Disclaimer: See first chapter!
Author's Note: Whoohoo, another long chapter. Aren't you just lucky? And Voldemort is in it as well, so that's great, right? Okay, now onto the bad news. I have an important exam in one and a half weeks so I won't be able to update next weekend. Sorry.
Other Author's Note: By now you should all know that I absolutely adore your reviews. Whether you tell me that you liked the latest chapter or that my most recent idea is utter crap or that I should really get more creative with my author's notes, I'm fine with that. I won't always agree with you, but I will at least think about what you wrote and that, I think, can only improve my story. However, telling me that a story reflects an author's opinion and then fill two paragraphs with homophobe drivel cannot be considered a constructive review. If you have problems with slash stories, you shouldn't read them. If you don't like my story in particular, you shouldn't read it. To that person, I want to say that I deleted your reviews and will delete all that might follow. It's that simple.
Warnings for this chapter: violence, some naughty thoughts; and I want to point out that I in no way approve of someone consuming alcohol while pregnant.
36. CONSIDERATION
"Potter, why do I have to come and get you so that you keep to our allotted meeting time?" Voldemort asked in annoyance, stepping into Harry's room and eying the younger wizard critically.
"Can I go like this?" Harry asked, turning back to scowl at his mirror image and tugging on one shirt sleeve.
"Almost," Voldemort replied, pulling his wand and swishing it in a soft arc to make the glamour charm over Harry's stomach fall.
"What the hell are you doing?" Harry demanded, reaching for his own wand while his free arm shielded his rounded stomach.
"Do not be ashamed," Voldemort admonished him, absently summoning a pair of shiny black shoes for Harry.
"I'm not ashamed!" Harry protested. "I'm cautious and I don't see why I should shove it into everyone's face that I'm pregnant. There're more than a few people out there who would take the chance to hurt my baby."
Voldemort threw himself up to his impressive height, sneering dangerously. "I would not recommend for anyone to lay even one finger on my heir. Times are different now, Potter, you're on the winning side and I do not expect you to stand in the front line. Feel free to hide behind my back if someone should dare to threaten or attack you."
Harry grumbled, but obediently put on the shoes Voldemort had handed him. "You better not duck."
"I never duck. That would be undignified," Voldemort replied haughtily. "Besides, I told Rudolphus to come as well so immediate help will be at hand."
"And you were doing such a good job at calming me," Harry mocked, turning around to meet the Dark Lord's red eyes. "I decided to call you Tom and you will call me Harry."
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"If you insist on pretending to care for me, you might as well do without the constantly sneered Potters." Harry shrugged. "They're grating on my nerves."
"I have no doubt that I can arrange that... Harry." Voldemort inclined his head in agreement as he helped the younger man into a warm cloak. "Is your werewolf not coming?"
"Of course, he's just in the - there he is." Harry smiled at the werewolf, who came out of the bathroom, glowered at Voldemort and then took Harry's face between his large hands, breathing a soft kiss over his lips. "Ready to go?"
Fenrir was wearing a classic black suit with a crisp white cotton shirt underneath, the top buttons undone to reveal the tanned skin of his throat and chest. He had got the suit from Draco, who had been appalled to learn that Fenrir intended to go in jeans and a leather jacket to the inauguration of the new ministry, and though it fit perfectly, spanning his wide shoulders and leaving enough space for his strong muscles to play under the thin material, Fenrir seemed ill at ease. Nonetheless, Harry thought he looked absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking.
"Beautiful," Fenrir murmured, pressing another warm kiss to Harry's lips.
"So are you," Harry answered, earning himself a chuckle and another kiss before Fenrir wrapped his arm protectively around his waist.
"You stay close to me, you hear?" he grumbled quietly. "And tell me if you don't feel well so that I can take you home."
Harry good-naturedly rolled his eyes, but pecked Fenrir's cheek and then tugged him over to Voldemort, who imperiously motioned for them to follow him to the portal.
ö_ö_ö
The party in the Ministry was already in full swing when they arrived. Black-robed wizards and witches in glittering evening gowns were mingling in the Atrium that had been completely destroyed during the war and now shone in a completely new light. The falsified fountain of the witch, wizard, centaur and house-elf had been replaced by a simple, three-terraced marble fountain. There were no figurines or inscriptions, but the water was charmed to fall in jolly arcs and spirals, sometimes shooting upwards or hopping from a lower terrace to an upper one, and generally defying all laws of gravity and flaunting the miracle of magic. The floor was of the same polished, dark wood as before, but the ceiling had been changed to a dark midnight-blue over which protective and warding runes in silver and gold flitted.
As their cloaks and jackets where carried away by magic, Lucius Malfoy came towards them with two flutes of champagne and one with orange juice floating behind him. "My Lord, good evening. Greyback. Mr. Potter, it is a pleasure seeing you again. You look positively radiant."
Fenrir growled testily, tugging Harry closer to himself and splaying a possessive hand over his stomach. He warily looked at the blond wizard and all the other potential threats in the room and grunted unwillingly when Lucius handed him the flute of champagne, offering the orange juice to Harry. The fine glass promptly shattered in his firm grip, and Harry jumped, his eyes widening in fear and his arms moving to shield his stomach.
"Shh, my little sweet one," Fenrir murmured, ignoring the tension of Harry's body as he pulled him back into his arms. "It's nothing. Drink your juice."
Harry glared at him, his hand itching to pour his juice over Fenrir's immaculate shirt, but then he forced himself to relax since he didn't want to cause a scene and draw the attention of everyone. Fenrir must have noticed Harry's anger because he carefully released his possessive hold on Harry and instead took his hand, rubbing his thumb over the fine bones.
When the younger man had relaxed again, he led the small hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over his knuckles, the apology that wouldn't pass his lips clearly written in his golden eyes.
Harry sighed, but lifted to his tiptoes to peck Fenrir's lips. "Don't let it happen again, wolfie."
"I wouldn't let you come to any harm," Fenrir murmured, tenderly rubbing Harry's cheek with his thumb; Harry rolled his eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. It's a pleasure meeting you again," the German chancellor interrupted their moment of peace, his face stretched into a too wide smile. "I see congratulations are in order."
"Thank you, Mr. Kraus," Harry said softly, reluctantly freeing his hand from Fenrir's grasp to shake the other man's hand. "We're glad that you could come."
He glanced at Voldemort, who answered to his silent plea and immediately seized the chancellor's attention, drawing him into a discussion about the decor of the new ministry and the hors d'oeuvre. Harry was amazed by how easily Voldemort turned into a charming, charismatic and courteous man, the transition so smooth that it was almost imperceptible, as if the Dark Lord, who relished in the pain of others was just a figment of his imagination.
He also felt appreciative for a moment. That was until Voldemort, after his talk to the German chancellor, decided to show Harry off to all the other ministers, governors, presidents, and people of more or less importance, forcing Harry to actually partake in the issuing conversations. He even had the audacity to save all of Harry's blunders and steering the conversation to another topic when he found that Harry was at a loss with the current one. It was infuriating and not a little disturbing that his one-time nemesis seemed to be able to read him so well and easily made small talk with people who should abhor his very guts.
Voldemort handed him a plate with delicious-looking cupcakes on one side and little sandwiches on the other before he turned back to the Hungarian Minister of International Magical Cooperation, complimenting the other wizard's garish attire. Harry considered not eating anything out of protest, but the food really looked mouth-watering and he had to admit to himself that he was being irrational. He had wanted Voldemort – Tom – to be nice to him and to adopt less gruesome methods. He wanted this peace to work, and Tom was doing everything to make that happen. Harry was the one acting childish and holding on to old grudges. And all that because he found it difficult to adapt to all the changes around him and thought it safer to cling to what he already knew? Stupid! But enough was enough; Harry wasn't going to screw this up.
"Thank you," he said, belatedly realising that he had interrupted the Hungarian wizard's enthusiastic monologue about the usefulness of inside pockets. "For the sandwiches, I mean. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Harry," Voldemort answered immediately and with what seemed like genuine warmth.
"Minister, I'm sorry for the interruption." Harry smiled apologetically at the older man. "Please continue. I never knew you could use Bottomless Charms on clothes as well..."
"Indeed you can..." The Minister quickly found back into the conversation, and Harry made a point to pay better attention; Voldemort nodded at him with approval.
Fenrir, on the other hand, wasn't paying any attention to their conversations, instead caressing Harry's cheek and temple, the patch of skin behind his ear, stroking his sides, his back and his stomach and hands. Only when one of their conversation partners dared to bring up the topic of Harry's pregnancy or look at his rounded belly for a moment too long, did he draw his attention away from Harry's body to growl angrily with bared teeth and pull Harry closer to his side, sometimes even behind himself.
"Ah, may I present to you Alpha Marrock Sharpfang?" Voldemort motioned to the tall man, who was slowly walking towards them, his muscles tensing further and further with every step. "He approached me concerning the standing of werewolves in my new society and the acknowledgment of his settlement in the Welsh Marches."
Before Voldemort had even finished his introduction, Fenrir had shifted from behind Harry. A deep menacing roar issued from his throat that was answered only seconds later by the other werewolf. Fenrir pushed Harry behind him before he lunged. Their heavy bodies crashed, their fists connected with jaws and stomachs, their teeth tore into flesh and muscle.
Harry stared at them for a moment in incredulous anger and then turned away, brushing past Voldemort and Lucius to get to the bar where he proceeded to ignore the loud and vicious fight between the two Alphas. Let Fenrir act like a complete brute! He knew damn well what Harry's opinion was on that matter and if he couldn't even control his domineering urges to be considerate of Harry's reaction to blood, fine!
A chuckle to his left made him turn his head slowly. "What are you doing?" the witch next to him asked in amusement.
Harry studied her closely before he answered. Her lips were tinted deep-red and her bottom lip was pierced, as was her left eyebrow, but her eyes were clear blue and her hair a wild, fiery red that reminded Harry of the Weasley family with a painful sting.
"Trying to get drunk on pumpkin juice," he finally muttered, turning back to his glass and taking another deep swallow.
The witch laughed again. "You might want to try something stronger. I always found that firewhiskey has sweeping effects."
"No thanks," Harry answered, motioning vaguely down to his stomach. "I'll stick to juice."
"Oh, that." Yet again, she laughed. "You don't really believe that a bit of alcohol every once in a while does real harm, do you? What's magic for? Personally, I think it's only another pretext for our husbands to keep us at home, like the good little housewives they want us to be."
For the first time, Harry noticed that her stomach was also extended, though not as much as his own, and he had to resist the urge to bat the flute of champagne out of her hand.
"How far along are you?" he asked instead, taking another sip of his juice.
"Fifth month, and this is actually my second pregnancy," she replied happily. "And having a drink from time to time never did any harm. Can't I invite you to one? Drinking alone always makes me feel like an old maid." Her lips pursed into a small pout.
"I'm sorry, but no," Harry murmured. "I think I won't stray from the safe road."
"Oh, well, I can see why. The first time round I was pretty nervous as well." She grinned at him. "It's much easier to enjoy it once you've got used to the situation. Have you done an antenatal class yet?"
"No." Harry would have preferred to be left alone, but for whatever reason, he remembered Aunt Petunia's admonitions to be polite and so he answered, "Not yet."
"You should really do one. Meeting other parents-to-be can give you a whole new perspective on things," she replied. "Have you already decided where you want to go?"
"I'm still considering," Harry murmured, unwilling to tell a complete stranger about his plans and finished his glass of pumpkin juice.
"Well, maybe we'll meet each other then," she answered with more happiness than Harry could understand as natural.
"Why would you go to another class?" Harry asked despite himself.
"I wouldn't want to miss out on all the fun." She winked at him. "Besides, I intend to be a single parent and not a single for the rest of my life."
"What about the baby's father?" Harry inquired, his hand sliding to rest protectively around his stomach; he might be annoyed or angry at Fenrir from time to time, as right then, but he wouldn't want to raise a child without two parents.
Her blue eyes darkened with hot anger, making them seem almost black, and Harry had to control himself not to pull back. He did, however, strengthen the shields around his baby, wishing that Fenrir was at his side instead of bashing the other Alpha's head in.
"He was killed in the war," her voice was hard and unforgiving, and Harry could hear the simmering hatred in it that would eventually consume her if she didn't learn to live with the past, however horrible it might be.
"Many died," Harry murmured lowly. "No one was left untouched by the war, but we all have to face the future now and put aside old differences."
"Like you did with You-Know-Who?" she demanded with hidden sharpness in her voice.
Harry only shrugged, accepting another glass of juice from the bartender. "You must be one of his supporters as well, or you wouldn't be here."
"Oh, I'm just an escort." She laughed again; Harry wondered if someone had put a permanent Cheering Charm on her. "Though, I must have lost my date somewhere in this crowd. No matter, he was a bore, anyway... Oh, I just realised, how rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm Helen Glendower. Pleasure to meet you."
"I guess you already know who I am," Harry murmured.
"Of course." She grinned almost conspiratorially at him, and Harry wondered what secret she thought they were sharing. "But it's different to meet the man behind the rumours in person... and find that some of them are actually true."
Harry merely grunted.
"Oh, look, they stopped fighting," Helen exclaimed, peering over her shoulder and motioning for Harry to turn around as well. "Ouch, that looks painful."
"Excuse me, Miss," a smooth voice interrupted her, and a slender hand freed Harry's arm from her excited grasp. "I hope you don't mind too much me kidnapping my friend." He wrapped his arm around Harry's waist to help him up, leading him away before Helen could do more than shout a farewell after Harry.
"I didn't know you were here," Harry said, walking slowly next to the blond. "Is David here, too?"
"My father insisted," Draco replied. "And no, while David thought that it was a good idea for me to come and to keep an eye on you, he also decided that he would rather spend a quiet evening at home and avoid this social gathering."
"I should have done so as well," Harry murmured morosely, taking another sip of his juice. "Politics I had resigned myself to, but not fighting werewolves."
"You know of course that Fenrir sent me to look after you while he cleans up," Draco replied. "And he always kept himself between you and the other werewolf."
Harry snorted. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? He shouldn't have fought to begin with. My stomach turns often enough without him adding to it."
Harry then caught sight of Fenrir, who approached them slowly and kept a cautious eye on him. The black-haired man swivelled back around, glaring briefly at Draco.
"I don't want to talk to him," he stated in a hard voice. "Violence is not my language."
"Little one," Fenrir protested, easily catching up with Harry to pull him against his body. "Don't be like this."
"I'll be however I want to be since you have no consideration for me, either," Harry snapped. "Let me go, unless you want to hit me, too."
"I would never hit you!"
"Oh, wouldn't you?" Harry retorted spitefully, tilting his head to expose the bite mark on his neck. "Let me go."
"Will you listen to me if I do?" Fenrir asked, already loosening his arms around the younger man. "I know that you're angry, my sweet human, but I won."
Harry snapped up his wand to erect a privacy bubble around them, spun around with an angry hiss and poured the rest of his juice down Fenrir's fine shirt before smashing his glass in front of Fenrir's feet. "I'm not your sweet anything! And I don't give a shit if you won or not. You shouldn't have fought to start with! If you want to solve all your conflicts with your fists and teeth, it's clear who of us will get the short straw and I refuse to be the Omega of your pack!"
Fenrir growled softly, wiping some droplets from his chin before he returned Harry's challenging glare with a calm one. "Harry, you have other qualities. You don't have to fight for your place with us. Besides, Lin is the Omega."
"Since when?" the black-haired man mocked.
"For a while now. Remus forced her to submit to him after she attacked you again. They fought as well, little one," Fenrir said softly, reaching out to caress Harry's cheek. "It's what werewolves do."
"Well, he didn't do so in front of me," Harry argued. "I think I've been quite understanding and accommodating of your werewolf ways, but I can't deal with you beating up random people. You know I hate violence and blood and the sound of cracking bones. I hate it. It turns my stomach, makes me feel faint and reminds me of all the things I want to forget."
"I know, little moonlight," Fenrir murmured softly.
"Then why did you do it?" Harry half-pleaded, half-shouted. "Why can't you have a bit of consideration for me?"
Fenrir sighed, running his hand through his silver hair. "Would it help if I apologised?"
Harry's green eyes sparked with new anger, and he took a menacing step towards the werewolf, the broken glass crunching under his shoes. "Do you expect me to beg for an apology?" he whispered dangerously. "You don't apologise because you think that might cause you to lose face in front of your pack and because then you would have to admit that you're not infallible, but then when you, for once, apologise, oh, you expect it to value so much more, don't you? But it only means that it counts for nothing because you still don't mean a fucking word. You always blame me for everything. If only I had done this or hadn't done that, everything would have been perfect, wouldn't it? It's always me because I provoke you and misunderstand you and don't trust you, even though you give me so many reasons to, don't you? I'm always at fault, of course! And now you ask me if I want an apology? Fuck you! You can stuff your apology up your ass where it comes from and - "
"Harry, step out of the glass," Fenrir demanded, worry edging his words sharper than he had intended. "You could get hurt."
"No." Harry retorted stubbornly, tilting his head up.
"Small one..."
"What, are you going to do, force me? Beat me out of the zone of danger?" Harry mocked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Fenrir growled deeply, swept Harry into his arms to deposit him safely several feet away from the smashed glass. He then dropped to his knees in front of Harry to rest his head against Harry's stomach.
"What are you - ?"
"I can't apologise, sweet wolf, because I can't allow myself to be weak. I have to be strong because my pack relies on me to know what to do, to protect and comfort them," Fenrir murmured, resisting Harry's hands that tried to push him away. "It does not mean that I'm not sorry for scaring you or making you uncomfortable. I regret that I brought back bad memories for you and caused you distress or made you feel weak."
"I never said that I felt weak," Harry protested.
"No, I guess you didn't but I read between the lines." Fenrir grinned up at his lover, feeling that he had finally cracked through Harry's defensive anger and stood up to take the smaller man into a warm embrace. "Though, I can tell you that you have no reason to feel that way. You have all the weapons to beat me in any fair or unfair fight: Your wit." He kissed Harry's forehead. "Your stubbornness." Another kiss was bestowed to the tip of Harry's nose. "Your incredible beauty." He carefully leaned in to claim Harry's lips, pulling the slender body of his lover closer to himself when Harry opened his lips in response. When he pulled back, he kept Harry close, tracing his spine and breathing in his familiar scent. "And of course, my love for you."
"And I know that you're incredibly ticklish," Harry muttered after a while, and Fenrir laughed in relief.
"Exactly, so what have you got to fear?"
"I don't like blood."
"I know, my little sweet wolf," Fenrir murmured tenderly, bedding Harry's head against his chest. "And I'll do my best so that you'll never have to see a drop of it again, but if someone challenges my position as the Alpha I have to answer."
"Too late," Harry mumbled. "There was still blood in your hair and now it's on my fingers." He shuddered, closing his eyes firmly. "And there's blood on your shirt."
"Alright, no problem, I'll take care of this," Fenrir promised decisively, carefully disentangling himself from Harry. "Keep your eyes closed, white wolf."
"Okay," Harry whispered, still trembling lightly.
Fenrir kept one hand on Harry's shoulder as he broke the Privacy Bubble with a careless wave of his hand and then motioned Draco to his side, quickly telling him what he needed him to do. Draco nodded readily and summoned a wet towel which he handed to Fenrir before he spoke a few more spells on the werewolf. Fenrir meanwhile, pulled Harry's hands up, gently cleaning them with the wet towel before he pressed a tiny kiss to each finger tip.
"Marrock, you as well," he ordered evenly, briefly locking eyes with the other werewolf; Marrock quickly looked away and allowed Draco to spell him clean of any traces of blood or their fight. "Sweet moonlight, you can open your eyes again."
Harry's eyes warily fluttered open, taking in Fenrir's unruffled appearance, his hair that once again looked combed, his shirt that was as crisply white as at the beginning of this evening, the dress pants that were free of dirt or tears and the rapidly healing cut over his left eyebrow. Then Fenrir swooped down to kiss him, stealing his breath and doubts away.
"Are we good again, my little silly thing?" the werewolf asked with a satisfied smirk, tracing Harry's high cheek bone with his thumb.
"Fine, wolfie," Harry replied with a sigh, allowing the werewolf to tuck him more comfortably under his arm. "Do you expect congratulations now?"
Fenrir grinned, leaning down to whisper suggestively into Harry's ear. "They can wait until later, my little eager human."
"Don't stretch it," Harry warned. "That was a rhetorical question."
"Didn't sound all that rhetorical to me," Fenrir answered blithely, earning himself a fierce glare, which he answered with a deep growl of his own.
"Guys," Draco spoke up, making a step as if he wanted to separate the two with his body. "I thought you had resolved your issues? Why do you have to start another fight?"
"Of course, we did," Harry answered, cocking his head at the blond. "We're not fighting." He demonstratively lifted to his tip toes to brush a kiss over Fenrir's cheek. "I just have to show my big, bad wolfie who's the boss, don't I?"
"I think I know already, my little, little one," Fenrir grinned, capturing the smaller man's fist and holding it against his heart. "But I'll gladly show you again. And again. And again." He swiped out his tongue, licking over Harry's cheek.
"Pervert!" The younger man muttered, but it sounded fond rather than rightfully offended, and Fenrir chuckled, pressing a kiss between Harry's eyes.
"Only for you."
"That makes me feel so special," Harry taunted; Fenrir pinched his bottom in warning though his eyes were still sparkling gold with amusement.
"Good, my special little human," the werewolf grumbled in Harry's ear before he turned them around to face Harry's blond friend and Marrock, whose left eye was still ringed a little black. "Harry this is Marrock."
"No shit," Harry mumbled, but smiled at the black-skinned werewolf with the deep brown eyes and the white teeth that gleamed in his dark face; he was just as muscular as Fenrir, and Harry had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. "Pleasure to meet you, sir, though for me a simple handshake will do."
"The pleasure is all mine." He took Harry's proffered hand, squeezing very carefully before releasing it again, his eyes lingering on Harry's swelling stomach. "I heard of you of course, Mr. Potter, but notice of your attachment to Alpha Fenrir had not reached me yet. It's quite a surprise."
Harry rolled his eyes because it seemed that Voldemort - Tom - had withheld that bit of information to not ruin his reputation completely. "I'm sure it will be in the Prophet come morning."
"As long as you'll be in my arms come morning, I don't care," Fenrir whispered, caressing Harry's side and nudging his cheek with his nose. "And you will be."
Harry laughed, smiling up at his lover before he turned back to Marrock, whose gaze strayed more often than not to Harry's belly. "Voldemort said that your pack lives in Wales? Did they come with you?"
"No, but I'm sure that they will be fine." Marrock grinned a little, crinkles appearing next to his eyes. "They are mostly a very reliable bunch."
"How many pack members do you have?" Harry asked, glad that the foreign Alpha did not seem to begrudge them the beating he had received.
"Six, though we never had the honour that a pregnant person would choose to live with us and trust in our protection." A shadow flitted over his eyes before he smiled once more at Harry. "I hope there aren't any problems with the biological father."
"Oh, Fen can be a right prat at times, but I know he wouldn't intentionally hurt either of us," Harry replied, though he was slightly confused and looked questioningly up at the silver-haired werewolf.
Fenrir tightened his arms around Harry before he answered Marrock. "I am the child's biological father. My little human survived the full moons because he's an Animagus. There was never another man involved."
Harry snorted. "I would hope not, but that's no reason for you to look so smug. As I see it, I'm doing most of the work here."
"Isn't that in the nature of things?" Draco asked rhetorically, and Harry glared at him.
"You know I'd do anything to help you," Fenrir intervened, leaning down to kiss Harry's temptingly pouting lips. "All you have to do is ask."
Harry snorted again, rubbing a hand soothingly over his stomach and then tugged on Fenrir's arm to make the werewolf put it around his waist. "That's what I want."
He could feel the pleased rumble in Fenrir's chest and the warm pressure of the werewolf's arousal at his bottom and briefly closed his eyes to cherish this feeling.
"I hope you took no offense to my words," Marrock spoke up softly, catching Harry's eyes with something like trepidation. "It just is hard to believe that finally a werewolf's child will be born, that the curse of infertility and childlessness should finally be broken."
"No worries there." Harry smiled reassuringly. "Fen's pack was rather surprised as well, and if I had known that wizards can get pregnant... I would have at least waited a bit longer."
Fenrir growled deeply. "We wouldn't have taken that risk," he said with finality. "And we won't take that risk again."
"We'll see about that," Harry replied with a carefree grin, nudging Fenrir's side with his elbow. "I don't think you can make this decision on your own, my Alpha."
"That's the advantage of being the Alpha," Fenrir grumbled, gently bending Harry's head to the side though he stayed clear of the smooth, milky skin. "Harry is a miracle for our pack, Marrock, but he's a danger to himself, aren't you, my little wolf?"
"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, trying to free himself from Fenrir's grasp, but the werewolf didn't release him.
"Shush, small one," Fenrir murmured, his eyes still fixed on Marrock. "He doesn't conceive any idea of how dangerous this whole pregnancy is for him, and when he's in pain he ignores it until it gets too strong to be ignored. He almost died a couple of times."
"I survived!" Harry interrupted, twisting in Fenrir's embrace. "You're blowing things out of proportion."
"And that would be an outright lie," Fenrir commented, still towards Marrock, who was watching them with amused interest. "If anything, that was still an understatement. Though, I must admit that I'm incredibly fond of my little human and my cub... Hold still, sweet one."
"You'll give me a crick," Harry complained, sounding as whiny as possible. "You'll break my neck."
"You'll be fine if you relax," Fenrir replied, unimpressed. "You see, Marrock - "
"I don't want to relax," Harry interrupted him. "I want you to let go."
Fenrir put his free hand over Harry's mouth to silence him, promptly receiving a vicious bite which he ignored. "He isn't completely tame yet, but... I'd never want him to be." With that, he released Harry. "He's perfect like this. My little moonlight."
Harry was thrown off guard by the unexpected tenderness in his voice, and it made him release his anger in one gigantic whoosh until he was just happily being held against his lover's strong body, not restrictive as before, just protective and safe.
"What was that for?" he still grumbled, demonstratively massaging his neck. "I'm sure you pulled some hair out. If I become prematurely bald, I'll blame you and you alone."
Fenrir chuckled, soothingly carding his fingers through Harry's dense mop of unruly black hair. "I wanted to do that."
"Well, next time you're overwhelmed by such an urge give me some warning, will you?" Harry replied petulantly, absently tracing the lines in Fenrir's roughened hand.
"I might consider it," Fenrir answered, pinching Harry's bottom.
Draco had watched their behaviour with a light scowl. "You really should be more careful, Mr.- Grey- Fe-."
"Do not stutter, son, it is unbecoming for the Malfoy heir," Malfoy Sr. admonished his son, passing behind them and squeezing Draco's shoulder in warning.
"Thanks a lot, dad," Draco muttered under his breath. "That helps."
"You know better than to mumble," Lucius reprimanded him again. "Remember the Malfoy Book of Conduct, Rule 22."
Draco took a deep breath then pulled back his shoulders. "Mr. Greyback, Harry is pregnant and you should really not manhandle him because I'm sure you do not wish for Harry to miscarry. And I'm not saying that you will, Harry, just maybe that you should be a bit more careful."
Fenrir growled, though it didn't sound truly angry, and he tenderly caressed Harry's baby bump.
"You have a rule book?" Harry asked incredulously, briefly twisting around to peck Fenrir's cheek. "What does this ingenious rule 22 say?"
"Respected older persons are generally addressed by their surname in connection with their title, unless they offer to be addressed by more familiar terms, namely their given name," Draco recited, smirking when Harry all but gaped at him. "I can understand your awe, but I hope you still caught what I said. You need to take better care of yourself or did you not read the books I gave you?"
"Of course I did," Harry protested with a roll of his eyes. "But I feel fine, absolutely fine. You can all stop worrying and leave this to me. I don't need Fen to be even more of a worrywart, Draco."
"I don't doubt Mr. Greyback's ability to worry about you," Draco argued. "But sometimes I think he forgets his own strength or that you have no werewolf healing."
Harry rolled his eyes, but Fenrir tensed behind him and the werewolf leaned down to put his mouth over Harry's ear, whispering in Harry's ear, "He's right, you know, my little one? You'll always be my little white wolf."
"Good," Harry stated decisively, turning around in Fenrir's embrace to be able to meet his golden eyes. "What else would I be?"
"Pregnant," Fenrir grumbled, massaging Harry's back and bowing his head to rest his forehead against Harry's. "Tell me honestly, do I need to be more careful?"
"No, big bad wolf, if I ever need you to stop I'll let you know." He knew that it didn't really matter what he said as long as he said it right and so he took Fenrir's large head between his hands, locking his eyes with the werewolf's; from the way Fenrir's tense muscled relaxed in relief, he'd done it right and he grinned. "Now, I thought you wanted to show off with me being pregnant?"
"Impossible," Fenrir grumbled. "I'm too busy showing off your tight little ass."
Harry laughed brightly, then dropped his forehead to Fenrir's chest and pressed closer when the tall man moved his hands to his butt, squeezing possessively. "Don't let me disturb you, then."
Fenrir growled a soft accordance and then glared at Marrock, who was still watching them avidly while Draco had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. "He's mine."
The other werewolf ducked his head, hunching his broad shoulders submissively and muttered a soft apology before he abruptly turned around and away from them.
"I'm sure he was only curious," Harry murmured, rubbing his flat hands over Fenrir's hard pectorals. "Merlin knows, the way your pack is treating me, I must seem like a fucking miracle to you."
"You are," Fenrir replied simply.
Harry's eyes narrowed, a sharp retort already forming in his throat, when he realised that he had Fenrir exactly where he wanted him. "See, then, you shouldn't blame Marrock for forgetting his manners. I don't like you being jealous, Fen."
Fenrir grunted, but he reached out, gently rubbing his thumb over Harry's cheekbone and made a visible effort to cover the jealous gleam in his eyes with something tamer. He didn't want Harry to get scared. It was bad enough that he had already once given Harry a reason to be scared, he didn't need to repeat such a mistake. He hated the guarded look in Harry's eyes, the way his supple body was set and ready to flee, hard with tension. He hated the memory of a scent of fear.
So he forced himself to relax, to see things from a rational point of view, from the point of view where Harry was in his arms and where he had already forced Marrock into submission. It wasn't such a bad point of view, Fenrir concluded, his hands absently wandering up and down Harry's back. Harry really needed to relax or he would get a cramp. Fenrir didn't want that. He wanted Harry safe and sound and happy. Preferably with his own cock buried in that tight ass, but that was another story, though it made him grin.
His grin seemed to be the sign Harry had waited for and he heaved a long sigh before slumping a little as the fear left his body. Fenrir's grin grew wider and Harry rolled his eyes before he spied something behind Fenrir that made him groan.
"I got to use the loo," he muttered and before Fenrir could stop him, he had slipped away.
When Fenrir turned around, he saw Voldemort and some other wizards, who seemed to be headed in his direction, and he bared his teeth.
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