DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Fifteen - Silver Eyes

Despite the fire crackling merrily in the hearth, he was cold. Cold, and so very alone. It was a state he'd grown unaccustomed to since living with the Greyback Pack, one which set his teeth on edge and had the wolf pacing through his mind. Closing his eyes, Draco inhaled slowly and stretched his fingers toward the blaze. The room stretching out behind him was swathed in shadow, that and a pressing silence. Yet another element he'd grown unused too. The Glen had always been a hive of activity, of heartbeats and whispers and snarls.

He'd arrived at the old Malfoy hunting lodge hours after the attack on the Glen, finding it abandoned and protected only by the weakest of wards. To his displeasure, not even a single House-elf had been left in residence to maintain the luxurious cabin and its multitude of rooms. All of that was in his favour, of course, because his appearance at any of the Malfoy properties would have raised his father's ire and ensured his speedy eviction regardless of any excuse or explanation he might manufacture.

Now, seated on a slab of snow white marble veiled in a thick layer of dust with his stomach growling and his slowly healing injuries aching, he sighed tiredly and dropped his chin to rest against his chest. He didn't know what to do, and for once, neither did the wolf. Charging into the Ministry demanding Harry be released wasn't exactly an option, not when his own face was plastered around Diagon Alley in a very fetching Wanted poster. He shifted on the hard stone floor, lifting stiff fingers to gently probe the right side of his jaw. And he wasn't exactly in any shape to take on the Ministry's top Aurors either.

The battle of the Glen was still fresh in his mind, the scratches and bruises upon his body a testament to both its occurrence and its outcome. As he'd leaned against the counter in a lazy sprawl, unobtrusively guarding the hidden entrance into the crawl space with his own body, he'd easily foreseen the brewing confrontation, but had been unable to predict the finale. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, the Pack hadn't stood a chance against the sheer viciousness of Voldemort's Death Eaters. There had been no hesitation by the Dark Lord's followers, they'd eagerly drawn on their former allies, carelessly casting curses at the unarmed werewolves. But they'd put up a good fight, Draco allowed, a small satisfied smile curving his lips at the memory of snapping some wizard's neck with one well placed blow. The battle had ended unceremoniously with the collapse of the farmhouse, the Death Eaters apparating away and the Pack scrambling to find their comrades amidst the wreckage.

Draco rose to his feet at the thought, walking shakily from the room toward the kitchen, his boots clipping softly on the stone floor. When understanding had dawned with the first shudder of the floor beneath his feet, his first thought was of Harry, trapped beneath the boards and unable to escape. Fear had ridden him hard from that moment on, the feeling uncomparable. And when the crumpled house had finally settled, and he'd dragged himself free of the split beams and fallen brick, doubt that Harry had even survived had gripped him ruthlessly. He still didn't recall screaming the dark-haired werewolf's name, though the memory of his own name echoing faintly in his ears was one he relived quite frequently.

Now, he strode through the empty halls of the hunting lodge, his path stirring the dust and dislodging cobwebs stretched across long unused doorways. He passed portraits of generations of Malfoys, all of them poised and perfect and pureblood. Something he could no longer claim to be. With a soft snort of amusement, he entered the small kitchen, crossing to the section of counter he'd cleared earlier. He plucked a green apple from a bowl edged in gold and lifted it to his mouth, taking a large bite and chewing slowly, feeling hours of missed sleep tug at him. There was Pack business that needed attending to . . . bodies to be burned. Sleep was an impossibility anyway; to open his eyes in the night and not find Harry's form in the bed across from his had become a living nightmare. With a yawn smothered against the back of his wrist, he turned and prowled back toward the comfort of the slightly warmer den, prepared to spend the next few hours staring at the dancing flames and pondering the fate of the Pack . . . and Harry.

XxXxX

The crows were quiet. Perched low within the reaching branches of a sleeping oak, the quartet of black birds remained oddly silent. With a slow blink, Draco lowered his gaze to the snapping flames flickering meters away, the warmth they cast tempting him to step nearer; a temptation that was easily denied given the fodder the fire was hungrily consuming. His nose crinkled slightly at the smell of burning flesh, the stench driving him back another shuffling step.

No one was sure what had killed Fenrir; whether it had been a curse cast from a Death Eater wand or part of the collapsing house, the result was all the same. The alpha of the Greyback Pack was dead - and his heir apparent was missing, stolen from beneath the very noses of the individuals sworn to protect him. Two pack ending blows.

From the concealing cowl of his heaviest winter cloak, his eyes slid over the motley band of assembled werewolves. They stood about the blaze in small groups of two and three, and he stood by himself, a state he was becoming well acquainted with. With the attack on the Glen fresh within everyone's minds, only a handful of the Pack had gathered, and Draco doubted he would ever see the missing wolves again. With no Alpha, the Greyback Pack was in shambles, the group at odds with one another. He inhaled deeply, locking his gaze on the duo standing across the blaze from him, Andrej and Steve were crowded close together, their lips moving in some seemingly soundless conversation.

In lieu of Jaime, Steve would attempt to lead, his strength and dedication to the Greyback Pack in the past giving him the upper hand. But Draco hadn't joined the Greyback Pack to be led by some shoo-in werewolf. It had been the crazy ideals that Fenrir toted that had intrigued Draco enough to allow the werewolf to bite him; not so much the 'no-man's-dog' campaign albeit, but rather the 'steal-Harry-out-from-under-the-noses-of-Dumbledore-and-Voldemort' idea. And so here he was, standing in front of Fenrir Greyback's funeral pyre considering himself absolutely fucked in every conceivable way.

Movement drew his attention from the leaping flames, eyes shifting to watch one of the cloak draped figures slink away from the group and vanish among the trees. The stocky male wouldn't be the first to defect, not when there were other Packs that would eagerly accept a former member of the Greyback clan into their ranks. Exhaling softly, Draco turned away from the fire and slipped between the trees, stalking to the crumbled ruins of the old farmhouse. He stopped at the base of the rubble heap, gaze flitting across the snow covered mound of bricks and broken beams.

It had been two days since he'd last been here. Since he'd slunk from his hiding spot and returned to the Glen - alone. That thought was enough to set him on edge, to stir the wolf within his head and draw a growl from his chest. Three days without Harry. His hands balled into fists within his pockets, the fingers of his right curling around the length of wood hidden there. His eyes snapped closed, the smooth digits stroking the wand gently.

Harry was out there somewhere; a lone possibly injured wolf without the comfort or protection of the Pack. But not for long, because Draco would find him. He would find him. Regardless of what Andrej and Steve decided to do, Draco would hunt Harry down. In a way, he was responsible for their current situation. If he'd agreed to leave when Harry had wanted to, they would never have been in the Glen when it was visited by Voldemort and subsequently raided by the Ministry. Two events which would have been suspicious in the singular were highly questionable when combined. It was a gnawing thought, one which had kept him pacing through the night.

Inhaling deeply, he tipped his face toward the afternoon sun, allowing the rays to warm his numb cheeks. A whisper of movement spun him around, his lips peeling reflexively back from pearly teeth. He glared at the duo standing several feet away, a snarl sliding free of his throat. They would expect his help in recovering Jaime. With a frustrated huff, he yanked his hands free of his pockets and dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging ruthlessly on the pale locks. He didn't have time for this.

"Are you with us?" Steve asked in a rasp. The tall blond had a matching pair of black eyes and a newly crooked nose; injuries that appeared fresh despite having had five days to heal. Standing alongside him, Andrej's once angelic face was marred by a jagged slash, the fresh pink mark faintly resembling the famed lightning bolt on Harry's forehead.

Draco simply stared at the pair. Loyalty, honour, such damnable qualities to have - luckily as a Malfoy, he was seriously lacking in both. "No," he finally said after a moment's pause. Turning back to the wreckage of the farmhouse, he ignored Steve's savage growl and carefully placed one boot upon an exposed beam, clambering up the spill of bricks to the place he'd last seen Harry. He stared down into the dark pit, his nails biting into his palms as Steve's angry growl echoed in the empty clearing. Lips firming, he turned to glare down at the duo, feeling the wolf's hackles lift in warning. "I'll join you once I've found Harry."

"If he's even alive still," Steve bit out. "He's a member of the Greyback Pack and a proven killer. Do you know what they do with rogue werewolves who murder little witches and wizards, Malfoy? They put them down."

"I'm sure Harry's perfectly fine," Andrej hastened to say, shooting Draco an apologetic glance while giving Steve a rebuking nudge.

Flashing teeth in warning, Steve pinned Draco with a haughty glare, digging the proverbial blade a little deeper. "Perhaps," the blond allowed, "if they simply sent him straight to Azkaban." A cool wind chose that moment to whip across the rubble heap, lifting the thin blanket of snow that had fallen overnight.

As the wolf inside Draco's head bayed in outrage, the very thought of Harry in Azkaban sending it into a frenzy, that strong breeze stirred among the protruding trusses and crippled tin, thrusting various smells into the early morning air. Immediately the beast fell silent, absorbing and analyzing the numerous odors, searching almost desperately for some hint of Harry among the wreckage. Its frantic search slowed when it caught traces of a familiar smell, the scent fresh enough that it was twined quite thoroughly with Harrys'. The blond's brow furrowed at the discovery and he turned slowly away from the duo, dismissing the pair even as he inhaled deeply. His eyes slid closed and a small smile tugged at his lips, a soft huff of amusement escaping his mouth. "Harry's not in Azkaban," he murmured aloud. "Dumbledore wouldn't allow it."

A barking laugh escaped Steve, the sound ripe with bitterness. "Do you honestly believe the Ministry will be swayed by that old coot after the massacre at Hogwarts?"

Draco glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of icy indifference, the other blond's remarks no longer of any significance. "And haven't you seen the recent headlines? It was I who killed the Gryffindors that afternoon, Harry was simply taken as a hostage while trying to defend his classmates." Regardless of where the Ministry chose to point their finger, the outcome was all the same; Harry was not buried somewhere within the bowels of Azkaban. And with the familiar scent of Remus Lupin in Draco's nose, he undoubtedly was in the custody of Dumbledore.

"You swore an oath to Greyback, it's your blooded duty to help the Pack find Jaime," Steve said, snapping his teeth at Andrej when the other werewolf whispered something. Raising eyes flickering with lupine intent, the tall blond focused his gaze on Draco, pinning the younger male with a dominant glare. "You owe us."

The sneered comment turned Draco around slowly, his brows lifting with the wolf's hackles at the older male's tone. "'I owe you?'" He repeated in a soft drawl. He swept the other male with an insolent glance, unconsciously curling his upper lip in derision. "I owe you nothing. My allegiance was sworn to Fenrir Greyback." He knew Pack law as well as the next werewolf, knew that Steve was pressing for a pledge of loyalty that he hadn't rightfully earned. And one which Draco had no intention of giving him. He was quite content to play the proverbial lone wolf until he was able to hunt Harry down. Still, he knew where this argument was heading and could only sigh in acceptance and shift his weight obligingly to the balls of his feet.

"If you're no longer a member of this Pack, than you're trespassing on Greyback territory," growled Steve. The statement was as much a declaration of intent as any. Releasing a snarl ripe with savagery, the blond sprang forward, closing the short distance between the two of them in a heartbeat.

Draco readily braced himself for the collision of bodies, releasing a growl of his own when Steve slammed into him, hands curled into fists swinging ruthlessly. The fight lasted only seconds, their precarious position atop the crumbled remains of the farmhouse allowing only a brief tussle that provided neither male with anything more then freshly bloodied noses and bruised knuckles. Drawing in a ragged breath, Draco stared up at the pale sky, ignoring Steve's weight on his chest and the cold digits wrapped tightly around his neck.

Steve released Draco's throat with one last squeeze, rising smoothly to his feet despite the blow the younger male had dealt him to the kidney. "I want you out of this territory within the next five minutes," he rumbled even as he turned around and descended the tumble of beams and bricks. When his boots were once again on the snow packed earth, he paced back toward Andrej but halted alongside the blond, turning to face the younger werewolf. There was a measure of respect in the eyes he focused on Draco, his demeanor one of disheartened victory. "We'll be at the Plover's Cove Cottage when you change your mind."

Closing his eyes, Draco draped an arm across his face and growled softly, internally consoling the wolf grumbling unhappily within his skull. His ears picked up the duo's departure, their stealthy exit leaving him alone. He took that minute of silence to breathe deeply, drawing the scents wafting in the air deep into his lungs and holding it there. Snape, Lupin, and Dumbledore . . . the bane of his and Harry's existence. He allowed a savage grin to twist his lips, allowing his anger to fuel the wolf until the beast was a growling, snapping presence in the back of his mind. Stiffly, he rose to his feet, brushing snow from the dark cloak and straightening his cowl, listening to the wolf whisper threateningly through his thoughts. With a roll of his shoulders, he moved back to the dark hole that had played a villainous role in separating him and Harry, glaring into the shadowed depths with a grimace upon his pale face.

Draco pulled Harry's wand from the pocket of his cloak, rolling it between his hands, warming the wood before gripping it firmly in his right hand. After drawing a deep breath, he gave a flick of the wood and voiced a strong command. "Accio Draco's wand." In a series of soft clatters, his wand cartwheeled into sight, bouncing off several pieces of splintered wood before halting to hover before him. A relieved smile greeted its appearance, his left hand reaching out to snatch it from the air, pale digits closing tightly around the dirt-covered length. With both wands in his possession, he moved away from the pit, his gaze sweeping the meadow and forest for what might just be the final time. With their den destroyed, and their location forever comprised, there was no reason for any of the Pack to return to the Glen. Lifting silver orbs to the sky, he watched the dark smoke from Greyback's funeral pyre swirl and curdle before dissipating amidst the clouds. The reasons for his presence being complete, Draco apparated away, his ears catching the haunting sound of the Pack's voice lifted in a last farewell seconds before he vanished.

XxXxX

Curled atop a heap of blankets he'd dragged down from one of the upstairs bedrooms, Draco watched the shadows shift and prance about the ceiling, weariness allowing his eyes to drift closed. His ears focused on the silence rather than the crackle of the flames and the snap of wood shifting. When he opened his eyes they met the far wall rather than Harry's features lax in sleep. In his skull, the wolf whined pitifully, its turbulent stream of thought keeping Draco from falling into a deep sleep.

The wolf thought they should be focused on finding Harry, its grumbles the beginning of a scattered plan to find the dark-haired werewolf. They would need to hunt down one of the trio who'd stolen him, the beast reasoned. Lupin was out of the question, as his current location was unknown. Dumbledore was undoubtedly in his tower study at Hogwarts, practically untouchable. But Snape - the betraying bastard - could easily be found. With his chambers in the dungeons of the castle, and his nightly routine of strolling the castle's abandoned corridors, he would be the easiest to find. Capturing him was another story altogether. With a heavy exhale, the blond rolled over, dragging one of the heavy quilts over his head.

Now, the wolf demanded. It was night, their time to hunt. Besides, the students would all be abed and it was after curfew. The wolf didn't want to rest, would rather begin the search to find their packmate. Eagerness at being reunited with Harry consumed the beast's thoughts, its chatter rattling around Draco's skull until his teeth seemed to rattle. With a disgusted growl, the blond tossed aside the blankets and stood, smoothing and straightening his robes with a practiced flick of his wand. Having nothing better to do, he apparated back to where this had all begun, gritting his teeth when snow seeped into his second best pair of boots - his best having been on Harry's feet when the attack on the Glen occurred.

Grumbling beneath his breath, he shook the offending flakes from the expensive leather and trumped his way through Hogsmeade, only slipping into the shadows when he reached the edge of Hogwarts grounds. With ease made possible by countless nights of slipping from the castle, Draco entered the sprawling building, gliding silently through the empty corridors in search of his target. It was the soft tap of boots on stone that had him stepping into the recesses of an alcove, his gleaming eyes locked on the shadows from which the sound emerged. Silver orbs widened when the lone figure stepped from the darkness, disbelief nearly making him choke on the breath he was attempting to draw.

Hermione Granger.

For a moment, even the wolf was silent, watching as the witch passed silently by their hiding spot to vanish down another corridor. Granger had once been a friend of Harry's, had claimed a spot in his life that Draco had wanted for himself. And could have had if it weren't for his overly brash and arrogant introduction. Giving a dismissive shake of his head, the blond slipped from the shadows and stalked after the witch, quietly trailing her through the hallways.

She might do, the wolf reasoned. If she was indeed a true friend of Harry's, she would know where Lupin lived. Would know where they might be holding him. And if worst

came to worst, they could always use her as a hostage. The beast's train of thought was, as always, surprisingly sound.

She would be easier to handle than Snape, he internally agreed. But taking the witch would be a lot less satisfying then getting to rough Severus up. Still, if he applied pressure at the right points, he could have Harry's location within a matter of minutes rather than hours. Lips compressed in a resolute frown, he stalked after the Gryffindor Prefect, lengthening his stride to catch up with her before she entered one of the more populated parts of the castle. He used his nose to track her to the bridge leading to the Owlry, pausing in the thick shadows to watch her peer down into the dark canyon below the long wooden structure. His brows lifted when she leaned further over then necessary, her heels leaving the boards as the top half of her body hung above all that nothingness. For a minute, he simply stood there and watched her, knowing that death was the only thing that was that far over the side of that bridge. However, when she lifted one knee to the railing, he rolled his eyes and strode quickly forward on stealthy feet, giving her no warning of his arrival. Without a second thought, he yanked her from her perch and slapped a palm over her mouth, gritting his teeth as she automatically kicked and squirmed within his grasp.

"Really, Mudblood," he mumbled, pinching her nose closed and tightening his hand over her mouth forcefully. Absently, he glanced around, surveying their surroundings while the witch's struggles grew weaker and weaker until she finally stilled in his arms. His fingers slid from her nose to her neck, checking for the pulse that beat unsteadily beneath her skin, giving a slight nod at its continued presence. After a quick glance in the direction of the castle, he effortlessly tossed the limp witch over his shoulder and prowled the long length of the bridge, heading toward the Forbidden Forest and the sanctuary it represented.

Draco didn't hesitate when he stepped into its welcoming arms, just apparated back to the Malfoy hunting lodge where he preceded to dump the limp Gryffindor atop his hastily assembled bed. With a roll of his shoulders, he worked to loosen the tight muscles, glaring at the witch and wishing Harry was here to deal with her surprisingly suicidal activities.

'Where are you, Harry?" He whispered a loud. His gaze flicked back to the Gryffindor when she groaned softly and rolled to her side, lifting a shaking hand to touch her face. "Wake up, Granger," the blond spat, giving her a nudge with the toe of his boot. As an afterthought, he shoved her hands aside and ran his palms over his robes, locating her wand in the pocket of her cloak and sliding it carelessly into his own. The blond swept his gaze around the darkened chamber once more before retrieving the kettle sitting next to the fireplace and heading toward the backdoor. He didn't flinch at the cold air that bit at his exposed skin when he pushed the heavy panel aside, merely bent down and shoveled snow into the kettle with his bare hands.

Upon his return to the front den of the lodge, he found the witch standing in the center of the room, her frightened eyes frantically sweeping the chamber for some means of escape. A deadly smile graced his face at her horrified gasp, a soft chuckle spilling free of his mouth. "Relax, Hermione," he murmured, further unsettling her by using her first name. "I'm not going to kill you . . . yet."

"Where's Harry?" Hermione snapped, unconsciously backing away from the blond. She began to shiver as she moved away from the low burning fire, hastily pulling her cloak tighter against her slim form.

Draco eyed the witch as he tossed another log on the fire and settled the kettle amidst the glowing embers, rubbing his palms together to warm them. "Don't you know?" He asked after a moment's pause, feeling the wolf stir and draw closer to the surface. Together, they studied the Gryffindor, testing her scent with a careful snuffle.

Eyes narrowing, Hermione glared at the blond. "He's supposed to be with you," she muttered, shifting closer to the fire but keeping a wary eye on the tall male. She attempted to pat her pockets without drawing attention to her movements but stopped her search when the Slytherin chuckled softly, those silver orbs glinting with amusement.

"And he was with me," replied Draco, his voice hardening. A growl spilled unbidden over his lips, the sound echoing in the chamber. He straightened slowly, dropping one hand onto the marble mantle, his fingers curling around the lip until his knuckles whitened and the stone groaned. "Until the Glen was attacked by Voldemort . . . and then raided by Dumbledore and his minions."

Blinking in incomprehension, the witch shook her head slightly. "So Voldemort has him?" She asked in a quiet voice.

"No," Draco growled. "Dumbledore has him." He glared at the witch, doubt over her ability to help them beginning to cloud his mind. Perhaps they should have allowed the witch to leap and sought out Snape instead, he mulled that thought for a minute, trying to discern Harry's reaction if he learned of the event and Draco's lack of action. With a huff, he bent and carefully tugged the kettle from the fire, shaking the sting from his fingers. He glanced sideways at the witch before beginning to prepare himself a cup of tea, grudgingly preparing a second cup after a brief hesitation. Using just the tips of his fingers, she slid the prettily painted teacup across the mantle in the witch's direction, taking his cup and moving beyond the reach of the fire's light. "Which is why I need your help."

Hermione gaped at the tall blond before giving a sharp shake of her head. "You killed my friends and took Harry hostage, and now that he's gotten away you want me to help you get him back!" The witch almost vibrated with her anger, her lips pinching together in distaste as she glared at the blond. "I'll never help you." It was a promise, practically a vow.

"Drink your tea," Draco said in a silky voice. He watched Granger with thoughtful eyes, mentally preaching patience as he took a small sip of tea. "I'm afraid refusal isn't an option. You can aid me, or I can begin taking fingers . . . and I won't be using a knife." He flashed sharp teeth in a promise of his own, hearing the soft gasp the Gryffindor witch released, and relishing it. From behind the edge of his teacup, he watched Hermione seize the dainty porcelain cup off the mantle and take a hasty sip, obviously seeking to cover her fear with action. His eyes slid closed and he took another swallow from his cup, allowing the warm liquid to rest on his tongue before allowing it to slide down his throat. After a long moment of silence, he prowled from the corner he'd occupied and crossed back to the fire, placing his cup next to the kettle.

"Where is Dumbledore keeping Harry?" He questioned softly, silver orbs locked on Granger's face.

"I don't know," Hermione spat. Her face paled and her gaze dropped to the teacup. With a horrified look, she threw the cup across the room, the porcelain shattering against the wall. Tea dosed with Veritaserum splattered across the oak paneling and dribbled to the floor. Slapping a palm across her mouth, she attempted to flee the room only to find Malfoy leaning against the doorjamb, a small smile curling his lips.

"I'll rephrase the question." He stated, pushing away from the jamb and stalking the witch across the chamber. "Where would Dumbledore keep Harry?"

Closing her eyes, Hermione pressed her hands over her mouth and desperately shook her head. Tears began to spill as her hands were pried away from her mouth and her lips moved in response. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place." She dissolved fully into tears when the blond released her, sinking to the floor and sobbing softly at the betrayal.

Draco stared at the top of the witch's head, fighting down the urge to howl wildly. Drawing a deep calming breath, he reached down and hauled Granger gracelessly to her feet. "Take me there," he demanded, pressing her wand into her palm. He curled his lips in a silent snarl when she shook her head, baring teeth that gleamed sharply. "That was neither a suggestion or question," he growled in her ear, snapping his teeth together in warning. He met the feeling of apparation with exhilaration, his entire body tightening in preparation for whatever might come.

XxXxX

Twelve Grimmauld Place was a slightly rundown rowhouse, its slow grating appearance between number eleven and thirteen enough to raise one of Draco's pale eyebrows. He studied the house carefully, searching for some sign that what he sought was inside its walls. Drawing a slow breath in through his mouth, he ever so lightly rasped his nails over the jugular of the witch pinned to his side, smiling cruelly at her whimper of fright. "Very nice," the blond murmured in approval. "Now, how's it guarded?"

"A Fidelius Charm," the witch hissed, reaching up to tug the werewolf's hand away from the vulnerable skin of her throat. Her efforts were futile, though, the blond's grip merely tightening at the insistent tug.

"And?" Draco asked in a low drawl. His gaze remained locked on the house, searching for shadows behind the heavy curtains. A warning rumble vibrated his chest when the witch struggled within his grasp, drawing his attention away from watching the darkened panes of glass. He tightened his fingers carefully, ears attuned to the sudden change in her breathing, the smell of fear teasing his nostrils. Just as quickly as he'd tightened his grip, he relaxed his fingers, smiling at the sudden coughing fit the movement incited. He studied the unimpressive headquarters of the infamous Order of the Phoenix while waiting for the witch to recover her breathing, mentally noting the location of each window. When the wheezing lessened, he repeated the question. "And?"

"There's nothing else,"the witch gasped. When those long aristocratic fingers once again began to tighten, she clung desperately upon his arm, hissing out the only information she had that might appease him. "At this time of night, there could be any number of Order members present." A relieved sob escaped her when the blond relaxed the digits collaring her, drawing the first deep breath she'd been allowed in the last forty-five minutes.

That hoarse whisper was enough to bring Draco's wolf snarling to the surface. While it hadn't been the Order that had destroyed the Glen, their untimely arrival had forced the Pack to scatter, had driven them further apart after they'd been dealt a devastating blow. And they'd stolen Harry. A growl trickled unbidden over his lips, the sound wringing a fearful whine from the witch. He never would have suspected the vigilante group if he hadn't returned to the Glen and caught the combined scents of Lupin, Snape, and Dumbledore. The fact that it had been that particular group that had arrived so close upon the heels of Voldemort and his Death Eaters was enough to make the wolf howl with rage.

"Who?" The wolf was licking its chops, imagining the vengeance it would wreak upon the unsuspecting Order.

"I-I don't know." The witch gasped.

"Guess," Draco breathed back, shifting the pair of them deeper into the shadows across the road from Grimmauld Place. His predatory gaze slid from window to window, searching for some sign of life within the seemingly empty house.

"Remus, Dumbledore, maybe Snape. Arthur and Molly Weasley." She stumbled to a halt, blinking dazedly up at the blond with hate-filled eyes.

Draco tipped his head, studying the witch suspiciously. "I'd really like to believe that you wouldn't lie to me," he murmured, peeling his lips back to reveal teeth that looked overly sharp. Smirking as she whimpered, he turned his attention back to the rowhouse, glaring at the front door. The longer he tarried in the street, the greater the chance of being caught. Growling quietly, he shifted his weight back and forth, reflexively tightening his grip on the witch.

"There's a door around back, yes?" At the bob of her head, he smiled grimly and set out for the end of the block, hauling the witch closer and draping an arm across her shoulders, fingers delicately caressing her throat.

He glanced back at Number Twelve, feeling the odd combination of anticipation and excitement beginning to build within him, the churning emotions feeding the wolf's own sense of seething eagerness. Harry was within his reach, merely a handful of steps away and a brief confrontation with the occupants of the rowhouse. A small smile flirted with his lips, the first he'd worn in what seemed like forever. Dragging the witch along by his side, he stealthily paced the length of the street, circling around until he reached the narrow alley that ran behind the strip of tall houses. With the wolf's senses, he could hear the buzz of voices from each house, could easily detect the difference between the houses occupied by muggles, and the sole residence occupied by wizards.

He halted at the back gate that led into the small overgrown expanse, his eyes flitting cautiously over the shadows. Here, along the back of the house, the windows were lit from within, shadows passing back and forth between the glass and the source of light. He watched the play of light and shadow for several long moments, his grip on the witch never loosening as he attempted to count the number of individuals moving about inside the rowhouse. One of those darkened forms might just be that of Harry, the thought was enough to lift his hand to the gate latch, his fingers trembling slightly on the bolt. With the softest squeak, the gate swung inward, the weed-covered path leading to the backdoor seeming to unfurl before him. Ensuring his palm was firmly placed over the witch's mouth, he stalked the short distance, palming a wand with his free hand. He paused before the wooden panel, his heart thundering within his chest, the wolf in his skull posed to pounce.

"Open it," Draco breathed into the witch's ear, shifting the wand into a position that would allow him to cast immediately if necessary. He inhaled slowly as the trembling fingers of the witch settled on the knob, its soft squeak ringing loudly in his ears as the wooden portal swung inward on creaky hinges. Three sets of eyes swung to peer at them, widening in a surprised astonishment that Draco shared. Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape. Draco's lips curled upward into a toothy smile, his gaze flitting quickly about the kitchen, taking in the entire space in a matter of milliseconds. He knew the trio was still staring in horror at his captive, knew he had momentarily gained the upper hand.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said quietly, remaining seated at the long table. His gaze shifted from the blond to the witch he held aggressively against his side, watching as the young wizard moved his fingers from the witch's mouth to her throat. "Miss Granger." He lifted a hand in warning when his companions rose, conscious of the sharp nails pressed threateningly against the young female's throat.

"I'll happily give you the witch," Draco murmured. "If you give me Harry." His silver eyes slid constantly between the trio, his nose twitching as he sought the scent of the dark-haired werewolf. He released a sharp snarl when Remus shifted slightly, the lowering of the older male's hand forcing his attention from his search to pin the other werewolf with a steely stare.

"Remus," Dumbledore said. As softly spoken as the male's name was, it was laced with warning. Frowning, the old wizard shifted his gaze from Lupin to the obviously agitated younger male, watching the neatly curved nails slide back and forth across Hermione Granger's jugular in an absentminded gesture. "I'm afraid Harry isn't here, Draco. But perhaps there is something else I might help you with. Of course, you'd have to release Miss Granger first."

Draco simply stared at the old wizard. "I don't think so," he finally said, allowing his nails to bite into Granger's flesh for the first time since he'd obtained her. As the coppery tang of blood floated into the air, so too did another scent. Curling a lip in silent threat, the blond turned his head, meeting the wide-eyed gaze of the Weasley matron. The red-haired witch stood between the jambs of a swinging door on the far side of the kitchen, her scent laced with fear and anger and . . . Harry. His threatening smile slid into one of triumph and his lips parted around a victorious howl. The sound echoed brilliantly in the small kitchen, and would have forced the hands of the small group of wizards if not for the living shield he smoothly slid in front of his chest. Silver orbs flicking back and forth amongst the quartet, he held his breath as he eagerly waited for a reply. A reply that never came.

Gaze darkening, he curled his fingers ruthlessly around Hermione's throat, cutting off her oxygen supply without a second thought. "What have you done with him?" He snarled, allowing the wolf to rise perilously close to the surface.

"What needed to be done." The statement was made by Snape, the words as cold and calculated as any the Potions Master spoke.

Draco stared uncomprehending at the older wizard, the first niggling of fear worming its way into his mind. His fingers tightened on the wand he held, Harry's wand. He was here, in this house. His scent was all over the red-haired bitch. They had done something to keep him from calling to Draco. Within his grasp, the witch gasped for breath, her hands lifting to tug desperately at his arm. "It seems like we have a small conflict of interest then," Draco purred with deadly promise. He gave the witch in his arms a little shake, reminding the group of her plight. "Because if I'm forced to leave here without him . . . Granger won't be leaving alive."

A/n: I thought it was time for a different perspective . . . And thank you, as always, to everyone for the wonderful reviews and comments.