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The Werewolf	By : chedevy Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 9798 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Sunday; 12 April 1998, 11:22 p.m.
Malfoy Manor
“Crucio!”
In a room wreathed in complete darkness if not for the flames dancing vividly in a marble fireplace, a high-pitched scream resounded against the walls. On and on and on it kept going, until the voice choked, wailed shrilly, and then began screaming anew.
Draco Malfoy succeeded in keeping his wand steady and his eyes fastened on the figure writhing on the floor as he held the curse. Although practically impassive in appearance, in his mind Draco was struggling to keep the shivers of revulsion in check, fighting to block out all the noise, and to keep the image of the woman’s twisting body from registering in his brain. The cries of pain coming from his victim were now hoarse, her body struggling for breath, even as she couldn’t stop herself from crying out in agony.
Almost unseeing, Draco watched as she arched her back grotesquely while clawing at her chest, arms, and face, as though she couldn’t decide where the pain was located. This was probably true, Draco thought, as that was exactly how the Cruciatus Curse affected the body – he should know, having been both the recipient and the caster of it on various occasions.
The woman was choking on her blood and saliva now, and finally, after some twenty seconds of torture, Draco jerked his wand away. All of a sudden, he felt as if all the air in the room increased twofold as he swallowed a gulp of oxygen. He struggled for composure then, though, forcing his breath to steady, and willing his hands to stop trembling. Despite the fact that his eyelids felt heavy, Draco was wide-awake. It was the backlash of having Dark magic swirling in his veins and buzzing in his ears, polluting his blood – somehow making him lethargic and nervous, drugged and alert, all at once. This strange adrenaline-induced excitement was mixed with dread at what he was being made to do yet again, and only the knowledge that he was being watched prevented Draco from clutching at his erratically beating heart. He couldn’t show too much emotion, not here, not in front of –
“I have not yet told you to stop, have I, Draco?”
Not in front of the Dark Lord. For, indeed, Lord Voldemort stood some few steps away from the young blond and the sobbing woman, the pallor of his skin a great contrast to the black robes he wore, his slitted red eyes glinting coldly as he regarded the scene before him. Besides Draco, the prisoner, and Voldemort, in the room, hidden somewhere in the shadows, was Wormtail as well as, strangely, Fenrir Greyback, who frequently emitted low, animal-like growls. Draco was used to those growls by now, and so they didn’t faze him anymore, like they used to.
He raised his wand again and started saying the incantation, but was interrupted.
“No.” It was the Dark Lord, of course. “No... I do not want you to use the Cruciatus Curse anymore.” Draco set his jaw and waited; which of the Dark spells would it be, then? The one that peeled strips of skin from the victim’s body, or the one that liquefied muscles? Anxious, he could already taste the bile. “I want you to do something else today, Draco... I want you to kill her.”
The air in the room was suddenly gone once more. The hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stood on end as he felt his Master’s stare resting solely on him now, inhuman and unfeeling, yet cruelly expectant. Even so, watching the helpless victim of his latest violence, Draco could only clear his dry throat, stalling. He wanted to, wished he was able say those two words, to prove his worth to the Dark Lord, but he was weak. This was one order he could not fulfil. His arm wavered.
“What are you waiting for?” Voldemort’s high-pitched, ice-cold voice reached him again, and Draco resisted a wince. He took in the prisoner’s trembling form, her torn clothes, matted hair, and pallid complexion underneath the stains of grime and blood, and he swallowed back the rising bile. Hoping against hope that he wasn’t really be expected to kill, Draco stood motionless. He hadn’t been ordered to kill ever since the Astronomy Tower fiasco, he’d somehow evaded that particular command for nearly a year. In his mind, he could see Dumbledore, wandless and somehow weakened, but fearless all the same...
“Do it! Do not hesitate this time, Draco, you know what the consequences are... Kill her!”
Weak, weak, weak...
Already he could almost feel the pain of the Cruciatus on his skin and beneath it, in his muscles and bones. Glancing back at the woman lying on the floor, he wasn’t even sure if she was aware of her surroundings any longer – her eyes were wide and wild, but her sobs had quieted down and she barely moved. Maybe she’d passed out from exhaustion, maybe she was in shock; Draco tried to gather his resolve, but it was in vain. He wasn’t able to take a life, not that of an innocent. In the long run, it turned out that he might be a coward, a bastard, and altogether a bad person, but a monster, Draco was not.
Voldemort must have noticed the way thoughts were taking his youngest Death Eater, for the serpentine face contorted in a mixture of displeasure and an expression of malicious intent. “You dare disobey me yet again... That is much to answer for, young Malfoy, and Lord Voldemort does not look upon insubordination lightly. Look at me!”
Steeling himself, Draco did. Immediately, he felt pressure against the barriers of his mind, a clear sign of being subjected to Legilimency, and he allowed it, fully aware that attempting to keep the Dark Lord from invading his thoughts and emotions was out of question. Memories flashed by his eyes like a kaleidoscope as the Dark Lord sorted expertly through them, ultimately settling on looking into his most recent ones. Draco felt himself experiencing exactly what he’d felt scarcely two minutes ago – and it was not absolute hatred for the Mudblood, or complete obedience for his Master, as a model Death Eater should feel, but a weary kind of acceptance along with resentment and anger for having to be in this situation. His thoughts were running through his head in a tumble of words, and the ones the Dark Lord paid special attention to were those pertaining to not being a monster. Voldemort’s presence pulled away from his mind after a while, and Draco was left gasping for air when the unpleasant sensation faded.
He could hear Greyback laughing raucously in the background, the sound getting louder in Draco’s ears as he regained his senses. It wasn’t the werewolf’s jeering, however, that Draco was worried about; for a long moment Voldemort simply stared at him, the very picture of stillness and coldness, like a snake preparing for an attack – or, perhaps, calculating what the best line of attack would be. He raised his wand. On reflex, Draco closed his eyes, waiting for the onslaught of agony that would come with a hiss of Crucio, the sensation of being stabbed repeatedly by a thousand scorching-hot knives, the feeling of having his whole body on fire... however, nothing like this happened.
There was a harsh rustle of heavy fabric, and then silence; the woman lying on the ground was still completely motionless. As he peeled back his eyelids, Draco was vaguely taken aback to see that the room was somewhat brighter now, a very faint silvery light reflecting on the marble floor and on the polished surface of a long wooden table situated in the centre of the chamber. When he turned his head, he saw that the curtains to the windows had been opened by, he figured, the Dark Lord’s wandless magic, and outside the sky was the colour of obsidian, the moon barely a glow behind the clouds.
“It is a full moon tonight,” Voldemort said almost musingly; Greyback made an appreciative noise.
Suddenly stiff, Draco risked a glance at his Master’s unsightly face, having finally sensed that his focus wasn’t on him anymore, and... he froze on the spot. A drop of cold sweat ran down the side of Draco’s neck when he saw that the Dark Lord was smiling. And it was an awful, cruel smile. Although directed at the cloud-enshrouded moon, Draco knew, somehow, that the smile was meant for him. What he heard next froze the blood in his veins. “Wormtail, leave us. Greyback, you stay.”
With an obsequious bow to the Dark Lord, Wormtail left.
“Twice now you have refused to carry out my command, Draco.”
Swallowing thickly, Draco turned his head back to Voldemort; his scarlet gaze was still locked on the clouded moon. “My Lord...”
“Silence,” Voldemort hissed. “Twice now you have failed me. Why is it that you are so afraid to kill, I wonder? Is it the prospect of going against the nature, slaying another human being?” Whirling around, he gave a mocking laugh which Greyback echoed gutturally. “Mudbloods and blood-traitors!” he intoned loudly. “Vermin upon the Earth! We do not have pity for those, Draco, for the unworthy of existing in the new order. Nonetheless... you hesitate. Unable to kill, and then, even at my behest, you are reluctant to torture.”
Regardless of whether that statement was true or not, Draco wanted to protest – except that he couldn’t. Petrified, with his tongue as heavy as lead in his mouth, he listened as the Dark Lord analyzed the thoughts and feelings he’d discovered earlier via Legilimency. “You believe that by destroying the innocent you will become a monster. You think yourself above murder, is that not right, Draco? Weak!” he hissed with sudden vehemence. “Your pure blood is wasted on you! I do admit in that aspect you are very much like your father – Lucius is a great failure to me as well. Even when you had Potter completely in your grasp two weeks ago, you still could not manage to keep him locked in your house long enough for me to arrive... The Malfoy family have disappointed me one too many times now, Draco. However, rest assured,” the deadly whisper sent cold shivers down Draco’s spine, “that you will compensate.” Voldemort spoke to Greyback then, “You came prepared, I trust.” His tone clearly promised retribution if that was not the case.
“Of course, my Lord,” Greyback responded gleefully.
Through his stupor brought about by alarm, Draco managed to retain his rationality. He knew he was in trouble. He was going to pay, and not only for his own shortcomings, but for the past errors of his family, as well. Somehow he’d managed to incense the Dark Lord enough to deserve punishment more severe than a round of the Cruciatus Curse, and he had a fairly good idea what sort of punishment involved both a full moon and a werewolf.
“N-no! My Lord, please, I can...” Draco raised his wand at the unconscious woman once again. “I will –”
But before Draco had time to gather his will and rectify his earlier mistake, a flash of green light had already shot out of Voldemort’s wand; the woman twitched once and then went absolutely still, no breath escaping her lips. Wide-eyed, Draco snapped his head towards the Dark Lord, but the wizard was already striding out of the room.
“You have had your chance and you spoiled it. You have displeased me greatly, Draco,” he turned around then, his red eyes gleaming malevolently. “It is most curious, though – you were so concerned about becoming a monster. I do wonder how you will feel about learning the literal meaning of that term.”
And then, before even reaching the doors, he Disapparated from the manor. Draco licked his cracked lips; he was now extremely aware of Greyback’s presence and the wolfish grin he wore.
“I do so love the smell of your fear, Malfoy,” the werewolf rasped, and Draco looked at him with a grimace of utter revulsion. He’d always, always hated this repulsive creature – but as a Death Eater’s son, and later as a Death Eater himself, he’d never had to genuinely fear him before. Now, though, Draco didn’t have the shield of his status or family name, anymore. He raised his wand instead, which, to his fury and alarm, instantly flew to Greyback who’d merely flicked his hand. Greyback’s grin stretched to alarming proportions. “Whoops. Should’ve used it when you still had it, eh? But that wouldn’t be much fun, would it, boy? I like a chase, not a struggle, after all...”
Draco cursed loudly. He’d never been so angry with himself in his life. He couldn’t believe he’d lost his only means of protection in such a hopeless situation, and so quickly at that. He raged mentally at his own thoughtlessness, aware that he should have seen from the beginning the underhand move on Greyback’s part, regardless of his state of distress. He was practically a sitting duck now.
“Come now, don’t look like that,” the werewolf laughed hoarsely; then he casted a glance outside the window. “Just a while longer and we’re going to play, Malfoy... What’s that? I can see you’re dying to say something, so go ahead, don’t be shy...”
Edging towards the doors, with Greyback advancing on him slowly, Draco felt terribly like prey. “Go fuck yourself,” he spat, his jaw tight.
Greyback’s enthusiastic countenance faltered somewhat as he growled, “Well, aren’t you a disrespectful whelp. Evidently you’ve got your priorities mixed. But I’ll teach you a lesson, I will... That’s no way to speak to your new –”
Abruptly, he cut off. The room suddenly became brighter and brighter as the clouds shifted – then, everything stilled. Outside, the moon was now entirely in the view, large and round, it shone like a beacon amidst the starless sky.
A horrible snarl tore from Greyback’s throat then, and in the moonlight Draco could see clearly the werewolf transforming. His face and limbs started lengthening, his already stocky body growing. Tufts of fur began sprouting from his neck and face, his ears changing into those of a wolf, and in his open mouth teeth could be seen becoming longer and sharper. A noise of clothes ripping made Draco snap out of his trance. At once, he spotted his chance and shouted, “Accio wand,” hoping to heavens that his attempt at that much wandless magic would be successful.
It was. The wand twitched in the werewolf’s now clawed fingers, about to free itself from the inhumanly strong grip... However, then a spasm of pain made Greyback tighten his hold impossibly more, and the inevitable happened. The wand broke in half with a sharp SNAP that drowned in the growls reverberating all throughout the room. Although quite horrified, Draco didn’t have time to grieve that loss. With no wand to protect himself with against the werewolf, his brain registered only one thing he could do: run.
He didn’t care about Voldemort at that moment; the thought of resignedly accepting his punishment was as far from his mind as could be. Death Eater or not, Draco was, above all, a Slytherin, and a Malfoy to boot – his self-preservation instincts were rather keen, and right now they were screaming at him to get the hell out of the room.
Normally, his first idea would be to Disapparate, however it was a well known fact among the Death Eaters that, due to a conveniently placed Anti-Disapparation Jinx, only Voldemort was able to perform that bit of magic within Malfoy Manor. Therefore Draco didn’t so much as think of taking his chances. Instead, he dropped the pretences, spun around, and darted for the door. Having reached it in a few large steps, he tried the handle. The door was locked – he knew perfectly well in the back of his mind that it would be the case, but it did nothing to ease his increasing dread. Cursing, he spun around again, wild-eyed and desperate, searching for something he could use as a weapon... when there was another loud growl from the werewolf. Draco glanced in that direction in time to catch a pair of yellow eyes settle on him with a predatory gleam.
Then the werewolf howled. The transformation was complete.
The beast Greyback turned into was large, without a doubt much bigger than an average wolf, with hard muscle and grey, bristled fur. Its head and body were lowered, as if preparing to attack, and its teeth bared, two long canines protruding from the gums. Draco didn’t stand in place long enough to observe the werewolf further. Impulsively, he made a move towards the table in the middle of the room, and the next thing he knew he was tackled to the ground; he’d barely made one step before the werewolf positively leaped through the eight metres gap between them.
Grunting in shock and discomfort, Draco swung back his arm in an attempt to throw the beast of himself, but it was futile; he felt as if his elbow connected with steel. “Fuck!” he hissed as sharp jabs of pain ran up and down his arm. Furious and desperate, wanting nothing more than to have full control of his body and then to actually kill Greyback, he reached back blindly and managed to grab a fistful of fur and some loose skin at the neck. The werewolf snarled, but Draco already pulled sideways as hard as he could, until the snarl turned into a satisfactory yelp. That short moment of inattention let Draco turn his body around underneath the werewolf’s weight. That was as far as he got, however. In a second, Greyback had one front paw on his chest while the other held his right shoulder firmly to the floor, rendering him practically devoid of feeling in that same limb.
“Fuck! Get off me, you fucking mutt!”
A dribble of gooey saliva connected with his cheek in response, the foul breath of the werewolf hitting his nostrils. Meeting Greyback’s gaze, Draco tried to raise his left arm with every intention of gouging those damned eyeballs out, but he was too late. The werewolf ducked his head, its muzzle suddenly at the juncture between Draco’s neck and shoulder. It opened its jaws wider, its pointed canines gleaming in the moonlight... Draco moved abruptly again, though it did nothing to avoid the bite. Those jaws closed on his shoulder with alarming strength, large, sharp teeth sank into his skin and muscle, slicing through both with ease, and then encountered his bone, ultimately breaking and shattering it to pieces. Draco cried out at the onslaught of pain, his world narrowing down to the mess his shoulder indubitably became, the werewolf’s saliva already spreading like poison through his veins.
In his agony, while Draco missed the moment when Greyback’s teeth withdrew from his body, he did realize when the heavy weight of the beast unexpectedly lifted from his torso. Panting, his throat raw from screaming, he forced his eyes to open, blinked away the dizziness. Through his blurred vision, he saw that the werewolf had backed off slightly – its bloodied mouth was opened seemingly in a grin and its eyes, strangely cognizant, fixed on him.
In spite of pain and blood loss, Draco somehow managed to stay relatively focused. He was aware why Greyback wasn’t ripping his throat out at that very second. He remembered Voldemort saying “I trust you came prepared,” and he knew the Dark Lord was really inquiring whether the werewolf had ingested his Wolfsbane Potion prior to the full moon today. Draco realized his punishment had been planned right from the start, before he so much as looked at the Mudblood woman, before he even attended the meeting with his Master.
His pure blood he’d always been so boastful about was to be tainted. He was to become a monster. A werewolf.
He didn’t even have the strength to cry. The last thing he saw before blacking out was Greyback nuzzling the cheek of the dead woman lying a few metres away from Draco. There was a hungry growl, and then a sound of tissue being ripped from the bone. Chewing. Loud gulping. Then, blissfully, silence.
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The Werewolf is a Draco/Hermione story :) I'd love to hear your thoughts!
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The Werewolf