Monsters by Nightfall

Draco didn't remember being huddled into an alcove when the Quidditch Players - First the Bulgarians and then the Irish - were lead up into the Top Box behind them.
He didn't remember his father leaving to return to the Box, arguing in hushed tones with his wife.

He didn't remember thousands of people rushing out of every little door there was across the staircase, moving slowly and in crowds, looking like a giant worm, peeling it's way out of the stadion.
He didn't remember Harry Potter hurrying out, asking his friends were they think Draco had gone.
Or the arena steadily emtying, until his mother and him were the only ones left, besides a group of houselves, cleaning the stands.

The only thing Draco did remember, was clutching his mother's chest, trying to concentrate on the feeling. The beat of her heart. The smell of her skin and the calmness she was emitting.
The silencing charm couldn't fully blend out what was going on around them, but it dimmed it just enough for Draco to calm himself again.

When he finally withdrew from his mother's arms - they had sat themselves down on one of the carpeted steps - the arena staircase was quiet.

"Where's father?"
Was the first thing Draco asked, rubbing at the dried salty streaks on his face, looking around confused.

"He went with the Minister. They had a lot to discuss, still."
Narcissa... lied, smiling at her son. Draco was sure it was a lie, because whenever his mother lied there was this flicker in her eyes. What Draco couldn't tell however, was why she was lying.

Now that the silencing charm slowly wore off, Draco was able to hear the Ireland fans celebrating outside. There was singing and cheering, laughing and shouting.
"Are we going to join him?"
Draco questioned.
"We should go home, Draco. It's already getting late."

"What about father?"
"He will be there in the morning."
"But..."
"Come on Draco. We should go."
Narcissa's voice was stern and didn't leave room for discussion. Great. But Draco knew when to stay silent. He was brilliant at it. So what of, not voicing his own mind, if it defied his parents wishes? It was his duty to follow his parent's lead.

Draco nodded, averting his eyes. Weak. A voice in the back of gis head supplied. That was probably why his father had left too, wasn't it?
On their way down the endless purple staircase, Draco's thoughts began to spiral.
Where had his father gone if not back to the minister? Did his father simply not want to be around his crying son? Did he think of Draco as weak? He was weak. Broken? Because Draco was that too.

His father was surely embarrassed by his antics, Draco reckoned.
Thought him dramatic.
Vain.
Sensitive.
Not human enough.
Or perhaps too human to be acceptable.
Not good enough.

Never enough.

Draco's eyes were focused on the purple stairs underneath, trying to hide his disappointment. He wasn't really sure whether he was dissapointed in himself or his father. Maybe even his mother? The universe? Magic itself? The vampire that had destroyed his life so many years ago?

Perhaps all of the above.

But he kept quit; He followed his mother obediently.

--

It was already dark outside, when they stepped onto the campsite next to the stadium. Most people had already retired to their tents, but others were still out, walking around the pathways; men and women both. Some swaying from the alcohol in their blood, while others were still swinging their flags and chanting their team names.

Even some Bulgaria fans were still out and about. Lying in each others arms crying. Ranting about their team's incompetence in a dozen different languages. Draco even understood some of it. There was a little french, german and even russian.
He hadn't known that Bulgaria had such a broad fan base around Europe. Though he had to admit that Krum especially, was pretty awesome.

It was quite amusing to look at the spectacle.
Wixen drunkenly casting celebratory spells.
Others, flying around on their broomsticks enacting scenes from the game or battling each other to see who was the best.
Nationalities mixing.
People enjoying themselves; loosing themselves in banter.

Draco didn't even realize he had stopped to watch.
"I want to celebrate."
Draco tested the wordson his tongue, too quiet for his mother to hear. He wanted to turn to her and say it. Say it loud and clear. Voice what he wanted for one.

He wanted to meet up with his friends. Surely, Blaise and Theo were around here somewhere. They had to be. He wouldn't even mind celebrating with his other classmates.

Or even, if he had to, with the golden blunderbuss trio. At least they could celebrate. At least they could handle people being around. Could handle celebrating, without loosing control.

He didn't turn. He didn't repeat it. Just stared into the distance.

He was enthralled by the different interactions, wincing when one woman tried enacting the Wronski Feint without warning her flying partner, resulting in another splat, bones cracking; the other woman groaning.

People were shrieking, others laughing in the distance, while a healer nearby lend a hand in helping the injured woman up.
It hadn't been that much of a fall.
Still, there was a deep cut in her arm, where she had shielded herself from the fall. Her broom was broken, where it had bored itself into her leg. Blood was trailing onto the sandy ground.

"Come Draco."
His mother called. She had stopped a few paces ahead, watching Draco watch them.

"Are you...hungry?"
A little confused Draco looked up at his mother.

Draco looked back at the crowd he'd been watching. The blood that was dripping out of the injured witch. A mediwizard was healing her. But there was still this strong metallic scent in the air. The crimson river reflecting the firelight, while seeping into the floor. Then Draco looked back to his mother.

Had he looked at them...like prey? Was the blood getting to him?

Draco's stomach churned uncomfortable. Though not in hunger, but in disgust.

In theory they really were his prey, weren't they? Animals were a mere substitute for the real thing. The thing Vampires naturally yearned for. Human blood. Wixen blood. Magic and blood alike to feast from.

"We can stop by the forest if you want to..."
She trailed off, looking at her son carefully.

They never really talked about this. His 'condition'. He just did it. They were never present for it. Never wanted to be.

Draco stopped himself from looking back at the group of people, now huddled around the injured.
Nodding to his mothers request.
He had gone hunting only yesterday. But perhaps it was better to feast again.

"Alright."

--

Perhaps Draco had been a little carried away hunting. It was just that it was so exhilarating. Especially hunting where he hadn't been before. Allowing his instincts to guide him. Allowing nature to consume him.

He had left his shoes and socks with his mother at the portkey, to not damage their fine leather in any way. Most of his outfit too. He'd lost the jacket and shirt too.

Now he was only in his black undershirt and the dress pants - he had folded up the ends.

There was nothing restricting him anymore. Only the wind in his hair

- the setting spell his mother had applied that morning had loosed, so that his hair fell into his face, ruled by nature -

and the earth beneath. Autumn was slowly arriving, letting the tree's litter the floor with their leafs already. They were soft and a little damp, but Draco was more focused on the scent he was following. He had rubbed away the runes with a little spit and already felt his inner vampire falling out of bounds.

Draco had realised that, the more he restricted his bloodthirsty side, the angrier and more ruthless was its return afterwards. When he was alone in the woods that didn't quite bother him of course. In a forest that meant getting to his prey faster, enjoyong the hunt even more. But whenever he was with others, the prospect of giving over any control to his vampire side, was utterly terrifying.

This was no such instance however. The woods were quiet and he had run far enough to blend out even the loudest fans from the campside.

There had been the scents of Veelas in the air. Draco had been tempted, but there were too many people around them to risk an attack. He was good to stick to less humanoid magical creatures.

After ripping appart a doe - a little bit forceful for Draco's usual taste, but he couldn't deny how little he cared after sinking his fangs into the animals body - Draco already felt much better.
Cleaning the bits of furr out of his teeth, Draco slowed from his earlier sprint to a casual walk, while he listened to his body process the meal.

He could feel the animal's magic thrumming in his fingertips, making him want to reuse it. Pour it into a spell. He didn't feel like light magic right now. So, perhaps a curse?

Draco had to begrudgingly admit he had left his wand with his mother, when he didn't find the wooden stick even after his third search through all his pockets.

Maybe that was a sign, though, Draco thought to himself. Maybe this was the time to finally attempt wandless magic.

He had seen Severus do it a few times. His parents too. But only small thing. Levitating spells. Summoning something.

He had heard of wixen communities that didn't even use wands. So, surely it had to be possible to cast even more complicated spells and even curses without a wand, had it not?

Although, what should he even cast to begin with?

He was in the mood for some dark magic. But he couldn't afford something too dark, if it backfired. And also, how was he to do it?

Draco got into the stance he usually took, whenever fighting with a wand, focusing on his wandhand instead.
It felt weird to bundle that much magic, without letting it pour into something else.

It couldn't be that hard, could it?

The first few tries he couldn't quite get the energy to leave his body. It built up towards his hands but wasn't able to go further.
So he tried again.
And again.
And again.

Nothing.

Well, maybe this really wasn't as easy as he'd thought. But the thing missing wasn't his strength or magical ability, Draco was sure. He just couldn't figure out how to do it. And it frustrated him immensely.

Trotting back towards the Portkey point knowing his mother was waiting, Draco kept casting spell after spell.

Pouring his entire concentration into it, he didn't quite feel the presence beside him until it was only a few meters away. Draco immediately stopped, slowly turning his head towards the person next to him. There was noone.
But how could that be? Draco's senses had never wronged him before.

Sniffing the air he could even smell the persons scent. And suddenly Draco understood.
It was the presence he'd felt before in the Top Box. The same person.
So either Draco had completley lost it now, or there was really someone there. Only that someone wasn't meant to be seen. Concealed by something. Of course.

Now Draco remembered what that smell was that detered from the person underneath. Demiguise. Severus' office had reecked of Demiguise Tinkture when one of the seventh years had accidently poured it all over Severus' cloak.
This was a little different however. More subbtle. Could it be Demiguise hair?

An invisibility cloak?

The person under the cloak hadn't seemed to notice Draco yet, occupied with themselves. They were being dragged along by a tiny house elf.
But Draco couldn't see enough to really tell.

Mindlessly Draco cast a lumos charm, that made his palms glow rather brightly.
It did illuminate the elf's face, although it illuminated everything else as well, making the elf and their companion turn towards Draco.

With vampiric speed, as silently as he could, Draco moved behind a tree, which approximately matched his shoulder size and slammed his still glowing palms underneath his shirt and against his chest, in an attemt to cancel out the light.
Fortunately that seemed to work rather well at blacking out the light.

Draco listened carefully for the duo's reaction. The elf had stopped to stare Draco's way. But when there was nothing, the duo began wanlking again. And with it the arguing started up again too.

If his memory didn't deceive Draco, this must be the same elf he'd seen conversing with Potter in the Top Box.
The two were arguing, though the cloak was thick enough to conceal even the persons voice.

"Master has to be returned home immediately."

"Release me now Winky!"

The voice from the person under the cloak was still a little distorted, but clearly belonged to a male. A furious one.

"Winky can't do what Master Junior wants Winky to do. Winky is sorry."

The man growled enraged.

"Father can't bind me forever! He can't keep me from hating him either, however much he tries. I will let him pay for this, I swear to you. Right after I've made them pay."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. Wanted who to pay? This didn't sound good.

"Winky has been given instructions to lead master Junior home. And Winky is a good elf. Winky does everything Winky is told."

They were walking out of Draco's ear shot now; so, curious as he was, Draco made himself follow them quietly.

"Then do as I tell you. I'm your Master just as well as my that man is!"

"Winky can't help Master Junior."

There were footsteps on grass and leafs. People coming closer. Short but fast footfall. More than one. And the closer they got the more Draco recognized their scents. Well, well, well, if it wasn't the chosen one and his favorite little pets.

For Salazar's sake, why had Draco washed away his runes? It had been so long since he'd been exposed to the gravity of Potters scent. This was bad. Draco did not want to attack a wizard tonight. Certainly not the Boy who lived. What was he going to do?