Merely two days later, the funeral decorations were down, people were still recovering, but there were moments where the pain wasn't as agonizing. Harry laid in the corner of the den, because he wasn't allowed on the couch, one paw laying over the other and his ears back as Ginny sat in the nearby armchair, glancing looks of pain at him. It'd only been a few days since he'd accidentally came out to her, in between kisses, while she made a failed attempt at moving to third base.

To avoid worsening the situation, he arose, and walked into the kitchen, where there was a jar and a knife, unsupervised, on the counter. Without any hesitation, Harry got on his hind legs and retrieved the jar, carefully holding it in his mouth and not shatter the glass with his teeth.

Then, he calmly trotted up to Ron's room, that they shared, where he place the jar on the floor, next to a Chudley Cannons, that must have been fallen from the walls of memorabilia. Harry took a large bite out of his paw, whimpering slightly, and allowed the heavy flow of blood to fall into the jar. Once filled, he grabbed the attention of the restless owl by whining and pointing to the jar with his nose, which the surprisingly intelligent owl understood and took off, into the great oblivion. The owl was aware of where to go, for Harry had used him very infrequently and only recently used him to send to Draco.

After a moment too long of gazing, George stumbled in, not saying a word or looking Harry in the eye, and simply grabbed Ron's broom before trudging out. Most of the family had been this way ever since Fred's ascent into heaven, but he'd reacted the worst.

***

The Manor had become dull, quiet and uneventful. His mother was out, attempting to get a job at the Ministry, and Draco was leaning against a black marble counter, sipping on fresh pumpkin juice.

All books were read, all rooms discovered, all people were gone, all interestingly dark objects vanquished and all child hope was gone. He'd began to pity his father and found that Lucius hadn't honestly believed what he preached, therefore Draco had become more accepting towards others, but maybe that was because he was too worn out to dwell on hatred. His clothes was too weathered to make fun of the poor, his name was too stained to care about carrying the legacy and the options for the next step were all to slim to bother with anyone else's issues.

The glass was finished, but as he walked over to the sink, an owl flew the window as out of anger, he threw the glass at it. The glass shattered and the owl landed on a nearby counter, bloody and twitching, but what was truly was interesting was the smell that's wafted in with him. Draco'd been deathly thirsty and his throat was as dry as it'd ever been, hence attempting to soothe it with pumpkin juice, but his thirst was now cranked up a notch. His unmotivated mind was now full with exactly that, motivation, but only to drink every last drop of the liquid that stained the sides of the jar a scarlet red.

With his singleminded thought process, he grabbed the owl by the wing, not considering the pain he'd cause, and threw it across the room, leaving the jar, alone. The sun that shone creeped into the dreary house, caused the liquid to shine, but that might've been mind tricks. The glass was soon gripped as tightly as it could without it becoming a million pieces of scattered glass and he downed the glass through his fangs in a matter of milliseconds, feeling immediate relief afterwards, but leaving his lips and teeth stained red, before he ran his tongue over the red.

***

The supply came every three days, always conveniently when his mother was gone. Never once did it fail to taste like the blood was that of perfection. Harry had sent the jars to him for a solid month, before George had walked in on him when visiting and due to his flawed state of mind, he ran off to Mrs. and Mr. Weasley who ended up forcing him to be watched at all times by someone in the family.

A month went by without sending anything and Harry feared Draco was decaying, which wasn't completely incorrect. Harry had snuck out of the bathroom window and apparated to visit the boy he feared for.

The Manor didn't seem to be receiving the same care it once did, for bones began to grow up the sides and inch into cracks and crannies.

The inside wasn't much better and wasn't homely like The Burrow. It felt stale, like no one had dared to breathe in the place for years. There were piercing screams that sounded throughout The Manor. Screams that could cause someone with sensitive ears to lose the ability to hear within a moment of entering.

Harry darted through the halls, until the screams were only a door away. He opened the door, without hesitation, and saw Draco curled up in a ball, grabbing at his throats and screaming as if his life depended on it, but maybe it did. "Malfoy?" Harry asked, but it was nothing more than a whisper in comparison. He strode over to the side of the bed and looked a Draco's contorted face, that further indicated extreme pain. "Draco?" Harry spoke, louder, but no answers, besides more screams.

The boy's fangs were out, but Harry couldn't see if his eyes were scarlet because they were closed, airtight, so Harry shoved his wrist into the boy's fangs. At first nothing change, but lack of screams, and the slight sting. Soon, Draco's body relaxed and he removed his fangs, looking at Harry with visibly tired eyes. Harry didn't have much time, it was a full moon that night. Harry'd been instinctually sassy for the last month, but Draco seemed so fragile, like any sudden moves could break him. The rising moon peaked through the window and Harry realized he was too late, but would be harmless because he'd already taken his dose of Wolfsbane. His body began to change, clothes begin to rip in some areas, but be loose in others and fur began to grow, until he was a wolf, that Draco was tiredly looking at, without any amusement.

Deep down, Draco knew the blood was his, it was too tasty to not be and he already knew of Harry's condition, obviously. Draco reached his hand over to him and ruffled his soft, black fur. Harry reacted by jumping onto the bed and curling up by his feet, protectively. Maybe wolf instincts had kicked in or maybe Harry would've stayed to protect his past love, anyway, but either way he kept watch the entire night, alert was an understatement. Each scatter of insects caused him to create a low growl from deep down in his throat, but would stop when Draco would weakly shift or gently pet Harry's back with his ashen, emaciated foot.

So, maybe it wasn't normal for the boys to consider this the happiest they'd been in a while, for one was malnourished and the other was in wolf form, but their unrealistic dreams and controversial feelings were back, they felt the awkwardness and unsure was of unspoken love and that was good enough, for then at least.