Dark Kingdom.

Harry was under no illusions. This particular werewolf might be timid, but it was still going to kill him.

Finally, the beast moved from around the tree to investigate its meal-to-come. Or at least, that was what Harry thought it was doing. When the beast's golden eyes met his, Harry had a sudden feeling that he was going to be alright. He had seen documentaries on werewolves in DA&D, and seen their eternal bloodlust, but the eyes that stared back at him were calm and curious and a bit confused.

"Help."

He hadn't even meant to speak, and he was almost as stunned as the werewolf by his plea. Nevertheless, it moved around the other end of the tree and after a few scratching sounds, the ropes gave and Harry collapsed forward. He hissed, grinding his teeth. It hurt.

A cold, wet nose prodded him, urging him to his feet. Out of fear of refusal and fear of being found, he obeyed and stumbled forward. The werewolf hovered close, pressing its massive, warm body gently against his, for support and guidance. The longer Harry spent with the creature the more comfortable and relieved he felt, and the more certain he became that it couldn't really be a werewolf. A shapeshifter of some kind, a sentient magical creature that resembled a werewolf, or a frolicking animagus of sorts (Clyde said he was going to try to get a licence when he turned sixteen).

Quietly and as quickly as they could, they made their way deeper into the forest. They stopped frequently to listen to the approaching howls, trying to gage distance and time before they were found. His guide was soon quickening his pace. Harry struggled to keep up, but he was injured, cold, tired, and had only two feet compared to his companion's four. The pseudo-werewolf whined, encouraging him, but he just couldn't push himself any faster.

"I need somewhere to hide," he explained. "In a tree or a hole."

The other seemed to consider this, then lead him in another direction. Harry hobbled as quickly as he could beside him, although it was excruciating and made breathing almost impossible. He was lead into a bramble, and to a small dark hole. Harry didn't think he could fit. He wasn't even sure he wanted to risk the cramped space even if he could. The decision was taken from him, when a series of ear-splitting howls broke out mere fifty yards away. He scrambled into the hole, head first and started to crawl.

There was snarl and an angry growl, followed by several more. Panicking, Harry moved forward blindly, convinced at any moment he would become stuck or something would grab his foot and drag him out. For a few moments the earth seemed to tighten around him, making it impossible to breath, and pain became secondary to the need for air as he scrambled forward blindly. The tunnel suddenly widened into a tiny chamber. The ground was damp, covered with leaves, and smelled strongly of animals. If he kept his head down, he could sit up. He searched the darkness with his hands, but the only exit was the tunnel he'd come down.

The sound of fighting and howling echoed into his sanctuary, and he felt no inclination to leave. Instead, he laid himself down and curled up tightly. Finally able to rest, he kept himself alert by listening to the fighting outside. He wondered if his friend had gotten away safely, if the werewolves knew he was in the hole and would attempt to dig him out, and what Hermione was doing right at that moment.

How long the fight above him lasted, he didn't know. He woke up, not realizing he had fallen asleep, and everything was quiet. The danger had passed and his burrow was now warm from his body heat and decaying leaves, and he fell asleep again.

When he awoke a second time, a faint glow of sunlight seeped into his sanctuary. He was still tired, but hunger and a full bladder were now a bigger concern than sleep. Stiffly, painfully, he crawled outside.

The day was still young and there was a thick frost on the ground. The flattened bramble and splatters of blood around the hole's entrance told the tale of a violent battle during the night. Although Harry wasn't particularly religious, he spared a quick, sincere 'thank you' to the Heavens that he had been safely out of the way of the carnage.

"Hello?" The call echoed through the forest, and the air rang with a resonance of isolation and emptiness. Where were the werewolves? Harry wondered. They should be human by now, and ready to yell at me for trespassing. 

Harry was quite willing to be yelled at (even by werewolves) if it meant he would be returned to Wizarding World. Everyone would be worrying about him by now. If he wasn't so relieved to have survived the night, he would probably still be worrying about himself too.

After a brief pit stop, he went out to explore the forest and hopefully find a way out of it. Defying his natural revulsion, he followed the trail of blood in hopes of finding the human form of a werewolf. He didn't have to travel far.

"Bloody hell."

Although he should have expected it, the sight of the very naked man was startling. More startling than the strips of torn flesh and glaze of blood- although not nearly as disturbing. The man lay face down in a patch of long, frosted grass. For a mind numbing moment, Harry thought he was dead.

Then a slight puff of fog escaped from his nose, followed after a moment by another. Panicked, Harry quickly tore off his outer robe, ignoring the pain it caused him and the nippy bite of the air.

"Sir, wake up," he begged, draping his robe over him, and finding it much too small. "Please, wake up. You'll die if you stay here like this."

He touched his shoulder timidly, and snatched it back when the werewolf jerked and turned his head. His large brown eyes were frightened and dazed. As they settled and focus on Harry, however, he seemed to immediately relax.

"James?" he rasped. "Have I... have I finally died?"

Harry's heart nearly stopped. James? Could he possibly be mistaken as his father or was this man delusional and speaking to a different, unrelated James? Either possibility seemed too much of a coincidence, but he pushed his confusion aside for later.

"No, Sir, but we have to get you some help or you might. Can you stand?"

The man didn't reply, lost in thought, then shifted about experimentally. A muffled hiss and groan, and he resettled back down. "No. I am too weak from the change."

"Are there others nearby? Perhaps your pack?"

"No, no..." the werewolf sighed, "They will have traveled back to the homestead twenty miles from here... and in little better shape... than I... right now."

The man's voice began to drift off and his eyes droop. Harry shook him, trying to avoid his injuries. He grimaced and opened his eyes again.

"Is there anyone out here who can help us? Any thing? A house or communication fire?"

"A cabin," the man said, his eyes beginning to clear. "There is an outpost cabin about half a mile from here. There's a stable attached, with a horse and a cart inside. Just go to the southern end of the clearing and you'll find a path that takes you there. The password is 'Aechyron'."

"I will be back as quickly as I can!" he promised and sprang to his feet. As he dashed away, he thought he heard the man say 'be careful James', but it might have been his imagination.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The cabin was a cheery little place, surrounded by small trees and overrun with vines. The shutters and doors were cast iron, but an inlay of wolves and stags and wild beasts added charm to an otherwise ominously practical feature. Connected to the house was a tiny stable, more fortified than the house with only a few narrow slots for windows. There were dents and scratch marks where werewolves and possibly bears had attempted to get in, but the sturdy construction held them all at bay.

Harry went to the stable first. The stable doors were held closed by a strange locking mechanism, that looked like a silver bust of a wolf placed over the door. When he had first reached for it, the wolf head snarled and snapped at him, nearly taking a few fingers.

"Aechyron," he yelped. The guardian bust immediately went still and lifeless, and he heard a faint click. Cautiously, he reached for the door again. The silver wolf didn't move and the door opened to his touch.

Inside was a small cart and a large horse. The dappled grey mare shifted nervously, as Harry gathered up a harness and opened her stall. For nearly fifteen minutes, Harry struggled to suppress his own fears of the big animal and slip on a harness. It was hard. His collarbone felt screamed in protest every time he moved his arms, limiting how much he could move them. The mare danced around him as if afraid to be touched. Finally, he let out a growl of frustration.

"Do you want your master to die out there, you silly nag?"

The horse suddenly stopped shying away and held perfectly still. Harry felt just as surprised as she did. After a moment though, his sense of urgency returned and he moved cautiously forward. The horse didn't move as the boy gently touched and patted her neck, nor when he slipped on his harness and lead her to stand in front of the little grey cart. She remained perfectly stoic as Harry fussed and fumbled his way through attaching the tackle and cart.

Finally, Harry lead the mare outside and secured her to the cabin. He slipped inside (it was amazingly unlocked and unsecured!) and gathered up anything he thought might be useful. He loaded his supplies on to the cart and lead the mare as quickly as he could back to the wounded man.

He was still conscious and now shivering. Harry laid a large bear skin rug beside the man.

"Can you roll over onto it, Sir?"

The man grunted and after a moment did manage to roll over. Harry flinched at the sight of the claw marks across his chest and neck, and quickly covered them with the many blankets and furs he'd gathered from the cabin. He tucked him in snugly and gave him some water from a canteen.

"Better, Sir?"

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