.: Chapter Eleven :.
Enceinte
Skidding to a halt at the edge of the trees, Fenrir forced his body back to its mortal shape, knowing Harry would not appreciate the sight of his wolf right now. Slowly edged out into the sunlight. Ghost walked just ahead of him, his ears pricked and his tail wagging at the sight of Harry alive. The young man was standing waist-deep in the pool at the top of the slow-running waterfall, facing outwards across the forest as if he hadn't noticed their presence.
But Fenrir could sense that Harry knew they were there now, it was visible from the way his body tensed. He was completely naked in the glistening water and the bright golden light of the morning sun illuminated his pale, sun-touched skin. Every bruise and scrape was highlighted, painfully dark against his flesh. Harry's body was covered with them and the mating mark on his throat was an inflamed pink, stark against the honey-hued column of his throat.
Stepping forward slowly so that he was on the bank, Fenrir waited for Harry to turn. He was lost for what to say to end the ripples of pain and self-loathing that reached out across to him from where Harry stood. He could see the cold bringing Harry's skin up in goosebumps, causing a shiver to run down his body and this was what enabled Fenrir to find his words.
"Ghost, run back to the den and fetch his fur," he muttered. The visibly anxious wolf offered a final glance to Harry (who had still not turned) before bolting off into the trees to obey his alpha's command. This left the pair quite alone in the brutal morning breeze. Harry's hair stuck up in all directions, damp to suggest he'd submerged himself in the water earlier, as if to wash Fenrir off of him. It had failed. A claiming that complete went further than the surface of the skin and though Fenrir understood Harry's desire to wash it away, the notion still made his lips curl back with the tiniest of frustrated snarls.
The sound made Harry whirl in the water to face him. His eyes were not those that Fenrir had grown used to in the last few weeks. The warmth and desire had all-but vanished. Fear and uncertainty bloomed there like a fire slowly coaxed to life by breath. Fenrir inhaled deeply to put off the next time he would have to inhale Harry's misery for as long as possible, before chancing speech.
"Pet, last night–"
"Don't call me pet, I'm not your pet, not your bitch," Harry murmured, his voice coarse and heated despite its low volume. It was a warning growl of a bitch who was carrying. Fenrir watched him carefully, at a loss for how he could win back the closeness they had found before last night. He started to move forward, but Harry took a step back in response, towards the lip of the waterfall.
"Harry," he began again, still moving forward slowly. Coddling, gentleness, comfort were not things he knew how to give. It was foreign to him. But he had to try. "I never thought that I could hurt you in that form, or else I'd never–"
"You didn't hurt me," Harry muttered, avoiding Fenrir's eyes. "Not really, that's the problem…" He paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought and Fenrir took the opportunity to take a few extra steps closer, the water lapping at his knees now. "I know if I'd outright refused you wouldn't have…done that. I gave you the signs that I…that I wanted it. I know I've got no one to blame but myself, alright?" His tone was defensive, but Fenrir had finally spanned the gap between them and he snarled at Harry's words, gripping him by his shoulders and shaking him slightly.
"You did it to stop me from killing those humans. I'm the one who should've been able to stop. I was weak but I'll be stronger and I'll start by killing the fucker who left the gate open in the first place." He squeezed Harry's shoulders tightly. "They're to blame for what happened, they manipulated our instincts – don't you dare stick yourself with the blame for getting raped!"
The words tasted like poison in his mouth. He'd defiled his own mate. His jaw tensed, his fangs biting into his gums until he tasted blood again. He really could not wait to kill someone and unleash his barely contained fury.
Abruptly, Harry shook off his hands as if they had stung him, glaring at him defiantly. "I wasn't raped," he snapped. "You're my – well you can't rape me if we're–"
Fenrir grunted in disgust. "Rape with someone who doesn't want it is rape, whether they're mated or not," he snapped. "Some prick helped me to… They fucked this up and I won't forgive it." He ground his teeth together, but the uncertain look on Harry's face still did not dwindle. Fenrir frowned, reaching forward slowly. When Harry flinched away again, Fenrir paused. His hand slid slowly through the air parallel to Harry's torso, as if he were caressing it, coming to rest just above the water that lapped at that flat stomach. The place where his cub was growing.
"I'll fix this, pet, let me fix it." The uncharacteristic sincerity, the torture in his voice stunned Harry into speechlessness. He stared, his lips slightly parted at the werewolf who stood before him. The severe, brutal, most terrifying beast in the country was towering over him and yet looked…vulnerable somehow. Harry didn't know what to do, didn't know how he felt. He took a small, staggering step back and his mouth moved with the beginnings of speech. Before any words left him, Fenrir turned abruptly, facing the trees, an arm stretched out as if to shield Harry from view.
"What is it?" Harry asked, sniffing the air. He couldn't smell a thing, thanks to the wind carrying from the other direction, but if he stayed perfectly still in the water he could hear something. The steps approaching were cautious and calculated but he could hear them, as well as low breathing and eager heartbeats, the latter a fraction of a pace too quick to be human. "Werewolves?" he muttered.
Fenrir gave a short nod. "And not ours. You still have the scent of heat clinging to you from yesterday. Stay back, alright?"
Harry glared up at him, his lips poised to spit out a sharp retort, but once again, his words were lost as the invaders broke the line of the trees. They were here. Instinctively, Harry took a sharp intake of breath and shifted a fraction more behind Fenrir. He didn't know what it was or what was happening, all he knew for certain was that he had to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. He needed his pack, his alpha to protect him. There were about half a dozen of them that seemed to gather behind two men; one tall and dark-skinned, bulky and bearded like Fenrir, the other sun-kissed with hair as dark as blood. Conall.
They were all watching Harry closely, eyes intense and swimming with thoughts Harry preferred not to dwell on. He kept his eyes subtly averted, focussing on being as small as possible, even though he knew they had more than noticed him. He knew he was subject of their stares and the whispers of the werewolves at the rear of the group. He was the reason that they were here.
There was a long, foreboding silence that stretched between them, until eventually, the dark-skinned man's coarse, heavy voice broke it. "So it seems that the alpha has endeavoured to mark you, to claim you as much as possible before we had a chance to dispute his claim." He surveyed Harry with dark eyes, evidently taking in every love bite, every scrape and bruise. His nostrils flared and Harry flushed darkly. He knew that he was inhaling the scent of sex that still clung to him despite his soak in the water.
"You've had a long journey for nothing," Fenrir snarled darkly, his fingers curling tight into a fist.
Harry remained still. He looked from Fenrir to the intruders, listening to them discuss him as if he were property with no choice in this matter at all. Except he knew that it was his choice; Fenrir had told him so at the start. And I chose Fenrir, whether I was in my right mind or not, he thought. Why are they contesting it if I made the decision?
"You're not the one to judge that," Conall interjected coolly. "And you should know we're not alone."
"Neither is he," a voice stated from the shadows of the trees, where Echo, Marrok, Ulric and nine others now stepped into view, moving quickly to stand on the pool's edge, a few feet behind Fenrir. Ghost was among them. Harry gave the interlopers a final glance before wading through the water to him, taking the fur cloak that was draped over Ghost's back and partly gripped in his mouth. With hostility ripe in the air, he didn't particularly fancy standing there naked any longer than he had to.
Dignity covered, he turned back to them to find that they had followed his every movement. With a flush, he pulled the cloak tighter around his bare, bruised skin. With some distance between him and the enemy now, he felt his irritation surge above his curious, instinctive need to make himself invisible. "Stop staring at me as if I'm some rare treat you all can't wait to get your grubby hands on," he snapped. Something in his throat tightened at the way the dark man beside Conall smiled forebodingly at his words. Harry raised his chin in defiance, glaring at him and his companions with unveiled contempt.
"It seems to me that you all took it upon yourselves to march up here to challenge Fenrir's right to 'keep' me or something," he snarled, "but I'm not an animal to be kept. I'm not a possession – if I choose to be here it's not for you to challenge anything!"
Conall laughed brutally. "So your tamed alpha would have you believe. Times have changed, pet – humans have hunted our species to the point where there are but a few packs and rogues scattered throughout the country. There are no longer enough breeding subs to allow you such a luxury as choice."
Fenrir snarled. "The old ways state that the sub chooses and he chose me!" He roared. Harry watched the muscles in Fenrir's back tense and ripple as if he were verging on transformation. The notion made Harry feel a bit queasy; he wasn't sure he could face Fenrir the wolf right now.
"The old ways were a extravagance of the past, Greyback," the black man said, his coarse voice rendering the birds in the trees to silence. He stepped forward slightly and Harry felt everyone around him tense, ready for a fight. This man was dangerous, he could feel it in the way those amber eyes looked on him and it made him shudder with unease.
"There have been fewer and fewer of his kind discovered since the majority were culled all those years ago by the Ministry," he continued, gesturing to Harry dismissively. "To honour one boy's wishes for a choice of partner, and yours of monogamy will mean a greater leap towards the extinction of full-blooded born wolves. Those turned are never as strong or live as long as us. But besides that, are we not all entitled to have and raise young of our own rather than resort to stealing others'?"
Harry frowned, his lips parting on the verge of speech, but Echo's hand on his shoulder stilled him – not only because the first touch of another since last night just felt strange somehow. He swallowed his words at the insistent contact. Echo was warning him to keep quiet, but why with such urgency?
Suddenly the dark man turned to Harry, his dark amber eyes devouring him. "Come closer," he breathed. Harry scowled. If this bastard was going to challenge him he was not going to lie down and play the good little puppy. He couldn't deny any longer that he was Fenrir's sub, his mate and that maybe part of him even wanted that, but he most certainly wasn't the bitch of every werewolf that decided to seek him out.
Shrugging off Echo's grip, he stepped forward.
"Harry stay where you are!" Fenrir snapped without facing him. Harry flinched at the roughness of his voice but continued, his chin still turned up slightly in rebellion.
"I'm not afraid of him," he replied, coming to a halt at Fenrir's side, his eyes trained ahead of him.
"You say so, sweet one but I can smell the truth," the dark man murmured, his smile never fading. "I am Radulf and I am sorry we did not cross paths sooner, we could have avoided a situation like this. But we know of your life, Harry Potter, there are few that don't – even out in the wilderness. You of all people have compassion enough to see, we all deserve children of our own, don't we? To fill a void that biting another can never fulfil?"
Harry stared at him emotionlessly, despite the inner battle rumbling inside him. Get back, it hissed at him. Show him your belly, your throat – show them all submission! He shook his head as if to free himself of those thoughts, pushing through and beyond the overwhelming desire to bow himself at their feet. "My guardians never loved me like my real parents, but there is another family that has all-but adopted me, the way you adopt others into your packs. They care for me like I'm their own. I don't think a family has to be made from bonds of blood. But I s'pose I understand your feelings and instincts."
He felt Fenrir turn his head slightly to stare at him, radiating confusion. Harry did not look away from Radulf and Conall, who seemed to share a look at Harry's words.
"If you understand, then how can you deny us what you are so willing to provide Greyback?" Radulf asked, as if it were a much simpler matter they were discussing.
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I said I understood, that doesn't mean I'm going to let you all take turns in using me like some…some litter whore," he said in disbelief.
"Why not?" Conall demanded, "it's what you were made for."
"Bullshit it is," Fenrir growled venomously, his teeth bared. "He was born to the freedom to choose the mate he wants. Not be passed around every horny mutt to churn out cubs like a machine!"
Radulf made a clucking sound with his tongue. "Of course not, we're not suggesting he carry a litter for every born werewolf that passes – that would be impossible. We have spent the last few weeks wisely, Greyback."
Fenrir shifted his body to stand between Harry and them a little more effectively. But Harry could still see them and he didn't think Fenrir's dominance display was going to scare them away this time, not like it had back when they'd run into Conall and his band of outcasts in the forest.
"What do you mean?" Fenrir asked dangerously.
Conall spoke this time, seemingly smug about his answer. "Of course when you killed my brother for trying to have his turn with the sub I felt it my duty to pay a visit to every pack and settlement of rogues known to us. The strongest, the best of each battled for their chance to come here today and here we are. We fought to prove our worth, to narrow down the sub's list of suitors–"
"Harry, my name is Harry not breeder or sub. Do you seriously think you've been considerate? You're still assuming I'm willing to be fucked and impregnated by the lot of you!" Harry declared indignantly, staring at them all in shock. And he'd thought the wizarding and muggle worlds were full of bigots and power-hungry control-freaks.
Conall tilted his head slightly to look him up and down before dignifying his outburst with a response. "You don't have a choice. We've been generous enough with you and we're willing to overlook Greyback's transgressions if you all comply."
"What 'transgressions' you stinking whippet?" Fenrir spat ferociously. "He's my mate, mine and you all think you have the authority to share him around?!" He was thunderous and Harry felt something in his stomach churn at the feel of his mate's anger rushing through him. He felt light-headed and the need to make himself small and invisible swelled again.
"That is precisely it," Radulf said coolly. "You claim that he chose you, yet I hear you made sure to keep him hidden away until it was too late for anyone to challenge that claim, to compete with it. If given a fair chance, Harry here might have chosen any of us." His golden gaze lingered on Harry again, alight with sinful fire that made Harry feel quite ill, even dizzier than before.
"Like hell," he grumbled, trying to keep a hold of what dignity he had left and his balance at the same time. "I'd never bind myself to anyone who treats me like what I want doesn't matter."
"We're not wishing to mate with him," Radulf continued as if Harry hadn't spoken at all, looking back to Fenrir once more. "Only to have the opportunity that all of us want with every fibre of our being. A litter for each of us here, the best of us and then you can keep him all to yourself."
"Fuck you!" Harry roared, his own fury coursing through him now, driving him forward. It pulsed like lava, like a thousand angry wasps in his veins until he was standing in front of Conall, Radulf and the others, visibly seething. He ignored the cries from his pack mates and glared hotly at the werewolves before him. He wasn't afraid now, only angry – unbelievably angry at the insult of their very purpose here.
"It'll be a bloody cold day in hell before I roll over and present my arse to any of you – to anyone besides who I choose. I'm not a whore and I'm not a prize bitch to churn out litters with the best studs that stroll by to suit you all. I don't care if your entire species dies out. I don't care if you offer me the universe! I'm not a body to be sold or even threatened into compliance. I won't give you what you want so leave!"
An elongated moment of tense silence stretched out towards infinity. The forest was deathly quite behind them; the only sound Harry could make out was the ever-flowing waterfall and his own anger thudding furiously in his ears in time with his pulse. How dare they? How could they think this was acceptable? Just because he was probably the only known breeder in the country, because of what wizards had done out of fear all those years ago?
Sins of the father, he thought distantly as he stood there, waiting for anyone to speak or move, to break the stillness they had fallen into. His ancestors, his species had desecrated theirs, had killed hundreds of breeding subs and now he was paying the price. Why was he the only one that saw that werewolves, vampires, giants, wizards, and muggles, all of them were all the bloody same as each other? Each just as capable of violence and cruelty as the other.
Suddenly, Conall reached out, his arm flying forwards with the force and speed of a whiplash. He wrapped his fingers around Harry's throat, drawing him forwards. Harry choked, his hands shooting up to claw at Conall's fingers. The man's nose was scant centimetres from his own and the proximity, the smell of his lust made Harry's instincts soar up and seize control of him again.
Harry turned his head to the side limply. He let it fall, let his entire body go limp in that grasp so that he would have slumped on the floor if Conall released him. Behind him he could hear Fenrir snarling, hear his pack moving forward but he couldn't see anything beyond the threat in front of him and he whined slowly, deep in his throat. He had to survive, he had to escape – he had to be submissive to do both of those. He had to live.
Why again was that?
"See how contrite a real male can make you?" Conall panted, grinning darkly and inhaling Harry's fear hungrily. It made his arousal spike and Harry whined again, louder this time when Conall's other unoccupied hand, reached out to slip between the folds of Harry's fur cloak. Long claws scraped over his churning stomach – just hard enough to bring four fresh lines of blood from shallow cuts. "If you comply we'll let you keep the cub you carry, let you bear Greyback his mongrel before we take our turns."
Harry's eyes widened.
Conall chuckled, leaning in closer still. "These things are so delicate, easily terminated – you should be careful if you want to keep it–"
"It?" Harry repeated, his voice a choked gasp. A whisper of horror and disbelief. The entire world stopped, halting in time and space before veering into slow motion at Conall's low, cruel laugh.
"Poor little one, didn't your pet alpha tell you? He's filled your belly up nicely in such a short amount of time," the auburn haired man panted.
Harry's entire body tensed as he recalled the horrors of last night, not for the first time since he had awoken but with new eyes now, seeing it for what it meant at last. He screamed, lashing out with every ounce of strength in him, slamming his fist hard into Conall's throat. The wolf spluttered, releasing him instinctually. Harry staggered back, panting for breath and rubbing unconsciously at his neck where finger-shaped marks burned angrily into his skin.
"Liar!" Harry screamed. "You fucking liar!" His eyes shot briefly to Fenrir, but did not linger there for long. He glared at Conall as the wolf chuckled again, the sound ragged and hoarse from the blow to his throat.
"Ask one of Greyback's lap dogs if you won't believe the truth from my lips, but I can smell that you're carrying from here!" Conall rounded on Fenrir then, his jaw set with anger, lust and animal frustration all at once. "And we can't promise whatever is inside him won't be a casualty if you force us to fight for what is rightfully ours."
"You've got no rights at all, none of you, not to my mate," Fenrir growled darkly. He shot forwards so that he was between them and Harry again, who remained frozen and breathing heavily, not looking at anyone now.
Radulf eyed him carefully. "We will tear your little pack to shreds if need be, Greyback, ruin everything your parents and you have worked so hard to protect." He paused as if for dramatic effect and the ominous look in his eyes left nothing to the imagination. "We will kill every last one of them. This will be much easier on everyone if you just comply.
Harry glanced up at Fenrir's back from beneath his fringe. He knew Fenrir's possessiveness well enough to trust that he wouldn't give him over, but still a part of him twisted inside at the thought that really, despite what he himself wanted, Fenrir was the only thing standing between him and the enemy. He had to rely on Fenrir to look after him and he didn't like it – loathed the idea, especially after last night.
"The boy will be happy to protect the pack, Alpha," Ulric said, speaking for the first time since he had stepped into the clearing with the others. The contempt in his voice was poorly concealed. "Let him give them a litter each and we can all walk away from this–"
"Don't make me remind you of your place," Greyback snarled, "if you challenge me again you'll be out on your arse with the rest of these savages." He focused on the interlopers again for the final time. "I'll fight you and I'll kill you all, make no mistake. He's ours and you're not taking him anywhere." At this, Marrok shifted forwards a fraction and the large black man wrapped his fingers slowly, subtly around Harry's wrist.
Harry flinched at only the second touch of another person since last night, but on seeing the anxious look in the man's eyes, he allowed himself to be urged back slowly to stand between him and Echo. Marrok's hand never left his arm. In any other situation Harry might have flushed, remembering Echo and Fenrir joking about Marrok being sweet on him in a boyish crush sort of way. But his mind was not able to consider light-hearted matters at the moment.
"Get off my territory," Fenrir added darkly, "while you still have legs to carry you."
"Rumour has it that your new mate has made you go soft, Greyback," Radulf added airily, as if Fenrir hadn't spoken. "Perhaps your bark has grown worse than your bite?"
"Get out of my territory now or you'll find out first hand," Fenrir snarled, every hair on his arms and chest standing on end, his knuckles cracking threateningly as the wolf swelled within, about to break the surface. He and Radulf held each other's gazes for a long moment before Fenrir smirked indifferently. "Conall has rounded you all up and used your instincts against you to make you fight his battle, you're all just too stupid to see it. I just hope you're not stupid enough to die for it.
Then it happened.
With a roar Radulf threw himself into the air his clothes and skin tearing, fur erupting from his growing limbs. He landed a jet-black wolf on all fours, baring his teeth with a great snarl before bolting towards Fenrir. It was the signal they'd all been waiting for.
Harry felt an almost unbearable tugging in his skin, a bone deep ache as everybody around him changed at once. They flew forwards, morphing into grizzly canines that launched into a frenzied battle of teeth, fur and claws – the enemy against his pack. The sight of Fenrir's glossy silver fur made his entire body seize up and he blanched, stumbling back a few steps, straight into a tundra wolf with black fur mottled by a dusting of dark brown across his face and belly.
Marrok's dark eyes looked down at him from that face and Harry stilled, uncertain. The great wolf bent his neck until his head was level with Harry's, no longer towering over him and turned to show his throat. Submission, it was such an odd sight after last night and in the midst of all this chaos but it made Harry's anxiety lessen a fraction. He didn't want Harry to be afraid of him, it seemed, for this was his last assurance, accented by a small wag of his tail before he moved himself in front of Harry – he and Ghost silently volunteering as protectors as the war waged around them.
Fenrir gave a great bellowing roar, throwing his weight into Radulf and sending him sprawling across the ground. The enemy lunged, his jaws snapping shut around thin air where Fenrir's throat had been a moment before. At the same time Echo threw a red wolf into the dirt, his fangs vanishing into his throat with a sickening burst of blood.
The metallic tang on the air made Harry's stomach lurch forebodingly. Was it really true? Was there really a life inside of him? Was that why he felt so…hypersensitive, so desperate not to be seen? It was impossible. It couldn't be true – it just couldn't! His innards clenched at the sound of cracking bones and cartilage, at the sound of his pack mates (who he'd grown so close to in the last few weeks) fighting for him. That thought was almost enough to distract him from the thought most potent in his mind – almost. What was he going to do about whatever was inside him?
Suddenly a sharp snarl ripped him back to the present. He jumped as he saw a grey wolf bolting towards him. Marrok growled, charging in to meet him, the force of their collision sending them both barrelling backwards in a tangle of fangs and talons. Harry dodged another pair locked in battle and winced as a painful cry tore from Marrok's throat. He grit his teeth, leaping over a bloodied corpse that Echo had left on the ground and making a beeline for where Marrok was entwined with his assailant.
A great auburn coloured body slammed into Harry, knocking him back onto his arse and the wind from his lungs. He scrambled instinctively to his feet only to be shoved down again by a large paw. The appendage pressed him hard into the dirt, digging into his chest until he swore he felt his lungs begin to compress. With a final sharp, desperate gasp for air, he felt a jerk of electricity rush through him. Staring into the dark, hungry eyes above, he heard his instincts roaring in his ears with all of the ferocity of a banshee's cry.
It was evident from how crazy everyone was acting, how crazy he was acting that Fenrir had put something inside him last night. As that muzzle lowered, nuzzling into the unmarked side of his neck he realised that whatever it was, however it came to be there, it was a life. One that couldn't defend itself. It was up to him to protect it, wasn't it? His instincts were like an inferno roiling inside, crashing against his insides in thick waves to get out. He'd always felt the need to protect and help others but this wasn't the same. It was bone-deep and so powerful that it made his head swim. Whatever he felt about it he had to defend it, even if he was torn to shreds in the process.
That massive paw shifted down slightly to make room for the wolf's invasive tongue to lap at his clavicle, but as it began to press down on his stomach, Harry's body flew upwards. His hands shot up, crashing so hard into the wolf's throat that it gave a choked cry, skidding back across the dirt into the battle of bodies.
Harry rolled up onto all fours. Balanced on the balls of his feet he scanned the battlefield, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. He had to protect his young, whatever he felt about it; they were already alive and depending on him – just like the rest of the world, except more helpless and more fragile… Precious.
An animalistic screech ripped from his lips and he charged towards the crimson-haired wolf that snapped at Marrok's face, narrowly missing him. Conall leapt back in shock as Harry slammed his fist into his side. Yipping in pain, he rounded on Harry with vengeance.
As he turned, Harry was balanced on his feet again, his hands supporting him in the dirt before him. His lips were drawn back over his teeth in an animalistic snarl, but when his hands flew up, palms out, the dazzling blue light that bolted from them was very human magic. Wizard magic. An unmistakeable knock-back jinx sent Conall skidding into the pool with a force that made the water spill out onto the bank with an almighty crash.
At that moment, as Harry rose to his feet and made to pursue his attack, a roar of agony cut through the air. He whirled on his feet, the movement driven by instinct and by an ethereal ghost of pain across his ribs. He saw Fenrir staggering back, his great silver coat stained with crimson blood down one side, where Radulf's talons had torn open one of the few tender places left from the attack of the griffins.
With pride Harry watched his alpha gather himself quickly, but as Fenrir turned another wolf crashed into his injured side, the both of them rolling across the ground. It happened in but a few, fleeting seconds that flashed by Harry's eyes in slow motion. Fenrir snarled and gnashed his teeth, kicking the wolf off him with his back legs, but as he rolled back to his feet, Radulf was there, lunging for his throat.
The sound that flew from Harry's mouth was an inhuman, desperate cry that shook his every limb. It had no coherency, it clawed at his throat like a beast in pain and he froze as a clearer, but no less potent voice screamed inside his mind.
"Confringo!" Harry cried, his voice a booming, echoing explosion that tore across the battlefield and blasted Radulf into the air. Flame, fur, earth and bright light erupted together in an inferno that stopped everyone dead in their tracks. Harry was rattled from his frantic trance by the ground lurching beneath his feet from the blast. He blinked and suddenly he was thrown black, the world obscured by heavy, protective heat.
Harry grunted, the firm furred body wrapping tight around him and taking the brunt of the fall. They rolled and his head slammed hard into the unforgiving ground. He winced and the body above him tensed, lifting itself slowly. On opening his eyes, Harry watched the blood-splattered silver wolf warp disturbingly into Fenrir again, propped up on all fours over him and panting hard.
Blood oozed from a deep gash across the length of his face and dripped down onto Harry, who winced at the throbbing in his head and flinched at Fenrir's proximity all at once. Instinctively he rolled his head to the side to expose his throat but instead of laying flat and exposing his belly as he usually would, he drew his knees up to offer it some sort of protection. It was depending on him after all.
A coarse thumb and forefinger gripped his chin, turning his head up so that Fenrir could look at him properly. Fenrir sniffed at him tentatively. "You're hurt," he murmured gruffly, apparently oblivious to the fact that everyone else around them were recovering themselves. His azure eyes were dark, his skin hot and painted with battle wounds – bare as the day he was born.
"Get off me," Harry gasped, shoving hard at Fenrir's chest as he came back to himself and the unease he felt at being trapped under Fenrir's body again so soon. Fenrir grunted, his wounds aggravated by the hasty movement as he rose to his feet. "Is it ok?" Fenrir muttered, referring to Harry's stomach and holding his hand out to help Harry up at the same time.
Harry ignored the proffered hand and pushed himself up to his feet, wincing again at the throbbing at the back of his head. He felt a little bit dizzy and bruised but otherwise unharmed; he didn't even think there was blood. "How am I meant to know?" he replied shortly, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. Then, over Fenrir's shoulder, he caught sight of Radulf's body.
The humanoid body was splayed out at a grotesque angle; smoke actually rising from the tangle of limbs. Harry's eyes were wide with shock and horror both as the man slowly staggered upwards, his dark skin blistered and marred, his expression livid. "I'll kill you – I'll KILL YOU!" he roared, staggering towards them, blood trailing across the ground with every step. "No undisciplined runt of a sub is going to defy me, just because his mate is too lovestruck to teach him his place," he spat.
Harry bit back the urge to make himself small and invisible again, clenching his teeth hard around the instinctual reaction and standing firm at Fenrir's side.
"I'll rip that feeble seedling from your belly and then I'll pound your little arse into the ground until you realise that's your place!" Radulf crowed, his voice cracked with blood and pain. He dove forwards, reaching for Harry's throat. Fenrir gave an almighty snarl and seized his wrist, twisting him round until he had a firm grip on the man's neck. There was a grunt from Fenrir, a sickening crack and then Radulf fell to the ground, perfectly still at Fenrir's feet.
Harry took a few hesitant steps back, both out of shock at the sudden execution and of discomfort at having their enemy so close to him – dead or not. He backed into a hard body and whirled on the spot to find a scuffed up Marrok behind him. The dark-skinned man gave him an awkward yet reassuring smile. "Are you alright?" he asked and Harry nodded slowly, not really sure if he was lying or not. Was he ok?
There was a long pause in the clearing, during which the assailants seemed to retreat back to the boundary of trees where they had emerged from, all watching them cautiously. Conall scowled loathingly at them all, his menacing eyes lingering over Harry for far too long. "We aren't alone, Greyback," he warned darkly, "together we all bring far more warriors to the fray than your little band of whelps. "We will have what is rightfully ours."
Conall glanced down at the fallen man by Fenrir's feet in revulsion. "Radulf was the one that wanted to try and reason with you, but since you have chosen the difficult path…" He paused purposefully, his gaze washing over Harry's body, covetous and hateful all at once. "You'll be seeing us again and next time there will be no mercy."
A few of Fenrir's pack (still wearing their wolf appearances) snarled, bolting forwards and driving them from the clearing, deep into the forest. "Drive them out of our territory," Fenrir said slowly to Echo, who still stood as a wolf beside him. The compact beast gave a slow nod of understanding, before flying after the others, leaving a mere handful of them remaining at the peak of the waterfall.
"Ulric, Raquelle, get rid of this scum," Fenrir growled with a gesture to Radulf's corpse, his voice low and rasping, as if he were barely keeping the rage from breaking the surface. It burned like bile rising up his throat. He wanted to pursue them, to catch them and tear their limbs away until they were useless, bloody stumps sprawled across the dirt. Something about the mere thought of leaving Harry's side right now just felt wrong though. He knew it was his instincts, knew he would feel this way even long after the birth, but even knowing that, he couldn't fight it.
Ulric grumbled in irritation, even as he and the female wolf, the dark-haired Raquelle moved to obey. "You're going to start a bloody war," he muttered, seizing the corpse's arms while Raquelle picked up the legs. "You're going to get us all massacred for the sake of sharing out your sub's arse a little…"
Fenrir growled furiously, seizing Ulric's neck and squeezing hard until the older man's face was suffused with a warning blue tinge. "You've forgotten what our pack stands for and you've long forgotten who's in charge here, old man," he whispered warningly. "If you want to challenge my role, challenge me like a wolf or keep your mouth shut, I won't tell you again. One more fuck-up and you'll be out on your arse, is that clear?"
When Ulric nodded, Fenrir squeezed just that fraction harder before releasing him and turning to where Harry, Marrok and Ghost stood, effectively dismissing the other two to continue with their instructions. His body was still rigid, stiff with barely controlled rage and wretchedness but his eyes were warm as they caressed Harry's face. A face that was far paler than usual.
"You need some food in that belly of yours," he said when he was sure the bite had left his voice. He felt like he didn't know how to talk to Harry at that moment. He knew only that he had to fulfil the promise he had made under the moon to provide and protect. "I notice you vomited up any food you had left in you this morning–"
"That was out of disgust not illness," Harry muttered, glaring at him defiantly despite the smell of anxiety Fenrir sensed rolling off of him in pungent waves. It brought a bad taste to his mouth.
"I didn't want last night to happen," Fenrir began, only to have Harry cut across him sharply.
"Bollocks. You got exactly what you wanted last night."
Fenrir sneered. "You think I enjoyed raping you?" he growled darkly. "After everything that's happened, you think I wanted this with anything less than your full consent?" The ungrateful little whelp.
Harry stared back at him. "All you've talked about since this all started is getting me up the duff, don't pretend you're anything less than bloody ecstatic," he grumbled.
Fenrir started towards him then, the movement making Marrok step back out of respect instinctively. The alpha seized Harry's wrist to draw him closer when the boy made to recoil. "I'm pleased in that I made life with you, that part of me grows inside of you," the wolf began, his coarse voice negating any of the softness of his words. "But I didn't want it to happen like this."
Harry flushed darkly at his words. "I never wanted this at all. I didn't want to get…to have…this and you can't expect me to be ok with it," Harry began roughly.
"Bullshit. The fact you've yearned for a home and family of your own, a true family is the main reason you chose me," Fenrir retorted hotly, "don't deny it."
"But I can't stay here, I've told you that and I never wanted to be…emasculated by being forced into…giving birth. I didn't want it this way!" Harry winced – probably at the distinct sound of desperation in his voice. His hands curled into such tight fists that his knuckles grew white. "It wasn't entirely your fault, but you're acting like we're this loving couple who've conceived this miracle child or something!"
With a growl of displeasure and his scent spiking with telltale hurt, Fenrir threw Harry's wrist away from him. "All born werewolves are miracles that defy our very nature," he snarled, "I wanted you, I wanted this but not this way. Are you telling me that you want to get rid of the life inside you just because that prick Weylyn left the bloody gate open?"
"I don't know what I want!" Harry roared. "All I know is I don't want to look at you right now." With that he turned to look at Marrok, who was watching their exchange carefully. "Will you take me back to the den? I want to be on my own for a while where I won't be ravaged or attacked." Harry's voice was flat and curt, but riding below that was the sound of utter exhaustion and defeat.
Marrok gave the most fleeting of cautionary glances to Fenrir before nodding slowly. "Of course," he said, his deep voice soft and smooth, filled with concern. He took a step to the side to let Harry set the pace back towards the safety of the den along with Ghost. It took some time before Fenrir calmed his temper enough to follow them without the risk of tearing something to shreds.
By the time he'd cooled his anger enough to let himself catch up with them, they were already in the caves, heading towards the gates. He could hear Ulric and Raquelle not too far behind. Further than that, back in the forest, he could also sense Echo and the others returning from seeing their enemy off of their territory – all together and in one piece, thankfully. They would not be so lucky next time.
Fenrir grit his teeth as they neared the gates. He wasn't afraid of Conall nor any of the others. He could easily defeat any of them in a battle to be alpha – or a battle for Harry that matter. But they weren't looking for a battle for position or mating rights, they were looking for a massacre. The pack was safe for now, but he knew that whether by Voldemort's hand or by these new usurpers of the old ways, their peaceful lives would change – and soon. His job was to get as many of his pack through this alive and safe, but he feared he was more preoccupied with Harry than he'd first thought.
Today, up at the waterfall's peak he should have been the one to chase off the enemy. No, he should have quashed them, ripped out their gullets as a warning to any one else who would dare try the same. But the thought of leaving Harry's side had made him almost nauseated. He knew that was because of the infant now growing in his belly, and the fact that Harry was sensitive to any threat now – physically. If he thought he'd been abandoned or felt overly threatened he could miscarry. That thought made him nauseated as well.
He was dragged back to the present by the sight and sound of the gates slowly unwinding and unlocking. They slid open under Marrok's touch and Harry was the first to move inside. The moment he did, Fenrir felt relief so profound sweep through him from Harry's direction that it stilled him on the threshold for a moment. That was, until he saw Weylyn being watched by Amoux and a few of the others near the wash pool. His blood began to boil again.
"Marrok, fetch some food for Harry," he began, eyeing the traitor venomously. "I need to– Harry!"
Harry had flown from their side with unnatural speed, bolting across the grass and slamming hard straight into Weylyn. With a feral, disembodied snarl, Harry threw him to the ground where he pounced. Weylyn cried out, everyone nearby screaming and flying back on impulse. Harry was an alpha too and instinct told them to get out of his warpath. Harry's fingers curled like hungry talons as they dug into Weylyn's flesh, seizing his throat with a rasping growl and shoving his head beneath the water of the pool.
Weylyn's body scrambled and writhed in his grasp, struggling for freedom but the tendons in Harry's arms and wrists tensed and he gripped him tighter. He lifted his head a fraction to permit him air before plunging him back under the water's surface again, utter unrestrained fury on his face. He looked like a man possessed, an animal lost to his instincts. But Fenrir knew he was very much in control of himself right now and feeling very human emotions. Fear, panic and rage; all unleashing themselves at once.
"It's all your fault!" Harry screamed, bringing the choking, spluttering man up to hear him, shaking him with every word. Fenrir could see those green eyes glowing unnaturally bright as he glared down at the man at his mercy. "You brought this on us – on me! I never wanted this! You caused this! I'll fucking kill you!" He shoved Weylyn under again, only to have Fenrir seize him by the arms and drag him bodily from his victim.
"Get off me Greyback – I want to rip his bloody throat out!" Harry snapped, writhing like a serpent out of Fenrir's arms. He whirled in Fenrir's grasp, striking him so hard across the face that his arm ached, the reverberations from the blow shuddering through his body. Everything fell silent. Harry just stood there breathing hard, struggling for air through his fury while Fenrir stared down at him, his face flushing red from the blow. Everyone was watching them. Weylyn had not dared to move.
The silence was ringing uncomfortably throughout the entire valley by the time Fenrir moved. His eyes stayed with Harry for as long as possible as he walked towards Weylyn's still spluttering form, until he was forced to look down at the traitor. "Why did you do it?" he demanded, his voice low but still somehow booming and threatening. At his feet Weylyn shuddered, but didn't dare not answer.
"I'm sorry, Alpha–"
"–Sorry you got found out!" Fenrir cut across him. "Why did you do it?" When Weylyn merely flinched Fenrir dove for him, dragging him up by his throat until he dangled a foot from the ground. "TELL ME!"
"I just thought that mutt Conall had a point!" Weylyn gasped, all of the words tumbling out so quickly that one was barely distinguishable from the other. It was as if he hoped the quicker he admitted it, the quicker he would be done with his punishment. No such luck. "I overheard when you told Echo what was said when he encountered you before – the whole pack knows but I'm the only one who realises there's some truth to what that rogue says!"
Fenrir dropped him to the ground. The wolf struggled to his feet, backing away from Fenrir as he continued hastily trying to explain himself – only digging himself a bigger hole in the process. "We all deserve what you now have," Weylyn said, glancing briefly to Harry, who was just watching events unfold motionlessly. "I knew he wouldn't submit to the act of conception on his own so I just…" he paused and then spat out the rest of his justification all in one breath. "He was born to breed for us, I thought if he conceived he'd realise that and consider our request."
Everyone backed up away from the two as every minute hair on Fenrir's body stood on end. "Our request?" he growled darkly. "You – you and Conall and the rest of those mongrels? You betrayed me and your Alpha Numero for your own selfishness and a few broody mutts?!" His entire body shook with rage. He knew he'd given him too many second chances. But no more.
Still wearing his human form, Fenrir dived for his prey, his teeth and nails scraping deep, unforgiving gouges into that traitorous flesh. Weylyn screamed. Fenrir roared with fury. A chunk of flesh broke off in his mouth, tearing from the defector's neck and splashing crimson blood across them both and the ground. One of those frantically scrambling legs was snapped sickeningly, the sound of fracturing bone followed by the most piteous whine Harry had ever heard – inhuman with pain.
At last Fenrir leant back on his haunches. Weylyn rolled over onto his back, a wolf now with fur splattered with blood and deep, gory wounds. His head dropped in pathetic submission and apology while his fractured back leg splayed out at an odd angle.
Watching in silence, Harry noted that the children had been shooed away from the fight just as it had begun by Amoux and Accalia, who now returned to his side as if for support. It didn't help to ease his suffering any, though he did appreciate the gesture.
Spitting at the form of the submitting turncoat, Fenrir rose to his feet. His hard pectorals and face were painted crimson and his eyes were wild as he spoke gruffly, unforgivingly. "You disgust me, lowest of the lowest scum of this earth and I banish you from our pack. Go and live with the mongrels you side with. Go and rot for all I care but don't let me catch your face in our territory again." There wasn't a sound from the onlookers, but Fenrir jerked his head up regardless, looking at them each in turn.
"Does anyone contest my decision?" he demanded, Weylyn's blood flying from his lips as he spoke. The decision was unanimous, from what Harry saw and felt from those standing around the scene. But he'd lived with them for a month now and he knew how important the pack was and how seriously a betrayal like this was taken.
"We have no room in this pack for back-stabbers in times like these," Echo murmured, breaking the silence with his serious tone. There were a few murmurs of agreement. Briefly, Fenrir locked eyes with Harry, as if searching for his opinion, but Harry gave none, still stunned to silence by the blow he himself had given Fenrir.
"I'll see that he follows the rest of the rubbish out," Echo said then, with a look in his eyes that somehow Harry knew meant 'so you can stay with Harry'. Harry wasn't sure he liked that, but he said nothing regardless. He lingered only to watch a few moments of Weylyn's pitiful whines for forgiveness, before turning away. He couldn't be around people at the moment; he needed to process all that had happened since last night before his mind exploded with everything it was trying to cope with.
He'd have a bath – that was it. He would soak until his mind was muggy with the steam and with any luck he would pass out under the water and never wake up again.
By the time he realised that he really could not hide in the bath any longer, his skin was a ripe shade of pink all over, his head was quite giddy from the steam and his fingers and toes were pruned. With a sigh, he tipped his head back so that it rested on the edge of the sunken pool and stared up at the glistening ceiling carved from that mysterious stone.
There was so much going on, so many dangers and tasks he needed to complete, Voldemort, Horcruxes, the rogue wolves, but it all seemed overshadowed by that one very personal problem that he had refused to think about since the moment he'd stepped back into the safety of his den. There was a child inside of him – what the fuck was he meant to do about that?
He blinked hard up at the ceiling, as if staring at it long enough would reveal the answer. He'd only found out that this was possible a month ago, among all the rest of the chaos that had erupted the moment he'd woken up Fenrir Greyback's prisoner instead of Voldemort's. The idea had been degrading, sickening even and he remembered distinctly swearing he'd rather die than carry anything of Fenrir's inside of him. Except he'd been 'Greyback' back then, not 'Fenrir' and a lot had happened. So much had changed…
It was still degrading, made him feel revolted to remember how it had happened (and that his body had climaxed from it). It hurt to think his very male body had been emasculated somehow by being forced to do something he had (until recently) thought was a woman's task only. It was humiliating even contemplating what had happened to him but at the same time he knew he had to protect whatever was growing inside. He had to and it wasn't entirely down to his 'saving people thing' or his instincts to protect.
He cared about all life, which was the main reason he had become known for disarming rather than going for the kill in battle. And that included whatever living repercussion now grew inside him after last night. He couldn't say he loved it but he cared if it lived or died, no matter how desperately unhappy he was with the situation. With a long-suffering sigh, he glanced down at his body. It was scuffed from the tussle last night and fight this morning, but looked otherwise unchanged.
Slowly, his hands drifted down his torso with hesitation, hovering over his stomach for a moment before he finally got the nerve to touch. His fingers moulded to his flat belly, taut with lean muscle and his brow furrowed. He didn't truly understand how or why it had to happen to him, but there was life growing beneath his hands. He felt weird, awkward just touching his own stomach now.
Now what was to become of the future planned out for him, set by the mistakes of wizards more than twice his? He had horcruxes to hunt, a dark lord to conquer but how could he do that now?He closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning in dizziness brought on by a mixture of stress and steam. What the fuck was he going to do?
"I'll help you finish him," he remembered Fenrir murmuring against his throat. "I'll wipe him off the face of the earth… Lupa and Hemming are looking for your little friends. They'll help them. We'll be able to move more freely and do more once He is convinced you're nothing to worry about but until then… Stay with me…"
Those words were still true, but he felt a sense of renewed urgency now. Time was limited until he would be physically hampered by this…condition that had been thrust on him. Or would this condition only accelerate the process of Voldemort believing him well and truly broken? He would see him on his knees as a sex slave and breeding vessel to Fenrir Greyback. He would surely think Harry defeated, would enjoy it even. Would it work? Once he could move more freely, he could maybe even join up with Ron and Hermione again and finish this once and for all.
He winced as he slid out of the water at last, his bruises and scrapes no longer throbbing, soothed by the perpetually clean, warm water. It wasn't all as simple as it sounded though. It all depended largely on Fenrir's cooperation of course. Whether he cared to admit it or not, Harry needed him, in more ways than one. He wasn't sure what Fenrir's views on this plan would be after he'd outright punched him, disrespected him in front of the pack. He wouldn't have to wait long to find out though, he thought as the sound of the door to the den opening signalled Fenrir's arrival.
Harry swore he heard Fenrir sniffing subtly, as if assuring himself that Harry was in here. Beside the pool, Ghost pricked his ears, evidently having heard him too and a moment later, Fenrir's tired, still blood-covered form appeared in the archway to the main part of the den. His eyes were unreadable as he observed Harry. Silence stretched between them while they both tried to find the right words. The few hours they'd been separated seemed to have made the awkwardness worse. There was so much to discuss and yet neither of them wanted to make the first move.
"You alright?" Fenrir murmured eventually, his rough voice betraying nothing. Harry shrugged. The answer was no, of course but then Fenrir had known that before he'd even asked. Feeling uncomfortable with the werewolf watching him sans clothes, he turned and pulled an oversized towel around him, drying himself while revealing as little of his flesh as possible.
"Weylyn is gone and the pack are… Well, they're unsettled that they were betrayed by one of our own but I think they're all the better with the scum filtered out," he said, unwittingly answering Harry's unasked question; where Fenrir had been for the last couple of hours. He'd been tending to the repercussions Weylyn's treachery had unleashed on the pack. It wasn't just that it was done to plot against him, Harry, the whole pack had been in danger last night when the gates were open. He supposed in the pack's eyes, a lot worse could've happened than him getting impregnated by the alpha, which they probably thought was the most wonderful thing in the world anyway.
Harry winced at that, hating how bitter the voice of his thoughts sounded. "Do they know?" he asked, without really caring about the answer.
Those cool blue eyes surveyed him carefully before a reply sounded. "They could smell it. They know," Fenrir replied, stepping further into the room. His body still bore the wounds from earlier and Harry could not help but stare at them. Fenrir however, didn't seem to notice. "Amoux would like to speak with you when you're ready. She was taught the secrets of midwifery by the woman who delivered me and my siblings. She should know everything you need to know."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers gripping the towel around him so tightly he felt his knuckles begin to quiver. "And what if I don't want to know?" he murmured, his voice barely audible, but before Fenrir could answer, he spoke again. "I s'pose they're all euphoric with…this?" he asked, gesturing to his body.
"Of course. It's a miracle to them, Harry, you are a miracle to them. Amoux, Accalia, the kids, fuck even Marrok is enamoured with you. They adore you, of course they're bloody happy," Fenrir retorted, his voice slightly sharp.
Harry glared at him. "You're all in bliss but none of you show my feelings on the matter any respect," he snapped, instantly chiding himself for the way that sounded. Pathetic, his mind spat.
"You hid yourself away in here almost immediately," Fenrir replied stiffly, "you haven't seen any reactions so how would you know?"
With a growl under his breath, Harry went back to drying himself. He didn't know what to say to that except, "So what if I wanted to be alone? I'm entitled to be pissed off about what's been done to me against my will," he muttered.
Suddenly, two firm hands gripped his shoulders through the towel, stilling him instantly. His entire body twitched. He didn't know how to react to that touch anymore. Those blue eyes, darkened with unreadable emotion stared down at him.
"And I'm entitled to be happy about the fucking miracle you and I created, whatever the circumstances," Fenrir growled.
"Bit soon for you to be asking for another smack in the face," Harry murmured darkly.
Fenrir roared in frustration. "I'm bloody trying with you, you know. You might make an effort to see my side as well. This is what we are, who we are – you were coming to understand, even enjoy that before last night."
"You're trying to make me into some bitch," Harry protested, struggling to free himself from Fenrir's grasp, but his limbs were trapped by the towel.
With another growl, Fenrir sneered at him. "When have I ever? I've never tried to change you! You seem to think fucking me and mating with me, carrying my cubs makes you less of a man or something, changes you in some way, but it doesn't. You're still the obnoxious, bad-tempered little shit I saw spitting at His attempts to break you. I'm giving you everything you've always wanted and have never dared to take for yourself!"
"When and if it suits you!" Harry declared. "You're right, I was…I was alright, or near enough alright with you, but I still wanted to get out of this cave and do what I was meant to do. I still wanted to see my friends, finish Him. And I didn't want last night or what came of it!" His throat ached from the shouting, but he couldn't stop. "You've turned my life upside down and you just expect me to adjust because it's part of my blood or some shit like that!"
"I expect fuck all," Fenrir shot back, "I've worked my arse off trying to help you adjust and just because of what someone else did to both of us last night, you're ready to piss away all the progress we've made over the last month."
That made any reply that had been brewing die on Harry's tongue.
"You're making me into the enemy when we've both been betrayed," Fenrir continued when Harry said nothing, "the fact that I'm less upset about it than you are doesn't change that."
"Of course I'm upset," Harry all-but whispered, loathing the defeated tone to his voice. "I can't do this as well; another thing I have to save or protect from Vol– Him, from rapist rogue werewolves…" At this Fenrir's grip on his arms slackened and Harry backed away from him, lowering his eyes, biting back the liquid stinging the backs of them.
"I'll protect you, both of you," Fenrir mumbled, gesturing to Harry's stomach again. Harry took another few steps back, still not looking up. "I meant what I said, you know, when the time is right I'll wipe him off the face of the earth…for you."
"I have to kill him, Fenrir, it has to be me," Harry said, his voice weary.
Fenrir's expression, his sincerity remained unchanged. "It will be you, but through me," he explained, gripping Harry's shoulders tighter for a moment, before caressing them with his calloused thumbs soothingly. "I saw how strong you were today, pet," he breathed. "I saw your power, but if you think that makes a difference to what we agreed about Him you're mistaken. He's not getting close to you with a ten foot bloody pole – is that clear?"
Harry glared up at him, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he realised quickly the difference between this kind of pig-headed domineering behaviour and the kind the Dursleys used to display. The look in those hard blue eyes told him that it was more down to the fact that he cared about him, than the desire to control him – at least a little. Oh, he'd love to control me, his mind supplied, but only because he cares… I think.
Holding that gaze for a long, silent moment, Harry pushed firmly at the alpha's chest and moved slowly around to the opposite side of the bath so that he could not grab him again. He wasn't ready to be held down or held in place again, especially not by Fenrir. Gazing into the steaming hot spring pool he found his voice again. "What I did back at the waterfall," he began hesitantly, "all that carnage and…power, that was the raw werewolf magic you said I would experience when the time came, wasn't it?"
Fenrir nodded slowly. "A taster of it. You'll have more to come. It's a lot like your accidental, adolescent wizards magic, as I understand it."
With a wince, Harry asked, "And will it always be as explosive as that? As intense? I felt the way I do during moon heat only…worse. It was like another part of me had taken over."
"You'll gain more control over time, the same as your wizard magic. It's in tune with your emotions and instincts. With practice you'll be able to summon it and channel it through you at will without a stupid wand and without needing an emotional high, but like I said, with practice."
Harry frowned. "And until then? I'll just have these random outbursts whenever I'm pissed off, like today?"
Fenrir observed him carefully as he replied, "You wanted to protect me and the cub, that's why it hit you so hard and so fast, because you were afraid for us."
Partially stunned, partially indignant at the accusation, Harry just stared at him. What was he supposed to say to that? "I don't like anyone dying, especially not in front of me and least of all when I could've done something to stop it," he murmured quietly.
With a derisive snort, Fenrir slid into the water. The steamy surface rippled with his movements. Circular patterns danced across it away from Fenrir's muscled, blood and dirt encrusted body and towards the edge where Harry stood. It was as if it was beckoning him in. Still watching him, Fenrir slowly began to clean his body of the evidence from the fight, wincing as he skimmed the particularly nasty gash across his side – the old wound that had been reopened.
"Why are you so terrified of admitting you give a shit about me? That you already care about the part of me growing inside you?" Fenrir demanded gruffly, sinking lower into the water to wash the blood from his hair. Harry winced at the terminology, but Fenrir saved him the trouble of having to think of a reply. "Are you afraid it'll mean you have to admit you want to stay here?"
Harry shook his head, exasperated. "No matter how comfortable you make it for me here, the fact remains that I'm trapped here, and this–" he gestured to his belly uncomfortably, "it just makes me feel even more trapped."
"I told you, we're all trapped here because of Him, once he's dealt with you'll have more freedom," Fenrir began.
"And what if when that day comes I don't want to stay here anymore? What if I want to leave, will you try and stop me?" Harry demanded, because that was what this was about, why they kept coming back to the same dead end. He wanted free will, the freedom to choose a life for himself.
Washing the last of the blood and grime from his body, Fenrir rose from the water, pulling himself out of the spring with droplets of water dripping down across his face and body. Steam rose from his hot, clean skin as he stared down at Harry. "Of course I would," he said simply, albeit with a low, husky tone, his eyes dark and intense as ever. "I want you, why wouldn't I fight for what I want?" The briefest heartbeat thudded in the silence and then he added, "but you like it here, you like it with me, so the point is moot." With that he reached for Harry, who staggered back out of his reach, still clutching the towel tightly around him.
"Don't recoil from me as if I'd hit you," Fenrir snapped, "If I remember rightly it was the other bloody way around!"
Harry winced. "I know and I'm sorry but I just…can't," he said tiredly. "I need some space from you – from all of this. I want to sleep in Amoux's den tonight, maybe for the next few nights–"
"Don't be ridiculous," Fenrir snorted, "this is your den. You're pregnant now, you need to be in a place you know with smells you recognise. This is where you're going to give birth–"
"Don't!" Harry snapped, shaking his head and barely refraining from clapping his hands to his ears. "Don't talk about me using those…those words. They make me cringe." His teeth grated together at the echo of them in his head. "I'm not a girl!"
Fenrir snarled. "You're being fucking ridiculous, Harry. I've told you, you're the only one that keeps thinking of yourself like a woman just because you–"
"If you stopped treating me like one it'd be easier to believe," Harry growled. "You're the one getting so pissed off just because I want some space! It's not much to ask after what's happened!"
"You can't run away from me," Fenrir growled darkly, "You can't hide away from your fears or your desires. We're mated – we have to deal with what happened together. It happened to both of us!"
Harry shook his head, striding out through the arch and back into the den, hastily throwing off the towel and pulling on a pair of clean trousers before Fenrir stormed into the room after him. "I'm not a coward," Harry snapped, beckoning a confused looking Ghost onto the bed and petting him calmingly. He didn't seem to like it when he and Fenrir fought and he somehow knew it was because they were the alpha pair – the pack was in discord when they were at each other's throats.
"I'm not running, I just want some time alone, is that much to ask?" he muttered through gritted teeth.
"Time for you to fester, to blame yourself for what happened and to completely piss away what little bliss I've given you the last month!" Fenrir declared, glaring at him, naked as the day he was born and dripping over the furs that covered the floor. The alpha grit his teeth now, evidently fighting a battle to rein in his soaring temper. "I can't let you do that, Harry."
"It's not a case of 'let' me!" Harry retorted hotly. "I'll do what I want and if you think it's not a good idea for me to sleep elsewhere then you leave!"
That growl was back again, reverberating deep in the beast's throat. "How dare you try to send me packing like a snivelling lap dog!"
At that, Harry gave a great rolling snarl of exhaustion and despair and threw himself back onto the bed. "Fine, I don't even care anymore, but if you try and touch me, or try to get in this bed with me tonight – any night, I'll bite your fucking bollocks off." With that he rolled over onto his side so that his back faced Fenrir, wrapping himself tightly in the furs as if they would protect him from any potential advances.
There was a moment of nothing, where all he heard was the werewolf's violent breathing. Eventually, Fenrir stomped across the room with heavy-footed rage, noisily snatched up some clothing and slammed the door on his way out of the den.
Harry exhaled slowly, too tired to feel what he knew he should, anger, frustration, fear, humiliation, guilt. He was just so very tired. Spooning up against Ghost's side, he rested his head on the wolf's belly, the scent calming him. He sighed as he felt the wolf lick at a tuft of his hair comfortingly and petted his white muzzle in thanks. There's no way me and him can survive together long enough to kill Voldemort, much less raise a child, he thought worryingly, closing his eyes tighter as if that would make the problems go away. He cuddled closer into Ghost's warm fur. Fenrir and I will tear each other apart long before then…
~To Be Continued...