And The Wolves All Cry

A/n: Hello all! You may remember me from my other fic, The Circumstances Of Crossing Paths. That one is nearly over, so I thought I would start this one. I'm also going to try to be updating The Ones That Love Us.

Summary: Hermione and Draco are Head Girl and Head Boy of Hogwarts. And with the growing darkness, the growing threat of Death Eaters and Voldemort, the world is changing. With evil pressing in on every side the two must work together like never before. And possibly find something they'd never think possible.

Warnings: This is a dark story. When I say dark, I mean dark. It's rated M for a reason.

Chapter One:

Rain pattered against the window panes, the dark clouds rolling and pitching like the sea, thunder rumbling and lighting flashing. It had been raining for three days. Draco Malfoy sat slumped in his high backed leather chair, a fire roaring in the grate, but still an unnatural chill seeped in through the stone walls of the Malfoy Manor. His recently opened Head Boy letter, accompanied by a shiny badge emblazoned with a green serpent and the list of what he needed for the coming year were strewn on the table in front of him. His long, pale fingers massaged his aching temples.

Damn it all. Another headache was wracking the seventeen year old boy. They were not uncommon to Draco Malfoy. With all of the pressure he was under from his father, from his mother, from "his" Dark Lord, and from his school, it was a wonder they hadn't started earlier and become much worse than they already were. He reached deftly for the glass of firewhiskey that sat on the table along with his letter and took a swig. The pale amber liquid burned his throat, as if he had swallowed an open flame. With one hand continuing to massage his forehead, he reread the letter.

Mister Malfoy,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as Head Boy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is your list of supplies and the badge that you are required to wear. Your duties will be further explained to you upon your arrival on September 1st. Your new dormitory is located on the 7th floor, and will be shared with the Head Girl. Each of you will have your own bedrooms, complete with customizable passwords. You will share a bathroom and a common room. The Head Girl for this year is Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor House. We are very excited for the new school year to begin.


Minerva Macgonagal

Deputy Headmistress

He threw the letter aside, again. This was ridiculous. How could Professor Dumbledore have chosen him of all people to be the Head Boy? Didn't the man have any sense? He was a Malfoy, his father was a known Death Eater, and yet the old man had still put him in a place of power. Draco thought him a fool.

Pulling on his discarded dressing gown, he made way to his bedroom and laid down in the large bed. The black silk sheets felt cool against his body as he drew the comforter over him, praying for any bit of warmth.


The next day dawned with more rain, even though the sky was lighter. Draco's eyes matched the color of the storm clouds as he dragged his feverish body into the adjoining bathroom to shower away the thin sheen of sweat that had accompanied his nightmares.

He was running. And she was there with him.

"Run, Draco!" The faceless girl screamed at him, her brown hair a tangle of leaves and sticks. There were people in close pursuit. Death Eaters. They swerved between the thick trunks of tall trees, leaping over the rocky underbrush. His heart pounded in his chest, his lungs on fire from the exertion, but still he kept going. He reached out for her hand, clasping it in his own, pulling her beside him.

And suddenly she was gone.

"NO!" He screamed, as the man snapped her neck easily.

"A pity." He snarled, the stench of his breath cutting through the cold air like a razor. "She was a pretty one. I would have fucked her if her blood wasn't so dirty." The man nudged the fallen girl's head with his boot. "I wonder," he mused, pulling a sharp blade from inside his sleeve, "Is her blood really so dirty?"

The man knelt beside her, dragging the blade along her throat, spilling her scarlet blood out onto the rocks and the rotting leaves of the forest floor. He lifted the edge of the knife to his mouth and licked it.

"She doesn't taste dirty. Maybe I'll fuck her after all." And he began to laugh. A cruel, rumbling laugh that chilled Draco more than the frigid air around him did. This laugh chilled him to the bone and straight to the marrow.

"Would you like a taste?" The man offered, as his partners stepped out of the trees behind him, flanking his either side.

Another grabbed him from behind, forcing him onto his knees. "Here," the man with the sour breath stood, scraping some of the congealing blood from the wound on her throat. "Taste it." He said, forcing the blade into Draco's face.

"I said taste it, you traitor cunt." He forced Draco's mouth open, wiping the blade on his tongue. His own blood mixed with the fallen girl's and the sharp taste of iron overwhelmed him. Scarlet dribbled down his pale chin.

The man laughed another one of his chilling laughs, before stopping suddenly to look at him with piercing blue, bloodshot eyes.

"Kill him." He said, cleaning his blade on the dead girl's shirt before using it to cut the thin fabric, revealing the supple cream skin beneath and the round swell of her breasts. He fondled them, smirking, before unzipping his pants.

"Yes," He said with one last look at Draco. "I think I will fuck her."

There was a flash of green light and it was over.

He shuddered at the memory. It was a recurring nightmare, one that had plagued him over and over throughout the summer. Along with the headaches, they had made his life miserable. Once, when he was young and foolish, Draco couldn't wait to serve his father's master, the Dark Lord. But now, it held no interest for him. The things that the Dark Lord's followers did deeply disturbed him. Rape, abuse, torture. It disgusted him. He had once seen a man force his cock down a seven year old girl's throat. Draco hadn't been able to sleep for weeks after that.

Yet in the Malfoy family, the highborn, pureblooded family they were, it was follow the old ways, the ways of dark magic, or die. And he did not want to die. But there was no way to escape. There was no way to run. They would find him, like they always found traitors.

He dressed in a pair of black pants and a high collard black button down shirt. His mother was waiting for him at the bottom of the large, winding staircase to accompany him into Diagon Alley to purchase his books for the coming year. He offered her his arm, and she took it as they stepped into the large mouth of the ornate black marble fireplace. His mother took a pinch of floo powder from the golden box that sat on a ledge in the wall and threw it down. Green flames erupted around him, tickling his exposed skin.

"Diagon Alley." Narcissa Malfoy said as the tendrils of green flame wrapped around their legs and sucked them into the network. Draco shut his eyes, the overwhelming feeling of nausea and dizziness settling over him.

When they stepped out of the fireplace in Diagon Alley, they were met with an eerie silence. Usually the streets would be bustling with students and their families, shopping for school supplies or other various odds and ends. Instead, many of the shops were closed, their windows papered shut. Large posters covered many of them, warning shoppers and residents of the threats that surrounded them.

They strolled, straight backed, through the street, stopping at open shops to purchase what was needed from Draco's list. When they reached the bookstore, however, Draco's mother left him to browse whilst she placed an order at Madame Malkin's for a new set of dress robes.

He walked among the dusty stacks of books, fingering a few, their pages yellowing with age and smelling faintly of mold. The newer books, the ones that would be sold more quickly, sat near the front. But Draco always loved the smell of the older ones. He pulled one from the shelf, an ornate red leather bound tome with runes carved all around the borders. Draco flipped through the pages, skimming the words and maps that lay inside, when he heard a noise come from the other side of the shelf. It sounded like a small squeak of delight. He ignored it, turning to another volume that accompanied the first. Then there came a sneeze. Slightly irritated, he huffed, leaning back against the shelf and continued to read. There came another sneeze.

He started around the shelf. "Do you mind? I am trying to read he- oh. It's you."

Hermuone Granger sat red nosed and cross legged on the floor in front of her, the bushy mane of hair that surrounded her head as wild as ever.

"Malfoy." She nodded curtly. "I'm sorry, I'm ill." She gestured to the pile of soiled tissues to the right of her. She did look ill, her eyes watery and red.

He backed away a little, afraid he might catch something. "Yes, well. Keep it down, there are other people in here, you know."

She smiled at him. "I'm deeply sorry I disturbed you. Shall I just leave, then? Would you like me to have the shopkeeper come back and hose you down with disinfectant, as well? We wouldn't want daddy's little boy catching the nasty mudblood's diseases."

Draco frowned. "Perhaps that would be for the best." He flicked a piece of nonexistent dust off of his shirt. "I do like this shirt, I wouldn't want to spoil it with your filth."

Just because he didn't approve of the Death Eater's actions didn't mean he didn't agree with them. This girl, this thing, wasn't even properly human, much less a witch. She didn't have any right to schooling with him, let alone a wand.

But his nightmare came back to him, then.

Her scarlet blood soaked into the rotten leaves beneath her, as red as his own. The man brought the blade to his mouth and licked it.

"She doesn't taste dirty. Maybe I'll fuck her after all."

Draco continued to frown, stepping away from her again.

"Just… keep it down." He repeated, retreating back to his leather bound volume.

Perhaps her blood isn't as dirty as they make it out to be.

But until I see it, I'm not going to believe it.

He sighed, slamming the book once more and leaving the store in search of his mother.