What's that infernal racket outside!
Draco clutched a pillow and dragged it over his head in an attempt to drown out the sound of the bird chirping outside. His wand had yet to sound off his daily wake-up alarm, but already he knew he planned to silence it and go right back to sleep. For some reason, every muscle in his body hurt. He wasn't planning to get up until he felt more like himself again. While trying to find a position that did not hurt as much, the sheet covering him moved. The feel of cool air on his bare buttocks alerted him to his nude state. That couldn't be right. Since his home became overrun with Death Eaters and Black Cloaks, plus the Dark Lord's fondness for trying to catch his followers off-guard, it served him well to always be prepared, which meant sleeping fully dressed. Draco shot up in bed, his nudity making him feel extremely vulnerable.
He rubbed his eyes a few times, the light too bright for the time of day. His heart began to race when he took in his surroundings. This was not his luxurious bedroom in Malfoy Manor. Compared to the rich furnishings he was accustomed to, this room was practically Spartan, even if it was of a decent size. Nearly everything around him—the walls, ceiling, bed, even a chair—appeared to have been carved out of stone. His eyes went to one of the few pieces of wooden furniture, a chest, with some clothing neatly piled on top of it. Eager as he was to cover himself, he could not stand the idea of wearing someone else's clothes.
Draco draped himself in the bed sheet and tried to remember how he came to be wherever he was right now. His head and body hurt in that horrible way it did when he thoughtlessly imbibed far too much firewhiskey and performed some life-threatening stunt, except that could not be right either. Such behaviour, normal in his carefree Hogwarts days, would be highly uncharacteristic of him now. With the threat of death constantly looming over the heads of his family and himself, tempting the fates with such foolish displays seemed unwise.
The more Draco pondered over what might have happened to him, the more his head blanked out. He could feel his entire being reach out to something elusive out there and return empty-handed. This happened a few times until his heart began to ache from the emptiness that filled him.
A knock on the door, followed by the creaking sound of the door being pushed open had him instantly on guard. In walked a stranger, who Draco was sure he had never seen before ...but there was something familiar about him.
"How are you feeling?" asked the old man. His voice possessed a hypnotic quality that put Draco at ease despite his Slytherin instinct to mistrust all.
Draco had enough experience to know he was not under the Imperius curse. Regardless, whatever the old man was doing to him was so similar to the Unforgivable, Draco began to panic and struggled to maintain his aloof facade.
"This can be difficult," said the strange old man, moving towards the chair in the corner of the room. His speech and gait gave him away as nobility even if the style of his robes was common.
The man settled himself into the chair and looked to Draco. "Why don't you have a seat?" he asked, gesturing towards the bed.
Not quite a compulsion, but Draco felt a desire to do as the man said. He continued to feel uneasy with whatever was going on. Where was he; who was this man; and why in Hades was he moving to sit on the bed as the man suggested—were just some of the questions swirling through Draco's head at the time.
"Calm down, pup—"
The firm tone used made Draco want to obey the command.
"—I'll explain it all to you soon. Just try to relax first, your body's still healing. I don't want you getting too excited and hurting yourself once more."
Once more?
Draco blinked in confusion. He did not know what the man was referring to but found himself relaxing all the same. Ever since the man entered the room, that overwhelming sense of emptiness inside him had dulled to some extent. Part of him wanted to beg the other man to let him go or at the very least hug his knees for comfort, but another—new and unfamiliar—part of him scoffed at the idea of displaying such weakness.
"We mean you no harm," assured the grey haired man, the look in his clear blue eyes confirming the sincerity of his words.
"Close your eyes—" The smoothly delivered command was hard to ignore, but without knowledge of what was to come, Draco could not honour his request. He sighed and shook his head.
"You're a strong one," the man observed. Staring intently at Draco, he repeated, "Close your eyes."
Draco's eyelids snapped shut, in a way that had to be the work of magic, just some type he was unfamiliar with. Even though he was acting of his own choice, something about the man was making him want to do as he said.
"What's the last thing you remember before you woke up?"
Draco was unable to recall anything, except for a vague sense of pain and chaos. He shook his head.
"Do you remember meeting me two days ago?"
...two days ago?
He would have surely remembered such a distinct-looking person, had they crossed paths before. However, while he could not recollect any previous meeting between them, he could not shake off that feeling of familiarity either.
"You were badly injured. No one thought you would live, but you did—though you weren't too happy about it when you woke up two days ago and realised what had happened to you."
Normally, Draco would have turned his nose up at anyone lacking the finesse to avoid speaking bluntly, yet in the moment he could not resist asking, "And what exactly has happened to me?"
"Lycanthropy."
Although the man spoke at length afterwards, the only thing Draco recalled of the conversation was that single word, lycanthropy. As he pondered all the ways in which his life was now fucked, Draco finally began to piece together the chain of events that had led him to that point.
Fuckin' Crabbe and the out of control fiendfyre ... The destruction of the diadem they were meant to protect ... Potter and Weasley escaping because he didn't cast the killing curse ... A distraught Goyle unfairly blaming him for Crabbe's death ... The Dark Lord's wrath over the destruction of his horcrux ... Aunt Bella mocking him for his inability to cast the killing curse ... Death Eaters binding him and bringing him to Bleidd Castle ... Greyback ... The full moon ... Wolves ... Werewolves ... Pain, so much pain ... Jeers and laughter from the spectators ... Death.
Being bathed by the silver light of the moon ... Rebirth ... A soothing voice addressing him, "You're a werewolf now, Draco Malfoy. As upsetting as you may find the notion now, I want you to know, being a wolf is an honour; the moon goddess must have shined down on you. Welcome to the pack."
"You've recovered at least some of your memories then?" asked the old man.
Draco had to blink a couple of times before his mind could refocus on the present and the man before him. The grey hair and white streak looked remarkably similar to one of the wolves that bit him.
"You were there that night."
The old man nodded. "I am Oskar, your sire. I was responsible for turning you."
Remembering the number of wolves that attacked him that night, Draco doubted they could know who infected him.
"We share a bond, not quite as strong as one you share with the alpha but it's there."
"The alpha?" he asked, not knowing what Oskar meant.
"Fenrir Greyback, he's the leader of our pack and your alpha."
"Greyback isn't my sire then?" Why was that, it was unlike Greyback to refrain from blood sport.
"No, because of your heritage Greyback and his Dark Lord were worried about the kind of powers you could end up possessing if you were bitten by an alpha. They chose the weakest members of the pack to attack you that night."
Draco nodded in acknowledgment even though he did not truly understand what difference it made which werewolf infected you.
"There isn't time for details now, just the basics before Greyback arrives. We have a hierarchy and everyone has a role to play. Each pack is run by an alpha, the strongest member of the pack, with betas handling supervisory or administrative roles, and finally omegas who form the common citizenry within the pack.
"The alpha bonds with each member before they can be a part of a pack. You accepted Fenrir as your alpha when you woke up two nights ago, which is why you're more coherent this time. For whatever reason, Fenrir is resentful of you and may still challenge you to a match. So, as your sire I feel obliged to offer you some advice. If you value your life, submit to the alpha and, however tempting the prospect, never let him see the full extent of your strength."
Without warning, she turned to the side of the bed and emptied the contents of her stomach.
"Ugh, can't believe it's happening again," grunted Hermione as another bout of sickness came on.
Hermione took off her shift and used the garment to wipe the corners of her mouth before tossing it aside and putting on a clean garment. When she turned, Ginny was staring at her stomach.
"Cora says it won't be long now." Hermione smiled, giving her belly an affectionate rub.
"You know this'll keep happening, right?"—Ginny eyed the swell of her own stomach—"I want it out of me, but what would even be the point? Soon as we give birth, we'll be given to someone else. It's never going to get better—"
She clenched her teeth, the features of her face twisting into something ugly as she ground out her words. "None of this was supposed to happen. You know I'm not ambitious like you, Hermione, no grand plans to change the world. I was going to get married, have children with Harry... Maybe if we survived the war, I would've liked to try out for some professional quidditch team. That's about it." She shook her head and hugged her knees to her chest. "And look at me now—nothing but a hole. They won't stop once this baby is out. They'll just do it all over again, and again, for as long as they can." Ginny buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
"Shhh." Hermione brushed the hair out of Ginny's face. "We'll get out of here. I'm sure I'll figure something out," she said, trying to sound more convincing than she actually felt.
"Considering they took our wands, I don't see how."
"Come on, Ginny. We're in this together now. We'll escape or die trying together, yeah?"
Ginny let out a soft sob and crawled over to where Hermione sat with her arms open, waiting for her.
Hermione hugged Ginny, tucking her head under her chin. Had she made a mistake by not acting on Cora's advice? Two days ago, Cora expressed her concern for Ginny's mental health, suggesting the younger witch would be better off in her own quarters, separate from Hermione. According to Cora, watching the rapid progression of Hermione's pregnancy was the cause of the multiple anxiety attacks Ginny had suffered in recently.
"I wish they'd just die, Hermione," whispered Ginny, her head pressed close enough to Hermione's stomach to feel the twins moving inside. "It's the only way we can have a future with the men we love."
Hermione disagreed. Harry loved Ginny. So much, he would be grateful is she just returned alive. As for her, though Ginny had meant Ron, he wasn't the one Hermione was thinking about when thinking about the man she loved. Hermione remained silent, quietly sighing and continuing to brush Ginny's hair with one hand.
...
While Hermione sat with one arm protectively wrapped around her belly after listening to Ginny's wish for her babies to die, Draco stood outside, listening to their conversation from the other side of the wall thanks to his lupine hearing. Hermione had no way of knowing that Draco had heard her silence and left, believing she shared her friend's views.
Pain. Burning, searing pain running through his whole body was the only thing he was aware of as his mind slowly drifted to consciousness. Draco lay on his stomach, left eye busted and swollen, lip split, and the ground beneath his right cheek. It was too much of an effort to even breathe. He tried to remember what had happened, how he had ended up like this, but his brain could focus on nothing but the pain.
Draco slowly blinked his eyes open, trying to make sense of his surroundings, but his vision remained a blur. He tried to push himself up, but his hand remained limply on the ground. He attempted to roll over and instantly regretted it, the movement making him conscious of the hurt in other parts of his body. He would have screamed from the pain, except his throat was so raw all that left his lips was a whimper.
Growing frustrated with his inability to do anything, he made one last stubborn attempt to stand. Teeth clenched, he drew his knees forward and arms closer to pull his body into a crouch, which only caused the skin on his back to stretch painfully and sting like it was on fire.
Is that where he was, still trapped in the Room of Hidden Things with the fiendfyre? ... No, no that could not be. He remembered escaping it. Yes, he did escape it, but the diadem ... The diadem—it was important, somehow relevant to why he was where he was now.
He tried to recollect what happened, but there was only chaos.
Alone.
He was lost and alone in a way that felt a thousand times worse than sixth year.
Failure.
He had failed again ...but with what? He had fixed the vanishing cabinet, so how did he fail?
There was growling somewhere in the distance, but he did not care. He was focused only on the laughter. They were laughing at him, at his pain—was it happening now or was it only a memory, he could not tell. Why was no one helping him?
Die, die, die.
They had chanted it, he remembered, or maybe he had... Had he chanted it? He could not be sure. Did he want to die? Did he do this to himself? It was hard to hold on to any one thought through the pain—pain in his body from the injuries, pain in his head from unanswered questions, pain in his heart from the crushing despair of loneliness. The pain enveloped him slowly, moving like liquid fire, until at last he could take no more and lost consciousness. His last thought before he passed out: Did I just growl?
...
Draco sat up in bed, panting and covered in sweat. It was a dream, he reminded himself. It was only a dream. He was not alone anymore. He had a pack. He rubbed at his chest to ease the pangs he felt anytime he recalled those agonising moments between being turned and accepting the bonds.
Why did he dream about that moment now? He had not suffered that nightmare since those early months of adjusting to pack life.
Without bothering to dress himself, he walked to his window and used his wand to pour himself a glass of water. He stared out the window, at the moon and sighed, marvelling at its beauty. Moments like these, one could almost believe there may be some truth to the legends Oskar told him about their kind. Did Luna truly favour them?
"Being a wolf is an honour; the moon goddess must have shined down on you."
Thinking about those lines, uttered in all earnestness by Oskar when he first gained consciousness, still send a shiver up Draco's spine. He remembered lying broken on the grounds of Bleidd Castle after the werewolves were done ripping into him at Fenrir's command. Yet, through the agonising pain, he had felt the moonlight caress him, filling him with a sense of peace.
Draco looked towards Hermione's window in the distance and sighed, this time from despondence. He may not have Hermione as he believed he had before accidentally overhearing her conversation with Ginny Weasley, but his pups still grew within her and would be born any day now. He wore a stoic grin, reminding himself that with a pack and his pups, he would never be alone again.
Once more Hermione awoke with her body engulfed in pain.
"Hermione?"
She tried to lift her head to see who it was, but everything hurt too much to move. She knew what was happening, of course, and wished someone would go get Draco. Something was up with the blond recently. The little she had seen of him the last few days, he appeared more withdrawn than was normal between them now. Even though he spoke as much as he usually did, Hermione sensed a change in him she did not like one bit.
With great difficulty, Hermione opened her eyes and looked sideways to see a curtain of flowing red hair.
Ginny hovered over her, looking concerned."Hermione, are you okay?"
"Gin," she said, trying to reassure her friend with a smile. Suddenly, the pain in her belly flared, making her feel hot and cold at the same time.
Hermione curled in on herself, grunting, "Draco," when the pain dulled a little.
"Is, something's wrong with—Oh!"
Hermione let out a soft sob when she felt movement besides her. Ginny had climbed into bed beside her and was stroking her back.
Hermione shook her head. She needed Draco, and Cora, but instead of calling for help, Ginny held her while she made shushing noises and cried. Hermione regretted ignoring Cora's advice. She could not handle Ginny breaking apart right now, not when she desperately needed her to go and fetch help. But Ginny clung to her, seeking more than she offered comfort and didn't look like she was going to move. Hermione realised she would have to get help herself or risk losing her babies.
Hermione forced herself to her feet, supporting her belly with her hands and ignoring the trembling form in her bed. Ginny, lost in whatever nightmare, was completely oblivious to everything around her. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, Hermione slowly made her way out of the room, hoping to find someone who would call Draco and Cora for her.
She struggled to breathe as she experienced another contraction. "Behave, for your mama," Hermione whispered to her pups, as she too had taken to referring to the babies inside her. She touched her belly in the way she remembered Draco, or even Oskar, doing when she experienced spasms from their growth spurts. She hoped they would listen to her too. "Please try to stay put till I get your father," she pleaded.
The contractions came to a sudden stop.
Hermione's eyes started to well up. For the first time it dawned on her, she was not just some incubator to them. She was their mother, and they were her babies. However they came to be, and however inconvenient the timing of it all, they were inextricably linked together for life.
She stumbled out of her quarters and spotted Draco sleeping on a pallet outside as if he had been keeping guard there. He woke up with a start when she called out to him and if she weren't in so much pain, she would have giggled at how Draco's hair looked right now. His hair, usually so well behaved, looked like it had been in a battle with a kneazle recently, and lost.
"What is it? Is it time?" he asked, sounding mildly panicked.
She grunted out a, "Yes," then doubled over from the pain of the contraction.
"Okay, okay. Deep breaths, Granger," he reminded while helping her walk back inside.
With Draco supporting most of her weight, Hermione was able to make it to her bed just when the next contraction hit her. Her body twisted awkwardly as she tried to support her belly to ease the pain and her waters broke.
"Salazar's salty nutsack!" cursed Draco. "Ah ... you wait here while I go get Cora," he said, backing out of the room. "Um—don't go anywhere."
He instantly shrunk back at the murderous glare she shot him. "Okay, yes—stupid statement—I'll be right back," he mumbled before dashing out.
...
Hermione focused on her breathing to stay calm while she waited for Draco to return. Soon enough, he was back with Cora following closely behind.
Draco held Hermione's hand and stroked her belly, while trying not to wince anytime she felt a particularly painful contraction and squeezed his hand a little too hard.
"Why don't you massage her stomach, it should help a little?" Cora suggested to Draco. She went about casting spells to prepare the area for the birth and set out a host of healing potions she might need during the process. With everything about this pregnancy being so unique, unsure of what to expect, Cora was choosing to err on the side of caution.
The mediwitch parted Hermione's legs and encouraged Draco to keep up with his massage as it was helping distract the witch.
When it was time, with encouragement from Draco and Cora, Hermione grit her teeth and, pushed. It felt like she was being ripped into two as she pushed out the first of her pups. It wasn't long before two healthy babies lay nestled against her
Draco nuzzled against Hermione's cheek as he looked in awe at their pups."Thank you," was all he could say, before getting choked up.
Feeling just as overwhelmed as Draco and also exhausted by the deliveries, Hermione could only manage a weak smile in response.