Soul Seeker

I went to England, and didn’t update anything. Sorry. But, good news, I know how much longer there is to go with this fiction! There are only so much more I can do with it once they find out Harry is a Horcrux. Though I suppose I could just kill more people? Fenrir would like that.

The ending sections of this chapter contain the implied use of suicide, and fully consensual sex between Harry and Draco, at long last.

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Words: 5,674
Chapter 10
Disastrous
June 15th 1998.

He’d put it off for three days. First, hiding in the hospital wing with the curtains drawn around his bed so nobody could see him, or feigning sleep so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Then later locking himself away in deserted classrooms, his knees tucked to his chest, rocking back and forth while he tried desperately not to sleep, not wanting to give into the nightmares he knew would follow. It had been three days since he woke up after the botched ritual, three days since Snape told the others he knew what was wrong. He had three days worth of chances to view Severus’ remaining memories, collected when the man thought he had been dying, but Harry had put it off.

He knew he was a Horcrux, and he knew he had to be destroyed, but knowing something and seeing it for himself were two different matters. He couldn’t trust himself to watch those memories calmly and detachedly. He could, even now, imagine himself latching on to Snape and begging for death, or relief, or anything as long as the burden was taken away from his hands. He couldn’t do any more. He was exhausted. Everyone always left the decisions up to him, and while he appreciated being told what was going on, he hated being the one responsible if a plan went awry.

There was little doubt in his mind that if he had let Snape die, he would have seen all of those memories, and he would have defeated Voldemort properly. But then Snape would have been dead, and Draco would have been Mateless. How was it fair to leave that decision up to him? He was bias, he wanted to live and be with Draco, and he certainly didn’t want any more death on his conscious. It was at times like this that Harry desperately wished Dumbledore hadn’t died. The older wizard had always been good at making people do what they didn’t want to do for the greater good. Harry could use someone like that right now.

He had taken several deep breaths, trailing his fingers along the walls as he walked, trying to ground himself. He felt as if his soul was rising out of his body and floating away, preparing itself for death, numbing his body to whatever pain would follow. He needed to stay there, to be there, so he touched what he could, trying to remember if anything interesting had happened in that particular stop over the past number of years at Hogwarts. When he finally stopped outside of the Potion Masters chambers he couldn’t quite bring himself to knock. Instead, he slumped to his knees, his forehead pressed against the cool stone at the base of the portrait as he sucked in deep lung fulls of air.

The portrait swung open, and Severus sneered down at him. “Stand up, foolish boy, and come inside.” When Harry didn’t move, Snape bent down and grabbed a fist full of the boy’s robe and dragged him to his feet. He pulled Harry through the portrait hole, and all but shoved the child down into a chair. “Wait here.” He said gruffly, and disappeared into another room. He returned a moment later with the familiar basin in his hands, thrusting it towards Harry with a scowl on his face.

With his eyes closed, Harry let his head fall forward, into the Pensieve.

Harry watched them, Snape and Dumbledore, as they walked around the grounds. The area was deserted, and it was at that point in time when the sun was almost set and the moon had almost risen, and an eerie brightness was cast across everything in sight. Harry smiled softly; twilight had always been his favourite time of the day. Every thing always seemed so unnaturally beautiful in the twilight.

“You trust him,” Snape said softly to the elder wizard, unaware of Harry’s presence. “You do not trust me.”

“It is not a question of trust.” Albus answered. “It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.”

“And why may I not have the same information?” Severus queried, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You confide in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre and who has a direct connection with the Dark Lord.”

“Voldemort fears that connection. Lord Voldemort’s soul cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s.” Albus tried to explain, but Snape cut him off angrily.

“Souls? We are talking of minds!”

“In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.” Severus’ face was pinched, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Harry could honestly say he was just as lost as the Professor appeared to be. He knew he was a Horcrux, and he knew that a Horcrux was made from a portion of a person’s soul. Did that soul fragment cause his strange connection with Voldemort’s mind? It must do, he reasoned, or why else would it be possible for Voldemort to keep possession him.

The scene swirled, stretching and shrinking as it changed. They were now in Dumbledore’s office. Ironically enough, Harry was standing in the same position he had been in when Snape had killed Dumbledore. And there was Dumbledore again, standing calmly as Snape shouted at him, sitting stiffly in Dumbledore’s chair.

“Now, listen closely, Severus. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bedding, it will be safe to tell Harry.” Albus told him, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to circle Severus.

“Tell him what?” The younger man asked warily.

“Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul in that collapsed building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry,” Albus continued to speak, but Harry knew that. He knew he was a vessel for Voldemort’s only remaining soul piece. He didn’t particularly want to listen to it all again. He just wanted to know how to destroy it.

“So the boy… the boy must die?” Severus looked and sounded calm, but knowing what Harry did about his mother and Snape the teenager knew that the elder Wizard was upset by the revelation.

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”

There was silence for a long while. Harry’s head was spinning, he had expected it of course, the knowledge that he would have to die before Voldemort could finally be defeated, but how? How now when Voldemort was already gone, was the Dark Lord supposed to kill him? He actually stopped breathing for a moment when he considered the possibility that he may never get rid of Voldemort, that he may have to learn to live with that monster inside of him.

Severus tried to speak once, but seemed to choke on his words. Harry raised his head to look at the man, whose mouth was opening and closing though no words came out. A moment later, he composed himself enough to say, “I thought… all these years… we were protecting him for her. For Lily.” Before Harry could hear anymore, a hand appeared inside the Pensieve. It grabbed onto Harry’s collar and pulled him backwards, back into Severus’ rooms.

Severus looked at the child, Lily’s child, who was slumped back into the chair, his hands covering his face, and he felt the stirrings of pity. A small sob sounded in the otherwise silent room, and Severus’ hand reached forward almost involuntarily, hovering in the air just above Harry’s shoulder. The wizard seemed to be mentally arguing with himself, until finally he allowed his hand to drop. He gave Harry two awkward pats before withdrawing his hand and folding both arms across his chest defensively.

Harry looked up at him, blinking the tears away. “Will you kill me?”

“No.”

“Someone needs to kill me.”

“The Dark Lord, yes,” Severus agreed quietly.

“But I’ve already killed him,” Harry cried, tears falling down his cheeks again.

“So you have.” Snape walked from the room again, taking the Pensieve with him. When he came back, he held a book out, giving it to Harry. The teenager looked at it, expecting it to hold the answers to all of his questions, but instead the title read ‘Moste Potent Potions’. “Until such a time as someone does try to kill you, or another way of destroy the Horcrux is discovered, I suggest you study. Your NEWTs are at Yule time.” With that he stalked to the portrait hole, ripped the door open, and merely pointed through it. Harry left silently, not noticing the sad look Severus gave him as he walked away.

Four hours of wondering aimlessly around the castle and avoiding all of his friends later, he sank down onto the stone stairway over looking the ruins of Hagrid’s hut. The potions book was open on his lap, and he did try and read over it. The words blurred together, each sentence reading “neither can live while the other survives” instead of the actual instructions for whatever potion he was reading about.

“Hey,” a soft voice said from behind him.

Harry looked over his shoulder at George. He waved slightly, and patted the ground beside him. “Hey yourself.”

“What are you doing?” George leant over Harry, almost falling into the brunette’s lap. He pulled the book towards himself, closed it and then read the cover.

“Snape said I should study,” Harry said when George raised an eyebrow in question.

The red head smiled softly. It looked strained but it was better than nothing, Harry supposed. Every one had known how close Fred and George were; no one ever saw one without the other. And Harry couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be with one person for all of your life and then suddenly have them ripped away. He thought quickly of Draco, and a small smile slid onto his face. He had Draco now, and after losing so many people he loved, he was going to do every thing in his power to keep the blond Veela safe. Even if it meant he had to die.

“The alliteration in that one sentence astounds me, Harrykins.” George gave him another lop sided grin, before saying slowly, “she sells sea shells by the sea shore.” He said it again and again, as Harry laughed, but by the third time it sounded more like, “sea shells sea sells by the sea shore.”

While Harry was laughing, George leant closer and closer, unnoticed by the brunette. Green eyes widened as soft pink lips met his own. George’s lips were harder than Draco’s, a little more chapped, but they weren’t bad. They brushed softly against Harry’s mouth, but when the brunette didn’t respond, they pressed harder. George’s hand fisted into Harry’s hair, pulling his head forward and crushing their lips tighter together. It was when George’s tongue flicked out to trace the seam of Harry’s lips that the brunette finally pulled away.

“What are you doing?” He asked, wide eyes and confused.

“Kissing you. I was wondering, lately, what it would be like.” The red head answered nonchalantly. He didn’t seem bothered by the blush spreading across Harry’s lips, or the fact that he was inching away from him slowly, one hand covering his mouth and the other clutching the textbook against his chest like a shield.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I feel something for you, I suppose. I don’t love you, not like Ginny says she does, but I feel a connection with you. We both have so much in common Harry. Can’t you see that? You’re the only one I feel comfortable around, the only one I can stomach touching me, the only one I want to speak to. I need you.” The red head sounded desperate now. His hands stretched out towards Harry, but the brunette flinched back a little.

”I love Draco very much. I’m his soul mate George. You know that. Of course we’re still family, nothing will change that.”

“Yeah,” George said softly as he stood up. He refused to meet Harry’s eyes as he brushed down his robes. “Sure, whatever.” He said before turning and walking away briskly.

Harry watched him go with a frown on his face. But he didn’t follow. If he had followed George, Harry knew he’d either have to reject him again, or accept him, and he wasn’t going to take George as a lover. George wasn’t his soul mate, he didn’t love George and he wasn’t attracted to the elder boy. But he didn’t want to hurt George either, because whether or not the red head believed him, Harry thought of them as family, and family was important to the brunette. So he just watched him walk away, and held his tongue, and resolved to talk to Molly about George’s strange behaviour the next time he saw her.

XXX

June 17th 1998.

George, Harry later learnt, had locked himself in the room he was sleeping in, in the Tower and had refused to come out for the past two days. Harry likewise had been almost non-existent for those days as well. He had gone to meals, greeted the elder Malfoys pleasantly every morning and afternoon, cast longing glances at Snape, hoping the man would have found a way to defeat Voldemort, and generally avoided anyone with red hair. However he wouldn’t engage in conversation, he didn’t go out of his way to see people he knew, and when he was playing with Teddy in his rooms he generally just lay there and let the child jump on him. If one of the Malfoys or any of his friends appeared in the room, he’d take Teddy and lock himself in his and Draco’s bedroom, only opening the door at night so Draco could go to sleep.

Hermione had concluded that something had happened between Harry and George because both boys were acting the same way George had been when the battle had just ended, and Fred was declared dead officially.

Draco couldn’t get anything out of Harry, and he couldn’t get anywhere close to George to interrogate him, so he had tried to let it go. Someone had hurt his mate, but his mate was perfectly able and willing to take care of himself. Draco had to keep repeating that to himself, especially when Ginny Weasley would walk past and smirk at him, before giving Harry a one armed hug (on the days he couldn’t seem to avoid her) and saying, “oh don’t worry so much. George will get over it. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” Draco knew she didn’t know what was going on either, but even the fact that she pretended to know pissed him off.

After another similar run in with the little cow, Draco stalked into his room and threw himself down onto the bed. Harry was lying across the foot of the bed, reading through the potions book he had gotten from Snape. He looked up and smiled softly when he saw Draco. “Your mother took Teddy for a walk around the grounds with Lucius.”

“That sounds nice. Why didn’t you go?” He pulled his jumper off over his head. Ignoring Harry’s amused smile, he folded the jumper neatly and lay it down on top of their shared chest of drawers.

“I wanted to read my book.”

“You hate Potions,” Draco drawled, pulling the book away.

“It keeps my mind busy.”

“And you’re reading it upside down.” The blond raised an eyebrow as Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Oh,” he said with a blush. “Right, oops.”

“Harry?” Draco sat next to him, pressing against the brunette’s side when he sat up. “Are you ok? You can tell me what’s wrong, you know.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, turning his head so his eyes were focused directly on Draco’s face. “I love you, you know that don’t you? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Veela die with their mates, did you know? So if you want to keep me safe, you have to keep yourself safe. And I can’t help protect you unless I know what is wrong, Harry!”

“George kissed me!” Harry blurted out. That topic was easier to discus than the alternative. How do you tell your soul mate that you are searching for the perfect person to murder them? Draco’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his eyes narrowed and when his mouth parted Harry almost expected to see foam. “But it’s ok! Honestly. I think he’s just a little bit depressed. He’s latching onto me because I’ve had so many people I love die, and he thinks that I can relate to what he is going through because of Fred. He doesn’t love me or anything, he said as much, and I certainly don’t care about him like that.”

“You’re mine!” Draco screeched, his voice rising rapidly as he fought to control the Veela’s natural jealousies, and the urge to kill the person who was threatening the claim he had on Harry. “You are mine!”

Harry pulled Draco to his chest, his fingers tangled into Draco’s hair as the boy panted against his neck. “I’m yours. I love you.”

“Sorry.” The blond said at last, but didn’t pull away from Harry’s hold.

“Do all Veela die if their mate does?” Harry asked softly. His mind was focused only on the thought that he would die; no matter how or when or by whom, he would have to die to defeat Voldemort. He didn’t want Draco to die as well, not if he could help it.

“Only if they have bonded. If they remain unmated, or if the mate dies before the Veela becomes of age, then, uh, the Veela survives.” He looked up at Harry then, pulling out of the brunette’s arms, his eyes wide. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t-” Harry started to say, but Draco cut him off with a kiss. Their lips moved together slowly at first, then faster and harder, more desperately as Harry tried to pull back and Draco ended up climbing into the other Wizard’s lap.

“You have to bond with me.” Draco panted when he pulled away. “You have to!”

“Dray,” Harry said softly, his hand cupping one of Draco’s cheeks. “Greyback and those Rouges are still after me. I don’t want to die knowing I got you killed.”

Tears leaked from the corner of Draco’s eyes, and he brushed them away angrily. Harry frowned as the blond stood up. Standing in the corner of the room, Draco hugged his arms around his chest, sniffling softly. “I won’t do it. I won’t live without my mate. If you die, I’d rather die with you than afterwards.”

“But you won’t die afterwards,” Harry said slowly, not understanding what Draco was implying.

”I won’t live without you.” The blond repeated forcefully.

“Draco don’t be stupid!” Harry shouted, standing up.

“I’m not being stupid. I mean it Harry! I waited my whole life for you, and I refuse to lose you now. I refuse to live without you. Please, please bond with me?” He cried harshly, the last sentence barely audible through his sobbing. He sank to the floor, curling up on himself as he cried, and Harry was at his side in an instant. He lifted Draco, and carried him back to the bed. They lay side by side, Draco crying into the front of Harry’s shirt, softly begging, “don’t leave me. Please bond with me.”

When Draco was calm he rolled away, lying on his back with his arms thrown up to cover his face. When he wasn’t looking, Harry stood and removed his clothing, allowing them to fall onto the floor in a haphazard pile. He snorted lightly at the sight of Draco’s neatly folded jumper, because crawling on to the edge of the bed.

Draco uncovered his face as Harry spoke. “You, my love, are wearing too many clothes.”

“Wha-?” The blond asked, unintelligibly. Harry didn’t want to bond with him. So why was Harry naked? Unless Harry was going to have sex with someone else! A loud growl escaped his throat at that thought, but he calmed down immediately when he remembered there was no one else in the room with them. “You want to have sex with me?” Draco asked softly, as Harry came to hover over him.

“There’s no one else I’d rather have sex with.” He frowned, “that sounded more romantic in my head.” Draco chuckled, his fingers clumsily unbuttoning his own shirt. He wanted nothing more than to touch Harry, and it was a struggle to keep his hands on his clothes rather than his mate’s flesh.

“I love you,” Draco whispered.

“Yeah well, I hope you know what you’re doing, cause I have no idea.”

Draco smirked then, suddenly feeling more confident. “It’s instinctual that Veela always know how to please their Mates.” Harry’s face heated up as Draco emphasised the word ‘please’ while grinning up at him lewdly. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

The next handful of minutes was a blur of fingers and clothing, as the two boys hurriedly tried to strip Draco. Bare skin brushed against bare skin as the last of Draco’s clothing dropped to the floor, and each boy gave a cry of surprise as they pressed against each other. Grey eyes stared up at Harry’s face intently. The Veela spread his legs wider, not wanting to waste time with foreplay in case Harry changed his mind. When Harry was comfortably settled between Draco’s spread thighs, he reached over for his wand.

“Do you know the spell, or should I summon something.” Draco panted lightly, his head thrown back as he lost himself in the feel of his mate pressing down on top of him. Harry’s erection was nudging his own, and it was all Draco could do to control himself. He wanted Harry inside of him, he wanted to bond with Harry, and he wanted his wings. He had waited so long for this moment, but he couldn’t think of any spell that would speed things up.

After waiting a moment and receiving no answer, Harry summoned a tub of Vaseline out of his drawer. “This will have to do,” he muttered, resolving to buy some decent lubricant if he survived long enough for it to matter.

As he coated his fingers, he thought about the future. He knew it wasn’t fair on Draco to do this. Knowing he was going to die soon, Harry knew it was cruel to damn Draco to the same fate, but he was selfish. He supposed it was about time he was selfish, because for most of his life he had stood by while every one else got something while he was overlooked. For this first time, there was something solely for him. Draco was his. And Harry was weak when it came to saying no. If Draco wanted to have sex, if Draco didn’t want to live without him, then how could Harry possibly deny his Veela that? As long as Draco was happy, Harry could pretend that he was doing the right thing.

He could try and pretend that Draco’s death wouldn’t be his fault.

Draco gasped as a finger entered him. Any discomfort he would have expected fled in the face of the knowledge that this was his mate. A part of his mate was inside of him. He pushed down on the finger, keening softly for more. A second finger joined the first, scissoring, and stretching Draco slightly. The blond threw his head back with a moan as Harry brushed against his prostate and caused him to see stars. Harry had his face buried against the hollow of Draco’s throat. He took deep breaths, fighting to control himself. He didn’t want to hurt Draco, and if he rushed he would undoubtedly harm the blond. He needed to control himself and take his time.

When the third finger finally entered him, Draco thought he was going to die. “Please, please hurry, Harry please, oh please,” he panted, writhing on the bed. Legs spread, head thrown back, arms splayed and mouth wide open and begging: Draco was the picture of debauched, and it was enough to sap away the last of Harry’s self control.

He coated his erection in some of the Vaseline before throwing the tub onto the floor. “Love you,” he told the blond softly, lining himself up. Draco arched his back, lifting himself off the bed and forcing Harry to enter him. The feel of Draco, slowly surrounding him inch by inch, made the brunette groan and he thrust forward, burying himself within the Veela. Draco tensed up, his mouth opened again as he gave a gasp, and his eyes screwed up. Harry held himself still, waiting for permission to move. “Love you,” he told the blond again.

“L-Love you too,” Draco said at last, tightening his hold on Harry with his legs and arms.

Harry rocked forward, and Draco lost himself in the feeling of his mate inside of him. He felt like he was made from jelly. His entire body was tingling and he couldn’t keep his arms around Harry anymore. They flopped down to lie by his head, and with one hand Harry pinned them both to the pillow. When his climax approached, Draco used what little strength he had left and flipped them over. Harry came hard, his head thrown back as he moaned.

Draco writhed in his lap. Harry’s hand on his cock brought him to orgasm soon after. As Harry’s seed entered him, he arched his back and groaned in pain. The brunette watched him worriedly, afraid that he may have hurt the blond. Before he could ask what was wrong, two feathered, white wings burst from Draco’s back, spraying blood across the duvet. Draco sagged down onto Harry’s chest, smiling softly to himself, and nuzzling his nose against his mate’s throat.

Harry’s eyes widened as he saw the wings. Green eyes alternated between staring at the wings, and staring at the bloody off cast. Both of which reminded him about the vivid dreams he had had last year. In every dream he had, where Draco had wings, he or Voldemort had tortured and killed the blond boy.

It was as he thought that, that Harry felt a stirring of something within him. His first instinct was that it was Voldemort, but then he realized the something was happy. Looking up at the blond, he realized he was feeling Draco. They had bonded, and now he could feel Draco’s call. It was like rain on his skin, light and soothing, and just barely there. Not hard enough to annoy him, but he knew it was there nonetheless and it was warm and soft, and in this instance oh so welcome.

Something darker stirred within him as he thought about how happy he was with Draco. Taken by surprise, Draco found himself on his back again, his wings crushed beneath him. Harry was still inside of him, half hard, and Draco looked up, excitedly looking forward to the next round. Crimson eyes peered down at him alight with curiosity, lips curled in disgust.

“What does he see in you?” Voldemort asked, as his hands came to grasp Draco’s throat. “You are weak, and pathetic. You are not a good match for my Horcrux. I could do so much better than you.” Voldemort mused as his hands squeezed around Draco’s neck.

The blond sputtered, desperately trying to take a breath, but Voldemort’s hands stopped him. He felt sick as he thought of Harry being touched by that creature; his wonderful, pure, kind Harry, having to live with Voldemort inside of him. And speaking of having Voldemort inside of someone, choking Draco had gotten the man hard, and he thrust Harry’s body lightly in and out of the blond as he kicked and struggled beneath him.

“You are pretty when you cry.” Voldemort said softly. He took one hand off of Draco’s throat to catch some of his tears as they fell. Voldemort licked them off his fingers. “Delicious. Truly.” He complimented.

Draco gave a whine, his face slowly turning blue as his eyes rolled back. He fought to stay awake: he needed to know Harry was ok, he needed to know that Harry would be able to get his body back. He had to do what he could to help Harry defeat Voldemort. When Voldemort’s hand came to his face again, Draco struggled harder, and ignoring the Dark Lord’s laughs he managed to catch the hand in his mouth. He bit down hard, and Voldemort’s scream of pain turned into Harry’s screaming.

The boy almost threw himself across the room. Draco lay on the bed, panting, and clutching his rapidly bruising throat. Harry curled in on himself, his back against the wall, as he watched the blond with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered, and his voice cracked slightly. He swallowed heavily, feeling like he was chocking on sandbags with every breath, but he knew it wasn’t his throat that was paining. It was Draco’s. They were bonded now, and he could feel Draco’s pain. “I’m so sorry.” He grabbed his trousers and pulled them on.

“Harry?” Draco sat up, his wings fluttering lightly behind him, as he slid off of the bed and tried to go to the brunette.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, pushing Draco away from him. He ran from the room, past a bewildered Narcissa who was only just entering through the portrait hole, and past Lucius and Teddy who were patiently waiting their turn to enter.

Draco used his wings to hide himself. They would have been pristine white except for the blood on them, and they were the length of his shoulder to his knee. They curled around his body, hiding his nakedness, as he appeared in the doorway to his and Harry’s bedroom.

He offered his parents a small smile. The sight of his wings was enough to cause Narcissa to actually gasp out loud before she rushed forward to engulf her only child in a hug. “Oh darling, congratulations.”

“What happened to your throat?” Lucius asked, as he settled Teddy down on the sofa with a handful of toys.

“V-Voldemort was not p-pleased that Harry a-and I were h-happy.” He stuttered on a number of words, having to stop and clear his throat before he could complete the sentence. His throat ached, and he knew he’d need to get some bruise salve, or he wouldn’t be able to talk at all this time tomorrow. He didn’t need Harry feeling any guiltier than he already did. “It wasn’t h-his fault, Father.” Draco said sternly. He would have crossed his arms, but they were hidden by his wings, and as such were out of his father’s sight.

“I never said it was.” Lucius said coolly. “However, perhaps you both could refrain from being too ‘happy’ as you call it, until the Dark Lord is taken care of?”

“I suppose,” Draco drawled, and ended up coughing harshly, clutching at his throat.

“Come dearest,” Narcissa cooed. “Let’s put some salve on those bruises, then you can dress and search for your mate. He’s probably distraught.” She dragged him to the bathroom, and Draco let her. The sooner he was healed, the sooner he could be with his mate again.

His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of his neck in the mirror as his mother applied the cream. Curse Voldemort, he thought angrily, he would not let that monster ruin what he had with Harry.

XXX

June 18th 1998.

Fenrir watched the Rouge Death Eater hurrying down the street towards the house he was hiding in. He thought it fitting, his hideout, and it was rather amusing even if Potter wasn’t in on the joke. Tearing his eyes away from the Rouge, his eyes fell on the golden statue. To a Muggle it would be ordinary and unassuming, but Fenrir had once been a Wizard too. Under his gaze, the faces of James, Lily and baby Harry were easily distinguishable. He smirked at the shrine to the saviours of the Wizarding world. Two down, and one to go, he thought cruelly as the Rouge burst through the door.

As a werewolf his senses were stronger than a normal person’s. From the first moment he had met Potter he had known there was something off about him. It was impossible for one person to have two distinct scents, not even soul seekers had that ability. One scent was definitely Potter’s own, and the other had been so familiar, but distant that it took him a moment to realize. Potter smelt like Lord Voldemort had, the last time Fenrir saw him, before he tried to kill the Potters. The werewolf had found it all highly amusing when he realized that a part of Potter was also a part of Voldemort, and the Dark Lord didn’t seem to realize it. As with all selfish beings, his true allegiance was to himself, and so he kept what little he knew to himself, intending to use it if he ever had to worm his way out of a tricky situation with the notoriously unmerciful Dark Lord.

“Greyback! Greyback!” The masked Rouge panted, excited. “I felt him, I felt him again. My mark burned last night. I thought it a coincidence, but it has been burning on and off since. He’s returning isn’t he?”

Fenrir smirked to himself, ignoring the excited chatter of the human man. So Voldemort’s soul was growing stronger, was it? His eyes fixed on the face of the statue baby Harry, and he threw his head back and howled.

XXX

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