The Killing Moon - Chapter 18
Yes, yes, yes, YES! Firefox, I love you! *coughs* Context is for the weak, but if you want it, see my last post. ;D
And yes, it's finally full moon time. Hope it was worth waiting for.
18.
“It’s real, isn’t it?” The cup sat all by itself on a carefully cleared table in the Potions workshop. Hermione studied it with rapt eyes, but even she chose not to get too close.
Draco snorted. “Of course it’s real. I’m not you - I don’t go around snatching things without thinking.”
Ron shot him a withering look. “Are you absolutely sure?” he asked Hermione, voice low as if he thought the cup could somehow hear him. “After last time -” The sentence trailed off as she glared at him.
“Can’t you feel it?” she said softly.
There were four cauldrons bubbling in the workshop, and the heat was oppressive, but Harry felt suddenly cold. “You’re going on a feeling?” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Ok - I’m onto you. How did you get hold of Polyjuice, Professor Trelawney? And where have you hidden Hermione?”
Hermione’s shoulders tensed, then she looked at him, her expression a mixture of outrage and amusement. Amusement won; she gave a rather embarrassed laugh. “I know, I know! If I start reading tea-leaves, promise me you’ll be a true friend and kill me.”
Harry returned the smile. “You could never sink so low.” She laughed again, but her gaze drifted back to the cup. Her face was even paler than Draco’s, and it looked as if some unkind person had rubbed ink into the skin beneath her eyes. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Hermione said, her mouth twitching into a rueful smile. “All my body seems to want to do is sleep. It’s waking up that’s the problem. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Harry looked at her. He felt as if he was treading on very thin ice as he asked, “Do you think this because of Regulus’ curse? Or something else?”
“That’s one of the things I need to figure out,” Hermione replied, much too quickly. Harry didn’t really trust himself to read body language or pick up on subtle changes in tone, but he knew when he was being blocked. He’d had rather a lot of experience of that.
“I thought Professor Snape had the cup?” It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but Harry watched Hermione’s tired face become suddenly animated and was too busy being relieved to care.
“Cassiopeia lied,” Draco said calmly from where he lounged against the wall.
“A Malfoy lying?” Ron snorted. “Call the Skeeter woman. This is big news.”
Harry tensed himself for the comeback and the inevitable fight. It didn’t come. He took a chance and glanced over at Draco. He had his haughty expression fixed firmly in place, and gave a loose, graceful shrug. “She lied to me, Weasley. Her beloved little brother. That Tom person must have been very persuasive.”
Harry had the presence of mind to flick his gaze away before he gave away his shock to Draco, but he felt the blood drain from his face.
Tom?
Ron looked like he’d been slapped. Hermione closed her eyes and pressed the palms of her hands against the table. Harry willed them not to say anything.
This is the last thing he needs right now, not on top of everything else…
“Well…” Draco drew the word out. Harry could feel his eyes boring into the back of his neck. “I appear to have dropped a bombshell. Care to enlighten me?” Harry heard the bite in his voice. He reached out, catching Draco’s arm as he stepped forward.
“I will tell you everything,” he hissed. “Later. I’ll even let you look at my memories.” Draco had reluctantly accepted a t-shirt and jeans in the place of his torn robes; his skin was warm and soft under Harry’s fingers. He felt heat pool in his stomach and crotch, that familiar need throbbing inside him, and his next words came out harder than intended, one last desperate attempt to protect them all. “But if you use Legilimency on my friends I will hurt you.”
Draco clenched his fist. Harry looked into grey eyes that were as sharp and malicious as he’d ever seen them, but he fancied he could see something else in there - something panicky and ready to strike out. Draco was trembling, and Harry didn’t think it was with anger. He tightened his grip. Just trust me for once. “I mean it.”
“I know.” Harry caught a momentary softening in Draco’s gaze as he turned away, pulling his arm free with effortless strength. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all,” he said lightly.
*
And maybe there was. Draco hated how his skin tingled and his stomach tightened under that gaze - and just how the hell did Potter manage to make his eyes so tender and so hard at the same time? But he was rather impressed despite himself.
‘Nice’ won’t get him anywhere.
“Weasley does look like he’s having some rather loud thoughts,” Draco said, amazed at how careless his own voice sounded. “It would be so easy…” Potter glared at him, and got a bright, brittle smile in return. “But who knows what I’d pick up poking around inside his head? Stupidity is probably contagious.”
“Your father was responsible for everything Ginny went through,” Weasley snapped. “And Voldemort did the exact same thing to one of his children? Guess there’s some kind of sick justice in the world - you people should be more careful about the kind of nutter you follow.”
“Ron!”
“I wish it had been you, though.”
“Ron!”
Draco was vaguely aware of Potter shouting at Weasley, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His mind was racing, connecting up the things he knew - and speculating about the things he didn’t. As the picture formed in his head, he felt bile rise in his throat. His nails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists.
‘He was my only friend…’
His fingers were getting sticky, and he could smell his own blood.
Potter caught hold of Weasley’s arm, dragging him away. He spoke to him in a low, urgent voice, probably intending to be discreet, but Draco could hear every word, as clear as a bell - and he wouldn’t let himself think about why that was.
Potter didn’t go into the gory details, but he said enough. Weasley looked shamefaced, and he actually dared to have pity in his eyes when he looked at Draco, but he pressed on, his voice as low as Potter’s, and just as intense. “Lucius Malfoy set my sister up to be possessed by that monster. It was pure luck that no one died. And everything else that he’s done… I’m not happy that he’s dead - come on, Harry, you know I’m not - but…”
At another time, Draco might have been amused by the amount of hypocrisy these three could manage. It wasn’t that time. He found his eyes fixated on Weasley’s stupid scrawny neck as he waffled on, a Pure-blood actually trying to deny he held grudges.
What did he know about hate, anyway?
Sparks of pain shot along Draco’s bones - and the fear he’d been keeping so carefully locked down burst free. With it came the grief. Everything hurt, he couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t know how he could hold it all inside him - but he would not show his weakness to Weasley and Granger.
A flask was thrust in front of his face. “Drink this.” Granger didn’t offer any pity or empty platitudes, and for that he was almost grateful. He snatched the flask, gagging at the smell. The potion was actually smoking.
“Damocles Belby was a genius,” Granger said as she turned away. “With that one potion he proved that old alchemical principles underrated and even discredited in modern magic do actually work. Most wizards just aren’t intelligent enough to understand the subtleties of the art.” Draco knew what was coming next, and that knowledge was like a rush of cold water through his brain, pushing aside anger, fear, grief, confusion - everything that could interfere with self-preservation. “It may be one of the most advanced potions in the world -”
“So how can I make changes to it?” The potion tasted worse than it smelled. “Well, I didn’t. Professor Snape did. Back when I was…bitten.” He had to force the word out. “Most of the changes are to speed up the brewing time.” And that was the true bit. Now for the lie.
Granger narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been in touch with Snape?”
“Not since he sliced my back open,” Draco said with careful disdain. “Mother has, though.” He smirked at her and watched her expression darken. “And you were kind enough to give me a chance to go and see her.” He noticed Potter looking at him, an odd expression on his face. “Mother’s not in any danger now, by the way.” The nonchalance he was aiming for was impossible; his throat closed around the words, and he was sure everyone heard the choke in his voice as he spoke. “With Father dead, she’s of no interest to the Dark Lord. Snape and Aunt Bella will make sure she’s safe.” And, god, please let that be true.
He heard Weasley mutter something that sounded like “Aunt Bella?” Draco could have said something to defend himself - hell, he was downright terrified of the woman himself - but Bellatrix was his Aunt, even if she was borderline psychotic, and why should he give a fuck what Weasley thought of his family? He’d got few enough of them left…
His stomach churned, reacting to the potion. “Have you given some of this to Lupin?”
“Of course.”
“He was quite impressed,” Potter said. “According to him it tastes even worse than the usual stuff.”
*
“Stomach acid? Really? I thought it was more vinegar and curdled milk myself.” Lupin’s foot slipped on the slimy stone floor. He frowned and with a flick of his wand, covered it in a luxurious deep-piled carpet. “Just think - you’d have to take it every day for week to get the full effects. But it’s worth it.”
Draco pulled a face and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. Harry watched him as his gaze flicked around the room in which he’d be spending the night, not settling on any one thing.
Not that there was a lot to look at. The three of them stood on the ground floor of an old fort. From all the scaffolding both outside and in, it was in the process of being restored, but the walls were thick and solid. Harry could see why Lupin had chosen it. Even if it was uncomfortably far from the hotel. Though that could’ve been a point in its favour as well.
“Another Muggle building site?” Draco drawled. “You do know how to live it up.”
“Would you rather spend the night locked in the hotel cellars?”
Draco flinched. Harry had thought the cellars would be better - the idea of them being so far away during their change made him uncomfortable, as if they were somehow being banished - but Draco didn’t seem to agree with him.
A droplet of water fell against his forehead. He looked up. The tower didn’t have a roof yet, and the plastic sheeting that was supposed to protect its interior from the elements had been torn loose by the storm. It flapped in the wind, and Harry could see the evening sky, a few rogue clouds scudding across it in the wake of the storm. He remembered how Draco had panicked in the caves - yes, this would definitely be better for him than some underground vault.
“Well, the walls and windows are secure and the doorway’s sealed.” Lupin looked around, apparently satisfied with their joint handiwork. “You need to go now, Harry.”
“But there’s still plenty of time -”
Lupin rested his forehead against the rough bricks of the wall. His fingers twitched. “Harry - how can I put this without causing offence? You stink.”
What? Harry felt his mouth drop open. Ok, yes, I’m offended…
“He does too, of course, but I‘m just going to have to put up with that.” Draco’s smirk faded. A red flush crept up the back of Lupin’s neck. “Honestly,” he mumbled into the wall, “have you two never heard of post-coital showers?”
Harry felt his cheeks burn. He opened his mouth to protest - he had cleaned himself up - then shut it again. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.
Draco had no such qualms. He grinned, showing a lot of teeth. “Distracting, is it?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Does this count as marking my territory?”
Lupin’s only response was a low growl.
“I’ll go,” Harry said quickly. That should have been his cue to Disapparate, but he met Draco’s gaze and hesitated. Draco’s eyes were wild and haunted. His smirk was as brittle and fake as his ‘light-hearted’ banter.
Harry moved instinctively; two steps forward and he had Draco in his arms.
Draco managed to give off the air of a prince graciously deigning to accept a commoner’s touch…while leaning into the embrace, his fingers twisting into the fabric of Harry’s shirt.
It was just a hug, intended purely to comfort, but Harry couldn’t help sending a guilty look Lupin’s way. To his surprise, the older man didn’t look irritated or embarrassed; he had a small, sad smile on his face and his eyes were soft as he watched them.
He felt Draco’s nose press against his neck, the twitch of his nostrils as he breathed in, and the hug swiftly lost its innocence. Harry had learned to welcome that delightful tension winding its way through his body, and the way his cock twitched and his skin prickled, hypersensitive and waiting for a touch, any touch - but now he cringed. He could feel Lupin’s eyes on him. If he could tell they’d had sex recently by smell alone, what if he could smell Harry’s arousal? Could he hear how fast his heart was beating?
“I like the way you smell,” Draco murmured, lips brushing against Harry’s neck. Even the knowledge that Draco had to be doing this on purpose wasn’t enough to stop the reaction of his body - or the image that flashed into his mind… Draco, every muscle starkly outlined as he arched his back, pale hair trailing on the floor, droplets of water glistening on his taut belly, cock swollen and startlingly pink - proof that Harry was doing at least something right - and the muscles of his thighs tensing up beneath Harry’s clumsy fingers as Harry buried himself balls-deep in his body.
There had been something like awe mixed in with the lust as he watched his cock slide in and out, Draco clenching around him until his toes curled and he’d lost himself completely, coming inside Draco - and that still made Harry’s mind boggle. He’d been part of him, he’d left part of himself inside him…
His cock throbbed. His face felt as if it was burning off.
“Git.”
Draco gave a little snort of laughter. “It was a compliment,” he said with faux innocence as he pulled free. “See you in the morning then, Potter. If you have fun without me, don’t tell me. I like to imagine you pining.”
“You wish.” But Harry was smiling as he Disapparated.
*
And that was it. Potter was gone, alternately irritating and pleasant distraction that he was, and all that was left was a room with eight-foot-thick walls and the countdown to the moment those walls would be very necessary.
Potter’s scent lingered in the air, and Draco found himself taking a deep breath, sucking it into his lungs. Lupin might have found it embarrassing, but for Draco there were memories woven into that musky scent - fragile bodies drenched in sweat and locked together in very human lust and pain…
Draco sighed. It was just another distraction. Unlike Lupin’s scent, which was potent and overwhelming and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a big room, he reminded himself - it just seemed painfully small at the moment, and that was only because the flames in jars they were using for a light source didn’t actually throw off enough light. The room was circular, so at least it didn’t have any corners for the shadows to gather in, but the scaffolding reminded him of a cage…
Come on! Snap out of it.
He shook himself - and tried not to think of it as something a fucking dog would do.
“Well - how can I put this without causing offence?” he parroted. “You stink too.”
Lupin was no fun - he refused to play along. The sudden concern in his eyes made Draco cringe inside. “Do I scare you?”
“Of course not.” It wasn’t a very good lie, especially as he had somehow managed to take a step back without realising.
Lupin sighed and turned away. He’d left a flask propped against the scaffolding - and food, as if we’re on a fucking picnic. Steam poured out of it as he unscrewed the lid. “Tea?”
“No.”
“I could change it to hot chocolate if you prefer.”
“What do you think this is? A fucking sleepover?” The words burst out before Draco could stop them. He was shaking, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest, but the words kept coming. “How can you be so fucking calm? How can you live like thi-” His voice caught, and he could barely breathe around the constriction in his throat.
“Tell me,” Lupin said mildly, “what other choices do I have? Raging at the universe is tempting for a while, but it’s ultimately useless. Crawling into a hole and dying a self-pitying wreck?” He took a sip of his tea. “Believe me, there have been times when I’ve considered it.”
His words were calm and unsympathetic, but that very coolness was like an anchor. Draco focused on Lupin’s voice as his vision blurred and he fought to breathe.
“Some people will tell you that being a werewolf is nothing - just an illness, a ‘furry little problem’. Others will tell you that you’re a monster, and that the only thing left for you to do is ‘embrace the beast’. From my experience, neither of them are completely right - or completely wrong. The reality is somewhere in between. I’m not going to tell you that you can live a ‘normal’ life, but you can live.” The first full, easy breath Draco took carried with it the scent of chocolate. His eyes focused on the cup held out to him. “And you can be happy.”
Lupin had come to kneel beside him. He was much too close, but Draco caught himself, fighting the urge to spring away, and reached out for the cup. He wrapped his shaking fingers around the warm plastic and breathed in the sweet, rich smell.
Lupin wouldn’t stop there, of course. He’d make it into a lecture. Draco braced himself -
“Sandwich?”
He couldn’t help it - he laughed. And kept laughing until that lump in his throat choked him again.
*
Draco felt like something had snapped inside him. He was still tense and nervous, but he’d managed to force down the sandwiches. He’d even managed to have a civil conversation with Lupin while he was doing it - about the medicinal properties of chocolate, no less. He hadn’t protested when Lupin had taken his wand, and put it with his own up on the scaffolding. Now he was standing with his back to the older man, listening to the rustling as Lupin took off his clothes. He could feel the tension in his limbs, the throbbing in his blood - like some twisted sort of arousal. Yet somehow he wasn’t panicking.
Draco pulled his shirt over his head, and felt a tiny flicker of self-consciousness. He ruthlessly flattened it and viciously tugged at the buttons of his trousers. It was purely practical. Their clothes would be put up with the wands, out of reach and safe until the morning.
Fuck’s sake. I was never this uncomfortable getting undressed in front of Snape.
The St Christopher dropped out of the pocket of his trousers as he slid them down.
For a moment he fantasised about leaving it there. He could step away from the whole game -
He scooped up the pendant and slipped it around his neck. The chain was probably long enough not to strangle him when he - his brain tripped up on the thought, and suddenly that panic was flaring back up.
When I change…
Lupin scooped up his clothes. Draco looked away.
Crushing pain shot up his spine.
Oh, god…
The St Christopher tingled against his bare skin. He caught hold of it with fingers made stiff and clumsy with the pain, and forced his eyes to focus on it.
The message on the pendant was simple, just one word… Evacuate. And, light-headed and dizzy as he was, it hit home instantly.
Something was going to happen at the hotel. Something bad.
Draco spun around, not sure how he was going to pass on the message to Lupin without completely blowing his cover. A fresh wave of nausea and pain shot through him, choking off the words.
Lupin was down on his hands and knees, shaking helplessly. Draco found himself staring at the older man’s narrow back, at muscles rigid with pain and skin slick with sweat. Lupin lifted his head and gave him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. He tried to say something, but all Draco could hear was crunching and popping bones. He wanted to close his eyes, look away, but all he could do was stare at Lupin’s body as it contorted…
It was so quick. His eyes - much too sharp now - picked up on the changing forms of muscles and bones, and the pinpricks of blood that bloomed on Lupin’s skin a split second before coarse brown hair pushed through it. So quick… Every part of Draco’s own body hurt, and as he tried to breathe, forcing air into his lungs, he felt his chest expand - and keep expanding, ribcage creaking as it changed shape.
A muffled curse from Lupin turned into a growl. And the total blinding panic Draco felt could almost have been amusing; yes, he was locked up with a werewolf, but he himself was on his knees now, the stench of his own sweat almost overwhelming the ’animal’ smell coming from Lupin. His body was a mass of hot pain, bones shifting position, muscles stretching, and this time he couldn’t fight it. He was too pathetic…too scared…scared that if he closed his eyes he’d be somehow back in the cell, chains digging into his skin as his own panic made him tangle himself up, Greyback’s saliva on his neck and mixing with his blood - and that was ridiculous, because how could that be worse than this?
Tears dripped against his fingers, and he found himself focusing desperately on his hands as his knuckles cracked and moved under skin that rippled and stretched. He tasted blood in his mouth as his gums split open, and he could feel his spine lengthening, and the creaking he could hear now was coming from his skull, and with the pain came a feeling, a pounding need to destroy, maim, hurt…
He needed an enemy, he needed to pass on the pain and the fear…
White hair burst through his skin, and he finally opened his mouth to scream -
The howl that swelled in his throat was no real surprise.
This is it…
As his consciousness was smothered by that fear and anger, it was almost a relief.
*
For the first time in days, the air was good to breathe, sweet and clean in Harry’s throat and lungs. The wet gravel crunched and squeaked under his trainers as he trudged up the cliff path. The last clouds were drifting away and the sky over the sea was a deep rich indigo. It should have been a beautiful, peaceful evening.
A sound was carried to him on the breeze, a long undulating howl that seemed to come from every direction at once and last forever, hanging on the air even after the last note faded. Harry felt something tighten in his chest - but he also felt a shiver run down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Perhaps it was a natural human response, a species memory from a time when that sound was a signal to reach for weapons and huddle close to the other members of the tribe, but it made Harry feel disloyal. How could he let himself be spooked by a mere sound when he knew who was making it? And it was still ‘who’, rather than ‘what’.
Something brushed against his shoulder. He spun away, his heart pounding, reaching for his wand -
The tree branch creaked as it swung, another casualty of the storm, broken and dangling over the path at just the right height to imitate a hand touching his shoulder.
Harry sighed and put his wand away, not trying to fight the adrenalin dumped into his system. It made him feel sharp and fast, which had to be a good thing, even if he didn’t understand why he was so jumpy.
He looked up at the moon. As a kid, he’d always rather liked the full moon. He’d watched it from his bedroom window, his imagination finding shapes in the shadows on its bright disc - sometimes it was a friendly face, sometimes a rabbit paused forever in mid-leap. However much Aunt Petunia might sniff and tell him - rather hopefully, he thought - that staring at the full moon through glass was a certain way to madness, Harry had always found it a comforting, friendly presence.
He didn’t now.
Another howl rang out. Harry fought back a shiver and found himself quickening his pace.
He’d decided to walk back from the tower because he needed to clear his head and get his thoughts in order. It wasn’t working.
He was worried about Hermione. She was obviously not physically well, and deliberately avoiding Livia, but it was more than that. He couldn’t really pin down the exact things she’d said and done to make him uneasy, but they were there. Somehow he was going to have to get her to let Livia check for curses - and just the thought of that conversation made his head hurt. Even if Ron backed him up… Harry knew he was stubborn, but so was Hermione. And just how do you tell one of your best friends that she’s acting weirdly and you think she’s been cursed?
And then there was Draco.
Harry had replayed the conversation between Draco and Hermione over and over in his head, and something about Draco’s explanation had seemed…off, somehow.
Back at the Ministry, Snape had let Draco go - supposedly in order to get Harry out - even if he had attacked them while they were escaping. Was it so strange to imagine him re-formulating a potion just for Draco?
But if he cared so much, why didn’t he protect him from Greyback?
It was hard to imagine Snape caring, full stop. Yes, he had taken Draco with him after -
Harry stopped walking. He couldn’t think about that night. He’d come to terms with the grief, but the sheer blinding rage he felt towards Snape caught him off guard every single time. The hate was a living thing, so strong it felt as if it was blistering his insides, and not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to put it to use.
He shuddered and pushed the thought away.
Something like an electric shock shot through his body. Harry caught his breath, his nerves jangling.
The wards at the hotel. They’d been broken.
“Shit.”
Harry Disapparated -
- and got a vivid demonstration of just how it felt to be a bug impacting against a windscreen.
Just an Anti-Disapparition Jinx.
But that didn’t stop his head spinning or his stomach protesting. He rested his cheek against the wire fence and tried to remember how to breathe as he patted his body down. Everything was okay. Okay…
Only it wasn’t okay. The Anti-Disapparition Jinx was a trap, just as it had been at the Old Schoolhouse, and whoever - or whatever - had triggered the wards was in the hotel. The Imperturbable Charm had been broken, because he could hear the sounds of battle - screams, shouted spells…snarls and growls?
He was running even before he heard the sound of breaking glass from the conservatory.
The patio doors were broken, hanging limply from their hinges, and shards of broken glass plucked at his jeans as he leapt over them.
For a moment his brain failed to register what his eyes were seeing; the first thought that shot through his head was to wonder why someone had slopped paint on the tiled floor - then his feet were sliding in it, and that was blood on his trainers and splattered on the window pane as he reached out to steady himself. His eyes refused to focus on the twisted shape on the floor, turning the exposed ribcage into clutching white fingers, the entrails into coils of dirty rope.
A low growl scraped its way into his ears, and he was frozen, unable to move anything but his eyes.
Brown fur streaked with grey, muzzle wrinkling as it bared sharp, bloodied teeth… For a moment Harry flashed back three years, to another moonlit night -
“Lupin?”
But it wasn’t Lupin - he knew it couldn’t be.
There was a broken wand on a cord tight around its neck…
Hel.
She sprang, all coiled strength and bristling fur - and Harry couldn’t move, because he knew her. She’d helped him. He’d liked her…
But there was no recognition in wild amber eyes.
The solid muscled body hit him hard. Harry slammed into the broken doors with a bone-jarring crunch, and he could finally move…but it was too late. Hel bounded past him, out into the night. She hadn’t touched him. He was groping for his fallen wand when he realised the strangeness of that.
The beast was in full control - but she hadn’t attacked him.
Unlike the other occupant of the conservatory. Harry didn’t want to look any closer - but he had to see the face. He had to know who -
The lamps in the conservatory flickered and died. And the howling came from all around him, from inside the hotel and out, all the different voices harmonising into something terrifying but beautiful.
The whole Pack was there, and there’d be no politics or infighting now. They were in their element. And the Anti-Disapparition Jinx had everyone trapped in there with them…
And I thought there couldn’t be anything worse than Inferi…
Harry stepped through the dining room doors, into the darkness. He could hear screaming, and he thought he could smell more blood.
Some tiny animal part of his brain was screaming at him to run, to just get away from that sound. He ignored it. The adrenalin was flowing properly now, and his friends were in there -
I’m an idiot.
But I can’t run away.
*
The Wolfsbane Potion hadn’t been a complete waste of time. Forming thoughts was difficult, frequently broken up by the overwhelming pressure of scents and sounds, but some tiny core of Draco remained, a reluctant passenger in his own body. Even if it wasn’t really his body.
Too much weight and muscle, too much coiled, desperate strength. ‘His’ claws caught in the carpet. The walls seemed to exist only as scent - wet stone and fresh concrete - and beyond them was a whole landscape made up of smells and sounds. He could hear everything. Lupin’s snuffling breathing. The clicking wings of a fly buzzing about in the scaffolding. The threatening rumble of Muggle vehicles. The sea. Music. Voices. So many voices. So many people. He could smell them all too - and the wolf drooled at the scent. When he let himself look out through its eyes, he saw its - his - muzzle wrinkle. He felt those unfamiliar muscles stretch and a howl build in its - his - throat, mocking the part of him that just wanted to scream.
Lupin’s scent was a solid presence in its own right. Draco was vaguely aware of hunkering down, tail between his legs. Even the sudden thought of ‘oh, fuck, I’ve got a tail?’ couldn’t distract him from the cues in that smell. Older. Dominant. Submit. They dredged up memories -
He’s going to eat me. Ragged fingernails dug into his skin, a rough tongue slid up his inner thigh, tasting him… I’m going to die. Then those fingers were in his hair, dragging his head back, that tongue tracing the line of his jugular, the heavy chains that bound Greyback sliding over his chest. I’m going to die like this? His own chains bit into his skin as he fought to escape, made wild and vicious by the fear, but the hands on him were changing shape, bones crunching as Greyback clung to him, trapping him in a twisted bear hug, claws slicing into his belly… His world narrowed down to the body contorting against his and the fangs sinking into his shoulder, and he begged the universe to make it stop, to let Greyback rape him instead -
Lupin growled. Draco snapped back into a world of overpowering scents and sounds. He could hear a low, drawn-out whine and realised it was coming from his own throat. But he could still hear the clank of chains, feel Greyback being ripped away from him -
And he was there, as if the memories had called him forth into reality - Draco could smell him, potent and unmistakable amongst all those humans…amongst all that prey…
*
Harry ran. The light from his wand barely penetrated the suffocating darkness. More than once he almost fell as his feet caught against things strewn over the floor, and perhaps the one time he’d pointed the wand light down he had seen only pieces of broken furniture, but his imagination was working overtime, painting gory pictures in his head. The sounds all around him only made it worse. This was what had made his caveman ancestors learn to fear the howls.
Spell flashes lit up the hallway in front of him, casting twisted shadows through the great glass doors of the ballroom. Harry was still blinking, coloured dots dancing in front of his eyes, as he ran to the doors.
They were sealed. And every flash lit up the scene within, shadows and bodies in jerking motion like a film played on a broken projector.
Moody was fighting.
But he was on his own - and outnumbered three to one.
One of the werewolves leapt. The old Auror dropped to the floor, but a blinding flash came from his wand. The door buckled beneath Harry’s hands. He heard a yelp.
For a moment, Harry wondered why his vision wasn’t clearing. Then he realised that the spots in front of his eyes were actually spots on the glass…spots of blood.
The metal filigree on the doors had been Transfigured into spikes. And barely two feet away from him was a big grey wolf, saliva flying from its mouth as it thrashed wildly, trying to free itself.
His fingers tightened around the door knob until he could feel every curve and ridge of its fancy moulding digging into his skin.
A stray spell hit the one of the old chandeliers. Crystal dust glittered in the air, and the shadows leaping up the walls showed Mad-Eye going down, bowled over from behind.
Harry was already gasping out Alohomora. He threw his full weight against the buckled doors.
“NO!” Harry heard the sound of wood impacting against flesh and another yelp. Moody was bellowing at him, but he could barely hear him over the sound of his blood thundering in his ears. “SEAL THE DOOR!”
The grey wolf shook itself free of the spikes. It was huge, much bigger than Lupin, and Harry’s hasty Stunning Spell just made it stagger. It shook its head like a punch-drunk boxer. Its wounds were already closing up -
For something so big, it moved incredibly fast.
All the breath was forced out of Harry’s lungs as he hit the floor. Pain stabbed along his ribs, and he thought he heard something crunch. His glasses slid along his nose but thankfully didn’t fall off. Not that it mattered, because his wand had spun out of his hand, and the crushing pressure on his chest was caused by a paw with a good fifteen stone of werewolf behind it.
But it wasn’t attacking him, he realised through the panic. It sniffed intently, seeming…confused?
Lupin’s words echoed in Harry’s head. “You stink.” He remembered Hel’s reaction to him in the conservatory.
I have Draco’s scent on me? Is that it? And he’s ‘Pack’?
“Does this count as marking my territory?”
Harry almost laughed. But, even in the dim light, he could see thick scars crisscrossing the wolf’s chest, clumping its shaggy, discoloured fur into patches - and, as drool dripped on his face and its lips drew back from yellow teeth, he knew who it was.
He stretched out his hand; his fingertips brushed against the smooth handle of his wand. Just a little bit further -
“You need to brush your teeth,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and his breathing steady. He could feel the sharpness of Greyback’s claws through his t-shirt - it would only take one sudden movement -
“Impedimenta!”
The flash of the spell dazzled Harry’s eyes. He didn’t even have time to panic as Greyback was knocked off him, claws catching in the fabric of his t-shirt. He heard it rip, but he was already rolling away, grabbing his wand -
“Incarcerous!”
Ropes sprang up around the werewolf.
That won’t work! If little Rolf could get free -
He bumped up against his rescuer’s legs as Greyback shredded the ropes. Harry’s own Impediment Jinx made the werewolf skid back a couple of feet. Then more ropes were whipping up around him, and Harry heard the shrill sound of metal scraping against metal as the werewolf thrashed against his new bindings.
Tonks hauled Harry to his feet with a jerk on his arm that made him stagger. Her eyes never left Greyback. The steel ropes were already starting to creak as if they were under pressure.
Harry looked about quickly. The other two wolves were crumpled on the floor, silent and motionless. And so was Mad-Eye.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
Moody was all right. He had to be.
He kicked a werewolf in the face, for god’s sake! He’s too stubborn to die.
Livia was on her knees beside him, her shoulders shaking and her breathing fast and shallow as she ran her wand over his body. Fred and George hovered behind her like a pair of extremely jumpy guard dogs.
Harry should have been glad to see them - he was - but it forcibly reminded him of the friends who weren’t accounted for. He shook off Tonks’ hand and started towards the doors.
One of the werewolves twitched. He spun towards it, wand ready.
The twitch was its fur rippling as the skin beneath it moved. He could hear bones grinding together.
Oh, shit.
“Sorry about this, Harry.”
He felt himself caught by the spell just a split second too late to resist it successfully. He was suddenly…so…sleepy…
The last thing he saw before his eyes closed and his legs folded up beneath him was Tonks’ concerned face.
*
Harry fought his way back to consciousness, following the screams that had forced their way into a very pleasant dream. He opened his eyes to pitch darkness, and the sense of a very small space around him.
What the hell?
He clambered to his feet, touching smooth wooden panels and what felt like shelves as he reached out to steady himself. He knew where he was. The little cloakroom had been the location of one of his and Draco’s more hurried and desperate encounters; Harry still had bruises from the shelves on his back and arse.
He groped for the doorknob - and wasn’t surprised when it wouldn’t turn.
He was sick of this. He didn’t need protecting.
He pounded his fists against the door until his hands hurt. “TONKS!”
You can’t do this to me…
His foot knocked against something on the floor, and it was depressing how familiar the sound of his wand skidding away from him had become. Harry ground his teeth together and bent to pick up his wand. However many locking or sealing charms were on the door, he would get free.
He hesitated as his fingers closed around the wand. The cloakroom had been pitch black… but now he could see. His shadow stretched to the door, thick and black, and he could smell the sea…
He spun around, wand ready.
The light was coming from the back of the little room, in amongst the shelves and lockers. Harry caught a glimpse of pale hair, and the salt-water smell seemed to get stronger. Something heavy slammed up against the door behind him; he heard a snarl, and a gurgling cry, quickly cut off. His heart hammering, he stepped forward -
He had company in the cloakroom - a young woman, her head tilted back, her eyes closed and a wide smile on her face as she listened to the screams.
He could see right through her.
Ghost.
Harry lowered his wand. Ghosts couldn’t harm people. Though she didn’t look like the kind of ghost that should be haunting a Muggle hotel. She ‘wore’ heavy black robes, and decorating her fair hair was an ivory circlet.
“Your revered ancestor could make the earth shake.” The words were a caressing whisper in his mind. The ghost flickered and disappeared. “He could rout entire armies.” Harry couldn’t breathe. The stench of decay filled his nostrils and clogged up his throat. He felt small fingers on his neck, squeezing tight, but when he brought his hand up to free himself, it passed through cold nothingness. “You are not worthy to bear his blood.”
His lungs hurt, his head pounded, and there was no way to struggle, nothing to fight back against. He saw the woman’s face again as his vision blurred -
“Harry!” The door crunched as a spell hit it. “Are you in there?”
The pressure was abruptly gone, and Harry gasped in air, not caring about the smell. His head spun and he sank to his knees. “Ron!” What was supposed to be a shout came out as a croak.
The door disintegrated into splinters. “Bloody hell, Harry - are you okay?” Harry managed a nod. He touched his neck; if the pain was anything to go by, it was badly bruised.
Ghosts can’t hurt people…
“I heard you shouting.” Ron helped him to his feet by catching hold of his arm and giving it a good yank; Harry stumbled and caught himself before he fell over the body in the doorway. Seaby’s face was slack and his eyes stared up at Harry, blank and lifeless. All that was left of his throat was blood and torn flesh - and a bit of bone that glistened in the light of Ron’s wand. Harry felt his stomach flip.
Ron looked like he’d already been sick at some point. His face was so white that every freckle stood out like an ink spot. Harry caught hold of his arms. “Are you all right?”
Ron managed a grin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Hermione?”
A muscle twitched beneath Ron’s eye. “Oh, she’s fine.”
Harry was about to shake him, to demand to know just what the hell that was supposed to mean, when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He heard a low rumble of a growl behind him.
He turned slowly. The light bounced around as Ron’s hand shook, but he could see the wolf crouched in the beam, its eyes reflective white discs.
Harry felt the anger swell up inside him. This wolf’s fur was russet, shading in places to a red almost as bright as Ron’s hair. Harry remembered a tall, slim man with shaggy auburn hair, grinning at Hel as she’d ordered him to go to the walled garden. He tried to keep that image in his head, but all he could see was the blood around the wolf’s mouth, the monster looking out of its pale eyes.
The hate was mixed in with fear. So many of his spells were useless against these things…
The syllables of the Killing Curse bounced around in his head. All he had to do was speak it out loud…
All it needed was a flick of his wand -
A lone howl echoed out in the distance. The werewolf’s ears moved, listening to the sound.
Lupin? Draco?
The anger was drowned out by pure cold fear.
They were safe. Why would they -?
Another howl rose in response, this time from inside the hotel. The red wolf’s claws scrabbled against the tiled floor. Then it leapt, sailing through the broken window with astonishing grace.
Harry ran to the window. Over a dozen wolves tore across the overgrown lawn and out through a hole in the wire fence.
It was over. He should have been glad, but -
It’s not over. They’ve gone after Lupin and Draco.
“It’s not over.” Ron tried to open the window, and jumped back as shards of glass dropped from the frame. “Werewolves don’t do magic - and they certainly don’t set up Anti-Disapparition Jinxes. There’s a wizard out there.” Harry looked at him in surprise - then caught himself. Why was he surprised? Just because Ron wasn’t Hermione or Draco didn’t make him thick. His jaw was set in a firm line. “We need that Jinx down - just in case the werewolves come back or something else happens. I’ll see if I can catch the Death Eater. You Accio yourself a broom and go after the wolves.” This time he noticed Harry’s surprise. “Go check on Lupin -” Ron pulled a face. “- and Malfoy.”
Harry hesitated. He wanted to go to the tower, but he couldn’t leave Ron to face a Death Eater by himself.
“Look, I’ve got an idea. Just trust me, okay?”
“Ron -”
“Fucking hell, Harry! If I was Malfoy, you’d have no problem leaving me!”
To which Harry could have replied that he would, but he was honest enough to know that it would be for very different reasons.
He had to trust Ron to get the job done.
Ron gave him a slightly shaky smile. “Inferi? Werewolves? After this, I’ll be happy to see a good old-fashioned Death Eater.”
As he climbed out of the window after Ron, Harry decided that he felt exactly the same way. He felt a sudden rush of affection for the other boy.
“Good Luck.”
“You too. You couldn’t pay me enough to go after those things.”
Things?
“They’re people, Ron.” But Harry had thought the exact same thing…
“In the morning they will be. Right now, they’ll kill you, and enjoy it. And these blokes aren’t like Lupin, Harry - if they do hurt you, they probably won’t feel guilty about it in the morning.”
Harry thought about Ron’s words as he waited for the broom he’d summoned to get to him. Greyback he was sure felt no guilt, but Hel and the others?
Do they really hate wizards so much?
He Disillusioned himself as well as he could. The wind was cool and fresh in his face as he soared up into the sky. Unlike the last time he’d been on a broom, he couldn’t leave the bloodshed behind so easily.
Far below him, dark shapes streaked along the beach in loose but surprisingly orderly formation. They were definitely heading for the tower. Harry kept pace with them as they reached a place where the sand gave way to rocks and wild scrubland covered the cliff side. Another howl rang out.
Fuck’s sake, Lupin - what are you playing at?
He could see the tower. Soft blue light flickered from the open roof. Draco and Lupin seemed to be still safely inside. If there was no way for them to get out, then there was no way for the Pack to get in, right?
An explosion broke the still air. Harry swung the broom around, pushing it to its maximum speed in his rush to get back to the hotel. He heard sirens.
Ron - what the hell have you done?
*
They were there, at the other side of the walls. Every breath he sucked into his lungs carried their scent - and the sharp, delicious smell of blood. Every howl was an invitation - come out, run with us, feed with us. And he was so hungry…and so scared…
Saliva flooded his mouth. His claws raked across the brickwork. And he wanted to crawl right out of this filthy, monstrous body - he wanted it so badly it almost overwhelmed all other thoughts and feelings -
Stabbing pain shot through what he still persisted in thinking of as his hands. Draco smelt his own blood as bare - human - fingertips clawed the bricks, the rough surface tearing his skin.
Lupin’s howls were challenging and taunting. The walls seemed paper-thin to Draco. Beyond them he could hear over a dozen heartbeats throbbing almost in sync. He could hear their breathing, their claws scrabbling against the walls, wood splintering… The outside scaffolding?
The tone of the howls changed. He could hear delight, eagerness -
His spine twisted. His skin stung. He was blinking through a cloud of white fur as fire spread through all those unfamiliar muscles and his heart seized up, bands of steel closing around his chest.
He was helpless…trapped…
What felt like every bone in his body dislocated, and Draco remembered trying to scramble to his feet under another full moon, the chains tangled around him making him fall, his face slamming into cold stones splattered with his own blood. The thick carpet was better, even covered with his own shed fur. He’d had to crawl then, until he could curl up against the wall, his hands over his ears not blocking out the snarling, and growling - and, oh god, the howls. He did the same now, and for a moment he was back in the cell, crying, unable to take his eyes off the wolf thrashing against the chains that held it, almost spread-eagled again the wall, desperate to get to him, to rip him apart -
A sudden realisation shocked him back into the present. He could move his body. Every inch of it hurt, and it was a long way from totally human, but it was under his control again.
Shredded plastic floated down from the roof. He heard the scaffolding far above him crack as something heavy landed on it.
There were no chains this time - only the sealed door. Draco refused to look down at his body as he forced it into motion. His face felt strange - and he didn‘t want to know what that looked like either. His bones crunched together as he made a leap for the scaffolding. And this wasn’t going to last, he realised as a spasm shot through his leg, throwing off his landing. The moonlight was forcing him back.
There was a massive crack above him. Splinters showered down around him as the massive grey wolf crashed down through the scaffolding, distinctly ungraceful in freefall. Draco scrambled back, his fingers closing around a wand. His or Lupin’s, it didn’t matter, because he only had time for one spell anyway -
The brickwork peeled back from the doorway.
This time Draco didn’t even try to fight the change - he welcomed it. This shape was perfect for running, and its dense muscle made it easy to smash through the door. Lupin was just a short distance behind him, and all those too-sharp senses told him that the other werewolves weren’t far behind either, but he was free, and all he had to do was run…
*
And, as always, thanks to melusinahp for beta-ing. X
And yes, it's finally full moon time. Hope it was worth waiting for.
18.
“It’s real, isn’t it?” The cup sat all by itself on a carefully cleared table in the Potions workshop. Hermione studied it with rapt eyes, but even she chose not to get too close.
Draco snorted. “Of course it’s real. I’m not you - I don’t go around snatching things without thinking.”
Ron shot him a withering look. “Are you absolutely sure?” he asked Hermione, voice low as if he thought the cup could somehow hear him. “After last time -” The sentence trailed off as she glared at him.
“Can’t you feel it?” she said softly.
There were four cauldrons bubbling in the workshop, and the heat was oppressive, but Harry felt suddenly cold. “You’re going on a feeling?” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Ok - I’m onto you. How did you get hold of Polyjuice, Professor Trelawney? And where have you hidden Hermione?”
Hermione’s shoulders tensed, then she looked at him, her expression a mixture of outrage and amusement. Amusement won; she gave a rather embarrassed laugh. “I know, I know! If I start reading tea-leaves, promise me you’ll be a true friend and kill me.”
Harry returned the smile. “You could never sink so low.” She laughed again, but her gaze drifted back to the cup. Her face was even paler than Draco’s, and it looked as if some unkind person had rubbed ink into the skin beneath her eyes. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Hermione said, her mouth twitching into a rueful smile. “All my body seems to want to do is sleep. It’s waking up that’s the problem. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Harry looked at her. He felt as if he was treading on very thin ice as he asked, “Do you think this because of Regulus’ curse? Or something else?”
“That’s one of the things I need to figure out,” Hermione replied, much too quickly. Harry didn’t really trust himself to read body language or pick up on subtle changes in tone, but he knew when he was being blocked. He’d had rather a lot of experience of that.
“I thought Professor Snape had the cup?” It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but Harry watched Hermione’s tired face become suddenly animated and was too busy being relieved to care.
“Cassiopeia lied,” Draco said calmly from where he lounged against the wall.
“A Malfoy lying?” Ron snorted. “Call the Skeeter woman. This is big news.”
Harry tensed himself for the comeback and the inevitable fight. It didn’t come. He took a chance and glanced over at Draco. He had his haughty expression fixed firmly in place, and gave a loose, graceful shrug. “She lied to me, Weasley. Her beloved little brother. That Tom person must have been very persuasive.”
Harry had the presence of mind to flick his gaze away before he gave away his shock to Draco, but he felt the blood drain from his face.
Tom?
Ron looked like he’d been slapped. Hermione closed her eyes and pressed the palms of her hands against the table. Harry willed them not to say anything.
This is the last thing he needs right now, not on top of everything else…
“Well…” Draco drew the word out. Harry could feel his eyes boring into the back of his neck. “I appear to have dropped a bombshell. Care to enlighten me?” Harry heard the bite in his voice. He reached out, catching Draco’s arm as he stepped forward.
“I will tell you everything,” he hissed. “Later. I’ll even let you look at my memories.” Draco had reluctantly accepted a t-shirt and jeans in the place of his torn robes; his skin was warm and soft under Harry’s fingers. He felt heat pool in his stomach and crotch, that familiar need throbbing inside him, and his next words came out harder than intended, one last desperate attempt to protect them all. “But if you use Legilimency on my friends I will hurt you.”
Draco clenched his fist. Harry looked into grey eyes that were as sharp and malicious as he’d ever seen them, but he fancied he could see something else in there - something panicky and ready to strike out. Draco was trembling, and Harry didn’t think it was with anger. He tightened his grip. Just trust me for once. “I mean it.”
“I know.” Harry caught a momentary softening in Draco’s gaze as he turned away, pulling his arm free with effortless strength. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all,” he said lightly.
*
And maybe there was. Draco hated how his skin tingled and his stomach tightened under that gaze - and just how the hell did Potter manage to make his eyes so tender and so hard at the same time? But he was rather impressed despite himself.
‘Nice’ won’t get him anywhere.
“Weasley does look like he’s having some rather loud thoughts,” Draco said, amazed at how careless his own voice sounded. “It would be so easy…” Potter glared at him, and got a bright, brittle smile in return. “But who knows what I’d pick up poking around inside his head? Stupidity is probably contagious.”
“Your father was responsible for everything Ginny went through,” Weasley snapped. “And Voldemort did the exact same thing to one of his children? Guess there’s some kind of sick justice in the world - you people should be more careful about the kind of nutter you follow.”
“Ron!”
“I wish it had been you, though.”
“Ron!”
Draco was vaguely aware of Potter shouting at Weasley, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His mind was racing, connecting up the things he knew - and speculating about the things he didn’t. As the picture formed in his head, he felt bile rise in his throat. His nails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists.
‘He was my only friend…’
His fingers were getting sticky, and he could smell his own blood.
Potter caught hold of Weasley’s arm, dragging him away. He spoke to him in a low, urgent voice, probably intending to be discreet, but Draco could hear every word, as clear as a bell - and he wouldn’t let himself think about why that was.
Potter didn’t go into the gory details, but he said enough. Weasley looked shamefaced, and he actually dared to have pity in his eyes when he looked at Draco, but he pressed on, his voice as low as Potter’s, and just as intense. “Lucius Malfoy set my sister up to be possessed by that monster. It was pure luck that no one died. And everything else that he’s done… I’m not happy that he’s dead - come on, Harry, you know I’m not - but…”
At another time, Draco might have been amused by the amount of hypocrisy these three could manage. It wasn’t that time. He found his eyes fixated on Weasley’s stupid scrawny neck as he waffled on, a Pure-blood actually trying to deny he held grudges.
What did he know about hate, anyway?
Sparks of pain shot along Draco’s bones - and the fear he’d been keeping so carefully locked down burst free. With it came the grief. Everything hurt, he couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t know how he could hold it all inside him - but he would not show his weakness to Weasley and Granger.
A flask was thrust in front of his face. “Drink this.” Granger didn’t offer any pity or empty platitudes, and for that he was almost grateful. He snatched the flask, gagging at the smell. The potion was actually smoking.
“Damocles Belby was a genius,” Granger said as she turned away. “With that one potion he proved that old alchemical principles underrated and even discredited in modern magic do actually work. Most wizards just aren’t intelligent enough to understand the subtleties of the art.” Draco knew what was coming next, and that knowledge was like a rush of cold water through his brain, pushing aside anger, fear, grief, confusion - everything that could interfere with self-preservation. “It may be one of the most advanced potions in the world -”
“So how can I make changes to it?” The potion tasted worse than it smelled. “Well, I didn’t. Professor Snape did. Back when I was…bitten.” He had to force the word out. “Most of the changes are to speed up the brewing time.” And that was the true bit. Now for the lie.
Granger narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been in touch with Snape?”
“Not since he sliced my back open,” Draco said with careful disdain. “Mother has, though.” He smirked at her and watched her expression darken. “And you were kind enough to give me a chance to go and see her.” He noticed Potter looking at him, an odd expression on his face. “Mother’s not in any danger now, by the way.” The nonchalance he was aiming for was impossible; his throat closed around the words, and he was sure everyone heard the choke in his voice as he spoke. “With Father dead, she’s of no interest to the Dark Lord. Snape and Aunt Bella will make sure she’s safe.” And, god, please let that be true.
He heard Weasley mutter something that sounded like “Aunt Bella?” Draco could have said something to defend himself - hell, he was downright terrified of the woman himself - but Bellatrix was his Aunt, even if she was borderline psychotic, and why should he give a fuck what Weasley thought of his family? He’d got few enough of them left…
His stomach churned, reacting to the potion. “Have you given some of this to Lupin?”
“Of course.”
“He was quite impressed,” Potter said. “According to him it tastes even worse than the usual stuff.”
*
“Stomach acid? Really? I thought it was more vinegar and curdled milk myself.” Lupin’s foot slipped on the slimy stone floor. He frowned and with a flick of his wand, covered it in a luxurious deep-piled carpet. “Just think - you’d have to take it every day for week to get the full effects. But it’s worth it.”
Draco pulled a face and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. Harry watched him as his gaze flicked around the room in which he’d be spending the night, not settling on any one thing.
Not that there was a lot to look at. The three of them stood on the ground floor of an old fort. From all the scaffolding both outside and in, it was in the process of being restored, but the walls were thick and solid. Harry could see why Lupin had chosen it. Even if it was uncomfortably far from the hotel. Though that could’ve been a point in its favour as well.
“Another Muggle building site?” Draco drawled. “You do know how to live it up.”
“Would you rather spend the night locked in the hotel cellars?”
Draco flinched. Harry had thought the cellars would be better - the idea of them being so far away during their change made him uncomfortable, as if they were somehow being banished - but Draco didn’t seem to agree with him.
A droplet of water fell against his forehead. He looked up. The tower didn’t have a roof yet, and the plastic sheeting that was supposed to protect its interior from the elements had been torn loose by the storm. It flapped in the wind, and Harry could see the evening sky, a few rogue clouds scudding across it in the wake of the storm. He remembered how Draco had panicked in the caves - yes, this would definitely be better for him than some underground vault.
“Well, the walls and windows are secure and the doorway’s sealed.” Lupin looked around, apparently satisfied with their joint handiwork. “You need to go now, Harry.”
“But there’s still plenty of time -”
Lupin rested his forehead against the rough bricks of the wall. His fingers twitched. “Harry - how can I put this without causing offence? You stink.”
What? Harry felt his mouth drop open. Ok, yes, I’m offended…
“He does too, of course, but I‘m just going to have to put up with that.” Draco’s smirk faded. A red flush crept up the back of Lupin’s neck. “Honestly,” he mumbled into the wall, “have you two never heard of post-coital showers?”
Harry felt his cheeks burn. He opened his mouth to protest - he had cleaned himself up - then shut it again. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.
Draco had no such qualms. He grinned, showing a lot of teeth. “Distracting, is it?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Does this count as marking my territory?”
Lupin’s only response was a low growl.
“I’ll go,” Harry said quickly. That should have been his cue to Disapparate, but he met Draco’s gaze and hesitated. Draco’s eyes were wild and haunted. His smirk was as brittle and fake as his ‘light-hearted’ banter.
Harry moved instinctively; two steps forward and he had Draco in his arms.
Draco managed to give off the air of a prince graciously deigning to accept a commoner’s touch…while leaning into the embrace, his fingers twisting into the fabric of Harry’s shirt.
It was just a hug, intended purely to comfort, but Harry couldn’t help sending a guilty look Lupin’s way. To his surprise, the older man didn’t look irritated or embarrassed; he had a small, sad smile on his face and his eyes were soft as he watched them.
He felt Draco’s nose press against his neck, the twitch of his nostrils as he breathed in, and the hug swiftly lost its innocence. Harry had learned to welcome that delightful tension winding its way through his body, and the way his cock twitched and his skin prickled, hypersensitive and waiting for a touch, any touch - but now he cringed. He could feel Lupin’s eyes on him. If he could tell they’d had sex recently by smell alone, what if he could smell Harry’s arousal? Could he hear how fast his heart was beating?
“I like the way you smell,” Draco murmured, lips brushing against Harry’s neck. Even the knowledge that Draco had to be doing this on purpose wasn’t enough to stop the reaction of his body - or the image that flashed into his mind… Draco, every muscle starkly outlined as he arched his back, pale hair trailing on the floor, droplets of water glistening on his taut belly, cock swollen and startlingly pink - proof that Harry was doing at least something right - and the muscles of his thighs tensing up beneath Harry’s clumsy fingers as Harry buried himself balls-deep in his body.
There had been something like awe mixed in with the lust as he watched his cock slide in and out, Draco clenching around him until his toes curled and he’d lost himself completely, coming inside Draco - and that still made Harry’s mind boggle. He’d been part of him, he’d left part of himself inside him…
His cock throbbed. His face felt as if it was burning off.
“Git.”
Draco gave a little snort of laughter. “It was a compliment,” he said with faux innocence as he pulled free. “See you in the morning then, Potter. If you have fun without me, don’t tell me. I like to imagine you pining.”
“You wish.” But Harry was smiling as he Disapparated.
*
And that was it. Potter was gone, alternately irritating and pleasant distraction that he was, and all that was left was a room with eight-foot-thick walls and the countdown to the moment those walls would be very necessary.
Potter’s scent lingered in the air, and Draco found himself taking a deep breath, sucking it into his lungs. Lupin might have found it embarrassing, but for Draco there were memories woven into that musky scent - fragile bodies drenched in sweat and locked together in very human lust and pain…
Draco sighed. It was just another distraction. Unlike Lupin’s scent, which was potent and overwhelming and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a big room, he reminded himself - it just seemed painfully small at the moment, and that was only because the flames in jars they were using for a light source didn’t actually throw off enough light. The room was circular, so at least it didn’t have any corners for the shadows to gather in, but the scaffolding reminded him of a cage…
Come on! Snap out of it.
He shook himself - and tried not to think of it as something a fucking dog would do.
“Well - how can I put this without causing offence?” he parroted. “You stink too.”
Lupin was no fun - he refused to play along. The sudden concern in his eyes made Draco cringe inside. “Do I scare you?”
“Of course not.” It wasn’t a very good lie, especially as he had somehow managed to take a step back without realising.
Lupin sighed and turned away. He’d left a flask propped against the scaffolding - and food, as if we’re on a fucking picnic. Steam poured out of it as he unscrewed the lid. “Tea?”
“No.”
“I could change it to hot chocolate if you prefer.”
“What do you think this is? A fucking sleepover?” The words burst out before Draco could stop them. He was shaking, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest, but the words kept coming. “How can you be so fucking calm? How can you live like thi-” His voice caught, and he could barely breathe around the constriction in his throat.
“Tell me,” Lupin said mildly, “what other choices do I have? Raging at the universe is tempting for a while, but it’s ultimately useless. Crawling into a hole and dying a self-pitying wreck?” He took a sip of his tea. “Believe me, there have been times when I’ve considered it.”
His words were calm and unsympathetic, but that very coolness was like an anchor. Draco focused on Lupin’s voice as his vision blurred and he fought to breathe.
“Some people will tell you that being a werewolf is nothing - just an illness, a ‘furry little problem’. Others will tell you that you’re a monster, and that the only thing left for you to do is ‘embrace the beast’. From my experience, neither of them are completely right - or completely wrong. The reality is somewhere in between. I’m not going to tell you that you can live a ‘normal’ life, but you can live.” The first full, easy breath Draco took carried with it the scent of chocolate. His eyes focused on the cup held out to him. “And you can be happy.”
Lupin had come to kneel beside him. He was much too close, but Draco caught himself, fighting the urge to spring away, and reached out for the cup. He wrapped his shaking fingers around the warm plastic and breathed in the sweet, rich smell.
Lupin wouldn’t stop there, of course. He’d make it into a lecture. Draco braced himself -
“Sandwich?”
He couldn’t help it - he laughed. And kept laughing until that lump in his throat choked him again.
*
Draco felt like something had snapped inside him. He was still tense and nervous, but he’d managed to force down the sandwiches. He’d even managed to have a civil conversation with Lupin while he was doing it - about the medicinal properties of chocolate, no less. He hadn’t protested when Lupin had taken his wand, and put it with his own up on the scaffolding. Now he was standing with his back to the older man, listening to the rustling as Lupin took off his clothes. He could feel the tension in his limbs, the throbbing in his blood - like some twisted sort of arousal. Yet somehow he wasn’t panicking.
Draco pulled his shirt over his head, and felt a tiny flicker of self-consciousness. He ruthlessly flattened it and viciously tugged at the buttons of his trousers. It was purely practical. Their clothes would be put up with the wands, out of reach and safe until the morning.
Fuck’s sake. I was never this uncomfortable getting undressed in front of Snape.
The St Christopher dropped out of the pocket of his trousers as he slid them down.
For a moment he fantasised about leaving it there. He could step away from the whole game -
He scooped up the pendant and slipped it around his neck. The chain was probably long enough not to strangle him when he - his brain tripped up on the thought, and suddenly that panic was flaring back up.
When I change…
Lupin scooped up his clothes. Draco looked away.
Crushing pain shot up his spine.
Oh, god…
The St Christopher tingled against his bare skin. He caught hold of it with fingers made stiff and clumsy with the pain, and forced his eyes to focus on it.
The message on the pendant was simple, just one word… Evacuate. And, light-headed and dizzy as he was, it hit home instantly.
Something was going to happen at the hotel. Something bad.
Draco spun around, not sure how he was going to pass on the message to Lupin without completely blowing his cover. A fresh wave of nausea and pain shot through him, choking off the words.
Lupin was down on his hands and knees, shaking helplessly. Draco found himself staring at the older man’s narrow back, at muscles rigid with pain and skin slick with sweat. Lupin lifted his head and gave him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. He tried to say something, but all Draco could hear was crunching and popping bones. He wanted to close his eyes, look away, but all he could do was stare at Lupin’s body as it contorted…
It was so quick. His eyes - much too sharp now - picked up on the changing forms of muscles and bones, and the pinpricks of blood that bloomed on Lupin’s skin a split second before coarse brown hair pushed through it. So quick… Every part of Draco’s own body hurt, and as he tried to breathe, forcing air into his lungs, he felt his chest expand - and keep expanding, ribcage creaking as it changed shape.
A muffled curse from Lupin turned into a growl. And the total blinding panic Draco felt could almost have been amusing; yes, he was locked up with a werewolf, but he himself was on his knees now, the stench of his own sweat almost overwhelming the ’animal’ smell coming from Lupin. His body was a mass of hot pain, bones shifting position, muscles stretching, and this time he couldn’t fight it. He was too pathetic…too scared…scared that if he closed his eyes he’d be somehow back in the cell, chains digging into his skin as his own panic made him tangle himself up, Greyback’s saliva on his neck and mixing with his blood - and that was ridiculous, because how could that be worse than this?
Tears dripped against his fingers, and he found himself focusing desperately on his hands as his knuckles cracked and moved under skin that rippled and stretched. He tasted blood in his mouth as his gums split open, and he could feel his spine lengthening, and the creaking he could hear now was coming from his skull, and with the pain came a feeling, a pounding need to destroy, maim, hurt…
He needed an enemy, he needed to pass on the pain and the fear…
White hair burst through his skin, and he finally opened his mouth to scream -
The howl that swelled in his throat was no real surprise.
This is it…
As his consciousness was smothered by that fear and anger, it was almost a relief.
*
For the first time in days, the air was good to breathe, sweet and clean in Harry’s throat and lungs. The wet gravel crunched and squeaked under his trainers as he trudged up the cliff path. The last clouds were drifting away and the sky over the sea was a deep rich indigo. It should have been a beautiful, peaceful evening.
A sound was carried to him on the breeze, a long undulating howl that seemed to come from every direction at once and last forever, hanging on the air even after the last note faded. Harry felt something tighten in his chest - but he also felt a shiver run down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Perhaps it was a natural human response, a species memory from a time when that sound was a signal to reach for weapons and huddle close to the other members of the tribe, but it made Harry feel disloyal. How could he let himself be spooked by a mere sound when he knew who was making it? And it was still ‘who’, rather than ‘what’.
Something brushed against his shoulder. He spun away, his heart pounding, reaching for his wand -
The tree branch creaked as it swung, another casualty of the storm, broken and dangling over the path at just the right height to imitate a hand touching his shoulder.
Harry sighed and put his wand away, not trying to fight the adrenalin dumped into his system. It made him feel sharp and fast, which had to be a good thing, even if he didn’t understand why he was so jumpy.
He looked up at the moon. As a kid, he’d always rather liked the full moon. He’d watched it from his bedroom window, his imagination finding shapes in the shadows on its bright disc - sometimes it was a friendly face, sometimes a rabbit paused forever in mid-leap. However much Aunt Petunia might sniff and tell him - rather hopefully, he thought - that staring at the full moon through glass was a certain way to madness, Harry had always found it a comforting, friendly presence.
He didn’t now.
Another howl rang out. Harry fought back a shiver and found himself quickening his pace.
He’d decided to walk back from the tower because he needed to clear his head and get his thoughts in order. It wasn’t working.
He was worried about Hermione. She was obviously not physically well, and deliberately avoiding Livia, but it was more than that. He couldn’t really pin down the exact things she’d said and done to make him uneasy, but they were there. Somehow he was going to have to get her to let Livia check for curses - and just the thought of that conversation made his head hurt. Even if Ron backed him up… Harry knew he was stubborn, but so was Hermione. And just how do you tell one of your best friends that she’s acting weirdly and you think she’s been cursed?
And then there was Draco.
Harry had replayed the conversation between Draco and Hermione over and over in his head, and something about Draco’s explanation had seemed…off, somehow.
Back at the Ministry, Snape had let Draco go - supposedly in order to get Harry out - even if he had attacked them while they were escaping. Was it so strange to imagine him re-formulating a potion just for Draco?
But if he cared so much, why didn’t he protect him from Greyback?
It was hard to imagine Snape caring, full stop. Yes, he had taken Draco with him after -
Harry stopped walking. He couldn’t think about that night. He’d come to terms with the grief, but the sheer blinding rage he felt towards Snape caught him off guard every single time. The hate was a living thing, so strong it felt as if it was blistering his insides, and not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to put it to use.
He shuddered and pushed the thought away.
Something like an electric shock shot through his body. Harry caught his breath, his nerves jangling.
The wards at the hotel. They’d been broken.
“Shit.”
Harry Disapparated -
- and got a vivid demonstration of just how it felt to be a bug impacting against a windscreen.
Just an Anti-Disapparition Jinx.
But that didn’t stop his head spinning or his stomach protesting. He rested his cheek against the wire fence and tried to remember how to breathe as he patted his body down. Everything was okay. Okay…
Only it wasn’t okay. The Anti-Disapparition Jinx was a trap, just as it had been at the Old Schoolhouse, and whoever - or whatever - had triggered the wards was in the hotel. The Imperturbable Charm had been broken, because he could hear the sounds of battle - screams, shouted spells…snarls and growls?
He was running even before he heard the sound of breaking glass from the conservatory.
The patio doors were broken, hanging limply from their hinges, and shards of broken glass plucked at his jeans as he leapt over them.
For a moment his brain failed to register what his eyes were seeing; the first thought that shot through his head was to wonder why someone had slopped paint on the tiled floor - then his feet were sliding in it, and that was blood on his trainers and splattered on the window pane as he reached out to steady himself. His eyes refused to focus on the twisted shape on the floor, turning the exposed ribcage into clutching white fingers, the entrails into coils of dirty rope.
A low growl scraped its way into his ears, and he was frozen, unable to move anything but his eyes.
Brown fur streaked with grey, muzzle wrinkling as it bared sharp, bloodied teeth… For a moment Harry flashed back three years, to another moonlit night -
“Lupin?”
But it wasn’t Lupin - he knew it couldn’t be.
There was a broken wand on a cord tight around its neck…
Hel.
She sprang, all coiled strength and bristling fur - and Harry couldn’t move, because he knew her. She’d helped him. He’d liked her…
But there was no recognition in wild amber eyes.
The solid muscled body hit him hard. Harry slammed into the broken doors with a bone-jarring crunch, and he could finally move…but it was too late. Hel bounded past him, out into the night. She hadn’t touched him. He was groping for his fallen wand when he realised the strangeness of that.
The beast was in full control - but she hadn’t attacked him.
Unlike the other occupant of the conservatory. Harry didn’t want to look any closer - but he had to see the face. He had to know who -
The lamps in the conservatory flickered and died. And the howling came from all around him, from inside the hotel and out, all the different voices harmonising into something terrifying but beautiful.
The whole Pack was there, and there’d be no politics or infighting now. They were in their element. And the Anti-Disapparition Jinx had everyone trapped in there with them…
And I thought there couldn’t be anything worse than Inferi…
Harry stepped through the dining room doors, into the darkness. He could hear screaming, and he thought he could smell more blood.
Some tiny animal part of his brain was screaming at him to run, to just get away from that sound. He ignored it. The adrenalin was flowing properly now, and his friends were in there -
I’m an idiot.
But I can’t run away.
*
The Wolfsbane Potion hadn’t been a complete waste of time. Forming thoughts was difficult, frequently broken up by the overwhelming pressure of scents and sounds, but some tiny core of Draco remained, a reluctant passenger in his own body. Even if it wasn’t really his body.
Too much weight and muscle, too much coiled, desperate strength. ‘His’ claws caught in the carpet. The walls seemed to exist only as scent - wet stone and fresh concrete - and beyond them was a whole landscape made up of smells and sounds. He could hear everything. Lupin’s snuffling breathing. The clicking wings of a fly buzzing about in the scaffolding. The threatening rumble of Muggle vehicles. The sea. Music. Voices. So many voices. So many people. He could smell them all too - and the wolf drooled at the scent. When he let himself look out through its eyes, he saw its - his - muzzle wrinkle. He felt those unfamiliar muscles stretch and a howl build in its - his - throat, mocking the part of him that just wanted to scream.
Lupin’s scent was a solid presence in its own right. Draco was vaguely aware of hunkering down, tail between his legs. Even the sudden thought of ‘oh, fuck, I’ve got a tail?’ couldn’t distract him from the cues in that smell. Older. Dominant. Submit. They dredged up memories -
He’s going to eat me. Ragged fingernails dug into his skin, a rough tongue slid up his inner thigh, tasting him… I’m going to die. Then those fingers were in his hair, dragging his head back, that tongue tracing the line of his jugular, the heavy chains that bound Greyback sliding over his chest. I’m going to die like this? His own chains bit into his skin as he fought to escape, made wild and vicious by the fear, but the hands on him were changing shape, bones crunching as Greyback clung to him, trapping him in a twisted bear hug, claws slicing into his belly… His world narrowed down to the body contorting against his and the fangs sinking into his shoulder, and he begged the universe to make it stop, to let Greyback rape him instead -
Lupin growled. Draco snapped back into a world of overpowering scents and sounds. He could hear a low, drawn-out whine and realised it was coming from his own throat. But he could still hear the clank of chains, feel Greyback being ripped away from him -
And he was there, as if the memories had called him forth into reality - Draco could smell him, potent and unmistakable amongst all those humans…amongst all that prey…
*
Harry ran. The light from his wand barely penetrated the suffocating darkness. More than once he almost fell as his feet caught against things strewn over the floor, and perhaps the one time he’d pointed the wand light down he had seen only pieces of broken furniture, but his imagination was working overtime, painting gory pictures in his head. The sounds all around him only made it worse. This was what had made his caveman ancestors learn to fear the howls.
Spell flashes lit up the hallway in front of him, casting twisted shadows through the great glass doors of the ballroom. Harry was still blinking, coloured dots dancing in front of his eyes, as he ran to the doors.
They were sealed. And every flash lit up the scene within, shadows and bodies in jerking motion like a film played on a broken projector.
Moody was fighting.
But he was on his own - and outnumbered three to one.
One of the werewolves leapt. The old Auror dropped to the floor, but a blinding flash came from his wand. The door buckled beneath Harry’s hands. He heard a yelp.
For a moment, Harry wondered why his vision wasn’t clearing. Then he realised that the spots in front of his eyes were actually spots on the glass…spots of blood.
The metal filigree on the doors had been Transfigured into spikes. And barely two feet away from him was a big grey wolf, saliva flying from its mouth as it thrashed wildly, trying to free itself.
His fingers tightened around the door knob until he could feel every curve and ridge of its fancy moulding digging into his skin.
A stray spell hit the one of the old chandeliers. Crystal dust glittered in the air, and the shadows leaping up the walls showed Mad-Eye going down, bowled over from behind.
Harry was already gasping out Alohomora. He threw his full weight against the buckled doors.
“NO!” Harry heard the sound of wood impacting against flesh and another yelp. Moody was bellowing at him, but he could barely hear him over the sound of his blood thundering in his ears. “SEAL THE DOOR!”
The grey wolf shook itself free of the spikes. It was huge, much bigger than Lupin, and Harry’s hasty Stunning Spell just made it stagger. It shook its head like a punch-drunk boxer. Its wounds were already closing up -
For something so big, it moved incredibly fast.
All the breath was forced out of Harry’s lungs as he hit the floor. Pain stabbed along his ribs, and he thought he heard something crunch. His glasses slid along his nose but thankfully didn’t fall off. Not that it mattered, because his wand had spun out of his hand, and the crushing pressure on his chest was caused by a paw with a good fifteen stone of werewolf behind it.
But it wasn’t attacking him, he realised through the panic. It sniffed intently, seeming…confused?
Lupin’s words echoed in Harry’s head. “You stink.” He remembered Hel’s reaction to him in the conservatory.
I have Draco’s scent on me? Is that it? And he’s ‘Pack’?
“Does this count as marking my territory?”
Harry almost laughed. But, even in the dim light, he could see thick scars crisscrossing the wolf’s chest, clumping its shaggy, discoloured fur into patches - and, as drool dripped on his face and its lips drew back from yellow teeth, he knew who it was.
He stretched out his hand; his fingertips brushed against the smooth handle of his wand. Just a little bit further -
“You need to brush your teeth,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and his breathing steady. He could feel the sharpness of Greyback’s claws through his t-shirt - it would only take one sudden movement -
“Impedimenta!”
The flash of the spell dazzled Harry’s eyes. He didn’t even have time to panic as Greyback was knocked off him, claws catching in the fabric of his t-shirt. He heard it rip, but he was already rolling away, grabbing his wand -
“Incarcerous!”
Ropes sprang up around the werewolf.
That won’t work! If little Rolf could get free -
He bumped up against his rescuer’s legs as Greyback shredded the ropes. Harry’s own Impediment Jinx made the werewolf skid back a couple of feet. Then more ropes were whipping up around him, and Harry heard the shrill sound of metal scraping against metal as the werewolf thrashed against his new bindings.
Tonks hauled Harry to his feet with a jerk on his arm that made him stagger. Her eyes never left Greyback. The steel ropes were already starting to creak as if they were under pressure.
Harry looked about quickly. The other two wolves were crumpled on the floor, silent and motionless. And so was Mad-Eye.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
Moody was all right. He had to be.
He kicked a werewolf in the face, for god’s sake! He’s too stubborn to die.
Livia was on her knees beside him, her shoulders shaking and her breathing fast and shallow as she ran her wand over his body. Fred and George hovered behind her like a pair of extremely jumpy guard dogs.
Harry should have been glad to see them - he was - but it forcibly reminded him of the friends who weren’t accounted for. He shook off Tonks’ hand and started towards the doors.
One of the werewolves twitched. He spun towards it, wand ready.
The twitch was its fur rippling as the skin beneath it moved. He could hear bones grinding together.
Oh, shit.
“Sorry about this, Harry.”
He felt himself caught by the spell just a split second too late to resist it successfully. He was suddenly…so…sleepy…
The last thing he saw before his eyes closed and his legs folded up beneath him was Tonks’ concerned face.
*
Harry fought his way back to consciousness, following the screams that had forced their way into a very pleasant dream. He opened his eyes to pitch darkness, and the sense of a very small space around him.
What the hell?
He clambered to his feet, touching smooth wooden panels and what felt like shelves as he reached out to steady himself. He knew where he was. The little cloakroom had been the location of one of his and Draco’s more hurried and desperate encounters; Harry still had bruises from the shelves on his back and arse.
He groped for the doorknob - and wasn’t surprised when it wouldn’t turn.
He was sick of this. He didn’t need protecting.
He pounded his fists against the door until his hands hurt. “TONKS!”
You can’t do this to me…
His foot knocked against something on the floor, and it was depressing how familiar the sound of his wand skidding away from him had become. Harry ground his teeth together and bent to pick up his wand. However many locking or sealing charms were on the door, he would get free.
He hesitated as his fingers closed around the wand. The cloakroom had been pitch black… but now he could see. His shadow stretched to the door, thick and black, and he could smell the sea…
He spun around, wand ready.
The light was coming from the back of the little room, in amongst the shelves and lockers. Harry caught a glimpse of pale hair, and the salt-water smell seemed to get stronger. Something heavy slammed up against the door behind him; he heard a snarl, and a gurgling cry, quickly cut off. His heart hammering, he stepped forward -
He had company in the cloakroom - a young woman, her head tilted back, her eyes closed and a wide smile on her face as she listened to the screams.
He could see right through her.
Ghost.
Harry lowered his wand. Ghosts couldn’t harm people. Though she didn’t look like the kind of ghost that should be haunting a Muggle hotel. She ‘wore’ heavy black robes, and decorating her fair hair was an ivory circlet.
“Your revered ancestor could make the earth shake.” The words were a caressing whisper in his mind. The ghost flickered and disappeared. “He could rout entire armies.” Harry couldn’t breathe. The stench of decay filled his nostrils and clogged up his throat. He felt small fingers on his neck, squeezing tight, but when he brought his hand up to free himself, it passed through cold nothingness. “You are not worthy to bear his blood.”
His lungs hurt, his head pounded, and there was no way to struggle, nothing to fight back against. He saw the woman’s face again as his vision blurred -
“Harry!” The door crunched as a spell hit it. “Are you in there?”
The pressure was abruptly gone, and Harry gasped in air, not caring about the smell. His head spun and he sank to his knees. “Ron!” What was supposed to be a shout came out as a croak.
The door disintegrated into splinters. “Bloody hell, Harry - are you okay?” Harry managed a nod. He touched his neck; if the pain was anything to go by, it was badly bruised.
Ghosts can’t hurt people…
“I heard you shouting.” Ron helped him to his feet by catching hold of his arm and giving it a good yank; Harry stumbled and caught himself before he fell over the body in the doorway. Seaby’s face was slack and his eyes stared up at Harry, blank and lifeless. All that was left of his throat was blood and torn flesh - and a bit of bone that glistened in the light of Ron’s wand. Harry felt his stomach flip.
Ron looked like he’d already been sick at some point. His face was so white that every freckle stood out like an ink spot. Harry caught hold of his arms. “Are you all right?”
Ron managed a grin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Hermione?”
A muscle twitched beneath Ron’s eye. “Oh, she’s fine.”
Harry was about to shake him, to demand to know just what the hell that was supposed to mean, when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He heard a low rumble of a growl behind him.
He turned slowly. The light bounced around as Ron’s hand shook, but he could see the wolf crouched in the beam, its eyes reflective white discs.
Harry felt the anger swell up inside him. This wolf’s fur was russet, shading in places to a red almost as bright as Ron’s hair. Harry remembered a tall, slim man with shaggy auburn hair, grinning at Hel as she’d ordered him to go to the walled garden. He tried to keep that image in his head, but all he could see was the blood around the wolf’s mouth, the monster looking out of its pale eyes.
The hate was mixed in with fear. So many of his spells were useless against these things…
The syllables of the Killing Curse bounced around in his head. All he had to do was speak it out loud…
All it needed was a flick of his wand -
A lone howl echoed out in the distance. The werewolf’s ears moved, listening to the sound.
Lupin? Draco?
The anger was drowned out by pure cold fear.
They were safe. Why would they -?
Another howl rose in response, this time from inside the hotel. The red wolf’s claws scrabbled against the tiled floor. Then it leapt, sailing through the broken window with astonishing grace.
Harry ran to the window. Over a dozen wolves tore across the overgrown lawn and out through a hole in the wire fence.
It was over. He should have been glad, but -
It’s not over. They’ve gone after Lupin and Draco.
“It’s not over.” Ron tried to open the window, and jumped back as shards of glass dropped from the frame. “Werewolves don’t do magic - and they certainly don’t set up Anti-Disapparition Jinxes. There’s a wizard out there.” Harry looked at him in surprise - then caught himself. Why was he surprised? Just because Ron wasn’t Hermione or Draco didn’t make him thick. His jaw was set in a firm line. “We need that Jinx down - just in case the werewolves come back or something else happens. I’ll see if I can catch the Death Eater. You Accio yourself a broom and go after the wolves.” This time he noticed Harry’s surprise. “Go check on Lupin -” Ron pulled a face. “- and Malfoy.”
Harry hesitated. He wanted to go to the tower, but he couldn’t leave Ron to face a Death Eater by himself.
“Look, I’ve got an idea. Just trust me, okay?”
“Ron -”
“Fucking hell, Harry! If I was Malfoy, you’d have no problem leaving me!”
To which Harry could have replied that he would, but he was honest enough to know that it would be for very different reasons.
He had to trust Ron to get the job done.
Ron gave him a slightly shaky smile. “Inferi? Werewolves? After this, I’ll be happy to see a good old-fashioned Death Eater.”
As he climbed out of the window after Ron, Harry decided that he felt exactly the same way. He felt a sudden rush of affection for the other boy.
“Good Luck.”
“You too. You couldn’t pay me enough to go after those things.”
Things?
“They’re people, Ron.” But Harry had thought the exact same thing…
“In the morning they will be. Right now, they’ll kill you, and enjoy it. And these blokes aren’t like Lupin, Harry - if they do hurt you, they probably won’t feel guilty about it in the morning.”
Harry thought about Ron’s words as he waited for the broom he’d summoned to get to him. Greyback he was sure felt no guilt, but Hel and the others?
Do they really hate wizards so much?
He Disillusioned himself as well as he could. The wind was cool and fresh in his face as he soared up into the sky. Unlike the last time he’d been on a broom, he couldn’t leave the bloodshed behind so easily.
Far below him, dark shapes streaked along the beach in loose but surprisingly orderly formation. They were definitely heading for the tower. Harry kept pace with them as they reached a place where the sand gave way to rocks and wild scrubland covered the cliff side. Another howl rang out.
Fuck’s sake, Lupin - what are you playing at?
He could see the tower. Soft blue light flickered from the open roof. Draco and Lupin seemed to be still safely inside. If there was no way for them to get out, then there was no way for the Pack to get in, right?
An explosion broke the still air. Harry swung the broom around, pushing it to its maximum speed in his rush to get back to the hotel. He heard sirens.
Ron - what the hell have you done?
*
They were there, at the other side of the walls. Every breath he sucked into his lungs carried their scent - and the sharp, delicious smell of blood. Every howl was an invitation - come out, run with us, feed with us. And he was so hungry…and so scared…
Saliva flooded his mouth. His claws raked across the brickwork. And he wanted to crawl right out of this filthy, monstrous body - he wanted it so badly it almost overwhelmed all other thoughts and feelings -
Stabbing pain shot through what he still persisted in thinking of as his hands. Draco smelt his own blood as bare - human - fingertips clawed the bricks, the rough surface tearing his skin.
Lupin’s howls were challenging and taunting. The walls seemed paper-thin to Draco. Beyond them he could hear over a dozen heartbeats throbbing almost in sync. He could hear their breathing, their claws scrabbling against the walls, wood splintering… The outside scaffolding?
The tone of the howls changed. He could hear delight, eagerness -
His spine twisted. His skin stung. He was blinking through a cloud of white fur as fire spread through all those unfamiliar muscles and his heart seized up, bands of steel closing around his chest.
He was helpless…trapped…
What felt like every bone in his body dislocated, and Draco remembered trying to scramble to his feet under another full moon, the chains tangled around him making him fall, his face slamming into cold stones splattered with his own blood. The thick carpet was better, even covered with his own shed fur. He’d had to crawl then, until he could curl up against the wall, his hands over his ears not blocking out the snarling, and growling - and, oh god, the howls. He did the same now, and for a moment he was back in the cell, crying, unable to take his eyes off the wolf thrashing against the chains that held it, almost spread-eagled again the wall, desperate to get to him, to rip him apart -
A sudden realisation shocked him back into the present. He could move his body. Every inch of it hurt, and it was a long way from totally human, but it was under his control again.
Shredded plastic floated down from the roof. He heard the scaffolding far above him crack as something heavy landed on it.
There were no chains this time - only the sealed door. Draco refused to look down at his body as he forced it into motion. His face felt strange - and he didn‘t want to know what that looked like either. His bones crunched together as he made a leap for the scaffolding. And this wasn’t going to last, he realised as a spasm shot through his leg, throwing off his landing. The moonlight was forcing him back.
There was a massive crack above him. Splinters showered down around him as the massive grey wolf crashed down through the scaffolding, distinctly ungraceful in freefall. Draco scrambled back, his fingers closing around a wand. His or Lupin’s, it didn’t matter, because he only had time for one spell anyway -
The brickwork peeled back from the doorway.
This time Draco didn’t even try to fight the change - he welcomed it. This shape was perfect for running, and its dense muscle made it easy to smash through the door. Lupin was just a short distance behind him, and all those too-sharp senses told him that the other werewolves weren’t far behind either, but he was free, and all he had to do was run…
*
And, as always, thanks to melusinahp for beta-ing. X