Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the last chapter of Keep This Wolf. Thank you for reading along.

Chapter Twenty-Seven—Lead the Dance

Harry leaned back on his bed, propped his feet on the headboard over Draco's snoring face, and skimmed the letter from Minister Hinsley.

Potter,

Things that happen in the Forest should stay in the Forest.

The release of Tyr Thornsberry is happening tomorrow, at the gates of Azkaban. I trust you will be on hand to collect him. Remember that a werewolf who takes over another werewolf's Scion is responsible for the Scion's actions in the future.

The Minister had signed the letter with all the full pomp of his titles, until Harry was surprised that the parchment could hold them all. He shook his head and snorted in amusement, and his snort woke Draco up.

"You heard back from the Minister?" Draco clapped a hand over his mouth to hold down on his yawn. Harry leaned closer and brushed a little bit of hair away from his face. Draco, with the way he had when Harry surprised him, leaned back and scowled, a trickle of pink making his face flush vividly.

"Yes," said Harry. "He did what I expected. He can't really accuse me of doing anything to the Unspeakables when he knows what they did, and he agreed to look the other way in the first place. And all his plans to deny me Thornsberry failed. It's a simple solution on the surface: I take over where Fenrir Greyback left off and make sure that Thornsberry is safe to be around. It looks like I'm taking all the risk and the Ministry is able to wash his hands of him. He tried to stop me from doing that, fine, but there was a reason he did it in secret, you know? There are too many people who would be too interested in what he was doing if he acted openly."

The expression on Draco's face had become merely tolerant about halfway through the speech, and now he shook his head and snorted. "Yes, I know all that. I probably know more about politics than you've forgotten."

Which is a lot, his tone implied. Harry smiled and leaned in, closer, until the point where he saw Draco's eyes almost cross trying to keep track of him. "You probably have," he agreed. "So let's move on to something that I can teach you."

"What's that?" Draco squirmed against him, eyes bright, and slid a hand down Harry's chest. "Because if you mean to introduce me to matters of making love with a werewolf—"

"I do," said Harry, and heavily enough that Draco stopped squirming and looked at him. "Turn over."

For a second, the pink came back, flooding Draco's face, and he hesitated as if he didn't know what to do. Harry just held still, calmly watching Draco, not touching him. He didn't need to. Their combined will, his power, and Draco's desire beat in the air between them like the beating of copper wings.

Draco finally swallowed heavily and rolled, his legs sprawling open. He still wore robes, as did Harry, for that matter. They had fallen into bed together tired from the debate with the pack over whether a human could be accepted as fully equal to a werewolf.

Harry had pointed out that Draco smelt like pack, since Harry had spent so much time with him, thought of him that way, and could affect him with his power, and his followers had to agree with that. It wasn't just being a werewolf that made someone part of a pack, after all, or Ninian could have stayed. In the end, scent and Draco having a place mattered much more.

And Harry was glad they did. He didn't want to give Draco up, didn't want to wave goodbye as he headed off to Malfoy Manor or some other place, even if he knew that Draco would visit regularly.

He wanted scent in the Forest with him, a body beside him to touch and rub and rut against, someone who would stare at him with flushed cheeks and panting mouth on a daily basis. He knew that eventually, he and Draco would discover other things they valued, too, and it would be a stronger bond than even the sexual one connecting them.

For that to happen, though, the pack had needed to accept Draco, and grant him a place within its boundaries that had nothing to do with whether he was Harry's lover or not. Harry was content that they'd done so.

"Oh, Merlin," said Draco in an apprehensive little voice.

Harry laid a hand in the middle of Draco's back, and glanced at the walls and windows. "Is something wrong?" He wondered if Draco was having second thoughts, or maybe entertaining doubts about whether other werewolves would accept him as Harry's lover even if they thought of him as part of the pack.

Draco buried his head in his arm laid along the pillow, and his resulting mutter was gibberish to Harry's ears. Harry poked him a little. "English, please."

"I'll take your bloody fucking English and…" Draco trailed off as he turned and met Harry's eyes. He promptly shivered and lowered his gaze and said, "I want you to fuck me like I haven't wanted anything in a long time, all right? It's embarrassing."

Harry was on him in a second, unable to hold back once he heard Draco make that confession, that sound of desire. He kissed Draco hard enough to strain Draco's neck, and then put his head back down on the pillow and whispered, "You can just lie there and let me take care of you."

From the massive shudder that filled Draco's body, Harry reckoned that was indeed a welcome option. He smiled and began stripping Draco with gentle motions, only having to roll him to the side once or twice when he lay on the material of his robes.

And Harry wasn't ashamed to confess that his hands trembled as he did it, or that his mouth filled with saliva.

It felt like this had been a long time coming.

Draco had almost convinced himself that as long as he kept his red face firmly pressed against his arm, where it essentially served as a heating blanket, he had nothing to worry about.

Almost.

But it felt so sensual, the way Harry was stripping him, sweet and protracted and it made all his skin flush and tingle as if he was a child again. He knew no one was looking in or listening in; the werewolves' houses stood a considerable distance apart from each other in the clearings for a reason. But he wondered if his scent would float to them and what it would make them think.

His breathing was fast and shallow, and Harry paused with a hand on the nape of his neck. "You're really all right?" he whispered.

Draco concentrated on the ache in his groin and lungs and arse instead of the flush of his skin and replied, "I won't be if you take too much longer."

Harry's voice came out almost as a growl, a laugh, relieved, and he started taking Draco's clothes off again. Draco rolled to the side so that Harry could get the robes that were bunched around his waist, and Harry took the chance to lean forwards and connect their gazes.

Draco felt his face flush again. He was no submissive werewolf, or someone who wanted to challenge Harry by looking into his eyes, either, but it was heady to be the focus of that much intense attention.

Harry licked his lips and barely held back a pant. He was smiling as he removed his own robes, and Draco reached out and let his hand linger on a silvery, sunburst-shaped scar on Harry's shoulder.

"That's not even the infection scar," Harry told him cheerfully. "Just a scar from one of the first fights that I had when I was becoming pack leader and they mandated fighting in wolf form instead of in a wizards' duel."

Draco didn't say anything. It was still a scar from the teeth of a werewolf, and that made it significant enough for him.

Harry appeared impatient with his silence, and started kissing him again. Draco rolled over easily, going with it, his body warm but his breath as shallow and rushed as if he was cold. Harry bent down and reached for his wand, murmuring, "How often have you done this?"

Draco was tempted to misunderstand and make a smart comment in response, but Harry caught his eyes again and he realized that he couldn't do that. Didn't want to.

Didn't want to waste the time, he admitted to himself a minute later. There was teasing and foreplay, those had their places, but Draco thought he'd had enough of them for the whole bloody pack.

"Not recently," he said. "Often enough, before that."

Harry nodded, and Draco slowly relaxed; Harry wasn't going to ask for details or who would want to sleep with someone who'd been a Death Eater. And Draco wouldn't have to admit that sometimes he'd taken comfort where he could find it.

Harry cast a spell that coated his fingers with gobs of clear, sticky lube. Draco reached down and hauled his legs up, eying Harry's fingers a bit dubiously.

"I've never had that kind before. Is it cold?"

Harry didn't answer, and Draco glanced up at him.

A second later, he began to smile, and couldn't help it. Where the news of his past lovers hadn't stopped Harry in his tracks, the sight of Draco's arse and spread legs did. His eyes already looked a little glazed.

Draco arched his neck, feeling in control for the first time since Harry had rolled him over. He tilted his head and his legs back at the same time, glad now for the intense physical training that all the Unspeakables were put through, although it had been bothersome enough when he had to do it.

"What I want to do to you," Harry said, his voice a growl, and then he reached out and skimmed his fingers lightly over Draco's arsehole.

Draco jumped in spite of himself, and muttered, "That lube is cold. I want you to warm it up before you slide into me."

Harry made a loud sucking or slurping sound; it was hard to tell which. Draco relaxed back against the pillow and let his legs drop. He knew Harry had the motivation now not only to make the lube warm, but to reach anywhere that he couldn't reach right now.

Harry's hands parted his legs gently, leaving smears of lube on the inside of Draco's thighs. Draco opened his mouth to protest again, but then Harry cast a spell, and Draco relaxed into shivering warmth.

"You like that," Harry whispered.

Draco didn't complain, because it would make him look stupid, and he didn't want to. He didn't want to disparage Harry's efforts, either, not when they meant he would get a good fucking soon. He just tucked his legs out of the way and shivered in something Harry couldn't mistake as anything but pleasure when Harry reached inside him.

All the lube was warm, now, and Draco didn't need to make another protest. If he groaned, there were other reasons for that than discomfort. If he parted his legs and slid his heels hard on the sheets of the bed, that could be attributed to him wanting to make sure that Harry had room for his head and hands.

Harry stretched him with hands that shook only occasionally, and then whispered, in a voice that had an odd component of reverence to it, "Draco, can you look at me?"

Draco turned his head and fixed eyes that he knew were bright on Harry's face.

"Good," said Harry. "I want you to go on looking at me, no matter how hard it gets." And he started sliding into Draco's body before Draco could make any jokes about his unfortunate choice of words.

Or not so unfortunate, Draco thought, and arched his back. God, that felt good, even where it would have felt painful in the past. Or maybe he was just getting distracted by the fact that his emptiness had been more painful up until now.

Harry settled himself fully inside Draco, his eyes closed, puffing a little.

"You're cheating," Draco said mildly. "You wanted me to look at you, but you closed your eyes because of the sensation."

"Only because it was so intense," Harry said quickly, and opened his eyes again.

Draco had to smile, and reach up to link his fingers with Harry's, so Harry would know he was kidding. The only thing that he wanted to share was Harry was an equal relationship. He never wanted Harry to feel guilty or indebted to him.

At least, from the rapturous smile that spread across Harry's face as he began to move, that was the last thing he felt right now.

And Draco didn't feel it, either. He was pushing back with his arse against Harry's cock, feeling it so deep inside him that it drove out all the emptiness and almost all the desire. This was desire fulfilled, joy and pleasure and happiness.

He would find other things to do with Harry later, but for now, this was what he wanted, and what he was getting.

Harry gave it to him hard, his lip caught between his teeth. Draco tried to say something teasing and flirtatious then, something about how it was a good thing Harry was already a werewolf so he couldn't turn himself again, but it wouldn't come out through his hoarse moans and the sound of the bed creaking.

I hope a werewolf isn't strong enough to break a bed, Draco thought, a second before his back bowed and he had to hope that an orgasm wasn't strong enough to break a werewolf bed.

Harry followed him a minute later, his back bowed, too, and a triumphant noise that had a little too much of the howl in it for Draco's taste breaking from his lips. He slumped over Draco with a motion that Draco tried to protest, but both of them were still catching their breaths.

"I really, really wanted that," said Harry, and curled up around him, nuzzling Draco's neck.

Draco closed his eyes and was silently smug, because he had, too.

Harry paced slowly around the big, blond werewolf. They had met him at the Azkaban gates, and the first thing Tyr Thornsberry had done was growl at Harry.

He had looked more than a little unnerved when Harry didn't growl back, and now he was standing still with his head stiffly uplifted, his arms folded, so obviously preventing himself from spinning to confront Harry that it was its own kind of loss of face.

Harry came to a stop, and nodded. He thought that Greyback's mark on Thornsberry actually wasn't as deep as it could have been. Five years in Azkaban had weakened it.

And the man's eyes on him were full of a feral glow that Harry recognized. Not the desire to attack, the way the human-formed people hovering just out of reach with cameras probably assumed. The hunger for a pack, for people like him.

"These are the rules," Harry said gently. "You hunt the full moon with us tonight." He saw Thornsberry's eyes burning even brighter, and smiled. He probably made a magnificent wolf. "You take Wolfsbane. You obey me. You don't challenge me for pack leader for at least a month. You don't talk about hunting or killing people who aren't werewolves."

Thornsberry blinked, but said only, "Why the last one?"

"Because my mate isn't one," said Harry, and nodded to Draco, who had been standing behind him all the time. Harry wasn't surprised that Thornsberry hadn't noticed him, though. He was fairly focused on his new pack leader, which was of course all to the good.

Thornsberry stared some more. Then he said, "Those are rules that I can put up with for a month…pack leader."

"Good," said Harry, and he would have Apparated them back to the Forbidden Forest. There was still the ritual of greeting to go through with the pack, and the way that Thornsberry would disrupt their hierarchies.

But Thornsberry only stood there, and when Harry glanced at him with a bit of impatience, he said, "Is your mate going to join us on the hunt tonight?"

Harry glanced back at Draco. "He can answer that for himself."

Draco gave Thornsberry a slow smile, and saw him start and stare, his nostrils working as if he wanted to catch all the nuances of Draco's scent. Yes, Draco thought. Good. I know how to deal with bullies among the Unspeakables, and you're far less subtle than Heldeson was.

He inclined his head. "For now, I'm going to use spells to run along as fast as you can, and observe. Perhaps I'll join the kill next time."

Thornsberry blinked a few times, and then abruptly inclined his head and gave Draco a half-bow. "A worthy mate for you to have, pack leader," he said.

Draco reached out and laid his hand casually on Harry's arm. "I'll see you later," he said. "I'm going to go back to the Manor and take a look at a few artifacts."

Harry nodded and kissed him, and Draco reveled in that, that sign of life and desire in this bleak, grey place, and their joined but not identical lives. "I'll see you no later than moonrise."

His voice contained a slight warning, but Draco only had to smile and say, "I've seen you transformed before, if you're so anxious to show yourself off," to win a smile and a laugh from Harry, and a blink from Thornsberry.

Draco stepped into the only area free of spells preventing Apparition and left, his spirit soaring and snapping like a banner on the wind.

They wanted to use me as a tool. I proved that I'm not. That's more than enough to be happy about.

The End.