Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I'm just playing!
Warnings: Cursing, a cliff hanger? Some clueless Draco. Thats all!
Authors note: Phew, all the really pregnant sheep have given birth to their babies at this point, so hopefully I'll get some sleep, write some more, post some more, and actually get some editing done. This chapter was NOT heavily edited at all, so if you catch something let me know! Enjoy!
Draco wriggled as the cold ink dripped along his back slightly, but tried not to let his pumping adrenaline lead to too much wiggling. Hebe glared at him slightly, then went back to writing over the since faded letters across his back. When she was done she blew lightly across his back and he nearly leaped away. It was bloody cold, and the ink was cold, and everything was so cold. He held still, but just barely, almost squawking when she blew to dry the ink a second time.
They were in the kitchen, so that any stray drippage would not get on the bedding, but that just meant that the air was chilled here, without carpet and blankets to hold heat in against the cold stones, which tended to suck warmth from anything they touched.
"Alright, hands, then face."
He grabbed his black t-shirt and pulled it over his head gratefully. It might not be a comforter or fur rug, but at least it was something. He looked up and saw the deer in the headlights expression that was Potters usual face these days in the doorway. "Oh my, we've been found out, my love," Draco said lazily, giving Hebe a tortured look, hand clutching his heart. The stoic girl just snorted and rolled her eyes, waving his hand forwards, dipping her brush in the ink again.
Potter edged into the room as Hebe carefully painted Draco's hands with the oily, thick substance. Squids ink didn't exactly smell aromatic, but it did tend to stain things a nice even black color that allowed for adequate camouflage, especially since there was only so many clothes Draco could put on to try to cover his pale hair, skin, eyes, everything.
Draco watched at the ink oozed across his skin, Hebe was carefully painting up past his wrists incase his shirts sleeves slipped up, and he hardly noticed Potter wallowing by the fireplace until the boy cleared his throat. Draco turned, carefully as to not disturb his dripping hands, and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Why- what are you doing?" Potter was fidgeting, and looking puzzled, a feeling that Draco was sure was not a rare thing for him. Poor, dense, heroic little Gryffindor.
"Obviously I'm gardening," Draco said calmly, trying to keep the tone of biting sarcasm out of his comment, but his cool tone and facial expression were thrown off by Hebe's laugh. She shook her head at him, reaching forwards, and tipping his head back so she could do his eyes and lips, still chuckling.
"Oh haha, come on. What are you doing?" Draco was saved from having to respond because Hebe was painting around his face, and he knew exactly how disgusting squid ink tasted, he wasn't going to risk that just to see poor Potter sent into an episode of the vapors.
"I'm painting him black. So he won't glow in the dark, pale wretch," said Hebe, affectionately enough, ignoring Draco's noise of outrage at the pale comment, though he was careful not to move, lest her brush find its way into his mouth.
"Why though?"
Hebe just shrugged, and moved to work on Draco's eyelids and any other areas exposed by his mask. Potter was dissatisfied with this answer, and he plopped down onto the bench, giving them a measured look.
"I'm going to go do evil, Potter. Get lost, don't you have a gnome that needs saving or something?" Draco's comment did not have the bite that he would've liked, but he had to be careful not to let his lips move much so that nothing would smear.
Draco wasn't sure, but it was possible that Potter rolled his eyes and dismissed his comment, he had obviously spent too much time around Tart recently. "So how's the love life then?" Draco said conversationally, one eye closed as Hebe painted over it.
Potter spluttered, turned a few shades of pink and purple, and made some odd sounds before telling Draco to mind his own business and fleeing, with a hunted, appalled look in his eyes. Draco and Hebe both laughed as soon as he was gone. Gryffindors tended to respond that way, and Potter was obviously too busy saving the world to do anything other than moon over Change. What a weird little person.
Draco eased his way down Diagon Alley, sticking to the shadows. If it wasn't light out, to anyone except someone who was intimately familiar with type of canines, he looked just like any other stray. He had to wait for almost an hour before anyone who was slow enough to let him through had made their way through the stone archway, but he wasn't going to risk his human form, not when his options were either look every bit the thief that he was, or look like fugitive Draco Malfoy.
He moved past the thinning crowds, doing his best not to let anyone get too close to him, and keeping to the alleys off the main street. It was cold, too early for any kind of Valentines day rush, beyond the Yule season, and so there weren't that many people around, and Draco managed to get all the way to Ollivander's without any problems. He made his way to the back entrance of the shop, tilting his head up, to look at the living quarters above the slightly shabby shop. There was a light on up there, and try as he might, Draco couldn't hear anything in the lower half of the shop. He made sure there weren't any people in the alley and shifted back to his human form, black clothes, mask, and inked skin making him blend into the shadow that he was lurking in.
He slunk up to the back door, and tapped his wand on the lock, slipping through it, closing it gently as to not make a sound. He froze, waiting, holding his breath, listening for any sounds. He heard some footsteps upstairs, some rummaging, but nothing down on this floor. He eased along the narrow hall towards the shop, trying to distribute his weight lightly, so that the creaky boards would stay silent.
He eased his rucksack off his shoulders, and began to silently put all the wands in their boxes into it, as fast as he could. He froze, hearing a creak, he didn't hear footsteps, but he slung the rucksack over his shoulders nonetheless, and eased back, away from the back entrance to the shop.
He heard another creak, and cursed under his breath, moving quietly, but quickly towards a window, and fidgeting with it. It was obviously painted shut, not having been opened in sometime, and not a viable option for escape. Draco cursed mentally and moved back from it, deciding on plan b. He ducked low, breathing as quietly as he could, hiding between two tall shelves, hoping their tall shadows hid him against whoever was doing an awful job of sneaking around.
Draco stayed crouched for what he felt an eternity before he eased forwards, staying low to the ground, hoping that his stiff knees wouldn't pop at the movement. He peered around cautiously, and saw nobody. He was going to just have to get out as fast as he could, and hope that the old wandmaker didn't notice anything was gone. He slunk back along the hall, and out the door, and as soon as he was covered by the shadows of the alley, he shifted, feeling safer as a hyena than as wizard, no matter how armed he was at the moment.
He edged back along the alley, trying to shake the feeling that someone was following him. He decided not to chance moving back into muggle London, and slipped behind Flourish and Blotts, and shifted, apparating as soon as he could.
He spun momentarily, before he felt himself jerk to the ground in the woods outside the manor. He had apparated too quickly, he was slightly disoriented, and he'd landed away from any gate. He sighed and shifted back into a hyena, padding along the perimeter. With Perses help, they'd managed to seal the main gates, and now only a small servants entrance remained, on the side of the manors tall walls. He was moving swiftly when he suddenly smelled something familiar on the cool winter wind. Something stiff, eerily sweet, and slightly smoky. He felt his hackles rise against his will, teeth bared instinctively.
He lay low, belly to the ground, and waited, ears pricked, listening hard. He heard foot steps through the forests underbrush, and took a deep breath to still the snarl that originated deep in his chest. A familiar pale head of hair neared, catching the moonlight.
Before Draco could react, his father whipped out his wand, and yelled out a spell Draco didn't recognize. He rolled, to try to avoid it, but the light hit him, and he felt his body wrenched, forced out of if form, back into his human form, painfully. He yelped, feeling as though all his bones broke for a moment, before scrambling to try to get to his feet.
His father picked him up, pinning him to a tree by way of a hand wrapped around Draco's throat. Draco struggled, but his eating habits had gone down the tubes lately, and he had his mothers slighter frame, as opposed to his fathers sleeker more muscular body type.
Draco gripped his fathers wrist with both hands, holding himself up, trying to keep his airway clear. He felt a fury at seeing his fathers face so close to his own.
"I should've known you'd come back here, coward, sealing the wards of my own house against me," his father spat, tightening his grip. Draco sneered, and kept his fear off his face, though his stomach was clenching in terror. In a moment he would be dead, and then his father would break the wards somehow, find everyone, kill them, something terrible no doubt.
"You're a disgrace to my name, boy, a waste of a son. You could've been a powerful asset to me, could have brought such power to our name." His father sounded calm and cold, his dark grey eyes calm, and slightly disappointed, as he casually choked his only son.
Draco struggled, pulling himself up enough to spit into his fathers face as hard as he could. He was dropped, a snarl of fury from his father as the man wiped his eye. Draco scrambled to his feet, pulling his wand out, stifling the urge to cough. His father laughed cruelly, dodging Draco's stunner, and didn't even bother with a spell, shoving Draco to the ground, kicking him in the ribs, hard, several times. Draco felt his head crack back against the tree he'd been pinned against, and steeled himself, letting the rage coiling deep in his belly at actually seeing his father, so cold, and uncaring spring free. He felt himself drawn in dangerously into his were form, knowing that with this much emotion running loose he wouldn't be in ultimate control, but at the same time, he didn't give a damn.
He lunged forwards, teeth bared, snapping at his father, hard. His father cried out, as Draco's jaws closed around his wand hand, snapping either the wand, a bone, or some of both under his powerful grip. Draco moved back, then crouched, springing, his powerful hind end moving him forwards, slamming his full force into his fathers shoulders, sending him reeling. He moved forwards, picking his father up by the collar of his robes, and the flung him across the clearing, the taste of blood clouding his control.
He licked his lips, feeling a deep, feral need in his gut light on fire. He needed to feel the crunch of that man, that wicked man beneath his teeth, and he didn't care if he got killed to get that. The grief he'd felt when his mother died, how could that not be written across his dad's face? He snarled, moving forwards, teeth bared, eyes narrowed aggressively, and he didn't even slow down when he felt something grab him around the middle. He struggled forwards, and when he felt something wrap around his neck, he turned his gaze, eyes narrowed, vision beginning to blur as the bloodlust threatened to take over.
The sight that he saw startled him out of his rage. It was Potter, talking fast, but Draco couldn't be bothered to listen. He frowned, and sighed, closing his eyes and shifting back. He would have to tell Potter to fuck off and leave him to deal with daddy dearest, and he had a feeling that it would take Draco shouting to get the message across.
The moment he was a human, Potter sprang away as if Draco might be contagious. "Are you fucking insane? Grabbing a werewolf? Really?" Draco snapped, rolling his eyes at Potter.
Potter opened his mouth to say something, but Draco interrupted, not feeling charitable, or polite at the moment, "Look Potter, can you kindly go fuck yourself? I am sort of in the middle of something, and I don't need your help."
Potter scowled, "No, don't kill your dad, Malfoy."
"Are you dense? He's going to get us all killed, if not kill us all himself. He knows I have people in there, do you really think he'll just keep that to himself? No he's going to go tell his Dark Powerful Lord, and we are all going to die."
"No, he won't kill you, you're his son," Potter said, sounding determined, that tiresome expression of moral righteousness pasted across his face.
"He killed my mum, why the hell would he spare me?"
Draco tried to shove past Potter, who knew how long his dad would stay knocked out, head bleeding over the rock that Draco had flung him into. Potter grabbed Draco's arm, gripping tightly, his mouth set in a mulish expression.
Draco glared at him, hard, sneering at his old enemy, trying to drag the other boy closer to his father, where he could just kill him while Potter clutched away at his arm.
"Fine, I won't kill him, just let go," Draco snapped, suddenly, his head spinning from being hit. He was tired, and he hated this stupid tenacious hold on the morals of the world that Potter had. The Gryffindor gave him a long look, but finally loosened his grip, then let go. Draco moved closer to his father, drew his wand, took a deep breath, and muttered, "Obliviate." He maintained the spell as long as he could, watching his fathers tight face slump into a numb, vacant expression. Draco crouched beside him, hesitated for a moment, then dipped his finger in his fathers blood, and drew a C across his fathers cheek.
He slowly rose, then turned on his heel, and stormed along the manor's wall, Potter almost bounding along to keep up. Draco was in a god awful mood now. He felt sick, he couldn't believe he had been so set on actually murdering his father, he was worse than his dad, willing to murder his own family. But at the same time, he was so angry that stupid Potter had intervened, hadn't let him just kill his father and get it over with, get rid of him, and get rid of all that he expected from Draco. And he was angry at Potter for seeing him so out of control, and angry at Potter for in general existing, and always ruining everything.
Then, he stopped suddenly, and spun, as Potter nearly tripped, coming to a halt behind him. "What the hell were you even doing out here?" Draco snapped, his eyes narrowing on Potter. Was he a polyjuiced death eater? It was very unlikely, how would a death eater get a hold of Potters hair, but there was a chance.
Potter looked shifty and shrugged, but when Draco's glare hardened, showing no signs of backing down, he eventually responded, "Well, you were going out alone, you guys don't usually, you know, do that, so, I sort of followed you, and err, you know, just wanted to get your back, you know, so that, because, well I didn't want Ginny to be upset, or anything."
Draco deadpanned at Potter, resisting the urge to kill him. Do not kill the boy hero, he reminded himself. He just shook his head, not trusting himself to say anything, or do anything except walk away lest he actually murder Potter on the spot. He was also convinced, that weird spluttering, wide eyed mumbling that Potter did probably couldn't be faked, if he was a death eater in disguise, the death eater had at least done his homework.
He stormed into the manor, throwing his rucksack full of wands at Pan, who was sitting in the library reading, and stalked into the Lair, burrowing under his covers. He had no idea where the hell Potter had disappeared off to, but he was glad the idiot was gone. He pulled his mask off, and burrowed under the covers, curling around his sore body, not caring how dirty he was for once. He wasn't sure why he felt sick to his stomach, or like crying, but he refused to do either, and as the heat in the warm room and sounds of others sleeping lulled him into sleep slowly, he decided, right as he drifted off to sleep, that he might hate Potter, but maybe the idiot didn't deserve to die either.