A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last.
Fenrir let out a whine when he felt the boys body go lax, his heart constricting until he saw the regular rise and fall of his mates chest. Mate. The word alone held the power to lighten his heart. After spending so many years alone he had finally found the one being that would be his alone.
He began to lick the wound he had left on the boy's ankle in hopes of helping it to heal.
My mate really is just a child, though. He thought with despair, He's nowhere near mating age. He can't be any older than five!
After he was satisfied that there was nothing more to be done to the boys wound, Fenrir moved away to get his first good look at his mate. He had landed on his stomach when he had passed out so all that Fenrir could see was that the boy was very small and dressed in clothes so big that they made him look much to frail for Fenrir's liking.
As Fenrir moved closer to flip the small boy over to get a better look at him, he noticed a smell that was coming from him. The boy had the smell that people grew to adopt after years of abuse and it raised his hackles. Fenrir wanted to kill whoever it was that caused his mate so much sadness and pain. He used his body to flip the almost weightless body over and another scent reached his sensitive nose.
It was the scent of power that had been corrupted and twisted. It was a scent that he had not smelled in many years. It was the scent of Lord Voldemort.
Why does he smell like Voldemort?
The smell brought back thoughts of everything his had used to have. It was a smell that made him think of everything he could not offer to his mate. After Voldemort's death his pack had been forced to go back into hiding in order to protect themselves. Without his protection the ministry had began to hunt the pack once again. Every time his pack had to relocate to escape death Fenrir found himself cursing the Potter brat that had caused all of his problems.
Fenrir shook his head as if it would help rid him of these thoughts and looked down to get his first real look at his mate.
Why does he smell like Voldemort? The thought seemed to haunt him, refusing to be forgotten. All he could think of was when a werewolf used its scent as a way to claim something as his or her own.
He tried to ignore the thought as he studied his mates face for the first time. The boy had a delicate, almost feminine, face. His skin was a pale white, emphasized by small red lips and messy black hair. His cheek was already forming a bruise from where he had landed on it when he passed out; the darkened skin was such a contrast to the pale skin surrounding it. The pale color of his skin made it look as if he had not played outside like other children his age. Fenrir could tell that his mate would grow to be a beautiful man, but what shocked him was the small lighting shaped scar on his forehead.
His mate was Harry Potter! Fenrir felt anger rising in him, causing his ears to lie flat against his head and a snarl to escape his mouth.
How dare Voldemort try to kill my mate, He thought and then, He had no right to mark him. Harry is my mate!
It took him a few moments to control his rage all the while thinking that Voldemort was dead, killed by his mate. When he had a reign on his anger Fenrir nudged at Harry's face with his muzzle and licked his cheek to wake him up, this did not seem to have any effect at all.
After a few more failed attempts to get the boy up Fenrir heaved a sigh and curled his body around the smaller one in a protective manner. The only other way to get his pup to the cave where his pack was staying was to wait until dawn and carry him back in his human form. He looked at the sky and determined that there was only one more hour to wait.
As he laid waiting for dawn Fenrir began to wonder, for the first time, why his pup had been in the woods alone.
I will find out as soon as he wakes up. Fenrir decided as he drifted off to sleep with the scent of his mate surrounding him.