Congrats on your follower count omg! For a prompt: vampire Malfoy, Harry falling in love with him without realising? Or anything vampirey really!
OH HELL YEAH, we love an italicized oh in this house!! Thank you! <3
wc: 703
When Harry found out Draco had been turned during the War, the only physical difference he noticed was Dracoâs teeth.
They were just teeth, of course, but they were different: straighter, a brilliant white. It wasnât his teeth that looked sharper, necessarily. It was his smileâwhich was still a rare occurrence, these days.
Harry could count the number of times heâd seen Draco smile this year on one hand, but he was proud to know that heâd been the cause of every single one. The first had been thanks to Harry calling him Draco for the first time: it had pulled Dracoâs full, pink lips, seemingly without his knowledge, into something incredibly charming, and a little dangerousâthose grey eyes sparkling softer than the first snow, with a wicked, blinding grin, sharper than cut crystal.
Even now, as Harry found him alone on the balcony, avoiding the crowd of the Ministryâs holiday party and staring out over the city, he felt his stomach flutter with excitement at the possibility of seeing it again, adding another to his mental collection.
Draco stiffened when Harry closed the French doors behind him, isolating them from the noise of their coworkers. His crisp suit carved a severe silhouette against the glittering London skyline, all knife-edged black with a glint of silky, white-blond hair falling over his shoulders, his slim, pale hands gripping the stone bannister. He didnât look up.
âDraco,â Harry returned. Draco only called him Potter, these days, when he wanted to be alone. When he felt too much like the outcast he was.
Creature, heâd called himself, once, storming out of a bar, which carried nothing he could drink anyway.
Draco slowly turned to face him, wary and guarded, and Harry froze, listening carefully, watching him, as he always didâ
Draco was holding his breath, again. He always seemed to do that around Harry.
He approached Draco casually, watching his pale face strain further. Draco stepped back, away from him, and Harry paused again as something horrible washed through him, like a tightening coil of barbed wire around his heart.
It hurt, when Draco pulled away from him, when all he wanted was closer. Harry was drawn inexplicably to those sharp edges, like the spindle of a spinning wheelâhe didnât care that it would prick his finger, that it could destroy his life, he wanted to touch, wanted to feel the inevitable softness beneath the sculpted marble exteriorâ
Oh, fuck, Harry, youâve really done it this time.
Of course he did. He couldnât help it, he never could stay away from Draco. He took another step, and another, closing the space between them, even as Draco backed himself against the balustrade.
A breeze whipped up Dracoâs long, sleek hair; a lock of it tickled Harryâs face. All this time, Harry had been too busy noticing Draco, to notice the effects Draco had on him.
âBreathe,â Harry said.
Harry pressed closer, their chests brushing, Harryâs nose gracing Dracoâs cold cheek. He could feel Draco shaking, could hear the sound of his own heartbeat racing in his ears, and he knew Draco would be able to hear it, too. Harryâs hands came up to rest tentatively on his chest, and Draco let out a soft whimper.
âBreathe,â Harry repeated, and Draco broke, releasing a shuddering breath. Strong arms locked around Harryâs waist, pulling him flush against Dracoâs hard body. Harryâs hands fisted in his lapel as Draco buried his face in Harryâs neck, his cold nose tracing the line of Harryâs pulsing artery, inhaling deeply.Â
Above them, fine flakes of unhurried snow began to fall.
âI hate you,â Draco whined, his hands trembling where they held the back of Harryâs jacket. His lips parted over Harryâs skin, his breaths hard and desperate. Harryâs hand slid to the back of Dracoâs neck, into that silky hair, so much softer than heâd imagined it would be.
âI know,â Harry replied, his other hand quickly palming his wand, forcefully apparating them both to Grimmauld Place.
Hours later, Harry would add another smile to his collection: something sated and satisfied, affectionate and anxious, that incisive curl of Dracoâs lips somehow softer with piercing, blood-stained teeth behind it.
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