HAHAHAHAHA!!!! This is the seventh chapter of Silver and Cold. Someone PLEASE tell me what I'm doing wrong!! I don't have that many reviews and I think I have an interesting plot.... I think.... Is my summary bad? Should I change it? Geezers... I don't know what to do!!! Someone PLEASE help me!!!! Sigh... Anyway, Thanks to all that review and thank you also for reading. I apologize for my craziness.

WARNING: Angst, Yaoi, So on and so forth...sigh...

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.... I don't even have a life anymore... *tear drop*

You will see from my writing that my mood has plumitted drastically. Please review.... PLEASE!!! And tell others so I don't feel that all this typing is pointless.

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Silver and Cold

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Chapter 7: Scars Remain, if Only for a While

--Somewhere far away in a creepy place... probably Rob Zombies summer home...--

Wood creaked and groaned beneath their feet, though the sound was bairely audible through the heavy rain and claps of thunder behind the thin, crumbing walls. They had to gather in the small storage cellar of a building set on the dead, grass-less hill above a cursed cemetary. Why they had to come to such a place, they had no idea. All the group of men and women knew was that when they were summoned they came. There were no excuses. Still, they shivered violently and their eyes flitted around in anticipation for the worst, or the best depending on a persons point of view.

There was a sickening sound of smoothly scaled skin moving quickly across the floor. None of them showed the slightest uneasiness, though the snake could easily kill every one of them from the shadows, and her master probably wouldn't even mind. But instead she showed herself, slithering before the moonlight, her scales shimmering. Eyes turned on the huge snake, watching her warily.

There was no sound to warn them of the next visitors entry. The shadows stirred and swirled like a cyclone and he was there. The dark wisps of what had previously seemed to be materialized darkness settled on his form as his robes. The pale, hairless face with slits for nostrils contorted into a plotting smirk. His pale hand was constantly in contact with his bone-like wand. An aura followed him, tainted with dark spells and unforgiving souls. It would make any normal human drop to their knees and beg for an end to the silent, sight less, tasteless torture being inflicted upon their very being. Instead, the death eaters immediately bowed low, a strange thrill rushing through their guts.

"My most loyal followers," Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, implored with a gesture of his wand. He walked to the center of the group and eyed the men and women. He did not wear a glare or any anger at all, but they could all feel the storm stirring, "Would any one of you mind informing me of what went wrong on our last little outing?"

A few of them hung their heads, air caught in their lungs.

Voldemort turned in a circle. He felt a thin body curl around his leg and travel upward to settle on his shoulders. He stroked the snake fondly, then returned his sharp gaze to the death eaters. The red orbs rested on Fenrir Greyback. "You, my friend, come closer."

Greyback strode up without fear, a blood crusted grin on his animal-like features. He stopped a few feet from Voldemort and the poised snake. "Yes, milord?"

"You are a strategic genius." Voldemort complimented in a sly voice. He closed the space between them and laid a hand on the wolfs taller shoulder. "You know, all of you should learn a lesson from him."

No one replied, just watched with tight chests.

"Shall I hold a monologue? I'll tell you my," He paused, grinning, "Favorite part." He began to circle the animal, the snake hissed lightly. "You see, Fenrir Greyback here planned his attack perfectly. He went after the main target, attacked from an angle at which the prey could not see him. He even had some fun. He caused major damage and remained focused despite the curses flying inches over his head."

Fenrir smirked, his arms folded in front of his chest.

"But," Voldemort continued, he suddenly turned on his heels, facing the werewolf with his wand raised. "HE DIDN'T FINISH THE JOB!" He didn't have to mutter the forbidden curse to send the werewolf into tremors of pain.

A few women trilled and they all backed away from their terrifying lord and master.

"IDIOTS!" Voldemort hissed. He grinned wickedly as the wolf man writhed on the wooden floor, shrieking in agony, a great contrast to his previous macho exterior. "Never hurt what you can't kill!"

"My lord, please. Have some mercy on our souls. If we had stayed much longer we would have all most likely been thrown into Askaban or killed.

"We all thought the boy had died."

" He's just a teenager, what harm can he do? It's a forgettable matter."

Voldemort turned to the last voice, releasing his magic hold on the shaking wolf. "What? What was that?"

Again there was no reply to his rhetorical question.

"Have we all forgotten the very reason I was reduced to a hopeless parasite?" Voldemorts eyes were hard embers. "It was a baby, now a teenage boy, that ended my reign over that past world. Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy is the same age as that damned boy. Do not underestimate the power of a vengeful spirit, even such a young one."

"Yes, our dark lord." The promise echoed through the creaking room.

"Now that we all have come to an understanding," Voldemort continued, voice suddenly calm again. He tread around the werewolf, but didn't look down at the creature. "We now have to track down and finish what this man has started."

"Master," Fenrir Greyback suffered out. "I can...track him down. He is my...fledgling after all."

Voldemorts' eyes were suddenly ablaze. "You turned him?" At first he seemed to be ready to kill the werewolf, but then suddenly his gaze was almost joyful, malicious.

Fenrir licked his lips, turning the dried blood a darker shade of red. "Y-yes, please forgive me. I could not help myself."

Voldemort grinned, stretching his face into a maniacal expression. He laughed quietly, psychotically. "So the pure blooded line of the Malfoys has come to a close. Pity." He looked down at the werewolf. "So, Fenrir. As his alpha you can control him?"

"In a sense, milord, yes." Fenrir looked as if, should he have a tail, he'd be wagging it at that moment.

"When is his first full moon?"

"Six days from now, milord."

"Well then," His red eyes glinted, "We shall have to visit our little traitor on his first birthday."

--Away from that nut house, anyone else comparing Voldemort to a mobster right about now?--

-Later on in the night of the mall trip (day 6 of 14) moon: waxing gibbous-

Draco pulled back the sleeve to his dark blue turtle neck, observing the damage. He grimaced. There, across his arm, were the lightest scars he had ever bore. They were barely even noticeable anymore. The one on his face was a bit darker, but it was still healing. He turned over his arm slowly, watching the near perfect lines of only slightly discolored skin reflect the dull light. They were wide, but barely there, as if they had had three years to heal instead of two weeks.

Draco hand clenched into a fist, anger spiking. Hair sprouted from his clawed hands and he suddenly found the monstrous appendage lodged in the closest wall. He had missed the action between.

Draco was suprised that the ruckus hadn't brought his mother around. She seemed to be in another bout of post widowing depression. During those times he had learned very quickly that he should not interfere with her mourning. He did feel a bit guilty, though. Maybe seeing Harry had caused her to break down. After all, she and Lucius had discussed the boy many times. Perhaps she felt she was betraying their deceased family member by saving Potter. Draco couldn't find any other meaningful explanation.

Draco removed his scratch-less fist and let it fall to the side, the hair disintegrating and shriveling away like ashes.

He wanted to see Harry again. He wanted the boys Company, no matter what that might have meant. He felt a pull to him, a guilty attraction spreading like wild fire through his body. He had never felt so drawn in every sense. Was it just his new found instincts? Surely they would push him toward a female if anything, seeing as those instinct would be triggered by the necessity of preservation of the species. But Draco was attracted to Harry. So it was all him, right? Just the aggression a bit enhanced. He'd have to watch that. He didn't need accidental rape on his record. That would be a bit of a downer to his already flooded parade. But why hadn't he noticed the pull before? Harry Potter had been around him since the first year, and Draco had known about him his entire life through his parents. Why did the arrow wait to hit him until he could no longer waste time on love? But did he have to bring himself to his own death? Was that his only practical choice?

Yes. He had already seen that he lost his temper much more often now that he was close to being a monster. After his first full moon he'd be worse. He couldn't allow himself to hurt Harry after that happened.

Draco suddenly saw an image of Fenrir Greyback in the mirror across the room and took an instinctive retreat to the back wall, shivering. The wolfs jaws dripped with red liquid, the furry muzzle pulled into what could have easily been a snarl, but looked more like a grin. The image faded, but it would never leave his mind. He had never met a civil werewolf, only Fenrir Greyback and his pack. No, he would not allow himself to become that. When he turned, he'd confront Voldemort. He could use the new strength to his advantage against his maker.

But did that mean he couldn't have a little quality of life until then? He had to ask himself this as the yearning clutched his ever molecule again. Couldn't he allow himself to be loved before he passed? Did he have to live like some criminal before his suicidal mission? He felt like the last few days had been more like life than he had ever felt before hand. When every moment he knew that he had been born owned by Voldemort and his cause. It was the only grudge he held against his deceased father.

He walked over to the window, peaking around the drapes. Across the street sat number four Private Drive. There was still a foot print trail in the gleaming snow settled on the rooftop. He halfway wanted to smirk, half way wanted to grimace at the memory. Bellow it was the packed in patch of snow where Draco had caught Harry. The little droplets of blood still colored the white powder. Draco remembered vaguely among the chaos of that moment that he had felt something just them. When Harry had held up the blood. Draco had been down wind, catching the scent full on. It had made his mind cloud. He had, for a moment, viewed Potter more so as.... prey.... than anything else. Was that why Fenrir was the way he was, always so... lustful for death and blood. But it wasn't the blood per say. It was the smell burning his nose, the sign of a weak prey a weak animal. He was lucky he was more disgusted by it in his human form than Fenrir was attracted to it at all times. It still worried him.

He looked through the windows, wondering what exactly the raven-haired and green-eyed teen was doing, and what would happen if Draco continued down the roughly paved road he was walking.

--Back at Harrys--

Harry Potter slumped down in the deep couch, suddenly feeling the toll the day had taken upon him. Now that he thought about it, it had been a very, very long day. (Hell yeah, it took up three flippn' chapters) He had nearly gotten himself killed and gotten himself in love all within one day, actually within the passage of just a few hours, in truth. Now it was about twelve thirty and it felt more like six the next morning. Harry eyed the groceries, frowning. He didn't feel like putting them away, but knew that they would go bad if he didn't. And he doubted Draco would take him out to the store again. Not after how begrudgedly he had followed Harry down the isles, explaining this action as making sure a box of heavy cans didn't fall on Harrys head. He did seem more accident prone than usual.

Harry stretched then stood up with a groan, lugging the bags into the kitchen. He still had no idea of whatever Draco was hiding from him. He had noticed Dracos wounds healing, which he guessed was from magical assistance. He was glad. Draco looked a lot less haggard. But he had no idea how to get the blonde to answer his questions. He had almost taken Dracos' threat of needing persuasion as an actual option. He blushed. But when Draco had driven them both home he had simply hopped out of the car and left Harry to get his belongings.

The reason Harry was so worried about Draco was mainly because of the state he had seen the blonde in on that first day. He was so torn up Harry could have probably just poked him and he'd start bleeding. Death Eaters usually didn't leave scars or bruises because of their weapon choice, wands. Wands didn't cut they killed. Draco looked more like he had been... he had been... attacked... by something.

Harry had stopped in the action of putting away a box of cereal and frowned. If Draco had been attacked, what had attacked him? Harry was suddenly bombarded with the images of the blondes wounds. The nature of them was ragged and deep, usually, if you could tell the different scratches apart, they moved in lines of four or like large, boxed crescents. Like a...

"Like a wolf." Harry muttered to himself. His eyes bulged a small fraction. He shook his head and finished putting away the last of the groceries. Surely he was just delusional from exhaustion or from the bonk on his head. You could stitch up a head wound but you couldn't replace brain cells. Draco was human. Harry was certain. Sure there were instants when Harry would doubt this, but he couldn't see Draco Malfoy, a pure blood, being anything but human.

He pushed away the insane conclusion and sluggishly made his way up to the new room, his room. And he had Draco to thank. As he slipped off into a nightmare plagued unconsciousness, he thought up a prayer for the blonde. For better days and for another way out of the mess that was the both of theirs world.

--Next morning (day 7 of 14) moon: Waxing Gibbous--

Harry stretched his arms, feeling them come in contact with the wall. The fact that he could even stretch was still a shock to the raven-haired boy. He opened his eyes, wincing at the sun light filtering in through the blind-less window. That was the only thing he missed about the cupboard. In the small closet space he could sleep in without the sun bothering him. But it was too late to be helped. Harry sighed inwardly. He was awake and there was no stopping it. He got up and started down to the kitchen.

On the dining room table sat the snow-white owl Harry had grown to love. She was allowed to roam freely around the house now that Harry had a say, and he could see by her movements that she was very happy about it. She also sat upon a large bundle of letters, or large for a carrier owl. Harry smiled ecstatically. He grabbed the letters and ripped open the first envelope. The name on the front told him it was from Sirius. Harry had written a letter to the man the day before last of his recent happenings. He quickly unfolded the paper and read to himself.

"Harry,

"I'm happy to hear you finally ridded yourself of those blasted Dursley's. Again, I can not tell you how sorry I am that I could not gain guardianship over you. The wizard council denied my claim years ago because of reasons both you and I know. Of course, now that they've left you alone you could probably manage a run away, or perhaps claim negligence? It's your decision, all know is that the wizard government won't let you live on your own, at least not happily, until you've graduated from Hogwarts. Though seeing as you only have another year after this one I doubt that means much to you now. Again, I'm sorry.

"I don't know what to tell you about the Malfoy boy. It was only a matter of time before Lucius died. Despite he was my enemy, send my sympathies to his son. I know you must feel some sort of connection to him now, you both having lost a family member to the same monster. But I must warn you, Draco Malfoy is still his fathers son. I'm not sure if you should get too involved with him. Though you do say he has changed. I will leave this up to your judgment, I trust you to keep yourself as far out of harms way as you can.

"By the way, would you like to have a bit of company for Christmas? I'm sure it must seem a bit cold all alone in that house. If you would like, Mooney and I can come up. We haven't gotten to see you in person since.... well.... a very long time. Maybe we could catch up? Write me back and we'll be there in about a day or two if you wish. I'm so glad to hear from you.

Pad Foot"

Harry felt his grin widen as he read the last few sentences. He quickly set down the piece of parchment and grabbed one of his own, found a pen, and scrawled a reply. He explained that he would be ecstatic if they could come for Christmas, if not in those exact words. He didn't bother bringing up the other matters in the letter, he would discuss that with his godfather when he arrived. He was so pleased his hand was shaking. He had never thought that Christmas break would come to be such a turn out. He had fallen in love, scared off the Dursleys and now would get to spend some quality time with his godfather and his favorite professor of the dark arts.

Harry quickly read and replied to all of the letters, fining them to be from other friends. Ron blabbered on about small quiddich games between himself and his family. Apparently Ginny was getting very skilled. Harry was very happy for the redheaded girl, and hoped she would get over her spite soon so they could become friends again. Hermione succeeded in completely confusing him by listing all of the "interesting" information she had read up on in the past week and scrawled down an excited excerpt about a big muggle family dinner and gifts she hoped to get. She also attempted to explain the latest Voldemort sightings in the wizard newspapers, but assured him that half of them were probably false.

Harry patted Hedwigs feathers, allowing her to nibble on his finger a bit. After that he fed her, strapped the letters to her leg, and sent her off through the window. He watched her fly off, then went to get something to eat.

Harry tried, but failed, to forget his small assumption. If he happened to be right, if the scars he had seen were truly from a monster of the night, then he'd have a bigger problem on his hands than he had thought. And despite all of that, Harry could only put off the obvious fact that Voldemort would try to find Draco after a while. When Voldemort killed someone he took care of the rest of the victims family as well. Harry couldn't let that happen. Even if Draco wouldn't let him help, it was Harrys responsibility. Harry loved Draco now, without question. He'd help him no matter what.

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AWESOME! Well, that chapter's done. It was a bit more of a filler, it didn't have any action.... but I think I covered a lot of ground with it. Thanks for reading and please review!!!! PLEASE!!! I'm begging you...

Your devout writer, xXDancerintheDarkXx

Next Chapter: Black Eyes

June comes back into the scene. What will Harry do when he realizes that there are two meanings to black eyes and both apply to the little five-year-old. Siri and Mooney appear.