Through Wolf's Eyes
Disclaimer: I own nothing but a demented brain.
Summary: Mild Harry Potter/Firekeeper Saga Crossover. A werewolf bites Harry at a young age, but without the knowledge of magic he doesn't fully understand the situation. Instead of joining a werewolf pack, he joins a pack of more traditional wolves. However, these wolves that call themselves "Royal" are hardly normal themselves…
Author's Note: This fic was the product of my already odd brain working overtime. Harry Potter has nightmares of his parents' deaths, when he was a year old. Firekeeper has nightmares of just after her parents' deaths, when she was six. Figures I would see crossover material.
-Chapter One-
In which a boy suffers from his first bout of identity crisis.
AAA-ROOO! AAA-ROOO!
The wolf's howl pierced through the oppressive early-morning fog. It resonated with the hills, carrying easily. A sentry's message. Strangers! Strangers! Strangers! Strange!
A boy stirred. He was close to waking, but his dream still held onto him. A flash of green light, a strange high-pitched sound…!
Aaa-rooo! Aaa-rooo!
The boy called Seeker woke with a start.
His full name was True-Dreaming-Wish-Seeker, but somewhere along the lines it had been shortened. It wasn't hard to see why; though he was probably around eleven or twelve years old, he was small and slight. Such a small pup doesn't need a grand name yet! the Ones had laughed, thumping the ground.
He rose, tilting his head so as to free his ears from the mass of tangled black hair covering them. Though the howl would sound meaningless to the average human, Seeker understood its meaning clearly.
Strangers. A warning of trespassers in the territory.
Strangers repeated twice more. This meant that it was more than a solitary hunter, or breeding pair.
Strange. This last puzzled Seeker a bit. It meant that the strangers were an unknown quantity; strange to the sentry.
In any case, the strangers were far away by the sound of the call. Seeker was curious as to their nature, but not so foolhardy as to seek them out himself.
His stomach growled, and he remembered the more pressing problem at hand. He hadn't eaten since the previous night. He might not feel the change of the season as strongly as his packmates- a thing that puzzled him, as he lacked a thick coat to keep the winter's cold away- but hunting was never good during the winter months. Only now, at the start of the spring, would he once again be able to eat his fill.
He had not left the cave for long when he returned, a freshly killed rabbit in one hand and his fang in the other. Skinning it with the ease of one doing a menial chore, he wondered as he often did why he couldn't eat as his fellows did. Fur, flesh, bone and guts, all in one snap. Only during the night of the full moon could he truly join in.
After barely roasting it for a few minutes he dug in, tearing it apart with his teeth.
AAA-ROOO! AAA-ROOO!
Charlie Weasley, the youngest member of the Order's expedition, jerked wildly at the sudden sound. The wolf's howl sounded much to close for comfort. Animal lover though he was, he had no desire to meet anything more dangerous than maybe a bunny rabbit. In the thick fog, he would never see a wolf coming fast enough to cast a spell. His reflexes were good, but not that good.
He tried to slow down his heart, which now felt like it could beat its way out of his chest. Maybe he shouldn't have argued with his mother when she first forbade him to come.
"I'm a legal adult now, mum! I'm allowed to choose where I go! And this is definitely an important mission. I'm new to the Order, mum; if I back out of this I'll loose respect!" he had said. Now, he just cursed his big mouth.
"Sounds like a big wolf out there, Mad-eye." he said. He was pleased to notice that his voice managed to sound calm and collected.
Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody—the semi-official leader of the group—let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Of course it does, Weasley. We're invading his territory. Be glad it's just a wolf, not a dragon or a nundu."
Flushing, Charlie bit back the urge to say that it would be very strange to find a nundu in Scandinavia. He knew that Moody was right, but he almost wished it were a dragon. At least he knew how to deal with those. With a wolf, he would have no idea of what to do. And if it was a werewolf howling…
He shuddered involuntarily, and pulled up his cloak. Remus Lupin might be a decent sort, but there was no telling what any others might do.
Moody pointed up the trail, "See that clearing up ahead? That's where we'll camp tonight."
Charlie could have cheered. Since the group hadn't been exactly sure where they were headed—and it was, in all likelihood, still under fidelius—they had opted to "walk around until either you find something or Dumbledore gives up and calls you back."
Charlie smiled at that. Nymphadora Tonks, the only other Order member in his immediate age rang, had said that when he asked her what the plan was. Sadly, though, she wasn't particularly far off. All that they knew was that just over ten years previously, the Potters had been hiding in Sweden.
Seeker was bathing when a messenger arrived. She was a thin and rather ragged yearling, nicknamed "the Whiner" until she could actually earn a name.
She cringed and groveled as she gave him her message, "The One Male wishes to see you, Seeker. When shall I say you will come?"
Seeker considered this for a moment before answering, "As quick as my two feet can carry me."
The Whiner sneered, "Slow enough, then."
A stone hit her snout, effectively cutting her off.
"That could have been your skull." He threatened, not really putting force behind his words. Seeker hated having his flaws pointed out, even if he was forced to acknowledge them.
The Whiner cringed apologetically before she turned around and melted back into the forest. Seeker heard the sound of her paws striking the earth as she ran.
He himself took more time to get going. Fruitlessly trying to squeeze the water out of his hair, he reached for his treasured fang. Made of some hard, bright stone, it was his most valued possession. With it, he could kill as easily in his clumsy two-legged form as his wolf's. He could use it to skin an animal, cut through the dense forest foliage, and inexplicitly, point it at the ground to start a fire.
The first time that had happened, it had been an accident. He had been holding the fang in one hand and unsuccessfully trying to start a fire in the other. He had been about to give up when a beam of orange light shot out of the end of the fang, igniting the pile of wood.
Since then, he had learned exactly what state of mind he needed to be in, and could reliably start fires for himself. Occasionally, when he was feeling particularly frustrated or uncomfortable, he could do other such things; however, these instances were few and far between. Though Seeker tried, he had never been able to replicate any of the other circumstances closely enough. It seemed that only the exasperation of being unable to light a fire was normal enough for him to use reliably.
Holding the fang between his teeth, he reached out for a tanned elk hide and deftly pulled it over his head. He tied it to his sides with the belt attached to the fang's leather mouth.
The Ones of his childhood had taught him to tan leather; he had never bothered to wonder who they had learned it from. As it were, he only wore it for the protection it offered.
He vaguely remembered wearing something softer than this hide, along with assorted memories of warmth and comfort. But as he had no way of verifying this, he dismissed it as a dream.
"We'll have to cross the border into Norway tomorrow." Moody said, his black eye fixed on a map of the area. His blue eye, for which the name "Mad-Eye" originated, was currently bouncing from Charlie to Hestia Jones and back again. It made Charlie somewhat uneasy, even though he had been fixed with that stare many times before. He comforted himself with the fact that the older witch didn't look any happier.
"If the Potters are still living at Helga's Point, we should at least be able to make it to the town. If not…" he trailed off, looking pointedly at each member of the assembly. Charlie gulped. He wished that the ex-Auror were less melodramatic. Especially when it worked.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, a skilled Auror and an experienced Auror member, threw in his two cents. "Remember, nobody has heard from the Potters since before Pettigrew was found to be a traitor. We don't even know if they're alive or dead at this point!"
Moody let out a low chuckle. Charlie wondered how a sound so wry and devoid of mirth could even be considered a laugh.
"That's what we're aiming to find out, Shacklebolt. That's what we're aiming to find out."
Nobody seemed to want to talk after that; not that Charlie blamed them. Who would want to dwell on what might have happened to the Potters?
All that anyone knew for sure was that the Potters had gone into hiding ten years ago. Dumbledore had told the Order why (something about a prophecy concerning either the Potter baby or the Longbottom's son), but Charlie still wished he knew more of what to expect.
He knew, of course, all about the tragedy of the Longbottoms. Everybody in the wizarding world had heard about that fateful night, when You-Know-Who himself killed Frank and Alice Longbottom. He would have killed their son Neville as well, if it hadn't been for a crazy stroke of luck: Neville had been at his Grandmother's house that night.
The poor boy, Charlie reflected. People always seemed to think that he would appreciate being singled out for their condolences, when he seemed to only want to be left alone with his plants. Some people had even gone so far as to call him "The Boy Who Lived."
Everybody knew what happened to the Longbottoms. The problem was that nobody had a clue about what happened to the Potters. After going into hiding, nobody heard anything from or about them until their secret-keeper, Peter Pettigrew, was caught during a Death Eater raid. You-Know-Who disappeared shortly thereafter, but nobody knew how or why.
And so, this fact-finding mission. Dumbledore seemed to believe that You-Know-Who's disappearance had something to do with the Potters. He sent twelve Order members, lead by Mad-Eye Moody, to investigate the area where they had been last confirmed as living. Where they were now, though, was anyone's guess.
When Charlie crawled into his tent that night, he was still so preoccupied that he almost missed the piercing howls outside.
"You wanted to see me, father?"
The One Male of Seeker's pack looked at him. He was a large wolf with silver-grey fur and a dark streak down his spine. When he stood, he was about as tall as Seeker's shoulder. He was the third male that Seeker could remember holding the title of One, and had only held it for a year or so. He had challenged his predecessor as was the custom, and had won. The other wolf had accepted his loss of power with grace, and dispersed from the pack the previous spring.
The One Female was lying nearby, in her den with this season's pups. She was slightly smaller than her mate, but no less impressive. Her fur was darker than his, apart from her white underside. There had been much competition among the pack females to be picked for the One Male's mate, but he had picked her.
The pack had expanded and shrunk a few times since then, as adults dispersed and pups were born. The pack was currently eight adults strong: neither small nor large. The only thing out of the ordinary was the small, two-legged not-quite-wolf.
The One Male rose to his feet as Seeker dropped to all fours, affectionately patting him under his chin.
"Yes, Little Two-leg, I did." he answered, teeth bared in a wolf's smile. "Did you hear the message howl a little while ago?"
Seeker cocked his head. "Stranger! Stranger! Stranger! Strange!" he repeated by way of answer. "From the southeast, I thought."
The large wolf gave the equivalent of a pleased nod. "Yes, from the mountains. Not very far from where you came to us."
Seeker nodded. He knew the place well; besides dreaming of it often (which puzzled him, but the first Ones had told him nothing), there was good hunting there in the summer. There was also the Burned Place, overgrown but still blackened by some great fire from years ago.
"The Strangers Strange are two-legs like yourself." The One Male continued. "An owl has been following them, and she has told our scouts that they mean to go to the Burnt Place. They seek those who lived there before I was born."
Seeker gasped, startled. Besides the vaguely uncomfortable knowledge that the one male, though younger than Seeker, was an adult to his pup, he had never heard of two-legs other than himself. Finally, he voiced a question. "But how does this owl know where they are going, or what they intend to do there?"
"When this owl was young, she was taken from the air while hunting." The One explained. "I don't know how it was done, but the Mothers of her people say it is so."
"Like knows like best." Seeker said, the wolf proverb out of his mouth before he even noticed it was open.
"Indeed. You would do well to remember that." the One Male said before returning to his explanation. "This owl lived for many years with the two-legs, and carried messages for them. During that time, she learned much of their speech- far more than their instructions for her. From their speech, she believes that they are not like the other two-legs who live in the valley, who come to hunt or fish on this side of the mountains."
"It is the wrong time of year for that, anyway." Seeker said, puzzled. "You coats are still shedding, and making me sneeze." He continued to stroke the wolf, pulling out tufts of matted hair.
He paused as he worked his way through the undercoat. "Why did you summon me to tell me of these two-legs?" he asked. "They are strangers to me; the owls know them far more than I. The wolves are and have always been my people."
"We always will be," agreed the One Male, "but we have not always have been. Before you were born, the two-legs were your people; and there is a trust that has been passed down from One to One since you came to us. This trust, I was told, was given to your mother; we are sworn to return you to them when the time is right."
Seeker was astonished. Why had he never been told of this?
Correctly interpreting his silence, the One Male said, "You have never been considered old enough to know, and only the generations of Ones have been told, so they would vow to keep it."
Seeker felt tears well up in his eyes. He knew that it was perfectly reasonable, but it still hurt! Bitterly, he wondered if the two-legs had not come, would he still have been told? Or was he ever a pup in the Ones' eyes?
"What if I want nothing to do with this trust, given to a mother I have never known?" he asked defiantly.
"You will always be a wolf, True-Dreaming-Wish-Seeker." the One Male said. The use of his full name alone was enough to secure Seeker's attention. "Meet the two-legs, and learn what you can from them."
Seeker blinked back his tears. "A wise wolf scouts his prey, knows when to hunt or stay away." he quoted. "If I did any less, I would be less than a wolf. I will observe these two-legs, and make myself know to them when I know enough about them and their Ones."
"Wise, Little Two-legs." The One Male said.
"But," Seeker hesitantly added, "how will I find them?"
He was answered not by the One Male, but the One Female. She poked he head out of the den and said, "Do not think too much tonight; go tomorrow. Tonight, call home the rest of the pack, that you might leave with all of our blessings.
Seeker leapt to his feet, already throwing his head back in a howl.
A/N: So, what do you all think so far? I know I'm borrowing too much of the original text for now, but I should be able to shake that soon.