Living Again

Disclaimer: All characters, names, associations, and the world of Hogwarts belong to J.K. Rowling and her corporate people. This is purely for entertainment purposes with no revenue attempting to be generated.

Chapter Three—the story continues…




The celebration raged full-blown inside, complete with cheap party games, seasonal music, mulled-cider and spirits, and nearly all the guests packed into the Manor’s ballroom.

That’s why no one noticed he was gone. At least, that’s what he told himself as he drank his way through another decanter of that expensive brandy again. Malfoy hadn’t said a word to him for a full eleven days after that scene in the hall. He barely even saw the man during those days, either. And today, this morning, Malfoy had given him the worst news of his life: their contract was over and he was to move out tomorrow.

They had a huge argument, where Montague did most of the talking, but nothing became of it. Draco didn’t change his mind, but his mood definitely soured a bit. It was the first time Montague had seen the smouldering abyss in Draco’s eyes since he had found him thirteen months ago, a glimpse of the true nature Draco kept hidden from the rest of the world.

Montague snorted and sluggishly moved one foot before the other, bit by slow agonizing bit, walking down the main path to the mansion. Later tonight, he would be free.

“But I’m free now,” he said to no one in particular, and swayed on his feet. If he wasn’t careful, he’d surely stumble to the ground. I’m free now, he thought bitterly, he released me this morning, and I owe him nothing.

Promises were made to be broken, every human in existence at one time or another did it. Tonight, he would break his “promise” to Draco, and there was nothing the pale-haired gorgeous god could do about it. Montague laughed maliciously, the action sending his head spinning.

Maybe Draco would realise his mistake and take him back. Maybe there was still hope for them. He was Draco’s mate, after all; their relationship was very intimate before it happened, Montague smirked to himself. Maybe all Draco needed was a little reminder.

Pulling out a silver flask, he took a long swig of whatever foul spirits were contained within. He fumbled with the closures on his costume, finally managing to remove his outer robe without losing any buttons. He had less luck with his dress shirt, ripping several threads and losing clasps everywhere. No matter, though, he was still able to strip himself of the garment. The black trousers were much easier to remove, until he realised his shoes were still on and toppled over when he tried to extract his foot from the fabric. With his bare bum on the grass, Montague removed shoes and socks, then his trousers.

Grabbing up his flask, he stood and took another deep swallow. Bits of dirt and blades of grass stuck to his backside but he couldn’t tell: the numbing sensation from too much alcohol was taking over. A burst of energy he didn’t know where from shot through his limbs, and Montague ran across the front lawns stark naked.

Rounding the side of the mansion, he formed a plan of attack. The terrace of the ballroom faced the Hedge Maze, and came right up to the stone steps. He would go through the maze and stand at the French doors of the terrace and let Draco see what he would be missing. With this great plan, Montague dashed into the maze, running for all he was worth through the pathways.

He must have missed a turn somewhere, because within two minutes he didn’t recognise where he was in the maze. Stopping, he turned round and round and round and lost his balance and fell face first into the soft earth. His head ached and that numbness stole over his body, slowing the rhythm of his breath; and under the last quarter of the Blood Moon, Montague passed out in the middle of the Hedge Maze.

***** ***** *****

Harry stood at the mouth of the path staring down the lane, cursing himself. He was late, an hour late to be precise, and he wasn’t wearing a costume. Never mind he and Hermione had spent hours planning a costume perfectly suited to his needs. No he had to lose himself in his criminal mapping, skip his alarm and dash out the door in exactly the same thing he had on. He was late enough as it was without having to go back and fish out everything they decided on. Plus, this spot looked eerily familiar, and he just wanted to get away from the area and the night over with.

He started his feet moving and his brain thinking. Maybe he could say he was a Halloween-enthusiast Muggle since he was wearing skeleton socks, loads of black and a skeleton tie. Though, that didn’t quite fit the description of ‘Creative Darkness’ did it?

Sighing, he continued walking down the path, hoping to prolong the inevitable, hoping to avoid the gasps and the pointing fingers as long as possible. The closer he got to the Mansion, the louder the music and the chatter reached his ears, and the more he just wanted to turn around and leave. He didn’t even have his glasses to hide behind anymore.

Maybe he could grab one of the jack-o-lanterns from the side of the path and charm it to his head and be a Halloween costume explosion in the form of a zombie… or he could just take it like a man and go in there without a costume. Deal with it, Harry. Head bowed, he ploughed on, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers. The sun was setting behind him, casting a long shadow before him that became sharp and fuzzy as the thick England clouds passed before the sun. It was strange to be able to see so clearly, so precisely, without his glasses. Harry looked up, relishing the crisp breeze that began to blow, closing his eyes, and smacking his face in the dirt.

Groaning, Harry rolled over, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rub the grass from his eyes. Slowly sitting up, he looked at the cause of his rather ungraceful fall: a length of black material. Or, more closely, a jacket thing or some sort of clothing piece, he couldn’t really tell. Standing up, he noticed the other articles of clothing in a haphazard pile at his feet. Carefully, he picked up the thing he tripped over and held it out before him.

It was a custom-made set of robes with a fitted jacket and flowing tails. The front of the robes only went as far as the belt loops on his trousers and clasped up the front in Eighteenth Century Military style all in embroidered black. He noted something flopping about on the back and reached behind to reveal a hood with a piece of thin muslin to cover the face. Harry stood there in shock, as it seemed the gods were on his side tonight.

After a few minutes and finding a relatively secluded spot, Harry was able to get the costume on. It was obviously made for someone of slighter frame, since he could barely get the jacket closed even without his shirt on. Beneath all that scratchy wool was his bare skin, which would probably be as red and irritated as a rash on a Hinky Punk by the end of the night, not to mention his more muscled frame allowed for very little movement. He had to keep his own trousers, too, as the others were made for a smaller build. At least his lower half would be comfortable. Once he pulled the hood over his face, he knew no one would recognise him without a good light source and special attention.

Harry smiled and shrunk his folded shirt and tie to stick in his pocket. Tonight wouldn’t be such a disaster after all. A tad uncomfortable, because the robes were so tight, but bearable. A few paces away was a stick with a curved metal piece on it. Harry knew what it was and what the costume was meant to be. Whoever had thought of it was rather clever, despite the fact it wasn’t technically an original creation. It would be something “original” to those attending the party, but it was nothing new to the imagination. Harry walked the rest of the way to the doors with a smile on his face.

***** ***** ******

Draco sighed into his glass as he glanced around the ballroom once more. Although mildly irritated that Montague wasn’t at his side, he was secretly pleased with that development and the progress of the party. His eyes darted around the exquisitely decorated space and he smiled to himself.

The place was dark, with only a few floating candles and the leering grins of the jack-o-lanterns to light the area. Some charmed holographic bats flew overhead alongside the swaying spider webs strategically placed across doorways and in corners, keeping the guests together and away from the personal areas of the Mansion. Haunting music, provided by a man-less orchestra, sounded eerily in the background while all the guests danced, chatted, or tried their hands at cards. A few games scattered about, lots of mulled cider, spiced ale, butter beer and sweets all over the room. Even the muggle favourite, Jaffa Cakes, was on the tables. Everything was in place, everyone enjoying themselves. Everyone, that is, save Draco.

He was left wandering circle to circle in his very non-descript but stunning costume ensuring conversation stayed lively and in good spirits. Alone.

***** ***** ******

Harry reached the front entrance and was greeted at the open door by a House Elf.

“Garik is to take sir’s wand and coat.” The House Elf stood with his hands out, ready to collect the named belongings.

“Erm, I’m not leaving my wand, thanks.” Harry stared at the House Elf in disbelief.

“Garik is to take it, sir. Garik knows who to give it back to, Garik does.” The outstretched hand stretched out further.

“I’m not giving up my wand without an explanation.” Harry said firmly. What crazy wizard would leave his wand at a party anyway?

“Oh, sir, you’s asking, Garik’s telling. For the safety of everyone, Master says. Not to worry, sir, Garik knows it’s safe around the House.” Garik nodded to emphasize his point.

Harry stood there deliberating for a minute longer, his piercing green eyes almost penetrating the mask, before handing his wand to the clutches of the House Elf. “Be extra careful with that, Garik. It’s like a brother to me.”

“Yes, sir.” He agreed and let Harry pass into the house and follow the decorative hallways to the ballroom.

**********************

Draco was ready to break something, if it would bring his imprudent “boyfriend” to his side, when the lazy arse finally came into the ballroom from the front entrance. A scowl came across his features as he slowly picked his way through the crowd to Montague’s side.

Harry stood at the entrance, enchanted by the perfectly decorated room, taking in the sights and the music. Everyone was dressed in something gory or creepy and a few were dancing on the space designated for that purpose. Wizards could be decidedly fun if they chose to. For example, there was a couple dressed in wedding clothes that were a bit tattered and ripped in a decorative way, gyrating on the dance floor, tossing the lace and ribbons out in an artistic manner. It was at that moment Harry saw someone prowling, as it were, toward him, gaze intent.

Draco stopped before Montague and opened his mouth to give a scathing remark when he was caught by a gleam of something different within the depths of the mask. Draco couldn’t speak, couldn’t move for the moment as his honed senses took in subtle abnormalities from the Montague he knew. The glimmer of those eyes seemed strange, his height a little taller and his build a little heavier. Even his scent was slightly altered from that commercially soured sweetness to an essence of man and outdoors that slowly aroused him as nothing he had ever experienced before. He could feel his nature coming out just being this close to him. But despite all these slight discrepancies and his instincts screaming at him to the contrary, there was no chance this could be anyone except Montague: no one would choose to be a seventeen-hundreds version of Death, the Grim Reaper.

“I’ve been waiting for you for hours. Where did you run off to?” My brandy again? He silently asked. “Come, we must mingle for a few minutes before the main entertainment is summoned and dinner is served.” Draco took Montague’s hand in his, a delicious shock running the length of his arm at the contact. Something was different, something had changed, but what was it?

Harry made no protest when the man towed him into the crowd. The evening would pass much easier this way, without having to actually make an effort to mingle, being with someone who knew some of the guests for the whole night. Especially since he was most likely Seamus or Neville and Hermione probably told them he was coming, late as always. He was not one to drink, which made the next bit weird for Harry, because the moment his guide took his hand he had no desire to let go. The sensation running through his body shook him with its intensity.

Malfoy pulled him across the dance floor near the other side of the room to a circle of three costumed guests. A jack-o-lantern made from a small watermelon instead of a pumpkin hovered just above the group, bathing them in a soft glow. When Draco approached, the small ring opened to allow the two new bodies.

“And how are you enjoying your evening, Lord Bromley, Lady Bromley, Lady Catherine?” Draco’s aristocratic tones hummed through the air.

“Quite well, Lord Malfoy, quite well,” the man answered, taking hold of his wife’s elbow.

“Excellent, excellent. May I introduce my friend, Montague…”

Harry stepped forward and offered his hand as best he could within the confines of the costume and his utter shock. A firm handshake ensued with Lord Bromley while he faithfully intoned, “Lord Malfoy here has quite a head for business on his shoulders. If he gives you any advice, be sure to take it.”

Harry smiled in return before he realised no one could see him and stiffly nodded instead.

“Really, Bromley, without your excellent company, I would not stand where I am today.” Draco complimented easily.

“Ah, but more than once you have saved my company from complete ruin,” he answered before turning to Harry. “Don’t listen to his modesty. Why, I remember only last year when…”

Harry lost himself in the cadence of the story and the Hallows music playing in the background. He managed to keep his shock concealed, laughed in the right places, and posed short questions to keep the man talking. He was quite absorbed in keeping the conversation alive, keeping his thoughts away from Malfoy, so much so that he didn’t notice Draco eyeing him curiously.

Draco knew there was something different. His mannerisms, his attitude, his voice, hell, even his heartbeat was something he didn’t recognise. But that costume. It was Montague. No one in their right mind would be that boy’s character; no one knew what the hell it was. Maybe the alcohol finally got to Montague and that’s why all changes were slapping him in the face.

But, Draco had seen him in every level of drunkenness, from slightly tipsy, to passed out drunk, to alcohol poisoning. It was actually because of the boy that Draco had dampened his own excessive drinking habits. So, what was it that could make him act this way? Drugs, perhaps?

Draco eyed him again, taking in as much as his nature would allow without making himself obvious. It was poorly lit enough that even the slight additions to his body would go unnoticed for a few minutes. He couldn’t smell any alcohol, or drug as far as he was concerned. Though, a familiar scent stole into his nostrils, and that voice sounded like the one in his dream. With that recognition, a burning desire to know, to capture, to claim who it was bubbled up from his depths. He could feel his change coming, coming on stronger than he anticipated and he had to fight to remain composed, to appear as the Lord Malfoy society knew.

Harry noticed Malfoy’s breathing had increased to a rapidity that he should faint from too much oxygen at any moment. Draco grabbed his arm in a pinching grip, sending that shock straight up his arm despite the slight pain. When a lull in the conversation presented itself, Harry cut in before anyone could say a word.

“Excuse me a moment while I get a drink. Anyone else care for one?” He asked as politely and calmly as he could manage. Before either the Bromleys or Malfoy could answer, Harry twisted out of Malfoy’s grip and made his way through the crowd to the punch table.

Draco made a move, as if to prevent him from going alone, but Harry slipped through his fingers at the exact moment every guest in the room screamed.

From one of the blocked doorframes charged a full-grown werewolf into the throng of guests. It was tall, thin, wolf-like, with eerie greenish-yellow eyes and well-defined sharp fangs. It stood to its full height and prowled around the room, hopping from one group and growling, causing screams and trembling, before moving on. Play-swiping at one guest, the werewolf moved to the middle of the dance floor and swept its long spindly arm on a circle, staring down each guest. The excitement and giggles mounted alongside everyone’s shared fear. It reared back, tossing its face sky-ward and howled.

The melancholy voice flooded every corner of the room, piercing the heart with its intensity. The vibrations echoed though the caverns of every body, causing many guests to shiver in apprehension and exhilaration.

Harry stood at the punch table, seeing over the heads of the guests to the werewolf now on stage, as it were. He’d heard of these new companies that took vampires and werewolves and gave them jobs as party entertainers: they go to gatherings and scare the guests witless with their animal natures. It was a bit sickening, really to commercialise on something like this, yet it also allowed for the creatures to have a source of income, so it wasn’t all bad, was it?

Harry turned from the howling beast and began to pour himself a glass of spiced firewhiskey.

Montague had assured Draco the company he hired this werewolf from was reputable, and every guarantee was given by the owner but it did not fully erase all his trepidations about this. There was still a fully-formed werewolf in the middle of his ballroom, terrifying all his guests and not one of them had their wands at hand to protect them should the need arise.

A silence as loud as the howl echoed through the room when the wolf placed its paws back on the floor and sniffed; smelled something, and the gleam in its eyes changed.

Draco saw the new sparkle in the eyes of the wolf and watched as it purposefully picked its way through the crowd of guests. The wolf bared its teeth, issuing a growl. It was the tenor of the growl—low, piercing, and deadly—that captured Draco’s senses, moved his feet forward.

The werewolf stood on its hind legs almost running through the throng, pushing some guests forcefully out of the way to their shrieks and screams, progressing intently toward one object.

Draco then knew where it was headed: the punch table. The punch table where Montague stood with his back to the whole scene, completely oblivious to the danger he was in.

A sense of protectiveness, ownership, true fear, and desire sparked to life and Draco’s true form took hold beneath his costume and he rushed toward Montague.

The wolf, still sniffing the air, let out another punctuated snarl complete with bared white teeth. It leapt the last few paces to the punch table, pinning Harry in the corner. He turned to be confronted with that toothy grin, mere centimetres from his face, and the hot stench of its breath upon his cheeks. Then, he was on the floor, staring up into that sneer, listening to that growl, struggling beneath that weight.

Harry’s eyes locked with the wolf’s, and he caught something familiar in those yellow-green depths; something he had seen before…

“Remus?” Harry whispered.

A smile seemed to come across the creature’s features, as if to say ‘yes, it’s me.’ Chaos reigned free around him, the guests were backing away to form a wide ring about the wolf and its prey and hoping not to be next. And then that face was suddenly bodily removed amidst the screams, the true fear. He was panting when strong arms lifted him off the floor and quickly pulled him from the scene.

Harry and his companion pushed through a spider-web-blocked doorway, across a dark room to stand before a portrait which somehow was forced aside. Through the musty, dusty, ill-kept tunnel, they emerged into another dark room with windows on two adjacent sides, presumably at the opposite corner of the House.

Draco couldn’t take the insufficient contact much longer. His arm burned with excitement and his blood filled with passion. Every moment touching Montague was agony and bliss wrapped into one, pouring from his heart, poisoning his body. Roughly he tugged Montague to face him in the centre of the now candle-lit room, pressed their bodies firmly together, and settled his lips on his through the thin muslin of the mask.

His body burned even hotter from the contact, sending his senses wild. Hands that had been latently resting on his arms now roved Montague’s body. A body he seemed to have never before taken the care to notice.

Harry was shocked. More than shocked; stunned into motionlessness. He stood there stock still for a moment before a warm heat, a passion began undeniably to grow within him despite it all. Being kissed by a stranger, nothing actually touching skin to skin… it was wicked and yet exhilarating to experience the freedom, the recklessness, the sensuality, of kissing the unknown. As if he had stepped into a fantasy and everything would be perfectly pleasurable, Harry started to kiss back, began to wrap his arms around the body forced so close to his.

A low growl escaped his companion, who then blindly led Harry to the couch and pressed him into the soft cushions. A comfortable weight against his body, keeping him trapped, emblazoned with desire. Damn the small costume and its restricted movement. Harry couldn’t do more than grasp the stranger’s hips as they rocked slowly, pleasurably, into his. And that’s when he noticed the hard length against his thigh, moaned with delight.

Draco pushed his hands into the cushions on either side of Montague’s head, watched the rapid rise and fall of the chest beneath him, and tore at the buttons on the short jacket. He shivered in delight as he discovered the strip of bare flesh get longer as each button was undone. Wondered vaguely where the tailor-made silk dress shirt Montague simply insisted on having had gone.

Montague reached up and pulled him back in for another kiss. It was erotic to feel a tongue on him through a thin layer of fabric. His blood screamed.

Unable to keep himself back, Draco latched onto Montague’s neck, kissing, sucking, licking. Sensual pleasure unlike anything he had ever experienced rushed through his veins. An urgency unlike anything he had ever known took hold of his actions. A feral groan escaped his lips. He had to taste—to claim—Montague’s mouth.

Draco ripped his mask from his face, the candlelight revealing his glowing silver eyes and paler-than-pale skin. He kissed Montague’s neck again, accidentally drawing blood, tasting it. It only made him hotter.

He was becoming a mad man, aroused beyond all physical reckoning. That’s when he knew as absolute fact that this man was his; his mate. This man and this man alone could satiate his lust, his absolute craving for his flesh. Draco reached for the hood, pulled the material away, and virid green eyes, not blue, locked with liquid silver ones.

The things the stranger was doing to him were the most exquisite things his body had ever felt, known. His eyes had been closed through it all, until he felt his veil being removed. Then he looked up at, drank in, the sight of a very dishevelled Draco Malfoy.

“Harry Potter…” Draco whispered.

Harry simply stared back at him, unblinking with those gorgeous green eyes of his. Draco leaned in for another kiss, but a hand against his chest stopped him. Draco looked into Harry’s uncertain eyes, desire burning in his own.

“Malfoy?” Uncertain morphed into confused.

Reality seemed a long time coming, or was it common sense? Harry blinked and pushed Malfoy off him, sitting up in the process, taking stock.

“Malfoy, what are you—” Harry couldn’t finish his question. He couldn’t quite decide what to ask first.

Draco’s body hummed, groaned, wanted nothing more than to be pressed up against Harry’s. Harry, of all people, his mate. What were the odds?

Silence reigned for long moments. The bustle across the house could be heard trailing though the windows as the House Elves had restored order and brought the gathering to dancing again. Draco was the one to finally break the trance that seemed to overtake them.

“What’s wrong, Potter?” His voice was a bit harsher than he meant it, but he wasn’t fully back to himself as yet.

Harry looked up from behind his fingers. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Draco repeated.

“No. That’s not what I meant. Why are you asking?” Confusion clouded his expression.

“Why will you not allow me to continue touching you?” An arrogant eyebrow arched, while other parts began to throb.

“I—You…” Harry couldn’t put his protest into words. They simply didn’t make sense. “Because it doesn’t make sense.”

His arousal was becoming painful, coherent thought almost gone. “It makes perfect sense.” Draco reached out and trailed a finger down the sliver of Harry’s exposed chest.

“Don’t do that.” Harry hissed, but betrayed his words with the shiver that wracked his body.

“Why not?” Draco scooted closer, a hand moving to Harry’s clothed thigh, his finger repeating its movement down the rippling muscle.

Harry didn’t answer, just let his lids flutter closed, breathed a ragged sigh out, relished in the sensation again.

“I want you, Harry.” Draco nipped at his neck.

Harry pulled away again. “Want me?” He said a bit breathlessly.

“Want you, need you, must have you.” Draco answered and moved in even closer, their bodies now touching all along one side.

“Need me?” Harry shook his head, turned and looked at Draco. “Holy shit!” He jumped from the couch, backing away slowly.

Draco sighed, knew what he must look like, tried to calm himself and school his features back to the Draco Malfoy everyone knew, even Potter. Unfurling from the couch, Draco stood and fully faced Harry who had begun to breathe rapidly again. Their eyes locked, minutes ticked by, neither doing much but staring at the other.

“I am a vampire, yes.” Draco answered Harry’s unasked question. “Do you know about vampires, Harry?”

“I know enough not to piss them off, Malfoy.”

Draco sighed again, shaking his head. “Anything more than physical strength?” He managed to hide his annoyance.

Harry took a few deep breaths to calm his beating heart. “A few things. Cultural things, more or less,” he stated carefully.

One side of Draco’s lips twitched in what could be called a predatory half-smile. He gradually advanced toward the green eyed package of heaven. “You’re my mate, Harry.”

Harry snorted, disbelieving, until he looked in Draco’s eyes and began backing away again. “You’re serious?”

“More than serious. Deadly serious, it would seem.” Bit by bit Draco moved across the room, never breaking eye contact. “You are my mate and I will have you.”

Harry’s mind was working fast, denying everything the vampire was telling him. “How do you know? It could be anyone at this party,” he boldly stated, hoping beyond reason he was right.

Draco laughed, the distance between them significantly dwindling. “Oh, I know it’s you. I’m absolutely certain it’s you.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked breathlessly.

Draco watched as Harry finally backed into the wall and pinned him there effortlessly. “Taste, Harry, taste.” Swooping in, Draco captured his lips in a scorching kiss.

Lights, fireworks, heat, desire. That was all Harry could process at the moment Draco’s lips touched his. Intense desire, a knowledge of rightness, something he couldn’t quite place, but somehow Harry knew this was something different. Something special.

Breaking the kiss, Draco looked into glittering emerald eyes. “Taste.” He smiled. “Stay with me, Harry. Stay with me forever.”

“What?”

The whispered reply didn’t reach Draco’s ears. Revealing his fangs, Draco moved in to Harry’s neck, opening wide, ready to claim…

“What are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry pushed at the man pinning him to the wall, struggled in earnest.

The panic in Harry’s voice, rather than the force on his body stopped Draco from going any further. He pulled back and drowned in those green eyes. Unwilling would kill him, Draco knew, yet without him, Draco would die. “Stay with me. Live with me.”

Draco kissed his neck again without waiting for an answer, kissed his way back to willing lips. The pressure was delicious, but not enough. His tongue slid along Harry’s lower lip, and on his gasp, surged in. The taste! The taste was exquisite, sweet, alluring, perfect. Draco’s tongue explored Harry’s mouth, ran along the line of his teeth, duelled fiercely with his tongue. He thrust in again and again, mimicking the motion with his hips, heard the groan Harry let free. Hands floated from the wall to spread on the planes of Harry’s chest, slid beneath the panels of Harry’s jacket, slowly pulled the garment from Harry’s body. It shushed on the way to the floor, hit it with a light flop.

Harry went to work on Draco’s costume, but couldn’t find the buttons or any sort of closure. No matter, for with a wave of his hand the fabric was gone, wandlessly spelled away. Draco smirked before putting his mouth to better use: trailing wet kisses down Harry’s neck to his hardened nipple while Harry’s hands devoured his back.

Draco bit, teased, licked, laved. He sucked on occasion, and every time he did, Harry dug his nails into his skin, probably hard enough to draw blood, but definitely hard enough to make the throbbing in his trousers that much more pronounced. Harry grabbed Draco’s shoulders and pulled him up for another searing kiss while Draco worked on the clasp of his slacks, Harry soon following suit.

“Live with me, Harry. Be with me.”

Draco reached in and grasped Harry’s hard length, released the flesh to the cool night air, began to stroke him.

“Yes…” Harry hissed.

***** ***** ***** *****

Montague watched from the darkened window as the scene unfolded. Watched as Harry pulled Draco’s erection from his trousers, as they both stroked the other, rubbed their arousals together. He heard the moans and groans from the pair, could almost feel the sheen of sweat that now covered their bodies. Watched as their movements became frantic and erratic, on the verge of climax. He groaned himself when first Harry, then Draco came between them, pouring their seed on their chests, against the wall, on the floor. Felt the wave of fury that raged through his body.

“I am Draco’s mate.” He whispered in a voice that held the same roaring force as a scream, the same deadly threat as a knife. I will be at his side no matter what it takes.