Authors note: I tried to fill in some gaps in this one, and have to give thanks to my ever supportive, ever faithful Ruby! Enjoy!

Warnings: Light gore, well people die, but evil people, so the more the merrier, right?

Disclaimer: I own nothing!


The return trip had not been pleasant, the heavyhanded death eaters were angry, and taking full advantage of the fact that all three wolves had their mouth bound shut by leather. But when they got back to the compound, they were forgotten, as the death eaters exchanged low voiced angry words, and the wolves were shoved back into their pen roughly, and the death eaters hurried off.

All Draco had been able to make out was the words escape, but he could smell the fear, rolling thick off his captors.

They were shoved back in, still muzzled, and so Draco got to work wiggling and dragging the thing off his head. Thom trotted over, and got to work, chewing on the worn leather strap, and eventually the thing finally fell free.

Draco was about to help Ollie get his muzzle off when a flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned sharply, all the wolves in the pen stiffening at the sudden movement from their alpha.

A small, limping rodent slithered along pausing at each pen. Draco moved forwards, his heart beating a million miles an hour as he shoved his nose out through a gap in the cage.

The small creature came over, sniffing him carefully, and eventually rubbed its small head against his muzzle. There was a faint door slamming sound, as the door up above was opened forcefully, and the death eaters stomped down the stairs. He could sense Oberon's heartbeat accelerate, the panic rolling off the little creature.

Draco jumped up, and started barking, snapping, and howling. His pen mates joined in, then the wolves next to them, then his pack mates further down. It wasn't that good of a distraction, but humans had dulled senses that were easily overwhelmed by wolves throwing themselves menacingly against their rattling cages and howling, drowning out the sounds of the small marten scurrying up along, out to the world.

A few hours later, there was a dragging in the air, a crackle almost with the power levels in the building shifting. It was the Dark Lord, and his foul tasting magic was toxic to the magic sensitive wolves in his pen. He wasn't there for them, he almost never actually came down into the pits of the compound, though he occasionally called some up to see him. But from the flares, and anger, this wasn't exactly a friendly little visit.

There was some yelling, some silence, some screams, and then the handlers came, dragging out at least half the wolves, unmuzzled, which could only mean one thing. They were loosed into a round room, as big as the slithering common room, with no ceiling. Eventually three screaming men were pushed down into the hole in the ground, as masked faces gathered up at the rim, to watch the jailers get torn to shreds.

Draco had resisted the first few times he had been here, but if he didn't eat now then he would be too weak to do much, and this would be the only live meat he would get. And after he had finally, begrudgingly partaken, the sickening wave of nausea that took him when he thought about the fact that he was eating a human, someone's father, or son, or brother, had faded. And now it had been replaced with a curl of satisfaction, somewhere in the dark depths of his mind, to tear at a jailer, he could almost see the kennel masters face on this poor wretches face. Later, the guilt and self -hatred would flare up, as he remembered the satisfaction he was getting from ripping through muscle and sinew, as hot, coppery blood spilled across his muzzle, but for now, he felt alive.

In the days that followed, the kennel masters seemed less cocky, and more wary. It was natural, Draco supposed, as this was the first time that they had seen their fellow jailers get ripped to shreds by their own charges. The dried blood on all the wolves that had been in the hole probably didn't help shake the image of their comrades final moments.

As the full moon neared, a few more wolves were tossed into some of the cages, and eight juvenile centaurs were brought in, bags over their heads, hands and legs all hobbled. The smell of burning flesh and hair stung their nostrils as they were branded and locked away.

At least they weren't recombined, and then branded. With Draco, and Cole, and some of the others that healed faster, and some of the plain werewolves whose particular type of were allowed them to heal faster, the brand had been deep, and reapplied, every hour until it was a wound too deep for the body to heal without scarring.

In listening to the wizards in the laboratory through the doors, Draco had learned a lot about what the point of all this was.

The dark lord wanted to figure out a formula to make him more powerful, and immortal, without ill-effects. If they tried to recombine the genetics of some magical creatures, or of a plain witch or wizard off the street, it did not always take, and sometimes, led to malformations or death. The best luck had been with werewolves, something about the disease that caused them to be werewolves let their genetics be more susceptible to changing. Unicorn blood usually led to weak, cursed creatures, while phoenix blood did allow for accelerated healing. Some wizards, whose family's had at some point had magical strengths, and some random genetic changes in muggleborns allowed some individuals to take better to these alterations. Dragon's blood increased strength, but didn't help with immortality, though it did help in amplifying magical ability. And then there were the things Draco wished he didn't hear, about how sometimes, too much magical ability drove the test subjects to madness, the centaur they'd added unicorn blood too had started seeing on the dark, worst visions and had killed herself, and one of the muggles they'd added magical blood too, to see what would happen, her body slowly turned on itself, and she withered away to nothing.

Though he could see the pull of immortality and all that, Draco grew to be glad that he wasn't. This would end soon, either he would starve and go mad here, or he would escape, but if the possibility to be locked in this filthy hell forever had been there, he would have probably been driven mad as well. The stench, and whines of the new wolves, nursing their wounds, the soft murmur of the centaurs voices, and the ever present crackle of the wards locking them in, burned through all of his senses, weighing his down. Pacing back and forth, agitated in this tiny cage, he waited, trying not to let the blood splattered across his muzzle corrupt his thoughts with hunger.