Into The Long Dark

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never will be. All HP characters belong to JK and Warner Brothers, etc, etc, etc. Rael,Yuri, & Tommy belong to me.

The events in this fic take place immediately after Book 6.

Thanks to Evil Auntie Snape and DreamPet for the wonderful Beta work!

And I would also like to offer my heartfelt thanks to all the wonderful readers and reviewers on AFF! Your fabulous comments mean more to me than you could imagine! I'm thrilled and humbled that you find my first fic so enjoyable! Thank you all so much! Peace! --Wolfiekins


Sunday, 10 August 1997


~~~~~~SIXTEEN ~~~~~~~~"CONVERGENCE"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Harry walked briskly down Larchmere, late for his meeting with Rael. He had debated the issue with himself, finally concluding that it was best to face the music, as it were. Best to try to clear the air and make a clean break. The last thing Harry needed was an annoyed vampire stalking him. Part of him dreaded the encounter. The part that had discovered feelings for Neville. The part that knew that he had been enthralled by Rael's bite. But there was the other side of him, the side that ached to see the vampire again; that wanted those fangs to sink into his flesh once more, to drink of his lifeblood, to drain him and turn him. The very thought of it made Harry begin to grow hard. He shook his head as if that would throw off the offending visions that were lodging themselves in his brain.

Fuck! Think, Potter! You can't afford this right now! You know nothing of this vampire! Think!

Taking a deep breath, Harry's hand subconsciously moved to the side of his neck. He had removed the bandage before leaving for the coffee shop. The mark had faded considerably. Only two small blemishes remained. The area still tingled at his touch, sending an undeniably arousing sensation through his entire body. He would have to be careful. He was attracted to Rael. He couldn't deny it. He half hoped that the vampire wouldn't be there when he arrived.

It had been tricky getting out of Grimmauld without Neville. Harry had hated lying to him yet again, but he knew that it was necessary. There was no way that he could have a meaningful conversation with Rael if Neville were hanging about. In the end, Harry had convinced his friend that he had to go out to secure some supplies they needed to destroy the Horcrux. Since this contact for the rare items needed to keep his identity a secret, it was essential that Harry went alone. He had insisted that Neville remain at Grimmauld to 'guard' the Horcrux, and wait for Remus to return and fill him in. His friend had grudgingly agreed, Neville's eyes misting as he bade Harry to be careful and hurry back.

Sorry, Nev, just one more little falsehood. What's one more?

Harry rounded the corner onto Shipton Street. Twilight had relinquished its hold, and night was quickly taking its place. There was the slightest tinge of brilliant purple in the western sky, and Harry noted the first stars had appeared, faint, tentative, but unmistakable. The area was alive with activity as always. It had been a gorgeous day, and the mid-summer's evening was equally superb. Harry mingled his way through the pedestrians, quickly darting across the street to the coffee shop. He was a little winded as he stepped inside, inadvertently allowing the wooden screen door to shut behind him with a bang. A glance at the old, scarred grandfather clock beside the counter verified that he was a about fifteen minutes late. With a sigh and a shrug, Harry scanned the interior of the building for Rael.

Like most of the businesses on Shipton, The Daily Grind occupied a vintage, two-story brick building. This one was long and very narrow. The rough hewn, scarred plank flooring had been sanded and coated with several layers of glossy lacquer. The walls were bare brick. Ceiling fans dangled from the dark green tin ceiling. A service bar flanked the left-hand wall, along with the multitude of coffee machinery. A huge chalkboard listed the various coffees and their additives. At the rear of the space, was a small stage where folk singers and poets performed every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Mismatched tables and chairs littered the remaining area. Assorted Muggle posters adorned the rough brick walls, mostly of films and pop music. Virgin Radio played softly on the sound system, with Beck bemoaning his status as a "Loser." There were quite a few patrons in the Grind this Sunday.

Harry suddenly felt very conspicuous standing in the middle of the floor, panting. He didn't see Rael. Partly relieved, he was about to turn around and head back home when someone called his name. He had to peer around a couple of bohemians shuffling past him to see the stranger waving at him, smiling. Looking closely, Harry saw that it was indeed Rael. He smiled back at the vampire, giving a sheepish little wave of his own as he walked over to the small table in the back of the shop where Rael was seated.

The vampire was grinning from ear to ear. He stood as Harry approached. Harry noted that his fire-red hair was tied back into a long, luxuriant ponytail. His grey eyes sparkled and blazed with warmth. Rael was wearing a white ringer t-shirt tucked into a pair of nicely fitting bellbottom jeans. He wore a simple pair of flip-flops on his feet, and a puka bracelet on his wrist. All in all, he looked like any other aging hippie that Harry had seen in great abundance on Shipton Street. Rael was handsome, to be sure, but as Harry got closer, he noticed how pale his skin was, sunken, almost. The creases around his eyes and mouth were plainly visible. The vampire smiled broadly, his bone-white teeth on prominent display.

"So, is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Harry blushed in spite of himself, adjusting his jeans to try to hide is growing hard-on. "Erm, both, I guess. Hi, Rael. Sorry I'm late."

He cast his gaze to the floor for a split second, before looking up into those bottomless, grey eyes. He smiled weakly, and offered his hand to the vampire. Rael chuckled before reaching over and pulling the Wizard into a tight embrace. Harry very nearly swooned as his head unexpectedly grew fuzzy. He drank in Rael's scent, which was cool and sweet, and the slightest bit cloying.

"I had hoped we were a little beyond the handshake stage, Harry."

Rael nuzzled Harry's ear, giving it a tiny nibble. Harry turned his head against Rael's chest, allowing the vampire's lips to travel down to his neck, where Rael gently kissed the fading Mark from the previous evening. Harry gasped, a bolt of electricity shooting through his body, terminating in his now throbbing prick.

"I think I need to sit down, OK, Rael?"

Harry was dizzy now, and felt very close to examining that lovely plank flooring close up. Chuckling again, Rael gently guided the Wizard to the nearest chair, setting him into it carefully. The vampire resumed his seat, and gazed warmly across the small table, his hands clasped together on the tabletop.

"I'm so glad you showed up, Harry. Most of the time, I never see those that I have marked again. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're here."

Harry nodded, his head clearing somewhat. He was about to say something when a server walked up, planting his hands on his aproned hips, glaring at them.

"OK, guys, what can I get you?"

He looked like a smaller, younger version of Rael. His strawberry-blonde hair was likewise tied into a ponytail. He sported a rather bushy mustache and goatee, and his hazel eyes, though bright, had a slightly bored expression about them. The nametag pinned to his black Motley Crue t-shirt was upside down. His southern drawl betrayed him as American.

Rael looked at Harry. "Trust me?"

Harry nodded.

"Two double espressos, thanks, Tommy." The vampire winked at Tommy, who smirked at Harry and sauntered off to fix their drinks.

There was a long pause as Harry alternated his gaze from Rael to the selection of sugar packets in their holder. The vampire's bemused smile never left his lips.

"Look, Harry, I've been around the block once or twice myself. I just want you to know that when I say that I'm attracted to you like no one else before, I really mean it. I can't get you out of my head, Harry. I was such a fool to Mark you last night. It made everything that much more difficult. I want you to feel attracted to me on your own, not because of some damned biochemical process."

He reached over and placed his hand on Harry's.

"I'm hoping that you would give me another chance. To see how you feel when the effect of the Mark wears off." Rael smiled again.

At that moment, Tommy strode up to the table, plopping down two small, white ceramic cups filled with what looked like a brownish-black sludge. He remained silent, standing there with his ever present smirk firmly in place.

"Uh, thanks, Tommy. That'll be all for now, OK?"

Rael withdrew his hand from Harry's, and not so subtly gestured for Tommy to go about his business. The server harrumphed pointedly.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Herbert."

With a wicked smile, Tommy spun about and went to antagonize another table, whistling as he tromped away.

Harry hadn't thought that is was possible, but Rael actually paled. The look of embarrassment was plainly evident on the vampire's face. Harry tried to suppress a smile.

Unsuccessfully.

"What did he mean by that? Who's Herbert? That's not you, is it?"

When Rael looked up, he had the expression of one who had just admitted to watching 'Coronation Street.' Regularly.

"Um, yeah, I suppose that I should get that out of the way first. Um, Rael isn't my real name, Harry. At least not the name I was born with." He paused, clearly hesitant to proceed. Harry was having real trouble maintaining his composure.

"You mean I'm sitting here with Herbert the Vampire?" His giggles got the best of him. "Oh, my, that's too good. Classic, even. What's your last name, then? Smith?"

Rael was now beginning to chuckle as well. "Um, no, it's worse than that, Harry. My real name is Herbert. Herbert Pinklett."

Harry's eyes went wide, and a moment later, he broke down into gales of laughter. Gasping for breath, he was grabbing his sides, rocking back and forth in his chair.

"Oh, m-my, Herbert P-Pinklett, t-the v-vicious v-vampire! Ooooh, lock up your d-daughters, h-here comes H-Herbert!" Rael was also laughing out loud.

"Well, you can't blame me, yeah? Who would ever take a vampire named Herbert seriously?!" the vampire spluttered between gasps.

Both of them continued to laugh themselves out over Rael's little secret, causing Tommy to glare at the couple before descending upon a new customer that had walked into the shop. The unsuspecting patron was now standing by the door, peering around the huge ficus tree there.

"Yo, dude, do you want to sit down or play hide-and-seek all night?"

Neville parted the branches of the ficus, poking his head through it to speak to Tommy.

"Um, yeah, I'll just sit over here, behind this tree. I'll have a cup of Earl Grey, please."

Tommy rolled his eyes as he turned away to get the tea. "Stupid Brits. Ordering tea in a coffee shop."


Neville moved a small table and chair directly behind the potted tree. He scooted the chair into position so that he could see the back of Harry's head clearly through the foliage. He watched as his friend and some red-headed old guy had finally stopped laughing. Then the red-head reached over and stroked Harry's cheek. Neville sat back, crossing his arms.

Securing supplies, are we? Bullshit!

This would be a very interesting evening, indeed.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Draco was quickly becoming bored. He had Apparated directly to The Leaky Cauldron, forgetting how dull the place was so early on Sunday evenings. Ostensibly he had planned to chat up Tom, the owner, about rental flats that he owned in Diagon Alley. Tom was no where to be found tonight. Unfortunately, his loud mouthed, busy-bodied slag of a wife, Agnetha, was tending the bar, her shrill voice annoying enough to etch glass. There was no way on Merlin's earth that he would discuss that subject with her. The news that Ron Weasley was looking to secure a flat would be all over the Wizarding World by morning. As it was, Agnetha had already fawned over 'Ron' repeatedly, bleating how wonderful it was that one of the Golden Trio had graced her establishment. It was enough to make Draco yak up his recently eaten dinner.

Sipping his second on-the-house firewhiskey, Draco scanned the common room. The usual customers were scattered about, including the ever present hag with a penchant for gnawing on raw liver. She was at it now, chatting away with another bedraggled Witch between bites. There were a few couples returning from Diagon Alley eating their dinner, a few small groups of young Wizards downing butterbeers, and the occasional Hogwarts student and their parents laden with school supplies. Despite the steady stream of patrons, Draco still hadn't found what he was looking for. He was about to down the remainder of his firewhiskey and depart for greener pastures when a new customer entered the common room from the Diagon Alley portal. Draco wet his lips as he watched the young Wizard stroll over to the other end of the bar.

Now, this had been worth waiting for!

The object of Draco's attentions was a bit older than he was. Not quite as tall as 'Ron', the Wizard had a huge shock of dark brown hair, most of it tied into a rough ponytail. The rest framed his angular, nicely tanned face. A nearly perfect splattering of stubble graced his upper lip, chin, and jawline. His pale green eyes darted in 'Ron's' direction, shifting back to the bar as a small, knowing smile spread over his face. Draco noted how his upper body was quite muscular, and wisps of chest hair peeked out from the open collar of his snug-fitting white tunic. He wore a wide leather belt with a huge brass buckle and simple brown leggings which clung beautifully to his well-muscled legs. They also left nothing to the imagination as far as his 'equipment' was concerned. Draco sighed deeply as he drank in the new arrival's delectable arse.

When he turned his gaze back up to the Wizard's face, Draco chuckled when those pale green eyes were already locked onto him. The stranger grinned, and hefted his drink in a friendly salute. He licked his lips meaningfully before he took a long draught of his ale, seductively wiping the foam from his upper lip. He turned towards 'Ron', leaning casually against the bar, resting one of his boots on the footrail. Draco could see that the stranger's package had expanded considerably. Not wasting any time, he moved down the bar, keeping his eyes locked on the pale green ones that were taking him in from head to toe. Draco mirrored the other Wizard's posture, leaning against the bar. As he sat his glass down, Draco absently brushed the tips of his fingers against the stranger's hand.

"Good evening. I'm Ron. Mind if I buy you another drink?"

Draco flashed what he hoped was Ron's most winning smile. Apparently, it worked.

"Hiya, Ron. The name's Elias. And you might get lucky without that drink."

Elias winked at Draco, taking another swig of his ale. He moved a step closer. Draco inhaled deeply.

"I'm thinking luck has nothing to do with it."

Draco brushed the back of his fingers over one of Elias' muscular pecs, lingering for a moment over the mounded nipple plainly visible through his tunic. The shorter Wizard drew in a deep breath.

"Ayuh, I think you're right about that, Ron. I reckon we should see about a room, yeah?"

Before Draco could answer, his wonderfully aroused state was shattered by some nitwit shouting across the common room. Attempting to ignore the noise, he looked back at Elias, but he also had turned his head in the direction of the commotion. When Elias turned back to Draco, he had a puzzled look on his handsome face.

Draco paused a moment more as the yelling became louder.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Elias frowned. "Well, aren't you going to answer him? The bloke has been yelling at you for a minute now, Ron."

Elias jabbed a thick thumb over his shoulder, taking another drink of his ale.

Draco moved over just enough to see around Elias' mane of hair. His eyes grew wide when he saw a wildly waving Colin Creevey shouldering his way across the pub. The former Gryffindor was shouting at him shrilly as he approached.

Draco had forgotten that he was 'Ron'.

"Ron! Ron Weasley! I know it's you, mate! Hiya, Ron! Ron!"

Creevey bounced like a pogo stick over to Draco, finally coming to a stop and placing a hand on the concealed Slytherin's shoulder. Elias drained his drink, plunking the mug down on the bar with a sharp clank.

"Well, maybe some other time, eh, Ron?"

He slid a business card across the bar towards Draco. Glaring at Creevey as if he were a hinkypunk, Elias stalked away across the common room.

Draco sighed as the impossibly perfect bum disappeared from view. Glancing downward, he made a face as Creevey gaped up at him, literally bursting at the seams.

"Hiya, Ron! Fancy meeting you here! It's been a long time, yeah? Great to see you! How are things? I'm working for The Ministry now, did you know that? Crime Scene Photographer. Attached to the Department of Aurors. Pretty sweet, yeah? Took a lot of work, you know, but it was worth it. It's so very interesting, too, you have no idea! You should come down and see me sometime, I'll give you a tour! Hey! Do you think you could bring Harry along? I know that he'd enjoy it, and I know you would too....."

Draco's fist caught Creevey's nose dead center. The smaller Wizard's eyes bulged, then fluttered as he fell straight backwards, landing squarely on his arse, hitting the pub floor with a loud thwack. His hands flew to his nose, which had begun to bleed rather profusely. A few patrons glanced momentarily at Creevey writhing on the floor before returning to their business.

Draco brushed his hands together. Reaching into his cloak, he flipped a galleon onto the bar. Agnetha was staring at him, wide-eyed. Draco winked at her.

"Sorry about the mess. Keep the change."

Draco strode through the common room into the entry hall. Pausing for a moment, he considered where to go next. Nodding to himself, he pulled off his cloak, shrinking and stuffing it into the front pocket of his jeans. With a wicked grin, he Apparated to the alley that ran between Hanover and Shipton Streets.

Glancing both ways up the empty alley, he began walking quickly towards The Dragon's Lair. Sunday nights were usually quite lively. Draco smiled as he thought about what 'Ron' would turn up there.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Remus sat in the old wooden chair beside the fireplace. The fire had burned very low in the hearth, and the dim, flickering light barely illuminated Yuri's sleeping form. Remus could just make out his friend's features as he slumbered peacefully. Remus didn't know how long he had been sitting there, just watching. He had quietly gotten out of the huge, old feather bed, careful not to disturb Yuri. He had been able to get dressed and pack his trunk, but when the time had come to wake Yuri and say his good byes, Remus found that he couldn't do it.

Nothing else was of any importance. All he wanted to do was sit quietly and watch over the other werewolf. It was peaceful. Calm. Safe. Remus hated to leave this sanctuary. So he simply sat there, watching, drinking it all in, as the fire burned ever lower.

After a time, he returned to himself. Remus knew he had work to do. People needed him. Harry and Neville needed him. He stood up and moved over to the the bed. He sat down on the comforter, and gently moved some stray locks of hair away from his friend's forehead. Yuri's eyes opened, a smile spreading across his face.

"Time to go, eh, Moony?"

"Yes, time to go. I....." Remus paused, looking down at his knees. Yuri reached out and placed his hand on Remus'.

"I know, Remus, I know. Promise me something, my friend?" Yuri whispered, propping himself up on his elbow.

Remus looked into those deep, brown eyes. "What?"

Yuri propped himself up on his elbow. "Promise me to be careful. Promise me to not blame yourself for everything. Promise me that you will call on me anytime if you need me. Please, Remus?"

Remus grinned weakly. "That sounds like three promises, Janowicz."

"Don't mince words with me, you skinny pouf."

Remus nodded, chuckling softly. "I promise. I'll do the best that I can."

"I know you will, Moony." Yuri brushed his hand against Remus' cheek. Hoisting himself up quickly, the lycan threw his arms around Remus, hugging him tightly and showering him with kisses. Remus suffered the onslaught for a moment before pulling away and moving towards the fireplace. He shrank his trunk, and placed it in his pocket. Yuri was now sitting on the side of the bed, the coverlet draped across his waist.

"Remus, I...."

Remus cut him off. "Please, Yuri, don't say anything. Please?"

Yuri sighed, but smiled nonetheless. "You're right, I don't have to say anything. You know how I feel, Moony."

Remus blinked several times before he Apparated away with a crack. Yuri ran a hand through his hair, sighing. Rubbing his eyes, he summoned his clothes and began to get dressed. The fire had gone out, and the room was suddenly cold.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a sizeable crowd in The Dragon's Lair. Apparently, the club was hosting a 'White Party,' as the dancefloor was filled with a cornucopia of lovely boys clad only in their skivvies. Draco sighed, taking in all the various styles of undergarments that were represented.

I should have come here first, he thought, as an especially delectable hunk of young flesh swaggered by, his square-cut boxers bulging alarmingly.


Draco was snapped back to reality by a sharp tap to his shoulder. Whirling about, he found himself staring into a mountain of black t-shirt. Looking up, Draco saw the huge bouncer, Viv, scowling down at him, his spiky hair dyed an electric blue.

"OK, lover, fork over the cover. You should know by now no one gets a free ride, especially with a special event going on, yeah?" He gestured at Draco with a meaty hand.

Draco flashed Ron's best grin, and brushed the back of his hand across Viv's huge chest.

"Sorry, Viv, I just kinda lost track of things. Lots to see tonight, eh?" He let his hand travel down to the front of Viv's tight jeans, allowing his fingers to ghost over the huge bulge there.

"You're a sweetheart, Red, but I still need a fiver. Now, if you want to follow up on what you've started, you know where to find me."

He winked, and held out his hand, palm up. Draco fished in his pocket, hoping he had enough Muggle money to get through the evening. He pulled out a tenner, and placed it in Viv's hand, closing it with his own.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Viv, but if I manage to turn up something else....." Viv snorted good naturedly, stuffing the cash in his fanny pack.

"Too sweet! On your way, you little twat!" The bouncer turned and ambled over to intercept a very nearly perfect replica of Scary Spice.

Draco watched as Viv moved away. He did have a decent ass for such a big guy. Shaking off that thought, the Slytherin sauntered over to the crowded bar. On his way there, a rather large, squat creature wearing nothing but a lime green g-string waddled up to Draco. He bore an uncanny resemblance to a young Slughorn.

"Hey, sweets, buy you a drink? I think red heads are too hot!" He wagged his eyebrows up and down, an evil grin pasted to his fat face.

Draco raised one of Ron's eyebrows, and muttered an incantation. The smile on Young Slughorn's face evaporated instantly, and he paled to a lovely pasty gray. He began to retch, and a moment later a huge slug popped out of his mouth onto the floor. His eyes wide, Young Slughorn threw a hand to cover his mouth and waddled under full steam towards the loo. He left a trail of slugs the whole way. Draco laughed out loud, especially when the clone of Scary Spice caught the heel of one of her stilettos on an unlucky slug and went ass-over-pickle, landing in a very unhappy heap in the middle of the floor.

Reveling in the wake of his destruction, Draco wedged his way up to the bar. He waved his last tenner in the air, and Ellen flipped him off. A moment later, she arrived, her ever-present cigarette dangling by an invisible thread.

"Well, well, shoulda known you wouldn't miss this dog and pony show. The usual, eh, Ronnie?"

Ellen waited, the cigarette sliding from one side of her mouth to the other and back again. Draco was stunned. She knew Weaselby. Enough to know what his usual was. His estimation of the youngest Weasley increased immeasurably. Ellen was beyond impatient, the cigarette sliding swiftly from one side of her mouth to the other and back again.

"Ya know, I'd love to stand here staring at your lovely mug until my plug falls out, but as ya might imagine, I'm a little busy tonight! What the fuck do ya want to drink, ya little pisshead?!"

Draco blinked, and smiled in spite of himself. "Uh, uh, sorry, El. The usual's fine."

Whatever that was.

Ellen rolled her eyes, and turned around to fish about in the cooler behind her. She swung about a second later, plopping a green bottle of beer on the bartop. She snatched up Draco's tenner, shaking her head.

"Don't see how ya can drink that swill, Ronniekins. Bloody Yankee piss, that is. Ya got five more on account, luv. Too busy to make change. Ta!"

Ellen sashayed down the bar, dropping the tenner into her tip jar. Draco turned the bottle to read the label. Well, for some reason, Weasley enjoyed a beer called Rolling Rock from a place called Latrobe, Pennsylvania. Draco took a long pull on the bottle.

"Bloody Hell!"

It tasted like weak tea that had been sitting on a windowsill for a week. Resigning himself to the situation, Draco threw himself into his role, and made a monumental effort not to retch up the best Latrobe, Pennsylvania had to offer. He scanned the dancefloor, which was awash in young, shirtless flesh. He finished the first beer quickly. Turning around, he saw a fresh bottle waiting for him on the bar. Grabbing it, Draco moved across the floor, seeking his prize. He didn't have far to go.

Not two feet in front of him, a short, muscular bloke in a pair of 2xist boxer briefs was gyrating wildly, his long black hair flipping about his head. His wire-rimmed glasses clung nicely to his angular face. He sported a tattoo of a snake coiling around a sword on his beefy upper arm. His pale, blue eyes noticed Draco's hungry stare, and the young stud turned to face him, thrusting his hips in the Slytherin's direction.

Well, can't be any plainer than that!

Draco ditched his half-empty beer bottle on the nearest table and moved in, grinding his stiffening cock against his new partner's.

"I'm Ron. What's your name?"


The dark-haired muscleboy smiled. "Oy, I know who you are! M'name's Harold. Me mates call me Harry."

Draco nearly came right then and there. "Of course they do, Harry. Of course they do!"

He reached around and grabbed Harold's supple arse, squeezing it for all it was worth. Harold reciprocated, placing both of his hands on Draco's own rump, pulling him tighter and grinding his throbbing erection against Draco's. The Slytherin mashed his lips against Harold's, forcing his tongue into the shorter man's mouth. He was amazed that a Muggle could taste so good. The shorter man pushed his own tongue against Draco's, and the two bucked and lurched about the dancefloor, their hungry lips locked, their bodies pressed together tightly, caressing, touching, sampling, and tasting each other breathlessly. Harold pulled away and looked up at Draco and smiling eagerly.

"Fuck me, Ronnie. Let's do it, now! OK?"

It was all Draco could do to steer Harold into the lavatory before he creamed his jeans. On the way there, he was careful to avoid the trail of slugs. Harold gazed up at Draco, his eyes ablaze with desire.

"I've been looking forward to this for a long time, Ronnie! You certainly play hard to get!" Harold planted a kiss on Draco's lips as they burst into the men's loo.

Oh, yes, the Weasel had very nearly redeemed himself.

A rather illuminating evening, indeed, Draco thought as he maneuvered Harold around Young Slughorn, who was hunched over the wastebasket, no doubt filling it with slugs. They banged into the last stall, slammed the door shut, and Draco lived out yet another of his fantasies.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Remus Apparated into the alley behind Grimmauld Place barely twenty minutes after leaving Yuri in the room at The Slaughtered Lamb. He had jumped from Eisen to Venice, then to Paris, finally bouncing to The Leaky Cauldron and Grimmauld. It was all he could do to keep from going straight back to Slovenia and plunging into Yuri's arms and staying there forever. Remus knew this would be a consequence of his trip. He had both welcomed and dreaded seeing his lycan friend again.

Yuri had expressed an interest in him during his very first visit to Hogwarts, even before the exchange student had been infected with the Lycanthropy Curse. Of course, Remus had been in love with Sirius at the time, and had politely turned Yuri down. The Slovenian had accepted the rejection gracefully, maintaining a friendly, close relationship, especially during the dark years when Sirius had been imprisoned in Azkaban.

His head abuzz with memories,Remus dropped the wards and Number 12 squeezed itself back into existence.

Yuri had been extremely supportive, yet respectful of Remus' feelings during Sirius' absence. He would have expected it if the Slovenian werewolf had thrown himself at Remus during that time, but he didn't. Yuri always made it clear that Remus held all the cards and would have to make the first move. Remus' respect for his friend had grown immeasurably because of this. It was also around that time that Remus realized that he had fallen deeply in love with Yuri. As luck would have it, Remus never acted on that love, feeling obligated to remain alone as long as Sirius was alive, no matter what he had been accused of. And then Sirius had escaped, and Pettigrew was revealed as the real killer, and everything began to right itself again.

At least for awhile.

Closing and latching the garden gate, the lycan trudged up the steps and dropped the wards and locks on the back door. It swung open with a familiar creak, and Remus stepped inside, at once relieved to be home, but immensely saddened at leaving Yuri behind. As the door clicked and locked itself shut, Kreacher bounded into the hallway, his huge, yellow eyes filled with barely contained malevolence. The hatred dissipated somewhat as the elf recognized the werewolf, and executed a half-hearted little bow.

"Welcome home, Mister Remus, sir. Do you require anything of Kreacher, wolf-sir?" The house elf stood stock still, in a posture that hinted at attack rather than service.

"No, thank you, Kreacher, I don't require your services at this time. Is there anyone home at the moment?" The old elf huffed, wiping his nose with a gnarled hand.

"No, Mister Remus, sir, no one is in the house. Master is out, and so is Master's boy. Kreacher does not know where or when they will return. They left separately, they did. Neither bother to tell old Kreacher anything. Little brats, they is, wolf-sir!"

Remus nodded. "Thank you, Kreacher. You may go. If I need anything, I will call."

Kreacher stared at the werewolf for a few moments, his eyes narrowing and his lips parting slightly into a sneer. He whirled about and marched down the hallway, muttering to himself as he went.

"Bloody sad state, brat Master and his filthy Boy in house with a wolf, too. And other Dark things. Sad state in house...." The elf's voice trailed off as he headed downstairs into the basement.


Remus paused a moment before shuffling down the hall towards the kitchen.

He had almost lost it when Sirius had fallen through the Veil. It had been nearly unbearable to have been given Sirius back, to only have him plucked away so soon. If it hadn't been for Harry being so devastated, and in need of his complete support, Remus was certain that he would have plunged himself through the Veil as well. But, by providing comfort to Harry, he had also helped to save himself. He knew that the young Wizard had depended on him then, as now.

And while Remus wasn't entirely proud of how he handled himself with Harry immediately after the loss of Sirius, he and Harry had both emerged from their grief 'therapy' somewhat whole and stable. And now, just over a full year after Sirius' death, Remus had very nearly given himself to Yuri. Somehow, it still seemed too soon.

Remus stood in the entrance to the kitchen, gazing around at it and marveling at the changes. Harry had been intent on making it his own, and he could pick out Neville's touches as well. Walking over to the hearth, Remus noted a few new framed pictures on the mantel. Someone had added an old photo of Remus, Sirius and James just after their Graduation from Hogwarts. In it, Remus continually flipped his fingers into the 'V for Victory' sign behind both of his friend's smiling heads. The other new addition was a recent shot of himself and Harry on Sirius' old motorcycle. Neville had to have been the one to take that photo. Remus sighed, taking a deep breath.

Sitting down heavily in one of the chairs surrounding the huge, old table, Remus rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them again, he noticed a parchment envelope with his name on it propped against the old crock that held the tableware. Reaching for it, he noted Neville's clean, neat script. Tearing the envelope open, Remus began to read, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper as he read on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was apparently Draco's evening to have a few of his preconceptions shattered. First, the revelation that Weaselby was a member of the 'family' and shared similar tastes (American beer notwithstanding). Secondly, Muggles could not only shag like rabid skrewts, but knew how to wield their tongues like weapons. He was certain that Harold was using at least some form of latent magic. No one Draco had ever been with had used their tongue with such artistry. He had come twice, and the muscular Muggle had grinned madly each time.

"Do you know how long I've wanted this, Ron? I can't believe this finally happened. You'll call me, right, babe?" Harold had yanked his shorts up and was busily trying to smooth them out. It was hopeless, as they had become soaked when they had hit the soggy floor of the loo.

Draco had also pulled up his underclothes. Finding them wet and cold as well, he charmed both his and Harold's clean and dry. The rather inebriated Muggle stared up at Draco, his pale blue eyes filled with affection.

"Hey, Ron, you'll call me, yeah? Here's my mobile number..." He reached for his non-existent pocket. "Shit, where's my pants? Hey, meet me here tomorrow night, yeah? Please, Ronnie? Oh,....uh, sorry, luv!" He swayed alarmingly, steadying himself against the stall wall. "I'm a little pissed right now....."

Harold reached up and caressed Draco's face. The blatant affection evident in the Muggle's eyes moved the Slytherin to reach down and plant a wet kiss on Harold's eager lips. After a moment, Draco pulled away, and smiled. Those pale, blue eyes were eating him alive.

Merlin, I could almost fall for this Muggle! For fucks sake, Malfoy, get a hold of yourself!

Draco finished pulling up and fastening his jeans. Harold was staring at him with glassy eyes, a crooked grin pasted to his gorgeous face. Draco reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from Harold's glasses.

"Sure, mate, I'd love to meet you again. It's just difficult. I don't know when I'll be able to make it back here again."

Harold smiled weakly in return, his eyelids threatening to close.

"Oh, that's cool, Ronnie. Just don't forget me, eh? You're so beautiful, man. So beautiful..." He slumped forward, Draco barely catching him. Throwing Harold's arm about his shoulder, Draco hoisted the limp Muggle up and worked his way out of the lav. Once on the dancefloor, Draco caught Viv's attention and motioned him over. The huge bouncer bounded over to the couple, nodding knowingly.

"Oy, I'll take this shite off of your hands, mate." He made to grab Harold. Draco twisted his burden away from the bouncer.

"No, Viv, I want you to take care of him and see that he gets home safely, you understand? If he is mistreated, I shall know about it. And you don't want to see me upset." Draco glared at Viv, who nodded slowly in acknowledgement. Draco released Harold, and the bouncer carefully held him up, eyeing Draco warily.

Draco fished in his pocket, pulling out a handful of galleons, which he pressed into one of Viv's meaty hands. The bouncer's eyes widened at the sight of the Wizard's currency. He gaped at Draco.

"Right, yeah, I'll make sure he gets home all right. You have my word on that, Ron. I'm on it! I didn't know!" Viv nodded vigorously, and backed away from Draco, carrying Harold as if he were a rag doll.

Draco watched for a moment, before turning and heading for the back door. He fully intended to return the next evening to check on Harold. Merlin help Viv if he didn't hold to his word. As he stepped through the door, Draco shook his head as he started down the alley.

Bloody Hell, I'm acting like a fucking Gryffindor!

The quicker he dropped this glamour, the better. Draco had one more stop to make before that happened, though.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Percy leaned against the pseudo-Greek support column, staring at the dancefloor, bobbing his head up and down to the throbbing bass. He grinned broadly at the sea of underwear-clad studs undulating about under the flashing strobes on the dancefloor. He had been keeping The Dragon's Lair under tight surveillance, especially in light of the regular reports of excess magical activity in and around the establishment. Of course, his presence there was under the guise of Official Ministry Business. It was an added bonus that Percy found the milling throngs of hot, young men incredibly arousing. At times he had forgotten the real reason for his visits. So what if he had mixed a little pleasure with business. Well, a lot of pleasure, then. Percy considered it a sort of undercover operation. Under the covers, as it were.

He hadn't discovered much, save for the fact that Ellen was rather ill-tempered, Thursday evenings were No Cover, and Sundays always featured some sort of special event. The 'White Party' was entrancing, but Percy made a mental note to attend next Sunday's 'Best Buns' contest. He had always considered himself to be an arse man. Although his brothers considered him to be simply an arse.

Screw 'em, he thought, taking a deep pull on his Rolling Rock.

He was about to head over for a fresh beer, when he stopped dead in his tracks, his pale brown eyes widening in astonishment. The nearly empty beer bottle slipped from his grasp, bouncing on the floor and rolling away. Some trollop done up as Scary Spice slipped on the rolling bottle, flipping in the air and landing squarely on her ass. Percy ignored her, retreating to his support column and moving behind it to peer around the other side. He couldn't believe what he was seeing!

Striding across the dancefloor, bold as brass, was his youngest brother. Ron scanned the dancefloor, and then proceeded to flirt with Viv, actually copping a feel in the process. Percy swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. He continued to watch as Ron downed one beer, and worked on draining another as he stalked about the club. Ron looked incredibly sure of himself, swaggering across the dancefloor, touching and feeling bums and bulges with abandon.

Percy couldn't believe it. He had never gotten any sort of gay vibe from his post of a younger brother. Ever. Ron had even been totally oblivious to the fact that Harry Potter had been in love with him. And now this? Percy hadn't thought that ickle Ronniekins was capable putting up such a facade. But then here he was!

Percy gaped as Ron clamped himself to a rather delectable, dark-haired muscleboy. Well, at least he's got good taste, he thought as Ron and the muscleboy worked their way towards the restrooms. Letting out a deep breath, he walked past Scary Spice, who had just re-arranged her tube top. Pushing his way up to the bar, he signaled Ellen, who nodded at him. She slid his beer down the bar, and Percy caught it deftly, draining nearly half of it in one gulp.

Merlin's Tits, if Mum finds out about this!

She hadn't exactly featured the idea of Fred and George batting for the other team. Percy was certain that she suspected him, as well. Now Ronniekins? It was too much. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He just hoped that he wouldn't be around when she found out. The crockery would be airborne and deadly.

As he finished his beer, Percy saw that Ron was exiting the lav with the muscleboy draped over his shoulders. He moved carefully through the crowd, attempting to get closer without being seen. Some large, pale fellow in a ridiculous lime green g-string was wallowing across the floor. Percy hunkered down behind him, peering over the chunky bloke's shoulders. Ron had apparently left the muscleboy in Viv's care, and was now heading for the back door. Darting through the swirling crowd, Percy watched as Ron disappeared through the door and into the alley. After a moment's consideration, Percy followed.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Neville had guzzled four cups of Earl Grey as he covertly observed Harry and the old guy through the ficus tree. He was absolutely certain that they weren't discussing potions ingredients. They could barely keep their hands off of each other. He couldn't see Harry's face, but he could tell that his friend was conversing animatedly, at times laughing loud enough for Neville to hear it. The old red-haired guy also laughed a lot, but to Neville it looked forced. He had half a mind to march right over to them and hex them both.

Fucking Potter!

Why did he waste his time? Remus had warned him not to expect too much from Harry. Exhaling loudly, Neville drained the last drops of tea from his mug. He realized that he would have to hit the loo very soon. Unfortunately, he would have to walk past Harry's table to get to the lavs. How did he always end up in these ridiculous situations?

On cue, the snarky server stalked up to Neville's table. His hazel eyes blazed with amusement, his ever-present smirk on full display. He folded his arms across his chest.

"So, another tea, Sherlock?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side. Neville stared up at him, having difficulty reading his upside-down nametag.

"I'm sorry, Tommy, but I've told you already, my name is Neville. Who's Sherlock, anyway?"

He was now becoming annoyed, which seemed to make Tommy taunt him all the more.

"Oh, so sorry, Neville. They don't let you out of the padded room very often, do they? Don't even try to tell me you don't know who Sherlock Holmes is."

Neville narrowed his eyes at his nemesis. "No, I do not know who this Sherlock Holmes is. And if you don't mind, I'd rather not be disturbed."

Harry laughed again, and Neville snapped his head in the direction of the noise, moving up and down and side to side to get a good view through the ficus leaves. Tommy snorted, and leaned around the ficus, a malevolent smile creeping across his face. He turned back to Neville, barely able to contain his glee.

"Um, look, Sherlock, allow me to clear things up for you, OK? This little covert operation of yours is really cute, but it's a complete waste of time. I know what's going on over at that table. I was in the same position myself not so long ago. Your, uh, friend is about to be initiated into a rather exclusive club. Believe me, whatever Herbert wants, Herbert gets. Sorry, but it sucks to be you right now."

Tommy leaned on the little table with both of his heavily tatooed arms. Neville turned to look at him, and was immediately disarmed by the server's intense hazel eyes. He suddenly couldn't tear himself away from them.

"But, ah, you don't understand. Harry's my friend. He's.....I.......uh...." Neville couldn't finish.

Tommy leaned closer, his smile showing an alarming array of glistening, white teeth.

"No, Sherlock, I do understand. I understand more than you know. Whatever little attachments you may have had with your cute little friend over there are now over. Gone. Kaput. But I can help you out. I can help you get over it. As a matter of fact, I may have to insist on it."

Tommy leaned in further, barely inches away from Neville's face. The Wizard was transfixed, unable to pull his gaze away from those eyes.

Were they now silver?

Tommy's hand moved so quickly Neville couldn't follow it. In an instant, the server had grabbed the Wizard's left hand, turning it palm up and pressing his lips to Neville's wrist. A split second later, Neville felt a sharp pain, and his world swam away into a swirl of colour and sound. Strangely, he didn't want Tommy to stop. As dizzy as he was, Neville felt euphoric, a cold energy shooting through his body. His other hand moved down to his now throbbing erection, and a ragged moan escaped his lips. His heart thudded in his chest, louder and louder.

He felt a strange surge, as if some part of himself was being drawn away. He moaned again, moving his free hand up to caress the side of Tommy's face. A rainbow of colours danced before him, an entire universe of new sensation cascading and undulating around him, overloading his fuzzy brain. A chorus of moaning voices was growing louder, discordant, yet achingly beautiful. The voices swelled and ebbed like a great ocean of sound, washing over him in waves. With another moan, Neville came, his orgasm rocking his now numb body. The colours danced and jumped, the chorus reaching a crescendo of awful, stunning beauty.

In a flash of white, like a thousand lightning bolts, it all stopped.

Neville leaned back in his chair.

His vision was crystal clear. He could hear the grandfather clock ticking loudly. He could hear every word that everyone in the shop was saying. Customers walked up to the service bar, pointing to the chalkboard. The ceiling fans spun, and The Happy Mondays' "Kinky Afro" wafted from the hidden speakers. Neville blinked repeatedly, giving his head a small shake. No one had noticed anything. So much had just happened to him. Looking up, he saw Tommy smiling down at him, licking his lips with great satisfaction. A soft glow surrounded the server's body.

Neville smiled. Tommy was gorgeous. Beautiful. He ached to have his touch again.

"Wha....um, what just happened? How...." He trailed off as Tommy grinned again.

"There's more where that came from, Sherlock. And you should know that regular people never see anything. Muggles, right? They can stare at something and still not see it. Pathetic!" The young vampire laughed. "Blind to most things in their own world, let alone things in our world. In the Dark." Tommy nodded towards the clock.

"I get off in an hour. Meet me in the alley out back. Don't be late, Sherlock. You don't want me to come looking for you."

Neville nodded. "Yeah, sure, Tommy. I'll be there."

The vampire smiled again, showing his fangs. "Excellent. You may want to cast a charm or whatever to clean yourself up."

Neville stared blankly for a moment, and then charmed himself clean. He gazed up at Tommy, smiling drunkenly. Tommy's grin faded.

"You should head out now, Sherlock. They're coming this way." Tommy motioned to Harry and Herbert, who were just standing up.

"Go! Now!"

Neville nodded, and jerked himself out of his chair. As he lurched for the door, he turned and saw that Tommy had somehow moved all the way across the shop, and was now standing near Harry and Herbert, blocking them from leaving. Neville burst through the door and onto the street. He plowed right into a couple of teen-age girls, nearly knocking them over. They stared at him as he stumbled down the sidewalk. He stopped several yards down, leaning against the clammy brick of the bookstore next to the coffee shop. His head was still buzzing, but his body felt a bit better. Turning around, Neville saw Harry and Herbert step out of The Daily Grind. Fortunately, they walked in the other direction.

Taking a deep breath, Neville glanced across the street. He gasped at what he saw. There was an array of colours dancing in the dark sky, seamlessly flowing downwards, melding with the streetlamps and headlights at street level. The colours changed, pulsated, and flowed as people walked into, through and around them. He could swear that more than a few pedestrians had something similar to Tommy's strange aura about them. One stared right at Neville from across the street, smiling and giving him a knowing, toothy smile.

And he could hear things. Strange things. Voices. Whispers. Sighs of ecstasy. Moans of pain. Words and phrases that he couldn't understand. Human voices. Animal voices. Other voices. A strange cacophony of speech, mewling, keening, horrible yet intoxicating, calling upon him to join them. And then, from somewhere in the darkness of his mind, there came an evil, sibilant hiss, rasping quietly, awakening, arousing from its long slumber. Neville jerked suddenly as the dark voice laughed.

Just then, a young bloke with his bird bumped into Neville as he leaned there, communing with the darkness. The blond jockboy muttered something about "bloody, pissed poufs." Jolted back to reality, Neville growled at the couple, who paled slightly and hustled down the sidewalk. Blinking his eyes, his fuzzy brain attempted to get his attention.

Harry, it said.

Harry!

Looking about, he saw Herbert and Harry strolling away down the street. Shoving the colours and sounds aside, he fought to focus on the two figures moving away from him. With an effort, he pushed away from the brick wall, regaining some semblance of his balance. Neville felt his strength returning. He was also becoming quite angry with this Herbert fellow. He was messing with his Harry. Harry belonged to him. Even though Neville knew somehow that Tommy now owned him, Harry was still his, and he would fight for him. To the death, if necessary.

Neville stood there on the sidewalk, watching as Harry and Herbert turned down an alley next to the record shop that stood just on the other side the Grind. Taking a deep breath, Neville took a few shaky steps. Little by little, his stride became more certain, steady. A minute later, Neville rounded the corner into the narrow alleyway. He could make out the two figures as they passed under a weak streetlamp. Just beyond it, they stopped, and turned to face each other. Neville could see that they were talking, Harry throwing his arms up into the air. Neville moved quickly towards them, closing half of the distance between in a second. He crouched behind a small dumpster, not twenty feet from the pair.

Herbert had put his hands on Harry's shoulders, and was drawing the Wizard close to him. It dawned on Neville that Herbert was surrounded by the same glow that Tommy had. He eyes grew wide as Herbert leaned down, and pressed his lips to Harry's neck. The dark voice whispered to him. Cajoled him. Urged him into action. His lips drawing back into a snarl, Neville was about to leap out from behind the dumpster when the tip of a wand pressed firmly against the side of his throat. A hand clamped down on his opposite shoulder.


"Not so fast, Leadbottom. Fancy meeting you here. Now, don't do anything rash, yeah? I wouldn't want to hurt you."

The voice was familiar, and yet not. The hand on his shoulder spun him slowly around, and Neville found himself looking up at his friend Ron. But there was something off about the smile.

"Ron? What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Before Ron could answer, there was a succession of loud cracks, and the alley was suddenly ablaze with flashes of light, yells, and screams.