Sorry for the long wait guys, but we've got the rest of the second task here for you to enjoy. Hope you like! Warning: bit more violence and gore in this chapter.
Claire's heart lurched to her throat when the projection of Hadrian vanished.
There was a horrid moment of absolute stillness as everyone processed what had just happened – a moment that seemed to draw on and on and on – before it snapped.
Pandemonium erupted.
She was aware, through the thick grasp of her own shock, of Jacob leaping to his feet; and next to him, Albert was quick to follow as the cacophony of noise exploded. Hundreds of voices called out at once, demands and insults and utter chaos sparking on their tongues.
Claire gripped tighter onto Raina's hand, which was still clutched in her own. Her eyes flicked desperately over the sudden empty space her friend once filled.
Her eyes stung.
Hadrian had been doing so well. He had been moving steadily, his path relatively uninterrupted, with his encounter with the redcaps serving to reaffirm his magical prowess in the minds of everyone. Fire was the hardest element to control, after all, and he had wielded it so proficiently.
He should have had everything under control. He was too good not to have everything under control.
But the moment the thought solidified she knew that it was not fair. In this tournament, nothing was guaranteed, and she knew that, truly, but Hadrian had such a way of competence about him that made him seem invincible.
He would have been fine, she amended, if Kaiser had not attacked him.
It was allowed, she knew that too. In such an open task, unless something was specifically prohibited, then anything the champions did could be justified.
But it was so – so unsportsmanlike. So petty and underhanded. Claire was not so naïve as to believe that blood prejudice was less prominent in her generation. She had seen and heard plenty to know that many still placed far too much importance on lineage and status. And she had known for a long time that Hadrian had endured many derisive comments and insinuations in the past as a muggleborn.
She had suspected that Kaiser harboured those outdates views as well. But she never would have thought that the girl would so openly try to murder Hadrian.
He had not even been doing anything threatening, had not even known that she was there. And yet she had still attacked him, caught him off guard and then left him to face a nest of acromantulas. Not to mention her theft of his wand.
There would be consequences. There was no way Claire would allow the other girl to get away with such conduct.
A sudden commotion drew her attention, some voices rising higher above the general rabble, and she glanced over just in time to see one of her classmates – Nathaniel – punch a Durmstrang student in the face.
The floodgates opened.
Claire was shoved forward, almost propelled right out of her seat, as the rest of her peers tried to converge on the fight – to restrain or escalate, she did not know. Their section of the crowd descended into anarchy; a blue-clad wave of Beauxbatons students crashing against Durmstrang red, and the air was charged even if no spells had been cast just yet.
Raina's arms circled around her, keeping her bracketed as the fight continued. Over the tops of heads, Claire could see the various officials trying to quell the situation, with varying degrees of success. All she could think in this moment was that, for all his poise and discipline, Hadrian would have loved to be in the middle of this.
Before things could devolve further, there was a burst of raw magic that spread through the whole area, powerful and frigid and coiling tight around her neck in threat. Her ears popped and her skin broke out in goose bumps.
Woodenly, she turned her head in the direction that the burning cold originated and was unsurprised to see the Dark Lord standing above them.
The man cast his gaze out over them, in such a way that it felt like he was meeting each of their eyes at once. When he spoke, his voice was soft; so different from what a normal soronus sounded like.
"Enough."
Claire released a trembling breath, her lungs aching as the effect of the man's order ricocheted through them all. Slowly, like spooked creatures, they all shuffled to their seats, the rustling of dozens muffled under the weight of the Dark Lord's disapproval.
As she watched, Voldemort turned to someone beside him – the British Minister – and inclined his head, before taking his seat once more. Lucius Malfoy stood, his mild voice projecting as he began to speak.
"Hadrian is fine." Raina whispered, and Claire looked away from the politician to study her friend, snared by the certainty of her words. Raina's eyes were fixed firmly on the Dark Lord, intense and searching, but not overtly worried. She appeared to be the only one unaffected by the overpowering, invasive touch of the man's magic.
"How do you know?" Claire asked, fingers curling harder around her friend's hand. Malfoy had just said something similar, before moving to address what had happened to the orb that was supposed to be projecting Hadrian's progress – but Claire trusted her friend's word over that of a foreign minister.
Raina tilted her head and pursed her lips. "He would look more concerned if Hadrian were hurt." Was all she said, leaving Claire confused.
She stared at Raina, baffled by the confidence in her answer. Raina truly believed that the Dark Lord would have shown more emotion if Hadrian were in danger.
Wordlessly, she threw her gaze once more at the man himself, and she supposed he did look rather relaxed despite the ramifications of losing visual of one of the champions.
But the Dark Lord was always so unflappable. How could Raina be sure?
Jacob leaned over, asking the same question, "Are you sure?" Claire was certain that Albert was straining to listen to Raina's answer as well. The two boys' expressions were creased in distress.
Raina ignored Jacob, instead patting Claire's hand absently. "Trust me. If something was happening to Hadrian, he would not be nearly as calm." Here, her friend's eyes turned dark and unfathomable. "Voldemort is…interested in Hadrian. He wants him alive."
Claire blinked, sharing a glance first with Jacob, then Albert. She did not know what was more surprising. That Voldemort wanted to recruit Hadrian, who had not necessarily kept his opinion of the man a secret; or that Raina had neglected to say the man's proper title. Raina had never been so disrespectful before.
Claire bit her bottom lip. There was something more going on here; something between Hadrian and Raina and the Dark Lord. But she did not know what, and it frustrated her to be kept so far out of the loop.
"Do not trouble yourself with this, Claire." Raina repeated, voice turning cold, "Instead start thinking of retribution. Kaiser has declared war on Hadrian, and therefore Beauxbatons. As Hadrian's friends, it would be remiss of us to not answer her thoughtless provocation."
That at least succeeded in abating some of her fear.
OoO
Lucius eased himself back into his seat, his eyes instinctively darting over Draco's projection, desperate to reassure himself that his son was still safe. After the turmoil of losing Potter – Evans, he corrected himself – Lucius was beginning to grow more worried.
Thanks to his Lord's intervention, the audience had settled, though they were more subdued than before. It was, however, the politicians in the pavilion with them that were still buzzing with rage.
Minister Lécuyer, in particular, looked seconds away from throwing politics out the window and launching herself at the Scandinavian Minister over his champion's less than stellar behavior. The only thing that seemed to be retraining her was the presence of her advisors, whispering frantically in her ear. Whatever they were saying must be enough to stay her tongue, but there was something dark and vengeful swirling in her eyes that had Lucius cautiously leaning away.
Lucius glanced swiftly at his Lord, searching.
When the orb had stopped transmitting – ending on the worst possible scene of Evans surrounded by a whole nest of acromantulas – Lucius had feared his Lord's reaction. They had known that the orbs were not indestructible, but the spike of terror at this being viewed as his own failure left Lucius breathless for a single moment.
An understandable response, considering his Lord's strong interest in Evans. But the man had done nothing but frown lightly when the visual of Evans had vanished, before his expression smoothed over. Even now, after quelling the panic, he did not appear overly concerned that the boy was stranded, wandless, to face some of the most dangerous creatures in the forest.
It bothered him, made something close to unease creep into his chest the longer his Lord went without showing anything. There was a heavy kind of assurance about him, and suddenly Lucius was no longer afraid for Evans but of him. His Lord would not be nearly as confident if he did not think the boy could handle the situation; and that confidence told Lucius enough to know that Evans was far more dangerous than he had initially thought.
He had suspected something when he had first met the boy, back in Korin's office so many months ago; and learning that he was the lost Potter heir had cleared some of the mystery surrounding the child. He knew the boy was formidable – but even Lucius himself would struggle facing that many acromantulas, even with his wand. Without one, death was almost guaranteed, unless one could wield –
Lucius' eyes widened at the thought, and how preposterous it was. A seventeen year old boy using wandless magic?
With nothing to channel the flow of magic, it would be like blasting a hole in a dam, and the strain it would put on Evans' coils was incalculable. The only person Lucius knew of that was skilled in using wandless magic was his Lord. One needed to train rigorously to be able to control their magic, and most witches and wizards could only accomplish the most basic of spells even with years of practice.
The idea that a boy barely into his majority had had that kind of training was ludicrous, and yet now that it had taken root in his mind, Lucius could not ignore it.
Did Evans know wandless magic? And if he did, just how capable with it was he?
"My Lord?" He inquired softly, trying not to sound as shaken as he was by what he might have stumbled upon.
"Everything is fine, Lucius." The man replied evenly, his gaze aimed somewhere out in the distance, his mind obviously preoccupied. "He has it under control."
The insinuation did nothing to dispel his new suspicions, but he settled back and firmly pushed the thought to the side to be examined later. Now was not the time to be consumed by what amounted to a rumour.
Lucius returned his focus to his son. He hoped that Narcissa was watching, and that she was as proud of Draco as he was, of the capable young man that they had raised.
OoO
Draco tripped over a root.
He cursed, catching himself on the trunk and taking a moment to lean against it and catch his breath. He hoped his mother had not seen that.
The cuts from the pixies had grown numb some time ago, and while that might normally worry him, at this point he just wished to get out of this bloody forest.
He had to be near the end. He had crossed the river about half an hour ago, and if he remembered his map correctly, the finish point should be less than an hour away now. Draco sighed heavily, brushing some of his fringe out of his face and grimacing at how filthy he was right now. The first thing he would do when he got out of here was have a bath.
Draco pushed himself off the tree trunk and started jogging again.
He wondered if either Evans or Kaiser had reached the end yet, or if he was in the lead. He had seen no sign of them and did not know how he felt about that. Evans, he would not mind losing to. The other boy was a surprisingly good sport about the whole tournament, slicing his way passed the implied rivalry between champions with deliberate ignorance. Draco could easily see them carrying their odd friendship into the future.
Kaiser, on the other hand, he did not like. The girl was too vicious, too cruel and too assured of her own superiority. She reminded Draco far too much of his aunt, and no one should want that kind of comparison. He had seen the way she spoke to Evans, the distaste that coated her words and the dark gleam in her eyes whenever the other boy was in her sights. It had only grown worse since Evans had won the first task.
Draco could not remember a time when he had held those views, though he knew he had at one point. Back when Hermione had first been brought into their family, he had spent weeks and months scorning her and blaming her for the situation. He had not realised that she was mourning the family she had been taken from, desperate for her real mother and father to take her back from the house full of strangers.
He had been a child, young and stupid, conceited and unwilling to look beyond his own wants, and he had hurt her terribly during that first year. It had taken her being driven to tears right in front of him for him to finally notice how not right everything was, for him to rise above his own selfishness – and now he could not imagine his life without her by his side.
The idea of Kaiser turning her caustic tongue on Hermione made something in his chest burn.
He refused to lose to someone like that girl.
Draco bit his lip, moving around a large tangle of roots. The moon was high in the sky, and the air was cold enough to reach beneath his heating charms and touch his skin. He rubbed at his arms futilely, trying to ignore the way his breath fogged, when a howl pierced to air.
Draco stopped, frowned, then tensed. The orb bobbed in place next to him.
Every hair on his body seemed to quiver as the sound echoed around him. It was deep, guttural. Wild. It rattled his bones, awakening his most base instincts, causing his vision to swim as adrenaline flooded him in an instant.
He swallowed thickly, gripping his wand tighter. He glanced at the sky once more, dread rising rapidly in him when he saw the full moon shining down on him through the thinning canopy.
It is not possible, he thought, frantic and fearful. The wards, there is no way one could breech the wards.
There was another howl, louder this time, and though before this night Draco had never heard one before, he knew it to be the call of a werewolf.
He stepped back unconsciously, the thud of his heart overtaking his hearing. He bumped into a tree, flinching away from it. He tried to recall everything he knew about werewolves, but his mind stuttered, unable to form anything useful.
All he knew was that he wished Hermione was with him, because she would know.
A third howl rang clear, reverberating through the trees, and Draco came to the horrible realisation that it was so much closer than it had been moments ago. It was definitely heading in his direction. Within minutes it would be on top of him.
He slipped around the tree he had hit, backing away swiftly and hurriedly trying to come up with a plan. Running would be useless, there was no way he could out-pace a werewolf, and all it would take was one bite and he would be finished.
Draco aimed his wand at the floor, "Protego duo." He whispered, watching as the slight green ripple stretched from the leafy ground and up over his head, creating a protective bubble. His hands trembled as he stood there, breath punching out of his chest as he strained to listen for the faint pad of footsteps rushing his way.
His eyes darted back and forth, focussing too hard to see which shadows were a threat, and so he missed the one that shot at him from the side, colliding against his shield with a spray of green sparks. Draco did not scream, his jaw clamped as tight as it was, but he reared back from the blow.
The figure had been bounced back some metres, giving him enough space to finally get his first glimpse of the creature. He had seen images in textbooks and in the papers, but he had never been faced with one before.
It was a ghastly sight. The werewolf was mishappen, thin to the point of emaciation. Its limbs were long, the skin stretched over the bones, and its face was gaunt and covered in both dried and fresh blood. There was something crusted around the edges of its eyes, and Draco had to swallow bile when he saw the tick, crisscrossing scars that ran along its hairless body.
There was no trace of humanity in its eyes, so any hope he had of talking it down was effectively lost now. He raised his hand, brandishing his wand in its direction. If he could get one hit in, with a strong enough curse, then maybe he would have a chance. He was a competent dueller, and his offensive knowledge was almost as extensive as his defensive.
Though, he had only ever fought in controlled environments, with professors and tutors ready to step in, and only against people that he knew would not really hurt him.
This was different, and Draco had never been more scared then in this moment, staring into the eyes of a ravenous predator. The depth of hunger in those dark eyes sent a primal pang of fear through him, and he took a quick step backwards. Leaves crinkled under his boot, and the werewolf lunged.
Draco hopped backwards, knowing the shield would protect him, but unable to help the instinctive urge to run when having a creature barrelling down towards him.
The werewolf hit the barrier, the same green sparks exploding between them, but unlike last time, it was not blown back. Draco retreated blindly as the werewolf continued to bare down on him, its forearms flying in wide arches, slashing at the shield with a tenacity he had not expected.
He raised his wand, intending to blast the beast backwards, when one last swipe of its claws shattered the shield.
Draco froze, the werewolf froze, the very air froze.
Then, he did something incredibly stupid.
He ran.
Draco sprinted through the trees, wand snapping over his shoulder as he unleashed several rapid spells, as well as a blasting curse that sent a tree hurtling to the ground.
Over the rush in his ears, Draco swore he could hear the harsh grunts and heavy steps of the werewolf; and whether through chance or intuition, Draco swung himself around a tree just as a large, shadowed shape dashed passed.
It swung around, everything from its speed to how quickly it locked onto him inhuman. Draco tucked and rolled; the air driven out of him as he hit the ground awkwardly. The werewolf slammed into the tree behind him, and he scrambled to his feet as it turned to face him, barely affected by its crash.
"Shit," he whispered, "shit, shit, shit."
The creature growled, a low rumble that filled the night and came after him again.
It was too close, no time for him to raise his wand, and Draco went down hard beneath it. They tumbled, everything blurring together. Pain burst through his leg and Draco screamed as his skin was torn into.
He slashed his wand thoughtlessly, no spell, just a concussive wave of magic that flung the beast off him.
Draco looked down at his leg, hardly able to see through his tears. All he could make out in the darkness was the oozing blood leaking from the gorges in his outer thigh. He hiccupped, choking down air as the whole area began to burn, and feebly tried to drag himself backwards, away from the werewolf.
His hand clutched at the wound, whimpering as he heard the werewolf prowling towards him. The eager huffs of its breath helped him find it in the darkness, and Draco sat petrified as it approached him.
Soft pleas fell from his mouth as he shook in place.
The werewolf lowered itself, preparing to leap once more. Draco cried out in panic as it jumped, and it was almost on top of him when a yellow light collided with it mid-air, thrusting it back into the woods, the sound of breaking branches and whines following it.
Draco dropped back to the ground, looking around urgently for his saviour.
He spotted Evans standing just a few metres away, covered in something resembling black ink. Green eyes blazed with an untold amount of rage, but none of it touched Draco when the other's gaze drifted to him.
"Hi Draco," Evans said drolly, so at odds with the aggressive way he held himself, hand still outstretched in the direction the creature had flown, "rough night?"
Draco's hysterical laugh melding into sobs of relief. He watched as Evans approached him with sure steps; this time the crunch of footsteps coming towards him was soothing.
Evans stopped beside him, eyes moving from the surrounding trees to stare down at him. The other grimaced, lowering himself carefully to hover his free hand over the wound on Draco's leg. "Otium dolor," he said, and cold numbness spread through Draco immediately. He sagged deeper into the ground, breathing deep and slow.
"Keep pressure," Evans told him sternly, reaching out and grasping one of Draco's wrists to slam his hand over the gash. Draco hissed, a dull ache erupting at the harsh treatment, but he obeyed, squeezing his hand into his muscle. "I have only eased the pain. I need time to try and stop the bleeding." Evans' gaze traced over his injury with the same clinical interest Draco had endured from healers before.
"Can you?" He asked breathlessly, glancing up at the other. Now that he was closer, Draco could see that for all he looked like he had just rolled around in something's guts, there were no obvious marks on Evans. If the other had not just saved his life, he might have found him terrifying.
Evans hummed, eyes shooting to the forest, roaming over the trees with an intensity not unlike that which Draco had seen in the werewolf. "Maybe," he said idly, and there was an odd note in his tone, "depends on if our friend will let me have a chance to look at it." He tilted his head, and Draco followed his gaze to see the werewolf slinking back into the small clearing they found themselves in.
He tried to sit up, scared, but Evans pressed him back down firmly. "No, you are lucky it did not get your artery. Stay down, and do not move."
"What?" Draco snapped, voice pitching high, and the werewolf cocked its head. Draco twitched, but not as much when Evans leaned further over him, until he was practically crouched over Draco. "What the hell are you doing?" He whispered, incredulous and beginning to shake once more.
Evans' hand curled lightly over Draco's throat, and it was only the lack of pressure behind the touch that stopped him from thrashing. "Trying to save our lives, so do us a favour and stop talking."
Draco swallowed thickly, looking up at what he could see of Evans' face, only to notice that the other was holding the werewolf's gaze evenly. There was a weight in the other's eyes, a promise and threat lurking in those green depths, and Draco stopped breathing.
He was not well-versed in animal behaviour, but he had read enough to know that prolonged eye contact was not typically encouraged. It was a challenge, and challenging a werewolf did not seem the smartest decision.
"Evans," he breathed out, even as the edges of his vision started to black out.
Evans shushed him, barely more than a whispered rasp, long and low. Draco settled, despite how his pulse thundered under Evans' fingers. The werewolf stepped closer, but paused, its upper lip curling up and a growl rolling forward.
In response, Evans rose to his feet, the motion smooth and disturbing. The warmth their limited contact had provided evaporated, and Draco shivered hard. "Draco," Evans called, voice low but tight with stress, "I am about to do something rather reckless, be a dear and stay quiet."
"What are you going to do?" Draco asked, though he already knew, and his disbelief was palpable. "You're going to fight a werewolf?"
"Something like that." Evans muttered, "Try not to pass out before I'm done, I still need to clean your wound." He then stepped over Draco until he planted himself squarely between the werewolf and him.
Draco stared up at Evans' back, still terrified out of his mind, but with a small kernel of hope growing in his chest. His eyes dipped down to Evan's hands, and it took a few moments for his vision to focus enough to realise that there was nothing there.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the beast growled again, louder and angrier this time.
Evans did not flinch. He merely lifted one of his hands and spread his fingers loosely, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. Every inch of him ready to move. Then, tauntingly, the bastard whistled.
He's insane, Draco realised with horror.
OoO
Hadrian's mind whirled.
He had known that there was a werewolf loose in the forest the moment he had heard the first howl. It had caught him by surprise, because Hogwarts' wards should have kept such a creature out. By the third howl, Hadrian had realised that it was hunting.
He had been preparing to leave the area entirely, not willing to tangle with a werewolf, when he had heard the sharp crash of a tree falling and then the – very human – scream.
For all that he was still riding on the wave of anger at Kaiser, Hadrian was not cruel enough to leave someone to face such a threat alone. And when he had seen Draco lain out on the ground with the werewolf seconds away from mauling the other, he knew he had made the right choice.
Now, standing between the injured boy and the starving creature that had hurt him, Hadrian felt nothing but cold calm settle over him. His magic was still roiling beneath his skin, only a thought away, but the tips of his fingers felt blistered from overuse. He would have to be careful not to overdo things while handling this, because if he fell, then there was no hope for either of them.
It would not be easy, facing down a werewolf, but Hadrian had dealt with a manticore, and the acromantulas just before this. They were all deadly in their own right, and all the same rules applied for all of them. One hit, and it was over. Venom for the previous two, contagion for this one. If he was bitten, then that was it; he would either bleed out or turn.
Neither option was exactly preferable, though Hadrian would be able to live with the curse if it came to that.
He released his breath. So long as he avoided taking any hits, and kept those teeth away from him, then he would be fine.
The only problem was Draco's presence. Hadrian could hold off the werewolf, could send it scurrying back to wherever it came from, but with Draco bleeding everywhere he would have to be careful not to leave him open for an attack.
The werewolf made another crackling snarl, close to a bark. It stepped forward, then back, forelegs scratching at the ground in agitation. Hadrian watched critically as it took several steps to the side, then twisted and moved back the opposite way.
It was trying to warn him off, to scare him away, and Hadrian was suddenly very glad that he had not taken the time to vanish the acromantulas' blood yet. He was a human, so he sparked the werewolf's instinctive need to bite and reproduce, but he was also drenched in the scent of a dangerous species. He was prey that smelled like another predator, and deep in those animal impulses he was likely triggering a whole host of confusing signals. Even after the whistle, it was hesitant to approach.
That was why it was not attacking him. That was why it was so cautious, why it had stayed back when Hadrian essentially claimed its kill. He was a threat, it just had not figured out how much of one he was.
Hadrian waited until the werewolf had turned once more, then flicked his wrist and closed his hand into a fist. A chain appeared before him and whipped across the space between them too fast to track.
The werewolf yelped when it made contact, with a meaty smack. The enchanted links wrapped around its snout and head, tightening until its jaws were clamped shut. As the werewolf whined and shook its head, Hadrian raised his other hand and spun on his heel, summoning a wall of fire to encircle he and Draco. The flames were tall, and bright enough to illuminate the entire clearing.
Hadrian paused, taking in the glimpses of the werewolf he could get through the fire. It was tearing at its face, trying to shake the chain loose, and gauging its own flesh in its efforts. Seeing weakness, Hadrian raised on hand upwards and said, "Obstrepere."
A number of small bubbles formed above him, each popping with a sharp bang that left his ears ringing. The uproar drove the werewolf back in panic, its sharper hearing working against it.
Hadrian stared after it, only cancelling the spell some minutes after he lost sight of it in the trees. He sighed with relief, closing his eyes and taking a moment to collect himself, before the soft groans from Draco brought him back.
He quickly returned to the other boy, crouching beside him and assessing the damage now that he had enough light to see clearly. Draco was a touch paler than normal, but it was more from shock than blood loss. It was a lucky wound, far enough away from his femoral artery that Hadrian had felt comfortable leaving him while he got rid of the werewolf. So, while it was bleeding, it was hardly enough to be life-threatening.
"How are you feeling?" Hadrian asked while he used a quick spell to clean his hands, banishing the grime and acromantula blood.
"Like shit," the other hissed, his leg spasming when Hadrian shifted the bloodied strips of fabric out of the way. The numbing spell must be wearing off. Hadrian narrowed his eyes, staring at the ripped flesh. It was a gruesome wound, the skin twisted and splayed out, the muscles underneath a deep red in the flickering firelight.
Hadrian studied it in silence for almost a minute, running through the list of spells that might help until they could get Draco some silver and dittany. He might be able to scrounge up some ingredients, but Hadrian would rather leave healing a wound of this magnitude up to the professionals.
"I – I need you to tell me something," Draco gasped, knocking his head back against the ground as the numbing spell finally wore off and the pain flared.
"What's that?" Hadrian asked absently, waving his hand over the centre of the gashes. "Patet vulnere," he muttered, watching as the wound began to clear, fresh, vibrant blood soaking forward. Then, just to be sure, he added, "Patet infectio."
"Is it a bite?"
The soft question successfully drew Hadrian's attention from Draco's injury to his face. Beneath the crumpled expression, Hadrian could see the very real fear bubbling in his eyes.
Hadrian turned back to Draco's leg, looking at the way the skin was mangled, searching for puncture wounds – but it was too difficult to tell. He could clearly make out two lateral slashes, but with the shape of the werewolf's snout, he could not determine if they were from teeth, or merely a glancing blow from claws.
He contemplated lying.
"I don't know," Hadrian told him quietly, honestly, his mouth twisting in apology. "I have not studied werewolf attacks in depth – I'm sorry."
Draco stared at him silently for a long moment, his gaze unfocussed, before distress set into his features. "I can't –" he started, squeezing the words out, "I can't be a werewolf." The admittance was barely audible. "I can't, Evans. I can't, I can't."
Hadrian grabbed the other's shoulder, "Stop," he ordered, his own voice calm despite how Draco's fear affected him. "We do not know if it is. You need to calm down, Draco."
But the panic had taken hold, sweeping Draco up in it and taking him beyond where Hadrian's words could reach him. He could not treat him if the other was shaking apart at the seams. His body could reject any magic Hadrian used.
He needed Draco to snap out of it.
"Your father is watching," Hadrian said quickly, catching sight of the orb still rotating around them, "and your mother. They are watching you right now. Hermione, too." The name of his foster sister seemed to break through some of the hysteria, and Hadrian caught Draco's eyes when they swung up to him. He smiled reassuringly, "Your family needs you to hold it together, Draco. Just for a little while longer. Can you do that, Draco?"
The other opened and closed his mouth, trying to find his voice, "But what if –"
"Can you?" Hadrian interrupted, voice hardening slightly.
He held Draco's eyes, waiting until he could see the request sinking in. After a moment, Draco nodded. He still appeared out of it, but he was no longer trembling so violently.
He was sweating though, which worried Hadrian. Wordlessly, he pressed the back of his palm to the other's forehead, feeling how heated he was. It was both good and bad. Draco's magic was already responding to the injury, rushing to try and heal the damage, but the sharp drop in adrenaline and the shock was throwing his body out of balance.
He was not in any danger, but the sooner Hadrian got his injury bandaged, the better.
"Alright," he said quietly, "okay, so, I'm going to wrap your leg, and then we will figure out what to do next." Draco did not respond, but that was fine. Hadrian gently moved Draco's hands away from his leg and cupped his over the gashes, "Ferula."
Bandages sprung into existence around the injury, curling tight over his thigh. The accompanying magic took effect, and under his hands, Hadrian felt the tension melt out of Draco as the pain was once again subdued.
"Better?" He asked, tapping Draco on his cheek and getting those eyes to flutter open.
"Shu' 'p," Draco slurred.
Hadrian huffed a laugh, "Come on, I need you awake. Can you –"
Something moved out of the corner of his vision, and Hadrian's eyes widened when he saw a figure shoot over the top of the wall of fire. He barely had time to rise from his crouch before it collided with him.
The force of the blow knocked him into the air, and an awful snarling filled his ears as he rolled away from what had hit him. Hadrian used the momentum to get to his feet, cursing when he turned to see the werewolf before him.
It must have circled around and gained enough speed to throw itself over the flames. Hadrian had never heard of a werewolf being this determined to kill before. After sending it away, it should have left the area completely to tend to its wounds; not returned for a second round.
The creature hunkered low to the ground; long limbs spread. The chain was still around its snout, which at least meant he was still safe from being bitten, but there was a madness in its eyes that made him uneasy.
This was more than hunger. More than a territorial dispute. This was revenge, plain and simple.
"Guess there is some humanity in you right now after all," he muttered, hands flexing at his sides.
The werewolf growled, lips curling as much as they could under the improvised muzzle.
Hadrian raised his hands. He was tired from his earlier fight with the acromantulas, and maintaining the fire circle, and the several healing spells he had used on Draco had made the sting in his fingertips spread through his whole hands. Wandless magic was draining to keep up for long periods, and Hadrian was close to his limit.
He clenched his fists to ward off the slight tremors. He had more important things to worry about – like how the werewolf was currently closer to Draco than Hadrian was. But it was him the creature decided to charge.
Hadrian jumped to the side, avoiding the deadly swipe of its claws. He ducked under the next attack, then slid back to dodge the swing at his midsection.
It was herding him closer to the flames, attempting to pin him between the heat and its flurried attacks.
Hadrian twisted one last time, pivoted on his heel, then reached out with his magic and grasped the fire. He bent it back under his control, pulling it from its passive circle and sending it in a concentrated blast at the wolf.
The creature keened, dashing away from the brutal attack. Hadrian used the brief reprieve to catch his breath. That was the third time he had used fire this night and would have to be the last. He did not have the willpower to control the volatile element again.
He waved his hand, smothering the fire and casting them back into darkness. He lost sight of the werewolf for a heart-stopping moment; but heard the pounding of its feet as it rushed him once more.
Hadrian threw himself to the side, but he landed wrong and struggled to his feet.
He tried to move, to run, but the werewolf was on him within a second.
Agony erupted along his spine as the werewolf slashed at his unprotected back.
Hadrian shrieked; the sound wrenched from his throat as the force of the blow sent him crashing to the ground. He clutched at his upper arm, tears filling his eyes as every nerve in his back began to burn.
He writhed, rocking onto his front, body curling into a ball, desperate to somehow escape the pain clawing through him. He choked on the cries building in his throat, his breath sticking in his lungs as blood filled his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue.
He pressed his knees up under himself, his mind still screaming at him to get away from the threat – when he lifted his head and caught sight of the slender frame upon Draco's unconscious form.
No.
Like a tsunami, Hadrian's magic rose in answer to his frenzied demands. It raced under his skin, pressing forward, too hot, too powerful, angry and hurt –
He unleashed it, a rush of pure magic exploding out of him, vicious and crackling it slammed into the werewolf and flung the creature into the air, where it hit a tree. Its body folded around the trunk with a sickening crack.
Hadrian collapsed, barely catching himself on unstable arms. His whole body felt raw, exposed and twitching from the aftereffects of his magical outburst.
The taste of blood was stronger now, and something wet slid from his nose, to the bow of his lip, then fell to ground just below him. Hadrian licked his lips, eyes fluttering as a heaviness set into his mind.
He coughed roughly, shoulders heaving, then let out a muffled cry as the fabric of his jacket tugged at the torn skin on his back.
Hadrian squeezed his eyes shut, but forced himself to his feet. He had to get to Draco. He had to call for help.
He staggered his way towards the other, passing the destroyed orb on his way, and dropped down beside him when he finally lost feeling in his legs.
Hadrian tilted his head up, squinting at the dark sky and shakily raised his hand as high as he could. "Vermillious," he said, concentrating as hard as he could to make the spell work.
A jet of red sparks flew high into the sky.
Hadrian lowered himself to the ground beside Draco, wincing as every movement burned him from the inside. He stared up at the line of red that glowed above them. It would only be a matter of time before the officials arrived. Thanks to the orb, they would know what had happened.
Hadrian hoped no one would mind that he had effectively forfeited the both of them from the task.
There was a long silence, broken only by his uneven breaths and pulsating rush of his heartbeat, until horrible wet crunches cut through the haze.
Hadrian lifted his head, dazed, eyes fighting to focus on the limp figure barely a few metres from him. The werewolf's body began to transform back to its human form, the bones breaking and rebreaking, melding once more to their natural state. The skin rippled grotesquely, looking on the verge of splitting open.
The chain slid from the now smaller head, coiling on the ground before vanishing.
Hadrian stared at the bloodied, naked body. He took in the perfectly human features of the woman, and everything hit him at once.
He turned his head away, chest far too tight and stomach clenching with the urgent need to be sick.
He had killed someone. Murdered someone.
Hadrian closed his eyes, trying to ignore the thick silence left in the wake of the transformation.
He had always known he would, one day. He had spent his life believing he would one day be the one to kill Voldemort. But the concept of death had always been a distant one, a vague goal he was working towards, the inevitable conclusion to his revenge. It had been a fanciful notion, his moment of triumph over his own personal devil.
The reality of it was far harsher.
Hadrian did not know how much time passed after that thought. He did not slip into unconsciousness, was not nearly so fortunate, but his mind had stopped processing things. He fell into a daze, staring blankly up at the night sky.
It was only the sound of dozens of people suddenly surrounding him that brought him back. Too many voices were talking at once, their words overlapping and incomprehensible to him.
Hands grasped him, and Hadrian blinked tiredly up at the numerous faces that swam in and out of his vision.
There was one that appeared over him, comforting though it should not be.
Voldemort loomed over him, his guise of the Dark Lord in place. The man's eyes were bright, and endless in their rage.
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