Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hari’s first thought, when presented with the leader of the Native American tribe descended from The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, is that Ron was, somehow, by a miracle known only to the spirit of Godric Gryffindor, right about him. Her second thought, following right on the heels of the first, is that Hermione is going to be unbelievably annoyed, first at Hari, for being so wrong, and then at Ron, for being so right.

Shapeshifters.

Who’d have thought that Ron’s firewhiskey-fuelled ramblings the night before Hari left for the States that “maybe they’re shifters, Hari, wouldn’t that be cool,” would be the exact truth? Absolutely no one.

Chief Billy Black is sitting across the kitchen table, a perfectly normal muggle, watching Hari stare in shock at the young man who just walked in the back door. He’s wet from the rain that’s just started falling, dressed only in a pair of shorts and Hari would be cold just looking at him if she wasn’t so distracted by the magic he’s brought in with him. She’d felt the magic on the reservation when she arrived, but she’d never thought she’d see this much around one man here. It’s reminiscent of the animagus magic that surrounds Hari herself, but he’s a muggle and so it’s adapted itself to the lack of a strong enough magical core. It’s almost completely external, thick and heavy, entirely encompassing his frankly impressive form. He’s huge. And a shapeshifter. And frowning right at her.

“Sam Uley, Hari Potter,” Billy says, eyes flicking between Hari and the man in the doorway. “This is the gal I told you about, from England.” Sam nods, still eyeing Hari warily from the doorway. She stands and extends a hand to him, waiting until he shakes it before sitting back down at the table and staring at the chamomile tea in front of her. She has no interest in outing him, in case his chief doesn’t know what he is, but the curiosity is burning. She can’t help flicking her gaze back up to him, and it’s fascinating, the way she can watch his shoulders shift defensively (she’s never seen any shifter with such animal instincts but then, she’s never met a muggle shifter before) as he and his chief watch her watch him.

“You know what he is.”

The words that rumble from Billy Black’s chest aren’t a question. Hari answers him anyway.

“Shifter,” she says, watching Sam Uley’s hand grip the counter, sees shards land on the ground as his fingers start splitting the heavy wood. “I’m not exactly sure what kind, something predatory. A hunter.”

He glances over his left shoulder, a response to something she can’t hear and another piece clicks into place.

“You have a pack. There are more of you.”

“What are you?” The words sound like they’ve been forced out of Sam’s mouth, jaw grinding as he stares first at her, then at his chief.

“Well educated,” she answers easily, trying to suppress a smile at the look he gives her. She’s not planning to out herself to these people, no matter how much magic of their own they have or how many secrets they keep. “I promise I’m no threat to you.”

“You could be.” Again, the Quileute chief isn’t asking. Hari laughs.

“Of course, were I so inclined,” she admits, shifting her weight and leaning across the table to look him in the eye. “I won’t be, though.”

Billy looks to the shifter as he jerks his head in the direction of the back door and the young man throws it open and storms outside. Hari feels the magic swell and assumes he’s shifted, gone to tell the rest of his pack what’s going on.

“He’ll be back in a second,” Billy confirms, almost in tandem with her thoughts. “He’s gone to summon the others.”

Now that she knows there are more of them she can feel the magic that makes up the other shifters. There are two magical signatures almost as strong as Sam Uley, and other points of magic that feel oddly incomplete. Maybe they don’t all choose to shift? Or is it a pack hierarchy? She can’t help thinking that Hermione would be bursting with questions if she were here. Luckily for all involved, Hari’s always had an easier time taming her curiosity than Hermione, and really doesn’t want to offend these people before she has a chance to tell them why she’s here.

“You want to tell me what all this is about?” The chief is, again, almost in sync with Hari’s own thoughts. She opens her mouth to start explaining when Sam Uley comes back through the door. He doesn’t speak, so she starts anyway.

“Chief Black,” she says, beginning with what she hopes isn’t an invasive question. “How much do you know about the Black family history?”

“The Quileute are an old people,” he tells her, looking at Sam Uley with an expression she can’t quite decipher. He’s sat down at the far end of the table, obviously feeling that he should be part of the discussion. Billy Black doesn’t seem to mind, so neither will Hari. “The Blacks have led this tribe for a relatively short time. It started with Aquila Black, about half a millennia ago, before the white man came to this country. We’ve been here ever since.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she says, pulling the research she’d put together out of the bag at her feet and passing the documents over to the Quileute leader. “Aquila Black, youngest son of Aries and Lyra, came to America from England after his disownment from the family. He settled here, in Washington, and married a native woman, with whom he lived a long, happy life, blessed with many children. His oldest brother, Cygnus, the firstborn son, died at nineteen, while the second son, Scorpius, took over as the heir. The two surviving brothers were the beginning of the only living direct lines of the Black family. One, Aquila’s, leads directly down to you, and your son and daughters, Jacob, Rachel and Rebecca. Scorpius’s line, on the other hand, leads straight to me.”

“We’re related?” Billy asks, eyeing her with renewed interest. Sam is staring at the parchment in his chief’s hand with an odd expression on his face. Hari shakes her hand in front of her, so-so.

“Not exactly. I am related to Scorpius Black’s line, but that comes through marriage about nine generations too late. My godfather, Sirius, was the last direct male descendant, and he named me his heir.”

“So we’re the only ones left then,” he surmises, leaning back against his chair. “You here for some kind of research?”

“No, sir,” she tells him. “I’m here to transfer part of the fortune of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black to its descendants.”

“Fortune?” Sam says disbelievingly. “How rich were they?”

“Very,” she says. “It won’t be everything - I’ve set up donations to several charities in Sirius’s name and there’s a foundation, too. But I’d like to transfer the rights to the majority holdings to the Quileute Nation, since it’s more yours than mine.”

Before the chief can come up with a response to that (she sees the look he exchanges with Sam Uley and knows she’ll have to find a way to prove it without outing herself) two young men come through the back door. They’re just as big as Sam Uley, that same shifter magic surrounding them and Hari immediately knows them for the two magical signatures she’d felt earlier. She can see the way their magic links, realises that the two of them are linked to Sam more than to each other. He’s the leader of their little pack. Now they’re all together she can see it’s just the three of them, the links in the magic complete. She’s not sure about the other signatures yet.

“Jared Cameron, Paul Lahote, Hari Potter.” Chief Black’s brief introduction sees the two men focus on her as she stands and extends a hand. Jared shakes it first, gruffly confirming his name as he eyes first her and then his alpha. Hari leans over to greet Paul without looking at him, watching the exchange between the other two shifters. It’s not until she looks away and makes eye contact with the man in front of her that the whole world shifts and for the second time in an hour her mouth drops open in shock.

—————————

Hari’s staring. She knows she’s staring, can, in fact, feel the way her eyes won’t move from the man whose hand she’s still holding. She can’t stop staring.

She knows about soul bonds. Down a particularly deep Horcrux-induced rabbit hole in sixth year she and Hermione had read everything the Hogwarts library had to offer on souls (and if they’d raided the Restricted section then no one else needed to know about it) so she knows soul bonds exist, knows how to make one and how to break one and most importantly, how to recognise one when it happens. And, undoubtedly (she’s staring at her magic as it wraps its way into the core of Paul Lahote, sees the clear, thick aura around him intertwining with her and feels it settle into her chest) this is a soul bond. With a muggle shifter. In the States. Because of course this is her life.

“Oh Merlin’s balls.” She’s definitely going to regret that that’s the first thing she’s said in front of him. At some point. Because they’re soul-bonded oh God. Her eyes snap to Sam Uley, even as she wants to keep her gaze fixed on Paul, who looks like he’s been clubbed upside the head by a mountain troll. “You have soul bonds too? What kind of shifters are you?” She gives into the urge to stare some more at Paul, watching her magic moving with his. She sounds slightly hysterical, which would bother her more if it wasn’t accurate, given the way her hands are shaking and her brain feels like a particularly excited bludger is banging around in it. Sam has now joined Paul in looking like he’s suffering from a mild concussion. Jared, by contrast, looks ecstatic.

“Dude,” he says to Paul, a ridiculous amount of gravity in that one word. “You imprinted on her? That’s sick, man, congrats!”

“Wolves.” Paul answers her question instead of Jared’s, eyes still fixed on her face. “We’re wolves.”

“And yes,” the chief rumbles. “They imprint. How do you know that’s what just happened?”

“I can see the magic,” she says without thinking, and oh shit. Well. They’d have had to find out somehow. This is probably for life. “We’re connected now. Bonded. Imprinted, if you like. The magic’s linked. I can see it.”

And she can. Jesus.

“Sorry, what?”

“You can see magic?”

“You’re a witch.”

That last statement comes from Paul, and Hari feels a little curl of warmth up her spine that he sounds impressed rather than horrified. She nods.

“Um, yes. I am. A witch, that is. With um, magic.”

“Miss Potter,” the chief says. “I think you’re in shock.” Hari sinks into her chair at his words, eyes still locked onto Paul’s.

“You might be right,” she admits. “Bonded to a muggle shifter, oh my God.”

“Werewolves,” Sam corrects her, folding his arms across his chest. He looks unimpressed. “We’re werewolves.”

“No, you’re not,” Hari tells him frankly. Paul turns away from her to reach for the kettle and she makes a mental note to ask him what kind of witch he thinks she is. “You’re shifters. Werewolves are the storybook full moon half man half beast type of people. You just shifted in broad daylight three weeks from the full moon and anyway, the magic is different. Trust me, you’re shifters.”

“Why should we trust you?” Sam snaps. He’s got a point, she thinks to herself. “We don’t know you from Eve and suddenly a witch who knows too much about us has arrived and one of us imprints? I don’t buy it.”

“Watch it.”

Paul’s voice is liquid lead as he places a mug of tea in front of Hari. She doesn’t realise her hands are still shaking until she wraps her hands around it.

“No, he’s right,” Hari says. “I’ve got some explaining to do. I’m Hari, by the way.” She knows she’s blushing as she looks up at him, watches him blink before a smile breaks out across his face.

“Paul,” he introduces himself, eyes flicking to the mug in her hands. “Paul Lahote. I don’t know if you make tea differently in England but you probably need the sugar.”

“I’m okay,” she tells him, sipping it gently. It’s awful. “Just surprised. I really wasn’t expecting this.”

“I don’t think any of us were,” Chief Black says wryly. “But here we are anyway. You say you’re a witch?” Hari nods. “What does that mean?”

“I can do magic,” she tells him carefully, watching him for any kind of adverse reaction. “Like, wave a wand, say the magic words, cast a spell type of magic.”

“Where did you learn it?” Sam asks. His brow is furrowed and his hands are clenched into fists.

“At school.” Hari watches his eyebrows go up in surprise. “There’re magic schools, all over the world, where magical children can go and learn. I started at eleven.”

“How did you know about the imprint?” Chief Black asks. Hari looks at Paul and can’t help the smile she can feel spreading across her face.

“I watched it happen. The books call it a soul bond,” she explains. “My magic is part of him now, and his is part of me. I watched the bond form.”

“You can see it?” Paul sounds almost out of breath, the longing in his voice clear as day. Hari nods. “Can you show me?”

“I’ll figure out how,” she promises him. “It’s beautiful.”

Chapter Text

The next hour is a whirlwind for Hari. She explains (briefly and without the Girl Who Lived mess) who she is to Chief Black (“might as well call me Billy, honey, you’re about as much one of us as it gets.”) and the three shifters, gets a cliff notes history of the tribe’s shifter ability in return. She’s pretty sure it’s a latent talent from their magical heritage but she’s never heard of anything like it. Theories are whirling through her mind and she can’t wait to run them by Hermione.

By the time she’s explained her magic (Jared is fascinated by the idea of magical exams) and her healer training and demonstrates she’s not full of shit by fixing the dent Sam made in the kitchen counter Paul has a hand resting on one of her shoulder blades. After Billy tells her the story of the Quileute wolves he moves to stand fully behind her, one arm wrapped over her left shoulder. He’s so warm, and she can feel him almost physically every time he moves, whether they’re touching or not. It’s like an orbit. She’s been here three hours and she’s found the literal centre of her universe. Ron is going to lose his mind.

Paul and Jared both have questions and Sam obviously has some concerns, and Billy’s son Jacob is due home from school any minute. They agree to move the discussion to the shifters’ house, and Billy makes Sam promise to fill him in on anything relevant later. Hari’s pretty sure there’s going to be a meeting about her.

The house is gorgeous, she decides about two seconds after laying her eyes on it. It’s a deep red, well maintained if a bit shabby and Hari loves it. It’s the sort of house she’d read about in books as a child and had always wanted for her own. She’s delighted when she finds out the three young men built it themselves, big enough for them to share it after they’d shifted. She has so many questions, shelving them when Sam cuts Jared off in the middle of explaining how they’d carved the wood for the beams themselves from an old tree that had fallen the previous winter.

“Jared, you can talk about carpentry later. There are more important things to discuss right now.”

Hari sits down on the couch he indicates, tucking her legs underneath her as Paul sits down on the floor in front of her with his shoulders pressed against her calves and one hand above him, clamped around her ankle. Sam sits opposite in a big armchair, and Jared sits in the chair next to Sam’s when he appears from the kitchen holding a sandwich. She can’t help but laugh a little to herself when she sees Paul notice the food, the back of his neck straightening in interest. It makes her think of Ron.

“So,” Sam says, fixing her with a look that makes her feel like he can see her soul. “What do you want from us?”

The question surprises her, even though it shouldn’t. Of course he’s suspicious of her.

“When I got here, I wanted you to let me help you. The Blacks’ fortune isn’t mine to keep, and the Quileute Nation should have what’s rightfully theirs. I don’t want an inheritance to feel like charity.”

Sam’s gaze doesn’t waver as she speaks, and his next words are exactly what she’s expecting.

“And now?”

She can’t help putting her fingers over Paul’s on her ankle as she answers him.

“Everything’s changed. I thought I was going to come here, prove I wasn’t full of rubbish, hand over the rights to the money and leave, and this would be an interesting story to tell one day. Now, I’ve found my literal soulmate. All I want from you is him.”

“According to the legends, imprints are meant to take a while to adjust to this.” Sam looks so beyond unimpressed that for a wild second he reminds Hari of Professor McGonagall.

“Sam,” she says, thinking carefully about how to phrase this. “Your existence is not a surprise to me. Magic is not a surprise to me. The bond was a shock, but I watched it happen. I watched his magic combine itself with mine, I watched it settle into us both, and I can feel him. It’s like an orbit. I can feel the two of you, too. I’m part of this now, and Paul’s a part of me. I don’t want to disconnect from it. I don’t even know how I’m going to go home.”

“You’re leaving me?”

The discomfort in Paul’s voice is so apparent Hari buries her fingers in his hair.

“I have to tell my friends what’s happened,” she says. “I have to sort my life out, quit my job, shut the house up. It’ll only take a couple of days, but I have to go back.”

He whines softly, and hearing the noise from a human throat makes Hari’s heart seize in her chest.

“Take him with you.” Sam’s voice is firm, and something in Hari relaxes at the way he’s not fighting her bond with Paul. “Jared and I can watch the reservation for a few days, the Cullens seem to be behaving themselves for now.”

“Cullens?” She doesn’t like the sound of this at all.

“Local leeches,” Jared tells her, finishing his sandwich with relish. “They moved back to town about a year or so ago. Vegetarians, apparently, and they’ve made no move to attack the reservation yet.”

“Merlin,” Hari says, rubbing a hand across her face. “They live here permanently?”

“Apparently.” he replies. “We have a treaty.”

“Unless you have any specific objections, I’d like to ward the reservation.” She’s looking at Sam as she speaks, but she’s not really asking. “It won’t do anything to the residents here, but it’ll keep vampires out, and protect the tribe.”

“Why?”

“Come on, man.” Jared sounds more than annoyed with his alpha. “She’s his imprint, of course she wants to help. She’s one of us now.”

Hari’s so grateful for his easy acceptance it chokes her up a bit. Sam softens slightly, nodding at her.

“We’d be grateful for anything you do to protect the people here,” he admits. “I believe in your magic, I’m just trying to understand your motives.”

“I don’t really have any,” she tries to reassure him. “Apart from the bond. My whole world changed today.”

“You said you need to pack up your house,” Sam continues. Hari wishes he knew about Veritaserum so she could offer to take some. “Are you planning to move here?”

“If you’ll have me.” She’s so careful about how she answers him. “I know I’m not Quileute. But aside from the fact I don’t want to be separated from Paul, it could do us both harm long-term. It’s not like I can ask you to cut your protectors by a third.”

“Harm?” Jared looks so genuinely worried, eyes flicking from her to Paul. “It’ll hurt you?”

“It’s a soul bond,” she tells him. “My magic is linked to him. We’d be okay for a few days, maybe a week? But it’ll get physical after that, like an ache in our chests, especially if we’re not intending to close the distance. A few miles is fine, but from here to England? No way.”

“You don’t want him to come with you?”

Sam’s shoulders have relaxed a bit at that news and Hari feels her own sag a little too.

“Of course not. I don’t know what these vampires of yours are like but I’m not going to weaken the tribe’s defences, ask Paul to move away from his family, his pack, the only home he’s ever known, to come to England with me. Not when I can just move here. I’m a healer, I can just get a job in Seattle if I decide I want to keep working.”

There’s a level of respect in Sam’s gaze now. For a moment Hari is back at Hogwarts, watching Professor McGonagall tell her to have a biscuit.

“You said we weren’t werewolves.” Hari has a feeling Jared’s never going to run out of questions for her. “What do you know about us?”

“You specifically, not much. I want to do some research, talk to my friend Hermione, but it’s not actually relevant. What makes you a shifter is all the things you can do that werewolves can’t. I assume you shift fully? Turn into an actual wolf?”

When he nods, she continues.

“You can shift fully, you can shift by choice, any time of day, any day of the month. You retain your minds, you can communicate, and I’m assuming if the trait was transferred by biting you’d have said so by now. It’s not like that for werewolves.”

“Aside from the spells, is there anything else you can do?”

The question comes from Paul, and Hari realises she’s been gently moving her hands through his hair for the last couple of minutes. She doesn’t stop, even if her rhythm falters slightly.

“Well,” she says, eyeing Sam for what she’s sure is going to be a negative reaction. “I can shift, too.”

She’s pleasantly surprised when he actually seems excited by the information.

“You’re a wolf?”

“Wait, you’re like us?”

“God, you really were made for me.”

She’s starting to like how they all speak on top of each other, and Paul’s words make a pleasing warmth lick up her spine. It’s Sam she answers first.

“Not a wolf, a panther,” she says, before addressing Jared’s question. “I wasn’t born with the ability. I had to learn it. I couldn’t choose the form though, I found out when I shifted for the first time. Magic folk call people like me an Animagus.”

They’re fascinated by the process, Jared particularly, and when she’s answered his questions as best she can (who knew it would be difficult to explain advanced transfiguration to Muggles) they all go outside so she can demonstrate. She can’t help laughing when they expect her to start stripping, and Paul is visibly pleased his packmates won’t be seeing her naked.

As she shifts, it’s like all the parts of her that aren’t controlled by the bond fall away, and all she can see is Paul. He reaches for her, and she butts her head against his hand, nosing into his chest and feels something in her settle. It’s different, as a panther. Simpler. She can focus on her instincts in a way she can’t when she’s human. He’s obviously delighted by her, wrapping himself around her as she noses at him. She’s small for a panther, but then she’s small for a woman too, and even human he’s bigger than she is.

They all agree to shift for her (they call it phasing, which she puts down to an American language difference) once she’s changed back, and the sight of the three of them is almost unbelievable, even to someone who’s seen as much as she has. They’re huge, almost majestic in their size, Jared and Paul instinctively flanking Sam. She supposes if it weren’t for the imprint they’d frighten her, but she can only be in awe of them.

Sam is as imposing as a wolf as he is human. His fur is as black as her hair is, shiny and almost shaggy. Jared is just as big but more brute force where Sam is menacing. His fur is a deep brown, tones and highlights of black and a kind of caramel colour in the sun. She takes them in briefly, her eyes quickly reaching Paul.

He’s gorgeous, she can’t help but think. Sleek and silver-grey, and that orbit kicks in again as she moves to him. She doesn’t even reach his shoulders, tiny as she is, and like he had with her, she reaches for him. As her hand makes contact with his fur he hums softly, and she’d swear looking into his eyes like this is like seeing her own soul. In a way, she supposes, it is.

Chapter Text

The journey back to England is uneventful. They leave late that evening, eager to get it over with and back to the reservation. It’ll be early morning in London when they arrive, and they’ll be back in two days. Paul is anxious to leave the other two men alone, and his tension radiates along the bond to Hari. She can’t separate that from her own nerves about explaining all this to Ron and Hermione, so by the time she’s apparating Paul to Seattle to get her Portkey back to London they’re both more than a little rattled.

They’ve spent the evening talking about themselves. None of the Girl Who Lived mess yet, but an introduction to their lives, letting each other see a little of the person they’ll be bonded to for the rest of their lives. Hari feels like they’ve laid a foundation.

Paul’s twenty three to Hari’s twenty five, and he’d been a mechanic before he’d phased. He’d loved history and language studies at school, is almost fluent in Spanish and wants to learn French. He loves the outdoors, has never met a vegetable he doesn’t like and thinks flying on broomsticks for sport is the most ridiculously amazing thing he’s ever heard, including the fact he’s a wolf about half the time. She tells him about Hogwarts, and the library she’s built herself, and Hermione and Ron and George. He’s delighted by her being creative, wants her to teach him to knit. His interest in her healer training and magical medicine in general is a balm to Hari’s nerves that at some point he’s going to freak out about all this. He’s so interested in her - the things she loves most about the world, why she chose the life she has now, how she feels about the people closest to her. It’s a breath of fresh air from the interviews by people who only want to know surface-level information about her - favourite colours and flowers and food. He’s excited by her love of astronomy, says he knows a place that’ll blow her mind, an Americanism that makes her think of Seamus.

He’s handled every piece of magical information without batting an eyelid (except, of course, for his almost giddy reaction to Quidditch), but Paul is as shaken by side along apparition as Hari had been the first time, so she takes him to sit by the fountain in Seattle’s magical district while he calms down. They’ve got a park instead of an alley, and the American magical community is much larger than Britain’s so there’s a district in each state. Hari tells Paul this as they sit and decompress, loves watching him grin at her description of Hermione’s lesson on American wizarding folk. Once he’s regained his equilibrium, she collects her portkey (and catches him on the way down). As they stand outside Grimmauld she winces a little, thinking that he’s got yet another form of magical transportation to come.

He’s surprisingly calm about the appearance of her house once she tells him the address, only commenting that Jared would love it if he ever came to visit. His face falls, and she knows he’s thinking that as long as the Cullens are around, two wolves can’t leave the reservation at once.

As it turns out, she needn’t have worried about subjecting him to travelling by fireplace. Paul loves the Floo. She feels his delight as she explains it, is almost distracted by his excitement as she sticks her head through to warn Ron and Hermione she’s coming with a guest. They’re confused, but accepting, and as she throws more powder into the fireplace and he’s practically vibrating with anticipation she resolves to travel by it as much as she can with him.

“Hari!” Hermione calls as she steps over their grate and dusts herself off with the hand she’s not holding onto Paul with.

“How was Washington?” Ron, about to wrap her in a hug, freezes at the sheer size of Paul. Hari grins sheepishly.

“It was lovely,” she tells them, running her thumb along Paul’s wrist. “But, um, there’s some things you need to know.”

Ron, as usual bless him, looks oblivious. Hermione is looking between Paul and Hari with a gaze that tells her her friend has already figured out the broad strokes.

“He’s yours.” Hermione says simply. Ron gapes. At Hari’s questioning look, she elaborates. “You’re touching him. You don’t touch anyone.”

“We soul bonded.” Hari tells them, feeling the smile spread over her face as she says it. “Obviously I wasn’t expecting it, but when has anything normal ever happened to me?”

“Merlin’s balls,” Ron says flatly. Paul laughs deep in his chest, and Hari feels it rumble through her where she’s leaning against him. “Bonded to an American wizard the first day you get there? It could only happen to you, Hari.”

“I can see the resemblance,” Paul remarks, still laughing. “That’s the first thing Hari said when she found out.”

“Also, he’s not a wizard,” Hari says, biting her lip as she looks at Hermione. “He’s a muggle shifter. A wolf.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Hermione looks furious, but Hari can see the humour in her eyes. She goes to her bag and pulls out her purse, pushing a galleon into Ron’s smugly waiting hand. Paul looks between Hari and her two friends, and she shakes her head lightly. She’ll explain it to him later.

“I’m leaving,” she says to her friends. “To live in Washington. Paul has obligations, and I can be a healer from anywhere.”

“You’re moving?” Ron doesn’t look smug anymore. Hermione puts a hand on his arm gently.

“Dependent community?” She asks Hari, who nods. “What does he protect them from?”

“There’s a little pack of them,” she tells her. “And a permanent coven of supposedly vegetarian vampires. He’s got a tribe to protect, and I can’t be away from him.”

“Of course not.” Hermione is brisk, and Hari knows she’s as worried about the Cullens as Hari herself. “It’s not like it’ll be difficult to get to you. What do you need?”

“Keep an eye on the house?” She’s not even surprised at how easily Hermione has taken this. It’s not like she’s ever done anything by half, and her protective streak is as wide as the Atlantic. Her friends are more than used to her by now. Hermione’s spent half a lifetime managing Hari’s nonsense. “I can run the logistics of the estates from anywhere, I won’t vanish entirely.”

“Help me get some tea together?” Hermione’s looking at Hari as she speaks. “We can leave the men in here a minute.” Hari suddenly has a flash that she and Hermione will be leaving these two men alone for a minute for the rest of their lives. It sounds pretty good to her. It’s not until the kettle is on and Hari is dropping tea bags into four mugs that Hermione sighs deeply and leans against the counter, casting a silent Muffliato at the door and looking at her with worry in her eyes.

“We never really talked about what happened two years ago,” she says. “I wanted to respect your privacy, and let you process. But after the age detecting potions and spells kept coming back and everything, I was worried we’d have to have this conversation one day.” Hari says nothing, spooning sugar into one of the mugs and leaving the other three alone. Ron’s going to contract diabetes one day, just from tea alone.

“Hari, you died.” Hermione’s voice is flat. “Or rather, you didn’t. Twice. You were crushed when a building exploded. I felt your heart stop. And then it started right back up again. When that horrible man came to Mungo’s to finish the job, he stabbed you, Hari. In the neck. You bled out. And then your heart started again. Physically, you’re exactly the same age as you were the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. What are you going to do when Paul dies?”

Hari looks out of Hermione’s kitchen window at the park as she processes. She tries not to think about that time, knowing there’s nothing she can do about it.

A young man, obsessed with the war and Voldemort’s downfall had blown up an apothecary while Hari had been inside buying potion ingredients. The building had come down on top of her, and she’d been crushed underneath it. Hermione had been there to help get her out, and had been holding her hand when her heart stopped. Somehow, by a miracle known only to the spirit of Dumbledore himself, she’d been fine three hours afterwards, every diagnostic spell and potion coming back completely clear. Two days later, when she’d been working at St Mungo’s, the wizard who’d blown up the shop had come back to try again. He’d snuck in and stabbed her, with the same results. Ron, in full Auror glory, had thrown him in Azkaban with relish.

For the first time in her life, Hari hadn’t dived into a book. She already had answers. She’d united the Hallows, become Death’s master, and now she was paying the price. The thing is, Hermione’s right. She’ll lose Paul eventually, since physically she’s still seventeen years old and she’s going to stay that way. What will she do then?

“I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get there,” she tells Hermione. “What am I meant to do? Break the bond? I can’t. I won’t.”

Hermione summons the milk as she comes to stand beside her, resting a hand between her shoulder blades in a gesture of comfort Hari is more grateful for than she knows how to say.

———

By the time they take the tea back in to the men Hari has shrugged off most of her melancholy. She’s learned to compartmentalise, and while she can practically hear Mrs Weasley saying repression is bad for the mind, she’s not dealing with it now. She tells herself the same thing she’s been holding onto for two years - being miserable now won’t change the outcome later. Being near Paul makes her feel better almost instantly, as he takes both mugs from her and lets her settle next to him on the couch furthest from the fireplace before he hands her the one she indicates. She’s made his the same as her own, and as he takes a sip he grins at her, all dimples. He’s always handsome, but like this, all his attention and wide smile aimed right at her, he’s gorgeous. Warmth curls in her belly as she watches him watch her.

“That tea I made you earlier must’ve been nasty,” he says as he cradles the mug in one big palm, the other resting against her elbow where he’s wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “How did you even drink it?”

“You made tea?” Ron asks, whatever they’d been talking about apparently forgotten. “Hari never lets anyone else make the tea.”

“Hari was in shock,” Paul tells him, looking a little pleased at the concept. “I thought she’d need the sugar.”

“Soul bonded to a muggle shifter, by accident, before I even knew his name,” Hari retorts. “I think shock is justified. And I didn’t drink it. You just didn’t notice.”

“He spent the whole time we were in here talking about shifters watching the kitchen door,” Ron announces. “Which, it sounds exactly like the animagus transformation Hari.”

“Apart from the nudity.” Paul speaks lowly enough that only Hari can hear him, but the laugh she lets out means the cat is out of the bag regardless.

Paul takes time to introduce himself to Hermione properly, and Hari can’t help feeling content as she basks in her friends’ approval of Paul and the literal warmth coming off him. She’s glad they’re not sitting next to the fire, and it occurs to her he probably chose this seat on purpose. Once he explains the situation with the Cullens, and the fact he’s left Sam and Jared to protect the reservation alone, Hermione offers to speed up their trip.

“We’ll sort the house for you, Hari,” she tells them. “It’ll all be fine. You just deal with work.”

“I need to see George too,” she tells them. “But I want to take Paul to Diagon and go to Gringotts so that’s easy.”

“We’ll come visit for Christmas,” Hermione promises, looking at the calendar on the wall. “And you’d better write, Hari Sirius!”

Hari just laughs.

———

After leaving Ron and Hermione’s, Hari and Paul arrive back at Grimmauld and decide not to nap. “We’ll be back on the reservation by tonight anyway since your friends are sorting the house,” Paul says when she asks. “I’m used to long stretches, what with patrols, and I’m assuming you don’t want to screw up your jet lag any more than you already have?”

So, with more than a little excitement, Hari floos the two of them over to the Leaky Cauldron, and introduces Paul to Diagon Alley.

For all that Paul is six and a half feet tall, American and a fully grown man, when the bricks part and he sets eyes on the alley she knows he looks exactly like she did on her eleventh birthday. For the first time in years she looks at the cobbled stones, open shopfronts and bustling crowds with new eyes. It’s early September, and while they’ve avoided the back to school shopping that takes over the latter half of August it’s still plenty busy.

Paul’s completely enamoured with Flourish and Blotts, so Hari leaves him wandering the shelves while she goes to the bank. Griphook is charming as ever, and completely unbothered by her news. He sorts her out with muggle money, and tells her she can convert it to US dollars at Halaait Park in Seattle. He also sorts the transfer of the Black accounts to the Quileute Nation, and offers to manage the maintenance of the fund long-distance for her. In hindsight, Hari is very pleased she didn’t blindside him about the sword.

Popping into St Mungo’s only takes five minutes. Healer Dorset, head of the Emergency Healing department is in her office, and isn’t too displeased when Hari says she’s activating the immediate notice clause in her contract. She’ll be welcomed back should she ever choose, but she’s been more of a freelancer than an actual employee for the last few years so she’s not leaving them too much in the lurch.

Paul is still engrossed in the shelves when she returns from Gringotts and it takes a promise to let him read all her books and a bribe of magical sweets before he’ll walk away from the bookshop. Hari’s so pleased he likes books she’s tempted to let him stay there, but they really do have places to be.

She takes him to Wheezes first, tells him not to touch anything but lets him roam as he pleases. He’s fascinated, examining everything on the shelves (and Merlin, Hari hopes he’s not going to be purple or something by the end of this) while she goes to hunt down George. He’s in the back, tinkering with something that looks liable to explode. She clears her throat in the doorway so she doesn’t startle him, and his smile when he looks around at her makes her warm.

“Hey, Georgie,” she says, eyeing his contraption as she comes to hug him. “I’ve got news.”

“Hiss!” He’s delighted to see her, scooping her up and kissing her hair. “Is this news something to do with the very large very handsome man in my shop?”

“Come meet him?” She knows he’s already figured most of it out, he’s George. He’s always been able to read her, and the fact she never has to explain herself is one of her favourite things about him.

“Paul,” she says, a little wriggle of happiness making its way up her spine at how he turns to set eyes on her before she announces her presence. “This is George, one of my favourite people in the world. George, this is Paul.”

“Nice to meet you mate,” George shakes Paul’s hand, grinning up at him. “Hiss seems very taken with you.”

“Hiss?” Paul looks more amused than like he actually wants to know.

“I, uh, can speak to snakes,” she tells him reluctantly, giving George a glare out of the corner of her eye. “George thinks he’s funny.”

The man in question just offers her a cheeky smile. He takes the news as well as Hermione had, and Hari is struck by how lucky she is to have people who just love and accept her. He also promises to come visit around Christmas, and eyes Paul as they go to leave.

“I’d give you some kind of threat about what I’ll do if you hurt her, but she’s way scarier than I’ll ever be, mate,” he says, shaking his hand again and ignoring Hari’s huff of protest. “Besides, you look at her the way she deserves. Can’t argue with that.”

She spends the walk back down Diagon basking in how much Paul likes her friends, even after so little time. It’s not until they’re back at Grimmauld that Paul asks her why no one seems sad she’s leaving.

“To us, distance doesn’t matter so much,” she tells him. “We can Floo to anywhere with a connected fireplace, and Portkeys are fairly easy to make even if they’re regulated. It’s instant, and not too expensive, and takes so little effort. It sounds ridiculous but it doesn’t actually make much difference if I’m in England or on the reservation if we can travel by magic.” She can tell he’s reassured, and he follows her upstairs to pack some things. She’ll be living in the pack house with them, but with magical expansion of the storage space there and the bags she’s taking, she can pack as much as she likes.

As she picks up a photo of her parents to take with them, Paul wanders over from her bookshelves to look at it. He’s as sad by the news of their loss as everyone is, but he studies the photo and then her with a smile on his face.

“You look like your mom,” he says, all American vowels. “But your hair is one hundred percent your dad’s.”

She’s pleased by his assessment, tells him how her entire adolescence she’d had white people telling her she looked like her father. She got his dark skin and unruly hair, and was named for one of his Gods, but in truth, she looks like her mum. Paul nods at her as she explains it, says a lot of the people confuse the men on the reservation for each other.

“All a lot of them see is brown skin and dark hair,” he shares, looking at his own hands. “I think they assume we’re all inbred, honestly. Charlie Swan, he’s their police chief, he’s different though. Childhood friends with Billy, he’s a good man.”

Hari smiles gently at him as she puts the photo in the last of her bags and sends them floating downstairs. Paul, who had moved to take them from her and clearly wasn’t expecting that she’d do it by magic, is standing in front of her and with his hands outstretched. It’s hard not to laugh at the slightly lost look on his face. She resets the wards as they go downstairs to Floo first to the Ministry to catch then to Seattle. It’s another first for her, starting a new life in a new place with a new soulmate.

Hari’s excited.

Chapter Text

It takes three days for Hari to lose her shit over the imprint.

For the most part, those days feel like a dream to Hari. She’s always laughed at the letters that get sent into Witch Weekly’s Hopeful Romantics column (still thinks fondly of Ginny and the way they used to dramatically reenact them whenever she sees one) from well-meaning women who wax on about the start of their happily ever after. Now though, she can’t help but admit that that’s exactly how this feels.

She registers with MACUSA in Halaait Park (and is so grateful for the way the witch checking her in doesn’t comment on her identity beyond widened eyes and a quick intake of breath), changes up her Muggle pounds into US dollars, and upon hearing Paul’s description of the ridiculous way they apply tax to goods in this country assigns him to the shopping. He agrees without an argument, a smile on his face that he tells her is because he likes that they’re sharing what he calls ‘life stuff’.

“It feels real,” he tells her. “Like, I’ll buy groceries, and you’ll magically clean things, and I’ll avoid cooking like the plague because poisoning my Imprint sounds like a terrible idea. You’ll read books on the couch and won’t need a blanket because I run so damn warm, and I’ll bring flowers home from patrol because I know you’ll like the wild ones more than ones from a store. I’m excited for the little things, babe.”

The swell of happiness that fills Hari at that is the catalyst for their first kiss. She doesn’t even plan it, just looks into his eyes and sees her own joy and hope reflected back at her, pulls him down by the collar and presses her lips to his.

It reminds Hari of the moment they bonded, like the whole world narrows down to just them. By the time she’s aware of anything except Paul and her own happiness again, Paul’s pressed her against the side of his truck, one of her hands is fisted in his shirt, the other in the back of his hair. Paul, in turn, has one big palm spanning her lower back and is cupping her jaw so gently Hari can barely feel it at the same time it seems like her whole focus narrows down to the placement of both his hands on her.

(When she replays the moment to herself later, she’ll realise she couldn’t have moved him if he hadn’t wanted her to. It makes the moment sweeter, to know they’d been in it together).

Her first full day in La Push is spent exploring, unpacking and casting spells on the house. Paul gives her a tour of the reservation after their moment by his truck, and Hari is absolutely captivated by the forest in the autumn. She finds herself wondering how the beauty of it’ll change as the seasons do, and it feels like she’s ready to make a home here. The people are so friendly, stopping to say hello to Paul and introduce themselves to her. She meets Jacob on his way back from school, and he looks so much like his father it’s uncanny. He’s unfailingly polite, a sweet kid with a genuine smile and something in him stirs up that protective instinct she hasn’t indulged since she adopted the Weasleys and Hermione and Neville as a child. He’s going to be special to her, she just knows it.

Part of Hari (the same part that loved Quidditch so much) is excited to show off some magic. She needs to talk to Billy and the other elders about warding the reservation as a whole, but that itch in the back of her head that’s been there since her seventh year won’t let her wait to ward their home. Paul and Sam postpone starting their patrols so they can watch her cast layers of protective spells and defensive magic. Sam in particular is fascinated, asking a barrage of questions about what they are and how they fit together. She explains in detail how intent affects the spells she casts, how anyone who wishes ill on the inhabitants won’t even be able to see the property.

Jared, as predicted, is delighted by Paul’s description of Grimmauld Place’s magical appearance, so Hari waits until he’s back at the house to cast the Undetectable Extension Charms for the library and unpack her belongings. Watching him watch her things float into drawers and onto shelves is a joy. It’s been a long time since she’s seen anyone show such genuine wonder at magic.

All three men run patrols like clockwork, and the time Paul spends in the woods by the treaty line lets her get to know Jared and Sam better in turn. Jared is an infectiously positive person, light and funny and genuinely in love with magic, but as far as Hari can tell there’s no jealousy that he can’t perform it. He just enjoys watching it happen.

Where Jared delights in Hari’s magic, Sam wants to understand it. Understanding seems to be the basis of his trust, so she indulges his questions and answers them in as much detail as she can. He’s kind, under the gruff exterior, has no issue with her moving into the home he shares with his pack, answers the questions she has in return about the tribe, about his shift, about the dynamics with his pack.

The second day, Hari is sitting on the porch with Jared, letting him flip through her old school textbooks and choose spells he wants to see. She’s cooking dinner, waiting on Paul to get home from patrol, and Jared has a bowl of vegetable rice on his lap to get him through while they wait. An adolescence spent with Ron was good practice for these three.

She’s conjuring birds for him (and fondly remembering the Lavender debacle of Sixth Year) when she sees Sam and a gorgeous young woman arguing at the edge of the property. She knows Jared can hear it, even if she can’t, and he’s tactfully ignoring it so Hari continues conjuring and tries not to watch the heartbroken expression on Sam’s face.

“That’s Leah Clearwater,” Jared tells her when the woman is gone and Sam has stomped off to the beach, out of earshot. “Sam’s girlfriend. It was real hard, for a while, when he first shifted. She was like Jacob, didn’t know the legends are true. He couldn’t tell her. He’s struggled with the shift since it happened, kind of resents what it took from him, I think. I don’t mind either way, and God knows Paul loves it, but it’s harder for Sam. He had plans. Childhood sweethearts, those two, he’d been planning to ask her to marry him after they got their degrees, and suddenly he disappears for three weeks, her dad obviously knows what’s going on, and the love of her life won’t talk to her and drops out of college for what seems like no reason. She knows now, snuck after Sam one night when he went out and saw him shift. Once the wolf was out of the bag things got easier. No idea what that was about though.”

Hari thinks it through as he flips through her Charms book and requests she start levitating things around them. Once the spare truck tyres on the lawn have been safely lowered back to the ground she’s feeling an awful lot of empathy for Leah Clearwater.

She’s going to shift. That magic that surrounds Paul, Sam and Jared, that thick clear, almost external haze? It surrounds Leah Clearwater too. It’s not clear for her, cloudy and more erratic than the magic around the existing shifters but for Hari there’s no doubt. She can see the magic after all.

There’s also no doubt that they don’t know. Leah solves part of the mystery of the incomplete signatures she’d felt when she arrived on the reservation, and Hari figures it’s a safe bet that the others are other people who haven’t shifted yet. She’s the only one who can see it coming before the symptoms Sam told her about start. She’s going to need to talk to Billy.

That evening, once the men have devoured a vegetable casserole with homemade rolls, Hari gets ready for bed next to Paul. He’s got a love for vinyl records, and Abbey Road is playing softly. He’d slept on the couch the previous night to keep her comfortable, but today Hari has insisted they share the bed. He’ll be on patrol tomorrow night, so she wants to make the most of it now. He’s so warm they’ve discarded most of the blankets, and Hari is dressed in one of Paul’s t shirts and a pair of shorts. He’s only wearing boxers, and Hari is trying her best not to get distracted by the sheer amount of him on display. He’s beautiful.

She’s fighting with her curls when he comes out of the bathroom. Trying (and failing) to tie her hair up must be a sight, because Paul laughs lightly and takes the hair tie out of her hands. Gentle fingers braid her hair from the roots in a thick, dark rope down her back, deftly weaving strands in a secure but not tight braid. He doesn’t even need the hair tie, securing the ends with what Hari, a fully qualified witch, is absolutely convinced is some kind of hair magic. By the time he’s done she’s almost completely relaxed. No one’s ever done her hair like this, and she’s never been overly comfortable with most people touching her, but this feels like something she’d be lucky to have every day for the rest of her life.

It’s thoughts like this one that pull Hari out of the dream she’s living over those three days. Hermione’s words flicker through her head every time she looks at Paul by the third day and she’s a ball of anxiety by the time he’s getting ready to leave for patrol. Of course he notices, and when he asks what’s wrong the fourth time it all comes pouring out.

“I don’t think I can do this, Hermione was right, and I’m all in this, and I don’t know how, Paul, I’m going to lose you and I can’t, I can’t do that. I can’t be your soulmate, I can’t love you like that just to have it ripped away.”

She thinks she’s making no sense, a stream of frantic consciousness that trips out of her almost against her will. He’s somehow, impossibly on the same page as her, and looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

“You lose me? Are you insane?” Paul starts pacing, hands clenching as he talks, tone laced with sheer disbelief. He looks terrified, and to be fair she would be too if the person she soul bonded to three days ago suddenly seemed to be having an anxiety attack over it. “You’re a better trained fighter than I am, you’re magic for God’s sake, how on Earth do you think that’s going to happen? You’re not going to let anything happen to me. It’s me that’s screwed, I either abandon my duty to my tribe or I watch you get old and die, Hari, I literally cannot win here!”

Hari, who had been about to go to him, stops dead, staring. He’s still ranting at her, pacing back and forwards, but she’s not listening. Watch her get old? Watch?

He’s standing in front of her now looking even more indignant. “You’re not even listening to me, Jesus, I-“

“What did you mean?” She can’t find it in her to care about interrupting him. “Paul, love, when you said you’d watch me, what did you mean?”

“Wolves don’t age.” He sounds broken as he says it, face twisted in anguish and that heart wrenching whine just coming through his tone. “As long as I’m phasing, I stay the same, physically at least. It’s to protect the tribe. If I want to live and die a normal life with you, I’ll have to give it up. No more phasing, no more protecting my people, none of it.”

Hari kind of can’t breathe.

“You won’t age at all?” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

“I love it, Hari. I know the others aren’t the same, but something clicked in me when I first phased. I was meant for this. You’re already a couple of years older than I am, I don’t have much time left. I feel like the two most important parts of me can’t coexist and I’m going to have to break one. The only thing more important than phasing is you.”

Hari bursts into tears.

Paul’s staring. She knows she’s surprised him, even as he wraps his arms around her, humming softly into her curls as the tension leaks out of him. She’s not an overtly emotional person, and she doesn’t think he’d ever expected to see her cry. Leaning back in his arms to look up at him, she lets her eyes follow the already familiar lines of his face, hiccuping slightly as she tries to get herself under control.

“God I’m sorry, I never do this, I just- you don’t have to stop phasing, love.” He’s not going to die. She knows as well as he does how much he loves the wolf, how much it’s a part of him. He’s not burdening himself when he phases, not like Sam, and as long as he does, they get forever. She feels him start to protest and cries harder.

“No, love, listen to me.” She cuts him off before he can start and he cradles her face in his hands and strokes his thumbs across the tear tracks on her cheeks instead. “I’m not asking you to choose the wolf, or the tribe or the pack over me. I’m saying you don’t have to choose at all. I haven’t physically aged since I was seventeen. I can’t die. This is it for me. I thought I was going to have to watch you grow old without me, not die fighting, I thought we’d get sixty or seventy years and then I’d have to live the rest of eternity without you.”

She can see the hope light up in his eyes. She smiles through all the tears (and God, her nose is running something awful) and he presses his face into her hair again as his big hands fan over her back, warmth seeping through the cotton of her dress.

“I can phase?” he asks her curls. She nods, feels him tighten his grip. “You can stay with me?” She nods again, not trusting her voice. That seems to be enough for Paul, who picks her up and swings her around, face lit up and she thinks all over again that he’s her sun. She knows the imprint means he’s supposed to orbit around her but she knows better. He’s the light she welcomes, the perpetual dawn chasing her shadows. She promises to tell him, to tell the pack and the tribal council the story and Paul gets Sam to call a meeting.

The next night everyone who knows the pack secret is gathered around a fire on the beach, around twenty five faces staring at her as the flames dance light across her face, throwing her cheekbones into shadow as they move. The shifters have skipped patrol to be here so they’re on edge already. She’s introduced to the Clearwaters and the Atearas (the magic that surrounds the man Jacob calls Old Quil makes her breath catch. The wink he throws her makes her smile. She’s relieved; if what Billy had told her about the last pack was true, he had to be over a hundred by now. If she couldn’t see the residual magic from his shifter days surrounding him she wouldn’t have thought he was more than sixty or so).

She tells them about a girl born under a prophecy, about a madman with a fascist agenda murdering her parents and setting their fates in line as he does so. She tells them about letters from nowhere and a giant man on a rock in the ocean, about witches and magic and a castle in the Scottish highlands. Their expressions shutter when she explains the yearly dance she’d done with old Tom, the planned sacrifice of a child to Albus Dumbledore’s cause. Their hands clench at a tale of three brothers and the hallows that united them in death, and Paul is growling low in his throat as she explains that she’d united them again. She explains a year in a tent, a war she’s nowhere near free of and a sickening realisation that she’d been nothing more than a pig for slaughter. By the time she explains that she’d died in that forest Jared’s growls have joined Paul’s echoing off the trees behind them.

Billy asks questions, and she answers as best she can, agrees to demonstrate and she sees the fear mixed with awe as she snuffs out and relights the fire, conjures birds out of her wand and levitates Jared up in the air by one ankle. She sees Billy’s gaze sharpen as flames pour out of her wand and she nods. It’ll work on vampires.

It’s not until little Seth Clearwater drops a serving dish and it shatters that the gathered crowd realises the potential of having a witch on the reservation. The boy slices his hand on the shards of glass as he instinctively tries to catch the dish and without considering the potential consequences Hari casts a silent Reparo at the dish. She’s already shoved her wand into her hair and carefully gripped Seth’s wrist before the people around her audibly gasp at the intact glass, and his mother’s warning is cut off in her throat as she watches Seth’s hand glow slightly golden as the cut along his palm stops bleeding, clots and starts to close. Hari releases him when the faint pink line has completely faded, and looks up in time to meet Seth’s stunned gaze. She winks at him.

“What,” Leah Clearwater’s voice asks from behind her. “On Earth was that?”

“Healing magic.” Hari admits, shifting her weight and seeking out Paul with her gaze. He looks apprehensive.

“I’m sorry for not asking. It’s kind of instinctive.” She looks at Sue and Harry Clearwater, biting the edge of her lip. Neither of them say anything, Sue’s eyes flicking between her son and the woman in front of him, so Hari glances down at Seth. “I should have asked you, darling, before I touched you. I’m sorry. I’m used to closing wounds first and asking questions later.”

Billy’s laugh fills the air as Seth stares at her. As she turns to look at him she sees Jacob’s face, frozen as he stares at his friend’s hand.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a healing instinct,” he shrugs, clapping Harry on the back and leaving his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “In fact, might come in handy around here.” Sue is still flicking her gaze between Hari and her son, her expression clearing into acceptance when the boy tugs on Hari’s dress gently. 

“Thank you, Hari,” he says, almost vibrating with excitement. “That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

She watches the magic that surrounds him, thick and almost cloudy and knows it won’t be long until he’s doing cool things all on his own.

Chapter Text

Once the fire has burnt down and she’s answered everyone’s questions about the limitations of her magic (she can’t bring back the dead, but the fascination with silencing charms outweighs that disappointment) she spends the night curled up with Paul, Jared and Sam on their ridiculously large, ridiculously fluffy rug. She’s cast more than a few cushioning charms and Merlin knows warming charms aren’t necessary in this particular puppy pile so they’re comfortable. She’s anchored to Paul’s side as they process her story, answering quiet questions as Jared draws patterns on the inside of her wrist with his fingertips and Sam keeps a hand clamped around her ankle. They’ve fought, and they’ve lost parts of themselves. They just didn’t realise she had too.

She tells them more than she told the large group, explains Ron’s abandonment and the betrayal she’d managed to feel when she saw Snape’s memories despite everything she’d already figured out. They’re upset, she knows, and she’s not surprised to wake the next morning with all three of them still touching her. They’re so oriented by physical touch (she refuses to use the word petting but that’s what this is, essentially). She knows they can hear her heartbeat, but feeling it is something different for them. They know she’s safe, that they can protect her whether she needs it or not. It’s what they were made for, after all.

She’s the first imprint, and that counts for a lot. She’s Paul’s, there’s no doubt about that but the way their pack is linked, through bloodlines and a mental connection, it’s no surprise to her that they’ve all become so attached to her. It had been completely true when she told Sam she’s part of this now too. Not a wolf, but part of their pack all the same. No one knows whether Jared will imprint, but it’ll be different for Leah since she’ll be a wolf too. Hari is, to their instincts anyway, wholly human.

As she makes breakfast she thinks through what she’d told them. No one except George knows the whole thing, and part of Hari feels raw, almost exposed. Paul wanders in wearing just a pair of what Americans apparently call sweatpants, yawning, as she contemplates the fact that she’s never told anyone something so personal so soon after meeting them. He puts the coffee machine on (it’s the one luxury these men have, a little espresso maker and some of the coffee pods Hermione keeps in her kitchen) and wraps his arms around Hari as she sets mushrooms to chopping, humming into her hair as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She feels the tension melt out of her as she leans back into him, soaks up the warmth from his palms on her stomach through the t shirt she’d borrowed off him to wear to sleep in. This is Paul. They’ve bonded, literally joined at the soul. He’s not going anywhere (and if she feels a little bit of relief that he doesn’t know how to break a soul bond even if he wanted to, no one has to know) and Hari’s going to love him. It’ll be so easy, and she can feel he’s pleased she’s trusting him with the details of her life.

“Morning, babe.” he says, spinning her around and lifting her onto the counter, settling between her legs with his hands on her waist. His voice is even lower in the morning, rough and quiet. Hari shivers.

She watches his gaze sharpen as she squirms, a tiny smile gracing one side of his mouth as he leans closer to her, and just like that, the energy in the room shifts. The breath she drags in as his nose presses into her throat and up her jaw is harsher than she intends it to be, her entire being focusing on the way he’s pressing open mouthed kisses along her neck and setting her nerves alight. It feels like an eternity before he’s at eye level with her, lips ghosting over hers and Hari is just about to close the gap-

“Good morning lovebirds!” Jared sounds more smug than anyone has the right to be so early in the morning. Paul closes his eyes in what Hari assumes is a physical effort not to deck his best friend, and as Hari watches him saunter over to the kitchen cupboards to get a glass she can’t help laughing a little.

Paul moves to the coffee machine, seeming to accept the moment is over, and Hari puts the mushrooms in a pan with butter and garlic. They’ll need to go food shopping, but eggs and mushrooms and toast makes a decent breakfast in her book. She’s compiling a mental shopping list as she starts whisking eggs by hand, stirring the mushrooms by magic when Paul puts a cup of coffee down next to her. After his tea-related efforts she’s sceptical, but these three take their coffee seriously so she’ll wait before she passes judgement.

“Oh my God,” Jared says, sounding for all the world like he’s just had a life altering realisation. Hari turns to face him, cradling the coffee in her hands as she feels one eyebrow raise at him in question. “Hari, where’s your wand?”

“Upstairs,” she tells him. “Why?”

“You can do magic without it?” He’s so utterly shocked that Hari feels a bit like she’s back at school.

“Did you miss the part where she healed Seth with her bare hands last night?” Sam makes his entrance into the kitchen with his usual gruff sarcasm, wrapping his fingers around Hari’s wrist in greeting as he passes her. Paul hands him a cup of coffee before he asks, and all three of them turn to face Jared again.

“I don’t always need my wand to do magic,” Hari says, sipping her coffee. It’s perfect. Paul rumbles a slightly smug sounding hum at the look on her face. “For complicated magic, or anything that doesn’t come as instinct it’s helpful, but for healing and simple spells it’s easier just to do it wandlessly.”

Jared is, once again, delighted. He watches with rapt attention as she finishes breakfast, and if Hari summons several things across the room that she doesn’t actually need just to see him enjoy the magic, that’s her business. As they eat, Sam tells her that Billy, Harry Clearwater and Old Quil want to meet with her, but it’s more a brief notification as Jared has endlessly more questions about magic. She keeps demonstrating for him as she eats her eggs, and watching his face as he realises she can do washing up by magic almost makes up for his interruption earlier.

The three of them all come with her to meet with the elders late in the morning. The council leaders have questions, listen as she tells them what she knows about vampires and her effectiveness against them, explaining the realisation when she was twenty-one that she hadn’t aged a day, that dying never seemed to be permanent. Billy is delighted with her offer to ward the Quileute land, but denies anything that will instantly kill a vampire on crossing them. Diplomacy has its place, he insists, and Hari shrugs and agrees not to fry any of the Cullens. He and the other elders hesitate when she says she’d like to help around the reservation. She wants to fix things, make lives a little bit easier where she can, but they’re proud. They don’t want charity. Unfortunately for them, Hari is, at heart, a healer and a witch and won’t take no for an answer. These people, Paul’s people, have given her a home and what’s a few fixed fences in the face of that? Harry Clearwater in particular seems to agree with that point, and she grins at him, triumphant.

Slightly more sobering is the discussion about the pack gene. They’re a combination of intrigued and reticent when they learn she can see magic sometimes, more so when she explains it’s a trait she gained from the Hallows. She mentions how clear the magic is around Paul, Sam and Jared and when Billy cocks his head she meets his gaze firmly.

“Jacob doesn’t have long now,” she tells him. “He won’t be next, but it’s coming. Maybe a year, eighteen months at the most.”

“How?” Billy asks, at the same time Harry’s gruff voice demands to know who is next. She sighs, leaning back in her chair in the Black’s kitchen.

“The same as the boys,” she tells them, gesturing vaguely at Paul, Sam and Jared who are all leaning on the counter behind her. “Except the magic isn’t clear yet. It’s still cloudy.” Harry repeats his question and Hari cocks her head, considering.

“Embry Call,” she decides, thinking back to the young man she’d met briefly the night before. “Probably just under a year? I’ve never seen anyone before and after they phase so I’m not completely certain. I’ll be better at estimating when Embry eventually phases.”

“Who else is joining us?” The question comes from Sam, not Billy as she’d expected, but she answers all the same.

“Jacob and Embry, obviously. Their other friend too, Quil I think? Two young boys I haven’t been introduced to yet, they live behind the school, and both your children, Harry.” She watches him carefully as she speaks. His jaw, along with most of the rest around the table, drops in shock. “The two boys and Seth are a maybe, it depends on how the pack magic reacts to me but the three older boys and Leah are certain. I don’t know why them specifically unless it’s age related.”

Sam’s muttering behind her and she feels desperately sorry for him. Harry tells her that Jacob and Quil have stronger bloodlines than the rest, although Embry is a shock. They didn’t know he had the gene. He asks her if she’s sure about Leah and she nods.

“Leah will be soon,” she says. “I think after Embry but I’m not actually sure. Her magic fluctuates, so we’ll have to see.”

“Well,” Billy rumbles. “A female wolf will be one for the books.”

“As will a pack that size,” Old Quil (she’s going to kill Jacob for putting that into her head) sighs. “It’s unheard of.”

“Like I said, the younger boys are a maybe. It’s just potential right now,” Hari says again. “Depending on me.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asks. “How can you affect whether they phase? You’re not a vampire.”

“No,” she agrees, turning to face him. “But you guys shift to protect the tribe. The threat you’ve faced is vampires , but that’s mostly coincidence. You don’t shift because of proximity to a specific magical being, it’s in response to a supernatural threat to your people, any supernatural threat. That’s how the magic works. Aside from the fact humans literally transform into wolves, it’s actually pretty straightforward. But I’m here now, and a Quileute wolf has imprinted on me. I’m tied to your community for the rest of my life, completely and irrevocably. Truthfully, I could protect the reservation alone under siege even if none of you phased to defend yourselves. I’ve done more with less before now. I don’t know how the pack magic will respond to having me and my magic here, protecting it. It doesn’t need to work as hard, so I suspect it won’t. My being here decreases the risk, and the lower the risk the fewer wolves will phase, right?”

It’s not until she sees their faces that she realises they hadn’t known that. Her heart plummets. They don’t know anything. God, how have they even survived until now? She looks at Harry, sees Leah in the lines on his face and swings back around to face Sam.

“You don’t know about the imprint do you?” He narrows his eyes as he straightens up and Paul’s body tenses minutely from behind Hari’s chair.

“We know it’s about breeding,” he tells her. “To strengthen the pack.” She’s shaking her head before he finishes speaking.

“No,” she tells him. “It’s about protection. The magic exists to protect the tribe. You imprint to keep yourselves bound to your community, so you stay here and protect the reservation. That’s why the stories have wolves imprinting on solely women with native bloodlines. But it’s different for you, because Leah’s going to phase, and the threat to the tribe has massively decreased since Paul and I bonded. Your bond is waiting for the magic to settle, I can feel it. Once Leah phases, you should imprint on each other. I’m so sorry, I thought you were fighting about her phasing, I didn’t realise you didn’t know.”

“What if you weren’t here?” His voice is trembling. “What if you’d never come?

“You’d have imprinted on a wholly human woman, I suspect,” she tells him. “Dependent communities, that is, ones reliant on magic for survival or protection are wired to keep that community safe. You couldn’t imprint on each other in case one of you died. That’s two wolves lost. But with my magic here, having two wolves with separate souls isn’t necessary.”

He’s silent at that, and Hari’s heart clenches in her chest as she watches him imagine the what ifs. She grips his wrist lightly as he frowns at the kitchen tiles, reaching for Paul with her other hand as she does so. It’s a relief when Old Quil breaks the tension to ask how she plans to ward the reservation.

———

There’s quite a crowd following Hari into the woods to watch her lay the wards. All three wolves, plus Billy, Harry, Old Quil and Jacob (who had arrived home from school at just the right moment and talked his father into letting him tag along) stare in awe as the spells visibly combine before fading into an invisible but still impenetrable wall. Hari explains the intricacies of the spells she’s casting as she casts them, trying desperately to focus on the trees and not see a Scottish castle in their place. She thinks about Jacob as she casts spells and answers their questions on autopilot. Paul told her how hard it had been for them, phasing with no warning and no idea it was going to happen. The council couldn’t exactly have warned every young man on the reservation that it was a possibility, but now they know who will phase. Billy allowing his son to know about her magic is a good sign, and maybe the pack can prepare him and the others before their lives change permanently.

Jacob for his part is full of questions, and wants to test the ties she has to the wards. They’re not inviting any vampires over anytime soon, so the Quileutes have to take her word for it that they’ll essentially just bounce off it, but when she tells them she’ll know if anyone crosses them Jacob and Jared both want to experiment. She walks away from the boundary line with Paul and Billy and turns her back, announcing periodically when one of the men has crossed the line. They’re delighted.

The rest of the afternoon descends into a magical demonstration. They want to understand the limitations, the way it works, and so Hari performs spell after spell, apparates Sam, Jared and Jacob to the house and back and answers a barrel load of questions from everyone except Paul.

When she asks him about it, later, he says he wants to look at her books first. He’s picked an order to read them in and Hari is absolutely delighted.

“I want to see what I understand from reading first,” he tells her, eyes flicking to her wand where it’s shoved into her ponytail. “Then I’m hoping you’ll show me how you use it. I want to be able to appreciate this incredible thing you can do.”

As they sit in the armchair and he places his big palm across her ribs, Hari thinks all over again how easy it will be to love him.

Chapter Text

Before she does anything else, Hari makes an uncomfortable phone call. On the back of her conversation with the elders, she needs to speak to the Cullens.

Paul’s deeply unhappy about the idea of her going there. He can’t go with her unless he wants to break the treaty, but his mistrust of the vampires is stronger even than his belief in her ability to defend herself. He hovers next to her while she’s on the phone with the coven leader even though she knows he’d hear it all from across the room and she lets him in the hopes it’ll calm his nerves. Muttering under his breath about Billy having given her Dr Cullen’s number in the first place, he’s radiating anxiety that travels across their bond to Hari.

She doesn’t bother to tell him it’ll be fine, or offer useless platitudes that will do nothing to ease his anxiety. Instead she tells him her plan, demonstrates the spells that remove the scent of her and when he tells her of the gifts Old Quil says some vampires have, promises him none of them can read her mind. Her secrets, and the pack’s, are safe.

———

Hari sucks in a breath as she catches her first look at the Cullen house. It’s lovely, she’ll be the first to admit it, but she can’t help but shudder at the idea of the dead creatures inside.

They’re waiting for her before she shuts the door of the Paul’s truck. He’d insisted on putting her on his insurance (and thank Merlin Hermione taught her to drive) and told her to take his truck whenever she needed it. As the door closes with a click and the gravel crunches under her feet she watches them carefully from under her lashes. She’s glad she called ahead, warned them she was coming. They’ll know immediately she’s not a Muggle.

“Dr Cullen,” she says as she approaches the porch steps. “I’m Hari Potter.”

“The woman who just moved onto the reservation,” he says in a completely neutral tone. “It’s lovely to meet you. This is my wife, Esme, my sons, Edward, Jasper and Emmett, and my daughters, Alice and Rosalie.”

They’re all so inhumanly beautiful Hari stops just before she reaches them to take it in. There’s one, a red-haired young man who looks so much like Cedric Diggory it stops Hari’s breath for a second. She can see how they pass for related, but she’s fascinated watching the strange magic that almost hovers around them. She’s never met muggle vampires, and this is not what she’d expected. She takes a step and shakes the hand the doctor offers her, managing not to blink at the cold. They’re watching her as intently as she’s watching them.

“Please,” Mrs Cullen says, gesturing to the open door. “Come inside. Can I offer you some tea?”

Hari’s surprised by the offer, and hopes it’s not evident on her face. She nods, suppressing all her instincts to move past the vampires into the house. The blonde man is the last one in, (and there’s a part of Hari that’s pleased she’s thinking of him as a man and not a male) something in his behaviour reminding Hari of her own war-induced instincts. Mrs Cullen leads her upstairs, into a beautiful living room with wall to wall windows. After a request for chamomile tea, she sits on the edge of a couch that probably cost more than Paul’s truck.

The inside of the house is just as beautiful as the exterior, but where she’d expected carefully curated but bland interior design she’s pleased to see there’s a definite personality to their home. She assumes it’s Mrs Cullen’s purely based on how they’re dressed; soft neutral tones with simple yet undeniably classy pieces match the dark-haired Cullen matriarch perfectly. They have a flair for antiques, which, given she has no idea how old they are could be originally theirs. She’d noticed the graduation caps on the wall, can see the funny side of displaying them in a space private to them.

“Thank you,” she says politely when Mrs Cullen appears with her tea. She cradles the mug for warmth and watches the vampires as they settle around the room in what looks like a practiced routine. “You have a lovely home.”

“You’re kind to say so,” Dr Cullen says, smiling gently at her. “Especially since we put you so on edge.”

“I’ve never met Muggle vampires,” she admits. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“We mean you no harm, I promise you.”

The statement comes from the tall blonde one with the strategic instincts. He looks apprehensive, and he’s very obviously not breathing.

“My blood has no scent for you,” she tells him, hoping she can put him at ease and settle her own nerves. “There are spells for that.”

He blinks in surprise and inhales, and Merlin, it’s weird how she can watch him taste the air. The relief that he exudes is almost palpable.

“I can’t read your mind, either,” the red-haired boy admits, shaking his head. “I’ve never met a human I couldn’t read.”

“There are spells for that too,” she replies, sipping her tea. It’s as perfectly, inoffensively lovely as the house and the Cullens themselves. “I like my privacy, and the privacy of the Quileutes.”

“So you are a witch,” Carlisle says, nodding. “I’d assumed as much after your phone call.”

“I am,” she nods. She has no idea how he pulled that from a two minute conversation, especially since it hadn’t been in person. “I’d like to know how you know about my kind to that extent, Dr Cullen. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“I grew up in England,” Dr Cullen replies. “Before the statute, and the witch hunts. I knew some magicals in my early years as a vampire, and we have some books on magical history that I’m sure are by now very outdated. And it’s Carlisle, please, Miss Potter. What made you decide to visit us?”

“I came as a courtesy,” she explains. She can’t deny even to herself that part of her is intrigued to know what her home was like so long ago. Maybe even intrigued enough to voluntarily talk to them again. “And you can call me Hari. It’s polite, when you settle in a new area with any permanence, to make yourself known to any magical beings. Chief Black tells me you don’t hunt humans, which is more than a relief, I’ll admit. I don’t adhere to the general attitude of the magical community in this country to allow the hunting of Muggles to go unchecked. I’m glad I won’t need to enforce any sanctions.”

Tall and blonde bristles at her words, the movement subtle but there. Big and brunette doesn’t so much bristle as ripple, a fluidity she wouldn’t have guessed they possessed flowing through his muscles. She ignores them both and continues.

“I am, however, here to make two things very clear. I have no argument with your kind. I don’t like what you are, but I’ve seen enough prejudice to last me a lifetime. I am not Quileute, but I’m soul bonded to one, so having said that any side I pick in this quarrel will be theirs. I’m completely content to coexist with you, should the treaty be upheld, but you should be aware that I am not a wolf, and I will without any doubt end the lot of you should I be required to do so. It’s not a threat, but you should know it won’t be a fair fight.”

Tall and blonde (Hari has mentally decided this must be Jasper) is looking at her with a mix of hostility and grudging respect. Big and Brunette (Emmett or Edward?) looks like he’s spoiling for that fight regardless.

The dynamics between them are fascinating. Carlisle is clearly their leader, and their group mouthpiece in a situation like this. They defer to him, even when they clearly have their own feelings about her.

“Thank you, for that.” Carlisle’s tone is careful. “We were, if not concerned then at least aware that you may share the fairly decided attitude of the Quileutes when it comes to us.”

“I’ve met a few vampires,” Hari says, trying to be respectful and not pull a face at the thought of ever talking to a being as dull as Sanguini again. “Magical ones, not Muggle. In my experience they tend to leave well enough alone, but then they don’t rely on humans for a food source.”

“What do they rely on?”

She hadn’t noticed the twang in Jasper’s accent before now. US geography is not her strong suit, but she’s almost sure he’s from one of the southern states.

“Supplements,” she tells him. “Magical blood is physically no different from Muggle, but there just aren’t enough of us to be hunting from. A massacre of the non-magical population in a country as small as Britain would almost definitely lead to a violation of the statute, so they created potions to avoid a need for hunting.”

The entire family stare. Hari, who has been on edge since she entered the house, is now decidedly unnerved.

“Would they work on, what did you call us? Muggles?”

It’s Mrs Cullen who asks the question, but Hari can see from the way her gaze slides to Jasper and EmmettEdward (he really is huge) that she’s not asking on behalf of her own control.

“I assume so. I can send you a package, if you’d like.”

“Why would you do that?” There’s no way that the inhumanly beautiful blonde is named anything but Rosalie. She’s staring at Hari with a deep unhappiness that probably has nothing to do with her at all.

“The better your control, the less likely you are to kill someone,” Hari says. Shouldn’t that be obvious? “And the less likely you are to kill someone, the less likely it is that the treaty will be broken, and the Quileutes can breathe a little easier. It probably wouldn’t hurt your quality of life either, unless you actually enjoy hunting Bambi and the like.”

No one touches that statement, even if the tension in the room lowers a little.

“What’s a Muggle?”

Jasper looks fascinated despite his obvious distrust of her. He’s fairly interesting himself, given how clearly different he is from the rest of his coven.

“It’s the British term for non-magicals,” Hari explains. “They’re called No-Majs here in the States.” She’s absolutely sure her distaste for the way they name things so literally on this side of the Atlantic is clear as day in her tone.

“You said there was a second thing you wanted to tell us,” Carlisle prompts gently. Hari shakes herself a little.

“Yes. I felt I should make you aware, I’m not a wolf, but I am a shifter. Having been told you only hunt animals, I’d prefer you leave panthers out of your diet when you go hunting near here. Killing me would start a war with the tribe which I’m sure you want to avoid as much as they do.”

There’s no much to say after that. She leaves her phone number with them in case they ever have need to speak to her, and repeats her promise to send over some blood potions. All the “children” bar Jasper look sceptical when she tells them they’re banned from the reservation by magic now as well as by treaty.

It’s such a relief to leave their house, to climb back into the truck that smells so much like Paul and the reservation that Hari physically feels the tension leaving her shoulders as she pulls out of the Cullen driveway towards the motorway. They’re nice enough, on the surface, but they’re just so creepy in that they’re so clearly dead.

She sighs to herself as she drives back to La Push, humming along to the radio as she thinks about blood potions as well as restocking her general supplies. She’s going to need a potions lab.

Chapter Text

The thing is, Hari is really trying to concentrate. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by books and sheets of paper, making plans. They’re important plans. She needs to focus.

But Paul is so distracting .

The most infuriating part is, he’s not even trying to be. He’s making coffee, half a sandwich crammed in his mouth as he leans on the counter and Hari is pretty sure he’s still half asleep. He’s only wearing a pair of jeans, and the way they’re sitting low on his hips only draw attention to the long lines of his torso. Hari doesn’t think she’s turned a page in the last five minutes.

She’s so distracted by her soulmate that she doesn’t notice Jared has entered the room until he starts laughing at her.

“Being productive are we, Hari?”

Paul swallows his food and turns at his words, and Hari’s eyes slide up his chest to his face, where a slow smile is aimed right at her. He crosses the kitchen in two quick strides and scoops her up, settling her between his thighs as he sits in the chair behind her. A coffee appears in front of her, another mug in his own hand and she sighs as she settles back into him.

“What’s all this, babe?”

Jared comes over to sit down as she picks up her pen again (she’s avoided quills like the plague since she left school and her handwriting looks less like chickenscratch as a result) and she bites her lip as she looks at him.

“I’m making plans for the reservation,” she tells them, not even sure why she’s nervous. He’s not going to laugh at her, or think she’s trying to take over. “There’s so much I want to do here, I needed to get on top of it.”

“Plans?” Jared asks as Paul kisses the back of Hari’s head affectionately. “Plans for what?”

That’s all the encouragement Hari needs. She’s off and running, explaining how she’s going to start with the urgent list, ordering extra clothes for the wolves and making grocery plans. She shows them her timetables for patrols so that they can get some sleep and trade off the night shifts (and Paul looks them over knowing that Sam is going to love her forever for this alone) and her menu plans for the next few weeks. She tells them about her idea for a community garden, so that people can have fresh vegetables they don’t have to pay for. She’s got plans to help the school, renovate some of their classrooms for them and get them new supplies.

She knows funding will be a sore spot, so she’s decided to pay for the pack herself, and the money for the Quileute people can come from the Black fortune. She’s got budget plans and maps drawn out, and by the time she finishes both wolves look slightly gobsmacked.

“We can change it if this doesn’t work,” she says. “And I don’t want to be all bossy boots and tell you what to do, I just thought it might help-“

Her sentence is cut off when Paul tips her head back and leans over so he can kiss her upside down. When he releases her and picks up a sheet of paper to read over her plans for building a greenhouse between the pack house and Billy’s, she meets Jared’s gaze and sees the excitement on his face.

“You’re going to organise us,” he says with delight. “We’re going to be the most efficient pack of wolves in Washington.”

“We’re the only pack of wolves in Washington,” Paul says absentmindedly as he reads. “But this is incredible, babe.”

Sam is in agreement, when he gets home and tucks into the rice casserole Hari’s kept warm for him. He could’ve just microwaved it, but Jared’s delight at checking the warming charm every hour or so all afternoon means he doesn’t have to.

They spend a peaceful couple of hours checking over the plans and making edits, and Hari feels more settled already. It’s not until Paul’s back from his patrol and sliding into bed behind her that she fully relaxes though, melting into his warmth as his chest meets her back.

“I’ve never been a cuddler before now,” he rumbles into her ear as he twists her curls around his fingers. “But I can’t help touching you, all the time.”

“It’s the bond,” she tells him. “Skin contact is the best thing to settle it. Plus I’ve been doing some reading, and it’s likely a scenting thing for your wolf too.”

“Where did you read that?” She can hear the smile in his voice as he talks. “A Guide to Bonding With Muggles?”

“Soul Bonds and Their Effects on Transformative Magic, actually ,” she sniffs at him, deliberately tossing some of her hair in his face and stifling a giggle. “I would offer to lend it to you but just for the attitude I’m going to hide it.”

The tickling that follows is, frankly, worthy of being classified under the Geneva convention. Hari is very glad she put a silencing charm on their room.

It’s a conversation that comes up again with Sam and Leah the next day. Hari’s silencing charms have been applied to all three bedrooms, so Leah is spending a lot more time with them than Jared tells her she had previously. The soon-to-be-imprinted pair are sitting at the kitchen table with Paul while Hari cooks, Jared out on patrol.

Hari is pleased to see they seem happier than they had before; the proof that knowledge has eased their fears only reinforces her belief that the younger boys need to be prepared for what’s coming. It’s something she’ll revisit with the elders when she’s got a Muggleborn witch to back her up.

Leah’s sharp gaze is focused on Paul as he catches Hari on her way to the fridge, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and rubbing his cheek along her wrist. It’s such a blatant display of scenting that Hari has to bite her lip to stop herself breaking out into giggles.

“I never pictured Paul being so touchy feely,” Leah announces as Hari extricates herself to retrieve the garlic. It sets to chopping itself as Paul turns his attention back to the book in front of him. Last Hari checked he was reading her Seventh Year charms textbook, but he seems to have moved onto Practical Applications of Advanced Charms - he’s been full of questions about how spells can be applied to an existing building versus one constructed entirely by magic. “Does that come from your end of the imprint?”

“Oh,” Hari shakes her head as she stirs the soup clockwise out of habit. “No. It’s the imprint itself. I’ve never been particularly affectionate, apart from with Ron and George, two of my best friends. Everyone else gets a two foot radius at all times. It applies to Jared and Sam too, because of the pack magic.”

“I don’t get it.”

Sam opens his mouth but Hari just grins. She likes Leah’s bluntness, it reminds her a little of Ginny.

“So Sam is the peak of the pack magic, if you like, as the alpha. Not really a centre point, that’s the magic itself, but a point that extends slightly further than the rest. Everyone else is interconnected, most strongly to the core of the pack magic, then to Sam, and to a slightly lesser extent, to each other. When Paul and I bonded, I became as much a point in the network as he did; that is, slightly less than Sam but not a different strength of tie. So my connections are most strong to Paul, then to the pack magic, then to the rest of the pack themselves. To me, Sam and Jared are equal points of magic and Paul is that alpha point for lack of a better phrase.”

She gives Leah a minute to digest that speech while she adds herbs to the broth.

“So Sam doesn’t really register as alpha to you, because you’re not a wolf,” Leah summarises. “And because it’s Paul who imprinted on you, your strongest tie is to him. What about me, since Sam will be my alpha and my imprint?”

“Well,” Hari says. “You two will be an alpha pair. So you’ll both register as pack alphas to the rest of the wolves, and as equals to each other because you’re both imprinting. It’s the same for us, my magic means that Paul and I imprinted on each other. It’s a two sided thing, like you said. If Jared or one of the others imprints on a wholly human Muggle, they would be tied mostly to their imprint, and then vaguely to the rest of the pack but with very little connection to the pack magic, having no magic and no shifting ability of their own.”

“It’s kind of terrifying how little we knew before you,” Sam interjects. “When you think about it like that.”

“It’s one of the downsides of the Statute of Secrecy,” Hari says thoughtfully. It’s a debate she and Hermione have had extensively by owl since she moved. “Wizardkind vanished from the public domain, and all magical grey areas, like you guys, were left to fend for yourselves.”

Leah shrugs one shoulder in a way that reminds Hari even more strongly of Ginny and the Weasley Can-Do Attitude.

“You’re here now,” she says simply. “Not much use dwelling on it. So, tell me about how you’re adapting the patrols once the rest of us phase.”

———

It all seems to slide into place quite quickly after that. It takes a fair bit of effort on Hari’s part, but within a couple of weeks she’s well on her way to ticking off her checklists. She and Jared had snuck onto the school grounds one night like naughty children to fix the fencing, repair the broken furniture and slip some new supplies into the cupboards. Paul had told her later that he’d been humming the Mission Impossible theme for two straight days.

Hari’s admittance to never having seen it had meant the men had decided to introduce a weekly film night into their schedules. She’d made a list and stuck it to the wall next to the TV, and every Tuesday night they picked one to watch.

The latest had been Ocean’s Eleven , which had proved far better than they’d made it sound. Over dinner afterwards, between some nonsensical handshaking and eyebrow communicating Jared and Paul had decided that she needed to watch a film about an amnesiac spy next. She’s already forgotten the name, but whatever makes them happy.

She’s smiling to herself as she remembers Jared’s reaction to being levitated over the kitchen table like in the film when Paul finds her in what she’s designated a garden area. He’s been at work, building some new fencing with Sam along the cliffs at the north west end of the reservation, and had promised to come and find her when Sam left for patrol.

“Are you barefoot?”

She turns at the sound of his voice, tucking her wand into her hair as she drops her chalk into her pocket. It sends that now-familiar warmth up her spine when he reaches for her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of her dungarees and kissing her gently.

Wiggling her bare toes, she looks up at him.

“I am,” she confesses. “It’s good for the plants.”

“Babe,” he says, obviously trying not to laugh. “There are no plants yet.”

“But there’s soil , dear,” she teases as she pulls her chalk back out and indicates to the markings on the ground. “And soon, there will be a greenhouse.”

When she’d owled him, Neville had agreed a greenhouse would be the easiest way to hide the blatant magic involved in growing vegetables year round in the Pacific Northwest. Hari wants a sustainable food source for the people of La Push, without them knowing how much magic is involved. It’s a tight line to walk, but then, what else is new?

“Did you order the plants and stuff?” Paul is eyeing the pile of building materials sitting under an impervious charm to their left. He’d ordered the stuff for her once she’d said she didn’t need magical supplies and would be applying the charms after she’d built the main frame.

“Done and dusted,” Hari said tells him smugly, miming ticking an item off her list. “But Neville asked if he could help, he’s never set up a greenhouse from scratch before, and then Ron and Hermione want to come to visit, and I wanted to ask you guys before I said yes.”

“Of course they can come,” Paul says, raising one eyebrow. “I’m not kidnapping you here away from your friends.”

“I was more thinking that this is sacred ground,” Hari grins at him. “And I should ask the elders before I bring outsiders onto tribal lands. But, you know. Kidnap away and all.”

Paul’s blush has Hari laughing so loud it draws Jacob out of the Black’s house, Seth Clearwater in tow.

“The witch has a cackle,” Jacob drawls as he arrives in front of the couple, one eyebrow raised in what is clearly an adorable impression of Paul. “How fitting.”

Seth erupts into giggles at his friend’s joke, and Hari’s heart is fit to burst at how cute the pair of them are.

“She’ll put you in a potion, you carry on like that,” Paul tells him, ruffling his hair and pulling him into a headlock as Jacob desperately tries to get out of the way. “Bold of you to aggravate the one with literal magic powers.”

Hari gestures Seth over to where she’s placed a basket of potatoes and some mini planter trays with some seed packets.  He immediately starts reading the back of a packet of spinach seeds.

“Can you actually plant any of this now?”

Jacob and Paul have given up the roughhousing, and it’s Jacob asking questions. Hari is secretly delighted he’s showing an interest, since she’s about to put him to work.

“Sure can, kiddo. A lot of it will be overwintered, so we have crops as soon as the frost is over in the spring, some I’ll grow during the winter anyway in the definitely-not-magical greenhouse, and the potatoes should be fine with a charm on them.”

Jacob is eyeing the basket with some interest.

“Sorry if this is a stupid question,” he starts. Hari can feel herself shaking her head. “But are you literally going to put a whole potato in the ground?”

“No such thing as a stupid question in gardening,” she tells him. “And yes, we’re using some old tyres as raised beds and planting them in there. Potato plants grow out of the potatoes themselves.”

“Can we help?” Seth has abandoned the spinach seeds in favour of looking down at Hari with a pleading expression on his face. “Jake wants us to work on the car he’s not old enough to drive and this sounds way more fun.”

Jacob’s splutter of indignation is cut off by Hari’s laughter.

“Course you can,” she says. “I was hoping you’d offer. I was even ready to start bribing you with food, but if you’re willing to work for free…”

“Food’s good too,” Jacob interrupts quickly, outrage forgotten in the face of Hari’s cooking. “If we’re going to grow food, might as well eat, you know. For sustenance.”

“Lucky for you two I’m cooking enough for a small army today,” she tells them, one finger tapping her chin as if she hadn’t planned on feeding them all along. “I’m sure I can spare a little for a couple of growing lads.”

By the time the tyres are in place, filled with soil and being merrily filled with potatoes, ‘a couple’ has turned into half a dozen and Hari’s garden is full of happy teenagers. Quil and Embry had come to call on Jacob and been roped in to help, Seth had summoned his cousin Brady from somewhere, and Brady’s best friend Collin had come along too. Hari is delighted to meet the two boys who might become part of the pack one day. She’s still fascinated by how the magic manifests before the shift, especially in the differences between the inevitability of the older ones and the hazy, almost vague aura around Seth, Brady and Collin.

Paul’s arms wrap around the front of her as he pulls her backwards into his chest while she levitates bowls filled with baked chicken, rice and greens outside for the teenage contingent. She’s so pleased to have them here, to have him with her, a feeling that settles fully into her bones when he kisses the back of her neck before releasing her to start plaiting her hair.

Chapter Text

“Hari!”

The sheer excitement in her friends’ voices has Hari smiling even before she pushes herself off the side of Paul’s truck. It’s just after seven in the morning, she’s not seen any of the pack since yesterday afternoon (Paul and Jared at work, Sam on patrol and then Paul had taken the night shift and hadn’t been back by the time Hari snuck out for the drive to Seattle) but she’s so pleased they’re here she can’t find a single thing to dampen her mood.

George gets to her first, scooping her into a hug that only ends when Ron takes her straight out of his brother’s arms and into his own.

“Hiss! Light of my life, sister of my soul, saviour of my world, I’ve missed you!”

“You were doing really well until the saviour bit, Georgie.” Hari’s voice is muffled by Ron’s chest but she’s fairly sure the mock disapproval is loud and clear. “Hi Neville, Mione, how was the trip?”

“Uneventful,” Neville tells her, grinning around Ron when he finally releases her. “Took us longer to get through the crowds at the Ministry than to get here.”

“Did you know you’ve moved on from missing to presumed dead, Hari?” Ron can’t keep a straight face through the question, and Hari dreads to think what the Prophet is writing about her these days.

“Been there before,” she says blithely. “Didn’t stick then either. I’m tricky like that.”

“Poor old Mouldy Wart got the shock of his life,” George says solemnly, shaking his head in mock sadness. “Disrespectful really, Hari, leading a man on like that.”

“For Merlin’s sake you lot, I’m going to have died of old age before we get anywhere. Can we go?”

Hermione’s doing a good job of looking stern but Hari can see the excitement underneath her impatience. Ron wraps an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders and opens the truck door for her, ending up squished in the middle when George clambers in after them. Neville climbs in next to Hari as she puts it in gear and pulls out of the car park towards La Push. She can’t wait to show them her new home.

———

She’s talking a mile a minute as she parks the truck, telling them all about the reservation and Neville is practically drooling at her descriptions of the plants growing wild here. It had been dark when she’d left, but now they get to appreciate La Push in its morning glory, dew still on the grass, a post-dawn haze in the air and some autumn sunlight filtering through the cloud cover and the trees. They’re appropriately awed.

“So that’s the house,” Hari’s saying as she climbs out and gives them a second to join her. “And that’s Billy’s house, he’s the one who’s related to Sirius, and that’s where I’m going to-“

The words “build a greenhouse” die on Hari’s lips as she stares at what had previously been an empty patch of ground covered in careful chalk marks. It’s now occupied. By a greenhouse.

There’s a silent moment of shocked confusion as she tries to make sense of what’s in front of her. Realisation dawns as she catches sight of the three wolves leaning against the structure and she can’t help the smile that takes over her face.

“They look like a record cover,” George snorts softly as he follows Hari’s gaze. “Like wolfy backstreet boys.”

“You didn’t tell us you’d already built it!”

Neville looks like Christmas has come early, but Paul reaches her before she can answer him.

“Hey, babe,” he says quietly, eyes flicking over her before he presses his face into her hair. It’s the longest she’s gone without seeing him since they met, and he seems to want to reassure himself that she’s alright. She pulls back a little in his arms to look up at him, knows she’s smiling even as she talks.

“You built me a greenhouse.”

“I mean, yeah.” Teeth press down into his bottom lip and Hari feels her stomach swoop. “From what I read, a muggle building it won’t affect the charms because they’re going on after. There’s so much, I don’t, I mean, you can do all these things I can’t. But I can do this. I wanted to do this. For you.”

His gaze is steady even as he stumbles over his words. Hari suddenly understands that this is his version of warding the reservation and if her heart feels like it’s going to burst out of her, well, that’s her business. Leaning up on her toes she presses a light kiss to his lips, before blowing one at Jared and Sam over his shoulder and turning around.

“Ron,” she calls, smirking at her friend. “My soulmate built me a greenhouse. Better up your game, Weasley.”

George’s laughter rings across the clearing as she takes Paul’s hand and gestures everyone over to the house. It’s time for introductions and breakfast food.

———

That evening, Hari is about as happy as she’s ever been. Almost all her favourite people are in the same room, passing around pizza boxes and laughing. It’s a kind of contentment she could get used to.

They’d made a start on the greenhouse, Neville happily directing them as they got set up. George and Hari had done most of the spellwork, Ron taking over when Hari went to make lunch. Hermione had spent most of the morning with Sam, learning as much as she could about the tribe, their shift and about Sam and Leah. Jared had spent all day watching the Weasley brothers doing magic, asking questions of Neville every time he gave a new instruction with infectious joy. Neville had been in his element explaining the mechanics of it all to him.

The teasing had started over dinner, jokes being passed around the living room along with the pizzas. Hari loves it.

“You guys have crazy senses, right?” George asks the wolves, already smirking. “How are you dealing with the sex smell? Jared, mate, you must be fuming.”

“Hari charmed the house,” Sam shrugs, trying valiantly to pretend there’s not a blush creeping up his neck. Leah is already laughing at him. “We can’t smell anything… private.”

“But I can smell pizza.”

Ron is looking at them with a raised eyebrow as if they’re missing something obvious.

“Ron,” Hermione says warningly. “Hari cast the charms.”

“Okay? We still shouldn’t be able to smell anything at all, I don’t-“

He’s cut off by George thumping him in the arm, looking meaningfully at Hari where she’s inspecting a slice of pizza and pretending she’s not listening, and stops talking.

“Never mind,” he says, grinning. “I’m stupid. Do you guys have football channels here?”

An hour later, Hari suddenly realises she can hear Hermione discussing her from where she’s sat curled up with Jared on the floor while he bickers over the football with Ron, who’s sitting above them on the sofa. Without looking she knows the expression that’s on Paul’s face, knows his body will be fully facing Hermione as he listens to her.

“Hari will always downplay how powerful she is,” Hermione’s saying. “It stood her apart, at school, and she hated it. She’s always seen magic differently than the rest of us, even before she could actually see it. They call me the smartest witch of my age but Hari? She’s the most powerful wizarding Britain has seen in a long, long time.”

“I didn’t know,” Paul says back, and Hari can feel her heartstrings tug at the question in his tone. She’ll have to talk to him. “She never said. I wouldn’t know either way, but she just made herself sound like a normal witch apart from all the Voldemort stuff.”

“Sounds like Hari,” Hermione tells him fondly. “But no, she’s always been extraordinary. She achieved her animagus faster than anyone I can find record of, once she decided to do it.”

“The panther?”

“It made no sense to us at the time, until we looked into it. The legends of panthers as spirit animals say they’re powerful, and protective, and symbolise that you have a guardian over your spirit. They’re a symbol of the feminine, of rebirth and an understanding of death, which Hari has more than any witch or wizard alive.” Hermione sucks in a breath and laughs a little. “I suppose it ended up being even more perfect for her, given where she ended up.”

“Not like there’s many panthers in England,” Paul admits, chuckling under his breath. “And she imprinted on a shifter from the Pacific Northwest, with mountains full of them.”

“That’s why Ron put his foot in it, with the scent charms,” Hermione explains. “None of the rest of us could cast a charm specific enough to filter out a certain smell for certain people in certain rooms. Hari truly is something else.”

———

It’s not until they’ve gone to bed that Hari brings it up with Paul. She’s not even sure what she wants to say, but the idea of leaving this to fester isn’t one she’s comfortable with.

“Are you okay?” she asks carefully as she curls into him. His fingers start tracing patterns on the back of left arm on autopilot, and it helps her relax into this conversation. “About what Hermione said?”

“Yeah, babe, of course.” She can feel his breath ghost over the top of her head, doesn’t know why it’s easier to talk to him when she’s pressed into his chest and can’t see him. “It just took me by surprise. I don’t care if you’re the most magical witch in all of history. I just hate that people made you feel bad about it, especially if it means you don’t talk about it.”

Hari takes a minute to think about that.

“I hate being the centre of attention,” she tells him eventually. “I spent a lot of time growing up avoiding it like the plague, and then only seeking it out when I knew I was going to get hurt. It was worth it, to save other people, but from the minute I found out I’m magical I just wanted people to stop looking at me all the time.”

He’s quiet as she talks, fingers still moving along the back of her arm. Her words are soft, but she knows he can hear her even pressed into his chest like she is.

“And then I met you,” she continues, breath hitching as she remembers watching her magic wrap into the core of him. “And suddenly it didn’t matter if anyone else was looking, because the only gaze I cared about was yours. I want you to know me, inside out and upside down, but I’ve spent so long not talking about stuff that I don’t know how to unwrap it all. It’s like the words get stuck.”

“I want to know you like that,” he says into her hair. “I want to know the answers to every question I don’t know to ask. But I get it’s not easy for you. I just want you to know you’re not alone anymore. You won’t be ever again.”

“George knows me best,” she tells him, hoping it’s not going to make him territorial. “He was the first person who ever looked after me in a real way. He sees what most people don’t bother to look for, and he’ll tell you the most truthful things about me. Hermione has rose tinted glasses where I’m concerned.”

Paul, proving that he knows her pretty well already, doesn’t press her anymore than that. He wraps her up in his arms and holds her just tightly enough that she falls asleep listening to his heartbeat.

The next day, when Paul spends the entire afternoon with George, Hari feels her heart squeeze in her chest. Forever with this man sounds like a pretty good place to start.

Chapter Text

“So we’re agreed then,” Old Quil says, leaning on the back legs of his chair just like his grandson does. “We’re going to warn them.”

Hari is so pleased they’ve agreed with her she can’t keep her hands still. She’s fiddling with a pen, flipping it between her fingers as she nods. Hermione had spoken to the elders before her friends left, both witches explaining how much harder it had been to adjust to the magical world with no prior warning. It seems like their point was made, since all the tribal elders have agreed to allow their children to know about their impending change.

They’ve met a few times, the elders, the three wolves, Leah and Hari. Leah agrees that Jacob, Quil and Embry should know, especially since she’s already been warned. Sam hadn’t been able to keep that from her, and nor should he, in Hari’s opinion. Knowledge is power, as far as Hari is concerned, and the sooner the boys stop thinking Sam, Jared and Paul are in some kind of gang, the better.

For the first time, Hari herself goes on patrol so that all three wolves can be there to explain it to the younger boys. Sam is nervous about it, and makes that abundantly clear the moment it’s suggested. It’s not until Hari apparates her way around the border, placing markers for the men to find and he watches her shift into the panther mid run just as fast as they can shift themselves that he relents. She promises to send a patronus at the first sign of trouble.

It’s a lovely hour spent exploring the woods around the Quileute land. She’s not bound by the treaty, so ventures into Cullen territory to lay some extended wards and cast some detection spells, leaves some parcels dotted around the border with clothes and snacks placed under a stasis charm.

By the time she gets back, all three boys look slightly disconcerted. Jared goes on patrol in her place, letting her take over from him with the youngest pack members. She passes Paul on her way to the sofa, brushing her wrist along his jaw and pressing a quick kiss to his hair before curling her legs underneath her as she looks the boys over.

“How are you all feeling?”

It takes a while, but all three eventually start talking. Quil is excited, Embry quiet, and Jacob looks as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. It’s a feeling Hari can relate to.

Over the next few days, she makes sure to spend time with them. It’s not hard; they spend every waking minute they’re not at school at the pack house, getting to know their packmates. Hari makes endless amounts of food, keeps an eye on the youngsters and helps them acclimate to this new future.

By the third day, Embry and Quil seem to have accepted what’s going to happen, and have moved on to asking her questions about magic. They’d both been present at the bonfire when Hari had told her story, but she gets the distinct impression they’d been too nervous to sate their curiosity. Jared sits with them on the porch suggesting spells for Hari to demonstrate, looking for all the world like a lifelong expert despite his own surprised delight at new magic.

It doesn’t take long for the questions to become theoretical, and Hari takes the opportunity to teach a life lesson.

“Is there a mass killing spell?” Quil asks, eyes alight with interest. “Like the magical equivalent of an atomic bomb?”

It’s such an innocently teenage question. She knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, but she wants to shudder all the same at the ease he can talk about this kind of thing at fifteen.

“I’ve already shown you that,” she says, trying not to laugh as his eyes widen. “Levitation charm.”

Embry’s gaze sharpens as she watches him eye her wand and then do what she presumes is some swift mental maths. He looks slightly unsettled at whatever conclusion he arrives at.

“A levitation charm?” Quil’s voice is incredulous. “How’s that a mass killing spell?”

“I can levitate multiple things at once,” Hari tells him. “And weight isn’t a problem. All it would take is some large rocks and that would be that. A first year could do it if they thought of it.”

Quil whistles under his breath. He looks more impressed than unsettled, but Jacob has disappeared into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. Hari gestures at Jared to take the other boys out of the house and then goes to find Jacob.

He’s standing next to the kitchen table, trembling slightly as he grips onto the wood with one hand. The other is pressed to his chest, and she can see the sweat beading down his neck. Her heart breaks for him a little.

“Come on honey, sit down,” she says as quietly as she can without whispering, guiding him into a chair and pulling up another in front of him before plopping down herself. She takes both her hands in his, tries not to notice how hers are dwarfed by this fifteen year old boy’s. Rubbing her thumbs along his, she looks him in the eye and exaggerates her breathing. “With me, come on. In for four, hold for four, out for eight. I’ll count us, okay?”

It takes twelve repetitions before he manages it, still tensed and hurting. She squeezes his hands a little, changes tack.

“We’re going to count back from 100, okay? Don’t look at me like that Jacob Black, I’m aware it’s ridiculous. Just trust the old witch here, okay?”

This gets the smallest of smiles out of him as she starts to count. It takes some coaxing before he’ll do it out loud with her, but by the time they make it down to zero they’re in sync and he’s calmer. A glass of water and a cold cloth on the back of his neck later, he looks up at her from under his eyelashes.

“What was that?” he asks her quietly. “I thought I was having a heart attack for a minute, but it was like my brain didn’t work.”

“You had a panic attack, sweetheart,” she tells him, gesturing to his hair and moving to braid it at his nod. “I used to get them a lot, when I was your age and for a long time after. I had a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, a lot of people expecting all sorts of things from me, and sometimes it all got on top of me a bit. If it happens again, you come and find me, okay? No matter the time of day or night. You come, or you call, and I’ll help.”

He thinks about this for a while as she finishes his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of it before she levitates a chopping board, a knife and some potatoes over to him. He starts cutting them up on autopilot.

“Why didn’t you use magic?” he asks, looking at her rather than the knife in his hands. “You’re a magic doctor, right?”

“I am,” she says. “But panic attacks aren’t the sort of thing magic can fix. I’ll give you a calming draught in a minute, if you’d like one, and magic can help the symptoms, but casting spells on you wouldn’t help. If you cut your hand on those potatoes, then I’ll start with the healing magic, how’s that?”

He laughs a little as she says it, but returns his eyes to the potatoes for the sake of her nerves.

He stays to help her cook, and she’s pleased to see he’s a more than passable sous chef. There are just as many questions about food as his friends had had about magic, and it’s not until he brings up his dad that the pieces fall into place.

“He doesn’t cook much, because of his chair,” Jacob says. “Paul and Sam fitted a new kitchen for him, so everything’s the right height, but I think it reminds him that things are different now. So he eats all this convenience food, and I’m worried about his health. We covered cholesterol and heart disease at school.”

Hari grins at him. This is a problem easily fixed, one she can take off his shoulders.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she tells him. “But I cook more food than even three wolves and four soon-to-be wolves can eat. And you live right there.” She gestures wildly with her spatula first at the potatoes, then in the general direction of his house. “I’d be really grateful if you and your dad could take some of it off my hands sometimes? I only have so much fridge space.”

Jacob’s shoulders slump in relief as he looks at her with shiny eyes.

“He might actually agree if you put it like that.”

“I’m the Girl Who Lived Twice,” Hari says, sticking her nose in the air to make him laugh, beaming in pride when it works. “Your dad’s pride is no match for my mad skills.”

Jared, Embry and Quil find them both in the greenhouse a few hours later, Paul in tow. Hari’s showing Jacob how stasis charms work, teaching him how to plant the seeds for the first batch of crops and then demonstrating the layers of magic. It takes ten minutes of questions from the newcomers before she manages to relocate them to the kitchen for dinner.

Paul knows something’s going on, holding her just that little bit tighter, nodding when she raises an eyebrow to tell him she’ll explain later. He can probably smell the stress coming off Jacob, since he pulls him over to the couch and sets him up with Shrek on DVD and a bowl of popcorn, settling in beside him so they’re pressed together, shoulder to thigh. It’s a relief to watch Jacob relax at the contact, dormant instincts settling at such close proximity to his pack.

By the time Sam gets home they’re onto Shrek 2, and Leah has joined them all. Hari is curled up at the end of the couch, Leah’s feet on her thighs as she paints her toenails. Jared’s are already a matching shade of purple. It’s new, having all of them together in the evening. She knows taking themselves off the night patrols is a show of trust in her wards, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. As he sits down on the floor in front of Leah, she grins at him, waving the bottle of nail polish at him.

“Purple’s not my colour,” he says blithely. Quil erupts into giggles from the armchair.

———

Climbing into bed that night, Hari presses herself bodily into Paul, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her legs around his. He hums at the contact, drawing her in closer somehow and pressing kisses to the top of her head.

“We need to keep an eye on Jacob,” she says into his chest. “He’s feeling so much pressure from all this, especially the bloodline. He had a panic attack today without even realising what it was. I hate that he’s struggling so much, he’s just a kid. He should be able to be young.”

Paul rumbles a purr as he thinks about what she’s said. She loves these little debriefs, their now-established routine of talking like this before bed. Even when the subject is upsetting, it’s nice to feel like they’re getting on the same page, putting in the work without just relying on the bond.

“I’ll talk to Sam,” he says eventually. “Make sure the kid knows he’s not expected to be alpha in the next five minutes. We’ll train him first, and he’s definitely not doing shit til he’s out of high school. What else can we take off his plate?”

The easy acceptance and barely-hidden softness that make up so much of Paul Lahote makes Hari warm inside.

“I’ve taken on the job of making sure Billy’s eating properly,” she tells him. “Jacob’s worried about his arteries. I’ve said I’d be really grateful if they’d take some of the extra food lying around so it doesn’t go to waste.”

Paul actually snorts at this, laughing into Hari’s hair.

“It’s lucky you’re magic, babe, Jesus. You do enough cooking as it is.”

“I like cooking,” she says, shrugging as best she can while wrapped in six and a half feet of shifter. “And if it gets him to stop worrying, I’ll cook twice as much as I am right now.”

“I might see about sending Jared round there more often,” Paul says thoughtfully once he stops laughing. “Might help Jake feel like there’s adults around, you know? Looking after his dad isn’t all on him. And I’ll make an effort to take over some of the driving.”

“Jacob’s driving his dad around?” Hari asks in surprise. “He’s only fifteen.”

“Things are different on the reservation,” Paul says. “He can drive, he’s a good kid, so no-one’s going to give him a hard time for ferrying his dad around. But he shouldn’t have to.”

“It takes a village,” Hari agrees. “And he’s got one now.”

“Speaking of Billy,” Paul says, leaning on one elbow so he can look at her properly. “I bumped into him and Harry earlier, and they asked me to see if you’d be interested in teaching.”

Hari wrinkles her nose.

“At the school? I don’t think I’m qualified for that, I have very little muggle education.”

“Luckily, they’re not interested in you teaching anything muggle,” Paul grins. “They want you to do evening lectures, like at the bonfire, about the history of indigenous magic.”

Hari’s suddenly so excited she can’t breathe.

“Oh, really? I’d love to, I mean I just got some new books about it beyond what I knew before I came, and oh it’s fascinating, love. It’s so instinctive, so much like the way I do magic, it’s amazing.”

Paul’s pleased, she can tell. She knows he hadn’t expected her to assimilate herself into his culture, knows he recognises how much she struggles with the separation she feels from the Indian side of her heritage. She looks like the Quileutes, despite the fact she’s from a wholly other continent, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t expect her to abandon her own culture for his. She’s pretending not to know he’s got something planned for Diwali.

It becomes the highlight of her week, aside from time spent with Paul, Monday nights under the stars on First Beach teaching. She’s generous with her warming charms and always brings food, so there’s usually a good crowd of people gathered to hear her speak.

She tells them about the affinity for wandless magic this side of the Atlantic, how their ancestors were gifted at transformative magics and adept animagi. Some of the founding principles of modern herbology were adapted from indigenous magic in the Americas, and their potions were leagues ahead of anywhere else in the world for millennia.

A few weeks in, once she’s exhausted their questions and done several demonstrations of wandless magic, she moves onto explaining how modern wizarding society in North America draws from indigenous magic, that Halaait park in Seattle is named for the Gitxsan word for their healing specialists.

From there they want to know about indigenous magic from other parts of the world, and what began as a simple explanation about their own heritage becomes so much more. Old Quil in particular is fascinated by her descriptions of varying magical cultures across India, and both Seth Clearwater and his father are enamoured with her parseltongue abilities. Jared produces a gartersnake for her to demonstrate, and she carefully doesn’t ask where he found it or how he caught it.

Understandably, transformative magic is of particular interest to them given their legends. She talks about dependent communities, about shifters she’s met and the differences between the magical and muggle packs. Embry is full of questions about latent magical abilities, and spends a happy Saturday afternoon floo calling Hermione so she can better answer them for him.

By the third week, word spreads beyond her teaching to the vegetables she grows. At Billy’s urging, she brings along some for people to take home with them, stating truthfully that her friend from England is an expert in greenhouse crops and had set her up with her own system here. Before long she’s able to give what seems like half the reservation baskets of potatoes and greens, and feels a sense of satisfaction that she can give back to the people here.

They’ve given her a home, and they’ve given her Paul. Potatoes seem like a small price to pay for the happiest she’s ever been.

Chapter Text

Potions is Sam’s favourite branch of magic. He’d insisted on helping her set up her potions lab, had spent hours reading all the bottles and learning how to categorise them for storage. He’s halfway through her fourth year Potions textbook, and every couple of days comes to Hari with a neatly written list of questions. She’ll never tell him how sweet she thinks it is.

Surprisingly, he’d had no issue with her brewing potions to help the Cullens. Less chance of an attack means less chance of a war, Sam tells her quietly, and she can see why the pack magic chose him. He’s got so little ego about this. It’s about protection, for him, not power.

He’s mostly interested in Healing potions, which isn’t a surprise at all. He pores over the bottles in her lab, compares them with the ones in her emergency kit and looks down at her with a nervous gaze as he asks if they need to be administered by a wizard, if he could learn. His unspoken fear that they might need to use them on her goes unspoken, and her heart breaks a little for him, but she teaches him how to use them all the same. Every potion, every dosage, every possible scenario, until he’s as sure as she is that should the worst happen, he’ll be able to do it. Once he’s covered application, they move onto creation.

It’s more theory than Hari usually pays attention to, but Potions is the one branch of magic she can’t fuel by instinct, and so she explains it to him as best she can. She’d been right in her initial assessment of him - understanding magic is what makes him trust it, so she gives him a couple of more advanced books on magical theory, and some beginner Arithmancy texts too. It seems to help.

Jared, by contrast, doesn’t care about theory in the slightest. He loves the magic that comes most naturally to Hari - the wandless, wordless charms that are fuelled by intent more than wand movements and incantations. Paul tells her she doesn’t have to indulge him, but the hours Hari spends doing magic for Jared are some of her favourites. She hasn’t done household magic like this for years - living alone, there just didn’t seem to be a point - and the more she lets the washing up do itself, watches conjured birds fly up into the rafters and feels magic permeate their home, the more she feels something between them all settle. It’s a nice little life they’re building.

Jared sets up semi-permanent residence at the Black house on weekday afternoons, helping Jacob with his homework and doing odd jobs around the place. Billy is the recipient of a brand new, custom-built ramp that wraps around the house, letting him leave from anywhere on the porch. The windows no longer rattle, the locks on the doors get fixed, and before long most of Jacob’s friends have joined them for after school study sessions.

Billy, for his part, accepts the help with more grace than Hari had expected. They’re careful to treat him as their Chief, not an invalid, and the respect soothes any damage to his pride in a way that makes her grateful. He loves her cooking, and if he sends her a secretive little smile when she brings food over every couple of days, Jacob doesn’t need to know.

Pack dinners become a regular occurrence within weeks of the new arrangement. Hari spends two or three nights a week with her house full of people, feeling the joy settle in her chest as she’s surrounded by this level of love and familiarity. It reminds her of the Burrow in the early years after the war, when the crowd grew beyond the Weasleys to include half of the Hogwarts alumni. She cooks, and she laughs, gives out as many hugs as she does apple muffins, and the sheer happiness that swells in her brings something beautiful to the edge of it all.

Paul finds his own place in their new normal, sparring with the teenagers and ferrying Billy wherever he wants to go. He’s still making sure they work their way through his list of Muggle cinema, only now there’s a piece of paper taped to the wall with a complicated scoring system he’s created with Seth and Embry. Hari wanders past them discussing the merits of cinematography over special effects and has to laugh at the affronted look on Seth’s face at Embry’s complete disregard for animation.

Most importantly for Hari, Jacob’s shoulders gradually relax and his smiles come more easily. It’s working, their little plan, and as she lets him help her in the kitchen, listening to him talk about his dad’s old truck and the issues he’s having fixing it, something in her own frame eases.

Gradually, she starts feeding what seems like half the reservation. Snacks and baked goods find their way into the houses of half the teenage members of the pack, and everyone has a standing invitation to come over and have a bowl of whatever she’s cooking. Her vegetable baskets are still a Monday staple on the beach, and before long she’s leaving two or three days worth of food at a time in Billy and Jacob’s fridge.

Billy, who she’s coming to realise is a man who likes to grasp an opportunity when he sees one, casually mentions his childhood friend Charlie one night over dinner. The police chief Paul mentioned in London, he’s as close to Billy and Harry now as when they were kids. She can feel Paul laughing silently next to her as Billy tells her Charlie lives alone on the edge of Forks, his daughter in Arizona with a flighty ex-wife, living off diner food and the famous Clearwater fish fry. She goes down to Forks the next day and knocks on his door with bags full of food.

She’s parked the truck on the road instead of his driveway and sees his eyes flick across it as he lets her in.

“That Paul Lahote’s truck?” he asks, and she bites back a smile. Clearly his title as Chief of Police is earned.

“It is,” she tells him. “Well, I’m insured to drive it if that’s what you’re worried about. Hari Potter.”

He takes the hand she holds out and she can tell he’s not expecting her accent. She picks up the bags she’s brought with her, nods as he introduces himself, entering the kitchen as he gestures for her to precede him.

“No offence, Miss Potter, but who are you?I’d never heard of you before two weeks ago and suddenly Billy tells me you’ve moved in with Paul and you’re at my house with bags full of, well. Something.”

“Please, Hari,” she tells him, sitting in the chair he indicates and gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from him. “I met Billy when I came looking for him and his people. My godfather was related, distantly, to the Blacks, and left a sizeable fortune. I have enough money, and I know Sirius would’ve wanted his family to benefit from his advantages. I met Paul when I visited La Push and I suppose you could say it was love at first sight.” She has no idea what Charlie knows, but suspects he’s not as blind as Billy and Harry think he is.

“Yeah that seems to be happening more and more at the rez these days. Guess there must be something in the air up there.”

She hides another smile and thinks of Sam and Leah, of herself and Paul, imagining Charlie’s face if she were to explain imprints to him.

Charlie scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“Billy never did know when to keep his nose out of it. You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble, and he definitely shouldn’t have pushed you. I do just fine.”

“I’m sure you do,” Hari says soothingly, sipping her coffee. “And I promise I haven’t gone out of my way. I cook as a hobby, and even with the appetites of the Quileute boys I’ve gone a bit overboard. Billy suggested I bring some to you, something about diner steak and fish fry?”

Charlie laughs at that, even if he still looks unsure. Hari pulls out her trump card.

“The truth is, Charlie,” she says, smiling despite herself. “Jacob confided in me a while ago that he was worried about his dad, particularly his diet. He’s so young, and such a sweet kid, I’m happy to take something off his shoulders. We’ve stepped in a bit, to try and lighten the load, and so I’ve been casually dropping leftovers over to the Blacks when I cook too much food.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow at this and Hari’s smile grows as she nods.

“I think Billy sees the sense in accepting the help, but I don’t want him to feel like I’m trying to infantilise him in any way. I don’t want to step on Sue’s toes by feeding the Clearwaters too, I know she loves their family dinners, but if me coming here will make Billy feel better accepting my support, then I’ll do it for his sake and Jacob’s.”

She watches Charlie digest that, thinking he reminds her in some ways of Kingsley. Stoic, calm, and calculating in a way officers of the law tend to be in her experience.

“Who is ‘we’?” he eventually asks.

“Paul, Jared, Sam and I,” she tells him, before wincing at what is technically a lie. She’s trying to avoid outright untruths more than necessary. “Well, in terms of practicalities it’s less Sam, because he works more hours than the others. But Paul has taken over most of the driving from Jacob, and Jared has been doing home improvements for them, as well as being in charge of homework help. For some reason they keep making jokes about assistance with hamburgers, but I suspect that’s a reference that hasn’t reached England.”

He eyes her for a long moment, before snorting a laugh and shaking his head again.

“Jacob is a good kid,” he says quietly, eyes not leaving Hari’s. “And when they lost Sarah, it was a hard road. Then the girls left, all that responsibility fell on Jake. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Billy’s stubborn as the day is long.”

Hari grins at him, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Shame to let all this go to waste, I suppose,” he mumbles, rooting around in the nearest bag. “And it sure smells good.”

“I wasn’t sure what you like,” she tells him, smiling as he pulls a box of chicken fajita mix out of the bag and inhaling. “So I brought a bit of everything. It all freezes well so you can choose what you want to save. Let me or Billy know your favourites and I’ll bring some more around at some point.”

“I can’t believe this is the extras,” Charlie says, looking around at the three other bags on the floor. “How do you find the time?”

“Magic.”

She’s only teasing, and it’s worth it to see the grin he throws at her as she goes to rinse her mug. He looks ten years younger when he smiles.

———

In early November, Hari is invited to Jacob and Billy’s to watch her very first American football match. This is a Momentous Occasion, as the residents of La Push and Forks both take their football as seriously as Oliver Wood takes Quidditch. Charlie is there, along with the entire pack, Harry Clearwater and Hari herself. Sam, who confesses to Hari very quietly he’s much more interested in ice hockey, volunteers to run patrol. The Seahawks are having a much better season than last year according to Seth, who fills Hari in on the basic rules and gives her a couple of helpful tips. A few whispers later, a plan comes together and he’s practically vibrating with excitement.

She leaves them to the pre-game buildup, instead trusting that they’ll keep Charlie occupied while she risks using magic to stir the muffin batter and mix chocolate chips into the cookie dough. There’s enough game day snacks to feed an army, and Paul laughs at her fondly when he comes to help her and finds the exact array of offerings he, Jared and Sam had described when she’d asked about the food Americans expected for this kind of thing.

She’s not bold enough to risk levitating platters of food into a room containing a man as observant as Charlie Swan, so she calls the teenagers to help her carry it all in. They refuse to let her take any of it at all, an adorable gallantry emerging as Embry shoos her to the couch, Quil appearing moments later with a plate of food for her. Jacob materialises moments later with a drink and a napkin. He grins at her raised eyebrow.

“You hate having dirty hands,” he says, setting both offerings down beside her as he drops to a whisper. “And you can’t be using cleaning charms in here.”

She squeezes his forearm in gratitude, watching the pleased smile on his face before he disappears off to claim some food for himself. The three fathers in the room are staring after the young men in surprise and it makes her want to laugh. It’s like they don’t know how good of an example they are for those boys.

By the time the anthem has finished playing, everyone is settled around the room and attention is fixed firmly on the television. Billy and Harry are rejoicing over some injury or other, while Jared, Leah, Jacob and Charlie are having a lively debate about the offensive strategies the Seahawks seem to have mastered this year. Hari sees her moment as Jacob declares  that their quarterback is going to be the MVP for the season.

“I don’t know,” Hari says loudly, smiling secretively at Seth and feeling Paul snort a laugh from next to her. “I wouldn’t count out the impact the defence will have. Tatupu was a great draft pick, and you’d never know he was a rookie when he’s up against seasoned linebackers. Ten years from now it’s the defence we’ll remember from this season, I’d put money on it.”

Silence reigns.

Every eye in the room turns to Hari, which is a good thing if only because no one notices Seth dissolving into silent giggles, one hand clapped over his mouth as the other grips the closest cushion in a desperate effort to stay still.

“Tatupu? Defence? Linebackers? Since when do you know anything about football?”

The outrage in Jared’s tone is delightful to Hari, who is now struggling not to join Seth in helpless laughter.

“What?” she says innocently, looking around them all. Hopefully if she doesn’t make eye contact with any one person for too long she’ll keep it together. “Am I wrong?”

Seth escapes to the kitchen as heads begin to turn back to the television, Jared still muttering under his breath and Billy and Harry whispering to themselves. Hari gets up too, partly to follow him and partly to check on the various sweet treats she’s got in the oven.

She doesn’t realise Charlie has got up to follow her until she turns away from the oven and sees him approaching the fridge, eyeing her over the top of the door as he opens it and retrieves six bottles of beer. He tilts one at her, and at her nod pulls a seventh out, somehow managing to hold them all.

“I didn’t realise you were into American sports,” he says mildly, unscrewing the lid on one of the bottles and passing it to her. “Billy made it sound as if this was new to you.”

“Oh it is,” Hari replies cheerfully, taking the beer from him and winking at Seth across the table. “But Seth was kind enough to help me cause some mischief, and it seemed harmless enough. Did I get his name right?”

The last question is aimed at Seth, who nods excitedly and leans his frame across the table for a high five.

“Hari, you were so great !” He’s all excited consonants and elongated vowels. He sounds so American , bless him, even with how used to it she’s grown. “I don’t know how you kept such a straight face, it was perfect!”

He bounces out of the kitchen after another high five, waving to Charlie as he goes. The Police Chief watches him leave and then looks Hari over.

“That was kind of you,” he says eventually. “He’s a good kid, and I think he sometimes feels a little left out.”

“I was that kid once,” Hari says, trying not to smile at the understatement. “And he’s lovely, it’s not a hardship. I understood nothing I said, you have to know that, but it was worth learning it to watch him laugh like that.”

Charlie grins at her, and she can’t help returning it. When they both return to the living room, bottles shared between them, he seems a little more settled at her presence. She’s getting there, she thinks to herself, watching him laugh with Billy and Harry. It’s nice that someone other than her cares enough about these people to be cautious.

———

Considering how attuned she is to the wards, it should be a surprise that they aren’t often at the forefront of her thoughts. When she explains it to Paul, she’s not sure it makes much sense.

“Warding magic, it’s different than most. The wards around the reservation are literally made of my magic. Nothing can touch them without me noticing. It’s sort of like someone poking my arm. I trust in my magic, so I trust in the wards. Most of it I ignore - intent is so important, and I’d go out of my mind if I jumped every time someone left the reservation or returned here. Muffled, I suppose is the best way to describe it. Like I’ve turned the volume down. But if something important happens, if someone comes here with ill intent, it turns back up all by itself.”

She knows he doesn’t really understand, but he trusts her. If anything happens, she’ll have the opportunity to demonstrate it to him. Unfortunately for all of them, that opportunity comes at the end of November.

It’s Jared who notices first. The scent of unfamiliar vampires catches his attention along the southeast border of the pack lands, firmly in Cullen territory but far too close for collective comfort.

Billy worries. Sam fumes. Hari calls Carlisle Cullen.

He’s quick to assure her they’ve not had friends over and neglected to notify the Quileutes. Hari believes him, on balance, and so she apparates to the edge of the wards. She knows they’re intact, she’s a literal expert on warding magic, but testing them calms her heart a little, gives her something concrete to tell Paul while he paces in front of the porch that evening.

They all go on alert for the next week or so and since getting her broom out is pushing even Hari’s loose grasp of the Statute, she spends a lot of time up trees, watching the forest. After that first scent nothing else materialises, and a fortnight later the wolves and their elders allow themselves to relax a little.

Of course, that’s when the wards go off.

It’s a quiet, cold Sunday evening and Hari is sitting on the porch with Paul, wrapped up in his warmth with a mug of chai in her hands. Sam is sitting on a chair opposite them, enthusiastically explaining the rules of hockey to Hari. It’s much more her speed than Jared’s rambling about baseball (and honestly, no sport should involve so much maths) and she’s happy listening to Sam while she watches the way his eyes light up as he talks about something he loves. When the back of her neck prickles and her head turns automatically, he cuts himself off automatically to look at the tree line with her.

“They’re here.”

She doesn’t mean it literally, of course, the wards won’t let a vampire onto Quileute land, but she can feel more than one vampire testing the invisible boundary they almost definitely don’t understand. Paul shifts instantly, howling into the night to summon Jared from where he’s patrolling on the other side of the reservation. They’ve discussed the protocol for this, and as agreed he and Sam take off running into the trees while Hari sends a text to Carlisle Cullen before she apparates silently to the edge of the wards.

She doesn’t bother with any concealment charms. She wants them to see her. She’s probably going to have to kill them.

There are two of them, both men, testing her wards and discussing the anomaly. It’s a couple of seconds before they notice her, slow reaction times by her standards even without the usual crack that would announce her arrival.

“What’s a snack doing this far out in the woods?” The taller of the two sounds like a snake, all hissing consonants and vowels that roll together so much they disappear. His companion laughs, eyeing Hari with disdain as he presses a hand flat against the ward line.

“This area is claimed,” she tells them. “Leave now and I’ll consider it a non-offence.”

They’re both laughing now, and Hari sighs. She hadn’t really thought that was going to work.

She feels more than sees Paul arrive at the edge of the tree line, knows Sam and Jared aren’t far behind. He stays shifted as agreed.

The two vampires aren’t bothered at all by the giant wolf in their midst. They don’t know or care what he is, and their dismissal sends a prickle of irritation down the back of Hari’s neck, irrational though it is. They can’t cross the wards, and Hari doesn’t want to do anything without the Cullens present. She might as well turn this into a teaching opportunity.

One of them is pressing his hand flat against the wards, poking and prodding at it to try and understand what it is. Hari leans against a tree and watches.

“Is this your doing?”

His voice is accusing, clearly unhappy that he might have underestimated her.

“It is,” she says calmly. “As I said, this area is claimed.”

In a show of dramatic timing she’s half-convinced is planned, this moment is when the Cullens arrive en masse. All seven of them materialise from the trees, and although Hari knows everyone but her must have heard them coming, the two interlopers still seem surprised.

“Johan, Hendrick,” Carlisle says, nodding to the tall one first. So he knows them. That’s not ideal. “What brings you to our home territory? You were frequenting Southeastern Europe, last I heard.”

“Interesting company you keep, Carlisle,” Johan says, ignoring the question. He must have heard both “home” and “territory”, must have understood the thinly veiled meaning as Hari did. She really doesn’t care for vampire politics. “I didn’t realise witches were among your chosen companions.”

Paul shifts at that, moving his body to his left, giving him a clear shot should the vampire try and harm Hari. Jared closes in from the other side, while Sam plants himself between her and the Cullens. She realises belatedly they must’ve come up with their own protocol for this, for protecting her.

“Miss Potter does not count herself among my family,” Carlisle replies diplomatically. “But we coexist peacefully, and she has proven a welcome ally to us.”

“ Potter ?” Hendrick hisses. He actually looks outraged, and Hari feels the hairs on the back of her neck pick up in a way they haven’t since she left England. Jasper Cullen has shifted his weight, threat assessment clear in his posture. “ Hari Potter?”

“At your service,” she says drily. “Although you have me at a disadvantage, in that I know nothing of who you are.”

“I am Hendrick,” he says, crouching a little as he faces her properly. She twirls her wand a little, in warning. “And my companion is Johan. I know of your heroics , girl, from our time in Albania. How far you have fallen, Carlisle, to associate with such scum .”

Carlisle is saying something, probably about the insult to her, but Hari doesn’t hear it. Her instincts fix on that one word, the giveaway. Albania .

She’s definitely going to have to kill them.

“I suppose you were acquainted with my old friend Tom,” she says lightly, flicking her fingers behind her back to ask the wolves to retreat out of what will be a literal line of fire. She can only imagine what must be going through their collective thought process. Thankfully they do as she asks, and Jasper and his strange instincts do the same. The Cullens bar Carlisle follow his lead. “Shame I can’t pass on your regards.”

“You are a disgrace,” he hisses at her, crouching further. She doesn’t move, knowing she won’t have to. The wards will do it for her. “The Lord would have given us glory.”

He lunges for her then, too fast for her to see. What she can see, as soon as his body reaches the wards, is the flame that engulfs him. Before anyone has time to react, a shower of ash is all that remains. There’s a moment of silence before a shriek echoes around the trees.

The Cullens are all staring at the scattering of ashes, all but Jasper, whose gaze is fixed on her. She lifts one shoulder at him, her eyes speaking for her. I told you so.

“No!”

Johan snarls at her, before he too, crouches. She sighs.

“I’d say I’m sorry for the loss of your friend,” she tells him. “But considering what he was about to do, and who he would do it for, I’m really not.”

Jared lets out a snuffing noise that might be a laugh.

“I will avenge him,” Johan says, deadly quiet. “You will die for this.”

Hari spreads her hands, bowing a little.

“You’re welcome to try,” she offers. “If Tom couldn’t do it, maybe you can.”

“Johan,” Carlisle says softly, apparently a pacifist. “Think about this.”

Hari wonders how nice it must be to have the luxury of nonviolence in a situation like this.

Something in Carlisle’s tone seems to reach the vampire though, and he straightens, eyes darting from her to his old friend? Companion? Acquaintance? She has no idea. Eventually his gaze settles on Hari.

“You are right, Carlisle,” he says, eyes hard as they bore into hers. “I will take my leave. Find some old friends. In London, perhaps.”

Hari sucks in a breath at the implication, and reacts before anyone has time to anticipate it and stop her.

Johan turns, as if to leave, nodding to Carlisle as he does. Before he can disappear off into the dark, he too is engulfed in flames, a blaze of white that explodes into ash.

Through the flash of light, she sees that Carlisle is staring at her in horror. Esme actually has a hand over her mouth. Jasper looks… contemplative.

Paul shifts immediately, yanking on a pair of shorts and wrapping her up in his arms.

“Miss Potter,” Carlisle says eventually. “I confess I am… surprised, to see you strike a man when his back was turned. He was leaving, and I am disappointed you didn’t let him.”

Hari doesn’t care for his surprise, his disappointment, or his condescending tone. She places one hand on the arm Paul has wrapped around her waist, lets him feel the way her fingers shake.

“He was leaving, yes,” she replies, pretending she can’t see Emmett reaching a finger out to poke the wards. It won’t hurt him. “To find my loved ones, in London. To catch them unawares, to kill them before he comes back for me.”

She shakes her head at Carlisle’s shocked expression.

“Surely you aren’t so ignorant to the motivations of most of your kind, Carlisle. Just as you can’t have imagined the only people I care about reside on this side of the Atlantic. Hunters like that one do not give up, and in no world will I allow a threat to my family a continued existence. Ask your soldier if you don’t believe me. Or the mind reader.”

Carlisle turns to his “sons” at her words, and somewhere in the back of her mind Hari is pleased that she was right about Jasper.

“She’s right, Carlisle.” Jasper’s accent drips from the words. “He was resigned, determined. And she’s right too, that is the nature of a vampire.”

“He was going to start with two in particular,” Edward offers, and Hari closes her eyes at the confirmation. “A man, with red hair, and a woman, dark skinned and curly haired. He didn’t seem to know what their faces looked like, but he knew their names and where to find them.”

“Ron and Hermione,” Hari says, opening her eyes to fix them on Carlisle. She grips Paul a little tighter. “My best friends in the world. The first people who loved me. So I’m sorry to disappoint you, Carlisle, but I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

She locks eyes with Jasper, nods once, and turns to leave. Sam and Jared, still in wolf form, flank her and Paul as they walk away.

Back at the house, Jared throws on a pair of shorts and wraps Hari in a hug. Paul is already holding her, so it’s a group hug that becomes a pile when Sam joins moments later.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s no judgement in Sam’s tone. Hari shakes her head, breathing softly into the warmth of the three of them.

“Do you want to hear about the lecture Blondie gave the big one as we were leaving, for trying to touch the wards?” Jared asks, and she relaxes as she feels his chest shake with his laughter.

They sleep in a pile on the living room floor, and when Hari wakes the next morning to find that Jared has summoned the younger pack members, laughter fills the house as Paul puts a cup of coffee into her hands and kisses her hair.