Chapter Text

little red riding hood

Prologue:

James Potter paused just inside the doorway of the cottage, letting his eyes glance out of the small cottage before stepping out. There was heavy mist this morning on the ground outside; the woods loomed in the distance just behind a stone wall that encircled the village. There was a narrow snow covered path that led out of the main gates toward the forest.

He tugged his gear on by the door. A dark green jacket that hugged his frame, thick enough for the winter wind. A black shirt tucked into dark trousers that were reinforced at the knees. His boots were made of leather, scuffed and stained with mud.

He ran a thumb along the inside of his bow, feeling the familiar grooves carved into the wood. His father had made it for him when he was fifteen. Polished and smoothened by years of wear.

James bent slightly and lifted the quiver from the table beside the door. He checked his arrows one last time before slinging it over his shoulder. Each silver arrowhead gleamed faintly, silver that could cut through a werewolf’s thick hide.

James slid the quiver over his back and adjusted the strap across his chest. Behind him there came a soft huff. He pivoted to see his father, Fleamont Potter, standing near the hearth, broad-shouldered, arms folded across his chest.

His hair—once the same unruly black as James’s—was now streaked thick with gray, though his eyes were still sharp behind his glasses. The two of them had repeated this routine hundreds of times over the years. Training hunts. Tracking drills. Archery practice in the fields.

This morning was his first real hunt. The older man studied him for a moment longer, gaze moving over the bow, the arrows, the boots, the way James held himself.

He gave a short, approving nod. You’re ready.

James straightened instinctively beneath it. His father had been training him for this since he was small enough to barely lift a bowstring. The werewolves stole livestock from the outer farms of the village, and the village elders had determined that hunters were needed to keep the werewolf population under control.

Fleamont Potter had built himself a fine reputation in the village. He was a bit of a legend in the village, one story told of how he tracked a werewolf in the middle of winter for two days straight. Another story of how he slaughtered one bare handed after it snapped his bow with its teeth, saving half a dozen villagers from the pack in the process, one of the women being Effie.

The woman who then fell in love with him, James’s mother.

“Remember,” Fleamont said softly.

James paused at the door, hand on the knob.

“You’re not hunting animals.”

James nodded once. “I know.” With that, James pushed open the door. Cold air rushed into the cottage immediately, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. He stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him, the latch clicking softly into place.

He headed straight for the narrow path between the front gates. One of the men standing up on the watchtower nodded to him.

He turned toward the trees and began to walk.

James had been tracking for hours. The winter air was cold and biting. Every breath he took burned a little in his lungs, his breath turning foggy in the air, and his nose and ears stung from the wind.

The fresh snowfall from the night before had blanketed the forest, leaving a blank canvas, perfect for animal tracks that were now incredibly easy to follow.

He moved slowly through the trees, bow at the ready, eyes scanning the ground in front of him. Rabbit trails zigzagged everywhere, delicate little prints darting between the roots of trees to reach grass and leaves beneath it. Birds had left tiny claw marks and wing imprints on the snow from where they searched for seeds. He crouched briefly to examine deer hoof prints before dismissing them and rising to his feet again. It took nearly an hour before he found what he was looking for.

Wolf prints.

Wide and perfect, each toe cleanly pressed into the soft snow. James glanced around the immediate vicinity instinctively, finding nothing but trees in sight.

He measured the prints against his palm. Large, not the biggest he’d ever seen, his father had shown him tracks nearly the size of horse hooves before, but still sizeable enough to send a tingle down his spine.

The wolf had gone through the trees. James followed patiently, keeping downwind when he could, moving slowly enough that the snow barely crunched beneath his boots.

Eventually, the trail dipped toward the faint sound of running water, where a narrow stream cut through the woods ahead. Thin sheets of ice clung to the edges where the water slowed, but the center still flowed cold and clear.

James stepped carefully behind the thick trunk of an oak tree as he approached the bank and then he froze.

The wolf stood on the opposite side of the stream.

For a moment, James forgot how to breathe. The wolf was magnificent; the creature’s coat was a deep russet red that stood out against the pale winter landscape around it. The wolf walked slowly along the bank, every movement showed off the ripples of muscle under its coat.

With effortless grace, it sprang across the narrow stream, landing lightly on a rock near the far bank before climbing up the slope.

James shifted slightly behind the tree. Slowly, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, the silver tip shining as he notched it against the bowstring. He drew the arrow back, feeling the tension and he held his breath.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind. Steady. One clean shot.

He took aim just as the wind shifted, just enough to carry his scent straight to the wolf. The wolf froze in place, head snapping up sharply, nose lifting into the air. Vibrant green eyes locked onto him instantly.

James’s fingers slipped on the bowstring.

The wolf’s lips peeled back, a low snarl rumbling from its throat, deep with warning. Long, curved fangs gleamed white in the winter air. The wolf lowered itself into a crouch, muscles coiling as it sprang, launching itself toward him with terrifying speed, clearing the stream in a single leap.

Snow exploded as it landed on the bank, just feet from him, James had just enough time to register that it was coming straight for him.

He shrieked, a high, terrified sound ripped straight out of him before he could stop it. The arrow slipped from his fingers and the bow dropped as James Potter fainted.

He woke with a violent start, his hands already fumbling for his bow and arrows even before his body was fully conscious. When his hands couldn’t find the familiar curve of his bow in the snow, he reached for his silver knife instead.

His hand immediately darted to his belt, fingers closing around the smooth handle of his silver knife. He yanked it free in one sharp motion, rolling halfway onto his side as his eyes finally flew open, the first thing he spotted made him forget everything he was doing.

A girl sat directly in front of him in the snow. She looked completely unfazed by the cold wind and snow around her. She was wearing a thin faded t-shirt and dark shorts that ended mid thigh. Bare limbs, with no cloak or gloves, entirely untouched by the cold.

She had striking green eyes, the exact shade and shape of the werewolf. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders in a dark auburn red. Her head was tilted slightly as she studied him.

“Who are you?” James blurted out.

She merely tipped her head to one side, gaze still watching his grip on the knife.

“Where’s the wolf?” James demanded as panic returned to him. “The one that…” he faltered as his eyes darted around the barren landscape.

That made her huff a little, amused. “I am wolf,” she replied after a hesitation.

“Y-You?” he sputtered, the knife in his hand lowered a little. In all of his time as a hunter, his father had never shown him a wolf’s human form. He knew werewolves fought dirty, healed rapidly unless you used silver, but he’d never given much thought to their human side.

James had always imagined them as monstrous things, half-beast brutes with crooked teeth and twisted bodies. Something ugly and savage that could barely pass for human.

The girl sitting in front of him looked, surprisingly normal. The longer he looked at her, the more he found she was quite pretty, with a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, those green eyes still fixed on him curiously. There was no way she was the same creature that had attacked him.

“What’s your name?”

She blinked slowly, weighing the question. “What’s yours?”

“Tell me yours first,” he requested. Perhaps she could tell that he didn’t believe she was a werewolf.

She thought about it for a moment. “Lily.” That sounded surprisingly ordinary.

“You aren’t from here,” James observed.

“No,” she answered simply. “Why?”

“Everyone knows who I am in the village,” he said.

“Oh?” she said, sounding puzzled and somewhat amused.

“Yes, I'm James,” he insisted, straightening up slightly. “My father is Fleamont Potter.”

No reaction from her other than those green eyes still staring at him inquisitively. “He’s the village’s werewolf hunter,” he added helpfully. “I’m training to take over.”

Lily huffed a little in amusement. “So, that’s why you are...hunting the wolf?” she asked. 

“Well, they’re—monsters. They kill villagers and eat our livestock. They’re dangerous.”

Lily frowned slightly, sizing him up and looking unimpressed. “You say you’re a hunter,” she said slowly, testing the words. “But when the wolf pounced, you played dead.”

“I did not play dead,” James corrected, tone sharp and he bristled defensively. “I fainted.” The moment the words left his mouth, he realized that he had not helped his case at all.

Lily laughed. “An extraordinary hunter, then,” she said between giggles, her nose wrinkling.

James flushed.“It’s my first solo hunt,” he said fiercely. He tried to push himself up fully, brushing snow off himself to look more dignified. “Anyway,” he added, trying to regain some footing, “How did you get out here?”

“I live here,” she replied with a glance at the landscape. “This forest is my home.”

“You live here?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

His eyes drifted back to her, taking in the thin white shirt and her mostly bare legs in the snow. “In those?” he asked as he gestured toward her minimal clothing. “You’ll freeze.”

Her eyes narrowed a little, her amusement fading slightly. She lifted her chin higher. “You do not think I am wolf.”

“Well, you don’t look like a wolf,” he answered with a gesture at her.

The words had barely left his mouth before she shifted. One moment, she was sitting in the snow, the next, her body expanded and with a ripple of fur, her hands turned into large paws, nose lengthening into a muzzle.

Where Lily had been sitting moments before, a wolf occupied her spot. The very same russet-furred wolf by the stream, with those same almond green eyes. The wolf regarded him with a long look, then she lifted one hind leg to scratch idly at her ear as though to emphasize her point.

James stared, his mouth falling slightly open in shock. His brain was trying very hard to process the fact that the girl he had been arguing with seconds ago was now the enormous wolf he had been hunting.

Before James could find anything intelligent to say, the wolf’s head snapped up and her gaze locked onto a small white hare that had just bolted from the trees behind him.

James followed her gaze instinctively. “Oh no,” James breathed in alarm.

In two powerful strides, Lily wolf was halfway across the clearing, her paws barely hitting the ground, and the hare gave a terrified shriek as Lily wolf gave chase. The hare tried to run back into the trees, but Lily was faster. It was over in seconds. Lily's powerful wolf jaws closed around the rabbit and she gave it one quick shake before she was trotting back to him happily, the rabbit dangling from her jaws.

James was still sitting there when Lily stopped in front of him, her lead lowered and the rabbit landed squarely in his lap. Still warm and slightly bloody.

Lily wolf sat back on her haunches, head tilted, an expectant look in her eyes as though she’d just given him a present.

“Oh gods,” James muttered, leaning back slightly to put more distance between himself and the rabbit. “Is that—” he pointed weakly at the limp rabbit. “Is that for me?”

Lily wolf huffed softly, her green eyes bright and ears forward. She looked proud of herself.

“Thank you,” he whispered helplessly. “I—uh—I appreciate the thought. Really, but humans don’t generally eat—ah—raw meat.”

Lily wolf flicked one ear as if to say humans were weird, confusing creatures.