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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.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.

Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.

Chapter 4: Wandsong

Alphard was away in London, visiting his nephew for the first time in fifteen years.

Idris and Angharad walked together.

At first, Idris was tempted to scowl at the lumbering man-boy who trailed like a large guard dog after Angharad because what they needed to discuss was more private than anything they had discussed before. The pack was not a place for secrets, after all. He knew she'd already scented the nature of his feelings for Alphard and that they were reciprocated. He needed to explain it all and ask her for her understanding, even her forgiveness. He had not reckoned on an audience although he knew, sadly, that Stacy understood very little.

He asked Angharad to sit on a bench and he cast privacy charms around them. Stacy sat cross-legged at Angharad's feet, as if he were a toddler, and he played with some twigs on the ground.

Idris sat, his hands braced on his knees, wondering where to begin. Angharad watched him closely as he scrubbed his chin with one of his hands.

"D'ye wish to tell me about Alf?" she asked, bending her head slightly to catch his eyes that seemed to search the dirt. He looked up at her gratefully with a relieved smile.

"Aye," he said. "Aye, I do that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Y'remember I told Remus Lupin that my best friend at school was Alphard Black?" Angharad nodded with a smile. She already knew what he wanted to tell her, but he needed to tell her in his own way. Idris coughed to clear his throat.

"Alphard and me ... well ... we were special friends ... d'y'understand?" Idris looked into Angharad's soft gaze and she smiled and nodded again to encourage him. It was so difficult.

"Even though we were boys - young men - we loved each other, but we were afraid of our families and we were too scared to ... er ... be together. Y'understand?"

"Aye, Idris. I understand." Idris nodded, now seeming to lose confidence again and he silently collected his thoughts for a while.

"We Pledged on our magic to be together when we were of age, me and Alf. We Pledged within the great forest among the trees. They were our witnesses. They heard our Pledge."

Angharad knew that wood sang to Idris, especially wand wood. If he said they heard him, she believed him.

"You know what happened then ... how I was Turned and taken away by Vargulf; escaped to my father but he denounced me, chased me away and proclaimed me dead."

Angharad could do no more than whisper her acknowledgement of her mate's pain as she took his hand.

"Alf looked for me for years. Went round the packs in Britain and on the continent. I heard from the running wolves that he looked for me. I never let him find me though. Figured a fine man like him had no need of a werewolf."

He smiled at her, a small smile but his eyes were haunted with ancient pain and she heard the catch in his voice. He reached inside his robe and pulled out the parchment that he now knew came from Albus Dumbledore. He passed it to Angharad to read.

"I had to see. I had to know," Idris's voice was small. "As soon as I set eyes on him again ..." he looked into her eyes, almost pleading for her understanding, "it was like we'd never been parted. Everything I had ever felt for him was fresh and ... and ... sharp. My Pledge called on me. I felt it in my magic."

He tore his eyes away from his calm mate, who cast no blame on him or anger, but waited to listen him. The perfect mate; the perfect pack mother. The wizard in him told him it was wrong to ask this of her. The wolf in him told him it was his right. His magic told him he had a Pledge to fulfil.

"So, you and Alf were ... like Remus Lupin and Seth Moore?" she said quietly, when Idris had been quiet, seemingly unable to speak, to prompt him.

"Aye, but we were young. We never fulfilled our Pledge," Idris said, watching her expression for revulsion, but seeing none.

"You love him?" she asked simply.

"Aye," he said, feeling he should be surprised by that.

"Do you want to just mate with him or Claim him too?" Angharad asked, quite matter-of-factly. Idris sometimes forgot that Angharad was a born werewolf who had come from a large pack that had had male couples. She perhaps was more pragmatic than he.

"Aye, I want to Claim him," Idris said and then rushed on to say, "as well."

"You have never brought another mate to our bed in all our years together," Angharad said philosophically.

"No, Angharad. I never wanted to bring another."

"But you want this man?"

"Aye. I want this man."

"Will you put me out?" Angharad asked, afraid her voice would betray her fear that her time as pack mother had come to an end, as it so surely would one day.

"No. I will not put you out for Alf. If you tell me you cannot share our bed, I will not bring him to it. If you tell me I am not to Claim him, I will respect it. I don't ask for him because I no longer love you. He's been mine always. I ask you not to deny me this. We Pledged, Alf and me. Now he's with me, it hurts me to my bones not to have him. I don't want to shame you or betray you. Please give me this, Angharad." His rush of words stopped at Angharad's expression of wonder that he could say so much and so passionately when he was usually a man of so few words.

"All these years, Idris, I wondered if you would bring a younger woman to our bed. I expected it. Now you wish to bring a man of your own age – and a wizard!" Angharad said softly, not hiding her amazement. She shook her head. "I like Alf. He is a healer and is patient with our old and young ones alike. If he were a woman with all these skills, I would not deny your right to it. I will not deny it because he is a man."

Idris's face cracked into an enormous smile and he jumped up, startling Stacy, and grabbed Angharad by the waist and twirled her. Stacy clapped when Angharad laughed at Idris's happiness.

"Before you squeeze the life from me!" she spluttered. "Listen to me."

Idris put her down as she held both his hands and sat down again.

"Alf is a wizard, Idris. I watched and spoke to Seth Moore. They are not like us. You need to speak to him. Make sure he understands what it means to be a mate in a werewolf pack."

oooOOOooo

For a month, Alphard's step had been young again. It didn't matter that he had white wings in his hair, or that his first love's hair was now snow white, when once it had been raven black. If anything, that white hair made Idris's eyes seem darker and more intense. For a month, Alphard was sure no man alive was happier than he.

He had visited his nephew another couple of times before the next full moon. Sirius had even given him a box of old mementoes he had forgotten. He had engaged the foremost Wizarding Rights advocate, Eideger Sneed, to handle his nephew's case. They had kept it under wraps. Sirius wanted to surprise everyone, especially his godson and his friends, with a full pardon when it finally came through. Sneed was sure it would come with the evidence he was starting to accumulate and the breaches of procedure that Alphard had detailed to him. Fudge couldn't keep using Sirius as a convenient scapegoat once Sneed had amassed his case. He thought it would be probably be no more than six months. It was a shame that Dumbledore had been forced off the Wizengamot by Fudge; he could have forced it through sooner.

Alphard received weekly updates of Sneed's progress and letters from Sirius at the Boar's Head, for which the landlord was handsomely remunerated. Sirius's letters were always daft, and contained nothing of import, in case they were intercepted on their way, but Alphard enjoyed reading his nephew's silliness. He even detailed his arguments with Walburga's portrait or his fruitless attempts to get the decrepit house-elf to clean.

For Alphard, who had been alone, by choice, for so long, to have this wealth of familial intimacy and the animus of a cause was thrilling.

And to crown it all, there was Idris. Idris, whose very proximity to him would quicken him. And now, with what Sirius had told him of a way that Alphard could be with Idris at full moon – if Idris wanted him to be, of course.

Idris was stunned to learn that Alphard had learnt to be an Animagus. Of course, they had been too young when he had last seen him.

"When?" he said. "How old were you?"

"Eighteen, when I finally managed it. Dumbledore was Transfiguration Master, and he helped me. Thing is, Idris, I really wanted my form to be a wolf. I tried so hard. Dumbledore told me there was no way I could influence it, no matter how hard I tried, and I suppose he was right."

"So?" Idris said impatiently. "What can you become? Show me?"

"It's - well - I suppose it's close ..."

"Well, go on!"

Alphard smoothly melted into a large white mountain dog that sat in front of Idris and barked loudly at him, as he sat on the bench, his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide in surprise.

"A shepherd dog?" he said incredulously. Alphard changed back effortlessly.

"Yes," Alphard said, his eyebrows raised in a bemused expression. "A Pyrenean Mountain Dog. It ... um ... fights wolves ... and bears ... apparently."

Idris barked an enormous laugh and slapped his thigh, laughing uproariously as Alphard watched him, completely confused.

"Fights ... fights ... wolves. Oh my ..." he gasped out, as he wiped tears of laughter away and draped an arm over Alphard. "It's very funny y'know." He whimpered as he struggled to control his laughter. Eventually, his laughter subsided.

"Perhaps, it's not so strange," Idris said, the odd snort still interrupting his speech. "D'ye keep your mind when you become this dog?"

"Mostly, yes," Alphard said. "I want to do dog-like things though, like chase my tail," he laughed softly, "but, yes, I keep my mind."

"A guardian dog," Idris nodded as he was thinking. "Perhaps, you are meant to be our guardian, Alf. Our guardian at the full moon."

oooOOOooo

He had a tent just outside the roundhouse. In the month since Idris had first brought him there, he had furnished it with his most beloved items from his home in Spain, but only after Angharad had invited him to fetch them, with her blessing.

It was the strangest of situations. He and Idris were never really alone. Of course, they would walk and talk together, but never out of sight of the pack. Alphard instinctively understood that to do so would dishonour Angharad. So they didn't touch, though his Pledge pulled at him through his magic to touch the man he loved. The crackle of magic between them was palpable. But they were men, not youngsters anymore. They could restrain themselves although it sometimes made Alphard feel sick with unfulfilled desire. He would wait.

They talked of many things, but they started with Riddle. It all started and ended with Riddle.

/

"So, Lydiard, I hear you work at Ollivander's in the summer?" the handsome prefect asked Idris as he studied in the library, waiting for Alphard to finish Ancient Runes.

"That's right," Idris said, and returned to his studying.

"Is it ... interesting? Do you learn about which woods go with which cores?" Riddle asked, his countenance open, his expression seemingly genuine.

"Oh yes," said Idris, his love of Wandsong overcoming his natural suspicions of the Slytherin that Alphard distrusted so much. "Do you know much about it?"

Riddle slid onto a chair near him, his bearing almost regal.

"I've read some wand lore ..." Riddle started and Idris was immediately intrigued. He didn't know any students who had read about wand lore. "It's a fascinating branch of magic although I think it may be too complex for me."

Something about this statement struck Idris as not quite ... right. He knew that Riddle was very clever. He was known to be the brightest boy in the school. Why would he lie?

"I don't know if it's complex or not, Riddle. I understand it well enough. I consider myself lucky."

"Ah," said Riddle, and he eased back into the chair, "but you hear Wandsong, so you must be at an advantage, surely?"

"Yes, I think I am. Shall I tell you about your wand?" he offered, smiling. Riddle smiled back. It was a handsome smile, but Idris wasn't sure it was in Riddle's eyes too. Riddle passed over his wand with a flourish. It was clear: Riddle loved his wand very much. Even before Idris took it in his hands, he could see it was polished and cared for.

He held it in the palms of his hands, and rolled it in his fingertips and then held the much-loved wand to his ear. And froze. The Wandsong was dissonant: it had cast Dark magic. Often.

"Yew and Phoenix feather," Idris said quietly, handing the wand back carefully, as if it might cast an Unforgiveable on him of its own accord. He almost felt it could.

"I can understand recognising a wood by its look and feel, but surely you can't hear it," Riddle said, leaning forward, clasping his hands, looking at Idris earnestly.

"I hear if a wood will be good for a wand just as I know the best cores for wands. I know if woods and cores go together and if they'll match a wizard. I know if a wand is injured ..."

"Injured ... like it has feelings!" Riddle said scornfully.

"That's what I know," said Idris firmly, now wishing the prefect would go away, annoyed with himself for continuing the conversation.

"If you say so," Riddle said quickly, seeing the boy was closing down. "It's just - I've never heard of wands being spoken of in that way before."

Idris didn't want to speak to Riddle anymore, not now he knew he'd done Dark magic with his wand. He made him uncomfortable.

"I have to go now," he said, and pulled together his books, parchment and quills into his leather satchel.

"I'd like you to stay and talk to me for a while longer," Riddle said, not smiling now.

"I don't think so," Idris replied and moved away quickly. As he got to the library doors, Riddle's hangers-on blocked Idris's exit.

"You disgraceful little half-blood! Don't you walk away from your betters without permission! Know your place," Abraxas Malfoy sneered and Hallam Rosier laughed (like a donkey, in Idris's opinion).

Even at fifteen, Idris was stockier than most, although he wasn't as tall as Alphard. He pushed Hallam Rosier out of his way, only to have his arm grabbed viciously by Malfoy. Idris punched him then pushed him over and stalked away, casting a quick look behind him to see Tom Riddle, with an ugly sneer on his face.

Merlin knew how much trouble he'd be in now, duelling like a Muggle. It always upset his father when he did that. Idris had grown up on a working farm, with Muggle farmhands. They duelled a lot. Idris found he was quite good at it. Still, at least his father wouldn't complain about the identity of the recipient of his fist: if there was one thing his father hated more than a Black; it was a Malfoy.

/

The evening air was crisp and cold, turning Idris's breath to icy vapour as he left Ollivander's for the day. It was his first day back after Christmas. There had been a lot to do. As he started towards his lodgings, Tom Riddle fell into step with him, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Lydiard. Good to see you," Riddle said, as if their meeting were completely by chance as he rubbed his gloved hands together against the cold December air. "Come and have a glass of mead with me."

"Uh. I don't think so. I need to get back to my lodgings for dinner," Idris said glancing at Riddle warily, but Riddle grabbed Idris's elbow and steered him along the cobbled pavement.

"Oh, come along. Just one to toast the season!" he said, full of false bonhomie as he dragged Idris into the Leaky Cauldron. Idris considered shoving Riddle away, but this was public, wasn't it? It would be safe.

Riddle was easy company this evening. He apologised to Idris for the last time they had talked and for his friends. He said he'd been disgusted by their behaviour. If only Idris had seen his face, he would have known how disgusted he was. Idris felt confused. He had seen Riddle's face. He had thought the disgust was aimed at him. Perhaps he had misjudged him. He took a sip of his mead. He liked mead, although he didn't get to drink much of it.

Riddle spoke to Idris of his work, gradually encouraging the boy to speak more and didn't deride it once when Idris eventually warmed to his theme. He told Riddle that a wand could be hurt by poorly-cast spells or by too much power being channelled through them. The wand chose the wizard that would suit its power. A weak wand would choose a weak wizard, or it would be shattered by too much power; a powerful wizard needed a powerful wand to channel magic with strength. Riddle seemed interested, properly so, this time. Eventually, he asked how many wands Ollivander kept in his shop. How fast the turnover was? Were there any that had been there a long time? Perhaps, too long? Gathering dust?

They were odd questions. Idris couldn't imagine why anyone would want to know. He knew some wands had been there hundreds and hundreds of years but Mr Ollivander said, "They will choose the right wizard one day as surely as the sun will rise and the moon will set, it will be so." That's what he said.

Riddle sighed heavily and wondered if that was true, or did those wands remain unused and uncared for until the woodworm found them and the damp set in? Riddle had friends who could always use spare wands. They'd be paid for. Oh yes. There'd be no need to worry about that. They could meet again and if Idris could just see his way to bring a few with him ...

Idris felt quite emotional – he didn't want wands languishing without an owner. But he also knew wizards only had to go into the shop to buy a second wand from Mr Ollivander. It didn't need to be done on the sly. Something was wrong, but he felt a bit thick-headed. He thought perhaps he shouldn't have had more than one glass of mead. He thought perhaps he had had three now. He started to feel a little panicky. He shouldn't be out too late in London, even Wizarding London, by himself.

He looked at Riddle. He used to think he was handsome, but looking at him by the flickering firelight, he thought there was a mean cast to his mouth.

"No, Riddle. I don't think so," he said, more bravely than he really felt. "I don't know that you're being straight with me." He got up from the table and reached for his cloak.

"No, Lydiard. You will do as I say," Riddle hissed, and Idris felt as if something nudged at his mind, making him feel oddly happy. "You'll go home tonight, and tomorrow you'll get me five wands: five fine wands of oak and mahogany with strong cores and you will bring them to the back of the shop ..."

He could feel himself feeling quite happy about the order, but then part of his mind shouted 'NO! Why would I?' Idris shook himself violently and Riddle stepped back, looking shocked.

"No, Riddle. I won't! I won't do any of that. Now you leave me be, or I'll tell Mr Ollivander and Headmaster Dippet what you just did. I know what that was ..."

Riddle hissed – honestly, truly, hissed like a cat ... or a snake ... and Idris rushed to the Floo, called his address in Fye Foot Lane to go home.

/

He should have known. Should have known the note wasn't genuine. The note certainly looked like Alphard's handwriting. It asked him to come to meet Alphard at the clearing in the woods of Richmond Park after Idris finished in the shop on the Saturday. Alphard said he had been punished again, and needed to see Idris. Idris so wished they could be seventeen soon so they could run away for good. Alphard's father was always hurting him; or rather making other things hurt him. Idris's father wasn't so bad, but he did have an awfully cruel tongue. He could shame Idris into tears of worthlessness.

And now he waited. It was a huge park. There were woodlands and deer. He felt quite at home. He even listened to the song of a few Great Oaks as he waited. He waited and waited, long after it was safe for him to be out on a mid-winter night. He stamped the ground to try to bring some feeling back into his feet, they were so cold, and wrapped his arms around himself and beat his hands against them. He heard a twig snap. He turned sharply.

"Alf? Alf, is that you?"

He saw the eyes – they flashed orange to red. Then he heard the thing snarling – an ugly sound deep in its throat. He heard his own breath hitch in terror as he raised his wand, shaking terribly, to the slowly advancing creature ... huge - grey - shaggy - monstrous - wolf!

Spittle flying, growling savagely - it leapt!

Idris stumbled backwards in mindless terror, and then:

STUPEFY!

Too late. He felt the wolf's hot, foetid breath as the beast clamped its jaws on his shoulder, shaking him and dragging him across the ground like a rag doll.

Searing pain as its fangs pierced and tore his flesh, oh such pain!

Such howling and harsh screaming.

His own.

Blackness.

/

The two men sat opposite each other, Idris looking down to the ground as he finished the tale, his voice becoming thick as he remembered his terror. He no longer remembered the pain, but he would always remember the terror. Alphard wanted to hold him, but he pleased Idris wasn't looking at him as tears coursed freely down his face. My poor Idris.

To think: Riddle had lured him there pretending to be Alphard. Walburga would have told him about the punishments, shown him Alphard's handwriting. Hateful hag! He was glad she was dead. Glad she died of being steeped in Dark magic in that accursed house for so long, like most of his relatives had. Good - he was glad. He breathed deeply to calm himself. He reached forward and took Idris's hands in his. It was enough for today. More than enough for both of them.

oooOOOooo

He worked with the old werewolves using his Healing skills, showing Angharad simple Healing spells and salves to add to her knowledge. He and Angharad talked and walked together. He thought she was a magnificent woman and understood why a man would love her. Behind her, Stacy always trailed, her constant daytime companion. As they talked, so they talked to Stacy also, trying to coax him to speak more. He was shy from years of bullying and beatings, but over this month, their attentions were bearing fruit and he spoke haltingly to them, if they kept their questions simple and never criticised his answer.

Then one early morning before breakfast, Stacy and Botolph came to Alphard as he talked with Angharad about the brewing of a nerve salve he was going to teach her.

"Secto tronum?" Stacy said, shaking his wand.

"He wants to cast a Patronus charm," Botoph explained. "He keeps asking us. Well, I've only ever been able to cast a shield form, like most of the guys. And Spindle can't cast it at all."

"Do you mean a Patronus Charm, Stacy? Do you want me to help you cast it?" Alphard asked Stacy.

Stacy looked from Alphard to Angharad and to the tip of his wand once more and shrugged his shoulders.

"Remus done it," Stacy leant forward and whispered confidentially, a secret of great import. "I saw Idris done it too." He nodded his head with certainty. "Secto tronum makes a wolf. Stacy make a wolf too. Alf show me."

Alphard smiled broadly.

"Expecto Patronum!" he incanted, and a huge silver dog erupted from his wand.

Stacy squealed and fell on his backside.

"Wolf?"

"It's a dog," Alphard said gently. "A different type of wolf."

Then Angharad Conjured her Patronus, clearly a handsome she-wolf.

Those in the tents around them began to gather to watch, as Stacy laughed and clapped his hands together pointing at the ethereal forms.

"What's going on?" Idris said, hearing the commotion from where he and some others were practising duelling. He saw the silver forms.

Alphard's Patronus was the guardian dog too. The beast was huge. And yet, Alphard was tall and slim. More and more, Idris was sure that it signified. Idris Conjured his own slightly larger Patronus that stood beside Angharad's, but both were dwarfed by the mountain dog next to them.

Stacy clapped his hands harder and stood, as the crowd murmured around them and the forms evanesced.

"Stacy want a wolf," Stacy said. "Alf show me."

Now, Alphard knew that Stacy had magic, but his magic was wild, like a child's accidental magic. He had seen his wand, although Alphard had never seen Stacy cast a successful spell. No doubt part of the problem was Stacy's inability to enunciate a spell but probably the wand should be checked as well, in case it was second-hand or even stolen. He looked over to Idris as Stacy carried on shaking his wand.

Idris understood and went to Stacy.

"Boy," he said, his voice deep and resonant. Stacy's eyes opened wide with reverence and some fear even though he was even larger than Idris himself. "May I look at your wand?" Idris held out a large hand. Stacy looked worriedly from Alphard to Angharad who both nodded. He shuffled from one foot to the other for a long time, but no-one chided him or rushed him, and Idris's hand remained open. Stacy made his decision and carefully placed his clearly beloved wand into Idris's care.

Idris closed his eyes and felt the wood resonate through his fingertips and he rolled it gently between his fingers and held it to his ear, his expression transfixed as he listen to the song of Stacy's wand. He felt a sharp sting in the back of his eyes. This wand had chosen this wizard, but the wizard's magic was broken. The Wandsong was stifled.

"Ash and unicorn hair," Idris said softly, opening his eyes and regarding Stacy. "It is a fine, strong wand and it is loyal to you. We need to work on your magic then you can produce a wolf. Will you work hard on your spells, Stacy?"

"Too stupid to learn," Stacy said quietly, looking at the ground and then looking over to the axes. That was all he was fit for. Chopping and hauling wood. He was good at that.

"I could teach you some spells, Stacy, and we could work up to making a wolf. Would you like that?" Alphard said.

Stacy looked at each of three of them, looking for the world like he was holding back tears. Then he shook his head gently. "Too stupid." His voice was almost a whisper and Idris was pained to see a reflexive flinch as the man turned from them. He knew what it meant.

"Boy," Idris said, and Stacy turned his odd, dull face to him, his eyes a little frightened. "Would you like to see me make a wolf with your wand?"

Stacy grinned broadly, his worry forgotten instantly, and he clapped his large hands together and dumped himself on the floor heavily to watch.

Idris Conjured his Patronus with the ash wand. It was difficult with another's wand. There was always some reluctance when a wand's allegiance hadn't changed, but with this wand, the wand sang to him to be used for a powerful spell, and wolf appeared, bright and resonant.

"Take lessons with Alf, boy, and one day your wand will do this for you too."

Stacy's face was slack with wonder, his normally dull eyes alight, as he stretched out one beefy hand to try to stroke the luminescent form.

"What was the first Charm you learnt, Alf?" Angharad asked.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Alphard and Idris said together, and Alphard smiled broadly as he said, "As good a place to start as any."

"Perhaps the cubs can join ..." Angharad suggested tentatively.

"Alphard Black's seminary for werewolf cubs?" Alphard laughed good-naturedly. "Perhaps, but separately. I think we should teach Stacy on his own."

"We?" Angharad said, with a soft smile.

"Absolutely. I don't think he'll learn without you."

Idris smiled, watching the two he loved, and he felt his chest swell. The pack mother and – maybe – the pack's healer and teacher. Their guardian.

It was perfection for him that Angharad seemed to understand Idris's long-held desire, not just acquiesce in it. Alphard's grace and good temper made him an easy prospect for her to accept as a second mate. He didn't seem to share Seth Moore's deep antagonism against being perceived as less than male because he lay with a man. None of this seemed to worry Alphard that certain members of the pack considered him ... not quite male. He was comfortable as himself; he had nothing to prove.

"Idris, I'm too old to worry about that! I'm here with you – after all these years. Name-calling or whispering behind my back is hardly going to worry me. It's not as if I would have a place in the pack if it were not for you," he said, when Idris asked.

oooOOOooo

After this full moon, Idris and Angharad would take him as their mate.

When they first told him the plan, Alphard had nearly choked. He had never had sex with a woman. He didn't want to start now, he told Idris, who roared with laughter.

"Nor will you with this woman, my dear old friend, unless you want me to kill you!" Idris had guffawed at Alphard, making him flush. "No-one touches Angharad and, once I Claim you, no-one may touch you." He laughed at Alphard's bemused expression. "It means you are my other mate with Angharad's blessing. She is my mate and the pack mother. She takes precedence in the pack."

"So I continue to sleep here, in my tent?" Alphard asked, just too confused.

"Usually, an Alpha's mate is Claimed before the whole pack. We've discussed it, Angharad and me, knowin' you're a wizard and may find it too public. So, we will mark you then I will have you here, away from their view."

Alphard coughed. Well, that was matter of fact!

"So, if I were wolfkind, you'd have both of us in bed with you?" Idris nodded. "And you choose which of us you want on any given night?" Idris nodded again. "Well, you certainly have it with jam on, don't you?" Alphard said, his eyes wide as heated embarrassment shot up his cheeks.

Idris felt his stomach flip. He was fifteen again, watching Alphard blush. It was pure joy.

"You may come to embrace life in the roundhouse with us one day. But you are a wizard and we had a wizard here for a while with Remus Lupin. Privacy and things like that were important to him and we think they will be for you so we will try it this way first - and see."

oooOOOooo

It was to have been the night of his Claiming, three days past the full moon, when any transformation injuries were healed and the enlarged pack was settled.

He had almost felt giddy like the schoolboy he once had been. Angharad had talked him through the Claiming ritual for an Alpha and a second mate.

"You will be a brother for me, Alf. Together, we care for him who cares for the whole pack."

A sister like Angharad was like a dream compared with the nightmare sister that nature and nurture had given him. In a month, he had fallen in love with Angharad in a completely different way.

His pure-blood upbringing almost nagged in his brain to find presents for his mates, to don his best robe, and yet this was not the place of robes and finery: it was a place of patches and shreds; of family and pack; of love and home. In this month, he felt more loved and content than he had felt for many, many years. He had rediscovered his vocation in caring for the sickly and elderly werewolves, he had rediscovered his family, and was about to gain a new one. It was perfection.

Until the letter came. The letter with the Phoenix feather.

Next chapter: Alphard’s loss, and Alphard's gains.
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