Information on Fenrir's 'cannon' past that was all outlined by JKR in Half Blood Prince, Deathly Hallows, Pottermore and Goblet of Fire. I think a brief outline can be found at the Harry Potter Wikia.
I've obviously given that my own spin. Hope you like it ;)
PLEASE NOTE: I'm using the timeline as per the Harry Potter books, so this story is set in 1998 and Harry's (would be) 7th year. Bear this in mind while Fenrir discusses dates at the end of this chapter.
Thank you again for all your reviews - please enjoy the calm before the storm ;)
.: Chapter Fifteen :.
Little Bludger
Fenrir hadn't forgotten or gone back on his promise to go fetch Ron and Hermione – at least not exactly. Even though Harry suspected the alpha would seize any opportunity to escape his promise, he knew he was telling the truth when he'd told him the reason they must wait. The wolf had said that even if Harry promised to stay in the mountain where nothing could touch him, he had a way of finding trouble and he didn't think he could force himself to leave until Harry could at least defend himself with magic. Could harness it at will rather than hope he'd find it in a moment of panic.
Harry was working on that. He'd asked Accalia to help him as he'd once promised and so he'd sat in on the lessons the man usually gave the children. But it had been nearly two moons since Harry had agreed to that condition and he'd still not made any progress. This fact did not have a positive effect on his already temperamental mood. He wasn't talking to Fenrir again as of this morning, when the wolf had gruffly insinuated maybe Harry wasn't concentrating enough.
Those words had annoyed him most because he felt they might be a little true. He'd had six years of magical schooling. Granted wandless magic was something few wizards far older than he ever learned and werewolf magic, well it was something that apparently was never fully harnessed until after a much more extensive education. But he knew the truth of it was he'd thought it would be easier than this.
Potions was always difficult but everything else I was fairly alright at, right off the bat, he thought, loathing himself for how cocky that sounded, even in his head. Flying had been natural, Defence Against the Dark Arts had been as easy as breathing to him – hell, he'd been probably one of the youngest people ever to conjure a fully corporeal Patronus charm.
Why can't I conjure some acceptable sparks at least to get Fenrir to make good of his promise, he thought wretchedly, before realising he was doing exactly what Fenrir accused him of earlier. Focusing so heartily on his lack of progress and everything else that was going on, that he wasn't paying attention at all. He glanced around him. Accalia's twins were sitting crossed legged and still as stone, eyes closed (like the rest of the students) and hanging on Accalia's every instruction. Even if they, along with the other younger children were only really there to get used to the formality of schooling.
They were all in (what Harry could only describe as) a meditation state; trying to 'feel the magic in the earth' they sat on, the grass that reached up around them despite the chilly time of year. Harry sighed. He'd never be able to do this. Hermione would've mastered it in a moment and probably also told him, much like the small voice in the back of his head was suggesting, that he couldn't progress because part of him didn't want to. Didn't want to because of what that would mean…
Slowly, without thinking his hand slid down to caress the slight bump in his tunic shirt. It was noticeable now, a small ball too defined and round to be mistaken for eating too much but still not as large as he should be, given how many moons he'd seen since that night. It still felt beyond peculiar, terrified him when he dared to let himself think of what might happen in just one more month. He swallowed hard and felt a sharp nudge inside him under his hand. It was as if the baby was trying to reassure him. He couldn't help but smile slightly.
Yes this was far from the best situation. He wasn't even sure if there was a term for what he and Fenrir shared in the sane world he'd once belonged to. He was on the top of a death list for one of the most dangerous wizards alive, he didn't have a wand, he was sort of being held hostage/protected in the middle of a mountain in…Merlin only knew where. He was terrified out of his wits and clueless as to what to do with the baby once it came. But it was his, his family, a part of him that would love him more than anything, unconditionally.
Mine, he thought tenderly, smoothing his fingertips across his still small bump – the bludger, as he had affectionately nicknamed it, both after its size and the now frequent sharp movements it made.
An odd prickling sensation made him lift his head. He flushed deeply when he caught the gaze of the man watching him from across the clearing. Malfoy was sitting under the tree he himself had once taken refuge in, watching him with an impassive look on his face. Malfoy had physically recovered in his time here, survived the full moon thanks to the protection of Harry's scent and the security of wards on the den set up by Echo and Fenrir so that no one could enter until the moon had vanished from the sky. Still, somehow, the man had managed to avoid Harry most of the time, which was no mean feat seeing as Malfoy hadn't anywhere else to go – he didn't talk to anyone else either, didn't even eat with them at meal times.
Quietly excusing himself from the lesson, Harry gracelessly staggered to his feet, making his way over to his once classmate. Malfoy had isolated himself from everyone here despite their best efforts, it couldn't go on this way. A thousand thoughts on how to best deal with this thundered through his head as he reached the tree, yet the only thing he could manage when he opened his mouth was an awkward, "alright, Malfoy?"
The blond frowned up at him, closing the book he'd been holding. Harry assumed Echo must've given it to him, for the beta was the only one Harry had ever seen Malfoy even acknowledge – unavoidable, he supposed, seeing as Malfoy slept on a bed of furs in Echo's den. Hmm, yes, Harry had seen the unavoidable gleam in Echo's kind eyes. What had Amoux called it? Ah, yes, 'smitten'.
Smitten with Malfoy – the thought made him slightly uneasy. As much as Malfoy deserved someone to be there for him when it seemed he'd been used as a death eater punching bag for the last year or so, he didn't trust the blond not to be an absolute pretentious, bigoted twat.
"Daydreaming at school again, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, lifting his chin with arrogance that didn't quite meet his eyes. Harry sighed at the look of badly concealed fear and defeat. He didn't know what had happened to Malfoy in Voldemort's clutches, didn't need to, it was written in the very way he shied away, the way he sat and talked. He'd been tortured, mentally if not physically, lived in fear for a long, long time…
"I suppose at least Accalia can't give me detention," Harry said, gripping hold of the conversation now he had it with both hands, unwilling to let it go until he'd broken through Malfoy's cracked, crumbling guard. He sat down in front of the blond, who looked both horrified and confused. "Though he could probably give McGonagall a run for her money. He's a force to be reckoned with."
They both fell silent at the mention of McGonagall, at the reminder of Hogwarts and the boyhood war they'd waged on each other that now seemed to futile and pathetic. Bottom line was, Malfoy was completely alone here and Harry, he longed for something familiar, something separate from his increasingly appealing prison here. They needed each other. And besides which…
"Look, I haven't really had the chance to say it until now but…you know… Thank you, for saving me."
Those silver eyes were wide as they regarded him, lips moving soundlessly for a moment as Malfoy tried to find himself. "You and your child. Saving me in return from the punishment I was bound to receive only counts as one life debt, by the way," Malfoy said with his best air of arrogance. "I intend to collect a further debt on the life of your offspring I also saved."
Harry couldn't help it. It was all so familiar, so welcome a reminder of the world he felt so distanced from. He laughed. Malfoy looked disgruntled.
"Is that my purpose here now, Potter? To amuse the alpha's bitch?" he snapped.
Harry smirked. "Where did you learn that phrase, Malfoy?" The irritation and uncertainty didn't vanish from that slightly pointed face at his teasing tone, however and so Harry sighed heavily. They weren't friends, no, but it would be a lot easier if they at least tried to be. "Your purpose is whatever you want it to be. As soon as He is gone you're free to leave. This is a safehouse, not a prison." He wondered if the same applied to him once this was all over.
Malfoy snorted. "Yes, I'm sure your pet werewolves would be all to pleased to let me walk free."
"It's not like you saw where we are, or could even get in if we didn't open the door," Harry reasoned simply, "Only the pack can get in-"
"And you're pack? You and your litter?" Malfoy bit out. Harry grit his teeth, the wolf in him sensing the fear that was fuelling the vehemence. He'd got the man talking; he wasn't going to let him have his way by bickering with him the way he clearly wanted. Harry remained silent at that comment; they both did until the uneasy quiet irritated Malfoy into speech again.
"Is that what you're learning over there every day? How to be one of them?" he asked with quiet curiosity.
Harry relaxed slightly. He knew how Malfoy felt, a prisoner of the very path his life had taken, isolated and in need of answers he could trust from a familiar face. "Werewolves can use magic without wands. I have unfinished work to do with Him, work Fenrir will only help me with if he sees I can defend myself." He winced at the way those words sounded. "It's the whole 'mate' thing," he said by way of explanation.
Malfoy stared at him. "You realise you have the most dangerous werewolf in Britain wrapped around your little finger, Potter?" he said, aghast. "The power you wield without ever needing to raise a wand. Even He is scared of Greyback, Potter and you can get him to do whatever you want." He stared at Harry a moment before turning away to stare across the clearing, to where Fenrir was stripping a stag carcass with his bare claws. They both blanched at the sight.
"That power is so wasted on such a Gryffindor," Malfoy murmured. "This entire pack, they worship you. They adore you like a little bloody king." A frown creased that brow as the man turned back to face him. "Why on earth did you walk willingly to Him when you have a life of safety and comfort here? No one can touch you here."
Those words said a great deal more about Malfoy than they did about him, Harry thought and his gaze softened a little as he regarded his once-enemy. That was all Malfoy wanted really, safety, respect and comfort. How long had it been since he'd felt safe? Longer than Harry even, he suspected.
"He will tear the world apart to find me. I won't let anyone else die when I might be able to do something about it," he said.
Malfoy looked confused. "I never understood that about you, no sense of self-preservation, Potter," he murmured. "I can't believe you're still planning on facing Him again, even with whatever dark arts they are trying to teach you over there. Which, by the way, you will never grasp if you continue to be so easily distracted. Another thing I detested about you at school – no wonder we had so many blown up cauldrons in Potions."
Harry scoffed. "You try concentrating on new-fangled 'werewolf magic' when the weight of the bloody world is literally on your shoulders," he griped, trying to ignore the way Malfoy's gaze wandered curiously to his belly as he spoke. "Not to mention how frustrating it is to have been at this for nearly two months with no progress at all! I was at Hogwarts for six years before this! I'm seventeen! Surely I should have shown some sign of progress by now?"
Malfoy was staring at him confused again. Confused and disbelieving. "I don't pretend to be your closest comrade, Potter, but even I know that your birthday falls only shortly after mine."
Harry's brow knitted. Where was Malfoy going with this?
"It's September, Potter. You are eighteen. Good grief, how can you look after an infant if you can't even remember your own bloody birthday?"
"It's not like we have calendars here, Malfoy," Harry snarled, the comment about the baby striking a nerve. "We operate by the moon cycles. I just…forgot." He'd been eighteen for over a month and he hadn't realised? "And as for the baby, I've been told endlessly that the essentials of care come through instinct – both human and werewolf. Apparently the rest follows.
"What a crock of shit," Malfoy replied. "I take it you weren't aware you had this recessive lycanthrope gene Greyback spoke about when he first took you?"
Harry shook his head. "I reckon my parents would've told Remus if they'd known and he would've told me for sure, being what he is. It only awakens if you're bitten by a werewolf so there is a high chance they didn't know. Might've made all this easier to accept if we'd all known," he gestured to himself, "but can't be helped."
Malfoy looked contemplative. "You know, in the wizarding world it's fairly common for men to carry children by the use of invasive potions and spells. The only things that make this unique are that it happened naturally and you're the only way werewolves can have biological young."
"They didn't exactly teach that at Hogwarts," Harry muttered bitterly.
"It's just common knowledge. More than a few of our classmates have two male parents. Perhaps you ought to consider the possibility that you are just incredibly dense, Potter. It might be better for you if you stay in your nice cave with your pet wolves."
Harry gave a small, wistful smile. "It's not so bad here, Malfoy. You might even like it if you let yourself." He paused, wondering if he should mention Echo's inadvisable crush on Malfoy, but then decided against it. It wasn't his secret to tell. "Come to the dinner circle tonight and you'll see how readily you're accepted-"
"What if I don't want to be accepted, Potter? What if I just want to keep as far away as possible until it's safe to get out of here?"
"Well, I am 'incredibly dense' after all, if you rely on only my conversation for company until the end of the war, you might just go mad," Harry mused, getting to his feet (with no small amount of difficulty). He should be getting back really, he did have a lesson to attend and he felt oddly lighter after his conversation with Malfoy. He might even be able to concentrate.
"Incidentally," he began as he started to head toward Accalia and the children again, "Once this is all over, nothing will stop you from being free. I promise you."
Malfoy stared at him. "And what about you, Potter, when this is all over are you going to play happy families with Fenrir Greyback?"
Momentarily silenced by how bad that sounded, Harry frowned. He hadn't thought about life after Voldemort outside of this place for a long time. Not really. He'd thought about ending Voldemort, thought about what would happen when the baby came but nothing beyond that. "I always wanted a family. I just didn't think it would happen this way," he said at last.
"That's not an answer, Potter," Malfoy said. But that was just it – Harry didn't have one.
It was now a week before the full moon – the October full moon. He'd managed a higher degree of concentration in Accalia's lessons and made a fraction of progress. It seemed like a lot, but it still wasn't enough. If he concentrated hard, a sharp breeze of white-hot magic rushed through the clearing and he could even manage a wandless Lumos. He'd managed to light fire now at will, just a little flicker like a muggle candle lighter – but nothing else. Nothing he could actually use and nowhere near enough to convince the wolf in Fenrir that he could be left alone while he went to fetch Hermione and Ron.
He was beginning to despair. Even Malfoy had taken pity on him and tried teaching him various concentration techniques he'd used in Charms and non-verbal spells in Defence Against the Dark Arts back at Hogwarts.
During one lesson, Accalia had even suggested they all take off their clothes in order to bring them closer to the magic of the earth they were trying to draw power from (much to Harry's horror). Today the ground was damp with yesterday's rain, however and the air was sharp with September cold, so they remained clothed. Instead they threaded their fingers through the grass, trying to draw the magic up into themselves in an exercise aiming to warm their skin with its heat.
Vilkas, who had been sitting among them had lost interest long ago and toddled off, not that Harry blamed him. He clenched his eyes shut in an attempt to concentrate. He clenched his fingers in the dewy grass, gritting his teeth. Beyond pathetic, Potter – DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING! He felt an effervescent heat rush up from his core, sending odd little zaps through his synapses. It was there alright, he just needed to get at it.
Thinking of all the people that needed him, Ron, Hermione, Remus, the people that had needed him and he'd lost. He grit his teeth again. Losing anyone else wasn't an option. A few strands of grass loosened from the moist earth. It felt like popping candy going off under his skin now. It was just there, right there. He could taste its metallic heat on his tongue like blood.
A shriek of delight rushed through his ears. His eyes flew open, concentration broken as he spied Vilkas scrambling up the tree he'd once taken refuge in. It didn't appear anyone else was taking much notice of him, one of Accalia's twins had begun throwing a tantrum, screaming at the top of her lungs. Harry frowned. How could something so small and innocent looking make such a foul noise? His hand moved to his belly as it often did now, wondering just how he would manage tantrums, tears, shit and vomit. He cringed. It seemed to come so naturally to Accalia.
A blood-chilling scream tore through the air then, dragging Harry back to reality like a clap of lightning. He saw the world move in slow motion as everyone else turned toward the sound. Vilkas slipped on the topmost branch, the bark damp from the rain and sending him hurtling toward the ground.
Everybody around him surged into panic. Amoux screamed from somewhere across the clearing, but before the sound had even finished leaving her lips, Harry felt the sting of the magic that had been bubbling beneath his skin erupt. Like glass shattering, it burst into the air, barrelling towards the falling boy in a thousand glistening prisms of light. Vilkas stared, wide-eyed and in shock as he was halted a few feet off the ground, surrounded by the ball of animate light.
It took everyone a moment to realise what had happened – even Harry himself. He blinked, his magic bobbing gently towards them like a little boat on a calm stream. There was chatter all around him as Vilkas came to hover just in front of them. Amoux flew forwards but Accalia stopped her. "Wait," he said quickly, glancing from Harry to Vilkas, who was prodding in awe at the sparkly bubble surrounding him, the myriad of colours that was Harry's magic.
"Harry, bring Vilkas closer," Accalia said carefully, as if the slightest movement would break whatever connection Harry had managed to accomplish.
Harry swallowed. He didn't even know how he'd done it! Months of straining for some sort of result and it had just happened! He grit his teeth again. The bubble wavered and he panicked. Amoux edged closer to the bubble, ready to catch her son if he fell again this time. Her eyes were tear-flecked and everyone was watching. Now the immediate danger was over, Harry felt the buzzing energy that had risen to the occasion dwindle. He struggled to hold onto it.
"Come on, Harry," Accalia whispered, "you don't have a wand to direct the magic, you need to use your mind. You are the only vessel you need for magic. You don't need a wand. Picture what you want in your mind and make it happen." When Harry looked doubtful, Accalia continued. "Earth magic grows stronger the more you want it. Do it."
Vilkas was over his shock now it seemed, giggling and reaching for Harry. There was no dire need now, it was only as important as Harry made it, to pull the boy towards him with magic. He grimaced, trying to remember how it felt to channel magic through his body to the phoenix feather wand he'd been missing for so long.
A wizard that faced down Tergarletum at only a year old doesn't need a silly stick for power, Fenrir had grunted at him only this morning. Harry stared unblinking at the bubble of light and the child that reached to him from within. The shield flickered as if it might die before glowing brighter than ever and gliding slowly towards him.
"That's it!" Accalia exclaimed. The bubble popped as Harry reached up into it and Vilkas threw his arms around his neck with a squeal. He immediately went to his mother for simultaneous scolding and kissing.
"Thanks heavens!" Amoux cried, her son wriggling unhappily under her smothering. "Oh, Harry thank you – thank you so much! If it weren't for you I – I panicked I just–"
"Don't worry," Harry assured her, a little embarrassed. "It's fine, really. He's safe, that's all that matters." He couldn't help but smile as she kissed her son's head again. Vilkas squirmed and grunted his displeasure. Amoux had only taken her eyes off of him for a moment and Vilkas had gotten into trouble. Harry brushed his fingers over his swollen stomach. If his child was anything like him or Fenrir, he was in for a world of trouble.
"It seems your power manifests best when faced with your strongest characteristic," Accalia said as the small crowd dispersed into their own chattering groups, dismissing themselves from their lesson after the excitement. Only he, Amoux, Vilkas and Harry remained as they were "It's your need to save people," Accalia continued. "We just need to harness that, to build on it so that you can use it at will – or at least to save yourself should the need arise."
"To save time, we just need to manipulate that hero complex of his," a voice said from the side.
Both Harry and Accalia turned to see Ulric striding towards them. Arrogant as always, Harry thought. He glared at the man who he thought had never really liked him as he continued to speak.
"If you focus on protecting the cub inside you, any spell that you cast to protect it will protect you also," he explained in his usual coarse voice, his worldly eyes cold and unreadable. "I think he will find it easier to call on his power to protect the cub than himself," he said, addressing Accalia but not tearing his eyes from Harry. They roved his softly swollen belly thoughtfully. It made Harry uncomfortable. He still made a point of avoiding this man wherever possible; even after all the months he'd been here.
Staring back at the man, he snorted. "So you're suggesting you stand there and what? Throw things at my stomach until I can protect myself?"
"Well, why the hell not if it works?" Ulric replied sharply, looking down into Harry's face. He was nearly as tall and bulky as Fenrir despite his age, almost as intimidating. Even if Harry himself wasn't afraid of him, his instincts made him want to curl on the ground around his belly and hide it from the wolf standing so brazenly in his personal space. But he raised his chin defiantly, ignoring the urge.
"It will work. From what I saw then," Ulric continued, "and from what we all saw back when you saved the alpha from that rogue wolf atop the waterfall. No one will be able to touch you-"
"Fenrir wants proof of that though before he leaves," Harry argued, before straightening up despite himself. "So help me prove it," he challenged.
A wicked grin crept across the old wolf's face. He hunkered down onto all-fours without tearing his gaze from Harry's and all too quickly, his smirking mouth shifted into a grey, furry muzzle. The bottom of Harry's stomach fell out – or it felt like it. His eyes widened and his heart stopped at the sight of the great brown wolf standing in front of him. He was still readjusting to Fenrir's wolf and this was too much. Despite himself, he was shaking, his insides hurt they were so tight with fear.
Beside him, unnoticed by him, Amoux began to move toward him, but Accalia halted her with a shake of his head.
"But he is really afraid, Accalia," Amoux murmured, uncertain as she watched the exchange.
Harry barely heard them. His heart was pounding ferociously in his chest. He slammed his eyes shut, trying to get a grip on himself, but the sense-memories from that night swept over him. The feel of an unyielding muzzle, of hot canine breath and a huge furred body holding him down…
He stumbled back when Ulric bared his fangs and advanced slowly, stalked towards him. Harry staggered, dropping onto his arse and shaking his head as he struggled to do something – anything. It was too much – he was too close.
"Stop!" He hissed. Ulric merely gave an answering snarl, still coming for him. He was so close!
Harry's entire body shook with tremors, the hairs on the back of his neck raising up as he remembered so vividly the feel of monstrous paws scraping at his flesh. Strong forelegs gripping his waist, hot wolf breath disturbing his hair and the pain – the degradation, the unwanted, demeaning pleasure as he screamed…
Huge paws were disturbing the earth as their owner stalked him, Harry could hear them without having to look. He could hear the way the ground gave way beneath their weight, feel that presence and it made his stomach churn. His stomach. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms and knees around his belly. He couldn't do it. He needed to get away but he couldn't move. Needed to put distance between him and the wolf!
"Stop it!" he screamed. The wolf was right there in front of him – jaws wide – about to lunge. "No!"
Suddenly the world around him erupted with an electrical explosion. The very air crackled like lightning, a great nuclear wave resonating from Harry's voice. Harry's eyes flew open, and even dazzled by the golden light he saw Ulric thrown into a backwards somersault through the air. He landed on his paws with a scrabble, snarling gleefully before bolting towards him again, faster this time.
Harry flinched, throwing his hands up instinctively in defence and the light burned, shoving Ulric back again – and again and again. Harry was panting heavily on his knees in the dirt, one hand supporting his body and the other in an instinctual shield around his midsection. That last time he sent Ulric into the dirt, dust flying, he hadn't even moved his hands.
The light was fading now slowly. Coloured spots were still twinkling behind his eyes from the severe strength of it and sweat beaded across his brow. But he'd shoved the wolf away at least twelve times just then, or was it thirteen? He blinked as the crumpled heap of fur staggered upright once more. Fur stood up on end, smoking slightly. That muzzle was scuffed but those pearly white fangs were visible in an almost grin. Shifting back, Ulric rolled up onto his human feet, covered in dirt and singe-marks. He bore an oddly satisfied smirk as he regarded Harry.
"Right," he said with the air of a man intrigued by his latest experiment, "now use it without me diving at you this time – do it!"
Harry stared at him, disconcerted for a moment. Then his fingers curled into the dirt, his eyes clenched shut and his jaw set. He couldn't say how he did it other than the adrenaline still running through his blood, making his head, heart and lungs pound frantically, allowing him to seize what he wanted. He didn't want Ulric to dive for him again, didn't want to give him a reason to be the wolf again and he willed it to be so. Willed it with all his being.
The golden light flickered once, twice before erecting like a great prism around him. It held solid for a few moments, shining like gossamer and gold dust. A droplet of sweat trickled off the end of Harry's nose. He shoved his glasses back onto his face more securely. The light died.
"Again!" Ulric demanded, shifting as if he might move closer.
The golden shard shimmered back to life again, more quickly than before and stronger before it died. Harry gave a great gasping smile. He called it back again without waiting for Ulric's prompt. It lasted longer this time. His adrenaline had lowered now, his heart rate and breathing easing back to normality. His muscles ached and his fear abated but the shield was stronger still. He had it!
"Come on!" He grunted through clenched teeth, his fingernails rooted in the earth as he summoned the shield and stared at its electrical, crackling surface, holding it there with nothing more now that sheer, bloody-minded determination. "Try and push through it!" he called to Ulric. The werewolf nodded, still panting himself as he hesitantly reached out. His humanoid fingers sizzled as they touched the surface and he snatched them back instantly.
"I can feel the impenetrable power from here," Ulric said, and Harry knew that meant there was no way they could get to him unless they took it down. He nodded his understanding and (careful to keep the barrier erect) slowly moved to his feet. There was a peculiar burning under his skin. He was sweating as if he'd run a marathon but the prism was still there, as strong and bright as ever. He felt it stabilise around him. He could hold it more easily with each passing moment.
A thrill of exhilaration similar to what he'd felt when he'd cast the Patronus Charm completely that first time swept through him. He'd done it!
Glancing around, he saw that Accalia, Amoux, Vilkas, Malfoy and Echo were all there now watching him among most of the rest of the pack. Malfoy's eyes locked with his and he bent, picking up a small branch and launching it at the shield. It combusted on contact, the ash remains drifting uselessly to the ground. The blond looked impressed – they all did. Harry could not help but smile.
"I can hold it now," he confirmed for them, looking down at himself. He looked the same but he felt…free. Independent and strong as he hadn't felt for so long. The most powerful he had felt since he'd found out he was pregnant. He still winced slightly at the thought, even as his hand moved lightly over his stomach.
It was clear as day to him and anyone else that watched. The adrenaline came from his fear of the wolf form, his desire to avoid it at all costs but it was his need to protect the baby that enabled him to turn all of that into magic. The baby was bouncing around happily inside him, its sheer excitement at the feel of his magic rushing through Harry in waves.
Noticing then that Ulric was holding his hand to his chest, Harry frowned and moved forwards, dropping the shield as he did so. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking at the seared flesh.
Ulric gave an arrogant sneer of a smirk. "Could you do it again at a moments notice?"
Harry nodded.
"Then I'm fine," Ulric said and turned his head to call over his shoulder, "You saw it yourself, he's ready. Nothing is touching him or that cub."
Harry followed his line of sight and found himself staring at Fenrir, who looked torn between anger and concern. He stalked forwards, seizing hold of Ulric's throat.
"Fenrir, wait!" Harry called but the alpha had already drawn Ulric in close as he seethed.
"If you ever incite so much as a whiff of fear like that in my sub again I'll rip out your tongue," he snarled, dropping the man back to his feet and shoving him away forcefully.
"Fenrir," Harry began, "he was just–"
"I know what he was doing!" Fenrir snarled, spit flying in his rancour. He turned back to Ulric then, as if the sight of Harry only increased his ire. "And while I disagree with what you did, I am indebted to you, Ulric – thank you."
Ulric gave a small understanding bow of his head. "It needed to be done. I have found it…difficult in accepting the Alpha Numero but he has proved himself and no doubt will again, just as you proved yourself as the best leader for this pack time after time."
Harry blinked. Some things he would never understand about werewolves, he thought. They beat the shit out of each other and proclaimed their loyalty and affection to each other in the same breath. How the tables had turned. It had now come to Ulric singing Harry's praises and Fenrir avoiding his gaze, shifting away from him as if he were the source of a bad smell.
What the fuck? This morning when Fenrir had left the breakfast circle he'd departed Harry's company with the customary (almost affectionate) possessive caress of his throat as always. Now he looked positively furious with him. Why? Because he could finally use magic again?
Because you're independent of him, his mind supplied. Because you don't need him. He frowned at that. He did need him. He needed him a lot.
"Fenrir," he began, but the wolf cut across him.
"You do what is right by me and the pack in the end, you always have," Fenrir said to Ulric. "That's why I'm trusting you to watch over Harry and the human when I leave. Echo will be in charge of the pack."
Ulric inclined his head a fraction, glancing from Harry to Malfoy to Fenrir again. "Of course, but…leave to go where, Alpha?"
Fenrir's back stiffened. That was all Harry could see of him now and he felt his own anger and frustration rising in him the longer the alpha refused to face him.
"It's only a few days until the full moon – I'll leave to bring Hemming, Lupa and the humans back after the moon has passed. Marrok and Raquelle will come with me." He paused and Harry had the impression that Fenrir would've glanced back at him if he hadn't been so determined to avoid eye-contact.
"Do you think you can keep my mate and his pet human out of trouble for a few days?"
Ulric smirked. "Tergarletum himself could not get through the shield the Alpha Numero just erected," he said, with a peculiar air of pride. "But yes, I will watch him – and the blond. I'll keep their noses clean."
Harry met Malfoy's eyes and saw that he was wearing a scowl to match Harry's own, but wisely kept silent. The blond had put up with worse insult from Voldemort, Harry supposed and had to remain quiet in the face of it all. Harry, however, didn't.
"If it will only take you a few days go now and you'll be back before then," Harry snapped, his tone forcing Fenrir to turn to face him. "Go and get it over with."
Fenrir sneered. "Gladly, but our arses are perched on a double-edged sword. My instincts are too high this close to the moon to force myself away from my needy pregnant mate but the longer we wait, the closer it comes to the cub's arrival. You're lucky I can force myself to leave at all. Sorry you'll have to wait for the reprieve."
Harry snarled. Emotions were running high for everyone with the moon approaching and the cub in his belly but he wasn't going to be Fenrir's outlet for that. "Pity," he hissed, so that only Fenrir could hear, "because I don't intend to spend a minute longer with you in this stinking mood anyway, so you may as well make use of your time elsewhere."
He turned, stalking in the other direction (away from Fenrir and towards where Malfoy, Accalia and the others stood) but Fenrir whirled him around, his fist closed tight around his arm. Werewolves were always heavy-handed, especially around the full moon but Accalia and Amoux had told him enough times that subs were built to take it – take it and give as good as they got.
Harry snapped at his mate as if he were the one with fangs, wrenching himself out of Fenrir's grip so hard that he staggered back, stumbling into Malfoy, who awkwardly steadied him on his feet. Harry never tore his eyes away from Fenrir's. "Don't touch me," he growled, "you can't turn your back on me and talk about me like I'm not there, then stop me when I want to leave. I'm not your whipped dog."
Fenrir dove for him again and this time Harry, fatigued from the extensive use of magic for the first time in months fell back, taking Malfoy with him. They landed on a heap in the floor so that when Fenrir descended on them, he was a threat to them both. Harry could take (and fight off) whatever he threw, Malfoy couldn't. Before Harry could even summon his magic, however, a snarl from above and a flash of tawny coloured fur sent Fenrir rolling back.
Echo was between them and Fenrir, his head bowed a fraction to the side in apology, but his fangs bared all the same. Harry blinked and out of the corner of his eye he swore he saw Malfoy flush. He'd had his suspicions, but this was…
Fenrir roared in anger. With emotions running so high, he obviously hadn't made the connection as to why Echo was standing between him and the two young men. He only saw a wolf between him and his mate.
"Potter," Malfoy gasped in his ear, "Do something – Greyback is going to tear him apart!" The blond's voice was low yet urgent, scared for Echo rather than himself. It was such a startlingly sweet notion coming from the most unlikely source that it stunned Harry into stillness. And just like that, Harry's anger abated. Swallowing back his fear, Harry rolled forwards onto his feet. The bludger-sized bulge wasn't enough to hinder his quidditch-honed and werewolf enhanced speed. Biting back the quaver of fear, he moved nimbly between the two wolves as they faced off.
When Echo saw him he shifted warily backwards, until he was standing next to Malfoy, who looked flushed and confused still – as if he wasn't sure if he was afraid of Echo in this state or not. Fenrir, however, still refused to acknowledge Harry and seemed intent on walking over him, until Harry dropped down to his knees, knotting his fingers in the fur of Fenrir's forelegs.
Inhaling deeply, Harry sent a sharp shock of electric power through his fingertips. From the way Fenrir's gaze snapped down to him, he thought it might've been a bit fiercer than he intended. Fenrir bent his neck so that those burning blue eyes met his on his level and Harry held that gaze, straightening up on his knees so that his belly brushed against Fenrir's nose. It was enough to quell the ferocious anger in those eyes. Like sand thrown on a fire.
Fenrir gave a small apologetic huff, for Harry's ears only and nudged him gently until he was sprawled back on his arse. Harry had to plant his hands on the ground to keep himself upright while Fenrir sniffed him, searching for harm he had caused. Harry sighed. Emotions really were running too high. A moon heat was bad enough but with the added stress of everything else…
If he looked in those eyes, the presence of the wolf almost didn't affect him – almost. He raised a hand slowly and caressed Fenrir's muzzle in acceptance of his apology, holding on so that Fenrir could help him rise to his feet. Once he was upright, he let go with an awkward pat on that furry neck, only just remembering that everyone was watching.
As Fenrir changed back, he gave Harry a look that was a clear request to follow him. Harry nodded, blushing at the sight of his mate naked under the sun. Harry glanced to where Echo and Malfoy stood and was delighted to see Malfoy was just as uncomfortable as him regarding Ulric, Echo and Fenrir's nakedness.
"Part of being humans among the pack," he said to the blond, who flushed darker and said nothing in return. Harry couldn't resist moving closer to taunt him as Echo awkwardly distanced himself to redress (more for Malfoy's sake than his own, Harry knew, being as the pack could care less about nudity).
"Let me know when you're ready to run naked with them on the full moon," Harry mused quietly in Malfoy's ear.
Malfoy looked both aghast and intrigued at once at the notion. "You are a disgusting little pervert, Potter," he snapped under his breath. "I have no affixation with bestiality, unlike some."
Harry laughed, although the sound was slightly hollowed by the recollection of the one time he had been aroused by Fenrir as a wolf. He shuddered, shoving the image aside sharply. "Running with them isn't sexual, it's a rush though, I'll admit," he smiled, unable to forget the freedom it had instilled in him before, no matter how he feared it now.
It was a mixture of being free, completely and utterly untouched by worry or duty. A warm embrace, a warm fire in winter. It wasn't any one thing – but all of them at once that (for a werewolf) could only be found under the moon with someone else. How could he explain to Malfoy, how much it meant to someone like Echo?
It was an odd discussion, embarrassing, but Malfoy wasn't like him, wasn't required by nature to have sex with a wolf under the moon for breeding purposes. He was terrified but he wanted Echo and had no one to turn to for advice except him. He swallowed uncertainly, determined to do his best. Malfoy was a selfish little ponce at times, but he deserved support from somewhere. Especially as I doubt Mr and Mrs Malfoy would encourage his love interest with a werewolf, he thought.
"It's not about sex, it's about connection," he said at last, noting the way Malfoy arched an elegant brow in disbelief. Harry pressed on. "They're uninhibited by anything, only what they want. They're free. It's very personal, all of it." He scratched the back of his hair uneasily. "Look, you've hidden away with me every full moon since you got here. You're covered with their scent – all of them and I have my magic back now. We might be able to do something so that you could be with Echo under the moon – if you wanted."
Malfoy's usually pale, pointed face was positively beet red now. Harry stared at him stone-faced, trying hard not to let his own embarrassment show. "Your decision, Malfoy, I'm just offering," he said, turning to leave.
"Potter."
That voice stilled him, but he didn't turn.
"If you're so afraid of them when they're wolves…" Draco paused, obviously searching for the right words. Harry knew that Echo had told him why he so feared the full moon, the sight of them as wolves, but they had never discussed it until now.
"How could you bear being so close to them? How could you stand the blow to your pride, kneeling at his feet like that?" Draco asked quietly.
It was then that Harry turned. "Their emotions and instincts run high around the full moon," he explained simply. "If you want Echo enough, you'll have to forsake your pride during that time. The rest of the time, it's an even sacrifice of pride on both sides to make it work."
Draco looked at him thoughtfully, not admitting or denying his attraction to the beta wolf. "You're trying to tell me things between you and Fenrir Greyback are equal?" he asked. "Does he make just as much sacrifice for you? I didn't see much just then."
Harry smirked despite himself. "Well I know what a self-righteous, troublesome pain in the arse I can be – you should know that first hand. So yeah, it probably works out about equal in the end." He was worried Draco might repeat his question of what Harry intended to do after the war was over, regarding Fenrir, but he didn't. After a moment of stretched, uncomfortable silence, he moved to follow Fenrir again, but Draco's grip on his arm stilled him. When he looked back to the blond again, those silvery eyes were positively anxious.
"What you said…before," the blond began awkwardly. "You think you could do it? That I could… I don't want to be a werewolf, Potter, but I want him."
Harry wondered if that made any sort of relationship between him and Echo possible, but then, he couldn't expect Draco to make such a sacrifice for a man he didn't even know that well. He knew what Draco felt – he and every wolf could sense the tension in the air. There was the raw attraction between Draco and Echo, empathy and connection of being thrown together. Maybe there would be more but until then, he supposed Draco was being sensible and actually quite mature considering his childhood prejudice against anything less than pureblood wizard.
Besides which, he doubted Echo would be the sort to want or require his partner to change for him. He supposed he would have to let them decide that among themselves. If there was anything he hated most of all, it was people getting involved and trying to make decisions for him. He wasn't going to be that person to Draco or Echo for that matter.
"It's all about scent with werewolves during the moon. Scent and claiming. I claimed you, like I claimed Ghost." He glanced over to where the wolf was sprawled out enjoying the rare sunshine a few feet away. He wagged his tail happily at the sight of Harry looking at him.
Draco bristled. "So I'm like a dog to you, Potter?"
Harry snorted. "Don't be an arse, Malfoy. The point is you're not the first human to want to be with a werewolf. You've been claimed by the pack, you smell like one of the pack, perhaps we just need a bit of magic to enhance both of those features?"
Draco nodded rigidly. "And you'll be with me when I take my first steps out there, just in case, I assume?" The blond grinned. "As I thought. You may be a self-righteous, selfless twit, Potter, but you have your own means to achieve too. You want to walk out under the moon again and you want someone with you when you try. Someone who isn't drugged up on the moon."
Harry flushed, opening his mouth to try and justify himself, for Draco was right, just a little bit, but the blond beat him to it.
"If I'd known you were so Slytherin, Potter, we might have begun to get along some time ago," he said with a smirk, before turning, leaving Harry to stand there stunned for a moment. That was, until he remembered he'd agreed to follow Fenrir a few moments ago now. He felt considerably lighter now his pent-up hormones had been unleashed via magic and their recent argument. Though he could tell from what he was sensing from Fenrir now, that the wolf had something more mutually satisfying in mind to help relieve the tension.
He couldn't help the little thrill of anticipation that ran up his spine. And quite altruistically, he wondered how happy it would make Fenrir to hear of his decision to try and run with him under the moon again. Merlin help me, he thought, but could not help but smile.
Harry wasn't sure how exactly Fenrir had persuaded him into this rather embarrassing position but he supposed it was as the man had always said; there was no one to witness nor judge what they did but each other. That and Fenrir had been in such a good mood since Harry had told him that he intended to leave the seclusion of their den on the full moon (due in just a few short hours) that he just hadn't had the heart to refuse.
That and he's leaving in the morning, on my bidding and it doesn't feel right, his mind supplied. He almost wished that particular effect of moon heat lasted beyond tonight – the not caring or concerning themselves with anything beyond each other. It was so much simpler that way. Then he could just ask Fenrir to stay. But he couldn't.
Warm breath dusted his ear and he shuddered as neatly trimmed stubble tickled the shell. "You're anxious, pet," Fenrir whispered in his usual rough, hoarse murmur. His huge arms tightened around him, his nose nuzzling into Harry's damp hair. He was tense all of a sudden, having obviously misinterpreted Harry's silence. "You don't have to go through with it tonight if you don't want to."
They were laying in the steaming, warm pool of a bath in the den. Greyback was leaning against the edge while Harry had been persuaded (somehow) to lay sprawled across him, his legs open either side of Fenrir's, his head back against his mate's shoulder. Those large hands were softly smoothing the comforting water over his stomach. It was a very normal, ordinary position. His skin ached and his muscles burned all day every day now. Amoux said it was his body preparing for what it would go through in a few weeks time. The water helped though.
That and Fenrir assures me part of the alpha mate's duty is to attend to such ailments. The thought made him smirk. It was all still unnerving – terrifying even, but in moments like this, it was easier.
"I'm just nervous. I know I don't have a moon heat as such but I still feel…something under the moon, that should help with any lasting inhibitions, right?" he murmured. The last few moons he'd just been wrought with shivers and aching muscles, yearning for Fenrir's presence, desperate for it to the point of pain.
Fenrir splashed water up over his chest, his callous thumbs flicking his recently oversensitive nipples. Harry gasped, his fingertips digging into Fenrir's muscled thighs. It was only just this side of painful, but then, Fenrir knew that, hence the dark chuckle in his flushed ear.
"If it's what you truly want, you'll be fine tonight," was all the wolf said, massaging his chest and shoulders with effective firmness. Harry groaned. Then his mate added more seriously, "I won't hurt you. But if I make you feel overwhelmed at any point tonight, use magic to escape me if you need to."
Harry froze. "You're giving me permission to use magic on you? But you had wizard magic–"
"You're not a wizard," Fenrir said quickly, as if he weren't really keen on the idea of his mate using magic against him. Whether werewolf or wizard magic, it went against the grain to use magic on each other, Harry had learned that from Accalia in his first lesson…
"I know you won't hurt me, I won't need to," Harry said after a moment or two, staring down at where those hands now caressed either side of his bump. He thought he'd seen Fleur's belly-button flip inside out the last time she'd flaunted her pregnant stomach at them all. Would his not do the same just because he was a man? Or maybe his bump just wouldn't get big enough? She must've had her baby by now, he realised with a pang. He and Ron had joked about Bill panicking upon being struck by fatherhood for the first time. But it he'd ended up missing it and the birth of Remus and Tonks' baby too…
A fluttering brush of movement inside drew him back to the present. Fenrir's hands shifted to follow the movement. He could feel the stubbly smile at his neck. Yes. Maybe if things had been different he would actually have chosen this life for himself. Just maybe. It was becoming harder and harder to imagine things turning out any differently these days; to imagine life without the pack, Fenrir and his little bludger.
As if sensing his thoughts, the baby thumped him harder this time and Harry gasped. How could something so small be so strong – werewolf or not?
"Mmm. My son is ready to be born soon," Fenrir chuckled.
"When I think about it, I picture a son in my head." Fenrir had said that and stuck with it ever since. Harry wondered if the wolf was right. It was hard to think about it as anything but a tiny pink wriggly body at the moment. Eithne had told him all of the gory details her own son (Fenrir's 'mother') had enlightened her with so he was prepared as was possible. It hadn't really helped any, to know all of it, in fact he felt even more daunted by the prospect of leaving a lot of it to 'instinct'.
"It won't call me mum will it?" he asked, trying to push away the image Eithne had unwittingly woven in his mind.
Fenrir snorted. "He'll call you whatever you want him to."
Harry smirked, closing his eyes as those rough hands seemed to speak in hand signals to his little bludger. It felt nice. Like what a real family should have been like. He wondered if his parents ever sat like this when his mum was having him. "What did you call your parents?" he asked, relaxed, that was, until he felt the body beneath him stiffen and the hands on his stomach freeze.
There was silence for a long time.
"Alpha," Fenrir said slowly, deliberately, as if each syllable was too heavy to carry off his tongue, "and dad."
Harry had a really, really hard time imagining what Fenrir must've been like as an infant but the ominous echo of Eithne's words haunted him.
"Fenrir was forced to grow up very quickly after seeing his family butchered like cattle before his very eyes. He hasn't been able to express his affection easily since that day, and like you, has feared opening himself up completely, lest he lose everything all over again."
If Hermione had been here, she probably would have thwacked him for his insensitive, bumbling curiosity. He swallowed hard and squirmed in the man's lap to face him. Kneeling over him once more, he could now look down into his face. He frowned at the aggression he saw there. If he hadn't known better, he wouldn't have recognised it for hurt and mourning.
"We're both orphans you know," he said, not knowing what else to say. It was a fact, not a comfort, but what comforting words were there for this situation? "We both watched our parents die–"
"You were too young to be able to remember yours dying," Fenrir said sharply, trying to shove him off. In what was perhaps a low move, Harry seized those hands and put them back on his belly. Little bludger thumped against one hard, stilling Fenrir for a moment. The man's words had stung, but Harry had dealt with worse from Snape and at least this he understood.
Fenrir was angry because he thought what he felt was a weakness. He was angry because he'd lost them and hadn't been able to stop it. Harry knew what that anger felt like – he could still taste it when he thought about Sirius.
"Do you know what a dementor is?" Harry asked bluntly, before Fenrir's glare made him remember – of course he had, he was in Azkaban with them! Idiot! Licking his lips in awkwardness, he ploughed on. "They made me relive it – as crystal clear as if I were seeing it all over again at thirteen years old instead of one. So I saw and heard it all." The thought of what the dementors must have made Fenrir relive made him falter then. He winced, continuing.
"I'm sure you heard what happened in the Department of Mysteries as well," he added, more quiet and subdued now. It was all coming out wrong.
"Yeah, your godfather – great sport that was in His circle, how Black's death affected you," Fenrir said bitterly. "Lestrange used to chant it to herself, that she killed him – even when no one was there to listen…"
Harry grit his teeth. That wasn't what this was about. He was meant to be making Fenrir feel better, not making himself feel worse. "I… I watched him die – he was right next to me. He…he died because he came to save me…"
Silence.
And then…
"His cell wasn't that far from mine," Fenrir muttered, his expression slightly distant but just as grave. "When I'd howl and tear myself apart during the full moon – frenzied because I couldn't hunt, rut or run, I'd hear an animal trying to communicate to me. I thought I was going mad at the time. Wasn't until I got out and heard that Pettigrew rat boasting to another Death Eater how he revealed Black as a dog animagus that I realised it must've been him though."
Fenrir snorted then. "I bet Black wouldn't have concerned himself with me if he'd known who he was comforting though. We never saw anything but the four walls of our cell, see, so no one knew what was going on. No one except Dementors came near our end of the prison. The so-called 'food' was spelled in and waste was spelled out." He grimaced.
Harry frowned. "Sirius was a good man, he wasn't a murderer – but then I s'pose you know that if you heard Pettigrew… But yeah, anyway, he knew what werewolves suffered if they weren't allowed to run free with their instincts, he probably would've helped you even if he knew that you were – oh."
Shit.
Fenrir's face was empty and stern again now.
If Sirius knew that he was the wolf that ruined Remus' life, his mind supplied. He inhaled sharply. It suddenly felt wrong to be staring into Fenrir's face and thinking of Sirius. Sirius would've killed him. He would kill me if he saw me now, like this, he thought, biting the inside of his mouth and pushing slowly off of Fenrir's lap. Two hands gripped his arms, holding him in place. Harry forced himself to look up into those sharp blue eyes. Fenrir had once said he would've taken what he did to Remus back, Harry believed him. And the thing with Bill wasn't all it had appeared at first but…
But it still happened. He exhaled shakily. Closing his eyes so that he didn't have to see Fenrir's face. "Can you not see it in his eyes? He fears losing you just as he lost them."
"You hurt my friends; Bill and Remus."
"Yes," Fenrir said unequivocally.
Harry nodded. "This is so fucked up."
A low, reassuring and apologetic growl rumbled gently from Fenrir's lips. Harry opened his eyes once more.
"They're never going to understand what's going on here between you and me," Harry whispered, his own hand dipping down to touch the bump. It finally hit him then that tomorrow Fenrir was heading out to bring Ron and Hermione to him. They would see what he had been up to the last few months. They would know that he…
Shit.
The grip on his arms tightened.
"They don't have to understand – few humans could understand the things we feel, pet," Fenrir murmured, his voice slightly softened now at the sight of Harry's confusion. "They just have to accept it. What we have done cannot be undone." He looked fierce all of a sudden. "And I wouldn't allow it to be, even if it could."
Harry struggled to escape the intensity of that gaze but failed. He turned his head away instead, staring at the steam rising from the water around them. "You don't understand, they'll hate me. They'll think I've gone bloody mad!"
"Look here," Fenrir said sharply, shaking him a little to ensure he had his full attention. "I don't know or care about the inner workings of a wizard's mind, but if they give two flying fucks about you they'll get over it. Got it? Don't make yourself or my son ill by worrying about such bloody stupid things! I won't allow it!"
Harry glared at him.
"I can't turn my emotions off! I care whether they hate me or not, alright? They matter to me. So they should matter to you!"
"Humans don't live that long, they get over things much quicker than magical creatures like us."
Harry growled in frustration, wrenching himself out of Fenrir's arms successfully at least and turning to lean against the opposite side of the sunken pool. Resting his head on his arms, which were perched on the edge, he kept his back to Fenrir. How had an attempt at getting to know him ended in this row? "I've been a human far longer than I've been a werewolf, you need to remember that before you open your big gob," Harry muttered darkly.
Another of those dreaded silences fell. Then the water swayed, lapping at his flesh as he felt Fenrir move towards him. Two arms caged him in, large hands resting on the edge either side of him. The wolf leant in, resting his forehead against the back of Harry's head. A deep, frustrated sigh disturbed the hair there.
"I think without speaking, you should've noticed by now," Fenrir muttered. "You pissed me off talking about my parents, and then all this crap… Look I don't give a shit if you're ashamed of me, that's fine, since you're stuck with me anyway and I get to keep you no matter what they think. Or am I wrong in thinking that lately you don't seem to mind being stuck with me so much?"
Harry stilled.
"Am I wrong, pet?" Fenrir muttered, his voice husky now. That stubbly mouth caressed the back of his neck.
Harry gave a small, barely noticeable gasp. The smile against his skin told him that the other man had noticed, however. Damn him. Harry sighed in defeat. He was making this about him, going over things Fenrir had already apologised for, things he'd forgiven back when he'd had some insight into the real Fenrir Greyback. What he was having trouble with was how he felt about how easy it had been to forgive them. That wasn't Fenrir's fault, it was only his own.
Biting the inside of his lip he turned his head a fraction to the side, allowing Fenrir to nuzzle into his throat as a sign of accepting his apology. He wasn't really angry with him after all, only himself. And I'm scared of what Hermione and Ron will say when they see me, he thought. Will they think I've abandoned them to shack up with a werewolf? He winced at that, longing for the moon heat to overcome him so he could forget all of his suffocating troubles for a while.
"I only meant that I understand how you feel," Harry said after some time, going back to what they had originally been discussing. "You know, losing people, watching them die and not being able to do a thing. I wanted you to know…" To know you're not alone, he finished in his head, unable to voice that aloud. He steeled himself for his next words. "Will you tell me about that night?"
Fenrir flinched.
There could be no doubt that Fenrir understood which night he meant, Harry thought, judging by that reaction. The night Fenrir Greyback lost everything. "Only if…you know, it'll help," Harry added belatedly, realising how that had sounded. But if he was tied to this man forever he wanted them to know each other better and whereas his, Harry's history was public knowledge, Fenrir Greyback was a mystery. "I don't even know why or how long you were in Azkaban for," he murmured, mostly to himself.
Fenrir pressed his nose harder into the marked side of his throat, inhaling him deeply. "When they attacked the pack," the alpha growled, "I wanted revenge, I was young and strong – I joined Him then, Echo, Hemming and Marrok, they followed me like fools right to him. Tergarletum. In exchange for my services, he leant me his sources to hunt down some of those responsible. I found them soon enough, laughing it up in a nearly deserted muggle pub. I tortured them, but I enjoyed revenge too much – I fucking loved it, alright? They were all half drunk and screaming blue murder, throwing sloppy hexes at me…."
Turning in the man's arms, Harry waited patiently. He watched Fenrir hasten to disguise the sudden pain that touched his features with bravado.
"But two kids got caught in the crossfire. Apparently anyway – I remember seeing them but I don't remember their-" he glanced at Harry for a moment. "I didn't taste blood that young that night, they must've been hit by some stray spell or something. Or maybe I did kill them, like they say, it's been so many years of hearing all that shit, I'm not sure what's true and what's not anymore." His teeth grated together then, clenching the way Harry's did sometimes.
"Either way, I hesitated and they got me," he continued, his voice lower than before, "It was chaos. The Ministry couldn't exactly announce that I was avenging their murdering half my pack, men, women and children – even the corrupt wizarding world wouldn't have liked that spin on things…"
Harry nodded. "That's why they started the rumours that you stole and ate children," he said, understanding now.
"Probably," Fenrir said bluntly. "One of the tricks 'The Hunt' used to cover their tracks was to fiddle the Werewolf Registry – can't miss what legally never existed, yeah? So they erased all record of any pack before they took it out. My records were already gone by the time they arrested me, so the bloody stupid Wizengamot didn't realise I was a werewolf. Ulric came to me in the holding cell, fucking old twit – he was my parents' beta wolf…"
Harry blinked in surprise at that.
"Oh yeah," Fenrir smirked, the expression not touching his eyes. "Took over while I was off looking for throats to rip out in revenge. He told me what I was to say to the Wizengamot – pretend to be some old tramp that didn't know what day it was. He'd found out what The Hunt had been up to. Apparently they disbanded shortly after I tore their leaders to shreds in a common muggle pub – bit off-putting, that I suppose."
Harry had an image he would never dare try and describe aloud. A young man in pain, traumatised from seeing his family murdered, wallowing in prison, in guilt for the deaths of two young children that he may or may not have been responsible for. It was hard to connect this man to that boy, but he knew that is what it must have been. The picture only grew more vivid the longer he felt Fenrir's pain swell in his chest.
"So," he began hesitantly, when Fenrir had been silent for some time. "They didn't arrest you?"
Fenrir snorted. "Not then. Not even when Lupin tried to tell them I was a werewolf – he was the only one who saw through me."
"Remus?" Harry asked, shocked.
"Lupin Senior," Fenrir corrected with a sneer. "Nasty piece of work. Said all werewolves were 'soulless, evil, deserving of nothing but death' – they didn't believe him of course, sent me on my way with an apology. The Hunt couldn't interfere with that verdict in case they were exposed. They let me go, but when some old coot made to use a memory charm I took his wand, freed Echo, Hemming and Marrok and disappeared."
"But?" Harry suggested, for he could sense there was something else. Something that, for some reason, Fenrir wanted to avoid telling him. He saw the man's jaw work as he grinded his teeth. "What happened when you were escaping?" What was he hiding?
Those icy blue eyes locked on him then with grim determination. "On the way out, I saw Lupin – your Lupin standing there with his old man. Must've been about four, maybe five…" He studied Harry's face as slowly, warily, he proceeded. "He was bruised, weak, crying. We could smell…smell the indecent things that had been done to him. His father was standing there in the corner with him, all I could hear was the old bastard's voice saying 'don't tell your mother'…"
Harry felt something in his gut twist with disgust. "You thought his dad had abused him. That's why you snuck into his bedroom and bit him. You were going to take him with you," Harry murmured, his voice low, almost inaudible. It wasn't a question he had asked, but a statement made. He understood it now and could see it all so painfully clearly.
Fenrir just looked at him.
"H-How…how did you realise it wasn't his dad that abused him?" Harry asked thickly, not sure what else to say. Did Remus know all this? He didn't think so. Why exactly did he think his turning had occurred? Did he think what everyone else did about Fenrir? That he was a child-biting murderer? The thought made him quite sick.
"When I snuck into the room, the boy was even worse than before. Abused, covered in semen and blood and shaking like a leaf," Fenrir grunted, not looking Harry in the eye now. His disgust was evident but so was his self-deprecation, his loathing for the fact that he had made such a fatal mistake. Harry had never seen him look guilty before. Not ever. It was a revelation.
"He was so weak. I bit him, told him it'd make him strong." Fenrir winced then, snarling to himself. "But that's when I noticed, the…the semen in him. It didn't smell like Lupin Senior – it was someone else. I'd fucked up and as soon as I realised, your Lupin's dad came charging in and drove away the 'soulless, evil' werewolf that had infected his son."
Harry remembered Fenrir telling him that after this mistake, the pack had tried to help the Lupins with their son, but that Dumbledore had interfered somehow. He wondered what that meant, but at the same time, didn't want to know. He'd found out enough about Dumbledore lately that he didn't know whether to believe. He grimaced, realising how much of a child he still must be, to want to hide from anything else that might tarnish someone he so respected and cared for. Who cared for him too – he thought at least.
"From then on my name and face were posted across the wizarding world," Fenrir continued, in an attempt at detachment. "It took them a long time but they caught me in the stupid – they put out a fake call posing as a pack that wanted to meet with me and got me that way. They sent me down for a variety of crimes, some that I committed and some they made up. I was there for nearly seven years. I made my escape when Lestrange and the others were liberated from that place."
"And Echo and Ulric took care of the pack while you were away?"
Fenrir nodded. Such a long time to suffer alone in the dark at the hands of the dementors, reliving the tragedy of losing everyone. If Fenrir was corrupt, it was easy to see why. Maybe even understandable, maybe. Harry wasn't that self-righteous that he couldn't see that Fenrir was just another being in just as much pain as him, if not more. That he needed someone – maybe even deserved someone. When had he come to care so bloody much about how Fenrir felt?
"How old are you?" he asked, the recent revelations only just making him realise how much older Fenrir must be. Werewolves (the ones that accepted their 'nature' as Fenrir and his pack did) aged far slower than even wizards. Harry had discovered that in his lessons with Amoux and Accalia. Accalia for example, had revealed he was nearly forty years old despite looking as chipper and fresh as a twenty-six year old.
It was unnerving that he had lived with this man as a lover, let him do things to him that he was too embarrassed to even name and he didn't even know how old he was! Echo and Marrok were around his age, he assumed, but that gave nothing away. Vilkas seemed to be aging normally enough. Will my child grow normally? He wondered distantly.
"I was seventeen when they killed my family and half my pack – that was in 1964," Fenrir said with another broad smirk that didn't touch his eyes. Eyes that were gazing hard into Harry's. So hard it hurt. "Fifty-one, pet."
"Oh." Fenrir looked older than he was, that was for sure, but not that old. He would age slowly now too, he remembered Accalia explaining. It was a disconcerting thought. "Will the baby age slowly too?"
Fenrir always looked so pleased whenever he expressed concern for the cub, it made Harry feel a little guilty for his earlier behaviour. Even if it was understandable, as everyone kept assuring him.
"He will be born small, all werewolves are," Fenrir explained. "Mentally he will develop normally. Physically he will grow faster to catch up until at a year old, he'll be the size of what you would consider a normal human kid. Then he'll continue to age normally until the end of puberty when it'll all slow down."
That was reassuring, Harry thought. He wouldn't be expected to be chasing after a toddler in a few months time. He would have the chance to try and get his head round things a bit more before the baby started to really understand that he, Harry didn't have a bloody clue what to do with himself. He'd have a chance, at least, to grow with little bludger – or at least he hoped he would.
A chance to try and make things right with his other father too, before he realised what a pair of bloody idiots they were.
Harry took a deep breath. "And will you tell me about that night?" he asked again. There was only one night in question, the night that started it all. He would only ask once more, he swore to himself. If Fenrir refused this time, he would permit him his privacy. He knew what it was like to be have his painful past prodded and examined after all. Wanting them to know each other better, to understand each other better was not as important as how the other man felt about it. He felt his skin tingle with the slightest flush at that thought. Yes, it was unavoidable. Fenrir's feelings (however well disguised) had become important to him somewhere along the way.
Suddenly, that familiar, coarse, husky voice dragged him back to the present. "I'll tell you," the alpha murmured against his hair, his tone betraying a slither of defeat. One of his huge hands slid down to caress little bludger again, as if reminding himself of the main reason they had to make more of an effort with each other. "But once and only once," he added swiftly, "so you'd better listen good."
~To Be Continued...