Chapter Text
The woods hunted him.
O dire extremity! O state of living death!
Draco sped across the forest floor, the sound of his hooves and the crunching of leaves the only sound. Even in this form, he still felt human as anxiety lit up his chest, bright as a star. The cracking of the trees around him and the soft hoots of the owls taunted him, their voices in his ear calling and beckoning.
We know what you are, their mocking jeers drifting to his pointed ears. You cannot hide, blood traitor.
What dreadful stillness! Is this a vision? Are these things real?
His hooves pounded even harder as he reached a large clearing in the forest, his breath dissolving in the biting cold air.
All around me is dead; and do I really exist, or am I but a statue?
The trees rising around him had been long dead, their bark splintering in the harsh wind. Rogue spells and lightning strikes had devoured the foliage in the Forbidden Forest, reducing once stately and regal bark into feeble branches and fallen over stumps. He transformed back into his own body as he approached the Whomping Willow, running a pale, scarred hand across its surface. It had never acted up for him, never threatened to send him flying across the Hogwarts grounds. Now, it was his only sanctuary from the dagger like stares and the constant whispering in the castle halls. He walked alone, ate alone, trained alone – not very many people wanted to associate with him after the war had been said and done.
Alas, I am bewildered!—this death-like and perpetual silence—this dismal chamber—the dread of further sufferings have disturbed my fancy.
The only thought in his mind, in the nothingness of the ice and cold and snow, was of her.
Many lessons had been learned during the war. Many revelations were made in his solitude, ones that he had forced away in shame. But now, at the peak of his bewilderment, shame, and pain, there was nothing left to hide.
O for some friendly breast to lay my weary head on! some cordial accents to revive my soul!
He would get close. Close enough to see her hidden secrets and deepest desires. He would approach with caution, of course. Feigning indifference. Pretending like his heart did not stop and stutter at the sound of her voice, of the feeling of her magic that made him shiver.
What he really wanted to do was sink sharp teeth into her slender neck and bite . His hands yearned to pull her apart layer by layer until all that was left was her beating heart and lungs gasping for breath, His heart, no, his soul , yearned to see what made her tick, each fragile nerve and fleeting thought.
Desire would split him open and leave him for dead. The need for her slithered around his throat, around his lungs and heart, leaving no room for any other thought.
He was infatuated. Obsessed with her mind, with the thoughts she had. What did she think of him? Of his hidden insecurities, of the secrets he held close to his chest? If only he had not been so foolish to push her away. If only he had approached her with kindness, with the gentleness he knew she deserved.
So he would try again. Would spend every day winning her until there was nothing left of himself.
Draco looked up at her window, and the moonlight responded in turn – shining on his glistening fur, his regal antlers, and the dark pits of his bottomless eyes.
He would crawl out of the grave he had dug for himself – and drag her alongside him.