Warning: Cursing probably.
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Adrian Pucey - Phobos
Liam Baddock - Deimos
Theodor Nott – Oberon
Draco Malfoy – Chaos
Vincent Crabbe - Moros
Gregory Goyle - Pallas
Blaise Zabini – Pan
Pansy Parkinson - Nyx
Daphne Greengrass - Hebe
Morag Macdougal – Nike
Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus
Elijah Harper - Cratos
Anthony Vaisey - Tyche
Malcolm Baddock – Hecate
Astoria Greengrass - Eris
Flora Carrow - Nemisis
Hestia Carrow – Hypnos
Ginny Weasley – Tartarus
Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion
Neville Longbottom - Chiron
Dean Thomas – Prometheus
Demelza something or other - Selene
Anthony Goldstien - Styx
Terry Boot - Perses
Zacharias Smith - Chronos
Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus
Jack Sloper – Morpheus
Ritchie Coote - Erebos
Colin Creevey - Metis
Dennis Creevey - Eos
Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto
Michael Corner – Charon
Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas
Orla Quirke - Lamia
Ernie Macmillan –Minos
Sally-Anne Perks – Aether
The leather strap, tight around his neck, with its metalwork intertwined, pinched whenever Draco looked too far in any direction. The spikes on the inside that got hot, and dug in when the collars magic tightened it pinched him whenever he lay to sleep. The damn thing was spelled to shift sizes, and never come off him, no matter what cut at it.
He glared darkly at the wizard, walking through the pens, tossing meat in, too some of the other wolves. Not that his pen would get it. They were rebels and weapons, treated poorly, kept hungry, so that when the dark lord threw them someone, they would be overcome with the hunger and eat the poor bastard.
He could feel the satisfaction as the pack members in the pen next door, just normal wolves got their meat, the hind end of a deer, with all the good meat pulled off it for the humans.
Draco snapped his jaws, growling as the death eater passed their cage, but the man was hardly impressed. His stomach was beyond empty, and felt like it was dissolving itself in hunger, twisting, and empty like a deflated balloon.
It was easier to stay a wolf, there was more room, and he had an excuse not to scream curse words and get himself whipped when the sniveling, cowardly men passed his pen.
There were a total of about 50 wolves, some not trusted to be out unless they were with a death eater, some kept caged because the death eaters were a little afraid of them, and some were caged as punishment for slights.
At the end of the row, there were some other beings, in pens with solid walls, but Draco could smell them. And in the neighboring room, were the rest of the Recombined, the weapons and lab rats.
When they were allowed out of their cages, it was to eat someone, hunt someone, or do something. And they were never alone, always with a death eater that had the corresponding charms to the collars, to tighten and heat up if they misbehaved or strayed too far.
Draco had only been allowed out a few times in the month and a bit that he had been here. A few times to hunt deserters from the death eaters, and once to scare prisoners, on the end of a thick metal chain, prodded with a hot poker, sleep deprived, and starved, he had done it. Every time it was thought they were sleeping for too long, someone would come in and rattle the cages, and snap curse words at them.
Draco growled again as the man came back from feeding the Recombined in the other room, Thom adding his low snarl to Draco's. The death eater grabbed the cage bars and shook hard, but let go too quickly, obviously knowing what to expect, as all the wolves lunged for his hands the moment they were through the bars.
He laughed, a cold cruel little chuckle, and kicked the cage as he walked past, moving back to the human area beyond the thick wooden doors.
So far, Draco's plan was pretty much going well, in as much as so far they were all still alive. He had guessed right, in assuming that the Dark Lord thought they were just a few rag tag children, nothing to do with Potter, and would rather have them back as powerful creatures, locked up safe, than as corpses, uselessly buried in a mass grave.
Faintly, voices started up on the other side of the door. Draco's ears pricked, and he picked up his head, trying to make out what they were saying. More than one person's voice, so likely coming to get someone, or bringing someone new into this hell. He knew it was sick, wanting to be let out like a pathetic animal at the mercy of its handlers, but being penned up was mentally taxing, and even if it was leaving to do whatever some nose-less maniac wanted, leaving was leaving.
The door slammed open, and three heavyset wizards in wolf handling gloves, with the thick chains and harnesses filed in. They came up to his pen, wands out, and murmured the immobilization spell. The kennel master opened the door, and walked in, fastening the thick leather muzzles over Draco, Cole, and Ollie's faces.
The world spun as Draco felt himself levitated out of the cage, and onto the cold stone floor outside. The thick metal and leather harness was fastened over his chest and shoulders, and when all three were secured, and the pen was closed, the spell was lifted.
Draco didn't pull on the chain, and though he was embarrassingly happy to be out of that confined little space, he wasn't exactly head over heels about the way he was out. The thick chain was magicked so that they couldn't shift, and the magic required to maintain that was thick, and stifling. The muzzles were leather and metal as well, and the smell of rust and leather was overwhelming for the first ten or so minutes they were on.
He allowed himself to be dragged out, along the rows, being as uncooperative as possible, making the death eater lugging him along have to yank every step to get him to move. He was dragged through the sparse room where the kennel masters lounged, and through the sickeningly clean smelling entrance to the laboratory, up the stairs, and finally out into the damp, late spring air. Another handler approached them, attaching a thick, metal and granite charm to each of their harnesses. This was a tracker that the handlers could follow, so that Draco and the other two could hunt at a faster pace. So they were hunting someone today. Each wolf was grabbed, and the portkey caught Draco by surprise, flinging him into the ground when they landed, sliding sideways into Ollie. A small vial was opened in front of his nose, and the scent that filled his nostrils was sickeningly familiar.
He knew that if they returned without the prey, or if they didn't at least try to find their target, the punishment would hurt, and would probably be dealt to the whole pack. Cole and Ollie watched him, obviously waiting to take their cues from him, and when the handlers unclipped the chains, to let them loose, Draco paused, to scent the air. Luckily, the scent they were supposed to be following wasn't present on the air. He turned his head, to look at their surroundings, a moor somewhere cooler than wherever the kennels were. He lowered his head to the ground, taking off at an easy lope towards the trees. He barked, not for any reason other than happiness that came from the endorphins rolling off him as he finally got to stretch his legs.
Cole bayed, long and high, the call of a wolf on a scent, though his head wasn't down, and he obviously wasn't trying to scent anything very hard. Ollie, the quietest just galloped along behind them quietly, but his tongue lolled out of his mouth cheerfully.
It was stupid, to be this happy to move, but after spending six days in a tiny pen with 5 other wolves, running felt better than anything Draco could imagine.
The wind changed, and on the breeze, Draco could smell a fire. He wanted to get close, and try to make his presence know, to scare them off, and also if he could smell a fire, then the humans might be able too, and he didn't need the whole pack to suffer just because of his weird sentiments.
He changed directions, bearing up hill around the trees, to the forests on the other side of the wide moor. When they reached the trees, they paused, and Draco tossed back his head to howl, before taking off in the direction of the smoke, and the faint smell of humans.
Down, through the roots and rocks, along a craggy ravine, down into a gully, sliding along rocks they went, moving as fast as they could. The two techniques they mainly used when they wanted their prey to escape, was to move as fast as possible, across the most treacherous paths so that the humans would have a tough time keeping up, and making noise, to scare off whatever poor bastard had wolves sicked on them.
They moved through the thick underbrush, the scents getting stronger and clearer, as well as the magic. They could taste the wards, and as they got closer, could sense the five or six people that were hiding among the rocks and trees. Draco howled, a long, clear, loud howl, and the other two joined in, baying for blood.
Now they were close enough to sense heartbeats, and hear rummaging as the people prepared to either run or fight. The wards were collapsed, the sudden drain in magic pinpointing the location of their prey. Draco stopped dead, the other two skidding to stop behind him. The handlers were back, still deciding whether or not to navigate the ravine. Draco trotted forwards, at a more cautious pace and a small red fox leaped out of the underbrush.
Draco lay low, sniffing noses happily with the small animal, and with the big hound dog that followed him. He barked a warning, after a moments greeting, and when a human stepped out from behind the trees, he growled a warning.
Run. Run. Now.
The hound flattened his ears, whining in acknowledgement, while the fox just shifted anxiously, looking at the direction the wolves had come from.
"Draco? Is that you? Draco. I need you to do something," said Potter, dropping to one knee.
Get out of here. Now, Hyperion. Right fucking now, growled Draco, and the fox flinched at his sharp tone, wolves sounded the harshest of all the canines, and his desperation must have been clear from his tone, because Hyperion shifted, and muttered, "Come on Harry, there are deatheaters coming after them."
"Kill the snake, ok Draco? I need you to kill it."
Draco gave a decisive wuff of air, and touched his nose to Prometheus's nose after giving one more snarl of, GO, he turned and took off after a deer scent. He hoped Granger was with them and smart enough to cast a spell to erase all traces and scent of them.
The wolves moved at a flat out sprint, too keep the handlers moving, and the twitches of magic, and a sudden spark told them that Potter and his lot had escaped. They eventually lost the deer's scent, and lay, waiting for their handlers, feeling lighter, even though not catching their prey would probably mean no food for a few more days.
Potter was alive and had a (stupid, courageous, and likely dumb) plan, and now, Draco had something to get done. And with a plan, and a task, there was hope.
Authors note: So basically, the reason they're alive, is because Voldemort thinks he can control them. And it is sort of working, in that they're too tired and starved to do much but follow orders. And while yeah, I don't think that AYearAgo!Draco would do this kind of thing, I think his view of the world right now is aimed at surviving long enough to over throw this, and he is just waiting for a good time to try to break free! Also another reason that Voldemort didn't just chop their heads off, is that he spent some time and evilness making them into these killing machines, and he want's his shiny toys back. And they're no order of the Phoenix they're kids and while yeah they are messing up his diabolical plan, there are probably bigger fishes to fry (or so Voldypants thinks, muahaha).
