Moonlight

Summary: The Moon has always had a certain sway over werewolves. Fenrir Greyback isn't an exception to this. Yet, even he, a devout werewolf, has his doubts about the moon's judgment from time to time. FG/HP

So, this is a song-inspired fic, to the song "Can't Fight the Moonlight" sung by LeAnn Rhimes. Yeah, I know it's not the first song most people would automatically associate with Fenrir Greyback, but I heard it at work the other night and the idea wouldn't leave me alone. Besides, it's been a while since the last fanfiction I posted.

As with all my stories, Harry is at least 18 (I don't feel comfortable writing about minors in sexual situations). It takes place some time after the end of the series but totally disregards the epilogue(if that wasn't obvious enough). However, the fic is not related to my other Harry/Fenrir fic, Wizards and Werewolves Don't Mix, so you don't have to read that one first(unless you want to, then by all means go for it!).

Anywho, with all that in mind, on with the ficlet!

As the night creeps closer to midnight, the inky darkness of the Forbidden Forest is pierced only by pale beams of moonlight. Heavy in the sky, the full moon watches over the cloaked figure that waits patiently in a small clearing. The visitor to the enchanted place(as no human calls it home)bides his time by watching the clouds pass over the celestial body. He remains on his perch, a long-ago fallen tree trunk, appearing to be completely at home in the lair of some of the world's most sinister magical creatures. One of these creatures, a lone wolf shrouded in the protective shadows of the ancient trees watches on with rapt attention.

"You're late, Fenrir," replies the visitor after a few moments pass. Raising his hood, none other than Harry James Potter stares back into the eerily-calm darkness that surrounds the small clearing. "Do you plan to just watch me all night?"

With a huff of amusement, the wolf approaches Harry at his own confident stride. The moonlight glints off the silver strands that usually remain hidden in the wolf's dark grey fur and highlights the graceful power in the creature's movements. Fenrir's eyes lock onto green ones as he nears the wizard. His heavy paws make no noise as they pad across the forest floor. Once he is close enough, the large canine leisurely begins to circle around the Saviour of the Wizarding World—the alpha wolf taking his time to savor the unique scent that is Harry Potter.

If it were physically possible at the moment, Fenrir would be grinning.

Once he completes his scenting of the wizard, the werewolf turns and silently leads the way into the depths of the forest. Harry follows dutifully, his legs moving before his brain issues the command to do so. Meandering between age-old trees and rock formations, the auror follows the large wolf. A weighted, yet comfortable, silence settles between the two as they make their way. Above them, the moon light continues to trickle between the branches as the forest comes alive with the sounds of it's inhabitants. The wolf and the wizard remain silent as they continue their trek.

Out of the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, a familiar cave appears. Harry relaxes a bit while another amused huff leaves the wolf's muzzle—unbeknownst to the wizard behind him.

The wolf stands to the side of the cavern, waiting until Harry enters. Ducking low to avoid bumping his head, the wizard makes his way into the hideaway, his memory guiding him better than his senses. The den is pleasantly warm inside despite the cool wind that still manages to blow through the wizard's robes. Harry mutters a soft "Lumos" to illuminate the end of his wand. Now bathed in the soft light, the wizard takes in the interior of the cave. Thick furs, that look like the pelt of some rather impressive bears, line the ground and provide a soft bedding. Breathing in the earthy scent, a wave of nostalgia passes over Harry's face as he remembers the past nights spent on the surprisingly-luxurious pelts.

Caught up in the memories, the wizard is surprised when two large arms wrap around his body possessively. The warmth of the bare chest behind him, radiates through Harry's clothes. A deep chuckle reverberates through out the cave as the wizard subconsciously leans back into the man now standing behind him.

"Hmm, it seems like the pup has missed me," comments Fenrir with an audible leer.

The wizard rolls his eyes a bit at the blunt words, but makes no move to remove the thick arms wrapped around him.

" . . . Let me enjoy this for a moment, then you can start being you, Fenrir," replies Harry, his tone far from matching his words.

"Funny, I don't remember any complaints before."

"Well, usually we don't talk much when we meet up, now do we?"

At the cheeky reply, the werewolf grins before tipping Harry's head back. Exposing the long column of the wizard's throat, and growling in content of the dark mark that still stands out against the pale flesh, Fenrir claims the soft lips offered to him.

That first, deeply-satisfying taste of his mate, especially after so long apart, is always the werewolf's favorite part.

Eight months ago, Fenrir Greyback would have never expected to be mated to the wizard that is currently in his arms, moaning as the werewolf slowly licks the length of his throat. If he were a different man, Fenrir would overthink these trysts that he shares with Harry. Hell, he might even put a stop to them.

But Fenrir Greyback is no ordinary man, in all honesty he isn't even an ordinary werewolf.

A normal werewolf wouldn't doubt the moon's wisdom.

It is common knowledge that the moon rules over every werewolf, no matter how powerful that lycan may be. She dictates the Change every moon, she blesses normal humans with the advantages and strengths she gives her wolves—unless of course, they attempt to fight her gift or insult her by trying to destroy it with mere potions. Then those mortals end up as an amalgamation of wolf and man, no more than instinct-driven creatures that terrorize the night.

However Fenrir Greyback, perhaps one of the moon's most devout followers, does not fall into the previous category.

Fenrir is one of the few humans that fully embraced the gift of the Change. And by doing so, he benefits from it in ways that the world has never seen before. The alpha werewolf has the ancient spirit's protection. He is impervious to most spells and hexes(as found out by any wizard or witch foolish enough to attack him) and heals quickly from any physical injury. The moon keeps him safe, even when others of his kind have been felled by silver or weakened by Wolfsbane. Even rarer still, he can shift from wolf to man by mere will.

So, for the most part, Fenrir goes along with the will of the celestial body—the instincts she instills in him, he follows with little question. After all, he sees no reason to go against her will, as it is generally in line with his own plans.

The only time the werewolf has ever questioned the moon, was on the night she led him to his mate. For the first time in his life as a lycan, he doubted the will of the celestial body, his only true master, that he has served for so long.

"What are you thinking about, Fenrir?" asks Harry, as the werewolf absentmindedly places kisses to Harry's pale exposed shoulder.

The simple question interrupts the wolf's train of thought. Looking down, Fenrir sees that Harry has turned onto his back to stare up at the large werewolf. Dark hair is a complete mess(more than usual, in any case) and inquisitive eyes stand out even in the soft light provided by the wizard's wand. A rumble of approval escapes the man's throat as his gaze takes in Harry's nude body covered only by the bear pelts that Fenrir himself had hunted. His eyes narrow into a leer as he proudly inventories the new love bites and claiming marks that his mate has acquired in the last few hours.

"I was just thinkin' about that night we first met here in the Forbidden Forest," grumbles out the werewolf. "I didn't get it right then, but the moon was in my favor that night."

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't notice did ya? I guess that's because you aren't as attuned to her as we werewolves are," comments Fenrir, running his hand through his own hair as the burly wolf rolls onto his side to stare directly at Harry. "Still, she was on yer side too. As I was considerin' turnin' you or at least makin' an example out of ya. The moon told me something I found interestin' that made me reconsider."

"Oh?"

"She told me to spare you, 'cause you'd make a good mate for me."

"And what exactly," inquires the wizard, as he stretches with a distracting arch of his back, "makes me a good mate?"

"Besides our mutual sex drive? Fuck, if I know."

"You're such a romantic, Fenrir."

Rolling his eyes, Harry is surprised when he feels the rough swipe of Fenrir's tongue on his skin. The werewolf makes his way along the curve of Harry's neck once again, savoring the hitch in Harry's breath as he finds one of his sensitive spots. The taste of the wizard's sweat paired with the natural scent of his mate's skin creates a delicious combination as Fenrir continues his ministrations. The werewolf's teeth graze over the oldest claim mark on his mate, a silent reminder of how it got there in the first place.

"You didn't let me finish, pup. I may not know all the reasons why the moon chose you to be my mate, but I can tell ya' why you remain my mate if ya' want."

"Alright then, tell me," murmurs Harry as large hands grip his hips.

"I like that yer strong-willed yet you submit only to me. My mate's a powerful wizard, yet he lets me do as I wish with him," the words are growled into the wizard's ear. "He's still a pup himself, yet he protects me—even though I'm more than capable of doin' far worse than anythin' he could protect me from."

As he speaks, the alpha wolf lowers himself between Harry's open thighs. The man presses himself tightly against the lithe body that welcomes him in the soft furs. A low moan escaping Harry's throat while his arms circle around Fenrir's neck. The simple, yet trusting action makes a fond smirk cross the man's features.

"Not to mention, you like danger and I'm as dangerous as they come."

Harry can't stop the blush that rises to his cheeks as the werewolf slowly removes the bear pelt draped over him, the only thing hiding his body from the werewolf's intense gaze.

"Yeah, you're the big bad wolf."

Laughing at the moniker, Fenrir chuckles.

"I'm not gonna deny that."

Bending down, the wolf starts to nip the along Harry's throat.

"Fenrir?"

"What is it?"

"What actually drew you to me that night?"

"You mean besides the scent of a wayward wizard?"

"Be serious, please."

Pulling back for a minute, Fenrir stares down into the earnest, yet flushed face of his mate.

"I dunno. I just decided to roam the forest that night. I thought I was just goin' to inspect my territory and come home. But, as the moon would have it, I stumbled across the Harry Potter out for a stroll. She kept urgin' me to you, insistin' that I claim you. I didn't over think it."

"You didn't resist it? You didn't take a minute, or even a second, to make up your own mind?"

"The moon has guided me most of my life, why start disobeyin' her?"

"Oh," replies Harry, seeming to be satisfied with the answer. "That must be nice."

"Nice?"

"Yeah, it has to be reassuring to have a constant in your life. Something that you can trust so implicitly to always be there and watch over you no matter what. She, the moon, is almost like a mother, right?"

" . . . Yeah, I guess."

If Fenrir is truly honest with himself, he questions the Moon more often then he cares to admit. After all, what good could come out of mating him to the Saviour of the Wizarding World? He is a werewolf(he is the werewolf!)—the fiercest lycan that the Wizarding World has ever known.

Yet one pair of vibrant, green eyes have the power to make him as harmless as a trained puppy. One whiff of Harry's addicting scent has the power to make the infamous Fenrir Greyback . . . docile.

But, in all honest, the werewolf doesn't really mind this. Because, even if it make him appear soft, his mate, his wizard, needs him.

Harry Potter has been famous his entire life, and for most of it he was completely, perhaps even blissfully, ignorant of it. But now, it defined him, at least the part that he showed to the world of wizards.

Yet Fenrir knows a different side of the Gryffindor.

Harry is unflappably loyal. If he deems you his friend, you hold that position for life. However, if you betray him, you will never gain that same level of trust again.

He is fearless. Not just in the "hero" type of way. Harry approaches everything with a bravery far more mature than his years. Even if he doesn't know the risks, sometimes in spite of them, he faces everything head on. Then again, being the target of the darkest wizard of all time had that effect on a person.

Harry is also raising the son of Remus Lupin, something most wizards would never do. This teenager takes the responsibility as well as the stigma of raising a werewolf's son, head on and without complaint.

And like Fenrir, Harry knows the never-fading pain of loss, how it can still throb no matter how much time passes, yet he doesn't let it destroy him.

Although the thing that impresses Fenrir the most about his mate, is his intelligence. Especially the intellect that he displayed on the night that their bond was made.

Harry was smart enough to know not to try to outrun a fully-embraced werewolf. Especially under the influence of the full Hunter's moon.

He was smart enough to know that he should make himself appear as non-threatening as possible as an alpha werewolf scents him.

And perhaps most of all, he was smart enough to know that when said werewolf transforms into one of the most wanted criminals - Fenrir Greyback, you know your wand will be of little help to you.

Thinking back on that night, specifically the physical events that solidified Harry as his mate, Fenrir smirks.

"What are you smirking about, now?"

"I can't just be happy to spend the night with my mate? After all, it's not like we get to see each other too often."

At that truth, Fenrir continues to explore his mate's body unbeknownst to the turmoil it stirs up in Harry's mind.

"I probably shouldn't keep coming here. It's only a matter of time before Ron or Hermione start getting too curious and I can't hide your marks forever."

"You keep comin' back, though."

" . . .That doesn't mean anything." argues the wizard, slightly defensive.

"Oh pup, it means everything."

Leaning down, Fenrir's noses the area of skin just behind Harry's ear. The scent that greets him holds the werewolf and continually draws him to Harry every time he sees the pup. It's the very same scent that slowly drives him insane when the two are unable to set up their clandestine meetings and late-night rendezvous.

Harry doesn't move as clawed fingers grasp his chin, raising it to meet the man's gaze. Piercing blue eyes lock onto deep green ones, the werewolf searching for something in Harry's face.

"What is it, Greyback?"

"Nothin', just admirin' what's mine."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she wouldn't have given you to me if she thought you'd refuse me."

"The moon, again?"

"Yes. She controls all of us werewolves, even I can't escape her."

"But I bet you still tried," jokes Harry with a fond smile. "Still, it doesn't explain why I am under her influence, why I can't stand being apart from you for long period of time. I'm not a werewolf."

"True, maybe her pull ain't just limited to wolves."

"I guess so. But I still don't get why she would put us together. Besides the fantastic sex, we don't have a lot in common."

"I stopped questioning her ages ago," begins the werewolf, his voice dropping a few timbres to an arousing growl. "There's no point. You can't fight her, not without being cursed by her anyway. All you can do is enjoy her grace for as long as you can."

With a sound of agreement and a smirk, Harry uses his long legs to pulls his werewolf closer and continue their earlier activities. With a harsh tug, Fenrir removes the bear pelt that dares to separate him from his mate. The harmony of a breathy moan and and a possessive growl fill the cavern as naked skin meets naked skin. For the rest of the night, both the wizard and the werewolf are more than content to enjoy the limited amount of time they have together.

Harry James Potter was just as surprised as Fenrir when he woke up mated to the most notorious werewolf known to man and wizard kind. Then again, his life has never went the way he expected it would. His entire life, he has been involved in a war that he had wanted no part of, and lost so many friends and family—too many, to be honest. And most of the time, Harry isn't sure if it was worth that sacrifice.

So, when he had crossed paths with Fenrir Greyback that night, he made a decision.

"The-Boy-Who-Lived" could have instantly killed the dark werewolf that was a loyal servant of Voldemort. The man was guilty of many crimes, Harry was no under no illusions. After all, it wasn't as if anyone would have particularly missed the infamous wolf. At the very least, he could have captured him and turned the lycanthrope over to Azkaban with the other remnants of Voldemort's followers.

But Harry made a different choice.

He let the wolf live—not that Harry could explain why.

That night, all he knew was that killing, or even just imprisoning, Fenrir Greyback would be a mistake.

Maybe it was the fact that Harry didn't want any more blood on his hands.

Maybe it was the fact that Fenrir's wolf form had vaguely resembled Padfoot.

Or maybe, it was the fact that a werewolf child was now in his care.

Whatever the reason, Harry was compelled to another course of action that night. One that even he didn't know if he would regret, even now.

"You think too much."

Opening his eyes to stare at the werewolf above him, Harry is startled from his thoughts. The werewolf hasn't stopped his ministrations, his large hands exploring the wizard's body as he kisses and nips his way down Harry's chest.

"You're mine. That ain't changin'. It can be here in our cave or in the middle of the fuckin' Ministry of Magic, I'll always come claim you."

"But Fenr—"

"Always," growls out Fenrir, leaving no room for argument. "If anythin', you should know by now that I don't give a shite about any wizardin' laws. Nothing gets between a wolf and his mate. Not even the doubts of Harry Potter."

The gruff statement is met with silence at first, before a large smile overtakes Harry's face. For a few moments, he simply runs a hand through the man's wild hair as his eyes travel the rugged features that make up Fenrir Greyback. Harry's gaze then rests on the intense stare coming from the werewolf above him.

"I can live with that."

"You don't really have a choice, pup. Neither of us do."

Leaving it at that, the two share another passionate kiss—completely absorbed in each other and unaware of the moon above that has started to shine just a bit brighter.

THE END

I hope you enjoyed this fic, I've had it on my computer for a while and decided to publish it in light of the news of Dave Legeno's death a few months ago.*To those that haven't heard, Dave Legeno(the actor who played Fenrir Greyback in the Harry Potter movies) passed away due to heat stroke while hiking in Death Valley. My sincerest condolences go to his family.

As always, thanks for reading!

- Renka

**Quick Announcement, any of you East Coasters interested in attending a yaoi convention, please follow this link: www nijicon com (just put periods where the spaces are). I'm on the planning committee and I'll also be hosting a Q&A panel!**