Blood Magic

Sweet Minx

Draco physically felt Hermione leave the dungeons. The ache in his chest was awful. The tight, animalistic hold her presence had over him left him gasping. And terrified.

His knees were threatening to buckle from underneath him. Oh God, how close he came to opening the door.

He shook his head in irritation and thanked Merlin that McGonagall's charm on the door had held up well. A large part of him feared what would've happened had she gotten through the barrier. The pain in his mouth slowly receded. The beast had finally calmed down and resumed its usual position in the back of his mind.

Her words echoed in his head like a dark promise. "This isn't over. "

The thought of Granger coming back each and every day in hopes of trying to get him to open the door made his head hurt.

"Goddamn persistent, Gryffindor," he hissed with a sneer.

~Meow~

Draco turned his trembling attention back to Crookshanks, who sat proudly on top of his kitchen table. He studied his disheveled expression and offered a comforting purr.

He sighed in defeat. "Oh, Fuzzball. Why was she even down here?"

He recalled how McGonagall planned on telling the students about his existence. But surely she had also mentioned that the dungeons were now a forbidden part of the castle that were not to be roamed. Especially not late at night!

Draco felt his body slide down the door in exhaustion. He brought his knees to his chest and allowed his head to sag downward. He struggled to ignore the pain that bit at the tips of his fingers. He lifted his head up to examine his hands. And to his terrifying discovery, he saw that his fingers were torn and bleeding. Small splinters of wood were stuck under his nails and in his palms.

He should have been more concerned about his injuries then he was. With a look of absolute boredom, he made a quick work of taking out all the pieces of wood. Malfoy watched as his own skin started to naturally mend itself as though he had used magic.

For a long moment, his eyes held a look of sadness before he glanced up at the orange cat. His brows pulled together in question as to what had Crookshanks so spooked. Its large, black eyes were fixed on something behind him.

His nerves twisted with agitation as he, ever so slowly, turned around. Above his head, deeply embedded in the old grain of wood, were several monstrous claw marks.

Draco clamped his hand over his mouth and horror. He had done this. He, and the beast living inside of him, had shredded the door like it was nothing. His mind was racing with terrible thoughts of what could have happened had Hermione been able to open the door. Or worse, what would have happened had the beast inside of him clawed through it first.

How was he going to explain this to McGonagall? Would she tell him that someone had tried breaking in? Would he give her Granger's name?

He got up from the floor and moped over to the kitchen. He pulled out the large vial of blood and poured himself a glass. As soon as the rich, crimson liquid hit his tongue his nerves began to steady themselves. This would have to be enough to satisfy the creature inside of me.

After he finished, he set the glass aside and slugged over to the bed. Usually his body would feel refreshed and energized having just fed. But Draco was drained. Both physically and emotionally.

He flopped himself down in a heap and buried his face in the pillows.

"Why?" he groaned. "Why the hell did you have to come down here?"