Chapter Text
Draco had never been in Professor Dumbledore’s office before, he realized as he sat in front of the intimidatingly large mahogany desk, filled to the brim with the oddest assortment of candies and trinkets. The old man was always a bit childish for Draco’s tastes, but his parents had warned him of the Headmaster’s undeniable strength and power. They warned against being taken under the man’s wing. Draco allowed himself a snort at that one – it looked as though that was now unavoidable.
In the months between 4th and 5th Year, Malfoy Manor had been occupied by a very unexpected visitor. Although he didn’t see him very much, Draco felt instantaneously unwelcome and uncomfortable in his home while the Dark Lord occupied it, and there seemed to be no end in sight. His father, whom Draco thought would be gleeful about Voldemort’s return, seemed as though the wind were knocked out of his sails – in fact, Draco found his father to be more frightened and skittish than anything, continually sneaking glances at him in concern whenever he got the chance. His mother, too, seemed worried. All of the glorious stories told to him as a child about the time before Harry Potter defeated Voldemort seemed to have lost their luster as his return became a reality creaking up and down the stairs at night. Draco wanted no part of it.
Draco was not a fighter unless it was for his own gain. Grown in the comfortable habitus of bourgeois life, Draco never fancied himself a follower. Even at Hogwarts, fellow classmates tended toward following him around, willing to fall in line behind him as he orchestrated childhood pranks and taunt against his favorite green-eyed target. The thought of giving up his independence and leadership qualities, like his father seemed to be crumbling towards, was not appealing to the Malfoy Heir.
His mother, sensing the malaise Draco was now experiencing, pulled him aside over the Winter Holiday while on a shopping venture, away from the darkened and suffocating Manor. “Get out,” she commanded. “I’ve made my choice, you should be able to make your own as well.” Despite Draco’s protests of not wanting to leave his mother, who he had grown quite inseparable from, Narcissa had convinced him to seek out Dumbledore for asylum without his father knowing. His heart hurt thinking about her now, but she probably saved his life.
It took him until after the Battle at the Department of Mysteries for Draco to develop the backbone to approach Dumbledore, and he was all too pleased to meet with the young heir. “To what do I owe this pleasure to, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked, announcing his presence to a very startled Draco.
The blonde cleared his throat, begging Merlin for some nerve. “I require asylum, Professor,” he managed.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, bright blue eyes examining Draco, making him feel as though he were being seen through. He doesn’t believe me, does he? Draco thought to himself, misery setting in. “Why don’t you have a cup of tea, Draco?” he responded, indicating to a mug and kettle. Veritaserum, Draco supposed. Well, if that was the way out, he would oblige.
“Surely, sir,” Draco replied, taking a sip from the mug. He could taste Severus’s brew anywhere. As he felt the familiar light-headedness associated with the truth serum take hold, Draco tried not to take offense to the headmaster drugging him. After all, were he in the same position, he would probably do no different.
Dumbledore settled into his seat with his own cup of tea, observing Draco behind his half-moon spectacles. “Why do you feel the need for asylum, Draco?” he probed.
“I’m not willing to fight for a monster, sir. And if I continue to stay in my home I may have no choice,” the Malfoy heir explained. “I cannot possibly go back home this summer and face him; my father has obviously failed him in some way and I know I will get a death sentence in return. If I don’t have asylum, I’m dead either way. I’m not a fighter, sir, and I am not a monster.” Draco’s cheeks heated. He didn’t mean to say all of those things, but the words just tumbled out.
The headmaster’s expression changed from one of examination to one of concern. I guess he was expecting something different, Draco supposed. “Is the Dark Lord in your house, Draco?” he asked.
Draco tried to swallow down his answer to save his mother but found he could not. “Yes,” he gritted out. That was simply unfair. “Or at least he was this summer,” he amended. “He was weak; he could be anywhere now.”
“That must have been very trying for you, my dear boy.” Draco had to suppress rolling his eyes at that one. “Does your father know of your intentions?”
“No, sir. I didn’t want to risk compromising my life – nor did my mother.”
“Is your mother requesting asylum as well?”
“No, sir. I’m going on my own. To be frank, I am terrified.”
Dumbledore reached across the desk and placed his hand over Draco’s in understanding. “You remind me of another from a less than welcoming family, but you sought help a little earlier and for that, I am grateful.” The older man smiled at Draco, something he had never experienced before. “I will grant you asylum, but I’m not guaranteeing you will enjoy the company.”
Draco sighed in relief. “Sir, I’ll live with the entire Weasley clan if that means I can be safe.”
Draco wished he hadn’t said that.
He was quiet on the train ride home, surrounded by people who will soon know that he had defected from his family. Would he even be safe in Slytherin come next fall? Would he even be able to return to school? He felt the wind knocked out of him as he imagined the gravity of his request. Does asylum mean being locked away? Would he have to take his NEWTs remotely? He suddenly didn’t feel as though he were in welcoming company and he was itching to run.
The train came to a halt soon enough and he made his way towards Severus, who Dumbledore told to approach. He couldn’t help himself from shaking as he drew nearer to his godfather, worried that he would whisk him away to the Manor for a quick slaughter. He found his fears confirmed – not by Severus, but by his father himself. Shit, he thought. This was unexpected. He put on a brave face, lest everything be destroyed.
“Hello Father. You usually send the car,” Draco said, covering for his surprise.
Lucius was stiffer than usual. This could not be good. “The car is in use, so I had to fetch you myself,” he explained, voice devoid of emotion. His blue eyes stood out starkly against his pallid complexion. Something was not right.
“Not mother?”
“No. Not today. Let’s go, Draco. You are required home.”
Draco glanced, quite frightened, at Severus. He began to think quickly. “Uncle Sev and I were going to the Leaky Cauldron for a job well done on my OWLs. Can we just meet you back home for dinner?” he asked his father, who responded by gripping his arm tightly. Severus looked mildly panicked, stuck between giving up his double agentry or planning to rescue Draco later. Unfortunately, for Draco, Severus chose the latter, obviously more loyal to Dumbledore than to his own godson. Figures.
“Maybe another time. Come along now.” Lucius roughly pulled Draco away from the Muggle onlookers and Severus, walking briskly. As they approached a safe apparation point, Lucius muttered, “I’m so sorry, son,” before whisking him away from King’s Cross.
To say that Draco was in a state of mild panic as they appeared outside the Manor was a complete understatement. He felt himself struggling to breathe, especially after the side along apparation he just took part in, and he was becoming very disoriented. Why was his father apologizing? What was to become of him?
He didn’t have very much time to consider what was happening until he found himself in front of Lord Voldemort himself. It was all he could do not to pass out, trembling greatly after a whiplash of an afternoon. Where was Severus? Why wasn’t he faster? He couldn’t help but feel that all was lost. There were no other followers present but his father. A private punishment was rare- he wondered what Lucius had done do garner such an appointment.
“Good to see you can follow orders this time, Lucius,” Voldemort said, his high voice full of disdain. His father seemed to stiffen more if at all possible. He inclined his head in a jarring motion, a clear act of submission. Draco felt ill.
“Of course, my Lord,” he murmured. “Draco is happy to be here.”
“Where’s mother?” Draco couldn’t help himself from asking.
“Silence,” Voldemort hissed angrily. Draco flinched, sure he would be punished, and looked down. “This boy is insolent, Lucius. How dare he speak when not spoken to?”
“This is unlike him, my Lord. He must be nervous to be in such an esteemed presence.”
“Crucio!” Draco watched as his father fell to the floor, writhing in agony. This was no game. There was no glory or independence on the Dark Side. All of the folk tales his father told of the good times were just that – folk tales. Every experience Draco has had involving Voldemort had convinced him that the man was an egomaniac hell bent on controlling everyone. Draco set his jaw at that thought, gaining some nerve. He would not die a coward. “Do you know what your father cost me, young Draco?” he asked.
Draco looked back into Voldemort’s red eyes, carefully guarding his thoughts to protect Severus. “I’m not sure,” he whispered, scared that if he spoke too loudly, he’d be joining his father on the floor.
“He cost me the key to defeating Harry Potter and pushing our cause even further.” At that, he twisted his wand forcefully, causing Lucius to cry out. Draco grew even more pale.
“He has set back our cause greatly, and, thus, must pay even greater.”
“Please, my Lord,” Lucius coughed out. “I am so sorry.”
“You were beaten by fourteen year olds. Tell me that wasn’t part of some plan.”
“The Order came, my Lord. You saw them.”
“Silence,” Voldemort hissed once more. “Even so, Lucius. You have failed. You have forced us to spill pure blood, and you have embarrassed everyone. You are nothing.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lucius cried. “I will not fail you again.”
“I would hope not, Lucius,” the Dark Lord advised. “Lest you want to completely end your line.”
“Please don’t touch her.”
“Where’s mother?” Draco asked again, becoming frightened once more.
“She doesn’t want to see such a coward and failure, dear Draco. She must miss his punishment,” Voldemort explained.
“Why am I here, then?”
Voldemort finally lifted the Cruciatus Curse to focus his full attention on the Malfoy Heir. As he neared Draco, he felt his blood run cold. “Your father does not feel remorse from the normal gamut of punishment, Draco. He is simply too privileged and unaffected to correct his behavior from a simple Cruciatus. For him to get the message, something irreplaceable must be damaged. And I’m sorry to see such pure blood be destroyed by this, but actions must be taken.”
“But I haven’t done anything,” Draco tried to explain. “Why must I suffer for his transgressions?”
“Your father’s incompetence affects the entire family, young Draco. We must hurry, though, the moon is rising.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imperio!” Draco felt a cloudiness wash over him. Suddenly his concerns for his parents did not seem very important to him. “Go down to the dungeon, Draco, and patiently wait.” That sounded like reasonable request, Draco thought. He calmly walked down into the dungeons, ignoring Lucius’s cries. He sat himself next to a man he did not know, who looked to be in some sort of distress. He smiled blandly at him, not hearing the door locking behind him.
“Aren’t you afraid?” the man grunted, clearly in the throes of something.
Draco was confused. “Why would I be afraid? I’m just sitting here.”
“Of course he’d Imperio you. Hope to see you alive in the morning,” the man growled out, changing.
“Well that’s very nice. I wish the same to you,” Draco replied dreamily, only to begin screaming horribly as the now wolf clamped down on him. He blacked out, feeling no more.
Draco woke up the next morning in his bed and immediately felt ill. Sweat was pouring from his body and he wasn’t sure where he was. He tried to lift his arm to check the time and was met with excruciating pain. He cried out loudly. What had happened to him? He chanced a glance at his arm and saw that it was heavily bandaged from his bicep to a little over the crook of his elbow but blood was oozing through. The night came rushing back to him, causing him to lean over and empty the contents of his stomach on the hardwood floor.
“That’s pretty standard for the first day.” Draco jumped and turned towards his door. The man from last night was there, leaning gingerly against the wall. He was a very broad shouldered man and very tall. His face looked young but his eyes seemed very old, shining a bright amber. He had a large cut below his left eye, Draco wondered if he tried to flee the night before. He knew this man.
“Fenrir Greyback.”
The man gave a slanted grin. He didn’t seem as feral as Draco was warned about. “Sorry about yesterday, kid. I don’t like changing those with families already in place.”
“What about Professor Lupin?”
“Ah. That was personal. It looks like both of you paid for your fathers’ transgressions. Too bad yours is a horrid shit who can’t even look you in the eye now.” Fenrir walked towards him and Draco shrank as far back as he could against his headboard. “I just want to check your wound, relax.”
He gently lifted Draco’s arm, who whimpered in pain but otherwise made no protest. Fenrir lifted the bandages slightly and winced. “How bad is it?”
“Well it’s not pretty if that’s what you’re asking.”
Draco sighed in despair. “I wasn’t even supposed to be here,” he agonized.
“Well you won’t be here soon. Your father packed your things. We’re leaving in about an hour.”
This stunned Draco. He bolted up out of bed. “What?” he exclaimed. “How dare he cause me pain and force me to leave?!” He brushed past Fenrir, ignoring the searing pain down his arm and burst into his father’s study, startling the older man.
“What are you doing out of bed, Draco?” he asked.
Draco snarled. “What’s this business about me leaving, then?”
Lucius stood. “I just can’t have this in the line. You have to understand,” he explained.
“Oh, I understand. You’re a bloody coward is what I understand.”
“Please, Draco, don’t be so dramatic. It’s only an official disownment. You’ll still have your inheritance, of course.”
“I don’t really care about my inheritance, father!” Draco exclaimed. “You could have let me go. You could have accepted an alternate punishment. You didn’t have to whisk me away to this fate. You are a coward and now I’m a monster and I can’t stand to look at you.”
Lucius had the sense to look chastised. “I’m sorry, Draco. I wish I could’ve been more for you.”
Draco huffed. “Whatever. I guess I’m off. Send mother my love.”
And that was that.
It didn’t truly hit Draco that he was changed until he found himself deep in the werewolf colony, surrounded by Fenrir’s kin. “I can’t be here,” he said. “I need to leave.”
Fenrir frowned at him. “I gave you a nice room. Probably the best besides mine,” he mused. “I didn’t want to harm you but the Dark Lord is a bastard.” He wasn’t lying. Fenrir had ignored the cries and complaints from his pack when he let Draco settle in one of the largest set of rooms in their vast community, usually reserved for guests of honor, such as previous pack mates who have forged amiable connections with the wizarding world or potential allies. It was a lavish area, much like a penthouse apartment, with a large living area filled with plush couches, bookshelves, and other comforts, a kitchen and adjoining dining room, a beautifully pristine bathroom with a rain shower and tub not unlike the one in the Prefect’s bathroom, and a huge bedroom with a queen sized bed in the center. Draco had the realization that werewolves may live deep in the forests, but they still enjoyed the comforts of wizarding and city life, and worked to maintain those as well. But it was of no use.
“I don’t care about the room. I want to leave.”
Fenrir sat opposite of Draco at the dining room table where he was currently whining. “Leaving won’t change who you are now.” Draco’s eyes began to well up as full realization took hold. “I don’t want to keep you from leaving if you want to go. I worry what your first moon will bring if you don’t stay.” At Draco’s silence, Fenrir continued. “My pack lives well. We don’t want for much that we can’t achieve by ourselves through our connections and wherewithal. You will not suffer here. You can still go to school – Dumbledore has a deal with our pack.”
“I thought you had a deal with Voldemort. That’s why I was changed, wasn’t it?” Draco asked.
Fenrir grinned at him and Draco saw his feralness for the first time, making him uneasy. “I thought you were a Slytherin. You have to learn to play your cards right. We’re neutral in this war. We weigh our options in who we aid and when based on the survival of our colony. This is how we maintain our comforts and privilege in society.”
That made sense to Draco. He suddenly got an idea. “If you work with Dumbledore, then you can get in contact with him. I was granted asylum but got intercepted. No offense, your colony seems nice and all, but I would like to go where I was supposed to be in the first place.”
Fenrir sighed and stood. “I’ll see what I can do. But for now, try to relax. If anything, this has given you a ticket out of the conflict. You’re just a child – you shouldn’t have been thrown into this.”
“You show remorse and sense for someone known for stealing children,” Draco couldn’t help but blurt out. His chances were ruined now, weren’t they?
“The wives tales spread about what I do are ridiculous. I don’t steal children. I save them from orphanhood or aggressive and abusive situations. Your dear professor’s father might have said horrid things about our condition but his wife also had an abusive streak. I wanted to help him, not ruin his life.” Draco looked down, heat rising to his cheeks. “I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t hide in here all day.” And with that, Fenrir stormed out. Draco felt doomed.
He didn’t heed Fenrir’s words and hid out for the first few days, willing his arm to heal. He couldn’t cook with the state of his arm so Fenrir’s beta would bring him food every day. Jack was apparently Fenrir’s biological son, and he was much less broad and had a kinder face. He’d tut at his wound, stressing that Fenrir didn’t need to treat him like a rag doll, but from what Draco gathered, Fenrir was under the Dark Lord’s persuasion as well. Jack would stay and eat with Draco, knowing that while he wasn’t comfortable throwing himself into pack life just yet, he was probably in need of some semblance of company. As the days wore on, Draco began to feel a little more at home, and decided to venture outside.
The community really resembled city life. They resided in a vast paved clearing with stable buildings and multiple housing developments. In addition, the center of the clearing served as a marketplace and social area of sorts, where the werewolves congregated to shop, socialize, and play games. “It’s really not so different,” muttered Draco. He felt a hand clap on his shoulder and he looked up to see Fenrir grinning down at him.
“Nice to see you leaving the cave. I was starting to worry you’d become so pale you’d disappear,” he joked. Draco grimaced in return. “How is the arm doing?”
Draco flexed it and winced. “It’s not so bad. I’m having trouble holding things, though.”
“You’ve probably atrophied it with my son waiting on you hand and foot.”
Draco chuckled. “He’s very nice,” he commented.
“He’s got more of his mother than me in him,” Fenrir replied. Draco wondered where she was. “The moon is coming. Have you been driving yourself mad with worry?”
Draco was too busy feeling sorry for himself to even consider when he would be transforming. In fact, he had been so irate at his father this entire time that it hadn’t even crossed his mind until just then, causing him to furrow his brow in concern. “I thought we got sick from the moon,” he chose to say. “I haven’t felt its pull yet.”
“We do feel a bit ill, yes, but only when it draws very near. We rest for a few days after each transformation, as that does take its toll. The effects are generally worse on wolfsbane.”
“I thought that was the only way to remain in control.”
“You can maintain control through accepting the wolf as yourself. Some wizards become so disgusted and disassociated with themselves that they can only poison themselves to remain in control.”
“Or,” a voice said from behind him, “it’s Ministry mandated for employment.” It was Professor Lupin. Draco could kiss him in relief. He suddenly felt awful for the hell he put him through while he was teaching at Hogwarts. “Stop feeding him nonsense, Dad.” Draco didn’t expect that colloquialism.
“Remus!” Fenrir smiled and enveloped him into a tight hug of obvious familiarity. “How are you? You look thin.” Fenrir’s amber eyes raked over the younger werewolf in concern, taking in his worn robes and sullen features.
Remus managed a soft smile at him. “I’m fine. Sorry it took so long to get here. It’s been a difficult few weeks.”
“I heard about Sirius,” Fenrir continued. “I’m very sorry. He was a good man.”
Remus bowed his head in thanks, eyes a little darker. “Yes he was. I wish I could’ve been home to mourn but there is little time for that these days.” He then turned to Draco. “I heard what happened to you. I’m so sorry about it. We’re going to get it sorted out, I promise,” he smiled reassuringly at Draco.
“Am I going to leave?” Draco asked hopefully. While he had grown to enjoy the pack’s company over the short time he had spent here, Draco was ready to be with normal wizards again. This place only served to remind the ex-Heir of his plight and frankly, he’d rather not have it at the forefront of his mind at all hours of the day.
“Not immediately.” Draco deflated slightly. Noting this, Remus provided more. “I think you should have your first moon here. It helps to be surrounded by a pack – less self-harm occurs. Besides, you might not be too thrilled to find who your roommates are when we get to the safe house.”
“I can room with a Hippogriff and I honestly wouldn’t care at this point,” Draco huffed.
“It can’t be that bad here,” Remus admonished.
“I just want to get back to normalcy – or some semblance of it at least.”
“Oh, Draco.” There was the pity he was waiting for. He loathed it. “Even if you weren’t turned, this war is going to destroy any normalcy any of us has had. It’s worse than the first time. We’re facing someone not even nearly human – it’s going to affect us all.”
“Well that’s reassuring, professor. Thanks so much,” Draco replied bitingly. Remus stared at him as if he saw a ghost. Fenrir barked out a laugh.
“I knew you were a Black, I was just waiting for it to show up,” he laughed.
“I’m just being truthful. If I’m not leaving today, I’ll just be in my rooms.” He turned to go and was quickly grabbed by the good arm by Fenrir.
“You are staying out today. You’re going to meet your pack.” Draco paled at this. “Don’t do that, you’ll disappear.”
Draco was then promptly introduced to everyone in the town. There was a shocking amount of adolescents who were adamant that Fenrir had saved their lives. Most of them had last names that were familiar to the Death Eater circles. Draco wondered how Fenrir was able to take them without falling out of alliance with Voldemort. The adults in the village were young and vibrant, causing Draco to wonder if werewolves aged. If he was being honest with himself, Draco found Professor Lupin to look quite young compared to Professor Snape – it seemed as though he hadn’t aged past his early twenties. The only time he showed any wear was during the full moon. It had just occurred to Draco that he hadn’t caught himself in the mirror since he was turned. Would he recognize himself? Would he look like the villagers? Were his eyes no longer the bright silver he had grown to love? At this thought, he had to sit down outside of a shop on the sidewalk, pull his knees against his chest, and try to stop panicking.
Alarmed, Jack, who was introducing him to everyone, knelt beside him. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Draco looked up at him, breathing heavily. “What color are my eyes?” he whispered.
Jack, more confused, replied “they’re silver. Like mercury. Is everything okay?”
Draco sighed in relief. “Oh thank Merlin,” he gushed. “I’m fine, I just realized that I might look different now.”
Jack nodded in realization. “You’ll look a bit healthier if you take care of yourself. Our prey is unfortunately people, so we look a little more attractive than the average wizard.
More angular and symmetrical. Though, if I’m remembering correctly, the Malfoys and Blacks already sort of look that way genetically. I’m assuming you don’t look too different from before. Eyes are probably brighter.” That was reassuring to Draco who found his breath and stood back up.
“Thanks, Jack.”
Later that night, Draco was agonizing in his rooms, which he found were actually Remus’s while he was here. The two were having a quiet dinner. “So, you call Fenrir dad?” he asked, not being one for subtlety. Remus nearly choked on the soup they were eating.
“Uh, yeah,” he offered in return. At the ex-Malfoy’s raised brow, Remus continued. “When I was turned, my mother took it as an opportunity to abandon me. She didn’t really like the abnormal. Frankly, I think I cramped her style to begin with – not really the mothering type. My father ruthlessly persecuted werewolves for years and I think he took my mother’s abandonment as a blessing. He did continue to financially support me, though. Paying for schoolbooks, keeping the village well-kept so I didn’t suffer much. Fenrir took me in without question. I was younger than his usual victims. I got attached. Hence, dad.”
“How old were you?” Draco interjected, almost regretting asking but fueled by morbid curiosity.
“I was five,” Remus supplied. Draco looked ill.
“Your mother is a monster.”
Remus laughed without humor. “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”
“Is Jack like your brother, then?”
“Sort of. He’s a bit older than me. He was already a teenager when I showed up, making him more quasi uncle to be honest.”
“I’m really struggling with gaging how old everyone is here.”
“Ah, yes. The lack of ageing thing. Didn’t you pay attention when Severus was trying to out me?” Remus joked.
“Not very closely, obviously.”
“It’s to appear attractive to potential ‘prey’ and also to gain favor based on aesthetics. We get a bad wrap in the wizarding world, we need anything we can get to survive. Fenrir’s pack is also immortal. If we aged, we’d look a bit odd later on, don’t you think?”
“So I won’t age. I won’t die either?” Draco asked.
“Well, not by natural means. You can die other ways, but it’s pretty uncommon if you keep yourself safe.”
“Wow,” Draco breathed.
Draco found his excitement at the prospect of immortality to be very short lived after his first full moon.
He was told to meditate in the days leading up to the moon as it would help in remaining connected to his conscious during the night. A practiced Occlumens, Draco did as he was told quite easily, letting the comfort of mindlessness take over for an hour each day. Nobody around him seemed frightened by the moon, in fact, they seemed excited at the prospect of joining together under the cover of darkness. Even Remus, who he was sure was self-loathing at best, seemed to be happy to be changing with everyone. Draco couldn’t share in their excitement – he was all nerves.
When the night finally came, it was worse than Draco could imagine. A fever had broken out early in the morning, leaving him shaking and vomiting. “I need to put you in stasis,” Fenrir had told him about midday when his fever refused to break. “If you don’t rest beforehand, you can be destroyed.” Too ill to respond, Draco passively allowed Fenrir to force sleep upon him. As he woke mid-transformation, the pain was worse than he could have imagined. He didn’t know if the people around him were experiencing the same turmoil, his screams overshadowed everything else.
Being his wolf was the most exciting part of the night. He was still mentally in the back of his head, but the instinctive nature of the canine side of him took over, and he found himself letting loose and feeling joy running with the pack. He hadn’t felt this happy in a while. He stuck to Remus and Jack mostly, and they were happy to show him the ropes, nudging him along the trails, happily howling along with him at the moon. The joy ended abruptly in the morning when he painfully transformed back, leaving him retching.
Remus knelt next to him as he lay broken on the ground, feeling his forehead and frowning. “It’s not supposed to be this painful,” he murmured worriedly, causing Jack to crowd over him as well. “What do you think is the problem?”
Jack screwed his face up in concentration. “I’m not sure. He’s a Pureblood, yeah?”
Remus nodded. “Malfoy and Black.”
“Ah,” Jack said in realization. “The Black family has dormant vampire blood. Must be fighting the wolf.”
“Great,” Draco managed. “Fantastic.” Draco was quickly learning that nothing could ever be easy for him.