Here's the next part of the chapter. We're jumping further into the years now and things will definitely be picking up. Thanks to Roheryn's Knightfor looking over this chapter!
Enjoy!
Chapter Six: Stormwing
Six Years Later. Friday—August 2, 1996
Harry wrapped his cloak around his body and scowled into the wind and snow that whipped into his face. Behind him following obediently was a thestral that pulled a large sled piled high with supplies tied securely together with steel chains. It tossed its leathery wings in the air, trying to regain balance after a gust of wind nearly blew both of them over. Harry clutched the reins in his hand and whispered yet another warming charm. It did no use in the bloody weather and blew over like everything else he tried.
"Damn it, Evan," he snarled, trudging through the thick snow and pulling at the reins at the same time. "Of all the places, you bring us here."
It had been six years since Evan had brought Harry here from Great Britain. Here to the cursed house that stank of moldy cheese no matter how many cleaning charms they used and was buried under snow 364 out of 365 days of the year. It was ridiculous.
And yet despite the unforgivable weather, he had thrived. For six long years, day after day, he had trained rigorously, driven by the need to master his innate talent and to wield such tremendous power and bring the Light to their knees. He had seen visions, none of which as violent as the first, of the slow uprising of the Dark Lord.
Voldemort, or formerly known was Tom Riddle, was buying time. He had yet to reveal himself to the public, slowly regaining power and his mass of followers in a hidden Manor somewhere in Scotland. The Ministry remained ignorant as usual as Voldemort slowly expanded his reach of influence across all of Great Britain. It was just the matter of time before he would strike.
Magic had shown him, kept him up to date with, very curiously, only the Dark Lord. He had seen nothing else of the Wizarding World outside of a brief vision of the deaths of the Flamels.
It was peculiar, but Harry could understand that the Dark Lord was the driving force in the change of magic. So he watched the Death Eater initiations, the torture of muggles and mudbloods, and the slow rise in Voldemort's power.
Harry was no different. He had grown in leaps and bounds in regards to magic. No longer did he even have to physically manipulate the webs into creating a spell. No, a single thought and push of magic did the work. He excelled in wards, spells, curses, healing—everything possible outside of potions.
He scowled at the mention of the subject. He was still pathetic and utterly useless at potions. He was able to suppress his magic to a certain point that it wouldn't infect every ingredient he touched, but the task of even lighting a fire to heat his potion would cause either an explosion or a distortion in the potion that would make it highly toxic.
It still irked him, however, that there was one thing in magic he couldn't obtain.
More like two. Wand magic.
Harry fingered his Hawthorn wand in his pocket and for the thousandth time, considered snapping the damn piece of wood.
Crafter magic was made to spin free and wild. Not to be caged and forced through something as restricting and narrow as wood. His magic bucked and screamed against wand magic, often leading to backlashes that would cause just as much destruction as potions. Like potions, however, he had been able to learn how to use his wand to a certain level.
Simple school spells like stupefy, expelliarmus, and protego were possible if he concentrated hard enough. Transfiguration and Ancient ruins was slightly easier, as he could subtly manipulate the webs around to create a successful outcome. His inefficiencies, however, made for a pleasant disguise of weakness if he ever needed an element of surprise
The thestral behind Harry suddenly reared up, its leathery wings spreading out in the air and beating against the harsh wind.
Giving a hard pull on the reins, Harry forced the unhappy creature back on four legs and continued trudging forward through the snow. He was carrying a precious load of supplies to the werewolves.
The deal Evan had stricken with the Alpha, Fenrir Greyback, still stood. A number of Muggle women and children were gifted to him and turned by the next full moon. After several Death Eaters, Order members, and Ministry officials appeared in the area with suspicions of Harry Potter's disappearance, Evan had been forced to upgrade their deal. He had promised the delivery of supplies such as clothes and weapons every week by Harry.
At first, Harry was furious to be used as a bargaining chip for the second time. However, he began to appreciate the day with the werewolves. He had quickly built friendships within the pack. They taught him how to hunt, skin animals, and start fires with simple rocks. A day with the pack became a relief to the strenuous training with Evan.
When Harry finally reached the clearing, he tied the reins of the thestral to a nearby tree and patted its skeletal body affectionately. From the sled he pulled out a large chunk of raw meat and tossed it at the thestral.
Unhooking the sled from the creature, Harry used his magic to pull it behind him. In the middle of the clearing, he paused and looked around.
A small child scampered into view from the forest.
"Harry!" she shouted, launching herself at the teenager.
Laughing, Harry leaned down to hug the small six-year old. It was Astra, an orphan witch who was turned by Greyback a year ago. She had immediately won him over with her unruly blonde hair, inquisitive green eyes, and positive attitude. She had not taken a werewolf name yet. Names were given when they reached full maturity—sixteen years of age.
"Hello Astra," he whispered as he ruffled her hair. "You've grown!"
She beamed. "I missed you, Harry! Greyback is waiting for you. You're finally sixteen!" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I think he means to initiate you into the pack."
Harry frowned and shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Astra. I'm not a werewolf." Returning back to a grin, he swung up the little girl and put her on his shoulders, relishing in her squeal of delight.
"You're so tall!" she said, laughing.
Harry knew she wasn't intentionally insulting him. He had grown little since he was ten. He stood at a measly 5"6 and he was thin and lithe. It was pathetic and he cursed the crafter genes for the umpteenth time.
"Alright, come on," he said, pulling the sled behind him with a small pull of magic. "Let's go find the big bad Alpha."
Astra giggled in his hair and laid her head on it.
Harry sighed happily as he basked in her innocence. He had long lost his childish naivety and innocence; Evan had destroyed that well within their first year together. He had a soft spot for children, much to his grounder's disgust. But he had mastered his magic and everything Evan had sought to teach him, so the man could only grumble to himself. Harry carried himself like a respectable pureblood, spoke with neutral masks in place, and traded barbed insults.
But around children, he could let his guard down. Astra was someone he held grown very fond of, much to the disgust of Evan.
When Harry found the pack, he stopped the sled on the ground. Werewolves converged, unloading the sled and unpacking the supplies with excited words.
Harry lifted Astra back on the ground, where she ran to the group of other children, laughing in joy. Staring after her, he felt a dark presence behind him and sighed.
"Greyback," he said respectfully, nodding his head.
Greyback hadn't changed in six years. He seemed to have hardly aged or changed, and unfortunately retained his perverse nature as well.
"Crafter," he said, looking him up and down. "You are no longer a child here." He cocked his head. "I've talked to your grounder. He told me you and him are leaving soon."
Harry nodded. Evan had approached him on his birthday about the news. Harry was finally fully fledged. The mark on his face proved it. Three lines curved around each of his eyes and merged together in a swirl of brush-like tattoos that led down his neck and onto his arms up to the web between his forefinger and thumb. The color was pitch black and stood out starkly from his pale alabaster skin. It represented his ability to see magic around him and manipulate it, moving from his eyes where he could see the magic and to his hands where he could touch it. The easy visibility of the sign marked him as a crafter, something that would garner respect and a certain amount of credibility.
He was ready to return to the Wizarding World. Lord Voldemort was almost done biding his time. Lucius had delivered the letter, and the Dark Lord was furiously awaiting their return. A Dark Lord waited for no one, but Evan had hidden away so reclusively that they could not be found.
"Yes," Harry nodded. "It's time. I'm ready to go back."
Greyback looked at the mark on his face and used a blunt finger to trace the mark on the right side of his face. The rough touch sent shivers down Harry's body. "You have become a full crafter. The Moon told me of the odds and of the Angels that were sent to oppress you." He gave a rugged smirk. "You are strong."
Harry scowled at the mention of the Angels. After his first encounter, he and Evan had worked to find a way of defense against the beings. While they were beautiful and alluring, they were much like Dementors, looking to suck out the soul.
If all women were like that, then he wanted nothing to do with the female population.
He suspected that the Mother didn't truly want him killed, but nevertheless, the Angels were sent. A test perhaps, or a constant reminder to remain true to his path. Whatever the reason, Harry was gifted with the magic of the Mother and it would not be readily stolen by Angels. It helped that he was armed with new magic and an amber amulet that prevented the allure.
Greyback continued. "You have fulfilled your side of the bargain exceptionally. But there is one more thing you must do." He gave a leering grin. "You will be the leader of the future. And I will be right next to you to see you bring a new world around, with equality for creatures."
"The leader will be the Dark Lord," Harry said sternly.
Greyback merely gave a sharp smile full of teeth. "Then you will be the first wizard inducted in a werewolf pack in all of history."
Harry nearly gaped in surprise; all of Evan's training barely kept his jaw from dropping. "I… how is that even possible?"
Greyback shrugged. "You are already connected to the Moon. You are more or less considered a werewolf in all means, aside from the fact that you are packless. We need not turn you. You simply must pass initiation."
Harry had watched a fair share of initiation rituals. They were rather simple. A sixteen-year old werewolf was given a large predator to hunt down. They ranged from wild griffins, muggle lions, and even more monstrous creatures. The werewolf was given a certain time limit to kill the prey in his/her wolf form and present the head to the Alpha. Then, they would be christened with a werewolf name and formally inducted in the pack.
"What do you have for me, then?" Harry asked, excitement slowly boiling inside of him. It had been a long time since his last true battle. Dueling was nowhere on the same level as battling a bloodthirsty creature.
Greyback gave a rumbling laugh. "Don't presume it will be easy, little one. You will be given a challenge greater than others. You must prove yourself worthy after all, if you are to be accepted by the pack."
Harry knew that Evan would be absolutely furious if he went through with this, but a bubble of rebellion grew in him. Evan had restrained him throughout his entire life and here, he would finally have something of his own.
Harry nodded and stood up straight.
"I will have Silvermoon find you and prepare," Greyback said before turning off and striding away. A quiet growl aroused the attention of his pack, who followed him back into the forest.
Harry waited for Silvermoon. She was the priestess of the pack and had a unique bond with the Moon. Each pack had an Alpha, Beta, healer, and priestess, all responsible for keeping the pack intact.
In the empty clearing, Silvermoon prowled forward. She was a tall female, with long straight silver hair that reached the small of her back and large luminous eyes with only a tint of yellow. She moved as if a leaf drifting in the wind and carried with her a wooden staff made of gnarled wood.
"Harry Potter," Silvermoon breathed, reaching down to touch his cheek with a cold hand.
"Silvermoon," Harry bowed respectfully.
The two did not speak any further. There was no need. She set about preparing a set of paints that she used to decorate his body like war paints. She left the crafter mark on his face alone, instead focusing on his forehead. Motioning for him to take off his shirt, Silvermoon began to trace symbols and swirls down his chest and abdomen.
The cold touch of her hands created a path of goosebumps. Harry forced down the need to shiver and instead looked ahead, his emotions closed off. His mind kept drifting back to how utterly furious Evan would be, seeing him "defiled" by filthy creature blood.
Evan was becoming increasingly possessive in him. The vows Harry had so foolishly sworn to when he was ten served as binding chains to his freedom, keeping him by the man's side. Yet it didn't prevent the growing resentment inside of Harry. He kept Harry close by his side, controlling his every move and thought. Harry knew he was being trained to be a servant of the Dark Lord. It delighted him to think of Evan being subservient to another man, but irked him at the same time to know that he too would be under Voldemort's rule.
He knew just as well as Evan of what role a grounder should play in the life of a crafter. To support and protect, not manipulate and abuse. There was a reason why the Mother chose grounders by herself. But considering the company he was stuck with for most of his childhood, Harry would choose Evan over Vernon Dursley any day.
The abuse had never escalated very far, however. A backhand was the worst he ever got, and as he aged and grew stronger, the physical harm began to slowly cede. Instead, the two reverted to trading insults that would always end with Evan in the lead.
But Harry knew he owed his life to the man. If his magic had gone unrestrained for any longer, he would have fallen into insanity long before he turned sixteen. And Evan had trained him, made him strong and powerful; an able man capable of standing among the most competent wizards nearly twice his age.
A sharp tap on Harry's right cheek brought him out of his musings. Silvermoon looked at him curiously. "You will make a fine addition to the pack," she whispered.
Harry felt honor swell inside of him. "Thank you," he whispered in reply. "The pack has been good to me for the past six years; I hope I can return the favor."
Silvermoon made no reply and instead lead him into the forest where Greyback and the remainder of the pack had retreated into. They walked in silence to a small clearing where the entire pack stood in a circle, leaving an empty space for Harry.
Pushed into the center, Harry stood confidently and looked around at the familiar faces around him. He frowned when he noticed no children within the audience. The children were always in the front row, cheering for the werewolf fighting.
Greyback shouldered his way into the center of the circle.
"Crafter," he rumbled. "This will be the first time a human has been initiated. And for that, I bring you a challenge." He tipped his head up and gave a shrieking call into the sky.
At first, there was no reply. But in the distance, a shriek was repeated. The sound of beating wings grew louder and louder and the watching werewolves gave a collective gasp before scrambling back to create a larger circle.
An enormous hippogriff landed in the circle. It was easily the largest of its species, with an eagle head the size of two large cauldrons and wings that measured at least 15 feet tip to tip. It gave a piercing shriek and glared down at Harry with intelligent eyes.
Greyback gave a smirk at Harry's startled face. "This is Stormwing. He has long served as a guardian of this forest. We cannot force you to kill an innocent creature—that is not the nature of a crafter. Instead, show your strength and versatility and tame the beast. He will try to kill you. Prove to us that you are not a merciless killer as your grounder trained you. Prove to me that you are a worthy leader to follow."
Harry was speechless. "This…" he managed to choke out. It was a gift, not initiation. His heart felt heavy as he stared up at the hippogriff, which reared up on its hind legs and clawed at the air with incredibly sharp talons.
Greyback's face became serious. "I've told you, we stand behind the crafter. Werewolves have always done so. Lord Voldemort may have promised us blood and mayhem as we crave, but we crave freedom and the end of wizard superiority more. You alone can give us this."
Nodding wordlessly, Harry steeled himself and faced the hippogriff. Stormwing clawed at the dirt, leaving deep gouges in the ground and spread his wings, letting out a challenging screech.
As Greyback moved back into the crowd, Harry quickly conjured a leather rope and crouched.
Stormwing charged, beak opened wide and talons extended. Harry moved out of the way at the last minute and swung the rope over the hippogriff's wings and brought his hands together. The leather tied together forcibly around the beast's chest, forcing the wings to collapse.
The hippogriff gave a scream of fury and turned around to face Harry with bloodshot eyes. His wings strained briefly before the leather snapped in half like a twig. Leaping forward, he grabbed Harry by his robes with sharp, dagger-like talons and took off in the air with beating wings.
Dangling high above the trees, Harry gave a pained shout as the talons that gripped his robes dug deeper into his flesh. Giving a snarl, he brought his own hand around the feathered forearm and dug his own steel-like nails in.
Stormwing gave a screech of pain. Harry took advantage of the loosened talons and quickly swung himself onto Stormwing's back. Conjuring steal chains this time, he quickly tied himself to the hippogriff's back just in time for Stormwing to begin barrel rolling in the air, desperate to fling the human off his back.
Gritting his teeth against the nausea, Harry summoned the webs in the air and struggled to reach them. He could see the web glistening over the hippogriff's neck and knew that a quick touch would snap the animal's neck. It would be simple. Painless. He could also see ten different ways to bind his magic to Stormwing's, creating a bond that would force the animal to answer to him.
But that would be doing what Evan did to him. Harry resented the man for it, feeling more as a caged animal than as a student. He didn't want Stormwing to feel the same, and he doubted that he would pass the test by forcing the hippogriff to be tamed.
Harry was at loss. He had no knowledge on how to force the animal to submit to him.
A quick turn of the hippogriff's body nearly brought Harry flying off of his back and Harry gripped the neck feathers even harder. His mind churned and churned for an idea and he began to panic.
Suddenly it hit him. Conjuring a set of reins he used for the thestral, he swung it around Stormwing's head and with miraculous luck, managed to get it into his mout. Pulling backwards, he gave a yell as the hippogriff was forced to fly upwards to accommodate the bite.
Laughing in the wind, Harry began to feed magic into the hippogriff. It wasn't dangerous magic. It was pure magic from his body. Pure magic that sang and danced of freedom, showing pictures of open skies and herds of hippogriffs and plenty of worthy mates to settle down and create a family. His magic sang sharply by Stormwing's ears and molded into the body, setting into the creature's innate webs and caressing the creature's magic with words of desire and want.
He fed more and more of his magic to Stormwing, feeling his body begin to weaken. Gritting his teeth, he began to take webs around their spiraling form and weave desperately, his nails scrabbling in the empty air as he conjured pictures of loyalty and companionship in Stormwing's mind.
Harry began to feel the creature begin to slow down. The wings began to beat at a steadier pace and Stormwing had stopped screaming in anger. Instead, they glided carefully in the sky, circling and circling until they stopped back at the clearing.
Harry slid off of Stormwing's back and winced. His back was bleeding profusely from Stormwing's talons but he stood straight nevertheless and looked straight at the hippogriff, taking careful precautions to not look the beast in the eye.
Rather than bowing at the waist, Harry slowly lowered himself on both of his knees and stared up fearlessly at the hippogriff.
The clearing grew quiet as Stormwing stood above Harry's vulnerable body. Everyone knew that a single swipe of the hippogriff's claw or snap of a beak would kill Harry in a single strike.
Finally, the creature did the same. Falling uncomfortably onto his hind legs and folding his forelegs under his body, Stormwing leaned forward so that his head was level with Harry's.
Cheering and applause stormed in the clearing as Harry stood up with Stormwing, reaching over without hesitation to stroke the hippogriff's beak.
Harry had won the hippogriff over without bonds or restraints. By kneeling, Harry had put him and Stormwing on equal level. His magic promised a life of freedom and protection from him, and a life full of prosperity and happiness.
Greyback walked over with a shit-eating grin on his face. "I didn't doubt you for a second, crafter. Every other wizard would have killed Stormwing. No, you did something extraordinary." He held out a hand and Harry took it confidently. "You will take no werewolf name. You alone are known as the crafter. The mark on your face tells that story." He cocked his head. "Stormwing will be what marks you as part of this pact."
Harry nodded. "What will happen to Stormwing?"
Greyback grinned "He chose you on his free will. He will be by your side for as long as you remain worthy in his eyes. Hippogriff's are independent creatures. They don't serve as a servant, but as a companion."
As if in agreement, Stormwing extended his wings with a cry of triumph.
Harry frowned. "I will not be able to take him with me wherever I go. You know that I am to return to the Dark Lord. And Evan will be less than happy about Stormwing."
"He will not follow you like some pathetic little kneazle," Greyback sneered. "If the time calls for it, you may call him and he will answer. That is all."
Nodding, Harry felt coldness settle around him. He had used so much magic that his warming charms were beginning to wear off.
Greyback noticed but thankfully did not point out the weakness. "Blackclaw, escort the crafter back to his home."
The Beta emerged from the crowd, gently grasping Harry's elbow and leading him back to the clearing.
"You did well," Blackclaw said gruffly. The two had grown rather close over the past six years. "I could have sworn Stormwing would have killed you. He is a vicious creature, and he's killed a fair share of werewolves over his life."
Harry grinned. "I'm not so easily killed, Blackclaw."
Blackclaw didn't look so amused. "You return to Lord Voldemort today."
Harry nodded, sobering up. "Yes," he said cautiously. "It is what I've trained so long for. I fight for Evan and the Dark Lord." His vows pulsed strongly inside of him.
Blackclaw frowned and turned his head away. "You are a crafter," he stated.
"Yes."
"A crafter," Blackclaw said softly, "is brought to the world to bring balance back into magic."
"And I will," Harry comforted. "The Dark has been pushed too far to the side by the abusive Light. I do my duty by serving the Dark Lord, as Evan told me. It is my destiny to do so."
It sounded wrong even to his ears but Harry could do nothing to comfort himself. "It is my destiny," he repeated slowly.
Blackclaw was smart enough not to push the issue. Instead he changed the subject to news about the pack.
The two exchanged small talk until reaching where the thestral was waiting. Boosting Harry onto the back of the thestral, Blackclaw put a hand on the crafter's leg and looked at the child.
"Be careful," he warned. "I've fought on the side of the Dark Lord during the First War. He will be ruthless. Your mind is not meant to suffer such cruelty."
"Are you saying you do not support him?" Harry asked, curiosity overpowering the dangerous tone.
Blackclaw's expression did not change. "We werewolves stand beside you. Where you stand, we stand beside you. Greyback wishes me to tell you to tell Lord Voldemort."
It would increase his status to the Dark Lord. Harry wondered if Blackclaw knew that.
"I will tell him," he said softly. "But I must leave. Evan will be wondering where I am."
Nodding, Blacklaw pointed at Harry's back. "Be sure to heal that soon." He turned around and paused. "We will not be far away from you," he warned. "If you ever need sanctuary, you need not look far."
Harry watched as the werewolf disappeared into the trees. An empty feeling appeared in Harry's chest and he gave a sigh of dismay.
His magic was slowly returning and with a twist of his fingers, Harry healed the wounds on his back and cleaned his robes. The snow had subsided to the point where the thestral could walk without fighting the wind.
Kicking his feet against the thestral's side, Harry started forward, eyes staring emptily into the snow.
It was too late to regret his past. He had sworn the vows, promised to serve Evan and serve the man until his own death.
It wasn't like he was fighting for a wrong cause, was he?
Evan was not pleased when Harry returned, robes ripped and magic horribly off balance. He took note of the werewolf war paint Harry had neglected to vanish and his face darkened.
"Foolish child," he chided as he jammed his wand to Harry's left cheek and cleaned off the paint with a quick scrougify. "Greyback inducted you into the pack."
Harry nodded tightly. Evan wouldn't dare hurt the pack. Even the Dark Lord would be wary; Greyback held the largest pack in Great Britain and was as ruthless and coldblooded as he was.
Evan cocked his head. "What creature did you fight to put you in such a state? You forget that I am your grounder—I can feel the old wounds and residue of healing magic."
Despite everything, Harry felt a wry grin grow. "Hippogriff," he boasted. "Nearly killed me in the process but I managed to wrangle a deal with him."
"Him?" Evan asked sharply. "You didn't kill it?"
Harry frowned. "His name is Stormwing. And no, of course not. Greyback said it wasn't the nature of crafters."
Evan sneered with obvious distaste. "Greyback is an uncivilized brute whose knowledge on magic and wizardry is the same level as your common sense. Nonexistent. He's made you soft on animals. Mere beasts that are not worth your time nor foolish names."
Bristling, Harry took a step back. "You yourself said you respected Greyback." His mind skimmed over the fact that Evan hadn't directly contradicted the fact that killing creatures was not what crafters did.
Evan waved his hand nonchalantly. "To a certain extent. He dominantly controls over sixty men and women without protest. That's impressive by itself. But that doesn't change the fact he's a filthy half-breed. The only reason the Dark Lord pays any attention to them is because they're an asset to the war."
A curious look flashed through Evan's face, and a dark, shark grin stretched across his face in a demented fashion. "Of course, this would all be settled if you did this to secure an alliance between Greyback and the Dark Lord."
Manipulation. Again. Harry was well past the age to be able to recognize the ploy, but he found himself cornered. Evan would probably force him to either kill Stormwing or cut their newly found companionship, which would isolate Harry from Greyback's pack.
He remained in silent defeat. Evan reached over and gave a mocking pat to Harry's hair.
"Good boy," he praised. "Come along then, my crafter. It is time we met with the Dark Lord." He pressed his wand to Harry's face again to hide his markings.
Nodding, Harry wordlessly summoned his trunk of belongs as well as his useless wand. Catching the wood and sticking it carelessly in his robe pocket, Harry ignored the disapproving glare from Evan and carefully began to fortify the house wards in case it was needed as a sanctuary.
Evan pulled from his pocket a galleon. He placed a finger on the gold and Harry did the same.
Smirking, Evan whispered, "prodigy," and the two disappeared in a whirl of colors.
So what did you think? Lord Voldemort will be making an appearance next chapter along with Snape and the other Death Eaters. As I said before, the pace will definitely be picking up.
I've run into a huge writers block for the past month so writing has been pretty slow. I have up to chapter 10 prepared but I've been stuck for so long that updates may take a little longer if not to give me some more time to figure out what the hell I'm doing.
On a brighter note, if anyone is interested, I could always use some extra heads to bounce ideas off of so give me a message if you'd like that!
Loveandpower: You'll be see how Voldemort will fit in all of this in the next few chapters. And Dumbledore has tried to find Harry but due to the fidelius. Greyback's pack is also an extra incentive to keep out nosy wizards. Thanks for the review!
mizzrazz72: Evan was always a little crazy before Voldemort's first fall. I don't think Lucius was very surprised, especially when he surrounds himself with people like Evan, Bellatrix, and Crouch Jr. Thanks for the review!
Bond One: Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying this so much.