Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Lunaticus Book One: Half Moon	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 18455 -:- 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
- 18
- 19
- 20
Chapter 19 – Fenrir Greyback

It had been so long since Harry had woken with the another person's body heat warming him, and he had quite forgotten how good it could feel. He turned, lost in the haze between sleeping and waking, and shifted closer to Remus's warmth. Remus responded immediately to Harry's small movement, one of his arms draping over his waist and pulling him close, his movements slow and sluggish.

Harry woke up slowly and looked blearily at Remus, who seemed to be fast asleep. His idea from the night before came back to him, and he felt a surge of excitement run through him. Harry wasn't sure if it was a good idea per se, but it was an idea nonetheless. With the case so painfully dead, Harry did not see any other avenues that they could take.

He was so momentarily consumed with his thoughts of how he might ask his supervisor's permission to go through with it that it had taken him several minutes to realize that he was being held by Remus, in their bed, with the older man not wearing much of anything, and Harry wasn't freaking out. What he did feel was a pleasant feeling of tranquility, of safety. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and let the sensation wash over him, followed closely by a feeling of relief. He had been so terrified that he would never be able to be this close with Remus again, and it was such an overwhelming relief that for a moment, Harry was certain he might weep.

Slowly and reluctantly, Harry slipped from the comfortable hold, and he dashed down to the main level of the house to retrieve a platter of food for his partner. Kreacher made no protest, but shot Harry a fair few nasty glares while he prepared it. Harry headed back upstairs fifteen minutes later, a distinctive spring in his step as he went.

As with most mornings following the full moon, Remus did not stay asleep long after Harry left him, and when Harry returned to their room Remus was already up and pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms. His movements were as sluggish as they had been in sleep, there were bags under his eyes, and he was pale, as though he'd been up all night. His gaze snapped up as Harry stopped in the doorway, his expression guarded. It did not take a genius to work out that the older man was fearing another rejection.

“I—er, brought you breakfast?” He had not meant to phrase it like a question, and Harry winced at how small his voice sounded. He stepped inside, and offered Remus the tray he held, while Remus stared at it with wide eyes, as though Harry was offering him a sackful of galleons.

“Thank you Harry,” he said softly, taking the tray at last, and watching with wide-eyed surprise as Harry climbed back in the bed, sitting across from Remus. He folded his legs beneath him, and watched as the older man tucked in to his breakfast.

Kreacher brought up a separate tray for Harry while he watched the older man eat. His portions were significantly smaller, and as he nursed a second cup of coffee, Remus finally spoke, looking over the lip of his own mug to the younger man.

“No negative reactions, then?” He asked, his voice laced with apprehension.

“None,” Harry replied with a wide grin. Remus's eyes seemed to sparkle with his own happiness, but his response to Harry's affirmation was to only sip at his strong coffee.

Harry spent the remainder of his morning bouncing between keeping Remus company, and trying to come up with a way to share his idea with Caldwell without her blowing up on him. In the shower and during the commute to his office he rehearsed the request, but it seemed as though he should have known better than to expect anything less than an explosion.

“Potter, have you completely lost your mind?!” Harry winced as Caldwell's voice shot up in a thunderous crescendo, effectively ruining his morning good mood. “I am not bargaining with a werewolf that has a victim list longer than my arm!”

“Who else are we supposed to ask?” Harry snapped back, ignoring the nasty look his supervisor shot him with as he pressed on, “Most werewolves don't trust the Ministry, and Remus can't do it. If we're careful with what we offer him, we have nothing to worry about. He even said during his trial that the only reason he allied himself with Voldemort in the first place was to protect his pack from Ministry persecution. And he was under Veritaserum, so we know he wasn't lying.”

“That doesn't change the fact that he's the most notorious child-killer in recent history! And, may I add, he is also the one who turned your beloved boyfriend and mauled your best friend's brother!” Harry winced at the remark as she pressed on, “the wizarding public would have our heads if we go through with this!”

“What the public doesn't know won't hurt them! We just need to be careful about what we offer him so it doesn't come back to bite us in the arse.”

“It's not that simple Potter, the second it gets out that we bargained with Greyback all hell will break loose. Laws are changing, but people are still very mistrustful of werewolves, as you well know.”

“Caldwell, I'm not stupid. I know how the public feels about werewolves, but we're talking about mass extinction if we don't do something drastic. We have a duty to protect the werewolves in this country. After all the hell the Ministry has put them through, we at least owe them that.” His supervisor puffed up as though to throw another argument his way, but at the last moment she deflated, and eyed him curiously. Harry waited, holding his breath.

“If you can come up with a practical set of terms, assuming he gives us the information we want, I'll run it by Magical Law Enforcement, see what we can get away with offering him.”

“You know he'll ask for early release,” Harry said, cocking a brow at her, while Caldwell responded with a scowl.

“We'll burn that bridge when we come to it,” she said, still glaring at Harry, “write a proposal first, then we'll worry about what Greyback may or may not ask for.”

“Deal.” Harry grinned, and Caldwell rolled her eyes in a way that clearly said, I'm going to regret this.

Never before had Harry been so enthusiastic about actively doing paperwork. He wasn't certain if Greyback would even want to help him, given that Harry's testimony at the Death Eater trials had ensured him a one-way trip to a special Azkaban cell with silver bars. But Harry knew he had to try, it was the only potential lead they had, and he was just so sick of dead ends.

By noon, Harry had run back and forth between his office and the Ministry Archives at least half a dozen times, and his desk was a mess of old trial transcripts, interrogations with Greyback himself, and witness testimonies to his activities as a Death Eater. The whole thing was making his head hurt, but he was determined to get this right. His stomach gave an insistent gurgle, and Harry realized quite suddenly that he was famished. He called Kreacher to bring him lunch instead of going out (something he'd been doing a lot of in his effort to avoid Hermione), and he bowed low over the reports again, punctuating his work with cramming quartered ham sandwiches into his mouth.

When the end of the work day arrived, Harry stared down at his parchment with a faint smile. His desk was flooded with crumpled drafts and a thick case file detailing Greyback's work under Voldemort's orders, as well as his long career as the infamous child-killer. Harry found it rather odd that they'd stamped the man with the epithet 'child-killer' when there were no corpses to speak of, and that alone made him wonder whether some of the charges against him were entirely accurate. Deciding that that was a puzzle for another day, he rolled up his proposal, charmed it so that only his supervisor could read it, and left it in the centre of her desk before heading out for the day.

~*~

“You're in a good mood,” Harry grinned at Remus as he stood and brushed ash from his robes. Remus had been sitting in an armchair with a scroll of parchment pressed open on his knee, his inked quill poised halfway down. He waited a moment to ensure that the ink was dry, then set it aside and stood to embrace Harry once he was ash-free.

“Break in the case, finally,” he said with a wide grin, his arms looping lazily around Remus's neck.

“That's wonderful news,” Remus replied, his hands sliding down Harry's sides to grip gently at his hips, and Harry leaned into the touch. “I take it it's some mad, harebrained scheme that I may not wholly approve of?” he asked, his voice low and almost a purr. Harry laughed softly to the question, only mildly unnerved by how well the man seemed to know him.

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry was startled by how breathy his voice sounded when he's responded, and he quickly looked away.

“Er—I'll be right back, I'm just gonna get changed,” Harry could feel a flush rising in his cheeks, and offered Remus one last smile before untangling himself from the older man and heading up to their bedroom.

Well, that's new.

Privately, Harry hoped that the wolfsbane had mucked up Remus's heightened senses enough to not notice a certain heat in a very specific area of his body. While he was getting used to contact with Remus again, he was certain that he wasn't ready to handle that quite yet. Harry peeled his robes off and pulled on a pair of jeans and one of his many Weasley jumpers, lost in thought as he tried to calm himself down before he had to face Remus again.

Harry could feel Remus's eyes follow his every move from the base of the staircase, across the hall, and into the sitting room. He could smell dinner being prepared, and it appeared that Remus had, for once, left the elf to it. Remus had the parchment back on his knee, most of the scroll filled with his tiny, cramped handwriting.

Harry had moved to sit opposite Remus on the sofa while they waited for Kreacher to announce dinner, his stomach somersaulting at the sensation of being watched in such a way, and he could not completely work out how it made him feel. Intimacy with Remus was still confusing, terrifying, and wonderful all at once, and Harry was never sure when was the right time to try things, still painfully aware of his handful of blackouts he'd endured by rushing things. He wanted to, there was no doubt about that, but that niggling fear at the back of his mind refused to go away completely, and the prospect of vocalizing his desire to try left him feeling rather panicky.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Harry's head snapped up, and he found Remus watching him with that familiar calculating stare.

“Er, yeah, fine,” Harry forced a small smile, “just thinking.” Harry jumped a little when he felt Remus's fingertips ghost over the top of his thigh, and he was overcome with the familiar, but nevertheless unpleasant sensation of his thoughts swirling in his mind like a whirlwind, making it difficult to separate what he wanted from what he felt he shouldn't want—at least not yet.

“Who're you writing to?” Harry asked in an effort to divert the conversation away from himself. Remus seemed to recognize the meaning behind the words, and withdrew his hand.

“I'll keep the identity of the recipient private for now,” he said, chuckling when Harry scowled. “Just a project I am working on Harry, I will explain myself soon, I promise.”

“But—” Harry began, but his words were quickly cut off by Kreacher.

“Master Harry dinner is prepared!” The loud apparition of the elf and the croaky cry caused Harry to jump a little in surprise. “Please have your hands washed before you sit down, Master!” The elf was clearly waiting for a response, though food was the last thing on Harry's mind at the moment.

“Coming Kreacher,” Harry said with a weak smile. Kreacher bowed, and disappeared with another loud crack.

Dinner passed without incident. Harry struggled to keep his eyes on his food, and he could feel Remus's gaze shifting to him more than once, and there was no mistaking the look in the older man's eyes. The lustful gaze was overshadowed by a look that Harry thought could be confusion—or guilt. It was less nerve-wracking for him than it could have been, as he knew that Remus wanted to keep from pushing Harry in every way possible.

Harry was grateful for it, but he often wondered what would happen if Remus threw caution into the wind and ravished Harry the way he had in more than a few of Harry's recent daydreams—would Harry panic, or enjoy it? He wasn't sure. Harry picked at his dinner while he tried to decide what he wanted to do.

Over his favourite treacle tart, it occurred to Harry that he had yet to divulge the brilliant plan he'd shared with Caldwell that morning to Remus. Uncertain how he might react, he braced himself for a worst-case scenario reaction, he took a deep breath to steady himself before he took the plunge. “Er—Remus?”

“Hm?” Remus glanced up, his left brow raising slightly in question.

“Erm, we may have a way to track the possible werewolves, but...you might not like it.” Remus kept silent, but his expression was his normal calm, and Harry pushed forward while he struggled to keep his voice steady. “We thought of questioning Fenrir Greyback, and possibly dealing with him,” Harry said in a rush, watching as Remus hardly responded to the explanation, but blinked a few times in surprise. He stared at Harry, as though uncertain how to react.

“It's not an awful plan, all things considered,” Remus's words were careful and measured. His tone did not give away his feelings on the matter one way or another, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he listened, “you will have to be very careful how you speak to him. He is a powerful Alpha, and his pack is the largest in the country. Even with him in Azkaban, it changes nothing. He is still their Alpha, and no one is daft enough to try and challenge that claim. Greyback is many things, chief among them fiercely protective of his pack, and he will do everything in his power to keep them safe. Whatever you do, do not offer him anything, not until he asks for it.”

~*~

The following afternoon, Harry stepped into the office after spending the morning jumping from one minor incident to another. He was pleasantly tired, and was looking forward to a quiet afternoon with his paperwork and half a dozen sandwiches from Kreacher.

“I sent off the request to Magical Law Enforcement,” Caldwell said the moment the door snapped shut behind Harry.

“Yeah?” Harry cocked a brow as he strode over to his own desk and plopped down.

“They were sound arguments,” Caldwell said with a nod, “you did good work, Potter.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled a little. Praise from her was not a common occurrence, and he appreciated it. “For what it's worth, my...er, Remus thinks it's not a bad idea, provided we're careful with what we offer him.” Harry felt himself go a little red, and he bowed over his work, hoping Caldwell hadn't noticed his moment of embarrassment. What was Remus to him, really? Boyfriend sounded strangely juvenile, lover too intimate. Mate was the obvious word choice, but it sounded weird in human context. Pushing the random thought to the back of his mind, he tried to focus on the work in front of him, but he was interrupted almost at once by Caldwell responding to his statement.

“I agree, he could help us if he wanted to, but it depends on what he wants in return. He can be as noble as he likes, but it doesn't change the fact that he was a Death Eater,” Harry grimaced to her words, and didn't respond. It's not like he could deny it. Not long after, she stood and headed out, and he was about to call for Kreacher when his plans were dashed by a gentle knock on his office door.

Harry looked up, and his eyes widened a little when he saw Remus poke his head inside. He jumped up from his desk at once and hurried over. “Remus? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?” Remus silenced Harry's string of questions by wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him into a casual but nevertheless intimate half-hug, his chin resting on top of Harry's head for a moment before he released him. Harry could feel the quiet joy that radiated off the man, and he grinned, as he could feel it too. The lack of panic in Harry's responses to contact with Remus was becoming more and more frequent, and they were both thrilled by it.

“Everything's fine Harry,” Remus replied with a reassuring smile, though there was a glint in his eye that told Harry that he was definitely up to something. “I thought you'd like to join me at the Leaky for lunch, I've been hearing from a few sources that you've gotten quite good at holing yourself up in your office at lunchtime.”

“A few...who told you?” Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Remus answered with another small smile.

“Come on,” Remus said simply, reaching for Harry's hand and giving him a small tug into the hall and towards the lift. Harry relented and allowed Remus to lead him away while he struggled to ignore the blatant stares his colleagues gave him in passing. It wasn't too surprising; very few people had seen him out and about in the wizarding world with Remus, and he was certain that it was something of a strange sight for people who had heard about it, but had yet to see it for themselves.

Remus and Harry took the Floo to the pub, and Tom escorted them to a private room. Harry sat down next to Remus at the small rectangular table, but his brow furrowed in confusion when their food magically appeared, and there were four place settings, not two.

“What...?” But at the same moment, he heard a pair of familiar voices just beyond the door that made his freeze. Remus's hand was in his in an instant, offering a reassuring squeeze which Harry feebly returned, his wide eyes never leaving the door.

“Ron, seriously, what is this about? I don't have time for...oh. Hello, Harry,” Hermione froze in the doorway, her eyes flicking back and forth between the pair of them so fast that Harry was momentarily amazed that it didn't make her dizzy.

Without a word, Ron nudged her into the room, and half-dragged her to the opposite place settings. She didn't say a word, and Harry found himself too frozen in shock to offer up a response to her greeting.

“So,” Ron said when he'd sat at Hermione's side, looking far more put-together than he usually did during awkward emotional moments. “Remus and I have conspired against you both to set up this fun little mediated discussion.”

Harry and Hermione turned to their respective partners with mingled looks of surprise and shock on their faces. Suddenly, the letter he had seen Remus composing made much more sense. Remus smiled back at him unabashedly, clearly pleased with how his plan had come together.

“And a luncheon discussion is supposed to fix two weeks of—” Remus cut off Harry's words with a look, and he turned to face Hermione, who looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

“It's a luncheon discussion to get you two talking again,” Ron said, a bite of impatience in his voice.

“Look, we know that you know that what happened wasn't Hermione's fault,” Ron continued, his tone patient and even, “but since then you haven't been able to stand within two feet of her without freaking out. Yeah, you know it wasn't her, but obviously some part of you still seems to think that it was.”

“It's not like I can control it,” Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes at Ron.

“It's not like you're even trying, either. Mate, you're like a brother to me, but you're not well. The Harry Potter I know would never turn tail and run, not like this. I know you think we're being hard on you, but trust me...it's for your own good,” his expression darkened a little and he smiled bitterly, an expression Harry mirrored at once. He remembered them saying that to him when he'd been locked in their guest room, and he struggled to see how any of this was for his own good.

Harry looked back to Hermione, who hadn't said a word, but was instead staring determinedly at her knees. Remus's hand shifted as though to move, and Harry tensed his hand around his. He needed Remus right now, and the idea of separating contact made his fear at the whole situation significantly more pronounced.

Looking at Hermione, Harry felt a mixture of guilt and fear roil within him. He knew what happened wasn't her fault. He knew it. But Harry could not shake the memories that floated to the surface of his mind as he looked at her. Hermione stunning him, Hermione launching herself at him from inside the interrogation room, Hermione threatening to drive him to madness...Harry shivered.

Remus's hand slipped from his, and a warm arm coiled around Harry's waist. He slid across the bench seat and into Remus's arms. Uncaring that his friends were sitting not two feet away, he folded himself into the embrace and shut his eyes. His fists curled against Remus's chest and his cheek pressed against his clavicle, and the warmth of the embrace helped calm him. Slowly, the wave of panic passed, and he began to sit up. Harry looked up and eyes locked with Remus's.

“All right?” Remus asked, one hand running up and down his spine while he watched Harry worriedly.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed after a long moment of silence, and ever so slowly he turned back to his friends, their hands still intertwined as he regarded them. Hermione was still looking anywhere but at him, her cheeks tinged pink and her expression flitted between guilt and righteous indignation. It didn't take a genius to work out that she no longer approved of their relationship, not after what Remus had done. Harry wasn't quite sure why, but this time, that knowledge made him angry.

“Hermione,” the sound of her own name made Hermione's head snap up, and she met Harry's gaze. “If I were to lay the blame of what happened to you entirely on you and not some outside force, would you consider that fair?” Harry was rather pleased that he'd managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke, when he desperately wanted to rage at her. At his words, her eyes widened with hurt.

“Harry! How could you say that? I was bewitched, possessed! What happened wasn't my doing!” She cried, her eyes teary.

“Exactly,” Harry said, keeping his voice hard at he looked at her, “what Remus did was as much his own fault as what you did was your fault.” At his words, her eyes went wide with anger, and she opened her mouth to argue.

“But—” Hermione began, but Harry cut her off before she could go any further.

“—No, Hermione, this isn't up for discussion. These past weeks...” Harry trailed off, and looked back at Remus. He was watching Harry quietly, and smiled faintly when their eyes met. Harry rested his hand over Remus's free one and squeezed it, and Harry held tightly onto him as he faced Hermione.

“He's been amazing Hermione. What happened to me really fucked me up, and he's been nothing but patient and supportive. He's gone above and beyond anything I would've expected in an effort to help me be okay again. I'm not completely there yet, but if it wasn't for Remus, I'd probably be a dribbling mess at St Mungo's by now.”

Harry had kept his eyes on Hermione during his speech, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that Remus was bright red with embarrassment. Struggling to keep from smiling, Harry waited for her to respond.

It seemed to take a moment for his words to sink in, and Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears. She reached across the table with lightning-fast movements as though to embrace him, or grab his hand—Harry wasn't certain. Harry jumped reflexively, and lurched back in his seat. At the same moment, Remus untangled himself from Harry and his hand shot out in front of Harry, closing around Hermione's wrist and stopping her just short of touching Harry.

From his close proximity, Harry could see that the grip wasn't tight, and he doubted that Remus was holding onto Hermione hard enough for it to hurt, but she wrenched her hand away from him as though she'd been burned. Remus coiled an arm around Harry's waist, and he could feel the possessive edge to it. The full moon was far off enough that it wasn't influencing him that strongly, but Harry knew that the urge to protect and possess was something that never went away completely.

“Don't—don't do that, Hermione,” Remus said, his voice thick as though he was struggling to form human words. Harry could feel the rumble of a soft lupine growl escape him, though he doubted that it was loud enough for Ron and Hermione to have heard it. Her troubled look was reminiscent of the expression Harry remembered from before everything had happened. It flooded into her features, and she stared helplessly at Harry, as though she had no idea what to do.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said quickly before she could jump to the wrong conclusion. “It's just...people grabbing at me sort of freaks me out,” Harry looked away as he spoke, embarrassed by his own weakness, but comforted by the arm that still rested around his midsection. “I'm getting better, but it's a really slow process.”

“I'm so sorry Harry,” she whimpered, fat tears leaking from her eyes, “I'm sorry for everything.” It had taken her several long moments to form the words through her hiccoughing sobs.

Harry wanted to say, it's okay, or, I forgive you, but the words wouldn't come. They would be an outright lie, and Harry couldn't lie to her, not about this. Still holding onto Remus, Harry nodded in understanding, acknowledging the apology, but not willing to wipe away or dismiss the pain he'd endured at her hands. She seemed to understand this sentiment, and at last the quartet dug into their cold food.

They passed the last hour of their lunch break in relative silence, though it was much more amiable than Harry had expected it to be. It was awkward and quiet, but the silence was nowhere near as tense as it could have been. Strangely, it gave Harry hope. Maybe things with Hermione aren't as ruined as I thought they were, he thought, both annoyed and happy with Remus and Ron for conspiring against them and setting up this 'intervention'.

“We better be getting back,” Ron said, looking between Harry and Hermione nervously.

“Yeah, all right,” Harry stood and out of habit reached for Remus's hand. He did not miss the way Hermione's eyes fell to their intertwined fingers, but she didn't say a word as Ron nudged her towards the door.

Ron and Hermione stepped out ahead of them, and when Harry heard their footsteps fade away he stopped. Remus turned to him, arching a questioning brow.

Before Harry could second guess himself out of it, he reached up and draped his arms over the older man's shoulders. He leaned up and ghosted his lips hesitantly over Remus's, who seemed startled at first, and when Harry didn't dissolve into a panic he returned the kiss, his hands resting on Harry's hips lightly. Harry shifted, wrapping his arms more securely around Remus's neck and deepened the kiss for a brief moment before he pulled back reluctantly, only vaguely recalling that he was supposed to be heading back to the office.

“What was that for?” Remus asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips scant inches from Harry's, both reluctant to part from the intensely satisfying kiss.

“For being a right foul git for springing this on me, and forcing me to deal with my problems instead of letting me drown in them,” Harry replied with a grin, his voice the same soft whisper that Remus's had been, and he leant up for one last kiss. They parted reluctantly, joined hands, and headed out to the main area of the pub.

Ron and Hermione were standing by the fire waiting for them, Ron with a knowing smile on his face, while Hermione's expression was somewhat troubled. They turned and took the Floo back to the Ministry without a word to either of them, and Remus pulled Harry in for one last lingering kiss. He took his turn with the Floo, and Harry strove to ignore the whispers and stares of the patrons discussing what they'd just witnessed while he jumped into the green flames with a wide smile on his face.

~*~

Despite Remus's approval for Harry's plan, as he looked up at the tall, forbidding building, he shifted from foot to foot anxiously, and ran through the half-dozen ways in which everything could go horribly wrong. It had taken almost a fortnight for Magical Law Enforcement to agree to their plan, but even then it was clear that they had been extremely reluctant to do so. Harry could hear the shrieks and jeers of the inmates as he stood on the shore of the damp little island, and he was well aware that he was about to step into a place where at least half the prisoners had been placed there by him.

“Be on your guard,” Caldwell said, dragging Harry from his nervous thoughts, “we have the approval of Magical Law Enforcement on our side, but Greyback is still not one to be taken lightly,” Harry nodded silently as they approached the gates, to nervous to speak. Caldwell handed their Inmate Visitor's Form to the guard on duty. The wizard read and reread the form several times, as if he could not believe what he was seeing, then nodded and motioned for them to follow.

The interior of Azkaban was no better than the exterior; it was still drab and depressing, though nowhere near as it could have been, had there still been Dementors on the premises. Harry felt the removal of the Dementors had been a wise move, and it certainly made visiting the prisoners for follow-up questioning easier. It was still an unpleasant place to be however, not matter what kind of guards stood sentry over the place.

Harry and Caldwell followed the guard down a long stone passageway to a small room that was reminiscent of the interrogation rooms back at the Ministry. It contained two sets of doors; the ones they had just stepped through, the other set they knew led to the prison cells. The pair sat down in two of the available chairs, and waited in silence.

They did not need to wait more than five minutes when the second set of doors creaked open, and the enormous figure of Fenrir Greyback was ushered into the tiny room. Tall and broad, well over six feet and seemingly made of nothing but muscle. His long, matted silver hair was brushed back from his face, and Harry felt as though he'd been frozen in his seat by the man's piercing blue gaze. Silver manacles encased his wrists and ankles, and even at a distance Harry could see the blistering, inflamed flesh. Greyback's eyes had fallen on Harry the moment he was brought inside, and his mouth stretched into a wide, leering grin of mossy teeth.

Harry did not like the look Greyback was giving him, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to sit still. “Potter,” he growled, the familiar, coarse tone reminding Harry immediately of the first time he'd laid eyes on the man—the night of Albus Dumbledore's death. Harry swallowed thickly, and forced himself not to react. The werewolf's nostrils flared sharply, and he grinned nastily. “If you wanted to fuck a werewolf, the least you could do is choose a true wolf, not some sickly creature who plays wizard under the sun,” he sneered, the hint obvious, and Harry swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat and ignored jibe as best he could.

“I'm flattered that you take such an interest in my personal life Greyback,” Harry said evenly, struggling to hide his fear and anger at the large man behind a blank mask. “However, we're not here for a chat—we need your help, in particular, the help of an Alpha werewolf,” Harry was rather pleased that he managed to keep his voice level through the exchange, but to his words Greyback snorted with disgust.

“And why on earth would I want to help a couple of Ministry lapdogs?”

“The fate of your species hangs in the balance, I believe that might be a good incentive to help us,” Caldwell snapped, her eyes narrowed at the man, and she pushed a file across the table. Greyback shot her a rather nasty look, and flipped open the file she'd given him. He glanced down at it for barely thirty seconds before snorting derisively and snapping it shut.

“This is nothing but falsifications and a thinly veiled attempt by Ministry hags to catalogue us. I've seen it all before,” Greyback shoved the file roughly back at the pair, and Harry glared at the beast of a man.

“There have been twenty-one murders to date,” Harry said, locking eyes with the werewolf in obvious challenge as he spoke, causing Greyback to growl in warning, “There have been ten double-murders of werewolves and their human mates—throats slashed, brutally tortured premortem, and any children the couple may have had bound and forced to watch. Another murder took place, a werewolf skinned alive during the full moon. Its flayed corpse didn't even finish shifting back to human before it died. Now you tell me Greyback, does it sound like a mere attempt for us to, as you say, catalogue you?”

Greyback was silent following Harry's words, his jaw working furiously as he worked through what he had been told. “You,” he said at last, shooting Caldwell a nasty glare, “Out. I will speak to Potter alone, or not at all.” When no one responded to his demand, a low, animalistic growl escaped him, one that Harry was all-too familiar with.

“He,” Greyback jerked his head towards Harry, “is bound to a werewolf. He may be human, but that is a technicality easily rectified, as far as I am concerned. You are Ministry trash. I will not speak to you or any of your cronies.” Caldwell opened her mouth to argue, but Harry stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned to him, and he shook his head minutely. He knew that she would be able to hear them outside, an extra safety precaution enabled any Ministry worker to listen in on the conversations held in these rooms. Of course, Greyback wasn't to know that. Caldwell gave Harry a hard look, then nodded once, motioning for the guards to follow, and they all stepped outside without a word.

“Alone at last, Potter.”

“Shut up.” Harry glared at him, but Greyback seemed unconcerned, and leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers as he observed Harry, the waxy skin of his forearms visibly blistering further as the manacles shifted down his wrists slightly. “Look, all we want is to know how we can find werewolf families or packs that might be a target for Red Moon. That's all, I swear.”

“And why should I believe that that is all? You I can believe, who you work for, I cannot.”

“And what makes me so special? I was one of the people who helped to put you in here in the first place.” Greyback smirked, and his eyes roved over Harry's form, making him feel slightly ill, but he refused to break eye contact.

“You are mated to a werewolf; bound, as I said. A pitiful excuse for one, a werewolf nonetheless. I can believe that you have your heart in the right place, even if your loyalties are a little misguided.” Another smirk pulled at the corner of the werewolf's mouth, and he paused for a moment, then nodded his head once. “I will help you, Potter, but only you. I will not divulge this information to anyone else, and I require your word that you will not share these locations with any of your Ministry trash. I will do this, on one condition.”

Harry swallowed thickly, unnerved by the calm and collected man that sat across from him. For someone who had spent the last three years in Azkaban in veritable seclusion in the Dark Creatures wing, he was unnervingly well-balanced, and not the unhinged monster Harry had expected to confront. He knew that this moment was exactly what Caldwell had warned him about, and he quashed his fear under a neutral mask. “What do you want, Greyback?”

“I thought that would be obvious,” Greyback smirked, “freedom.”
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Lunaticus Book One: Half Moon