As soon as the word had left Potter's mouth, the pack leader advanced. The pack followed. Potter immediately whirled round, grabbing and started sprinting off away from the pack. Draco, however, stood still, paralysed with fear; there were so many of the beasts, all stood high on their hind legs, growling and snarling, baring razor-sharp teeth, yellowed eyes glinting. Behind him, Potter skidded to a halt when he realised Draco wasn't with him; he turned back, grabbed Draco's arm, and set off in a sprint again. Draco tripped and stumbled after him; he was usually fast, but he'd been taken by surprise.

He threw a glance over his shoulder; the pack had lowered themselves, and were clearly about to start running. "Bloody hell," Potter muttered from ahead of him. Draco didn't have time to ask before Potter cast a lightening charm on him and picked him up, bridal style (Draco made an undignified noise of protest), so he could run faster and not worry about Draco being bitten or hurt.

Draco had a sudden and incredibly inappropriate flashback to one night with Pansy in the Slytherin dormitories; the night he'd come out to her as gay. She'd given him that oh-so-infuriating look and asked, slyly, who'd been his "awakening". She'd then spent the next ten minutes trying to convince Draco he was gay for Potter. He didn't confirm any of her suspicions- obviously- but in Potter's arms, seeing him as a strong, young- admittedly handsome- man rather than a childhood nemesis, Draco saw how he could have.

Not the time! he shouted at himself mentally. As if to reinforce this, he spotted a werewolf over Potter's shoulder, quickly gaining on them; Draco suddenly realised that while Potter was running from the wolves (and doing surprisingly well, considering he was only human, after all), Draco himself was doing nothing. Immediately, he raised his wand, looking away from the wolves to focus his concentration on himself and Potter; he was useless at offensive magic, but his defensive was above average.

He pointed his wand at Potter and himself, muttered under his breath, making shield charms around the both of them; then he made more specific anti-werewolf defences around Potter first, and then himself.

The reason he was so good at defensive magic was because he'd had to learn some from his mother when his home had been plagued by Death Eaters and by Voldemort himself, when his father hadn't been able to help him; one of the Death Eaters he'd lived with had been Fenrir Greyback, infamous for attacking children. Narcissa had made absolutely sure that Draco knew how to defend himself from werewolves.

Now, that knowledge was paying off; as the leader of the pack advanced rapidly on the pair, it seemed to pause for a second, thrown off by Draco's repellent charms.

Potter had begun to slow in his sprint; he was losing energy, and he would need energy for the inevitable duel. Draco forced himself out of Potter's arms, knowing they'd need both their wands to stand even a slight chance against the wolves.

As soon as he landed, he cast more permanent shields and wards on the ground, giving the boys a sphere of about four feet squared that the werewolves would struggle to enter. But he knew that the wolves still could and definitely would, and that was where Potter would come in with his DADA magic.

The wolves were on the boys almost immediately. The personal repellent wards the two had around them didn't extend far enough to affect the wolves, so only the physical shields were acting against them.

Beside him, Potter watched as the first few wolves slammed into the shield confusedly; he glanced at Draco, wand at the ready, and figured it out.

Still out of breath and panting, he assumed his own battling stance.

. . .

Draco couldn't say how long he and Potter stood there, warding off the wolves with as many spells as they could think of; they tried absolutely everything, from jinxes and inconveniencing charms to hexes and curses. Draco could tell that the wolves wouldn't be driven off; he and Potter would have to wait them out till sunrise, probably, unless Flamel came to help. Draco doubted he would.

Draco's shields wouldn't last much longer; especially not with Draco sleep-deprived, stressed and already weakened by fear. Something needed to happen for the two to escape with their lives.

Potter seemed to be casting every spell that came to mind; Draco, personally, was working his way back from what he'd learned most recently to what he'd learned first; he was going through Fourth Year spells when he remembered another time he and Potter had dueled together- only then, they'd been against each other. Draco had cast a spell, and Potter had- oh.

"Serpensortia!" he shouted. A snake shot out of the end of his wand.

Potter didn't spare him a glance, but shouted, "What are you doing?" as Draco cast the spell again. And again, until the two were surrounded by a writhing mass of serpents.

"Talk to them!" Draco yelled back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw understanding flash across Potter's face.

"Cover me!" Potter said, and he bent down and started hissing at the snakes. In a couple of seconds, the snakes were slithering forwards; they started diving at the wolves, hissing and biting as much as they could.

Potter arose and rejoined Draco in shouting spells at the pack.

. . .

After what couldn't have been more than ten minutes but felt closer to an hour, Draco spotted the biggest wolf- the leader- headed for himself and Potter. He turned to take on the wolf, readying his repertoire of spells, when Potter dove at him; he pushed Draco down as another werewolf soared over Draco's head, only barely missing where he'd been stood moments ago, teeth bared such that they would've closed around his neck if not for Potter's intervention. The werewolf, unable to stop, kept flying- straight into the leader. Its jaws closed around the larger wolf's lower neck; the werewolf howled in agony and immediately began a retreat into the forest. The pack followed, dragging injured wolves by the scruffs of their necks, until the grass fields were empty, and the trees hid the dangers lurking within.

Draco turned around to thank Potter for saving him when a heavy weight slumped against his back- he looked over his shoulder, alarmed, to find Potter- had he passed out?- resting against him. Draco sighed. Idiotic, reckless, foolish Gryffindors, he thought, as he moved to let Potter lie down on the grass. He cast a new round of shielding spells and resigned himself to keeping watch for the night until the sun rose and he and Potter could swap the Resurrection Stone for the Philosopher's stone recipe. But until then, Potter needed rest.

Had she been there, Pansy would've said he seemed almost affectionate.