Twisted

Chapter Eight: Good Deal Gone Bad

There was a new face, Harry noticed, when he sat down on one of the black couches. Everything was black and white. The thick carpeting was white, as were the towering curtains that he supposed covered bare stone walls. The furniture was black. The fireplace was black. Even Harry and Jean-Claude fit the theme. The only color came from the single red rose in the crystal vase, and from the man in the pale blue shirt. His golden hair reflected the firelight, and his one visible eye blazed more vibrant than his shirt. He had been introduced as Asher. Harry couldn’t help wondering if all vampires were supposed to be so good looking.

“Monsieur Potter, may I enquire about your plans for St. Louis?” Jean-Claude purred as he lounged on the couch. There was an almost seductive pull to his voice, but the wizard knew better than to get sucked in. He didn’t know what kind of power the vampire had over him, but it would be better if he remained on guard.

Harry stared at the folds above Jean-Claude’s eyes, wary. He remembered Lupin telling him that it was dangerous to look a vampire in the eye; that was how they controlled the mind. It irked him that he was unable to glare properly, but it was better than crawling to him like some kind of slave. His ego was still a bit bruised remembering the embrace to which he had so pathetically succumbed.

The boy let his shoulders rise up and fall ungracefully. He didn’t need to have Hermione’s annoying know-it-all brain to figure out where this conversation was going. Harry just wished that they would get to the point all ready.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re after,” he said, leaning back into the cushions indifferently.

A small smile appeared on Jean-Claude’s lips as the other vampire glowered. It was almost upsetting that he could still look so beautiful with such an ugly expression.

“You remind me of ma petite, Monsieur Potter. Do you not agree?” he casually asked the other.

Asher’s scowl deepened, but Harry couldn’t ignore the fact that the vampire had side stepped the question.

“If you don’t want anything, then I suppose you’re just wasting my time,” Harry growled, leaning forward. He ignored how the atmosphere seemed to darken. “And if that’s true, then I’d appreciate it if you would just leave me alone.”

“I believe, Mr. Potter, that it was you who threw the first stone,” Jean-Claude said, his voice like glass grating beneath Harry’s skin. “I find that impossible to ignore.”

The boy smiled, calmer after the full moon, despite the tension growing in the atmosphere. His anger and his beast were too sated to rise to the bait the vampire was dangling before him.

“When you poke a sleeping wolf, it’s only natural that you should expect the bite,” he drawled.

“You first threatened Anita,” the blond said, the first time he had spoken.

“She should know better than to pull her toy on a stranger,” Harry snapped back. He didn’t see what the big problem was, he had just scared her a bit—not that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He bet her screams would have been very satisfying. Harry scowled at the thought. Where had that come from?

But, something about her just pissed him off.

“Monsieur Potter—“

“Just Harry,” the boy said, tired of the “monsieur” bit.

“Harry,” the vampire gave him an indulgent smile, “why don’t we forget these past indiscretions?”

The wizard let his eyes narrow and glared at the rose, too tempted to look into those blue orbs. “Why would you do that?”

“I have come to the conclusion that neither of us would gain anything from being enemies,” he gave a Gallic shrug that could have meant everything and nothing. Then he smiled like the devil making an offering. “It would be so much better if we were friends.”

That one word made acid burn on Harry’s tongue. Friends. They were useless things. Perhaps the vampire realized his mistake because he continued on, “I believe that you are in a bit of trouble with your wizard authorities? I have connections that can make that all disappear.”

Harry felt one of his eyebrows rise. “What connections?”

“Have you ever heard of The Council?” At that question, Asher burst out in rapid French, none of which Harry was able to catch. Jean-Claude laid a quieting hand on the other vampire’s shoulder.

Now his other brow rose, disappearing into his hair. They had studied vampires and learned a bit about their society. The Vampire Council was comprised of the most powerful vampire sires in the world, each the head of their own sort of family. They were supposed to be incredibly strong…and evil. He thought he once heard of an emissary from Voldemort visiting them. That particular Death Eater had never become Harry’s problem.

“You can influence The Council?”

Jean-Claude laughed, a delicious sound that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He didn’t find it a particularly nice feeling, considering the source. “With ma petite and you on my side, I think they will find it very hard not to listen.”

Asher shook his head, “You are taking this game too far, my friend.”

“I cannot live under the constant threats of the Council forever, mon ami. Something needs to be done, and—“

“You just found the perfect leverage,” Harry finished for him, with a feral grin. Finally. He knew that they must have wanted something from him—another boogey man to defeat. The idea grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t deny the spark of a smaller emotion. Excitement. He squashed it down where it belonged.

After the moment of silence, Jean-Claude nodded. “If you will assist with this, Harry, I am willing to offer you safe harbor.”

Harry let the chaffing laughter escape his lips. “I don’t need your safe harbor, try again.”

The vampire quirked a brow, “Perhaps you can enlighten me to your desires, Harry.”

“Right now?” he smirked. “I want to be left the fuck alone, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.” His mind turned over the options and the corner of his mouth tugged. “Where have you hidden Dolohov?”

“Dolohov? The man we captured last night,” Jean-Claude’s smile spread. “He is being subjected to my tender mercy…I do not enjoy my wolves being treated so.”

“Your wolves? It’s Richard’s pack,” Harry stated uncertainly.

The dark-haired vampire continued to smirk and the boy could have sworn that Asher chortled. But he must have been mistaken. Vampires don’t chortle.

“Richard may be the Ulfric, but he cannot keep them from my call entirely…not while he is so obstinate about our position,” the statement left Harry’s curiosity piqued, but the vampire didn’t elaborate. Instead he leaned forward, dark curls gleaming in the firelight. “I’m sure that you are curious about the other day…why you just could not resist…”

Harry felt his heart skip a beat as Jean-Claude’s voice slid across his skin, and he was so startled that he made a mistake. He glanced up, into those glowing blue pupils. He tried to swallow the saliva that had suddenly gummed up in his throat. Those pathetic feelings were threatening to wash over him again, just from the sound of those words. From the look in those eyes.

“I am a master vampire, Harry. Wolves, werewolves, they are my animals to call. They belong to me,” he whispered, and Harry felt his insides growing heavy…cold…lethargic. His eyelids were so heavy. Breathing was difficult and it was so hard to resist…resist what?

“Harry, you’re very tired, aren’t you? You don’t want to fight anymore.”

“No…” Harry murmured, not sure if he was agreeing or refusing.

There was a cold touch on his cheek and his heart jumped again…but as the cool palm trailed down to his neck, it returned to its sluggish rhythm. Those chilled fingertips rested against his slothful pulse and Harry couldn’t move. He was drained, as if Jean-Claude was pulling the energy out of him with the brush of his hand.

“Jean-Claude…” the voice broke the heavy silence, and Harry almost stirred…almost…

“Hush, mon ami, this needs to be done, so come.”

The rustle of cloth, it filled Harry’s ears. “If Anita finds out…”

Soft laughter caressed him as blond hair took over his field of vision. “She wanted the boy dead, just drink. He needs to be bound to us.”

Something inside of Harry told him that he should be worried. This was not a good situation. He needed to—

“You’re not going to fight, mon chiot, you will like it, I promise.”

“Look at me, boy,” the blond said, and Harry couldn’t resist when his eyes rolled to meet those pale blue ones. He felt the world tilt, like his brain was sliding around inside his skull. It made his breath catch and his stomach turn.

“Look at me,” the vampire whispered again. Harry let his gaze followed the glittering hair, like gold. Lazily he noted the scars. They reminded him of Moody, but no one would have called the old Auror beautiful.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to be the one to do this? He already has a connection to you,” Harry was fascinated by the way the man’s mouth moved.

“I am sure, mon chardonneret. Hurry.”

The blond sighed, and it ghosted across Harry’s neck making him shiver. Cool lips brushed his neck and his heart leapt to his throat, remembering the ghostly fangs that had already torn through the vulnerable flesh there.

A reassuring caress grazed the side of his face. He didn’t know whom it came from.

Soft words stroked his flesh, there was a brush of a mind against his, and then—pain. Harry tried to scream as the canines plunged into his neck, and pulled, but he was paralyzed. Soft sucking noises soaked the air as the vampire moved against him. Low moans vibrated into the wound as he became more excited and suddenly Harry’s body was crushed against the vampire’s chest as those marble arms clutched him and those teeth worried his throat.

He was dimly aware of Jean-Claude trying to pry the blond off, but Asher only growled and pinned Harry to the couch. His body was no longer cool, but blazing hot as it pressed him into the cushions, writhing against him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, and his magic…it was bursting around him too wild to be controlled. The vase on the table exploded as furniture started to burst into splinters. The pieces shot around the room, lodging into stone and wood and flesh.

Suddenly the vampire on top of him slumped and Harry scrambled out from under it. Several long shafts of wood were protruding from the vampire’s back. The boy swallowed, holding a palm up to the wound on his neck, which was gushing warm blood down his shoulder and chest.

Jean-Claude rushed forward, pulling the other man into his arms. He was talking rapidly in French, lines of worry creasing his perfect face. As the blond was turned over, Jean-Claude’s shoulders slumped in relief, and he wrapped his arms closer around the dazed vampire. His pale eyes were half closed and his mouth was parted, still slick and red with Harry’s blood. He watched disgustedly as a pink tongue slipped out and slid along those lips, lapping up the last of it.

“Mon ami, are you well? What happened?”

“So good,” Asher whispered, his hand gliding up his stomach to his lips, where he could lick them as well.

Harry shivered as another wave of cold washed over him. He was having trouble lifting himself from couch…when had he sunk into the cushions? His head was pounding and he felt like he might throw up the bit of breakfast he’d forced down. That was, if the room would stop spinning.

…………………………….

Draco was twitching agitatedly on his perch. The dark-haired vampire was pulling the splinters of wood out of the blond, who was moaning. Not a particularly pain-filled sound. It was Potter that he was worried about. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more, that the Boy Wonder was turning an ugly shade of gray, or the fact that it troubled him.

Well, of course it would trouble him, he thought, vexed. Potter was his ticket to freedom. He would ensure his return to Pure-Blood society and the reinstatement of his lands and inheritance. It was very important that Potter survive, because, of course, it meant Draco’s survival.

Never the less, when he pointed his incorporeal wand at his enemy, his heart was flickering in feather-light beats. It was a great risk, but it had to be done. He shot the healing spell at Potter, just as the Golden Boy lost consciousness.

Draco knew he was in trouble when the dark-haired vampire’s head shot up. He looked around the room warily, eyes hunting the darkness like a predator hunting its prey. For a long moment, Draco held his breath until the vampire’s eyes fell on Harry. He hissed under his breath, and laid the intoxicated vampire on the lush carpeting to stalk over to the boy.

He called his name and touched his shoulder. Nothing.

It felt like his heart was thundering threw him. Had Draco been to late?

The vampire ran fingers over Harry’s smooth neck, brows drawn together into a deep frown. Then he picked up the smaller boy, as if he weighed nothing at all. The feat wasn’t too difficult in Draco’s opinion. Harry had always been a runt, but it seemed as if his time on the run had emaciated him even further.

“Jason,” the vampire called.

The door opened and a blonde male came in. Draco saw blue eyes widen as the boy was passed to the younger man, whose arms curled instinctively around the thin frame. A question was plainly written across the blonde’s face.

“Take care of him, mon pomme, he has last a lot of blood,” the vampire said. “I leave him to you because he seems the most comfortable in your presence, but be wary. I doubt that he will be in a trusting mood when he wakes.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason said, eyes still a little wide.

“And Jason,” the vampire said, stopping the young man in mid-turn. “Stay close to him. Very close.”

For a moment Jason said nothing, then he ducked his head. The face that had seemed open, if a little surprised, a minute before had closed down, as if he didn’t like the order he had been given. Draco guessed that it had little to do with proximity.

If Draco had had eyebrows they would have been raised as a smirk spread across his face. How would the Boy Wonder react when he woke up? He had already witnessed the fact that his old schoolmate was a little less than the bigheaded St. Potter he had always pretended to be.

And what was with the little spy? Something told him that Potter would be a little less than pleased.

Draco melted back into the rest of the shadows. He needed to find his way out…and then of course, his way in.

…………………………….

I was in my office when Mary knocked on the door.

“Anita, you a have a visitor. Mr. Forrester doesn’t have an appointment, but you’re free aren’t you?”

I sighed. I had known that Edward would show up at some point, but one could never guess when.

“Come in,” I called, shuffling paperwork out of the way.

The door opened to reveal Mary and a smiling Ted. “Thank you, ma’m,” he said with that annoying affected twang. I think that the good ol’ boy image was one of the things that annoyed me about Ted. That and the fact that he was so charming that he could get around so much police tape. If I wasn’t charming enough I could always shoot someone. Right.

The door shut softly behind him as Mary excused herself. I watched the persona melt away, leaving my favorite sociopath, Edward, with the dead eyes and emotionless expression, the perfect killer and my sometimes friend. I think that I might have been Edward’s only friend, but we were on the outs at the moment. He didn’t like how close I was to the furries, but my boys and I were none of his business.

“Edward,” I said with an acknowledging nod.

“Anita,” he returned.

“Please, have a seat.”

He did and cut straight to the point.

“Where is Harry Potter?”

It shouldn’t have surprised me. It really shouldn’t.