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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
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Chapter List
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Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.

Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.

Chapter 9: Defences

Idris had dressed and left the tent to oversee the werewolves' defensive training. Even on a bitterly cold day in January, Idris never allowed the extended pack to let their guard down. Every day, Idris drilled all the werewolves who could fight in their defensive exercises. None complained. There was more than winter in the chill of the air, even here in this remote place. They all knew Dementors were abroad, and that he-we-don't-name controlled them. His power was increasing and they would resist. They would not be the weapons of the man who would enslave them! Idris had drilled more than defensive spells into them.

Even over Christmas, the routine never changed. At first, Conway and Jethro had complained, but Angharad explained to them how there was no real mid-winter celebration for the pack, no surfeit of food for such a feast. But the Whitby Werewolves sang Christmas carols anyway on Christmas Eve, and a surprising number of werewolves joined in. At the realisation that it was Christmas Eve, Idris had led Alphard away to his tent, and made love to him gently, remembering that Christmas Eve all those years ago and the gift it was to have each other once more.

Remembering it now, Alphard lay back on the bed to savour the glow he always felt, the throb in his body and reverberation in his magic, every time they made love. It had now been six months since Idris had Claimed Alphard as his own, and Alphard had finally found his place in the world. Not the privileged, glamorous world of which he had been part in Spain, of rich playboys in secluded villas; but of healer and teacher to a werewolf pack, living in a communal roundhouse in the most beautiful part of Wales – at least when it wasn't raining. And even when it was, the smell of the mountains and the forest in the rain seemed to revitalise all his senses.

Five full moons when Idris re-made his Claim before moonset. Five full moons when the great white dog ran with the wolves and watched them intently. It was almost perfect.

He had come to terms with the hateful meeting he'd had with Andy and Ted. Angharad had talked to him for hours of his shattered memories of his niece, replaced by the sour middle-aged woman. But he hadn't given up. Not fully. But he would wait before he tried to contact her again. He couldn't bear to be without those few remaining members of his family. Of course, he didn't count Narcissa. He knew what the Malfoys were, and he didn't want to go near that and what they would say to him of his relationship. And Bellatrix – well. It went without saying.

He summoned the box of mementoes that Sirius had given him, flicking through the contents. He smiled fondly at the photo of Idris and himself at school, but laid the photo aside. That was not the one he was looking for. There was a photo of his qualification as a healer in his pastel robes of the St. Teresa Hospital in Madrid. A wedding photo of Narcissa and the Malfoy boy (looking every inch as superior and unpleasant as Abraxas). Another one of Bellatrix and Lestrange: a society bonding ritual. Another school photograph (his year at Slytherin). A picture of the Slug Club. A wedding photo with a difference: Andy and Ted outside a Muggle register office in Gretna Green, with Alphard at Andy's side. He couldn't help smiling when he remembered how scandalised Walburga had been. He shuffled through them until … ah!

"The photograph holds them well."* He remembered the phrase, although not the poem it was from as he looked at the photo.

Alphard, Walburga and Cygnus sit straight-backed on high back chairs in their most formal and ornate robes for this Black family portrait. Of the adults, only Alphard smiles. Alphard remembered those robes – so heavy, they would bruise the clavicles, sometimes cut into the skin if one were too thin.

In front of them, sit the children of two of the three siblings. Alphard traced his fingers over them. Regulus, trying to stand straight in his heavy green robe that matches his brother's and to look like an adult, as Sirius pokes him in the ribs and laughs at him as the swipe from Walburga's hand catches him on the backside. Narcissa, the only blonde in the family, smiles serenely at the camera, ignoring the misbehaving boys next to her, as Andy looks between the boys and the camera, trying to stifle a laugh. Bella. Bella at the end of the line, her hooded eyes and an 'only just lady-like' sneer making plain her distaste for her young cousins as she turns to the camera.

Of course, Walburga and Cygnus had kept the photographs where all the children were still and unsmiling for the camera; but Alphard chose this one, much to his sister's annoyance.

"Trust you, Alphard. Always encouraging their bad behaviour. They are Blacks. They must learn how to behave."

"Can't you just let the boys have some fun, Walburga. It wouldn't hurt .."

"Wouldn't hurt! Wouldn't hurt? And where did having fun get us with you, my unmarried brother. Shame on the family, that's what! They need to learn that they have obligations. Life isn't about just them. They have to think of the family. Of the blood. Of wizarding kind."

Even then, Alphard was sure the Darkness was beginning to unhinge her mind. Her reactions to everything were so explosive. The boys seemed to always hiss with pain if he hugged them. His own father, Pollux, had never spared the rod when he chastised Alphard himself, and he was sure, Walburga was the same with her own children.

But he was so fond of those boys. Sirius was always itching to get into trouble, and Regulus so wanted to be like his brother, but please his parents too.

He smiled sadly at the photograph. The world thought that Sirius had been the last of the Blacks. But no, it was he, Alphard Black. But it was the same thing, wasn't it? When he was gone, the family would be extinct in the male line. He placed all the photographs back in the box, feeling hurt that there was no-one after him who would want these mementoes.

Perhaps it was for the best, he thought grimly as he washed and dressed. Perhaps, the Blacks were just too damaged. He readied himself for the afternoon.

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

He met Angharad and Stacy in a small clearing where they taught Stacy on his own. Angharad gave him that small smile that told him she understood he had been with Idris. It still caused Alphard a degree of embarrassment that she was so accepting of him in her relationship of so many years with Idris, and that she never complained but, conversely, seemed happy for them both. She was truly remarkable and he had come to love her very dearly.

He was sure that it was their easy relationship that enabled Stacy to trust him as he trusted Angharad, although the damaged man was still quite frightened of Idris. He and Angharad had concluded that Idris must resemble the man who had inflicted so much damage on Stacy and Idris always tried to steer clear of their lessons with him.

Work had been slow, but between them they had managed to teach Stacy to say many spells clearly enough to work and to control his magic. All he seemed to want to do was to conjure a Patronus and each lesson ended with Alphard and Angharad conjuring theirs for him to look at.

Today, Angharad had decided on a new strategy, although Alphard wasn't sure why she thought it was be effective.

"Change into your Animagus form," she said at the end of the lesson.

"Why?" asked Alphard softly.

"Because Stacy always tries to stroke the Patronus dog, but he can't. Perhaps this will encourage him. Show him how advanced magic can be."

Alphard still wasn't sure, but waited as Angharad said to Stacy, "Would you like to see a real dog, just like the silver one Alphard can make?"

Stacy's eyes widened, and he nodded furiously and sat on the floor, his face full of excitement as he clapped his hands together.

Alphard changed within seconds into the white shepherd dog, but whatever reaction Angharad had hoped for, they had not expected his abject terror.

"No!" he howled and threw himself protectively on the dog. "Alf! Come back, Alf! No! Mustn't. Mustn't do it! They hit you!" And he started to whimper and then burst out crying as Alphard changed back, patting the large man now holding him in his huge arms. He turned quickly to look at Angharad whose hands were covering her mouth in horror.

"Stacy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," Alphard said soothingly.

"Dad will beat you. Hurt you if turn into a wolf!" Stacy managed to blurt out in between huge, messy sobs. Alphard looked desperately at Angharad, who was stroking Stacy's back and crooning calming noises to him.

"No, Stacy, no. Your dad isn't here. No-one will hurt Alf," crooned Angharad.

"'Dris might hurt him," Stacy sobbed, still holding Alf, quite uncomfortably now. "He's our dad now an' he might beat him." He sniffed hugely. "For being a wolf."

Still stroking his back gently, Angharad said kindly, "You know we all become wolves, don't you, Stacy. At the moon?"

"Y-y-yes," the man stammered. "But mustn't when it's not the moon," Stacy shook his head violently. "Mustn't. Mustn't."

"But we don't become wolves when it's not the moon, Stacy," Angharad soothed. "Alf becomes a dog any time he wants because it's a different type of magic. A spell. Do you see?"

Stacy's sobbing was slowing now and he gradually released his hold on Alphard and patted his robe down clumsily, looking between Alphard and Angharad for reassurance.

"Any time?" Alf nodded.

"A spell?" Angharad nodded.

"I never learned a spell to be a wolf," Stacy said, suddenly mistrustful.

"None of us casts a spell to be a werewolf, Stacy. It was a curse passed to us," Angharad said gently. "We don't do a spell ourselves."

"But Alf," Stacy said slowly, pointing a large finger at Alphard, "can do a spell and be a dog?"

"That's right, Stacy," Alphard said, reassuringly.

"And 'Dris won't beat you? 'Bad dog!'" he mimed beating something with a stick.

"Never," both Alphard and Angharad affirmed together.

Stacy wiped his tears away with the palms of his hands and sniffed several times as he calmed down.

"Show me the dog, Alf," he finally said and Alf changed and sat before Stacy, who put his hand out and stroked the giant head of the dog.

"Pretty. Pretty," the big man mumbled and then turned sharply to Angharad, who still knelt next to him with her hand on his shoulder. "A spell?"

"Yes, a spell."

"Don't know the spell," Stacy said, shaking his head, his expression confused. "Bad Stacy." He slapped himself, and Angharad grabbed his hands between hers and Alphard nudged his nose into Stacy's hands. Stacy smiled crookedly at the dog and stroked its head again.

"Not a bad spell? No-one beat Alf?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the white dog.

"No, I promise," said Angharad.

Stacy became still and his eyes closed. Then, the air around him shimmered, and his body undulated then seemed to shimmer itself. The white dog backed away quickly and changed back, and Angharad gasped loudly as she pulled her hand away from the changing form.

A huge grey wolf sat before them, its eyes darting between them both, its change not as seamless as Alphard's but nothing like the full moon change either.

Alphard understood then: the father beating the wolf; the wolf that didn't just appear at full moon. Poor Stacy. Alphard understood it all and knelt before the wolf that was Stacy and scratched his scarred head and, soon after, Angharad did the same.

"Good boy," said Alphard, scratching the werewolf's coat. "Best boy." The tail of the wolf thumped on the ground in happiness as his surrogate parents hugged him, little knowing that at that very moment Alphard was wondering how to tell Idris that this man shared the power of the despised Vargulf. He exchanged knowing looks with Angharad as they petted the wolf together.

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

Idris sat at Alphard's desk, his hands trembling, as he stared from one mate to the other.

"He shifts as he pleases?" Idris murmured, trying to cover his growing feeling of nausea.

"Yes. I think that's why he was beaten so badly," Alphard rushed to explain. "It's not as quick as my change but it's not far off. There's no damage to him when he changes either way, I checked."

Angharad nodded, but still Idris just stared at both of them.

"Never known it in another. Only Vargulf. Because he was a brute," Idris spat. "But Stacy is no brute. I don't understand."

The three sat in silence for a while. Alphard eventually broke it.

"You said to me that Vargulf could become the wolf because he was so animalistic. I'm sure that's true. Perhaps also, because he embraced his werewolfism and never fought it – welcomed it even." Alphard stood and went to his boxes of notes that he had accumulated over these months. "You see, I've noticed that the born werewolves, the very young ones that is, barely react to the change. It's natural for them. Almost as if you fear pain, the expectation of pain makes it worse and ..."

"That happens in childbirth," Angharad chimed in excitedly. "The more the mother tenses, the worse it is! Stacy is like a small child in his mind!"

"Exactly!" Alphard exclaimed. "He doesn't really understand the nature of the curse, and his development is so stunted he accepts the change more than the rest of you. I've watched him when he's a wolf," Alphard rummaged and found the notes he'd compiled on Stacy, "and he's very different from his wizard form. He's confident and sure-footed, not clumsy at all. He plays with the other Whitbys as an equal. In fact," Alphard said, meeting Idris's hard gaze, "I would say, as wolves, Stacy is the dominant dog in the group."

Now both Idris and Angharad stared at him, understanding seeming to dawn on them (if not Alphard) why the group had no human Alpha.

"I think I understand what you're telling me," Idris said slowly. "Perhaps, I should see him."

"He's terrified of you," Angharad said quickly. "He thinks you're the father of the pack and you'll beat him."

Idris's mouth worked in anger. "I've never ... I would never." He breathed deeply and exhaled to calm himself, wondering in reality what he would have done had he seen Stacy transform without warning. He felt sick very suddenly, knowing his instinct, born of fear, would have been to attack him. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and then stood.

"I should see him. Angharad, get him for me and bring him to the place of your lessons. Alf, when we get to the clearing, will ye change for me when I ask?"

Idris and Alphard made their way to the clearing, and waited until Idris saw Angharad approaching with Stacy. From the corner of his eye, he saw Stacy notice him and stop with worry.

"Now, Alf," whispered Idris. With that, Alf transformed into the white dog and Idris petted his head and stroked his coat, ruffling his crest and speaking loud words of encouragement as the white dog fussed about him, licking his hands and face and wagging his tail. He saw Stacy edging forward in curiosity until he was on the edge of the clearing.

"It may have to be the stick. Sorry, Alf," Idris whispered and picked up a large stick and threw it. Alphard bounded after it and brought it back, in his human mind cursing Idris but only mildly. It was remarkable how much he enjoyed chasing the stick in his dog form. Alphard bark, a deep, booming noise, and Idris threw the stick again pretending not to notice Stacy clapping his hands together, or Angharad giving him a little nudge.

Alphard brought the stick back once more, and barked, and this time, Idris threw the stick further towards where Stacy was standing and he could see the man becoming alert, wanting to play. Once more should do it, he thought.

When Idris threw the stick again, he saw the shimmer and quickly turned to see Stacy's form undulate and shimmer into the enormous grey wolf that then bounded to join Alphard chasing the stick.

"Dear God, he's huge!" Idris said, his eyes narrowing with horror, his palms sweating. He recovered quickly and whistled to both. Alphard played with the wolf for a while as they both went for the stick. Alphard made sure he only picked up one end so the other end would trail on the ground. As he hoped, the wolf picked up the other end and they both padded back to Idris.

"Good boys," Idris said, patting them both as Angharad came over. She knelt next to Stacy and put her arms around his neck and the wolf wagged his tail happily.

"Good boy, Stacy."

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

It was like finding a long-lost key. Understanding that Stacy's nature had affixed itself to his wolf form when he was just a child seemed to open up the way for Angharad and Alphard to approach him, even using Alphard's dog form if Stacy became upset when he could not understand a theory or a wand movement. If Alphard transformed, so did Stacy and they would chase each other and play and it would calm Stacy down to try again.

Idris would come to watch as often as possible. This also seemed to calm Stacy: acceptance by the father figure of his changes seemed gradually to eradicate the cringing fear that overcame the man when in the Alpha's presence.

But, as delighted as Angharad and Alphard were by Stacy's progress, when they were alone, Idris would become withdrawn, lost in painful memories of the other wolf who changed at will. Alphard would soothe him with gentle words and touches until he drew him back from that world of terror and pain.

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

With each of the five full moons that had passed, Alphard had kept copious notes of the wolves' changes and of their injuries.

He had lost one of his elderly patients at the third full moon, the internal injuries of the transformation so extensive that, by the time of reversion, there was just too much damage. When Alphard had reached him, he had died in his arms.

Alphard had proposed that perhaps the elderly werewolves could have Wolfsbane so that he could treat them in his human form without Idris fearing for his safety, but Idris would not hear of it. To him, Wolfsbane would make the transformation worse still. Alphard would have to make do with what they had. It didn't stop Alphard considering that he had failed. with each month. What he was after was a potion that the werewolves could take to lessen the damage happening, rather than treating the damage afterwards. He made adjustments with each full moon, noting all the changes and

He had taken the balms and medications Angharad had shown him that Seth Moore had created, and added variations improvements as he went along. His latest potion did appear to have an appreciable effect on his remaining elderly patients. He had become quite excited that perhaps he had found the right base after all these experiments. He wasn't an apothecary, and sometimes he wished he knew how to contact this Seth Moore to discuss his ideas, but he was a creditable enough potioneer to make these slow advances.

His latest variation to his experiment he wanted to try was to use an ingredient that he was sure the wolves would tolerate well, having used his own canine nose and also Stacy to help him identify scent sensitivity of werewolves. The ingredient was a rare form of magical solanacae only found in South America that was supposed to aid flexibility of the joints and bones. He had ordered a crop by owl post and, if it proved successful in the potion, he would attempt to cultivate it on the land they used for farming.

Alphard was brimful of confidence and, in his excitement to collect the ingredient and make a start on his brewing, he left the encampment's protective enchantments instead of letting Botolph pick up his post from The Boar's Head. He Apparated outside the inn and strode purposefully to towards it, his brain buzzing with ideas for the brew.

So preoccupied was he that he didn't hear the man who crept up on him from the outbuildings near the inn, and was only just aware of the cry of "STUPEFY!" before the spell felled him.

A/N: Chapter 87 of YWNKM shows the next chapter from Snape's point of view.

* A phrase from "Six Young Men", a poem by Ted Hughes ostensibly about the futility of war but actually about the fragility of life itself.
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