The young man rubbed his eyes tiredly, exhaling so loud he could hear it echo against the small room. He looked at the crooked clock on the milky-white walls anxiously. 4:26 a.m. The only thing that he could distract himself with was the cement blocks that enclosed him into the box-like room - well, that was being generous. It was more of a closet to him. He leaned back in his metal chair, making a clinging riiing against the unfolded table as he counted the blocks under his breath for the eighteenth time. The older man across from him, who was looking at him curiously and had sometime in the last hour taken on a red shade in his face, took this rebellion as a challenge. How many hours had the young man been in the facility? Five, maybe six? At first he had been completely silent, forced to be transferred through many suffocating rooms, with each a very different interrogator, until he found this man. Finally, a man who spoke English. Well, at least better than everybody else. Evidently, after You-Know-Who died, apparently the Ministry of Magic was now filled with a bunch of Peruvian idiots. Merlin, the young man thought to himself, I really hope my father doesn't hear about this.
"Excuse me," the man said, his choppy English rising four octaves, "I am speaking to you Mister Mafoy. If you cannot answer me I will be forced to-"
"Send me to Azkaban?" Draco Malfoy finished. "Please, do. I'm sure the fucking demetors could talk to me better than you can. Oh, my apologies, did I touch a nerve? Hell, might-as-well just bring Harry fucking Potter in here already. Doesn't he run this place now?" The man opposite of him gritted his teeth.
"Mr. Malfoy, I understand you've never endured being in custody before-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, wavering him off, "You aren't against using alternative techniques to get me to talk but you'd rather not do that because I am barely of age. Don't worry, I had at least five other dudes say that to me in the last five hours. But see, Pedro-"
"Mr. Lorenz."
"Just because of my condition, it does not mean I am the culprit for the Ministry's lack of judgement," Draco finished. "Now, as much as I love this hell hole, can I go back to school? I have finals coming up." The man squinted his eyes, snarling.
"You call your predicament a condition? Being a werewolf should be a crime," the man spat, his eyes flashing angrily. "It's repulsive. How does a Malfoy become a werewolf anyway, hmm? Wanna explain that, Mr. Malfoy?" A surge of anger flushed through Draco so fast that at first he couldn't speak. His fingers were shaking along the folded chair that he had been seated on.
"If I'm here," Draco said slowly, trying to maintain the anger that he had for so long kept in, "Because I'm a werewolf, you better go back to library and read some law books, Pedro. That is not a crime. Now if you don't mind-"
"But she has committed a crime." Before Malfoy could even object, the man's thin, smooth palm slipped a small picture across the table, spinning it until it hit the tips of the boy's blue and black nails. His fingers curled around it, his eyes evaluating the picture. In the photo she looked perfectly normal - a nice summer dress, a large smile, curly brown hair that was braided around the nape of her neck. Despite the many times he had seen her, it wasn't until now that he finally saw her. Her bangs tickled her eyebrows, she had high cheek bones and long ears. There were caramel strands mixed into the brown weave of curls coming out of the top of her head, and her eyes were like two dark moons. He let his lids cover his eyes for a moment, taking a steady breath. The last time he saw her she didn't look like this at all.
"Where is she?" Draco asked, first small, but then screamed, "Where is Hermione Granger?!" The man smirked victoriously.
"I see," the man said. "And you still don't think you've committed a crime?" Draco's eyes were wide, shaking his head fast as he tried to contain his anger.
"You judge me because of my father, but the war ended long ago. My father is in jail, and I am finally starting school again and about to finish my seventh year of Hogwarts. What else do you want from me? Just leave her alone," Draco croaked. The man smiled wider.
"It says in her file that she's a muggleborn. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, how does a young man that comes from a family such as yours date a muggleborn?" He persisted. Draco leaned back into his chair, swallowing.
"It's not as difficult to imagine as you'd think."
(THREEDASHES HERE)
He was going to die.
He remembered once, when he ran away during the summer of his first year just to get attention from his dad, ending up in a street in muggle london and witnessing a figure lying limply on the street stilly, followed along with a large puddle of blood. Like a red, haunting shadow swirling around the body. He remembered questioning how that must feel, laying there and soaking in your own blood as everybody watched. To die with nobody to say goodbye to, yet in front of an entire audience. That was his first thought after he was bitten.
The wails of a woman and the laughing of a monster came after that. He remembered practically feeling the people around him, some finding it hilarious and others stricken with fear. He thought he'd never be able to move again. To stand up, to reach those people. He could barely lift his eyelids, for merlin's sake. His father, standing in the crowd far from him, shot a disgusted glare at his arm, as if he had the audacity to judge. Draco followed his father's eyes and registered the dark gash for the first time. It stung, but the rest of his body was in so much shock that he was paralyzed. His mother was screaming his father's name, but his father didn't step towards him. Instead, his father reached for his mother and yanked her back before she could embrace her son, hissing something to her as he grasped her arms too tightly to ever be affectionate. Tears were pouring down her cheeks, screaming louder than he'd ever heard, as if trying to wake herself up from a nightmare that was already his.
"I'm going to die here," Draco Malfoy whispered to himself.
(THREE DASHES HERE)
"We should have let him die."
The sunlight beamed from the floor to ceiling window. He was wrapped in dark green blankets, in a large canopy that he had slept in a million times, but something felt different. Unfamiliar. He glanced down and looked at the bandaged arm, which now was bleating so hard he wished that something could rip it off. He had begged the healer to just blast it away – due it without magic if she had to, but she just insisted that it was pain that was making him think of such vile things. But it was more than just pain, it was something else. He didn't feel like himself. He felt different. Violated, even.
"He's our son, Lucius," a female voice reminded the other. That created a bicker to start.
"Not anymore, Narcissa. He's a monster."
"A monster? He's a boy! He's always been a boy!" And then the crying began. The soft, but still audible, crying. Draco winced.
"Do you see him? Do you see how his blood has changed him? He is no son of mine. He's a monster. A filthy, impure monster who is no son of mine."
"You're the monster, Lucius. You're the one who made him this! If you had just stayed away from that stupid cemetery-" Slap. The sound made Draco turn in his bed so fast that he forgot he wasn't himself. Though this wasn't the first time he's experienced his father's abuse, he still in took a breath. Not over his father, but his mother's bravery. His mom's face was turned away, her thin hand touching the red mark on her cheek with her mouth slightly ajar. His dad loomed over her, his fists shaking angrily. He leaned close.
"You say that one more time and you'll be with a bunch of muggles," he hissed, turning his head towards the canopy again to get one last glimpse. But as his father's eyes swept over Draco, Draco's eyes pierced him harshly. His father stepped back, gulping and a flicker of fear in his eyes. For some reason, Draco wasn't surprised his father was suddenly afraid of him but he didn't know why.
(THREE DASHES HERE)
"It seems as if the Dark Lord won't put the mark on you due to your…new state." There it was. The bomb drops. Lucius finally reveals the truth. How long had he known this? From the beginning? For weeks? Was this the resolution that the Dark Lord wanted for his failure? His mother was sniffling again. He looked up, digesting the scene. Lucius was looking at the large courtyard ahead of them, but his mother was in a woman's arms. He didn't really know the woman, probably just some other wife of a death eater, but he didn't care either way. He was just amazed that Lucius and mother were in the same room.
"So I can't have it? That's it? He won't even try?!" Draco was on his feet, his white hands clenched into balls. Lucius whipped around, the tail of his robe smacking the window, and looking at Draco with fury.
"Are you surprised? You got that bite because you were a failure, not because he thought you were strong." Lucius was a lucky man, Draco thought immediately. Since he had been bitten, a strain had begun between them and both of them, to say the least, have changed. Instead of Draco begging for attention and Lucius using him for bragging rights towards other wizards, a string of hatred and embarrassment was shared amongst them. Lucius no longer murmured his name unless he had to, and his mother believed the only way to keep Draco safe from the world was to lock him inside. Because of this, they agreed to take away his wand in exchange for living there and it was good for Lucius because if not Lucius would have been hexed by now.
"Surely," Draco's mother croaked, "The Dark Lord still has a purpose for Draco? He won't-"
"Kill him?" Lucius laughed. "No, he'd rather use Draco against me. As if he was still my son." Draco turned his head away, his teeth gritting uncontrollably. I would rather be at school then this, he thought to himself, not for the first time. Maybe he'd have to deal with Harry Potter's so called "defense group" sooner or later, but at least he wouldn't have to live with Lucius. To even hear the name "the Dark Lord" in his father's voice. But until he found a way out, he would have to find a way to survive.
"You're wrong," Draco hissed under his breath, but somewhere he knew the Dark Lord was chuckling.
(THREE DASHES HERE)
"I can't do this. I can't-I can't." It wasn't his first transition. Every month he would prepare – new chains, solid foods so he wouldn't puke in the beginning, a good sleep in hope that the transition wouldn't be too tough. He tried different potions so that he could maintain lucid, but even while lucid nothing seemed right. Everything was distorted- unfamiliar. If anything, it just stopped him from attacking house elves. He had already accidentally killed three of them.
"You can, Master Malfoy. You can." Draco peered up at the shaking house elf, his hands clasped tightly in front of him nervously. Draco gritted his teeth, about to spat something, but then stopped himself. It was always him and the elf in the large courtyard. Not his mother, certainly not his father, nobody to hold his hand while all of his bones broke and repaired themselves without any pain relievers within a matter of minutes. But the elf never faltered to be by him.
"Why do you always volunteer?" Draco demanded as his fingers dug into the ground tightly when a surge of pain rippled down his back forcing him on all fours.
"Wha-What do you mean Master Malfoy?" the house elf fidgeted. Draco rolled his eyes and groaned impatiently. The house elf's incompetence was nearly as bad as transitioning.
"To stay here with me. To watch me be a monster. You don't have to – it's not like I would remember if you're here during my transition anyways. I always black it out." The elf's large eyes blinked in surprise.
"Tabby doesn't think you're a monster, Master Malfoy," The elf said honestly, his shaking ceasing for just a moment. "Master Malfoy is in pain. Tabby wants to make sure Master Malfoy is okay and doesn't feel alone." Draco held his breath for a moment, a sudden pain clanging in his chest. But it wasn't because of his transitioning – it was because of Tabby. Someone, even if it was just an elf, cared.
"You don't have to," Draco spat. "I don't need your bloody sincerity, you stupid elf." But the words didn't puncture him.
"Tabby isn't leaving, Master Malfoy. Even if Tabby dies, Tabby will not leave." Draco, without meaning to, felt burning in his eyes. Suddenly, as his hands turned to paws and ears started to sprout from his head, he felt warm tears pour down his monstrous face. He collapsed onto his stomach, unable to fight the pain, the werewolf inside him, the fear that wounded him so tightly together.
"Thank you," he whispered, right before he howled so loud he was sure the all of London could hear him.
(THREE DASHES HERE)
I was going to finish this off but I wanted to see if anyone liked it so far. At this point, I'm starting from the beginning. There will be a few more flashbacks from Draco's transition before I go into the story. Si or Nada?