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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.

Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.

For those reading 'You Will Not Kiss Me', this takes place during chapters 77 and 78.

Chapter 7: Notes and Enquiries

Alphard watched over the pack from his vantage point on the large stone on the top of the mountain, his mostly human mind observing the wolves, so completely devoid of the wizards and witches that they were as some played, some fought, some hunted and some slept. As he watched the occasional ruts of wolf pairs around him, Alphard thought on the roughness of their sex before the change which even now, in this canine body, he could still feel the ache of it.

He had given himself over to it completely when it had happened. In fact, he doubted he could have stopped it even if he had wanted to; it had been irresistible. On top of this mountain, he had thought on it again and how very different it had been from their times together this month. He admitted a little confusion to himself. Alphard was a gentle man; he always had been. He disliked roughness or pain in sex. And yet, for this full moon, his body had yielded completely to Idris's demands on him. It was a far greater control than Alphard had ever experienced because he never would have allowed such a thing, or inflicted such a thing.

Now, as he watched the white wolf take the dark wolf in a brief and brutal rut where the white wolf re-made his claiming bite on the neck of the she-wolf, he thought he understood that Idris re-marked his own when he was the wolf. He could never do that with Alphard during the moon, and so it had to be done before. That had to be why it had been so very different: the wolf was asserting his Claim on Alphard and that was why his own body had been so very accommodating. It made sense to him now.

Alphard scented the air. Much of the rutting had finished now, and many of the older wolves were settling down, if not to sleep, then to rest and watch the younger wolves. He saw that Idris and Angharad did not rest. They mingled with the other wolves, scenting them to recognise them, nuzzling the young and even playing with some. Alphard watched them both adoringly as they made their ways around the pack: his very own mates.

Alphard then looked for the Whitby Werewolves. He wanted to see how Stacy fared as a wolf. He knew what Spindle looked like. He had spotted him in the transformation. He had become as long and skinny a wolf as he was a man. Alphard saw Spindle and saw the little group together. He thought he could guess which was which as they played like cubs. How funny, Alphard thought. Idris complained they were not manly men, and neither, it appeared, were they mature wolves, as they yapped and chased their tails and each others' and play fought as if they were cubs. Conway, he thought, was the golden coloured wolf, with tan markings; Spindle was grey, long and skinny; Jethro, dark and tan; Botolph, small and wiry and pale grey with a distinctive black mask. The other two were both brown with dark markings. These must be Freddie and Zebedee but he could not tell which was which.

And there was Stacy, his and Angharad's special charge. A huge grey wolf, bigger than any in the extended pack. He played with the others with none of the reticence of his human counterpart except to ensure that he did not hurt them with his larger paws and jaws. Alphard watched carefully how Stacy as a wolf was calm and assured, his movements co-ordinated and his play natural and purposeful. He didn't know yet how the knowledge would help him, but he was sure that in time he would understand this mystery.

His ears pricked up to the sounds of barks and yips, the occasional growls or whimpers. At the instinctive level of the dog that he became he understood some of the sounds, but in other ways, he didn't. They were the communications of a cursed species, not quite canid just as he was not quite dog. But he picked out the arguments and the playfulness and the warnings and took in as much as he could on his first night, feeling it could one day be important.

Every now and then, a scent would be pulled from the air and a small group would tear off to form a small hunting party, bringing back the prey within an hour or so. There were lambs, an otter, and even one wild goat. Odd how the dog of Alphard wanted the meat but he didn't descend to take some. He still felt apart. Only when the white wolf brought him a leg of goat and laid it at his feet like a lover's offering did Alphard lower himself on his haunches and eat as the white wolf took his turn to watch over him.

So the hours passed and, before the sun rose but whilst the air still carried the frisson of magic of the time between times, Idris called to the pack and within minutes he led the pack back to the camp. Alphard wondered how the pack knew to return to the camp. Perhaps it was those years of learned behaviour, but it still struck him as extraordinary. Alphard followed, catching up a straggling cub carefully in his jaws, until the she-wolf whose cub it was came up to him with a snarl. He dropped the cub at her paws with a harmless whine, and carried on making his own way down the mountain, stopping to sniff because that part of him that was now dog thought it interesting to sniff the markings that the various wolves had left, the multi-faceted information contained on the pheromone acknowledged by the dog. He didn't mark the route himself; he knew that was not his place although he couldn't help but wonder what a true dog would make of his scent marking, or those of a werewolf.

They were now all returned, and Alphard padded through to sit beside Angharad and Idris as, as one, the pack began to whimper and whine as the reversion came upon them all.

This time, Alphard wanted to watch with his Healer's eyes. He tore his eyes away from the two he loved and watched instead those he did not know, closely observing the breaking and wracking of the bones and tendons and how the musculature twisted and changed. The reversion took but a matter of minutes, minutes in which by a curse of deepest Dark magic, a complete physiological change wrought and re-wrought itself on the cursed agonising them to the extremes of pain and bringing them back once more. The rising howls became screams that then slowly became cries, then moans and whimpers of the people, all now lying prone or kneeling, in the same places they had occupied the evening before. Alphard took it all in.

Alphard transformed in a matter of seconds, his own transformation as painless as donning a hat. He checked Idris and Angharad and quickly looked around before grabbing the single dose medications he had been racking before Idris had come to him and his shoulder bag from the door of his tent where he had left it in readiness and made his way straight to the elderly and sick in the roundhouse.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

All in the camp slept. All, except Alphard.

Instead, for the first quiet time he could remember since he had been there, he wrote up copious notes. Firstly, he wrote the medical notes for his elderly and sickly patients. These, for him, were heart-breaking. The damage of the transformations was shocking as their magical cores were depleted with age. He spent hours nursing and healing these patients first. Then, he went around the pack to check for more ordinary injuries from the reversions. These were nothing like as extensive as those for the elderly and sick. Alphard was sure their inability to run with the pack was the cause. What he had noticed was that the cubs had hardly any injuries bar scrapes and bruises. He suspected it was because their bones were still pliable and they were still so supple and maybe even because, as with all children, they knew no differently and did not fight the change. He made notes to check this at the next moon.

After all this was done, he then made notes of all that he had experienced whilst out with the pack and of his observations on Stacy. He noted all the behaviour that he had seen and he even noted as many wolves' markings as he could recall in case he needed to identify any in their wolf forms. What he had seen excited him. Surely no-one had ever had such close proximity to a pack, or the vantage point that a canine Animagus could have? It could be that he could uncover some real breakthroughs. It was certainly his intention.

By the time he had finished, it was late afternoon, and he heard the stirrings of some of the pack and, exhausted, he finally took to his bed to sleep.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

It was with something like shame that Idris let himself through the wards of Alphard's tent with a bowl of hot food that evening. As quietly as he could, he placed the bowl and spoon on the nightstand and cast a warming charm on it.

Idris recalled how he had taken Alphard so roughly the afternoon before. Alphard had not complained, but Idris still felt some revulsion because he did not understand where that forceful lust had come from. He had never felt it before on the day of the full moon; he had always been too drained as the moon pulled on his body.

Idris stood by the bed and watched Alphard sleep. Alphard's face was calm in sleep, but Idris could see by his pallor how exhausted he must have been. Had he not slept? Idris looked around and saw the piles of parchment under paperweights on Alphard's desk and went to look. He read the notes of the elderly werewolves and the care undertaken (as far as he understood Alphard's Healer's annotations) and then skimmed the other notes, just reading enough to know how long these records must have taken. He turned from the desk and watched Alphard again.

Idris sat on the side of Alphard's bed and stroked his long hair from his face, his large hands still capable of great tenderness, and kissed his brow. Alphard's eyes fluttered open and he held his own hand over Idris's.

"I'm sorry, Alf. For yesterday ..." said Idris, his dark eyes intense.

"No need to apologise," Alphard said softly. "I understand."

"You do?" Idris laughed, a small but deep chuckle of embarrassment. "Tell me then. I don't know what came over me."

"The first thing you did when you were transformed was to check my neck for your bite. It's how you recognised that I belonged with you. Angharad did it too," Alphard explained, knowing that they had no memories of anything during their change. "Only when you signalled to the pack that I was yours did the pack stand down from me. I watched you all as wolves. All the couples mated, and the dominant partner bit his mate. I think your instincts made you take me before moonrise and mark me again as you could not or," Alphard shrugged, "perhaps would not do it when you were transformed. That's what I think." Alphard squeezed Idris's hand in re-assurance.

"You may be right. Still, I'm sorry." Idris's hand cradled the side of Alphard's face. "I never wanted you to see me as a beast."

"You are no beast, my love," Alphard said and raised himself up on one arm to kiss Idris.

"May I make love to you now?" Idris asked, hesitantly, as they broke the kiss.

Alphard smiled, a small smile of embarrassment and a flush spread up his cheeks as his leant his forehead against Idris's. "I'm rather sore," he admitted, feeling rather foolish.

"Oh, Alf." Idris had wanted to show him, this day after Alphard had seen him in his beast form that he was no beast. He had wanted to show him that he could still make love to him, not just grab him like a beast.

"Do you trust me not to hurt you, Alf?"

"Of course I do," Alphard responded, his slate eyes darkening.

Idris undressed and Alphard opened the bedclothes for him to join him.

All those years ago in his lodgings in Fye Foot Lane, Idris and Alphard had done everything for each other but that one final step in making love. Idris recalled how they had loved each others' bodies, fervent and ardent, that day before Christmas, before all was lost. He remembered his young self taking Alphard in his mouth and how Alphard had ended up in his arms in something like delirium. Idris had marvelled at Alphard's enjoyment then and, as he began to kiss and stroke Alphard's body, he marvelled once more at Alphard's sighs and encouraging hands in his hair and then Alphard's soft moans as Idris's mouth found his erection and how Alphard stretched and arched under him, babbling his name.

It was everything he remembered – the aching beauty of the writhing body and soft sounds becoming louder and more urgent, the straining hips that his hands held so firmly until Alphard cried out in powerful release. As before, Idris didn't let go of Alphard but greedily took Alphard's release, watching Alphard as he pitched his hips forward, his hands gripping Idris's hair as if his life depended upon it. Ah, to hear Alphard cry out his name in rapture. Idris had forgotten how it had made his being sing with joy.

And now, Alphard lay curled up with him again, his body helpless in his mate's strong arms and he fell asleep once more, sated, exhausted. Idris held him close, feeling peaceful that Alphard still trusted him even though they both knew that what happened yesterday would happen again if Alphard were to run with the wolves.

Idris remembered in Fye Foot Lane that, later that day, Alphard had done the same for him. He recalled that he thought he would split apart it had been so intense and no such deliciousness could exist like that and, by heaven, he could never be that happy again.

Idris had often thought his blasphemy had cost him his humanity and his happiness.

Now, as he held his sleeping mate, Idris would not tempt fate, but this time thanked it for giving him his lover back. He realised that the way they had loved each other back then was not what werewolves did. He had neither touched nor been touched like that again until Alphard had returned to him. Pack werewolves did not spend time heightening extraordinary sensations beyond just sex with knowing fingers and mouths. They did not make love. It was not their way.

But Idris wanted what he had with Alphard back then. He wanted to see his lover ecstatic with joy. Idris knew now, he was still enough of a wizard to know how to love Alphard Black.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

Idris and Alphard had not really known what to make of Dumbledore's request to meet with them, but they had agreed if for no reason other than Alphard's overwhelming curiosity about Andromeda and her family. They had taken the alcove in which they had met nearly four months ago and waited as they shared a jug of ale.

Neither covered their surprise particularly well when Dumbledore joined them, his hair no longer auburn, but white like Idris's and his beard so long that he tucked it in his wide belt that held his violently lime green robes together, robes adorned with silver stars. Alphard wasn't sure that he recalled Dumbledore being that eccentric in his dress when he had been his Transfiguration master. Still, he had known men like Dumbledore before, although it was clear Idris as he could not hide his shocked fascination.

They exchanged pleasantries and Idris poured Dumbledore a tankard of ale.

"First things first, I think," Dumbledore said and he passed a small, rolled parchment tied with ribbon to Alphard, who took it carefully with a look to Idris. The other two men watched with interest as Alphard unrolled the parchment and read the rounded script that he suddenly recalled with piercing clarity as being that of his niece, Andromeda:

For Uncle Alphard. Andy and Ted Tonks live at 8 Park Drive, Barnes, London S.W.

"Thank you," Alphard whispered, and he rolled up the parchment carefully and re-tied the ribbon and placed it in his robe pocket. "Thank you so much."

Dumbledore smiled, inclined his head and then reached for his tankard. Alphard's eyes fell upon Dumbledore's hand – withered and blackened by a curse of great power.

"May I?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded and Alphard took the dying hand in his own and cast his wand over it, the other two men watching in silence. "A counter-curse of great power traps the first," he said with appreciation. "Your own work?"

"No, indeed," Dumbledore said amiably. "Our Defence professor is adept at his work. And a course of Spiritus Vitae until ... well, until it works no more."

Alphard's intense gaze wavered to hear the man speak of his own ultimate demise so casually, but then, a wizard of the renown of Albus Dumbledore would know his time was limited and would feel the contagion of the curse in his magical core. There would be no denying the truth from oneself. He concentrated once more on trying to read the counter-curse.

"A potion that is hard to concoct," Alphard noted, still intent with his own wand, "but this counter-curse is not something I've seen before, even when I worked in curse-damage. I should like to meet your Defence professor. This is quite something."

Idris watched the exchange with interest and no small amount of pride at Alphard's knowledge. When Alphard asked to meet the Defence professor, he saw Dumbledore's seemingly mild gaze flicker to Idris himself. It was but a moment, but Idris was convinced he had not mistaken it.

"Perhaps it would be possible," he said, in an off-hand manner then fixed his gaze on Idris's ring that Alphard wore.

"May I ask," he said with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, "does the ring – ah – signify your union, or reunion, as it were?"

Alphard was dumbstruck. Such a question! But Idris found it emboldened him. He grasped Alphard's hand possessively.

"Aye, our reunion," Idris said proudly.

"I am delighted." Dumbledore sat back on his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "May I pass on the news to Remus and ... his partner?"

"Of course," Idris confirmed. "Are they well? Remus Lupin certainly seems to be successful sending werewolves to me for you."

Dumbledore didn't answer immediately, but looked pensive and leant forward confidentially. "Idris, you have known Remus and his mate. Remus lived with you for a time. It may be that you can help them."

Idris brow furrowed as he encouraged Dumbledore to go ahead.

"What I wish to tell you so I may seek your assistance is dangerous and could endanger both Remus and his mate. I hope I have proven my good faith towards you in reuniting you. May I ask you please for your good faith in return?"

Idris leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist as he regarded Dumbledore. It was a lot to ask a man he hadn't seen since he was a boy. He turned to Alphard who had been looking at the two men.

"When I visited Sirius," Alphard said, "he told me of some of the work of the Order against Riddle and that Professor Dumbledore co-ordinated it." He turned to Dumbledore. "Is what you ask in the course of your work against Riddle?"

"It is," Dumbledore said. "Ask me what you need to, Alphard, my boy."

"If what you tell us becomes known, who will the danger come from?"

"Tom Riddle and his followers, the Death Eaters."

"Will the knowledge endanger Idris and his pack?"

Dumbledore inhaled deeply. "I don't believe so, unless Remus and his mate were with you if Riddle found out."

"If any werewolf is under my protection, Dumbledore, Riddle better think twice before trying to hurt them," Idris growled. "I give you my good faith on my magic Dumbledore."

"And I," Alphard stated, in tandem with his mate. Each man held out their wand and Dumbledore raised his and cast their oaths of fidelity.

"You have met Remus Lupin's mate," Dumbledore started.

"Aye, Seth Moore. What of him?" Idris asked.

Dumbledore blinked once, but that slight hesitation was not missed by Idris.

"Seth Moore also works for the Order. His work is highly dangerous. The risks he takes for the Light are great," said Dumbledore urgently.

"How risky is it to be a tutor in Barmouth?" Idris laughed gruffly.

Once again, Dumbledore seemed baffled, but only for a scintilla of time.

"I take it he is no such thing then," Idris rumbled, thinking of how many times he had thought that there was more to Seth Moore than had met the eye. "A disguise?"

"Of a sort, yes. Seth – or Severus Snape to give him his true name - is a spy for me. He has been for many years. His work takes him to report to Riddle himself, but that is not the secret."

"It's not?" Alphard chimed in, startled.

"Indeed, no. For many years, Riddle has believed that Severus is his spy and I am deceived in him. Just how I wish it to be." Dumbledore smiled merrily, but then his demeanour returned to its seriousness once more. "The secret that Riddle must never discover is that Severus is mated to Remus."

Both Alphard and Idris understood immediately. Indeed, who better to understand?

"I understand, but why do you need us to know this?" asked Idris.

"I need some help. I had thought their union was fairly unusual, and although I know of other such pairs, they are also of young people. People without your breadth of experience. Now that I see ..." he indicated delicately to the ring on Alphard's finger, "that this a union of, say we say, wiser heads, I hope that you, Idris, as an Alpha of a pack, will have better knowledge of how Lycanthropy works than others."

"Go on," Idris said, intrigued still further.

"It is the nature of Severus's work that he can be called to Riddle's side at a moment's notice. Not to obey would result in appalling injury to himself. Last full moon, he was unable to get away from Riddle in time for moonrise ..."

"Ach," Idris grimaced. He had only seen it a few times in his long life as a werewolf when a changing Were had been caught without his or her mate, having been trapped elsewhere. How the poor ones had suffered! The pack had hardly ever had the expertise required to heal them fully. No indeed, werewolves rarely allowed their mates to stray away from them near the moon.

"How is Remus Lupin now?" Idris asked quickly.

"Severus got back to him to heal him and was with him for the rest of the moon. Once they are together, the worst passes over and Severus is quite an accomplished healer." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "However, Fate has conspired against them in that Riddle commands Severus's presence for Dark rituals each full moon from now on. You see our difficulty ..."

Idris's eyes widened at the horror of it. "But Seth Moore ... this Severus ... will be brought low, and Remus Lupin ..." Idris screwed his eyes shut at the memory of crippled werewolves he had seen.

"Quite so," Dumbledore said quietly.

"So this is what you need to know? How it can be helped?"

Dumbledore nodded with a sad smile. Idris sat back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands and then held those hands over his mouth as he thought.

"There is something, but it is inimical to our kind," Idris ventured.

"Inimical?" Alphard repeated.

Idris sat forward and clasped Alphard's hand. "When I was young, there was a Were called Andrew. He was Dai's most trusted Beta. His mate went missing before the full moon. Hours before the moon was due to rise and there no sign of her, even though we had searched. Dai asked one of the single women to be his second mate. Andrew didn't want to, but Dai would not let him refuse. Andrew marked her in time before moonrise and so he was saved from the sickness."

"What happened to his mate? His original mate?" whispered Alphard.

Idris turned to Alphard, his eyes sad. "We found her late the next day. She had been caught in an illegal mantrap in the old forest – that's why she couldn't get back to camp. Her wounds from that and her changes caught in that with the sickness – she couldn't survive." Idris shook his head in remembrance.

"So Remus needs another mate?" asked Dumbledore, bringing them back to the purpose of the recollection.

"As I say, it's inimical to us. It's very rare a werewolf takes a second mate. That I have is ... well, because of who he is, not that I just can." He gave Alphard a small smile. "It takes a lot of understanding and trust. All three mates have to understand fully what it means."

"Can you think of anything else that would help them?" Dumbledore asked.

"In truth, I cannot. Only death releases the Claim of a werewolf. We are, after all, Dark creatures."

A heavy silence fell over the men as the considered the import of Idris's words. Then, Dumbledore inhaled deeply once more as if to signal that he wished to move on, and drank half his tankard of ale.

"Fine ale, very fine indeed. Now, gentlemen, the purpose of my visit ..."

"That wasn't it?" Alphard asked.

"Indeed, no. It was merely fortuitous that we had this meeting scheduled. What I've really come for, Idris, is your advice. Advice, as only you who hears Wandsong, can give. May I ask you, please, to listen to my wand?

Idris held Dumbledore's mild gaze for a while, surprised by the request as he had been surprised by the whole meeting. Then he held his hand out for Dumbledore's wand.

He closed his eyes before it even touched his hand as he felt the thaumatic energy resonating in the air. Then he felt the wood touch his palms.

A wand that dripped with more magic than Idris had ever felt, both Dark and Light, ancient and modern. The song of this wand was multi-layered, symphonic, made up of many chords of the most reverberating and yet ethereal sound – Wandsong magnified. Idris's heart beat too fast, he was delirious with the wand's telling. Yes, Dumbledore had been chosen by this wand many years ago –

"Yours by combat," Idris said the thought aloud, his eyes still shut.

"That's right," Dumbledore said lightly.

"Elder and Thestral hair," Idris said, his voice thick. He swallowed audibly, staring intently at the wand in his hands. Eventually, he looked at Dumbledore, his dark eyes blazing.

"The Death Stick."

"You know of it? I wondered if you would."

"Mr. Ollivander. ...

"Garrick?"

"Not the son, the father."

"Gervaise," confirmed Dumbledore.

"Aye. He told me of the Death Stick one summer when I worked there." His tone was hushed. He still held the wand between his fingers. "A thing of legend. Folklore. But he knew differently. He said he held it once."

"Oh yes?" said Dumbledore, mildly.

"Aye, he had held it at the request of a braggart in an ale house in Frying Pan Alley back before I was born. A young devil called Grindelwald." Idris fancied he saw Dumbledore flinch. A miniscule reaction, but Idris saw it.

"So, Garrick would know it exists?" Dumbledore enquired lightly.

"If I do, he will. His father would have told him."

"Do you know more about it, how it is won? Is it the same as any other wand?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes intense.

Idris felt very strongly that the question was of great import, the whole reason why Dumbledore had come to him. As he gently rolled the wand in his fingers, he understood the import. This wand was a terrible thing. As he listened, he understood that it was a wand that sought power from those who wielded it. Each powerful owner imparted some of his magic to the wand itself, accreting power to itself! It was an evil thing. Its power had been contained by Dumbledore's own considerable sorcery. Ultimately, the wand's power could be limited.

"Its allegiance passes by combat only," Idris pronounced. "If its master dies unbeaten, the wand's power is broken."

"That is the key?" Dumbledore asked quickly, his eyes alight. "It's important that I know how to break it."

"Aye, that is the key. To break the invincibility of this wand – this bringer of death – you must die undefeated, Albus Dumbledore. Let no man best you before your death."

Dumbledore nodded. "I believe I have taken care of it."
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