Fenrir Greyback
Draco spent the next two weeks thinning the Dark Lord's ranks. The Forest was full of dangerous, yet useful magical plants, so it was quite easy to stage small "accidents" that had already led to a good few deaths. Recently, he planted small batches of natural acids, which would hopefully dissolve any skin they came into contact with.
He hadn't been able to test them, for obvious reasons.
But hunting the Death Eaters through the forest like a bloodhound, waiting for the small tug in his navel that meant one of his traps had been triggered, was unsustainable.
Draco was not having a good time. Though he was near ecstatic to be back in his forest, the proximity to The Manor set his teeth on edge. It was the absolute last place anyone would expect him to be, which is why he decided to stay, but avoiding detection was paramount.
At least this far into the forest, he really didn't have to worry as much about appearances. He just waited to collect the bodies, apperating to some random wizarding pub and dumping them for the crowd to find, masks, cloaks, and all.
He was almost able to relax, enjoying the rare occasion of not having to mask himself. He smiled as he watched a spider spin its web, some 20 feet away. Everything was so much easier when he didn't have to dull his senses, letting his better eyes pick up the smallest detail, even in the near complete darkness, and his larger and more pointed ears pick up sounds from clear across the forest.
It was because of these senses that he heard the twig crack. He freezed, some animal instinct leading him to raise his head and scan with his eyes. Feeling ridiculous, he hesitantly sniffed for latent magic. He's much better at it, like this, which is why he knows there is a pack of werewolves about a mile to the south of him. He flicked his eyes to the sky.
He was such a fucking idiot.
He had been trying to gather lunar-asphodel plants, which only bloomed at night, and he’d forgotten what the moon would be. Starting back to the cottage, he cursed himself viciously for forgetting something so important. How had he forgotten? He'd lived with Greyback, he’d kept an eye on the moon for months, why now did he have to screw up?
A howl pierced the silence, and Draco froze again. He knew that howl. They had caught his scent.
He began to run, he would be unable to sneak now, no matter how good he was at it. He mentally swore, he was too far away. He was fast, but not fast enough to outrun a werewolf, not on the full moon. Abandoning the idea of the cottage, he went to cast disillusionment charms over himself, hoping to delay them for even a moment.
Which is when he promptly realised he didn't have a wand. He didn't need it for summoning charms, or the small sticking charms he used to set his traps, so he hadn't brought it.
He was good at doing practical magic wandlessly, but not defensive, that was Theo. He could summon it, but the sound and sight of it might bring the wolves right to him.
The only thing he had, was himself, his potions knife, and the gun tucked into his back waistband. He was glad he had brought it, but they were just normal bullets, and unless he could manage a wandless transfiguration, he was screwed. It was also his only shot, so he disobeyed every instinct he had and emptied the gun, focusing as much as he could on turning the bullets silver.
He was good with a knife, but not good enough.
“Argenti.” He hissed, “Argenti Argenti Argenti.” But the bullets stayed the same copper colour they always were.
The wolves were closer now, their excitement a palpable thing in the air. He tried again, what should be an easy, first year level charm, failing over and over. He was beginning to panic, but he couldn't do that either. Greyback would smell it and be so happy and he would report back to The Dark Lord and his parents would be forced to watch as he was ripped apart limb from limb and they wouldn't be able to bury him in the forest and-
Get it together, he told himself, You will not let yourself die like this.
He steeled himself, and squared his shoulders, but feeling a nudge from the forest, he looked to his left, seeing a path that hadn't been there before. He followed it without a second thought, and found himself staring at a sheer cliff face, easily over 50ft high, and covered in leafy vines. Good, he could keep his back protected like this. He sent a quick thank you to the forest, and turned to face the treeline. He didn't care now if they found him, it was near inevitable.
So he focused once more, in the precious few seconds he had left, “Accio wand.” He tried, and nearly cried in relief when he felt the charm go through. It would take a while to actually get to him, but it would come anyways, even if it only found his cooling body.
The first wolf burst through the trees, deftly avoiding a root that popped up to trip him. It was Greyback, and just the sight of him was enough to turn Draco's blood to ice, every moment of that summer rushing back to his brain. Greyback was one of the worst of them, just as bad as Aunt Bella, only he never used a crucio. His punishments were all sharp nails and knives. He feels his joints lock, it’s better if you don't run repeating in his head.
But Draco has a reason to run this time. He promised Blaise he’d come back.
So instead of ducking for cover like he so desperately wanted to, he tilts his head up, staring at Greyback with equal amounts of bloodlust.
He feels everything differently like this, it's all or nothing, either complete serenity or blinding rage. It makes it easier to push it all down, to let himself sink into a predator's calm.
Three more wolves come out into the clearing, and Draco’s wand still isn't in his hand. Instead, he has a handful of useless bullets and an empty gun. He slowly, ever so slowly, puts the bullets into his pocket, tucking the gun back into his waistband as he does it. The werewolves eyes follow his hands, the moment stretching as they wait for the tension to snap.
Greyback looks delighted, and Draco knows if he could speak, a torrent of vicious, horrible words would be coming out of his mouth. Even now, in the silence, he can hear them.
“We could have so much fun, angel.”
“You wouldn't want me to report that, would you, little Malfoy?”
“If you won't play I'll have to go find your mother.”
He slowly curls one hand around the handle of his knife, thankfully silver, but Draco isn't confident in his ability to take down four fully grown werewolves, even with the forest’s help.
Greyback growled, and Draco surprised himself by growling back, baring his too-sharp teeth with it.
The three lower wolves step back, ears flicking, but Greyback takes a step forward, his grin only getting wider, revealing his own huge teeth. The forest nudges him, and he whips the knife forward at the same moment branches shoot out of the trees to wrap around the closest wolves. Sadly, Greyback is too far away for them to reach, and he lunges.
Draco slashed with his knife, aiming right for Greyback’s eyes, but only managing a shallow slice to his cheek as he’s tackled to the mossy forest floor.
Greyback pins his hands to the floor, but he wandlessly summons a rock from nearby, and it hits Greyback’s head dead centre on its way to his hand. Draco takes the opportunity to plant his foot on the werewolf's ribs and kick him away, scrambling for his knife.
He needs to kill all of them. He can't let them report his whereabouts to The Dark Lord.
Finding his knife, he stands again, only to find Greyback circling, and the rest of his pack slowly working through their wooden bonds. He needs his wand now, and thankfully he can feel it growing nearer. If only he hadn't been foraging on the other side of the forest today.
Greyback tries to tackle him again, but Draco throws himself to the side, not before claws catch him in the ribs. He can feel the slashes start to bleed deeply and profusely.
The pain is awful, burning with venom, and he clutches at it after he switches his knife hand.
Say whatever you will, him being ambidextrous was his greatest skill in that moment.
Greyback hadn't even broken a sweat, and in fact looked like he was having the time of his life, howling in delight.
He grinned at Draco, managing to convey how excited he was to tear him apart just with his teeth alone.
Draco hears branches whipping and hopes it’s his wand and not the other werewolves breaking free. He holds his hand out as Greyback comes for him again, lunging for his arm.
His wand smacks into his hand, but Greyback's aim is also true, and he locks his jaw around Draco's forearm, biting clean through skin and muscle.
He grits his teeth so he doesn't scream, only managing not to drop the wand through sheet adrenaline. Before he can lose his nerve, he casts again.
“Argenti.”
It works, but Greyback snatches his wand before he can cast anything else.
He retracted anyway, leaving Draco on the forest floor. He immediately rolled onto his feet, shaking with the effort.
The other werewolves will be free soon, and he needs to find a way to load his gun. If Greyback didn’t have his wand, he would have cast an Avada Kedavra and be done with it, but nothing in his life could be easy, apparently. Greyback tossed his wand away, prowling slowly to where Draco stood.
He was playing with his food, slowly wearing him down before going for the kill.
Draco felt a nudge backwards, and again didn't hesitate before running full force into the cliff face. He hoped the magic wasn't also trying to kill him, but he didn't really have another choice.
His faith is gratified when instead of knocking himself out on a stone wall he bursts through the leaves and into a tunnel. He doesn't take the time to celebrate, running as fast as he can and following the magic. He hears a furious growl behind him and assumes the forest is slowing Greyback down, but he can also hear victorious howling, meaning the others are free.
He stopped, taking the bullets from his pocket and nearly crying with relief when they're bright silver. He desperately tries to load them into the gun, but his shaking hands make him clumsy and he only gets one in before he’s slammed from behind.
He hit the ground hard, the gun digging right into his ribs and knocking the wind out of his lungs. The rest of the bullets go flying out of his hand and roll into the cave. He curses, furious trying to twist himself around.
He succeeds, but just as he’s able to get his back to the ground, Greyback looks him directly in the eye and sinks his teeth into Draco’s knee.
This time he does scream as Greyback digs his teeth in, the pain making his vision fuzzy. He still has the gun in hand, but working through the pain to move even his finger suddenly seems impossible.
He sobs, trying his best to push all of it down, but it's too much. He's tired of running, of looking over his shoulder and waiting for the next bad thing.
His hold around the gun tightens, but he can't find the strength to lift it.
He thinks of Blaise, of Pansy, of his parents. Of Greyback dragging his body back to the manor as a prize.
Greyback seems to sense his despair, some sixth sense telling him Draco is ready to give up.
He thinks about his promise, that he would come back.
He swings his hand and shoots.
The bullet blows a hole clean through Greyback's forehead,violent and fast. Draco distantly feels blood splatter into his face and hands, but it's all eclipsed by the sight of Greyback, jaws still locked onto Draco's knee.
Nothing happens at first, and Draco curses every star in the sky, but then he can feel the life leave the werewolf. He watched in morbid fascination as the light seemed to die in Greyback’s eyes, his chest heaving as the body of Fenrir Greyback slowly relaxed into death.
It almost seems too nice. Draco almost wished he was still alive, that he could make Greyback hurt the way he hurt.
Death was too good for him.
He stayed there for a moment, but he could hear heavy footsteps getting closer, so he leaned forward to pry Greyback's jaw from around his knee.
It hurts worse than the bite, the jostling pushing some teeth in deeper. He paused to let the pain pass, fighting nausea.
Eventually, he’s free, so he searches around for his other bullets, loading them into the gun and making his way out of the cave.
As he stepped back into the clearing, he could see the three other werewolves sniffing around, confused where their leader and Draco had gone. They must either be incredibly dumb or very weak, if they had such a low sense of humanity during the full moon.
Quickly and almost lazily, he kills them, too, summoning his wand back to his hand and casting a shield around himself as he shoots all three.
Draco stands in the clearing, bleeding and tired beyond belief. These weren't magical wounds, and he couldn't fix them himself. He needed somewhere where money trumped blood loyalty, or at least where his name would get him discretion.
No matter how out of favour he might fall, some old habits and superstitions couldn't be broken, and it wouldn't be hard to find someone to heal a Malfoy.
So he apperated again, holding his bleeding side with his shaking hand, into Knockturn alley.
Coming face to face with Harry Potter.