Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire

Chapter One

Harry tripped over a log and staggered, gasping for breath, until he finally collapsed amidst a dry mound of golden leaves on the dark forest’s floor.

A calm moment passed, in which only the twittering of birds and the odd hoot of an owl could be heard. Then Harry forced himself up, swaying, onto his feet, and turned to verify that he hadn’t been followed or seen from the Manor. Then, with a final deep breath, he forced himself to continue quickly down through the sloping trees.

At last, he had escaped. With Lucius’ influence tucked safely away in Azkaban, and Narcissa’s cold and silent demeanor hidden away in one of the far, closed-off wings of Malfoy Manor, unconcerned for her loitering son, Harry had finally convinced Draco to free him of his imprisonment.

And so, with his wand finally handy, along with a shrunken bag of chicken wings and bread, Harry had fled the manor and ran, ran, ran, across fields and streams and forests, to where he now sat panting with his back to a tree trunk, as unaware of his whereabouts as he would have had he suddenly been apparated to New Zealand.

He tossed the chicken bone away and curled up, tired enough to drift of into a peaceful slumber. He was awoken by a gruff, surprised and slightly amused voice.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here: The Savior of the Wizarding World lost near Malfoy’s grounds. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Harry could only stare in horror. Of all the places to meet a werewolf, this particular werewolf, it had to be in the middle of a bloody forest in Merlin-knew-where, the only nearby sanctuary being Malfoy Manor. And it was beginning to get dark.

He gulped and gripped his knees, which were pulled up to his chest with his cloak wrapped around him.

The man was standing there smirking at him. He was tall; he had to be at least six feet, and had narrowed amber eyes that watched Harry searchingly. His straggly dark hair hung about his shoulders, and his dirty clothes were in tatters. He looked in no better condition that Harry.

He began to approach and Harry scrambled to his feet. A second later they were only a foot or two apart.

“What do you want?” Harry asked waveringly, raising his chin. He was not going to be scared of by some werewolf in human form. Even if said werewolf was much bigger, taller and stronger looking than him, along with sharp teeth that were revealed in the man’s feral grin.

“No need to put on a brave front, puppy. I could smell your fear miles away.”

Harry scowled at him, unnerved. His hand gripped his wand in his pocket, knowing that anything he cast would alert Narcissa and likely bring hundreds of Death Eaters down on him.

Fenrir’s suspicious eyes landed on the place where Harry’s wand was.

“Don’t go casting spells, pup. Won’t do either of us any good.”

“What do you mean?” Harry said, disconcertedly aware, with a quick glance at the man’s muscled thighs, that he had no chance of out-running him.

“Neither of us wants to be caught by snakeman. I suggest you leave your stick alone.”

Harry frowned. “You’re allied with Voldemort,” he accused. “Your pack is.”

“Not anymore,” came the gruff reply. “Not that it’s any of your business.” He took a large step forward, so that they were standing inches apart. Harry’s breath hitched.

“He’s gathering forces with the sole aim of getting rid of me. I think that kinda makes it my business,” he managed.

Greyback grinned. “Now why would anyone want to get rid of a lovely young pup like yourself?” He took a firm grip of Harry’s chin.

Harry scowled fiercely and bought his hands up to push the man away. Greyback just laughed infuriatingly at his weak attempts.

“Come, pup, I’m tired of talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Greyback grinned at him. And then suddenly, he was gone. Harry blinked, grip tightening on his wand. What was the man up to? He could feel cold fear settling in on him. Shakily, he turned and ran.

A minute hadn’t passed before he knew he was being chased. He ran as fast as he could, which with a Seeker’s agility was quite fast. At least, Harry thought so, until something suddenly rammed into his back and sent him flying, only to land on his face in the leaves and dirt.

Harry groaned. Greyback laughed amusedly. Harry attempted to sit up but strong hands pushed him down again. He struggled aimlessly for a minute until Greyback hissed his annoyance and turned Harry roughly over. He pushed the smaller boy’s thighs apart and lay down on top of him, leaning up on his elbows above Harry’s face.

Harry’s eyes widened. His breath hitched. Truthfully, he was terrified, and hated to admit it. Even Voldemort had never frightened him this much. Heart thumping wildly, he took in the man’s darkening pupils and nasty smile.

“You are terribly fun to play with, puppy,” Greyback said, grabbing Harry’s flailing wrists with one hand and holding them above his head.

He lowered his face to Harry’s neck and stopped suddenly. Harry became very still, unsure of what the man was doing. Greyback then sniffed him. Harry shifted uncomfortably, and the man pushed his body down to make sure Harry couldn’t move an inch.

He then took a long sniff of Harry’s neck again. This was followed by a small lap of his tongue. Harry shuddered.

Greyback leant back to look with narrow eyes into Harry’s face. “Impossible,” he muttered.

“What?” Harry blurted, his curiosity getting the better of him. He was ignored. Greyback was sniffing and licking at his neck again. The man groaned.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded, panicking. He received a long wet lap of a rough tongue across his cheek as an answer.

Harry scowled. “Stop that!” But Greyback was groaning again. And then he thrust forwards, and Harry could feel it: a large, hard thing was digging into his hip, and he wasn’t so naïve as to not realize that the man was extremely aroused.

Harry didn’t know if he was more disgusted, freaked out or terrified. Greyback seemed to enjoy smelling Harry’s fear, though; he continued to lick and sniff and cover Harry with saliva. Harry soon began struggle, not liking the man’s actions one bit.

But Greyback only gave a delighted groan at Harry’s wiggling, and thrust once more. A second later he grabbed Harry’s hips and turned him over so that he was lying with his face in the dirt.

In vain Harry struggled, but in the end he collapsed, much to Greyback’s amusement. The man grabbed Harry’s thighs and pulled them apart. Harry began to shake uncontrollably. He had an idea of what the heavy man was going to do. It bought up a swirl of fear in his guts.

Suddenly the man stopped. Harry felt him sit up, and managed to wiggle free of the man’s loosened grip.

“Quiet, puppy,” Greyback rumbled. “They’re coming.”

Harry staggered backwards, falling on his behind with a wince. “Who’s coming?” he demanded fearfully, hoping Narcissa hadn’t alerted Voldemort yet. He couldn’t hear a thing.

Greyback leapt to his feet and had Harry up and over his shoulder in seconds.

“What are you doing?” Harry exclaimed. “Put me down. Argh!”

They were moving through the forest, in the direction opposite the Manor, faster than Harry had ever been able to move. He didn’t bother struggling now, tired and weak and hoping he would just slip from the man’s strong grip at some point.

A minute later he was dropped onto the floor. Harry groaned and lay there, gazing tiredly up at the trees. He was trapped. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to escape. Greyback was bound to hand him over to the Death Eaters in exchange for something.
What the werewolf would want, Harry couldn’t guess.

Seconds passed before he was hauled up again. Harry closed his eyes. He could feel Greyback pushing his way pass branches and bushes, twigs snapping beneath his feet. He then stopped, and Harry opened his eyes.

They were in a cave. A small dark cave, with large wild bushes concealing the entrance, but it was a cave nevertheless. Greyback laid him gently to the floor and sat beside him. Even Harry would’nt be able to stand up straight in here. It wasn’t deep, either; it only went about a metre back.

Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around his legs. Apparently Greyback wanted to be as far away from the Death Eaters as he did. The cold was beginning to seep in through his cloak and he shivered. He was jolted by surprise when he was grabbed firmly and put in the man’s lap.

Greyback hushed him when he struggled and made him sit still. Then Harry heard it. Footsteps, accompanied by loud arguing voices. He became very still and gripped the arm that wound around his waist.

“Merlin, we’ll never catch him at this rate. For all we know one of the wolves have got him,” one of them was complaining.

“Shut up. We have to keep looking. I’ve never seen the Dark Lord so angry. Potter is going to pay for this.”

Harry shivered. This time it wasn’t from the cold.

“How long have we been trudging through this stupid forest?”

“About twenty minutes. Now shut up and keep looking. He has to be around here somewhere.”

“Fine,” the other muttered. They were getting nearer the cave. “How many others are looking?”

“Hundreds. The Dark Lord is obsessed with getting the boy back. Merlin, if I find him…”

“You won’t touch him. Those were the orders. To stun him, signal the Lord and take him back to the Manor.”

“And what if Greyback has him? Or one of his pack? What will we do then?”

“We’ll have to stun the traitors as well.”

They were passing the cave. Harry let out a silent breath.

“I still don’t understand how he escaped.”

“Look, we’ll just have to…”

Harry blocked their voices out, his relief so great that he went completely limp against Greyback.

“Quiet, puppy,” the man said softly. “Wait a while.”

They waited. When it was clear the Death Eaters weren’t returning any time soon, Greyback let Harry crawl away from him to sit with his back against the cave wall.

Harry ignored the man’s observing amber eyes and stared stonily at the floor. He didn’t know what was better; being stuck in the Manor for months or being trapped with Fenrir Greyback in a cold cave with Death Eaters prowling on the loose.