Work Text:
Schwarzwald
I
An umbra shadow loomed down from the white capped mountains and covered the forest in a blanketed din. The light leaked from the sky in a pool of rust coloured blood, the encroaching night engulfing the entire stretch of woods in a nacreous cover. When the moon became covered in an inky fog; the stars receded into the clouds, as though plucked from the heavens by a great black hand.
Harry decided that he had never seen anything so foreboding in all his life, as the forest unfolded its black heart achingly slow before his eyes. And he had fought against fetal half formed Dark Lords, and had seen good people die right before his eyes.
He had been dipped like a candle head to toe in red. But blood wasn’t all Harry was covered in. He staggered barefoot and naked, cold and alone in the freezing night shivering with every careful step, taught with suspense. His breath came out in visible white gasps that fluttered in the air, light and willowy compared to the red syrupy gore that fell in thick, ugly drips from his hair.
Like a virgin sacrifice he had been sent from the Death Eater camp to the howling beasts that wandered the forest when the moon was full. They had made sure he was on display like a fruit laden tree, as a fat prize for any werewolf that should find him interesting enough to pursue. The death eaters had certainly made sure that Harry would be an irresistible treat to the frothing monsters that lingered in the wizarding woods. They called it 'Schwarzwald' which meant 'Black Forest', a homage to the woods in Germany because here too, the pines were so dark they looked inky even in daylight.
His abdomen ached wretchedly but if he lingered on the freshly formed space between his legs, under his cowering testicles struggling to crawl into his perineum for want of warmth, he could say without hesitation he’d end up screaming.
Harry tried to keep one thing in mind, even as the last hope of light vanished before his eyes and low mournful howls rose up around him, causing him to increase his pace despite the miserable cold and aches on his stomach.
He had to survive this night.
For his remaining friends, for his sanity.
And for justice against the dark forces that considered this kind of perversity an enjoyable pastime.
II
The tent was wretched and pock marked. The magic dampening ropes around Harry’s chest, arms and ankles allowed for minimal movement but little else. Snape slunk in from the night like a tattered vampire bat, with hollowed eyes and tight lipped resignation.
Bottles clinked and a potion was thrust into his hand.
“You are aware of the other prophecy,” Snape said, voice rough and tired.
Harry’s mouth thinned in anger.
“Yes,” he bit out.
Snape’s eyes flashed, “Then you understand the importance of your survival in this endeavour.”
“If there’s such a huge bloody chance I might get killed; why all the extra effort?” Harry snapped, “Either way, Voldemort thinks he’s won.”
Snape stared down at him, his arms crossed and eyes flashing, “Are you that confident you’re going to die?”
Harry swallowed, “it’s not the death part that I’m worried about.”
“Lycanthropy,” and Snape said the word with the disdain he’d usually reserve for the foulest of potions ingredients, “is a revolting affliction but not a complete disability. The Dark Lord is adamant that the prophecy be carried out to the utmost.”
Snape's speech disgusted Harry, as if a werewolf's disability made any difference to Snape considering what he'd done to get Remus expelled from teaching.
“Lovely,” Harry said flatly, “ads insult to injury, that does.”
“Your flippant and grotesque disregard for the sacrifices of others does not go unnoticed,” Snape snarled.
“I’m not going to try to die,” Harry snapped, staring right into Snape’s cold black eyes, “as long as I'm alive, I'll keep fighting!”
“If your despicable good luck is any indication,” Snape said in a mocking tone, “you will survive the night. I cannot say if you will be entirely intact,” and Harry thought he saw the ghost of something akin to a disgusted pity on those thin sallow features, “but I can say that you will not be alone in your struggle.”
Harry knew what he meant the moment the disdainful tone entered Snape’s voice.
“Remus,” Harry whispered, almost reverently.
Remus was in the woods with the other werewolves, he'd wondered what he'd been doing all this time. Harry almost wanted to cry with relief. Maybe there was a real chance he’d make it.
“I’m going to assume correctly that you have never heard of this potion or what it does,” Snape stated.
Harry dumbly nodded.
“The potion will cause your natural body scent to mimic that of a female werewolf approaching estrus,” Snape lectured flatly, inflecting the words he used with as much emotion as he implemented in class describing slug parts, “It will draw them out in great numbers, highly agitated. If you see a hoard of werewolves approaching a prudent course of action would be to climb a tree or find some other means of shelter. The potion doesn’t make them just want to tear you into pieces, in case you weren’t already well aware.”
Harry flinched, “thanks for that,” he said sarcastically.
Snape lifted a tiny bit of the magic holding his arms in their place, just enough for him to grasp what was being given to him. The potion was then thrust into his hands. It was a tiny vial, so small and unassuming. Harry thought it looked like some of the poisons he had glimpsed in Knockturn alley; deceptively harmless, its clear bottle topped with a cork stopper.
Harry offered a wry smile, “What’s a little rape and mauling between friends.”
Snape didn’t dignify him with a response. He watched Harry carefully tip back the potion and grimace when the taste hit his tongue. Apparently satisfied, Snape turned to go.
“Is this as easy as it was killing Dumbledore,” Harry said quietly.
There was a pause and Harry swore he heard a tiny harshly drawn breath. Snape’s black eyes focused on him again, pitiless and filled with disdain.
“Seeing an old enemy’s only heir subjected to such mind boggling humiliation, tends to soften the blow,” Snape almost hissed.
Harry gritted his teeth and stared at the ground. Snape opened the flap and then seemed to reconsider, closing it and facing him.
“Survive this ordeal you ignorant child,” he said, his words sharply clipped, “and I may allow a begrudging respect for you.”
With that he was gone, a mass of tattered black robes and quiet steps in the night.
III
The temperature was dropping and the cold damp had frozen the clotted blood to his skin.
The forest had many clearings, none of which had enough cover to make him feel particularly safe. It was difficult to see; only when the white moon finally crawled out from the clouds could Harry even attempt to try and find shelter. Howls still rose up from the forest in a rhythmic swelling; however, they were not getting any nearer.
Harry shuddered despite himself.
He had to keep moving in the hopes his scent might confuse them and keep them from crossing his path. It was a blind shot in the dark but if it failed, he could climb a tree. For once in his life he was thankful to be thin and short for his age. Harry’s teeth chattered loudly and he fancied the blood was beginning to stick and freeze to his skin. It was much more likely that he would die from hypothermia at this rate than a werewolf mauling.
“Death E-eaters” he chattered in the cold, “c-can’t just try to kill me and be done with it, can they?”
A piercing howl stopped Harry mid step. Then there was another, low and loud, echoing into the night.
The last one was close.
Very, very close.
Harry drew in a breath and slowly looked over his left shoulder, peering into the low hanging mist. A group of spindly shrubs began to move whisper soft in the wind, their branches scraping against each other in the cold night air. Harry caught a brief glimpse of gleaming fur; it was more than enough to send him rapidly stumbling towards the first tree he could find. He shimmied up the gnarled trunk, wincing as he skinned his stomach and then hissed in pain when he snagged his inner thigh on a branch. When he was far enough to keep anything on the ground from leaping up and taking a bite, he gathered enough strength to look down.
A tawny wolf cocked its head curiously at him.
Harry let out a gasp.
“Remus?”
The tawny wolf sat down and yipped.
“Oh thank goodness!” Harry said, sagging with relief.
It took longer to get down from his perch then it had to get up. His fingers were scratched and bleeding and the scrapes on his stomach and thighs began to sting. He staggered to the ground as Remus yipped and butted his nose against his hand and lapped at the matted blood all over his arms.
“Guess with wolfsbane you’re not likely to go barmy whether or not I’ve got the estrus smell on me,” Harry commented.
Remus rubbed up against his legs like an affectionate cat, arching his back.
“Yeah well,” Harry said smiling, “just don’t try anything funny. I’m not werewolf nip you know.”
The tawny wolf yipped and twirled around his legs, panting happily.
“Am I ever glad you’re here,” said Harry, sniffing slightly.
Remus whimpered.
“I know. This is utter shite,” Harry said bitterly, “stupid prophecy.”
The wolf snarled in response and grumbled in displeasure.
“Don’t suppose there’s some shelter anywhere, at least a bit better than a tree,” Harry asked lamely.
Remus yipped and wagged his tail.
Harry’s eyes brightened, “that’s great! Bugger Voldemort. If I can live the night without dying of hypothermia that would be grand.”
Harry shivered from the cold while Remus lead the way deeper into the woods. The moon was full and round still heavy in the sky, like a silent beacon leading the way. Harry allowed himself to feel a stirring of hope, as Remus guided him through the thick undergrowth.
IV
The wizard he saw next after Snape’s snarling departure was both exactly and completely contrary to what he was expecting.
Of course, the wizard to cast the gender altering hex on Harry was none other then his old school rival Draco Malfoy.
Harry hadn’t seen him since Hogwarts and it seemed that his demeanour and ill appearance had not improved since then. His cheek bones stood out rather starkly and pointed features were if possible, even more exaggerated. His hair was a flat mess around his face, no where near as impeccably kept as it had been in better times. Harry had heard rumours that the Dark Lord had tortured Lucius in response to his failures but the Order hadn’t been sure. If Malfoy Junior’s sickly countenance was anything to go by, Harry could surmise that things hadn’t gone so well for the Malfoy family, rumours or not. The notion gave him a sick sort of comfort in light of the looming circumstances.
“Potter,” Malfoy stated flatly.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, with more then a hint of bite.
Malfoy seemed to pause briefly considering.
He finally said, “if it makes you feel any better Potter, I think this whole mess is rather distasteful, even for a dark lord.”
Harry almost laughed. Pity from Malfoy. Ron would think that was rich. Harry's skin burned from the rope, and his tattered muggle clothes were torn and bloodstained, sticking to his skin in uncomfortable patches.
“Piss off Malfoy,” Harry said tiredly, “just do it and go.”
Harry was uncomfortably observed through those cold grey eyes for more then a few minutes. To his utter shock, Malfoy closed the flap on the tent, and then transfigured a chair from a small stone and sat down uncomfortably close to him.
“Potter, I need an honest answer to a question that has been bothering me since this whole idiot endeavour got underway,” he whispered next to his ear, “I don’t expect a terribly honest response. In fact, I’d prefer a simple yes or no.”
Harry was about to offer a scathing retort but he was cut off.
“Just tell me,” Malfoy said, his voice betraying a hint of desperation, “if you die, is there a backup plan to stop the dark lord?”
Harry considered his response. Malfoy’s eyes flashed in the low din of the tent, edgy and haunted, so much colder and more wretched then he’d ever been on the pitch. Harry remembered feeling so awful for Malfoy, despite all the horrible things he did, when Harry had learned about the threat Voldemort was holding over Malfoy’s head for his father’s failures. It didn't stop him from hating him now anymore than it stopped him from hating Snape. But it did slap a staggering realization across his face. They had been children then, they were still just barely children now at seventeen.
One word was all it would take, just a word to alleviate even slightly all the despair that haunted the edges of those distant grey eyes. Not for Malfoy personally because Harry’s anger still burned recalling the astronomy tower, it was more for all his fellow children he’d seen die at the hands of Death Eaters and aurors alike. If he died, what would all of that sacrifice have been for? Harry’s back stiffened. Snape may be an evil, horrible bastard but in the worst sense he was right.
He had to survive this, somehow.
But if he didn’t…
“Yes,” Harry said finally, the word falling off of his lips as a sharp stab of panic hit his ribs.
There would still be hope.
Malfoy seemed to consider this for a moment and then nodded his head. He stood up then and looked Harry in the eye.
“No offence Potter,” he said, drawing his wand “but better you than me.”
Harry just nodded absently, recalling the same vaguely sickening sentiment every time he saw the Death Eaters or their children fall to the ground, dead. Like his parents, like he might end up if he didn’t somehow find a way to hide or fight.
“Wait,” Harry said, feeling a sudden twinge of panic, “does it hurt?”
Malfoy almost managed a vague smile, “yes actually. I’ve been told it’s rather excruciating.”
As Harry quickly realised in the next moment, the word excruciating hardly described the feeling of a knife splitting into this gut and tearing out his insides in one flick of a wand.
“Unngh” Harry gasped, arching on the ground, unable to articulate just how much of a bastard he though Malfoy was for springing that on him without warning.
Malfoy paused at the door before leaving, turning back to sweat soaked Harry clutching his pained abdomen.
“If it means anything to a dead man,” Malfoy said, “thanks. At least if we all die in the end I can go down knowing the whole shoddy affair will come down with me.”
“Piss off Malfoy,” Harry gasped out, “and your father too.”
Malfoy’s lip quirked.
“Good luck with the werewolves, Potter,” he sneered, before disappearing through the flap.
V
“Wish you could talk,” Harry said, his voice seemed so loud in the dark, “I could use some advice. Hermione gave me some but you knew that already. I'd give anything to hear Ron's voice right about now and the rest of the Order.”
Remus made a slight whining sound.
“I don't understand what the point of it all is,” Harry said, “we were so close to finding it out but then I had to get myself kidnapped.”
A wet nose nudged against Harry's leg.
“Yeah,” Harry said glumly, “not the best move I've ever made to go off myself but I had to find out what a horcrux was and Grimmauld place seemed like the best bet. I didn't know I was being followed...”
Another whinny from Remus, he was probably trying to tell Harry it wasn't his fault. But Harry knew better, this time it had definitely been his own stupidity that had caused so many problems.
“I wish,” Harry said, his voice cracking, “Sirius were here. He'd know what to do.”
Remus' ears went flat and then straight up. He began growling and Harry started to get nervous.
“What's happening?” Harry said, frantically.
They had only a few quiet moments before quick as lightning, Remus was attacked by a wolf.
Not waiting to see what had happened Harry took off into the darkness, his feet carrying him away from Remus who he could hear whining and yowling. The two were fighting hard but Harry could also see shadowy figures bursting from the woods. Other wolves had shown up but fortunately, they were too disoriented by Remus' presence to chase after Harry and instead began tearing at one another.
It seemed Harry's scent was doing a better job at distracting them than Snape had thought.
A tiny patch in the woods showed a rotten old tree that had probably been struck by lightning. Harry scaled its blackened branches and climbed as high as he could, scraping his already raw sides badly and not giving care to any cuts from pointed branches or crumbling bark on his way.
From his vantage point Harry could watch the wolves snapping at each others snouts. Eventually, the werewolves gained enough traction to begin mutually attacking Remus and not each other.
“No,” Harry whispered, “Remus get out of here!”
Remus led the wolves on a chase around the tree, his teeth snapping until they finally began ganging up on Remus and he was forced to flee away from Harry's tree as fast as he could. That left only two werewolves who looked up at the tree as though hoping for Harry to climb down and pat them on the head.
“Not a chance,” Harry said, smugly.
But Remus had frantically returned with the other wolves chasing him, his head tossing and tongue lolling. Harry realized unfortunately, that Remus was out of control almost as much as the other werewolves were.
“Run away!” Harry shouted.
But it was too late, the wolves turned on Remus and Harry could only watch horrified as they made quick work of his old Professor.
VI
Harry was shivering naked in the cold.
The remaining Death Eaters surrounded him, all drawn faces and tired eyes. Voldemort leered patiently on a far hill, red eyes glinting evilly in the light, white skin shining and robust like a fat maggot. Harry fancied Voldemort was drawing power from his followers, growing obese with the strength of his Death Eaters as they seemed to wither away. As if he were a deranged vampire feeding on the life force of his followers.
Malfoy laughed when he picked up a bucket and hurled it at Harry, splashing his face with pig intestines. Harry swallowed the bile rising up in his throat and grit his teeth.
“Sod off,” he ground out, trying valiantly not to rise to their baiting.
“What’s the matter Potter,” Draco jeered, his gaunt countenance turning gruesome with the sneer on his face, “not fond of pork?”
McNair wheezed an unhealthy chuckle.
“Spoiled, he is,” the man said, hurling more blood over Harry’s head.
Malfoy sauntered closer to him, a wicked gleam in his eye. Despite their earlier conversation, it appeared he was not going to pass up an opportunity to humiliate Harry no matter how grave the circumstances.
Malfoy twirled his bucket in his hands with a smirk.
“Enjoying the new equipment Potter? Certainly hopes it serves you better than the old set,” Malfoy meaningfully looked down at Harry's genitals.
Harry grit his teeth and spat out, “Enjoying the new position as lackey to Voldemort? Sure suits you better than the old one.”
Malfoy glared at him poisonously, nostrils flaring.
“How far the house of Malfoy has fallen,” Harry said slowly, relishing the fury in Malfoy's eyes, “Don't worry Malfoy, no matter what they do to me your Dad will always be the bigger bitch.”
Harry knew it was coming, but it did take him by surprise when Malfoy delivered a blow strong enough to send him flying off his feet.
“Enough!”
Voldemort's voice shrieked piercingly through the air.
“Immobulis”, Voldemort hissed.
Dark robes flapped as Voldemort stalked towards Harry his wand drawn and eyes alight with a feral madness Harry hadn't seen in a very long time. Not since Voldemort had first risen from the cauldron after the TriWizard Tournament and laughed at Cedric's dead body.
“Yes,” Voldemort said, as he leaned so close to Harry he could almost smell his soured breath, “I can see the scar changing.”
Voldemort used his wand to lift some of Harry's blood sodden hair from his forehead but the strangest thing about it was that it didn't hurt.
“Look closely at the friends I've gathered here, Harry,” Voldemort said, “they're all your enemies.”
The red eyes lingered on Draco Malfoy in particular and narrowed. Harry wasn't surprised to see Draco shaking almost as hard as he was under Voldemort's critical gaze.
“Some more than others,” Voldemort said in a dangerous tone, “but it's all water under the bridge, isn't it? The prophecy will change, it's changing already into something else. After all, wild beasts are so much easier to control. Death eaters, advance!”
Without looking back, Voldemort strode from the circle and headed towards the decrepid castle that loomed behind the forest. The rest of the death eaters in their dark masks surrounded Harry.
“Finite incantatum,” Voldemort said, as he turned around.
His red eyes alight with cruel mirth he smiled wide and showed off his ugly, pointed teeth.
“Now run, little boy,” Voldemort hissed with excitement, “run into the forest or I'll murder you where you stand.”
For a few shocked seconds Harry only stood in the clearing, shaking. Then his legs took over for him and he began to stumble backwards, to the amusement of the death eaters he nearly tripped over his own feet in his attempt to get away. He turned and ran as fast as he could towards the forest, away from the leering masks and red eyed face and swore if it was the last thing he'd do, he'd make Voldemort pay for everything he had done.
VII
Harry kept almost nodding off in the tree and startling himself awake. His teeth had stopped chattering a long time ago despite the bitter cold, he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Harry opened his eyes and saw the last of the werewolves disperse themselves into the cover of the forest. The sky was lightening more ever so slowly, which meant dawn was fast approaching.
Harry looked down at the blood spattered body of Remus and tightened his grip around the tree.
Slowly, he slunk from his perch and landed awkwardly on the ground. His fingers were bleeding quite openly and there were some good size scrapes along his side to match the ones on his thighs and stomach from clambering up the tree so quickly. He winced as he leaned down over the prone form of his friend.
“Remus?” he whispered hoarsely.
He touched the tawny fur afraid of what he might find. The chest rose slightly, Harry took his hand back relieved.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said more for himself then anyone else, “it’s almost dawn. We can go back to the Order.”
Harry leaned back on his heels and let out a pitiful sounding whimper. His shaking had stopped, hysteria was setting in, he knew enough about survival to know that his body was most likely going into shock. Everything blurred around him, and a few fresh tears slid down his face. He wiped them away with trembling, sticky hands.
“This is so disgusting,” he said, laughing, “won’t Ron have a good chuckle over this. ‘Mione will just say ‘I told you so’ for going off alone.”
Harry’s laughter turned into a choked sob, he was so tired, every step ached.
“Could have been worse,” he said blithely, wrapping his arms around himself, “could have been a lot worse.”
Some branches snapped and a snarl came from behind.
Harry turned around, his eyes widening. The big black wolf growled loudly, its teeth glinting in the haze.
“Oh, shit,” Harry said, throwing himself into a run.
Staggering over rocks and branches, through undergrowth and small trees while freezing all night, had taken a toll on him. Harry was tired and knew it, but he only had a few minutes until dawn broke and the werewolf following him would be rendered harmless. His chest heaved, and he gasped for air. Everything hurt, and the tiny little cuts all along his body stung in the cold air. He tripped and hurled himself down a hill, tumbling over rocks. He fell onto his side and rolled down to the rocky bottom, hearing pained yips and shrieks coming from behind him.
The sound of running water drowned out everything else, even Harry's harsh gasps. He forced himself to get up- his arms straining and every muscle screaming from exhaustion but he managed, his vision swimming and his heart still pounding. Everything around him was blurry and indistinct, more so without his glasses. The world swerved dangerously, and Harry weaved, his legs barely holding himself up. The night was pulling back, it had to be almost dawn.
“Remus!” he called, his voice cracking and breaking, “Remus! Where are you!”
He could hear nothing over the river, not even twigs snapping nearby, or the sound of four quiet feet sneaking towards him.
“Help!” Harry managed, his voice fading as his knees buckled, “Help! Someone!”
Panic was setting in, his head was pounding. He couldn't focus on anything but the blinding pain. He stopped screaming, cursing himself for being so stupid as to cry out when there were quite possibly death eaters still hiding in the woods. His hand stretched out blurry in front of him, covered in blood. Any minute now the light would come and he'd be fine, he just had to stay calm and not do something stupid enough to get himself killed.
When the wolf's jaws snapped around his arm, Harry was almost too shocked to react.
He heard his own voice screaming from very far away, felt his arms thrashing, his feet kicking. He grabbed a rock and tried to bash the wolf's brains out, but it held on tight. Harry tumbled over the hill, down into the icy cold river the shock of it nearly killing him, red streaking into the water, and finally the monster let him go. Harry crawled out of the water, shaking, tripping, staggering to get away.
When the wolf bit the second time, he was a little more prepared.
It ripped into his side, so Harry retrieved another rock and bashed it against the side of its face. He thought he might have blinded it, until he felt the bite on his thigh. He screamed in frustrated agony, bashing it again. Harry watched with a sick satisfaction as the wolf leaned and wobbled.
“Get away from me you bloody bastard!” he screamed.
It rolled onto its side, it's mouth distorted, long fangs smeared with Harry's blood. Then it reared up and struck again, biting deep into Harry's ankle. He kicked it away easily this time falling down in the process. The wolf laid on the ground too, its body twitching and convulsing.
There were no more sounds. No pants or growls, nothing but the sound of the forest and a dappling of warm sunlight across his face. Harry could see with his blurry vision that a great red streak had painted the trees, a spattering of drops had smeared on leaves and rubbish on the forest floor.
The bright morning sun above him flickered. A tall dark shadow stood over him. Harry blinked blearily, blood trickling into his eyes, his arm in agony.
“Sirius?” he murmured, hopefully.
The man with dark hair smiled, red painting his mouth, his teeth stained crimson.
“I got him,” he said.
The stranger was knocked off his feet, and a scuffle took place. Harry could barely focus, the world turning white around the edges but he could hear the grunts and sounds of exertion, as two feral looking men fought on the forest floor.
“Lupin!” the stranger screamed, “You traitor!”
Numerous figures poured from the woods, their bodies casting silhouettes against the sunlight. It had degraded into an all out brawl, men and women clawing at one another, screaming as they tore at each others skin to reach the interloper. Harry tried to move. He had to help Remus but he could barely lift his head a few inches from the ground. His fingers curled in the dirt and he struggled to turn himself over, a desperate instinct telling him that leaving himself exposed would be a bad idea.
“Shut up all of you!” a gravelly voice bellowed.
“Bloody bugger nearly bashed my head off,” the man snarled, kicking Harry in the side.
Two thick, hairy legs stood beside Harry, and the body they belonged to kneeled down to look at him.
“Blackjaw” he said, a smile exposing his yellowed teeth, “now that's what I call a fine job.”
Harry screamed only when Fenrir Greyback grabbed his injured arm in a tight grip.
“Nice to see you too, pup,” he leered at him.
The pain swelled into the realm of excruciating, and Harry couldn't help but pass out.
VIII
Things were much better in the dream than reality. The Headmaster was explaining something important to Harry, something to do with new doors opening when others were closed. Harry leaned in to try and hear Professor Dumbledore better but he was rudely awoken.
“Can I 'ave a go at em?” the gravel rough voice snapped.
Harry opened his eyes and stared.
“Sirius?” he said, breathlessly.
But the features changed and while their faces were almost alike, the filthy teeth and lewd grin were decidedly different. The man had a meanness about him that Sirius had never had, not even when he had first dragged himself from Azkaban all matted hair and barely suppressed murderous rage. This man was more feral by half and had a thick accent unlike anything Sirius would have ever spoken.
“'e's a right pretty one, ain't he?” the man said.
Harry recognized him as Blackjaw, the wolf that had bitten his arm and the one Harry had tried to kill with the rock by bashing his head in. There was still a bit of blood left on one side of the man's face that glinted in the shaft of light let in from the flap door.
“Get out of here,” growled a familiar voice, “and don't let that mangy kept mutt anywhere near.”
“'e's my get,” Blackjaw snarled from the shadows, “I've a right to 'em.”
“Not before me you don't,” Fenrir snarled, “get out and if you're a good dog, I'll let you back in when I'm finished.”
Flailing in the dark, Harry quickly scrambled to an upright position. The cave walls were rough against his hands and his left arm hurt terribly but there were bandages around it. It was a small comfort that he wasn't in danger of bleeding to death. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw Fenrir Grayback in human form watching him with some curiosity in his brutal features. It was strange because his eyes looked more animal than human despite the nude male body.
“Come here,” Fenrir growled, “little puppy.”
“No,” Harry said, “get away from me!”
“No one's coming to save you now,” Fenrir said, “what do you think they'll say little pup? No witches or wizards will have love in their heart for their poor savior after what's been done to you. All you've got is the pack, all you've got right now is me.”
“I have friends,” Harry bit out, “they won't ever leave me!”
Fenrir laughed, an ugly wicked sound.
“Will they stay after your body swells with my pups? And the pups of the pack? Oh yes, I can see that expression on your face, didn't you wonder little puppy what we'd be doing with you once we got a hold of you? That's what Voldemort promised you see, our very own bitch in heat-!”
“SHUT UP!” Harry screamed.
Fenrir clamped his enormous hand over Harry's mouth and forced his head down. Though Harry fought with as much strength as he could muster, with an injured arm and bleary from exhaustion he was fighting a losing battle from the start. It wasn't long before Harry's cheek was ground against the soft fur blanket while tears welled up in his eyes.
“Hold still,” Fenrir said, “once you get a taste for it, you'll enjoy it.”
Harry screamed behind Fenrir's large hand.
Harry could feel the brutal man positioning himself and desperately wanted to be sick.
“Now then pup,” Fenrir said, “spread yourself wide.”
Of course, since Harry wasn't about to help, Fenrir used one hand to haul Harry's legs apart while the other was forcing Harry's face into the fur keeping his voice muffled. When Harry felt the wet, hot tip of something prodding at the edges of his newly formed genitals he tried to writhe away.
“Watch out pup or I might plunge my rod into the wrong chute,” Fenrir chuckled, darkly.
Harry stilled immediately and felt the man's cock begin to nudge into his vagina. It sank deeply, far too quickly. Harry let out a muffled cry because, horrifyingly, it felt good.
“Ah yes,” Fenrir said, in a dreamy tone, “that's a nice, hot wet one isn't it? Too bad you weren't a little younger...”
Disgusted, Harry tried to use his arms as leverage to crawl away but the pain from his arm shocked him and he stilled. Fenrir managed to force himself deeper and Harry writhed around the enormous cock inside of him. When Fenrir began to thrust his hips, he finally let go of Harry's mouth but that all that came out was a wet, frightened gasp.
“Feels sweet doesn't it?” Fenrir laughed at him and smacked Harry's arse cheek.
Harry moaned and then sobbed, the magic that he'd loved so much had betrayed him. The spells and potions that had been used on him was forcing him to like the horrible abuse Fenrir had heaped on him.
“I'm going to finish in your hot cunt,” Fenrir hissed, “and then let Blackjaw knot inside you, how's that?”
“No,” Harry groaned, “stop, please!”
It only took a few more hard thrusts and then Fenrir let out a horrible growl and spent himself inside. Harry writhed and struggled, he wasn't quite sure if it was to get away or to fulfill the empty longing that was ricocheting through his loins for a knot.
“What are you looking at?” Fenrir snarled.
Harry could hear shuffling just outside their cavern and he feared deeply that Remus had been watching.
“Get over here or get out,” Fenrir snarled, “help him by fucking him or not at all. Hear that, Potter? Remus isn't much without a pack of wizards telling him what to do. We're ten against one.”
The shuffling sounds receded and Harry slumped, relieved.
“Blackjaw I can hear you panting from here, it's your turn,” Fenrir said, as he slowly slid out.
Harry collapsed onto his front and struggled to roll over. His vision was going blurry and it was as though the world was swirling behind his eyes in a nasty spin.
“I think he's losing his mind,” Fenrir chuckled, “won't be a bother. He'll be aching for it every night. Hear that pup? You'll never escape us, you'll be always wanting some wolf to do you up no matter what fight you think to put up.”
“Come on now,” Blackjaw grumbled, “out of the way. 'Es my get now.”
“Knot him good,” Fenrir said, he reclined against the back of the cave.
With mounting horror, Harry realized that there were a few other werewolves lingering outside the door way as though waiting their turn.
“Oh yes,” Fenrir said, putting his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose, “I'm not missing this for the world. See all those wolves out there? They can't wait to breed. Who knows who the pups father will be, it'll be a fine guessing game.”
Blackjaw was standing over him and for a brief moment Harry thought he was looking at Sirius again. But his fantasy turned nasty quite quickly as Sirius had never used his hands to part Harry's thighs or had such a nasty expression on his face as he mounted Harry roughly. Blackjaw grunted as he fucked Harry with abandon and all Harry did was wish desperately it was actually Sirius fucking him and not some stranger.
The crushing guilt hit Harry rather quickly; he was becoming sicker by the minute, wanting his dead godfather to be fucking him instead of a werewolf. Harry gasped and grabbed the man's pale thighs while arching his back.
“Feels good doesn't it?” Blackjaw growled at him, “Just wait 'till I knot you.”
The figures at the mouth of the cave whirled and blurred into an ugly, writhing mass. Blackjaw spat blood in Harry's face and laughed when he tried to writhe away from it.
“Sirius,” Harry gasped.
Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he felt his body writhe and shudder. The orgasm hit him hard coming from the inside out, his cock wasn't even hard but his body trembled and struggled. Blackjaw thrust deeply and growled in Harry's ear as the knot formed and locked them together.
“Good job pup,” Fenrir said.
The man walked over to Harry and used the bottom of his foot to move Harry's lax face up to him. Instantly, Harry's expression changed from confused torpor into mutiny.
“Yeah that's it,” Fenrir said, “I like the ones who struggle. The harder they fight the tighter the cunt.”
Blackjaw laughed and Harry could feel the knot swelling and moving inside of him. Harry made an awful noise and clenched around it more tightly, panting loudly.
“Think he's broken?” Fenrir said.
“Doubt anyone could break this one,” Blackjaw growled, “a lot of fight left in him.”
“Think when it swells down I could have another go,” Blackjaw said.
“Be my guest,” Fenrir snarled, “the others can wait their turn. He's our bitch now, not Voldemort's.”
Fenrir laughed and laughed, as though it were the funniest thing ever said.
When the werewolf's black hair was blurred just enough, Harry still pretended it was Sirius. It made him feel better, no matter how sick it was.
IX
The werewolves used him all morning and only left him alone when the afternoon sun illuminated the woods. Little light fell in such a dark forest and the cave itself was still almost black in the middle of the day. Harry felt disgustingly full of cum, sore and used but he still managed to sit up and right himself. Panting he leaned against the back of the cave, his mind completely blank, his heart aching.
It was a long time before Harry could focus enough to acknowledge Remus, his pale form appearing out of the darkness. The anger felt all encompassing, as though all the things that Harry had never thought about in his life before had boiled and bubbled in his chest, like one of Snape's rotten poisons.
“I'd ask how you were feeling,” Remus said, quietly, “but I think that might be insulting.”
Remus unfolded a thick blanket and wrapped it around Harry who had begun to shiver from the chill, damp air.
“I'll find you some clothes,” Remus said, “and we'll head back to the Order.”
“I can't go back,” Harry choked, “not like-”
“Not like a survivor?” Remus asked, “Voldemort thinks you're neutralized. I think we should take advantage of that.”
It wasn't the lycanthropy, it was the rest of it that was so- Harry's arms shook and not from the cold.
“I want him dead,” Harry whispered.
He'd never wanted anything more in his life.
“Keep that anger,” Remus said, “it's directed at the one person who deserves it. You're not to turn on yourself, no matter what happens.”
Harry blinked, “I don't think I would but- I don't really know, do I?”
What would happen if he turned into a werewolf and hurt his friends or innocent people? Was he so sure he wouldn't become angry at himself then?
“It's very dark magic what's been done to you,” Remus said, “none of us, least of all Fenrir Grayback are sure what you'll be like during the moon. You'll surely be strong but highly unpredictable there hasn't been a – werewolf like you in centuries.”
Remus tactfully avoided mentioning exactly what Harry had become, because Harry certainly had a collection of rude names to call himself. The very same ones Fenrir slung at him when he did- did those things to him.
“But-” Harry stuttered, “the wolfsbane potion...”
Remus sighed, wearily, “I don't think it'll work on you. I'm not sure I'd want to try.”
“What's the worst it could do?” Harry asked.
“Probably,” Remus said, “kill you. At mildest, irreparably harm your magic, it's a poison to werewolves in large enough doses and suffice to say you aren't quite like other werewolves.”
“Sod the potion,” Harry said, miserably.
“It's going to be all right,” Remus said.
Harry shivered under his blankets, he wasn't so sure but he had kept his promise to Ron and Hermione. He had survived. For the moment he could pretend that was all that mattered.