Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his Pack are all mine.

Author's Note:

Life has just been a swine to me for the past year. Please forgive me for such a long hiatus, and let me know you're still reading! Will be updating YWNKM shortly.

Recap:

We left the last chapter with Alphard having taken Angharad to a Muggle hospital for her delivery because his own magic became Dark when he tried to help with her labour. A baby girl was born, and Idris named her Rowan. Alphard has realised that Sanguimancy is implicated in the curse.

Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

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Chapter 20: Succumbing

Angharad slept in the ugly metal contraption that passed for a bed in the Muggle hospital. Idris sat, unwilling to relinquish the small bundle to the nurse who wanted to check her.

"Really, Mr. Lydiard," the nurse said, clearly exasperated. "I just need to check baby."

"Rowan," Idris snarled. "My daughter's name is Rowan."

The nurse flinched, and Alphard placed his palm gently on Idris's shoulder to reassure him. Idris looked up to Alphard's face, and felt himself calm slightly, knowing instinctively that Alphard was concerned about any accidental magic from Idris's emotional state.

"I'm sure the nurse will let you have Rowan back as quickly as possible," said Alphard softly. The nurse nodded at him and reached for the baby again, although her gesture was now tentative. Idris handed her over. "Angharad's coming round now. Come and sit with her."

Idris scraped his chair closer to her bed and held her hand as her eyelids flickered and she murmured, "My baby? Where's my baby?"

Alphard stood to the other side of her bed, holding her wrist gently to check her pulse as the nurse bustled over and laid the baby on Angharad's chest. Angharad made a soft noise of pleasure as the baby nestled against her and Idris rose and bent over to place a kiss on Angharad's lips.

Quietly, Alphard watched Idris and Angharad, noting Idris's worsening pallor and the slight tremble in his hands, and then slipped from the room. He fingered the phial of Angharad's blood secreted in one of his pockets which he had collected surreptitiously during the delivery to attempt to Scry for the one who had cursed her. As he twirled the top absent-mindedly, he wondered if Iolo and Gwynfor were any worse.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Gwynfor and Iolo waited patiently in the Relatives' Room. It had been hours since they had seen anything of Idris or Alphard. Alphard hoped they had not been too worried by their lack of communication as he entered through the door, his arms full of packaged sandwiches, bags of crisps and tins of carbonated sweet drinks. He didn't know what the werewolves would make of the food he was giving them, which he had just brought from the staff restaurant with the aid of yet another Confundus Charm.

The two werewolves started from their seats on seeing him.

"Alf!" cried Iolo. "Is that food? I'm starving."

"God, so am I!" gasped Gwynfor. "But we've been so worried. Nobody's given as any news. Is everything okay with the baby?"

Alphard gave each man a pack of sandwiches. "Yes, everything's fine with the baby." He paused and smiled. "It's a girl! Rowan. She's so very, very beautiful." Alphard felt his voice thicken with emotion. He was very happy and so unbelievably proud as he smiled at these men, one of whom was the baby's half-brother. He grinned widely at Iolo.

"I have a sister?" exclaimed Iolo. "I've always wanted a sister!" Then he laughed, but his laughter turned to coughing, and Alphard helped him to his seat once more.

"You're burning up!" said Alphard, pressing his palm to Iolo's forehead. Alphard quickly looked to Gwynfor. Alphard frowned as he saw that Gwynfor was just as pasty looking. He beckoned him forward and quickly took his pulse. It raced. Without a doubt, these men were more poorly than they had been when they had all first arrived.

Alphard felt a frisson of fear that possibly these men were also cursed as Angharad had been and any magic he might use could rebound on them. However, he quickly pushed that fear aside: he was in a hospital after all - he had a whole building full of medical assistance, should he need it.

"How do you both feel?" he asked.

"Bloody awful," Iolo said. "I don't remember ever having felt this bad afore. My head aches and my chest –" Iolo clutched at his coat, and shook his head. "Sometimes it hurts to breathe!"

"Me too," said Gwynfor.

Alphard knew he couldn't dismiss this as coincidence. It could well be that the werewolves in the Pack merely all had the same infection, but Alphard knew better: werewolves were immensely robust Dark creatures. They didn't fall prey to run-of-the-mill infections, nor did bad meat seem likely, given the symptoms. Was it possible that each had fallen prey to this curse? He dared not cast any diagnostic spells.

"Right," said Alphard. "I want you to eat as much as you can." He gestured to the packaged food. "And then I'll see about getting some medicine."

"What's this then?" asked Iolo, turning the plastic packaging over in his hands.

"That's plastic, that is. Keeps the food fresh. You've seen plastic before, surely?" laughed Gwynfor.

"Not really," said Iolo, watching as Gwynor took his own package and stripped away the film from the top and pulled out the sandwich very deliberately to show Iolo.

"See?" Gwynfor said, and took a bite. Then he picked up the tin of fizzy drink and pulled the ring-pull to open it and drank deeply, making a smacking sound with his lips. "Lovely!"

Iolo wrinkled his nose at the overpoweringly sweet smell from the drink Gwynfor had opened and the crackling noise it seemed to make in the tin, and then opened his own tin and drank, making a soft noise of surprise as the bubbles tingled on his tongue and down his throat. He wasn't sure it even tasted real – more of an approximation of what berries tasted like, but with a strange bitter aftertaste. He had certainly never had anything like that at the roundhouse.

Alphard watched the two men, listening to how heavily they breathed and how even eating seemed to overexert them. Then he ate his own sandwich, finding the white bread strangely bland and the filling almost unidentifiable. He copied Gwynfor opening the tin can and scowled slightly at the chemical taste. Still, it was all they had on offer here and it would have to do. Once they had finished, Alphard disposed of the rubbish and stood.

"I'm going to find a Muggle doctor just to check you both over." Both men looked at him anxiously. "Don't worry. I'm just concerned that you may have the same reaction to magic Angharad had. I need to make sure, you understand?"

The werewolves looked at each other and then back to Alphard, and nodded. Alphard tried to reassure them with a smile and then went to find a doctor.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Alphard wasn't particularly proud of casting yet another Confundus Charm on the doctor who had examined Angharad and Rowan and then Idris, and who now examined Iolo and Gwynfor under Alphard's guidance. However, he needed to ensure that certain examinations were not made or blood tests taken. He knew Muggles would spot the abnormalities of Lycanthropy; he needed to ensure that they didn't come to the attention of Muggle or magical authorities through alarms being raised on any extraordinary test results. Quasi-wolf DNA present in human blood would definitely be such a trigger.

The doctor confirmed that all were suffering the same symptoms: low grade fever, headache, aching limbs, some chest congestion and nausea. As soon as the doctor suggested blood tests, Alphard Confunded the suggestion away. It wouldn't even be useful as no Muggle blood tests could trace a curse anyway; however, their medicines, with their powerful chemical combinations, were the only hope Alphard had of relieving the symptoms of the curse that seemed to be afflicting them.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

"Rowan hasn't fed yet," said Angharad quietly, trying not to disturb Idris, who was dozing in the chair next to her bed, unusual in itself for the usually vigorous Alpha. "She seems to be so lethargic."

"That's the anaesthetic you had. Rowan is still feeling the effects," said Alphard. "She'll come round soon, and be ravenous, I'm sure."

Angharad nodded, biting her bottom lip. "I hope so. I've never … I've never had trouble feeding any of my cubs before." She sighed. "But I've never felt so unwell before."

Alphard saw Angharad touch her stomach where her Caesarean incision was, and felt a stab of guilt as he saw tears form in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, dear heart. I wouldn't have put you through that if it hadn't been necessary."

"Oh, Alf, I know. It's just – I feel so helpless, not using magic, or doing anything as I normally would. I still can't really feel my legs and this thing hurts my hand."

Alphard sat on the bed next to her and held her hand to look at the cannula in the back of her hand that had been used for an intravenous drip during the operation. He still maintained Muggle medicine was barbaric but there was no doubt that she was faring better under it than she would have done if he'd tried to treat her with magic. He held her wrist to take her pulse. Unlike the other three, her pulse was strong and steady. He checked her chart: her blood pressure and temperature were normal.

"I'll see if that can be removed," said Alphard. "You'll be more comfortable then. The doctor told me you'll be numb for a couple of hours yet, but it'll wear off, I promise."

"I want to go home, Alf," Angharad whispered plaintively.

"I know. I'm just worried that I won't be able treat you if anything goes wrong. I spoke to the doctor, and Muggle mothers normally stay for two or three days after a Caesarean. I think it would be wise."

Alphard could see Angharad was unhappy about staying in this alien place, full of unnatural materials and chemical smells. But he also knew she would be in pain once the anaesthetic and painkillers had worn off completely and he was uneasy about her and the baby returning to the Pack when he was still unsure just what had been done to them.

"I trust you," she said with a sigh. "But do I have to stay here alone? Idris needs to return to the Pack, but I've never been away from my family like this."

"One of us can stay with you – me, Iolo or Gwynfor," he offered.

Angharad looked at him shrewdly. "But you're needed there too. It isn't just me that's ill, is it?"

Alphard picked up her hand again. "No, dear heart, it isn't. I don't know how many others may be ill too, but I don't deny that I'm worried by it. You are all always so strong."

Angharad watched his face, seeing his nervousness, so unlike his usual confidence in his medical skills. "You must go with Idris then, and help our family." She looked down at the baby sleeping in the crook of her arm. "I have my little Rowan to get strong, and Iolo or Gwynfor will be a comfort to me," she said resolutely.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Alphard, Idris and Gwynfor returned to the encampment by nightfall. Alphard had a bag of Muggle medications to reduce fever and headaches, and to combat nausea. They were strong medicines, although Alphard wasn't sure how efficacious they would be with Lycanthropic metabolisms. At least, he had them as a stand-by.

As they made their way through the charms, Alphard told Idris he had a phial of Angharad's blood and would try to use it as part of a Scrying ritual in the hope it might identify the Caster of the curse.

Geraint and Gareth met them, and Idris quickly told them what had happened with Angharad and sent them to call the Pack to him.

"I could try Priori Incantatem," suggested Idris as they trudged wearily to the clearing to await the others.

Alphard regarded Idris's sickly pallor and shook his head. "No, it would need to be done on every single wand. Even if we started with those we most suspect, each casting of the spell would hurt you. You can't risk it." This curse troubled Alphard greatly. Blood magic was as Dark as magic could be, and Alphard really wasn't sure that any werewolf there would have the requisite expertise in Sanguimancy.

"There may be no choice," Idris muttered, as they watched the Pack gradually gather in the clearing. It was immediately apparent to Alphard that all were unwell, coughing and wheezing, some shivering and leaning against each other, wrapped in blankets on this fine autumnal night.

After Idris answered some questions about Angharad's well-being and announced Rowan's birth, he held up his hand to speak to the crowd and the werewolves fell silent.

"Some of ye may know that we took Angharad to a Muggle hospital today to have her baby," Idris said. There was a ripple of murmurs, but Idris raised a placating hand again. "We did it because we believe she was cursed. And not just her, but likely all of us here." There were gasps and cries of consternation but Idris continued, raising his voice to quell the disruption. He knew what he had heard from Alphard's wand and how Ceinwen's casting had hurt Angharad; now he had to try to explain it to those who didn't hear as he did.

"Ye know I hear Wandsong." Many in the Pack nodded in acknowledgement. "Every spell cast to help Angharad turned Dark as it touched her. That's why we had to take her somewhere without magic."

"How d'you know it wasn't him?" interrupted Charles Frost, sneering as he pointed at Alphard. "A wizard in a pack of werewolves – it's not right!"

"Watch what you say, Frost!" barked Idris, anger overcoming his growing weakness. Frost, still looking resentful, looked to the ground, as his wife tried to hush him. "D'ye think I wouldn't know? It wasn't just Alf's magic I heard go Dark. Can any of ye say your magic feels right? That ye don't feel weaker for casting even simple spells?"

Idris knew no-one in the Pack could gainsay his gift for Wandsong and he watched as those who had wands looked to each other or to their wands, recollecting recent spells, and he knew realisation was dawning for them as they talked excitedly amongst themselves.

"So what are we to do? Stop using magic?" asked Roberta Frost nervously, clenching her husband's hand to stop him speaking further.

"Aye, that's exactly what we need to do."

Part of the crowd erupted in protest, and Idris noted immediately that it was those of the satellite packs and newcomers; his own Pack remained loyal, and each stowed their wands without demur. Some argued, and a few refused outright. Charles Frost was vocal in his opposition, even though his wife tried to calm him down. Stacy, now always partially transformed, objected, but with quiet obstinacy.

"Listen to me!" growled Idris, and the protests faded. "Which one of ye here can tell me ye feel healthy, eh? Which one feels as strong as he did even a week ago?"

"I feel fine!" barked Frost.

"Oh aye, is that right?" Idris advanced. "Why then are ye sweating? What's wrong with your hand?" He pointed to Frost's hand, holding tightly to his wand, which trembled. "Not one of ye looks well to me. Something has happened here and I think we've been cursed. It doesn't take a Seer to work out why or who would want us ailing!"

All the werewolves assembled began to mutter again. Some looked terrified and some angry. Alphard stepped up next to Idris. Most turned to him expectantly. Nearly all the werewolves accepted and trusted Alphard now. He had been their healer for over two years and fought alongside them in the Battle of Cadr Idris, after all. The few that didn't were the more recent arrivals, like Frost, who watched Alphard with open suspicion and hatred, Idris saw.

"You have heard how Idris heard healing magic become Dark?" said Alphard. They nodded. "Had he not heard it, we wouldn't have known and ..." Alphard locked eyes with Frost, then with a few more of the dissenters "... and, in all honesty, I believe we wouldn't have known until it was too late to treat." There was another susurration of horrified whispers. "Now, there are Dark curses that can behave in this way. All we're asking is that you stop using magic whilst I research it. Once I find it, I can work on the counter-curse."

"Well, who's done it? That's what I want to know!" shouted Ben, Alpha of the Exmoor Pack that had joined Snowdon two years ago. "Finding 'em and killing 'em will put paid to their curse soon enough! What are you waiting for?" A resounding shout of agreement from the Exmoor werewolves greeted this pronouncement.

"Aye, it would at that," barked Idris. "And how d'ye propose we find them ... without magic?"

The shouting subsided as Idris stood his ground, glowering at Ben and his Betas. The air took on a dangerous charge at that moment. "Perhaps, ye'd like to Scry yourself?" Idris's voice dripped with scorn. The werewolves began to look anxiously between the two Alphas. Alphard's breath caught as he understood what could happen.

Idris straightened, even though a band of pain constricted his lungs. "This is going to be a trial for us," he said, fixing on Ben, Alpha to Alpha. "We don't need to guess where such a curse has come from, do we?" Ben stood straight now, his own power bristling. He held Idris's challenging stare and his own eyes narrowed, clearly calculating whether to give the challenge to the Alpha who had been so hospitable in taking them in, and away from Greyback. Idris continued, "I reckon it would suit some folk if'n we fought amongst ourselves ... but I don't think we should give them that satisfaction."

Idris and Ben held each other's unflinching gaze then - at last - Ben nodded and stood down. The atmosphere broke. "I make you right. We're safe under these enchantments, even if we can't use magic."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

They had been in such a rush to get Angharad the urgent help she needed, Alphard had had no time to consider exactly what had befallen her and her fellow Pack-mates. After the meeting, he had filled a whole length of parchment with notes on Angharad, Idris, Iolo and Gwynfor. He had been meticulous in detailing every symptom and change over the hours they had spent together. Only Angharad had shown improvement, but the others had degenerated. Meanwhile, he had set Lupin to doing some research from his library, as Alphard went to the roundhouse, not for sleep - although he desperately needed it - but to check on the Pack members there and then to make his rounds of the tents outside. He had no doubt that this would be a very long night indeed.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Idris pinched the bridge of nose as he sat on the ground against a tree. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he could not focus on what he was doing and his head was pounding. He set aside the wand he had been working on and looked around the clearing that was dappled in mid-morning sunlight.

The few werewolves who were around looked unwell and worn out. A couple returned from the brook outside the camp with buckets of fresh water. Since Idris had banned magic, the werewolves had even been forbidden to cast Aguamenti. By the look of these two, Idris wondered if they would even be capable of collecting water soon. Only Alphard seemed to be unaffected by whatever was making the werewolves ill. Idris hoped it would stay that way. Angharad and the baby were still at the hospital, and seemed the better for it. Alphard wanted Angharad to stay there as long as possible, but she would have to come home soon. The full moon could not be delayed.

They were lucky they had Alphard, Idris thought. He looked over to the roundhouse where his mate had spent the morning tending the elderly werewolves whose symptoms were much worse. Idris let his head fall back against the tree. He was so tired, he could just drift off ...

He shook himself awake. He never slept during the day, and he was angry with himself. But his anger was short-lived as he saw Gareth hurrying towards him.

"It's Dai," gasped Gareth, trying to catch his breath. "Alf says to come now! He says – he says it won't be long."

A shiver chased down Idris's spine, and he lurched off the ground and turned quickly to his son. He reeled slightly with dizziness, steadied himself, and followed Gareth back into the roundhouse and to the far cot that was Dai's. Alphard was sitting to the side of the cot, holding a basin in front of Dai whose frail frame was racked with coughing. Idris saw blood splatter into the basin and he moved to stand by the side of Dai's bed as Alphard wiped the blood away.

"Let me," Idris said, and took the cloth from Alphard. Alphard nodded and stood so Idris could take his place at Dai's side. As carefully as he could, he wiped Dai's chin, as the old, clouded eyes, wet with tears from prolonged coughing, found his own.

"Nearly done now, boy," wheezed Dai, his gnarled, wasted hand clasping Idris's as it passed over Dai's chin.

"Aye," murmured Idris, feeling the backs of his eyes sting, remembering this man standing over fifteen-year-old Idris's bed when Dai had saved Idris from dying on the mountain – this man who had taught him and guided him in the ways of the Pack. Idris had repaid him as well as he could – he had changed the Pack's ways so their elderly were cared for to the end of their natural days, and not put out of the Pack. He remembered how some of the older werewolves had thought him soft; Idris hadn't cared. He was determined never to become less than human, if he could help it.

He rinsed the cloth and wiped again, noting the tremor in Dai's hand and the rasping of his breath. He wanted to tell Dai that he loved him – that his kindness and guidance had saved Idris in so many ways after his own father's rejection. But he didn't have the words, so he cleansed Dai's face with as much tenderness as he could manage.

"Stay."

The word was barely audible. Idris looked into Dai's eyes again and saw the tiredness and the pain in them. No, it wouldn't be long now.

"Aye, I'll stay," Idris said quietly, his voice breaking on the final word. He remembered thinking he had heard his mother singing as he had curled up to die that night on the mountain. It had probably been Dai's mate Eleri who had sung to comfort him. He had never asked because he had wanted to believe his mother's spirit had watched over him. Now, as he held Dai's trembling hand and listened to his rattling breath, he knew in his heart it had been Eleri. He wondered how much Dai missed her; she had died so many years ago. Without thinking, he hummed the tune of the Welsh lullaby, finding his throat too closed to form the words, but hoping Dai would understand. As his deep hum sounded the refrain, he saw Dai close his eyes and a vague smile flit over Dai's face – then it was gone.

Idris counted Dai's hesitant, ragged breaths drawn in and expelled, the interval between each rattling breath increasing. And then - there were no more.

He felt Dai's hand lose all its warmth. All Idris could hear now was his own laboured breathing. He patted Dai's hand, now cold and white, then stood and placed a gentle kiss on Dai's forehead to say goodbye.

Idris closed his eyes, as an image came to him unbidden of his own father dying alone in the farmhouse in the valley below. His fingers pressed to his lips as his eyes screwed up against the image. His father had chased Idris away – why should Idris now feel this terrible sorrow for such a lonely passing?

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Dai's death was just the beginning.

Within one day, all the elderly werewolves had died, and then the very young succumbed to high fever and vomiting. Alphard went from cot to cot to try to alleviate the symptoms in his ever-increasing number of patients, using only those medicines he had brought back from the Muggle hospital with him.

Even the adult werewolves were quickly becoming weaker and most took to their cots in the roundhouse or their tents. Only Stacy and Lupin were strong enough to carry the bodies of the dead to Alphard's tent. Since the werewolves had been forbidden from using magic, and most were visibly weakening by the hour themselves, Alphard had assumed the responsibility for moving the bodies from the encampment. Disillusioning himself and each body in case there were Snatchers abroad, he Levitated each one singly to the re-built barns of the farmhouse, placing them under Stasis Charms, so they could be sent on with ceremonial pyres when the others recovered.

When.

Alphard wondered whether he should be saying 'if' and then cursed himself. But he couldn't deny that he was beginning to question whether he was capable of finding this counter-curse. He and Lupin had found nothing so far.

He laid the last elderly werewolf in the makeshift mortuary and cast the Stasis Charm, which glowed green around the body, then he moved to the centre of the barn and cast more protective enchantments around it. Lupin already had enchantments in place on the barn, but Idris had made Alphard swear to cast more. Alphard supposed he could hardly blame him. No-one could claim Idris didn't have good cause to be fearful, especially as Alphard would be undertaking the Scrying ritual here, away from the Pack.

The ritual required a lot of magic and he had been adamant - despite Idris's protests that Alphard take Stacy or Lupin with him - that no werewolf be near him when he cast. He prepared the barn floor with sigils and runes and placed a ceremonial bowl in the centre. He unscrewed the phial of Angharad's blood and emptied it into the bowl. He raised his wand as he incanted several Scrying Charms to try to identify the Caster of the recent curse contained in the blood.

The blood began to boil and tendrils of smoke rose from it. Through the veil of smoke, Alphard watched as the visage of a beautiful woman formed, dark of hair and eye. He was right! There was a curse and this was the Caster! But it was no-one Alphard knew, and certainly no werewolf. He could have yelled in frustration – how on earth could he find out who she was?

This catches us up to the last published chapter of You Will Not Kiss Me. Chapter 117 of that story will follow shortly as Snape joins the Pack to try to find the various parts of the counter-curse before it's too late.

Many thanks to Smurny, Illayne, Aynslesa and Offliner for your reviews.