A/N: Echo's surname is mentioned in this chapter: Bayard - pronounced 'Bay' as in the type of beach and 'ud' with the 'u' said as in 'up' but with a 'd'. It is of French origin, and the meaning of Bayard is "auburn-haired" to match Echo's tawny wolf coat.
Hope you all had a lovely Christmas :) I'm just curious by the way - what are things you guys all want to see before the end of the story?
Thanks again for sticking with me this far, hope you're still all enjoying it ^_^
.: Chapter Twenty-Two :.
Hard Truths
Harry groaned in relief as his human body finished merging back from that of the wolf. He sagged forward onto his hands and knees, pulling the fur cloak around his naked body with one hand and forcing himself to lift his head to double check that Kirian was still sleeping soundly. He was.
It had taken more effort to hand him over to Kreacher than it had to attempt the transformation for the fourth time that morning. Kreacher looked so uncharacteristically happy though, euphoric and more reminiscent of Dobby than his old self. He'd been positively jubilant when Harry had reluctantly called him to watch Kirian while he transformed. He hadn't been required to do much except rock the newly transfigured bouncer when the infant stirred, but he was watching him with huge, round, glistening eyes and such a soft expression that Harry felt a bit less concerned about the elf taking charge.
Kreacher had been helping him since he'd arrived without making his presence known, doing what Harry needed without him even needing to ask. He'd been longing for this, to be allowed close to Kirian. Harry watched them now, remembering how much happier Kreacher had been in the days before he, Ron and Hermione had been forced away from Grimmauld Place. It seemed that Kirian's presence had made the elf's rehabilitation complete and Harry wondered if this was what the elf had been like before he'd lost Regulus...
"It's no mean feat that you can trust another with him you know," Hermione said from where she sat on the patio near to Kirian, her eyes roving the pages of the book she was reading. Ron was sprawled out beside her, watching Harry's attempts to transform at will with a brow furrowed in concern. They and Fenrir were all outside in the garden, making the most of the space and the fresh air since this would be where their new visitors would be arriving anyway. Remus and Hemming had both vanished to retrieve their entourage and were expected shortly.
Harry shrugged, pushing himself back to a more respectable seating position, sweaty and panting for breath still. Fenrir was crouched beside him, watching silently. He knew how much it took to let Kirian out of his arms for even a second.
"The pack have been known to share babysitting duties but not until some time after the cub is born," Hermione continued, "that you can let him be so much as a foot away from you is a tribute to your strength of mind."
Harry snorted. Somehow, he thought Snape at least might disagree about his strength of mind.
"Kreacher cannot hurt young master even if he is being a bad elf and wanting to!" Kreacher declared in his ragged, croaked tone. He looked back to a sleeping Kirian adoringly. "It is being built into the elves' being! We cannot hurt children, not even under pain of death!"
Harry gave Kreacher a crooked smile. He'd heard this speech when he'd first called Kreacher to take this task, with the elf prostrated in uncharacteristic gratitude at his feet. In was quite…sweet, in Kreacher terms anyway.
"I know you wouldn't hurt him, Kreacher," Harry said, speaking the truth. He just knew, even if his instincts disagreed. Kreacher blinked at him with a mixture of relief and pride, then turned back to Kirian, watching for so much as an out of place breath. Harry smiled warmly.
The instincts bubbling in his belly like acid were easier to control for some reason with him flickering in and out of transformation. It was as if the more control he gained over his wolf body, the more he gained over himself as a whole. This morning before he'd allowed Kreacher to watch him, he'd even been able to watch Hermione hold him with the happiness far outweighing the unease.
"Your wolf most likely sees them as pack now anyway," Fenrir grunted.
Ron shifted uneasily, still not entirely comfortable with Fenrir – Harry supposed he could understand that.
"Is that some wolf way of saying we're like family?" Ron asked, bemused.
Harry smiled in answer, then looked back to Fenrir. "Who exactly is coming this morning?" he asked, his breathing a little more even now, his heart rate settling back down. They'd made a sort of routine now. Transform, rest, wait, transform back, rest, wait. It was still easier to 'rest' as a human than a wolf, it was still a struggle to hold the wolf form but he could at least move while a wolf now, rather than lay there and grit his teeth against the retreat. He had to be able to move more freely as the wolf when Kirian wasn't in danger right in front of his eyes or this wouldn't work.
"Your Lupin is bringing half the Order, s'far as I've heard," Fenrir grumbled, clearly annoyed at the idea. Harry wondered if any of the older members were involved in the culling of the wolves, some of them weren't overly fond of Remus after all. He hoped that wasn't the case. He didn't think it was. Probably just Fenrir being his usual anti-wizard self. Harry smirked, wondering when Fenrir's sociopathic nature had become endearing to him.
"Out of our lot, Hemming's bringing Echo, Marrok, Raquelle, Larentia and Malfoy."
"Malfoy counts as one of your lot?" Ron choked. Harry had told them how Malfoy had come to join them in the valley, although he had omitted how close Malfoy and he had gotten. He flushed as he recalled the hazy memory of inviting Malfoy into his den of furs when he'd been in labour. Oh, Merlin, he hoped Malfoy wouldn't bring that up; he might just die of mortification.
"They'll be here any time now," Fenrir continued, "and you need as much practice as you can get. Again, come on."
"Perhaps he should have a rest?" Hermione suggested, worrying her lip as she peered up from her book, still hesitant about Fenrir but unable to hold in her opinion, Harry thought. He smiled breathlessly in her direction. He'd missed her and Ron so much. No matter how much had happened since he'd been taken, this closeness would never fade.
"We're like…I don't know…triplets or something," he'd tried to explain to Fenrir earlier, tried to make him understand how important they were to him before they'd ventured back in for breakfast that morning. "We have this bond. It's always been the three of us. They're like my family, my pack, alright?" At least Fenrir seemed to have understood that comparison. He'd been making an effort at least.
"He can handle it," Fenrir replied gruffly, eyes flicking to Harry, who gave him a small smile in answer to his confidence. Fenrir who Harry thought had apologised to the Weasleys for scarring their son, though he wasn't one hundred percent sure – he hadn't had chance to ask Mr or Mrs Weasley yet. Fenrir who wanted to protect him, wanted him to be safe but didn't treat him like a child.
Alpha Numero, Harry thought distantly. His equal.
"He's just given birth!" Hermione choked.
"I heal fast, Hermione, really," Harry assured her. "Werewolf, remember? Besides…" He looked to Kirian, who was sucking happily at his dummy, content and oblivious to the troubles of the world. Harry might not have wanted him at first or understood what a monumental responsibility he would be, but he did now. He loved him more than anything and would give everything to keep him from the kind of life he himself had lived.
"I don't have a choice," he continued. "I have to finish him or this war will go on until everyone I care about is dead or worse. I can't allow that, I couldn't…" He couldn't let anyone else die because of him. "I need to do everything I can to prepare myself," he finished, shrugging the cloak off as his body began to crack with the shift.
He grit his teeth against the grunt of pain that tried to escape. It still hurt, still made his body rush with adrenaline and panic but his instincts weren't in control now when his body changed. It was definitely becoming easier to summon the shift; he just had to hold it now. Fenrir's eyes stayed riveted to his the whole time, unconcerned but firm. He knew Harry could do it, he wouldn't be so calmly accepting of his decision to move headlong into the fray if he didn't. Harry just hoped he could live up to that confidence.
Harry knew the moment that Malfoy and the others arrived. His head shot up from where he lay crouched on the grass, human at the moment and panting under the cover of the cloak once more. There was no breeze but their scents carried across the grass to him and he saw the bushes part as Malfoy scrambled through first, closely followed by Echo, Hemming, Marrok, Raquelle and Larentia. They all looked immediately to him, evidently remembering the last time they had seen him in the throng of battle.
With a mixture of satisfaction and horror, Harry saw Malfoy blush and then lift his chin as if in defiance of it, approaching first. Harry staggered to his feet, his body still ringing with the ache of pain from the change. "Alright, Malfoy?" he asked.
The blond frowned. "Ecstatic, Potter. I got my head bashed in for you, you know," Malfoy drawled. He seemed perfectly fine, however, which Harry supposed meant Echo had healed the wound for him. How long had it been since the battle now? Since he'd last seen the valley?
Harry smirked. "Yeah, thanks." He felt awkward but still no less relieved to see the git, to see all of them. He smiled over Malfoy's shoulder at the others as they came to stand before him. Harry felt the tension from Ron and Hermione, clearly uncertain while Fenrir moved forward to greet each of the pack members, his large fists clapping the backs of their necks in silent thanks that they had come when he needed them most. Raquelle and Larentia bowed their heads quickly, Raquelle with a smile, Marrok and Echo both clasped Fenrir's forearm in their own reassurance. They would be here until the end, one way or another.
Raquelle barrelled forward and wrapped Harry in a tight embrace, no restraint shown and Harry let out a grunt of surprise as she slammed into him. "So worried, we all were," she gushed, pulling back to scan his face carefully. Harry smiled sheepishly. He'd known for some time that he was important to them all, if he hadn't before then watching them all stand firm to protect him in the face of chaos at the valley would have proven it. What he hadn't bargained on was how much he cared about them.
"I'm sorry I worried you," he said, feeling emotion clench in his chest. He glanced up just in time for Echo to clap him on the shoulder and squeeze, for Marrok to beam at him with dark, glistening eyes and take his Harry's hand in both of his own large dark ones. Harry, thinking about how Fenrir and Echo talked about Marrok's crush on him, blushed but smiled up at him as well, grateful to see him safe.
Around the great hulk of Marrok's torso, Harry saw Fenrir greet Malfoy too in the same way as he had the others and smirked at the sight of Malfoy frozen in confusion as to what to do, at being treated the same as everyone else in the pack – even by the alpha who hadn't wanted him at first.
"You kept Harry safe," Fenrir said quietly, for werewolf ears only. "Even if my beta hadn't chosen you, you've more than earned your place now. Werewolf or not."
Malfoy nodded, visibly swallowing, looking up at Fenrir but not into his eyes. Harry thought werewolf etiquette was coming easier and easier to Malfoy, and he could not help but notice how clearly Malfoy smelled of Echo now. He flushed, knowing that their pack members could smell how close he and Fenrir had been last night. That was something he didn't think he'd ever get used to and he certainly wouldn't be mentioning it to Malfoy either. Not if he wanted Malfoy to keep that memory of being invited into his hollow during labour to himself. He cringed inwardly.
Movement behind him made him remember the others and he glanced back to see a faithful Kreacher standing guard by a wide-eyed Kirian. Hermione and Ron were both on their feet beside him, looking a bit lost. "Sorry guys, Hermione, Ron, Kreacher, these are…" He faltered momentarily, wondering if he should phrase it in a way they understood. He wanted them to understand that something significant had changed while he had been gone but he wanted them to be a part of that too.
"They're pack, like…like family. Raquelle, Marrok, Echo, Larentia and you know Malfoy," he couldn't help but notice Ron scowl at that. Some things never changed. "All of them have fought for me, yes even Malfoy, Ron," Harry added when the red-head's mouth opened to broach argument. "They're here because they want to help me, because I'm…important to them. They care about me. I know you all do too, so just…treat each other with respect, please? Yes, I mean Malfoy too, Ron."
Ron's mouth snapped shut and his brow furrowed. "I don't get it, mate. They… I know you're kind of one of them or one with them and all that but… They held you prisoner! How can I respect that? I'll stand by you, mate. I'll do what needs to be done but you said it yourself, at the start; Greyback dragged you out there and made you into one of them. It saved you from You Know Who but he still changed you against your will! It just feels like you're doing what you've always done, made the best out of a shitty situation."
Beside him, Hermione said nothing, evidently seeing Ron's point. Harry could not help but see it too, even if he didn't agree. He felt tension rippling off of Fenrir and glanced back to him and their pack-mates, before turning to look at Ron again. Harry dragged a hand up through the hair at the back of his neck, still unhappy with being the centre of attention after a childhood of being ignored.
"Look," he said with an exasperated sigh. "I can't explain it when I don't even really understand it myself. But…" he looked down at Kirian, who was staring straight back at him, wriggling in that way that signalled he was about to start fussing soon. He was getting better at anticipated his needs. Perhaps he wouldn't be such a bad parent after all, if he lived.
A shake of his head cleared his mind of thoughts like that.
"Mate," Ron said, almost pleadingly this time. "I spoke up for Greyback and you in front of my parents because you needed me to. I'll do it again if you need me to and you're a survivor, we all know that. But this is…this isn't something you just survive. This is your life. You have to live it."
"That is probably the single most intelligent thing you have ever said, Weasley," Malfoy said. Oddly enough, the familiarity of his empty, snide interjection eased the tension in Harry's chest. He gave a snort of laughter at Malfoy's words and stepped forward to pluck Kirian out of the bouncer and into his arms. He hadn't realised how uneasy and tense he'd felt without him until he felt the rush of relief flood him at that familiar warmth against his chest. He smiled thoughtfully, tucking the blanket tighter around Kirian as that face turned to press against him.
"Piss off, Malfoy," Ron snapped.
"I've never felt more alive, Ron," Harry interjected, those simple words stunning everyone in the vicinity to silence. He looked at his two best friends who he had shared everything with – nearly everything and willed them to understand. "I can't really explain it any better than that, but I told you, Fenrir made mistakes and he had to make up for them and I…I didn't have to choose him, once the werewolf in me had awoken, I mean. But I did, the wolf did – and the wolf and me are the same thing, alright?" he flushed darkly, as did Ron and Hermione.
The others were all listening with rapt attention too and Kirian was nuzzling into him in that way that meant he wanted food. That and the fact that he wasn't wearing anything under the cloak, the entire situation really couldn't get more embarrassing, really. "When I know what's going in my head you'll be the first to know. Can we not talk about this right now?" His cheeks were burning.
He knew his friends would support him, had supported him with the Weasleys. They were doing their best not to make things even more difficult, they would be there for him, they just wanted to understand. He couldn't blame them for that.
To his surprise, Marrok was the one to break the veil of awkwardness. "So are you going to introduce us then?" he said, his thick, deep voice rich as he inclined his body to bring his face level with Kirian's. Harry noticed that he was just out of reach though, as if he knew Harry was still a little uneasy with the personal space around his son. He probably did know, Harry realised, shifting the tiny body in his arms so that his pack-mates could see.
He couldn't help but notice that Malfoy was the quickest to come stand at Marrok's side for a closer look. He met the blond's inquisitive eyes with a kind smile but said nothing. He thought he understood Malfoy, perhaps better than the blond realised. He was alright.
"This is Kirian," Harry said, still feeling peculiar, being a parent. He definitely wasn't old enough or wise enough but he hoped he would simply be enough. He was doing alright so far. Kirian was sucking happily on his dummy, reaching out with a tiny hand without really meaning to He wasn't able to control the limb yet but ended up patting Marrok's dark, stubbly cheek regardless.
Those dark eyes widened in reaction before flicking up to Harry, who nodded his assent, pushing back the wave of unease. This big, dark, friendly giant was perhaps the one most willing to die for him here, besides Fenrir and it was that thought and the warmth and unrequited adoration in Marrok's face that allowed Harry to pass the tiny baby into someone else's arms, someone other than Hermione and Fenrir for the first time.
Marrok's huge arms dwarfed Kirian's tiny blanketed body but the unease was still manageable and Harry smiled up at the picture they made. "He's small," Harry said, voice sounding peculiar. If things had been different, would he have picked Marrok? Echo? Another wolf? Or would it always have been Fenrir? He caught his mate's eyes, ice blue and focussed on him with such unreadable intensity that it made Harry look away to avoid blushing again.
"Big for a wolf cub," Marrok said, eyes only for Kirian now. "He's bloomin' perfect, Harry." His nostrils flared subtly as he sniffed in what Harry knew was Kirian's unique, sweet, fresh smell.
"He smells healthy and happy, well done, Harry," Echo said from where he stood at Malfoy's side, one hand on Malfoy's shoulder.
Kirian blinked in innocent awe at Marrok's striking face and lost his dummy with the open-mouthed babbling that followed. Marrok laughed, a rich, warming sound and to Harry's surprise, when Kirian began to cry for his dummy, Marrok just popped it back in. "He's a needy little thing," Marrok chuckled, "he'll be spoiled rotten back with the pack. Amoux and Accalia will be so happy to see him."
When he looked Harry in the eye again, Harry was staggered by the emotion there. Ron and Hermione had gone silent behind him at the sight of it. "You've given us a great gift, Harry. He's…precious. Perfect. More than that, the pack wouldn't be the same without you." He seemed to realise what he'd said then, for he shifted Kirian in his arms distractedly and looked away from Harry's face. "They all miss you. They were frantic when they realised you were gone."
Harry nodded. "I'm sorry everyone worried," he said, not knowing what else to say. He felt oddly homesick. He missed Amoux, Accalia and the others, especially Vilkas. He felt a little cheated of the way it should've been, the way he should've been able to show Kirian to them all at once. Hopefully there was still time for that. After Voldemort was gone.
After a little while Kirian began to fuss and Harry's urge to take him back into the safety of his arms swelled. He wondered distantly if Kirian's mewling made the instincts worse or if the swell of his instincts made Kirian fuss when he was away from him. Perhaps the instinctual urge to be close worked both ways?
They moved inside, where they all gathered around the kitchen table. Harry glanced longingly at his cupboard when Kirian started to nuzzle into his chest in a telltale manner, but it felt like an act of cowardice, weakness to hide away at the first urge from his instincts. Conversation flowed around him over cups of tea and flagons of firewhisky. He nursed his tea with one arm bouncing a fussing Kirian, who was trying to latch onto him through the cloak.
"He wants feeding."
Harry glanced up at that soft whisper to look at Echo, who was sat just one seat away from him, with only Malfoy to separate them. Harry flushed. Fenrir, who was beside him, hadn't noticed and was still arguing some point about Harry's transformation with Hermione and Raquelle, while on Harry's other side, between him and Echo, Malfoy glanced to Kirian, evidently having heard the comment. Harry caught Malfoy's eye and cleared his throat of awkward embarrassment – not for the first or last time. This was still very, very weird.
"He's greedy, he always wants feeding," Harry said, by way of answer. "It's starting to hurt." It was both reassuring and mortifying to see Malfoy blush out of the corner of his eye. He's just as awkward as me, Harry thought with satisfaction.
"Merlin's balls, Potter," Malfoy gasped, long pale fingers tense around his mug of Earl Grey. "Please don't tell me you…I mean it's actually possible for you to? It's odd enough seeing you with a…bump and now a baby–"
"It's no less odd for me, Malfoy, trust me," Harry murmured, looking down at Kirian who was scowling up at him, tight little fists twitching in an attempt at a demanding flail. "It's pretty bloody peculiar. Being a Dad. Being…" He still couldn't say pregnant, he just couldn't.
"A mum?" Malfoy drawled.
"Piss off," Harry muttered without any malice, seeing the tiniest of smirks touch Draco's mouth. Harry mimicked the expression. "You know, pack members are meant to help with taking care of the baby. You can have your first nappy change if you like?"
Draco made a face. "Do I look like the nappy changing sort, Potter? No, that is something I will leave to the most proficient."
"Yeah, I was born to kill You Know Who and wipe shit," Harry snorted, bantering with Malfoy was just so…normal. It helped to quell the unease that had been building in him since last night.
"You really should start to watch your language, Harry," Hermione began, "they say they can pick things up at a very young age. And werewolf cubs are meant to be so advanced-"
"It's not me you should be saying that to," Harry mused, "tell Fenrir."
Whether she felt brave enough to confront Fenrir Greyback on his use of language or not, however, would remain a mystery because at that moment Kirian squealed in frustration, effectively cutting across any conversation. Harry glanced to the curtain hiding his cupboard from view and sighed. No. It was all very well embracing his wolf but he couldn't forget the human part of him – the human part that had already spent far too much of his life in cupboards.
"I'll be back in a sec," he said, rising to his feet and ascending the stairs. As he reached the top and moved into the hall, he heard footsteps coming after him but didn't have to turn to know who it was. Ron looked awkward but earnest, shifting slightly on his feet as they stood together in the hall. With his ears flushed pink, Ron was looking everywhere but at him, but still, he was trying. That alone made Harry smile. "Alright, mate?" he asked.
Ron cleared his throat unnecessarily. "Just… Look," he said in an 'at last' sort of tone. "I've been around loads of kids in my time and their mums – we were really close to Tonks since she had Teddy pretty much as soon as they arrived here and… I just want you to know that, well, women find it bloody weird too, mate. All the stuff you're thinking, all the stuff you're trying not to be afraid of – I know that's just you, pushing through it and acting like it doesn't bother you but… You're not alone. And you're not some sort of freak, either." He finally met Harry's eyes then.
Harry shifted Kirian up his shoulder a little, swaying him just slightly to ease the fussing. For some reason, the fact that that information had come from an awkward yet honest Ron made it more meaningful than anything else. Ron who, like him never knew the right thing to say and probably found it hardest to accept everything. But he was trying anyway; he was still here and in the middle of a war too – because he cared. They all did.
Harry had been so afraid they would judge him, hate him. That they'd leave him when they realised what had been happening since April, when they realised how much he'd changed. But if they were still here by his side now, in the middle of all this madness, he thought that maybe if they all survived, they would be alright – whatever happened.
"Thanks," he said softly, unsure as ever how to express his gratitude for Ron's friendship. "I'm glad you're here," he added. Ron smirked, a sign that he understood.
Just then, down the hall, the front door opened and a windswept looking Remus stepped in, followed by a precession of bodies, some Harry recognised as Order members and his old professors, some completely new faces. They all piled into the cramped hall quietly, evidently having been told about Mrs Black's portrait and at last the door closed behind them.
"Into the kitchen," Remus whispered, stepping back against the wall and letting them all pass him. But everything stopped when they saw Harry.
"Is that Harry Potter?" a woman's voice murmured.
"Why has he got a baby?" a man questioned.
"Do you think that means Greyback is around here somewhere?" a third, raspy female voice.
At last someone stepped through the crowd, breaking through the stalemate. Kingsley walked toward Harry without a moment's hesitation and clapped him on the shoulder firmly. "It's good to see you, Harry Potter," he said, squeezing firmly before letting go, glancing down at the fussing tot in his arms. His eyes widened slightly, he couldn't be blamed for that, but otherwise, he did not falter. He gave Kirian the same broad smile Harry had seen before. "And who is this young man?"
Harry inhaled deeply. But he caught Ron's gaze out of the corner of his eye, felt Fenrir's presence through his skin, felt Kirian fidgeting in his arms. He remembered Fenrir's solemn voice and agonised expression when he'd told Harry how he lost his parents and siblings. He thought of any future Kirian might have in the wizarding world and knew that he couldn't let himself be bullied by what other people may or may not think.
"Kirian Potter Greyback," he said, chin high, eyes defiant as he stared up at Kingsley and then across to those gathered in dead silence in the hall. It was now or never. "Fenrir saved me from You Know Who. I've been…training with him all this time–" It wasn't a complete lie. "–I have power that the Dark Lord knows not. Because of him. When we win this war tomorrow it'll be partly because of him and I want everyone to remember that when the dust settles." His voice was low enough not to disturb Mrs Black, but loud enough for them to hear him, firm, unwavering – he hoped.
Ron stepped a little closer to him, showing his support. Among the crowd, Remus said nothing but there was a look in his eyes that suggested he was proud of his strength, even if he didn't necessarily approve of Fenrir.
"Did you trade your body in exchange for his secret training?" the voice of an older, greying man enquired, breaking the silence with apparently the question they were all dying to ask.
Harry scowled, shifting Kirian up his shoulder to quiet his fussing just for a moment longer. The boy always quieted easier when his little face was pressed up against Harry's neck, against his mark. Harry wondered if he could smell him and Fenrir best there, he thought that might be it.
"No. We became lovers while I stayed with him – mutually," he replied stiffly, not thinking they deserved any deeper knowledge of his private life than that. What had happened in their den was his and Fenrir's alone. "My son wasn't planned by me or Fenrir – I don't think anyone really wants to give birth to a child in the middle of a war, especially not at eighteen but…he's mine. I wouldn't give him up for anything. Neither would Fenrir."
"You gave birth to him you say?" a woman asked. "I didn't think that was possible without–"
"No one realised until a few months ago but I carry recessive lycanthropy in my genes. I'm immune to their venom and…" I'm one of them, he wanted to say, but he knew that if there was any hope of fighting to get Fenrir and the rest of the pack the respect they deserved once the war was over, he had to be more subtle. "Because of that, my body can carry their young. Recessive lycanthropy is all a matter of fact if you want to look it up – it's been well hushed by the Ministry but the information is there."
The atmosphere was so thick with curiosity that he could taste it. But only curiosity, perhaps awe, but not fear, not hate. It was a good sign. Maybe, just maybe if they all got through this, he could count on the support of these people to change the world after all – at least where werewolves were concerned.
"There used to be many more like him before wizards butchered them and their werewolf families like diseased cattle," a sharp biting voice came from the doorway behind him. Harry glanced back to see Larentia standing in the stairwell leading up from the kitchen, arms folded across her ample chest – which was thankfully covered (as was the rest of her) by a tight-fitting but fluid vest top and cropped jeans. Her face was hard, plagued by the past as she glared at those gathered at the end of the hall.
"But even when there were many, Potter's kind were considered a blessing to us – our kind's greatest treasure," again her voice was firm, unyielding. It carried no sarcasm, only bitterness. "That is why werewolves will be marching into battle with you tomorrow. Our strength on the side of wizards, because that is what Harry Potter wants."
"You'll really all do as he says?" a man asked, betraying a little apprehension. "How do we know that you won't–"
"Because werewolves are not monsters," she hissed darkly. "And because we move on whatever side Potter takes. Which makes us your allies. If you're smart, you'll realise what an asset having Fenrir Greyback and his pack on your side is."
Oddly Larentia's words seemed to settle the majority of the unease. Harry blinked at her, surprised. Had things been different, she probably would've been the better Alpha Numero – the better alpha mate. She knew how to make people listen, how to say what people needed to hear rather than what they wanted. She just knew what to do.
But things are different, Harry thought. I have everything she wants. That's why she hates me. He understood why she'd seemingly dismissed Kirian earlier now. It wasn't because she found him distasteful, it was because she wished he were hers. She wished she could have what Harry had. But she can never have any of it for herself, Harry thought, a sharp stab of sadness lancing his chest.
Kingsley's voice cut through his reverie. "Are you ready to kill a dark lord, Harry?" he asked in his usual rich, heavy tone, unchanged by Harry's announcement. Harry stared at him, then nodded resolutely. He had to be ready, for Kirian, for Fenrir – everyone.
"Then that's all that matters," Kingsley said, with an air of finality that seemed to settle everything. "Downstairs," he said to those in the hall, moving passed Harry, Ron and Larentia and leading the softly murmuring rabble down the stairs into the kitchen. They all nodded respectfully at Harry as they passed him, eyeing Kirian curiously and side-stepping Larentia's tall imposing form, but showing their support nonetheless.
Ron smiled brightly at Harry, knowing (as he always did) that he didn't need to say anything else, before following the others down into the noisy kitchen. Harry met Larentia's gaze. Despite the fact that she'd never really liked him (not even in the abstract, confused way that Ulric had), her presence as a pack member had helped to subdue the urge to flee that his instincts had filled him with at being surrounded by so many 'strangers'. She'd backed him up when he most needed to appear strong.
"Thanks," he said lamely, opening the door into the drawing room with the tapestry and stepping inside. He left it open in what he hoped was obvious invitation. It was, apparently, as she followed him in a little uncertainly, closing the door behind her. Harry gave her a brief glance before moving to sit on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room, flicking on the ancient standing lamp beside it. The soft light filled the room.
"Alpha wouldn't be pleased with you left unprotected with so many strangers in close quarters," Larentia said stiffly, her tone exposing her uncharacteristic awkwardness as she came to stand over him like a hawk watching its prey.
Harry glanced up at her as Kirian grizzled unhappily, hungry as always. "Stay and watch then," he said in what he hoped was a casual voice. She said nothing, arms still folded across her chest but her gaze was riveted to Kirian as Harry leant back, letting Kirian lay the length of his body, the better to control his feeding and adjusted the swaddling cloth so that it covered his chest when he exposed it, giving him some modesty. It didn't matter that his chest looked the same, he still felt bloody weird feeding a baby. He was a man for crying out loud!
He winced as Kirian latched on, brushing his finger down the back of his soft, downy hair. "Calm down you greedy little git," Harry grumbled softly, wondering absently if Kirian would grow up to be tall and stocky like Fenrir or short and scrawny like him. If both him and Fenrir would be there to see him, to squabble over if he'd go to Hogwarts or not, the things normal parents would…
When Kirian finished, Harry adjusted his own shirt, sitting Kirian in his lap and rubbing his back while supporting his head and body with one hand – firm and persistent, the way Fenrir did. Not that he'd admit out loud that he was accepting his parenting advice. The arse was taking to parenthood far easier than him; his ego didn't need to get any bigger.
When at last he coaxed a large belch from Kirian, it was punctuated with thin, milky spit. Harry winced, mopping it up with a corner of the blanket that's fibres resisted dirt and seemingly everything else. It made the baby sick dissipate as if it'd never been on contact. He really did love magic.
Larentia shifted in front of him, drawing Harry's gaze up to her hard, beautiful face. Her chin was slightly lifted, as if concealing something. Harry knew what it was. Longing. He sat up a little straighter, not knowing what to say as always. He never knew how to talk to people about delicate matters, perhaps that was why he and Fenrir were so well suited. They both had the tact of a pair of Hungarian Horntails.
"Do you…err…want to hold him?" he asked.
Larentia frowned, confused. Whether that was just because she hadn't expected Harry to be able to let someone else hold him with their instincts still rife, or because she didn't expect him to let her hold him, he couldn't tell. Still, he sat further forward on the chaise, offering Kirian up in a more comfortable position.
Larentia slid to her knees; eager but tentative, like a wild, tortured beast uncertain if it should take food that was being offered. She glanced quickly at Harry, as if she suspected this may be a trick. Eventually, tentatively, she sat up on her heels and reached around awkwardly, not sure how to take him.
Harry gave a small, knowing smile, wondering how he himself would've coped if his instincts hadn't taken over at the start. "Make a sort of cradle with your arm," he said uncomfortably, realising that this was the most they'd spoken since they'd first met. Since their argument at the fireside all those months ago, they'd mostly avoided each other. He didn't know how to speak with her. It felt strained but he could feel her longing, as palpable as her very skin when he slid Kirian into her arms, which slid around him, enclosing him in an embrace that was soft but protective.
She slumped back on her knees as he settled in her arms, squirming the way he always did after food. Harry leant forward, taking the opportunity to button his own shirt back up properly but Larentia didn't look up at his movement, didn't even twitch. It was as if all she could see or hear was the tiny, now sleepy infant in her arms. Harry watched her awkwardly, stubbornly stabbing down the fierce roar of instincts inside, desperate to yank his cub back from her embrace.
The sight of her mask slowly melting away, her open expression that she'd never shown before, the smell of her despair made Harry ache. He'd known for some time where her dislike for him stemmed from, but he'd not realised just how deep the sadness went within her. Not until now. Her long dirty blonde locks spilled over one shoulder in a glossy curtain, but it did not hide the hot, bitter tears that rolled down her cheeks.
"I'd rather die than never feel this again," she breathed raggedly, "than never have a child of my own. I need this, I deserve this…"
"Larentia," Harry said softly, startled by her tears, this strong, feisty, powerful woman. She whipped her head up with defiance burning in his glassy eyes.
"Do you know how unfair it is that I should be denied this? When you, you who never even wanted it…" She winced as her voice broke, taking in a deep breath to steady her voice. "Alpha speaks of rescuing cubs and waifs and strays, but he never contemplates this, does he? He can't possibly understand because he never felt this…need. Need for something I can never have. Marrok turned me, you know," she hissed bitterly, "I was freezing on the streets, high as a kite where my own mother had jacked me up. He saved me, turned me, he gave me another chance…"
She grit her perfect white teeth as if she could feel the pain of death drawing in all over again. "I'd rather have died then than live through this now," she breathed darkly, brushing her first knuckle across Kirian's chubby little cheek. He yawned widely, dazzling green eyes drifting closed.
"Don't say that," Harry said sharply, before he knew what he was doing. She glanced up at him, face hard, closed again.
"Don't tell me what to do, boy," she sneered.
"I'm giving you advice not telling you what to do," he retorted, steeling himself against her glare. He wasn't afraid of her. Even if her temper rivalled his own. "Don't you dare sit there and wish away your life. It's a gift, not many people get two chances at it – Marrok gave you a chance. You really resent him and the others, your life with them so bloody much? I'd have killed to be raised as one of you rather than by my relatives."
"Don't you dare judge me," she seethed. "You don't know me–"
"I think I do though," Harry said, staring at her unwaveringly. "I know. I've got everything you want and you think I'm an ungrateful, undeserving little shit." He smiled wryly. "I suppose maybe I am a bit. Like you, I s'pose I don't really have a lot of self worth. But I do value my life."
Larentia glared at him a moment longer before staring back down into Kirian's peaceful, oblivious face. The hurt gnawed at her flawless features once again, betraying her hard mask as exactly that, a mask, a façade. "There is no value to my life if I can't carry my own child, feel it move within me, bring it into the world… Amoux and the others, they are content, happy to adopt those orphaned children but I need…I need this," she stroked Kirian's soft, thick head of hair. "There is nothing else for me."
Harry regarded her closely, thinking that Hermione would've known exactly what to say right now, exactly how to phrase things where all he could say was, "maybe someday you'll meet someone that'll change your mind. Life has a way of…working out."
Larentia stared at him. She scoffed. "Good doesn't triumph just because 'good triumphs' you silly little twat," she snapped disbelievingly. "Good people die everyday for no reason at all. Ulric died the other day and he never had anyone to call his own, not in all his years-"
"But he died for Kirian," Harry interjected confidently. "He died so that Fenrir could come home to find me and Kirian safe. I think that's all he ever wanted really, for Fenrir to be happy."
Lifting her chin with a sense of misplaced superiority, Larentia sneered, "and you think you can give Alpha that, do you? You think you can raise his son better than I could?"
Harry raised a brow. "Dunno," he said honestly, ineloquently. He set his jaw. "I hope I'm not a shit dad. I don't really know what I'm doing and I don't know what he wants when he cries – Fenrir says I pick him up too much and it's going to give him a complex…" Why was he telling her this? Her of all people, when he hadn't admitted to anyone else that he was more terrified of parenthood than Voldemort?
"I'll probably make a colossal mess like I do with everything else, but…I'll love him, I hope that's enough."
Larentia inclined her head, full lips twisting. She really was beautiful, Harry thought and he had to wonder exactly how mental Fenrir was to pick him over her. She looked thoughtful all of a sudden, rather than angry and tortured. "Do you mean Kirian or Fenrir?" she murmured.
Breathing out slowly, chewing at the inside of his mouth, Harry sat back in the chair. He didn't know how to answer her. Hermione had always said he and Ron were rubbish trying to decipher even their own feelings. He certainly didn't know how to put it into words.
In the end he sighed awkwardly and stared into Larentia's eyes. "I never expected any of this to happen but I s'pose life can be as random as lightning strikes sometimes. I never knew I'd feel…anything like this but I do and…well, I've changed. Everything has. And so will you – you won't always feel the way you do now. I know it."
Larentia's eyes glowed as they held his for a long, silent moment; drawn out until eventually she had to look down again at Kirian's sleepy face. He yawned widely again and his big green eyes slid shut. She was quiet for a long time and did not speak again until Kirian's deep slumbering breaths reached their ears. "He's so lovely," she said softly, her voice cracking, as if she'd swallowed gravel.
Harry smiled. "He is. More than I thought he'd be," he mused, remembering his fear and bitterness toward his little bludger like a distant memory. The feeling was like a fuzzy echo, something he couldn't remember feeling at all. Even though he was fucking terrified and clueless, it was a struggle to remember how much he'd not wanted this. He couldn't even pinpoint the place in time where he'd started to love him. It'd just happened.
"Do you regret having him?" Larentia asked then.
Harry frowned. "No," he said, without missing a beat. "Of course not."
"And you don't regret choosing Fenrir?"
Harry did take a moment then. "No," he said, voice small.
"Do you love him?"
Before Harry could answer, the door opened and Snape stepped in, glancing between the two of them in confused concern. When impassiveness touched each of his features once again, he stepped further into the room, holding the door open. "Potter, we need to discuss our strategy." He stared at the baby in Larentia's arms for a moment. "Perhaps it would be best if you allow the she-wolf to take your child down to its father."
To Harry's utter surprise, Larentia bared her teeth in a warning snarl, shifting to place herself slightly in front of Harry. "Even wizards don't trust you, Snape," she seethed. "Why should I trust you with him?"
Snape sneered. "Apologies, I wasn't aware that Potter was yours. He has been getting around, hasn't he? Is that the way that werewolves treat their breeders? They all take a turn with him?"
Harry winced, shooting to his feet. "Piss off, Snape," he growled. It didn't matter that he knew the man was on their side, that he was good – he still pushed his buttons. He glared at his old professor before turning to look at Kirian asleep in Larentia's arms. This would be the first time he would leave the room without him. The first time they'd be parted. He felt sick.
And when you face Voldemort, you'll have to leave the entire building without him – perhaps for the last time, his mind supplied. Harry made a pained, inhuman sound and flinched from the thought. Larentia and Snape were both staring at him.
"You're pushing too far too soon," Larentia said, eyeing Snape distrustfully but stepping closer to Harry at the same time, half-heartedly offering Kirian back to Harry's arms. Her voice was as hard and unyielding as ever but Harry could sense…something underneath it. He looked down at his little bludger and it took all his strength of will not to take him. He grit his teeth, pain spiralling through his chest. He was going to vomit.
"Take him to Fenrir – I'll be down in a minute," he gasped out, knowing that he had to do this, had to try or there was no way he'd be able to leave the house without him when the time came. Larentia hesitated and that brief hesitation was almost enough for his resolve to break. Almost. He forced himself to freeze in place, to watch as Larentia walked out of the room with his sleeping cub, glaring at Snape the whole way.
The soft clunk of the door closing broke something in him. It hurt.
"When you are quite finished being sentimental and hormonal, Potter," Snape droned as he swept into the middle of the room, staring at the tapestry that dominated the long wall. Harry followed his gaze and saw that Draco Abraxas Malfoy was now linked with a thin silver thread to Echo Bayard. Harry wondered what Draco would say to the significance of that – and if Lucius and Narcissa had a similar family tree that would show their son's serious connection to another man – a werewolf at that.
"Miss Granger told me that she filled you in on the details of our little horcrux hunt," Snape said after some time, inclining his head to look at Harry with mild distaste, as if he were a particularly gruesome but interesting potions ingredient. Harry stared back, unmoving. His skin prickled with the wrongness of not having his cub close by. He dug his nails into his palms to ground himself.
"Is there going to a point to this?" Harry asked, "or are you just trying to pass the time to avoid going downstairs - Sir?"
Snape's mouth twisted. "Haven't changed at all really, have you, Potter?" he said, but with an odd touch to his voice that sounded almost…relieved. He was grateful Harry was, for the most part unharmed and healthy, it seemed. But then the greasy git had always been watching over him, in his own way. Harry had to admit that. It was this thought and the knowledge of what Dumbledore had forced Snape to do that allowed him to hold his tongue for the first time in his life in front of Snape.
Regarding Harry carefully, Snape seemed to be calculating his next words precisely, looking almost uncertain. Perhaps it was the control Harry visibly had to exert to not rush out the door to snatch his cub back. Perhaps it was Harry's mature silence but eventually, Snape spoke, his voice apprehensive, as Harry had never heard it before.
"Potter," he said slowly. "Before he died, Albus Dumbledore left me with some very important information. Information I was to pass to you when the time came."Harry thought he saw 'curse him for leaving this burden to me as well' written all over the man's usually sneering face.
Harry frowned, but as his lips parted in speech, Snape cut him off. A heavy plummeting sensation dropped in his gut, foreboding as thick and weighty as metal in his stomach.
"He knew that you could sense the horcruxes, Potter. He knew that your scar wasn't just caused by a dark curse or hex," Snape breathed, staring into his eyes without flinching for perhaps the first time in Harry's life. "Granger said that you killed the Snake."
Harry drew in a sharp breath and slammed his eyes shut at the acid-like torrent of emotion spiralling up inside. It ate away at his organs, choking him like bile.
"The snake was a horcrux," he had said to Fenrir. "It was so strange. I could just… I just knew…"
"No," Harry said, his voice low, quiet, breaking. Because he knew, deep down what Snape was going to say and Harry thought that after everything that had happened, after all the emotional and physical torment he'd suffered – was still suffering, it was so unfair that it felt like dying. It hurt more than anything Voldemort had ever done to him. It hurt even more than watching Snape kill Dumbledore, or Voldemort murder Cedric, or poor Hedwig or…
"You are the last horcrux, Potter," Snape said, voice solemn, pained. Harry shook his head, all maturity gone. He was suddenly glad Kirian wasn't here because he didn't want to be strong for anyone. He wanted…he wanted to curl up and cry, to smack his feet and fists against the floor until the world listened and did what he wanted.
"No," Harry growled out, little more than a whisper.
"I need to know how many horcruxes are left so I know if I can kill him."
Oh God.
"Neither can live while the other survives," Harry gasped. It wasn't until he felt pain in his knees that he realised he'd slumped to the floor at Snape's feet. Rather than stand, rather than even bother he just leant forward on his arms, squeezing his eyes shut again tighter. "One of us has to kill the other – he has to kill me, doesn't he? He always had to. Dumbledore knew I had to…" The thought made him sick. Angry at Dumbledore. Miserable.
"I thought he loved me," he said, feeling incredibly young and foolish for saying it, but it was the first thing that forced its way out of his mouth.
"I do not think that man ever loved anything more," Snape admitted, "I think he wished he didn't, because he'd known for so long that you must be…kept alive to die at the right time. I believe sentencing you to this was the hardest thing he had to accept."
Harry shook his head again, this time trying to shake it all from his mind, clear his head of the overwhelming grief that threatened to break him open. "Why didn't he tell me?" he choked, not caring that he was effectively having a conversation with Snape's feet, eyes still closed against the sight of the treacherous, unfair real world beyond the back of his eyelids.
Snape didn't answer him. But then Harry already knew the answer. He could almost hear Dumbledore's soft, lightly lilting voice say "I cared about you too much," just as it had in his office all those years ago, when Sirius had died. Harry thought he would bleed to death with the pain of this. He couldn't do it.
"I can't," he choked, "Kirian and Fenrir and Draco and…" And poor Ghost, the pack. Hermione and Ron. Remus, Teddy, Tonks, the Weasleys…
Suddenly Snape was hauling him up, throwing him hard against the wall with the tapestry, long potion-stained fingers gripping Harry's shirt and shaking him roughly. His face was wild, his eyes dilated and teeth exposed – in anguish so similar to Harry's that it startled him. "Listen to me, Potter," Snape spat, even if the pain in his face betrayed his emotions. "I could stand here and pat your back and offer you false comfort but it will not change a thing. There is no other way, the fact that you are barely eighteen and a parent does not change that."
Harry stared up at him, into the face of a man that had always given everything to keep him safe – always, even though he hated him. A man who had no one and nothing. A man who had no reason to keep fighting other than it was the right thing to do.
"You have a plan, don't you?" Harry asked, voice low. "So that I…I die properly…"
Snape released him as if Harry's pain stung him and took a step back.
"Yes, Mr Potter. Unfortunately, I know exactly what has to be done," Snape replied coolly. His face lined, weary and haunted like a man twice his age. Somehow along the line, he and Snape had found themselves understanding each other completely. "I will go over it with you now," Snape murmured, words heavy, "before we go downstairs and then tell the rest of the rabble–"
"A censored version," Harry interrupted, his tone hollow as he held that dark gaze. "Fenrir can't know. No one can."
Harry felt guiltily pleased that when he and Snape joined the chaos in the kitchen, only to find Kirian was fussing unhappily without him. It was stupid, to be happy that his son was upset but…it was nice to be missed. Proof of how young he was, he supposed. Young and insecure.
The room fell into a deathly hush as he stepped back in, Snape on his heels. He stopped as he descended the stairs, immobilised by their eyes until Snape's bony finger prodded him hard between his shoulder blades. He made his way to the far end of the table where Fenrir sat, Kirian looking very small vulnerable in Fenrir's big arms. Harry felt every pair of eyes on him as he came to stand by his mate's side.
Fenrir's frowning face searched his, evidently sensing his upset but not saying a word in front of their audience. Harry stepped closer, drawing in a small breath before setting his hand on Fenrir's shoulder and squeezing. He looked down the table that had been extended to make room for everyone. Snape stood at the opposite end, watching him with a stoic, unreadable expression.
"Thanks for coming," Harry said, his voice awkward, uncomfortable, feeing very anti-climactic given what they were all about to embark upon. "Tomorrow Sn – Professor Snape is going to take us all to Him. There's no telling what's going to be waiting for us there but when we arrive, I want you to take care of the Death Eaters, clear a path and leave You Know Who to me."
Low, frantic muttering rippled down the table. Hermione clasped a sickly looking Ron's hands, Remus sat up straighter, as if he were about to argue, while Fenrir just sat there, glaring down at those gathered at the table, as if daring them to challenge him.
"What are you going to do by yourself?" Kingsley asked, the only one brave enough to break the silence it seemed with Fenrir glaring back at them all.
Harry breathed in and out slowly, trying to keep his composure. He felt sick. He felt like he was looking through a muggy glass at someone else's life, someone else's drama that he couldn't get emotionally attached to. His fingers dug into Fenrir's shoulder and he looked down to see Kirian squirming, blinking feebly in the direction of his voice and smell. Something inside him ached, cracked and trembled, threatening to give way. His eyes burned but he bit it back. If he gave in just a little, he wouldn't be able to claw back his resolve or composure.
He'd never missed the simplicity of the pack and the valley as much as right now.
"I'm not going alone," he said at last, voice low as he stared into Kirian's little face, his thoughts so very far away from his physical body. "Professor Snape and Fenrir will ensure I get to Him."
Hermione and Ron looked as if they were about to protest. Remus frowned, "Harry, are you sure you wouldn't prefer if we–?"
"Remus," he said slowly, firmly. "I want you and Kingsley to lead the battle, if that's alright? Hermione, Ron, make sure I have a clear path through and that no one follows after us." Down the table there were many familiar faces, all concerned for him, all wanting to help. Harry thought at that moment, he could've lead them blindly into darkness and they still would've followed. He'd never felt so strong, felt such support and yet…he was helpless all at the same time. So lost.
They all thought it best if everyone remained at Grimmauld Place and so after the dinner Kreacher had prepared gleefully for everyone, Tonks and Remus took charge of ensuring everyone had a comfortable place to sleep. Fenrir and the werewolves sat at the table with Ron, Hermione and Snape, an odd group discussing spells and tactics, while Harry made his way over to the back door where Draco was standing. He was leaning against the frame, staring out the open door into the moonlit garden.
"You're worried about your mum and dad?" Harry asked as he came to stand beside him, a sleeping Kirian in his arms. It was a statement not a question. Draco glanced quickly in his direction, then down at Kirian before looking out into the garden once more.
"I know you might think it stupid – I know you think that they're the enemy but they were just as much prisoners there as I was, Potter. My father never meant for this to happen and–"
"They're your mum and dad," Harry said, feeling eerily calm tonight, as if he were watching the events from outside his body. "Even if they were complete bastards who deserved everything, of course you'd still be worried. They're your parents." He realised how his words had sounded when Draco's head snapped to him and he glared ferociously, back stiffening. Harry winced. "You know what I mean," he attempted.
Draco frowned. "My father got in too deep and couldn't get out," Draco said stiffly. "My mother and I were drawn in because of him. They don't deserve to die because of one mistake…"
It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to say it was more than one mistake on Lucius Malfoy's behalf, but he knew that wasn't fair – not on Draco, not on anyone when he, Harry didn't know the full story. He sighed, leaning against the opposite side of the door. He watched Draco for some time, even when Draco lost their staring match and looked back to the garden once more. He was learning how to work as a wolf already – even if he was human, Harry thought. He knew not to look into an alpha's eyes too long. He'd do just fine. The thought made his chest feel warm.
"I'm glad you and Echo found each other – you need each other," Harry said. Draco's head snapped back to him so fast Harry swore he heard his neck snap.
"What?" Draco asked, flushed.
The corner of Harry's lips twitched. "He's a good bloke and you're…you're not as much of a prat as you were." He watched Draco flush darker with annoyance for a moment before smiling. "You pulled through when everyone needed you, more than once. I'm glad you're with someone who'll let you be yourself. Who'll stand by you. You deserve it."
Draco stared at him for the longest time. Long enough for Harry to watch his face twist in embarrassment more than anger. "What sentimental bollocks, Potter," Draco sniffed but there was no bite to his tone as he looked down at Kirian thoughtfully. He moistened his dry lips. "I can never give him what you've got with Greyback. I don't think I'd really want too and I don't know that I want to be a werewolf. He doesn't mind though, he doesn't…" Draco paused, evidently trying to find the right words. "It's…different, having someone who doesn't care if I make a fool of myself, if I'm not clever enough or strong enough or… He just wants me, as I am."
Harry smiled wistfully. "Ironic that slovenly, brutish werewolves are so much more accepting than humans."
Draco met Harry's eyes again. "They understand what it is to be persecuted for something you cannot control, I suppose," he agreed. Silence, and then… "Potter, I don't want to die tomorrow."
Harry froze. Those words were so quiet, so unlike Draco Malfoy and so close to his own pain that he was determinedly keeping a distance from. "Malfoy – Draco, I–"
"No," Draco said quickly, just as soft. "I meant that… I don't want to die, but it's… I don't want him to die either, he can't die, I couldn't bear it and that is worse than my own end, I can't…" The words were so quiet yet thick with emotion and so very telling. They made Harry's chest ache. He reached out and gripped Draco's shoulder, squeezing. The contact made Draco still. Harry squeezed harder.
"He's not going to die, Draco," he said seriously. He watched Draco's lips move on the verge of protest, so Harry continued swiftly. "He's not going to die. No one is, because I'm going to beat You Know Who. I won't let anyone else die for me." His own voice wavered heavily at that last bit, grating against his throat like raining shrapnel and he had to swallow hard to try and hold everything back. He couldn't let it overwhelm him, even for a moment, he couldn't share this burden or it would break him.
What made him able to keep his nerve, his façade and bravado, he thought was the sight of Draco's expression. He believed him. He believed in him, in his promise so honestly that it was like a startling revelation. Draco Malfoy of all people, just knew he could do it. "I want you to stay here tomorrow," Harry said, before Draco could say anything to shatter the confidence he'd instilled in him.
Draco frowned. Harry smiled slightly. He knew Draco was a coward, he'd known it for the last seven years of their lives but he also knew that he loved Echo, whether Draco knew that yet or not. Harry knew that the blond wanted to be with Echo in the battle and yet was scared at the same time. He knew Draco was afraid, knew he'd likely do something stupid if faced with his parents or if Echo fell. He wanted to take that decision away from him, but more than that…
Slowly, Harry edged closer and offered a sleeping Kirian up to Draco's arms. Draco froze and went white. "No," the blond said quickly, trying to recoil back but trapped with the doorframe at his back. "Potter, I can't – children are just–"
"He might not be here if it weren't for you," Harry said sharply, "I want you to protect him, look after him while Fenrir and I are gone tomorrow. Kreacher can help you, you can even stick him with nappy-duty if you want, the little weirdo seems to love it but I want you to protect him, Draco." The use of his first name seemed to make Draco still in his protests. Still pale-faced, he blinked at Harry, then down at the infant he was offering up.
"I've never even held a child, Potter," Draco said weakly, keeping his arms rigid at his sides.
"Well you can start now then," Harry said.
"There must be someone better – Granger or–"
"You're pack," Harry said firmly. "You're the only one I let into the hollow when I was…well, you know. You're the only one I trust to leave him with." His instincts didn't flare angrily at the mere thought of passing Kirian to Draco, that's how he knew what he was saying was right. There were only three beings he could allow to touch his cub without forcing his instincts back first. His mate and those he was responsible for; Ghost and Draco.
Draco wasn't moving still, wasn't even blinking, such was the horror of the idea Harry was presenting to him. Harry sighed. "Draco, I'm not even going to be able face leaving him tomorrow if you don't do this for me. You have to."
Draco looked dubious still. "I want…I want to be with Echo," he said, trying to steady his voice, but there was no conviction in it. There was no shame in not wanting to be a warrior, especially not when you were still willing to walk into battle with the rest if you thought it'd save the ones you loved. Harry thought Malfoy might punch him if he tried to say so, though.
"You're the only one who can do this," Harry said firmly, meaning it.
After a long silence, Draco sighed heavily, tension still thick in his breathing and limbs as he hesitantly reached up to pull Kirian to him. He was a bit clumsy and the movement made Kirian frown and stir. Draco froze, eyes wide. He shifted as if to give him back but Harry stepped away, smirking slightly at the picture they made.
"Stop that smirking, Potter," Draco snapped quickly, panicked. Visibly conscious of dropping him, Draco brought Kirian close to his chest and flattened himself to the doorway. "Bloody hell, Potter, I can't do this, take him back, I–"
"If I can do it you can," Harry said, "you're not scared, are you Malfoy?"
Draco looked up at him ever so slowly, his mouth setting into a hard line. "You wish," he retorted, glancing back to Kirian. "Just show me how to hold your little bludger properly before I drop him and he becomes special just like you."
Harry ignored the biteless bile and flushed instead at the first comment. "You, err…heard me call him that?"
Draco raised his chin, the perfect picture of the haughty pureblood boy he'd been in first year. "I spent enough time with you at the valley. Of course I did, you called him that all the time and if you evertell anyone about the things you saw me do back there, I have that and more as blackmail material."
Harry winced, knowing how many things Draco was privy to. Like running naked with a bunch of wolves, he thought, which while natural to him, would probably freak everyone else out. "Understood," Harry said, reaching to show Draco how to hold his arms better for Kirian so that they were both comfortable. He felt eyes burning into the side of his neck as he told Draco about various things he might need to know and when he looked into the kitchen behind them, he saw Fenrir watching him carefully.
"And what if he gets hungry?" Draco asked with a wrinkle of his slightly pointed nose. "I'm not bloody doing what you do."
Harry felt his stomach tremble at the thought of anyone else being able to feed his little bludger. The one thing no one else could do like he could. He didn't want someone to take that away. Don't be so bloody stupid, he has to eat, his mind admonished, even as his stomach twisted sickeningly.
The striking, agonising knowledge, the reality of what had to be done licked at his senses still and he bit them back hard as he spoke. "If…If I'm not back before then," he began, voice a little too raw, "Kreacher will just have to prepare a bottle. He'll show you how, he's been doing it for Teddy since he was a newborn. He'll know the right formula and…" He couldn't, he just couldn't think about it. He looked at his sleeping son and everything just hurt. He felt his eyes sting and he glanced quickly to the back garden, not wanting anyone else to see.
"Have a practice half hour with him, yeah? I want a walk and it's too cold for him tonight," Harry said quickly, giving Kirian one last look that tugged at his chest until he thought he might scream. He dashed from the doorstep, forcing himself away even as his instincts howled inside his head.
"Shut up," he cursed them through clenched teeth. He was in his jeans and sweatshirt, both feeling heavy and unnatural against his skin after so long in the valley. The jumper scraped at his sensitive chest but he pushed on, walking straight to the back garden wall, knowing the light from the kitchen wouldn't reach this far. Inside the charmed pocket of his jeans he'd stowed the invisibility cloak. With a quick glance back at the kitchen door where Draco stood with Kirian (visibly trying to see where Harry had gone with his less accurate human eyes), Harry dragged the cloak over his head and scaled the fence.
Landing neatly on the pavement on the other side, he began to walk – fast. He needed to walk. He needed to run, run and run until the thoughts and the pain just stopped. He cast a quick charm to ensure the cloak didn't blow off him and then bolted into the darkness. The streetlights shined a sad, feeble orange above. His feet sounded heavy on the deserted concrete as he flew. His mind was racing, his heart hammering and breath too short, ragged. He kept seeing Kirian's face, hearing him crying and imagining his fitful misery when Harry didn't come in response to those sounds.
Harry snarled out into the night. He ran faster, harder, so fast the wind rushed ferociously against his face. Fenrir would be desolate, he'd be heartbroken but he'd have Kirian, he'd be strong for him. Bitter, angry tears stung Harry's eyes. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't. After all this time, after everything he'd been through…
He reached the park near Grimmauld Place. It was deserted, of course. Not that he cared, he was still covered by the cloak. He flew into the trees, their cover comforting him, the leaves crunching underfoot and wind whistling through them a balm to his frayed nerves. He darted between the birch trees, so fresh and alive among the London smog that had been suffocating his wolf lungs.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. Kirian needed him. Fenrir needed him. Harry wanted to live, for the first time he had something to live for!
Not paying attention, his shoulder slammed hard into a tree and the shock of the blow stopped him dead. Harry cried out, his shoulder throbbing with agony, arm useless and tense with hot, bubbling pain. He slammed the fist of his free hand against the bark of a tree, watching it splinter under his fist. He snarled, biting through the pain that was a welcome distraction to his emotional torment.
"I fucking did everything you asked!" He half growled, half cried into the dark, "I did everything!" Just let me come home to him, to them, his mind finished as he crumpled at the foot of the tree, hand coming round to support his dislocated shoulder. He felt hot tears streaking down his cheeks before he could stop them and surrendered, letting them come where no one could see.
His instincts flared to the surface at his despair and he welcomed them, the coping mechanism that let him cry out as much as he wanted without care for pride or duty. With a grunt, he leant forward, instinct telling him what to do even as he sobbed. He braced himself against the tree and snarled out as he jerked his shoulder back into the socket. It ached, it throbbed but his wolf blood was already healing the damage.
Harry clenched his fingers instinctively, staring down at them, at his fingernails and knuckles. As he did so, he watched his nails grow long, jet black fur growing from his arms. It was only brief, like a shudder that rolled from fingertip to wounded shoulder. When it was over, his shoulder didn't hurt anymore. All he was left with was his inner wounds that not even the werewolf in him could heal.
Whining softly, Harry rolled onto his side under his cloak, closing his eyes against the world and rolling into the dirt as the wolf took over. Please don't let me have to leave them like this, was his last conscious thought as his instincts swelled over the forefront of his mind and the ground cracked ominously behind him. Tossing the cloak back, Harry rolled onto his hands and knees in one fluid movement, snarling warningly at the dark shadow looming over him.
~To Be Continued...