Disclaimer: I have no intentions to make profit from or own Harry Potter. Characters are based purely on my imagination. It's all in fun, please don't get offended!


"You got three choices; this cream's fairly priced and they say it works well. I ain't rightly used it myself," Harry-Joe-Bob commented, bending to retrieve a jar.

"Sure, sure. I'll take it," the customer said, more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room fulla rocking chairs.

Harry-Joe-Bob peered up to find the man looking over his shoulder. He followed the gaze to Fenrir, who had moved away from the cash-register to eye them.

The customer didn't even bother going to the counter to pay. He just threw coins at Harry-Joe-Bob—six galleons, even though the price of the cream was only five galleons and a sickle—and hightailed it out the door faster than greased lightning.

The door was still swinging shut behind the customer when Fenrir came up next to him, fuming.

"What's got a bee in your bonnet, Fenrir?"

"That fucking tosspot! He wanted you! He was staring at you!" Fenrir ranted, mumbling under his breath something about slavering dogs.

"Fenrir. He was gettin' a gol-darned cream."

"He was staring at your arse." Fenrir growled, stepping dangerously close into his space.

"For cryin' out loud, Fenrir. You can't be like this, scarin' off all the honest folks. For the last time, he t'weren't starin' at me!" Harry-Joe-Bob blustered, pressing against the shelf behind him.

Fenrir stared at his lips, his chest pressed tightly against Harry-Joe-Bob's.

"Oh, he won't be anymore. Not if he knows what's good for him," said Fenrir, then he bent his head and captured Harry-Joe-Bob's in one hell of a bruising kiss.

Fenrir's teeth nipped at Harry-Joe-Bob's. He slid his tongue in and out of his mouth, running behind his teeth and along the roof of his mouth. Fenrir's huge paw of a hand came up to grip his head and tilt it back. Harry-Joe-Bob felt like one of them bull-riders; all he could do was hang on for the ride.

Harry-Joe-Bob moved his hands, which had been clinging to Fenrir's elbows. After all, his Ma always said that idle hands are the devil's tools. He snuck them up into Fenrir's dark shirt, ruching the fabric up to touch his strong back.

Fenrir had just snuck his hand into Harry-Joe-Bob's pants—before, Harry-Joe-Bob would have protested, but this time he was hoping for a happy ending as much as Fenrir seemed to—when Fenrir must have heard something, because he tore away from Harry-Joe-Bob's lips and pushed him behind him.

"Fen—" Harry-Joe-Bob said, shocked.

"Mine. No one gets to see you like this but me."

And then at that moment, Old Man Downey came down the aisle.

"Harry-Joe-Bob, you're needed next door."

Harry-Joe-Bob, still out of breath from the amazing kiss, blinked at the man over Fenrir's shoulder.

The Alehouse, the pub next door, was owned by a man that was somehow kin to Old Man Downey. When things were slow at the store, sometimes he'd be lent out to do menial tasks at the pub. Harry-Joe-Bob t'weren't quite sure that it was entirely legal for him to be there at all, but he pitched in a hand anyway.

Harry-Joe-Bob and Fenrir went next door—the younger not quite sure how to react when the werewolf held the door open for him. Fenrir merely grinned roguishly.

He definitely wasn't surprised though, when he felt Fenrir's eyes burning a hole into his ass as he strolled towards The Alehouse.

"Kid, there's a shipment of ale that just came in that needs to be stocked and counted. Bring some of it out front, and also these pint glasses need to be washed."

The owner of The Alehouse was a stout man with an enormous beer belly and a bad back, both of which made many sorts of work difficult. Harry-Joe-Bob reckoned that they could probably use magic to transport the casks of alcohol, but Maxim swore to high heaven that using too much magic on the beers made them go skunky.

Harry-Joe-Bob figured that he got paid to basically work out, and kept his trap shut.

After casting an eye around the nearly empty pub, Fenrir took a stool by the bar.

"I'll have whatever's on tap."

While Maxim pulled a beer for Fenrir, Harry-Joe-Bob decided to wash the steins first so he could be nearby. Maxim hadn't specified the actual order to do things in, anyway.

"So where d'you hail from," he asked, pulling a pint glass from the towering mountain of dirty glasses.

Harry-Joe-Bob, well aware that they were still in public, didn't dare broach any sensitive subjects. There was a man that appeared to be drunk as a skunk sat at the end of the bar that was either very interested in Harry-Joe-Bob's glass washing, or very interested in their conversation. He couldn't rightly tell, actually.


"Oh, um…" Okay, so Harry-Joe-Bob didn't actually know his geography that good. Well, he knew that Fenrir didn't mean 'Whales,' at least. But was Wales a county or a country? And where in tarnation was it? "…Was it nice?"

"Yes. It had… many trees."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"So, uh… you're from America, huh?"


"…No, it ain't just about leadership skills. The book's about strategy and planning too. 'S actually downright interesting."

The conversation between the two had reached a roiling boil as Harry-Joe-Bob was finishing washing the glasses. They were speaking about some of the books The Order had him reading in his "spare time."

At this point, Maxim cleared his throat from beside Harry-Joe-Bob.

"I can finish here. You best stock that ale."

Harry-Joe-Bob gave Fenrir a hangdog look, feeling bad for leaving him in the middle of a conversation.

But the werewolf merely stood up, finished off his ale, and said, "Shall we?"

The wizard was surprised that the normally standoffish werewolf even offered to help.

Fenrir must have read his expression, because he said, "Don't want you hurting yourself," before shoving past into the back.

Harry-Joe-Bob, for one, didn't mind the view of Fenrir's ass as he bent down to pick up a cask of ale.


Fenrir followed Harry-Joe-Bob around as he swept the back area that served as a kitchen and storage area. They had inventoried the entire storage room and now Fenrir was enjoying the view and pinching Harry-Joe-Bob's rear-end every five minutes.

Now that they were alone, Harry-Joe-Bob could give in to the urge to ask something of real substance. If only he could find a way to edge it into the conversation.

"So, you're really a werewolf, then?"

Never let it be said that Harry-Joe-Bob didn't speak his mind direct.

Any worry that he might have had over the reception of such a question was quickly replaced by heart squeezes as Fenrir's face lit up.


"I had a school buddy that was a werewolf, but we never talked about it. He was just allus absent for the full moon."

"Shame. Should have been proud. It's a gift."

"Is it?" asked Harry-Joe-Bob, genuinely curious.

Fenrir seemed to make an effort to hold back his first reaction, instead searching Harry-Joe-Bob's face for a long second.

"Yeah, of course."

"Well, it ain't like he ne'er talked about it, I guess. He said he had a pack that lived up the road in a commune. And he was allus tired right 'round the full moon."

"Yeah, tiredness during the days around the full moon is a sacrifice—a small sacrifice, for the heightened senses and increased strength we have all the rest of the time."

Harry-Joe-Bob peered intently at the bunched muscles of Fenrir's arm. He had seen first hand the increased strength today. Fenrir could pick up an entire keg full of ale with each arm. Rawr.

"Really?" he asked, absently licking his lips.

Fenrir flexed, smirking, "Oh yeah."

Harry-Joe-Bob was drawn away from his admiration of Fenrir's manly (werewolfly?) muscles when Fenrir continued.

"But you have to accept who you are. No longer human. The moon only accepts the sacrifice of strength if it is done willingly."

Luckily, Harry-Joe-Bob decided not so speak on the subject of the moon having emotions or being able to accept anything at all.

"There are also other gifts," Fenrir continued.

"Like what?"

"Well, most werewolves are male."


Well, the two werewolves he knew were male, but that didn't necessarily mean nothing.

"Many females aren't strong enough to deal with transformations."


"There is a… different way to ensure that lines are carried on," Fenrir said, looking intently at Harry-Joe-Bob's face.

You could have knocked Harry-Joe-Bob over with a fucking feather at this point.

Was—did he mean….

Fenrir could get pregnant?

Ugh, ew.

Harry-Joe-Bob valiantly tried not to imagine Fenrir fat, scowling and pregnant. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to feign nonchalance.

Male pregnancy just seemed so gol-darned unnatural. It wasn't that he didn't want a family. He just didn't rightly think fellas had the right… parts. But then, he supposed if the ability came from "the moon" that it was very natural. Somehow.

"Oh," he said, trying to recover from his long silence, "that's… I didn't know that. I mean, um, that's great!"

Fenrir smiled a real smile, as if he thought so too, which was strange considering.

"Anything else I should know?"

Fenrir walked over and gave him a deep kiss.


After the day was over, Fenrir would walk Harry-Joe-Bob back to The Burrow. Harry-Joe-Bob could run it in about 15 minutes but at the pace they set it took just about an hour.

It had been sweltering hot lately, barely cooling down even at night. Their stroll reminded him of days when it was hotter 'n Hell and you could fry an egg on the pavement if only you could muster up the energy to move.

He was gonna be late but he couldn't bring himself to care. He still felt languid from the hand-job that Fenrir had given him before leaving the back room.

"So tell me more about growing up in Wales," Harry-Joe-Bob said lightly, trying to use casualness to pull information out of the werewolf.

"Was nice. I was happy at least, that's more than I can say for many."

Harry-Joe-Bob nodded but continued walking. It was rare to hear Fenrir talk about himself at all, no way in Hell was he going to interrupt.

"We lived on the edge of a forest. My brother and I used to go hunting in the woods. We never really caught anything more than rabbits and some birds, until—" there was a pause.

Harry-Joe-Bob, fearing for the conversation, redirected it.

"You ne'er said you had a brother."

"An older brother. Faer. He died. He was killed."

Well, shit a gold brick. He just had to go there and just about kill the conversation.

"So—and then—did y'all go to Hogwarts?"

"No, they don't—didn't accept people… like me."


"I went to Durmstrang."

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Harry-Joe-Bob, but he didn't know more than that. "How was that?"

"It was school. Durmstrang itself is on the edge of a forest, so it was easy to acclimate. Besides the weather. But cold weather doesn't affect… my kind… as much. They are also much more accepting of differences there."

"And then you graduated and then what? Got work?"

There was a momentary pause. Harry-Joe-Bob looked up from the rhythmic shushing of their feet to see Fenrir looking at him strangely. Finally he spoke.

"It is difficult for me to find steady employment."

Oh. Harry-Joe-Bob understood what was not said—being a werewolf, it was damn nearabouts impossible to find a job. Besides having to take time off every full moon, no one would hire a werewolf anyway. Fenrir must spend most of his time living in the wilderness with his pack—if he had one.

Harry-Joe-Bob broke eye contact and continued his stroll. He had never known how hard it was to be a werewolf. After a short silence, Harry-Joe-Bob began to talk. He might as well go even stevens.

"I... my Ma and Pa got me at an orphanage in America. I don't rightly 'member too much, but I do know what they told me. I was dropped off by an English family, I reckon 'twere my Aunt and Uncle. They said they didn't want me. That my name was Harry Potter… and… then some other stuff that people don't repeat in front of young'uns.

"I thought for years that no one wanted me. But, Ma and Pa, they love me. They're good people.

"They knew right fast that I had some magic in me. The Native 'Mericans, they see magic everywhere. It ain't a hidden thing in America like it is here. But I had to work three times 's hard as any normal folk, going to magic school and normal school, on top of tendin' the farm.

"And Ma and Pa, they supposed there was a high chance of me being this other Harry Potter. How many British magical orphans named Harry Potter can there be? I guess no one of us was too mightily surprised when Dumbledore and them came to the farm and Tom Sawyered me into fightin' their war for them. And here I am."

Fenrir, who had stayed quiet during his account, picked up his hand and kissed his wrist.

"Good." he said. But what Harry-Joe-Bob heard was, "I'm glad you're here."

So what he said was:


Sorry sorry! I've admittedly had this written for a while. I even had it uploaded for a while but haven't posted! Life's been hectic lately... Moving countries again. ._.