LOVE, LUST, & DRACO MALFOY
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. Duh.
SUMMARY: Werewolf!Draco. Werewolf!Hermione. Draco makes the ultimate sacrifice to save his mother. Back at school, he commits an unforgivable act and now he and Hermione are forever linked. Can they resist their new animal attraction or will Hogwarts be split in two by their new allegiance to each other?
Sacrifice was not something taught to Malfoys, especially not those in the Death Eater sect. Draco had been taught the darkest of arts. He'd been taught to inflict torture and enjoy it, to disregard the pleas of the lower people… Hell, he'd even been taught knitting once. But sacrifice was beyond him. It required caring for someone other than himself and he had found long ago that caring only led to pain. Not the good pain where your toes curl up and your eyes roll back in your head with forbidden ecstasy. It was the type of pain that emotionally scarred and left useless its victims.
He didn't think he was capable of that sort of love. He didn't even think anyone cared for him that way, not selflessly and whole-heartedly. He was more or less correct. It wasn't until Voldemort had called the Malfoys to his secret fortress in Spain that Draco realized there was someone willing to fight for him.
After Lucius' failures and incarceration, the Malfoys were indebted to the Dark Lord. They owed blood. Draco's arm was marked. There was no way he could escape, nowhere he could go that he wouldn't be hunted. His mother knew this too well. Either they did as Voldemort asked or they'd be killed. Something about the mad glint in Pettigrew's beady little eyes told Draco the little bastard had been promised the honor.
He watched as two hooded figures clutched his mother's arms and walked her off to the dungeons. She didn't scream, didn't struggle. Draco wasn't sure what the Dark Lord was saying. He liked to talk too much and it had never really been relevant whether Draco heard or not.
Chaos. Mayhem. Kill all Muggles. Plan this. Plan that. Potter, Potter, Potter… Agh. It was all so fucking repetitive that Draco shut it off. But now, he just didn't care. All he cared about was the look his mother gave him just before they took her away to do who knows what. It was a look telling him to be brave.
Bravery… they didn't teach that to Malfoys either. They taught honor. Honor was given to those who survived and the honorable rarely survived. He didn't get up from his knees. He didn't run after her. He didn't offer himself in her place. She had done that for him. It should be him being dragged away now, not this distant figure he once believed was cold and indifferent. Not the only person who ever actually loved him.
"What do you want of me?" he whispered, looking off to the now closed dungeon door from his place on the floor.
The Dark Lord stopped his speech and Pettigrew squealed in anticipation. A punishment always followed an interruption, even a whispered one, but only silence filled the room.
"Look at me!" Voldemort finally hissed, slamming his fist on his stone chair so hard that he drew blood.
When Draco tore his eyes away from the door, everyone saw the change and stiffened. The fear was gone, replaced by a sense of duty and resentment, the seeds of defiance. And Voldemort knew he had lost one of his dear possessions. He had lost the only one close enough to Potter, to Dumbledore… his prized Trojan horse.
And there was only one solution now. When the horse can no longer run, death is sometimes better for the owner than waiting for the horse to fail.
Draco had to be retrained or killed.
Hermione sat at the Weasley's breakfast table, Crookshanks rolled up in her lap. The house was considerably quieter now that the twins had gone off on their own and Ginny spent most of her time consoling Harry out in the yard. She hoped that taking him outside would liven his spirits more and raise suspicions less but Hermione could see right through them. Something was growing there, a possibility she had foreseen long ago.
Ron sat across from her at the table, making swirly shapes in his oatmeal with his wand. She had seen something between her and Ron as well. She wasn't as dense as he was. She had admitted her feelings to herself, mainly out of courtesy to her own sanity, but a glass wall seemed to stand between them. Even now in the kitchen she had grown to love and feel nothing but warmth for, she saw only the boy through the wall.
"Hermione, you're staring off again," he mumbled, levitating his bowl over to the sink. He'd stopped eating which she interpreted as concern for Harry. She wondered if he knew about Harry and Ginny. He was dense, she knew, but was he blind? A small smile curled at her lips at the thought of Ron's reaction to his best friend and his only sister.
He raised an eyebrow and repeated his statement. He called her name twice before she finally snapped out of it. "Yes, Ron," she answered, continuing to smirk. "I stare off. I mumble. I'm two fries short of a Happy Meal. Why does this still surprise you?"
He furrowed his brow and went to reply lamely when Mr. Weasley popped up on top of the table, sending Hermione's oatmeal bowl crashing to the floor. He had someone with him, a long, thin man with pale blond hair. He was shirtless, obviously tortured and bleeding. His long hair fell over his eyes but Hermione knew those long-fingered hands anywhere.
"MOLLY!" Mr. Weasley bellowed. "MOLLY! COME QUICK!"
Ron scampered out of his chair and helped his dad and the stranger down. If Ron knew, he would never lay a finger on the injured man. The hatred Ron was capable of was only otherwise seen in Beverly Hills high schools and fire ant colonies. Hermione didn't know Malfoy but she knew he was capable of a similar hatred. After all, he hated her with all his heart, every fiber of his being. And now, here he was in her beloved kitchen, her sanctuary, bleeding from cuts all across his back, one next to each other in neat rows.
This was worse than the Unforgivable Curses, she thought.
Mrs. Weasley's pudgy self came running down the stairs, her duster still in hand, and screamed bloody murder as soon as she saw her new guest. Hermione just froze and stood aside. She knew she didn't have the upper body strength to move "the body" and she wasn't sure if she was capable of aiding her enemy so easily.
So many harsh words had been spilled from his vile lips, so many insults. So many, many tears. Just thinking about that ridiculous sneer, her hands clenched into fists and a ball of something sour gathered at her throat. But seeing him like that.
It's not Malfoy, she told herself. It's just a boy in need of help. You're better than him. You can do this. No one knows healing charms better than you. You can do this.
She unclenched her fists and gently ushered Mrs. Weasley aside to get a better look at his wounds, a determined look on her face. Everyone stopped screaming and watched her watch the unconscious Draco, examining him. It was almost as if all she saw were the wounds, like his skin was made up of puzzle pieces needing to be put back together.
Harry and Ginny came running in hand in hand, quickly separating when Ron shot them a suspicious look. "What's going on?" Harry asked, frantically worried they'd come for him, that yet another person had been hurt in his name.
"Is that--" Ginny began but couldn't finish the statement. Instead, her hand shot up to her mouth should she utter his name by mistake. "Is he--"
"He's badly hurt," Hermione analyzed, scanning the bruises leading down his side, into his pants. She gently unbuttoned his pants to get a closer look, careful to look only at the bruise. "Damn. It looks like he's been kicked in the side repeatedly so he's probably got some internal bleeding too. I don't even want to say anything about his back. Let's just pray the wounds weren't enchanted."
Everyone nodded, the bruises and cuts too disgusting to deny Draco treatment. They weren't going to let him die, as evil as he was. Whoever sent him to Mr. Weasley knew this. A trap? They all thought it but no one said anything. It didn't matter.
"Let's take him to Percy's room," Mrs. Weasley mumbled, still too stunned to speak. "Hermione, can you handle the wounds?"
Hermione gulped. What had she gotten herself into?
"Yea, the baser ones. He really needs to get to St. Mungo's though. I'll heal him enough so he can be moved but I don't know the extent of it all. I'm not a healer!"
"Do what you can, love," Mr. Weasley gently offered so Hermione would calm. He placed a hand on Draco's filthy, pale shoulder and a pop later, they were upstairs. The other ran upstairs to meet them. "I can't be moving him anymore. Every time I do, he jerks about in pain."
Ginny slid her hand up Harry's arm and he pulled her into a hug so she wouldn't have to look as the wounds resealing under Hermione's care. The others left but Harry and Ron stayed, lingering cross-armed against a wall -- wands at the ready -- to make sure she'd be safe.
Draco returned to consciousness sometime around noon the next day but he didn't open his eyes quite yet. It wasn't because he was afraid. Alright maybe it was but he would never admit it. He was terrified of who he'd see when he opened them. Would it be Pettigrew? His own Aunt Bella? Voldemort? Who would have the honor of torturing him next? If he kept his eyes closed maybe they'd think he was dead and leave him be. He breathed slowly so they'd think he continued to sleep.
He didn't know why but the pain had gone. He was… comfortably numb. He was resting on something better than the stone floors of the Spanish dungeon but not by much. Ah how he missed his beautiful silk sheets in his beautiful blue room back at the Manor. He'd even take the bed in their weekend cottage in Barbados. That one came with a merry troupe of maids at his beck and call, no nonsense ugly-as-dirt house elves to do his bidding.
Hmm… maids… Sometimes he wondered if all he ever thought about was sex.
"I think he's awake," someone murmured on the other side of the room. It sounded far away but he knew the dungeon was longer than that. This was somewhere else. The voice sounded so familiar, so innocent, but he'd been fooled before. Images of his 15th birthday party paraded through his mind. Forget the maid. Oh to be 15 again with Antonia Birkingstock undoing his trousers behind the maple tree in his backyard.
"Hey! You prat! Wake up!" sounded Ron. Hermione shushed him for being rude as Ginny walked over and poked Draco in the arm in one of few spots left unmarked. He'd have scars, they were sure.
Draco, recognizing the sounds at last, opened his eyes to find himself strapped to a bed in an obscenely small room with plain, dreary walls. On the wall opposite him, next to the only door, were his worst enemies looking possibly more uncomfortable than he was in this lumpy bed. The girl Weasley, the stupidest Weasley, Potter, and the curious-looking Mudblood walking toward him.
He groaned dramatically and sneered. They all waited for him to speak. They waited for a thank you but all they got was a simple, "Well, Weasley, if you wanted to strap me to your bed so badly, all you had to do was ask."
Hermione chuckled and looked to Ron who nudged Harry with his elbow and hissed, "I told you he was gay!"
Draco scoffed, though it sounded more like he was clearing his raspy throat. "And I only have eyes for you."
At this, Ginny and Hermione snorted but Harry and Ron refused to play along. Hermione ignored them and drew even closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, utterly fearless. She'd seen this boy from head to toe, wounded. She had the upper hand here but he still followed her with vicious eyes, scooting away from her as much as possible.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a disapproving smirk. "I saved your over-polished corpse so you best be kind to me or I'll put those cuts right back where I found them."
Her tone surprised him. She was so calm, collected, with not a hint of hatred. It was rare among Slytherins, nonexistent among his crowd, but surely contagious. His sneer died down and was replaced by his own flirtatious smirk.
"That so, Granger? Get a good look, did you?"
Unfazed, she replied, "Yes and you're hardly impressive. Your wounds however, are. So shut up while I check these bandages. Muggle medicine saved you some, I hope you know… Whoever did this to you was a right foul git."
His mood instantly soured. "Yes, they were."
Her eyes shot up at him, catching the change in tone. "Were?"
He leaned in closer and, with his cruelest tone, whispered, "I killed them. Impressed yet?"
She gulped as surreptitiously as possible and shook her head. "My best friend survived Voldemort. Countless times, I might add. It takes a lot to impress me, you son of a bitch. Being a murderer is not one of them, even if they deserved it."
Ron sputtered something followed by, "Malfoy bloody well deserved it. If they weren't dead, we'd send the bastards who did this a fruit basket."
Hermione ignored Ron and went to undo one of the restraints on Draco's right arm.
"WHOA! WHOA! WHOA!" Harry, Ron and Ginny all shouted, taking a step towards her. She withdrew her hands, her heart beating fast.
"I've got a half naked man in a bed! The last thing I need is you lot getting my heart or his racing! Now everyone stop acting like ticking time bombs. The sooner he's healed, the sooner we can send him off to jail with his father where they belong."
At that, Draco dropped all jokes, all civility. He didn't speak. He tensed up, causing some of his remaining wounds to sting but he didn't complain. Only Hermione noticed it and shooed the others away, locking the door behind her.
"Sorry about that," she whispered, almost to no one in particular, and finished undoing the makeshift ties on his right side so he could turn and she could inspect the enormous bruise he had yesterday. He only flinched once when her warm fingers first touched his clammy skin. It worried her what these people had done to him. She remembered third year when he screamed bloody murder for a little slash from a hippogriff. It hadn't been that long, right? He couldn't have changed so much in three little years.
Then she remembered herself three years ago, so naïve and innocent, back when her front teeth reached the floor and her hair had its own zip code. She wasn't quite as homely looking, she thought, but then neither was Draco anymore. His muscles had become more defined, especially on his arms, and he'd grown a good 5 inches since they first put that blasted Sorting Hat on.
She started humming a random melody and he relaxed, though neither spoke. He didn't say thank you after she retied him to the bed and he didn't say thank you as she left. There was just nothing to say.
Mr. Weasley came to check on Draco later that night. Ginny had brought him his food and untied him. Arthur almost expected him gone and was surprised to find him sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading one of Percy's books that he kept under the bed. Unlike the ones under his mattress, these actually had plot though most were boring. It was easy to see from his face that Draco read them out of boredom rather than interest. Arthur made a note to have Hermione bring him better books.
"How are you, son?"
Draco snapped his book closed and set it back down on the bed. "I'm fine, sir. I appreciate you bringing me here and saving me but I'd appreciate you not calling me son. I have a father and I'd rather not think of him while I'm here."
Arthur nodded and sat down on the very edge of the bed, as far away as possible. His hand and wand were hidden inside his cloak but it didn't fool Draco. Arthur was no idiot. Draco could still turn on him.
"Have you been treated well? I know my children can be… rambunctious."
Draco smirked, thinking of Ginny's terrified stare. "I'm not filing any complaints."
Arthur livened up instantly and drew closer. "Excellent! Now, I think we can get down to business. Severus said you were—uh, well, that you suffered a…"
Draco cut him off. "I was bitten, yes."
Arthur gulped and went on to stutter, "Ca-Ca-Can I see the bbbite?"
Draco sighed and lifted up the flimsy shirt he'd been given, revealing the large chunk of skin taken off his right shoulder blade. Hermione had to have seen it, he realized. Did she know what it was? Did she hate him, fear him? Why the fuck did he care all of a sudden?
"Would you happen to know the next full moon?" he asked.
Arthur gulped again, this time so loudly that Draco could hear his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I could find out for you if you'd like. I think it's a few weeks away."
"Good," he replied, picking up the makeshift cloth ties that had once bound him to the bed. "Because these things aren't going to be enough. I don't care where you put me. Bury me if you want. Just don't let me hurt anyone."
Hermione stared off again at the stairs from the living room couch, surrounded by books. They'd gone to Diagon Alley earlier that day in search of books for school. Harry had even gotten Draco's books though she didn't know why. He was in no condition to return to school, wouldn't be for some time if they even allowed him back.
"Hermione, are you… worried about him?" Ginny asked. Hermione snapped out of it and found Ginny sitting next to her. They both jumped.
"Malfoy. We're not heartless, Hermione. I'm worried about him too. There's something different in his eyes. It's like… he's alive, and he's really hurt. I wish there was something I could do."
Hermione's lips curled into a smile but she didn't have the energy to keep the smile for long. It was true that she had stayed up night after night, checking up on him, worrying about him. When Hermione put her heart into something, into someone's care, it was hard to do things halfway. It was hard to give up on him just like that.
"Yea, I'm worried about him." An understatement but it was what Ginny wanted to hear.
Ginny didn't know the whole truth, neither did Ron or Harry. Even if they saw it, they wouldn't know what it was. That bite, she'd recognize anywhere. In two days, they'd be back at Hogwarts. In five days, Draco would go wild, and she couldn't be there to help him through it.
"Fuck it," Hermione hissed to herself, making Ginny catch her breath. She never cursed. Ever.
She watched Hermione race upstairs three steps at a time, a few books in her hands. She paced in front of the door before knocking twice and going in, not bothering to wait for a response. Draco was lying down shirtless on the bed, books at his feet. His eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep.
"What do you want?" he growled. She dropped the books on her lap and sat down on the little bed beside him. He scooted so she'd have space, an unconscious reaction to her presence. It was slowly becoming easier to be around her, easier than it had been with his "friends."
"I know your secret."
Draco's eyes opened wide. "I'm a Malfoy. I have a lot of secrets. You'll have to elaborate."
"You're a werewolf, aren't you? That bite on your shoulder. Do you know who bit you?"
He propped himself up on his left elbow and watched her, shaking his head. "When a giant wolf comes at you, you run away as fast as you can. You do not however stop to ask the nice monster his name."
"Voldemort has his pet werewolves. I thought maybe you recognized one of them."
He shrugged. "Nope. What's it to you? Once the Order puts me under special protection, you'll never see me again."
"They'll probably hide you among Muggles, you know."
He scoffed. "So I repeat. What's it to you?"
"It'd be… a shame."
The intrigue peaked. Did she think about him the way he thought about her, constantly to the point of obsession? He sat up and leaned in a little closer, trying to see the lie but not finding it. Suddenly hit with an awkward need to speak and change the subject, he took the books from her lap and started reading the covers.
Two were on werewolves, one was Count of Monte Cristo by Dumas, and one was an advanced potions textbook. She tapped the latter twice with her index finger. "There's a way for you to keep your human mind when you change. Professor Lupin taught it to me. Snape would make it for him. You drink it, you'll be fine. Just think of the change as… your period. Instead of Maxi Pads, you get a quick, flavorless potion and nap it out."
He was silent for some time, avoiding her eyes by focusing on the cover of the book. "Why are you telling me?"
"We're the good guys, Draco. It's what we do. I know sometimes the others forget that but I don't. I don't know if you're a prisoner of war or if you're an ally but if they don't give you the potion, you know where to come to."
"You can make it? You'd make it for me? I don't have to become that beast?"
She nodded, smiling brightly. Her hand subconsciously covered his on the bed and, rather than shoo her away or insult her, he did the first grand gesture of thanks Hermione had ever received from a Slytherin. He brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.
She cleared her throat and stood, feeling a tad uncomfortable. "You have a lot of reading to do. I always say the best way to deal with a situation is to learn as much as you can about it. And it beats anything Percy's likely to keep in this horrid little place."
He nodded and opened up the first werewolf book, running two delicate fingers over the notes she'd made in her margins.
She headed for the door but turned back quickly and said, "I leave for Hogwarts in two days. I don't know where you'll go but, if you can, owl me. I know I can help. I know you want me to."
They shared a nod and that was the last they saw of each other.
The next morning, Hermione came in to check on him the way she always did but only found an empty bed. The sheets she'd snuck to him the second night he was there were folded up on the bedside table. She knew she wasn't supposed to care, that he had been a pet project and nothing more, but she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of loss, even a little anger that he had left without a goodbye. Malfoy always had to have the last word.
He'd taken the books with him though, even the ones Harry had gotten him at Diagon Alley. Wherever he was now, at least he had Edmond Dantes to keep him company.
CHAPTER TWO NOW UP! Reviews are better than half-naked Dracos. And yes, she gets bitten next chapter. Muahahaha!!!