Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Draco lay on the tartan quilt and gazed up into the ceiling. He was feeling sleepy. A slight chill rose from beneath the floorboards, but he felt warmed by the heat from the burning wood in the fireplace and the blanket beneath him. His field of vision was filled with the figure of his master – the eudaimon Melchior. Hovering above him, Melchior lingered for a moment before he bent down and planted a kiss on Draco's lips. Melchior tasted of wine, of grapes and cheese. And he still tasted of Draco's sperm.

“Please” Draco purred half breathlessly, “you've drained me completely. I have nothing more to give you...!”

“One more kiss …!”

“Kisses, yes! I'll grant you all the kisses you desire on your lips! Just – !”

“ – turn about. I want to taste your ass again.”

Desire coloured every syllable of Melchior's words. Desire and playfulness. He was like a child on Christmas Eve, overjoyed to have a toy which willingly submitted to his whims. Pride shone from his brown orbs – pride because he had managed to change Draco's mind, to haul away the hopelessness in the boy's heart and to refill it with courage.

Courage to love a half demon. Courage to believe in himself.

A shudder went through Draco's body as Melchior leaned in and planted one kiss on each of his perfectly rounded cheeks. Pale as pristine snow – soft as the wool of a lamb. Melchior caressed the boy's crack with his nose, smelling the skin, memorizing the scent over again. He parted Draco's cheeks with timid digits, and shot out his tongue. It swivelled around the swollen opening before it entered.

Draco moaned loudly, his body shaking at the sudden sensation. Melchior moved his tongue in and out of the swollen opening, caressing the swollen flesh, licking it gently. He took his time knowing that the dreaded dinner party was closing in – and he would have to show off Draco once more to his peers, and somehow justify his choice, allowing Draco to keep the Demon's Bane. He had no idea how to pull it off in front of so many superior eudaimons. Hopefully, a solution would present itself every minute.

Melchior let his tongue swirl three times more across the entrance, teasing it, pushing gently into, breathing and licking some more until finally – finally, Draco was a trembling knot of lust. Melchior kneaded the muscles at the small of Draco's back. He stroked across Draco's cheeks, bending down again to smell the skin, to kiss the stretch of skin where the underside of Draco's thighs joined his cheeks. Bending down further, Melchior parted Draco's cheeks once more and stretched his neck. He felt Draco moan and shudder, arching his back and spreading his thighs more, sensing that Melchior wanted access. The tip of Melchior's tongue caressed Draco's testicles, and the blond boy shivered and gasped.

“Shall we stop now?” Melchior asked velvety, grinning widely. He was extremely pleased with himself and had learned much from the hours well spent with Draco since their return from the Store of All Things where they'd encountered the demons. What they said was true: A fearsome slave makes a hole. A happy slave makes a lover.

“I – no – no – !”

“But dinner's only ten minutes away – !” Melchior purred, nibbling Draco's left cheek playfully. “Surely you're hungry …!”

There was a rap on the door. Not bothering to wait for a reply, the ones outside opened and ventured in. Draco gasped and froze. In strode a number of people he'd never seen before. He turned his head in wonder to gaze at Melchior, but the eudaimon seemed just as perplexed as he was.

“Hello, dear nephew” one of them greeted Melchior. Like Melchior, he had wings, but his hair was a lighter shade than Melchior's and he seemed some ten years his senior.

“Fionn” Melchior greeted him, sounding slightly annoyed. Draco shifted nervously, turning about and swinging his arms around Melchior's waist – clinging to his master. Panic was rising swiftly in his chest, still his pulse raced and the blood beat loudly in his ears. He feared the worst. He was naked. The small room was teeming with the scent of sex, and they looked at him as if they had unfinished business. Quenching the lust was however not done in a heartbeat. Sweat poured down his back, glistening on his pale skin. He watched Fionn, his great black wings heave into the air, brushing gently before settling behind his back again. Fionn drew in air through his nose, closed his mouth and looked as if he was tasting wine. Melchior put one protective arm around Draco's waist while he eyed his cousins with a nonchalant air.

“Excuse us” Fionn sneered, “for barging in like this. We were concerned about your – uh – safety, dear nephew. We expected you to join us hours ago. We thought – well, we thought that perhaps the human had somehow managed to injure you. Obviously, judging from the aroma, we were mistaken.”

“And obviously, you are interrupting something!” Melchior snapped back. He startled Draco with the sudden change in temper, just as it was relieving to hear that Melchior wasn't about to give up Draco without a fight.

“Now, now. If nothing, then at least we can justify our intrusion by conveying the very important message about dinner taking place in five minutes.” Fionn said, flailing his arms I an apologetic gesture. “We're all so anxious to have a better look at your – uh – slave? Servant? Toy? What do we know, no one tells us anything.”

“Would it be poss – !” another one of the eudamions began. His name was Angwyn, and spoke with a Welsh accent.

“ – no! You cannot smell him. I will not share. Good bye. See you all in five. There's the door.” Melchior snapped, gesturing towards the front door with one sharp movement. His face was a mask of dislike and annoyance. And he succeeded in making the other eudaimons feel embarrassed for their lack of judgement. Understanding this, Draco bowed his head meekly and looked down at his toes, silently conveying as much submission as possible. Having grown up in such society where rank and blood had played much importance, it took Draco only a few seconds to see the power game between the eudaimons. Melchior was asserting his position, winning respect and loyalty by showing the others he could master Draco. And in turn, Draco would benefit from it if he helped further Melchior's position, showing them that Melchior knew what he was doing – that Draco was submissive and could be trusted. Melchior drew his arm around Draco's waist closer, crushing skin against skin. Draco faked a slight shock, gasping faintly with half-lidded lustful eyes and lush, kissable lips, seemingly swooning in the strong embrace of his eudaimon master. His grey eyes fluttered, shyly gazing upon the instantly distracted eudaimons before he cast his gaze to the floor playing the modest, recently-deprived-of-his-virginity servant.

It worked.

The eyes of Melchior's peers widened – and widened – until they resembled miniature bowling balls.

“The door.” Melchior urged them.

“Right. The door.” Fionn answered absent-mindedly. They resembled a pack of headless chickens as they made their way to the door, their heads swivelling to and from where the naked Draco now moved in order to retrieve his clothes. Melchior herded them out until he was finally able to shove the last one out and close the front door.

They dressed in silence. But Melchior was close by him all the time, halting him to pet a kiss on his shoulders and kisses on his lips. It was as if Draco's healing confidence, courage and willingness was boosting Melchior's sexual desires for the boy. Keeping his hands off Draco's naked flesh, where ever it was to be found and seen, was increasingly difficult. A willing Draco was a lot more arousing than a fearful Draco.

“Please, Melchior” Draco begged him quietly, removing Melchior's hand from his waist for the umpteenth time, “at least let me button up my pants.”

Melchior obeyed grudgingly, willing his hands away from the boy. He turned, sat down and put on his knee-high boots, muttering something incomprehensible about why wearing clothes at all and how things were better back in the stone age when people had no sense of modesty. Draco suppressed a smile and tucked his feet into his black suede shoes. He picked up the Demon's Bane which was hiding beneath two sofa pillows and turned towards Melchior, signalling that he was ready.

“How's my hair?” Draco asked with a nervous grin on his face.

“Blond. Very blond.” Melchior stood to face him, drawing so close he felt the cold metal of the sheath of the dagger against his chest. “I must confess that I cannot see what's coming next.”

“That's okay. I have a plan.”

“A plan?! What plan?”

Draco danced over to the window, and in his reflection he could see a couple of strands of hairs out of place. He moved them back into place swiftly before venturing back to Melchior.

“I'm glad to see that you've begun to care for your appearance again, Draco. It wouldn't hurt though, if you put on a few pounds and gained some muscle. But please tell me, what's the plan?”

“You eudaimons aren't the sharpest knives in the drawers, are you?” Draco said, sounding apologetically. He kept his gaze locked with Melchior's puzzled, brown orbs, smiled gleefully and trotted off towards the door. Melchior remained for a moment while he scratched his head in wonder. Then he remembered who he was and said: “I'll – I'll let that one pass. Simply because I'm extremely intrigued about what you're up to. It better be good.”

“Just sit back and let me work my magic” Draco Malfoy flashed another grin, hoping he sounded confident.

The Main House
Inside the living room of the main house, the eudaimons had gathered around the dinner table. Peter stayed in the kitchen with the children, happy to be excused from the crowded living room under the pretence that someone needed to keep an eye on the children while they ate. Draco said hello to them after entering, chatting away with Alexander and Sebastian, exchanging meaningful glances with Peter.

“You're taboo in there!” Peter whispered nervously. “Jack Sparrow has forbidden them to talk of you!”

Both Peter and Draco eyed Melchior. The eudaimon was tying his hair back, while he replied: “I trust you to handle this to the best of your ability, Malfoy.”

“Be careful. Be submissive. Be – be –...” Peter whispered to Draco.

“ – be courageous. But not to the point of stupidity.” Melchior cut him off with a half contemptuous stare.

Draco tightened his grip on the Demon's Bane. As he walked past them, Alexander hopped down from his seat, took Draco's vacant hand and clung to his side. They walked to the doorway of the living room, knowing they already had everyone's eyes on them.

Feeling his heart throb wildly with barely restrained panic, Draco held his breath and walked inside. He tried to let go off Alexander. But the boy clung to his hand no matter how much Draco tried to shake him off. Draco resorted to drag the boy with him over to the fireplace. He held out the sheathed dagger for everyone to see. Then Draco put it to rest on the mantelpiece. Luckily, Alexander clutched Draco's left hand. It left his right hand free, and he ventured over to each and every eudaimon, locking gazes with them and offering them his earnest hand.

He let them raise his hand to their noses and smell him. The strategy was simple and effective, and Melchior smiled in amazement and wonder at the magic Draco in deed worked on his peers. It was a plan of action Melchior hadn't even begun to consider. He leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, folded his arms above his chest in a casual manner and tried to seem cool and unaffected. Draco was shaking hands with some of the cruellest and bloodthirstiest eudaimons in the world – and they all glanced at Melchior afterwards with approving nods. These were eudaimons which made Melchior appear as a schoolboy. These eudaimons were killing off prostitutes in the dark streets of London, torturing child molesters into insanity in St. Petersburg and making people commit collective suicide in far off small villages in Germany – while Melchior was still in his diaper. These were eudaimons which his own father John once had warned him about. But Melchior wasn't about to tell Draco that.

Having shaken hands with the last of the strangers – Kostya, who was a black-haired, mean looking, skull-white skinned eudaimon from Russia – Draco turned to Jack Sparrow and nodded politely. Jack was beaming, grinning about as widely as Melchior – accidentally showing off all of his golden teeth and obviously holding back a wicked laugh. His eyes did however speak volumes of how impressed he was. Melchior had inherited Jack's eyes. They held the same naughty playful glint of auburn colour. Jack gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and took his hand once more.

He gestured for Draco to be seated at the table. But Draco replied:

“No thanks. I'd rather sit with Peter, if you don't mind.”

The chatter amongst the eudaimons silenced. It was not the reply they had been waiting for. No one turned down Jack Sparrow himself. Draco shuddered, feeling the sudden rise in tension as he'd declared his choice of table. He turned, walked to the kitchen with Alexander waving gleefully good-bye at the eudaimons, and held his breath. He wondered if he'd said something wrong. He cast a questioningly glance up at Melchior. Melchior smiled reassuringly and nodded in approval. Draco hadn't seen the slightly puzzled expression on their faces, nor the approving glances the eudaimons had shot one another. Melchior's slave expressed a rare combination of confidence and humbleness. Once again, Melchior felt his esteem amongst the eudaimons rise one notch.

In the kitchen, Draco was finally able to pry loose Alexander's fingers from his hand once the boy realised that Draco was joining them. Sebastian and Alexander hopped on their seats, overjoyed to have their new idol join them at the table. Peter scolded them for being loud, and he eyed Draco silently with a 'I-can't-believe-you-just-did-that!'. They ate in silence, talking with the boys, giggling and generally ignoring everything else.

Gazing at the eudaimon dinner table, Draco saw Melchior looking in his direction with longing gazes. Draco stifled a gleeful snicker, realising that Melchior was miserable, wishing himself away from the attention of his peers. The children were soon out of patience, and they ran out into the living room to their toys. Alexander was constantly back at Draco's side, showing off his toys, tugging at Draco to have the elder boy play with him. Draco refused him mildly, telling him he hadn't finished his dinner yet.

Peter waited impatiently for the eudaimons to leave the table. He told Draco it was their duties as slaves to the eudaimons to clear away the plates and do the dishes. He didn't tell Draco he wanted to finish quickly so he could flee upstairs and hide in his room. His body was on the alert, ready for a fight, and the adrenaline pumped in his veins. He anticipated a rape. Like Melchior – he knew all too well what sort of eudaimons the dinner party consisted of. Malachi hadn't even considered dining in their presence. Not only was he a second generation half breed, he had been deprived of his demonic powers as punishment for torturing Peter. The shame of losing his powers made him lower his gaze and avoid the company. He kept to the kitchen with Peter and the children, knowing Peter needed all the support he could get.

Melchior didn't join them for dinner either. Like Malachi, his breeding made him inferior. He was – in lack of a better term – not eudaimon enough in their eyes, because he didn't come from the loins of Jack Sparrow directly. He turned to the kitchen and kept his attention on the mixed crowd of humans and eudaimon children, watching them eat and tell stories. The two brothers exchanged worried glances, knowing they had very little to fight back with, should their superiors turn nasty. For some of the eudaimons were, for the first time in their immortal lives in the presence of other Child Bearers than Jack himself. And a Child Bearer equals a chance of new life. Melchior still remembered the half muttered comment from some eudaimon some years ago: A good Child Bearer is a pregnant Child Bearer. The rest can go to Hell.

What Draco had undergone by Melchior's hand from the start of September and up until Easter, was just the tip of the iceberg compared to what Malachi had put Peter through during a whole year. The physical abuse – the rapes and torture – combined with living under constant threats of retaliation if he failed to obey had been the first and foremost reasons why Peter was who he was today. He had suffered under complete surveillance – and every action, every movement had been under scrutiny. Malachi had let nothing slip. Every error – anything that might annoy him – had been an excuse for a rape. Just wiping the table the wrong way had been enough.

Privacy was nowhere to be found even when Peter was left to himself on his makeshift bed in the cold dark cellar of the farm house in Midsomer Mallows, his previous home. The sperm of eudaimons is a powerful poison which goes to one's head, and before long, Peter had begun to see things and people which weren't there. The walls of the house whispered. Peter had begun to see faces melt into existence on the surfaces, and they whispered to him about his failures – about how he was undeserving of anything good in this life. Hiding beneath his rotten, flea-infested blanket had prevented him from seeing the phantoms, still he couldn't shut out their voices, simply because they had been in his head. Escape had been impossible. And Malachi had refused to let him kill himself.

It wasn't until Malachi had realised that Peter had conceived, that things started to change. But then, there was no saving Peter. His mind was too brainwashed. All though his senses had returned to him over the years at the Lighthouse Farm, Peter was – as Malachi had phrased it with considerable regret in his voice – a lost cause.

Malachi never handed him out to anyone. Never. But to Peter, just knowing they were stronger eudaimons, guided by their senses and desires more than anything, Peter couldn't help but to balance on the edge of panic, wondering if Malachi would turn on him and offer him to the others if they asked. Peter saw nothing but the evil in their eyes. He saw only their demon traits and in his state of terror, he ignored the efforts they made to be civil and offer him their services. Even Kostya stepped aside when Peter hasted across the floor with the empty plates after their meal – his head bowed low, his eyes darting nervously about. Peter's jutting belly all which was needed to make the feared and loathed half-demons turn into butter. He was an active Child Bearer. The most holiest of creatures.

It was with great sorrow and anger that some of the eudaimons present had accepted the message from the cradle of the Sparrow eudaimons some years ago: Jack Sparrow stepped down as the main Child Bearer. After giving birth one hundred and eighty nine times, often to twins several times in a row, Jack Sparrow had finally had it. And John, the head of the clan, had agreed and told everybody that the time had come. Jack Sparrow was to give birth no more. He was to be free from his duties and sail the seven seas as he pleased until he grew tired with life and wanted eternal rest. That was the deal. Most eudaimons accepted his choice. But his choice also left fear and grief about the future. To be masters of Hell, they needed greater numbers. And who could possibly fill the position which Jack had held? Was there another Jack Sparrow out there? Peter was not even a possibility. He was – as they often phrased it – a Turner. And their pact with the Turners, set down by Jack Sparrow and Will Turner back in the early nineteenth century, made Peter automatically inaccessible.

It wasn't talked about, but all the eudaimons present thought the same thing when they'd shaken hands with Draco Malfoy earlier. Here was a Child Bearer in the making which resembled Jack Sparrow in many ways: The courage. The sense of fierce determination. The elegance and intuition all in one package. The obstacle? The human was tied to Melchior.

The two eudaimon brothers watched Peter's increasing nervousness. Malachi decided it was time Peter got his stress level down, and told him to go upstairs. Malachi and Melchior would deal with the dirty dishes. Draco wanted to go with him, and Melchior allowed it.

Only after Peter had shut the door to the master bedroom, did Draco understand what kind of pressure Peter had been enduring under the dinner. There was a gathering of pillows and blankets on a mattress in the corner farthest from the bed. It was surrounded by Peter's things and clothes, and it looked as if he lived there rather than in the room itself. Looking over to the master bed, Draco could see that only one side of the double bed was in use. He watched Peter make his way onto his den. There he sat, and drew his knees up to his chin and breathed heavily a few times. Not knowing what else to do, Draco sat down on the floor next to the mattress. Peter was shaking with fatigue and he was weeping silently, gazing up at Draco from time to time.

“I – I think I know how you feel” Draco told him softly, wishing to say something which would improve his mood. “It's quite – overwhelming when they are so many.” Draco listened to Peter's soft sobbing. He couldn't think of anything more to say. He knew the hopelessness all too well – the feeling of being outnumbered and alone where-ever he turned. He watched Peter for another minute, before there was a gentle rap on the door. Draco heard it creak open. Turning his head to see, he started as he saw none other than Jack Sparrow walk cautiously inside – walking as if he was afraid he might step on something fragile and kill it. He saw the state Peter was in at once, and said nothing as he made his way over and sat down next to Draco.

Draco felt honoured and flattered to have someone so important sit down casually by him as if they were old acquaintances. But it was neither the time nor the place to throw around pleasantries.

“Look at us” Jack finally spoke softly. “The past, present and future” he continued. “Me, you and Draco Malfoy.” Jack flashed a faint grin. “I'll be the first one th' be agreein' with ye. I didn't have the faintest idea that those lads of mine would show up. It's nice to catch up and all tha'. But really, they're grown now, and need me no more. I sent them on their way. Ye don't need to be hidin' here no more.” Jack spoke softly to Peter, taking his time and making sure the words sank in.

“What about Captain Sparrow?”

“John? He's gone too.”

They heard steps up the staircase. Then Andrea's voice, saying something incomprehensible to someone. The steps disappeared. Silence.

“What did John mean when he said I was made to be a Child Bearer?” Draco asked, looking to Jack.

“A Child Bearer is a human who is a slave to a demon and who bears him offspring. The Child Bearer cannot be just anyone. He has to 'ave the right set of qualities, savvy? His soul has tha' be up for it. He has tha' be a warrior. A lion father tha' his offspring.” Jack glanced at Draco. “Yer introduction into our clan isn't accidental. This is wha' ye were meant to do. Since I won't do it any more, and Peter's sort of spoken for, demon nature finds a way. It always does.”

“Why – why did you stop?” Draco asked him quietly.

“Cause I be a small man, and tha' babies kept gettin' bigger. They get stuck. I could hardly get out tha' last one.”

“G – get them out?!” Draco whispered, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“Ye heard me. Wha' goes in, must come out, ey Peter? Ye knows all abou' tha'.” Jack glanced at Peter. Draco stared at them in utter disbelief. “Oh, they don't come out from – tha' hole – , laddie” Jack chuckled as comprehension set in, “ye get another hole. Ye lose yer manhood and get another hole instead. A hole fer yer Melchior to enjoy himself with once it opens from time tha' time, and fer his babies to come out of when tha' time is right, savvy?”

Draco felt dizzy. It was a shock and he could hardly conceive what Jack was telling him.

“I – I – I'm sorry. I didn't – I – !” Draco said, getting to his feet.

“Ye can't help it, Draco. It's demon nature. And demon nature will do wha' demon nature wants. Neither yerself nor Melchior can control it. It happens to ensure the future existence of Sparrow demons. It's a good thing. The world need more of 'em!”

There was another rap on the door. Melchior peered in through a slit in the door, only to find Draco pacing back and forth across the vacant section of floor between the bed and the door. Melchior opened it wider as he saw Draco's upset state of mind. Before he could say anything, Draco began: “You – I – I'm not ready for this! I don't want to be a – a Child Bearer.

“Who says you have to be a Child Bearer?”

“Jack says it's demon nature.”

“Oh.”

“As if I don't have enough problems to deal with right now, I am expected to bear your children and lose my penis!” Draco bellowed, pacing back and forth still.

Melchior leaned against the doorway and rubbed his face in his palms, sighing heavily.

“I It's time we went back to Port Royal, Draco. It's getting late --”.

“What?!” Draco stopped, combed his fingers through his cropped blond hair absent-mindedly. I made him look slightly out of his wits.

“Draco, come along. Good night Peter, thank you for dinner. Good night Jack.”

“Draco come along?!” Draco replied with hostility in his voice. He immediately regretted it, remembering that he was a servant now, and that Melchior still would punish him if he was a bad boy. He sighed dejectedly and walked towards the door with resignation in his step. He told the other humans good night, fetched the dagger on the mantelpiece and followed Melchior back to the small house called Port Royal.

“I don't understand” Draco told him as they entered through the front door. He did as Melchior and took off his shoes. They went into the living room. Melchior put more wood in the fireplace and lit some candles.

“What is it that you don't understand?” the eudaimon replied softly and sat down next to him in the couch afterwards. He put a gentle hand to Draco's cheek, gazing into his grey eyes through the half dark.

“Why must I bear your children? And why is it a good thing?”

“Such deep questions so late at night” Melchior sighed.

“Jack said –!”

“ – Jack Sparrow says a lot of things” Melchior cut him off mildly. “Most of all because he's out to enlist a new main Child Bearer for the Sparrow Clan. You have to understand, my little dragon, that you're now a pawn in a power play between different generations of Sparrows. And after the magic you worked on them tonight, Draco Malfoy, I dare say I've got my job cut out for me, fending them off. You impressed them a great deal. You're handsome. Fierce. Courageous. You're a little young. But apart from that, you're perfect for the job. The only problem is: You belong to me. And taking someone else's Child Bearer, to sever the bond between master and Child Bearer is – is the worst kind of betrayal there is. Unfortunately, there are some eudaimons in my clan who thinks otherwise. Not to mention the entire population of demons in the Underworld and those who are at large amongst the living.” Melchior paused to watch Draco's reflection. Draco had gone paler than the colour of his hair, and his eyes kept darting from place to place. His lips were a tight line of concern, and his brows tied up in a worried knot.

“Allow me to draw up a scenario which every demon and eudaimon and a handful of educated humans know about. It is a scenario which will take place in a very, very distant future: The End of the World.” Draco shifted to look at him, his face told Melchior that the boy wasn't sure he could take any more sinister news.

“The Gates of Hell, which are controlled by my father John – the Satan of Hell – are under an enormous pressure. Behind them waits an untold number of demons and wicked souls. They wait for the gates to be opened. And when that happens, the first to fall, are the Muggles and their world. Every man, woman and child – every soul will perish. When they are all devoured and mankind is lost, the demons will turn to the world of the wizards. And they will break through their defences. First, the Muggle-borns fall. Then the half-bloods and finally, the elite – the pure-bloods. The last remaining members of Mankind – will be the likes of you, Peter and Jack: The servants and slaves of eudaimons and demons. And even then, you'll have a hard time staying alive. You'll have to be protected around the clock. You can never be alone.” Melchior paused to gaze into Draco's yes. The blond sat quietly with his hands folded in his lap and listened intently, taking in the meaning of Melchior's words.

“This tide of misery cannot be avoided” Melchior said, “it will happen. But when it happens and the details around it are still not set. The thing is: The more there are of us – the more demons we can take down, and the fewer there will be when the gates open. With great numbers, we will be able to stem the tide and keep you safe from harm. The more souls we can save. If we don't save them and ship them off to the heavens, the demons feed on them. You asked me why it is a good thing that you must carry my children. Now I have given you an explanation.”

“And – and Hermione, and the child?”

“Your wife and children are long since gone at that stage. But a vacant memory of lost days. We're talking thousands of years into the future. It is possible you won't remember her by then. You will have forgotten about Hogwarts. About where you are from, your parents, your friends – everything of the past. It will all just remain as an echo.”

Draco buried his face in his palms, sighing and moaning. After a moment, still with his face buried, he said: “I'm beginning to see why you think Voldemort is a joke.”

“Voldemort is blinder than a bat. He has no idea what lies ahead, nor does he care. He wants power and he wants it now, but he doesn't see that in the long run it doesn't matter. He's going to die anyway once the gates are opened. And his dark magic will be of no use to him. You can't fight fire with fire, nor can you fight darkness with darkness. Voldemort will fail because he does not know love. And Love is Light. Period. This is why the Sparrows are eudaimons and not just average demons. Because we believe in the Light. And the Light is Jesus Christ.”

“Who?” Draco asked, raising his face to level with Melchior. Melchior only rolled his eyes at the boy and continued:

“You start training tomorrow.”


Three A.M
Draco shifted in his bed. His door was closed yet he kept imagining he saw Melchior standing in the doorway. Draco was in his tiny bedroom. Apart from the rain whipping at the window and the quiet clucking noises from his caged eagle owl, there wasn't a sound in Port Royal.

There were too many thoughts in his head, Too many images, and his brains were working frantically to process all of the information and faces from the day. Within him stirred a sense of urgency. Draco's mind kept returning to Hermione and the thought of her being out there somewhere, unprotected from demons and people with bad intentions. There was a long list of what ifs which kept Draco tossing and turning. Ultimately, he sat up, accepting the fact that sleep eluded him. He tiptoed to his trunk, opened it quietly and found quill, ink and paper. Sitting down on the chair by the tiny table by the window, Draco dipped his quill in the ink-house and wrote:

Dear Hermione

I cannot sleep. I worry about you, and I pray you and our little one is all right. I wish I could be in your arms again.

Draco


Draco wrote the address in Kent swiftly on the outside before whispering it to his owl also. He tied it to one of its legs, opened the window wide and released the owl. It took off and flew out into the dark night. Draco shut the window and hurried back to bed. Had Melchior heard him? There were still no sounds in the house, almost as if he was all by himself. Draco didn't dare to open his door and have a look into the hallway. He already regretted sending the owl. He hoped Melchior wouldn't be cross with him.

The owl didn't return until morning. It was exhausted from flying across England and Scotland, and it did its best to perch on Draco's arm. Its timing was dreadful, for it came flying in just as Draco and Melchior crossed the courtyard to have breakfast in the main house. Melchior made no comment, oddly enough. He left Draco alone to ponder the brief note his owl carried, and he returned the owl to its cage, fed it water and seeds before he hasted out of Port Royal to catch up with his master. The arrival of his owl was already the topic of the table, for the children had seen it fly in, and now they were eager to know why. Before Draco had a chance to explain, Melchior laughed, beckoned for Draco to join them and explained to the boys that Draco had a girlfriend. And that the girlfriend had sent him a love letter. Malachi stared amazed at Melchior and then to Draco and back again, his glass frozen in mid-air.

“Do you... allow such things?” he asked his eudaimon brother.

“Of course” Melchior replied softly, “why shouldn't I?”

“Uh, well, because … because....!” was the best Malachi could think of. He still had trouble grasping the idea. Peter had dropped his fork, and he stared wide-eyed at Draco.

“As long as Draco obeys my commands, I see no reason to interfere with his private life. There's no need to keep him on a leash. He's a good boy. Aren't you, Draco?” Melchior gazed at Draco and smiled. Draco was still holding his breath, slightly shocked by the fact that Melchior chose not to scold him for his impertinence with the owl. He sat down apprehensively, and met the fearsome gaze of Peter from across the table.

“Woof”, Draco replied, glancing at his master with a shy smile.

He earned himself a solid chuckle from Jack Sparrow. The old sailor had pretended to be immersed in his boiled egg, but now he raised his head and gazed at his winged grandson and his servant. Master and servant were shooting playful glances at each other over Draco's response to Melchior's comment. Jack was unable to draw his gaze away from the way Melchior's eyes lit up whenever Draco looked up at him. There was some heavy flirtation going on.

The children demanded to know the contents of the love letter, and Alexander kept nagging and nagging, demanding that Draco read it to them. But no matter how much they begged and threatened, the boy wouldn't give in. There was a soreness in his voice when it was mentioned, and Jack's mind was flooded with distant memories of a woman he once knew, and the affection he'd held for her. She was the last woman he had ever embraced. She had been the last woman to know his secret – that he was in league with demons and that he'd given them the ability to breed through him. She had understood his need for intimacy and affection, and she had – in her wisdom and infinite kind-heartedness – looked the other way while Jack had had an affair with her husband. Now, three hundred years later, Jack saw before him the outlines of a similar situation – a possible triangle between his grandson and his servant and the servant's future wife. And a question rose in Jack's mind: If Melchior truly were to allow a relationship between his servant and a woman, it would mean that Melchior would have to be on the sideline. He would have to accept sharing his servant with someone else. Could such an arrangement prevail? Was Melchior's heart in deed that generous?


It was a sunny day. The bad weather had passed, leaving a number of small puddles of water strewn across the courtyard. After breakfast, Alexander and Sebastian put on their boots and ran outside, making sure to jump into each and every puddle, much to Peter's dismay. Soaked to their waists, they kept on jumping and running into the puddles whilst eloping Malachi who kept chasing them to get them to go inside and change. The whole comedy in the situation made Draco want to double over in laughter, for it was hilarious and surreal to watch an eudaimon run around like a headless chicken, feebly groping after the children who eluded him with great ease. Peter beckoned Draco back inside, asking him to help him with the dishes. Watching and learning, Draco helped him clear the table, put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and to wipe the table and the benches. This was Peter's turf, and Peter explained why it had to be done like this and why it should be done like that. To Draco's surprise, he found that he enjoyed doing these tasks. It felt good to be doing something with his hands, and not just stand around and feel like some weird animal from the zoo. And while he did this together with Peter, he couldn't help but to ask if it were like this in all Muggle homes. Peter looked at him as if he'd fallen off the moon. Yes, this is what it was like in every human home.

“I'm sorry” Draco told him with an apologetic smile. “I – I was raised in a mansion with servants and – and ..! Well, I've never even used a water tap, before.”

Peter didn't reply. The idea of not knowing how to operate what to him were ordinary daily appliances in the house, was incomprehensible.

Putting the chairs back in their place, Draco realised that all of these chores were stuff that Hermione had grown up with. This was her world – and he knew nothing about it. It occurred to him that not only had he been mean and stupid to her in the past at Hogwarts – he had been ignorant as well. And blind. If he was to make an effort to keep her, he would have to understand the Muggle world, to be able to live in it. For some reason, he didn't see Hermione resolve never to live in the Muggle world ever again – not as long as her parents lived any way. And if he was to get along with them, they would have to have some sort of common ground. And Draco was the one who would have to conform. There was no other way. He fetched the note from the pocket of his trousers, and read Hermione's words once more.


Dearest Draco

How wonderful to hear from you! I have been thinking about you day and night. I count the days until we can be together again. Don't worry about me. Take care of yourself.

With love, Hermione.


She hadn't forgotten about him. Neither had her feelings changed. He felt like crying when he thought of her condition and what awaited them upon their return to Hogwarts. He was ripped out of his musings when Melchior called for him. Draco met him outside, in the daylight and the sparkling sun. Alexander and Sebastian came running out too, this time dressed in fresh, dry clothes, Wellington boots and water-repellent trousers. Malachi collapsed on a bench by the front door. He wiped sweat of his forehead and was out of breath after the labouring task of changing their clothes. Peter came to join him, seating himself at the far end of the bench, keeping a respectful distance from his master. They watched the children play around Draco and Melchior, jumping into every puddle, chasing each other and playing with plastic toys.

Melchior held up a mock sword made of wood. He tossed it at Draco, who seized it in one move.

“Give it your best shot” Melchior said nonchalantly to Draco whilst taking his time to roll up his sleeves.

Draco looked from the sword to Melchior and back again. Then he lunged without hesitation.

Melchior moaned and stumbled backwards as the rough edge of the wooden sword hit him hard in the gut. He stopped to stare amazed at Draco with a puzzled expression. He commenced to roll up his other sleeve, and Draco looked into the ground feeling guilty.

“You told me to –!”

“ – yes I did. I'm not angry. Just …!” Melchior said, but the sentence trailed off as he was lost in a train of thoughts. Had he really underestimated Draco that much? “Again. Don't be afraid. We're just playing, all right?” Melchior told him in an attempt to make the boy feel more relaxed. “I want to observe your skills. That's all.”

Draco sighed, straightened his back and raised the sword again. The children were quietly watching, awed to see Draco in action. Draco lunged again, but this time Melchior was ready for him and eloped with elegance. Not feeling confident at all, Draco lashed out.

Jack Sparrow had seen the ordeal, and now the ex-pirate strode out from his small home across the courtyard. The house was named Tortuga, where he felt right at home. He walked over to where they were and came to a stand still, observing them with his hands buried deep in his pockets. Seeing the old pirate lord did nothing to further Draco's self-esteem, and the blond sighed deeply, looking lost at his master.

“Ignore him, he's just an old sod” Melchior said, flashing a grin.

“I think he's quite nice” Draco replied.

“Hm, no, Jack Sparrow's one foot short of the grave if you ask me” Melchior sneered and glanced at Jack. Just then, Draco lunged forward again and hit the jackpot. Melchior's knees buckled and the eudaimon cringed. He remained on his feet and chuckled out an: “Ouch ouch …! Nice one, Malfoy.”

“Nice one?!” Jack shouted, “the boy fights like an old spinster! He obviously has no idea what technique is, and you let him play around with a stick! Fetch him a real weapon, you overgrown bird!”

“You're just faking. You're not really hurt at all” Draco said, eyeing Melchior again. He cocked his head slightly to have a look at the place of impact, and Melchior instantly erected himself to his full height, revealing that yes, he had been faking.

Jack had disappeared into Tortuga. Now, he re-emerged, carrying a sheathed cutlass. Drawing it, he received many oohs and aaahs from Alexander and Sebastian. Inside the main house, Andrea leaned out through the window from his room up stairs and even Christopher stopped typing in order to have a look at the commotion. Andrea ran downstairs as fast as his legs would carry him, and his brother followed suit. Jack with a cutlass, now that's something they hadn't seen in years!

Feeling slightly annoyed by the sneering eudaimon who was triumphantly waiting a few yards away, Draco watched as Jack shifted his grip on the sword and offered the handle to Draco. Throwing away the wooden sword, Draco took the cutlass, and felt its weight in his hand. It felt nice, solid and trustworthy. It's weight in his hand made an incredible impact on his confidence. The slight annoyance he felt towards Melchior quickly grew into something else.

“A beer for the match?” Christopher asked his brother and handed him an uncorked bottle. They took up position by a sunny wall, leaning against it while they sipped from their bottles in quite an un-eudaimon-like style. They could easily have passed as supporters watching a Quidditch match.

Was there a tinge of uncertainty across Melchior's face? A slightly troubled shadow which travelled across his handsome features? A hint of fear? It was there for less than a second, but Draco never the less saw it. The smirk which Melchior replaced his sudden anxiety with, made Draco raise his newly acquired sword.

“I seem to remember something you said the other night, my dear dragon. Something about you kicking my ass. Try, if you can. I promise I won't tweak a hair on your very blond head.” Melchior flashed his fangs again.”

“Yer feet further apart, son!” Jack stood to show him, and Draco mimicked his stance. “Get tha' feel of tha' balance in yer blood!” Draco swung his blade at Melchior, who elegantly stepped away. Draco lunged forward twice, but Melchior simply walked a few paces away. “Stop bein' afrai o' him, Draco. Ye got tha' put yer heart into it. Think of tha' last time Melchior hurt ye. Think abou' how tha' made ye feel.”

Stopping, Draco turned to gaze at Jack. The ex-pirate had folded his hands above his chest and was looking serious now. Draco felt like crying. He didn't want to be thinking about those terrible things. But it also made him realise that he couldn't forget that below that handsome human shell, behind the sympathetic human features and beautiful thoughts in Melchior, there were in fact a demon. And Draco suddenly remembered how angry he really was.

Melchior was looking thoughtful, as if he had remembered something as well. He didn't see the blade swinging. He gasped and jerked backwards as pain seared through his left upper arm. A fierce red bloomed across the fabric of his shirt there and looking from the wound and to Draco, Melchior realised he needed to get moving.

Draco advanced, shifted his balance to his heels and slashed again. Malachi rose from his seat, looking shocked. Andrea spattered beer all over his own shirt and cursed out loud whilst Christopher removed his shades, not believing the red dot on Melchior's arm. Melchior hopped backwards, avoiding the blow. Draco lunged again and moved simultaneously with Melchior. It gave him an advantage, and he sliced a large tear in the fabric of Melchior's shirt across his waist.

Melchior's face had shifted from glee to stun, and he gazed perplexed at Draco. Lashing again and again, Draco drove Melchior across the field of water puddles. Turning and twisting, Draco leapt and lunged out just in time to give Melchior another cut in the same arm.

“Yeah!!” the supporters roared simultaneously, throwing their hands up in the air. Alexander and Sebastian did the same, hopping up and down while they chanted: “Go Djiaco! Go Djiaco!” Jack was laughing so hard his knees almost buckled beneath him.

“Enough!” Melchior bellowed, coming to a halt. He hadn't broken a sweat, unlike Draco, but he was wet and dirty up to his knees.

“Boo! Boo!!” Andrea and Christopher shouted their complaints, before they clanked their bottles together and drank up. “Lousy match! Melchior's still standing! Boo!” Christopher bellowed. “Andrea, you owe me ten pounds!”

Andrea made a face and fished ten pounds from his pocket. He handed it over with feigned reluctance.

Draco gave the cutlass back to a very pleased Jack Sparrow. He was laughing so hard Draco easily could count all of the gold teeth. Looking at Melchior, Jack said: “Son, ye look like shite! Take a shower!”


Malachi looked to Peter and was about to comment on his brother, when he realised that Peter had vanished. Inside, Peter was no where to be found. Malachi went looking for him, and found him at last in their bedroom, huddled in his den. He had seen Peter like this before, but he sat down a good metre away from the mattress, knowing Peter would throw a fit if he ventured any further. Looking positively scared out of his wits, Peter looked up to glance at Malachi's feet. He dared look no further.

“Too much action?”

Peter hid his face in his hands. He didn't want Malachi to see. Out of old habit, he shielded his face as to prevent Malachi from reading his mind, only – Malachi had lost that ability along with all other powers years ago. Peter didn't want to admit to himself that he envied Draco and the possibilities he was given. The sword fight had enlightened a tiny spark of something long forgotten inside Peter. Something rebellious.

Something evil floated across Malachi's delicate features.

“How I wish” Malachi muttered, “that you would just get over yourself, be really angry with me and do something. Really just do something and stop hiding away! I'm sick and tired of you cowering before me and everybody else” Malachi snapped angrily. He got to his feet and left. Before the last words had left his mouth he saw that Peter was already crying. He couldn't take those tears.

It was a reaction which came now and then. And it came as a result of tension building up between them – of Peter constantly living in fear and Malachi constantly living in guilt. No matter how hard Malachi tried, Peter wouldn't let him in. And he kept denying them both the love that Malachi only had seen glimpses of up through the years. Perhaps he was jealous as well. For he saw the love Peter poured on their children. He wanted to be happy by the fact that they at least, were let inside Peter's defences. But it also made him painfully aware of what he missed out on. And from time to time, the demon in him bubbled to the surface, and Malachi had been unable to keep a lid on it. He regretted his outburst already.


Melchior refused to shower. Instead, he took Draco by the arm and guided him into the main house. Jack was right behind them, barking about different fighting techniques and how important it was that Draco perfected every move. He ignored Melchior's complaints about being injured, about requiring some peace and quiet. Jack didn't want to take the hint, not now when he had found exciting new material.

Said material stood between grandson and grandfather and tried to listen to them both, still catching his breath. He combed his fingers through his hair, wondering if he might have annoyed Melchior by injuring him.

“Fetch your dagger” Melchior told him. Said material nodded meekly and trailed off to Port Royal to fetch it. His chest was swelling with anxiety, not knowing what would happen next. Turning towards Jack, Melchior said: “I'm taking him to the beach.” Jack looked from Melchior to the carton of orange juice and food which was quickly placed in a basket.

“Ye're really serious, aren't ye? Ye mean to train 'im?” Jack said, stopping Melchior.

“Draco's dangerous if he isn't trained properly. We need to reel him in while we can.”

Jack let go off his grandson's arm. The truth in his words were all too real.

“Tha' lass of his is distractin' 'im.”

“But she is also his motivation” Melchior glanced at Jack, “and right now his reason for living. Without her, Draco will just keep on committing suicide until I get sloppy and he finally succeeds.”

“An' tha' would bring 'im to the underworld and the thousands of demons waitin' there.”

“We simply can't let them get their hands on the kind of weapon he is bound to become. He's a dark wizard! It's written all over him! Even without the dagger – !” Melchior spoke swiftly and with determination.

“ – he'll be Jack the Ripper all over again. A threat to Mankind an' all tha', aye I hear ye. Mind if I tag along?”

“And watch while he beat the crap out of me?!” Melchior laughed. “Of course not! Sailor know Thy Place!” Melchior said, pointing a warning finger at Jack.

“Yeah, that's wha' I told Will Turner, too!”

“You're not coming!”

“Just a wee hour?”

“No. That's final.”


Twenty minutes later, Draco's feet was half swallowed by wet sand. He felt much better, for Melchior had kept a reassuring arm around his shoulders on their way past Eoropie and down to Eoropie beach. The eudaimon glanced over to Jack who took a deep breath and revelled at the sound and the smell of the sea and the distant horizon. Melchior shot his grandfather an annoyed glance before he urged Draco further down on the beach.

Jack took up position with the food basket, and sat down on a bench close to a fireplace. He made up a fire, leaned back and produced a small flask with some undefinable content in it. Sipping of it greedily, he once again drew in a deep breath of sea air. Life was in deed worth living! He grinned widely and shut his eyes as he listened to a rising quarrel between Draco and Melchior. It pleased him immensely to listen to Draco's raised voice, brimming as it was with anger and sorrow. He cared nothing for the accusations which poured against the eudaimon, but smiled at the warm rays of sun and the noise of the sea gulls squawking high in the air. It was such a beautiful day!

Jack took another sip from his bottle, and glanced briefly at the eudaimon and his servant. Draco was currently hammering away at Melchior's torso with all his might. The boy was positively growling with fury. Clasping his fists together, Draco put in a serious blow to Melchior's neck and the eudaimon toppled over in the sand. Blind with rage, the sixteen year old Slytherin grasped a piece of wood and started to bash wildly against Melchior who was on his hands and knees. The eudaimon shielded his head with his arms, and slowly the mighty demonic creature shrank into foetal position. Draco was panting heavily. Tears streamed wildly from his face and his breath came out in deep sobs. Rising the log above his head once more, he lost his balance and the log slid out of his hands and onto the sand. Draco stumbled away and fell to his knees, depleted of strength and overtaken by emotion. There, with the sea gulls squawking above his head, Draco sobbed out all of his fears and his anger which had been bottled up since the second week of September.

Melchior finally stirred. He crawled over to Draco, leaving several black feathers behind. Draco had, in his fury pulled them out, plucking them one by one once he realised they were the reason Melchior howled in pain. He put his arm around Draco's shoulders and attempted to lift the boy up from the wet and cold sand. It seemed to wake the Slytherin from his reverie, and he sat up, drawing in breath in a deep sob and continued to hit away at Melchior, punching the eudaimon wherever he could get a chance. But his strength ebbed out quickly until the punches contained no momentum at all, and Draco sank into Melchior's embrace. He started blinking away tears.

Looking up, Draco realised it wasn't his own tears. Melchior was weeping. Bending his head, Melchior placed a gentle kiss on Draco's lips. Breaking it, he held Draco close for along time while listening to the sound of the waves crashing to the shore. He felt Draco relax in his embrace, and he knew – he just knew that there was no turning back with Draco now.

Jack took another swig from his bottle. He stopped bothering to hide it, feeling slightly tipsy and having much fun just staring at the sea. The rum still burned on his lips as he took another sip. Then the smile vanished. The bottle was empty.

Draco and Melchior made their way back to the camp. Draco was pouting, looking gloomy and thoughtful. Stopping, he glanced menacingly at Melchior and suddenly he pounded loose at Melchior's right shoulder.

“Mind the liquor!” Jack shouted warningly, holding up a hand towards the squirming couple.

Draco threw himself at the eudaimon, and the eudaimon slipped his footing. They both went down with a loud thump, and Melchior hit the back of his head hard against a rock. He moaned in pain, and Draco seated himself on top him, punching hard over and over again with what little strength he had. It was as if Draco had remembered something – something Melchior needed to atone for. Fearless and blind with rage, Draco hammered away until Melchior shifted and the boy rolled off and into the sand. Getting up to his feat, Draco was in disorder. His hair and clothes full of sand, his face streaked with tears and snot. Throwing himself at Melchior again, he kept hitting until he sank to his knees with exhaustion.

Jack moved the basket away and produced another bottle from the other breast pocket.

“Bloody kids ..!” he muttered and took a swig.

Melchior wanted to help Draco up onto a bench, but as soon as he touched the boy, Draco started to squirm and kick frantically. He succeeded in kicking Melchior in the face and the eudaimon toppled over, accidentally burying his great wings in wet, tar-smelling sand. Getting up, he realised he was bleeding from his nose.

“Enough!” he commanded, but Draco threw himself at Melchior again, locking his fists around Melchior's throat. He squeezed all he could.

“I'll put on some sausages, shall I?” Jack told them, unaffected by the violence. He hummed to himself while he found bread, sausages, ketchup, some melon slices and cups.

Melchior did nothing to resist him. They had locked gazes – and it was more agonizing than anything to see the undisclosed pain in Draco's eyes, the naked truth of how deeply hurt and alone Melchior had made Draco feel. He could have closed himself up to these feelings. Melchior could have chosen not to dive into those blue-grey pools and let himself be swallowed by the emotional turmoil Draco was in. But he wanted it – he wanted the challenge, he welcomed it, knowing it would change every thing that defined him as an eudaimon.

What Melchior did, was utilizing a skill which eudaimons and demons alike shared. It was distantly related with the Art of Occlumency – and if it was to be explained, the most correct way to describe it would be to say it resembled Legilimency. But instead of diving into a person's mind and memories, the demonic being performing the dive would be diving deeper past the memories. It felt like diving into an ocean of images, and then one would be pulled further – deeper behind the memories, behind the veil of consciousness and into a blackness: An infinite dark. And there, resided the very soul of the being whom one penetrated. It was a dangerous task to perform, for one never knew what awaited. Sometimes the veil would be too strong and one would be trapped inside the owner's body, unwillingly possessing the being. Other times, the soul would overcome the visitor, and the demon diving would be repelled, receiving a one-way ticket back to Hell. And if there was a match – if the soul of the bearer and the demon being made a connection, dormant forces in demon nature would awaken and the soul of the demon would be forever bound to the soul of the human it dived into. And then – a demon spawn was inevitable.

Anxious to see what hid in the depths beyond Draco's childhood memories, Melchior braced himself and mentally pushed through the veil. He had heard Malachi describe the sensation when he had seen Peter's soul, many years ago. Just the sight had been enough for Malachi to have a change of heart. But no tale could have prepared Melchior for what he now witnessed.

Drowning in darkness, he floated weightlessly. Before him materialized a scorpion. It was like looking at the stars at midnight and how they shaped images on the dark sky. The scorpion glittered, as if made up by a multitude of diamonds. It danced in the vast darkness, before it re-shaped into a figure Melchior knew, and after a few seconds Draco floated in mid-air before him. It was like looking at a reverse black and white photograph, where the white outlines defined Draco's body.

Draco's soul had never received a visitor before, and now the ethereal immortality gazed upon him in wonder the way a small child would upon a stranger.

Melchior felt his resolve melt away. He stood before an eternally pristine and virginal being, and he suddenly felt dirty. So dirty he was undeserving of such beauty. Melchior had never suffered self-esteem problems, but now he felt minuscule, undeserving, unimportant, unwelcome and all other un-adjectives he could think of. The power of Draco's soul was so absolute that Melchior felt himself being pulled in. It was like being made out of wax, and all of the sudden one was positioned inside a furnace a blaze with searing flames. The soul reached for him, grasping through the darkness, and Melchior saw its hands dig deep, ripping him asunder and leaving large gaping holes in his own demonic soul. Panicking, Melchior turned about and willed himself out of Draco's head. Only when he was safely back in his own self did he relax.

Draco let go off his grip and tumbled backwards. He had felt the intrusion, and he backed away, shocked at what had happened. Melchior was equally shocked, and he propped himself up on his elbows and fought to regain control over his breath while he gazed after Draco.

Draco's soul had chosen him! It had been immensely aggressive and dug out large chunks of Melchior's, and now a part of Melchior's soul had merged with Draco's. Melchior had paid dearly for his impertinence, for his intrusion in Draco's mind. And Melchior could feel that small parts of his own being was missing! He felt weak. He felt violated. He was in shock because he no longer felt whole. Getting to his feet, Melchior stumbled and walked awkwardly. It was like walking without one of one's shoes. Or with only one sock. Something was missing and he felt off-balance. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled over to where Jack Sparrow was sitting. It felt better to crawl. Balance was better then. Only moments later did Draco join them. He seemed calmer and more relaxed, but in a state of shock. Jack handed Draco a cup of hot chocolate and a hot dog. Draco ate it without question and gulped down the chocolate. Jack fed him again, and Draco continued to eat quite mechanically. He looked as if he's been playing a game of Quidditch with an imaginary friend and then lost the game.

Some hot chocolate and a hot dog later, Melchior was coming round, but still felt shell shocked. Draco suddenly got up and moved to sit next to him, looking shyly into the warming flames of the fire.

“You took me” Melchior whispered. He lay his left arm around Draco's shoulders and pulled him closer. Draco didn't resist, and Melchior suspected the boy needed some intimacy. “You simply reached out and took me! Frightening...!” Draco didn't answer, but lay his head against Melchior's chest and rested it there. “Oh, Draco! Can you see the leash you've just put around my neck? Never again will I be able to raise a hand against you!” Melchior moaned, crushing Draco in his embrace. Still, the boy said nothing. But he accepted Melchior's embrace, and for a long time, they just held each other in silence.

“Right, enough with tha' emotional goo! Let's see some decent sword-fightin'!” Jack waved them off after a while. He was getting bored and he was soon to be out of rum. He needed a distraction to keep him from drinking it all up. He fished out Draco's dagger and was about to toss it to the blond. Turning his gaze back to the turtle doves he stopped in mid-air and grimaced. Draco and Melchior were oblivious to his presence, kissing fiercely and hands roaming.

“Good God” Jack sighed and took another swig of his bottle. Two more sips and he'd be out of rum. After that it was either sea water or grape fruit juice.

Melchior kissed his way down to Draco's trousers. He guided the boy down on his back, making sure to put a tartan quilt beneath him so he wouldn't get too wet and cold. Draco kept pulling his head back up, demanding more kisses from his swollen lips. He allowed Melchior to undo his fly and open the button. Peeling off the wet and sandy trousers, Melchior pulled down the boy's underwear. With his trousers and underwear on his knees, Draco gasped as his legs were pulled up in the air. Half aroused, he watched as Melchior struggled to release his manhood from its confines. Soon, Draco felt the warm, dry and erect member caress the skin on the back of Draco's buttocks. It sent sparks of electricity into his groin to feel the sweet caress of the soft skin, the throbbing veins and the silky smooth of the head kissing Draco's skin.

“I – I haven't – I forgot to – …!” Draco gasped, as Melchior's prying fingers slithered their way between his thighs, looking for the way inside Draco's warm, wet cave.

“ – to lube yourself, yes. Well” Melchior sighed, “then we will just have to improvise.”

“Ketchup or mustard?” Jack asked gleefully.

“What?!” Draco exclaimed.

“Ketchup” Melchior replied promptly, moaning whilst smelling the skin on Draco's knees.

“Ketchup?!” Draco echoed in disbelief, watching said bottle thrown through the air. He started to squirm, anxious to avoid being smeared in with the sticky substance. But Melchior held his feet tight in a locket, pressing them to his chest while arranging some lubricant. Draco looked away in shame.

“Just kidding” Melchior grinned. He used his saliva – And Draco wondered it that was any better way to improvise – and inserted his fingers to accustom Draco's entrance to the impending penetration. Melchior acted quickly, moaning deep as he entered Draco. Draco squealed a little before he settled with the intrusion, focusing on wiling away the sudden pain. As Melchior began to thrust in and out, Draco breathed through the pain, and it lifted into lust. Melchior still held his feet in the air, and looking up, Draco saw the tips of his shoes, and behind them, Melchior's face wrapped in lust. The great black wings shielded him from the chilly breeze. He tried not to think about the fact that just some metres away sat Jack Sparrow, eating chunks of his hotdog and washing it down with some kind of unknown liquid. The memory of salty sea, fresh air and the sea gulls above his head in the blue sky, combined with the sensation of being fucked, was imprinting itself in Draco's brains. Sensing how his manhood was coming to life, Draco's right hand wandered downwards, wrapping themselves around the half-wake member. Nursing it to full attention, it took him a while to come. Distractions were numerous, and Draco had never before been in this situation outdoors. Plus, they were on a public beach. The memory of the rape on the balcony at Hogwarts suddenly flooded his mind.

What was he doing? Why was Draco lying here with his feet in the air, giving himself away to the very same person who'd so viciously raped him in front of every body? He gazed up at Melchior.

The eudaimon was rubbing his face against Draco's legs. He had finished, and was softly purring the way a cat did towards the leg of its owner.

“I spy with my little eye somethin' beginnin' with 'd'” Jack suddenly said sounding quite casually. Glancing over to him, Draco could see that Jack was in deed lounging casually, but his eyes were apprehensively glued to some point down to the right, several hundred metres away from them.

“Ah yes” Melchior moaned, still rubbing his cheeks against Draco's leg. Sliding out of the boy, he sighed, and said: “Two Demons of Despair and their sergeant.”

“De – Demons of Despair?” Draco wondered, swiftly getting to his legs and re-arranging his clothes. It wasn't easy. The sudden surge of adrenaline by the mention of the demon presences made him nervous and his fingers wouldn't work properly. It was like getting caught with your pants down, literally speaking. His head swivelled to see in the direction Jack pointed out to them, but he saw nothing.

“Yeah” Jack replied thoughtfully, “they make you remember stuff ye'd rather forget, and they make ye feel as if there's no hope. Ever.” Jack handed Draco his dagger.

“They're not in company. Doesn't that sergeant belong to Marmion? He's carrying something.” Melchior said. Squinting, he observed the Demons of Despair turn to the sergeant. “They must have come out on two different entry points but at the same time. I wonder what's in the –...?” Melchior trailed off. The despair demons had turned and was attacking the undead sergant who was dragging a large brown stained bag across the ground. Vanishing into an unholy wisp of smoke, the sergeant sped up, coming directly towards the party on the beach.

“Marmion!” Melchior shouted loudly, calling his peer. In less than a heartbeat, the following things happened:

The Demons of Despair turned on their heels and followed in pursuit. Draco drew his dagger, breathing hard and fast as his senses kicked in and the demons came within range of them. He ran forward, past the presence of the sergeant and towards the first of the demons who was closing in. As soon as the demon was just metres away, Draco suddenly saw it at a grey shape. Coming to a dead halt, his first impulse was to drop the knife, fall to his knees and sob his heart out. The second impulse was to swirl around, throw the dagger and make sure it was planted into Melchior's chest in revenge for the brutalities of the past. Thirdly, he imagined himself sneaking into Hermione's bedroom at night and slice her throat. His limbs felt heavy, and he resisted the urge to fall to the sandy floor and go to sleep. Learning all of this in a heartbeat, Draco realised that it took a strong sense of conviction and discipline to overcome these demons. Another presence took up position on his left side, but he didn't have to look in order to know it was another eudaimon, other than Melchior. Lunging forward, Draco sensed the Demon of Despair in slow motion, as its onward drive came to an immediate reverse and it was desperate backing away from either the eudaimon or Draco's dagger. Draco leapt forward and lashed out, his blade slicing through flesh. Dark matter poured out and the creature howled in pain.

“Tha's right, Malfoy! Stab it in the back! Mind your footwork!” Jack bellowed encouragingly.

“A Demon Hunter?! I'm not sure whether I should laugh or cry, Melchior.” The newly arrived eudaimon said half contemptously.

“Good morning Melchior. How are you Melchior. Nice weather we're having today don't you think Melchior!” Melchior replied sourly.

“Nice seeing you to, nephew” Marmion replied sharply. He was just as tall as Melchior, had identical black wings but a constant displeased look on his otherwise handsome face. A wild array of long brown curls framed his face. Some of them were tied up in a knot on the back of his head in an half-hearted attempt to keep them away from falling onto his marble-white skin. The long locks cascaded down his shoulders and touched his waist. He wore a half armoured chest-plate and beneath a black tunic with long billowing silk sleeves. Stunning, like something out of a dark bedroom dream, but the dismayed countenance ruined it all. “What's that smell? Oh, hello father” Marmion softened considerably as he noticed Jack sitting by the fire.

“Hello son. Tha' smell would be from yer darlin' nephew an' and his blond little friend” Jack smiled and pointed in Draco's direction, “as they've just been havin' it off. Hot dog?”

“You mean to say the Demon Hunter is under control?”

“Son. Ye may 'ave inherited many traits from yer demon father, but sign of intelligent life ain't one of 'em” Jack replied with a sigh and downed the last drop of his rum. He turned his head and watched Draco draw demon blood time and again. Marmion watched too, and shuddered.

“Raise your right arm a little, like that” Melchior instructed Draco. He was going for the second demon, and he grabbed hold of the unholy creature by one of its limbs. Demon blood gushed from the one Draco was taking down, and Draco realised he must have severed some kind of main artery. The demon sank to its knees, and just as it bowed its horned head, Draco raised his knife once more and planted the dagger through its neck. A sickening noise reverberated through the otherwise silent air, and the demon's body exploded. Dark pulpy matter flew across the air, covering everything.

Marmion's expression of face had changed from 'annoyed all-powerful eudaimon warlord' to 'suddenly shocked eudaimon warlord faced with possible obliteration for all eternity'.

Draco Malfoy and his dagger was mind-blowing. Marion tightened his grip on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Just in case.

The last Demon of despair squealed and squirmed in Melchior's strong grip. Touching it, it immediately became visible. Having just recovered from the shock of being bathed in demon goo once more, Draco turned to the squealing noise and came face to face with what he first thought was a large house-elf. But its skin was more greyish, and it had the face of a bulldog fitted with oversized fangs. It was nearly fleshless; resembling more or less a heap of skin and bone and in the eye-sockets rested only darkness. Its mouth, ordained with razor-sharp fangs opened and closed, but the howling itself actually came from the demon's eye-sockets. It was clearly frightened, and its squeals shifted from the hysterical laughs of a mental patient to cries in utter terror. It was about one metre and fifty high – a scrawny, hideous looking creature which resembled a withered dead body.

“Take a good look at it, Draco. This is the most common demon which you will find on the face of the earth. And often, these demons do our work for us. They also prey on the innocent, the young and the ambitious, destroying them and grinding them down in the dirt before they have a chance of becoming something in their lives. Demons of Despair are the number one reason why sane people – young and healthy people who have never done any harm to anyone, commit suicide over trivialities. They are the reason cults some time commits collective suicides. Why men pick up axes and slaughter their wife and children for no other reason than just 'clicking'. These demons prey on children, making them outcasts even before they finish kinder garden, turning them into victims of bullying, and they plant the idea of using drugs to get you through the day. And if you have traumatic memories, you can be sure they will never let you bury them and get on with your life. These demons are like cockroaches. They're everywhere, annoying and contagious. But as with any magic, Draco; Once you know how it works, it ceases to impress.” Melchior seized the demon's neck in a crushing grip. The demon began to squirm even more and it howled more intensely. There was a sickening sound again, and Draco swallowed hard and looked away as Melchior dug his fingers into the crisp skin and into the demon's neck. But Draco had to look. He couldn't fight the magnetic situation unfolding before him and his eyes opened and gazed at the bloody drama in front of him. He watched as Melchior ripped the backbone out of the demon's back. It was like watching someone gutting a fish, peeling the bone off the meat once it was cooked. The process covered Melchior in dark pulp from head to toe, and afterwards, he glanced at Draco with dark, gloomy eyes. The spine dangled from Melchior's right hand.

Draco turned away and placed his hand in front of his mouth. He felt queasy from the sight. Withstanding the impulse to vomit, Draco gazed at the glittering sea and the blue sky. He felt a long way from home.

“Impossible!” Draco heard Jack shout. Turning around, he saw the eudaimons and Jack looming over the contents of the bag. It was only then that Draco realised the whimpers which came from said bag. The whimpers of something alive. The eudaimons spoke, but Jack made an authoritative gesture and said with loud voice: “He shall be taken back to the Lighthouse Farm and that's final, savvy?!” It was more of a command than anything else, and Draco drew closer, curious as to what lay inside the molten sack. Once he saw its contents, he staggered back, shocked and appalled. Seeing his reaction, Melchior took his arm.

“Draco? Draco, it's all right.”

“Is – is he alive?! Is it – is it a – a man?!” Draco asked confusedly, still staggering away. “Merlin's beard!” Melchior tightened his grip around the boy's arm. He looked Draco in the eye, hoping for the best as he replied:

“Yes, it is what remains of a man. Yes he is still alive. He was once a Child Bearer.”