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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
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her associates own Harry Potter. I make no money from my stories.

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The kiss was brief, even chaste. Just a taste of his beloved's lips, but no more. There was a small gulp. Idris opened his eyes to see Alphard's face, his eyes closed – so sad. He lifted his hand and stroked Alphard's cheek with his forefinger and found the trace of a tear. Alphard's eyes opened at the touch as he moved to sit back in his chair, his hand catching Idris's wrist. Idris wondered when was the last time he cried. His eyes were old eyes that had seen so much; old eyes that didn't shed tears any more. No leader had time for tears.

"Tell me why you are alone, Alf," Idris asked, never taking his eyes from his friend's. "Thought that sister of yours would have arranged a marriage for you." His tried to make his tone light.

"Walburga?" Alphard made a soft noise of amusement. "She tried. For years, she tried. 'Of course I know what you are Alphard!' she used to screech at me." Alphard impersonated a harsh, screeching, female voice. 'You are unnatural, an abomination, but you are a Black and you will marry so that there are heirs.'" Alphard closed his eyes, with that same soft laugh. "Appalling witch." Alphard exhaled heavily and patted Idris's hand. "I didn't want to marry just to create heirs. I had a brother and sister. They were so keen on the name – I let them do it."

"And did they?" Idris asked, amused in spite of his sadness at the thought of his most special friend alone. Alphard railing against his family. It had ever been thus. They could have been fifteen again.

/

Alphard broke the large twig in half and threw it viciously and then sat back down on the forest floor.

"I'm so sorry. Walburga's determined to plan every moment of my time this Christmas holiday and she got Mother and Father to agree with her." He turned to look at Idris, a frank but sad expression in his young eyes. "I think she's realised that we ... well," he felt his face suffuse with blood, and grinned foolishly at his special friend, "we are closer than she wants." He nodded as if that described their situation very well and he scooped up Idris's hand and squeezed it.

"I'll be working in Ollivander's workshop during the days anyway," Idris said lightly, as if it didn't matter that Walburga had determined to keep them apart over Christmas, although secretly he had been excited that they might see each other as he would only be back in Wales with his own father for Christmas Day and Boxing Day. He'd thought they might sneak about after workshop hours, explore Muggle London together maybe. Perhaps, he might even be allowed to bring Alf back to the boarding house his father had found for him and then ... and then ...

But that was the point, wasn't it, Idris thought with a heavy heart.

"But I wanted to see you in the evenings," Alphard said. He realised it was almost a whine and bit his lip, embarrassed. He wanted to see Idris all the time. Although he didn't really understand the riot of emotions and deep physical yearnings he felt whenever he was with him, and even when he wasn't, he was content to call it love. It was only two years until they were of age after all. He caught his friend's lips in a playful kiss. Their playful kisses always deepened. Once they had kissed that first time, they both found they always wanted to kiss and sometimes they'd be brave enough to touch – not always, because sometimes they were frightened that they would go too far and then they would be separated. But they could always kiss and kiss for the longest time, unsure what to do with their hands, but instinctively their mouths, lips and tongues creating deep sensations that absorbed them completely.

Today, however, they had been brave enough to touch just because their families sought to thwart them. Idris had learnt a warming charm and used it like a shield over them in the November air, here deep in the forest, secluded from other students. No-one came this deep into the forest, at least not since Rubeus had been expelled.

Each had opened the other's robes and had kissed as they touched the other's skin, discovering such joy just in the other's skin. They found that they could make skin flame; that there was this place at the base of the neck – a hollow – that made them tremble; that a gentle press at the small of the other boy's spine would make him arch and moan; that a light touch to a nipple would make a breath catch in the other boy's throat; that a kiss or a light flick of the tongue to the ear lobe or behind would make the boy shiver; that kisses and licks to the throat seemed to shoot thrills directly into the other boy's groin. And knowing what it did to oneself, made one boy want to do it to the other as it increased his own desire too. They were discovering that the lightest of touch from lips or tongue or fingers would make them burn. The intensity of it scared them, but they longed for it.

They were kissing so deeply and pleasing each other with their touches beneath these huge trees. It was then that Alphard had gently pressed Idris to the ground, and their naked chests pressed together for the first time. And there was friction, as Alphard's erection pressed against his friend's leg. It sent a shock through him even as he continued to kiss Idris, one hand cradling his head and the other inside his robe, stroking his side. He couldn't help himself, he had to move, just gently against his friend's leg and moaned into the kiss.

All Idris knew was that his chest felt on fire with Alphard pressing against it and touching his side with his hand. He could feel Alphard moving against him, and it excited him even more. But he fumbled with his hands, not knowing what to do to increase these sensations. He wrapped one large arm around Alphard's shoulders to hold Alphard to him, to reassure him that his movement was welcome. But he wanted it for himself too. His slipped both hands under Alphard's robe and found his backside and stroked his hands over it, sighing into Alphard's kiss.

Once again, he knew what he wanted to do, as his friend gently rocked against his thigh, his eyes heavy and glazed with want. Idris thought Alphard looked beautiful like that. Part of him didn't want to disturb his gentle movement that made Alphard's breath hitch, but he knew – he felt – he was sure – this would be better.

He grasped Alphard's backside and shifted himself and Alphard so Alphard lay fully on top of him, and their erections lay together. Alphard's eyes sprang wide open as he gasped and Idris eyes dilated wide as his cock hardened painfully. Alphard placed his arms properly either side of Idris's body to hold his weight, although Idris probably thought he weighed nothing, and he moved his hips gently against Idris, and moaned at the feel of his hips moving, how his body seems to urge itself to move against the skin and muscle and bones underneath it. His senses were overwhelming him and his breathing became ragged. He stopped and looked at Idris, his face blushing furiously.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "It's so ... it's so ..."

"Move your hips, Alf," Idris said softly, transfixed by Alphard's dusky gaze, as aroused by Alphard's breathing as he was by his sinuous movements against his body. Alphard watched Idris's face as he moved his hips in the way his body told him to, thrusting against Idris's stomach and pelvis as Idris grasped Alphard's cock against his own.

A small cry escaped Alphard's lips as he felt their cocks held together in Idris's large hand, already toughening from his work in the workshop. He thrust into that strong grasp, feeling his own body shiver.

"You own hand too, Alf. It'll be even better." Idris looked at Alphard as if he were a work of art, a thing of such rarity that to take his eyes from him would risk losing him forever. Idris let his body tell him what he wanted and this, he knew, would make this sharp and exquisite. Alphard stared at him, his mouth parted as his long black hair dropped forward. Idris stared at those parted lips and then his eyes drifted back to luxuriate in Alphard's hooded slate eyes.

Alphard wrapped his hand around Idris's, although he could not match its span and Idris set the pace, gentle but firm as Alphard's face dropped to his and they tried to kiss, although within minutes, they could barely breathe as their young bodies, already burning, began blaze with their orgasms, that crested as their bodies shuddered and they both cried out against each other as their hands became erratic as they drained themselves against each other.

Alphard went to move off Idris's body, but Idris wrapped his arms around him, keeping him in place on top of him, although they were spent. As soon as they could breathe once again, they began to kiss once more. One day, not so long away, they would be free of interference and they would make love properly and fully. They both yearned for it. But until that time, they would learn to love each other in these ways, out of sight those who refused to understand.

/

"Cy had three daughters ..."

Idris guffawed. Little Cygnus, Alphard's young brother who Alphard always affectionately called, 'the little twerp'.

"The little twerp, married with children," Idris laughed at the thought, with no idea how Cy would look as a man – the last he saw of him, the boy could have been no more than twelve years-old. "Which pureblood princess got him then?"

"Druella Rosier," Alphard said, with disgust. Idris grimaced. Alphard nodded with a small smile. "And gave him three daughters!" Then Alphard's face fell. "He died five years ago." He laughed softly though. "Little twerp ... I forgot. He became 'pompous cretin'." Then he looked up, as if steeling himself. "They've been a mixed bag. Andromeda – my favourite, although of course an uncle doesn't have favourites..."

"Of course," Idris confirmed softly, noting that Alphard had let his hand fall gently on top of his.

"... Andy has the best taste in men, and clearly takes after her uncle." Idris looked confused. "She married a Hufflepuff!" Alphard announced proudly and Idris barked a laugh. "And a Muggle-born too!"

"What did your family do about that?" Idris laughed, relaxing a little more. It was good to talk about other things – not themselves and their stolen dream.

"Disowned her, disinherited her, blew her off the tapestry, all the usual draconian measures," Alphard said with a weary shrug. "So I gave her a dowry."

"Well done, Alf," Idris said, laughing softly. "Who knew the little twerp would raise rebels."

"Only the one," Alphard said, with a resigned air. "Narcissa, a sweet girl, despite her blood, married Ab Malfoy's prissy son."

Idris rolled his eyes. One of the few fights he'd had at school was with Abraxas Malfoy. He remembered now the not-so-small pride he had at blacking his eye. "And the last?"

"The eldest and the worst," Alphard said, a dark shadow crossing his features. "Bellatrix. Like my sister. Cruel, unstable. Married a Lestrange. In Azkaban now, where she should be," Alphard said with finality.

"Azkaban?" Idris's brow furrowed.

"A follower of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. A Death Eater," he spat. "A killer and torturer. She's where she belongs." Alphard's stare never left the roughly carved table at which they sat. "And that's not the worst of it," Alphard said, his voice now becoming tight.

"No?" Idris said, closing his hand so it held Alphard's in his distress, wondering just how thoroughly the Blacks had been embroiled with Riddle.

"Walburga married Orion."

"But he's your cousin!" Idris said, scandalised.

"It probably explains a great deal," Alphard said darkly. "They had two sons – an heir and a spare!" Idris heard bitterness in the statement and Alphard looked up at him, a film of tears glossed his grey eyes. "Sirius and Regulus. I loved those boys, Idris, like they were my own. Lively, intelligent – both of them. And Sirius! My little Dogstar! Completely irrespressible! Determined not to be held to his blood purity heritage." Alphard laughed. "You'll not believe this, Idris, and I think my seditious mutterings against his mother may have contributed to this, but don't hold me to it," Alphard was smiling now, and Idris couldn't but smile back at that still wonderful smile.

"Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor!" Alphard announced, sitting back and watching with satisfaction as Idris's eyes widened comically and his own smile widened and then slowly dropped.

"A Black in Gryffindor! Your sister - ?"

"Beyond furious. I feared for the boy's safety at times. I even wrote to the Hogwarts headmaster to keep an eye on him – just in case. I don't mind telling you – I was so proud," he said wistfully, "for a while, anyway." Alphard's voice dropped as he struggled with the memory. "He adored being in Gryffindor, had a group of special friends – one was a Potter – a Potter, mind you! How hilarious how that alone made Walburga shriek like a banshee!" Idris laughed at his friend's enthusiasm for the recollection. "And a little group of half-blood friends ..."

"And a werewolf," Idris softly interjected. Alphard stopped mid-sentence and stared at him. "A werewolf called Remus Lupin," Idris added, nodding.

"Remus Lupin ..." Alphard searched his memory. Did he remember him? Why, yes he did. "I remember the boy. Only met him a couple of times. Thin, looked a little scared of his own shadow. I had no idea. He was a werewolf back then?" Idris nodded. "You've met him as an adult werewolf?"

"Yes," said Idris, "but it's another story. Tell me about Sirius." Idris could tell this was Alphard's heartache. He needed to know.

"Yes. So. Sirius," Alphard said, as if scared of the subject all of a sudden. "He ran away from home when he was 16, she was so abusive. I helped him with money. Got myself blown off the tapestry." Alphard's voice was becoming smaller now and another heavy sigh followed. "Sometimes, blood will out, Idris. Blood will out."

"What to do you mean?" Idris asked gently, noticing his friend's eyes become glassy again.

"In time, in spite of all his teenage rebellion, he became a Death Eater, and the little one, Regulus too. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named killed Regulus, or so I heard, for having second thoughts. Sirius – well, Sirius betrayed the secret of the Fidelius Charm of his own school friends to You-Know-Who, who murdered them. Then he went on the rampage and murdered a group of random Muggles. He was sent to Azkaban as well." Alphard's eyes were deep with heartbreak and old bewilderment.

"He broke out two years ago. Still on the run, as far as I know. Probably, trying to find He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Alphard sneered, an unpleasant look on his handsome face. "I've heard he's supposed to have returned. That's where Sirius must be. At his side." He sighed heavily once more and then focused once more on Idris.

"I used to travel in my search for you," Alphard said, a small affectionate smile, "but I always returned to see those boys. Regulus was lost in 1980, and Sirius in 1981. I left the country for good then. Arranged my affairs so the estate of Black could have no further claim on me. I renounced the House of Black by blood ritual. I am dead to it, as it is dead to me."

Idris squeezed Alphard's hand. To lose so much, and to lose it to evil, he understood the grief too well.

"You should name him," Idris growled. "The man that cost you everything."

Alphard stiffened. "I know his name, but I will not speak it."

"Don't give him any more power over us than he's had already. Speak it, Alf. It is Tom Riddle."

Alphard stared at Idris for a long time, his mouth open in shock. "But ... but ... we went to school with him. How would I not have known that Lord V..V .. Voldemort," he bit out the name, "was Tom Riddle?" His head swam at the rush of recollections, bits and pieces falling heavily into place.

/

They were due to return to Hogwarts after the Christmas break. Idris was missing. Alphard had broken his father's curfew to go to Ollivander's. Mr Ollivander said Idris was gone. Just that: "gone." He would say no more and his son, Garrick Ollivander, had run away and wouldn't talk to him. Alphard had gone to Idris's lodgings in Fye Foot Lane. Madame Bowen said his father had paid off his rent and the boy would not be returning.

But he wouldn't leave him! Alphard knew Idris wouldn't just leave him! Something had happened. He went home as quickly as he could. He was out of bounds, and if his father knew, Alphard wouldn't be able to search the next day. He had never known what fear was like before – how one could taste it. But he could taste it now. His Idris would never have just left him. Never.

He couldn't eat dinner, and then went to his room. Perhaps his owl, Deacon, could find Idris. Owls were magical – they didn't needed addresses. He scratched out a letter to Idris, finding he hand shaking and unbidden tears springing to his eyes in his fear. He wiped them away crossly with the backs of his hands and sent Deacon on his way.

"Please find my Idris, please, oh, please," he murmured softly as he watched the tawny owl take wing.

Deacon returned the next day. He looked ruffled and nipped at Alphard angrily. Alphard soothed Deacon's ruffled feathers as he stared at the bird's leg in distress.

The letter was gone from his leg, but there was no reply.

Alphard laid his head on his arms at the table in library, screwing his eyelids shut over sore, bloodshot eyes, trying to think coherently of his next step. He was only fifteen. Where would he go? Who would help him? How ...

"You don't have so much to say for yourself lately," Walburga hissed and pinched his arm. "Lost your nasty little half-breed playmate?" She smiled nastily.

"Half- breed? Idris is no half-breed"! Alphard's head snapped up from its cradle of his hands. "Is this your nonsense that he can't be a wandmaker because he's a half blood? What do you know, Walburga? Do you know something?"

"Perhaps, you should find your invert's father and ask him how is son is. I wonder if he'll tell you. I wonder if he'll even admit he has a son anymore?" Walburga hissed, a sneer marring her finely carved features.

Alphard felt fear freeze his insides. Why wouldn't Idris's father admit he had a son? Alphard knew he came from one of the Darkest families in Britain, but surely, his family hadn't cursed Idris. Had they? The fear he felt almost rooted him to the spot as he stared open-mouthed at his sister. She was a Dark witch, even at her age. She embraced their family's traditions whole-heartedly – if she had a heart at all! As she leered at him, hot anger grew inside him, melting the paralysis of fear.

"Walburga! What have you done?" Alphard almost howled with fear and rage as he grabbed her shoulder savagely and raised his wand to her throat. Seemingly from nowhere, his father grabbed his arm viciously and swung him around and spat out his name.

"Do not speak to your sister like that, Alphard. You are not a costermonger's son to shout and scream – and at a lady! This is what consorting with half-bloods does!"

Pollux Black, every bit as handsome as a Black ever was, but with not one feature that had ever gentled with kindness, swiped Alphard's wand, struck him across the face with a resounding crack, and, still gripping Alphard's upper arm, cast a charm to render him as light as a small child – and as defenceless - and dragged him up the four flights of stairs so Alphard's knees would graze and bruise as he cried and begged his father not to leave him in the attic room, not to hurt him, to tell please, just tell where Idris was, to tell him what had happened, that he was all right, please that he was safe, not the attic please!

Pollux Black was deaf to every plea. Every plea was an offence to him: weak and ... girlish. He sneered down his fine patrician nose at his son as he took his time to scale the stairs, his spine as unyielding as his temperament. He'd heard what his son was ... what that ... creature ... and his son were. It was a disgrace to the name of Black. His son disgusted him. But he was a Black. He would learn. Just as Pollux in his day had learnt. In that attic room – where the ghoul lived ...

/

"I don't know why you just can't be normal, Alphard Black. Why can't you be a proper man?" Walburga hissed. "I don't know why I have to take care of things to make you normal."

The last time Alphard had risen to the bait had seen him locked in the attic with the ghoul for three days. They had learnt that ghouls were harmless in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Those in the Black family knew differently. The ghoul in their attic room was murderous but under an enchantment never to actually kill or maim. But it could hurt you – yes, indeed – it could scratch and bite and pinch and slap. It was allowed to perpetrate all these small injuries, one on top of the other if it chose, which, after three days, amounted to quite a lot of Dittany and Bruise Balm.

Alphard would not let Walburga taunt him into injury again. He stood, his spine as straight as his father's and regarded her coolly. He set his jaw, just as his father did, and drew himself to his full height. At fifteen, he was already half a foot taller than Walburga and growing taller all the time. He needed to remember that. He needed to use his growing stature to his advantage.

Walburga shrank back, her face ugly with hatred once more.

"You're an abomination. That's what Mother and Father say about you. An abomination and a slander on the good name of Black. Well, I sorted your nasty little half-blood invert. No more wand-making or whatever horrid little trade he was going to be in! There'll be no place for him in wizarding society now – not even in trade. I've settled him once and for all, brother. And I'll do it again, to any other abomination you commit!"

/

His letter to Vereticus Lydiard had not been answered. He had tried again and again but always he was ignored. It was Easter and there were no classes for two weeks. He left for Snowdonia on his broom. He decided that he had to take the risk. He would brave the attic room, or worse – his father's locked study – but he had to know. He'd had enough of listening to his sister's taunts but not knowing what had happened to his friend. It took him hours to get there.

There in a field, a handsome stone farmhouse with many outbuildings. Alphard looked at the address that Idris had written down all that time ago for him to write to him during their school holidays: Plas du, Minfford, Snowdonia. He went to the door and rapped smartly. He knocked several times but no-one answered. He looked around the building, but found nothing. He went to check the outbuildings ...

"What are you doing here, Black?" a man's voice yelled at him. Alphard turned quickly to see Idris's father. Not as he remembered him, a hale and hearty man, well dressed without ostentation. This man was gaunt, his eyes hollow, his appearance unkempt.

"Sir ... sir ... I came to look for Idris, sir. Please, sir. Tell me where he is. Is he well?"

The man scrambled over to Alphard, who backed up in surprise and some fright at the maddened expression that covered the man's face as he grabbed Alphard by his robe, practically lifting him from the ground and pressed his face into Alphard's, so close Alphard was nearly overcome by the stink of stale sweat and alcohol.

"Is he well, boy? Is he well? My son is dead. D'you hear? He's dead!" he roared into Alphard's face.

"No s...sir," Alphard managed to gasp. "He's not dead, sir. Please, I beg you to tell me."

Lydiard's eyes went wide and he pulled his face away from the boy he held so roughly.

"You'll wish he was, boy," he growled.

"No, sir," Alphard said quietly, afraid to wake Lydiard's wrath once more. "Please tell me."

"Bitten by a werewolf, boy. He's dead to me. If you've got any sense, he'll be dead to you too." The wild face almost became gentle, but the pain in it stopped it. "He'll be off baying at the moon. Try to forget him. He's a wizard no more."

The man released his grip and pushed Alphard away roughly, and staggered into the house, slamming the door.

How long Alphard stood there, he would never know. All he knew was he had become so cold inside. He shook all over trying to understand what he'd been told. Had his sister really done this terrible thing? Given up his Idris to a werewolf to become a Dark creature? He fell to his knees, his head in his hands and keened loudly. How could she do it? How could she have been so evil? And how could Lydiard think Alphard could ever forget Idris. His Idris, bitten, turned out. Alone.

He didn't try to forget. Why would he? They had Pledged to each other. Somewhere in the world, Idris was. Abandoned. Frightened. Alphard had no business abandoning Idris, and he would not.

/

His Grandfather Cygnus had left his vault to him as the first born male heir, without condition. He could run away and have plenty of money. But, his father could still find him and force him home. He hired search agents to scour the country for Idris – for any sign where could be. He'd find him somehow. He read every work he could find on werewolves and used his legacy to order more obscure works for himself, having them delivered to school.

Every night, he tried to sleep. How could he? How could he possibly? His heart hurt. His whole body hurt, missing Idris. Every day seemed to take an eternity to pass, willing his life away until he reached his majority so he could take up the search himself and his family be damned.

Professor Slughorn had tried to talk to him as Head of House as Alphard became more withdrawn, but Alphard always managed to avoid him. He'd do his best in classes but he stopped going to the Slug Club, spending his time in the library or, sometimes, as the weather got better, in the forest. But Professor Dumbledore tried to talk to him too. He liked Professor Dumbledore's classes. He was good at Transfiguration and had always sought the Professor's favour, although his family frowned on the Dumbledores because they were half-bloods. But the Professor was kind. He seemed to understand, without saying as much, why Alphard pined. Eventually, after weeks of gentle questioning about the whereabouts of Idris Lydiard, Alphard told the Professor what Vereticus Lydiard had told him. He couldn't bear to tell him of his own sister's complicity in it, but he knew the Professor searched too. He knew from the sad look in every lesson that the Professor too had failed to find him.

/

Riddle. Riddle. Tom Riddle. Yes.

"I say, Black. Pleased to see you in the common room more often. This is where you belong. I know your sister is pleased." Riddle stood over him as Alphard sat gazing mournfully into the common fire, still completely lost and alone.

It didn't matter that his House-mates tried to talk to him, to get him involved in Slytherin more. He hated them all the more for thinking he could just forget Idris. He couldn't. He didn't want to. It hurt.

"What do you know about anything, Riddle?" Black spat, shouldering the older boy out of the way as he went to leave the common room with as much dignity as he could as he felt tears start to prick uncomfortably at the back of his eyes. He missed Idris so badly. He hurt. His heart hurt. It was so swollen with pain, he thought it would burst. It wouldn't go away. And he could tell no-one. No-one at all.

He didn't see the lip curl into a knowing smile on the prefect's charmingly handsome face, but he heard it in his voice, the voice that sounded so reasonable but for that undercurrent – that undertone - of satisfaction.

"You'll understand in time, Black. It's for the best. Look to your own kind."

/

"I was told he disappeared for years and came back with that ridiculous name. I suppose if you had stayed true to your roots, you would have been in the inner circle. I'm so proud you weren't, Alf. So proud," Idris said.

"I can't believe they're one and the same." Alphard's face became pensive. "I suppose that once I left for the continent, I lost touch with pureblood circles."

"Why the continent, Alf?"

"I thought perhaps that was where you'd gone. Or been taken by your father, even though he told everyone you'd died. I looked for you in Britain and in Ireland. Nothing. I came to know there were sizeable werewolf colonies in Europe – I went there. Travelled all over Europe. Eventually, after so many years of travelling and searching, I stayed in the place I found most beautiful and restful – in the mountains in Spain occasionally returning to see my boys." He made a dismissive flick with his hand. "And since Sirius was lost to ... Riddle, I haven't been back. This is the first time. The first time back on these shores for fifteen years. And I can't think of a better reason than to see you, Idris."

"Aye, and right glad I am to see your face, Alf." Idris smiled. "What do you do in Spain. Live the life of a pampered Black?" His smiled was affectionate and teasing, remembering how he used to tease Black for his wealth.

"I had my own vault. I was lucky. It meant I could escape. There was nothing any of my family could do about Grandfather Cygnus's bequest, although they tried when I still hadn't married by the time I was thirty. But I wanted to do something. Can't just look at mountains all day. I learnt Healing. I thought there could be no better way to redeem my heritage than the Healing Arts."

"That's marvellous, Alf," Idris said, his voice soft with wonder and a fullness of heart. His Alf was a Healer. Never had a man turned on his heritage more fully. Idris felt prouder still.

"There isn't much more to tell, Idris. I want to know about you. Yours is ... well ... it's the real story for us, isn't it? Tell me, Idris. Everything that happened. Tell me about your ... children and ... and ... your wife."

Both men's rapt attention in each other suddenly snapped to the side. A wolf Patronus came gliding through the privacy curtain to stand before Idris. The voice of Remus Lupin was strained and breathy.

"A group of eight werewolves: David, Conway, Jethro, Freddie, Zebedee, Dollop, Spindle and Pisser coming immediately. We've just fought off Greyback and some of his pack. Identification question: what is Dollop's new nickname and who gave it to him?"

"That boy's timing is appalling," Idris grumbled deep in his chest as he straightened up in his chair and looked around to find Alphard staring at the dissipating wolf in utter confusion.

"Dollop?" Alphard repeated at last quizzically.

"Never mind that. Do I want a werewolf called Pisser in my pack?" Idris said with a deep chuckle. Then Idris's face became serious and he met Alphard's stormy eyes that now looked fearful. "I have to go. Greet these new recruits. I'm a beacon, you see," Idris said with, Alphard thought, some distaste.

"Beacon? No, I don't see," Alphard said weakly.

"It's a long story." Idris shook his head slightly. He had to leave. He had to see to these werewolves Remus Lupin was sending to him, but he didn't want to leave Alphard. Not yet. Not until he had to. If he had to, a treacherous voice whispered. If he'd consent, Idris would take him to his home. Alphard would see then. See what Idris had become. And see his wife – his children – his pack. Then he'd see if Alphard still wanted to fulfil his Pledge.

"If you've a mind, I'll tell it you," Idris said, as lightly as he could manage, hoping against all rationality that Alphard would say yes.

"I've a mind," Alphard said softly, not wanting to leave Idris now, not now he'd just found him. After all these years. Not now he was piecing together the history of his heart break.

Idris stood and held out one large hand to Alphard.

"Come."

Next chapter: Idris's story, and the Beacon explained.
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