Author's Note:

Just to let you know, the names featured in this chapter are pronounced thusly (some people's experiences of the name may vary however depending on their location/accent):

Shae: is pronounced 'shay' - sh [as in 'ship'] and ai [as in 'pain']

Eithne: is pronounced 'eth-nih' - eth [as in 'ethnic'] and ni [as in 'nib']

Thank you for enjoying my story so far. Please leave me a comment if you can spare a moment to let me know how you're enjoying it :)

.: Chapter Four :.

Run Rabbit Run

Greyback grit his teeth as the sweet perfume of the boy's arousal threatened to rob him of his senses. Potter's face was flushed and his breath was still dancing across Fenrir's collarbone with maddening fervour. Just a bit longer, Fenrir told himself sternly as he took longer, faster strides to his destination.

The village of Shae, a place he knew well was bustling cheerily with the early afternoon tasks. No one even turned as he walked through the grey stone path towards the modest stone house he knew just as well. The roof of each old English building was slate grey, built with shallow gradients to cover the quant single story homes.

Once on the outskirt of the modest market, he moved into the arched doorway of one of the larger homes and without knocking, stepped inside. "Eithne, it's me!" he called gruffly, bypassing the cosy living area that housed (among other cosy necessities) a large solid wooden table and matching chairs. A cauldron was bubbling within an inglenook fireplace, carved from the same cobblestone as the rest of the village. He pushed open a door at the far side and walked into a deserted bedroom, where he dropped his charge unceremoniously onto the fur-lined bed and turned to see Eithne standing in the doorway.

She was a slender, elegant looking old woman with shining silver hair pulled up off her neck in tight curls. Although she was in no way youthful any longer, she was still beautiful in her own right and in no way weak. Her ice-blue eyes glistened vibrantly in the sunlight streaming in through the large window.

"Cutting your visit fine are you not?" she asked with dulcet tones, scanning him up and down with those wily azure orbs. "Or do you claim that the great Alpha Fenrir Greyback is above remembering the moon cycle now?"

Before he could even open his mouth to answer, she spied the young body on the bed, writhing, twisting and coiling in on itself as if in pain. Her eyes widened.

"You've bitten him!" she accused, "so close to the moon? You…you–"

"As if I'd do such a spiteful thing," he snarled at her. "You've started to listen to the tripe they say about me, eh? And I thought you wiser than that." He glared at her before crossing the room, pulling back the boy's cloak to expose the iridescent pink mark at his throat. "He's like my mother, he carries the blood in his veins. He's mine."

The old woman stepped closer. Ignoring the low, instinctually possessive growl Fenrir offered as she drew near, she rested the back of her hand against the boy's forehead. The way she glanced to the now unmistakeable movement of his hands over his groin told Fenrir she knew what ailed Potter now.

"Moon heat," she said, stepping back from him. "His first?"

Fenrir nodded, irritation prickling through his skin. His patience, his mood was tense with the moon heat burning through him, biting and gnawing at him with every desire and emotion heightened to the extreme. He wanted to shove her aside and slam balls deep into his boy to satisfy his cries of need. He wanted, he needed…

But he was in control of all of that. He was the alpha. He needed to be.

"His instincts haven't…bloomed enough yet. He's not ready to see me during a full moon. He'll stay here with you, but in this room," he paused then, glancing between his mate and the old woman. "I think you know why it's so important that he doesn't leave this room until I collect him at dawn."

Eithne looked over the boy a final time before giving him, Fenrir the smallest infraction of a nod. With this, Fenrir crossed the room, shrugging off the shirt he had only attained that morning along with his trousers. Eithne didn't so much as blush, on the contrary she moved forwards and snatched up his dirty clothes, holding her arm out to him impatiently. "Give me those rags the boy is wearing. They're filthy. Not fit for a stray mongrel," she snapped.

Fenrir leant down, completely unconcerned about his nakedness and opened the fur cloak to reveal his mate's desperate writhing body beneath. Sweat permeated his flesh so profusely that his clothes clung to him with it, his perfect pinkish nipples erect and visible through the white shirt. When Fenrir's hands moved to his shirt collar to begin to undress him, the boy turned his head towards him dazedly.

A desperate, whimpering groan left those flushed lips. Those impossibly green eyes were shining wetly with desire. His lips worried Fenrir's knuckles desperately, teeth grazing the flesh as his hands shot up to Fenrir's, gripping his wrists and trying to tug them down flat to his body with urgency. "T-Touch!" The boy gasped out, his voice not his own. "Fuck – breed – take–!"

"Be still!" Fenrir snarled, shoving Potter's hands to the bed. "You stink of them. I want these clothes off you!" His tone made Potter still, made him turn his head to bare his throat in submission. Fenrir growled lowly in the back of his throat. Yes, he thought, he's learning it quick. By next full moon he will be ready to share it with me as he was born to…

"You have courted him in the traditional manner," Eithne said. Her calm voice cut through the atmosphere of the room which was swiftly becoming so intense that Fenrir was finding it hard to breathe in anything but the boy and his need.

"You awoke the werewolf in him?" she asked. Fenrir said nothing but as always she seemed to know the answer without him giving it aloud. "And he chose you?"

"He was…reserved about it when he woke up with his human senses in tact," Fenrir began in a tone of indifference. Eithne nodded.

"Common for those not awoken when they are younger. He needs time to accept the other half of himself, they all do," she said before snatching up the boy's clothes that Fenrir had quickly stripped off the suddenly very still body on the bed. She strode across the room and looked back at him from the doorway, an odd look on her pale, wrinkled face. "I realise that your very nature makes it difficult, but try to be patient with him. He needs time to adjust to everything that is changing inside of him."

Fenrir grunted, frustrated, still angry and impossibly aroused. He was not interested in a lecture of patience from the village's matriarch. Suddenly the patience of the boy on the bed seemed to vanish too and another animalistic whine burst from his lips. His hands stayed where Fenrir had thrown them but that body squirmed, those eyes burning, pleading as they gazed up him.

With his body rigid with the effort of holding back, Fenrir watched him, unmoving, as still as stone. The boy cried again and slid up onto his knees, apparently unaware of the third body in the room as he threw himself forward onto his belly, pulling his knees tightly under himself and exposing his raised arse.

The sound of a door closing cut through the sound of the boy's panting and Fenrir turned to see that at last Eithne had taken her leave and closed the door behind her. At long bloody last, Fenrir thought scathingly of the old, interfering know-it-all trout. His boy was shaking all over now, his body flushed all over and another troubled sound came from him.

Cursing under his breath, Fenrir slid onto the bed behind the smaller body. That dark head was turned to the side now so that Fenrir could see his flustered, desperate expression perfectly. But it was just as pitiable as it was arousing.

Being denied release during moon heat was nothing short of torture.

"Y-You…swore…" Potter panted then.

"And I don't break my promises, certainly not to my mate," Fenrir answered. "You'll ride me until the moon signals her approach, pet. And then you'll sleep here, wait for me until I come get you at dawn. You're not to leave this room. Understand?"

That tone was inarguable, with no room to manoeuvre and Harry nodded frantically, willing to do anything his alpha wanted, to be a good mate, to please the man below him. To take his essence inside him…

***CENSORED. FOR FULL VERSION PLEASE FOLLOW ONE OF THE LINKS ON MY PROFILE***

Fenrir Greyback lay down over him. Their bodies were touching but Fenrir's arms resting either side of Harry's head kept his full weight off of him. They were both panting for breath.

Harry gasped for air and relaxed into the tremors shaking him. He felt every ounce of tension dwindle from his limbs and heard the moon whisper that he had time to rest before she rose, before she called them together again to consummate their union.

He liked this thoughtless feeling, the lack of knowledge of everything happening in the world outside. He was safe here under his mate's heat, protected and able to rest without planning for the next moment, the next battle. His life had been that before the wolf in him had awoken hadn't it? He wasn't sure. But he was sure that he was tired and that he couldn't see any reason not to allow slumber to take him for a while. His alpha would protect him while he slept.

Fenrir's breathing evened out. He groaned softly as he lifted completely off his mate to stare down at him. The boy was asleep. He was painted and reeking of their combined essence, his face young and unlined, peaceful in slumber. It'll be easier if he continues to sleep, Fenrir thought, easing himself off the bed so as not to wake the boy. He wiped their joint fluids off of that lithe body lightly, ensuring he would leave the scent behind. It would be best if the boy smelled of him as much as possible, especially for tonight, despite the fact that he wouldn't be joining him this time. Or leaving the room. It was imperative that neither happen tonight. He's not ready, Fenrir thought. After that he would likely sleep through most of the night.

The boy squirmed happily in his sleep, rolling over and nuzzling into the fur that Fenrir folded over him, lest the air cast a chill over his still sweat-slicked skin. He looked helpless like this, except he wasn't and for some reason Fenrir liked that. He liked the inner strength it had taken for the boy to withstand weeks of torture at the Dark Lord's hand. He admired his pride and the stubbornness that matched his own so perfectly.

He almost couldn't wait for the frenzy of the moon heat to die so that he could experience just how wilful he was first hand.

A prickle of awareness caressed his sweaty skin and he turned his head to the window, following the call over to it. It looked out onto a quiet garden filled with various vegetables and herbs he knew Eithne grew herself but it was the sky that his eyes fixed on. The day was waning, the moon was calling him. He cast a final glance back at the boy on the bed and closed the shutters against the moon's summons. It wouldn't be long now.

It was a swell of static electricity coursing down his spine that jerked Harry awake. He stared around dazedly at the dark room, trying to bring his eyes back into focus. The room reeked of sweat and sex, of musky bodies and it took him a while to adjust to the dimness, enough to finally make out that he was in a bedroom he had never seen before – all alone.

Except he had seen it before. Oh Merlin…

He was on a bed that looked rumpled. A few sparse pieces of furniture of no particular interest were dotted around the room. The only door was shut and the grand double windows at the side were sealed by great wooden shutters. Pale light crept in through the slats in the shutters and he froze as his green gaze locked on the ethereal glow. The static sensation prickled all along his spine again as he looked on it. Every hair on his body stood on end. Slowly he got to his feet, as if drawn by some otherworldly power, lured into a trance.

Crossing the room, he laid his hands on the shutters, feeling the moonlight cool and powerful against his skin. He bathed in the diminutive light a moment, his entire body thrumming and he closed his eyes, breathing in the smells that filled the room. His fingers tensed on the shutters, preparing to throw them open and expose himself to the moon's light, but no sooner had the muscles in his arms tensed, than the door opened, breaking his trance.

Harry flew to the bed, seizing the fur cloak there and wrapping it around him. He remembered now, remembered the moon heat taking him over in the pool, remembered being set upon by the twins and brought here by Greyback. He even vaguely recalled this woman but the image of what he had done and said and felt in this room with Greyback afterwards was most prominently burned into his mind.

Bile rose in his throat at the memory of the noises he had made, but his chest tightened on recalling how it had felt. So…good?! He grit his teeth, trying to justify what he had felt, blame it on some outward source, on the moon heat – anything. But something inside him (perhaps his slowly awakening instincts) reminded him that all the heat, the moon did was eradicate his human inhibitions. That was why werewolves did nothing but kill, eat, fuck and sleep during the full moon after all. It took away anything that stopped you from concentrating on your most basic needs.

On some level, I wanted this, he thought with horror, wincing at the thought, grinding his teeth together hard. The elderly woman stepped into the room, a bundle of cloth under one arm and a tray in the opposite hand. She gave him a cursory glance before dropping the bundle onto the bed. "Clean clothes. I've tossed away those filthy things you were wearing, they didn't fit you anyway. I've adjusted these for you so they should be fine."

A small round tray was laid beside the cloth and she looked at him again, studying him more closely this time as she said, "Bread and honey. You need sugar in you at this time of the month. But it's not good for you to have anything too trying on the stomach before sleep."

Harry's brow furrowed with disbelief. "Sleep?" he repeated. "I just woke up after being…" He grit his teeth, swallowing what he had been about to say. "I'm not going to sleep. I'm sorry, I know you're probably only trying to help but I have to get out of here."

The old woman pushed the tray towards him without acknowledging he had spoken. "I could hear your stomach from the other room while you slept," she said and Harry finally looked properly at the food. Whether it was his instincts or simply his stomach seizing control of his actions from hunger, he snatched up the bread and was downing the final slice before he had truly realised what he was doing. There was some milk there in a goblet too, which he gulped down before setting it back empty on the tray.

It was only when he was empty handed again that he realised he had acted without pause, without even considering that he didn't know this woman or if she had poisoned the food or not. Instinctively his hand went to his throat. He was imagining the last of that milk burning as it went down. As if she had sensed his thoughts, the old woman smiled softly.

"Even if I wanted to hurt you, young one, your mate would have ripped me to shreds if I did so. And he would never have left me charge of something so precious if I were not trustworthy."

Harry winced. There was that word again, 'precious'. He wanted to feel that way, to be most precious to someone as (having no parents or real lovers) he had never been to anyone in his entire life. He wanted it yes, maybe even needed it on some basic level. But he did not want to be Fenrir Greyback's anything! Much less precious!

"This is ridiculous," he said at last, without really meaning to say it aloud. That static prickling was addling his brain now. Sweat had started to break out across his skin and it felt a little harder than usual to draw in each breath and keep it there. The moon was singing softly behind the shutters without actually making a noise, simply using the sounds of the world. The wind, the trees, the grass, the animals in the distance, even the breath in his lungs and his own heartbeat thudded together in a low, whispering hum.

Harry felt claustrophobic in this room, in this building. He had to get out. Because I have to escape Greyback, he told himself firmly, ignoring the desire burning in his belly to seek the beast out. The rut he'd unwittingly and yet willingly shared with Greyback earlier had sated his urges enough for his mind to take control once more.

"I don't belong to him, I don't belong with him," he murmured under his breath. He pulled on the brown trousers, soft-leather shoes and dark green shirt which was still loose but clung more to his form that before. The woman didn't say anything, just watched him as he dressed, but the moment he moved towards the door, she stood in his path.

Harry grit his teeth so hard he swore he heard them creak ominously. "I can admit that this…wolf blood in me is inherited, is part of who I am but he still bit me against my will. He ruined my life – made a life-changing decision for me without my input. Whatever his 'reasons' he made a decision that's changed me forever and I've bloody had enough of that. I've had enough of losing control of myself around him because of this 'recessive gene' that could have remained dormant if he'd left well enough alone!"

The woman watched him thoughtfully. "Everything happens for a reason, my boy–"

"Yes and this all happened because Fenrir Greyback saw me and thought I'd make a good baby factory!" he snarled bitterly. "But whatever he thought, whatever my instincts make me do I'll kill anything of his before I let it grow inside me and change me into something I'm not." He was seething. He was suffocating. His body was near shaking with the need to escape. Escape everything and run – fly. Oh, how he missed his broom…

"The instincts make you do nothing, young one. The decisions you make when they come to the forefront of your mind are still your own. They are still your human heart's decisions, just without the influence of jaded, human misconceptions and prejudices."

Harry gave a hollow laugh. "I've heard that, I know that. It just makes me all the more infuriated with this whole situation!"

The woman raised a silvery brow. "Infuriated because this is a sparkling opportunity to take what you have always dreamed of – always wanted, needed but your human misgivings say you shouldn't find it here? Not with someone like Fenrir Greyback? Is that just because it is him, because of what he did or perhaps because you do not feel you deserve it?"

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You're either stark raving mad, or just not listening. I don't want to be here and I'm sick of being forced to do things I don't want to. I won't sit tight and wait for the return of an arsehole that wants to use me and control me. He's fucked up my life enough already."

With that he stormed forwards. But the woman did not move. He paused, closing his eyes to rein in his temper. He needed to get out! "I don't want to hurt you," he murmured under his breath, which was coming out in sharp, short pants now. "But I am going to leave and I will get past you. Please move aside."

The woman still did not move. "It is dangerous for you to leave the safety of the village while the full moon reigns, boy," she warned him. "Fenrir and his pack helped us to set up a parameter to keep all unwanted visitors out of the village. Other wolves and magical beasts included. The protections are superior to that of even charms such as the Fidelius, but if you leave here tonight you will stumble across one of those rogue wolves for certain!" She gripped his shoulders tightly. "You will be raped or killed or worse, boy! I cannot allow you to go out there!"

Harry shoved her aside, regret tingeing his mind as he pushed past her and made a beeline for the front door. "Raped by Greyback, raped by one of them – there's no difference. I'm not going to be a werewolf's bitch. Even if I didn't have a job to do, I still wouldn't stay!" He heard her calling after him, heard her running across the wooden floor, swiping at the air in desperate attempts to catch hold of him but he was faster now. Faster than before and definitely faster than her (even if she was quick for an old woman). He threw open the door and bolted out into the night.

The second the moonlight touched his face, every inch of exposed flesh, he felt heat spread through him. His heart was thudding wildly, his blood thick with adrenaline and he did not stop. He flew through the village, ignoring the cries of the woman and anyone else that he bypassed. All of them tried in vain to grab him, to stop him but he was far too quick.

He could feel the wolf in him surging. He was faster, stronger, his sight was keener and he could see every blade of grass illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. A thrill of freedom rushed through him as he ran and he grinned despite himself at the exhilaration of it. The border of the village was in sight, the last building and a small stone well marking the boundary. It was feet away now. He was closer. Closer.

He was free. He'd bolted clean out of their range, into the forest and didn't need to glance back to know they had followed no further. He was free!

The darkness of the trees was nothing to his eyes. He did not so much as trip as he flew over upturned roots and weaved between the trees. The clean air was rushing into his lungs like new life and without realising, a cry of animalistic thrill sailed through his lips as he skidded to a halt. He flopped back into the grass, staring up at the canopy of the trees. The moon shone down at him through the gaps, bathing his body in its near unbearable heat.

Slowly, as the immediate burst of adrenaline and thrill that had rocketed through him began to ebb away, he wondered what was the best way to get out of here. Could he apparate without a wand? He was still panting as he stared up at the flickers of sky he could see through the trees. The moonlight felt warmer than the sun on his skin.

He'd learnt that werewolves had magic of their own that they didn't need a wand to channel. But he doubted a few days was enough experience to allow him to rely on that. Still, it couldn't hurt to try. He needed to get out of here, get back to Ron and Hermione – he needed to find the rest of those horcruxes and then kill Voldemort!

I'll worry about everything else later, he thought as he clambered to his feet, determination filling the void that the ebbing excitement left behind. He had felt a jolt of bliss at the touch of the wind and moon on his face, a pleasure that he'd never known before the werewolf in him had awoken. It had been startling and now he tried to shove it far from his mind as he closed his eyes.

Fixing his mind on the image of The Burrow he held close to his heart, he concentrated on it hard with all his might, then whirled on the spot. Nothing happened. Again he tried and then again focussing on different places, Grimmauld Place's doorstep, Hogsmeade Station, even Privet Drive. That last attempt left him so dizzy that he staggered backwards into a tree. It wouldn't work.

e was s

Panic flickered at the edges of his mind as that trapped, claustrophobic feeling started to flow back to him again. How was he supposed to get out of here? Out of instinct rather than thought, he took a cursory sniff of the air and the scent of others out there in the distance carried on the slight breeze into his nose. He wasn't alone out here, but then he'd known that. He'd just have to get past them without magic. He had no idea where he was and had no wand to assist him, but if he could find another town or even retrack the path he and Fenrir had taken back to that farmhouse…

Suddenly, a piercing howl tore through the night that chilled Harry to the bone. He swallowed hard. Whether that was Greyback or not, he didn't want to stick around to find out. He scanned the forest for a moment, trying to find his bearings and decipher a route to take. But there was no path to follow.

Another howl swam through the dark night – nearer than before, Harry thought and the notion sent him bolting into the trees in a random direction. He moved as swiftly and quietly as he could, trying to keep his breath even and low. But the heat was still roiling in his belly, the static still licking at his loins and they both reminded him that at this time of the month, they wouldn't need to hear him to find him.

They can smell me! He thought with horror. He flew off to his left, knowing that the stream he'd woken to earlier flowed through here. Sure enough, he caught the faintest glimmer of moonlight dancing across the surface of water and manoeuvred through the trees to see a branch of the river. He leapt into it quickly, drenching himself to the skin, before plucking a fist full of the sweet-smelling flowers the colour of moonlight from the edge of the bank.

They didn't smell overly pungent, but enough that it might help to confuse his scent if not hide it completely. He rubbed the petals over himself, his throat, under his arms and against his crotch with a flush, the places he (somehow) knew his scent would radiate from most strongly. A scent that any unmated wolf would not be able to resist tonight.

Back onto the bank he leapt then, but before he could dive back into the trees he stopped. Still as stone, he scanned the dark line of the trees. He swore he had seen a flicker of movement there just now to his right, but the wind was not coming from that direction so he could smell nothing. His heart was hammering in his chest again with fear now as opposed to adrenaline.

The forest was full of things he'd much rather didn't find him, but nothing worse than what lurked in the Forbidden Forest, of that he was sure. And he had been in there countless times. No time to think, he reminded himself sharply, before taking off in the opposite direction to the hopefully imagined shadow lurking behind the nearest trees.

Hopelessness began to war with determination in his gut. He was heading towards the village again now with the intent to follow the edge of the forest round. It was a longer route than straight through but he was less likely to get lost and more likely to find civilisation on the forest border. The kind of civilisation he wanted to find at least.

Once beyond the border he allowed his footsteps to slow a little, the possibility of a chase less daunting now that he was out in open air with the moon breathing softly down on him. He wasn't as afraid as he had been with her watching. Though he had a nasty suspicion that was because his instincts bloomed under her light when she was in full. His instincts were more than eager for one of the wolves he felt out there to catch him.

As he walked across the deserted moorlands beyond the forest, a slight breeze whisked over him. An eerie mist lingered across them that shone silver with the moonlight but Harry set his jaw and walked through it. His wet clothes clung to him, turning cold in the night air and making him shiver.

After being burning hot all day he was now shuddering with the cold. His body was beginning to ache as well as tremble with the static sensation rushing through him. But he had to keep going, he was not just going to lay down and die, or worse, wait for one of the wolves still howling in the distance to come find him. He would not give up, not while he still had breath in his lungs, the idea was abhorrent to him.

Suddenly, a deep, ominous howl sounded just to the side – far too close for comfort. The mist had swirled now so that he could see nothing around him at all. Nothing but a greyish haze interspersed with moonlight and glimpses of grass underfoot. The howl sounded again, closer now and Harry felt his heart hammering in his throat. Instinctively he reached for a wand that was not there and the panic inside him swelled to explosive levels. He was gasping for air as his lungs constricted in terror and then he saw it. A large wolf, easily bigger than a bear emerged from the mist, with dark auburn fur that glistened ominously in the moonlight and dark eyes that riveted to Harry with foreboding intensity.

Harry took a step back and the beast's muzzle wrinkled, his fangs exposed in a warning snarl. Harry froze again. If he ran, the thing would catch him with ease. He didn't know what to do. What were you supposed to do when confronted with an animal like this? He strained his memory in an attempt to recall any snippet of information from those survival programmes Dudley used to watch, before realising that this was entirely different. This wasn't an animal, it was a werewolf and it wanted to fuck him or kill him – perhaps both!

Greyback had said his instincts had not yet matured enough to fully take him over under the moon like most werewolves. Most new wolves were bitten or awoken just after a full moon, he'd said, as it gave their instincts time to take root. Only now did Harry fully realise what that meant. Without a deeper connection to his instincts, he had no idea how to survive among them.

Bloody hell.

Shaking still from the cold and something else now, he took a step back again and this time when the wolf snarled it edged towards him, like a beast stalking its prey. Harry felt like prey. Felt like a scared rabbit caught in headlights, the haunting hum of that old rhyme rumbled in husky, dark tones in his head as he swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

Run rabbit – run rabbit – Run! Run! Run!

His heart was frantic now and the moon wailed silently above. Saliva dripped from a long, perilously sharp white canine in that gaping maw as the beast growled, still slowly approaching. Harry was moving slowly too, never taking his eyes off the creature, moving backwards and sideways so that between them he and the beast were dancing a slow, sideways death march in a perfect circle.

It was as if the beast itself were breathing the words now. Run rabbit – run rabbit…

Harry struggled to search himself for the way to act, the way to move but the only thing he could think of was never to look them in the eyes. But did he want the thing to see him as submissive? If he did, surely he would leap in for the attack? But if he didn't, would the beast not attack anyway for the insult of looking in his eyes? Be raped and possibly die or just be torn to pieces outright – he had the tiger by the tail here, the bull by the horns and neither options were in the least appealing.

Suddenly the brute stopped and grumbled deep in his throat, his paws pressing hard into the dewy ground. Harry's heart and breath stopped. This was it, one way or another and at the last second he set his jaw and did not lower his eyes.

Run! Run! Run!

I covered Greyback's scent as well as my own with the flowers, he realised with horror. As far as any wolf out here was concerned, he was fair game. His words from earlier came back to haunt him along with that sinister song.

"Raped by Greyback, raped by one of them – there's no difference."

Except there was, wasn't there? He had seen Greyback as a wolf desperate to pin him down last night and although he had been terrified, it hadn't been like this. It was hard to believe that even under the full moon Greyback could be like this. Harry took a final step back. This wasn't Greyback and he had no idea how to submit as these moon-blinded wolves would expect. He was done for.

The beast leapt.

Four sharp streaks of blistering, white-hot agony ripped across his face and he screamed.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The last verse of the sinister rhyme ripped through his mind as blood burst from the gouges those claws spawned. His hands grasped his cheek at the blinding agony. But another, more powerful growl tore through the air and as he opened his eyes, he saw a streak of silver slam into the other beast. Both of them tumbled across the grass, snapping and snarling at each other.

Harry leapt back so quickly in shock that he stumbled and landed flat on his arse. He shimmied backwards, eyes fixed on the creatures locked together, all claws and gnashing teeth, snarls and gasping whines of pain as they bit into each other. Blood flew, staining the moon-streaked grass and when Harry saw the silver wolf slam into the darker one, sending him sprawling across the ground, he noticed the odd angle that one of the dark one's paws stood at. This was Canagan, one of the twins! The one whose wrist Greyback had broken earlier!

No sooner had he thought this than the auburn creature staggered to its feet, rounding on him. Ignoring the silver wolf, it flew at him with its jaws wide. The silver bounded forwards, head bowed and crashed into Canagan's ribs, sending him scrambling aside. This time, the silver wolf, stockier and larger than Canagan stood directly over Harry, his four paws biting into the ground, the hot fur of his underbelly just brushing Harry's head. He was huge!

The newcomer held his ground, his head lowering and muzzle vibrating with a cautionary growl. A few feet away, with his body almost swallowed by the mist, Canagan mimicked the threatening stance, edging forwards, apparently undaunted by the prospect of a fight. Over me, Harry thought with horror. They're fighting to see who gets me!

Mating rights, a voice whispered at the back of his mind.

Suddenly the beasts leapt at each other again, colliding brutally in the air. The silver wolf sank his fangs into the other's throat, shaking Canagan like a ragdoll. Canagan squirmed, howled in pain and writhed like a decapitated serpent in the other's grasp, swiping and struggling for freedom. The silver wolf bore down on his throat harder until a sickening crack filled the battlefield.

Harry choked back vomit as Canagan flopped to the ground, spluttering and choking. The other wolf released his neck and Canagan's head smacked into the bloody grass at an odd angle from his body, his eyes wide, blood and cartilage oozing from his torn gullet. The silver wolf stood over its victim triumphantly, studying the piteous creature he had beaten without doubt. With blood staining his muzzle, he turned back to Harry, his wolfish amber eyes flecked with unmistakeable icy blue.

Greyback, Harry thought, realising now who his 'saviour' was. Those eyes and that fur, he recognised it now, although he was unsure if he should be rejoicing at his arrival or not. The wolf did not move, merely stared at Harry, almost expectantly, with crimson fluids still leaking from his muzzle. But Harry still had no idea what to do.

Slowly, he rolled up off his arse and onto his knees, watching Greyback cautiously. As soon as Harry was upright, however, the wolf growled softly, warningly, drawing himself up to full height. He was displaying his strength, awaiting praise for his victory, but he was also warning Harry to stay still. Harry froze. He didn't know how to move like a werewolf. He could be challenging Greyback just by blinking the wrong way for all he knew.

With fear ripe in his veins, he recalled with sudden crystal clarity Greyback's advice. It seemed months ago rather than a day…

"My wolf will know you, as I said, thanks to my mark and my scent on you, but it will react…differently, on instinct rather than with my conscious thought… Don't challenge me. You must submit, always. A loss of your pride tomorrow night will preserve your life for the day after… If in doubt just lay down and turn your head to the side and expose your throat."

Drawing in a breath, Harry forgot his pride and all else with the desire to survive. Hiding his as well as Greyback's scent on him had only endangered him more, he realised. He swallowed hard and averted his gaze, shrugging off his shirt and setting it carefully aside. Every action was slow, cautious but at last he was shirtless and he hoped that some of the smell of sex that Greyback had left on him still lingered under the scent of the flowers.

Harry cringed. He'd never thought that he'd want that, not in a million years.

When Greyback still didn't move, did not abandon his threatening stance Harry rolled slowly onto his back. Turning his head to the side in the way he knew to do, he exposed his throat and kept his eyes fixed on the grass, chest rising and falling rapidly. His face hurt, was burning as if on fire and he couldn't help the low sound of pain that left his lips as the cool evening air bit into the broken skin like acid.

He heard movement first, which sent his heart hammering faster than ever before. Struggling to remain still, he bit his lip hard and tried not to run out of pure instinct as a shadow fell over him. The wolf stood over him now, seeming even more huge than before, terrifying but impressive all the more because of it. Harry quickly snapped his eyes forward again, realising he'd caught the wolf's eyes. He understood what Greyback had meant now when he'd said Harry wasn't ready to be with him like this, Harry had no idea what to do! One wrong move and Greyback could do him serious damage, kill him without intending to…

Suddenly, Greyback lowered his head, his tail high in the air. That hot breath made the welts on Harry's face burn even more intensely and the agony rise until he could not help it. He cried out in pain, and turned on his hands and knees to wriggle out from under the wolf's tongue without so much as a second thought.

A bone-shuddering, feral snarl raced up his spine. Before Harry could turn to face the beast, a large paw swiped at his side, sending him skidding across the dirt and onto his back once more. It knocked the wind from him and though it had been a clawless blow, he was sure it would bruise nastily by morning.

The wolf pounced again, rougher than before, Harry's uncooperativeness evidently infuriating him. Greyback lowered his head, bringing his bloody muzzle perilously close to Harry's face while his heavy, sweltering body towered over him. This time, Harry remained still and a long, wet tongue lapped at the bloody, angry gashes on his cheek in reward. Harry winced, the saliva stinging the wounds so badly that he grunted in pain again, gritting his teeth in the effort not to flinch away.

That muzzle nuzzled his abused skin surprisingly softly. The pressure on the claw-marks still made Harry's eyes water, but as Greyback lifted his head subtly, Harry tentatively raised his fingers until he could run them over his own face. The wounds were gone. That stinging pain the tongue brought was gone and he realised now, where he had felt this pain before he'd met Greyback. Murtlap essence and every other human and muggle salve in existence. The saliva that had graced his wounds had healed him.

"Why are you helping me? Just to keep your good lay?" Harry murmured bitterly. That previously gentle muzzle pulled back, showing dangerous fangs looming menacingly above his face. He winced, turning his head to the side again. "I'm sorry," he gasped, but that weight pressed on him harder, claws beginning to dig into his flesh. The pressure, the fear shaking his quivering body pushed an inhuman whine from his lips and Fenrir stopped abruptly.

Harry's eyes widened as his breath raced frantically from his lungs. The wolf had stopped, but hadn't moved off of him. Risking a lick of his suddenly dry lips, Harry whined again, louder this time, closing his eyes and arching his belly up into the heated fur. Greyback retreated.

Harry understood now. This wolf was the embodiment of all Greyback's base instincts; he saw things like the wolf, not the man. He wanted submission, the typical bitch for his raging wolf-desires, heightened by the full moon above. Harry lay still after that, allowing the slow passes of that tongue across his skin, the persistent press of that muzzle at the side of his throat, under his armpits and at his chest, wherever the scent of sweat, sex and Greyback lingered.

It seemed like an age since this odd, fragile calm had fallen. Harry's body became oddly relaxed under the wolf's ministrations, until the cold ground became the main cause of the shivers instead of the beast above him. He was still afraid, how could he not be? But he was most definitely less so than before.

Suddenly, hot breath disturbed his damp hair and Harry opened his eyes to meet the heated amber gaze now fixed on his face. He whined again to counter-act the fact that he had allowed their eyes to meet.

"But do not challenge me. You must submit, always…" Why had Greyback's rough voice become a source of help in this? It was like a mantra that he was certain would see him through until dawn. He swallowed again, disliking the feeling bubbling inside him. He hated the bastard, but he knew that he would protect him in spite of that.

"Don't be afraid. It won't hurt you." The words echoed in his head and he whined again for good measure. A low, deep-throated grumble brushed against his flesh, an almost purring sound and he blushed furiously as he felt that hard, heavy limb between the creature's legs press into his stomach. Harry gasped, tone shamefully high and the beast purred in his ear, its mighty paw nudging his side none-too-gently. Harry knew what he wanted.

Feeling nausea ripple in his belly, Harry moved without thinking, his palms pushing at the wolf's chest. He paused as soon as he realised what he was doing and stared up at the wolf, careful not to meet his eyes. The amber orbs flecked with brightest blue were watching him carefully.

That silver fur was paler at Greyback's chest and underbelly, warm, soft and fine under Harry's hands. He couldn't help himself, he sifted his fingers through the fur, caressing it with awe and veneration. He was sure Greyback could sense this somehow for he calmed slightly under Harry's hands, his tail limp and relaxed against his hind legs, ears pricked with interest.

Slowly, Harry slid up onto his knees in front of Greyback and smoothed his palms through that thick silvery mane which glistened in the moonlight. Calming pheromones rippled through Harry's being at this touch and he leant in more when the wolf lowered his head to permit it, feeling that fur brush slightly against his chest.

A cold nose pressed into the marked side of Harry's throat. Harry paused for a moment, but Greyback only snuffled there interestedly, licking occasionally. From somewhere within, Harry could feel Greyback was relaxed – far too relaxed to harm or even fuck him. That notion inspired such profound relief to blossom in his belly that without thinking, Harry made a soft growl of contentment and pressed his cheek into the warm fur of Greyback's massive chest.

He could hear a supernatural beast's heart beating in there; feel his breath move his chest gently. Was this his instincts blooming as Greyback had said they would? He was becoming more and more attuned to what the body language of this wolf meant – more aware of the pheromones filling him up as he breathed the alpha's scent in. It was calming him because Greyback wanted him to be calm. Harry didn't think he liked that, but the notion that it inspired was certainly interesting.

Even Greyback's moon-blinded werewolf form didn't want him to be afraid. That was why instead of holding him down and mating with him (as he'd evidently wanted a moment ago) Greyback was producing the scents to try and calm him.

The shiny red erection had vanished now. The scent of Harry's fear and pain had evidently overwhelmed the scent of Harry's heat and the need to mate with him. That was interesting too. "With the oath to shield, shelter and protect. With an oath to honour and fight for my mate until my last breath leaves me…" Greyback had sworn to protect and shelter him among other things. "And I don't break my promises, pet," he'd said earlier. Harry could not help but believe it. It seemed that Greyback would protect him, even from fear – fear of himself, Fenrir Greyback.

It was a reassuring thought, though it wouldn't put a stop to Harry's escape plans. He wasn't going to roll over and play the good puppy for anyone. His escape would just have to wait until he wasn't about to be torn apart in the process. He'd had plenty of practice during all those summers at the Dursleys, waiting to be liberated and taken to The Burrow or Hogwarts. He could be patient now until his moment came.

Leaning back then, Harry looked up at Greyback. Taking a leap of faith and testing his limits with this beast controlled only by instincts, he slid to his feet slowly, reaching up to caress those large furry ears.

Greyback wagged his tail slowly and Harry instinctually emitted another soft yip of happiness. This felt good for some reason. "I think I like you better like this," he mused aloud, petting the wolf's head and ears like a dog. A bloody huge one at that. If Harry stood, he would still only come up to the wolf's neck. His body was powerful but beautiful too and Harry felt a pang for Remus, wherever he was. His werewolf was a twisted, hideous mix of man and wolf, nothing like Greyback's wolf form. Would Remus be this stunning if he could find peace with the beast inside him like Greyback had? The monster on the outside reflected the bitter sadness within, Harry thought sorrowfully.

Just then, a wet tongue swept up the side of his face, jerking him from his reverie and Harry jumped, glancing to the wolf, who butted the side of his head with his massive nose. "You don't like the smell of me upset either?" he asked, not expecting an answer. He rubbed the wolf's ear a final time before deciding to try his luck even further.

Harry took a few steps before realising the wolf wasn't going to bite him for doing so, not now at least and pulled his shirt back on. He shivered with the cold. His clothes, hair and skin were still damp from the river and the night was turning colder as it drew on. He wished he had grabbed his fur cloak before he'd dashed out of the old woman's house…

Ambling over to the nearest tree, Harry lay down against the broad trunk, hoping to use the forest as a windbreak. He closed his eyes. The moon felt nice on his skin still, a calming, slight heat on this cold, perilous night. A moment later, he felt a heavy body slump down beside him and he opened his eyes to see Greyback laying againsthim, pressing into him and then looking at him expectantly.

At this Harry paused. He wasn't sure he wanted to comply here. Greyback and this wolf were the same, no matter how calming one was and how infuriating the other might be. "If I lie down with you it'll be like cuddling you!" Harry said, a flush touching his cheeks at the thought. "Whatever happened last night I'm not your lover or anything. I'm not yours. And I will escape you. I don't want to be with you." He shivered again, edging slightly away from the werewolf.

The wolf didn't seem to understand and nudged him again, an impatient growl rumbling through that bloodstained muzzle. Harry sighed. He didn't want to, he wanted nothing less but the calming aura that was radiating from the wolf right now made him feel strange. Not compliant as such, more like he didn't care so much what the werewolf might think when he awoke. He just wanted comfort, comfort he hadn't had in a long time. Or ever, if he truly thought about it, not like this anyway.

"Just for five minutes," Harry told the wolf, despite knowing he wouldn't understand. He shifted awkwardly until he was resting against the wolf's warm body, nestled against his underbelly with his head just above a massive front leg. He sighed again, but in relaxation this time and allowed his eyelids to flutter closed as the moon bathed their bodies where they lay. "Why cant I feel like this with anyone else?" Harry asked Greyback, again not expecting an answer. His fingers caressed the warm, softer, fluffier fur of the beast's belly absently. "The most comfortable, most valued I've felt in my life and it's with a werewolf who changed me against my will."

He was so fucked up.

As he felt the beast lay its head down on the ground, he wondered absently if in another world he might have asked Greyback to awaken the werewolf in him. Harry was rising and falling softly with the beast's breathing now, the sound of that breath and heartbeat lulling him perilously towards slumber. He fought against the pull as Greyback's heat spread over him, fighting off the cold from his limbs until he was comfortably warm against his body.

Would he ever have welcomed this life if Greyback had actually given him a choice? If Greyback hadn't marred Bill for life and ruined Remus' existence? Could I ever have accepted this? He wondered. Perhaps even loved him? He was definitely sleepy now if he was thinking of 'might have beens' like that. He yawned widely, unwittingly leaning closer into his canine pillow. If werewolf ran in his blood, he may have found peace in this life, maybe, had things been different. But as they weren't…

"I will to escape you," he murmured sleepily into Greyback's fur. "I have to…"

~To Be Continued...