DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.
Chapter Thirteen - Wolves at War
In the first light of dawn, the farmhouse sat silent, its curtains drawn against the first tentative touch of the sun's rays. Faint wisps of smoke curdled forth from the chimney, the only sign of life at the early morning hour. Smothering a jaw-cracking yawn with the back of his hand, Harry shifted carefully on his haunches, studying the house with narrowed eyes. It was hard to imagine that the crumbling shack at the Glen might once have resembled this one, with its quaint little porch swing and matching shutters. The thought alone was almost laughable.
Giving one last fleeting look at the house, Harry stood and stretched before slipping from the shadows of the tree line. He padded toward his destination quickly, keeping to the well worn path carved into the snow by the occupants of the farmhouse, his attention divided between the small structure before him and the larger one behind him. Casting one last glance at the darkened windows of the house, he flipped the latch on the narrow door and slipped inside the small building, nose crinkling in distaste.
"Ladies," he muttered, "Good morning." His low greeting was met with nervous clucks and anxious shifting, the bevy of brown layers eyeing him with all the apprehension of a fly caught in a spider's web. Ignoring the dirty looks he was given, Harry slipped a hand beneath the closest bird and withdrew the egg it had been perched upon, placing it carefully in the little bag he carried. He earned three hard pecks to the wrist and managed to run his fingers through a pile of shit before deciding he'd collected enough eggs to last the Pack several mornings. Tightening the strap on the little bag, he straightened and took one slinking step toward the small door before halting. He glanced over his shoulder, considering the birds with wolf's eyes.
Jaime had developed a sniffle and Andrej was still healing; the fresh meat would do them both good. Harry needed no other thought than that one. His fingers wrapped around the slender neck of one of the chickens and twisted gently. He exited the hutch on silent feet, the flopping bird dangling loosely from his left hand. Sparing the farmhouse a final glance, he melded into the slowly disappearing shadows of the forest.
XxXxX
Chicken in one hand and bag of eggs in the other, Harry wandered the winding path home. At this time of the morning, the forest was slowly beginning to wake. Birds hailed the rising sun, their calls the sweetest symphony. Tipping his face to the sky, the dark-haired male inhaled deeply, and reveled in the life he'd slowly created for himself. Though there were still moments he missed the comforts of Hogwarts, the Glen had become home. He knew every secret of the old house, from the gaping hole in the sixth stair to the hidey-hole beneath the kitchen sink, he was truly a full member of Greyback's Pack.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, drawing the crisp air into his lungs and enjoying the way the cold air stung the inside of his nostrils. When he opened his eyes again, it was to scan the surrounding forest with fond eyes, enjoying the crunch of snow beneath his boots and the waking calls of the birds in the trees.
Deep within his skull, the wolf roused momentarily, giving a lazy stretch that had the hair along Harry's arms raising. With an almost satisfied sigh, it sank back into its place within his head, curling into a ball and allowing its presence to diminish until it was nothing more than the faintest of whispers. That had been its way since they had run beneath the moon together, its fierce temper seemingly soothed by the expense of so much energy.
The thought of that night, and the subsequent morning, was enough to cause Harry's pace to quicken, as if he could outrun the memories. That night, when the moon had hung so low and full, had been a taste of freedom like no other. There had been no hesitation in the wolf's actions, no second thoughts or worry about any guilt and embarrassment he might feel with the coming of the sun, but that was the beauty of the beast. Besides, it hadn't been the night that bothered him, rather it was the memory of that morning.
When he'd woken up, with abused muscles singing and the wolf lolling lazily in the back of his head, it was to find himself tucked against Draco. He could have lied to himself and said it was merely for warmth, if it weren't for the greedy fire hungrily crackling in the hearth next to them. That, and the way one of the blond's hands was clasped tightly, almost lovingly, within his own beneath his chin. He remembered easing away from Draco's clasp and sliding off the nest of Jaime's blankets, padding across the cold wooden floors on bare feet as goosebumps raced along exposed skin. And he remembered running into Andrej in the upper hallway, the amused expression on the older werewolf's face as he shoved Harry into one of the unused rooms on the second floor.
'Here,' the blond had said, tossing a moth eaten blanket at him. 'Cover yourself.' Without sparing the dark-haired male another glance, Andrej had paced across the creaking boards and leaned against the gaping hole in the crumbling brick wall, staring out at the slowly rising sun. 'The first time is always a memorable experience, isn't it? As is the morning after. I still remember mine . . . waking with the blood of an innocent beneath my fingernails . . .'
Harry had stared at Andrej, incredulous and unsure of how to properly respond to such a statement. 'I'm sorry.' The whisper had brought a small smile to the other werewolf's lips, pale eyes twinkling with silent laughter.
'I was alone for my first full moon, I wasn't even aware that I'd been bitten by a werewolf - thought it was just an overly large dog.' Andrej had laughed then, a bitter bark that echoed through the silent house. 'I lived feral for ten months. Roamed the streets and forests like a wild thing, until I met Steve. He just showed up one night under the full moon, and we fell in love. Not Steve and I. Not at first, anyway. My wolf and I. Steve was everything we weren't. Strong and resilient with a sense of purpose . . . completely at peace with himself and his wolf. I wanted that, so I asked if I could tag along with him for awhile. Three months later we started fucking. It was an odd thing, considering I'd had a steady girlfriend before I'd been bitten. But the wolf values strength, and Steve was strong.'
Harry could remember gaping at the blond, his mind struggling to follow the track Andrej was taking, but unable to comprehend the other male's final destination. He'd crossed the floor to halt alongside the blond, wrapping the blanket snugly around his shoulders as they'd gazed out at the snow covered meadow, reflecting seemingly on the past.
Shouldering deeper into the thick sweater he'd worn, Andrej had crossed his arms over his chest, the faintest of smiles curving his lips. 'Your wolf knows Draco is strong. And the strongest way for him to ensure your survival is by joining up with a wolf of strength equal to your own. And you're strong, Harry. Someday, the pair of you could overthrow Steve and I . . . usurp our place within Greyback's Pack. But only you can decide the path you'll take, and if Draco will walk that trail with you.' He'd given Harry an almost affectionate pat on the shoulder before turning and leaving the room on quiet feet, leaving the younger male to consider everything he'd just learned.
Harry gave a sharp shake of his head as if attempting to dispel the memories of that night, and once again lifted his face to the sky. The sun kissed his chin, a gentle brush of warmth upon his cheeks. Though comfortable with his place within the Pack, Harry had no idea where he stood when it came to Draco. From enemies at first sight to lupine lovers? It was hard to wrap his mind around the very idea. He swung his arms idly, the slight exertion warming his muscles, and causing the eggs to clunk unhappily together within their protective bag.
But they did work well together; their time together at Hogwarts having honed their ability to read each other and act accordingly. It was a fleeting thought, but one that had crossed his mind more often than not lately. Protect the Pack, the wolf breathed sleepily, a reminder of their responsibilities and duties. Unbidden, a growl trickled over his lips, the soft snarl enough to bring the nearby birds to a screeching halt, their calls fading into an uncomfortable silence. With a soft huff, he slipped under a low hanging branch, ignoring the slide of snow down the back of his shirt.
A warning cough from one of the Glen's crows dragged Harry from his thoughts, unconsciously turning his face toward the naked canopy above. Against the pale sky, the four crows were easily found, black spots upon a blanket of gray. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the birds, marking each fluttered wing and tipped head carefully. When the quartet took wing amidst a chorus of raucous shrieks, the hair on the back of Harry's neck rose and a soft snarl slid over his lips. As the only member of the Pack currently beyond the Glen's meadow, it was his duty to assess any threat within their territory. Tightening his grip on the limp chicken dangling from his fist, he quickened his pace, slipping silently through the trees. Each and every sound that reached his ears was analyzed, from the piping call of a bluejay to the hiss of dried wood against dried wood, no noise was left to chance. It wasn't a sound that halted him in his tracks, however, it was the flicker of movement among the oaks and birch on the barely visible path up ahead.
His breath froze in his chest, emerald orbs widening in surprise. Holding himself completely still, he watched the man quietly prowling toward the heart of the Glen, a barrage of emotions preventing him from sounding the alarm. Remus. Here. Within the boundaries of the Pack's territory. He wasn't aware of growling the older wizard's name; wasn't even aware of allowing the bag of eggs to slip from his fingers. But Remus spun to face him, wand held at the ready.
For what seemed like an eternity, the pair stared at each other, gazes cautiously considering. Neither male lowered their narrowed eyes, though both of them flinched at the low questioning wail that rose in the distance. Harry should have answered that demand immediately; he should have tipped his chin upward and called for aid, but he hesitated, shifting on the balls of his feet, feeling suddenly very anxious.
"Don't," rasped Remus. The tip of his wand rose just enough to add threat to the command, the expression he wore firming as he studied the younger male's appearance. Though Harry had only been away from the protection of Hogwarts for less then two months, he'd changed. The dark locks that had always been neatly trimmed seemed slightly shaggier, concealing the infamous scar upon the younger male's forehead. The clothes he wore were an odd combination of old and new - an expensively tailored cloak paired with cracked leather boots, both items of clothing probably borrowed from Packmates. However, the most evident change was found in the twin sphere's of emerald locked upon his face. Mistrust. It blazed brightly in Harry's eyes. Drawing a deep breath, Remus lowered his wand and lifted his other hand in a steadying gesture. "You need to come with me, Harry, right now . . . please."
Harry blinked at the order, and then he smiled slowly. "Seriously?" He gave a bark of wild laughter, the sound echoing eerily around them in the emptiness of the barren forest. "Really, Remus, I thought you knew me better than that." Holding the older male's gaze, he parted his lips and howled, the sound a bid for assistance. Within his skull, the wolf roused, curling his lips just enough to show a hint of teeth.
"You shouldn't have done that," Remus said, flicking his wand with a jerky movement of his wrist. His eyes widened when Harry sidestepped the pulsing ball and withdrew a wand from the depths of one of the cloak's pockets, wielding the length with practiced ease. Firming himself to this path, Remus cast again and again, following Harry's whirling form with the glowing tip of his wand. When the dark-haired youth dodged between two trees, he shifted to follow, catching the toe of his boot beneath a branch buried under the snow. Thrown off balance, he stretched to catch himself, unprepared for the savage bite of nails in the flesh of his wrist. His wand dropped from his suddenly tingling fingers, becoming lost in the snow as he was ruthlessly flung aside.
"And you shouldn't have come here," Harry replied. He padded quietly across the snow, halting alongside Draco. Together, the pair stared down at the older werewolf, assessing him with the wolf's keen intuition. "You were following me - again." The words were edged in amusement and spoken not to the older werewolf floundering in the snow, but the lithe blond watching the show with grim eyes.
Lips pursed, Draco gave a lazy lift of his shoulders, the motion belying the otherwise tense stance he'd taken. "You were running late and I was worried. And with good reason it seems." Glaring down at Remus, the blond growled, his fingers curling and uncurling, fighting the urge to further pummel the male for entering their territory. "We should take him to Fenrir." That should hung in the air between them, making it clear that Draco would follow where Harry led, allow the dark-haired male to deal with Lupin as he saw fit.
Pushing himself to his feet, Remus clung to one of the low branches arching overhead, his fierce grip causing snow to sift down around them. "You can't stay here, Harry. The Ministry is searching for you . . . what happened at Hogwarts-" he broke off and gave an abrupt shake of his head, recalling the blood splattered halls from Colin Creevey's pictures. "You need to come with me."
Harry smiled sardonically, exchanging an amused glance with Draco. "The Ministry's looking for a lot of people, whether or not they manage to capture them is an entirely different story. Besides, the Pack protects its own." The statement was surprising, especially considering it was honestly spoken. The Glen was home, and the Pack was family. But given the right threat, the entire clan would pack their bags and change den sites; taking up residence in some other ramshackle farmhouse in some distant town, leaving behind anything and everything they held dear merely for the sake of their continued existence and the lifestyle they had chosen. That's why they lived the way they did - never bothering to patch a hole in a wall or repair a shattered window, because they could be forced to abandon their home without a moment's notice. And if you really loved something, you either kept it tucked away somewhere in the surrounding forest or in a small bag that could be grabbed by another member of the Pack in your absence.
Breathing in the familiar scent of the forest, Harry gazed across the short distance between Remus and himself, pushing down the sudden feeling of regret that swept over him, not because he'd accepted this life for himself, but because Remus could never comprehend how much he'd grown to enjoy it. Perhaps even love it. "And you need to leave," he finally growled, taking a threatening step forward, knowing that Draco followed him like a second shadow.
"Please, Harry," Remus said, glancing nervously over Harry's shoulder as a howl rose in the distance. He flinched when the pair answered the call, the rasping wails twining teasingly together until they seemed to fill the forest around them with the haunting song. "You don't understand! It's no longer safe here!-"
"There isn't anything you could say that would get me to return with you." Harry practically spat the words, his expression darkening until his emerald eyes appeared to glow within the tanned skin of his face. Next to him, Draco shifted uneasily, his keen ears undoubtedly picking up the distant tread of boots hastening in their direction. And Remus had to hear them as well. "I find it very hard to forget betrayal - and even harder to forgive for it." A hunting bay rose, the sound drawing nearer with every beat of their hearts.
Remus clenched and unclenched his fingers, obviously trying to determine whether he could simply grab Harry and apparate away, doubting the possibility when the blond edged closer to the dark-haired male. The howls grew ever closer, and deep within the farthest recesses of his mind, his wolf stirred in a ripple that caused a startled gasp to slide from his mouth. "Harry," he said desperately, taking a small step backwards as he frantically searched the forest behind the duo. "Dumbledore is going to take action. He and the Order know where you are, and they're coming-" His eyes widened when Fenrir Greyback appeared just beyond the pair, the crazed werewolf flanked by two tall enforcers. Giving a rueful shake of his head, he lunged forward and dug his wand free of the snow, apparating away before the entire Pack could descend upon them.
"Do you believe him?" Harry asked in a hushed whisper, staring at the spot Remus had occupied moments earlier. He caught the barest wag of Draco's chin as Fenrir came plunging to a stop next to them, Andrej and Steve seconds behind him. He read the expression on their leader's face as the trio caught the lingering scent of Lupin upon the air, readying himself for whatever was to come. The backhand that caught him on the side of the face snapped his head to the side and caused his teeth to rake the tender flesh of his cheek, the taste of copper exploding within his mouth.
"Remus Lupin was within our territory and you released him?" Fenrir roared, waving his hands wildly and looking very much like he was considering delivering the younger werewolf another blow. Gnashing yellowed teeth, Greyback spun around and stormed back toward the farmhouse, raking fingernails along the trunks of several trees as he passed. Exchanging long-suffering looks, Andrej and Steve fell back in behind their leader, sparing Harry only the smallest of glares.
"He risked a lot to warn you, if what he said was actually true," Draco allowed. He withdrew a monogrammed handkerchief from one of his pockets and handed it to Harry, nearly wincing as the dark-haired werewolf smeared crimson across the snow-white fabric. Grimacing, he accepted the return of the stained material, sparing it a mournful look before jamming it into a pocket.
Frowning, Harry made a noncommital sound and turned to follow the path carved through the snow by the trio of older werewolves. Remus had endangered himself by entering Greyback's territory, but it could be a trap - a lure to get him away from the safety of the Pack. "I guess we'll find out," he said, glancing over his shoulder to see the blond nod in agreement. Lost in their private thoughts, the pair traipsed back to the farmhouse in silence; one rubbing his still aching jaw, the other fingering the blood stained square concealed within the depths of his pocket.
XxXxX
Laying naked and exposed on its back, the freshly plucked chicken sat in the bottom of the sink, unaware of the eyes studying it intently. There were so many things he could do with it. So many different ways to dress the potentially delicious bird. A serene smile curling his lips, Harry lifted the chicken by its wings and licked his lips, already dreaming of crunchy skin and dripping grease. He was smearing butter lovingly across the bird's breast when a bellow jerked his head up, halting his tender ministrations.
Straightening, he turned his head in the direction of the shout, absently reaching for a nearby cloth to wipe his fingers on while listening for any further disturbances that might give him some clue as to what was happening. Before he could call a query, the house seemed to explode with activity. Shouts echoed in the empty hallways and feet pounded overhead, sending a fine layer of plaster drifting down to settle on the kitchen table and the freshly buttered bird.
"What the hell?" Harry muttered, taking a step toward the back kitchen door but leaping out of the way when it flew open unexpectedly. With startled eyes, he watched uncomprehending as Draco and Steve plunged into the room, both of them calling orders and questions at the same time. Some of his confusion vanished when Draco tore open one of the lower kitchen cupboards and yanked the bottom board out, exposing the deep dark hole it had concealed. Before he had a chance to repeat his earlier question, the blond had grabbed him by the back of the neck and knocked him to his knees, ruthlessly shoving him toward the narrow cubbyhole. "Is this really necessary?" He hissed, planting his hands on either side of the cabinet to forestall his unplanned descent into the crawlspace beneath the farmhouse.
"Yes," Draco snapped, slamming his hands down on Harry's shoulders and tipping him forward. With one hard shove and a carefully placed boot, the blond coaxed the other male into the narrow space. Giving no excuses or explanations, Draco dropped the bottom of the cupboard back into place and slammed the doors closed, concealing the trapdoor.
Shaking his now stinging palms, Harry carefully scuttled further into the crawlspace, tipping his face upwards. Long strips of light passed through the narrow cracks between the kitchen floorboards, giving him some idea of where he was beneath the house. Still puzzled over Draco's adamance that he hide, he slithered to a halt under the kitchen table and rolled over onto his back, allowing his senses to stretch as he searched for any apparent threat. Between his nose and his ears, he discovered nothing out of the ordinary. He was opening his mouth to call Draco's name when a sharp pain exploded deep within his skull, the sudden shock of it bringing the wolf scrambling to the fore. Slapping a palm against his scar, Harry gritted his teeth and fought the wolf into submission. Breath hissing in and out between his teeth, the raven-haired male lay still upon the dirt, feeling the cold begin to seep into his bones.
It was the hissing cadence of that eerie voice that dragged Harry from his stupor, causing him to catch and hold his breath unconsciously. Voldemort. The wolf fought desperately to manufacture a reason for the Dark Wizard's presence in the Glen. Tried to find a possible connection between Remus's appearance in Pack territory and Voldemort's unexpected arrival. But it could find nothing, no threads to weave together to form a probability, no possible ties to bind the pair. The rumble of multiple feet overhead had him refocusing his gaze, scanning what little he could see of the tense group now mingling above him.
"To what do we owe this honour, my lord?" Fenrir said, his voice little more than a rasping growl.
Sounding almost jovial, Voldemort answered. "Why, we just happened to be in the neighbourhood and I thought it would be a nice demonstration of my affection for you and your followers if we dropped in and said 'Hello'."
Harry drew a shallow breath, his emerald orbs following the shadow that was Voldemort as he paced across the floorboards, waiting for the Dark Lord to continue. With each second the wizard remained silent, the tension mounted - which was undoubtedly what Voldemort desired. Muted growls reached Harry's ears, and the raven-haired werewolf had to press a hand to his mouth to keep himself from the echoing the soft rumbles.
"I also found myself slightly concerned for your safety. You see, I called you the other night . . . and you failed to heed my command. And so I find myself here, wondering what exactly could have kept you from me." Voldemort trailed off, halting his pacing when he reached the table where Harry had stood mere minutes ago.
There was a second of silence before a rabid howl shook the house. Savage snarls rattled the fractured glass in the window panes, the sounds of a scuffle breaking out as Steve and Andrej desperately attempted to restrain Fenrir. "I am no man's dog!" The fierce bellow was a battle cry, one answered by every wolf in the Glen.
As wails rose from the farthest reaches of the Pack's territory, Voldemort spun around, the boots he wore sending a shower of fine dirt down upon Harry's upturned face. "That mark upon your arm says otherwise . . . dog." It was a warning, a threatening one at that. "Perhaps you're no longer suited to my purpose . . . maybe a replacement is necessary." The idly spoken comment ratcheted the tension level in the kitchen up another notch, sending a ripple of throaty rumbles through the farmhouse.
Harry sank his teeth into the fleshy part of his thumb to prevent himself from joining that growling wave. He could feel the wolf's hackles rise, the sense of impending battle bringing the beast clawing its way closer to the surface. His ears grew even more sensitized, allowing him to hear every breath the group above him uttered; each thumping beat of every heart. The tang of fear was sweet in his nose, as he knew it would be in the noses of his fellow wolves.
"I believe there are several other wolves in your Pack capable of leading . . . if I recall correctly, you have a son, don't you? A little pureblood werewolf just waiting for his young mind to be cultivated." With a sharp clap of his hands, Voldemort seemed to come to some kind of decision, heading in the direction of the back door with unhurried steps. "Find me the boy, Pettigrew. And the rest of you, destroy this place and everything within it." There was a millisecond of complete stillness, where everyone simply stood frozen, the order sinking slowly into their minds, and then the house exploded in a cacophony of crashes and wolfish roars.
Parting his lips, Harry answered the call to arms. As he raised fingers curled into claws to the boards above his head, he stilled, his muscles stiffening. If he exposed himself now, everything the Pack had worked for would be ruined, and the lives Draco and he had begun to build for themselves would vanish. His fingers were curling into fists when terrified screams reached his ears, the shrill cries causing the breath to catch in his throat. Jaime! The wolf slammed into his skull, demanding action, and Harry could do nothing but answer the command. Drawing a deep breath, he howled, glorying in the way the half-crazed bay was answered and returned until the sound filled the farmhouse and hung upon the afternoon air.
But amidst the howls and screams came another sound, the heavy groan of strained wood and tired brick. With a great heave, the old farmhouse finally admitted defeat, sinking into its foundation. The remaining panes of glass cracked and shattered, sending glittering shards spinning across the snow. Red bricks surrendered their hold, collapsing inward atop the dry wood and stained plaster. Finally, after what seemed like a seconds but surely had to be minutes, the last rafter settled, folding the tin it had once supported under its heavy weight.
Coughing and furiously blinking dust from his eyes, Harry gaped at the destruction around him. The boards that had once been well overhead were now scattered around him, several lying atop his chest. Drawing a wheezing breath, he moved to shove the wood aside, but found himself incapable of moving his right arm. He turned his head and stared down the length of his arm, finding one of the house's heavy beams blocking the view past his elbow. Desperately he rolled to the side and pressed his other palm against the wood, gritting his teeth as he tried to push the beam aside, panting when he failed to shift it. Hope was dying when he shuffled his feet and heard the crinkle of glass. Lifting his head slightly, he glanced down the length of his body and smiled at the sight that met his orbs. There, scattered across the dirt at his feet, was a broken jar . . . and within its remains a handful of wands. Giving a bark of relieved laughter, he rested his forehead against the beam, casting about for some sign of life among the rubble above him, ears seeking the beating of a heart or the call of a wolf.
Finally, a whisper of sound reached him; the shuffle of a board, the shriek of tin bending, the tumble of broken brick. Focusing on the budding signs of life, he returned his free hand to the beam, gritting his teeth as he pushed against the wood. He stopped when a muffled voice reached him, his face turning towards the rubble overhead. It took him in a minute to make out his name, his throat seizing as he recognized the forlorn voice calling him.
"Draco!" He bit the blond's name out, the cry sounding oddly frantic. In turn, his name was shouted back, the other male's voice tinged with some unplaceable emotion. Laying shivering on his back, Harry listened to the sound of bricks and wood being tossed recklessly aside, unable to assist the blond pinned as he was. It was a lifetime later when a narrow beam of light blinded his sun starved eyes, icy air rushing through the small hole Draco had made to sting his lungs. "Malfoy," he said in an affectionate whisper, gazing up at the pale face now hovering above him. A nasty cut marked the other male's cheek and blood still dripped from his nose, but he was breathing.
"Are you alright?" Draco demanded, peering down at Harry. He continued to push and tug at the remnants of the farmhouse keeping him from reaching the dark-haired werewolf, ignoring the slashes on the tips of his fingers from where he'd ripped through sharp tin.
"I'm pinned," Harry admitted. "But I can see our wands. Our true wands." He returned Draco's slow smile, feeling hope flourish in his heart - hope that was crushed when the sound of authoritative yells reached his ears.
"The Ministry!" Draco hissed loudly after a glance in the directions of the shouts, pressing himself closer to the hole he'd made in the rubble. Darting his gaze down to meet wide emeralds, he cast about for some means of defense, finding nothing that would prevent the descending Auror's from easily taking them. "My wand, Harry! I need my wand!"
Scrambling about with his boot heels, Harry dragged the wands toward his free hand, clenching his teeth at the pull of pinned ligaments and tendons. When he was finally able to wrap his wiggling fingers about the wands, he raised them before his face, easily recognizing Draco's from its numerous encounters with his sternum and nose. Brandishing the blond's wand above his head, he called out, drawing the other male's attention back to him. It took nothing more than a glance to know he couldn't toss the blond the wand, the space between them crisscrossed with broken pieces of wood and crumbling sections of plaster. Sitting up as much as he was able, he stretched his arm out, holding the wand by its very base in an attempt to get it as close as he could to Draco's hand. It seemed like mere centimeters between the tip of the wand and Draco's grasping fingers, but it may as well have been miles.
"No," Draco said, the word as close as he had probably ever come to a whimper. He pressed himself tight against the wood he huddled atop, gazing down at Harry in desperation. The pile of bricks and mortar next to him was rocked by a spell, the hex causing the collapsed building to groan angrily.
Lowering his arm, Harry glanced once more at Draco's wand before dropping it carelessly on his chest. "Here!" Without a thought, he lifted the second wand he held, gritting his teeth as he pulled against the beam keeping him from escaping. He felt the exact moment the blond closed his fingers about the tip of the slightly longer wand, releasing it immediately and collapsing backwards to lay panting on the packed dirt. "Take it and run," he whispered, the barest hint of a smile riding his lips.
"I-"
"One of us has to remain free, Draco, and it certainly isn't going to be me!" Harry snarled, yanking on his arm to display his current state of trapped. Expression softening, he peered up at the other male, gentling the demand with a whispered, "please."
Fingers locked around Harry's wand, Draco released a howl of pure anguish, the sound ripping through the meadow. Clearly fighting every instinct to remain by the other werewolf's side, he glanced down the hole one final time, taking in the sight of Harry's glowing eyes and dirty face as if it were enough to sustain him for a lifetime, and then he was leaping up and scrambling across the wreckage. He released another howl as he fled into the forest, a promise and declaration of war.
Harry closed his eyes and echoed the call, hoping to draw the approaching witches and wizards to him, giving Draco an extra few seconds to escape. He dropped his head back against the ground and closed his eyes when the howl trailed off, listening to the sound of voices calling overhead. Exhaustion was finally getting the better of him and the wolf, the thought of sleep enough to make him want to weep. His eyes opened, however, when a familiar scent brushed the tip of his nose. A sigh of defeat slipped from his mouth when a shadow fell over his face moments later. Mustering a toothy grin, he glanced up at the individual peering down at him. "Back so soon?"
A/n: Thank you to the faithful, as well as my most sincere apologies for the infrequent updates.