#vampire tom

[x-junwrites-x]

Reader Gets Turned into a Vamp

Tom x Reader

Summary: Tom and Reader used to be a pair of monster hunters with a specialty in hunting vampires. Of course, as life would be unfair to the two of you, Tom got turned into a vampire many years ago by Tord. Throughout the years, Tom would always keep away from you. A flat-out refusal to get near enough to be enticed by your blood. He can only do so much to protect you this time when Tord as coven leader decides to pay your shop a visit and get rid of Tom's distraction so-to-speak. In the end, reader gets turned into an immortal leech, the kind that Tom promised you would never be.

Tw: mild blood and injury, minor violence, near character death

Tom slammed through the door, the ache in his shoulder barely even registering. He let out a snarl at the offending vampires that turned to lunge at him as soon as he barged in, using his jowls to rip the throat of one young rogue. The other was quickly pacified with a swift slash to his throat along with a kick in the groin. The only goal in mind was to get to the alluring scent of blood upstairs. The shop that you worked in was in ruins, shelves knocked over and broken glass vials crunching underneath his feet as he charged through the hall. He got to the base of the stairs, hearing whimpers of other wounded rogues in the middle of the stairwell. Tom cursed, knowing that Tord’s men were already there. When he caught wind of a small group of vampires rounding on your side of the town you lived in, he knew he had to get to you even through the consequences.

Once he reached the second floor all he had to do was round the corner to find Tord looming over Tom’s prized possession. You were limp in the arms of the coven leader, neck bared by the strong grip that the vampire had on you. His sharpened claws were careful with the fragile flesh of your neck, thumb feeling for your fluttering pulse under the frigid skin of his finger no doubt. Tom felt a growl bubble out from his chest without meaning to, gaining the attention of his superior. His head snapped up in search of the source of incompetence, piercing red gaze finding Tom’s trembling figure. 

“Ah, Thomas. How rather surprising to see you, especially since I am certain that you were stationed elsewhere.” The last bit of the sentence was made into a hiss as his red glare got sharper. “I thought we were clear that you were to go on a coup with Patryk’s division” 

“And I thought,” Tom could feel the anger inside of him start to boil over as he advanced onto the elder’s space, “we were clear that they were to be kept unharmed.” Tord’s grip on your neck tightened, Tom noticed how your brow furrowed as a low whine found its way from your throat. 

“Ah, yes, well. They seem to be your weakness and I can’t be having any weak links in my coven. You are of great use to me, Thomas. You will serve to bring me the position of reigning elder in the community, therefore I have to get rid of any distractions.” He sniffs, body moving to turn back to the mortal in his hold. Tom saw the way Tord’s fangs elongated, flashing red eyes narrowing as he was about to bite your jugular. A growl bursted out of his chest as he barreled towards his sire. The other man seemed to expect this already, side stepping carefully over the floorboards to be a few feet away. 

“Come now, Thomas. I do not recommend fighting me right now when the blood moon is out no less.” 

“I would be able to contend with you then, Tord.” Tom glowered at the other. Tord’s smug face faltered, brows furrowing into a stern glare.

“The gall you have to claim you’re as strong as your sire is laughable. You insult me. Now, shut up, and stop being a pest.” The elder seethed with a flick of his wrist towards Tom’s form. The other vampire felt a sudden pressure on his neck, shouting as he was flung back into the far wall. The portraits that were hanging fell to the floor just as he slid to the floorboards after them with a groan. He rubbed the back of his head, vision blurry as he tried to focus on the form of the tall vampire again before he was flung back to the other wall. He heard Tord huff out a small chuckle at the sight, the noise only fueling Tom’s anger. 

He took to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck raising as he sidestepped another one of Tord’s force attacks. As an Ancient, he was able to do weird magic like that. It frustrated Tom to no end sometimes. With little fanfare, Tom took the wall closest to him to push himself at Tord. Just as he was about an arm’s length away, he tilted on his heels, dodging Tord’s nasty swipe. He could feel the air move above his head where Tord’s claws ripped through the air. He didn’t hesitate to clamp down on his coven leader’s exposed shoulder with his own elongated fangs as the other man recoiled back for another attack. The vampire snarled, gasping as Tom flung his head back, nearly pulling Tord’s shoulder with him had it not been for Tord clawing at his face. Tom let go, using his leader’s brief stupor to move back, grunting as he dodged another attack before dashing to your side. He heaved you up in a bridal carry, ignoring the angered shouts of the other as he rushed to leap out the window. 

He didn’t turn back to look at the shop again as he continued to run through the forest at the edge of the town, ignoring the screams and cries he heard from the rest of the burning buildings. Although he was a vampire and didn’t need to breathe, it felt as though the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body was making his chest pinch tightly. Might’ve been the anxiety that suddenly crept up on him. He didn’t stop running until he got to a clearing. The big blood moon was the only thing that was illuminating the scene, its orange glow basking everything in an eerie light. 

He let out a breath, shifting you in his hold so that he could gaze at your face as he placed you down on the patch of grass. Tiny little yellow flowers had sprouted over the spring mornings, their delicate petals sagging underneath the body that lay atop them. He muttered a curse as he brushed some stray hairs from your face, his attention being snatched by the moving form of his lover as your eyelids fluttered open.

“Tom…?” You groaned out, sitting up among the ticklish grass. The movement elicited a sharp gasp as you felt a sharp pain erupt in your abdomen. Tom moved closer to you, holding your hand to his chest as he shushed you gently.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, a little bewildered. He hadn’t smelled any blood from you throughout the time that he was at the shop. Your parted lips formed a grimace as you moved a hand to press against your lower stomach, fingers coming back drenched in crimson.

“What?” You faltered, feeling your hands start to shake from the realization. The pain seemed to increase tenfold once you knew that you were bleeding. It felt like being torn apart from the inside. Tom stared at your drenched hand in strange horror as the scent of your blood elicited a burning desire to clamp his fangs over your pulse point, wherever he could get a taste of that delicious blood.

“I wasn’t hurt before, wh-what’s going on?” You whined as more pain shot up your spine, causing you to clamp your jaw tight. Tom shook his head to clear the unnerving thoughts. Now was not the time. He hovered over your form, gently coaxing you to lean further back so he could get under the clothes that covered your middle. He winced at the sight of the blood that seemed to just seep from your skin, unable to find a cut or laceration that would cause it. 

“It hurts so much.” Your eyes clamped shut as you held onto his buttoned shirt, your fist curling tighter around the fabric. His hand went to cover yours. Thinking about it more, it dawned on Tom that it could be Tord’s magic. He could feel the fire inside of him strike up again as he realized it was the coven leader’s doing. Through all that he’s done for the man, is this any way to repay him. Tom’s free hand reached to cup one of your flushed cheeks as tears collected on your bottom lashes.

“I think this is Tord’s magic.” His murmured words rang clear in your head as your eyes widened in realization. It made sense that it was ancient magic, it felt like you were burning.

“Tom,” you panted, blearily feeling Tom’s hold on your hand tighten over his chest, “I think i’m gonna die.” The grass below you was wet with blood, a sick feeling beginning to claw in your chest at the sight. If your head were any clearer, you would be moving away from the poor flowers. Tom sat stockstill, the crease in his brow pinching tighter before he was swallowing. Your eyes fluttered, feeling fainter as the moments passed. You looked over at your immortal lover, finding beads of sweat on his brow. Your lips parted to ask what he was thinking about, words escaping you as thoughts of your impending death hit you. If you knew you were going to die today, you would've given the cat that was always at the shop’s windows a feast.

“Hey…” You began softly, his grip on your hand tightening as his head shot up from where it had dropped against his chest. His expression looked troubled as he looked at you. It didn’t settle your nerves at the moment. He held a finger to his lips, head tiilting from side to side as if listening. Tom’s head swiveled to look around the clearing. You tried following his gaze but the sharp pain returned, eliciting a gasp from you. 

“They’re coming.” Tom’s tone sent a shiver down your spine as he pressed against your prone form, one arm cradled you to his chest while the other began to reach down to press against your wound..

“I don’t want to go, Tom.” You whispered, feeling his head shift to look at you as black spots began dancing in your blurry vision.

“Hey, stay with me.” His tone finally showed worry as he tilted your head towards his face. You could feel your eyes start to close, beginning to get comfortable in his hold. Even though your immortal lover was a vampire, he was still warmer than the cold of your bed you had to face every night. He started saying a few more words, panic seeping into his pleading but you couldn’t really understand it.

 He could save you, but it would put too much of a risk on both of you if either person died without the other.

“My love,” He tried, palm finding your chest. His own slow heartbeat thudded away in his chest as he felt the way yours was beginning to grow faint. Fingers skimmed over your warm skin, fingertips feeling the slow vibrations of the only thing that kept him going. “Love, look at me, come on.” Tom swallowed back the lump in his throat as your head tilted towards him just a little. 

“I can save you, you just have to trust me.” He could almost feel your hand tighten over his own weakly. He gave a slight chuckle at the warmth he suddenly felt. The noises of the coven were getting louder, no doubt sourcing the smell of blood in the air as they hunted for the two of you like hound dogs. The beasts that they were. That he was.

Tom took a breath as he caressed your face with his icy hands, moving some loose strands of hair aside before caressing your neck with his thumb. Your heartbeat was a dull thing now underneath warm skin. He closed his eyes as his fangs elongated, the hunger that had been simmering under his skin this whole time finally resurfacing again. It was harder to control this time. Focus, his mind hissed, he had to remember that this was a transforming bite. He had to put intention behind the force of his jaw, not only to feed but to have you drink his blood as well. 

He moved back enough to look at your closed eyes. Just like this, he could pretend that it was one of those slow mornings the two of you shared so long ago, when he was able to hold you closely without having to worry about rules or his own bloodthirst to satiate. Never with you. It was never supposed to be you. You were supposed to be kept out of this life as the monster that he was, but you were stubborn. 

This was the last time he was going to see you as a human. He brought his mouth to the crook of your neck. His hunger was a roaring thing now, willing him to bite into delicate flesh and drink from the source that he’s been wanting to claim ever since he turned. His lips sealed over your neck to lay an open mouth kiss to the skin before letting his fangs plunge over where your pulse was the strongest. Tom felt you jerk in his arms as a surprisingly lucid yelp escaped your lips, the action causing him to almost falter before the taste of copper saccharin blood coated his tastebuds.

In an instant, he felt the monster inside him snap as power surged through him like a lighting strike. A feeling of near orgasmic euphoria washed over him, a deep seated groan slipping from his mouth, eyes fluttering closed. His hands trembled as he clutched onto your form tightly, gulping copious amounts of blood as he tried quenching the immense hunger that burst from the pit of his very being before snapping out of it. He shuddered at the sight of all the blood smattered over the collar of your shirt, raising his shaky wrist to a bloodied fang. He sliced his own pale skin, bringing his bleeding wrist down to your parted lips. Tom watched intently as you took small gulps, the furrow in your brow never leaving as your face began losing some of its glow. He knew it would take a little before the transformation was complete so he took the chance to lick around the puncture wound on your neck once more, saliva closing the bite marks until they were small indentations. A rush of endorphins suddenly surged through his body, making him gasp at the flurry of emotions he was bombarded with that surely weren’t his own. He looked down at you, watching as it almost seemed like you were sleeping. Even so, he was still experiencing this rush of emotion. If he focused hard enough, he could sift through them, finding tendrils attached to you in some way. Somehow he knew. Is this what being a sire was like? Just as quickly as they came, it seemed like they were dispersed somewhere in his mind. It felt like they had been tucked away carefully in the back of his head somewhere, leaving him a little dizzy.

He was probably dazed over the thought that he had finally put a claiming bite on the one person he promised he would never put one on. He thumbed the wound gently, a lick of strange arousal finding its way from the pit in his stomach at the thought that you bore his mark now. He grunted at the intruding thought. A snap of a twig made him snap out of it completely, putting him on edge. Just across from the clearing, he could see the flashing red eyes of a very angry coven leader. Tom made sure to step in front of your prone form as he took to his feet, meeting Tord’s fiery gaze head-on.

“Thomas,” a seething growl found its way in the tense air of the cold night. Tom shifted, shoes crunching in the loose dirt that had been kicked up by his scrambling earlier. The action caused Tord to pause his advancement, eyes boring into your limp figure on the grassy plane just at Tom’s feet. “What have you done?”

“I saved them.” Tom panted, feeling his fangs elongate again as Tord tried getting near. 

“You sired them?! You seething imbecile. You dare sire someone under my leadership. There are rules, Thomas.” Tord hissed, flicking his wrist so that the rest of the coven came out from the clearing’s edge, previously covered by the shadows the trees provided. Tom took a step back at the sight of them all. Their eyes were glowing red as they closed in. 

“Take the fledgling away before they turn feral.” Tord grunted, flicking a wrist towards Tom while he was distracted by Paul and another vampire who came closer to you. “And you, you will be punished for this, Thomas.” He sighed as Tom squirmed in his invisible grasp. His feet didn’t touch the ground as Tord teleported the whole coven back to the dwellings of the grand castle all the villages around feared.

“No! Don’t take them away from me!” Tom growled, jaws snapping at a vampire that was passing by with you in tow. Your face was still slack, still unconscious from the vast changes your body was facing. Immortality sure was a heavy thing to bare. Tord tutted at the display. 

“Oh, Thomas. How pathetic you are. Here’s hoping that they won’t cause much trouble in the dungeons. It would be a shame if I had to cast them into the sun so prematurely.” He gave a smirk as Tom froze, mouth snapping shut as he watched you be taken down the winding halls. Tord laughed sinisterly at the look of sorrow that crossed Tom’s face for a second before an icy mask took its place. “Now, let us discuss the terms of your punishment, yes?” He says as he turns towards the opposite side of the castle with a struggling Tom in his hold.

The end.

[realitybitesyouknowit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle Additional Tags: Vampire Tom Riddle, Master of Death Harry Potter Summary:

Harry is the Master of Death and has travelled through multiple universes. He ends up in an universe where Tom Riddle was turned into a vampire, but it is different than many of the other ones he found himself in.

Meanwhile Tom is intrigued by this wizard appearing out of nowhere and wants to learn everything about him.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Gonna shamelessly piggyback on the gorgeous art~

Vampire Voldemort/Tom ficlet under the cut.

Vampirism would never be Voldemort’s preferred form of existence, but needs must.

It’s unfortunate that the Ministry seized his body for examination instead of burying him – or even putting his corpse on display, he merits at least that much. But alas, when his back-up plan finally kicks in (well, the horcruxes were his initial back-up plan, but hardly the only one. One can never be too careful when it comes to ensuring one’s continued survival), he’s on an examination table surrounded by Aurors and Unspeakables. Not ideal for making his escape, especially when he’s weak and disoriented.

He manages to latch onto the nearest mage and drink enough of their blood to mount a defence and get to the exit, but being a vampire is different enough that he’s taken down before he makes it more than two steps through the door. How humiliating.

So now, here he is, tucked somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry with guards posted just out of sight, interrogated frequently on such matters as who his Death Eaters are, the extent of his crimes, what he knows (far more than these dunderheads can comprehend), and on and on. He gives them nothing, unless it doesn’t matter anymore and will just frustrate them to know. Then he provides more detail than they would ever want. Their methods of information extraction are laughable, anyway.

They only try to starve him to death once. After he rips through the wards and bars containing him and drains one of his guards dry, they don’t try it again. Now, they bring him some kind of blood in pouches once every few days. It sustains him, but that’s about all that can be said for it. He doesn’t feel hungry, per se, but too long without blood makes a headache pound behind his eyes and worsens his already irascible nature.

He’s certain he could escape this cell if he wanted to, but it’s taking him far longer to adapt to being a vampire than he had expected. His magic functions differently, his senses are heightened and inconsistent, and he’s unsure what his reaction to sunlight will be. (Or even regular indoor lighting – it’s kept quite dim in this corridor.) He’s willing to be patient and make his move when the time is right.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It’s during one of the Minister’s occasional visits – as though he has any respect for the position and will give up his secrets more easily – that he appreciates his intensified sense of smell for the first time.

(His guards could stand to brush up on their cleaning charms. They don’t appreciate it when he shares this knowledge with them.)

It’s enticing, the fragrance, and strong enough that it almost feels visible, wafting down the corridor from the open door. He feels himself drawn to the scent, only stopping when he hits the bars. It takes a fair bit of self-control to resist pulling them apart and pursuing the delicious smell. “Who walked by just now?”

“That isn’t of any concern to you,” Shacklebolt says flatly.

One of the Aurors snaps, “We’re asking the que��”

“Bring them here,” Voldemort commands. “Or we’ll find out exactly how well these new wards will hold up against me.”

His ability to enthral the Aurors guarding him might be limited by the amulets they wear, but the fact that it still affects them at all seems to terrify them more. One looks to the Minister, hands shaking; he races off once he gets the nod.

Shacklebolt attempts to stare him down, which would be more impressive if he’d been able to do it before Voldemort had his metaphorical wings clipped. Once he realises Voldemort has no intention of engaging in a childish staring contest, the other man chats quietly with the remaining guards.

The Auror returns, looking pale and pinched. “Er, Minister Shacklebolt…”

“Who is it?”

The Auror slides his eyes over to Voldemort before returning to meet the Minister’s gaze and shaking his head.

The look is telling. He makes an educated guess and calls out, “Harry Potter.”

After a brief pause, the tense, angry silence is shattered by the thud of footsteps rapidly approaching before the boy skids to a stop before Voldemort’s cell, panting for breath and looking horrified and enraged by what he finds.

“What the hell is he doing here–”

“Harry, wait–”

“He’s alive?!”

“Let’s go talk about this–”

“Hello again, Harry Potter,” Voldemort cuts in. “So kind of you to finally visit me.”

“How in Merlin’s name did you survive?” Potter shouts, sounding a touch hysterical.

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” A rather transparent ploy, but the scent of the boy’s blood has his head reeling. And, well, Potter has never needed a sophisticated touch to lure him in.

Shacklebolt snarls at him and quickly raises the silencing barrier that prevents him from being heard beyond the walls of his cell. What a pity.

He says, “I’ll see you soon,” ensuring his mouth moves deliberately enough for the message to get through even if it can’t be heard. Potter’s brows furrow at him, eyes aflame, before he follows the Minister down the corridor, irately demanding to know everything.

No matter. If Shacklebolt thinks Potter won’t find a way back here, he doesn’t know the boy at all.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It takes four days before Potter skulks out of the shadows around Voldemort’s cell. 

Voldemort knows from the moment he enters the corridor, even if he can’t see the boy getting closer. Wild, black hair and a lumpy jumper emerge from under an invisibility cloak directly in front of his cell, just inside the sound barrier. Clever boy.

“Come now, you’re not afraid of me, are you?” he taunts. “I’m no danger to you from in here. You can step closer.”

A vampire’s power of suggestion works just as well as the Imperius does against Potter. He’d expected it, but the boy’s mental resilience remains irritating.

“Did you seriously think that would work?” Potter says incredulously.

“I have so little entertainment, I’m not in a position to be picky,” he mockingly laments. “In any case, congratulations. You’ve exceeded my admittedly low expectations of you.”

“Tosser,” the boy mutters, before demanding, “What are you doing here?”

He raises a judgemental, nonexistent eyebrow. “Well, when the Ministry offered me room and board in perpetuity for the low cost of my freedom and privacy, how could I refuse?”

If looks could kill, Potter might actually have a chance at putting him in the ground permanently. “You know that’s not what I was asking,” he snaps. “How are you here, alive?”

Voldemort observes the boy for a moment. Deep bruises under his eyes, still too skinny – no one at home to notice if he goes missing.

“I propose a trade,” he says, moving ever so slowly closer towards the bars. “I have something you want, and you have something I want. Surely we can come to a mutually satisfying agreement.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” Potter grits. 

“Isn’t it obvious? Your curiosity, Harry Potter, would put the proverbial cat to shame. You have questions.” Voldemort reaches out and wraps a hand around one of the bars. “And I have answers, if you’re willing to barter for them.”

Potter considers this, looking torn. Voldemort is confident the boy's need to know will win out. And he's correct.

“What do you want?”

“Something that I am certain will answer at least one of your questions. Come closer and you’ll find out.”

That nets him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid, you know,” Potter says. 

“No, you aren’t, but you are rather gullible at times,” he replies with a grin. 

“You are such a prick,” the boy says, almost wonderingly. “Fine. How are you alive? I saw you die. I checked your pulse, even.”

“You want to know how I am alive,” he says mysteriously. “How do you know that I am?”

Potter gives him a flat look. “Well, the whole walking and talking thing kind of gave it away.”

“Animate and alive are two different things,” he corrects.

“You pedantic–” the boy begins cursing, before pausing and considering the words more closely. Voldemort smiles and ensures his fangs are visible. “You’re a vampire,” Potter concludes quietly. 

“Thirty points to Gryffindor,” Voldemort mocks.

Potter is still staring at him, and he can almost see the dots connecting in the other’s mind. “What you want is the answer… You want my blood?!”

“Oh, well done, Harry Potter. We’ll make a scholar of you yet.”

“Absolutely not,” Potter says firmly. “You really must think I’m stupid, if you think I’d let you bite me.”

“Where’s your sense of fairness? I’ve answered some of your questions, but you won’t keep up your end of the bargain?”

“You want to kill me!”

“Not anymore,” he maybe-lies. He’s fairly certain the prophecy lost its relevance once he died at Hogwarts. If so, he’s not particularly fussed about what happens to the boy now.

Potter shouts, indignantly, “Like I’d believe that!”

And, well, he can’t blame Potter for his scepticism. He has spent the better part of eighteen years repeatedly attempting to kill the boy. But that’s neither here nor there.

“You made a trade with me,” he reminds the boy. “It’s hardly my fault that you failed to clarify the terms of the deal beforehand.”

“Fucking…” Potter tugs on his hair, looking frustrated. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to kill me.”

Voldemort gives him an indulgent look. “I swear.”

“I can’t believe this…” the boy mutters. “How…?”

“Give me your hand.” He’s close; he’s so close…

Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else and giving Voldemort a warning look, Potter slowly slides his left hand between the bars. Voldemort pulls the boy’s wrist towards his mouth, ignoring the wary glare boring into the side of his head, and bites down.

Finally.

He feels like he’s been starving for years – a feeling made all the more intolerable by the complete lack of hunger he’s felt since his bodily resurrection. Slaking his thirst for the first time is revelatory – if he’ll experience this transcendent feeling each time he drinks, he finally understands why vampires accept the troublesome aspects of their nature.

He drinks deep, revelling in the euphoria coursing through his veins. On the periphery of his awareness, he can hear the boy making noise, but the wards will prevent the sounds from escaping. He feels Potter’s other hand pushing at his shoulder, his face, and wonders whether he should kill the boy here and now.

But he’s not so lost in bloodlust that he forgets how disappointing the Auror was when he’d drank from her. The taste of her blood was barely different from the blood bags they give him. Perhaps, much like the scent of his blood is rare, the intoxicating taste of Potter’s blood is equally uncommon. He can survive with the blood of others, but…

Existence is so much more enjoyable with little luxuries to break up the monotony.

So he stops before the boy’s blood levels fall dangerously low. Potter will even be able to walk out of here, if a little unsteadily. If this becomes a regular thing (and he hopes it will, until he makes his escape and can steal the boy away to feed on as he pleases), he’ll have to recommend Potter bring blood replenishers.

He floats back down to earth slowly, enjoying the warm, effervescent feeling filling his body and mind. When he opens his eyes again, he sees he’s not the only one affected.

Potter is leaning heavily against the bars, left arm limply hanging from Voldemort’s grasp, and panting like he can’t catch his breath. His face is flushed – though the unflushed sections of skin are decidedly paler than usual – and his body keeps twitching. Perhaps he’d taken too much blood. Or the boy is having an adverse reaction.

Voldemort licks the bite wound to help speed the healing – can’t have his portable meal bleeding out, after all. As his tongue slides across the boy’s wrist, Potter whimpers. Needily.

Hmm.

That recontextualizes the boy’s other physical cues.

“Why Harry, did you enjoy that?” he asks, exhaling an unnecessary breath over the damp flesh of Potter’s wrist. A low, soft moan and a glassy-eyed glare are his only response.

This could be entertaining.

He passes Potter’s hand back through the bars and watches the boy straighten up on wobbly legs. 

“May I offer some assistance–”

“No!” Potter gasps, pushing away from the bars, though his hand remains firmly gripped around one to hold himself up.

“Very well. I appear to have taken more than was fair for the questions you asked, and you’re in no state to ask any more at the moment,” Voldemort says smugly. “I’ll be sure to answer a few extra queries for you next time in exchange.”

“Next time,” Potter says, a slight rasp to his voice. From the frown on his face he means it to come out angrily, but the breathiness makes it sound more like a promise.

Voldemort reaches through the bars to take the boy’s invisibility cloak from his pocket and fasten it around his neck, pulling the hood up as he says, “Yes, next time. Until then, Harry Potter.”

Potter lingers outside his cell for a minute, likely gathering himself for the walk back, before Voldemort hears his slightly unsteady steps moving away.

He starts to think of all the avenues this opens to him – and all the fun he can have while he waits for the opportune moment to leave here.

After all, Potter will be back.

[heartiella]

[tuserlivia]

🧛🏼 VAMPIRES + SUNGLASSES 😎 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997) Twilight (2008) Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) Near Dark (1987) The Twilight Saga: New Moon (2009) The Hunger (1983) Wednesday (2022-) Interview with the Vampire (2022-)

[agarfield]

Feed on what you will. Rats, chickens, poodles, I'll leave you to it and watch you come around. But just remember, life without me would be even more unbearable. — Tom Cruise as Lestat de Lioncourt in Interview with the Vampire (1994)

[classichorrorblog]

Interview With The Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles (1994)

[cheezy-whizz]

shout out to homicidal homoerotic toxic best friendships in movies, gotta be one of my favorite genders

[salembehindbars]

Me every fall

[yeahiwasintheshit]

[borderlineee14]

He's asking nicely

Reference:

[sam-reid]

Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminately, and so shall we. For no creatures under God are as we are, none so like him as ourselves.

Lestat de Lioncourt

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (1994) | INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022- ).

[asmogorna]

life is too short. turn your random favorite musicians into vampire high schoolers from an early 2000s cartoon series. make them friends. have fun with it

As you could guess I couldn't get THE vampire trio drawing out of my head .. had to do something about it .. because I like having fun

Bunny, Gee and Sunny !! Look how fun

A thing me and @saturday-byte were thinking about for the past couple days !!

@bellasboneyard also tagging you in this miss Bella, since you reblogged my other post on the topic 😸

Sunny and Gee are only photogenic when they don't know there's a camera on them

[bloodofakashainme]

Happy 264th Birthday to the baddest bitch to ever walk this earth — Mother, Father, and everything in between — The Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt🩸

-

Thank you for teaching us that it is more than okay to crash out, be evil, bipolar, and cunt simultaneously! We love you LDL🧛🫶🏾

[heartiella]

There is no stronger force than that of a girl’s desperation to write about her male hyperfixation.

[losthavenmine]

Interview with the Vampire (1994)