Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.
Written for The Hogwarts Talent Show Competition - Round 1.
Challenge: Singing. - That's right! It's time to flex your vocal chords and dust off your voice box, because this round is all about songs. Below is a list of 10 songs. Your task is to pick one, and write a fic of no more than 3,000 words inspired by that song.
Picked: "I Know I'm a Wolf" by Young Heretics
Warnings: AU, blood, violence, death.
Word count according to Open Office: 2998
Silver Lining
His sides ached, but he pushed through the pain and continued running. He could feel them hot on his heels. He didn't dare look back. He just kept running.
His heartbeat was drowning out every other sound.
Just when he could feel their breath on the back of his neck, he spotted a tiny opening in a wall. He squeezed through, kicking with as much strength as he had left in him when someone tried to grab his legs. A scream told him he had hit someone. The next second his legs were free, and he wiggled inside.
He scrabbled into a corner in the dark, and made himself as small as possible. If they did manage to crawl inside, at least the dark would offer him a glimmer of hope for protection.
He held his breath, afraid that even an iota of sound would reveal his position.
He heard them trying to force their way inside, and his heart doubled it's frantic beating.
After what felt like several terror-filled minutes he heard them move away; grumbling about getting him later.
His relief was such that he felt lightheaded for a second. He knew he would suffer the consequences later, but at the very least he was safe for the moment.
A ferocious growl shattered the illusion of safety he had been under.
He locked eyes with vicious amber orbs.
A terrified scream left his lips when a huge lupine beast left the shadows in the other end of the room. Even at a distance he could see that it towered over him. He flattened himself against the wall, too afraid to even move a muscle as the animal prowled towards him.
The growling echoed around the room, giving the impression that he was surrounded by a whole pack instead of just the one in front of him.
It was so close now he could feel its warm breath wafting over his skin. Just when he thought the wolf would kill him, it lost its balance, falling on its side.
He stared at it wide-eyed, surprise imposing itself over the mind numbing fear. Only when the terror that had blurred his mind receded did he notice the murky light catching on the bright carmine gleam tainting the moon-kissed fur; as well as something lustrous protruding out of the wolf's side.
For a second, he thought about running, about being leagues away from the wild animal. A faint whimper stopped him from even taking one step.
The wolf was a kindred soul; it was doing its best to survive, to stay safe in a world that held no love for it.
Slowly, carefully, he took a small step towards the wolf, freezing when it growled at him. He held his breath, fear paralyzing him. Gathering every shred of courage he had in his tiny body he tried once more when the wolf stopped. This time there was no feral growl coming from the injured animal. He could only assume that the exsanguination was causing it to lose its strength.
Slowly he made his way forward until he was standing right beside the injured wolf, looking at the wound in horror. It was a violent chasm, gushing rivulets of blood.
He knelt beside the wolf, a trembling hand reaching out to touch the injury. He quickly snatched his hand back when the wolf snapped at it, missing by just an inch.
"I'm sorry," he whispered softly. "That was really rude of me. I'm Harry," he introduced himself. "I just want to try to help you. This looks really bad. I promise I won't harm you." He stared into those strangely intelligent amber eyes, pleading for the canine to believe him; to understand that he truly meant no harm. He had read somewhere that animals could feel those things. He was praying that they truly did, otherwise he didn't think the wolf would survive. "Please," he implored.
The wolf laid its head back down, a small whine leaving it. Harry took that as consent, and reached for the wound again.
With great care he parted the fur, trying to see if the wolf had any other injures aside from the one that still had the metal protruding out of it. He breathed in relief when he found nothing else. He tried to have a closer look at the injury, and grimaced when he saw just how deep the pole was.
"I'll have to pull that out," he told the wolf softly. "It's going to hurt."
The wolf huffed, and Harry nodded. He ripped a section of his shirt, he would need something to press on the wound to staunch the blood flow, and took several deep breaths. He had patched himself up enough times to know what to do, but this would be the first time that he would try to patch up someone else – it didn't help that it was an animal, and couldn't tell him where he was hurting.
With steady hands, he grabbed onto the metal, and – while keeping it as straight as possible – pulled gingerly.
The wolf whined, as blood started flowing swiftly out of the injury. Harry winced as he eased the last few inches of the crude weapon out, and quickly threw it away. He grabbed the ripped piece of shirt to apply pressure on the wound. He looked around trying to find something that would help tie that piece of cloth up, so that it would serve as a makeshift bandage. He cursed softly when he saw nothing but old card boxes and a few crates.
With one hand he grabbed one end of his shirt and pulled, managing to tear a large strip off. He folded it on his lap to have it close at hand, and went back to the wound. He pulled the bloodied cloth away, grimacing when he saw that there didn't seem to be any improvement in lessening the blood flow. He was sure that if things continued as they were then the wolf would die.
He pressed the cloth tight to the wound with both hands, tears blurring his sight.
'Please,' he thought, praying to anyone who would be willing to listen, 'please, don't let him die.'
He didn't want it to die. It was just like him, needing a safe place. The wolf deserved better than to die in some abandoned warehouse. It deserved to be out in the wild with its pack. 'Please,' he thought again, 'just save him.'
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, missing the soft glow emanating from his hands.
A shaky yip made him glance up, looking into slightly more alert amber eyes. He tried to apologize, to say anything at all really; but he was hit with a sudden wave of fatigue, and before he could do anything at all his eyes rolled back and he slumped forward into a crumpled heap.
When Harry came to, he was slightly disoriented. He didn't remember going to sleep, and the place he was in didn't feel like his tiny cupboard. A low rumble filled his ears, startling him out of his skin. He turned, coming face to snout with the huge wolf. Memories of the recent happenings rushed to the forefront of his mind, and his eyes widened marginally. He looked the wolf over, slumping in relief when he saw the healing injury, the damaged flesh stitching back together.
"You're alright." Harry breathed in happiness, a small smile spreading on his lips. "I'm glad."
The wolf snorted, something that could be called amusement flashing in amber eyes.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," Harry murmured, still with that soft smile in place. "I have to go now, though. My relatives will be angry with me if I show up even later than it already is, it's already past dinner time. They'll be furious that I wasn't there to cook it for them."
The wolf just stared at him, head tilted slightly to the side. Harry couldn't help but smile at the adorable picture the wolf made.
When it wasn't trying to scare him, it was rather cute.
"Bye." Harry waved at the wolf. "Try not to get hurt any more."
Harry slipped outside, and ran all the way back home. He could only hope that his uncle wouldn't give him too harsh a punishment.
Harry's punishment hadn't been as bad as he had thought. He didn't get to eat and his chores had been doubled for the rest of the week; but it wasn't the first time either of those things happened so he was used to it.
What he didn't enjoy was that his gardening chores had been moved to around noon. Their summers weren't that warm, but it was still far too hot to be outside at noon without any kind of protection against the weather.
A soft bark startled him out of his thoughts, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw the big gray wolf sitting on his haunches just a couple of feet away from him.
Harry could do nothing but stare as the wolf got up and made his way towards him, stopping only when it was towering over Harry's small form.
The wolf huffed, and laid down beside him. It closed its eyes and seemed to fall asleep. Meanwhile Harry continued to stare at the beast beside him, completely flabbergasted by it's behavior.
Was it normal that the wolf had followed him to the Dursley's house? Should he do something about it? Harry snorted when that thought popped into his mind. What could he possibly do about the wolf?
He glanced at the wolf again, and sighed. Well, it was sleeping. It wasn't causing any harm, would it really be so bad to just leave the wolf be?
With another sigh, he turned back to the flowerbeds his aunt insisted on keeping, though she herself detested flowers of any kind, especially lilies.
He had work to do, he didn't have time to worry about the wolf and it's strange behavior.
He opened one eye as soon as the cub turned back to the flowerbed.
The little cub was strange. The cub was a wizard, he had felt the magic rolling off him long before the cub had healed him. Which was why he had been so aggressive to begin with. Wizards were never good news to his kind, just look at how his last encounter with one of them ended; a silver pole through his gut.
The cub had surprised him, though. The little one had saved his life without a second thought. No wizard he had ever met would have done such a thing for one such as he, much less for him in specific. They would have probably slammed the silver pole in deeper and watched as he slowly died in agony. They would have called it justice too, he was sure.
This little cub, however had helped him. Had saved him. Had wanted him to live so much that he had used accidental magic to do it. Surprise didn't even begin to cover just what he had felt. So when the cub went home he had decided to follow, to see just what kind of wizard family would raise such a cub.
What he had found hadn't pleased him in the least. They were muggles, and if that wasn't enough, they treated the cub horribly.
Now, he would be the first to admit that he was an outright bastard on his better days, but he was as magical as the little cub and he had felt the Life Debt snapping into place. Though, unlike all other Life Debts he had heard about – not that there were that many – he felt no desire to repay it by doing something for the one who had saved him, nor was there this feeling of being tied by unbreakable chains to the person who had saved him.
He only felt a strange urge to protect the cub, which could be because of the cub's young age. The cub was pack, and the cubs of the pack were to be protected.
Still, he thought it best to be around the cub, just to see how things would turn out.
"I'm done," the cub announced, a small proud grin pulling at his lips. "I'm going inside. Are you going to stay here?"
He huffed, nodding his big head.
"You can't come inside with me," the cub told him. "My cupboard isn't big enough for you."
A small growl escaped him. He had caught a glimpse of the cupboard. He couldn't believe they would lock the little cub in a cage. Couldn't they see that the cub needed freedom to strive? The cub needed a forest to run in, a river to swim, he needed the glorious Mother to bathe him in her silver light.
A small hand running soothingly through his thick fur silenced him instantly.
He glanced at the cub, surprised to not smell even a hint of fear coming from him.
"Don't worry about it, I'm used to it. Will I see you tomorrow?" the cub asked, and he huffed again.
He had no intention of leaving.
The cub's grin grew.
"I'll see you tomorrow then." With one last soft caress through his fur, the cub was gone.
The following two days were spent keeping the cub company in the garden when he was tending to the flowerbeds. The cub didn't speak much, but he could tell that the young one was pleased with his presence. The stench of loneliness that always hung around the little one like a shroud was lessening by the day, something he knew was due to his presence.
In the two days that he had been observing the little wizard he had noticed that the cub was truly kind. Something that was quite foreign to him. The cub would willingly share the meager portions he was given to eat, and wouldn't take no for an answer. If he had a heart it would have broken when he heard the cub's belly rumbling with hunger but even so slicing the small sandwich in half, and giving one half of it to him.
He had wanted to refuse, but the cub had practically showed it down his throat.
"You know," the cub mused, "I haven't given you a name yet... I can't keep calling you wolfie."
If he could, he would have spluttered. His reputation would have been shot if anyone heard that atrocious nickname.
He was a proud Lycan – a born werewolf, who didn't need the Mother to shift like those weak bitten werewolves – he should never be called such a cute name.
"Do you know Norse Mythology?" the little one asked, completely missing the ranting that had been going on in his head. "Fenrir, son of the god Loki? That's a good name for you, don't you think?"
He barked, his tail wagging. Yes, that was a wonderful name for him, if he could say so himself. At least his parents had thought so when they named him.
"I take it you like it?" the cub grinned. "You'll be Fenrir then. Now I'll have to pack this up and go back in, or I won't get anything to eat."
Just then a snake slithered out from under a bush, and he growled viciously at it when it went in the cub's direction. Before he could lunge at it though, the cub smacked him on the snout with one of the gardening magazines he always had with him.
Fenrir looked back at the cub, completely perplexed, only to see the little one scowling at him, wagging his finger.
"Bad boy, Fenrir," the cub scolded him. "You scared the little snake. It didn't do anything wrong, so you can't be mean to it."
The little wizard picked up the snake, and gently put it near the bushes in the back of the garden. When the little one went back inside Fenrir was still frozen in place completely stunned.
Things had been going quite well for the last couple of weeks. Every moment the cub had free he would spend it with Fenrir outside. Either running around in the nearby forest behind the park, or just enjoying the summer sun.
Fenrir had been quite excited to spend this day in particular with the cub though, since it was the cub's tenth birthday.
Only one year away til his cub was to go to Hogwarts, and he would finally be able to tell his cub just what he was. He wanted the letter to arrive before he said anything at all, he believed it would serve as further proof.
When their usual meeting time came and went, and there was no sign of the cub he became worried. So he went to the muggles' home looking for him.
He arrived just in time to hear the pain-filled cry echoing in the house.
He didn't even think.
He slammed through the door, a ferocious growl rumbling from deep within his chest. He bared his teeth, saliva dripping from his mouth when he saw a male getting ready to strike his cub once more. His appearance froze them in place, and he prowled slowly to stand between the dead man and his cub.
He smelt the blood of his cub, and lunged before the terrified muggles could do anything but stare.
In a split second it was over.
Fresh blood dripped from his maw. Gurgling shattered the silence; a growing puddle of crimson formed around the man's head, while desperate hands clawed at his throat trying to staunch the blood gushing from the gaping hole.
"Fenrir..." the soft whisper had him looking back at his little one. Slowly, not wanting to scare him, he nuzzled his little cub; relief filling him when small arms circled around his neck.
Fenrir was many things: a bastard, a monster, a killer – apparently, he was a protector as well.