The common room smelt damp - an odd, wet smell arising from the depths. The carpet held much water, squelching under Draco’s feet with every step he took. His ears strained, listening, waiting. Having just returned from having his late night “snack”, he found himself rejuvenated, intensely focusing on the awful stench coming from within. Water snaked down the hallway from the dorms - the stream of water slowly letting itself absorb into the carpet. Glancing along the trail of water, Draco could see it was originating from his side of the dormitory, despite him being absent the majority of the night at this moment.
This…wasn’t here before. His eyes narrowed into mere slits, a hand flying to his face as he covered his nose.
“Who’s there?” He hissed, baring his fangs. The inner corners or his irises illuminated a red light as he scanned the area for any abnormalities.
Silence, too much of it.
It irked the blonde, his brows knitting in frustration. It wasn’t meant to be this quiet, as one would usually catch a faint snore slipping from the male’s dormitory. It was like everyone had just… disappeared.
I swear to Salazar, he thought, this better not be Parkinson playing tricks again.
The blonde kneeled down, his back slumping as he lowered his head towards the water.
Something wasn’t right.
Carefully, he pointed a slim finger to the water, feeling the substance on his skin. This isn’t water, he thought, bringing his finger up to his nose and taking a whiff. In an instance he recoiled, gagging at the stench of the sticky liquid.
“Fucking saliva?” He called out loud, wiping his finger on the carpet before standing back up.
Draco stepped back, his heart racing as he scanned the dimly-lit room. The realisation that he wasn’t alone settled uneasily in his stomach. The saliva--a thick, viscous substance--was a clear sign that something, or someone, had been here. He could almost feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“Hello?” he called out, his voice low and cautious. His voice hung in the air, heavy with uncertainty. He knew something was nearby; the scent of damp earth and musk lingering, mixing with a grotesque aroma beneath his feet.
A low growl emanated from the shadows, its source hidden, but palpable. Draco's instincts kicked in. He could either confront whatever lurked in the darkness or retreat to safety. But, retreating wasn’t in his nature, he was sure his father would kill him if he ever showed an ounce of fear.
“Show yourself!” he demanded, his fangs glinting under the moonlight that were filtered through the green drapes. He felt a surge of power coursing through him, emboldened by the hunger gnawing within.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, his amber eyes glowing like twin lanterns in the dark. Thoma stepped into the dim light of the common room, his posture proud and predatory. He was a fellow Slytherin, yet Draco barely recognized him. They had crossed paths in the corridors, yes, but their interactions had been minimal, limited to mere nods or fleeting glances.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Thoma growled, his voice low and gravelly, laced with an edge of warning. The air between them crackled with tension, a mix of curiosity and caution.
Draco held his ground, unfazed by the werewolf’s intimidating presence. “I could ask you the same, Thoma,” he replied, his tone taunting yet intrigued. “What’s with the theatrics? Is it an extracurricular activity of yours to lurk in shadows?”
Thoma’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement beneath the surface. “You think this is a joke?” he shot back, the growl in his voice deepening. “You shouldn’t be here, especially not tonight. The full moon… it changes things.”
Draco tilted his head, a mix of fascination and defiance brewing within him. “I’ve faced worse than a little moonlight magic,” he smirked, stepping closer, intrigued by the way the shadows seemed to cling to Thoma’s form. “What’s a little danger between Slytherins?”
Thoma’s expression softened for a moment before hardening again. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just danger; it’s a wildness that even I can’t control. You’re playing with fire, Draco.”
“Then let me play,” Draco challenged, his own confidence swelling. He wasn’t afraid of the darkness; he thrived in it. “I’m not some fragile little first-year. I can handle myself.”
“Handling yourself and facing a beast are two different things,” Thoma warned, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of concern. “Once the transformation takes hold, I can’t promise I won’t turn on you.”
“A beast? You praise yourself too much.”
“Try me.”
A thrill ran down Draco’s spine at the thought of being so close to someone so untamed. “And what if I want to see that side of you?” he replied, his tone teasing yet genuine. “Maybe I’m curious about how deep the beast runs.”
Thoma hesitated, his amber eyes searching Draco’s face for sincerity. “Curiosity can get you killed, you know,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice.
“Then let me take that risk,” Draco urged, a spark of defiance igniting in his chest. “Maybe we should stop pretending we’re not drawn to each other.”
The air thickened with unspoken tension, and for a brief moment, the world outside faded away. Thoma’s breath quickened, and Draco sensed the internal battle raging within him.
“Fine,” Thoma said finally, his voice a mix of resignation and intrigue. “But if I lose control, you need to promise me you’ll run.”
Draco grinned, the thrill of the unknown electrifying his veins. “I don’t run from anything.”
“Let’s hope you remember that,” Thoma replied, his voice dropping to a whisper as the moonlight bathed them in its glow.
As the first wave of transformation began to ripple through Thoma, Draco felt the pull of danger and desire intertwining. This was no ordinary encounter; it was a dance on the edge of death, and he was ready to embrace it.