HI everyone :)

It's a first for me; a Fenrir/Harry fic. Several people have done this pairing recently and I got inspired by the idea. Am I jumping on the bandwagan? Yes. Do I care? No XD
For those of you who have followed me from my Drarry writing, I say hello and offer cuddly hugs :D For those of you I don't know me and who are reading this simply because of the pairing, I also say hello and offer a hardy handshake :) I hope you like what you read and leave me a review :D

Right, we need some WARNINGS for this fic. Not only does it involve a sexual relationship between two males (that means SLASH, people), one of those males will be underage (though, just to make absolutely clear, will be at least a teenager and also very willing). If either those disturb you in any way, feel free to leave, I won't hold it against you. Also, there will be spoilers for Deathly Hallows. If you haven't read it all yet and don't want to know what Voldemort's Horcruxes are, you better go read the book first and then come back once you've finished it.

DISCLAIMER: Harry and his chums belong to J K Rowling, Bloomsbury and the movie-making dudes. I'm not making any money from this. If I was, then the fact I'm unemployed wouldn't be keeping me up at night.

Enough from me, on with our first chapter.

His nose close to the snow-covered ground, Fenrir growled lowly when he detected the faint scent of werewolf blood, familiar werewolf blood. The one who Sired him all those years ago, it was his blood, he'd recognise it anywhere. Above him, through the thin canopy of the trees, the sky was losing its darkness to the glowing peach of early morning meaning he had limited time to follow the scent trail and find the wounded werewolf. The track was still fresh and he knew that his Sire had only recently passed through (recently being anything within the past night).

He moved at a trot, his nose remaining low, his feet making little indentations in the thick layer of snow as he moved. The scent led him to a small clearing where there was an opening of an equally small cave and as the werewolf got closer, he realised that the scent of blood and his Sire was the most dense around the cave's mouth and further inside. It made sense; an injured animal always seeked shelter. There was another scent as well, one which wasn't familiar but made Fenrir's ear perk, his mouth salivate and his senses even more alert. He paused and lifted his head to glance around but saw nothing and so decided to leave the thought of the new scent for now; first he wanted to check on his Sire.

Carefully, he skulked closer to the cave entrance and entered it carefully. The coppery scent of diluted blood hit him strong which he thought was odd but supposed it may have been explained by the presence of the snow which may had clung to his Sire's fur and melted to dilute the blood. Through the darkness, amber eyes made out the collapsed form or another werewolf and the scent revealed that it was Fenrir's Sire. He gave a low growl, one which was more of concern than anything else and he went to close the distance between him and the other...

A hard, heavy weight suddenly cracked around the back of his head and because he wasn't expecting it, it knocked him off his balance and he staggered to the side slightly. An angry snarl escaped the silver werewolf at the impact and he immediately turned his head back to see what it was exactly that had dared to treat him in such a way. What he found, he had to admit, was rather startling.

In front of him, standing in between himself and his injured Sire, was a child, a male and human child, holding a large branch in his hands which was no doubt what he had used to hit Fenrir with. The boy couldn't have been any older than eight or nine he was so small and the adult size robe, the sleeves rolled up above the small elbows and the hem trailing on the ground, he was wearing didn't help make him look any older either. His hair was long and appeared to be clean and well kept, not looking tangled but simply messy. Cracked and dirty glasses which were obviously too small for his face covered hynotic green eyes and the skin was smudged with the odd patch of dirt but it was clear that beneath it there was a complexion which was quite pale.

"Stay back!" The boy ordered, holding the large, flaming branch in front of himself protectively, his stance ideal for quick movement.

Fenrir, now with a slight pain in the back of his head, wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed. In the end, he decided to go with being annoyed and he snarled threateningly at the child. To his credit, the boy didn't show his fear and stood his ground despite the fact his scent betrayed just how scared he actually was. The large, Alpha werewolf was just about to charge forward and teach the insolent boy a lesson when he felt the shifting of his bones and muscles which signalled the official end of the night. His legs gave way beneath him as the wolf in him receeded and the man came to the front. He felt his body shift and change, bones cracking and muscles burning, not enough to be painful but enough to be uncomfortable.

Finally the change ended and the two werewolves in the cave were left breathing heavily, the process of changing sapping their physical energy if only momentarily. Fenrir recovered quickly, being (relatively) young and strong, and he lifted his head to see his Sire, now appearing to be human, and the immature boy who was still standing in between them with the branch still held up in defence. It was odd that a boy, who obviously wasn't a werewolf although he smelt somewhat like one, was in the company of and injured werewolf but was obviously defending the wounded rather than anything else. Despite himself, Fenrir was curious enough about the situation to wait for an explanation. Carefully, he pushed himself up onto his feet and although the boy still did not back down, he did take a step away.

"I told you to stay back." The child bit out, glaring defiantly at Fenrir and apparently not the least bit bothered by the man's nakedness.

"Pup," a hoarse voice from behind spoke then. "There is no need to be hostile, this wolf is a friend, my Childe."

The boy, Pup apparently, fixed a steady, cautious gaze onto Fenrir for a long moment before he tossed the branch aside carelessly.

"Fenrir, it has been so long." The collapsed heap on the floor of the cave wheezed weakly, body not moving an inch.

"Yeah, it has." The silver haired man grunted as he kept a careful watch on the child as he moved off into the cave. "What happened?" He asked grimly as he came to sit beside his collapsed Sire. The man looked so much older than the last time they had seen each other and being completely naked only made the old man appear even older and all the more frail. It was a sad fate for a werewolf who had once been so strong.

"An angry farmer." Was all the Sire managed to say for a few moments before he took in a few heavy breaths and carried on. "I was careless and got shot, he must have been expecting a werewolf because he used a silver bullet."

Fenrir felt his heart clech upon hearing that and immediately feared the worse. "This is the end, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid I'm not as young as I used to be." Was all that was said in reply to that but it was enough; it was only a matter of time now.

Just as that was said, the boy returned from the recesses of the cave carrying a whole bundle of furs in his arms. His bright green eyes were fixed on the sight of Fenrir behind the dirty, scratched glasses and they only moved away when he was kneeling by the old werewolf's side and tucking the fur blanket around the naked form. "I found a deer in a trap but I left it outside when I saw your Childe, do you want me to fetch it in, Isaac?"

"Yes, do, I'm sure Fenrir must be hungry." Isaac answered quietly.

The boy opened his mouth to say something to that but apparently changed his mind as it simply snapped shut again as he stood in one fluid movement. With one last glance in Fenrir's direction, he was walking past the Alpha male and out of the mouth of the cave, into the snow covered world outside.

The silver haired man watched him go for several moments before he turned back to his Sire. "Who is he?"

"I found him about four years ago, unconscious and abandoned on the edge of a road. I couldn't just leave the poor boy there so I decided to pick him up and take him with me. I did bite him, I've bitten him several times in fact, but he's never changed during the full moon so I left the pack in order to keep him with me."

"You shouldn't have done that, it's why you've ended up in this situation." Fenrir told him bitterly.

"Perhaps, but he has made the last four years of my life so wonderful. He is such a joy to be around, Fenrir, you'll soon find that out."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The younger werewolf growled.

"He has to go with you. He's a strong boy but he can't live this kind of life alone, he needs someone to take care of him. Please, take him in as my last request. I'll be able to die happy if I know that there'll be someone to take care of him when I'm no longer here."

Fenrir released a growled huff and ran a hand through his hair in aggitation. "You ask a lot."

"No I don't, not really." The Sire disagreed softly. "He's not a full werewolf but he's got some werewolf in him, and his scent, concentrate on it and you'll get a whiff of my signiture. He's your pack, Fenrir, and even if your human side can't be bothered with him, the werewolf in you will insist you care for him."

Dark eyes flickered from staring over at the cave wall to looking down to the dying werewolf. "All right, fine." He grunted reluctantly.

"Thank you, Fenrir." The old man breathed, clearly relieved.

"So what's the kid's name?"

"Pup."

"You mean that's his actual name?" Fenrir asked in surprise.

"He likes it."

"Fine." The burly man sighed, feeling his thin patience wearing ever thinner. "What was his name before?"

"Do you really need to ask that? Didn't you see the scar on his forehead?"

"Scar on his...Oh no, you're not...You're telling me that kid is Harry Potter!" Fenrir gasped, staring down at his Sire in horror. "Bloody Hell, could this situation get any worse?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Fenrir, like I said, he's a wonderful boy. He'll turn eleven this year you know?" Isaac murmured sadly.

"Eleven? He looks no older than nine."

"He hasn't had a good life, he's told me that the people he was with before I found him were cruel and often locked him away without food."

Fenrir simply gave a non-commital grunt to that and then glanced over his shoulder as a noise reached his ears. He saw the boy, Pup/Harry Potter, start to enter the cave again, walking backwards and dragging a dead deer inside by its hind legs. No doubt living in the wild for four years had desensitised the boy to animal deaths. He dragged the deer all the way to rest just beside Fenrir and the Sire's head before he dropped the legs he had been holding and stood up straight with a sigh. Upon closer inspection, the silver haired werewolf could see that the animal had, indeed, be caught in a trap and must have bled to death.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Isaac?" Harry asked the old werewolf in a voice full of tenderness and concern.

"No, no, Pup, I'm quite content." The Sire assured tiredly. "Have you found yourself breakfast yet?"

"Yeah, I finished eating just before I came across the deer." The boy answered as he settled down to sit, hugging his legs to his chest to most probably try and maintain some body heat.

"Ah, good boy, good boy." Isaac praised. "Pup, I want you to meet Fenrir Greyback, he was my first Childe."

Harry glanced up at Fenrir but looked away before their eyes could meet which undoubtably pleased the silver haired werewolf; the boy obviously knew his place. "It's nice to meet you, sir, I'm sorry for hitting you before."

"You were protecting your Sire so I'll let you off this time." Fenrir grunted.

The boy glanced to the largest male in the cave once more, his eyes never quite going all the way up to his eyes again.

"So tell me, Fenrir," the Sire spoke up again then. "What are you doing in this part of the country?"

"Just passing through."

"Without your pack?"

A dark and murderous expression crossed Fenrir's face at that innocently asked question. "My pack is gone." He growled out dangerously.

"What! Why?" Isaac gasped in horror.

"The war ended."

Despite the answer not actually explaining much, Issac seemed to understand as his eyes saddened. "Oh, my boy, I'm so sorry."

Fenrir simply grunted again, not appreciating the words of sympathy despite the fact they were completely sincere.

Before any more could be said then, the eldest of the cave's inhabitants gave a long, tired yawn which ended in a wince. "You're tired." Fenrir stated though he made it sound more like an accusation. "You've had a long night and should be resting, not staying up to simply talk to me."

"Ah, the common sense of the youth." Isaac chuckled as though those words were some kind of private joke that only he was aware of. "Perhaps you are right, Fenrir, perhaps you are right. Both Pup and I were on the move all night, we should both get some sleep."

"I'll leave you to it then." The younger werewolf grunted as he stood and moved further to the mouth of the cave and effectively moving away the temptation of being spoken to.

This was a fine mess of a situation he had got himself involved in. His Sire was dying and now he was burdoned with Harry bloody Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the enemy of all Death Eaters, a boy who smelt somewhat like a werewolf but obviously wasn't. Suffice to say it was one Hell of a can or worms.

Bare feet on the ground approached tentatively behind the silver haired werewolf then and he glanced over his shoulder to see the boy standing just behind him. The child's head wasn't bowed but his eyes were submissively downcast and his hands clasped together in front of him. "Will you be staying tonight, sir?" Harry's voice asked quietly and politely.

Fenrir's nostril's flared slightly at the scent which tickled his senses and quickly quelled the feelings which suddenly rose to the surface because of it; now was not the time to embrace his instincts. "Yeah," his voice came out low and gravelly. "I'll be staying until Isaac's back on his feet."

The salty scent of tears wafted past Fenrir then and it was then he knew that the boy wasn't as dense as he had first assumed; he knew exactly how likely it was that their Sire was going to recover.

The night had returned and with it the second night of the full moon. Fenrir and Isaac had already changed into their wolf forms and not long after the younger and healthier of the werewolves caught the scent of on-coming death. Tonight would be the night that his Sire would pass on. The change had taken its toll on the injured wolf and he was holding on by a thread, there was no way he would see another morning. It may have been his imagination, but Fenrir was sure that the kid was also aware of that fact as he was staying very close to the dying creature, cuddling against it, possibily to try and share warmth or perhaps simply spending the last few hours together in a close embrace. Fenrir was happy to leave them to it and instead sat at he mouth of the cave, keeping watch for anything dangerous which may have chosen to investigate the smell of the dying werewolf.

The day had passed by slowly but calmly. Fenrir had taken up the self-appointed task of being the guard of the cave mouth but because there was obviously no danger anywhere, he amused himself by observing his Sire and the boy. It was curious how attentive the Potter whelp was towards Isaac and the child very clearly cared for the old and dying werewolf. He was clearly putting the Sire's comfort before his own, sharing his body heat and asking if Isaac needed anything. On several occassions, Fenrir had noticed that the boy had no shoes on his feet and they were bare; he had been walking around in the snow with bare feet and he was only ten years old. His personality and the things he did betrayed his age and he was obviously mature beyond his years.

At that moment, Harry was cuddled against the old transformed werewolf, both of them were covered against the cold by the large blanket of patchwork furs. They seemed content together, both with their eyes shut and one would've thought them asleep if not for the quiet murmured tune that the boy was singing. That changed very suddenly, however, when Harry suddenly stopped singing and his eyes shot open. He scrambled up into a sitting position and placed both of his hands on the still form of Isaac.

"Isaac?" Harry whispered to the still werewolf fearfully. "Isaac?" He tried again, giving him a small shake which gradually grew in strength but never got close to rough.

Alerted by the noise and the scent of fresh tears, Fenrir stood from the mouth of the cave and moved over to the boy and the still werewolf. Gently, he nudged his nose against his Sire and took in his scent. It was as he did that that he knew the old werewolf had passed and wouldn't wake again. Sorrow consumed the werewolf and he released a long, mournful howl.

"No..." Harry murmured, shaking his head as more tears came to his eyes, recognising what Fenrir was doing. "No, he can't be, he can't..." His voice cracked as the brewing tears broke free and ran down his cheeks. "No, Isaac, come back, please, don't leave!" He sobbed heart-brokenly, leaning over the dead werewolf and clutching the cooling body, burying his face in the fur and letting all his grief and sorrow come out with his tears and his shaking shoulders.

Together, Fenrir and Harry mourned the loss of their mutual friend, the one who had brought them together and the one who had set a new destiny in motion.

End of Chapter 1.
For those of you worried about OCs, I'll put your mind at ease. Issac is/was the only OC that appears in this and since he's dead, we won't be seeing him again. He'll be mentioned but he won't be seen. Because we don't know very much at all about Fenrir, I've had to make up his entire past so everything you read about his background was all thought up by me (there will be more on his past later on in the story).
This was a rather short chapter, wasn't it? Don't worry, from all the pre-written chapters I have so far, this is by far the shortest. So, if you like longer chapters, fear not, for longer they shall be :D
Now, how often will I be updating? Once a fortnight, every other Saturday. I'm no where near having this finished and, as I always say, it's better to have a definite two week wait than have weekly updates for a little while before I run out of pre-wrriten chapters and then months start to drag without updates.
Starting a new fic is always nerve-wrecking. Please, even if you never review again, tell me what you thought of this chapter :) Thanks in advance and I'll see you all again soon :)

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