The Phases of the Moon
Disclaimer - Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling.
A/N - Written for QLFC round 13 - Trick or Treat - Beater 2 - Chimaera - write about someone who is two-faced or behaves differently around different people.
Additional prompts - (emotion) anger, (role) spy
Word Count: 2924
It was a glorious night. The annual Ministry ball was in full swing and Draco could feel the warmth of his parents' gaze as they watched him dance with Astoria Greengrass, his once betrothed. Although the contract had been annulled, they were still good friends, and good dance partners.
He knew that the Malfoys were a point of contention at the ball, but so far he'd been able to ignore the whispers behind their backs, and he was revelling in the return of their long-lost social life. After the war, the Malfoys had lost their former place in wizarding society. It was Draco who had restored the family name by creating a charity allowing war victims to rebuild their lives, whether through funding, counselling, or remedial courses.
When the dance ended, his parents nodded in approval as Draco smiled at a blushing Astoria. He started, caught unaware when someone tapped on his shoulder.
Draco whirled around with an inner panic, haunted by the instincts of a spy used to combat. He relaxed as he saw the thin-lipped smile on the man's face. Stout, middle-aged, and with oily skin, Jenkins didn't pose a threat to a house-elf, let alone a Malfoy. Whereas once he would have ignored this kind of man, Draco now made the effort to plaster a smile on his face, even if it was insincere.
"Mr Malfoy," the man greeted politely, his hand shaking with age as he extended it towards Draco.
Fighting the urge to sneer, Draco gave it a firm shake. Predictably, Jenkins' grasp rested limply in his own.
"Mr Jenkins," Draco replied, giving the other man a flat stare, abandoning propriety and showing a sliver of canine. Jenkins seemed to catch onto his dislike, taking a step back and nearly crashing into a floating tray of goblets. Smoothing down his robes as he regained his balance, the older man cleared his throat.
"I'm glad your charitable trust received such a... prominent endorsement from the Ministry."
"Really?" Draco asked, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from dripping into his voice. The fear and disgust in the other man's eyes was reward enough. The bastard deserved it after what he had said to Draco.
"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but I can't help you," Jenkins muttered, stepping back when Draco stepped forward. The distaste in his gaze was evident.
Draco clenched his fists and took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. If he lost it, it wouldn't only be his future on the line. He envisioned his mother, her eyes blackened by lack of sleep, trailing around in her dressing gown that morning, having nothing better to do with her time and having lost all enthusiasm for life.
"You have to help me," he insisted, hating the whine in his voice. His younger self would have been disgusted at the desperation he was now exuding. "You're the only one who can help me secure a place at the Ministry."
Jenkins just shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but I'm not in charge of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I can't make or break laws regarding your... 'condition'. Might I suggest that you consider registering yourself? There are… measures put in place for those of your kind," Jenkins said, his lip curling.
'His kind'... Draco jerked to his feet. He glared at the man, then stormed out of Jenkins's office before he could do something he'd regret later.
The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Draco out of his thoughts. He met his father's worried gaze over Jenkins's shoulder. Jenkins was shuffling from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable.
"I think I'll retire for the evening," Draco said. "Good evening, Father… Mr Jenkins."
He nodded his head and stalked away, collecting his travelling robe from the house-elf that manned the cloakroom. Once he was out of sight of the crowds, he cast a Scourgify on his hands as if he'd touched dirt, revolted that he'd been forced to exchange pleasantries with the vile man.
He Apparated back to the Manor and immediately kicked the wall.
"Why? Why can't they leave me alone and just let me live my life? Nothing I do is ever enough for them. Why?" He picked up one of the uglier vases they displayed in the receiving room and threw it against the fireplace. It made a satisfying smash against the brick and he sagged, frustrated with himself and with the world.
He was perfect for his parents, smiling for Astoria, obedient in front of the Ministry… what more could they want?
It was the night of the full moon. A silver-furred wolf ran as fast he could, forgetting the pain the full moon brought, simply enjoying the breeze. Time passed without definition, but at some point, the silver found himself running with another, larger wolf, this one with auburn fur. They tumbled together, gambolling in the woods in the brilliant light of the moon and stars. The silver was faster, but the auburn was stronger, and they played, nipping and howling, carefree.
As time past, they grew weary and curled up together, nuzzling close. As the night drew to a close and the birds began to sing, the wolves slept.
Draco woke up with a groan. Surprisingly, last night hadn't been as painful as the others. He snuggled closer to his fellow wolf, but instead of soft fur, his skin met with warm skin. He turned around to face his partner, who was not yet awake. He kissed the scar on other man's face, and Bill began to stir, eyes creeping open. Beautiful blue met Draco's own steel grey.
"Good morning," Draco murmured, while the other man sat up, looking around in bewilderment at the open field.
"Not again." Bill groaned. "I — I've got to go."
Draco recoiled. "Where? To her? She can't understand you the way I do, Bill. She can't share what we share," Draco hissed. With a sigh, his temper fading, he placed his hand on Bill's shoulder. "We complete each other."
Bill closed his eyes as if he could deny Draco's very existence. It wouldn't work. Draco should know.
"She's my wife; I can't leave her."
"But you can leave me, after all that we went through? It was you and me together during the war, not Fleur. Where was she then? Hiding in France?" Draco bit his lip to hold back tears. "Mother was right. You're just like everyone else, Weasley."
Bill massaged his temples.
"Draco, please," he whispered.
Draco ignored him, snatching up his wand from where he'd hidden it in the bushes and Apparating away.
When Draco came downstairs, he saw his Aunt Andromeda in the parlour, soothing baby Teddy. After the war, his mother had decided to put all differences aside and reconnect with her only living sister. He'd never personally known Andromeda, but she was a fierce witch who loved her family, no matter that they'd rejected her. He was proud to call her his aunt.
Upon seeing him, Teddy screeched with delight and grabbed at him. Andromeda handed him over. As always, Draco was a bit reluctant, but the child clutched him and babbled nonsense, his hair turning the same shade of platinum blond as Draco's. A grin slipped onto Draco's lips, even when Teddy yanked at his hair.
"He likes you; you'll be a good father," Andromeda said with a kind smile.
Draco tensed and then scoffed. He handed Teddy back to his aunt, then gestured towards himself in disgust. "Who would want to have a child with a tainted creature like me?"
"Draco!" Andromeda exclaimed, but Draco was gone, storming out of the room.
Sometimes, he thought it would have been better if he'd died when Greyback had mauled him.
A howl chilled Draco down to the bones.
"Greyback," he whispered.
"We'll keep you safe," Bill said, wrapping an arm around Draco's shoulders. Draco leaned into it for a moment before wrenching away.
"You can't," he hissed. He looked imploringly at Kingsley. "I'm the only spy you've got. If you protect me, the game's up. I'll be dead anyway."
Kingsley scowled. "What are you suggesting? That we just abandon you?"
Draco swallowed, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. "Yes."
He took a breath and drew his wand. "Run. I'll chase you. Then, when Greyback catches up with me, Apparate away."
"No!" Bill cried. "I won't allow it."
"Neither will I," Kingsley rumbled. "Your cover isn't worth your life."
"It's my choice to make," Draco said. "He'll recognise my scent. Go! GO!"
Kingsley pursed his lips and was shaking his head when a silver cat Patronus appeared in the clearing.
"Shacklebolt! Werewolves are attacking Ottery St. Catchpole. You're needed!"
"Go."
"Damn it!" Kingsley cursed. He Apparated away.
"I'm staying," Bill said when Draco turned to him. "You can say you were trying to catch me alive, and that's why you fought off Greyback."
Draco gulped. "Okay."
He didn't think anyone had ever made such a sacrifice for him before.
Another howl sounded out, even closer than before.
"Here he comes," Draco whispered, and an enormous wolf burst out of the tree line, jaws open wide…
Harry frowned down at the list that Shacklebolt had just handed him.
"It's all the registered werewolves in Britain. One of these must have been responsible for the attacks on the outskirts of Hogsmeade," Shacklebolt said. He sighed. "Unless we've got some unregistered werewolves running around as well."
Harry sincerely hoped not. It didn't do to be thinking about. He rustled the paper, catching Shacklebolt's attention. "Bill Weasley? Why's he on here?"
"We can't allow favouritism," Shacklebolt said. "You of all people should understand that, Harry."
Harry scrunched his face up in disgust, but he understood where Shacklebolt was coming from. If they began ruling people off as suspects just because one person in the Ministry claimed that they were innocent, then he may as well throw the whole list into the fireplace now and be done with it. Another name caught his eye.
"Malfoy," Harry hissed, rising to his feet.
"Where do you think you're going?" Shacklebolt asked.
"All of the people that have been attacked are Muggleborns," Harry said. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to interrogate Malfoy."
Shacklebolt pinched the bridge of his nose. "I highly doubt Draco was involved. He's the one that's been providing support for victims of werewolf attacks, whether they be of pure or Muggle blood."
"Maybe it's a front…" Harry said. He remembered the way Malfoy's eyes would glint as he tormented Hermione. "I'll work my way through the list… Malfoy will just be the one that I start with."
Fleur looked at the newspaper in disgust, turning up her nose as Bill walked in the door.
"Anozer attack," she said. "Where were you last night?"
Her husband froze. Mud was streaked up his arms and twigs and leaves were tangled in his hair.
"You know where I was," he said quietly. "It was a full moon; I was in the woods. Don't worry; I took my Wolfsbane. I was perfectly safe."
Fleur huffed. "If you were safe, zen why couldn't you stay here with me?" She folded her arms and arched an imperious brow.
Bill collapsed into a chair at their kitchen table and Fleur immediately hit him with a Cleaning Charm.
"Ouch," Bill hissed. "You know why I can't. You can't confine the wolf, even with Wolfsbane. It drives us crazy, causes us to hurt ourselves."
"Or maybe zat's juzt an excuze!" Fleur cried. Every full moon, Bill snuck out, and every time he returned, he seemed more and more distant. She had thought she had loved him before the war… but she did not know if she still could, not with his disease. She had tried so hard, but he was different and she resented him for it, even if he could not help it.
Bill stared at her for a long moment. A strange expression crossed his face, then he staggered to his feet.
"You know what? I don't know why I bother," he said, a hint of a growl in his voice. "Screw you, and screw this."
He stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Fleur stared at the empty room, realising she'd just driven away her husband of four years.
Despite it all, she couldn't bring herself to feel any regret.
"Me! Attacking Muggleborns on a full moon?" Draco exclaimed. "What do you take me for, Potter? An idiot? What do you think my organisation does? I work on rehabilitating people that have been attacked — I don't go out creating more of them."
He watched Potter swallow, green eyes glowing with self-righteousness.
"You never used to feel that way," Potter muttered, fists clenched.
Draco didn't care. Potter could shove it.
"In case you can't remember, I was a spy for the light for the last six months of the war. Or have you conveniently forgotten that as well?" Draco clenched his fists. "Fuck you, Potter."
There was a loud crash in the entrance hall of Draco's flat, the one he only used when he needed to get away from both his family and the Ministry. Unfortunately, today, the Ministry had followed him here.
More pertinently, he also offered it as a halfway home to werewolves in need.
"Stay here," he growled, in case it was someone in trouble that would only be more frightened upon seeing Harry Bloody Potter.
It didn't matter. The wolf in question burst into Draco's lounge; it was Bill.
"I'm sorry," Bill gasped. "You were right." He threw himself around Draco, his body shaking with sobs. "I left her; I had to; she just doesn't understand."
The fight seemed to have gone out of Potter, who was trying to inch towards the door. Bill hadn't noticed him when he'd stormed in; Draco hoped Potter would sneak out and that Bill wouldn't notice him at all. He gestured for Potter to leave, hugging Bill tight.
"It's okay," Draco murmured. "I'm here for you."
A quiet pop signalled that Potter had left. Draco pulled back. Bill still seemed bedraggled from waking up in the field that morning.
"Go and have a shower," he said, aware that casting Scourgify would only harm a werewolf's delicate skin post-transformation. "Then we can talk, okay?"
Bill pressed his face into Draco's shoulder and took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Okay," he agreed. He cupped Draco's cheek with his hand. "We do belong together, you know," he said, "and I'm sorry I ever denied it."
Before Draco could react, Bill turned away, heading for the shower.
Draco smiled, a feeling of joy warming him from the inside out, before he remembered that he'd just been visited by an Auror; Harry Potter, no less.
Potter, in his haste to leave, had left the casefile behind. Draco didn't even bother feeling guilty when he sneaked a peak.
He frowned at the pictures of the werewolf attacks. The victims were cleanly cut and there wasn't a single bite. They'd not been eaten or even torn apart. In fact… he'd even dare say that the attacks hadn't been perpetrated by a werewolf at all.
But then why would someone go to such trouble as to frame one?
Perhaps because a major piece of legislation was just weeks away from passing through the Wizengamot, giving werewolves equal rights to witches and wizards.
"Jenkins," Draco growled, as he realised who opposed the legislation most stringently.
Kingsley stared at the man pacing before him. He made a convincing argument.
"It's a lot to accuse someone of, Draco," he warned him.
Draco turned, his eyes flashing amber. "Potter burst into my house and accused me!"
Kingsley hid a wince. "Ah. Yes, my apologies for that."
Draco waved him away and began pacing once more. It was amazing to see how different he was now than when he spoke to the werewolves that he was helping to recuperate. This Draco was all fierce angles and harsh lines, whereas the man who'd held a little girl in his arms as she died from a bite had been soft, caring, and devastated by the loss.
He'd changed a lot from his Hogwarts days, something Kingsley wished that Harry and his fellows could see. But Kingsley had worked with Draco when he'd been a spy; he'd seen that transformation take place.
His decision made, Kingsley nodded to himself.
"I'll do it," he said. "I'll speak with Jenkins and get to the bottom of this; I promise, Draco. We will get justice."
For a moment, Draco looked as if he was going to storm out and hunt Jenkins down himself. But Draco was a Slytherin and a practical sort. If the war had taught either of them anything, it was that sometimes, a tactical retreat was of more benefit than a thoughtless attack.
"Okay. I trust you," Draco said. He hesitated by the Floo, then shot Kingsley a tentative smile. "Thanks, King."
"Stay safe, Draco," Kingsley answered. "And give Bill my best."
Draco narrowed his eyes and Kingsley chuckled. Harry hadn't been able to resist sharing that piece of gossip, at least not when Kingsley had quizzed him on why he'd looked so rattled.
With a roar of green flames, Draco was gone.
Kingsley stood from behind his desk, wand sliding out from up his sleeve. Perhaps he was Minister, but he hadn't forgotten how to be an Auror either.
Jenkins wouldn't know what hit him. Justice was coming his way.