Arbitrary Alignment

A/N: So midterms were intense and stressful, but I'm happy to say that I survived! This chapter took me awhile... I'm not going to lie. Anyways prepare yourself for more angst, hey what can I say I think Draco wears angst very well... haha! Also my chapters are getting longer so hopefully that isn't a problem for anyone. Anyways enjoy the next installment.


Disclaimer: I own nothing except for a crappy toyota and student loans.


----Arousal----

Blinding light erupted from beyond his eyelids.

Everything was too loud, too bright, too sharp, too much.

Sensory overload.

The sheets underneath him were coarse and scratchy against his skin. The stench of sweat and the metallic tang of blood invaded his senses, coated his tongue . Underneath the fumes of stale and mold permeating the room around him he could catch the scent of something else, light and fresh and feminine. And there were gentle hands touching him softly, soothingly.

He blinked and the shape looming above him came into focus. A halo of wispy brown curls framed a face he thought he would never see again.

With a mind of its own, his hand shot up to wrap around her outreached wrist. “Granger?” His voice came out muffled and stilted. His mouth was dry and felt like it was filled with cotton.

He tried again, “Granger?”. She looked exactly as he remember but somehow different at the same time. It was her eyes, the brown orbs were rimmed in dark shadows and looked older somehow, more jaded, hardened.

Perhaps he was still having those terrifying dreams, he blinked twice, expecting her image to fade into a horrific sight.

“Granger is that you?”
He tried to sit up and his whole body exploded with pain. Hot white pain, burning his body, crushing his lungs, until all he could do was to draw in torturous breath after torturous breath.

Through the loud beating of his heartbeat in his ears he heard her ask if he remembered what had happened.

What had happened? Who had done this to him? Something was terribly wrong.

His chest was a literal mass or raw torn flesh. But besides the superficial external wounds he felt a difference, another presence running through his blood, residing in his head, tainting his soul. It scared the shit out of him.

He could fell the edges of hysteria creeping in, clutching at him with its claws. “Where am I? What have you done to me?” his words were slurred and sluggish.

His eyes traveled from her eyes down her body across her arm to where his hand was clamped around her wrist so hard his knuckles were white. His eyes widened before he released her hand, flinging her arm from his body.

“I haven't done anything to you. The Order found you like this Malfoy, this is the doing of that psychotic maniac you serve”. Her voice was hard just like her eyes and as she reached toward him he couldn't suppress the wave of fear, nor the way his body lurched away from her.

“Im not going to hurt you Malfoy, this is to help with the pain” she said as she gestured to the opened container between their knees. The tone of her voice was dripping with pity.

He didn't want her pity, he wanted normalcy, and for the pounding in his temples to subside. He was balancing on the edge of hysteria, he felt as each moment passed the weight of his uncertainty grew. When she reached toward him again he reverted back into comfortable territory, spatting out the insult and it felt so normal, so safe, security.

“Why would I want your help, filthy Mudblood”

She always gave as much as she got. But as soon as those words left his mouth he could see that cold veneer crumple from her eyes and he was surprised to see those same eyes fill with tears. No matter how many times he had taunted her in the past she had always responded with an insult more cunning or worse indifference. Nothing he had ever said in school had affected her, or had it?

“Your not in the position to reject it Malfoy” she spat out his name like it was a curse. She was livid with rage now, and in control he realized as his eyes drifted to the wand by her side.

He help perfectly still, eyes carefully blank, as she reached out yet again. He didn't flinch away from her but he couldn't help but tense up as her fingers met his skin. She was looming above him and he felt cornered, caged, the voice inside his head, the animal, the beast, screamed to be free.

He closed his eyes.

With the loss of his vision his other senses became sharper, clearer, more precise. His sense of smell was incredible, much stronger than it had ever been, much stronger than it should be. He could smell the revolting stench of his unwashed body and the rot and oozing of the lacerations on his chest. As she leaned over his bare torso he caught a different scent. An alluring feminine scent that was Granger. It was heady and sensual and went straight to his groin.

The pads of her fingertips were working the gooey salve into his neck and he could sense the air in between them and the space her body occupied.

She was talking to him, asking him questions, but he couldn't hear her over the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding in his head. The throbbing of his wounds had faded, been pushed aside for the raw ache of his empty, hollow belly.

Her gentle touch ceased and he opened his eyes to find her sitting back on her heels looking back into his eyes, expectant and curious for a reply to her questions.

His only answer was his growling stomach. The noise brought heat to his cheeks and intensified the gnawing hunger resonating from the hollow pit of his stomach.

She shifted on the bed and for one terrifying moment he thought she was going to curse him, lift her wand and intensify the pain coursing through his veins.

Instead she gave him another knowing, pitying look as she slid off the bed and toward the door.

When she left she took that wonderful scent with her. But traces of it remained on his hand that had been wrapped her slender wrist. He couldn't resist lifting it to is face to inhaling that tantalizing smell, that aphrodisiac scent.

He was so wholly involved in breathing in her essence, absorbing it, that he didn't register Grangers return right away. When he did he could feel her eyes on him and the heat that flushed his cheeks and his mortification doubled when he realized he was purring, sighing contentedly from deep within his chest.

All embarrassment was pushed aside when he saw the tray of food in her arms. As soon as she placed the tray on the bed between them all his mind could think was that delicious aroma and filling the void of his belly. He inhaled the food, chewing minimally just enough so that he could swallow it down.
Now as his body absorbed nutrients his head was beginning to clear. He began to be aware of his surroundings. He was lying on a cot in the middle of a empty circular room. The windows spread out evenly along the perimeter were barred, causing the sunlight steaming in to cast the shadow of a cross on the cracking maple floor. As he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand it registered that his torso was bare and the linen pants his lower limbs were incased in weren't his. What had happened to his clothes?

He looked to Granger for the answer.

As she explained that they were torn and unsalvageable, that she had to destroy them, he watched her lips move. Full and moist, he wondered how they would taste. She fell silent, worrying her bottom lip in between her teeth. He wanted to replace her teeth with his own, sink his incisors into her plump flesh and taste her blood. The sheer lunacy, animalistic urge to do just that shook him out of the trance he was in. Tearing his eyes away he stared instead at the faded grey blanket. He had always held tight reign on his thoughts but it was as if he had no control now and the creature inside of him roared that it was hungry even as his full, distended belly gurgled contentedly.

Now that hunger was no longer a pressing matter the pressure of his full bladder couldn't be ignored any longer.

If he waited any longer he feared he would urinate on himself, further humiliating himself. Shifting restlessly, trying to relieve the unbearable pressure of his bladder he gazed toward the open door across the way. “I...I need...that is...”.

“Yes?...spit it out Malfoy”.

“Granger...I...I need to use the loo”.

She was staring off in the distance at something he couldn't see but she looked up at him then, her clinical gaze sweeping down the length of his body. “You need a bath too, you reek.”

Damn her for always being right. He was absolutely dirty, filthy. He could feel the dried sweat and grime and blood sticking to his skin, and his hair lay matted and greasy on his skull. He felt his face twist in a scowl of disgust, anything less than immaculate hygiene was unbearable. He slid off the bed, hands tightening on the sheets, and he tried to stay silent but the pain was to great. He groaned as he felt the scabbing wounds stretch, rip, reopen. He stood, swaying.

Then she was there, arm wrapping around his bare back, and for one short glorious moment he relaxed into her supporting weight, into her, the warmth of her arm on his skin, before remembering who she was, who he was. He shoved her away from him, angry at her “Don't touch me” angry at himself. He had liked the feeling of her arms around him far too much.

Stumbling down the hallway, down the stairs, he paused, gasping and sweating and hurting.

Granger led him to a bathroom, handed him a towel and then left, closing the door behind her. Staggering over to the large porcelain tub Draco stripped his pants off and climbed in, pressing his face against the cold tile. He didn't want to think anymore, he wanted to be numb. He turned on the shower, twisting the knobs until frigid water was hitting his skin. He stood there, hands braced on the tile, head hanging low, with his hair plastered to his forehead.

He was utterly disgusted with himself. Upstairs he had almost lost control, those perverse thoughts of Granger that were running through his head, the urges, he had been on the edge. It was Draco's greatest secret, greatest disgrace, the unwanted attraction he felt for the mudblood.

He hadn't realized it until halfway through third year during the Buckbeat incident when something in Granger had snapped and she had charged at him, eyes blazing.

He had run back to the castle, into the nearest prefects bathroom, breathing hard, face smarting; with the outline of her hand branded scarlet on the skin of his check. A few minutes later he was stroking himself to completion. Afterwards, hands sticky from his own essence, face flushed, the inevitable guilt and self-disgust struck as he realized what he had done, who he was thinking of when he found release.

He knew nothing would come of his obsession, nothing could come of it. So he had gone on treating her with the same, if not more, cruelty. Then fifth year had come and he was too busy scrambling to save his families lives, too busy swept up on a path chosen for him, forced on him.

After the attack on Hogwarts, when he ran, lost himself in the muggle world, he knew the next time he would see a wizard would be, no doubt, from the receiving end of their wand.

As he stood there, water pounding his shoulders, thoughts jumbled, it happened.

The Dark Lord called.

It had happened before in the past while he was on the run. Lord Voldemort signaling his followers using the dark mark. Draco had learned to deal with the pain, curling on a stained hotel bed, biting back his screams so the muggles in the room next to him wouldn't hear.

He tried to bite back the screams rising in his throat now, but the pain rippling through his forearm was to much for his beaten body. His legs gave out and his body slammed into the hard tub bottom. He crouched there, fingers digging into his arm, teeth clenched so hard his jaw felt like it would crack.

His vision was growing dark, fuzzy around the edges and he had to fight to breath, drink in oxygen.

Then she was there, hand on his shoulder “Malfoy”?

He jerked at her tentative touch, eyes clouded with pain. “Granger...I...it...” he panted as a fresh wave of agony shot through his forearm, shook his body. “Please...ahhh...help me”.

And she was there, arms circling him, bracing him as the spasms jerked his body. He buried his face
in the crook of her neck. After what seem like an eternity the pain slowed, died out to a dull throb. She was cradling him to her, one hand tangled in his hair the other rubbing his back in soothing circles.

Realization struck.

He stiffened and as he twisted his head his lips brushed against the delicate skin of the hollow of her neck. Her hands tightened on him and he felt her quick intake of breath ruffle the top of his head. From that brief contact he caught a taste of her on his lips. Just a sip really, and the creature that had taken up residence within him, the animal inside of him, awakened.

Swearing, he pushed her roughly away from him.

She fell back, spread out before him, skin golden against the ivory of the tub. She was wearing a diaphanous, translucent material, rendered completely transparent by the water falling on their heads.
He could see her, and as his eyes swept down the length of her body he was frightened by the surge of want, of need.

She was staring at him with a combination of pity and compassion and she shifted towards him, reaching out a delicate hand.

He knew that if she touched him the small bit of control he was clinging to would fall away. Even now the creature inside him was calling to him, whispering seductive suggestions, enticing him to taste her skin again.

He felt vulnerable and exposed, susceptible to her gaze. He turned away from her, hunched down on the balls of his feet, wrapping his arms around his knees, trying to shield himself from her eyes. Words were tumbling out of his mouth, he needed to make her understand. The words were incoherent babbles soon warping into urgent shouts, “Get out, GET OUT!”

He stayed like that, tremors coursing through his body, intently fixated on the grimy water puddling at his feet, until he was sure she was gone, until the water numbed his body, until all sensation had left his limbs.

But nothing could numb that presence tainting his soul, nothing could dilute the creature jostling for control inside him, over him.


So hopefully you guys picked up on the whole animal/beast inside of Draco is a manifestation of a symptom of the werewolf attack. What exactly it is... well you'll have to keep tuning in to find out!

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Next Up: More manifestations of the werewolf within Draco. Harry and Ron return?