Disclaimer: See first chapter (if you really don't know).

Author's Note: Sorry, I'm a little late with the update, but one day is still within reason, isn't it #dodges flying objects#... Okay, okay, I'm sorry, won't happen again (I hope), but I had trouble getting the chapter to my beta and then (even though she was miraculously fast with sending it back to me) I still had to add some things on her suggestions and that didn't go too well, so yeah, I'm late...

Warnings for this chapter: mentions of abuse and torture

Beta: jharad17, thank you very much!


4. HUMAN CONTACT

After three and a half months, it had become a routine for Harry to come to Fenrir's cell at night. After sitting with Travers until the Death Eater fell asleep, he'd change into his human form, slip into his clothes - granting Fenrir a tantalising view of pale, smooth flesh - then spend time with Fenrir until the werewolf inevitably did something to annoy Harry, at which point, Harry would leave in a huff and not return for at least one night.

But however angry Harry was, he would return eventually, and never was there a full moon when Harry had left him alone. Fenrir was ultimately grateful for that, and it had eventually given him the strength not to cling to Harry so tightly. He was still very possessive of his little wolf and made sure no other prisoners came close to him. But in the beginning, Fenrir had been almost desperate to keep Harry with him, going so far as to try to force his will by locking Harry in his arms. The only result was in Harry ignoring him or insulting him so relentlessly, Fenrir had given in sooner or later and let Harry go. Even if he had relaxed on the subject, some arguments were inevitable, just as their most recent one had been.

Tonight, the silence between the werewolf and Harry was strained. Fenrir sat on one side of his cell near the door, and Harry was in the opposite corner with his knees drawn up to his chest like a protective wall, daring Fenrir with his looks - glares, really - to come closer. Fenrir inhaled deeply, shifting and flexing his muscles.

"Stop sniffing around," Harry snapped.

"Despite popular belief, werewolves do have to breathe from time to time," Fenrir replied. "What's your problem, anyway?"

"You're my problem. You're blocking the door."

"So you want to leave again, huh? Just because--"

"Just because you tried to molest me again, yes!" Harry glared. "When will you get it into your thick skull, I'm not interested!?"

"Keep fooling yourself, Harry. You kissed me back," the werewolf stated. "And you were flirting with me."

"Well, good thing you noticed, 'cause I certainly didn't," Harry answered sarcastically. "All I said--"

"Was that you liked my eyes," Fenrir completed for Harry, and once again felt the warmth rise in his chest as he remembered Harry's soft voice, his pale hand against Fenrir's cheek and the welcoming scent surrounding them.

"Yes, because they remind me of Remus'," Harry intoned. "But instead of letting me finish, you just had to -- What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

When Fenrir heard this silly lie, for there was no way Harry could be thinking of someone else while he was with Fenrir, something snapped inside with a painful twinge, and he shot up then over to Harry, where he pulled the younger man up against his own body.

"You like me," Fenrir growled, shaking Harry's slender form. "You just don't want to admit you care for a werewolf. And as long as you're convinced I'm the only one emotionally involved, you feel safe. You can tell yourself I'm your little charity case and that you have everything under control, that you don't need me like I need you. But you do, and it scares you, and so you get aggressive, push me away and flee."

"How very astute of you," Harry mocked him. "But in your brilliant analysis, you completely disregarded the fact that you're constantly accosting me. Maybe, just maybe, that is the reason for my aggressiveness."

"You're scared," Fenrir insisted. "Not that I blame you, of course. I'm scary."

Harry rolled his eyes, but Fenrir's declaration had served to lighten the mood, and the werewolf grinned in triumph while pensively rubbing Harry's arms with his large hands. "But I don't want you to be scared, my little wolf. You don't have to be scared," Fenrir murmured.

He leaned closer to kiss the other prisoner, but made sure to give Harry enough time to draw back, which he did. Fenrir growled, and Harry grinned.

"Good night, Fenrir," Harry said cheekily, pecking Fenrir's cheek as he passed him. "Sweet dreams."

"You can't leave now." Fenrir was horrified to hear the whine in his voice - Goddess, he was acting like a love-struck girl! He was an Alpha, he couldn't act like this! How would Harry learn to respect him when Fenrir had so little respect for himself?

He straightened up, squared his shoulders and gave Harry a sharp nod. "Good night, Harry."

Harry blinked in surprise before a gentle smile spread over his face, his eyes sparkling happily. Fenrir felt his chest swell with pride. Harry did like him. There was no denying it after that look. He just needed more time, a bit more persuasion, and then Harry would be his.

With two swift steps he was standing in front of Harry again, carefully tugging him into his arms and pressing a chaste kiss to Harry's forehead. "I'll miss you, my little wolf. Make sure to come back tomorrow."

"Only if you promise not to annoy me," Harry replied, unconsciously leaning into Fenrir's embrace, seeking the warmth his large body provided.

Fenrir smirked. "But you're so cute when you're angry, I can never resist the temptation. So much fire in someone so small. I have to see it again and again to believe it."

"I'm not small," Harry protested with a glare, making Fenrir's smirk widen. "Not everyone wants to look like an experiment for anabolic steroids."

Fenrir chuckled, willing himself to not take offense. "Indeed. But you certainly do."

"I do not," Harry argued heatedly. "Having to look at you is more than enough."

"So you do look at me, hm? And what reason might you have for doing so?" Fenrir grinned triumphantly. "Maybe you like looking at me. I've got you now, Harry."

"You have a screw loose, that's what you have," Harry retorted, rolling his eyes again. "I'm going now. Feel free to groom yourself or do some sit-ups or whatever it is you do to maintain that oh-so-great figure of yours."

Harry tugged free of his hold, but Fenrir stopped him before he could transform into the wolf. "Harry? Before you go..." He slung one arm around Harry's waist to pull him closer and buried the fingers of his other hand in Harry's soft black hair.

"Fen-" The werewolf's lips crushed Harry's, cutting off his protests, and the strong hand at the back of his head kept him in place.

Harry struggled for a few seconds, futilely pushing against Fenrir's chest, but soon his hands stilled, resting lightly over the werewolf's heart. Harry resigned himself to the kiss, telling himself he really didn't have a choice, Fenrir was much too strong, and it would be best to just wait it out. Not that he enjoyed Fenrir licking over his lips, trying to coax them to open, of course. And he didn't care, either, for the stubble of beard that tickled his sensitive skin, or the rough lips massaging his own. And it really wasn't his fault that, when Fenrir moved his hand from his waist to the small of his back and further down to his bottom, giving it an audacious pinch, he gasped, or that Fenrir seized the opportunity to skip his tongue into Harry's mouth. But if he could have stopped Fenrir, he would have done so at once. Of course he would have. A soft sigh escaped him, and he could feel the amused rumble in Fenrir's massive chest.

Fenrir grinned, releasing Harry. "There now, you silly, little thing, I thought you didn't like me?"

Harry huffed and turned into his Animagus form, but not fast enough to hide his blush. Fenrir watched after Harry with a grin as the young wolf ran down the corridor and soon disappeared in the darkness. For once, he wasn't feeling desolate because Harry had left him alone and refused to stay the night. Harry might be angry with him now, but that was secondary as long as he could still taste the responsive lips on his own and hear the soft sigh in his ears.

Harry liked him!


Though too soft for any human ear to catch, the low murmur of agitated voices in the distance woke Fenrir before sunrise. He blinked and turned to his side, noticing absently how cold his cell was now. Summer was definitely over, and autumn was fast turning into winter. If only Harry was with him to warm his bed. But he still hadn't managed to convince Harry to stay the night, though he was making progress.

He focused on the voices again, recognising one as Duren's (Fenrir was getting really annoyed with the guard for not only leering at Harry every chance he got, but now also disturbing his sleep), but the other, though vaguely familiar, didn't ring any bells. What Fenrir heard, however, made his hackles rise. He growled angrily.

They were talking about Harry. His Harry.

Two men passed his cell, Duren, and a squat man wearing a lime-green bowler. Their lips moved, but since they had performed a Silencing Charm when they had come closer to the cells, Fenrir couldn't hear anything.

Their secrecy only increased his worry. What could they want with his Harry? They better not hurt him. He paced in his cell, almost running into the walls a few times, until the two men came back. The dissatisfied expression on the bowler-headed man's face, combined with Duren's eagerness, did nothing to appease him.


The next day was Letter Day, when the prisoners were allowed to receive mail. Fenrir held one single letter in his hands and stared at it blankly. All his other senses focused on Harry.

The black-haired man sat two tables away from him with a stack of letters and two visitors. Prisoners didn't get visitors, but seemingly Harry was an exception, though he didn't look terribly thrilled. Fenrir couldn't blame him. The red-head visitor smelled strongly of sweat and stared at Harry with disgust, while the brown-haired witch talked almost non-stop in a high-pitched, insistent voice.

"... if you would only put aside your stupid pride, Harry," she was saying, while Harry indifferently sifted through his letters. "You could get out of here, get a new wand, and you could go back to Hogwarts. I can understand if you're afraid to face You-Know-Who, but..."

"I'm not." Harry shook his head lightly, briefly throwing her off balance.

"Well, that's good, Harry, and even more of a reason to accept their offer. You wouldn't be alone, either. You would be working with a special task force, Aurors and of course Dumbledore. They will train you. After all, you always said you needed to be better prepared."

"I believe that is what you always said, Hermione," Harry returned, still in a monotone, and opened the first letter, briefly glanced at it, then put it aside and reached for the next. "I don't think I want to learn how to kill."

"You already know how to do that, don't you?" the red-haired boy spat out, glaring at Harry and making Fenrir growl lowly.

"If you say so, Ron." Harry shrugged, opening a Howler. The message shouted very colourful curses, but Harry didn't bat an eye, just waited until it was finished and reached for the next letter.

"Harry, if you're afraid people won't trust you, that's nothing you haven't dealt with before. They will give you a chance to prove yourself, and they will eventually forget about what you did," the witch started again. "We can arrange for an interview so you can tell them how you were treated by your relatives. They will understand why you lost control and..."

Another Howler interrupted her.

"I'm sure you feel guilty as well, and this would be a chance for you to redeem yourself," she continued when the Howler was finally done.

For the first time, Harry looked up at her, like one would look at an interesting, if incomprehensible work of art, or an annoying bug. "I don't feel any guilt that would lessen if I killed someone."

"People are dying!" the boy exclaimed, hitting the table with his fist. "My family is under attack. We had to go into hiding. Hogwarts is under siege! Diagon Alley was raided! St Mungo's has no more rooms!"

"I know," Harry said simply. "And if you believe me or not, I regret it."

"You regret it?!" The red-head was gritting his teeth. "They are dying, Potter, and you refuse to help them!"

"What about the other side, Ron?" Harry asked softly. "Do you think there are no people dying on the Dark side? No families which have been destroyed? None of their wounded dying because they don't get medical attention? Because you refuse to treat them or their innocent children? I will not contribute to their misery, and I'm sorry to say, but I won't be the wizarding world's secret weapon again."

"How could I ever be friends with someone like you?!"

"You weren't," Harry returned, picking up another letter, this one on pure black parchment, with a glimmering Dark Mark as a seal.

The girl gasped. "Harry..."

Harry opened the letter, unfolding the black parchment, which began to read itself aloud with a powerful, sibilant voice, one Fenrir recognised immediately.

Dear Harry Potter,

I would have liked to come and see you in person, but I'm rather busy taking over the world, getting rid of all your former friends, thinking of creative ways to torture and kill... I'm sure you get the picture.

Despite my tight schedule, however, I wanted to contact you with an offer I surely need not spell out. I believe we have been enemies for too long, with moderate success, so now it is time to start a new chapter and become allies. Maybe now that the Light side has shown its true colours, you will be persuaded to see the Dark side in a new Light.

Of course, I do not expect you to join as an ordinary Death Eater. In fact, I have hopes that you will become my heir (with all due respect to your late parents.) I am aware you think little of my methods, but I'm sure we can discuss them and perhaps adapt to your sensibilities, so as to not overly distress you, nor put strain upon your wee heart (I'm still doubtful I possess such a thing, but should I ever discover its presence, I will offer it up to your appeal.)

More to the point, I am winning, as I'm sure you already know, not entirely thanks to your prominent absence, but I will soon come to collect some of my faithful followers who have found lodgings in Azkaban. I will expect your answer then.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Voldemort

After the voice stopped speaking, the letter seemed content to lie peacefully on the table instead of dramatically bursting into flames or exploding like a bomb.

Harry reached for the next one.

"Harry." The girl had a helpless, angry grimace on her face. "You aren't considering his offer, are you? You aren't, right?"

"No, just as I'm not considering your or Fudge's offer, Hermione," Harry answered. "His threats and your shrieking won't change that."

"But we are the good guys!" the boy exclaimed, and Fenrir wondered if he was capable of speaking at a normal volume.

"But according to you, I'm not good anymore, Ron," Harry replied mildly. "I think we have discussed everything you came here for. Good day."

He got up, gathered his letters and walked over to Fenrir, dropping down next to him. Soon after, Fenrir felt a small hand on his thigh, offering him something -- one of the letters? He waited until both of Harry's hands were once more on the table before he pocketed the letter Harry had handed him.

"Quite popular, aren't you, Harry?" he murmured lowly, glancing at Harry's stack of letters. "You shouldn't read them if they insult you."

Harry shrugged. "Ignoring them doesn't make them less real."

Fenrir motioned to the two visitors, who were still staring at Harry in obvious anger. "No, but it certainly made your friends angry."

"I have nothing more to say to them," Harry stated. "The conversation would only become repetitive, don't you think? Don't you want to read your letter?" Fenrir tensed minutely, and Harry turned, looking worried. "What is it?"

"I can't read very well," Fenrir finally admitted in a low voice, refusing to look at Harry and see the contempt in his eyes. "I never learned properly."

Harry put a hand on his forearm, squeezing reassuringly until the werewolf looked up. "Do you want me to read it to you? Unless you think it's something personal?"

A quite foolish grin spread over Fenrir's rough features and he wordlessly handed the letter over, his fingers not at all accidentally brushing over Harry's and lingering there for a few seconds before he allowed Harry to open and unfold the letter, holding it so they could both look at it. Harry read it out, following the lines with his finger so the werewolf may knew what word he was reading out:

Greyback,

How are you, old man? Still rotting in Azkaban? Anyway, remember the 60 galleons you lost to me? I decided to get married and you know how women are, always demanding jewellry and new dresses and of course the most expensive wedding you can imagine (sometimes, I think you did the right thing keeping the little monsters at arm's length.) I need the money, Greyback, and since I can't find your little wolf-friends, I thought I'd write to you. I'm sure you have some secret hiding place for your money (don't tell me you gave it to Gringotts) so just tell me, and I'll get it myself. It's not like you'll ever have use for it again, will you?

We're getting married in two weeks, so it would be great if you told me were to find the money before that.

Remember, betting debts are debts of honour,

Joseph Gailin

Harry kept staring at the letter in wonder. "Wow, you really have caring friends, don't you?"

"At least my enemies don't come to my cell at night," Fenrir answered. "Was it the Minister? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied automatically, trying to shrug off Fenrir's arm that had snaked around his waist. "Nothing I can't deal with."

"You smell like blood, my little wolf," Fenrir murmured in worry. "Will you come tonight so I can take care of you?"

Harry looked at him in surprise. "That sounded almost as if were leaving me a choice."

"I've always left you a choice," Fenrir returned sternly.

"Well, if you want to call it that." Harry laughed. "Though I admit you've been making an effort, wolfie."

Fenrir gritted his teeth. "I've been trying. You were right: I want something from you, and you don't want anything I have to offer, so I'd do well not to annoy you too much."

"I wouldn't say that." Harry smiled, snuggling into him when Duren passed them, a leer on his face, and Fenrir pulled him deeper into a protective embrace. "I enjoy your company when you aren't groping me." Fenrir smirked triumphantly, and the green-eyed man rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'll come tonight, don't I always?"

Harry turned back to his letters, indifferently reading over them while Fenrir massaged his back with gentle strokes, until two guards came to drag the younger prisoner over to Hermione and Ron. The two annoying teenagers started another emotional attack on the black-haired boy, talking insistently at him. They also took his letters from him, obviously fearing Voldemort might have sent him more offers and information on the planned attack.


"The letter you got was a fake, wasn't it?" Harry said in greeting that evening, after his nightly visit to Travers. "You don't owe anyone money."

Fenrir nodded in agreement, gently pulling Harry down next to him. "It was from one of my pack. Some of the words were scented differently. I was captured during a raid, and for a long time I didn't know what had happened to the rest of my pack. They write me under different names from time to time, just to tell me how they're doing and that they're still safe. I think your Lupin is with them now. I can smell my pack on his letter."

"Really?" Harry perked up hopefully. "Can I have my letter?

Fenrir handed Harry the letter he had hidden for the young man, studying him closely while he read it, watching the play of emotions on Harry's beautiful face. Finally Harry folded the letter again, sighing softly.

"He's definitely with some werewolves who know you," Harry murmured. "He says I can trust you. Will he be safe with your pack?"

"Yes, just as you can feel safe with me," Fenrir grumbled in return. "You should heal yourself, little wolf, you still smell like blood. A lot of blood."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Harry said absently, pushing his coveralls down so the shirt part pooled around his waist, exposing his bruised upper body and a deep, bleeding gash which ran all the way across his stomach and partly over his back as well. "Hermione's Slashing Curses are always the worst."

"Heal yourself, Harry," Fenrir ordered, grasping Harry's shoulders as if to stabilise him. "Goddess, don't you have any common sense?!"

Harry grumbled unwillingly, but closed his eyes and allowed his magic to wash over his body and heal his injuries. Eventually his eyes fluttered open again to meet smouldering golden ones.

"What did they do? What did those bastards do to you?!" Fenrir growled, still holding Harry tight.

Harry shrugged. "They eventually gave up trying to convince me with words. Hurt me a little."

"A little? A little?" Fenrir echoed incredulously. "If you bump your big toe into a wall, you're hurt a little. If you get a sunburn on your nose, you're hurt a little. But if your bleeding freely and have bruises all over your body, you are not hurt a little."

"So I've been hurt a little more than a little," Harry sounded annoyed. "I've healed myself so it doesn't matter."

"It does matter if there's a chance they'll do it again. Will they?" Fenrir demanded to know.

"Maybe," Harry said evasively, and Fenrir growled. "Okay, yes, they'll do it again. Until I give into them." Harry snorted. "Duren has orders to make me see prison life isn't quite so enjoyable after all."

Fenrir's blood ran cold as he heard this. Duren. His little wolf. Duren. No! He had to stop him somehow, had to protect Harry, had to keep him safe. Rip off Duren's hands! His balls! Kill him! Kill him!

"Fenrir, calm down," Harry murmured soothingly, carding his fingers through his silver-grey hair. "Duren won't touch me sexually, I won't allow it, and a little torture won't kill me or break me."

"Not a little," Fenrir retorted. "They'll torture you until you know nothing else but pain, until you wish to die, until you forget who you are, until--"

"I'll always remember Remus," Harry said firmly. "And I'll always remember you. You can remind me of everything else."

"But--"

"Shush, now, you have to trust me." Harry put one finger against Fenrir's lips. "Trust me."

"Fine," Fenrir grumbled, before sighing deeply. "But I have the right to worry and look for a way to protect you. And I'll find one."

Harry laughed, but nodded in agreement and then put his head on Fenrir's shoulder. "Can we change the subject now?"

"Not quite. How did you get those scars?" Fenrir asked, tracing one of the white seams he had noticed all those weeks ago in the showers.

"I was a bad boy." Harry shrugged indifferently. "According to my relatives, I must have been evil incarnate."

"They did this to you, little wolf?" Fenrir growled angrily, caressing Harry's spine and pulling him closer, resting his own chin on Harry's unruly black hair. "If I ever get my hands on them..."

"They are dead. I was convicted for their murder," Harry murmured lowly. "I guess it's stupid to miss them."

"You really didn't kill them, did you?" Fenrir asked in awe, and Harry shook his head softly against Fenrir's chest.

"I know they didn't like me, but they were still my family, and I tried to love them, even though it wasn't always easy. I would never have harmed them." Harry's eyes were pleading with him to believe the truth of his words.

"What happened, my little wolf?" Fenrir asked softly, still stroking Harry's back, while Harry trembled like a leaf in his embrace.

"My aunt sent me grocery shopping," Harry whispered. "When I came back my aunt and uncle were already dead, killed by Death Eaters or Aurors or maybe some insane fans, I don't know. It doesn't really matter, they didn't deserve to die, not because of me... The whole house was smeared in blood. My cousin... he was still alive, coughing up blood and crying for his Mum. I tried to heal him, but magic can only do so much. He died in my arms." Tears were running down his pale face. "The next thing I know, Aurors were swarming the house, and they arrested me, accusing me of killing them. My trial... it was short. When they had found me I was covered in blood, wand in hand, and apparently I was the only one with a motive. They brought up all my past mistakes, claimed I had most likely killed Cedric Diggory as well, collaborated with werewolves and Azkaban escapees, that I had failed on purpose to kill Voldemort. Nobody but Remus spoke up for me, and so they merely debated how to handle me being underage. I wanted him to just let it rest because I was worried about him, but he wouldn't listen. But he has to be okay."

"Lupin is nothing but a fighter," Fenrir murmured soothingly. "Though he has the habit of fighting for the wrong things. If I can survive Azkaban, Lupin can survive my pack. I assure you it's not so easy to get rid of a werewolf, look at me!"

Harry laughed, glancing up at the werewolf. "How long have you been in here?"

"About five years." Fenrir shrugged. "Fifty-eight full moons until you came and nine full moons since then."

"And..."

"Why?" Fenrir offered, and Harry nodded timidly, bringing a bitter smirk to the werewolf's face. "Do you know that I was the one who turned Lupin? Condemned him to this life he so loathes?"

"He mentioned it in his letter," Harry replied softly. "He said you were his Sire."

"But I bet you don't know he was only five when I bit him," Fenrir retorted, glaring at nothing in particular. "They say I mutilated children, stole them out of their beds at night and turned them into beasts like myself," Fenrir's voice was low and rough, and Harry didn't dare to interrupt him. "I bit three children. I became a werewolf when I was nineteen, twenty maybe. My Sire was killed by hunters before he could teach me anything about this curse or gift, how I call it now. When my first full moon came I was not prepared for the overwhelming call of the moon. I was near a Muggle village, and I bit a small boy. He was six then, and he almost died from his injuries. I took him to a hospital and told them he had been attacked by a stray dog. He survived, barely, but when I brought him back to his parents and tried to explain to them what had happened and what would become of their son, they disowned him, and I suddenly found myself with a black eye and a crying six-year-old."

He paused, taking a deep breath and chancing a look at the lithe Animagus in his arms to make sure Harry was still listening.

"Fortunately, I met another werewolf soon after. We fought for dominance, I won, naturally, and he has been my beta ever since. We picked up a few other werewolves, but none of us knew how to take care of or treat a child. I decided Chetan, the little boy, needed a playmate, so I bit a girl around his age. She died during her first transformation, and I made the mistake of returning her body to her parents, who by the way had also cast her out on the streets when they heard about her being a werewolf. She looked really bad. But the cub still needed someone and so I picked Lupin. He seemed strong enough to survive the transformation. But I hadn't counted on my bad reputation, and when I tried to explain everything to him and his parents, they called the Aurors, threatening me with their wands. So I left, and Lupin was made to believe werewolves were evil beasts and should all be killed sooner rather than later. You know the rest. Lupin hates himself, and I was captured years, decades after I had bitten Lupin when the Ministry decided it was time to decimate the number of werewolves lest we grew strong enough to revolt against them. It must've been an hour of triumph for them when they realised they had got their hands on the child murderer Greyback."

"That doesn't sound to me like you are the big bad wolf you want me to believe you are," Harry murmured gently. "You tried to do what you thought best for your pack. And you must have been a good Alpha or they wouldn't still write to you. Do you miss them?"

"Of course," Fenrir replied, absently sniffing Harry's hair. "I miss having someone to order around, but now that I've got you..."

Harry gave an enraged shout, digging one sharp elbow into Fenrir's side. "Idiotic wolf, and I almost thought you were doing better."

"Oh, I'm doing much better," Fenrir rumbled, tightening his hold on Harry. "I've learned from my mistakes, and this time you won't slip away from me, my little wolf."

"Is that a challenge?" Harry grinned, wriggling teasingly.

"No, little white one." Fenrir pinned Harry to his side, growling softly. "It was a... request. Please, stay here tonight."

"It must be hard for you," Harry pondered. "Asking instead of ordering. You must really be desperate to keep me."

"Not desperate," Fenrir argued. "Just very highly motivated to not be alone again... Why are you still here?"

"I thought you wanted me here," Harry startled, looking up in shock. "I can go..."

"No. Why are you still in Azkaban?" Fenrir corrected. "You can easily get out of your cell and into mine, can heal yourself, call a house-elf. It should be easy enough for you to get out of Azkaban, so why are you still here?"

"You ask that now?" Harry chuckled. "After all these months?"

"I didn't want to give you any ideas," Fenrir grumbled, and Harry's lips quirked in amusement. "Now, answer the question."

Sadness clouded Harry's face. "I don't have anything worth escaping for. My family is dead, my friends betrayed me, and Remus is probably safer without me. If I escaped, I would've to chose a side, and frankly I'm tired of fighting and being used as a weapon. In here, I have the chance to be neutral. Does that make me a coward, Fen?"

The werewolf was at first too stunned at Harry using a nickname for him and the sound of it as Harry murmured it almost directly in his ear, so it took him a moment to realise Harry had asked him a question, and then another moment to react, as he hoped, appropriately.

"No!" By Harry's shocked expression, his volume mostly likely hadn't been appropriate. "I mean, no, you aren't a coward. No one likes to be used, and this is not your war any more than it is mine."

"But you supported Voldemort, didn't you?" Harry questioned. "You fought on his side."

"Wizards have always looked down on werewolves, to them we are monsters, I even more so than others," Fenrir replied bitterly. "Voldemort wants power, and to him it doesn't matter who can help him achieve it. He promised us equality and a separate, independent werewolf society, governed by werewolves and not by some self-important, prejudiced prat. We fought for him, but he protected us in turn, warding my territory so no wizard, not even he himself, would be able to enter without being led by a werewolf. He treated me like an equal, respected me, and I gave him my respect in return." The silver-haired man shrugged, jostling Harry. "I know he killed your parents and tried to kill you, but when he fell, it was a very dark day for me and my pack."

"It was a dark day for me too," Harry said softly.

"I know," Fenrir murmured soothingly and pulled the blanket up around Harry's narrow shoulders. "I know."


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