Author's Note: Warning for some swearing and gore. Thank you so much for all your support and comments in the previous chapter. I was so nervous I wouldn't do it justice and to know you all enjoyed it (despite a few tears) means everything to me. Hope this one is just as good!
Hoaryaehexia - derived from 'hoary' another word for silver. A bolt/bolts of pure silver that combust upon hitting the flesh, creating an overwhelming flash of silver. My creation from my HP story Sanguis Vita Est. Please ask, credit me and link to my page accordingly if you use.
We're not at the last chapter yet! There's still more to come :) 1 or 2 chapters I think depending on how things play out. Thank you for all your support thus far ^.^
NOTE ADDED 15th January 2015: I'm changing the update night to Saturday night (UK TIME) just because work is so busy at this time of year and stressful so I just run out of time during the week at the moment. HOWEVER I have Saturdays all to myself (hubby is even at work) and I will use this as my main writing/editing day. So yes, same weekly schedule, just moved to Saturdays instead :) Hope you guys aren't too disappointed and don't feel let down? Hopefully the next chapter will make up for it ;) See you on 17th January! :D
.: Chapter Twenty-Four :.
Dying Stars
The first thing Harry was aware of was that he wasn't cold anymore. He wasn't anything. He didn't feel cold or warm, didn't feel the fingers of death clawing at him or the choking agony of his sliced throat. He couldn't see or hear. There was simply nothing. Yet he wasn't afraid, he wasn't lost. He was floating on air – part of the air itself with no concern or desperation. He was done now. Everything was going to be alright.
It was over. The last horcrux had fizzed away into nothing. Kirian was safe and Fenrir… He could still feel Fenrir. Warmth that lapped at his disembodied soul, which flickered like a candle striving to stay alight in the wind. Harry floated on a tide of nothingness, that flame growing brighter, harder to dismiss until it burst in him like dying stars clashing together to forge new galaxies. As the heat ripped through him, his eyes flew open and he saw…white. Just white.
Fenrir? He tried to say, but he had no voice to speak. The heat burned through the body he no longer had, building it anew and he pushed into it, trying to force the reborn limbs to move, to rise, to seek out the now inescapable fire that was raging, calling him. He blinked again, desperation reborn in his calm awareness.
Suddenly he felt pressure at his back – hard, unyielding ground supporting his body. He lifted his hands and saw them, pale and bathed in otherworldly white light but very much there. He frowned, feeling his face twist with the expression and then the white nothingness around him seemed to dissolve. It faded like vapour, until all that remained was a thick white mist over a familiar forest, illuminated with that same white light.
The sound of water trickled through his ears and he blinked again, pushing up off the ground to find that he was spread out in a shallow stream. The one that ran through the Forest of Shae. The water was calm and clear, glistening like a current of crystals, flowing over his legs and against his waist upstream, to where he could see it forked in two directions, as it did in reality. He knew this wasn't reality. This was a copy – a mirage or ghostly limbo. Everything was covered in a shining fog wherever he looked.
Slowly, he pushed himself out of the water, only to see that the water hadn't made him wet. He frowned. He was wearing his Gryffindor robes – which he hadn't worn in real life for over a year. "Where am I?" he asked, voice sounding distant, ghostly in the misty plain.
"Oh, neither here nor there," a voice came from the side, echoing slightly as his own had.
Harry turned and started at what he saw there on the shoreline. "Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, frozen in place for a moment, the fire of Fenrir's light still burning through his veins demandingly. Its persistence seemed to be giving him back more and more feeling, more awareness because he could feel his body more now, his expressions, his emotions. He felt trepidation and sadness lick at his insides as he crossed the stream to stand on the bank beside Dumbledore on the grey grass.
Staring at his mentor for a long time, Harry felt a smile touch him and Dumbledore answered it in kind.
"Hello, Harry my boy."
Harry watched him for a moment longer before darting his gaze around the silver-hued forest once more. "This looks like the Forest of Shae, near the den," Harry said.
Dumbledore looked around also. "Goodness, is it? I never saw it myself, you know but I have been watching. This must've been the place you felt would be best."
Harry blinked. "Best for what, sir?"
With that painfully familiar smile, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Something in Harry's chest hurt. How many things had he pondered, mulled over in his mind to ask the man if he ever saw him again? How many unanswered questions and uncertainties did he want to put to him? Now he couldn't even think of one. Fenrir's heat in his veins was making panic pulse thickly in his throat and he swallowed. He could even taste his own saliva again now.
"Sir, what's happening? I thought I died? I thought that I…"
Suddenly something caught his eye. He felt a rush of revulsion and fear as he saw the mutated, red creature writhing as it was carried downstream. It looked like a child except its arms and legs were unnaturally long and thin, its head adult sized and inhuman looking. Harry felt ill to watch it but could not look away as it choked and flailed, dragged down toward the fork in the stream.
"Have no fear, Harry, I think you know what that was and let me assure you, wherever you go from here, it will have no hold on you any longer," Dumbledore said softly, reaching out and squeezing Harry's shoulder. Harry felt it, felt the firmness of his fingers and stared at the wrinkly-skinned hand before meeting Dumbledore's bright blue eyes again. Dumbledore was still smiling and his face, his presence let the urgency instilled by Fenrir's warmth ebb slightly. As if sensing his thoughts, Dumbledore frowned.
"It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry," Dumbledore said, an echo of his words in life. "Nor the dead. I am meant to be an impartial guide while you choose direction, after all."
"A guide to where, sir?" Harry asked, watching as Dumbledore swept out an imperious palm toward the fork in the river.
"Wherever you choose," Dumbledore said.
Harry understood. He nodded slowly. "One is to go back," he said, something inside him, his heart skipping a beat. He felt it beating now, growing stronger by the second. It was as if life were returning to him. But every time he looked at Dumbledore, it seemed to fade ever so slightly into the soft fuzzy nothingness of before. "Where does the other side of the river lead?"
Dumbledore's expression was wistful as he let go of Harry's shoulder and turned toward the fork. "On," he said, walking the silvery riverbank. Harry knew to follow.
As they walked together, Harry found that he wanted to reach out and touch Dumbledore again, mostly to enjoy his presence but also because the calming nothingness was so pleasant. He resisted the urge, wanting a clear head as they trudged down the long stretch of river. The mutilated embodiment of Voldemort's soul, the piece that had been inside him was long gone now.
"But I don't understand, sir. I was…I died. I really died. I felt it. I…I just knew, wherever I was, that I was over, that it was the end and…" He bit the inside of his mouth, reassured by the habit from his life. "What happened?"
Dumbledore swept his hands behind his back as he moved, white robes trailing slightly behind him. "You died along with the horcrux, yes. A horcrux can only be destroyed so many ways, one is by the hand of its creator. I am very proud of you, Harry, you and Severus, for doing what had to be done despite how hard it was. I wish it could have gone differently, I hope you know that? But nevertheless, you succeeded."
Harry frowned. "Then why am I still here, sir?" He wasn't sure whether it was good or bad, now he was here, in this ethereal middle plain, he wasn't sure what to do. The peace of the afterlife had felt so wonderful but then there was the pulsing ache in his bones, Fenrir's bond still burning ferociously. He felt torn and Dumbledore was just smiling knowingly, as he'd done in life.
"I think you know the answer already," Dumbledore said, turning his gaze back ahead to the silver-hued forest and now soundlessly flowing stream.
"Fenrir," Harry said simply, "our bond. It's holding onto me. He's holding onto me through it?" He could feel the cold of the real world lapping at his limbs around the heat of Fenrir's claim in his chest. It seemed the more he contemplated life, the more he thought about everything that he'd left behind, the more he could feel everything. "I don't understand how this is possible," Harry muttered. "Is this even real?"
"Why shouldn't it be real, Harry?" Dumbledore intoned, still bright and unperturbed by Harry's dilemma. After a few more silent steps, he continued. "Voldemort destroyed his shard of soul within you and ended your life. I realise that time feels different here and in the beyond, but in reality, the battle still wages. Only a few moments have passed since you left them and as you predicted, Fenrir Greyback is not willing to let you pass without a fight."
As he spoke, Harry felt the hardness of the stone floor at his back, felt the constriction of arms around his shoulders and yet he was standing there on the bank facing Dumbledore still. He was starting to feel the things his corporeal body was feeling, piece by piece, one sensation at a time. Panic was the next thing to come. He glanced hastily at the two directions the river took and felt his heart pounding.
"How is possible that he pulled me back? I was gone, I…I felt it."
"He will have power that the Dark Lord knows not," Dumbledore recited.
Harry blinked. "It wasn't the wolf in me?"
Dumbledore tilted his head to regard him carefully. "Yes and no," he replied, as cryptic as ever. "Your werewolf blood means that your body is taking a little longer to fully die – in our world people can lose their limbs, their heads, be splinched or worse and still survive, if they are healed in time. Even muggles can be resuscitated after their heart stops. Werewolves have an even greater capacity to heal."
Harry instinctively reached up to his throat. It was whole, unmarred but there as a sting there that grew more potent by the moment. "But I lost so much blood and there was silver on the knife – it looked like a basilisk fang," he protested, still torn, lost, wavering.
"It was a basilisk fang and yes, a great deal of blood, Dumbledore said gravely. "And if you aren't helped soon, I am afraid even a werewolf will have no way back. Even one whose mate is pouring everything into them to keep them alive. Which is the real force at work that Voldemort could never anticipate. How could he have guessed that someone as wicked and corrupt, as monstrous and blood thirsty as Fenrir Greyback would have such magical power, connected to the earth and the elements? How could he have known that he would have the capacity to fall so far in love and strengthen the mate bond enough that he could even stall death?" Dumbledore evidently saw Harry's surprise, his realisation for he smiled wisely, pleased. "Yes, you would have thought someone so driven by avoiding death would be more aware of life. But alas…"
Harry swallowed, moistening his dry throat and lips. "Fenrir is trying to heal me," he said hastily, his chest tight. "His bond with me, he's pouring everything into it to hold me down while he tries. Isn't he?" He rubbed at his sore throat until the skin felt raw, growing more painful by the moment. It was getting harder to speak. Dumbledore looked pained but pleased. He knows I'm feeling more by the moment, Harry realised.
"Won't my body still die?" he asked, glancing down either side of the dissected river with increasing urgency. Both directions looked the same, the clear soundless water fading into furls of fog in the distance. One to peace, to calm nothingness and his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, the other to Fenrir, Kirian and his friends, his family but also pain and uncertainty.
"I cannot guarantee one way or the other," Dumbledore said gravely. "I am not permitted to sway your decision, to do anything but help you understand so that you may choose for yourself – one way or another."
Harry stared at him, searching his expression for inspiration, for wisdom. But then a long, distant howl sounded in the distance, far off down the right hand bend in the river, so quiet he almost missed it – almost. It was never-ending and sad, filled with longing. It reminded him of warmth of moonlight, of a blanket of stars and of Kirian's smell, of Ron, Hermione, Draco, Echo and…
"Only you can decide, my boy," Dumbledore said quietly.
Harry knew he'd made up his mind when he felt the pain in his throat swell, burning, biting. He gasped as he felt hot rivulets of liquid ooze down his neck. He reached up and his throat felt raw, aching, throbbing, growing worse by the second. When he glanced down he saw the front of his Gryffindor school shirt and tie stained with blood and jumped. The wound at his throat was materialising into being – he couldn't feel it in its entirety yet but he knew he would soon, if he took the right hand bend.
Fenrir's presence was stronger than ever now, to the point where Harry kept glancing over his shoulder to see if the man was standing there. He knew that the growing pain in his throat would soar to unbearable heights soon. He knew there would be pain if he took the path to the right, the path where the low, mournful howling was coming from. Blood dripped down across his collarbone. He knew what was waiting for him back home, he just had to decide if that agony was bearable.
Home.
The coldness from before had reached him again but the grasping fingers of death were gone, replaced by Fenrir's calling heat, his arms, his soft howling. Harry's skin was buzzing with it. He winced as he felt the pain in his throat burn hotter and instinctively reached up again. As he did so, he saw a soft glimmer out of the corner of his eye and saw Dumbledore holding a small mirror.
With wide eyes, Harry watched his reflection, saw the gory mess of his throat slowly fading, inch by inch into an angry red line. He couldn't breathe. He felt the stinging, agonising pull against each piece of flesh as it was healed, felt wetness there as if the wound was being licked away. That was exactly what was happening to his corporeal body, wasn't it?
"Did you ever wonder why werewolf tradition means that mates are the ones that heal each other?" Dumbledore said as Harry touched the angry red mark at his throat. "Your connection lets you reach deeper, do great things with already astounding werewolf magic. It is what is allowing him to hold you now, when any normal wizard would have been lost." He smiled again. "There are some things I truly wish the Ministry would've permitted us to teach at Hogwarts. The worlds and cultures they fear the most are often full of such wondrous things." His tone was so regretful, thoughtful and Harry was momentarily lost in it, until the pain throbbed in his aching throat more intensely and the howling at the end of the river grew louder.
Dumbledore followed the sound with his eyes, then looked knowingly at Harry. "I think you've made your decision, my boy. They are waiting for you."
Harry thought he saw pride and relief in Dumbledore's watery blue eyes, happiness. Harry held that gaze for a moment longer, then turned. "Thank you, sir," he said quickly but as he made to move, something made him hesitate. He looked back at Dumbledore. "I… Sir, Fenrir isn't what we thought he was. It wasn't what it seemed," he began.
Dumbledore's lips twisted slightly in amusement. "Things rarely are, Harry. Needless to say that in the place beyond, we can see all things. It's alright." He surveyed Harry from head to toe and those eyes twinkled again. "We're all alright, Harry. And we are extraordinarily proud of you. Surprised, but proud. Happy."
Harry couldn't help himself. "Even Sirius?" he asked.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Even Sirius."
Harry exhaled shakily, every inch of him humming with bursts of heat and electrical current that was Fenrir's call. "Goodbye, sir."
"Until we meet again, Harry."
With that, Harry turned and bolted down the river bank. He could hear the water now, it was rushing in his ears like the wind as it flew against his cheeks, carrying on it the increased volume of the wolf's howl. He leapt over the narrow fork in the stream and heard his feet crash into the water. The liquid splashed up over him, drenching him to the knees but he didn't stop.
He felt an urge to look back, to see if he could still see Dumbledore but something told him that would be bad. He couldn't look back and he couldn't stop. The mist around him was fading, the howling was growing louder and louder in his ears. The river was getting deeper, his footsteps heavier as the water soaked through his clothes. He was in to the waist now, his movements slow but no less urgent. He didn't stop.
The brightness of the plain around him was fading, growing darker and Harry felt a last surge of panic as he desperately tried to move forward, toward the howling that was now deafening in his ears. He pushed forward, he sank deeper, the water washed over his head. He couldn't breathe. Everything was cold. It all went black.
Harry's eyes flew open and the first thing he saw was Snape and Fenrir, both bowed over him, apparently hard at work. The sight of them both so close through the heavy haze around his mind and limbs was startling enough. Everything ached, as if weighed down by stone and he felt weak. His throat felt like it was on fire. He blinked and even that was a challenge but no one had seemed to notice. He soon realised why.
The battle was still raging around him. Panic unravelled in his veins as he heard Voldemort's spells clashing with Raquelle and Hemming, heard the unmistakeable sound of the Lestranges, Ron, Hermione and Larentia coming to blows. He winced, trying to make his limbs obey, make his body move but everything felt too heavy.
"Tighten your fist! Just a bit more, he needs more!" Snape snapped harshly, something hard and unyielding stabbing into the crook of Harry's elbow. A wand? He tried to lift his head to see but could do no more than flounder for speech and air, blinking wildly up at them, helpless as they worked over him.
"Take it all," Fenrir growled through gritted teeth and Harry realised only one arm was cradling him now, the other was pressed against his at an awkward angle.
"That won't be necessary," Snape retorted, voice sneering but hasty, distracted. "He only needs enough to accelerate his healing and the replenishing of his blood."
From this angle if Harry strained his eyes he could see Snape's free hand come into view and the narrow lip of a potions vial was pressed to his mouth. He tasted the bitter tang of blood replenishing potion but also something else, something coppery, thick and… He gagged. Blood. Fenrir's blood.
"Swallow it, Potter. You need to keep it down. You need the added phoenix tears to take care of the basilisk venom and you've lost too much blood," Snape insisted darkly.
"He's awake!" Fenrir gasped, voice raw and thick with emotion. The arm wrapped around Harry's squeezed, large fingers brushing Harry's shoulder encouragingly. "Harry, stay with me. Don't you bloody give up on me. Don't you fucking dare!"
Harry winced at the shouting, lips parted soundlessly. But he couldn't make a sound, couldn't do anything but stare up at them. His eyes watered. He grit his teeth. Everything hurt. Was he going to die all over again? He couldn't bear it. He was afraid still. He couldn't do it.
"A little more," Snape's voice said and as Harry felt the blood replenisher infused with phoenix tears and Fenrir's own blood rushing through him, he gained more sensation, more awareness. He released a choking groan and tilted his head into Fenrir's shoulder, giving his head the support it needed to look down. Snape's wand was indeed pressed into his inner elbow, the tip dragging a thin trail of disembodied red fluid into him, from Fenrir's free arm. Snape was putting some of Fenrir's blood into him.
"N-No," Harry managed, voice raw, rough, grating. Fenrir needed that blood. He didn't want it.
"The spell changes the blood type to match, Potter," Snape said simply, misinterpreting Harry's negation. "Besides the…mate bond is already working. You'll be stable, better than stable in a few moments." With that he pressed harder on Harry's skin, muttering an incantation before drawing his wand away. "There," he said, sitting back slightly, expression easing with relief. "Just let the magic in Greyback's blood and the potion work."
Harry felt the heat pulsing through his veins, revitalising, replenishing and he watched Snape, then Fenrir, trying to find strength to move, to fight, to speak. Bright blue eyes locked with his and everything froze for a moment. Fenrir's arm tightened around him and the other lifted to brush away the spilled potion from Harry's mouth. There was such emotion there that Harry felt its heat pulse over that of the healing current in his veins.
"Thought you were escaping, did you?" Fenrir grumbled quietly. Harry wondered how much blood he'd given because he didn't look worn or weak, only relieved. Dumbledore's words rushed back to him and he blinked, feeling strength slowly returning to him. He reached a shaking, unsteady hand up and ran his fingers along Fenrir's stubbly mouth. It was stained with his own blood and he knew that Fenrir had healed his throat. He'd healed him then he had held onto him with the bond, refused to let him go while Snape used Fenrir's blood to revitalise him. The fact that Fenrir had joined forces with a wizard was not lost on him either.
He must love me, Harry thought with a small smile, the blood and potion chasing the cold weakness from his bones.
Suddenly an agonised howl ripped through the air and Harry managed to look up to see Voldemort swing his wand out like a sword, slashing Raquelle across her furry side and sending her sprawling into Hemming, both of them rolling into a tangled heap across the floor. Voldemort's face was ashen, the fact that his horcruxes had all been vanquished showing its toll. Despite his reptilian visage he looked frenzied, livid, mortal. No longer invincible.
Then he was on them. "Well isn't this a touching scene?" he hissed, voice higher and madder than ever as he raised his wand. "Did I not kill you enough the first time, boy? Let me rectify that now and dispose of both you and your dog!" He brought his wand down and Snape rose up, lifting his own wand, emitting a wide bar of white light that clashed with the hard line of green like two swords meeting on a battlefield.
"Traitor!" Voldemort screeched, bearing down on Snape who was disadvantaged by his crouched position at Harry's side, face contorting with effort and sweat beading across his sallow skin.
"Never," Snape hissed, launching everything in his body up and forward to throw Voldemort back. Voldemort staggered, livid, teeth bared like an enraged viper. He brandished his wand again but at the same time, Snape lunged forward and snagged the knife holstered at the Dark Lord's waist, shoving it up, hard toward the man's stomach. Voldemort stepped back just enough so that the blade sliced through his robes but nothing more.
"Who do you think you are duelling with?!" Voldemort howled, throwing his wand arm down and across, a sharp sound like a whiplash tearing through the air and Snape's skin, sending him sprawling back a few feet across the polished stone floor.
"No!" Harry grunted, grinding his teeth together in an effort to move. He pushed up hard with shaking arms, rolling up onto his knees, but the only thing that held him upright was Fenrir's arm round his shoulders. "Let me go!" he gasped, breathing laboured, skin flecked with sweat. His body felt heavy and weak, the blood still working to heal him. He cast around for his wand. He'd had it when he'd fallen, he was sure of it.
At the same time, Voldemort raised his wand again, a manic light burning in his crimson eyes. Bellatrix's cry of glee ripped through the air as her torture curse slammed into Ron, dropping him where he stood. Harry threw himself forward at the sound of his guttural cries and screamed himself, the sound bearing into his weakness as he scrambled for his wand nearby. Too late. He rolled on his back, grunting in strained agony to see a horrifyingly familiar green light erupting from the end of Voldemort's wand, heading toward Snape.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"NO!" Harry screamed again, seeing Fenrir scramble upwards – also too late. But as the spell shot forward, a flash of reddish brown vaulted into its path, taking the light square in the shoulder and tumbling with a messy crash into the earth. At the same time, Snape scrambled to his feet again, wand ready, face white with his close encounter with the end as he glanced between Voldemort and his saviour. Echo's wolf form shook itself. Magic crackled in fur where it'd taken the force of it, magical resistance diverting the otherwise fatal spell into the very air and stone around him.
Echo drew back his jowls in a snarl and lunged again.
"Hoaryaehexia!" Voldemort cried and Harry felt a frisson of burning awareness pulse through the air he breathed in. Blinding silvery missiles hurtled towards Echo, an endless barrage of pure silver stakes. Harry watched with bated breath as Echo dodged them, dived for the ground, leapt through the air, side-stepped the oncoming assault. But they kept coming. Harry had to finish this.
As if sensing his thoughts, Fenrir grabbed his arm. "I nearly lost you the last time I let myself be distracted by everything else," he said gruffly. "It's not happening again."
Harry grit his teeth against the limpness in his bones and pushed up, staggering to his shaky legs. He clenched his trembling fingers around his wand. "I have to finish this," he managed, voice wavering. He was so tired. Everything hurt. He couldn't stop.
A growl of frustration ripped through Harry's ears and Fenrir's grip on his arm tightened. He glanced back, seeing fear hidden behind that wall of anger. Fenrir gave a final snarl, he dropped Harry's arm and stepped back, silver fur erupting from his grotesquely morphing limbs. Ice blue eyes stared back at Harry from the face of the wolf, a look of fleeting vacillation in them, before he flew at Voldemort.
Voldemort flicked his wand toward Fenrir, trying to send the hurricane of silver at him next but not quickly enough. Fenrir slammed into him, massive jaws biting down hard on his shoulder, locking tight, dragging a sharp, piercing inhuman cry from Voldemort's thin pale mouth. Harry felt his stomach churn at the sound of crunching bone and cartilage.
Suddenly, Ron's screams intensified and Harry whirled on unsteady feet to see Hermione pinned beneath Rodolphus Lestrange as he pressed his wand to her throat. Larentia was stalking Bellatrix who was laughing shrilly, surrounded by a thick glistening shield of silver as her wand made Ron convulse on the floor.
Hemming staggered out from under a limp Raquelle who's leg was twisted at a grotesque angle. He pressed at his pack-mate's neck with his muzzle until she gave a yip of reassurance, then he lunged – not for Rodolphus, but for Bellatrix. At the same time as Harry grit his teeth through the pulse of exhaustion and raised his wand.
"Expelliarmus!" he cried and Rodolphus' wand flew into his hand. Harry snapped it in two and watched the dawning horror on the man's face, cut short by a gasp from Hermione's sharp knee to the groin. He spluttered and choked, clutching himself as he rolled off Hermione, who kicked out again for good measure, a hand clasped to her raw throat as she shuffled back away from him, snatching up her own wand.
Hemming threw himself at the wall of transparent silver around Bellatrix. A snarling howl of agony and the smell of burning ripped through the air as he slammed into her, braving the wall of anguish to lock his jaws around her throat. She hit the floor with a sickening thud, still laughing even when blood and imminent death distorted the sound into a grizzly cackle.
The wall of silver faded as Hemming twisted his head and Bellatrix Lestrange moved no more. He stumbled back, falling onto his side, fur and flesh singed, breathing heavy – pained but alive. Hermione wrapped Ron in her arms, trying to hold and protect his body where it twisted and writhed in the aftermath of the torture curse, low grunts sounding deep from within his chest.
Harry stared, weakness freezing him in place. Cursing it, he glanced quickly to where Voldemort and Fenrir were locked together, and at the same time, Rodolphus Lestrange snatched up Ron's wand, throwing a beam of savage yellow light for Harry. It hit him square in the chest and he fell back, slamming hard into the unforgiving stone floor. Blood thrummed in his veins, Fenrir's blood repairing the damage done, inspiring his own werewolf healing abilities to work faster, harder – but not fast enough.
Come on! He urged his recently revived body, letting out a sharp gasp of effort as he shoved himself up to his elbows, head spinning. Come on! For fuck's sake! I need to do something!
Echo flew across the hall, intercepting Rodolphus as he rounded on Harry.
"Incarcerous!" Rodolphus sneered, dark features twisting in madness and grief as ropes erupted from his wand and locked around Echo's body, binding his legs to his torso until he slammed dead-weight to the ground. "Let's see how resistant you are to spells that cut off your head!" Rodolphus shrieked, wand rising.
It was only then, in that sharp moment of panic, that Harry remembered he didn't need his wand, not anymore. They'd been wrong when they'd thought Harry turning into a werewolf was the power that the 'Dark Lord knows not'. It was being a werewolf, being part of this pack and everything that came with it, everything that was enabling them to fight against Voldemort now, to bring Harry back.
Harry jerked his shaking hand up, a deep fissure bolting through the stone, sending a blast of debris and stone dust up into Rodolphus' face. As the man screeched, hands flying to his blinded eyes, another voice cut through the room – one Harry had only heard a few times before.
"Stupefy!" called Narcissa Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange collapsed where he stood. Harry stared at her for a fleeting moment, seeing the trepidation mixed with determination in those ice blue eyes. She lifted her chin the way that Draco did when challenged, then resumed her place at her husband's side. Harry thought she'd done that for Draco, and smiled at the thought as he forced his shaky legs to carry him to Echo's side.
"Relashio!" Harry murmured with a pass of his hand. The spell took a moment longer than usual because of his exertion, his magic still feeble and recovering. But a moment was all it took for the howl of agony to rip through everything and make him whirl to see Voldemort's wand had become a silver lance – a spear that he'd driven through Fenrir's shoulder.
"NO!" Harry screamed, staggering, hand raised but as Fenrir's massive form writhed on the ground, his paw morphing into deformed, half-human hand that dragged at the wound in his wolfish shoulder, Voldemort was already over Harry. With his natural magic weak, Harry reached for the wand that Rodolphus had dropped but Voldemort's foot slammed hard into his chest, pinning him to the floor, knocking the wand from his hand and out of sight.
"Crucio!" Voldemort seethed and Harry's body bowed upward, head thrown back, mouth opened in ragged screams as he was shaken with seizure-like spasms of unadulterated blinding pain. Some dark magic affected a werewolf when they weren't wearing their wolf forms, Harry realised through the crescendo of agony. Marrok had been taken down by that spell earlier because he had been wearing human-looking skin and now Harry was…
His eyes snapped open even as the pain coursed through him. The image of his pack-mate writhing on the floor earlier and Fenrir's demanding, desperate voice pierced the still-present pain. In the exact split second that Voldemort twisted his wand, dragging white-hot anguish from his still weak body, Harry realised. He'd never tried to withstand magic whilst in his wolf shape. Before he could do more than grit his teeth Voldemort let out an inhuman scream of pain and the torture curse lifted.
With limbs still trembling and clumsy, Harry pushed himself up onto his arms and felt his stomach lurch at the sight that greeted his blood-shoot, burning eyes. Fenrir was sprawled across the ground as a wolf, his legs tucked under his bleeding side and his massive jaws locked around Voldemort's leg, forcing him to freeze in place lest he lose his leg.
Voldemort, face gaunt and white, blood oozing from his leg and down his shoulder, raised his wand again. This time he pointed it right between Fenrir's eyes. But Fenrir did not let go. Voldemort was conquerable, no longer immortal but his still immense power meant that he was still standing where any normal man would have fallen. Fenrir obviously wasn't going to take the chance of letting him go again – not for anything. Not even to save his own life.
"Whatever you left undone is my responsibility by default. As your mate I'm an extension of you – just as your silly little wand was an extension of you. I'm your strength, your power. You must use me to complete whatever task you set out to do."
Harry remembered Fenrir insisting that, even way back at the start when they'd first been bound. In that moment Harry did not have time to wonder if a werewolf could avoid a blast directly to the face, he didn't stop. He threw himself forward with a cry of negation and his head snapped back, teeth bared as obsidian fur burst across his flesh, his bones snapping, reshaping, warping before Voldemort's widened eyes. The shock of the evidently unexpected image made the Dark Lord hesitate as he stared at Harry, mouth slightly open, fear crossing him. They all knew then how this was going to end.
As Harry snarled in the pain of the change, his limbs locking into place as the jet black wolf, Snape lunged forward out of nowhere, the fallen knife that had slit Harry's throat earlier now grasped in his hand. Snape released a grunt of his own, throwing himself and the knife into Voldemort's side. He twisted the knife, rooting deep under the man's rib-cage until he dragged a sharp high cry out of his 'master', and he did not let go.
Voldemort's wand dropped to the floor with a clatter that nulled all sound in the room.
Harry didn't think. He pushed down into his back legs, still shaking from the change and leapt for the Dark Lord's throat. The weight of his transformed body sent him, Voldemort, Fenrir and Snape all tumbling back, but none of them released their death grip, not willing to give another chance. Harry's fangs locked around that neck. This was it. His stomach churned at the feel of crunching bone and cartilage, blood erupted in his mouth and he felt sick but he did not stop, he did not let go.
Fenrir's pride, relief and exhaustion throbbed in his veins alongside his own but he did not let go. Not even when he felt Fenrir and Snape both shifting away, felt Voldemort's body go limp and cold under him. He felt Fenrir's muzzle bump against his flank but did not react, could not let go. This was his goal, the thing that had plagued him since he was fourteen – knowing he would have to face. This was it and he couldn't let go. His jaws ached and his gums were sore where his teeth ground together determinedly.
"Potter," Snape said from the other side, voice tinged with tiredness. "Potter, let go. The dark magic is consuming him, you must let go."
Werewolf instincts and human shock had settled into his mind and body. His limbs were locked like his jaws and his eyes were clenched shut tight against the world. He heard Snape's words, understood them but could not force his body to react. He was starting to shake.
It was over.
He could not let go.
Suddenly a low hissing sound and heat like acid rose up from the body beneath him. Fenrir snarled, slamming hard into his side, separating him from Voldemort's disintegrating corpse and sending them both barrelling across the ground. Harry sprawled across the floor, panting as his body morphed back to his human shape. Naked as the day he was born, he stared up at the cavernous ceiling, unable to make his body move, do anything other than breathe. That was until Fenrir's human face hovered above him and a large hand cupped his own with gentleness that belied the gruff voice he used.
"Look at me," he growled, panic making his voice rough and harsh.
There was another moment of breathless stillness and then Harry's eyes flicked to Fenrir's. He saw his mate's entire body sag with relief when they made contact. Fenrir exhaled in a low shaky breath and seized Harry by the back of his neck, hauling him up roughly to press their foreheads together. Their noses touched, brushed together from side to side as Fenrir scented him, over and over, inhaling deeply all while wrapping an arm round his back to haul him closer.
"You bloody…you fucking stupid…!" Fenrir's voice cracked uncharacteristically at the end, eyes clenched shut tight and Harry felt something sharp and painful throb in his chest. Fenrir's anguish, Harry's relief to be in his arms again, Fenrir's overwhelming need for comfort and…his love. It was so bright and palpable now, so prominent since he'd felt it and their bond calling him back from the edge of the stream in the other world.
Harry's breathing was stuttered and uneasy, like someone who had just finished sobbing uncontrollably – except his eyes were dry despite their stinging. He screwed his eyes shut too and wrapped his arms round Fenrir's neck, lifting his chin so Fenrir could graze his jaw with his lips, before dipping his head down to return the favour, scenting and reacquainting and reminding each other that it was over. They were both safe.
It was over.
Harry felt sick. He was sure he was shaking and he loathed it, the display of weakness after he'd tried so hard to be strong. He let out a dry sob through gritted teeth and Fenrir tugged his head back hard so he could look down into his face. He seemed to scan Harry's features, assessing him for a moment before he pushed Harry's head under his chin and held him there roughly, pushing a hard, angry, hysterical human kiss to Harry's hair.
"You fucking stupid little prick!" he hissed. "You knew, didn't you? You bloody knew you'd have to walk in here and die and you didn't tell me? You didn't warn me? You thought you'd just fucking leave me, did you? Escape me?"
Escape me, leave me like everyone else, Harry thought he heard in that voice, thought he felt a flicker of Fenrir's loss over his family in his own chest. He didn't say anything, he couldn't. He pressed his face into Fenrir's neck.
"Selfish little cunt," Fenrir growled darkly. "So ready to die. Did you think of me and Kirian at all? Of your silly little friends and the pack and–"
"I did it for you, all of you," Harry murmured from under Fenrir's chin, voice tired and low. "I…I'm…" So tired. So sorry. So fucking happy and pissed off because you don't get it at all and…
They stayed like that for a long time, until at last Echo approached them, limping and cradling one arm as he knelt beside them. "Alphas, we need to leave. Lupin says that many of the death eaters have fled but we have many wounded and we need to–"
"Is anyone dead?" Harry asked, pushing away from Fenrir's chest slightly, trying to focus his fuzzy vision on Echo's features. He felt light-headed now, as if the rush of adrenaline had left him bereft. "Remus? Marrok?" A hasty glance around showed Hermione was helping a weak but living Ron to his feet. They both caught his eye and smiled tiredly. They'd won.
It was over. It felt so surreal.
Slowly, he extricated himself from Fenrir's embrace and they both stood. Fenrir looked bad. The wound to his chest had healed a little but the silver poisoning was making it bubble and blood that steamed warningly was oozing from the wound. He favoured that side, pressing his palm into it to staunch the flow as Harry glanced around. Raquelle was unconscious but clearly breathing. Snape was watching them carefully. Larentia was helping Hemming up, Lucius was unconscious and Narcissa knelt by his side still, watching them all carefully.
"Marrok recovered somewhat – Alpha managed to get him to shift to fight off the dark magic," Echo explained. "Your Lupin is a great leader. We lost a few but…" He winced and Harry knew he was trying to hide the fact that he was happy they'd not lost any pack or loved ones, probably feeling it was inappropriate to be grateful when anyone had died at all.
Harry nodded grimly. They had a lot of wounds to heal, dead to bury.
"The Weasleys?" Harry asked.
Echo shook his head. "All well. That Mrs Weasley is a fighter," he grinned broadly. "She and her husband have taken charge, taken the wounded to your wizard hospital. I think they intend to alert the press and…"
But suddenly Harry felt a rush of draining, nauseating heat rush up from everywhere in his body to his head. He felt sick. He stumbled a few steps, Fenrir's arm grabbing his shoulders as he sagged, vision shifting, tilting unnaturally and his hearing all-but lost to a deafening ring.
It was like having a concussion or…
"He's coming down from the blood loss and shock," he just about heard Snape's voice through the pulsing rush of blood and fading adrenaline. He reached out and gripped the arm holding him upright and then everything was gone.
When Harry's consciousness flickered back feebly, everything was dark and fuzzy. His hearing made everyone sound so very far away. His body was cold and weak. He could feel the weight of itchy, heavy covers over him from head to toe and he wanted to kick them off, wanted to scrub at his eyes so he could try and coax them open. But to no avail.
Fenrir's pulsing fear and anger rushed through him until it choked him. His brow furrowed as his mate's snarl of negation ripped through him even from the distance. He knew what Fenrir's feral thoughts felt like, he was frantic with them and Harry could feel and hear it all. It was like hearing everything down a long tunnel. Harry winced, trying to claw at it, hold onto it.
"He needs medical attention! Werewolf or not!" An unrecognisable woman's voice insisted, answered by another feral roar.
"Fenrir! She isn't hurting him!" Remus?
"Remus, he's not – he's not there, he can't understand us!" Hermione.
Had he been hurt beyond something Fenrir or his own blood could heal? Surely Snape's blood replenishment potion and the phoenix tears accelerated by Fenrir's donation of blood should have healed him? Where was he? Why was Fenrir so…? He tried to cling on, to claw his way back to consciousness but everything was slipping away. The last thing he heard was a heavy thunk of something colliding with the floor and a final growl of protest from Fenrir.
Silence flooded everything when consciousness found him again. He could still feel Fenrir's presence pulsing lightly through his blood as ever, but he knew he wasn't nearby. With a frown creasing his brow, Harry forced his eyes open and found himself staring a crisp white tiled ceiling. He blinked. Sniffed.
Where was Fenrir? Where was Kirian? A low groan tumbled over his dry lips as he forced his head to turn, his vision slightly blurry without his glasses but nowhere near as bad as it had been before Fenrir had turned him. He could still make out the two faces either side of his bed as Ron and Hermione, even without his excellent sense of smell.
"Ron? Hermione? Where am I? Where are Fenrir and Kirian?" His voice was dry and raspy from under-use. His insides twisted with desperation to see his son. How long had passed? Was Kirian missing him? Was he alright? The tell-tale pressure in his chest said that the flow had built up enough to make him sore. It'd been some time. "How long?" He forced out, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up against the white iron headboard on the hospital bed he was in.
He couldn't make out the details of the room but he knew he must be in St Mungo's. There were brightly coloured charms pulsing in waves across the blank wall space above his headboard, like thousands of LED lights blinking in the same repetitive motion in various colours to signify various vital signs. Thin strings of magic were attached to his wrists, incorporeal but glowing strands that matched the monitoring charms dancing over the bed. They ached a bit where they rooted into him and he wondered if this was at all similar to the feeling of being hooked up to muggle monitors and drips, having never been in a muggle hospital for something like this before.
They both stared at him for a moment, relief evident in their tired faces. Ron still looked pale from the Cruciatus and Hermione appeared worn thin with worry and exertion. But they'd stayed with him, keeping watch. Of course they had.
"You collapsed after you killed Voldemort," Hermione said, using the name despite the taboo that had plagued them for so long. It was further tribute to the fact that this was finally over, that there was no need to be afraid of a name any longer.
It was over.
"I know that," he said impatiently, gripping the itchy, too-heavy sheets with his fingers. "I remember."
Hermione gave him a look of annoyance that was so nostalgic of their Hogwarts days that he felt slightly chastened despite his growing desperation and suffocation.
"We think when the adrenaline faded you went into shock," Ron said after a moment or two. "The potion and Greyback's blood had replenished yours but your body still went through so much and…well bloody hell you died Harry, of course we brought you to the hospital!"
Harry stared around at the fuzzy blank canvas of the hospital room. Hermione seemed to realise what was wrong and handed him his glasses from somewhere and her worried face was the first thing he saw clearly as he slid them up his nose. He felt a bit more at ease, being able to see clearly but he still felt…trapped, panicked. He didn't want to be here and he didn't know if that was the wolf or the human in him or both.
"I want to see Kirian," he said as he drank in the sterile white room with only a set of drawers as extra furnishing. It was clean and white and by no means small but still…suffocating. He needed air. He needed to see his little bludger. "He must be upset without me," he said quickly, moistening his dry lips again. He still felt weak and light-headed but he didn't care about that. "He needs me. How long has it even been?"
Hermione was pouring him a glass of water from the jug that sat on the drawers then and handing it to him. "Small sips," she said sternly and Harry obeyed, recognising the set of her expression – the only way he'd get his answers was if he'd obey. Sure enough, when he'd sipped for a few moments at the blessedly cool, clear water, she took her seat again, her hand resting gently on his calf on top of the itchy sheets.
"It's been five hours since you killed him, Voldemort," she said, her tone tired but proud as she regarded him. Slowly, Ron reached forward and rested his hand atop Hermione's, offering his silent support as well to them both. Harry sipped at his water but glanced appreciatively at Ron while he waited for Hermione to continue.
"It's quite late but it's still the same day – night," she corrected herself absently, her uncharacteristic inarticulacy tribute to how exhausted they all were, how much they'd been through. "Professor Snape was here with us the whole time but he left to fetch Malfoy and Kirian. They should be here soon."
A little calmed by that, Harry sipped the rest of his water in silence, letting the cooling liquid soothe his parched throat for a while. "Is everyone alright?" he asked eventually.
Ron nodded. "We lost some aurors," he said grimly, "Proudfoot, Savage, Williamson…"
Harry recognised a few of the names but felt guilty that he hadn't known them. He set his now empty glass down on the set of drawers beside his bed and sighed heavily. It was over, it was done and they were all safe. But people had died. It'd been inevitable, of course but still…
Hermione squeezed his shin. "They didn't die in vain," she said comfortingly. "They died knowing they were making the world a better place. It's over now and they'll be honoured."
Harry nodded. He didn't think that was enough compensation for all they'd given up though and the hot guilt flooded his already unsteady stomach. He listened quietly to Ron telling him about the Weasleys and Remus and Tonks, about how Echo had taken the Malfoys back to Grimmauld Place to reunite with Draco, about how Snape had nearly been arrested upon arrival and only Kingsley – Minister Kingsley, elected in emergency had been able to stop them from dragging him off.
"I know you had to do it," Ron said then. "I know Snape had to as well. To be honest mate, I know we all loved Dumbledore but I think he made pawns out of you and Snape. You both got left with the short straws. You had to give up everything and Snape had to kill Dumbledore and make sure you died too, which means everyone hates him. It's not fair." He looked disgruntled, but anything Hermione or he could say was cut off as a familiar shadow swept in through the door.
"Surely that isn't understanding and sympathy from you, Weasley? Perhaps the Dark Lord killed me after all," Snape mused in his usual dry drawl as he stepped in, closely followed by Echo and a shattered looking Draco. Draco who had a bawling Kirian wrapped up in his arms.
Harry sat up so quickly that the magical monitoring thread snagged painfully in the back of his wrist. He flinched, feeling the burn travel all the way up his arm and hearing Hermione's hurried admonishment – ignoring both as Draco came to stand beside him. The last time he'd set eyes on Kirian, he'd thought he was saying goodbye. To see him again made Harry's eyes sting treacherously and his chest ache as if someone were squeezing his lungs. It hurt. It hurt so bloody good.
"Give him here," he said, but his voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, breathy, barely there with emotion. Draco stared at his face, obviously assessing his health as he slid the squalling infant into Harry's arms. Even that diminutive weight felt like a lot to Harry's weakened limbs and to his chagrin, Draco had to help manoeuvre his arms so that he could hold Kirian securely against him without too much strain. In the end Kirian lay with his belly against Harry's chest, tilted slightly into the crook of Harry's arm so that when he took a deep sniff through his tiny snotty nose, and the scent of Harry made his tear-shiny eyes fly open, he could see Harry clearly.
Absently, Harry wondered if even muggle babies were so aware of their parent's presence, or if it was a werewolf cub thing. He didn't care. Kirian's cries died immediately, fading into soft, uncontrollable breathless gasps the way it did after a long cry. Ignoring Draco's grimace of disdain, Harry wiped Kirian's snotty nose with the corner of his blanket as he held that bright-green gaze.
"He slept for the first hour or so," Draco said carefully, voice tired and strained. "But he woke up with a cry and wouldn't settle – Echo thought it must've been about the time you… Well, apparently werewolf cubs are especially in tune with their mothers. He wouldn't eat or anything."
About the time I died, Harry thought Draco had been about to say, not even having the heart to spit back that he wasn't Kirian's mother. Not right now anyway. He was too grateful for the warmth in his arms to care. "Thank you, Malfoy," he said distractedly, voice still faraway and vague. He thought he heard Draco mutter something in return but didn't pay attention.
"Hey," he murmured softly, tilting Kirian up a bit more instinctively to help him breathe through the recovery from his tears. The little boy gave a tiny hiccup and turned his face into him, seemingly smelling him deeply. Harry could not help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, even knowing that Snape, Hermione, Echo, Draco and Ron were all watching him. Embarrassment would probably hit him later but right now, nothing else mattered.
"Where's Fenrir?" he asked without looking up, unable to tear his eyes away from Kirian's face, as if he feared when he looked back he'd be gone. When only silence greeted his words, however, he forced himself to look up and saw that everyone looked grim. His heart stopped. "What's wrong?" he demanded, "where is he?"
Echo sighed as he stepped closer, casually setting his arm round Draco's waist so that his hand rested on his opposite hip. Draco lowered his eyes to Kirian thoughtfully, cheeks burning but to Echo the action seemed natural and he didn't even blink as he offered his reply.
"He's been banned from the hospital," he admitted, "He grudgingly agreed that Snape and the others had to bring you here to be safe, that that was right for you but when he saw the nurse get near you when you were weak, when he felt your pain when she stuck those magical tubes in your arm a bit too fiercely he was just…" He grit his teeth for a moment, apparently wincing at the memory. "He went feral, or close to it."
Snape offered a derisive snort from where he stood at the end of the bed. "He nearly ripped the nurse's arm clean off when she touched you. The only reason the hospital security didn't arrest him on the spot was because the fates saw fit to send Kingsley by your room to check up on you. Minister Kingsley, I should say," he mused, "Newly elected to help us through our time of need. You owe him your lover's liberty, Mr Potter."
Harry didn't much care for the mental image of Fenrir attacking a nurse who was trying to help him, or of hospital security trying to drag him off to Azkaban. Before he could say anything, however, Snape spoke again.
"Needless to say his display of ardour and animalistic concern has drawn attention to your presence here. A special edition of the Daily Prophet and every other newspaper and magazine in existence went out but an hour ago. I am not entirely sure what people are more interested in, that you killed the Dark Lord or that you are mated to a werewolf. A member of the Order must have sold the story of you and Greyback; there were details in there they only could have garnered from being at Grimmauld Place that night."
Harry winced. He knew that the wizarding world were aware he was with Fenrir as some sort of team against Voldemort, thanks to their display at the death eater meeting all those weeks ago. But now they knew everything. Everything.
"Do you want to see the damage?" Draco asked carefully, pulling a neatly folded copy of the Prophet out of his robe pocket. Harry caught a brief flash of an image of himself aged fifteen, the same one that'd been taken of him after he'd faced Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic and an image of Fenrir when he'd just escaped Azakaban. He could imagine what type of angle the media were spinning and sank back against his pillows and headboard with Kirian nuzzling quietly into him, his breathing calmed somewhat.
"Not really," he said at last, tired again all of a sudden. He thought longingly of the distant freedom, the peace of the valley and realised, with startling clarity that he could choose now. That that was probably his most imperative decision. It was almost more terrifying than the idea of facing Voldemort. His mouth felt dry. "Where is Fenrir now?" he asked, a little too quickly.
Echo spoke this time. "I managed to apparate him back to Grimmauld Place. He calmed somewhat when he saw Kirian. When he was coherent he told us that Kirian needed you and then went for a run. We…we don't know where he is. It's been a few hours…"
Harry stared at him, a feeling of dread swelling subtly in his already unsettled stomach. "Find him," he breathed, unable to say anymore. Echo gave a short nod, looking glad to have an order to follow, something to do to help his alpha. He glanced to Draco and squeezed his hip gently, before stepping away and leaving the room. Harry watched Draco's gaze follow him and couldn't help but smile slightly, despite his concern for Fenrir.
"Harry, mate," Ron's voice said after a short while, in which Kirian had calmed completely and begun to nuzzle at Harry's chest. Harry glanced up to see Ron looking at Hermione, who was slumped at the end of the bed, head on her folded arms, eyes closed. Harry gave the sight a wry, grateful smile.
"Take her home, Ron," he said and as his friend reached over to wrap his arms round his girlfriend, Harry added, "Thank you. For everything. See you soon, alright?"
Ron held Harry's gaze for a moment and then gave him a tired smile. "See you soon, mate. No more heroic sacrifices, alright?"
"Promise," Harry agreed with a tired smile, watching as Ron urged a half-conscious, protesting Hermione out of the room. When the door closed behind them, Harry glanced quickly up at Snape and Draco, then down to Kirian again who was pawing at his chest determinedly. He hadn't managed to get any food down since Harry had left him. The thought made him nauseous with guilt. He held the tiny boy closer in consolation.
After shooting Snape and Draco a final awkward look, he pulled the itchy sheet up to his neck to cover himself and clumsily opened his hospital pyjama shirt to let Kirian latch onto him. It hurt and he let out a low hiss, carefully avoiding Snape and Draco's faces as he gritted his teeth and bore it. His chest ached from what he suspected was a build-up of some kind (even if his chest still looked the same) but he didn't care because as much as it embarrassed him, he'd thought he'd never get to feel this again. See his little bludger again.
Bloody hell, his eyes were burning. He winced, determined not to cry in front of Snape and Draco and wondered where in Merlin's fucking name Fenrir was.
"Potter," Draco said, his oddly uncertain tone cutting through Harry's distressing thoughts. Harry glanced up as the blond continued, "I…I need to thank you," he said, fidgeting where he stood, worrying the pages of the Daily Prophet Special in his hands but forcing himself to face Harry still with his chin high. "You made sure everyone knew to get my parents home safe. They'll face the Death Eater Trials, of course, as will I, but…we're alive. We're all alive."
Harry stared into clear grey eyes. What Draco had said summed it all up, he thought. Things weren't over, they were only beginning. There was so much pain, heartache and trouble to wade through. Fenrir was missing, he, Harry still had no idea what to do with his life, Draco and his family would be tried for their crimes, perhaps Snape would too. His head began to throb. He closed his eyes against the too-bright clinical lights but nodded to Draco to make sure he knew that his words weren't the cause of his distress. Not really.
"Potter?" Draco asked, concern tinging his voice.
Harry flailed a hand at him, feeling weak and light-headed again. So bloody tired. But his instincts hummed menacingly at the forefront of his mind, not wanting him to rest in such a strange place with hardly any pack and his mate missing in action. Especially with his cub so vulnerable and feeding voraciously from him.
"You need to rest, Mr Potter," Snape's low drawl insisted, closer this time and Harry opened his eyes again to see Snape was sitting upright with his legs neatly crossed on the chair Hermione had vacated. "Draco and I will stay here while you sleep. No one will touch you." That obsidian gaze bored into Harry insistently, leaving no room for negation and betraying further evidence of his concern for Harry's well-being.
Kirian gurgled contently against him and Harry glanced down through the peak in the sheet to see big green eyes blinking up at him, a tiny fist curled against his chubby cheek. Harry reached down to pull the hand away, stop him from clawing at his own face accidentally and just…forgot to breathe.
It felt like a punch to the stomach that knocked all the wind out of him. He'd missed him so much. It'd felt like a lifetime since he left him. His eyes were stinging again. He was so bloody tired. Everything was going fuzzy. Was that the blood-loss and exhaustion or something they were drugging him up with via the magical threads? He glared at them hatefully, wanting darkness, the cosy warmth of his hollow and Fenrir and…
"I want to be awake," Harry insisted, not wanting to betray what he was really thinking. That he was worried about Fenrir, that he wanted to stay awake with Kirian – that he didn't want to waste another second of his life sleeping when he could be staring into the face of his little bludger who had missed him so much, who he'd nearly never seen again.
"He'll be sleeping too after he's fed, I'll wager," Draco mused, pulling the chair Ron had vacated closer so he was sitting nearer the head of the bed. "I'll make sure you don't roll over and squash him or something with that massive 'World Savior' ego of yours."
It was a tribute to how drained Harry was that he didn't argue further, but instead let out a small, hysterical chuckle. He was being watched over by a pair of slytherins, perhaps the two most unlikely ones at that. So much had changed. He was so tired. "If he shits himself you have to change the nappy, no fobbing it off on Snape," he chuckled, the sound strained and slightly higher than usual. That image was highly amusing. His eyes were drifting shut and he was falling limp against the pillows.
"I've had the pleasure of dealing with one of those already thank you," Draco began with clear disdain. "How something so small can make something so inherently repulsive…"
He didn't hear the rest of Draco's rant because the world was going fuzzy and distant again. His little bludger was a warm weight in his arms, and Harry swore he felt Draco reach out to support his elbow when it started to drop slightly. Everything in his body ached and his head was starting to throb again. He was so tired, drained. Where was Fenrir?
~To Be Continued…