Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Distance In Your Eyes	By : Pfeifenkraut Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Fenrir Views: 30085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: Nothing of the Harry-Potter-universe belongs to us. It's the property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury. We do not make money out of this. See full disclaimer below.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
5 Oct 2012: Officially restructured, revamped, revised... and probably millions of other things we can't think of right now...

2. The Cave

A foreign scent reached Fenrir's nose.

Still crouching above his mate, he sat up while looking around to sniff the air.

Instantly he recognized the heavy and disgusting magic scent of wizards.

Fenrir stiffened. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, fingernails and fangs elongated. His pupils transformed into slits and a low growl rumbled in the back of his throat.

Nobody would take his mate away from him! Or worse, harm him! Only over his cold and dead body!

His claws pushed into the dirt over his mate's shoulders while his hind legs tensed next to the pup's sides.

His wolf side immediately changed into fighting mode, averse to the idea to leave his mate with wand waving, forest destroying, pack hating wizards. He would not leave him alone now that he had found him after such a long time!

While his snarl was growing louder, another whiff penetrated his nose. In the next instant, confusion hit his already clouded mind when he realized that it was similar to his mate's scent. His rational side supplied the idea that it could be his pup's former family. Former because from this moment onwards, he would take that place. Fenrir and his pack, though he would play a bigger part, would become the most important people to his mate, as it was supposed to be.

He didn't even have to think about it – not that his werewolf induced mind was able to do much of said thinking – he would not leave him with them. They might be his pup's former family but that was no reason to trust them. The possibility of a traitor in their ranks was rather high so why leave him with them? Besides that it was Fenrir's duty to provide for his mate and not somebody else's! He was his to care for and not somebody else's!

The werewolf snapped, his sharp teeth around thin air, imagining an enemy standing in front of him.

"Harry!" An older male voice screamed.

Fenrir's ears perked and he quickly ascertained their distance. His eyes narrowed. They were already too close for his liking. Besides that he didn't like an older MALE voice calling HIS mate by his first name.

Normally he would stay and fight them to the death, wreaking havoc with their bodies and making a real bloodbath out of it, but not with his injured mate so close.

His top priority was to get his pup to safety. It was even more important than tasting their flesh.

Before standing up and cradling his unconscious mate to his chest, he lapped at the bite at the pup's neck to close the wound. One last look around to make sure they wouldn't be ambushed the next moment, he apparated them away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

They re-appeared in a dark, thick and quiet forest. Every animal and magical creature was sleeping, the nocturnal under them knowing better than to cross his path or even to attack Fenrir, at least if they valued their lives. Still, he would not let his guard down, not with his mate so weak. He didn't question his own skills at protecting him, but he would not take any chances. Even a tiny delay could be enough for his pup to not make it.

And he would do anything to prevent that from happening.

At the thought alone, a low growl escaped his throat, warning everything and anything to stay out of his way.

Taking confident strides on a path unknown to all but him, he went around old trees and through bushes all the while making sure he was jostling his mate as little as possible so he suffered as little discomfort as possible.

Fenrir knew that he couldn't reach his pack with his injured mate. They had to walk a grand distance until they would reach them and the pup wasn't up for it, neither on his own two feet nor being carried. He needed to recover first or else he would collapse and die on the way to them.

Fenrir cursed under his breath. At the moment, he hated the fact that he couldn't take his mate to his pack directly because of the ancient magic surrounding his pack's dwelling. Of course, he was grateful to it most of the time since, first of all it protected them and second it prevented anybody – anybody! – from apparating directly into his pack's territory, but right now, it was way too much trouble.

So another safe place had to do for the pup's recovery.

At his mate's pained whimper he fastened his steps. The blood loss was too high and the pain was too much. The pup needed peace and time to rest. Nobody was to disturb his recovery. Anybody that dared to would be ripped apart in the most painful of ways.

Fenrir bared his teeth at another anguished whimper. His mate would never suffer any pain again. Not if he could prevent it!

Finally, after what seemed to be hours of walking but in reality was just about half an hour they reached their destination.

Scanning the area, he carefully scented the air, his nostrils flaring.

After a short moment of inspection he deemed it safe enough and with one last suspicious look over his shoulder, Fenrir stepped in front of a patch of especially thick shrubbery. Readjusting the pup lying in his arms to free one of his hands, he pushed aside a few of the thick branches to reveal the entrance to a well hidden cave at the outskirts of his pack's territory.

Cautiously, he stepped into the dimly-lit cave and took another whiff of air to make sure nothing had dared to claim it as its own during his long absence, no matter the obvious scent markers.

It would die a painful death, that much was for sure.

But when he could neither smell nor sense anything out of the ordinary in the cave, he entered the hideout fully. He gazed swiftly around the room and ascertained that everything was still where it was supposed to be.

A small, pleased growl escaped Fenrir's lips.

It was as safe as it could be, considering that they were not in the midst of his pack's den.

Fenrir strode over to the back of the cave to a nest of furs and laid his mate down on it he knelt down next to the pup and made sure that his mate was as comfortable as possible, arranging the pile around the thin frame and tightly wrapping thick furs around the pup.

All the while he was silently berating himself for losing control in the first place. Regret was not something that he was on a first name basis with but now it left a strange after taste in his mouth.

Irritated, he gritted his teeth and reached for the leather bag lying next to the sleeping place, never letting his mate out of his sight for long.

Rummaging through the contents, he found several different types of spices and – he made a disgusted face – the plants he had been looking for. Spreading them out on the ground, he cursed profoundly.

Of course he hadn't paid any attention to the healers' doings the one time he had been dragged to her years ago.

Then again, why should he have? Injuries healed with time! And another scar just spoke of another fool who had tried to challenge him – and who had failed! They spoke of his victory and were proof that he was still alive! And the other? Well – he grinned evilly – not.

But that time they had insisted and had blackmailed him into letting someone have a look at the wound – the sneaky bastards!

While treating him she had rambled on and on about salves and herbs and how they were made, harvested, applied and used.

Recalling the situation, she really had tried to drill something useful into his scull. But instead of listening he had just laughed into her face, told her to quit the crap and kiss it better.

Her cheeks had been stained with a blush immediately and she had sighed dramatically – like most bitches tended to do –but hadn't tested his already thin patience any further.

Still, she had insisted to put some of that stuff on his wound and had also tried to bandage his chest though she hadn't gotten far with it. Halfway through wrapping his torso, she had been forced to lean in and had given him a rather nice view of her large tits.

That had been the final straw and his patience had snapped.

Using her momentary imbalance to his advantage, he had grabbed her and had pulled at one of her arms. She had stumbled and fallen into his lap, her mouth deliciously close to his crotch though she had been too stunned to do anything. Instead she had continued to lie there, completely sprawled and all for him to take.

He had fucked her hard, leaving bruises all over her body, and he had smashed a lot of things during the rather enthusiastic rut when he had looked to gain more leverage, but surprisingly the wound hadn't started to bleed again.

So all in all, he had to admit – though rather reluctantly – that the god damned plants had helped a lot.

Yes, listening in the first place certainly would have made things a lot easier now.

Grumbling under his breath, he looked for bandages, took them out of the bag and put them next to the dried herbs.

Then he frowned at them in concentration.

If only he could remember how they were prepared and applied correctly...

Wrecking his brain, he got angrier by every passing second of staring at them, the offending smell of the herbs not helping either, he growled in frustration.

Of course their useless healer wasn't here the one time he really needed her. And if his mate died ...

He snarled. Wait...! He remembered vaguely that the plant with the most disgusting smell ever was for numbing pain and the ugly sweet smelling one was important, too... And that one – he looked at another one – was also used very often...

Taking some of the herbs into his mouth, he chewed on them and mixed them with his saliva to get some sort of herbal paste.

For a moment he swore he couldn't feel his tongue any longer, but the feeling vanished as fast as it had appeared. Then his mind turned fuzzy and it made it hard to think.

He shuddered – at least he knew that the herbs would be good for numbing pain – and uncovered the pup's shoulder.

Examining the bite wound he had left behind, he felt primal joy entering his mind. Soon, his mate would join the ranks of his pack.

Then again, it appeared to still be rather red and angry although he had licked it clean and closed the wound. For some reason, the change seemed to be harder than it should be on his mate.

It was probably because he was so little and underfed. His body just couldn't cope.

Fenrir was about to growl angrily again and swear bloody murder when he almost choked on the herbs still in his mouth.

Remembering the mixture, he spit the herbs onto his mate's injured neck and slowly massaged it in. For once, he was careful in what he was doing and made sure not to nick the pup with his sharp claws. For good measure he applied some of the herbs to the skin around the wound and on an afterthought he forced the pup's mouth open and put some herbs on his tongue.

Satisfied with himself, he moved the unconscious body into a sitting position and thoroughly bandaged the torso.

At that moment, the difference in their heights and widths became very much apparent to Fenrir again.

Laying his mate down again, he took in the pup's unhealthy colour. A sheen of sweat had gathered on his forehead, dampening his fringe. The paleness accentuated sharply the dark lashes that were lying against reddened cheeks.

His eyes narrowed.

Carefully lying down next to his mate as to not jostle him, he watched the occasional shiver wrecking his body, the uneven rising of his chest and the ragged breathing, his eyes taking in even that smallest changes of the pup's condition.

He was worried. The pup hadn't regained consciousness since they had been in the fields.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Slowly, the heavy fog was easing away, leaving Harry in a lethargic state. His mind felt sluggish and it was hard to hold onto his thoughts for more than mere seconds, making him feel as though his head was full of cotton wool.

His tongue lay oddly heavy in his mouth, feeling swollen and thick. He needed a few moments to convince it to move, but when he finally managed the feat, he could feel the texture of a leaf.

The connection between the leaf and the bitter taste inside of his mouth could only be distantly made, his still muddled mind refusing to work properly and to wake up. His throat felt scratchy, though if it was because of the leaf he couldn't figure out.

Prying his eyes open slowly – they felt a bit crusty – he needed a moment to adjust to the twilight. And even after that he still couldn't make out anything properly.

His glasses had to be... somewhere... he thought, his mind too drugged to come up with anything else.

It was too hot and stuffy to think rationally but at the same time he wasn't feeling warm enough. Shivers wrecked his body without a pause and his teeth started clattering in a cold sweat. He was completely drenched in sweat and it plastered his hair to his forehead.

A dark shadow above him caught his attention. His unfocused eyes could make out some sort of movement, but what was going on was too much for him.

Then something wet and blissfully cold was laid on his forehead. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes while the fog was finally starting to lift itself a bit.

In the next moment, something warm was laid down next to him.

Maybe a heater? But wizards had warming charms, so there was no need for one...

He opened his eyes again and tried to see what the thing next to him was but his vision was all blurry and fuzzy. Contours and colours were the only things he was able to see, so it was rather hard to recognise the thing.

He huffed in annoyance at his own inability and stared at the shadow, hard, determined to identify it despite his fever induced mind. His eyes took in the grey, dark and beige blobs which filled most of his vision.

But only a moment later a wave of nauseousness hit him and his head started to ache so much he had to close eyes momentarily.

Harry had to have hit his head pretty hard, he thought and tried to move his hand to touch it, but for some reason or other he couldn't.

Confused, he reopened his eyes, only to close them again because the sudden brightness had stung his sensitive irises.

Sighing in discomfort, he tried to shift but noticed that he was restricted in his movement. He frowned and shifted again, feeling fur sliding smoothly over his bare arms, baring them to the cold.

Shivering because of the unfamiliar sensation of fur on his skin and the sudden coldness seeping in, he whimpered. Immediately he tried to roll in on himself to make himself as small as possible to compensate the existing warmth, but the strain on his weakened body was making that task very hard.

He stilled abruptly, freezing in his pathetic attempt of curling in on himself, when the shadow moved again. His eyes grew wide when the fur was being lifted and he felt an arm sneak around his waist, pulling him effortlessly against something hot.

Then the fur was brought back up to his chin and it was tucked around him tightly. Warmth enveloped him, making him feel safe and secure and he drifted off into a deep slumber.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fenrir stretched out lazily across the furs and afterwards looked down at the black mop of hair that was lying next to him.

The pup had regained consciousness for the first time sometime that morning. The first rays of sunlight hadn't even reached the cave's entrance through the thick canopy of leaves yet when the little one had opened his eyes. He had only been awake for a few moments and at first he had been lying next to him, completely motionless and helpless, just like a newborn pup. Soon, though, he had become a bit more active, but had still been rather disorientated.

He would probably wake up soon and then he would be very hungry. Every new wolf was so it wouldn't be all that surprising. The little one would need all those fancy nutrients they kept rambling about, which he would get from the meat. It was essential to survive the change!

So in theory, Fenrir had to go out and hunt. And while one part of him wanted to provide for his newly turned mate, another part didn't want to leave the still weakened pup alone.

A large part of him screamed at himself not to move away from the little one AT ALL, not when the fever had only broken the night before and the shivering had just subsided this morning. The possibility that his condition would worsen again was still too high.

Then again, how was the pup supposed to get better if he didn't get anything in his stomach? He needed all the proteins and shit to get better again and to become a strong wolf. And considering how small he was he would really need lots of meat...

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back in the forest, Fenrirfollowed a fresh trail of wild game. Excited, his nose twitched at the tasty scent of his prey.

Slowly he moved through the bushes and around trees, crouching down when he neared in on her, his eyes gleaming with joy.

There she was, standing proudly in the middle of a meadow surrounded by fresh patches of grass covered in dew.

Nevertheless, her ears stood at attention for any danger advancing in on her while she was eating the disgusting green stuff. Her brown and healthy fur was glowing in the morning sun, making the whole scene a beautiful picture.

Fenrir grinned evilly, revealing his sharp teeth.

And what a beautiful picture! He wanted to sink his fangs into her soft throat, cutting open her jugular and breaking her neck, all the while spraying her precious blood onto the green carpet.

Keeping tabs on her, he readied himself to attack, flexing his fingers around his hunting knife.

She wasn't a match for him at all. There was no way in hell that she could get away from him.

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to hunt the old-fashioned way. After all nobody could match his strength and agility, especially in this environment. The forest was his domain. Here he could hide easily and strike unexpectedly, therefore the advantage while hunting was always on his side.

And sneaking around the prey to ambush it when they anticipated it the least brought endless satisfaction to his wolf-side.

The only chance his prey had at escaping was for them to outrun him in the open and vast landscape and even then that possibility was next to none-existent.

Over the years, he had gotten so much experience that he could successfully hunt without the aid of his pack even though he still preferred hounding his prey with them.

Hounding required an almost never-ending patience, meaning that they would be lying some time in wait for their prey to appear. But you also needed a strategic mindset and overall teamwork. One had to rush the chosen prey and at his, their alpha's, sign the first group would cut off the prey's escape, making it dash into another direction where more wolves would be waiting.

Therefore, hunting was considered a some sort of social event that strengthened the sense of belonging and togetherness. A good hunting arrangement usually spoke for a good pack atmosphere.

Contrary to public belief werewolves were not loners. They lived and hunted in packs, very similar to real wolves. They, too, preferred the closeness and security a pack provided. The wolf craved a pack and living without one led to god damned loneliness. Besides, lately it was done particularly out of necessity. The wizards had become more ostracising than ever before and it was harder to attack or kill you if you were living in a pack.

Now that he thought about it, their huntings had been a bit less successful than was normal, too, and this year hadn't been hard on the forest inhabitants...

The doe's movement in front of him ripped him from his thoughts.

Scenting the air again, Fenrir realised that the wind would soon change directions. She would be able to discover him then because he wouldn't be downwind from her any longer.

So he had to either change his location or attack her.

Cautiously, he readjusted his crouching position and flexed his muscles.

In one swift movement he charged at her.

Her head snapped up and in his direction, her eyes wide in panic as she recognised the predator in him. She tried to flee with quick darts of her long legs but he was already on top of her, wrestling her down.

Fighting as much as she could, she finally collapsed under his sudden and heavy weight.

Happily, he bit down on her throat and swiftly cut her windpipe with the long blade. Slowly he let go of her suffocating form and stabbed her heart, causing her a quick death.

He had to hurry. The pup would wake up soon.

Fenrir was giddy with anticipation. As soon as his mate would have risen from his slumber and would have eaten, he would be thoroughly inspected, caressed and kissed.

Sadly, the pup wouldn't be up for much more than that.

But before Fenrir could do anything of the like he had to make sure that the little one really would eat enough. The pup was way too skinny in some places for his liking!

Did the wizards not feed him properly? Why else was he able to feel the hard lines of bones when they had been lying together?

Unconsciously gritting his teeth, Fenrir swore that he would punish the people responsible for his mate's bad shape. Nobody treated his mate so bad and lived through it! Didn't they realize what malnourishment did to one's body?

In Fenrir's mind there was no question about it. The pup was still gorgeous and smelled so intoxicating he got a hard-on only THINKING about his scent, but still, the skinny frame of his mate wasn't healthy!

Now that he was here, however, that would change. His mate would never have to suffer hunger ever again! Fenrir would see to it that he would always have enough food!

He realised of course that his mate brought a soft side to the forefront, one that he hadn't known up until now, but frankly he didn't care, as strange as that sounded.

In the past he had thought of tender feelings as something pathetic and weak. The need to have someone of his own and protect said someone never even crossed his mind. Always he had looked down on those who would go on the 'long journey' to find their 'other half'.

He snorted. To treat someone with care, trying not to hurt them in any way was something completely foreign to him.

The bitches he had taken – occasionally a male as well – never complained about his rough treatment, but now...

Inwardly, Fenrir cringed. If anybody got to know about his wolf purring in delight in his mate's presence, the whole Wizarding World would laugh at him!

He grabbed for his hunting knife, clenching his fist tightly around it. His sharp eyes focused on the dead body lying in the grass.

But if they thought he had grown soft they were sorely mistaken! Only his little pup – and on occasion his pack – would experience his softer side.

Vigorously he stabbed it into the doe's body and sliced the stomach else! They weren't worth it and deserved to see it even less! They had allowed his mate to become so thin! They definitely didn't deserve it!

But getting worked up now didn't help matters at all! He huffed and gutted the dead body with an occasional grumble.

Although the doe was quite the catch, the little one wouldn't appreciate her raw and bloody like Fenrir himself did. The pup's transformation hadn't advanced far enough for that yet.

He couldn't wait for his mate to crave it the werewolf style. The opportunity it would present to Fenrir to ravish his mate! Oh, the image! Drops of blood running down the little one's chin, throat and over the collarbone, drawing a delicate line down his mate's marvellous body, highlighting the pup's delicious frame. If he was lucky the blood would even reach the little one's nipples!

Forcefully ripping himself from the mouth-watering picture, Fenrir slung her dead and gutted body over his shoulder, adjusted her weight and started to make his way back to the cave.

When had been the last time he had cooked something?

Something inside of him shivered at the thought of cooked meat, but as long as his mate preferred it to the raw version, he would do it, just to please him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Exhausted, Harry snuggled deeper into the soft mattress he was lying on. His hands searched around for the lost blanket and once found pulled it back up to his chin.

Waiting for sleep to come he noticed the noisy chirping of birds in the garden and the loud roar of the ghoul. The curtains must have been pulled aside and it had to be in the middle of the day because it was already too bright outside for Harry's liking. It made drifting off again rather difficult.

Burying his head deeper into the comfortable pillow, he tried to ignore the annoying animals and go back to sleep.

It took only moments for him to realise that he would have no success in doing so.

As if sensing that Harry was awake someone started moving around the room. Whatever they were doing they weren't very smooth about it.

Why the hell was somebody in his and Ron's room? Normally nobody would be here at this hour and Ron wouldn't be up and about until somebody whispered the word "Lunch" into his ear.

Then again it could be that Ron was already awake and didn't want to bother his friend in case he had had a nightmare and had found sleep difficultly.

"Ron?" He asked against his better judgement. He just knew it couldn't be him and wasn't surprised when he heard no answer.

Instead of that he heard a low grumble, almost a growl in some distance.

What the...?

The footsteps were retreating and something fell to the floor – a pot maybe?

Groaning softly in annoyance, he fumbled for his glasses that were usually lying on the night stand beside him. He was more than surprised when the only thing he found was an empty and hard stony surface. There was no way that that was his table.

Now he was more than puzzled.

Opening his eyes, he realised that he wasn't lying in his bed at all. It wasn't even a real bed but some make shift thingy out of furs.

Sitting bolt upright, he looked around frantically – which was a bad idea because at once pain shot through his left side, letting him sink forwards and moan in anguish.

Confused, he peered down at it. To his knowledge it shouldn't have hurt at all.

His eyes widened as he saw that his left shoulder was bandaged. He was about to wonder why when he noticed that his clothes were missing.

Instantly, all thoughts concerning his injury were forgotten.

Quickly pulling aside the furs, he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that he was still wearing his boxer shorts.

What. The. Hell?

What had happened? Who had taken away his clothes? Who was that pervert?

And even more important, where the hell was he? And how had he gotten here?

Looking around, he noticed that he was definitely not in his and Ron's room.

What was going on?

He was in some kind of... cave? How did he get here? Why was he here? Where was Ginny? What had happened to the rest of his family?

The last thing he remembered was being in the fields with Ginny, fighting Death Eaters.

The sudden rustling of wings and the following deathly silence caught his attention. His muscles tensed while he was waiting for some predator to appear. Harry readied himself to jump out of the way at any given moment. His ears were perked for any sound at all. He shuddered when suddenly there was a snapping noise and something entered the cave.

His gaze snapped to the figure at the entrance, needing to shield his eyes against the blinding sun. Harry could make out nothing except for the fact that the figure was, indeed, human, but large, broad, a bit crouched and definitely male – no female could have such a strong built!

As soon as the person stepped into the shadow of the cave, Harry could make out the reason for the man's crouched stance. He was carrying a dead doe, spilling its blood all over the floor and himself.

Disgusted, because really, who could relish in killing innocent animals, the-boy-who-lived looked up into the man's face.

Blood was smeared all over the man's face and was dipping down his chin.

His heart missed a beat when Harry stared at the horrible features of one Fenrir Greyback.

An iron fist closed around his heart, squeezing tightly and paralysed his entire body. He tried to breathe but his red blood cells were not transporting enough oxygen for him to formulate an adequate plan.

Subconsciously, he knew that he had to get away from the beast but his brain wasn't able to come up with something worthwhile. Instead he crawled backwards, watching Greyback as he put down the game, knelt down besides it and started to slice off parts of it.

He felt the bile rise and tried not to vomit when its skin was pulled back and huge chunks of meat were cut out off from the poor animal. Blood tinted the ground beneath it while Greyback was now arm deep in...

His head turned away in disgust, but it was not fast enough to avoid the gruesome sight.

However, he could not stop himself from looking back again in the next moment, watching hypnotised as muscles and bones were revealed...

Shocked, he tried to move farther away from the monster but his back hit a stony wall. Suddenly, stabbing pang shot through his shoulder, making him feel dizzy and ill.

Convulsing painfully, he tried to steady himself when he almost fell over. Blackness threatened to overwhelm him.

His clouded mind noticed Greyback swirling around and approaching him in fast and long strides, but the thought of his impending death didn't even cross his mind. Instead he sobbed and tried to suppress thepaincoursing through his body.

Fighting back the agony he finally managed to gain back control over his sight and breathing.

Greyback was right in front of him, looming over him.

He was going to kill him!

Harry closed his eyes and waited for the first slash to his throat which would cause his painful demise.

But no sudden throbbing ran through his form. No darkness enveloped him in its cold arms.

There was a long moment in which nothing happened.

A dead silence had lied itself over the cave.

Harry's own heartbeat thundered in his ears, pounding against his ribcage.

Suddenly he felt strong, calloused hands at his left shoulder. Completely unprepared for the touch, he flinched at the sudden contact.

What was the beast doing? Why hadn't he killed him already?

Against his better judgement he peeked through his lashes out of one of his eyes.

Ripped abs came into view accompanied by a trail of silver hair leading downwards.

Not realising what he was doing, he glanced further down only to be met with strong and parted muscular thighs kneeling on the ground. His gaze snapped up to Greyback's face. Grey stubble on a strong jaw greeted his sight. Wild, silver hair framed roughened features. A deep frown marred the man's forehead. Greyback's amber eyes were fixed on the shoulder where a clawed hand lied.

Suddenly the beast's eyes turned to him, boring into his green irises. A grin appeared on the monster's lips, showing off his sharp canines. Eyes widening in shock, Harry suppressed the urge to jump. Otherwise Greyback's deathly claws would dig into his wound, hurting him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The insolent pup had hurt himself while crawling away from him! His stupid little mate was terrified of him! And unfortunately, Fenrir knew exactly why. It was no wonder considering his history...

Still! That was no reason for the impudent pup to escape from him! As if he would ever hurt his mate! He was so angry he could punch the wall! But again that would only intimidate him more...

Andof course the little one didn't know that he wouldn't hurt him... he tried to berate himself. But it wasn't as if he would believe him when he told him anyway, he thought bitterly. Who would in their right mind? ...

Desperation claimed him because on the one hand he knew that he was the reason for the little one's angst, on the other he knew that he couldn't do anything about it. At least nothing that would work instantly.

Gritting his teeth, he set to gently peel off the blood soaked bandage. The injury had reopened again because the pup had pushed his shoulder against the spiky and stony surface.

The wound had been very deep and thus had showed of the collarbone which had been broken by him – definitely not one of Fenrir's more gentle actions. It was during these moments that he regretted to have never learned any healing spells. Most of the time herbs were all that he needed and that came naturally to him. His wolf told him which herbs were poisonous and which were life-restoring. However, they didn't fix broken bones! For that he needed to get to the pack soon and have one of the healers have a look at his mate, as much as he hated the thought of it.

The fresh blood that was streaming out of the reopened wound he could deal with.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mesmerised, he had watched while Greyback had taken care of his wound. It was completely lost on him why the werewolf was helping him and not killing him or serving him on a silver platter to Voldemort.

Or did the monster want to deliver Harry to him in one piece and healed? So that Voldemort would have as much fun murdering him as possible? Or did he already know of the beast's possession of him and had ordered Greyback to heal him?

But wouldn't there be someone better to do the job? Like Snape for example?

Harry closed his eyes against the all-consuming wave of pain that had reappeared when the beast had taken off the dirty bandage and had started to finger the wound.

All of a sudden something wet and warm was moving against his throat, leaving a damp trail while making its path downwards. Hot air ghosted over his moist skin. Goose bumps appeared.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he opened his eyes. The tip of his nose was only inches away from being bumped into by a bulky shoulder. His breath hitched.

When had Greyback gotten that close?

Seeing silver hair out of the corner of his eyes, all pieces fell into place as he realised that the wet thing at his neck was actually a tongue. Greyback's tongue.

He. Was. Licking. Him.

Before he could do anything at all, punch him in the face or kick him in the groin or anything AT ALL for that matter, burning fire shot through his shoulder.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was in heaven. If there existed anything like that he certainly was.

Or was it hell? Something that sinful could only mean he was in hell.

It was pure torture. Sitting here, licking at his mate's neck to disinfect the wound, he couldn't do anything else, although he wanted to very badly. He wanted to lick him. He wanted to caress him. He wanted to mount him. He wanted to completely own him!

But alas he couldn't.

Damn it. The closeness and the delicious blood of his pup had caused him a hard-on – again!

So how to get rid of it when he couldn't take what was his obviously?

Leaning back away from his mate's tasty blood, he gathered some herbs, put them in his mouth and chewed on them until they developed their full potential of healing powers. Afterwards he spit them onto the pup's injury and smeared them over the large gash. When he was done,he wrapped the little one's shoulder and carried the unconscious form back to the furs.

As soon as he had started to clean the wound the pup had blacked out.

He deeply wished that it had been from exhaustion... but he knew better... The smell of pain and fear seemed to cling to the pup once again... and who would have thought that he would hate it so much one day?

He snorted at the irony of it all, and laid his mate back down onto the furs as gentle as he could muster.

And who would have thought that he – the most feared werewolf of all times – would someday do something gentle and caring...?

Damn! This was really fucked up - No! HE was really fucked up!

But he just couldn't help it...

Old Greyback was growing soft, he thought warily while his fingers combed through the messy mob of black hair.

One day the little one would be a very beautiful wolf.

And he would be his.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Distance In Your Eyes