Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Draco brought Peter to his room. There, when the door had been shut and Peter was finally sure that he could bring no shame over Malachi, did he weep openly. His tears fell silently, and Peter put the back of his hand to his mouth to stop whimpers from escaping. He was shaking with terror and grief. The image of his sleeping children still lingered on his retina. He was convinced he had seen them for the last time. He conveyed this to Draco while they undressed. Then, they stood before one another, naked as the day they were born, and Peter told Draco about what he thought a foursome was all about.

He wasn't sure if he'd just dreamt it or if it in fact had been real. For the sake of his sanity he kept telling himself it had just been a dream. At least, that's what Malachi had said.

The three brothers – Malachi, Melchior and Marian had been present. It had been a foreign living room, with a TV, a table, a couch, wine glasses and an old fashioned jug filled with red liquid. They had been watching the film – a war drama with lots of graphic violence. And their eyes had been gleaming with evil lust, aroused by the violence they saw. Peter had tip-toed around them trying to make himself small and invisible while he cleaned surfaces and picked up stuff from the floor. And he had been cold-sweating, filled to his fingertips with an eerie feeling. For they had only been pretending to watch the film. Out of the corner of their eyes, they stared at Peter and his pregnant body. The one who had shown the least interest, had been Malachi. He was watching the film, drinking heavily obviously ignoring Peter and his growing anxiety. And Peter, who had been trained not to struggle, had been terrified when his worst fears had been corroborated. It had been Melchior who had taken the lead.

Of the triplets, Peter had always perceived Melchior as the hateful one. Above all things, he detested Peter.

As he had been pinned to the table with his large belly sandwiched between himself and the table, Peter had first and foremost been concerned with the welfare of his unborn young. Malachi had done nothing – completely absorbed in the film. Melchior – or had it been Marian? – had wrung Peter's arms behind his back and then stripped him from the waist and down. The jug had toppled over in the commotion. Peter had felt the agonizing stings as one of them had entered him. He cared not. All he could think of was the crushing weight on his unborn child and the eye. The one eye which had floated out of the jug and which lay stranded on the table, resembling a lone island in a sea of blood.

Draco made an effort to stare at Peter's face and not at his belly and his abdomen. Peter had evolved the same sexless groin as the ancient Child Bearer Draco had seen at the beach. It added a strong female touch along with the jutting belly. His gaze descending a little, he noticed that Peter had breasts. Small, jutting nipples on full, round breasts already ripe with milk. The only thing left on Peter's body which defined him as a man, was his face structure, his arms and legs which clearly were that of a male. His stance was typical male, but everything else on him looked female. It was an odd mix, but it made Draco realise just to which extent Peter had been humiliated. Everything that made Peter a man, had been removed.

“It's – it's not going to be like that” Draco said, trying to sound confident. He handed Peter the small jar with ointment he'd once purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Here” he said quietly, handing it to Peter, “you should – you know, coat yourself with it.”

Peter accepted the jar. Draco turned his gaze away as Peter applied the ointment. He then handed Draco the jar, and Draco did the same. Putting the jar back on the table, he approached Peter, cupped the elder man's face in his hands and said: “Have a little faith, Peter. This will turn out nice, trust me.”


Main bedroom.
Malachi and Melchior waited. The eudaimons were naked, casually resting on the bed. Melchior's great black wings swept across the ceiling. They had been chatting when the two targets entered, and they both sat up apprehensively as Draco and Peter had entered. Draco looked to Peter and understood he'd have to be the courageous one. Peter looked like he was about to fall apart. He took the pregnant male's hand and squeezed it gently.

A wide grin spread on Melchior's lips at the sight of the two nude targets. One pregnant, and the other would be in the future. His gaze travelled up and down Draco's body and the fire in his groin was again ablaze with desire, knowing he possessed all of that pale delicious apparition in front of him. And Peter – of, how the big belly ignited every demon circuit in his blood, knowing there was an eudaimon in the making inside. Gazing at Peter's voluptuous forms, Melchior felt his erection grow harder. The need to reproduce throbbed in his cock. Looking at Draco again, Melchior swallowed said need and considered the blond for what he was at the moment; A bedroom angel. A delicious playmate.

“Would it be unreasonable to ask if you could inform us of your plans?” Draco asked, looking from one eudaimon to the other.

“Of course not!” Melchior promptly answered. He spoke softly – his gaze travelling wantonly up and down Draco's naked form. He leaned over to his brother and whispered something in his ear, making his brother grin widely, nodding in agreement. Turning about, they arranged the sleeping blanket and the pillows against the wall. Turning back towards the humans, Melchior grinned again, a little more wickedly this time, and said: “Now, would the two most sublime creatures in all of the universe please take their seats?” He gestured for the pillows at the wall. Draco took the lead, took Melchior's beckoning hand and found his way over to the bed. Sitting down, leaning his back against the soft fabric of the arrangement of the blanket behind his back, Draco rested his head against the wall and spread his legs to Melchior.

Peter hesitated for a second, before he strenuously followed Draco's example, except that Peter resembled an elephant with his big belly beneath him. It was cumbersome, but Peter made it over onto his back, leaned against the comfortable pillows. He looked away and spread his legs in obvious shame and apprehension. He clutched the bedspread beneath his hands and waited nervously for whatever which would ensue.

“And – and the plan?” Draco repeated his question, all though he assumed he was in for a nice round of being screwed out of his senses. His greatest concern were their partners in crime – particularly Peter.

“The plan …!” Malachi whispered, gazing deeply into Peter's eyes. He lay down on his belly, his brown straight hair obscuring his face. He put his face between Peter's legs and began to lick. Peter's face became a mask of ambivalence – clearly tearing the ex-Londoner between ecstasy and terror. Peter seemed ashamed. His thighs quivered with the onslaught of restrained emotions. But most of all – Draco thought – he silently conveyed disgust at what was happening to him.

“The plan is” Melchior said, looking intently at Draco, “to warm you up” the eudaimon smiled wickedly again, “so we all can have some more fun tomorrow.” He broke his gaze with Draco and bent down to engulf Draco's limp member with his lips. Draco tensed instantly and breathed hard, sucking in air at the sudden sensation. He closed his eyes and soaked up the feeling over growing hard inside a wet mouth, sharp teeth raking gently across soft skin and a teasing tongue dancing all over Draco's erection. Draco was harder than granite in less than a nano-second. Instead of nursing it more, Melchior shifted. He lay flat on his belly and began to lap gently at Draco's testicles. Draco arched his back, moaned in a startled fashion at the intense but highly arousing sensation before he began to unconsciously meow as Melchior's tongue found its way down to Draco's awaiting entrance. Oh how he longed to have Melchior inside! The eudaimon did however have other plans, and shifted his attention back to the pale and awaiting shaft before him. Draco's hands roamed on their own accord. They searched for the eudaimon's cock, but it was nowhere to be found. Disappointed and in desperate need, Draco began to writhe as the eudaimon's tongue tap-danced across his length, the eudaimon's hands roving his belly, his hips, the insides of his thighs, teasing his nipples, finding the path up to Draco's throat and from there Draco took control, sucking at Melchior's digits – sucking greedily – conveying his need for something more, something bigger and harder, something penetrating and thrusting. The blood was pumping in the blond's veins, his pulse beating hard and fast in his ears, drowning out all other impulses. Opening his eyes, he gazed at Melchior with greedy grey eyes, his look spelling out the demand for sex – openly begging the eudaimon to take him and pound him hard in his ass. He caressed Melchior's body with his feet, stroking with them down the sides of his torso down to his rounded cheeks, using his feet to beckon Melchior inside. But the eudaimon stood his ground.

Malachi was hard at work, licking the bundle of nerves which remained after the maiming of Peter's body. Demon nature had seen to the change. Their souls had met and initiated a change in Peter's body, enabling him to bear children and then give birth to them the 'ordinary' way, if there was such an expression concerning male pregnancies. The expression on Peter's face was all too familiar. He hated that Malachi touched him. And this in particular – to be licked and caressed in such an intimate place – seemed to be extra hard for Peter to handle. It wasn't just Malachi's imagination. He saw fragments of enjoyment on Peter's face. The way his legs quivered and how his body tensed. But whenever Malachi's hands came roving too far up, past Peter's belly and to the jutting small breasts, Peter went pale, shut his eyes hard and his face became the epitome of repugnance.

Malachi knew that Peter hated his womanly forms. He could cope with Malachi helping himself to whatever was down there, but to have the eudaimon's hands on his breasts, made Peter sick to his stomach. It went against nature itself. The breasts had a practical purpose. They produced milk for the demon babies. And he quite enjoyed nursing them, knowing they enjoyed his milk and craved it beyond all things. But that's where it stopped. Apart from that they were an encumbrance and an embarrassment to Peter. Malachi's hands on them made it tingle in his abdomen. It was an unwanted lust and a sickening sensation.

Willing away the frustration of silent rejection, Malachi let his fingers travel down past the bundle of nerves, past the tiny vertical slit in Peter's skin which was the early start of the birth canal to come, down to Peter's entrance. He felt his target tense as he played with his fingers around the coated entrance. The coating smelled of spices, and it was oily and thick in substance, and pleasant to smell. It made the entrance swollen and moist. Running his tongue across the slit and upwards to the bundle of nerves, Malachi felt Peter writhe slightly beneath his ministrations. It was more like an involuntarily shudder. Teasing the puckered entrance with two digits, Malachi continued to lick at the swelling bud, tasting Peter's juices, taking in the scent of this up-tight human he had come to care for.

It wasn't love. It was something else. Malachi didn't know what to name it. But all the same, it hurt to know that Peter's heart and mind was beyond repair.

Peter opened his eyes and glanced over to Draco. The blond Slytherin was bucking and grinding against his master, completely lost in pleasure. He was showing no signs of decorum worthy a slave to an eudaimon. The boy was openly displaying emotions and Peter wondered how long it would take before Melchior exploded in anger over such flamboyant behaviour. Malachi was biding his time. Peter had no idea where this madness was going to end. Watching Draco Malfoy purr like a kitten next to him, was highly arousing. Peter looked up in the ceiling, trying to relax, trying not to be torn away by unmentionable emotions. If Malachi kept it up much longer, Peter would surely orgasm. Without permission. He wondered about this. Was it what Malachi wanted? Or was this just the beginning of a long night filled with terrors and punishment?

His concerns drowned as pleasure cascaded through his abdomen. Peter grit his teeth, trying to keep still and not make a sound as the orgasm swept through him. He heard Draco meow next to him. Both targets came at once, but Draco was the one to moan out his pleasure, digging his fingers into the long curls on Melchior's head. The eudaimon's mouth enveloped the boy's manhood as he came, swallowing greedily, sucking at the tiny slit for more. Peter had to look away. He had come to see so many forbidden things at once, and he had no idea what to do with himself. He felt his belly tense and go rock hard for several seconds. It was a normal aftermath on the rare occasions when he orgasmed while he was pregnant. He wanted to close his legs and be off to bed as the routine usually was when Malachi was done with him, but the eudaimon lingered between his legs, caressing his stomach and kissing it gently. Peter sighed quietly. In all of this madness it was good to see that Malachi at least had a care for the baby inside his belly, judging by the affection he now poured on it. It never occurred to him that Malachi was trying to show Peter said affection by being gentle and intimate this way

Draco needed a shower. He was fighting to regain control of his breath, and all though he had orgasmed, something was still amiss. His hole was ready and moist. Melchior sat up between his legs and drank kisses from Draco's swollen lips. Draco still bucked and beckoned Melchior with his body. But the eudaimon held back, and continued to pour kisses on his lips. He kissed Draco's forehead. Then his gaze wandered over to his brother, who was thoughtful and looking sad.

“To bed” Melchior ordered Draco softly. “To bed, my little dragon. Tomorrow we shall train you some more. With the dagger.” Melchior raised his eyebrows. “You need no practice in bed. You're a natural.”

The two targets left the brothers. Peter and Draco said good-night and went each to their home. Exhausted by the sexual escapade in the middle of the night, Draco fell asleep on his belly in his bed.

The two brothers remained in the main bedroom. Melchior kissed away his brother's tears. Their lips continued to meet in passionate, desperate kisses. Malachi lay down on his back and stared at the ceiling. Melchior showered his naked torso with kisses, working his way downwards. Malachi didn't even flinch when Melchior entered him. It was all good. And he needed it. It was a sibling intercourse done in afterthought. They didn't speak for a very long time as they were both busy processing the images of the two nude targets together. When Melchior was done, having orgasmed inside his brother and then come to rest next to him, did Malachi speak.

“It's like making love to a stone wall. He's cold. He's repulsed by my touch” Malachi told his brother quietly. The room was dark. They could hear Draco's soft snores through the wall and the crushing waves in the distance. Malachi was close to tears again.

“You have to let him go. He's suffocating” Melchior replied softly. They were having a conversation which had been taboo for years. It was a subject which their father didn't even want to begin to think about. “You can live apart and still be married.”

“But is it enough?” Malachi asked, thinking about his marriage to Peter. “Will he truly be free unless I divorce him? And what then? Is he to live out there in the open, at the mercy of any common demon?”

“ – hush, my brother. Of course not. He'll have every protection. I'll have Draco visit him and make sure he gets what he needs. He'll lack nothing.”

“ – but what if he – doesn't make it?”

“ – if he's seized by another demon, he will have to be put out of his misery. But we'll assign him a guardian spirit to avoid having to face that sort of situation.”

“So you're sure then? He'll be better off without me?” Malachi asked.

“The answer is still yes, even though it's been a whole year since we last spoke of it. I even see a possible future with more children in it. For he'll be lonely. He'll be wanting another piece of you growing inside him. Funny that; He can't live with you, but he cannot exist without you. Sort of like Voldemort and Harry Potter.”

“Who?”

“No one of importance.”

Draco spent the next morning training with Melchior. The eudaimon drilled techniques into Draco's limb, making him do the same practices over and over again. Then, he was sent inside to wash up and help Peter with his chores. Draco learned how to use a vacuum cleaner, and how to retrieve items which disappeared into its bowels. Then he ended up on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. Tired and hungry, he sat down for a moment's rest. He had time to think about Hermione for exactly one second before Peter beckoned him into the kitchen. Peter handed him an apron, and Draco felt how his masculinity shrank from the sight of it. Steeling himself for Hermione's sake, he put it on, glancing briefly at the little red hearts dotting the otherwise white and clean fabric. The Slytherin shuddered. Then he was put to work over the frying pan, and Peter stood aside, instructing him how to make meatballs. Not once did they speak about the previous night.

Returning to Port Royal for the night, Draco collapsed on the tartan quilt in front of the fireplace. The logs there were burning furiously. Two glasses of heavy red wine, his belly full on meat balls and spaghetti, Draco sighed contentedly and stretched from head to toe. He turned his head to gaze at Melchior who was lying next to him, on his belly, resting his chin on the back of his hand, staring contemplatively into the flames. Draco had grown to love these moments late at night. His hole was slick, swollen and filled with another load of Melchior's sperm. The eudaimon seemed at ease, relaxed and sated. For now. The flames danced in his dark brown eyes, and Draco easily saw the resemblance to his father John.

“What happened to the man?” Draco asked quietly, interrupted only by the noise from wood burning. “The Child Bearer at the beach.”

Melchior hesitated, as if he contemplated a proper answer. “He will be cared for by my father and his brothers.”

“Will they – …!”

“ – have intercourse with him? Yes. Undoubtedly.”

Draco turned to lay on his stomach next to his master, their shoulders touching.

“You have to eat more, Draco. And exercise. Build some muscle. And stamina.”

“Yes Master.” Draco stared into the flames. He was beginning to feel seriously sleepy, and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet. Stamina. His tired mind mulled over the word and what it meant. For some reason he began to think about Peter with the big belly, with a household to run and two rowdy half-eudaimons to raise into something other than scoundrels. Stamina.


Next morning was spent practising in the courtyard. Jack Sparrow had seated himself on a rock. He was chewing away at a carrot while he watched Melchior instruct his target. It was too early for rum. Jack's own children had arrived during the night.

The children were Keeland – a fourteen year old who instantly adopted Draco as his idol. Then Raleigh – who was twelve. His smaller brother Eliah – aged ten, Laurence and Lukas – aged eight, and the last of the Sparrow eudaimons to ever be born: Zacharias, Zachaios and Zarad. The triplets had been born to the world of the humans four years ago. He had decided that enough was enough during the strenuous birth which had nearly killed both him and the children. He held on to their leash while he watched them tumble around in the air. They were restrained by harnesses, or they would float away. Knowing how to be weightless was as natural as breathing. Real flying was something else which had to be mastered, just like riding a bike. And Jack had more than once seen his babies fly off uncontrollably. They all had black wings, and they played about in the air, happily unaware of tomorrow.

It was as if demon nature had known that Jack would be quitting. It had set in everything on getting the most out of the last pregnancy. Therefore: Triplets. Great warlords always came in three. It was demon nature's response to The Holy Trinity.

Draco did his best to focus. Melchior was telling him about combinations where Draco could utilize both wand and dagger. The Hawthorn wand being the offensive weapon, The Demon's Bane acting as the defensive. Melchior raised his longsword, and Draco did as he was instructed. Casting a perfect Reducto, Draco waited. Melchior deflected it with great ease, shifted his stance and attacked. Waiting that extra second while the longsword descended upon him, was nerve-wrecking. Sliding to the left, Draco deflected the thrust with his dagger, using the momentum to parry the blow change the course of the longsword. The blades met with a loud clang. Sparks flew. The longsword's blade slid down and struck the earth next to Draco's feet.

Melchior commended Draco for his efforts, painfully aware that Jack was watching them. They practised the same manoeuvre over and over until Draco started to improvise and implemented it with other techniques from the day before. Melchior nodded approvingly when he saw how Draco performed. Finally, he put the sword down.

“Now” he began, and rolled up his sleeves. “Put your wand away. Use your dagger, and see if you can catch me.”

Draco watched with eyes wide open as Melchior raised his hands in front of his face. His fingernails started growing longer and longer, and they changed colour into something black. Eyeing Draco, Melchior smiled a cunning smile before he vanished into thin air.

Dumbstruck, Draco remained glued to the spot while he wondered where Melchior went. Moments later, a searing pain bloomed in his right shoulder. A five inch long fine line of red marked the place where his shirt had been sliced. The wound stung badly, and Draco realised what Melchior was up to. Reaching out with his senses, Draco looked for the eudaimon. There he was! For a brief second, Draco caught a glance of Melchior's outline out of the corner of his eye to his right. Turning abruptly, the presence was no longer there. Draco spun around and was met with a searing pain as something barely visible flew across his chest. A series of parallel red stripes opened across his belly, and Draco yelped at the shock and the pain. Barely recuperating, he howled as Melchior's invisible long claws raked across his back, leaving hair-thin slices horizontally across the boy's shoulder-blades. Something clicked in his mind, and Draco spun and lashed into the air, knowing he would make it. The Demon's Bane struck flesh, and Draco heard Melchior mutter a curse. A red spot appeared to be hovering in mid-air.

Appearing again, Melchior morphed his long fingernails away and said: “Not bad. You actually caught me.” He placed a hand on Draco's left shoulder, and moments later, the wounds disappeared.

“You look surprised.”

“I honestly thought it would take you a lot longer. And your ability to combine techniques gives you a great advantage. Still. You need to eat more, exercise more and toughen up. And – ” Melchior said, pointing his index finger to Draco, “your hexes are pathetic. I'll have to teach you some real magic.”

“Se – Severus Snape said he had nothing more to teach me in defence Against the Dark Arts class. He – !”

“Severus Snape knows nothing. I'll teach you hexes which will baffle even Lord Voldemort!”

Draco held his breath, taking in what Melchior was telling him. Fascination and fright was tumbling around in his belly. But above all, Draco felt a sort of joy at the thought of finally meeting someone who shared his still Slytherin ideas about Dark Magic being the real magic. The really interesting stuff.

“My father has an extended collection of books concerning the Arts of Dark and Light Magic in his library at the Château Trémazan.”

“An' when ye're ready tha' do tha' toughin' up part, give me a call, will ye, Dragon? Trust me: Two weeks on tha' Pearl trimmin' sails from dawn tha' dusk will roughen yer skin, savvy?”

Melchior laughed. “Oh yeah. I quite agree with Jack. We've all been there. Obligatory for every Sparrow eudaimon. It's something we do when we need to feel human again and get our feet back on the ground. Eudaimons have a way of … how to put it?” Melchior looked to Jack for aid.

“Yer powers and yer demonic blood goes to yer heads an' ye think ye're gods! Swabbin' tha' the deck is a good way of getting' yer feet back on the groun'.”

“Right!” Melchior laughed half-heartedly. “And that goes for you too, Draco. With great power comes great responsibility. Your powers will never give you true happiness. Only Miss Granger can give you that.”

Draco listened intently. He could already feel the responsibility weighing down on his shoulders.

Evening.
Draco and Peter went for a walk. They followed the coastline to Port Stoth. The Black Pearl was anchored up there. Draco followed the ladder down the steep rock with his eyes, leading down to the modest pier where several dingys were tied up. From there he trailed an imaginary line across the water to the black-hulled ship with black sails. She was impressive to behold. Otherwordly. He could imagine what she looked like in the dead of night: An unholy ghost-ship hardly discernible from the dark waters. She was looking good for being more than three hundred years old. Draco suspected it was more at work keeping her together than just replacing wood over the years. Her masts raged proudly against the sky. She didn't induce fright the same way the Crimson Lotus had. She seemed friendlier. Adventurous and enjoying the rocking of the waves beneath her. And the crew on board seemed human.

“I've been on board a few times!” Peter looked at Draco. He was beaming with excitement. “She's – she's just magnificent! And to sail with her – the wind in your hair, the smell of sea and tar, and the – the sound of the waves against the hulls, the ship cutting through the water …!” Draco couldn't take his eyes away from Peter's face. The man was smiling widely. He rested a hand on top of his belly, breathing deep and obviously reliving some very good memory. “If you ever get the chance …!” Peter glanced at Draco.

“I hear it's hard work! Crewing a ship like that. Lot's of hard work!”

“Oh, I wouldn't know. I was only a passenger. I imagine it isn't easy. You have to climb the high masts while at top speed!”

“Why don't you take Malachi and the children with you and go sailing for a year?” Draco suggested. “I mean, what a way to travel! I'd definitely do that with Hermione if I got the chance.”

“You have to get rid of her” Peter replied, sounding grave all of the sudden. All mirth had disappeared from his face.

“Why?! Melchior approves of her.”

“What happens the day she starts to set demands? What happens the day she asks you to choose between her and him? He will change his mind and be angry with her. He'll destroy her. And your offspring will be cast out in the cold – fatherless and friendless. Or he might enslave it as well, and force you to watch – !”

“ – Peter! Stop it! You're letting your emotions get the better of you. I know it's a risk. But I'm prepared to take it. Like your husband Malachi – his brother Melchior can be reasoned with. It's all about leverage.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked as they turned from Port Stoth and continued away from the coastline and in direction of Fivepenny. The wind pushed at their backs, driving away over the flat, grassy landscape. Everywhere, there were stone ruins and overgrown signs of settlements past.

“I spread my legs willingly to Melchior. He gives me power. I behave as a good boy, I get to keep Hermione. I know his name. I know he has to keep promises and never lie. If not, he breaks the most basic truces there are between man and eudaimon. His peers and superiors won't stand for it. Above all things, Sparrow eudaimons place their honour. You should try it, you know. Setting demands, I mean.”

“And – and risk being separated from my children? I may be useless, Draco Malfoy, but I'm not stupid!”

“Oh come on! You're driving Malachi mad with your silence and your constant submissive behaviour. He needs a wall to run his head against. He needs you to oppose him. Tell me, what are your plans for the future?”

“Plans? To serve Malachi to the best of my ability. That's what he wants, isn't it?”

“No, I meant: What are 'your' plans for the future? Are you content with being reduced to a pregnant maid?”

“If that's how Malachi wants it to be – !”

“ – forget Malachi. If you could do whatever you wanted to do without consequences, what would you do with your life? Merlin's beard, you're twenty-five! Your life has just begun!” Draco flailed with his arms. He sighed at Peter's haplessness.

“I – I ...why would I even want to be considering this?! It's not an option! I'm not going anywhere. This existence is how I pay for my sins. This is – this is as good as it gets! Our masters don't want us to dream of a better life! It's futile! It's against their will! We could never aspire to become anybody! You mustn't say these things! You mustn't even think them! He'll know! And now Malachi will know that we have been discussing this! It's – it's taboo!”

“Yes they'll know. But if they have any sense of dignity, they will not speak of it and leave it as a private matter between the two of us.”

“I – I don't like you, Draco Malfoy. You're trouble! You should be in his bed right now, spreading your legs to him and keeping him happy. You should be bowing to him and praising him for showing you the narrow path of repentance!”

“Says he who refuses to acknowledge the lovemaking of his own master!”

“What?!” Peter stopped dead in his tracks. His brown eyes dark with anger.

“You scold me for being out here and not keeping my master happy in bed. Well, let me tell you one thing, Peter: I watched you and Malachi during our foursome. Malachi tried his best. He was gentle, he was warm and loving. He wanted to give you pleasure.”

“Don't make me laugh! Malachi is frustrated and angry!”

“Angry?” Draco almost laughed. The situation was unbelievable. From out of nowhere, they had exploded in each other's faces. The things which Peter now disclosed to him held an eerie truthful ring to it. “I might have detected a slight irritation, yes.”

“He's angry because his father is pressing him into living like this! If it were up to Malachi I'd still be in the basement back at the Windy Whistle Farm where I belong. He's lost his freedom because of me. Because I got pregnant. Now, he's miserable, tied to me on hands and feet. We were forced to make the vows just to please his father. I know Malachi feels trapped. The only praise he receives from John is about the strength of his sperm, that he has managed to impregnate me time and again. He never lets Malachi forget that he's lucky to have such good growing conditions for his offspring available.”

“I can't believe what I'm hearing …!” Draco muttered in response. Without warning, the heavens opened its bowels and down poured rain. The two targets turned abruptly and set their course for the Lighthouse Farm once again.

“I have never really understood what happened back then, but instead of running from him as per instructed by Malachi, I fled straight into John's arms – straight to the Lighthouse Farm. And Malachi was effectively trapped. Because of MY failure!”

“Does he tell you that?”

“There's no need! He hates me! He thinks me repulsive. You can see the disgust on his face every time he has to touch me.”

“How – how horrible this must make you feel” Draco replied quietly. He had been there. He knew that feeling. The feeling of being unloved.

“I'm just a slave. I'm not supposed to feel.” The reply came across bitterly, and Draco had no problem emphasizing. He knew all too well how it was to feel insignificant and ignored. And all that – awaited back at Hogwarts and in the Wizarding world.

They walked back the straight road to the Lighthouse Farm. They were soaked to their skins. They spoke no more about the subject. Draco began to realise how broken Peter really was, and how indescribably difficult it was to try to rescue someone who didn't believe in salvation. In the courtyard, Peter surprised Draco by turning to him as they were parting. He said:

“Thank you. It's – nice to have someone to – share this burden with. I – I'm actually regretting that you're leaving.”

Draco smiled at Peter and glanced up. The clouds were withdrawing, and the sun was battling its way through, casting a silver lining.


Another day was spent training, and Draco felt that he was beginning to get the hang of it. The evening was spent in passionate embraces. The eudaimon taught Draco new games: He taught Draco how to worship his manhood. He showed Draco how to enjoy it, how to use his tongue, to take his time and make sure he got the right angle to avoid the sensation of gagging on it. They would lay in opposite directions, worshipping each other's cocks simultaneously, listening to the burning wood in the fireplace and their moans, pausing to sip wine and eat grapes. Draco would mirror Melchior's ministrations, earning himself praise and deep shudders until Melchior was breathless, pleading for Draco's permission to enter him. But Draco had a small devil in him, and he kept his head cool. Disentangling himself from Melchior's mouth, he parted Melchior's legs and crawled between them, guiding Melchior onto his stomach. The great wings heaved and lifted over his head. He ground his torso against Melchior's rear, placing kisses on his back. He rubbed his rock hard cock against Melchior's backside. The eudaimon didn't object. Draco positioned his cock and pushed against the entrance which revealed itself between two perfectly mother-of-pearl coloured cheeks. Pushing gently, Draco felt the tight muscle give way. Melchior was silently allowing it to happen. His pale body glistened with sweat. He smelled of sex and wine, and he arched his back, allowing Draco deeper inside. Burying himself to the hilt, Draco drew in a deep breath. His senses were wide open, taking in every stimuli which presented itself. Supporting himself on his knees and hands, Draco commenced to thrust carefully. It was the high point of all of his times with Melchior during the evenings. It was above anything the sign which Draco had been looking for: Melchior proved he could be trusted. He was willingly submitting to his own servant. The sacrifice of sacrifices.

Melchior all of the sudden tensed. But it was too late. Draco had come inside him. The blond was just returning to his senses when he realised that something in Melchior's manner had changed. Not understanding what it was, Draco pulled out swiftly. After a moment, the eudaimon said: “Go to bed, Draco. You have pleased me. Let it be enough for tonight.”

Draco didn't object. Neither did he want to pry any further, sensing that Melchior was uneasy. He wanted to kiss Melchior, to gain reassurance that his master was all right. But the eudaimon stood and dressed. He then left Port Royal. Wondering what just had happened, Draco had a shower before he went to bed. Tomorrow was his last day at the Lighthouse Farm. And some time in the evening, he would hopefully be reunited with Hermione.

Melchior stumbled across the courtyard. Unsure of where to go, he stopped there, and gazed about in the darkness. He thought of his father. In the next moment, his feet guided him out on the road from the Farm, out on the dark moor. Blinded by the onslaught of images of a future which had just turned, Melchior stumbled on. He fell and hit his left knee against a sharp rock. Getting up, as if in shock, he sobbed once and moved on to the spot which beckoned him. He hated these moments – where he himself became a subject to Fate itself. He saw his father. Standing with his back to Melchior, he gazed at the dark horizon. Coming up to him, the eudaimon said nothing but glanced briefly at his father. Melchior was paler than usual, as if he'd just witnessed a terrible accident.

“Tell me what you saw” John spoke quietly.

“I – I saw myself. In a cave where the walls sparkled like diamonds. My – my belly was large and round. And inside, I could feel Draco's offspring stir. I held on to a staff. I felt so heavy. And concerned. Then – then” Melchior hesitated, “then I saw myself presenting an infant to Draco and his wife. It was wrapped in – in black silk.”

“Good God!” John muttered to himself. “Does it have a name?”

“Ivory Scorpius Malfoy” Melchior replied instantly and was shocked at how easily the name came to him. It meant that the future had settled on this point. The child was already a fact. “Father …?!” Melchior began. John replied by putting a comforting arm around his boy's shoulders.

“Of the three of you, you've always been the pioneering one. And now Demon Nature has responded to your liberal ways with Draco. He'll be blond. And grey-eyed. He'll look like Draco. The heir to Malfoy Manor. He'll lift their family name out of the gutter.” John turned to look at his son. “Well, the Sparrow-Montereys were never meant to make a lasting impression. You are only the springboard for the Malfoys. A new breed, I might add. Malachi is – as we have seen – the springboard for a new kind: Sparrow dragons. God help us all. And Marian? Well, who knows what will become of him. The eternal demon bachelor. I can't see his future yet. There's not even an outline.” John sighed heavily. “For now it's just an endless – endless row of Japanese boys. He sure knows how to pick them ..!” There was a hint of admiration in John's voice.

The horizon was quiet, littered with a multitude of colours as the last rays of a dying sun finally ebbed. A strong wind was brewing a stormy night. The horizon held dark forebodings, and Melchior shuddered. Drawing closer to his father, he found comfort in the warmth from his body. Burying his face in his father's long, curly brown strands of hair, Melchior remembered how good it was to have parents. The luxury of finding such comfort reminded him of his days as a young boy: Days when the world was a place littered with adventures and innocence. The wind picked up in strength, and again, rain fell to the ground. John kissed his son's forehead before releasing him. He stood to watch his offspring telling him a silent good-bye before Melchior turned and walked back to the Lighthouse Farm.