Wizards and Werewolves Don't Mix

Summary: When Fenrir Greyback spends a night with Harry Potter, the last thing he's expecting is to start a relationship with the young wizard. But when Harry turns up pregnant, what is a werewolf to do? MPREG

Disclaimer: The world and characters of Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling

Warnings: MPREG, Adult content/language, sexual situations

Taking a page out of some of my fellow fanfic writer's books, I'm basing a fanfic off a fun little-known rom-com. This particular story is based off the movie Fools Rush In starring Matthew Perry and Salma Hayek. It's a cute story that I've decided to adjust into a Fenrir/Harry fanfic as a little writing exercise. It's been a litte while since I read the books/watched the movies so there may be some oversights.

This is my very first Fenrir Greyback/Harry Potter fanfic, so please let me know what you think.

CHAPTER ONE - Crossing Paths

Fenrir Greyback is the werewolf of all werewolves, there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. The fearsome man has been acknowledged as such throughout the entire magical world and for the majority of his life.

After the fall of Voldemort, the werewolf immediately went to work making sure his canine brethren were protected. His position as Werewolf Lord may have been self appointed, however it is one he takes with utmost seriousness. The savagery that Fenrir had always been known for, now had an express purpose—protecting his packs. His method of turning children may have been questionable, but it achieved the man's goal and Europe's werewolf population has never been higher. An affliction has been properly classified into a group of people that could no longer be ignored, no matter how vehemently the Ministry fought to do so. But, instead of sicing his packs on the wizards of England, Fenrir surprised them all. He offered their assistance in the post-war Wizarding World. With his acumen for striking deals(A skill he may have picked up form the former Dark Lord, himself), Fenrir Greyback avoided Askaban and execution while simultaneously rewriting the laws regarding the rights of werewolves.

And at the moment, the lycan is on his way to meet with the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, himself.

As he walks through the halls of the Ministry, Fenrir's imposing figure easily clears his way. The worn leather coat he wears stretches across his broad chest, the heavy fabric swaying behind him with each stride. Piercing eyes size up the witches and wizards that quicken their pace as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. A smirk appears on Fenrir's face at the discomfort his presence instills in them. Yet, despite the fleeting entertainment of scaring Ministry employees, the man quickens his steps—his inner wolf hating the oppressive building. Navigating the world of wizarding politics at times is as deadly as the dense forests Fenrir's packs call home, even with the changes being made to Pureblood policies. The bureaucracy and manipulations emanating throughout the building always sets Fenrir's instincts on edge. With a grumble to himself, the werewolf continues his journey as thick boots create a steady beat as he continues through the torch-lit marble corridors.

Upon reaching his desired location, he walks right by the sputtering receptionist. The witch's pleading with the infamous werewolf to let her warn the Minister of his arrival falls onto deaf ears as Fenrir marches right into the office of the Minister of Magic.

"Hullo, Minister."

At the greeting, the man looks up from his paperwork. His full lips are set in a firm line as he looks over the werewolf.

"Fenrir Greyback, to what do I owe the pleasure?" greets Kingsley, his deep eyes taking in the creature before him.

"Thought you like to know that those upstarts in the Black Forest you were worryin' about are no longer a problem."

"Already? You only left a few days ago. It took my best Aurors a month just to find their location."

Rolling his eyes at the honest surprise written on the man's dark face, Fenrir makes himself comfortable in the chair before the Minister's desk. The lycanthrope not caring one bit that the furniture was hand-carved by elves before resting his feet on it.

"You wanted them gone, right? When will you wizards learn not to send an Auror to do a werewolf's job? That was always Voldemort's problem. You lot depend too much on your sticks which do you shite much good in the depths of a dark forest. That's our domain," states Fenrir, his words turning into a growl. "My betas are taking them to Askaban as we speak."

"Excellent. If the public wouldn't have my head, I'd start recruiting my aurors from your packs."

"Get this straight, we aren't your errand boys. Those bastards were havin' their little meeting on pack territory. You're lucky there's enough left of 'em to take to Askaban."

The Minister offers a non-committed 'hmm' in acknowledgement of these words.

As part of the treaty between the werewolves and the Ministry, the lycanthropes help to round up the last remnants of Death Eaters and their supporters. In reality, that is the hardest job after the war. And it is a job well suited for werewolves as many of Voldemort's supporters fled into the dense forests or the old ruins of ancestral wizarding homes.

"That may be, Fenrir. However, it is in our best interest to help each other, is it not?" The Minister counters. "In any case, I do have some good news for you today. I have it on good authority that we at the Ministry have one last job for you to do and then you and your pack will be left to their own devices. Keeping in mind that you all adhere to the terms of the treaty, of course."

Between the two men, the air sizzles with tension. Fenrir is annoyed to be reminded of the freedom that the Ministry often dangles before him and his pack. Kingsley however, is loathe to admit that the werewolves are actually a huge asset to his Aurors. He hadn't been joking in his earlier remarks, it is an idea he makes note of to run by the young Head of the Auror department once he returns from his vacation.

"I'm listenin', Kingsley."

Interrupting him from his musings, Kingsley leans forward and rests his folded hands on the desk. He meets Fenrir's intense stare with an even gaze.

"The Forbidden Forest."

"Are you serious?" begins the larger man, a dark smirk on the wolf's face. "The Ministry really wants me and my pack around your precious students at Hogwarts?"

"The Forbidden Forest is a dangerous forest. Too much of it is unmapped and uncharted. Many parents would feel much better about sending their children away to Hogwarts if we had a better idea of the terrain as well as its residents."

"I was under the impression that the Forbidden Forest was supposed to be dangerous. Isn't that's why you lot all call it 'Forbidden', Minister?"

Catching the sarcasm, Kingsley's expression quickly becomes one lacking amusement.

"Well, if you and your pack can take away a bit of that mystery, it would ease a lot of uncertainty and questions about the school's security. The forest was too much of a liability during the war."

The werewolf takes in the information as he reaches up to scratch the stubble on his chin. After a moment of silence between the two, Fenrir raises an eyebrow.

"That all?"

"The Ministry wants it done before the next school term, so you have almost a year. We'll be sending a team of Aurors with you to map out your findings."

"Don't need 'em."

"Still, they will be accompanying you, anyway."

Rolling his eyes, Fenrir crosses his arms.

"Then make sure you send ones that can keep up. I ain't no babysitter."

"You'll also have use of one of the Ministry homes in Hogsmeade," continues Kinglsey, seemingly ignoring the werewolf's comments. His wand and attention busy transforming a iron key into a portkey. "This will take you to your temporary residence. My patronus will be keeping tabs on you and you may also use it to convey updates on your progress."

With a grumble, Fenrir stands up and takes the offered portkey before quickly stashing it in the folds of his coat. The lycanthrope turns on his heel and heads towards the door. But before he leaves, he stops and turns back around.

"The Forbidden Forest is a place that won't welcome intruders. Make sure that your Aurors aren't lackin' in their manners, they'll want to make a good first impression."

With that message and a cruel laugh, the werewolf leaves the office and heads straight for the Floo Network that brought him there in the first place.

Fenrir Greyback's next stop? Hopefully, a place low on wizards and, if possible, stocked with a good brew or two.

~A few hours later~

Downtown London is alive with couples of all types on dates and groups of friends filling local eateries and taverns. In a small pub known for it's locally-brewed ales, Harry Potter(Savior of the Wizarding World and the youngest Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic) is on the graffiti-ridden payphone in back. The dark-haired wizard doing his best to hear the person on the other end of the conversation over the din of the packed tavern.

"I know Hermione, but I'm not ready to tell Ron, quite yet. Ginny and I just broke up and we'll both tell him when we're ready . . . Look, I'll drop by the house later and we can have a long talk about it. . . . No, not tomorrow, I have to see Minister Kingsley. I really have to go now. . . Alright. Bye."

Hanging up the payphone, Harry returns over to the line waiting for the bathroom. As always, it is impossibly long and unfortunately Harry really has to go to the bathroom. Seeing a gap near the front of the line, the wizard smiles in relief. Green eyes don't make the connection that the reason for this particular gap is the intimidating man occupying the bulk of it. The stranger's blue eyes are more focused on staring into space than any particular subject in the rowdy tavern. Taking advantage of his distracted gaze, Harry attempts to sneak into the line. It isn't something he would normally do, but the young wizard had a pint before the phone call he just made and it apparenly traveled right through him. He walks past the stranger as unassuming as he can muster and slips into the empty space right in front of the tall man. Once situated, Harry releases the breath he had been holding.

"Cutting in line, are we?"

Wincing at being caught, the wizard arranges his features as innocently as possible before turning around.

"Uh, no. You see, I was here first actually. I just had to use the telephone over there. But, um, before I could end my call the line moved, you see."

For a moment, the man regards the youth before him with an amused grin. Blue eyes take their time to appraise the lean body before him. Their owner seems to have no issue with how uncomfortable his appreciating gaze makes the green-eyed wizard.

"I'd think I'd remember waiting behind you."

The deep timbre of the voice that leaves the man's mouth does things to Harry that no voice should be able to do. Widened viridian eyes focus instead on the vaguely-familiar features of the man's face. Intense eyes stand out from the stranger's ruggedly-handsome visage while traces of old scars stand out on the tan skin. Thick, grey-streaked hair is pulled back into a short ponytail, though the urge to run his fingers through it crosses the wizard's mind. The large body practically blocks the rest of the pub from Harry's view, green eyes almost forced to rove over the muscle visible even beneath the man's clothing.

"Oy! Back of the line, Scrawny! We've all been waitin' here to use the loo!"

Jolted from their thoughts, both Harry and the stranger turn to the blonde man that had shouted at them. The wizard opens his mouth to apologize, but is surprised when he is interrupted.

"He's with me. Got a problem, with that?"

The question isn't asked loudly, however the subtle, yet inarguable dominance in the stranger's voice shuts the blonde up immediately.

"Thanks, you didn't have to do that," Harry offers with an amused smile.

"I wanted to. After all, it's not everyday I get to enjoy the company of the Harry James Potter. I wasn't going to let some rude muggle interrupt us."

At his full name, Harry's attention snaps immediately right back to the man's eyes. The high-level Auror a bit happy that the man before him is no muggle, not that he is willing to wonder why that is.

"Who are you?"

"I'm hurt, boy. We've met before. You'd think someone would remember meeting a werewolf."

The last bit is whispered into Harry ear, and he can't tell if the resulting shiver is from the information or the man's sudden proximity. Harry had only ever been acquainted with two werewolves in his life. The first being the late Remus Lupin, one of his father's best friends and father to his adorable god-son, Teddy Lupin. Pushing the emotions that stirs aside, Harry focuses his attention on the notorious werewolf in front of him now.

"Fenrir Greyback?"

"Aye, that's my name."

Harry is unsure how to react. Whatever twinges of interest he felt are pushed away as his mind bombards him all he knows about Fenrir Greyback. He had read some time ago in the Daily Prophet that the werewolf was working for the Ministry. The young wizard had even assigned some Aurors to his detail once or twice. However, meeting the dangerous man in the middle of a muggle pub in downtown London is beyond surreal. Part of him is defensive as Fenrir had turned Remus as a child and permanently scarred Bill Weasley, not to mention the countless others he had infected with lycanthropy. The werewolf had even been working for Voldemort, though he was never branded with the Dark Mark. Taking a look around the pub filled with vulnerable muggles, Harry narrows his eyes as he firms his voice.

"If you even think of turning anyone, I'll-"

"Calm down, pup and put the wand away," interrupts Fenrir, instantly noticing the wizard's fingers move towards his pocket. "Neither of us are going to do anythin' surrounded by all these muggles, now are we? Besides, I'm here on official Ministry business. I've got no interest turnin' any one, any more."

Realizing that it would do neither of them good to start any trouble, Harry relaxes a bit. He straightens himself to his full height, not that it would do any good compared to the mountain of a man known as Fenrir Greyback.

"Well then what exactly are you doing here? Last time I checked, the Ministry doesn't conduct business in pubs."

"I just came to get a drink. Can't stand that 'Butterbeer' you all like to drink. Muggles could teach you wizards how to brew a proper dark ale."

At the unexpected reply, Harry is surprised to find himself laughing. The sound makes a warm grin appear on the werewolf's face.

"Hey, lovebirds, the line's movin!"

Throwing the blonde near the end of the line another withering look, Fenrir turns his attention back to the wizard.

"After you," offers the elder, his hand pushing the Savior forward.

Following the man's nudge, Harry hurries into the bathroom, eager to hide his reddening face at the comment. However, the wizard pauses for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom.

"Um, thanks again for letting me skip in line. When I come back out, I'll treat you to a pint."

"I'll hold you to it."

A few drinks later, Fenrir and Harry find themselves sitting across from each other at a table in the pub. They are in an isolated corner so that their words won't be heard over the sounds of clinking glasses and multiple conversations around the room. The two make an odd pair, yet the alcohol has relaxed them both enough to enjoy each other's company.

"This is so weird," mentons Harry after a swallow of rich ale.

"What is?"

"You and I, Harry Potter and Fenrir Greyback, having a chat over a pint. A photo of us right now would probably make the front page of the Daily Prophet."

"You care too much about what others think."

The statement causes a tight laugh to leave Harry's throat.

"Easy for you to say, Fenrir. I'm the 'Savior of the Wizarding World'. Everything I do becomes every wizard and witch's business."

"Doesn't have to be that way. You're young, still got plenty of time to make your own name for yourself if you like. Besides, soon enough, they'll find somethin' else to talk about. You gotta remember that now that Voldemort's gone, the news ain't as interestin' as it used to be."

Considering the man's point for a moment, Harry finds himself smirking. A moment passes by as both men take a sip of their beers, the cold liquid flowing pleasantly down their throats. Harry flicks out his tongue to clear off the remnants of thick foam that has lingered on his lips.

"What about you?" asks the wizard, oblivious that he managed to transfix the powerful werewolf with a mere gesture.

"What about me?"

"You're Fenrir Greyback. That's a name with it's own problems, right?"

Recovering a bit, Fenrir leans forward in his seat. His features set as they regard the wizard before answering the rather-loaded question.

"I'm not ashamed of the choices I've made, if that's what you're askin'. Bein' a werewolf isn't an easy life. Our kind have been hunted by both muggles and wizards alike and we've been treated like pests rather than respected for what we are, like any other magical creature. I refused to live in fear so I put fear in those that would hunt me for their own self-satisfyin' needs or simply to hang my pelt on their walls. I made it so that we werewolves could no longer be ignored. At the end of the day, I'm no wizard and I'm no muggle, so I don't see much sense tryin' to live up to either of their standards. I live my life the way I choose."

As Harry listens to the man, an odd understanding resonates through him. He can't condone the werewolf's past actions, yet it has an odd logic to it. The Boy Who Lived knows all too well what living in fear is like, then again being the target for the darkest wizard of all time does change one's perspective. Remembering the pain and persecution that Remus encountered in his own life for something that wasn't even his fault causes an incongruous sense of respect to tinge Harry's opinion of the infamous werewolf.

"I can respect that I guess."

"You, on the other hand," begins Fenrir as he looks over the wizard before him. "Are letting other people define you. In my experience, that never ends well."

At the man's blunt words, Harry eyes narrow indignantly.

"I don't let anyone define me. I just know it's useless trying to change whatever "perfect" image of me that everyone else seems to already have on a proverbial pedestal. So, I just don't bother wasting my time. It's not my fault that I don't match their idea of who Harry Potter is supposed to be. Now that the world is finally and completely Voldemort-free, I'm finally going to live my life, my way."

"Now that, Harry Potter, I can respect."

As Fenrir takes a final swig to empty his glass, Harry uses the opportunity to once again study the large before him. His eyes appreciate the man's raw strength, knowing that if he choose to, Fenrir could demolish the table they are now sharing with ease. For some reason, the aura of power emanating from the Alpha werewolf is both appealing and strangely comforting.

"Like what you see, boy?"

At the teasing tone directed at him, Harry scoffs. The wizard finishing the last of his own ale with an amused smile.

"You wish."

"Alright boys, the pub is about to close," interrupts the bar maid as she collects their now empty glasses. Without looking at the bill, Fenrir hands her some bills to cover their tab.

"Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir," the woman replies with a smile. "Have a nice night, gents."

"I thought I was supposed to treat you?" asks Harry as the waitress walks away.

"You bought the first round, it's only fair I buy the last ones."

Standing up to put on his jacket, Harry's eyes widen as they realize that it is now well past midnight. His surprise that he has been civilly conversing with the werewolf for almost three hours is overshadowed as the time sinks in.

"Oh, bollocks. I was supposed to catch the Underground. It's going to take an hour to walk back home," comments Harry as he and Fenrir walk out of the closing pub together.

"Just apparate."

"I barely like doing it when I'm sober, I'm not going to risk it when I've had a few. Knowing my luck, I'd end up splinching myself."

Adjusting his own coat, a thought crosses the werewolf's mind as the weight of Minister Shacklebolt's parting gift shifts in his pocket.

"Then come with me, I have a house on the Ministry's tab with plenty of room. The Minister himself gave me a direct portkey to it."

The streets aren't as filled as they were earlier, however Harry and Fenrir walk close to each other as the make their way along the London street.

"Thanks, but I don't think that's a good idea, Fenrir. Sharing a pint is one thing, sharing a room is quite another."

"Afraid of the big, bad werewolf?"

Harry once again finds himself smirking at the werewolf's dry humor as he shakes his head.

"Not really, I know how to transfigure wood into metals. Specifically silver, if the situation calls for it. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I know. But what kind of gentleman would I be if I left 'The Boy Who Lived' up to his own devices? After all, who knows what trouble your pretty face would get into, eh?"

Weighing his options, Harry considers Fenrir's offer. After all, its not the full moon so it's not like the lycanthrope can turn him, even if he does bite him for whatever reason. And oddly enough, the wizard doesn't feel threatened by the werewolf. The man before him bears little resemblance to the beast of a man he met the night Dumbledore died. Not that the wildness isn't still there. After all, Fenrir Greyback is a man that exudes danger, no matter how good he looks at the moment.

Turning to face Fenrir directly, Harry's emerald eyes lock with intense blue ones.

"If I go with you tonight, no funny business, alright?"

Raising an eyebrow, Fenrir steps closer to Harry, having no issue invading the wizard's personal space. The werewolf feeling an odd, yet deeply-rooted need to establish his dominance over the wizard.

"What exactly is it that you think I'll do, pup?"

Harry is frozen in place by the intensity of Fenrir's stare. The last time he had felt so immobilized by a stare alone, he had been fearing for his life. However, this feeling is far from fear. In fact, Harry finds himself inexplicably drawn in by the unwavering gaze as his body subconsciously leans into the larger one.

"Fenrir, what's going on here?" whispers Harry, his viridian eyes darkening as they return the werewolf's stare.

Raising a hand to cup the wizard's soft cheek, his thumb lazily traces the outline of Harry's parted lips. A shiver travel through the wizard's body as Fenrir releases a low, possessive growl.

"Let's get out of here."

" . . . Okay."

Pulling the wizard into a dark alley, Fenrir tugs the thin body to his own before activating the portkey. Seconds later, after a whirl of magic, Harry and Fenrir are standing in a simple cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The simple yet comfortable décor of the house goes completely ignored as the two simply stare at each other. Neither wizard nor werewolf are able to distance themselves from the other. Perhaps driven by his seemingly-innate need to tempt Fate, Harry is the one that leans in first to close the gap.

The instant his lips make contact with Fenrir's, the young wizard finds himself engulfed by the strength and power that he had been admiring for the last three hours or so. An experimental grazing of lips quickly evolves into an intense exploration of each other's mouths. Overwhelming passion fuels them both as each man take their turn switching control. Tilting his head a bit to deepen their kiss, Harry moans lightly as low growls rumble in Fenrir's throat.

Without an exchange of words, Harry is effortlessly lifted up from the ground. His lean legs instinctually wrap around the werewolf's waist as the angle of their kiss changes. And despite the intense urgency of their current interactions, both men take their time savoring the kiss. The two can't seem to get enough as their mouths move in tandem against each other. With a few playful nips, Fenrir holds the lithe body tightly to him as he walks them both over to his bed.

The two continue kissing passionately while their clothes are carelessly ripped off their bodies and tossed out of sight and out of mind. Tanned, battle-scarred skin finally meets soft, pale flesh as the werewolf and wizard topple into the surprisingly-comfortable bed on the far side of the one-room cottage. It is quite some time before Harry pulls back, rather reluctantly, to catch his breath. But as he lies there panting on the bed of Fenrir Greyback, the influx of oxygen manages to clear his mind of the thick fog of lust, even with the man's distracting caresses of his body.

"Wait, mmm, wait, Fenrir, this is a bad idea-"

"You were the one that kissed me first, Potter," growls out the wolf as he starts kissing along the curve of Harry throat. A whimper escapes the young wizard's lips as Fenrir's sharp canines graze his skin. "Now you have to deal with the consequences."

"Y-yeah, I know that. But kissing and this are two different things. I don't do things like this, especially with-ah!-other men," Harry's ramblings are temporarily cut off as Fenrir discovers a sensitive spot on the wizard's neck. "Besides I just broke up with-"

"I really don't give a shite about your past lovers right now," states Fenrir bluntly. The large man is situated between Harry's spread-out thighs, his thick hair disheveled from the wizard's exploring fingers. "This is your call, pup, but if you don't stop me now, I can't guarantee I'll be able to stop later."

Harry stares up at the wild man above him as he turns over Fenrir's words in his mind. The lust-darkened eyes of the werewolf are focused on him, making his breath fall short with their unwavering intensity. Hands that have done Merlin-knows what, tortuously map out his body with a reverence that alights every nerve within Harry. Despite the glaringly-obvious reasons why he shouldn't continue this, it doesn't take long for the young wizard to come to a decision.

With his mind set, Harry reaches up and wraps his arms around Fenrir's thick neck to pull him back down. With a gentle tug, the larger body is once again settled on top of the wizard's lean one. The heat emanating from the man is intoxicating enough, but combined with the pure masculinity pouring off the aroused werewolf it is almost hallucinogenic. Viridian eyes close in pleasure as a whisper escapes Harry's lips.

". . . I don't want you to stop."

And with those words, the dark-haired wizard is overwhelmed by another smoldering kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

So, let me know what you think! I have the entire story mapped out, so I predict updates once a week(If it goes longer than that, I'll make it up to you all).

Until next time,

Later Days!

RENKA