Alphas

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Harry was standing at the back of the dark robed crowd. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but the thought of his mate lying wounded in bed set his nerves straight. The quick shower he had helped as well. It didn’t really matter if a hospital was muggle or magical; the smell was horrible.

The room was not big, as only key members had been called. The stonewalls were draped with dark crimson velvet banners and other types of art. It looked positively scary.
.
The Dark Lord stepped forward. The first thing Harry noticed was that he looked nothing like the snaky monster he did three years ago. Now he looked like a good-looking man with inky black wavy hair, streaked with grey. He did not look his seventy-something years, but rather like he had just entered his fifties or late forties.

The Death Eaters made their usual reports; some were even about him. Harry had to hold back a snicker when Nott Jr. said that Dumbledore explained Harry’s absence by a mysterious disease that would keep him in bed for another week, but he followed quickly up by that he had been sighted by a horde of reporters kicking Granger out of St. Mungo’s and telling her to stay out. Obviously, Dumbledore’s story didn’t check out.

When Bellatrix stepped forward to make her report Harry’s nerves went straight to hell, once again. His mum was standing just 50 feet away, and still it seemed so far away, yet closer than ever.

He took a quiet deep breath in an attempt of calming his beating heart. His magic reached out, automatically seeking out the werewolves. His magic had started calling all the werewolves to Britain, to the Black Forest. It was time for war.

There were about ten alphas in the room, and they all knew he was there, they could sense him. He had never met them; they were pack leaders from foreign territories. Harry could feel their acceptance as their Lord, and he knew they would follow his lead.

The news of the newly risen Werewolf Lord had spread quickly from pack to pack throughout Britain, then to Europe and on from there. They were relieved to have someone to look to once more, to unite them. In the past few years, Greyback had served as something close to that, he was a warlord, and the most powerful of them all, until now.

Harry had found out that he could communicate mentally with werewolves of a certain stand. It was not words, he was not that good, but feelings, impressions of what he wanted to say. Lucky for him, it worked. In this group, only one was of a higher stand, but it was enough. The others respected Scarline and they listened to him.

“Werewolves.” The Dark Lord snapped. “Make your reports.”

They all chatted through their practiced speeches, not once mentioning the attack on the Greyback Pack, or the rising of the new Lord. Finally it was Scarline’s turn.

“I have no news from my pack, but I have news of a different kind.” The Dark Lord hooked an elegant brow and nodded for him to continue. “The werewolves, all of us, will not be taking the mark, ever.” A murmur seeped through the crowd, but before anyone could say anything, Scarline continued.

“The Werewolf Lord has claimed his throne. Our Lord was chosen by our Mother, the moon, as the only worthy. All will bow to him, or will suffer her wrath. Lord Voldemort, you have never felt the punishing rays of the moon, I assure you, rebirth is a tickling charm in comparison.”

“I that so…” The Dark Lord said slowly, and very threateningly.

“Indeed. We cannot bow before you, but this is not the matters I was gifted to inform you about.” The Dark Lords eyes narrowed to slits thinking that this had better be good.

“Firstly, the Greyback Pack was attacked and therefore they are unable to send a representative from the pack. Secondly… Our Lords mate was heavily injured during the attack, tortured beyond anything that curcios have ever done to anyone in this chamber.”

“And this concerns me why?”

“Because his mate is Carrying, four months from term. Our Lord is angry, upset, confused, hurt and I don’t have the emotional vocabulary to explain to you how he is faring. But it all comes down to one thing; he wants revenge, not just for his the danger his children, born and unborn were put in, but also for the suffering of his mother, amongst other things... He blames one person for all of this…” Scarline said and shivered in delight as the tension filled the room. Looking the Dark Lord directly in his crimson red eyes he smirked.

“Dumbledore.”

Voldemort had expected Scarline to say his own name. He did after all offend many people. “Dumbledore?” he said lamely.

“Yes.”

“Care to explain the details of his plan to dethrone the goat?”

“No, I will leave the floor to a man who will make his report on this matter.”

“Actually,” Lucius drawled and stepped out of the dark crowd. He pulled off his mask and let the fire allure his face. “I would like to tell a story.”

“A Story?” one of the Death Eaters dumbly asked, completely forgetting he was standing in front of his Lord. Lucky for him, Voldemort was too distracted to care.

“A story about a boy we all know. You will find it strikingly different, yet similar to another story that has been fed to every child old enough to listed for the last sixteen years.” He hummed dramatically. He sat down on the steps in front of the throne, and made himself comfortable. He sat on Voldemorts right side, so that he could still see him. This story was also for him, not just his son’s mother. He prayed Bella would catch on early. His Lord would not know this tale, even though he was a large part of it. His memory consisted only of mere glimpses here and there. A decent obliviate indeed.

“Once upon a time a baby boy with inky black hair and startling green eyes was born. His mother was tired from the birth, though she had been lucky, only three hours…and seventeen minutes…” he sighed. How well he remembered that night.
Lucius could hear Bella draw a sharp breath of shock.

‘Damn that woman is quick!” he though before he continued his tale.

“Before the blood had dried on his body, he was stolen from his crib, and placed into another. The boy that was supposed to lie there was dead. Too early to smell death, don’t you think?” He asked and hooked a brow.

“The pair who stole the child ran away, because the boys parents had powerful friends, and one year later, one of those friends took it upon himself to bring the boy home. When he arrived the kidnappers were already dead and the boy was sleeping in the corner. Before he could do anything he was imperioed to kill the child, but because the hatred of the killing curse was not his own, it reflected off the child and left him with nothing but a scar.” He stretched out the last word, making sure everyone understood.

“The friend disappeared into thin air with no defences, and no memories.” Voldemort leaned forward in interest. He knew that Malfoy was not dumb enough to spin him tales.

“The boy was left at the cold doorstep of his kidnappers sister on that fateful Old Hallows Eve. The sister was a seer, not a witch, but a pure seer. The future she could tell as good as any, but the past she knew. She knew.” Lucius sighed.

“She held the boy for hours soaking up his memories from the day he was born til that very same night, and she was angry.” He said with a growl, to emphasis her fury. “Unfortunate events hindered her of returning they boy to his rightful caregivers, so she decided to take care of him her self, along with her own son and her husband. The boy lived a good life, until he arrived at Hogwarts were he met his brother- yes, he knew, and Dumbldore. Muggles are not as dumb as you all thought. His father found himself shocked to be told that the son he had thought was dead had been raised by muggles. Oh, the dread!” Lucius mock whined and slapped a hand to his forehead in imitation of a fainting lady. His antics brought quite a few snickers from the crowd, but then he turned serious again.

“But these muggles were special. The seer, yes, but they all knew of magic and let the boy do magic and the seer even taught him what little she knew, which was above the average second year, wandless. His father was impressed and set his two sons to teach each other while at school, and it paid out well.” He said faintly, his eyes glazing over at the memory.

“The years rolled by, you all know what happened, and suddenly the boy found himself in a strange position; married, one boy adopted and with twins on the way. He was happy, so happy.” Lucius smiled, but then he turned serious. Draco who was well acquainted with his father’s story telling abilities was not surprised by the empathy shown. “…but then a tragedy struck. His mate was attacked and the babes nearly died along with his mate. The boy turned to his father and simply said; “I’ve had enough...” For the first time in his life he cried in sorrow. He wanted his mother. Is that too much to ask of your father?”

“This is all very moving, Malfoy…” Lucius raised a hand too silence his Lord. Any other time he would not have dared to. The loss of his memories had left him a bit deranged and a tad bit unstable.

“The boy is known to you as The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Golden Boy, Harry Potter…” Lucius rolled his eyes and smirked that smirk that showed everyone that he knew something they didn’t.

“I see him as a trouble maker and a Slytherin to boot. Never have I met someone as mischievous and cunning as this boy and his brother, but most of all I see him as my son. Logan Malfoy Lestrange.” He said slowly. He rose to his feet and reached a hand towards were Harry was standing. “The floor is yours, Logan.”

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A/N; i'm in prosess of making that mailing list, so the ones who havent gotten a notice, sorry. pleasae review.