It was my Willing Choice

Chapter IX: Everybody Deals with Emotions

Tom left the alpha werewolf in some rooms not too far from his study to collect himself; for he did look more ragged than he usually did from the whole ordeal, and Tom had told him to try and make himself more presentable before they would talk things over later.

Fenrir was one of those alpha's who...honestly didn't care whether or not he was clean enough or presentable enough when asked for an audience as the pack leader. Didn't really care to be presentable when he was asked for either.

However, he had changed somewhat over the years in that regard when dealing with Tom as the leader of the Dark's interests for the magical community. He had seen first-hand how the pure-bloods responded to someone who appeared unkempt or utterly ragged.

It wasn't nice. And while the lycan would not generally care either way regardless; he also knew the benefits of being at least somewhat clean and put together when in the company of other magic users.

But his idea of presentable; it greatly and generally vastly varied from what a pure-blood witch or wizard would say is acceptable. Honestly, Tom half-expected the lycan to come out to his office bathed while wearing leather trousers and some manner of shirt that was mostly whole with a jacket of some kind.

Of course, his elves would be the ones providing them to the man as he wouldn't normally be able to acquire such items; not without great effort and difficulties. It wasn't that he couldn't get them; the pack was better off than a lot of the other packs that refused to choose a side or the lycans that tried to live with humans and ignore their more bestial natures.

It was simply that Fenrir himself was far too well known to their people as one of Tom's most loyal allies, and most shops even in the depths of Knockturn Alley hesitated to cater to him and other creatures while desiring to be seen as neutral to preserve business.

'That,' Tom thought idly, 'And Fenrir hates going into the muggle world due to the stench there.'

Meanwhile however, as Fenrir was left to cater to his emotions, Tom had arrived to his destination and he hesitated to knock on the door to Harry's room. It was clear that both powerful wizards were now somewhat unsettled by the unwelcome surprise that the attack from Fenrir had presented to them.

Both had believed the house to be relatively safe; and perhaps it was, against ordinary wizards and witches due to the wards there. Even the normal bestial flora and fauna that inhabited the place; but, against the humanoids and shape-shifters? Tom was remorseful that he had all but told Harry it was safe, and then only to have this situation occur.

But because it had occurred; that semblance of safety they had...that was blown out of the water when the werewolf had shown up out of nowhere.

Proving to them that they were not as sheltered as they thought, and that if another were-creature or humanoid creature that bore magic was inclined and determined enough...they could and likely would find this place.

Tom regretted he had underestimated their senses and capabilities for sensing a person's magic in any manner; he knew and was very much quite aware that they had used the gift long before humans, most of them had anyhow.

However, his hand slowly knocked and he heard the small muffled response of allowance. He opened the door and then saw Harry. His red gaze softening to the sight, yet saddened to see it like that.

His other half and his soul-mate, Harry James Potter; who had always seemed to be the pillar of strength to all around him...even those who denied it; he was anything but that picture currently. Curled on the floor rug before the fire in a fetal position that Tom never wanted to see again; the boy was shaking and trembling with the after-effects of shock.