The Darkest Night

Chapter 2: Revelations and Ruminations

Draco opened his eyes, although he immediately wished that he hadn't. For some mysterious reason, his shoulder ached, but the reason for this pain eluded him at the moment. Hushed voices drifted across the hospital wing.

"So what are we supposed to do, Albus? We cannot contact his father. You and I both know what might occur if-"

"I am very well aware of that, Minerva, but I feel that this is not a decision to be made by us. It is his choice, and his alone."

"But Albus, we all know the boy's reputation. He'll run to Him as soon as he is able to walk."

Draco blinked, slowly coming to understand his current location. The light from the windows shined in, making him blink again, a slight look of irritation playing across his face as he groaned and put a hand up to shield his eyes.

Where am I? White curtains, sickeningly cheery atmosphere, ugh, right, must be the hospital wing. Someone needs to close the drapes around here.

Voices continued to drift to his ears, and he turned his head to look for the speakers. Who's talking? Sounds like they have a lot of problems. Stupid git, getting himself into trouble, you would never see me getting caught. He snorted to himself, a look of contempt now appearing on his face. This look quickly changed to one of confusion. Something tugged at the back of his mind, trying desperately to come into the open. He shrugged it off. If it was important, it would come back to him later.

He now looked down at his own body, eyeing his flannel pajamas with distaste. Flannel was definitely not a fabric that his wardrobe consisted of. Too common. Sheets surrounded his bed, blocking his view from whoever happened to walk past. Why was his bed away from the others? Had his father finally bullied Dumbledore into giving him his own private section of the hospital wing? Well, it's nice to get a bit of privacy around here.

He heard the voices again, but this time they were definitely moving in his direction. His body tensed. What was going on?

"So what do we tell him? In all my years at Hogwarts, I've never had such a thing happen. At least the last case was prepared, he knew well before he even set foot on these grounds. This is not to be taken lightly, especially under the present circumstances." McGonagall sounded flustered, as if she'd had a bad hair day and gotten food poisoning during the middle of exam week. Entirely too much stress. It's bad for a woman of her age. Not that he was concerned or anything.

"I know, believe me. But I also do not feel that we should overreact. Lemon drop?"

Did Dumbledore take those things everywhere with him? Draco thought so. Last year, he'd received forty six tins of lemon drop candy from the students and faculty for Christmas. Obviously, his penchant for those little candies was well known. He vaguely wondered if there was something in those lemon drops besides just candy.

"Err, no, thank you. Don't you think it's about time we do something though? We have to talk to him as soon as possible. Who knows when He will decide to act?"

He?

"Minerva, Voldemort was never the man to act rashly. He will take every single detail into account before he moves even his weakest pawn. If he attacks in full strength, it is only a matter of time before checkmate. It is for this reason that we must have a counterattack planned before he himself knows what he plans to do. But, in these circumstances, I also feel that it is time for us to pay young Mr. Malfoy a visit. It is a bit earlier in the game than I had planned, but, in the present situation, we must make allowances."

Young Mister Malfoy?! They were talking about him! He had been listening intently to the conversation, wincing at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. But this, this was a new development! What had happed to elevate his status to the point where McGonagall and Dumbledore thought it urgent to pay him a visit? His mind was shouting to him now. What had happened to him? Why was he here?

He rolled over in his bed and leaned over as far as he could in the direction of the voices, craning his neck to look through the sheets. He gasped in pain. The movement had sent a shock of pain through his body.

"What the-" Pulling aside his flannel night shirt, he stared at his shoulder. The entire area was tense and stretched, with a dozen angry red puncture marks staring back at him. They were star shaped, like the bite of a wild animal. A wild animal...

And then the events of the night before came flooding back to him. The prank, so important at the time, now seemed childish and stupid. The attack, those horrible eyes... He shivered involuntarily, and felt like wrapping his arms around his body. Instead, he continued to stare at his shoulder, as if somehow the angry glare it was now receiving would convince the scars to melt away from his otherwise unmarred flesh.

Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall chose that exact moment to pull back the curtain. Draco fumbled with the buttons on his nightshirt. He had completely forgotten that they were still in the hospital wing.

"Ahh, I see you are awake at last. Feeling better?" Dumbledore smiled.

His eyes twinkled as usual, which always seemed to leave Draco with an extremely unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. There's got to be something wrong with a guy whose eyes twinkled that much. His father had always thought Dumbledore a meddlesome fool, a tack in the heel of his boot. Or at least that's what he claimed. Draco had often wondered what drove Lucius' actions against Dumbledore, whether it was jealousy, obedience to the Dark Lord, or just plain fear. He had a hard time imagining that it was fear. Or if it was, he masked it perfectly. Lucius made an intimidating figure, even when he wasn't trying to be, which wasn't often. He had been doing everything possible for years to get Dumbledore sacked. Bribery, extortion, and death threats were not beyond him. In fact, they were his favorite forms of coercion. Service with a smile.

"Yes Mr. Malfoy, you gave us quite a fright; we were rather concerned," said McGonagall, her face set in her sternest expression possible, looking anything but concerned at the moment. She looked like she was just itching to take 100 points from Slytherin. She began again, her voice rising in volume slightly. "How could you wander off in the middle of the night, into the Forbidden Forest no less! And you, a 7^th year! Surely, I would expect this of a first year, but..." And she droned on and on and on.

Draco's eyes were downcast, his arms crossed over his chest. He had long learned to shut McGonagall out. He leaned back against the pillows, preparing for the long tirade that he knew wouldn't stop for a while. Where was Professor Snape when you needed him?

It wasn't that he was afraid of her, (OK, maybe a little. She was almost as bad as Professor Snape when she wanted to be.) He just couldn't get past her like he could with the rest of the teachers. She didn't fall for his charm, wit, or cunning. It really was quite disappointing, and a blow to the ego at that. He sighed inwardly. I guess you can't win them all.

"Minerva, I think we have some important matters to be discussed," Dumbledore said softly, barely above a whisper. McGonagall, tight lipped as always, nodded curtly. The anger appeared to drain from her face, leaving instead a look of agitated nervousness.

Draco had no idea what to think of the scene before him. McGonagall had become silent once more. He would have been more at ease if she had continued to berate him. At least he could have continued to stare at his bed sheets. You know, prisoners had better bed sheets that these. What was the thread count? 200? 150 even? It felt like burlap! No Malfoy would even dream of having less than 350, and that was roughing it. And white, why did it always have to white? Surely Hogwarts could afford-

"Mr. Malfoy." Draco's head snapped back up, looking slightly annoyed that he had let his mind wander in front of the two teachers. McGonagall continued to speak.

"Now, this will come as quite a shock, I'm sure, but..." Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn't find the words to express what she way about to say. She pursed her lips again, almost in determination, and took another breath. "Do you remember what happened to you last night?"

Draco sat for a moment, a thoughtful expression across his face. He chose his words carefully. He told them about meeting the beast in the forest, the attack, and his daring escape. He had conveniently omitted the reason he was out in the forest in the first place. They didn't ask, and he wasn't about to volunteer that small piece of information.

"I see," said McGonagall. She hesitated again, eyes downcast. This wasn't like her at all! And why didn't she want to look at him in the eyes?

She gazed at him again, and said with the utmost sincerity, "Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid to say that we believe you were attacked by a werewolf."

His face paled noticeably, if that was possible, his face filling with a look of mingled horror and shock. He didn't hear the rest of McGonagall's words; they all seemed to jumble together in the back of his head. A werewolf? He couldn't be; he just couldn't. He was Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune. It just wasn't possible. His life would be ruined! He wouldn't be able to go to school; he would become a social outcast, mistrusted by the entire wizarding community. And Father! What would he do? If Draco was lucky, he might be disowned. If he was lucky. He forced himself back, to listen to McGonagall's monotone voice. He forced himself to steady his breathing, to remain calm, even nonchalant about this startling news. He had learned to control his emotions long ago, and there was no way he would let the Head of Gryffindor House see a Slytherin in a state of panic.

"-so we, as representatives of the school, have decided not to contact your father or the rest of your family. While we feel that this is the best course of action, we will not prevent you from doing so. We only mention this for your own safety, and perhaps for the safety of the rest of the students at Hogwarts."

He went over these words in his mind. Now what had she just said? His thoughts were spinning so fast that he almost grabbed the side of the bed. Refraining from doing so, Draco instead posed one of the questions that had been bothering him since he had first awoken and heard Dumbledore and McGonagall speaking.

No hint of emotion reached his voice. "Professor, what does this have anything to do with the Dark Lo-, I mean, You-Know-Who?"

Dumbledore now gave Draco a meaningful look. "Choose your words carefully Mr. Malfoy. The name Dark Lord implies reverence. It implies that Voldemort (Draco winced) deserves such an esteemed title. Please do not confuse his deeds for something to be respected. His name is Voldemort, and avoiding the usage of that name implies fear. That is one emotion that you cannot afford yourself, Mr. Malfoy." His voice had become grave as he spoke, but it was steady, strong.

Draco had a feeling that Dumbledore had said these words before. Did he practice his speeches in front of the mirror or something?

He waited for the rest of the answer.

McGonagall seemed to be at a loss for words. Instead, she looked at Dumbledore, who had barely said a word during the entire conversation outside of these last few lines. He stepped forward, transfigured two chairs with a wave of his wand, and heavily sat down, hands in his lap. He looked tired, and his face seemed to age another ten years before Draco's eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy, it is well known that your father has had, err, certain connections with Voldemort in the past."

Draco couldn't help but snort at this comment. Was he kidding? His father practically paraded around in the streets shouting his loyalties, although never within hearing distance of the Ministry of Magic. And it didn't help that Draco did the same thing at school. Money and power had been at his fingertips all of his life. Why not flaunt it when you got whatever you wanted?

Dumbledore continued like he hadn't heard him. "We fear that any information about your new nature would immediately go to Voldemort."

Now this was sobering news. It was no longer a laughing matter, not that he was one to laugh anyway. Draco again stared at his sheets. He knew what Dumbledore had said was true. His father would feed him to a whole pack of rabid Hippogriffs if he thought the Dark Lord would notice. It was not in his father's nature to love, at any rate not in the usual sense, and this had been apparent to Draco ever since he was old enough to grasp a wand. The cold hearted bastard. According to his father, emotions were a weakness, and an enemy's natural move would be to attack that weakness. Control had been his greatest ally his entire life. He kept his emotions at bay, hidden from his peers and his teachers. In this way, he commanded the respect of both. He was a calm and collected person most of the time. You had to be if you lived in Malfoy Manor.

A frown creased his features, betraying a mere hint of his thoughts. Yes, his father would sacrifice him without a second thought.

He looked back at Dumbledore, who had been gauging his reaction the entire time. Seeing as Draco hadn't cried out in a fit of despair, Dumbledore continued.

"We don't know exactly what he is doing, but we do feel that it is necessary to warn you. As I am sure you are well aware of, Voldemort has been slowly gaining power over the years, especially with the help of a few of his most trusted servants." Dumbledore gave Draco another significant look, but Draco felt a sudden urge to avert his gaze. Since when did Draco Malfoy EVER feel the need to avert his gaze? He always won the staring matches, and was almost always able to send his opponent away with a feeling of complete defeat. With the exception of Potter that is. He mentally growled. They were both getting on his nerves. He crossed his arms again, and a look of defiance spread across his face. Why was this man able to have such control over him? Why did he make him feel guilty about something that hadn't even mattered to him just a few days ago? It felt like years.

"With that said, you should also know that Voldemort has been calling the dark creatures to his aid. The Dementors, as you know, have already joined him, and the only thing holding the prisoners in Azkaban is a small army of Aurors. As yet, there is no physical pull, but I feel that it could turn into something more. Few are resisting the urge to come to his side, so as now, there is no need for extreme measures. But if the war, for that is what it will become, continues and starts to turn in our favor, I have no doubt in my mind that Voldemort will result to any means necessary to call more minions to his aid. The Hogwarts wards on these grounds should counteract any of Voldemort's attempts as of yet, but I won't underestimate him. He has the power, if he wishes, to send his call anywhere. The wards will only be able to protect you for so long. If Voldemort knew of you now, in your present condition, I have no doubt that he would demand your immediate presence by his side. The son of one of his most trusted Death Eaters, who is a dark creature himself? Not even Voldemort has the power that you now hold. This is the power to control entire armies, each having the ability to decimate an entire population. You must make a choice..."

His voice trailed off and a silence overcame the trio. Dumbledore's eyes had lost their twinkle, so that now they seemed dark, almost menacing. The kindly old man looked suddenly powerful, and Draco hoped that he would never have to face Dumbledore as an enemy.

Dumbledore's mind was now obviously somewhere else besides the hospital wing. His brows were together, and he had a look of deep concentration. A small frown creased his lips.

"Albus?" Professor McGonagall began tentatively. She whispered his name again, but this time with a little more force accompanied by a gentle shake of the shoulder. Dumbledore turned his head slightly to face her.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course." He turned his head to Draco again, his features returning to their normal cheery state. He smiled. "Arrangements will be made, Mr. Malfoy, for all of your special needs to come. Luckily, though, you will not have to worry about that for a few more weeks. Poppy will come into see you later, as she is well experienced with this type of situation. Once you have made your decision, we will, of course, notify Professor Snape. He returns tonight, and he is your head of house, but I see no reason to notify any of the other teachers, as yet. Besides that, I don't see why anything else would have to change."

Dumbledore could have been speaking about the weather for all his tone showed. It still amazed Draco to this day how he could discuss even the darkest of situations with such ease.

He sat in his bed, fully expecting Dumbledore to continue with his lecture. When nothing happened, Draco began to get impatient, and a bit surprised. Was that it?

Dumbledore pushed himself out of the chair and headed for the door, giving a faint gentle smile to Draco as he did so. McGonagall followed suit.

"Remember Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore had turned to face Draco again, peering through the small hole that served as the doorway between Draco's bed and the rest of the hospital wing. "If there is anything at all that you wish to tell me, please do not hesitate to come and see me. When you have made your decision, please speak to me." With that, he walked out of the hospital wing, McGonagall in tow.

What was that all about?

Draco sat in his infirmary bed, letting the entire conversation replay through his mind for the third time. He didn't know what to think. It wasn't everyday that you learned that your world had been turned upside down, and your biggest fears brought out in the open. Was this what it was like to be Potter?

He snorted with disgust. The last person he wanted to think about right now was Potter. Draco had enough problems of his own, without thinking about someone else's.

He was a bit angry with Dumbledore as well. How could the man take Draco's change so lightly? It didn't matter that he was now a werewolf. It was always 'Dark Lord' this, and 'reign of terror' that. He could imagine Dumbledore now...

So, Mr. Malfoy, you're now a werewolf, one of the most feared and hated creatures on the planet, and Voldemort is trying to overthrow the wizarding world again. Hope this doesn't inconvenience you. And, oh yeah, you still have to go to classes. Good luck with the N.E.W.T.S.

Draco sighed deeply, and leaned back against the pillows, letting them take his full weight. It seemed to relax his mind as well as his body. He hadn't even noticed how tense he had been during the entire conversation. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep, but even as he thought this, he knew sleep was impossible. Instead, he looked around for some sort of distraction.

A mound of sweets and cards sat on his bedside table. He hadn't noticed it before. And beside it...My wand! He picked it up, almost lovingly, and swished it around just for good measure. How had his wand, lost somewhere in the Forbidden forest, ended up on his bedside table? He'd have to ask Pomfrey later. He placed the wand carefully back down on the table, and examined the other items piled around him.

There was a particularly horrifying card that shot glitter at the viewer every time it was opened. It practically exploded! He coughed and squinted through the glitter that still hung in the air, waving an arm to clear it away. A layer of the shiny party material settled over HIM, his hospital bed, and just about everything else in a five foot vicinity. And that stuff just doesn't come out! He was still covered in glitter by the time he was able to actually read the thing.

"What was she thinking?" He turned the card over once more, and hastily set it back on his bedside table.

Of course, it was from Pansy. Only she would send something that tacky. Now if he could only get her to leave him alone. She insisted on hanging around him, practically ON him, at all times, and he was having trouble keeping the disgusted look from his face when she entered his vicinity. It's not that he completely hated her. In fact, she was really nice to have around when a guy needed a boost to the ego. She could be cunning, when she actually put forth a little effort, and she did rather well with her school work. It was obvious why she was a Slytherin. But there's only so much that a man could take, and Draco was reaching his limit.

Draco lapsed into silence, with absolutely nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts.

He didn't know what he was going to do, which was the scariest part of all. He knew what was expected of him. His father, if blessed with the knowledge of his condition, as he liked to refer to it, would expect Draco to rush to the Dark Lord's side, and grovel at his feet. Draco had too much pride to do that. He'd be the first to admit that he was stubborn. He smirked to himself. Since when did sins like pride and stubbornness become virtues? It seems as if they would be his only saving grace.

Draco tried to rub some of the glitter away from his eyes. He didn't exactly understand what Dumbledore had meant when he had said that the Dark Creatures were being called, but he wasn't going to admit that in front of McGonagall. It was all very confusing, physical pulls, school wards, and the technical aspects of it. He'd just have to find some time to look in the library. They had left so many unanswered questions, many of them that he hadn't even begun to formulate.

And what was that whole "Not even Voldemort has the power that you now hold" stuff? What power? The power to scare women and children? The power to change into a hideous monster three nights a month? Dumbledore was off his rocker. He was probably spouting off nonsense just to keep him thinking. But that didn't make sense either, did it? What motives does that crazy old codger have?

As much as Draco didn't like to admit it, he had begun to form a small amount of respect for the old man. Sure, he might be crazy, or maybe simply eccentric, but he could seemingly handle any situation thrown at him, and that was something Draco admired in anyone. Ingenuity, courage in the face of defeat, ability to improvise; these were all good skills. Even Potter had these attributes, although he was in a state of self denial about that one. Did Draco? Did he have the same ability to handle whatever crossed his path without curling into a fetal position and crying? He certainly hoped so, or else it would become an extremely embarrassing situation, to say the least. He had never been tested, not really, and he had begun to doubt himself.

Groaning, Draco leaned forward in his bed, and pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Within the past year, Voldemort's power had steadily risen, and Lucius' pressure upon Draco had risen as well. He had been born to become a Death Eater, raised in the knowledge that he too would one day take his place at the Dark Lord's side. So why was it so hard? So far, he had made excuses. He had avoided joining the Death Eaters for as long as possible. Lucius knew what he was doing. He had already threatened to cut him off from the family fortune, not to mention the unseemly curses that had been flung across the dining room at meal times. His agility really was improving, thanks to these unwanted "training sessions", as he liked to refer to them. Draco wasn't evil, nor was he a Death Eater, but he certainly wasn't Harry Potter, the white knight of the wizarding world. He was stuck somewhere in the middle.

The whole werewolf thing had been steadily pushing itself back into his mind for the past hour. He had been avoiding it. Maybe if he didn't think about it, the awful truth would keep itself hidden. It would remain another forgotten memory. But Draco knew, as soon as the words formed themselves in his mind, that he couldn't run from his problems, however cliché that sounded. He couldn't lock them in a vault in Gringott's and toss the key in the depths of the ocean. It was never that simple, not for him.

He had once actually been interested in the subject, but it had lost some of its charm when he found out that his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been one. Werewolves did not lead exciting lives, as he had once thought. Instead, they wore shabby, patched robes and had to rely on the pity of former headmasters to give them a job. They aged beyond their years and lived for the rest of their days as social exiles, and for what reward? To die in a pauper's grave, alone and forgotten by the rest of the world.

Draco shivered, and pulled the covers onto his shoulders in a protective way. That's the last thing he wanted, to grow old early. His vanity was one of his weakest points, besides pride, he knew that much about himself. He didn't want to be a failure, not when he had spent his entire life to prove otherwise. His father pushed him.

A memory came back to him, one when he had just returned from Hogwarts in his first year, only to reveal to his father that he had only the second highest grades in his class, and not the first.

The incident occurred in his father's office. He had walked in briskly, happy that he had received top marks in every subject. His father had been behind his desk, writing a letter with his eagle feather quill.

*~*~flashback~*~*

Lucius Malfoy glanced up as his one and only son entered with parchment in hand. He had a bounce in his step that usually wasn't there, and a small smile seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth. None of these details went undetected by the older Malfoy, although he showed no sign of noticing.

Draco presented the sheet to his father.

"What's this?" he said disinterestedly, setting down his quill and accepting the parchment. He did not look at it.

"My school report for the year." Draco beamed at his father.

"Is this supposed to impress me?" he said in the same cold and detached voice.

Draco's smile faltered. He shifted uneasily. "If you look, you'll notice that I-"

He locked eyes with his son. "What were you doing the whole time?" he said in a deadly whisper. Malfoy leaned in closer. "How could you let a revolting mudblood outdistance you, of all students?"

Draco had been shocked. There was no other word to describe it. His mouth fell open slightly, but he dared not speak. He didn't understand. Shouldn't his father be proud of him?

Lucius Malfoy arose from his chair. He towered over the boy. His eyes narrowed as he gripped the edge of his desk. "You're a pureblood!" he hissed, gesticulating angrily with his hands. "You are better than her, so why is it that she seems to surpass you in nearly every grade?! You're being lazy..."

He walked from behind his desk and closed the gap between himself and Draco, ignoring the crestfallen look on Draco's face, and took the boy's chin in hand. He peered into his son's gray eyes once more, so similar to his own, yet so very different. "How can you become an heir to a fortune, how can you serve the Dark Lord when a MUDBLOOD has better academic qualifications that you?!" He appeared to be disappointed, but mainly disgusted, as if the mere presence of Draco made him sick to his stomach. "Get out of my sight." He waved a hand in dismissal.

It hadn't helped the situation when Draco had astutely pointed out that his potions grade was in fact the highest in his year, and that Hermione Granger had not only beaten him but the rest of the student body as well.

His father had been seething in anger, one of the few times when he had allowed his emotions to overtake his composure. He had rarely seen his father so angry, and had barely walked out of the room alive half an hour later. Well, maybe 'walked' is the wrong word to use. More like 'dragged.' Draco had been in bed for days, recovering from the aftereffects of his father's anger. And to be even more malicious, his father had refused him medical attention. According to him, it had built character.

Lucius Malfoy had never raised a hand to strike at his son in anger. Instead, he preferred to use curses to discipline his child. In this way, Draco could learn from his mistakes. Literally.

Draco closed his eyes tightly, and tried to block out the voices that came with that horrible memory. It did no good to relive the past.

He could prove his worth. He had just as much intelligence as the mudblood, and he could match flying skills with Potter any day, given the time and a superb, top of the line racing broom. He was not just some spoiled rich brat. OK, maybe he was a bit, but he was getting better. It's just so hard sometimes when one is so roguishly handsome.

He had brains as well as physical skill, and he'd be damned if he was going to let anything as stupid as werewolfism change his life. You know what? Lucius could go to Hell for all he cared. That cold hearted, conceited, selfish, arrogant, unforgiving man deserved everything he got there. And - dare he even think his name in such a context? - Voldemort be damned as well! He already was, if you thought about it.

Just thinking of the Dark Lord's future suffering brought a malicious smile to Draco's lips. He had his own life to think of. He was tired of living his life for other people. Professor Snape had always told him that he was smart enough to make his own way without the help of others. That's exactly what he would have to do.

His eyes widened at the sudden realization. Professor Snape! He's a Death Eater! And Dumbledore is going to tell Snape about his condition! Would Snape tell Voldemort? Of course he would! He was a loyal Death Eater, just like his father. In fact, they were best friends. It was only a matter of time before the both of them found out. He just had to tell Dumbledore about Snape. If he was going to start trusting Dumbledore, then maybe he should repay him a bit for that kindness. And Dumbledore did say that he would wait to tell anybody until Draco had made his decision, right? Thank God Snape would be gone until late tonight. He would be able to get to Dumbledore before any vital information about his werewolfism could leak out to prying ears.

Draco glanced at his watch, and his eyes widened when he realized how much time had passed.

Madame Pomfrey bustled in, carrying a glass vial in hand. Draco eyed it apprehensively, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking just like the uncooperative patient that he planned to be. Why did she always have to be so cheerful? You would think that someone who was surrounded by potions burns and boil growing hexes all day would have enough sense to realize how people (well, Draco at least) found her attitude insufferable. Sometimes it was nice to wallow in self-pity, and Draco had thoroughly enjoyed his wallowing before it had been so rudely interrupted.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. I trust that you are feeling better," said Madame Pomfrey, looking exactly like Christmas day had arrived early that year. He glowered as she took his temperature and listened to his heart beat. His eyes flicked to the door. It was so tempting. Just one shove and she'd be on the ground. He could make a dash for it, he was faster than the mediwitch. He promised himself to make a run for it as soon as possible.

Sensing his foul mood, Pomfrey decided to increase her cheery disposition tenfold instead. She flashed her pearly white teeth in a brilliant smile.

With a start, he realized something, and voiced his thoughts.

"Hold on, how long have I been here?"

"Two weeks," she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Two weeks?!" he squeaked. His voice had risen several octaves.

"Oh yes, perfectly natural. You can't expect someone to be up and running about after such a horrible ordeal, now can you?"

"But what about school work? My friends, teachers, don't you think that someone would have missed me after a little while?"

"Oh, don't worry dear. Everything has been taken care of. Are you in any pain?"

Draco didn't reply. All he could do was glower at the overly-cheery nurse.

"Everything seems to be OK." A small sense of worry crept into her eyes, although her mouth was still smiling. What was that emotion hidden behind her eyes? Sympathy?

"I'm sure that you have many unanswered questions about your condition, but I will tell you all I can in the morning. Right now, the best thing for you is rest. Lots of rest, to be exact. Now if you don't mind, please take this potion. It will help you sleep."

It was evidently a dreamless sleep potion. He was about to protest, but her unyielding attitude halted any comments he was about to make. He nodded, and reluctantly drank the potion, grimacing at the taste. She took the phial and walked back to her desk to make a few notes.

Draco sunk into the mattress, the full effects of the potion already starting to take effect. The stress of the past few days was finally catching up to him, and all he wanted to do was sleep for a week. Brooding and wallowing in self-pity certainly took a lot out of a guy. He closed his eyes, and thought no more.

Answer to Reviews: Make sure that everyone reads these if they would like to know more; I answer a lot of questions about the story in the reviews.

Broken Angel: Thanks for the praise. I've got a basic idea of how Draco's going to deal with everything. Either way, it will be a long process, because his entire life has been changed. It's just up to Draco to decide if this change is for better or for good.

Portrait of Mrs. Black: All I can say is "wow" and "thanks so much!" I almost jumped out of my seat when I read your review. I was so happy to know that you liked it. I've tried to keep this fic as original as possible. I've read a lot of fanfiction and seen a lot of ideas, but I've never seen one in which Draco becomes a werewolf. It's always "Draco is a veela" or "Draco is a vampire". To be honest, I was getting tired of it and decided to change it up. As for the humour, I can't help but add a bit of my own personality in my chapters. When bad things happen to me, my defense mechanism (my psychology classes are shining through here) is to use humour, and to try and lighten the situation with a joke or something like that. I see a lot of Draco in myself, so I figured that our personalities would be similar. So yes, you are very correct in assuming that the next chapter (mainly this one) will be dark, but who wants to read a lot of whining and complaining all the time anyway? I promise to put humour in when I can. It's just hard for me to figure out what is funny to me and what would be funny to other people. i.e. American vs. English humour. AS FOR SLASH, THERE WILL BE NO SLASH IN THIS STORY. I'll reiterate this fact over and over again for the people who are opposed to this. I have nothing against slash, but I don't like to write it. That's just me. Anyway, I'll keep the chapters long and get them out when I can. Enjoy!

Moonfoot: I'm really glad you like it! You have no idea how much reviews mean to me. It really inspires me to keep going, and I really like the reviews that point out specific parts of my writing that are good or need to be improved. Thanks for the input, and I think that I will keep the chapters about this length.

Lily13: Yeah, I especially liked writing the fight scene. The first chapter was one of my favorites. You see people all the time on fanfiction sites that are like "the first chapter sucks, but it gets better." I don't know. To me, the first chapter has to be great, or people won't keep reading. Thanks for your support, I hope you come back to read again.

Malicious: To be honest, I have no idea if Lupin will show up or not. I'm kind of writing as I go along. I have a basic idea of what I'm doing, but nothing is concrete. Any suggestions?

Thanks again to all of you who reviewed! I promise the next chapter won't be near as angsty as this one. Draco just had A LOT that he had to say, and I figured that you might as well get it over with while you can. No idea when the next chapter is going to come out. I've got my final exams coming up in a week (yes, for college. Blah) so I'll be spending some time studying for all of that. Wish me luck!

NEXT CHAPTER: A Potions Disaster

Draco goes to school, Gryffindors are fools, Snape gets mad, there's trouble to be had, and caution is the rule.