Chapter 4
“You’re a Healer?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“‘Course not, Childbane.” He'd known who the man stood over him instantly, despite never having met him before.
Harry heard enough stories about Fenrir Greyback, none of them particularly pleasant.
The werewolf chuckled incredulously as he glanced over at Marvolo, who was observing them both carefully. “Are you going to get out and let me do my job or continue to hover like an overbearing mate?”
“Carefull, Fenrir,” Marvolo drawled, his eyes flashing with rage. “I would so hate to lose my favourite dog.”
Harry stared at the two powerful figures glaring at each other, looking ready to come to blows. He had never heard anyone but himself talk to Marvolo in such a way and he was honestly surprised the werewolf was still standing with the way his scar prickled.
“I’m not here to play games, Lord. If you want the boy looked over, get out.”
Marvolo’s expression remained impassive. The face of a Dark Lord, Harry noted, rather than the man beneath. His scar prickled uncomfortably. The tension continued to rise and just as Harry was bracing for them to tear into each other, Marvolo loosened his poster and strolled towards the door.
He paused at the threshold, not bothering to turn to the wolf as he spoke. “You may be useful, Fenrir, but don’t forget who holds your leash.”
Marvolo snapped the door closed before the Alpha could retort, massaging his temples. His instincts were screaming at him to go back into the room, rebelling at the very thought of leaving the Little One injured and defenceless with another. Logically, he knew that the little Fae wasn’t defenceless and had gone through much worse (by his own hand, no less). He would be fine.
With that in mind, Marvolo forced himself away from the room containing Harry Potter. And oh, hadn’t that infuriated him? To find out that his Little One was none other than the hell born babe prophesied to defeate him. And that he hadn’t even noticed until Barty mentioned it. It was curious though. He’d expected the boy to fight him every step of the way, resisting out of sheer stubbornness. And yet, he’d been strangely accommodating thus far, cooperative even.
He pushed the thoughts of Potter aside as he strode into his meeting room, mask falling effortlessly into place. He’d have time to fret later, right now he had business to deal with.
Fred Weasley eyed the dark brown barn owl perched on his kitchen chair with no small amount of suspicion. George hadn’t mentioned anything about expecting mail and all Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes order forms were filtered through a dropbox at the Owl Post Office.
George came stumbling into the room a few minutes later, hair sticking up in different directions as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He suppressed his grin at seeing his brother so sleepy, wondering if it was worth switching the coffee George thought he hadn’t noticed to decaf.
Honestly, it was any wonder they managed to fool anyone in the mornings with how much George hated them.
“Alive at last!” He quipped, not bothered by the scathing glare he got in return. Instead, he tipped his head towards the owl, drawing Georgies attention to it.
“Who’s that from then?”
“No idea.”
George narrowed his eyes, obviously catching Freds tone. A wand slipped into his brother's hand, and he briefly wondered where the shirtless ginger had been hiding it, before they both turned back to the increasingly agitated owl.
A flick of the wand had the letter fluttering onto the table, the owl squawking with indignation at the act. Fred winced at the noise, darting over to where they stored the owl treats while George performed some detection spells. George was always better at those spells.
“Well?”
“Nothing.”
Fred hummed and snatched up the letter, ignoring George's warnings as he opened it with a flourish.
My Twins,
I hope you two are doing well.
I’ve recently settled in a manor home, twin to the one in Wiltshire. The host is surprisingly accommodating, and has graciously lent me his owl so we can arrange a meeting. I’ve instructed the bird to await your response, though I have no doubt your brilliant minds will be able to contact me without it.
I know it’s been three months since we last talked, and I hope you can forgive me for dropping off the grid. With the war looming, I’m sure you can understand. You once mentioned the possibility of introducing me to your closest friends, and I can only hope that my silence has not caused the gracious offer to be rescinded.
Yours,
Viridian
George and Fred exchanged a wide eyed look, one thought shared between them.
Harry.