Storyid: 5770144
FanFiction.net
Name: Vitula- My Beloved
Author: excentrykemuse
Chapter 1 to 2
Title: Vitula: My Beloved. Third
in the Enchantment Series.
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Pairing: Harry/Sanguini
Warnings: Seduction, Chan,
Lemon, Mild Blood Play.
Summary: AU. On Harry's tenth
birthday, a violin calls to him in his dreams. He begins to have
nightmares of wizards and magic and soon finds himself the beloved of
a vampire.
Vitula: My Beloved
Third in the Enchantment Series
Part the First—Gravity
The first time he heard the gypsy
violin playing in his cupboard, Harry thought he was dreaming. It was
dark, probably nighttime as he couldn't hear anyone moving around the
house, and he had been locked in there for several days already as
Mrs. Thorpe's hair had mysteriously turned blue at the local market
when he was present.
The music was haunting and so
otherworldly that Harry shivered as he listened to it. It filled him
with such longing for something he could not explain that he found
himself lying on his bed, moaning and panting, until the violin faded
and left him alone and sweating.
When he was finally let out of the
cupboard, Harry learned that it had been his tenth birthday.
For days he could think of nothing but
the violin and every morning he awoke shaking, his young body covered
in sweat and strangely stiff. Some nights he would dream that the
violin was calling to him and other evenings were taken up with
nightmares where he never heard the strange and beautiful sound ever
again.
In late August, he found himself
sneaking out of his cupboard and staring out the window and the dark
sky, the violin music singing sweetly to him in his mind. He knew he
should be in bed, Aunt Petunia would be displeased if she knew he was
in her pristine kitchen, but all thoughts left his mind as the violin
music caused his body to shudder with pleasure before it lulled him
back to sleep.
He was awakened the next morning by a
scream when Aunt Petunia found him sleeping on the kitchen floor.
She didn't believe him when he said the
violin had called to him and sent him to the cupboard that night
without supper, locking him in.
The violin never stopped calling him.
As the weeks passed, he got used to the
strange feelings that coursed through him, the pleasure that would
paralyze him until he was gasping for air and hesitantly touching
himself. He didn't know why it happened, only that he needed to do it
whenever the violin called him.
Harry never told anyone about the
haunting music again, but every evening he would stare out the window
wondering if he would hear it that night, if it would call. Some
nights he wouldn't hear it at all and that's when the nightmares
would come, of high pitched laughs and flashes of green lights, of
men in brightly colored robes and strange metal boxes in their hands
that stole the light from the lamps on the street.
He didn't know what the dreams might
mean, but they frightened him. He despised the laugh and hated the
man with the long white beard that left him on a doorstep.
"Aunt Petunia," he said one
morning in October as he made breakfast. "Did the man go to
jail?"
She looked up, startled, and forgot to
tell him not to ask questions. "What man, boy?"
"The man in the bright robes who
left me on your doorstep. I dream about him and how he stole the
light. Did he go to jail? Isn't that what happens to people who
kidnap children?"
Her lips thinned. "Yes, it is.
He's not in jail, though."
"I hate him," he admitted
quietly as he flipped an egg. "He's—bad, isn't he?"
"Yes, Harry," she said, using
his given name for the first time in years. "Very bad. He took
your mother away from me when we were children."
"So he does take children?"
"Yes."
Harry nodded but didn't ask any more
questions, thinking of the violin that called to him, and then he
knew—it was calling him home—away from his small cupboard and the
dreams of flashing lights.
Later that week, Aunt Petunia and Uncle
Vernon gave Harry his own bedroom. Dudley had been unhappy, and had
been soundly punished for it strangely enough. Life began to change
for Harry. He was given fewer chores and more to eat, and whenever
his aunt or uncle heard Dudley calling him a "freak" his
cousin went to bed without supper.
Still, the violin called to him. Some
nights he would leave his window open and let the music float over
him as he pulled off his now fitting pajamas and ran his small hands
over his smooth chest. He felt ashamed, wicked. He didn't want Aunt
Petunia to find out, now that she seemed to care for him a little,
but he couldn't stop. The languorous notes caused his body to arch in
despair and pleasure with no conscious thought at all, his breaths
short and gasping until he would finally shiver and collapse against
the mattress.
Dark eyes closed at his soft moan and
the violin music halted in mid note, a bow lifting off the body, and
Harry sighed in the darkness, missing the music that called to him
every night.
"Do you like the violin, young
one?" a soft voice asked and Harry quickly sat up, drawing the
sheets around him.
Fumbling at his bedside table, he
flicked on the light and saw a shadowed form leaning against his
window, a beautiful violin held in his pale hands. "Who-Who are
you?" he asked, his eyes mesmerized by dark orbs that appeared
to know everything.
"Sanguini," was the hissed
response before the figure was gone again, the curtains flapping in a
nonexistent wind.
Snow began to fall a few weeks after
that, and still the music came, playing for Harry as he slept,
caressing him like a lover might if only he were older. Sanguini
never came again, but sometimes Harry dreamt he was standing over his
bed, watching him with his violin in his hands, stroking his hair at
times, causing him to shiver in the cold of the open window.
When Aunt Petunia found the sash drawn
early in December before Harry was fully awake, she quickly closed it
with a snap.
"Harry," she said slowly.
"You'll catch your death."
"No I won't," Harry
whispered, half asleep. "I like the cold—the outside. I never
had a window in my cupboard."
Harry had been given an extra treat at
lunch that day.
When the violin didn't play, the
nightmares would return. He dreamt of the man in robes, a stick in
his hand, almost like a wand, coming to his house and laughing with
his parents. Then there was only green light and laughter, a kind
faced man and then a flying motorcycle, taking him away.
"Aunt?" he asked one morning
close to Christmas. "I had a strange dream again."
Dudley looked up, startled, but didn't
say anything. He wasn't nice to Harry but he never teased him
anymore. Harry had his first friend in Piers Polkiss who had
strangely taken a liking to Harry as soon as Dudley stopped hating
him. Dudley had kicked up a fuss when Piers first came over to play
with Harry, but he was sent to bed without dinner—again—and never
said another word about it.
"What did you dream?" she
asked worriedly as she gave him a second helping of eggs.
Harry smiled his thanks. "Uncle
Padfoot came to take me, but the large man stole me away on a
motorcycle," he confided. "Then the man with the bright
robes was here and left me on your doorstep."
"Uncle Padfoot?" she asked,
her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
He nodded.
"I'll go see if your mother made
any mention to a Padfoot in her letters from when she was at school,"
she promised and left it at that.
Harry had never been more content.
On Christmas morning Harry had a small
pile of presents including a brand new blue bicycle. Dudley no longer
pouted at anything Harry was given, but happily opened his own
presents and smiled for the photographs his mother took of him. One
was even taken of Harry, and Aunt Petunia promised to put it on the
mantle.
When all the presents were open, Dudley
counting his and complaining that one of them was too small, Harry
looked out the window at the new fallen snow. It was perfect,
untouched, and yet in the front yard a small bright package sat,
almost calling to him. Without even thinking about it, he had rushed
to the window and pointed excitedly, Dudley coming up behind him
before rushing for the door.
"Another present!" he shouted
happily before his father held him back.
"I'll get it," Petunia said
quietly, looking with fear at her husband, before she waded out into
the snow, leaving small footprints. "It's for Harry," she
admitted when she came back in. The same look passed between her and
Uncle Vernon.
Uncle Vernon held out his hand for it
and read the tag, confusion on his face. "Do you know anyone
named Sanguini?" he asked and Harry nodded quickly.
"He's a boy from school," he
lied and Dudley shrugged when his parents looked at him for
confirmation.
Aunt Petunia seemed to sigh in relief
and Harry was given the present. It was small and wrapped in blue
paper and he opened it carefully, savoring the gift from the strange
man with the dark eyes, the violin music playing through his memory.
It was small, delicate, and Harry
adored it immediately.
"What's that? A necklace?"
Dudley asked cruelly before his father glared at him and sent him to
his room, without his presents.
The gift was indeed a necklace. A
silver pendant of a crescent moon hung on leather straps that could
easily be tied around Harry's neck.
"Pet," Uncle Vernon said
nervously once Dudley was out of the room. "It is a necklace and
a bit—well—"
"Yes," she sighed before
asking Harry to hold out his wrist. He did so and she tied the
necklace around it several times. "Now it isn't, though,"
she said firmly with a nod of her head.
The music played again that night, and
Harry found himself arching into gentle caresses and soft breath
whispering over his skin. "Harry," a voice murmured, and he
awoke to cold lips pressing lightly against his own. "Harry."
"Sanguini," he murmured as
the teasing movements caused him to shiver in bliss.
A soft laugh met his ears and then the
gentle and loving contact was gone.
"You wore it," the voice
said—and then Harry was once again alone.
He didn't tell anyone when Sanguini
continued to play for him, hidden in shadows before soft kisses were
given to him. Harry couldn't stop drinking them in. They were light,
teasing, almost innocent, and despite his relatives' newfound
kindness, they still bestowed little physical affection on him.
As January melted into February, Harry
found himself more and more drawn to his nightly performer, even
falling asleep within cold, hard arms though he always awoke the next
morning alone. He never took off the bracelet except when in the
shower, and when Dudley tried to steal it from him, he had been given
some of Harry's old chores to do for a week.
Dudley was still loved, still doted on,
but the more Harry had nightmares about the man in the colored robes,
the more he felt like he was one of the family.
"Hush, little wizard,"
Sanguini whispered one night and Harry instantly drew back, eyebrows
rising in fear.
"Don't say that," he
murmured, his green eyes flashing. "Magic doesn't exist."
"Of course it does, little one."
Harry shook his head. "I'm not
allowed to say the 'M' word," he confided and Sanguini ran his
nose against the smooth line of Harry's neck. "I have—dreams."
"Dreams?"
"Of a man in robes, who came and
took me away. He left me here on the doorstep and he shot green out
of a stick and laughed. I think it was him, anyway."
"If I showed you a picture, would
you recognize him?" he asked and Harry shrugged.
"Maybe," he admitted before
cold hands undressed him completely, a kiss, more possessive than the
others that preceded it, claiming his child-lips in bliss.
When Harry asked his aunt if she had
found anything about 'Padfoot' she sighed and shook her head.
"Probably a good-for-nothing," she murmured while she
packed Harry's lunch. "You're normal, though—now." She
looked nervous but Harry didn't question her. He was glad to be
normal.
Sanguini had, though, found a picture
of the man from Harry's nightmare. He was on a small card that said
he had defeated a dark wizard and discovered the twelve uses of
dragon's blood.
"That's him," he whispered in
the darkness and Sanguini smiled.
"I thought it might be," he
whispered as he kissed down Harry's neck. "He's a bad
man—dangerous. The head of a school for wizards."
"Oh," Harry gasped as cold
hands began to fondle him. He closed his eyes in bliss, never wanting
the sensation to stop. "I love you," he admitted quietly,
and Sanguini stilled.
Harry wearily opened his eyes, green
meeting near black, and he smiled softly. "I've never said that
before," he admitted.
"No one's said that to me in a
long time," Sanguini murmured before kissing Harry passionately.
Harry was immediately caught up in the
sensation of it as a soft tongue traced the lining of his lips.
Hesitantly, he reached up and grasped Sanguini's chest, pulling him
closer, and opened his mouth hesitantly, giving the quiet permission
Sanguini needed.
He smiled. Although Sanguini hadn't
said the words back, he knew that for the first time in his life, he
was loved.
A few weeks later Dudley got his first
girlfriend, a pretty little redhead who was too afraid of him to say
'no,' and Harry couldn't stop laughing at the sight of them. Piers
had ignored the entire situation and Dudley said he was just jealous.
Harry had raised an eyebrow at him.
"Little wizard," Sanguini
murmured near the end of March, his movements rough and jilted. Harry
had noticed that over the past week he had become inexplicably paler,
dark circles forming under his eyes and he lingered longer over
Harry's neck when he kissed him.
"What's wrong?"
"N-Nothing. I should go."
He slipped his hands out of Harry's
pajamas but Harry clasped onto him tightly. "Don't go," he
begged. "What if you never come back?"
"I'll always come back. I'm
just—hungry, little wizard."
Harry sat up, his legs now firmly
wrapped around Sanguini's torso and he moaned at the close contact
between their bodies. Sometimes he wished he could make Sanguini gasp
like he did, but his visitor would only shake his head and tell him
that playing the violin was enough for him. "We can sneak down
the kitchen. Aunt Petunia doesn't mind—not anymore."
Sanguini sighed and shook his head,
holding Harry close. "I don't—eat that type of food, Harry,"
he admitted as he took a deep breath, teeth scraping across Harry's
skin.
Harry tangled his hands in Sanguini's
dark hair and moaned. "Stay—anything. I'll do anything. Just
stay," he moaned and Sanguini's cold hands roamed up his back
before a sharp sting pricked his neck.
He groaned in pain, but Sanguini held
him closer, rubbing their bodies against each other until Harry
barely noticed the light headed feeling and sharp pain that almost
paralyzed him. Soft lips kissed away the hurt, and Harry found
himself being kissed by blood soaked lips.
"Come for me," Sanguini
whispered and even though Harry didn't understand his meaning, he
shivered in bliss and smiled when a few moments later Sanguini did
the same.
Harry had never been so happy when
spring bled into summer. Dudley was almost pleasant to him and he'd
grown three inches since Christmas, which Aunt Petunia proudly marked
off next to Dudley's on the kitchen door.
Sanguini came nearly every night,
playing his haunting violin, whispering stories of gypsies in Harry's
ear, before drinking from him and bringing them both to bliss. For a
few weeks, Aunt Petunia was worried that Harry was looking a bit
pale, but started giving him iron pills every day, and soon Harry
barely noticed any light headedness when the small pain came.
"You're a vampire," he
whispered in realization before Sanguini drew away and gave him a
small bottle he now always brought. It was steaming and pink and
always made Harry feel better after Sanguini drank from him.
"Yes," he admitted, never
moving his gaze from Harry's.
"If vampires are real, is magic?"
Harry asked, leaning forward to kiss Sanguini softly.
"Yes."
"I can't be a wizard—Aunt
Petunia and Uncle Vernon will put me back in my cupboard," he
confessed and Sanguini held him close.
"I don't want you to be either.
They'll take you away from me. They hate vampires," he murmured
as he pulled Harry's shirt over his head, exposing his bare chest to
the warm spring air.
"I won't, then," Harry
promised. "I swear I won't."
Dudley's birthday passed without
comment and Harry was allowed to go over to Piers's house. His mother
baked them cookies and they made plans for the upcoming year. Uncle
Vernon and Aunt Petunia, after much consideration, had decided to
send Harry to Smelting's along with Dudley. Piers was going as well.
He had the grades and had been so good
and "normal"—and Aunt Petunia decided she wanted him to
have the best in life. "We can afford it," Harry had heard
her say. "More than easily. We don't want them getting
their hands on him."
Dudley, who had been listening in with
Harry, looked at him, confused. Harry shrugged, though he knew she
was speaking about wizards.
The letter came, like Harry knew it
would, and he stared at it impassively.
"Who's it from, Harry?" his
uncle asked, not looking up from the morning papers.
"Them," was the only
answer Harry gave before ripping it open and glancing over the
letter.
Aunt Petunia looked up, startled.
"Them?"
"I want to still go to Smelting's,
if that's all right?" Harry grabbed a pen from the counter and
scribbled a quick response declining the invitation to the school
before looking out the window. "How am I to send it back if
there's no owl like it says?"
His aunt quickly got up and took the
letter from his hands, smiling slightly as she read his response.
"I'll take care of it, darling," she whispered before
walking out of the room.
Dudley blinked at him stupidly.
"That's my nephew," Vernon
said proudly.
They didn't like the answer
Harry sent and were soon knocking on their doorstep one night when
Harry was supposed to be asleep.
"What's that?" Harry
whimpered, his slick skin pressed against Sanguini's bare chest.
"Wizards," he breathed, worry
tinting his dark eyes as he lowered Harry onto the bed. Kissing his
lips softly, Sanguini pulled the covers over him before picking up
his discarded violin and melting out the window, leaving Harry alone.
He shivered at the sudden cold and
pulled the covers to him tighter before screaming erupted from down
below.
"Harry doesn't want to go!"
Uncle Vernon bellowed and Harry sighed, looking over at the bedside
table. The vial of potion was still there, at least, he thought to
himself. Sanguini hadn't taken much blood tonight, but it was nice to
have it, just the same.
"You freaks!" Aunt Petunia
now added and there was a pounding on the stairs before Harry's door
was roughly thrown open just after he swiped the small vial and
shoved it under his pillow.
He blinked several times as the hall
light almost blinded him. He could feel his own blood trickle down
his neck and he brought the covers up closer to hide the healing mark
that Sanguini left. "Who are you?" he asked quietly and the
man—the wizard from his dreams—smiled kindly.
"I am Albus Dumbledore from
Hogwarts—"
"I don't want to go," he
stated firmly before rolling away from the man in robes that hurt his
eyes. Harry didn't want to be a wizard, didn't want to leave
Sanguini.
He closed his eyes and soft violin
music that only he can hear caressed him lovingly. No else moved.
Harry knew he was the only one that could hear it—that Sanguini
only played for him.
The man sighed. "Harry, your
parents were friends of mine—"
"They're dead," he snapped
back, turning over and glaring at the man. "I've dreamt about
you. What you did. Get out."
The old man, Dumbledore, looked taken
aback. "Harry."
"I'm tired and I'm sleeping. I'm
going to another school with my best friend. I won't let you take me
away." Not from him, not from Sanguini, was left unsaid.
"Your parents would want you to
receive proper training as a wizard," Dumbledore tried again.
"Then they shouldn't have died,"
Harry explained.
Aunt Petunia finally found her voice.
"You have your answer. Harry wants to stay here with Dudley and
Piers—and I will let him stay."
"You need to be trained—there's
a darkness—"
"I'm safe," Harry whispered,
his hand unconsciously seeking out the charm still wrapped around his
wrist. "Nothing can hurt me. Nothing at all."
The wizard came back again and again,
the third time with a court order that forced Harry to attend
Hogwarts. Harry stared at it dolefully, tears welling up in his eyes.
Aunt Petunia screamed and threw things at Dumbledore and the
stern-faced witch that accompanied him. Nothing did any good.
On his eleventh birthday, Harry found
himself in Diagon Alley, rushing off to Knockturn Alley with a
puffing Hagrid running after him. Sanguini had told him to go there,
that he would find him and he would be safe.
He ducked into Borgin and Burkes, a
store Sanguini had mentioned, only to run into a small boy with a
shock of blond hair. "Sorry," he squeaked, stepping away,
before cold arms enveloped him from behind. "Sanguini," he
whispered before he was turned around and embraced.
Sanguini breathed in Harry's scent from
beneath his hood before setting him down again. "Court order?"
he inquired and Harry nodded.
"The wizards say as an orphan I
have to go to Hogwarts—I have no say. Aunt Petunia has no say."
"Bastards," Sanguini spat out
before his dark eyes caught the cold, calculating gaze of another
wizard. He nodded. "Malfoy. Your son?"
Harry turned around quickly and
observed the boy again.
"I see you've found a—Beloved,"
Malfoy replied quietly, taking in Harry's small frame and the symbol
around his wrist. "A wizard child."
"Not for long," Sanguini
murmured before taking Harry's warm hand in his cold one. "Come,
little one. We leave tonight."
That was the last time for years a
human ever saw Harry Potter.
… … … … … … …
ExcentrykeMuse's Note: There's
the fist part of two, which shall be continued next week. Once again,
do review. Tell me if you like The Enchantment Series,
Harry/Sanguini, et cetera. Thanks so much for reading! Cheers, cen.
Part the Second—Beloved
The violin never played in this new,
strange place, but Harry didn't care. For dark years he lost himself
to sensation, knowing nothing but Sanguini's haunting lips and the
pull of blood from his neck. As he grew older, the kisses became more
sensual and the first time Sanguini made love to him, he learned that
it was now his fifteenth birthday.
"When will I be yours?" he
murmured against Sanguini's hair, pulling him closer, never wanting
to let him go.
"When the Violin plays."
Harry had almost forgotten the sound of
the music that still haunted his dreams. He didn't need it anymore,
though his blood craved it. When he heard it again, it would be time.
He was not old enough, he knew, but it did not matter. All that he
knew was that when Sanguini shuddered within him, he was happier than
he had ever been.
He was loved, he was safe, he was
wanted.
Still, the violin did not play.
Winter melted into spring, which burned
into summer, and soon Harry found that the ground of the soft forest
was covered once again in snow. A man—a human—had been amongst
them for over a year, but Harry had never seen him. He did not care
to, did not wish to.
All he knew was the feeling of lips
against his own and whispered promises in the dark.
No other vampire was allowed to touch
him as long as he kept the charm that claimed him as Sanguini's, an
old Christmas gift left for him in the snow. He now wore it around
his neck, proudly, peaking out from the fur cape that kept him warm.
"Do you remember Christmas?"
Sanguini asked him one night and Harry looked at him and nodded.
"Would you like to go to a Christmas party—at Hogwarts?"
Harry stared at him. "I thought—"
"The Ministry cannot touch you
now," Sanguini soothed with a soft kiss, his cold hands running
across the bite marks on his neck. "You're almost of age to them
and have given yourself to me willingly."
With a soft smile it was decided.
Eldred Worple was the name of the
wizard who outfitted him for the party. Harry's hair had grown out so
much that it easily covered his scar and gently fell around his
shoulders, hiding the teeth marks Sanguini so lovingly gave him.
"I've been wanting to meet you,"
Worple confessed as he buttoned up Harry's dress shirt. It felt odd
wearing something other than skins and furs. The vampires, Harry
knew, wore wizard clothing, but for some reason he was set apart,
perhaps because of his position in the clan. "The human beloved.
I have a whole chapter on you in my book."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Quite." A bow tie, like
the one Uncle Vernon used to wear, was expertly threaded around his
neck. It felt confining, tight, and Harry glanced over to Sanguini
who was hungrily watching his ordeal.
"No tie. Leave the neckline open,"
Sanguini instructed and Worple hesitated. "He is not a wizard."
Worple nodded, the shirt sliding off
from Harry's smooth shoulders. Another, this one black and made of
silk, soon replaced it. "There is rarely a beloved, and even
stranger too that you were chosen as a child," Worple continued
uneasily. "How did you meet?"
Harry smiled to himself, his eyes
locking on Sanguini's. "He used to play the violin to me when I
slept."
"And your parents?"
"Dead. I never knew them."
Nothing else had to be said. It was all in the past. All that
mattered was here and now and Sanguini's burning gaze on him as he
was dressed.
Hogwarts was more beautiful than Harry
could ever have imagined and he squeezed Sanguini's hand, which
possessively cradled his own. "My parents went to school here?"
he murmured against Sanguini's lips but Worple heard him.
"Your parents were wizards then?"
Harry did not answer. He did not need
to. Human rules no longer applied to him, and as a Beloved he rarely
spoke to anyone but Sanguini.
He moved through the hallways with a
majesty that the vampires had taught him. He knew people were staring
at him, at the symbol declaring him beloved, his name unuttered
except in the heat of passion. When they reached the party, it was
all bright lights and tinsel, a reminder of something he'd lost but
never missed.
Harry rarely remembered Piers or even
his cupboard anymore. There was nothing before the violin began to
sing to him, nothing before sweet stolen kisses in the dead of night.
A thick, portly man greeted them, and
Harry was introduced simply as "beloved." He had no name,
not anymore. Only Sanguini was permitted to use it—only he was
privileged.
"Oh, the famous beloved!" the
man cried happily, offering his hand which Harry did not take. "I've
read all about you, of course, in Blood Brothers."
"It could hardly have been
accurate," Harry mused aloud. "I never met this human
before tonight."
The man's face fell slightly before
lighting up once again in a smile. "Of course, of course.
Forgive me, of course. Such a pleasure, such a pleasure. Come, try
the mince pies."
Harry found it strange being around
humans again, around people who would have been his friends, his
peers, if Sanguini had never played to him.
A bushy haired girl was under the
mistletoe with a boy. He remembered that tradition from
somewhere—sometime long before he became beloved.
Worple noticed his gaze. "Humans
kiss under the mistletoe at Christmastime. It is a tradition."
Harry nodded.
"You have been beloved for a long
time?" he asked, hesitating.
"Yes." He paused. "I was
to come here to Hogwarts, against my will. Sanguini took me away
before they could."
The small wizard started. "Really?"
"I don't like wizards. They killed
my parents—kidnapped me. I did not want to come."
"You were to come to Hogwarts?"
a new voice said and he looked up to see the bushy haired girl, her
dress slightly rumpled. Her—date, if Harry remembered the term
correctly—looked upset that they weren't under the mistletoe any
longer.
He turned away from her.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she
held out her hand, but once again Harry did not take it. She
harrumphed in annoyance. "Who are you, then?"
"He is Beloved," Worple
answered for him and her eyes widened. "You are not permitted to
touch him."
"I've read about Vampire
traditions," she hurried on quickly in a bossy voice. "There
hasn't been a known Beloved since the fifteen hundreds."
Harry blinked at her, his eyes then
roving around the room for Sanguini. He was leaning against a wall
under the mistletoe, his eyes calling to him in invitation.
"Is there a vampire here, then?"
Harry was gone before he could hear
Worple's response.
Long fingers slid into his hair and
Harry gasped when Sanguini leaned down to kiss him hungrily under the
mistletoe. "Are you angry?"
Harry tilted his head to the side in a
silent question.
"That you never had any of this,"
Sanguini whispered, his fingers trailing down his neck and
possessively pressing against the two dark purple pinpricks on his
neck. They always healed but the repeated feeding caused scars to be
left.
They were scars of honor and love, to
be proud of. Any vampire who saw him would know that he was able to
keep his lover satisfied and was worthy of his title of Beloved.
Not that these petty humans would ever
understand.
His eyes fluttered shut as
frost-covered lips began to kiss his neck and he moaned decadently.
He didn't care that they were in public—these were wizards after
all. If they didn't understand, then Harry just didn't care.
"Potion?" he asked quietly
and Sanguini's hold on him tightened.
"Isn't that illegal?" a voice
to Harry's right asked and Sanguini looked up at the interloper
imperiously.
Another girl, this one with dark red
hair and brown eyes, looked between them. Harry thought she might
have been pretty, if he liked humans. He couldn't look at anyone
other than Sanguini—he was his everything and Harry was his muse.
A tall boy with chocolate skin was
behind her at a distance, clearly watching.
"Humans," Sanguini mocked,
his arm snaking down to around Harry's waist as he pulled him closer.
"They think they know everything."
"He's human," the girl
observed, pointing at Harry, and Sanguini laughed quietly.
"He is Beloved."
Her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Beloved?"
"Mudblood?" This time Harry
spoke, using the term the vampires employed for those who knew
nothing of other magical cultures.
Harry had been worried as a young boy
that Sanguini saw him as a Mudblood, but with soft kisses and even
softer words he had been assured he was not. He was Beloved. He was
above such human concerns. He was no longer a wizard, but more.
The girl inhaled sharply and the boy
behind her chuckled, now joined by another wizard, this one with pale
blond hair and pointed features.
"How dare you!" she hissed,
drawing attention to them.
The pompous man from before quickly
made his way over, Worple and Granger close behind him.
"What's wrong?" Worple
demanded, looking between the vampiric couple and the young witch.
"He," she pointed at Harry,
"called me a Mudblood."
Granger stiffened and Harry's eyes
narrowed. Clearly Granger at least was a Mudblood, then.
Cold hands caressed his hip soothingly
and he closed his eyes in pleasure, the soft chords of discordant
violin music playing through his mind. Soon, he realized. So very
soon…
"Beloved?" Worple asked,
bowing his head in submission, but Harry ignored him as he usually
did humans, although these were the first humans he had seen in years
that were not used as nourishment for Sanguini's brothers.
"She knows nothing of our ways,"
Sanguini answered with a sigh as Harry clearly would not speak. He
traced a finger down Harry's jaw before nipping lightly at his neck.
Harry sighed out in pleasure. "You're
teasing me," he accused.
The girl shuddered in disgust.
"Ginny," Granger said as she
approached the witch. "The—human—is beloved of the vampire.
It's a position of honor among vampires. As soon as he put that charm
around his neck," she pointed to the necklace that hung on
Harry's bare chest, "he was—married to the vampire. He will be
turned when he is old enough." Her voice was academic and
clipped.
Harry looked past them at the two
wizards and his eyes narrowed. "I know you," he whispered,
before dragging Sanguini away from the mistletoe and closer to the
blond. "I met you in Diagon Alley before I came away. Malfoy."
He smiled slightly, proud that he could recall the small detail.
"Remember, Sanguini?"
Malfoy bowed his head in
acknowledgement. "Beloved," he murmured. "I do
remember."
Sanguini pulled Harry against his chest
and stroked his neck lovingly. Harry leaned into the touch, but his
eyes never left Malfoy. He was the first connection to Harry's past,
before he was fully initiated into the darkness as Sanguini's
Beloved.
"I was to buy my books for
Hogwarts," he confessed quietly, "but I escaped."
"You were a wizard?" Malfoy's
companion asked, bowing his head in deference and using the correct
tense, for as Beloved he could no longer be a wizard. "Blaise
Zabini."
Harry looked away, but Sanguini
answered with an inclination of his head. It was all Malfoy and
Zabini needed.
"It's sick," Ginny said
somewhere near them and Blaise sighed at her antics.
"She's your date," Malfoy
reminded him. "That's what you get for going for blood
traitors."
"She's in love with the idea of
Potter anyway," he replied quietly and Harry's ears picked up.
"Potter?"
They turned toward Harry and Malfoy
nodded. "Harry James Potter, the missing savior."
Harry glanced at Sanguini with a
question in his eyes. The vampire kissed him lightly in response.
Words were not needed between vampires and were rarely used.
"He was left with Muggles and an
injunction was signed to force him to come to Hogwarts," Zabini
explained in a hushed tone. "He disappeared in Diagon Alley and
no one has seen or heard from him again."
Harry lifted an eyebrow. Malfoy's eyes
widened in understanding.
"She's in love with me though she
has never met me," Harry mused aloud and Sanguini's grip
tightened against his waist. "How odd."
That night Sanguini took him slowly
against a soft bed of silk on the forest floor. Everything was white
and cold around them but Harry didn't feel it. All that mattered was
Sanguini and the discarded violin that he had played for him that
night. The music had caressed him with unspoken promises and Harry
sighed as Sanguini bit the area directly above his heart, drinking
him nearly dry.
His lips glittered in the light of the
moon, and Harry reached up and kissed him passionately, shivering in
his release. Soft fingers leaned him back until his chin was tilted
upward and a wrist was pressed against his mouth and he drank in the
tangy liquid hungrily, never wanting to stop.
He was home, he was beloved, and as his
body slowly died, the soft strains of gypsy music reached his ears
before he went deaf and the world turned completely black.
As the years passed he was no longer
called Beloved, and he was given a new name as a vampire—Vitula,
the stringed instrument. He never took the necklace off. It was a
reminder of the years as a small boy he could barely remember, but as
the decades passed and a strange wizard war erupted around them, he
found his mind strangely returning to the cupboard where he first
heard the violin play.
In the early days of his rebirth,
Sanguini had taken him from England and one morning had pressed a
violin into his hands. "Play," he had commanded, and after
years of diligent practice, Harry played for his love as Sanguini
once serenaded him.
They returned to England when the ashes
settled, making love quietly on the desolated grounds of Hogwarts
where death still lingered, whispering "Beloved" as they
each gained their pleasure. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing ever
had, but the gentle strain of violin music and a love that could not
be spoken of except in that one perfect word.
- The End -
The Enchantment Series. A series
of short fics centering around otherworldly enchantments.
One. Thanatos. Written for
Valentine's Day 2010. (Harry)/Draco. [Death]
Two. Swan Song—A Veela Love Story.
Harry/Original Male Veela. [Veela]
Three. Vitula: My Beloved.
Harry/Sanguini. [Vampire]
Four. Book of Hours. Harry/James
Sirius [Cupid/Love]
Five. The White Stag. Peter
Pevensie/Harry Potter [White Stag; Germanic Swan Maiden theme]
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire