Monster
There was not much Draco loved more than running through the forbidden forest at full speed, wind in his hair and ready for bloodshed.
Not on his side of course, never on Draco's. But his victim would bleed. Would be at his mercy. Would be giving their life for Draco's survival. Perhaps there was something peotic about it. Their lives bleeding over into his. Giving him the strength they had before.
The dirt between his toes was soft, and if there were a few stones, trying to cut their way into his flesh, Draco didn't even notice them.
Before he'd been bitten, Draco had never even stepped foot in a forest nor would he ever have stepped in one without shoes. Ever since that night though, when the natural killer inside him had awakened dirt hadn't been dirty anymore, but natural. The shadows hadn't been scary anymore but welcoming. Animals hadn't been friends to him but prey.
The world had darkened the night after his sixth birthday. And sometimes he felt like the light was never going to come back. He felt trapped in this body. Trapped as this monster. And the incident on the train had just showed Draco how little control over it all he actually had. Just like his prey, he was an animal. And a wild one at that. Never fully controllable. Not even by himself.
And that scared Draco, more than anything. He hadn't slept since the infirmary. And that had been weeks ago. But however much he tried, he just couldn't rest.
Severus had suggested a few potions, but Draco didn't want them. He didn't want to loose control again. Not after what he had almost done. Not after almost killing somebody.
Whenever Draco talked about taking revenge, it was always just that.
Talk.
Of course he was furious and he was going to do SOMETHING, when he finally found himself confronted with the person that had made his life a living hell, but that was sort of future Draco's problem.
But in the end he was terrified of that day. Of his first real kill. Of the time he'd become a real monster.
The boggart had kept him up too. Those eyes of pure evil. The blood all over the body. Draco didn't even want to think about it. But somehow he couldn't stop.
Severus had offered to talk, but their tea parties had turned into hours of silence. Of quiet reflection.
Draco didn't feel like himself right now. Everything felt set into a black and white filter.
Perhaps Draco was just melodramatic. That was kind of a family gene, after all.
Finally he took notice of the scent he had been searching for.
There in the moonlight, Draco could see a herd of Porlocks grazing. He had slowed down long ago softening his steps as he got closer, listening for any change in their heartbeats. So far they hadn't detected him, but they were wary of humans, and Draco knew that if one saw or heard him they would all me gone.
Porlocks were easy enough to come by in England, but they usually resided deep within a forest instead of at the outskirts where Draco usually hunted for easier access. But they were worth the longer trip.
Full herds were really rare, since they usually rallied with horses, so this had to be Draco's lucky day. He had once as a boy run away after a fight. He hadn't known were he was going. Just away.
He had become hungry as the hours ticked by, and when there had been this magical beast amidst a herd of wild horses, young Draco had been intrigued. And oh how he craced that same tast right now.
Porlocks weren't big creatures, but the two feet they were tall was filled with drops of the most delicious blood Draco had ever tasted.
With careful steps Draco rounded on one of the beasts that stood outside the group, grazing near a bony tree inly a few meters away. Draco could hear it's heart beat slowly but strongly, without a care in the world. Hie it stood there, so peaceful and quiet, Draco almost felt remorse, for taking it's life. He felt guilty about every kill. For a little while at least.
-
The first animal Draco had killed had been an accident. He'd only been seven. Before then he had always drunken animal blood fron the containers his parents had given him. In the wizarding world it was easy enough to come by blood of any kind. Most animal blood was used in rituals or potions. Blood magic was a common thing for sone dark families as well.
But it was nothing like fresh blood, right from the source, when the prey was still alive. Slowly sying in tour arms.
Young Draco had come across the deer in the forest. It had been hurt by another animal, was bleeding from it's flank.
Draco had wanted to help it, came closer to examin the wound. And suddenly there had been blood on his fingers, where he had touched the deep cut on its side. And the blood had looked so delicious.
And there had been that steady drum of a heart, luring him closer until the deer was suddenly dying in his arms, blood streaming down Draco's throat gushing over his chin. Soaking his shirt.
Filling his body with warmth. Soothing his hunger.
And then there had been tears as well. Salt mixing with iron. Bliss mixing with fear of what he'd become. The pain of the deed ripping his heart apart.
The realization of what he'd become drowning him. Filling his senses.
-
And he sprung out from behind the tree, gripping the Porlock at the neck and letting it's outcry die on his tongue.
What had Draco become if not a monster?