Alpha of Alphas

Instinct

Liar.

The other inside him whispered. It was hard for Harry to keep track of what Robards was saying

"Fine." He said abruptly, cutting Robards off, and the man stood up walking forward to shake his hand.

"I'll keep you in the loop." He didn't meet Harry's eyes again as he strode out of the room, and Harry knew that he was lying.

The sense of something other inside him was growing, like a limb that was stretching out. It fed him information, telling him when people were passing in the hallway beyond. That Hermione was still somewhere close, and that Lavender was still near her.

Harry had known several werewolves and knew that certain similarities held true from their animal counterparts. He had seen the way Bill deferred to Remus in group settings, often looking at Remus before making any decisions or deciding how to vote. But he hadn't known the pull of the werewolf instinct was that intense. He had the feeling if he hadn't wanted Lavender to leave - regardless of Ron or her own wishes—she would have stayed until he gave her permission.

He had never had intrusive conversations about their lycanthropy with Remus, Bill, or Lavender – it hadn't seemed appropriate or his place to do so. So he didn't know if this intensity of behavior was something that was within the bounds of a normal werewolf or if there was something different about the way he was experiencing it. Fate was always a bitch when it came to him.

Harry didn't want to start that kind of conversation with Ron's wife or Remus, the closest full werewolves he knew. For him, Hermione would likely be the best bet to talk to too, considering her expertise and advocacy for magical creatures. He would just have to work on not getting randomly aroused by her very presence.

By her smell. Mmm. So tasty.

Harry looked down and saw the very obvious tent in his gray joggers. Apparently being a werewolf meant you lost control of your dick. Fuck. He adjusted himself and closed his eyes trying to regain control so he wouldn't be wandering corridors looking like a pervert.

It wasn't easy. He'd been on a long dry spell before this unfortunate incident, the allure of dating and shagging random witches wearing off. He and Hermione weren't like that, though. They were friends, the very best kind of friends. The kind you could tell anything and count on for anything. Sure, he thought she was hot and more than once wanted to explore what they could be together, but he would never risk their friendship for a romantic relationship that might go down in flames.

Friends. Friends. Friends. He repeated to himself.

Mate. A voice inside him contradicted.

Shut the fuck up.

Great. Now he was arguing with himself. Harry looked up and caught sight of a mirror through the small door that led to a bathroom. His green eyes were practically glowing and ...

He opened his mouth wider. Yep. He had teeth like a fucking shifted werewolf. He ran his tongue along his incisor, and the image of him sinking them into Hermione's shoulder and marking her popped into his head with vivid clarity.

He closed his eyes again, concentrating on using his training with occlumency to push away the intrusive thoughts. It was more difficult than it had been in a long time to occlude and reach that cold calm state of being when every emotion was walled off.

When he opened his eyes some minutes later, his face was normal, and he felt in control of himself. The strange sharpness of his senses was still there, but without the emotional impetus to act on the feelings.