After the Centaur Mauling, May 1999 — Draco's Second Spring in the Forbidden Forest, March 2000.
Draco kept a low profile the summer after he maimed the foal. He anticipated a bounty to be placed on his head or some type of retribution, but none came. He attributed it to his supreme sneaking skills or figured the Centaurs couldn't find him with his den obscured by wards. Still wary of capture, however, he had been staying very quiet when out at night.
The Forest, once full of life and magical splendor, had become the mysterious wood once again. The creatures, so curious about him in spring, had lost interest in him after the attack. No more serendipitous encounters with thestrals and pixies; no more finding nogtails tied up in the forest, wrapped in twine and freshly slaughtered; and no more mysterious centaurs that bowed to him when the white wolf passed.
The Forest that had once been bountiful had become ghostly. It was as if Draco had been stricken with disease and the occupants of the forest were hell-bent on avoiding him. Quite an eerie experience to feel like you had the entire Forbidden Forest to yourself. It reminded Draco of the first time he had entered it at eleven years old when he was fearful, yet delighted, about the prospect of the unknown. Everything felt unknown to him again, but the wonder he once felt was replaced with shame.
Other than the greenery, which couldn't shy away from him if it wanted to — bound to the land in which he walked — Draco went months without coming across a single creature or being. The isolation was depressing, but a relief of sorts. He wanted his privacy and to be left alone, safe from discovery – so why did the loneliness begin to gnaw at the strings in his heart?
The solitude did give Draco ample opportunity to explore, but without a map or any indication of where he'd already been Draco spent months walking in circles at night. He set out with a goal to make sense of the labyrinth of trees, but the further he searched the stranger things seemed. Draco began finding wolf prints in places that he'd never walked. He began to wonder if he was going crazy or sleepwalking in a trance, for he searched and he searched but never came across another wolf in the woods.
His thorough exploration of the Forbidden Forest had started with innocent meanderings along the rivers that met at the bottom of the cliff atop where his oak tree stood. He walked the large stream the two tributaries formed, but quickly found it took him to Hogwarts. It was tempting to lie low there, to try and see what was happening up at the castle, but it would have been a foolish decision to make, so he went back the other way. On the way back, he found a memorial of student trunks – a place he'd revisit and raid later – the sight was enough to spook him, nervous there would be someone close by, so he hightailed it the other way until he found himself back home once again.
Home. How could he feel, strangely, in place amongst the trees? Every step in the forest scared him – unarmed and wanted are a terrible combination – but at the same time, it was the only place he would ever be again. With its roof of branches and floors of greenery, the Forbidden Forest was his home now. Draco wanted to know it intimately.
He finally found the path to the Reflecting Pond and visited there often. The stillness of the water brought him a sense of peace and gave him space to think while bathing in the moonlight. At least, that's how he justified revisiting the spot so frequently; it had nothing at all to do with hoping he might spot the owner of the large paw prints there. No, not at all.
Other places he found in the Forest were not as inviting. First, there was a swamp rife with grindylows dead set on drowning him. In that general vicinity, along the southernmost ridge, sat a large clearing whose periphery was dotted with empty fire pits and reeked of humans. He burned the location into his brain, reminding himself to stay far, far away.
Centaurs were busy expanding their territory and could often be found randomly performing rituals over different parts of the land. Draco avoided them as much as he could, fearful he'd be recognized and punished for what he did to their young. No more were the days of watching them from the cover of leaves. He spent much more time trying to stay the hell out of their way, often having to make sudden changes in his travel routes to do so.
The Forest, at times, had its own ideas about where he should go. Either the woods were sentient and playing games with him or some foolish wizard had turned foliage into portkeys that Draco activated at random. After his first few experiences with it, he came to recognize a pattern. A screeching wind was the first telltale sign he'd be moving soon. Next, he would find himself spinning amongst the trees – he'd hear things then: a man, a woman, the howling of wolves. It was the strangest sensation, one that often led to him being spat out at a common destination.
An area unknown. A dirt lane lined with trees whose limbs creaked and moved, like stretching after a long nap. Cold there, even in the height of summer, for not a single ray of light shone on the path. Standing at the precipice of it always filled him with a feeling of dread and he dared not walk down it, unsure and afraid of what he would find. So though the woods kept dragging him back there, Draco continually ran away – not ready, too afraid.
Just when it felt like he was coming close to mapping out the entire Forest in his mind, the weather turned for the worse, and winter was upon the woods again. Braving the elements wasn't so easy this time around. Draco was not like the mighty oak tree, which could withstand the harshness of winter without losing a single leaf. He was a wizard who had relied heavily on magic his entire life. No wand now and too weak to do any magic wandlessly, he felt like a real wolf, fighting for survival during his second winter in the woods.
The first winter had been bad, but he'd had the stolen wand back then. Now, he had nothing besides his fur and his den to keep him warm. Temperatures had been especially low that year, conditions especially harsh and unforgiving. There were the items he'd helped himself to from the memorial trunks – clothes, a blanket, a scarf, some books – and without them he would have died from exposure. He read every book cover to cover to distract himself from the self-loathing thoughts that threatened to consume him.
Draco spent a lot of time as the wolf, wrapped in scraps of clothing to stay warm, but nothing could fight off the sinking chill of facing the winter alone with only the possessions of dead children to warm him. A part of him was proud of his plunder, like a pirate admiring his treasure, while another part was horrified at the atrocities he committed, disgusted with how low he had sunk.
Draco struggled to find winter berries or nuts to eat – unlike last year, the edible foliage had died, and stealing from the Centaurs was out of the question. Out of hunger and desperation, he lured a dog away from Hogsmeade, killed it in the woods, and ate his fill. It was his first kill using nothing but teeth and claws. He should have been proud, finally living up to his wolfish image. While the meat filled his belly, the act filled Draco with guilt and remorse.
Being human became more and more difficult. The more Draco had to give in to the wild demands of the Forest, the more he needed to separate himself from the bad feelings that kept getting dredged up while doing them. It became easy to give into the wolf's instincts, to tuck his humanity away into neatly packed boxes in his mind. He was just a wolf of the woods now, hardly a man, let alone a wizard, anymore. Despite the slight reprieve from humanity, staying in his animagus form did nothing to tamper his desire for the speedy passage of time, nicer weather, and a break from the mundane solitude he had found himself in.
He'd managed to steal more newspapers from the village, but found less and less satisfaction from reading them, for the Wizarding World was moving on. There wasn't more word of his friends' wellbeing and not a single headline about a certain exiled widow he missed very much. There were to be elections at the Ministry, names he didn't recognize running on platforms that meant nothing to him, and a whole lot of fluff about winter traditions, fashion, and social events. The newspapers became a waste of time to acquire, an unnecessary risk he was taking to cling to a world that didn't give a damn about him anymore.
It was silly, but he wondered how they could move on. It's natural to wonder how others would react after finding out you died but to see it play out in ways unexpected was another pain entirely. He expected some type of memorial for him or an excerpt in the Daily Prophet at the very least. Theo, Pansy, the others, surely they missed him? Was there anyone out there who thought of him, who kept the memory of him alive? It sure as hell didn't seem like it.
Out of all the people who he thought would miss him, Draco constantly thought of his mother. Everything had been all her plan after all. His life was her ideas playing out in real-time. He was to go to the woods, get rid of the Dark Mark, and wait. But now? Draco was getting sick of waiting.
When would she come? Would she come at all? The witch had been lucky enough to have been exiled instead of Kissed – was that a part of her plan, too? If everything was going according to plan, then where the hell was she?
He could do nothing but wonder and wait, clinging to hope and fighting every day to stay alive. Draco left Winter a begrudged version of himself, one that had to let go of humanity to convince himself that he was happy being the wolf. Of all the alternatives, this one was the best – he could learn to find joy in his new life somehow, someday.
Spring was a breath of relief for the man who starved all winter, barely able to survive without a wand. It was back to the land, trying to find his niche in the magical forest. Like last year, Draco yearned to discover and explore, but this year somehow felt different. It was hard to put his finger on it, which caused him to look over his shoulder every so often, as Draco had a deep, unshakable feeling that he was being watched.
Twigs that would snap suddenly, too close by. Fresh tracks in the mud that seemed too new. Either he was going crazy or something, hopefully not someone, always seemed to be close by, but just out of reach. Coincidence? His solitude had him jumpy, nervous. It took everything in him to push past the fear of discovery to go out in the daylight, but Draco had to press on. He was a Black and a Malfoy – two bloodlines genetically programmed to survive.
Hunting had become a game of sorts, one that Draco found he wasn't very good at. It was as if there was some sign the animals could see that told them he was coming for he couldn't even manage to catch young game, freshly born with the recycling of seasons. Hungry, desperate, Draco decided to try something different in hopes of finding a stable food source.
He strolled the rocky bank of a stream, shallow on one side due to a massive rock that jutted out just below the water's surface. Draco waded into the water, body tensing slightly as the cold water wet his paws. Fishing, he found, didn't require the same subtlety as hunting did – beneficial to him as he hardly had a subtle bone in his body – it was ok if he startled the fish. Helpful, in fact, to get the fish to come out of hiding, where he could pounce in the water with a chomping mouth. After a few dives, he caught one and ate it all before going back in again and again and again. Sharp teeth crunched through bones, and red streams of blood ran down his teeth and stained his fur. He made his way upstream, looking for more fill.
The wolf walked a while, winding through the forest as he followed the water to its source. The creek bed rose and fell with the ever-changing elevation of the forest and Draco noticed the water got warmer the further he went. The wind blew, carrying with it a scent so familiar. Nose down, he followed it, straying away from the river, and into the forest, down a path that ran between the bottom of two cliffs.
He followed the ravine for hours, walking deeper and deeper into the forest. The wolf ducked under boulders jammed between the cliffs and stepped over thickets of vines that danced across the floor, all while following the smell that was getting stronger and stronger. When the smell overwhelmed his senses, Draco picked his head up and found what he had been coming to all the while.
It was the entrance to a cave, hidden just behind a tree root that somehow spread across the ravine path, bridging the two earthen planes. A wizard wouldn't have noticed, for the hole was too close to the ground and small, but Draco was at the perfect height as the wolf and recognized it as if it were his own home: the entrance to a wolf's den.
Mundane creatures wouldn't be this deep in the forest. The smells here were familiar, marks on the trail fresh. Draco's fur stood on his spine. He should have turned around, should have run away, and minded his own business, but something pulled him forward and Draco found himself crawling down the short tunnel that led to a cavernous opening.
A tingle ran over him as he entered the large room, his nerves settling in and spiking at what he found. Rock had been moved, formed, into this place that oddly resembled a home. There was a slate covered in moss with a large pelt of fur atop it, that looked more comfortable than the rags he'd been sleeping on for months. In the corner, a single trickle of water came forth from a split in the cave wall, filling a pool below it. He sniffed the water before taking a tentative lap at the pool with his tongue.
Tiny streaks of light shone through cracks in the wall and ceiling, casting scatterings of shadows across the room. Wooden shelves stretched between hollows of rock, and dusty glass jars, tin cans, books, and other items filled them. Draco made to take a closer look but then he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps and they weren't his own. He searched for an escape route but found none.
Out through the passage came a monstrous man with long, black hair and sharp yellow eyes. The man grinned upon seeing Draco, who had scrambled back against a wall, the white wolf cowering at the sight of a human up close after being alone for so long. There was something powerful about his presence or perhaps it was the helpless feeling of being cornered making Draco so terrified of the man so similar, but different, than he.
Draco's white snout raised to reveal his teeth. A warning: don't come any closer. The man gave a simpering laugh at the gesture, decidedly unafraid, before sauntering toward the shelves, barely flinching upon seeing the intruder in his den. He nonchalantly shed his cloak onto a vine that reached down from the ceiling to grab it, revealing several blades holstered in his belt. Draco backed further away from him at the sight, circling to the corner of the cave that held the water spout, his body itching for the door.
He had, of course, done exactly what the man intended him to do, falling right into his trap.
The next sequence of events seemed to occur in slow motion to Draco, who was dazed with abject horror as he watched the unthinkable unfold.
Across the room the man smirked, winking at Draco before electricity crackled between his fingers. The wolf stood on his back legs, hindquarters reorienting to resemble something more of a pelvis while the dark abdomen flattened out. Front arms moved to the lateral plane, massive paws stretching into equally large hands. The face of the wolf sneezed, revealing the rest of his human form in the process.
Draco's jaw dropped, gobsmacked. What the hell was going on? How did he just do that? Who the bloody fuck was this man? Why was there another person living in the woods?
This was the end, he thought, unless he had already died and fallen into his own personal hell. Either way, Draco needed to get out of there or die trying.
Just as the intention to flee took hold firmly in Draco's mind, the Forest man flung a hand across his body in a slashing motion. The whole cave shook and Draco faltered in his lunge for the exit, as he feared the roof would collapse on both of them. Instead, a large portcullis fell from the ceiling. Draco cowered back into the corner to avoid being crushed by the heavy lattice made of solid rock, crushing his body into the smallest form he could manage.
The man approached, tiny beams of light highlighting his features as he neared the corner in which Draco had found himself imprisoned. Dark, ringlet curls fell on broad shoulders. Above a cleft chin, on a jaw peppered with stubble, sat a satisfied smirk. His eyes danced in delight at the sight of Draco.
Draco shifted back to the wolf quickly and he hoped the stranger hadn't seen too much, though he'd effectively blown Draco's cover in mere seconds.
He hooked his hands through the lattice, smiling down on the white wolf he'd captured.
"So you must be Silver," the wild man's mouth stretched into a smile, and a look of affection fell onto his face. "We've been waiting a long time for you, brother."
Hermione was listening or, at least, she was trying to. She fought through pain that had her writhing, rolling in bed, tears falling down her face and fists tightly gripping the sheets. The only thing keeping her from insanity was the deep baritone of Malfoy's voice and the charge of magic that hung in the air.
Malfoy, himself, seemed also to be unraveling. Every muscle in his body tightened, shaking slightly as if trying to contain the beast within. His expression was troubled and Hermione could see herself in the reflection of his eyes, like a dying animal begging to be put out of its misery.
Finally, the last thread holding Malfoy together snapped.
"That's it! I can't take it anymore!"
His weight left the bed beside her as he stood and swiped the bottle of pain elixir off the nightstand. The fog of pain that plagued her head dissipated in an instant as the situation became abundantly clear: Draco Malfoy was about to force the pain potion on her and Hermione wasn't going to like it. It wasn't another moment before he was towering over her, the uncorked vial in one hand, and her wand in the other.
The blunt tip of her wand pressed into the divot between her collarbones, slipping against the sweat that drenched her skin and soaked the night dress that clung to her frame.
"Please," his voice was strained, quaking under the weight of a situation that had spiraled far outside of his control, "take the potion."
Hermione gulped, trying to choke down the splintery stabs that shot through her leg. The wave of misery passed, leaving Hermione shivering. "N-n-nnn-nooo-o, I don't–" she threw her head back into the pillows, wincing as it started up again.
The wand, which had previously been poking her skin, rested lightly now against her. Malfoy's face had gone slack, eyes wide and staring blankly at something far beyond the confines of his den. For a brief moment, she considered trying to overpower him now, snatch her wand, and make some grand escape, but then her pain peaked and she missed her chance – too busy letting out a wail that awakened Malfoy from his stupor.
When their eyes met, he frowned, "I'm sorry Granger, but this is for your own good."
One hand had found her cheeks, squeezing gently, but tightly enough to hold her firmly in place. Hermione trembled – whether it be from the fear of being under Malfoy's control or from the wave of pain that was coursing through her body. She tried to rip her head away, crying out as the pain in her leg came shooting up her spine.
She opened her mouth to scream which, in hindsight, was the wrong move. Her protests were quickly muffled by strong hands that smothered her mouth, trying to pry apart swollen lips and shove the pain elixir down her throat. Hermione scrambled to get him off her, hands clawing at every inch of his skin she could find to try and stop him, but her attempts were futile – she couldn't hurt him if she wanted to, lest they both were to die. So while she left red tracks of protest up and down his arms, his neck, and his chest, Hermione was too powerless to stop Malfoy from what he had his mind set on doing. Hermione clenched her teeth in earnest to stop him, but she was too weak or he was too strong – Malfoy pried open her jaw and poured the sticky, orange liquid from the potion vial down her throat.
The potion gurgled in her throat as Hermione shrieked, trying to spit it out – how did she know that it was actually a pain elixir? It looked familiar to the brew she'd purchased at the apothecary, but, if there was one thing she had learned about Malfoy, she couldn't be sure. What if this was just another one of his tricks? – but he gripped her jaw shut. One of his hands came down to her throat, massaging where her neck met her head until Hermione swallowed.
She coughed and sputtered when Malfoy finally released her. She struggled for breath, her chest heaving from the intensity of the encounter, while Malfoy stalked across the room, his own chest heaving, his cheeks flushed. The potion didn't take long to kick in. By the time Hermione had regained the cadence of her normal breath, her body was sinking into the mattress, sagging with relief. She shivered, her sweat drying as her core temperature dropped into a normal range. Suddenly all her limbs felt warm and heavy. It wouldn't be long until she was asleep, but she had some important lecturing to do before that happened.
"Malfoy!" She screeched, her face practically flush violet with anger. "How dare you!"
His eyes were fiery with the anger that burned inside him, blazing up to meet the intensity of her own inferno. "How dare I? How dare I!?"
He dragged his arms over the table, pushing its contents to the floor. Malfoy turned to her then, crossing the den in his fury, words punctuating each step until he was at the foot of her bed, spittle flying from his mouth as he seethed with untamed rage, "Yes, Granger, how dare I save your life! How dare I ensure your physical well-being? How dare I help you grow your leg back so you don't suffer for the rest of your life with permanent damage!"
Hermione's head was almost spinning with the relief provided by the potion, so she gripped the sheets to remain grounded and awake enough to participate in the fight that her inner lioness was rearing for.
"You drugged me! That's beyond messed up, Malfoy!" She accused, beginning to sit up in her indignant fury. Her pain was slowly dissipating, making it easier for her to move, but her weakness persisted. It even became difficult to project her voice at a level appropriate for the scolding he deserved. "I could forgive the stealing, the trickery – hell, I might even understand how you might be so desperate to do other things despite their cost – but this! You took away my agency, my ability to choose!"
Malfoy sneered.
"Choices are a luxury that not all of us have."
He pointed the wand at her again, "I'll take away your freedom to consciousness, too, if you don't stop trying to sabotage what I have worked so tirelessly for. Now calm down so your bloody leg doesn't grow back crooked, which it will if you don't lay the fuck down and stop fighting me every step of the way here!"
Her body slumped into the mattress, no longer having the energy to keep up with an argument. He might have made a good point, too. Not everyone had choices – or even if they did, sometimes there was only one viable choice, the rest a bunch of useless options with intolerable outcomes. Malfoy had taken away her ability to choose her medical care, but she hadn't given him any choice when it came to him telling every detail of his mysterious past on demand.
Maybe what she had done wasn't right, but Hermione could hardly ponder it, as every pain receptor in her body turned off. It was a relief to have a moment without feeling like she was being stabbed. The sun was still out and it had to have been beyond midday. Surely she had been actively regrowing bone for more than twelve hours, though to Hermione it felt like a century.
Her eyes fell shut and before Hermione knew it, she was floating, her body riding on a cloud of euphoria that finally allowed her to rest.
The bed sagged next to her when Malfoy sat down. Hermione opened a weary, tired eye. He picked up a cloth, dampened it with a flick of her wand, and set to dabbing at her face and neck. Her head lolled lazily to the side, catching his eye. He looked guilty, yet pleased with himself. Hermione's eyelids were heavy as they fell shut to avoid both the smug look on his face and the somewhat intimate moment they were sharing after things had been so aggressive just minutes prior.
"Feeling better?" Malfoy asked, his voice a gentle caress of concern.
"Yes," the word came out slowly. Her body was beginning to feel very heavy, warm. At some point, the quilt had been dragged up to her shoulders. She found she couldn't keep her concentration for more than a few moments at a time. The last thing she saw was a small, satisfied smile pulled onto Malfoy's lips, his long hair falling over her as he leaned over, looking after her. She intended only to blink, but suddenly Hermione was fast asleep.
Draco let out the breath he'd been holding since the Skelegro kicked in.
Watching Granger in pain had his emotions all over the place – he wanted her pain to stop and felt like he would do anything to ensure that she never hurt ever again, but his reasoning was also selfish: it reminded him too much of home. It sickened him to feel homesick at the memory of Granger being tortured at the Manor. It felt like a lifetime ago when an endless sea of witches and wizards were tortured or murdered in his ancestral home. Granger had just been another face in the mix – there for a moment before mercifully gone.
But now, she was here to stay, the end to her current pain nowhere in sight. He occluded for a brief moment, forcing away the Draco Malfoy of the past and the woes that haunted him. There was much to do before Granger's knee joint began forming, so once his mind was cleared, he set to work.
It wasn't wrong, he justified to himself, to heal Granger without her awareness or consent. It was what he had to do and maybe she would even thank him later for taking care of things while she was resting, finally free from pain. At least one of them was.
His stomach churned as Draco straightened out her wiggly calf – he almost couldn't do it but managed to choke back the bile and get it done anyway. It was no worse than butchering an animal and this pursuit was far more noble. Her leg would do her no good if it didn't grow back straight and functional. And though the limb felt strangely flaccid in his hands, Draco focused on the sensation of her incredibly soft skin until he could get her shank properly aligned.
Her foot, however, kept flopping side to side, no matter how many times Draco tried to align it. He used pillows and bed sheets to prop it up, but nothing was sufficient. Transforming into the wolf, Draco hurried to just outside the den where he searched for fallen tree limbs and climbing vines. Upon return, Draco spent hours using the materials to fashion a leg brace that would hold Granger's foot up, allowing for an anatomically correct alignment when her bottom leg formed.
The brace was strapped in place just as Granger's femur finished stretching to its final length. He watched as her leg, distal to the knee joint, filled out the sleeve of skin and muscle around it. Her knee joint would be forming next: alignment of it would be critical for her mobility. Draco began stretching her upper leg, moving her newly grown limb with hands that shook with the pressure he was under.
Circling the hip back and forth would save her from stiffness when it was finally time to move and walk again. A quick massage of the epiphyseal plate would promote blood circulation and concentration of her magic to further heal her damaged leg. The brace strapped to her leg was positioned against pillows, but Draco worried she would move and shift things off course during her sleep. He was exhausted, but performed a final diagnostic charm with the last bit of strength he had left in him.
Draco contemplated his next move for a moment as he studied Granger's sleeping face. Her curls were a mess on the pillows around her and he brushed a single strand from her face. The air in the den was cold, but Draco felt warm, trying to find patterns in the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. A faint scar ran along her cheekbone, pointing to dainty ears dotted with pearl studs.
Draco eyed her finally resting in the bed, body looking relaxed despite the battering it had taken and the traumatic healing it was currently enduring. It would do no harm if she were sleeping, he could move before she ever woke — his eyes closed and when they opened, he was on all fours next to the bed. Gingerly, he hopped up on the bed beside her and settled in next to her leg brace, pushing against it ever so slightly to promote proper alignment while she slept, or so he told himself.
It was the strangest feeling to have human contact again after years spent alone. Draco relished it, focusing intently on the feeling of her side against his back. His mind spun with thoughts of family, friends, and dreams of life on the other side. Suppressing the urge to cry found him quaking, but he couldn't allow his distress to disturb her, not when she was finally, peacefully healing. So he occluded again until he unwittingly drifted off to sleep.
After what was determinedly not enough sleep, Granger awoke in a fit. At first, he thought she must be having a seizure as she violently jerked back and forth. The wolf jumped up, shifting to a human and trying to calm the sleeping witch. Tears ran down her face and she was muttering incoherently something that sounded like no, stop, come back.
He tried shushing her, rubbing a comforting hand up and down her arm, and dabbing her face with the wet rag, but nothing would quiet her unrest. Finally, when tears began to prick at the corner of his eyes, Draco decided to wake her — if she carried on, she'd hurt herself, he reasoned, it had nothing to do with the weakness that plagued him any time the witch shed a single tear.
Though she looked a bit sickly with a greenish tint to her skin under a sheen of sweat, Draco was suddenly struck by how beautiful she was. It was something he never acknowledged when assessing the Gryffindor before, but here and now, with her lying in his bed, it was a thought that drifted into his mind, where it rooted and would stay forever. He wanted to admire her rather than wake her, but her pain was clearly driven by memories or nightmares — she would feel better when she woke.
"Granger, Granger!" He nudged her gently, leaning over her.
Big, brown eyes snapped open, glazed and wild and unrecognizing — the same looks he'd gotten from her days earlier before he'd revealed to her his human form. She scanned the room frantically, her chest heaving with efforted breaths. Granger took a sharp intake of breath before springing into action. Granger practically launched herself sideways, smashed the potion vial against the nightstand, and wielded one long, broken piece of it. Swinging it before her defensively, she screamed.
"Stay back, Lucius! I'll never tell you where Harry is!"
Draco jumped back, hands up as if he meant no harm. At the mention of his father's name, Draco couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, as if expecting him to be looming somewhere behind. Predictably, no one was there. He realized that it was him Granger was afraid of, which made his chest burn.
"It's alright," he assured her, calm and firm. "It's me, it's Draco… you were having a nightmare. Don't worry, Granger, you're safe."
"Draco?" Her voice cracked, her eyes clearing from the confusion and fear that had clouded them moments before.
Draco nodded, hesitantly taking a step forward.
Granger sighed in relief. "Draco," she whispered, allowing her hand to rest over her heart, the other letting the glass shard fall to the bedspread.
When she snapped out of it, Granger looked relieved to recognize him. It was subtle, and maybe he was reading into her actions, but Draco's heart swelled nonetheless. He felt high from it, like the feeling of flying, but the feeling was too foreign to be enjoyed without a nagging voice in the back of his head asking why her opinion of him mattered so much. What did he care what Hermione Granger thought of him? Not that he knew anyway, but something about being around her, gaining her approval, had become intoxicating.
"You're bleeding." He grabbed her hand, banishing the blood and healing her wound with the wand. She watched him with a meek expression, murmuring her thanks when he finished up and withdrawing her hand.
Granger gestured to her leg, "What's this?"
"I made a brace for you so the next part would grow straight."
Granger examined it but leaned back without comment. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared squarely at the ceiling. Draco swore he could smell her hair burning as he watched her face turn red with brewing anger.
"Go on, let's get this over with." Draco droned, plopping into his chair.
She gave him a cutting look, "What?"
Draco massaged his temples, "you're mad about something, so out with it. Let's hear it."
"Fine!" She sniped. "You drugged me!"
"You're damn right I did! It was for your own good! You were in pain… are in pain?" He asked. "How are you feeling now?"
"Better," she scowled. Draco beamed. "Sore," Granger amended, but it did little to dull his satisfaction.
"See, if it wasn't the right thing to do, the blood oath wouldn't have allowed me to do it." He gave her a solemn look, "you've got one left, by the way."
"No, Malfoy, there are two bones in the lower leg."
He scoffed, "As if I don't know that. What I meant is, you've got one pain potion left."
Granger gulped, "and two bones to grow."
"Yeah." He stood, anxious at the thought. Draco made his way to the kitchen, worried that he would have to watch more of her suffering. He returned to her side with a steaming mug.
Granger took a sniff, "What is it?"
"Bone broth," Draco smirked.
She pressed her lips together, smothering her laugh as she took the cup in her hands. Her breath blew delicately, rippling the surface of the drink, before taking a tentative sip. Watching her made his mouth run dry and he was suddenly filled with nervous energy.
"Do you want to try to get up? Stretch a bit? I could try and transfigure a crutch for you or I could stand at your side and hold you up."
Granger's eyes welled up with tears and she whined, "I want to go home."
"I'm sorry, Granger, it's just not safe for you right now."
He gulped, go. Of course, she would have to go at some time, but the prospect hadn't really hit him yet. She would leave and he would be all alone again. Was this the only time he would ever speak to a human again? It was certainly the only occasion he'd ever have a guest, a woman, in the den for the rest of his days. Draco took a deep breath, cherishing the scent of wildflower and vanilla that had previously driven him crazy, wondering how long it would take for the pleasant odors to dissipate, leaving him with nothing to remember her by.
Would she be happy to be rid of him? Was there any part of her that would miss him, too?
Granger had set to biting her lip, her mind far away with her own sets of worries, maybe some the same as what was troubling Draco. They could both use a distraction from the thoughts in their heads. Apparently, Granger had come to the same conclusion and was eager to finish what they had already started.
"You were saying, before I fell asleep, that you found a cave in the woods?"
"Oh yeah," Draco frowned, "that."
Imprisoned Somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, March 2000
The man with the long brown curls chuckled as he approached Draco's cage, giving him a reproachful look. "You've pissed off the wood," the man informed him rather matter-of-factly, as if the damn forest itself could have an opinion, or sensibilities that could be offended. Draco rolled his eyes.
"You've pissed off the wood," the man repeated, hooking his arms through the holes in the cage, and leaning against the metal bars, "but I've bargained with her."
At the word 'bargained', the wolf's hair stood on edge. Draco had heard fables of magical contracts as a child and knew that they most often went awry. It was worrisome if this man was speaking the truth, but then Draco remembered that this was the Forbidden Forest, he had just been captured by a mad man that lives in the woods, and he was trapped in some sort of cage. There was no truth to anything he could be saying. Draco shouldn't listen, he just needed to get out of there alive.
He growled a warning, sitting back on his haunches before launching himself at the bars, barking and biting, rabid in an attempt to push through the cage and bite the man or somehow, miraculously escape. The man withdrew his hands to avoid losing a finger but hardly looked startled by Draco's behavior. In fact, he looked amused. Which made Draco's blood boil as he continued to snap and snarl at the stranger. But in reality, Draco was so, so scared. Who was this man and what did he want with him?
Draco began calculating his chances of escape, coming up with scenarios like a trained soldier. If he revealed himself he might have one spell in him – but would it be enough to get out of this cage, let alone face off with this wizard who had home advantage and captured him so effortlessly already? Probably not.
The man stepped away from the cell and retreated into the cave beyond. His body fell into shadows before returning with a wooden rocking chair that he sat a short distance from the cage. In that time, Draco had fallen back into a corner, teeth bared and alert. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, but he was too afraid to reveal his human form again, so he stayed at the back of his cage, growling and vowing that he'd bite the man if he came close enough.
The man settled into the chair under a beam of light, allowing Draco to take a good look at him. He rustled around in the pockets of his clothes before extracting a silver knife. Draco met his eye and was suddenly hit with visions of himself as a wolf, bleeding out in a pool of water, and a pair of dark eyes hardened with concern staring down at him.
"It was a very bad thing you did out there, Silver," the man spoke casually, swaying the pointed tip of the blade at Draco accusatory, "hurting the Centaur like that."
Draco's blood ran cold. Had he been there, had he seen? Did that mean the Centaurs knew as well? Who else was privy to his secret? The one thought he'd done an excellent job of hiding?
Before he knew it, Draco was panting hard, struggling to take even breaths as it felt like the walls of his cage were suddenly smaller. In front of him, the man rocked back and forth in the chair, using the knife to peel the skin off a fruit that was suddenly in his grasp, revealing its bright yellow flesh. He carried on with his lecture, unperturbed as if he were talking about casual subjects and not the permanent maiming of a young foal.
"She was just excited to see you, y'know. She wasn't going to do anything to you, you didn't have to hurt her. Quite a lot of excitement for the Centaurs since Voldemort finally fell. It's been a long time since they had anything good happen around here." He gave him an endearing, sincere smile, "The whole wood has found new life ever since you came around."
Draco had gone silent, mind spinning in parallel directions: one set of thoughts concerned with escape, the other terrified and curious as to who this mysterious person was. Draco watched the man's profile, finding something oddly reminiscent in the long slope of his nose, the hint of mischief in the corner of his smile, a dead ringer for the mother who had brought him to the forest herself. He watched as the man began shaving off pieces of mango and eating them casually. When he finished, he licked his fingers clean and wiped the blade on his pants.
"No matter, what's done is done. The past shall be the past."
Draco was confused – so this man wasn't here to punish him for what he did to the Centaur? Or was he just going to hand him over to them? Yes, that would be his best chance of escape, right before the exchange.
"Speaking of the past," the man drawled, his right hand spinning in a circle until blue electricity dripped from his fingertips. "Why don't we have a chat about it, face to face?"
Draco let out a yelp just as the spell hit him square in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. His body flung back against the rocky cave wall, hard, as his stance elongated and revealed his human physique. Fur shrank in to reveal his pale, shaking limbs, covered in tattered bits of robes, ripped from the forced transformation. His hair, chin length and matted, fell in front of his face.
When the magic was no longer controlling him, Draco tried to shift back to the wolf, but it felt like there was a rock in his chest, blocking him from transforming as if he'd never been an animagus at all. He cowered back against the stone wall, shaking and hiding his face to try and conceal his identity, whilst trying to watch the person before him. Who was he? And what kind of spell had he just cast on him?
"Don't worry, I'll let you have your hiding place back when I'm done with you, little wolf."
"W-who are you?" Draco stammered, "What do you want?"
The man sat up straight in his rocker, a bemused grin on his face.
"Who am I?" He chuckled, slapping the arms of the chair before standing and stepping into a beam of light. "Surely you recognize me from our little swim last year."
Draco's skin flushed. He'd thought it had been a fever dream, madness driven by blood loss the night of the Final Battle. The man wasn't real, he had convinced himself, but here he was standing before him.
"Lucky you are that you were healed, you were a few breaths from the veil when we found you out there."
"We?"
"Yeah, me and the Forest."
"The Forest?" Draco asked, "What the bloody hell does this wood have to do with me?"
The man threw the pit of his fruit at the cage, causing Draco to jump at the clanging sound that reverberated off the rocky cave walls.
"The Dark Wood," the wild man corrected him, his anger burning Draco with a penetrating stare as he stalked up the cage. "The Dark Wood chooses who stays in the wood. And if you want to stick around, you'll do your best to remember that."
He coughed, his voice coming out softer yet resolute with conviction. "And you. Well, you're just like me, Draco Malfoy." A distant look twinkled in his eyes. "Dead to the world, but so desperately alive."
"How do you know who I am?" Draco turned to fully face the man, no longer hiding but rather rising to his feet. He took a tentative step toward the cage that confined him, eyes tracing the face of his captor. "Who are you?"
The man stepped forward to meet him, leaning into the cage, "Don't recognize your own family?"
Draco sneered, eyeing the stranger whose imposing physique had him feeling weak and small.
"You're no family of mine."
"No?" He chuckled. "You sure about that, cousin?"
Cousin? Draco's mind traced the Malfoy family tree but came up blank. The Black side was far more intricate and complicated. There were… possibilities.
"Come now," the man tutted, "your mother never told you?"
Draco sneered, "Told me what? About a bloody caveman that holds people hostage in the Forbidden Forest?"
"Kind of. What I'm wondering, little Malfoy, is if Mummy ever told you about the Black family secret?"
Draco balked, what crazy shit was this bloody caveman going on about?
The man tutted after appraising the confused look on Draco's face. "Of course, Narcissa would go off the rails and break tradition. Let me guess," he gave Draco a knowing look, "she wanted you to think that this was all her plan."
He had devolved into a fit of manic laughter, mocking Draco for his ignorance. Draco's sneer turned to a snarl and he gripped the cage, shaking it with a hard rattle. "How dare you speak of my Mother!"
"Ah, calm down, boy." The man dismissed him before he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the thick brown curls that covered his chest much like a fur coat. "I meant no disrespect."
"Tell me who you are!" Draco demanded. The teasing, the riddles, the games… he had enough of it. It was time for the answers that he so desperately craved.
At Draco's request, the man was a flourish of brown robes as he moved his body in a dramatic bow.
"Regulus Arcturus Black," he proclaimed proudly, "Son of Orion and once heir to the Black family throne. Now, King of the Dark Wood! What a pleasure it is to meet you at last!"
"Meet at last?" he asked, mind shocked with the information he was receiving. It seemed Draco's quest for truth would leave him with nothing but more questions.
"Yes, yes. As I said, we've been waiting for you, Draco." The man clapped his hands jovially and the branch holding the cloak reached forward, resting the garment on Regulus's shoulders. "I have to run out for a bit, there are many things to do!"
"What do you mean waiting?" Draco shouted as he watched Regulus head toward the exit, "Where are you going?"
"Have no fear, cousin, I shall return shortly! Don't go anywhere now." Regulus winked.
Draco sneered, opening his mouth to give a snarky retort about how of course he couldn't go anywhere he was bloody imprisoned, but his words died in his throat when Regulus transformed into a black wolf before exiting the cave. Draco clung to the bars, pushing his face between them as he stared at the beast with wide eyes. The wolf looked back at him, a coy smile displaying his teeth before he ran swiftly, disappearing into the dark tunnel and the Forest beyond.
"Wait!" Draco shouted, rattling his cage, "What the fuck? How are you a wolf too? Regulus?"
His hands gripped the bars until the metal bit into his skin and blood dripped down his arms. Draco tried transforming, but couldn't muster up the wolf inside him. He trashed wildly against his cage, cursing a man that had become the biggest mystery of the wood so far.
"Regulus!"