Red Dawn Rising

Abby Ebon

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Disclaimer; I do not own any part of the Twilight Saga; or the Harry Potter series. It tastes like pizza, old familiar favor; still greasy, but good. Yes, I'm hungry. I'm on a diet, damn it.

Dedication; written for, Rayvens Cave, having made the 270th review in my story "Scorched Sand", thus got the "Readers Reward" requested an Emmett Cullen/Harry Potter pairing.

Note; …I don't think I mentioned it, but it's fair obvious that this follows "New Moon" … right? Around chapter seven, I think.

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Stalking Wolves

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Shadows slid and shifted about them, as if reluctant to envelop what human eyes did not understand, and would not easily – or simply - accept. Overhead, trees sprouted upward, sky reaching, overcrowding. Nature seemed to have made up for what the shadows would not hide. Certainly it would take a keen eye to realize what lucked in the shadow of trees.

Among the fallen leaves and the scent of earth, hunters – predators - moved easily through the trees, powerfully build, solid natured. For all that they looked like over sized wolves - though with the coloring of dogs - they were much more then that. For wolves do not have the minds of man.

Wolves do not hunt as humans do.

Yet strangers had brought them to this. Only as a wolf could a hint of them could be found on the faintest of strong breezes, for human ears had failed to catch even the whisper of people who did not belong.

As they moved carefully through the forest –slow, deliberate, careful not to loose the elusive scent that seemed as faint as to flee before their very presence. The strangers - who were numbered at least two – it was unlike anything they had encountered before. So, they followed it, wary and alert. Though it wasn't possible, the scent was elusive; it was easily hidden by the musk of forest, or by the sweat of their furred bodies. It seemed almost as if it was sentient (though it was only a scent) and, most disturbing, did not want to be found.

It infuriated Sam Uley.

Surely it was not the Cold Ones, whose scent smelt of the first choking frost, and something like barren earth. This scent – these strangers – was thrilling, addicting, and alive in a way that they could only compare to turning into the wolf. In the least, there was something about them – and Sam was determined to find out what – and, if he could – why.

Despite this determination; the anticipation of the hunt, and the mind-numbing single mindedness it took to track the scent through the forest. It was, Sam could later admit with some reluctance, if purely by some accident that they found the hiding place of wizards. And that was because a voice spoke – not to them, for that would have been too much, even for Sam – and broke the sameness of the scent and brought it bubbling to the surface.

They managed, just barely, not to be noticed in turn.

"Damn fool, I am …tell me again, 'Mione, what was I thinking? Letting him go off…" There was sorrow there, that Sam didn't need wolf ears to ear – or a wolf nose to smell. Despite being close enough to hear the boy – there was distance there, it was strange like the boy was trying not to be there – like something wanted to keep them at arms length. As if, as well as they could be heard (echoes) and scented (barely there) there was something more to them, this couple.

"Running off like he does, it's dangerous – bad enough when we knew the area, but this? This is recklessness, even for him." Shoes crackled twigs and dirt, noisy, and Sam shook his wolf-head, as if he could not quite believe that this was what he hunted. There was no sense of self-preservation, as if it didn't matter how loud or annoying movement was, or the whine in his nasal voice – something else overlapped all that, washing it away, dimming it to something barely there, barely noticed.

"There are two here." Jared stated the obvious; he was crouched down near a tree, brown fur blending into the moss and shadows. He was still closer to the two strangers then Sam. They still, strangely, could not see them.

"Yes and at least one other." Paul added, bitingly sarcastic.

"Would you rather we leash him like some kind of pet?" More amusement and curiosity were inlayed in those words then any real truth, yet they weren't playful, as if they really could make it happen – turn their friend into a pet. Even more daunting, there was intelligence to the feminine words; Sam didn't know how to interpret this conversation. It sounded like an argument, but there was no fight in them, only worry and strain. Sam felt a flare of jealously, they could have a sort of talk like this – but he, Jared and Paul? No, not even when they knew each others thoughts and feeling in the wolf shape could they try to be anything like this.

"Sometimes, honestly, I'm tempted, but can you imagine? Bad, Harry, no chasing those rats!" Mocking him self now, voice less tense and stressed, there seemed less tension to the air, the scent was cleaner as if it was in flux. Sam felt better about this, and edged closer to this odd pair, crawling along on his belly next to Jared.

"That'd get a laugh," it sounded a bit too dry and sarcastic, but there was a joke in there something that smoothed things between them, "Ron, we have to let him do his own thing, you know how he gets." There was sadness there, she didn't like it anymore then 'Ron' did, this 'Harry' going off on his own. Sam realized then that there was a bond between these strangest, something that was surely stronger then what the wolves had – it scared Sam, that realization, even as he was in awe of it – how was now the question they had to ask; as listening and waiting might get them closer to finding out about these strangers who were odder natured then the pack.

"Ever since the attack, Hermione, he hasn't been the same." There was mourning for whatever their Harry had lost, but it wasn't depressed – there was hope there too. Sam felt for them, they were vibrant and alive and there was something about them, this pair that Sam ached for. They had, without knowing it - drew in Sam and his pack, despite whatever kept them from being seen or smelt; there was more to them then that. Sam realized his feeling of protecting them were echoed in Jared and Paul.

"I know Ron, but this, maybe it's for the best." Only then, when the shadow shapes drew closer together, did then (as if whatever kept them from being seen apart, whatever kept their scent and voice in flux, could not obscure them while they stood together) they get a good look at the pair – the boy-man was tall and gangly with red hair and pale skin and freckles; his eyes were blue (not red, or gold, blue – thank the ancestors) the other was smaller but her eyes were keen doe brown and her brown hair frizzy and wild enough to try to make up the difference of height. She leaned against him, taking comfort and giving it.

That was how a team – a pack – was supposed to be, Sam wanted to say, but didn't knowing Jared and Paul would feel it in him – his envy, and jealousy, and above all his protectiveness of these two. They weren't threats, for all their oddity, of that much, Sam was certain.

"He, their Harry - sounds worse off then what we are." It surprised Sam, the sympathy Paul seemed to have for them.

"We should find him, if he's off by himself – if something happened to him, they'd come looking and if they knew he might be in danger here and didn't do anything to help him…" Jared tended to ramble in his thoughts when he didn't have his mouth to keep him in check. His message still came though loud and clear, Sam didn't want to think of how upset the two would be having lost Harry – and Sam didn't like the idea of failing them, even if they didn't know of Sam and his pack – if or when they found out, well, there would be no excuse.

"We'll go find him – he'll be easier to track then what they were." In this they held agreement, and with a sense of achievement in having found their strangers (not Cold Ones, odder –like them, the pack – and just as alive if not more so) who hid so well, they trailed the scent of the other, their third. Along the way, they mused and daydreamed about confronting their strangers.

"They have those sticks and only three of them - and that we couldn't see or smell them – their special, I think…I think its magic, something like what we can do." Jared confessed as they sped through the woods, Paul keeping his nose to the ground. Sam felt the hope bloom between them, they only had legends to work with, meeting someone face to face that would be familiar with what they faced – and friendly, well it only added to the attraction of the trio and the urge to protect them tugged more fiercely.

"I'm wondering where they came from – they sound English, or at least from overseas. How'd they get here – why here…? Maybe there are more of them, somewhere over there – or here – enough to have some sort of battle, but not enough of them so we'd take notice." Paul muttered darkly within their minds, suspicious – Paul only didn't want to be disappointed, or hurt.

"Their trying to find something…they probably have been looking for a while." Sam stated, remembering the brief conversation they'd overheard.

"We'll ask their Harry, he's alone, he'll talk to us." Paul assured Sam in his own way.

"We won't hurt him." Jared snarled at the other, short tail fur bristling.

"I know that." Paul managed to convey the sense of rolling his eyes without looking in Jared's direction.

Sam realized too late that they hadn't been really paying attention to where they were going; for all that they were indeed following a scent. It had led them faithfully to the mountain-roads, near the cliffs that hovered over the sea. This is where motorcyclists came, recklessly speeding to get a small thrill in their lives – near always at the cost of said life.

Sam also smelt others with 'Harry' – Jacob, and Bella.

"Shit." Paul whined with frustration, Sam realizes too late that all three of them are riled up and edgy – they'd been eager to meet Harry, and that much feeling spread out between the three of them won't go away easily – they have to do something, or Sam knows this situation might get out of control.

It's too late, now, because even if Sam couldn't smell Jacob – he can now scent Harry, there is something crisper to his scent, a power, as if whatever hides them, can not quite hide Harry however much it might try.

A thrill of triumph rides them, and caution is dismissed as they part from the brush and trees to appear in the clearing that marks the road; Bella's truck is sitting cold in the shoulder off the dirt road, and its clear enough what they're planning on doing, Jacob, Bella and the stranger – Harry, all three of them have motorcycles.

A growl thrums through Paul's throat. Sam is frozen in memory, literally, as Paul's mind rolls through theirs, and they remember it – the twisted pale thing that used to be alive, breathing, but isn't any more. Paul takes a step closer, still growling low in his throat, white teeth sharp at the memory and it must look like a threat, how could it not?

Bella is the one to see them first, and she panics, wide eyed and already atop her bike, Sam will never forgive himself for what happens next. Somehow, in her surprise, Bella manages – as only Bella could – to make it worse, her bike is thrumming while it idles and Bella somehow makes it jolt to life. She cries out, in shock and now horror, as the bike takes off with her atop it – but not controlling it.

There is a sickening crunch as tree bark and metal – and worse, soft human flesh - meets. Harry is, impossibly, the first to move, swift as something winged, he is at her side, still, and Sam can't remember seeing him move. Yet he kneels beside her, bloody handed, while his black motorbike seems a wall between the pack and what they've done without meaning to.

"Bella…Bella!" Jacob cries, and scrambles clumsy (humanely) off his own 'bike, going to Harry, he looks to the wolves and Sam knows that when Jacob finds out what they are – who they are – he'll never forgive them.

"It'll be alright." Harry murmurs, because what they haven't noticed is that Bella, blurry eyed and bloody, is blinking up at him puzzled. Harry looks to the trio of dog-colored wolves, and there is something more chilling then Jacob's bottled and twisted ache; familiarity.

"Hurts…?" Bella asks, and Sam whines, because he can smell the blood on her - so like creeping death; they hadn't meant to, and its worse – so much worse – then when they are on the hunt.

"Yes, you're hurt Bella, but I'm going to make you better, okay? You'll be alright, but sore for a few days, hear me?" It strikes Sam, then, how pale Harry is, and no sun shines – but Harry and his two stranger-friends aren't Cold Ones, of that much Sam is sure. So he does nothing but wait. This is something he knows he needs to see, to understand. Harry looks up at them again, and Sam knows that if they were normal wolves, if they wanted to still pretend – so Jacob didn't get a good look at them, at what he would become - they should have run, should have pretended – but they aren't, so they stay at the fringes of the clearing, waiting and full of sorrow.

Harry puts his fingers to Bella's chest, and there is blood there, soaking in. Harry breaths out, shallow and slow and Jacob is staring at Harry, wide-eyed, but not fearful. His fingers flex and knot, tighten into a fist – the blood hue is wrong, Sam sees then – its lighter, a pulsing blue-green, like a living thing. Sam realizes, then, when Harry closes his eyes, that it isn't the blood he's seeing coat Harry's hand. It's something else, and it smells of him – them, it calls and lures them closer, but Sam snarls and the pack reigns in, nearer to him.

Harry opens his eyes again, and there is gold in his green eyes.

Bella breaths then, gasping, easer, it isn't wet or heavy.

"Tell no one." Harry says, softer then a whisper, Bella only nods, while Harry seeming to know that Sam is listening (how could he not?) and that he'll be obeyed.

"How…?" Jacob demands, and as Harry tries to stand, wobbly and pale, he holds Harry's hand – the hand that had healed Bella – stopping him from getting all the way to his feet. Crouched there, Harry pauses, looking into Jacob, staring intently into his eyes, tense and full of – overflowing with - something, however weakened he looks. Sam wonders if the ability to save a life somehow makes Harry skilled in taking one.

"Magic." Harry offers, with a weak grin, Jacob laughs and if it's a bit believing and hysteric, no one else will say so.

"Where are you going?" Bella asks, confused and hurt sounding, as if it just occurred to her that she should be dying and while she's mostly healed, now, Harry's brushed her off as if he did nothing; as if saving her life meant nothing.

"To let them know what I've done. I'll be around, though, soon, to see how you're healing up. I'll not run, yet." Harry tells her, and Bella only grits her teeth to nod her head, blood drying in her hair. Jacob, reluctant but unable to keep Harry close when it is against what Harry wants, so he lets Harry go, and Harry is looking to Sam and Paul and Jared, then he isn't as if he doesn't want Jacob and Bella to notice them, not just yet.

Sam huffs then, to get Bella and Jacob to look at them – to at least acknowledge right in front of their eyes. But they don't, don't even stir, as if they can't see and don't remember - and Harry looks him in the eye, gives him a narrow eyed, annoyed look, wolf-shape or not.

"Be silent. They will not know, will not see, will not hear, and will not remember you.." Sam stills, frozen, as a mind – Harry's, smelling of that scent (magic?) - joins their pack, rolling over them like a summer storm, and is just as swiftly gone. Harry looks to his black bike, and seems more amused then. It glimmers in the cloudy mountain fog, and then, is gone. Like it never was there; for a moment Sam fears Harry will leave the same way. But he does not, Harry walks toward them, his step sure and firm, he does not stumble, weak as he looks. He looks at them again, and meets Sam's eyes.

"Follow me, we must speak." Sam does so, not so much because he agrees (which he does) but more like some half-formed need born of instinct, like some pup or duck, and for all how it must look strange, it seems the natural thing to do, following Harry into the woods. Jared and Paul do not stir to fight what Harry asks; for all that Sam knows if Sam asked it of them, they might. Sam does not question how Harry asks and they obey, he has better questions in mind to demand. Still, Sam is glad that Bella and Jacob can not see – and no one else is about to witness this; he feels like he's about to be lectured, but for all that, he doesn't still. They need this; to know.

Whatever this will be...

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Note: …that isn't gleeful snickering you hear, its, uh, hm…Alice – yes, Alice –…. plotting. I get a kick out of all those stories swimming about where Harry is in the States for a vacation – while going to high school (high school, a vacation, really? How good is your memory – maybe in Twilight-land and Harry-land its alright, if a bit devious health wise, but I mean, is going from fire to frying pan so much of a "vacation" now-a-days, more of a torture, I'd say). Okay, well, maybe school systems there generally suck, but, calling even it a "reality check" vacation from a magical world – really? No, I don't think so. Harry isn't going to a muggle high school for some sort of twisted warped "vacation" neither is his magic is not out of control; thank-you-very-much, as well, the war is far from over. If I were to do something of that sort, well, you'd know – as Harry would be a was a bit more crazy- as in, no one believing him about that little trip to magic-land and maybe squib-level of snazzy magic. But, I digress; this Harry is quite sane if a bit scary. Oh, and that "war"? Harry hasn't run away.

In fact, it's happening now.

Oh, well, that's just peachy, ain't it?