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Chapter 16: Canine Affinity
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Overcome with… with instinct, Harry ran, far faster than he'd ever be able to manage as a human. The night air rushed past him, sweet and cold, feeling strange as it ruffled his fur. Fur. Merlin, he had fur. His sudden exhilaration shocked him, making him bound deliriously across the grassy stretch in front of him, travelling on a high, wanting to yell out with excitement in the same way he'd once done when flying with Buckbeak. This was the same feeling, the same odd sense of liberation.
He barked, raising his head towards the sky and snapping elongated jaws around the sound. It came out deep and loud and only slightly unsure. Pleased, he did it again, and then again, inwardly laughing happily. It was the perfect, wordless sound of joy that the human voice couldn't quite accomplish. He didn't care that, to anyone else, he probably sounded vicious and dangerous – he was happy.
Exultant, he forced himself to move ever faster, forcing his body lower to the ground and concentrating to coordinate his new limbs. Four large paws pounded heavily on the grass, propelling him forward with canine strength and grace, something he could only dream of in his usual awkward, adolescent form.
The hut on the edge of the forest suddenly caught his eye, and he was struck with the fantastic realisation that maybe he wouldn't have to explore the grounds alone tonight. With another excited bark, he pelted off in the direction of Remus, hoping the wolf would consent to leaving his cosy home while the moon was full, just this once.
Mouth agape, tongue lolling in what he felt was a very dog-ish fashion, he loped forward, regaining speed as he went. This would be brilliant. He could give Remus what James and Sirius had once given: company, on this night when the werewolf was truly isolated. It would be a thank you, of sorts…
Lost in his thoughts, and speed increasing, his reaction was dulled when he saw the familiar figure of Fang suddenly bound out in front of him from behind the hut, followed swiftly by a paler form, large and moving and directly in Harry's path.
He tried to stop, to skid to a halt, but he was still unused to managing four legs, especially at this pace, and wasn't particularly surprised when they tangled beneath him. His momentum carried him forward unwillingly, and the next thing he knew he was barrelling into something roughly his own size, tumbling, rolling awkwardly, a graceless knot of long limbs and fur-covered bodies, growls and startled yelps escaping them.
Frantically, Harry fought to extract himself when the finally came to a stop, staggering back into an upright position before backing hastily away from the unknown presence.
Fang reappeared, dancing excitedly, his tail wagging violently. He seemed instantly to recognise Harry, showing no hesitation in coming closer, sticking his wet muzzle into Harry's face to examine this new appearance.
But Harry was too distracted eyeing the creature he'd just unceremoniously crashed into. Light, pale fur was practically aglow in the moonlight, shimmering as the other regained his feet, muscles shifting under the silvery coat. Harry gaped, fascinated and wary.
And then arctic eyes were turned on him, sending a shiver of recognition down his spine.
Malfoy!
Automatically, he tried to speak the name, but it only came out as a low, vaguely hostile growl. The white werewolf stared back at him for a moment before he, too, was hit by realisation. Lips drew back in a snarl, revealing flashing teeth.
Another four-legged figure intercepted whatever altercation might have happened between them. Harry blinked at Remus's wolf form, recognising him instantly, if only from the golden eyes that flashed reprimand between himself and Malfoy. He'd only ever seen the older man like this once before, briefly, the night he'd stunned him after his attack on the Slytherins. This was his first chance to fully study the other. He made a brown wolf, speckled with black here and there, as well as a few whitening patches of fur near his muzzle and ears.
Harry couldn't hide his confusion or surprise, and found the feelings translated to a mildly embarrassing whine.
It seemed Remus knew him instantly, as he looked at him with fond, curious eyes. From behind him, Malfoy stepped forward to get a better look. The two wolves stared at him intently. Harry could just imaging the Slytherin's expression if he'd been in human form: falsely aloof, determined not to be impressed that he'd managed that Animagus transformation, but the glint of grey eyes giving away his envy.
It was hard, trying to communicate without a voice. Harry wanted to ask what the pair of them were doing, where they were going. He wanted to go with them. Then again, it seemed Malfoy didn't need words to clearly convey his dislike of Harry's presence. He gave another warning growl, before turning and walking away moodily.
Harry turned hopeful eyes towards Remus, even giving a slow wag of his tail, which was an odd sensation.
The werewolf gave him what he was sure would have been an exasperated look if he'd been human, before turning away and heading off in the same direction as Malfoy, towards the forest. Harry drooped, disappointed. He would have liked to have kept Remus company, even learnt from the older man…
Suddenly, a sharp bark startled him, and he looked up, surprised, to see the two wolves looking at him expectantly. Remus tilted his head back and howled, before rushing off into the darkness, the silvery flash of the Slytherin streaking after him. Fang appeared from nowhere, pounding past the startled Gryffindor in eager pursuit.
Harry froze for all of a fraction of a second, as slow realisation sank in. Abruptly, he understood what had just occurred.
An invitation.
Ecstatic, he gave chase.
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The breaths he took burned in his chest, sharp and fast, in out, quicker, quicker, must keep running, racing, winning. Feet pounding amid twigs, mud and leaves, couldn't afford to trip, had to push forward.
His heartbeat was thundering away inside his chest, so loud he couldn't hear anything else; not the violent snapping of branches as he tore through them, not the whipping of rain-damp leaves, nor the rushing of air past his ears. He was deaf to everything but his own heartbeat, and perhaps, if he wasn't imagining it, the heartbeat of the person he was racing.
Malfoy pelted along beside him, a white flash in the darkness. They shot through the forest undergrowth side by side, perfectly aligned, both fighting desperately to take the lead. This was the same rivalry which took them over when they played Quiddich, only this was racing purely for the sake of racing. There were no team-mates to worry about, no Bludgers flying out of nowhere, not even a target that one of them had to catch. There was just them and the need to win.
Thinking this, Harry surged forward with a burst of adrenaline. An overjoyed growl escaped him as Malfoy easily kept pace, their necks extended, just trying to get even an inch on the other. God, he loved this! The competition, the… the fight!
He felt like they'd been running for hours, with Remus and Fang just managing to keep up somewhere behind, the older werewolf keeping a tolerant eye on them. Earlier, after they'd first entered the forest, they'd tussled and fought as they trailed behind Remus, continuously falling behind and infuriating the tawny coloured wolf.
Each had struggled to gain the upper hand, Harry using his greater height – even in this form – and Malfoy proving annoyingly fast. They'd growled and snapped, shoved, clawed, pinned, rolled, kicked and bared their teeth, all in the effort to prove themselves the best. A few times, Harry had bitten the other, sinking his teeth into a flank or the side of the wolf's neck, normally causing a sharp yelp and swift retaliation. But no matter how many times he did this, Harry noted the fact that Malfoy never tried to bite him in return. Twice, he'd felt teeth grazing an ear, and then a shoulder, but never had the Slytherin lost his control enough to do something stupid.
It had made Harry nervous, at first, the thought that if he wasn't careful Malfoy could curse him with a single bite, but his worries were so far proving groundless.
Besides, sensible thoughts like that were beginning to go lost in the back of his mind, forgotten in favour of more important matters. Like racing. Gasping breath through his open mouth, he put on another burst of speed just as they surged out into a clearing. Harry reluctantly slowed his pace, noticing that Malfoy was doing the same, taking the opportunity to wait for Fang and Remus and catch their breath.
Flopping down onto his stomach, panting, Harry turned his head and watched as Remus approached in a more dignified manner, golden eyes alight with what might have been amusement. Fang loped after him, happily throwing himself down onto the grass near Malfoy, who gave him a cold look.
Harry wanted to chuckle at that sight, seeing the haughty Slytherin glaring distastefully at the dog. What was getting to him, Harry knew, was that Fang was no longer his underling – at least, not for tonight. They were equals here; the werewolves, the dog and the Animagus. Well, almost. When it came down to it, when everything depended on canine instinct, and the knowledge of the world from a canine point of view, Fang actually had the advantage on Malfoy. The dog was used to it. And that fact would be driving the Slytherin insane. There was no such thing as teacher, student or pet among them now, and for someone who'd been raised surrounded by social circles, concerned with social status, encouraged to climb the social ladder… Harry almost felt sorry for him.
Currently, the pale wolf was sat with his back to the Gryffindor, his head raised to stare at the moon thoughtfully. Harry couldn't resist. Seeing the other so distracted, he hauled himself to his feet and padded up behind him. Before the Slytherin had a chance to acknowledge him, Harry darted forward and nipped sharply at an ear, growling as he did so.
Malfoy yelped gracelessly, caught unaware, before turning on him in outrage. Harry was already bounding away, but within seconds he was being tackled to the ground by an angry white blur. They rolled, kicking awkwardly, each trying to make sure they came out on top. Once again, Malfoy's teeth closed on his throat, nowhere near close to being a real bite, quite gentle even. But the warning was there, the threat of what he could do.
Harry wanted to laugh out loud, knowing that the other was bluffing. He didn't know why he was so sure, but the thought of Malfoy purposefully biting him was faintly ridiculous, at least at this moment in time. The animosity and fury that usually existed between them was gone, to be replaced by this… rivalry. Harmless rivalry.
Harry held no delusions that this was a permanent thing. It was as temporary as the full moon, and existed only as long as their makeshift pack did. Come the morning, they would be enemies again, Remus would be Professor Lupin, and Fang would be the endearing pet.
But this was nice, while it lasted.
They spent long hours exploring the forest and their own limitations. If Remus had thought to lead them through the maze of trees, he was to be disappointed. Harry and Draco ended up leading him, as they raced ahead, competitive to the very last, both wanting to choose the direction they'd take. But eventually their destination ceased to matter, as they were simply running, caught up in the exhilaration of the act, caught up in the sound of two heartbeats, and gasping breath, and pounding feet amid the twigs, mud and leaves.
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Harry woke slowly and reluctantly. He squeezed his eyes shut against consciousness, wanting to fall back into blissful sleep rather than squint against the sunlight that struck him right in the face. Groggy, he raised a hand to cover his eyes.
Or tried to.
Instead, he felt a claw rake awkwardly along his nose. Immediately awake, he blinked in puzzlement when the world, as bright as it was, seemed to be in shades of black and white, and his viewpoint very close to the ground. A threadbare rug was his bed, apparently. Still not moving much, he cast a glance around himself, feeling very disorientated. The first things he saw were paws. His paws.
Everything rushed back to him with a dull thud then. His success at the transformation, the exploration of the grounds, encountering Malfoy and Remus, the forest… He even remembered returning to Remus's hut when they'd finally tired, collapsing as soon as they entered and giving way to exhaustion.
He wondered what time it was.
Realising he couldn't cast Tempus like this, he closed his eyes and concentrated very hard on returning to his natural form. He thought of simple things, like being able to see in colour, and a height of 5'9, and wearing clothes and trainers, rather than fur.
Within seconds he could feel the change come upon him. It didn't hurt, not like the werewolf transformation, but rather felt strange to an entirely new degree. Once again he experienced the odd sensation of shifting and flowing, resuming his human form. In fact, he was returned to exactly the same state as he'd been in when he initiated the change, right down to the presence of his wand, clothes and glasses, something he'd been vaguely worried about.
Blinking a few times, he pushed the glass frames further up the bridge of his nose, still squinting against the light. He was lying on his side, he realised, directly facing the small window and its stream of daylight.
Sighing irritably, he roused himself to move, wincing as every muscle in his body seemed to rebel. Ignoring the jolts of pain, he levered himself upwards with an effort.
At the movement, something very close to him grumbled and stirred, and an arm he hadn't noticed before now tightened around his waist.
Alarmed, Harry froze, looking down at himself. Sure enough, a pale limb was thrown across his body, fingers half curled in his shirt. Knowing full well that he didn't want to know, he turned his head slowly, carefully peering over his shoulder.
Malfoy lay next to him, blissfully unaware of the compromising position they were in. He slept soundly, lips slightly parted, eyelids fluttering, and a few strands of hair shivering softly with each slow breath. Falsely angelic. In fact, the only thing that spoiled the image was the dirt. It was everywhere, streaks of mud right through the silver-blond hair, a few leaves clinging to the strands. A dark smudge marred an otherwise flawless cheek and there was the faint scent of rain, sweat and wet dog about him.
Harry's stomach tightened abruptly, but still he couldn't move. He stared, wide-eyed and horrified and faintly fascinated. Slowly – Merlin, so slowly, he didn't want the other to wake – he moved, dragging himself further away from the Slytherin and turning to look at him properly.
And promptly blushed to a painful degree.
He fought valiantly to stop his eyes from straying, if only for his own peace of mind, but it was impossible. With morbid curiosity, they flicked downwards before he could stop the glance and fix it very, very pointedly on the blonde's face.
Malfoy was naked.
Naked, and still attached to him in sleep, his arm persistently wrapped around Harry's waist. The Gryffindor wanted to die then and there from the mortification of it all. Cheeks burning furiously, he barely dared to move. If he moved, either Malfoy would wake up, or he'd end up… looking.
And so, he stared very fixedly at the top of the blond head, wondering desperately if he could make it to the door, and then to the castle, and then to the sanctuary of his bedroom, which he swore to never leave again, all without waking anyone else. If he could, no one else would have to know of this humiliating–
Wait. This wasn't his fault. It certainly wasn't himclinging to Malfoy. It was the other way around!
Even so, he thought, after a few moments deliberation, he'd rather avoid the awkwardness.
Carefully, he took hold of the slender wrist that was draped across him, lifting it and gently moving out of reach before letting go. The Slytherin stirred again at the loss of contact, making Harry freeze with fear. Long fingers flexed against the woven texture of the rug, before Malfoy drew back his arm.
Harry waited motionlessly, terrified of seeing the grey eyes open, but the blond gave no other reaction. Relieved, he stood, successfully free of the embrace.
Unable to help it, he glanced around the room curiously. Remus, he was eternally grateful to see, had had the sense to curl up under the covers of his bed before going to sleep, and was thankfully well concealed and sleeping peacefully. Fang was with him, lying on the foot of the mattress and snoring lightly.
So it was only Malfoy who'd wake up to a good helping of humiliation, he thought with a bit of satisfaction. It'd serve the git right. And besides, it could have been worse, if he'd surfaced only to find himself wrapped around his supposed worst enemy. Harry considered himself very merciful for never intending to bring that up.
Smirking slightly, he let his guard down for a split second, and that was all the time needed to casually glance down at the sleeping boy. The smirk dropped, and colour tinged his cheeks again, but this time he didn't quite manage to look away.
The one thing that stuck in his head, quite stupidly, was that Malfoy was pale. An expanse of pure white skin was displayed before him in the form of artlessly splayed limbs, with not a freckle or patch of tan to colour it. In the bright light, Harry could see the faint glow of downy blond hair on his arms and legs, so light and thin it wouldn't have been visible without the direct illumination.
He tried to avert his eyes after those few brief impressions, but…
He was thin, as well. All flat expanses of flesh and a few jutting curves of bone. Harry found himself examining the softened line of a collarbone, his gaze falling to where it dipped. Trailing downwards, noting the faint outline of ribs, a vague suggestion of muscle, the dark hollow of a navel, a neat trail of blonde leading lower, and oh god he had to get out of here.
He stumbled away, forgetting his determination to be silent, and practically fled the little hut. Outside, he gasped a breath of pure relief at being out of sight, before beginning to walk – practically jog – towards the castle.
Malfoy would realise, eventually, that he'd been seen naked by his rival, and doubtless he'd feel awkward for a week or so. But really, Harry thought bitterly, Malfoy was the lucky one.
He'd never know the half of it.