Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

Disclaimer: Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

Warnings: This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

INTRODUCTION

What if Jo Rowling wrote Twilight with Harry and Draco as the main characters, and she was a pervert to boot? A darkly humorous, sexy, irreverent parody would result. I give you Wand Light: a Twilight and Halfblood Prince amalgam. Enjoy, and please review.

About three things Harry Potter was absolutely positive. First, Malfoy was a vampire. Second, there was a part of Draco – he didn't know how potent that part might be – that thirsted for Harry's blood. And third, Harry was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with the prat.

PREFACE

I'd never given much thought to how I would die – though I'd had reason enough in the last few months – but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing in the eerie darkness of the Forbidden Forest, into the red eyes of The Dark Lord, and he looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that even if I'd never left Hogwart's, I would still be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I was at peace with my fate. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it is unreasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

Chapter 1: OUT OF SIGHT

Harry crouched beneath the Invisibility Cloak, perched on the luggage rack above the heads of Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin disciples, spying on their conversation, hoping to glean insight into the mystery of the blonde's visit to Borgin and Burke's just before term. Malfoy did most of the talking as he blathered on about the banalities of his summer holidays for an agonizing twenty minutes as his lackeys hung onto every maddeningly trivial word. The only thing that piqued Harry's interest was a passing mention of an incident that occurred while Malfoy was touring Romania with his family. A raving, drunk lunatic bit the boy and sent him to the hospital for several days, ending his otherwise enjoyable holiday abruptly. Finally, they touched upon the subject he'd hoped they would – the impending return to power of The Dark Lord. But Malfoy was vague, and Harry could only glean a few theories from his innuendo-laden words. First, Voldemort gave him a special task, possibly as an initiation into his inner circle of Death Eaters. Second, some useful new powers had been bestowed upon him, probably also by You-Know-Who (though this was not explicitly stated), which would no doubt aid him in his task and have the added bonus of being useful in knocking Saint Bloody Fucking Potter off his pedestal once and for all. Lastly, the boy was a complete self-obsessed wanker, though this wasn't so much a theory as it was a proven fact.

The train began to slow as it pulled into Hogsmeade station. The Slytherins poured out of the compartment, but something seemed to catch Malfoy's eye causing him to linger after his friends had gone. Shit. Harry quickly pulled the tip of his trainers under the cloak. But it was too late. An evil smirk spread across Malfoy's face as he slowly inched towards Harry with his wand pointed threateningly. "Petrificus totalus!" he shouted, freezing Harry in his uncomfortable crouching position. Malfoy grasped into the nothingness, groping for the boy concealed beneath the cloak. His fingers caught hold of the fabric, pulled a fistful of it, and yanked hard, bringing Harry down to the floor with it. He was utterly mortified, lying immobile and in a fetal position, curled on the floor at Malfoy's feet, no doubt with a look of shock frozen on his face. The blond boy squat down to give Harry the full wrath of his icy, grey stare. He cocked his head to the side and smiled sinisterly, bearing perfectly aligned, pearly white teeth, eliciting an unfamiliar emotion emanating from Harry's gut. Had Malfoy always possessed such a blindingly gorgeous smile? And his face – had he always been this pale? Had he always had such perfect skin and smooth features, as if he'd been hewn from marble? Harry had a strange notion that he couldn't turn away from Malfoy's strikingly appealing face, even if he weren't petrified, as if he had some sort of Veela-like hold on him. Harry quickly took control of his temporarily distracted attention and inwardly cursed himself for feeling the way he just did. This was another bloke he was gawking at approvingly, for god's sake, and Draco Bloody Malfoy, no less.

"Saint Potter," Malfoy spat, quite literally into Harry's face, as he put particular emphasis on the first letter of his surname. "So you're the savior of the whole god damn wizarding world? The bloody fucking Chosen One?" he asked facetiously with disdain. Harry thought Malfoy's voice sounded unusually pleasing, despite his venomous words pouring like liquid gold profanity from the boy's pouted lips. "You look exceptionally stupid, right now, you know, Potter." He gave a low, menacing chortle. His laugh, though foreboding, sounded impossibly pleasant to Harry's ears. Malfoy stood up and glared down at the boy on the floor with disgust then swiftly brought the tip of his impeccably polished shoe down on Harry's face, knocking off his glasses. He'd barely tapped him, but the pain radiated from his nose and the salty, metallic taste of his own blood trickled down his throat and poured out his nostrils. Though his vision was blurry, he could see the look of triumph on Malfoy's face changing to something immensely more malevolent and dangerous. He fell to a predatory crouching position faster than was magically possible and . . . growled? That was the only word he could find to describe it, though the sound was not quite animal, but decidedly not human either. Malfoy's nostrils were flared and he seemed to sniff at Harry. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as if he were biting back some unbearable urge. His eyes fluttered closed like he was descending into a blissful rapture, almost as if he were on the brink of sexual release. Harry shuddered at the thought – was Malfoy such a perverted sadist that he actually got off on kicking him in the face? Malfoy suddenly snapped his head up in attention, waking abruptly from his ecstatic trance. He must have heard something, but it didn't register in Harry's ears. Malfoy pulled the invisibility over Harry, concealing him entirely, and ran out of the train compartment faster than any normal wizard could.

Fuck. What an awful predicament he was in now. Malfoy had no doubt broken his nose and he was bleeding from his nasal passages into his throat, unable to swallow, on the verge of suffocating on his own blood and saliva, and he was completely invisible. Great. Just fucking brilliant. The train lurched forward as the breaks released and the Hogwarts Express started to slowly move along the track. Harry wanted to die. This was the most humiliating thing he'd ever experienced, more embarrassing than the time he had an errant erection while he gave Cho extra DA lessons or the time Ginny caught him wanking in Sirius's house. The most disgracing part of it all wasn't even the fact that he'd die from his own stupidity – it was because Draco Malfoy, his nemesis of five years, rendered him this way. It only made things a million times worse that he found himself suddenly and inexplicably attracted to the boy. Ugh! A boy! And a Malfoy, to boot! Bile burned its way up his esophagus as he became ill with the idea. Oh come, sweet death!

No, it was selfish of him. As much as he hated it, the fact was, Harry Potter was destined to be the savior of the wizarding world. Even if he couldn't find a way to fulfill his part of the prophecy in the end, he couldn't disappoint everyone who hung their hopes and placed wagers on him by dying like this.

Besides, Harry didn't want to die a virgin. Or did he? He'd be sainted for sure if he did, and would look down upon Malfoy's scowling face from heaven as the blond boy sneered, "Fuck you, Saint Potter!" And Harry would flap around with his magnificent wings like Buckbeak and laugh, "Ha ha! I am Saint Potter! Burn in hell, Malfoy!"