Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Melchior had told them he intended to bring a guest. His father, John, had smiled secretively at this piece of information. He obviously knew more, but allowed his son the pleasure of watching his peers stare at him with their jaws lingering on the table. John had chuckled heartily. The dinner party had settled. People reclaimed their jaws and picked up their forks again, directing their attention back towards the meal, when John decided he'd drop the other bomb.

«Oh, and Jack Sparrow's coming for dinner as well!»

John smiled wickedly from ear to ear, laughing so hard he was shaking. The diamonds and the beads in his long hair danced. He took his glass of wine, directed it to his grandson's Avent Magic Trainer cup and said: «Cheers, son! Bottom's up!» The two year old boy stared at him with his big brown eyes, raised his plastic cup up to his grandfather's wine glass and gave it a thorough clonk before bringing it back to his lips, greedily sucking at the pineapple juice. John reached across the table to the four year old who was seated next to his father Peter Drinkwater, offering him his glass in salute. Alexander picked up his glass with juice and cheered together with his grandfather, giggling loudly.

There was no mistaking the surprise in the present company as they laughed with restrain and wonder in their voices. They were used to John throwing surprises at them, just not with Jack Sparrow. The retired Child Bearer of the Sparrow eudaimons was holy. Or rather – his privacy these days – was holy. Few of them knew where Captain Jack Sparrow roamed, and they all more or less wondered when the message would come, that he was finally to die. Jack Sparrow hadn't been seen visiting the Lighthouse Farm in more than twenty years.

Peter Drinkwater stared at his plate and smiled weakly. He put a hand to his stomach, revelling in the sensation of little feet kicking inside him. The baby was healthy, its kicks growing stronger every week. Five months pregnant. A third child. Who would have thought that a lowlife like him – a scum from the gutters on London – would still be alive? He looked at his boys, the two year old and the four year old, and then he thought about the so-called guest. Malachi, Peter's master, who was sitting next to him with his arms around Peter's shoulders, had told him that Melchior had taken a slave. A target of his, whom he fancied. The boy was sixteen. A boy just coming out of adolescence. A boy who knew nothing of the world, and who hardly knew Melchior at all. Only for seven months.

Peter considered himself a seasoned slave. At age 25, he had put all his hopes and dreams to rest, and his only concern was to 1) produce as many offspring as possible and 2) be a good parent to those he'd already produced and 3) to be a proper slave to his master.

This newcomer – Draco Malfoy – would have to be warned. He had to know what he was getting himself into. Or rather that considering the circumstances he was in, there were ways to survive. There it was: Another kick. It made Peter smile. He looked up and gazed into the golden eyes of his subsequently father-in-law, John. Peter wiped away the smile and directed his attention towards the boys, ignoring the hand resting on his right shoulder which was caressing him. He knew Malachi was looking at him, he was trying to get Peter's attention.

Malachi looked like something out of a Spanish dream; Shoulder-long dark hair, narrow chin and chiselled features. He always looked as if he'd just come in from a day in the sun by the Riviera. He had a ghost of a moustache on his upper lip, and he had lovely nut-shaped brown eyes. Underneath his shirt lurked a hairless, tanned chest, firm muscles and a lean frame. Malachi had spent the four last years since the birth of Alexander hauling rock after rock, rebuilding the palace on what remained of the Seventh Plane in Hell. Such hard labour had given him strength and the stance of a stallion. Dinner parties bored him, but they were a necessity as Peter needed the social training. So did the children.

A month passed and it became mid-April. It was dark outside. The snow had been blown away by the lukewarm wind and rain, and the courtyard lay partially covered in ice, littered with toys from the day's adventures. The automated light from the lighthouse spun as it always had since the 1970s, and everything was at it always had been at the Lighthouse Farm. The people inside were restless. They anticipated a change this night. Dinner had been consumed and cleared away, when the front door to the main house all of the sudden opened. Melchior appeared in the doorway, nodding gently to Malachi who was standing with the children by the kitchen sink. The children were playing with miniature boats in the water, carefully supervised by the father. Dropping the boats they turned and greeted Melchior with loud shouts, forgetting to wipe their hands as they half climbed half fell of their chairs to embrace him. Melchior told them hi and ushered them further into the kitchen, before he beckoned at his guest which awaited outside.

The brothers in the living room saw the stranger glance into the kitchen before Melchior formally invited him in. Melchior seemed nervous and unusually friendly. They got a glimpse of some blond hair before the stranger ducked away into the darkness again. Melchior heaved a large suitcase past the kitchen door, before he made way for his guest.

A young man stepped inside. He removed his lined winter cap and glanced at Melchior, at Malachi and then at the children who stood in wonder for about two whole seconds before they leapt towards the young man and overwhelmed him with a series of untimely questions about who he was and where he came from and what he was doing here. Malachi ordered them sternly aside so the young man could gather his wits and take off his jacket and shoes. But before Malachi could put out his hand and introduce himself, Alexander and his little brother tugged at the blond boy's sweater and hauled him into the living room.

And so it happened that not two hours after leaving Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Draco Malfoy found himself in a living room with two rowdy children, one human and seven eudaimons.

He saw them for what they were immediately. Some had wings, some had not, but they all shared that same inexplicable demonic feature: That, which could not be named, but which was only felt as something other-worldly and eerie. It was the same thing which gave Draco the willies every time Melchior had approached him at Hogwarts.

Draco ignored the children, turned his head to gaze after Melchior and found him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, together with what could only be his brother. They strongly resembled one another, only Melchior's hair was a lot longer and more curlier than his brother's. Turning back to the gathering of eudaimons, Draco was surprised. In a positive way. Alexander was tugging at Draco's left arm now, starving for his attention. His little brother was doing the same with Draco's right hand, but he was mostly just mimicking his older brother because it seemed fun. Gazing down at the children, Draco sat down on impulse, coming on eye level with them.

“What's your name?” Alexander wanted to know, still tugging at the stranger's hand.

“I'm Draco” Draco replied and smiled at him. “What's your name?”

“Alexander” Alexander replied a-matter-of-factly, “I'm a dragon too!”

“And you?” Draco turned his head to gaze into a pair of brown orbs the size of a pair of ping-pong balls. This one was more of a shy one, but he never the less smiled and replied: “Sebastian.”

“Nice to meet you. Both of you.” Draco smiled to the boys and they tugged at him again wanting him to come see their room. But Melchior took charge and told the boys they would have to wait. First off, the young man was probably hungry. Draco got to his feet and took a deep breath. His palms were clammy and he was sweating from the effort to keep cool in front of these people – these eudaimons. They looked less intimidating simply because they wore Muggle clothes, and they stared at him with wonder and excitement, nothing else. One of them, who had been sitting in a chair with a laptop perched on his thighs, put the laptop away and leapt to his feet. He marched forward towards Draco, smiled and reached out his hand. He was tall and frail-framed. He took his reading glasses away from his nose and planted them on top of his head like a Muggle did with his shades. He wore a casual white t-shirt, blue jeans. He had no socks and he had a pencil perched between his temple and his right ear. His hair was medium blond, it cascaded over his shoulders.

“Christopher Sparrow” the tall man greeted him. He came across as nothing but human and very friendly. He had beautiful brown eyes.

“Draco Malfoy”, Draco said, and shook his hand. The man had a firm grip. He was wingless.

“Welcome to the Lighthouse Farm.” He let go off Draco's hand and turned his attention towards the eudaimons sitting in various chairs and sofas in the living room.

“This is Peter Drinkwater” he said, gesturing towards a man sitting in the corner farthest away. He held on to a newspaper, and Draco was immediately under the impression that this was not an eudaimon. “Then we have Andrea – from the Continent, Israel – who's mostly in the Above, Adrian and his twin brother Aiden who mostly stays in the Middle East, and then of course Melchior and Malachi. They don't live here, they just popped by to see you. But Malachi and Peter and the children live here, and so do I.”

Malachi stepped forward and extended his hand towards Draco. The eudaimon – who had all the traits of an eudaimon – immediately puzzled Draco. The hairs on the back of his neck didn't rise. Malachi came across like any other human being. Almost plain. Draco took his hand and shook it with a smile. He winced a little. The man had a crushing grip. He seemed rougher around the edges as well. His shirt was stained, he kept his hands in his pockets and he had a slight stubble on his chin. He was nowhere near as polished and ethereal as Melchior.

“Welcome to our home” Malachi said warmly. And he did in deed have a warmth to his eyes which Draco never had seen in Melchior's. “It's not often we get visitors of your calibre. Melchior tells me you're a wizard?”

“I try to be. I'm still in school.” Draco added apologetically.

“Well, we all have to start somewhere. Hungry?” Malachi gestured towards the kitchen. The children nearly toppled Draco over, as they had raced down from their room with toys they wanted to impress him with. Malachi called to Peter for assistance, and then came the moment which they all had been waiting for:

Peter got up from his arm chair, put the magazine aside and revealed his jutting belly. The eudaimons looked from Peter to Draco to see the stranger's reaction. They were rewarded for their patience. Draco's eyes immediately glued to the jutting belly, and he stared in wonder for some seconds before he checked himself and let himself be guided into the kitchen. Draco's head swung from the children to Peter, to his belly and back again, and the eudaimons back in the living room chuckled discretely at the blond boy's reaction. They could see the influx of information into his head, how he tried to work out how it all hung together – combined with the incessant nagging of two loud children who wanted him to check out their racing cars. But Draco heard them chuckling and he saw how Peter shrank, bowing his head between his shoulders. So Draco cleared his voice. Loudly. It prompted Peter to gaze at him.

“Draco”. Peter accepted his hand and replied: “Peter.” His voice was almost inaudible. It was like shaking hands with a vegetable, and Draco winced at the soulless touch. His hands were cold and dry, and Peter swiftly pulled his hand back, giving Draco the impression that he's stung himself on the blond. Melchior stepped into the doorway and glared warningly at his eudaimon peers.

“We've prepared Port Royale for you and your … servant” Malachi said with a lopsided smile. Peter was heating some food on the stove. He turned towards Draco and said: “You might want to come over here”. Draco handed back the racing cars to the boys and jumped from his seat. He watched Peter open the cupboard above the sink. “Here's glasses, plates, and down here are knives and forks. There is lemonade in the fridge.” Draco was diverted from his directions as Sebastian drove his racing car across Peter's bulging belly. The race was accompanied by home-made engine sounds, and Sebastian's car was clearly in the lead, judging from the wicked curves the car made in the boy's imagination. The racing car leapt from his belly and out into the air, suddenly assuming wings or a jet-engine, and Sebastian sped through the door way and into the living room, crashing directly into Andrea. The eudaimon cringed as his crotch took the blow, but the race was still on. Sebastian took no notice of the collision and rampaged on to the stairs where he leapt up the first step, put his racing car onto the step and hurtled it as hard as he could through the living-room. Andrea and Adrian ducked. Christopher shielded himself with his lap-top. A collective sigh went through the crowd afterwards, and someone said: “Shouldn't that boy be in bed?!”

Draco had been witnessing this, and he smiled broadly from seeing the high and mighty eudaimons on the defensive. Because of a child. It dawned on him why Melchior had backed off once he knew about Hermione and the baby. The eudaimons had weak spots. They had humanity in them. He watched as Adrian and Aiden sat down on the floor with Sebastian and played with him, inventing race tracks and tunnels out of newspapers and cardboard pieces. And Draco realised that they were younger than the rest. He turned back to Peter and found himself knife, fork and plate.

“Are they – ?” He began, but forgot his question as Melchior said: “I'll get back to you in a few minutes, Draco.” The eudaimon didn't wait for a reply but took his suitcase and heaved it through the front door, shutting the door behind him.

“Well, I'll start getting these kids to bed, shall I?” Malachi told Peter softly. He left the two humans alone in the kitchen. Peter took Draco's plate and piled food on it. Meatballs, sauce, potatoes and cabbage. As he got his plate back, Draco realised there was a piece of paper beneath it. “Wait until you are alone” Peter gazed into his eyes, looking fearful. While Draco sat, Peter arranged a glass of lemonade for him, and put it down next to his plate. He sat down in the opposite chair.

“You have lovely children. Quite a handful I imagine.”

“Life at the Lighthouse Farm begins at six thirty every morning. You must not dabble in bed unless he wants you there.” Peter said, ignoring Draco's attempt at polite conversation. “Are you … healthy?”

Draco nodded as he began to eat.

“Then you must make yourself useful.” Peter got up and left for the stairs. Draco wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Peter seemed hostile, and Draco felt patronized. He guessed he was just tired, and he was glad to be left alone in the kitchen. But he saw the eudaimons in the living room, saw how they were curiously peering into the small kitchen. Draco ate in silence while he studied the kitchen interior. His fingers itched. He wanted to read the letter folded beneath his plate. He wanted everything to make sense. He was in what appeared to be a Muggle home stuffed with eudaimons, on a desolate farm on the northern most point of Scotland. Hermione and Hogwarts seemed so endlessly far away and there was absolutely no logic to anything.

Draco finished his meal and put the plate and the glass along with the fork and knife next to the sink. He had no idea what to do with it. He tucked the piece of paper in pocket just as Melchior came through the front door. Draco stopped and stared at him. Melchior had changed his outfit. The heavily embroidered black tunic was gone. The flowing robe and the chiffon was gone. Melchior wore a plain white linen shirt which revealed a bit of chest. It was the first piece of flesh other than on the eudaimon's face which Draco ever had seen. He had put on a pair of grey trousers, and he took off a pair of ordinary looking Muggle shoes. His hair was braided by his ears, better revealing his features. He smiled wickedly at Draco's baffled expression and walked over to the youth, cupping his face and kissing him lightly on the lips.

“Do you need anything?” he asked the blond Slytherin afterwards. Draco's mouth opened and closed effortlessly for a while before he finally got himself to say: “Uh, I, uh, can I use the bathroom please?”
Draco was herded in the direction of the stairs. He suddenly eyed Melchior's feet, and exclaimed: “You're wearing socks!” Melchior burst out in laughter. So did the other eudaimons.

“Up stairs with you! First door on the left.” Melchior told him through the roaring laughter from his peers.

Draco let out a long sigh as he had turned the key on the bathroom door. He shut his eyes, combed his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. He took a piss, but instead of going down directly, he closed the lid to the loo and sat down on it. He fished out the piece of paper Peter had handed to him in the kitchen. It was a list.

A deep frown grew on Draco's forehead as he read through the following points:

Don't make a fuss. Stay unnoticed.
He won't like it if you complain.
Write lots of letters but don't give them to him.
Moderation above all.
They don't like the sound of your voice.
Do not form attachments. What is given can easily be taken away.
They won't kill you if you're with child.
Do not expect any benevolence.
Be financially independent.
Borrowing equals stealing.
Accept no favours.
Cleanliness first. They don't like filthy slaves.
Demons are not your friends.
Accept the mouth-ring.
It is always your fault. Even when you don't know what you did wrong.
You are only a hole.


Draco felt cold inside. He folded the letter quickly and hid it inside his pocket, where it lay burning against his thigh. He shut his eyes tight, and felt a know of terror form in his belly. He combed his fingers through his hair again and again, understanding that above all, Peter had meant to warn him. Beneath the cosy environment, the casual way they appeared, something evil and cold lurked. The demon in them. In Melchior. The letter was a shot directly into Peter's head. It explained his behaviour. It wasn't hostility. It was terror. Draco got up and gazed at himself into the mirror. He washed his hands and quickly arranged his hair back into order. This had been a very, very long and emotional day, and it was still far from over. He unlocked the bathroom door, and stood immediately face to face with Peter who had come out from one of the children's room. It lay in darkness and Alexander was still complaining about not wanting to go to sleep and why Draco couldn't sleep in his bed with him.

“Thanks for the warning” Draco whispered. Peter only put his index finger to his lips, urging him to be quiet.

“You look pale” Peter told him quietly. “A cup of tea?”

“Yes please” Draco replied, nodding. Coming back down into the living room, Draco realised the mood have shifted. The two humans had obviously interrupted a discussion. He tagged along after Peter into the kitchen, and Peter closed the door behind them softly. He took out a casserole, filled it with water and put in on the stove. He then turned to gaze at Draco.

“Does he rape you?” Peter wanted to know.

“Yes.”

“Has he told you, you are going to die?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to live?”

“Yes.”

“Then you stick to the list.”

The water boiled, and Peter made four cups of tea. He added a spoonful of sugar in each of the cups, while he said: “Never think of just yourself. Your world must evolve around him. If you want a cup of tea, you should always serve him first. So, go on!” Peter motioned for Draco to pick up a cup. “Go to him with it.” Draco did as he was told. He picked it up, opened the door to the living room and felt the tension in the air rise up against him like an unseen wall. Only the sound of Christopher's ceaseless hammering on the tiny keyboard of his laptop was audible. Draco swallowed hard and strode out into the living room, aiming for Melchior who was lounging in an armchair. He sat sideways because of the great wings. Draco swallowed once again. The silence was deafening and his courage was failing him.

“For – for you” he told Melchior and put it down on the small coffee table beside the chair. Gazing into Melchior's face, Draco started. Melchior looked absolutely fuming, not pleased with Draco's efforts at all. Draco jumped as Malachi got up from his chair real fast, strode briskly across the living room to the kitchen. There, he shut the door with a bang and started yelling to Peter. It happened so fast and came so right out of the blue that Melchior's face turned from hatred to surprise in less than a second. Draco held his breath. Every eudaimon sat in silence as they listened.

“ … what did you tell him? What did you tell the boy, Peter?!”

“ … I didn't tell him – !”

“ … he hasn't been in this house for more than an hour and already you have him scared out of his senses … !”

“ … he's a slave, he must know his place...”

“ … that is not for you to decide, Peter!”

“ … I was only trying to help … !”

“ … you're not helping! This is Melchior's turf. Just because you're a hopeless case doesn't mean the boy has to be one...!”

Draco remembered he had to breathe. He inhaled sharply, and discovered that Melchior was staring at him with sadness in his eyes.

“Go in there, Draco. Fetch your tea. Bring Peter with you.” Melchior put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco nodded and walked mechanically towards the kitchen door. He felt as if he was in the middle of a wasp's nest, that he was just beginning to see the tip of the iceberg that was intrigues and difficult emotions in this house.

Draco knocked on the door, and the voices inside fell silent. He opened it timidly and looked inside. Peter was standing by the fridge. He looked as if he was backed into a corner. Draco picked up a cup, handed Peter one and said: “He said I was to bring you with me to the living room.”

“Thank you” Peter said, accepting the cup, “but you can tell your master that he should ask my master first to make sure there are no conflicts of interest.” His voice was shaking with barely restrained emotion.

“You're joking?” Draco exclaimed. He glanced up at Malachi. Malachi only raised his eyebrows in reply and turned and walked out of the room. “This is ridiculous, Peter” Draco said.

“Is it? It may seem ridiculous now, but I have no intention of making him angrier than I have to. Or I will be regretting it later tonight.” Peter said.

In the living room, Malachi jumped from his chair again.

“When was the last time I laid a hand on you? Tell me!”

“Two nights ago” Peter said, shuddering.

Malachi stopped dead in his tracks. “You're lying!” he whispered. “We made love two nights ago!”

“Whatever you say” Peter replied weakly.

“No! It's not whatever I say” Malachi said, entering the doorway again. “If we didn't make love, what did we –in your opinion – then do?”

Peter fell silent. He was looking for the words, but he either didn't know them or didn't dare to speak them. He wrung his hands over and over, his gaze darting from place to place.

“It doesn't matter” he finally replied, “I'm – I'm sorry. Your tea is getting cold” Peter glanced at Malachi.

“It don't want your bloody tea, I want an answer!” Malachi bellowed. He was obviously agitated again, and Draco couldn't help but to notice how Peter was shrinking away from the eudaimon. Draco felt trapped. Malachi was blocking the doorway, and he wished himself to Melchior's arms. He felt sorry for Peter. It was as if the man had admitted defeat but Malachi didn't see it.

Draco took his tea cup over to Peter. He didn't quite know why he did it, other than what he saw was a defeated, terrorized and tired young man up against someone blinded with rage. Not knowing what else to do, Draco put a comforting hand on Peter's right shoulder before he looked up to meet Malachi's stern gaze.

Malachi went silent. Draco's grey eyes met his, and something about the determination in the young blond's face drained away his anger. The eudaimon held his breath. There wasn't a sound in the entire house. Melchior stretched his neck to better see what was going on. He had risen from his chair and was folding his hands across his chest, holding his breath. Pride beamed from his eyes, and he had a faint smile across his lips which he had trouble wiping away. Malachi dug his hands deep into his pockets, turned from the doorway and tiptoed out into the living room. He sat down in his chair, looking totally baffled.

The moment passed. People let out their breaths, and Christopher commenced to clatter away at his keyboard as if nothing had happened. Every eudaimon was more or less in shock.

Draco sat down next to Peter. “If it wasn't love-making then was it rape?”

“No” Peter said, clutching his tea cup with both hands. “It was – it was … ! I don't know what it was. But he didn't like it. I don't know what I did wrong” Peter whispered.

“Didn't you ask him?”

“Good heavens, no! You mustn't communicate with them. Just do as you're told, spread your legs and think of – of how good it is to not be in Hell.”

Port Royale
Draco was really sleepy. He followed Melchior across the courtyard to a building with a sign on it. It spelled Port Royale. Melchior opened and let Draco walk inside. It was a rebuilt stable, he was told. Now, it was a tiny cottage with chalk-white walls, a large chimney and fireplace. It was fairly low under the ceiling, and it was furnished with large dark oak-boards on the floor and tapestries. It had a modest kitchen and bathroom facilities, and everywhere he turned, Draco discovered modelling ships in different sizes. Paintings on the walls depicted sailing vessels at sea, and he read the name of the one on the wall closest to where he was currently standing.

“The Black Pearl?” Draco wrinkled his nose. It was a hideous looking ship. Black from top to bottom, with a pirate flag swaying from the top of the mast. It was on stormy seas, and in the horizon, heaven and water melted together.

“Ah yes. Long story. Tell you later. Off you go” Melchior motioned for the stairs. Draco walked up the flight of stairs. He came to a small corridor, lit up by a single candle by the wall. “The master bedroom” Melchior showed him, opening a door to Draco's left, “and a guest bedroom” he said, gesturing towards the door on the blond's right side. “Your trunk is in there” Melchior said, pointing to the smallest of the two rooms. Draco opened the door to the guest room and peered inside, finding it in total darkness. Melchior snapped his fingers and the candles standing by the bed lit up instantly. It was a small room, smaller what Draco had at Hogwarts. It had enough space for a well-sized bed, a small desk by the window overlooking the cliffs and the dark horizon and a modest and completely uncomfortable looking chair. The walls were painted cream white, and again the maritime motives were everywhere. Draco wasn't sure why he was here. And as if Melchior had picked up on that train of thought, he said:

“Do you think you'll be comfortable here?”

“I thought you wanted me in – in the other room.”

“This is your room. And I will be residing in the main bedroom. Because of my wings, I need some space” Melchior said with a smile, speaking to Draco slowly and softly. He sighed, came inside and made an effort to sit down on the bed without breaking the outer joints of his enormous wings. It looked rather inelegant, like a huge spider trying to cram into a crack it already knows it is too large for. Draco smiled faintly, holding back a giggle. Melchior smiled in reply, obviously uncomfortable. “This” Melchior continued, “is your room because I am trying to give you space. I want you to have time to think and feel while you are here. I won't come in here again without your permission.”

Next day, Draco awoke to wild banging on his door. Children's voices cried: “Djaco, Djaco wakey, wakey!” The door burst open and two children fell on top of each other. Fighting to get to their feet first, Alexander and Sebastian threw themselves onto Draco's bed and climbed up. Sebastian and his racing car were obviously inseparable, and he started to drive all over Draco's still sleepy body.

“Hey you guys! What time is it?” he asked, sitting up. This was yet another unexpected turn of events. He had fallen asleep last night dreading the night and the oncoming morning to which he now awoke. He hadn't been sleeping well. He had turned the lock on the door knowing it would do him no good. He had tried to shut his eyes. The images of many eudaimons had been swimming before his mind's eye. At some point, exhaustion had claimed him.

“Breakfast!” they shouted simultaneously, jumping and climbing all over Draco.

Melchior appeared in the doorway, and said: “Now you kids must run along. Let poor Draco get his eyes up before you damage some vital internal organ inside the poor boy. Tell your parents we'll be by shortly.” The kids ran off, but returned quickly, making excuses to be able to stay and Melchior had to tell them once again, this time with more authority in his voice. Draco heard the eudaimon shuffle back and reappear by his doorway. Melchior didn't move one toe across the door-stopper. He was naked. Well-proportioned was an understatement if one was looking for the correct phrase to describe the eudaimon. He had a sleek smile on his lips, well aware of his nudity and what it was doing to Draco. Pale skin, narrow hips and a torso which would melt away any attempt at sexual resistance. Draco had to admit to himself that yeah, the guy had done his sit-ups and then some. His biceps were the same thickness as Draco's hips. There wasn't an inch of unnecessary fat anywhere, and his milky-white skin glittered like mother-of-pearl. Draco saw the desire in the eudaimon's eyes.

“Sleep well?” Melchior asked, waking Draco from his brooding over this creature and his many-faceted personality. His dark brown hair cascaded down Melchior's back in playful wisps, looking glossy and perfect even if he'd slept. Draco nodded, extremely distracted by what he quite involuntarily had to consider as beauty.

“I have to go.”

“Go?”

“To the loo” Draco replied, mentally beating himself up for sounding like a child.

“ It's just across the hallway. You're welcome to use the shower.”

“I'm fine. I'll just –!”

“ – use a spell? Remember, Draco Malfoy, that this is in fact in the Muggle world, and you're an under-age wizard. Think about the consequences.”

“Of course” Draco replied, feeling his cheeks burn with shame. A whole new perspective opened up to him in an instant as he realised how ignorant he was about Muggle inventions and technology. He would have to start all over again, learning basic things. For Hermione and the baby.”

“Why don't I show you how the shower works. I promise I won't bite.”

“Promise you won't rape me?” Draco added quickly.

“Promise. Cross my heart and all that” Melchior said, grinning wickedly. Draco tried not to look at Melchior's erection. But not looking at it was difficult. It was like a magnet to his vision, hot pink, rock hard and glistening with pre-cum. Draco sighed and got out of bed. He walked a few steps towards the door, and in response, Melchior backed away, retreating into the bathroom. The bathroom was lavishly furnished with white and blue tiles with maritime motifs. It was well lit with a lamp in the ceiling, and a mirror stretched from wall to wall above a modest sink and a bench. On the opposite wall there was a shower with a curtain in front of it. Melchior reached into the cupboard under the sink and produced a big, blue towel. Melchior walked over to the curtain and drew it aside. He adjusted the angle of the handle and pushed it upwards. A large jet of water fanned from the shower head. Hogwarts didn't have anything as sleek and elegant as that, only two sets of handles. One for cold, one for hot.

“Just push it down when you're finished.” Melchior said, before turning to Draco. “Yes. I usually get a hard on whenever something pretty gets in front of me. There are many pretty things in this world and the next. And lately, something out of the ordinary has been giving me a constant one” Melchior said in a deep, seductive tone, drawing nearer to Draco. So Draco's stare hadn't gone unnoticed. He succeeded in making Draco blush. For a moment, only the sound of the water from the shower could be heard. Draco gazed breathlessly up into Melchior's brown eyes. Those brown orbs had a golden rim.

“But where are my manners?!” Melchior exclaimed all of the sudden, yet Draco could hear the sexual frustration between the words which the eudaimon was trying to cover up. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. A eudaimon is always true to his word. One way or another” he added, before leaving the bathroom. Leaving actually took a while as his huge wings added an extra yard. The feathers brushed across the white tiles with a sweeping sound, toppling over anything it their wake. Turning, Melchior smiled secretively and closed the door.

Alone with himself, Draco finally let out a long breath. He stepped into the shower, revelling in the pleasantly hot water. He borrowed a bit of shampoo, and worked up a lather before rinsing it. The foam followed the curves of his torso, across the nipples, down the flat belly and down his thighs. He moaned, thinking again about the situation he'd gotten himself into. He thought about the list from Peter and what it all meant. It was basically a summary of Peter's life and how he lived it. In constant fear and terror. Listening to Peter's terrified voice as he had tried to excuse his actions concerning the tea last night, had been excruciating to Draco. It was like listening to himself whenever Melchior had scolded him for being a bad boy at Hogwarts – when Draco had desperately tried to explain his actions and avoid punishment. The words were different, but the frailness and the tone in Peter's voice had been the same as his. The underlying excuse for being alive. The hopelessness. The terror. The unsaid truth about how much they hated what they had become.

Did Draco hate what he had become?

The immediate answer to this question, was no. Draco cleaned his armpits thoroughly with soap. The answer was no because the change – however degrading and painful – had opened doors he never imagined would do anything for him. He had gained what he felt would be friends for life if he let them in. He had gained a girlfriend. A future wife. An offspring. The world had developed a new and exciting tint, and Draco was facing challenges which terrified him but which for the first time in his life felt truly important. The change in his behaviour and in the view of himself had inexplicably made him a better person. If there was any possibility for it, Draco wanted to hold on to this change. He couldn't imagine going back to being his former self – a true Slytherin.

What kind of relationship did Draco want with Melchior?

It was the second most important question which popped up in Draco's mind as he had turned off the shower and now stood drying himself. Draping the large towel across his shoulders, the hem of it touched it his toes. He read the label while he stood there pondering about his question:

'IKEA of Sweden'.

It made absolutely no sense to him, and he wasn't even sure where Sweden was. Slytherin parents didn't exactly make a priority of teaching their pure-blood heirs about geography, unless the country in question harboured a castle or a fortune with their name on it. Returning to his question, Draco shut his eyes and pictured the answer in his mind.

Having dressed, Draco combed his hair in the usual style, and made his way down stairs, listening for sounds of the eudaimon. But he hadn't been upstairs when Draco tiptoed out from the bathroom. He hadn't seen him in the master bedroom as he ran across the hallway and into his small chamber, anxious the eudaimon would seize him, haul him into the master bedroom and fuck him hard.

He was not in the living room. Draco put on his jacket and went outside. He saw the lights form the main house, and trudged over to the door. He turned his head and gazed at the road which in the daylight now revealed itself. It stretched on towards a settlement which could be no more than ten minutes' walk from the Lighthouse Farm. Draco considered running. But where? And who would help him? If he used his wand, the Ministry would hunt him and he'd be kicked out of Hogwarts. Draco thought of Hermione and the baby. And how helpless Draco was in the Muggle world as he had never had any interest in studying their ways. For her sake it was high time he started.

Melchior lifted his glass to his lips and gazed at the clock again. It ticked away tirelessly, gonging once every half hour and striking several times every full hour. Ten minutes had passed since he left Draco Malfoy in the bathroom of Port Royale. It had been by sheer willpower, but he had never the less managed to keep his hands away from the boy. If he broke his promise to Malfoy, it would bring Melchior dishonour. And honour was something Melchior valued above all. If he was right about Malfoy, then the boy would turn up.

Sebastian and Alexander couldn't sit still. They ran to and from the table to the front door and back again, checking to see if their guest would come soon. Then Draco finally appeared, with wind in his hair and a fresh coat of rain on his jacket. He immediately lit up as the kids stormed towards him, and they barely let him take off his jacket before they dragged him to the living room dinner table. Because of the number of people dwelling at the Lighthouse Farm, Peter had deemed it convenient and proper to use the centuries old table which Jack Sparrow once upon a time had brought with him from the Caribbean.

Melchior rose from his seat and looked at Draco, gesturing towards the empty chair between Peter and Aiden. The eudaimon seemed cheerful and relaxed
Draco said hello to each and every one and seated himself, nodding friendly to Peter. Peter told him good morning and handed him a plate with sliced bread.

This changed everything, Draco thought to himself as he accepted a pair of slices and tucked them on his plate. He had never imagined this; Not a cosy, welcoming home with down-to-earth eudaimons wearing sneakers, faded jeans and reading glasses. And Melchior and Malachi – chatting away about a distant childhood and a third brother in Japan, last seen shagging some Japanese child molester to death. Draco put orange jam and cheese on his slices, listening to the brothers roar with laughter. He couldn't wrap his head around Melchior. Here, he seemed like a sympathetic, beautiful gay bedroom dream. At Hogwarts he came across as an unscrupulous sadistic bastard bent on making Draco's life a living hell. Why the change?

Melchior smiled and winked at Draco from across the table. Draco only glared at him and directed his attention to the kids. Not joining them and playing with his food was difficult. Aged sixteen, Draco still had a bit of a child in him. To the children's great content he gave in and made little animals from fried potatoes and tooth picks. Adrian and Aiden spent two minutes studying his handiwork before they started to invent a whole new species with their mini sausages, much to Peter's dismay. He scolded them mildly for being a bad influence. Andrea laughed so hard at this that tears rolled and Melchior and Malachi started telling tales from their childhood, eager to overcome each other's tales with the most nastiest monster they ever created from sand on the shores of the Caribbean.

Some eudaimons had left during the night. It was only Christopher, Andrea, Malachi and Melchior left in addition to the two targets and the children. Others had announced they would stop by during the week, and that they would crowd the house on Sunday evening – as it was the evening it had been announced that Jack Sparrow would attend them. Today was Maundy Thursday. If all went well, Draco would be reunited with Hermione on the following Wednesday night.

“Why don't you and Peter go into Eoropaidh today? I've a small shopping list for you” Melchior said once the children had left the table and the childishness had settled.

Draco glanced at Peter, before he replied: “You'll have to give me some Galleons, cause I have none to pay with.”

“As long as you are in Eoropaidh you can just tell them to put it on the Sparrow-account. I'll pay them later.” Melchior poured himself another cup of tea. Watching the eudaimon eat and drink like any ordinary human being proved difficult to accept. Almost surreal. “And if there's something you require, like new shoes or a jacket or whatever, just add it to the account and don't worry about it, all right?” Melchior talked in a casual tone.

Peter dropped his fork. It hit the plate with a loud noise, and Peter sighed before he breathed an “Excuse me”. He picked up his plate and cutlery and hurried out of the living room.

Draco didn't get a chance to talk to Peter before they were well on their way to Eoropaidh. The small settlement which consisted by almost two hundred and fifty houses, was not more than ten minute walk away. But with two children tagging along, it took them five more minutes.

“I saw that – uhm, you weren't too pleased with Melchior's offer. About the Sparrow account.” Draco was unsure of how to start the conversation. “It goes against your advice on staying financially independent. Do you think –!”

“ – I think that he's weaving a web around you. The more offers you accept, the more greed you display. Eudaimons don't like greedy people.”

“I see. Where are you from?”

“London. And you?”

“Wiltshire” Draco replied.

“You're a long way from home.”

“So are you.”

“Not really. My home is wherever Malachi wants it to be.”

“You like it here? Out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yes. It's better this way. I can hide at the Farm, and – and I deserve to be – you know – tucked away like this.”

“Why?” Draco wanted to know. He immediately thought about his storage room at Hogwarts, and his new found preference for spending the evenings alone there, studying until he fell asleep over his books. There, he was alone with his thoughts, and able to bury himself in self-misery, despairing over his life the way it had become, telling himself he deserved it.

“I started out as a criminal even before I was born” Peter looked at Draco. “My dad's doing life for triple murder. He was a bank robber and my mother a prostitute. She died and my aunt took me in. But she wasn't so nice and I turned down the same path as my dad. I'm – not sure but I think I might have killed someone.”

“My dad's in prison for life as well. In a place called Azkaban.”

“I think that my greatest regret in fact is that I didn't turn in time” Peter said thoughtfully. They were walking past houses now, and street lights. “I should have stopped before it was too late. I should have redeemed myself. I should have gotten myself a proper job and married her. Made a decent woman out of her.”

This caught Draco's attention. “You had a girlfriend?!”

“Caroline. I was twenty-one, she was nineteen. I had told her I would marry her and take her to London. Start a new life there. It was a lie, of course, but she believed me. She loved me. She was a nice girl, but I said all those things just to get her in the sack. Then Malachi took me, and I never got the chance to make it up to her.”

“What happened?”

“He made her believe he was my boyfriend. And he told her that I had ditched her. And she believed every word he said. When I saw her again, she was devastated. Heartbroken and angry.” Peter sighed. “Now, I can't even imagine looking at another woman.”

“So, are you like … gay, now?”

“No. Not gay. Just … different. I'm not exactly a man anymore. I'm not a woman either.”

Draco frowned and looked surprised at Peter, as they crossed the road and aimed for a shop which was part apothecary, part grocery store, part liquor store and post office. The heart of Eoropaidh. Across the street was a second hand store which caught Draco's interest. The owner was peering out from the window, staring at the blond newcomer. The owner looked like a weathered, slim-faced man whom time had not been particularly kind to. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring at Draco Malfoy as the two targets made their way across the street.

“I – I don't have what it takes to perform as a man any more” Peter told him lowly, feeling the need to explain more thoroughly. Draco widened his eyes at this, looking slightly shocked at Peter.

“It – it was a punishment. I deserved it and I am thankful for it, considering the privileges that goes with it” Peter added, looking at Draco and his puzzled expression.

“I can't imagine what they would be” Draco replied.

“Unconditional love” Peter replied solemnly, gazing at Draco.

They entered the Shop of All Things – which Draco thought it ought to have been named, and stepped inside. The door banged shut and the customers and staff alike turned their heads to stare at the newly arrived ones.

“Morning, Peter” the manager behind the counter said. Draco pulled off his hat, revealing a cropped mane of white-blond hair. Draco's hair was cropped neatly and precise, down to the very last millimetre, and it hardly ever moved form its position. It enhanced his handsome, manly features. It was shiny and neat. Peter was Draco's opposite with long brown curly hair reaching down to his shoulders, often in complete disarray or pulled sharply back into a tight knot at the back of his head. Peter used his hair to hide his always sorrowful eyes, thinking he looked hideous. As if someone once had told him he was the ugliest man on the planet, and that this was the only truth.

“Especially windy today. Reckon it will brew up to a nice little storm tonight” Robert Cheltenham said, smiling. His eyes never left Peter, and he waited patiently until Peter had looked over his shoulders to see if there was anyone else Robert had been directing the observation to.

“Oh, yes” Peter replied shyly.

“The forecast says it will pour down from about four in the afternoon” Robert continued, “and then the wind will pick up later on. I reckon we're in for a rough night.” Turning his attention to Draco, Robert lit up and said: “Are there guests at the Lighthouse Farm?” He reached out his chubby hand to the blond boy and said: “Robert Cheltenham!” before Draco could disappear amongst the shelves.

“Draco Malfoy” Draco replied with a smile, hoping to appear confident. He was concerned with the way Peter avoided people, looking down, hardly acknowledging any one else but his children. He had seen it straight away; How the shopkeeper tried to start a conversation with Peter, but to no avail. Draco wondered why he avoided the manager.

“Nice to finally meet a friend of Peter's” Robert Cheltenham said quite excitedly. “It's not often we see so young guests at the Farm. You staying here for the Easter holidays then, Mister Malfoy?” Robert fished, scrutinizing Draco from head to toe.

“Yes Sir, I am.”

“By the way” Robert said, “this is Ruthie and Ella”. He gestured towards to women who looked as if they were in their sixties. Draco's blood chilled immediately and he felt an inexplicable need to run when he looked at them. They were by all means humans, but there was something odd about them, something Draco couldn't put his finger on. “Now these ladies have been living in Eoropie since the Stone Age” Robert laughed, “if you're a man of history, these ladies can answer any question you might have about the sightings on these turfs.” The elderly ladies nodded and smiled faintly. Their eyes were covered by gigantic shades.

Draco managed to nod politely to them, adding a “thanks” to Robert before he got lost among the shelves of the voluminous shop, dragging Peter and the children with him.

There was no shaking the feeling of present danger, not to himself, but Draco immediately thought of Peter and the children – of the child in his belly. He couldn't help but to listen to a tiny voice which was screaming in the back of his mind.

Draco picked items from the shelves and put them in Peter's basket, looking over his shoulder to see if they were still there.

“From time to time demons come to Eoropaidh, looking for a way in to the Lighthouse Farm” Peter suddenly whispered. Draco was only half listening, for he was observing Alexander who was silently staring at the two women, completely oblivious to his surroundings, considering the fact that he was standing one foot away from a candy jar. The women – Ellie and Ruth – filled up their baskets, before they turned to stare at the people from the Lighthouse Farm. “They're hoping to infest me with demon spawn, killing off the eudaimon spawn already in my belly and make me kill my own children before I let them past the defences of the farm” Peter whispered into Draco's ear. Peter was pale, frightened to such a degree he was shaking. Robert disappeared out into the back, leaving them alone with the two possessed women. “The only thing stopping them right now is Alexander and Sebastian. They're dragons.”

Draco turned his head to stare at Peter. He felt dizzy. He remembered about dragons from a class with Professor Hagrid. About dragons in various shapes and sizes, and Hagrid had added that there are more than one way to hide a dragon and that there are two kinds of dragons; The usual, fire-spitting dragon which had almost eaten Harry Potter at the Triwizard tournament, and then the demon dragons – which was a rather anonymous race.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off an oncoming headache. Eudaimons and demons, sex and pregnant Gryffindors and dragons and Muggles. It was all a bit too much for a poor Slytherin.

The doorbell rang and in came the old man from the second hand shop across the street. He looked from the women and to Draco, finding him with his eyes. Striding quickly, he took forth the package he'd had under his arm, and threw it in one swing towards Draco. Draco took some steps forward, saw the package flying through the air and reached, seizing it with his left hand high in the air. He tore off the brown paper wrapping and found he was holding a large dagger in a beautifully ornate sheath. He unsheathed the dagger, felt the smooth handle against the skin of his palm. Draco looked up but the old man was gone. One of the women – Ella– sank to the floor. A large vapour of black substance – there was no other way to describe what looked like a cross between liquid and smoke – advanced towards Draco, Peter and the children. Draco heard Alexander snarl. The lights in the ceiling reflected in the polished blade as he held it ready in his hand. The body of Ruthie fell to the floor in a heap and another identical substance rose from it, advancing on its targets with great speed. Halfway over, the substances disappeared. Peter gasped, and held on to his two little children. Alexander was fighting to get free from his father's arms, but Peter held on to him in a crushing grip. Draco felt a tight knot of terror in his gut. This was bad, really bad. He imagined he could see – or rather feel – the demons advance. The one who had possessed Ella was a little bit ahead. Draco sensed it was closing in – two metres – one metre …!

Draco lashed out into thin air and struck something soft. The sensation of cutting through a body reverberated through the blade and into his hand. Whatever was in front of him howled and a dark liquid with the same consistency as motor oil spattered across the floor, drenching his clothes and the nearby shelves. Draco stared amazed at the gaping wound which seemed to hover in mid air. While he was staring, he sensed the other creature pressing on – but with a slight hesitation – and Draco didn't wait. Moving sideways to the left, he lashed again but missed. The thing withdrew and Draco advanced, raising his dagger again. Striking, the blade severed into unseen flesh and once again the dark, foul-smelling fluid poured out from an open wound. Now that Draco had both visual and non-visual contact, he struck again at the demon on the other side, who was closest to Peter. The demon howled again, and Alexander growled. It startled Draco and he turned his head to see the beginnings of a metamorphosing in the little boy's face. Draco thought he saw the outlines of a dragon, and Alexander's growl was anything but child-like. Remembering the demons, Draco struck again and again, acting on instinct. It was as if the dagger was telling him – teaching him how to move, how to advance – how to foresee how the demons were going to move. There was a pattern, and Draco struggled to piece together the moves. The dagger had so much it wanted to teach him. Draco decided to stick to the moves he did best for the time being. He had Peter and the children in mind, and now wasn't the time for experimenting. He was just glad he had a way to defend them. It felt good wounding them, to see how more and more of the demons became solid – as if they lost their ability to stay hidden the more blood they lost. The dagger kept telling Draco to lay aside his fears. It kept calling to an anger deep within Malfoy – an anger he knew was there because of Melchior. Draco steeled himself and decided it was time he finished the demons. He slashed away at one of them, gritting his teeth, thinking of Peter's children. It was more than enough motivation and he kept stabbing and stabbing until the creature sank together. Draco raised his dagger once more, but just then the creature exploded and dark matter splattered, drenching Draco and everything in its closest proximity. The force of the explosion threw him backwards, but Draco staggered to his feet, remembering there was one more. The other one was on the run, it melted through the shelf and reappeared on the other side. Robert Cheltenham caught Draco's attention as he came running towards them. He was gawking, his eyes glued to Draco and his weapon. But then Robert seemed to understand and said: “You go after it, I'll take care of Peter and the kids!”

Draco burst through the front door of the Shop of All Things and saw the demon bleeding heavily, rushing across the street. The air shifted – went icy cold – and Melchior and Malachi appeared. Melchior trained his spear and ran it through the weakened demon. It screamed like an animal before it exploded. Dark matter rained, showering both Draco and his master. Malachi had burst through the door of the shop, looking for his family.

Draco had never been so covered in filth in his entire life. He wiped his face and a good handful of the foul matter fell to the ground. Malachi and his family emerged just seconds later, breaking the immediate silence which had ensued. Melchior was looking from Draco and down to the dagger hanging limp in his hand.

“That was great!” Alexander shouted. He was jumping up and down excitedly, clapping his hands and giggling. Sebastian followed suit, enjoying the apparent game. “Draco's a demon slayer! Draco's a demon slayer!”

“I – I have to go back inside” Peter told Malachi nervously. Malahci eyed him, wondering what he meant. “Forgive me, I didn't get the groceries …!”

“You've just been attacked by demons!” Malachi told him sternly. “I don't expect you to finish your grocery shopping, not like this, Peter...! It's all right. What's most important right now, is that you and the children are all right” he said softly, kissing Peter on his forehead. The children clung to their parents, wanting to part-take in their brief closeness.

Melchior and Draco were still standing a few metres away from each other. Melchior seemed displeased. His face was a mixed mask of wonder and seriousness. Malachi was far from oblivious to the sudden tension between them, and eyed his brother questioningly while he held on to Peter. He turned and gazed at Draco.

“Thank you” he said to Draco, “thank you for saving my family.”

It prompted Draco to get his head working. He suddenly realised what was holding on to, and Melchior knew that he knew.

It was the Demon's Bane. A weapon which permanently finished off demons and eudaimons alike. Melchior was obviously expecting a reaction now that Draco finally had a weapon against him.

“He killed the demon, Daddy!” Alexander kept repeating, shaking his father's hand. “Draco killed the demon!”

Melchior eyed Draco again, and Draco likewise.

“That was astounding, Draco” Melchior told him softly. “Not bad for a beginner. But where's the items I told you to get for me?” Melchior added casually, as if he thought nothing of it. They went back inside the shop and surveyed the mess Draco had left behind. Ruthie and Ellie were looking lost, listening to Robert's story in utter disbelief. Peter was still pale, looking numb with shock and trepidation. Still, he picked up his shopping basket and continued where he'd left off before the attack. Draco was no better, awestruck and in shocked at what just had happened. He felt something inside – something which was awakening, but he wasn't sure what it was called or if he liked it. It felt cold. And evil. The image of his father Lucius kept reappearing, and Draco wandered with his shopping basket in a blur, just following Peter's example. Whenever Draco blinked, he saw his father dissolved in rage, beating that poor house-elf into a pulp. He remembered now. It had been a female elf. And she had mated without Lucius' approval. She had been with child. And Lucius had made Draco watch, telling him that these were among the duties of a master of Malfoy Manor. This was how he was expected to go about setting examples – once Draco was lord of the Manor.

Peter eyed him, dragging a zombie-like Draco with him. “Look at your shopping list, Draco! Focus! Look alive or they will think you have gone and lost it! No matter what you have to endure, you always perform the task appointed to you. As long as your feet will carry you, you get back up. And if they don't carry you, you try anyway!” Peter took hold of his shoulder, took his shopping list and held it up to Draco's nose. Draco focused on the words written on the paper Melchior had handed him.

Home again within the confines of Port Royale, Draco walked upstairs to the bathroom and sat down. He sighed wearily, letting his fingers slide across the sheathed dagger. He thought of Hermione, hoping this was it – that he would be allowed to keep the blade and keep her from harm when they all returned to Hogwarts. He sighed deeply and began to remove the stained beyond belief clothes. They were stiff and brittle from the ton of demon blood which had soaked them. Naked, he took a damp cloth and cleaned the handle, the hilt and the pommel with the little, unborn child emblazoned on it, before he wiped the blade more thoroughly, going through every nook and cranny. The Demon's Bane was about one and a half underarm long. Something between a short sword and a dagger. Its blade was slightly curved and had an oriental feel to it because of the carvings. The hilt and the handle was richly engraved with an intricate Arabian pattern. Thousands of years of history was hidden within those carvings, Draco imagined. He had a quick shower, rinsing the foul stench from his hair. Two minutes later, he emerged from behind the curtain feeling like a new man.

He ventured down into the tiny living room to find Melchior lounged by the sofa. The eudaimon had lit a fire in the fireplace. A bottle of wine was perched on the table along with two glasses. Candlelights were burning in the window stand. Melchior wasn't alone. He had been joined by his father; Captain John Sparrow. And at the other end of the sofa sat a small man who bore a strong resemblance to them both.

Silence.

Draco stood expectantly, holding the sheathed sword between his hands. Realizing he was looking at three generations of Sparrows, Draco felt dizzy. Melchior shifted in his seat. He looked displeased and uncomfortable. He dignified Draco with a short glance before he looked down at his feet. With increasing horror, Draco turned his head to stare at John Sparrow. The tall half-demon stood, and Draco took a step back, preparing for whatever would ensue. John folded his arms over his chest.

John opened his mouth to say something, but was cut short.

“Sit down and shut up, laddie!” the senior Sparrow commanded sternly.

John sat down obediently and Draco's respect for the human sitting at the other end of the sofa immediately entered new heights.

“It doesn't take a genius to see ye've found yerself a wee bit of a challenge 'ere, Melchior!” the man grinned at Draco, flashing several gold teeth. “What were ye thinking, lad, taking on a Demon Hunter for a target?!” the old man roared, laughing so hard he shook.

“He's not a Demon hunter yet. He's a diamond in the rough” Melchior replied sourly and got up from his seat. He walked over to the closest window and peered out into the rain.

“He's got 'Child Bearer' written all over him” John added thoughtfully, flashing a wicked grin at the Slytherin. He looked as if he was ready to jump out of his seat and get his way with Draco any minute.

“Now, you've got what you wanted. You have seen him. You have seen the Demon's Bane. Please leave us alone” Melchior said with a certain harshness to his voice, as if the present company except Draco was unwanted.

“Lunch?” John asked, getting up from his seat.

“We'll be joining you for dinner” Melchior replied sounding decisive but kind.

“I'd love to stay and – chat!” John grinned and chuckled low.

“You're not welcome, father. Piss off!” Melchior's friendliness was suddenly gone, and Draco shuddered.

The stern reply wiped the smile of John's face. “You do realise that this decision – if he should be allowed to hang on to the Demon's Bane – is a matter which concerns all of the Sparrows. Not just you?”

“Sit down and shut up, John!” the man with the golden teeth told his son sternly once again. John closed his mouth and sat down. His golden eyes had gone slightly molten. Draco remained where he stood, nailed to the floor. “Again with the need to meddle in other people's business, my son. Yer flaw number one, savvy? Want to be doin' the same mistake as ye did with Malachi and his Peter?”

John only glared at his father. “It is the Demon's Bane, we're talking about here. If Draco Malfoy doesn't know his place, if he tweaks one hair on my boy's head – !”

“ – Things will be done differently, this time” the old Sparrow continued. “We need Draco's fresh blood into The Clan. It is time someone countered all of this madness! Child Bearers! Prince Consorts, slaves and servants!” the old Sparrow told them contemptuously. “No, I say to ye, the future is for dragons and dragonserpents. The last thing the Sparrows need is another shrivelled up, brainwashed and gutless Child Bearer. Give the lads some air. Let them get tha' know each other without a bunch of eudaimons breathin' down their necks, savvy?”

“Father, the Demon's Bane changes everything” John replied.

“Not necessarily. Now, I'm starvin'. I expect tha' be seein' both ye lads at supper, savvy?”

The captain with the gold teeth got up from his seat. He looked as if he was in his early forties, with a two day old beard, moustache, purple shades, white linen shirt casually rolled up to his elbows. His faded jeans were decorated with strings of beads, trinkets, diamonds and indecipherable stuff – was that a shrunken head? – gold coins. He had a black vest over his shirt and his hair was slightly bleached at the ends. He wore a hat on top of his head, and he came across as a very alternative, bohemian looking man.

He took a step forward and reached out his hand to Draco.

“Jack Sparrow, by the way.”

Draco took his hand and remembered to close his own jaw, not wanting to look like a total idiot in front of this legend.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Draco. Welcome to the Sparrow Clan. Don't be killin' me grandson now, savvy? He's a first class pompous idiot but he's mine all the same.”

Draco couldn't help but to smile. There was something about this man that made Draco's knees go weak. Something about being so ordinary looking yet to be commanding with such authority that even the most intimidating and greatest of the Sparrows obeyed his every word. Draco liked him already.


Outside, the wind howled and the rain poured. Typical spring weather. Father and son crossed the courtyard towards the main house to join Malachi and his family. Alone with Melchior, Draco sat down with the dagger on his lap. He sighed and rubbed his face in his palms. This was proving to be one heck of a vacation. He wished the day could be over already. Melchior sat down on the opposite side of the living room table. He seemed more relaxed now that they were alone.

“Now you have seen my superiors. And now you know what I'm up against. My father thinks you're a wild card. But Jack – of all people – has sided with me! Do you have any idea how – how revolutionary that is? And he came early just to see you, to get a first hand look at you before the rest of the Sparrow bunch decide to run down the door.” He stared at Draco for a long time. “You look more beautiful than ever. Are you hungry?”

“We're not joining the others?”

“Like I told my father: I have to have you by myself. I don't want them to fill up your head with lies. I want you to hear it all from me first.”

Draco watched the winged eudaimon disappear into the tiny kitchen. “First off” Melchior said and turned in the doorway, “I solemnly swear that I will never take the Demon's Bane from you, unless of course you kill an innocent soul with it. Then and only then, is the dagger mine for the taking. Secondly, you being the master of the Demon's Bane does not make you my enemy. I take it you're hungry then?.”

Draco watched in silence with his arms crossed over his chest. The eudaimon set out a serving tray with food they had purchased from the shop. And Draco realised that Melchior had planned this meal from the start. He watched Melchior pour red wine into their glasses. The rain outside continued to pour and the clouds had thickened more. It was slightly dark outside though it was early afternoon. Target and eudaimon ate in silence for a long time, before Melchior finally cleared his throat.

“You saw what happened last night. With Peter and Malachi. You saw how their relationship work, or rather – how it doesn't work. And I have been watching their relationship from more or less the start. He has come a long way since then. Mostly because of the children. But his mind has been raped beyond repair. All though Malachi stopped terrorizing Peter after the first year, the terror still goes on in Peter's mind. In his insanity he has a hard time telling dream from reality. He often dreams of the past, of Malachi hurting him, punishing him, and when Peter wakes up, he thinks it has really happened.”

“I don't want to end up like Peter.”

“I was hoping you'd say that. As you probably understood from the discussion you just witnessed with my father and grandfather, that's just the thing Jack and I are hoping to avoid. John is – uhm, concerned with where your loyalties lie. He'll get over it.”

Melchior paused, before he said: “What do you want?”

“I want … a life. I want to spend my years with Hermione. I want to stay sane. And to have many children” Draco added, feeling his insides empty of many things he'd been pondering the last days.

“I want you as my servant.”

“Hermione and the children must come first” Draco replied breathlessly, realising he was in the middle of the most important negotiation of his life. “I couldn't bear it if – if she were to leave me because of you.”

“Some times you will be given a name. And I expect you to find the person and kill him. Other times you will accompany me to Hell, and be my – let's call it secretary. You will participate in battles. You will be a messenger boy and run my errands. You will hunt demons on my command and you will” Melchior hesitated, “you will learn to enjoy what my manhood has to offer you.”

“I cannot …! Please, no more rapes...!”

“I'm not talking about rape. I'm talking about pleasure, Draco Malfoy. Pleasure from the deepest, darkest corners of your imagination. And all of this – Draco – will happen when your precious wife is not around. That, I promise. I shall not be the one to give her an excuse for divorce.”

Draco sighed.

“I'm not asking you to sell your soul, Draco. I'm not Satan. He just left together with Jack Sparrow. You have seen the doors which have been opened to you, the friendships possible for you, the outline of the life together with Miss Granger. But YOU have to walk through them. You must find the courage to do so. And I know you really want to.”

Silence.

“I have to say” Melchior continued, “that I will not apologize for the things I've put you through. I am not sorry for the countless times I've raped you and humiliated you. It was necessary. I needed for you to have a change of heart so you would see the doors.”

“I need time” Draco replied. He was still thinking about the comment about Melchior's manhood and what that involved. “ And you have to be … patient. Respectful. Truthful. Loyal. Careful. Caring and you must listen when I have something to say” Draco said. “I must know that my opinion matter. And when you say I have to kill people …?”

“ – Bad people. Run away souls from Hell. The condemned. The wicked. The ones who have entered agreements with demons in exchange for a second chance at wreaking havoc unto Mankind. It's a nasty job. But first and foremost you'll be taught how to spot a demon possessing a human and how to get rid of it.”

“I – I don't know. It sounds a bit …!”

“Don't answer me now. Think about it.”

“How long can you postpone my end? The insanity? My death?”

“Centuries. Thousands of years.”

Melchior paused.

“Stop fearing me, Draco.” He suddenly urged, looking at the blond intently. “Reclaim your courage. Be my equal!”

For the longest time, Draco stared into the eudaimon's brown orbs. The eudaimon's face was shining, calm and clean. And Draco – realised that this was what Melchior truly wanted from him: Not to be a slave. Not a – a plaything – but a wall to bash his head against – a partner in crime – a lustful lover – a courageous, confident and clever accomplice. A human familiar trained as an assassin. Everything that Peter Drinkwater was not and never could be.

“I want the opportunity to kick your ass without fearing retaliation.”

“Agreed. I think.”

“And I want to stay financially independent.”

“Whatever.”

“My family and myself must be untouchable to Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

“Consider it done.”

“I – I must …!”

“ – be allowed to have a life? To be more than just a killing machine? Having a life will be your first priority.”

“Hermione must be allowed to grow old and die a natural death” Draco sighed. “You must not interfere.”

“Of course not.”

“You must teach me how to fight.”

“You'll be the best.”

“I can return to Hogwarts when the vacation is over? Can – can I call her while I'm here? Send her an owl or – or –?!”

“ – Yes, Draco.”

Draco sighed again. He was feeling slightly distressed and quite overwhelmed, knowing he was agreeing to a whole lot of unpleasant sounding stuff. Melchior poured him some more wine and moved closer. He leaned forward, steadied Draco's head with a gentle hand behind his neck before he kissed the blond. Draco felt himself melt into the kiss. A familiar tingle worked its way into his stomach, and Melchior cupped the blond's face with his other hand, stroking Draco's cheek gently with his thumb. Draco shuddered. The scene was crystal clear, The candles moving slightly in the window, the pouring rain outside tapping on the window. The smell of wine mixed with food and the living room shrouded in half dark. The ticking of the clock. Melchior's glowing skin. His brown orbs. The gentle kiss. The sensation of time coming to a halt. A moment frozen for the rest of eternity.

It was the moment in time – in history – in which Draco Malfoy replaced his fears for his eudaimon master with something else. It was the moment – which Melchior had foreseen and in which he had put much effort in order to make events swing the right way. Draco Malfoy would be his no matter the prize. He had seen it in the Rives of Fates. It was the moment – the defining hour – in which Melchior put to rest a piece of inhumanity which would make him incapable of ever raping Draco again. It meant becoming human. And slowly and surely it would – in time – destroy the demon in him.

Draco drank in every kiss the eudaimon had to offer. He was showered with them, and he enjoyed the sensation of the long ones – the kisses which made the tingle grow, made his lips swell. The sensation in his belly exploded when the tip of his tongue touched Melchior's. Beginning a slow, sensual dance, Draco was allowed the luxury of feeling if he really liked it. It was easier to give in, to let himself be swept away in passion when Melchior showed this side of himself. He leaned in for another kiss, placing his hands on Melchior's chest. The wings behind his back elevated and brushed the ceiling with a sweeping noise. Draco moved, climbing onto Melchior's lap.

“I haven't prepared … for this” he whispered, breaking off the kiss to gaze with half-closed eyes into Melchior's brown orbs. His lips ghosted the lips of the eudaimons, and he watched amused as Melchior trembled beneath his ministrations. “Be gentle …!” Draco moaned. Melchior continued to taste the blond's swollen lips, slowly undressing Draco. He tossed his sweater and t-shirt aside, tasting the soft skin of a boy not yet a man. Draco moaned and arched his head backwards, exposing his Adam's apple. Melchior kissed his neck, drinking in the smell of Draco Malfoy. He bent down and tasted Draco's left nipple. A burst of electrical currents shot through the Slytherin's torso and zig-zagged down into his groin. Draco attacked Melchior's lips, kissing them more feverishly than before. He fingers trailed down to the hem of Melchior's shirt, pushing the hem upwards. He fumbled with the buttons, and Melchior had to smile, allowing Draco time to wrestle the buttons through the buttonholes. Finally revealing the chest Draco had caught a full look at earlier, he paused to marvel at the perfect skin. He bent down and put his ear to the eudaimon's chest.

There was a heart beating in there. A real heart. Draco buried his nose in Melchior's chest, smelling his way up to the eudaimon's neck. He closed his eyes and kissed Melchior, putting his hand on his chest, jutting his hips forward. Draco closed the space between them, crushing his lips against Melchior's once more. Melchior draped his arms around Draco's waist and sighed contentedly. He was being rewarded for his patience and his efforts. Draco was warm, willing to his touch and curious about Melchior's body. He started to tug at Draco's dark trousers, undoing the top button. He kissed Draco again and again, and gazed into the blond's grey-blue eyes, silently asking for permission to undo the remaining buttons. Draco didn't stop his prying fingers, and he paused to let Melchior peel off button after button. The blond got up, and Melchior helped him off with the trousers, pulling down his underwear in the same process.

The wind kept howling and the rain poured, drumming ceaselessly against the small windows of Port Royale. The fire burning in the fireplace gave the room a golden glow, bathing their half naked bodies in a molten light. Outside, it was dark and grey, cold and inhospitable. But Draco Malfoy had no eyes for this sad weather. Still standing – with one leg on each side of Melchior's hips, he swayed, feeling dizzy. Melchior was licking his testicles, running his tongue up and down Draco's fully erect length, caressing the sensible skin and gently biting the insides of Draco's thighs. Draco had to steady himself and put his hands on Melchior's head. An intense burning sensation was filling him up, and Melchior's ministrations were mind-blowing. The eduaimon played around his puckered entrance with two fingers, probing and tickling the sensitive spot. Draco buried his fingers in the long silky tendrils of hair and moaned. Melchior inserted another a third finger, and started rubbing in and out, massaging Draco's hole. He continued to lick Draco's length, and he felt his target shudder. More blood rushed to the erect member making it rock hard. The testicles turned into a tight knot and Draco was moving his hips involuntarily. He was moaning and meowing loudly, lost in the sexual rapture. Melchior commenced to lick the chrome of Draco's throbbing manhood. He kept thrusting his fingers in and out of Draco's entrance, and the boy was begging incoherently.

“I'm – I'm – !” Draco tried to warn his eudaimon. Melhcior replied by taking all of Draco in his mouth, digging deep into his hole with his fingers. Draco braced himself, taking hold by Melchior's shoulders. “I'm – I have to – I'm – oh – oh my …!” the Slytherin meowed, moaning softly. The sensation was indescribable and could in no way be compared with how it was to come inside a woman. The fingers in his rectum was working as a catalyst, projecting him onwards, giving his ejaculation an extra edge. Afterwards, Draco felt in no way spent, and he squatted, resting his torso against the naked skin of Melchior's while he caught his breath. Draco let himself be guided onto Melchior's waiting manhood. Bracing himself for the pain, he was relieved to find there was none. Only the sensation of being filled – and it felt nothing but good. It made him want another orgasm. Melchior guided Dracp's hips, whispered to him about how he should move and angle his abdomen. Melchior took care to kiss him, enticing the boy and rekindle the flames of passion. It took Draco longer, this time. He felt no terror – only curiousity, being face to face and so close to this ethereal being. Without clothes – without the black robes and the billowing cloth, Melchior was soft to the touch and beautiful to behold. His dark wings rested against the ceiling, brushing against the timber in the roof. Bringing them forward, Melchior shrouded them both, cocooning them – making Draco feel as if only they existed in the entire world. The heavy wings created automatically warmth inside the sheltered sphere. Combined with the passion and the heat from the fireplace, Draco was sweating heavily. The moist added a glistening sheen to his pale body. His blond cropped hair stuck to his forehead and beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. The slickness only added to his sexual euphoria and he revelled in the sensation of being in control – bearing up and down on the demonic pulsating shaft. He attacked Melchior's lips again – this time more ferociously than before, allowing Melchior's tongue full admittance, playing cat and mouse with it. It was a battle of wills. Draco had cast all modesty aside – trusting Melchior and forgetting the future.

The orgasm embraced him again, differently this time – with slighter force but longer and less intense. Draco had a chance to enjoy it, instead of it drowning all of his senses, rushing him off to some deep dark place. The muscles in his rectum squeezed, prompting Melchior to come as well. Together they rode the crest of passion, moaning and meowing together, their voices mingling. When it was done, Melchior withdrew his wings, undoing the cocoon-like shape, revealing that he too, was soaked in sweat. The world around them came into existence, and Draco tried to catch his breath. Melchior still kissed him, but with less and less ferocity. It was time to calm down. Draco had had enough, though Melchior could have been at it all night. He would respect the boy, he told himself. If he just stayed patient, the boy would reward him with many more passionate embraces like this one.

Disentangling themselves, Melchior arranged a tartan plaid and they lay down next to each other. Draco was curious wabout his wings, finally daring to touch the strong bone structure and the composition of feathers. Melchior brought his left wing down onto Draco's body, and the Slytherin immediately laughed as hundreds of feathers tickled his naked, heated skin. It was an exhilarating sensation, an aphrodisiac Draco saw himself utilizing during the sexual intercourses to come. He studied the structure of the feathers, trailed his fingers along their direction of growth, finding them to be impeccable, clean and silky soft.

Melchior had never allowed anyone except his parents so close to his wings. He could understand Draco's curiosity, and he allowed it because he knew it would help forge the bond between them. It was something he had foreseen a while ago. If Draco was to survive and walk down the path of a Demon Hunter, it was vital that Melchior gave himself to the boy. All of him. He could never tell Draco how much the sight of that blond boy standing there, soaked to the skin with demon blood, holding the Demon's Bane in his fist – actually had frightened Melchior. No body had wielded the Demon's Bane for more than two thousand years, and the last one to do it had been Jesus Christ. Now Jesus Christ was one of a kind. No one had even bothered to look twice. But this – this was an ordinary boy of a pure line of wizards. Nothing more. No one had prophesized something like this! Melchior knew that ,many other eudaimons were over in the main house, in wonder and shock at the moment, discussing Draco's fate as he had just moved to the top of the list of known enemies to the Sparrow Clan.

But Melchior would have none of that.

He would not be frightened. He would not be paranoid and turn this into a disaster. He would not make Draco his enemy. For Draco – had enthralled him. Draco was destined for greatness. He could see the door opening for Draco, and he could see the path he had to be nudged along. It was all there! And it would all come true if Melchior only could get over himself and his pride. But it meant conforming to Draco and his needs. It would be a journey, and it was just beginning.