Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing… except for the books, of which my beautiful beta, hyperactive crazy gurl95, is currently in possession… damn…

A/N: For Eleni C, who inspired me to get off my lazy ass and write, and XxrandomxX, who is pretty much the coolest, and most punctual reviewer ever.

:D

Oh hey, Vincent Valentine, we're getting married. Kay?

Now, don't get me wrong, I love fluffy oneshots with clichéd plotlines and similar characterization (and I'm 100% honestly not being sarcastic… just look at my other stories), but I wanted to try my luck at something different and original… and I know I've never read a story where Scorpius is a werewolf…

On with the story, then!

"These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which as they kiss consume."

—Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 Scene 6

There was a luxurious tent, enchanted to have four rooms, an everlasting fire, and only one House-Elf along to do all the cooking and tidying up.

To the Malfoys, this was positively roughing it.

It had been Astoria's suggestion that they go camping, Muggle-style, for a few days to "bond as a family" before she left to go with her mother and sister on vacation. Scorpius was indifferent as always on the surface. In fact, he thought it would be rather enjoyable if anything, not that he would ever admit it out loud. Draco, whipped as he was in his years, couldn't say "no" to his wife, despite his discomfort in forests after his first detention at Hogwarts…

That's what brought Scorpius and his parents to the middle of a dense forest in Merlin-Knows-Where, England. He knew that it was somewhere around the place where they held the Quidditch World Cup in 1994, but he had literally no idea where in the world they were, since he didn't actually go to the World Cup.

He realized as soon as they got there that it wasn't going to be as fun as he thought.

Draco was already complaining about the lack of amenities camping brought. He said he needed a hot shower after a "long trip"… which consisted of three seconds of effortless Apparation. Astoria was building the overlarge tent joyfully enough to counterbalance her husband. Scorpius was just watching his parents' exchanges, leaning against a rather uncomfortable tree, with a disinterestedly raised eyebrow.

Scorpius was spoiled, to say the least, but not quite yet rotten. After nearly sixteen years of getting everything material you could possibly want, it gets boring, and it was easy for him to become extremely jaded. There was no more challenge in life for him, other than schoolwork. That's why he loved school. There was always something new to test him at Hogwarts. He was tremendously talented with spellwork, and picked up on concepts quickly. He always fought for a way to improve on things. If he could do a spell by saying it aloud, why couldn't he say it without speaking?

There were three separate reasons he got everything he wanted:

One: his title. Heir of the Malfoy fortune. He felt extremely resentful towards his surname. If someone didn't treat him like royalty because of it, they treated him like dirt on their shoe. With a family history of enthusiastic Death Eaters behind him, Scorpius understood why they thought this. He learned just how malicious people could be when he began Hogwarts, and was bullied unendingly until halfway through third year, when he learned to finally fight back. This fact is what caused his distance towards people. He wasn't particularly cruel, and didn't wear a permanent scowl or smirk when around others, but he couldn't will himself to become too close to anyone in particular. But, why did he need anyone? He asked himself frequently. He had the money to buy anything he wanted. He had the means to go anywhere, to do anything. But, after sixteen years of this repeated pattern, Scorpius found that he didn't particularly want anything anymore.

Two: his looks. It wasn't any sort of secret that he was exceptionally attractive. Patrician was a perfect word to describe his appearance. A high forehead, dusted with wisps of the platinum hair that would fall down from being pushed back, a straight, pointed nose, a sharp chin, silver eyes laced with dark, impossibly long lashes, naturally straight teeth, clear pale skin, silky, straight blond hair, lean limbs, toned muscles… the whole package deal. The fact that he dressed in expensive, dapper clothing, making it look perfectly casual, didn't help his case. With a simple raised eyebrow, he could make girls swoon and boys sick with jealousy. He was well aware of this, because he wasn't stupid, but it never really mattered to him. He didn't take interest in any of the girls who said he was "so fit", because if they didn't care to know more about him other than the accurate shade of his hair in the light, he didn't care to speak to them at all. It was the same situation with older people, as well. There was something corruptly biased about the world that made him apathetic.

Three: his talent. This was the only thing that he accepted as a good reason to favor him. He was more than his surname and his distinguished features: he was a wizard with talent and drive in everything he tried. He could do the most complex spells with a lazy flick of his wand; he combined ingredients expertly in his cauldron to craft the most effective potions; he could fly faster and more agilely than any Quidditch player in his league. When people praised him for these reasons, he didn't internally cringe, he felt surges of pride. He knew he worked hard for everything he'd accomplished, spending hours in the library rather than outdoors, lazing about when he had a test, or practicing a spell verbally and nonverbally until he was red in the face in order to perfect it.

For whatever of the three reasons, the world was handed to him inconsequentially on a silver platter. So, naturally, it was quite a culture shock to him when they took their leave from the lavish Malfoy Manor to stay in the tiny four-room tent.

"There," Astoria chirped, having finished setting up the nylon monstrosity, all by hand, while Draco sat scowling on a log in front of it, and Scorpius declared himself irreversibly bored. Both had offered the woman help. She refused it adamantly from both of them.

The two men eyed her uncertainly, waiting for further instruction.

"Well, go in, then!" She was still irregularly excited.

Exhaling, greatly resembling a moody teenager, Scorpius ducked into the tent opening.

Expecting the very worst, he stood straighter, and immediately, a grimace appeared on his face.

The place was a shack compared to what he was used to. The immediate view was the kitchen and the sitting room, which together equalled maybe half the size of his room at home. They were airy and light, and had limited furniture. It was an outrage, to think that he would be spending the next few days in this hovel.

His room wasn't any better. Though big enough to accommodate six people comfortably, it was miniscule to Scorpius. The walls were bare of anything he had back home, like his Ravenclaw House banners, and Quidditch posters. The four-poster, King Sized bed was freshly made, most likely by Mitzi, the House-Elf, and there was a full wardrobe right beside it.

He looked at it in disdain for a few moments, the melodramatic nature that came with being an adolescent overtaking his thoughts.

"Mr. Malfoy?" A breathy voice squeaked beside him.

Turning his scowl from the room to the tiny elf beside him, he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Is everything to your standard?" Mitzi's huge brown eyes held such expectant sincerity that even apathetic Scorpius found it to be endearing.

"Yes, thank you, Mitzi," He didn't have the heart to be cold to the elf. He knew that the creatures were supposed to be beneath witches and wizards, but he didn't think it fair to be cruel to something that worked so hard to make humans happy.

The elf looked elated. She nodded, bowed so low that her stubby nose touched the plush floor of the tent, and bobbed out of the room.

With a sigh, Scorpius carefully climbed into the bed, lying with his arms behind his head. Closing his eyes, he let his own thoughts drift into dreams.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir?"

His eyes opened slowly. Groaning against the headache that always came to him with waking up, he sat upright. For a moment, he wondered why his bed felt so mediocre, and then he realized that he wasn't at home. "Yes?" He sighed, directing his attention to the pitiful creature in his doorway.

"Mister Malfoy, I mean to say, your father, requests your attendance, sir,"

"Tell him I'll be right there," He said with an easy wave of his hand. He needed to get up anyway—the brightness of the room was only worsening his headache.

The elf nodded, her large ears flapping slightly, looking extremely nervous as always, and made to scramble out of the room.

"Thank you," He added, rubbing one of his eyes.

The elf looked touched, beaming as she looked back at him for a small moment before continuing.

Scorpius rolled his eyes, but allowed himself a small smile. There was something fulfilling in the look of jubilance on the ugly creature's face that reminded Scorpius of Hogwarts.

He never really made his way into the Great Hall at school except for breakfast, and still he was earlier than anyone else. Instead, he ventured to the kitchens for an "exclusive" meal from the House-Elves working there. He never asked them to prepare him anything special – he ate what they already had arranged for the students. He found the company of the creatures enjoyable, since they didn't speak much, but were happy in what they were doing. The general quiet and joyful atmosphere of his meals was peaceful. Plus, it made him uncomfortable to be around so many people at once, due to the fact that he'd been bullied by around half of the older students at one point or another.

His lips curling up slightly at the thought of Hogwarts only a few weeks away, Scorpius dignifiedly heaved himself off the bed, trudging, with a natural sort of swagger, to his father, who was sitting in one of the springy beige armchairs in the sitting room. Draco looked uneasy from where he was, with a sickly sort of appearance. He gripped the arms of the chair.

"Yes?" Scorpius asked, standing in front of his father.

"Son, will you get us some water?" He asked, his tone normal, if a little bit exaggeratedly composed.

"Why can't you just conjure some?" The youngest of the identical pair asked, somewhat defiantly.

Draco suddenly looked very tired and edgy. His left eyebrow twitched slightly as he replied, "Your mother has taken my wand."

Scorpius's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He knew for a fact that Draco hadn't been without his wand since 1998. "Why?"

"'We're camping,' she says, 'Muggle-style, Draco, no magic!' she says…" Draco looked like a madman, muttering almost to himself.

Scorpius snorted at how his mother wore the trousers in their relationship. "I have mine, do you want to use Augamenti and get it over with?" He pulled the thin blackthorn stick out of his back pocket, and holding it out for his father's use.

"Scorpius, that's a very dishonest thing to do," Draco scolded, glowering, but still took the wand from his son's hand.

The youngest Malfoy rolled his eyes, but half-smiled.

Draco pointed it importantly at a small canteen, magically enlarged on the inside, of course, and tapped it swiftly. "Augame—"

"DRACO MALFOY!"

Both blond heads snapped towards the entryway of the tent. Draco's pale face drained of color. Scorpius's eyes widened.

"What are you doing?" The usually-svelte woman looked rather ragged, with dirt smudged on her face, and twigs sticking out of her elegantly curly hair. She crackled with energy, her dark blue eyes shining at their defiance.

Cool, smirking Draco Malfoy was reduced to unbecoming sputters of a lame, untrue explanation.

Astoria marched over to her husband, with one hand on her rounded hip, the other held out towards him. The raised eyebrow over her freezing cold eyes dared him to challenge her.

Though looking thoroughly miserable, Draco handed over his son's wand.

The chuckles that he'd been ready to release died in Scorpius's throat. "Mom, I need my wand!" He confronted, standing up taller, attempting to be intimidating in the eyes of the woman who used to Scourgify his diapers.

"We're Muggle-camping. Of course you don't need your wand," She waved her hand impatiently. Her temper had apparently gone down since confiscating the wand from her rude husband's possession.

"But—"

"Water, Scorpius?" Draco supplied wearily, looking out for his son against his wife's irritability.

Suddenly fuming, Scorpius shot a lethal look at his cowardly father. Snatching up the canteen from his hands, Scorpius stalked out of the tent, leaving two exasperated parents in his wake. Both of them shook their heads, and were both sighing the same thing in their heads: teenagers.

"Mitzi, where is there some water?" He swiftly asked the small elf, who was tending to the fire, trying to make it burn more strongly.

"There should be a small creek running just north of here, sir," She helped, moving her long-fingered hand out of the flames just in time to stop herself from receiving a nasty burn.

"Thank you," He said shortly, and began to stride away from the tent.

The setting sun only brought a sick sense of excitement over the beastly man as he sauntered through the woods. Only a few minutes earlier, he caught a whiff of the mouth-watering scent of humans nearby, and, after so many months of hunger and isolation, he couldn't remain abstinent from their taste.

The War caused much hardship on the man—if he could still be called that—, since he couldn't go into community places to hunt anymore. The last he'd heard of world outside the Merlin-forsaken forest, he was on the top list of Most Wanted criminals in the Ministry of Magic. Apparently Potter and his little team of Aurors were searching every nook and cranny for him…

The thought brought a demented smile onto his face every time he thought of it. He didn't plan to go to Azkaban… he never planned to go to Azkaban.

He had been living, for so long now that counting years escaped him, in remote forests, usually among his own kind, feasting on animals mostly, and, if the circumstances deemed it necessary, well, he was hardly opposed to cannibalism. After all, human or half-human, the taste of flesh against his lips brought a phenomenal sense of happiness upon him.

The scent was growing steadily stronger, causing his eyes to nearly roll back in his head. He pushed matted hair out of his face, in order to get a clearer direction of the aroma. Somewhere close by, amazingly close by, there was a human. Full human; young from the smell of it. He could almost sense the rushing blood through their veins… he was sure this person would taste absolutely delectable.

The animalistic man took a sharp inhale, quivering slightly at the smell. He began walking more determinedly through the wood, paying no mind to the noise he was causing as twigs snapped and leaves rustled underneath his broad feet. His beastly desire was becoming more and more pronounced with every second he wasted not devouring this person. He found himself speeding up with every step he took.

A voice caused him to stop in his tracks.

"Augamenti!"

His sin-kissed lips parted to reveal a smile consisting of stained, uneven brown teeth. A wizard. A young wizard. Most likely still in school. Probably on summer holiday from Hogwarts. A snarl sounded in his throat at the thought of the last time he visited that damned school…

No. Nothing was going to distract him from his meal. But maybe, since this boy was still a school student, only biting would suffice… he could kill and consume his family, and keep the boy for his own, teaching him how to be a proper werewolf. He could use the boy to hunt in the open, since this boy wasn't on the run from the Ministry… His lycanthropic army could rise!

And, if all else failed, he would always have a meal close by.

Another shuddering exhale sounded from the ecstasy in the man's body. The boy was so near, so very near…

He licked his lips in excitement. A few more paces and all he would have to do is spring on the boy… or maybe he could play innocent, and win his trust…

The possibilities, mingled with the thought of a full meal after so many years, nearly brought Fenrir Greyback to his knees in rapture.

It had been way too long that Scorpius had been walking, in search for some seemingly imaginary creek. Half the time, he was cursing his horrible sense of direction; the other half, he was wondering if he could be capable of a wand-less incantation. Surely, if there was no wand used, he couldn't get in trouble with the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry? After a few minutes of concentrating so hard that he trembled, attempting, ranging from whispering to shouting "Aguamenti!" repeatedly, hoping that water would spring, literally, out of nowhere, he gave up with a heavy sigh.

He didn't even know where north was!

He was becoming hot, despite the cool evening air. He could feel small drops of sweat beginning to form in his hairline. The final bit of light was dawdling on the horizon. The sky was a predominantly periwinkle type color, with streaks of leftover oranges, purples, and pinks from the sunset. The shadows on the trees were lengthening, and Scorpius knew that soon there would only be shadows.

He didn't know how to get to water; he didn't know how to get back to his parents; he didn't have his wand. He was in an amazing position. Except that this was the worst possible situation he could possibly encounter.

Scorpius stopped for a moment, to survey his whereabouts. To his left: trees. To his right: trees. In front of him: a slightly worn patch of dirt… lined with trees. Behind him: trees.

He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair as he exhaled. It was ridiculous, that he was even here. If his damn father had just told his mother "no" for just once, and if he could have just finished the damn spell, he wouldn't be lost. Still, his anger had slightly simmered down, replaced with a light shade of panic. He was, indisputably, lost.

A sudden rustling in the trees to the right of him caused his head to snap around so hard that he heard his neck crack in a few places.

Clenching his jaw together tightly, his heart hammering, he watched a… person (?) come out from the woods.

"Hello," A raspy, bark-like voice greeted just a little too smoothly.

His appearance caused any color in the young Malfoy's face to draw off. He was, in the simplest terms, terrifying. He looked like he'd just escaped from Azkaban or worse. Graying hair that grew from both his head and his face was matted together, dirt and sweat and something dark, looking suspiciously like blood, all mixing to cause a filthy appearance of a madman. His eyes were barely visible underneath all the grime, but Scorpius could still see that they held inhuman hunger. His clothes hung off him, tattered and ragged, mirroring his overall appearance.

Scorpius felt that he'd seen this man before… he couldn't place where, but he knew that it wasn't someplace pleasant.

"Hello," He replied through a still-tensed jaw. His hand reached instinctively for his back pocket, only to realize that he didn't have a wand with him. His heart fell, and his fists balled up into fists.

"You wouldn't know how to get to town from here, would you?" Greyback asked, running his tongue along his unnaturally sharp teeth behind his lips.

"No, sorry," Scorpius tried to stay pleasant. There was a chill running down his spine that he knew had nothing to do with the cool breeze playing at his hair.

"Too bad," He teased, beginning to slowly circle Scorpius, isolating him in a very uncomfortable way, "You see, I've been living off the land for quite a while, and would like to get back to some civilization to… have a meal," he licked his cracked, sore-covered lips.

Scorpius copied him, but for much different reasons. His throat felt suddenly like there was sandpaper grating at the edges. He nodded at the man's last remark, and tried to find an opening to run.

A sharp, shuddering inhale of breath from the animalistic man caused another chill down Scorpius's spine. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He couldn't move his body, even though his mind was screaming for him to flee.

"What brings you to these parts of the forest?" The man asked, pseudo-conversationally.

"I'm camping with my family," Scorpius couldn't find the energy to lie to the man, though he immediately regretted telling him the truth.

Fenrir swallowed, his Adam's-apple bobbing slowly. "Big family?" He asked quietly, huskily.

"Not particularly, no," Scorpius's mouth felt bone-dry.

"Family," the other man repeated, more to himself than to Scorpius.

He stood stock-still, not even finding the energy to run a hand through his hair, which was becoming increasingly damp with perspiration.

"What is a family of wizards doing in a forest?" Greyback asked, just as chillingly brightly as before.

Ice filled Scorpius's lungs. "Wizards?" The panicked note in his voice gave him away.

"You seem familiar, actually, now that I'm looking…"

Scorpius cursed the fact that three consecutive generations of Malfoy men were identical down to the last hair.

"Let me see…" His tone changed from smooth and friendly to darker, crueler sounding. Greyback's instincts were nearly overwhelming by now. "Light hair… gray eyes… pale skin…" An oily grin spread across his face. "You must be a Malfoy,"

His heart froze. The image of a "Wanted by the Ministry of Magic" poster filled his mind at the sight of that greasy smile… He suddenly remembered who the man was: Fenrir Greyback, the notoriously bloodthirsty werewolf on the Ministry's Most Wanted list… Scorpius dejectedly began to accept that he was going to die. It was strangely isolating, the thought of dying… He'd just been so unfriendly to his parents…

"See here, boy, your father was quite a loyal Death Eater with the rest of us at the time," Fenrir was, in his way, playing with his food.

Scorpius felt extremely squirmy, but also numb. A certain denial was clouding all his senses.

"Who knew someone quite like him could go off raising a right family, huh?" Another wicked grin overtook his face. "I bet he's raised you just the same…"

"He hasn't." The firmness of his own voice surprised him. There was nothing "loyal Death Eater" about him or his family whatsoever. The very thought was extremely degrading.

"Too bad… you'd be a good evil, you know." He still paced around Scorpius, a malicious, starving sort of look on his face.

"Yes, too bad." He didn't look at the man, but rather straight forward into a crevice in the tree. He hoped that his parents would notice how long he'd been gone… hoped that his father would miraculously materialize in the gap between the trees…

"Where is your family, boy? We could have a nice little… reunion,"

Scorpius stayed silent. His chest felt cold and empty. There was no light left on the horizon. The undeniably full moon wasn't fully raised yet, however. The thought only assuaged his dread a tiny amount.

"If you're thinking of being noble and saving them, I can assure you it won't work," He snarled. "I can smell flesh from a mile away,"

"You'll have to find them on your own, then." His voice was low, betraying a sense of confidence he didn't know he had.

Fenrir seemed to not hear his last comment; he took a deep breath, as if in rapture. He raised his arms towards the sky.

"Do you see it?" He asked quietly, his entire figure illuminated in the light. Scorpius stared at him defiantly, trying to keep himself from trembling in paralyzing fear.

"The full moon is a beautiful sight, don't you think?"

Trepidation filled the blond boy. Sixteen years seemed such a short time to live…

Fenrir closed his eyes in a manic sort of delight. He reached a yellow-finger nailed hand into the sleeve of his rags, and pulled out a short, fat wand that was noticeably chipped in places. He continued to encircle him, only drawing nearer.

"Not even going to fight back?" He whispered, his wand raised to shoulder-height.

Scorpius stood his ground, inflexible from terror.

"Pity. I was looking for a bit of a challenge… but I suppose food is food…" He stopped, facing Scorpius directly. He pointed the wand straight at his nose.

Scorpius didn't flinch, didn't blink. His mind was slowly shutting down in every respect.

"If you're not going to fight, you may as well not move," A snarl consumed his face. "Petrificus Totalus," He said harshly.

His limbs sprung to his sides, as he felt every bend in his body go rigid. All of his muscles were already tensed, so the shock of falling, flat as a board, to the dirty ground was slightly absorbed. His eyes welled up with tears, as the back of his head felt like it was literally being split in two. Loose dirt filled his nostrils as he tried to recover the breath that had been knocked out of him. His eyes stung with the dust filling the corners—he could see specks of earth against his eyelashes. Lights popped up against the sky because of the sudden blow to the head.

"Mmm," Fenrir felt unnaturally euphoric as he took another deep inhale.

Scorpius could only see his silhouette against the frighteningly bright moon. If he could have closed his eyes against the terrifying sight, he wouldn't had to have seen the grotesque transformation from man to wolf.

Greyback's already-hunched back curved over more, and hair seemed to spurt out from every pore on his body. His face, twisted into a sadomasochistic smile at the intense pain he was feeling, grew longer, his legs grew slimmer, and a tangled tail grew from his back. The calloused hands at the end of his arms curled into sharp-clawed paws.

It was disgusting, and frightening, and Scorpius regretted that this would be the last thing he ever saw.

The now-wolf trotted around Scorpius again, his long, gray fur shaking with every step, sniffing unkindly at his clothes. In the moonlight, Scorpius could still see the sadistic hunger in his eyes.

He took in an uneasy breath, and knew it was one of his last.

Fenrir placed his muzzle over Scorpius's shoulder. With a final moment of vicious hesitation, he opened his mouth, revealing sharp, stained teeth that hardly looked different than the ones he had in human form.

Scorpius felt extremely vulnerable. His eyes were still fixed on the spot between the trees…

Mercilessly, Fenrir Greyback lacerated the junction of the young boy's neck and left shoulder.

At first, Scorpius felt nothing.

Then, all at once, his entire body felt like it was being slashed with serrated, white-hot knives.

He struggled to move, the blunt ache of immobilization only adding to the exponentially increasing sharpness coursing up and down his limbs.

It was so ghastly that, in that moment, Scorpius hoped he could somehow die, just to stop feeling everything. His entire mind was cloudy, as every thought he had about a certain spot in pain was replaced with a new one about a different section. He felt warm, sticky liquid sliding down his neck and back, puddling around his shoulders. There was too much blood draining out too quickly. He could feel the cool air chafing against the raw, stinging edges of his brand new wound. It felt as if every pain receptor in his body was suddenly focusing on one nerve and then every nerve. His eyes rolled back in inescapable agony.

Fenrir took no pity on him. He pulled his teeth out of the ragged wound, and licked the blood off his whiskery lips. He chewed up bits of severed flesh, relishing in the taste of human. There was no sense left in him… he forgot all about his plan to keep the boy alive for his control… there was only the unadulterated hunger in devouring the helpless boy.

He pierced the skin again, more deeply than before, growling in ecstasy.

If Scorpius could have moved, he would be trembling. If he could have spoken, he would be screaming.

There was something incredibly wrong with this. There was absolutely nothing to distract him from the crippling pain… no movements with which to concentrate his mind, no plotting to somehow escape…

There was only physical torture and stifling disappointment at everything he'd never been able to accomplish…

A frantic rustling pulled the wolf from his nearly nauseating pleasure, the rough movement only causing more brutal nausea in the pit of Scorpius's stomach.

"STUPEFY!" A petrified-sounding Draco Malfoy shouted, pointing his wand directly between the startled wolf's eyes.

Fenrir collapsed on top of Scorpius, whose agony was infinitely alleviated by the sound of his father's voice, but still infinitely vicious all over his body.

"Finite Incantatem!" He shoved the wolf off, and pointed his wand over his son's heart, which, unbeknownst to him, was racing dangerously.

Everything on him suddenly felt free, almost rubbery. He began trembling and twitching in pain.

A blood-curdling scream shook the treetops, as everything he'd been helpless to let out was suddenly unleashed.

Draco's face was paper-white. An uncertain type of anguish gripped his features, making every fine line on his face seem considerably deeper.

"Astoria!" He yelled, kneeling by his son's shaking form. He gingerly reached out for his wound, only to stop as Scorpius tensed.

Shuddering breaths were barely making their way into Scorpius's lungs. He huddled up into a fetal position, pain overtaking all of his senses: he could feel the pain; he could see the backs of his squeezed-shut eyelids; he could hear his father's frantic breathing; he could smell the blood pooling around him; he could taste it on his tongue. He whimpered pathetically; tears ran down his cheeks, mixing with the blood on the ground.

"DRACO—have you found hi—" Utter revulsion struck her suddenly ghostly features, "Oh… Merlin," Her hand touched her lips.

"I'm going to Apparate to the Ministry, Astoria. Stay here with him," Draco's voice was dripping with strained calm as he stood up from his son's side.

"Hurry Draco," She whispered.

With a loud pop! Draco was gone.

"Mitzi!" Astoria called. She hastily pushed her hair out of her face, and fell to her knees next to her son. The legs of her khaki pants were instantly soaked with her son's blood. This fact did not help the dread filling every vein in her body.

"Miss Malfoy?" The elf appeared by her side. She looked horrified as well.

"Pack our things; we're going to St. Mungo's," She ordered, not sparing a single glance at anything other than Scorpius's dismal figure. Astoria reached out to her son, who tensed up. Soothingly, she stroked his hair. It didn't assist anything except her own mentality.

Scorpius heard everything as if through water. The ache was terrifyingly gripping. The mental was almost worse than the physical.

He was bitten by a werewolf. He was going to be the same type of monster once a month for the rest of his life. He was going to be exiled, hated for an affliction he couldn't help. His parents were going to live with the burden of him… he was probably never going to go to school again…

"Where is he?" An unfamiliar, but definitely male, voice asked from somewhere behind him.

"Just over there; I've stunned him," His father's exhausted tone was comforting to him.

"Did you see his human form?"

"Potter, if I would have seen him as a human, don't you think I would've done something to prevent this?" Draco snapped irately, jerking his hand to his slowly bleeding-out son.

Harry was calm, something that was acquired after years of practice. People panicked in terrible situations; it was only natural.

"Could we ask him who it was?" He asked carefully, staring at the anguish in his old school-rival's face. Years of practice did not make him desensitized to other people's emotions… he felt sympathy for the family that had suffered an amazing tragedy. Images of Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley filled his mind.

Draco agreed, and crouched down near his son's ear. "Son, did you see who it was?" He asked gently.

Scorpius's jaw clenched so tightly that he thought his teeth were going to shatter. "G—" he coughed up a little bit of blood. His voice was extremely croaky. "Greyback,"

Harry's face flushed in hatred, as he immediately busied himself with looking after the stunned wolf. "Draco," He said, silently stunning the creature again, just in case. "Take him to St. Mungo's. You can Apparate directly to the Creature-Induced Injuries Ward on the first floor,"

Draco nodded, and squeezed his wife's shaking hand. "Son, we're Apparating," He said quietly. As gently as he could, he picked up his pride and joy, completely ignoring the fact that he was much too heavy now to carry comfortably.

Scorpius felt unpleasant tremors run through his body. His wound was disturbed. A strangled groan sounded in his throat.

"Thank you, Potter," The older Malfoy added stiffly, before concentrating on the First Floor of the hospital.

Scorpius was sure he was dying when all the breath left his lungs. He said a silent goodbye to his parents and everyone at school. He squeezed his flooding eyes tightly. His neck was throbbing.

"Werewolf bite?" An elderly Healer frantically ran towards the trio.

Draco nodded silently, looking incredibly grave.

The Healer conjured a hospital bed with a flick of his lithe wand, and Draco laid Scorpius down gently.

Another disturbance to the sensitive gash sent shudders down his body.

"Here, son, drink this," The fatherly Healer tilted Scorpius's head up.

Numbly, Scorpius obeyed. Much of the thick, sickly sweet liquid drained down the side of his mouth due to gravity of lying on his side. Though a little mingled with blood in his throat, it slipped down to his stomach.

It had no immediate effect. Scorpius still lay in a vulnerable position, trembling. Draco still had his shaking arm around a numbly appalled Astoria, as they watched, but could not do anything to help, their slowly dying son.

His breath began to come more steadily, though the pain did not lessen. His entire head felt like it gained twenty pounds, and he slumped against the firm bed, his body no longer tense. It was involuntary, but not unwanted.

He was sure he was dead for what seemed like the millionth time, finally, until he began having dreams.

Nightmares, rather, about isolation, pain, and horrible, stifling guilt.

A/N: It's so hard to proofread and get back into the mood of making him such a spoiled brat when I've just written that he nearly dies…

So, I actually did some research, and it turns out that there's no proof that Fenrir Greyback died in the War, or that he was imprisoned afterwards. The beautiful JKR hasn't told us, and it never says so in the 7th book. So I think it's cannon. :D

Rose is going to show up in Chapter Three, so keep a lookout. I, for once in my life, have the entire fic planned out. There are going to be around 15 chapters in total, give or take.

Story Alert?

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE review! I enjoy everything from a long, drawn out life-story of a review detailing every little moment to a three word death-threat.

I'm not going to pull the whole hostage thing with this, and say "oh, I need (X amount) reviews before I update", but I do ask for a few at least, to know how I'm doing, or if people are even interested. I plan to update in two-week intervals, so, every other Friday night. :D

Right, so…

Keep things classy. Subscribe to the story :D

KitKat Pyrophobia