I will stay with you tonight

Hold you close 'til the morning light

In the morning watch a new day rise

We'll do whatever just to stay alive

The quiet of the woods was shattered by a scream.

Draco jumped so hard that his left ankle knocked against the ground, eliciting a yelp of pain. He suppressed it quickly, listening for another sound. His heart was pounding, and he could not be rid of the terrible thought that it sounds like Teddy. Scorpius too had heard it; his grip on Draco was so tight that it pinched. It had been only ten minutes, maybe, since Teddy had left; if he'd kept up the slow jog at which he'd started off, he could not be more than a half-mile or so away.

"Teddy?" Draco shouted, pushing Scorpius gently off his lap and preparing to climb painfully to his feet with the help of the branch Teddy had left with him. There was no answer, but after a moment he heard another frightened cry, fainter this time. "Teddy!"

The motion seemed to drag at his ankle as Draco shifted carefully to all fours and tried to get his good leg under him while maintaining his grip on the stick. He was inhibited by Scorpius, who continued to hold on to him until he carefully but forcibly detached the boy's hands from his clothing. "Scorpius, let go." With a significantly painful effort he got into an upright position, and found that by gripping the makeshift staff with both hands and leaning heavily on it at every step, he could hobble slowly toward the source of the sound. "Teddy!"

There was no response. Draco hesitated and glanced down at Scorpius, torn by a terrible choice. Had Teddy been only momentarily frightened by something, or was he in real danger? If he was, would going to him put Scorpius—and hardly less, Draco himself, into danger also? What, realistically, could Draco do if Teddy had befallen some danger? Unable to do magic, injured, and stewarding a small child, how could he possibly help?

But he couldn't do nothing. Draco started forward, painfully slowly, trying to listen for any sound past his own breathing, which was loud in his ears. It seemed a small eternity, but was probably no more than two or three minutes, before he heard running footsteps and Teddy came pelting through the trees towards them. He was glancing back over his shoulder as he ran, and almost tripped as he came into sight.

"Teddy! Are you hurt?" Draco tried to move faster, then stopped as Teddy came to a stumbling halt in front of them. The boy turned to look back in the direction he had come. His face was stark white.

"W-werewolf," he gasped out, sounding petrified. Draco felt his blood run cold.

"Scorpius, get behind me," he said softly, pushing his son back with one hand. He tried vainly to think of a defense that he or Teddy might practically be able to accomplish. Silver and dittany, his mind bleated wildly, but that was only a treatment for bites—little good to them now—oh, why hadn't he paid more attention when—

Werewolves transformed at the full moon. The thought stopped his racing fright in its tracks, for although it was near evening, it was not dark yet and the moon was not up. Moreover, though Draco wasn't sure what phase of the moon tonight would be, he was quite certain that it was not a full moon.

"You're sure it was a werewolf?" he asked Teddy cautiously. "Not…just a regular wolf?" Not that a regular wolf would be a good thing…but in the immediate future, it might be somewhat less aggressive.

Teddy shook his head emphatically. "N-no, it w-was a werewolf," he stuttered frantically. "Its eyes were—different—and, and it had a tufted tail—"

"You saw its eyes?" Draco asked, growing more skeptical. Transformed werewolves, he knew, did have eyes that were more human in appearance than those of ordinary wolves. However, for this difference to be readily observable, Teddy would have had to be very close to the animal; in which case, how had he possibly escaped? Werewolves were extremely fast and strong, and their thirst for human blood while transformed was practically insatiable. Unless this werewolf was under the influence of Wolfsbane potion, which allowed transformed werewolves to retain their human minds, there was no way that Teddy could be so close to such a monster and still escape. There was something deeply strange about this tale. "Teddy, are you sure it was a werewolf? Absolutely positive? It's not a full moon."

"It—O-ooh…" Teddy trailed off. "I—it looked like a werewolf, Uncle Draco—I've seen pictures—"

But it could not be a werewolf, Draco reasoned. Werewolves could only transform on the night of the full moon; and it was neither night, nor a full moon. And since nothing appeared to have chased Teddy, whatever he had seen could not be so aggressive—hopefully, it was some animal that had been as frightened by Teddy's screams as Draco had been.

"It can't be a werewolf," Draco said, wishing he felt as certain as he sounded. "It's not a full moon. Werewolves only transform on the full moons."

Teddy was not listening. His face, which had just begun to recover a tiny bit of color, had gone pasty again as he stared fixedly in the direction from which he had come. Draco turned to follow his gaze and, his skin crawling, saw a large, stooped grey shape slinking towards them through the trees.

It was a werewolf. There was no mistaking the blunt snout, tufted tail, and elongated, arm-like front appendages. Draco's mind took a brief break from reality to gibber senselessly to him about how it could not be, it wasn't a full moon, this simply wasn't allowed—

But that did not change the fact that the animal was moving steadily closer.

There was no point in running. Draco could barely move at a slow hobble, and the best that even Teddy could do would be to outrun Scorpius and Draco. Whatever was going on here—whatever freak of nature or magic this thing was—the only possible defense against it was to scare it off.

"Teddy, get back," Draco said in a low voice. Teddy was too frightened to help him in the moment, and it wouldn't help to show fear before this vicious predator. The werewolf was only about twenty feet away now; it stopped and snarled at them.

It was not acting like a werewolf ought to, Draco thought through a numb haze of terror. The animal sounded savage, certainly, but surely a werewolf, crazed by its lycanthropic condition, would attack any human upon sight? With the last bit of bravado he had left around the fear quickly suffusing all his senses, Draco took two hobbling steps forward and shouted at the thing.

"Get away from us!"

His voice cracked with terror, and for a moment, he was sure the animal would attack—it stretched its head forward, towards him, moved a few feet in his direction—it was about to charge, he knew, and it would kill him and Scorpius, and there was nothing he could do—

And then, there was a puff of smoke and a loud, whip-like crack, and to Draco's absolute shock, the ferocious werewolf vanished and where it had stood lay Scorpius, covered in blood and deathly pale—

But Scorpius was behind him. Draco glanced frantically over his shoulder and saw Scorpius standing beside and slightly behind Teddy, watching with wide eyes. Teddy himself stared in open-mouthed bewilderment at the apparition before them.

"It's not a werewolf," Draco said. His voice cracked again, not with fear this time but with immense relief. "It's a Boggart."

"Is that me?" Scorpius whispered, awestruck, tip-toing forward for a better look. He seemed more curious than afraid, and Draco had to catch him quickly by the arm to stop him moving closer.

"Don't—"

It was too late. Crack. The Boggart had turned its attention on Scorpius, who squealed in distress as the creature transformed into another shape—and Draco found himself staring down at his own dead body. But it was not as he would have pictured himself, if he had thought to do so; this corpse looked more garish than it should. It was not unrealistic, exactly—indeed, it was extremely realistic, as Boggart forms were—but the blood was a shade too bright red, the expression on the face a bit too contorted. That made sense, actually—the thought passed through Draco's mind too fast to provoke any significant emotion—this was his death, as Scorpius pictured it in his nightmare. Realistic, yes, because Scorpius had seen death; but also tainted by the natural imagination of a child. And wasn't it true that Boggarts plucked from the mind of their victims the image of what they feared the most? Limited telepathy, of a kind—which meant that perhaps Occlumency might form a defense of a kind—

Scorpius whimpered and clung to the front of Draco's robes, and it suddenly struck Draco that he was standing here, looking down at what had recently been a werewolf and was now a slightly gaudy depiction of his own dead body, and of all that he could have been thinking about at that moment, he was pondering the academic implications of a Dark creature's ability to glean information from its victims to personalize its attack. Trembling with adrenaline let-down, Draco suddenly found himself laughing half-hysterically at the sheer absurdity of this situation. He was too emotionally unnerved to stop immediately, though Teddy stared at him as if he had taken all leave of his mental faculties.

There was another puff of smoke, and a crack, and Draco's body sprouted the short snout and pointed ears of a werewolf. The Boggart was confused—of course! Boggarts were defeated by laughter—of course he remembered that, it had in fact been a werewolf who had taught him this. The bizarre amalgamation of human with werewolf that now lay on the forest floor was not at all alarming, and Draco discovered that there was an element of actual amusement, rather than only hysteria, to his mirth. Infected by the strangeness, Teddy had also begun to giggle unwillingly. Another crack, and the body that was half-Draco and half-werewolf sprouted a thick, tufted tail—then a louder crack, and a great billow of smoke; and the Boggart, defeated, vanished without a trace.

Draco was still smiling slightly as he turned back to Teddy. "I told you it wasn't a full…"

He trailed off upon seeing the teenager's face. Teddy's momentary laughter had evaporated and his expression was a confused convolution of defensiveness, misery, and humiliation. Draco was puzzled only for a second before he understood: Teddy's father had been a werewolf. The same werewolf, ironically enough, who had been Draco's professor in his third year at Hogwarts, and from whom Draco had learned the defense against Boggarts.

Draco decided that this was not the moment to question, even internally, why Teddy's Boggart took such a form. Teddy had just had a very frightening experience, and was clearly upset.

"Let's go," he said, trying to sound both gentle and businesslike. "There might be others around. I'd prefer to avoid them, if it's all the same to you."

"Aguamenti!" Teddy tried again. His wand produced a hissing noise and a short burst of steam.

"That was closer—here, look." Draco beckoned him closer and placed his hand over Teddy's on the wand. Teddy's hand was shaky, Draco noticed, but he did not comment on it. "Relax your arm. Let me show you the motion. Aguamenti!" He moved the wand, and Teddy's hand, in a smooth up-and-down curve, flicking his wrist slightly at the bottom of the second curve. Nothing happened, of course, but he hadn't expected it to. "See—you need to flick your wrist a little—and the emphasis is on 'ment.' Agua-ment-ee."

"Aguamenti!" Teddy said, executing the motion Draco had demonstrated, and this time a small stream of water poured out of the wand.

"Good!" Draco rinsed his hands under the water, then cupped them to catch some of it as the stream began to taper off. "Scorpius, here…"

A few more attempts allowed them all a refreshing drink, which was a welcome, if brief, relief from the summer heat that evening had not yet eased to any significant degree. With the easing of their thirst, Draco discovered that he was becoming hungry. He did not say so, but Scorpius did.

"I'm sorry, Scorpius," Draco told him unhappily. "We haven't got anything right now. We'll eat soon, alright?"

But would they? It had now been nearly three hours since Teddy had first used magic, and therefore Draco's initial imagination of a worst-case scenario—in which the Ministry owl took three or four hours to arrive—looked at present very close to materializing. On the plus side, there had been not the slightest sign of Dementors, though Draco remained almost obsessively alert for any sign of unexpected chill or the dampening of sound.

After the encounter with the Boggart, they had decided to stay together for the time being. Teddy remained extremely unsettled, and Draco didn't like the idea of sending him off again on his own while he was still upset, especially with nightfall approaching. Besides—though he tried not to think it—where there were Boggarts, there might be other Dark creatures, and even if being near Draco increased Teddy's danger of a Dementor attack, his wand was the only thing Draco and Scorpius had to protect them against any other danger they might run across.

It was fortunate in another way that Teddy's attempt to go for help had failed, because as they stopped by a large tree to rest, Draco had realized that Teddy's magic was their only source of water. He had not initially considered this, as he'd hoped to be found within an hour or two. But with time dragging on, Scorpius's complaint of thirst had reminded Draco that dehydration was quite as deadly as any Dark creature.

They had taken a path at an angle to Teddy's earlier direction of travel, hoping to avoid any other Boggarts that might be in the same area as the first. The going was not terribly rough, but even with the help of the stick Draco had to move slowly. They had gotten perhaps a mile or two in the past hour, and already Draco's hands had begun to blister from gripping the rough bark of the stick. With the light beginning, almost imperceptibly, to fade, Draco gave up on the idea of making it out of the forest before nightfall.

"Teddy, let's stay here a while."

He didn't say for the night. To say that would be to suggest that they would not be found that night—and although with every passing minute the likelihood of that diminished, he could not bring himself to say so. He'd expected to have to explain: no use stumbling around in the dark, this place is as good as any, we can sit against this tree…but Teddy only nodded and crouched down to brush damp leaves away from the base of the large trunk, clearing a place to sit down. Apparently he still had not yet recovered from his experience with the Boggart.

Draco sat against the tree and sighed in relief at being off his feet. Trying to walk with only one good foot and a stick was a thoroughly unpleasant task. Scorpius, exhausted by the chaotic day, curled up on the ground and rested his head on Draco's lap, where he fell asleep promptly. Draco tucked the edge of his robes protectively over the boy, although it was still warm. Teddy sat against the tree on Draco's other side, and stared moodily off into the trees. His hair had changed from dull brown to a dark auburn that was almost black in the dimming light. Draco glanced sideways at him, wondering what he ought to say.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, knowing it was a rather poor try and wishing he had a better idea of what to do. Teddy shrugged glumly.

"Fine."

"Don't worry about the Boggart," Draco said, deciding to take a straight line to the point. "It's easy to get caught by them if you're not expecting—"

"I don't want to talk about the Boggart!" Teddy said angrily. Draco sighed and tilted his head back against the tree.

"You can't control what your Boggart turns into," he said tiredly. "So—"

"Shut up about the Boggart!" Teddy snapped miserably, startling Draco considerably. Teddy had never before been outright disrespectful towards him, nor even rude. It seemed that the episode had left him even more shaken than Draco had suspected.

"Teddy," he started, halfway between irritation and concern, but he did not have the chance to figure out what he was trying to say.

"I'm not ashamed of my dad!" Teddy burst out fiercely. "And I'm not—I wouldn't be scared of him, either!" He sounded close to tears.

"Your father was a person who it would be hard to be afraid of," Draco told him, thinking of the ragged, quiet, and mild-mannered professor who he had loathed, both because the man seemed to like Potter and because his favorite professor and head of house, Severus Snape, had clearly despised Lupin.

"I'm not scared of him," Teddy repeated, sniffing. "Just—just of—"

"I'm afraid of werewolves, too," Draco admitted, when Teddy refused to finish the sentence. "Many years ago, I knew a werewolf that was—friends with my parents, you might say. He visited my house frequently, and used to take great enjoyment in frightening me. He used to tell me that I would be—" He caught himself, realizing at the last second that there were some things that ought not to be repeated to a child, even an older boy like Teddy. Draco pushed the memories away. "—that he wanted to turn me into a werewolf. His name was Fenrir Greyback…I hated him."

"That's the werewolf that bit my dad!" Teddy said, momentarily surprised out of his misery.

"Really?" Draco was startled. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, he bit my dad when he was just a kid. And then he bit one of my uncles in the war, but it was when he was in human form."

Draco shuddered. "I can imagine that. I used to think he was more wolf than human even when it wasn't a full moon."

"But my dad wasn't like that?" Teddy asked, sounding suddenly vulnerable again. "Uncle Harry says he wasn't, but—well—he really liked my dad. Sometimes I wonder if he makes stuff up."

"I didn't know your father well, but he was a good professor," Draco said, reluctantly. "He was as different as you can imagine from Greyback."

"Uncle Harry says there's a difference between monsters in the shape of people, and people with monsters inside of them," Teddy said. "I guess that's what he meant."

Draco thought unexpectedly about the Mark, the shadow under his skin that branded him as something, perhaps, not so far form Greyback as he wished he was—the Mark that went so much deeper than surface-level: all the way to his soul. He wondered which category that placed him into.

"Does he say that? Well, I expect he's right. I think Greyback was glad to be a werewolf. He used it to hurt people, but he would have hurt them anyway. I don't think your father was like that. It always seemed like he wanted to help people."

"I wish I could have met him," Teddy said unhappily. Draco watched the boy, troubled.

"I'm sure he would have been proud of you."

"Not if I can't even beat a stupid Boggart," Teddy muttered in disgust.

"Well…" Draco rolled his eyes, embarrassed. "The other day one got into Grimmauld Place…I didn't even recognize it. And I did have the benefit of your father's instruction on recognizing and dealing with Boggarts. He would have been disappointed, I expect."

Teddy giggled reluctantly. "Maybe Uncle Harry can teach both of us."

"That would go well," Draco muttered under his breath. Teddy looked at him curiously.

"You don't like Uncle Harry."

"I didn't say that."

"But it's true, isn't it?" Teddy asked shrewdly. "Before I met you Gran told me I shouldn't talk about him in front of you."

Draco had wondered on several occasions why the loquacious Teddy was so silent on the topic of his godfather, but this was an explanation he had not expected.

"I don't exactly dislike him," he said hesitantly. "It's…complicated."

"I'm not a child," Teddy said, sounding childishly annoyed.

"I think it's best if I let your grandmother and godfather explain it," Draco decided. "It is a long story…it has to do with the war. Sort of."

"I know about the war. I've read the history books."

"Oh." Draco felt a dull flush creeping into his face, and for the first time he was briefly glad of the growing dusk. He had read the history books too, and where they did speak of him they were not complimentary; their version of the truth, while technically accurate, made the war sound so simple, so black-and-white, when to those living it, it had been anything but. "Well, then you know."

"But Uncle Harry says that there's always more than one side to every story. He said that a book doesn't tell everything."

That was true. No book could explain the feeling of being torn in two—the thrill of promised power on one side, but carrying with it danger and violence…while on the other side were the people he'd grown up hating, but with them lay the possibility of safety. He said nothing.

"He said everyone had their reasons for doing what they did in the war."

"I'm not going to talk about the war," Draco said sharply.

"Why not?" Teddy pressed, absolutely undeterred. His curiosity seemed to be the first thing recovering from his distress over the Boggart.

"Because—" Draco broke off with an annoyed sigh. "You're godfather's right about one thing, books don't tell everything. I spent most of the war wishing I could get out, and I'm glad it ended the way it did. Alright? That's all I want to say about it."

"But Uncle Harry says—"

"I don't care what he says," Draco snapped. "Stop asking me."

Teddy subsided into aggrieved silence, which after a moment's calmer reflection, Draco decided was probably deserved. Teddy was little more than a child starved for the details of an event that had shaped every aspect of his life from a time before he was even born.

"Alright," he relented grudgingly, "you can ask me one question."

Teddy brightened like the horizon at sunrise. "About the war? Can I ask anything?"

"Yes, about the war. You can ask anything, but I don't promise to answer."

"Can I see the Dark Mark?" Teddy asked without hesitation. Draco froze.

"That's…not a question about the war."

"But can I?"

Instinctively, Draco glanced down at Scorpius to make sure he was still asleep. He stalled for thought, running a hand lightly over the boy's silky hair.

"Why do you want to see it?"

Teddy shrugged. "I want to know what it looks like."

"And you don't already?" Draco asked doubtfully. "I know for a fact that there's a picture in the latest edition of A History of Magic."

"You said I could ask," Teddy protested. "You didn't say it had to be a good question."

Draco took a shaky breath. The request was quite a fair one, though Teddy did not realize it; it was thanks to this Mark that all three of them would probably be soulless corpses within the next day or two, hunted down by Dementors drawn by the Mark itself. Wasn't Teddy quite within his rights, even if he didn't know it, to ask to see the reason for the danger he was in? It was something Draco could hardly refuse, under the circumstances. "Alright. But…I don't want you to go talking about it, okay? Especially not to your godfather." If we get out of here alive. The idea came unanticipated into his mind, and for a moment Draco caught his breath. But he forced it away, promising himself that the owl would come.

Teddy nodded, looking surprised at his success. Draco carefully drew his left sleeve up to the elbow and turned his arm to show Teddy the faint black shadow under the skin. He was prepared to pull his arm away if Teddy tried to touch it, but the boy only stared at it with wide eyes.

"Did it hurt?"

"I said one question," Draco said thickly, pulling his sleeve back down over the Mark.

"You said that wasn't a question," Teddy said slyly. Draco didn't feel up to fighting.

"Yes, it hurt."

Admitting that made him feel very exposed, especially before the curious stare of an innocent boy only a few years younger than Draco himself had been when the Mark was branded permanently into his skin and, apparently, his soul.

"When did—"

"No more questions," Draco told him tersely. "You've had two already."

Darkness had nearly fallen in the forest now, and in the gloom Draco could barely see Teddy's face anymore. The boy fell silent, and presently Draco felt him move closer. Although he would not have admitted it, the conversation had been a welcome, if uncomfortable distraction from the fear of the reality they were facing: night, in a strange and forbidding forest likely inhabited by things much worse than Boggarts, with Dementors hunting them and their only defense the wand of a thirteen-year-old who was as scared as he was. And still, there was no sign of the Ministry owl or of rescuing Aurors. Physical proximity made a poor substitute for actual safety, but Draco did not protest when Teddy rested his head against his shoulder.

"There aren't werewolves here, are there?" Teddy whispered into the thickening dark.

"It's not a full moon," Draco reminded him again.

But there might be much worse than werewolves, Draco knew. Where the hell was anyone who should have been looking for them? And that bloody owl—how far were they from civilization, if it took over three and a half hours for a flying owl to reach them from the nearest settlement? For the first time, he began to seriously consider the possibility that something had interfered with Potter's ability to find them, and possibly even with the owl. The prospect was grim. Dementors could appear at any moment, and it was assured that they would eventually. If no one found them tonight—even if they survived the night, without being found by Dementors or anything else that lurked in the forest—what new hope would the next day bring? It would only bring that much longer without food, and another day of stumbling through the woods, hoping they were heading at least vaguely in the direction of safety. A swell of hopelessness washed over him.

"Uncle Harry's going to find us, isn't he?" Teddy murmured.

"I'm sure he's searching for us right now."

"I'm scared," Teddy whispered, as if it was a terrible and condemning thing to say.

"We'll be okay."

Draco had rarely been less convinced of this in his entire life, but it seemed the correct thing to say to the boy shivering against his shoulder. Teddy went quiet, and pressed a little nearer.

He didn't sleep. Even if he'd wanted to, Draco's ankle throbbed too badly to let him rest. The forest had gone quickly from dusky evening to pitch-black night; it made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. Teddy had dozed off after some time, leaving Draco alone with the dark and his thoughts.

He wondered if Potter had realized that the chest of drawers was responsible for their disappearance. It didn't really matter, he decided after more thought, whether he had or not. It only mattered how quickly he could locate them. He should have found you already, a little voice whispered in the back of Draco's mind. He tried to blot it out, but the truth kept creeping back in. Where were Potter and his Aurors? Locating a person with magic was not a difficult task for a team of trained Aurors. The blackness echoed the question back at him without answer.

A slight, chilly breeze swept past, rustling through the dry leaves on the forest floor. Draco froze as the cool air touched his skin, thinking of Dementors and the cold they brought with them. The chill breeze died after a few minutes, and Draco was so relieved that it took him several long minutes to realize that the leaves were still rustling.

Draco tried to breathe silently, fearing that any sound could attract the attention of a nearby danger. Scorpius was a dead weight on his lap, and his legs had gone numb except for the heavy throb of his injured ankle, but Draco dared not move. The leaves crinkled in a methodical pattern some distance away, life the shuffling footsteps of a pack of animals. He could tell it was not the wind, for the sound came from only one place and seemed to be gradually tracing a circle around them. Draco's heart raced so quickly that his chest ached. His hands trembled.

"Teddy," he breathed, as silently as he could. There was no response. Teddy's head continued to rest against his shoulder. Draco twitched his elbow lightly into Teddy's side and tried again. "Teddy!"

"Wha—hm—what?" Teddy woke, disoriented.

"Shh!" Draco hissed. "Be quiet!"

He listened again. The rustling sound had stopped. Draco's skin crawled. Had they been heard, or had the thing moved away? It had been better when at least he could hear where the potential threat was.

"What is it?" Teddy whispered. He clutched at Draco's arm.

"Don't talk." Draco listened once more, still hearing nothing, then bent down close to Teddy's ear. "I think there's something nearby. If I hear it again, I'm going to have you light your wand with Lumos. Okay?"

Teddy nodded. Draco felt him shivering as he drew his wand carefully from his pocket. They waited in tense silence. The darkness felt like a tangible thickness in the air; Draco had a hard time breathing it in. His ankle sent spikes of pain shooting up his leg, but the fear was too great to give mind to the pain.

Directly in front of them some ways, the leaves rustled.

"Do it!" Draco whispered urgently.

"Lumos!" Teddy said. His voice, high with fright, sounded very loud. Scorpius stirred on Draco's lap.

The wand-light fell across a bed of dry leaves punctuated by mossy trunks, a landscape which looked both recognizable from the light of day some hours ago, and at the same time extremely alien. At the edge of the light's reach, in the dark space between two barely-outlined trees, four round blue lights glowed steadily back at them as if in response. Teddy made a sound like a small yelp. Draco's stomach went cold.

Those were eyes.