Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Old Friend	By : Prosperosdaughter Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her associates own Harry Potter. I make no money from my stories.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.

Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.

This chapter dovetails with Chapter 90 of 'You Will Not Kiss Me', but from Idris and Alphard's points of view.

Chapter 13: Tainted Triumph

Before taking his leave of Snape and Lupin to honour their dead, Idris would need to arrange the route of escape for Snape. Snape asked Idris for the wands of the wizards he would help escape. Idris pulled the captive and dead opponents' wands from his robe, unerringly drawn to those of the wizards, and picking out those of the wizards who yet lived. Snape seemed surprised.

Hearing Wandsong to Idris was as natural as hearing birdsong to those who listened. Each wand told a different tale: they sang of spells they had cast and of their casters; their song became discordant with Dark magic; had an undertone of grief if their casters were werewolves. All werewolves' wands had it: the recognition of the curse that flowed through the veins of their casters. As for the dead, the wands would sing in mourning but sometimes in liberation, for the wand always chose the wizard, but sometimes they were forced. Either way, they would always sing for their dead.

It was an easy thing for Idris to tell if a wand belonged to a werewolf or a wizard; to a dead man or a live one: it was the difference between the song of the blackbird to the caw of a crow or the hoot of an owl – to Idris, at least.

"Will you give the werewolves theirs back, or give them to your pack?" asked Snape.

"These wands have used Dark magic. I'll not have any of my pack carry them. Don't like to snap wands, but ..." His face set like granite as he clearly contemplated whether their captives should live or die. The dead must be honoured first, but then there would be the trial. However that turned out, he would not restore their wands. "I may place 'em on the pyres of our dead. It'd be fittin'."

Alphard squeezed Idris's shoulder and Idris was grateful for it. Alphard was still so very demonstrative to him: he made him feel so very worthy. He patted the comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Can a wand used for Dark magic influence another wizard them?" ventured Lupin.

"It taints the wand," said Idris, looking at Snape whose wand sang Darkly. "And Dark magic always taints the one who uses it." He could show them; it would be easier. Slowly, and hearing Alphard's small gasp acknowledging what he meant to do, Idris removed his mother's wand from his pouch. He gazed at it, the dainty, long wand with the filigreed handle, torn between fondness and sadness.

"My Mam's wand," he said.

"I thought you were a half-blood," said Snape.

"That I am. My Mam was a Muggle-born witch. Caused quite a stink for Da when he married her." He placed the wand on the table, never taking his eyes from it. "I never knew her. She died in childbirth with me. But even when I was quite young, I could listen to her wand." Idris's expression became distant, lost in the memory. "It sang of her, gentle and kind, and I could bring forth her spells: charms mostly." He remembered the healing spells, sewing spells, housework spells, and even one to help his father to sleep. He had called the echo of all of them and imagined his mother behind the wand – healing him or helping him to sleep. "I carried it as my spare when I came to Hogwarts, although I rarely used it." The truth was, he'd just like to carry the wand with him: a reminder of the mother he'd never known.

His dark eyes snapped back to the present. "When I was Turned and captured by Vargulf, Riddle used it to Torture me. He enjoyed defiling the pure wand. It's willow and Unicorn hair – a pretty wand for healing work," he said and then steeled himself for the lesson he meant to show them. "But I'll not use it. I cannot even call her spells without having to see this first." He passed his own hand over the wand and then turned away from a golden light that arced upwards and then it dropped and it formed the ghost of his teenaged self silently screaming in agony, writhing and twitching on the floor. He remembered the sound though. And the feel. He didn't have to look. He looked instead at Alphard, his face drawn in horror at the sight and then quickly cancelled the spell as Alphard hid his face in his hands.

"Can it be cleansed of the Dark magic?" Snape asked. "Water it down with light magic perhaps? Disgorge the Dark and fill the wand with Light spells?"

"Dilute it?" asked Alphard, who was still shaken by the ghostly echo of his Idris under the Cruciatus. "You mean use it for healing or other Light magic?" He didn't think he would ever be able to wield the wand that had done that to Idris, not now he had seen it with his own eyes.

"A wand takes a taint likes a man drinks water," said Idris gruffly. "The more a wand is used for murder and torture, the more it becomes a killer's tool." Idris looked at the wand again. "But there is something to what you say, but it can never be pure again." He placed the wand back in the pouch to think on it later, then turned to Snape and Lupin once more.

"Tell me," rumbled Idris, "why Riddle seeks me once more? After all these years, why?"

"I believe it's to do with Harry Potter's wand," offered Snape.

Whatever Idris might have been expecting, this answer was not it and his black brows shot upwards.

"Who the hell is Harry Potter?"

"Who the hell indeed ..." sighed Snape.

Alphard frowned in confusion. Of course, he had heard of the boy who lived; the very child whose parents his nephew had been accused of betraying. Sirius's godson, in fact. As Snape and Lupin spoke to Idris, Alphard listened very carefully, piecing together the bits and pieces Sirius had told him in their all too few meetings.

"Harry Potter is a student at Hogwarts. He is 16 years old, and is the only person known to have survived the Killing Curse, cast at him by the Dark Lord when he was an infant."

"But no-one can survive the Killing Curse," interjected Idris.

"And yet he did," said Snape, "with just a scar."

"Dumbledore believes that when his mother, Lily, was killed casting herself between Harry and Voldemort," explained Lupin, breathlessly, "her sacrifice imbued her son with a protective enchantment so when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse, it rebounded on him."

Idris sat heavily in a chair and raked his hands across his facial stubble. "Old earth magic," he said, knowing his pack resided in the heart of this type of ancient magic: the magic of the earth, of nuture and motherhood.

"Yes, precisely," said Snape. "No trace was found of the Dark Lord, and it was widely assumed he had died, but Dumbledore knew he was just maimed – a shadow of himself. Dumbledore knew he would return. And he did. He used a Dark blood ritual to restore his form, trapping Harry Potter and using his blood to restore himself, hoping to take part of his mother's continuing protection into himself." He heard Alphard utter an imprecation, even as Idris stared at him, his dark eyes glittering.

"When he was restored, he made Harry duel him -" continued Lupin.

"- he duelled a child –?" interrupted Idris.

"- without compunction," continued Snape. "But when their spells met, their wands seemed to connect and neither could break the connection and the Dark Lord's wand's previous spells were disgorged, including shadows of his murder victims who covered the child's escape."

"Tell me about this boy's wand," demanded Idris, already knowing that earth magic played a part in this, but troubled why Riddle also had not died. Why two had not been felled by the Killing Curse.

"Harry's wand is holly and phoenix feather," Lupin said. "Voldemort's wand contains a feather from the same bird but I don't know the wood ..."

"Yew," said Idris quietly, recalling the wand from all those years ago in the library at Hogwarts. He could see Snape and Lupin wanted to know more, but he'd had more than enough of a reminder of Riddle today. He wanted to know about this wand. "So the twin cores' spells met and forced priori incantatem of his last spells including his murders ... what colour was the stream?"

"Gold. Dumbledore told me it was gold," supplied Snape.

The air in the tent was tense as three men watched him consider what he'd been told. He knew it wasn't just the twin cores: it was far more complex than that. Old magic – old blood magic: he was sure that was what was responsible for the boy's wand protecting him, for Riddle's wand being weaker for the boy's blood he'd used. And because Riddle's wand had been weakened by the old blood magic, the strong wand disgorged the other spells and … worked them into a protective spell! Idris mind swam with the concepts, wishing he had the words to articulate the extraordinary magic at play. One thing he did know now was that Dumbledore knew what his Elder wand might be capable of – that was clear now.

Finally, Idris broke the silence.

"I know now why Dumbledore came to see us," he said to Alphard, who nodded. "Riddle's wand cannot beat the boy's. The old protective magic he imbibed so freely means Potter's wand is stronger. The wand recognises the strength."

"He is more powerful than the Dark Lord?" asked Snape, incredulously.

"That not what I said," huffed Idris impatiently. "The wand recognises the one who has the protection. Riddle should not have taken Potter's blood."

"It isn't just the twin cores?" asked Snape.

"That is part, but it is not all. There is much more magic at work there. Much more."

Alphard felt a chill in his soul. He would not speak of it here, but he had listened very carefully and he was sure too that there was much more magic: not just wandlore and old magic but something rare and Dark indeed. Riddle should have died. His mind stretched and grasped at the word he wanted – rare, Dark soul magic that had kept Riddle tethered to this world … it was on the tip of his tongue when Snape spoke again.

"Would you have been able to make a wand to defeat Potter's?"

"Possibly. I could listen to Riddle's wand for the song of phoenix feather and then I'd'a found a core and wood that combined could overpower it. 'Course, I heard Riddle's Wandsong decades ago. It was a Dark wand, even then." Idris shuddered at the memory. "But even if they are twins, they are not mirrors of each other. The boy's wand would have a different song, the core would resonate differently in the wood. It's a younger wand. Not been used for Dark magic. I could only have learnt so much from Riddle's wand. Potter's woulda been the wand I would need to hear. But Riddle probably doesn't understand that."

They were silent for a while then Idris added, "Dumbledore understands though. He's understood where the danger lies."

Snape and Lupin looked at each other, not comprehending Idris's enigmatic statement.

"Can you tell us?" asked Lupin.

Idris regarded the two men. The fewer people in the world who knew of the truth of the existence, let alone the whereabouts, of the Death Stick, the better in Idris's mind. He resolved and shook his head slowly.

"I don't think so. It is a terrible thing, best not known."

Then Idris left to discuss Snape's escape route with his sons.

Alphard knew that Idris would not return to say goodbye. He had seen the deep grief of the disgorged spell from his mother's wand and longed to know more about his thoughts on the connection between Riddle and the boy who lived. He wanted to discuss what he'd recalled too. He thought of discussing it with these two men, but then, perhaps, he should discuss it with Idris first: he had seemed determined Snape and Lupin should not know of the Death Stick.

Instead, Alphard asked Snape to show him the counter-curse to the Cutting Curse he had seen Bellatrix use and listened intently to the incantation, nuanced and skilful, and went over the wand movement with Snape several times. This was complex magic, but if there were to be any later clashes with Riddle's followers, he must master this.

When they were finished, he knew it was time to go to be with his family and yet he owed such a debt to Snape and Lupin and this would be the last time he would see Snape before he returned to Riddle, bloody and broken to try to prove a lie. It told Alphard that Snape deemed that this amount of genuine pain was required so that Riddle would believe him. Alphard found that difficult to comprehend, and he felt so helpless. It was inimical to him to leave someone without healing.

"I must join the others now to set the pyres on the mountain." He exhaled roughly, then stepped forward and shook Snape's hand warmly. "Thank you, Severus. For what you did for me - for us. I hope we will meet again. In the meantime, I will take care of Remus – please don't worry. And I will write." He felt a brief flutter of panic that perhaps this young man might not survive, but he pushed it away. "Take care," he said earnestly, "and good luck."

Alphard left quickly, and made his way to the roundhouse to do his rounds of the sick and injured once more, his mind full of Wandsong, old magic and Dark soul magic. Dark magic that could keep a man from dying. He knew he come across it before; after all, his family had been steeped in Dark magic. It would come to him.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

With brands lit from the central fire, each adult werewolf that was capable walked with the procession of the four biers, each werewolf's mate walking beside them with their cubs as the pack escorted their dead up the mountain for their final farewell. The younger werewolves had built the pyres after the battle and the dead were laid out on them with the Dark werewolves' wands as offerings to the mountain.

Gwydion did not lead the Welsh hymn this time, for he was one of the dead, but the werewolves sang for him and the other fallen – sang for the memory of the song he gave them on that eve of battle that had fed their victory.

As the hymn finished, Idris gave the word and the mates set light to the pyres and, as the great fires caught, the faces of the gathered werewolves were bathed in the orange flickering light of the flames and Stacy transformed into his wolf and bayed to the night sky the lonely lament of the wolf.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

The pack had stayed with the pyres through the bitterly bold night. They had drunk ale and toasted their departed and told stories of them so they would be remembered. By the time most of the pack had made their way back to the encampment, it was dawn, as cold a dawn as Alphard could ever remember. Snape and the wizards had long since made their escape and Alphard hoped Snape's plan had worked. The guards who had been Stupefied had recovered and had reported on the successful escape to Idris in private, although the majority of the pack did not know there had been collusion. Only the Dark werewolves were left, and they would be tried when the pyres had died.

Alphard looked in on Lupin in the tent and found him sleeping peacefully, looking rested. He hoped that meant all was well. He went to fetch his satchel of medicines when Angharad stopped him.

"Alf, ye've barely stopped for days. Take some sleep with us for a couple of hours at least," she said, taking hold of his hand. He felt he should get on, but he couldn't deny that he was shattered and with a small smile as he met Angharad's gentle brown eyes, he put back the satchel and left with her to sleep.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

The day had felt surreal when the pack eventually awoke and tried to get back to its usual routine. The injured were released throughout the day as and when Alphard considered they were well enough. Idris's sons made sure the prisoners were fed and watered but Idris would not see to them until the pyres had died fully.

Angharad and Alphard both checked on Lupin throughout the day, receiving the news that Snape had been successful – for now. Alphard hoped Lupin would be well enough to move fully by Tuesday or by the latest Wednesday and that he should be able to make his way back to Snape for the full moon on Friday.

"Don't worry," said Lupin conspiratorially. "I promise you I will be out of your tent by then, no matter what." Alphard found himself flushing, even though he felt foolish at his age and with this man that knew full well what the full moon would mean for a human mate. Then Lupin said, almost to himself, "This will be a very special moon, after all."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

As Alphard entered the tent that evening with food for Lupin, he had to look twice to confirm that he was indeed looking at a house-elf – yes, definitely a house-elf - in a Hogwarts tunic with a bow on her head talking earnestly to Lupin.

"And who do we have here?" Alphard asked with a smile.

"Tippy, Master," Tippy bowed low, recognising the patrician authority of Alphard's voice. "Tippy is here with Master Lupin's potion."

Alphard's eyebrows shot up as the elf turned from him without further ado and unstoppered the flask for Lupin.

"Come now, Master Lupin," she said coaxingly, as Lupin wrinkled his nose good-naturedly; it seeming to be something of a private joke between them.

"A werewolf with a house-elf?" teased Alphard. "Rather unusual, don't you think?"

"Albus Dumbledore," said Lupin as he turned away from the Wolfsbane Potion, "assigned Tippy to help us. She has been invaluable." He smiled fondly at the elf who Alphard was sure blushed.

"Come along now, Remus. I believe you're flattering Tippy so she won't notice that you're not downing that potion."

Tippy planted her hands on her hips crossly and shook her long bony finger at Lupin, making him smile.

"Master Lupin must drink it all and not leave one drop. Not one drop. Tippy must report back that Master Lupin has been a good boy."

Lupin burst out laughing and mouthed, 'A good boy, indeed,' and downed it all, although Alphard had to clap him on the back when he started to retch quite violently.

"And that's the best Wolfsbane I've had," Lupin gasped. "Can't you two collaborate on some kind of palatability potion, maybe a sweetener?"

"No sugar, I'm sure you know that, Remus," laughed Alphard. "I hope you will be able to report back favourably, Tippy," he said, with a smile for the elf. "And that you will give your master Alf's regards." He indicated himself.

"Tippy shall," she nodded emphatically. "Master Alf's regards, yes." Stoppering the flask, she turned again to Lupin.

"Has Master Lupin been fed properly today? Master Lupin looks very pale. Shall Tippy fetch some dinner ..."

"It's fine, Tippy," Lupin interrupted. "I've been hurt, but I'm on the mend now. I'm fed very well, I promise you."

Tippy looked suspiciously at Lupin, at the bowl of stew still in Alphard's hands, and then slightly accusingly at Alphard. "If Master Lupin is sure. Tippy can easily ..."

"Thank you, Tippy, but I am sure," reassured Lupin, quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Very well, Master Lupin," said the house-elf, Alphard thought rather grudgingly, as if she surely knew better. He hid his own smile as he remembered the old house-elf who had been his nanny as a child, old Minnie. She had brought up all of the Black children, although Alphard as the oldest son had always been her favourite. She had died when he was small and his father had had her head had been mounted on the wall at Grimmauld Place. Alphard had shrieked with fright and upset when her saw her head mounted like a trophy animal, but his father had sneered at him and told him he should never have got attached.

"It was just a creature, Alphard, no more special than a cat," Pollux Black had said to his six year old son as he shook Alphard's upper arm in his cruel grasp. "You are a Black. Stop taking on."

Alphard had been shown more kindness by that old elf than he had ever had from his father or mother and he knew that house-elves' first nature was caring and loyal. One only had to look at this house-elf to see that as she said her good-byes to Lupin once more and Disapparated.

"She's a bit of a character," laughed Lupin fondly. "Drives Severus ... Seth ... to distraction with her constant talking and trying to feed him up."

"I can just imagine," said Alphard. "So that makes two of you trying to care for him." Alphard eyed Lupin shrewdly.

The look Lupin gave him was almost heartbreaking: a look of helplessness and sadness. "If he'd just let me ..." but then he broke off and looked away.

"It's very hard when someone you love puts themselves in danger. I know that," said Alphard. "Have you thought that he feels the same about the risks you take?" Alphard knew the urge to protect his mate was irresistible for a werewolf; he had seen Idris demonstrate it so often. He suspected sometimes the werewolf forgot that the wizard had the same instincts, even if they weren't so primal. He knew what he saw in Snape's eyes. He had felt it himself at times but for years Alphard had been so alone, and now Idris wanted to care for him and keep him safe. Alphard just felt so privileged to have Idris care for him with so much passion. He had spent a lifetime without it, and now – it was his.

"I know he does," replied Lupin quietly. "I don't believe I ever really knew real love until Severus – how complete he makes me feel."

"I understand," said Alphard gently and Lupin smiled and they said their good night.

Alphard left the tent, and watched the remainders of the brands still burning and he remembered the years he'd looked for someone to pierce his loneliness – how he understood what Lupin meant about completion.

For years, he had searched over the continent for Idris, convinced he would find him if he scoured the known packs. By the time Alphard was in his late twenties after a decade of fruitless searching, he had settled in Spain, and was training to be a Healer at the foremost magical hospital there. Continental Europe was in ruins following years of Muggle warfare, and it was easy for him to slip into a society that was rebuilding. He could pay for his training, of course, and the name of Black was still a passport to magical high circles even there, not that he desired them, of course.

It was once he had qualified as a Healer that he met Sebastián. He had met him in a taverna near the hospital. He was dark with compelling black eyes. Alphard couldn't deny that he reminded him of Idris. He couldn't take his eyes off him when he first saw him, and it was obvious that the attraction was mutual. Every time Alphard went to eat there, he was drawn to look at Sebastián – part of him wondered if was he being unfaithful, and he spent many nights robbed of sleep, his mind in complete turmoil. But he was so very lonely. He had searched all this time, and still he had not found him. Sebastián would always bring him food and drink, occasionally he would brush Alphard's hand or wrist, and a shock so strong would pass through Alphard's skin.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of meals at the taverna, meaningful looks and accidental but lingering touches, Alphard plucked up the courage and asked to meet Sebastián for a drink elsewhere and he had looked genuinely delighted to accept, although his older brother Alejandro was clearly not, and Alphard saw him arguing with his brother as Alphard had left at the end of the night.

They had met in a Muggle bar the next night, and Alphard found himself enchanted, although that was surely the wrong word, for the truth was that Sebastián was a Muggle. What was Alphard thinking, beginning an affair with a Muggle? But he did because Sebastián was a beautiful man and he was tender and amusing and, like Alphard, not terribly experienced, because Muggles, Sebastián told him, could be imprisoned for being the type of men they were, and excommunicated from the Church. But Sebastián told Alphard he had always felt this way, and when they were together, it felt so right, he could not believe that it was a sin!

So Alphard took him to his bed and for the first time in many, many years felt the closeness of another man's body in passion, and for the first time ever, he took a man fully, and it was bliss. But as Sebastián slept in his arms, Alphard was haunted by visions of Idris, that he had betrayed him in the arms of another. That first night he had not slept at all; the second night that Sebastián stayed, he managed an hour, the third - a little longer. And so it was that he gradually let this man into his life and learned how to love again. Not the transcendent love he had had with Idris, but companionship and passion – and it was enough.

Sebastián was Alphard's lover for a year. They didn't live together, for Muggle men could not do such a thing, but they cared for each other and were passionate. Alejandro suspected what his brother was and kept Alphard at arm's length as if he had a contagious disease. Alphard didn't care: he was always busy at the hospital and was happy to have his time with Sebastián to himself, even if his brother was always introducing him to eligible women to marry. Alphard could only laugh in sympathy: had he remained at home, all manner of eligible women would have been strewn across his path too. He kept his magic a secret from Sebastián, relishing the anonymity of trying to pass as a Muggle in Sebastián's world, putting down his mistakes to his being a foreigner. It wasn't perfection, but it was the first time he had been content in a decade.

And then there had been that fateful night when Alejandro had come to his house in the middle of the night to find his brother and confront him with his wickedness. He had broken in and found Alphard and Sebastián in bed. He had raged that Alphard was a deviant who had led his brother astray as he crossed himself repeatedly, screaming that their parents would be turning in their graves! Even as Alphard went to get out of bed, Alejandro grabbed the lamp and threw it at Alphard.

Alphard didn't think twice: he cast a Shield Charm and then Reparo! to the lamp when it shattered on the floor as it rebounded, followed by Lumos!

It was only then that he realised the terrible mistake he'd made as he saw the terror on Alejandro's face and heard a horrified whisper.

"Madre de Dios! La brujería!"

Sebastián was staring at him, fear and disgust marring his handsome features. Alphard could not cover his own confusion at such a reaction and moved toward Sebastián to calm him.

"Get away from me, el diablo!" he spat as he stared at Alphard, grabbing his clothes and moving towards Alejandro. "You bewitched me! You are a devil!" With that, his lover and brother fled the house, with cries of 'Witchcraft!' and 'Devilry!' and cold dread spread over Alphard. If he was caught breaking the Statute of Secrecy, the penalties were severe. He had to leave! There was no time to try to find Sebastián and explain to him. He had shared his body with a wizard for a year and Alphard had never confessed the truth to him. Now, he would clutch at Alphard's magic to excuse himself from prison and excommunication. Alphard couldn't blame Sebastián for defending himself, but he cursed himself for his cowardice – he should have confessed it.

But there was no time to think on it now. He had to go. He Conjured trunks and packing cases and casting various packing charms for his most precious items and Vanished them. Then he heard it: the din of shouts and threats as a mob made its way along the narrow street. He looked out the window and saw the men of Sebastián's extended family. At the procession's head was Alejandro and the local priest and, dear Salazar, they carried flaming brands! Was he to be burnt at the stake? His jaw dropped and he had to shake himself back to sensibility. Of course not, but it certainly wouldn't do to be found here. He Vanished the last of his possessions and then cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and slipped out of the side door and to the side of the angry mob as they began to beat on the door and then tear the house apart looking for the deviant demon. He slipped away, and didn't look back.

He had never courted another Muggle after that, but wizards had their own prejudices, especially if one's name was Black. The mob was the reason Alphard left Madrid and found his way to the Wizarding enclave in the Pyrenean mountains.

Alphard watched the last of the brands gutter and die, along with the memory. Then he made his way to the roundhouse – to the only man who had ever made him feel complete.
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