Author's Note:
Thanks to the inspiration of Anonchick, I added a scene after the flashback on the previous chapter. It's not imperative that you read it but I think it just gives the couple/chapter/story something that was lacking before. Thanks so much to Anonchick for inspiring me to write that extra 5 pages! I knew the chapter was lacking something and this was it! I hope you all like the edit :)
Thank you again for all your support so far! Every word that all of you give me really has inspired me. I've had a rubbish few weeks and seeing how many people are enjoying the story just makes it so much brighter. Love you all!
.: Chapter Seventeen :.
The Hollow
Harry wasn't sure how he came to be there. He'd definitely, most definitely fallen asleep wrapped up warm in his and Fenrir's furs, Ghost snuggled against his side. He remembered it specifically because it had been nearly impossible to get comfortable (thanks to little bludger) and equally hard to drift off, thanks to Fenrir being absent. Yet now as he opened his eyes, with the sun rising on his first morning without Fenrir, he found himself somewhere else altogether.
He was in the bloody hollow by the tree he'd been eyeing up!
Craning his neck he looked around and sure enough, he'd somehow managed to drag the furs off his and Fenrir's bed and make himself a snug nest in the hollow. The furs were warm with his body heat, they smelt of Fenrir and Ghost was half laying on him too, protecting him, still asleep. When had he dragged their bedding out here? Why? Why didn't he remember? Had he done it in his sleep?
Fenrir is going to go absolutely mental when he sees what I've done to the furs, he thought, before he remembered that they were magically resistant to dirt. Even with his head up, the way the ground sloped up to form the 'rim' of the slight hollow by the tree meant he was perfectly hidden from sight. Safe. He felt a low, rumbling whine rise in his throat and sighed in contentment. This was right. He needed to be here. Here was nice. It smelt of his mate.
Closing his eyes, he pulled the furs back tight around him until he was completely submerged in them from head to toe underneath. It was warm, womb-like and dark. It was good to be dark. He could feel Ghost squirm happily against him. Harry curled up, petting his swollen belly. It was oddly still this morning. His cub was sleeping, preparing…
"Harry?!"
A voice called his name in the distance. He thought it was his name. Yes. Yes it definitely was. In fact, a few people were calling for him. The sound made him more at ease. His pack was nearby, the world smelt of his mate. This was a good place to be. He rubbed his belly gently. It was very heavy today, hot inside and tense. His innards were throbbing slightly and every now and then they'd twinge. He would wince and shift a little to alleviate the pain until it dulled back to a subtle ache.
He hadn't eaten anything all day yesterday. He didn't need to. His body had stored what it needed, there was no waste and now he didn't have to move to empty his bowels. He could stay in his womb-like den he'd made. A twinge in his chest made him give a soft whine and he blinked, staring down as he rubbed at his aching nipples. It hurt more and he winced, his wolf-enhanced eyes able to make out the slightest milky discharge on his fingers as he pulled them away from his chest.
If his instincts hadn't been driving, the sight would have terrified and possibly even destroyed what little confidence he'd gained back in his manhood. As it was he just licked his fingers before snuggling back up again. He was ok. Ghost licked comfortingly. He could still hear the voices calling. Ghost was ok, he was like his own cub, but he didn't want anyone else near his den. No. They should know to stay away.
"For fucks sake, Potter," Draco snarled as he finally caught sight of the lump of furs shifting slightly under the tree. It was only visible once he was nearly standing on top of it. He'd seen Potter's head briefly as he'd shifted around a second ago and could see his pet wolf's tail sticking out the side of the nest of furs, wagging every now and then.
"Always the attention-whore, Potter," he mumbled without malice. But everyone had been scared shitless to notice the golden boy missing from his and Greyback's den. It was only when Echo had stopped and smelled Potter's scent coming from this direction and sent Draco to check that the panic had ceased.
Draco frowned, glancing back over his shoulder to see that the entire pack had stopped and was watching him with apprehension. Why? He looked down at the mop of furs and bent into a crouch on the high-ground that formed the lip of the hollow. As he did so, the furs shifted and a soft whine sounded.
"Potter? Are you in pain?" he asked indifferently. He licked his dry lips, unnerved. Potter never surrendered. Never showed pain. Draco had been forced to watch as his classmate was strung up by wires and tortured beyond what any normal man could take and still he'd not bent.
Uneasy, Draco reached down, but his fingers stopped short as the wolf named Ulric laid a firm hand on his shoulder – stilling him.
"He's breeding, boy," Ulric said in a warning tone, "your lover sent you over here because you, Alpha and the boy's pet wolf are probably the only ones who can be near him in this state without him turning feral."
Draco frowned, not understanding. "He considers me a pet?" he hissed in dismay.
Ulric's battle-worn face twisted with a smirk. "Probably more like an adopted cub."
"I'm older than him!" Draco snapped, shrugging Ulric's hand off. The werewolf tensed at his blatant disregard for respect, but then, Draco was Echo's intended mate – that put him higher than Ulric in the pack hierarchy. And Draco knew it. That probably irritated Ulric more.
"He doesn't think you are his cub but he considers you his responsibility, just like that pet wolf of his. He claimed you both under his protection. He will protect you both even in his most feral state," Ulric explained as if to a much younger person.
Draco winced in distaste at the idea. He really needed to sit in on one of Accalia's lessons on pack politics, if only to make things like this slightly less peculiar and easier to digest. Life had become so strange. He glanced back over his shoulder at Echo, who had come a few feet closer, but no further. Yes, wonderful, but strange. With a sigh he looked back to Ulric. "What do you want me to do? I take it he can't see any of you anywhere near the hollow?"
Ulric nodded his confirmation. "Exactly. But there have been known complications in births and since his mate cannot attend him…"
Draco blanched. "I am not helping Harry fucking Potter deliver a baby!"
Ulric snorted. "His instincts will help him do that. We just need you to check the vital points to ensure he's alright." With that, he edged slowly, quietly back from the hollow until he was a few feet away.
Everyone was silent. Draco could hear Potter's breathing even from where he knelt above him. He glanced, panicked at the furs, then at Echo and Ulric. But he owed the git so much, more than just his life. He had to do this. Merlin help him, he wanted to. Looking to Echo again, he wondered if he might've done it anyway, even if he didn't want to, had Echo asked. It was a frightening thought, the lengths he was willing to go, the things he was willing to do for this man. He bit the inside of his lip and set his jaw, before turning back to the heap of fur, reaching for it.
"Draco," Echo called softly, barely audible. Draco's gaze snapped back to him immediately. He sounded so…worried. Draco might not have known much, but he knew what Potter and his child meant to the pack. They were precious, beyond words.
"Slow and gentle actions," Echo explained. "Don't spook him. He's more wolf than man now."
Draco nodded, moistening his lips again and slowly, carefully, he reached down. Remembering something he'd seen Potter himself do, Draco shifted so that he was on the lower lip of the hollow, on a more similar level to Potter and went down on his belly. Gently he touched the fur. He felt the body beneath it tense and cursed inwardly, wracking his brain back to the full moon night where he had seen in person Perfect Potter's demonstration of how not to get your hand bitten off (or anything else important).
He hummed nonsensically, feeling quite stupid as he couldn't quite growl like Potter and the wolves did, but to his relief, it seemed to do the trick. Potter knew it was him, the outline of his body lost its tension and slowly, the furs peeled back enough for Draco to see Potter's head and shoulders. Ghost wriggled into sight too and whined softly at the sight of him. It was as Ulric had said, it seemed.
"I really can't believe you trust me above everyone here to come near you when you're about to…to give birth, Potter!" Draco hissed under his breath. The very words themselves sounded ridiculous! The notion of his school rival trusting him with something so delicate was…actually, nauseating. If he fucked this up, Echo would be devastated. Oh, he'd probably forgive him, but he'd be distraught none the less. Setting his jaw in determination, Draco knew he couldn't let that happen – even if Potter teased him for the rest of his life about what he needed to do next.
"What colour are his eyes, Draco?" Echo called softly from where they stood some distance away.
Draco forced himself to focus. He looked into Potter's usually gleaming green eyes, only to find burning gold – like molten galleons. "G-Gold," he gasped out, unnerved by the sight of them. He kept his voice low and soft, the way one might when confronted with a startled deer. "And he's pale." He didn't dare take his eyes from Potter's. Those gold orbs were burning into him.
"That's fine, Draco, he's meant to be," Echo assured him.
"Check his teeth," Ulric commanded.
You've got to be kidding me. Going near Potter's mouth was abhorrent at best, dangerous at most. He leant in slowly and to his complete and utter shock, Potter shifted back, lifting the furs for him to climb under too. Draco winced and he couldn't help it, he jerked his head up in a sudden movement at the realisation that Potter was –half-naked in the furs, only clad in his loose fitting, low-riding cotton trousers. He really didn't want to see that. Gay or not, he found the sight quite unpleasant. Second only to seeing his parents sans clothes.
The sharp movement had caught Harry's attention though. The man shot forward, his face inches from Draco's, eyes unblinking. Draco swallowed, hard. In an effort to calm the situation back again, he hummed the way he had before until he saw Potter go lax against the fur once more. His face was still right in front of him. Shit. Well, it would help him in this next task, he supposed.
Reaching up, Draco hesitantly touched Potter's face. The boy flinched, the action nearly making Draco jump – nearly. Luckily for him, he'd become very proficient at treading on eggshells. He smiled reassuringly at Potter, his breath slightly ragged with that brief panic. Thankfully, Potter smiled back – a content smile in which his lips parted slightly. Draco blinked at the sight.
"He's got fangs – like a werewolf," he whispered.
"To bite off the umbilical cord," Echo said. Draco tried hard not to imagine that. It all sounded very repulsive. Thank heavens he wouldn't be able (not expected) to do anything so repulsive. He didn't carry the recessive gene like Potter did.
"Can he talk still? That'll tell us how far along he is," Amoux's voice called gently.
"How should I know?" Draco grumbled to himself. What on earth would get Potter to talk? "You have no idea how fat you're getting, Potter," he said, dead-panned.
Nothing.
Potter stretched lazily, closing his eyes and rubbing slow circles over his stomach.
"I don't think he can," he said. Potter had been a right tetchy git about his weight gain. It had been quite amusing. If he hadn't retaliated to that…
"No," Amoux's voice sounded panicked. "He's advanced so quickly so soon. The Alpha won't be back in time–"
"It could be hours yet," Ulric said gruffly. "Shae's labour stalled for hours with Wolfram. It's nature at her most unpredictable. "Are the furs wet?"
Draco assumed that last part was directed at him. He sneered inwardly in disgust and slowly sat up, pushing the fur back a fraction. "Dry. But his chest is wet with something."
"That's good, Draco," Echo said, "He's doing everything he's supposed to. You can come out now."
"Gladly," Draco huffed. Sliding back he shimmied out of the hollow and watched Potter give him a final, sweeping glance, as if to assess Draco's wellbeing, before pulling the fur back over himself completely. Draco returned to Echo's side as quickly as he dared, relieved. True, Potter's life had some value to him now, quite a bit. Truth be told he might even be morbidly fond of the git but he had no desire to have his face bitten off in a moment of feral panic – nor to be snuggled up against Potter's naked bits!
"Please tell me I don't have to do that again," Draco mumbled, "I think I'm scarred for life."
Ulric snorted. Echo smiled. "Only if, in a few hours time he still hasn't started fidgeting around. You shouldn't have to get so close again, I hope." He punctuated his words by leaning forwards, pulling Draco sharply towards him. A flush danced across Draco's nose and cheeks. Werewolves were very open with their affection, even in front of the pack. He would have to get used to that. By the way Echo nuzzled at the hair at his ear, however, he suspected the task wouldn't be too much of an arduous one.
The pack started to disperse upon realising that things would be alright for a while at least. Draco smiled breathlessly as Echo's proximity and his lips parted to utter some nonsensical endearment. But a deafening sound cut him short. A sharp, ringing thrill that reverberated across the entire valley made every person in it stop dead still. Draco felt the tension rise at the continuous, high-pitched alarm. He watched as everyone whipped around, staring in horror at the gates that, as long as Draco had been here, had remained warded shut.
Suddenly, the howling of wolves joined the ringing and Ulric and Echo bolted for the gates.
"LET THEM IN! SOMETHING IS WRONG!" Ulric cried, hastily opening the gates, almost mowed down by the stampede of guard wolves that bundled frantically into the valley, yelping and screaming. Draco thought he saw Ulric counting them and a sharp nod from Echo had the two men throwing the gates closed again. As they hurried to lock it, Draco bolted forwards to Echo's side.
"What's the matter? What's that sound?" he demanded, but Echo was already backing away from the gate, his hand clamped tight around Draco's arm, dragging him alongside. They were running now back to the centre of the valley.
"We're being attacked! They shouldn't have been able to get in – they couldn't!" Echo insisted, not stopping, making a beeline for the hollow where Harry lay, still enshrouded in his furs.
"Amoux, Accalia, get the cubs inside!" Ulric commanded. The pack scattered. Amoux and Accalia swept the screaming children towards Accalia's den, frantic as those who remained transformed, one by one, until only Echo, Draco and Ulric remained human in the clearing.
The mountain was trembling. Draco felt panic rise in his throat. He'd thought this place was safe! Impenetrable! "Is it Him?" he asked as Echo hunkered down over the clump of furs.
"No, Draco. I can smell them now, it's werewolves – other werewolves," Echo said hurriedly, throwing aside the furs. "They've come for Harry." At this moment, Harry leapt from the furs snarling, eyes wide, new fangs bared. Ghost was on guard beside him. Harry's eyes were wide and gold, glaring at first unseeingly at Echo and Draco, before fixing on the gates across the valley. He could sense the disturbance, it had sent him feral and flying for Echo's throat.
"Watch out!" Draco cried.
Echo leapt backwards to avoid those teeth that snapped loudly on thin air – just an inch from his neck. "Harry!" Echo cried, trying to get through to him. Those eyes were blazing. The only breeding sub he had ever seen was Fenrir's mother when he'd given birth to the triplets and then Wolfram a few years later. But he'd never looked like this, eyes blazing, teeth bared like a frightened beast that had been caged and whipped until it snapped.
Harry roared and dove again, this time, an answering snarl ripped through the air and a dark grey wolf landed between them. Ulric kept his head low, his jowls drawn back in warning and submission equally. Harry was the alpha numero but he wasn't himself. They had to do something before he hurt himself – or anyone else!
Harry slid an arm around his belly, his mate's fur cloak still wrapped around him, Ghost at his side. He could taste the panic in the air, feel the tension. It was supposed to be calm, quiet, he was supposed to listen to the pack contentedly while he rested in his hollow. The world around them was trembling, the magic that protected the valley was quivering as it was breached. Something was coming.
Dozens of foreign scents filled his nostrils. He felt panic and fear rise in him like fire licking at a forest's edge before it consumed it. He took a step back from his beta and the others. He needed to get back to his hollow, it was safe there, no one could see him…
At that moment, the world shifted into slow motion. He turned his head toward the scents that assaulted his nose, watching as the gates unwound themselves and flew open. His eyes widened and if he could see himself now, he would see them burning gold.
Weylyn was at the gate, he, Conall and Caleb flanked by dozens of other wolves. They were all in wolf form, a frightening sight in the one place they had all thought they were safe. But as he met Conall's gaze across the clearing and felt a heavy, sickening weight drop in his convulsing belly, he felt himself focus once more. Harry licked his dry lips, coming back to himself.
"Have you ever banished someone from the pack?" Harry whispered, his voice raw and low with horror.
All heads snapped to him. The invaders hadn't moved from the mouth of the doorway into the valley. They were watching them, a mere few hundred feet away.
"Harry?" Echo murmured, evidently shocked he had come back to himself.
Harry gave a sharp, single nod.
"No," Echo answered, just as quietly, "no one before Weylyn."
Harry was afraid of that. "The wards still accept Weylyn like pack – he showed them the way in," Harry breathed. The sight of the rogue wolves sent a frisson of fear roiling up inside him, but he stood firm.
"No," Echo murmured. "He might have been able to lead them back to the entrance, through the caves from memory but the gates wouldn't open to him. Even if someone from this side left them open the valley still wouldn't let them enter. Only pack can enter."
Echo sounded so certain. But then how had they got in? What was happening?
Holy fuck, his stomach ached…
With a hand on his belly he winced and staggered back, glancing to the side just in time to see Accalia and the last of the children vanish into his den. But how safe would they be in there once the rest of the pack out here fell to the invaders? He looked around at his pack, his family. Around twenty of them left out here with Amoux, Accalia and the children gone – there would have been more if Fenrir, Raquelle, Marrok, Hemming and Lupa were not on some selfish, comparatively unimportant mission at his whim.
Harry grit his teeth. This was all his fault. Some of their strongest were missing because of him. Whatever happened here was on his head. His stomach throbbed again, more ferociously this time and he pulled his fur cloak around him, smelling Fenrir's scent on the hairs. It gave him little comfort, only made him think of the look Fenrir would get on his face when he came home to find his family massacred – again. Inhaling deeply, he stepped forward.
"Potter," Draco warned, his voice slightly higher, his eyes fixed on the invaders. Harry didn't turn to him, didn't look away, just walked forwards a few feet so that he knew Conall, Weylyn and the others would be able to hear him. They were still a good few hundred feet apart, but beneath the cloak he was trembling despite himself. They would smell his fear, yes, but he wouldn't show it if he could help it. He waited.
After a few, stagnant moments, the great red wolf shifted back into Conall's humanoid face, his hair crimson like blood and his eyes gleaming dangerously.
Harry set his jaw. The sky was darkening. It rumbled forebodingly. There was so much magic here, so much earth magic warring with each other. He felt a raindrop on his cheek.
"Ah, little one, you have come to bargain for your pack?" Conall cooed with false gentleness. It made Harry shiver unpleasantly.
"It's me you want, isn't it?" Harry asked, trying for aloofness.
Conall grinned. "You're close to whelping."
Harry flinched. He vaguely remembered someone earlier saying his eyes were gold, that he had fangs – had it been Malfoy? He wasn't going to have the baby now surely? He couldn't! It wasn't safe. His instincts had him wavering on the spot, desperate to return to his hollow and it took everything in him to remain where he stood, unyielding.
"I don't need to bargain for anything," Harry sneered. "I'm the alpha numero. Get out."
Conall's smirk broadened. He looked more like a shark than a wolf in that moment. He and the others edged forward. Harry felt the pack bristle.
"Looks to me like Greyback has let his sub forget his place. Don't worry, little one, I will give you all the instruction you need."
"So you've decided you'll be the first to have me then?" Harry said with distaste. "Very organised of you. And let me guess – Weylyn is second?"
Weylyn looked nervous to be addressed directly. Perhaps he remembered how Harry had attacked him the last time they'd seen each other. Harry lifted his chin a little at the memory, secretly pleased with the thought.
"Conall's brother Caleb is second since Alph– Greyback killed his twin over you," Weylyn said at last. "Then my turn." He spoke with such foreboding impatience and greed. It made Harry feel nauseous.
"There will be no 'having' of any kind with me," Harry growled. "Or have you forgotten what I did to Radulf?" There was definite uneasiness in the way some of the rogue wolves shifted from paw to paw at the mention of their dead comrade. Conall, however, looked as arrogant and unmoved as ever.
"Enough talk, Harry," he said. "Come with us now and we'll leave without another word." He paused, eyes roving Harry's form, unperturbed by the fact it was well-protected from view thanks to Fenrir's fur cloak. "We'll even let you keep Greyback's cub as a peace offering. Save your mate's pack anymore bloodshed."
Harry froze at that, remembering all too well Fenrir's haunted explanation of the night he had lost his parents, sister, brothers and most of the pack. What if that happened again now? What if Fenrir lost everything? If this pack that had loved him, welcomed him, Harry, were slaughtered because of him? No. No one else could die for him.
"Stop being a hero, Potter," Draco's voice warned from somewhere behind him.
"But I can end this before anyone gets hurt," he murmured.
"And the pain you are trying to avoid, the heartache you'd feel if any of us were hurt or died for you, do you not imagine we would be subject to the same grief and guilt if we were to let you go?" Echo argued, his voice tinged with anger as Harry had never heard it. "You're not responsible for what they decide to do with nature's gift or for what happens to us when we fight back. The situation is out of your control because we won't let you barter yourself for our alleged safety."
It was then that Harry made his decision. The pack would fight to the death to protect him, he had to act before they could instigate a fight. He had his magic back, he could hurt Conall and the others but that would not guarantee the pack's safety. He needed to be quick. Before he could put a foot forward though, two arms wrapped around him tight. They clamping his own arms down to his sides and dragged him backwards as the world erupted into chaos.
"They've invaded our home, violated every tradition we hold!" Echo shouted to his pack mates. "Kill them!" Every wolf around him lurched forward with a snarl, paws tearing up the earth as they flew. At that moment, Conall and Weylyn shifted too, heading the rogues and crashing into the pack.
Fangs ripped at flesh and fur. Blood flew. Claws tore into their enemy and Harry felt any panic he'd had on seeing so many wolves overwhelmed, eclipsed by fear for the safety of those who had been his family for half a year. Ulric streaked past him on his way into the fray, a mere blur of dark grey fur.
"Get off me, Malfoy!" Harry roared, sending a small sharp zap of electric power into the arms dragging him forcibly backward. It was enough to free him from the blond's grasp. Harry whirled on his feet to glare at him, but anything he was about to say died on his tongue as that same throbbing agony from before pulsed through his stomach. His stomach, his back, everywhere. Oh, fuck it hurt. He'd felt pain before, lost all the bones in one arm and grown them back (slowly) overnight. This was a different pain. It had been uncomfortable before but now… He couldn't help but clap his hands to his abdomen in an attempt to alleviate the pain. It felt harder to breathe all of a sudden.
"Potter, stop trying to play the bloody hero and let someone fight for you for once!" Malfoy hissed.
Harry grimaced. "Like my mum and dad? Like Sirius? Like Moody or Dumbledore?" He was mostly talking to himself now, Malfoy probably didn't know nor care about Sirius. It didn't matter much though, the blond understood what he meant.
"And if you rush forward gun-ho now your child will die!" Malfoy snapped. "Everyone here is an adult, more than capable of deciding if this fight if worth it but that child unfortunate enough to be in Martyr Potter's belly can't make that decision."
Those words left Harry stunned to silence and stillness in the middle of battle. When had Malfoy become so insightful? War had changed him. being with the pack had changed him.
Suddenly Echo had Draco's face in his hands, his eyes and voice desperate. "Stay together," he breathed. Hauling Draco's face to his and crushing their lips together quickly, ferociously as if trying to convey everything in that one brief kiss. Harry watched Draco's hands wrap around Echo's neck but before he could get purchase, Echo broke away. With a final longing glance at his new lover, he transformed into the familiar tawny wolf and tore into the grey wolf that had been about to spring on them all.
Howls and yips of pain tore through the air. Harry side-stepped a brown wolf that dove for him and threw up a hand, sending the earth from underfoot crashing into the assailant. The wolf cried out as the heavy soil and stone blinded him, sent him staggering back. Harry staggered too. He felt hot all over. Why did he feel so hot? Oh, Merlin, did he hurt all over. His stomach tight and throbbing.
"Confringo!" Draco's voice called from beside him, a flash of light from his hand sending a burst of flame at the next wolf. It howled as the flames singed its fur and Harry took the opportunity to act, following his instincts that lingered just below his consciousness, he turned his head skyward and concentrated hard on the raindrops that had begun to fall.
This new power he'd discovered was channelled through the earth, through nature and he would use nature's forces to his advantage. The intensity of his gaze made his aching body shake and he felt blood trickle from his nose. He could do it. He had to do something.
A few feet away, Echo howled as the swipe of Caleb's claws tore through his face.
"No!" Draco cried, flying forwards. Caleb bared his teeth at his approach, fangs stained red with Echo's blood where he'd bitten a chunk out of the beta wolf's shoulder a second before. Echo snapped warningly as he righted himself. Draco was too close to those venomous fangs.
Caleb dove, wrenching a cry of pain from Draco as his massive paws pinned him to the dirt. Draco's human shoulders trembled under his weight. The wolf's fangs descended on his pale flesh – a hairsbreadth away.
"No!" Harry screamed this time. With a swipe of his hand the rain swirled into a single roaring tide mid-air. It glistened silver in the dimness caused by the stormy sky, before crashing into Caleb. Fur and flesh steamed, burned where it hit. His blood splattered Draco where he lay beneath him. The blond scrambled back, glancing quickly at Harry who had taken control of the falling rain and turned it to liquid silver.
Caleb was squealing like a stuck pig, frantically trying to shake the searing liquid silver from his fur. Echo slammed into him, jaws wide and sank his fangs into his throat. The remnants of silver in the flesh made his jaws burn but he did not let go until Caleb sank lifelessly to the ground. It was then that Echo limped over to Draco, sniffing hurriedly in assessment of his injuries.
Harry sent another stronger, fiercer typhoon of silver at the enemy wolf stalking the couple, dashing the blood weeping from his nose with his other hand. His body was quivering with adrenaline and pain. He had never felt so strong. He understood what Fenrir meant now when he'd said this was a gift, not a curse.
Fenrir. Where was he? He needed him.
Something hard, sharp and growling slammed into him, sending him sprawling back in the dirt. He landed awkwardly and hard on his front. He froze as his belly collided hard with the ground. Oh no. Oh, fuck, no! Scrabbling up onto his hands and knees he cried out as the wolf above, Weylyn (if Harry's senses were right) pushed hard on his back, trying to press him into the earth.
Harry screamed, his legs and arms shaking from the effort of holding himself up to save his stomach from being crushed. Something hot and wet spilled out his backside, leaking through his loose-fitted trousers and onto the cold ground between his legs. Blood? He winced. It didn't smell like his blood but it didn't smell good either.
His elbows buckled, his sore chest was pushed to the ground but he kept his knees rooted in place in a last effort to protect his abused belly. A long, deep whine rushed past his lips. He curled in on his small bump. An insidious, inhuman chuckle shuddered across the back of his neck from Weylyn's muzzle and then he realised – he was unwittingly presenting his arse to the bastard.
With a snarl he dug his fingers into the dirt and hurled a fistful back into the beast's eyes. Weylyn shrank back automatically. Harry scrambled up; glancing down to see his trousers were indeed dark and damp. Had he lost it? After all they'd been through? Anguish like he'd never felt ripped through him like the Cruciatus. What would Fenrir say?
A sharp movement had his eyes up in time to see Weylyn mid-pounce. He was seething and desperate, about to descend, his claws extended to rip his possibly dead baby from his bruised belly. A howl pierced the valley. A flash of dark grey blocked the rain and the world from view as it leapt over him. Harry felt a cry leave him as he saw the grey wolf's body jerk, Weylyn's perilous claws tearing through Ulric's belly and neck instead of his own.
Ulric spluttered and gasped, changing back to a man as he collapsed so as not to crush Harry with the weight of his werewolf body. He landed beside Harry, blood gushing from his mouth, his neck and belly marred, leaking the same foreboding crimson. Harry scrambled upright, glancing to Weylyn only to find Ulric's own claws had torn straight through the bastard's chest when they had collided. Weylyn lay dead, motionless with rain dripping into open, dead eyes.
Harry felt his stomach lurch when he saw Ulric toss Weylyn's still-beating heart from his hand, in favour of clasping frantically at the gaping wound in his own belly. "No!" Harry gasped, crawling over to him, sliding his own hand alongside Ulric's to try and staunch the bleeding. The man's neck was bleeding heavily too but when Harry tried to reach up with his free hand, the wolf collapsed entirely, his head resting on Harry's bruised belly.
Harry froze. He'd always thought Ulric hated him, resented everything he stood for. But the way he nestled into his stomach revealed that, like Fenrir, Ulric cared perhaps too much and was at a loss for how to deal with that. Most of the wolves who had seen their pack culled by wizards all those years ago were the same, unable to express it any other way than bark orders and bile in an attempt to keep those they cared for safe and strong. Fenrir, the pack, Harry and the infant inside him – he wanted them all safe. Despite his long life, he'd never had the luxury of falling in love or giving in to his feelings. Now he never would.
"Don't!" Ulric spluttered bloodily when Harry tried to summon any magic he had left to heal the wounds on the wolf's body. He glared up at Harry meaningfully. "You're almost exhausted, boy. Save it. Your magic…strength, you'll need it for…" A harsh, bloody coughing tore any words he'd been about to utter to pieces, but he gestured frantically to Harry's stomach so that he understood. "I'm a lost cause, cub," he gasped, fighting to get his breath back.
It's no use, Harry tried to say, it's dead – but the words wouldn't come. It felt incredibly awkward, but Harry wrapped his arms around the older man's body as best he could to offer him some semblance of comfort. He felt hot angry, anguished tears sting the backs of his eyes as Ulric nuzzled his belly gently again with his raspy, unshaven cheek, the bloody saliva weeping from his mouth healing the bruise forming there.
"I…I finally understand what all the fuss is about with you," the man choked, his throat filling with blood, barely capable of coherent sound. "I c-an hear its heartbeat," he gurgled.
Harry tensed. It was alive? But as he thought this, he watched Ulric's eyes drift shut and the man went limp. Gone. Harry screwed his eyes shut, laying a hand on his stomach beside Ulric's face. He felt a strange urge to… He frowned. It felt like the urge to go to the loo but growing steadily more painful. Clenching tremors shook his insides. His arse felt…different.
Fuck. It was coming!
"Potter!" Draco's voice called. His hand locked around one of Harry's arms, forcing it to loop around the blond's shoulder, using it to haul him off the ground. As he did so, a sharp, inhibiting pain lanced through Harry and he screamed bloody murder. Echo was beside them as a wolf still, guarding them as Draco was forced to drag Harry in the direction of his and Fenrir's den.
Harry tried to get his limp legs to corporate, tried to convey to Echo that he wanted to get Ulric's body somewhere it couldn't be desecrated but he couldn't do anything. Couldn't speak or move or do magic. Everything was shifting inside him. It was as if someone were stirring up his innards like a stew. He felt his colon twist oddly. He didn't understand why or how but he knew his body was using the last of his magic to adjust his body for the baby to come out – the same way it had gone in!
Fuck.
He willed his legs to work, to help Malfoy in getting him to the den. He felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable. Panicked. A wolf dove for them and Echo intercepted, rumbling across the ground and disappearing in the mass of brawling bodies. Draco stopped.
Harry screamed again, his mind momentarily numb. It was as if two forces were vying for control over him – his wolf instincts and his humanity, all in the midst of blood-curdling pain.
Echo snarled in their direction, signalling for them to keep going. Malfoy hesitated but obeyed, flicking a feather-light charm in Harry's direction and part-dragging him toward the wooden door across the valley. After shouldering the door open, Draco struggled across the den and dropped Harry onto the bed. Harry grit his teeth against the urge to cry out, his hands flying down to his stomach as he rolled back on the bed, gasping for breath.
"Aren't you supposed to take deep breaths or something?" Draco suggested awkwardly from where he stood across the den.
"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry hissed, "The Cruciatus feels like bloody Christmas compared to this! You'd already have passed out by now, you pansy!" He knew he was being quite unfair and rude but he couldn't care less. He glared at the blond, watching the scowl form over his face.
"Poor Potty," the blond snapped, "our pack is out there dying for us. So shut your face." At the words 'our pack' Harry realised, in a moment of lucidity, how changed Malfoy was from the boy he'd met in Madam Malkin's shop in Diagon Alley all those years ago. The blond had left his lover to help him, him, Harry, while everyone else fought against those that threatened to take him away. And Ulric, he'd died for him…
"Mmf…M'sorrry," Harry forced out through teeth clenched together with pain. "I didn't mean…it just fucking hurts… Shit!"
Malfoy leant down at that with an expression of clear discomfiture, pushing the cloak off Harry's body and unclasping it when it was clear Harry's currently clumsy fingers were incapable. The blond winced as he looked down at him. "Is that…did you piss yourself?" he asked without malice, but with uncertainty and an odd prickling of fear on seeing Harry so weak. It apparently unnerved him more than the snarling howls of the wolves outside.
Harry groaned. "It's the baby," he said, looking down at his soaked trousers. He was cold, wet and his trousers were stained dark but they didn't smell like blood entirely. There was definitely some there though. He winced as another wave of tight, clenching pain pulsed through him. Ghost, who had followed them in whined softly as if he wanted to help but didn't know how. Harry patted his head gently.
"Please tell me I'm not going to have to help you give birth," Draco said with a grimace.
Something inside Harry prickled at the notion. No. No one could be here. He needed to be by himself. He needed… A sharp gust of wind blew through the door they'd left ajar and Harry shuddered – at the sounds of the chaos from outside rather than the cold. Even though it was October and he was half soaked in unpleasant fluids.
Draco gave him an uncertain glance before heading towards the door to close it. Once it was shut, they'd be protected from any interruptions. "Get those wet clothes off and pull the fur round you again," he said stiffly, apparently determined to help after all.
It was only then that Harry remembered most of the furs that made his and Fenrir's bed comfortable were outside in his hollow. Where I should be, he thought as he kicked off his damp trousers and put the cloak back on. Fenrir's scent really shouldn't have had such a calming effect on him. But it did. It felt like ages since he'd seen him, he thought, looking up at the door that Malfoy was about to close. No sooner than the blond's hand touched the wood, however, than the door flew open.
"Get out of my way human!" A man growled. Before Draco could even raise his wand, the intruder raised a huge arm and batted him aside, sending him hurtling into the stone wall. Harry heard a sickening crunch but his cry of horror turned into one of pain before it even left his lips. He writhed on the bed, one hand pressing on his stomach and the other reaching out to try and find the strength for a spell – any magic to defend himself. He was too exhausted. He'd spent so much of his (still new) power earlier and everything else was focussed on shifting his innards around and pushing his baby down safely. Down, down…
Oh, shit! It hurt so much.
Ghost leapt up, fangs sinking into the intruder's arm. The man screamed, shaking the limb in an attempt to dislodge him. "Fucking mongrel!" he roared, snapping his own unnaturally white fangs, seizing a fistful of fur and tossing the adolescent wolf carelessly the same way he had Draco.
"Ghost, go and get Echo!" Harry cried as Ghost yelped, about to dive for the invader again. Harry opened his eyes to see his furry companion give him a look of uncertainty, before dodging their assailant's next blow. They both knew Ghost was no match. They needed help, loathe as Harry was to admit it. "Go!" Harry screamed and saw that blur of fur whip out of sight before his eyes slammed shut in pain once more.
"I really don't have the time to deal with you right now," he groaned as Conall shifted the curtain around the bed aside to glare down at him unhindered. Harry sneered right back. "If things were different I'd burn your eyes out of their sockets."
Conall chuckled darkly. "Such fire, Greyback really has given you too much freedom. It will be my honour to break you." He sat down on the end of the bed watching him. He smoothed a hand over Harry's belly and held it there, even as Harry squirmed for freedom. "Come little one, you know it's time. Your Greyback's cub is ready to be born. Push it out for him quickly and I may leave it as a peace offering so that he need not mourn your disappearance alone."
Not for the first time that night, Harry's chest ached at the thought of Fenrir coming home to find his pack slaughtered. To find their bed soiled with his blood and his child lying alone and crying in the middle of the mess – with Harry nowhere to be found.
No.
Harry's hand flew down in defence, swiping at the revolting hand pawing at him. Conall flew back in horror with a snarl, four great gashes had torn his hand and wrist to ribbons. Harry looked down and was shocked to see serrated talons instead of nails at his fingertips, dripping with blood. He'd done that. Cut right through like butter. The bone was visible among the gore.
"Fuck!" Conall screamed, using his other hand to stem the bleeding. He must've torn an artery, Harry thought with satisfaction before rolling over onto his hands and knees instinctively to alleviate the pulsing pain.
There was the unmistakeable feeling of the baby moving down, his arse clenching and then stretching open as the weight pushed down against it. Holy shit! This was it. Pain unlike any he had felt before ripped through him and he screamed. It must have been what little magic he had left doing it because he knew his arse shouldn't be stretching open like that. It felt alien, agonising and yet the most natural thing. His instincts reared up like a pouncing tiger and seized control. He knew what to do.
If he could've seen himself he would've seen his gold eyes glow before he closed them, his claws dig into the bed, his toes curl and his head tuck into his chest. He shifted, rocking slightly in his position on all fours. Conall's presence was unwelcome but not a priority – he could still hear the enemy hissing as he licked frantically at his gaping wounds in an attempt to close them before he lost too much blood. Harry needed to get his cub out before the enemy recovered.
A long, slow, pained whine shuddered through his lips as he curled in on himself, legs spreading wide regardless of who could see. There was no shame, no pride, only pain, need and instinct to protect his young. The pressure inside him became unbearable as his cub slid down. The canal that expanded inside only during his fertile period and labour crushed his bowels and intestines to the side, making room for his cub to slide down further. This was why he hadn't eaten in so long – his insides needed to be as empty as possible to make room for his shifting innards. His birth canal and bowels were connected to the same entrance in the same way that the eye of his prick could emit both urine and semen. His body was ready now, had adjusted as the baby moved down but as it did so, his bladder was also crushed and its contents were squeezed out onto the bed between his legs. The smell made his nose wrinkle but his instincts overwhelmed any human embarrassment or shame – even if Conall had gone deathly quiet and was surely watching.
With a grunt, Harry squirmed onto a clean patch of the bed. Still on his hands and knees, he braced himself with an inhuman growl when as the cub's head (about the size of an orange) pushed on the sore, stretched rim of his entrance. It had grown more and more limber the closer he got to this moment, gradually since conception and now though it hurt it stretched without tearing – further than the natural capacity of a human body. All was as it should be.
He hunkered down and spread his knees even wider. A piercing, bestial snarl of a scream wrenched from him. His insides convulsed and the head moved down and out. He felt something sting in his entrance. Maybe he had torn a little after all. He had no chance to find out. Reaching awkwardly between his legs, carefully keeping his claws averted he pulled one of the few furs left on the bed into a nest of sorts to help him catch his cub. A softer, exhausted cry stumbled over his lips as he felt the infant's body twist. The skinny shoulders and then the rest of the body slid out with a repulsive sound and landed on the fur nest.
Panting heavily like a man half-drowned and gasping for air, Harry seized the fur next and dragged it up between his legs to lay under his chin. His body was expelling the afterbirth still and he grimaced. But there was no time to cry out, the little pink thing under his nose was unmoving and quiet. He knew it was wrong.
With a grunt he shifted his weight and sliced the umbilical cord with his claws, which receded immediately after before vanishing. Nudging his cub onto its side with his knuckles, he rubbed its back firmly. It needed to make a noise. It didn't smell hurt but it wasn't breathing either. It was slightly blue in colour. Tilting his head, Harry considered it a moment before continuing to rub. At that moment, he saw the little chest rise with breath, but there was still no sound.
"That's enough," the enemy's voice murmured behind him. Before Harry could even look back at the sound, a hand closed around his ankle and dragged him back – I away from his cub. At Harry's pained cry, it gave its own almost inaudible, gurgling whine. Harry called back to it, scrambling frantically to get back to his bare, cold infant. The enemy snarled above him as he tossed him onto the floor. Harry groaned in pain and looked up with exhausted, blurry eyes to see the red-head towering over him.
"You've given Greyback his cub, it's time to go. Come," Conall demanded.
Harry drew back his lips in a snarl. He had to get back to his cub that was choking on the barely audible cries its tiny lungs were making. He'd gone into labour from the tussle earlier. Had his cub been harmed by that? Why was he choking? He needed to get it warm and clean.
At his hesitation, Conall glanced to the little body, vulnerable and naked, still covered in fluids on the bed. The red-head made his way over to it. Every muscle in Harry's body bunched at the sight of anyone approaching his young. Something inside him snapped and he leapt into the air with a roar of rage.
Conall whirled around just in time to see Harry's body change midair. The world moved in slow motion and his eyes widened as the black wolf with vibrant gold eyes, rimmed with green slammed into him. He didn't have time to change. Great claws sank into his shoulders as they tumbled to the floor and the black wolf gave another snarling howl of rage before diving down, sinking his fangs into his throat.
The wolf's jaws locked tight around the cartilage. Conall chocked and spluttered as blood burst around those teeth. He scratched at Harry's back and neck, yanking and clawing at the tufts of black fur. Harry shook him roughly by the throat, growling deeply around the flesh. He felt the magic and life draining away beneath his fangs but the tiny, frightened cries from the bed only intensified his instincts to hold on. He shook Conall again and did not let go until the creature fell limp and lifeless beneath him.
With a groan at his aching jaws, the black wolf released his kill and stepped back. He gagged at the taste, looking disinterestedly at the lifeless corpse that had dared to approach his cub, that had dared challenge his mate's claim over him. Harry bent down to rub his face along the rug, wiping away any trace of the enemy from him before he approached the sound on the bed.
What a sight he must have made, a black wolf with glowing eyes, stained with his own blood and bodily fluids, standing over the tiny, pink wriggling body on the bed. With a soft whine he pawed at the infant. It was cold and squirmy, it reeked of fear. Settling down so that his cub was laying against his warm, furry underbelly, he inclined his head to clean the distressed human-looking cub. He whined softly every now and then as he licked, trying to soothe the cries that made his own ears flicker unhappily.
When the infant was clean and pink, nicely warmed by his black fur, he gave a little stretch and his body morphed slowly back into the human flesh he was more accustomed to. Even ruled by instincts, he blinked a the sight of his crying baby and automatically glanced to the neatly folded blanket on the small shelf at the bedside. Reaching for it, he wrapped the cub up in the swaddling cloth that smelled of his mate and then fastened his mate's fur cloak around them both for good measure, huddling up on the floor in the corner away from the enemy's body and the soiled bed.
It was nice, warm and dark in the corner. His cub was warm and tucked against his chest beneath the cloak. With human, clawless hands he stroked the tiny creature's face gently, softy yips and grumbles slowly quieting those cries until the little body was calm against him. The cries had been quiet but strong. It smelled healthy, content now that the smells of his parents surrounded him in the dark warmth he'd associated with safety for so long inside the womb.
Still less human than he'd been (despite the fact that all 'wolfish' attributes had vanished beside the gold eyes) Harry stared down at the wrinkled little body. Its eyes were closed, tiny fingers curled into fists around the blanket that had once been his father's. There was a thick mop of dark hair atop his head and he was nuzzling into Harry's chest as if he knew exactly who Harry was.
Harry hummed softly in contentment. His body ached and throbbed all over but he was safe in the dark. His gold eyes roved the little thing, no bigger than his forearm form elbow to wrist and with a tiny head he could cradle effortlessly in his hand. Helplessly tiny but healthy. His human insecurities nipped at his mind; was it ok that he was so small, even for a werewolf? He didn't weigh much either. But for all that, he'd never seen anything so perfectly formed – so perfect, full stop.
Was this the son Fenrir had pictured before? Would Fenrir ever see him? His perfect, tiny son. Harry smiled and curled up a little more around him. How could he have ever contemplated not having him? This certainly wasn't what he'd imagined for all these months. He'd been dreading it, fearing it like a life-sentence instead of this...gift.
He'd been bitter, scared and angry, but he'd never expected to find himself so smitten. The fear was still there – he could still hear the battle raging outside. Where was Fenrir? Was the pack alright? What was happening with Ron, Hermione, Voldemort? He didn't have an answer any of that but his instincts were still in control, smothering his awareness of the outside world and focussing solely on the little boy pawing at his chest now.
Blinking slowly, Harry followed the urge that crept up inside him and adjusted his son until he was in the crook of his arm. A tiny mouth latched onto his chest and sucked – hard. It ached. He winced but didn't move otherwise, watching it happen. The oddest drawing sensation tugged at his chest. His human mind would later marvel at how it was possible, for his chest hadn't grown or expanded, not changed in any way aesthetically. It looked the same and yet his baby was feeding there quite voraciously.
For now, with the wolf in control he merely yawned, watching his son gobble down his first meal greedily – exhausted physically and magically. The boy was absolutely tiny, fragile and helpless. With a fraction of Harry's human fears creeping up, he supported the little body further by drawing his knees up to help his weak arms cradle him.
The fur enshrouded them both in warmth and Fenrir's scent. The ache that had been building up in his chest was easing now, like the pressure being let out. The drawing sensation made his face wrinkle oddly but it didn't hurt as such. He didn't think anything could hurt as much as what he'd just gone through.
When his human mind regained control he would certainly freak out. But that would be later – much later. The wolf would be in control for some time yet, for the sake of both their well-being.
After some time his little cub yawned widely, his face and body scrunching up as he tried to stretch without full control of his limbs. Those eyes remained shut but that was fine. Harry couldn't sense any sign of distress – at least he didn't think so. The baby let out a small whine-gurgle and Harry whined back softly, tucking him tight into his chest, drawing the swaddling cloth with the wolf embellished on it around him more securely. Harry smiled without really comprehending the action. It was instinctual. But as he felt the tiny body go limp with sleep against him, he allowed himself to take a cursory sniff.
Where was his mate? He could smell most of the pack outside but his mate wasn't among them. Strangers, faceless scents mingled with those of his pack-mates. It put him on edge. He pushed himself as far back between the wall and the edge of the bed as he could go. His entire body ached. His lower body felt heavy and numb. But he could not sleep, could not rest.
Suddenly something else, some faintly familiar presence registered to his senses. It - no, they were drawing closer. His body was taut as a bowstring, ready to flee or pounce. The door to the den was still ajar from Conall's invasion; he was not protected by the magic. He was vulnerable and weak. He wouldn't be able to fight. He tried to make himself as small as possible. Where was his mate? Had he been abandoned?
Suddenly a great gust from the outside signalling that the door had been pushed open wider rushed through the den. Harry shivered and his cub whimpered unhappily.
"It's leading us in here," A familiar female voice murmured urgently. "He must be here, Remus."
"Be careful, Hermione," the male voice urged back. Harry shifted anxiously. There was another werewolf in his den. A wolf and a human both coming towards him. Then, suddenly they were both there, standing over him with wands aloft and glowing. He glanced up warily. The girl's eyes were huge and fearful, teary. She raised a hand to her mouth in shock.
"Oh, Harry," she gasped, "Oh, Harry!" She dove for him, arms wide…
"No!" Remus cried and just as Harry snarled, bearing his teeth, Remus pulled her back out of reach of his snapping jaws. "He isn't himself – look at him," Remus urged her. "Look at his eyes." Yes, eyes that glowed gold still.
Harry hunched back into the wall, his cub hidden from view thanks to the fur cloak. He had jerked awake at Harry's lunge but did not cry. Yes. They had to go into hiding.
"Oh God, Remus, what have they done to him?" Hermione gasped. "He doesn't even recognise us!"
"Ssshh!" Remus urged her, glancing back to the open door. The sounds of the battle still raged outside. They wanted to stay hidden too, Harry realised. His own eyes flickered to the side subtly. It seemed Draco's unconscious body was hidden where he had fallen thanks to the shadows that now clung to the den. Harry could smell he was alive still. If he remained unconscious and silent he would remain undiscovered – safe. It was already too late for Harry. The best he could do was sit still and wait silently, wait for an escape.
"You see that body on the floor?" Remus asked, gesturing just behind them where Conall's corpse lay. "It's hard to tell – the wolfsbane inhibits my senses but I can see with my own eyes. Harry killed him, I'm sure of it. He's feral, Hermione. A werewolf. We have to be careful."
A snarl from outside made the man twitch. He looked warily from the door to Harry, to Conall's corpse before looking back to Harry again. "We need to move him," he murmured.
Harry knew the words but couldn't quite register their meaning. The man was watching him fully now though. It made him nervous. No one could discover his cub when he was this weak, when he couldn't even defend himself.
"We'll have to be quick, Hermione. Don't touch him, whatever you do. If he really is a werewolf he could contaminate you with a bite without meaning to." The man shifted as he spoke, coming closer so that he was only a foot away from Harry.
Harry gave a warning growl.
"When I give the word, you grab my arm and apparate us back. We only have a few minutes left before the wards preventing our entry are back up. Lupa and Hemming are sure to have realised Ron was covering for us."
Hermione blinked, looking at Harry uncertainly. "But if he gets loose during apparition he might be splinched or worse," she whispered, her voice laced with fear.
"We used all our resources to punch a hole in their wards," Remus said impatiently. "It was nearly impossible to do once, it will never work again. If the hole closes while we're still in here we can't apparate ourselves out. And you heard what Hemming said – the labyrinth of caves into here cannot be navigated by outsiders." He stopped then, glancing to the chaos he could spy through the open door.
"Those other wolves they're fighting with, they were waiting outside for them. I don't think they could get in through the gates, just like Hemming said. But when we punched through…"
"We let them in too," Hermione realised with horror. "Oh, Remus, all that bloodshed – we caused that! We let their wards down!"
"There's no time, Hermione!" Remus snapped. "We need to move! The hole could close on us any minute! Do you want to be here when Greyback gets back to realise we were the ones that let the wolves in? Do you think he'll care it was an accident?" There was panic in his voice now and Hermione's eyes were wide. When it was clear she had no argument, Remus said again, "When I give the word. Get ready."
Harry bared his teeth again like an animal when the man bent down in front of him. He was so weak, everything hurt. He wanted to run. Run. Yes. He needed to get away! With a snarl Harry leapt up across the bed, but as he moved the man tackled him to the ground. Harry howled, turning just in time to take the brunt of the fall on his back. His son screamed but in the commotion, the two invaders didn't seem to hear. The man knelt over him, pinning him to the ground, hands digging into Harry's shoulders with bruising force in an effort to keep hold of him.
"Hermione, now!" the man cried.
Harry whined and snarled in panic, wriggling and snapping at the man above. He didn't dare release his vice-like grip on his cub to shove him off. They would have to kill him if they wanted to pry them apart.
Suddenly the girl lunged forward, seizing hold of the man's forearm. A sharp tug yanked Harry from behind his navel. It hurt. It felt strange. He yelped in fear and pain but could not get free. The world was a blur of magic, colour and light. In a last ditch effort, Harry shoved up against the hands on his shoulders and sank his human teeth into the man's neck. The man screamed and tensed but did not release him, not until they landed hard and heavy in a heap on a cold, grey doorstep.
"Get the door open!" the man gasped, still holding Harry down, Harry's teeth buried in his neck. Harry saw the front door swing open and the girl rushed inside. Gritting his teeth tight, he maintained his death grip on the man that dragged him into the house. The door slammed shut behind them and dark, dusty, muggy air filled his lungs. He felt trapped, suffocated. He did not let go of the man's throat even as the creature cried out in pain, dragging him along a dark, narrow hall.
Blood filled his mouth. His blunt teeth had done damage after all.
From behind a set of thick, flaring drapes, a woman's piercing voice screamed at the top of her lungs. "Mongrels! Half-breeds! Squalling bastard child! Mudbloods and filth!"
"Shut her up someone!" Hermione cried. "It's making him worse!"
"What's going on?" a younger, familiar male's voice called from up the stairs as Harry was dragged passed them.
"Remus? Harry?" a woman's voice this time.
"Open the door down into the kitchen!" Hermione cried. "No one is down there, it will be safe to let him go!"
Harry felt himself dragged through another doorway. Then, suddenly, the man released his hold on him and Harry took his chance. Unlocking his jaws he shrank back, colliding with a wall and staring frantically about him as he dashed the blood from his mouth.
The man was standing in the doorway a few inches from him, clasping his bloody neck. The girl was behind him, watching on while a young red-haired man and a pink-haired woman were fighting to close the drapes over a portrait of a screaming woman. Harry was trapped with only one way out – down the stairs to his right. Hesitating only a moment, he watched to make sure the bleeding man wouldn't grab him again and flew down the stairs.
It was warm here. The lights were out and the clean smelling, empty darkness helped to calm his inflamed panic. His eyes darted around the large room. There was a long table to hide under, a curtained space under the sink. No. It needed to be safe, dark, warm….
"Kreacher is not knowing why," a wheezing, low voice said from the side. Harry whirled to face it. His son was crying fitfully now in his arms as the odd-looking creature beside him continued, "But Master is needing a place to hide, to hide his young safe and warm just like the dogs did when they whelped."
Had Harry been in the right mind, he might have realised that Kreacher's improved mood after all they had gone through to fulfil Regulus' final wishes had not faded. On the contrary, Kreacher was almost bouncing from foot-to-foot, wringing his hands in eagerness to help. Harry would also remember that house elves were notorious for their love of caring for children and it had been so long since Kreacher had heard one that his huge ears twitched at the sound of those cries. Yes, he would realise how badly Kreacher wanted to help the person who had helped him to fulfil Regulus' wishes at last.
For now, however, his instincts were still reigning and all he could do was clutch the cloak tighter about him and his son, staring longingly at the full-sized dark cupboard that Kreacher had just opened for him.
"Kreacher does not remember, it has been so long – do all wizards act like this?"
Harry didn't comprehend the words at that moment. The odd, fidgeting and yet familiar creature was still a threat. So he watched it carefully, even as his son's small, whimpering cries grew more insistent.
"Master Harry moved me into Master Regulus' room last he was here, does he remember?"
Harry just blinked at him.
"Kreacher cleaned out the cupboard. Good as new it is. Master will be safe there in the dark. For Kreacher is a good elf, he can sense what his Master needs." With that, Kreacher snapped his fingers and after a few seconds, one of the spare cupboards at the far side of the room flew open and a pile of neatly laundered duvets hovered across the room.
Harry eyed them warily as the elf directed them into the cupboard, where he mumbled nonsensically to himself while arranging them into a thick, squashy nest on the floor of the magically enlarged cupboard. When he was finished, he stood back completely, way off to the side and gestured eagerly to the space. "Charms for warmth, clean, soft and dark – Kreacher will be helpful to the Master who helped to fulfil Master Regulus' wishes. Yes. Kreacher will serve – even is Master is a half-blood."
After a moment, Harry realised the elf was not going to move to touch him or his cub. Not yet at least and his body was lanced with pain, his limbs weary, eyes aching with tiredness. His son was still crying. He longed for the comfort of the new quiet place in front of him. His new hollow. The enemy was still upstairs but he could hide in here. Yes. He could rest and then he would be able to fight them if need be. Slowly, warily, eyes still on the elf, he edged into the cupboard. It was taller than him and wide enough for four of him if need be. Big enough but not too big. Perfect.
He gave a soft sniff. It didn't smell of anything of consequence. The twist of magic from the elf earlier must've seen to that. He could spread his mate's scent in here – that would be good. Yes...
Lowering himself down into the nest, he supported his squalling cub with one arm while he used the other to adjust the duvets how he wanted them. His still gold eyes did not leave the elf the whole time. After some fussing, he curled up in the nest and opened the fur cloak, leaving it over his back as a cover but letting it hang open at the front so that he could lay his cub on the nest in front of him. He was crying and squirming nearly clean out of his blanket, fretful from the scramble earlier but unharmed. Harry relaxed slightly, feathering his fingers down across the tiny face gently, uncertainly. He cocked his head, repeating the motion until the inconsolable sobs turned to tiny whimpers.
After using one of the small white cloths he found at the side as a nappy, Harry snuggled down so that his son was cradled in the duvet against his chest, the blanket neatly tucked around him again and their alpha's cloak over them both. The baby blinked up at him drowsily as he calmed, his eyes the brightest green. He was beautiful. Harry yawned, circling his tiny son with an arm for added support and protection. He glanced out of the cupboard, only to see that the elf had hung a thick curtain over the doorway so that they were perfectly hidden in the warm dark of the new hollow.
Harry shifted carefully. The enemy hadn't followed him down and the elf was still out there. The elf was not shaped like the others and kept his distance. Harry could still hear him mumbling to himself but he did not come any closer. But he did hear and sense movement outside the hollow of much larger bodies. Harry sniffed again and blinked. He could smell his pack, or two of them at least. He whined in confusion and the curtain shifted slightly, but did not open. Two of his pack-mates were right outside his hollow.
"Sleep, Alpha Numero, we will protect your hollow from these meddling humans. No one will enter," a deep voice assured him. It was just slightly familiar, he'd only heard it once or twice and he barely understood the words in the state he was in but he knew what their presence outside of his makeshift den meant. He would be protected as he rested, recovered, as he would have been back at the den. He had not been completely abandoned after all. But where was his mate? His cub was drinking eagerly from him again as he began to drift and Harry blinked at the sight of his tiny face a few times before at last, exhaustion took him.
~To Be Continued...