A/N: Please note that in this story, the deathly hallows do not exist. Harry's cloak is just an invisibility cloak. I only mention this as Voldemort's wand is just an ordinary wand, not the Elder Wand.
So much angst this has to see in the New Year 0_0 Be warned it's quite gory in parts as well. Still, hope you all had a good one and hope you still enjoy the chapter. Sorry but there is a bitch of a cliff-hanger again as there literally was no decent place to end the chapter with so much going on. Also be warned I didn't have much time to proof-read this chapter with everything going on, so there may be a few mistakes. Sorry about that, I will go back and fix at a later date. Hope you still enjoy and that you forgive me X3 Love you all, as always.
.: Chapter Twenty-Three :.
Their Moon and Stars
A large silver wolf stalked forward, teeth bared. He was displeased with his display of anger, with Harry running away from their den and into the dangers of the outside world. Even pressed by his instincts Harry knew why his mate was angry, but it didn't stop him. He dug his fingers into the grassy earth and felt magic bristle through him like a prickle of static electricity. It mingled with the misery and despair eating at him until his limbs shook.
Fenrir stood over him, head raised, demanding submission and contrition for putting himself in danger. Harry laid low and snarled, the sound carrying through his body, which shifted until he was growling out of a black muzzle. He leapt, slamming into his bulkier mate. His weight wasn't enough to throw him but he did stagger, snarling and swinging sideways, swiping at Harry's side to send him skidding through the dirt.
Harry rolled, kicking up soil and leaves, charging again, rearing up and lunging for the scruff of his mate's neck. Fenrir twisted his head, nipping Harry's flank midair and tossing him over. Harry caught his fur as he did, dragging them both into a rolling tumble of fur, teeth and kicking paws. Harry felt his misery pique in his chest and he snarled in pain.
Fenrir jerked back as if stung, leaving Harry sprawled on his back, his mate standing over him. Wriggling for purchase on the ground, Harry kicked up hard into his mate's belly. Winded, surprised, Fenrir staggered and Harry pounced, morphing back into his naked, scratched human body as he collided hard with the bear-sized wolf, punching at every inch of fur he could reach.
Harry didn't realise he was shaking with the force of his blows, with the torrent of emotions until the fur beneath his fists turned to flesh and two huge hands gripped his wrists, stopping him from striking again. Fenrir didn't say anything. He growled warningly, pushing Harry firmly until he was on his back in the earth, hands pinned either side of his head with Fenrir kneeling over him, holding him in place.
Arms shaking with the effort to try and buck Fenrir off, Harry growled back. He writhed and snarled and snapped. Fenrir was covered in scratches that were already healing before his eyes. Harry felt a particularly nasty bruise to his own face throb, relishing in the physical pain that distracted him from the gaping chasm of emotional agony in his chest. The scratches and scrapes on his torso and arms stung and he growled in negation as Fenrir just held him there, forced him to be still and cry out instead of hurt and be hurt like he wanted – needed.
Fenrir's eyes were bright blue in the dark. Harry clenched his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to look. He couldn't bear the concern, the unwavering loyalty in them. It was bad enough he could feel it eating away at the anger inside him, turning his fury and frustration into softer, more terrifying emotions. Feelings he couldn't deal with. He didn't want to be sad, he wanted to be angry. Angry was easier.
Fenrir's head dipped then, mouth sliding along the harsh throbbing bruise on his cheek. Harry stiffened, wincing as if disgusted. He didn't want to be healed, he didn't want affection or care or the reassurance that Fenrir's bristly mouth brought. He cried out in frustration, pushing with all his might against Fenrir's hold as that tongue slid down, healing the tiny wounds before even his body could do so.
When that mouth slid along his in a human kiss, a horrid dry sob that escaped his lips. He hated it. Harry surged up when Fenrir released his wrists, but Fenrir's hands caught the back of his neck, his waist and held him against his own body, forced him to endure the kiss. Harry dug his blunt nails into the man's shoulder blades, trying to make him let go. Every time he growled or cried out Fenrir's tongue would lash at his, smothering the sound, warm, firm and pliant mouth massaging his until Harry sagged, useless and defeated, sobbing.
When at last Fenrir relinquished his kiss-bruised and stubble-scraped mouth, Harry ducked his head down to hide his mortified face under the man's chin, grateful that Fenrir didn't speak of the angry, bitter tears on his cheeks. "Go away," Harry growled, voice raspy, cracking. He shoved hard at Fenrir's chest but the arms that held him in place did not budge.
"No," Fenrir grunted, his bigger, stronger arms around Harry only serving to make him feel worse, weaker, subdued, soft – safe. Except he couldn't be safe. If Harry let Fenrir make him safe then Voldemort would never be defeated and he and Kirian, Echo, Draco, Marrok, Hermione, Ron…all of them would die, in the end. All of them would willingly die to keep him safe and he couldn't let that happen.
Even knowing that, Harry melted into the lie of warm muscle and pressed his nose into the man's collarbone, breathing in through adrenaline and tear-shortened gasps. When his limbs stopped shaking and his tears had dried, he felt Fenrir release his hold on his neck and back. He eased Harry down onto the bed of scuffed up leaves and stared down at him.
He didn't ask what was wrong – Harry thought he must've assumed Harry was simply afraid of tomorrow in general, overwhelmed at the thought of having to leave his little bludger and of his friends being killed. He didn't know, Harry knew he couldn't possibly know, because there was no one to tell him. That thought made relief tug slightly at his exhausted mind as he let his body splay out on the leaves, naked, pale and staring up at Fenrir distantly.
The moon broke the clouds above, not full but still bright in the darkness. The feel of it on his skin, even through the veil of the trees and the pollution soothed his abraded senses, his soul until he could breathe easier. The light painted Fenrir's face, so soft at that moment with his eyes bright and hair wild. He held himself up off Harry with his arms and tilted his head back, letting out a long, slow howl that reminded Harry of home.
The sound trailed off into soft nothingness. Harry laid there silently, breath hitching every now and then from emotion and exhaustion. When at last Fenrir stopped to sniff softly at the air around them, he looked down and smoothed a hand through Harry's messy fringe, sweeping it back off his face in a gesture that was so tender for Fenrir that Harry couldn't breathe for a second.
There was movement to the side. Harry and Fenrir both turned their heads to see familiar shadows stepping out of the surrounding trees. The leaves rustled and crunched underfoot as Marrok, Raquelle, Hemming, Lupa and Larentia all stepped into the clearing. A silent moment of understanding swept through them all, like a small shudder that started at Harry and reverberated through all of them gathered there.
Their pack-mates shrugged off their clothes and let their change take them, until five wolves padded towards them, greeting them both with brushes of muzzles against cheeks. They even snuffled softly at Harry's hair. Even Larentia's grey wolf gave the remaining scratch at Harry's shoulder a quick lick before they all settled down around them, just as they did on a full moon, a large heap all piled together for warmth and comfort.
Echo joined them in the small clearing, already a tawny wolf. Draco walked close to his side, Kirian in his arms. Harry felt his heart skip and he shifted up onto his elbows as they approached. Fenrir, who was still a man above him, leant back on his knees as they reached them. Draco flushed violently at the sight of Harry and Fenrir naked but said nothing, seeming to realise that this moment between their pack was more important than embarrassment and didn't need words. He slipped Kirian down into Harry's arms – over careful but competent.
Kirian wriggled, eyes open and brow furrowed but untouched by tears. Just confused. Harry felt the tingling presence of a warming charm, Draco's warming charm wrapped around his little bludger's skin and he whined softly, drawing his cub in close as Echo's tawny coloured fur pressed against his back, closing the gap in the pile of wolves that had been left.
Draco blinked down at them, still studiously avoiding Harry's nakedness as he dropped down to his knees. His wary silver eyes flicked to Echo, whose head was lifted enquiringly to the diminutive gap between his, Marrok and Harry's bodies. "If you dare tell anyone, Potter," Draco murmured as he slid into the gap, still clothed. He curled against the soft fur of Echo's belly until all of the pack were piled together, touching, warming, comforting…
Harry didn't truly register Draco's words with his instincts humming gently at the surface, but he did smile slightly, almost understanding as he lay down himself. He rested his head against Draco's shoulder blade, legs entangled with Raquelle's fur and Fenrir wrapped around him platonically, warm skin and arms holding him close. Harry felt his mate's human nose against his nape while the warmth of the pack seeped into his bones. Kirian fidgeted until Harry cradled him against his chest, one of Fenrir's arms circling them both to steady his hold.
With the anguish spilled in adrenaline and tears, he felt exhausted, limp surrounded by his pack and he stared up at the sky. He wished he could see the stars and the moon, feel them on his skin. A husky, inhuman huff against his nape disturbed his dark curls and he fidgeted. He watched as the large hand that had been resting on his hip lifted and twisted to the left in a leisurely swipe, before coming to rest against his stomach.
A section of cloud and light pollution dissipated, as if being eaten away by acid, no, as if it were a billow of smoke being swatted away by a casual hand. The soothing warmth in his stomach licked at his chest, at his lungs and heart as the moonlight reached them at last, a few stars visible in the opening. The fur and flesh in their group rippled appreciatively. Their company and the knowledge that they were with him until the end chased the unease, the misery from his exhausted limbs. For now.
Tired and aching, Harry pressed his nose into Kirian's dark hair and inhaled, Fenrir's hand smoothing through his fringe consolingly as the tears brimmed again. "Don't want to leave you," Harry managed quietly, voice rough with emotion and the wolf's presence. Fenrir flattened his fringe back off his forehead, so that his stubbly kiss could graze against his scar – the one he'd always hated. The one he loathed even more now for what it meant.
"Not leaving," Fenrir grumbled, "Going to finish this tomorrow, then we're going home."
Harry winced as if he'd been struck and turned awkwardly until his face was hidden underneath Fenrir's chin, Kirian cradled between their chests. Fenrir's fingers cupped the back of his neck and massaged until his body went limp again, the tension ebbing from his bones. They all lay there quietly for some time.
Only Mrs Weasley, Ron and Hermione were in the kitchen by the time they all headed back. Echo, Harry, Fenrir and Draco walked into the warm bright kitchen that smelled wonderfully of crumpets, toast and hot cocoa. "Isn't chocolate bad for dogs?" Ron mused with a smirk as Harry snatched up one of the large mugs and gulped some down. Harry laughed and took another gulp as he and Fenrir sat at the table, Kirian in Fenrir's arms, sleeping soundly.
Conversation continued easily at the table, a balm to his nerves, even if he wasn't really paying attention. Across the room, beyond the notice of everyone but him it seemed, Echo sloped toward where Draco was buttering himself some toast and wrapped his arms around the blond's neck. Harry wasn't sure who blushed more profusely, himself or Draco as Echo pressed in to breathe against Draco's ear, obviously murmuring something for his ears only.
Draco exhaled visibly, audibly (to werewolves anyway) and Echo swept a stray lock of hair from his face, snatching one of the slices of toast for himself before heading up the stairs. Harry watched Draco eat the remaining slice with flushed features and a pensive expression. Only when he dusted his hands of crumbs over the bread board did he begin to follow. Harry got to his feet quickly, ignoring Hermione and Ron's enquiries and moving to catch Draco before he vanished up the stairs.
"Draco," he said and the blond turned, foot on the second stair. He blushed darker, obviously realising Harry knew where he'd been going and lifted his chin defiantly.
"What do you want, Potter?" he asked tersely. "I…I have things to…" His voice failed him and he glanced hesitantly to where those gathered at the table were now watching them. He cleared his throat awkwardly and lowered his voice for Harry's ears only. "With you two romping around in a bush, according to Weasley, you can hardly blame me for wanting to–"
"What?" Harry gasped, "What? No, no, I just…" Why was even the simplest of conversations with Malfoy so difficult? He sighed, frustrated and tired, emotionally drained. "No, you…you go, I just…" He bit the inside of his mouth uncertainly. "I just wanted to tell you that I'll tell everyone to try and spare your parents. To spare them if they can. I know your father doesn't have a wand at least so they should listen really and…" He saw Draco's eyes shadowed with concern, with uncertainty and Harry acted on instinct, he reached up and grasped Draco's shoulder. He squeezed. "We'll do our best to keep them safe. I just wanted you to know that."
Harry could see the gratitude there, but also the pride. He understood when Draco inclined his head in a short nod of gratitude, before hesitantly vanishing up the stairs after Echo.
When Harry took his seat again at the table, Hermione was elbow-deep in her magic bag and Ron was dunking a digestive biscuit into his hot cocoa. "What'choo lookin' for?" Ron asked through a mouthful of biscuit as Harry wordlessly accepted Kirian back into his arms – Fenrir seemed to know that he needed him right now, for that he was grateful. Fenrir's hand rested on the back of his chair afterward, thumb brushing between his shoulder blades in a constant, slow and soothing circle.
Mrs Weasley said nothing, just smiled at Harry and carried on with her knitting – she was making Kirian his first Weasley jumper apparently. Harry smiled thoughtfully at the light blue wool. At last Hermione made a triumphant sound and dragged a familiar backpack out of her too-small bag. Harry's stomach flipped at the sight of it.
"My bag!" he cried as Hermione slid it across the table to him. Supporting Kirian in one arm, he pulled open the flap to see the meagre yet precious treasures of his life – the inanimate ones anyway. His fingertips ghosted over each one, even the broken shard of mirror until it came to rest on the photo album. His breath hitched. He slid it out onto the table. When he lifted the cover and the image of his parents and one-year-old self smiled up at him, his breath died in his throat. It was the same thing all over again, wasn't it?
He felt sick.
Fenrir's thumb pressed a little more firmly into his back and he leant back against it, reminding himself that Kirian wouldn't be alone and unloved. Not like him. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat, the echo of the moon on his skin strengthening his resolve as he looked up at Mrs Weasley. "You're good at snaps, Mrs Weasley," he began. "I haven't got any of Kirian yet, would you?"
Mrs Weasley looked surprised for a moment, even dropping a stitch in her knitting. Then she looked down at the little waving photograph family and smiled knowingly. Without knowing Harry's true thought process though, Harry realised as she picked up her stitch, then set her knitting aside to get to her feet.
"We have a camera somewhere – we've taken lots of Teddy over the last few months," Hermione said helpfully. Ron watched Harry over his cup of cocoa so seriously for a moment that he lost half his soggy biscuit in his cup. The soft 'plonk' startled him out of his pensiveness and he swore softly as he used the nearby teaspoon to rescue it.
Fenrir was flicking through the photo album distantly, his large fingers so careful with the delicate pages. Harry had seen photographs in their den of course of Fenrir's family, they'd never been spoken about but they were there. Harry remembered his own interest at the sight of Fenrir's parents and siblings, of a young Fenrir and Echo, Marrok and Ulric. He wondered what Fenrir was thinking as he scanned the happy faces of his parents, Sirius, a young Remus and then his own snaps of his early days at Hogwarts.
Fenrir's coarse finger slid over the marred face of Bill Weasley in the group shot of all the Weasleys, Harry, Hagrid, Remus, Tonks and Hermione at the wedding. Harry thought Hermione must've added it because he'd never seen this particular one. They all looked so happy. Fleur looked stunning. Harry had each of his arms looped around Ron and Hermione's shoulders but he knew Fenrir was looking at Bill, he could tell from the regret he felt tugging at his own lungs as if it were his own.
"Casualties of war," Mrs Weasley's voice came regretfully from just to the side of them. Both Harry and Fenrir glanced up to see her wistful, sad expression. "Severus Snape took George's ear off with that curse as well you know – was aiming for the death eater that got Mad-Eye. Doesn't fix his ear of course, knowing that it wasn't intentional but…"
She stared at Harry for a long time before meeting Fenrir's guarded expression. "Even when saying sorry can't repair the damage, a man can only offer an apology and make amends." It wasn't an 'it's all alright now' or even a 'it will be ok', but it was still more than Harry could ask for. It made him wonder exactly what Fenrir had said when he'd spoken with Mr and Mrs Weasley about Bill…
"Say kneazle!" Hermione cried suddenly from in front of them and Harry and Fenrir both looked up at her in time to catch a flash from the camera. Fenrir blinked and grumbled without any real bitterness, both Harry and him glancing down to see Kirian was still sleeping on.
Harry had always hated posing, even when it was him asking for the photographs. It felt awkward and embarrassing to hold a pose so he didn't. He shifted Kirian up on his knee higher and glanced occasionally up at Fenrir, then at Hermione snapping away with the camera again. He couldn't help but notice that Fenrir was just as awkward at being the subject as he was. It was quite endearing, really, when he was so confident and cocksure in everything else. Harry tried to hide his smile, though he had a feeling the camera caught it.
This was right. This was the way he wanted Kirian to remember him, to see him with Fenrir, whatever else the world might try to make him believe. At that moment Kirian woke with a grumbling gurgle, dummy dropping out of his mouth and Harry shifted him into a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm. Fenrir leant in a little and Harry was reassured that whatever came after he was gone, Kirian would know just by looking that he was loved.
Harry felt something like a knife twist painfully in his chest and stubbornly bit back the thought, unwilling to break. It's all for you, he thought, fear and sadness bubbling in his chest. He swallowed more determinedly and glanced up at Fenrir, not realising how close the man was. He could feel the man's breath on his skin and flushed, knowing Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley were watching.
Snap. Flash. The camera whirred and Harry exhaled shakily. For both of you, he amended.
"He wants feeding," Fenrir said after a while, when Mrs Weasley had gone up to join her husband and Ron and Hermione were enjoying their last cup of tea with him. Harry nodded, passing Kirian into Fenrir's arms.
"I'll join you in a sec, yeah?" he said, gesturing to their hollow. Fenrir looked confused for a moment, but then he seemed to remember Ron and Hermione at the table. With a nod, he ducked his head just a little to enter the oversized cupboard with Kirian and pulled the curtain closed behind him.
Harry looked to his two best friends. "I…I just wanted…" he hesitated, not knowing exactly how to say everything he felt needed to be said. He bit at the inside of his already sore mouth. "I know a lot has happened but I'm…" Why did it hurt so much? Why was it so hard? "You've both always been there. Always and even now when you don't really understand entirely, you've still got my back. You're still…"
Before he knew it, Hermione's hand had shot across the table, grabbing his fingers tightly and squeezing, her eyes shining. "Oh, Harry," she gasped. She was afraid of tomorrow too, so afraid for him, Ron, the others, herself. Beautiful, clever Hermione was terrified and Ron, he was too, one hand on Hermione's shoulder while the other curled on the tabletop awkwardly – as if he wanted to mimic Hermione's motion and reassure Harry in some way but wasn't certain how to do that in a masculine way.
Harry smirked knowingly and flicked Ron on the knuckle hard. The red-head's mouth twisted with a pensive expression. Knowing.
"I let you down once," Ron said firmly. "Never again. No matter what, alright?"
Harry nodded slowly. "You've never let me down. Not really." He wished there were a less mawkish way of saying he loved them both, as much as he loved Kirian, just differently. Because using those exact words would make Hermione cry and Ron fidget in that way he did. But then Hermione's fingers tightened round his and Ron set his own on top of both of theirs and Harry knew that they knew. It didn't need words.
When eventually his two friends left the kitchen and he extinguished the lights with a flick of his hand, Harry ducked into the hollow. Fenrir was leaning against the back wall, head bowed, breathing shallow and Kirian laying grumpily in his arms. It was very rare that he ever saw Fenrir fall asleep. In all the months they'd been together he could count on his hand the times it'd happened.
Slowly, Harry eased onto his haunches and stared at Fenrir's face. It was lined, face stubble trimmed neatly and lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. His jaw was quite square, neck thick and his hair had spilled forward from the angle of his head. Using one hand to caress Kirian's furrowed forehead reassuringly, Harry leant forward on his knees and traced the fingers of the other hand across Fenrir's slightly parted lips.
Harry exhaled slowly, shakily, his chest tight and eyes burning. This man had turned him, had let his own instincts take over and awaken something in him without his permission. He'd saved Harry from Voldemort, yes, but he'd dragged him into another bad situation. Even if it was his instincts that had urged him to do so.
You always make the best of a bad situation, Ron's voice said in his head. He frowned. Maybe that was how it started, Merlin only knew Fenrir wasn't the most moral of men. But he was…good. No more evil or corrupt than many of the wizards Harry knew and no matter how you spun it, that'd been the only thing Fenrir had forced him to do.
It might've been a bad situation to start with, Harry thought, grazing that stubbly jaw with the pads of his fingers, memorising the arch, staring at that mouth that had said such cruel and also such beautiful things. It wasn't the mouth of a monster. I found something else since then, though. And he knew it wasn't prisoner syndrome or whatever Remus had suggested at first, because he gave Fenrir as good as he got. Because they were equal, because Harry, at his heart hadn't changed. Only grown stronger.
Suddenly those lips shifted to meet his fingers and Harry glanced up to see blue eyes staring at him in the dimness of their makeshift den. "Hi," he murmured falteringly, feeling oddly shy at being caught staring. Fenrir only turned his head into Harry's hand in answer, not saying a word. There were no words.
Harry felt that rush again, the tightness in his chest that threatened to choke the life from him. He almost wished it would because he couldn't stand this feeling, this knowledge that he had only a limited time to say everything he needed to say, even the things he hadn't quite figured out himself. He had no idea what to say to Fenrir. There was just too much to say, too much he didn't understand and that just hurt even more. He clenched his eyes shut and buried his nose against the man's shoulder, inhaling deeply.
Fenrir's hand cupped the back of his neck, squeezing gently like it always did. Harry's left hand slid down to grip at the opposite shoulder, digging in when he felt the emotion swell.
"No regrets?" Fenrir's hoarse, gravelly voice murmured against his ear.
Not trusting his voice, Harry just shook his head. No regrets. Even the worst things in the last few months had been worth it because he'd never felt so strong, so at home, so…free. Accepted. Home. No regrets. He wanted to cry. He hated it. He grit his teeth. "Fenrir," he began raggedly. Fenrir's hand gripped his nape tighter.
"I know, pet," he said quietly, firmly, as if anything Harry said would break what little resolve he had too. A man who couldn't bear emotions and him, Harry, who had never been taught to express them. What a bloody pair we are, Harry thought, giving a soft, bitter laugh against the juncture of Fenrir's expansive shoulder.
"You're everything," Fenrir said, even softer against Harry's ear, so hoarse and quiet that Harry thought he didn't want to be heard. "The earth, the sun, the moon, the stars…" He gripped Harry tighter, until Harry winced and then the wolf let his hand slide up to grip Harry's hair at the back of his head. Just like the gentle licks were Fenrir's version of a kiss, Harry knew what these words meant as well and it hurt. It hurt so much he couldn't move. They stayed like that for a long time.
"You are the greediest git," Harry complained without any real annoyance, shifting Kirian on his lap as he latched onto his nipple with a bit more voracity than was necessary. Harry was alone with him in the kitchen while everyone readied themselves. The rowdy breakfast had been a battle all on its own but he thought that it helped Mrs Weasley to distract herself at the very least, catering for so many. Kreacher had been thrilled.
The photo album sat in front of him on the table and Harry cradled Kirian with one arm while using the other hand to push the photos Hermione had handed him that morning into place. He could not help but be embarrassed by the openness Hermione had somehow managed to catch. But then, just as he could see so plainly in all of the photos of his parents how in love they'd been, Kirian would be able to see whatever it was that he and Fenrir shared too.
Maybe he'll have better luck figuring it out than us two, Harry thought distantly, dropping the photo in favour of catching Kirian's milky belch with the blanket rather than his shirt.
"Nice save," said a voice from the doorway. Harry glanced up, startled to see Ginny leaning against the doorframe that lead up out of the kitchen. She looked…wistful, perhaps a bit resigned with sadness touching on her too-bright, red rimmed eyes. But she smiled as she crossed the room, coming to stand beside him. Harry returned her smile, sheepishly swiping at Kirian's mouth, grateful (not for the first time) that the blanket's magic fibres seemed to absorb and dissipate any mess or dirt.
"Still got those seeker reflexes," he mused, hesitating when Kirian gurgled in frustration and tried to turn back to latch on again. Harry glanced up from beneath his fringe. Ginny was watching carefully still, staring at Kirian with a far-off look on her face. Eventually Kirian began to fuss though and he had no choice but to shift and let him latch on again greedily. Harry waited with bated breath, not daring to look up at the girl he'd once thought he'd share everything with.
"It's so strange to see you doing that," she said in the end, with a voice soft and confused. Harry forced himself to look at her, finding her expression touched only by longing sadness where he'd thought he'd see disgust. He flushed, shifting Kirian's blanket up to cover his face and the area in question, he seemed to feed more comfortably without the light in his eyes anyway. Perhaps that or he could just sense Harry was more at ease with himself covered.
"It feels weird," Harry admitted, mouth quirking to the side in a smirk. To his relief, Ginny reciprocated, albeit distantly. "Gin," he began, but she lifted her hand a fraction to stay his words.
"Harry, it's… Don't," she said with a wince, again, her voice still calm. "I'm really… You don't need to apologise. I'd rather you didn't." She looked stubborn, almost fierce in her determination. Harry nodded. He supposed there was nothing that could be helped by apologising and besides which, he couldn't really have done anything differently.
"He's so little," Ginny said at last, when the silence drew on, leaving her standing over him uncomfortably. Harry watched her hand extend hesitantly, slowly edging forwards to brush the backs of her fingers against Kirian's dark head of hair. She gave an unsteady exhalation. "It's just so bizarre, seeing you with a baby. Not…not in a horrible way just…like…"
Harry glanced up again in time to see her mouth twist uncertainly in search of words. "I know what you mean," he said, "don't worry." He watched her pale, slender fingers stroke Kirian's head gently for a moment longer, before they reached for the photograph that had been left abandoned halfway into its fixings on the page. A photograph of Harry, Fenrir and Kirian all looking at the camera, until the former two stole a glance at each other. There was an embarrassing warmth there that made Harry's flush darken as he watched Ginny look on it.
"You never looked at me like that," she said. Her voice wasn't accusing or angry, only sad, longing still.
Harry fidgeted in his chair. "He's…different."
Ginny laughed. It was a lovely sound and for a moment Harry was reminded why he'd wanted to be with her. She sighed as her laughter faded and met his eyes. "You're more confident when you're with him. Powerful. Assertive, even. I can't say I agree with him awakening the werewolf in you without your consent, how could I? But he comes from somewhere a lot different to us and…" She looked lost and unsure of what to say for the first time in her life. She sighed again.
"I honestly don't think any of us can understand it or him because we weren't there. But looking at you with him, looking at you now – this isn't the face of a prisoner or a…a rape victim, a victim of conditioning. You're not afraid of him. You're not afraid to stand up to him even when Ron said he nearly pissed himself the other day-"
"Ron admitted that?" he asked, surprised.
Ginny smirked. "He didn't put it quite like that," she confessed. "But you're not…you're not his victim, or his prisoner."
Harry stared at her for a moment more before glancing to the photograph. Hadn't Ron and everyone else said that he had Fenrir wrapped around his finger? He didn't think he'd go as far as to agree with that but he definitely wasn't Fenrir's whipped puppy. "Fenrir's not perfect," he said, "but he's a good man. He's shown me things about myself, about people…" He trailed off, not knowing what else to say apart from that. He fingered the edges of the photograph thoughtfully.
"My dad, Dumbledore, Sirius, I loved them, you know? They all did some horrendous things in their time but the world…it isn't black and white. It's not separated into good people who've done no wrong and bad people who lie and cheat. Good people do bad things sometimes."
He thought back to the first few months after Dumbledore had died, all the things people had told him about the man he'd always looked up to, the things he'd discovered from Doge and Skeeter's book. He remembered how lost he'd felt when he'd realised that the man he'd set on a pedestal was in fact human, a human who'd made some very grave mistakes. Ones that had apparently hurt people.
"I still love him," he said absently, "in spite of everything." He'd made some poor decisions; selfish, thoughtless decisions but Harry didn't think that those few things could define a person. No matter how bad they were. Ginny set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently until he looked up at her. Her eyes were shining.
"Greyback or Dumbledore?" she asked, but when Harry floundered for an answer, she just smiled knowingly, squeezed a fraction harder and then headed for the stairs. "See you upstairs," she said, and then she was gone.
Harry exhaled shakily, rocking his little bludger in one arm when he pawed at him as he sucked. "Sssh," Harry consoled, setting the last picture into place before staring at it thoughtfully. It didn't feel like the end. He felt detached, numb and so lost in the dilemmas that had grown louder in his thoughts daily now; how he felt about Fenrir, what he was going to do when this was all over. He didn't feel worried or even afraid of what was about to happen, it didn't feel like it was about to happen to him, but someone else entirely.
On impulse, Harry summoned a scrap of parchment and a battered self-inking quill from one of the kitchen drawers and scribbled a note out quickly to Fenrir. When the ink had dried he slid it into the album and closed it neatly, pushing it to the middle of the table where he had no doubt Draco would discover it later. He was a nosy bastard, Harry thought affectionately, he knew he'd give it to Fenrir when it was all over.
Sitting back in his chair, Harry pulled the blanket back from Kirian's face and looked into big green eyes. They stared up at him with such wonder and curiosity. Harry smiled, savouring the connection for the last time without anyone there to make him remember he was embarrassed. "I never wanted to leave you behind like my mum and dad did me," he murmured softly, tracing Kirian's brow with his thumb, brushing a wayward curl from his face. Kirian blinked but continued to suck.
"I don't suppose you'll even remember me," Harry continued, heart aching at the thought. "I know you weren't exactly planned and I've probably made a right mess of things, but I love you. Your Dad, Draco and Echo and everyone will tell you that and…" He stopped, because it hurt and because it felt too real if he kept speaking.
His eyes burned and his chest stung. His throat was dry and sore. He felt sick. Inhaling determinedly, he remained quiet from then on, wondering exactly what Fenrir, Draco, Echo and the rest of the pack would tell his son about him, when he was old enough to understand.
Harry felt his stomach lurch as his feet slammed hard into solid ground after the sickening pull of something that (whatever Snape said to the contrary) felt exactly like apparition. He nearly stumbled forward as their entire group touched down again, his vision and sense of gravity whirling for a moment until Fenrir's large hand gripped his shoulder and steadied him.
"Alright?" Fenrir asked, voice tense, uneasy.
Harry nodded, reaching up and laying his hand over Fenrir's for a moment as he waited for the dizziness and the feeling that his stomach was in his throat to dissipate. Snape was right next to them, Harry realised when he could see straight again. Those dark eyes were regarding Harry with a curious expression and Harry frowned. "Professor?" he asked.
Snape seemed to come back to himself at his concern and he straightened, gripping his wand tighter. "Are you ready, Potter?" he asked quietly as Hermione, Ron, the pack and the Order gathered in close, glancing around the dark cavern they had arrived in. It was cold and dark, Harry could see just fine but he'd bet the human members of their group were straining slightly, especially since they dared not light their wands.
Snape, for his part seemed unconcerned. He'd obviously been here before. Harry stared straight into his professor's eyes, mind flooded with all the things he longed to say, longed to ask and now time had been cut cruelly short. He thought he saw the same regret in Snape's dark eyes too.
"I'm ready, Sir," Harry confirmed after the smallest delay, glancing quickly to Ron, Hermione and Remus, then to Echo and the pack. "I take it we're in the right place?"
Snape took a few steps to the left, towards a door that stood ajar. "The Dark Lord has used this place many times. I believe Wormtail gloated that this was the cave he nursed the Dark Lord back to health in, before he was well enough to be taken to Little Hangleton. He has expanded, of course. But the Dark Lord has a peculiar sense of humour and irony. He was once so weak here and now…" Snape glanced around at the cavern they were in, empty except for a few shackles and racks. Harry shivered, not wanting to think about how many people had been held and tortured here.
"You apparated us into a bloody prison?!" One of the order hissed at Snape.
With a derisive sneer of distaste, Snape looked back to the door. "It is not apparition," he corrected, with the same mild irritation Harry had heard him use countless times back at Hogwarts. "I followed the thread of the dark mark. I pulled out just before we reached Him. It should give us the element of surprise, I hope."
Harry nodded in agreement and approached the door, Fenrir, Snape, Hermione and Ron close behind. He dropped down to his haunches and peered out of the crack in the door that stood ajar. The tunnel outside was wide and dry, illuminated by otherworldly green flames that burned in torches all the way along. There were no shadows to cling to, corners or crevices, the walls had been rendered smooth and flat. They shimmered glistening grey in the unnatural emerald firelight.
"Like snakeskin," Harry whispered, Fenrir's warmth firmly against his back.
"As I said," Snape said, by his way of agreement, "humour."
Harry thought he saw a flicker of pride in those dark eyes, pride for him, not Voldemort, but it was gone as soon as he'd seen it. He smiled softly at his once-Professor. "The tunnel forks ahead," Harry noted. "Which way will he be?"
Snape's face twisted in disgust. "He's fashioned himself a throne room of sorts to the left. He likes to pace in there like Mad King Lear."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw him watching, as if challenging him to say he didn't know who that was. Harry smiled just slightly, not giving him the satisfaction. "Right, and how many Death Eaters patrol the caves?"
"Many," Snape replied simply. "But more will be spread throughout. They will crawl out of the woodwork once they know something is occurring and close in behind us."
Movement sounded behind him and Harry glanced back to see Remus edging toward him. "We'll go first," he said softly, "Draw them out, then once you're through we'll close up behind you like a swarm of bees."
Harry hesitated, because the idea of anyone going 'first' seemed dangerous, the thought of someone potentially taking the first hit for him unbearable. But it had to be done. He winced.
"Echo?" Fenrir said from his side, "You, Larentia and Marrok lead with Lupin, you can take the first spells if they get the first shot. Keep them safe, then when they all come running, close in behind us and hold up the rear, got it?"
Echo said nothing, just nodded seriously.
Harry grasped at Hermione's wrist. "You two stay close until we get to the throne room. Hemming and the others will stick with you and make sure any Death Eaters in there already don't interfere. Harry's heart was thudding a little faster now. A single trail of perspiration slid down his neck between his shoulder blades. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, prepare himself somehow.
Closing his eyes tightly, he thought of that morning, of Kirian's sleeping face as he pushed him reluctantly into Draco's arms. The pang of longing sharpened his resolve and he grit his teeth tightly. It was a struggle to remember anything inspirational or any words of encouragement. He wondered what Dumbledore would've said to inspire those gathered behind him, waiting to follow him into battle.
A soft, familiar soothing growl resonated in his ear, Fenrir's rough, inhuman hum that sent a ripple of ease through him. Harry slowly rose to his feet as the sound carried through his bones. He released Hermione's wrist so that he could press back slightly against Fenrir's flank as he stared into the dimness, at everyone who was willing to follow him and knew he had to do this. He had to. There was no room for error.
"Let's go," he said and with a final glance up at Fenrir, he checked that the coast was clear and pushed the door open.
Wearing their human skins, Echo, Larentia and Marrok slid out into the tunnel, to check the coast was clear before Remus and the Order followed. Harry held his breath as he watched them go, all three of them sticking flat to the glistening wall until they got to the fork. Slowly they peeled away from the wall, darting glances down one tunnel then the other. Everyone in the prison held their breath, poised on the tips of their toes, ready to launch forward.
After a few torturous moments, Marrok stepped further into the fork and scanned both sides a final time, before looking directly back at where Harry, Fenrir and Snape were prepared in the doorway, waiting for his signal. He raised a hand and as his large dark fingers began to curl in signal, a sharp black spark ripped through the cavern.
"No!" Harry screamed as it sliced through Marrok's shoulder, sparking as is bolted through his flesh and sent an electrical, spider web of midnight black magic through his entire right side. He jerked where he stood, thrown up onto the tips of his toes before he collapsed on the hard floor. The stone glistened like snake scales as his blood pooled around him.
"Go!" Snape cried. Harry felt him move, felt the crowd behind him surge forward, pour out into the tunnel, wands raised as he knelt there. Stunned, his eyes focussed on Marrok's wide eyes and mouth moving with panicked, choked pain. Fenrir seized him by the scruff and dragged him forwards, Harry's legs scrabbling for purchase as they hurtled across the ground.
"Harry!" Ron's voice called but Harry could not turn, could not escape Fenrir's firm grip until he dropped him at Marrok's side.
"Get up!" Fenrir snarled at his omega, seizing Marrok roughly by his uninjured shoulder and flipping him onto his knees. Harry, who'd landed on his hands and knees on the stone watched as Fenrir dug his claws in hard, pinning Marrok's body to the unforgiving floor when it started to spasm like a creature possessed.
"Shift you fucking pillock and force the magic out of you!" Fenrir roared as the battle waged around them. The Order and werewolves clashed with Death Eaters as they spilled into the corridor, wands blazing with a myriad of deathly lights. There was chaos all around them and Harry heard Ron and Hermione's voices, heard Snape's as he crawled forward, hands hovering uselessly over Marrok's shoulder where it sparked.
"The dark magic has him in shock," Larentia hissed as she dropped down next to Harry. "He can't get a grip on himself to shift."
"Will he be able to heal it if he changes?" Harry gasped frantically.
Larentia looked grim. "He could if he shifted before the magic spreads," she said, gesturing with her chin to where the spider web of dark, glowing light was spreading downward across his chest and arm now.
Suddenly a spell zipped past them, narrowly missing Harry's nose and slamming hard into the wall opposite, obliterating a chunk that made the wall tremble.
"We have to get out of here – we have to get to the Dark Lord!" Snape's harsh, insistent voice said from somewhere above. Harry winced, he couldn't, Marrok needed to change, he needed to–
"Change now you sack of shit!" Fenrir growled, voice breaking with fear in a way only Harry could sense as he slammed his fist hard into the back of Marrok's neck. "Your alpha commands it!"
Marrok's fitting body stilled immediately, his pupils dilating.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed, her desperation making Harry's head shoot up, just in time to see a glaring red curse flying straight for his face.
Larentia morphed before Harry could even draw breath. A flash of fur covered his vision as she leapt into the light, a wolf, taking the spell square in the chest and rolling with it, staggering upward again with the same motion. She threw her head to the side, staring at Harry with a look that could only say one thing. Go!
Two different sets of hands hauled him upward then. Ron and Hermione, following Snape's lead dragged Harry's resisting body away from where Fenrir, who remained kneeling over his pack mate, shoving roughly, commandingly at his frighteningly still limbs. Harry's lips parted to call out to him but then Snape was in front of him, gripping his head between two surprisingly strong hands. His ashen face blocked Harry's view of the wall of people that stood between them and the Death Eaters.
"Focus, Potter!" Snape demanded, face hard but eyes panicked as Harry had never seen them. "You are here to end this. If you do not, then we will all die down here!"
Harry felt a sharp pain burst in his chest, as if someone had driven a lance through his ribcage. He heard Fenrir's demanding voice, Remus's commands to the Order. Howls and inhuman snarls of the pack ripped through the chaos. Harry's legs shook but he pressed down into them, forcing them to steady.
Obviously seeing the determination in Harry's face, Snape, released his head and started down the tunnel again. "We have to move," he said, "quickly now."
Hemming and Raquelle moved alongside them, providing a shield against curses from either side as they went. Harry looked back over his shoulder at the battle. The chaos had swallowed up Marrok but Fenrir was still shouting at him, trying to force his shift, trying to save his life. There was still hope. There was still…
It's better this way, Harry thought as he kept running, facing front now, trying to keep up with Snape, Ron, Hermione and the wolves either side. He won't see you die, like his family. Biting down on the swell of emotion that threatened to rise up, he ran harder, wand tight in his hand.
"How far is it?" he asked Snape, voice only slightly ragged with his running, firm and low with newly hardened resolve.
Snape glanced to him very quickly. "Just ahead. He'll have heard the commotion. I have a plan to get you close enough."
Harry saw the solid silver doors ahead and didn't dare look away – just in case he couldn't bring himself to face them again. "I trust you," he said, honesty ringing true in his voice.
They came to a halt just outside the closed doors, catching their breath. He looked to Hermione and Ron, red-faced with running but ready, Hemming and Raquelle like loyal guards either side. Harry nodded in thanks to them. "Keep them safe," he said to the wolves, meaning his two best friends, who were less resilient to curses. He stared down the tunnel, the sound of the battle carrying through the glistening walls.
Fenrir, he thought. He'd not even got to say goodbye. But then, he supposed if he'd tried to offer any kind of closure, Fenrir would've never have let him out of his sight. Still, longing lapped at his chest like the cold midnight ocean bit at the shore with each wave. Fenrir, Kirian…
When at last he fixed his eyes on Snape again, Harry thought the man was about to say something pivotal. Instead, in a tone markedly softer than Harry had ever heard him use before, the man said, "ready?" He didn't need to wait for Harry's answer. He continued, "You four wait here out of sight. Do not move until we give the signal, no matter what you see."
Harry sensed the unease in his pack-mates, saw Ron and Hermione frown.
"What's the signal?" Ron asked.
Harry tried to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "When my head hits the floor," he said, and with that, he took the final step closer to Snape. He had anticipated his plan without the man uttering it and was unsurprised when long potion-stained fingers gripped the back of his neck firmly. He let Snape march him right up to the doors and drew in a deep breath.
"I am sorry, Potter. I wish things were different," Snape murmured, for Harry's ears only, voice tight. Just for a moment, the fingers at Harry's nape felt reassuring, squeezing the way Fenrir's did, before maintaining their grip.
"I know, Sir. I…I'm sorry too – for everything." He tilted his head to look into Snape's eyes one last time, before the man pushed the doors open. Harry clenched his eyes shut and the moment he felt different, more potent air on his face, the moment the door shut behind them, he began to struggle. Or to pretend to, at least.
There were five people in the room. Lucius Malfoy was sprawled across the floor, still alive and twitching under the tell-tale after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse, his wife bowed over him. Bellatrix stood just off to the side with her husband close by and on a slightly raised dais, before what Harry supposed Voldemort probably fancied his throne, was the man himself.
Long dark robes trailed behind Voldemort as he took a step forward, wand slightly raised. His red eyes flashed as he saw Harry, apparently being dragged into the centre of the room by a stone-faced Snape. "As promised, My Lord," Snape said, voice dark and heavy with pride. "His rabble are back there – the others are taking care of them. They should be easy to pick off now that we have taken Greyback down, but here is the boy. I brought him to you before someone else could deprive you of the pleasure."
Voldemort's face was unreadable as Snape pulled Harry into the centre of the room. To make it look good, Harry struggled to kick Snape, purposefully letting the man trip him up so he was literally dragged along his knees right to the foot of the dais, near Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Held firmly to his knees, Harry felt Snape's reluctance to release him disguised as a sharp jerk to his hair, holding his head back so he had to look up at Voldemort.
"Face your master, you insolent wretch," Snape murmured forebodingly. Harry winced and struggled, secretly grateful for Snape's hard grip on his hair. Snape was right there, he'd make sure this worked. He'd make sure everything that was happening back there in the tunnel wasn't in vain…
"I wonder, dear Severus, how the 'rabble' found us in the first place?" Voldemort breathed dangerously.
Harry felt his chest grow tight as the man swooped in, standing almost directly over him. He remembered that Fenrir was supposed to be 'fallen' and so his protection that now kept Voldemort's presence itself from inflicting pain should be too. He clawed at his scar in a display of barely concealed pain, remembering the skull-splitting agony well-enough to make it convincing.
"My Lord," Snape said courteously, bowing his head slightly. He then looked to Lucius, "It seems you already know, of course. Far ahead of the rest of us as always. You must know that Draco Malfoy is one of them now? A werewolf's whore as assuredly as Potter. Lucius probably thought that he could buy the wolves' favour and get their son back…"
Harry winced at the lie and the violation of Draco's privacy at the same time. He glanced to Narcissa, the only one whose face he could see and noticed she didn't look shocked by the mention of Draco. They probably did have some sort of tapestry like the Black's did at Grimmauld Place, showing Draco's connection to Echo. He winced, wondering how that would all work out once this was over. He supposed he'd never know.
"You accuse Lucius of letting them into our stronghold, Severus?" Voldemort asked carefully.
Snape gripped Harry's neck tighter. "My Lord, it can only be him. Who else would invite werewolves in? Who else has been driven so low, so desperate to…?"
Voldemort held up a hand, his free hand and Snape fell silent. "Lucius himself just burst in here to accuse you of the crime," he said. "You see where his accusations to my intelligence have gotten him? You have always been my favourite, Severus, but be careful how you speak to me."
Snape bowed lower and pushed Harry forward, as if he were a peace offering. Just do it, Harry thought with gritted teeth. Just fucking do it already!
Suddenly the familiar rip of legilimency tore through his mind. Harry cried out, unprepared for the assault of Voldemort through his mind. It made him feel helpless and useless and fifteen again. He struggled in Snape's grip like a worm on a hook, but it was nothing more than an act. Fenrir's connection burned brightly in Harry's head, unseen by anyone but him and he withdrew behind its protection. He pushed forward images of Echo and Draco standing together, images of Fenrir being swallowed up by the masses as he knelt at Marrok's side, anything that he could think of that would aid Snape's story.
Against his wishes Harry pushed a few embarrassing images of himself and Fenrir, of Kirian and their pack, just in case, just so Voldemort wouldn't suspect he was hiding something. When Voldemort finally drew back, Harry was gasping for air like a man half-drowned, limp and weak in Snape's grasp. He groaned in very real pain, sweaty and reeling from the agonising violation. His head was throbbing.
"It's difficult to decide who I should end first," Voldemort said smoothly, looking between Lucius and Harry thoughtfully. "The traitor or the chosen one."
Mind heavy, spiralling with Kirian and Fenrir, Ron and Hermione and everyone he loved, Harry wrenched himself out of Snape's grip and spat at Voldemort's feet. "You can't break me, Tom Riddle," he snarled venomously. He sounded braver than he felt, his insides tight, his stomach churning. Only sheer bloody-mindedness and Gryffindor recklessness kept his jaw tight and his voice even.
"You couldn't break me before and you can't touch me now. You weren't even the one to catch me – Snape was. There's a whole army behind me of wolves and wizards and when they step in here and see me at your feet, still defying you, that'll be all they need to find the strength to finish you."
A sharp, blinding pain lashed across his face and he grunted, biting down on his tongue and tasting blood as he tried to stifle his cry. He felt blood weep down his cheek and his skin hum warningly as he watched Voldemort's hand draw back from the blow. There was an odd-looking, glowing silver knife in his hand. Harry's blood painted the blade, hissing and fizzing, causing soft furls of smoke to rise from its razor sharp edge.
Real silver, Harry thought, knowing now why it'd hurt so much. He could feel his skin bubbling as if he'd been sliced with a white-hot branding iron. He could not help but convulse and struggle stifle a scream as he stared up at Voldemort, defiant. Everything had changed since he'd been suspended in wire and needles at Voldemort's feet all those months ago, yet he still felt the same. He was still terrified. He felt sick with the fear and it was a struggle not to shiver with it. He didn't feel brave, only determined to end this.
"A wand is far too neat for you, Harry, especially after all the mess you have made of my plans over the years," Voldemort breathed softly, red eyes blazing, nostrils flaring as he seized Harry by his hair and hauled him to his feet. Harry's hands hung limp at his sides but he stared unwaveringly into those eyes as the monster hissed, "this is a much more fitting end."
Harry saw the silver of the blade as Voldemort held it in front of his eyes. It looked like a basilisk fang anointed with silver and with a handle mostly covered by Voldemort's sleeve. Trust him to pick something so Slytherin. Harry grunted but gave no other betrayal of fear, even if he felt like he wanted to piss himself. He didn't feel brave. He wanted to cry but the heat from the silver so close to his skin made his tear ducts dry up. He swore he felt his eyelashes and eyebrows being singed. His skin hummed as if close to an electric current.
"I am going to slit open your throat," Voldemort hissed with morbid delight, eyes dancing. He brought the knife to Harry's cut cheek and pressed in, twisting shallowly, spitefully so that Harry was choking on the need to scream, barely holding on.
Voldemort was still speaking. "It's going to hurt so much, it's a painful way to die, after all. It's going to be agony and so messy. It'll take an age and as you are lying there in a puddle of your own blood, spluttering and sobbing like a slaughtered pig, your friends will come in and see you, my victory and they will know it is over."
Mum, Dad, Harry thought helplessly, fighting to keep his eyes open now, breathing hard on purpose to try and get through it as Voldemort laughed at him, mocked his sacrifice. I'm scared.
Sirius.
Dumbledore.
Fenrir.
The burning heat of the blade was against his neck now, so close that he swore his skin was bubbling again, but still not touching. He did whimper, he did grunt, he couldn't help it. But he did not close his eyes. Finish me you fucking snake, he snarled in his mind, the ferocity helping him to hold onto the cries of pain that were suffocating him now.
"When you see your sweet Dumbledore, be sure to tell him that it was all in vain," Voldemort breathed, "that I won."
Gritting his teeth hard, Harry forced himself to stare into Voldemort's eyes. "You didn't beat him either though did you though? That was Draco and Snape." The satisfaction of seeing Voldemort so incensed was almost enough to numb the pain, almost.
It burned. Harry had never felt so much pain. Voldemort pressed the knife in, twisting in a long, slow, searing slice that burned and cut his flesh at the same time. He wanted to scream, his face contorted with agony but the shock of the pain silenced him. He couldn't breathe.
The moments that followed were drawn out in painful slow-motion, whirring around his hazed mind, stretching out into infinity until he was mentally begging for the end. The silver twisted beneath his skin as if it were a layer of pastry, dragging out thick rivulets of blood that he felt roll down over his collarbone and chest. His entire body went cold and began to quiver in Voldemort's grasp as it dragged cleanly to the other side of his throat.
Harry's voice found him then, escaping in a revolting gurgle of terrified pain. He dug his fingers hard into Voldemort's wrists, tried to kick out at him to make him let go but his body was no longer his to control. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head until all he could see was the garish green light of the torches and Snape's hard, ashen expression. He knew Snape needed to remain in place until he was dead, needed to stay as close as possible to Voldemort so he could finish him but still, Harry stared at him, wishing the pain would stop.
He was fourteen in the graveyard again, watching Cedric die, being bound to the tombstone as he watched the face of his nightmares come back into being. It was that and worse because he couldn't breathe and he was shaking all over, out of control. His throat was on fire and sizzling, bleeding boiling hot blood out of his icy skin – ice that seemed to be spreading all over. He couldn't feel his fingers as he instinctively reached up to try and stop the bleeding. He clenched his eyes shut again, afraid, so afraid, holding onto reality, to life like a decapitated snake as Voldemort's laughter rung through his pounding head.
Dying. He was dying. Where was he going? Would he see his mum and dad again? Dumbledore? Sirius? Was he going anywhere? He clenched his eyes tight as he spluttered and choked for air, his chest tight and cold as stone. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe! Bloody someone help him! He was so afraid. Death was like the fingers of a hundred dementors clawing at him spitefully, dragging harder, deeper. The floor felt like a pool of suffocating tar trying to suck him down, down…
"Help me!" He choked out brokenly, blood spilling over his lips. "Please!" He thought he saw Snape reach for his wand but then the far-too distant sound of the great doors swinging open reached him. It echoed oddly in Harry's ringing ears as they ricocheted off the polished stone walls, voices and footsteps thundering through his skull as he choked on air and blood. His body was shuddering as if plugged into an electrical charge now, gone into shock and he clenched his eyes shut tight again. He was willing for it to end so the pain stopped but also desperate for some miracle to save him. He didn't want to die. He was scared. He didn't want to die.
"Harry?!"
"Harry!"
Hermione and Ron's voices swept over him. Then a roar of outraged horror ripped through the air and a sharp gust of air carried over him. He opened his eyes just in time to see a flash of silver fur as Fenrir's wolf vaulted over his body, careening into Voldemort and sending him crashing hard into the snake-like stone. Hemming and Raquelle flew after him, Voldemort's distant curses and their animalistic battle cries filling Harry's ears as two big arms wrapped around his shaking form.
"The silver and basilisk fang are reacting together, but the horcrux in him is fighting it, making it last longer," Snape's voice said quickly from nearby. "Making it worse."
"What?" Fenrir seethed darkly, cradling Harry's body close. Harry squinted, his vision blurring as he tried to see Fenrir's face. "What the fuck did you do? What bloody Horcrux?" Fenrir snarled.
"Fen–" Harry tried, a thick clot of blood clogging his throat. He let out a struggled, determined grunt as he forced his fingers to obey, to grip Fenrir's face. He clawed him by accident but it didn't matter, he was touching, Fenrir was looking at him again. Those ice-blue eyes were glassy and wide, face contorted as if he could feel every ounce of Harry's pain. Absently, behind his own icy tremors and suffocating agony, Harry thought he could sense Fenrir's emotional anguish, but he couldn't hold on.
"Oh God," Hermione gasped from nearby, her hand pressing against his throat to try and staunch the bleeding as she reached for her wand.
"No!" Harry tried, "leave it, I n-need…"
"The Dark Lord needed to be the one to kill him, to destroy the horcrux in him. If you try and heal him now it will all be in vain," Snape's voice said from somewhere so very far away.
"What the fuck are you–?" Ron was cut off as Harry let out another garbled cry.
"I'm a…the last…one," he grunted out, pulling Fenrir's face closer with trembling hands. He could barely see him now, barely speak and he wanted Fenrir to hear. He had to know. "Need to die…sorry…don't want…I want to…stay…"
Fenrir pressed his forehead hard into Harry's, a low grunt of stifled misery tearing at his throat. His heartache was so palpable now that Harry could feel it sweeping through him, overtaking everything else. Everything except the icy claws locking around his throat.
"No," Fenrir growled, voice raspy and lost. "No…"
"Kill him, V…mort, when I'm…" A sharp rush of ice spiralled up inside Harry and his head jerked back, the spasm tugging at his torn throat. Fenrir's forehead and arm were the only things holding him still. Harry used everything he had left to press tight into Fenrir's warmth, trying to hold on as long as possible.
"Look aft…Kirian, I…Fenrir…" The tears that rose in his eyes felt so hot, the only warmth in his body except Fenrir's connection that pounded as violently as his poisoned blood and dying heart. "I don't want to die," he spluttered, not caring about bravery or pride. He didn't feel brave, he didn't feel strong. He didn't want the dark, icy fingers that were tugging him down, down…
"I don't want to, I'm…"
A final shudder, then everything was silent. The pain died and his breath halted in his icy chest.
Draco exhaled, leg bouncing nervously as he watched Potter's son sleep fitfully in the moses basket. Potter and the others had been gone for just forty minutes and already Draco was sick with nerves. As if being on edge, waiting for the tiny infant in the basket to wake wasn't bad enough, even with Kreacher flapping round the house somewhere cleaning after their countless guests, but it was the knowing, the anticipation of something going horribly wrong…
"Curse you, Potter," he grunted, pushing to his feet and casting his fifth cushioning charm around the baby, who gave a disgruntled whimper in his sleep at the hum of magic. When he was certain the baby was well cushioned, Draco turned to put on the kettle. He'd had three cups of tea since they'd left but it was the only thing he could think to do.
A long, heavy sigh dragged free of his chest as he set his hands on the edge of the counter top, curling his fingers around the edge and bowing forward. He grit his teeth. He knew why Potter had given him the 'order' to stay behind and look after the boy. Yes, he was one of the few Potter's 'wolf' could stand around his child without supervision but also, it was because Potter knew what a coward he was. That thought made the nervous sickness in his belly all the more unbearable.
Useless, pathetic, Voldemort's voice hissed in his head. Draco winced, clapping his hand over his dark mark as it throbbed. Voldemort was calling all the death eaters. He must know that Potter and the others were there by now. And Echo…
"Please don't let him die," he breathed, eyes clenched tight against the far too-bright, far too sunny kitchen. "I need him, I need him and I…" If he died while Draco was sat here, given an excuse to hide like a pathetic little coward, he'd never forgive himself. He'd never been the strongest or the cleverest, the most talented – he'd certainly never been the bravest.
Please don't let him die because I wasn't good enough to help. Please.
Suddenly, the baby gave a distressed little whimper and Draco whipped around so fast that he accidently brushed his arm against the hot AGA. He let out a hiss and a curse, grabbing instinctively for his burnt forearm – the one with the dark mark. He glared at it darkly.
If he comes back I'll do better, I'll be better. I'll make amends for everything, just please…
The baby was crying louder now and he rushed over to the basket, halting when he came up next to it. He winced, hesitating, flustered and lost for a moment, before reaching inside and carefully pulling the baby up into his arms. "Don't you vomit on me, now you hear?" he warned, sitting back unsteadily in the chair and holding Kirian awkwardly on his lap so he could look at his pink, crying face. "Now then, what the devil is wrong with you?" he demanded uncertainly.
Kirian wailed.
Looking around, Draco reached for the bottle that had been prepared and kept warm beside him, but that wasn't what the baby wanted. He spat out the teat unhappily. "The elf just changed you and you're not hungry," he said, feeling so awkward and frustrated. He didn't want the child to cry; he was fond of him, despite appearances. Draco felt like crying himself and grit his teeth hard against the impulse.
Staring at the baby's mouth, parted with wailing, he realised what was missing. Moving the weight of him to one arm, he fished around inside the basket until he found the blasted soother and popped it back in the gaping maw. After a moment, that rosebud mouth fastened eagerly around it and the pathetic sobs ceased. Draco relaxed in the kitchen chair.
Thank Merlin. The child was frowning, wriggling unhappily but he seemed a little more at ease, even if his tiny little fists were clenched and his tiny nostrils were flaring. Draco felt his heart clench. "You're trying to smell for Potter?" he asked, voice hoarse. Of course the baby didn't answer but he didn't need to, Draco knew. At a loss, Draco reached for the album on the table and pulled it forward so both he and Kirian could see – even if the boy might not be able to focus on the photographs, it made Draco feel better, useful.
"This is your grandfather, I do believe, and your grandmother," Draco said, flicking slowly through the pages. Kirian did look at them but seemed instead more interested in smelling them. "That's Granger and Weasel, they are probably something like unofficial godparents to you, though I think you're much better off with pack godparents, really…"
He wasn't sure when he'd come to realise that the pack was such a beautiful place, a paradise away from the rest of the world. It hadn't struck him like a thunderclap or lightning strike, the same as his…affection for Echo hadn't. It'd been gradual, subtle, sneaking up on him until…
Until I couldn't imagine my life without them, Draco thought. Turning page by page through the album, his voice seemed to soothe the child a little. The thought that this photo album seemed to be Potter's only connection to his family was a sad thought, as beautiful a collection as it was. Echo had told him Potter had grown up with nothing, with no one but the sight of this, all he had was staggering. Draco glanced down at the fussing baby in his arms as he turned to the final page and sighed.
Come home, Potter, he thought. Not just for the pining infant but for Potter himself, who despite his Gryffindor recklessness and stupidity, deserved so much more. The chance to live. When did I start caring about him so bloody much? He wondered as he looked back to the album and froze. Potter's messy, painfully familiar script stared up at him from a small piece of parchment, sitting neatly between the last two photographs of Greyback, Potter and their son.
With a thick sense of foreboding in his belly, Draco reached forward and picked up the note.
Fenrir,
You know I'm not good with fancy words or saying the right thing so I'm just going to say it – I'm sorry. I'm sorry I kept it from you, the fact that I needed to die, that I was the last horcrux, but I knew you'd never let me go and I needed to do it. For you and Kirian. For everyone.
Please don't blame Snape, he's been as much a pawn in this as me and he's a good man. He's the bravest man I've known and if he gets out of this alive, I hope you can forgive him for helping me. We were both Dumbledore's men until the end – the bitter end.
You and I didn't have the best start but whatever happens, whatever anyone else says, the last few months have been everything to me. I've never felt more alive, more aware of myself and I never would've discovered that without you. I never would've had Kirian either and he's everything I never dared to hope for, just like you said.
There are so many things I've not had the chance to say and now my mind is blank, but I wish I didn't have to do this. I wish I could stay. I don't want to leave you and Kirian. I don't know what that means, I don't know what I feel but I know the thought of leaving you hurts. I want to stay. I want you. I want Kirian. I don't want to go. I want to stay in our hollow and forget everything but I can't. I have a job to do, to finish and only I can do it.
It's not your fault.
I don't want to leave.
Please forgive me.
Love Harry
Draco dropped the letter, his eyes stinging and his chest tight. In his arms, sensing the mood it seemed, Kirian let out a pitiful cry.
"Potter," Draco murmured, his throat clogged and voice dry. "What have you done?"
~To Be Continued...