Danger to All—Beloved by You

Sanguini stared wistfully at snow-covered Hogwarts. He’d been invited to a party hosted by one of the professors—the kind who seemed to enjoy collecting rare... exhibits. That’s exactly how Sanguini felt. An exotic curiosity. And it didn’t help that he was starving. What were the teachers thinking, letting him into a castle full of children? Sanguini might’ve called it a sweet gesture of trust, but it was more like negligence. He was doing everything in his power to stay away from a group of particularly appetizing girls. Strictly in the gastronomical sense, of course. He was already mentally scolding himself for coming. He should’ve stayed in his crypt. He didn’t belong among the living anymore. So he had slipped away from the party and was now admiring the snowy view in silence. Once upon a time, he too had studied at this magical school. In Slytherin, to be exact. A few centuries ago. “Hey, what are you doing out here freezing?” A massive hand slapped him on the shoulder with such force that his knees buckled. Sanguini bared his fangs and hissed instinctively, like an angry cat. “Wow, those are some beautiful fangs,” said the stranger, who turned out to be easily twice his size. “Unusual reaction,” Sanguini muttered, realizing there was no threat and calming down instantly. “That’s a first.” “Want some hot tea? Sit by the fire? Warm up?” “I don’t really warm up anymore,” Sanguini sighed. “Poor thing,” the stranger said kindly. “Well, I’ll still give it a go. Name’s Hagrid. What do I call you?” “My name is Santiago de Sangreal, but most people know me as Sanguini.” “Formal, huh? Well, I’m Rubeus Hagrid—though no one calls me that.” “No one calls you. You just show up,” Sanguini said with a smile. “You live at Hogwarts?” “Close enough. See that little house? That’s mine. I’m the gamekeeper. So, how about it—want to come over?” “Sure,” Sanguini agreed unexpectedly. “At least I definitely won’t kill you from hunger—I probably couldn’t even if I tried, considering how strong you are.” He studied Hagrid’s reaction, but once again, the man surprised him. “You’re hungry?” Hagrid threw up his hands. “Poor thing—come on, I just brought back a hare from the forest. You can eat, come on!” “Uh...” That was not the response Sanguini expected. “Is the hare... raw?” “Of course it’s raw. That’s how vampires like it, right? I know magical creatures—it’s my job. Come on.” “I’m not a unicorn or a hippogriff,” Sanguini muttered but still followed. “Course not,” Hagrid said cheerfully. “You’re even better.” “I’m deadly. You know that, right?” “Every magical creature just needs the right approach,” Hagrid replied, still walking, forcing Sanguini to hurry to keep up. One of Hagrid’s strides equaled two of his. “Sometimes it’s music. Sometimes it’s literally the right approach—like bowing to a hippogriff. I’ll figure out the way to you.” “The way to me is simple—food. Unfortunately, animal blood only keeps me full for a little while.” “I can give you some of mine, if you want,” Hagrid said casually. “I’ve got plenty. Ever tried half-giant blood?” “No, you’ll be my first,” Sanguini replied, then immediately blushed—realizing how that sounded. “Well, I hope I can satisfy you,” Hagrid said just as offhandedly. Sanguini shot him a curious look, but the man didn’t seem to mean anything by it—he just kept walking, eyes forward. Sanguini blinked. The gamekeeper’s hut loomed ahead—not large enough for a half-giant, but Sanguini, with all his vampire grace, could probably dance across the room without knocking anything over. He wandered inside, examining the decor, if it could be called that. “So, what do you think?” Hagrid asked hopefully. “Hmm... interesting place,” Sanguini said diplomatically, carefully stepping around a pile of bones, hooves, and some disturbingly sharp teeth. “What are these?” “Hippocampus and kelpie,” Hagrid sighed. “Lovely creatures… until they tore each other apart. Poor things. My fault, really. Didn’t calm them down in time.” “And why are their bones still in your house?” “I tried to bury them, but broke the shovel. Ground’s frozen solid. I’ll bury them in the spring.” Sanguini almost suggested tossing the bones out, but one look at Hagrid’s mournful face convinced him to keep quiet. Instead, he gently sat in the enormous armchair and immediately sank into its warm, cushioned depths. It was easily cozier than his coffin—even one with silk lining. He kicked his legs a little, like a child. Everything here was so big. He stole a glance at the lower half of Hagrid’s body, wondering what else about him might be big. Hagrid was busy tending the fire. He used his pink umbrella to light it and set a kettle of water to boil. “Can you eat normal stuff?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Like tea and cupcakes? I’ve got some fresh ones on the table—baked them myself,” he added with pride. Sanguini glanced at the table, then recoiled slightly—there was a fang sticking out of one of the cupcakes. “I’m on a diet,” he said quickly. “Healthy living, eco-friendly blood, no refined flour. Gotta keep my figure.” “You’re gorgeous as you are,” Hagrid assured him. “But all right—tea and cupcakes for me, my blood for you. And if you change your mind, just say the word.” “Of course,” Sanguini said, still eyeing the cupcakes warily. “And… what’s that delightful filling?” “Should be raisins,” Hagrid said, then followed his gaze and slapped his forehead. “So that’s where the kelpie fang went—I was saving it for luck. If I find the hippocampus fang too, I’ll be set. Want me to pull it out? The cupcake’s still good.” “I believe you. No need to prove it,” Sanguini declined politely. “So, about that blood?” “Ah, yes, of course—let me feed you, my sweet.” Hagrid pricked his finger with the tip of a huge knife, and thick, dark blood began dripping into a metal mug—each drop easily the size of a tablespoon. “Here you go,” he said, handing over a nearly full mug. Sanguini didn’t complain about being treated like a pampered cat or a prize stallion. At least he was finally being fed. He drank eagerly, savoring the thick, salty liquid—warm, like tomato soup. Exactly what he needed. He even felt a bit warmer, despite his earlier declaration that warmth was no longer possible. Maybe it just had to be half-giant blood. “How is it?” Hagrid asked, sipping tea, his bandaged finger resting by the cup. “Amazing,” Sanguini said, genuinely. “It’s like... my mother’s tomato soup and a fine red wine rolled into one—if that makes any sense.” “If it makes sense to you, then it does,” Hagrid answered calmly. “What shall we do now?” “No idea,” Hagrid shrugged. “You tell me. What do you want most right now?” Sanguini glanced briefly down at Hagrid’s trousers, then quickly looked away, embarrassed. “Well… we could play cards. Or checkers. Or chess. If you’ve got any.” “I’ve got neither cards, nor checkers, nor chess in my trousers,” Hagrid said calmly. Sanguini flushed, which looked ridiculous against his vampire pallor. “I didn’t mean— I just—” “And they say vampires are smooth seducers," Hagrid chuckled. "I'm not blind, you know. That's the second time you've stared down there. And I doubt you were planning to bite me there. So I’ll ask again—what do you really want?” “I want to know… if everything about you is that big,” Sanguini blurted. “And preferably not get punched for asking.” “That’s all?” Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows. “Well then, have a feel and find out.” Sanguini stepped closer and cautiously placed his hand between Hagrid’s legs. His eyebrows shot up. “Is that… are you hiding a log down there?” “Nope,” Hagrid smiled. “Just really happy to see you. But don’t worry—I know we’re not exactly built the same. Still, we could... try something else. Come here. If you want to, of course.” Sanguini stepped close, and Hagrid easily lifted him and sat him astride one of his massive thighs. With a single finger, he stroked Sanguini gently between the legs, through the fabric. Sanguini squirmed on his knee, gradually growing aroused from the pressure and friction. When his pants became uncomfortably tight, Hagrid carried him to the bedroom and laid him on the bed. They didn’t even undress. Hagrid loomed over Sanguini, sliding his knee between his thighs again, applying the same careful, rhythmic pressure as before. It gradually did its job, and Sanguini relaxed completely. It felt so good, and he let himself sink into the moment, forgetting all his doubts and worries. Pressing against Hagrid’s knee, he moaned softly at first, then louder and more raggedly as the movement continued. Finally, his cries turned into gasps of ecstasy, and he came, right in his trousers. “Well, I’ve made a mess of my clothes,” Sanguini muttered, still catching his breath. “I’ll wash them for you,” Hagrid said reassuringly. “And now I’m hungry again from all that activity.” “I’ll feed you.” “And sleepy.” “I’ll make you a bed.” “And…” “And I’ll take care of you, in every way I can,” Hagrid said, gently brushing Sanguini’s cheek with his huge, warm hand. “Looks like I did manage to warm you up after all.” “What am I, another one of your dangerous beasts?” Sanguini grumbled, but nuzzled into the hand nonetheless. “I just want to make you happy—for as long as you’ll let me. Will you let me?” “Perhaps,” Sanguini said thoughtfully, deciding he might stay with Hagrid for a day or two. Or three. After all, he still hadn’t measured everything about Hagrid...