desk. He picked one up and looked at it, frowning. “You know, Harry, it would be nice if you gave a bloke some warning, or at least waited until after lunch, to share your holiday photos.”
Harry let out a hollow laugh, but didn‘t say anything. Clearly he wanted Ron to study all the photos and the rest of the contents of the folder before commenting.
The next few minutes passed in relative silence, save for the occasional huff from Ron as he digested the report.
When he’d finished reading and examining the photos he placed the last piece of paper onto his desk, leant back and crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap, he looked over at Harry.
“Vampires,” he stated baldly. Served him right really, for tempting fate.
Harry nodded, before running his hands through his hair. “Yeh, that’s what it looks like.” He stood up and started to walk back and forth behind his desk. “And more than one if the bite marks are anything to go by.”
Ron grimaced. “Oh yuk.”
Harry smiled wryly at that. “Quite,” he said.
“So,” Ron said, sitting up in his chair and resting his hands on his desk. If this meant his holiday next week was cancelled he was going to have to kill someone. He narrowed his eyes at his best friend. Very probably Harry.
“So,” Harry repeated, turning to face Ron. “So, no rest days and all the over-time you could possibly wish for until we catch the fuckers.” He grinned.
Ron threw his snitch paperweight at his head.
Luckily, Harry’s seeker skills hadn’t been dulled by lack of practise. He ducked just in time. Straightening up he shook his head. “Now really, Ron, is that any way to treat a present from your little sister?”
Ron didn’t reply. Well, not verbally.
~~~
Three days later they were no closer to finding the vampires responsible for the carnage captured in the grisly photos. They did, however, have several new photos to add to the board in their office. None of them were very pretty.
Ron was lying on the old, worn leather sofa that was tucked against the furthest wall. He ached. Everywhere. Even his hair. He felt as though he hadn’t slept for days. Probably because he hadn’t slept for days.
He’d like to put it all down to the current investigation but he couldn’t. Harry always made sure, no matter the temptation to stay, that they both left the office long enough to ensure a decent amount of sleep.
But Ron hadn’t been sleeping. Which for a bloke who had been enjoying an average of nine hours a night for as long as he could remember - come hail, shine, or Voldermort and all his minions - came as a bit of a shock.
What’s more, he couldn’t figure out why. It was certainly true that when he left the office each day, his head was still thrumming with all of the shit they‘d had to deal with, all the possible leads and evidence, chasing themselves round and round in his brain until he felt his head would explode. But well, that was pretty much normal when he and Harry were in the middle of a case. It had never actually stopped him passing out comatose on his bed once he made it home.
Not until now.
There was just something about this case.
Or maybe it was the way that every night when he left The Ministry he felt strange eyes on him. Day after day, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone - or something - was watching him.
Even when he reached home, behind locked door and windows, hidden by blinds and curtains, head under the bedcovers (not that he‘d ever admit that last bit), he still felt eyes on him.
And if he ever did manage to drift off into an uneasy slumber, it was only to jerk abruptly awake moments later, shivering from the cold, and with the ghost of sour breath still on his neck.
He hadn’t told Harry. Not because he thought he couldn’t; he knew Harry would believe him. And he wanted to. He really did. But it was just so long since he’d said I’m not okay, that now he wasn’t sure he could.
It would pass. It was just those photos (and the bloody details lying in every line of every report). It was inevitable that he’d start having nightmares about vampires stalking him and eyeing up his neck as a tasty snack, right?
Ron groaned, rubbing his hand across gritty eyes and turned to face the back of the sofa, beginning to doubt the wisdom of getting up in the middle of the night and returning to the office. An hour later he’d actually started to fall into an exhausted drowse, his body finally relaxing, seeping into the old familiar shape of the worn leather.
~~~
It was dark when he left the office that day. Ron yawned, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He was looking forward to a long, hot shower when he got home and some well earned sleep. His feet moved as if on auto-pilot in the direction of his Apparition Point.
Except it seemed to be taking an awful long time to get there.
Looking up, Ron frowned. That was odd. He didn’t recognise the street he was on. Shaking his head, he turned and headed back the way he had come. Only to come up against a dead end. Huh.
Oh come on. He couldn’t be lost. He’d been taking the same route home for the last two years. He turned again and peered into the gloom. It had suddenly grown very dark, and a cold mist swirled around his body making him shiver.
Fuck. He suddenly felt like he was in the middle of one of those creepy fucking nightmares he’d definitely not been having.
He reached into his robe to grip his wand, only to find it wasn’t there. What the fuck…
A cold hand reached out from behind him and took hold of his chin in a firm grip. Ron struggled to free his head as a second hand wrapped around his chest and pulled him back against a solid body. Icy breath wafted over his collarbone as his head was wrenched painfully to the side to expose one side of his neck.
“Missed me, Weasel?”
A tongue stroked slowly across his pulse point. Ron gasped briefly before screaming in pain as his flesh was suddenly sliced open by two sharp fangs biting down, blood spurting in bright red ropes of colour across his face and chest.
Ron sat up with a cry.
The light was still on and he looked frantically around the room.
It was empty save for him.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He slumped back onto the sofa with a groan.
He was so fucked.
Malfoy.
Sweet Merlin. Not even Harry knew about Malfoy.
He ran his hands through his hair and refused to acknowledge how much they were shaking.
Remembering came all too easily. It had been during their sixth year at Hogwarts. He’d been angry at the world and only too happy to take it all out on Malfoy.
It hadn’t gone quite as planned...
~~~
Ron was jealous of Harry.
Well, of course, he bloody was. Why would this year be different to any other?
The fact that the jealousy included Hermione this year, just made it that much more, well, every thing…
Ron stormed along the hallway fuming quietly to himself. Fuck Harry and his latest fucking fan club! Who’d want to be a part of that, anyway? Not him. He was bloody glad to be out of it.
He stopped abruptly and paced up and down the deserted corridor. He was just sick of it, so fucking sick of always being the one cast aside, overlooked. It was so bloody unfair. He’d had it the whole of his damn life. With five older brothers you’d think he’d be used to it, used to coming last - yeh, even behind Fred and George - and how bloody insulting was that?
All he’d wanted was a ‘normal’ friend - or, actually no, someone drab, someone a little boring would have been bloody brilliant. Someone who might even be a little dazzled by Ron’s own mediocrity. Someone who might have been grateful for his attention for a change.
But oh no. No, he’d got Harry bloody Potter. Saviour of the fucking Wizarding World. And yeh, he loved the four-eyed little git but Merlin, he was so fucking tired of everyone and their bloody aunt falling all over themselves to kiss Harry’s arse. Fuck, even his stupid bloody little sister had a crush on him. She’d probably get picked by Slughorn next, just for having such good taste in fantasy boyfriends.
Fucking Slughorn and his stupid bloody club. Now Hermione was pulling away from him too. Soon she and Harry would be ignoring him completely in favour of cozying up with the rest of Slughorn’s gorgeous little group of protégés.
No, things were all too clear - Ron was being left behind. And it bloody terrified him.
Just then, something in the corridor ahead of him caught his eye. A shock of white hair.
Malfoy.
Ron smirked viciously. At least he wasn’t the only one being left behind. Malfoy hadn’t made ‘The Club’ either. Bet that had gone down well with daddy. He clenched his fists at his sides, overwhelmed by his choking anger. Fucking Ferret. And he suddenly knew how he could work off all the terrible energy thrumming under his skin.
He started to walk quicker, following after the Slytherin boy.
A few minutes later he was standing outside one of the old abandoned bathrooms. What was Malfoy doing here? No one used this bathroom, most people didn’t even know it was there. Shaking his head, Ron pushed his curiosity aside - at least he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed. He pushed the door open and walked inside.
And stopped.
Malfoy was hunched over one of the sinks. His shoulders were shaking and he seemed to be talking to himself; Ron thought he could just make out little gasps of “I can‘t, I can‘t”. All at once a cold shiver of dread ran through the length of Ron’s body as realisation hit him like a bludger to the head.
Fuck. Malfoy was sobbing.
Shit. Not good, very not good. Ron didn’t handle crying. Ever.
If he could just back out quietly without the Ferret noticing. He had one foot raised ready to step back when Malfoy looked up and their eyes met in the mirror above the sink.
For a moment Malfoy’s face was frozen in panic, a look that soon morphed in to cold fury. He span around to face Ron and snarled out, “What are you doing here, Weasel?”
Not bothering to wait for any sort of answer, he walked quickly over to Ron, stopping mere inches from his face. “Spying for bloody Potter, are you?” He spat out. “The great Harry Potter too busy with his fawning little fan club to do his own dirty work, so he sends his pathetic little sidekick,” he sneered.
Ron had been stuck to the spot up to that point, torn between the urge to turn and run, and the more unsettling urge to reach out to Malfoy. He’d looked so pitiful; too small, too vulnerable huddled over the sink like that. When he’d faced Ron his eyes had been red from tears that were still falling, his face all blotched and snotty. And all the fight had gone out of Ron - how could he have been mad at that? It would have been ridiculous.
Malfoy’s words - hitting a raw nerve as they did - snapped him out of his indecision. He suddenly knew exactly what to do. He reached back his arm and punched Malfoy right on the end of his pointy little nose.
The force of the blow sent Malfoy sprawling backwards onto the floor. He lay there panting, blood gushing from his abused nose. Then, he looked up at Ron and started to laugh. “Predictable as always, Weaselbee.”
It was all too much for Ron. He launched himself on top of the other boy, punching, kicking, biting, using any means he could to make him bleed, to make him hurt.
Malfoy was no slouch either, returning the blows with fists, elbows, knees, any weapon he could find.
They tumbled across the floor, first Ron on top, Malfoy the next, neither boy letting up their assault, neither willing to give an inch.
Ron would never be able to say when he realised punching and biting had become clutching and kissing. It was just one thing one moment, something else the next, equally desperate, equally violent but oh, so fucking more.
Afterward.
(Well, actually it was a damn sight less awkward than Ron would have supposed - you know, if that particular mental scenario had ever been put forward for consideration.
Malfoy had been pretty decent about the whole thing really.)
Malfoy was the first one to come to his senses. He pulled his hand out of Ron’s underwear, and stood up (a little shakily but that was to be expected). Tucking himself back into his trousers he looked down at Ron, wide-eyed.
Ron noticed that he had two bright red spots of colour on his cheeks and smiled. He felt inexplicably proud.
“Argh.” Malfoy’s hand shot up to press against his mouth, as if to stop any other sounds escaping.
Then, he turned and left.
Ron had started laughing hysterically at that point.
Three days later, Ron had been alone in the changing room after Quidditch practise, when Malfoy had strode in, and without a word had backed him up against the nearest wall and snogged his face off.
He knew he should have pushed him away; should have told him to bugger off. But well, it was hard to talk with a hot tongue in your mouth - especially when it wasn’t your own (that was his excuse and he was sticking to it).
It became a fairly regular occurrence after that. Each one seeking the other out, sometimes meeting in the middle as they both came searching.
Until.
Look, it wasn’t like that. Ron hadn’t ever thought it was anything. It was Malfoy. Obnoxious, arrogant Malfoy.
It was just that Ron was long past the whole gay freak out and also wasn’t dead. So yeh, he got that Malfoy was fucking hot. He paused and thought about it for a minute. Okay, yeh, well, apparently he’d figured that out before the gay thing. Huh.
But the point. The very important point was, he had no feelings for Malfoy. Uh uh. None. Other than enjoying getting off with him, which well, teenage boy so pretty much any warm body would do. But it wasn’t like he wanted them to elope to Canada and adopt babies or anything, so the whole break-up when it came was fine.
Except, of course, it wasn’t a break-up.
It couldn’t have been.
So, the --
“Fuck off, Weasley.”
-- when it came, was fine.
Really.
It’s not like Ron felt like he’d been physically punched. Or anything.
Just because he’d been curled up with Draco - Malfoy - on a bed in the Room of Requirement, with fingers running gently through his hair, only minutes before.
It’s not like he’d been moments away from asking Malfoy to stay.
So, really it was all for the best.
“You were a casual fuck.”
He knew that. Oh come on, it’s not like he was stupid enough to fall for the enemy.
He’d known what this was.
This.
This thing.
Just a thing.
“You didn’t think you were special, did you?”
Yeh, right, Ferret.
Special. Oh Merlin. Now that’s funny.
“I used you, Weasel. I thought you might spill some information about the Order of the Phoenix while we were fucking. That is all.”
Spill.
Spilled my heart out, you heartless bastard.
“Now, please get off me, so I can get up and go and wash off your stink.”
Yes.
Malfoy had been pretty decent about the whole thing really.
~~~
By the time Harry turned up, sleepy-eyed and yawning, Ron was on his second pot of coffee and desperate to get out of the building.
Harry frowned at the blanket folded neatly at the bottom of the couch.
“Fuck Ron, you know Hermione is going to kick my arse if she finds out that you slept here again,” he whined.
Ron huffed. “Oh cheers, Harry. You’re concern for my well-being is overwhelming.”
Harry sat down behind his desk and shrugged. “It’s Hermione, Ron.”
He had a point. Ron nodded. “Fair enough. But she won’t find out unless you tell her.”
“Or,” a familiar voice put in behind him. “If she happens to turn up unannounced and sees for herself that yet again, Ronald, you are failing spectacularly at looking after yourself.”
Fuck.
Harry gave him a weak, apologetic smile; bastard had known she was planning on coming. Ron just had time to narrow his eyes at his squirming friend before Hermione was in front of him, concerned eyes raking over his face.
“Oh, Ron.” And to his utter surprise she knelt down and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
“Um.” He looked helplessly over at Harry who just shrugged, clearly equally at a loss.
A few awkward moments passed before Hermione finally released him from her death grip, only to turn around and glare at Harry.
“Harry!” She snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me he was this bad?”
Harry had barely opened his mouth to reply, when she turned back to Ron, and stroking her hand gently through his hair, she sighed softly. “Oh, Ron, you look like shit.”
Ron stared blankly at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. Harry joined in almost immediately and eventually even Hermione was giggling quietly, even as she shook her head at them both and looked on the verge of tears.
~~~
Hermione hadn’t stayed long; she had a class to teach at 9am (after obtaining her Muggle degree in Chemistry she had taken up the Transfiguration post at Hogwarts; personally Ron thought it was a huge waste of her skills, but Hermione had been adamant that there was no finer calling than that of “shaping young minds.” Yeh, right).
She’d just stayed long enough to lecture them both on the importance of keeping regular hours, eating nutritionally sound meals and going for brisk walks in the fresh air.
Harry had been very apologetic after she left, explaining that she had waylaid him at home the previous evening and before he had even realised it, he’d found himself telling her all about their current case and - “yeh, sorry mate,” - Ron’s subsequent insomnia.
Ron wasn’t cross. He sympathised; he’d been on the wrong end of Hermione’s interrogations enough times to understand. He was just a little shocked that his own restlessness had actually impinged on Harry’s consciousness enough for him to admit it to Hermione. It’s not that Harry was selfish exactly, but he could be pretty self-absorbed, he was usually oblivious to anything that didn’t effect him directly.
Ron really needed to get some sleep.
~~~
The vampire killings were starting to get really fucking annoying.
They made no sense, which in a way made lots of sense - if it was one blood-sucker on a random rampage. But that really made no sense whatsoever.
Vampires did not tolerate mavericks. You were a part of a clan. Or you were dead. Individuals were not allowed to act alone. And they’d already established at the start that the bite marks on the bodies were not made by one vampire. It was definitely a group effort.
But why would any clan draw attention to itself this far from its’ own territory?
There seemed to be no connection between the victims. None of them were related, worked together, knew each other or had ever mutually dated anyone.
There was nothing.
No pattern.
“Ooh,” Ginny said, as she glanced at the map pinned to the wall. “Nice spiral.”
Then she kissed Harry and left to pick the children up from school.
Harry and Ron had spent the next ten minutes staring at the pins stuck in the map, daring the other to be the first one to speak.
Harry broke first.
“Fuck.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ron supplied. “She’s always been freaky.”
It was probably quite a tactless remark to make to a man about his wife, but then Harry didn’t exactly rush to Ginny’s defence. (Professional pride was a very special pride after all).
So, they had their first solid lead. (yes, Harry, I promise never to tell Ginny that it came from her). The murders had occurred in a spiral pattern that centred on The Ministry.
Their first response was to put the Minister of Magic on high security alert.
Their second, was to examine the body left on the Ministry steps the next day and say, “eew”.
Harry rubbed absently at his scar (it no longer hurt like it had when Voldermort was alive but he still rubbed at it when he was stressed), “It’s almost like a cat leaving a dead mouse on the doorstep,” he said.
Ron looked down at the body and grimaced, “half a dead mouse, Harry.”
They both looked down at the remains that were yet to be identified (it was going to take some detailed dental work - not necessarily the victims) and shook their heads.
Of course, now that the thought had been planted in his mind, then Ron couldn’t shake it - if it was a game of cat-and-mouse then who was who?
Could it really be Malfoy taunting him?
He’d heard rumours.
Just by chance.
It’s not like he’d gone out of his way to find out what had happened to the stupid bloody git.
But he had heard. Things.
Like how Malfoy had moved abroad with his mother following his father’s death (a rusty knife to the heart, courtesy of a zealous Voldermort supporter in Azkaban).
They’d kept a low profile to begin with, obviously wary due to their recent notoriety. But, gradually after a year or two, they had been seen out and about again, mixing in the best society. Malfoy had even been linked with several eligible young ladies (Ron had snorted at that - really, who was he trying to kid?)
Then, they’d received word of the emerging vampire clans. Malfoy had been thought to be mixing in ‘questionable’ circles. He’d dropped from sight about a year ago and nothing had been heard since. His mother’s sudden death had been reported at about the same time.
Malfoy had not attended the funeral.
~~~
Ron said goodbye to Harry and walked towards the corner of the street. The Apparition Point for his District was a ten minute walk in the opposite direction from Harry’s.
In theory he could still Apparate anywhere, there were no wards against it, but anyone caught contravening the new Muggle Integration Laws faced severe penalties; it just wasn’t worth the risk (apparently wizards suddenly appearing next to them, heralded by a deafening crack, unnerved some Muggles).
The pavements were wet from the earlier rain. Ron smiled, taking a deep breath, he loved the smell following rain, always had. He stopped abruptly, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of deja-vu. A shudder ran through him as he remembered the nightmare he’d had about Malfoy. Fuck. He’d be glad to get home. He shook himself out of his thoughts and walked briskly on.
Something made him stop. Why was he walking this way? Harry’s owl had said to meet him in Knockturn Alley. He had a vague moment of wondering what owl just before he Apparated.
The Alley was empty. That was odd, there had never been any time day or night, that Ron had ever known that area of town to be deserted. Something was definitely not right.
Harry. He needed to find Harry. He didn’t know why, but something was telling him to find Harry.
The same something that was telling him to walk into the fog. Ron shook his head. This wasn’t right.
Harry.
That’s right, Ron. Harry. Harry needs you.
Ron walked towards the voice. Harry needed him.
By the time he stopped again, Ron was soaked in a cold sweat that left him feeling sick to his stomach. He was also lost. And wanting to wake up now. Please.
Someone laughed.
It didn’t make Ron feel any better.
Someone laughed louder.
“Oh, you sweet boy.”
A tall, willowy man emerged from the grey shadows. Ron watched warily as he stepped closer. The man was pretty, feminine almost, with long, wavy hair and a bewitching mouth.
Ron was torn between paralysing fear and hello.
The stranger smiled, “Oh definitely hello, Ron.” He winked.
Ron frowned. Fuck. Was this git reading his mind?
The other man laughed.
“Let me introduce myself.” He reached out his hand. “I’m William.”
Ron didn’t remember raising his hand but suddenly it was in the other man’s - William’s - and he was turning it around and licking Ron’s wrist. Seriously, what the fuck?
William looked up at him from under hooded eyes, “All in good time, dear boy. All in good time.” And the bastard bit into Ron’s wrist. Jesus fuck.
Ron must have blacked out or something because the next thing he knew, he was standing, unable to move as William walked slowly around him, occasionally brushing a hand across his body, the contact making Ron shiver with the need to shrink away. His wrist was throbbing but he couldn’t move his head to look at it.
“Mmm, Draco has good taste.” William leaned up against Ron’s back and breathed into his neck.
Ron tried again to move away but it was as if he was being held in a full body bind, unable to move anything. But that wasn’t really right either. He’d had the body bind thrown at him enough times to know what it felt like. This wasn’t it. He tried not to panic, even as William’s arms wrapped around him and he started to undo the buttons on Ron’s shirt.
Someone chuckled. “You never did have any patience, Bill.” Another man, this one even taller than William, stepped forward until he was pressed up against Ron’s chest. “Really, William, you need to learn to savour your food.” And he reached his hands up to still Williams where they were still working on Ron’s buttons.
Ron sighed in relief. (Sadly, an all too short-lived feeling).
The taller man released one of William’s wrists to reach a hand up to Ron’s cheek. A sharp finger nail scraped across his skin, slicing the soft flesh open. Ron gasped in pain, the feeling of blood sliding down his face, sickening.
The man - fuck, fuck, fuck, vampire - pushed closer. “Oooh, he’s quite the responsive one, isn’t he? Draco was definitely holding out on us.” He turned Ron’s face to the side, easing William’s access. William lapped hungrily at the blood.
Ron would have closed his eyes if he could.
William groaned. “Sweet Jesus, Gabe, he’s fucking delicious.” And he stretched across Ron’s shoulder to press his bloody mouth eagerly to the other vampires.
Well, this was fucked up. Seriously fucked up. There was no denying that in normal circumstances - normal circumstances being those where he wasn’t about to be eaten alive by vampires - the sight of William and Gabe licking greedily into each others mouths, pressed up against him all the while, would have been fucking hot.
Of course, the fact that he was about to be eaten alive by vampires and he still found it hot was just fucking sick. And also a terrible time to discover that whatever it was that was holding his body immobile apparently wasn’t holding all his body immobile. Shit.
The two vampires broke their kiss. Gabe rolled his hips up against Ron’s. “Oh yeh, very responsive,” he growled into Ron’s face. Then, he brought his hands up to hold Ron’s head in place as he pressed their mouths together.
Ron resisted as best he could in his current paralysed state. Until a soft voice whispered in his head open.
A coaxing voice he couldn’t resist, a sweet voice that he didn’t want to resist or deny.
He needed to do what this voice said, God he wanted to.
Oh.
His lips parted and Gabe’s tongue snaked inside just as William licked across the pulse on his neck.
Fuck.
~~~
It took Draco three days to find him.
(Part Two)