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Lunaticus Book Two: Moonstruck	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 5775 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter 14 – Seventy Times 7

The knock sounded again.

Harry gritted his teeth as he raked a hand through his damp hair. He knew exactly who it was, but he rather wished that he didn't. It was a confrontation Harry had been hoping to put off, but it would seem that that would not be an option.

He shifted his gaze to the open bedroom door, and for once he did not feel any mixture of conflicting feelings towards whom he was about to face. Instead, all he felt was an even rage. His fury did not bubble to the surface; anyone who may have been looking at him would likely have assumed that Harry was perfectly calm. Harry took one steadying breath to brace himself, pivoted on his heel, and strode out into the hall.

Harry took his time heading downstairs. His too-long jeans pooled at his ankles, and his bare feet slapped softly against the cold stone. Harry drew his wand as he reached the front door, and held it at the ready just in case. He drew in another breath, then pulled the door open.

As predicted, Remus stood on the top step. He looked nervous and hopeful;-, but as Harry frowned at him that hopeful glint in his familiar amber gaze flickered and died.

“You're early,” Harry said, his voice sounding dead in his own ears. Remus's brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, and Harry's frown deepened.

“Full moon isn't for another thirteen days,” Harry replied, and he gritted his teeth as he remembered Greyback's words, 'I have spent too much energy already trying to convince that foolish werewolf to stop being a bloody coward and return to you.' Was Remus only here because Greyback told him to come back? The implication made Harry feel even worse. To his words, Remus's gaze darkened.

“That's not why I'm here, Harry,” Remus replied. His own deadened tone of voice sounded very similar to Harry's.

“Then why are you?” Harry demanded, his anger making his voice tremble, “you've made it quite clear that you don't want me anymore. The bond is breaking, I know you can feel it. Are you just here to say something even more hurtful than what you've already put me through in these last months? Because you could have sent it by Owl Post but then you'd miss that look on my face—” Remus cut off Harry's acidic words abruptly.

“Damn it, Harry,” Remus snarled angrily as he stepped forward, but Harry held his ground. “I came to apologize. I didn't want this to happen—none of it. It wasn't my fault, technically, but I still feel responsible—”

“—It wasn't your fault that you blocked the bond and reduced me to a living skeleton?” Harry snarled at him, “that you left me when I needed you most, because you're too much of a fucking coward to deal with your Lycanthropy enough to help me?” Harry's voice cracked in his absolute fury at the older man, but he was far from finished. “I'm fucking terrified, Remus, and you left me. I'd love to know how you theorize that none of that is your fault—oh, I'm sorry, technically not your fault.”

“That's not what I meant Harry,” Remus said with a warning growl in his tone, but Harry refused to back down, not this time. Seeing Remus had snapped something in him, and all the rage, misery, and fear came pouring out of him all at once. Remus continued his explanation, his voice shaking as well, though the tremor seemed to stem from anguish, rather than anger. “I mean that it's not technically my fault that you were partially turned—I would never do this to someone intentionally.”

“No, you just scarper the moment your partner confides in you,” Harry replied acidly, “then do everything in your power to separate yourself from him, even though you know that it's a permanent bond, and—” Harry's ranting was cut off as Remus's strong, rough hands closed over his upper arms. The hold wasn't tight, but to Harry it felt almost painfully constricting.

“Harry, listen to me, please—” Remus pleaded, but Harry had heard enough.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Harry snarled, and shoved Remus back. He let Harry go at once and took a minor step back, his eyes wide with shock. “I'm not some pliable fucking house wife who will take you back every time you screw up! What, you thought you'd come back here and all would be forgiven and forgotten? You destroyed me, Remus. My life is in shambles, and I'm fucking terrified. I needed you, I—” Harry cut off his angry retort as his voice broke, and he brought his hands up to his face as a sob escaped him before he could stop it. Remus was there in an instant, his hold gentle, and Harry wrenched himself quickly out of the embrace before he succumbed to the burning need he had for Remus. He wouldn't do that to himself again—he couldn't.

“Just get out of here,” Harry said hoarsely, his eyes shining, and Remus looked as though Harry had asked him to cut off his own arm.

“I can't leave you like this,” Remus countered, his voice heavy with his guilt. Harry barked out a cold laugh.

“Oh really?” he sneered, “why not? You did before.” Harry took a shaking breath in an effort to calm himself down, but it did not help very much. “Just...get out. I don't want to see you. I can't—I can't trust you any more. I open my heart to you, and you stomp on it. I'm not so much a glutton for punishment that I haven't learnt my lesson. Get out.”

Remus hesitated, Harry's cold tone sparking a look of horror in Remus's eyes.

“Harry, please...” Remus began, but Harry had heard enough.

“Get out!” he screamed, “I never, never want to see you again!” Harry's voice broke and tears streaked his cheeks. Remus didn't move. “I mean it Remus, get the fuck out or I swear you will live to regret it.”

“It's a little too late for that,” Remus said softly as he took a small step back. His own eyes began to gleam in the low light of the front hall. “I already regret it.”

Without another word, he turned and left.

“It's too late for a lot of things, Remus,” Harry whispered sadly to himself as he watched the older man go, this time, on Harry's demand. A solitary tear trickled down the older man's cheek as Harry watched him step down to the front garden, pause just inside the gate and offered Harry one backward glance, then Disapparated.

~*~

Harry had foolishly assumed that his confrontation with Remus would be his last, but the following morning, he was awoken by a loud pounding upon his front door.

“Harry, please!” Remus called from the other side. “I just want to talk!”

This time, Harry didn't open the door. What was there to talk about? Remus had ruined everything. Harry had absolutely nothing to say to him.

The knocking faded away, and Harry assumed that he'd gone.

He proceeded with his day, feeling more alive than he had in months. It was true that Harry was still terrified of his turning in just twelve days' time, but more or less officially cutting ties with Remus had breathed new life into him. He still missed him, and he mourned for the days past when everything had been perfect, but after everything he'd endured these last months, Harry was deeply relieved to be free of him. Even so, the ring that Remus had given him sat innocently upon Harry's night table, drawing his gaze every time he stepped into the bedroom.

Harry needed to get out, see the world, but at the same time he was reluctant to go anywhere that he might be easily recognized. He pulled on a jeans a jumper, and wrapped his old Gryffindor scarf around his neck to hide the marks before he pulled his jacket on over top. For a moment, he was grateful that Greyback had decided to ruin his life during a season where a scarf would not look out of place.

His relaxed mood died the moment he opened the door.

Remus sat on the steps, his head buried in his hands in a position so highly reminiscent of the time before the bond had settled that Harry felt a chill of recognition rush through him. As soon as the door opened Remus looked up, his expression wary but hopeful, while Harry hid his emotions for the man—the pain, the longing, the rage—behind a stony mask.

“What part of I never want to see you again wasn't clear?” he asked, and Remus flinched as though Harry had struck him.

“Harry, I...” Remus trailed off and stood slowly, his head ducked forward a little. Harry felt as though the shamed face Remus was now showing him had a certain lupine edge to it—very much like a puppy that had been scolded.

“You what?” Harry asked coldly, and curled his hands into fists. The bond was breaking, but it was not yet broken. He could feel the first inkling of that old longing coming back to him—that desire to ignore all the pain, all the mistrust, everything, and just start over.

These days, Harry could more easily recognize what was and was not his own mind at work, and he ignored the temptation with little difficulty.

“What do you want, Remus?” Harry demanded, his eyes narrowing into a glare, “I haven't got all day.” This time, Harry winced. There was a distinctive Malfoy ring to his tone and words, and he hated that he might have picked up a quirk or two from that git just because he was hanging around more often.

“I want to apologize, I want...I want to make things better,” he said at last, but he seemed incapable of looking directly at Harry.

“There is nothing to make better,” Harry said coldly. “Remus, how can you not understand what you have done to me, to us? There is nothing to make better—nothing to fix, or mend, or salvage. You've broken my trust—shattered it, really. How can you possibly expect me to believe anything you have to say?”

“I—I was wrong, Harry, I should never have fled like that, I—”

“But you did, Remus, that's the point.” Harry felt his breath catch as he cut across the werewolf's explanations. “Your inability to accept who you are is what destroyed this relationship. I don't want to hear apologies, or reasons why you did what you did, because honestly, I don't care, not anymore.”

Remus reached out for him, and Harry lurched back as though Remus carried some sort of catching disease. In a way, he did. Harry was fairly certain that if Remus touched him, his fragile self control would shatter, and he'd let the man back in. He couldn't do that to himself again. He wouldn't.

“Harry,” Remus said in a tone that sounded close to tears, “please, I need you.”

“No, you don't,” Harry replied at once, “get out of here. Leave me alone.”

He slammed the door in Remus's horrified face. Harry pressed his back against the door and slid to the floor, his face buried in his hands.

~*~

Ten days until the full moon, and Harry counted two days since he'd last seen Remus. Unfortunately, but the man still had not left his thoughts—or his dreams.

Harry turned to Remus and kissed him, slowly, tenderly, and Remus responded in kind. A hand at Harry's hip and the other at his cheek, Remus held Harry as though he was made of glass. Harry urged Remus over to the bed, and the older man was all too happy to comply.

Laying down in the centre of the bed, Remus knelt over Harry and tasted him slowly, almost painfully so. Harry let out a soft, impatient whine, and his hands dropped from Remus's shoulders to the front of his cardigan, only to have them slapped away.

“Let me,” Remus murmured as he broke the kiss and eased back, perched lightly upon Harry's groin as he unbuttoned the garment and shrugged it off, closely followed by his button-down shirt. Harry reached a hands up to brush across Remus's abdomen, and the muscle twitched under his fingertips.

Remus reached forward to relieve Harry of his jumper and T-shirt, and he lifted himself a few inches off the bed to help the older man along.

“You're beautiful, Harry,” Remus whispered as he leant in to kiss him again, “I love you, I love you...”

Harry woke with tears in his eyes.

“Why can't I let you go?” Harry asked brokenly, his voice hoarse and a sob caught in his throat.

Harry forced himself out of bed and into the shower, the water scalding and flushing his skin a faint pink. Harry didn't care—his life was crashing down around him. A little burn was hardly top of his list of concerns at the moment.

After a meagre breakfast, Harry curled up on the sofa and stared despondently into the fire. The flames jumped and crackled over the dry logs, and his mind supplied for him an endless stream of dark thoughts and terrifying reminders.

Ten days, Harry thought with a faint tremor, ten days from now, I won't be human anymore. How long before The Daily Prophet finds out? They'll have a field day with this one...

It was early afternoon when Harry was drawn from his musings by a sharp knock on the door.

This wasn't the same knock he'd heard during Remus's last two attempts. It was loud, confident. That alone struck Harry as odd, but regardless, the sound elicited a groan of frustration from him. He forced himself up and trudged over to the door.

“Look, Remus, I told you...” Harry began as he opened the door, but stopped short, because the person on the other side of the door wasn't Remus.

“Ulrich?” Harry asked, blinking bemusedly, but the beta werewolf merely smiled at him kindly. “What are you doing here? How did you get past the warding?”

“I tracked your friend Miss Granger,” he explained, “your...mate showed back up at the territory looking half-dead, figuratively speaking, mind you, so I figured that I better come out here and see what caused the meltdown.” Ulrich looked away for a moment, then refocused his dark eyes on Harry. “Alpha doesn't know that I'm here. Your friend gave me the address, and I thought I'd come out here to see what happened.”

“Where do I start?” Harry asked with a snort, but didn't move. Ulrich's expression was open and kind, but how did he know that the werewolf wouldn't merely drag him back to Greyback's territory if he let him in? As casually as he could, he moved his hand to the handle of his wand that was tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

“If it helps,” Ulrich said as he lifted his hands in a show of surrender, clearly not missing Harry's hand movement, “I am not here on Alpha's command. As I said, he doesn't know that I'm here. I've no desire to drag you kicking and screaming back to the territory, I just want to talk.”

Harry eyed him critically. He had absolutely no reason to believe him, but by the same token, he had kept him safe the previous year when he had made the rounds to the various larger werewolf packs nearby, and had never once tried anything funny. His expression now was like it was back then—open and honest. Somehow, Harry knew that he was telling the truth.

Praying that he wasn't making a huge mistake, Harry's hand tensed on the handle of his wand just in case as he stepped aside to admit him.

Ulrich stepped inside, and once more Harry found himself struck by the sheer size of these dominant werewolves. Ulrich easily dwarfed Harry, and inside his front hall, like Hagrid in some ways, Ulrich seemed almost too big to be allowed. This was on a much smaller scale, of course, but the impression still stuck with Harry—that, and his dark eyes were just as kind as Hagrid's always were.

“Er, do you want anything?” Harry asked awkwardly, “I've got tea, firewhisky...” Harry turned and began to walk back towards the sitting room, but hesitated a few feet from the doorway, and spun on his heel and headed for the dining room instead. Harry could feel his skin practically humming in Ulrich's presence, in particular how it felt almost wrong to have him here. He couldn't explain it, and vaguely wondered if it had something to do with the bond, or if its cause was from something else entirely. As he walked, he was careful to keep Ulrich in his field of vision. Though he seemed perfectly trustworthy, Harry had not forgotten that he worked for Greyback, and for all he knew this was some ploy to get him back to the pack territory. He wasn't ready for that—not yet.

“Firewhisky's fine,” Ulrich replied, and sat down at the wooden table while Harry drew his wand and summoned two glasses and the fifth of firewhisky with a few lazy flicks. He poured out a healthy measure for each of them and slid the glass across to the werewolf before he sat down opposite him.

Ulrich did not speak at first, but took his time taking a sip of the liquor and savouring it as though he'd been served the nectar of the Gods.

“This makes a nice change,” he said approvingly, “home-brewed firewhisky just isn't ever as good as Ogden's.”

“You home-brew firewhisky?” Harry asked with an arched brow, and Ulrich smiled a little, a trace of amusement in his gaze.

“Alpha doesn't like us venturing out into the wizarding world—too dangerous,” he explained, “we're a self-sufficient pack; we grow our own wheat and vegetables, we hunt, and we brew. It's quite rare for any of us to go into Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley for much of anything.”

“Hm,” Harry hadn't quite expected that, but in hindsight, it made sense. He entertained himself for a moment with the mental image of a bunch of werewolves in big floppy sun hats tending to a field of carrots before Ulrich's voice drew him back to the present.

“So, may I ask what happened to cause your mate's state when he arrived back at the territory?” Ulrich asked, this time without any hint of disapproval in his voice in reference to his and Remus's relationship. Harry refocused his attention on Ulrich, and he sipped his own drink while he thought how to best answer the question. It wasn't like he knew Ulrich particularly well, and he was caught between reluctance to tell him anything, and the desire to tell him everything.

“Everything...sort of happened at once,” Harry began as he dropped his gaze to the tabletop. “Greyback marked me, Remus tried to stop him, but he couldn't, I was sacked, all my well-meaning friends and one irritating prat all tried to drag me out of my depression, and...Remus tried to apologize.”

“You don't want him to apologize?”

“How do you apologize for all the shit he's put me through?” Harry demanded, his gaze snapping back up angrily. “I mean, he...he left me. He knew what it would do to me, and he fucking left me. I almost died thanks to him. How am I supposed to forgive him for that? Good intentions or not, it doesn't change the fact that I feel utterly destroyed thanks to him.”

Ulrich was quiet for a long time following Harry's short rant.

He sat across from Harry, sipped the drink he'd been given, and studied Harry over the rim of the glass. It made Harry feel strangely vulnerable, and at first he could not place why the look felt so familiar. After a half-beat, Harry realized that it felt exactly the same as the way Dumbledore used to study him. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.

“Um, how come Greyback did this to me?” Harry asked awkwardly, keen to move away from discussing Remus. “This way, I mean. I thought he'd just turn me, not...draw it out.”

“No one explained it to you, not even your—Remus?” Ulrich asked, and Harry felt his stomach turn over at the mention of the other werewolf. Why did every conversation have to come back to him?

“No, no one's told anything,” Harry muttered, “Greyback said he'd marked me, but he didn't say why, he just tried to drag me back to your territory.”

“The short version is that it's a ritual,” Ulrich said, and paused to sip his drink. Harry topped it off for him, and Ulrich nodded his thanks before he continued. “Anyone can be bitten and turned, but if they're turned within parameters of certain rituals, it makes for a stronger werewolf.”

“So drawing it out isn't just Greyback being vindictive or something?” Harry asked, and immediately wished he hadn't when Ulrich's gaze darkened.

“Contrary to what you have been led to believe, Harry, Alpha is not a sadist,” he replied, and Harry was mildly startled by the note of offence in his tone. “He does what he has to for the safety of his people, nothing more. On occasion, his hand has been forced, and he has done things that cemented his infamy, but he has never once hurt anyone just for...kicks.”

Despite all the recent proof Harry had of this fact, it was still hard to believe that Greyback was as good a person as Ulrich claimed him to be. In fact, most werewolves Harry had met spoke of Greyback like most wizards spoke of Dumbledore—like he was some sort of hero. It took some getting used to, and so many years of seeing and hearing about Greyback's ferocity made it difficult for Harry to separate fact from fiction in his mind. He quickly pushed forward with the conversation,intent on not further offending the other werewolf accidentally. Given that Ulrich looked like he could bend Harry into a pretzel using his pinkie, it seemed a good idea to not make him mad.

“So, er, what are these ritual-things?” Harry asked, his tone apologetic. Ulrich seemed to recognize that he was sorry for his harsh words, and he nodded once before he began to explain.

“When one is marked, the werewolf who tastes their blood will be able to sense whether the human will be a submissive wolf or a dominant one. At the following moon, the marked are tracked by the wolf who marked them—in this case, it will be Alpha who tracks you—and you will be turned.” Ulrich paused as he took another drink, his expression somewhere between hesitant and thoughtful. After another moment of silence, he continued.

“For dominant wolves, like me, they are bitten and left alone. They need to survive it on their own. If they do not die from it, they will awaken turned, and over the next months they will grow into their dominant blood.”

“Grow into?” Harry asked, perplexed, and Ulrich chuckled.

“Something like a growth spurt. Dominant wolves get taller, broader, put on more muscle mass. We're designed by nature as protectors, and we need to have the power to do that,” he explained, and Harry felt a stirring of unease in his gut. He had heard that more than once when he turned, he would be a submissive, not a dominant. The idea of relying on others for his own protection did not sit well with him, and felt unsettlingly like his Hogwarts years—so many people had died for his protection, was it really to continue well into his adult life? Would he ever be able to fend for himself? He wasn't weak—far from it, and he hated that no one ever seemed to believe that.

“Submissives are powerful in their own right, but still physically weaker than dominants. Their turning is far more...” Ulrich paused, looking troubled.

“Far more what?” Harry asked, and winced when he felt a tremor lace his words.

“Difficult,” Ulrich replied at last. “A submissive must be bitten more greviously. They must be close to death, and the one who turns them must keep them from further harm. That is why accidental, spur-of the moment turnings yields either dominants or casualties. Submissives are the caregivers, not the protectors.”

Dead silence followed Ulrich's words.

Harry set down his glass, and raked his shaking fingers through his hair roughly. He couldn't do this. Just hand over his faith to these werewolves and trust that he'd be taken care of? That wasn't him. It never had been.

“Submissives are protected by werewolf magic,” Ulrich continued, acting as though he had not noticed Harry's panic-stricken reaction to his words. “Like with werewolf society, submissives are always protected. Nothing is more precious to a werewolf pack than the well-being of its submissive wolves. They are precious.”

“But...” Harry paused, momentarily amazed at how calm he sounded in his own ears. So much had happened, and so quickly, that it was almost like his mind could take no more strain, and had begun to take everything in stride. Harry shook off his unease at this realization and pushed forward. “R—er, I was told that some packs only see male subs as little more than...” Harry felt his face colour, but he apparently did not need to say it, given the way Ulrich's expression darkened.

“The rogues of our kind—outlaws, if you will, do not share our respect for submissives. They see submissive wolves as those they can take advantage of, not protect.”

“Are there a lot of those? Rogues, I mean,” Harry said, his voice shaking a little as he swallowed his fear. He did not want to show Ulrich how terrified he was by his explanation of what his turning will entail. Harry's mind refused to settle on one emotion for long, and it kept jumping between blind panic and perfect calm. The rapid mood swings were making him dizzy.

“Some,” Ulrich nodded his head once, “more than a few have taken up residence on the outskirts of our own territory within the last few weeks. Even among werewolves, Alpha has his fair share of enemies.” He chuckled, but Harry failed to see the humour in his words. Ulrich turned his attention to the door of the dining room, which looked directly into the sitting room. From their spot, they could clearly see the soft, orange glow of the sun beginning to set.

“I better get back,” Ulrich said, and paused to drain the last of the firewhisky from his glass. “Alpha will wonder where I am, and I need to get your scent off me before I return.”

Harry couldn't help but go red at that. Immediately, Ulrich chuckled.

“Not to worry Harry, it's faint enough that no one would suspect that we've been up to anything more than a friendly chat.”

“Oh, er, good,” Harry replied, but he could feel that he was still rather red. “Um, I'll walk you out, shall I?”

He stood, and they headed for the door. He bid the werewolf a goodbye, and thankfully, Remus was nowhere to be seen when he opened the front door. Harry had a feeling that with the impending moon, their decimated relationship, and Remus's current mental state, nothing good would come of Remus seeing Harry with another werewolf, even if they weren't doing anything.

“Er, thanks,” Harry said on the top step of the house after Ulrich had stepped outside. He paused and turned back to Harry with an eyebrow arched in question. “For explaining things, I mean. I can't say I feel better about any of this, but it's nice to know what's coming, for a change.”

“Anytime, Harry,” he replied with a soft smile. “Be seeing you.”

He strode down the steps and with a spin and a sharp crack, he was gone.
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Lunaticus Book Two: Moonstruck