Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Every Wolf's Bane	By : blade-of-the-shadows Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Fenrir Views: 29234 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from Harry Potter, all credit goes to Rowling and I do not make any profit from this fanfic

Chapter List
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- 3
A low, but no less deep, growl reverberated throughout the room, rattling Harry’s bones. He bit his lip to keep from making any noise, though he knew it was futile. The werewolf could smell him in there. Smell his fear.
Taking a slightly shaky deep breath, Harry attempted to calm down. He still believed the werewolf wouldn’t hurt him. They spent more than a week together in the cell and Merlin be damned if it all meant nothing. Another growl emitted from the dark corner farthest from him, but he didn’t react this time. Instead he slowly crept forward on his hands and knees.
“Hey…are you okay…? Ah, that’s stupid.” Harry bit his lip, quietly talking to himself in his edginess “He can’t understand me and even if he can it’s not like he can respond—.”
Another growl cut him off and Harry stopped crawling forward. He couldn’t see much, but could make out a bit of shifting. Suddenly the wolf jumped forward, landing not only in the shaft of moonlight but also directly in front of Harry, and the young raven jerked back with a gasp of surprise. His eyes went wide as he stared at the wolf, not expecting it to be so beautiful. Due to his proximity, closer than the wolf would be in his human form, Harry could see the wolf as clear as if he wore his glasses.
His fur was stormy dark grey, with swirls of black and a lighter shade of grey spiraling from his forehead down to the base of his tail and splitting down each hind leg. Harry would guess that the wolf’s eyes in his human form were grey, because at the moment his eyes were bright silver, glowing slightly in the blue light. He was huge, nearly half Harry’s height; more so than even Remus, who Harry had seen once during the full moon. Remus had seemed big to Harry then, but the wolf in front of him easily dwarfed his second godfather.
Harry startled when the wolf took a step towards him. Then he froze, heart thumping so loud in his chest that he was sure the wolf could hear him, as grey beast leaned down at sniffed. Its head tilted to the side a bit, and it snorted before leaning down to sniff Harry once again. Harry relaxed a bit, realizing that the wolf wouldn’t hurt him, but was simply curious. At least until those bright silver eyes flashed black and the wolf shot out, biting Harry on the juncture where his shoulder and neck met. He let out a yelp, more so from surprise than pain, and stared wide eyed at the wolf’s fur that was kind of tickling his nose a bit. Then the pain began.
He didn’t struggle, knowing that if he did, the wolf’s teeth would move and tear further into his skin, causing him more pain. Thanking Merlin that his twitches weren’t acting up, Harry tried to relax as much as he could. Due to his initial panic, Harry didn’t realize, but now he remembered what the wolf had told him before; wolves didn’t randomly bite people as the Wizarding world believed. On the full moon, sometimes the wolves would feel the need to bite someone in order to repopulate their ranks. That would explain the black flash Harry saw in the wolf’s eyes, but he still couldn’t help but be afraid. The wolf had also told him that the virus only worked on the young. Was he too old and the virus would reject him? Or were his hormones already in enough disarray due to his adolescence that the virus could easily slip in and take control?
On one hand, Harry didn’t want to become a werewolf. Yes, he would be happy that he could be more like Remus and even join his godfather during the full moon. But he didn’t want to be pushed out of the Wizarding society and forced into seclusion. On the other hand, Harry didn’t want to die. Not like this, anyway. Voldemort put him through all that pain and strife and goddammit if he didn’t want the fucking bastard to be the one who ended his life.
Just as he finished the thought, the wolf released his neck. It let out a soft whine and began to lap gently at the wound, no different than it did in its human form when tending to Harry’s chafed skin. But it made no difference as Harry’s veins themselves seem to catch fire. The pain was nearly rival to being under a Crucio, but this time there was no Voldemort standing over him, pointing his wand with glee, so Harry allowed himself to release a scream.
The pain seemed to last for hours. Harry would’ve believed it was days, had he not felt the soft fur of the wolf pressing into his skin. And every once in a while, he could feel the wolf would lapping comfortingly at his face with a rough tongue. No one came in no matter how loudly he screamed; probably believing Harry was being eaten alive. The burning sensation in his veins long since disappeared only to be replaced with the harsh feeling in his chest, as if his magic core was being ripped apart and put back together by a blind toddler.
But as the blue light of the moon was slowly replaced with the pale yellow of the rising sun, the pain began to ease off. Harry could feel the wolf, which had fallen asleep beside him, return to man. But he couldn’t react in his half dazed state. He was utterly exhausted, but couldn’t fall asleep for the life of him. He survived, in the least. A werewolf yes, but most definitely an alive one. He managed to find sleep once his body finally collapsed in exhaustion.
He awoke when the werewolf did. He blinked at the bright sunlight streaming from the slit in the wall, eyes watering. Then he paused and looked around. Everything was clear, defined, as if he had his glasses on. But he knew he didn’t because he watched Voldemort snap them easily. A sound to his side had Harry looking over, straight into sleepy blue-grey eyes. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the werewolf clearly for the first time.
The man had to be in either his late twenties or early thirties, though he could be older being a werewolf, as Harry was only going by his appearance. His body, which was mostly shown as the werewolf wore nothing—making Harry’s cheek flush a pretty red—was hard and compact; each and every muscle strong and defined. His face was all strong, sharp features; a strong jaw and chin, a sharp slope to his forehead, the tilt of his nose, cheekbones that jutted out attractively across his features. But his eyes were a whole other thing; icy cold, piercing bluish grey orbs, an exotic cut to them with the ends tilting up just so. He had dark brown—almost black—slightly wavy, shoulder-length hair, just as wild as Harry’s, though probably not genetically so. Harry looked away, his cheeks burning hot. The werewolf grunted and yawned loudly, his jaw cracking.
“Sorry about that, pup. Last night, I mean. Told you about the urge. Those fucking assholes didn’t come get you and now look at what fucking happened.” He began to grumble, apparently not caring in the least about his attire. Or lack of thereof.
Harry swallowed. “It’s okay.”
The wolf ran a hand through his hair, peering at Harry. He sighed. “Dammit, now I have to take you back to the pack with me once I figure out how to get out. Fuck, that means Voldemort’s going to be pissed, given that you’re alive. He’s not going to like this at all. We have to get out of here somehow.”
“I thought that was your plan in the first place? To get out of here, I mean.”
A scowl. “Yeah, but now it’s more immediate. Before I could have cared less, but now I have you under my charge.” The wolf eyed Harry. “I ain’t gonna let you die so soon after being a wolf for the first time. Shit, imagine not ever going through your first change.” He shivered. “Bloody hell.”
“Does it…hurt?”
The werewolf gaped at him, then laughed. “Does it hurt? Of course it fucking hurts! The first time is going to hurt like a bitch, but it gets easier and less painful. Stop worrying like a little bitch.”
Harry scowled and turned away, not wanting the wolf to see him sulk lest he got mocked again. Well, excuse him for asking. It’s not like completely rearranging literally everything in your body isn’t a scary fucking aspect to consider. Not like he wanted to get bitten anyway, especially not while in the clutches of Voldemort. Even worse, since it was done by someone who he barely knew. Suddenly his head shot up and he whipped around to stare at the werewolf, who tilted his head.
“What?”
“This is probably so late but…” Harry bit his lip, brow furrowing. “Who exactly are you?”
The werewolf blinked at him, an incredulous expression lighting his features. Then he burst out laughing, making Harry scowl. His laughter lasted for a long time, in which Harry slowly grew angrier and angrier. Finally his temper snapped and he whipped his chains at the still laughing werewolf, effectively cutting him off. Dark green and icy grey clashed as the two glared at each other. The werewolf was the first to break their intense stare, turning slightly to hide the snicker bubbling up his throat.
“You wouldn’t be looking at me like that if you knew who I am.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.”
The wolf snorted. “Name’s Fenrir Greyback, pup, and I highly doubt you’re unfamiliar with it.”
Blinking, Harry sat back. Yes, he was familiar with the name. There wasn’t anyone in the Wizarding World who didn’t know Greyback’s name, and the reputation that followed it. But looking at Greyback now, Harry couldn’t help but doubt that this was the man who killed little children for the hell of it. He looked nothing like the feral, insane maniac he was described as. Maybe it was a bit biased of Harry, but at the moment Greyback looked nothing more than a man subjected to the tortures of a madman. Wait…
“Hey, I thought you were allied with Voldemort. Why are you in here?”
Greyback blinked at him, flabbergasted. “I just told you who I am and all you’re concerned about is why I’m in here?”
Harry shrugged. “I’m curious.”
The werewolf shook his head. “You astound me with every word that comes from your mouth, young one. As to answer your question…yes, a while ago my pack and I were allied with Voldemort.” His face darkened. “Then that bastard betrayed the trust I put in him, as little as it was. One of my pack was killed because of that SOB.”
Feeling a twinge in his chest at Greyback’s expression, Harry carefully eased forward and laid a hand on the werewolf’s bare knee. “I’m sorry for your loss, Greyback, but…I mean, it’s Voldemort. Shouldn’t you have expected something like that? What made you ally with him?”
“Why?” Greyback snorted. “Because he offered us something those damned wizard never would. Equality. We would’ve been able to live in a society where we weren’t ridiculed and feared and hunted. We would’ve been able to live in a society where we weren’t forced to turn innocent children in order to prevent our extinction.”
“Oh.” Harry looked down. “I’m sorry.”
Greyback snorted. “It’s not your fault, pup. Wizards are just ignorant. What they don’t realize is that the reasons they hide from the Muggles are the exact same they force us to go into hiding for. Yes, they are much stronger than Muggles, but guess what? Wizards don’t even make up half of the population of Muggles in the world. The same applies to us werewolves. We’re stronger than wizards, but they overwhelm us with numbers alone. They necessarily have no reason to fear us. I mean, there is no sane wolf in the world that would willingly eat a human in any way, shape, or form.” His nose scrunched. “Too stringy.”
That pulled a chuckle from Harry. “Understandable. So, why haven’t any of you tried to, you know, explain that to somebody?”
“Because nobody will listen, pup.”
Harry looked up into Greyback’s eyes, his expression sincere. “I’m listening.”
The werewolf gave him a surprisingly soft smile. “And I thank you for that, Harry.”
The young raven jolted. That was the first time Greyback had called him by his name. The movement brought him closer to the werewolf and he couldn’t help but be reminded of how painfully naked Greyback was. His cheeks heated, embarrassingly enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull back. Greyback noticed and arched a brow at him.
“Something you want, pup?” When Harry’s cheeks only reddened further, the man gave him a lecherous grin that sent a thrill running up his spine.
Greyback leaned towards him and Harry’s breath hitched. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but he didn’t want it to end. His heart thundered in his chest with anticipation, so loud he was sure Greyback could hear it. But then the lock on their cell door clicked and Harry jerked. His mind cleared and he scrambled away from Greyback just as the door opened.
In swept Voldemort, followed closely by Harry’s torturer—when Voldemort wasn’t in the mood, that is—Ruldophus Lestrange. Harry shivered uncontrollably when the man’s gaze landed on him, a slow smile that promised pain spreading across his face. Voldemort let out a disappointed sigh, catching Harry’s attention only to find the Dark Lord staring at him with a frown.
“I had sorely hoped the mutt would kill you. But alas, it would seem that he was familiar enough with your scent to not kill you. No matter, now I can torture you more. Maybe even kill you myself.” Voldemort looked up with a thoughtful expression. “I won’t use the Killing Curse this time. No, I think I will slowly starve you and when you are at your weakest, I will force you to relive your worst memories as I torture you to death. Sounds good to you?”
Harry held in his fear and anger, choosing to simply glare at Voldemort from his position. He couldn’t say the same for Greyback, who shot up with a particularly loud growl.
“He is nothing but a child! Is such things necessary?” He snarled in disgust. “You are sick, Voldemort. Absolutely raving mad.”
Voldemort’s lip curled and snapped his wand at Greyback with a muttered a body binding spell. “Shut up, mutt. I’ll deal with you later.” He turned his bloody gaze back to Harry. “For now, you will have your own cell, Harry. A completely pitch black room, with no food, and no one to keep you company.”
With a snap of his fingers, Voldemort whirled way. Lestrange ambled forward, waving his wand to release Harry from his chain. Before he could react, Lestrange picked Harry up, throwing the young raven over his shoulder. Harry, of course, struggled.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch! You can’t fucking do this to me!” He pounded on Lestrange’s back and kicked his legs, hoping to connect with any party of the man’s anatomy.
In his ranting, he happened to look up and catch Greyback looking after him with a desperately angry, expression, but unable to do nothing. The look made Harry freeze, looking after the wolf despondently until Lestrange turned and slammed the cell door solidly shut, sliding the lock bolt into place. He couldn’t work up the energy to return to his struggles, however, and sat passively on Lestrange’s shoulder as he was carried to his new cell.
Once he was thrown inside, Harry huffed out a sigh and checked out his surroundings. In his new cell, he had no chains, but he also had no little window, and the locks on his door were much more extensive. It was completely pitch black in the room, as if Harry had closed his eyes. Which would have been completely fine, before his improved eyesight, in which he couldn’t see much in the first place. Now it unnerved him considerably. With nothing to do, and feeling completely exhausted, Harry rolled onto his back and fell asleep.
Alas, he was only able to get a moment of sleep when he was suddenly woke up in pain. His back arched up, his body unconsciously trying to get away from the pain. The sadly familiar pain of a Crucio riddled Harry’s body and he could do nothing more but open his mouth in a silent scream, tears of pain rushing down his face. But just as suddenly as the pain started, it ended, and Voldemort’s voice washed over him.
“How do you like your new room, Harry? I hope it suits your tastes. That’s all I wanted, you may return to your slumber.” The man left with a sadistic laugh.
Harry growled, curling into himself in an attempt to lessen the effects of the curse. He was aware of werewolves’ ability to negate magic, but painfully came to the realization that it probably didn’t apply to newly turned ones. Which was actually helpful to Harry’s case; the sooner he could keep his newfound transformation from Voldemort, the better. He’d seen Greyback coming from one of his beatings and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
At the thought of the werewolf, Harry let out a sigh. He was finally becoming closer to the man—more than likely because he was now also a werewolf—only just to get pulled away into a different cell. To be tortured further, completely secluded. He hoped Greyback wouldn’t also be tortured because of him. He really hoped Greyback would be able to escape and return to his pack. Even if he himself couldn’t do the same…
~oOo~
Harry suddenly shot up, eyes wide. He wasn’t sure what woke him up, but he was up and alert. Since he couldn’t see anyway, he closed his eyes and strained the rest of his senses, trying to identify what caused him to awaken. Then he heard it, a very faint noise, but still recognizable. A howl. But not just any howl. Greyback’s howl. Harry’s eyes snapped open and an unconscious grin spread across his face. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was Greyback’s; it was like an innate ability he developed.
A sudden urge to return the howl built up in his chest and he threw his head back, allowing the sound to rip from his throat, long and loud. A pause that lasted long enough to get his heart beating; then a responding howl.
The rest of the night was filled with loud, lonely howls. Harry couldn't explain the feeling, but he knew that it wasn't right that they weren't sharing the cell anymore. He knew that over the time they shared the cell, even though Fenrir denied it, they bonded. Especially after Harry was Turning, though the time together afterwards had been short.
By dawn, Fenrir and Harry had ended their howling and the young raven was fast asleep curled in a corner, a small smile stretching his lips. The door to his cell slowly creaked open and a nastily grinning Ruldophus Lestrange entered silently. He aimed his wand at an unsuspecting Harry and whispered a painful curse that mimicked the feeling of someone slowly ripping off Harry’s skin.
He woke with a choked scream, shooting straight into the air before crumpling back to the ground. His skin itself was fine, but the curse made it feel as it was really happening, sending images straight to Harry’s head of Lestrange slowly peeling off his skin strip by bloody strip. The spell lasted for thirty minutes, though to Harry it seemed like thirty pain-filled hours. When Lestrange finally released the spelled, Harry curled in on himself, sobbing brokenly. Lestrange curled his lip.
“So weak and petty.” He growled, stepping forward to kick Harry in the side, pulling a small shriek from the raven. “I do not see what Voldemort does in you. You are nothing. I do not understand his anxiety over you. It takes almost nothing to reduce you to this…blubbering, pathetic little shit you are now. Voldemort is doing nothing but bothering himself by torturing you like this, drawing out your death. If it was me, I would have killed you immediately in the most painful way I can think of.”
By that point, Harry had regained enough energy to slowly lift his head and glare at Lestrange. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not, right? That’s why you’re nothing more than a shitty ass lackey whose only use is to wipe the shit off Voldemort’s ass—.”
Lestrange cut him off with another cure, this time shouted in burning anger instead of whispered in sadistic glee. Harry screamed, his back arching off the ground and his hands scrabbling on the ground. The skin of his fingertips split, allowing his blood to spill out and mix with the dirt. Tears slipped from his closed eyes, trailing into his hairline and down his cheeks to join the mixture of blood and dirt on the ground.
It wasn’t until many hours later when Lestrange finally left the cell, leaving behind a broken and bleeding Harry exhausted on the ground. Slowly he rolled away from the pool of blood, sweat, and tears on the ground and curled into his side, gritting his teeth against pain. It was better than a Crucio at least; he would only be left with skin-deep scars instead of long-lasting muscle twitched that not even the most extensive treatment could fully rid him of. And it wasn’t like he didn’t already have multiple scars littering his body, so what would a few more make a difference of?
If he could’ve, he would have snorted. It would have made a difference to Ginny. The first time she saw his scars—it was not even a third of the ones he had at the time, mind you—she freaked. Not because what caused the scars. Oh no, Ginerva Weasley was more concerned with that fact that Harry’s ‘supposed to be perfect’ skin was marred. That meant that she couldn’t gloat to all her friends that she had Harry’s perfect body all to herself. He frowned at the memory. Maybe it was then that he should have realized that she didn’t feel the same about him as he did her at the time. But he was too blinded by his own feelings to see that.
Harry, he thought to himself grimly, you are one pathetic piece of shit. Then he closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.
A few hours later a soft, cool touch on his cheek woke him up. He opened his eyes to see the pale face of Draco Malfoy hovering over him, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to wipe the blood from Harry’s face as gently as possible with a soft cloth. Seeing Harry awake, Malfoy paused a moment before his eyes flashed and he continued to wipe at Harry’s face. The raven licked his lips.
“What are you doing?” He croaked.
Malfoy shot him a glare. “What does it look like I am doing, Potter?”
“Okay, stupid question—” He abruptly stopped, pushing Malfoy away and rolling onto his side to cough up a thick, mucus covered glob of blood.
Wrinkling his nose at the sight, Malfoy nonetheless reached out and gently pulled Harry’s face over to wipe the saliva and blood from his chin. Harry watched with warily shining eyes, trying to find even a small clue that hinted to more devious plans of Malfoy’s hidden behind the gentleness he was showing. Finding none and too tired to maintain his current position, Harry relaxed into the ground and allowed Malfoy to tend to him.
The slow rhythmic movements lulled Harry into a half-awake state, eyes heavy-lidded and drooping. He was so focused on trying to stay awake that he jumped, startled, when Malfoy spoke.
“Two hours.”
He blinked dazedly. “Huh?”
Malfoy scowled, but his movements were still gentle. He was done with Harry’s face and was now working on his arms and chest. “Be ready in two hours.”
“For what?”
“Why the hell does it matter? Just be ready in two hours.”
Harry frowned. “What, is Voldemort going to kill me or something?”
Malfoy growled and stood, dropping the cloth and whipping out his wand. Harry tensed, thinking that Malfoy was going to do the honors himself. Then he groaned and rolled over as Malfoy released a Scourgify on his body. It did its job of ridding Harry of all the dirt, blood, and sweat covering his body, but the magic was harsh on his wounds. He glared at Malfoy.
“Thanks.” He spat out.
“You are welcome.” Malfoy sneered.
The blonde stooped to grab the cloth from the floor and then swept from the room. Before the door closed, however, Harry could he him mutter something about ‘helping stupid fucking Gryffindors who didn’t know how to shut the fuck up and accept something’. He blinked and rolled over to face the door as it fully closed with a soft clock. He listened as all the locks were firmly set back in place and reclosed his eyes the ring of the last lock echoed into his cell.
He couldn’t explain it, but somehow he could tell that it was night. He wondered if Greyback was going to howl tonight again. After yesterday, he was excited to do it again. But as the time slowly ticked by, a frown slowly stretched his face and he sat up. The frown only deepened as he strained his senses. By now, Greyback would have started howling, if he was going to; it was around the same time he’d done it the day prior. Was Greyback okay? Or was he just not in the mood to do anything? Harry could recall the days when Greyback wanted silence in the room and he was quick to comply as he did not want the werewolf to start yelling at him; a lesson he learned the first time he defied Greyback.
Without his notice, two hours passed. It was nearing early morning and all was silent. This was around the time the guards that used to bother Harry back when he stayed in the cell with Greyback would fall asleep. His head shot up when the locks to his cell door quickly unlocked and someone in a dark robe carrying a bundle of something entered. Harry held his breath and scooted into the furthest corner of his cell from the door. The dark-robed figure looked around for a moment.
“Potter?” A voice whispered. Harry eyes widened.
“Malfoy?”
The figure whipped around, hood falling off with the action, and Harry was able to see Malfoy’s distinct features in the light from the hall outside his dorm. The blonde’s usually sharp features softened with relief at Harry’s voice and Malfoy took a cautious step towards him.
“Potter, come out that corner. I told you, two hours. You should have been ready.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Well, maybe I would have been if someone had told me what the hell was going on.”
Malfoy sighed. “We can argue about this later, now come on.”
Hesitant and a little bit angry, Harry stood and stepped closer to Malfoy. He eyed the bundle in the blonde’s arms. “What’s that?”
“Here.” Malfoy shoved the bundle into his arms and unraveled it, revealing bread, hard cheese, and jerky. “It was all I could get without anyone noticing. The cloak is one of mine, so it will probably be a bit big on you, but warm at least.”
Harry blinked, looking up to meet Malfoy’s eyes. “This is for me?”
Grey eyes rolled. “No, it is for Merlin. Now hurry up and eat it.”
Not needing someone to tell him twice, Harry quickly stuffed his face with the food, but only ate half. The rest he rolled back up in the robe. Malfoy arched a brow.
“For Greyback.” Harry explained. Malfoy’s other eyebrow joined the first.
“Why him?”
“Because we’re going to help him to.” Harry said firmly.
Malfoy snorted. “The hell we are. I am not saving that crazy bastard.”
Harry frowned. “Fine.” He shoved the bundle back into Malfoy’s arms and turned away to sit against the wall. Malfoy followed him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m not leaving here unless Greyback is coming with us. He helped me when we shared a cell and I’m not just going to leave without helping him.”
Malfoy gaped for a second, before his expression twisted with anger. “Fucking Gryffindor. Urgh! I don’t even know why I’m helping you.” He threw the bundle at Harry. “Fine, let’s get your stupid fucking mutt.”
Harry smiled and stood, holding the bundle close. “Thank you, Malfoy.”
“Whatever.” The blonde stormed from the room and Harry followed.
He had to wait a moment as Malfoy reset the locks, gaping at the complex intricacy the locks presented. Did Voldemort really believe he was so strong as to escape with no wand without a simple lock? The extensive measures he took in order to keep Harry in was flattering, but still a little too much.
When Malfoy was finally done, they quickly sped down the hallway, in the direction of Greyback’s cell. The smell of blood hit Harry before they reached the door and his eyes widened as his throat constricted against the stench. A glance at Malfoy revealed the blonde’s furrowed brow as the stench too hit him. Simultaneously they both sped up until they reached the door. It took a moment for Malfoy to undo the locks, and when he did they both rushed inside. Only to stop in shock and horror at what they saw.
Greyback was propped up against the wall directly across from the door, blood pooling around him from the untended wounds littering his body. It looked as if someone took a knife and beat him half to death with it. His face was a swollen mess; his lips split and bleeding, a long gash split his right eyebrow, and his jaw looked broken. He was still naked, so Harry could easily see the bruises and lacerations marring his arms, torso, and legs. One of his wrists was swollen and turning purple, probably broken, and the same to one of his ankle. His left leg was bent at the wrong angle, more than likely broken. He didn’t react when Harry stumbled forward, landing on his knees.
“Greyback?” The raven whispered, reaching forward with a badly trembling hand to gently touch Greyback’s bruised cheek.
The werewolf grunted at the touch and opened his eyes. They were nearly swollen shut and Harry wasn’t sure if Greyback could see. His own eyes burned and pricked with tears. He had no doubt that the reason Greyback was in this state was because the werewolf didn’t eat him during the full moon like Voldemort hoped he would. Harry licked his lips and tried again.
“Greyback, can you hear me? Don’t speak—just nod.” A slow, barely perceptible tilt of the head. Harry sighed in relief. “We’re going to get you out of here, okay? Just wait, I promise.”
He looked up when Malfoy stepped forward, face paler than usual with horror. “Potter, what…?”
“I don’t know.” Harry stood. “But we have to get him out of here. Now.”
Malfoy nodded. “He cannot walk, so we will have to carry him. You think he will make it through?”
“As long as we’re careful.”
“Of course.”
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