A/N: Not sure how I feel about this chapter. It's mainly about growth. It's subtle and understated. I hope not too understated - call it the calm before the storm and perhaps an intermission that focuses solely on Fenrir and Harry's recovery from what happened. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you again for all the lovely reviews, they all mean the world to me.
.: Chapter Twelve :.
Only Time Will Tell
Time passed in the valley between the mountains. The air turned warmer as summer greeted them with longer days and a blissful heat that seemed to enrich the pack with delightful peace. The youngsters spent most days playing noisily but happily on the sun-kissed grass. Today Harry watched them from where he lounged across the relatively flat boughs of the willow, overlooking the pool they were currently splashing each other in.
It wasn't a very difficult climb up and it gave him a place to sit without worrying that everyone was watching him. It was fairly cool as well, with the long swaying leaves shielding him from the sun but allowing in the breeze. Ghost lay in the shade of the tree below, as close to him as ever.
Everyone had been very thoughtful regarding the…situation. They smiled knowingly, kindly at him and Harry swore Amoux was making more effort with his meals than necessary, but that didn't stop them looking – looking at his stomach in particular with every chance they got. It was the very tiny elephant in the room that nobody spoke of and that suited him fine, because he didn't want to speak of it. Not when he was only just able to think of it without cringing at the word 'pregnant' or 'baby'.
Fenrir had been sleeping on the pile of plush furs around the fire in their den, permitting him some respect at least. He hadn't challenged Harry's threat, had not even attempted to join him in the bed or touch him, though Harry sensed that he wanted to. Truth be told, a part of him wanted it too but he just wasn't ready to open himself up, not again, not so soon.
There had remained a strict invisible barrier of a foot or so between them at all times since their argument a few months ago. Fenrir's attitude was the same, just as brash, just as tempestuous but his reserved demeanour around him made Harry uneasy, awkward even. Though he realised as he stared up at the sky through the glittering gaps between the leaves, this was Fenrir's way of showing he was trying, apologising. He feels bad for what happened, his mind supplied, but he knew this already.
At first he'd been glad of an opportunity to increase the gap between them, but now he just wished things could go back to how they had been before. He didn't know if that meant he wanted to stay here, or if he wanted the infant growing inside him, or even if he wanted to be part of this peculiar family here in the valley. All he did know, was that he'd never been so close to peace or happiness as that first month he'd been here, never felt so wanted. It hadn't been perfect, but it'd been the best he'd ever felt. Now he just felt like a burden that everyone tiptoed around. All his own doing, of course.
Closing his eyes briefly, Harry inhaled the summer breeze, smelling Fenrir not too far off from the boundaries of the mountain, out with a few others hunting as he understood it. They spent a lot of time these days making forced, inconsequential talk and this morning as Fenrir had departed, he'd paused on the threshold of the gates and offered Harry an almost longing glance before vanishing with the others out of sight. Harry blinked up at the canopy of the trees again. It was the full moon again tonight and though he didn't go into 'heat' as such anymore, he always felt uneasy, fidgety and apprehensive. It was down to the others all exuding their usual monthly aggression and arousal, he knew that, but it didn't help that he lay wrapped in his furs every time, fighting the growing urge to seek comfort in his mate.
With a wince he looked down at his stomach, covered by his pale green, loose shirt. He still felt compelled to go to Fenrir because of his own hormones, because of his 'situation' but that wasn't the only reason he grinded his teeth in frustration at his own pathetic thoughts. I miss how he made me feel, he thought wretchedly, but I'm not sure if I miss him. Didn't that make him a selfish, wretched person? Wanting someone for how they made him feel – or was that the only reason that every night seemed to be getting worse? He was so confused.
Suddenly, movement from the side yanked him from his thoughts. He glanced to the side to see Vilkas climbing up to sit with him atop the tree's expansive trunk. He beamed happily, it was a stunning expression of such innocence and adoration that Harry could not help but respond in kind.
"You alright?" he asked the boy gently, watching him carefully as he made himself comfortable beside Harry. Harry may not have had much more excitement with his 'werewolf' magic since that battle with Conall and the others, but he was confident enough in his reflexes that he wouldn't fall out of the tree. Vilkas was still a boy, however and Harry felt curiously protective of him – and the other children for that matter. Whether down to his personality, alpha status or 'breeder' ability, he wasn't certain.
Vilkas nodded brightly to his question, but a light frown was furrowing his brow. "Mum says you tired all time now, that why you watch and not play," he said, still looking on Harry with confusion.
Harry sighed. "Yeah, I s'pose that's right. Heat doesn't help either though," he said.
Vilkas didn't seem to have registered his response, however. "Mum said you want to hide at the moon too," he continued.
Harry sat up a fraction from where he lounged across the branches. "It's instinct, you know what that means, don't you?" he asked softly.
The little blond boy nodded, seemingly proud that he had such knowledge of a 'grown-up' thing. "It's 'cause you got puppies in your belly," Vilkas said matter-of-factly, his round, bright eyes on Harry's covered stomach now, still looking confused. Harry blanched, stunned and horrified at the words that plagued him, yet spilled so easily from the tot's mouth.
"Yes," Harry breathed, slowly, quietly, as if admitting it aloud made it true. The boy's eyes were wide now as he looked into Harry's face. He looked amazed as well as confused.
"Never seen a puppy before – I get called puppy. Am I not the puppy anymore?" he asked, his brow creased with his youthful naivety. Harry couldn't speak, couldn't forge a coherent reply. The little boy edged forwards in the tree, eyeing Harry curiously with a glow in his young eyes. "Can I see?"
Swallowing, hard, Harry froze. He didn't even like to look at it himself! He avoided touching his stomach now at all costs and whenever he skimmed it briefly when he washed or dressed it would make him freeze on the spot. But even as his mouth moved soundlessly, uselessly to form some kind of answer, Vilkas was leaning forwards, resting his small head on Harry's still clothed stomach. His ear rested on the still relatively flat plain of Harry's belly – he'd been so skinny before that now he just looked like he'd eaten a few overzealous meals in the last few weeks. He couldn't see his stomach muscles with much definition anymore, but he definitely didn't look pregnant.
He stared curiously at the boy's face and the look of wonderment that crossed it as he listened at his stomach. Then the frown crossed it again. "I can't hear any puppies," he mumbled, sounding disappointed. After a moment, he lifted his head to gaze at Harry, his tiny hands still on Harry's stomach. "Let me see?" he asked and with a deep, slow breath in, Harry reached down for his shirt hem.
With trepidation he tugged his shirt up to rest on his chest and both he and Vilkas seemed to look down at the barely there convex of his abdomen. Harry moistened his suddenly dry lips. He felt like Sigourney Weaver in that Alien movie he'd got a peek of when Dudley had watched it back at Privet Drive. He must've looked horrified; Vilkas, however merely tipped his head to the side, caressing the skin inquisitively with his hands. Harry twitched. It tickled.
"How do they fit there?" Vilkas asked, genuinely confused again. He leant down to look at Harry's stomach from the side. "Too small."
There was something so endearing and enlightening about the boy's innocent curiosity. Harry had avoided contact like the plague for months and this was the first touch he'd felt – it was so sweet. It made the situation a little less 'Alien' and a little more 'Look Who's Talking'. Or more like 'Junior', he thought with a cringe. Was he going to be like that? A fat man waddling around? He winced – he'd been so busy ignoring the problem (or trying to) that he hadn't even though of that!
A far too ticklish touch snapped him from his thoughts and he instinctively grabbed Vilkas's hands, choking back a snort of laughter. Vilkas beamed at him. "You smiled!" He declared triumphantly. "I made a smile!"
"You did," Harry agreed, chuckling softly, his mood uplifted as he tugged his shirt back down over his belly. It was strange, he felt warm all over, almost too hot in the summer heat and yet his stomach felt cold; unnaturally so. It had been for some time now but in his determination to ignore the 'problem' he had ignored that sensation also.
Funny, how a child had been the one to make his childish plan of 'ignore it and it will go away' come to an end.
"How many puppies? The wolves have lots of babies at once," Vilkas said as Harry sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the tree and beckoning the boy into his embrace so that he could take them both down safely.
Harry hesitated uncomfortably. "Just one I hope," he said truthfully, waiting for the boy to wrap his arms around his neck before climbing carefully back down the willow's helpful, wide trunk. Once his feet were back on the ground, Harry noted that Vilkas did not release his hold on him, not that he minded much. He'd missed the boy in his attempt to hide away from everyone's eyes.
Ghost got up, wagging his tail in greeting at him. Harry petted him in appreciation, but couldn't help the geyser of anticipation that swelled up in his throat. Everyone was out enjoying the summer sun one way or another and he could sense their heightened instincts already in full swing. He swallowed uncomfortably.
"I protect you?" Vilkas said comfortingly and when Harry turned his head to meet those eyes, the little boy placed a hand on Harry's cheek. "I be alpha and protect you?"
Harry smiled appreciatively. "You'll be a great alpha one day, Vilkas," he replied, "I can rest easy now that I've got you and Ghost to guard me." His voice was good-humoured, better than he'd heard it himself in weeks. He lowered the boy to the ground, smirking as he started to tussle with Ghost. Settling down at the base of the tree with his back against the bark, he closed his eyes and against habit, for the first time in months, he relaxed in full view of the rest of the pack, trusting his instincts that he was safe here. That those eyes on him were something to be grateful for, not to fear.
He must have dozed off for it was practically dark when he opened his eyes. The last of the sun's rays were dying behind the mountain-side somewhere. It would be nightfall soon and the pack would change. He'd spent the last two moons shut in the den away from them all, including Fenrir and that was where he would be heading tonight too. Despite his slightly improved mindset regarding…everything, he wasn't ready to face the pack under the full moon yet.
Everyone seemed to be clearing up after their meal, readying for the change. He was just wondering if he had enough time to wolf something down when he realised he was being approached. Beside him, Ghost lifted his head and wagged his tail in greeting as Fenrir came to stand over them both, the fading sunlight silhouetting him against the sky.
"It's odd to see you relaxing in full view of everyone," he murmured, his voice pregnant with deep thought. Harry flushed slightly, embarrassed to have been caught after falling asleep. It was tiring being on edge all the time, being anxious and stressed, he supposed. "You must've been tired," Fenrir continued, lowering himself down onto his haunches so that he wasn't towering over him.
Harry was saved from having to answer by Vilkas barrelling in, naked as the day he was born and leaping like a dog in between Fenrir and Harry on all fours. "I protect Harry," he declared proudly, his little face quite serious, "he scared of wolves! I'll protect him!"
A small smirk broke across Fenrir's stubbled mouth. His sharp white teeth glinted in the dim light. "Is that so?" he asked, looking from Vilkas to Harry and back again. "Even from me?"
Vilkas's serious glare turned into a frown of confusion then. Evidently he wasn't quite sure of that and so he simply shook his head free of that question and stated happily, "I got see puppies! I got to touch!" He rocked back and forth on his hands and knees with excitement. "They're in his belly!"
Wincing slightly at this declaration, Harry shifted up to right himself from where he'd slumped against the tree and could not help but notice the way Fenrir's eyes flashed down to the slither of stomach that was revealed as he adjusted himself. Harry tugged his shirt down as subtly as he could and cleared his throat awkwardly. That gaze lingered there for a moment too long after that, before they focused on Harry's face again.
"Go find your mum, Vilkas, the moon is nearly here," he said distractedly, not taking his eyes from Harry.
The little boy gave a final glance back to Harry, as if to ensure he was ok before bounding off obediently to find his mother. He left behind an awkward silence that frequented the moments that Harry was alone with Fenrir – or anyone else for that matter. Harry fidgeted, patting Ghost's neck just to give himself an excuse to look away from his mate's unfathomable gaze.
"You look pale," Fenrir murmured at last, cautiously breaking the silence between them. "Here, eat." He handed out the bowl he'd been holding and offered it to Harry. It smelt like salmon and sweet potatoes; he'd overheard Amoux mentioning to Accalia about foods that were good for the body when it was 'expecting' the other day. He assumed these must be particularly good, he usually just had a more thoroughly cooked version of whatever everyone else had…
Taking the bowl in silence, Harry nodded his thanks and began eating, unable to not notice the way Fenrir watched him the entire time. He was very pensive tonight, was it because of the moon? Because of what Vilkas had said?
"That boy is very attached to you, even more than the other kids," Fenrir mused aloud.
That suggested it was because of what Vilkas had said then, Harry thought and forced himself to look up at Fenrir's face. "He wants to be alpha one day," he said softly, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere between them. It seemed to work a little, for Fenrir smirked.
"He's a good kid, absolutely infatuated with you, but good," the alpha muttered, glancing briefly to Harry's stomach again, as if wondering if whatever was in there would grow to become anything like that. When he spoke next, however, it was nothing to do with the obvious thoughts Harry could see swimming in his eyes.
"The closer we get to the full moon rising the more fear I sense rolling off you. We can all smell it; I thought you knew you were safe here?" Fenrir asked, his usual gruffness almost covering up his confusion – almost.
Harry didn't know what to say. Deep down he knew that was true, that most of the people here would rather die than hurt him and that what had happened with Fenrir two full moons ago had been an anomaly. It only happened because I let Fenrir get too far, he thought – that didn't make it his fault, he knew that too. Neither was it truly Fenrir's, but he still just couldn't bring himself to face him as a wolf again, not yet.
With a low sigh, Harry put his now empty food bowl aside and Ghost lapped up the sauce at the bottom with interest. "It's just a…mental barrier or something," Harry conceded eventually, forcing himself to hold Fenrir's gaze. "I'm not afraid of the pack, or you. I feel on edge all the time because of…well, you know," he gestured uncomfortably to his stomach and Fenrir gave such a slight nod that Harry almost missed it.
"The wolf has pined for you the last few moons," Fenrir murmured huskily, his azure eyes shining in the growing darkness, reflecting the last few rays of the sun. "I want to see you under the moon tonight."
Harry winced. "I…can't," he managed out, uncertain how to take the intense angst in those eyes. For once he didn't think it had anything to do with desire – not of the sexual kind in any case. He wasn't sure how to deal with that. How much more time would pass before he would feel the way he had only two months ago? Or was that beyond his reach now? Was he spoiled goods?
Fenrir continued to stare at him. For a moment Harry was sure he was about to say something else, but the alpha seemed to think better of it. Without another word Fenrir rose slowly to his feet and turned to leave him sitting alone by the tree once more.
A growl of sheer frustration and misery rumbled through Fenrir's lips the moment he was out of reach of Harry's hearing. He snarled as one of the others approached. They were no doubt about to ask him a question about the night's arrangements, but they quickly got the message. Only Echo dared approach him in such a foul mood.
"Give him some time," the beta assured him, glancing in Harry's direction, watching the boy vanish into his den with Ghost, closing the door behind him. The door that Fenrir knew Harry had asked Accalia to reinforce against the entry of wolves during the moon. Once that door was closed it could only be opened by a humanoid hand. His wolf had scrambled and scratched at the door enough without success the last few moons to prove Accalia's magic true.
"Time has gotten me nowhere so far," Fenrir growled through clenched teeth, feeling the aggression and pent up sexual tension that the moon inspired swell within him as sunset approached. "He just withdraws further into himself, further away from me. It should be my hands on his belly and my cub."
Echo moved to stand in front of him, studying his expression. "You're hurt by that. Why didn't you tell Harry that? It is crucial for the infants to have contact with the father and the pack if possible as well–" His words were cut short by a sharp snort of disdain from Fenrir.
"You try telling him that, he just wants it to disappear," he grumbled, lifting his head to stare at the now cloudy sky, where the moon would appear in a matter of moments.
"Can you blame him?" Echo asked with a small, knowing smile. "Not just because of what happened but because he is so young and so new to our way of life. He's barely had time to adjust to one aspect before something else has been thrown at him. And as I understand it, he has a great deal of problems left unsolved back in the wizarding world as well."
Fenrir mumbled in agreement half-heartedly. Yes, he knew this but that didn't make it any easier to handle, or to help Harry, or to comply with his wishes for some space when all it was doing was making them both pissed off and miserable. "So what am I bloody well meant to do?" he demanded of his friend, his limbs almost humming with the proximity of the moon. It was close. "You know everything, so tell me."
With a small chuckle, Echo took a few steps back from him, providing enough space in between them that they wouldn't accidentally hurt each other as they turned. "Let him come to you, Alpha. Trust him." With that, the sun died, the clouds parted and the moon glistened high in the sky.
What followed was probably the longest and most emotionally (and physically) exhausting night of Harry's life. He lay on the bed of furs, his body burning hot – far too hot and yet his belly freezing no matter how many blankets he pulled around him. He even tried to steal some of Ghost's body heat to warm it but it just didn't help. It felt as if he'd swallowed an iceberg. The sounds of the pack tussling outside were more than audible, but they were not what made him wince and ache all over – it was the howling.
Greyback was howling – for him and Harry felt his distress and loneliness thick in his throat, so potent he could barely breathe. The mixture of sharp cold and aching heat fighting through his limbs made him fidget restlessly on the bed, made his chest rise and fall in cold sweats.
Claws scrabbled frantically against the wood of the door, which shuddered under the force of Greyback's bodyweight as he struggled to enter – to reach his mate. The sheer distressing nature of the sounds made his eyes flicker to the door nervously, but he knew Greyback couldn't get in. Only Fenrir could, come the morning.
But there was Fenrir's unyielding pain in Harry's head, in his chest right now, along with two other voices battling for dominance. His instincts, that wanted nothing more than to roll over and feel his alpha's fur against his skin, feel that tongue claiming him – strengthening the claiming scent that was nowhere near as powerful as it should be. And of course his human anxiety that wanted to curl under the covers, fall asleep and never wake up.
Writhing in fits of anxiousness and the distress of his mate, sleep avoided him until the moon had all-but faded from the sky. But it didn't rest with him long. Just as the sun began to rise, turning the sky pink with its presence, he was tugged brutally back from his uneasy slumber by the sound of the den's door opening. He'd eventually fallen asleep on his side, with Ghost resting against his belly to comfort him, both of them facing the door.
Cracking an eye open, Harry saw Fenrir's naked body silhouetted against the first rays of the sun through the doorway, before he closed the door behind him quietly. The room was still quite dim with the early morning light trickling through the great columns that often illuminated it. They seemed to have a sense of timing, however for they never expressed the day's full brightness until much later in the morning. So it was that Harry squinted to make Fenrir out as the man moved slowly across the room, settling down on the furs around the last burning embers of the fire circle. He hadn't had a good night either, Harry could tell.
Was this all just happening to them because of the moon? Surely not; the wolf and Fenrir were the same being, shared the same emotions, surely that meant that if the wolf was pining for him last night, then Fenrir was too? He closed his eyes, not wanting to betray his consciousness yet. He wasn't ready for the conversation that would occur or the inevitable awkwardness. They both knew what the other had suffered last night. What they still suffered now.
It wasn't just that he missed the way Fenrir made him feel, he knew that now. I miss him, he thought, curling up tight around Ghost's still sleeping form. But this revelation didn't change the fact that he still wasn't sure he could handle the sight or feel of Greyback, intimacy in general or the most pressing matter that hung unspoken between them. Or inside him, as the case may be.
That was when he realised. Am I clinging to what happened, making an effort not to move past it because as soon as I grow close to Fenrir again, I'll have to accept that I'm…? He thought he already knew the answer, but as soon as it struck him a sharp, aching freezing tide swept up inside his stomach. He couldn't help himself, he cried out. His back arched and his hands flew down. "Shit!" he swore, his face twisting with pain.
In his writhing panic, he rolled over, straight off the bed – only just catching himself on his hands and knees. He hissed as they collided with the hard floor, grateful for the plush fur rugs that took the brunt of his fall. Without thinking, allowing his instincts to carry him along the invisible tide of pain, he found himself at Fenrir's side, on his knees. His entire body shaking.
"What's happening?" he gasped, meeting Fenrir's eyes. Harry grit his teeth. His insides were filled with throbbing coldness now and yet the rest of him felt hot. Droplets of sweat beaded across his skin. He had felt this disembodied cold feeling focused in his stomach before, but it had never been this painful, this overwhelming.
"Make it stop!" Harry snarled in part panic, part fury at his own helplessness. Fenrir reared up onto his knees and swatted Harry's hands away from his stomach; replacing them with his own large, rough palms. His thick fingers moved across the relatively flat flesh, assessing him but as he did so, Harry found he could catch his breath again. He stared down at where Fenrir was touching him for the first time in months.
"W-What the–"
"I'm not sure," Fenrir growled thoughtfully, his eyes (still rimmed with gold from the recent transformation) glowing in the darkness, intent on Harry's stomach. "Here," he murmured, "lay down, you don't smell right when you're fussing."
Harry frowned at the odd choice of words, but moved with those hands regardless, finding himself lying in a nook of furs with Fenrir looming over him, his hands still on Harry's stomach. Fenrir's brow was furrowed. Harry's lips moved soundlessly a few times in attempts at speech, but any effort died on his tongue. He didn't know what to say. His skin still felt achy, his limbs were still shuddering slightly. Why?
"How long've you felt like this?" Fenrir asked, his voice low.
Harry blinked up at him, taking a moment to make sense of those words as slowly, his panic receded back into the dark recesses it had swept from. "A few weeks… I don't really… The last two moons I've felt a bit…weird but the feeling came and went. It was never this bad," he muttered, looking down again when those hands tensed on his stomach, which was still cold but no longer plagued by piercing, icy stabs.
"And you didn't tell me?" Fenrir demanded, his tone accusatory.
"We haven't been exactly talking."
Fenrir growled lowly. "And whose fault is that? You'd risk our cub's health over some irrational fear you have of me?"
"I'm not afraid of you!" Harry declared sharply, his voice not sounding quite as strong as he thought it should. His instinct was to do nothing more than lie back and relax under the touch he had been starved of for so long. He didn't want to argue but Fenrir just seemed to push his buttons. Maybe I can blame the hormones, Harry thought wretchedly, diverting his gaze from Fenrir's searching eyes.
"I didn't know what to do. This is all fucking terrifyingly new to me, alright? My body is being invaded by werewolf spawn and I'm only just coming to terms with…" He grit his teeth. He wasn't explaining himself very well. He was tired of going in the same circles. "Look, I've been a twat, alright, but so have you. I – I know I've been purposefully trying not to get past what happened, to avoid accepting it," he muttered, staring at a particularly interesting spot in the dimness around them.
"I'm not ok with this, but I know I haven't tried – and no matter how disturbing it is for me to remember how it came to be, it's no excuse for me not trying to deal with it," he growled again under his breath. He just sounded stupid now. He never had been a particularly loquacious person; words failed him at even the most pivotal moments. He was saved having to explain himself further, however, by Fenrir capturing his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it up.
Harry shook off the touch instinctually and instantly regretted the hastiness of which he did so when he saw the look in those eyes.
"It was good before Weylyn interfered, wasn't it?" Fenrir murmured huskily.
Harry swallowed, blinking a few more times than was necessary. "Imperfect," he said at last, his voice almost lost in the overwhelming silence, "but the best I've ever felt." He couldn't deny that much, Fenrir would know if he were lying. Slowly, the alpha nodded, his dark gaze suddenly commanding, rendering Harry unable to look away. He'd forgotten the glistening ring of gold that encircled those blue eyes whenever a particularly intense emotion ran through them both. He shuddered at the sight of it, and not from fear or discomfort – for the first time in weeks.
Rather than release him, the hand that gripped Harry's chin merely slid down to rest on his stomach again without permission. Despite the spike of irritation at Fenrir's presumptuousness, Harry's gradually warming insides quivered at the return of the touch. He wasn't sure that he liked it entirely – anyone else touching his stomach that way felt weird. He squirmed in discomfiture.
"But you still feel this is a prison to you, not a life," Fenrir said. It was a statement, not a question.
"I feel trapped," Harry confessed after a brief pause. But he knew he couldn't mince his words right now, not if he wanted to eradicate the awkward distress that hung between them – suffocating them. "Maybe if I'd had the chance to choose this myself and not be forced into it by circumstance along with everything else in my life… If He weren't out there killing everyone I care about and anyone else he comes across… Maybe if I weren't the bloody 'Chosen One'…" And if wishes were horses, his mind supplied, finishing his nonsensical mumbling. He sighed heavily.
"But this is what it is. I feel trapped. I know while He's alive we can't do much to change that but now this has been forced on me too. I'm not sure what you expect me to say," he said, forcing himself to stare unwaveringly into those eyes. That brow furrowed further. "What?" Harry demanded when he could stand the silence no more.
"I broke my promise. I swore I'd never force you to carry anything and I'll do whatever it takes to make up for that," Fenrir muttered gruffly. The forcefulness of his words were poor cover for the emotions rushing through their bond and bombarding Harry like a geyser. Harry blinked as that promise echoed from what seemed like so long ago now.
"I told you that you would get to choose and I never break my promises. You may be pissed off with the way things began between us, call it force if you want but I won't be forcing you to carry anything."
The one thing Harry wanted though, Fenrir couldn't give. He'd sworn a blood oath that Harry would not escape, on his life – that and Voldemort would grab him the second he was out of Fenrir's range regardless. Harry also had a feeling their general area was being watched just in case Fenrir left the territory with him too, though he understood Fenrir's pride enough not to voice that suspicion aloud. And besides, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. Is that what you really want, or just what you think you should want? There's a difference.
Harry shifted slightly, uncomfortable with that thought. My wishes don't matter, not yet, not until I've done what I set out to do.
"We had a plan for Him," Harry murmured, "I want you stick to it. As soon as he lets his guard down, we have to go find Ron and Hermione. Don't break any of the other promises you made me."
Fenrir regarded him with a peculiar expression. "Can't you be selfish and ask for something for yourself just once?" he griped and though his words were honest, Harry suspected that hadn't been the source of the odd look. He swore he'd felt something akin to relief radiate through him just then. He didn't have to press for an answer to his unasked question, however.
"I thought you'd ask me to get rid of it," Fenrir murmured in a barely there, coarse whisper, his eyes fixed on Harry's face, as if studying his expression. Harry remained stone-faced. He didn't have a right to be hurt by that accusation, not after all he'd said to warrant it. The mention of his situation made him still, however. He could not help the mental flinch as the mere insinuation hammered at what was left of his masculinity, his pride. He wasn't ready to accept it, but he couldn't ignore it any longer.
With a sigh, he conceded. "You were right when you said I couldn't hurt it. It's still a child, no matter how it came into being." He paused briefly. "I'm not sure if that's the right decision or not..."
Fenrir pushed his chin up with his thumb again. "I can see now why people worship you, just like the Malfoy brat said," he muttered, inspiring a dark flush to blaze across Harry's cheeks.
"When the hell did he say that?" Harry demanded hotly.
"Just before we left," Fenrir answered dismissively, "but I can see that it's the truth and just why the entire wizarding world has gathered round you like a figurehead." He was so young, barely a man and yet he was so courageous, selfless, so determined to do what was right. Fenrir both despised and admired that uncompromising quality of character. It was what his pack needed, what the world needed – more people like him. It made him want Harry even more and yet he could not have him, not really.
"You always do what's right," Fenrir said, clearly thinking it was the right decision, "no matter how much it pains you. You would've bled to death on the floor at the Tergarletum's feet if I hadn't wanted you so badly." He shifted slightly, so that he was leaning over Harry a fraction more. His face was twisted in confusion and uncertainty so unlike him that it made Harry frown. He seemed to be fighting against something and it wasn't until he spoke that Harry realised it was his own pride he was doing battle with.
"I want to touch you," Fenrir breathed, voice raspy. It was his way of asking permission, something he wasn't known for. He was the alpha, he didn't need permission. And it was a sacrifice of his pride that he needed to ask his own sub for it, Harry knew that. "Let me," the werewolf demanded, his arms resting either side of Harry's body, caging him in – Harry didn't know if that was done purposefully or not.
"I'll try," Harry said stiffly. He tensed as the werewolf leant in, pressing his nose into the hollow of his throat and inhaling deeply, eyes closed, not touching him anywhere else. Every muscle in Harry's body tightened, but at the same time his skin tingled. His heart hammered at the feel of that hot breath on his neck, that comforting scent filling his nose. Which sensation, which instincts did he follow?
That familiar low, comforting growl emanated from Fenrir's lips, coursing through his body like a cooling breeze on an uncertain tide. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to stifle a desperate sound. This is the closest anyone had been to him since…
Inhaling sharply, his eyes clenched shut even tighter. "Fenrir," he began uncertainly, frantically moistening his suddenly dry lips. He didn't like feeling caged in, feeling Fenrir's weight pressing down on him, trapping him. He flinched, his hands curling into fists. Suddenly the low growl that left those lips grew more forceful, piquing as Fenrir rolled across Harry's body, knocking him with his thigh so that Harry ended up on top of him, without him ever touching or gripping him with his hands.
Harry stared down at him, so shocked to find himself in the dominant position when everyone's emotions were running so high – so close to the full moon. He caught a flash of those azure eyes rimmed with gold, then that nose was nestled in his throat again, while Fenrir's body and everything else seemed at a distance from him. While he, Harry was on top, he was in control as far as his basic instincts were concerned. His panic subsided slightly, though his breath still shuttered out of his lungs in uneven pants in time with his hammering heartbeat.
"I'll give you whatever you want," Fenrir growled huskily, his voice harsh and hard but as sentimental as Harry had ever heard it. He'd said that before but never with such determination thick in his voice.
"But don't flinch away from me," Fenrir growled. The 'I couldn't bear it' was unspoken but obvious between them. Fenrir wouldn't say such things, but he didn't have to. Harry could feel everything and he was speechless under such intensity.
Evidently as disturbed by his silence as he would've been by anything Harry said, Fenrir's head jerked back and he stared questioningly at Harry's face. Suddenly his hand flew up, his thick, long fingers knotting in the hair at the back of Harry's head and tugging his head back slightly so that Harry had to strain his eyes to see him. His heart was thudding frantically now and yet his panic still did not peak again.
"I'm no good at soft and subtle, pet," Fenrir growled, radiating frustration and almost forlorn, "and it's driving me mad trying to be something I'm not."
Harry moistened his lips again. "I know who you are," he managed, "you don't need to lie to me, to be something you aren't out of some sense of guilt. I don't need or want coddling. I'm young but I'm not a child."
Fenrir could hear some of the boy's old self in his voice now, it reassured him. He could sense some of the old determination and confidence that had been absent in the past few weeks too and his fingers clenched tighter in those dark locks. He realised his error now, he'd thought he should give Harry distance, give into his every whim but that had gone on for far too long.
There were werewolf instincts inside him, werewolf pride and fear that would only heal with his alpha acting as he should – showing himself as the strongest, the most unyielding to prove he was capable of looking after him. That was why Harry was so irrationally afraid, why he hadn't been able to recover from what had happened when he'd last been faced with a transformed werewolf.
Still maintaining a tight grip on the boy's neck, he leant in to inhale at the corner of his jaw, nipping slightly. When Harry flinched in a mixture of fear and pleasure, Fenrir met his eyes, nuzzling the side of his mouth in both reassurance and dominance. That was what Harry needed to take his uncertainty away, to take away his need to worry about concerns he should not trouble himself with. It was Fenrir's job to make him comfortable, safe and untroubled – this was a mistake he intended to rectify immediately.
"You're breeding," he murmured, holding that gaze. "And while you are it's up to me to protect you, to take care of everything so all you have to concern yourself with is my whelp growing in your belly."
Harry flushed in anger and embarrassment, wincing at the reference to his condition. The smell of his anger made Fenrir inhale again instinctually. He could feel more and more of Harry coming back to him. It was intoxicating.
"So that's my job for the next seven months?" Harry growled, "feed your spawn and not to worry my little head about anything else?" He was tense like a trapped wild cat in Fenrir's grasp and Fenrir smirked at the sight of the returning fire in those eyes. Vibrant, blazing green.
"Three months, pet," Fenrir murmured casually, "Werewolves carry for five in total, which gives you three to go. And as for the latter, you can do whatever you want except get nearly killed or worry yourself to death. Any concern you have is mine to solve – is that clear?" His punctuated his words with that low, rumbling sound that made Harry roll his head and his toes curl as relaxation spread through his limbs. The boy went almost limp in his grasp.
"Three months?" Harry breathed sharply, horrified. Fenrir frowned, the boy obviously thought he would have a human cycle to get used to the idea. Belatedly he realised he should have been more delicate with that correction, but shrugged it off and pushed forward. He refused to linger any longer on things he could not undo. He'd learnt that hard lesson many years ago…
"I won't be ready in three months," Harry gasped and Fenrir released his head a fraction so that their eyes could lock fully.
"We will be," Fenrir assured him with a sharpness that didn't reach his eyes.
Harry snorted. "We won't be pushing werewolf offspring out of…" He flushed darkly. "Well I assume it comes out the way it went in."
Fenrir nodded in answer, his face tight with barely concealed amusement as Harry continued.
"Well it's coming out of my arse then and I'm not ready to…" The boy grit his teeth. "And I'm not ready to take care of anything when I can barely take care of myself! I can't do it!"
Fenrir frowned at the smell of panic rising again and gripped Harry's forearms tightly, so that his claws scraped the skin there, the slight pain bringing Harry back to the present, tugging him from his downward spiral.
"I'm to take care of you both until you feel ready, that's what my duty is as your mate," Fenrir told him, leaving no room for argument. His expression was stern and set.
Harry could feel the strength running through the arms that had him fixed into place, could feel the power thudding in those veins as his scent clouded with determination. But rather than frighten him, it made his limbs slowly relax. His stomach was warming slowly with their proximity and at last his breathing was calming down into an even tide of long, thoughtful breaths. Slumping slightly where he sat, Harry sighed.
"It'd be easier to face Him than deal with this," Harry muttered, "At least I'd know what to expect then."
Fenrir snorted. "You do know what to expect from this – a baby, everything else aside from that will come instinctually." He paused a moment, until his silence summoned Harry's gaze back from where it had wandered and back to his face once more. "You're not alone, Harry, and you never have to fear that you will be again. You've got a home now, a family – you have me."
Harry blinked. Fenrir had assured him of this before of course, but this was the first time that it had sunk in with such finality. He'd been a petulant child about everything that had happened the last few weeks – his reasoning not withstanding. He'd shunned Fenrir, was too uncomfortable now for him to lay hands on his belly or his child within and still the werewolf was beside him. Still this was Harry's home, still those blue eyes were staring into him as if he were the last surviving being in the universe.
This was unconditional, undivided affection and devotion of the like he was sure he'd never received since his parents died. No matter what he did, he didn't think he could get rid of this man. The last of the clenching, icy pangs abated with a small swell of warmth as he shifted slightly, bringing Fenrir's stomach mere centimetres from his own. This was what he needed right now.
"That was almost sentimental," Harry said with the barest of smirks, feeling the amusement touching his face for the first time in weeks. He felt lighter somehow, even though nothing had changed at all, not really. How could Fenrir do that?
The werewolf frowned, but his lips quirked up in answer, offering a flash of his pearly white fangs. "I don't think there's anyone else that would dare accuse me of that," he murmured, a dangerous glint in his eye. Then, he was serious again. He had to be, as much as he wanted to take advantage of Harry's openness. "I think you've realised by now that the cub needs close proximity to me, to the pack," he began, almost cautiously, wondering just when he had become so tentative in stating what needed to be said. He'd never been this way before Harry came, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
Harry's brow furrowed. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked, though his voice was absent of any accusation.
"I didn't know it'd manifest like that, I thought it was just a guideline," Fenrir shrugged. "The last known birth of a pureblooded werewolf was my youngest brother and I was too young to realise what was going on."
Harry blinked at that. Fenrir never spoke about his family. Ever. "But…surely someone must have–"
"Amoux learned a lot from the woman that delivered me and my siblings. Anyone else old enough to remember, who was close enough to my family died in the raid that killed them," Fenrir said bluntly. He scratched the back of his neck in discomfiture, sitting up straighter in an effort to disguise any emotion. It was difficult with them this close, however. And with the bond between us, Harry's mind supplied.
"It's a bit of a mystery. But now we know you need some contact with me," Fenrir continued, dismissing the subject of his family. "I think some contact with the pack might help; you seemed better after letting Vilkas touch you. You need to feel protected, sheltered and provided for during this time, I know that much."
Glancing down at his stomach, Harry shifted back into the furs, drawing his knees up to put some space between their bodies. Thankfully, Fenrir seemed to get the hint and drew back as well, albeit with a disgruntled look on his face. Thinking of someone else's feelings before he acted was new for him, Harry could tell.
"I don't know if I want everyone pawing at my stomach, I feel enough of a freak as it is." Harry swore he felt a silent growl emanating from Fenrir's throat at that.
"You're a gift to us, not a freak and it pisses me off that you think otherwise," Fenrir snarled, his hands curling into fists on the furs. "Makes me wonder even more why you're so desperate to save a world that obviously made you feel that way. Even after saving their arses once."
Harry sighed. He didn't think Fenrir would ever understand wizards or the wizarding world, so there seemed little point in justifying himself again. "I'm a wizard too you know. This thing inside me will be part wizard too–"
"Not bloody likely," Fenrir snorted. "It's born from me, a werewolf and the werewolf aspect of your blood – it's all wolf." He paused then, seeming to give more thought to Harry's words. "Don't call it a 'thing' either."
"Well I'm not calling it a 'cub'," he cringed, "and the word 'baby' just…" Makes it seem more real, he thought, even knowing how stupid that sounded, even in his head. How long would it take him to adjust to this? Would he be anywhere near accepting this by the time 'it' came? What if it was born and he couldn't stand the sight of it? His entire body tightened at the thought. He couldn't do this.
Suddenly, Harry felt Fenrir shift again so that he was beside him now, laying down, stiff with awkwardness as he tilted his head the slightest fraction to the side. Harry's eyes widened. It was the position of sincere contrition, one he'd never seen Fenrir adopt before, not even to him, who was the closest to his equal in pack politics.
"I'm sorry for what happened," the wolf muttered huskily. "I never wanted it to happen that way and believe what you like but I'd never have mounted you without your consent – as a wolf or as a man." He visibly grit his teeth in frustration and rebelling pride.
Harry found himself uncomfortable with the sight of his alpha submitting, even to him. Without realising, a low whine left his lips, an instinctual sound that hadn't shuddered past his lips in that manner for what seemed like an age. It made Fenrir's head right itself instantly, blue eyes flying to green in confusion.
Flushing darkly as the sound of his own whine echoed in his mind, Harry cleared his throat. "I know it wasn't your fault or mine, it doesn't undo what happened though," he muttered, not really knowing what else to say. That the sight of a transformed werewolf, the smell of them made his entire body seize up? That would be a pitiable admission from the mate of the most reputed werewolf alpha in the country.
Fenrir grunted, sitting up properly again so that he was staring down at Harry through his silver locks, mussed up from his recent transformation. He had scratches and bruises brewing on him even now from what Harry could see, which told him that the alpha had been aggressive out there tonight. Out of frustration because he couldn't be with me, Harry realised, though he wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"I'd give you anything, whatever you wanted to make things the way they were before. Echo says things take time, to take it one step at a time," Fenrir said, almost mockingly, parroting his beta's words in irritation. He scratched the back of his neck again, sweeping his locks back behind his shoulder. "But I'm not patient, never have been and I don't know how to go about it either," he snapped.
At this, Harry could not help but smile. "That's something we have in common then," he replied, forcing himself to hold that gaze and not look away. There was a long pause before he found the strength to add, "and that's why, when you said you'd give me anything…" He took a final, deep breath in for courage, "I want you to take me to Him."
~To Be Continued...
As requested, character name pronunciation key (please note that some accents/languages change the pronunciation, I'm just using how my region would say them):
Conall - [Kon] as in 'constant' and [Ull] as in 'pull'
Caleb - [Kay] as in 'okay' and [lub] as in 'club'
Canagan - [Can] as in 'I can' [Na] as in 'nat' and [Guhn]
Larentia - [Lah] as in 'the latter' [Ren] as in 'rent' [See] [Ah] as in 'apple'
Weylyn - [Way][Lin] as in 'linched'
Marrok - [Mah] as in 'matter' and [Rock]
Vilkas - [Vill] as in 'village' and [Kuhss] as in 'puss' with a 'K'
Amoux - [Am] as in 'amber' and [oo] like 'coo'
Accalia - [Ah] as in 'apple' [Kay] as in 'okay' [Lee][Ah] as in 'apple'
Lupa - [Loo][Pah] as in 'patronising'
Hemming - [Hem] as in dress hem [Ing]
Ulric - [Ull] as in 'pull' [Rick]
Radulf - [Rah] as in 'ran' [Dulf] like 'wolf' with a 'd'
Shae: is pronounced 'shay' - sh [as in 'ship'] and ai [as in 'pain']
Eithne: is pronounced 'eth-nih' - eth [as in 'ethnic'] and ni [as in 'nib']
Adair - [Ah] like 'apple' [Dare] as in 'I dare you'
I think that's everyone. If any more characters pop up, I'll add their pronunciations in the chapter's author's notes :)