Being fully conscious while also being a wolf would probably be the strangest thing Harry has ever experienced if he hadn't once been fully conscious while also being dead.
He sits up slowly with a rattle of metal and a frankly embarrassing amount of effort because quadruped anatomy is strange and his limbs feel like they're all going the wrong way.
The lack of thumbs is also distinctly disconcerting.
He leaves off staring at his hands (feet?) when he realizes that Malfoy is outside.
He sort of remembers hearing the truck pull up while he was still writhing around getting furry but fear and pain had rather taken precedence over wondering why Malfoy—who had so staunchly insisted he would not be present—decided to show up anyway.
As far as Harry can tell, Malfoy is standing a few feet from the front door.
His heart is beating very fast.
The fact that Harry can't see him, but can tell he's distressed, is apparently a problem worth whining about.
The sound comes out all wrong because his chest and his throat and mouth are shaped all wrong and when he tries to move toward the door, he trips on his own front feet, crashing face-first into the floor.
Perhaps it's good Malfoy can't see him.
"Potter," Malfoy says from outside. "I would appreciate some indication that I haven't killed you."
Harry discovers it is very hard to roll your eyes when you are a wolf.
He makes a noise that is supposed to be an affirmative bark but comes out sort of creaky.
"I'm uncertain what that means," Malfoy says. "Aside from assuring me that you're not currently dead. It sounds like you may be in the process of dying, however."
Harry growls and finds that noise comes out just as he intended.
He sits up, slowly, and wishes he'd thought a bit more about his comfort should the potion work, rather than preparing for if the potion didn't work.
The chains are heavy and constricting. The floor is cold. He's going to get bored very quickly. And he's hungry.
It occurs to him that, if he's conscious, he might still be able to do wandless magic.
He aims an alohomora at the chains around his neck and the padlock falls with a heavy, anticlimactic, thunk, between his arms. Legs? Whatever.
He shakes off the chains and wobbles his way over to the door.
Coordinating four feet and what seems like an unnecessary amount of torso is difficult.
Also, his mouth tastes funny.
"Potter?" Malfoy says.
Harry pushes his shoulder against the door.
Malfoy strings together a series of colorful curses.
"Well, you're clearly alive, so I'm leaving. Goodbye."
Except Harry doesn't want Malfoy to leave.
Because then he'll be alone.
And the idea of that is so intrinsically terrible that he just sort of, pushes harder at the door, maybe harder than he intended, and he hears the lock outside disengage and then he's rolling out onto the gravel driveway in an unexpected lurch of movement.
And Malfoy—
Malfoy has fallen down.
He's pushing himself backwards with his feet, hands in the dirt, and he looks terrified.
YOU ARE READING
Way Down We Go
FanfictionTHIS WORK BELONGS TO xiaq ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN. The war was over. Or at least that's what the papers said. They'd been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding. Maybe they did. *** In which Harry and Draco both run away from their past...
