Danger, Danger, Danger
Remus sincerely doesn't know what to think about Draco. He had thought that after a few days when everything settled, it would be clearer, but if anything it just got more confusing.
Draco didn't smell human.
But the thing was, he didn't smell like anything else Remus knew how to identify either. Especially not werewolf, he supposed it could have been the fact he was bitten, but not turned, but if that was the case, then he should have at least smelled a little familiar, but Draco seemed to fall completely outside of what Remus knew.
He smelled like blood, forest, and something else, something that seemed to claw into Remus' chest and take hold, familiar and unfamiliar. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing he'd ever smelled, and it made him viscerally uncomfortable.
The wolf in his chest kept up a steady beat of 'danger danger danger' anytime Draco was in the room, which was just ridiculous, he was a werewolf, and thus usually the most dangerous person in a room at any given time.
But Draco didn't need to know any of that, he was so obviously distrustful of Remus, not to say anything of Sirius, or even Harry, who Remus wasn't sure Draco even knew lived with them. Letting his own suspicion get in the way would send Draco for the hills.
So, Remus focused on trying to convince Harry to go back to Hogwarts, but the boy wasn't having it.
"Harry, you can't do anything for The Order right now, we're in a very delicate stage." He said, trying to temper the frustrated edge of his voice. Had he been this persistent as a kid? Lord, he hoped not, Minerva deserved a raise.
Harry just stared at him, eyes blazing, "Why can't I? Name one good reason."
"Harry, you murdered someone earlier this week." Lupin put down his coffee, looking Harry in the eyes, he needed to know how serious this was, "Draco's heart stopped, he was dead for two minutes."
Harry sat back, seemingly lost for words, so Remus continued, "I get it, Harry, you didn't know what the spell would do, but your mistake could have cost someone his life, and that's not someone who I'm inclined to have working for The Order right now."
"But, I-"
"No. Harry, you are frustrated and impatient, I understand, I truly do, but what you've done is inexcusable. You used a spell, without knowing what would happen, on someone you only suspected of being an enemy. Does that sound like reasonable behaviour? Would you have someone who acted like that on the front lines?"
"I'm sorry." Harry tried, and to his credit, he did look remorseful. Remus knew Harry truly did regret his actions, but brushing everything under the rug would only make the problem worse.
This boy had spent the last few years being The Chosen One, accountability was an imperative lesson, and one he needed to learn now, before habits could take root.
"Are I going to have to leave?" Harry asked, obviously trying his best to keep a stiff upper lip.
Remus sighed, "Harry, I'm not the one who deserves your apology. And no, this is not me kicking you out of Grimmauld, you're my family, Harry, and that means it's my job to tell you when you've made a mistake, and help you fix it." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "You should go back to Hogwarts, and find a way to apologise to the person who deserves it, you're no good to anyone drowning in guilt."
Harry nodded, "I'll go back to Hogwarts, but-" He looked to the side, "You'll write?"
"Of course, Harry." Remus slapped Harry's shoulder twice, turning him to the door, "Now go pack."
How he'd ended up as the voice of reason was an absolute mystery, but someone had to do it.
After a little while, Sirius came into the kitchen, making a beeline for Remus and his coffee mug, "Oi," Remus said when it was taken from his hands, "That's mine."
"Ah, come on Moony, you know Kreature makes mine taste like pond scum." Right on cue, a coffee mug full of what Remus thought to be actual dirt appeared at Sirius' elbow, "See! It's the brat's doing. I know it."
The coffee mug slid off the counter and onto his foot.
As his husband jumped and cursed, Remus took a slow sip of his coffee, "Maybe if you tried being nice they wouldn't hate you so much."
Sirius stuck his tongue out, "They deserve it."
"You've known the boy about a week."
"Half of it, he was unconscious, and he's attacked me twice." Sirius said, both eyebrows raising.
"If I remember correctly, you attacked him first." Remus stated.
Sirius waved a hand, "Tomayto, tomatoe."
Draco walked in, holding a drink suspiciously reminiscent of scotch. He looked around, saw Remus and Sirius, and walked back out.
Remus just stared in confusion, while Sirius walked out after him, "Hey! You're not old enough to drink!"
Draco turned, levelling an unimpressed look at the both of them, now that he was regularly seeing Severus and taking the healing potions, he had regained use of most of his face, and was educating Remus on exactly how condescending one eyebrow could get.
"Really, you think underaged day-drinking is the worst thing I've done this week?"
Sirius actually huffed a small laugh at that, so Remus stepped in, "I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to be drinking while taking the potions you are."
Draco smiled at him, small and sharp, and took another sip "Which one of us is better at potions, do you think?"
Fucking teenagers.
"If you think you can stop me, you're welcome to try. But just know if you do manage it, I'll just go scam some poor old bastard for it instead." Draco said, still smiling, with just enough of an edge to mean he was completely serious.
What did it say about him, that he was surrounded by some of the most magically talented and arrogant children ever born?
Then it hit him, that was the unnamed smell, magic.
Draco smelt of pure, unadulterated, magic. Remus was momentarily struck dumb by the realisation. How could that be? What was different in Draco that he absolutely stank of it? Even Dumbledore didn't smell like that, and he was undeniably the most powerful wizard alive.
The wolf circled in his chest again, danger, danger, danger.
It was possible Remus had misjudged Draco. He looked again at the boy, cane in one hand, glass tumbler in the other, dressed about a century out of date and so confident Remus felt like he was the one out of fashion.
Even the scars over his face only added to the mystery, managing to make him look more powerful instead of less. Visual markers of a fight he should not have won by any means, evidence of the fact Draco could, and would, cling to survival.
Despite the fact he'd only been walking with the cane a few days, he was as graceful as any dancer, looking completely at home with it in his hand. When he'd launched himself at Sirius, Remus had barely seen him move, one second he was sat down on top of a table, absently rubbing his knee, the next his hands had been closed around Sirius' throat.
He'd been in a fight with a werewolf, but hadn't been turned. Was he already a magical creature?
Draco caught his eye, and Remus saw all of the things he'd dismissed the first time.
The tracking flick of his eyes, the way his hands refused to shake, the slow and graceful stride.
This was a predator.