Harry Potter 1. One: Recrudesce

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Just a cell phone whose lock button doesn't work correctly.

**One: Recrudesce**

The halls of Hogwarts were decidedly more somber upon the return of students the summer after the war ended. Entering the Great Hall seemed to be a sobering reminder of the loss of loved ones than a cause for celebration at the return to school. So many lives had been taken all over the grounds of both Death Eaters and students alike. Most potent in the minds of those who returned to Hogwarts was the death of Fred Weasley, who had always brought such joy to the school with his twin brother, George. George had shut down the joke shop that he and Fred had been running at Diagon Alley, and the boarded up windows had served as just one more reminder of the loss of such a great personality when students had been buying their supplies before catching the train to the school.

The house tables were emptier as well, but none more so than Slytherin, though this was not because students of that house had _chosen_ not to return. The reputation of Slytherin prior to the war had been correct in assuming that many of them would follow Lord Voldemort alongside their parents. This led to many of their deaths, as well as the imprisonment of those who had survived. A very small number of the older Slytherin students had returned to Hogwarts to finish their classes, one of whom was followed by a great hum of gossip: Draco Malfoy.

It was no secret that his family had been loyal to Lord Voldemort. And it was no secret, either, that they had been acquitted of all crimes and wrongdoings after the war. _The Daily Prophet_ had made sure of that. Still, prior to the Sorting, almost every conversation in the Great Hall centered on his presence at Hogwarts. No house but Slytherin could sympathize with his situation, but in true Malfoy fashion, he wanted no sympathy. He sat at the table, his back straight and his head held high, waiting for the Sorting to commence with his fellow classmates.

Across the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley sat with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. He was staring across the room at the back of Draco's head, sneering at the glistening silver-blond hair. He hated the bastard. He couldn't believe that he had been allowed back at Hogwarts after all the things that he had done and said. Ron didn't care that he and his family had been acquitted. Draco was as foul as foul could get, and Ron didn't think he could stand being in the same room as him.

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione scolded him, following his gaze over her shoulder. She shook her hair, her long brown curls falling around her shoulders halfway down her back. The longer it had gotten, the more tame it had become. Hermione thought she should thank gravity for that, unsure of what else could have caused the change.

Ron's blue eyes shot to meet her dark brown eyes, the sneer never leaving his face. He shook his head at her, his disdain for Draco clearer than the sky on a perfect spring day. "I don't know how you're all right with spending the year in the same dormitory as that bugger. I don't care if he is Head Boy - which he doesn't deserve, by the way - wish they had chosen who was Head Boy by anything _but_ grades - he's lower than low."

Hermione sighed, unsure herself of how she planned to make it through the year. As Head Girl and Head Boy, she and Draco would share a common room with separate bedrooms. This meant seeing each other on a daily basis. Hermione had thought the taunting she had received for the previous six years of school had been bad, and she had only had to deal with him a few days of the week. But to see him and be required to speak to him about duties on a daily basis? That seemed like the epitome of a punishment for something Hermione didn't even know she had done wrong. Her appeals to Professor McGonagall to bend the rules and allow her to stay in Gryffindor tower, as she had since her first year, had been denied.

Hermione glanced across the room at the back of Draco's head and contemplated what the next year had in store for her. Would he be a foul git? Would he even speak to her when it wasn't required for Head Girl and Head Boy duties? Hermione almost wanted him not to speak to her unless he had to. But then, living with someone, even if it was just sharing a common room, seemed like it would be extremely unpleasant if there wasn't at least some level of respect and - dare she even think it? - _friendship_ between those living together. They couldn't very well pretend the other didn't exist except when they needed something. That was just preposterous._  
_

Her mind returning to Ron, she shrugged. "I don't know either. I suppose we'll just have to learn to get along. That is what this rebuilding is all about now that the war is over, isn't it? Getting along with those we disagree with?"

Ron shook his head. Hermione had always been more of an optimist than he was, not to say she was a full-tilt optimist. When he thought about it, she was more of a realist than anything.

"Hermione is right," said Harry from across the table. He made it a point not to stare at Draco over his shoulder and kept his eyes fixed on Ron. "He may be a right foul git, but he was acquitted of the crimes committed during the war. We may not like him, but that doesn't change the fact that he's back at Hogwarts or that he's Head Boy."

Harry looked as though he had eaten something sour when he said those last two words. It seemed to pain him to say that they should try not to hate Draco. Ron shook his head again, his ears flaming red.

"It's because of people like him that my brother and father are dead," Ron growled, glaring at Draco's head again. "He doesn't deserve freedom. He deserves to rot in a cage at Azkaban while he waits for a Kiss from a Dementor."

It was Harry's turn to shake his head. But before he could speak, Professor McGonagall had burst through the doors of the Great Hall followed by a number of first years who looked scared and worried. Looking at them, Harry wondered if he had been that small and scared-looking when he had first entered the Great Hall for the Sorting. He chuckled to himself as he realized that he had probably looked even more terrified than those entering the room now.

As every eye in the room followed them to the front of the room to where a stool sat in front of the High Table, Draco was thankful for the relief of knowing that he was no longer the center of attention. Normally, he enjoyed being talked about whether it was good or bad. But since the war had ended and he had made his decision to return to Hogwarts, he had known that he would not receive a warm welcome from anyone within its halls. The fact that he was Head Boy would only exacerbate the gossip and the hate that he knew would be thrown his way that year. His authority would be questioned by everyone, and he wasn't sure he had the snark that he used to have to tell them off. It felt odd being the one everyone hated now. He knew that he had never been well-liked, but before the war he had his family's good name to use to scare those around him. Now, the Malfoy name was dirt. Yes, they were still rich, but the power they had once possessed was far gone.

Draco's eyes followed the first years to the front of the room and as the Sorting began, he zoned out. It wasn't unusual for him to zone out like this now. He often reminisced on the past, mostly the war and the terrible things that he had done. Those memories were getting easier to block out though, the bloody ones where he was killing people he had gone to school with. But one stuck with him no matter how he tried to push it to the back corner of his mind. The fangs, the pain, the howls of anger and suffering... That, coupled with the training he had received - and excelled in - as an animagus had created a very volatile combination. Draco was almost constantly on edge, straining to maintain control.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the tinkling of silverware against a glass. Professor McGonagall stood at the podium before the High Table, looking out at the students before her. Draco was surprised at how quickly the Sorting had gone by. Or had he lost track of time in his memories? Looking around him at the tables that were now almost full of students, he decided that he had simply lost track of time.

A hush fell over the room as Professor McGonagall took a breath before speaking. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy the food."

A smirk pulled at the edge of Draco's lips. The first speech that the Headmaster - or Headmistress, now - gave was always short. The more important speech was always saved for after the students had eaten their fill of the feast that was currently surfacing on the gold plates before them. The first years looked at one another, bewildered at not only the speech they had just heard but also at the food before them. Draco was sure that they had never seen anything like it.

Not saying a word, he filled his plate with everything he could get his hands on. He had found that his appetite was extremely large compared to what it had been in the past. He attributed it to his newly discovered..._talent_. He had filled out greatly since the war, as physical altercations and war will tend to do, but he was still sinewy - the perfect Seeker. He was slim, but by no means weak. He had grown quite a few inches over the past six months, now clocking in at around six-foot-three. His new appetite made it hard for him to get full and he had found himself eating five or six times a day to maintain the level of energy he deemed necessary to do all that he wanted to do with his day.

Draco sighed as he wondered how he would get in all those meals during the school year, what with classes and the Great Hall only serving three meals a day. _I suppose I'll have to make a couple trips down to the kitchen_, he thought. _Most likely, I'll have to go between classes or during my free period._

He looked up, across the table. Blaise Zabini was eating the food before him as though he hadn't seen food in weeks. Draco and Blaise had never been close, but seeing as how they were two of the few remaining older Slytherins, Draco figured they would have to get to know each other if they were to make it out of the year alive and sane.

"How was your summer, Zabini?" asked Draco, opting for a safe opening line. He wasn't quite sure what Blaise's opinion of him was, as Blaise was one of the few Slytherin students who had no ties to Voldemort during the war.

Blaise continued to chew at the large bite of turkey in his mouth, but gave Draco a look that said, "Give me a moment."

Once Blaise had swallowed his bite, he said, "It was quiet, thankfully. It was nice to spend time at home with my mum and her newest husband. This is number seven. Hopefully he lasts more than two years. I'm getting tired of the funerals. How was yours?"

Draco cringed on the inside. He didn't really want to answer that question, as his summer had been quite interesting and full of self-discovery. Instead of getting into the gory details, he shrugged. "It was all right, I suppose. Father and mother wanted to 'bond' as a family, so we spent a lot of time out of town, away from everything."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but he wasn't being truthful either. He had spent most of his summer in random towns, doing his best to adapt to the changes he was undergoing. His father and mother, however, had stayed at Malfoy Manor, repairing the damage done there and attempting to regain their social standing by making appearances at all the right places and saying all the right things to the all the right people. Draco hadn't decided for sure that he would return to Hogwarts until the last day that he had to send the letter back, July thirty-first. When he had signed that he would be honored to take the position of Head Boy and return to Hogwarts and given it to his owl, Anders, he had felt an unusual apprehension for the coming year.

Blaise nodded as if he understood. "I can imagine that, after everything that happened this past year, you'd all want to get away."

Draco did his best not to sneer with contempt at the off-handedly rude comment. He knew Blaise meant no harm by saying it, but it hit a nerve in Malfoy. Though many things had changed for him, his pride in his family name remained intact. His mind screamed that Blaise had no right to bring _that_ up, and his blood boiled. He took a deep breath though, composing himself, knowing that getting into any kind of argument would end badly, not only for himself and Blaise, but for everyone around him. And he wanted to set a good example for the younger students as Head Boy.

"Yes," said Malfoy, trying to smile, "they've had quite the year. We all have, really."

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted as the food on their plates disappeared, replaced almost immediately by desserts. Draco frowned down at the sweets in front of him. Oddly enough, he had found that he had lost all taste for candies and ice cream. It wasn't that he disliked them, per se. It was more that he didn't enjoy them. They all made his head and stomach hurt horribly for a couple of hours.

Blaise, on the other hand, was shoveling the candy into his mouth. Draco wondered how he did it. Even with his appetite, he couldn't eat that much that quickly.

He must have looked perplexed, because Blaise stopped for a moment, grinning. "I have a high metabolism and I'm pretty much a bottomless pit for food."

Draco nodded slightly. "I see."

They sat in silence then, Draco with his hands folded in his lap and Blaise with his hands in the sweets.

Professor McGonagall took the podium once more after the sweets had been on the table for fifteen minutes. The Great Hall quieted without the glass this time, and she smiled out at the students. "I trust you all enjoyed your dinner?" It was obviously a rhetorical question. "I can tell that you're definitely enjoying dessert. To those who are returning to Hogwarts, I'm glad to see you back again. My deepest condolences to those who lost loved ones this past year."

Her eyes seemed to fall on Harry, Hermione, and especially Ron as she spoke this last sentence. It almost seemed as though she was speaking only of Fred and Arthur Weasley, though Ron knew that many had lost people during the war.

"As always, I must make a few announcements before you're all off to bed," she continued. "The forest at the edge of the grounds is strictly off limits to students. Any student found wandering the halls after hours will be dealt severe punishment by their head of house." At this, she fixed Harry with a stern look. He smiled back at her sheepishly. "Quidditch try outs will be at the end of next week. First years are not allowed broomsticks, but you will begin flying lessons with Madam Hooch next Thursday. With this, I bid you all good night. First years, follow your house Prefects to your dormitories. I'll see you all at breakfast tomorrow."

The desserts vanished from the plates before the students, who all stood. The first years clambered over the bench-seats quickly, looking for the shiny badges with the "P" that denoted their Prefects.

"Hufflepuff first years!" Harry heard Hannah Abbott calling out. "Follow me, Hufflepuff first years!"

Harry sighed and stood. He and Ron were Prefects this year, which meant they were going to get to introduce the new Gryffindor students to the ghosts, the moving staircases, doorways, pictures, and, most importantly, the Fat Lady.

"D'you remember the password?" Ron murmured to Harry as they stood and waved, watching the swarm of first years headed their way. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, Ron," he said, "it isn't hard to remember. It's 'smores.'"

"Right," said Ron. "I knew that."

Hermione snickered from her seat at the table. As the group of first years assembled in front of the two boys, she stood. The eleven-year-olds looked at the three of them, awed to be in their presence. Harry had no doubt that their parents had told them all kinds of heroic stories about himself and his friends. He grinned down at their eager, awestruck faces.

"Ready?" he asked. They nodded eagerly. "Then away we go!" Hermione hung back, as Professor McGonagall had asked her to do. She waved as Ron and Harry disappeared from the Great Hall, then turned to face the High Table. All the teachers save Professor McGonagall had cleared out. Looking around the Great Hall, she saw that she and Draco were the only students left in the entire room.

Professor McGonagall waved for Hermione and Draco to follow her as she walked around the podium and headed for the exit.

"I trust you each had a relaxing summer?" she asked.

Draco merely grunted.

"Yes ma'am," said Hermione, walking quickly to keep up with Professor McGonagall's brisk pace. "Very much so."

"Good, good," said Professor McGonagall. "Now, the Head Boy and Head Girl dormitories are on the fourth floor of the castle, which is where I am taking you now. As you can imagine, your things have already been moved to your rooms."

They were already on the fourth floor, and Professor McGonagall was turning down corridor after corridor, leading them deeper into the labyrinth that was Hogwarts. Hermione worried that she wouldn't be able to find her way to her classes.

"There is a list in each of your rooms of your duties as Head Boy and Head Girl," continued Professor McGonagall, finally coming to a stop in front of a portrait of an old man smoking a pipe in a rocking char. Draco couldn't help but think that it was one of the more boring paintings at Hogwarts and wondered why they had chosen that particular one to guard the Head Boy and Head Girl's dormitory.

"The two of you may divide the duties up between yourselves," said Professor McGonagall, turning to look at them. Hermione and Draco stood in silence, staying as far away from each other as possible without looking too obvious. "There is also a list of the passwords to each of the house dormitories. The password for your dormitory is 'truffles.' The paintings seem to have an affinity for food this year, though I haven't the foggiest why. I'm calling a meeting with all of the Prefects, as well as the two of you, tomorrow morning at seven o'clock, so I'd recommend getting plenty of sleep. Good night."

With that, Professor McGonagall whisked herself down the corridor, back the way that they had just come from. Hermione and Draco looked at one another, unsure of what to say. Hermione felt like his steel grey eyes were boring into her soul as their eyes met. She had never really looked at his eyes before, or really him for that matter. Each time she had looked at him before the war, she had only seen a prideful git who hated her simply because her parents were Muggles. The way his eyes looked into her made her feel a little queasy.

"Er - I suppose we should go inside," Hermione finally said, feeling uncomfortable.

"I suppose so," Draco murmured, looking to the painting finally. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding as he said, "Truffles."

The Old Man swung open and Draco motioned for Hermione to enter before him. She hesitated, looking for some form of spite in the action, but, finding none, she stepped through the hole into a lavish common room. There was only one large, plush couch, black with crimson, yellow, green, and blue pillows on it. Hermione immediately recognized these as the house colors and smiled. There were two large armchairs on either side of the couch. All three of these surrounded a coffee table that sat in front of the biggest fireplace Hermione had seen in Hogwarts to date. The rug beneath the coffee table was soft beneath Hermione's feet, even through her shoes. The fire crackling within the fireplace was inviting and Hermione felt as though she were home almost immediately.

Draco entered behind her, taking in his surroundings and nodding, pleased. They looked to one another again, unsure of what to do now that they were in their common room. As their eyes met once more, it was Draco's turn to feel a bit uncomfortable. As Hermione's chocolate brown eyes met his, his blood seemed to catch on fire. He knew his eyes had begun to cloud over. He quickly looked away, trying to take discreet deep breaths to calm himself down.

_It would do you no good to lose control your first night back at Hogwarts,_ he told himself. He had grown into the habit of talking to himself to calm himself down. Some might think it crazy of him, but logical thinking made him relax. If he was logical, he didn't feel. And if he didn't feel, his blood wouldn't boil, his heart wouldn't start to beat faster, and he would stay in control. That was the most important thing to him now. He didn't even wonder at that moment _why_ his blood had started to boil when she looked at him.

Not to mention that a meltdown now would attract a great deal of attention to his whereabouts. His travels over the summer had also acted as a way to throw some of the Death Eaters still loyal to Lord Voldemort's ideals and not in Azkaban yet off of his trail. They were unaware that he was returning to Hogwarts this year and he liked it that way. They held quite a grudge against him and his family for being so "fair-weather" to the cause. If he hurt someone at Hogwarts, it would be all over the news and they would be sure to find him then. Draco liked being alive; he intended to stay that way as long as possible.

Hermione looked at the ground. "I assume my room is the one on the right."

Draco's eyes were drawn to the door farthest from him. A large, ornate wooden "H" decorated the door. He held in a chuckle.

"Well, obviously, Granger," he said, trying for his old snippy tone. "I don't recall having an 'H' in my name, so unless your friend Potter has something to tell the world, that would be the Head _Girl's_ room."

Hermione scowled at the implication that Harry was a female. She wondered if she shouldn't have agreed with Ron at the feast about Draco rather than defending him now, remembering exactly why she had always disliked him so much.

"You haven't changed one bit, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, turning on her heel and walking to her room.

As he watched her walk away, he almost regretted saying what he had.

"You have no idea," Draco said under his breath, heading toward his own room across the common area from Hermione's. "Not the slightest clue."

* * *

Author's Note: Teaser, anyone?

_He felt his blood go on fire again, as it had when they had made eye contact when they had first entered their common room. This grounded him back to reality, and he realized where this was headed and how unsafe it was for her right now._

Come back and see me! Read and review, please and thank you! Constructive criticism is always welcome!


	2. Two: Dreams

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Except for a kitten more adorable than your life.

**Two:**** Dreams**

Draco was running. Branches and leaves slapped him in the face, stinging and cutting him, yet he pressed forward, not daring to look back for fear of what he might find behind him. Roots seemed to jump out of the ground, attempting to wrap themselves around his ankles and pull him to the ground so that his pursuer might catch him. His breaths came in short, quick bursts and he wondered how much longer he could run before his legs gave out. The burning sensation in his lungs told him that he didn't have much longer before he was caught.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder as he entered a clearing in the woods, sure that he wouldn't trip. Fifteen yards behind him at most loped a large, white wolf, its dark eyes trained on Draco. His eyes widened in terror at the size of the animal. It had to be at least a hundred and ninety pounds and would have been eye-level with him if he had stood in front of it. However, Draco had no intentions of doing that. It was pure muscle and rage, from what Draco could see, and there was no way that he would make it out of that altercation alive, even if he had his wand and could breathe well enough to cast a spell. He turned his head back around, resolving never to look back again. Instead, he dove back into the throng of trees and bushes as he made it across the clearing, hoping he could make it to somewhere that could offer him at least a fraction of the protection he needed against the beast behind him.

He ran for what felt like ages longer. His legs began to grow heavier, his breath was even shorter, and he was tripping more and more often. Draco could practically feel the wolf's breath on his neck. Finally, he tripped but couldn't right himself before falling to the earth. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and waited for the worst. Rather than the sharp pain of teeth in his leg or arm and the weight of the wolf on top of him, Draco felt nothing. He waited a moment, keeping his eyes clamped shut. What was the wolf doing? It hadn't chased him all this way just to let him walk away unscathed.

Draco slowly opened his eyes, unsure of whether to believe was he was seeing. Above him stood...himself. It was like looking into a mirror. Draco sat on the ground for a moment, awed by what he saw before him. He managed to scramble to his feet, looking his doppelganger over. He looked around suspiciously for the wolf, but finding no trace of it, opted to scrutinize the man in front of him.

The doppelganger had his same tall, lithe figure. His shoulders were broad, his arms and legs sinewy. His posture was impeccable, just as Draco's was. His hair was white-blond and reflected the moonlight in a sort of halo around his head. His aristocratic features matched Draco's perfectly: thin lips; sharp, thin nose; high cheekbones; arched brows; nary a wrinkle to be found on his porcelain skin. The only thing that seemed to differ between Draco and his copycat were their eyes: Draco had steel grey eyes that, when one looked from the right angle, seemed to sparkle a light blue; this other Draco had dark, black pebbles for eyes. They seemed to be almost dead, as though their owner could feel nothing - as though the owner wasn't really a person.

Draco stumbled backwards and away from the doppelganger, tripping over a root and falling. The other Draco began to advance on him, his lips spreading in a wide grin. The closer he got to Draco, the more Draco could see his teeth. Long, sharp fangs coming towards him - snapping at him - then tearing into his arm as he screamed wildly in pain...

0000

"MALFOY!" he heard a voice scream. There was a tone of concern in the voice. His eyes shot open as he sat straight up in bed. He looked around, taking in his bedroom at Hogwarts as his heart raced. It had only been his home for a few days, but he had never been happier to see a room in his life. There was a loud banging on the door.

"MALFOY!" he heard again, finally recognizing the voice as Hermione's. Draco turned to look at the clock: 4:37 A.M. He ran his hands through his hair, thanking Merlin that it had only been a dream and that he hadn't really been torn apart by his copycat. He could hear some muttering outside of his door, then a muffled click. The door banged open and before him stood Hermione in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and her underwear, having obviously just been woken up. She looked half-asleep still, her hair in a state of dishevel he hadn't seen since their first year. Her sleepy brown eyes scanned the room, growing more and more alert as the seconds passed. Her wand was raised as though she expected some sort of threat.

Finally, Hermione's eyes fell on Draco sitting in his bed. He was shirtless, and she wasn't sure whether to avert her eyes or not. He met her eyes for a moment, watching her take in his appearance, making sure that he was all right. He took the moment to look her over as well, still somewhat asleep and in no control of his actions. She was extremely slim. Draco could see very little of her torso because of the oversized Chudley Cannons shirt she wore - he assumed it was Ron's - but her legs were out in the open. She was obviously strong - war will do that to people. She had some of the best legs he had ever seen, and that was saying something. The more he let his eyes rove, the more he woke up and the more aroused he was becoming.

He felt his blood go on fire again, as it had when they had made eye contact when they had first entered their common room. This grounded him back to reality, and he realized where this was headed and how unsafe it was for her right now. His eyes had surely clouded over, betraying the fact that he was feeling something very strong. Draco considered himself lucky that Hermione's eyes were elsewhere, seeming to check him over for wounds or anything that might be considered "not good," otherwise she might have seen what lurked behind his eyes._  
_

"I heard screaming," she murmured, looking uncomfortable. She lowered her wand but remained on edge, gripping it tightly.

Draco cursed himself. "Bad dream," he whispered, looking out the window above his desk. A half moon looked back at him through the panes of glass, almost taunting him.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked. Her belly had flipped as she had looked Draco over, taking in his lithe form. His skin was perfect, shining in the moonlit room like a light. She was half-asleep, unable to control herself entirely, and found herself drawn to him by some sort of almost feral attraction. She didn't want to leave right then. Maybe it was her maternal instincts as a female, but she felt something in the air that said Draco was not all right by any definition of the word.

Draco nodded, still looking out the window. He was still trying to calm himself down, and having Hermione sticking her nose into this wasn't going to help him. He could sense her worry, though he didn't know _why_ she was worried for him. They weren't exactly on the best of terms - never had been, really.

"Are you sure?" she asked, taking a step toward his bed. Draco's eyes slid from the window to her immediately and she stopped in her tracks. He sneered at her from his perch on his bed, swaddled in his silk sheets.

"Even if I wasn't, what help would _you_ ever be to me?" he lashed out, knowing even as he said the words that they were inaccurate. If anyone would be able to help him out if he wasn't all right, Hermione Granger was the girl for the job. However, he didn't _want_ her help, or anyone's help for that matter. He was dealing with this on his own and Hermione would only add fuel to the fire in his blood that would lead to a very problematic series of events. He didn't even want to imagine them. "Get out, Granger."

Hermione's face hardened. She turned her nose up at him. "Well pardon _me_, oh great Head Boy, for coming to check on you as you had a bad dream," she spat out, turning on her heel to the door. She slammed it behind her, not bothering to replace the locking charm she had disarmed to get into the room.

Draco sighed and leaned back into his pillows, staring at the ceiling.

0000

The next night, Draco relived the same nightmare and woke screaming again. And again, Hermione had rushed to his room, unlocked his door, and left in a huff of indignation when Draco spat some sort of insult at her for checking on him. Their exchanges during the day were becoming more and more strained due to these altercations, and Draco was starting to get weary of sleep. The worse he slept, the more irritated he got, which in turn meant he was more likely to lose control. He _could not_ allow that to happen.

When he had the dream for a third night in a row, he went to Madam Pomfrey and asked for a Dreamless Sleep potion, telling her that he was having nightmares that were making it hard for him to sleep. Madam Pomfrey had obliged, giving him enough potion to last him the rest of the month. He couldn't help but be relieved that he would _finally_ be getting some decent rest. Quidditch try outs were coming up the next week, and as the captain of the team, he would need to be in top shape to choose the team that would, hopefully, bring Slytherin back to their prime.

Hermione, on the other hand, was dreading the Quidditch season's start. She had been bombarded by Ron and Harry for the first week about Draco enough - mostly Ron, of course - that she was sick of the whole lot of them. She could only imagine how bad the pair would become once the rivalry between houses was kindled by the sport. She had been burying herself in her studies, doing her best to block out the constant hum of Ron, Harry, and even Ginny about the upcoming season. The only solace she took from knowing what was in store for the coming weeks was that Draco would be in the common room much less frequently as he would be busy doing captain-y things for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

She couldn't wait to have the dormitory to herself for a while. Maybe she could bring Ron back for a little snogging by the fire. Not that Ron had been particularly interested in snogging of late. Or anything to do with Hermione, really. She couldn't really blame him, if she was being honest with herself. Her classes and duties as Head Girl were taking up most of her time, and soon Quidditch would be taking up most of his free time. She could already see that their relationship was doomed to fail - right now, at least.

Hermione had been trying to work up the courage to tell him that they should wait until they were done with school to date again for the majority of the week, since she had realized that juggling Ron with her other priorities was not going to work out in either of their favors. Something would end up suffering, and Hermione was not willing to allow that something to be her grades or her responsibilities as Head Girl. And Ron would just have to understand that.

The Friday of the first week of classes, Hermione marched up to Ron in the library during their free period and tapped him on his shoulder, tearing him away from a conversation about Nargles that he was having with Luna Lovegood. She looked soberly down at him, dreading what she was about to have to do. But her logic won out, as it always did.

"Ron, could I speak to you for a moment?" Hermione asked. "Luna, do you mind? I'm really sorry to interrupt."

Luna smiled up at Hermione from her seat and shook her head, standing quickly. She skipped away, waving at Ron over her shoulder. When she had disappeared around a bookshelf, Hermione slid into the seat that Luna had vacated. She folded her hands on the table and looked at Ron. This wasn't going to be easy, she knew that. Although they had only been together for a couple of months, she knew that there were strong feelings between them. She didn't like the idea of hurting him.

"So," said Ron, "what's up?"

Hermione looked down at her folded hands with a furrowed brow. She had planned exactly how to say this before she had come to the library, so why couldn't she remember what it was that she wanted to say?

"Well - I - er... Really, Ron, it's that - I can't -" Hermione was having trouble finding the words. Ron stared at her from across the table, bewildered. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "I have a lot on my plate this term, Ron," Hermione finally said. "It's not easy to juggle it all: Head Girl duties, classes, homework, studying, dating. I'm having issues keeping everything balanced, lately."

A look of surprised understanding lit up Ron's face. He looked down at the table in between them, unsure of what to do or say.

"It's not that I don't care about you," continued Hermione. "It's just that I have so many other requirements that I have to worry about right now and I'm not giving you the attention you deserve. I want us to wait to date again until after we're done with school and have settled into a life outside of Hogwarts. Can you understand?"

She looked at him hopefully, willing him to look up at her. He nodded slowly, meeting her eyes. He looked sad, but she could tell that he understood. She didn't know how things between them would be for the next few weeks, seeing as they would be forced to be around each other by their mutual friends, but she knew that soon enough they would be back to normal and no one would feel awkward anymore.

Ron stood from the table then, giving Hermione a shaky smile as he walked away. She watched him go, his tall frame looking odd next to all of the empty library tables that didn't even reach as high as his waist. She sighed, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her but also feeling as though a hole had been punched through her stomach. It was as though she had suddenly gone empty and there was nothing there anymore. Her brows knit together in confusion, and she could only guess, from her limited experience with relationships, that this was what it was like to break up with someone you truly cared about. She didn't like it.

Hermione sat at the library table for some time after that. She couldn't stop thinking about everything, trying to see another option where they could be together and make it work. But with Ron's duties on the Quidditch team, helping Harry captain and coach the team, and as a Prefect, coupled with her studies and duties as Head Girl, they would never see each other. Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, when they weren't game days, were practice days for Ron and Harry. Hermione had meetings and tutoring sessions every day as Head Girl. They really would only see one another at meals and at meetings with Professor McGonagall, and that was hardly enough to keep a relationship going in the long run. Hermione shook her head, exasperated.

When she finally looked at her watch, she realized that she had missed dinner entirely and groaned. She would have to go to the kitchen and ask the elves to whip her up something. Again. It was becoming a daily routine for her, missing at least one meal every day. Soon the elves that worked in the kitchen would no longer know her as 'the crazy lady who invented S.P.E.W.' and would begin calling her by her name. Hermione sighed and pushed herself up from the table, leaving the library and heading down to the kitchens.

As she approached the large doors leading into the even larger kitchen, she could hear an elf arguing with a man. She stopped outside the door and listened, intrigued.

"But Master Malfoy, you've come down here three times every day apart from your regular meals," she heard an elf say. "It is against the rules to give students food that often unless they've missed all three of their meals that day."

"Then tell anyone who asks that I missed all three of my meals," Hermione heard Draco snap at the elf. She could feel her blood running hotter at the tone he was taking with the elf, who Hermione knew was just doing her job. She restrained herself from bursting through the door yet, though, curious what Draco was eating so much so often for.

"But sir, that would be _lying_," said the elf.

Hermione could almost hear the expression of annoyance on Draco's face and imagined he was rolling his eyes. "Then _lie_."

Hermione knew that it was against everything the elves stood for to lie to their masters or their employers. They lived to serve, something that had always bothered her about their dispositions. She didn't think that an elf _could_ lie, even if they wanted to.

"Look, elf," Draco snarled, "I don't care about your rules. I _need_ that food. So hop to it, right now."

She heard the sound of small feet scuffling across the kitchen floor as the elves scurried off. Hermione sighed again, knowing that Draco had probably pulled his wand out on them, scaring them into doing as he wanted. Her mind began to work overtime, attempting to figure out why Draco would need not just one, but _three_ extra meals every day. No one ate that much every day without getting rather fat, not even Ron or Harry. There had to be some outside reason he was eating so much so often. Perhaps he was keeping a secret pet that he fed the food to? Hermione immediately nixed that theory, as Draco had never seemed to like animals nor did he enjoy breaking the rules too often. And having a secret pet would be breaking the rules every second of the day. Not to mention, she would have noticed him sneaking around to take care of it since they shared a common room. No, there was some other reason he was getting food six times a day, and Hermione could only assume that he was actually eating it himself.

She decided to enter the kitchen then, pushing the large oak doors open and trying to feign surprise at seeing Draco there, as though she hadn't been listening at the door. The elves were rushing around the kitchen, some washing pots and pans from the dinner they had cooked that night and others cooking more food for Draco. At her entrance, they began cooking even more food, knowing what Hermione was there for. Draco looked shocked to see her and a little worried that she might have heard his conversation with the elf about how often he was eating. She made sure that she looked innocent as she entered the room, betraying none of the information that she had just overheard.

"Malfoy," she said, nodding. It seemed to take Draco a moment to collect himself.

"Mudblood," he said half-heartedly, trying for his patent sneer but failing miserably. Hermione could tell that Draco was unnerved by her presence. He hadn't expected anyone else to be in the kitchens, and it worried him that Hermione of all people may have overheard something that she shouldn't have. But she didn't seem to know anything was amiss, so Draco calmed down a little.

"Missed dinner again, Miss Granger?" asked a small elf. Hermione had been right: they knew her name now. Sheepishly, Hermione nodded. The elf smiled. "I'll have something ready for you in a jiffy."

Draco scowled at the warm welcome Hermione had received and she could only guess that it was due to the issues he had had getting the elves to make him more food. Hermione had to feign a coughing spasm to mask her the giggling at his expression.

"Did you miss dinner, too, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, trying to sound curious. Draco merely nodded, making it clear that he wanted all of nothing to do with Hermione, which was fine by her. She hadn't wanted to see him either.

They stood in silence for fifteen minutes while the elves hustled about the kitchen. An elf handed Hermione her food before Draco received his, and Hermione took that as a small victory over the snobbish Head Boy. They went their separate ways as they exited the kitchen, Hermione toward the library to do some research on what could possibly cause someone to need three extra meals every day, and Draco to their dormitory to devour his sixth meal of the day.

Hermione's interest had been piqued, to say the least. But she was unsure of where to begin. She opted for _Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions_ first, flipping through its pages and scanning for anything relating to appetite. She found many mentions of the word, none of which related to an increased appetite. The only time appetite was mentioned was when there was a _loss_ of appetite due to a malady.

With a sigh, Hermione took a moment to think. Perhaps Draco _was_ dealing with some sort of beast that he had to feed as often as he fed himself. Taking her chances, against her own judgment of Draco's character, she grabbed _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ from the shelves and tore through it. She found many different animals that might fit the bill of needing to be fed three times every day. She began making a list of them, nixing dragons as she remembered Norbert (who had actually turned out to be _Norberta_) and how often Hagrid had had to feed the vile creature.

_Banshee, tiger, troll, yeti, vampire, hippogriff..._ Hermione hesitated to write the last magical creature down. Was it even possible that a _werewolf_ could somehow be involved? It said in Scamander's book that werewolves, when not in their wolf form, ate two or three times the normal amount a human would. This fit Hermione's initial impression of Draco that he would not keep an illegal beast at the school. But it seemed so far-fetched that it was almost impossible for Hermione to even consider it a reason for Draco's need for three extra meals.

Glancing at her watch once more, Hermione realized that it was getting late. It was ten thirty and she had to make her rounds of the halls in thirty minutes. She intended to check out quite a few books from the library and she didn't really want to carry those around with her the whole time she made rounds. She packed her books, hoping she had time to check the books she wanted out _and_ drop them off at her dormitory two floors above her.

Madam Pince looked at her strangely when she placed _Break with a Banshee, How To Tame Tigers, The Monster Book of Monsters, Travels with Trolls, Year with the Yeti, Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology, A Vampire's Monologue, _and _Hairy Snout, Human Heart _on her desk to check out. It was rare that anyone, even Hermione, checked out eight books, especially on such a variety of subjects. Madam Pince, however, had always liked Hermione and chose to overlook the odd occurrence, taking down a list of the books and having Hermione sign for them saying that she would return them within the next thee weeks.

Hermione left the library, arms and bag laden with books. She managed to drop them off in her dormitory with five minutes to spare before her rounds began. She wandered the corridors, looking for students out of bed, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't get the conversation she had overheard earlier out of her head. What was Draco hiding? Why was he getting six meals every day? She didn't know anything, and if there was one thing that Hermione Granger hated, it was not knowing something.

* * *

Author's Note: Let's see another teaser, shall we?

_Hermione stood at her window with her arms crossed, staring down at the Shrieking Shack, unsure whether to be pleased that she had been right or terrified for her life and the lives of the students at Hogwarts._

Thanks for reading! Come back and see me!


	3. Three: Full Moon

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Except for a Spongebob Squarepants coozie.

**Three: Full Moon**

By the time Quidditch try outs had rolled around the next week, Hermione had managed to cross yeti, tiger, troll, and hippogriff off her list of possible reasons for Draco's mysterious hankering for more food. She was left then with vampire and werewolf, neither of which she found to be comforting. Ron and Harry hadn't bothered to ask her why she had seemed so obsessed with magical creatures of late, knowing that Hermione loved learning. Instead, they allowed her to pore over her library books in peace at breakfast each morning. Hermione was grateful for this, as it allowed her to get much more done than she would have if they had prodded her with questions. It also saved her from explaining that something was up with Draco, something that would surely lead to trouble between the three boys. She was an awful liar, and she knew that if she simply said that she was reading about creatures for fun, Harry would be able to see through her lies. She didn't want to add even _more_ fuel to that fire than there already was. It was better that she let them assume that she was learning for the thrill of it.

The Friday of try outs, Ginny, Ron, and Harry could speak of nothing else. Hermione ignored them, reading more about vampires. She had been extremely bored by _A Vampire's Monologue_ and she wasn't really getting any information from it, so she had returned to Madam Pince and traded the book for _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_. This book told her the habits of a vampire - their nocturnal habits. Hermione was able to cross vampire off of her list as well, because she had seen Draco outside and in the sun multiple times. He was obviously not a vampire, and if he was going to the kitchen multiple times during the daylight hours, he wasn't getting food for a hidden vampire either, seeing as vampires slept all day. She was then left only with werewolf.

Shutting the book, Hermione looked across the room at Draco. He was seated facing her at the Slytherin table, across from Blaise Zabini. The two were talking good-naturedly, something that Hermione hadn't thought possible of Draco. He always seemed so snarky and as though, for lack of a better euphemism, he had a stick up his arse about everything. It seemed impossible that he was harboring a werewolf on the grounds or that he was one himself. As she examined him from afar, her head tilted absent-mindedly.

He had filled out a lot since the war had begun. Before, he had been strong, but not nearly as obviously as he was now. He had grown almost five inches since their sixth year and was almost the same height as Ron now if Hermione did the math correctly (which she did - she was Hermione Granger, after all). Hermione could assume that, to an extent, puberty could be accredited with his new height and build, but she had never seen a boy change that much in such a short time because of puberty.

Draco was not unattractive by any stretch of the word. Hermione had never really given him as good of a look as she did now. At the table with his fellow Slytherin students, he smiled easily. She couldn't help but notice that his smile, framed by thin lips, was lopsided, a quirk that she hadn't expected in such a lineage as the Malfoy's. His nose was thin and pointed, but not in the witchy way that Muggles thought pointed noses. It was elegant and obviously aristocratic. His eyes, from what she could see from her seat across the room, were guarded, darting around the room. It seemed as though he was trying to keep track of anything and everything that was going on so as to avoid any surprises. She already knew that they were steel grey, cold as ice. But did a werewolf hide behind that elegant face? Hermione couldn't make herself believe it.

Ginny had glanced at Hermione during her conversation with her boyfriend and brother, expecting to find her engrossed in her book. Rather, she found Hermione staring across the Great Hall, her head tilted as though she were intrigued. Ginny followed her gaze to Draco, startled and confused at the look on Hermione's face: she looked perplexed, most definitely, but she also looked pleased. It was as though she liked what she saw. Ginny quickly turned back to the Gryffindor table, staring down. She stared at her food for the rest of breakfast, shaking her head when Harry tried to ask what was wrong.

Hermione's eyes didn't leave Draco for the rest of the meal. Her brows remained knit together as she thought. Ron and Harry didn't notice, and Ginny refused to look up again. She was confused enough as it was.

Once they were done eating, they stood and went their separate ways to their classes. Ron and Harry finally noticed that Hermione seemed distracted as she waved goodbye to them with her book tucked under her arm. She made her way to Double Potions without really paying attention to where she was going. Her mind was elsewhere this morning, focused on a particular white-blond boy with a secret.

0000

Friday evening, it began to rain. Draco cursed the poor weather, not looking forward to spending the next couple of hours on a broomstick in the air begging to be struck by lightning as he watched younger Slytherin students flying around on their own broomsticks, vying for their place on the house Quidditch team. He'd been extremely irritable the past few days, snapping at the most unusual things. He knew that today, on the pitch, he would be insufferable. He had already told Blaise to run the try outs, preferring to watch from the sidelines. It also made it impossible for him to give commands or say anything to those trying out, since it was Blaise's try out, not Draco's. That fact would restrain him from coming unglued on the first person to drop the Quaffle or send a Bludger at their own teammate on accident.

The rain was falling in earnest as Draco arrived at the field in his Quidditch practice robes. Blaise was already talking to the group standing before him about how the try outs were going to work. Draco hung back, waiting until the group broke apart and everyone mounted their brooms to approach Blaise.

"Everything set up?" Draco asked, placing his hand on Blaise's shoulder. The darker boy nodded, grinning.

"We actually have a decent number of people trying out this year," Blaise said. "Dunno if they'll be any good - that's up to you to decide - but at least there will be a lot of options."

Draco nodded, mounting his broom and kicking off into the air. Down the pitch from them, he could see the Gryffindor try outs under way. Ron and Harry were perched on their brooms, pointing at players and murmuring in hushed tones on the sidelines. Draco almost envied having the help of someone to choose the team that would take the field. But he refused to envy the Weasel and The-Boy-Who-Got-Lucky-and-Survived. He was above them both.

He turned back to his own try outs, watching as Blaise ran drills. There were four or five people who picked Chaser up immediately, and Draco couldn't help but get excited as he saw them dip and weave through the air. However, he was distracted when he heard the whistling sound of what could only be a Bludger headed his way from his right. He turned and saw the offending ball with only seconds to react. His eyes narrowed and he bent so that he was flush to the handle of his broom. As the Bludger soared over his back, he looked around for the guilty party that had sent it his direction.

His eyes fell on a second year named Marcus Anderson. He looked sheepishly at Draco from his broom across the pitch. Draco fought his anger, praying that he could hold it back. The last thing that he needed was to make a scene in front of not only his own team but also Gryffindor's team. He felt his eyes cloud over, darkening more than they had at any point this year. He was sure that they weren't even grey anymore and looked more like the black pebbles of the Draco he saw in his dreams. It almost felt as though he were growing fangs. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took some deep, steadying breaths. Marcus seemed to know he had caused some sort of feral reaction in Draco and slunk through the air to land on the ground and leave the try outs, guessing correctly that he had just lost his chance at making the team that year.

Draco turned his face to the sky, feeling the rain hit his face. The cool water helped calm his nerves. Opening his eyes, he stared up at the heavens for a moment, the sky deep and grey. He felt his eyes returning to their natural state and his fangs retracting. He looked back to the try outs and the next two hours went by without incident. As the try out ended, Draco walked with Blaise back toward the school, ahead of those who had just tried out. They didn't speak. Blaise knew that his input was not necessary for Draco's decision on the team. The team would be posted the next morning and practices would begin that coming Monday. It was how it worked every year.

0000

The next week flew by for Draco - literally. He spent so much time at Quidditch practices that before he knew it, it was Friday once more. He wasn't looking forward to the coming night, knowing he wouldn't be able to spend it in his dormitory and that the likelihood of him getting any sleep was slim to none.

As the sun began to set, he found the secret tunnel to the Shrieking Shack and followed it until he reached the trap door hidden beneath a rug in the Shack's floor. Hoisting himself out of the tunnel, he sat on the floor and waited for the sun to set a bit more. As the sun had almost disappeared below the horizon, Draco stripped his clothes off, not in the mood to tear his expensive pants and button-down when he changed. The sun dipped below the horizon entirely and Draco sat back on the floor and resumed waiting, this time for complete darkness and the appearance of the full moon.

He felt a now-familiar ache in his bones as he looked out the window. Draco stood with a sigh and closed all of the curtains in the small windows. The ache was growing and, though he knew fighting it was futile, he did his best to stave off the inevitable. It was one thing to control it during the day, when it was a _choice_, really, whether the change happened or not, but was another entirely on the night of a full moon, when he had no control over the change. Whether he wanted it or not, he would become a beast that night.

The Shrieking Shack had been the only place that he thought he might be able to hide to undergo the torturous change. Everyone already thought it was haunted, so any howls that came from him within its walls would be dismissed as the screams of ghouls and ghosts by anyone who heard.

Draco's insides felt like they were going to explode, as though they were trying to trade spots with his outside. Which, when he thought about it, they were. He kept the wolf inside his body, appearing to all the world as a normal human. But on this one night, the wolf would rule his body. It would trap his human form on the inside and Draco would have very little control over himself. His animalistic traits would become his only traits. It was a good thing that the Shrieking Shack was locked and charmed so that one could neither enter nor leave the room after sundown.

As the feeling in his muscles and bones grew, Draco felt his skin stretching, tearing. The pain wasn't a surprise anymore, but it wasn't pleasant. As the first tear formed in his back, he screamed in pain. The Shack was getting darker and darker and the transformation was speeding up. He doubled up on himself on the floor, continuing to scream as the skin on his arms and legs began to tear as well. Fur began to press through the torn skin. It was pure, alabaster white fur, almost the same color as his porcelain skin. The fibers were almost two inches long, and thick.

Draco felt the bones shifting in his body, his hips and legs changing the way they were jointed. His shoulders twisted at odd angles, forcing the change to four-legged beast. Again, he screamed, this time sounding more feral. It felt as though his face were being pummeled by Crabbe and Goyle at the same time. His bones were growing, tearing through his skin to form a long snout. Though his eyes were the first thing to cloud over when he almost lost control on a normal day, they remained grey throughout the transformation. They were pained now, the only remaining human feature about him.

His back cracked as it inverted itself, and finally his screams were no longer screams and became howls instead. His teeth lengthened and sharpened, becoming deadly weapons within his newly-formed snout. He finally felt his mind cloud over along with his eyes. His mind and body were no longer his own. He could see and he could think, but he was not his own. He had finally traded places with the wolf.

Draco had become the wolf of his nightmare, a huge white behemoth. His new muscles rippled beneath his skin and he snarled, energy coursing through him. He needed to run. He had to run. There was no way he could remain in this tiny room all night. Draco felt his body move, but he didn't tell it to do so. He knew now that the change was complete. He was present, but he was no longer in control. He would spend the rest of the night sitting back and watching the world through the eyes of another entity.

Up at the castle, heads turned to the direction they heard first the screams and then the howls from the small building, surprised that the Shrieking Shack had suddenly started screaming for the first time since Remus Lupin had been a professor at the school. Hermione stood at her window with her arms crossed, staring down at the Shrieking Shack, unsure whether to be pleased that she had been right or terrified for her life and the lives of the students at Hogwarts. She had agreed to take both shifts of the rounds tonight on some bogus excuse from Draco that he was exhausted from Quidditch practice. She had heard him sneak out of his room an hour before sunset, though. The previous week, she had mapped out the dates of the full moons for the rest of the year and had been prepared to stay up all night each of those nights to make sure that all the duties were carried out and to watch the Shrieking Shack to make sure Draco didn't leave it.

Hermione had learned from Remus the true origin of the Shrieking Shack's name. During his time at Hogwarts, he had also needed a place to transform during the full moon without worrying about harming anyone. James Potter's parents had been quite wealthy and were also aware of Remus's status as a werewolf. They had had the shack built on the grounds in secret and then had faked the gruesome deaths of a few people who had been long dead. From then on, once every few weeks, Remus would travel down to the shack and James or Sirius Black would lock him in to undergo the transformation. The howls that came from the shack were assumed to be the shrieks of the ghosts that were trapped there. Students avoided the shack at all costs, preferring to take the long way around the grounds in order to keep their distance from it.

Unfortunately, it was getting closer and closer to time for her first rounds. Hermione managed to tear herself from the window to grab her cloak and wand. She headed out into the hall, her heart beating wildly. She could only pray to Merlin that Draco wouldn't be able to leave the shack that night, for his safety and the safety of everyone else. She had read that young werewolves - and she was certain that Draco was an _extremely_ young werewolf - were very much not in control of themselves when they turned. Remus had been able to control himself to an extent, but not at all times. Draco probably couldn't have made himself blink in his wolf form, let alone restrain himself from hurting someone.

Draco was thinking the same thing down in the shack, his wolf form looking around the room for an exit. The door had been magicked long ago to withstand a bombardment, but the wolf tried anyways, throwing its shoulder against the wooden rectangle as hard as it could. Snarling when it couldn't break through, it turned to the windows, which had the same spell placed upon them. Again and again the wolf threw itself against anything that might afford him an exit. But nothing budged. More howling.

Draco hated this part of the change most: the waiting for morning. If he was being honest though, he hated every part of the change. He hated being out of control and practically thrown out of his own body. Over the summer, when he had moved from town to town, he had kept himself cooped up like this during the change, fearing the damage he might cause if he didn't. His wolf form's legs ached to run though, and he pawed the ground anxiously, like a horse preparing for a race.

Everything about his wolf form was wrong to him. It didn't even work correctly, really. Since he had been trained as an animagus then been bitten by Fenrir Greyback - _T__hat bloody Death Eater wolf_, Draco thought - his two abilities seemed to have morphed into one. Draco had found that it was now impossible for him to change his body into anything _but _his wolf form, and that his feral side was constantly clawing at the surface. Of course, with practice, Draco had learned to control that during the weeks prior to a full moon. And unlike other werewolves, should he want to become a wolf at any time, he could and he had control over his werewolf form because it was truly an animagus form. But every four weeks, when the moon was set to rise full, he had no control over whether the transformation occurred or not. He became fully wolf rather than animagus.

The time he spent as the wolf gave him a lot of time to reflect since he wasn't in actual control of his faculties. All Draco could really do himself while he was a wolf was think. He'd discovered a lot about himself during these times over the summer. It was part of the reason he hadn't been the same when he returned to Hogwarts. As much as he had been trying to exude the same confidence and arrogance since the start of term three weeks ago, he knew his snark was a mere shadow of its former self. Even the names he called muggleborns were no longer heartfelt. The blood feud had ended, and with its end he had begun his monthly transformations. His parents had been livid when he had told them that his belief system had changed. Mostly his father. His mother had accepted his choice almost immediately, as though she was somewhat proud of him for going against the beliefs of his father and the Malfoy family.

Lucius had gotten over things once the shock had passed though. He had accepted his son's choice, but told him that the Malfoy name had to be protected. They had standards to live up to. For that reason, Draco had to save face at school and continue his facade. Once he left school, Lucius told him that he could practice whatever beliefs he chose, but that he shouldn't expect to speak to him if he chose to view muggleborns as his equal. Draco had taken his father's words to heart, knowing he couldn't afford to embarrass his father given their precarious status in society at the moment. He had to live up to the Malfoy name and keep the traditions till he was no longer living under their roof.

And Draco didn't intend to be living under their roof for much longer. Once classes were over and he had graduated, he planned to take the money that he had saved up over the years - the spending money his parents had given him every few weeks, a hefty sum - and buy a flat in London and get a job as an Auror or work at the Ministry. And then he would be free. He didn't even care if his father denied him his inheritance or struck him from the will. He was ready to live his own life the way that he wanted to live it.

The only problem were the Death Eaters Yaxley and Antonin Dolohov. While Professor Flitwick had managed to defeat Dolohov during the final battle at Hogwarts, he hadn't been killed or imprisoned. Yaxley and Dolohov were the only remaining Death Eaters, to Draco's knowledge, who knew that he was a werewolf and a traitor to Voldemort. He had jumped from place to place over the summer to avoid their catching up with him as well as to avoid his family. His only solace came in knowing that they were unaware of his return to Hogwarts. Draco worried how long he could manage to keep his attendance a secret, though. And he wondered what would happen once school was over if Yaxley and Dolohov hadn't been captured by the Aurors yet. It would throw off everything that he wanted to do with his life. There would be no flat to call home, no job, at the Ministry or otherwise, and no settling down. It was something he preferred not to think about, and instead focused on the life he wanted - no, _needed_ - to have once he graduated.

Draco allowed himself to drift off in his plans, imagining what living on his own would be like. He would make his own choices about who he was associated with. He wouldn't be tied to his family's money anymore. He would be free, a concept that was foreign to him even though the war was over and he no longer had Voldemort's omniscient presence in the back of his mind at all times. His father had always been there in that way, though, even when Voldemort hadn't returned. Being in control of himself was going to be interesting for Draco - a learning experience.

As he lost himself in his dreams for his future, Hermione was stuck in the present as she began the second rounds of the night. What should she do? It wasn't as though Draco could help that he was a werewolf. And he wasn't doing anything _really_ harmful. He had made a smart decision to use the Shrieking Shack to transform, although it was breaking the rules to be down there. Surely Professor McGonagall, who had been long-time friends with Remus, would understand the necessity behind it. But what about the possible threat to the safety of the students and staff of Hogwarts? What if he couldn't make it to the shack one night and transformed in the school?

Hermione didn't think that she could live with herself if something happened to her beloved home away from home when she had known about it and hadn't done anything. She shook her head as she walked through the cool corridors, completely missing the two third years immobilized by fear in the corner behind a suit of armor. Her brows knit together and she chewed at her bottom lip, two tells that gave away her inner conflict. She had no idea what to do. The only option she could imagine was to confront Draco about it.

Yes, that was the only option.

0000

The first rays of sunrise were a welcome sight for Draco. His wolf form had been pacing for hours, having abandoned its attempts to exit the shack. The wolf growled, tossing its enormous head. Draco had never given it the chance to run. He had always locked himself away when he changed. He almost wondered what it would be like to run as a wolf - how the wind would feel running through his fur, how the ground would feel under his paws. But he knew that would never be an option.

Draco felt his bones shifting once more. His fur began falling away into a large puddle on the floor. He bit back the first howl when his bones in his hips popped back into their correct positions but could not stifle the howl that came when his back re-inverted itself to its prior form. His howls gradually faded to screams and after the last of the fur fell away, Draco could do nothing but lay on the floor for almost twenty minutes. His body ached, unused to the changing of his bone structure since he only allowed the transformation on full moons. As the aching faded, he pushed himself up and retrieved his clothes, pulling them on and hurrying out of the Shrieking Shack, back down through the secret tunnel.

He glanced down at his watch: seven thirty-four. He had missed the Saturday meeting for the Head Girl, Head Boy, and Prefects. Draco could only hope that Hermione had told Professor McGonagall that he was not feeling well or something of the like. He rushed up the stairs, cursing under his breath when they suddenly switched on him, forcing him to detour an extra ten minutes to get back to where he needed to be.

Arriving at the portrait of the Old Man, Draco muttered, "Truffles," and jumped through the hole. He breathed a sigh of relief upon entering the common room, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. He was exhausted and his silk sheets sounded amazing. He wouldn't get out of bed until it was time for Quidditch practice that evening, if that. He might just keep up the scam of being ill if Hermione had said that he was.

Suddenly Draco was aware that he was not the only person present in the room. He immediately stiffened, his hand reaching for his wand in his cloak. He opened his eyes and pushed himself off of the wall, looking around suspiciously. His eyes fell on Hermione, who was seated in one of the plush armchairs, staring at him with dark, tired eyes. From her expression, he could tell that she hadn't slept much the previous night either. His hand loosened on his wand and he relaxed a little, sagging back against the wall.

"Not sure you could have hexed me in your current state if you had actually wanted," Hermione murmured. Draco sighed, relieved that it was her but also annoyed that he had been caught sneaking out after asking her to cover his rounds the night before. Her hand was firmly wrapped around the handle of her wand, but she was resting it on the arm of the chair, seemingly relaxed. Draco squinted at her.

"I thought you would be in the meeting by now," he said, ignoring the jab.

"I told them that we were both ill," she snapped. "Being in close quarters like this can cause that."

Draco's eyes widened at the tone of malice that her voice carried. He had hardly spoken to the woman for the past three weeks, and, if his memory served him correctly, he had only called her 'mudblood' once. He knew that they had years of history, but Hermione had been one of the few that had been open to re-integrating those who had been acquitted of crimes back into society. She wanted everyone to get along. His confusion was evident on his face.

Hermione sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling him with a stare. "I'd like to tell you a little story." Her tone softened, sounding more normal. "Have a seat, please. And I know you didn't sleep much, but please at least _try_ to stay awake for this."

His eyes formed suspicious slits as he slid into the armchair opposite Hermione's. "A story?"

"Yes, a story," Hermione repeated. "Do you want to hear it?" She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and leveled him with a stare once more before beginning without waiting for his answer: "About twenty or so years ago, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin attended this school. They were a very curious group, all with very odd talents. James, Peter and Sirius were animagi. They each preferred their own personal animal. James liked stags. Peter liked - "

"Where is this going?" Draco interrupted. Hermione held a hand up.

"Bear with me. Peter liked rats, Merlin help him. He was odd. Sirius liked dogs, big, shaggy, black ones that loved you with all of their heart and would do anything for you. They were, all four of them, the best of friends. But Remus was a bit more peculiar than the rest of his friends. He was not an animagi. He was something else entirely, which he referred to as his 'condition.'"

"He was a werewolf, so what?" Draco's heart jumped into his throat. He wasn't angry; there was little chance of him changing forms to his wolf form so soon, so he wasn't worried about that. But he was terrified that Hermione might know his secret - and terrified of what she might do with it.

Hermione looked exasperated. "Would you just shove it and listen? I'm getting there. Yes, Remus was a werewolf. While he attended Hogwarts, he had no magical potion to suppress the werewolf on the full moon. So James, Peter and Sirius had to find some way to keep their friend safe from others and others safe from their friend on the full moon. James came from a very wealthy family, a family that would have done anything for James's friends. So the Potters had a small shack built on the grounds, with permission from the Headmaster, of course. Now, you may ask why the Headmaster didn't just give Remus the potion and not have the shack built."

"That would be the logical question." He couldn't remember the last time his heart had been beating this quickly.

"The potion didn't exist until Remus became an adult. Remus _invented_ the potion that suppressed his werewolf form on the full moon. So the only logical thing to do was the barricade the wolf in a room and keep it there till sun-up. But they couldn't have the howls of a wolf echoing through the halls of the school. It would unsettle the students. So they built a small house on the edge of the grounds with the Potters' money, faked a few deaths there the summer before the four boys returned for their second year, and it became Remus's retreat when he changed on the full moon. It was charmed by the Headmaster not to open between sundown and sunup on the full moon, and only the four boys knew about the secret tunnel that led to the shack. Now, of course, everyone knows about the tunnel. But at the time, it was secret. Students were terrified, but none of them seemed to notice the correlation between the full moon and the nights when the Shrieking Shack - aptly named, don't you think? - would shriek.

"Once Remus graduated, the screaming stopped altogether. No one really questioned it; they just accepted it. And it began again when he came to teach here in our third year, and stopped when he left. But now, for the first time in five years, it howled again last night. Don't you find that odd? A little discomforting?" Hermione seemed to be waiting for Draco's response. Her story was over, he realized. She didn't know his secret, otherwise she would have said something to him about it.

"It's a little bothersome," Draco said, trying to sound nonchalant. He pushed himself up out of the chair with a yawn. "Thanks for the bed-time story, Granger. It was...interesting."

Draco made his way to his room. He heard Hermione settle back into her seat and sigh. His hand landed on the doorknob to his room when she spoke again:

"I know what you are, Malfoy."

* * *

Author's Note: This is a little longer than the other ones, but I just had way too much fun writing the story Hermione tells to Draco about the Marauders. Who likes teasers? I doooo!

_The only problem is, since I have the ability to become this werewolf - this thing that I don't have control over - it wants to come out all the time. It realizes that it can exist at any time, so it wants to exist at all times, not just the nights with a full moon that require me to change. And I'm not sure that I can control myself if I let it out. I'm not sure whether only the werewolf will come out or if it will simply be me in the form of a wolf._

Come back and see me! I hope you enjoyed!


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