Title: Fearless

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Warnings: Creaturefic (Draco is a werewolf), slight violence, slight angst

Rating: R

Wordcount: 4700

Summary: Draco Malfoy is a werewolf. Harry Potter is a human Auror on whom even a werewolf's sensitive nose can smell no fear.

Author's Notes: Another Wednesday one-shot written at the request of gracerene, who asked for Draco as a werewolf or vampire and Harry being hopelessly drawn/attracted to him. Hope this satisfies!

Fearless

Harry saw it happen.

Saw the moment the sleek silver wolf, who was being paraded up and down in a collar as an exhibition of how safe werewolves were who took Wolfsbane on the night of the full moon, turned and slid out of the harness fastened around its neck and shoulder. The creature turned and leaped from the floor as if its feet had springs, aiming straight at Minister Shacklebolt, who had come close to have his photograph taken with the werewolf.

It was a spirited assassination attempt. The werewolf had to be on Wolfsbane; you couldn't just let a wild wolf out of its collar and trust that it would go for the right target. This one soared above several people's head to get to the Minister, which just proved it.

And Harry felt the heavy stickiness in his muscles that kept him frozen uselessly to the floor, and he saw the moment when Draco Malfoy, acting on an impulse of misguided heroism for the first time in his life, stepped in between the attack and even jumped up so that the werewolf crashed into his chest and bore him to the floor.

The werewolf must have known then that it wouldn't get away before the Aurors Stunned it. Its teeth flashed, and it took out its frustration out on Malfoy, who flailed and screamed and generally carried on for the few seconds it took the Stunners to hit. Harry's was in front.

Too late for Malfoy, though, who lay on the floor out cold and bleeding from a deep slash just above his breastbone.

Harry hadn't been in time to save him or Kingsley, but he was the one who moved forwards, shifted the drooling werewolf off Malfoy's chest, and began casting the spells that would soothe the pain from the bite and clean up the tainted blood so it wouldn't spill on the floor and potentially infect anyone else. Someone came up and hovered beside him and muttered something about taking away the "new werewolf" for testing and registration.

Harry's glare made the man look as if he was going to piss himself. But even better, it got him to sod off. Harry turned back and conjured a blanket that he put over Malfoy, and stood guard by him until the flapping and running and shrieking and clucking that accompanied any sudden violence had died down.

Then, and only then, did Harry let the Healers take Malfoy away to St. Mungo's. And he made sure he was by his side all the way.


Draco smelled him the moment he woke. There was the disorienting jerk in his nostrils and sinuses, the sudden feeling that he was more than he had been, as the scents came flooding in.

Then he remembered what had happened. Remembered what he was now. Draco lay still, so stricken that he didn't even know if he had the strength to put his hands over his eyes.

But his scent was still there, thick and masculine and dark in a way that Draco didn't know how he understood, and then there was the cooler non-scent of a cup of water being moved up to his mouth.

"It's important to keep hydrated," Potter's voice said quietly from the side, seeming to echo in his newly sensitive ears. "I learned that from tending Teddy and helping him through his first transformations."

Teddy? Draco thought witlessly before memory caught up and he remembered the little godson Potter was always appearing in the papers with. He opened his mouth then and drank, sniffing constantly. He was looking for something, something he didn't know how to identify, and he turned his head to the side.

"There," said Potter, and took the cup away. He waved his wand, and a spell Draco had barely been aware of, a hovering half-dome that had kept a plate covered and fresh, dissipated. The scent of red meat flooded to Draco's nostrils then, and he felt his throat and his stomach both vibrate with a growl. "Hungry?"

The meat was almost raw; Draco wasn't sure if the red liquid it was floating in was sauce or blood. He stared at Potter as Potter put the tray across his lap, and Potter studied him gravely and didn't look away.

"The hunger for raw meat will lessen in a while," said Potter.

"How do you know all this?" Draco would have asked, but the meat on the plate muffled the words his mouth would have produced. He was grateful for that a second later. Of course Potter would know these things if his godson was a werewolf, which he had literally just told Draco. Draco didn't need to embarrass himself any further than he already had.

"I've had time to study and learn it," Potter continued, as if he was listening and had decided to answer Draco's question after all. "Lots of time." He sat down beside Draco's bed and turned his head away, courteously, leaving Draco to grisly enjoyment of his meal.

Draco finished slurping down the meat in three minutes and sniffed again. There was something else that should be there, he thought, some tantalizing scent he had expected to haunt the air, and couldn't find. Something that had nothing to do with blood and hunger and the hunt.

Or maybe it did. The annoying thing about trying to define what wasn't there was that he didn't know what definition of presence he should measure it against.

"Are you still hungry?" Potter managed to ask it without sounding patronizing. He simply took back the tray again and moved towards the far side of the room, as though he had a carcass stored there or something.

"Why are you the one who's here?" Draco asked abruptly. "Where are my parents? The Healers? My friends?"

"I'm not sure that anyone has informed your friends yet," said Potter, turning around and cocking his head at Draco. "The Healers are being far more cautious around you than they need to. Your mother was here earlier, when you were asleep. She said she would come back this evening, after she talked things over with your father."

"My father is taking it the worst," Draco stated flatly. Honestly, he hadn't needed to ask. He knew already.

Potter nodded. "I don't know what he said. I only know that your mum came to hospital in response to my owl, but he didn't. And your mum said something about him taking it hard."

"You talked to my mother," Draco said, but there was hardly room for wonder in his voice. So many other things, too many other things, had happened. "You didn't answer my question about why you're here."

"I saw what you did," said Potter, and the intensity of his eyes was like the sun. Draco turned his head away, remembering that he was a creature of the moon now. "It was faster than anyone else in the room reacted. And even though we Stunned the werewolf a minute after that, you still paid the price for our slowness. Our carelessness."

"It was stupid, was what it was," Draco muttered. "It's not like I have the training to take on a werewolf."

Potter only continued as though Draco hadn't said anything. "You were so determined, and you're going to suffer for it. I decided that I couldn't let you suffer more than absolutely necessary. So I stayed with you, and healed the wound for what good that did, and accompanied you here."

Draco stared at him, but before he could ask another question, the door opened and a Healer came in. She was tall and grey-haired, with the hair coiled on the back of her neck the way Draco had sometimes seen his mother wear it, which marked her as of his mother's generation. She was running through some sort of checklist on a piece of parchment in front of her, and she didn't look up at him for a long moment.

Draco sniffed, and now he knew what he'd been looking for, unable to define. She stank of a dark, drear, meaty scent. She stank of fear.

Potter didn't. He looked steadily at Draco, a little sadly, and clapped his shoulder when the Healer hesitated, but he didn't smell at all afraid.

It's because he has a werewolf for a godson, Draco told himself, but that shouldn't prevent someone from being wary around other monsters. Maybe Potter was just mental. It wouldn't surprise Draco if he was. Most people couldn't go through an experience like the war and stay sane.

"Mr. Malfoy, you'll need to spend a little time answering questions, and some more time after that talking to the Ministry representatives..."

The door opened at that point, and his mother came in. Draco reached out a hand instinctively, and she clasped it without hesitation, thank Merlin. She smelled of fear, but it was distant and dusty, not marking her as active prey.

"Draco," she whispered.

Potter slipped out in the middle of the proceedings, and Draco's gaze followed him for a moment when he did it. He was taking that tempting scent, or lack of scent, with him.

Could the lack of something also be a smell?

Well, I'll find out, Draco told himself, leaning back against his pillow. What do I have now but time?


Harry saw him next when he was shepherding Teddy down the corridor towards Malfoy's room. Teddy was complaining that all the astringent smells in hospital hurt his nose and dragging his heels, as usual. But a louder voice came from ahead of them, and Harry looked up and saw Malfoy out of his room already, leaning against the door as he argued with the Healers.

Harry blinked, reluctantly impressed. Werewolf bites were usually incredibly draining. It might take a week for a patient to stumble a few shaky steps.

But Malfoy was on his feet, if supported mostly by the door, and it had only been two days. He turned his head when he saw Harry, his eyes darkening a bit, and his nostrils flared wide as he sniffed.

Teddy looked enchanted, trotting towards Malfoy and holding out one hand. "Are you Draco Malfoy?" he asked. "I'm your cousin, Teddy Lupin." His nostrils were working at the same time, and a communion Harry knew he couldn't understand was exchanged between them.

Harry smiled. He had thought Malfoy would appreciate having another werewolf to talk to, even if it was one seven years old, and Teddy would love to have someone else who could talk to and spoil him. Andromeda hadn't been enthusiastic about Teddy meeting the Malfoys before when they had never made a single motion of reconciliation towards her, but she had agreed that circumstances had changed.

Especially if Malfoy's father did reject him, or something equally stupid...

Harry thought Malfoy could use some friends.

"You're my cousin Teddy," Malfoy repeated, and there was an edge to his words that Harry would have taken Teddy away from at any other time. But Teddy only nodded and gave a slight growl back, and it was clear that this, too, was part of the communion.

Weirdly, Malfoy glanced at Harry for a minute before he went back to Teddy. Harry reckoned it was just to make sure some adult was there with Teddy, though, and he hadn't come here on his own.

"What does this place smell like to you?" Malfoy asked, and gestured around the corridor.

"Horrible," said Teddy promptly.

Malfoy gave a sound that was half-choke, half-laugh, and Harry smiled wider. Yes, this would be good for both of them. No one deserved to feel like an outcast, or a reject, and Teddy might be able to teach Malfoy a little about being a werewolf.

He liked it when things worked out well. Seven years of peace hadn't taught him to be less fond of happy endings.


For some reason, Potter was with him during his first transformation.

Draco honestly hadn't worked out how that had happened. Of course Potter brought Teddy to visit all the time, and he told Draco some things he knew about the legal restrictions on werewolves, and he helped Draco obtain Wolfsbane, and he prevented some people who thought of this as "revenge" on a Death Eater from harassing Draco during the registration process.

Maybe Draco did know how this had happened, come to think of it. The major puzzle was how all the steps had added up to this particular end result.

"You have everything you need?" Potter was conjuring padded cuffs onto the shackles that would hold Draco at first, until he had made the complete transformation and they-well, Potter-had evidence that he hadn't lost his mind the way some werewolves did during their first moon even with Wolfsbane. It wasn't like Draco would know if he was the one in the middle of losing his mind.

"I don't need the bloody padding," said Draco abruptly. He could feel the restlessness itching under his skin. It seemed like something else might leap out of his body soon, as if it would have been wearing him like a loose cloak and nothing else.

Well, in a way that's true.

Potter turned and stared at him as if Draco was a stranger. "But what if you hurt yourself without it?"

"It's going to hurt anyway," Draco muttered, thinking of bones bending and breaking, face and limbs lengthening. "What's a little more pain?"

"I can't do anything about the pain of the change itself," said Potter simply, "any more than I can for Teddy."

"I wasn't asking-"

"But that makes some more pain unacceptable." Potter said that calmly, and went on charming the cuffs.

Draco stared at him. Potter showed no sign that he thought something was wrong. Draco finally cleared his throat. "Shouldn't you be with Teddy?" Teddy was just down the corridor, in another specially-strengthened and soundproofed room in Draco's aunt's house, but Potter still would want to spend the transformation with him.

Potter gave him a steady glance. "This is Teddy's ninety-second transformation. It's your first. He told me you would need me first, and I agree."

Draco just stood there and watched as Potter finished charming the cuffs and beckoned Draco over so he could fasten them around Draco's wrists and ankles. And Draco went, because damn, this was strange.

He looked up into Potter's face and sniffed again as Potter crouched down beside him and explained what Draco could expect when he first started shifting. Still no scent of fear, and Draco had picked it up on everyone else, even his mother who held so steadily to his hand, even on Andromeda who had a werewolf grandson.

Draco didn't know what it told him. Except that Potter was mental, maybe.

But nice to be around, since he was the only one other than Teddy who didn't smell like prey.


Harry leaned against the house with a smile that felt as if it would crack his face, and watched Teddy and Draco bound and circle in the clearing near the house. Sometimes they ran into the woods that Andromeda had planted and magically enlarged around her property, and then Harry used a broom to accompany them; they ran far too fast for a human to keep up with them, no matter how well-trained.

But this moon, they seemed content to stay near the house and hide behind logs and rocks and the corners of the walls and jump out at each other. Teddy was a small black-haired wolf, at least right now. Usually his coat changed to match whatever the current color of his hair was when he went through the transformation.

Draco...

Draco was a big, rangy, silver-furred wolf whose long limbs carried that wiry body surprisingly well. And his fur did shine, sort of like the moonlight, which always surprised Harry because he had never seen any other werewolf's that did that. He watched as Draco stuck his nose under Teddy and flipped him end over end. Teddy got up squealing and snarling and rushed back in to nip at Draco's legs.

Draco was never less than patient with Teddy, dancing softly around him and mouthing him rather than biting him, even though Teddy was one of the few people his bite wouldn't be able to hurt. It was as if being a wolf had given him a whole new side to his personality, one that was more like an older pack member's way with a pup than the usual human side Harry knew.

Although, he had to admit, even that human side had changed for him in the last few months once he got to know Draco better. He wouldn't have been able to even think of him by his first name if it was otherwise.

Draco's mother came and had tea with them both on the regular, and with Andromeda and Teddy. Draco had met Harry's friends and exchanged more than a few wary glances with them, plus some magical theories with Hermione. He had thanked Harry for staying with him during his first transformation and sent him a birthday gift.

Harry leaned an elbow against the wall and watched again as Draco leaped in the air, a curving, shimmering shape like a crescent shed from the moon overhead. Teddy raced under him, but was too slow to get away, and found himself pinned against the ground anyway.

Harry called him Draco. He had given him a birthday gift in return. He had tried to negotiate with Draco's father by letter, even though Lucius showed no indication of relenting. He had woken one night from a bad dream that Draco was being chased through his house by werewolf hunters and Flooed over right away, only for Draco to come downstairs tousle-haired and yawning and ask what was the matter. And then Harry had had to avert his gaze, because he didn't understand the rush that flowered in the middle of his belly.

Sort of the one that did now, as he looked at Draco rolling over and over as a wolf, and then popping back to his feet and letting his tongue loll out at Teddy.

Draco was just attractive. That's all there was to it. Maybe it had taken a werewolf bite for Harry to see him that way, but hell, it had taken conquering a mountain troll together to make him friends with Hermione. He just seemed to work that way, sometimes, by dramatics.

Draco turned around and cocked his head at Harry. Harry raised a hand and waved at him, and not only because he wanted to. Teddy was creeping up behind Draco, and Harry had the feeling that Teddy needed all the help he could get.

Draco leaped into the air and turned around before Teddy could make it to his tail, though, and sent Teddy flying with another well-placed nudge. Then he glanced back at Harry with bright eyes, his tail wagging and sending ripples of reflected moonlight flying in several directions. Harry smiled back, wondering what he was thinking.


Harry still didn't smell like fear, but he did smell like something new.

It, again, took Draco a while to identify it. He had smelled things like it on various people since his transformation, but nothing exactly the same. While the thick fear-scent made him hungry, rendering the various people around him almost prey, this was sort of like the delicate, sizzling scent that rose from a human who was hungry himself. But not exactly the same, and Draco chased the answer through labyrinths of curiosity before he finally resolved it one day when he turned around in the middle of changing his clothes after a transformation and found Harry's eyes locked on him.

Desire.

Once again, Harry Potter refused to be exactly the same as other people.

Draco, being Draco even if he was also someone different now that he was a werewolf, began to test his theory. He began to brush up against Harry as he left rooms. He leaned in and sniffed his neck obviously when Harry was saying something else. He would turn around in the middle of a gambol with Teddy and show off the full, shining profile of his wolf side to Harry.

The desire wasn't the same for him in human and wolf form, Draco found quickly. Harry was drawn to the human side of Draco in a way that made Draco glance down and expect Harry to be hard any second. But he must have found a charm that suppressed that kind of thing, maybe because they were around Teddy so often. Draco never saw it.

When Draco was a wolf, though, Harry's scent was full of flower-like admiration for his beauty. And he began to hear the slight noises Harry made, low in his throat and stomach, when Draco leaped or rolled or casually butted something aside to reach it when he was in his wolf form. Harry didn't want to sleep with the wolf side of him, Draco thought, but he liked the strength of Draco then, the grace with which he moved, the way one might find beauty in any large predator.

Draco hadn't thought at all about whether he would be able to date now that he was a werewolf. He'd been rather busy coping with survival, and trying to make his father see that Draco was still his son even if he was changed.

Now, though...

Where else was he going to find someone who could accept both sides of him, someone who had already helped him cheerfully, without complaining, and just because he admired what Draco had done even if it was a stupid mistake?

Draco only had to consider when the perfect time was to make his move.


It was a few weeks before the full moon, and a strange restlessness seemed to have come over Draco. He had been transforming for eight months now, Harry thought. Had he suddenly decided, as some seemingly settled werewolves did, that he couldn't stand this anymore and he wanted to run away from everything? Or search desperately for a cure?

For some people, that cure was madness or suicide or going rogue. Harry found excuses to invite himself over to Draco's flat several times a week and station a Monitoring Charm in his house.

And then one evening, Draco's face appeared in the flames, and he said urgently, "Harry, can you come over? It's important. Please..." His voice trailed off into the kind of whine or whimper Harry had heard Teddy use when he was being bullied by some of the kids at his primary school.

"Of course," Harry said, and barely waited for Draco to get his head out of the way before he doused half his carpet with Floo powder and catapulted through the flames.

When he came into the middle of the room, he didn't immediately see Draco. Harry turned at once to face the stairs, afraid that Draco might have gone up them and locked himself in the transformation room he'd built at home, even though he'd spent every transformation so far at Andromeda's house. "Draco?" he called.

Then a pair of arms so strong that Harry couldn't break out of them clasped him around the waist, and a hot, husky voice whispered in his ear, "Did you want me?"

Harry opened his mouth to say that Draco ought to have been able to tell that, with his keen sense of hearing and the way Harry had been yelling for him, and then Draco bent down and sucked softly at the side of his neck.

Harry had dreamed about that. Well, not so much this specific scenario as Draco holding him and doing something like this, something which would bring his dangerous teeth near his throat and hold him like that. There was the edge of danger there, but Harry trusted Draco absolutely, and he knew the danger would never do more than tease him. He slumped with his head cradled on Draco's shoulder and moaned, turning further and further to the side so Draco could get even more of his neck.

"I'll take that as an affirmative answer," Draco rumbled.

"Yes, bloody yes," Harry said, and reached up to grab Draco's neck in turn and roll himself back towards Draco before he fell. Draco looked surprised for a second, and Harry grinned and reveled in it, clapping his lips to Draco's, wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulders, holding him and rocking him like that as they kissed.

Draco's scent rose all around him, an animal musk thick enough for Harry to smell. Harry laughed aloud and curled one leg around Draco's, nudging at him until he lost even his balance and they fell, Harry on the floor and Draco's hand shooting out to cradle at least part of his head from hitting the fireplace.

"You're bloody mental," Draco panted, looking down into his face.

"No, just lustful," said Harry. "You can probably smell that on me."

Draco's eyes took on some of that sheen of silver they had when he was a wolf, and he leaned in and nuzzled Harry's temple. Harry turned his head again so they could lock lips once more in a proper kiss.

They wrestled there, rolling back and forth, Draco growling at him, Harry managing his best imitation. Draco easily pinned and held him, of course, but that didn't stop Harry writhing and laughing and kissing and trying to get away.

Draco's hand slipping down inside his pants did. The immense strength of his fingers made Harry's eyes roll back. Then he slid his own hand into place beneath Draco's clothes and squeezed warningly, breathless at the size and readiness of the cock beneath his touch.

"You smell so wet," Draco said, and began rutting and rolling on top of Harry, his hand rubbing at the same time.

Harry didn't have as good an angle, but he kept up gamely. And honestly, this was exciting enough for him: the cage of Draco's arms around him, the brightness of his eyes as he lapped at Harry's face with his tongue, half-licking and half-kissing, and the weight of his body. Harry arched up against him to feel it, and held his eyes in challenge.

A soft snarl bubbled up from Draco's chest, building and building and soaring, and Harry laughed aloud and let his own rise. They sang a little duet together on the floor in the moments before Draco came, absolutely soaking Harry's hand.

Harry followed in the next second, heart hammering as if Draco was hunting him. He had imagined that, too, sometimes, with the wolf getting ready not to devour him but to fuck him, and he wondered if he could tell that fantasy to Draco.

From the keen glance Draco gave him as he leaned back on his elbows and knees, he might already have known.


Harry smelled like satisfaction and a full stomach. Draco leaned in to the side of his neck and sniffed again and again, soaking that up, and the desire, and the lack of fear that was Harry and Harry alone.

Harry reached out and slid his hand slowly up Draco's throat. Draco shuddered. He had already discovered a dislike in himself, since his change, for being touched or held there, but of course Harry was the exception again.

Always, Draco thought, and wrapped his arms so firmly around Harry that he would have difficulty in breaking away at all.

Harry didn't seem to want to. He sighed happily and whispered, "We can do it in a bed, later?"

"Yes," said Draco.

"Yes," Harry echoed, eyes shining up at him as fiercely as any werewolf's, and Draco was certain this was the beginning of something new, a change as great and as profound, in its own way, as the ripples of the change brought about by the full moon.

The End.