Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Path Less Traveled	By : bezo93 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 16680 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters. I do not make any money from this fic.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
It wasn’t hard to spot Timothy at the bar. The six-foot-something werwolf was a head taller than everyone else, and was wearing a muggle ensemble of red chequered shirt, jeans and work boots that was attracting the attention of the other patrons. The Leaky Cauldron was odd like that; people could wear anything from robes, to full body cloaks, to bright purple turbans that reeked of garlic and had a Dark Lord hiding beneath it, but it was always the muggle clothes that people would cast disapproving glances at.
“Is there a plan for the day or are we just seeing what happens?” Harry asked once he had greeted the werewolf, swiping at the hand that tried to ruffle his hair.
“I always have a plan. Step one is getting you into something less wizardy. Or going to Gringotts. Which step one do you want to do first?” Timothy asked, looking down at Harry who snorted.
“Very well planned out. Gringotts first. People stare more if I’m in muggle clothes,” Harry decided.
“Do you have your vault key? It’ll be faster if I take it now, then we can deal with the goblins in one go,” Timothy asked, tucking the key Harry handed him securely into his pocket.
What Harry hadn’t taken into account was that even if he wasn’t wearing muggle clothes, Timothy was and he was attracting the stares Harry was trying to avoid. Fortunately the werewolf could be intimidating when he wished to be, and people quickly avoided eye-contact upon seeing his scowl. By the time they made it to Gringotts far less people were staring than would have been had Harry been on his own, muggle clothes or no.
This visit to Gringotts was rather different to the visits he had made in the past with Hagrid, the Weasleys or by himself. Timothy ignored the people waiting in line for one of the tellers at an open desk, and instead stalked up to a closed desk away from the wizards. Scowling even more viciously now than he had been when they were walking through the Alley, he flicked the closed sign onto the floor behind the desk. It immediately attracted the attention of the goblins and one quickly made their way over, looking irate.
“Finally! I don’t have all day,” Timothy growled before the goblin had a chance to open his mouth. “We’re going to these vaults, then we need to exchange some galleons for pound sterling,” he continued, ignoring the goblin’s snarl and tossing Harry’s vault key onto the desk, along with another that Harry didn’t recognise but presumed belonged to the werewolf.
“Very well,” sneered the goblin, “I will summon-“
“Which part of ‘I don’t have all day’ don’t you understand?” Timothy interrupted. “Take us yourself. Or are you so incompetent your Cart Rights have been revoked?” He raised an eyebrow mockingly.
The werewolf and goblin glared at each other, snarling lowly. Harry just stood quietly, trying to look cool and indifferent and not utterly bemused by what was going on. He didn’t really know what was going on but even a first year only barely aware of their instincts could recognise posturing for dominance when they saw it, and if you weren’t one of the ones doing the posturing it was better to be quiet and unobtrusive until dominance had been established. So the raven haired demon stood quietly as the two older creatures continued to glare and snarl.
Finally the goblin lowered his gaze.
“This way please,” the goblin said stiffly, but the previous hostility was absent from his tone.
Timothy placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder to steer him after the goblin. As he touched Harry’s shoulder he looked surprisingly hesitant for someone who had just engaged in a snarling match with an angry goblin. It was only as the werewolf cast him an apologetic glance that Harry remembered that werewolves were far more tactile than many other creatures, and manhandling anyone other than a subordinate pack mate was considered rude and offensive. Demons were far less concerned by it, as long as the party being manhandled wasn’t distressed or unwilling, so Harry gave the giant werewolf a small smile and allowed the hand on his shoulder to guide him along the corridors towards the carts.
The cart ride was just as fast and thrilling as usual, and this time Harry had a companion who enjoyed it as much as he did. Harry’s vault was the first stop and at Timothy’s instruction he scooped up enough galleons to buy all his school supplies twice over. Exactly what Timothy was expecting him to buy Harry wasn't sure, but as the gold he removed barely made a dent in the pile left in his vault he wasn’t too concerned about it.
When they got back into the cart they headed deeper into Gringotts than Harry had ever been. Even the visit to vault 713 in the summer before his first year hadn’t taken him this far into the depths of Gringotts. At one point they passed a huge waterfall, getting sprayed by the mist that reached the track.
“Thief’s Downfall,” Timothy explained at Harry’s enquiring look. They both ignored the disgruntled looking goblin who clearly didn’t want the secrets of Gringotts’ security measures to be shared. “One of the less aggressive defences Gringotts has. It breaks through disguises and stops any enchantments. The mist can only do lower level stuff, but I’ve been told that when it’s fully activated the water pours directly over the track and being soaked by it can even stop the Unforgivables. Wouldn’t recommend testing that though.”
Harry nodded, fascinated, and glanced back over his shoulder but the waterfall was already out of sight. They continued on down, passing old vaults that had dragons guarding them, and Harry was sure he spotted a sphinx outside one vault, but it was gone before he could take a second look.
Eventually they came to a stop outside an ancient looking vault that had a door etched with runes. Harry had only done a bit of reading for his Ancient Runes class, but he was reasonably sure he recognised the Futhorc runes for heritage and stone. He stopped looking so closely after he spotted a rune that he thought translated into ‘scorch’. There was a keyhole but Harry doubted that a key was all the intimidating door required to be opened. He was proved correct when Timothy used the back of the key to slice open his palm before putting the now bloodied key into the lock and turning it.
A series of thunks could be heard as the locks opened, and the door swung open to reveal the contents of the vault. The mound of gold inside made the contents of Harry’s vault look like a handful of knuts. If this was Timothy’s vault, Harry wondered why he worked at all.
“It’s not mine,” Timothy said, seemingly reading Harry’s thoughts. “I’m just fortunate enough to be trusted with unlimited access.”
Before Harry could ask who the vault belonged to - perhaps it was a pack vault? Werewolves were known for sharing wealth with kith and kin, and a large pack would need a lot of money to sustain all its members - Timothy had disappeared inside. Judging by the clinking sounds, the werewolf was scooping up even more money than he had told Harry to pick up. A few minutes later, Timothy emerged from the vault with a grin that quickly vanished as he looked to the goblin. With a nod of his head he signalled for the goblin to take them back to the surface and another fast-paced cart ride began.
Once they reached the surface, Timothy led the way back to the teller’s desk. With an impatient air that Harry still found bemusing, the werewolf demanded their money be exchanged for pound sterling.
“And at the goblin exchange rate, if you would, not that measly offer you con the ignorant humans with,” the enormous werewolf added with a warning look as the goblin turned to make the exchange.
With an angry snarl, the goblin fiddled with something on the gilded scales before dropping the money pouches onto one side and watching carefully as the other side filled with stacks of British muggle money. Once the scales had determined the values of either side to be equal, the muggle money vanished and was replaced by the galleons, sickles and knuts from the money pouches. Still growling under his breath, the bank teller dumped the money pouches onto to the desk and placed two ordinary looking debit cards next to them.
“I presume you know how these work?” sneered the goblin, giving Harry a contemptuous look as though he knew that Harry had no idea what was going on. Instead of letting it get to him, the young demon lifted an eyebrow and stared challengingly back. He may not understand the reason for all the posturing and snarling the two older creatures were doing, but he refused to seem meek in front of the bank teller who was clearly trying to put Harry down in an attempt to sooth his own bruised ego.
Timothy didn’t bother replying. He simply scooped up the money pouches and the two little pieces of plastic and pocketed them. With a single, curt nod to the goblin, he placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder again - less hesitantly this time - and steered him towards the door. The second they were outside, the werewolf dropped his hand back to his side with another apologetic look to Harry.
Harry waited until they were out of ear shot of the goblin guards before he turned to look up at the not-quite-seven-foot-tall werewolf. “Ok…what was that about?”
“What was what about?” Timothy asked in a voice that suggested he knew exactly what Harry was asking about.
“That! In the bank. All the snarling and posturing and demanding everything be done faster,” Harry said, waving his hands around.
“Oh, that,” Timothy grinned and ruffled Harry’s hair, earning himself a scowl as Harry tried to flatten it again. “That, my fluffy haired little friend, is how you get good customer service from the goblins.”
“Competing for dominance over every little thing you ask for is good customer service?” Harry asked dubiously.
“Close enough. There would have been less posturing if you hadn’t been there. Normally they don’t argue but asking to go to a new vault, and with a cub tagging along - wipe that look off your face, you’re under seventeen, you’re a cub - meant they felt that they may get some leeway. Obviously that didn’t happen. Can’t give goblins an inch or they’ll take a mile,” Timothy explained cheerfully. At least, Harry presumed he thought he was explaining.
“I don’t understand,” Harry admitted as they stepped through the archway to the Leaky Cauldron. “Goblins aren’t really covered much at Hogwarts. Unless you count History of Magic, but I don’t think I’ve ever been conscious through an entire lesson so that doesn’t count. If you’ve established dominance once, why did you have to establish it again?”
“I’ll explain while you get less wizardy looking,” Timothy said, herding the demon towards the stairs. “Unless you want me to stay down here?”
“As long as you’re not going to watch me as I get changed I don’t mind where you wait. You may as well come up; I want to know what was going on with the goblins.”
“No peeking,” Timothy agreed, following Harry upstairs and into his room.
“What sort of clothes do I need?” Harry asked, flipping open his trunk. Timothy was surprised at how few clothes the trunk contained. The wardrobe in the room stood open and empty, so unless Harry had stashed his clothes under his bed, he was traveling very light.
“Anything suitably muggle,” he answered, eyeing the clothes in the trunk. Most of them were muggle but they looked old and faded, and smelled faintly of a human who certainly wasn’t Harry, even pre-inheritance. He watched as the demon plucked out a top that had been screwed in a ball, and seemed to contain far more material than someone Harry’s size would need.
“Oi! No peeking!”
Timothy whirled around dramatically, covering his eyes. “Right. No peeking. Promise!” he exclaimed, making Harry laugh.
“So, goblins?” Harry prompted as he started to pull his robes off.
“Yes, goblins,” Timothy said, lowering his hands away from his face and keeping his gaze firmly on the door in front of him, not turning his head even as he began to speak. “Goblins respect three things: power, money, and not being human - in ascending order. No self-respecting goblin will deal fairly with a human, ever. They hate them more than a snidget hates quidditch. Creature races will always get better treatment than humans, unless they’ve done something to piss the goblins off. But I’m guessing you already knew that?”
Harry made noise of agreement, before asking, “So what was the snarling about, if we were going to get better treatment just for not being human?”
“Money and power. I don’t know exactly how the system works, but vault keys have a way of informing goblins of precisely how much money that vault contains and how much money other vaults that that vault is connected to contains. Your personal vault contains a decent amount, so your family vault must contain more than enough gold to get the goblin’s attention. And you got a glimpse of how much gold is in the vault I used - it’s like a niffler’s wet dream in there.” Harry gave a muffled snort of laughter. Timothy resisted the urge to turn around and see what was taking so long. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to Shax why he saw Harry half naked.
“So that was the money aspect more than covered. That just left power. If you don’t have the full trio - money, power and non-human status - the little bastards will still try to walk all over you, they’ll just be a little politer about it than they usually are. Magical power, political power, being connected to the right people; any power is good to a goblin. On my own I don’t have a great deal of power but my pack is pretty influential, which gives me an advantage, and my magic levels are a bit above average. Wolf-wise I’m not even close to alpha levels of power, but I’m one of the top betas in the pack. Overall it puts me on level that makes the goblins wary of messing me about, but not quite high enough to be completely immune to them testing me when they think they’ve spotted a weakness.”
“Huh. Why don’t they teach that at Hogwarts?” Harry asked. “Or at least in Gryffindor,” he amended, imagining how the Slytherin’s would react to a lesson on goblin politics.
“Most people don’t know about it, and those who do don’t see a lot of point in sharing it. I only know because of my pack and my job; I have to deal with goblins pretty often, so I need to know how to handle them. As most people don’t meet all three requirements the information isn’t spread around much because lots of people find it irrelevant to their own dealings with goblins,” Timothy answered with a shrug. “Are you done yet? You could have tried on your entire wardrobe by now, what’s taking so long?”
“You can turn around. I’m done.”
With an exaggerated sigh of relief, Timothy turned away from the door.
“Bloody hell, you really were trying on the whole wardrobe!” he exclaimed as he looked around the room.
Harry was sitting on the bed tying the laces of his slightly tatty trainers. Around him clothes had been dropped onto the bed, the floor and even tossed over the wardrobe door. The outfit Harry had finally settled on was a plain grey t-shirt, faded jeans and the worn trainers he had just finished lacing up.
“Well, if you’re finally ready, let’s go,” Timothy said, holding the door open as Harry grabbed his jacket (also old looking and smelling of the unfamiliar human, Timothy noted) and slipped out into the corridor.
As they stepped out into muggle London, Harry recalled the warning the Minister had given him about staying in Diagon Alley. He quickly dismissed it; nobody had given him a real reason to stay in the wizarding world, other than it being safer for him to be alone there. As long as he was with somebody - an adult somebody - he saw no reason why he shouldn’t spend a day enjoying himself in muggle London. He trusted Timothy to be able to keep him safe, even if the muggles did somehow manage to pose a threat.
Despite living only an hour away from the city for most of his life, this was the first time Harry had visited muggle London other than to catch the Hogwarts Express. Any time the Dursleys visited London - often to buy birthday and Christmas presents for Dudley - Harry had been left with Mrs. Figg and her many cats and kneazles. Not that Harry minded too much; he’d rather spend a day looking at old photographs of Mrs. Figg’s cats than following the Dursley’s around, being shown all the things they would never buy him and carrying shopping bags full of gifts for Dudley.
Timothy, however, knew London very well and had a destination in mind. Harry followed him, trying to take in all the sights without getting left behind in the crowd. It reminded him of his first visit to Diagon Alley - following a giant of a man through crowded streets full of interesting looking shops - only with more people and less magic. The muggle shop displays were impressive but they couldn’t rival the displays seen in the windows of shops like Quality Quidditch Supplies and Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment.
Harry was reconsidering the wisdom of allowing Timothy to choose the first shop as he stared up at the front of the expensive looking tailors they had stopped outside.
“I don’t need a suit,” he protested as the werewolf shooed him inside.
“Of course you do. Everyone should have at least one proper suit. You never know when you might need it,” Timothy said cheerfully as he stepped into the shop after Harry, blocking the demon’s escape route.
“I never go anywhere in the muggle world!” the teenager hissed quietly. “Why would I-“
His protest was cut off by the appearance of man who looked far too happy to see them in Harry’s opinion. Did he really have to smile so much?
“Ah, Timothy. Back again so soon? I do hope there is nothing wrong with your last purchase,” the man said, Timothy’s hand engulfing his as they shook hands.
“Everything is perfect, as usual,” Timothy grinned. “I’m here for this scruffy looking oik,” he jerked a thumb at Harry, ignoring the cry of “Scruffy looking?” from the indignant demon.
“Of course. Step this way sirs.”
What followed was a series of measurements and questions about things Harry hadn’t even known existed. How many different shades of blue could there possibly be, and why were there so many materials that clothes could be made out of? Fortunately Timothy was well versed in suit buying, and the tailor seemed to be used to dealing with monosyllabic teenagers who answered in shrugs and vague gestures when asked their opinion on which shirt they preferred with which tie.
Over an hour later, they finally made it out of the shop, Harry now the proud (albeit reluctant) owner of two complete suits. The teenager was still insisting that he didn’t need one suit, never mind two, but Timothy had been adamant, and Harry wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving without buying something after the tailor had spent so much time with them.
“When am I going to wear them? The only time I’m not in the wizarding world is when I’m at the Dursley’s for summer. Then I’m lucky if I get to go further than the local park,” Harry complained as Timothy stepped into an alleyway to shrink and pocket the bags.
“You never know,” was the chipper response. “Sometimes you want something other than robes or a t-shirt and jeans. I’m just making sure you’re prepared. Who are the Dursleys?”
“My aunt and uncle,” Harry answered, trailing after the cheerful werewolf. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d swear Timothy was enjoying torturing him. “Please say we aren’t buying any more formal clothes.”
“Nope. High street stores selling fashionable teenagers’ clothes only from now on, I promise.”
True to his word, the next shop they visited was filled with teenagers and popular brand names. Harry recognised several of the brands from the clothes Dudley and his friends had been wearing this summer, and a few of less expensive ones from the hand-me-downs he had been given when Dudley outgrew them.
The demon watched on, torn between fascination and horror as Timothy went around plucking up tops and trousers, and putting very few back down, until he was holding more clothes than Harry had ever owned at one time. The horror - and amusement - only grew as he was shooed towards the dressing rooms and realised the werewolf wanted him to try them all on.
“You know,” Timothy observed as he nudged Harry into one of the dressing rooms, “for someone who tried on his entire wardrobe this morning, you don’t seem to like clothes shopping much.”
“It’s not exactly something I do a lot of,” Harry grumbled pulling the curtain across the doorway and turning to the pile clothes he had brought in with him - the rest where on a chair next to Timothy, ready to be handed over once he’d made his way through the first pile. “Most of my clothes are hand-me-downs from my cousin.”
“You’re one of the richest thirteen year olds I’ve met. Why don’t you buy new clothes for yourself? You could easily afford it.”
“I’d have to explain where I got new clothes to my aunt and uncle, and I am not telling Vernon that my parents left me a mountain of gold. Could you pass me the green version of this?” he asked, pulling of a red jumper and tossing it through the curtain to Timothy.
The werewolf passed him the jumper he asked for with a frown. He absent-mindedly folded the red jumper as he thought over what Harry had just revealed. There were a lot of things he didn’t know about the teenager - unsurprising as he’d only known him for a few days - but the more he heard about Harry’s childhood, the more he thought that there was something seriously wrong with it. Still, now was not the time or place to be asking awkward questions about the way Harry was treated by the adults in his life, so Timothy allowed himself to be distracted by the demons questions about which shirt looked better and general whining about the number of clothes he had to try on.
Several hours later Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to fit all his new clothes into his trunk. Every time he had put back something he liked in an attempt to limit his spending, Timothy had picked it straight back up and bought it for him. The demon wasn’t sure if that was a werewolf thing, or just a Timothy thing. Or if it had something to do with him. Werewolves were known for sharing their wealth and resources with their pack, and friends were considered a sort of extended pack, but Harry didn’t think it was normal for a werewolf to spend as much on a new friend as Timothy had spent on him, even if the werewolf did have access to as much money as Timothy did. He didn’t think it was charity per se - after all, Timothy had seen and even commented on how much money Harry had - but it was more than Harry was comfortable accepting. However the stubborn werewolf wouldn’t take no for answer and bought the clothes anyway, so Harry had little choice but to take them.
“So, is there a reason you’re not spending the summer with your aunt and uncle?” Timothy asked casually as a waiter seated them at a table. They were both starving after a day spent shopping and neither of them felt like pub food, which was all Diagon Alley offered unless you went to one of the upmarket restaurants, so they stopped at a little muggle family restaurant.
“Sorry?” Harry said, startled. He really didn’t want to discuss his aunt and uncle with the overprotective werewolf. Timothy had been outraged at how Snape treated him, how would he handle learning about Vernon and Dudley? Or the summer’s events with Marge?
“You said you spend your summers with your aunt and uncle. I just wondering why you weren’t with them this summer?”
“Oh, well, inheritance and Scouting and stuff. My relatives are muggles - their house isn’t exactly the best place to look for a mate, is it?” Harry asked rhetorically, fiddling with the corner of his menu.
Timothy was torn, unsure which topic to pursue. The waiter took advantage of the lull in conversation and came over to take their order.
“How’s that going ?” Timothy asked finally, once the waiter had gone. “The Scouting? I mean, I’ve been taking up all your time recently but I hardly count. Had you made any progress before I started bugging you?”
“Er, not really,” Harry mumbled. This wasn’t much better than discussing the Dursleys. Admitting that he was too much of a coward to step foot in the Alley where Timothy’s pack lived seemed like a childish fear. He did know that Knockturn wasn’t as bad as the wizards made it out to be but that didn’t stop his apprehension.
“I though you started Scouting straight after your birthday? I haven’t screwed up your plans, have I?” the werewolf asked, a little worried. He didn’t know a great deal about the demon mating process but a lot of it seemed to be planned out well in advance if what he had seen from the dominant demons currently infesting Knockturn was anything to go by.
“No, you haven’t. Plans don’t really do well around me, so I don’t usually bother making them. Improvising and going with the flow are things I’m much better at,” Harry explained, hoping that would be enough to get Timothy to drop the subject. Sadly not.
“Don’t you at least have a starting point?” Timothy asked curiously. “I haven’t done the whole finding a mate thing but I did date at school. Don’t you have some idea of what you are looking for? Looks, age, hobbies, stuff like that?”
“I am not choosing a life partner based on his hobbies,” Harry rolled his eyes. “And obviously my first mate will be at least a hundred, but I’ve honestly not come up with a list of features I want him to have.”
“‘Him’? Definitely male then?”
“Obviously. It would be a tad hard to have kids with a female dominant, unless the kids weren’t biologically mine,” Harry pointed out with raised eyebrows. “All male submissive demons are gay, even the Earth-Sired male subs aren’t straight, despite the pretty common occurrence of weird quirks Earth-Sireds tend to have.”
“I’m going to nod and agree, because honestly I have no clue. The dominants of your race are secretive. Asking even remotely invasive questions about the omegas of your race is just asking to be put in St. Mungo’s, and ‘are all your male subs gay’ is definitely considered invasive.”
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. He really should have expected something like that. The dominants were supposed to be the protective ones, after all, and in Harry’s rather limited experience most dominants were prone to over reaction when it came to defending submissives.
“Well, feel free to ask away now. I’m not going to be offended by you asking questions about demons or my dead-end Scouting. There’s not exactly much to tell about the latter anyway.”
“Dead-end? You’ve only just started, how can you be at a dead-end already?”
“Well, maybe not quite dead-end, but definitely going nowhere fast,” Harry shrugged.
“Do you not want a mate at the moment then?” Timothy asked, puzzled.
“I do, I'm just…not making much progress.”
“What’s the issue?” Timothy prodded, seeing that he was going to have to drag this out of the submissive demon if he wanted to be able to help. “I’ve not dated in a while but I do remember how it works. Maybe I can help.”
“It’s stupid,” Harry stalled.
“I went through seven years of Hogwarts and I work in a nightclub. I’ve seen more than my fair share of stupid. Unless you’ve managed to turn the love of your life into a bright blue toucan in a drunken attempt to impress her - or him, for you - then there is no way you have the monopoly on stupid,” Timothy countered. “So spill. What’s up?”
“It’s not even relationship related really. It’s just…stupid,” Harry insisted.
“Bright. Blue. Toucan.”
“But-“
“Blue toucan.”
“I’m-“
“Toucan!”
“Ok, ok. It’s not blue toucan stupid. You’ll still think I’m being an idiot though.”
Timothy rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at the reluctantly amused demon.
“Fine,” Harry said, throwing up his hands and nearly knocking over his drink. “I’m scared of Knockturn Alley.”
“Oh. Why?” Timothy asked, curiously.
“I told you you’d think it was stupid,” Harry muttered.
“I don’t think it is stupid,” Timothy said rolling his eyes again as a waiter came over with their food. “I don’t really understand why you are scared of it, but I don’t think it's stupid. You know that no-one in the District would hurt you, right?”
“I’m not worried about the Creature District - I want to go there! I just haven’t had the best experiences in the Dark District,” Harry grumbled. “It’s stu-“
“Toucan!”
“Will you stop saying that!” The demon’s scowl was ruined by the amused grin stretching across his face.
“No,” Timothy said immediately, sipping his drink. “Not unless you stop calling yourself stupid.”
Harry muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and turned his attention to his food. Timothy chuckled at the pouting demon, and followed his example, quickly inhaling his food. Harry was amazed that anyone could eat so quickly without putting their eating partners off their food. Ron could eat fast but you certainly didn’t want to sit across from him as he did so.
“So it’s the Dark District that bothers you?” Timothy asked once most of his food had been eaten. Harry nodded, still eating - not everyone could eat like a starving cerberus. “What is it you’re worried about? And no, I don’t think whatever your answer is is stupid.”
“I don’t exactly have good memories of the place,” Harry shrugged. “Plus I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, I’m not exactly popular with the Dark.”
“If it is just getting through the Dark District that is an issue then I can definitely help,” Timothy offered with a smile. “I can escort you, if you want. Once you’re through the Dark District you’ll be fine, and you can always Floo back to the Leaky Cauldron if I’m not around to take you back for some reason.”
Harry hesitated, twirling his fork in his fingers.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind? There might not be a lot for you to do if I start talking to potential mates,” he said worriedly.
“Harry, I live there,” the werewolf pointed out. “I can entertain myself. So, do you want to go?”
“You’re sure you’re ok with it?”
“Yes! I suggested it. Do you want to go to Knockturn Alley, yes or no?” Timothy asked exasperated, enunciating each word slowly. When Harry continued to hesitate, he sighed. “You can say no, you know. It was just an offer. I’m not going to be offended if you don’t want to go.”
“No! I mean no, I’m not saying no,” Harry gabbled, much to Timothy’s amusement.
“So that is a ‘yes Timothy, I would like to visit Knockturn’? Was that really so hard?”
“Now you’re just being annoying on purpose,” grumbled Harry, crossing his arms over his chest with a mock scowl.
“Yep!” the werewolf admitted cheerfully, sitting back as the waiter came to collect the plates, and asking for the bill. Once it was brought over, he snagged it and paid before Harry even got a chance to see it. “So, when do you want to go?”
“Um…”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?!” Harry absolutely did not squeak, even if he would admit to being a bit alarmed at the idea.
“So not tomorrow? You know, getting answers out of you is like trying to question a sphinx.”
Harry took a deep breath, calming himself. He had never liked waiting around when he had something he could do, and the longer he put off his visit to Knockturn the more frustrated his lack of progress would make him. Besides, it’s not like he had anything better to do tomorrow.
“Yes, tomorrow,” he said once he was calmer, not dignifying the sphinx comment with an answer.
“Afternoon? I’m working again tonight.”
“Yeah, whenever. It’s not like I have any plans,” Harry agreed with a nod.
“Four?”
Harry nodded again with grin. It finally felt like he was making progress, potential though it was at the moment.
Arrangements for tomorrow made, the conversation quickly switched to the upcoming Puddlemere United vs. the Montrose Magpies quidditch match. Two years under the tutelage of Oliver Wood had made Harry an avid United supporter, while Timothy was a lifelong Magpies fan. The upcoming match would determine which team was going to be knocked out of the running for the cup, and both werewolf and demon were adamant that their team would not be the one losing.
“United’s keeper is a waste of space,” Timothy insisted as he held open the door to the Leaky Cauldron for Harry. “Even the fans agree!”
“He is,” Harry agreed. Everybody in Gryffindor had heard Oliver’s rants and knew of his plans to apply for the position when he graduated at the end of this year. “But I could do better than the Magpie’s seeker. The snitch spent half the last match against the Arrows hovering at the end of his broom and he still managed to miss it!”
“Don’t remind me,” Timothy groaned, thunking his head back against the wall as he waited for Harry to unlock the door to his room.
“A bad keeper is one thing but you stand no chance without a half decent seeker,” Harry insisted as he let them into the room, blinking slightly at the mess. Perhaps he should have tidied up some of the clothes before they left this morning.
“Seeker bias,” was the grumbled response. Harry shrugged and nodded unrepentantly.
Timothy began emptying his pockets of all the shrunken bags that belonged to Harry, cancelling the shrinking charm as he passed them over to the wide-eyed demon. Harry couldn’t believe how much they had bought! He’d been aware that they had been in a lot of shops and bought quite a lot, but with all the bags disappearing into Timothy’s pocket he hadn’t really been keeping track of exactly how much they had. Now they were spilling off the bed and onto the floor.
“Where in Merlin’s name am I going to put all of this?” Harry asked, stunned. There was no way even half of this would fit into his trunk, even with the inbuilt space expansion charm.
“You could chuck out your old stuff,” Timothy suggested cheerfully. “No offence, but the clothes you’ve been wearing aren’t fit for rags. If you toss those out, you should have room.”
“What would I say to the Dursleys when they see me with a whole new wardrobe and none of the clothes they gave me?”
Timothy rolled his eyes, “Just tell them a friend bought them for you. It’s not even a lie - I did buy most of it, because you weren’t going to buy anything other than plain clothes even if you really liked the other stuff. Why would they care anyway? This way they don’t need to worry about getting new clothes for you, and you get to wear something in decent condition. It’s win-win.”
“I don’t like flaunting my money,” Harry protested half-heartedly. He didn’t want to seem like an ungrateful brat by arguing and refusing to wear the clothes Timothy had bought for him, but nor did he want the Dursleys to know he had money, and lots of it.
“You’re not flaunting anything,” Timothy reassured him. “Most of it was bought by me - and I couldn’t care less what your relatives think of my spending habits - and it’s not a crime to want new clothes.”
Finally Harry gave in and pulled all of his old clothes out of his trunk, leaving only his school and quidditch uniforms and his Weasley jumpers. Everything else was piled in the centre of the room by slightly-too-gleeful Timothy, who promptly set fire to them and vanished the ashes.
Even without his old clothes, not all of his new clothes fit into his trunk. Harry wondered how on earth the werewolf had managed to buy so much without him noticing, and when exactly he was supposed to wear it all. Hogwarts only required school uniform for classes and large events such as the Welcoming Feast, but even so that only left the evenings and weekends for wearing casual clothes - Harry now had enough clothes to be able to wear a new outfit every day for a fortnight without having to reuse anything. And he still didn’t believe he would ever need that suit Timothy had made him buy.
“Do you ever clean your trunk out?” the huge werewolf asked, peering over Harry’s shoulder at the mess of balled up parchment, broken quills and old notes that littered the trunk bottom. “I swear I can smell dead things in there,” he added, wrinkling his nose.
“That would be the potion ingredients,” Harry pointed out, “not some poor creature that crawled in and died.” But it was true that he hadn’t properly cleaned out his trunk since he bought it. There was a lot of stuff in there that he didn’t really need anymore, including some of his old textbooks.
Hermione would be horrified at the idea of getting rid of any book, but honestly he didn’t see the need to keep the earlier volumes of the Standard Book of Spells when he had learnt most of the spells already and had the third volume that built on the previous two. Hogwarts had multiple copies of all the volumes anyway, along with many other first and second year books that he would only need to reference occasionally.
Then something caught his eye.
“My turn to burn things!” he declared. Scooping up a pile of books, he dropped them in a heap in the space Timothy had cleared for burning Dudley’s cast-offs and pulled out his wand. “Incendio.”
He watched smugly as the Lockhart books began to burn.
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Timothy commented mildly, keeping an eye on the fire in case it got out of hand.
“As if there is any chance of my Trace still being active while I’m here,” Harry dismissed with a shrug. “Besides, if there was anything to get upset about it should be me hospitalising the author, not just burning his books. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
“You hospitalised Lockhart?” Timothy asked incredulously. “How do you manage to get into so much trouble at school? When I was there the worst things we had were quidditch injuries and House rivalry incidents.”
“Trouble just happens to me. Everyone else seems to be able to have a pretty normal school year, unless I’m involved. Lockhart was mostly to blame anyway; all I did was stand there as he tried to attack me. It back fired horribly, and he was shipped off to St. Mungo’s. I’m still not sure if it was demonic protective magic that caused it, or just the idiot’s sheer stupidity,” Harry mused.
“He attacked you?!” Timothy growled, outraged. Lockhart had never had a large following in the Creature world - most of his books involved the defeat of various ‘dark and dangerous’ creatures, and no small amount of racism and discrimination against different creature races - but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that their passive dislike for the wizard was shortly going to become active hostility. He found it hard to feel sorry for the vain ponce.
“Yes, he was teaching last year and a weird series of events led to him being cornered by two second years - me and my friend - and he felt attacking us was the only way out. It’s a long story though, and didn’t you say you were working tonight?”
Timothy cast a Tempus and swore. “I’m going to have to run. This conversation is not over, and we will be discussing the Hogwarts’ staffs’ treatment of you,” he warned. “See you tomorrow at four. And put that fire out before you burn the place down.”
Harry chuckled as he waved goodbye, and doused the fire as the door closed behind the rushing werewolf.

§`§`§`§`§`§`§`§`§`§
Timothy frowned as he straightened his shirt. He needed to make more of an effort to look presentable than usual tonight, and he’d spent longer with Harry than he had intended which had left little time to get showered and changed.
The Boss was expecting an update tonight and the beta werewolf was nervous. Some of his news was very good news but he was unsure how Shax would take the rest of it. The demon wasn’t really the shoot the messenger type but that didn’t mean he wasn’t terrifying to be around when he was angry.
With a deep, calming breath Timothy set out to the club. Fortunately the Fantastic Beasts nightclub was headquarters for most of Shax’s businesses and the block of apartments the Knockturn Pack shared was only around the corner, to allow the pack to remain close to the demon they worked for. He wouldn’t be very late for his meeting.
“Hey Timmy boy! How’s the babysitting?” jeered one of the werewolves on the door of the club.
Timothy grinned, showing far too many teeth. “I can’t complain. I get to spend my day sitting around eating ice-cream, and I have access to more money than I could use in three lifetimes. What’s not to like?” he asked, pushing past them dismissively. As he pulled open the door he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and Rikin? Call me Timmy again and I’ll feed you your own tail,” he said cheerfully.
Inside he was surprised to see Domovoi, his alpha, pacing in front of the staircase that led up to the offices.
“Where the hell have you been?” demanded the irate alpha the second he spotted the beta werewolf.
Timothy blinked. “Shax assigned me to the demon sub. I’ve been in London with him,” he answered, gesturing vaguely towards the door behind him.
“I know that,” his alpha snapped, making Timothy flinch slightly. The alpha werewolf was a half a foot shorter than him, but he was scary. “You were supposed to be in a meeting fifteen minutes ago. Are you trying to piss him off?”
“I told you, I was in London,” Timothy said, feeling like a teenager trying to argue with his parents about curfew. He ducked the smack Domovoi aimed at his head.
“Get upstairs and don’t come crying to me if you get stuck on delivery duty until your muzzle goes grey. You are supposed to be setting an example to the pups on the door, not turning up late with flimsy excuses! At least you got properly dressed, thank Merlin for small mercies,” Domovoi growled as he followed Timothy up the stairs. The larger werewolf wasn’t sure the alpha was even talking to him anymore, he seemed lost in his own ranting.
At the top of the stairs a long corridor led deeper into the club. It was far longer than the dimensions of the building should allow, stretching on and occasionally branching off into another corridor. Even after working here for years Timothy still found the corridor rather intimidating, though he now felt like a naughty school boy being sent to see the headmaster; the first time he had made the walk to Shax’s office it had felt like he was going to meet the Devil. Although, when Shax was in a mood even Lucifer himself would watch his step around him.
Stepping to the side, Timothy allowed his still scowling and muttering alpha to lead the way. The beta werewolf thought the alpha was overreacting to his tardiness. Shax may prefer punctuality - most people did - but he wasn’t particularly strict about it, and Timothy did have a good reason for being late. Not that he was going to voice these thoughts to his alpha. He quite liked the ability to breathe and Domovoi was slightly manic where Shax was concerned. The werwolf despised anything inconveniencing the demon, even more than the demon himself did.
The walk to the office seemed even longer than usual with an annoyed alpha muttering under his breath as he led the way. When they finally reached the office Timothy obediently waited outside while his alpha went in first. It really was like being back in school, waiting to see the headmaster.
A few minutes later the door opened and Domovoi’s head appeared for long enough to bark “In!” before disappearing again.
“Good evening sir,” Timothy greeted Shax far more formally than he usually would. He could feel Domovoi’s glare boring holes into his back and had to squash down the rather suicidal urge to ask if he could get a drink from the bar before they started. It would amuse Shax but it would probably push Domovoi over the edge, so he resisted his insubordinate tendencies and sat quietly in the visitor’s chair in front of Shax’s desk.
Trying to look meek and contrite was not easy when faced with a demon who looked far too amused by the situation. Clearly any annoyance Timothy’s tardiness had generated had been swept aside by the amusement of watching the trouble the werewolf was in with his alpha.
“I got here eventually?” Timothy offered tentatively, after several seconds of silence while Shax fought not to laugh.
Shax lost the battle and let out a snort of laughter as Domovoi snapped “Kirrin!”
“Sorry Alpha,” the large werewolf said meekly, trying not to grin at the demon who was shaking with silent laughter. “I will endeavour to be more…er, punctual? Or respectful? I will endeavour to be more respectful in the future.”
“Convincing,” Shax chuckled. This was one of the reasons he liked Timothy. The beta werewolf was a constant source of amusement and one of the few who didn’t waste time brown-nosing.
Timothy pulled a kicked puppy look. “You think I’m lying to you?” he mock-pouted.
“I think you are physically incapable of showing respect to your superiors,” Shax retorted dryly. “Now, if we could get to the reason you are here, before your alpha gives in to the urge to throttle you.”
“Right, yes. The submissive,” the beta werewolf said, nodding enthusiastically. “He’s a Scouting demon submissive who likes chocolate ice-cream, hates potions homework and is obsessed with quidditch.” He finished with an innocent smile.
He really should have been expecting the smack to the back of his head.
“Kirrin, you are the single most irritating creature to have ever joined my pack,” Domovoi growled from behind him.
“But you love me anyway?” Timothy said hopefully, tilting his head back, baring his throat to the two dominant Creatures in the room and looking at the exasperated amusement on his alpha’s face.
“Yes, fortunately for you I have something of a soft spot for hopeless cases.”
“I think I’m offended.”
“Good. Now stop trying to wind us up or you’ll be on back to back shifts for the next three days,” Domovoi said, resting a hand on the back of the beta werewolf’s neck, part warning, part affection.
As Domovoi rounded the desk to stand at Shax’s shoulder Timothy straightened in his seat, looking more businesslike than he had he even when he was being berated by his alpha downstairs.
“Yes alpha,” he said, dipping his head respectfully before looking at Shax. “So, what do you want to know?”
“Do you know what his plans are regarding finding a mate? Or why he hasn’t taken any steps so far?” Shax asked seriously. Before he found out anything else about the submissive, he needed to know what was holding the raven-haired demon back. The urge to find their first mate was extremely strong for a submissive and it became one of their primary concerns after their inheritance. However it would not be the first time a submissive’s natural instincts had been ignored or overridden by an outside force hoping to gain something from it. Such practices were unpleasant for the submissive involved and Shax would not tolerate it if that was the reason the little submissive hadn’t made any moves towards finding a mate.
“His plans primarily seem to consist of winging it and hoping for the best. He is adamant that plans don’t agree with him and rarely work well around him,” Timothy said with a grin, knowing that Shax made contingency plans for contingency plans. Winging it wasn’t an option when he was juggling multiple businesses and dealing with both the legal and not so legal worlds.
“So why hasn’t he done anything so far?” Shax pressed.
“From what I can tell, he has very little - if any - support in this,” Timothy explained with a frown. “It doesn’t help that Knockturn is populated with Dark wizards at the top end. Demon or not, he is only thirteen and none of those wizards are friendly.”
A low growl came from his alpha. Out of everyone in the room, Domovoi had the biggest issues with Dark wizards and those that supported them.
“It’s a problem I’m dealing with, though,” Timothy continued. “If everything goes to plan I should be bringing him to the Alley tomorrow afternoon.”
Shax blinked in surprise. “Tomorrow? You work fast.”
“I like him,” Timothy grinned. “He has something of an attitude and a general disregard for rules and authority. Within reason, of course,” he added hurriedly at the unimpressed look on his alpha’s face. “He’s unsure and needs a confidence boost but I think he has high standards and is going to make any potential suitors work hard for it.”
“You’ll like him then,” Domovoi chipped in from his spot at Shax’s shoulder.
Shax did looked pleased at the news. A picky, demanding submissive would quickly discount the arrogant, young (and a few not so young) dominants who still thought they were the Realm’s gift to demon kind and that any submissive should be honoured to receive their attentions. Shax despised those dominants who didn’t give a submissive the respect they deserved, but no number of beatings in a dominance battle could cut a dominant down to size as effectively as a quick and disgusted rejection by a submissive.
“You said he was unsupported?” Shax asked with a frown. “What about his parents, why aren’t they helping him?”
“They died when he was a baby and current guardians are muggles,” Timothy said. “Not that they are likely to be much use anyway,” he continued with a growl. “I get the impression that his home life is…not the greatest.”
The two dominants straightened, their gazes sharpening.
“You think he is being abused?” Shax asked sharply.
“He hasn’t said anything outright,” the beta werewolf said unhappily, “but he’s made a few comments that suggest something is not right, and some of his behaviour supports my suspicions.”
Shax made an impatient noise when Timothy paused to gather his thoughts, and his courage. If the other two agreed with his suspicions then this could get unpleasant.
“The most telling thing would be the comments he made today, and the condition of all of his muggle belongings” he started slowly. “I took him shopping in muggle London because the clothes he has been wearing are awful. I don’t think he owned anything that wasn’t second hand and at least four years old, other than his school clothes. And it’s not because he has no money. We went to Gringotts and his trust vault contains more than enough money to keep him comfortable for several years living a semi-luxurious lifestyle. But he refused to use much of it; he only bought the most basic things he could find, even if he saw something else he really liked, and he avoided anything that might make his relatives ask questions. He said that he didn’t want his uncle to know that he had money.”
He paused again, hearing a low, rumbling growl beginning to build in his alpha’s chest. When Shax made an impatient gesture, he took a breath and continued.
“Before that he also said that his relatives never take him anywhere. At first I thought it was just typical teenage moaning, that maybe his family wasn’t very well off so they didn’t go on fancy holidays, but combined with the other stuff, I’m not sure. He kept saying that he didn’t want to flaunt his money, but it seemed to have more to do with keeping it a complete secret than not making his relatives feel bad about their finical situation. And, thinking back, I think he was being serious when he said he rarely gets to go further than the local park.”
“He is in Diagon Alley,” Domovoi pointed out, but he was scowling and the low growl was still rumbling in his chest.
“Yeah, but he’s evasive about why he’s here. All he’ll say is that the muggle world isn’t a good place to look for a mate. Not untrue, but I really doubt it was the whole story.”
Timothy shifted in his seat, wondering whether to share his other concerns or not. In for a knut, in for a galleon.
“He’s also having issues with one of his teachers, who apparently despises him for unknown reasons. He thinks it has something to do with his father - the non-biological one, obviously - but he doesn’t know what.”
By this time all three of them were growling lowly. Harry may have tried to pass the abuse off as nothing but if anything that only made Timothy more worried, and the more he thought about it the angrier he became at the situation.
“I don’t know Snape well,” Timothy admitted, “but I do know that he has always been a biased git. Not to this extent though. He’s always docked House points for no reason but he didn't dock their grade, or so consistently attack one student.”
“The submissive could be exaggerating,” Domovoi suggested, adopting the role of devil’s advocate. “It wouldn’t be the first time a teenager has decided the world is against him, or that the teacher of a subject they don’t do well in hates them and that is why their marks are bad.”
Timothy shook his head slowly. “That’s true, but I don’t think it applies here. I’m no potions master” - he ignored his alpha’s snort - “but even I can tell he puts a lot of effort into his homework. He was in danger of being buried in a textbook avalanche when I was with him yesterday.”
Shax and Domovoi looked extremely displeased. Their scowls were intimidating enough that Timothy briefly considered not sharing the last of his suspicions about Harry’s home life. He didn’t have any evidence, it was just one comment Harry had made that made him suspect. Still, if his suspicions were correct then it was something that needed dealing with as soon as possible, and Shax would be able to do more about it than he could.
Steeling himself with a deep breath, the nervous werewolf stammered out, “I think - I think his relatives physically abuse him too.”
Twin snarls broke out.
An instinctive subservient whine left Timothy’s throat as he pushed his chair back, away from the two snarling dominant Creatures, and bared his throat submissively. He hated being the source of his alpha’s anger - this was true anger, not the affection tinged irritation from earlier - even if he was only the messenger. He hated being in the room with an angry Shax even more. His alpha was intimidating; Shax was downright terrifying. Knowing the two weren’t angry at him didn’t diminish the instinctive need to appease the two angry dominants.
“Explain.”
The curt command was all the beta werewolf needed to start explaining hurriedly.
“During one of out conversations he made a comment about needing to be able to cope with violence to have lasted this long. It struck me as odd because hardly any submissives cope well with violence, and even those that do know how to handle themselves will avoid being in violent situations whenever possible. I could be making something out of nothing, but putting that comment with all his others, and some of his behaviour…” he trailed off with a shrug.
“Do you know who his relatives are?” Shax asked in a voice that was far too level and calm. Even Domovoi looked wary of the demon.
“The Dursleys. His aunt, uncle and cousin. Just the one cousin I think. At least, I could only smell one human on his clothes. Either his uncle or his cousin - probably his uncle - is called Vernon. That’s the only name I can remember him saying in connection to family,” Timothy answered promptly, wracking his brains for more information. “That’s all I can remember about them at the moment.”
“Shax,” Domovoi began carefully, “what exactly are you planning?”
“Nothing at the moment. I just want to know who they are and, maybe, find out where they live,” the demon answered in that far too calm voice.
“Um, it’s not really my place, but you do plan to ask Harry what he thinks before you do anything, right?” Timothy asked hesitantly.
If Harry really was being abused and wanted them to do something about his relatives, Timothy would be the first in line to deal with them (or maybe third in line - he didn’t want to get in Shax or Domovoi’s way), but he didn’t want anything to happen without Harry’s agreement. Submissives were all about family and weren’t very forgiving towards those that harmed them. The werewolf wasn’t sure if Harry considered his aunt and uncle family or just people he was unfortunate enough to share blood with, but he’d rather not find out by attacking the family only to have Harry come to their defence.
“Of course I’ll ask. Or imply that something bad is going to happen to them and see how he responds. Same thing really,” Shax shrugged, looking far less angry than he had a moment ago.
“I don’t think Harry will see it as the same thing,” Timothy protested half-heartedly. Once Shax had an made his mind up, it was very difficult to get him to change it. And Timothy only cared that Harry didn’t get hurt, which was unlikely to happen with a dominant demon mother-henning him, so the werewolf wasn’t too concerned, really.
“So, his name is Harry?” Shax asked interestedly, shelving the Dursley issue until he had more information to work with. Like their home address.
Timothy grinned mischievously, happy to drop the serious subject for now.
“Yep. It’s his surname that might interest you most though.”
Shax raised an eyebrow and made a get on with it gesture.
“You’re not going to believe it, but that little submissive you’ve all been drooling over? He is Harry Potter!” Timothy said excitedly, practically vibrating in his seat.
Domovoi was the first to break the stunned silence.
“You didn’t fanboy all over him, did you?” he asked dryly, well aware of the beta werewolf’s somewhat inexplicable adoration of the young wizard (or demon, apparently) hero.
“No! Well, not much. Only a tiny bit, for like two minutes. And he took it quite well. He was pretty sarcastic about it actually,” Timothy mused. “I don’t think he likes his fame all that much.”
Domovoi rolled his eye’s at his subordinate werewolf’s excitement, but Shax was frowning.
“This could cause problems.”
“Problems?”
“There are dominants here who only care about finding a submissive to mate with. They don’t care about the submissive’s wishes, and are only currently held back by fear of breaking the laws,” Shax explained. “Right now they will go to any lengths to get a mate, pushing the laws almost to their breaking point, only obeying them in word, not in spirit. Imagine how much worse they will be if they know that the submissive they are chasing after is Harry Potter.”
“He is aware of that,” Timothy said after a moment. “He seems pretty confident that he can ‘weed them out’, as he put it.”
Shax didn’t look very reassured. Harry had never experienced what dominants on the hunt for a mate could be like, and Shax doubted he truly knew what to expect.
“There’s not much we can do anyway,” Timothy continued. “You two can’t approach him unless he comes to your first, and I’m a beta so I can’t interfere with a dominant trying to stake a claim on a submissive. I can offer my opinion to Harry, but I can’t stop it.”
The three fell silent, Domovoi scowling at the wall, Timothy frowning down at the desk, and Shax twirling a pen in his fingers as he thought.
Several minutes later the demon broke the contemplative silence.
“There is nothing stopping you from introducing Mr. Potter to your pack,” he said slowly, going over the demonic and interspecies laws in his head. “That would, naturally, mean introducing him to your alpha. Mr. Potter is looking for his first mate, he will have little interest in any dominant who is not a demon.”
The other two caught on quickly.
“Any protective instincts towards him would be pack instincts,” Domovoi nodded, his scowl disappearing. “Which would make any interference on my part perfectly acceptable. Almost expected, if we get along well enough.”
Timothy grinned, feeling happier knowing he had his alpha’s support. He was a perfectly capable adult but there were some situations he simply could not handle alone, and that was why he had a pack and an alpha.
Domovoi grinned suddenly, gaining a wary look from Timothy and an exasperated look from Shax. The alpha werewolf grinning rarely meant good things for those around him.
“You know,” Domovoi said cheerfully, “this could be fun.”
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The Path Less Traveled