A/N: So, quite a domestic chapter here - as domestic as Fenrir Greyback gets anyway ;) Harry is biding his time and plotting...
Calm before the storm you might say. 'Ghost' was named after Jon Snow's direwolf in Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire. Although my 'Ghost' isn't quite so fierce. Poor mite. Enjoy :)
.: Chapter Seven :.
Monsters and Men
Fenrir kept away from his den all of the next day, both because he was not in the mood to deal with the boy's moping and because he felt their bond might benefit from some space. Sleeping in Echo's den instead of his own had not helped Fenrir's own mood, however, nor did the fact that he could hear some of the pack whispering that he, Fenrir Greyback, the alpha had been kept out of his own den by a stripling sub.
Newcomers usually required some time to adjust but never had they been permitted to disrespect their alpha in such a way. The whispers made his scalp prickle all day, fouling his mood so that by the time late evening drew in, he'd decided the only way to eradicate the fiery frustration was to drown it in a bath. His own bath.
Pausing at the door to his den, he reprimanded himself for even considering knocking and stormed in. It was warm inside and illuminated by the sunshine from the columns. But the boy was nowhere in sight. He stormed across the room, brushing aside the hangings around the bed to find that empty as well. Where the hell was he? What was this feeling roaring up inside him? Panic? Worry? It was a feeling that had not plagued him since…
Fenrir shook his head to eradicate the memories of that day and strode towards the only unchecked area of the den, the separate cove where the hot spring pool lay. "Boy?" he snarled, calling out to him as he marched through the archway. Soft furls of steam rose from the pool, a bath carved out from the floor made smooth and kind to the skin. The water was clear but foaming slightly with its heat and there in the middle, chest-deep in water was his glorious, if a bit skinny, mate.
Relief and irritation spiralled inside him all at once and he grunted in irritation at both feelings, striding forwards and coming to stand the side of the pool. The boy had whirled around in surprise at his voice and was now staring up at him, his hands flying down to hide his assets, despite the protection the foaming water gave him.
"Don't call me boy!" His mate roared back, sinking down in the pool until only his head was visible. His glasses weren't fogging up with the steam (due to a spell integrated into the lenses long ago, no doubt) and so he was free to scowl up at Fenrir, who glowered back, not in the mood to deal with his insolence today. "My Uncle called me that, barked it at me more like and I hate it. Don't call me that." He turned in the water, making his way to the side. Fenrir thought he might try to climb out but he stopped, seeming to remember Fenrir was there and turned to face him again.
Fenrir circled the pool until he was close to him again and bent down on his haunches to look at him. The heat of the spring had flushed that honey-hued flesh nicely. Now that the boy had stood, he could see that his far too slender torso was nice and pink. The water was lapping at it as he himself longed to. Fenrir licked his lips at the thought, his frustration ebbing away into the first flickers of arousal.
Oh, the boy did know how to squirm just right beneath him. It had surprised Fenrir how pleasurable it had been simply to give the boy pleasure. This boy was a revelation to his senses, his world and while part of him was frustrated the other was eager for another taste. He inhaled deeply, basking in the scent until he found the faintest flicker of another interrupting the boy's delicious musk.
Narrowing his eyes, Fenrir grasped the edge of the pool with his long, thick fingers, his claws digging into the rock. "You have Echo's scent on you, it's just there. You saw him briefly. Didn't you?"
The boy's face tightened, but otherwise he received no reply.
Fenrir grated his teeth together. "Now why would my mate who balks at the sight of me even after coming spectacularly underneath me, spend time with my beta?"
"I didn't intend to," Harry replied tersely. "I went for a walk last night and he came across me. You'd be able to smell it if I'd done anything more."
And if you were lying, Fenrir's mind supplied, which he could tell the boy wasn't – although he was being evasive. With a cocky smirk, Fenrir shrugged out of his loose trousers, swinging his legs out so that he was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs hanging in the hot water.
Immediately, Harry stepped back, looking apprehensive. Fenrir's smile broadened in amusement. Subs were so fickle and his was no exception. He came undone gladly beneath him but went all shy and uncertain and frigidwhen given time to think about what had happened. "You think too much," Fenrir muttered, staring at his mate's body, deciding he would get him to eat three meals a day, even if he had to force it down his throat. The boy was far too skinny.
"You look like you needed the sleep – just how long did you sleep for?" he asked casually, swinging his legs slightly in the water so that it lapped higher against Harry's chest. Harry eyed the limbs warily, as if they might strike out and took another uneasy step back.
"After my walk last night I just dropped off, didn't wake up until this afternoon," Harry replied, his brow furrowing. "I've never really… I don't get lazy days. It was different, seems like my body needed it though…"
"Mmmm," Fenrir grumbled, eyeing him appreciatively. "Your body needs a lot of things. I'd like you to eat at the circle tonight."
The boy said nothing and Fenrir was beginning to learn that ordering him to do something was just one certain way to guarantee he wouldn't do it, so he dropped the matter.
"How do wizards and witches come to have the recessive gene?" His mate asked abruptly, with a suddenness that insinuated he had been mulling the question over in his head all night and day. It must have been hard, not having anyone to tell him who he was, where he'd come from and then to find out one of his dead parents had carried a gene that made him an invaluable asset to werewolves. Fenrir had never had to bear any of his adolescent burdens alone.
Fidgeting uncomfortably, he scratched the back of his neck. He wasn't good with 'comforting', he was the alpha, his mate was always intended to be the sub, the one that comforted and cared for their young. This wasn't something he was good at and yet his instincts could sense this was what the boy needed. Having a mate definitely wasn't what he had expected. But then, he had never expected to have someone like this boy irrevocably bound to him.
"Centuries ago it's said that a human, a witch fell in love with a werewolf but he feared turning her. Back then any known wolf was staked to the ground with silver and burned alive," Greyback explained darkly, eyeing Harry with the air of an adult telling a child a scary story. "But not to be kept apart, the witch created a dangerous ritual imbued with dark and terrifying magic. She used her blood and her werewolf lover's blood to gift her body with resistance to the werewolf venom."
Slowly, he slid into the water, causing it to lap against Harry's flesh. Harry's eyes were wide but he seemed enraptured by the story, caught by the flow of Fenrir's coarse, husky voice. "The story of her success travelled and as most werewolves cannot help but bite when they fuck – especially new wolves, she was sought out by many. Even a little nip or clumsy love-bite could turn a human. So wizards and witches travelled far and wide to be blessed by her, to find a way to be with the werewolves they loved."
Harry frowned. "But surely that means Tonks – I mean… Remus Lupin, he's married to a witch and she isn't–" He lost his voice to a flush, not wanting to think about Tonks and Remus having sex. Suddenly he felt movement and he looked up to find Greyback a lot closer than before, directly in front of him now, only a few inches away. Naked! Harry took in a sharp take of breath.
Greyback smirked. "The wolfsbane in Lupin's system prevents his body from making venom. He couldn't turn another even if he wanted to while it's in him," Fenrir explained, reaching down to cup water in his hands and smooth it over Harry's skin before he had chance to react. Harry gasped and flew backwards, stumbling over his feet in his haste. His fingers scrambled through the air, desperately snatching at the world for purchase, grasping Fenrir's arms at the last second to steady himself.
A low grumble of appreciation grew in Greyback's throat and Harry stumbled back away from him more carefully this time, avoiding his eyes. His cheeks were burning, Greyback liked it. "Clumsy, or eager?" Greyback teased, his voice raspy.
That flush touching Harry's cheeks grew darker. "Shut up," Harry snarled. "So a load of werewolves' lovers found a way to be with them without being contaminated each time they fucked, what's that got to do with me?"
Fenrir growled again, but in anger this time. "I'm not a disease boy, just like your magic isn't a disease to you – even if it burns up everything it touches like the plague."
Harry stopped at that, remembering what Echo had told him last night. Greyback's entire world had been torn apart by magic, by wizards. Thinking about it, Harry had seen more terrible things done by wizards than he had ever seen done by werewolves and yet the werewolves were outcast? Feared? Hunted? We are the animals, Harry thought wretchedly, gritting his teeth as he bit back his initial reaction to snap back at Greyback vehemently. He had every reason to loathe magic.
"Everyone realised soon enough that the witch's ritual had not only made the human partners impervious to the venom, but morphed their genetics, made them what their werewolf spouses needed complete. The human subs could breed and carry their young to term, something that werewolves had never been able to do before." Greyback's voice was gruff as he continued, towering over Harry, eyeing him with an obvious flare of irritation still. Yet his rough voice carried a tone of awe, a reverence to it that suggested this was one of the werewolves' most precious and bittersweet legends.
Harry raised his eyes to meet Greyback's then, seeing darkened azure orbs staring into him. He licked his lips, uncertain as ever of the thrill, the pleasure that rushed up his spine. He fidgeted in the water. The steam was starting to make him a bit dizzy. "The werewolves and their humans, they were all killed, weren't they?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.
Unmistakeable pangs of pain shuttered through that rugged face. Harry could sense that distant agony as if it were his own and it made something in his chest tighten. His hand flew up instantly; surprised at the sheer intensity of Greyback's emotions inside him, but Greyback's large hand caught his wrist before Harry reached his chest.
Harry gasped at the bolt of electric heat that burst from the place where their skin touched. He knew what this was without even asking. It was the bond pulling them together tighter in an attempt to force him to finish their binding, he knew it. The places where Greyback's coarse fingers pressed into his flesh were so sensitive it nearly hurt and he was grateful to the steamy water for hiding his burgeoning arousal.
"Not all of them," Greyback answered slowly, his voice husky now and eyes clouded with something other than pain. He knew what Harry was feeling and it intrigued him. He pulled Harry closer by the captive wrist and squeezed the limb firmly, as if testing how far he could press before he began to hurt him.
Harry just stared up at him, dumbfounded and flushed all over. He had to get out of here. He didn't have any right to be getting those feelings about a werewolf who (even if he wasn't a child killer or hadn't intentionally changed Remus) had hurt his best friend's brother and many others. Even if he did have his reasons, it did not erase the facts.
And I have no right to be getting any feelings while Voldemort is still alive, he thought, clenching his eyes tightly shut. A low growl that sounded imploring more than menacing coerced his eyes to open. He found himself face-to-face with Greyback, with that hot breath on his cheeks. The wolf gazed at him a moment before speaking again.
"They killed the witch and the secret of the ritual died with her, but the couples she united lived on and gave birth to many. Every now and then a child was born human, the same way wizards and witches sometimes beget squibs. They were completely human witches or wizards but they carried the werewolf gene dormant inside them. Through the centuries, they were gradually found in everyday human society, some not even knowing what they were."
Harry's tongue darted out to wet his lips and Greyback growled again, the sound more heated than before. He could smell the arousal coming off the wolf in waves, rippling through his skin like a pleasurable shudder. Desperate to put some sort of space between them, he tugged at the wrist Greyback held captive but the wolf only retaliated by pulling him in closer. Their bodies were only a hairsbreadth apart now in the water.
"I have no idea which one of my parents carried the gene," he muttered, his voice far too breathy for his liking. He was trying to stay on level conversation, but he wasn't fighting to get away. Why wasn't he fighting? He felt sick, hungry and dizzy all at once. His body was resoundingly empty and the fragile, incomplete bond he had with Greyback was tugging him ferociously into the werewolf's hot, huge body that dwarfed his own so spectacularly.
"Remus would probably know," Harry said quietly when Greyback didn't say anything, wonderingly distantly what words of wisdom either of his parents might be able to offer him if they were still with him. How would they have handled the news? Both that they had handed down a werewolf gene to their only son and also, that that son had gotten himself bound to the most reputed werewolf alpha in Britain.
Suddenly, a more ferocious snarl ripped through his thoughts and the hand not wrapped around his wrist dove into his hair, tugging his head back sharply. He gasped; a flash of blue eyes ringed with gold all that he saw before that mouth dived for his throat. He tensed for pain but none came. Those teeth he so feared merely grazed the mating mark at his throat, his only warning before those lips worshipped him there. Sucking hard, they brought all of the blood to the surface of his skin so that when those fangs tickled him again, he couldn't help but groan in swelling ecstasy.
"You think far too much about that werewolf, I don't like it," Greyback snarled into his neck, nipping him sharply before drawing back to look at him. His fist was still locked in Harry's hair while the other kept Harry's hand between their chests, sandwiched between both of their frantically pounding hearts.
Harry sneered, the expression nowhere near as impressive as it should have been thanks to the arousal rushing through him – that and the sensual vibrations urging him to bind their bodies completely. "R-Remus is the closest thing to my Dad that I have," Harry hissed out. The fingers knotted in his damp, untidy dark hair were just this side of painful in their intensity. His hand not caught by Greyback's was pushing hard at the werewolf's shoulder, but nowhere near as hard as it could've been. His limbs felt weak. Was it the bath getting to him? Or perhaps the incomplete bond messing with him? Was it Greyback?
"Suggesting anything else is repulsive," his words were terse but his tone wasn't quite committed. He could feel Greyback's breath on his cheeks. He could feel the bastard's chest moving with his breathing and their heart's beat in sync against his hand. Everything he had learned last night, everything the wolf had said and done over the last few days, it had all reminded Harry of just how human this man was before him, no matter how vehemently he tried to deny it.
How easy would it have been for him, Harry to have taken another path after losing his parents and after being forced to suffer years of neglect with the Dursleys? How easy would it have been for him to become a law unto himself just like Greyback? Too easy. Faced with everything Greyback was now, he found he could not blame him for all that had happened, not really.
Remus said I always look for the best in people, even when others can't see it in themselves, just like my mum, he thought distantly, wondering if it was her that had been the one to hand him down his werewolf genes. Am I trying to find goodness that doesn't exist? Or is what I'm seeing really real?
"It doesn't matter if you don't want to fuck him, the wolf in me is still uneasy with you not bound to it fully. No werewolf's name should be on your lips but mine," Greyback growled. He leant forwards, forcing Harry's body to arch back with him so until his head was touching the water.
****CENSORED. FOR FULL EROTIC SCENE PLEASE FOLLOW ONE OF THE LINKS ON MY PROFILE***
The boy's eyes fluttered open, his glassy green gaze focussed on Fenrir and his chin lifting as if he expected something. Fenrir frowned, leaning down and pressing his nose into the boy's neck, just under his ear. He inhaled deeply and sensed the moment when the boy's better judgement returned to him. The body beneath his tensed slightly and Fenrir smirked. He nuzzled in between where the boy's shoulder rested against the furs.
"This bed smells like you, I like that," he grumbled appreciatively, his husky voice light in post-orgasmic relief. He tugged the boy close to him briefly, inhaling him deep. He had never ever been so connected to a person, so content in close proximity to them and he had certainly never cuddled. Fenrir Greyback didn't do such things. And yet he was now, with this young man, who seemed to be swiftly becoming the exception to every rule.
"If you deny that was good or that you enjoyed it you're a bloody liar," Fenrir mumbled into the boy's shoulder, grazing that smooth, delectable skin with his lips distractedly. How was his skin so smooth and soft? Except his palms and fingertips, they were coarse and rough…
"I'm not denying it," Harry said quietly, surprising Fenrir into stillness.
"Oh?"
The boy sighed. "It was sodding brilliant, alright? That's the problem," Harry grunted, fighting against Fenrir's hold to roll onto his back and level his still too-bright gaze at him. "I shouldn't be… I shouldn't do things like that with you – not with anyone at all while I still have a job to do, but especially not with you."
"Forget about the Dark Lord. I've sent two of my best to help your friends–"
"But that doesn't change the fact that I should be there helping them," Harry cut across him. "It's my task not theirs, not yours–"
"But we're bound. Whatever your task is, it's now mine," Fenrir said simply, frowning at the boy's stubbornness. "You really can't think of what you want over anything else even for a moment, can you?" he demanded tersely.
"And I suppose you think you're what I want, do you?" Harry snapped.
Fenrir growled in frustration, rolling over so that he was leaning over Harry's body again, but face to face this time. Azure eyes, still shining with dying passion stared down at him. "I think you were offering me your mouth earlier, pet, eager for a human kiss, or am I wrong?" The dark flush that suffused that skin with colour told him that his guess was correct and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. With an inward sigh, he got up off the bed, unashamed of his nakedness.
Crossing the warm den, Fenrir dragged a fresh pair of trousers from the shelves standing near the door and tugged them on. He was frustrated as ever, just as confused and yet whatever it was they had shared a moment ago seemed to have banished his notorious temper – for now at least. It seemed the same for the boy as well, who was lying on the bed still, watching him thoughtfully through the parted semi-transparent curtains.
"Who is Shae?" the boy asked eventually, his voice still slightly hoarse from crying out in passion. Fenrir frowned, freezing on the spot. He supposed the boy had heard the name when he was eavesdropping last night. That or Echo mentioned it, the interfering arse. "It's the name of the village you stayed in a few nights ago and also the name of my…my mother," he said, feeling awkward saying it. Everyone knew who his parents were; he'd never had to explain it before.
The boy sat up on the bed, pulling one of the fur blankets with him and protecting his dignity with it as he did so. "That village, why are you so acquainted with it if you hate wizards so much?"
Why are you so interested in knowing about the man you claim to be your rapist? Fenrir thought. He was irritated but glad at the same time that the boy was looking at him, only him, thinking only of him – taking an interest. His entire life had become the epitome of a paradox since this boy had stumbled into it, it was troublesome and yet it had never felt more full and bright.
"My mother, a human, a carrier of the werewolf gene like you came from that village. The old crone that looked after you when you were there, Eithne is my grandmother," Fenrir explained, stalking towards his mate as he spoke until he was standing at the edge of the bed and the boy was staring up at him. He liked the look and smell of his mate on his furs.
"Grandmother?" Harry repeated, bemused. Fenrir could not help but smirk. In his own way, his mate really was delightful.
"We protect the village from outsiders and in exchange they provide us with clothing and even food to complement what we hunt. My parents were the greatest of their time, revered by the humans of that village and werewolves alike," Fenrir explained, unable to help the air of pride to his voice. The boy shifted, staring up at him with eyes filled with curiosity still.
"What was your dad's name?" Harry asked curiously, as if he truly wanted to know.
With a frown creasing his brow still, Fenrir replied slowly. "Adair. He was the alpha before me."
"And you took over when your parents and siblings were killed by those hunters?" Harry asked. Fenrir stepped back from the bed, unprepared for the shock of his past tumbling from those. He hadn't realised how much the boy knew and he wasn't sure how he felt about him knowing the darkest, most traumatic part of his life – more excruciating even than his time in Azkaban.
Unable to find words, he let out a grumbling huff and snatched up the discarded fur cloak the boy seemed to cling to, throwing it over to him. "Keep that round you, it's cold out," he murmured, heading towards the door. "I expect to see you at the circle when it's time for dinner." His hand touched the door, but before he could even pull it open, his mate's voice halted him in place again.
"Why did Echo say that I reminded him of your mother?" Harry asked, his voice almost imploring him to return. Slowly, Fenrir turned to face him.
"He was stubborn, headstrong, defiant and always determined to do the right thing by others before himself," Fenrir explained. Harry raised a brow.
"He?"
"Yes, he. My mother was a male carrier like you. My parents were both male," he explained simply, again slightly awkward. He had never had to explain this to anyone before. Then he realised perhaps it was the term 'mother' that had thrown the boy off. He had most likely only heard that name given to female parents; male pregnancy was still a risky magical procedure in the wizarding world and thusly avoided in most cases. Or it had been the last he'd heard anyway.
"When you have our cubs you'll be their mother, but no less of a man," he said, his voice as gruff as ever but carrying an edge of reassurance beneath the surface.
That brow furrowed again. "I'm not having anything," Harry reminded him bluntly. "And even if I wanted to, I certainly wouldn't fuck you when you were a werewolf to get pregnant. I'm not into bestiality. Quite frankly, the idea makes me feel sick and if you even try it I'll hex your prick off."
Fenrir watched the boy shudder at the idea, and realised that for once he wasn't simply being coquettish. The notion of being mounted by his wolf truly was abhorrent to him. One thing at a time, he told himself, biting back any retort that may have been on his tongue and turning to the door once more. He pushed it open and then paused on the threshold.
"Don't bother to take any more midnight strolls in search of a way out, you'll never get out without me or one of the others," he said without glancing back and stepped through the door, shutting it behind him.
After a moment or two, Harry got up stiffly, groaning quietly at the ache in his limbs. It was a good ache though, he had to admit and his arse burned in that way that made him flush. He walked towards the shelves by the door where one of Greyback's underlings (the woman he thought was called Larentia) had piled some of his 'new clothes' alongside Greyback's.
Tugging the first two garments off the pile, he pulled on the dark red three-quarter length trousers and the light tanned shirt. The fabrics were soft and light, they didn't irritate his skin like a lot of things seemed to since the werewolf in him had been awoken. Most surprisingly, however, they seemed loosely fitted to his small frame. Had these come from the village as well? From Eithne, Greyback's grandmother? He flushed darkly at what the old woman had seen that night he had stayed and prayed he would never meet her again, for he would never be able to meet her eyes if he did.
Muffled voices from beyond the door caught his attention just as he turned to head back to the bed. He lingered on the spot for a moment, not sure what to do. But then curiosity won out. Pressing his ear to the wood, he found he could hear everything clearly.
"…so whipped," he heard a coarse voice murmur. It wasn't Greyback's, his was the one that answered.
"You forget who you're speaking to, you old prick. Perhaps you'd like a reminder?" Greyback's voice was hard, ferocious as Harry remembered from the night on the tower. It made his skin prickle uncomfortably. His mate was both upset and angry. Wait. He froze. Did he just think that?
The sound of the 'old prick' scoffing dragged his attention back to the conversation beyond the door.
"Banished from your own den by a runt sub," he sneered. "Taking that brat's shitty attitude and letting him insult us by not eating with the pack, as is the rule. No newcomer has ever gotten away with behaviour like this, not even the very young or troubled." Harry heard the man's sneer intensify. Who was it?
"Not only that but you've sent two of our best warriors to carry out some secret task for that boy. I may be the only one with balls enough to confront you, Alpha but don't think I'm the only one that's noticed. That little harlot is turning you into a lapdog!"
A roar of fury filled the air, followed by a hard thud of a body crashing into the door Harry was pressed against. He leapt back, gasping for breath. He didn't need to press his ear back to it to hear the words that followed; Greyback's voice was a booming crescendo of outrage. "You're probably going senile with old age, Ulric so let me remind you; I'm the alpha here and if you or anyone else disagrees with how I treat my own mate, you can fight me for him and my title and lose both battles."
Another snarl of rage punctuated his words and the accompanying scrambling sound told Harry that Greyback was dragging the man to his feet, tossing him away from the door of his den with careless disgust. "But if you disrespect me again, old man, I'll put you down on that dirt so you won't get up." There was silence for a moment, followed by the sound of movement, of the two going their separate ways from the door, then silence again.
Harry swallowed. He knew what that was about. He knew that Fenrir Greyback was the most revered werewolf alpha in the country and how unheard of it was for someone to challenge him. Yet that old man had. Conall and his lot, they had dared to defy him too, had even tried to take Harry despite his claim. It's because of me, Harry realised, not even attempting to move from where he stood frozen.
My behaviour, it's causing strife among the pack and every other werewolf we come across, or at least damaging Greyback's reputation. He didn't know whether it was his instincts or his own guilt, but he didn't like that idea. He never had liked the idea of causing trouble for someone else, of being a burden on their life; perhaps it was a trait that the Dursleys had instilled in him. Regardless, he didn't like the idea of putting Greyback's hard-won lifestyle in jeopardy.
I must be mad, he thought, closing his eyes and covering them with his hand. He's making me mad! I have to get out of here before I go stark raving insane! Yes, he would get out of here – there was no other option. But while he was stuck here, it might help both Greyback and his conscience to do some damage control…
Fenrir sat in the circle around the fire. A handful of fat pheasants lay on trays beside it, freshly prepared (nearly raw for everyone but Harry, who was still absent) and about to be cut up by Amoux ready to serve. He sighed to himself, grateful for Echo's company beside him. Echo knew when to be quiet, when to just be there, he always had.
He was hungry, irritated from the spat with Ulric earlier and unsettled by what had happened to ruin the afterglow of that fantastic sex earlier. The boy was getting under his skin easier and faster than he had anticipated.
"Your sub not joining us again, Alpha?" Ulric's aged yet unwavering voice called across the circle, his white hair and hard, lined face illuminated by the firelight. Fenrir tensed, but as his muscles bunched to push him up from where he sat, Echo stood beside him.
"The sub is our alpha numero, do not speak of him with anything less than respect for him and what a gift he is to our kind," Echo said, loud, firm and blunt. Every eye was on him, filled with reverence. Ulric glared at him for a moment with cold golden eyes, before surrendering and glancing away again.
"Thanks," Fenrir grunted, only for Echo's ears as his beta resumed his, his dark eyes on Ulric across the fire still. "I think Ulric has forgotten I'm not without my supporters."
Echo turned to him, finally tearing his eyes from Ulric, his usually expressionless face betraying a pleasant smile. "They are jealous of Harry, I think. He is a rare find in the world nowadays and he chose you; he will give you children of your own, something every werewolf covets deep in their hearts. Our bodies and instincts are burning to sew our seeds but we can't. You have something all of us can only dream of – it's natural they are jealous."
Fenrir snorted. "He did choose me, but by the way he looks at me you wouldn't guess it sometimes," he said, still irritated that the brat had managed to ruin their delicious post-coital bliss earlier.
"Did you think you would get such a gift without a struggle, Alpha?" Echo asked with a hint of amusement playing at his lips. Fenrir growled under his breath, but Echo's smirk only widened. "He is young and new to this, he hasn't exactly had the most steady upbringing either, rumour has it. He has issues for certain, but he'll come around, he wouldn't have chosen you otherwise."
Fenrir leant back on his arms, staring up at the starry sky and the thick billows of grey cloud that were trying desperately to cover up the moon. The circle was illuminated by the fire as well as the torches scattered around, the soft orange glow accented by hundreds of tiny little fireflies shining overhead. Some of the younger children were staring up at them in delight, even trying to catch them despite how high up they were. It made the most diminutive of smiles touch Fenrir's mouth. But then, movement just beyond the circle made him straighten in his seat. His mate was standing there, just within reach of the orange-hued light. He seemed to hesitate there for a moment, before steeling himself and walking forward.
The effect was instantaneous, everyone stopped to look and Harry froze again, staring at them all, as if willing the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He doesn't like people staring at him, Fenrir noted, as the boy began walking again, faster this time, directly towards him. He stood quickly, as was the custom when the alpha's mate joined a gathering. Echo stood too, followed by a few others and after that, the rest of them followed, rising to their feet with their heads inclined in slight bows of respect.
Harry seemed surprised at the gesture of them all standing and flushed, coming to a halt in front of Fenrir. The boy looked up at him without really meeting his eyes. "I…err…your invitation to dinner," he began, quietly, but still loud enough for all to hear. Fenrir had the notion that the boy was purposefully doing so, but said nothing, only waited for his mate to find his words.
"I'm…I'm sorry I didn't come before, I didn't know I'd be so…" Harry gazed around at everyone. "Welcome," he finished. Then, with a wince that only Fenrir saw and a small, preparing intake of breath, he turned his head to the side a fraction and murmured. "Please forgive me, let me sit with you, Alpha."
A darker rush of colour suffused his mate's face and Fenrir's eyes flew wide in surprise. What was this act? Where had this submission come from? What was the purpose for this display of power exchange? Fenrir couldn't fathom it. Unless...
He heard what happened earlier, Fenrir thought, his brow furrowing. That still didn't make sense entirely, however. What did the boy care if some of the pack rebelled a little? Fenrir would put them in their place again if they dared to step out of line. Their peaceful life here was maintained by sticking to rules their ancestors had agreed to long ago. His job as alpha was to uphold that peace. But the boy was new to his werewolf blood; he couldn't know all of that. So why?
Fenrir growled under his breath, more out of frustration at his unfathomable mate than any kind of anger and reached out, forcing the boy to look at him once more before quickly releasing him. "Sit," he said simply, gesturing to the rustic bench he and Echo had just vacated. After only the briefest of hesitations, the boy took a seat and as soon as he did, everyone else followed, seeming to resume their conversations or tasks from before.
Some eyes, however, lingered on his mate even after the chattering resumed and Fenrir could not help but notice the awkward way in which the boy held himself, as if he longed for nothing more than to curl into a ball away from all the attention. With a quick glare at the pack, the staring quickly ceased and he turned to his mate. "I'm glad you came, I can make sure you get a decent amount of food into that scrawny body of yours," he grumbled.
Submissiveness forgotten, the boy glared at him furiously, a twinge of hurt in those emerald eyes. The firelight danced within them as they hardened with anger, any remainder of submission from his previous display dissipating.
"Fuck you," Harry muttered vehemently under his breath, for Fenrir's ears only. "It's my body and I'll eat as little or as much as I want. Excuse me if being held hostage put a damper on my appetite."
Fenrir could not help but smirk at that, his mate was a submissive partner alright but there was nothing submissive about him in the slightest. Any power over him had to be earned, as he had discovered during their handful of encounters with each other's pleasure. This boy refused to break under weeks of Voldemort's torture and would not bend under normal means to him either, even with his wolf's instincts demanding he do so.
Oh yes, he knew why Echo had said he reminded him of Shae. This stubborn little cub wielded power and courage that bigger men could not dream of, so full of pride and selflessness. He was a challenge, one that Fenrir both despaired and delighted in. He licked his lips distractedly, recalling the way the boy had knowingly rutted with him earlier.
"Blimey, have some decency," the boy muttered, turning away in embarrassment rather than submission now. His voice was still almost inaudibly quiet. "I can smell exactly what you're thinking," he said, fidgeting. Fenrir could sense the smallest spike of arousal through the mortification and the way the boy gripped the bench beneath his legs.
"Your senses are growing stronger," Fenrir noted, drawing that brilliant green gaze back to him. "It's a sign of how powerful you are. Usually it takes newly turned werewolves months to reach their full potential, nearly a year in most cases. If your senses are already improving I imagine it won't be long before you harness your magic."
Harry's excitement piqued at that and he visibly sat up straighter. He missed magic and loathed being unable to defend himself, Fenrir realised. He growled silently to himself. The idea that his mate was suffering the kind of wretched helplessness that he himself detested didn't sit well with him at all.
"This is just a vulnerable time for you, you know," he murmured awkwardly, not really knowing how to reassure him. He didn't like the uncharacteristic softness that reached his voice when he spoke to the boy, it made him feel…weak. "It doesn't help that you don't have your wand to tide you over until you come into your powers properly, or that you haven't completed our bond but it'll pass. You're not weak. I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise."
Harry was glaring again. "Well, cheers," he growled, before he seemed to realise just what he was complaining about. "I know I'm not weak, but I am helpless, I can't even bloody go where I want to go. I can't go home–"
"This is your home," Fenrir interrupted him. "And no one forced you to stay in that den all day but you. Everyone else is more than eager to welcome you–"
"I don't want to be welcomed!" Harry hissed, again still under his breath, as if he were conscious of the others hearing. "Can't you understand? I can't… I won't allow myself to…" He grit his teeth, infuriated by his own inarticulateness. "I can't belong here. I can't belong anywhere right now. Nowhere is safe until I finish what I started."
Fenrir grumbled in frustration, scratching the back of his neck. "And if I hadn't sworn on your blood, if I did let you go, that would make you happy, would it? To throw yourself into harms way and get yourself killed? You can't kill Him, pet, he's stronger than you are. He'll tear you to shreds and make all of your little friends watch as he does, will that make you happy at last?"
The boy shook his head exhaustedly. "What does it matter?"
Fenrir growled again. "Why do you make me out to be your enemy when I'm trying to keep you safe? Don't you realise that I don't make a habit of catering to wayward cubs?" he snapped tersely. "I don't allow myself to be turfed out of my own bed by just anyone, or put up with so much fickle shit either. I'm offering you what you've longed for all your bloody life and you're being an ungrateful little brat."
Harry recoiled at that, turning to look at the fire where Amoux was now serving their meal into bowls. There were fresh vegetables and cooked meat in a bowl for Harry, Fenrir noted and he swore he heard the boy's belly growl at the smell of it, even in his current mood.
"I know," Harry said at last, "and even though I keep telling you I don't want what you're offering, I do realise what trouble I'm causing for you."
Fenrir could not help but notice the way his gaze drifted to where Ulric sat across the circle, casting speculative glances at the pair of them every now and then.
"I came out here trying to do some damage control but you're such a shit-stirring arse, you just can't help yourself and you're making it all worse." Harry bit his lip for a moment, then steeled himself to turn back to face him. "I can't help but react to you, you get my back up without even bloody trying. You're so…obscene; I think you like making me uncomfortable and you just make me lose my temper every time you open your mouth!" His voice was a low hiss when he finished and Fenrir was grinning by the end, causing that now familiar irritated frown to crease his mate's forehead.
"What the bloody hell are you smirking at?" Harry demanded.
Fenrir chuckled. "Oh, baby, I get more than your back up," he whispered insinuatingly, his eyes flicking down the boy's body so that he couldn't possibly misinterpret his meaning. That skin flushed again and he caught his mate's chin to hold his head in place before he could turn away. "I get under your skin because you want me, pet, don't be ashamed of it."
Harry's lips parted with a retort, but before words could leave him, Amoux was before them, pressing two generous sized bowls into their hands. "The Alpha pair are served first," Amoux said kindly when Harry glanced around questioningly. "I cooked yours especially, and put in some vegetables to keep you healthy. We usually only use the vegetables here for flavour in stews and such but your body still needs their sustenance."
Harry stared at her. Her face was lined with the proof of her years but round and sweet. Her eyes shone with unconditional love for everything she surveyed. She looked nothing like Mrs Weasley and yet Harry could not help but be reminded of her. He nodded thankfully and looked down at his mouth-watering meal – he only just realised how hungry he was now that food was in front of him.
"Thank you," he said awkwardly, not knowing what more to say to one of the members of this 'family' that so wanted to welcome him into their arms. It just wasn't easy for him to accept, he was only just accustomed to the Weasley family's love for him after all these years.
The rest of the bowls were handed out quickly and Harry noticed that it wasn't until Amoux sat down beside the little boy, Vilkas that anyone moved to touch their food. Fenrir took action first, lifting his bowl slightly in thanks before tucking in. The adults tore meat from the bone with their teeth while the children ate happily at thick juicy slices of near-raw meat. Harry meanwhile, had been provided with a knife and fork. Had they acquired these from the village just for him like they had his clothes? He flushed at the thought.
"What's the matter?" Greyback asked with his mouth full, swallowing hard as he eyed Harry's expression sceptically.
Harry shrugged and hid his face by focussing on cutting his beautifully cooked pheasant. "I'm just… I hope no one went out of their way for me, that's all," he said, popping some of the meat into his mouth. He barely withheld the groan that longed to leave him at the taste. It was delicious!
"You're not used to it," Greyback noted, drawing Harry's gaze back to him, "people making an effort for you, taking care of you."
Harry looked at him for a moment but said nothing, simply continued to eat in silence. He did not want to go down the road of discussing the Dursleys with Fenrir Greyback of all people, no matter if the fucked up fates had sought to bind them together. He didn't even really talk about his life at Privet Drive with Ron or Hermione; he certainly wasn't about to get into it now.
Harry finished his meal pretty much last and no sooner than he'd finished than Amoux caught his gaze
"I hope you enjoyed it? I haven't had to cook for someone with human tastes for so long."
Harry shifted awkwardly where he sat again, but managed a smile for her – she seemed to just draw them out of people. "It was delicious. I can't remember the last time I ate something so good."
She beamed. "You are a sweetheart," she said, but her words were punctuated by an awful, chilling howl from nearby. Harry froze. The sound carried through the night, an eerie, unsettling cry that no one else seemed to notice but him. He glanced around, trying to sense anything unusual on the air, but his nose could not smell anything beyond the circle, there were too many scents he wasn't used to for him to pick anything new out.
Then, another howl ripped through the darkness, right near them this time. Harry's head spun on his neck until he felt it click and there he saw them. Dozens of bright golden eyes shone in the darkness, coming closer and closer. Instinctively, he reached for his wand, before realising it wasn't there and when he began to stand, Greyback set a large hand on his shoulder, stilling him.
"Relax, pet," Greyback assured him, his tone gruff and coarse once again. Once Harry had turned to look at him, he let go of his shoulder and picked up a tankard from beside his foot on the ground, taking a deep swig from it. "You wanted to know what was guarding the 'wrong turns' in the tunnels?" the alpha said after a deep drink, "They are the ones that guard them. They're our pack too, they come to camp at night to eat."
Harry turned to see a few dozen wolves coming into the circle, moving towards the centre where food was being laid out for them. They seemed to be everyday wolves, each varying in colouring but all entirely normal. Normal but still unnerving, especially when illuminated by nothing but the orange light of the fire and torches in the dark.
Eyeing them all cautiously, Harry noticed a large black wolf ambling over to where Vilkas was setting down a bowl of food. He couldn't help the lurch of warning he felt surging in his belly and he flew to his feet as the beast stopped. The beast stood taller than the toddler and was eyeing him in a way Harry didn't like when the boy took too long to set the food down. The wolf bowed his head and Harry made to move forwards, to stop the inevitable attack, but a large hand caught his wrist and he whirled on his feet to face Greyback.
"Like I told you the other day, they won't hurt us. They're part of our family," he explained with the air of someone who simply couldn't comprehend Harry's fear. He punctuated his words by gesturing to where the wolf was now sniffing at the little boy's ear interestedly. Vilkas giggled, patting the big canine clumsily before dropping the bowl at his feet. To Harry's surprise, the sudden movement only made the wolf jump a bit, before it bowed its head to begin eating.
"It's not like humans and their pet dogs," Greyback said, urging Harry to retake his seat, though Harry remained standing. "They understand us because of what we are, they know us. We are their pack."
Harry frowned in confusion, pulling his hand subtly yet quickly from Greyback's grasp. "You can talk to them?" he asked, his interest pique. "Will I be able to talk to them?"
Greyback smirked, not for the first nor last time that night. "We can, more or less. We use body language more than words, but yeah, you'll be able to. I can teach you."
Harry felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect, remembering the delight he'd experienced when he realised that python at the zoo could understand him. That was before he'd known that it meant he had a connection to Voldemort, of course. "I can speak to snakes, you know," he said, without thinking.
Greyback raised a brow. "I'd heard. Show me."
"I need something snake-like to focus on, I can't really call it at will – I don't even realise I'm doing it half the time. It doesn't feel like another language," he said, not knowing really how to explain it better than that. To his surprise, however, Greyback nodded understandingly.
"That's what it's like to speak to wolves," he said simply, but anything further he was about to add was drowned out by a horrendous snarl and a sharp, piercing cry of pain. Harry whirled around to see the large, dark wolf that had been so docile a moment ago with Vilkas, now towering over a considerably smaller, pale grey wolf. The latter was an adolescent, Harry guessed from his size, his only conscious thought before he lurched forwards to its defence.
"He's not going to be seriously hurt," Ulric said gruffly as he got to his feet, angling himself slightly so that he was nearly obstructing Harry's view of the tussle on the ground. Behind Harry, Greyback and Echo rose too at the challenge. Deep down, Harry knew somehow that it was because he, Harry was an alpha too and he was being challenged by the very way Ulric was standing.
Harry frowned, his body humming with discomfort at the aggressive way the man was standing. He'd never been so in tune with body language before, but just by looking at the older wolf, he knew that he was loathed and coveted at the same time. He didn't like it.
Squaring his shoulders and feeling Greyback at his back, he stalked past Ulric as if he hadn't heard him, towards the place were the small grey wolf had scrambled away from the black, only to be snapped at by three others. He was effectively trapped. Harry's heart clenched at the sound he made. Perhaps he was reminded of himself as an infant, being battered from all angles by Dudley and his mates. It didn't matter. It had to stop.
"He's the omega!" Ulric snapped, whirling to keep his eyes on him as Harry moved passed him, "And the runt to boot; it's the way things are–"
"It's bullying," Harry cut across him, not even casting a glance back at the older man, "and I won't allow it." He sensed unease ripple through the circle, heard each sharp intake of bated breath at his words. He forced himself to feel his façade of confidence down to the core and stalked into the throng of wolves now scrapping on the ground. He was not afraid of them now; he knew Greyback had been telling the truth. They would not hurt him.
"Enough!" he snarled, throwing his arms out to swat the air, shooing them away. They scattered at his presence, heads and ears down, watching him as they backed away, leaving the runt in the centre. Golden eyes stared up at Harry uncertainly, but the runt didn't dare move. Harry lowered himself onto his level, trying to keep his body friendly so as not to scare him any further.
The wolf was small but definitely an adult, scrawny and weak. He reminded Harry frighteningly of himself when he had first started at Hogwarts. He'd been wary, uncertain of the world, afraid and small but sure that there must have been something more to the world than the misery and neglect of Privet Drive. He smiled warmly, an unintentional purring croon leaving his lips.
The wolf's ears pricked in surprise. Briefly shocked by the sound that had left his own lips without his permission, Harry made the calming sound again, intentionally this time before gathering the scrawny wolf awkwardly into his arms. When he got to his feet holding the animal, however he not only found everyone watching him, but also Ulric standing between him and his seat.
"You're messing with the order of things, boy," he said with a warning in his tone that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck prickle. This man could not speak to him like this, could he? But before Harry could contemplate it further, Echo had shoved Ulric aside, his teeth bared.
"Who are you calling 'boy'?" Echo snarled in disgust, shoving Ulric again for good measure to push him completely from Harry's proximity. "He is your alpha numero, show some respect. You know what he is to us. Now sit down before your alpha puts you down. I'd wager you won't be getting up this time." His words made Harry glance over to Greyback whose eyes were dark and livid, hard with barely restrained fury. Harry caught sight of the little ones near the fire with Amoux and had the impression that Greyback's only reason for not making an example of Ulric was their presence; the thought comforted him more than he'd like.
But then he realised how bad his attempt play the good sub had been. I got lost in playing the hero again, Hermione, he thought, his heart clenching slightly at the thought of his friends. He wondered what they were doing now.
"I'm only saying," Ulric began, his voice softer this time, tinged with subjugation, "that things are this way for a reason. It's nature and the Alpha Numero, has not had time to get used to things yet." He looked to Harry, who still had his arms full of the runt wolf. "He has a soft heart."
"He has a good heart," Amoux said from the fireside defensively, startling Harry with her support. "We are lucky to have an alpha pair who care for us all, even the smallest of us," she said, her head raised.
I seem to have divided this pack somehow just by being here, Harry thought. He saw Ulric open his mouth to argue back, but Greyback's voice cut across the entire circle.
"Enough!" he snarled, glaring for a moment at Ulric, before meeting Harry's eyes. His face was completely unreadable. "Let the boy keep the cub, it might help to remind those of you who are still unclear on the point that my mate is your alpha too now and his will is law, as is mine." Greyback gave him a lingering look, before resuming his seat and taking a deep swig from his tankard once more.
Slowly, the tranquil yet cheerful atmosphere seemed to kindle back to life, breathed back into the circle on a passing breeze and Harry made his way back to Greyback's side, caressing the head of the runt wolf once he had settled. The creature looked up at him curiously, as if assessing him and Harry could not help but smile. "You're alright now," Harry assured him quietly, running the flat of his palm over the wolf's sides and neck to see if he was wounded.
"So the rumours are true," Greyback mused into his tankard, drawing Harry's eyes to him. The werewolf was watching him over his drink. "You do having a saving people thing." Harry raised his chin defensively, verging on a sharp retort but Greyback headed him off. "He's not had any open wounds in a while," he reassured him, gesturing to the wolf.
"What's his name?" Harry asked, awkward upon realising what Fenrir had just done for him. He felt suddenly embarrassed and very conscious that the werewolf was staring at his face, trying to catch his gaze.
"Ghost," Fenrir said, still seeming to be gauging his mood. "The silver of his coat," he grunted by way of explanation.
"The colour of ghosts," Harry murmured in understanding, thinking back to Hogwarts and Nearly Headless Nick. A pang of homesickness growled deep in his full, sated belly like a misplaced hunger. He hoped Hogwarts was holding its ground without him, Ron and Hermione there to help defend it.
A long few moments passed in which Greyback swigged at his drink and Harry caressed Ghost's head tentatively where lay in his lap. The wolf wasn't physically hurt, no, but he was nervous and skinny – so skinny. Harry leant down to grab his bowl and offered the leftovers to the omega. Amoux had overcompensated for his own skinniness on Greyback's orders and given him far too much.
The runt's golden eyes watched him cautiously, as if he expected to be struck if he reached for the meal but after a moment or two, the creature's hunger seemed to win out. Harry smiled as the fragile little thing leant forward and devoured what was left ravenously, nearly choking himself in his haste.
"Slow down," Harry said soothingly, running his hands across the creature's back as it sat back from the empty bowl, licking at its mouth. "Poor thing, he's half starved."
"We've been keeping an eye on him," Greyback said, causing Harry to look back at him with an almost accusing look in his eyes. "Don't look at me like that, boy. They aren't dogs or pets, they're a pack too and while ours is a little more equal, their section of it is ruled by nature and their own alphas, who in turn answer to us." He considered Harry carefully for a moment before adding, "Men and wizards have done enough damage by interfering with nature. We've lived through that devastation and have learned to minimize the negative impact we have on the world around us wherever possible."
Harry scowled. "But you said the wolves were part of your pack too, that makes them your responsibility," he argued, again careful to keep his voice down. He didn't want to damage Greyback's world anymore than he already had, after all he would soon be away from here.
"I wouldn't have let him die," Greyback snarled, offended.
"This kind of bullying can feel like worse than death," Harry murmured darkly. He looked down at Ghost who had relaxed with his head on Harry's lap again, but with his eyes staring up at him, still a little wary. Harry knew somehow that he was only being awarded this amount of trust from the weak creature because he was (technically) an alpha as well, thanks to Greyback's unwanted mark. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would say to the fact that he, Harry was one half of an alpha pair in a werewolf pack. He winced, imagining their reactions and petted the wolf absently, thinking.
Beside him, Greyback grunted in frustrated surrender and tossed his now empty tankard onto the floor in irritation. "And if I said that I've never experienced that, being what I am? If said I was mistaken would that get rid of that shitty attitude of yours?" He demanded with a growl. "Would that make you happy?"
Harry sighed. "What does it matter?" he asked tiredly. What did it matter? He was beginning to understand after seeing Ghost tonight and after seeing that even Ulric (as disgusted and infuriated by his actions as he was) had not touched him. Ulric had also backed away, shown respect to Echo,a man far smaller than him. It was about rank, about body language more than size and perhaps even strength.
Greyback had said it himself – Harry was an alpha too. He also said that the only hope I had of getting out of here was if someone else let me out, he thought, plotting.
For some time the alpha pair sat side-by-side in silence, until at last, as the younger children were scurried away toward the dens, Fenrir too watched his mate politely excused himself. The boy's mind was clearly somewhere else as he disappeared back into the den, the runt wolf hot on his heels. Satisfied that the attention of the pack was engaged elsewhere, Fenrir sighed and cupped his face with one hand, dragging his fingers across it in exasperation.
"Things will take time, Alpha," Echo said quietly from his side. Fenrir sat up straight again, eyeing him sceptically. He watched as Echo's mouth quirked up in the slightest of smirks, before the man continued, "he's young and troubled with the weight of the world on his shoulders – inexperienced in most things, including his own wishes."
Fenrir took the second tankard of mead his beta offered him without pause, swigging it back gratefully.
"And on top of everything, his wolf has only recently awoken," Echo murmured, "Beneath his brusque façade he is a vulnerable young man that needs to be courted, to be shown how life here is everything he has ever dreamed of and more. He can't be told, Alpha."
Fenrir grumbled irritably, chucking back another swig of mead. "I knew I needed to take my time with him but I expected him to be a bit less fickle than this," Fenrir griped. "He changes his mind with the bloody wind."
"I think you will find the quickest way to happiness is compromise; bite your tongue now and make the effort to see things from his point of view. Make an effort for him in general. The best rewards are usually those that are hard won," Echo said quietly, almost conspiratorially.
Fenrir's brow furrowed. "What do you suggest?" he asked uncertainly.
~To Be Continued...