Animal

Summary: The mating ritual was supposed to give Draco his sanity back. Instead, he is left plagued by the desire to claim—and potentially kill—his mate. Of course, he'll have to find her first.

Author's Note: There's a lemon in this chapter that involves bondage and has slight non-consensual undertones. It's not really non-con, but some might interpret it that way. I don't condone tying people up against their will, nor do I condone non-consensual sex. If you are sensitive to such things, then turn back now.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," Narcissa Malfoy said softly, her blue eyes glazed with unshed tears. She raised a hand to the glass of the one-sided window she peered into, transfixed on the scene within. That hand, like the rest of her, seemed to have aged. The bones stood starkly beneath the thin, white skin. Fine veins were visible just below the surface, as if the stress of the past year had made her transparent. Victory against the Dark Lord had taken five long years of battle, and perhaps they had all grown old in that time, but for Narcissa, the past year had probably been the hardest.

"No," Harry Potter agreed, his voice pained as he shared her view, "This should never have happened." He stood next to her, solid and tall, carrying his grief in his hunched shoulders. Somehow, the slim matriarch seemed much stronger than the famous Auror; her back was perfectly straight. She faced the tragedy that had befallen her and the whole wizarding world head on, just as she had done every day since the Last Battle.

Ginny Weasley stood with Hermione Granger toward the back of the small, dimly lit room. She avoided the light of the window, afraid of what she would find if she stepped into it and cursing her cowardliness. Like Harry, this was not the first time Hermione had visited; the bushy-haired Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic looked tired and stern, but she gripped Ginny's forearm gently. "You don't have to look," Hermione confided, but Ginny heard what Hermione didn't say. You don't have to look, but you should.

Narcissa turned to glance at Ginny. The woman had arranged her face to show no expression, but even from the shadows Ginny could see the flash of hope in her eyes. The deep wrinkles of Narcissa's previously flawless face, made deeper by the bright light of the room behind her, and the streaks of grey that shone against her blonde locks spoke of a woman who had forgotten what hope felt like. It was that brief moment of guilt that allowed Ginny to overcome the fear that had kept her rooted to Hermione's side.

She choked back tears the moment she took her place next to Harry in front of the window. Harry placed his hand on her shoulder as if to comfort her, but Ginny hardly felt it. Her heart seemed to have stopped as the gravity of what she was seeing washed over her. Head spinning, she pressed her eyes shut, resting her head against the glass as she bit back sobs of horror.

"He's just as much of a hero as any of us," she heard Harry say quietly. She crumbled to the floor.

The man within the bare, empty room just past the window bore little resemblance to the Draco Malfoy Ginny remembered. In fact, he resembled more of an animal than a human. Both of his hands were restrained behind him, secured on a long chain to a hook on the floor. Completely naked, he crouched with his head between his legs, frothing at the mouth and baring his teeth. A long, thin scar stretched over one eye, from forehead to the top of one cheekbone; on his shoulder, chest and arms the unmistakable remnants of vicious bites reminded her of why he had been reduced to such a state. But it was the look in his eyes that made Ginny want to retch with misery. Those wild eyes held not an ounce of humanity, much less of sanity, in them.

"He must be kept like that," Narcissa explained, as though in a daze, "Otherwise he will kill himself."

Ginny brought the cup of tea up to her lips with shaking hands. She gulped a mouthful down, even though it burned her mouth. She was seated between Harry and Hermione in one of the many salons of the Malfoy Manor. The room was lushly decorated in icy tones of blue, silver and white, and a vase of fresh lilies sat, impeccably arranged, on the coffee table in front of her. It made her sick again, to think that just a few floors beneath her, the man who had once been Draco Malfoy passed his days like an animal—for his own good.

Narcissa joined them momentarily, arranging herself on the divan across from where they sat. With immaculate grace, she leaned over to retrieve her cup of tea, taking a small sip before setting it down on the saucer with a small clink. The silence that fell was almost unbearable, but none of them seemed able to breach it.

Finally, Narcissa began, "You are aware of the story, I'm sure. But I will tell it again, to clarify any of your misconceptions." She pressed her lips together, folding her hands in her lap, and Ginny found herself wanting to close her eyes again, to block out the sight of this unbelievably strong woman about to relive the nightmare that had broken her son. "One year ago, on the night of the Last Battle, Draco killed his father." Narcissa paused; Ginny knew that there had been much more to that situation, but she tightened her fists and said nothing, allowing the woman to continue. "He was gravely wounded in the exchange. A pack of werewolves found him; by this time, it was already known that he had betrayed the Dark Lord. He was unable to defend himself and they did not spare him any mercy." Narcissa stopped to sip her tea again. Her face was a mask, her movements remarkably steady. "If Blaise and Pansy had not stumbled upon them, he would have been killed. Unfortunately, he had already been bitten. Several times." The woman took a deep breath. "As I'm sure you know, not all who have been bitten end up like Draco. Perhaps Ms. Granger can explain this next part to you more clearly."

Hermione nodded, leaning forward to discard her cup. She hesitated a moment to gather her thoughts. "Draco was tortured in…unspeakable ways that night. Perhaps, his mind was already lost before the transformation took place, but we can't be sure because since that night…Draco Malfoy the human has never resurfaced." Hermione frowned to herself. "I've researched it extensively. There are two elements to every werewolf; the human and the wolf. The human prevails when the moon is not full, with the wolf serving as a sort of…" Hermione thought for a moment. "A sort of instinct. An inner voice, if you will. Most werewolves can control the wolf, for the most part. But for Draco, it seems that the wolf has dominated. It is either the case that his human self is suppressed or..." Hermione swallowed. "Or that his human self is gone entirely."

A chill ran down Ginny's spine. "Gone?" Her voice sounded hoarse.

"We can't be sure!" Hermione said quickly, "That's where you come in."

"He's done so much for us, Ginny," Harry added, "If he hadn't been there that night…"

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing a hand across her face. "I know, Harry." He didn't need to tell her. She had never forgotten what Draco had done for her family or for their side during the war. She had never forgotten him, either, not since Hogwarts. She had heard rumors of him after the war, had contented herself with pretending to be alright not knowing what really happened to him. She bit her lip.

"Will you do it?" Narcissa asked, and that hope that Ginny had seen in her eyes before seemed to shine through, although Ginny knew the woman was trying her hardest to subdue it. Narcissa had probably subjected Draco to all manner of cures throughout the past year; disappointment after disappointment had made her cautious. "I know it is a lot to ask. It is a very personal experience. But Ms. Granger has assured me that you need not undergo the claiming. Just the physical act should be enough."

Hermione nodded. "He will have to be detained, of course, to prevent the claiming. But all of the work I've done has made explicit that the claiming is not necessary to sate the wolf. It will have other consequences, but those can be dealt with after we've brought Draco back." Hermione rested a hand on Ginny's knee. "I know this is a big decision, Ginny."

Ginny nodded slightly before asking the question that had plagued her since Hermione had introduced this plan to her. "What if I'm not the right one?" Ginny knew that she would do whatever she had to do to help Malfoy; he was more than deserving of it. What worried her most was what would happen if she failed. The very thought of it caused her heart to clench painfully. If she succeeded, he might hate her forever, but she could live with that. Now, aware of his plight like she was, she didn't know how she would be able to live her life if he remained like that.

"You're the one," Harry affirmed, his eyes downcast.

"It is you," Narcissa said, for emphasis, "I have no doubt."

"Then I'll do it," Ginny said, sounding more confident than she felt, "But with one condition."

Narcissa's composure had finally broken at Ginny's words, and she hid her face with her hands conceal her tears. "Anything," she said, "Anything you want."

"I don't want him to know who I am."

Draco woke, as if from a long slumber. His mind was groggy; his body felt oddly unfamiliar. When he opened his eyes, it was to pure darkness. A thrill of terror ran through him. He attempted to move his hand over to investigate why his sense of sight was missing, only to find that he was unable to. A slow testing of his limbs revealed that he had been tied, spread-eagled and probably naked, on what was probably a bed. He was about to begin struggling when he remembered why he had awakened in the first place.

The sweetest scent he had ever experienced wafted all around him. It was indescribably delicious, a blend of vanilla, of flowers, of female. Something primal inside of him welled up. Yours. Involuntarily, he heard himself growl.

"You're awake," a voice said gently. It was a woman's voice, low and musical; on some level, he found it vaguely familiar, but with his head as dazed as it was and that exquisite scent surrounding him, he couldn't place it. He felt a slight depression on the bed next to him, and realized she had probably taken a seat. The smell intensified, but he did not find it overwhelming in the least. In fact, he struggled to get closer to her. Yours.

"Mine," he croaked, mildly shocked at the gravelly sound of his voice and the pain it inflicted on him to speak. He had either been screaming or had not spoken for a very long time. Perhaps both. In light of her proximity, it didn't seem important. He wanted to take her scent into himself because, at that moment, it seemed to be the only thing that mattered.

"You can speak!" she exclaimed, with some surprise. Suddenly, what he perceived as a hand was caressing his cheek. It was cool and the touch was light, but it immediately sent a sting of something wonderful throughout his body. Without realizing it, he turned his mouth toward her hand and snapped at her with his teeth, causing her hand to be hastily removed. The loss of that touch felt almost painful. Yours. Take her. He heard himself groan. He fought hard against his bonds, needing to touch her again. He wanted to touch her with his mouth, to bite her.

He heard her take a deep breath, and then her hand was on his bare chest, lightly stroking. "Don't hurt yourself," she said, trying to soothe him, "It's okay." The feeling of her hand on him was both comforting and frustrating. He arched up against her, eager for more, needing her to be everywhere at once. Take her. He growled, but tried to listen to her. He took a few deep breaths, thoroughly distracted by her gentle hands. From that alone, he could feel himself hardening. Part of him was embarrassed for her to see him this way, but the rest of him needed her.

"See you?" he asked. As his mind cleared, it had occurred to him that he had been blindfolded. He wanted to see her with an unbelievable desperation.

"No," she said quietly, "I'm sorry."

A spike of anger caused him to snarl. Mine; my right to see her. He was quickly assuaged when he felt a soft touch on the center of his chest, just above his heart. It was a kiss. Again, he arched up for more, but she pulled back. Need her. Take her. He yanked against his restraints once more, to no avail.

"Let me go," he said.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She shifted her weight on the bed, climbing over him to straddle his waist. He was acutely aware of every point of contact she made with him. The feel of her smooth, bare thighs to either side of him made the rest of his blood rush south. He thrust upward, eager for stimulation; his erection met with her heat. The confirmation of her nakedness caused him unbelievable agony. To his pleasure, her hand grabbed his hardness and, with some hesitation, began to stroke. He moaned.

He could hear her breaths over his own harsh ones, could scent the slight musk of her arousal. But she wasn't ready for him—not yet. "Want you," he said, his voice strained with ecstasy. Her hands continued to work him. Not like this.

"Let me go," he said again, pleading. He needed to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her; equal to that was the desire to prepare her, to thrust his tongue against her heat before turning her around to plunge into her from behind. He wanted to grab her hips and her breasts hard, and he wanted to bite her and scratch his nails down her back. Need that. Claim her.

"No, Draco." The sound of his name on her lips caused him to surge upward in her palm. Claim her. He growled low and hard when he felt her lips touch his erection tentatively. When he felt her tongue snake out to taste him, he found himself thrusting again, uncontrollable—furious that he could not touch her, elated that she was touching him. She pulled away.

"Not like this," he begged, when he felt her position herself over him, once again straddling him, "Not like this." The first touch of her wet heat against the head of his cock was pure bliss; he heard his own voice cry out, heard her sweet whimper. Slowly, she rubbed him against her silkiness, trying to ready herself for what was to come. The beast inside of him was enraged; distracted though he was, he labored against the ties that held him fast, his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood. Need her. The smell of her arousal mixed with that wondrous scent that had intoxicated him before. Yours.

"No," he protested, when she began to sink herself down upon his length. She was so tight. Not like this. She slowly but surely engulfed him. Not like this. His hands itched to touch her. He wanted to feel the weight of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples. He wanted to taste her mouth, her sweat, her sweetness. Not like this.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, when she had worked him all of the way inside of her. The metallic scent of her first time met his nostrils. Your mate. Claim her. His frustration was insurmountable, even as the sensation of being in her body overwhelmed his senses. He moved his hips; they cried out in symphony. Her hands fluttered to his chest to brace herself.

"You're mine," he growled, moving his hips again. Claim her. "Want you so much."

She began to move, making small noises of pleasure. He didn't want her like this. On the one hand he never wanted her to stop; on the other, he wanted to make her scream for him. He wanted to claim her body the way he knew he needed to. Claim her. His mouth watered. He wanted to bite her while he took his pleasure and gave her hers.

The beast inside of him gnashed its teeth. She felt amazing around him, but there should have been more to this. He thrust up into her, envisioning sinking his teeth into the place where her shoulder met her neck, and he came. His entire body trembled with the force of it; he yelled out. She fell forward, her breasts finally touching his chest, and he struggled against his restraints, needing to hold her to him as he finished.

Gently, she placed a kiss on his chest again, carefully avoiding his face. She extricated herself from him. A deep hollowness set in. Claim her. Hold her. Yours. Don't let her go. Not done. The bonds that held him had already cut into his wrists, but he fought them all the harder as he felt her leave the bed.

"Don't go," he choked out as he continued to fight, "Not done."

"I'm sorry," was all she said, and then he heard a door close. The animal inside of him howled.

Author's Note: I had too much fun writing this! Please review and let me know what you think. But be gentle, because it has been a while since I wrote anything that wasn't for university classes XD There will probably be about two more chappies to this baby.