Sweet Puppy

Chapter 2

Snape stared in shock at the Stunned form of Greyback, whose spent body was still heaving, ribs visible then not as his great barrel of a chest contracted. Snape cautiously approached, and his considerably large nose wrinkled in disgust upon the smells that assaulted his nose.

This was not at all what Snape had planned for this evening. He had meant to make contact with Fenrir, and perhaps learn of his awaiting fate with the Dark Lord – for he had not gone to him on that night of Dumbledore’s death. He had killed the man, yes, but it was with a dreading heart that he had done so. It was only Dumbledore’s pleadings for an end that allowed him to do it. It was possibly the worst luck that Potter had been there as well. Now, the idiot boy had told everyone of his ‘betrayal’ and there was almost no way to repair his position in the Order.

No, Snape had not spent the month of July hidden amongst the growing number of Death Eaters, but in yet another muggle house along with Draco Malfoy, his wayward student. His home in Spinner’s End had been completely demolished once the Dark Lord had learned of his flight. Merlin only knew what had happened to Narcissa after Draco’s disappearance as well.

Snape needed to make contact with someone whose loyalty to the Dark Lord was not complete, but also someone who was privileged to clandestine information. The only person who could get away with such a thing was Fenrir Greyback, the marshal of the underground werewolves; he commanded a huge potential weapon for the Dark Lord, but was not so foolish as to be one of the many groveling servants. His powerful army stood by him before the Dark Lord, and would only join the Death Eaters at Fenrir’s command. Snape had concluded that Greyback would be the only person (or, in Snape’s opinion, beast) whom he could go to and not be at risk for immediate betrayal.

Fenrir Greyback had last been reported to be guarding his underground lair at a new location, thought to be in the Black Dust Forest, which was said to be so dark that it was like walking through Peruvian Dust, the inspiration for Fred and George Weasley’s Instant Peruvian Dust Powder. But Snape had no idea that Harry Potter had also been in these woods.

Cautiously, Snape advanced towards the still form of the werewolf, wand held aloft, casting a dim glow over the forest floor. Snape could see Potter’s ravaged clothes strewn amongst the leaves. Looking closer, Snape saw that Potter appeared to have fainted.

“Levicorpus!” Snape murmured, flicking his wand. Greyback was lifted off and out of the boy, and Snape curled his lip in disgust; Potter remained motionless. Snape flicked his wand off to the side, sending Greyback flying and slamming into a tree. Snape released the beast from his spell, then repeated it, wand pointed at the boy. Under the light of his wand, Snape spotted Harry’s a few feet away, and he hastened to pocket it, along with the boy's mangled spectacles. Quickly, he began to walk, his great strides sending his robes into a flurry around his feet. He made sure that Potter hit nothing as he levitated him in front of him. He did not know where Potter’s hideout was, but it must be nearby – the boy could not have walked so far in this darkness.

Snape kept his still-lit wand held low, studying the leaf patterns. There was a definite disruption coming from straight ahead, and Snape followed it, every few moments checking on the limp body levitating in front of him; Snape refused to assess the boy’s wounds until later…the sight of the many scratches along the boy’s hips was alarming.

After what must have been half an hour of walking in complete silence except for robes sliding over grass and leaves, the path stopped. Snape held out a hand, then drew it back in triumph – magic was present, thrumming through-out the air in front of him.

“Reveal your secret!” commanded Snape imperiously. He could not imagine that the boy could come up with a disillusionment charm strong enough to hold against Snape’s own creative spell. He was correct; the air seemed to buzz around him, and the very darkness flickered in the spot ahead.

“Reveal yourself,” said Snape almost lazily. Potter’s spell was no match for him. Snape’s lips drew back in a satisfied, ugly smile as a small quaint cottage appeared before him. It looked very much like the gamekeeper’s cottage, with walls of stone and a heavily thatched roof. There were two small windows on either side of the heavy looking door, which was equipped with an iron lion-head knocker. Snape sneered at the boy’s predictable decorating style before blasting the door open with a powerful ‘Alohomora!’

Quickly, he strode inside, guiding the boy to an unmade bed in the corner of the cottage. Snape stepped over books and maps that were laid carelessly out on the floor, and arranged the squashy looking comforter neatly over the young Gryffindor, shielding his nakedness from his own sight. He muttered a cleansing charm, and all the dirt and sweat vanished from the boy’s pale face, and, he assumed, from other places as well. He followed this with a healing charm, powerful enough to heal scrapes and bruises, but he was not sure if it would heal any internal injuries, especially ones caused by a werewolf. He knew that any bite marks would be cursed wounds, that Potter would be affected, but how, he didn’t know. He knew that Bill Weasley had been bitten by Greyback while he was in human form, but as he had been out of contact with the wizarding world, he had no idea what had become of him. Perhaps Lupin would know what to do…but how could he contact him? Snape glared in frustration at nothing in particular and sat down on one of the rickety chairs that was placed around a circular table.

His mind still had not processed the fact that Potter had been raped. It was not something that Snape could even think for a minute. Being a Death Eater meant that he had seen many things, including rapes and the victims of such…events. He’d never known a victim, however. The thought of what the boy must have gone through disgusted him, but he couldn’t help but think that the boy had it coming; after all, didn’t he know not to go walking by himself in a forest such as this? ‘Idiotic, bull-headed Gryffindor’ he thought furiously. Spotting a clock on the wall, Snape scrubbed at his face tiredly. It was almost midnight, and it was not a wise idea to go back after Fenrir. Perhaps when he was in better spirits…

Again, Snape wondered how Potter had gotten into that situation. What was he even doing, alone, in these parts of Britain? He should be at the muggle’s home, or at least with the Weasleys, not poking around by himself in the Black Dust Forest. The Order must be in even worse disarray than he thought.

He couldn’t leave Potter like this…perhaps he could heal him while the boy was still out. Or maybe he would just have to put him in a Full-Body Bind while he explained himself. It would not be easy….

Snape stood and flicked his wand at the chair, transfiguring it into a modest bed. He locked the door with the most powerful spell he could muster, sealing not only the door but the windows and reinforcing the walls as well. He would sleep for a few hours, then check on Potter again… ‘one step at a time,’ he thought. He slipped off his boots, heavy cloak and outer robe, then climbed into bed. He closed his eyes and breathed evenly in and out, effectively closing his mind to any that could want to find him….

* * *

Out in the woods, Fenrir Greyback began to stir. His body felt sated, and yet assaulted. Snorting against dirt that had somehow gotten into his nose, he pushed himself to all fours, groaning as the pain in his back made itself known. His eyes slowly opened, taking in the damaged tree he was slumped against, the disturbed leaves, and flattened soil impressions that could only have been left by –

Wait. Fenrir let loose a livid roar, eyes flashing in the night. His mate was gone. He clawed furiously at the leaves, as though hoping to uncover him. He sniffed the air and immediately sensed that another had been here…a male…had he taken his mate? He roared again, and with wild eyes scanned the trees surrounding the clearing. He sniffed again. That smell was familiar to him…the smell of a simmering fire, and that slick grease that only Severus Snape used to protect his hair from the fumes of his precious potions. Snape! That bastard! Fenrir rose to his hind legs and swiftly moved to the spot where he had claimed his mate. There were his clothes…Fenrir made a grab for the tattered white cloth that had been the boy’s underwear, holding it surprisingly delicately in his claws to his down covered chest.

“Bastard,” Fenrir growled, baring his teeth at the spot that Snape had been residing. He took him, he must have. What could he want with him? Would he use him as a present for the Dark Lord, to redeem himself in his eyes? Fenrir barked angrily at nothing and swept off after the trail Snape had left. He could smell the rusty tang of blood and his own cum as well as Snape’s scent, and his spent arousal gave an interested twitch in spite of his anger. ‘Not the time for that…don’t worry…later,’ he thought, legs flying rapidly across the ground. The forest whispered around him of what he didn’t have; the moon sneaked through the tree tops to berate him, and the whistling wind carving through the trees laughed at him; he had lost his mate, and the mother moon was not happy…if it had been a full moon, her anger would be so fierce that Fenrir would have had to seek cover…

Birds fled the trees at the sudden, frightful howl of the most powerful and furious werewolf the Forest had ever had the misfortune to host, and a few miles away, Harry Potter awoke with a frightened cry in his bed.

* * *

Harry awoke with a start, crying out into the darkness. His limbs felt as though an electric current had just thrummed through him and he shivered against the feeling of imaginary feathers trailing all over his skin. He clutched at the comforter around him, and gritted his teeth until the feeling stopped. As soon as it was over, memories flooded his brain, and he threw his arm over his eyes.

‘No, no, no…,’ his mind repeated stupidly. But it had happened. He had been…well. And it was all his fault. He shouldn’t have been alone. How could he tell anyone? They would be so disappointed in him – oh god, what if he was a werewolf? Harry shrank away from that thought, not only out of fear, but of shame…how could he feel that way when he loved Remus so? But he did.

Harry suddenly realized he wasn’t in the forest anymore. Somehow, he had gotten into his bed…how? Someone must have…Greyback? No.

Harry tried to sit up, and immediately fell back against the pillows, groaning. He was sore and felt a sting in his arse so strong that he had to grit his teeth. Taking note of his pain, Harry quickly realized that his other scratches he had received in the…well, the scratches were gone. He wasn’t dirty anymore either…someone had healed him. Harry blinked his eyes and turned his head towards the center of the room. In the darkness he could just make out the outline of a sleeping form on what appeared to be a bed. Had Remus come early? Was it someone else?

Then, Harry heard it – the sound of something big crashing through leaves and brush, and in quite a hurry. He shivered and shrunk into a ball, knowing who it was. A sharp bark confirmed his belief and he whimpered in spite of himself.

“Lumos!”

Harry’s head turned so fast that he had to shoot out a hand to right himself. His eyes widened in shock, and then anger.

“You!” he shouted.

“Be quiet, you’ll get us killed, you idiot!” hissed Snape, looming over Harry.

Harry searched frantically for his wand, hands sifting through the tangled sheets. He heard Snape sneer, a sharp exhalation through his nose.

“I have it, Potter. Someone had to pick up after you.”

“Shut up!” Harry shouted, horrified that it came out more as a sob. “Don’t talk to me, don’t say it –”

“Potter, if you don’t stop your sniveling this instant, the beast will find us!” Snape spat.

“Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve got a silencing charm up,” said Harry, wiping his eyes angrily.

“Who knows how well you and that thing outside are connected. For all we know, he already knows we’re here.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wha – what do you mean, ‘connected’? You mean he –”

Snape snarled at him to be quiet before saying, “I’m not an expert on werewolves, imbecile; perhaps his ability to smell you has heightened, now that you’ve….” Snape trailed off, his mouth twisting with distaste.

Harry stared, his eyes wide with distress and fear. If Snape couldn’t even bear to say it, how could anyone bear to hear about it? That was assuming Snape didn’t murder him on the spot, just as he had killed Dumbledore….

Harry looked at Snape closely for the first time. He looked even sallower than before, with sunken eyes, and a bit of stubble forming on his face. Harry had never seen Snape not looking impeccably clean-shaven before…why did he look so bad? And why had he saved him? Things weren’t adding up.

“Snape –”

“Be silent!” Snape hissed through bared teeth. His eyes looked concentrated on the right side of the cottage, where the door stood.

“He is close,” he murmured. Harry sat up straighter, trying to hear. And there it was…almost silent footsteps, leaves crunching gently under feet. It sounded as though Greyback was circling the cottage…Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of his Disillusionment charm. Only a really powerful wizard could bring it down; obviously the werewolf was confused as to why he couldn’t see his hideout. His pleased triumph lasted exactly two seconds. Greyback roared outside and banged against a cottage that he couldn’t see.

“Potter…,” whispered Snape, bending his knees slightly, drawing his wand up into the standard dueling position. “Do you have that cloak with you?”

Harry nodded.

"Get under it."

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