Chapter 17
Present Day

Draco watched with thinly contained contempt as Theodore swept Astoria in a waltz around the dance floor. He asked inwardly what he was doing torturing himself with the sight even as he could not look away. He loathed Theodore in that moment but Astoria would always be divine, no matter who's arm she was on.

It should be mine, Draco thought as his animalistic instincts rose to the surface. He quelled them with the cold logic that it had been his decision to push her away. It was therefore his fate to see her find happiness elsewhere.

Draco was grateful when the music stopped and the dancing guests dispersed. He had only been at the gala a short while but was quite ready to go home and pretend the night never happened. Theodore went to stand in front of the orchestra, drawing his wand to his throat for a spell to magnify his voice.

I swear to Salazar I am leaving if he starts singing, Draco said silently to himself.

"My esteemed wizards and witches, I am so thankful that you all have come here tonight," he said as he plucked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing House Elf. "Because I want to share some very special news with you all. As many of you know I have dedicated my life to improving the lives of others through my organization's various projects."

Draco scoffed, wondering if Theodore was simply going to toast to his own existence. The blond wizard, in mimicking Theodore's gesture, grabbed a glass of firewhiskey on a passing tray for himself. He was going to need something with a little more bite if he was going to withstand Theodore's speech in its entirety.

"But I can only do so much as a private citizen and I realize if you want to make big changes you must first commit to big challenges," he continued. "Which is why I am proud to announce that I will be bidding to become your next Minister of Magic in the upcoming elections!"

The news was met with a deafening roar of cheers and applause. Draco surveyed the room and saw the surprise and excitement of the other party-goers. He committed himself to a slow clap just for appearances but carried no joy in his expression. Neither the mortal part of Draco nor the wolf he kept hidden within trusted Theodore Nott and the news of his political aspirations didn't stir any feelings of good will.

Draco made his way to the outside balcony, inhaling the cool air that greeted him and the reprieve it granted him from the gala's stuffy air. When had society begun to feel so oppressive?

"A galleon for your thoughts?" Came a voice from behind Draco. He looked over to see Blaise Zabini approaching him, a cigar in his mouth.

"Just taking a break from the festivities," Draco responded. He had no intention of disclosing the full breadth of his gloomy thoughts.

Blaise leaned against the balcony beside him. "It's quite some party isn't it? What do you think of Theo's news."

"He never pegged me as the political type," Draco responded. "But I suppose it is good for him."

"Good for all of us, Draco. He's going to do great things for our country when he becomes Minister."

"When he becomes Minister? Are you his campaign manager now, Blaise?"

The other wizard smiled. "Something like that."

Blaise tapped his cigar over the balcony edge and watched as the embers tumbled away, their orange hue fading into the darkness below. After a long moment Blaise went on. "I know it's been awhile since we've spoken Draco and I can't help but wonder what happened to us. We used to be like brothers. And maybe I am to blame for us growing apart but I want to change that."

Draco peered at Blaise with a guarded expression. The blond wizard knew perfectly well that he had intentionally distanced himself with his former friends, Blaise included. He waved off the other man's words, a little unsure of where the conversation could possibly go.

"Don't think anything of it," Draco responded casually, eager to change the subject.

"I'd like to see you join the Knights of Walpurgis," Blaise said, finally getting to the real reason for his little conversation and hastily added. "Have you considered Theo's invitation?"

"I don't know what I could possibly offer your group," Draco responded. After Theodore had left his card, the wizard had done his research on the group and found nothing but glowing praise for the wizards' association. They were a wizard's philanthropy group according to what Draco had uncovered which wasn't anything Theodore had not already told him. Indeed their work with setting up wolfsbane clinics in remote parts of the world was align with Draco's ownership of the Artemis Home. But his charity work was far less noble and rooted in more personal significance.

"You have always been a brilliant businessman, and we could use your savvy. Besides maybe there is something the Knights have to offer that you might want as well."

"Such as?"
"Come to one of our meetings and find out," Blaise countered with a knowing smile. Draco, bored of their conversation, would have said just about anything to be done with the discussion and eventually agreed to attend the next Saturday evening meeting.

Past

The Centaur's Camp

"It's time," Fenrir whispered, kissing Hermione softly awake. In the stillness of the night Hermione knew what his words meant and steeled herself for what they had been planning. Tonight was the night they were going to escape. She suppressed her nerves and tried instead to will herself to embrace the moment.

In the months of their captivity Fenrir and Hermione had become more of the centaurs' pets than prisoners, no longer were they regularly chained inside their cell and there was never a guard posted outside their door. But this night was marked special by the fact that the guard had been careless as the werewolves listened for the tell-tale click of the front door's lock. Only it never occurred.

She gathered what little she had to take with her: a thick cloak to ward off the winter air and small canteen before nodding silently that she too was ready. Hermione's heart raced with anxiety and anticipation at the thought that after so many long months they might finally be free. She had stopped thinking about the war and even Harry and Ron months ago, her mind made numb by the constant pit fights. Her only reason for existence had become simply to survive.

Fenrir approached the door and saw from it's opening that no one was around. Centaurs were not nocturnal and the two werewolves had chosen this time to escape knowing the creatures patrolling the perimeter would likely be drowsy. Aas he inched the door open Fenrir paid cautious attention that no one would see them and Hermione dutifully crept out in his tracks.

As they moved amongst the shadows neither said a word. In truth Hermione could hardly even breathe for fear of drawing attention to them. Just as they cleared a corner around the building a centaur on patrol turned the corner as well. The creature did not have a moment to react before Fenrir had snatched the spear from his hand and drove it into his throat.

The centaur watched as his own blood pooled from his throat, gurgling with confused and terror in his eyes before faltering over. Dead. Hermione hardly blinked at the corpse as Fenrir quickly snatched a nearby tarp and tossed it over the creature. A vaguely distant part of her noted that the sight should have troubled her and at some point in her life it might have.

But violence had become a backdrop to her life as the centaur's prisoner and she thought nothing of the fallen creature.

"I will meet you on the edge of the field," Fenrir whispered, pointing to the location in the distance.

"What do you mean? You must come with me!" Hermione responded with a mixture of anger and confusion.

"I will, my love but there is one thing I must do," he said and kissed her. As their lips parted he did not wait for her to reply, emphasizing his instruction. "Go!"

And then he disappeared behind a centaur's yurt. Hermione heeded his wish with the full knowledge that if he did not meet her at the edge of the field she would go back to retrieve him.
However it was not long before he was back at her side once more. No sooner had she asked what he had done did Hermione see his handiwork in the distance as parts of the centaur's camp caught fire.

"A distraction," he said.

"More like a parting gift," Hermione amended coldly. The countless pit fights she had been subjected to for the centaurs amusement meant she would never wash her hands clean of the blood that had been shed. Hermione had been changed irrevocably.

Neither werewolf regarded the camp aflame for too long before they sprinted into the forest, leaving the painful memories of their imprisonment behind.