Chapter Five of 'Keep This Wolf'- Savage the Magic
Chapter Four.
Title: Keep This Wolf (5/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Creaturefic (Harry is a werewolf), violence, some gore, angst
Rating: R
Summary: Draco knows full well that he’s being set up. There is no other reason to pull an Unspeakable out of the Department of Mysteries and assign him to negotiate with a werewolf pack. But when he learns the werewolf leader is Harry Potter, Draco wonders if the setup isn’t a different kind than he anticipated.
Author’s Notes: A fic for enamoril, who asked for a story like my “Business Meetings,” where Draco is the leader of a group of vampires and Harry their Ministry-appointed negotiator, but reversed, with Draco as the negotiator and Harry as the werewolf. This story will be updated every Tuesday until it’s finished. The title comes from the poem “Wilderness” by Carl Sandburg:
THERE is a wolf in me … fangs pointed for tearing gashes … a red tongue for raw meat … and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Five-Savage the Magic
The magic that rang through Harry when he caught those crystal beads and clasped them in his palm was certainly wild enough to qualify as savage. He found himself bending at the waist, gasping with the effort of containing it.
It wanted to attack his mind; he knew that as soon as he spoke to it in the depths of his being. It wanted to fill his senses with darkness and then madness. It wanted to make him gallop in different directions, laughing and singing and waving his arms. It would bewilder him, ensnare him, and drag him down. It could make any human fall out of touch with reality in a dozen different ways, no longer able to trust eyes or ears or sense of touch.
Any human.
And it did nothing to the sense of smell.
Harry straightened up, gasping again. He felt something melting down the center of his palm, and opened his hand to see what it was. One of the crystal beads was gone from the bracelet, dissolved like ice in front of a fire; the others had shifted together to replace it. Harry nodded to himself and flung the bracelet back in Malfoy’s direction.
Malfoy caught it without flinching away from it. His eyes, motionless and locked, stayed on Harry’s face. Harry shrugged at him. “A good trap,” he said, and heard his voice come out hoarse. Well, fine. That was the way he sounded after a good wrestling session with Paracelsus, too. “Just not as likely to work on a werewolf as on someone else. You’d have to come up with something to compensate for our enhanced senses, you know.”
For a second, just a second, Malfoy’s face was open, paranoid, disbelieving. Harry took a step towards him. He had been taunting Malfoy as if they were still at Hogwarts, trying to get a reaction from him, but now that he saw the reaction, he didn’t want to continue the taunting. He wanted to touch it, caress Malfoy’s face as he looked like that, promise him it would be all right if he actually acted on all the emotions Harry could smell anyway.
But then Malfoy turned his head away, and said, “I think that I’ve had too much to drink. May I have an escort back to the guest quarters?”
“Of course,” Harry said, and held up a hand. Lisa Northron came leaping lightly through the trees. She was blond and blue-eyed and looked the picture of health, without the scars that marked some of the others, since she was the newest member of the pack. She was also someone who supported Harry instead of trying to plot against him, and Harry thought Malfoy needed someone like that right now. “Lisa will guide you back to your rooms.”
Lisa smiled at him and Malfoy, and then led Malfoy off through the trees. That left Harry and Ninian looking at each other.
Harry nodded to him. “You’re more isolated than you were, you know,” he said.
Ninian tensed for a second, then frowned and said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Some of the others who thought I was a horrible leader have changed their minds.” Harry tilted his head at the centaurs and dryads nearby. A circle of them had surrounded a hefty chestnut centaur who was pawing a small hole in the ground with a sturdy hoof as he told them a story. “I’ve won willing acceptance of our presence in the Forest and our claims to the territory from the centaurs and the dryads both. You had several people on your side who didn’t think I could do that. But they came this evening and told me that they’ve changed their minds, that they think I can lead the pack well now. Even if it’s not in the most conventional way,” he added delicately, and watched Ninian’s cheeks darken to purple.
“I was doing nothing but chatting to the Ministry employee,” said Ninian, and showed his teeth, although he wasn’t quite foolish enough to look Harry in the eye. “You were the one who decided to throw a feast for him.”
“Of course I was,” said Harry, and winked at Ninian, and turned and loped away. He knew his turned back was an invitation, and Ninian might take it. But he restrained himself with nothing more than a faint snarl and a sound of tearing at the benches.
What Harry had said was true. He’d talked to a lot of people, and some of them were changing their minds, even June. His decision about Thornsberry was still irritating them, but June had looked him in the eye, grunted, and said, “Well, you achieved this. Let’s get Thornsberry here, and see if you can tame him.”
Sarah and Ninian and the people who felt like them were still problems, but Harry’s pack was only large, not infinite, and he had won most of them over. They would find themselves increasingly trapped into either having to challenge him directly or give over on the complaints. Harry suspected he knew which they would choose, but that was not his problem.
*
Draco sat down on the bed in the guest quarters and waited until he was sure that the young werewolf who had led him here was utterly gone. Then he raised some more wards around the house and clasped his hands in front of him.
He could imagine the look on Invisible Heldeson’s face if she ever found out what he had done here, today. Begging for forgiveness would make it worse. What he had to do was retrieve what had gone wrong, and quickly.
His traps and artifacts probably wouldn’t work on Potter. Fine. It was true that Draco hadn’t designed them with a werewolf as the top choice among his possible victims.
In fact, his cube hadn’t even worked as well as it should when Woolwine confronted him. How would he make it into something that did? What kind of artifacts could he create with werewolves in mind?
Draco sighed. His thoughts were turning down the old, familiar, comforting paths of artifact-working. Which was good for his job, but not good for the challenge that confronted him now.
He had fought too hard for the position he held to give it up because he had once had a rivalry with Potter. He knew that was what had caused him to react so badly. He had the pressure of the negotiator’s position that he didn’t understand why he had been picked for on his back. He had the reputation of the Unspeakables to keep up. He hadn’t done a good job of supporting that so far, either, let alone the neutrality and the lack of emotion that were supposed to come with the job.
He honestly didn’t know if he could hold onto his temper and his emotions around Potter. It was dangerous, promising himself that he would, and then breaking the promise later. That would make him feel worse than if he had walked into the situation blind.
Fine. I give myself permission to act as dignified as I can, but still snap at him and act weary with his antics. That might prevent another outburst like the one I had earlier.
Draco relaxed even thinking about that, which meant it was the right path to pursue. And he would say nothing more to Ninian, either, until he knew whether it was actually safe to do so. He had thought Potter was unaware of a lot of the undercurrents in his pack, but it was obvious now that he wasn’t, and it might be dangerous to try and manipulate another werewolf against him until Draco knew if that werewolf was really strong.
And am I here to manipulate werewolves against him, anyway? Am I here to make him lose his position? I know that someone wanted to bring me into this mess for more reasons than just persuading Potter not to adopt Thornsberry, but they never told me why. They’re using me as a pawn, not a trusted partner. I have no reason to go along with them unless they choose to explain.
Draco smiled and leaned back against his pillows. All was well. He would pursue his stated purpose for now, and if the Ministry representative who had to be behind this, whoever they were, wanted to contact him and explain why he should do more than his obvious mission, they could. Otherwise, he would do that obvious mission.
Face the job in front of you, and do it safely. That was one thing Invisible Heldeson had taught him as well, when she lectured in front of the small class containing Draco and a few other trainee Unspeakables. The artifacts we tend are beyond price, but we also need the brains to work with them. A trained mind is worth its weight in artifacts.
The purposes of the Unspeakables would not be served if Draco died out here trying to lead a werewolf rebellion against Potter. And he didn’t care about the purposes of any other Ministry Department.
He rearranged a few of the artifacts to be under his pillow instead of on his belt, and fell asleep, and slept well.
*
“Unspeakable Malfoy. Would you like to discuss the business that brought you now, or wait until I have a full complement of the pack assembled?”
Draco paused for a second with his hand on the tree in front of him. The same werewolf who had guided him back to his house last night had met him this morning and led him in much the same way, twisting and turning back and forth among the roots. Draco had expected to see the tables still there, covered with food. None of the werewolves he’d seen had seemed much interested in cleaning up after themselves.
But instead, there was only a single round table, shaped of oak in a way that indicated it had probably been Transfigured instead of carved. Potter was seated at it, with a large breakfast in front of him. Disbelieving, Draco looked at pots of butter and some kind of thick fruit spread, piles of bangers and bowls of what looked like porridge, neatly arranged kippers on a plate that Potter was just finishing off, and cups of foaming milk.
He supposed they might make the fruit spread themselves, even the butter and the milk if they kept cows, but this stuff all looked too neat for the werewolves living in the wilderness that he had seen on his first steps into the Forest. He looked into Potter’s eyes, and asked, “Do you have this large a breakfast every morning?”
Potter smiled. “No. Like the feast last night, most of this is in honor of you.” He waved his hand over the plates. “But I do try and make sure that we have food on hand in case guests come. And some of my people aren’t as infamous as I am. They can go into Diagon Alley to buy food and not attract attention. Now, come on. You must be hungry.”
Draco decided he had nothing to lose by complying with that indirect order. He walked forwards and sat down in front of Potter, who began to pick up a plate and glass. “Which do you prefer, tea or milk or pumpkin juice?” he asked, glancing at Draco. “I’m afraid that we don’t have any coffee this time. Periwinkle drank it before she got it back to camp. Next time, I’m not going to let her be the one to buy it, no matter how much she begs.”
“You’re going to serve me with your own two hands?” Draco blurted.
Potter cocked his head a little. “Ah. You thought we were that kind of werewolf. I don’t mind doing things like this. I just mind fighting bloody challenges to the death and abiding by all sorts of stupid rules all the time. Those rules aren’t traditional or anything. How could they be, when werewolves have mostly lived as outcasts from wizarding society, and not in organized packs? They’re human idealizations of the way that wolves live.” He grinned. “With, somehow, the constant disease and lack of hunting success and familial relationships in the pack conveniently forgotten most of the time.”
Draco sat down hard. “I’ll take pumpkin juice,” he said. He could use the touch of familiarity in what was rapidly becoming the strangest situation he’d ever been involved in. “And porridge, and salt if you have it.”
Potter nodded, and exchanged the plate for a bowl. Draco watched his hands as he ladled this and poured that. He didn’t have exceedingly sharp or long nails, the way Greyback and Ninian had. He must have settled into his body without spending large amounts of time close to his beast.
“There,” Potter said, and pushed the bowl and the cup across the table to Draco. “You can test it for poison if you want. I don’t mind.”
Draco spent some more time staring. Potter just sat there and beamed at him. Draco waved his wand and tested a few spells for hexes, not poison. As Potter had said, there was nothing like that on any of the food.
Draco began to eat. The porridge was decent enough with a little salt, the pumpkin juice fresh. He let one compensate for the other, while he studied Potter and tried to determine what had changed for him between last night and this morning. Draco had made a decision, yes, but only in the privacy of his own head. And no matter what had changed since Harry Potter became a werewolf, Draco refused to think that he had become a passable Legilimens.
He doesn’t have to. Not when he can read your smell.
Draco stiffened up. How could he forget that, when it had eaten at his mind since Ninian had been the one to explain it to him? But he had forgotten it. Perhaps Potter had sensed Draco’s resolve, after all, and was treating him like this to…
To what?
“Do forgive me,” said Potter, bowing his head a little. Draco looked up at him and blinked. Potter had a hand resting on the table, open, as if he wanted to show Draco that he wasn’t secretly sharpening his claws or clutching his wand. “I thought you were the same boy I knew at Hogwarts, with just a veneer of polish. I could smell how angry you wanted to let yourself get. I thought I could bring out that boy if I teased you. That way, I would understand you better, and the negotiations would go in a way that was favorable to my pack.”
He leaned forwards intently, his green eyes so bright that Draco felt an uncomfortable little shiver of strange emotion travel up his spine. Well, he didn’t know what it was, so it seemed unlikely Potter could figure it out from his scent. “But I see you’ve really changed. You want to be professional, and you didn’t like it when I forced you to react. Sorry. I won’t do that again.”
Draco cleared his throat with difficulty. He hadn’t expected the apology, but he ought to have, he thought. Potter would do nothing that wasn’t utterly unpredictable, after all. “It wasn’t professional to throw that bracelet at you.”
“No,” said Potter, but his mouth quirked a little. “But that was the first time all night I saw someone I recognized in your face. So I didn’t mind it.”
Draco shut his eyes and drew in a long, slow breath. Well. He had made his decision. He would act in a way that benefited the Unspeakables and let him maintain his dignity. Potter had changed things from what Draco had thought he would be doing, of course. But that was what Potter did. Draco would have to go along with the new status quo and do it in a way that could ensure he would still serve the Unspeakables’ purposes.
Which were, currently, for him to succeed and get out alive, not do anything else.
“I would prefer it if you didn’t do something like that again.” Draco looked at his porridge. Potter’s eyes were unsettling. If he had to be this honest, he didn’t want to look into them. “I worked-hard for my position. I want the official title, the official robes, the sensation of being an Unspeakable even in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. I know that you might not understand, but that’s what I want.”
Potter was silent for so long that Draco thought he might also have to negotiate for good treatment. When he looked up, though, Potter was nodding thoughtfully.
“So you really have changed,” he said. “You’ve grown up, and become someone who takes things like that seriously.”
“I always was, Potter,” Draco muttered. “I always wanted your respect.” That cost him nothing to admit. He very rarely thought about his old self before the Unspeakables now. It could be dangerous to do so, anyway.
“But before, it was respect based on your family name and your father,” Potter said simply. “This time, it’s something you’ve worked hard for. Fine.” He cocked his head to the side, the most animal-like gesture Draco had seen him make yet. “And I ask that you respect that I can handle Thornsberry and tame him into my pack. I wouldn’t be setting up to adopt him if I thought I couldn’t. I would consider the people I already have a responsibility to first.”
Draco waited. But Potter didn’t move, didn’t take things back, didn’t laugh at him, didn’t apologize for insulting him. He just waited.
After a few, stunned moments, Draco understood. Potter didn’t think he should apologize for explaining his view of the past as he saw it. It was a fact to him that Draco hadn’t deserved respect before, and a fact that now he did.
Draco would just have to go along with that.
“That’s what you’re here to convince me of, isn’t it?” he asked, and picked up his spoon again. “But I prefer not to discuss business over breakfast. Wait until I’m done.”
Astonishingly, Potter sat back, and did.
Chapter Six.
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