Chapter Text
Harry Potter cursed under his breath as thorns raked against his skin for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Brambles dragged at the leg of his trousers, a zing of pain shooting up his calf.
He bit back an oath and tried – not for the first time – to will the blasted thing into flames. Instead, he carefully detached his leg from the offending tangle of flora. Blood pearled up and dribbled down the shallow scratches.
“Do keep up, Harry.” Luna’s breezy voice floated from somewhere beyond the dense curtain of foliage.
“Yeah, yeah – I’m coming,” Harry grumbled, casting a frankly pitiful healing charm on the wound to stop the bleeding. They were already in the middle of nowhere; it wouldn’t do to die of some god forsaken infection. He looked on mournfully as the blood merely slowed to an ooze, though refused to stop. He trudged on, pushing aside a low-hanging branch, catching a glimpse of platinum blonde hair.
He stepped into a small hole in the forest where the foliage seemed to have been squashed; the shrubbery had been ripped out of certain areas and lay strewn across the floor. Luna was crouched at the far edge, peering over a tuft of once-tall grass that had been flattened in a rough oval.
He moved to her side and lowered himself next to her, tracking her line of sight. She was observing an exposed patch of dirt stippled with multiple paw prints, overlapping and tangled and facing in different directions. Each imprint had six toes, at the end of which was a channel, drilled deep into the earth, indicating very long, razor-sharp claws.
“Pawprints?” He asked, voice soft.
She answered him with a noncommittal hum. She stood up, shrewd eyes drifting over the clearing, glazing over at certain moments before returning into focus. To an outsider, she looked as if she was bordering on the verge of sleep.
He pushed himself upright and listened, straining to see or hear whatever had caught her attention. He couldn’t sense a thing out of place. A thin thread of birdcall, filtering through the branches; an echo of leaves rustling, as wind grazed the canopies high above. Nothing at all out of the ordinary. His shoulders eased.
“We’re in its nest,” Luna said confidently, nodding once to herself.
“What?” Harry hissed out, sharper than he’d intended. His wand snapped back into his grip, a nervous perspiration beading up against the wood.
Luna seemed unconcerned. “Dusk is falling, we ought to leave in case it comes back,” she said pointedly, already weaving through the mess of brambles they’d come from.
“Merlin,” he exhaled, eyes slightly wide despite himself. “In its nest, she says,” he mumbled, looking at his surroundings apprehensively. “Like it’s just another Thursday.”
He hurried after Luna, her body sliding through the deathtraps with frankly aggravating elegance. She made it look so easy.
The next time a thorn nicked his already-raw calf, he indulged himself.
He could hear Luna chuckling in the distance as he stepped through the now-smouldering gap in the thicket, keeping a wary eye on the forest around him.
“Muggle shifters, you say?” asked Harry, his voice coming out unsteady, jolting with each bump as their car lurched violently over another stretch of rocky road.
“Yes.” Bloody hell. Her hands were not even on the steering wheel. He added trepidation to the list of feelings swirling ‘round his body, joining the already-mechanical churning in his gut. Perhaps not asking whether she even possessed a muggle driving license had been a significant oversight.
He kept a steady eye on the road, hands gripping the edge of his seat. “Luna, dear,” he ventured carefully. “I do believe you’re supposed to be looking through the window, not below it.”
She raised a delicate hand, swishing it through the air. She was wholly focused on fiddling with the radio, turning the dial this way and that. The speakers flickered through a dozen different flavours of static, with the occasional ghost of a distant voice swallowed before fully formed words could float through.
Harry noticed they were ever so slightly, yet entirely too steadily, inching off the road.
He was about to grip the wheel himself, when she suddenly shot upwards, seemingly satisfied with whatever she had done to the radio, which was still very much crackling, and very much out of tune.
“That’s settled then!” She said brightly, giving the wheel a sharp turn. Harry felt the contents of his stomach graze his oesophagus as the car lurched. He suppressed the urge to vomit on the dashboard of the rental.
“It’s just… more static?” Between the radio scraping the inside of his skull, the road doing its utmost to turn his insides upside down, and the thick, humid August heat making his skeleton sweat, Harry was slowly losing it.
“It confuses the wrackspurts,” she said. “But you have to get the frequency exactly right, otherwise they multiply.”
“I see.” The permanent knot that had settled between his brows since he had joined Luna Lovegood on her latest expedition did not budge a single inch. “We wouldn’t want that.”
Luna hummed along to the static.
Harry closed his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. In, and out.
Sweat was pooling at the small of his back, a maddening trickle beneath his shirt. The air was thick enough to chew, clinging to his skin in a nauseating, cloying haze.
He was here because he wanted to be, he reminded himself. He had chosen this.
He had been having afternoon tea with Hermione, when she mentioned that Luna was preparing to go on yet another expedition abroad. He’d been genuinely pleased to hear it. Luna and her husband had become something of a sensation in the quiet field of Magizoology; in the span of a few short years, and with significant support from Minister Shacklebolt, they had managed to dismantle and slowly rebuild the Ministry’s antiquated classification system, brick by brick.
The pair made a remarkable duo; wherever Luna wandered, Rolf followed. She was mercurial and he was steady; their joint work was methodical and genuinely heartening. Harry’s only real complaint was that he never got to see either of them for too long.
But then, it just so happened that Rolf fell ill with spattergroit just days before they were set to leave for the States.
And it just so happened that the beast they had been intending to track was one of the deadliest on the entire continent.
A bloody Wampus. Harry’s delight in the whole situation had faded very quickly when Luna showed no signs of delaying the trip.
And so, Harry had had no choice but to try to tag along by any means necessary. He’d be damned if the poor girl ended up a snack in the den of some beast.
He’d pulled some strings at work and called in a favour or two from people who still went a little stiff whenever he walked into a room. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been surprisingly amenable to transferring him stateside – a senior clerk muttered something about cross-border cooperation – though they’d none the less been surprised themselves.
Parchment had been shuffled, forms signed, and he’d landed a case in Seattle. It was a simple smuggling gig, labelled as pressing; something to do with artifacts, maybe a creature or two. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the dossier.
So here he was now, in a Ford pickup that had seen better days, chasing after his kooky friend – who was humming at his side without a care in the world – and a creature with claws the size of carving knives.
“So,” he said, steering her attention back to his original question. “About those shifters. What exactly are you hoping to get out of them?”
“They’re the ones who called.” Before Harry could even think to process, she swerved the car yet again, driving Harry’s shoulder against the door, pulling into a narrow forest path Harry hadn’t even seen was there. Branches scraped against the windshield, generating a screeching noise that made Harry want to snap his ears off.
“Old family friends of Rolf’s,” she finished with a smile, hands loose on the steering wheel.
Harry braced his feet against the floor as they rolled over a large bump, which was followed by a rather expensive sounding ‘thunk.’
For a brief moment, he tipped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, sending a prayer heavenward that they’d arrive to wherever it was they were going. Preferably intact, and hopefully soon.
It took them another six hours to get to La Push.
By the time they rolled to a jerky stop, chassis groaning and one headlight down, midnight was already fast approaching. Their single remaining headlight – flickering like a dying candle – had, against all odds, managed to see them through the pitch-black road.
Harry dropped on all fours the moment he spilled out of the passenger seat, palms pressing into damp soil, willing his stomach not to empty itself in somebody’s front yard.
“Oh, sweet Morgana,” he breathed. “Bless your soul, Luna, but so help me, you are never driving again.”
The girl simply joined him on the floor, skirts pooling around her knees. “You’ve a good eye,” she said happily, pointing her finger at a spot on the ground. “You’ve found a Merrywumble!”
Harry squinted at the spot, where he could see a tiny turquoise worm, wriggling madly in the dirt. He had to admit, it did look remarkably cheerful.
That was how they were discovered some moments later. Luna was combing her fingers through the grass, murmuring softly about ‘colonies’ and ‘pheromones.’ Harry, meanwhile, remained planted on all fours, breathing deeply through his nose, inhaling the scent of pine and salt in the cool night air.
“Scamander, right?” A male voice reached them.
Harry looked up. And up, and up – eyes settling on what was possibly the biggest man he had ever encountered, standing right in front of him. He was broad-shouldered and thick as a tree trunk. Not to mention rather scantily clad.
“Lovegood,” Luna corrected cheerfully, a little smile still gracing her features. “Luna Lovegood. You are Sam?”
Sam nodded once and extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Nice to meet you, Luna.” He turned his eyes to Harry, brows lifting slightly at the sight of the young man crawling on his lawn. “You as well, uh – Ralph?”
Harry stood, dusting the dirt off his trousers and trying his damnedest to look as though he hadn’t been wrestling his digestive system down, and took the hand in what ended up being a very firm handshake.
“Harry, actually. Rolf is a little – ah, indisposed.” To his great chagrin, though he stood at a very respectable 5’11”, he still had to angle his head back to meet the man’s eye.
“Welcome to the rez. Let’s get you settled; those all your things?” He nodded towards the singular duffel bag sitting in the back seat of the pickup.
He made his way towards the truck but stopped in his tracks, eyes widening as the duffel rose lazily, drifting through the air and making its way towards Luna, wand in hand. “Woah.” Sam grinned. “Oh, man, that’s cool.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile fondly at the reaction. Sometimes, he still yearned for the childish excitement one felt when seeing magic performed for the first time. Though he had suspected that shifters were magical, seeing Luna – who was usually quite careful about the statute – perform magic so openly confirmed it. He eyed Sam’s unnaturally large frame once again. Magic had certainly come in at some point during his development. So unfair.
After getting permission from the smaller girl, Sam very graciously plucked the bag from the air, holding it firmly at his side, and started walking down a gravel path.
As they approached a cozy looking house, they were greeted by a sudden burst of hollering. A group of young men lined the porch behind the banister, each one bigger than the last, looking as though they’d been carved out from the same template as their host. Harry counted heads and balked at the thought of having seven brothers.
They were leaning over the railing, shouting at something happening below.
Two more men were rolling around the dirt. One had the other pinned in a chokehold, a feral, shit-eating grin on his face.
“C’mon, say it!” The one on top crowed.
“Ne-ver,” the other gritted out, face becoming redder by the moment.
“Say it!” The first one pressed, tightening the hold. “Say chicken!”
He only got a strangled wheeze in response, the other boy having gone non-verbal, followed by a frantic tapping against the ground next to him. The hold released immediately.
“I win.” The bigger one declared smugly, hauling himself upright and offering his opponent a hand up. He turned to Sam as they approached, only to freeze up as he saw the newcomers.
Merlin, if Sam was huge, this guy was bloody massive. Cropped black hair. Tanned skin. Eyes narrowed. A majestic scowl gracing his chiselled face. He was stalking towards them threateningly-
Wait, what?
Harry’s brain cleared the hormonal haze that had settled, and his wand slipped into his hand. The man did not look pleased to see them; in fact, he was looking rather homicidal. His eyes were rapidly shifting from Sam to Harry, glare deepening. They ended up settling on Harry’s own in a rather disturbing, unblinking display, brows knotting and mouth opening a fraction, as though he were about to say something.
Harry restrained himself, a frown of his own on his lips. The guy seemed to be rearing for a fight, and Harry would be happy to oblige him, if it came to it. He wouldn’t make the first move, though; he didn’t fancy getting suspended for cursing a civilian, even if it were in self-defence. He glanced at Luna, who was looking between the two of them with a curious expression.
“Paul.” Sam’s unamused voice came from behind. “Stand down. They’re guests.”
Paul stopped in place, hands curling at his sides. He was still looking at Harry with an odd sort of expression, as if he wasn’t sure whether to grimace or smile. Harry felt a little baffled.
“You didn’t say anything about any guests.” Paul addressed Sam, his quiet voice a pleasingly low timbre despite the murderous stare.
Harry saw his fists twitch briefly at the sides, tightening and unfurling. The man took a step forward. Harry rifled through his repertoire of restraining spells and contemplated which one was least likely to do permanent bodily harm.
Behind Paul, the other men slowly drifted down from the porch. The young man Paul had been wrestling with walked over. “What’s up?” He asked Sam, looking cautiously at Harry and Luna.
“They’re here to help out with our little cat problem,” Sam said, smoothly positioning himself between his guests and Paul. Sam turned around to face the two of them. “This is Paul, my deputy.” He nodded to where Paul was still looking deeply uncomfortable, grimacing intensely. “And that’s Jared. They’re my boys.”
“Deputy?” Harry quirked an eyebrow at Paul, ignoring the second part. Sam looked rather young to be a father to a bunch of twenty-something year-olds. “You don’t look like police.” His eyes flicked south, entirely against his better judgement, and took in the man’s attire, which consisted only of – shorts. Shorts and the biggest pectorals Harry had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon.
His eyes snapped back up. Merlin, he’d just checked out the guy who was ready to throw hands. Said guy was looking at him oddly.
“I could kick your ass.” Paul took another step forward.
“Excuse me?” Harry’s eyes narrowed, taking a step back in turn, placing some distance between them. Where the hell did that come from?
“You heard me.”
“Well, why don’t we test that out righ-” Harry could feel a muscle in his jaw tick. The nerve of this guy-
“Enough!” Sam’s voice seemed to drop half an octave. Paul was as still as a statue, his signature scowl becoming more devastating by the second. Sam approached him, lowering his voice. “What has gotten into you?” The question was spoken quietly but carried through the clearing.
Paul did not answer. Though he did finally break the eye contact with Harry, directing his attention toward Sam instead, looking at him imploringly. His mouth once again opened and closed a few times, as if to speak, but he said nothing.
“I will escort our guests to their room.” Sam broke the silence with a thinly veiled threat. “When the others return from patrol, we will debrief. I expect civility befitting a Quileute.”
Sam waited for a response. He and Paul stared at each other until the other man’s shoulders loosened just a fraction, jaw unclenching with visible effort.
“…Fine,” Paul muttered, crossing his arms.
It did not sound fine, Harry thought. He looked at Sam curiously. His words had been spoken in command, not unlike with what little he’d seen of werewolf packs. He wondered what kind of shifters they were, considering the clear leader-subordinate dynamic.
Sam nodded once, then gestured for Harry and Luna to follow. They stepped past Paul, who had moved to the side to let them through. He stood there rigidly, shoulders squared upward. Harry glanced at his face as they passed; a whole tangle of emotions seemed to flicker across it – anger, confusion, frustration, even a hint of embarrassment – though he kept silent.
Sam guided them through the doorway. The interior of the house was warm and smelled faintly of cedar. The moment the door shut behind them, muting the clearing and the man within it, Harry breathed out deeply, relieved the situation hadn’t escalated.
“Your deputy is delightful,” he said, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes.
Luna floated around the living room, inspecting the shoes scattered below the coat hanger. “He communicates very directly.”
“He communicates like a warning label,” Harry snorted.
Outside, something crashed loudly, followed by the sharp crack of wood. Sam dragged a large hand down his face. “I’m so sorry about that.” He sounded deeply tired. “I’m really not sure why he reacted that way.” Another crack echoed, shaking the ground beneath their feet ever so slightly.
Harry lowered his glasses slowly and frowned at the noise. “What was that?”
Sam’s words were hesitant. “His temper gets the better of him sometimes.” A splintering noise punctuated his words. “I think he’s working through some frustrations.”
Harry quirked an eyebrow up. “On your house?”
Sam listened carefully. “A tree.”
An alarmed shout sounded from somewhere outside, followed by hurried footsteps and the distinct sound of several very large men attempting to intervene in something very ill-advised.
“He meant no offense,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “If it helps, he doesn’t usually take such an interest in visitors.”
“That does not help,” Harry said flatly. He was still not sure what exactly he had done to piss the other man off. It was as if his very presence there had seemed to antagonise the guy. His wand hand index finger gave a little twitch. Admittedly, part of him wouldn’t have minded if things had escalated; it had been ages since he’d seen some action.
Luna wandered toward a window, peering out with bright curiosity. “Oh,” she said lightly. “He’s uprooted it.”
Harry turned. “Uprooted what?”
“The tree.”
Sam closed his eyes briefly, then straightened. “Your room is this way.”
A little while later, Harry found himself sitting beside a crackling fire at the edge of the tree line, cicadas buzzing in the background. Luna sat on his right, a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders, perfectly warm and cozy.
The number of rather striking, partially clothed muscular men had increased to a staggering thirteen, forming a loose circle around the bonfire. They jeered and nudged one another, laughter ringing out at some joke or the other. It made for a rather wholesome atmosphere and Harry was filled with that distinct warm feeling he got whenever he spent his nights over at the Weasleys’.
Paul was there too, engaged in an intense conversation with a girl whose face was heavily scarred. His scowl was gone, and Harry thought he looked a whole lot more approachable without it. He hadn’t reacted to the two newcomers when they joined the others around the bonfire, eyes firmly planted on his conversation partner. The woman was looking at him fondly as they spoke, occasionally patting his upper arm.
Harry felt a spike of curiosity, wondering what it was that they were talking about.
On his left, a heated argument caught his attention.
“Not like it matters,” the man – Embry, Harry thought he had heard the others call him – said. “It’s not like any of you can outrun me.”
A pinecone was tossed into the fire. A snort followed.
“I clearly remember you falling over your ass last time we were chasing a leech,” said the guy sitting to his right – Quil?
“Oh, c’mon, that doesn’t count. I was way out of form back then,” Embry shot back.
“It hasn’t even been a month!” Quil threw his hands in the air, looking incredulous. Their loud conversation seemed to catch the attention of the others. Harry noticed Paul wasn’t looking at the woman anymore, instead facing Embry, looking decidedly unimpressed. He followed the exchange for a few more minutes before deciding to join in.
“Wanna test that out?” Paul’s low voice cut in.
Embry turned to him, a beer can in hand. “I’d take you easily, man.”
Quil straightened at this, a wicked smile blooming on his face. Harry could see a few other ears perk up at the interruption. Paul rested his forearms on his knees.
“Yea, if we’re talking form, none of you idiots could outrun me.” His eyes flickered briefly to Harry’s, for the first time after their encounter. It was an anxious sort of glance; he diverted his eyes moments after they’d made eye contact.
“Oh, here we go,” someone muttered delightedly.
“You’re so full of shit,” Embry snorted around a mouthful of beer, jabbing his index finger in Paul’s direction.
“Lahote took you by three lengths yesterday,” Quil quipped.
“Two.”
“Three,” Quil corrected.
“Two!” Embry insisted.
“Four,” Quil countered.
“Yeah, yeah,” Embry said, crushing the beer can as if it were made from crepe paper. “Fine, you’re fast on four. Let’s see lover-boy run on two legs.”
“Right,” Paul said, standing up. “Settle it. From the fire to the garage.”
“Don’t.” Sam didn’t even look up from his conversation. Embry was already halfway through taking his shirt off.
“Loser admits I’m faster.” Embry stood next to Paul.
“Loser shuts up for a week,” Paul countered. He tilted his head towards the left and shot Harry another brief glance. Harry was slowly becoming perplexed by the man’s constant glancing. Was he still trying to intimidate him?
The issue was that it really didn’t seem like it. He rather looked like a small child who kept looking back at you, making sure you were paying attention. A charming, yet baffling thing to come from a man who was well over six feet tall.
The two boys stepped behind a shared imaginary line and crouched slightly in preparation, rolling their shoulders and loosening their limbs. Someone started a countdown.
“Three–”
They bolted. Embry jabbed a foot out, intending to hook Paul’s ankle before they even started. Paul managed to step over it and jabbed an arm into Embry’s chest, knocking him off-balance and using the momentum to push himself forward. It was over almost as soon as it started.
“I win,” Paul declared, triumphant.
“You filthy cheater.”
“You tried to trip me.” Paul swiped at Embry. They dissolved into grappling and shoving, Paul attempting to tackle Embry, who twisted and snagged him in a rough chinlock.
“Say it!” Embry shouted. Laughter roared up around the bonfire, a wolf-whistle sounding up. Harry was reminded of the scene that greeted them upon their arrival. He couldn’t help it as a wry smile tugged at his own mouth at the sight of these men behaving like twelve-year-olds.
Paul bucked hard, managing to throw Embry a couple of inches into the air, nearly dislodging him. Embry yelped and twisted them around, arms and legs clamped firmly around his midsection.
“Alright, that’s enough!” Sam’s voice cracked out across the clearing, in that same odd pitch he’d used before, a stern look on his face, though Harry noticed a faint crinkle around his eyes. “You’ve had your fun.”
Paul landed a final jab on Embry, knocking an elbow into the other’s chest, and stood up, dusting himself off. Embry followed, grinning widely. The two made their way back to the half-circle, shoving at each other.
Embry dropped down into the empty space next to Harry. Paul threw him a look, but Embry just shrugged, dragging his thumb and index finger across his lips in the universal motion for sorry, can’t talk.
Paul sat back in his previous spot next to the scarred girl, arms crossed over his chest, frown reappearing on his face.
“I believe we should discuss why we’re here,” Sam began when they’d rejoined. He turned to face Luna, who was blinking sleepily; and then to Harry, who was leaning on his forearms, legs crossed at the ankles. “Billy has called on outside help to assist with our problem.”
The scattered laughter faded and died out at these words. Harry could feel more than one person eyeing the two of them. He had a good idea of what was going on in their heads; an average sized man and a petite blonde admittedly weren’t anybody’s first pick against a large, violent creature. For the second time that day, he reconsidered just how aware they were of magic.
“I’m not sure just how much you’ve been told. We’ve come across an-” He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words, “animal. A week ago. It has killed one of our men already and injured two more. My boys and I have tried to hunt it down, but it’s been eluding us. It disappears whenever we close in on it. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He frowned. “Billy suggested contacting Mr. Scamander and yourself.”
“It’s good that you did,” Luna said gently, wrapping the blanked more firmly around her shoulders. “A Wampus rarely attacks humans. Harry and I had a look around earlier in the day and found an old nest in the northeast. It was quite a distance away from here. It has travelled far.” She went quiet for a moment, looking at the ground. “Wampuses are native to the Appalachian Mountains."
“Explains why we’ve never come across one before,” Sam said. “What's it doing here?”
Luna looked up. “That is what I would like to know too. They rarely stray from the region; it’s quite the mystery!” She looked excited at the prospect of discovering something new.
Harry cleared his throat quietly, turning the conversation back to an intriguing piece of information. “You say it disappears. What exactly does that look like?”
Jared was the one to answer this time. “One moment it’s there, the next it’s gone. It’s super freaky.” He seemed stumped by the memory. Harry, in turn, felt his trepidation at the situation they’d found themselves in grow. Wampuses were rumoured to be hard to kill, and he was beginning to see why.
“Oh, it isn’t disappearing,” Luna said simply.
“Yeah, it is,” Embry piped up from beside Harry. “I almost had it a few days ago, but it just vanished. It was like three steps in front of me!”
“It is still there,” Luna said. “It is simply commanding you to not perceive it.”
“Like an illusion?”
“Yes,” Luna said, pleased. “The correct term is hypnosis. The creature convinces the mind that it is absent and your senses comply accordingly.”
“How the hell do you catch something like that?” A mutter came from the crowd.
“If one cannot resist its influence, one tracks and sets a trap.” Her eyes wandered over to Harry, a peculiar look on her face that didn’t bode well for him.
“What’s on your mind?” Harry asked her, feeling uneasy.
“You are very stubborn,” Luna said.
“I beg your pardon?” He quirked an eyebrow at that observation.
“Your mind resists external persuasion well.” She looked at him pointedly. “Perhaps you would not find it as difficult to see it when it wishes to hide.”
Sam leaned in. “I thought it was weird when it disappeared, but the smell lingered. But if it’s just an illusion, there should be a way to see through it, right?”
Harry considered his question. If the hypnosis behaved like a magical compulsion, he was somewhat sure he’d be able to throw it off, on account of his experience with the Imperius. Though he was also aware Wampuses were legilimens, meaning it might not be a compulsion at all. The nature of their powers was a big question mark to him and – judging by her lack of commentary – to Luna as well.
“Honestly, I’m not sure we know how its powers work. It’s a mind reader, so it could just be implanting images in your head.” Wary looks were exchanged at this piece of information. “This is something that wizards can learn to resist, with proper training. Whether that can be learned by muggles – er, non-magic folk, like yourselves – is another question altogether.”
“If we can smell it, that means it’s still there,” Paul spoke up. Another glance. “In any case, we should start figuring out a way to trap it.”
“Luna’s the brain of the operation; I’m just her voluntary muscle, so I’m afraid I can’t really help with that part.” Harry crossed his arms, interlocking them around his knees. Luna chuckled.
“Muscle?” Embry quirked an eyebrow, shooting him a sidelong glance, eyeing him up and down.
“Dude, you’re tiny.” Quil snickered from across the fire.
Harry felt a stab of irritation at that. Bloody mutant shifters. "You lot are a pack of statistical outliers, tiny doesn’t exactly mean much from you,” he rebutted before he could bite his tongue, looking pointedly at the first pair of head-sized delts his eyes could find.
“Er, is that an insult?” Embry asked.
“It means you’re freakishly large,” Harry clarified, though it hadn’t had the intended result, as could see Embry was quite pleased with that statement. He flexed both arms, grinning broadly.
“Say that again,” he boasted, twisting his right arm and squeezing to make his tricep pop.
“Size helps,” Paul said evenly, finally meeting Harry’s eyes fully and holding contact. Harry could see his eyes flicker down, dragging along his figure briefly before he looked up again. He wrestled down the urge to feel self-conscious.
He was used to people underestimating him based on his appearance, despite being Harry Bloody Potter. Muscle-brained Aurors were a dime a dozen in the department, and there was nothing they enjoyed more than gloating over the smaller, younger trainees.
Harry never quite understood being overconfident in your physique in an occupation where being big made you a bigger target. What difference did it make if you could fold a person in half if they could have you hanging upside down by your ankles before you could take a step to reach them?
He leaned back in his seat. Perhaps it would be good if the shifters learned this.
“I can assure you, I could have you on the floor before you blink.” He knew how to work their kind. It was always the simple, matter-of-fact statements that always got him the strongest reaction. Lugs like Paul despised it when their singular point of pride was obliterated.
A low, intrigued hum rippled around the bonfire. A chorus of ‘ooooohs’ followed as Paul sat up straighter, brows drawing together.
“That so?” Paul’s mouth curved slightly at the corner. “And how, exactly, do you think you could do that?”
“Well, the bigger they are…”
Paul’s dark eyes pinned Harry’s own, firelight igniting embers in his pupils, and he could feel the man from before coming back up to the surface. Harry couldn’t help but bristle slightly under his intense focus. He had to give it to him; Paul was nothing if not intimidating. Said man slowly unfolded to his full height. “Finish that.”
His wand hand twitched once again. He wondered briefly whether he should try to de-escalate, rather than continue goading him. Strangely enough, Sam wasn’t interrupting this time, instead carefully observing the interaction from the sidelines; Harry took that as a sign that Paul was not likely to murder him in a bout of rage. He decided to keep pushing. “I’ve found,” he began slowly, “that balance tends to favour the smaller opponent.”
“You planning on demonstrating?” Paul asked softly.
He couldn’t deny that he wanted to; he was rearing for a good fight, and Paul looked more than capable. For all that he brawled without any semblance of technique, he looked like he made for a good a challenge. Harry itched to take him up on that offer, if only to knock him down a peg.
“Only if invited.”
A low whistle came from somewhere to the left.
Paul stood up at those words. A smile was inching its way across his lips; an excited little thing that revealed those were the exact words he had been hoping to hear.
Sam finally stood, putting a stop to the exchange before it could go any further and Harry felt oddly disappointed. Paul seemed to deflate a fraction, but his eyes remained fixed on Harry, who got the feeling that their little dispute had merely gotten postponed to a later date.
“It’s late,” Sam said firmly. “We will review the attack sites at first light.”
With those words, the debrief concluded and the circle started breaking up, people scattering in different directions, headed to their own homes. A few stragglers remained sitting around the fire, talking quietly. Another log was tossed into the flame. Sam clapped Paul once on the shoulder, exchanging low words that Harry could not quite make out.
Harry stood as well, offering up a hand to Luna – who looked to be on the verge of passing out – and retreated back to the room their host had graciously provided. Luna settled into bed, curling under the sheets, wrapping the blanket around herself like a cocoon.
“Wake me if the Nargles come,” she murmured. Harry huffed out a little laugh, turning the lights off, before slipping back downstairs.
The night air was crisp and cool now that he didn’t have the heat of the bonfire to warm him. The reservation was quite beautiful; pine trees swayed in the breeze, the distant sound of waves crashing onto shore hummed in the background, breaking the stillness around him.
Harry apparated with a soft crack. A moment later, he reappeared in a dim alley somewhere in Seattle, stepping over wet pavement and out into the street proper.
He still had a job to do.