Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Draco headed for the shower. It was around half past ten in the evening, and he was sweaty and still shaking from the encounter. He was so distraught he walked right into Harry Potter



“Pardon me” Draco told the Gryffindor, “my fault.” Draco looked down and intended to slip past Harry.



“All right” Harry replied, flashing a smile. “So” Harry swallowed hard, “exams tomorrow. You all set for it?”



“Not really. Excuse me” Draco told him, and made a wide circle to get past Harry. It looked stupid and completely gave away Draco\'s emotions, but that\'s how it had to be.



Evasive as always, Malfoy was. A slick snake. And Harry couldn\'t take his eyes off that slim body of his. He watched Malfoy leave, watched him make a turn and head to the boy\'s bathroom. There was something just so annoying about the way Malfoy behaved. It was of course who he was – the Malfoy aloofness, the likeness in how Malfoy moved his limbs, reminding Harry of Lucius. The Slytherin even had his father\'s eyes, and the older the git became the more alike his male parent he became. And knowing Lucius\' dishonorable merits, Harry couldn\'t help but to feel resentment against Draco simply because the blond reminded him of the father.



But Draco had adopted a kindness to his voice, an evasiveness – or something timid – to the way he conducted himself, which made Harry think of Hagrid. Or Neville. Or Luna. It was about concern, regard, friendship. Kindness. Respect. Draco some times made careful approaches to Harry, mostly about school stuff, never asking personal questions. And Draco listened intently to Harry. But if Harry asked him a personal question, or questioned him about Voldemort, Draco withdrew at once. He put his guard up and became reserved in his conduct. Always with the same answer: Draco\'s upbringing was of no consequence. And he had told Dumbledore all he knew. It was as if Draco excused himself for being alive.



Harry couldn\'t help himself. He often questioned Hermione about Draco when he was alone with her. She was doing fine. She was happy and Draco was kind to her. A smug couple, and Harry often watched them in the courtyard. They would be oblivious to their surroundings, holding hands, kissing and looking deep into each other\'s eyes. The girls loved him, the Slytherins hated him. And Harry? Why was Harry\'s vision clogged with the image of Draco Malfoy? Why did his gaze scour the corridors for a single look of that blond head of his? Why was he anxious to be able to sit next to Draco during lunches and dinner – with heart caught in his throat and his pulse racing, raking his mind to find something to say which Draco Malfoy might find interesting? Harry yearned for the blond\'s attention. Not matter how hard he tried, he could only rouse Draco\'s attention when he spoke about Death Eaters. The desired effect was – however – left to be desired as the subject obviously distressed the former Slytherin. Harry bit his lower lip. It had been like that with Draco for more than a month now, playing cat and mouse.



Back in the present, Harry thought about this as his feet began to walk in the direction of the boy\'s bathroom. Opening the door as silent as he could, Harry Potter slipped inside.



He had to be mad! It was very late in the evening, he had exams coming up first thing in the morning, and here he was, chasing after Draco Malfoy for no reason! He stopped and held his breath. In the mirrors ahead, he could see Draco peeling off his wet clothes, revealing naked pale skin. That boy had grown some serious muscle over the past months. Suddenly, Malfoy spun on his heel and gasped. Reflected in the mirror, Harry could see large black feathered wings. Harry almost screamed.



“My lord, you gave me a start there” Harry heard Draco say with a shaky voice. Was he actually attempting to form a conversation with the creature?



“I came here intent on giving you an earful. But now that you are already naked I find myself completely distracted. The eudaimon\'s deep voice cut through the silence.



“ – May I speak?” Draco swiftly said, anxiety brimming in his voice.



“No you may not. You handed those Dementors in a clumsy and dangerous manner. And most important of all – you never run from a Dementor. Never turn your back at it.”



“I\'m sorry” Harry heard Draco say.



“Never deal with magical creatures unless you know the theory” the winged creature told Draco, this time a little milder. “Had I not been there to stop it, you would have lost your mind. You do know who\'s behind the attack, I trust?”



“Yes Sir,” Harry heard the former Death Eater say. “It had Pansy Parkinson written all over it.”



“Precisely. She is persistent, that girl of yours. Now come. It is time you repaid me for my efforts.”



By the mirror, Harry watched the what could only be the eudaimon move closer to Draco. Reaching with once velvet clad arm for the blond, the eudaimon said: “Your Patronus is – by the way – gorgeous. Good work on that one.” He leaned forward and kissed the blond. Draco shut his eyes and accepted the kiss, much to Harry\'s horror. The Gryffindor – who was hiding in a recess by the door, had to restrain himself from not leaping forward and shout in disgust.



“I\'m – I\'m trying to make you proud. I must confess” Draco said, eyeing the eudaimon, “that I\'m exhausted these days. So much training. Every night, a different beast. Or a demon. Is this – payback? – for those times on the beach?”



The eudaimon didn\'t reply. From where he was hiding, Harry couldn\'t see the secret and rather sly smile on the half-demon\'s lips.



“Hermione is waiting for me” Draco told his master quietly.



“Mrs. Malfoy is in no grave danger at the moment. She can wait a little longer while you satisfy me.” he eudaimon leaned in and kissed Draco again. Harry felt his stomach churn. Draco seemed reluctant, and broke the kiss anew.



“I\'m – I\'m sorry. There is something I must get off my chest. I need your advice, my lord.”



“What is it?” the eudaimon asked him kindly. His long, slender fingers were dancing across Draco\'s sweaty skin. Harry\'s eyes widened at the size of his fingernails.



“It\'s Harry. Harry Potter” Draco said with a deep sigh. “I think he wants me dead. He – I – I try to do as you instruct me, Sir. I do my best to be courteous, I stay away from him and – and I try to just rise above it. But every time he opens his mouth he never misses the opportunity to remind me that I was once a Death Eater. And he\'s not happy about me and Hermione. And he looks daggers at me every time I enter the room. I – I feel so guilty. For messing up his friends. He\'s angry with me for ruining it for Ronald Weasley and because Hermione is with me. I\'m confident he\'s on Ron\'s side in this. And – the other day he showed me a picture of my Dad in Azkaban, wearing shackles and looking miserable, and Harry had the nerve to say that I was beginning to look like him. I –“ Draco said, combing his fingers through his blond hair, “ – I, oh, forgive, me, lord, but I\'m just so put off by him.”



“So you\'re not speaking to him? At all?”



“No” Draco let out a disappointed sigh.



“Are you still concerned you might end up in his bed?”



“No Sir. He hates me. He looks at me as if he can\'t stand the sight of me. I\'m – I\'m having trouble holding my ground because he acts as if I ought to cease being in existence – or that I ought to slither back to Voldemort\'s feet or something.”



The eudaimon had closed the space between them, still Harry had no trouble hearing what was being said.



“Potter is – without a doubt, frustrated. He wants it over and done with, with Voldemort. But he is unreachable at the moment, and since you\'re a former Death Eater – and not Severus Snape I might add – you end up as target practice.”



“Please. I should be getting back …!” Draco whispered, sounding far from convinced. He pushed away the eudaimon\'s eager hands. “She\'s all alone.” Draco winced as the eudaimon closed slender fingers around his manhood. Inhaling sharply, Draco arched his neck.



“Your concern for your wife is touching” the eudaimon sounded like Snape for a second there. Harry shuddered involuntarily. Draco didn\'t seem frightened out of his wits any more. It was as if he had been tamed. Or brainwashed. Or – or as if he was under some kind of spell. Like Imperius. In the mirror, Harry watched the eduaimon sink to his knees, his lush lips travelling down Draco\'s torso. He could see Draco wince. And the eudaimon\'s head lingered in just the right height. It wasn\'t difficult to imagine what was going on. Harry felt his feet root to the very spot he was standing on. He held his breath and his palms were clammy. He could see Draco close his eyes and lean against the wall, taking in a deep sigh. Was Draco enjoying it? Or was he uncomfortable?



Harry had no way of seeing the two inches worth of razor sharp fingernails on the tip of Melchior\'s fingers. They brushed casually through the blond\'s pubic hair, making Draco wince. It was nice to be touched but he feared the nails. The eudaimon\'s tongue played across the sensitive tip of his erection, and there was a slight shock at the sensation of sharp fangs brushing against the sensitive skin of his cock as Melchior took his length into his mouth. Draco shuddered through a haze of growing lust.



“Have – have I been a good boy today?” Draco\'s voice shook. Harry thought it was an odd way to phrase such a question.



Melchior paused from his ministrations. “You\'ve done beautifully. Except for with the Dementor. That was just rubbish.”



“I – I kept thinking about Harry.” Draco swallowed, remembering with embarrassment the episode during their third year when he\'d bullied Harry about the Dementors and his fear of them. “And – and in the forest I remembered something about Dad which I – I sort of forgot.”



The image of Draco in the mirror swallowed hard and closed his eyes. The eudaimon was – was sucking his cock! Harry didn\'t realise he was gaping. Draco gasped as Melchior\'s hand slipped around his waist, drawing him near, drawing him deeper into Melchior\'s greedy mouth.



“I was five. And he made me watch as he punished one of he house elves. He beat her into a pulp. And it made me sick to watch but he made me stay. I was going to learn how to treat the less inferior races. She – the house elf was with child. And afterwards, I heard she lost it. She had a miscarriage. It was never spoken of again –!”



The eudaimon paused and said: “It lives still. The daughter.”



Draco eyed him with a deep frown. “I hated my Dad when he turned against me, always hitting me with his walking stick. I never got to sit on his lap and read books unless they were about dark magic. He never read me fairy tales. He never hugged me. Or made me feel loved. I was his prize. His trophy. My parents had me because it was their duty as pure bloods.”



“Do I detect a hint of resentment against your parents?” The eudaimon rose to his feet.



“What should I do about Harry Potter?” Draco said breathlessly, changing the subject.



“Leave him be. You will never be friends. Not good friends any way. I see you coming to his aid whenever he needs help, but I never see him grateful for it. He will never truly appreciate you and what you have to offer. Should you bed him, it would only be to alleviate his griefs there and then. In a conflict of interests, he will be the first to hand you over to the Ministry. You\'ll always be a rogue and a villain in his eyes.”



“A Death Eater.”



“Be courteous and kind. Stand up for him, as you have lately. It\'s what you must do for the sake of your wife. Because he\'s her best friend. And they must be friends, if she is to be able to help him. Now, I\'ve wasted enough time listening to your pathetic problems. Turn about. I want your ass.”



“I – I forgot to –!”



“You loss.”



Harry watched breathlessly as Draco turned to face the wall, gritting his teeth against the oncoming pain. The Gryffindor only saw the former Slytherin\'s torso. The rest was hidden from view by the black wings. He heard and saw Draco wail, saw his pale face and the way his mouth was drawn up in a silent snarl, his eyes tightly shut against the pain.



Draco was slightly upset because he hadn\'t gotten round to orgasm. He\'d been cheated, and he was so close. His right hand kept finding his erection but Melchior would slap it away each time, denying him the pleasure. Draco was left to hold his ground, leaning against the wall whilst Melchior pounded away at his ass. He arched his back so the eudaimon would get a better angle. He felt the half demon penetrate deeper, angling his thrusts, pounding harder. He had trouble keeping his knees steady. Melchior nibbled away at his neck, sending shivers down along Draco\'s spine. He gently touched Draco\'s sides with his fingernails and ran them down along to the boy\'s hips. The blond shuddered and gasped.



“Let me hear you say it!” Melchior\'s voice reverberated through the otherwise desolate bathroom.



“I\'m yours! All yours! Only yours!” Draco gasped, bracing himself as the eudaimon thrust into his orifice with relentless force, digging his fingers into Draco\'s hips. The blond continued to whimper and meow, losing himself in total bliss, taking no notice of the pain other than it sort of heightened his senses and mingled with the lust. Melchior came shortly afterwards with a loud growl, making it known to Man and Demon alike that Draco Malfoy was his.





Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room bristling with anger. That eudaimon was brainwashing Malfoy! He was filling his head with lies! Malfoy could be annoyingly alike his former Slytherins yet he was as tender as ever with Hermione. There was no way Harry wanted him dead. He wanted Draco as a friend, he really did! It wasn\'t his fault the slick git never lingered for more than two minutes in a seat next to him unless they were in class.



But the eudaimon was right about one thing. Harry had been and still was frustrated about the situation. It had escalated with the death of Cedric Diggory. It had gotten serious then. And yes, Harry sighed, no matter how hard he\'d tried, he\'d ended up venting some of his frustration on Draco. Harry couldn\'t quite explain it. Draco seemed to bring out the worst in Harry, and out of the blue Harry said mean things he\'d no idea where came from. Things he\'d thought about when he was alone, and tired and depressed. Harry HAD worried about Draco taking Hermione from him. He HAD worried about Draco being bad to her. And he kept dreaming about Draco and Voldemort. It was a dream which had haunted Harry since after the Easter holiday.



The dream always started with Harry being in a dungeon. Luna was there. Ron was there, and Mister Ollivander. And the dungeon was dark, damp and eerie. And Harry\'s fear in his dream would increase by the minute for in the dream he feared that Draco would in deed rejoin the Death Eaters, walk through that door and exact his revenge upon Ron once he knew where the red-head was being held. And each time Harry dreamt this, Draco would come.

The blond would be grim, impeccably dressed in a black suit, his dagger at the ready. His face – his delicate pale features a serious yet blank mask, and his aura pitch black. It was an unnatural Draco. Tall, mean and spiteful. No matter how much Harry would plead or threaten in this dream, Draco would walk straight past him and over to Ron\'s cell. Disappearing into the darkness, Harry would know it was all lost. The most dreadful moment in his dream arrived – as a sickening sound reached Harry\'s ears and Draco emerged from the pitch black. His hand and dagger bloody – holding Ron\'s severed head in the other.



Sometimes, Harry awoke at this point. But lately, the dream had moved on, forcing the green-eyed Gryffindor to follow as a helpless viewer. Taking the head with him, Draco moved upstairs until he was in a large and elaborately decorated living room. At the far end of the table sat Voldemort, and next to him, Draco\'s father. Tossing the head onto the table, Draco would wait for Voldemort\'s reaction. And the sudden display of emotion always caught Harry by surprise.



“Welcome home, my son!” the snake-looking villain said in a proud tone, flinging his arms open in welcome towards Draco. And then – then came the point which so far had made Harry wake up, bathing in sweat: Draco had turned his head to look over his shoulder as if he knew Harry had followed him up from the dungeon. Draco Malfoy\'s eyes had been pitch black, and he was speaking Parseltongue.



This dream sequence, was the same about every single night. Harry knew it meant something. He knew it involved Draco and Voldemort. He just knew it! But Draco in the daytime was something else than dream-Draco, and Harry couldn\'t wrap his head around that boy. He just couldn\'t! It infuriated him that there was nothing he could say or do which would make Draco give himself away. He saw and noticed that the relationship between the eudaimon and Draco had changed. There was an arrangement but Hermione wouldn\'t speak of it. She kept telling him that Draco should be the one to say anything about it since it was between the eudaimon and him.



Harry wanted to be happy for Hermione. But when he saw her in a deep embrace with Draco in the courtyard, he kept seeing her with the next Voldemort. Still, for her sake, and because there were many good traits in Draco, Harry tried. If nothing, they had at least a cease-fire. Worst of it was, that Harry had confessed his dream to Ron and Neville. After this, Ron\'s fear of Draco had only increased.



With exams passed, Hermione went back to her dorm to pack up her things. She would be going home empty-handed. The task at hand was heavier than any exam. She had to hex her parents and watch them look at her as a stranger. She would be going to the Lighthouse Farm – to a nest of eudaimons – with a large box containing her most precious belongings and some bags of clothes. That would be it. Draco would be right there with her, still she felt out of sorts.



She was pregnant. She was dying to tell them.





The Lighthouse Farm revisited.

They stood at the pier by the huge lake. A little over four months had passed since Draco had stood there last, feeling alone and depressed, not knowing what lay ahead. This time, he was holding Hermione\'s hand. It was a beautiful evening for once, and the water lay still. The sun stood low on the Scottish horizon and the sky was painted in different shades of purple and pink. Hermione was uptight. She had said good-bye to Harry, never knowing if and when she could see him again. She tightened her grip on Draco\'s hand and gazed up into his grey eyes. His face was kind, smooth and relaxed. His eyes glowed with excitement and he wore a secretive smile on his lips.



“I spy a ship in the air …!” he whispered to her. His grin widened as he cocked his head as to indicate the direction of the incoming boat. And what a boat!



It was a three-master, fully canvased galleon, painted all white. She bore down on the lake with heavy speed and settled nicely, creating a huge wave which threatened to wash over the pier. She sparkled and shone in the light of the dying sun, emitting a brilliant radiance. Hermione was breathing fast, her eyes wide at the fantastic spectacle, nearly crushing Draco\'s hand in her own. A long gangway shot from the railing of the ship, grew in length and protruded towards the pier. Taking their trunks, Draco led the way with Hermione right behind him. Her heart was beating so hard she felt dizzy. As she approached the white hull, she could make out the ship\'s name engraved on a gold sign.



The White Swann.



The galleon head was animated. It was a beautiful mermaid, part beauty queen part fish, and she turned her head to look at the newcomers. She swung her arms open, revealing a pair of well-sized breasts barely contained within a bodice.



“Welcome, Lord and lady Malfoy” she greeted them eloquently. Her voice was the very essence of womanhood, like silk on velvet, deep and seductive.



“Thank you” Draco replied courteously. Hermione also voiced her thanks. She wanted to explain to the lady that she wasn\'t married yet. Draco took her hand and helped her onto deck before he took her trunk and confined it with straps. They both stood and watched as the captain of the ship descended from the upper deck and the wheel.



It was none other than Andrea. He extended his arm to Hermione and said:



“Andrea Sparrow, at your service, madam.” He took her hand and bowed his head courteously. Hermione felt obliged to curtsey in response to this highly formal approach. Andrea\'s face had similarities with Melchior\'s, and he was just as tall but a lot more casually dressed. He wore dark pants and a white linen shirt which was opened widely at the chest, showing a lot of skin. His brown, slightly curled hair lay in handsome curves, framing a face detailed with high cheekbones and breathtakingly brown eyes. Hermione felt her knees go weak at the touch of his hand. He was the very essence of MAN. Draco rolled his eyes at her poorly disguised swooning, smiled widely and shook Andrea\'s hand vigorously.



“Melchior\'s not with you?” he asked the eudaimon.



Andrea\'s response was peculiar. The eudaimon hesitated and replied: “He\'s not … uh, feeling well. So I came in stead.”



“He\'s not feeling well?” Draco repeated. “He\'s an eudaimon! What harm could possibly befall him?”



“We get diseases just as easily as the next human. It\'s a part of what we are. Literally.”



“Is it bad? Is he really ill?” Draco wanted to know.



“Evening sickness” Andrea told him bluntly and grinned widely. “Welcome on board the White Swann. It looks to be a fine sail, beautiful weather and all. So, hold on tight and enjoy the ride.” Andrea bowed again to Hermione, and she suppressed at girlish giggle. Andrea Sparrow made her feel as if she was twelve again and standing in front of Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher Gilderoy Lockheart. She watched him march up to the wheel, and moments later, the White Swann took off.



Draco drew her aside and brought her to the bow. He put her between himself and the railing, eyed her and flashed a smile.



“It\'s what he does, you know.”



“What?” Hermione asked with a lopsided smile.



“Andrea? He\'s an eudaimon who goes after wicked girls and women. You should beware. Looks as if he fancies you” Draco smugly smiled his best Slytherin grin.



“Oh please. I have to admit he has a certain – charm, but I assure you, Draco Malfoy, I only have eyes for you.”



“Oh yeah” the former Slytherin replied, not sounding convinced at all. He gazed at the horizon for a moment before he buried his nose in her bushy hair and said: “Did you know that this ship is called after a woman who lived during the eighteenth century? Her name was Elisabeth Swann Turner. A governor\'s daughter who fell in love with a blacksmith who turned pirate to save her from – well, other pirates. And in order to save her, he teamed up with Captain Jack Sparrow, the bloke who sired all of these troublesome eudaimons. Including Andrea. It\'s a fantastic story!”



“Is that how you and Melchior passed time during Easter? You listened to him telling stories? And what did Andrea mean by \'evening sickness\'?”



“Haven\'t got the faintest clue. It\'s a part of how we passed time, yes.” Draco answered her question and buried his nose in her hair again, watching the Scottish landscape roll by far beneath them. He thought it best to leave out the details concerning where he had been when Melchior had told him these stories. Draco still remembered vividly those passionate nights. It had been a part of his education, of sorts. And he remembered down to the very last details how Melchior had retold the story of the wonderful triangle that had been Elisabeth Swann, William Turner and Captain Jack Sparrow.



It had begun with a late evening walk to one of Eoropaidh\'s many surrounding old ruins. The ruins dated back to the same area as Stonehenge, and they were alive with magic! Draco had touched the old stones and sparks had flown from his fingertips. That was why he remembered this in particular, for as he had touched the stone and burned his fingers he realised why the eudaimons had chosen this place. It screamed of wizards and druids past, and when he closed his eyes blurry images of naked maidens dancing around a stone altar came to mind.



Melchior had laid him down there, on his back on the mossy ground next to the stones. The ground beneath Draco\'s back went electric. The early people who once had inhabited these fields had worshipped the gods of the nature here, praising the Mother Earth for her gifts. And magic had been used in the open. It was the time before wizards and witches had been driven into seclusion. It had been a better and far more harmonic time when wizards and Muggles had co-existed perfectly.



Draco remembered how he had allowed Melchior access to his chest. The eudaimon had made his way between the ex-Slytherin\'s legs and put his weight on top of the boy, kissing him carefully. And he had begun the tale of how a bold but poor blacksmith loved a governor\'s daughter. The eudaimon had kissed Draco\'s neck, nibbled at it gently before his lips had travelled down to his chest, worshipping the pale flesh and the chest heaving up and down with increasing speed as lust had exploded in Draco\'s groin. It was the sensation of Melchior\'s warm groin rubbing against his own, the outline of a rock hard erection brushing through fabric, teasing and beckoning Draco\'s body to open up. The scent of spring was in the air. The wind rolled over their heads yet they lay in a recess, shielded from its fierce grasp. The ground should have been hard, cold and icy. But it was a magical grove. It was warm, with lush grass as if it was summer, and the ground was soft. Melchior\'s doing of course, but Draco felt as if he was pulled back in time. The stones spoke to him – or rather the magic embedded in them – and they told him they recognized a wizard – a child of the first wizards. The chosen ones. Those of pure blood. Melchior had commenced to open the buckle on Draco\'s belt. Draco had let it happen, and he listened intently and out of breath as Melchior continued his tale, explaining to Draco that it was his duty to know these stories as a familiar of the Sparrow Clan. It was about showing respect to those who were mortal and who had passed, keeping their accomplishments and their lives high in honour. For they had helped making the Sparrows what they were today. Draco had shut his eyes and swallowed hard as he felt himself being filled by Melchior\'s cock inching its way inside him. And Melchior went on with his tale, keeping his gaze locked to those beautiful grey-blue orbs of Draco\'s. He had lingered there – just staying inside his servant for some time. He had kissed Draco passionately, combing his fingers tenderly through those blond strands of hair, talking with deep, seductive voice, explaining how Jack Sparrow had gotten himself off the island by the help of sea turtles and the hair from his own back. Draco had frowned, and asked if Melchior was certain that Jack Sparrow wasn\'t a wizard. To Draco, it sounded perfectly reasonable that something like that actually could happen. With magic. Melchior had only smiled in return and explained that in the Sparrow family, keeping such secrets about sea turtles, rum and duelling in spinning windmill wheels was a tradition. Whether it was the truth – a modified truth or simple fiction – was beside the point. The point was – that Captain Jack Sparrow, Elisabeth Swann and Will Turner were legendary, and the legend had to prevail at all costs. Jack Sparrow trained a goose to fly him off the coast of China to the Indian Sea, once. Jack had the feather to prove it. The brief story had caused Draco to laugh out loud. It was so unbelievable, and completely impossible even for a wizard. But Melchior feigned graveness, and had said: “Legend is everything. It\'s all about eternal fame and glory. Details such as the truth comes second.”



Melchior had begun to thrust gently, easing on the tempo, still staring deep into Draco\'s eyes. It had been something special. They had each other. They were together, surrounded by centuries old magic and it encompassed and penetrated them. And Draco remembered wishing it would never cease. He could have lay like that forever with Melchior between his legs, feeling the song of history, sensing the touch of wizard\'s hands on the stones whilst listening to the tale of how William Turner finally proposed his wife, whilst fighting off twenty pirates on a ship caught in a maelstrom. Melchior had kept a comfortable tempo, and Draco had enjoyed every single thrust. Not too hard, not to fast. Just simply perfect. Looking past Melchior\'s head he had looked up into the sky which was filled with black feathers on large wings. And Draco had decided that this was where he wanted to be. If he ever could, this was where he would build a home, amongst the old rocks and magic of wizards past. This was where he belonged. He dreaded the possibility of having to one day succeed his father as the owner of Malfoy Manor. He did not want to go back there, under any circumstance. It just wasn\'t possible.



The story had come to an end, and Melchior had focused on enjoying Draco\'s body and the pleasures it offered. He lay his weight on the blond, dug his fingers into the blond hair and kissed the boy\'s throat and lips ferociously while he had begun to thrust harder. Draco had been willing, warm, giving and wet. He had met Melchior\'s lips with his own, invited his tongue inside his mouth and roved the eudaimon\'s clothed body with his hands. He had been overcome by a new sensation. He wanted all of Melchior inside. All of him.



“Tell me” Melchior had whispered in his ear. “Are you mine? Say it!”



“I – I\'m yours!” Draco had gasped. “I\'m all yours!”





In silent response to the memory and the promises he\'d made to his master, Draco put his arms around Hermione and pulled her close. He watched familiar landmarks roll away far beneath. The hour and so it took to reach the Lighthouse Farm went by fast, and he rested his hands on top of the swollen belly. It would be strange to have her there, in Melchior\'s presence. He feared that the eudaimon would get jealous, and he was certain that the eudaimon would require him to warm his bed. He had no idea how to resolve it. Hermione rested her hands on top of Draco\'s which caressed her belly. The town of Stornoway melted away behind The White Swann. They were nearly there, and Draco felt anticipation cocoon in his belly. With his eye he followed the familiar yet lone coastal road which led to the northernmost populated village, which was Eoropaidh. The cocoon exploded into butterflies as the white ship settled on the same place as the red-sailed ship had last time Draco had visited the Lighthouse Farm. As they went ashore, Draco realised he had some serious explaining to do and lots of possible conflicts coming between Hermione, Malachi and Peter. This wasn\'t going to be an easy stay.





The Dragon\'s Lair

Hermione read the sign above the front door to what was to be her home for the next months. It was late. She was getting tired, and the courtyard of the Lighthouse Farm was dimmed in the twilight. There were yellow lights shining from some of the houses. Draco held her hand in a firm grip, and he often looked to her to see if she was all right. Andrea Sparrow courteously opened the door for her, smiled and gestured for her to enter first. She took a deep breath and walked inside.



It was like choosing the lesser of two evils, Hermione had decided. Not only was she carrying the child of a Slytherin, but the father of her baby was the servant of a half demon. It was either the Lighthouse Farm or Voldemort. She couldn\'t help but to feel that this farm harboured evil, and she wondered if she\'d doomed herself and her baby. She had seen what the eudaimon could do to Draco. She knew how far that creature could bring him down. The thought of Draco\'s master made her shudder. What if he decided to make Draco into a heedless killer? Or what if he goes back to abusing Draco?



Hermione was shook out of her dire thoughts as she entered the small but very cosy living room. The walls were cobworked and painted deep brown. The roof was white and the floor laid with old, broad planks which creaked beneath her feet. There was live fire in the fireplace, and in the kitchen section, someone had already set the small dining table for two. With candlelights.



“Well, this is it” Andrea told them and checked on the fireplace. I believe dinner is ready, so do have a seat. You can thank Peter later. I\'ll take my leave. Have a pleasant evening” Andrea shot them a lopsided smile and left through the front door.



It smelled delicious, and Hermione lifted the lid of the casserole to have a peak. It was some sort of stew made from lamb and local vegetables. She was dying to have some of it. Draco joined her and smelled it.



“Oh yeah, Peter\'s wonderful stew. I swear, once you start eating this stuff you won\'t be able to stop before the casserole is empty. That\'s how good it is.”



His modest joke made her relax. He helped her off with her jacket before taking off his own and offered her a seat. He then took her plate and filled it with stew. It did in deed smell delicious. Draco seemed relaxed and attentive and it helped ease her mind. He told her he had to check in with Melchior afterwards – and his comment immediately triggered a chain of worries in her mind. She couldn\'t stop herself. She had to address them.



“What will he do?”



“I don\'t know. I don\'t know how sick he is, but he is here all right, over at Port Royale as usual.”



“Port Royale. That\'s where you stayed with him, right?” Hermione asked.



“Yes. That\'s –!” Where I learned to love him, Draco wanted to say. But he held back. “That\'s where I lived. With him. If you want I can show you my room –!”



“ – isn\'t he going to get – lonely – or jealous – being over there, all by himself?”



“Do you care?” Draco replied. He stopped eating and eyed her curiously as if to read some sort of answer on her face. He put his fork down and wiped his lips with a white napkin. “Hermione. It is expected of me. To keep his favour and keep him satisfied, I have to go to him when he calls. To – you know – please him.”



“How can you be so sure he won\'t harm you?”



“I – I , he gave me his word. Eudaimons can\'t lie. If you get them to promise you something then they are bound to –!”



“ – I know.”



Draco hesitated, as he understood they were having their first discussion ever as a couple. Their first discussion regarding their differences in opinion. He rested his elbows on either side of the table while he searched for the proper words.



“Hermione” he finally said, “I won\'t lie to you. During Easter, he – I – he had me several times a day. I – I allowed it. I figured I had to learn how to like it. I convinced myself that I could stand it with him – and now, well, now it gives me pleasure as well.”



Draco swallowed hard. He waited for her reaction. Would she explode in anger?



“It – I know it sounds stupid” he continued meekly, “but it goes with the territory of being his servant. I – I can\'t refuse him because I would lose so much. First and foremost the ability to protect YOU. And the baby.”



“It\'s – it\'s sort of a part of your job description” she responded, looking curiously at him.



“Yeah!” he replied, a little unsure what she really meant. They stared at one another for a long time.



“He doesn\'t hurt you any more?”



“It\'s nothing I can\'t handle. He – uh, likes it rough, so to speak.” Draco felt his cheeks go ruddy. He\'d never revealed to her such details about him and Melchior.



“What does it feel like?” she asked quietly. “I mean, being with him, how does it make you feel?” Her eyes wandered across the small kitchen section and the paintings on the walls before finally settling on Draco again. The former Slytherin felt his heart beat so hard it would burst through his chest at any time.



“I – uh, it\'s hard to explain” Draco admitted, not knowing where to start about his love life with Melchior. “It\'s – well, he – gives me pleasure just as much as he takes his pleasure from me.” Draco sighed, clearing his throat. “But I always feel beneath him. He\'s always in control. And – uh, well, but I never feel as his equal. He is my master and – and it\'s nothing like what you and I have! With you – I feel as if we are equals in this. We\'re two of a kind. We\'re on the same parchment. I – I never feel like that with Melchior. I\'ll always be – something lesser – in his eyes. A human. A servant. And – and when he wants me to please – him – it\'s, well, it\'s a command. Usually. In the beginning he was very patient with me, not asking or commanding me to do anything I didn\'t want to” Draco told her, rubbing his palms together in a nervous manner.



“So – what you\'re saying is – that what you and I have, differs greatly from what you and he has?” Hermione said, with a deep crease across her forehead.



“I consider what you and I have to be the real deal. I am not gay. I have seen the softer sides of Melchior and I like them. A lot. But what we have is a master/servant relationship. And that\'s it. I feel bound to him in soul, mind and body but I do not love him. Not the way I have grown to love you” Draco looked her deep in the eye and his voice softened as he spoke those last words, knowing he had succeeded in convincing her. He understood now. She was looking for reassurance. And he really meant it. It was the truth. Without her, he would be incomplete. He reached across the table and tangled his fingers with hers. She smiled. Her eyes were moist and she was on the brink of tears. Again. He had come to understand that it happened a lot to pregnant people.



He guided her upstairs, and Hermione marvelled at the bedroom. The beds were made with white and sky blue linen. The walls were in a light blue shade and the ceiling was painted white. It gave the room an airy touch to it. She turned to Draco and began to undress him. She couldn\'t help but to think about Melchior\'s hands all over Draco\'s pale flesh. She wondered if she would notice Draco\'s return. If he would smell of Melchior. If there would be marks. Scratches. Draco combed his fingers through her bushy hair, leaned in and kissed her. He helped her undress, and showered her slender shoulders with kisses. He wasn\'t in any hurry. He lay her down on the bed and covered their naked bodies with the sleeping blanket.



“I love you” he whispered to her in the half dark. This was just him and her. Outside Hogwarts. “This” he continued to whisper, “is the beginning of our lives together, Hermione”. His voice was tender and deep, brimming with emotion. He felt her shudder beneath him. “If you awake at night, early in the morning around three o\'clock and I\'m not there, then – then you must know that I am with him. I wouldn\'t stray from your side for any other reason” he told her. She didn\'t answer, but raised her head to kiss him. “We\'re having a baby” he said, planting another kiss on her lips. A single tear rolled down from her right eye, and it disappeared into the hair by her ears.



“I am scared.” Hermione looked into Draco\'s grey-blue eyes. “What if – what if –?” She swallowed.



“Once you meet them in the morning all your doubts will be swept away. Once you get to have a proper chat with Melchior you\'ll see he\'s had a change of heart. And you\'ll love the boys. Peter\'s boys. Now, I\'ve told you about Peter, right?”



“He\'s pregnant. Like me.”



“Not like you. He\'s – uh, well he\'s about seven months pregnant now. He\'s taught me everything I know about Muggle household. I\'m quite good at it, you know! I intend to cook for you at least thrice a week while we stay here.”



She gave a small laugh which gave away her surprise.



“Oh you don\'t think I can cook?” he told her softly with a smile.



“You\'re a Malfoy. I didn\'t think Malfoys knew what a kitchen looked like.”



“Well, someone\'s got to be the first, right?” Draco replied mildly and kissed her, earning himself a giggle. A year ago and his pride would have suffered a mortal blow. Now, his mind involuntarily conjured up an image of himself with an apron. And wearing nothing else. Draco rolled to lay next to her. He wrapped her in his embrace and shortly after they were both asleep in each other\'s arms as they had done the last month. Outside, the night was quiet. The wind from the ocean was warm and docile, whispering of peace and a warm new day to come.





Three A.M.

He was a quiet shadow across the courtyard. He had locked the door to The Dragon\'s Lair, and as he had looked up at the sign, Draco had understood why they\'d been placed there. It was a pun on his name. Draco. Dragon. Draco\'s Lair. Draco\'s home. Second, it was the house farthest away and closest to the lighthouse. It was to give the couple a sense of privacy. Walking across the courtyard, Draco thought of Snape, if he was out there beyond the fence somewhere, watching. Or perhaps Pansy. Draco\'s feet came to a halt. Was he right in leaving the sleeping beauty behind? Of course. No magic could penetrate these demonic barriers. These barriers were more stronger than those at Hogwarts. Draco moved again, with haste. The door to Port Royal was unlocked.



Melchior was sitting casually in the couch. He was wearing a linen shirt, showing much bare flesh on his chest. He wore black pants – and a cunning smile to match. He was absent-mindedly sipping from a glass with red wine. And the first thing Draco noticed, was the jutting belly.



“Welcome home” Melchior\'s deep voice filled the small living room. “How is your wife to be?”



“She\'s … asleep. And a bit anxious, about meeting all of you in the morning.” Draco approached him. He could hardly take his eyes off the belly, and he had to focus real hard to tear them away and gaze into Melchior\'s eyes. Draco eyed the wine bottle. Alcohol free red wine.



The memory hit him square in the belly. In front of this fireplace, on furs and blankets. He had mounted Melchior. Draco remembered the details vividly.



“Ah, the drawbacks of having a memory. So it\'s dawning on you know, eyh? What you have done?” Melchior told him. The questions were almost rhetorical, but without the venom they so easily could have been loaded with. “Come. Have a seat.”



Draco obeyed, combed his fingers through his hair nervously and sat down beside his master.



“What I carry inside, is – according to Sparrow tradition – a Sparrow Malfoy. The surnames come in that order because your traits will dominate. It will have your hair, your eyes. It will have black wings.” Melchior paused and gazed into the fire. “My father John was born to Jack to be his protector. He was three of a kind and he stands above the rest of the Sparrows. He outnumbers each and every one of them in strength. If they were to form an army against him, he would take them all out. It would be a cataclysm – the end of all things, but he would win. You – are destined to be the next Child Bearer. And this offspring which I carry inside, will stand above all other offspring which will be born from your belly. It will be the protector of the Sparrow Malfoys. He alone will be the next lord of Malfoy Manor. He will surpass me in strength and authority. My father told me the other day that I was brought into existence in order to produce this one offspring. I will remain … only an eudaimon.” Melchior turned to look into Draco\'s attentive eyes. “As always with the birth of a half demon, it is the Child Bearer\'s task to give them humanity.”



“And I will gladly do my best to fulfil that task” Draco replied without hesitation.



“Good. For I can only teach him to be a demon.”



They gazed at each other for a long time. Draco sat closer. He wanted to smell Melchior\'s flesh, wanted to taste his lips. The eudaimon read him like an open book. Silently, they removed each other\'s shirts and crushed their lips against one another. Melchior\'s slender hands travelled down Draco\'s warm and dry torso. He placed his lips against the skin on Draco\'s ribcage and tasted the flesh, smelled the skin.



Draco peeled off his pants. He was naked underneath. For a moment he stood expectantly – like a lamb to the slaughter infront of the much larger eudaimon – just holding his breath, waiting to be swept away in Melchior\'s embrace. He glanced at the dark windows – and got a serious shock!



Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione\'s face on the outside of the window, peering in.