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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Voldemort paced through the room, his cloak flaring angrily behind him. The flames of the candles lining the walls guttered as Voldemort’s anger caused his magic to lash out. His Deatheaters surrounded him, silently awaiting his orders. The only exceptions were Bellatrix Lestrange, who wasn’t wearing her mask and was dancing in place, and Wormtail, who also didn’t have on his mask and was on the ground whimpering quietly. Voldemort suddenly whirled around and hit a random Deatheater with a Crucio.
“How?!” He roared. “How the hell did he escape? What the fuck were you all doing?! Answer me!”
Bellatrix clapped her hands and laughed. “Ask Lucius, my lord. He should know.”
“Lucius?” He said softly. Lucius stiffened as the Dark Lord’s bright red eyes turned on him.
“Yes, my lord?”
“What does Bellatrix speak of?”
“His son is MIA, my lord, ask him.” Bellatrix giggled madly. Voldemort ignored her, not taking his eyes off of Lucius.
The blonde swallowed. “Draco is indeed missing, my lord. I suspect that he has…aided in the escape of the Potter boy, sir.”
“Really?” Voldemort stepped in front of Lucius, caressing the blonde’s mask with his wand with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “And why, pray tell, would he do something like that Lucius?”
“I do not know, my lord. Draco and I have not been on speaking terms these past few months, as we have not agreed on certain views.”
“Would these…views of his have anything to do with the treatment of Harry Potter?” The Dark Lord hissed.
“…Yes, my lord.”
“Hmm…” Voldemort turned away contemplatively.
The room once again was silent. The Dark Lord slowly walked a short distance away, his expression thoughtful. Suddenly, a nasty grin stretched his bloodless lips and he whirled around, pulling out his wand and aiming it at Lucius in one fluid motion. The blonde only had time to widen his eyes in surprise and foreboding fear if what was about to come before Voldemort whispered gleefully two words that meant inevitable death.
“Avada…Kedavra.”
A green flash, and the sound of a body falling to the ground accompanied by Bellatrix’s hysterical laughter and clapping.
Harry woke with a gasp, arms and legs flailing in the blanket cocoon he’d created in his sleep. A thin layer of sweat slicked his skin, causing his hair and clothes to obnoxiously stick to his skin. His scar pulsed and burned, and a thin line of blood made its way down his face, smearing with the sweat on his brow. Bile rose in his throat, and he only had a moments warning before he spewed chunks over the side of his bed. Afterwards, he rested his cheek on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath without inhaling the acrid smell of puke too much. He could barely move, let alone reach forward to grab his wand and banish the throw up,, or even do magic in general.
He shuddered violently. Lucius Malfoy was dead. Killed by Voldemort. Because Draco had decided to help him escape. Oh Merlin, what was he going to tell the blonde? How would Draco react? Harry knew Draco didn’t have a good relationship with his father, but it was still his father no less. He would be heatbroken. And what would happen to his mother now that she had neither Draco nor Lucius there to keep Voldemort away? Oh, Merlin—
Eyes watering, Harry barely had enough time to shakily sit up before he was throwing up again. His throat burned as nothing but acidic bile came out. He already up-chucked the meager amount of food he’d eaten last night, and now there was nothing in his stomach but acidic fluids. Tears washed down his face as his stomach curdled painfully and the stench of his waste burned his nose and throat. He flopped back down bonelessly on his bed with a painful groan. Feeling pitiful and hoping no one came in, Harry weakly curled into himself with a shuddering sob. The flash of green light played in a loop in his mind, a continuous self torture that he could not stop.
When the door to his room burst open moments later—when it really seemed like hours—he was partially relieved as it caused the end of the loop. Otherwise, he was horrified that someone found him in such a weak state. He’d never been reduced to such, not even when he was being tortured. The closest he ever came to was when he nearly pissed himself after being under a Crucio for two hours straight, only one because he was twitching too much to control himself.
“Pup?”
Inwardly, he cringed. Damn. It just had to be Fenrir who found him. He stayed silent, unable to speak, and also unwilling in fear of throwing up again. Quickly approaching footsteps caused him to tense, whimpering softly when the movement caused his stomach to twist painfully. Above him, there was a roughly muttered curse.
“Shit. What the hell happened?” A rough, but gentle, palm cupped his cheek. “Pup? You awake?”
Harry slowly opened his eyes, looking blearily into Fenrir’s face. The werewolf’s brow was scrunched, and his nose kept twitching. Probably from the smell. Gazes locking, Harry noticed when Fenrir’s softened in relief. He whimpered softly, wanting to move closer to the man, but being unable to unless he wanted more pain. The older man blinked.
“Can you talk? Or move?” When Harry only blinked at him, he scowled. “Fuck. You aren’t infected with a virus or anything, ‘cause I’d be able to smell that. What the hell happened to—what the hell is that on your face?”
He was referring to the blood that was now drying on Harry’s face. It was smeared across his brow and drying in a thin, messy line down the side of his nose, over his cheek, and past his chin, where it mixed with the bile that had dribbled there from his mouth. The cooling sweat didn’t help and the combination of the three created a putrid stench that was doing wonders on the two werewolves’ noses. Harry swallowed down another whimper and stared up at Fenrir.
“I’m going to get Draco and Remus. They probably know what’s wrong with you.”
Before Harry could muster up a response, Fenrir had whirled around and quickly ran from the room. Just in time too, as Harry’s stomach swirled again and his throat contracted. This time he only had enough energy to put his head over the side of the bed before he threw up again. He coughed up the last bit, groaning when it caused the burning in his throat to flare.
The only reason he was reacting so badly, he knew, was because he could feel what Voldemort was feeling. He could feel the delicious rush of magic as green light spouted from Voldemort’s wand. He could feel the glee when Lucius Malfoy’s body fell to the ground. He could fell the swell of arrogance and pride as the rest of the Death Eaters cowed and Bellatrix lurched forward to praise him with a mad glint in her eyes. But most of all, he could feel the moment when the last vestige of Voldemort’s soul ripped itself apart. It was like nothing he ever felt before; he felt no pain and yet he was in agony. He felt like he was falling apart. Like he would never be the same again. If that was what Voldemort felt ever time he killed someone, then it was understandable to Harry why he was so far off his rocker.
For a second time, the door opened and Harry felt a rush of relief and humiliation. He would have much preferred it if Fenrir hadn’t gone to get the others, but knew that he needed the help, whether or not he was embarrassed by being seen so weak. There was a gasp and a rush of footsteps. Cool hands touched his cheek and forehead, and Harry could tell by the texture that it was Remus.
“Harry…what happened…?” The hands disappeared as Remus turned away. “Draco, I need a calming draught and a nausea potion…They should be in the kitchen, in the third cupboard on the left when you enter. Fenrir, can you go with him and get some crackers and a glass of water?”
There was a moment of silence, and then the door clicked quietly shut. Remus’ hands returned to Harry’s head for a brief moment.
“Harry, I’m going to wet a washcloth to put on your head, okay? I’ll be back in just a moment. Ah—let me get up this mess too.”
A gentle wave of magic washed over Harry’s skin as Remus banished the sweat, blood, tears, and bile from him, and then again with the puddle of nasty on the floor. Harry took a shaky deep breath of the now fresh air in relief. He could hear Remus move away to the joint bathroom, a bit of bustling around, and then the sound of running water. When the water cut off, Remus was there crouching in front of him not but a second later, carefully laying a cool, slightly wet cloth on his forehead. He immediately sighed in relief, not realizing how hot he actually was until he started to cool down.
Moments later, Draco and Fenrir returned with the requested supplies. With Fenrir’s help, Remus was able to get Harry up into a sitting position, though at the cost of a lot of pain on the raven’s part. Remus returned the cloth to his forehead, which had slipped off, after putting a quick cooling charm on it. Draco was thoughtful enough to bring a spoon, and immediately began the task of spoon-feeding Harry the required amount of each potion, not unlike how he did when Harry was held captive. When he finished the potions, he felt a bit better—definitely not feeling sick anymore—but he still couldn’t move much. This resulted in Fenrir silently volunteering himself to break up the salty crackers and hand-feed them to Harry. When he finished the crackers, he just wanted to go to sleep, but Fenrir forced him to drink about half of the cup of water. Afterwards, he couldn’t get his already drooping eyelids to stay open.
His body slid down as he allowed his heavy eyes to close. The last he saw were the worried faces of Fenrir, Remus, and Draco.
~oOo~
The next time he woke up, all the sickness and pain was fully gone and he was wrapped up in a lot of blankets. He wriggled out of the cocoon and sat up, looking around. Guessing from the amount of sunshine coming in from his window, he would say it was around just before noon, but casted a quick Tempus just to be doubly sure. There was a glass of water with a cooling charm on it sitting on his nightstand, and he gladly drank from it, downing all of it in two long swallows.
He sighed in relief, setting the glass back on the nightstand before slumping against his pillows. The sickness was gone, but now he was completely exhausted. His limbs felt heavy and his throat burned. He rubbed a hand down his face. Soon, someone was going to check on him and find him awake. And then he’d have to tell them exactly what happened. Fenrir always knew when he lied, so doing so would be pointless. He didn’t like lying, but he’d do anything to stop Draco from feeling the grief he certainly was going to be feeling. He knew what it felt like to lose someone, even if you didn’t exactly even like that person anymore.
The door to his room opened and he looked up to see Fenrir step inside quietly. The wolf looked up and their eyes met and held. After a moment or two, Harry swallowed and looked away. He could hear Fenrir’s nearly silent footsteps approach, and only looked up when the man sat beside him on the bed. Fenrir reached out and gently caressed the tip of his fingers along Harry’s cheek.
“You okay, pup?’
Harry nodded. “I don’t feel sick anymore, at least.”
“Good.” The man grunted. Not knowing what to say, neither spoke for a moment, allowing an awkward silence to fall in the room.
After twiddling with his fingers for a moment, Harry sighed. “I’m guessing…you want to know what happened to me?”
Fenrir’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, I do. You fucking scared me, you know that? For a second I thought—I thought you were rejecting the werewolf gene or somethin’.”
“Oh.” Harry blinked. Then he grinned and weakly threw himself into Fenrir’s arms. “Thank you for worrying, Fen.”
“Fen? The hell?” The man snorted. “You are so strange. And you also need a bath; you smell like shit and barf.”
Harry sniffed mock-indignantly. “Well, excuse me for being sick and unable to move.” He squeaked as Fenrir suddenly lifted him into the air. “Oi! Lemme go, Fenrir.”
“Nope. You need a bath.” Fenrir began to carry him into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “And I’m going to give you one.”
“I can bathe myself, dammit.” Harry crossed his arms as he was sat on the counter next to the sink.
Fenrir bent down to start the water. “Uh huh.”
“I can!”
“But I thought you were sick and couldn’t move.” Fenrir straightened and smirked at him.
Harry glared. “That was yesterday.”
“And today you stink and I’m going to give you a bath.” The man turned for a second to check the water. “I can’t have you stinking when you meet the pack. You already have a bad enough attitude.”
“Oi.” Harry swatted Fenrir’s arm and the man gave him a cheeky grin. “Don’t look at me like that. And your water’s going to overflow.”
“Shit.” Fenrir turned and quickly turned off the water. He shot Harry a look. “Strip.”
“Not until you get out.”
Fenrir put his hands on his hips. “And let you somehow fuck up and hurt yourself. Think again, pup.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Fenrir…”
“Fine.” Fenrir moved forward a picked Harry up. His eyes widened as he was carried to the tub and, before he could be dropped into the water, wrapped his arms tightly around Fenrir’s neck. The man grunted. “Leggo. You don’t want to get undressed, then you will take a bath with all your clothes on. One way or another, you’re going to be clean.”
“Fe~en.” Harry yelped as Fenrir began to forcibly pry him away. “Okay, okay! I’ll take my clothes off, I promise.”
“You better.” Fenrir put him on his feet.
“At least turn around.” Harry pouted. Fenrir growled, but complied.
Harry took off his clothes as quickly as he could possibly move. He had a bit of trouble getting his shirt over his head and was seriously contemplating asking Fenrir for help when the man took it upon his self to help anyway.
“I knew you were going to need help. Why didn’t you just ask?”
“Why were you peeking?”
Fenrir snorted. “I didn’t need to peek. I could hear you struggling.”
Cheeks flaming red, Harry wriggled out of his pants and quickly jumped into the tub. He immediately curled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his head into his knees. Above him, Fenrir snorted again.
“What the hell are you so embarrassed about? There ain’t nothing you got that I ain’t seen before. Besides, you were bare-ass naked not a few days ago*.”
“No.” Harry peeked up from behind his knees, only enough that his eyes showed. “The water…reacts negatively with my glamours, so I had to…take them off.”
“Glamours?” Fenrir blinked. “What glamours? I didn’t know you had any glamours.”
“Yeah…” He ducked back behind his knees.
“How’d you get glamours to work back at the Manor?”
“…’Cause they’re not from wizard magic.”
Fenrir’s brow furrowed. “What? No—forget that. What did you use the glamours to cover up?”
“No.” Harry curled tighter into his self.
“What the hell do you mean ‘no’?” When Harry didn’t respond, Fenrir growled. “Pup…”
After a moment or two, Harry slowly lifted his head up. He was shaking so bad that he sent ripples along the water’s surface. His eyes were closed and his eyelashes glistened with tears. Fenrir sucked in a sharp gasp, eyes widening as they took in Harry’s face without the glamours.
On the right side of his face was a long, silvery cut that started just under the ridge of his cheekbone and ended somewhere under his jaw. It was thin and light enough that human eyes wouldn’t have been able to see it. On the left side of his mouth, just over his lips, was another, wider and darker scar. From his position, Fenrir could see what looked like the edge of a large burn curling up towards his neck and shoulders from his chest, possibly even lower. Harry lifted his arms and Fenrir’s eyes narrowed on the thin, angry red scar tissue that lined evenly on each of the underside of his biceps. When Harry stretched his legs out so that they were no longer hiding the rest of his body, Fenrir noted more scar tissue that overlap the burn, which indeed crept all the way down to his left hip. The skin around his hips and thighs were discolored, probably from being bruised repeatedly in the same place before older wounds could heal. Fenrir nearly exploded when Harry turned around and he caught sight of thick, deep scars that littered his back. He saw red when he read the word carved into the small of Harry’s back.
“Who did this to you, Harry?” Fenrir growled.
Harry jerked in surprise, his eyes wide. That was the second time Fenrir ever called him Harry. He was so surprised that Fenrir’s question didn’t even register in his mind until the older werewolf growled, this one dark and dangerous. Harry frowned at the man; he knew the anger wasn’t directed at him, but honestly, it was years ago and Fenrir should’ve just been glad that he wasn’t with the Dursleys anymore.
“It was those filthy humans, wasn’t it?” Fenrir began to pace angrily, mumbling and growling as he went. “I’ll kill them, I swear on Merlin’s saggy balls I will. No wonder Voldemort wants to get rid of Muggles, if this is the type of shit they do.” He suddenly whirled on Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well…” Harry looked away. “It’s embarrassing…and I hate these scars. I just—I really want to forget about them and what they did to me Fenrir, please.”
Fenrir swallowed hard, visibly forcing himself to calm down. He stepped forward and ran his hand through Harry’s hair. “Alright, pup. I’ll let it go. But you can’t hide your scars anymore.”
“What?!” Harry jerked away. “Why?
“You can’t heal if you don’t face it, pup. Besides, there are plenty of potions and salves that can get rid of those, if slowly. Stop usin’ your magic for something so stupid. I have a bunch of scars and no one gives a fuck.”
“But you’re Fenrir Greyback.”
He arched a brow and sat on the edge of the tub, reaching out to thumb Harry’s cheek softly. “And you’re Harry Potter. We all have our battles scars. What changes is how they get ‘em, and what they’re goin’ to do about it.”
Their gazes locked, dark green clashing with icy blue-grey. A hot shudder went down Harry’s back at the look Fenrir was giving him. It was a suddenly hungry look, as if the man just wanted to eat him piece by piece. Harry swallowed hard and looked away.
“Look at you, trying to sound all philosophical or something.” He tried.
After a moment, where he could feel Fenrir’s hot stare on him, the man finally responded, standing up and dusting his pants off. “I try, sometimes. Now get out and go get dressed in something nice or whatever. The pack should be here soon.”
“Okay.”
Harry waited until the door clicked softly behind Fenrir to look up, let out a deep sigh. He curled his legs back up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees, watching his fingers as he trailed them along the surface of the water. The Dursleys. Hopefully he would never have to see them ever again. Now he had a new family.
Or so he hoped.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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Every Wolf's Bane