Sorry for the week delay; I ended up getting sick which pretty much ruined my time schedule. But on the other hand, I just adopted a very cute guinea pig, Buddy, from an animal shelter and I could not be any happier. My dog, on the other hand, is on a jealousy rampage.
I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Thank you all for reading! And again, more thanks to Roheryn's Knight for taking the time to beta!
Chapter Five: The Mother and the Moon
Friday—November 2, 1990
It was nearly nine and the full moon was due to rise at ten.
Harry stood stiffly in the hallway as Evan waved his wand around Harry's body, weaving protective charm after charm.
After the initial shock of finding werewolves wore off, Harry began to feel like a piece of meat being bargained for between Evan and Greyback. He scowled for the umpteenth time.
Harry didn't even flinch when Evan lightly slapped his cheek.
"Don't scowl like that, child. I am not sending you to your doom."
"That's what you think," Harry muttered.
Evan gave a stern frown. "You saw the research just as clearly as I did. What Greyback said was true. And I don't believe he has the power to harm you even if he intended to do so. He is connected to magic, much like you are, except a lot weaker. If needed, you can overpower him. Defeat Greyback and his pack will submit to you. You remember the spells, yes?"
Harry did remember. They were cruel spells that infused silver with magic and would stake right over the heart. It was getting the silver that was the hardest part in casting. He was still utterly new and useless to wand magic and would have to depend on his crafter magic.
Sighing, Harry shrugged on a coat and buttoned it to his chin to protect himself from the freezing weather outside. Putting his hands in the pockets to hide his nervousness, Harry looked up at Evan, cocking his head at the man's expressionless face.
"I'm not going to die, am I?"
This time, it was Evan who scowled. "No you won't, foolish boy. Have I ever put you in danger as your grounder?"
You are the danger, Harry's mind whispered.
Instead, Harry shook his head obediently and pulled on what he hoped was a confident mask. But before he could give his farewells, he heard the familiar sound of wood clattering on the floor. His eye caught Evan's trembling hand and he took a slow step back.
Evan gritted his teeth and gripped his right hand in his left with all his might, digging his fingers into the useless flesh and drawing blood. He let out a low hiss under his breath.
Harry backed up with wide eyes. "I will see you tomorrow morning," he whispered before ducking out of the door. He heard something smash on the other side and let out a breath of relief.
The relief didn't last long. Right outside of the gates was an unfamiliar man. He was tall—at least six foot—and had long black hair that was tied in a loose pony tail. The man wore nothing but a pair of trousers, revealing his perfectly shaped muscles that tightened and bulged at every movement. Bright blue eyes watched Harry curiously as the crafter appeared, passing through the wards effortlessly and opening the gate.
"Hello," he said softly, tilting his head up so he could look at the werewolf. He did, however, remember to not make eye contact.
"Hello little one," the man said softly. "It is an honor to meet a crafter. My name is Blackclaw. I am Fenrir Greyback's second in command."
Harry felt awkward as he reached forward to clasp hands with Blackclaw. There was probably some kind of werewolf etiquette he had forgotten about and he hoped he wasn't insulting the man.
"Pleasure," he muttered.
Blackclaw tilted his head but did not speak. He seemed like the strong and silent type, and he moved with fluid confidence that blurred with his inner predator.
"Follow me," he said lowly. "I will lead you to our pack. The Moon shines bright today, I can feel her already." An excited gleam appeared in his eyes. "She can feel you too. We all can."
Harry decided not to question how the man could feel something from the moon and instead followed the man silently. Blackclaw seemed to be not bothered by the silence and continued on, occasionally stopping to sniff at the air.
The snowfall was gradually growing worse, up the point where Harry could barely see a foot from his face. He struggled to keep his eye on Blackclaw's ponytail, and he felt a jolt of fear when all he could see was white.
Before he could yell out for the werewolf, a pair of strong, thick arms wound around his waist and picked him up as if he was light as a feather.
"What the—" he began. He felt himself be placed on someone's back and he instinctively wrapped his legs around the man's middle, simultaneously clinging onto Blackclaw's shoulder for balance.
Blackclaw didn't say a word. He merely continued walking as if nothing had changed. The snow barely fazed him, and Harry found himself burying his head into the werewolf's neck so the cold wind wouldn't freeze his face.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Blackclaw had drawn to a stop. The blizzard had cleared up to the point where Harry could actually see, and suddenly, he wished that the snow could cover him again.
There were werewolves surrounding them, all crouching on their haunches and staring up at Harry riding piggyback style on their Beta.
Coloring, he dropped down, landing roughly on his knees. Dusting off his legs, he stood up straight, gathering all the training Evan had given him and closed his embarrassment off.
The crouching men and women parted to let Greyback through. His grey hair clung wetly to his face and his yellowed eyes were bright in excitement.
He reached the two and pushed the Beta back with a single hand, giving a low warning snarl that was met with a submissive tilt of the head and hunched shoulders. Satisfied, he turned his attention on the delicious crafter in front of him.
"Harry," he murmured. "Crafter. Be welcome."
And for some odd reason, Harry did feel welcome. "Thank you," he said cautiously, eyes alert in case Greyback would reach out and fondle him.
The old werewolf didn't, much to Harry's surprise. Instead, he looked up at the rising moon with a deep breath. "The Moon is strong tonight," he whispered. "Her ties will be strong. Can you feel the Moon, Harry?"
His curiosity piqued, Harry concentrated and found it. There was a subtle pull to his magic, pulling it up and up. It wasn't a malignant force, only peaceful and free. Harry could taste the subtle flavor of wilderness and protectiveness in the magic, which thrummed and sang steadily louder as the moon rose.
Intrigued, he focused his eyes to see the webs surrounding the clearing. To his surprise, there was little magic in the area. He could see few magical auras in the crowd but all shared the same pulsing light in the chest area. It was dark, with tendrils that spread out across each and every body, linking it to the curse. Lycanthropy.
"Yes," he answered. "It is much like the touch of the Mother."
Greyback gave a sigh that sounded suspiciously like content. "The Moon draws on the Mother and the Mother on the Moon. They are interconnected, much like Dark is to Light." He turned his head around and stared at Harry with glowing eyes. "I suppose your precious grounder hasn't told you this."
"Yes he has," Harry bluffed.
Greyback gave a bark of bitter laughter. "And through his torment, you still stand beside him. I wonder what he has done to gain such loyalty. Coercion? Threats? Manipulation?"
The right timing and a set of vows, Harry amended in his mind. But outside, he remained silent.
Greyback sighed in irritation when he received no reply. But there was no time to force answer out of the boy. He could feel the Moon rising and rising—
And howls burst into the air. The Moon's light illuminated the clearing where dozens of men and women were thrashing and screaming in pain. Bones cracked and snapped as each body lengthened out and hunched over, rough fur spurting in patches and a muzzle lengthening from the face.
It was a sickening sight and Harry almost turned away. His stomach turned at the sight, but soon it was over.
In place of the men and women were enormous werewolves. Rather than their regular wolf appearance, the werewolves had distinctive humanistic characteristics. They could stand on either four or two legs with humanoid hands tipped with crooked, sharp claws that could easily tear a wizard in half. Their bodies were as muscled and burly as their previous form but all sparks of humanity were drowned in amber eyes of wilderness.
Harry gasped as the werewolves fell on four legs and began snuffling the ground, moving closer and closer to where he stood. They snapped their heavy jaws, saliva dripping onto the ground and pawed at the ground. He could tell Greyback easily from the rest. The Alpha stood hunched over on his powerful back legs, his body shaking with each snarl of breath.
As the werewolves continued to approach, Harry could feel his panic rising. He twitched his fingers, wondering if he should incant the silver spells and escape while he still had the chance. Evan's wrath was almost like a kitten compared to rabid werewolves.
At his back, a small werewolf darted forward and snapped his jaw around Harry's cloak.
Shrieking, Harry pulled back, only to trip on the caught cloak and fall straight on the ground. He closed his eyes and waiting for the final bite when he heard a bloodthirsty roar that was followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground and a squeal of pain.
Something cold touched his cheek and Harry looked up into a pair of amber eyes. He yelped when he realized it was Greyback hunched over him, his thick forelegs trapping him close. Wriggling to get free, Harry didn't realize that his movements did nothing but excite the werewolf more.
Gritting his teeth, Harry lay back down when he felt the werewolf ghost his teeth over the juncture of his neck. Wasn't Greyback supposed to not attack him?
Suddenly, it struck him. Of course! He had never connected with the Moon before—all he had to do was establish a connection.
Clenching his fists together, he gave a sigh of relief when the familiar webs of magic appeared in front of him. But this time, each and every body beside him was cloaked in a pale yellow web that trembled and whispered, tying around their bodies and connecting with the curse inside of each werewolf. There was a subtle line of magic that led up from each wolf up to the sky and presumably to the Moon.
Harry stared up at the web around Greyback and hesitantly raised his hand. The gray werewolf gave a vicious snarl but for the first time in days, Harry felt no fear. Bypassing the giant head, he placed his fingers around the Moon's web and gently pulsed some of his own magic into it.
There was a spark of recognition and Harry felt something flow into him like an unstoppable flood. He arched his back off of the ground and gave a piercing scream as foreign magic so strong and potent overwhelmed his own fledging magic.
The pain seemed to never end, flowing through every vein and nerve and wrenching every last shriek from is throat.
Was this the end? Was he to die at the hands of magic itself?
But as soon as the magic had filled him into the core, it cut off and dissolved into his own magic, no doubt infusing some of its properties with those of a crafter.
Harry lay gasping on the floor. He could feel the hot, putrid breath of Greyback brush against his neck and the warmth from the werewolf's body seep into his. A rough tongue swiped up from his shoulder to his ear before the body moved away, leaving Harry exposed.
Sitting up cautiously, Harry stood shakily and looked around at his surroundings. The werewolves were no longer snarling threateningly and looked as if a touch of sanity had seeped through the wild blood thirst of the werewolf. The wolves moved around, greeting each pack mate and playfully tussling.
Harry had no idea what was going on, but he could feel something strange coursing through his body. He could feel the powerful, loving presence of the Moon, wrapping her soothing magic around him like a mother's embrace. Fueled by the surge of magic, Harry leapt to his feet with surprising agility and stared at Greyback, noticing for the first time how utterly enormous the man was. Muscles rippled and bulged, forming almost humanlike shapes. His fur was a dirty gray and teeth the length of butcher knives flashed threateningly. Harry blushed horribly when he realized that the man, along with all of the other werewolves, was naked.
A low growl was uttered by the Alpha and Harry found himself averting his eyes. When the rumble died away, he felt a cold nose touch his neck. Forcing himself to not move, Harry held his breath as the nose the size of his palm sniffed at him before a gust of air was exhaled from the wolf.
Breathing out in relief, Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as the werewolf loped off to join his pack. The Alpha tilted back his great furred head and let out a long howl that was quickly echoed by his pack. Harry found himself throwing his head back and screaming a human-like howl into the sky. And as the pack ran off into the forest, tongues lolling and eyes crazed with bloodlust, Harry found himself following at an incredible speed his mind just as clouded with the hunt mentality.
The pack sang and sang of magic, magic sang and sang around them, and Harry felt himself spiraling away.
Saturday—November 3, 1990
Harry woke up groggily. Groaning, he flipped over onto his back and reached up to wipe the grit from his eyes. His body felt as if a herd of hippogriffs had stampeded over it and a muggle truck had hit him straight on. Sore and utterly exhausted, Harry looked up into the cloudless sky.
A face suddenly appeared into his vision. The man was grinning wolfishly.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty."
"What?" Harry muttered sleepily. "Who…?"
It hit him. Greyback. The full moon.
Harry sat up quickly but found himself blinded by white spots. Groaning, he hunched over, his hand pressing against his throbbing forehead. He dared not look up at Greyback.
"Ugh, what happened last night? I feel half dead."
"You look half dead too," Greyback mused before giving a leering grin. "I do have to admit, it's a good look on yeh."
Blinking, Harry looked down. He was naked. Stark naked. With dried blood covering his body like a second layer of skin.
Giving a shout of shock, Harry curled around himself to protect what little modesty he had left. "Stop looking you pervert," he nearly shouted, his face blushing bright red.
Greyback chuckled in sick humor. Behind him, Harry could see with mortification that the entire pack was watching the two, all of them as bare as he was.
Feeling the heat in his cheeks bloom, he glanced around, desperate to find a piece of clothing to hide behind. A hand reached out and offered a ripped, but intact cloak. Snatching it, Harry drew it around his body and sighed in relief as it covered all that needed to be covered. He looked at the owner of the hand and stared up at Blackclaw.
"Thank you," he murmured, too embarrassed to make eye contact.
Greyback had the audacity to look disappointed. "It's a shame, pup. You have nothing to be ashamed about."
Harry wanted to vomit. "I'm ten."
"Even better."
Shivering at the pedophile, Harry forced himself to ignore the man's perverse nature. "What happened last night?"
"You bonded with the Moon, much like how we do," Greyback answered roughly. He moved forward, shoving Blackclaw away roughly so he could stand closer to the crafter. Without asking for permission, he ducked down and took a long sniff at his neck.
"I'm not a werewolf, am I?" Harry asked in panic.
Greyback gave another lecherous grin. "No. But I could change that for you, little one. The Moon loves you—I can feel it—I doubt she will mind if you agree."
Harry sighed in relief. "No, thank you." He paused. "Why aren't you and your pack resting? I've read that the days following a full moon is painful and exhausting. Merlin knows I feel that."
"It's the crafter business. When you connected with the Moon, you and her shared magic for the night. That extra magic reached out to us and we became more intertwined with our alternate forms. That's why you're so valuable to werewolves, crafter. You strengthen us just as the Moon strengthens you."
"I don't feel very strengthened," Harry muttered. His arms and legs felt like jelly and a haze was slowly clouding his mind.
"I should be getting you back to your grounder," Greyback mused, his eyes flashing at the mention of Evan. "Promised the bastard to get you back at a reasonable time."
Harry groaned at the prospect of having to get up. "I don't think I can move anytime soon."
At Harry's response, Greyback gave a vague gesture and Harry gave a shout as he was lifted up easily and held bridal style against the rock hard chest of Blackpaw.
The man had a fond expression on his face. "Hello Harry," he said.
"Don't molly coddle him, Blackclaw," Greyback snapped, something shifting across his face. "Take him back to the other wizard. Be quick about it."
Bowing his head, Blackpaw turned around with Harry in his arms and began a slow jog back into the thick forest.
They continued in silence before Harry forced his slackened mouth to move. "Was what Greyback said true? What my presence did to the werewolves?"
Blackclaw remained quiet for some time before replying. "Yes. There was something different during the full moon. I felt more in control of myself and more powerful. I could feel the brush of your magic, much like how I can feel it now."
Harry had no idea his magic could do such a thing but made no comment. Instead he asked, "Do you remember what we did last night?"
"We hunted," Blackclaw said quietly. "And we ate. Some mated, some fought, some slept."
"Does Greyback have a mate?"
"No," Blackclaw shook his head. "He doesn't want a mate. Thinks it will slow him down. And he is Alpha, a good one too."
Harry frowned. "Do you have a mate?"
Blackclaw didn't pause in his steps, but his eyes looked briefly shaken. "I did. She died before we could mate, however. I think the fact that I am mate-less is one of the reasons why Greyback chose me as Beta."
"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry," Harry whispered, feeling incredibly stupid for bringing up such a sensitive subject. "Werewolves can mate again, right? They have no destined mate like Veela."
"That's correct, little one," Blackclaw replied with a hint of a smile. "But I have no interest in a mate right now. And I've yet to find someone of my interest."
Nodding, as if the issues of mating made sense to his ten-year old self, Harry felt his eyes begin to droop. "That's good," he muttered. "Good." He licked his lips and tasted the sharp copper of blood. Forcing his eyes back open, Harry peered back up at Blackclaw. "Where's this blood from?"
Blackclaw looked down. "Mostly deer blood from the hunt. There was a brief scrimmage between us and some intruders, but I doubt you were there for any part of it."
Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember if he was battling any rogue werewolf or wizard but found none. "That's good," he repeated.
Blackclaw gave a deep chuckle. "Go sleep, little one. We owe you much for last night. Rest."
Obeying, Harry closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep.
Blackclaw continued his slow jog through the forest. Occasionally, he would look down at the fragile boy in his arms and something would tighten in his chest.
The boy. The first crafter in centuries. He remembered his parents and grandparents telling him and his brothers about the legends of powerful crafters, whose presence would strengthen a pack in moral and magic. They were pure creatures that should be worshiped and revered. As the voice and embodiment of the Mother herself, Blackclaw couldn't see how anyone could hate a crafter.
At first, Blackclaw had been skeptical of this Harry. He was petite, with large eerie green eyes and a mop of black hair that stuck out in every possible direction. While Blackclaw could feel the soft touches of the boy's magic, he couldn't sense the boy being in anyway special.
But after the full moon, when Blackclaw had woken up thrumming with energy and magic, his opinion of little Harry had risen.
Blackclaw looked down again at the boy and vowed to protect the little crafter. He was against almost impossible odds—a rising Dark Lord, Light hegemony, and an unstable childhood.
Finally, when Blackclaw arrived at the gate he had picked up the crafter at, he noticed a small trail of blood dotting the snow up to the front door. He frowned and sniffed at the air.
The blood was fresh, possibly from last night, and it smelt familiar.
It was from one of the intruders.
Growling, Blackclaw shifted away so that his back was against the gate. A low snarl began to build in his chest as the front door was thrown open and a tall, elegantly dressed man strode out. There was a bandage wrapped tightly around the man's torso, and brilliant violet eyes were nearly sparking in anger.
"I will kill you. You and that mangy pack of yours," the man snarled, snapping his wand at the duo. "Let go of the boy."
"No," Blackclaw snarled. He felt his claws lengthen and gently placed the crafter on the snow. However, the movement jarred Harry out of his slumber and he blinked up at Blackclaw, then at the man.
The boy's eyes widened in horror.
"Evan!" he shouted, struggling to get back onto his feet. "You're hurt!"
"Don't move," Blackclaw snarled, crouching down in a protective stance. "He wants to hurt you."
Evan let out a mocking chuckle. "How precious, wolf." He turned to Harry's fallen figure. "Come in, Harry. We have much to discuss."
Harry felt his body shiver. He felt the nudging command of the grounder as his conscious whispered for him to trust his guardian.
Blackclaw looked skeptical. He looked down at the crafter, a rumbling growl still low in the air.
"Thank you for protecting me," Harry said softly as he forced himself on his feet. "But he is my guardian. He won't hurt me." He looked contemplative for a moment before touching Blackclaw lightly on his arm, his sharpened fingernails making a series of half-moon indents on the werewolf's skin.
Evan remained expressionless, but his sneer clearly conveyed his distaste. Blackclaw looked a tidbit worried but remained stony as Harry made is way over the wards, crossing directly into Evan's domain.
Following the furious man indoors, Harry looked back once more to see Blackclaw gone. Sighing, hoping that the man would still be friendly next full moon, Harry entered, ready to face Evan's wrath.
Surprisingly, the man actually had a lot to say to Harry.
"When I felt our connection pull and stretch, I thought that Greyback had done something foolish like try and turn you," Evan confessed as Harry nursed a cup of hot tea. "I went out to find you. And I did." His mouth twitched downward. "You were naked like a ruffian, but your green eyes glowed eerily. You didn't recognize me, but something must have told the werewolves that I was a threat because they began to attack me." He gestured to his injured side. "Thankfully, I was not bitten. I would rather die than become a dirty mutt like them."
Evan's face blanked out. "Tell me what happened last night."
And so Harry did, about the connection with the Moon, about how the werewolves had welcomed him like a pack number after he had touched the Moon's magic, and about what his presence did within the pack.
Evan looked contemplative. Reaching out, he grabbed Harry's right hand and turned it palm upward.
Harry gasped when he saw it. In the middle of his palm was a faint outline of the moon.
"She made a mark on you," Evan said slightly bitterly. He felt possessiveness in him rise. First Lucius, then Greyback and the damn Moon. Harry was his. His to give to the Dark Lord.
Instead, Evan gave a sneer. "Go change into something proper. Bloody and naked is not acceptable at the table."
Completely forgetting his predicament, Harry had blushed to the tip of his ears before scampering back to his room and diving into the shower.
After scrubbing himself clean, Harry stood in front of the fogged mirror and wiped a small circle clear for his face. He peered closer, trying to find any lasting effects of the Moon's magic. His eyes didn't look any different from its regular emerald green and his skin was just as pale as it used to be. He glanced down at the moon crescent on his palm and touched it briefly.
A spark of magic pulsed at the touch, but nothing strong enough to give more than a simple nudge of magic.
Sighing in relief, Harry exited the bathroom and padded back into his room. It was small, with a simple twin sized bed and a large desk that was littered with large books and pieces of used pieces of parchment.
Reaching into his chest, he pulled out a set of comfortable clothes and changed, relishing in the feel of silk against his skin. To his mortification, Harry found himself missing the freedom of being naked. Pushing the thought far, far away, Harry climbed back down stairs.
Evan was nowhere to be found. A simple sandwich and apple was placed on the breakfast table. Without so much a word, Harry sat back down and attacked the lunch.
When he had eaten his fill, Harry felt around with his magic and sensed Evan down in the basement. Following the trace of magic, he found Evan leaning nonchalantly against the cobbled wall.
With a wave of his wand, a cauldron was placed on the ground with a bang right next to a table equipped with a balance, a mortar, a pestle, and a number of peculiar looking ingredients.
"If I can't teach you magic or dueling," Evan started, "you can start with potions."
Harry felt a vague sense of excitement worm through his exhaustion. Potions was something he had always been interested in.
Evan placed an opened tome on the ground and pointed at the first page. There were instructions on one side and the directions to make a boil cure potion.
"You've read on potions theory. Now it's time you try the practical side."
Nodding in acquiescence, Harry skimmed through the instructions and put out the necessary ingredients.
Taking six snake fangs from the jar, Harry placed the delicate materials in the mortar and crushed them into fine powder. He could feel Evan's eyes judging his every move and forced himself to react. Double checking the instructions, Harry added four measures of the fine powder into the cauldron and used his magic to spark a gentle flame at the bottom.
He didn't know what went wrong, but at the spark of magic, something exploded and Harry felt himself fly backwards and hit the wall with a sickening crack.
Putrid green smoke was filling the room. Harry had inhaled a good deal of it before Evan vanished it with a simple flick of his wand. The man strode forward, anger evident on his face.
"Foolish boy!" Evan hissed, dragging Harry back on his feet. "How can one so proficient in magic fail so miserably at common sense?"
Harry frowned and leaned down to read the instructions over again. "But how could I have done that wrong? I've read every step at least twice, and all I did was heat the cauldron."
Evan looked meaningfully at the blown up table and cauldron. A wave of his wand brought the table and tools back to place, but a new cauldron had to be summoned from the storage closet. "Well, since all your evidence was exploded," Evan said dryly, "start again. This time, tell me every step you did."
Harry did so. And just as he heated the cauldron, another explosion rocked the house.
Harry coughed and waved away the smoke. Leaning up on his elbows, Harry looked up into the furious face of Evan.
"I swear I didn't do anything wrong!" he protested hotly. "You heard me say everything!"
"Get up and try again," Evan merely snarled.
Sighing, Harry did just that.
After an hour of exploding cauldrons, Harry and Evan climbed back upstairs, utterly exhausted and smoking at the edges of their robes.
"It must be your magic," Evan said thoughtfully. "You're made of almost all pure magic. It must have infused with every ingredient you work with."
"So I'll never be able to make potions?" Harry asked, disappointed.
Evan shook his head. "When you gain more control, perhaps when you become fully fledged, you should be able to control what your magic affects." He thought for a bit. "Why don't we work on your wand magic first."
Harry felt decidedly less excited about wand magic but obediently went upstairs to fetch his Hawthorn wand. Feeling it hum in his hand, Harry brought it down to the living room, where Evan was sitting elegantly, one leg crossed over the other.
"Give it a wave," he drawled lazily. "You said it was a match for you at the Ministry, but you had yet to try it."
Feeling ridiculous, Harry gave a wave of his wand. Nothing happened. Not a spark of magic, no fireworks, no explosion, no nothing.
Evan sat up and frowned. "Try and channel some of your magic into it. It's natural that your magic will be reluctant to go into the wand. Force your magic into restraints and push."
Pulling his magic back into his body, Harry ignored the struggling magic and sent a small tendril of it through the wand.
This time, something did happen. Something exploded and the room burst into flames.
Yelping, Harry twitched his finger and watched with trepidation as the flames were immediately doused. His wand clattered uselessly to the ground.
Evan hadn't moved an inch and looked unamused. "Control, Harry. I thought you learned plenty of that."
Gritting his teeth, Harry nodded. "I have. My magic is fighting the wand."
"Bend it into your control. You control your magic, not the other way around," Evan snapped.
But his magic belonged to the Mother. He was a tool for her. Regardless, Harry straightened his shoulders and lifted his wand again.
This time, he released his magic from its confines and conjured the webs up. They were dancing as whispering as usual, but the magic hidden inside of the wand seemed despondent and nonresponsive.
Frowning, he caressed the wood, hoping to get the webs to react.
And react it did. A set of red sparks flew out of the wand, albeit a bit weakly, but sparks nevertheless. Harry gave a shout of excitement and turned to Evan with a wide grin.
Evan looked decidedly less impressed. However, a wry smile formed on his face. "It's a good start. For a regular wizard. You're more than that, Harry. Try again."
Touching the webs again, Harry forced a small piece of his magic through the wand. This time, the armchair Evan was sitting on exploded in flames, forcing the older man to jump up and dose the fire in water.
He turned angry violet eyes at the crafter.
"S-sorry," Harry stammered.
"You are useless," Evan hissed. "How can someone with so much magic potential fail so pathetically at not only potions, but wand magic?"
He stormed from the room, robes flicking angrily behind him. Harry stared down at the wand with an accusing look on his face and flung it against the wall in childish petulance.
"Damn wand," he cursed, rubbing his face tiredly. Sitting down on the charred couch, Harry put his head in his hands.
Nothing was going the way it should be. He should be improving, learning more magic so he could fulfill his purpose. Not fail miserably at two subjects in one day. Potions was not so much a loss compared to wand magic.
How was he supposed to blend in with wizards and witches if he couldn't even summon sparks from the wand?
Looking up from his hands, Harry noticed that the webs were still around him. He stared ahead at the webs of magic. They were magic. Why couldn't he use it?
Staring as if they would disclose the secret of using wand magic, Harry began to notice as the webs began to tremble and whisper louder and louder.
Crafter, Crafter, Crafter, the webs chanted. They began to spin and weave on their own and Harry found himself unable to move.
Crafter, Crafter, precious little one, ours, ours, ours, OURS, OURS, MINE, MINE.
The chanting grew louder and louder and Harry found himself crying out with it. His eyes were glued to the webs as they weaved closer and closer, engulfing him in its warm embrace.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew he had fallen in a daydream. It was one of the greatest dangers crafter's faced—the entrancing song of magic could pull them into insanity. And the moment he needed his grounder the most, Evan was gone.
Harry felt a delicate hand caress his cheek and he longed to nuzzle into the affectionate touch. He had missed so much living at the Dursley's; no mother's embrace, kiss, or even words of love.
A woman's face materialized in front of him. It was faint, but her features were impossibly beautiful. She had a pair of piercing ice blue eyes and full red lips that glistened like fresh blood. Her skin was pale and ethereal and her hair was a golden white that tumbled down her back in soft curls. Mouth curving in a gentle smile, she leaned forward so that her lips touched Harry's.
Finally freed of the invisible restrains, Harry fell forward, kept upright only by the mysterious woman's hand. He felt the warmth in his body seep away through his lips and into the woman and he began to shiver from cold. The woman moved forward to enclose Harry in her arms, sharing her growing warmth as she continued to press her lips against the crafter.
The door to the room was suddenly blasted open. As pieces of wood scattered the room, Evan stormed in, his wand held high and eyes glittering in fury.
The woman wrenched her lips away from the crafter, her arms loosening and causing Harry to fall backwards limply against the couch. She hissed lowly, her once kind face turning rigid and dangerous. The webs rose higher and higher in the room and began to scream. Harry wondered if Evan could hear them.
"This is my domain," Evan said in an ugly voice. "I am his grounder. Here, in this realm, he is mine. You will not take him from me."
The woman gave another hiss and crouched above the boy in an aggressive stance. She raised a hand and a glowing ball of pure magic formed, cracking and sparking in the air.
Evan didn't even look tickled. "You kill me, you kill the boy. Do you remember? You created him and our link. We are forever bound. I dare you. I dare you to kill the last link to this realm."
The woman recoiled as if slapped. Her features softened and her lips opened.
Evan Rosier. Son of Agron Rosier and Druella Black née Rosier. I speak on the behalf of Her. The crafter's path is not right. He is not fit to serve who he is. You take him on a path separate then what it should. He is a danger and liability to Her and to everyone.
"Be gone, Angel," Evan growled, waving his wand in a complicated pattern. "Be gone back to your Mistress and serve her as she deserves. This crafter is possibly the last link to this realm. How long do you think it would take for another to be born? It took centuries last time, would you so foolishly risk another hundred years?"
The Angel's face distorted in anger. She gave an angry shriek and launched forward at Evan, but whatever spell he was casting sparked into effect and she was forcibly banished.
Stumbling from the force of the spell, Evan leaned on the wall for support and breathed heavily. The bracelet on Harry's wrist had alerted him of the daydream. He suspected to find Harry sitting wide-eyed on the couch, not under an Angel, a servant of the Mother, who was in the midst of sucking the life and powers from Harry.
Forcing himself across the room, Evan fell disgracefully to his knees and rolled Harry over so that the boy was lying on his back. Feeling for a pulse, he gave a soft sigh of relief when he felt a weak, but steady pulse under his fingers.
Smoothing the child's hair back, he silently chastened himself. He had pushed the crafter too far. Of course Harry would never be as proficient in potions or wand magic. It was the nature of the crafter to use free, unrestrained magic. Delicate ingredients and wood would do him no good.
But he would have to learn. And Evan would bury his anger and his impatience to do what's best. He promised the crafter to the Dark Lord and to the Dark side.
Harry Potter would have to be perfect.
Lucius Malfoy sat down in an arm chair in the drawing room, a cup of tea held delicately in his hand. Beside him, his wife, Narcissa, was reaching over to take the morning's Daily Prophet. His lip curled slightly at sight of the newspaper and he turned his attention back onto his tea.
And more importantly, his attention back onto the boy Evan was hiding.
He hadn't forgotten. Oh no, he had only been more intrigued. The boy was a gem. A diamond amongst miles and miles of stone and dirt. Magic so strong and so pure was almost unfound in the world today; the only other man with equal power was the Dark Lord.
And despite his loyalties, Lucius couldn't help but wonder not if, but when the boy would surpass the Dark Lord.
Before he could put more thought into it, a quiet gasp interrupted his thoughts. Turning to his wife, he raised a perfect brow in concern.
"Yes, dear? What is it?" he felt his mouth turn downwards in a sneer. "Don't tell me that hag Rita Skeeter has dug up some scandalous information on the Minister yet again."
Narcissa shook her head. She held herself primly, like the perfect Pureblood witch, and her every move spoke of elegance and grace. Yet her hand shook as she handed the newspaper to her husband.
Lucius sipped his tea as he opened the newspaper up, only to spit it out in horrified surprise as he saw a picture of his face plastered on the front page.
Head Auror attacked! Malfoy Patriarch Under Suspicion for Ministry Break In!
"For Merlin's sake," Lucius swore. He turned his eyes on his wife, who was looking at him suspiciously. He raised his hands, palms turned outwards in innocence. "This was not me, Narcissa. I swear it. "
Her face grew colder. "You know just as much as I do how important it is for us to lay low," she hissed. "We have a reputation to uphold and a son to support. You doing illegal things in public will do no good to our family, let alone bringing our son?"
"Narcissa, this wasn't me," he placated. "I haven't been out to visit any of my… friends since the Dark Lord disappeared." He suddenly remembered something and his face turned an ugly puce. "Evan Rosier."
"What does Evan Rosier have to do with any of this?" Narcissa snapped.
"Tell me," Lucius whispered. "You said that Draco was there."
Narcissa looked at him oddly. "Yes."
Damn you, Rosier, he swore.
"Polyjuice," he deduced. "Draco was at the Parkinson's house last night. I visited Rosier weeks ago—he must have somehow obtained a hair while I was there." His mind flashed back to the image of the thrashing boy embodied in so much magic that it was tangible even to him. Rosier—that sneaky bastard—must have gotten the hairs then.
Narcissa's eyes flashed. She stood up, her posture straight and stiff. "Then you will clear up this mess whatever the cost."
Lucius watched as his wife strode away, heels clicking angrily against the marble surface. He leaned back against the armchair and gave a deep sigh. He had forgotten how much of an inconsiderate bastard Rosier was.
A house-elf popped by Lucius's side. The house-elf's eyes were bulging and red rimmed, and it wailed, "Master Lucius! Topsy tries to stop them, but theys be wanting to see Master Lucius!"
Lucius regarded the house-elf with contempt. "Slow down, you foolish creature. Who wishes to see me?"
Topsy trembled. "The Aurors, Master Lucius. Topsy be telling them they not allowed inside of the manor, but theys be having a warrant! Master Lucius must go and tell guests to go away!"
Aurors. Bloody Aurors.
Lucius put his head into his hands and cursed the existence of Evan Rosier.
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