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Old Friend	By : Prosperosdaughter Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.

Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.

Chapter 15: Under the Microscope

Stacy, surrounded by the other Whitby Werewolves, brought the large, heavy crate back to Alphard's tent. Idris and Angharad were already there with Alphard who rushed to clear his desk to receive the box.

Alphard hurriedly removed all the packing straw from the box and then, as gently as he could, he removed the microscope. It was a hefty brass instrument and he set it up on the desk, using his wand to cast a spell to ensure it was level and then checked it was all together properly. Then he pulled out a box of different lenses.

Alphard knew huge strides had been made by Muggles in microscopy, but since he could not use electricity without his magic interfering with it, the microscope he had chosen was manual. However, he was able to use magic in place of electricity and he might be able to replicate some of the refinements of the technological advancements Muggles had made in the researches he had done.

Botolph leant over to look at the instrument.

"We used kids' ones of those when I was at primary school," he said. "Magnified creepy crawlies and stuff and we could see the hairs on their legs."

"Show Stacy?" the big man asked Alphard, who finished assembling some of the lenses. "Show Stacy hairs on crawlie legs."

Angharad craned her neck to look around Stacy's large form, and he looked embarrassed and ushered her in front of him.

"We could cast Engorgio instead, couldn't we?" asked Conway.

"I don't wanna see a creepy crawlie so large I can count the hair on its legs," said Jethro, with a shudder. "Specially not a spider."

There was a general murmur of agreement and Idris stepped outside the tent and returned with a fly, a wasp and a spider, all Stunned, and passed them to Alphard who first placed the fly on the magnifying platform. Angharad pushed Stacy forward to look first. After Alphard adjusted the ocular lenses, Stacy cried out in excitement.

"Furry legs!" he said, breathlessly. "And wings like ... like ..." Stacy struggled to find the words he needed and then he smiled as he exclaimed, "Like pretty church glass!" And then he gasped again. "Eyes! Alf! Look at fly's eyes!"

Alphard suspected he would get little opportunity to use his microscope for blood cultures this day or, judging by the excitement in the tent, possibly the next either.

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

Time with the pack was gauged by the lunar cycle. Nothing else was as important. Those other indicators of passing time were just adjuncts to the moon. It surprised Alphard how he only thought in terms of lunar cycles now in anything he planned. Even his missives to Snape were written and sent at set times in the cycle.

In the first couple of days after the full moon, Alphard would use the medications prepared according to Snape's latest recipes on the elderly werewolves, and other werewolves who had sustained a transformation injury or an aggravation of an old transformation injury. He would note the effects in scrupulous detail and send the results on. By the new moon, when the werewolves should be at their strongest physically, Alphard recorded all the improvements once more. As the moon waxed and the curse began to assert itself in the werewolves, Alphard recorded how the change in werewolves' metabolisms seemed to affect the efficacy of the balms.

Alphard watched Stacy particularly carefully each full moon. He noted that Stacy was the only adult werewolf who was never injured, even mildly – much like the cubs of the pack. His transformation was easy, just like when he chose to transform beyond the limits of the moon.

It was as Alphard and Angharad practised Aguamenti with Stacy that the revelation came. Once again, Stacy either failed to cast the spell correctly, or cast so hard that he drenched himself and his companions. Stacy howled with impotent rage. But this time, he was not distracted when Alphard changed into the white dog. He continued to howl, and the howl became more wolfish as it continued.

Alphard quickly changed back and he and Angharad Stacy watched in horrified fascination as Stacy began to change – but not fully – not the easy transition from man to wolf, but slowly, each part of the transformation slow and deliberate until he was half-man and half-wolf.

Alphard began to raise his wand protectively, but Angharad, her faith in Stacy perfect, pressed his wand hand downward.

Stacy stood panting and growling in his frustration and now looked at the wand in his claw-like grip and incanted Aguamenti in a guttural voice so different from his own, but perfectly enunciated. The spell worked to controlled perfection and clear water arced from Stacy's wand.

A fractured wolf. Alphard wondered if Snape knew of anything like it.

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

The running wolf before Idris was named Jameson. Whether that was his first name or his family name, Idris didn't know and as Jameson didn't offer any more, Idris didn't ask. He and three companions brought a message from Hereward of the Ancients of Dartmoor. The message was charmed so none could hear it but the Alpha of the Snowdon pack.

Leaving the three companions with his Betas, Idris took the werewolf and the message to the clearing. He cast a containment charm around the two of them to make sure that, if the message contained a hex or Dark curse, its activation would be contained within the charm and only Idris and Jameson would be affected.

Casting, Idris incanted a identification charm and touched his wand to the parchment, and the deep voice of Hereward resonated in the air.

"Greetings, Keigwin of the Snowdon pack, Idris. Two of these messengers came to me from Albany of the Scafell Pike pack and I am sending this message on with them and two of my pack.

"Since the ones who betrayed you to Greyback were tried by this pack, we have received greetings from Sussex and Bodmin. Greyback had tried to place spies in both. The spies have been tried. I have had two infiltrations since. The first couple of werewolves escaped, but not the next.

"He-we-don't-name seeks a werewolf army. He seeks our aid and makes grand promises. He also seeks you above all else. If you fall, so do we all.

"All is lies. Be vigilant."

Idris's mouth was set in a grim line as he cast Finite Incantatem.

"We travel back once you've had this message," said Jameson. Idris's eyes flicked back to him from his reverie, and only then noticed how haggard the werewolf looked.

"Did it take long to get here?" asked Idris.

"Hereward is suspicious of Apparition – says the Ministry will find us with it. So we run."

"Run? Well, why not a broom then?"

Jameson looked sheepish.

"Never very good at flying. I was born wolfkind. The ground is where I belong."

"Rest here the night and be fed then," Idris said gruffly as he removed the charm from them.

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

Angharad was blossoming. But of course she is! thought Alphard, with a smile. She was the very dearest of women, the sister Alphard had longed for these many decades.

That she and Idris had told him he would be a father figure was an extraordinary thing. It was something he had never hoped to have for himself. He didn't think anyone could understand how he felt for those two dear people. The child would be his too, and this was the thing that almost confounded him.

He was not related to the child by blood, but by the Claim of Idris that suffused both Alphard and Angharad. The thought of it made him tingle with pleasure. How could he have ever hoped that a third of a whole could be so very fulfilling?

"Up you get," said Alphard, as he helped Angharad off the bed where he had just given her a check-up. She was nearly five months' pregnant and showing quite nicely. All her vital signs were good, and the baby's were strong too. Alphard had to admit, all the pregnant werewolves seem to be much healthier than their witch counterparts of his knowledge. So far, in his time with the pack, there had been no pregnancy with complications and the births had always been trouble-free. Angharad would always be at a birth as the pack mother, but Alphard, as Healer, was never required.

He remembered reading how robust female werewolves were and how this was a benefit conferred by the curse to ensure its perpetuation in the next generation. This provoked even more questions for Alphard.

Did the baby Angharad carried transform? When Angharad was a wolf, was the child a cub in utero? Alphard couldn't deny that the question fascinated him. If the baby didn't transform, wouldn't the host body for that night become an inhospitable, poisonous place?

He wondered this because he had been testing blood under the magical microscope. The blood of untransformed werewolves was human, although he had identified an alien component he believed to be the Lycanthropic curse. He tested the blood of a transformed werewolf (which had not been collected fresh, of course). He had found canine erythrocyte antigens, and magnified and active Lycanthropic cells. It stood to reason that if the child did not transform, she would be poisoned by her mother's blood.

He so dearly wanted to know but, as the giant white dog during the full moon, he would not be able to find out.

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

"Never thought on it afore," said Idris. "But since he said it, I realised that I'd never seen a born werewolf fly a broom."

"How long has it been since you've flown a broom?" Alphard asked, leaning his head on his hand as he lay beside Idris in bed, realising he had seen none at the roundhouse. He had one in his luggage, although he had not even unpacked it.

Idris blinked as he thought and then frowned.

"Don't believe I have since ... since school," he said softly then he pulled Alphard down to him, and kissed him. "I remember you flew well." Idris smiled indulgently at Alphard. "And you liked Quidditch but wouldn't play."

"Not wouldn't ..." sighed Alphard.

/

Pollux Black did not approve of games.

He had not played Quidditch and his sons would not play Quidditch. The heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would be be sensible and staid. However, the heir should be proficient in that most wizardly of transports, so Alphard was encouraged to fly.

In the second year, Alphard took his new, top-of-the-range FlyWell Mark II to school, and Idris brought his older LightningSwitch. At their first opportunity, when other hopefuls were trying out for the Quidditch teams, Alphard and Idris sneaked away and just practised flying, both of them relishing the thrill of swooping and diving around each other, going as fast, as high and as low as they dared. Every Saturday morning, that was how they would spend their time, chasing each other around the grounds of Hogwarts and, as they got older and more confident, chasing each other into the Forbidden Forest to use the trees as an obstacle course.

Alphard couldn't deny though that when he used to watch the school teams play, a thrill of excitement in his guts pushed at him to play.

"Why don't you try for the team? You want to." Idris laughed heartily, as they watched from the Hufflepuff stands for the first Slytherin match of their fifth year, Alphard practically hanging over the balustrade in excitement.

"I couldn't, Idris," Alphard cried, breathlessly, watching the Slytherin chasers swooping around the Ravenclaw chasers to pass the Quaffle. "Walburga would tell and my father would ..." Alphard broke off and then laughed nervously, but then took in Idris's look that quickly became one of dismay. "He'd be cross," he finished weakly. "I'm not allowed to play games. You know what my father says, 'Contact sports are for thick-bloods and thick heads.'" Alphard deepened his voice in mockery.

Idris laughed, "Muggle-borns and Malfoys?"

"Not quite his word for the first, but spot-on for the second!" Alphard grinned as Abraxas Malfoy chose that moment to be felled from his broom by a well-aimed Ravenclaw Bludger, and then feeling that now familiar flip in his stomach when Idris smiled back, his dark eyes merry.

Idris's hand found Alphard's underneath his heavy winter cloak and gave it a squeeze.

The next day, Idris stole into the Quidditch equipment store and borrowed a Quaffle and they chased each other through the forest passing the Quaffle to each other around the largest trees they could find until they were worn out and laughing with exhaustion.

They alighted in a clearing, more falling off their brooms than dismounting, breathless and exhilarated. Idris was the first to stand and took Alphard's broom and his own and looked around the clearing until his eyes alighted on one particular tree, standing apart from the others.

Idris took two steps towards it, as if mesmerised, and dropped their brooms on the forest floor.

"Come and see, Alf."

He reached out his hand and Alphard grasped it and Idris pulled him onto his feet. They went to the tree together. Idris pressed his hands and his forehead against the trunk and felt the wood reverberate through his body and its song in his heart and mind.

"Such a song," murmured Idris. "The purity of the rowan." He opened his eyes, a warmth swelling in his chest. "The sweetest Wandsong."

Alphard laid his hand on Idris's shoulder, moved by the emotion he heard in Idris's voice, although he could not hear the song that had moved Idris so.

Idris looked at Alphard, his dark eyes intense and wrapped his hands behind Alphard's head to bring him in for a kiss. A long kiss, savouring the taste of each other as their minds became blank of any other thought other than the taste of each other as they kissed as only young lovers can – lingering and searching, penetrative of the body and of the soul, conveying their passion and their inexperience.

It was Alphard who moved so their bodies pressed firmly against each other. It was Alphard who removed first Idris's belt and then his own, never breaking the kiss. It was Alphard who opened their robes so their skins could touch, each youth gasping in the kiss at the feel of flesh and their erections together.

The delicious sensations galvanised Idris from his trance-like state and he manoeuvred Alphard so he was pressed against the rowan tree by Idris's broader body as they stroked each other's skin with their fingers, light touches all that was required to fire their sensitive young skin, skimming each other's ribs and softly tantalising each other's nipples until Alphard wrapped his hand around Idris's erection, making Idris moan and then find Alphard's too. They only needed the lightest of pressure to make themselves almost painfully hard as each stroked each other gently at first, but then more firmly and quickly as each assented and encouraged with delirious deep-throated murmurs and groans, their free hands grasping each other's skin, even as their kiss became as erratic as their hands, now the need for release burning brightly in them until each cried as they came hot and hard against each other's stomachs and hands. And still they kissed, breathlessly but seeming to breathe each other in, until their bodies were calm once more.

As they broke this longest of kisses, Idris murmured into Alphard's mouth, "The sweetest kiss."

/

"The sweetest kiss," murmured Alphard as they both recalled the memory.

"It was the sweetest Wandsong that chose Angharad as my mate," Idris said.

"Tell me," asked Alphard.

/

It had been five years since the brutal murder of Bronwen. Her sons, Iolo, Ieuan and Medwyn were becoming men before Idris's eyes and the pack began to stir once more that its Alpha must take a mate.

He didn't want another. His heart had been broken three times with each of his losses: of Alphard, of Megan and of Bronwen. For a long time, he wondered whether to let himself be beaten in the challenge and leave the pack as a lone wolf, just so he would not have to be hurt again.

But he never wondered that for long. The pack was his family; it had protected and supported him all these years. That he was Alpha was in his blood. He never turned down the challenge when it came; he always fought his hardest for his pack; their woes were his, as were their happinesses. To be without his pack now would be the greatest grief of all. He acquiesced once more. His eldest sons sent runners to the other Great Packs of Wales.

It was a glorious autumn day when the Snowdon pack received five women and their bodyguards from the Brecon pack. All were in their early twenties – old for werewolves to be unmated. But there had been a terrible battle five years before with Greyback's pack and many young male werewolves from Brecon had died. The pack would probably die out at this rate, so their Alpha had sent these to Idris as prospective mates.

They had a feast as autumn had seen the harvest reaped and there was plenty. The Brecon werewolves joined in and Idris watched them all, hoping that he could find amongst them one to be a pack mother and his helpmeet.

Each was a fine woman, as far as Idris could see. None was shy or faltering. They all spoke more than he did. But there was one who caught his eye, not just because she was pretty, for indeed she was, but because her smile was true. She had warm, brown eyes that sparkled when she laughed and a way of speaking that spoke of a quick mind. And Idris couldn't help but notice her long dark hair.

He asked for her wand. Her Wandsong would tell him everything about her: whether she was true or false; Light or Dark; strong or weak; loving or selfish; clever or dull. Her wand would reveal all.

She passed it to him without demur.

Rowan and Unicorn hair. His fingers trembled as he took the wand and heard the sweetest song sing to him.

And remembered the sweetest kiss of another with long dark hair.

His mate was chosen in that instant, and the passing years showed that the rowan wand had not lied to him.

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

It was in May that Alphard noticed that Snape had not answered four of Alphard's letters, including the one that usually contained the most information: the full moon letter. Snape was a diligent correspondent and wrote at least once a week, always with results and new approaches and new recipes to try or improvements to existing remedies.

Knowing the nature of what Snape did, Alphard was worried. But surely, if something had happened to Snape, they would hear from Lupin. Perhaps not. If something happened to both of them, who would tell their friends in the Snowdon pack?

Dear Friend, Alphard wrote.

I hope this letter finds you both well. I have not heard from you for weeks. I confess I am concerned. Please write so we know that all is well ...

He had so much news he wanted to share with the only other person who shared his professional and personal interest in the promotion of health in werewolves – in their particular werewolves. He told Snape about Angharad's ongoing pregnancy and his theories, about Stacy's strange adaptation, about his discoveries about Lycanthropic blood.

He had tested his own blood as a wizard and as a dog, but found no canine blood components even as a dog. It proved to him that his transformation was but a mere transfiguration, unlike those endured by his pack-mates. But he also found minute traces of the Lycanthropic cells, just as Snape had suspected. He replicated the slides and copied it all into his letter for Snape, his own mind a riot of speculation on their inoculation theory and whether it could be extended to a cure.

To his delight, within days this time, he received a detailed response from Snape, brisk and business-like as usual. Snape asked questions on Lupin's behalf, but Alphard couldn't help but notice that Lupin didn't write his own usual post script. When he worked through all Snape's computations, he noted there was no new information about Lupin's full moon transformation. He frowned when he realised these things that hinted at absence. Perhaps Lupin was on missions once more?

After the June full moon, their exchange of letters began to yield some stunning results with transformation injuries and Alphard began to wonder whether they might be within a stone's throw of a decelerant that would assist all werewolves to a longer lifespan.

Alphard collated his most recent figures and results and sent them onto Snape for further analysis. With the latest adjustments, Alphard was very much hoping Snape could crack it! He paced each morning waiting for Botolph to bring him news.

Within days, news came, but such news as Alphard could never have dreamt in his worst nightmares.

Botolph and Jethro came running, wild-eyed and breathless.

"What is it?" said Alphard, a flutter of panic, as he quickly looked about himself to check the whereabouts of Idris and Angharad and strode towards them.

"News! News from The Boar's Head!" gasped Botolph. "Give it to him!"

As Idris ran to them, Jethro thrust The Daily Prophet into Alphard's hands. The first thing he saw was a photograph of Dumbledore, benign and eyes twinkling, and next to it, a photograph of Snape, black eyes intense and a scowl on his lips.

Wanted for Questioning for the Murder of Albus Dumbledore!

Alphard felt his reality shift unpleasantly beneath his feet, even as he heard Idris swear profanely next to him.

No! It couldn't be!

.

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews for the last chapter.

Sorry for the wait until this and YWNKM became concurrent once more.
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