Harry was not supposed to be out in the woods - that was what Draco had told him. There was no telling what Draco would do during a full moon, with little to no control over what he did while he was in werewolf form - but the moon had disappeared, and the sun was rising over the horizon, and Harry had spent the night staring out the window while he fretted over his husband.
It was the first time Draco had transformed since they had gotten married - it was the first night that Harry had been away from Draco since they had gotten married - and was a tired, stressed mess.
At the first hint of sunlight, Harry had thrown on one of Draco’s heavy cloaks in an attempt to protect himself should his husband still be in werewolf form, hoping that being covered in Draco’s scent would be enough to keep him out of harms way, and he had wandered into the woodlands near the Malfoy summer home - the French chateau that they had called home since their wedding night.
A stick snapped, and Harry whirled towards the sound. His breath was heavy and laboured. He wanted so desperately to call out to his husband, but he didn’t dare make a sound.
Draco had left the night before, just as the sun was settling, traipsing into the woods, only looking over his shoulder once to see Harry watching him from the window of the chateau. It was for his safety. Until he got the Wolfsbane potion just right, and at a sustainable cost, he couldn’t risk transforming around Harry. The normal potion was well enough for most, but Draco wanted absolute control over his mind and body while in wolf form. He would settle for nothing less.
Full moons used to be spent with Blaise, but that was one secret Draco couldn’t tell Harry without his best friend’s permission. After all, with how werewolves were treated, what would the wizarding world do to a werehyena?
So, tonight was spent on his own. At least most of it. There seemed to be another werewolf in the vicinity, and as werewolves are usually the most dangerous when bored, they played and ran together through the woods. That was, until they caught a scent. Harry’s scent.
The other wolf bounded off through the woods, Draco close on its heels. But he lost it among the trees. He changed direction, heading straight for Harry instead. The other wolf must have been downwind, because the only indication they were there was the twig snapping under its foot.
Without hesitation, a white blur of fur leaped out of the trees from behind Harry, bounding past him to stand between man and werewolf, hackles raised, teeth bared, and a low growl issuing from his throat. ‘Try it and I’ll rip your throat out.’
