.: Chapter Twenty-Five :.
Choices
"I don't care what you say," Harry growled darkly. "I'm weak, not an invalid. I'll bloody do it." The nurse he was glaring at fell silent, pursing her lips as he supported Kirian carefully in one arm and steadied himself on the headboard with the other. Draco looked gleefully amused while Snape seemed far more interested in his newspaper than seeing Harry battle against the nurse that had appeared, insisting that there was no hospital record of Kirian's birth, weight or health.
"He is a werewolf cub that was born in a cave – literally," Snape had merely put in earlier, without even looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet.
When he was upright, Harry walked determinedly across the room to the scales that sat atop the mobile equipment the disapproving nurse had brought in. "This is most unorthodox," she said as Harry made his slow but steady way to the trolley-like wooden unit and refused her hands when they reached for Kirian. He did manage to withhold a growl of warning, however, despite the way his instincts prickled at her proximity.
Harry whipped off Kirian's clothing and blanket but halted halfway through lowering him onto the smooth metal of the scales, when his knuckles brushed against the cold surface. Without thinking, he pulled Kirian back to his shoulder and swept his hand over the surface until it was warm to the touch. The instinctive wandless magic sent a little flutter of light-headedness through him, but he remained standing. He was getting better, he thought as he lowered Kirian onto the scales.
"Hmmm, very light," she commented, writing the measurement down on a scroll of official looking parchment. Apparently the wandless magic had gone unnoticed. She tapped her wand on the scales once, with Harry watching her wand carefully. It displayed Kirian's height on the little wooden dashboard above; they were chiselled into being as if by an imaginary scribe, before vanishing again with another tap of her wand.
Harry grit his teeth. "Werewolf cubs are always born small," he bit out through the frisson of irritation.
"When did you say he was born again?" she asked as a few more medical statistic displayed and then wiped themselves across the wooden backboard.
"About a week ago," he said, staring at her hard when she glanced up, clearly curious about his phrasing. She just wrote it down, then scrawled hastily for a few more seconds. Harry saw his own name and birth date among the tight, neat handwriting. "I need the other father's full name and birth date."
Harry cocked a brow as he dressed and wrapped Kirian, pulling him back to the safety of his arms. He knew Fenrir would say he was going to make him needy and dependant but right now, after everything they'd gone through, he didn't care. He wanted to hold him and Fenrir – well he wasn't bloody here, was he? He's off doing Merlin knows what. Bitterness tinged the thoughts and he struggled to keep his composure. It was probably everything that had happened, everything he'd endured but he needed Fenrir right now and it might be irrational, but he didn't care what reason was keeping the man away. He just needed him. Wanted him.
"His other father is Fenrir Greyback, don't pretend you haven't heard," he said sharply, the headache left over from his ordeal, Fenrir's absence and the suffocating four walls of the hospital room all making his voice rough with irritation. "I don't know when his birthday is – does that make it even more scandalous? My son's name is Kirian Potter Greyback, is that all?"
The nurse gave him a disdainful sniff, before writing down something else on the parchment, pushing a duplicate into his palm and then sweeping out of the room. The unit rolled after her as if on an invisible string and Harry was left alone with Kirian, Snape and Draco's dry laughter.
"You are a moody bastard, Potter," Draco mused, eyes bright. Harry glared but in truth it was good to see him in such good humour.
"You're welcome to leave," he said shortly, stowing Kirian's birth certificate in the backpack Hermione had left and sliding back onto the bed with great effort to his tired limbs.
"But then who would keep you from further heroic acts?" Draco said lightly, flicking his wand that he'd apparently been reunited with at the same time as his parents. He kept casting Lumos or Wingardium Leviosa, just because, seemingly needing to check his magic every few moments to ensure it hadn't vanished. After a moment, however, Harry saw Draco glance at him out of the corner of his eye, uncertain.
"I need to be here," Draco said at last, stowing his wand and carefully avoiding Harry's eye.
"Is your dad still here?" he asked carefully. Draco had thanked him under his breath for getting the others to keep his parents safe. As far as Harry knew, Lucius had been admitted to St Mungo's for recovery from nerve damage from extensive use of the Cruciatus, Narcissa had been at his side but that was all Draco had said. Draco tensed at Harry's words and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape glance up from his newspaper.
"The aurors came and took mother and father into custody," Draco said quietly. "They said not to make myself scarce."
Harry froze. "You…you can't mean that they want to arrest you?" he demanded, looking to Snape when Draco didn't answer.
Snape stared at him levelly, dropping the newspaper onto the end of Harry's bed. "The public are demanding retribution – they want to see every death eater brought before the Wizengamot. Kingsley managed to pardon me as Minister, for working with the Order but he cannot dismiss everyone's discretions so easily. Draco may have to go before them and he may well be found guilty. A great deal of people have never forgiven him for letting death eaters into the school." His voice was level, unmoved but Harry could see the flickers of concern in his eyes.
"But…he had to do that!" Harry said beseechingly. "Voldemort would have killed him and his parents if he'd refused!" When he focussed on Draco again, the blond was staring at the far wall, expression so haunted that Harry knew he was thinking of that night on the Tower. "Draco, you couldn't have done anything different," Harry insisted. The use of the man's first name seemed to shake him from his reverie.
"Don't be so bloody noble, Potter," Draco said, voice strained, "I could've done the right thing instead of the easy thing – I could've let Severus help me, I could've let Dumbledore help me but I was too much of a coward. Don't try and justify it. I made a mistake that hurt people, and yes, the Dark Lord forced me to torture people but I did it."
Harry winced. "You were sixteen," he began.
Draco glared. "So were you. I'm not saying I wanted to be a saint but I…" He sighed and glanced away again. "I've lived through a war, I lived as a prisoner in my own home and then I was…adopted by werewolves, impure werewolves who I'd been raised to hate and fear equally. Everything has changed, Potter, I've changed – enough to realise I was…an idiot." He pronounced the last two words with such difficulty and such honesty that Harry was forced to remember just how much Draco had changed since their schooldays.
After a short silence, Draco sighed. He was as uncomfortable as Harry when it came to admitting his faults and emotions. He reached across the bed to snatch up Snape's fallen newspaper – mostly to hide behind, rather than to read, Harry thought.
"Anyway, I do not think the Ministry can use me as a scapegoat or punish me for the sake of it. I'm not overly concerned about what they might say," Draco said in an attempt at dismissiveness. "Not about me anyway."
Harry raised a brow, sitting up higher in the bed and pulling his knees up so he could lay Kirian back against his knees and look at Draco fully. Snape sat up a little straighter too, so Harry thought he didn't know what Draco had meant by that either. "Go on," Harry said, knowing Draco well enough by now to realise when he was waiting for Harry to prompt him.
Draco didn't look up from behind the newspaper. "I asked Minister Shacklebolt when he was here to stop the aurors from taking Severus and Greyback into custody; they cannot try a werewolf under human laws."
"Unless there is something you wish to tell me, Draco," Snape began, "You are not a werewolf."
"As good as," Draco said dismissively and then after a final heartbeat, lowered the newspaper to look levelly at Snape, then at Harry. "After Lupin and Granger 'rescued' you and the rogues were dead, that old woman Eithne came up from the village to help heal the wounded. She had to pay particular attention me, of course because I'm human. She is very knowledgeable about all sorts of magic."
Harry frowned, not sure where this was going. "Well, yeah," he said, "she's old. She's seen a lot." He determinedly ignored Snape's sound of amused exasperation and Draco's rolling eyes.
"Yes," Draco said dryly. "Regardless, she said since she met you she'd been doing some digging and, well…"
Harry watched Draco delve into his robe pocket, drawing out a shrunken pile of tattered, ancient looking books that had been bound together with golden string. Draco flicked his wand, returning them to their normal size before laying them on the bed so that Snape and Harry could both see. They'd seen better days that was obvious – one of them was even missing a cover and it seemed a few pages but the words Harry saw on the stained page drew him in.
Easing Kirian up into the crook of an arm Harry sat forward at the same time as Snape did. Harry felt all the saliva dry in his throat. It looked like a poem, rhyming verse written in artistic, elegant script. Much newer tight, neat handwriting filled the margins in red ink, underlining phrases and highlighting sections, adding attached notes. Draco's handwriting – it was all over an archaic poem that used words that made Harry's insides tighten.
"It's the ritual, isn't it?" Harry breathed, voice a barely there whisper. When no answer came and he looked up into Draco's eyes. Those grey orbs were bright and determined. The blond nodded and Harry reached forward, gently tracing Draco's notes on the rhyming verse. "The one to make…people like me? It's a spell?" he asked, awestruck.
"A spell and a potion combined," Draco said, leaning forward so that now all three of them were staring at the books the oddest looking study group the world had probably seen. "I've been studying it. The original witch's verse cryptically refers to ingredients and the manner in which they must be mixed – essentially it's a big flamboyant potion's recipe. But there are Latin words mixed in, seemingly just to make it rhyme but no, the words, when all taken separately, they form the spell to be read as the potion is spilled."
Harry blinked. "Spilled?"
"Yes. The final piece 'through the vessel must it be spilled, through gifted flesh, then new lives you can build', the other texts make specific references to her spilling the potion over those who wished to change. To be with werewolves the way you can. She would spill it through her fingers and in doing so anoint it with her magic, letting the potion and spell carry her…essence if you will into others so they could be like her."
Harry sat back and stared, unnerved because he knew what Draco was getting at.
"You want to use Potter in her stead," Snape surmised, getting there before Harry could find the words. "You want him to perform the ritual as the witch once did to share her immunity to the werewolf venom, to allow werewolf mates to carry their young."
Harry stared down at the books, then at Kirian's serious little expression. He pulled his little bludger's blanket up round his chin and used the motion to disguise the way he stroked his cheek. If Draco was right, this ritual wouldn't help Larentia – she was already a werewolf and so could not carry young, but it would mean all others could have their own children if they found a human mate willing to change for them. It would mean he wouldn't be the only one. It would mean the beginning of rebuilding the kind of packs they'd had before The Hunt had destroyed them all.
"I didn't think you were interested in children," Harry said, "I mean you always seemed terrified of Kirian."
Draco flushed dark with embarrassed annoyance. "Any sane eighteen year old male would be intimated by such a tiny child, Potter. Don't be obtuse. I'm not talking about having children now anyway – the only thing I want right now is to be with Echo. With him, properly, connected the way you are with Greyback. I don't want to be a werewolf, but what you are is different it's…"
He looked awkward, and for once like he couldn't find the words. "I don't have to justify it, Potter. Suffice to say I want to be his, to share everything with him, I want to be with the pack and one day, when I find the notion less daunting and…peculiar then I might like the opportunity to have children with him, yes."
Snape sat back in his chair then, taking the topmost book with him and flicking through it with interest. "Perhaps if you can still produce an heir your father's good opinion may be won over again someday. However, you have misconstrued a few meanings here – a few ingredients. I think perhaps this needs a shrewder eye," he began distractedly.
Draco looked hopeful. "Well, yes I…I was hoping you would be the one to brew the potion part, actually."
Snape raised a brow. "I did glance at those notes in the margin – it would need to be brewed with Potter's magic. In other words, you would need us both to not only survive each other in a potion's lab but also…work together."
Harry felt a sick sense of dread overcome him. "Bloody hell," he murmured.
"Precisely," Snape said sardonically.
Draco clucked his tongue in annoyance. "If you can work together to defeat the Dark Lord then you can work together to give me and everyone else who falls in love with a werewolf a chance at sodding happiness." Obviously realising how much he had revealed about his feelings, Draco's face went completely red and he rose hurriedly to his feet. "I'm going to the lavatory," he announced, hastening to the door. He was gone in a moment and Kirian chose that moment to turn and vomit spectacularly all down Harry's front.
"Urgh," Harry grumbled, his annoyance tampered by the pitiful cry his bludger's little lungs made – only just. He'd been quick enough to catch it with the magical blanket the rest of the time, but this time Kirian had managed to get none down himself, only on Harry. That took skill, Harry thought with a wince as he set Kirian down securely on the bed and got up.
"Not quite the future you envisioned for yourself, Mr Potter?" Snape asked, sounding as if he were trying very hard not to be amused, while Harry tugged off the hospital pyjama shirt. The fabric was so flimsy he doubted it'd survive a cleansing charm. He kicked it to the corner and stared down at his son, exasperated in only a pair of scratchy hospital trousers.
Kirian began to whine louder as he realised he'd been put down and Harry winced, disliking the sound – not just his wolf but the human in him aching to reach forward. Tugging one of the pillow cases off the pillows he transfigured it into a baggy, inelegant but practical shirt and dragged it on over his head. In that time, Snape had inclined his head to regard Kirian with a peculiar expression – almost assessing.
"I'm not sure what type of future lies ahead of me to be honest, sir," Harry said honestly, taking up the seat Draco had vacated and leaning forward across the bed so his arms framed Kirian's wriggling body. The position effectively calmed Kirian's fussing and gave Harry an escape from the bloody hospital bed without taxing his unsteady body too greatly.
"I think now that you have completed your task, your future is what you make it, Mr Potter," Snape replied.
Harry sighed, staring down at Kirian. He thought the little face was twitching as if trying to smile today, but he hadn't quite managed control of his facial muscles yet. It made Harry smile regardless of the storm raging in his mind. He brushed those dark curls with his thumbs thoughtfully, forgetting Snape's watchful gaze for a moment. "The truth is, though I hate being trapped in this hospital room…" He paused, gritting his teeth around the mawkish words that had threatened to escape.
"It is a good stalling tactic?" Snape supplied.
Harry winced and said nothing, thinking longingly of his warm bed of furs with the semi-translucent hangings and the warm fire and the hot spring bath and…
It was Snape's turn to sigh this time. "You've done your duty, Potter," he said shortly, "now you must decide what you want to do – what is best for you and that boy. You cannot hide in here forever."
Harry's head snapped up. He glared. "I'm not bloody hiding, alright?" he snapped, even though maybe he was a bit. "Everybody is telling me the right thing is something else and I'm just…I'm at peace with me, with the wolf and the human, if you like but the two worlds those different parts belong to aren't. I feel like I have to choose between my two lives and it's just too bloody hard, alright?" By the end his voice was harsh, loud and Kirian gurgled unhappily. Harry sat back, pulling him against his chest apologetically as he did so. He cradled the tiny soft body against his chest, feeling more at ease now the comparatively soft fabric of the transfigured shirt let Kirian's warmth through more easily. Harry bowed his head subtly to his cub's head and sniffed softly at his hair, letting the scent calm him. Except the action itself made him think of Fenrir and his chest twisted in that painful, aching way.
Where the fuck was Fenrir?
"Do not be such an ungrateful, melodramatic little twit, Potter, it is unbecoming," Snape said sharply.
"I'm not being ungrateful," Harry said, offended, "just…thoughtful."
"Who on earth said that you have to choose, besides yourself?" Snape said blankly, making Harry's head snap up to regard him curiously, shocked. Snape looked as if he wanted to shake his head in exasperation – but he didn't. "You do get some peculiar notions into your head, Potter. Perhaps if there was a bit less room in there you would not have that trouble? Did you not see your friends standing behind you and Greyback in that Merlin forsaken cavern? Did you miss them gathered around the table at Grimmauld Place? I thought your sight should have been improved with werewolf blood not worsened. As for the rest of your confusion, perhaps you should realise that you are not the only eighteen year old boy who does not know what he wants."
Harry felt his face heat. "Bastard," he snarled without venom, pushing the chair he was in around moodily so he could pull his shirt up to feed Kirian without Snape watching. He knew the action was punctuated by unavoidable childishness but he didn't care. Not much anyway. Just a bit. Because Snape was right and that was the most annoying thing. Everything was making him bloody tetchy…
He needed more sleep. How much sleep had he actually got since Kirian was born? He frowned. That was how much, so little that he couldn't even count. Hmm.
After Kirian had let himself nurse to sleep, Harry pulled his shirt back down and just held him, letting his head tip back to rest on the slightly raised hospital bed. He stared up at the ceiling and sighed his defeat. "You're right, sir," he admitted, voice low, conceding, just slightly tinged with petulance. He heard Snape smirk. The bastard.
"Of course I am, Potter, but at least you were able to recognise it this time. There is hope for you yet." There was that dry sarcasm again that was Snape's version of teasing. Harry closed his eyes and just let tiredness take him for a second.
"I think I can put up with your snarky face for Draco," Harry murmured without any real hatred. He could still hear Snape smirking.
"For the greater good, Potter," Snape agreed, clearly amused. "If Draco and yourself could learn to work together and even call each other by your first names then perhaps anything is possible."
Harry slumped a little further in the chair. Kirian nuzzling in sleep into his chest, just below his heart. "I'm not cleaning your sodding cauldrons though," Harry added, just to get the last word, just so Snape would know some things never changed. Snape was still bloody smirking.
Draco exhaled as he splashed cold water across his face, gripping the edge of the sink in the hospital toilet and staring carefully at his reflection. It wasn't lost on him that he'd been in this exact position before, that the last time it hadn't been his own feelings he was so worked up about. It was really over. It would take some time to process that. The war was over.
The war was really done.
And he was in love. With a man – a werewolf.
"I've spent far too much time with Potter," he concluded under his breath, looking down at the clinically clean white basin. His knuckles tightened around the rim as he recalled his parents' faces when they'd apparated back into Grimmauld Place under Echo's steam after the battle. His father had barely been conscious but he'd gripped the back of Draco's neck and gasped out his relief. His mother had sobbed uncontrollably and held him close. They'd all been so relieved to see each other that it didn't occur to them until much later to speak about what had been happening.
His father's tapestry that dominated the entire entrance hall had displayed his connection to Echo, it seemed and whilst sitting at his father's bedside here at St Mungo's as he was put into a deep sleep recovery, his mother had looked at him earnestly. She hadn't looked angry or disappointed, only confused, lost. Draco thought she'd never looked as vulnerable as she had when she'd taken his hand in both of hers and whispered, "Did they force you? Did they turn you? Did they hurt you?"
Draco had been shocked by the question and even more shocked that when he'd denied all of those things, and mumbled "I chose him," his mother had continued to hold his hand.
"I don't understand," she'd said, her voice small as she caressed his fingers.
Draco sighed now as he stared at his face in the mirror again. "I don't really either," he'd admitted to her. "But I know what I feel. I'm sorry."
She had regarded him thoughtfully for a long time before saying just as softly, "I'm so proud of you, Draco. My sweet boy – I'm so sorry for everything…"
Biting at his lip at contain the swell of emotion in his throat, Draco pushed back from the sink only to be startled from his thoughts by a sharp knocking on the door. With a frown, Draco looked around the toilets. There were three stalls, three urinals and three sinks. The door wasn't locked and he was the only one in here. Why didn't whoever it was just come in? He said nothing. The knocking returned, more rampant than before.
"Draco Abraxas Malfoy?" A hard, official sounding voice demanded. "Please come out here. You are wanted for questioning."
Draco froze, eyes wide. He'd known the aurors would come for him but he hadn't thought it would be so soon, when there were so many bigger, more notorious death eaters to capture and question. They won't use me as a sodding scapegoat, he thought bitterly, staring around the room. There were no real windows in this part of the hospital, only charmed ones and you could only disapparate in certain parts.
Fuck, he thought, just as the door flew open and five aurors piled in, badges blazing on their chests and wands raised. Draco backed into the sinks, not sure what to do. If he went with them, he had no doubts of what humiliating secrets they would force out of him with veritaserum. He knew how they would twist things just to get someone to blame for Dumbledore's death, because they could not have Snape. Shacklebolt would not be able to use his influence too often and would surely not waste it on him?
Lifting his chin in defiance and bravery he didn't feel, Draco grit his teeth in a way Potter might do. The door flew open again and ricocheted hard off the wall, making the aurors jump. Everyone, including Draco froze at the sight of Echo in the doorway, eyes blazing gold and usually impassive face twisted with a warning snarl. A shudder of fear rushed through Draco as he gripped the edge of the sink with one hand, wand grasped in the other. He'd never seen Echo in this state before, the kind he'd seen Greyback fall prey to a few times – he wasn't sure if he was about to see a massacre or not. He swallowed hard.
"S-Stay back werewolf!" The male auror, the one who'd spoken to Draco said, nobly standing his ground while his companions edged back slightly.
Echo growled darkly, pushing the door shut behind him as he stalked forward. "Stand down," he demanded, dangerously calm. The rich, husky voice tugged at Draco's stomach and something lower, tightening until his breath hitched – just enough for Echo to hear, it seemed for he glanced to Draco at the sound, a smile changing the exposure of pearly white teeth.
"We have to take him to the Ministry!" the same auror said, voice struggling to remain strong.
Echo's gaze snapped back to him so quickly that everyone in the room flinched.
"He's not yours to take," he warned.
"He is not a werewolf! And as such he must adhere to human rules and come with the aurors without question."
A snarl was the only answer Echo gave, he launched forward, the spells the aurors threw at him missing completely. He gripped the leader's throat in one elegant fist, hauling the taller male close until they were nose to nose. "Get. Out," Echo murmured darkly.
Draco watched as the man was dropped unceremoniously and all five aurors darted for the door. He barely heard their promise that they would be back, because Echo's gold eyes were on him now as he stepped forward, movements slow and precise. Draco fidgeted where he stood and watched him carefully, heat and fear coiling together in his chest.
"Echo?" he asked uncertainly, when the man was so close their chests were touching, Draco's heart and breath hammering in his lungs. He drew in a sharp breath as Echo stared down at him, gold eyes caressing the length of his body before settling on his eyes again. Holding onto the breath, Draco closed his eyes when he realised that he might be challenging Echo and everything in him clenched in anticipation. As ever, the display of understanding of his kind, of his needs made Echo surge and he pinned Draco to the sinks with his hips, a growl of urgency vibrating against Draco's mouth as Echo took him with a kiss.
"Mine," Echo growled out, hands on Draco's wrists, trapping them against the sink. "Safe."
"Yes," Draco agreed readily, forcing his voice steady as Echo pushed the telltale hardness into his hip as their bodies slid together. Tilting his head to deepen their kiss, he slid his tongue alongside Echo's and just sank into him, groaning into that mouth and rutting gently against him. When his lips were spit-shiny and swollen he dragged his lips away despite Echo's growl of protest, mouthing the man's jaw and neck, suck-biting gently and grinding his aching length into his lover's until brilliant white heat pulsed low in his belly.
After a moment Draco found Echo's hand on his nape, gripping just hard enough to still his head so that he too could mark Draco's neck with his lips, his scent, dragging a light trail of spit-wet kisses along his jaw, neck and collarbone. Draco rolled his head back into the fist gripping him, hips jutting forward into Echo as far as they could go. He flicked his wand at the door, locking it quickly and then letting his wand clatter uselessly to the floor, the sign of ultimate trust.
"Give it to me now," Draco demanded, voice more composed than he felt, just barely coherent but eloquently breathless. He felt Echo's chuckle against his pulse, such a human sound. Draco laughed softly back, shoving hard at his lover's chest and turning, bracing himself with his hands against the mirror over the shallow sink. It was an awkward angle but they could see each other's faces this way and he could feel Echo against his backside through their clothing.
When Echo only dragged his eyes over Draco's back and arse, Draco spread his legs wider and glared hard at his reflection. Despite his uncertainty, his character had never permitted him to be anything less than assertive, confident and proud. As always, he lifted his slightly pointed chin and ordered, in the voice Echo affectionately called his 'refined spoilt-brat' voice, "Right now. Give it to me."
Echo's eyes flashed, the amber-gold gone now and they met Draco's in the mirror.
***CENSORED. FOR FULL SCENE PLEASE FOLLOW ONE OF THE LINKS ON MY PROFILE***
Draco covered the shakiness in his legs by leaning forward to kiss his lover's jaw. Eyes closed, body relaxed and sated, Draco wrapped his arms round the man's neck and just stood there for a moment, basking in the intimacy between them.
"I told Severus and Potter about my research," he said eventually into Echo's neck, the man's hand pausing in caressing his hair for a moment, before resuming. Echo turned his head to kiss Draco's cheek.
"It's a noble cause," he said, sounding pleased and satisfied. He extricated himself from Draco's embrace long enough to banish the mess they'd made of the mirror and tuck himself back into his trousers. "Do you feel better now?" he asked, watching as Draco pulled his own underwear and trousers back up, then toed his shoes on. They weren't officially mated, not yet anyway and so Echo couldn't feel his emotions, but he was astute enough to know that Draco had been worried about his parents, about his own potential trial, then obviously threatened by the men who'd just tried to arrest him.
"Yes," Draco said, without hesitation. "You?" Echo's smile said it all, Draco's insides clenched warmly at the sight of it. But then Draco frowned. "What do you mean, noble cause?" he repeated indignant.
Echo sighed indulgently. "Let's not have this conversation in a hospital toilet?" he suggested, taking Draco's hand and sniffing carefully at the door to ensure no one was there, before walking out into the hall. It was embarrassing, but in a good way to walk through the hospital with someone's fingers interlaced with his own, someone he cared about, someone who could care less that he was Draco Malfoy and a death eater and everything that followed. It made Draco have to try very hard not to smile and it almost made him forget to be sullenly silent – almost.
"I know you think you're going to be the first to test the ritual when you, the professor and Harry master it," Echo said as they stepped outside into the brisk London air.
Draco wrenched his hand out of Echo's and glared at him. "Think I am? Do not patronise me," he snapped.
Echo just looked amused, which was all the more infuriating. He stepped in close, not caring about the members of general public moving past them and wrapped his arms round Draco, nuzzling gently against his ear until the stiffness eased from his limbs. "You are so endearing when you are being a petulant little pureblood," he mused, kissing the shell of his ear slowly, drawing back to look into Draco's eyes. "I love you," Echo said and the words made a wonderful fluttering feeling burst in Draco's stomach, like nausea but good, warm and gentle. It must have shown on Draco's face because Echo slid his hands down to grip Draco's hips, the way he liked, his affectionate 'tell' and brought their lips together in a gentle brush.
Draco thought a few people glanced their way but he could care less. He allowed a smile to touch his mouth as Echo drew back again – just a small one.
"I love you," Echo said again, "But you're only eighteen."
Draco's smile faded. "I thought we had the argument about the age difference already?" he asked, annoyed.
Echo laughed. "Yes. You won it, I remember distinctly the triumphant face and the 'victory service' you required after. This isn't about that. I'm not trying to convince you we shouldn't be together, we're past that."
Draco flushed a little at the teasing reminder and lifted his chin in challenge. "What then?"
Echo glanced around. The crowds had vanished now it seemed and they were quite alone on the hospital steps. "This isn't like with Harry. His circumstances were different and in any case, the werewolf lineage was already a part of him. You are talking about changing yourself – into something your family raised you to detest–"
"It's different now!" Draco insisted. But Echo kept talking.
"You've just been through a war and torture and things an eighteen year old shouldn't have to face. Once you make this change, there's no going back."
"You think I'll regret it?" Draco asked, "That I'll just change my mind? Do you insult me by insinuating I'm so fickle?"
Echo smirked. "No. No, in fact you're probably the most stubborn little sod I've met," he laughed. "But I'm not going anywhere. We are not going anywhere. We can have many years together before you decide to make the change. There's no rush and I want you to be sure."
"I am sure," Draco argued, though he sensed he was losing this one. Which just wasn't right. He hated losing – Echo was a much better loser than he was, that was why Draco always got to win.
"Yes," Echo agreed, and actually there was no part of him that was patronising, only honest, loving and thoughtful. "You're young, arrogant and impetuous. You've never been in love before me." He leant in again, kissing Draco more firmly this time, brushing his thumb just under Draco's jaw. "Just in this one thing, be patient for me, alright?"
Draco sighed. Echo did seem to have a soft spot for his spoiled streak and it was quite fun to indulge in, but in reality he had changed and he could see reason when faced with it. Even if he didn't like it. "Alright," he agreed. He could be mature, when it mattered. He had changed, he thought for the better. "I'm not waiting years though," he added, "One, maybe two at the most."
Echo laughed again, the sound buzzed pleasantly through Draco's skin.
"I love you too, you know," Draco added awkwardly. "You know, just in case you wondered."
"Draco Malfoy," Echo replied softly, pressing his forehead to Draco's as he inhaled his scent slowly. "You are a romantic at heart."
"Silly arse."
The sling wrapped around Harry kept Kirian strapped securely to his chest, but he still kept one arm curled around him for extra support, for protection as he kept his head down, moving quickly and quietly through the crowds. He flattened his fringe down over his forehead as he moved through St Mungo's halls, amazed that no one had noticed him yet with his face plastered over every magazine and newspaper as far as the eye could see.
Everyone seemed distracted by the victory, the end of the war. Their chatter was animated, their voices light and hopeful, the darkness that had settled over the world receded as if a tide of warmth had swept over everything. Despite his urgent need to escape the suffocating place, the stares and the judging hospital staff, he was uplifted by this change. The world was a more hopeful place despite the uncertainty of what was to come.
Kingsley will be a good leader, he reassured himself, knowing the man would do the right thing by death eaters and aurors alike.
After Snape had left on a mission to aid in Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's trials, Harry had dressed quickly. He scrawled out a note for the hospital staff, though he knew it would probably end up all over the bloody media by tomorrow, he didn't care. He wanted out.
He'd sent his patronus to Hermione earlier and now he was making a break for it, before the hospital staff could make a fuss and alert the reporters lurking around the hospital (illegally) to his whereabouts. Kingsley had tried to ban them from the hospital of course but he didn't trust that a certain animagus wouldn't have found her way in at the very least.
Kirian whinged against his collarbone and Harry stroked his back through the carrier, murmuring softly. "Alright Little Bludger, nearly there," he promised, taking the last flight of stairs down into the main atrium. It was teeming with people, all bustling about and celebrating delightedly with hugs and chattering and jovial singing. Harry smiled at the display, at the genuinely happy, thankful people as he weaved silently between them. The sounds and the sights and the smells were too much for tiny Kirian though and he started to fuss.
"Calm down," Harry soothed, or tried to as he made slow progress through the mass of bodies toward the main entrance, where he knew he'd be able to apparate out. He'd not even gotten half way, however before his instincts started to surge unhappily. The proximity to so many strangers with his young when he was still not at one hundred percent strength made unease swell in his throat like bile and he choked, holding Kirian closer and moving faster through the crowd.
Clinging to his control over his instinctual panic, he grit his teeth when someone accidentally backed into him and kept walking before the healer had chance to recognise him. He needed to get out. It was too much, too suffocating. He needed fresh air and the sky and the trees. He needed his pack. Where the bloody hell was Fenrir? With anger burning brightly now as well as unease, he began to duck and dive through the masses to reach the doors.
Suddenly a hand locked around his arm and he jumped, snarling out in instinctive defence, only to whirl around and find himself face to face with Remus. The man blinked, surprised at Harry's greeting for a moment – only for a moment. His expression softened immediately and he released Harry's arm in favour of bringing his hand to the small of his back. "Making your escape?" the man asked gently.
Harry tried to smile but the panic and the effort to stifle his wolf in this situation, while easy now he had found a sort of peace within him, was making him light-headed with his body still in recovery. With Fenrir apparently having abandoned him.
"Come," Remus said when Harry could not answer, gently guiding him through the crowds quickly and calmly, until the doors opened and the fresh, biting air lashed at Harry's face. It was very early November now, wasn't it? Harry couldn't remember. Actual days meant so very little in the pack. It was all about moons and cycles and seasons and planets. He closed his eyes for a moment as the outside world greeted him, licking at his face with icy fingers and rushing through his hair, through his nostrils until the clinical smell of the hospital was a distant memory. He wrapped both arms round Kirian as he let the relief and the outdoors chase away the panic.
"Better?" Remus asked, sounding amused. When Harry opened his eyes again, sure enough the man was smiling wistfully.
"Sorry," he said, embarrassed but realising that Remus was supporting him, even though the pressure of the battle was over and the possibility of them all dying had dwindled. His support hadn't. It made all the uncertainty of what was to come, the decisions he had to make and Fenrir's absence weigh a little less on his chest. Tilting his head, Harry gazed down at Kirian's face that was screwed up in displeasure against the cold, but soundless, his little nose twitching as he sniffed at the outside world. It wasn't the smell of trees and mountains, in a quiet, deserted muggle street but it was outside – it was freedom.
"Hermione and Ron firecalled Grimmauld Place," Remus said after a moment, drawing Harry's attention back to him. "They said they received your patronus, said you might need a lift." His face was warm and thoughtful, as it had been all those years ago when the man had taught him to fight of dementors. The face of his parents' last living friend, of a man who was just as confused as he was regarding what was to come, but was proud of him, ready to accept whatever he chose.
Snape was right, Harry thought with only the tiniest twinge of annoyance. No one is making me choose – no one that matters anyway. The only person stopping me from making a choice is me.
"You know where we're going?" he asked as he took Remus' subtly offered arm, preparing for the uncomfortable pull of apparition.
Remus offered another smile. "I believe you called it home," he said, before apparition took them.
Harry and Kirian seemed to have the same opinion about apparition. The feeling of being squeezed through too small a space jerked him and he stumbled as his feet touched down on soft spongy grass but Remus' grip on his arm steadied him. Kirian let out an almighty scream and Harry winced. "Hey now," he said softly, stroking his back through the soft but strong fabric of the sling. "That's a horrible sound."
The air around them was a little sharper, fresher, familiar. It made the weight in Harry's chest ease a little – just a little. It didn't make him any less confused or fill him with an epiphany of what love was, what he wanted from life, but he felt safe. He smiled as he looked around at the village of Shae. Everything was as it had been the last time he was here, people were milling about their daily tasks and children were playing out in the cobbled roads without a care.
He'd never seen anything more beautiful and it was made all the more breath-taking for the horror he'd just seen. For nearly losing it.
A few of the faces turned to look at him on hearing Kirian's squalling, smiling at the sight of him and Harry smiled back sheepishly, bouncing the tiny boy in his carrier gently. "How'd you know the coordinates?" he asked as they started up the grey road.
Remus gave him an odd look. "Ah, I may have been here this morning already."
Lifting an eyebrow, Harry stared at him. "Oh? How come?" But his question would have to wait for an answer because as they walked into the centre of the village, bathed in crisp early November sunlight, three familiar faces came into view.
"Harry!" Hermione cried as she and Ron dashed the last few feet between them and greeted him with enthusiastic grins, Hermione embracing him tight and Ron slapping him on the shoulder. Kirian was still sobbing, upset from the tug of apparition and Harry winced apologetically.
"Sorry, he really hated the journey," he said, sliding one of his hands up to stroke Kirian's hair through his hat reassuringly. It didn't help. It made a sickly feeling prickle at his belly. He hated hearing him like this.
"Oh dear," Hermione said with a frown. "Poor little boy. Maybe you should try feeding him? A lot of babies comfort nurse, you know?"
Harry didn't know, but it didn't surprise him that Hermione did. Still, as he glanced around and saw Eithne reach them at last and a few other members of the village watching, he didn't really feel comfortable doing it right here.
"Werewolf cubs are notorious for being more unsettled and needy, in need of comfort," Eithne said, wrinkled face warm and relieved as she looked at Harry and Kirian. She came around to his side so that she could see Kirian's pink face. "Oh dear, but he's a beauty," she said happily. "May I?"
Harry froze only for a moment, realising how much more easily he could control his instincts since he'd mastered transformation. He wondered if this was the peace within himself that Eithne had once told him her son had had time to master before he'd had his children. He thought so. Nodding slowly, he supported Kirian's wriggling body with both arms and vanished the carrier, transferring the upset baby into Eithne's aged but capable arms.
The happiness in her wise eyes was not even slightly tainted by his little bludger's uproar and Harry was glad of it, it meant Kirian wasn't really hurt, just upset, it meant it was the type of fussy crying he'd heard Teddy do. He didn't like the sound but he was beginning to realise it didn't make him a bad dad just because Kirian made it too. It was a slow process. But one he intended to enjoy every moment of, that much he knew now.
Kirian wailed despite the soft cooing sounds of his great-grandmother, his face screwed up and red. "Oh but you are a bonny little one, aren't you? Fenrir always used to make that same face when he cried," she said in a cooing voice, making Ron snort with amusement at the image. Harry smirked too, even if Fenrir's name reminded him of the aching absence in his chest. The hollowness. Their bond buzzed more prominently now though, he knew he must be around somewhere.
"Do you like him?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself as he watched Eithne try and console her sobbing great grandson. "His name is Kirian."
Eithne just beamed down at Kirian's red face, in love. "He's beautiful, Harry. Shae and Adair would have been so proud." She slid her wrinkled thumb in between Kirian's fingers, letting his hand clench tight around the digit. He was still crying. "What a set of lungs," she mused and Harry smirked, relieved. Eithne was Fenrir's only family left, blood family anyway. He wanted her to like him, as pathetic as that sounded.
"Sorry he's a bit whingey," Harry said, but did not try to take his little bludger back. As much as everyone would probably excuse his possessiveness, he wanted her to hold Kirian, wanted her to love him and he wanted Kirian to experience a grandparent the way he'd never got to. A proper family. The thought made his eyes sting a little. Kirian would grow up surrounded by love, by an extended family of mismatched werewolves, wizards and witches, he'd be so loved, safe and warm. Far away from the cold loneliness of his own childhood. Not just Kirian – Harry as well.
With a sudden biting clarity, it hit him like a heavy blow to his gut that winded him. He lost his breath as he realised for the first time, what he had to do. He'd asked Ron and Hermione to meet him here on a whim, on instinct but now he knew why. His heart had been calling him back here. He knew this was right, not just for Kirian, but for him as well.
He felt like home was just beyond the boundary of the village, in the mountain he could see in the distance, surrounded by trees. His heart lifted as he stared at it, everything warm and excited and safe, the way it'd felt every time he returned to Hogwarts after a gruelling summer with the Dursleys. Except this was different. Because while he'd been forced to leave Hogwarts every year, this was somewhere he could stay – forever. Somewhere filled with love that was just his own.
Emotion swelled in his throat and it felt dry. He blinked hard, conscious of everyone watching him. And that Kirian was still crying. "Come on, Kirian," he said softly, but the boy was being difficult today. He was tired and hadn't liked the hospital at all, which didn't help. He was about to suggest he feed him maybe in Eithne's cottage but then Ron spoke.
"It's a nice village and all," Ron said, looking round, taking in a deep lungful of air. "Where are we? Is the pack nearby?"
"We're in a secluded stretch of North Yorkshire, young man," Eithne said without looking away from her grandson, bouncing him firmly, confidently in an attempt to stop his cries. "Far and away from the muggle population. The entire area is property of Fenrir's pack, protected by them. We're self-sufficient, as you've seen with everything we need. I believe your friend will have her work cut out for her though, she's had muggle comforts her whole life, has she not?"
Ron and Hermione looked to Remus. "Tonks has, yes. But I think the only thing she and Andromeda will miss is the television. Perhaps we can try setting it up to work with magic instead of electricity…" He looked thoughtful. Harry stared.
"You're…? What?" he asked, awestruck. "What did you say?"
Remus blinked. "Ah, yes, well, Tonks and I came by earlier, with Greyback. He seemed to think we might need a bit more persuading to consider life with the pack." He looked uncertain, apprehensive but also hopeful. Something Harry had rarely seen in Remus' usually resigned expression. Both he and Tonks had probably always assumed he would die an early painful death because of the toll of his rough transformations but now there was hope.
Harry felt dumbstruck. "Fenrir was with you?" he demanded, voice slightly higher than normal, Kirian's rising to match, stubbornly not surrendering to Eithne's consoling humming.
Remus frowned. "I assumed you'd asked him to? And that's why you asked to meet Ron and Hermione here. He suggested if I found my first moon…suitable that Tonks, Andromeda, Teddy and I could build a house here in the village. We have no home since the Tonks house was taken out in the war and Grimmauld Place is…"
"Grim," Ron put in. Remus nodded.
"Kreacher could even come – he seemed quite pleased once we'd assured him he could bring some of Regulus' things," Hermione said excitedly. "It'll be so good for him too, a new start." She squeezed Harry's arm. "Remus is apprehensive, he wants to see how he handles the moon with the pack first, which is understandable but…"
She kept speaking, her face bright and optimistic as well, her voice excited and Harry wanted to join her, to share that excitement and anticipation – on some level he did. Remus was honestly thinking about letting the pack help him, about embracing a part of him he'd loathed nearly all his life, he would live longer because of it. And perhaps selfishly, he was glad that Remus, Tonks, Teddy and Andromeda would be so close. That Hermione and Ron were so enthusiastic. But he couldn't get his head around one thing. It stuck in his head like a sticky barb.
"Has Fenrir been with you this whole time?" he asked, brow still furrowed, voice uncertain.
Remus looked utterly bewildered. "Only this morning. Hasn't…hasn't he contacted you at all while you've been in hospital?"
Suddenly Kirian wailed louder than ever and Harry turned to him, but as he did so, movement caught his eye and he looked down the road that wound around Eithne's cottage to see a great silver wolf staring at them, ears slicked back, legs rigid. Slowly he stalked forward, head low, wary.
Ron, Hermione and Remus tensed on sight of him, at his stance. Eithne glanced up, but seemed unconcerned, bouncing Kirian determinedly. "Now then, enough fuss," she said gently, "you're alright." She reached down then and caught the dummy that was tucked into the pocket of his onesie and poked it into his mouth. His little eyes opened as he sucked it in, hard and the noise stopped. "There, now we can see that face properly," she said happily, Kirian's tearless eyes staring up at her in curious wonderment.
Harry wondered if werewolf newborns could sense who was family and who wasn't, but was distracted because then Fenrir had reached them, sniffing carefully at them all but mostly him. As he stopped directly in front of them, Fenrir morphed back, eyes rimmed with gold but shining brightest blue. He stared at Harry, silent.
"Put some clothes on you beast," Eithne admonished, "no one wants to see that." She swept her plain grey shawl off her shoulders and threw it at Fenrir, who didn't look away but tied it round his waist in a sort of sarong, so that Ron, Remus and Hermione were a bit less uneasy, not so concerned about where to look.
"Don't take after your alpha, little one," Eithne said to Kirian, who cooed happily up at her, looking as if he were trying to smile but couldn't quite, not yet.
"I smelled you," Fenrir said, voice low, gruff as ever while he stared at Harry, looking uncertain somehow, even if he sounded unperturbed. Harry hadn't heard his voice in what felt like forever. The bond between them hummed contentedly, with warm rightness that filled his chest to bursting point. Harry exhaled slowly, trying to reacquaint himself with the feeling of having him there after what felt like so long.
"I smelled you and then I heard Kirian," Fenrir continued, glancing to where Eithne had Kirian well in hand now, absolutely smitten. When he met Harry's eyes again, he looked tentative still and yet pleased, almost relieved at the sight of him. That was it. Hot anger rose up like a charmed serpent and Harry took the final few steps to him, slapping him hard across the face, glaring.
"You're the absolute fucking limit, you know that?" he snapped. Ron, Hermione, Remus and Eithne seemed to scatter, determinedly looking away and murmuring something about an 'ideal site' as they edged away. They left Harry standing there, scowling up at Fenrir and shaking slightly, overwhelmed by everything that had happened and now the sight of Fenrir, safe and whole and…
"I'd just died and come back and you left me there!" Harry snarled, cursing the hurt that licked at his voice. He didn't want to be upset or hurt, he wanted to be angry. Bloody angry damn it!
"They kicked me out!" Fenrir snapped, cheek red but already healing. "Your bloody mate Kingsley had to step in so they didn't arrest me."
"Says the man who chased me all the way to London and howled outside Grimmauld Place until he was shown the way in?" Harry countered. He didn't care if some would say he was being unreasonable. "Ron and Hermione were there, the Weasleys showed up briefly – even Snape came to see me. Where were you?"
Fenrir grit his teeth. "You were sodding unconscious! Besides, you've just killed the Dark Lord, haven't you? It's not like you need me. It's just like you always said, if I gave you a wand or control over your werewolf magic then you could take care of yourself. You can make your escape now without a care."
"You'll be waiting for an eternity for me to choose you… I'll never want you. I'll never respect you and I'll always keep trying to escape. This is a prison to me, not a life!"
Harry winced as he recalled his words. They felt like years ago rather than months. So much had changed, so much had happened. He felt like a different person now – essentially the same but stronger, more confident with his eyes opened and wiser. But still Harry. "You – I told you, I'm not any different just because I have my magic back," he snapped. He remembered that time in the garden at Grimmauld Place and wondered how Fenrir had so easily forgotten that.
Apparently he hadn't. "Of course you said that when you needed me to face Targarletum still," Fenrir said dismissively, "but it's over now, right? You don't need me? You want to take our son and everything else and escape me, right? Well bloody go."
Harry flinched as if slapped. Some of the villagers edged back in their homes at the shouting, his friends and Eithne and Kirian were nowhere to be seen. The hurt in Fenrir's voice was evident only to him, even if they probably heard his shouting back in the den. His fear was so heavy in the bond that Harry was choking on it, suffocating as it mingled with his own until he could barely breathe.
"You're talking bollocks because you're afraid. I needed you!" Harry growled, hating the way his voice broke. "I needed you and you didn't come!"
"And what stopped you from walking out of there?" Fenrir seethed. "You knew where I'd be all this time and you only just turned up. The only thing I want to know is why it took this long. Did they print something else vile in that sodding paper about you? Decided you needed a last holiday? Lose your nerve?" He stepped forward then, gripping Harry's throat and flicking his head to the side so he could drag his nose across Harry's pulse, pounding with frustration. "Or did you want one last goodbye fuck?"
Heat lanced Harry's belly at that word in that tone, right against his ear. He shuddered, fighting it before wrestling himself out of Fenrir's grip – trying to at least. Fenrir gripped his upper arms hard, dragging him into Eithne's cottage roughly until they were in the spare room again. He kicked the door shut and tossed Harry down on the bed.
"Come on then, pet, let's get it over with, yeah?" Fenrir growled, wrenching off the shawl covering his already hardening flesh before crawling up the bed, kneeling over Harry. He tugged at Harry's trousers. Harry snarled in negation, shoving hard at his shoulder. Fenrir caught the hands and pinned them above his head, staring down at him with such a conflicted expression that it froze Harry in place for a moment.
"Let's get you seen to so you can piss off back to your wizard life," Fenrir grunted.
Fenrir was afraid he was leaving, was hurt that it'd taken Harry so long to decide to come after him. It was all such a mess in his head and Harry felt it throb warningly, messed up and half-aroused, angry and upset. But not confused. Because he knew; he knew what he was going to do and he knew exactly what Fenrir was about.
"If you're so certain that I'm leaving you then why did you go to Remus? Why did you suggest he live here, so close to the pack?" Because he knew Fenrir wanted to do right by Remus, had always regretted what he'd done but the look in Fenrir's eyes told him it wasn't only that. He could feel it in his own chest as if it were his own. The truth had stopped Fenrir's tirade more thoroughly than any slap.
"I wanted…" Fenrir trailed off, looking vulnerable for the first time in his life and apparently hating every moment of it. He visibly grit his teeth and released Harry, but when he tried to draw away Harry seized both of his arms, locking his legs around the back of Fenrir's knees to hold him in place. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They were both as incapable of expressing emotion as each other but now there was nothing else. Only them.
"I hoped if you saw you didn't have to sodding choose, you might come back, alright?" Fenrir snapped accusingly, voice harsh, raw glaring at Harry challengingly. "I made adjustments to things I thought you'd be missing. That I thought might make the difference." It was as if he were daring Harry to laugh or walk away now, knowing what he did, after seeing him vulnerable. Perhaps it was the sight and feel of that raw hurt, that vulnerability, or even everything that had happened in the last few days, nearly losing everything that made Harry see it all so clearly, but he knew now what he wanted. It wasn't to walk away.
Using all the strength in his arms and legs, he hauled Fenrir closer, pressing his nose into the man's collarbone and inhaling, eyes closed, body just relaxing, unwinding. The anger ebbed away and his eyes stung again. Then he released Fenrir's hands and reached up, wrapping his arms round his neck. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, almost too quietly into Fenrir's skin. "I was afraid I'd have to choose, I didn't know what to do but I…I don't have to choose. We can make it work and you have and…" He licked his dry lips, nose still buried in the indent at the base of Fenrir's throat. "I was afraid. But I'm here now."
Fenrir was still for a moment, then he let out a low, rumbling growl, mixed with hurt, relief and affection. It soared in Harry's chest until he thought his heart would burn up with it. Fenrir's forearms braced his weight off Harry but did not allow any space to come between them. His hands slide up to knot in Harry's hair at the base of his neck, tugging his head back so their eyes could meet.
"You don't need me," Fenrir said, his voice so low and rough with emotion that Harry thought the man's throat might tear open with it. It was as if he didn't dare believe what Harry was saying.
Harry did give a snort of laughter then, eyes too bright, voice unsteady as he replied. "Not for killing things or protecting me from Dark Lords, no. Just everything else." He didn't really know what love was, not really, but the thought of not being here with Fenrir, of not seeing him again, or not raising Kirian with him, not touching him, or falling asleep next to him, running with him under the moon – even arguing with him. It hurt. It hurt worse than having his throat cut with silver and this? This felt so right, in spite of both of their flaws, in spite of everything. If this wasn't love, it was good enough. More than, in fact.
Fenrir's mouth was so close, Harry felt it when the man licked his lips and felt his stomach flip with anticipation because he knew what was coming. Fenrir let out a sound of strangled pained relief and smashed their lips together, hard, firm. His stubbly mouth prised Harry's open. He groaned into Harry's tongue as he caressed with his own, his hand at the nape of Harry's neck tugging his head back further so the kiss could deepen.
"I should let you go," Fenrir growled between kisses, thumb brushing the mark at Harry's throat that would bind them together, even if Harry did walk away and they never saw each other again. "But I'm too fucking selfish."
Harry grunted, tilting his head to the side to nip at that bottom lip and slide his tongue inside when the mouth parted in a surprise gasp. "Good," he countered, warmth and comfort spreading through every inch of him until he felt dizzy with it. He gripped Fenrir's hair firmly in his fist, holding him close even when they were breathlessly just melding their lips together in slow, languid caresses, noses touching, breath mingling.
"Mine," Harry murmured against that mouth, feeling it twitch with a smile before it took his again, tongue sliding along the side of his then flicking at the tip the way he liked it best. But then one of those large hands slid down between them to his trousers and Harry gripped his arm, stopping him. "No."
Fenrir froze, tensed and drew back with a frown. He looked confused. Harry smirked, sliding out from under him and snatching up the shawl, tossing it at Fenrir. "My friends are out there waiting for me," he said, because no matter how accustomed to his werewolf nature he became, part of him was still human, still averse to the idea of fucking while his friends were nearby. Besides which, with the anger abated, he felt uneasy not knowing where Kirian was.
"Let's wait and do it in our bed," he added when Fenrir tied the shawl around his waist, grumbling his displeasure. He seemed to take the interruption better at those words, but Harry secretly thought that was because Harry had called it 'their' bed more than anything else. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud, of course.
They made their way back out into the November sunshine, following the scents until they found Remus and the others by a spot of land near the edge of the village. Eithne was explaining elaborately about materials and speed of the build when she and others caught sight of them. Harry smiled reassuringly (if a bit embarrassed) to his friends as he joined them, fighting the urge to take Kirian back in favour of letting Fenrir hold him. Though he suspected Fenrir wouldn't admit, he'd missed Kirian so much, it was obvious in the way he wrapped his big arms round him and drew him in close, staring at him as the tiny boy stretched and gurgled happily.
"Shall we head over to the den, then?" Hermione suggested, clearly bursting with interest at this whole new culture. Ron and Remus looked a bit apprehensive but eager.
Then something amazing happened. Something so simple but that in the chilly sunshine, chased away the lingering echoes of pain from the last few days. Harry glanced to Kirian and watched his little bludger stare up at Fenrir and smile. The tiny boy kicked his feet excitedly and honestly smiled. The green eyes were bright and Harry stepped closer to look.
"Look at that, you made him smile," Harry said, awed, not even a little bit jealous that it was Fenrir who'd coaxed that first smile out of him, not when he saw such a pleased look on Fenrir's face in answer.
Eithne beamed at the group, patting Fenrir on the shoulder and kissing Harry's cheek. "He's a beautiful boy. I'll have him some new clothes ready next time you visit," she said, giving Kirian one last loving glance before making her way back into the centre of the village. When Harry looked back to his friends, Remus wore a warm, pensive expression, Ron looked a bit awkward and Hermione just looked ready to burst with eagerness.
"Ready to go home?" Fenrir suggested, the exact words not lost on Harry. He nodded. He was more than ready.
~To Be Continued…
A/N: At least one more chapter left, maybe more – as I've written out the 'plan' for the end and it looks like a lot to fit in one chapter. We'll have to see how far the plot bunnies run with me ;) Either way see you all next week! xxx