The Choice That Was Never His
Harry had spent his life making hard choices.
Surviving the Dursleys, trusting Ron and Hermione, sacrificing himself in the war, and later, running. Every decision had felt like it was entirely on his shoulders, like his life was dictated by necessity rather than desire.
But this?
This thing with the pack?
It wasn't a choice he had made.
Not really.
It had been theirs.
They had decided to watch him. To guard him. To claim him.
And, despite his best efforts, despite every wall he had put up, he was starting to realize that he had let them.
The idea was unsettling.
Because trust—real trust—was something he had been taught to be cautious with.
And yet, here he was, staring at his front door, knowing damn well that if he opened it, at least one of them would be nearby.
Not watching. Not waiting.
Just there.
Existing in his space like they belonged there.
And the worst part?
Somewhere deep down, in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge, he didn't mind.