The Best There Is

Author's note: Wow I have really gone and done it this time…

"That one there, in the black urn."

"Ahh someone's had a rough night."

The tall man unlocked the glass case, extracting the large black stoneware. Popping the heavy lid off, he pulled a small silver ladle from a hook behind the counter and dipped it into the vast stone jar.

"Bottoms or tops?"

"Better make it bottoms, Vince."

Vince smiled a sinister but not unpleasant smile and lowered the ladle to the bottom of the urn. Giving it a bit of a swirl, he reached under the sloping counter and pulled out a tiny stone cup, about the size of a shot glass, but spherical with a flat bottom. Pulling the spoon from the jar, he let the thick liquid drip from the spoon for a moment before tipping the rest gently into the cup.

The stream of red poured like melted ice cream, no drops escaping as it slowly filled in the round bottom and came up to a half inch below the top. He slid it across the woman.

"There you are, Hermione. Best for your money I have to say. But on a Wednesday? Have you got a ride home?"

Hermione pointedly ignored him, dipping her long, perfectly manicured index finger into the thick red drink. "We've know each other for ever, Vincent. You wouldn't cheat me, you aren't stupid. What's the content?"

"Fifteen percent untreated. You know I had to fight the Department of Trade and Commerce for three years to get a license for this? But only the best for you, Hermione. I know you don't like the overly metallic flavors."

"You're not lying are you? I don't want some farm raised shit. The Dark Isle, you know the new pub down the street from here, they sell it anemic out of glass jars because it's cheaper."

"No, honest to Merlin, that's a wild one. Kelpie's the best, but only wild, the farm-raised are too salty."

"Thin as water. Cheap ass bastards." Hermione removed her finger from the blood and put it in her mouth, sucking gently. Then, satisfied, she lifted the cup to her pale lips and took a sip.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment she just breathed deeply, letting it slide down her throat. Opening her eyes, she smiled at Vince, her elongated, pointed canines glistening in the candle light.

"You're so good to me, Vincent. Just the way I like it."

Vince smiled, "Well I'm just glad you're in here and not getting it off the streets."

Hermione shook her head, taking another sip and sighing again, "You know I couldn't, Vince. No matter what they say about it."

"I know that, 'Mione. But seriously, I wasn't expecting you till Friday. Something happen?"

"Nothing big. Rough week at work, few sleepless nights. Been buried in inquiries all day, after the attack."

"Still don't know the one who got her?"

"No and this is a real bitch for me. I mean, John knows it wasn't me; Lea was one of my good friends. But teeth marks in her neck and unconscious in the hospital, and he's got to ask. I'm off now, but it's gonna be in the file above my employee history and that doesn't look good for future employment if you know what I mean."

Vince nodded and Hermione drank again, pausing.

"Idiots, I mean one look at those marks and you can see they're male. Tell me, Vincent, do I look male to you."

She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Tight red sweater and low blue jeans. Long brown hair curly on her shoulders. Her face a bit flushed and her lips a bit red from the blood. He laughed.

"No, Hermione, you don't look male. But you don't look like a vampire, either."

Hermione laughed bitterly, "What, expect me to run around in a black get up like those lunatics in the Quarter? I don't want them searching me out. Harry and Ron had enough time fighting them away from our apartment when it first happened. No, I'm better out of their families."

"How are Harry and Ron, anyway?"

"Good. It's been good."

Hermione continued sipping from her stone cup as they chatted. It was warm and soothing in her mouth, easing her chaffed throat nicely. One of the things that made it stand out over horse or deer. Thickening with age, heat containing, and highly flavorful, it was quite close to what the vampires in the Quarter might call "The Real Thing." And, as was any of the blood worth paying for, it was banned in most of the world. Only when the death and attack toll tripled in London did the ministry allow the addition of five animals to the list, one being Kelpies. But you needed a special license for wild ones, almost impossible to attain.

"Hermione, I've got towels to change in the rooms and breakfast to prepare. I'll be back in a minute, alright?"

"Oh, that's fine, Vince. Hold the fort down, can't have angry tenants."

He smiled and disappeared into the backroom. Hermione finished off her drink when she heard the door open and shut behind her. A cool voice spoke.

"Shame to drink alone."

She didn't bother to look, just sat up a bit straighter. It was wise to use caution.

"Evening Malfoy. Didn't know you cared for… my alternate methods."

"I don't."

He sat down on the stool next to her, grinning broadly. It was not a warming grin.

"You know you aren't allowed in here. Vince will never be able to trace that death back to you, but we all know you did it and it almost sent him under."

"He shouldn't serve them whiskey, then. You all know how I have a weakness for girls laced with whiskey."

Hermione turned back to her empty cup. Already the warmth was dying. But one cup a night, that was all she would allow. Wait for tomorrow, you can last till tomorrow.

"A whole cup of that shit and look, you're already losing your color."

"Hey, you can't call this shit."

He raised the cup to his nose and sniffed, then shook his head slowly,

"No, I can't. Good taste, Granger. Not as good as mine, but I'll give you some credit."

"You and taste don't belong in the same novel, let alone the same sentence."

He laughed. There was no warmth in it. Perhaps he had not yet drunk, perhaps he was immune to warmth entirely.

"You have no idea. Look at you, here after a cup and you're already crying for tomorrow night. Why deny yourself that pleasure, Granger? You know how good it feels, what's just another cup."

"Stop, Malfoy. I made my choice. Just because you have no self control-"

"Oh but I do have self control. I can't even make a claim to three hundred and sixty five of last years deaths. Not half that. Just because it isn't human doesn't mean it isn't worth drinking."

"But if you drink it that means it's illicit. I've got a life now, Malfoy. Just because you chose to sink so low does not mean everyone has. I'm not buying your drugs."

"Not buying, Granger," he whispered close to her ear, "I'm giving them away. One night and go back to your life tomorrow. Or perhaps the next day?"

She shivered, "No, Malfoy. I am not that stupid. I know where you live; I know who you live with. This is not turning into some sick blood induced fantasy."

But without her even feeling it, he had nipped her ear and smeared the blood on his finger.

"Well don't take my drugs, but you should at least be enjoying your own," he whispered and before she could stop him he had slipped his finger into her mouth, wiping her own blood off on her tongue. She gasped and collapsed, weakening instantly with a deep moan, and he took the moment of possession to drag her out the door, the Leaky Cauldron sign flapping in the stiff breeze.

When she regained her senses she was in his house with no recollecting of having gotten there. And her head still wasn't quite right. It had been so long since that day when she bit his wrist, her body couldn't handle it any more. One tiny taste of something remotely close to human and she was gone into a fit. Hermione lay back on the black silk sheets, staring at his high ceiling. She knew it was wrong. She knew it was sick and perverted and twisted. So why did it have to taste so good?

"You liked that, didn't you?"

Of course he was there, witnessing this. She still felt so weak, so exhausted.

"That was assault, Malfoy."

You were not allowed force another vampire to drink their own blood.

"Going to file charges? Good idea. I'll be there when you tell the entire Wizengamot how I forced my finger into your mouth and you positively climaxed it was so good."

"What do you want, anyway?"

Malfoy stood from his leather chair and walked where Hermione could see him looming above her. She didn't sit up, just cocked her head to look at him. She could only imagine how this looked. Limp body splayed on his bed, hair wild around her face, slightly tinged lips open slightly with the effort of controlling her breathing. Not an ounce of effort left to refuse him anything. That blood had gone straight to her head; she hadn't a speck of resistance in her.

"Just for you to have a drink with me, Miss Hermione. One night acting like what you really are. You make quite the attractive vampire."

"So you're going to get me drunk on the strong stuff and let your cohorts perform all their perverted dreams on me in my weakened state?"

"Appealing, but no. You're not the right kind for that. Drinking too much of your blood would upset my delicate stomach you see. It's very rich, for savoring. Like a dessert wine." He smiled, crouching down to run the back of his pale hand across her cheek. She shivered, and his eyes sparkled.

"My cohorts, as you so accurately put it, are not home. Just you and I, and a closet of some of my favorites. Just a drink, Hermione. A drink between vampires."

She allowed him to pull her off his bed and get her standing. Then, waving his wand (which had appeared in his hand without her seeing it), he passed her a glass of… water. She took it gratefully.

"What's in it?"

"A modified hangover potion. Cant start off drunk, can we?"

She drank it greedily. The haze lifted, and as she looked across into his large mirror, she saw….

Nothing.

"I never got used to that either, Hermione. Here, I've got something you might like." He walked to his night table and picked up a small silver hand mirror. Hermione took it from his hand, and looked down to see her own face looking back at her. It had returned to its natural colorless complexion.

"Where did you get this?"

"A quaint little shop in Yorkshire. It's nice isn't it?"

"Yes…" she breathed. She hadn't seen her reflection in years. Reaching out, she ran her finger down the reflections cheek. No freckles. All of her freckles were gone. Draco slipped the mirror from her hand gently and dropped it on his bed.

"Enough. I invited you here for a bit of fun, didn't I?"

Hermione nodded. The blood may have been lifted from her system, but the memory of its feeling was still there. She wanted it again, she couldn't help it.

Draco had a look of strange satisfaction on his face as he stared at her for a moment, and turned to his closet, digging in it. Hermione followed him over, peering inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, honestly, you wouldn't attend a Drinking in those, would you? But then again, you wouldn't attend a Drinking at all. Too low for the great Hermione Granger."

He smirked at her, "Heaven forbid we have ourselves a bit of pleasure."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he turned and continued digging, "No, you're going to be a vampire tonight, Miss Hermione. And you're going to have to dress like one."

Hermione felt herself getting impatient. It was that nagging emptiness inside her welling up again. She wanted to drink, not look like the trampy vampires on the street corners of the corner.

"Oh for fucks sake, what am I even doing here?" she snapped, turning on heel, but in a second he had emerged from his closet and held her to him from behind. His arms held her sides and he whispered in her ear again, "Now, now, in good time, Hermione. I know six years is a long time without any real flavor, but we must be patient. You do want to look nice for our little party, don't you?"

With that he lowered his mouth to the crook of her neck, sucking on it gently while one of his hands roamed across her stomach. She leaned back into him, gasping. Vampire's weak spot. She turned to him quickly, but the irritation was gone.

"Where are you getting these clothes for me?" she said, a bit too breathily for her taste.

"Just because I am the undead doesn't mean I have lost my good looks, Miss Hermione. I still like my fun. And I do pride myself in trophies."

He held up a black dress. It looked nothing like her previous experiences with vampire wear. A long full skirt hung from a stiff bodice with a plunging neck and large sleeves. She took it from him, running her fingers over the fine material.

"How old is this?"

"I'm not sure, a wealthy heiress quite forgot about it after her night here. Seems best we match, however." She took a moment to look at his clothes. Neat, tailed black pants, with a black shirt, top button undone. Seemed to put all the emphasis on his perfect face, nearly as white as hers, blonde hair combed back with some falling into his eyes.

Holding the dress tightly to her, she looked around his room.

"Where do I change?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes, "If you insist. Behind this scrim here."

She stepped behind the folding black scrim, and quickly slipped off her clothes. There was a basin with water there, and she took a cloth and cleaned herself neatly, drying her body with the fluffy towel. She slipped on the dress and snapped it up the front (thank Merlin). It was tight over her slim waist, which was saying something.

"It conforms to how I think it would look best," Draco spoke from his chair again, reading her mind. The dress tightened itself a bit more and she cursed loudly. Then noticed something.

"Umm, Draco?"

"Yes?"

"My bra is showing."

He laughed, and still there was nothing warm about it. But she enjoyed the sound.

"Well, take it off then! I assure you with that dress you won't need it."

Unsnapping the top few clasps, she pulled off the white bra and dropped it on her pile of clothes. After she had arranged her hair and hooked the loops of the sleeves over her middle fingers, she stepped from behind the scrim and twirled for Draco, who raised one in surveillance.

"Do I look like a vampire now?"

There was a long silence as she finished her turns to look at him. He stood up and offered her his arm, which she found herself taking.

"Yes. Now with a bit of color you'll be a goddess."

Down a sweeping marble staircase lay a vast hall. Towering windows opened to the moon light, and Hermione looked out one to see not a slum of shacks and brothels but a high class neighborhood. Many Town Houses lined the streets, and a man and woman were walking down the street, holding hands.

"This isn't the Quarter I'm used to."

"Not all parts of the Quarter are the same just as not all the vampires that live there are the same. This is called High End. The inhabitants here work and live their lives just like you do, but give in to their natural instincts as well. Now if you would please come this way."

They were outside a small black door. Draco took a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock, turning until it clicked loudly. The door opened to reveal a set of steep wooden stairs down into darkness. A wave of his wand and the long descent was lit by tall candles on the walls.

"Come, Miss Hermione, and let's see if we can't find something good to drink in here."

The stairs leveled out to a long stone corridor. They didn't talk, just listening to the rustle of her skirt on the floor and the click of his shoes. Arriving at another door, which Draco unlocked like the first, they stepped into a stone room. Bright candles lined the walls, the fire place, the ceiling. The bright light streamed over the walls, revealing what seemed like endless stone urns. Hermione gasped.

"Is this all…?"

"My private collection. Some from the vampire who bit me. But I knew you were coming, so I set aside some special flavors for us. Some of my personal favorites, I'd like you to try."

He pulled out a wooden chair at the small table for her, and she sat as he pushed it in, hand gently brushing across her bare shoulders as he took his own seat. A nearby shelf held about fifty smaller jars, and Hermione poured over the labels, becoming more curious with each one.

"Draco, none of these are legal. Not one."

"Of course not. I want you to try something good, something that will really take your breath away." He passed her a stone cup, but it was much smaller than the one she had drank the Kelpie blood from seemingly so long ago.

"Small cups, my dear, because too much will make you sick. I don't want that perfect body of yours worn out too quickly," he smiled charmingly, lifting a jar off the shelf. It had a little silver spoon with it, and he opened the lid.

"You'll like this. Something slow to start with. Demiguise from Mongolia." He dipped up two cups, and Hermione took a small sip off hers. It was enjoyable, though nothing like the ecstasy she had felt on her own life. She smiled.

"It's so light."

"Demiguise feed on plants. Light but not thin. Take another cup."

"A new one?"

"You can't mix them. You may think we're uncultured, Miss Hermione, but there is so much you don't know."

They went through names she had heard of but never tried first. Birds were crisp and colder. Fish a very deep red with an old flavor. Jar after jar he brought down, and she took tiny sips of each one, each time the feeling a bit stronger. A drop of Doxy blood fizzled on her tongue, gone instantly. On Mooncalf she gasped out loud, earning a pleased smile from Draco.

"I knew you'd like that one."

"Its sweet, the sweetest I've ever tasted." She had felt the rush of energy with this one, combined with a sense of unbelievable calm. Her eyes fluttered closed as she took another sip, sighing again. "It's wonderful."

He took their glasses, and put another jar on the table. It was darker than the grey stone the others had been made of. A dark greenish color.

"Something a bit stronger now I think. I enjoy your reactions. This taste may not thrill you at first, but you will come to appreciate it after you've swallowed."

"What is it?"

"Dragon. Romanian Longhorn, if you want to be exact."

"Those are endangered! The Ministry has been funding breeding programs for ten years!"

"I did not have the beast killed, merely acquired it by chance as I was passing through. A small sip is advisable."

Hermione raised the cup to her lips, trying not to think of the fading Longhorn population, and let the deep red blood course over her lips. The taste was astounding, bitter and strong, like hard liquor. She would've spit it out, but Draco moved his hand over her mouth and ran one finger down her throat. Eyes rolling back and lids closing, she swallowed and felt it pool in her stomach. The feeling was instant. Her back arched and she moaned into Draco's hand, collapsing back into her chair, completely breathless. But it did not last, and soon she was aware of Draco's smirking face above her as he removed hand.

"Good?"

"Good," she breathed, leaning heavily on her chair, "If only the taste were better…"

"If the stronger types tasted good, no one would need sex," he laughed, getting another jar, "It's a price you pay."

They moved through the stronger jars with a delicate haste. Hermione had become less and less inhibited about her moans of enjoyment, and even let out a giggle of pleasure when Draco groaned quietly on Nundu. "It's the feminine taste. Like having a woman to me. I imagine you understand why you giggled."

Hermione turned as red as the blood she was drinking. Draco grinned evilly as he took down another urn.

"What kind is that?" she said, trying to get the subject off her compromising reaction to Nundu's blood.

"I will tell you after you take some."

"Why not now?"

"Because you might not have any. And you'd regret it."

Instead of arguing, she took the cup from him. It was bright red, glowing even, with a bit of gray smoke curling off the surface, and looked so inviting she pushed all thoughts of what it was from her mind and took some. Her mouth felt like it had burst into flame, and the flames burned downward into her stomach with a hiss. It hurt for a moment, and left her through with a dull ache that she knew she had felt before.

"One of my particular favorites. Though I would never kill for it."

"Its Phoenix, isn't it?" Hermione smiled at him, "I may be getting slightly drunk, but I am still Hermione Granger. You can't pull one over on me that easily."

"Yes, it does happen to be phoenix blood. A gift, from the vampire who made me. The inspiration for fire whiskey, though I think some of the experience was lost in the transition."

The phoenix blood was the only one that did not release her. Instead it left an empty lower ache, an unfulfilled wanting. As she clenched her thighs together, she understood his plan.

"You did that on purpose."

"There is only one thing more potent than Phoenix blood."

"I won't kill someone," she was angry now. She rose, shaking slightly, "I could be faced with this ache for the rest of my life, but I won't kill."

He stood and put his hands on her shoulders, holding her still.

"That was not my intent. There is a way to get human blood without taking life."

He slid a hand up her neck to her cheek, opening her mouth slightly with his thumb. Then, with the same incriminating finger with which he had lured her here, he explored her mouth to find one sharp canine tooth. He pricked his finger on it, letting a drop fall on her tongue.

It was like the Dragon's blood, but it tasted wonderful. Losing herself, Hermione bit down, but his hand had already left her mouth. She cried out. The feeling did not leave her, but built into desperation and want. So it was with pure desire that she crashed her now vermillion lips onto his.

There was no slow development, no kind, gentle embrace before the kiss became violently passionate. His tongue was full in her mouth before either of them could even close their eyes, finding her tooth again and soon the taste of his blood filled both their mouths. She shuddered, sucking as much of the hot liquid as she could, but it wasn't enough. She made a vain attempt for more but he ripped their lips apart, breathing heavily.

"Not here."

Draco grabbed her hand and they raced down the long hall, up both stairs and spilled out into his bedroom, barely making it to his bed before collapsing against his headboard. He leaned back as she sat across him, undoing the buttons on his shirt and pulling it off. Hermione ran her fingers over his perfect chest. He grinned and took one of her hands, sliding it up to his neck. She lowered her head, inhaling his sent before whispering in his ear,

"Not yet."

Draco's eyes widened in shock. Hermione laughed, "I've got more control that you think I have. A little revenge is in order."

She pulled back from him, and reached inside her own mouth, pricking her finger. The red blood flowed into a bead, which she examined for a moment before wetting her lips with it. She smiled, the shiny red stain glinting in the dark. Draco pulled her face down to his with a groan and kissed her, enjoying the taste of the blood off her lips. His tongue probed her mouth, still stained with the coppery flavor, as he began to pull the zipper on the back of her dress. She pulled her mouth away immediately.

"There's a fucking zipper?"

He laughed. It was warm. "Of course there's a zipper." And with a very skilled tug the dress flew to the floor. Hermione gave a small cry with her sudden exposure, but Draco pulled her mouth back onto his, his hands moving to her bare thighs as her hot skin pressed flush against him. His hands had crept higher, and soon Hermione was buried in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply.

"I want you to feel what it's really like. Show me what it's like to be the blood you drink."

She nodded, smiling, and sunk her teeth deep into Draco's neck. Blood poured, coursed, flowed from the incision, and Hermione's vision reeled. Nothing had ever felt more perfect than this. She was completely lost in the warm, salty taste, the perfect taste. His newfound heartbeat mingled with hers, and they were connected by the wound, sharing the same life's force for that endless moment. Clutching him with all her might, she released his neck and pulled back, gasping as if there wasn't enough air in all the world.

Calming her heaving chest, she looked down at him. He smiled, some of his flush gone but relatively unharmed.

"Thank you." She kissed her mark gently as he pulled her closer to him by her hips.

"Good?"

"The best there is."

­theobjectlesson