Tom sank down onto Harry’s cock with a strangled sound, and Harry grasped the sheets in desperation as Tom began to ride him, hard and fast. Harry met Tom halfway as Tom pleasured himself, and he began to cry out when he found an angle that hit his prostate with each thrust.
When Harry pushed his magic into him in time with his thrusts, Tom surged downwards, sinking his fangs into Harry’s neck.
Harry saw stars as pleasure washed through him, his nerves on fire from the venom while Tom moved desperately over him until they both came, their magic tangled together. Harry sank into the sheets, his body limp as he caught his breath.
Eventually, Tom removed himself from Harry’s neck and looked down at him with blood stained lips, a lazy smirk on his face.
“Well, I admit, that was fun,” Tom chuckled, licking his lips clean. “But I think it’s my turn, darling.” Harry’s eyes widened, and he felt his cock twitch inside Tom at that dark tone. Harry couldn’t wait.
Perhaps it was the traces of Tom's venom still dissipating under his skin, but Harry was suddenly feeling a lot hungrier for more of what he'd just had.
"Tom, darling," he grinned up at the vampire, sitting up in the bed despite Tom's weight on him. "I seem to recall you agreeing not to take control."
Tom smirked at him, eyelids half-closed, and opened his mouth to speak - no doubt more of his honeyed suggestions. But Harry silenced him, bodily lifting Tom off of him and laying him down on the bed.
"You've not kept to our deal," Harry hissed, straddling him. "You want to distract me with more of your thrall - yes, I know what you're doing-" for Tom had flinched, caught out- "but enough of that, now."
There was an element of genuine fear in Tom's eyes, one that was contributing not insignificantly to Harry's continued erection. He was still being tempted; he was just.. redirecting that to different urges, different forbidden things. And so Harry did something that he had not done in a while.
He relaxed the hold he kept on his aura, not directing it as he had attempted with Tom earlier on, but simply letting it uncoil like - ha - a great serpent, weighing Tom down on the bed. The vampire sucked in a breath, his wide eyes once again darkening in lust: just as Harry had expected him to do.
"I thought you already knew," Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders. "But you didn't, did you? You enticed me, just as I enticed you, and I thought it was because of this - but you never had the full picture."
Vampires didn't need to breathe, but Tom's chest was heaving; their hearts didn't need to beat, but Tom's pulse was racing when Harry grabbed his wrists to pin them above his head. Harry's magic was sinking into his skin and animating him, and from the man's shuddering underneath him, he could feel it, and it felt good.
"You like that?" Harry grinned down at him. He didn't need an answer; Tom's bitten lip and wide black pupils told him so. "There's this wonderful, dark book in my godfather's family library about vampirism that I read last year, about magical compatibility, and what it means. I could smell you on my wand when you gave it back. Did you think," he leaned in closer, resting on his elbows just out of Tom's reach even if he could move under the oppressive, electrifying weight of Harry's aura, "I would just let you bleed me dry and gain true immortality? Did you think," he bared his teeth in a snarl, and scraped them along the long column of Tom's throat, "I'd just lie here and take what you give me?"
Tom looked absolutely fetching when he had enough blood moving through his body to blush. Harry tongued at the vein just below his jaw, feeling it jump under the skin. "Oh, Tom," Harry sighed against his skin, "I could just eat you."
Tom writhed under him, and Harry sat back up, leering down at him. No, the vampire was mouthing, and he looked so honestly terrified that Harry bit his lip against a groan, grinding his erection down against Tom's stomach. "Ah.. don't be so afraid," he chided. "I said I could, I'm not you - suggesting doesn't instantly mean I'll do it, you know?"
He dragged his nails down Tom's chest, leaving thin red marks on pale skin. "That was what I thought you liked, originally," Harry murmured. "I thought you could smell it on me."
"Smell what," Tom gasped, trying and failing to free himself beyond his ability to speak.
Blood had gathered under Harry's fingernails. He raised the fingers in question to his mouth and sucked on them until they were dripping wet. "That I'd eaten people," he hissed. "I thought Lucius, with his Ministry connections, would have told you the truth of why I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."
Tom swallowed, and Harry followed the motion of his Adam's apple, tempted - so tempted - to have it in his teeth again. The dark emotion bubbling up from deep within him was neither hunger nor lust, but something else entirely, a craving so painfully unfed that he knew: if he picked it up, he wouldn't put it down again. Harry sighed, and reached to cup Tom's cheek in his hand.
"You're so warm," Harry laughed. But his playfulness was fleeting, in the face of the growing desire to confess everything to the one person he knew whose need for Harry's survival - if even to fuel his own agenda - would prevent him from jeopardizing Harry's life by spreading the rumor. "Tell me, Tom... do you want to know?"
"Tell me," Tom hissed, voice strangled.
Harry lay down on top of him, pressing their bodies completely flush together, his mouth against Tom's left ear. "Seven Aurors went to bring Greyback down," he whispered. "A month later, two returned. My father, turned werewolf - and myself."
"That was in the report," Tom told him.
"Mm, it was," Harry traced the shell of Tom's other ear with his fingertips. "'Senior Auror James Potter, now retired, and Junior Auror Harry Potter, now promoted, were imprisoned and tortured for four weeks by a gang of werewolves later identified as Fenrir Greyback and his pack.' The report doesn't go into detail about what kind of torture. If it weren't for your venom lowering my inhibitions..." Harry traced the ear closer to his mouth with his tongue, feeling Tom shift underneath him. "I wouldn't even tell you."
"Tell me," Tom groaned, "Harry-"
"Bite me again," Harry demanded, loosening the press of his magic just enough to let Tom lift his head and plunge eager fangs into the side of his neck. He moaned, letting the red haze of thrall encroach just a little more on his vision. "Ah, that's it..."
"Where was I..?" Harry blinked a few times to clear his vision, trailing his hand down the side of Tom's neck to his shoulder, and lower, to his waist. "Five Junior Aurors with us, my yearmates at the Academy: Susan Bones, Jacob Greene, Alicia Spinnet, Calvin Johnson, and Theodore Nott. Greyback starved us for three days, first; enough that no one could quite fight off the thugs that took Greene. We heard his screams, and then silence. And then, they brought us bowls of stew."
"They-" Tom began, shocked.
"Shh, shh." Harry kissed him, licking his own blood off Tom's lips. "Don't interrupt, darling."
Tom subsided, and he continued, even quieter than before. "The first bite had everyone retching, of course. I was the one who made the mistake of throwing my bowl at Greyback when he came in to gloat. After that, he.. focused his efforts. 'Hungry Harry,' he called me. And I was so hungry, Tom. So very hungry."
He went quiet for a moment. "You know what," Harry mouthed against Tom's neck, "you'd better Legilimize me if you want to see the rest. Just talking about it..."
"..All right," Tom agreed. He wasn't smiling or teasing, anymore. His face was more solemn than Harry had ever seen, when he sat back up to look at it. "Legilimens."
Tom had to wonder how much of the effects of his thrall upon Harry had been feigned; even more so when the mind that opened before him was like this. The highest-level Occlumency worked nearly as well against vampiric magic as it did against Legilimency, after all; and he had seen enough Occlumentic defenses to know that this belonged in that category.
Harry guided him to the memories in question before Tom even went looking for them. Here, he said, mentally thrusting the knowledge at his figurative presence -
He opened his eyes to a dark, windowless room, a barred door at one end, and five figures chained to the walls besides his - Harry's - own. Nausea; he had just thrown up, the sick splattered on the floor beside him, barely separated from the bowl of stew that had prompted him to vacate his stomach.
The grinding of metal on concrete alerted his hunger-dazed senses to the door opening, just before the pungent, animal stench of Greyback heralded the werewolf's arrival. He sneered at the prisoners, surveying the mess they had made as they each rejected the 'food' brought before them, before noticing that Harry's bowl was emptier than the others'. He had managed to keep some of it down, even as it roiled uncomfortably in his stomach even now.
"Hungry, aren't you," Greyback barked a laugh. "'Hungry Harry', heh. Vaulkner!" he shouted through the door. "Get Hungry Harry something good."
Revulsion warred with pure biological need, the two emotions so strong that Tom nearly missed a thread of something darker, colder, creeping up Harry's spine. Anger, of a sort that even Tom never remembered experiencing. Greyback had turned back to the door now, cajoling the werewolf Vaulkner to prepare a 'leg roast', when the wooden bowl began to raise into the air.
Wandless, wordless magic. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom could see the others watching Harry, alarm in their faces at whatever expression he was wearing - and then the bowl flew, hitting Greyback in the base of the skull with a crack, so hard the bowl shattered and Greyback howled, reaching hairy fingers back to touch the bloodied spot.
The werewolf's furious growl sent an involuntary shiver down Harry's spine, but it wasn't strong enough to disguise the fierce joy he'd derived from hurting his captor. Greyback, however, was a more patient man than his bestial nature gave him credit for: "You'll regret that, Hungry Harry," he laughed. "You'll wish you'd killed me with that, when I'm done."
In the haze of days that followed, Harry did. He wished it fervently, so much that the lightbulb in the prison room burst and was not replaced, the darkness disguising how one of the other Aurors was taken away every few days. The hours blended together; there were screams, shadows shifting in the dark, words muttered from the Junior Aurors as they begged for their lives, begged Harry and James Potter to remember their last words, begged unseen fate for a rescue that never, never came.
The other prisoners were given bread and water. Only Harry was presented with elaborate meals, and no one envied him, because they knew what the meat was. There was pity in their eyes as they watched Harry swallow it down, that cold, dark feeling creeping up higher and higher within him each time, each mouthful. "I'll kill you," Harry growled at Greyback through the bars on the door. "I'll kill you."
Tom saw how James, gaunt as he was becoming, remained determined, resolute in the face of the smaller torments that they all underwent. "It won't be long, son," he promised. "We'll make it out of this, you and me."
(Because the two of them were the only ones left. Because Harry had eaten the rest.)
The haze cleared on the last day. Greyback unchained Harry and James from the walls, and led them off to another room. A dozen werewolves were there, watching, grinning at him. The moon was full again, as it had been early on in their imprisonment.
"Last one, Hungry Harry," Greyback taunted. "You aren't even choking on it now, are you? Sick fucker. Even I can't eat that shite."
"Cannibal," the others jeered. "Monster!"
"You're the monsters," Harry shouted, voice rough with disuse. "All of you - I'll kill all of you!"
"Suuuure you will," Greyback laughed. "All us werewolves, yup, yup. Think so? Even Jamesie here?" A clawed hand gripped the top of James' head. He winced in pain as Greyback's nails dug into his scalp. "He's joinin' us, kid. We don't take monsters like you, though. You're just here as dinner."
"No," Harry gasped, lurching to his feet. "No!"
But the moon was rising over the trees. Greyback tilted his head back and howled, and the other twelve joined in. They weren't going to transform any more than they already had, but now - now they could spread their curse.
As Greyback bit into James' shoulder, and James screamed, the cold rage in Harry boiled over.
He screamed, louder and higher than anything else he could hear. The air trembled around him, and his magic billowed forth, cold as a crashing wave against the rocks of Azkaban. Werewolves clutched at their ears, crumpling to the ground in pain - all except for Greyback, who turned to Harry with killing intent.
The memory dissolved into sensations - the echoes of screams against stone walls - the feeling of weight against him, under pummelling fists and feet - heat and wet and stench of blood - anger like fire - cold, cold, cold - "I'll kill you," Harry screamed, "I'll kill you-"
"-op, Harry, stop! Harry, please!" It was James, clutching at him, pulling him away from the bloodied, broken body of a former werewolf. The man was crying; Harry wasn't looking at him, but he could hear it in the way his voice choked. "He's dead, Harry, they're all dead."
His tunneled vision opened up; Harry looked around him, at the sea of blood, and the world tilted on its axis.
The last sense-memory left before he blacked out was that the taste in his mouth had gone from bitter-sour-rotten to something... good.
He pulled back from Harry's mind, feeling an echo of that last memory in his own mouth, and despite himself, Tom shivered.
"You..." he breathed. "Oh, Harry."
Despite his better judgement - for he knew what it was that Harry had become - he held the man closer, and felt the weight of Harry's magic recede as he broke down and began to cry.