Just Around the Riverbend

angeles
Voracious Reader - Um...you do know that in the HP universe, that Lycan is short for Lycanthrope, which is the 'scientific' name for a werewolf...just saying
HarryGinny4Eva(x2) - Kingsley does not want to bend the law for anyone. That's how things got so screwed up last time, people bending things when they wanted to. He's trying to be fair...
hairsprayX12
Alina
margaritama
Serin Blackmoon
LaBibliographe(x4)
loisa

Okay, kids. We're getting close to the end, but there's still plenty of loos threads to be tied off. I won't forget anything, I promise. I've got a chappie chock full of goodness here, and it's quite lengthy (for me). So, I do hope that this great update persuades you to review.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His claws skittered against the hard stone of Azkaban’s hallways. They were moving too fast for him to find purchase on the worn, moist floor, and so he looked rather like dog in the back of a truck. He should have just laid down and let them drag him…

He recognized some of the faces staring out of the bars at him. These were his father’s cohorts. This wing was a special level of hell reserved specifically for werewolves. The Auror gave a nasty yank to the lead, and Phelan fell forward. The muzzle cracked soundly against the floor, jarring Phelan nastily. He scrambled to regain his footing while his escort snorted in uncontained laughter. Phelan briefly entertained the thought of just eviscerating the guard. After all, the idiots had shut his muzzle, but they had left his claws open and clear.

He shook aside the notion as soon as he got back on his paws. They were going deeper and deeper into the Lycan cell-block, and Phelan was recognizing more and more of the faces. These were the ones who were growling and leering at the Auror and his new pet.

“Fenrir, Fenrir. Have you finally come out to play?” snarled a bedraggled man in the cell next to him. Phelan swirled his head to him, piercing him with a yellow glare. The man only held his gaze for a few moments before he went to his knees and tilted his head to the side to show his throat. Phelan gave a snort of annoyance at the sign of submission.

A cell-gate a few feet ahead of them opened with a clang, and the Auror dragged Phelan to it, before he knelt and un-clipped the collar. Then, he unceremoniously kicked him down. Phelan skittered and fell, and heard the cell door shut. He looked up to see the Auror grinning at him.

“Welcome to your new home, Greyback. I believe you’ll find your cell mate to be particularly welcoming.” He said, and laughed. Phelan would have loved to tell him that his rather high-pitched maniacal laughter sounded like a girl. But alas, wolves could not talk.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The cell was small, possibly 2.5 x 2.5 meters. On one side lay a sad, flat little mattress that smelled of blood and semen. On the other side, a bundle of rags was lying against the wall. There was no roommate here…unless…

“It’s been quite a while since I’ve had a roommate.”

The voice came from the bundle of rags. The bundle rustled, and Phelan felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He prepared himself for a strike, just in case he needed to retaliate. A raggedy blanket was pushed back, and his roommate sat up slowly. His face was skeletal, like someone had stretched a thin piece of skin over his skull. His lips were thin and drawn back, revealing his teeth. His hair was wild and tangled, at his shoulders in length and would have been white as snow if it weren’t dingy from the filth of Azkaban. He had a beard to match, scraggly and thin. The most alive part of the man’s face was his eyes. Though slightly dulled, they were the color of amber. His eyebrows had even gone white, leaving him looking like an old man.

But Phelan could not discern his age, for there was not enough skin on his face to wrinkle or line.

“You look like someone I knew, but you are not large enough to be him. I never quite forgot that face.” His voice was hoarse from disuse. Phelan tilted his nose up into the air, and walked over to what he assumed was his bed. He flopped down on the ratty mattress and immediately began to sneeze from the cloud of dust and grime he’d disturbed. His room mate chuckled.

“No, you are not him. He would have already turned me into bony little toothpicks.” The stranger said.

Phelan concentrated hard, and felt himself shifting back to his human form. He waved the dust out of his face, and stared at the stranger across the cell from him.

“I’m his son. I assume you are speaking of Fenrir Greyback?” he asked.

“Your assumption would not be incorrect.” The stranger said with a nod. “I wasn’t aware he had a son.”

“Well, he wanted to keep it that way. He knew I’d be killed on the spot as a baby. Who are you?” Phelan asked, unable to keep the thought that he should know this man out of his head.

“You have not told me your name.”

“You didn’t ask, but I did.”

“Touché. My name is not important, it hasn’t been since I came here.” He said, shuddering with some distant memory. “You don’t have to tell me your name, pup. I was just curious.”

Phelan bristled. He hadn’t been a pup for many years. He’d had to grow up much too quickly, or face certain death…or at least extreme discomfort with a hint of mental anguish.

“Well, if you won’t tell me your name, then tell me why you’re in here.” Phelan said, pulling one knee up to his chest and leaning against the wall.

“For existing.” The stranger replied easily. Phelan looked over.

“Were you in the war?” he asked. The stranger locked eyes with him, and nodded. “Oh…so you were fighting with my father…” he said, and looked ahead.

“No.” the stranger replied, and Phelan looked at him strangely. “I was on the opposite side. I fought with the Order, and I was injured in the final battle. I lost several of my friends that day, and nearly died in the fray. I woke up here two weeks after the Final Battle was over. I asked what my transgression was, but I was only told to learn my place. Pain was my teacher, and she was harsh. They grilled me on your father and his subordinates, demanded I tell what I knew. But your father was a crafty one…he never let anyone close to his secret unless he was absolutely sure of their allegiance.

So I could tell them nothing. They told me that I was going to be charged with obstruction of justice, and then they put me here. I didn’t even get a trial.” He said, his hoarse voice breaking. Phelan looked hard at the stranger, before his yellow eyes flashed.

“Jesus, Merlin, and Buddha on unicycles…” he said suddenly. He stood from his seat on the mattress, and approached the stranger. The white-haired werewolf looked up with sad, light-brown eyes. “You’re-”

The cell door burst open with a loud clang, and Phelan was wrestled to the ground. Taken by surprise, he was easily shackled to the wall and Silenced before he really knew what had happened. Two guards stood in front of him and another entered the cell. The third man looked like something out of a medieval film, with a gleaming metal breastplate and leather leggings protected by metal shin- and thigh-guards. His red cape fluttered out behind him, and he stood haughtily in front of Phelan’s cellmate.

“Prisoner 31452-L, assume the position!” he barked. The skeletal form rose up from the heap of ragged blankets, and to Phelan’s horror, stripped off his striped prison robe and faced the wall. His ribs could be counted easily, and every vertebra in his back poked almost painfully against the skin. His legs were thin and stick-like, his knees sticking out sickeningly.

Phelan shut his eyes when the guard produced a long, lethal looking whip. He wished he could cover his ears as the whip snapped angrily against much-too-thin skin, and the dying man merely whimpered. Twenty lashes fell against the paper-thin flesh, ripping and tearing as if it were tissue paper. Phelan opened his eyes in time to see the guard unfasten the front of his leather leggings. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he watched the next part, shaking slightly as he saw the thick red blood running down the emaciated thighs.

The whole ordeal only lasted about an hour, but Phelan thought it a life-time. When each of the other guards had taken their turn with the unfortunate werewolf, Phelan found them staring at him, the last still stroking the final bit of cum out of his spent cock.

“He’s such a stout one. He’d make a great cock sucker.” He growled. Phelan showed his teeth then, bearing his fangs angrily.

“If you so much as put that thing anywhere near my mouth…” he snarled, bristling. It was one thing to watch another being abused. It was another to roll over and take it himself. They merely laughed, tucked themselves away, and left the cell. Phelan’s shackles released him after a few moments, and he stumbled to his cell mate’s side.

He was struggling to get his prison robe back on, and was surprised when strong hands slipped the coarse fabric over his head. He looked up into the concerned yellow eyes, and smiled gently. Phelan carefully fluffed up the flapjack thin pillow, and rested the older werewolf’s head on it. The man was favoring his stomach for obvious reasons, and when he had made himself as comfortable as possible, Phelan tucked the grotty blanket around his wasted hips.

Phelan’s face was hard, his eyes like yellow ice. Nothing about this was fair. This man, for whatever he changed into once a month he was still a man, was being tortured to death for merely existing. He made his decision immediately, and knew he would not regret it.

He was breaking out of Azkaban, and he was taking this man with him.

~~

Bella walked nervously towards the Infirmary, her heart thudding in her chest. It had been several days since the Dark Lord’s attack on Hogwarts, and several days since she had seen Harry Potter. She suppose she should have known there was something off about Harry. He seemed so sure of himself, so…charismatic…

And the mark on her hand…

She stopped in the hallway, and glanced at the mark in question. The red tattoo-like lightning bolt had stung something fierce when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been expelled from Harry’s body.

She had avoided coming to him for personal reasons. He probably did not want to see her. She was just some whore that the Dark Lord had scored with. But legally, she belonged to Harry Potter. She had actually been worried about him. She’d seen so much blood on him when they’d taken him out. She hadn’t gone then, because his Godfather was with him.

And what a surprise that was! Sirius Black back form the dead with Dumbledore’s old pet Phoenix….The press had been having a field day speculating about how he had come back. Anything from Dark Magic to Divine Interference…

She opened the doors gently, and slipped inside as quietly as possible. There were only two inhabitants left. Harry Potter laid, silent as death, on one bed and Severus Snape, who was awake and reading, lay on another. Snape looked up as she entered, and his dark eyes sparked in recognition.

“Miss Myristica.” He said. She gave him a small smile, and nodded.

“Professor.” She said respectfully. “Are you feeling better?” she asked. His face was still bruised, and his nose now had an awkward tilt to it, but other than that he appeared to be doing much better.

“I am…alive. Which is more than we may be saying of Mr. Potter soon…” he said, looking over to the bed where Harry lay.

“It’s not his fault, is it?” she asked.

“Of course not. A broken boy barely out of adolescence had no chance against the Dark Lord.” Severus said, as if the very notion were preposterous.

“Do you think Mr. Black would mind if I sat with Harry?” she asked. He raised a dark eyebrow.

“How do you know Mr. Potter?” he asked.

“He…befriended me…a few weeks ago…” she said, blushing a bit.

“Whatever he said in that state of mind cannot be trusted, Miss Myristica.” He warned.

“He never harmed me, or promised me anything. I…I was just…worried, is all…” she said stubbornly, and went to Harry’s bed and sat in the chair next to it.

“Far be it from me to attempt to reason with hormonal witches who’ve been sweet-talked by a possessed young man.” Severus muttered, and went back to his book. Bella ignored him, and merely stared at the pale face of Harry Potter.

He looked so sick. His head was wrapped in a bandage that was stained with red and his lips were beginning to take on a blue tint. He looked as if the Grim Reaper were holding his hand at that exact moment, waiting for him to take his final breath. She reached over with her right hand, and gently slipped her fingers under Harry’s hand, twining their hands together. His hand was so cold…it was like he’d dunked his hand in ice cubes.

She looked up idly at the Potions Master, who caught her gaze for a few moments before she looked away.

“Where is your son?” she asked. Snape sneered.

“He seemed to think it would be a blast to accompany ‘Uncle Sirius’ down to the kitchens. Merlin help me, I think the boy is becoming attached to the flea-bitten mongrel.” He said, sounding a bit hurt.

“Kids love to spend time with people other than their parents. It’s like an adventure. But rest assured that he’ll be snuggling up to you attempting to tell you about his great adventure when he returns.” Bella said softly. He looked at her with coal-black eyes, and she turned away from the unnerving stare. She reached with her left hand, and gently covered Harry’s icy hand with it.

As soon as her hand made contact with his skin, his eyes snapped open, and his body bowed off of the bed. She found her left hand clenched in an iron grip, the lightning bolt tattoo burning uncomfortably. Harry’s body came back to the bed, and his free hand slapped against his forehead.

Then he screamed.

It was chilling and unearthly, and Bella shrank away from the sound, but was unable to pull away because of his unyielding grip. Madam Pomfrey flung open the door of her office, and came running out, her wand drawn. Severus was looking up, the slightest hint of concern, mixed with annoyance, written across his face.

Madam Pomfrey rushed to Harry’s side but did not act, unsure of where to start. Harry screamed until he ran out of breath, and then he drew a gasping, shuddering lungful of air, sobbing softly as if he had awoken from a bad dream. He looked around, his dazed green eyes resting on Madam Pomfrey, before he turned his head and looked at Bella.

“Bella…” he said softly, and released her hand. She pulled her hand to her, and stared at her palm. The red tattoo had gone black, and tingled strangely.

“Mr. Potter….” She returned. Madam Pomfrey was casting diagnostic spells one after another, a strange look on her face.

“Your power reserves have spiked, Mr. Potter. They are…almost back to normal.” She said, looking quite confused. She began to unwind the bandages around his head, and when she pulled back the last layer she was shocked to find that his lightning bolt scar had healed over, and was merely smudged with blood from the bandage. “You lost a lot of blood from that scar. Now that it’s stopped bleeding, I’ll give you a Blood Replenishing potion, and we’ll see how you’re faring then.” She said, and bustled off to get the afore-mentioned potion.

Bella and Harry looked at each other for a few moments, before the doors to the Infirmary burst open, revealing a winded Sirius holding Cole, who had a brownie in one hand and his sippy-cup in the other.

“I heard screaming. Is everything all right?” he asked. His eyes lit on Harry, and his face broke into a brilliant smile. Harry gave a small smile in return.

“Sirius.”

“Harry.”

Sirius approached the bed, and shifted Cole in his arms. He paused for a moment, and whispered something in Cole’s ear. Cole looked up at him with large black eyes, and tilted his head.

“’Narky?” he asked. Sirius threw his head back and laughed before he set the boy down on the floor.

“Go on, Snapelet. I’m sure your dad wants to make sure you’re in one piece.” He said. Cole scrambled to his father’s bedside, already attempting to babble out a story that was presumably full of action and exploration. Severus carefully lifted his son onto the bed with him, deftly dodging the spit-moistened brownie that Cole was offering him, and listened patiently to his son’s story.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, Harry.” Sirius said, and sat in the chair on the other side of Harry’s bed. Harry looked away guiltily, before he finally locked gazes with Sirius.

“I saw Dad.” He said softly. Sirius frowned. “Sirius…I wanted to die so badly….I just wanted peace…” he said, trying to explain. “But he wouldn’t let me past him. He kept telling me there was something else I had to do…I don’t want to do anything else, Sirius.” Harry said, tears streaming from his eyes. “I’m so tired of fighting. I want to go to some deserted island somewhere and drink fruity drinks out of coconut shells and not do a damned thing.” He said, and angrily wiped at his eyes.

“I’m sure your dad wouldn’t just tell you something, Harry. I bet whatever it is you’ve got to do is going to be fantastic.” He said, and ruffled Harry’s hair. Harry shrugged, and looked down at his hands.

“But hey, in the meantime I’ll be sure to look into finding a deserted island…”

~~

Daisy laid on Phelan’s bed, wrapped around his pillow and inhaling his musky, spicy scent. Three days since he’d gone, and she was getting lonelier by the hour. She’d cried out all of her tears, and was exhausted and depressed. She wanted so badly to just sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she pictured horrible worse-case scenarios behind her eyelids.

She pictured Phelan being beaten by the guards at Azkaban. She pictured him being sentenced to the Kiss for biting Harry. She pictured him being beaten and then kissed….

The paper was full of stories about Harry’s Possession. There were speculations that her cousin had been involved somehow. Some woman had claimed he’d been torturing Muggles, citing an example of Lucius being out with Hermione’s dad. Lucius had put her in her place quickly, though. He’d actually taken John to the Ministry with him to be tested for different spells and influential Potions, and when John had come up clean, that Tsepa lady had been forced to write a retraction article, and apologize to Lucius.

The press was having a field day with Phelan’s story. The son of Fenrir Greyback arrested for attacking Harry Potter…it was terrible.

She sighed softly, and buried herself under Phelan’s thick covers. She groaned when she heard someone pounding on her Portrait entrance. She threw back the covers, and shuffled tiredly to the entrance. The portrait swung open, revealing Tom clutching the Evening edition of the Prophet. He looked panicked.

“Daisy, have you read the evening Prophet yet?” he asked. She shook her head. He held out the paper, and every bit of blood drained from her face when she read the headline.

Greyback Escapes Azkaban!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cor Blimey! *clears throat* Um...anyway, now that I've gotten that little British moment out of my system, I would like to take this time to shamelessly beg for reviews. *Insert witty comment about reviewing here*

We good? Yea?

Great! Leave a review!