Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Path Less Traveled	By : bezo93 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 16679 -:- 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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Harry woke up in an unfamiliar bed. For several seconds he had no idea where he was or why he felt like he hadn’t had a drink in days. Then he remembered the previous night.
   The annoying dominant from his first day in Knockturn had returned and kicked up a fuss over not being invited to join the dominants at Harry’s table. The dominants who had been invited had not been happy with the idiot’s behaviour and had retaliated, causing a fight that had to be broken up by the club’s bouncers.
   Timothy had taken the opportunity to buy everyone another round of drinks - ostensibly to help them forget the incident - and Harry had ended up drinking something that seemed to consist entirely of sugar and alcohol and was an alarming shade of blue. Which explained the dry mouth and headache, as the werewolf had been on a mission to get everyone drunk by then. Harry had stopped counting after his fifth drink, though he knew he hadn’t had nearly as much as the others, and Timothy had drunk enough for two people.
   They had finally left the club at some point in the early hours of the morning, Timothy having to be guided by Thomas - a packmate and one of the bouncers who had helped break up the fight. After dumping Timothy onto the sofa in the open-plan living room, the tattooed werewolf had quickly shown Harry the guest room and left to make sure Rick didn’t burn the place down trying to make snacks in his own apartment.
   Sitting up with a groan Harry cast a tempus, taking two attempts to get it right. As he suspected, it was far too early to be awake after getting back so late but years of early mornings for chores at the Dursleys’, classes at Hogwarts and quidditch practice meant his body clock would not be denied. Getting more sleep now would be impossible.
   Muttering uncomplimentary things about over-enthusiastic werewolves under his breath, Harry dragged himself out of bed and fumbled around looking for clothes and the bathroom. He decided not to think too hard on where the change of clothes had come from, as he certainly hadn’t brought any with him. Several minutes of stumbling around and yawning later and the demon was finally somewhat presentable. He gave up on his hunt for shoes and socks for now and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
   At some point in the night Timothy must have rediscovered the use of his legs as the sofa was now devoid of werewolf. Seeing no sign of the apartment’s owner, Harry figured Timothy wouldn’t mind if the demon started breakfast.
   Sticking his head into the fridge to see what food was available, Harry’s brain finally woke up enough to notice an odd, niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Lifting out bacon, eggs and a bottle of orange juice he glanced around the quiet flat with a frown, trying to place the source of the feeling. Nothing stood out to him so he shook it off and concentrated on breakfast.
   The smell of bacon lured Timothy out of his room. The werewolf appeared in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie with a university logo printed on the front. Glaring at the window, he flopped into a chair at the large kitchen table, resting his head on the wooden surface.
   “Why are you up so early?” he groaned, tilting his head to peer at Harry through one bleary eye.
   “I’m always up early. I didn’t know you’d been to university,” Harry said, putting a glass of orange juice in front of the slumped werewolf.
   “What? Oh, I didn’t. I stole this off Rick. Why are you cooking?”
   “I thought you’d want breakfast and I didn’t think you’d mind me doing it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous,” Harry said, giving him an apologetic look.
   “S’fine. Just surprised,” Timothy muttered, closing his eyes again.
   Just as Harry thought the werewolf had fallen asleep slumped over the table, a knock on the door made them both jump.
   “S’open,” Timothy lifted his head long enough to shout before thunking it back down onto the wood. At his shout, the door opened to admit a stream of chattering werewolves. The large werwolf groaned, covering his head with his arms and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I hate you all”.
   “Timothy Kirrin, are you making your houseguest cook for you? Whatever would our dear Second say?” one werewolf asked in mock horror, while another helped himself to the contents of the fridge and yet another commandeered the toaster.
   Harry watched in bemusement as even more werewolves invade the kitchen, one setting out condiments, another grabbing juice cartons and glasses, someone else making tea and coffee, yet another pulling out cereal boxes, and Thomas, the tattooed bouncer, started chopping fruit. By some miracle they all managed to avoid getting in each other’s way, manoeuvring around each other with a familiarity borne of experience. With most of the work taken away from him, Harry concentrated on not burning the sausage, bacon and eggs he had been left with.
   A breakfast feast quickly built up on the kitchen table, with Timothy’s grumpy form slouching in the middle of it. Chatter and banter filled the flat (“How much did you drink last night?”, “Stop mutilating the cheese, you cheese fiend!”, “You’re getting jam everywhere! Merlin, it’s like having a monkey”) reminding Harry of breakfasts in the Great Hall, though this group were more closely knit than even the Lions’ House. Despite that, Harry didn’t feel excluded, being included in the banter as though he was always there (“Stab him with a fork if he steals any more bacon”, “So, starting bar fights already, eh?”, “Ow! You hit me! No fair, you can’t use weapons!”).
   Finally all the food was done and everyone took a seat at the enormous table. Surprisingly, after the chaos of getting the food ready, dishing out the food was done in a quiet, orderly manner. Each platter of food was passed around in order of hierarchy, starting with Timothy as the host and Harry as the guest. It was very different to the clamouring and disorder Harry was used to seeing from Gryffindors or meals at the Weasleys’.
   “Has Rick surfaced yet?” asked one of the werewolves across from Harry, glancing up and down the table. “We’re missing Fiona, Artemis and Nyx too.”
   “Artemis and Nyx aren’t coming. Their sister has come back home from the States for the week and brought her boyfriend, so they’ve gone to scare the holy bejeezus out of him to check his ‘suitability’,” Thomas, who was sitting to Timothy’s right, answered. “I sent Fiona to make sure Rick gets up and joins us, so if we’re lucky we’ll see them some time before the next full moon. Oh, and Nyx said to pass on the message that when she finds out who stacked dirty cups and dishes against the cellar door behind the bar she’ll do something suitably violent to you, and she’s not explaining to the Boss why half of them ended up smashed beyond repair.”
   All eyes turned to Timothy, who looked offended. “Oi! Not everything is my fault…I was only peripherally involved. It was mostly his fault,” he pointed his fork at Harry, who huffed.
   “Was not! I just suggested that we should clear the table a bit before we caused an avalanche of plates and glasses. How was I supposed to know every dominant in earshot would take that as a challenge to see who could clear the table the fastest? Besides, I’m pretty sure they were leaving them on the bar, not behind it.”
   Fortunately the door opened before Timothy could retort with another denial, derailing the argument. Rick stumbled through looking almost as bad as Timothy, albeit better dressed, with a brunette girl clinging to his arm. Shaking the girl - who Harry presumed was Fiona - off, the hungover werewolf made his way over to Timothy and Harry, dropping into the empty seat on Harry’s left.
   “Bacon!” was the only greeting he offered as he fell on the plate of meat, piling a huge amount onto a slice of toast, smothering it in sauce and topping it with another slice of toast to make a sandwich that was more bacon than bread.
   “Why do you smell funny?”
   Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the girl, Fiona, spoke from behind him. From his right he heard Thomas hissing something about inappropriate questions. Harry, whose brain was still not firing on all cylinders, looked at her blankly.
   “Um…what?” he asked dumbly.
   “Ignore her, Harry,” Thomas said. Turning to Fiona he growled, “You, sit down and eat. Alpha will be here in five minutes. And keep your questions to yourself if you don’t have anything polite to say.”
   The female werewolf pouted but obediently found an empty seat at the end of the table and put together a plate of food.
   “Do I smell funny?” Harry asked Timothy, who looked like he was trying to drown himself in a giant mug of coffee.
   “You smell fine,” the werewolf mumbled, not lifting his head from where it rested on the rim of his mug.
   Thomas sighed and grabbed Timothy by the back of his hoodie, dragging him off in the direction of the bathroom. A couple of minutes later there was a yelp, followed by a loud complaint about cold water and packmates of dubious parentage. A vindictive looking Thomas emerged from the bathroom to grab clean clothes for his victim.
   While they were waiting for the Alpha to arrive, the werewolves who had finished eating started to collect the dirty plates. Harry got up to help but was quickly shooed back to his seat and plied with tea and biscuits, much to his bemusement. By the time Timothy emerged from the shower, with damp hair but looking much more awake and aware, most of the kitchen was tidy with only a few cups and plates of left over food still out.
   “Huh,” Timothy said as he leant over the back of Harry’s chair to grab a teapot off the table. “Fiona was right, you do smell funny.”
   Harry frowned, “Funny how? Bad funny?”
   “Not bad, just different,” Timothy said giving him a considering look. The demon gave an indignant squawk as Timothy stooped to bury his nose in the messy black hair.
   “Timothy, get off you prat!”
   “Kirrin, what are you doing?” came an amusedly exasperated voice from the direction of the door. Harry turned to see the enormous werewolf he had met yesterday, the pack Second, holding the door open for another werewolf - the one who had spoken. Judging by the way every werewolf’s attention had snapped to the door when the guy had spoken, Harry guessed this was the Alpha.
   “Smelling him,” Timothy answered, voice slightly muffled as he hadn’t bothered to lift his face out of Harry’s hair, turning his head to peer at the Alpha through the nest of hair instead. “He smells different to normal. Kind of…sweet?” the beta struggled to find an appropriate word.
   The Alpha raised an eyebrow and inhaled deeply, eyes snapping to Harry’s face. “That could be problematic. Do you have anything to cover or disperse the pheromones? You’ll have idiots drooling after you all day otherwise.”
   “What?” Harry said with a puzzled frown. His eyes widened in startled realisation. “Oh!”
   That niggling feeling he’d had since he woke up pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. He was Advertising! No wonder the werewolves thought he smelled odd. The pheromones would have little effect on betas in regards to mating. They would be able to detect a strange undertone to his scent that wasn’t usually there but wouldn’t have the instinctive response to the pheromones that an alpha or dominant would.
   “I’m an idiot,” Harry declared, thunking his head down on the table. How could he have ignored his instincts so much that it took someone pointing it out to him for him to realise he was Advertising? “Can I use your shower, Timothy?” he asked. He could stop the production of the Advertising pheromones at will, now that he was aware of it, but that wouldn’t immediately remove the scent from his skin. He would have to look into scent dispersal spells at some point.
   Ten minutes later he was back in the kitchen, hair fluffed up from a drying charm and smelling strongly of cocoa butter. It wouldn’t have been his first choice but it was the only scented shower gel he could find and he suspected Timothy only had it because a previous guest left it here, as werewolves generally preferred odourless products. However he had needed something to cover up any lingering scent, so odourless shower gel hadn’t been an option. He was definitely looking at scent dispersal charms as soon as he had time.
   “Not completely gone but better,” the Alpha grunted as he strolled over to Harry. “I’m Domovoi. Aaron said you’ve met him already. I presume the others introduced themselves?” he raised an eyebrow at Harry’s hesitant look. “Or not,” he said gruffly as Aaron sighed long-sufferingly.
   “You have a pack of philistines,” he said to Domovoi, giving the pack a disapproving look. “Too focused on gorging themselves to remember basic manners.”
   “Some of them were yours before they were mine,” Domovoi replied neutrally.
   “Four of them and only one of them present. I trust you have introduced yourself, Thomas?” the giant werewolf said mildly, raising an eyebrow at Domovoi when the tattooed werewolf nodded.
   Domovoi’s lips twitched in an aborted grin. “So you had so few that you had time to knock manners into them. I have a full time job preventing them from causing a civil war.”
   “We aren’t that bad,” Timothy objected.
   “Is there or is there not a velociraptor at Fantastic Beasts?” the Alpha asked pointedly. Timothy grinned sheepishly. “As I said, a full time job.”
   “Is everybody ready to leave?” Aaron asked looking over the pack, some of whom were quite obviously not ready. “We will be leaving in half an hour. Be in the courtyard promptly.”
   The kitchen emptied as quickly as it had filled, the sounds of laughing and bickering werewolves fading away until the apartment was silent. Harry shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do now that it was just him, Timothy and the two alphas.
   “I’m, er, going to find my shoes,” he said awkwardly, making a hurried escape to the guest room he had spent the night in.
   He listened to the murmur of voices from the main room as he found his socks and pulled on his shoes. He could hear Timothy and Aaron but Domovoi was either being very quiet or not joining the conversation.
   The pack Alpha was intimidating, even for an alpha werewolf. Where Aaron was enormous but mostly calm and mild mannered, Domovoi seemed larger than he truly was with an aura of tightly leashed ferocity and an effortless control of the large, rowdy pack. Harry would bet his Nimbus 2000 that the pack would rather mortally offend Aaron than do anything to invite their Alpha’s ire.
   After dithering about, retying his shoes, neatening up the room and straightening his clothes, he finally ran out of things to waste time with and had to head back into the main room. As he stood in the doorway Timothy gave him a knowing look but didn’t call him on his hiding, continuing his conversation with Aaron and leaving Harry with no choice other than to talk to the Alpha.
   “I never would have expected Harry Potter to be a demon. A submissive Realm-sired at that,” Domovoi said conversationally.
   “Yeah, I get that a lot,” Harry said. “I don’t know what people think a fifteen month old wizard could have done though. Or a fifteen month old anything really - it’s not like I was personally responsible for what happened.”
   Domovoi shrugged one shoulder, “Not many put that much thought into it. They’re just happy he was stopped and use you as a beacon of hope.”
   “Because Merlin forbid anyone should think for themselves,” muttered Harry. “There’s only so much independent thought to go around, and the wizarding world might implode from the weight of the logic if more than three sensible decisions are made a year.”
   Domovoi barked out a laugh, recalling a time Shax had said something similar. They would get along like a house on fire if Shax ever crawled out from under his rock of denial and talked to Harry.
   “Oh, I like you,” the Alpha said with a small lip twitch that would be a smile on anyone else. “Keep that attitude up and you’ll fit right in with my lot. It’s almost a shame you’re only looking for a demon as your first mate.”
   Harry stared him, gobsmacked. What was he supposed to say to that? Mercifully Timothy intervened before the silence became too awkward.
   “No fair, I saw him first. He’s my demon, you already have one,” the beta whined.
   “This one mopes less. I’m pulling rank and we’re swapping,” Domovoi deadpanned.
   Timothy screwed up his face in an exaggerated grimace, “Ugh, thanks but no thanks. Mr Calvey’s scary. Harry just does that cute little scowly thing when he’s annoyed. I’m keeping him.”
   “I do not do a ‘cute little scowly thing’,” Harry scowled.
   At the same time, Aaron sighed, “Timothy, you’re not supposed to say no to your Alpha.”
   “See, cute little scowly face,” Timothy pointed. Harry threw a cushion at him.
   “Git.”
   Aaron sighed again, massaging his forehead. “Fit right in indeed. You’ve acquired another one,” he said to Domovoi with a despairing look.
   “Timothy acquired him, not me.”
   “Hey, you were trying to steal him a second ago. Why’s he only mine when he’s misbehaving?” Timothy demanded.
   “Alpha’s prerogative. Harry’s mine when he’s good and it’s your fault when he gets into mischief.”
   “Or Harry is Harry’s when he’s good,” Harry butted in with a sweet smile. “But any misbehaviour is still Timothy’s fault,” he added, much to the werewolf’s protest.
   “I can live with that. You’re a bit too young for my tastes anyway,” Domovoi smirked, pleased Harry hadn’t shied away from the banter even if he had been a bit thrown at first.
   The Alpha would wait to see how Harry got along with the rest of the pack before making a final decision but he suspected there would be no problems sticking to the original plan and taking the young demon under his wing. The lad had the right attitude for holding his own in the pack and he looked like he could do with the additional support and protection the pack could offer. Besides, it had been too long since the pack had any real pups to look after - even the youngest pack members had already reached their majority. Domovoi had no plans to mate any time soon but taking Harry under his wing would give the pack someone who was still a pup, albeit an older pup, to dote on. It would do the pack good even if Shax’s mating plans didn’t work out - a pack wasn’t meant to go so long without pups.
   First, however, he needed to see how well the pack took to the demon, which meant rounding them up and getting to the game.
   “Right, let’s go and find the others before they turn the courtyard into a swimming pool. Again,” he said, giving Timothy a look.
   “We’ve never done that! We talked about it but we’ve never actually done it,” Timothy defended. Harry looked at him incredulously.
   “And you called me a trouble maker. Is there anything you haven’t done?”
   “I was in Wales when they tried terraforming the dance floor in Beasts into a desert. I had to help with the clean up though. We were finding sand everywhere for weeks,” he complained.
   “You are fortunate we have such a generous sponsor,” Aaron chastised. “Most would not be so tolerant.”
   “You’re fortunate you have such a tolerant Alpha,” Domovoi grumbled. “Merlin knows anyone else would have skinned the lot of you before now. Now out with you, before we miss the game.”
   By the time they made it to the courtyard most of the pack was there, awaiting the last few stragglers. While they waited Aaron used the opportunity to introduce each of the werewolves to Harry, who was left reeling from the list of names and knew he would forget half of them before they even made it to the match.
   “They all answer to ‘Oi’, ‘you’ and ‘the idiot who…’ as well,” Domovoi added helpfully when he saw Harry’s slightly overwhelmed look.
   “And you wonder where they get their manners from,” Aaron sighed.
   “You do ok with the demons’ names,” Timothy said to Harry while the two alphas snarked at each other.
   The demon grinned sheepishly, “Ah, not really. I don’t remember most of their names for longer than five minutes unless I find them interesting enough for me to want to continue a conversation with them.”
   “Right you lot,” Domovoi’s voice rose over the chatter, making the pack go quiet. “We’re going. Anyone who’s not confident they know where we’re going find someone to side-along with. Timothy, you take Harry. Somebody else bring Lukas or we’ll be spending the rest of the day searching the moors for him,” he instructed.
   “Have you side-apparated before?” Timothy asked Harry. The demon shook his head. “Ok, just hold my arm tight and take a deep breath when I say. It isn’t the most pleasant way to travel but it is fast.”
   Harry nodded as the werewolves around him began to disapparate with loud cracks that echoed like gunfire in the small courtyard.
   “Deep breath now.”
   Harry barely had time to obey before it felt like tight rubber bands were trying to force the breath back out of him. As suddenly as the pressure had appeared, it vanished. Harry exhaled gustily, sucking in another deep breath to calm his complaining stomach.
   “Where are we?” he asked once he no longer felt like he was about to throw up, looking around the seemingly empty moorland.
   “The apparition point for the Exmoor Stadium,” Timothy answered. “The stadium is in the middle of the Exmoor reservation, which is where we are now, about a fifteen minute walk that way,” he said, pointing off in a direction that looked indistinguishable to any other to Harry.
   While they had been talking, Domovoi had been doing a headcount and handing out tickets. Satisfied that everyone had arrived and was in one piece, the Alpha led them off in the direction Timothy had pointed. Harry somehow ended up at the front of the pack, walking between Timothy and Thomas slightly behind the Alpha, despite starting at the back. Glancing around he spotted Rick at the back of the group talking to Aaron and Lukas, the werewolf who apparently had no sense of direction.
   “Have you been to a match before?” Thomas asked conversationally after a few minutes of walking in silence.
   “Not a professional one. Only at school,” Harry replied, slightly breathlessly. He wasn’t unfit but the werewolves had a much longer stride and the moorland wasn’t the easiest terrain to walk over, making it difficult to keep up.
   “Your guardians have never taken you?” Domovoi slowed slightly as he turned to speak over his shoulder.
   “They’re muggle. They wouldn’t be able to even if they were interested,” Harry said, barely noticing the change in pace as he imagined Vernon’s reaction if Harry asked him for quidditch tickets. Maybe he should try it some time, if he was lucky the man might have an aneurism. “I think my uncle is allergic to physical activity. Wild hippogriffs couldn’t drag him to something like this. The only sport he’s even slightly supportive of is my cousin’s boxing.”
   “Surely they take an interest in quidditch, for your sake if nothing else?” Thomas asked.
   “Nope. I doubt either of them could tell you what position I play, let alone how the game works,” Harry shrugged. He may not want the fuss that would no doubt come if the werewolves found out how the Dursleys treated him but he wasn’t going to pretend to be close to them either.
   Thomas looked at him in surprise while Domovoi and Timothy stared ahead in stony silence. Thomas’ surprise quickly transformed into a shrewd look.
   “Is their disinterest restricted purely to quidditch, or is that why you’re on your own in Diagonal Alley?” he asked astutely.
   “They’re muggles. They don’t have much interest in magic in general, and it’s not like they can do much to help me find a mate. As long as I’m in one piece, they don’t mind what I do,” Harry evaded. He didn’t need Hermione’s deductive skills to know where the werewolf was trying to steer the conversation.
   “You’re thirteen. Demon or not, and inheritance aside, you’re a bit on the young side to be living on your own,” Thomas pushed.
   “Fudge didn’t think so,” Harry said shortly.
   “Fudge? As in the Mister for Magic?” asked the startled werewolf. Harry nodded.
   Thankfully before the interrogation could continue Domovoi came to a halt next to an outcrop of rocks. One of the wild exmoor ponies was using the rocks to scratch, part of its flank disappearing into the rock revealing that the rock was not as solid as it looked.
   Shooing the pony away with an irritated grunt, Domovoi pulled out his ticket and stepped forward into the rock. The rest of the pack followed in single file, Harry being prodded through after Thomas by Timothy.
   Stepping through the barrier the quiet, deserted moorland gave way to a riot of colour and noise. Throngs of people in brightly coloured robes milled about, some wearing replica Harpies’ or Wasps’ quidditch uniforms.
   Wandering amongst the crowds were merchants selling various quidditch memorabilia: charmed banners with pictures of the team members flying around a flashing team name, which would (according to the advertisement) change to read ‘GOAL!’ with a celebrating team mascot whenever the team scored; player figurines that paraded around, showing off and interacting with other figurines they encountered; miniature replicas of the players’ brooms that came with information booklets detailing the reason behind the player’s choice of broom and their successes and failures; mascot toys that chanted the team motto and gave random facts about the team when squeezed; hats, gloves, scarves and robes in the team colours or fashioned after the players’ uniforms. Harry took it all in with a wide grin.
   He toyed with the idea of buying Oliver a set of replica Harpies’ robes, chuckling as he imagined the look on the Puddlemere fanatic’s face if Harry gave them to him the next time he held quidditch practice at stupid-o’clock in the morning.
   “What’s so funny?” Timothy asked curiously, looking around in an attempt to see what had amused the demon.
   “I was picturing Oliver’s face if I gave him a full set of Harpies’ robes,” Harry grinned.
   “He’s the Puddlemere fan, yes?” Timothy chuckled as Harry nodded.
   “I could gift them to him as a thank you next time he decides that we all need to be at practice before sunrise,” the demon grinned evilly. “With the twins’ help I could get them to stick for a week. The only thing worse would be Cannons’ robes but I couldn’t cope with that much orange.”
   Timothy laughed, “You are an evil, evil person. If you want to go get some let me know. Alpha won’t want you wandering off alone.”
   Harry cocked his head, considering. “You know what, I think I will. Though if Hermione asks I’m blaming you as a terrible influence on innocent young demons.”
   Timothy shrugged, not at all bothered by being blamed for Harry’s mischief making, and followed the teenager over to the nearest merchandise stand. By the time they made it back to the pack they were both giggling like naughty schoolboys.
   “Kirrin, what have you done now?” Domovoi asked, honing in on them like a shark scenting blood - or an Alpha scenting mischief.
   “Nothing,” singsonged the beta, not even trying to stifle his huge grin.
   “Did you just buy a Harpies’ uniform?” one of the other betas demanded. Harry couldn’t remember what Aaron had called him, Elliot maybe?
   “Stop being a spoilsport Edson,” Timothy said sticking his tongue out. “They were bought for a good cause, weren’t they Harry?”
   “Yep,” Harry smirked. “Oliver won’t know what hit him.”
   Edson was still scowling and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His type were the most annoying kind of quidditch fanatic, the ones who took offence at the idea of someone not liking their team or supporting a different one.
   “Shove off, Edson,” Timothy rolled his eyes at the scowling werewolf. “Nobody cares if you approve or not.”
   “He’s here with the pack. He could at least have the decency not to openly support the rival team,” the other werewolf insisted. Harry stared at him incredulously.
   “Enough, you two,” Domovoi growled, smacking the two betas on the backs of their heads. “Derwen, I decide what is acceptable behaviour, not you. Harry can support whoever he likes. If it bothers you, feel free to leave.”
   “Derwen?” Harry repeated curiously. “Are you related to Owen Derwen by any chance?”
   The sulking werewolf shrugged, “He’s a distant cousin of some sort. He’s always out of the country though, so I don’t know him well. Why?”
   “I met him yesterday. He’s nice.”
   “I forgot he was back in the country. Yeah, he’s nice enough until something pisses him off. He’s got a bit of a temper.”
   Timothy raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be singing his praises to encourage the interested submissive? I don’t think discussing his temper is very encouraging.”
   “Do I look like his PR rep? Besides, he’s not that bad. He just gets shouty and can be a bit intimidating. Unless he’s really angry, then he gets growly and terrifying, but I don’t think that happens often.”
   Harry shrugged. “I can handle a temper. It wouldn’t be the first time I got shouted at and it’s not like I don’t have a temper of my own.”
   “Really?” Timothy said in mock surprise. “I have never seen any evidence of this. One would think such a temper might lead to you telling a certain dominant to shove his ego-“
   Harry stomped on his foot.
   “Ow! Alpha, Harry’s being mean to me,” Timothy whined.
   “Good boy, Harry.” The praise came from several different directions simultaneously. Domovoi said it without looking away from his conversation, while Thomas and Rick made their way over.
   “My whole pack is against me,” Timothy sniffled.
   “We have to present a combined front against such overwhelming idiocy,” Thomas deadpanned.
   “Yes, to tackle it one-on-one would be suicide. It would consume us all,” Rick continued, his serious tone ruined by his grin.
   “Harry seems to be able to hold his own,” Edson mused as Timothy pouted.
   “Harry is uniquely talented,” Thomas nodded. “He has the patience to put up with these two for days at a time.”
   “Can we adopt him?” Edson asked. “We need someone other than the Alpha and Aaron who can put up with these two.”
   “I’ll take Rick,” Harry said, noticing the dimming of the younger werewolf’s smile. “You’ll have to keep Timothy though. Even my powers aren’t great enough to do that much damage control.”

   “And what has Timothy done to require damage control this time?” Aaron asked, joining them in time to hear Harry’s last comment.
   “Nothing,” insisted Timothy.
   “Yet,” Edson added with a grin.
   “Quiet you. I’m not evening planning anything,” Timothy said. “Well, not really,” he added, thinking about Harry’s plan.
   “Dare I ask?” Aaron asked dryly. Thomas shook his head.
   “Best not. Plausible deniability is best when it’s not going to affect the pack.”
   Aaron hummed sceptically. “If so, what led to a discussion about the level of damage control Timothy requires?”
   “One of Edson’s cousins is a demon Harry likes,” Timothy said, as though that explained everything. Aaron raised an eyebrow but thought better of asking for clarification.
   “Then I trust I can leave you to it without you causing an incident?” he asked pointedly, getting obedient nods all round. “Excellent. Play nice,” he added sternly, not having missed Domovoi’s intervention in the earlier argument. After another round of nods and promises to behave the Second strolled away to check on other pack members.
   “You like my cousin then?” Edson asked Harry. The demon nodded.
   “Something about him being one of the only ones there with an IQ,” Rick said with a grin. “Harry here is picky about his men,” he teased, patting the demon on the shoulder.
   “Unlike you who chooses his men by who looks like they’d be good in bed,” Harry snarked.
   “It worked didn’t it? You liked Owen and that guy with the nice arse from the club last night. What was his name?”
   “Corey. And I was the one who saw him, you were just insistent that we invite him over.”
   “But you liked him, so it was a good idea.”
   “You also invited over that group of vampires and the youngest kept flirting with me.”
   “Timothy invited them, I just pointed them out. Sanguini wasn’t that bad anyway, he was just interested,” Rick defended. The other werewolves were watching the back and forth with amusement.
   “I’m not even looking for a vampire mate,” Harry protested.
   “You don’t like vampires?” Thomas asked curiously. From what he’d seen last night the demon hadn’t minded being in the company of the bloodsuckers.

   “I don’t mind vampires, I’m just not looking for one as a mate,” Harry clarified. “Although I could do without the stalker vampire fanboy at school. There’s only so many time a week you can hear ‘hey Harry’ before you start hexing things.”
   “What are you looking for in a mate then?” Edson asked. “Demons only?”
   “At the moment,” Harry nodded. “The first mate is always a demon. After that anything goes, as long as they’re long-lived enough.”
   “So Sanguini might have a chance later,” Rick grinned. “He’s interested, long lived and a dominant to boot. What’s not to like?”
   “What about out esteemed Alpha?” Edson suggested cheekily.
   “Sorry, we already decided it’s not to be,” Harry laughed.
   “Our Second then,” the werewolf pressed. “He’s an alpha too, even if he isn’t the Alpha.”
   “Merlin no,” Harry shuddered. “No offence to Aaron. He’s a nice guy but he’s huge.”
   The werewolves burst out laughing, drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd. Both Domovoi and Aaron looked over suspiciously but, seeing no signs of immediate trouble, decided to leave them to it.
   “So what are you looking for in a mate?” Thomas asked again once they’d calmed down.
   Harry shrugged. “Nothing specific. As long as they’re nice and respect me as a person. Oh, and be able to get past that ‘submissives are made of glass’ thing. You have no idea how annoying it is to have people censoring themselves constantly in case it upsets the poor, delicate submissive,” he said with an eye-roll.
   “So your standards are older and not a prat?” Edson snorted. “How hard can that be?”
   “You’d be surprised,” Harry grumbled. “Besides, they have to be interesting too. One of the many I met yesterday - Philip or something - was nice enough but, Merlin, was he boring. I’m surprised he knew something as exciting as a club existed given what the rest of his life sounded like. A low-level Ministry paper pusher in the Department of Memo Regulation - how is that even a thing? - and the most exciting social activity he has is a weekly Chocolate Frog Card Collectors Club meeting.”
   “Better him than that troll-wit who keeps offering to fuck you and getting pissy when you tell him to shove it,” Timothy pointed out.
   “Language Timothy,” Aaron chastised with a frown as he and Domovoi approached the group.
   “Sorry. He was a git though. You should have heard the things he was saying,” Timothy frowned, Thomas nodding in agreement.
   “His description of what we could do together if I followed him into the Alley was particularly vivid,” Harry said disparagingly.
   “So was your description of where he could shove his ego and what you’d do with his wand if he even tried to hex you,” Rick grinned. “I thought the part about burying it so deep he would need a team of goblin excavators to get it out was particularly creative.”
   “That was almost as amusing as the allusions to his mother’s unfortunate relationship with a bonnacon,” Timothy added.
   “His reaction to that could have been better. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get hold of a brawling demon?” Thomas groused.
   “About as difficult as keeping control of a pack of excitable werewolves with no sense, I’d imagine,” Aaron said mildly.
   “In our defence, he deserved it and nobody got violent until he threatened Harry,” Timothy said. “It was the second time he’d made a nuisance of himself and even if the stupid innuendoes could be tolerated, threats of kidnap and forcing a mating bond couldn’t,” he growled.
   Mating bonds were cherished in the Creature community. While not quite the soul bond many romance novels mooned over, it was a much closer bond than marriage could offer. Threatening to force a bond with someone was contemptible and even done in jest.
   “There will not be a repeated,” Domovoi growled. “Mr. Calvey escorted the reprobate to the Demon Council after he was removed from the club last night. Seeing as neither had returned by this morning, I would guess the Council is looking into it.”
   “Oh yay, bureaucracy,” Harry cheered sarcastically.
   “You’re thirteen, how much bureaucracy can you have dealt with?” asked an amused Thomas.
   “I had to inform the Council that I exist when I started Hogwarts,” Harry said. “You wouldn’t believe how bloody long it took. First they thought I’d mis-gendered myself, because Merlin forbid there be a male submissive Realm-sired demon around, then they wouldn’t believe I was who I said I was. Some dimwitted bimbo on the Council was insisting that I was lying to try and make myself more appealing to potential mates,” he said scathingly.
   “I’m not sure you need help with that, if the demon infestation we’re currently suffering is any indication,” Edson snorted.
   “What can I say? I’m fabulous,” Harry drawled in his best impression of Draco Malfoy, making the werewolves snicker.
   “Which brings me to why we came over in the first place,” Domovoi said. “You need to get those pheromones back under control. Emitting them in the middle of the pack like this may not be too much of an issue but it’ll cause problems when you’re not in the centre of the group. You’ve got five minutes until we head to the Box.”
   Harry swore, ignoring Aaron’s disapproving look. He hadn’t even noticed that was emitting Advertising pheromones again. Concentrating, he quickly managed to switch back to producing Scouting pheromones but it would be a while until the more potent Advertising pheromones were overwhelmed.
   “I thought you could control it,” Timothy half-asked curiously.
   “I can, it just takes some getting used to,” Harry grumbled. “It’s like reteaching your body to hold a different posture; at first you have to think about it and it’s easy to slip back into the old posture without thinking, but it gets steadily easier to maintain over time. Instinctively my body wants to be Advertising, even if it is inconvenient for me, so it reverts to that state when I stop thinking about it. It must have been triggered by the talk about what I’m looking for in a mate,” he shrugged. It was inconvenient but it would be a lot to hope for instant control over every new aspect of his inheritance and magic. At least he wasn’t setting fire to everything, he thought with a grin, thinking of his dorm-mate Seamus.
   “And that’s enough questions about demons for you lot,” Domovoi said sternly, giving the curious betas a warning look. The last thing the pack needed was to offend Harry by asking prying questions about his rather secretive race and have their pack sponsor find out. Harry may be more open than most demons but that didn’t mean constant pestering would not irritate him. Domovoi being Shax’s best friend would not stop the demon punishing the pack if he felt it was deserved. He was extremely tolerant as it was, without pushing their luck with such a breach of demon etiquette when they knew better.
   A loud chime rang out, making Harry jump and the bustle of the crowds quiet down for a moment before roaring to new heights.
   “That’s the alert that the stadium is open,” Timothy explained to Harry as the two alphas rounded the pack up. A few minutes later and the pack had joined the swarm of people heading towards the stadium entrance.
   The stadium could have passed as Hufflepuff’s own, if not for the wasps decorating the stands. Being the Wasps’ home ground, black and yellow dominated the stands with only the stands behind the hoops at the Away end of the pitch having a different colour scheme. Today it was green and gold, the Harpies’ colours, though Harry knew it was charmed to show the colours of whichever team was playing.
   “Come on, we’ve got some of the best seats,” Timothy shouted over the noise of the crowd, steering Harry in the direction of the stairs.
   The view from the Box was stunning. They weren’t in the Top Box so they weren’t quite central, but they were close enough for it not to matter. They had a clear view of both ends of the pitch and were high enough that they would be able to follow all of the action, even if the snitch decided to hide above the game as it sometimes did.
   The covered area at the back of the Box, sheltered from the elements by a glass panel, was almost as impressive as the view from the open-air section at the front. A row of comfortable chairs were lined up behind the glass, offering a place to sit and watch the game in bad weather, with sections of the glass charmed to show magnified views of the areas of the pitch that could not been seen clearly from behind the glass. At the back, near the entrance to the staircase, was a counter piled high with snacks ranging from complementary Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans (the Wimbourne Wasps’ sponsor) to Honeyduke’s finest chocolate. There was also a stocked minibar containing common wizarding beverages.
   Along the back wall an enchanted chalkboard showed the score and listed various statistics from the game and about the players. Underneath that was a second chalkboard that listed odds and invited people to place bets on the game.
   “Don’t tell people that’s here. It’s not exactly a regulation feature,” Timothy said when he noticed what Harry was looking at. “Don’t place any bets with it either. You’d have more luck gambling with a goblin. It’s one of the boss’ on the side business ventures.”
   “Does it work?”
   “For profit making? It’s ok. Broom racing does better because it’s smaller so people are less likely to kick up a fuss but it does well enough. And technically it’s all legal,” Timothy shrugged.
   “Technically?”
   “Gambling laws in the wizarding world are pretty lax,” he explained. “If we do get into trouble we can usually threaten to release details of Ludo Bagman’s gambling debts to the Prophet and the Ministry makes everything disappear. Failing that, you reroute everything through the goblins. They love to inconvenience wizards so they’ll make some obligatory grumbling noises but then leap on the opportunity. Even the most dedicated auror can only handle so much red tape and the DMLE only has so much in the budget for handling fees. If the case makes it through that then chances are all we have to do is pay a fine, and if they’re that dedicated they deserve the money.”
   “You aren’t sharing sensitive information, are you Timothy?” Aaron asked pointedly. The beta smiled innocently.
   “Just educating Harry on the finer points of our excellent judicial system.”
   “Indeed. Unfortunately Mr. Potter’s education will have to come to a premature end. The game is starting,” the Second said, giving Timothy a warning look that Harry missed as he made his way excitedly to the seats outside. As the last few pack members took their seats, the commentator’s voice rumbled through the stadium.
   “Welcome, wizards and witches, to the 1993 Holyhead Harpies vs. Wimbourne Wasps League Cup game!”
   The crowd roared, drowning out the sonoroused voice. As they quietened, the voice continued, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the pitch our fantastic Home team, the Wimbourne Wasps! Keeper Milton McCormack, Beaters Felix Quintin and Severine Ogden, Chasers Elaine Dayton, Wade Mina and Jasper Streton and the incredible Captain and Seeker, who brought this team to new heights, Laauuurence Whitby!”
   The spectators in the home stands erupted, some cheering and others making the loud buzzing noise the Wasps’ fans were known for.
   “And now the Away team, the glorious gals who have been playing in top form this season, the Holyhead Harpies! Keeper Florence Gladwin, Beaters Gretchen Wright and the fierce Captain Gwenog Jones, Chasers Wilda Griffiths, Gwenevere Alby and Lucretia Garrick, and Seeker Gilliaaaan Marie!”
   This time the Harpies’ fans erupted into shouts and cheers, the noise in the stadium swelling as the Wasps’ supporters tried to drown out the oppositions cheering with their buzzing.
   “Refereeing this match is ex-Magpies Chaser, Cormac McLeod. This is the decider folks! The Wasps’ and Harpies’ are neck-and-neck on points. Today’s victors will be joining the Arrows in the semi-finals while the losing team will battle the Falcons for fifth place in this year’s League Cup.”
   “Won’t be much of battle against the Falcons unless they win their next match by sixty points or more,” Edson said over the noise of the crowd, getting a few agreeing nods.
   Down on the pitch, the crate containing the balls had been brought out as the players got into position.
   “Ladies and gentlemen, let the 1993 Harpies vs. Wasps match begin!”
   As the commentator spoke, the balls were released. Harry’s eyes automatically followed the snitch, barely keeping the much faster professional snitch in sight as it zipped away from its confinement, until he was distracted by the quaffle being tossed into the air.
   “And they’re off! Griffiths quickly takes possession of the quaffle. A relatively new addition to the team, only on her second season, but definitely showing her worth with a successful score rate of ninety percent so far. The Harpies’ formidable Chasers are slicing through the Wasps’ defence - Oh! That has to hurt! A skilful bludger shot by Ogden knocks the quaffle out of Garrick’s hands and the Wasps have the quaffle!”
   Harry was torn between watching the superb play by the Chasers and tracking the Seekers’ progress. He had decided quickly that the Wasps had the better Seeker - they were simultaneously scanning for the snitch and marking the Harpies’ Seeker without tailing them, something Harry knew from experience was much harder than it looked.
   Around him, the pack surged to their feet as the Wimbourne Chasers reached the scoring zone. They shouted encouragement as Wade Mina grabbed the quaffle deliberately dropped by Streton to avoid a bludger and took a shot at the hoops.
   “Dammit,” Edson swore, dropping back into his seat with a groan as the Harpies’ Keeper made the save by the tips of her fingers. “Half an inch, just half an inch over and it would have-“
   “Bounced off the hoop,” Harry pointed out. A werewolf behind him laughed.
   “Don’t ruin his moping with your logic,” he teased, leaning across Harry to ruffle Edson’s hair. “He lives for the moments when he can sit here and tell the professionals how they should have done it.”
   Edson knocked away the hand with a scowl but any retort he had was lost as commentator’s shout snapped their attention back to the game.
   “Marie has seen the snitch!”
   The crowd shot out of their seats as the green-clad Seeker dropped into a shallow but fast dive, streaking diagonally across the pitch, disrupting the Wasps’ Chasers formation as she cut through the players.
   “Where is it?” one of the werewolves shouted over the noise of the crowd. “I can’t see it.”
   “She’s heading towards the Harpies’ stands.”
   “I don’t see it.”
   “She’s feinting,” Edson shouted. Some of the pack disagreed but a lot were nodding.
   “He’s right, look at Whitby!” Harry shouted, pointing at the Wasps’ Seeker who had aborted the chase and was climbing back up above the game.
   The Holyhead Chasers had taken full advantage of the distraction caused by the Seekers’ drama. By the time most of the crowd had turned their attention back to the Chasers the Harpies had lined themselves up to shoot.
   “The Harpies score! Ten-nil to the Harpies after an incredible tactical play by the entire Holyhead team!” the commentator exclaimed amid cheers and boos from the crowd.
   From there the game really took off. The Harpies’ Chasers lived up to their reputation, barely letting the Wasps touch the quaffle for long enough to make it to the scoring zone. Evening the odds the Wasps’ Beaters were on top form, preventing several goals and ensuring the Harpies would be nursing several bruises by the end of the game. An hour into the game and the score was only 30-10 to the Harpies.
   In the Box, Harry was grinning widely as the werewolves around him shouted and cheered as the Wasps scored again, bringing the score up to 30-20. Money was exchanging hands rapidly, accompanied by jokes and bickering as the game continued.
   As time ran on the game got dirtier, both sides being awarded penalties when a fight broke out between two Beaters. A few minutes later the Harpies were awarded another penalty for a foul against their Seeker, Marie looking dazed after being barged into the stands.
   “If the Wasps keep this up they’re going to lose on points from all the penalties they’re giving away,” Harry observed as the Holyhead Chaser took another successful penalty.
   “It was worth it,” Edson said. “If Marie is too injured to play then the snitch is ours, and if she carries on while she’s injured the snitch is still ours. As long as they can keep less than a 150 point difference the penalties are worth it.”
   “Keeping that gap might be difficult,” Harry said as the Harpies took possession of the quaffle again.
   “It’s only 50-30,” refuted one of the other werewolves. “They have a ways to go yet if they want to widen the gap.”
   “There hasn’t been a glimmer of the snitch though,” Timothy chipped in. “If the Harpies build up steam the gap could widen quickly. It wouldn’t be the first game they’ve won because the opposition was too focused on the snitch and they overtook on points.”
   “It’s been a while since that happened to the Wasps,” Domovoi joined the debate. “Whitby works well under pressure. It might be close but he’s like a damn niffler when the points difference reaches a hundred or so. They’ve only lost one game on points since he joined and that was at the beginning of his career.”
   The debate continued as the Harpies began to retaliate to the Wasps’ dirty play. Gwenog Jones’ infamous temper, which had already sparked briefly in the scrap with the Wasps’ Beater Quintin, had been ignited once again. Not content with simply sending a bludger at the Wasps’ Keeper, she hurled her beater’s bat too, hitting McCormack square in the chest and ensuring a successful goal.
   As Wade Mina was lining up to take the Wasps’ penalty, one of the pack members to Harry’s left suddenly cried, “Snitch! By the Harpies’ tunnel!”
   Amid confused and doubtful queries of “Where?” and “Are you sure?”, Harry spotted the glimmer of gold flitting lazily in the mouth of the tunnel as though it had been there the entire time.
   “There, right in front of the tunnel,” he said pointing.
   “Whitby has seen it!” Edson exclaimed, pointing at the yellow and black striped Seeker who was glancing towards the snitch frequently.
   The Harpies’ Seeker didn’t appear to have noticed it, still scanning the sky above game level. Harry suspected she may have been concussed by the earlier foul. He remember Angelina being barged into the stands in his first ever game - she had been on a flying ban for three days after.
   The second the quaffle entered the hoop, the Wasps’ Seeker dropped out of the sky like a falcon spotting a rabbit. Pulling up with his toes inches from the grass, he had missed the snitch by a second. As though sensing the chase was on the little golden ball was streaking away across the pitch, low enough that its wings grazed the blades of grass.
   Whooping and hollering along with the pack and the rest of the Wasps’ supporters, Harry cheered the Seeker on. As long as Whitby didn’t lose sight of the snitch the win was his. The Harpies’ Seeker was struggling to make the hairpin turns, equilibrium thrown off as she favoured her left side. With the snitch clinging to the grass precision flying was paramount.
   A well aimed bludger, courtesy of Captain Gwenog Jones, smacked into Whitby’s shoulder with a sickening crack, flinging him forwards onto his broom handle. With the ground speeding by less than a foot below his face and his right arm useless, he put on one last spurt of speed, positioning himself over the snitch. Instead of reaching out to catch it, and subsequently pitching himself into the ground face first, he let himself fall, landing on top of the frantically fluttering ball.
   “Does that count?”
   The question came from below the pack’s Box, carrying in the sudden quiet from the crowd.
   “Should do,” Edson said, though he doubted the person who asked could hear him. “They allowed it in ’73 when the Arrows’ Seeker buried the snitch in the mud by elbowing it. This is sort of the same.”
   “How do you even know that?” Thomas asked incredulously at the same time as the referee’s whistle blew, confirming Edson’s words.
   “Wimbourne wins!” cried the commentator. “Let’s hope that shoulder heals well folks, it’s going to be a brutal semi-final for the Wasps. They’ll need their Captain in top form!”
   The Wasps’ stands exploded, showers of yellow sparks and conjured wasps (without stings, Harry hoped) filled the air as they cheered, buzzing mockingly at the Harpies’ fans. In the Box, the pack was joining in with the cheering and sparks but a quick intervention by the Alpha prevented the conjuring of any wasps. Harry had feeling there was a story behind the threat of making anyone who conjured any sleep with the wasps they created.
   The pack was jubilant. Even Harry, Timothy and the few other non-Wasps supporters were caught up in the excitement, joining in with the chanting and cheering as the Wasps’ fans slowly trickled out of the stadium.
   Harry was completely blindsided when someone he had never met before slung an arm around his shoulders and kissed him a little too enthusiastically to simply be an inebriated Wasps’ supporter. A second later his senses caught up to what was happening and he realised he had been grabbed by another demon.
   “Oi, get off!” he said wriggling out of their grip, bumping into Thomas’s back as he backed away.
   “You ok there Harry?” the werewolf asked, glancing over his shoulder.
   “Yeah, just a handsy dominant,” he said, ducking around the tattooed werewolf to put him between him and the dominant.
   “Don’t be like that,” the dominant complained, reaching around Thomas to grab Harry’s shoulder.
   “Watch it,” the werewolf growled, catching the demon’s wrist.
   “Butt out, beta,” the demon spat back, jerking his wrist out of the werewolf’s grasp and stepping forwards threateningly.
   “Is there a problem here?” Domovoi materialised beside them, placing himself firmly in front of Harry and Thomas, forcing the dominant to back up.
   “I haven’t done anything wrong! He’s Advertising, I’m allowed to talk to him,” the demon protested, suddenly a lot less confident with an angry Alpha growling in his face.
   “Funny, I didn’t hear a lot of talking going on when you kissed me,” Harry muttered, quelling under Domovoi’s disapproving look. When with werewolves do as werewolves do, which meant not interfering in a fight the Alpha had decided to take on, even if it was on your behalf. He could do that. Probably.
   “I don’t care what rights you think you have to anything, threaten one of my pack again and I’ll send your body back to your Council as a warning,” Domovoi said quietly, voice perfectly even without a hint of a growl. It didn’t sound like idle threats and posturing to Harry. The dominant clearly agreed as he paled and retreated quickly, walking away as fast as he could without breaking into a run.
   Domovoi grunted in satisfaction before turning to Harry. “Right you, middle of the pack. I know it’s not your fault but let’s try and avoid repeat incidences if we can.”
   Avoiding a repeat turned out to be impossible, though most of the other dominants had better manners than the first guy and were smart enough to know threatening a werewolf surrounded by their pack would not end well.
   At some point during the match, Harry had forgotten to keep surpassing his Advertising pheromones and everyone else had been too distracted to notice. Now the scent clung to him, inviting over every demon in scenting distance. Fortunately that wasn’t as many as it would have been if he had been in the Alley, as only a few had come to the game, and they had to at least try to be subtle to avoid attracting the attention of the wizards and witches around them. It was still enough to have Timothy and Rick in stitches and Domovoi rolling his eyes as Harry fended off the affections of the overeager dominants.
   “Oh for the love of Merlin!” the exasperated demon growled as yet another dominant found a way to squeeze through the wall of werewolves to introduce himself to Harry. “Do you see the crowd of werewolves you had to fight your way through?” he asked the dominant who looked shocked at his outburst. Hesitantly the dominant nodded. “Then did it not occur to you that perhaps that could mean that I don’t want you fawning all over me?” Harry said through gritted teeth.
   By this time the pack had stopped walking, preferring to watch the drama unfolding in their midst. Harry noticed that a few of them looked ready to intervene if things got out of hand but so far nobody made a move to interfere, which he was grateful for. He also noticed Thomas putting up a privacy ward, clearly remembering Harry’s rather loud rant last night, making the demon conceal a grin.
   “But you’re Advertising,” protested the dominant, eyeing the watching werewolves warily.
   “Yes, I am aware. I’m starting to hate that particular bit of submissive biology,” Harry grumbled. He really didn’t want to shout at the dominant; it wasn’t really the dominant’s fault he had happened to be the one approach too many that had made Harry snap.
   “Why?” the dominant asked cautiously.
   “Because it doesn’t bloody switch off and stay off and I end up being molested by idiots thinking with their dicks instead of their brains,” Harry snapped waspishly, gaining a few amused snorts from the observing werewolves and a despairing comment about vulgarity from Aaron.
   “Well, that is why most subs are put on house arrest by their parents until they have it under control,” the dominant said thoughtlessly.
   Harry stiffened, eyes narrowing. He heard one of the werewolves (who sounded suspiciously like Edson) murmur, “A galleon says he hexes him,” which prompted a round of betting on the outcome of the conversation. Apparently the pack would bet on anything if the opportunity arose.
   Doing his best to ignore the pack, the submissive growled, “So I should stay home and lock myself away because you lot don’t have enough self-control to think about whether your advances really are welcome before you approach?”
   “That’s not-“ the dominant tried to protest but Harry spoke over him.
   “Because of course it’s not like it’s well known that Advertising is bloody difficult to control at first. It’s not like a damn wall of people stopping your approach should give you a bloody clue. No. The pheromones say I want to be swarmed by dominants so obviously it must be true,” Harry said scathingly, thankful for the privacy ward Thomas had put up as he’d gotten loud towards the end of his tirade.
   The dominant blinked at him dumbly. After several seconds the silence was broken by one of the werewolves.
   “Can we keep him? I call dibs.”
   “Oi, I already called dibs,” objected Timothy.
   “Actually,” Aaron deadpanned, “I do believe it was decided you only have ‘dibs’ on any misbehaviour. I seem to recall Harry claiming dibs on anything else to do with himself.”
   “Spoil sport,” Timothy muttered, folding his arms with a pout.
   The dominant demon watched the exchange in bemusement.
   “Is he not already part of your pack?” he asked, confused and not at all sure what to make of the whole situation. A little bit of hostility wasn’t that unusual when approaching an Advertising submissive, especially not one so well guarded, but he was starting to feel like he had wandered into the fairies’ garden at some point. He knew he wasn’t the most intimidating demon around but he was used to being treated with a least a little bit of caution, yet the entire pack seemed to have completely forgotten about him. They were bickering over who had dibs on the submissive, while said submissive was still glaring at him like he expected a response, completely ignoring the pack of werewolves surrounding him.
   “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” the dominant said to Harry apologetically after another minute of being ignored by the pack (who now seemed to be debating setting up a rota system Harry wanted no part of). “Of course I don’t expect you to stay locked up, I was just saying that a lot of submissives’ families do it for their safety.”
   “Do you think he’s going to put down the shovel soon or is he digging for China?” Timothy said in a carrying whisper to the rest of the pack.
   “If someone was looking at me like that, I’d be digging for China. Or the moon,” Edson muttered back, looking at the glower on Harry’s face.
   “Can you dig to the moon?”
   “He’s certainly trying.”
   “Should we help-“ Timothy started.
   “You are not allowed to ‘help’ anything,” Domovoi interrupted. “If Harry needs help I’ll intervene but he seems to be doing quite well by himself.”
   “He’s not the one I was offering to help,” Timothy muttered, quiet enough that only Thomas and Rick, who were standing next to him, could hear.
   Harry, who had been ignoring the werewolves’ byplay, folded his arms and scowled at the dominant.
   “So should I be worrying about my safety?” he challenged. “Is that the real reason you’ve all been following me like shadows? Looking for your first opportunity to molest me? Or are you all just worried about the poor, defenceless submissive who doesn’t have anyone to hold his hand?” he bit out.
   The dominant threw his hands up in exasperation. “Is there an answer I can give that won’t get me into even more trouble?” he asked.
   “Nope. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say will be misinterpreted and used against you,” Timothy said cheerfully, quickly followed by, “Ow! What was that for. Ow! No fair, I can’t hit you back!”
   “Kirrin!” Domovoi snapped. “What did I say about helping?”
   “You’re all evil. Harry, save me!” the enormous werewolf darted towards the teenager and picked him up to use as a shield against his annoyed, but also secretly amused, Alpha.
   “Timothy, you prat, put me down!” exclaimed the annoyed demon, squirming in the werewolf’s hold. “Bad mutt, no manhandling the demon,” he said, swatting at the hands gripping his sides.
   Reluctantly the werewolf lowered him until his feet were touching the floor. “Now who’s going to protect me from evil Alphas?” he asked with a pout. Harry rolled his eyes.
   “No idea, but if you grab me like that again I’ll be helping the ‘evil Alpha’ hide your body,” he said sweetly. “I’ve forgotten what I was saying now,” he huffed.
   “Your fine companion here was struggling to extract his foot from his mouth and you were overreacting and misinterpreting everything he said as a threat to your independence. I think it’s the hormones,” Timothy said helpfully. Somewhere at the back of the pack, Rick muffled his snickers behind his hand - he doubted Harry would let that one go without revenge.
   “I’ll give you ‘hormones’,” Harry muttered darkly. “And I was not overreacting!”
   “Of course not,” the werewolf said agreeably. “The way you bristle at the slightest indication that someone is trying to protect you is perfectly reasonable,” he nodded.
   Several of the pack snorted as Harry stared at him. The dominant demon stood around awkwardly, in the centre of the group yet forgotten.
   “Timothy, this is why you’re not allowed to help,” Thomas said exasperatedly. “You’ve broken him.”
   Harry shifted sheepishly. “I’m fine. I just didn’t realise that’s what everyone thought,” he said, ducking his head, embarrassed. He didn’t think he was overreacting. Too many people wanted to treat him like a kid or a delicate flower. But maybe he could try to be a bit less prickly about it.
   “I’m, ah, sorry for shouting at you,” he said to the dominant. “Just…be less pushy in the future please?”
   The dominant nodded, looking bewildered. He had expected to possibly be beaten up by an overprotective pack of werewolves when the submissive had first started shouting. He had not expected this. Whatever this was.
   “Of course. You have my apologies,” he said, before saying a quick goodbye and making his escape before he could be dragged into more pack insanity.
   The pack followed soon after, making their way back out onto the moor before one of the game officials could kick them out for loitering around the stadium. At the apparition point Harry once again side-alonged with Timothy to get back to the apartments.
   “Celebratory drinks at Beasts in an hour, and a pack announcement. Let the others know if you see them,” Domovoi said before dismissing everyone to get changed into more appropriate clothing and relax for an hour.

A/N: For those who don’t know what a bonnacon is: bestiary.ca/beasts/beast80.htm
I saw it and had to use it because it is just so perfect for someone who talks a lot of BS, sadly Lockhart is already gone xD

DinaTheCat: I don't have a regular update schedule. I aim to update at least once a month when possible but I have a very hetic schedule and sometimes barely have time to do more than jot down a couple of sentences in a week, so even monthly isn't always possible. I have no intentions of abandoning this fic though, so even if I go missing for a long stretch, I will be returning.
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Path Less Traveled