An Unapologetic Wolf
Chapter 10: An Unapologetic Wolf
Draco was jolted awake by a bright flash.
His first thought was that there was a damn thunderstorm raging somewhere over Hogwarts.
His second thought was that the light had come from dangerously close by.
Blinking against the brightness, he squinted—and saw…
Theodore Nott.
Holding a camera.
Lens pointed straight at him.
"What. The. Hell?" Draco’s voice was a low, irritated growl.
Nott grinned, lowering the camera. "Good morning, sleepy snake."
Draco blinked sluggishly, his brain still catching up to reality.
And then he felt it.
A weight on his stomach.
Something warm. Solid.
His gaze dropped—and he froze.
Harry.
In his wolf form.
Not only still in Draco’s bed—but curled up on top of him!
The small white wolf had apparently shifted closer in his sleep, now resting contentedly on Draco’s stomach, his head nestled comfortably as if it were the coziest spot in the world.
Draco’s eyes widened in horror.
Behind Nott, Zabini stood with his arms crossed, observing the situation with a mix of amusement and mild disbelief.
"Well," Zabini finally said, his grin widening, "this exceeds all my expectations."
Draco lay there, utterly speechless.
Every fiber of his being screamed at him to push Potter off.
But he didn’t move.
Not because Potter was heavy—he was surprisingly light for a wolf.
But because he looked… peaceful.
And that was strange.
Potter was never quiet. Never relaxed. Never this.
Draco opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Then glared at Nott, who was still holding the camera up.
"Delete that."
Nott smirked. "I don’t think so."
"Nott."
"What? This is history in the making!" Nott gestured theatrically toward the small wolf. "The great Draco Malfoy—human heating pad for Harry Potter."
Zabini shook his head, chuckling. "I swear, Potter is doing this on purpose."
"No," Draco muttered with a heavy sigh. "I think he just has zero sense of personal boundaries."
As if the wolf had heard him, he let out a soft, contented rumble and burrowed just a little closer.
Draco stared up at the ceiling.
"I hate my life."
Zabini snorted. "Sure. Which is why you’re still lying there instead of shoving him off."
Draco didn’t answer.
Because he knew they were right.
And he just didn’t know what to do with that realization yet.
______________________________________
Harry had slept better than he had in a long time.
His body felt light, the crushing exhaustion that had plagued him for days now a distant ache instead of an overwhelming weight.
He stretched lazily, yawned deeply—and froze.
Nott and Zabini stood in front of him.
Nott had a camera in his hand.
And was still taking pictures.
Pictures?
Harry blinked, confused.
Zabini stood behind him, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk on his face as he gestured toward something—or rather, someone—behind him.
"What…?"
Harry shifted, attempting to sit up—
A soft, strangled noise beneath him made him stop.
Confused, he looked down—
And his gaze met the amused silver eyes of Draco Malfoy.
Draco, who had clearly been underneath him this whole time.
Draco, whose face was mere inches from his own.
Draco—his bloody pillow.
Harry’s heart stopped.
Then restarted at double speed.
With a sharp intake of breath, he shot straight up, staring at Draco like he had just sprouted a second head.
Draco grinned. "Morning, Potter. Sleep well?"
Harry’s wolf howled in embarrassment.
His human self wanted to dig a hole and die.
Zabini chuckled, stepping forward. "You jumped into Draco’s bed last night and never left."
Harry’s eyes widened.
Nott raised a hand. "Wait, wait—it gets better. You didn’t just stay there. You curled up on Malfoy. Used him as a pillow."
Zabini rolled his eyes, smirking. "And he just let you."
Harry’s head snapped back to Draco, who was still smirking at him like the smug bastard he was.
"Why didn’t you say anything?!"
Draco shrugged. "You were sleeping soundly. I didn’t want to disturb your beauty rest."
Harry turned red.
He jumped off the bed, landing on the floor in one smooth motion, seamlessly shifting back into his human form.
He stumbled slightly, then straightened, running a hand through his mess of black hair, his face still burning.
"Uh…" He tugged his cloak around himself, avoiding everyone’s eyes. "Sorry."
Draco sat up leisurely, stretching, his smirk never faltering. "No problem. Apparently, I make a fantastic pillow."
Harry glared at him. "Don’t say that again."
Zabini laughed. "Oh, come on, Potter. Just admit it—you like sleeping with us."
Harry’s brain short-circuited.
"I hate all of you." He grabbed his cloak more firmly, determined to escape the hell that was this conversation.
And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse—
Pansy walked in.
She took one look at the scene—Harry’s flushed face, Draco’s smirk, Zabini and Nott barely containing their laughter—and raised an eyebrow.
"Did I miss something?"
Zabini nodded solemnly. "Potter claimed Malfoy as his personal cuddle pillow."
Harry groaned.
Draco leaned back, casually stretching again. "Maybe I’ll get used to it."
Harry hated how much his face burned at that.