Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Aloysius – or John Sparrow – appeared out of nowhere. He had a mixed expression on his face, and Draco couldn't make out whether the half demon was sad or angry. At the beach, John looked like he fitted right in. He wore an old-style linen shirt with wide sleeves, knee-high boots and brown pants. Coming over to Jack, the tall half demon peered into the bag. Draco and Melchior watched. The creature in the brown linen bag made a wailing noise, and his whimpering increased in intensity. Draco shuddered as he saw John's reaction to this. He took a few unconscious steps back, away from the crowd of onlookers. He had seen that look before, on Melchior's face many times. It was as if all humanity was drained away, and John's face became a mask of demonic lust. He bared his fangs, and his eyes seemed to glow with evil. The creature continued to whimper. But Draco thought it sounded differently. He couldn't help himself but to take a few steps closer. Another few more steps and he could see that the creature in the bag – which once had been a man – was shifting and rocking back and forth.

He had no limbs. They had been severed at some point. His ears and his tongue were also gone, and he was missing several teeth. His eyes had been burnt away. His genitalia were also severed, and replaced with something frightening. Draco couldn't bear to look at it. Despite his misfortune, the maimed man's face seemed to beam. He seemed anxious about John's presence, and Draco's eyes widened as he realised that the creature was aroused. The whimpers were in fact begging. And he seemed to recognize Aloysius. Draco looked up into the half demon's face hovering above the maimed man. There was something wild in those golden glowing eyes. Draco started as a hand grasped him roughly by the collar of his sweater and pulled him backwards. Melchior proceeded to take Draco by the arm. As he was swivelled around, Draco looked over his shoulder and caught one last glance of Aloysius as the half demon fell to his knees, unbuckling his belt in the process. Draco protested, squirming to see more of what was going on behind him. Melchior dragged him away, but Draco caught glimpses of Aloysius as he positioned himself on top of the creature whose shape was shrouded by the bag.

Draco allowed himself to be guided back onto the path leading to the road back to the Lighthouse Farm. He was thoroughly shocked at what he'd seen, and his mind was brimming with images and feelings from the strenuous fight at the beach. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen. The image of Aloysius' lustful face still lingered on his retina. A strange noise was coming from Melchior, and Draco turned his attention to the half-breed which was currently dragging him down the road. It sounded like Melchior was choking, and when Draco looked up at his face, he realised that the eudaimon was struggling emotionally. His face was intense, his brows drawn up in anxiety, and he was struggling against sobs, striding fast, nearly running. Was Melchior afraid? What had triggered this behaviour?

“Can you – why— what happened back there?! What was that thing? Why did Aloysius –!” Draco began quietly, uncertain of how to phrase his many questions. They were already halfway home, on the straight road back to the Farm. Watching Melchior display such crystalline emotions was giving a Draco a serious fright. “Please answer me, Melchior” Draco begged, “what happened back there? Why are you acting so – so –?!”

“My father – !” Melchior hissed. A sob escaped more like a gasp. He was walking so fast Draco had trouble keeping up. “My father …!” Melchior repeated, sounding despaired. “My father – is acting” Melchior breathed hard, “on an impulse” he continued, choking a sob from escaping his lips. “And that impulse stems from a need so basic to every demon – !” Melchior breathed again. Draco was nearly jogging next to him. Melchior's grip in his arm was crushing, but Draco dared not complain. Melchior seemed to be balancing on an edge, mentally speaking. “That it overwhelms every shred of humanity you might find in an eudaimon.”

Draco was out of breath from keeping up. He held on to his dagger for dear life, feeling quite lost, wondering for the umpteenth time what sort of mess he was getting himself into.

“Humans and their basic need for reproduction” Melchior said contemptuously, “is nothing – you hear me? – nothing compared to that of a demon! It is so completely overshadowing – it overrules everything else, even our love, should we fall in love with a human!”

“Melchior! You're really beginning to scare me!” Draco sobbed, “I – I don't understand!”

“Eudaimons have a collective memory base. We remember the lives of our predecessors. Their memories and experiences – lives on in our minds. That's what makes us the best” Melchior panted, “but with it – all of the battle experience and free skills comes also the heartache and the tragedies” Melchior said. He was slowing down, and his face seemed to regain much of his usual composed self.

“I still have no idea what you're talking about” Draco replied, breathing heavily. They came to an abrupt halt. They were nearly there. The tall tower of the Lighthouse Farm loomed over them.

“My father …!” Melchior sighed dejectedly as they approached the fence which separated the grounds of the property from the rest of the landscape. “My grandfather, the Demon King of the Seventh Plane of Hell, had a rather tragic love story to his Prince Consort. When the Prince initially was sacrificed to the king, a fortune seer saw his future. If the Demon King took him as a lover, the Prince would grant him three warlords. And the king couldn't resist this unique opportunity to reproduce. He had few warlords. Only minions and drones bred through Child Bearers like the one on the beach. Hideous, useless half demons with muscle and no brains. Obsessed with the thought of having warlords, he pumped his Prince full of sperm day and night. Until finally, the prince was with child. Nine months later, he gave birth to a warlord named Saieros. And every demon king envied the king of the Seventh Plane for his fortune with this human man. A year and a half later, he gave birth to a second warlord. And the kings of Hell envied the king for his fertile Child Bearer. In an attempt to bring down the king, another demon king sent an agent to infiltrate the court, and the demon agent succeeded in corrupting the king.”

Melchior paused as they walked inside the door to Port Royal. They walked straight up to the bathroom.

“And the king accused his child-bearing Prince Consort – a human who had given all of himself to this one demon and expected nothing but a shred of mercy in return – of adultery. And the Prince Consort was cast out to the mercy of the common crowd of demons. And unbeknown to the king, the Prince was already carrying his third warlord. But the shock and the abuse which ensued, the endless rapes and onslaughts led to a miscarriage. His body couldn't sustain the unborn warlord. And once cast out, the soul of the unborn was furious. Enraged because he was denied access into existence as a material being. That unborn warlord is today my father*.”

Melchior paused to take his clothes off. Draco undressed as well. He was glad to be rid of the sandy and dirty clothes which were stiff from being littered with too much demon blood.

“And when my grandfather came to his senses and realised his mistake and that the Prince had been with child – he was of course despaired. He realised he loved his Prince. Really loved him. And though he tried to exert patience, to be careful and give him time, the Demon King couldn't stay away from his consort. His need to reproduce was greater than his love. His resolve to give the Prince time crumbled, and he became angry with the Prince for not forgiving him. The Prince thought himself unworthy of the king's attention. His body was sullied by the sperm of countless demons, and he mourned the loss of his dead baby. Mentally, he was further down than Peter ever came. But my father was never of the patient kind. He possessed the king and forced him to rape the Prince so that Dad could nestle in the Prince's belly once more. The king died while the Prince gave birth to Dad.”

Melchior fell silent while he watched Draco's body while Draco showered. Rinsing his hair, Draco stepped out. He stopped and met Melchior's brown-eyed gaze.

“Your Dad really likes to meddle in other people's business.”

Ignoring his comment, Melchior hid his face in his palms and said: “I dragged you away from the beach because – because my heart harbours emotions I scarce dare to name. And when I saw the face of my father down at the beach, it was as if the past surfaced all over again. I dragged you away from there because I realised I am falling in love with you. And I do want to you to have my children. But not like this. It is vital for me that you're in control – that you have a life of your own and that your life with your wife separates me from you. If I get to close – if I were to possess every part of you – my desires will take control and it would lead to our destruction. Like with the king and his consort.”

“That man. That thing in the bag. Was that – ?”

“ – the Prince Consort? No. He's no one. A ghost from the past. A criminal, thousands of years ago.”

“But – but if you love me” Draco ventures, still standing on the bathroom floor not wearing a single thread, “won't you get jealous?”

“Because of Hermione Granger? No. My love for you is different. It is far from crude and naïve, such as the one you share with her.”

“I don't understand” Draco replied, watching Melchior rise from his seat. The eudaimon walked over to his servant, cupped his face in his hands and placed a kiss on Draco's lips.

“My love binds” he whispered softly to Draco's lips, “my love hurts. It leads to ruin.” Melchior planted another kiss on those lush lips, gazing into Draco's blue-grey eyes. “Nothing good comes from the love of an eudaimon.” Melchior's stiff manhood was gently prodding against Draco's belly, as if it underlined the unsaid between Melchior's words. It wanted so badly to be inside him, to plant its seed right there, inside Draco's belly.

It's not time yet, Melchior thought to himself. Let the boy think he has time. Images rushed past in his mind. Images of the future. Of Malfoy Manor. Of Voldemort. Severed heads. Pale, frightened faces in the dark – Harry Potter's face and his red-haired friend. And the unborn – the half demon heir to the Malfoy Manor. Of sweet agonizing incest. All of this within Melchior's reach now, if he just stayed patient and let things unfold between Draco and the girl. Another image floated by. Of Melchior supporting Draco. The blond's belly big and round, ripe with child. The reward for Melchior's patience.

He leaned in and kissed Draco more fiercely this time, with the round belly still fresh on his retina. He kissed Draco's forehead, burying his nose in blond, wet hair. Draco pressed himself against Melchior's naked body – flesh against flesh, showing how he appreciated the gentle signs of affection. Melchior's long dark brown hair cascaded onto Draco's shoulders. The bruises from the beach had long since faded. Melchior had no signs of the blows Draco had struck, and he stood tall, raging more than a head taller than Draco.


Draco stepped out into the hallway while Melchior showered. He stepped inside Melchior's bedroom for the first time. Draco thought about the event on the beach leading up to the fight. One sentence was all it took to set off the fuming emotions which had been awakened earlier that morning.

“By the way, how does it feel to finally have joined the ranks of the blood-traitors?”

It was a comment which had hit Draco hard in the gut, and his thoughts instantly went to Ronald Weasley. It had been something in Melchior's attitude – a strong reminder of the condemning, hateful stare the redhead had been shooting at Draco for the past months. And Melchior had smiled.

It had been a sly grin worthy of any pure-blood Slytherin, and it had set off buried memories about how he had been treated by his fellow Slytherins. And inside himself, Draco had discovered a hunger for revenge. A burning anger over their betrayal.

And then the image of Harry Potter had popped up in his brains. Harry Potter, who would never look at Draco with anything but suspicion. In his eyes, Draco Malfoy would always be the villain, no matter how hard Draco tried to redeem himself. And Voldemort's symbol, the Dark Mark would forever be branded on him even if it wasn't there on his forearm any more. And in all of this, at the mercy of circumstances, was Hermione and the baby. Could the world get more unfair than this?! That was when Draco had taken the first punch.

Lying down in the double-sized bed in Melchior's room, Draco closed his eyes. He was feeling tired. Thoughts flowing, he for some reason thought of the Slytherin Common Room. Oh how it had turned from a brilliant place during the first five years away from home, into a place of waking nightmares.

One particular occasion sprang into mind. It had been at the dead of night, the House was quiet and his feet had carried him into the Common Room of the Slytherins.

Melchior had been waiting with a whip. A long, brown one made from leather. The terror this sight had induced, had made Draco fall to his knees. And Melchior had made him undress. Naked, delirious with fear and sobbing, Draco had pleaded for his life while ropes had slithered along the floor, then crawled onto his body and forced his hands behind his back. Bound and gagged, Draco had been placed unceremoniously on his belly over an armchair. His buttocks exposed. Already frantic with terror, Draco had known it was only the beginning of something far worse to come.

“Proper decorum” Melchior had said, “dictates that ladies come first. Whether they are pure-blood, Muggle-born or simply Muggle. They are the mothers of the future sons and daughters of this world, and because they are women they endure thrice as much pain as a man.” Melchior swung the whip. The first lashes had been a bit of a shock. But as the stinging pain set in afterwards, Draco began to realise what he was in for.

“You forgot your manners today, little dragon. You barged in through that door without paying attention to the ladies.”

Draco had howled through his gag as another lash fell onto his reddened buttocks. He had been late for class. He had seen them, but it had looked as if they were standing by talking amongst themselves. The space between them had been narrower than expected, and he didn't realise he'd forced his way past them before it was too late. He'd been so caught up in making it to the lesson that he'd forgotten to apologize.

“And when Mister Longbotttom addressed you, you talked too much about yourself instead of paying attention to his words.” Melchior said between gritted teeth before he deal another lash to Draco's sore end. “Proper decorum by a slave is to shut up and listen when he is spoken to. No one is interested in you and your opinions. You are a worm. A stain on someone's shoe!”

A shower of lashes fell, and Draco sobbed out his pain. For some time, everything was a blur of pain. Yes, Neville had shown Draco attention. He'd asked him how he was and if he had some notes from Charms class last Tuesday. Excited to have company, the words had flowed from Draco's lips. He had so much to tell when someone finally paid him some attention. Draco had at least smiled and kept his tone friendly, but he'd been unable to stop from pouring out all of his thoughts. Then Melchior paused again.

“That female student lost all of her books on the floor, and you did nothing to help her!” Melchior had snarled and dealt another lash, “you walked past her!”

Draco had wanted to explain. He remembered the Hufflepuff girl clearly. He had wanted to stop and help her but he had been too afraid, in case she would object and scream at him. He had been weary after a long day of demanding lectures, and he didn't want the emotional strain of another rejection.

“And proper decorum” Melchior had snarled, “dictates that even slithering worms as you politely beg to obtain a seat when there's someone sitting next to it!” Another lash fell, and Draco bit down hard on his gag, howling out his agony.

Then Melchior had thrown the whip aside and stepped up to Draco's buttocks. Raking his long and sharp fingernails across the welts, while Draco had sobbed at the stinging pain, it had only taken the eudaimon moments to undo his clothing before he had forced himself into Draco's unprepared puckered entrance. Drawing blood from his entrance, Melchior dug his fingertips deep into Draco's thighs, leaving red marks. Draco's abdomen had been one large lump of agony, and the boy had bellowed, wept and pleaded through long painful minutes until Melchior finally had shot his load deep into the blond boy.

When he had withdrawn from the sixteen year old boy, Melchior had released him from the bonds. Draco had been weary from the pain, the tension and the dread. Sweat poured from his body, from straining against the pain and the intrusion. He had slid haplessly down from the armchair, drained of strength, onto the floor, falling into a shivering heap, frightened of what might come next. He had fallen into a half-sleep. He was half aware that Melchior would not leave, and far away in the back of his head, Draco had known that it bode ill for him whenever Melchior stayed. It meant that the pain and the humiliation wasn't over. He recalled how it had felt as if he had been asleep only for a few brief minutes, before Melchior had seized him again by his hair and pulled him up to his knees.

“Please, no more!” Draco had begged between gasps. “Please!”

Forcing the blond's head backwards, Melchior had seized the boy's cock. Draco hadn't dared to object, but the pain flaring on his buttocks and the agonizing stings in his rectum made it hard to feel anything akin to pleasure. It took Draco a long, long time before he could produce an erection. It had thrown him into a state of agony versus delight – delight to the very tip of his erect manhood mixed with fierce pain every time he tried to move. His head had been kept in a painful position, and he had nowhere to go. Kneeling, Melchior allowed Draco's back some support by resting it against his knee. A part from that, no leverage was given. Draco was forced to perform. When he finally came, his legs were shaking from the effort, he was sweating heavily and his platinum blond hair had been plastered to his forehead. Melchior had collected Draco's semen in the palm of his hand. Draco had watched in disgust as Melchior had used it to lubricate his own erection which never ceased to die. Draco's terror had sped to new heights as he had been turned forcibly around and mounted anew. He had held on to the one side of the armchair for dear life while Melchior had pounded away between his legs. The pain in his rectum had flared up again to near unbearable heights. And Draco had wanted to die.


For days afterwards, Draco had avoided the Slytherin common room. It had given him a good taste of what it meant to be cut off from the benefits of being a Slytherin. Without their good company, he had walked around in a zombie-like state, all of him a shivering lump of terror. He couldn't get himself to go back down into the dungeon. He spent nights at a time sleeping in corners, beneath staircases and in corners in desolate parts of the castle until he was so hungry for company and a decent bed that he defied his fears for another onslaught.

He remembered how Crabbe and Goyle had been laughing at him, taunting him, wondering if he'd slipped and fallen on the end of a broomstick when they'd caught him having trouble sitting down on a chair, or when he'd winced in pain as he'd forgotten himself and sat down in a hurry. That was before they'd discovered why. Before they'd disowned him and stopped talking to him and ceased to acknowledge his existence.

And Hermione, who had been walking by on occasions, had stared at him with a wondering and repulsed gaze at once. Or so at least he'd interpreted it to be so. He had been too wrapped up in terror to see that his unusual, wounded behaviour had puzzled her.

He awoke to find that Melchior had entered the room. The eudaimon hesitated as he stepped closer. Remembering where he was, Draco sat up in bed and combed his fingers through his hair.

“Your dreams are dark” Melchior said quietly.

“I didn't know I fell asleep. I'm sorry.” Draco made as to get out of bed. It felt awkward to be awake and in Melchior's bed when he'd just been dreaming about being assaulted by the same person who now stood in front of him.

“You dream of me. And of the past.” Melchior replied, watching Draco get out of bed. The blond walked past Melchior with timid, cautious steps, turning his head to keep an eye on Melchior. “And now you keep your distance” Melchior added melancholic.

“I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive you.”

“I regret nothing. It was necessary to tame you.”

“I'm not an animal.”

“All humans are animals regardless of their bloodline. It's all about the same basic instincts.”

“Well, then that makes you half an animal” Draco snarled, still tired and in want of sleep.

“Yes. And it's the same part of me that loves you” Melchior replied, softening his voice.

“I cannot forgive you. And I certainly cannot love you back.”

“I know. That's what you have Miss Granger for. Now, the demon in me wants to throw you onto the bed so I can have my way with you. But you look as if you're ready to fall asleep standing.”

Draco took his leave and went to his own bedroom. It felt a lot easier to breathe, once he was inside and had shut the door behind him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, making a mental note to himself about Melchior's complexity. It was difficult to comprehend how the mind of the eudaimon worked. But one thing was Draco sure of: He was not the animal in this house.

Falling asleep again, Draco began to dream at some point. It seemed as if his mind was bent on re-surfacing the worst of memories now that the emotional dam had burst open earlier that fine morning. It was as if his body was accepting the caresses and ministrations the eudaimon now bestowed upon him, but Draco's mind was bent on reminding him of the horrors the half demon also was capable of. And in one of those horrors there had been the pillory.

It had been like any other night, and Draco had awoken from his sleep in the Slytherin dorm. Not being able to control his feet, he'd gotten up and wandered to the Common Room. From the darkness there emerged Melchior, smirking evilly and playfully at him. And Draco had been raking his own mind, trying desperately to come up with the reason why he had been summoned. Perhaps there had been no reason at all? Most times, Melchior liked to summon him anyway to torment him. Draco's feet lived a life of their own and walked towards Melchior. He had stretched out his arm and was reaching for Draco who walked towards him as if he was sleepwalking. And in his mind, Draco had been screaming, knowing that soon – very soon Melchior would seize him. Just a few more steps and the pain would ensue. Just as Melchior's hand grasped his neck, Draco eyed the eudaimon's torture instrument. A medieval pillory. Draco was dragged by the neck over to the device, and then his neck was forced into place. Struggling to free himself, Draco pushed and clawed, but it only resulted in Melchior seizing his hands and placing them into the confines of the pillory as well. The pillory had forced Draco's torso to bend into a ninety degree angle. He had gasped in shock as Melchior had commenced to pull down his pyjamas, instantly raking his sharp fingernails across Draco's pristine cheeks. Draco had shuddered violently and pleaded, but to no avail.

Draco had expected a violent and painful intrusion, but instead he gasped as he sensed Melchior's breath on his buttocks. His slender fingers had parted the boy's cheeks, and Draco started as a tongue had circled the puckered entrance and gently prodded the territory. Draco had tried his best to keep from sobbing loudly. The unexpected sensation had given him the chance to check his terror, and as the tongue had commenced to probe and lick him thoroughly wet, Draco had begun to feel a tingle in his crotch. The sensation had built itself up quickly, and for a moment he had been able to forget his fears and enjoy it. Melchior's hands had been on his buttocks the entire time, keeping the boy's hips locked in position. Then, he had reached between Draco's legs and wrapped the fingers of his right hand around Draco's half erect member. The touch had sent sparks of electricity flying up to his stomach and Draco had been unable to suppress a slight moan and a shudder.

“That's right” Melchior had whispered, “moan for me. It pleases me to hear something else besides whining and whimpers.” Melchior's hand had pumped away fiercely. Kneeling behind the boy, Melchior used his left hand digits to caress and slowly stretch the boy's puckered entrance. The sensation had sent Draco sky-rocketing with lust. He had come shortly afterwards, and Melchior once again used Draco's sperm to coat the awaiting puckered entrance. Shuddering in disgust at being coated with his own sperm, Draco had winced at the embarrassment. At least – having an orgasm first helped douse the pain which ensued when the eudaimon entered him, forcing his large erect cock into Draco's hole in one thrust. It helped to be aroused, and Draco had found he was grateful that the eudaimon for once had had the patient enough to give Draco an orgasm. It made the sexual intercourse endurable.

Waking up to early evening light, Draco turned in his bed and sighed. He still remembered the dream, and he felt a familiar prickle in his hole. It was an itch he had had before, and he knew he already was wet and swollen. With one single thought in mind, he got up and tip toed over to Melchior's bedroom. Melchior was sitting by the window, his body draped in a robe made of grey silk. Turning his head, Melchior saw him and instantly sniffed the air. The eudaimon's pupils dilated at the scent of Draco's willing body, but he resisted the urge to get out of his seat and throw himself at the boy. He watched in anticipation as Draco entered the room, naked as the day he was born. Closer – Draco smelled of sex and sleep – and Melchior's breath hitched before he held it. His manhood came to instant attention, aching and pleading for its owner to just get on with it before Draco changed his mind.

Leaning in, Draco kissed his eudaimon.

The kiss was the only audible sound in the room.

Draco's left hand travelled across the silky robe and down to Melchior's crotch. His slender, Slytherin fingers slid across the smooth fabric covering an erection which screamed at the tender, inviting caress. Had it been able to grow arms and legs, the erection would have thrown itself at Draco's feet and pleaded for mercy.

Outwards, Melchior seemed balanced and apprehensive, smiling gently at his blond lover. He tried to seem casual about it, disciplining every nerve in his half demonic body not to go haywire and force Draco to the ground and rape him. He thought of the meeting between their souls, and it helped. A little. For he couldn't control the awakening beast inside him. The eudaimon could already sense the demon blood on the rise, and glancing at his hands, he saw his fingernails grow long and sharp. Getting out of his chair, Melchior mustered all possible self-control and put his right hand gently around Draco's waist. But Draco pushed him back down to sit in the large window frame. He planted another kiss on the eudaimon's lips. The Slytherin parted the eudaimon's legs, and the silk robe fell from his thighs, revealing pale marble coloured legs and yes, a straining erection just waiting for its Christmas present. Leaning in, Draco closed the space between them. He knelt, and the throbbing erection touched his chest while he placed his hands around Melchior's neck, drawing him closer and kissing him more fiercely.

Melchior felt his senses overwhelmed with the sight and the smell and the touch of Draco Malfoy.

Breaking the kiss, Draco whispered seductively: “Do me. Slowly.”

He gazed up into Melchior's chocolate brown eyes. Just then, the eudaimon winced and his body tensed. Draco felt a spurt of something wet hit the underside of his chin. His chest went wet with something sticky. Looking down, he saw that his chest was covered in sperm. Glancing perplexed up at the eudaimon, Melchior smiled apologetically, looking surprised. The surprise was immediately followed by resignation and a sigh.

“Oh” Was Melchior's first comment. “Sorry about that. It's the effect you have on me, see?”

Draco suppressed a giggle. He wiped some of the sperm off with his right index finger and observed the content. The sperm was thick, and it reminded him of melting icing sugar.

“In the future” Melchior began, “that will bring consequences” he went on, pointing to the sperm on Draco's finger. “Not only does it harbour the potential to produce offspring, but the demon essence in it will poison you. Long term effects are usually – well, insanity. Repeated illnesses, as it will reduce your immune system. It mocks up your perception – you see things which aren't there. But the up-side, is that it protects. The more sperm I load you with, the more protected you are. Other demons will shun you, because of my smell on you. And in demon society it will elevate you, and they'll treat you like royalty. It will keep you from dying. You may acquire deadly diseases, but you will prevail and recover. It will postpone death and heighten your skills. And it will also give you new ones. And you'll find that you succeed in every endeavour. It's sort of like Liquid Luck.”

“I see. But I'm still horny” Draco replied, gazing into Melchior's eyes again. “I've got this itch. Down there” he nodded with his head, “but, I guess I must just help myself now that you – “

“ – please do! And I'll be ready again in a minute” Melchior chirped, already sensing another tingle in his abdomen. This was definitely one of the upsides to being an eudaimon. Sexually, he just went on and on as if he had Duracell batteries strapped onto his back instead of wings.

Not breaking the gaze, Draco's lips curled up in a slight seductive smile as he wiped off the sperm from his chest. He placed his sticky palm on his cock and wrapped his slender fingers around it, greasing it thoroughly with Melchior's sperm. He liked the idea of Melchior's smell on his body. Melchior hadn't missed a single motion, and he broke the gaze to stare wide-eyed at Draco who applied his demon sperm onto his cock. It came to life and grew quickly into a delicious looking toy. Melchior's erection was up and about in no time, ready for action, already displeased with its owner for missing out on the initial fun. Draco turned around between Melchior's silky smooth legs. There wasn't a shred of body hair on his legs. Sitting with his back towards Melchior, Draco glanced over his shoulder to see if Melchior still followed his game. Meeting his glance for a moment, Draco knelt again and positioned himself in one hand and his knees, spreading his legs wide while he pumped away. He arched his head backwards and let out a sigh.

Melchior had eyes only for the swollen rose which slowly revealed itself in the same manner as the pristine Venus did from inside a shell.

“Oh Draco Malfoy …!” he sighed, revelling in the sensation that he was presented with such a lovely gift. Given freely. It was swollen, and wet, and warm. A den in which to hibernate and call home! Melchior fell to his knees, and made his way between Draco's legs. Positioning his praying erection, the eudaimon held his breath and closed his eyes, drowning in pure ecstasy as he gently pushed himself inside. He felt Draco's persistent ring muscle tighten its grip as if it seized Melchior and meant to hold his cock a prisoner until he was spent. Melchior sighed deeply, sensing that Draco's body was tensing in a prelude to an orgasm. He picked up a crystal glass and placed it on the floor beneath Draco's belly.

“I want your milk when you're done” Melchior breathed and commenced to thrust. Not two minutes later did Draco orgasm, moaning loudly in the process as he emptied his cock into the glass. His mind was blank, obeying his master without question. His body remained on fire as he closed his eyes and revelled in the sensation of being thoroughly fucked. Coming hard, Melchior shot his load into Draco's slick cave. Just thinking about having a piece of himself inside the boy was making him hard again. Taking a firm grip around Draco's hips, Melchior got to his feet, hoisting Draco up to his feet while still being inside him. The blood pumped in Draco's veins and he listened to Melchior's and his own strained breaths as the eudaimon carried the boy over to the bedpost. Melchior was still inside, and he didn't wait for Draco to get his hold before he began to pump in and out again. Streams of sweat poured down his temples, but Draco was lost in his lust, closing his eyes and senses to everything except the sensation in his rectum and the good feelings reverberating through him from a core inside his crotch. His manhood was coming to half mast again. Draco's muscle ring refused to let go.

“You're tighter than a virgin!” Melchior hissed between gritted teeth as he slammed into Draco's ass again and again. The comment prompted Draco to tighten the muscle consciously, and it sent Melchior into an instant orgasm just after a few pumps. The eudaimon collapsed on top of his target, and breathed hard. As he attempted to pull out, the ring still clenched about his cock, and Melchior laughed heartily as he once again felt his manhood fill up with heat.

Draco was waiting apprehensively. He felt as if he could go on all night, and he was unconsciously nursing his manhood, bringing it to its height, rekindling the fire within.

Evening came.

Dinner had been set on the table and Malachi and his family decided they would commence eating without the rest.

The rest was late. When they finally came tumbling in through the front door, they looked as if they'd both recently showered. Draco was smiling and seemed very cheerful, greeting the children and showing them lots of attention. He had large roses in his cheeks and he seemed rested.

Melchior was somewhat more reserved, looking tired but content. He sat down and had a glass of wine while Draco piled his own plate with roasted chicken, vegetables and rice. Judging by the small mountain on his plate, the boy was hungry. Having downed his glass of wine, Melchior got himself some food. They ate and listened to the children tell about what they'd experienced through the day. John sat across the table, holding his glass of wine. He quite forgot to eat while he studied the couple across the table. He had never seen his son looking so weary, almost as if he'd been to Hell and participated in battle. Melchior was staring lethargically at some unknown point on the table, but every time Draco turned his head to gaze at him, his face brightened up and they smiled knowingly to one another. John watched his son. Watched how his eyes grew heavier, his face slack and sleepy. Melchior came to himself just before his nose hit the plate. Excusing himself, the eudaimon left the table and went over to the nearest couch. He was snoring before his head touched the pillow.

“Well, well” John sighed, looking over to Draco. “I have to say, it's not often I come across people who manage to wear out my sons in bed.”

Draco only smiled modestly in return. John glanced at his sleeping son again, his wings sprawled lifelessly across the floor. “I do like what I see, though. And what I smell. You're very good for him, Mister Malfoy.” John paused. “In fact” he hesitated, “I am … stunned. Because right now, his smell on you is so strong that I cannot distinguish his from yours.”

A loud snore from the eudaimon in question broke the silence. The children hopped from their seats and danced over to where their uncle lay resting. Crawling across his wings, leaving behind a shower of small black feathers which loosened in their wake, they perused to crawl onto his back where they dandled, shouting “hee ho! Go horsey!”

Melchior slept on, untroubled by the riders on his back.

“Melchior has changed since he began to hang around you. I dare say you've made him into a better man. In many ways.”

“Thank you, Sir” Draco replied with a brief smile. He finished his dinner, drank up his wine and helped Peter clear the table. He stayed with Peter in the kitchen, taking instructions on how to clear away left overs, how to clean the kitchen other practicalities which came with the territory. He paid attention with Hermione in mind. Dealing with eudaimons all day was a straining task, and it felt good to just wind down and do some honest labour. The last of the daylight had faded. Peter lit the lamps in the kitchen, quietly scolding his children for being in the way, ushering them out of the kitchen. His belly jutted out like a large balloon, and Draco realised he had many questions. Questions about male pregnancies he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers to just yet. Peter made himself and Draco cups of tea afterwards, and they sat down by the small kitchen table afterwards, looking out at the lighthouse and the horizon.

“You mustn't be sad” Peter told Draco quietly. He gazed intently at Draco.

“What do you mean?”

“About – about ...” Peter said, glancing at the sleeping eudaimon on the couch. “I know how it can be” Peter continued, obviously struggling to find the words. “To have to spend many, many hours with them – inside of you. It's – it's absolutely terrifying.” Peter wrung his hands and stared at the table. Draco shook his head weakly as he tried to comprehend what Peter referred to.

“It wasn't – it wasn't like that” Draco replied, smiling briefly. “I enjoyed it. Every moment of it. He was – very, uhm, well, gentle would be the wrong word. I don't mind it when he's – you know – a little bit rough.” Draco combed his fingers through his hair, slightly embarrassed to be having such a conversation about something which had occurred only hours earlier. “it's actually quite – exciting!” Draco said with a lopsided smile.

“Exciting?” Peter whispered, shocked at the notion. “You mean – you enjoyed it?!”

“I just said so, didn't I?”

“How is it – possible – to enjoy – ?!” Peter exclaimed, then checking his voice. “How is it possible to enjoy it? It is a punishment …!”

“ – no. Not at punishment. It's good. It's fun. It doesn't have to hurt. Not if you prepare yourself.” Draco took a sip of his tea while they waited for Malachi to leave the kitchen after making himself a cup of tea. “It's – it's what consensual sex is about. And that is possible. Even with an eudaimon. Maybe – maybe if you – if you and Malachi – if you joined us, then …!” Draco winced as he realised that Malachi was still within earshot. But Malachi said nothing and ventured into the living room. Draco wanted to disappear into a big, black hole.

Draco went back to Port Royal that evening. Alone. Malachi and Melchior were in deep conversation, obviously discussing something very important. Draco had a sickening feeling in his gut concerning what the subject was. He turned his head as he heard John loud and clear: “If that is to happen then I want to be a part of it.”

“No way!” Melchior instantly bellowed in return. Draco sighed, opened the door and slipped inside Port Royal. Feeling sleepy he brushed his teeth and went to bed. It had been a long day.

Three A.M.
Draco woke by a rap on the front door. Melchior was up and about, and Draco heard him leap down the stairs to answer the door. Hearing voices, Draco got to his feet, put on some clothes and went downstairs to see who it was.

“I think it's time we tried something new” Malachi said to Peter, then glancing at Draco. Draco looked from the couple and to Melchior who was shaking his head faintly. He had crossed his arms and was smiling wickedly. “And it has to be done without our father hanging over our shoulders.”

“Draco Malfoy!” Melchior turned to glare at his target, “I don't know whether to laugh or cry right now. This is your doing, so you better be up for it.”

“Huh?” was Draco's immediate response.

“Go coat yourself. We're having an instant foursome.”