Harry Potter 1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:****In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.**

**PROLOGUE**

"Draco? Are you alright, dear?" Narcissa asked as she reached up to gently cup her son's cheek with her hand. She worried for her son, and rightfully so after all that had happened that past year. Despite her many protests, Draco had made the decision to return to Hogwarts for an eighth year.

He looked at his mother with one eyebrow raised. A questioning hum sounded in the back of his throat before her words registered in his mind.

"Mother, I'll be fine. It's only Hogwarts," he insisted with an exasperated sigh. Noting her worried expression however, he couldn't help the small smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth, and was soon pulling her into a firm hug.

"There's nothing to worry about. I'm positive Snape will alert you should any unsavory_incidents_ happen," Draco said with a quick chuckle as he finally pulled away from her.

His goodbyes to her said, he turned toward his father. Lucius reached out to grasp his son's shoulder, and Draco reciprocated the action with a soft smile. To them, the simple action showed more affection than anything else and that was how they liked it. Simple, but caring.

"Draco, did you—?"

"Yes, Mother, I did," Draco said quickly, cutting her off.

A rather offended expression crossed her face and he offered her an apologetic look, hoping to placate her. He didn't want all of Kings Cross Station to hear the questions his mother was poised to ask. Before she could bombard him with any further inquiries, the time came to board the Hogwarts Express—a bit of perfect timing for which he found himself eternally grateful.

"I'll be home for Christmas holidays, I promise," he called to his parents over his shoulder.

As he made his way through the crowd, he heard some sort of response. With all the sounds drifting toward his ears as he moved through the throng of students, he found it difficult to tell which words had been formed with the loose sounds of his mother's voice.

He realized he'd departed from his parents just in time, for as soon as he stepped foot in the train, the doors slid shut behind him. Silver eyes roved lazily across the sea of students as he waited for them to thin out into various compartments. It may have been a bit cramped this year, due to the extra hundred or so students coming back for an eighth year, but he supposed that's what would make it interesting.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco turned his head to the right as he heard the familiar voice of Minerva McGonagall invading the depths of his mind. His hands instinctively slid into the pockets of his trousers as he turned on his heels to face the deputy headmistress.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" he asked with a respectful, yet equally bored drawl. Malfoys, masters of ambiguous behaviours of all types.

McGonagall regarded Draco with a stoic expression, remaining silent until all other students had cleared away. Even after the students had gone, she continued to observe him silently; even as the train began to pull out of the station, she simply stared.

"I will have you know that although Headmaster Prince trusts you here at Hogwarts, I do not. If I see any action of yours placing another student in danger, I will make certain you are expelled. Do I make myself clear?" she finally asked, her expression still stoic and quite cold.

"Yes, Professor. I'll do my best," Draco said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he steadily held McGonagall's gaze.

She returned his stare unflinchingly. "I do not agree with the decision to make you this year's Head Boy, but it is not my place to question the matter," she stated as a matter of fact.

Without another word, she nodded towards the front of the train and he understood completely. He walked past her and didn't look back as he made his way to the Head compartment. Draco would simply have to wait and see who'd been selected as Head Girl. Honestly he'd rather go find his friends, but McGonagall's word—or nod in this case—was law while at Hogwarts.

Once inside the Head compartment, he spent a few moments looking around before sitting, and subsequently laying on one of the benches. He really couldn't see much difference between the normal compartments and this one, besides the fact that it seemed the benches here were better suited for sleeping, rather than only sitting.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind buzzing with thoughts before his eyes eventually drifted shut. He folded his arms behind his head and relaxed his muscles, one leg bent with his knee up, while the other was stretched out so that his foot brushed against the wall.

The opening of the compartment door was soft, but his keen ears caught it. Even if not for his hearing, there was a very distinct scent that wafted past his nose. He'd know that scent anywhere.

"Hello, Granger."

Instantly he felt a pair of eyes boring into him, but refused to tense at the sensation. He wasn't scared of her. Why should he be? He had survived serving Voldemort, a girl at school was child's play.

"I see McGonagall told you I was Head Girl," Hermione said with a definite huff to her voice.

Draco simply shook his head. "Deduction. No other prefect is qualified for Head Girl. I assumed Snape would either pick you, or . . . . Well, there really is no _or, _is there? If not_you_, I'd lose all hope in his sanity."

"You know Headmaster Prince doesn't go by Snape anymore; not since he became the heir apparent to the Prince family fortune," Hermione pointed out factually.

Once more Draco responded with a simple gesture—a shrug in this case.

"He's always been Snape to me. I've known him since I was a child and if it doesn't bother him, why should it bother me to call him such?" Draco asked rhetorically. Silver eyes opening, he looked across the compartment to see her seated in the middle of the bench on the other side and his breath caught in his throat.

**Her. She's the one, she's **_**mine**_**.**

_Oh, shut up!_

**It's only one week 'til the full moon. I **_**will **_**come out to play early, don't think I won't.**

All the while Draco had this internal struggle, he stared at Hermione.

Merlin, why did Greyback have to change him into a werewolf during that final battle? The Beast inside wanted to react upon impulse as Draco's gaze zeroed in on the way Hermione's pulse pounded gently beneath the skin of her throat. Now switches were flipping all over his mind.

"What _are _you staring at, Malfoy?"

Draco didn't want to respond—was all he could do to hold back and just watch quietly now. He was still trying to get used to life as a werewolf; now this strange happenstance was thrown his way.

"Nothing . . . Hermione."

Hermione arched an eyebrow towards Draco. Since when did he use her first name? Draco arched an eyebrow right back. His exterior was calm, but he was already worrying over if he had made a mistake.

If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he _had_ to get Hermione Granger for himself. No matter how long it took, she would be his.

**Author's Note:**

**Alright, first things first, this **_**is**_** an AU, meaning several things have changed. Most notably, Severus Snape and Fred Weasley have survived thanks to Fawkes. I may or may not touch up on this, depending on how much Draco snoops whilst the main plot furthers.**

**Secondly, hope that little twist was a pleasant change. I would love critique and I absolutely don't mind if you tear the story to pieces, I can take it, as long as I'm taught something. I hope to have another chapter or two written over the holidays for you guys, and please let me know what you think. I also love to see theories on my story, it's always nice seeing people interested enough to guess ahead! Remember this IS just a prologue, the main story will take place about two years after the events in this chapter.**


	2. Out in the Open

**Chapter One**

Out in the Open

A raw, feral growl ripped from his throat as he slowly gained consciousness. He pulled himself to sit up, quickly realizing that both his right arm and his head ached, though he decided the agonizing splitting in his skull was easily the greater of the two evils.

His silver eyes cautiously trailed up to stare blankly at the man in front of him while his left arm—not currently alternating between numb and throbbing, as his right was—clutched at the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tighter.

"How long did I last?" he asked, wincing from the huskiness in his own voice.

"Not even an hour. You're getting worse and worse, Malfoy. At this rate, we'll have to sedate you _before_ your shift."

Another growl tore from Draco's throat as he glared at the man. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"There's not much else we can do. You already have a cell to yourself; nobody nears the cage except to offer you food. It's not our fault you keep attacking."

"It is _your_ fault I keep feeling threatened!" Draco snapped, his teeth bared in a wild, wolfish manner. The man before him simply rolled his eyes as he tossed the werewolf's clothes to him.

"Just get dressed, your emergency contact will be here soon to pick you up," he said as he turned to move into next room.

Draco stared at him in disbelief, even as he pulled on his jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. "You did _not_ call my girlfriend. _Tell_ me you did not call Hermione Granger!"

"You gave us no choice. You're getting more violent and right now we can only be led to believe you're not taking your Wolfsbane potions regularly. If this happens again, we will be forced to revoke all your magic privileges and you will be assigned to a Healer in St. Mungo's who will make sure you take your potions," the man said in a grave tone.

At the warning, the young werewolf rolled his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He fell heavily into a sitting position on a wooden chair—they must've put it into the cell after sedating him, or it would be in splinters, he imagined—to await his girlfriend with an apprehensive hand over his face.

"Hermione is going to kill me," Draco said, the syllables rumbling from between his lips in a bestial tone. His shoulders tensed as he swallowed down his inner beast. He couldn't be nervous, that would only make it worse.

_No fear; fear is the enemy._

He repeated the mantra over and over until he sighed heavily. The harsh breath caused his guard to look up at him.

"I need a fag." He lifted his gaze to meet the disbelieving stare of his warden. "Just this once!"

"That's what you said _last_ time."

"Look, _you're_ the one who called in my girlfriend—she didn't even _know_ I was a werewolf in the first place, thanks very much—now give me a damn fag before my nerves get the better of me," Draco growled the words with narrowed eyes.

There were several things his holding officer could have done, but what he chose to do was give in. Bad idea, but Draco had made an infamous name for himself here.

A smirk alighted Draco's features as the man handed him a freshly lit cigarette. He took it happily, pulling in a few, deep drags and allowing himself to relax.

"Those things are going to kill you," the warden pointed out. A young child _may _have believed the little conviction he had in his voice, if it wasn't ruined by the fact that he smoked regularly while he was watching the werewolves in his holding cells.

"Lycanthropy will kill me sooner than these death sticks ever will," Draco countered. There was a definite bitterness in his voice when he spoke of the disease that flowed in his blood, laced through his veins.

"_Draco Lucius Malfoy!_"

"Bloody _hell_!" Draco coughed violently. His girlfriend's livid screech had startled him and he drew in a quick gasp_ just_ as he'd been taking a deep drag. The smoke filled his lungs far faster than he was accustomed to, causing him a brief hacking fit.

"Sounds like _she's _going to kill you sooner than the lycanthropy ever will," the warden said as a wry smile stretched across his features.

A feral growl rumbled deep within Draco's throat as he glared over at his guard. He was painfully well aware the man only had the gall to mock a werewolf—and a Malfoy, at that—because said Malfoy werewolf was presently locked up in a cage like some random prisoner. A retort was perched on Draco's lips, but angry footsteps grew louder and he was soon faced with a visibly irate Hermione.

The fire in her eyes could have melted the cold steel of the cell in which Draco sat, and it certainly worked wonders on the man himself. His snarl weakened to a whimper and his shoulders hunched as he leaned forward, causing him to take on a very submissive stance as he prepared for the chewing out of his life.

"How could you do this to me? You traipse around in this prison—"

"It's a holding cell, Miss."

Hermione spun back on the man who had spoken and practically growled at him herself. "Sit down and _shut up!"_

The man promptly did so, his expression showing he now knew why young Mr. Malfoy did not want his girlfriend brought in.

Hermione turned back around to face Draco, taking in a deep breath before speaking again, albeit in a slightly calmer in tone. "You traipse around in this prison for _days_ at a time every month, you drive me insane with worry that you realize you could have done better—like perhaps you decided you prefer the company of some pure-blood girl—and in the end you're _just_ a _werewolf_? Just how long have you been a werewolf?"

Draco was silent for a second. And another. And _another_.

"_Draco_!"

"Since the Final Battle."

"That's been two and a half years! You little hypocritical prick, you said you'd always tell me everything! Why didn't you tell me?" She demanded, ending up in sobs as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Draco swiftly stood and moved over to the bars of his cell, reaching out to gently caress her cheek with another high-pitched whine. He could smell the distress coming off of her and he absolutely hated it. He never wanted her to find out about his lycanthropy this way, and _this _was the reason why. He hated seeing her so upset, the wolf in him so fiercely overprotective on top of that.

"I didn't _tell _you because I didn't want to _lose _you," he said, the words soft and sincere. "I didn't want to scare you off. Werewolves . . . we're dangerous. I have to be so careful everyday so I don't change you into a monster like me, and cut off _twenty years _from your lifespan, _if _you're lucky. Even the smallest cut has the potential to change you, forever."

His gaze dropped from hers the more he spoke, his shoulders sagging with defeat. He hadn't cared about his lycanthropy in the past, but then it actually became a burden for him to protect the one he loved. There had been times where he had truly loathed himself for what he had become, times where not even Hermione could soothe his hurting soul.

"And I could _never_ do better than you, Hermione Granger. You're the _only _girl out there for me. I'd been so _stupidly_ horrid to you in Hogwarts, I thought if you found out I was a werewolf—"

"How could you think that of _me_? My best friend's uncle by bond was a werewolf, and I created and led S.P.E.W! If anyone in the whole wide world would understand Draco Malfoy, it's me," Hermione insisted fiercely. "I'm made of tougher stuff then that! You saw me as I refused to give even after what your aunt had done to me. _And_ heard her promise to give me to Greyback when she was done . . . which brings me to your stupid monster comment!"

At this point, she reached into the cage to smack him over the head. She wasn't afraid of his inner beast retaliating, even as she saw him recoil once his teeth sharpened in defense. For the first time she could actually_ see_ how akin he behaved to a canine as he shook his head to get over the shock.

"You are _not_ a monster. I saw a monster almost kill the best professor any of us knew with a snake, don't you _dare_ cast yourself in the same lot! Besides which, I may be called crazy but I find it just a little . . . well, um . . . you know . . . that you're . . . a werewolf. In fact, whatever you have running through your veins isn't a curse. It's just a condition spread through blood and saliva when a werewolf is in its true form. It says so in _The Book of Werewolves and Other Such Beings_."

Draco sighed to himself and shook his head. He knew as well as she did that she wrote that book, with help from various acquaintances from each species she wrote about. Hermione knew a lot, but she didn't know _everything_ and part of that was how it actually felt to be a werewolf in the wizarding community.

There was so much stigma surrounding them. It didn't help his case in the slightest that he was a Malfoy and even had a small stint in Azkaban right after the war. She couldn't understand how he felt about this, but at the same time, she didn't really need to understand. The glares cast his way when his name was mentioned, the whispers of _werewolf_ and _Death Eater_ behind his back to forever haunt him.

No amount of interjection could change that, either.

"Damn it Draco, I love you. And _nothing_ short of cheating could make me want to be away from you," Hermione said, insistent.

There were so many things he wished he could tell her, but the fear that devoured him from the inside out prevented him.

"I love you too, Hermione. More than anything," he murmured softly.

He pulled back his hand for only a moment as the door of the cage slid open. _Finally, the lazy ass lets me out, _Draco thought, glancing over to see the warden—dead to their conversation—setting down his wand after opening his cage. Stepping out he was relieved to wrap his arms around his beautiful, perfect girlfriend.

"And I can't wait to show you that love," he added, his voice a low, raw growl in her ear as a slow smirk spread across his features. Here was the Draco she knew.

"Draco!" Hermione gasped in a mingling of mortification and pleasure. Her face had gone bright red as she buried her face against the side of his neck. As much as she hated that she sounded a bit like Romilda Vane and that lot, she did find herself giggling a little at Draco's antics.

Draco laughed and shook his head lightly. He gave Hermione's waist a gentle squeeze and kissed the top of her head.

Smiling softly, he said, "Let's go home."

Hermione smiled in spite of herself and nodded to her boyfriend. She was still annoyed that he'd kept something so important from her, still found herself determined to find out if there was anything _else_ he might be hiding, but she decided to put aside those feeling for the moment. "Let's."

**Author's Note:**

**Wow, I've got almost 500 views on my two stories after being here for a measly four days, you guys are awesome!**

**This chapter went through a lot of rewriting from its original draft, but I think it really came together nicely. And no, Draco is not off the hook. All shall fall into place next chapter, I half-promise x)**


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Harry Potter, Angst, Hurt-Comfort