Thank you again to everyone who is still enjoying the story. Your support means so much to me. This chapter is actually longer than some of the others but it seemed to go so quick when I was reading it through - hope you like it! ^_^
.: Chapter Twenty :.
Battles of Wolves
A low, rumbling growl of warning tugged him out of slumber. Lulled into security by Fenrir's scent and proximity, his instincts told him not to be too concerned. He rolled tighter into Fenrir's body, his arms around his still sleeping son. When he felt silver fur against his skin instead of warm flesh, he cracked open his eyes.
The warning growl had ceased, but Fenrir's head was still up, one huge paw partially curled around his mate and cub where they lay against him. He was almost too big for the cupboard; luckily it seemed just the right size for his wolf form to lie in. At the back of his mind, Harry wondered vaguely if Kreacher had expanded it for him or if it had always been this size.
Movement from the door to the den told him what Fenrir had been growling at. The curtain was drawn back to reveal Lupa and Hemming. Neither of them entered, they merely sat on the threshold, waiting, heads down, necks exposed. The silver wolf practically wrapped around Harry shifted, but grumbled, lowering his muzzle as if giving permission. Slowly, their pack-mates approached, edging forward, almost on their bellies.
Soft, yipping mewls sounded from human looking lips as they came to sit just in front of Harry and Fenrir. What followed next was a strange sensation. It wasn't like being overcome with his instincts entirely, as with the birth or the moon. Harry distinctly felt his wolf rear up to the surface and yet he was fully aware, fully in control, only relaxed and comfortable with the world as he only was when the instincts took over. This, this was only what he could describe as peace within himself, between two warring parts of him. He was completely lucid, if still a little fuzzy from sleep.
Lupa whined, laying a small shining platinum-hued implement on the bed of furs beside Harry. It was a gift, an offering to honour the alpha's cub; Harry knew this on instinct, despite his 'human' mind still being in control. Somehow he just knew this was right, a tradition and sign of great respect and family unity within the pack. If they were with the rest of the pack, they would be doing the same, he thought.
Picking up the object, he saw that it was an overlarge, thick ring that could easily be worn as a too-thick rounded bangle round his wrist. It was platinum in colour but he knew not the material, for it was incredibly light and glistened beautifully even in the dim light. Three thick, also rounded charms hung from it, chiming together nicely when he moved it. They seemed to be in the shape of the moon in full, but he wasn't sure.
Holding it above Kirian (who had awoken and was blinking up in interest now), he jingled it slightly and watched that stern little face open in bright-eyed amusement. Harry smiled and jingled it again. It was a rattle and also a teething ring, he realised. He remembered far back to one of the portraits in Hogwarts of a Victorian witch and her baby, who had clutched a far less glamorous, far less magical version of the same thing. He smirked as he thought of his boy chewing and drooling around this the way the portrait baby had. Right now Kirian didn't seem to be able to do much more than stare up in interest at the glowing ring and its charms.
Evidently pleased that her gift was a success, Lupa leant forward, butting her face against Fenrir's muzzle. Fenrir permitted it, pushing back gently and even letting her brush her cheek affectionately against Harry's face. She retreated back out of the den as Hemming edged forwards, low to the ground as she had been. He laid a small pile of the softest looking cloth Harry had ever seen on the furs beside them, and then waited.
Harry picked the material up, only to realise it was in fact a neatly folded crisp-white baby's romper suit. Plain white but softer than anything he'd felt before. Made with acromantula silk thread like a lot of the pack's clothes, he thought, which made it impervious to dirt and smells. There was a small matching hat and he smiled, only just realising that his poor son had only had blankets and furs to cover him since he was born, not a scrap of clothing to his name.
Whining softly, happily, Harry immediately unwrapped Kirian from his blanket and (after changing his nappy, just to be sure) slowly dressed him. It was a slow process – he'd never dressed a baby before after all and those little limbs were so delicate. The all-in-one buttoned up easily enough though and after the hat was on his little dark-haired head he re-wrapped him in the blanket rich in Fenrir's scent. He looked much more snug now, more like a baby and less like a little wriggly pink creature.
Hemming did the same as Lupa on having his gift accepted, brushing against his alpha, then Harry before edging back out of the den. The curtain fell back into place after him, leaving Harry, Fenrir and Kirian alone in the dimness. They laid in the same position for some time, relishing in the companionable silence. One of the good things about being with a man like Fenrir was that his silence spoke louder than a thousand words. At times like this, nothing needed to be said.
Harry might have dozed for a little while, but he was jerked roughly back to the present by a discontented cry. He blinked awake, disorientated to find a human looking Fenrir pulling Kirian up into his arms. Harry stared at them. The baby's lungs still sounded feeble but he smelled healthy enough. Fenrir seemed to think him more than resilient enough as he bounced him roughly against his chest.
"Your a whingey little blighter," Fenrir muttered good-naturedly, "My youngest brother used to be like you – right little baby."
"He is a baby," Harry scowled, sitting upright and reaching for his son. It didn't go unnoticed that Fenrir had mentioned his family though, that was encouraging. He rarely mentioned them before, the pain as crisp in his mind and heart as if it had only happened the day before. Perhaps Kirian's presence helped him to think of them in fondness rather than pain.
"You don't like me holding him, do you?" Fenrir muttered, watching as Harry pulled the baby to his chest.
"I like it fine, though I wish you'd be gentler," Harry muttered. He did feel the need to be the one holding his son all the time but that wasn't because he didn't want Fenrir to hold him. On the contrary, the sight of Fenrir Greyback so enamoured with something so small and cute was…endearing. Harry just felt unsettled, like no one knew how to protect this tiny, precious little life better than him – even if he wasn't sure how to do it himself.
Parenthood was one big paradox.
Kirian had whimpered in displeasure when Harry had tugged him out of Fenrir's grasp but his cries died as he locked his mouth around a swollen nipple and guzzled greedily. He choked, spluttered and began to cry again, a little milk leaking from his lips. Harry flapped, pulling the boy quickly up, mopping his mouth and rubbing his back firmly. He felt Fenrir's eyes on him and grit his teeth, rubbing more firmly before the man could say anything.
When he brought Kirian back, the same thing happened.
Fenrir's large, warm hands stilled him when he panicked again. Harry's head snapped up on instinct and he found himself staring into glistening blue eyes.
"Stop getting in a flap. It's coming out a bit too quick for him is all," he muttered, reaching forward and massaging Harry's flat chest. Harry flushed and hissed simultaneously, struggling backward as a sharp burst of white fluid leaked in Fenrir's hand.
"Get off!" Harry snapped, angry and embarrassed. He kicked away but Fenrir's dry hand gripped his shoulder, holding him steady.
"It releases some of the pressure, I saw my dad do it," Fenrir snorted, ignoring his beet-red flush of humiliation.
"You might have told me instead of presuming to…" Harry grit his teeth. "To milk me like a fucking cow! This is weird for me! I never thought I would do something like this, until a few months ago I thought it was something only a woman could do. It's emasculating enough as it is doing it with you watching, much less touching!" He hissed in annoyance as Kirian began to cry in earnest, both hungry and upset at the tension in the air.
Harry pulled him close to his chest, holding him in the crook of his arm and wiping away the milk that had splattered him. The ingenious fabric of his romper suit had merely reflected it, of course but his little cheeks were damp. Breathing deep and slow to try and temper his annoyance, Harry waited until he felt calmer before he spoke again. "How do you know so much about babies anyway? You never said you were such an expert before now," he murmured, cheeks still burning with humiliation.
"I was old enough to remember my dad having my siblings. There was an age gap. I helped a lot with them, especially the youngest. He was a needy little thing," Fenrir said, an edge of fondness to his gruff voice. Harry's anger abated almost completely at the sound of it.
"You loved your youngest brother," Harry said. It wasn't a question. He didn't mean it in the way that Fenrir didn't love all his family either but in the sense that Fenrir had doted on the youngest. Fenrir knew what he meant too, Harry could tell by the look in his eyes. "You love our son like that. I'm glad, I wasn't sure you'd be so…warm with him…"
Fenrir huffed. "Of course I love him."
And me? It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to ask that but he caught himself just in time. It was the stupid hormones and the trauma making him think such stupid things. Besides, what if Fenrir echoed the same question? Harry had no idea how he would answer it. No, he thought, best leave that question buried.
"If you squeeze out the excess it might not hit him in the back of the throat," Fenrir said then in his usual tone, as if intimate words of love had never been spoken. Or, more accurately, as if they weren't anything out of the ordinary. Fenrir was a troubled man with as many issues and internal scars as Harry but he wouldn't deny Kirian the love he deserved. It was reassuring to see.
"Don't look then," Harry griped.
Fenrir clucked his tongue in annoyance but glanced away while Harry tentatively brought his hand up and rubbed the way Fenrir had. Fluid burst out sharply, then slowed. His chest ached as his fingers kneaded the flesh. It was so bizarre, especially given that his chest looked normal still. Wiping his hand off on the duvets, he pulled Kirian back into the crook of his arm.
"Lean back, try having him upright against you, it'll help," Fenrir said.
Harry glared. Fenrir was watching closely again. "Maybe you should give it ago if you're the expert," Harry grumbled, peeved that once again, he was being made to feel like he couldn't even care for his own son.
Fenrir just snorted. "Don't get grumpy, even the best mothers need someone to help them the first time."
A dark flush blazoned across Harry's cheeks once more. "I'm his Dad, you arse," Harry snapped, but laid back all the same, propped up by the duvets in his little nest, Kirian lying length-ways along him so he was actually higher than Harry's proffered nipple. "So bloody weird," Harry murmured, not for the first nor last time as Kirian latched on greedily. This time, though he sucked hard, he didn't seem to choke or splutter.
Neither of them spoke again until Kirian had finished feeding and was limp and content in Harry's arms. He'd fallen asleep while he drank.
"Glad I'm here with you now?" Fenrir murmured.
Harry glanced up, seeing Fenrir in the same position, half-reclined beside him and watching intently. "I am glad you're here," he admitted, "you have to remember I've more than enough reason to be tetchy is all."
At this, Fenrir laughed, a proper laugh that ignited a smile on Harry's lips.
Piercing agony lanced through his every pore. His limbs quivered and shook with spasms for what seemed like an eternity until at last, the Dark Lord flicked his wand with a cruel twist and left his body in a crumpled heap on the floor. Breathing heavily, Severus Snape grit his teeth against the fire burning through his veins. He struggled to move his arms and they all-but screamed in protest. His chest stung with every breath and blood dripped from his nose.
"Rise, Severus," Voldemort's cool, sharp tone hissed. It was a test, a challenge of loyalty that a follower would push through even the lingering pain of the Cruciatus to obey a command, just to please their master.
Knowing the pain would be worse if he did not obey, that he had to maintain his mask of loyalty, Severus bit back the groan of pain and shoved hard from the ground. His legs trembled as he staggered upward, barely holding him but his robes hid their weakness. Just being able to stand after such a vicious round of the torture curse was a feat in itself.
"My Lord," Severus gasped, pleading. "The Potter boy is never far from Greyback's side, it is impossible to penetrate the pack as a wizard. They loathe our kind." Nevermind that he had seen Potter safe and sound, away from Greyback with his very eyes. The invisible walls around his mind kept that secret safe.
Suddenly Voldemort had swept forward, Severus' own wand pressed against his throat. He could smell that foul breath, the reek of death and the wrongness of his own wand in another's hand. "Then what good are you to me, Severus?" Voldemort hissed.
Steeling himself against the panic in his chest, Severus spoke quickly, thinking on his feet, "Lupin is a trusting fool, I could infiltrate his circle of trust. He is of Greyback's line, if anyone could get close enough to reach Potter it would be him." He watched the truth in his words register in Voldemort's crimson eyes. Years of practice had made him revoltingly good at this – give them just enough truth to believe the lies.
"Give me leave to try and convince him this was all part of Dumbledore's master plan, to win his trust and I will bring Potter to you. The pair of them are trusting fools, it will be a simple task. Dangerous but simple, my Lord." The pressure of the wand at his throat eased. Severus wanted to sag with relief but he did not dare. He kept his eyes on the Dark Lord's pale, snake-like face and waited for permission to relax.
"Indeed, Severus," Voldemort hissed, "I forget what a master of deceit you are…" There was a dangerous lilt to his voice. Severus had not breathed since the wand eased the pressure on his throat. Losing Nagini and his control of Potter and Greyback in the same instant had made Voldemort even more unstable, unpredictable. No one was safe. Nothing was certain.
"My Lord, only for you," Severus murmured fervently. "Only in your service."
A flash of those eyes was all the warning he had before Voldemort was raping his mind, anticipating the moment, he chose the opportunity to push a few choice memories and feelings forward. Dumbledore's death, yes, remind him exactly what he had given up, what he had done in his service. It seemed to work.
His wand clattered to the floor between them. Severus followed it with his eyes but did not move to retrieve it – still waiting. Voldemort stepped back with that smile that feigned affection on his thin, white lips. "My most faithful, my most dedicated," Voldemort began, the epithets that followed fell on deaf ears, for Severus was watching those eyes, listening to the piercing silence from those gathered around them in the circle, poised for any attack.
Voldemort gave his hand a flourish, gesturing for Severus to bend down to retrieve his wand. As he did so, however, the Dark Lord stepped closer, his shadow falling over him. Severus froze again, remaining still, on his knees, his fingers a scant centimetre from his wand.
"I do not give second chances, Severus," the Dark Lord warned, his wand pressing hard into the back of Severus' skull. "If you come to me without progress on bringing me Potter again, I will be most displeased. I want him. Him and that runt of his – by whatever means necessary."
Severus didn't even dare breathe lest that slight movement push Voldemort over the precipice of sanity on which he stood. "I will not fail you, My Lord," he promised, voice low with respect.
A low, foreboding chuckle sounded from above. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw a few of the members of the circle tense. Ah, the Dark Lord was wearing that expression then, the darkly amused face that promised further torment.
"I have no doubt, Severus," Voldemort practically cooed, "I am a firm believer of inspiring my followers to succeed, however. Perhaps a little something to give you incentive?"
Severus closed his eyes and let his body go as limp as possible – fighting it always made it worse.
"Crucio!"
Harry groaned in bliss, eyes closed and head tipped back as hot, steaming water gushed over his head and body, cascading down his skin and washing away the grime and aches of the last few days. He'd forgotten how good a proper shower felt. The bath in their den back at the valley was luxurious but sometimes, a shower was just perfect. He ran his hand through his hair to wash out all the suds. The calming properties of the wizard shampoo made his scalp tingle pleasantly. He sighed and just relaxed under the stream.
Movement from just beyond the shower made him crack open an eye. His glasses were off so his vision wasn't perfect, but he knew Fenrir was standing there – he had been before he'd got in after all. The wolf was still watching him, their tiny son cradled in one massive arm.
"Move over," Fenrir muttered gruffly, shrugging off the loose trousers Harry had insisted he wore outside their 'den' and setting Kirian's blanket and clothes to the side.
The water magically changed temperature just as Fenrir stepped into the shower behind Harry with Kirian in his arms – adjusting to the presence of their baby's delicate skin no doubt. Even though Fenrir and Kirian were just out of reach of the spray. Harry turned and stepped back a little more to make room in the shower for Fenrir's large frame. The water sluiced over him, warm and pleasant, relaxing.
Kirian fussed a little when Harry dabbed his arms, back and legs with a wet sponge, taking care not the stump of the cord get wet – Tonks having warned him about that before they'd even entered the bathroom. Harry smiled, brushing the backs of his knuckles over a chubby cheek before cupping the falling water in his hands and washing between tiny fingers and toes. He calmed soon enough. Contact seemed to soothe him greatly.
"You gunna do me after?" Fenrir chuckled.
Harry snorted. "Want me to change your backside too?" he mused. But the light atmosphere was sharply eradicated when Harry massaged clear water into Kirian's thick dark curls and some water splashed into the boy's eyes. He screamed bloody murder.
"Fucking shit!" Harry cried, hurriedly dabbing at his eyes and face with the towel that had been hovering outside the shower. The crying didn't stop, not even when Harry tried to pop his fallen dummy back into his mouth, he wrestled him out of Fenrir's arms and pulled him close. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He gasped frantically. "Oh, fuck, Kirian, I'm so sorry." He bit the inside of his mouth, tucking the boy's head against his neck and trying to shush him, the way he remembered when on an instinct-high. But the crying didn't stop.
"I'm such a rubbish father," Harry murmured, "can't even wash him! I can't do this, Fenrir, I'm such a–" His words were cut off as Fenrir reached forward, wrapping his arms tightly round them both and growling warningly, silencing his self-deprecation by letting the alpha in him surge forward and nip at the side of Harry's throat that bore his mark.
Harry grunted in penance, Kirian's cries softening into nothing as the panic died from the air, sandwiched safely between his parents' chests. Fenrir's displeasure, his frustration was ripe in the air. Harry kept his eyes closed, breathing slowly. A few months ago it would have made bile rise in his throat at the thought that this kind of act could calm him; he would've balked but now…
I accept it, he thought. I know he is trying to make me calm down, make me feel better the only way he knows how. The way he's been raised to. The way wolves do. And he was a werewolf, in a manner of speaking. He understood that now. The thought didn't bring so much bitterness now, only confusion and no little trepidation, when he thought of what he would do if he survived Voldemort.
"I'm bloody shit-scared as well, you know," Fenrir grunted softly against his neck, gruff voice barely audible above the sound of the shower. "The last time I was solely in charge of children, they were burned alive in front of me along with my parents…"
Harry's throat suddenly felt tight and dry. "T-That…that wasn't your fault," he said. "You were just a child yourself–"
"I was nearly the same age you are now," Fenrir said, effectively cutting him off. He glanced down, snatching up the fallen dummy, rinsing it under the shower and popping it back into Kirian's mouth. The boy sucked contentedly, nuzzling into Harry's bare chest as he stared thoughtfully at Fenrir with big, bright green eyes.
Harry watched as the usually impenetrable, hard mask of Fenrir's face softened. A huge, rough finger brushed against Kirian's cheek. The baby gurgled softly. The love in those ice-blue eyes was unmistakeable. Anyone who knew 'Greyback' purely by reputation would not have believed this was the same man.
"I won't fail you and Kirian the way I failed my brothers and sister," Fenrir growled quietly.
Tipping his head forward, Harry let his forehead rest against Fenrir's stubbly chin. He closed his eyes as he inhaled the man's earthy scent. "You didn't fail them and you won't fail us. You won't lose him." Harry inhaled deeply, stifling his pride and leaning up on his toes to wrap his free arm round Fenrir's shoulder. There, he rested his head and dragged his nose down Fenrir's neck.
Scenting was an instinctual thing, a calming act and Harry rubbed his nose and lips chastely across Fenrir's neck and shoulder, his stubbly jaw. "There are wizards and werewolves alike standing between him and danger. Nothing will happen to him." He hefted Kirian's body up slightly, looking down at the boy between their chests. He looked even smaller next to Fenrir's immense stature, almost unreal.
After some time of the silent closeness, Fenrir held Kirian while Harry dried off, then Harry took the boy, drying him gently with the softe fluffy towel Kreacher had provided, while Fenrir took his turn in the shower.
What followed were the most ordinary moments of Harry's life since he'd found out there was a baby growing inside him. It was so perfectly human – or at least it felt so, when he sat down on the closed toilet lid wearing a loose-fitting pair of jogging bottoms, a freshly dressed Kirian wrapped up in his blanket upright against his naked chest.
It was with startling ease and without thought that he massaged a swollen nipple gently to let out the first burst of milk, before drawing Kirian close to him to feed. When the tiny boy was sucking slowly and calmly, one tiny fist tight around Harry's finger, Harry looked up and watched Fenrir shower.
So normal. For that moment, it all just felt so natural and calm. He watched the water run down those shoulders, that back and finally off Fenrir's tight, muscled arse. Fenrir was more rough and thorough with the shampoo through his hair, vigorous as he soaped down and rinsed his body. Harry followed every movement thoughtfully, wondering just when he'd come to appreciate the man's body so much.
Afterwards Fenrir stood in front of the sink, dragging an open razor across his foamed up cheeks and neck. He didn't rid himself of the bristles that Harry secretly liked so much, only tidied the stragglers and Harry realised that despite knowing Fenrir did this regularly, to please him, he'd never seen him do it before.
Fenrir caught Harry watching in the mirror and smirked. "He's feeding for longer now, that's good, the flow will probably settle down after a while."
Harry just nodded, his mind elsewhere. After watching Fenrir dab off the rest of the suds and begin to splash water over his face, he finally found his voice.
"Fenrir," he began uncertainly. "When Kirian was born, Conall was there. He tried to take me away he…" Harry grit his teeth. "He turned on Kirian and I just…I was all feral and I leapt at him. I turned into a wolf and ripped his throat out."
Fenrir said nothing. He did, however, lower his razor, rinse it and set it on the side. His icy blue eyes stared at Harry in the mirror, silent and thoughtful. Harry couldn't stand it. "Say something!" he demanded, his voice harsh, quiet and ragged. "I've been so fucking scared all this time, wondering what's happening to me – if I… If there's something wrong! It's unheard of for someone like me to transform like that!"
Turning to face him then, Fenrir met his eyes, his expression untroubled, blank. "It's not unheard of. There's nothing wrong with you," he said, sounding annoyed that Harry would even suggest there was.
Harry scowled. "Care to be a little more cryptic? What the bloody hell is going on with me then? Will I become a wolf every full moon too like you?" That thought shouldn't frighten him, but it did. He'd just gotten to grips of controlling his body, his instincts, the thought that he might spontaneously transform like that…
Fenrir was standing directly in front of him then, staring down into his eyes. "I thought you'd come to accept what we are. Your life with me." His voice was gruff and hoarse as ever, but Harry could feel the hurt throbbing through their connection. The uncertainty. He knew how much Fenrir hated being uncertain. He liked to be in control even more than Harry did.
Lowering his eyes to Kirian, Harry mopped up the milk that had leaked down his chin, and leaned him forward, supporting his tiny body with one of his hands under the boy's chest. Having him here now made things…not easier, no, far from easier, but bearable. When things were difficult, he was a happy distraction, a reminder of why even the confusion and fear was worth enduring. A reminder that there was always hope.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said simply, quietly as he patted a small burp from Kirian's belly. "I don't think you're monsters – none of you. You're…you're the closest thing to a family I've ever had. In another life maybe I'd have been happy there with you all, without Him as a constant shadow over me."
Reaching down for baby Kirian, Fenrir hauled the tot up into his arms, holding him easily in one arm so that Kirian could seize his other finger, squeezing firmly, as if testing how his own tiny fist worked. "You weren't happy at all? Not once in all those months?" Fenrir asked, his voice low.
Harry winced. "I didn't mean that," he said. He stood slowly, popping the dummy back in Kirian's mouth when he began to fuss, caressing his thick dark locks. The red in them was so pronounced. He wondered if his hair would go auburn like his mother's as he grew. The thought made him both happy and a little distressed.
"I've just come to terms with who I am, with what I am," Harry murmured quietly, looking into Kirian's eyes instead of Fenrir's, that he could feel were staring into him. "I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that I…gave birth, that Kirian's here and I…" He grit his teeth, loathing how pathetic it all sounded but needing Fenrir to understand. "I'm just not ready for anything else."
A rough-skinned knuckle pushed his head up. Those calloused fingers caressed his throat in a way that, to an outsider would seem offensive or dangerous. To him it just felt…right. Fenrir's hand massaged his throat gently, his skin brushing against the mark at the side of his neck. Harry exhaled softly and Fenrir's expression softened, the hurt ebbing from his scent and presence in Harry's mind.
That comforting continuous growl was rumbling in Fenrir's throat, making Kirian yawn and rest contentedly into his bare chest. Harry smiled at the sight, just as Fenrir's thumb dipped over his adam's apple and lightly stroked the hollow of his throat. "My mother, he could turn into a wolf, his coat was silver like mine," Fenrir said, voice rough and quiet, warm.
Harry blinked, lips parting, but before he could voice his question, Fenrir spoke again in the same low voice.
"He didn't turn at the moon and it wasn't something he could do naturally, like I could, like Kirian will be able to. Wolves like you with the recessive gene, their turning isn't something they're born with it's…" he cocked his head just a fraction. As he did so, the soft lights from around the room, the sunlight glaring in through the pristine windows caught the silver in his hair and beard, the grey in his eyes. Clean and shaven he looked so young and it made something in Harry's stomach clench hotly.
"It's not something your wizards will ever know about, it's something our packs keep secret," Fenrir continued. "The only way I can explain it is…it's like the magic young wizards and witches experience before they come of age. Erratic, driven by emotion."
Harry frowned, then nodded. "When my aunt would cut my hair off it would grow back," he muttered. "When I was being beaten up by Dudley and his mates I'd find myself on the school roof. I blew up Aunt Marge when she insulted my Dad…"
Fenrir looked far too amused at that and Harry knew he was thinking of 'blew up' in a literal sense. The man chuckled and Harry scowled half-heartedly.
"That happened because you were afraid or angry, emotional highs, our kind call it," Fenrir pressed on and Harry felt his stomach twist hotly again, knowing that when Fenrir said 'our' he meant 'theirs' – his and Harry's. "It's essentially the same for those with the recessive gene, like you and my mother. When you're afraid beyond measure, angry, it will come over you."
Kirian cooed happily behind his dummy, his fingers tightening around Fenrir's index finger. "He likes my voice," Fenrir mused. Harry thought so too, but he wouldn't be so easily distracted.
"I've been plenty angry and afraid since you woke the wolf in me," Harry said tersely. "Why hasn't it happened before?"
"Because in a recessive lycan the change needs a different set of instincts, instincts that I didn't activate in you when I woke your dormant werewolf blood. The instincts that are buried deeply in your core – maternal instincts."
Harry thought he understood now. He swallowed. "I had to give birth to Kirian before it'd work." It was more of a statement than a question. He didn't give Fenrir chance to answer it either way. "You utter prick!" he hissed dangerously, shoving back from Fenrir. "You arsehole! Why didn't you tell me I might be able to turn into a wolf once he was born? Why didn't anyone else tell me?"
Fenrir glared. "Echo and the others probably thought I would. And I always hoped you'd never have to–"
"You could have told me it might happen! Bloody hell, Fenrir you absolute tosser!" Harry's hands curled into fists, magic crackling in the air around him, humming. He struggled to control himself, keep his voice down. Kirian hadn't been disturbed by his anger yet and he wanted to keep it that way. His poor boy had spent enough of his short life crying in fear and confusion.
"The one thing I've always…appreciated about whatever the fuck this is between me and you is that you've never lied to me. You've never kept things from me because you thought I was too delicate or weak. Too young. You've never kept the truth from me–"
"I've never lied to you," Fenrir said dangerously, "I can't bloody lie to you, even if I did believe in coddling you. Not with the bond."
Harry knew that – as far as Fenrir thought, he was telling the truth, or else the bond would burn with the echo of a lie. A lie that Fenrir had never given to him. No. He hadn't lied. "But you didn't tell me the truth either, which is the same thing," Harry muttered. "Don't feed me the same bollocks everyone else has given me, Fenrir. You've never mixed your words with me before, why now? Why with this?"
Fenrir grit his teeth. "I didn't lie," he growled quietly, absently untangling his hair from Kirian's grasp when the tot found a few loose strands to tug at clumsily. Fenrir looked so natural with him that for a moment, Harry forgot his anger and was overcome with a swell of endearing affection. But only for a moment.
"I didn't lie." Fenrir he said again gruffly, "I didn't not tell you because I thought you were a pussy who couldn't handle the knowledge. I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure if it would manifest in you with your werewolf magic so new and if it did I…" He grit his teeth, clenching them tight around the sound of embarrassed, awkward pain – emotional pain. The sound had only shuddered through those teeth a few times since Harry had known him and now it halted Harry's anger like a Finite over a raging Incendio.
Slowly, he dropped back down to sit on the closed lid of the toilet seat again, staring up at Fenrir cautiously. Fenrir's fear and misery – his humiliation on knowing Harry could sense it all were thick in Harry's throat. Harry frowned, a low, quiet whine leaving his own lips, drawing those pained blue eyes to him so that they could watch him as he arched his neck to the side. Instinctively he knew that Fenrir needed this, to see he was still Alpha, that feeling this pain didn't make him lesser or weaker.
That I don't think any less of him because of it, his mind supplied.
Fenrir growled back in answer, the sound almost a purr. He leant down, sniffing at Harry's neck and licking gently. In his arms, Kirian stretched and fidgeted. Fenrir looked down at him and sighed, a thick thumb brushing across a pudgy pink cheek. "I know this is the power the Dark Lord knows not," Fenrir said darkly, looking at Kirian, avoiding Harry's eyes although it was Harry he was speaking to.
Harry blinked. It was moments like these that it struck him that he and Fenrir knew each other so well in some things, yet still had so much to learn about one another in others. Fenrir still surprised him. He portrayed the visage of an oafish, meat-headed brute without sense, compassion or intelligence. But he thought on things, dwelled over them, knew things and understood things far better than he let on. He knew what Harry had meant when he'd told him the prophecy. Harry was ashamed to realise he hadn't expected him to comprehend it entirely, least of all to remember that crucial part so flawlessly. Those very words that haunted Harry's mind in consciousness and sleep.
"You were afraid if I knew in advance I'd rush off and try and use it somehow to face Him," Harry said, the words a statement, not a question. "You were afraid of losing me. You're afraid I'll leave you, one way or another."
Fenrir snarled in annoyance, whirling around and storming toward the door. Harry flew forwards with speed he'd not touched on since before he was pregnant. He slammed his palm against the door below Fenrir's arm as the man reached for it, stopping it from opening. Fenrir remained with his back to him, hand clenched around the door handle, Kirian tucked safely into his other arm. Harry growled, the sound rough with emotion and did not relax or move an inch, except to rest his forehead against Fenrir's back. He closed his eyes.
"I would have told you if you'd asked," Fenrir grumbled. "I'm not a liar. Don't call me that."
Not telling him up front was not all that different from outright lying, Harry thought, but in this case, that wasn't important because he knew Fenrir spoke the truth now. He had never lied to Harry, never deceived him, despite all his other faults.
"I know you're afraid," Harry whispered, "I am too, just…" He clenched his eyes shut tighter. "You're the only one that's ever told me how it is, no bullshit, no matter how hard the truth is. Don't…don't take that away from me, alright? I need that I…" He licked his dry lips to moisten them. His throat still hurt. It felt as if he were choking on his own emotions and Fenrir's. His nails dug into the wood of the door. "I need you."
Slowly, Fenrir turned and wrapped his free arm around Harry's shoulders, hauling Harry up against his body so that the tips of his toes just scuffed the floor, his neck tilted back as Fenrir nuzzled against his mouth and jaw. It was more intimate than a kiss somehow, because this was Fenrir's idea of a kiss. Because Fenrir made soft, desperate noises when he did this and it made Harry's stomach warm and tight. Harry wrapped an arm around Fenrir's neck and they stayed there for a minute. He knew this was Fenrir's way of promising he would do as he'd asked.
And Fenrir never breaks promises, he reminded himself. The silent moments that followed, just the three of them wrapped around each other were some of the most intimate moments of his life. He sighed, tilting his head into Fenrir's stubbly jaw and made a small, animalistic sound of contentment and affection. It just came naturally now, especially when they were like this, so close and lost in each other.
Harry wanted to confess his worries to him, his concerns about what they would both do, where they would both go and if they'd be together in the same way once Voldemort was gone. He didn't even know what he wanted, what Fenrir wanted and the words stuck in his throat. He just pressed back into that warmth and made soft, non-committal sounds in answer to Fenrir's gentle growls, Kirian mewling sleepily between them, evidently practicing his own wolfish noises. Harry smiled distantly. Despite everything else, he wished this moment could last forever.
When they finally ventured back down stairs, however, it was to find Remus, Hermione and Ron standing around the kitchen looking grim. Severus Snape was sitting at the table, clearly waiting for them and Harry knew his little reverie was about to shatter. Harry froze at the sight of him, so did Fenrir. The werewolf set a reassuring, protective and possessive hand on Harry's shoulder, pushing Kirian into Harry's arms slowly – an instinctive motion, to free his hands and keep his precious family together in the face of a threat.
But Harry knew after Remus and Hermione's explanations that Snape was not a threat, he knew everything. It didn't mean he liked it. It did, however, make him realise that Snape was more like him that he realised; dragged along by Dumbledore, by a man they both respected and loved in the name of the greater good.
Harry sighed and approached the table, sitting down opposite Snape. Hermione and Ron sat either side of him without being asked, Remus remained where he was, standing nursing a cup of tea a little way behind Snape. Fenrir stood behind Harry, hands resting on the back of Harry's chair. He loomed over them all but Harry didn't mind, it was a comfort to him, the warm shadow over his back. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle pleasantly. Hemming and Lupa were close by in the garden too, he could sense them. He felt safe, confident and empathetic with Snape. All this and the feel of Kirian's comforting weight against his chest made him more at ease, able to keep calm when he returned Snape's gaze.
"Wotcher, Professor," he said brightly.
Snape's dark eyes widened infinitesimally, then he frowned, barely withholding a sneer. "Potter," he greeted warily. "I am glad to see you…well," his gaze wandered pointedly to Kirian.
Harry smirked. For once, he had the upper hand, the advantage over his daunting Potions Professor. Snape was awkward at the sight of the baby in his arms, didn't know what to say or how to act in regards to him.
In any other situation, Harry would've smiled. As it was seeing the man again, knowing everything, it was like a bad omen. He knew his presence in this house – the house that Snape loathed nearly as much as Sirius had, was not a good sign. Still, the man regarded him and Kirian oddly, a flicker of nostalgia in his usually hard face. It made Harry fidget awkwardly. He understood that Snape wasn't evil, that he'd only done what Dumbledore had asked him – in that respect, they were both painfully similar. He respected the man and the sacrifice he had made over the years, perhaps even revered him. That didn't mean he was any less uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze.
After a long, extended silence, Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for what you might've seen last time you were here, Sir," Harry said, remembering with a flush that he'd been completely naked save for a nest of duvets the last time the man had laid eyes on him.
Snape blinked. "You were…not yourself. It is pardonable, you seem improved."
This cordial conversation unnerved him a little and Harry could only nod dumbly. He wanted to apologise for how he'd behaved after Snape had killed Dumbledore, for all the times he'd questioned his loyalty when it seemed he'd suffered just as much as Harry. He didn't think the potions master would appreciate the sentiment in front of the others, however and so he just waited for Snape to continue.
"I regret there are more pressing matters than your health," Snape said eventually. "The Dark Lord, in point of fact. He is weakening, losing his grip on reality and I think we all know why."
Harry nodded. Terrified when he'd been captured, Hermione and Ron had brought Remus and Tonks into the know. Fenrir, of course, knew as well. "The horcruxes," he said. "You think he knows we've destroyed them?"
"I do not think he knows how many you've destroyed, but his desperation has been growing since you killed Nagini. He suspects you know of them at any rate, I can tell," Snape replied. "If he goes looking for the others and finds them gone, he is disturbed enough that he may believe making more is conceivable if it saves his life. He has that little regard for his soul or sanity."
Beside him, Hermione gasped. "But he – he's split it so many ways already–"
"If he makes any more, we'll never find them," Ron muttered miserably from Harry's other side. "He's insane enough to just keep making them."
Snape, to Harry's surprise, had no biting comment or sarcastic remark, merely nodded at Ron's deduction. "I would advise we act before he gets to that." He looked seriously at Harry then. It was as if Harry were in charge, where Dumbledore had once been. Snape was treating him as the adult, the one with the responsibility. Because he knows I'm the one when it comes to Voldemort, Harry thought distantly.
"I must tell you now, I can no longer play the spy, not after today," Snape continued.
Kirian gave an unhappy whimper in Harry's arms, fidgeting. Maybe he was uncomfortable at having so many bodies around him – maybe he was just a fussy baby, Harry wasn't expert enough to know. He was only learning as he went and still felt insecure in his abilities as everyone watched him heft Kirian so he was upright, laying with his face against Harry's chest. Harry tried valiantly not to blush under everyone's scrutiny as he rubbed his back slowly.
Fenrir's hands tensed on the back of his chair and Harry glanced up to him, seeing those blue eyes warm but thoughtful. It made Harry fidget in his chair, aware that everyone was watching the exchange. But then those eyes reluctantly tore away and fixed distrustfully on Snape.
"Why can't you spy any longer then, Snape?" the werewolf grunted. Harry had told him all that Hermione had revealed, including the truth of Snape's loyalties, but it hadn't seemed to change Fenrir's opinion of the man.
Snape bristled and (to his credit) met that feral gaze without fear. "He expressed his displeasure that I could not give him Potter. After a generous amount of the Cruciatus Curse, he then told me on no uncertain terms that I was so obtain Potter and his child by whatever means necessary," he drew in a diminutive breath, "or else…"
Harry's chest felt tight. His arms tensed reflexively around Kirian. There was an unnervingly sympathetic look in Snape's eyes as he regarded them and Harry wondered if he was seeing the image as a mirror to the one from seventeen years ago, when his mother's arms had probably tightened around him in fear just like this. A sick feeling plummeted in his stomach as he thought of how she must've felt just like this, afraid for her son, afraid he'd be hurt or worse. Afraid she'd never get to see him grow up.
Harry's throat tightened. He felt sick. Fenrir, evidently swamped by the emotions rushing through him reached down and gripped his shoulders instead, a low, almost inaudible growl rumbling reassuringly in his throat. "You alright?" he muttered, "You want me to take him?"
"No," Harry said quickly, his voice breaking. "No."
Fenrir's hands didn't retreat. Harry was glad of that. He felt safe. If the others weren't watching, he probably would have curled against his side, under his chin. It was all he could do to fight back the whine that rose in his throat on instinct. Those instincts made him give his den a side-glance, urging him to crawl in there with his cub and hide. He grit his teeth and fought it back. He thought he understood things, finally. The wolf was part of him, yes but only a part. He couldn't allow it to rule him. He was still Harry Potter.
Everyone seemed to have noticed his urges, however, as they all looked surprised when he focussed back on Snape again. "It doesn't matter," Harry said at last, his voice stronger than it was before. "There's nothing now to be gained by hiding. We need to act now, before he realises how many horcruxes are gone and tries to make anymore. You're right, Snape, I wouldn't put it past him to make more – to keep himself alive at all costs. At this point I don't think he much cares about the state of his soul."
Snape, looking a little stunned that Harry had admitted he was right, took a moment before he replied. "He never set much store by it, no. I doubt he even believes in souls or hearts."
"But the fact of the matter is," Remus interjected. "We still do not have a plan of how to defeat him. How to get to him."
Snape looked briefly to Remus, apparently considering his words before focussing on Harry again. "Another reason why we must act quickly. If we can conjure a plan before I am summoned next, the mark will guide us to where he is – no matter how many wards or spells surround him," Snape gestured to his currently covered forearm.
"Such is the nature of the Dark Mark. I will be able to take you to him, but only as long as my allegiance to him is believed. If I miss a summons or return to him without you…" The barest trace of a wince touched his sallow features. "Either way, we will not have such a flawless means to get to him when he least expects it. He will never see you coming until you are there – for as paranoid as he is, as useless as he believes me to be, he trusts my allegiance."
Harry nodded tightly. He understood everything now. "That's why Dumbledore wanted you to kill him, so when the time came, Tergarletum would trust you and you could take me to him."
Snape's eyes went wide, his jaw tightened but perhaps he heard the understanding, the resignation in Harry's voice, for he did not snap back at him or growl a loathsome return. No, he merely nodded. They stared at each other. After seven years, it seemed they finally realised how similar they both were.
"He's going nowhere without me," Fenrir growled darkly, his large hands tensing on Harry's shoulders. "He may trust you, Snape but I don't. I go with him or he doesn't go."
Snape raised a brow. "Overprotective guard dog, aren't you? Indeed, not quite so terrifying fawning over an eighteen-year-old boy." Snape's face crinkled distastefully. "Practically a child himself and yet you forcefully beget a child with him? You're evidently lacking in the power and ferocity you're reputed for if you set your sights on so small a prey."
In the brief moment that Fenrir surged forward, Harry rose too, a hand out against his chest. Thankfully the table between them blocked his movement. But though the wolf inside him bristled at having his mate so blatantly disrespected, the human, the student in Harry remembered the memories he'd seen in Snape's pensieve. He remembered the scared, hook-nosed, dark-haired child and he remembered that Snape hated bullies. He remembered that Snape, for all intents and purposes, wanted to protect him, despite their past and he pushed hard at Fenrir's chest, holding him back.
The werewolf was half-crouched, ready to pounce over the table but Harry and Kirian were in front of him. Fenrir roared in loathing, in fury at Snape, his muscles tensed with power, yet held back by Harry's comparatively small hand on his chest.
"Stop it!" Harry snapped. Everyone else was standing too, wands drawn. That only served to make Fenrir more agitated. He hated wands, Harry knew that. Luckily Harry didn't need one. He dug his elbow in Fenrir's ribs, using his body weight to shove the man back further. When he was certain the wolf wouldn't leap clear over him, Harry sighed and turned back to Snape, hefting Kirian up against his shoulder.
"It's more complicated than it appears," Harry said, realising that they were all staring at him again, apparently shocked, though Harry didn't know what at in particular. He met Hermione's eye and made a note to ask her what it was that had her and the others looking at him like that, before he pressed on. "We don't have time to go into it now, but Fenrir didn't mean to…to get me…pregnant–" It was still hard to force that word out. "-And he isn't some bully. He's… Look, we have a way to get to Him, a really good way that he'll never see coming. Snape can take me–"
"Us," Fenrir grunted sharply. Before Harry could say another word, Remus spoke.
"Yes, Harry us," he said, his eyes warm and meaningful. The expressions on the faces of Ron and Hermione told him they'd be coming too. In all honesty, though he wanted to protest (and probably would later) he knew it never would've been any other way.
"We can take care of any death eaters," Remus continued. "Perhaps I can summon Bill, Arthur, Kingsley and the others." When Harry opened his mouth to object, Remus carried on. "This is our best chance, Harry. We need everyone we have – we can't afford to mess this up by being afraid to involve people. They're all members of The Order of the Phoenix, they know what they're getting into." He looked to Severus. "You can bring us all, can't you?"
Snape nodded. Apparently he agreed with the idea of strength in numbers. He'd seen how many people were at the Death Eater meetings, Harry supposed.
"So you big brave grown ups take care of the little snapdragons while Harry goes after the Horntail?" Fenrir growled, clearly displeased, despite knowing that it had to be Harry that dealt with Voldemort. Harry knew it was the idea of the 'adults' relying on him, admittedly barely a man to face Voldemort. In any other situation, Harry might even feel that same resentment. But with Kirian's warmth in his arms and Snape watching him, Dumbledore's face clearly on both their minds, he just knew now was not the time to dwell on it.
If he thought about this too much he might remember that he was just an eighteen-year-old boy, that really, he was scared shitless.
"And just what is the plan you're sending him off with to finish the Dark Lord?" Fenrir snapped. "You don't even have one, do you?"
Harry closed his eyes, hearing the fear in that bark of a voice and slowly turned to face his mate. "We have a plan," he said simply, calmly. "You said it yourself, didn't you? The power the Dark Lord knows not? He'll never see me coming. No one knows about it, not even Remus knew and he knows everything." He heard Remus shift, clearly embarrassed with Harry's conviction in those words, but Harry pushed on, watching dawning horror creep into Fenrir's eyes. Harry nodded, knowing he understood. "When I get close enough, I'll become the wolf. He'll never expect it."
Silence fell. It was so thick with tension that Harry felt suffocated by it. This was news to Ron, Hermione and Snape, who were struck dumb with shock. Remus was watching, apparently calculating Fenrir's reaction alongside Harry while Fenrir…
The alpha's entire body tensed. His eyes narrowed and his jaw set. "No," he murmured darkly. "You can't even control the transformation. You're relying on something that might not even come to you when you call it. It's suicide." His teeth were visible in his snarl and his face was hard, unmoving. "No."
Harry glared. "This isn't your decision to make," he said firmly. "I came to terms with this a long time ago – I have to do this. I will do this. I'm the only one who can and this is the only way. It was meant to be this way. Can't you see that?"
"I don't believe in prophecies or fate," Fenrir snarled.
"Then believe in me," Harry all-but pleaded, very aware of the resonating silence from everyone else in the room. "I can do this, you can teach me how to control it–"
"No."
"Fenrir," Harry began, brow furrowed in frustration. He felt the change in the air even before Fenrir moved. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"No," Fenrir snapped, stalking forwards. Drawn up to his full height, he glared down into Harry's face as he stood over him, demanding submission. Harry could feel the man's fear and helplessness and watched them morph into anger on the man's face. He watched him trying to reassert himself, try and take some power back. Harry understood but he did not surrender, not to his instincts and not to Fenrir. Not this time.
There were times for surrender and times for pushing back. He bit back the wolf inside that longed to bend its neck under that gaze and growled deep in his throat. "Then don't help me," he snapped, "but I'm doing this. With or without your help."
"And where does my son fit into all this? You gunna carry him with you into battle? Leave him here with one of your humans to grow up without you? Because that's what will happen. You will die. You will die and leave him all alone."
Harry's arms tightened around Kirian. The boy wasn't fussing or crying but had gone still and quiet, the little wolf in him telling him what to do when a battle for dominance was going on around him. "Don't use our son as a weapon to get me to do what you want," Harry hissed. "I don't care how scared you are. Don't sink that low."
Fenrir sneered, practically touching Harry now he was so close, a dangerous desperation in his expression and stance. "I'd sink lower to get you to see reason," he barked and exposed his teeth. Harry didn't move, only lifted his chin in defiance when he felt the urge to turn his neck. He stepped forward, stepped up and did not move away. The battles of wolves were fought primarily with confidence and body language rather than teeth and claws. This was why he was the Alpha Numero. He could give as good as he got.
Ron, Hermione and Remus were nearby, seemingly torn between reaching for their wands and throwing themselves bodily to his aid. Harry stilled them with a glance. He was not afraid. Fenrir wouldn't hurt him. He knew the man
well enough to know that right now, he needed Harry to push back.
"I'm not weak," Harry said at last. "I can do this. I will do this."
Fenrir roared in furious frustration then, stepping back but only to give himself room, the sound still resonating in his throat as his body morphed into the wolf. As silver fur, fangs and bright blue eyes, rimmed with gold met his gaze, Harry recalled briefly how afraid he used to be of the wolf. But no more. Fenrir was the wolf, there was nothing to fear, even with its fangs exposed and demanding surrender. He was so close Harry could feel his breath on his face. Hermione gasped and Ron drew in a sharp breath. Both they and Remus reached for their wands.
Harry stepped forward.
Fenrir snarled. Harry growled back and what he lacked in power he made up for in confidence. With his son on his hip, he glared, pushing back until the wolf snapped, whirling about and swiping angrily at the dresser. The wood and dinnerware crashed to the floor in pieces and the wolf bolted, leaping clear over Harry and the table and crashing through the window out of sight.
A long silence fell as the atmosphere in the room thinned, the tense heat from the struggle for dominance faded. Harry exhaled slowly, smiling reassuringly at Kirian, who looked perfectly content, unfazed by what had happened. It occurred to him that, like a normal wolf cub, this type of thing would probably happen around him often and was as natural to him as suckling at Harry's chest. Part of who he was, just as it was part of Harry.
Glancing round at the others in the room, who hadn't dared move, Harry smiled at them all as well, twisting his free hand and sending the broken shards of wood and china back together. The teapot looked a little…off somehow, but the dresser, plates and cups looked as good as new. With a longing glance at the cupboard, he sat down in his chair again, leaning his head back against it. He closed his eyes.
After a time, the others in the room resumed their seats too and Harry felt Hermione rest a hesitant hand on his arm. Harry cracked open his eyes, feeling a lot calmer with Fenrir's alpha pheromones out of his nostrils. Remus was making a cup of tea in the fixed teapot, seeming to be studying the one hairline crack that remained as he did so. He met Harry's eyes with awe that Harry didn't particularly like, so he turned away to look at Snape instead. The man was simply regarding him as coolly as ever.
When Remus sat a cup of tea down in front of all of them, Harry reached for it and sipped, cautious of the heat before speaking. "How much time do you think I have?" he asked Snape.
Those dark eyes studied him critically over his folded fingers. "He gave me three days."
Harry nodded and glanced down into Kirian's face as the boy gave a wide yawn. It was so short amount of time but he had to do it, for Kirian, for everyone. Even Fenrir, though he might not see it that way at that moment.
"Can you apparate us all there?" he asked.
"It is not the same as apparition," Snape said, "I do not need to explain further than that. Suffice to say I can bring as many people as required. You do not have to concern yourself with that." He glanced to Remus. "There is strength in numbers, as they say."
Harry nodded.
"It might take a lot out of you, to carry so many with you," Remus murmured.
Snape glared disdainfully. "I will do what needs to be done," he said tartly. "You and I will send word to the others to convene here as soon as possible. We need to prepare." With that, he swept to his feet and around the table, pausing on his way toward the door. He glanced at Harry, hesitating, then with an air of half-heartedness, glided to Harry's side. It was as if he were being persuaded by an invisible hand.
Harry lifted his chin, feeling every inch the eleven-year-old again with Snape towering over him, staring down into his face. Kirian turned at the presence, curious and more aware than a human child of his age, staring up with dazzling green eyes at the dark figure.
Severus Snape blinked and his breath caught in his chest at the sight. His dark gaze roved Harry's face, then Kirian's before coming to rest on Harry again. When he spoke, his voice was hushed and hoarse. "You have your mother's eyes. Both of you do." That voice, it was so rough with emotion, so revealing. The man swallowed hard, as if trying to find his usual snide tone somewhere deep within himself. But it was too late. Harry had seen the look on his face and could guess what it meant.
Something heavy like lead plummeted in his belly. Holy fuck. The doe Patronus – that he now knew was Snape's, thanks to Hermione. Did it mean what he now thought it meant?
Harry swallowed then, his mouth and lips suddenly dry. "Sir?" he asked, uncertain – of himself, of Snape, of what he thought he knew.
"You are more like her than Potter, no matter what they say," Snape whispered, for Harry's ears only, dark gaze focussed on Kirian. His hand twitched where it hung at his side, moving as if to touch the infant, but the man seemed to catch himself just in time and tensed, not allowing the limb to move.
Taking a deep breath, Harry managed to find his voice. "He has auburn in his hair," he said, the words sounding thick and stupid in his own ears. "I think he'll take after mum."
"Good," Snape said, apparently before he could stop himself. He blinked, as if escaping a trance and took a few steps back, his mask falling into place. "Anything would be preferable than the infant taking after Greyback of all people – if your mate can be considered a person." The usual, derisive sneer was back and Harry couldn't help himself, he smirked. He knew the truth. Snape didn't need to confirm it.
"Thank you, Sir," Harry said, holding those eyes so the man understood. He hefted Kirian a little higher on his hip; belatedly realising Severus had probably seen (or at least imagined) Lily in a similar position with him eighteen years before. He wondered if the sight had hurt him enough to make him this bitter, or if it had been her death that had sealed the darkness in his heart. He supposed he would never know, because Severus Snape merely nodded and turned, sweeping out of the room.
"Harry?" Remus asked after a short silence. "Are you...? That is…after Greyback's episode are you alright?"
Harry turned to face Remus, then glanced out the window pensively. "He'll be alright. He'll come back once he's let off some of the rage."
Remus frowned. "I asked if you were alright, Harry."
"I'm not afraid of him. He may be a big grumpy arse but he'd never hurt me, Remus." He frowned at the man. "I know what you thought you saw just now, but that's just–" He ran a hand through his unruly locks in frustration. Why was it so hard to explain this to people? Had he found it so hard to understand at the beginning? It felt like second nature now – maybe even first nature. "–It's just an alpha thing. You should know, Remus, the balance between wolves is hardly ever physical. It's all about who has the biggest balls – so to speak," he added hastily when Hermione blushed and Ron made a choking noise.
"Look," he continued, sitting back in the chair, sitting Kirian mostly against his chest so he could swap supporting arms. "Trust me, alright? You saw how angry he got just then and he still didn't touch me. He wouldn't. He'd sooner bite off his arm, alright? Couldn't you see that? Even Snape could see that."
Surprisingly, it was Ron that answered. "I saw it, mate," he said, taking a seat directly next to Harry. Harry tensed but the urge to flinch away was not as strong as the realisation that his friend was trying to understand him. Ron smiled fractionally at the gesture and pressed on, glancing to Kirian briefly as he did so. "I saw him, I saw you. I just don't know how you controlled him – made him stop even though we were all scared shitless!" He blushed so dark even the tips of his ears went maroon. "I froze up, mate. I'm man enough to admit that."
Hermione cleared her throat, her hands resting on Ron's shoulders as she came to stand behind him, looking at Harry. "What he means to say is that Greyback is so strong, Harry. You've always been brave; goodness knows you faced Voldemort when you were eleven years old. I just don't understand how you made him back down without even blinking."
With a frown, Harry looked at each of them in turn. "I didn't control him, I know our relationship is hard to understand but it's not about controlling each other. It's…" He hesitated, wondering how best to explain the dynamics between an alpha pair. He peered up at Remus, who probably understood it the best. "We're connected," he flushed a little. "We're a mated pair. We can feel what the other is feeling; we use body language to gauge how far we can push the other. We don't…we're not monsters. We don't beat each other into submission. He knows how far he can push me, when I mean what I'm saying, when I will hold my ground."
Slowly, he ran a hand over Kirian's dark hair and stroked the nape of his neck gently, thoughtfully. The tiny baby sighed gently and made a whimpering contented sound into his chest. Harry felt the tension drain from his limbs before glancing out of the window again. "He knows and he respects my decisions, even if he doesn't agree with them."
Hermione nodded slowly, disbelievingly, staring at Harry as if she were trying to figure him out, decipher some hidden meaning behind his words. Ron leant forwards on the table, hands wrapping around a half-empty teacup. He stared at it, gripped it as if it were his lifeline for a long while before he spoke. "How did you get Fenrir Greyback to fall in love with you?" he asked, voice a barely-there whisper.
Harry froze. "I… What?"
Ron gave him an awkward look. "It's bloody obvious, isn't it? I didn't even think you were gay, mate. I mean with Ginny and Cho and all, but he's completely under your thumb – the most fucking terrifying man in England besides You Know Who himself and he's…" Ron blushed darker than ever before, looking a little bit sick. "He's…smitten or something."
Harry's face flamed. "I… He's not… We're not…" His voice faltered. He stared down at Kirian to hide the uncertainty and embarrassment in his eyes. Wasn't that just the crux of the problem? He didn't know what they were to each other and he didn't know what was coming if they survived Voldemort either. Rocking Kirian slightly against his chest, he rubbed his back in slow, thoughtful circles that were just as calming to him as they were to his son.
Kirian would need and want both of them, of course. They would need to do what was best for him, but aside from that, what did they want from one another? What did Fenrir want to do once Voldemort was dead? What did Harry want? A heavy, inescapable weight settled in his belly and chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe…
A warm hand rested on his and he jumped, startled at such an innocent touch. It was still hard to get used to, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. He smiled up at Hermione in what he hoped was an appropriate mix of apology and thankfulness. Both of his friends just sat with him in understanding silence for a while, accepting that he didn't have an answer – not for them or for himself.
"I need to try and turn into a wolf," Harry said at last, glancing out the window again. Fenrir, Hemming and Lupa were nowhere in sight. Odd. He hoped no unsuspecting muggles saw them, especially in the state they were in. An image of muggles with hunting rifles closing in on the three bear-sized wolves came unbidden to his mind and he shuddered, even though logically he knew they would be alright.
"Will you help me?" he asked his friends, realising Fenrir wouldn't be back until he'd calmed down – and then asking him to help probably wouldn't be the most practical idea. Ron and Hermione looked eager. Perhaps because it was like old times, like their youth spent as a trio solving problem after problem. Harry smiled at the thought, knowing his friends saw this as a bridge for the gap that had grown over their few months apart.
Slowly, with every muscle in his body screaming in negation, Harry rose and stood before his friends. With a wince, gritted teeth and with breaths coming out in laboured pants, he forced himself with every fibre of his being to offer Kirian down into Hermione's arms.
Hermione stared with wide, shocked eyes, not moving at first, as if it were a trick.
Harry grunted. "Take him, quickly – I can't–" Before he changed his mind! Hermione, seeming to understand what he was doing, took Kirian carefully, supporting his tiny head and pulling him in close to her body. The little boy whimpered at being distanced from Harry, his face wrinkling a little in uncertainty, but did not cry. Harry was thankful. He did not think even his determined resolve could withstand that.
Quickly, he forced himself a few steps back, well out of the way and lowered himself to his knees – which he only just realised were shaking. He saw the realisation strike Ron's eyes as he looked up at his friends and his son from the floor. His heart was hammering now, sweat beading across his skin. The tiny hairs on his flesh prickled and his nails dug into the flagstone floor at the absence of his cub from his arms, at the sight of someone else holding his son's vulnerable body.
Harry felt the wolf roaring in negation inside, clawing at his throat in desperation. He growled back at it, as if daring it to come forth, the instinct that had awoken in him that night in the den, when he'd ripped Conall's throat out with his teeth. No. His fangs.
It was like a rush of adrenaline bursting through his veins. Like white-hot fire licking through every limb. Every appendage shook as if wrapped in livewire. He screamed as it tore through him. He grit his teeth so hard his gums ached. Everything hurt. The world was shifting, jerking violently as he quivered. He could feel something sharp piercing his gums. His spine arched of its own volition and sent him sprawling forward onto his hands and knees.
"Harry?" Ron asked, panic in his voice. "Mate?"
"Harry?" Hermione's voice then.
Through the spasms, through the throbbing pain of boiling blood pounding and his innards twisting and shifting, Harry forced his head back with a jerk to look at them. Ron now stood uncertainly, one arm on Hermione's chair, eyes wide as they looked on. Hermione was white and her arms were wrapped tightly around his baby boy. His son fussed, unaccustomed to being so far away from Harry and the little sound of confusion was enough to send a wave of spiralling pain through Harry's back legs. They were were ripped out from under him with the force of bones snapping and growing.
This was unlike before. It was slower with the 'threat' to his cub not as serious, now he was leaning into it, seizing the wolf within by the scruff and taking advantage of what it wanted instead of pushing it down. He was now forcing it out, bringing it to the surface like dragging the weight of Ron's body from the depths of the Black Lake. Only stronger, more painful, but just as instinctual. "Come on!" He roared but half way through, the sound turned to a snarl and a howl of pain as his arms flew forward, twisting and crunching with the change. Harry landed on his tender chest hard, glasses flying out of the way, out of sight and he writhed.
"Harry?" Hermione gasped, jerking forwards but at the last minute Ron pulled her back, dragging her away from Harry.
"No!" Ron said urgently and the human in Harry was intensely grateful. They'd come this far. It hurt so much. If she brought Kirian closer the urgency that he'd built the wolf up into would fail and he would lose his grip on it. It would be for naught. He knew somehow if he could force it out just this once it wouldn't be as hard again next time, he just knew it.
"Get back, Hermione!" Ron insisted. "It's the wolf, right? It needs to feel…threatened." Ron looked uncertainly to Harry. Harry screamed and tried to nod, frantically – he hoped his best friend understood. They must have, for Ron and Hermione scrambled back, putting the entire table between them and Harry. It did the trick. From his place on the floor, Harry could only see Ron and Hermione's legs, could not see Kirian at all. He could only hear his increased fussing, his tiny lungs expanding with the need to see him.
The wolf howled through his human lips. How could he not answer his cub's cries? He had to. He needed to see him, to hold him. His fingers arched and snapped on the stone. His skin was pierced from the inside by a thousand hot needles as fur grew from it – all over. It was right there, on the cusp. He must've looked like the fabled 'wolf-men' from muggle horror films, writhing, whimpering and snarling on the floor. But this was not the full form; he needed the wolf to taste victory, to reach his cub.
Dragging himself across the floor with semi-transformed, awkward limbs, he choked as fangs pierced his gums and grew up, deforming his still mostly human mouth. His eyes flashed gold and his vision sharpened. As did his other senses. He smelled those keeping his son from him but he also sensed…
Harry's head whipped from side-to-side on instinct. Even through the fog of pain he felt the presence of four wolves. From the right, in the arch of the stairwell stood a dark-furred, skinny, shabby looking wolf. To the left, his mate stood, obscenely large in the kitchen, the two pack-mates behind him. Harry writhed and yelped as more bones snapped in semi-transformation, edging closer to the full form but slowing now.
No! His human mind wailed desperately, feeling his grip on the wolf slipping through his fingers like butter. No! No! No!
Suddenly, sensing his panic, Fenrir surged forward with a furious growl, snapping ferociously near Harry's face. Harry flinched and rolled to the side but snapped his less-impressive, quasi-human jowls back at him, unwilling to submit. Their cub needed him, couldn't he see that?
The alpha growled again, deeper, angry still, his fury, frustration and fear thick in Harry's lungs until he was chocking on it. The silver wolf snapped, only just missing Harry's ear and Harry whined in distress when his cub cried in earnest. A flash of dark brown bolted towards them from the stairwell and a now fully transformed (albeit shabby) brown wolf stood over Harry, skinny but every bit as determined and angry as the larger, silver alpha.
Evidently new to this, despite his age, having never learned the ways of wolves in all his years, the brown wolf seemed to think Fenrir was the threat Harry was in anguish over. He didn't realise that Fenrir's aggressive behaviour was an act to help him toward his goal. The brown wolf thought the alpha was the source of his cries, not the distance between Harry and his cub. Harry whined again, pawing at him, trying to make him understand in his still half-transformed agony.
Fenrir's jealousy flared in his throat at the sight of him touching at another and the wolf dove, nipping in reprimand at Harry's half-formed hind leg. In response, the brown wolf growled warningly, his teeth bared even in the face of the alpha's fury. His ears slicked back and he dove for Fenrir's throat.
Remus. No. Moony.
~To Be Continued…