Chapter Text

Harry shut his trunk with a satisfying thump and buckled the clasp. “I can’t wait to fly again."

    Ron looked up, his new broom on his lap. He had sat there–trance-like–ever since Mrs. Weasley had returned with his reward for being named a prefect. “I think I’m going to try out for Wood’s position.”

    Harry grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s awesome, mate. We can practice on the pitch together before tryouts. I’ll help you train.”

    “Thanks, Harry!” he said brightly, then sobered. “Do you think you’ll, you know, be up to it?” Ron dropped his gaze to the floor, like he always did when he had to address Harry’s lycanthropy. 

    “I don’t know,” Harry admitted. He struggled to keep his voice calm, though his stomach clenched at the thought of the inevitable agony. “I can’t really go off of the last full moon, you know? I didn’t have any injuries because of Albion. I don’t know what it will be like when he doesn’t have that influence.”

    “Shouldn’t be too bad, though,” Ron predicted, though he sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than Harry. “You’ll have wolfsbane this time.”

    Harry nodded. “Assuming that Snape doesn’t use it as an excuse to poison me, everything should be fine. We’ll go to the pitch and practice on September second. Even if you have to levitate me to the pitch.”

    “Deal.”

    Harry reached into the wardrobe and removed a muggle suit. Tonks had picked it up from Westfield the day before, along with clothing for Remus. She had also handed Harry another bag full of t-shirts, jeans, and white trainers. “Now you don’t need to sneak out,” she had explained with a wink. 

    Harry changed into the suit, noting the garish, mottled scar on his thigh. “This will be hard to explain in the dorm,” he said, wincing as the trousers brushed against the sensitive skin. 

    “Just change in the bathroom,” Ron said with a shrug. “Neville does that all the time, anyway.”

    Harry looked at Ron’s reflection in the mirror. “Think we can really pull this off? It’s not like when Remus was going to school. His dorm mates didn’t know, but they all found out. Now, you know but not the others.”

    “And they can’t find out,” Ron added.

    Harry nodded. “It will be the front page of the Prophet if they do.” The newspaper was already riddled with quips about Harry. If his secret was revealed, Harry imagined his scarred face would grace the cover with the words Dangerous Beast at Hogwarts across the page in bold, capital letters. 

    “I’m not going to tell anyone, Harry, and neither will any of my siblings,” Ron said quietly. “We’re all on your side.”

    “I know,” Harry said, buttoning his white shirt and tying a scarlet and gold tie. He shrugged on the sport coat and looked in the mirror. He had to admit that Tonks had great style. The clothes fit perfectly, and he smiled a bit at his reflection. But the three wide scars stared back at him–the first thing everyone would notice when he returned to Hogwarts. 

Harry walked downstairs where Remus waited with his hands in his pockets. He wore a neat tweed suit with brown patches on the elbows. He was pale, the moon only a week away. Harry felt the draw too; his bones ached as if he was coming down with a flu, and his sense of smell was increasingly acute.  

    “Are you ready, Harry?” Remus asked. “We will apparate close to the courthouse and then walk the remainder of the way.”

    At that moment, Tonks bustled in with a wide smile. “Looking good, professor!” she exclaimed with a wink, reaching up to straighten Remus’s collar. Pink graced Remus’s cheeks. 

    Tonks turned to Harry as she placed a black bag on the table. “Ready to cover up those scars again?”

    Harry sat obediently as Tonks applied foundation and concealer. “The offer still stands,” she said conversationally as she blended. “You can take this stuff to Hogwarts if you want.”

    “Thanks but no thanks,” Harry responded. “I don’t need my dorm mates to see me powdering my nose. I’ll take my chances with the scars.”

    Tonks nodded in understanding. “The cover story still a car accident?”

    “Yeah. Muggles can’t heal without scarring, so it makes the most sense.”

    “Harry? Are you ready to go?” Remus asked, grabbing a nondescript suitcase. Harry knew it contained falsified muggle information for Remus–verification of employment and residence, identification, and tax forms.

    “Good luck, son,” Sirius said, fluffing Harry’s hair. “Just answer the judge’s questions. Everything should be pretty straightforward. I’ll meet you both at the cottage around lunchtime.”

    Harry gave Sirius a hug. “Thanks.”

    Remus and Harry apparated to a shadowy alley and stepped into the bright sunshine and busy street. As they approached the courthouse, Harry recognized the Dursley’s car in the parking lot, and his heart beat loudly in his throat. 

    Remus’s sensitive hearing must have noticed the increased beat, for he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and murmured, “They can’t touch you here, Harry. And after today, you will never need to see them again.”

    Inside the courthouse, the secretary directed them to a small adjacent room where they were to wait until the proceedings began. Other people waited there, too, some nervously biting their fingernails while others sat with barely contained energy, one leg jostling up and down. The door opened again, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Vernon Dursley entered the room, followed by his thin wife. Both were dressed for court, though their approachable appearance did nothing to ease the apprehension twisting Harry’s stomach. Dudley stood behind them, looking lost and uncomfortable.

    Remus stood smoothly and offered a hand to Uncle Vernon. “Remus Lupin,” he said by way of introduction. “Thank you for answering the letters from my lawyer and agreeing to this appearance.”

    Vernon stared in distrust at Remus’s proffered hand. Seeing no reason to appear rude and with a quick glance around at the other occupants of the room, he shook it quickly and roughly. “You really want the boy, then?” he said brusquely, as if Harry were nothing more than a used car to bargain for. 

    Harry found it hilarious that Vernon would stand there with his fake bravado, trying to stare down a man who, in seven short days, would become a monster scarier than any of Vernon’s worst nightmares. Remus, to his credit, appeared unaffected, as if he had expected this behavior–which, Harry realized, was probably true.

    “I do,” Remus said shortly, then added with a touch of malice in his tone. “Do you anticipate any problems with this arrangement?”

    Vernon hastily stepped back. “No,” he said coldly. “But you won’t see a pound from me to support him!”

    Remus crossed his arms, a tic working in his cheek. If Remus was anything like Harry, Harry knew he would be fighting to force the wolf back from an emotional pre-moon resurgence. “Harry has no need for your money, time, or consideration moving forward,” Remus said tersely. “He will have everything he needs from those who care for him.”

    Vernon turned his back on Remus, walking to a seat as far from Harry as they could go. Petunia followed in his wake, sitting stiffly in a simple chair. “Dudley, come,” she ordered.

    Dudley had remained in the doorway, his eyes on Harry. “I want to talk to Harry first,” Dudley mumbled quietly. Ignoring his parents, Dudley walked over to Harry and Remus. Vernon looked like he was about to argue, but Petunia placed a hand on his knee, casting an anxious look at the other occupants of the room who had been watching with feigned disinterest. 

    Dudley sat next to Harry and fidgeted with the gold watch around his wrist. After a moment he looked up. “I’m sorry I left you to deal with the dog thing,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper so that Harry had to strain to hear even with his werewolf hearing. “The next morning, police found blood all over the alley where you were and sectioned it off with tape. We didn’t hear anything else, though. I think one of your people must have handled it.”

    Harry nodded mutely. It seemed reasonable that Tonks, Mad-Eye, or even Kingsley would reappear in Little Whinging to clean up the mess left behind after the werewolf attack. He wondered vaguely how many memories had been modified.

    “Are-are you okay?” Dudley asked. 

    Harry gave a start of surprise. Of all the things he expected his cousin to say, it certainly wasn’t that. “More or less,” Harry managed to respond. 

    Dudley nodded–a quick, jerky motion as if his head had forgotten how to do anything else. “I’m glad. I’m-I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You saved me from the dog thing, and I just–”

“Dudley,” Vernon’s voice rang across the room with a tone of false cheerfulness. “I’m sure Harry and his guardian have things to do. Come over here.”

Dudley sighed and stood. His eyes flickered between Harry and Remus. “I hope things work out where you’re going.” 

“Harry will be in very good hands,” Remus reassured Dudley. The blonde boy nodded jerkily again and walked over to his parents, where his mother immediately engaged him in doting conversation. 

“That was weird,” Harry mumbled to Remus. 

Remus didn’t look surprised. “Dudley’s conscience has been pricked. Your aunt and uncle may have been able to rest easy after the attack, but Dudley looks like he hasn’t slept well for weeks, and his scent is off. I think he’s been smoking too much–maybe to manage his guilt.” Remus sighed as he watched the family across the room. “Harry, you may not realize this, but Dudley is negatively affected by his home, too–just in a way that’s different from how you were. I think you saving him finally helped him realize the way things truly are.”

“The wolf never wanted Dudley–”

    “Dudley doesn’t know that, and neither did you when you told him to run.”

    Harry couldn’t argue the point. They waited in companionable silence as the remaining occupants of the room trickled into the courtroom. 

    Finally, a young blonde paralegal came into the room. “Will all parties involved in the custody hearing of Harry James Potter please follow me to courtroom three.”

    Remus stood and squared his shoulders. Harry rubbed the back of his neck. Sitting still for so long had not done anything to ease the aches of the upcoming transformation. He knew Remus felt just as bad, if not worse, than he did. 

    They were ushered into a courtroom in front of a man in black judge's robes. Harry thought he would look severe and angry, like the Wizengamot during his underage magic trial. Instead, the judge seated on the dias was a grandfatherly-sort with thick gray hair and spectacles. Harry stood next to Remus, fiddling nervously with the cuffs of his jacket. 

    The judge picked up a paper in front of him and looked at Remus. “Remus John Lupin?”

    “Yes, your honor.”

    The judge turned to look at Harry. “Harry James Potter?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    The judge turned to the Dursleys, and similar introductions were made. That settled, the judge leaned back a bit in his chair and appraised the families before him. “Remus Lupin, please address the court and tell me about your relationship with the young man next to you.”

“I was a good friend with Harry’s parents before they died. Harry and I reacquainted a few years ago when I taught one of his classes. We’ve kept a correspondence ever since, and he has stayed with me most of this summer.” Harry nodded agreeably to Remus’s words. 

“And why do you desire guardianship of Harry?”

Remus must have been expecting the question, for he responded immediately. “I think I am the best person to meet Harry’s unique needs at this time.”

The judge turned to the Dursleys. “Are you all in agreement that a placement into the home of Remus Lupin is the best place for Harry Potter?”

Harry noticed the tightness of Vernon’s jaw and felt a surge of anger. Vernon didn’t want Harry in the best place for him; he didn’t want Harry to be happy. But his desire to be rid of his nephew must have won out because he responded tightly, “Yes, your honor.”

The judge turned to Harry. “Harry, is this what you would like to happen?” he asked, his voice soft and kind. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Then so it shall be. The guardianship of Harry James Potter to Vernon and Petunia Dursley is now absolved; guardianship will continue with Remus John Lupin. Please sign the necessary paperwork at the front desk. Mr. Lupin, you will be asked to provide identification and proof of employment and address at that time.”

They were dismissed and ushered out of the courtroom. 

As Remus and Harry walked back into the bright sunshine, Remus smiled and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “It’s official,” he said. 

Harry grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. “Yeah! Are we going to the cottage now?”

“Not yet,” Remus said, leading him down an adjacent street. “No one has had a chance to grab groceries, so we are getting some takeaway to bring back.”

They stopped at a small restaurant and left with bags of crisps and sandwiches. Remus led him to a vacant alley and handed him a note: The Den of Remus Lupin and Harry Potter is located in Northwest Wales. Harry studied the note, nodding once it had cemented into his memory. Remus gripped his arm, and Harry felt the now familiar pinch of apparition. 

They arrived on a grassy moor in front of a quaint cottage with white, curling eaves. The yellow brick was nondescript, but it housed a welcoming spirit that Grimmauld Place–despite its occupants–had never managed. Large bay windows let in plenty of light, and white roses bloomed along the porch. 

“This home belonged to an elderly witch before she passed on,” Remus explained as they walked up the sidewalk. “It has been well-kept but isn’t modernized. You are welcome to redesign your room over the Christmas holidays–if you want to come back during holidays, that is.”

Harry couldn’t imagine staying away if he truly had somewhere to go. “I’ll be back,” he promised Remus. 

Sirius threw the door open once they reached the porch steps. He grinned broadly, the sunlight and freedom bringing new life into his wan face. “Everything go as expected?”

“It went perfectly.”

While Remus laid out food on the small dining room table, Sirius showed Harry around the house. Three small bedrooms led into a single living room. A small bathroom with older fixtures was off the kitchen. “It is quite cozy,” Sirius apologized. “We wanted to make sure we had something before the hearing, so we had to work with what was currently on the market.”

“It’s just right,” Harry interrupted, his eyes scanning the cheerful kitchen. Below his feet lay the unfinished basement for transformations, but it was hard to worry about that now–after all, he was in a home with his new guardian and godfather and would never go back to the Dursley’s.  

Life was good.

Chapter Text

    Harry spent an enjoyable day with Remus and Sirius at the new cottage. He chose his bedroom–an east-facing room with a reading nook below a bay window. He flooed back to Grimmauld Place to get his things, though he left his heavy trunk. The Weasleys would be taking it with them to the platform if the full moon on August 29th made it impossible to carry it on his own. All of his other personal effects, however, had been moved to the cottage. 

    Harry was folding his muggle clothing in a wardrobe when Hermione walked in his room, the door swinging shut behind her. He had recognized her scent and heard her unique footfalls long before she had appeared, so he didn’t turn around when he said, “Hey, Hermione.”

    “I’m never going to be able to sneak up on you, am I?” she said, a smile teasing her words. 

    “Are you all packed? Mrs. Weasley refused to let Ron come over until he found all of his socks.”

    “I’ve been packed for a week–” 

Harry laughed good-naturedly, not at all surprised. 

“--but I wanted to come by and see how you were settling in.”

    Harry’s eyes surveyed the room. Remus had furnished it with a second-hand but sturdy bed and dresser. A magical lamp rested upon a nightstand. The room lacked the creature comforts so common in the Dursley’s home, but he felt like he belonged here in a way he had never felt at Privet Drive. “It's been brilliant, actually. It . . . It feels like home already.” Harry flushed with embarrassment and turned his attention back to the wardrobe. 

    Hermione walked past him, sat on the window seat, and looked out into the backyard. 

    “The garden needs some work,” Harry explained. “The old witch that lived here before couldn’t keep up with it. Remus is going to plant all sorts of plants–especially the ones that help ease pain after transformations.” It should have felt weird, addressing his lycanthropy with Hermione, but it didn’t. For some reason, it felt as natural as breathing or talking about the weather. 

    “Mrs. Weasley sent me over with some groceries, and I put them in the ice box." She settled into the window seat, her foot swinging absently. "This room is a perfect place for reading, too. Oh, Harry! I’m so happy for you!” She jumped up, wrapping Harry in a hug. Harry returned the hug, his chest warm with happiness. 

    There was a cough from behind them. Remus stood in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob. “Hello, Hermione. I didn’t notice when you flooed in.”

    “You and Sirius were out on the grounds.”

    Remus nodded in understanding. “Harry, I don’t mind if Hermione visits, but keep this door open, please.”

    Harry and Hermione flushed. “Remus, we weren’t–” Harry stammered.

    Remus raised a hand to stop their words. “Just keep the door open.”

    Harry nodded, his face still pink. “We’ll do that.”

    “Professor Snape brought over the first dose of wolfsbane, and it needs to be drunk within the hour. Can you come into the kitchen and take it?”

    Harry nodded, following Remus into the kitchen where two smoking goblets rested on the scrubbed wooden table. Sirius eyed the potion mistrustfully. “I hate that we are relying on Snivellus,” he muttered. 

    Remus sighed. “Severus brewed the potion perfectly every month while I taught at Hogwarts. He isn’t going to poison Harry.”

    Harry tried to feel comforted at the words, but anxiety twisted his stomach as he wrapped his shaking fingers around the neck of the goblet. Hermione sat at a worn bench and studied the goblets with interest. “What are the main ingredients?”

    Remus hesitated. “I'll show you the instructions after Harry drinks it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to know what’s in this, do I?” 

“No. And whatever you do, don’t spit it out. Just swallow it.”

Harry gave Hermione a toast. “Cheers,” he said, taking a large mouthful. 

It was like someone had forced smoke down his esophagus. The potion burned like acid, and he reflexively choked, though he forced his lips to remain tightly shut. The burn extended into his nose and his eyes watered. He forced the potion down in a swallow, gasping and wiping his eyes with the edge of his shirt. “It burns!” he said reproachfully. 

Remus nodded, draining his goblet in three swallows and pulling a face. “It doesn’t get better, I’m afraid. You just learn to drink it quickly.”

Harry forced the potion down his throat with two additional swallows, the burning sensation spreading to his chest. “What's in this?”

Remus handed Hermione an old potions book with a page dog-eared. She read with interest while Harry washed the potion taste out of his mouth with copious cups of water. “The ingredients in this potion are incredibly rare,” Hermione commented. “Dragon bile? Acromantula venom? Let alone the silver and monkshood.”

Remus nodded. “That’s why so few werewolves have access to it. It’s difficult to brew and incredibly expensive.”

Hermione studied the book contemplatively. “Why, though? How does acromantula venom affect the potion itself? Bile from fire salamanders is often substituted for dragon bile. It seems like it could be less complex.”

“What are you saying, Hermione?” Sirius asked.

Hermione turned to Harry. “When you were first bitten, I read up on the origins of the wolfsbane potion. The man who created it was a notorious werewolf-hunter. It seemed odd to me that someone who's living relied on out-of-control werewolves would be okay with providing a cure that would end his profession.”

“Why did he do it at all, then?” Harry asked.

“He was commissioned by the king. He couldn’t very well say no to the king, but that doesn’t mean he did a good job. He just had to prove something worked. So, what if he made the most luxurious potion he could invent that still did the job? Then the king would be happy, and the inventor could go back to being a werewolf hunter–with the added benefit that werewolves were now blamed for being out of control when a cure was available. After all, no one would consider that the cure was impossible for the infected to obtain. That would mean the werewolves were sentenced to death much more often.”

There was a heavy silence at Hermione’s words. “It’s an interesting theory,” Remus said, turning the book toward himself and tracing a finger along the ingredients. “I am not a potioneer myself, so I cannot confirm or deny your theory. And testing alternatives would be dangerous and far above NEWT level.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Can I copy the instructions? I want to at least look up the ingredients and see the theory behind them.”

Remus nodded in acquiescence, summoning a quill and ink. “Once you are finished, I will charm it so that only you can read it. You don’t need awkward questions if someone finds it in your possession.”

Hermione left after another hour, and Harry offered to make dinner. While he worked, Remus and Sirius sat in the den, reminiscing about old stories and pranks. Harry was a grateful eavesdropper on these conversations, his werewolf hearing allowing him to follow the stories. He wanted to join the conversation, to sit with the men who had spent so much time with his father, but he held himself back as he finished dinner. 

Sirius declared Harry an incredible cook, praise Harry had never received from the Dursleys. Though Sirius ate with abandon, Remus’s brow furrowed with concern. Harry ate quietly, uncomfortable with Remus’s gaze on him and wondering what he did wrong. Did he not like dinner?

Harry began cleanup, reaching for Sirius’s plate when Remus gently grabbed his wrist. “Harry, you don’t have to earn being here. You don’t have to do everything.”

Harry set the plate down. “Um, er, I always did this. At-at the Dursleys,” he stammered. 

“Did you do it because you wanted to or because you were told to?” Remus asked in the same calm, even tone.

Harry didn’t answer and cast his eyes downward. 

“I’m not angry with you, Harry,” Remus said softly. “If you want to cook and clean up, cook and clean up. But if you're doing it because you think you have to, that isn’t the case. You will have chores and responsibilities, but those responsibilities are also shared with everyone else in this house.”

“I . . . don’t understand,” Harry admitted. 

“You made dinner. Sirius and I will clean up,” Remus said. “You are welcome to floo back to Grimmauld to talk with the Weasleys or do whatever else you would like.”

“Oh. Okay,” Harry responded, though he didn’t move.

Sirius studied Harry’s face. “Harry, what would you like to do?”

Harry looked up in surprise. “I want to know more about my dad and mom. I was . . . listening while making dinner, but I have questions.”

“Harry, you could have joined us.”

Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t allowed in the living room without asking permission at the Dursleys, and especially not when the adults were talking.”

Remus put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “You are always welcome to join us, Harry. You don’t have to ask, and you don’t have to wait for permission. You live here, Harry. No one is going to pretend that you aren’t here.”

Tears sprung to Harry’s eyes, and his throat tightened. He turned away in embarrassment, wiping the tears with his sleeve while Remus and Sirius pretended not to notice. Harry realized that the same feeling enveloped this small cottage that permeated at the Weasley’s–the feeling that everyone there actually liked him. 

It was disorienting. In a good way.

“Harry, how about you take a seat while Sirius and I clean up, and we will tell you anything you want to know.”

Sirius waved his wand and the dishes started scrubbing themselves in the sink. “It’s easy when you can use magic,” Harry quipped good-naturedly. 

“Use your resources, Harry,” Sirius said with a laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“What were they like? How did they meet?”

Harry sat wide-eyed as the Marauders talked late into the night. He was surprised to learn that his dad had been a bit spoiled–“and a bit conceited, to be honest,” Sirius had said fondly.--though he had grown up a bit by seventh year. He had been a chaser, head boy, and quidditch captain. 

To Harry’s surprise, Remus knew more about Lily than Sirius did. Lily had tutored Remus extensively in potions, especially as it became obvious he would fail his OWL. Lily had also cornered him in the astronomy tower their sixth year with undeniable proof that he was a werewolf. 

“She had asked me to hold a button for her as we were doing rounds. I knew it was silver, but I couldn’t really say no. After all, it was just a button. So I held it in my palm as long as I could, even though it burned. She walked to the astronomy tower and looked at my hand beneath her wand-light. I thought it was all over, but all she said was ‘I’m sorry, Remus. How awful.’”

“Did she ever know about you guys being animagi?” Harry asked eagerly. 

“Once they were engaged, we decided that it was time to tell her,” Sirius began, smiling fondly. “They were engaged during their final month at Hogwarts–don’t look so surprised. It was the middle of a war. People were eloping all the time–and James took her into the forest to a clearing where he had this picnic set up. Do you remember, Moony? There was a ton of chocolate, and she asked if Remus was joining us, and James said yes, right after he came clean about something.

“I’m pretty sure she thought James was about to confess a dark, dirty secret. The look she gave him–you’d never believe. But Remus appeared from under the cloak and explained how the rest of the Marauders learned his secret and how we helped him through transformations.”

“She didn’t believe any of it,” Remus continued with a smile. “It took Sirius and Peter transforming right in front of her to believe that the shaggy black dog swimming in the Black Lake so often was actually a human. Then she turned to James and said, ‘Let me guess, you’re a rabbit or something.’ James stepped back and transformed, and you should have seen her face. Absolute shock that the stag that had been eating stems in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch was actually her fiance.”

Remus looked fondly at Harry. “You are the best of both your parents, Harry. You may not have heard an adult say it before, but I am very proud of the man you're becoming.”

“Do you think they would've been proud of me?” Harry asked quietly. 

“Of course.”

“Even with this?” Harry challenged, gesturing to the scars across his face. 

“Even with lycanthropy,” Sirius insisted. “They would have only been upset that they had been unable to protect you.”

Harry nodded tightly and took his leave a few minutes later, shutting the door to his room. He lay on his bed and looked at the ceiling. 

He certainly had a lot to think about. 

___

    After Harry had gone to bed, Remus and Sirius moved to the living room. The fireplace flashed, and Tonks stepped out of the floo. “Sorry it’s so late,” she apologized, tripping over the grate. Remus caught her reflexively. She gave him a smile in thanks and then sat in a chair near the fire. “I just got off auror duty and wanted to see how Harry is settling in.”

    “Oh, look at the time!” Sirius exclaimed, glancing at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Remus, fill her in. I’m beat.” With a wink to Remus, Sirius walked his room, firmly shutting the door behind him.

    Remus shook his head in disgust. 

    “Did I offend him or something?” Tonks asked.

    Remus sighed. “Sirius seems to think that you and I need some time to talk alone.”

    Tonks raised an eyebrow. “Okay. About what?”

    Remus shrugged. “Whatever we want, I suppose.”

    Tonks’ lips turned into a smile. “You could answer my question. How is Harry settling in?”

    Remus whispered a muffliato charm so he could speak freely. “He seems to really like it here . . .”

    “But?” Tonks prompted. 

    “But his trauma is more serious than we imagined.” Remus detailed Harry’s insistence to do all the work and asking permission to go into the Dursley’s living room. “He hides it well around the Weasleys, but once you get him in a home situation by himself, it’s very obvious that the Dursleys have damaged him.”

    As he spoke, Tonks sat next to him and took his hand. Remus closed his eyes, breathing in her scent of honey, cinnamon, and worn leather boots. 

“It’s good that he has you,” she murmured. 

“And that he has you,” Remus responded with a grin. “You should have seen him folding his clothes. I've never seen a teenager take that much care about laundry . . . I don’t think he’s ever had anyone give him new clothes that weren’t for school, and he buys all those himself. I think you're his favorite person right now.”

“Just call me Auntie Tonks,” she said with a laugh, then sobered. “He will heal, Remus. Keep showing him what a family looks like, what family members do for each other, and he will understand. And–once he does–he can break the cycle and have a beautiful home of his own someday.”

“With brown-haired children,” Remus added. “I had to tell Harry to keep his door open while Hermione’s over.”

Tonks laughed, and Remus realized how much he loved the sound. It wasn’t a delicate laugh, more like something between a guffaw and a snort. Tonks stifled the sound with the sleeve of her auror robes. 

“Hey, do you want some desert?” she asked abruptly. “Mom brought a chocolate cake over to my flat, and I shouldn’t eat it all myself.”

Remus blinked in surprise. “Shouldn’t? Not couldn’t?”

“Shouldn’t,” Tonks clarified. “I absolutely could eat it all myself. I’ll go grab it.” She was gone and back with two pops of apparition, a box in her hands. Remus summoned plates and cutlery–all stainless steel, not silver–and laid them on the coffee table. 

“I’ll cut some for Harry and Sirius. They can have it in the morning. Cake for breakfast is the best.” She cut two additional slices, handing a plate to Remus before settling next to him with her own piece. 

Remus took a large bite, closing his eyes. “Andromeda is an incredible baker.”

“She is. I didn’t inherit any of her skill, though.” She reached over, taking a forkful of cake from Remus’s plate. 

“Don’t you have your own?” Remus asked in bewilderment.

Tonks paused, the fork hovering a few inches from her lips. “Do you want it back?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “No, you can have it.”

Tonks ate the piece and then reached over for another piece from his plate. “Oh, no you don’t,” Remus said, swiping a forkful of cake from her plate before she could guard it. She laughed, smearing a bit of frosting on his cheek as she tried to reclaim the stolen cake. 

And Remus forgot himself. 

He forgot that he was a werewolf. He forgot that he was thirteen years her senior. He forgot about the bright future she would have without him. He forgot that his ward and best friend were nearby in adjacent rooms.

He kissed her. 

And Tonks kissed him back. 

As they parted, Remus’s eyes widened as everything he had forgotten flooded back to his brain. “Tonks, I’m sorry, I–”

Tonks looked at him in confusion. “Why are you apologizing?”

Remus flushed. “I shouldn’t have–horribly inappropriate–”

Tonks placed a hand to his lips. “I’m an auror, Remus. If I didn’t want you to kiss me, you would’ve been cursed into a slug oozing slime in the next room.” She flushed, and her already pink hair deepened in color. “I wanted you to kiss me. I’ve wanted it for a while.”

Remus gaped at her. “W-we need to think this through. The war, Harry’s lycanthropy, there’s been a lot of stress, a lot of things we aren’t sure about right now–”

“And this is the only thing I’m sure about,” Tonks interjected, then faltered. “If, you know, it's what you want, too.”

Remus licked his lips reflexively and placed his head in his palms. “What if what I want and what you want isn't what’s best for you?” 

Tonks swiped another bite from his plate. “And what if it’s what’s best for both of us?” she challenged. 

“Tonks, you’re considering having a relationship with a werewolf,” he stated desperately. 

“Yes, which is exactly what you implied when you mentioned Harry’s brown-haired children. If you think Hermione and Harry could make it work, why couldn’t we?”

Remus gaped at her, open-mouthed. “I-” he stammered and then his voice died. Of course, he didn’t want Harry to live the lonely existence that he had. Of course Harry and Hermione could make it work if they so choose.

Tonks squeezed his hand. “It’s late, and I have to be early at the Ministry to finish some paperwork. Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay."

Chapter Text

Sirius Black knew grief. 

Twelve years in Azkaban had hardened him to the cold truth that the world wasn’t fair. His best friend had died. His other best friend had turned traitor. 

Sirius Black knew pain. 

He had watched members of the first Order of the Phoenix fall beneath Death Eater’s wands. He, himself, had been subjected to the cruciactus curse. He had been the recipient of his mother’s disciplinary curses on more than one occasion. 

Sirius Black knew misery. 

After all, twelve years in Azkaban with no one but the dementors for company and his own tortured thoughts was enough misery for a lifetime. Misery came when he saw his boggart–James’s sightless eyes and dead body. He knew misery when the ministry refused him a trial that would have proved his innocence. 

But nothing prepared him for Harry’s lycanthropy. 

He hated to admit it, even to himself. But watching Harry weaken as the full moon approached, watching his features pale and the circles ring under his eyes, and watching as he shuffled from room to room in pajamas, too weak to change his clothes, was the highest torture anyone could inflict on Sirius Black. 

He had heard Harry’s screams during the last full moon. Sirius had been powerless to stop it, and, as he waited in his dog form, he did something forever shameful–he turned away from the sound. 

Instead of rushing to the young werewolf’s side, he had dropped his head to the ground, his ears pinned tightly to the back of his skull to muffle the sound. It was only after a few moments of unnatural stillness that he had dared approach. 

Oh, how he wished he could take Harry’s place. 

Harry was forever changed by his condition–not merely physically, though the garish gashes upon his face would forever stand as a testament to that; but emotionally, too. He was hesitant, cautious, and jumpy, clinging to one friend while remaining surface-level amicable to the other. 

Sirius could only hope that his plan was the right path–that the change in guardianship would be enough to bring back the grin to Harry’s face. 

Yes, it was war. But Harry used to smile in the face of danger. 

The day leading to the full moon held no smiles. Just constant vomiting, raging fever, and fatigue that Harry tried to fight off. 

The boy was currently asleep on the couch, his neck at an awkward angle. From the kitchen, Sirius sighed and placed his mug on the table. 

“Maybe we should go to the forest. He seemed to do better in the hours leading up to the full moon there.”

“The forest does have a rejuvenating effect on werewolves,” Remus admitted, stretching his shoulders, the joint making an audible crack as it did so often before a full moon. “But he has wolfsbane now. He will be transforming in McGonagall’s office once school begins. I want him to be adequately prepared.”

Sirius nodded. They had, of course, already had this conversation several times over the past few days. Sirius didn’t know why he was asking again now–if for nothing than to fill the last half hour before moonrise with something other than silence. 

“We should wake him.”

Sirius nodded, kneeling down next to Harry. Asleep, he looked so much like James that it brought back long-buried memories: James lying sideways on his four-poster in his quidditch gear after a particularly rough practice. He had slept with his mouth slightly open, too. Sirius smiled, remembering the time he had dropped a spider in James’s open mouth and the dormitory battle that ensued. 

His smile faltered–those joys were long gone. 

Sirius placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gently roused him. Green eyes tainted with amber blinked blearily at him. “What time is it?”

“Almost moonrise. Do you want to head to your room?”

Harry rose without words, though Sirius saw the panic that graced the boy’s features. “Harry, it’s going to be okay,” Sirius whispered. “I will be here for you. No matter what.”

“Harry,” Remus added gently. “Remember to leave your door shut loosely. That way, you can join us in the living room after the transformation if you want to.”

The boy gave a brief nod and stood on faltering feet. Sirius held out a hand, but Harry shook his head, stumbling forward on his own. 

Harry’s door shut behind him, and Sirius heard a slight creak from mattress springs as Harry sat on the bed. Remus rose a few minutes later, entering his own room in much the same manner Harry had. 

Sirius was left alone, feeling more helpless than he ever had in Azkaban. 

The minutes trickled by, so interminably slow and yet rushing headlong toward moonrise and the inevitable agony that Sirius wished he could prevent. 

He didn’t need a clock to know when moonrise happened–the screams told him all he needed to know. 

Sirius dropped to the floor, hugging his knees. He had offered to be there, in the room, for Harry’s second transformation to ease his guilt and offer a modicum of comfort, but Harry had emphatically refused. 

Remus’s transformations were always quieter. Born from years of experience, his transformations now consisted of gasping breaths and the occasional sob, though Sirius was sure it hurt no less than the agony endured by the boy in the adjacent room. 

The screaming continued–as Sirius knew it would–for exactly three minutes and thirty-five seconds.

Then there was silence.

A sand-colored wolf eased open the bedroom door. Built to destroy, Moony’s muscular frame and blade-like claws would cause any wizard to run in terror. Sirius, however, gave a weak smile. He had never seen Remus under wolfsbane; he had never stood as a human in the presence of the wolf before. And it was a miraculous thing. 

“Alright, Moony? In your proper head?”

The wolf nodded, his eyes reflecting a human’s intelligence, then turned to look at Harry’s door. He gave a low whine and approached, his claws digging slightly into the carpet. 

Remus had almost reached Harry’s door when it burst open with powerful speed. A black wolf darted out, skidding to a stop before crashing into the coffee table. Rising on four strong legs, it raised its nose in the air and turned toward Sirius, its amber eyes gleaming with animalistic intelligence. 

So quickly that Sirius had no time to react, the wolf leapt toward his throat. 

Sirius fell back with a yelp, scrabbling for his wand while knowing it would be much to late. The wolf was young and inexperienced, though; it had overestimated its leap and fell past Sirius and into the kitchen, slamming into the cabinet that housed the dishes. There was the crack of shattering china.

The young wolf spun around, but this time it was met by Moony, who placed himself between the black wolf and Sirius. The black wolf attacked with abandon, its claws raking bloody furrows down Moony’s chest and side. 

Sirius transformed into his dog form as Moony backed away with a yelp, blood dripping onto the carpet. The black wolf jumped toward the other werewolf with an intent to kill, but was intercepted by Padfoot, who shoved him hard into an adjacent wall. The black wolf stood with a yelp, favoring its front leg and glaring mutinously at Padfoot. Padfoot growled in return. 

This can’t be happening, Sirius thought with rising panic as the black wolf abandoned its attempt to kill Moony and began pacing the room, sniffing greedily for a human scent. Harry’s not in his right mind. Once the wolf finds the windows, it will escape. Remus and I aren’t fast enough to contain it. It will kill someone. 

Moony seemed to have similar thoughts, for he rose painfully to his feet and moved toward the bay window, planting himself in front of it. Sirius hesitated, his eyes panning the window but also the open door to Harry’s room and the exposed window within. Even the front door would be no match for the wolf's enhanced strength. 

The young wolf continued to pace, shaking its head back and forth as if there was water in his ears that it wanted to clear. With sudden inspiration, Sirius gave a playful bark and ran to the icebox in the kitchen, forcing the door open with his muzzle. He bit into a package of raw bacon and waved it toward the black wolf. 

The wolf lunged forward but Sirius spun out of his reach, heading to the basement with windows far too small to escape. Sirius crashed down the steps with the black wolf close behind. He deposited the bacon in a far corner of the basement and retreated, using his snout to move the door and then throwing his full weight against it to close it. 

Moony appeared at his side, Sirius’s wand held loosely in his mouth. Moony placed it at Sirius’s feet then pressed his weight firmly against the door. 

Padfoot nodded in understanding and risked a transformation back to a human, quickly applying a knockback jinx to the door. It wasn’t a moment too soon; the black wolf had caught Sirius’s human scent and leapt at the door. A horrible cracking noise from the inside told Sirius that great splinters were being shredded off beneath the werewolf’s powerful claws. 

Sirius applied the remainder of the werewolf containment charms, then collapsed at the kitchen table in a heap, shaking with disbelief. Moony approached, his limbs trembling, blood still seeping from his wounds. Sirius summoned bandages–the untouched ones from Harry’s first transformation–and wrapped Moony’s wounds with shaking fingers. 

“I can’t give you silver and dittany until after moonrise,” Sirius said. “But once–”

His words were interrupted by a loud, keening howl from the basement. Sirius had heard the sound only once before; without Remus’s knowledge, the other Marauders had snuck down to the outside of the Shrieking Shack to listen to Dumbledore’s possessed ghosts. Moony had howled just like that, the scent of the humans nearby driving the beast to madness. That night Remus had received life-threatening, self-inflicted injuries, the worst he had ever had. 

In an effort to calm the werewolf below his feet, Sirius transformed into a dog again, hoping with everything he had that the bacon would be enough to appease its insatiable hunger. Moony rose painfully from the kitchen tile and collapsed on the hearthrug in front of the fire, despondence showing even on his wolfish face. 

What had gone so horribly, horribly wrong?

Chapter Text

There was a strange feeling of suffocation as Harry came back to himself. He tried to jerk his face away from the force, to allow some passage of air, but his neck was stiff and would not behave according to his whim. He coughed, and the suffocating substance cleared somewhat with a splattering sound. 

In complete bewilderment, Harry opened his eyes. He was face down in a pool of blood, his mouth and nose filled with the metallic taste. The full moon’s effects had not faded, and Harry fought the urge to swallow the blood in his mouth. Instead, he spat it out. 

His hands throbbed and burned. He pulled them in front of his eyes, and his stomach twisted. The fingernails had been torn completely from his fingers, and large wooden splinters were embedded deep in the flesh. One of his wrists was red and swollen, and he was unable to flex his fingers.

With rising panic and in unbearable pain, Harry took stock of the remainder of his injuries. Large, bloody furrows had torn across his chest. A large piece of muscle from his thigh was missing, and blood poured freely from the wound. 

Harry desperately cast his eyes around for anything to stop the bleeding, though nothing but bare cement floor and unadorned walls met his eyes. His vision started to blur, black dots appearing at the corners. He couldn't concentrate. 

Injured. Pain. Bleeding. Have to stop the bleeding.

What had happened last night? Through the fogginess of his brain, he began to piece together the strangeness of the situation. He was in the basement. He had transformed in his bedroom–he was sure of that. He was also sure that he had taken the wolfsbane potion as prescribed with exactness. 

What had happened, then? 

Harry heard a muffled voice as wards on the basement door were disabled. The door creaked open on little-used hinges, and Sirius rushed into the room. Remus followed close behind. His chest was bare, and his skin was torn open with long, vicious scratches.

Without preamble, Sirius laid a cloak across Harry's lap for propriety's sake. His hands trembled as he looked at Harry. He vanished the blood pooling around Harry's face, and Harry inhaled a deep, bloodless breath. 

"Everything hurts," Harry choked out. "Why does everything hurt?"

"Sirius, we need to heal the wound on his thigh first," Remus interrupted. "It's serious. He will bleed out."

Harry held still as copious amounts of silver and dittany were applied to the wound. The wound hissed and burned, and Harry grit his teeth against the tugging on his skin. Eventually, the burning ceased, and the wound was covered by a thick scab, not dissimilar to the scar that marred his other leg. That realization made Harry breathless. "Was I attacked again?" Harry demanded. "Is that why I'm like this?"

Remus's voice was soft, though it carried a heaviness that squeezed Harry's heart. "No, Harry. With the exception of your sprained wrist, these injuries were self-inflicted."

Harry blinked stupidly at him. His gaze was drawn to the door, where great, bloody claw marks gouged the wood. "But the wolfsbane–"

"It didn't work," Remus confessed in the same soft tone while Sirius turned his attention to Harry's hands. Sirius summoned the splinters with his wand, and Harry couldn't stop the agonized cries nor the tears pouring down his face as the wooden shards tore from his skin. 

"What do you mean the wolfsbane didn't work?" Harry demanded, forcing the words out between gasping sobs. "It was supposed to work!" 

This was the end. He couldn't have a full life without wolfsbane. How would he be safe? How could he go to school? How could he entertain any sort of future relationship with Hermione? Terrified sobs shook his frame that caused the wounds on his chest to pour blood, despite the scabs created by the silver and dittany. 

Sirius and Remus shared an alarmed glance as Harry felt his chest tighten. He couldn't draw breath, and it felt like someone was squeezing his esophagus. 

"Harry, you're panicking. You need to calm down," Remus ordered, tension lacing his own tone. 

Harry felt lightheaded, and Sirius firmly placed Harry's head between his knees. "Breathe, pup. Just breathe."

Harry took great, shuddering gasps of air, and the tightness in his chest began to ease. He collapsed back against the concrete floor, still breathing heavily. 

With his enhanced senses, Harry heard the whoosh of the floo, followed by the scent of parchment and cinnamon. 

Remus looked up with alarm. "Tonks and Hermione are here. Sirius, head them off."

Sirius leapt to his feet. The hem of his robes were soaked in blood, and he tracked bloody footprints up the stairs. 

"Look, now is not a great time–" Sirius started, his voice carrying clearly to the basement.

"Sirius, what happened here?" Tonks demanded. "It looks like death eaters came to trash the place. Why didn't you call for help?"

"It wasn't death eaters," Sirius confessed torturously. "The-the wolfsbane didn't work on Harry."

"What?" Hermione's panicked voice joined the din. "How badly is he hurt? Where is he?"

"Hermione, Remus and I have it under contr– Hermione, no!"

Harry had enough time to ensure the cloak was still covering anything compromising before Hermione thundered down the stairs. Without any escape, Harry shut his eyes in embarrassment, wishing for the ability to apparate anywhere–to be in literally any location but on this cold stone floor covered in blood and showing way too much skin. 

Hermione's footfalls had faltered on the final step, and there was an uncomfortable silence. Harry, his eyes still closed, could picture her hand on her open mouth as she stared at him crumpled at the bottom of the basement. 

" Oh, Harry," she breathed. 

Harry heard Remus step in front of him, shielding her view of his injuries. "Hermione, I need you to go back to Grimmauld."

"But–"

Remus interjected in a firm but not unkind voice. "No, Hermione. Harry doesn't want you to see him like this. Give us a few hours to tend to his wounds and ensure he's properly dressed. Fire call around lunchtime, and we will let you know if you can come over."

"But–" the word was no longer an argument. Now her voice was small and frail and helpless.

If there was anything that Harry knew about Hermione, it was that her personality was not small, frail, or helpless. He must look even worse than he thought.

"Please, Hermione," Remus insisted. "You will cause more harm than good."

Hermione was crying; Harry could smell the saltiness of her tears. Eventually, her footfalls ascended up the stairs, and the sound of the floo echoed through the living room. 

Remus turned back to Harry. "We need to get you to your room. I can levitate you–"

"I'll walk."

Remus opened his mouth to argue but nodded with a sigh of acquiescence. "Wrap up in the cloak, and I'll help you up the stairs." 

Every step was agony. Sirius joined Remus on Harry's other side as he lurched drunkenly out of the basement. The journey to Harry's room was not long, but it passed through the carnage of yesterday’s full moon. As they passed the kitchen, Harry saw the shattered cabinet and dishes. Blood was smeared across the floor in the living room, and the coffee table was upended. 

"I-I'm sorry," Harry choked fearfully. What if Remus changed his mind about caring for him? What if he wouldn't be allowed to live in the cottage? What if he was too dangerous even for his werewolf guardian? The panic returned, and Harry's breath came back in those horrible, gasping sobs. He was led gently to his bed and collapsed back on the pillows. 

"Sirius, grab a calming drought," Remus ordered, pushing Harry's hair out of his eyes. "Harry, it's okay. We are here for you. We will help you."

Sirius returned with a vial of cloudy white potion. Harry turned away from it. "Trust me, pup," Sirius begged. "We will get through this but I need you to calm down so we can heal your injuries."

Harry relented, and the potion trickled down his parched throat. His eyes grew heavy, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

When Harry awoke, the late morning sun was spilling through the windows. His arms and legs felt leaden, and his fingers ached. The scratches across his chest and the bite on his thigh burned and throbbed painfully. 

And everything else ached, too. After all, a person can’t break and reassemble all the bones in his body, sprout fur, grow claws, and assume that the following day would be fine. 

But it was so much worse than Harry had imagined. He had been spoiled and naive after the first moon and Albion’s wager. Now, Harry had no wager and he was paying the price for it. 

But had he truly avoided the wolf? The potion hadn’t worked, Harry remembered with horrible clarity. Something had happened. 

He raised a hand to his pounding head with a grunt of pain. Remus, thanks to his sensitive hearing, immediately appeared in the doorway. “Harry, how are you feeling?” He leaned against the frame as he spoke, and Harry spotted white bandages beneath his jumper. 

“Are you okay? Did the wolfsbane work for you?” Harry asked. 

Remus stepped completely into the room and sat with a grunt of pain onto the window seat. He studied his hands and there was an awkward pause. 

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” Harry asked reproachfully. 

Remus sighed. “I promised I would never lie to you–”

“And so you’re going to ignore me instead?” Harry snapped bitingly, wolfish anger making a post-moon resurgence. He felt a twinge of fear at his treatment of Remus. Would Remus make him leave if he was angry too often?

“I am not going to ignore you, Harry. I need a moment to collect my thoughts and choose how to address the situation.”

“Just give it to me straight,” Harry snapped. “I don’t need you to sugarcoat it.”

Remus looked at him levelly. “The wolfsbane worked for me but not for you. I received some injuries protecting Sirius. At moonrise, Sirius was still in his human form–”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “I attacked him, didn’t I?”

“Did you have any control last night? Do you remember anything?”

Harry shook his head. 

“Then you didn’t attack Sirius,” Remus stated emphatically. “The wolf, which you have no control over, attacked him. Sirius is fine. He wasn’t bitten.”

“But?” Harry prompted. 

“But I received some injuries while protecting him. It is nothing that time, silver, and dittany won’t heal.”

Tears pricked at Harry’s eyes. He wiped them hastily away with his bandaged hands. “Where is Sirius?”

“Getting some more blood replenishing potion from Grimmauld Place. Madam Pomfrey sent some over, but she could not come to the cottage. The fewer people who are part of the fidelius, the safer the home is for you.”

“Is it still my home?” Harry asked, the question tearing itself beyond his lips. If he had to leave, he would rather know now.

Remus blinked in surprise. “Of course it is still your home, Harry. It will always be your home. Nothing has changed.”

A warm feeling spread in Harry’s chest. He heard the rush of the floo and Sirius’s shoes across the living room carpet. He appeared in the room a moment later, several vials in his hands. He unstoppered one and handed it to Harry. “You lost a lot of blood. Pomfrey wants you to drink one of these every four hours.”

The blood replenishing potion tasted like, well, blood. It went down easily, though Harry fought the instinct to enjoy it too much. “Are you okay, Sirius?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Sirius insisted, taking a stool from the living room and sitting next to Harry’s bedside. “It will take more than a juvenile werewolf to take me down.” 

“Why didn’t the wolfsbane work?”

“We don’t know,” Remus answered. “There isn’t a failure rate with wolfsbane. When brewed and administered correctly, it is one hundred percent effective–”

“Well, there you go,” Sirius responded angrily. “The next time I see Snape, I’m going to–”

“You will do nothing,” Remus interjected. “Harry and I drank from the same cauldron of potion. We used tamper-proof goblets. Therefore, we drank the same potion, and the potion worked for me. The potion isn’t at fault here.”

“So there’s something wrong with me?” Harry questioned. 

“It could have something to do with Albion taking over your mind a few weeks ago. It’s possible that his tenure in your human form made the curse resistant to the magical components in wolfsbane.” 

Harry leaned back with a groan and closed his eyes. “I thought we were done with Albion,” he confessed. 

“He has no control over you for the rest of the month. We can handle your condition for one night. This doesn’t change anything,” Sirius insisted. 

“It changes everything,” Harry retorted. “How do I transform at school? The Shrieking Shack?”

“Too many people know the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, including the Weasleys and the vast majority of the staff. The staff will not be informed of your condition, so it is placing them at risk to have you transform there,” Remus explained. “I have been in contact with Professor McGonagall. You will floo back here for your transformations, stay for your recovery, and then floo back afterward. You will finish school, Harry.”

“Why won’t the staff know what happened?” Harry asked Remus. “Didn’t the staff know about your condition?”

“They did, and they were supportive, if a bit hesitant, once Dumbledore discussed the plan. That isn’t the case now. The Ministry has appointed Dolores Umbridge as your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher after Dumbledore couldn’t find someone to take the job. Umbridge is–to put it nicely–emphatically against half-breeds, especially werewolves. After I was exposed at Hogwarts, she passed a slew of new laws that prevent me from finding a job. One of those laws also affects you. It is an Educational Decree that states that no werewolf is allowed within fifteen kilometers of an educational magic institution.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “So I’m breaking the law. Dumbledore’s breaking the law. McGonagall and even Snape are all breaking the law for me.”

Remus nodded, his eyes grave. “And they have agreed to guard your secret. They will keep their promise. But it is so important, Harry, that you do not get on Umbridge’s bad side or give her any indication of your lycanthropy. And it is imperative that you let us know right away if you suspect that someone has discovered your secret. The punishment for a werewolf found at Hogwarts is death.”

Harry’s chest constricted at the words, though he tried to lighten the atmosphere. “Well, she’s not the first Defense teacher who’s tried to kill me. She’ll need to get in line–”

“She won’t touch you,” Sirius growled. “She comes for you over my dead body.”

Harry was silent for a moment. Keeping out of trouble and beyond notice was not something he was particularly good at. But the worry that Sirius would come to his rescue and risk his own dementor’s kiss was enough motivation to try. “I’ll keep my nose clean. And I’ll let you know if anything seems suspicious.”

Sirius reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a mirror. “Speaking of which, it isn’t safe to send Hedwig to the cottage too often. Instead, call my name or Remus’s into the mirror, and we can talk back and forth. Your dad and I had them at school to talk to each other while in detention. I will keep my mirror with me and you can call me anytime.”

“Just make sure that you are in a private place,” Remus added. “Use muffliato and be out of sight when using it. You can, of course, tell Ron and Hermione about the mirrors, but the fewer people who know about them, the better.”

Harry took the mirror with reverence. This had been his dad’s. He felt an immediate affinity with it. “I’ll use it. All the time,” he promised.

“Thank you, Harry,” Remus said. He rubbed his palms on the knees of his trousers, then asked hesitantly, “How are you doing, Harry? We have had so much going on that we haven’t been able to sit and ask you about how you are feeling, especially after Albion.”

Harry shrugged-halfheartedly, but then decided to voice the concern that had been plaguing him. “I’m afraid that Albion will take over again. He’s smarter and more powerful than I am.”

Sirius hesitated, sharing a glance with Remus. “Harry, Albion isn’t a being. Albion was never a real person. It was just the curse. It can’t think or strategize for itself–”

Harry shook his head emphatically. “Albion is a being. Albion can think and strategize for himself. I’ve seen him, Sirius. He looks like me but more wolf-like. He planned my capture. It wasn’t an accident–”

“Perhaps it was just the curse following a base instinct?” Remus suggested. 

Harry had the impression that Remus and Sirius had been discussing his possession at length. They had already arrived at a conclusion, but Harry knew the conclusion was wrong. “Albion could talk with me. He had his own personality. He planned everything. He had emotions I didn’t have. I felt his emotions, and they weren’t mine,” Harry insisted, remembering the time he had felt a flash of pity from the wolf after telling Albion that Hogwarts was his only home.

Sirius shook his head. “Remus told me that the curse doesn’t work that way. Your base, instinctual emotions are more elevated right before and after the full moon. That’s probably what you felt–”

“No,” Harry said. “I have those feelings, too, but that is not what happened when Albion was in my head. It was literally like sharing my mind with a second person. He’s a symbiote. He thinks for himself. He said that all werewolves get a chance to make a similar deal that I made but not many do. Remus, he said specifically that you turned down your deal with your wolf.”

Remus was silent for a moment, his face contemplative. “If that happened, I don’t remember it. However, I was very small and very afraid of strangers. If my wolf symbiote had tried to approach me, I probably would have just ran away. I believe you, Harry, but your experience with lycanthropy is different from mine. In order to understand this more clearly, I’ll need to get more perspectives. I will touch base with my contacts in the neighboring packs to see if anyone has had an experience like yours.”

“No one can know that Harry is a werewolf,” Sirius stated. 

“They won’t know that it’s Harry. My contacts already know that I’m mentoring a new werewolf. They’ll never know more than that. But if we can learn more about the symbiote, we can find ways to overcome it.”

Chapter Text

Hermione fire-called promptly at lunchtime but Harry refused to allow her to come. He knew he was being a coward, but facing her after all she had seen was more than he could bear. He spent the day miserably in bed, bandages wrapped around his torso and arms like some sort of half-dressed Egyptian mummy the embalmers had given up on. 

By dinnertime, however, Hermione would not be dissuaded. She arrived in the living room and sat purposely on the couch, a heavy book in her lap. Harry could vaguely see her through his open door, though her scent washed over him easily. It had a calming effect on his foggy brain, and he breathed in deeply. 

Harry saw Sirius approach Hermione. “He’s probably still sleeping. Give him time. It’s a lot for him to process, too.”

Hermione sighed. “I will give him all the time he needs. I brought a book. I can get a pillow. I’ll wait until he’s ready.”

“Hermione, you don’t need to camp out here–”

“Yes, I do,” Hermione insisted, steel lacing her tone. “It’s my fault. I should’ve listened to you. I thought I could help. He needs to know that nothing changed because of what I saw. Nothing.”

Sirius’s mouth twitched. “So are you guys an item, then?”

Harry heard Hermione’s heart falter, then speed up. “No,” she said, though she drew out the word. “I think we are just friends right now.”

Harry’s heart plummeted. Just friends? Was she regretting kissing him after the Albion incident? True, they hadn’t talked about becoming more, but surely what had already happened between them had meant something. 

Unless, a horrible part of his brain that sounded much too like Albion argued, the curse is too much for her, and she's getting out before anything happens. 

It would be safer, after all. 

It would be better for her. 

It would be better for her future. 

It would be better for her entire life if she was not involved with him. 

Sirius and Hermione were still speaking, though Harry tuned out their voices over the pounding in his ears as the horrible revelation crashed down around him. 

Harry squared his shoulders, then winced at the effort. If it was going to hurt, he should probably get it over with quickly. “Hermione?” he called out, though his voice was barely a whisper. 

She came into the room almost immediately. Harry again breathed in her scent, closing his eyes. It even seemed to ease the ache of his muscles somewhat. 

Hermione had brought in a stool from the living room and placed it next to his bedside. “I wish I could ease your suffering, Harry,” she said in a choked voice, tracing the bandages that covered his palms with her fingertips. 

“It’s my burden to bear,” Harry said. His stomach tightened with nerves and he forced out the next words. “Friends don’t–can’t–help each other sometimes.”

“Friends can try,” Hermione answered. 

“But sometimes they shouldn’t,” Harry pressed. He opened his eyes and forced himself to meet her gaze. “Sometimes they should . . . just walk away . . . because it's better for them.”

Hermione’s face fell, and he saw a flash of raw vulnerability in her brown eyes. “What are you saying, Harry?”

“This. Us. We can’t.”

“We can–”

Harry held up a palm. “We can’t. It sounds fine when it's the middle of the month and school is starting and we’re packing our socks, and life looks normal. But that doesn’t last. Normal doesn’t happen on the full moon, and it will never happen for me now that wolfsbane doesn’t work. Hermione, I won’t have you scraping my bleeding arse off basement floors every month. You don’t deserve that.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. “You need people who care about you, Harry–”

“I have Remus and Sirius. They will help me learn how to manage this until I can do it on my own. It’s not your burden to bear, Hermione. It never will be.”

“And if I make it my burden?”

“You won’t because it’s not your decision. It’s my choice to make. Hermione, you can’t throw away your entire future for me. You have too many great things to do in life.”

“So do you,” she retorted. The tears had leaked silently down her cheeks, and Harry resisted the urge to wipe them away with his palms. 

He yearned to hug her, to feel her comforting arms around his neck but he kept his hands still. “I don’t have a future, Hermione. If anyone at school finds out I’m a werewolf, I’m dead. Literally. And I don’t need to tell you how unlikely it will be that I can find a job. You know all of that probably better than I do.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“It has everything to do with it.” Harry’s voice was strained and hoarse from the effort of talking. He shifted slightly, and fresh blood dampened the bandages across his chest. It strengthened his resolve to press forward. After all, her quality of life, her future was what mattered here. “Your life will be worse with me in it. We will always be friends, but what happened a few weeks ago–the kiss–we can’t. We just can’t.”

Harry noted the marked increase of Hermione’s heartbeat. The tears poured earnestly from her face now, and her hands shook. When she finally spoke, her voice was an octave higher than normal. “If-if that’s what you want, Harry.” She walked to the door, and placed a hand on the doorframe. “I’ll see you on the train. If, you know, you want to be around me.” She stumbled to the fireplace and was gone in a pinch of powder. 

Harry fought the tears in his own eyes. Lycanthropy had taken his freedom, hijacked his senses, ravaged his face, and now ruined his relationship. He felt a flash of anger driven by self-pity spike through him, and he made no effort to suppress it. His hands balled into fists, though he was forced to relax them after pain stabbed around his newly-regrown fingernails. 

Sirius walked into the room and took Hermione’s vacated stool. He appraised Harry with a stoic expression. “That was really stupid of you,” he said simply.

“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

Sirius scoffed. “This is Hermione we are talking about. There’s very little she doesn’t know, and the consequences of your lycanthropy isn’t it.”

“I won’t ruin her life,” Harry insisted. 

Sirius faced him fully, his face more, well, serious than Harry had ever seen him. “I am going to ask you something, and I ask that you be honest with me.”

“Okay,” Harry replied guardedly. 

“Do you have feelings for Hermione that are more than just friends?”

“Sirius, I can’t–”

“Answer the question.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “Yes, I have feelings for her.”

“Are those feelings reciprocated?”

Harry felt the ghost of the brush of her lips against his. “Y-yeah.”

“And is Hermione aware that you are a werewolf?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the stupid question. “Duh, Sirius.”

“So she likes you despite your lycanthropy?” Sirius pressed. 

“I-I guess.”

“Then I literally don’t see the problem.”

Harry gaped at him. “Weren’t you listening? It will ruin her entire future!”

“Are you a Seer?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then you have no clue what will ruin her future. The future itself is horribly unpredictable and often tragic.”

“What are you saying Sirius?”

“I’m saying some risks are worth taking. Some challenges are worth fighting for. And some people are too good to let go. Don’t throw this away for some stupid, noble reason. If this was a case of unrequited love, by all means break up with her. But it’s not.”

Harry gaped, open-mouthed at Sirius. “But–”

“Don’t throw this away, kid.” Sirius left the room, returning with a large leather-bound book. “Hermione left this behind. I could simply take it to her, but I’m hoping she comes back for it so you can repair the idiotic conversation you just had with her.”

“Sirius, you are underthinking this.”

“And you’re overthinking it. Harry, she knows the risks, she knows the reality, she can make an educated decision. She doesn’t need you to mollycoddle her.”

“And what if it’s the wrong decision?”

“And if it’s not?” Sirius challenged. He set the book on Harry’s bedside table and swept from the room. 

—

In the kitchen, Remus rubbed his eyes and stared dejectedly at the tabletop. Sirius came in and scoffed. “Not you, too.”

“His concerns are very valid.”

“I’m going to ask you the same questions I asked him if you don’t shut up.”

Remus grimaced. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Don’t do something stupid. We both know that thirty-one years of self-loathing is enough for a lifetime.”

“Sirius, her career–”

“Remus, this isn’t peacetime. If it was, I might stop to actually entertain your concerns. But this is a war! We aren’t guaranteed tomorrow, especially in the Order. Are you going to make her–and yourself–miserable for whatever time any of us have left?”

Remus swallowed uncomfortably. “This makes no sense–”

“It makes complete sense to everyone except you and Harry.” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Time is a commodity none of us have. Don’t waste it.”

Chapter Text

The pop of apparition did nothing to ease Remus’s sore muscles the night following the full moon. Order business couldn’t wait, however, and he approached the foggy moor with a tight grip on his wand. The night was crisp, and the waning moon sent long shadows across the grass. 

Had it not been wartime, it would have been beautiful. Now, however, every shadow created another place for enemies to hide, the rustling trees another location for an ambush. 

Remus shivered and wrapped tighter in his cloak. 

His contact was waiting beneath a large elm. He was a young pack member, barely seventeen, with a wide scar down one cheek. His blonde hair was mussed, and he sported the dark circles beneath his eyes that were so common post-moon. 

“Any word, Artemis?”

The werewolf shrugged. “Greyback was in contact with Alpha a week ago. He sent his beta for negotiations, but Alpha sent him packing. She refuses to work with Greyback.”

Remus nodded. Good news. “I would like to request a meeting with your alpha.”

Artemis wrung his hands nervously. “About the Order? Lupin, it’s not a good time–”

“Not the Order. This is a business of personal nature.”

Artemis looked at him quizzically. “Are you leaving the wizarding world, then? Do you want to come back?” The boy–now man–tried to hide his eagerness. 

Remus gave him a pained smile. He had known Artemis for over ten years, ever since the sprightly seven year-old had been bitten and surrendered to the pack without a second thought from his parents. Remus had missed his formative years, though; Remus had left after Dumbledore had convinced him to teach Defense and even after his resignation, Remus had not reappeared. His discovery at Hogwarts had created a tidal wave of anti-werewolf laws, and in his cowardice, he could not face the pack’s wrath.  

“I’m not here to stay,” Remus clarified. “I told you about the young werewolf under my care. I came to get some advice about him.”

Artemis’s face fell. “Yeah. Okay. I understand.” 

Remus clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “My offer still stands, though. There is work for you to do, especially since you want to fight Voldemort.”

Artemis hesitated. “The Order has no need of another werewolf.”

“You wouldn’t be joining because you’re a werewolf. You’re an asset as a human because you are unrecognizable on the street. The Order members are well-known by the Death Eaters by now, and disguises can be fooled. We need someone like you.”

Artemis huffed, a cloud of white escaping his lips in the crisp air. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Of course.” The conversation had always ended this way. Remus would offer. Artemis would consider. Artemis would ask for more time. Wash, dry, rinse, and repeat.

“When do you want a meeting with Alpha?” Artemis asked. 

“As soon as possible.”

Artemis considered, “I can take you back with me, but she will be wary.”

“That’s fine. She is the Alpha. She didn’t become the leader by being foolish.”

“Do you still remember how to get there?” 

At Remus’s nod, the men disappeared with two cracks of apparition.

Remus fell hard onto a rock submerged beneath water, soaking his robes to his knees. Artemis stood on the bank with a guilty expression. “Sorry. The pack has grown so we had to reroute the creek around the village. I forgot that you hadn’t been here since then.”

Remus waved away the apology and slogged to the bank, his toes numb. He wanted to reach for his wand and dry his clothing, but few werewolves–Artemis being the lucky one–had the luxury of wands. Remus’s arrival would breed enough suspicion; he didn’t need to incite a riot.

Not to say that there weren't elements of magic here. Werewolves were magical beings, after all. The magic had to be used. But where skilled training and a focus tool would have allowed them an opportunity to hone their magic, magic in the village was a wild, unpredictable thing, best suited for spells of minor convenience and little consequence. Nothing close to what the Death Eaters could inflict on this unprotected village. 

Moonlight was their only weapon. 

Artemis led Remus through the village. Other members looked up, giving a start of surprise as they saw his face. Remus grimaced, then calmed his features. Feelings were a human luxury he couldn’t afford right now. 

The alpha’s tent was located in the middle of a grassy clearing. It was made of stretched canvas and held up by thick metal poles (and probably a bit of magic, Remus guessed). Artemis addressed one of the guards outside the opening. 

“Remus John Lupin desires a meeting with the Alpha.”

The guards appraised Remus with sharp eyes. In the pack’s motion of deference, Remus tucked his chin to his collarbone and dropped his gaze to the guards’ worn shoes. One of the guards waved him forward. 

Remus stepped into the tent and walked toward a middle-aged woman with dark but graying hair. “Remus Lupin,” she said with a nod in his direction. Like most werewolves, she was younger than her appearance suggested, and a youthful twinkle still brightened her dark eyes.

“Zenna.”

“What brings you to my pack? I have told your contact everything I wish you to know.”

Remus noted the choice of words. Not ‘everything I know.’ ‘Everything I wish you to know.’ She was hiding something. 

But now was not the time to press it. He dared not test the alpha’s patience when so much relied on this meeting. “I am helping a new werewolf adjust. His experience with lycanthropy is different from mine–”

“Did you sire him?” she asked abruptly. 

Remus bristled. “No. He is a victim of Greyback.”

Zenna appeared satisfied for the moment. She, like the leaders of all nonviolent packs, took great measures to ensure the condition was not passed down. If she suspected that Remus had behaved with such irresponsibility, he would not leave the village without swift and painful retribution.

Remus quickly recounted Harry’s possession by Albion and the soul magic. Zenna had been a young intern in the Department of Mysteries when she had been bitten, so though she raised an eyebrow at the magic used, she made no comment. “The boy in my care is sure that his lycanthropy is a second being, if you will. He also is immune to wolfsbane. It does not affect the wolfish form.”

Zenna was silent for a long moment. Then, she looked up at Remus with sorrowful eyes. “The boy is wrong.”

“He is quite certain,” Remus pressed. 

“He is wrong,” Zenna repeated. “I know of only one similar instance. A young, foolish werewolf walked into the forest alone right before moonrise and became possessed by a forest demon. Had he stayed with the pack, he would not have succumbed to its charms. He exhibited similar actions that you described.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was driven to madness.” 

Remus’s chest felt tight. “With Ha--my boy, would the soul magic have fixed it?”

“Did you expel the possessing force?”

A leaden ball fell into Remus’s stomach. “No. W-we contained it.”

“Which works–until the boy is too weak to uphold the containment.”

The horrible realization made Remus’s head spin. “And his weakest moment is the full moon.”

Zenna nodded. “Whatever is struggling to take control must be removed. It seems to be using the lycanthropic curse as leverage to gain power over the child.”

“How do we get rid of it?” Remus demanded, his breath hitching. 

Zenna studied his face. “The boy means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” she said quietly. 

“I love him as if he were my own son.” The words surprised Remus–wasn’t that more Sirius’s place than his?–but he knew he had never spoken anything more true. 

“Then you will find a way,” Zenna said shortly. 

Remus nodded, though despondence gripped his chest. Following pack protocol, he bowed deeply to Zenna. “Alpha, thank you for this meeting and your advice. May I repay you?”

“What have you brought?” Zenna asked guardedly. 

Remus removed two large jars of salves from his rucksack. “Dittany and silver for injuries. Made by a talented auror friendly to werewolves.” He bit his lip as his cheeks flushed pink. 

Zenna noticed the movement. “Is the auror your mate, Remus Lupin?”

Remus shook his head. “It would be . . . unwise . . . to do so.”

Zenna studied the salves, opening the jar and giving it a courtesy sniff. “Tell your auror friend thank you.”

Remus nodded and turned to leave.

“And Lupin?”

Remus turned. Zenna was studying the salves, though she cast her gaze up to his face. “You cannot live in both worlds. They are too different for people like us. You will need to make a choice.”

Remus turned a steely gaze at Zenna. “My choice is made. I fight for a unification of our worlds–a time when there will be no distinction between werewolf and wizard.”

“You run a fool’s errand.”

“Perhaps. But at least I’m running.” 

Remus strode from the tent, disapperating with another resounding crack

Chapter Text

Hermione did not come back for her book. 

It remained on Harry’s bedside table throughout the day on August 31st. He had quickly gotten bored of hours of staring at the ceiling and had cracked open the heavy leather cover. It was a book about potions ingredients and how they interact with one another. Small notes full of Hermione’s cramped writing were placed at intervals in the spine, marking pages where the properties for ingredients found in wolfsbane were listed. 

Harry read her careful notes, his heart heavy. It would do no good for him now. Even if Hermione discovered something, it would do nothing to help him keep his mind during the next full moon. He set the book aside with a sigh. He would take it with him on the train, though. At least he could give it back then. 

Sirius woke him early on September first, pain relieving and blood replenishing potions in hand. “Here, pup. Don’t suffer through today. Take it nice and easy.” 

Harry swallowed the potions and rose painfully. The bandages wrapping his chest had once again bled through, and Sirius changed them with a tap of his wand. “Remember to check in with Madam Pomfrey after dinner,” he said. 

“I know.” Harry shuffled to his dresser and removed his muggle clothing. “Are the Weasleys still taking my trunk?”

Sirius nodded. “I talked about it with Arthur last night. He also said the kids are anxious to see you but wanted to give you space until it was time to leave.”

Harry changed his clothes in the bathroom, dressing slowly as the movements of his arms and shoulders strained the scabs across his chest. He looked at his reflection in the mirror–he was ghostly pale, and dark half-moon circles ringed each eye. His lips were turned in an exhausted, pained grimace. The three ever-present and disfiguring scars bisected his face with grotesque visibility. 

Harry’s stomach twisted with nerves. He’d be walking across the platform–a secret monster among wizards–with every eye on him. For someone who loathed the spotlight, he sure got a lot of it. 

Harry flooed to Grimmauld Place ten minutes later. The Weasleys were involved in their usual pre-school scramble, and there were the sounds of anxious exclamations and collisions on the stairs. Walburga’s portrait screamed incessantly. 

The noise pounded Harry’s sensitive hearing, and he resisted the urge to cover his ears with his palms. 

Mrs. Weasley was cooking breakfast and Harry sat in front of a large plate set for him. He touched the fork gingerly, then picked it up when there was no burn of silver. “Do you have everything you need, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked. There was a note of pity in her voice as she studied his face, and Harry felt a rush of shame. 

“Yeah. Thanks for taking my trunk.”

She smiled. “Fred and George have it. They’ll put it up in a compartment once you know where you’re sitting.”

Ron stumbled down the stairs, his clothes askew, though his prefect badge was pinned carefully to the outside. “Alright, Harry?”

“Been better, been worse,” Harry said with a shrug. 

They ate in silence. Ron opened his mouth once or twice to say something but closed it. It made Harry uncomfortable–this tension between himself and his best mate–and Harry was grateful when Sirius made an appearance in the kitchen. 

“I wanted to see you off, but I’m still a wanted criminal,” he said with a pained grimace. 

“That’s okay. We’ll talk loads with the mirrors.”

Sirius tousled his hair. “Remus and Tonks will be here soon to escort everyone.”

They assembled around the door, Harry hovering near the back with Sirius. “Remember to keep your nose clean around Umbridge, Harry,” he admonished. 

Nerves tightened again in Harry’s stomach. “I will.”

Tonks and Remus arrived, ushering the students out onto the sidewalk and toward the platform. Harry grimaced with every step, and Ron shot him a concerned look. Harry shook his head, unwilling to verbalize his pain to his human best friend. 

Hermione walked in the front with Tonks. Hermione had made no attempt to speak with him, reappearing downstairs only minutes before they left. Her book was still tucked under Harry’s arm, and Harry tried not to notice how the sun shone through her thick hair or the strong set of her shoulders. He felt an astute burn of loss.

The school year had barely begun. And it was already painful. 

Ron kept up an animated conversation about the Chudley Cannon’s chances in the next season and Pigwidgeon’s latest antics. Hedwig’s cage was balanced on Ron’s trunk, and Harry felt another burst of shame. He had not spent much time at all with her since he had been bitten. Thankfully, she looked none the worse for wear and hooted a happy greeting in his direction. Hermione must have been attending to her. 

More guilt. More pain.

They arrived at King’s Cross without incident. Harry glanced up expectantly, looking for the small space of wall between platforms nine and ten. He stopped searching, though, when a pretty muggle girl in jean shorts and a t-shirt looked over at him and then did a double-take. Her jaw dropped, and she muttered in an aside to her friend, “Did you see that boy’s face ?”

Harry dropped his gaze to the ground, shame once more his constant companion. Remus fell back next to him, directing the other children to go ahead. 

“Don’t let it bother you, Harry,” he whispered. 

Harry tried to nod but shook his head despondently. “I didn’t think it was going to be so hard. I guess I’ve kind of gotten used to looking like this. I forgot how other people would–”

“Don’t waste your energy worrying about it.” Remus returned. He gestured to a nearby bench apart from the crowd. He raised two fingers in signal toward Tonks, who nodded and disappeared through the barrier with the Weasleys. Harry sat heavily on the bench, his eyes on his trainers as Remus sat next to him. “Harry, I know that you are bearing heavy burdens right now, but please know that Sirius and I will always be here for you.”

Harry sat mutely. 

Remus took a deep breath. “Harry, I’ve been in touch with my contacts from the pack. I wanted to see if anyone had similar circumstances that you do with Albion.”

Harry’s head snapped up. “And?”

“And I have some information I need to investigate further.”

Harry’s stomach tightened. “And you’re not telling me what it is,” he stated.

“I told you I would never lie to you, and that is the truth,” Remus looked at him, his hazel eyes somber. “But I do not have enough information right now to know what is true in your case. I do not want to cause you unnecessary worry.”

Harry felt sick. “That bad, huh?”

Remus hesitated. “Nothing we can’t manage for right now. Albion is locked away until the next full moon–that I know of a surety. What I am trying to understand is how to banish him from his ability to control you on the full moon. Once I know that–or come close to a solution–I will tell you everything.” Remus glanced at his watch. “It’s ten minutes to eleven. We need to get you on that train.”

Remus and Harry strode together through the barrier, and a storm of whispers met his ears. Though Harry had kept his head studiously low, it was Remus who had caught the attention of the parents and students on the platform: 

“Is that the werewolf? The one that used to teach classes?”

“Dangerous beast. Shouldn’t be anywhere near kids.”

“Absolute monster. He shouldn’t be alive.”

Though interspersed in the wave of criticism were student voices:

“Hey, is that Professor Lupin? Hi, Professor!”

“I wish he could come back.”

“He was the best Defense teacher we ever had.”

Harry snuck a glance at Remus’s profile. His face was as placid as ever, but Harry knew his hearing was picking up the conversations as easily as Harry’s. Remus must have followed Harry’s train of thought, for he added with a touch of embarrassment, “We can part ways here, Harry. We don’t need to look like we came in together.”

Harry stopped and crossed his arms. Remus took two additional steps forward, then turned when he realized Harry had paused. “Why would I do that?” Harry asked. “You’re my guardian. Aren’t guardians supposed to bring their kids to the platform?”

“Did the Dursleys never see you off on the train?”

Harry barked out a harsh laugh. 

Remus hesitated, then admitted. “We need to be careful about who we tell about the guardianship arrangement. If word gets back to the Ministry, they may try to absolve it.”

“They could take me away?”

“I don’t know,” Remus admitted. “Thankfully, there is nothing illegal–yet–with associating with a werewolf. We are completely within legality to walk together if you want to do so.”

“Of course I want to. Did the Weasleys already board?”

Tonks appeared , materializing from the crowd. “Hi, Harry! We need to get you on board. Lookin’ good professor,” she added toward Remus with a wink. 

Harry tried to hide his smirk as Remus’s heartbeat increased at the compliment. 

“Good luck, Harry,” Remus added as Tonks ushered him toward the scarlet steam engine. “Let Padfoot and I know how things are going.”

Harry nodded and joined the thronging queue to climb the train's metal steps. The train blew a sheer whistle, and Harry felt like the sound was piercing straight through his eardrums. He resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands and focused on what was directly in front of him. He kept his profile down, hiding his scarred face. 

He glanced into compartment after compartment but could see no sign of Ron or Hermione. Thankfully, he found Fred and George in the hallway in the middle traincar. 

“We put your trunk in the last compartment. Ron’s and Hermione’s are there, too. They have to ride in the front for a while because they’re prefects ”--Fred spat the word– “but they should be around in a few hours.”

Harry nodded, then grimaced. Two second year girls had their faces plastered to their compartment windows, staring at his face in horror. 

“You really know how to make an entrance, don’t you, Harry?” George said wryly, then addressed the girls. “Oi! Got a problem? I have a puking pastille you can sample if you don’t stick your face back in your own compartment.”

The girls disappeared with a squeal and round of whispering. 

Harry sighed heavily and made his way toward the back of the train. Ahead, the door to a compartment suddenly burst open, and a Ravenclaw ran into the aisle, closely pursued by a Hufflepuff boy. 

The Ravenclaw collided solidly with Harry’s chest. Harry fell to the floor of the car with a gasp of pain and cry of agony as the deep furrows across his chest tore and bled. 

“Sorry, mate!” the Ravenclaw boy called, picking himself up from the floor and continuing down the corridor without a backward glance. 

The Hufflepuff hesitated and held out a hand for Harry. Harry took it and allowed himself to be painfully pulled to his feet. The boy stared at his face. “Hey, you were with Cedric when he . . .”

“Yeah,” Harry replied guardedly. Though he was loath to admit it, he hadn’t thought about the events of the graveyard much since being bitten. It almost felt like the events had happened to someone else. Someone human. 

“We miss him. But I believe you,” he replied resolutely. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, though he felt confused. Believe me about what?

“Did the, um,” he gestured to Harry’s scars, “happen then, too?”

Harry shook his head. No time like the present to try out the lie. “Car accident over the summer.”

The boy nodded knowingly. 

Must be muggleborn , Harry realized. 

“Name’s Max,” he said, holding a hand out to Harry. 

“Harry.”

“You’re welcome to join our compartment if you want,” he said shyly. “We’re just third years, but if you don’t have anywhere else to sit . . . ”

“My trunk is at the back of the train, but thanks.”

Giving Max an awkward wave, Harry walked to the final train car and final compartment. He placed a hand to his bleeding chest, grimacing as the wounds throbbed.

At first he thought the final compartment was empty, but when he pushed it open, he saw Neville sitting alone, a potted plant on his lap. 

“Hi, Neville.”

Neville looked up, giving the now-customary double-take as he looked at Harry’s face. “Hi, Harry. Did you have an okay summer?” He spoke the second sentence slowly, as if he knew the answer was no. 

Harry gestured to his face. “Car accident.”

Neville studied his face again. “The windscreen do it? My Uncle Alphard has a car and the windscreen looks like it could break.”

“Yeah,” Harry cast his mind for some other subject. “What’s with the plant?”

Neville gushed enthusiastically for a few minutes about the mimbulus mimbletonia. He removed a quill and was about to demonstrate its defense mechanism when his eyes grew wide. 

“Harry, you’re bleeding.”

Harry looked down and cursed. The wounds on his chest had bled through the bandages and were now dying his blue tshirt crimson. He leapt up, reaching for his trunk, but pulled his arms back with a cry of pain as the wounds on his chest tore anew. 

“Harry, are you–”

Harry collapsed against the seat. “Nev, there’s-there’s more bandages in my trunk,” Harry panted. “Can you get them for me? And my robes?”

Neville pulled the trunk down with shaking hands. As he unclasped the clasp and reached for the bandages on top, Harry silently prayed that he would not see the lunar chart buried beneath his Divination textbook. 

Neville handed him the bandages. “Do you need help?” he asked slowly. “I don’t really like blood, but–”

Harry shook his head. “No. I’ll just change in the lavatory. Thanks.” Harry rose painfully and stumbled from the compartment. 

___

Neville closed Harry’s trunk and returned it to the rack, his thoughts racing. What could have hurt Harry so badly? How did Harry not notice an injury that severe? Another thought occured that made Neville tremble: Harry had packed bandages. Bandages in his luggage. Right on top for easy access.

What could it all mean?

As he was mulling over the oddity of the situation, the compartment door slid open and Ron and Hermione entered, prefect badges affixed to their robes. “Have you seen Harry?” Ron asked, collapsing onto a seat. 

“Yeah. He’s in the bathroom,” Neville replied. He didn’t know why he was being so guarded about the situation, but something wasn’t sitting right. “That’s quite the car accident he got in,” he added.

Neville studied their faces as he spoke. Ron had frozen at the words, though they didn’t appear to affect Hermione. “Yeah. It was pretty bad,” she agreed. 

“When did it happen?” Neville asked. 

“The beginning of July,” Ron, having overcome his sudden paralysis, answered. 

“That’s awful,” Neville said slowly. “Is-is he okay now?”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah. Everything healed completely. Just left with scars. Muggle medicine, you know? Wounds always leave scars if they aren’t healed by magic.”

Neville resorted to contemplative silence as Hermione kept a running dialogue about prefect responsibilities to a wide-eyed Ron. Harry joined them in his school robes about fifteen minutes later and handed Hermione a book, the bloody clothing hidden carefully in a bundle of his muggle jeans. 

The remainder of the train ride passed uneventfully. Even the arrival of Luna Lovegood with her declaration that Harry’s scars were the result of an invisible nargle attack did not seem out of the ordinary.

But, still Neville watched. Neville watched, and he listened.

He may not be the most adept spellcaster, but Neville had a knack for observing people and an attention to detail that many young wizards lacked. Something is terribly wrong with Harry, he concluded as the train jolted to a stop in Hogsmeade and Harry placed a palm against his chest, his face pained. And I’m going to find out what it is.

Chapter Text

A weird equine thing was pulling the carriages. It was bat-like and leathery, staring at Harry with milky eyes. Its head was slightly cocked as Harry approached, as if it couldn’t quite figure him out. Harry held out a hesitant hand to its beak-like muzzle but then withdrew it. He didn’t know, after all, if the bat horse was dangerous. But it felt like a kindred spirit; maybe like him, it was also a dark creature trying to appear tame. Can I see you because I’m a werewolf? Harry wondered. 

He was brought back to himself as Ron stepped out of the carriage. “Coming, mate?”

Harry entered the Great Hall with his eyes studiously on the floor. The noise of the hall was overwhelming. Like the rush of an ocean pounding upon the shore, the sound pressed against Harry’s eardrums, pounding into his brain with a cacophony that made his head hurt. 

The scents were equally overwhelming. Each human had a distinct scent, and this many pubescent and prepubescent bodies in a confined space created a heavy, odorous smell that assaulted his nose and burned his throat. 

How did Remus do this all these years? Harry wondered.

Harry made it through the welcome feast in a fog of pain, the pain-relieving potion having worn off hours ago. Thankfully, he obtained no additional injuries. The house elves must have been made aware of his condition–or perhaps it was simply a byproduct of their service magic–because his utensils were not silver, nor was his goblet, though they looked no different from those of his peers. 

With no other option to reduce the noise and aromas around him, Harry placed his head in his crossed arms and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Hermione’s concerned gaze upon him but refused to meet her eyes. Even the advent of the new Defense Professor giving a muddled speech could not arouse his interest. 

Everything was so loud. So loud and so smelly. 

He just wanted to go to bed. 

Finally, just as the assault on his senses was sure to drive him mad, they were excused. Harry stumbled gratefully up the stairs, though he had to rest twice, the previous full moon having robbed him of his stamina. Ron had remained by his side during each of these rest periods, though he said nothing. Harry was grateful. There was really nothing to be said.

They made it to the portrait hole where Fred and George waited for them. 

“Alright, Harry?” George murmured softly. 

Harry shrugged. 

“We dropped a dung bomb in the common room once we saw that you would be behind everyone. We thought you’d want to avoid the crowd if you could,” Fred added. 

Harry gave them a genuine smile. “That’s brilliant. Thanks.” 

Before entering the portrait hole, Harry plugged his nose tightly with his fingers. 

The common room was indeed empty, the scent of the dungbomb driving all the students into their respective towers. Ron and Harry ascended the stairs to the fifth year dormitory. Muffled voices could be heard within, though Harry was in no mood to eavesdrop. Without fanfare, he pushed the door open, keeping his face down. 

Ron followed right behind. “Everyone have a good holiday?” he asked, his voice wavering though he tried valiantly to sound nonchalant. 

Seamus shook his head in disgust and turned away. 

“What happened, Seamus?” Neville asked. 

“Me Mam didn’t want me to come back. Thinks Dumbledore’s gone off the rocker saying You-Know-Who’s back.”

Harry kept his back to Seamus, though his hands shook as he removed his pajamas from his trunk. With a silent groan, he remembered that he did not check in with Pomfrey to tend to his wounds, and the bandages across his chest were again saturated. Shifting his shoulders to shield his trunk from the other boys’ view, he hid a bundle of clean bandages inside his pajamas. 

“You-Know-Who is back, Seamus,” Ron stated, relieving the pressure left by Harry’s silence.

“Who says?” Seamus shot back. 

“Dumbledore,” Neville responded immediately. 

“Dumbledore says because he says,” Seamus shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry’s back.

Harry’s hands shook harder. He was exhausted and in pain. He wanted nothing more than to sleep and had no energy for idiotic conversations. Before he said something he would later regret, Harry grabbed his pajama bundle and locked himself in the bathroom. 

The locked door did nothing to stop the dormitory conversation from reaching his ears. 

“What’s his problem?” Dean demanded. 

“Lay off Harry,” Neville said. Harry was surprised to hear Neville’s voice raised in his defense; usually Neville tried to stay out of dormitory conflicts. 

“Look, Seamus, it isn’t Harry’s fault your Mum’s a nutcase,” Ron added helpfully.

“Me Mam is not a nutcase!”

The arguing beyond the door continued. Harry changed into his pajama bottoms and unraveled the bandages from his chest. He longed for an application of silver and dittany from Madam Pomfrey, but the thought of making the long journey down to the hospital wing and back to his dormitory was nothing short of gruelling torture. 

He would manage it himself for now. 

He wrapped clean bandages across his chest and changed into his pajama top. He wrapped the bloodied bandages in his robes and used scourgify on the droplets of blood left on the ceramic tile. Harry’s hand was on the doorknob as Seamus’s shout reached through the door: “We deserve to be safe. Why doesn’t Harry tell us what happened? Unless he’s a liar.”

For a wild moment, Harry thought Seamus was referring to his lycanthropy, and his heart hammered against his chest. Then understanding dawned. 

Cedric. The graveyard. The duel. 

It was too much. Harry couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t now process the memories that he had suppressed ever since being bitten. Rage pounded in his ears, and he forced the door open. “I’m not telling you anything,” Harry snarled, looking at Seamus levelly. 

Seamus gaped at his face, and Harry saw a flash of revolted pity cross his face. “Harry, what–”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Harry repeated, then spat, “After all, I’d just lie to you.” He fought to repress his wolfish emotions that were fighting just below the surface. 

Dean was staring at Harry’s face in horror. “Harry, are you–”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Harry snapped. “Believe what you want. I won’t lose sleep over it.”

Harry slammed the dormitory door behind him. Behind him, Seamus voice demanded, “What in blazes happened to his face ?”

Harry huffed down the stairs and collapsed onto the couch in the deserted but now normal-smelling common room, fighting back tears. He would not cry, he told himself. He was a fifteen-year-old werewolf, for Pete’s sake. He would not cry. 

“Harry?” a soft voice asked. Hermione was seated in a chair by the fire, the potions book on her lap.

“Hi, Hermione,” Harry replied, his voice watery. 

She rose and sat next to him, leaving some space between them. Though only a few inches, it felt like a chasm. “What happened?”

He detailed the row with Seamus. “I thought people believed Dumbledore about Voldemort. I didn’t realize I would be dealing with this, too. It’s too much.”

Hermione’s hands were spread on her lap. She studied her worn fingernails before speaking. “Remember when I had the Time Turner for classes? By the end of the year, I had to admit that I had been trying to do too much. I couldn’t carry it all myself. I felt guilty and pathetic that I couldn’t handle it, but it’s been better long term.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Harry asked, though he kept his voice gentle. 

“Only bear what you have to bear, Harry," she responded succinctly. 

“I can’t take this away,” he argued, gesturing to his face. “This . . . condition . . . Voldemort. My dormmates. I can’t drop any of that like you dropped a class.”

“Then let someone help you,” Hermione insisted. She moved to take his hand, but thought better of it and placed it back on her lap. “I know I can’t possibly understand, but I can try. I can bear this burden with you.”

“It’s not fair to you.” 

“That’s my choice. Not yours,” Hermione retorted flatly. 

Harry closed his eyes, his hardened resolve weakening. Her presence calmed him, anchoring him to the here and now. How much he wanted to weather this stormy sea with her by his side. “I’m sick of pretending,” he admitted. 

“About what?”

“That I don’t want this. That I don’t need this.” Hesitantly, he took her hand, threading her fingers through his. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and Harry heard a marked increase in her heart rate. 

Hermione moved closer to him and looked into his eyes. “Harry, if we do this, you can’t dump me every time you feel badly about yourself. It’s not fair to me.”

Harry swallowed uncomfortably. “I know. You know what you’re getting into. I should’ve given you more credit.”

She lay her head on Harry’s shoulder, and he winced at the contact. She jerked upright. “Sorry. Still painful?”

“Yeah. It’s awful.” It felt nice to voice the words. For some reason, it wasn’t weakness when he said it to Hermione; it was just fact borne of experience. 

They sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the logs as fire made its way along the split. Harry traced the pad of his thumb along her knuckles in a rhythmic motion and inhaled her scent. The constant ache of his muscles eased in her presence, and he closed his eyes, relishing in the closeness.  

“We have classes tomorrow,” Hermione finally said.

Harry nodded. “The guys should be asleep by now. I’ll be able to avoid Seamus on my way back.”

They rose as one, and Hermione gave his hand a final squeeze. “I’m glad we are doing this.” She smiled as she turned toward the staircase. 

“Me, too,” Harry whispered

Chapter Text

Seamus was still sleeping when Harry awoke. The scabs on Harry’s chest were bleeding anew, and the post-moon aches still pressed against his bones. Grateful that he wouldn’t have to speak to his confrontational dormmate, Harry gathered a change of robes and a bundle of fresh bandages from his trunk. He showered and changed in the bathroom, avoiding the reflection of his marred face in the mirror. 

It was fallacy, of course, but a part of him hoped that if he couldn’t see the scars, no one else could. 

His movements hadn’t roused any of his doormmates; he could distinctly hear their even breathing through the bathroom door. He was hoping Ron would be awake, if for nothing more than gangly moral support as he faced his human classmates. Harry briefly considered using the invisibility cloak, then dismissed the idea. Monster or not, he had every right to walk around the school on a Monday morning. 

Well, maybe not every right, he supposed. Not when a werewolf going to school is punishable by death.

With a grim weight upon his shoulders, Harry made his way down to the common room. He hoped to find Hermione there, but it was empty. The new rays of dawn had just peaked across the horizon. It was far too early for even Hermione on the first day of school. 

He made his way to the Hospital Wing, keeping his gaze focused on his trainers. He needn’t have worried; the only inhabitant of the vacant hall was tiny Professor Flitwick. He greeted Harry warmly as he approached, and Harry looked up reflexively. Flitwick gave a start at the sight of his face, but covered it admirably. He had ended the conversation with, “Brush up on your study habits now, Harry! Lots to learn in OWL year!”

He arrived at the Hospital Wing without further incident. Voices talked within, and Harry hesitated at the door. It seemed impolite to eavesdrop here where so many private maladies and problems were handled. 

Before he could decide if he should enter or wait for the person to leave, the door opened, and he found himself face-to-face with Cho Chang. Her face was pale, and dark circles ringed her eyes. She gawked at his face, taking a hasty step back. “Harry, what–?”

“Car accident,” Harry mumbled, sidestepping quickly around her. 

“Oh,” she said softly, tears pooling around her eyelids. “I thought it might have had something to do with C-Cedric.”

“No. This happened later.”

She nodded curtly, then turned to the Matron. “Thanks for the dreamless sleep potion, Madam Pomfrey. I will try it tonight.”

“Of course, dear.”

Cho left, and Madam Pomfrey closed the door firmly behind her. She led Harry to a bed at the far corner of the wing and drew the bed curtains around it. “Injuries from the 29th?” she asked matter-of-factly. 

“Yes, Madam.”

Madam Pomfrey appraised the slashing clawmarks across his chest, clicking a bit with her tongue. “You should have seen me earlier. There is a bit of infection.”

“You mean, aside from the lycanthropy?” Harry quipped. 

Pomfrey’s mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile. “Yes, just a regular bacterial infection. Unlike lycanthropy, this is easily curable.”

Harry sat stiffly as she applied a poultice to his wounds that frothed and bubbled. She followed it with a generous application of silver and dittany before binding his chest with additional bandages.

“Did you obtain any other injuries on the full moon?”

“A bite on my thigh, but it’s fine,” Harry insisted hurriedly. 

Madam Pomfrey quirked an eyebrow. “Are you a healer?”

“Er, no.”

“Then you don’t get to decide which injuries are fine,” she said simply. 

Harry hid his embarrassment as she evaluated the wound on his upper thigh. “This could use some more silver and dittany. No infection, though. You may get dressed. Once you are ready, come out, and I will have a dose of blood replenishing potion ready for you.”

Harry dressed quickly, taking the potion without looking in the matron’s eyes. He left, grateful to remove himself from the sterile scent that pervaded the Hospital Wing. 

The Great Hall was buzzing with activity now that the morning sun had sufficiently risen. Steeling himself for the inevitable pounding on his ears, he opened the doors to the hall. Harry’s gaze was immediately drawn to a sharp intake of breath. Following the noise, his eyes met those of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes took in his face, his expression haughty but unreadable. 

Harry was about to ask Malfoy what he thought he was looking at when Pansy Parkinson’s voice called, “Ooooh, Potter! What happened to your face?”

Harry thought it was rather rich to be asked that question by someone who looked like a pug in a wig, but he bit back his retort. Not wanting detention on his first day, he walked silently past. Channel Remus, Harry thought. Remus wouldn’t hex someone openly in the Great Hall. If they really deserved it, he’d get them when there would be no way to trace it back to him.

He felt Malfoy’s continuous gaze on his back.

Pansy Parkinson’s voice had drawn the attention of most of the hall. Eyes and frantic whispers followed Harry as he walked to Gryffindor table. As a human, he would not have been able to know the specific words; as a werewolf, they were all too clear:

Woah, look at his face. 

That’s awful. He used to be rather cute. Too bad.

What do you think caused it? Think he’ll tell us?

Think this has something to do with You-Know-Who?

Bet he’ll come up with another stupid story. Maybe Grindelwald is back now, too.

Harry tried to tune out the words, though he stabbed at his sausages with more vengeance than necessary. The hall was overwhelming with sounds and smells, and Harry’s head pounded. Channel Remus, Harry thought again. Remus ate here every day. I can, too.

Ron and Hermione joined him as he was buttering his toast. Hermione handed him a schedule. “I grabbed yours when I grabbed mine,” she explained. 

Harry’s fingers brushed hers as he took the schedule. “Herbology, Divination, and Defense today. You?”

“Herbology, Runes, Defense,” Hermione answered promptly, not needing to consult her schedule. 

Harry gave her a smile, which she returned. She was sitting closer next to him on the bench than she usually did, though not so close that it would raise eyebrows. Harry found her hand below the table and squeezed it. She squeezed it back but inclined her head toward Ron. 

Ah. 

It was something he had never considered: what would Ron think? How do they act around him?

“Can we drop Divination?” Ron asked, glaring at his schedule, unaware of the silent conversation between Harry and Hermione. 

“After third year, you have to wait until after OWLs to drop,” Hermione answered succinctly. 

Ron groaned. 

The Great Hall filled with students, and the cacophony pounded against Harry’s head. “C-can we go out to the grounds?” Harry asked in embarrassment. 

Hermione gave him a quizzical look, then nodded. “Come on, Ron. Let’s take some food outside.”

They left the crowded hall behind for the grounds. Harry breathed in gratefully as his feet drifted toward the greenhouses. 

“Everything okay, Harry?” Ron asked. 

“Now it is. There’s too much going on in there,” Harry waved toward his face. “Sounds, smells. It’s overwhelming.”

Hermione considered. “I wonder if Remus knows some coping strategies. He did this for seven years, after all.”

“I’ll ask him tonight when I mirror call them. That’s a great idea.” He smiled at her, and Hermione beamed back. 

Herbology turned out to be a rather pleasant experience. Professor Sprout had done a small double-take at his face, but it would probably have been imperceptible to anyone but Harry. As he dug his hands into the soil, the ground seemed to have a steadying effect on him, similar to the forest before a transformation. Curiously, the plants around him had a certain hum–a sound of life that he couldn’t hear with his human ears. He began to understand Neville’s penchant for the subject. 

In higher spirits, he and Ron ascended the tower to Divination. Parvati and Lavender walked in front of them, but they stopped and turned to Harry when they heard his footfalls. 

“Sorry about the car accident, Harry,” Pavarti stated, her eyes passing over his face. 

“Er, how did you–?”

“It’s all over the school,” Lavender explained. “I’ve never ridden in a car. How does it happen?”

“Windshield breaks. Metal snaps. It hurts,” Harry replied uncomfortably. He knew the explanation would not satisfy a muggle or muggle-born, but the girls nodded as if they understood. 

“Well, let us know if you need anything,” Lavender said brightly. “There is a line of scar-reducing formula in the Glamor Witch cosmetic line that might–”

Ron shook with silent laughter next to him. Harry shot him a glare.

“No thanks, Lavender. I don’t really want to wear anything made for witches,” Harry stated, adding mentally that he didn’t need to try to explain why the lycanthropic scars weren’t fading after application of the serum. Lycanthropy, after all, was impervious to most magic.

The Divination classroom was as stifling as he remembered. As Harry took a seat on a poof next to Ron, Trelawney entered the room, her arms filled with crystal balls. She took one look at Harry’s face and emitted a startled scream. The balls fell from her arms, shattering on the wooden floor. She gaped wordlessly at his face. 

Harry shot Ron an unnerved look. The class was silent. 

Faster than Harry had ever seen her move, Trelawney swooped in front of him. “Cursed!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been cursed!” 

Harry’s heart stopped beating. “Er–”

She pointed a bejeweled finger at his nose. Seamus and Dean were watching the proceedings closely. 

“Dark magic! You’ve been cursed by dark magic!”

Harry opened his mouth but no words would come. His heart had remembered to beat, and it now pounded painfully against his ribs. He fought the urge to run, to escape, to hide away and never return. 

“Professor Trelawney, it was a car accident,” a voice spoke from behind the teacher. 

Neville had stood, his arms crossed against his chest. “It-It makes Harry uncomfortable. We should leave it alone. We don’t need to bother him about it.” Though his voice wavered, Neville’s eyes passed over the other students in the room, communicating that it wasn’t just the teacher who should let the matter drop.

“But the Inner Eye–” Trelawney argued. 

Channeling his inner Hermione, Harry finally found his voice. “The Inner Eye tells the future. This, uh, incident already happened, so . . .”

“So it doesn’t matter,” Ron threw in. “Divination is about the future, right? Not the past.”

Trelawney regarded them for a few moments, then wrapped one of her shawls more closely around her shoulders. “You are right, of course, my dears. Please open to page ten of Unfogging the Future . . . ”

Harry descended the stairs ninety minutes later, his brain muddled with dream symbolism. He and Ron started down the corridor when Neville stopped them. “Harry? Have a second?”

Harry nodded. He and Ron followed Neville into a vacant classroom. Before Neville could speak, Harry took the initiative. “Thanks, Neville. I, uh, never know what to say to her.”

“She’s been out to get you for a long time with all the death omens,” Neville said with a shrug, though he licked his lips and wrung his hands nervously as he continued. “I wanted to tell you that if you, um, ever need to talk to anyone about, you know–” Neville gestured to Harry’s face, “--well, I’m a good listener. And it would be safe with me.”

A warm feeling spread in Harry’s chest. Neville would never know the truth, of course, but the sentiment was comforting all the same. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Neville.”

After lunch, Harry walked into the defense classroom, his backpack gingerly placed on his shoulder. The constant movement from one side of the castle to the other meant that the wounds on his chest had broken and bled anew, though the bandages were not yet saturated. He glanced down, surreptitiously looking for any blood seeping through his robes.

Focused in this thoughts as he was, Harry didn’t pay attention to the pink-clad, toad-like figure in the center of the room until she gave a little “ Hem, hem ” to call them to attention. As Harry glanced up, he felt a surge of anger and desire for self-preservation from his wolfish form. Harry forced the emotions away, his heart beating frantically in his chest. It was four days past the full moon. Was Albion still overpowering him? He couldn’t retake Harry’s mind now, could he?

Channel Remus, Harry thought. Remus doesn't let his wolf have control, and I won't, either. Channel Remus.

Professor Umbridge was writing something on the board, but Harry couldn’t concentrate as panic threatened to overwhelm him. He gripped the edge of the table tightly, the tips of his fingers turning white. He was vaguely aware of Hermione asking a question about using spells when the teacher’s response brought him back to the present. 

They weren’t using magic. Magic wasn’t allowed in her classroom, the toad had explained. Theory would suffice. 

Harry felt sick, and nausea churned in his stomach. Magic wasn’t allowed? Knowledge of werewolf-specific curses would have kept him from being infected last July, and it had been the use of soul magic that had saved Harry from Albion’s overpowering influence. He thought of Hermione researching the reactions of potions ingredients for Wolfsbane. Without the ability to test her theories, nothing would ever change for the hundreds of werewolves on the continent. 

Harry forgot to channel Remus.

Harry wasn’t aware when he stood, but he did, his chair scraping backward loudly. “I can’t defend myself with a theory. We need to know defensive magic.”

Umbridge simpered and smoothed her skirt. “If you know the theory well enough–”

Harry interrupted, “If I know the theory well enough, I’ll know the theory, which does nothing when actually confronted by something dangerous.”

“You are not allowed to be argumentative in my classroom, Mr. Potter. Sit down and remain silent for the remainder of class time.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and refused to sit. He felt blood dripping from one of the larger scratches and hoped it hadn’t bled through the bandage and onto his robes while the other students watched. There was a heavy silence while Umbridge and Harry eyed each other. 

“What happened to your face, Mr. Potter?” she asked abruptly. “I saw you in the ministry earlier this summer without any injuries.”

Harry bristled. “I’ll tell you what happened to my face if you tell me what happened to yours.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on his right. Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes mortified. “ Harry!” she hissed.

Umbridge’s eyes bulged and she wrote hastily on a slip of parchment. “Detention, Mr. Potter. And take this to your head of house.”

Harry stomped to the front of the room and took the parchment. Up close, the woman smelled of sickly perfume–a flowery, revolting scent that filled his lungs unpleasantly. She handed him the note and Harry took it, nearly dropping it as the edge seared his flesh. He fought to keep his face neutral as he turned away, dropping his gaze to the parchment between his fingertips. The edges of the parchment were lined with silver leafing. Of course, Harry huffed, pinching the paper between two fingers as he stalked to McGonagall’s office. You can’t have regular parchment. You have to have stupid, werewolf-proof parchment. You probably don’t think a beast like me can read, either.

Harry knocked on McGonagall’s office door and entered at her admittance. Wordlessly, he handed his stern head of house the parchment. She read it, her eyebrows raising higher and higher on her forehead. 

“Shut the door, Potter,” she ordered. 

Harry complied, and McGonagall applied a silencing charm and imperturbable charm for good measure. “Are you a complete idiot, Potter?” she snapped. “Because before today, I thought you had at least some intelligence.”

Harry was taken aback, staring at McGonagall’s fuming face. “I, uh–”

“Surely Remus told you about this woman?”

“He did–”

“Did he tell you about the educational decree regarding werewolves at Hogwarts?”

“He did–”

“Did he tell you about her prejudices?”

“He did–”

McGonagall slammed her palm on the table, the note crumpling under the force. “Then why on earth are you in my office, Potter?” she yelled. “You are the only person– the only person– in this castle who has everything to hide, and you are willing to throw it away to be belligerent in her class?”

“She won’t even teach us–”

“I don’t care if she makes you dance the macarena on the tables in the Great Hall. You will do exactly as Professor Umbridge requests. You will sit silently and obediently in her classroom with your head down. You will do your homework. There is so much more at stake than you realize.”

Harry grit his teeth. “You don’t want me to fight back? You want me to sit and take it–”

“No,” McGonagall interrupted, steel lacing her words. “Your very presence in this castle is rebellion against her. Your continued coursework and learning despite your new condition is the single largest way you could fight back. And you are the only one in a position to do that.” Her tone softened, and she looked at Harry with a gentleness he didn’t think her capable of. “You are Hogwarts’ first werewolf student since Remus Lupin. What you do here could–after the war–pave the way for lycanthropic students to study freely. I look forward to the day when the fifty-five eligible Hogwarts-aged werewolves are provided the opportunity to study without concealing their condition. That started with Remus and it continues with you.”

Harry’s throat went dry. “There are fifty-five werewolf kids who should be at Hogwarts?”

  McGonagall nodded heavily. “And an additional thirty children between the ages of seven and ten. Do this for them, Potter.”

Harry’s heart warmed with new purpose. “I’ll do that, Professor,” he promised. 

“Have a biscuit before you go,” she said, handing him a tin. He took a sugared biscuit, and she gave him the ghost of a smile. Harry had placed his hand on the doorknob when she spoke again. “Harry, you don’t need your defense professor to guide your learning at Hogwarts. Use the resources at your disposal. I daresay you are quite familiar with someone much more adept at the role than Dolores Umbridge.”

Chapter Text

Artemis was not at the rendezvous point when Remus arrived. Remus paced back and forth in front of the large oak tree, a steady drizzle obscuring his vision. His clothes remained dry thanks to impervious and warming charms, but they did nothing to overcome the chill that had clutched at his heart. Where was the young werewolf?

Despite months of meetings that at times were scheduled and rescheduled, Artemis had never missed, arriving doggedly early even on the most dangerous days. Even when he had little or nothing to say, the young man had enthusiastically appeared. 

His stomach rolling with anxiety, Remus checked his watch. Twenty minutes past the hour. Twenty minutes later than the meeting time.  

An owl hooted nearby, startling Remus. He checked himself, steadying his breathing. Now was not the time to lose his head–not when anything could be shrouded in the mist surrounding the moors. His hand clasped his wand inside his jacket. 

Ten more minutes. Artemis did not appear. 

A silvery figure bounded into his sight, and Remus drew his wand. He refrained from casting a curse as the figure materialized into a patronus, though not one he recognized as belonging to any of the Order. Nor did he think Artemis capable of casting one, not with his lackluster magical education. The patronus, a glittering she-wolf, approached, eyeing Remus with an intelligent stare. It opened his mouth and Tonks’ voice came through: “Remus, are you safe? We expected your return twenty minutes ago.”

At first Remus couldn’t believe what he had heard. Surely not. Tonks’ patronus was a jackrabbit–wild and free and untrammeled like she was. This patronus was fierce and deadly and . . .

An exact compliment to his own. 

Oh, no, Remus thought, the memory of his lips against hers and the taste of chocolate cake overtaking his senses. Oh, no, no, no, no, no . 

The patronus waited expectantly for his answer. Remus cast his own patronus and spoke to his shining wolf: “Contact is a no-show. I’m going to investigate.”

Both patronuses darted off into the darkness. Remus checked his watch again and was about to apparate to Zenna’s camp when a voice spoke behind him. 

“Not alone, you won’t.” Tonks strode up, clad in her trademark boots and a black trenchcoat. Her hair was a spiky, inky black that perfectly blended into the surroundings. “You know Order protocol. No one goes into danger alone.”

“I’m the only one qualified to go where I’m going,” Remus replied.

Tonks rolled her eyes. “The full moon is twenty-five days away. I’m in no danger.”

“That’s debatable,” Remus huffed, then sighed. He had worked with Tonks often enough to know that resistance was futile. And every moment he spent arguing with the stubborn auror was another moment that Artemis’s life hung in the balance. 

Wherever Artemis was, he was injured and in danger. Remus knew this to his bones–a sixth sense that Tonks would never understand. 

There were so many things she would never understand.

“Hide your wand but keep it handy,” Remus ordered. Gripping her wrist, he apparated into the night, landing on the marshy bank on the edge of the stream. 

The first thing Remus heard was the silence. 

It was an oppressive silence–no birds sang in the trees, no squirrels rustled through the oak brush. Even the incessant crickets were mute. 

The wind shifted, and Remus caught the scent of fire. Fire and death. Palming his wand, he cast silent disillusionment charms on himself and Tonks. They crept up the rise toward the camp. 

It had been completely razed. Tent poles were snapped and the canvas scattered as if a giant’s hand had come sweeping through the clearing. Several dwellings were on fire, the flames licking at nearby foliage. Remus felt a shimmer behind him, and he sensed that Tonks was casting containment charms on the flames to keep them from setting the entire forest ablaze. 

Remus strained his ears for the sound, the slight, steady thrum that would indicate the beating of Artemis’s heart. 

And then he heard it. Like the flit of a fluttering bird, the sound was much too fast and much too shallow. 

Abandoning caution, Remus sprinted toward the collapsed remains of a centermost tent. He moved the debris with a quick charm, exposing Artemis’s blonde curls coated with blood. He was barely conscious, his eyes drifting in and out of focus. 

Tonks was by his side in a moment, shifting the rest of the debris and levitating the young man’s body onto a grassy piece of Earth. A sliver of moonlight passed overhead, and Remus saw the extent of his injury. 

A silver spear was embedded in his stomach. 

Remus removed the disillusionment charms and knelt beside the werewolf. Tonks moved to remove the spear, but stopped at Remus’s forceful “Wait!” 

“It’s silver,” he explained, a catch in his voice. “He’s already undergone silver poisoning. Removing it will just extend his suffering.”

Artemis shifted his head and blinked. “Lupin?”

Remus nodded and adopted a low, calming tone. “I’m right here, Artemis. Can you tell me what happened?”

“G-Greyback,” Artemis panted. “P-punishment for Alpha helping you.”

“Helping me?”

“With . . . your kid. The new werewolf.” Artemis grew still for a moment, then came back to himself as if he were clinging to the final tendrils of his life on earth. “Somehow Greyback heard about it–how the wolf took over the kid’s mind without a full moon . . . how he’s immune to wolfsbane . . . Greyback wants . . . he wants . . .”

Dread prickled down Remus’s spine. “Greyback wants to find out why,” Remus finished. “If he knows why, he can replicate it. He can make himself dangerous the entire month.”

Tonks’ eyes were wide, her hands shaking.

Artemis’s breathing became low and shallow, but he forced the next words out. “Lupin . . . I don’t have . . . much time  . . . answer a dying man . . . one question.”

Remus’s already despondent heart sunk to the deepest pit of his navel. He knew what Artemis would ask, knew the deepest, most earnest desire of the boy’s heart. Remus had held onto the horrible, unspoken truth, but now–on the boy’s deathbed–he could delay no longer. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he choked.

“Who . . . was the wolf . . . who turned me?” The words took an extreme effort, and Artemis’s eyes closed. 

Remus could hear the final, fluttering beats of the boy’s heart. He was tempted, so sorely tempted, to delay his answer, to have the boy pass ignorantly to the void. But Remus couldn’t, not when Artemis forced his bloodshot eyes open to stare into Remus’ own. With the air of one approaching a confessional, Remus forced the words out:

“I did.”

Chapter Text

“I did.”

Artemis’ eyes widened at the words, betrayal tearing his features. “Wha–?”

But he was out of time. Artemis’ words were cut short as he gasped two great, shuddering gasps and lay still. With shaking hands, Remus closed the boy’s eyes and sobbed. Next to him, Tonks hesitated, a tentative hand outstretched toward him. 

But she didn’t touch him. 

And Remus knew that she finally understood. That she finally came to the conclusion he had been begging her to see all along: 

He was a monster. 

He had hurt people. 

He didn’t deserve her.

Remus stood and drew his wand. He conjured a white cloth and wrapped the boy’s body  in the fabric. Tonks stood motionless, her face pale. She leapt to action, however, when Remus lit a torch from a flaming bush and approached the body. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded, grabbing his wrist. 

“Lycan tradition is to cremate the dead so their ashes can scatter among the soil and renew their souls along with the earth.” Remus’s voice was hollow. He didn’t personally believe in the tradition, but Artemis had. And that was all that mattered. 

Tonks released her grip on his wrist and stepped back. 

There was so much she would never understand.

The hungry flame caught the fabric, spreading across the corpse in a matter of seconds. Remus turned away to hide the tears pouring from his face, and he threw the torch into the river, drowning the flame. Great shuddering sobs shook his frame. He sat on the bank of the river, his face in his hands. 

The air shimmered around him. Tonks walked around the area, casting wards and silencing charms. Her work complete, she sat next to him. “Where is the rest of the pack?”

“They’ll have joined Greyback. Anyone who refused would be left for dead. That’s why Artemis was left behind. He never would have joined Greyback.”

“Are you going to tell me why you said you were the one who bit the boy?” 

Remus looked torturously into her face. Her eyes were soft but her posture rigid. Tonks had always been a world of contradictions: colorful and flamboyant, but serious and determined; kind and gentle, but steely and fierce. Now those contradictions raged across her face as she tried to connect the man she knew with the monster of his past. 

Remus closed his eyes. “I couldn’t lie to him. I’ve kept that secret from him for ten years. He deserved to know. I should’ve told him years ago.”

“Why did you turn him?” Tonks asked, her voice soft but her gaze hard. Finally, a note of her frustration snapped through, “Forgive me if I can’t equate that with the Remus I know.”

“You don’t know me,” he retorted, his face in his hands. Nymphadora Tonks believed in a version of Remus Lupin that didn’t exist. And he had led her on, had flirted and laughed with her like a human. 

Hiding the monster. 

Hiding the truth.

Remus placed his palms against the damp soil, allowing the connection with the earth to ground him. “After Lily and James died and Sirius was imprisoned, it-it broke me. I let it break me. I tried to live in the wizarding world for a year, hiding my condition, but my absences were predictable, and I had to leave every low-wage job each time someone became too suspicious.” Remus swallowed tightly. “I was destitute. I couldn’t feed myself. I was homeless. Both of my parents had died while I was in school. I had no one. So I did what every other werewolf has had to do.” Remus’s voice was hard, and he forced himself to look into the young auror’s face as he spoke the next words. “I joined a pack–a gentle one that just wanted to be left alone. We’d help each other. I knew more magic than anyone else, so it was my job to set the wards and secure the area every full moon. They treated one another well. It was like a second family.” 

Remus traced his fingers across the top of a smooth rock. “Greyback invaded the camp two years later. He did then what he did today–force the pack members to join him or die. I had lost so much, but I was a coward. I didn’t want to die. Perhaps if the Marauders had still existed, I would have found the strength to resist him, but I didn’t. I went willingly with him. 

“At first, he didn’t ask much of us, and I thought things would be okay. I worked my way up in the ranks of the pack, my knowledge of magic being the primary reason. Soon enough, I was Greyback’s beta. There was a woman in the camp, Eliza. She had been bitten as a teenage runaway and picked up by Greyback’s pack.” The heat rose in Remus’s cheeks. “She was twenty-one, and I was twenty-three. In a matter of months, we fell desperately, hopelessly, madly in love.”

He couldn’t look at Tonks’ face, though he wasn’t immune to the sound of her increased heartbeat and her surprised draw of breath. He forced himself to continue. “All pairings in the pack had to be approved by the alpha, and Greyback wouldn’t approve our relationship. I had long suspected he wanted Eliza for himself, though she forcefully spurned his advances. Desperate for our union to be recognized, I asked Greyback what I could do to prove my loyalty and earn Eliza’s hand.

“He told me that there was an old wizarding family who had profited greatly from the end of the war. The father had claimed he was acting under the imperius curse, and the Ministry had paid him handsome retribution as a victim of the war. It was a lie, of course–the man was a death eater. Greyback told me to attack him–to turn or kill him.

“I justified it. After all, this man was a monster who had killed on Voldemort’s orders. This would be poetic justice: the hidden monster becoming a literal monster. It wasn’t a crime; it was vengeance."

Remus took a deep breath. He still didn't dare look at the woman next to him. "I didn’t know the layout of the manor, but Greyback claimed he did. The night of the full moon, he positioned me beneath a window. He promised that Eliza and I would be free to continue our relationship without any hindrance once my mission was over. I  don’t remember anything about that full moon, but I know that I broke through the window and bit the occupant of that room. A few brave members of the staff fought back, and I returned to the pack gravely injured. After the moon rose, Eliza bound my injuries, and I told her what I had done. She was angry that I had made this decision without consulting her, but, like me, felt the bite was justified. 

“I learned the truth when Greyback brought a seven year-old boy into the camp. I recognized his scent and knew that he was the one I had bitten. I had attacked an innocent child, not the death eater who needed to pay for his sins.

“It was all part of Greyback’s plan, and I had been too stupid to see it. After all, Greyback had no use for an older, new werewolf who might undermine his power. Kids, on the other hand, could be raised away from wizards and guided to become the pack members he wanted them to be. Greyback told me that I had failed in my mission and that my relationship would not be permitted to continue. Eliza . . .  Eliza would be his instead. Tonks, she was so afraid. I couldn't leave her to that fate, so I drew my wand on my alpha and fought back. Greyback is Hogwarts educated, too–he wasn't turned until his twenties–and a skilled duelist. We dueled. I blocked a bloodletting curse, and it deflected through camp. It-it hit Eliza, and she bled out before I could reach her.”

Tears tracked down Tonks’ face and she muffled a sob with her coat. “Remus,” she breathed. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

“I cursed Greyback until he was unconscious and bleeding. The pack expected me to kill him, to take over as Alpha, but I couldn’t. My love, the only reason I had to live, was dead. I took the boy and fled. I tended to his wounds and helped him adjust to his condition. We hid in the forest for a year. Eventually, we were found by Zenna’s pack, and she adopted us. Artemis always wanted to know the identity of the wolf who bit him. I always refused to answer. Zenna had assumed it was Greyback, though she never asked me directly. I was in Zenna’s pack when Dumbledore tracked me down to teach Defense, and I left Artemis behind without a second thought.” Remus shook his head, disgusted with himself. “I never treated him like I should have. Sure, I taught him magic and stole enough galleons to purchase his wand. We went to Olivander’s under the guise that he was a Hogwarts student. I made sure he had enough food and that the other members of the pack were treating him well. But I never treated him like the son he should have been to me.”

His story told, Remus buried his face in his hands and sobbed openly, sobbed until he was spent. Tonks sat next to him and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned against her, reveling in the comfort of her presence. “W-why are you still here?” he asked in disbelief. 

Tonks tilted her head to one side. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I turned a child, Tonks. I ruined a child’s life.”

“You did what you thought was necessary without all the pertinent information. If Greyback had told you that you were going to attack a child, would you have done it?”

“Of course not,” Remus snapped, revolted. 

“Then I don’t think you’re purely at fault.” Tonks hesitated on the next words, tracing her fingers through the soil. She looked at him with vulnerable blue eyes. “D-do you still miss her? Eliza?” 

Remus flushed. He was tempted to lie, but with the exposure of his biggest lie, he did not want to add any more to his repertoire. “I used to. I still do, I suppose. Just not in the same way. Now I miss her like I miss Lily or James.”

“What changed?”

Remus licked his lips and cast his eyes to his worn leather shoes. “I met you," he murmured.

Tonks’ hand palmed his cheek, and she turned his face toward her. Her eyes were conflicted. “Remus, I can’t be Eliza,” she confessed. “I-I’m not her. I’m–”

“I know,” Remus replied, his voice tight and hoarse from talking and crying. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her toward him. “I’m not expecting you to be. You’re not Eliza. Y-you’re my Dora.”

“You mean that?”

Remus answered by meeting her lips with his. They kissed on the bank of the river as the first rays of dawn lightened the forest, Tonks’ dark hair turning a vibrant pink. 

Chapter Text

"Did Remus tell you anything that will help with the sensory overload?" Hermione asked as the trio once more took their breakfast outside to escape the litany of sounds and smells in the Great Hall. 

Harry shook his head. "He wasn’t there when I mirror-called. He was doing something for the Order. I'll check with him later."

"What do we have this morning?" Ron asked around an English muffin.

"Care of Magical Creatures and, ugh, Potions," Harry grumbled.

"Care won't be the same without Hagrid. Hopefully this Grubbly-Plank woman is decent,” Ron said.

"She'll probably have some gentler creatures," Hermione predicted. "I don't think the screwts survived the third task."

"Shame," Ron deadpanned. "It'll be a good change, though. I've spent enough time with dark creatures."

Harry choked on his bacon and Hermione sent him a sympathetic look. Ron looked at her in confusion, then his eyes widened in comprehension. "Mate, I didn't mean you,” he explained hurriedly. “Of course I didn't. I was talking about the screwts–"

"Don't worry about it," Harry mumbled awkwardly. 

Ron continued doggedly. "Y-your not a creature. Your–"

The wind shifted and Harry caught a familiar scent. "Ron, shut up," Harry hissed. 

Neville approached the trio with a calculating expression on his round face. "Everything alright?"

"Fine, Neville," Hermione placated. "Just enjoying the sun."

Neville gave a short nod, though his face was still drawn in confusion. "Alright, then. I'll leave you to it." 

As Neville walked away, Harry felt a prickle of unease. "How much do you think he heard? The wind blew his scent the opposite direction until the last minute."

"You didn't hear him?"

Harry shook his head. "Wasn't focusing on it, I guess."

"Harry, that's it!" Hermione exclaimed. “That’s how you deal with the sensory overload: choose what to focus on!”

Harry looked at her doubtfully. “Hermione, you know how sometimes you try to read in the middle of a party in the common room and you have to go to the library to get an ounce of sanity?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what it is like in the Great Hall, and in the hallways, and in the common room all the time. Even in quiet classes like Transfiguration I can hear the heartbeats of the people next to me. The noise never stops, and it’s driving me mad.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. At least, she tried–Harry gave a startled gasp of pain as the scratches across his chest tore anew. “Harry, I am so, so sorry! I forgot! I–”

Harry rubbed his chest and blinked the tears out of his eyes. “I need a walk,” he said abruptly. “See you in Care.” He marched off toward the lake, blood dripping beneath his bandages with every movement. 

He wasn’t angry at Hermione; he was angry that they could forget. He was angry that Ron could casually mention “dark creature” without associating himself as one. He was angry that Hermione could forget that less than four days ago he was bleeding out on a cold basement floor. 

Harry finally stopped at a lesser-traveled area of the lake. Here, thick reeds obscured the bank, and white rocks nestled in the mud. He grabbed a smooth one and tried to skip it across the lake. It landed with a solid plunk into the water. He grabbed another, throwing it with the most skill he could muster and achieving the same result. The metaphor was not lost on him. The stone was pretending to be something it wasn’t. It wasn’t a skipping rock; it was a plain, heavy rock with no use–just like how he was playing human, pretending to get an education while his future job prospects were slim to none. 

I hate being a werewolf. 

It felt good, freeing even, to admit the words to himself. But there was no freedom from the reality of his condition. He sank to his knees near the muddy bank and sobbed. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

He wallowed in self-pity until his throat was sore and his tears spent. Glancing at his watch, he touched up his robes with a quick cleaning charm and checked his pocket to ensure that his invisibility cloak was still tucked neatly inside. During their mirror-call yesterday, Sirius had suggested that he keep it with him at all times. “You never know when it may be needed. Call me paranoid, but I would feel better if you kept it with you,” he had said. 

Harry made his way toward Hagrid’s cabin where Ron and Hermione intercepted him a few moments later. “Harry, we–” Hermione began. 

“Please just drop it,” he begged, casting a glance at the stream of students approaching the interim professor outside Hagrid’s hut.

Harry stood stoically through the professor’s explanation of bowtruckles, her adept teaching style doing nothing to ease his sour temper. 

“Ok, everyone, get into groups of three and take a bowtruckle. Draw and label the various segments of the animal.”

Hermione went up to get the bowtruckle while Harry and Ron sat on the grass apart from the rest of the class. When Hermione returned, the bowtruckle in her hands turned its stick nose in Harry’s direction. With a high-pitched squeal, it fought to get away from Hermione’s grasp. She kept a strong hold on it, though she was rewarded for her efforts with a slash from the bowtruckles sharp fingers. She gasped out, dropping the bowtruckle, as the skin tore and the wound bled freely. 

Harry’s senses were immediately assaulted with the irony, metallic scent of her blood. Though the ache was not as strong as the overwhelming longing he felt the day of the full moon, he had to tear his eyes away from the blood dripping down Hermione’s fingers. He yearned to go to her, to comfort her, but he didn’t trust himself with his overwhelming impulses. 

“Hermione, let me help.” Neville was by her side in a moment, wrapping Hermione’s hand in a handkerchief. “You guys got a mean one,” Neville observed as he tied the handkerchief in a knot to add pressure to the wound. 

“Thanks, Neville,” Hermione said, giving him a weak smile. 

Harry's wolf, already so close to the surface from the scent of blood, expressed an acute upswing of jealousy. Don’t be an idiot, Harry chastised himself, forcing the emotion away. She’s not going snog Neville over a handkerchief.

“What on earth is going on here?” The interim professor joined the group and studied Hermione’s bleeding hand. “Go to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey will put you right.” She turned to Harry. “Go get the bowtruckle and try again.”

“Er–”

“I’ll get it, Professor,” Neville interceded. He coaxed the bowtruckle out of a nearby hedge, though it balked when he brought it near the group.

Professor Grubbly-Plank studied the animal. “Why, something has him in a right state.” She removed her wand and cast a freezing charm. “This won’t hurt him, but it will keep him still long enough for you to complete the assignment.”

The remainder of class was spent meticulously drawing the bowtruckle (Harry tried to put extra effort in his so Hermione could copy his notes later). 

The bowtruckle stared at Harry with horrified eyes the entire time. 

Hermione joined them in the dungeons an hour later for potions, the scent of blood thankfully gone. “How did things go?” Harry asked. 

Hermione shook back her sleeve to reveal a scarless hand. “A little dittany took care of it right away.” She dropped her voice, “Pomfrey wanted me to pass on a message. She wants to see you during lunch today. She said you’re looking far too pale for a few days after the–well, you know.”

“Great,” Harry muttered as Snape opened the door and they were ushered into the small space. 

Harry was immediately assaulted by strong scents that stung his eyes and burned his mouth and throat. He coughed, his eyes watering. He led Hermione and Ron to a table in the back corner. “I can’t breathe in here,” he wheezed, placing the sleeve of his robe to his nose and breathing through the fabric.

The door to the dungeon slammed shut. Snape cast one sneering look in Harry’s direction. “The instructions for a shrinking solution are on the board. Get to it.”

There was a clatter of scraping chairs and hastily lit cauldrons. Harry squinted toward the instructions through the tears streaming down his face. 

“Let me help,” Hermione whispered next to him. She removed a piece of parchment and muttered a charm, her eyes concentrating on the board. The instructions appeared on the parchment. 

“Thanks, Hermione.”

She gave his hand a quick squeeze, and Harry felt a satisfied jolt in his chest. 

“Wands away,” Snape snapped. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry hiked the neckline of his robes over his nose. Ahead of him, Malfoy turned around and watched Harry assemble his potions ingredients. Harry was about to ask Malfoy if he had something to say when Malfoy grimaced and faced forward. 

Harry reached for his knife to cut roots when he paused. The knife was silver and would burn upon immediate contact. 

“Problem, Potter?” Snape appeared at the edge of his table, a satisfied smile playing his features. 

Harry raised his chin from the folds of his robes. “No, sir,” he muttered. 

“You have roots to cut. They must be added before your potion reaches a simmer. Demonstrate the proper technique.”

Harry stared at him in disbelief as the corners of Snape’s lips turned into the ghost of a smile. You sick, horrible monster, Harry thought.

With no other alternative, Harry grabbed the knife, though he could not hide his sharp gasp of breath when the silver burned his palm. He chopped the roots sloppily as the silver tore deeper into his skin. With a satisfied smirk, Snape swept to the front of the classroom.

Harry dropped the knife to the board, wishing for all the world that it was the full moon and he could unleash Albion on the old bat. 

“Take mine,” Ron muttered to his left. He swapped the carnage of Harry’s roots for his own while Snape berated Neville for another abysmal potion. 

“You don’t need to–”

“Just take them,” Ron muttered. He took his knife, slicing away at the roots to salvage the disaster Harry had created. 

Harry assembled the rest of the potion clumsily with blistered fingers. He had added one too many drops of salamander bile with his shaking hand when Snape swept in again. 

“The only thing this potion is good for is the trash,” he sneered, vanishing it with a wave of his wand. “That’s a zero for today, Potter.”

Harry’s wolf, so incredibly close to the surface today, fought for release, and Harry resisted the urge to hex Snape’s hook-nosed face. 

As Snape turned away, Harry heard Hermione’s rapid heartbeat next to him. She was gripping the edge of the counter with barely controlled rage. Harry dropped his voice to a whisper. “Relax, Hermione. Why would we expect anything different from Snape?”

“Because he knows ,” she hissed, her voice barely audible even to Harry’s werewolf hearing. “He knows, and he’s still doing this.”

Harry ran his knuckles across the top of her hand while Ron’s attention was occupied on stirring his potion. “I’m not surprised. All the same, thank you for caring.”

She gave him a smile. “Anytime, and I do mean that, Harry. Anytime.”

Twenty minutes later, they left potions behind, Harry taking great, shuddering breaths of potionless air. The trio let the class walk ahead of them as Harry leaned heavily against the wall of the corridor. “I can’t do this,” he admitted. “Potions is going to be the death of me.”

“Let’s look in the library,” Hermione suggested. “There has to be a spell or something to help.”

“Yeah. Let’s go after dinner,” Harry agreed, pushing himself upright. 

“I . . . can’t,” Ron said quietly.

Harry looked quizzically at him. “What are you up to?”

Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I, uh, I’ve set up some practice time with Fred and George, actually. For quidditch. Ginny overheard and wanted to come, so we’re meeting out on the pitch while everyone else is at dinner.”

Harry felt a lump in his throat. It was supposed to be him . He had promised Ron he would help him prepare for tryouts, promising that he would be there even if Ron had to levitate him to the pitch. “I’m sorry. I should’ve–”

Ron shook his head. “You didn’t know how bad the–” if it were possible, he looked even more uncomfortable, “--the, you know, would be. Pomfrey’s right, Harry. You still look awful.”

Harry sighed and struggled to hide his disappointment. “Well, tryouts aren’t until Friday, so I have a few days to recover. Let’s practice on Thursday.”

Ron nodded gratefully.

As they turned a corner, Harry smelled the sickly-sweet scent of the Defense professor and heard her prattling footfalls. “Get back!” he hissed, pulling them behind a large suit of armor. 

“Harry, what–?”

Harry clapped his hand over Hermione’s mouth. Ron crouched next to him in confusion. Harry removed the invisibility cloak from the pocket of his robes and tossed it over them. 

Umbridge appeared around the corner, a simpering smile upon her face. From the direction of the dungeons, Lucius Malfoy approached. He wielded his snakehead staff in a strong grip and regarded Umbridge with a short nod of deference. 

“Do you have news from the Minister, Lucius?” she simpered. “I usually do not require a messenger. As his undersecretary, I receive the honor of personal meetings.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “I am no one’s messenger, Dolores. I am here in my official capacity as a member of the Hogwarts board. I am here to address a concern that I wish to remain between the two of us for the time being.”

Umbridge simpered and smoothed her skirt. “What concern? My position allows me to ensure that high-ranking board members have their worries addressed.”

Lucius’s face remained stoic, though his black eyes glittered. “I have reason to believe that Dumbledore is harboring a werewolf at Hogwarts.”

Harry stopped breathing. Ron and Hermione’s hearts beat loudly in his ears, and Hermione gripped his hand fiercely. 

“A werewolf!” Umbridge exclaimed. “That’s–”

“The information comes from a reliable source. I trust that this will be investigated immediately. After all, I will not have my son put in danger by this beast. The human inhabitants of this castle deserve better.”

“Of course,” Umbridge promised. “Did your contact identify the half-breed?” Her voice was eager–hungry, even–and it turned Harry’s stomach. 

“Unfortunately, he was unable to positively identify the student,” Lucius responded smoothly. “We are hoping that you will be able to identify and eliminate this threat.”

“Consider it done. According to Educational Decree Twenty-One, any werewolf caught within fifty kilometers of an educational institution will be sentenced to death.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Lucius responded. “I will be in touch regarding your progress. Please watch for my owl.”

Lucius swept back the way he had come, and Umbridge walked toward the stairs, an extra spring in her step. 

Beneath the cloak, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. Their eyes were wide. Harry held up a shaking hand for silence until he could no longer hear their footfalls. “Lucius knows it’s me. He hinted at it when I had my hearing. Why didn’t he just oust me?”

“He’s saving his own neck,” Ron growled. “Doesn’t want to be mixed up in it.”

“Ron’s right,” Hermione whispered. “If he says he knows the werewolf is Harry, he would have to explain how he knew the information. That puts him in communication with Greyback, which wouldn’t look good on his image. He can have Umbridge do his dirty work for him instead.”

Harry removed the cloak and they continued up the passage, Hermione brushing her hand against his as they walked. Harry felt worn out, like a cloth that had been scrubbing Grimmauld Place all day and wrung too many times. “What classes do we have this afternoon?”

“History of Magic and Transfiguration.”

“Tell Binns I’m in the Hospital Wing. I’m skiiving. I can’t take any more of this.”

Harry entered the Great Hall long enough to grab a sandwich before making his way to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey insisted on evaluating his wounds and applying more paste to reduce infection. She clucked at his injured palm and submerged it in murtlap. “You need to take it easy,” she commanded. “According to my scans, you’re incredibly anxious. Your mental state is affecting your ability to heal.”

“I wonder what I have to be anxious about? Everything is sunshine and daisies over here,” Harry quipped. 

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to do this, Potter, but if your wounds do not show significant healing by the weekend, you will give me no choice.”

“Do what?”

“Write to your guardian.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “The Dursleys won’t–oh.” The Dursleys wouldn’t care but Remus certainly would. Harry didn’t know what Remus would do if the matron wrote to him, but he had a nagging feeling that it would involve locking his Firebolt away until he was adequately healed. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take it easy.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” the matron returned. She handed Harry three vials of potion. “You are excused from your afternoon classes. Can I trust that you will take these and return to your dormitory, or do you need to stay here in the Hospital Wing?”

At Harry’s solemn vow that he would be walking straight to his dormitory, Madam Pomfrey handed him the vials. He choked down two doses of blood-replenishing potion and a vial of pain-relieving potion. 

One of the potions must have contained a sleeping draught because Harry entered the vacant dorm just in time to collapse against his pillows. He felt drained and wanted nothing more than to slide into the blessed oblivion of dreamless sleep. Through his foggy brain, he heard a consistent tap, tap, tap against the window. A tawny owl perched on the sill, evaluating him with its wicked beak and intelligent amber eyes. 

Harry closed his eyes. It could wait until breakfast tomorrow like all the other owls. 

Tap, tap, tap. 

TAP, TAP, TAP. 

Groaning, Harry stumbled to the window and lifted the sill. The owl flew in, depositing the letter on Harry’s pillow. 

Harry picked up the letter with shaking fingers. Who would be writing to him? Lupin and Sirius had no reason to write–the mirror calls were more than sufficient. Despite his fatigue, a knot balled into Harry’s stomach as he read:

When you are done playing human, we have a place for you. You should be around your own kind, not in places where your senses overwhelm you and silver burns you. 

Respond when you are ready to admit to yourself what you really are.

Signed, 

A Friend

Chapter Text

When Harry awoke from his potion-induced sleep hours after the letter had arrived, the windows outside were dark, but he felt refreshed, his mind clear. He reached for his mirror, his hand brushing the mysterious letter from the owl. Casting muffliato around his closed bed curtains, he said Sirius’s name. 

Sirius answered immediately. His hair was mussed, and stubble graced his jaw. “Harry, is everything okay?” he demanded. 

“It’s okay,” Harry said slowly. “Why?”

“It’s two-thirty in the morning, pup. You had me worried for a second.”

Harry heard the opening of a door. Remus appeared next to Sirius, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Everything okay, Harry?"

Harry felt immensely foolish. “Sorry, I didn’t realize what time it was. I’ve been asleep since lunch. I’ll just call later–” 

“Wait, Harry,” Remus commanded. “Why were you asleep since lunch? Didn’t you have afternoon classes?”

With no time to manufacture an alibi, Harry recounted the visit with Madam Pomfrey, choosing to omit the part about her writing to Remus if the wounds weren’t adequately healed by the weekend. “She thinks that my stress levels are affecting my ability to heal. She’s probably right,” Harry admitted. 

Remus was silent for a moment as he studied Harry’s features. “Harry, you are shockingly pale. Did something happen at school that you want to talk about? We are here for you, and we won’t judge you. The more you tell us, the more we can help you.”

Harry cast his eyes to his closed curtains. He wasn’t used to this–this life full of people who cared about him. He swallowed, then in halting tones described the bowtruckle incident, blushing as he admitted his lycanthropic reaction to Hermione’s injury and Neville’s assistance. He told them about potions and being forced to use the silver knife–Sirius swearing mightily and calling Snape a variety of colorful insults that Harry wanted to remember later–and eavesdropping on the conversation between Umbridge and Lucius Malfoy. 

For a long time Remus was silent while Sirius fumed next to him. Pursing his lips, Remus asked, “How can we help you, Harry?”

“I-” Harry faltered. He had never had an adult respond in this manner. He had expected Remus to listen and then tell him to apply his Gryffindor courage. He had expected Remus to tell him to behave and not to worry. He hadn’t expected Remus to offer his assistance. It filled Harry’s chest with a warm feeling. “My senses are driving me insane. Everything is too loud and too smelly. I have migraines all the time, and I can’t concentrate.”

Remus nodded. “I know a spell that will work, but I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you will only use it during potions. No other time.”

Harry’s brows furrowed in frustration. “I need it all the time. I can’t do this without it,” he snapped. 

Remus remained unaffected. “Hear me out. The sensory data is overwhelming to you because you know what it was like to be a human. I don’t remember anything about being human, but the sensory rush was still something I had to learn to get used to after growing up isolated with only my parents for company. Dumbledore taught me the sensory-reduction charm in my first year for use only during potions. I apologize for not realizing that you would need it, too–it’s been more years that I care to admit since I was a student at Hogwarts. When Dumbledore taught me the charm, he told me that dulling my senses all day long would put me at a disadvantage, and I agree with that advice in your case. Think about it, Harry: if you had dulled senses, would you have known Dolores Umbridge was coming down the hall?”

“No.”

“And, without that knowledge, you would not have been able to hide and overhear their conversation. Now that we know Umbridge will be on the lookout for a werewolf, we can take precautions to be extra diligent. We wouldn’t have that advance warning without your lycan senses.”

“That makes sense,” Harry admitted grudgingly. “But how do I manage the rest of the time?”

“A version of active meditation. When the smells and sounds overwhelm you, focus on a spot and clear your mind. Pretend like all the other senses are diminishing, like what happens when you turn the volume down on a muggle radio. It takes practice and patience, but it is a skill that can be mastered.”

“I’ll try that.”

“The incantation for the sensory-reducing charm is Sensus Dimunutio . Can you say that back for me?”

Harry repeated the words, and Remus walked him through the wand movement. On the third try, Harry was able to effectively cast the charm, evidenced by the noise reduction of Ron’s snoring in the bed next to him. Harry grinned and ended the charm. Then, he tried Remus’s meditative skill, though he found it difficult to concentrate on only one spot when his anxious thoughts wanted to run away with him.

“The meditation will take time to master,” Remus said soothingly. “Don’t worry if you can’t get it tonight.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’ll inform Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall about Umbridge and Malfoy during our next Order meeting. It isn’t safe to send an owl with that information. But is there anything else you would like to discuss with us?”

Harry thought about the cryptic letter tucked beneath his pillow. He opened his mouth to tell them but hesitated. Both adults looked bone-weary, and dawn light was brightening the dormitory outside his curtains. “No, I’m good for now,” Harry answered. After all, the letter wasn’t inherently dangerous. He didn’t need to worry his godfather and guardian with anything else today. “I think I’ll go take a shower and head to breakfast while most people are still asleep.”

The next few days brought a breath of fresh air for Harry. He struggled with the meditation, but even a token effort blunted the onslaught of sounds and smells in the Great Hall. Potions was bearable–or as bearable as it had ever been–now that he could breathe freely. His wounds gradually healed enough that he was able to practice with Ron on the quidditch pitch the day before tryouts, though he had to take it easy and was softer with the quaffle than he would normally have been. 

Harry and Ron were walking back to the castle from the pitch when they were approached by a tiny Ravenclaw first year. She looked everywhere but at the scars on Harry’s face as she handed him a note. “I was asked to bring this to you.”

The girl rushed away as Harry opened the note and groaned. “Umbridge set my detention for the same time as tryouts!”

“Old hag,” Ron muttered. “She did it on purpose.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “Angelina isn’t going to like it.”

Angelina Johnson was not pleased. 

After doing the customary double-take when she first saw his face, she laid into him at breakfast the next day. Her yells drew the attention of McGonagall, who threatened to remove her captaincy if she couldn’t behave. 

Regardless of Angelina’s feelings, Harry appeared at Umbridge’s classroom door promptly at 6 p.m. He knocked and opened the door when he heard her simpering “Enter.”

Cat plates.

Two words. Cat plates.

They meowed incessantly, the sound beating upon his eardrums, and Harry tried to focus on his meditation. However, there was not a single inch of wall that was not pouncing or purring, so Harry picked a spot just beyond Umbridge’s thick earlobe. As he focused, the mewing blurred into the background. Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile.

Umbridge preened behind her desk and gestured to a piece of parchment. “You will be writing lines for me today.”

Harry nodded mutely and picked up the quill, still focusing on his meditation. 

“Please write ‘I will not disrupt Professor Umbridge’s class.’ You will write until I feel that the message has properly sunk in.”

Harry looked around for ink.

“No ink is needed. Simply write.”

Harry began silently, now focusing his meditation on a corner of the parchment to block out her sickly scent and thrumming heartbeat. As he wrote, he felt a curious tingling across the top of his hand. Absorbed in his meditation as he was, he had written the sentence five times before glancing down at the top of his hand, where the words were etched in his skin and his blood supplied the page’s ink. 

He was confused. Why didn’t it hurt? He continued writing, and the words cut deeper into his skin, though it was nothing compared to the agony of his full moons or the recovery after his initial attack. 

As hour after hour passed, Harry began to understand. His condition meant that his pain tolerance had increased. Anything short of mind-numbing agony no longer affected him. He felt a flare of smug satisfaction. Umbridge thought he was being punished, but he had one over on her. 

Umbridge finally let him leave around eleven, and Harry walked to his dormitory, dabbing at the blood dripping from his hand. His doormates were playing a game of exploding snap, but Harry waved aside Ron’s and Neville’s invitation–it didn’t take enhanced senses to know that Seamus didn’t want him to join in–and moved to his four-poster. He cast the silencing charm and said Sirius’s name into his mirror. 

He answered immediately with a grin. “Hey, pup, how did the tryouts go?”

“I-er . . .  wasn’t there. Umbridge made me sit her detention.”

Sirius nodded in understanding. “Well, I wouldn’t expect any less from her, frankly. What did the werewolf-killer make you do?”

“Just lines.”

There must have been something in the way he said it that furrowed Sirius’s brow. “Just lines?”

Harry nodded in the affirmative, gesticulating with his right hand in a ‘don’t worry’ gesture.

“What’s on the top of your hand?” Sirius demanded, squinting through his mirror. “She used a blood quill on you!” he shouted in revulsion. 

“Uh, is that what it’s called?” Harry asked stupidly. “I was wondering–”

“Yes, and it’s a dark artifact. Oooh, I wish I could get up there–”

“You can’t, Sirius. It’s not worth it.”

Sirius seemed to deflate, then grinned maniacally. “I can’t, but your guardian has every right to write to the headmaster and deputy headmistress regarding his ward’s treatment during a detention with Dolores Umbridge.”

Harry bristled. “Sirius, I’d rather catch snitches than be one–”

“Do you want to one-up Dolores Umbridge?”

“I-uh–”

“Humor me, Harry. Don’t heal that hand in murtlap until after breakfast. It’s time Umbridge gets a taste of her own misery.”

Chapter Text

Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes. A thick tome from the Black library was spread across his lap, though its contents provided no clues for the solution to his problem. 

“Wotcher.” 

He grinned, turning toward the melody of her voice. He didn’t really need her to speak; after all, her scent had assaulted his nose the moment she entered Grimmauld Place. Tonks approached, tracing her fingertips lightly down his arm. He closed his eyes at the touch, his heart quickening. “I could get used to this,” he murmured. 

She laughed softly and brushed a kiss across his lips. “Sounds like a plan. Order meeting is in five minutes. What are you up to?”

He raised the book so she could read the cover: Salazar Slytherin’s Ancestral Blood Legacy.

She raised an eyebrow. “Riveting.”

  “I’m trying to find Albion’s origins,” Remus explained. “Dumbledore is meeting with me after the meeting, and I wanted to be closer to pinpointing the cause of Harry’s possession.”

“So you believe Zenna, then? You really think she could be right?”

Remus sighed. “Before she was bitten, Zenna was an Unspeakable. She saw things we–despite the magic around us–would never imagine possible. Until I have a stronger hypothesis, I need to assume that she is correct.”

Tonks sighed and studied the pages he was reading. “It doesn’t make sense, though. He wasn’t possessed when you were in the forest–you and Sirius were with him the entire time.”

“I don’t think this possession is recent,” Remus confessed. 

Tonks’ eyes widened. “What? How?”

“Do you remember Ginny Weasley and the Chamber of Secrets?”

Tonks nodded. “I was only a trainee auror at the time, but it was quite the scandal . . . Well, it was until the Ministry covered it up.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how Harry rescued Ginny?”

Tonks shook her head. 

“He used Parseltongue.”

Tonks gaped at Remus. “He’s a Parselmouth?”

Remus nodded. “That’s why I’ve been reading this awful book. Parseltongue is an exceedingly rare gift, and the only known witches and wizards with the ability can trace their lineage directly to Salazar Slytherin himself. Everyone, that is, except Harry. He has no direct blood relation to Salazar Slytherin. The closest I can get on the Potter side are tenth cousins four times removed. Based upon what we know about the ability, he should not be able to speak it.”

“So you think that whatever is possessing him is a descendent of Salazar Slytherin?”

“That’s the working theory.” Remus shut the book, little furles of dust curling around the cover. 

Tonks took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. “You’re a good guardian, Remus. Harry is lucky to have you. We’ll figure this out and take care of it.”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Remus admitted. “I don’t want to scare him, Dora.”

Tonks gave him a sad smile. “Which is exactly what happened with Artemis. You didn’t know how he would react. But hiding the secret was worse than honesty. Harry deserves to know. If he knows, he can be on guard and let us know if he feels Albion gaining any more power.”

Remus stood and offered her his hand. He pulled her upright and rested his forehead against hers. “Always the voice of reason,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Be your old, miserable self,” Tonks replied, her eyes twinkling. “When are you telling him?”

“After the next full moon. If his injuries are anything like last month, Harry will be home at least a few days to recover. This isn’t a conversation I want to have over a mirror call. We need to talk in person.”

Tonks cupped a hand against his cheek. “That also gives you additional time to gather more information.”

Remus nodded and stepped closer, meeting his lips with hers. Tonks’ fingers threaded through his hair as she returned the kiss. I never want this to stop, Remus realized. I’m going to marry this woman if she’ll have me.

Someone cleared their throat behind Remus. “You know, I came up here to see why you two were skiiving the meeting, but I think I might just leave you to it.” Even with Remus’s back to the speaker, he could hear the laughter in Sirius’s voice.  

Tonks grinned at Sirius. “Kissing the most attractive Marauder is certainly more entertaining than listening to Snape.”

“Cousin, you wound me,” Sirius pined, feigning a sigh.

“Nevertheless,” Remus stated, pressing a final kiss to her forehead. “We should go.”

They followed Sirius down the stairs. Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius’s smirk. “Padfoot, enough.”

“I’m not saying a word,” Sirius said, though his eyes were glinting. He began to hum under his breath first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes–

“Are you a Hogwarts first year?” Remus demanded while Tonks laughed. 

“Just stating the obvious, Moony,” Sirius explained. “Come on, we need to update the Order about Umbridge’s werewolf agenda. Then I’m telling Minnie about the blood quill. You don’t mess with one of Minnie’s lions. Maybe Harry will bring the mirror to breakfast with him tomorrow so I can get a front row seat to view the carnage.”

“You truly are a child, Sirius Black.”

Despite Remus’s insistence that Sirius was the only child in this situation, Remus couldn’t hide the thrill of excitement when Minerva’s lips became thinner and thinner as Sirius explained the injury to the top of Harry’s hand. 

“Tonks, Kingsley,” she barked across the table. “You are arriving at Hogwarts tomorrow in an official auror capacity to investigate faculty abuse on one of my students using a dark artifact.”

“We will do that, Professor,” Kingsley responded in his deep, calming voice, though even he couldn’t hide his smile.

The Order members dispersed shortly after, shielding yawns with tired hands. It was now well past one o’clock, though Dumbledore appeared as placid as ever. Tonks remained by Remus’s side. “Don’t you have to sleep before Hogwarts?” he asked her. 

“Yes, but I want to be here. This is important, and you need support.”

Remus squeezed her hand gratefully. They flooed to the cottage, and Dumbledore took a seat on the worn armchair. Tonks and Remus sat on the loveseat while Sirius took the couch. With halting tones, Remus explained Zenna’s diagnosis and his own conclusions regarding Harry’s parseltongue abilities. 

“He has strange, realistic dreams, too,” Sirius added. “They are always accompanied by his scar hurting. He dreamed about Voldemort and Wormtail in the Riddle house last summer. The Order confirmed that Voldemort had been there and killed a muggle. Harry dreamed about it on the same night of the murder as if he was watching it happen.”

“I didn’t know that,” Remus said. 

Sirius nodded. “It got forgotten amid the Triwizard fiasco. It happened the summer before last.”

Dumbledore rubbed his crooked nose. He no longer appeared placid, but now was bone-weary. He stood. “Fawkes,” he murmured into the air. 

With a flash of fire, the phoenix appeared. “Fetch Tom Riddle’s diary,” Dumbledore ordered. 

The phoenix returned moments later with the ragged diary clutched in a talon. Dumbledore laid it on the coffee table, his face grave. “What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room.”

Remus’s breath caught, his heart pounding. I won’t ever lie to you , he had promised Harry. In his mind’s eye, he saw Artemis’s tortured features as Remus divulged his greatest secret far, far too late. 

So he did what he thought he would never do.

Remus lied to Albus Dumbledore. 

“This conversation stays between us,” Remus agreed.

Tonks covered her surprised look admirably, the auror’s face a stoic mask despite her increased heart rate.

“This diary, which so ill-fatedly fell into the hands of young Ginny Weasley, contained what I first thought was a memory of Tom Riddle. However, after careful study and with the details Harry was able to tell me regarding what happened in the chamber, it is evident that this was not a mere memory, but a fragment of Voldemort’s soul.”

Sirius’s brows drew together. “A fragment of his soul? But the only way to split a soul is–”

“A horcrux,” Tonks finished. 

"Voldemort's greatest fear is death. He went to great lengths to secure his immortality,” Dumbledore explained.

"What does this have to do with Harry?" Remus demanded, his throat dry. 

"I do not know how many horcruxes exist, but I know that Voldemort would only use killings of incredible import to make them. The Potters–due to the Prophecy surrounding Harry’s destiny–would have been one such murder. It is my theory that, upon Voldemort's initial downfall, a fragment of his desecrated soul lodged itself inside the only living thing in that house."

"Harry," Sirius concluded, his face tight.

"And the fragmented soul personified itself as Albion, using Harry's lycanthropy for leverage," Remus finished. He felt sick and wished fervently that he could take Harry's place.

"How do we get rid of it?" Tonks asked. She was pale and made no effort to hide her shaking hands.

Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "It was my hope that the horcrux could be extracted and contained in another object, but no human could survive the exquisite torture that would be required."

"So your plan is just to let Harry walk around with a piece of Voldemort's soul?" Sirius spat.

"The other horcruxes will need to be found and destroyed and when the one in Harry is the last–"

"You'll let Voldemort kill him like a pig for slaughter." Remus was disgusted, mistrust of his beloved headmaster written across his betrayed face. "That’s not happening,” he vowed. “We'll remove it."

"There is no way. It is too painful–"

"For a human," Tonks added, crossing her arms. "Harry is not human. His entire DNA has been altered to withstand a monthly transformation that would kill any human. He can do what humans can't."

“Is Albion a threat right now?” Sirius asked. 

“I do not believe so. Harry and Hermione’s efforts to overcome him with soul magic are holding him hostage until each full moon. He is, however, exquisitely dangerous on the full moon, as evidenced by the last transformation. It is my fear that the werewolf form of the horcrux will have no desire of self-preservation for its human host. It is possible that Albion could injure Harry fatally during the full moon in a bid to weaken him enough to overcome his prison.”

“We’ll stay with Harry,” Remus vowed looking into Sirius’s nodding face. “We won’t let him attack himself. No matter what it takes.”

“And I am going to find a way to remove that horcrux if it’s the last thing I do,” Sirius vowed. “There’s probably a book at Grimmauld that my mother earmarked about horcruxes,” he added darkly.

Long after Dumbledore left, Remus sat on the couch, his head in his hands. Sirius had made tea, though the cups remained untouched. 

“We’ll protect him, Remus,” Tonks murmured softly as her hand traced the curve of his spine. “We’ll find a way.”

“Dumbledore seems to think it’s impossible,” Sirius muttered. He had become more withdrawn through the conversation, his features taking on a hollow pallor Remus hadn’t seen since his initial escape from Azkaban.

“Dumbledore is a great man, but he isn’t infallible,” Remus stated. “His plan to let Voldemort murder Harry is proof of that. Harry has people fighting for him now. Between the three of us, we will figure it out. He won’t be fighting this battle alone.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Harry arrived at breakfast early the next morning, his mirror tucked securely in his pocket. It bumped against his hip with every step he took, and he wondered if Sirius would be able to hear anything through the folds of fabric. Ron and Hermione took seats next to him, stifling yawns with their hands. Harry had roused them much earlier than usual (Hedwig incessantly screeching outside the girls’ dormitory window until Hermione woke). Though they were both in rather cross tempers, Harry studiously ignored their questions. Instead, he answered with a satisfied, “Wait and see.”

Everything looked as it usually did–the ceiling reflected the cloudy sky outside, candles hovered in the air over the tables, and over-studied seventh years sat, zombie-like, as they picked aimlessly at their food. Some teachers sat at the head table, including Umbridge, who gave Harry a simpering smile over her scrambled eggs. 

All was quiet. 

That did not last. 

With the force of a battering ram, Professor McGonagall threw open the doors of the Great Hall. Tonks and Kingsley, in official auror robes, flanked her. “Dolores Umbridge,” Kingsley called, “you are under arrest.”

Umbridge looked askance at the aurors and cleared her throat. “ Hem, hem, surely there is some mistake. I am within compliance of all ministry statutes.”

“You are under arrest for the use of a dark artifact–a blood quill–on a student as a punishment device,” Tonks stated, raising her voice so that it reached the ears of every curious onlooker in the room. The aurors approached the head table, where Umbridge had stood from her seat with her arms folded. 

“Blood quills are not dark artifacts!” Umbridge scoffed. “They are used in official communications–”

“To sign documents, not torture students, you insufferable dimwit!” McGonagall roared, drawing her wand and pointing it between Umbridge’s eyes. Tonks and Kingsley circled around the table. 

“Come with us easily and quietly, Dolores,” Kingsley ordered. “Don’t make a scene in front of the students.”

Harry very much hoped she would make a scene. 

“When the Minister hears about this–”

“The Minister has been notified and is being debriefed in the auror office as we speak. You are to be detained for questioning.”

Umbridge reached for her stubby wand but she wasn’t nearly quick enough. Tonks and Kingsley sent out two body bind spells. Umbridge was thrown forcefully from the head table and bound head to foot in ropes. Tonks levitated the bound woman in front of her. With the tiniest wink in Harry’s direction, Tonks flicked her wand, sending Umbridge soaring toward the rafters like a bulbous, pink balloon. Umbridge screeched, “Let me down! You have no authority!”

Tonks lowered Umbridge toward the house tables before flicking her upward again. 

Umbridge screeched, “Cease this at once, you mutant human! Auror brutality!”

“My apologies, Professor,” Tonks deadpanned, descending Umbridge so that the teacher’s toes just scraped the ground. “I overestimated how much effort this spell would require to make your big head float.”

“When your superior hears about this–”

“I am her superior,” Kingsley stated, his lips twitching as he repressed a smile. “And I see no brutality here. All I see is an auror doing her job.”

Harry grinned so hard his cheeks hurt as Umbridge was escorted out the Great Hall and onto the grounds, bobbing ahead of the aurors like a ball of discarded cotton candy. Hermione was practically cackling with glee. Ron, however, looked at Harry in shock. “She did that? She made you write with a blood quill?”

Harry was about to answer in the affirmative, when a voice called, “Potter, Weasley, Granger, my office,” McGonagall ordered. 

With a shrug, Harry followed the deputy headmistress to her office, Ron and Hermione close behind. They crowded into the room, and McGonagall shut the door. She applied a Silencing charm, scarcely repressing a smile. “That was a beautiful way to start a Saturday morning. Tonks and Kingsley will be back to get your statement. I’m assuming you followed Black’s instructions and did not heal the wound?”

Harry shook back his sleeve and held his hand up to the light. “Yep. Still here.”

McGonagall nodded, though her eyes hardened at the words etched in Harry’s skin. “Please wait here for the aurors.” She swept from the room, pulling the door shut firmly behind her. 

Harry pulled out his mirror and cast muffliato at the door with his wand. “Sirius, did you hear it?” he asked. 

He was answered by Sirius’s gleeful face. “What was the banshee screaming about?”

Harry summarized Umbridge’s promotion to bulbous, pink balloon, his words punctuated with Sirius’s laughter. “I wish Moony were here. He would have loved this,” Sirius said in satisfaction.

“Where is he?” Hermione asked. 

“Combing through books in the Black library on Order business,” Sirius answered promptly, though Harry noticed that Sirius didn’t quite meet their eyes as he said the words. Harry’s eyebrows drew into a slight frown. 

Ron didn’t notice the discomfiture. “What will happen to her?” he asked. “Ten years in Azkaban sounds about right for using a dark artifact on a minor.”

“That’s probably a bit too much,” Hermione responded. “Maybe a year or two is more realistic.”

“I say they just give her a taste of her own medicine–lock her in with a werewolf on the full moon,” Harry responded savagely. “I’ll volunteer.”

From the mirror, Sirius snorted. “Since a werewolf attack is hardly an ethical punishment, you’ll need to reign in the bloodlust, Harry. Frankly, prison time isn’t likely, either.”

“What?” Hermione demanded. “The law explicitly states–”

“Yes,” Sirius agreed, overriding her words with his palms in the air. “In a ministry that follows the law, Umbridge would be handed over to the dementors before lunch. But Umbridge is junior undersecretary to Fudge. They aren’t about to chuck her in Azkaban.”

“What was it all for, then?” Harry demanded hotly.

“I didn’t say there would be no consequences, pup. Minnie wrote anonymously to the Prophet this morning. Fudge is going to have a media firestorm on his hands. He won’t be able to cover this up. He will have to publicly denounce her actions, which harms the two things that matter most to Umbridge: her status and her relationship to Fudge. On top of that, the aurors will press charges, even if that is reduced to a lesser charge by the Wizengamot. Trust me. Umbridge is not getting off.”

Harry put up a hand to stop Sirius’s words, his head turned sideways. Soft footfalls–muffled by his own muffliato charm–approached the door. “Aurors are here. Bye, Sirius.”

Harry shoved the mirror into his pocket as the door opened and Tonks and Kingsley entered the room, followed by a wiry man with thin spectacles. Harry opened his mouth to greet them, but Tonks shook her head incrementally and Harry adopted what he hoped was a curious–but ignorant–expression. 

The wiry man spoke. “I am William Feeble, auror recorder. A recorder is necessary for any interrogation between aurors and civilians. I will be using an enchanted quill and provide witness for what is being said today. The quill writes what is spoken, nothing more, nothing less. The aurors that will be questioning you are Kingsley Shaklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.”

Harry nodded, his stomach twisting with nerves. Despite the joy he had felt at breakfast, Harry was suddenly aware of how serious it all was. He was a victim . Umbridge had committed a crime against him. He felt tainted, and an involuntary shudder ran down his spine. Hermione reached forward and gave his trembling hand a squeeze.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about, Mr. Potter,” Kingsley said as he and Tonks sat in wooden chairs across from the trio. “We are just going to ask you a few questions about your detention last night, and I want you to answer honestly, okay?”

At Harry’s nod, Tonks began. “What were you doing around eight o’clock yesterday evening?”

“I was in detention with Professor Umbridge.”

“And what did this detention entail?”

“She told me to write ‘I will not disrupt Professor Umbridge’s class.’”

“And did you use your own supplies for these lines?”

“No. I had to use one of her quills, and she didn’t give me ink.”

“What happened when she didn’t give you ink?”

“She told me just to write. I started writing, and the words appeared like it would if the quill was full of ink, but–” Harry cast his eyes down. Though he couldn’t describe why, he felt guilty, as if it was his fault. 

“What happened next, Harry?” Kingsley prodded gently. 

“The ink was red, and the top of my hand hurt a bit. The words were on my skin as I wrote. I th-think I wrote with my own blood.”

“How long did Umbridge require you to write with this quill?”

“I was excused around eleven, I think.”

The scribe–Wiliam Feeble–gasped audibly. “You had to write lines with a blood quill for three hours ?” 

Harry nodded. 

“Harry, could you please show us the injury to your right hand? We will take a photograph for evidence.”

Harry lay his hand still on the table, the garish words bright against his pale skin. The scribe took several pictures with a camera not dissimilar to Colin Creevey’s. Once the images and the scribe’s notes were carefully tucked away in the man’s briefcase, Kingsley spoke, “Please obtain medical care for your hand, Harry.” His eyes softened. “Do not feel guilty about what has happened today,” he added, as if he had read Harry’s earlier thoughts. “No part of this was your fault.”

Harry nodded stiffly. They were excused, so the trio left the office and reported to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey treated his wound with a murtlap-soaked bandage, muttering about incompetent Defense teachers the entire time: (“If only we could have Lupin back. He at least knew his remedies and wasn’t an utter imbecile!”)

With Umbridge out of the castle, Harry spent an enjoyable time in the air practicing Keeping with Ron. Quidditch results had not yet been posted, but Harry was pleased with how Ron’s rather rudimentary skills had been developing. “If not this year then next, for sure,” Harry said when Ron anxiously wondered about the results and if his performance had been good enough.

Though his horrific last full moon was a full two weeks behind him, Harry felt his stamina begin to wane after a few hours. The sun was setting, and the other Weasley siblings were approaching the pitch with broomsticks in hand. “Sorry, mate,” Harry apologized. “I just don’t have the energy I used to after the 29th. Can you practice with your sibs for a while?”

Ron nodded. “Sure. Sorry you’re still poorly.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s better now than last week. At least now I don’t have to worry about bleeding through my robes.” Harry missed Ron’s look of shock and pity as he steered his Firebolt toward the ground. He landed near Hermione, who had spent the last few hours comfortably on the ground with a book open on her lap. 

“What are you working on?” Harry asked. 

“Researching the various effects of salamander bile to see if it would be an adequate substitute for an ingredient in Wolfsbane.” 

Harry gave her a half-smile. “I wish Wolfsbane worked on me,” he admitted. “I’m glad you’re doing this, though. It’s really important for other werewolves.”

Hermione’s chocolate eyes looked deeply into his. The sun shone through her mass of curls, highlighting the freckles across her nose. Harry resisted the urge to kiss her in front of the Weasley siblings. “My goal is to make something that works for you, too,” she said. “Perhaps one of these substitutions will work on Albion.”

Harry’s lips turned to a genuine smile. “That’s wonderful, Hermione. Thank you.” He offered her his hand and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Care for a walk around the lake with me?”

Hermione accepted, and they strode toward the lake. Harry threaded his fingers through her hand the moment they were alone. She leaned contentedly against his shoulder. It all felt so right, to be like this. Harry had always thought that having a girlfriend would be a bit awkward–that he would have to be on his best behavior to avoid making a fool of himself. It wasn’t that way with Hermione–she had already seen the worst of him (not the least being the aftereffects of the last full moon) and was here anyway. 

It was a beautiful thing. 

As the sun descended, Harry directed Hermione toward a marshy bank with a large, flat rock protruding from the mud. The area was entirely enclosed with cattails, providing a small amount of privacy. Harry cupped his fingers against her cheek and stepped closer, the air thick with anticipation. Hermione tilted her head slightly and closed her eyes. Harry was about to place his lips against hers when the mirror in his pocket buzzed. Harry groaned and stepped back. “Sirius,” he explained in response to Hermione’s questioning glance. 

Harry sat on the rock and removed the mirror. Hermione took a seat next to him, casting the muffliato spell with a quick wave of her wand. 

The moment Harry answered, he was met with Sirius’s grinning face. “Did either of you see The Evening Prophet ?”

They shook their heads. 

“Umbridge received her sentencing and has issued a public apology.”

“That’s all she got?” Harry demanded. “An apology?!”

“No, the apology is to save face with her beloved Minister. Umbridge has to pay 25,000 galleons in fines to Hogwarts and is prohibited from meeting one-on-one with any students.”

 His words were met with silence. “That’s rather . . . anticlimactic,” Hermione said with a frown. 

Sirius kept grinning despite their disappointment. “Except that it’s not. With Dumbledore’s full support, Minnie is using the 25,000 galleons as a fund for future lycanthropic students. Werewolf kids raised in packs have no money, so this fund will allow them to pay for their supplies and provide them with monthly access to Wolfsbane. Umbridge is single-handedly supporting werewolves’ future attendance at the school. And, the second punishment is perfect for you, Harry. If she can’t meet one-on-one with students, she is going to have a very difficult time sniffing out the Hogwarts werewolf. This is the best possible thing that could have happened.”

Chapter Text

Professor Dolores Umbridge did not take kindly to her punishment. She stalked around the castle in a foul temper the week following her return, punishing unsuspecting first years for the smallest infractions. Her classes continued to be full of silent, worthless boredom. Harry, for his part, kept his head down and appeared to be a model student. Hermione had learned a nifty little charm that allowed them to send messages to each other on scraps of parchment. The messages faded after a few seconds, making them virtually impossible to detect if a teacher were to confiscate the paper. To Umbridge’s beady eyes, the two Gryffindors were merely taking notes, though there wasn’t anything further from the truth. 

On a blustery Tuesday ten days after Umbridge’s arrest, Hermione wrote on her parchment, her neat script appearing on the edge of Harry’s parchment. How are you feeling?

Dipping his quill in ink, Harry hunched over his parchment. As well as could be expected. 

His words faded, Hermione’s taking their place almost immediately. After class, meet me in that empty classroom on the third floor across the hall from the portrait of the ballerina trolls. Bring Ron. 

Frowning from the cryptic message, Harry replied. Bad news?

He saw Hermione shrug out of the corner of her eye, though the movement looked forced and a frown peaked between her eyebrows. Harry restlessly fidgeted through the final twenty minutes of Defense. He moved his head side to side and rubbed the base of his neck. The pull of the full moon was starting to seep into his bones, and each scrape of a quill on parchment grated against his sensitive hearing. Feeling eyes upon him, he looked up to see Umbridge peering carefully at him. “Everything all right, Mr. Potter?”

Harry grit his teeth against the pounding in his skull. “Just fine, Professor Umbridge.”

She gave him a simpering smile and turned back to the work on her desk. As soon as the hour was over, Harry thrust his supplies into his bookbag and exited without a backward glance. Ron was ahead of him, following the other Gryffindors toward the Great Hall for lunch. Harry tugged at his sleeve and gestured with his head. Though Ron gave him a quizzical look, he followed Harry to the third floor, where Hermione was already waiting, wringing her hands together.

The moment they entered the room, Hermione shut the door and applied a Silencing charm. Her face was pale. “I think Umbridge is onto us.”

“About?” Ron asked. 

“The Hogwarts werewolf.” Hermione sighed and looked at Harry with sorrowful brown eyes. “I am so, so sorry Harry. It’s all my fault.”

Though his heart dropped with fear, he placed an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “What happened, Hermione?”

“I-I was looking up substitutes for aconite and silver for the wolfsbane in the library with some of the restricted potions books McGonagall approved me to use. Umbridge came in and watched me for a while. She couldn’t approach me because that would violate the one-on-one student rule, but when I left, I doubled back to see what she would do, and she pulled the books from the shelves and used some sort of charm to reveal the pages I was looking at. Harry, she knows I was researching wolfsbane. Umbridge then went up to Madam Prince and asked if Harry Potter had been viewing any similar texts. She's going to find out, and it’s all my fault!”

“She won’t find out,” Ron insisted. His jaw was tight and he crossed his arms resolutely. “You can look at whatever book you want, Hermione. It means nothing.”

“It’s a piece to the puzzle. A small piece, yes, but a piece nevertheless,” Hermione insisted. 

“Then we make it impossible for her to put the puzzle together,” Ron stated. “Like chess. You hide your moves until it’s too late for your opponent to do anything about it.”

“That’s clever, Ron,” Hermione said with an impressed tone. 

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron responded, giving her a smile. 

Harry fought the wolfish upswing of jealousy. He’s your best mate, he chided himself. That’s even more ridiculous than Neville.

Hermione walked to the windows of the empty classroom and looked out at the grounds. Even now, in the daytime, the almost full moon was visible in the sky. “The full moon is in three days. Thankfully, it falls over the weekend, so Umbridge won’t be able to see who is missing classes the next day. But she could still find out if anyone was missing in the dorms. Filch has been Umbridge’s go-to ever since the sentencing. He would be aware of anyone in the hallways.”

“I’ll use the cloak, Hermione. I’m not worried about Filch.”

“There are also charms on the dorms. According to Hogwarts, A History , there are spells that reveal if all students are in bed. That’s how the Heads of Houses keep an eye on things without entering the dorms. The spells do not show a specific dorm, but it will say whether it is the boys’ dorm or girls’ dorm that is missing students.”

“Then we need a decoy,” Ron observed. “Send her in the wrong direction somehow. Make it impossible for her to suspect Harry.”

“The only way that would work is if all Gryffindor boys are in their tower, and we are going to be one short,” Harry said.

Hermione wheeled around, her bright smile illuminating the room. “Harry, Ron, that’s it!”

“What?”

“We need to have someone in the place of Harry!”

“How would we–?”

“Polyjuice. We use polyjuice! I’ll polyjuice as Harry! Then no Gryffindor boys will be out of bed!”

Harry frowned. “Doesn’t that make her suspect the girls, though?”

“It won’t matter,” Hermione insisted. “None of us are the werewolf. Her suspicions won’t be founded because there won’t be any evidence to support her hypothesis. She’ll hit a brick wall.”

“Does ployjuice work with werewolves? You wouldn’t, you know, transform, would you?" Ron asked. 

“We’ll need to ask someone. Do you think we could mirror-call Lupin?”

Harry retrieved the mirror from his dorm while Ron and Hermione grabbed lunch from the Great Hall. They met near the lake, Ron and Hermione holding stacks of sandwiches. Harry took one gratefully, cast muffliato, and called into the mirror. “Remus? Sirius? Anyone there?”

Sirius answered immediately. “Everything okay?”

“Remus there? We have a question.”

Sirius walked into the living room where Remus was dosing fitfully, a large volume from the Black library open on his lap. Harry saw with a pang that he did not look well; deep, dark circles ringed his eyes, and several days’ worth of stubble graced his pale cheeks. Sirius roused him, and Remus took the mirror. 

Harry summarized Hermione’s concerns about Umbridge and the idea to use polyjuice. “Does polyjuice work on werewolves?”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “ Polyjuice takes the current appearance of the person–not the person’s abilities, or dark curse, in this case. For example, I could polyjuice into Sirius but it wouldn’t make me an Animagus. Likewise, if I tried to polyjuice into Sirius right before the full moon to stop the transformation, it wouldn’t work. Polyjuice changes the appearance, not the essence of who someone fundamentally is. I am fundamentally a werewolf, and therefore cannot stop the transformation at the full moon. Hermione is fundamentally human. She will remain human with Harry’s human appearance regardless of what the moon is doing.”

“Do you think it will work?” Hermione pressed. 

Sirius grinned. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. The only thing you can’t control is if another Gryffindor boy is out of bed, but I don’t think it will matter. If all Harry’s dormmates can verify that he was in the dorm, it disproves any suspicion Umbridge may have.”

“How do we get polyjuice?” Harry asked. “It takes a month to make. We don’t have that kind of time.”

“A month to make, and it doesn’t even taste good when you’re done. I don’t envy you, Hermione,” Ron added.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know how you three are aware of that information?”

The trio shook their heads emphatically while Sirius laughed. Between chortles, he said, “The Order keeps a supply of polyjuice. Explain the plan to Minnie. There’s an Order meeting tonight, and she can take some back with her.”

“We’ll do that.”

“Also, Harry,” Remus sighed and he exchanged a look with Sirius that Harry couldn’t quite place. “We're closer to understanding what is going on with your immunity to Wolfsbane, but it’s not something we can risk being overheard with a mirror call. We will fill you in after moonset. You have my word.”

Harry nodded, a chill creeping up his spine at the upcoming transformation and being under Albion’s control. 

Noticing Harry’s discomfiture, Remus said, “It’s going to be okay, Harry. Sirius and I will be with you the entire time.”

Harry swallowed tightly. Ron had dropped his gaze to his shoes, like he always did when discussion of Harry’s lycanthropy made him uncomfortable. 

Sirius watched Ron’s body language with a frown between his eyebrows. “We’ll mirror call after the Order meeting and iron out details for the full moon, all right, pup?”

“Alright” Harry ended the call and turned to Ron and Hermione. “Well, we have a plan, at least.”

“We should talk to Professor McGonagall after classes today so we don’t miss her this evening,” Hermione stated.

“You guys will need to go ahead,” Ron said. “I’m meeting up with Fred and George for some quidditch practice before the team practice tonight. I still can’t believe Angelina chose me. I wasn’t the best on the field–”

Harry raised a hand to stop Ron’s stammering. “It doesn’t matter that you weren’t the best. She chose you because she thought you would work well with the team. The extra practices will help. Don’t let your own head talk you out of this.”

Ron squared his shoulders resolutely. “Thanks, Harry. See you at practice, yeah?”

Inwardly, Harry quailed at the thought of being airborne playing a highly combative sport when his every muscle and joint screamed with preparatory agony. All he wanted to do was take a hot shower and sleep. “Of course, mate,” Harry responded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

As one, they headed back toward the castle. Harry’s steps were heavy, though he tried to hide it from Hermione’s astute gaze. Harry and Ron ascended the steps to the Divination classroom. They were late; much of the class had gone ahead of them. Though they tried to hurry, Harry had to stop on the second landing and breathe deeply. He gripped the railing tightly, his hands shaking. Ron stopped next to him. “Is it . . . always going to be this bad?” he asked tentatively.

Harry shrugged. He felt helpless and stupid; he didn’t want Ron to witness this weakness, especially since he looked so horribly uncomfortable about the subject. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Ron reluctantly ascended the stairs, and Harry pressed his warm forehead against the cool glass of the upper window. He closed his eyes, wishing intensely for his four-poster. 

What he wouldn’t do to be able to sleep. 

“Alright, Harry?”

Neville had ascended the stairs and was looking at Harry with concern. Harry gave a weak shrug. There was no use denying it; surely he looked as badly as he felt. “Been better,” he answered. 

“Do you, uh, need anything?” Neville asked.

Harry shook his head, though he stopped with a flinch when the motion increased the pounding in his skull. “J-just tell Trelawney I’ll be there. Not feeling well.”

After Neville’s steps ascended up the remainder of the staircase, Harry pushed himself away from the wall and clung to the railing as he ascended the steps to Trelawney’s attic classroom.

Harry didn’t remember much of Divination. Once or twice he felt Ron’s elbow in his ribs as he drifted off. After class, Harry staggered down the stairs at the back of the pack. 

He bade Ron goodbye on the third floor. Ron headed back to the dorm for his quidditch gear as Hermione approached Harry, tucking her arithmancy book in her backpack. 

They found McGonagall in her office. As they explained the situation, the head’s jaw was set with anger. As they finished, she gave the teens a curt nod and looked at Harry levelly. “You must be vigilant, Potter. Try to hide your symptoms as much as possible. I will cover for you as much as I can, but Umbridge is vying to redeem herself by any means necessary. She will be even more tenacious than usual.”

The words twisted Harry’s stomach. He knew he looked ill. He knew he was a dead giveaway with the scars on his face and the ache in his bones. But McGonagall was here to help him, so was Hermione, Remus, and Sirius. “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

McGonagall eyed him with a soft expression. “I know you will, Potter. I will ensure that we have enough polyjuice potion for the night of the full moon. Miss Granger, the potion only lasts one hour, so you will need to drink additional doses throughout the night.”

Harry and Hermione tried to act like this information was new to them.

The plan set, Harry and Hermione walked down to dinner together. Below his feet, crowds of students gathered amid the sound of scraping cutlery and clinking goblets. Harry brushed his hand against Hermione’s knuckles as they walked.

Not ready to join the cacophony of the Great Hall, Harry placed a hand on Hermione’s wrist and guided her to a vacant corridor. “Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly, turning her toward him. 

Hermione nodded. “It’s the least I can do. I spend my evenings with the curtains closed around my bed anyway. Pavati and Lavender will never notice I’m gone.”

Harry felt a pang of sadness. “That sounds lonely.”

“Well, it’s Lavender and Pavarti,” Hermione scoffed. “There’s not a lot of substance there.”

“Hermione–”

“I know. That’s cruel.” Hermione stepped to the window and gazed out over the forest, tracing an absent finger on the sill. “Am I odd, Harry?” she asked suddenly. 

Harry was taken aback. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

Hermione hugged her arms across herself. She suddenly seemed vulnerable–a trait so out of place when it comes to Hermione Granger. “I-I’m not like my dormmates, Harry. I don’t gossip, read Witch Weekly , or crush over wizards who won the most charming smile award. I just–”

She was interrupted by Harry’s laugh. “Hermione, you may not do the first two, but you absolutely did the last one. Remember Lockhart?”

Hermione smacked him lightly on the arm, then sobered. “I guess I never really fit in anywhere, you know? I didn’t have any friends in primary school. I met Neville on the train, and even though he isn’t one of my best friends, I do like him well enough. He was my first friend, really.”

“Ron and I were too busy being prats to notice,” Harry finished awkwardly. 

Hermione shrugged. “We were eleven. Eleven year-olds are pretty stupid. I just find it strange that my only friends have been guys. Even Victor. Isn’t that odd? That I don’t have any friends who are girls?”

Harry pondered. “What about Ginny?”

Hermione shrugged. “We get along all right, but she’s pretty popular with her own friends. Honestly, I don’t think being a prefect helps, either. Lavender and Pavarti think I’m going to bust them for the perfume they snuck in.”

“What’s wrong with their perfume?”

“It has an attraction spell on it. It was charmed poorly, though, so I didn’t worry about it. Any boys that get close enough will only get a ringing in their ears.”

“I really hate the idea of love potions and charms,” Harry admitted. “The idea that a perfume could make it so that my thoughts aren’t my own . . . that they’ve been manipulated . . . that I wouldn’t know which emotions are mine or the effect of something else . . .”

“It hits close to home,” Hermione finished. “I never thought about it like that.” She bit her lip and cast her eyes to her black shoes. “Do you ever worry about your feelings for me–what we have between us–if it’s influenced by the wolf? Albion said something about my scent. Do you-do you think you only like–”

“No,” Harry insisted. He cupped a hand along her jaw, drawing her gaze upward. “It’s not a lie. Your scent is intoxicating, but I like you for you, Hermione. Not for your scent. We’ve been through a lot together. I just never realized what my feelings were until recently.”

With a quick glance down the vacant corridor, Harry wrapped his arms around her. Their lips met, and it wasn’t the brush of a kiss of their first. Now Harry had time to feel his lips against hers and how her nose nestled against the hollow of his cheek–

“Oi! What are you guys doing?” Ron’s voice shouted from the end of the corridor. Harry and Hermione lurched apart, both flushing. Ron approached them, broomstick in hand, his mouth working wordlessly as he gaped between his two best friends. “What? How? When?”

“Ron, mate, it’s fine,” Harry said quickly. “We were just–”

“I know exactly what you were doing, but why ?” Ron demanded.

Hermione’s brows drew together in anger, and she folded her arms. “You don’t think I would want to kiss Harry?” she snapped. “Harry is just as kissable as any other boy in this castle. Or is it that you don’t think Harry would want to kiss me ? That I’m not pretty enough?”

Ron gaped at her. “That’s not– I don’t–”

Hermione turned away from Ron, gathering her backpack from the cold flagstones and tossing it over one shoulder. Harry could hear her quickened pulse and his heart sank as she turned the corner and released a muffled sob. 

Ron had the decency to look abashed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t–I was just shocked, I guess.”

Harry shrugged, though he fought against anger toward Ron. Harry ran his hand through his hair and over his face. “We probably should have told you,” he admitted. 

“How long?”

“Since the soul travel.”

Ron turned away without a response. Harry stared after him, noting the stiff set of the redhead’s shoulders.  

__

Harry never thought he would say it, but he really wanted quidditch to be over. A light drizzle had coated the grounds in freezing rain, and the wind snapped through Harry’s robes, sending sharp pain through his already aching muscles. Even with his werewolf senses, finding the snitch in his poor state was nearly impossible. 

He kept an eye out for Ron’s performance and was dismayed to see that he wasn’t doing much better. Walking in on Harry and Hermione kissing probably didn’t do anything to improve his psyche. Harry hadn’t spoken to him since the incident, and he was baffled to know what else to say. Surely he could date whomever he chose, couldn’t he? Or had he violated some unspoken best friend code?

After two hours of practice, Angelina finally called it a night. She assembled everyone in the locker room, and Harry could tell from her increased heart rate that she was not pleased. “What is with everyone today? We’ve got to get this together! You’re playing like a bunch of Hufflepuffs!”

“C’mon, Ang, that’s offensive to the Hufflepuffs,” Fred said in an effort to lighten the mood. “They have a couple ok players this year.”

Angelina’s eyes tightened with anger. “With our performance, they could be a team of first-years and we would still lose.”

Harry leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as Angelina’s voice pounded through his skull. Oh, how much he just wanted to sleep.

“And, Potter,” she rounded on him. “What's with your flying today? I saw the snitch before you did, and I wasn’t even looking for it!”  

Harry tried to fight the temptation to release the wolf in a pre-moon spat of emotion, but he was too ill to care. He opened his mouth to tell Angelina exactly where she could put the snitch when George spoke. 

“Angelina, lay off him.” He was studying Harry’s face with concern, and his eyes flickered to the almost full moon overhead. “We all have bad days.”

She wouldn’t be cowed. “Bad day or not, we leave it behind and focus on the game!”

“Then find a new Seeker,” Harry growled.

There was a heavy pause. Angelina took a step back, studying his face. She seemed to realize–perhaps for the first time–how horrible he looked. “What’s going on, Harry?” she asked softly. 

Harry hesitated, then chose a half-truth. “The accident over the summer–” he gestured to his face, “--isn’t healing like it’s supposed to. Pomfrey says my white and red blood cell counts are down and nothing seems to be raising them. It makes me tired, and I feel sick all the time. Some days are better than others, and today is not great. But I can’t promise it’ll get better. If I can’t make this team win, find another Seeker.”

Angelina sighed and sat next to Fred on the bench. “I don’t want to lose you as a Seeker, Harry.”

“I can’t do what I need to do right now,” Harry argued, though the disappointment of losing his position only contributed to his misery. “You need someone who can do this properly.”

“Harry isn’t the only person on this team,” Katie interjected. “We’ve put too much on him. We can do this, but we need the best Chasers, Keeper, and Beaters Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Her words were greeted by enthusiastic nods, though Ron looked even paler than Harry.

“You can do this, Ron,” Alicia added. “Stop psyching yourself out after a minor mistake. We’ll need everyone to pull through. Do it for Harry.”

Ron’s eyes scanned Harry’s sunken pallor and shaking hands. Harry wondered if he was still angry about the kiss and wouldn’t respond, but Ron squared his shoulders and looked resolutely at the rest of the team. “Let’s do this, then.”

Chapter Text

Remus stretched and forced himself to stay alert as he drank his fourth cup of black coffee. Usually he preferred hot chocolate, but its tiny caffeine content would not do tonight. He had spent a restless week combing through tomes about horcruxes in the Black library, and he now knew more than he ever cared to know about the dark magic. He knew how horcruxes were created. He knew the names of all the infamous wizards who had done so. He knew how to destroy both a vessel and the horcrux inside. 

But nothing, nothing told him how to extract a horcrux from a living being. 

It couldn’t be done, the texts said. 

The vessel had to be destroyed. 

That was the end of it. 

Remus had hoped that–when he told Harry the truth–he would be able to reveal a grand plan with the steps they’d take to eradicate the soul fragment. But Remus was no closer to that knowledge than he had been the night he learned about the horcrux. Remus’s heart constricted at the thought that the green-eyed youth was fated to die, that there was nothing Remus could do as Harry's guardian to secure his safety. 

Remus’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy boots against hardwood as Tonks stumbled into the kitchen and collapsed next to him. Between long auror shifts and Order duties, he knew she had been awake over twenty-four continuous hours. Tonks took Remus’s mug from his hands and drained the contents in two gulps. She gave him a shy smile over his empty mug. “Sorry. I’m beat.”

He squeezed her hand under the table and laced his fingers through hers. He inhaled her scent, relishing in the way it acted as a balm to his pre-moon aches. “You can steal my coffee everyday for the rest of our lives, if you want,” he murmured.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and nestled her head against his shoulder. With a mischievous grin, she placed a hand on his chest, batted her eyelids, and adopted the tone of a protagonist in a Jane Austen novel. “Why, is that a proposal, Remus Lupin? My heart’s all a flutter.”

Remus rolled his eyes, though his heart pounded against his rib cage. Yes, it had only been a few weeks–an indescribably short time to be making life-changing decisions with the woman next to him, even in jest. Indeed, he had only met her six months ago when Moody had brought her to the first official Order meeting.  

But he couldn’t deny how he felt. He wanted to marry this woman, and the prospect created a combination of thrill and terror that Remus couldn’t even begin to vocalize. 

Tonks squeezed his fingers. “My parents are asking me to bring you to dinner,” she said tentatively. 

If Remus had had any more coffee, he would have choked on it. “You told them about us?” he asked guardedly. Though he had never personally spoken to them, Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks had been head boy and girl when Remus first arrived at Hogwarts. The age gap between him and Tonks, usually such a small consideration in light of his larger concerns, now felt like an impassable chasm. He was only six years younger than her parents! 

Tonks chose her words carefully as she studied his face. “Mum wanted to set me up with the son of one of her bridge friends, and I wasn’t having it. She may have disgraced the family when she married my dad, but she’s a Slytherin through-and-through. She weaseled it out of me that I had met someone.” Tonks bit her lip. “She, uh, also seemed to infer that I didn’t know if they would approve.”

The elation he had felt over their joking proposal deflated as reality crashed in. He placed himself in Ted Tonks’s shoes, imagining his twenty-four-year-old daughter bringing home a man thirteen years her senior. He then imagined Tonks explaining that yes, Remus Lupin was the werewolf teacher that was horribly disgraced on the front page of the Daily Prophet . No, Remus Lupin didn’t have a job. No, he had no way to provide for her. No, he didn’t–

“Remus, you’re spiraling,” Tonks said softly.

“I didn’t say anything,” he muttered. 

“No, but it’s all over your face. We don’t have to do it right away. Let’s get the full moon behind us, and then–”

Remus shook his head. “This isn’t going to work. There is no way they will support this.” He moved to remove his fingers from Tonks’s, but she redoubled her grip. 

“My mother gave up the Black fortune for love. She gave up her family. If she doesn’t understand this, no one will,” Tonks stated emphatically.

“And if she doesn’t?”

“I know what I want,” Tonks replied. She pressed her lips against his. 

Remus ended the contact, gesturing with his head towards the stairs and mouthing the word “Molly.” Mrs. Weasley came into the kitchen with a platter of desserts for the meeting. Her eyes swept across the couple, and Remus detected something a bit too knowing behind her pupils. She beamed as she handed them two brownies. 

“Thanks, Molly. Chocolate desserts are my favorite,” Tonks replied with a wink in Remus’s direction. 

Remus fought the flush on his face as he remembered their first kiss. It was no use; he felt his cheeks heat up as he studied the worn tabletop. 

Molly looked between the two with a raised eyebrow. “Well, dears, I won’t pry into your personal affairs. To each their own.” 

Remus flushed even more deeply as Molly swept out of the room. Next to him, Tonks was shaking with silent laughter. He groaned. “Great. Now Molly thinks–”

“It’s not my fault that a simple kiss makes you blush like a third year getting a peck on the cheek.”

Remus studiously avoided looking at Molly Weasley as the Order members gathered and Dumbledore began the meeting. 

“Mundungus, please go first. What he has overheard must be addressed within the next two days.”

Mundungus stood, and Remus fought the temptation to plug his nose as the unbathed man’s smell swept over him. “Greyback is going to attack a village in Kent.”

Remus’s head jerked up as shocked silence descended among the Order members. “How do you know this?” he demanded. 

“Overheard rumors at a pub. Greyback wants the village because–”

“It has the only wizarding orphanage in the area,” Remus finished. 

Sirius’s eyes were mutinous. “What does he want with kids?” he demanded. 

“He’s raising an army,” Remus speculated. “Even young and juvenile werewolves are incredibly dangerous on the full moon. And young children are easier to convince and accept him as the Alpha.”

“Then we have to protect them,” Tonks stated. “We need to set wards and make sure nothing gets past our boundary. We kill on sight if we need to.” The final sentence was spoken quietly, and Tonks shot a guilty look at Remus. Remus squeezed her hand comfortingly in response. 

“Aye, lass,” Mad-Eye agreed. 

“Greyback has been taking over the gentle packs. He will have a formidable group with him. This is a show of force, and it’s going to be a bloodbath. Without interference, Greyback will turn the kids and kill the adults. It’s going to take everyone we can spare to secure the village,” Remus stated grimly. 

“That’s right! A werewolf on’r side!” Mundungus said, punching the air with his fist. 

Remus raised a disdainful eyebrow. “Do you really want to watch me kill one of my own kind, Mundungus? I won’t be able to cast spells. The only use I will have is if they get close enough for claws or teeth.”

“Remus stays with Harry,” Sirius interjected, crossing his arms decisively. “He is Harry’s guardian. He'll be able to calm Harry’s wolf and render medical aid. I’ll go protect the village.”

Kingsley looked at Sirius. “That’s an incredible risk. If anyone at the village recognizes you–”

“If I don’t go, no one will be left alive to recognize me. We will need every person, and if the wolves break through, I’m in the least danger due to my animagus form.”

“Sirius comes, if he so chooses,” Dumbledore decided. “Minerva, Severus, can you be spared?” 

“If I can get away without Umbridge’s notice, I will be there,” McGonagall said, her face set in determination. 

“I have other things to do than get cozy with werewolves on the full moon, Headmaster.” Snape’s comments were directed toward Dumbledore, but his eyes swept over Tonks, who was sitting closer to Remus than technically necessary. Remus felt a surge of anger from his wolf but fought to tap it down. 

Dumbledore turned from Snape without comment. He got affirmations from all the other Order members. Even Molly Weasley, who had previously stayed aloof from the fighting, put in her pledge to come. 

“Molly, are you sure?” Arthur asked quietly, worry lacing his tone. 

“These are children , Arthur,” Molly stated emphatically. “We need to protect the children. No one else should go through what Remus and Harry go through.”

The meeting concluded, and the Order members dispersed. Remus watched McGonagall ladle a generous portion of polyjuice into a hip flask before she, too, disappeared into the night.

Sirius and Remus flooed to the cottage and mirror-called Harry. He woke after about a minute, his hair even messier than usual. “Meeting o-o-over?” he asked through a yawn. 

“Yep, and we have something to discuss with you.” Sirius explained Greyback’s plan. Rather guiltily, he added, “I need to go with them, pup–”

“Of course you do,” Harry interrupted. “You need to protect the Order and help the kids. I’m not mad about it. I-I’ll see you both after moonset.”

“I’m not going, Harry. I will be with you,” Remus clarified. 

The obvious relief shone on Harry's face, though he hesitated and asked, “Won’t the Order need you, too?”

“The place where I'm most needed now is with you," Remus insisted. "It’s my job as your guardian to protect you, and I can’t do that if you're tearing yourself apart in the basement while I'm hundreds of kilometers away. I’ll stay with you and try to entertain Albion–just like how your father entertained Moony at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded gratefully. He looked troubled after a moment, though, biting his upper lip in much the same way James would do when confronted about a difficult problem. 

“What is it, Harry?” Remus pressed. 

Harry shrugged. “It’s nothing serious, really. It's not like the other stuff we deal with.”

“You can still tell us, Harry, if you want to.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and settled into his pillows. “I, uh, kissed Hermione–”

Sirius whooped. “Yes! I was hoping you’d come around!”

“And?” Remus prompted. 

Harry detailed Ron’s sudden arrival. “I just don’t get why he was mad. Is it some kind of rule that you can’t date your best friend?”

Remus and Sirius shared a look. “Harry, do you think Ron has feelings for Hermione?” Sirius asked.

Harry laughed, stifling the sound with his hand, despite the silencing charm cast around his bed curtains. “No way! They fight all the time. That would be ridiculous.”

“Could he have just been caught off-guard? Seeing his two friends kissing would be quite startling,” Remus added fairly. 

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. We had quidditch practice later, and he seemed okay. I just don’t want things to be awkward, you know?”

“Maybe Ron is worried he will lose his two friends. The dynamic has shifted, and he isn’t sure what to make of it,” Remus speculated. 

“What do I do about it?” Harry asked, and Remus was struck by the fact that–hero or not–Harry was truly an insecure teenager at his core.

“Snog Hermione in Ron’s presence every chance you get–”

“Shut up, Sirius. Harry, do not take that advice. Just talk to Ron. Ask him how he’s feeling and what you can do to help.”

“He shouldn’t break up with Hermione just because Ron doesn’t like it,” Sirius argued. 

“No, that’s not what I'm saying,” Remus clarified. “A lot can be fixed with a simple conversation. Addressing it and asking Ron about his feelings tells Ron that his friendship is important, too.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Remus. I’ll do that. What's the plan for the full moon?”

“Minnie will have the floo in her office available at 4:00 that evening," Sirius answered. "Make sure you're not followed by anyone–including students. Take the cloak and a change of clothes and bring Hermione with you. She'll polyjuice into you in Minnie’s office and then change into your spare clothes. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded. “Think we can pull this off?”

“It’s a solid plan, Harry,” Remus reassured him. “Be diligent, and I'll see you at the cottage the evening after tomorrow. Everything will be just fine.”

Chapter Text

The next day was a blur. Ron joined Harry and Hermione in classes, though Harry found no opportunity to talk to him alone. A sense of awkwardness clouded the trio’s friendship, and it was like they no longer knew what to say to each other. Hermione looked like she wanted to say something, too; once or twice she would open her mouth, only to be shrugged off by Ron. 

To his credit, Ron carefully cut Harry’s roots for a pain-relieving potion, saving Harry from additional burns from the silver knife. As Harry took the roots from Ron with a murmured “Thank you,” he saw Neville out of the corner of his eye. Neville’s brows were drawn together in confusion as his eyes darted between Harry’s untouched knife and the roots now simmering in his cauldron. It wasn’t a group project, after all. Harry gave Neville a tight smile, trying to ignore his heart pounding against his ribs.  

Harry’s senses sharpened over the course of the day, and it was increasingly difficult to meditate his way through the cacophony. He staggered into Transfiguration and collapsed at his usual table with his head in his arms. Hermione sat next to him and placed a hand on his wrist. Her scent washed over him, sending clarity to his foggy brain. 

Ron sat next to them and asked hesitantly, “Is it . . . worse than yesterday?”

Harry nodded, then stopped the movement when it sent stabbing pain through his skull. “It always gets worse,” he mumbled. Then, finding no better moment, Harry added, “Look, Ron, about yesterday-”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Ron interjected, now looking even more uncomfortable. 

Professor McGonagall called the class to attention, and Ron resolutely turned away from Harry. Hermione gave Harry a comforting look and scooted closer to him on the bench. Her presence–if only for a moment–eased the pounding in his skull and his worries about Ron’s behavior. 

Angelina had called a quidditch practice that evening, so Harry changed in a private stall in the locker room, wincing with each movement. When he joined the team on the field, he was surprised to see an additional redhead standing next to the captain. 

“Ginny?” Harry asked. 

She gave him a smile, though it faltered as she took in his pallor. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” he admitted honestly. “What are you doing here?”

“She is our reserve Seeker,” Angelina explained. 

Harry nodded stiffly, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. So she had done it anyway–Angelina had replaced him.

“I’m not taking your place, Harry,” Ginny said quietly, as if she had read his thoughts. “I’m only here when you-you know-can’t be.”

“It’s nothing against you, Harry,” George added. “You’re still our star Seeker, but we don’t need you killing yourself out there.”

George's last words were spoken as if from a great distance. Harry shook his head to clear the fuzziness in his brain, but  his vision clouded and everything went black. 

When he opened his eyes, he was looking at the dusky sky above the quidditch pitch, the Weasley brothers’ anxious faces in his peripheral. “What happened?” Harry asked. 

“You passed out, mate,” Ron said. “Angelina went to get Madam Pomfrey.” 

Harry groaned. “Of course she did. Can you just tell Ang to have Ginny play today? I’m not up to it.”

“Harry, I’m glad you told us. There's no way we would’ve figured that out on our own,” Fred deadpanned. "You falling to the ground unresponsive is totally normal."

Madam Pomfrey approached, vials of potions trailing behind her. Had he not felt so poorly, Harry would have been embarrassed by all the fuss, but he just couldn’t muster the energy to care.

Madam Pomfrey said, “Give me some space with the patient. You are free to begin practice.”

“Ginny,” Harry said as the Weasley sister walked toward her school broom. “Use mine instead.”

Ginny gaped at Harry. “Are you sure?”

Harry nodded. “The least I can do is make sure you have a decent broom to use.”

Ginny took the Firebolt with something akin to reverence. “I’ll make sure to give it to back after practice. Thanks, Harry!” She mounted the broom flawlessly and took to the air, turning in several loop-the-loops. 

Madam Pomfrey muttered diagnostic spells and frowned at the results. “Your mental state hasn’t gotten much better, Potter,” she chided. 

“Hmmm, wonder why?” Harry quipped, grateful that his teammates had taken to the sky and were far out of hearing. “Nothing at all is going to happen in twenty-four hours.”

Madam Pomfrey suddenly straightened. “Mr. Longbottom, can I help you?” she called.

Neville walked into Harry’s field of vision. “I, uh, just wanted to check on Harry,” he mumbled, a hint of embarrassment gracing his cheeks. “I saw Angelina get you and just wanted to see if he was okay.”

“He is in good hands, Mr. Longbottom. Thank you for your concern, but I will take it from here.”

Neville nodded stiffly and walked back to the castle. Harry’s heart beat radically in his throat. How much had Neville overheard?

“I'm surprised you did not simply spend the day in the Hospital Wing,” Pomfrey continued. “Lupin never spent the day before the full moon in classes.”

“He didn’t?” Harry asked in surprise.

“No. He knew his limits by the middle of his first year, after a blackout episode in Charms very similar to what happened to you today." Her tone softened. "It’s okay to admit that your condition affects your abilities, Mr. Potter. There is no shame in something beyond your control.”

Harry sighed. “Do I need to spend the night in the Hospital Wing?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not really.”

“Then I will send you to your dorm with Pepper-up potion, pain reliever, and dreamless sleep. Take all three when you get up there. And no quidditch practice until I clear you after the full moon.”

Harry sighed again. He had assumed as much, but losing his quidditch privileges, for however brief a time it would be, was still painful. With a murmured thanks, Harry took the potions from Madam Pomfrey and staggered toward the castle.

Hermione met him on the grounds and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Neville found me and said something happened–”

“I passed out during practice, but I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry grunted. The idea that Neville was sharing what he had seen–even if only to Hermione–fed his wolfish temper and impatience.

Hermione studied his face, her eyes soft with understanding. “What do you need right now, Harry?”

“I just want to be alone,” he admitted. “It’s . . . a lot to handle right now, and I just need space.” He glanced guiltily at her. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, after all. 

Hermione squeezed his fingers. “Of course. Can I walk with you up to the tower or would you rather–?”

“Come, please.”

They walked up the staircase in companionable silence. Harry stopped to rest at the top of each floor, a shaking hand on his forehead. “I hate feeling this weak,” he admitted. 

“Maybe the potions Pomfrey gave you will help.”

Harry shrugged, though he didn’t voice his thoughts. The potions wouldn’t help, not really. After all, nothing stops moonrise when you’re a werewolf.

Harry left Hermione in the common room and ascended the stairs. He set the vials carefully on his bedside table and was about to change out of his quidditch robes when he heard a familiar tap, tap, tap on the windowsill. 

The wicked-looking owl stood outside, its wings moving to help it maintain altitude. After a brief hesitation, Harry eased the window open and untied the parchment from the owl’s leg. 

You shouldn’t be at a school with humans, the letter  read . You shouldn’t have to hide what you are. Join us and we can manage your premoon symptoms better than any human Healer ever could.

Harry set the parchment down with shaking fingers. He had promised himself that he would tell Sirius and Remus about the messages if the mysterious sender had tried to contact him again. He reached beneath his pillow, removing the first letter and his mirror. Harry opened his mouth to call Sirius but hesitated. The Order was deep in preparations to protect the village from Greyback’s attack. Any additional worries might draw his godfather’s focus away from the extremely dangerous mission. 

I will tell them after moonset, Harry decided. After all, a few pieces of parchment are not dangerous. It can wait until then.

Harry slept fitfully that night, his aching bones and nightmares about werewolves attacking kids interrupting his slumber. He awoke on Saturday–the day before the horror of the full moon–with a groan as cheerful sunlight spilled into the dormitory. 

“Everything all right, Harry?” a voice asked tentatively.

Harry looked up to see Neville eyeing him with concern. Harry was about to respond when nausea worked its way up his throat. He lurched to the bathroom and vomited spectacularly into the sink. After a moment, he rested his raging forehead against the cool glass and rinsed the sink out with water. 

A head peeked around the door. Neville’s kind face was drawn in worry, and he held a glass cup in his hand. “I have some mint from my plant in the corner. It’s supposed to curb nausea.”

Harry took the cup with shaking fingers. “Thanks. Is anyone else awake?”

“We’re the last ones in the dorm, actually. It’s quite late.”

Harry felt a pang of regret that Ron did not rouse him, but he forced himself not to think about it. Neville’s face swam before his vision, and he gripped the edge of the sink tightly. He took a sip of the water, and it had the same rejuvenating effect as Remus’s premoon tea, though it lacked the subtle lemon flavor.

“Harry, is there anything I can help you with?” Neville asked tentatively. “Do you need Madam Pomfrey?”

Harry shook his head, using the hem of his pajama shirt to mop the sweat from his brow. “Thanks, Neville, but I don’t–”

His words were interrupted by Neville’s sharp gasp. He was staring, horrified, at the six inches of skin Harry had unwittingly exposed around his navel. Three long scars from the last full moon extended across his belly button. “Harry, what happened?”

There was a heavy pause as Harry hiked his shirt back into place. “Look, Neville, it’s nothing. It’s just from the accident over the summer.”

“Those don’t look like old scars,” Neville observed in a quavering voice. “And they don’t look like they came from a car crash.”

Harry had never wanted to Obliviate anyone more than he did at that moment. “Neville, it’s nothing,” Harry repeated, begging him to understand, to trust in this impossible lie. “Trust me.”

“But I want to help–”

“You can’t help with this. There’s nothing you can do. I promise I have it under control.”  

Neville opened his mouth to argue, then reluctantly nodded. “Okay, Harry. D-do you want me to bring you up some breakfast?”

Harry shook his head. After all, none of the fully cooked meats served in the Great Hall would appeal to his appetite today. “No. I’m just going to shower and go back to sleep for a while.” 

Neville was gone from the dormitory when Harry returned from a shower. He collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. He should be doing homework; Snape would not give him an extension on his potions essay despite the upcoming full moon, but Harry couldn’t concentrate. He remained in bed in his pajamas, a pillow over his face to block out the bright sun.    

At two o’clock, Harry drug himself out of bed and forced himself to get dressed. The fabric chafed against his scars, which burned with a preparatory ache, and the original bite on his thigh throbbed horribly. He collapsed back on his pillows, disgusted with his weakness and the horrible power lycanthropy held over him. 

He met Hermione in the common room ten minutes before four. The weather must have been nice; the common room was empty, and the shouts of students on the grounds drifted through the open windows. 

Hermione hugged him fiercely, which he returned, despite the aching of his muscles. He vividly recalled the evening before his first full moon when she had hugged him in much the same way and he had felt a surprising urge to kiss her. This time, there was no hesitation as he placed his lips against hers. 

She broke the contact after a moment and took his hand. “Do you have the cloak?”

Harry nodded, throwing the cloak over both of them. They crept out of the common room and through the corridors before arriving at McGonagall’s office. Their head of house ushered them in at Hermione’s light knock. 

They removed the invisibility cloak and McGonagall studied Harry’s face. “How are you, Potter?”

“Never better,” he said sarcastically.

A ghost of a smile turned her lips as she handed Hermione a hip flask. “There is enough potion here to get through the evening and into the night, Ms. Granger. Please remember to take it promptly.”

Hermione nodded, taking the flask with shaking fingers.

“Unstopper it. Potter, please supply some hairs for the potion.”

Harry complied, and the potion turned a glittering gold. 

“One swallow will suffice, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione took the potion, pulling a face and gasping as the surface of her skin began to bubble. Her hair darkened and receded into her skull, and her eyes lightened. In moments, Harry was looking at a carbon copy of himself, scars and all. 

McGonagall conjured a screen, and Hermione changed into Harry’s spare clothes. Now identical to Harry, she moved around the screen and took a deep breath. “Good luck, Harry.”

“Good luck, Hermione.”

___

Hermione left McGonagall’s office and made it up to the boy’s dorm in Gryffindor Tower without incident. Harry’s stride was different from hers, so she found herself slightly stumbling on the steps as she ascended in his white sneakers. Harry’s hair fell into her eyes and she raked it back impatiently with her fingers. Honestly, his hair was worse than hers sometimes! 

She stumbled into the empty dorm and searched for Harry’s four-poster. She located his trunk and sat on the adjacent bed. The door to the dorm opened and a redhead emerged. “Harry?” Ron asked tentatively. 

Hermione shook her head minutely. 

“Can you silence the door?” Ron asked nervously. 

Raising her–not Harry’s–wand, Hermione complied. “What’s the matter?”

Ron took a deep breath, rubbing his palms on his knees. “I just . . . am concerned about you and Harry.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side. “The polyjuice? Ron, you know that Umbridge–”

“Not the polyjuice,” Ron dropped his gaze to his lap, then met her eyes. “The kissing. The-the relationship.”

Hermione blinked stupidly. “You’re concerned that I am kissing Harry?”

“Y-yeah.”

“And may I ask why that is?” Hermione’s (or was it Harry’s?) heart thudded in her chest. She had an inkling, a horrible inkling, about what would come out of Ron’s lips, and she hoped that she wasn’t correct.

Ron blushed but plowed forward. “I’m concerned that you don’t know what you’re doing being in a relationship with a werewolf.”

The statement hung heavily between them, and a rock dropped to Hermione’s stomach. So she was right. 

But never had she wished she could have been more wrong. 

“What don’t I understand, Ron?” she said through clenched teeth. 

“It’s dangerous!” Ron burst out. “You’re taking a risk every full moon. And then there was the soul traveling when his wolf side took over. What if Albion comes back?”

“Albion is locked away until the full moon. That’s how it is. I am in no more danger from Harry on a full moon than you are,” Hermione retorted

Ron stood and walked to the other side of the dormitory. He always paced when he was nervous, and now he did so back and forth, back and forth in dizzying synchrony. 

“Ron, you have something to say,” Hermione said tersely. “Just say it.”

Ron shook his head, and Hermione was shocked to see tears streaking down his face.

“Ron?”

“I know this makes me a horrible friend, Hermione!” he burst out. “I promised myself that Harry getting bitten wouldn't change anything. I promised that I would be there for him, no matter what. Harry's my best mate, and I know I should be happy for both of you. But I c-can’t.” Ron sank to the floor wiping his eyes on his knees. 

Hermione knelt next to him. “Why can’t you be happy for us?” she asked softly.

“Because you didn’t need to choose Harry. You could have chosen someone else. You could’ve chosen . . .” he trailed off, but not before Hermione, with horrible clarity, realized what remained unspoken. 

“You wanted me to choose you,” she whispered softly, then groaned and hid her face in her arms. 

____

Harry flooed from McGonagall’s office to the cottage’s cozy living room. Tonks looked up from the Daily Prophet as he stepped over the grate. 

“Wotcher, Harry.”

“Hello, Tonks. Remus here?”

She nodded. “Remus is finalizing some Order details with Dumbledore, but he’ll be over shortly. Sirius wanted to be here tonight, but–”

“The Order needs help,” Harry interjected. “I know. Save those kids from Greyback. N-no one should have to go through this.”

Tonks didn’t argue the point. The floo flared behind Harry, and Remus stepped out. His face was pale, his irises streaked with amber. “How are you feeling, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “The usual.”

Remus nodded sympathetically. “Did Hermione receive the polyjuice okay?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s still an hour before moonrise, but Tonks needs to meet up with the rest of the Order as soon as possible. Are you okay with moving to the basement now?”

Beneath his skin, Harry’s wolf quailed at the thought of nothing but cold cement and a tiny window to occupy its thirst. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Leave your wand and invisibility cloak in your room. We don’t want either damaged.”

While Harry deposited his belongings, Remus removed his own wand and blazer, leaving them on a chair inside his room. Remus leaned heavily on the railing as they made their way down the stairs, and Harry realized with a pang that his guardian looked worse than Harry had ever seen him.

Tonks stood at the doorway as Harry and Remus entered the basement. “I need to meet Sirius at the rendezvous site before we start warding the neighborhood. We’ll be back shortly after moonset.” To Harry's surprise, she placed a swift kiss across Remus’s lips and squeezed his hand. “Be safe. I will be back to reverse the containment spells after moonset.”

“You too, Dora,” Remus said, his voice tight with emotion. “Please be careful.”

She smiled at him. “I promise.”

Tonks shut the door, and Harry heard the muffled casting of spells. The sound stopped after a moment, and they distinctly heard the flash of the floo as Tonks returned to Grimmauld Place and, from there, her mission. Harry saw a light smear of Tonks’ lipstick upon Remus’s lips, and he smirked at Remus. The older man flushed and rolled his eyes. 

Harry spent a few minutes looking around the basement. Someone–probably Remus, if Harry had to hazard a guess–had placed dividers in the room to change behind. Everything else was removed, but if Harry looked closely, he could see the rust-colored area where, twenty-eight days ago, he had nearly bled out on the floor.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Harry asked Remus. “We can both be down here?”

Remus nodded. He sat down on the cement floor, resting his back against a wall with his eyes closed. “The confined space isn’t ideal, but werewolves do not attack each other except in rare circumstances. In the vast majority of cases, werewolves are only dangerous to humans.”

Harry’s stomach clenched. “What rare circumstances? Remus, my entire life is a rare circumstance!”

Remus held up a palm to stem the tide of his words. “If a wolf wants to take his–or her–place as the alpha, they may choose to challenge the current alpha. This is when werewolves attack one another.”

“But Albion–”

“Won’t have any need to attack me,” Remus said evenly. “If Albion wants to be the alpha of our tiny pack, I’ll defer to him without accepting the challenge. I am under wolfsbane, Harry. I will keep my mind. It will be okay. I promise.”

Worry still clenched at Harry’s stomach, though Remus’s words offered a modicum of comfort. As moonrise approached, Harry felt the bones shifting beneath his skin and the constant ache of his spine made him utter a soft groan. Across from him, Remus placed his palms against the concrete and inhaled deeply. 

With five minutes before moonrise, Harry stepped behind a partition and removed his robes. He placed them on the sill of the basement window, hoping that they would be out of Albion’s reach. His heart pounded in his throat, and he fell to his knees as the first moments of the change overcame him. 

It’s going to be okay, Harry mentally coached himself, even as blood curdling screams erupted from his lips. Remus said it will be okay. Everything is going to be okay. He promised.

Chapter Text

—--Wizarding Village, Kent, Moonrise—--

Sirius scanned the empty village streets and pulled the collar of his cloak tighter around his throat. It has been over a decade since his last Order mission, but the creeping anxiety, paired with spikes of adrenaline at every creak and whisper of the wind brought back painful memories.

On their last Order mission before learning of the prophecy, James and Sirius had stood outside this very village. Back then they had been tasked with attending a pub that had become a haven for the newly formed Death Eaters and those who supported their ideals. Lily had been eight months pregnant, and as they hovered in the back of the pub, James admitted in a hushed whisper that he was terrified of becoming a father. 

“What if the kid hates me?” he had asked, his eyes pleading for some assurance from his best man. 

“He won’t hate you,” Sirius had replied with a scoff and an eye roll. Then, feeling that James needed some additional encouragement, added, “He has two parents that love him and the world’s best godfather. That’s all he’ll ever need.”

James had allowed a small smile to grace his features. “Bet he’ll look just like me. And one day, he’ll come by the Marauder's Map.”

“Filch probably disposed of the map years ago.”

“Naw, he’ll find it. Fate will bring it back to him.”

Fate will bring it back. 

The ominous words brought Sirius crashing back to the present. Sometimes, you didn’t want fate to bring it back. Sometimes fate needed to leave well enough alone. Now, he wasn’t comforting his best friend and soon-to-be-father. Instead, he stood alongside Tonks while the very boy who had been the topic of discussion prepared himself for his descent from man to monster. 

“Is the glamor charm still working?” he asked. 

Tonks glanced at him. Her hair was black and spiky, blending in well to the surroundings. “Yep.” 

Sirius ran his fingers through his newly short hair. The glamor charm made it appear to be a light, honeyed brown, and a few specific alterations to his features: reducing the cheekbones, squaring the jaw, and thickening the eyebrows made him virtually unrecognizable as Sirius Black. 

Tonks consulted her watch. “It’s thirty minutes to moonrise. Where do you think they will gather?”

“Far enough away that we will have no warning of the change. They won’t have enough wands between them to cast Silencing charms, so they’ll make sure no one overhears the screams.”

Tonks was still for a moment, then asked in a small voice, “Is it really that terrible?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t asked your beau about the change?”

Tonks hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s a sensitive subject. I don’t want to shut him down.”

“Or push him away?” Sirius finished. 

She nodded. “I-I really like him, Sirius.”

Sirius appraised her. Although he knew she would turn into a trained, deadly auror at the first moment of danger, she also appeared unsure of herself and seeking reassurance from an old friend. 

Just like James had all those years ago.

Fate will bring it back . 

"What does he think of me?" She asked timidly. 

Sirius rubbed his hands together to bring feeling back after exposure to the fall air. “Remus doesn’t do anything without calculating the risk, except when it comes to you,” Sirius began. “There is no logical reason the two of you should be together. The age gap, his lycanthropy, the employment issue–everything weighs against him doing this.”

“You forgot that this is the part where you make me feel better,” Tonks muttered. 

“My point is,” Sirius said, laying a hand on her shoulder, “is that he must really care for you. He wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. But I’ve also known Remus a long time, and his worst trait will never be his lycanthropy; his worst trait is how he allows it to rule over him.”

“What do I do, then?” Tonks asked. A stick snapped in the distance, and she scanned the thick trees surrounding the village as she spoke, her grip never slackening on her wand. 

“Love him,” Sirius said softly, no hint of a joke on his usually-carefree face. “Love him like the man you know he is, not the monster he thinks he is.”

A brief flash of pink graced Tonks’s hair before she morphed it back to black. Sirius scanned the vacant streets, startling as a cat meowed in the distance. “How many villagers did Kingsley convince to help us?” he asked. 

“About twenty. Most of them didn’t believe it. But those who have children of their own at home are taking a stand. Kingsley has them guarding the southern side. It’s the farthest from the orphanage and the least likely to be targeted directly.”

Sirius nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Untrained bodies just get in the way if they’re in the middle of the fight.”

“But they're a good last resort. They can defend if anything gets through.”

An owl hooted in the distance, and the wind rustled bushes nearby. Sirius knew Molly and Arthur–the least experienced Order members–had been posted directly in front of the orphanage. With any luck, the other Order members would be able to turn the wolves away, sparing them from the brunt of the fighting. 

Moonrise arrived. Sirius counted down three minutes and thirty-five seconds, the time required to transform into a deadly werewolf. The moment he reached zero, a howl pierced the silence much, much closer than he thought they would be. 

Sirius tightened his grip on his wand. On their last mission, James had gotten discovered at the pub and nearly died in a duel with Bellatrix. Sirius’s curses had been the only thing that saved him. Sirius remembered how Lily, despite her swollen stomach, had awkwardly jumped into James’s arms upon their return and the fretful tears she had shed when they hadn’t made it back by curfew.

Fate will bring it back. 

Sirius glanced at Tonks’s set jaw. I’ll bring her back to you, Moony, he vowed. Whatever it takes, I will make sure she comes home to you. 

—-Gryffindor Tower, Moonrise—

“You thought I would choose you.” The words reverberated through the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Ron flushed and averted his eyes while Hermione struggled for anything to say. It had been difficult enough to believe that Harry would want to date his bookworm best friend, let alone Ron. 

In the girls’ dorm, Parvati and Lavender would fantasize about what it would be like to have two boys vying for their attention, and Hermione had always rolled her eyes. After all, she had no time for petty dramas and even pettier romance. 

Now it was looking her in the face, and it was just as terrible as she thought it would be. Hermione took a steadying breath to calm her nerves. Any moment now, Harry would undergo an excruciating transformation and lose his mind to Albion’s whims. The last thing she and an injured, miserable post-moon Harry needed was to navigate a one-sided love triangle. She would have to take care of it once and for all.

“Ron,” Hermione said, adopting a soft tone and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know this is very difficult for you. I can’t pretend to imagine how you feel. But the truth is I don’t feel that way about you. I feel that way about Harry. To me, you are one of my best friends. Harry is . . . more.”

Ron did not respond as he silently wiped his tears with the hem of his shirt.

Hermione sat on the floor across from him. “I-I want you to be my friend, Ron. I need you and Harry needs you. Things will be a bit different with Harry and I as a couple, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be good. Besides,” Hermione gave a watery chuckle, “you and I fight all the time . We’d be terrible together.”

Ron returned the chuckle and looked into her eyes. “You’re probably right. I'm just being stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” Hermione said. “You aren’t stupid. Between you and me, there is someone I know who has a bit of a crush on you.”

Ron stared at her with wide eyes. “Who?!”

“Lavender,” Hermione admitted. “She wouldn’t stop talking about it when you were named Keeper.”

A grin split Ron’s features. “Wicked.”

“A-are we okay, Ron?” Hermione asked tentatively. “I'm comfortable with Harry’s lycanthropy. I can deal with it. I don’t have any concerns about dating a werewolf. Please trust that I know what I am doing. And please, if you can’t be happy for us right now, can you at least be okay with us?”

Ron rubbed his eyes, nodded, and stood. “Okay. I’ll try. I--Hermione, your eyes are turning brown.”

Hermione lurched to Harry’s bed and took a swallow from the hip flask. “Better?”

Ron nodded and sat on his own bed. He was silent for a moment as he gazed out the window. “I hope Harry’s okay,” he murmured. “The last time was bad–really bad–wasn’t it?”

Hermione nodded. “I saw him right after the change while Lupin and Sirius were trying to tend to his wounds. There was blood everywhere. It was awful.”

“He never told me how bad it was,” Ron admitted. “I wish he would have.”

“You’ve been acting kind of uncomfortable about the whole thing,” Hermione said fairly. 

Ron slumped against his pillows and looked at the canopy of his four-poster. “I know, and I’m sorry for being a prat. I’ve seen the scar from the original bite, but I can’t seem to–” he faltered and trailed off.

“Forget about what Harry becomes once a month?”

“I just wish the whole thing didn’t happen,” Ron murmured. 

“I’m sure Harry wishes the same.”

“I’m jealous of him,” Ron admitted suddenly, whispering the words as if he were at a confessional. 

“I know, but you shouldn’t be,” Hermione responded softly. 

“He has everything I don’t: money, fame, talent, th-the girl.”

“And you have everything he doesn’t,” Hermione contended. 

Ron looked at her quizzically. “Like what?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side. “You really need me to explain that one to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Ron, you have a loving family with living parents and brothers and sisters. No matter what happens, Harry will never have that. He doesn’t know what it’s like for a mom to cook him a meal or knit him a Christmas sweater. Before Lupin was named his guardian, he didn’t even know what it was like to decorate his own room or have people that checked in on him at school. I’ve seen Harry’s memories. The Dursleys were horrible and abusive. It’s a pretty stupid thing to be jealous of.”

Ron ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. You’re right,” he admitted. “I mean, no surprise there; you’re Hermione–you’re always right.”

With a rueful smile, Hemione opened Harry’s trunk and began looking for pajamas. Locating them near the bottom of the trunk, Hermione walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She changed quickly, wanting to maintain her and Harry’s propriety. But she looked down at Harry’s chest as she buttoned the pajama top and witnessed just how severe the last full moon had been. 

His chest had been torn in several places, the scars of deep claw marks permanently tattooing his skin. She placed a trembling hand on the scars lining his abdomen and wondered just how close Harry had been to permanent or fatal damage. She knew it had been bad. After all, she had seen him crumpled at the foot of the basement stairs. 

But she didn’t know it had been this bad.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered to the empty room. 

Outside the bathroom, she heard a door slam as the other boys entered the dormitory. One said, “Harry’s always locking himself in there. What’s his problem?”

“Well, you haven’t been exactly welcoming, Seamus,” Ron retorted. 

“He needs to just tell us what happened, that’s all.”

Hermione recalled the night of September first and Harry’s row with Seamus about Voldemort’s return. Hoping this wasn’t an entirely horrible choice, she took a look in the mirror to make sure the polyjuice potion was working its magic, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom. “Seamus, did you ever ask?” Hermione demanded. “Or did you just assume that you were entitled to the information?”

She knew it wasn’t exactly what Harry would say or how he would say it, but she couldn’t adopt his mannerisms on the fly. After all, her heart was pounding uncomfortably against her ribs as she thought about what she was going to do. 

Seamus opened his mouth, then closed it. “No, I didn’t ask,” he admitted.

“It’s difficult to talk about what happened. But if you need to know so you can decide for yourself whether Voldemort is back, I’ll tell you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at her words. Ron was gaping openly at her. “Her-Harry,” he said, “are you, um, sure?”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s like research–Seamus can’t come to the right solution without all the facts.” Now she knew Harry wouldn’t have said it like that, but hopefully they would be too focused on the meaning of the words and not the words themselves. 

While Dean and Seamus nodded in enthusiastic agreement, Hermione’s gaze was drawn to Neville. He was sitting on his bed near the window, looking between her and the moonlight streaming into the room with abject confusion on his face. 

“Harry, are you feeling better now than this morning?” he asked carefully. 

Hermione nodded. “Rest and some potions from Madam Pomfrey helped.”

Neville continued to watch her closely, a frown between his eyebrows. Turning away from him, she focused on Seamus and Dean. “Last June, Voldemort returned. I’ll tell you how.”

—--Wizarding Village, Kent, Two Hours After Moonrise—--

The air was filled with pained howls and the shouts of werewolf-specific curses. Sirius and Tonks were back-to-back, the flashing light from their wands the only thing keeping the three werewolves at bay. The wolves were crazed by their human scent, their actions violent and reckless. One wolf suddenly launched itself at Tonks’s throat, and she cut it down with a flash of green light. There was no time to process the death as the other two werewolves had taken advantage of Sirus’s split-second distraction. One lurched toward Sirius while the other dove into the dark toward the heart of the village. The attacking werewolf fell beneath a powerful binding curse.

“We need to fall back!” Tonks yelled. “There are too many of them. We need to gather the Order!”

Sirius retreated backward, his wand raised toward the forest around them. Shouts and cries of pain could be heard from the center of the village. Wheeling around, he followed a sprinting Tonks toward the center of the village. 

Despite the moonlight streaming overhead, it was incredibly difficult to see. The cobblestones in the streets had been laid unevenly, making running on human feet difficult. Shadows flickered in the alleys beyond the reach of the flickering torches lining main street, creating ideal places for an abush. Sirius’s heart pounded in his throat as he surveyed the carnage of the village. They were outnumbered, and the night provided the perfect conditions for the werewolves to gain the upper hand. 

Sirius and Tonks reached the orphanage where most of the Order had converged. Molly Weasley’s face was set as the matron cast curse after curse. Tonks heard the crack of a window and watched, horrified, as a werewolf pulled a man from a nearby home, its powerful jaws clamped tightly around the man’s neck. Kingsley and Minerva surged forward, cutting down the wolf with two fatal curses. Kingsley reached the man first and placed a shaking hand against the man’s neck to feel for a pulse. After a moment, the auror shook his head and rose to his feet. 

There was a flash and a boom as a spell was cast into the sky. The dark mark appeared above the scene, gruesome and terrible in its reality. “How are there Death Eaters here?” Elphias demanded as he cursed yet another wolf.

A gleam shone in Sirius’s eyes. “There’s only one Death Eater who would be safe here,” he said. Sirius transformed into Padfoot and bounded into the fray, his nose held high. The werewolves did not pay attention to the huge black dog among them, focused as they were on the humans in the village. Padfoot searched desperately for a scent, the search taking him deeper into the forest and away from the fight. If he did not find it soon, he would have to abandon his quest and return to the Order, but–There! He located the scent and bounded after it, nearly overtaking the gray rat in the dark. Sirius risked a transformation back into a human, sending an immobilizing curse at the rat. The rat froze, its beady eyes wide and terrified. Having learned from the disaster of the whomping willow, Sirius cast another spell to prevent the rat from transforming. 

“Hello, Peter,” Sirius growled.

—Gryffindor Tower, Midnight—

Dean and Seamus gaped at Hermione as she finished the tale. She sat up, removing the hip flask from Harry’s pillow and took another gulp of potion. Neville noticed the movement. Understanding dawned across his face. 

Seamus was the first to speak. “Harry, I’m sorry. I believe you. No one could be bonkers enough to make that up. Can I tell me mam? I think she would believe it to if she had a chance to know what actually happened.”

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. “Wait for the holidays, though. It probably shouldn’t be put in a letter.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. The Head Boy entered, looking decidedly ruffled. “Is everyone accounted for in here?” he asked gruffly. 

Ron nodded. “All five of us. What’s the problem?”

“Professor Umbridge seems to think someone is out of bed, so now I get to check every dormitory in the boy’s tower. Crazy old coot.” The Head Boy slammed the door shut without another word. 

Seamus raised an eyebrow. “Well, I was going to sneak down to the kitchens for a midnight snack, but on that note–”

“He won’t come back,” Dean interjected. “Just wait until he’s in his dorm. I’ll come with you.”

Dean and Seamus left ten minutes later with promises to bring food back with them. As he reached the doorway, Seamus paused and turned to Hermione. “I’m sorry those things happened, Harry. And I’m sorry I was a prat.”

Hermione nodded silently. They left, and Neville stood from his bed. He sat on the foot of Harry’s bed and looked at Hermione. “Hermione, is Harry going to be okay? Wherever he is?”

Ron and Hermione gaped at him. “Neville, how–?”

Neville shrugged, and the words came out in a rush as if he were confessing a dark secret. “I knew something was up when he bled through his bandages on the train. Then he wasn’t using the silver knife in potions. When he got sick, it reminded me of Lupin right before he would disappear every month. I was hoping you lot would tell me, but I get that it’s a huge secret.”

“And how did you know it was me?” Hermione asked. 

“You talk differently than Harry, and obviously Harry couldn’t be in the room with us, so I made an assumption when you kept drinking from the flask every hour.”

Hermione’s heart sank. Had she been that obvious? “Neville, you cannot tell anyone–”

“I’m not telling anyone,” Neville interjected. “His secret is safe with me.”

Hermione felt warmth in her chest. She hugged Neville, who looked surprised but hugged her back after a moment. “Thanks, Neville. You’re a good friend.”

“Anytime, Hermione.”

Hermione bid Ron and Neville good-night and climbed into Harry’s four-poster. She was exhausted but found herself sleeping fitfully as she hoped that Lupin would be able to calm Albion–she didn’t know if Harry would survive another full moon like the last.

—--Wizarding Village, Kent, Three Hours After Moonrise—--

Padfoot leapt back into the action, though he was hampered by the rat firmly clamped in his jaws. Now that the Order had a chance to regroup, they were gaining a slight upper hand in the battle. Most of the fighting was concentrated around the orphanage, which had been reinforced with charms to make the windows unbreakable. Mad-Eye stood on the top step, his adept spellwork keeping the wolves from advancing. 

As Sirius leapt onto the steps, Elphias raised his wand at the black figure. He was stopped by Tonks’s hand on his wrist. “It’s Sirius!”

Sirius dropped the rat from his mouth and transformed. “Caught a rat,” he said proudly, holding it up to the light. 

Kingsley’s eyes widened. “Is that Peter Pettigrew?”

Sirius nodded and handed the rat’s immobilized body to Kingsley. “Will you arrest him and get my charges cleared when this is all over?”

Kingsley raised his wand, cursing a werewolf over Sirius’s shoulder. He grinned at Sirius. “It will be my pleasure.”

Enlivened by Pettigrew’s capture, Sirius jumped back into position next to Tonks as four more wolves surged forward. They cursed two down but he sensed Tonks falter next to him. She had stepped onto the edge of the stairs and lost her footing, stumbling forward. The third wolf found its opportunity and leapt toward the woman. Sirius yelled and pulled Tonks out of the way. They tumbled down the stairs toward more of the monsters. Tonks hit her head solidly against the edge of the steps and lost consciousness. Sirius cast spell after spell as the wolves surged toward them. Above him, Order members fought to reach them, but were forced to defend themselves as more wolves took advantage of the confusion. 

Sirius dragged Tonks’s limp body up the stairs, but he knew he would soon be overcome. A brown wolf surged forward only to be cast aside by a powerful curse. Sirius looked up and saw Dumbledore at the top of the steps. Sirius pulled Tonks up the rest of the steps and laid her at the orphanage’s front door. “Good timing, Headmaster,” Sirius said. 

A slight smile quirked Dumbledore’s mouth. “More wolves tried to breach the southern border. I've been with the villagers.”

Sirius muttered a charm to heal the gash at the back of Tonks’s skull. She groaned and opened her eyes. “Fight over?”

“Not yet–”

Sirius’s words were drowned out by a loud howl. The howl was answered by the other wolves and, incredibly, they turned back toward the forest, leaving behind an eerie calm. “The alpha is calling them back. Greyback must not want any more losses," Dumbledore observed trimphantly. "Even without Wolfsbane, a werewolf will retreat if it feels it is overpowered."

Below them, Arthur wrapped Molly in a tender embrace. “I’m so grateful you’re okay,” he murmured into her hair.

“Were you bitten, lass?” Moody asked Tonks, his face drawn with concern.

“No. I fell down the stairs. Do we go after them?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Tend to the wounded. And guard the village until moonset.”

A shout was heard ahead. Two villagers appeared, carrying a bleeding figure between them. Sirius and Tonks rushed forward. The injured young man, probably no older than eighteen, was bleeding from a bite on his shoulder. 

“We have silver and dittany,” Sirius explained. “We can save him.”

“No!” the boy shouted. “Dad, do it. I won’t live like this. I won’t be one of them.”

A villager with graying hair and beard blinked tears from his eyes. “Son–”

“Do it.”

Before Sirius could react, the father pulled his wand on his son. There was a flash of green light and the boy fell prone to the earth.

“Are you insane?” Tonks yelled, drawing her wand on the father. She was disarmed immediately by Kingsley. 

“Auror Tonks, stand down!” he ordered. Kingsley gripped her shoulder and turned her away from the young man’s body. “You know the law, auror,” Kingsley growled. “Regardless of your . . . personal beliefs, he is within the law to do what he did.”

“The law is wrong,” Tonks shot back.

“You and I both know that,” Kingsley muttered, “but you can’t lose your auror privileges. You’re too valuable to the Order right where you are.”

Tonks nodded, though she seethed with anger. The faintest trace of dawn was coloring the horizon. “It’s moonset,” she murmured. 

Kingsley and Tonks made their way back to the remainder of the Order. “Render aid and repair the village,” Moody directed. “Kingsley, get that rat to the Ministry.”

—--The cottage, Wales, moonset—--

Harry returned to consciousness. His limbs shook with the change, and his ribs felt oddly tender. He breathed shallowly, pain racing through his lungs with each breath. His entire body felt battered and bruised but he was surprised that he had received no bleeding injuries, though his mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood. Perhaps he had bitten his tongue?

Gingerly reaching up to retrieve his robes despite the pain in his ribs, Harry assessed their condition. Albion had not touched them. Hope filling him, Harry pulled the robe over his head. 

“Remus, it worked! I'm in better shape! I-”

That’s when Harry noticed the silence. 

That’s when Harry smelled the blood. 

Heart pounding in his chest, he ran around the partition. A prone figure lay in the center of the basement, his skin nothing but matted gore. Harry turned him over with shaking hands. Large, bloody slashes segmented the skin across his throat.

Chapter Text

“Remus!” Harry screamed, giving the body a shake. There was no response. Harry desperately fought for a pulse on the man’s wrist. It was there–barely. Far too slight and far too weak. 

Harry sprinted toward the door and pounded on it. “Help!” he screamed. He tried the handle, and the door remained firmly locked. Without his wand, he was trapped in the basement as his guardian’s life faded away.

He rushed back to Remus and tore the hem of his robes into strips. He pressed the fabric hard against the deepest wound across his throat and assessed the man’s injuries. One foot was mangled beyond recognition, and bites littered his hands and arms. 

Harry felt sick. He had done this. Albion had overpowered Remus and used him as a chew toy. Bitter, angry tears fell down his face but he shook his head and forced himself to focus. Where were Sirius and Tonks?

Fear gripped him. What if they had died, too?

Remus gave a shuddering cough, hacking bloody vomit onto the basement floor, then went unnaturally still. 

The weak pulse went out. 

“No!” Harry screamed, leaping for the door and pounding on it with as much as he had. “Help! Somebody!” In his agony, he lost control of his magic, and the door exploded outward, shattering the concealment charms. Harry sprinted up the stairs, every breath a stabbing pain through his lungs. Harry grabbed his wand. He vividly recalled the memory of Remus signing the papers that made him Harry’s official guardian, focusing harder on that happy memory than he ever had. “Expecto Patronum!” 

The stag illuminated the living room and stared at Harry. Harry had never cast a patronus message, but all he could do was hope it would work. “Go to Sirius, Tonks, anybody in the Order. Tell them I need help!” The stag bowed its antlered head and disappeared. 

Harry grabbed silver and dittany from the kitchen and sprinted down the basement stairs. He heard a crack of apparition and Sirius’s frantic voice: “Harry! Harry!”

“Down here!”

Sirius crashed down the stairs and crouched next to Remus. “What?--”

“Albion attacked him. He had a pulse but it’s gone. Sirius, I killed him!” Great, gasping sobs shook Harry’s frame. 

Harry was aware of more cracks and people rushing into the basement. Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rushed into the room, followed by Mad-Eye Moody. Tonks immediately felt against Remus’s slashed throat for a pulse. She shook her head and laced her fingers together, pressing the heel of one hand into his sternum. She began chest compressions, her face fixed with worry and her hair fading to a mousy brown. Sirius began dumping dittany and silver across the deep wounds on Remus’s body. “Arthur, get Harry out of here,” Sirius said tightly. 

“But–” Harry stammered as Arthur took Harry gently by the shoulders. 

Sirius looked at Harry levelly, his face hard and his eyes filled with grief-induced anger. “You’ve done enough.”

The words sliced through Harry faster than any werewolf claw could. He sobbed as Mr. Weasley half-dragged him up the stairs. “He didn’t mean it, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said soothingly. “People say things they don’t mean when they are hurt and scared.”

 The words held no comfort as Harry was directed to his room. Mr. Weasley pushed him back onto his pillows and moved Harry’s hair out of his eyes. He muttered a cleaning charm, and Harry realized with horror that he was covered in Remus’s blood. His chin was covered in it and his hands were coated with gore. 

“What injuries do you have, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked quietly. 

Harry shook his head and refused to answer as guilt crashed over him like waves. Downstairs, he heard the sound of Tonks's chest compressions and a crack of ribs as they gave beneath her locked hands. Then Sirius's despondent voice: "Tonks, it's no use. He's–"

"I'm not stopping," came Tonks’ sharp retort. "Not until we know for sure. Molly, keep a hand on his pulse. Tell me when you can feel it."

"It's no use, lass," Moody said gravely. 

Mr. Weasley shut Harry's door and applied a Silencing charm. His face was drawn and he looked older than Harry had ever seen him as he threaded his hands through his red hair. Gently, he wrapped his arms around Harry. "This is not your fault," he said. "You couldn't control it."

Great, gasping sobs shook Harry’s frame. His lungs were on fire, but he refused to let Mr. Weasley heal the ribs that were surely broken. 

Mrs. Weasley popped her head through the door, her face tear-stained. "Arthur, get Poppy if you can. She cannot be seen leaving Hogwarts." Arthur left in a flash of the floo and Harry was alone. Madame Pomfrey appeared in the floo a moment later, rushing down the stairs with hastened steps, vials of potions floating behind her. 

Tonks never ceased with chest compressions. 

Harry rose from his bed and took a pinch of floo powder from its place on the mantle, the words You've done enough pounding in his ears. He grabbed his invisibility cloak from his robe pocket and flooed to Hogwarts, landing in McGonagall’s vacant office. She must be teaching. Good.

He staggered to his dorm room where the wicked-looking owl waited with another letter. 

Harry read, "Lupin can't control this. I can."

The mysterious messenger was right. Remus had died trying to control Albion. And if Lupin couldn't control Albion, Harry truly had no place in the wizarding world. He also thought longingly of Hermione, the feel of his lips against hers and how she fit perfectly in his arms. He had no future with her, he realized with a pang. If he were to escape, he could kill her, too.

With shaking fingers, Harry dipped a quill in ink and responded. "I'm ready. I'll go with you. Just tell me when and where."

The owl was back an hour later: "Shrieking shack at high noon. Come alone."

_______

“Keep those chest compressions going, Nymphadora,” Madame Pomfrey ordered as she cast a slew of diagnostic spells over what remained of Remus Lupin. Poppy had seen her fair share of horrendous injuries during her work as Hogwarts’s sole healer, but she had never seen a man teetering so indescribably close to death. Teetering so close, and yet refusing to succumb. 

The diagnostic spell thrummed, showing a soft yellow light. He was fighting. Indescribably, the destroyed body in front of her was holding on to the soul inside. 

“It’s no use,” Sirius stated. In her mind’s eye Poppy recalled the teen version of Sirius Black–arrogant, self-aggrandizing, and invincible. The man was none of those things now as he watched his best friend–the heart of the marauders–bleeding out on the cement floor. 

“Sirius, he still has life force,” Poppy explained. “We will perform life-saving measures until his life force is depleted.”

Sirius stared at her with wide eyes. “There’s hope?”

“Apply dittany and silver to all of his wounds. The sooner we stop the bleeding, the better.”

They worked silently. Arthur and Molly Weasley acted as gophers, gathering more bandages and supplies from Grimmauld Place. 

Tonks never stopped chest compressions. Her hands shook from the exertion, and the entire scene was punctuated with the rhythmic motion. 

After ten tense, silent, eternal minutes, Poppy cast a final diagnostic. “Tonks, stop the chest compressions and monitor his pulse. His heart is beating on its own.”

Tonks removed her hands from Remus’s chest and placed two fingers against the pulse in his neck. “What do we do now?” 

“I will instruct Molly, Mad-Eye and Arthur to brew blood-replenishing potion here and at Grimmauld Place. He will need three doses every hour. How this man is even alive . . .” she shook her head and looked at Tonks levelly, her eyes kind. “He must have something very important to live for.”

Incredibly, Remus opened his eyes and looked into Tonks’ grief-stricken face. “Dora?” he whispered. 

Tonks kissed his knuckles, the only part of him unmarred from Albion’s attack. “I’m right here.”

Remus closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. He squeezed her fingers. "I . . . love . . . you," he rasped out, every word an incredible effort. 

The words were a balm to Tonks's panicked heart. "I love you too, Remus John Lupin," she replied, moving his bloody, matted hair from his eyes. 

He raised a shaking hand to her face. "M-Marry . . . me?" he whispered.

At first Tonks thought she had misheard. She cocked her head to the side. 

Remus flushed, the rise in color apparent even among the blood on his face. "N-Never m–"

"Yes," Tonks interrupted, placing a tender kiss against his lips. "Remus, the answer is yes. Of course I'll marry you."

Tonks was dimly aware of the audience that had heard their words. Poppy and Molly both looked like Christmas had come early with extra slices of candied ham. Sirius was laughing. At Tonks's look, he replied, "Not the most romantic occasion to propose, Moony."

Remus smiled weakly back. "Life's . .  too . . . short," he murmured. His eyelids fluttered closed, a smile across his marred face as he held his fiance's hand. After a handful of ragged breaths, he opened his eyes, his brows drawn in confusion. “Why isn’t Harry in the cottage?”

“I took him up to his room,” Arthur explained. 

“He’s not here. His scent isn’t in the cottage.”

There was a heavy pause. Arthur haltingly explained, “He was distraught after Sirius, uh, well–”

Remus’s face hardened and he struggled to turn his neck look at the fellow Marauder. He gave up the effort with a gasp of pain, but venom laced his words as he demanded, “Sirius, what did you do ?”

Sirius glanced guiltily at the cement floor. “I told Arthur to take him upstairs. Harry wanted to help, but I told Harry, well, I told him he had done enough.”

Remus’s face twisted into anger. “I can’t believe you,” he shot back.

“I thought you had died! ” Sirius retorted.

“And you took it out on your godson. Despicable. Sirius, he has no control on the full moons!” Remus closed his eyes in disgust and once again tried to rise. He fell back, his limbs shaking. He gripped Tonks’s hand and looked earnestly into her face. “I don’t know what Harry might do. It isn’t safe for him to be alone. Find him, Dora. Bring my son home.”

Tonks placed another kiss on his lips and swept from the basement.

Chapter Text

Tonks sprinted into the backyard, casting a diagnostic charm to identify anyone–human or werewolf–who had breached the boundary. She hoped that Harry had simply left the cottage for the quiet moors surrounding the cozy home. 

The diagnostic spell hummed a green light at the edge of the boundary. He hadn’t left the cottage’s wards. Tonks leapt to the backyard, where Remus’s careful hands had planted mint and tarragon and dittany, all meant to ease the pain of lycanthropy. The backyard was empty, and a simple charm indicated that Harry was not hiding beneath his invisibility cloak in an obscure corner. At least, she hoped it would reveal Harry in hiding; somehow the boy’s cloak seemed much more sophisticated than the one Mad-Eye often used.

A leaden ball in her stomach, Tonks reentered the cottage. Pomfrey had ordered that Remus be moved from the basement. He now lay back on his pillows in his room, bandages covering his chest and arms. 

Sirius hovered guiltily in the living room, and Tonks ignored him. She knew Sirius was often brash and spoke before he thought. But he had crossed a line. 

Harry was missing, and it was all his fault. 

Tonks turned toward her fiance. “He didn’t breach the wards and he wasn’t in the backyard. He must have taken the floo.”

“The cottage is only connected to two places,” Remus rasped, the bandages around his throat bleeding through. 

“Grimmauld and Hogwarts,” Tonks finished. “I’ll check Grimmauld first.”

Sirius approached. “Tonks, let me–”

Tonks shook her head angrily. “No, Sirius. You’ve done enough.”

Tonks spun on her heel, ignoring Sirius’s retort. In a whoosh of the floo, she stepped out of the grate. Everything appeared as it had been after the last Order meeting before the full moon. The pots shone in the gloomy kitchen, and the books Remus had taken from the Black library were still stacked neatly on a corner of the table. 

Tonks lit her wand and resisted the urge to shudder. Her auror instincts had kicked in, and–perhaps for the first time–she realized how much of a dark magic haven Grimmauld truly was. “Harry?” she called softly, not wanting to wake Walburga’s portrait. 

A slew of diagnostic charms later, and Tonks could discern no human or werewolf movement in the townhouse. She ascended the stairs, wincing as each creak announced her arrival. If he was well and truly hidden, he would have to reveal himself to her. “Harry,” Tonks called softly into vacant rooms, “I know what happened today was scary, but Remus is going to be okay. We love you and want you to come home. Sirius is a prat, and he wants to tell you that himself.” She repeated the mantra up and down the stairs, but there was no sign of movement. 

Tonks stepped into the bedroom Ron and Harry had shared over the summer. The windowsill still bore a smear after Harry had removed the dust when, with the encouragement of an ever-stronger Albion, he had left Grimmauld to go to Westfield.

Would he likewise escape to the muggle world today?

Tonks contemplated as she looked around his room. Her mind jumped to her auror training for missing person cases. The first step was always to investigate known contacts. But as far as Tonks was aware, Harry had no known contacts outside of the cottage, the Burrow, and Hogwarts. She briefly considered the Dursleys but immediately dismissed the possibility. Harry wouldn’t go there. Nothing would make him go back. Nor did she think he would go back to school–he wouldn’t want to see his friends and admit what had happened. And he had no other contacts outside of school and the Order. 

Tonks paced back and forth as another horrible possibility occurred to her. Harry had been distraught–his anguished cries and guilt-ridden features clung to Tonks’ memory. 

Harry would think he was a danger to others.

Harry would think he couldn’t be controlled. 

Harry would think that his godfather no longer loved him. 

Harry would think he was a monster. 

Harry would think he was a murderer.

Harry might think he didn’t deserve to be alive. And if this thought–as horrible and inaccurate as it was–held any power, where might Harry go? Where would a distraught werewolf in London go to end his suffering?

 Heart pounding in her chest, Tonks apparated to the River Thames.

____

The hours between Harry’s arrival in the tower and the planned meeting with the mysterious messenger dragged slowly. Harry had changed into muggle clothes, and a knapsack with more jeans and tshirts lay packed at his feet. His ribs still ached, and he had to avoid drawing breath too quickly or too deeply. 

It was no more than he deserved. 

Harry forlornly looked around his dorm, the place that had been his home for the past five years. It had only started to be replaced as home by the cottage, though now Harry was no longer welcome within the cottage’s quaint rooms. Tears coursed down Harry’s cheeks. Lycanthropy had robbed him of his sanity, his control, and now his guardian. It had robbed him of his entire family–not even his godfather wanted him. 

Harry had to leave He had to release them from any responsibility for his future.

It was, after all, no more than he deserved. 

Harry opened the window to the tower and called Hedwig’s name. She flew gracefully from the owlrey and landed on his shoulder, nipping playfully at his ear. Harry laid an affectionate hand on her wings. 

“Hedwig, I need to go away. Forever,” Harry explained, his voice tight. “Please become Hermione’s owl. She will take good care of you.” Harry walked to his nightstand, where he had penned a brief note. “Don’t give this to Hermione until tonight, but this note will explain everything. I will miss you, Hedwig. We’ve been through a lot together.”

Hedwig turned reproachful yellow eyes on Harry. 

“I wish you could come, too, girl,” Harry stated. “But it’s too dangerous. I don’t know where I am going. All I know is that the messenger can control Albion. No one else can. I’ll do whatever they say if it means not hurting anyone ever again.”

Harry tied the note to Hedwig’s leg, and she took to the sky outside the open window. Harry was once again left with crippling loneliness. He turned to his trunk, thumbing through his spellbooks for the last time. Sirius had promised that Harry would finish school. That had been a lie. 

As he dumped the books back into the trunk, his eye caught sight of the leather rune bracelet Hermione had made for Harry’s first transformation. She had its complement, and its runes would alert the wearer of the werewolf’s state after a full moon. He took the bracelet in his palm, marveling at its simplicity. He had forgotten about it in the hubbub of quidditch and blood quills and polyjuice. But he wouldn’t wear it. After all, he had no idea what the runes alerted Hermione of, and he had no desire for it to inform her that he was now a murderer. She would know soon enough–someone from the Order would tell her–and she would realize how impossible it had been to think they could be together. 

Nevertheless, he placed the bracelet lovingly into his knapsack. If he focused intently, he could barely discern her scent. Perhaps a relic from a happier time would get him through whatever his future held. 

Harry tucked his wand into his jeans pocket and tugged his shirt over it, hiding it from view. With a quick glance at his watch, he shouldered his knapsack and donned his invisibility cloak. 

It was fifteen minutes to noon. It was now or never. He crept out of the dormitory and toward the Shrieking Shack’s hidden tunnel. 

______

Tonks sprinted down the bank of the Thames, ignoring surprised looks from muggle passersby. She kept her wand tip in her palm, its length obscured by her dark trench coat. She cast diagnostic charm after charm and kept her eyes peeled for any hesitating figures perched at the top of a bridge. 

Nothing. 

Growing desperate, she risked apparition onto another part of the Thames and scoured the opposite bank. She knew she should be more careful, but every second was a moment taking Harry further away from his family and closer to danger. Of that she was certain. She sprinted past shops and streets, her eyes never wavering from the Thames’s dark waters. Her breath came in ragged gulps as she paused at the top of a bridge, gripping the railing as she gazed at the rolling waves below. Was she already too late?

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

More diagnostic and searching charms. More dead ends. She was starting to draw attention to herself. More than one muggle had heard her whisper a charm and had turned their head to stare at the tired, mousy-haired woman mumbling to herself. Two hours passed, and Tonks had to concede that Harry was not here. 

She found a shadowy alley and apparated back to the cottage’s living room. Remus had been resting fitfully, though he forced his eyes open at the sound. 

“Harry with you?” he asked, his voice laced with grief that had nothing to do with his physical pain. 

Tonks shook her head. “I checked Grimmauld, and it hadn’t been disturbed. I was worried that he would . . . end his suffering, so I checked the Thames.”

From his place on the couch, Sirius blanched and stared at Tonks with wide eyes.

“He wasn’t there, but that only leaves Hogwarts. He wouldn’t have gone back to school in the state he was in. There would be nothing for him there. It makes no sense.”

“I think Harry’s been hiding something from us. Just like we’ve been hiding the horcrux from him,” Remus confessed. 

“Like what?” Tonks asked. 

Remus shook his head briefly, then grimaced with pain. “I don’t know, but it may explain why he went to Hogwarts, if he is there.”

Tonks disappeared in the floo, arriving in McGonagall’s office. McGonagall looked up from her desk, a pile of essays in front of her. 

“Hello, Auror Tonks,” she stated carefully. 

Tonks silenced the door. “Has Harry been through? There was an  . . . incident during the full moon, and now we can’t find him.”

McGonagall shook her head. “But I have only been in my office a short while. Did he come through this morning?” 

“We think so. What is the password to Gryffindor tower?”

“Flitzgibberts. I am assuming that asking questions will only hamper your time-sensitive mission, so please be on your way. Fill me in once the crisis is over.”

Tonks smiled at the deputy headmistress. She had never known this warmer side of McGonagall as a student, and it was nice to see. Tonks waved her wand, transfiguring her robes into those of a Gryffindor student. She morphed her features and shrunk her height until she had the appearance of a nondescript first-year boy. 

Tonks left the office in haste. It was lunchtime, and the Great Hall was bursting with students and chatter. Ignoring the stragglers still making their way down the marble staircase, Tonks flew up them, running as fast as she dared in her first-year disguise.

__

Harry crouched in the Shrieking Shack’s tunnel. Each breath was a slicing pain through his lungs, and he felt dizzy from the exertion. Ahead, the trapdoor stood in the ceiling. Harry made his way toward it and placed his palms on the worn wood. With a heave, he forced the door open and crawled inside the shack. The shack reeked of decay and mold, though there was also the prevalent sage-like scent of werewolves–a remnant, Harry supposed, of Remus’s years of containment within its walls. 

Now that Harry was seeing the shack as a werewolf himself, he shuddered at the thought of Remus ripping himself apart within its confines. He traced a collection of clawmarks carefully with a finger, shuddering at the size and extent of a werewolf’s lethal paws. He had those, and he had used them on Remus. 

“Hello, Harry Potter,” a soft voice said. 

Harry wheeled around. A figure approached him. She had olive skin and dark hair. Fine lines traced the corners of her lips, and her face was kind. “Do not be afraid. My name is Zenna, and I am here to help you.”

Harry appraised her. “A-are you the messenger?”

Zenna nodded. “We’ve known about you for quite some time. There is something unique about your wolf, Harry Potter. Something that I think I can cure.”

Harry felt hope blossom within his chest. “You can?”

“In theory,” she said softly. 

Harry detected a flash of sadness behind her irises, though it was gone before he could confirm it. “Are you the alpha?” he asked. 

The flash of sadness was back, though it was gone just as quickly. “No, Harry Potter. I am the beta. The alpha has asked that I bring you to our pack–that I bring you home.” She paused, looking at him in concern. “Your breathing is unnatural. Do you have post-moon injuries that have not been healed?”

“My ribs,” Harry admitted.

Zenna drew her wand–Harry flinching at the sudden movement–and muttered a healing charm. The pain in his ribs disappeared, and Harry took a great, painless breath. “Thank you.”

Zenna withdrew an old can from the pocket of her robes. “This portkey will leave in ten minutes. Are you ready?”

Harry nodded. He hated doing this, he hated that he would leave behind those he loved. But most of all, he hated himself and what had happened to Remus. No matter what his future entailed, no one else would die because of him. “I’m ready.”

____

Tonks sprinted to the boy’s tower and threw the door open for the fifth year dorm. It was a messy, cluttered place, though it had a sense of camaraderie that made Tonks think fondly about her own Hogwarts days. She immediately located Harry’s trunk. A quick diagnostic spell revealed that its owner had opened it recently. 

Heart pounding in her throat, she rifled through the contents. She counted three pairs of robes–the number allocated for Hogwarts students–and a pair of dress robes. But his muggle clothes were gone. The spellbooks were present but not his wand. His invisibility cloak was absent. 

Tonks sat back on her heels. The mirror that she had heard so much about was not in the trunk. She didn’t think Harry would take it with him; after all, it would be a link to too many painful memories. But where was it?

Tonks turned her attention to the four-poster, peeling away the blankets. She flipped over the pillow and discovered the mirror–and three pieces of blank parchment. 

Remus’s voice sounded in her ears: I think he’s hiding something from us. 

Tonks took the parchment to the table and muttered a spell to reveal invisible ink. Nothing. She tried a few more spells, but the words would not appear. What would I do if I were a fifth year hiding words on a piece of parchment? she mused.

Then she smiled. Harry was not just any fifth year; Harry was the son of a marauder. She tapped her wand against the parchment. “Mischief managed!”

The words appeared, and Tonks read the notes with shaking fingers. Shrieking Shack. Noon. Glancing at her watch, she cursed. 

11:58.

Not caring that she wasn’t on official assignment, Tonks dropped her first-year disguise and sprinted down the tower. Her heart was racing as she burst through the front doors and immobilized the whomping willow with a well-aimed spell. 

Harry was in grave danger. She had to save him. 

____

Zenna spent the next few minutes describing pack life to Harry. “We are a family, Harry Potter. You don’t have to hide who you are. We all contribute to the pack. Those of us who can use magic are asked to keep the pack safe and secure during the full moons. If you do not already know healing charms, I will teach them to you so you can heal your pack mates.”

It doesn’t actually sound too bad, Harry thought in surprise. 

The can began glowing with a blue light, which increased in intensity until it filled the entire room. “Time to go, Harry Potter.”

Harry’s hand hovered over the can when the door to the shack burst open and Tonks dove into the room, her wand raised. “Harry, no!” she shouted.

But Harry did not obey. He couldn’t return to a life of normalcy. He didn’t belong with them. 

It was no more than he deserved. 

He placed his hand on the can just as Tonks sent out a spell to disable the portkey. 

She was too late. The werewolves disappeared in a flash of blue light, and Tonks was left alone in the Shrieking Shack.

Chapter Text

    Remus was despondent, and there was nothing Tonks could do to comfort him. He sat up in bed with the pieces of parchment on his lap and tears coursing down his face. Sirius wasn’t much better, though he was silently grieving in the living room, guilt crushing his usually laughing features. 

    “Who could it be from, Remus?” Tonks asked softly. “Who was the woman I saw in the Shrieking Shack?”

    “The woman was Zenna. She used to be Artemis’s alpha. Now she works for Greyback.” Remus released a sob, though it turned into a hacking cough. Blood seeped through the bandages on his throat and chest. 

    Tonks gently took him by the shoulders and leaned him back onto his pillows. His breathing was labored as Tonks unstoppered a blood replenishing potion and tipped it into his mouth. 

    “Why would Greyback want Harry?” Tonks asked. “Would he turn him over to Voldemort?”

    “No. Greyback is a free agent. He may like what Voldemort has in mind for the wizarding world but Greyback will always do whatever he wants. Artemis said that Greyback wants to harness Albion’s power. He wants to make it so that his wolf form can overcome the human form. He thinks Albion can make him dangerous all month long.”

    Tonks took Remus’s hand, tracing her fingers along his knuckles. She sighed. “But Albion isn’t a power that can be harnessed. He’s a horcrux.” 

“We know that. Greyback doesn’t.”

“How does he think he can do it?”

    “He probably doesn’t know if it will work, but he’s not worried about keeping Harry alive. Greyback loses nothing if Harry dies in the attempt.”

"We will get him back, Remus," Tonks vowed. "I know Harry chose to go with her but once he knows the truth, he'll come home."

"I hope you're right," Remus demurred. 

Tonks placed a kiss on her fiance's lips. She wished she and Remus were celebrating their engagement and planning a wedding, but it would have to wait. Harry had to be brought home. Their small family was not complete without him. "The Order meeting is starting in five minutes. I'll fill you in after," Tonks stated.

The Order members sat stoically as Tonks described where Harry had gone, though Molly sniffed once or twice, tears streaking down her cheeks. "We need to organize a search party and find him," Tonks finished. 

Her words were met with shocked silence. Finally Elphias spoke, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t think that’s the job of the Order.”

Tonks bristled. “The job of the Order isn’t to protect the number one child on Voldemort’s hit list?”

“The job of the Order is to end You-Know-Who, not track down a runaway,” Elphias returned. His voice was level, but the words pierced through Tonks as if he had shouted obscenities. “I’ll do anything for the Order: spy, guard, fight. But I’m not infiltrating a werewolf pack. That’s Lupin’s job.”

“Remus can’t–”

“Exactly,” Elphias interrupted bitingly. “Lupin thought he could handle the situation, but he can’t. The attempt almost killed him. Maybe Harry is exactly where he needs to be for the safety of the rest of us.”

His words were met by stiff silence. Tonks wished fervently that Dumbledore was here, but he and the Hogwarts professors had been waylaid at Hogwarts, creating a believable alibi for Harry’s disappearance. Dumbledore had told her to lead the meeting, and it was falling apart. 

Sirius was no help. Crushed by his guilt, he stared deadenly at the tabletop. Tonks didn’t even know if he had heard Elphias’s words.

Tonks looked at the Order members evenly. “I’m not forcing anyone to help. But if you think that I will step aside and abandon Harry, then you are mistaken.”

“Neither will I,” a steely voice said. It was only Bill Weasley’s first Order meeting, but he jut his jaw out in defiance. “Tonks, whatever you need, I’m right there with you.”

Tonks felt a warmth blossom in her chest at his words. She and Bill had been good friends during her Hogwarts days, and the familiarity of his support was a balm to her wounded heart. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Harry needs to be where he is loved and wanted,” Molly stated. “Regardless of his condition, he has a home. He needs to come home.”

“I cannot leave the Ministry for an extended period of time, but I can grant you leave, Tonks,” Kingsley said. “If we both leave, it will raise suspicion, but you are now on approved medical leave due to a family crisis.”

Tonks nodded gratefully. “Throw in that it involves my fiance. Maybe that will make Dawlish stop begging to take me to lunch.”

Bill looked at Tonks in surprise. “Fiance?”

“Remus.”

Bill grinned, and Tonks was relieved to see no judgment behind his smile. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Let’s find Harry so the lovebirds can get back to wedding planning.”

“Anyone who, like Elphias, feels this mission is outside of the Order’s scope may leave,” Tonks decided. After all, she didn’t need a team of reluctant members. In a mission as dangerous as this, she didn’t need someone’s hesitation to get everyone killed. “If you wish to help Harry, stay.”

The Orders cast guilty glances toward one another. Elphias was the first to leave, followed by Mundungus. As more and more Order members mumbled weak apologies, Tonks felt her heart constrict in her chest. After the kitchen door swung shut the final time, Mad-Eye, Kingsley, Bill, Sirius, and the Weasley parents remained. 

Kingsley stood. “I will submit your leave at the Ministry right now, Tonks. I will keep an ear out of any whispers of Greyback's movements. Sirius, I will try to push through the absolution of your crimes. Peter has been interrogated all morning. I need to see if they got him to talk. It will be easier to help Harry if you can move freely.”

Sirius nodded tightly. Like Tonks’s engagement, Sirius’s capture of Peter Pettigrew should have been met with celebration. But everything had been overshadowed by Harry’s disappearance. 

As the door swung shut behind Kingsley, Tonks stood and beckoned the remaining members toward the fireplace. “Let’s go to the cottage. Remus can fill us in on what he knows about the pack. We’ll need a solid plan.”

Remus was dozing when they arrived, though he stirred at their approach. Tonks watched Bill give a start of pitiful surprise as he took in the new wounds on Remus's face and the bandages crossing his throat and torso. "I've looked worse, Bill. Trust me," Remus said with a rueful smile. "So this is our cavalry?"

"The other Order members felt that it was outside the scope of their responsibility," Tonks spat.

The group gathered around Remus and Molly conjured chairs around his bed. The small cottage room was decorated simply and neatly, exhibiting Remus's neat attention and care for his possessions. Several books were stacked in an oak bookshelf, and a painting of a forest glade at daybreak hung upon the wall. Tonks smiled as she imagined life with her husband in this room, waking up each day to his warm hazel eyes.

Abandoning the preferred chair, Tonks sat on the edge of the bed and threaded her fingers through Remus’s hair, still bloody and matted from his ordeal. Remus closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. Bill watched with an odd expression on his face that Tonks could not place. “What?” she asked. 

Bill grinned. “You know when you walk down the street and see a couple that seem so right for each other that you think ‘Wow, that’s what I want for myself one day?’ That’s what you guys look like.”

Remus smiled weakly and threaded his fingers through Dora’s. “I’m a lucky man. A really lucky man.”

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Arthur corrected, beaming at the couple. "It has everything to do with you being a great man."

"Remus was always the best of the Marauders," Sirius muttered. "Never spoke without thinking. Knew when to stop."

"Sirius," Remus sighed. "Beating yourself up will get us nowhere. To borrow a muggle phrase, we need everyone operating on all cylinders if we are going to get Harry back."

"He probably hates me," Sirius whispered. 

"Apologize when he gets back," Arthur said simply. "You're not the first parent who has said something they later regret. You'd be surprised how forgiving kids are when the adults in their lives admit their mistakes."

"This is all fuzzy and lovey and all, but we have a mission," Mad-Eye grunted with a tortured eye roll toward the ceiling. "Where do we start, Lupin?"

"First, fill me in on what happened in the village."

Remus listened attentively as Tonks detailed the werewolf attack. He raised a surprised eyebrow when she said Pettigrew had been caught but offered no comment. When she finished, Remus rested his head back and closed his eyes. "This would be so much easier if I could go with you. I could track the pack by smell in a matter of hours." He tried to raise himself from his pillows but fell back with a gasp of pain and muffled curse. 

"Tell us what we need to do," Tonks said. "We can't track by scent, but–"

"I can," Sirius interjected. "Padfoot's nose is just as accurate as Moony's."

Remus nodded. "Start at the village and the surrounding forest. They would not have been in a condition to apparate after fighting the Order. And not very many werewolves know enough magic to apparate, anyway. Greyback would need them to lay low for a few days to recover."

Tonks tightened the grip on her wand. "Let's go."

Remus gripped her hand as she started to rise. "Not tonight. They will be on guard and expecting an attack. They will smell and hear you long before you see them. They know the forest. They are strongest in the forest. You will be walking into an ambush."

"Then we leave at dawn," Sirius stated.

Arthur squeezed Molly's hand in concern. "Molly, I know you want to help Harry–"

"I'm not coming, Arthur. I will attend to Remus and brew the blood replenishing potion. I am a patronus call away if anything is needed."

Tonks nodded, the relief showing on her features. "Thanks, Molly. I'm grateful that Remus will be in good hands. "

The members of their small mission dispersed to their homes a few minutes later, leaving Tonks in the living room with Sirius. Remus had drifted off to sleep, and a cauldron of blood replenishing potion was being stirred magically on the stove. She leaned her head against the couch cushion. “Can I just stay the night here?” she asked. “With all that’s going on, I don’t want to be alone in my flat.”

Sirius nodded. “Mi casa, su casa.”

“Thanks. I’ll pack a bag of stuff and be back.”

Tonks apparated to her London flat. It was in a noisy, dirty part of town. Music blasted from a neighboring apartment and a dog barked ceaselessly below her. It was unpredictable, loud, and alive.

She loved it.

She jiggled her key in the lock, kicking away the muggle newspapers that had piled at the door. Between work and the Order, she had not left through the front door in some time, choosing instead to apparate from the living room.

Despite the familiarity of the surroundings, she felt on edge. Her flat had an undercurrent of unknown magic, something so slight that had she not been looking for it, she may have missed it entirely. Her grip tightened on her wand as she eased the door open. The interior was dark and silent. She felt a prickle of instinct between her shoulder blades. In and out, she thought. As quickly as possible. 

"I was hoping you would stop by. I'd almost given up."

Reflexively, Tonks whirled to aim a curse at the intruder, but her mind identified the voice before she could do any permanent damage. "Jules, what are you doing here?"

Julie Carmichael and Tonks had shared a dorm at Hogwarts. As the secretary of the department, she and Tonks saw each other frequently. At least they had, prior to Tonks’s joining the Order. Now Tonks was guilty to admit that she hadn’t even thought of the statuesque blonde for several weeks, though Julie still retained a key to Tonks's flat after being thrown out by a string of bad boyfriends. Tonks had often come home late from auror training to Julie sleeping on her living room couch. 

"I'm not here to stay, but I needed to hear it from you," Julie responded, settling comfortably onto the couch. "I heard that Kingsley granted you emergency leave for a fiance's injury. I don't see a ring. Spill, girl."

"We haven't had time to look at rings," Tonks mumbled, wishing that she had chosen to sleep in her worn, bloody street clothes after all and not risk going back to her flat. "It's been a busy few hours with his injury, and all."

"Do I know him?"

"He didn't go to school with us," tonks answered evasively. If she answered with uninteresting details, perhaps Julie would leave out of boredom, and Tonks would be free to return to Remus and the hunt for the pack’s location. Tonks tapped her foot on the carpet impatiently. 

"What's he look like?" Julie demanded. 

"Tall. Sandy hair. Hazel eyes."

Julie gave a satisfied nod. "Attractive enough, I suppose." 

Tonks sighed. "Julie, thanks for coming over, but I really must be packing and leaving."

"Taking care of him?"

Tonks nodded. "For now."

Julie stretched her arms over her head in an almost cat-like motion. "Alright, alright. I won’t keep you. But I need to meet him, ya hear? Only the best for my best friend."

Julie walked to the flat’s front door and pulled it open. Tonks's heart lurched as she saw Andromeda Tonks on the other side, her hand raised in a purposeful knock. 

"Hello, Mama Tonks!" Julie greeted cheerfully. "Congrats on the wedding in the family!"

Tonks could have killed her. 

Andromeda’s eyes swept over Tonks with the smallest hint of surprise, though she covered it admirably with years of training in the cold Black tact. "Indeed. Nymphadora and I have much to discuss."

Tonks studied her sneakers like a disobedient schoolgirl caught after curfew as Andromeda swept into the room and Julie clomped down the metal stairs outside the flat. There was a tense silence. 

"Your flat is filthy, Nymphadora."

"We both know you didn't come here to inspect my flat, Mom." Tonks tried to check her anger, but her voice had already taken a defensive edge.

 "No, I didn't. I, too, heard from the gossip vine that my only daughter is getting married." 

Tonks waited silently. When it came to rows with her mother, it was better to just get it over with. 

"Is it true? Are you engaged? Or is this a coverup for something?"

"I'm engaged."

"To the man you told me about three days ago?"

"Yes."

"To the man you didn't start dating until a few weeks ago?"

"Yes."

"To the man you've only known four months?"

"Yes."

Andromeda sat on the couch and dropped her gaze to Tonks's flat stomach. "How far along are you?"

"What? Mom, I'm not pregnant!" Tonks exclaimed, her face burning.

Andromeda raised an unconvinced eyebrow. "These things happen, Nymphadora, but it's no reason to jump into something you're not ready for."

Tonks bristled. "I'm. Not. Pregnant."

"Then why the rush?" Andromeda demanded. “You’re twenty-four. You have a lifetime ahead of you!”

"Because I love him and he loves me!" Tonks returned, years of terrible dates flashing through her mind. "He loves me for me. He doesn't tell me to change my appearance to what he would prefer. He doesn't suggest that I get a grown-up wardrobe. He doesn't tell me that I should get out of a man's job and stay home like a broody hen. Other men have. Mom, I'm complete with him. He fills in what I didn't know was missing. Life without Remus would be–"

"Remus?" Andromeda asked, testing the name on her tongue. 

Tonks found her courage. "Yes. My fiance's name is Remus Lupin."

Andromeda opened her mouth to a small oh of surprise and placed her head in her hands. "Oh, Dora. My sweet, naive Nymphadora. I shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but–"

"I know he's a werewolf, Mom," Tonks interrupted, folding her arms. "I knew the moment I met him. I'm an auror, after all. I know the signs to look for."

"You know," Andromeda whispered, as if the words made no sense in this context. 

"Yes. And I don't care. He's a great man, Mom. Please believe me."

Andromeda hesitated. "I'm not judging his character, Dora. Remus Lupin is a very upright man. I met him during the first war when he was working for the Order, and I was very impressed with him. If things were different–"

"If he wasn't a werewolf, you mean?" Tonks shot back. 

Andromeda would not be dissuaded. "Look at the reality of his condition. No employment opportunities, despite his talents. Looked down by the vast majority of the wizarding world. Even current law forbids marriage to a werewolf.”

“The law is wrong,” Tonks returned.  

“Disobeying that law could cost you your job, Dora. The job you love. Not to mention the very real danger you would place yourself in every month."

"I know the risks, Mum. I also know this is a war. We aren't guaranteed tomorrow, let alone years. I love him. Please accept that." Tonks’s voice had broken as she spoke and she cast her eyes to the flat's dingy carpet. Despite her insistence to Remus that Tonks didn’t care if her parents didn’t approve, the possibility stung, slicing like a knife through her heart. 

“Remus Lupin is not the only decent man on this earth,” Andromeda responded. “Give it time. You will find someone with whom, uh, well, frankly, someone with whom life won’t be so insurmountably difficult.”

“Is that what your mom said to you?” Tonks retorted. She knew it was a low blow, but she was shaking with rage and hurt. “Did your mom tell you to forget the mudblood and find a pureblood so life would be easier?”

The question was met with stony silence. Andromeda’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth. But her face crumpled a moment later, and she cast her eyes to the carpet just as her daughter had done. 

“I know there could be someone else, Mom,” Tonks whispered, seizing upon her mother’s hesitation. “I’m not stupid enough to think that there is only one person in the world for me. But I don’t want to find someone else. I-I choose him. Regardless of the consequences.”

Andromeda rose and wrapped her arms around her daughter. The older woman sniffed in an undignified way as tears sparkled on her dark eyelids. She pulled away and gripped Tonks by the shoulders. "‘I choose him’ were the last words I ever said to my parents," she admitted sorrowfully. "When you were born, I promised myself that I would honor your choice. I would never disown or hurt you for who you loved. You have chosen a rocky path, Dora. But I’m glad you will do it with Remus Lupin by your side."

“You mean that?” Tonks murmured, hope–something so small and fleeting but absolutely worth clinging to–filling her chest. 

“I do. But I still want him over for dinner so Ted can give him the one-two about being a gentleman regarding his daughter.”

Tonks laughed, then sobered. “We’ll do that, but it will have to wait. Remus will need to recover and there’s an Order mission I need to go on.”

Andromeda looked at her sharply. “So that's also true? Remus is injured?”

Tonks nodded, a flash of her repressed fear crossing her face. “I almost lost him today, Mom. But he’s going to be okay. It will just take time.”

“And you’re walking into danger that normally Remus would do, aren’t you?” Andromeda asked astutely. 

Tonks settled for most of the truth. “A teenager was kidnapped by Greyback. We need to get him back.”

Andromeda drew in a sharp breath but nodded. She had never fully agreed with Tonks’s career decisions or her status as an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, but she was fiercely proud of her daughter’s fearlessness and dogged loyalty. “Be safe, Nymphadora. Come back to me. We have a wedding to plan, after all.”

Tonks’s lips quirked into a smile. “Of course, Mom. And you can smother me with lace doilies and appliques when I get back.”

“I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

Hermione sat in Transfiguration, glancing sadly at Harry’s empty seat next to her. She took careful notes as usual, but her thoughts were far away to a cottage in Wales, where Harry would be recovering from his monthly trauma. 

Had she not been so distracted, she would have noticed how McGonagall’s hands shook slightly as she demonstrated the transfiguration of a mouse into a tea cozy. She also would have noticed how the usually strict teacher was allowing more noise and whispered conversation than usual. 

As the class was excused, McGonagall approached her table. “Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, I need you both to come with me.”

Hermione’s heart stopped. She exchanged a scared glance with Ron and followed the deputy head to her office. McGonagall silenced the door and turned toward them, her face grave. “There was an incident during the full moon, and Harry is now missing.”

Hermione gaped at her. “Missing? How can you ‘miss’ an injured werewolf after a full moon?” she demanded. The logical part of her brain was reminding her that she shouldn’t be talking this way to her head of house, but her shock overtook her reason. 

McGonagall looked at her levelly. “Remus Lupin was almost killed last night trying to restrain Harry’s wolf.”

The room became very silent. 

Hermione fought back tears. “Albion hurt him?”

“Almost fatally. It was incredibly close.”

“Why is Harry missing?” Ron asked. “If Lupin was the one who was hurt . . .”

Hermione and Ron sat in stunned disbelief as McGonagall explained Harry leaving the cottage, the letters from the unknown messenger, and Tonks’s near-miss in the Shrieking Shack. “So he’s gone?” Hermione whispered. Her world felt like it was upending, the room spinning out of her control. 

“The Order will try to track him. If either of you receive any communication from him or have any idea of his whereabouts, please let me know immediately.”

Ron and Hermione murmured their assent and exited the office a few minutes later, Hermione dabbing at her eyes with a sleeve. 

With a hand on her shoulder, Ron turned her toward a vacant hallway. “Hermione, you okay?” he whispered. His face was pale beneath his freckles. 

Hermione’s chin trembled, and she shot her gaze to the ceiling, fighting the tears that insisted on streaking down her cheeks. “No, I’m not,” she choked. She walked to a window overlooking the placid lake and large section of the Forbidden Forest. Her heart was ripping itself in pieces. “You can say ‘I told you so,’” she mumbled to her sneakers.

“About what?” Ron asked, nonplussed. 

Hermione looked into his eyes. “You told me I didn’t know what I was getting into being in a relationship with a werewolf. Well, you were right. I-I wasn’t expecting this.”

Ron hesitated, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He gave her a comforting squeeze. “I’m not going to say I told you so,” he said, his eyes glistening with his own tears. “I’m not going to hurt you. Harry’s my best friend. The Order are going to find him, Hermione,” Ron promised. “They are.”

“How?” she demanded. 

“I don’t know, but it will happen.”

Hermione turned away, wishing she had a touch of Ron’s optimism. “He doesn’t want to be here,” she sobbed. “He went with her willingly.”

“He thought he had killed Lupin,” Ron whispered. “That would mess anyone up.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a light tap at the window. “Hedwig!” Hermione exclaimed, rushing to open the hatch and taking the note from the owl’s leg. 

“What does it say?” Ron asked quietly. 

Hermione scanned the note, her face crumbling. “He gave me Hedwig because he’s not coming back,” she choked. It was too much. Hermione sat on the stone floor, drew her knees up to her chest, and sobbed.

Twenty-four hours earlier, she had polyjuiced as Harry to ensure his continued attendance at Hogwarts. Now he had disappeared from her life. 

How had everything collapsed so quickly?

___ 

“You’re really getting the hang of this, Harry,” Zenna praised as she evaluated the broken bone Harry had set with a healing charm. “These charms are NEWT level. You’re a powerful wizard and wolf.”

Despite the tension between his shoulders and the nagging worries about leaving his old life behind, Harry warmed to the praise. His spell prowess had always been more apparent in hands-on, stressful situations than a contained classroom. 

And if there was anything about this morning, it had been a hands-on and stressful situation. The portkey had taken Zenna and Harry to a thick forest. Harry had distantly smelled chimney smoke from a nearby village, though he didn’t give it much thought as he saw the members of the pack injured and bleeding. “What happened?” Harry demanded as he knelt next to an unconscious man with large gashes on his chest. 

The sorrow returned to Zenna’s eyes. “Werewolves have many enemies, Harry. Some do not allow us to live peaceably. We must move our packmates to an alternate location so they can recover. I have more portkeys here. Will you help me?”

While Harry spent the rest of the day and well into the night moving all the werewolves from the forest to a windy plain in an unknown location, he had been unaware of the buzz of activity from Tonks and the Order. Harry was unaware of the emergency meeting and the constant brewing of blood replenishing potions to keep his guardian alive.

—

Tonks shook her arms and legs to work out the cramps as the first rays of dawn ascended the mountains surrounding the cottage. After Andromeda had left, she had spent a restless night on the cottage’s couch, waking frequently to administer more blood replenishing potion to Remus. Since she had also spent a sleepless night protecting the village the night before, she was nothing short of exhausted. She yawned widely, but stifled the sound with her hand. 

“Ready, Tonks?” Sirius asked, gripping his wand. Tonks gave a double-take. His disguise was back, his features more rounded and his brown hair tousled. 

“I keep forgetting what you look like,” Tonks muttered. 

Sirius’s lips quirked. “Now you know how the rest of us feel when you change your appearance three times a day.”

A crack split the silence and Mad-Eye appeared, bearing his staff and wooden leg. “I won’t be able to come, lass,” he said gravely. 

“What? Why?” Tonks demanded. She had been planning to rely on the grizzled auror’s experience and magical eye. 

“Death Eaters in Kent. Made a whole mess. With Pettigrew being interrogated and no way to pin everything on Black, that idiot Fudge will need to face the music that Voldemort is back.” Mad-Eye rolled his eyes, the magical eye spinning in its socket. “Dumbledore needs me to sway his hand and make sure the aurors on duty do their jobs.”

“Watch for Dawlish. There’s something off about him,” Tonks advised. 

Mad-Eye disappeared with a crack of apparition. A second crack split the silence and Bill Weasley appeared in his leather boots and jacket, his wand held loosely in his hand. 

“Having a bit of a lie in?” Sirius asked. 

“Breakfast with a beautiful coworker, actually,” Bill responded. “She wanted to see me before my day off.” 

“We have a mission. It’s not time for brunch,” Sirius snapped.

Bill raised an eyebrow. “I am precisely on time.”

Tonks glanced at her watch. Bill was right. Sirius huffed and looked away, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. 

“Sirius, we’re all here to help Harry, and we’re all taking this seriously,” Tonks said, her voice low and dangerous. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t snap at the very people who are trying to help you fix your mistake.”

Sirius glanced guiltily at the ground and nodded stiffly.

Knowing that it was the closest to an apology she was going to get, Tonks dropped the issue and said, “Once we get to the village, fan out, but keep within calling distance. The moment you notice any sort of trail, we’ll all head that direction.”

The village was quiet when they apparated in the dawn light, and the log buildings still carried an atmosphere of somber grief. No children played in the streets, and the dirt roads were marred with paw prints and claw marks. Though the Order had tried to put things back together after moonset, splashes of blood were still seen in doorways and in the streets. Curious faces peered through the windows before the curtains fluttered back into place. 

“They’re on edge,” Sirius observed.

“They have good reason to be,” Bill said. “I don’t think they will be very welcoming to strangers any time soon.” 

They reached the edge of the forest, the back of Tonks’s neck prickling. She cast her eyes around but could not see any reason for the feeling that she was being watched. Sirius stepped behind a large trunk and Padfoot bounded out, his nose close to the ground as he searched for the pack’s scent. 

Tonks knelt down, a palm flat against the soil. Using an auror diagnostic spell to reveal blood, she saw glowing areas where the injured pack had returned to the forest. Someone had gone back to cover their tracks, but they had done so sloppily. She whistled and Bill and Padfoot appeared. “There’s a blood trail. Let’s follow it and see where it goes. Look alert.”

Bill met her pace as they went deeper into the forest. 

“Do things seem . . . unnaturally quiet to you?” Bill whispered. 

Tonks considered, then his observation hit her. No birds chirped from the trees, no squirrels or rodents rustled in the undergrowth. Padfoot transformed into Sirius, and he drew his wand. “Something is strange here.”

A chill clutched at Tonks’s heart not unlike the cold bite of a nearby dementor. “Be on the lookout for an ambush,” Tonks whispered. She was forever grateful that Remus had made them wait until dawn. Even with the daylight slicing through the trees, she knew they were in unknown and dangerous territory. 

Grips tight on their drawn wands, they crept deeper into the forest. The eerie quiet pounded against Tonks’s eardrums. They approached a clearing when Bill suddenly stopped with a gasp. A body was lying in the center of the clearing, long blonde hair spread in a halo around her face. 

“Bill, cover me,” Tonks ordered. She crept up to the figure. Her heart constricted as she saw a young girl, probably no older than ten, lying in eternal slumber. Large wounds extended over her body. Using a diagnostic charm, Tonks revealed the cause of death: werewolf-specific curses, specifically those inflicted by the Order. A sob escaped Tonks’ throat as she closed the girl’s sightless blue eyes. 

Bill and Sirius approached behind her, their faces grave. “We did this,” Tonks admitted. “She died from anti-werewolf curses.”

“This is the Order’s fault?” Bill questioned. He was pale as he looked at the girl’s limp form. 

“No,” Sirius interjected, steel lacing his tone. “We were protecting the village. This is Greyback’s fault. Any werewolf sick enough to turn a child doesn’t deserve to live.”

Bill murmured his assent.

Nerves twisted in Tonks’s stomach as she thought of Artemis’s last, gasping breaths and Remus’s confession that he had turned the boy into a werewolf. She had always assumed Sirius knew. Was she the only one privy to Remus’s darkest secret?

“Is anyone else here?” Tonks asked, unable to tear her gaze away from the girl’s face. 

Sirius transformed into Padfoot and sniffed around the clearing. He bounded back to Tonks’s side and became Sirius. “The trail smells cold. It disappears abruptly at the edge of the clearing. I think they took a portkey or apparated.”

“I thought Remus said they would be too injured to move?” Bill said. 

“Unless they had help,” Tonks murmured. “If Greyback had some stay away from the fighting, they could have aided the injured.”

Sirius transformed back into Padfoot and scoured the clearing with his nose while Tonks transfigured a rock into white cloth and wrapped the girl’s body in the fabric. According to lycan tradition, she summoned a flame from her wand and allowed the fire to consume the fabric. She finished her work by casting a containment charm on the flames. The body would be consumed but not the nearby forest. 

“Tonks, over here!” came Sirius’s voice. 

Tonks and Bill sprinted to Sirius’s side. He was holding a piece of black fabric between shaking fingers. “This has Harry’s scent,” he choked. “He was here.”

“He can’t be far,” Bill said. “We’ll find him.”

“He’s dead to you,” a voice growled behind them. Tonks whirled around as three large men approached them from the other edge of the clearing. The center man had a cruel twisted face and pointed canines. Dried blood was smeared his lips and collected under his razor sharp nails. Tonks had studied Greyback’s wanted photo in the auror office and had been disgusted by the sight of him. Seeing him in real life was infinitely worse. Tonks fought against the paralyzing fear as the monster approached. 

“The boy belongs to me. You’ll never see him again,” Greyback growled. 

“Over my dead body,” Sirius retorted. 

“That can be arranged.”

“Where are the others?” Tonks demanded. “Where have you taken Harry?”

Greyback strode toward her. He inhaled deeply and leered at her. “I see Lupin doesn’t have enough sense to stay with his own kind.”

“What are you talking about?” Bill demanded. 

“His scent is all over her,” Greyback returned. He took two more steps forward, ignoring the wands pointed in his direction. “Lupin parades around like a saint. He isn’t who you think he is,” he growled. “He’s just as much a monster as the rest of us.”

“Lupin is a great man,” Bill returned evenly. 

“Artemis Malfoy would think differently.”

Tonks’s hands were shaking with rage. She blinked away the emotion, fighting to move into the analytical emotionlessness of an auror preparing for combat. Mad-Eye had drilled into her that emotions would get her killed. She had to maintain control. A misstep would cost them dearly. 

Sirius was not emotionless. “I could care less about an opinion from a Malfoy,” he scoffed. 

“You don’t care about the seven-year-old boy Lupin turned?” Greyback sneered. “You said it yourself: ‘any werewolf sick enough to turn a child doesn’t deserve to live.’”

Bill’s eyes were wide as everything he knew about the gentle professor crashed around his ears. 

“You’re lying,” Sirius snapped. “Remus would never hurt someone. Tell him, Tonks.”

Tonks’s emotionless mask faltered. She hesitated, and Sirius’s brows drew together in confusion and hurt. “Tonks . . .?”

“He’s not telling you the full story, Sirius. There’s more to it.”

“W-what do you mean?” Sirius demanded, his voice tight. “He wouldn’t, shouldn’t–”

Tonks realized what Greyback’s intentions were seconds too late. With Sirius’s attention on the stunning revelation, he was too late to block a stunning spell from one of Greyback’s lackeys. The spell hit Sirius solidly in the chest, and he collapsed. Jumping forward, Bill sent hexes at the werewolves and Tonks joined the fray, desperate to stay in front of Sirius’s collapsed body. Together, they drove the werewolves back into the clearing. 

Greyback sent out a bloodletting curse that Tonks narrowly deflected. Skilled auror though she was, Greyback’s skill with a wand matched or exceeded hers. “I’m going to kill you,” he growled as they paced in a circle. Bill was taking on two werewolves at once, though neither had Greyback’s skill or brutality. “I killed Lupin’s first mate, did you know that? You’ll come to the same end,” Greyback promised.

Before Tonks could react, the werewolf lunged forward, tackling her hard to the ground. Her wand was knocked out of her hand as her head collided solidly with a rock. Tonks drove her knee hard into Greyback’s chest as his hands wrapped around her neck. Spots appeared at the corners of her vision. 

“Tonks!” Bill yelled, slashing at one of the wolves' faces with a severe curse. The wolf crumpled, and Bill rushed Greyback, tackling him from the side. They rolled against a tree. Tonks scrambled for her wand as Greyback slashed Bill’s face with his razor sharp nails. Blood poured from Bill’s face and he yelled in pain. Tonks hit Greyback with a powerful cutting curse, and the beast leapt backward, cursing. Tonks followed the curse with a disarming charm, sending Greyback’s wand deeply into the thicket. 

Greyback summoned his wand with wandless magic and ran toward his pack members. Tonks cast two more curses but the three disappeared in a pop of apparition. Tonks staggered toward Bill, who sat up with difficulty.

Tonks pulled him to a standing position, supporting his weight as blood dripped from the gashes on his face. “How bad is it?” he asked ruefully. 

“I have some concealer, if you want it,” Tonks answered guiltily. 

To her surprise, Bill let out a booming laugh. “You know, I actually don’t think she’ll mind the scars.”

“Your coworker?”

“Girlfriend and coworker,” Bill admitted with a blushing smile.  

Tonks grinned. They walked to the opposite end of the clearing and roused Sirius. He looked at Bill’s face in shock. “What happened?”

“Greyback’s apparated. We need to get Bill back to the cottage and get these wounds clotted,” Tonks ordered.

They arrived at the cottage and ushered Bill through the door. Remus was sitting up in bed, a book on his lap. His eyes widened in alarm. “What happened?” he demanded. “Greyback’s scent is all over you.”

“Had a bit of a scuffle,” Bill muttered, his eyes closed. He leaned his head back as Tonks applied dittany and silver to the wounds. “Ugh, that burns.”

“What kind of contamination are we looking at, Remus?” Sirius asked. 

Bill paused, a flash of panic on his features. “What are you talking about? It wasn’t the full moon, and it’s not a bite, so it shouldn’t–”

“There could be some contamination. You won’t be a full werewolf, but it isn’t a simple scratch,” Remus admitted sorrowfully. “Time will tell.”

Bill nodded ruefully. “I knew what I was getting into.”

“We found evidence that Harry had been there, but most of the pack had been moved before we arrived,” Tonks explained. “We were waylaid by Greyback and his backups.”

Remus looked between Bill and Sirius as an uneasy silence fell. Both had avoided meeting Remus’s eyes since arriving back at the cottage. “What else happened?” he asked astutely. “You two seem . . . off.”

Sirius took a deep breath, then looked into the Marauder’s eyes. “We need to know about Artemis Malfoy.”

Chapter Text

"We need to know about Artemis Malfoy.”

Remus looked evenly at Sirius, though his eyes were tormented. “I turned Artemis Malfoy into a werewolf when he was seven years old.”

“Remus, tell them the whole story,” Tonks interjected as Sirius's face hardened with anger. “They need to understand how it happened.”

With a sigh, Remus explained joining Greyback’s pack, falling in love with Eliza, and being hoodwinked by Greyback. Remus finished his tale and said, "I regret what happened every day, and it is my peak of shame that I never treated him like I should have. Artemis was such a good kid, too. He had a sense of fairness and justice that defied his age and the family he was born into. And I hid from him the one thing he was desperate to know until moments before he died. After I told him it was my fault, there wasn’t time to explain. The hatred and betrayal on his face will haunt me until the day I die." The confession spent, Remus rested his head back onto his pillows and stared at the ceiling as tears tracked down his cheeks. Tonks sat next to him and squeezed his hand.

Bill had been stoic and silent during the confession, but now he leaned forward with admiration in his eyes. "Lupin, you did the best you could. You didn't know. I don't know a single person who wouldn't do what you did."

Remus shrugged, not at all comforted. "It's my burden to bear," he said softly. "What is important is that we get Harry back before he has to carry similar burdens himself."

"Do you think Greyback will make him his foremost attack dog or something?" Bill asked.

Remus fought to keep his eyes open, the effort of divulging his greatest secret sapping his strength. His eyes fluttered closed as he said, "Sirius, tell Bill everything. There has been too much suffering from secrets kept from one another. He deserves to know."

"Deserve to know what?" Bill demanded in desperation. “What else could there possibly be to know?”

Bill sat stiffly as Sirius explained Albion's true identity as a horcrux and Greyback's plans. 

"So let me get this straight," Bill replied, rubbing his face in a gesture not dissimilar to Arthur Weasley after a long night of ministry raids. "Greyback thinks he can use a piece of Voldemort's soul to become even worse than he already is?"

"That's the working theory," Remus murmured. 

"Is that possible?"

"We really don't know,” Tonks answered. “The problem isn’t what happens if Greyback gets the soul shard–Remus’s research states that it is impossible to separate a living host from a horcrux. The problem is that Greyback may kill Harry in the attempt. We need Harry back before Greyback has a chance to try."

“How do we find them?” Sirius asked. “They could be anywhere.”

“Can we track Harry’s wand somehow?” Bill asked. 

Tonks shook her head. “No. Wands have protection against tracking spells. The only exception is the trace, but the trace isn’t going to alert the Ministry since Harry’s magic will be overshadowed by adult spellcasters.”

“Greyback is smarter than he looks,” Remus added. “He’s ruthless and bloodthirsty, but he’s not stupid. He knows we’re tracking him. He’ll be a step ahead of us.”

“What do we do then?” Bill demanded.

“We limit the possibilities. A werewolf pack will always leave traces if you know what to look for, and Greyback’s pack is large. He cannot hide that many people without a trace. They will need access to food and basic supplies. They'll be in some sort of deserted area near a town. Then they'll steal what they need.”

“So we comb the Daily Prophet for any increased burglaries,” Sirius surmised. 

“And ask Kingsley to keep his ears open at the auror office,” Tonks added. She unstoppered another vial of blood replenishing potion and tipped it to Remus’s lips. 

“And have our own ears out. A stroll down Knockturn Alley at the right time can bring us to the gossip. Even those in Knockturn hate werewolves. They’ll be warning one another if they suspect a werewolf pack has moved in,” Remus explained.

Sirius stood and began pacing. “We can’t just wait here for word. Anything could happen to Harry while we sit here!”

“And walking blindly into something will get everyone killed. Sirius, the fact that you were only stunned and not killed proves Greyback’s motive,” Remus retorted.

“And that is?” Bill prompted. 

“To play with us like a cat plays with a mouse. This is a game to him.” Remus hesitated, then glanced apologetically at Tonks. “He’ll try to lay low until the next full moon and then draw us out on his own terms.”

“Why would he wait?” Bill asked.

“Because turning or killing my fiancé would be the perfect way to ruin me.”

There was a heavy silence. Tonks squeezed Remus’s hand. “I’m an auror, Remus. I’m trained for this. I can handle Greyback.”

Remus’s tortured hazel eyes met hers. “I don’t doubt you, Dora, but I can’t lose you.”

Tonks kissed him gently. “For better or worse, Remus.”

“We haven’t said any vows yet–”

“Then consider this practice. We’ll get through this. We’ll get Harry back. And we’ll be stronger from it.”

Remus raised a shaking hand to her face. “I want to protect you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Tonks insisted, though her tone was kind.

“And she’ll have help,” Bill stated, steel in his gaze. “Sirius and I will make sure she’s safe. You can count on us, Lupin.”

—

Harry raised his arms above his head and then shook his limbs. Everything ached from the near-constant casting of healing spells. Zenna looked up from the last wolf’s injury and gave him an understanding smile. “Healing magic is straining, especially when you’re not accustomed to it. Come with me, and I’ll show you where you can rest. Everyone shares a tent with a pack mate, and Jake is around your age.”

Harry followed Zenna to the center of camp where a small city of tents had been erected. He immediately noticed that the tents were the muggle variety, not the magically-expanded version the Weasleys had borrowed for the Quidditch World Cup. Some pack members nodded to him and gave him a murmured greeting. Unlike at Hogwarts, where his lightning-bolt scar and tragic backstory preceded him, no one seemed to care that he was the Harry Potter. And no one looked twice at the three long scars bisecting his face. In fact, more than one pack member bore scars remarkably similar to his own. Here in the pack, he blended in in a way that wasn't possible in the wizarding world. 

It was refreshing.

A small gray tent was pitched in the outskirts of the pack. A boy with brown hair and blue eyes sat whittling a stick in front of it. “Jake, this is Harry. He’s your new tentmate.”

Jake scrutinized Harry. Unlike the others, his eyes flicked to Harry’s scar, and Harry resisted the urge to flatten his fringe. After a moment, Jake shrugged. “Alright, then.”

“Harry has been doing healing magic. He will need uninterrupted rest until dinner.”

The edges of Jake’s eyes hardened, but his voice was even as he said, “Okay. I won’t bother him.”

With a comforting squeeze on Harry’s shoulder, Zenna turned back toward camp, leaving Harry with the boy. 

“Er, sorry you don’t get the tent to yourself anymore.”

Jake regarded him coolly. “Well, it hasn’t been just mine long enough to get used to it, so I guess it don’t matter.”

“What happened to the other guy?”

“Not guy. Girl. My sister was killed during the last full moon.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. He had seen the blonde girl’s body in the clearing, though his focus had been on healing the wounded and he hadn’t given the death much thought. “I-I’m sorry.”

Jake finished whittling the end of the stick to a sharp point, then carelessly cast it to the side. “It’s our lot. It’ll never get better.” He stood smoothly, then worked the zipper. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Harry entered the miniscule tent with two cots. Jake gestured to the cot on the right, which had been poorly made with tiny hands. “That was Lizzie’s. It’s yours now.”

Harry sat on the cot and took the scratchy brown blanket into his lap. He didn’t know what to say as Jake sniffed loudly and hid his tears from Harry’s sight. Harry noticed a ragged pink teddy bear on the pillow. He held it out to Jake. 

“You should take this. I’m sure Lizzie loved it.”

Jake shook his head, though his eyes were full of longing. “The Beta said that everything that was Lizzie’s is yours now. We don’t have much stuff, so–”

“I’m giving it to you,” Harry insisted. “You should have it.”

Jake hesitated, then took the bear, cradling it against his chest as soul-wrenching grief flashed across his face. “Thanks. She named him Milo.” Jake settled Milo on his own pillow and tucked the bear in so that only its little pink head could be seen. Then, as if realizing what he had done, said in embarrassment, “Not that, you know, I like it or anything.”

Harry swallowed tightly. “I’m not judging.”

Jake nodded jerkily again, then strode toward the tent flap as Harry settled against the pillows. “Well, I’m supposed to leave you to rest, so–”

“I’m resting. Look, I’m lying down and everything. Can you stay and answer some of my questions?”

Jake hesitated, then settled onto his own cot. “I guess. What do you want to know?”

“What’s it like here?”

Jake shrugged. “As good as it could be, I guess. I don’t know anything different, really. The new Beta, Zenna, is really nice. She takes good care of the kids. She calls us the cubs. It’s kind of embarrassing, but she makes sure we have enough to eat and don’t get overworked. She’s a good den mother.”

“She’s really nice,” Harry agreed. 

“Can I ask you a question now?”

“Sure.”

“Are you really Harry Potter?”

Harry nodded. 

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”

“My turn,” Harry said. “How long have you been here?”

“Five years.” Though Harry hadn’t asked, Jake elaborated. “Lizzie and I ran away. Our dad was really mean and Mum had died. We were both bitten the night we ran and were taken to the pack. I was eleven, Lizzie was five. Stroke of bad luck on our part."

"That's awful," Harry murmured.

Jack shrugged indifferently. "Now it’s my turn for a question. Can you do magic?”

Harry nodded and, feeling that he owed Jake more than that, removed his wand from his pocket. “Phoenix feather is the core.”

Jake eyed the wand with unconcealed envy. “I’d just gotten my Hogwarts letter when I decided to run away.”

“Why run away then? You would’ve left your dad behind at Hogwarts,” Harry stated, remembering the relief he felt each year to be free from the Dursleys.

“I couldn’t leave Lizzie by herself,” Jake explained sadly. “I’d stand up to Dad and protect her when he got drunk. I didn’t know what would happen if I was gone.” Jake removed a stone from his pocket and placed it on the floor of the tent. “I can do some magic. Watch.” He waved his hand over the rock, his brows drawn in concentration. The stone wobbled, then levitated to the boy’s eye level. Jake caught it out of the air and rubbed it between his palms.

Harry gaped at the boy. “You can do nonverbal, wandless magic?”

“Is that what it’s called?” Jake asked. “I needed an outlet for the magic, so someone in the pack taught me how to do it. It helps me stay in control, but that’s all I can do. I wish I knew magic and had a wand.”

Harry pocketed his wand, silently vowing that he would find a way to teach Jake magic. 

“Why did you come here?” Jake asked. “Did whoever you lived with give you up?”

Harry hesitated, but he felt that he owed Jake the truth after the boy had been so open with him. “My wolf is too strong. It killed my guardian during the last moon.” Harry coughed in an attempt to cover a sob. “Zenna said that she can control it, so I agreed to come.”

Jake studied his knees. “I’m sorry that happened. Was he a good guardian?”

“The best.”

“Was he like us? Or was he human?”

“He was a werewolf. My turn to ask a question.”

“Alright.”

“If Zenna is the beta, who’s the alpha?”

Jake’s head shot up in shock. “You joined this pack without knowing who the alpha is?” he demanded. 

“Er, yeah?”

“The alpha is Fenrir Greyback. You’ve probably heard of him.”

Harry felt like water was crashing around his ears. “This is Greyback’s pack?” he hissed.

“He’s Alpha to you now, but yeah.”

Harry studied the domed canvas above his head as fear gripped his stomach. He was allied to the most savage of werewolves, the very monster whose bite had forever altered his life. 

What have I done? he thought desperately. 

—

The next few days at the cottage were a quiet affair. Tonks, Bill, and Sirius scoured the newspaper for leads, followed up with Kingsley in the auror office, and disguised themselves as Knockturn Alley customers. But there was no hint of pack activity or Greyback’s next move. Remus had slowly regained additional strength with Tonks and Mrs. Weasley’s careful ministrations. By the third day, he could raise himself from the bedsheets and take a short, hobbling walk around the room. His right foot, which had been horribly mangled by Albion’s attack, was unable to bear weight for more than a few moments, though Poppy assured Remus that it would steadily improve as the severed ligaments and tendons had time to heal. He had been furnished with the same crutches Harry had used when recovering from Greyback’s attack, and hobbled slowly from room to room, though the door to Harry's room remained firmly shut. 

Sirius, always the man of impulse and action, was not taking the lack of news well. He stormed around the cottage in a foul temper. He busied himself with brewing blood replenishing potions, but he was distracted and accident prone; Remus was forced to monitor the ordeal to make sure Sirius didn’t accidentally poison him. 

Early the morning of the fifth day, Kingsley stepped out of the floo. Remus and Tonks were cuddling on the loveseat, Tonks’s head resting on Remus’s shoulder. She was resting fitfully, her mouth slightly open, exhausted from a long night undercover in Knockturn Alley. Kingsley smiled when he saw them, and Remus sheepishly returned his grin. Tonks stirred, and Remus pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Sirius stepped out from his room, rubbing the stubble on his face. “Any news, Kingsley?”

Kingsley handed Sirius a roll of parchment. “You’re a free man. These are your release papers and official absolution of all your crimes. Pettigrew has been formally charged with death eater activity, the murder of twelve muggles, and as an accessory to the Potter’s murders. He has pled guilty and is being moved to Azkaban as we speak. The Prophet is running an article this morning. Allow a few hours for word to get out, and then feel free to walk freely.”

Sirius unfurled the papers and swallowed tightly. For the first time, tears streaked down his face. “It doesn’t matter,” he choked, crushing the documents in his clenched fist. “Everything I’ve ever done was for Harry, and now he’s gone.”

“We will find him, Sirius. We won’t ever stop looking,” Remus vowed. 

“We don’t even know if he’s alive!” Sirius exclaimed. “There’s no sign of him in the entire Wizarding World!”

“Have you been searching the muggle papers?” Kingsley asked. “The pack doesn’t need to be near a wizarding village to get what they need. They could be lying low near a muggle town.”

Tonks leapt from the couch. “I’ll see what I can find.”

—

On the fourth day since joining the pack, Harry was working alongside Jake to gather dead wood for a fire when a shrill whistle pierced through the forest. Jake immediately dropped the bundle of sticks in his arms. “We need to go back,” he said, his face pale. “We have to get there before he does.”

“Before who does?” Harry demanded, matching Jake’s pace and apprehension.

Jake eyed him. “Alpha. If you’re late for lineup, you get punished.”

They burst into camp and joined a single-file queue of pack mates. Three men approached from the edge of the clearing, and Harry immediately knew which was the infamous Greyback. The alpha smelt of blood and death, the scent sickly potent even across the clearing. Jake dropped his head, his gaze on his worn shoes, and Harry rushed to follow suit. 

Greyback strode forward. “Zenna!” he barked. 

Eyes still on his trainers, Harry heard Zenna step forward. “Yes, Alpha?”

“The raid on the village was a failure. You called my wolves back early. Why?” he demanded. 

“We were fought off by the Order of the Phoenix. To continue would have meant death to every member of this pack,” Zenna responded evenly. 

Harry’s heart constricted. The pack weren’t innocent bystanders like Zenna had led him to believe. They were instigators. 

“You’re not the alpha,” Greyback snarled. Harry heard a slap of Greyback’s hand across her face, and smelled fresh blood as the alpha’s nails cut into Zenna’s flesh. 

“You were not present to make the call,” Zenna retorted in the same even tone. “I did my duty to my pack.”

“Your duty is to me and no one else,” Greyback hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

The air was thick with tension. Harry risked a peek through the fringe of his hair. Zenna faced Greyback with her shoulders back and her jaw hard. Harry wondered if Greyback would kill her, the hatred was so keen on his face, but he folded his arms and said, “You failed me, Zenna. Don’t let it happen again.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Greyback walked down the line of men, women, and children in the pack, all of whom avoided his gaze. Jake’s heartbeat pounded in Harry’s ears and increased in pace as the alpha approached. Harry knew the boy was fighting panic; his breathing was too rapid, and he hunched his shoulders as if to make himself smaller.  Jake was terrified of the alpha, Harry realized. Even five years of pack life had not curbed his terror. 

Passing by Jake without comment, Greyback stopped in front of Harry and chuckled, a grating, malicious sound that scraped against Harry’s sensitive hearing. “Ah, our new pack mate. Potter, step forward.”

Harry took a step forward, his head still down. He had no idea the protocol in this situation, no way of knowing what would be acceptable to the bloodthirsty alpha in front of him. 

“Look up, Omega.”

There was a chuckle from the pack. Harry grit his teeth and forced his gaze to Greyback’s sinister face. The older werewolf towered over him, and Greyback grinned, showing rows of pointed, rotting teeth. “What do you think of my pack, pup?”

Harry refused to answer as he focused on controlling his breathing. The man’s stench was overwhelming at this distance, and Harry focused on tamping down the bile rising in his throat. 

Harry’s silence was awarded with a solid slap across the side of his head that sent the world spinning and his ears ringing. Harry stumbled, falling hard upon one knee. Fighting the dizziness, Harry went to rise, but Greyback placed a black boot onto his back. “You’re not at Hogwarts anymore, boy. You answer to me when I ask you a question. You do as I say. You do exactly as I command.”

Harry found his Gryffindor courage. “And if I refuse?” he spat. 

Greyback’s boot left Harry's back and collided viciously with his ribs. Harry yelped in agony, the sound almost doglike as some of the pack’s more bloodthirsty members laughed. Greyback pressed his boot between Harry's shoulder blades, pressing him hard into the dirt. “If you refuse,” Greyback whispered, “I’ll kill your mate. The girl at Hogwarts.”

Harry gaped at him in disbelief. “How–?” he demanded, the pain in his ribs reducing the sound to nothing more than a wheeze.

Greyback chucked, relishing in Harry’s pain and disbelief. “I have my claws in Hogwarts deeper than you realize, Potter. Do everything I say, or there won’t be anything left of the bushy-haired bookworm when I’m done with her.”

Chapter Text

Harry was not allowed to heal his bruised ribs. In fact, no pack members were allowed to use any magic inside the camp without the Alpha’s express consent. 

“What happens if I use magic anyway?” Harry asked Jake later that night as he lay on Lizzie’s cot and listened to the howls of the natural wolves in the forest. He twirled his holly and phoenix feather wand between his fingers. “What will Greyback do?”

“Snap your wand if he doesn’t just snap your neck.” Jake sat up from his cot and turned to Harry with a sigh. “Look, I get the feeling that you want to play the hero or something, but the only thing that’s going to get you is a deep hole to bury your body in.”

Harry should have felt fear at the words, but the pain in his ribs stoked his anger and recklessness. “That’s what Greyback wants everyone to think,” he retorted in a fierce whisper. “Greyback is only one wolf. If enough of the pack revolts against him, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

Jake snorted in derision. “You live in a fantasy world. Greyback’s been Alpha for over thirty years. Don’t you think people smarter than you have tried?”

Harry blew air out of his cheeks. “What are my options, then?”

“You could try to run, if you have somewhere to go,” Jake suggested. “If you don’t have a plan, though, Greyback can track you in just a few hours. He always tracks deserters and kills them.”

“I have nowhere to go,” Harry replied deadenly.

“Then–unless you have a death wish–your only other option is to do as you’re told, keep your head down, and stay out of the alpha’s way.”

“It’s a horrible way to live,” Harry muttered. 

Jake scoffed. “We’re monsters. Did you expect anything different?”

Long after Jake had gone to bed, Harry eased himself painfully from the cot and removed the leather rune bracelet from his rucksack. He lay back on the pillow, clutching the bracelet in one hand against his chest. He inhaled deeply, the faintest hint of Hermione’s scent still present in the leather. He missed her. He missed Hogwarts. He missed quidditch. 

He missed Remus. 

Stifling a sob, he threw the bracelet back into the rucksack. Remus had taught Hermione how to draw the runes, and now the comfort of the object was replaced with the endless shame and guilt around Remus’ death.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” he whispered to the domed tent. “You showed me how to be human despite lycanthropy, and I destroyed you for it.”’

Harry exited the tent with Jake at dawn the next day. There was no sleeping in if you were in a werewolf pack; food was scarce, and a lie-in would result in missed breakfast and lunch. He followed Jake to the main area of camp, where gruel was simmering in a dutch oven over an open fire. Greyback stood in front of the meal, his arms folded across his chest. 

He grinned as Harry approached. Following Jake’s lead, Harry kept his gaze on his sneakers. “Ah, Potter arises. How are your ribs, pup?”

Harry hesitated, unsure of what answer would placate the beast before him. “They are as expected, Alpha.”

Greyback laughed. “The pup can learn new tricks! See that? He recognizes his place. Tentmate, get up here.”

Jake swallowed and stepped up alongside Harry. “Did the pup heal his ribs last night?” Greyback demanded. 

“No, Alpha.”

“Did he ask someone else to heal his ribs?”

“No, Alpha.”

Greyback nodded in satisfaction. “Potter, Ramson look up.”

Jake and Harry met the alpha’s eyes. Jake was visibly trembling. 

“I have a mission for you. There’s not enough food here for the pack. You need to get us some. Don’t come back until you have a day’s worth of food for everyone in this pack. Try to desert, and I will hunt you down.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Jake returned. Harry mimicked the words, though rage burned in him at the beast’s gloating smile. 

“Leave now. Don’t disappoint me.”

Jake turned rigidly and nearly sprinted through the forest. Harry followed, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to slow his pace. “What?” Jake hissed. “If Alpha gives you a job to do, you do the job and you do it fast. He might send someone after us, so we have to hurry!”

“We need a plan,” Harry interjected. “And how are we supposed to hunt without a bow and arrow or something?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how to kill a deer with a bow?”

“No.”

“Then that wouldn’t help us anyway. They want us to raid the muggle town about twenty kilometers from here.”

“We’re stealing from them?” Harry asked, an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. 

“No, we’re going to knock politely and ask if they could sell us nibbles with our nonexistent money,” Jake quipped with an eye roll. “You’re such a pampered wolf. How do you think a pack gets food? It’s not like we can have actual jobs.”

Harry tried to be angry at Jake for the vicious jab–any emotion other than the ever-present guilt would be welcome–but he couldn’t muster the feeling as he remembered Lizzie dead in the clearing and Jake tucking the pink bear in with his only blanket. Jake had suffered just as much, if not more, than Harry had. “You’re right, Jake,” Harry found himself saying. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll follow your lead. Just tell me what to do.”

Harry gripped his wand as Jake led him away from the forest and onto a poorly-graded dirt road. He wished fervently for his invisibility cloak tucked deeply in his knapsack in the tent, but he didn’t dare reveal its presence. If Greyback learned of its existence, it wouldn’t be Harry’s anymore. 

The distance from the pack seemed to have a rejuvenating effect on Jake. He walked easily, the tension releasing from his shoulders as his arms swayed at his sides. “So, any cute girls at Hogwarts?” he asked conversationally. 

“A fair few,” Harry returned. 

“Ever had a girlfriend?”

“One.”

“She leave you after the bite?”

“No, actually. She didn’t mind. It was over when I left for the pack.”

“Bet she was mad about that,” Jake observed.

Harry paused as he thought of what to say. “I, uh, I guess I didn’t really think about how she’d feel.”

Jake stared hard at him. “You found a girl that still wanted you even as a werewolf and you turned away from that? And you didn’t think for a second about how she would feel? I may have been raised in a pack, but even I know that makes you a terrible boyfriend.”

Harry grit his teeth. “It doesn’t matter,” he retorted. “I’m too dangerous. She’ll find someone else–someone human–and forget all about me.”

Jake studied his face and shrugged. “It’s our lot, I guess. Sure sucks, though.”

They approached the small muggle town as the noon sun shined overhead. Harry’s stomach was growling loudly, the sound echoed by Jake’s hunger. 

“Just blend in,” Jake muttered as they walked down a neat main street with colorful flowers and banners hanging from every light post. Shoppers walked around the cheerful boardwalk. It was a sleepy, peaceable town. A group of teenage girls bustled out of a clothing shop and headed in their direction. Harry gave them a shy smile, but one of them sniffed the air audibly and grabbed the other girls’ wrists, pulling them into a nearby cobbler’s shop. “I hate these sketchy people that keep showing up. They smell awful,” she muttered.

“They scare me,” a second whispered with a nervous glance at the stubble lining Jake’s jaw and his dirty clothing.

Forcing the girls’ disapproval from his mind, Harry asked, “Are we going to the grocer, or what?”

“The pack hit them a few days ago, and they’ve beefed up security since. We’ll try somewhere else.”

They had walked the entire main street when they saw it: a bakery with neat breads and pastries displayed in large window displays. Harry’s mouth watered at the sight of delicate pies and thick cakes. 

“We’ll have to wait until dark,” Jake explained. “Let’s find a place nearby until sunset.”

“Can it be by a stream? We smell. Bad.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Pampered,” he muttered as he led Harry back into the forest lining the perimeter of the town.

—

“You’ve been delaying my orders, Zenna,” Greyback growled, pacing the length of his tent while Zenna stood impassively. 

“I had an entire pack to heal after the full moon. Then, thanks to your injury to the boy, I could not examine him. To do so would have further harmed him.”

Greyback snorted. “The boy means nothing to me. I don’t care about his comfort.”

“You will if he dies,” Zenna returned crisply. “I cannot isolate the possessing force until I know what we are dealing with, and I cannot know what we are dealing with until he is strong enough to survive the examination.”

“Liar,” Greyback growled, approaching her until his face was inches from hers. “You want to draw this out until after the next full moon, don’t you? You think his wolf will overpower me. You think he will kill me and take over as alpha.”

“You are the only one strong enough to lead this pack, Alpha,” Zenna responded, though the tone felt automatic, and she stared, unblinking, over Greyback’s shoulder. Zenna had always been a talented Occlumens, and Greyback growled with displeasure when he could not read her thoughts. 

“You will begin your work the moment the boy returns. If significant progress is not made twenty-four hours after that time, your life is forfeit for his. Do I make myself clear?”

Zenna’s dark eyes met Greyback’s blue, her face hard. “Crystal.”

—

Night had descended on the quiet muggle town when Harry and Jake crept toward the bakery, lurking in the shadows. They skirted the storefront’s large windows and approached a metal door on the side of the building. 

Jake pressed his ear to the door, listening hard. “I don’t think anyone is still in there,” he whispered. His hands were trembling, and Harry was once again confronted with the horrible reality of how terrified the boy truly was.

Harry gestured for Jake to step back and drew his wand. With a whispered Alohomora , the lock clicked and the door swung open. 

“This is a lot easier when you can do magic,” Jake quipped, though his lips were drawn into a tight smile.

They crept into the darkened bakery, Harry’s nose assaulted with the delicious smell of various confectionaries. It had been over twenty-four hours since he had last eaten, and saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought of an eclair or doughnut. Harry strode to the back corner of the bakery, where a steel rack with the sign “Day Old” rested beneath a window. Harry found a large potato sack and began filling it with loaves of bread and boxes of unsold doughnuts. 

“What are you doing?” Jake hissed. He had been loading his own sack with cupcakes and cookies displayed behind glass near the register.

“If I’m going to steal from them, I’m going to steal the stuff they probably won’t sell. We don’t need to steal the good stuff.”

Jake snorted. “Nice try. You only get the good stuff for Greyback.”

Harry’s jaw tightened as he removed the last of the day old bakery items from the final shelf. “Greyback can get over it.”

“Be sure to tell him that when he’s beating you senseless.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the creak of a door upstairs. Jake and Harry froze, a chocolate cupcake in Jake’s hand. “They must live above the shop,” Jake squeaked. He reached under the counter and removed a fire extinguisher. “You distract him, I’ll take him out.”

“What?! Jake, no–”

A lightswitch flicked, and the bakery was flooded with light. A portly, middle-aged man in pajamas descended the stairs, his face flushed with anger. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded. 

As Jake raised the fire extinguisher, Harry stunned the man with a well-aimed Stupefy . The baker slumped into a cabinet, shattering the glass and scattering cookies. Harry lurched forward, gently lying the man on the tile and checking his pulse. Reaching for his wand, Harry healed the cuts and removed the glass from the man’s back. “He’ll be okay.”

Jake dumped the rest of the cupcakes in his sack and tied the top. “Let’s go, then.”

They crept from the shop, Harry locking the door behind him. Jake raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Harry flushed. “We don’t want anyone else breaking in, do we?”

“Pampered,” Jake muttered again. “You’re going to have to abandon your morals. You won’t survive very long in this pack with them.”

—

Tonks walked into her favorite muggle coffee shop. She approached the tired teen at the counter with a soft smile and ordered her favorite latte and a hot chocolate. She had brought back the treat for Remus over the past few days, and she knew how fond he had become of the ritual. She selected a poppy seed muffin as two muscular men entered the shop behind her. Finishing her purchase, she settled behind a small table and turned her attention to the newscast in the corner. The headline Ghost Bakery Robbers in Bakewell flashed on the screen. 

With an eyebrow quirked in amusement, Tonks watched as the camera panned to a portly baker-type man with sweat on his brow. “All I remember is hearing a ruckus downstairs, so I went to investigate. There were two kids there, stealing food. Next thing I know, I was waking up on the tile in front of my broken cabinet.”

The camera switched to the newscaster. “Though this may seem like a standard robbery, the owner insists that there is something strange about the whole incident. He received no injuries from the shattered cabinet, despite the fact that he was laying on the glass when he woke up. The side door was also locked from the inside and showed no sign of forced entry.”

“They had to be ghosts,” the owner said when the camera panned back onto his face. “There’s no other explanation.”

“These ‘ghosts’ weren’t concerned with being caught on security footage, however,” the newscaster stated as the camera switched to a grainy surveillance video.

Tonks dropped her muffin. 

The brown-haired boy was unrecognizable, but the second bore raven hair and three distinct scars across his face.

Abandoning her order, Tonks rushed from the shop, frantically looking somewhere to apparate. She was about to turn into a darkened alley when a prickle of fear trickled up her spine. Feigning a stretch, she raised her arms above her head and looked over her shoulder. The two men from the coffee shop had also left and were watching her intently from the other side of the street. 

Tonks’s lips quirked in amusement as adrenaline made its way into her limbs and she palmed her wand. Amateurs. She ducked into the alley and pressed against the brick wall, her wand at the ready and her body concealed by shadow. Sure enough, the two men ambled into the alley, their own wands drawn. They passed Tonks ignorantly. She stunned the first man from behind. 

“If you’re going to follow someone, at least make it less obvious,” Tonks taunted as she deflected a curse from the second man. “Greyback sends two big men to take out one pink-haired girl? Not gonna lie, it sounds like he’s a bit threatened.”

She blocked two more curses and responded with two of her own. The second curse clipped the man’s side, and he stumbled to the ground as his legs engaged in a tap dance on their own volition. Tonks bound both men with ropes and sent out a signaling charm–a distress signal used to indicate trouble. Hit wizards would be arriving in the area shortly, and they would find two of Greyback’s known henchmen trussed up like butchered pigs. 

Tonks gave the men a mock salute. “It’s been fun, boys, but I have a job to do.” Turning on the spot, she apparated to the cottage. 

“I found Harry!” she exclaimed. Molly wheeled around from the cauldron of blood replenishing potion, and Remus and Sirius entered the kitchen with unfettered relief on their faces. “He’s somewhere near Bakeworth.”

Remus embraced Dora, tears leaking from his eyes as she explained the bakery robbery. “He can’t be far, right?” she asked.

Remus nodded. He faltered a bit on his feet and sank into a chair at the table. “Probably ten or twenty kilometers at the most.”

“I’m coming without wasting time on a disguise,” Sirius said. “It’s time Sirius Black makes his first public appearance.”

“I’ll try to hold the fan girls back,” Tonks said with an eyeroll.

“Don’t leave without Bill,” Remus advised. “You’ll need him. Greyback isn’t going to give up Harry easily.”

A patronus message later, Bill apparated into the living room, and Tonks explained the situation. “Let’s bring Harry home so Remus can have his hot chocolate,” Bill joked.

“Dora, be careful,” Remus whispered, gripping her hand. “Don’t underestimate Greyback.”

Tonks kissed him lightly on the lips. “We will. I can hold my own.”

“She’s hardly a pampered princess,” Sirius observed wryly. 

Ignoring the jibe, Tonks squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

On a Monday morning one week after Harry’s disappearance, Hemione rose from a fitful sleep. Her eyes felt swollen and puffy, and her neck ached. She clung to the dream that had visited her–something so vibrant and real that it took her breath away. In the dream, Harry lay in a small two-man tent with another boy his age. He couldn’t sleep, but his hand clutched the leather rune bracelet that Hermione had made for him prior to his first full moon. He had clung to it desperately, like it was a life preserver in the midst of a swelling ocean, but he flung it away after a moment with a sob of pain. 

Hermione shook her sleeve back to reveal the complement to Harry’s bracelet. There was no message, no hidden meaning in the cold runes. They remained as silent as ever, just like Harry. Could her dream have been real? Was it possible? 

Deep in thought, she reached for robes and made her way to the bathroom. By now, Harry’s absence had been a prime topic of gossip among the student body. Hermione had only stopped Lavender and Pavarti’s pestering questions by repeating the alibi McGonagall had told the staff: Harry’s guardian was seriously injured in a tragic accident, and Harry was excused from classes until further notice while his guardian’s health remained uncertain. 

Hermione took a rapid shower and dressed, threading her fingers through her mane of curls. With a grimace, she approached the mirror, which was surrounded by her dormmates’ makeup and toiletries. Dark circles clung beneath bloodshot eyes, her skin waxy and wan. Her untamable mane was now even more of a jungle than usual. Hermione Granger didn’t put much stock in appearances, but even she could tell that she was a mess. McGonagall had been adamant that they do nothing to arouse any sort of suspicion regarding Harry’s disappearance, and appearing in Umbridge’s class looking like a broken-hearted zombie just wouldn’t do. 

She palmed her wand and murmured a vanity spell. Though Lavender and Pavarti used them religiously every morning, Hermione had always scoffed at the idea. But now she saw the appeal as her dark shadows faded and a slight blush of color appeared high on her cheeks. She debated applying some mascara–her mother had bought some for her at the end of fourth year–but decided against it. She had nothing against the small black tube, but the liquid wasn’t waterproof. She doubted she would get through today without the tears that so frequently came to her eyes. 

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom. Lavender and Pavarti were sitting on Hermione’s bed with Hermione’s backpack nestled at her feet. Hermione raised an eyebrow and reached for her bag, but Pavarti picked it up before she could grab it. 

“What’s with the two of you?” Hermione asked. “Give me my backpack. I’m going to be late for Herbology.”

“Not until you fess up,” Parvati responded. “Spill, girl.”

“About what?”

“The reason you’ve been mopey. The reason you’ve been crying for the past week. Ron’s been trying to cheer you up, but you won’t let him. We want the truth. What’s got your wand in such a twist?”

Hermione grit her teeth. My boyfriend is a werewolf and abandoned me to live with a pack, she mentally quipped. “It’s not any of your concern,” Hermione answered verbally. “I have it well under control.”

“We think it’s over a boy!” Lavender exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement another moment. “And we want all the juicy details! Is it Victor? Did you guys have a row or something?”

“No. It is nothing about Victor. Victor and I are just friends.”

“But it is a boy, though,” Parvati observed astutely, her eyes glinting when Hermione didn’t immediately correct her. “Is it Harry? Are you upset that he’s gone?”

The fight seeped out of Hermione. She was so tired. Tired of all the worry. Tired of feeling helpless. Tired of feeling useless. “Yes, I miss Harry,” she admitted.

“But I don’t think that’s all of it,” Lavender chipped in. “You can miss someone but not cry your eyes out all night. He’s only been gone a week. You don’t see me crying if one of my friends is gone for a few days. It doesn’t make sense–unless there was something more between you and Harry than just friends?”

Hermione flushed, and that was all the encouragement the girls needed as they squealed and began speaking over one another, shooting questions and demanding details. 

“How long–”

“Is he a good kisser–”

“What does Ron think–”

“Why haven’t you told us–”

“Look,” Hermione snapped, her hands out to stop the ceaseless chatter. “I’m worried about Harry. I don’t know when he can come back, so it makes me anxious. And I’m not going to tell you details about my relationship because it is between me and him. As for what Ron thinks, that is between us and Ron and no one else.”

Parvati and Lavender studied her closely as she picked up her backpack. Finally Lavender shrugged. “If you don’t want to tell us, that’s fine. Just let me do a card reading on your relationship before you go.”

“A what?”

“We just learned it in Divination. It uses face cards to predict the future of relationships.”

Hermione raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I wonder how many good relationships have been ruined with that idiocy.” 

Parvati rolled her eyes. “We know you don’t put any stock in it. It’s just for fun. Come on. Lavender is really good at it. She was partnered with Hannah Abbot and said that Hannah should be more upfront with her feelings. Hannah was dating Terry Boot in Ravenclaw by lunch the next day.”

Hermione hesitated, one hand on the doorknob. “If I do this one card reading, do you promise to stop asking about me and Harry?”

Both girls nodded emphatically. 

In resignation, Hermione placed her backpack by the door and sat cross-legged on the floor. Lavender knelt across from her and began to shuffle cards. “Draw five cards, but do not look at them,” she commanded. 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione drew the required cards and fanned them out, facedown, in front of her.

“Now return three of those cards and draw five more.”

Hermione didn’t resist the eye roll this time as she did as instructed. She now had seven cards placed in front of her. 

“Keep the cards face down and pick one that represents Harry. Just choose the one that feels right.”

Hermione went immediately to the right-hand card but paused. Though she couldn’t explain it, a steady thrum appeared to be emanating from a card in the center. It called to her magic, begging to be considered. Nonplussed, Hermione picked up the center card and placed it in Lavender’s outstretched hand.

“Now pick a card that represents yourself.”

Again, Hermione felt the steady thrum on her magic as it pulled her toward the left-most card. She picked it up with trembling fingers and handed it to Lavender. 

Lavender palmed the two cards and sent the rejected cards back into the box with a wave of her wand. “Now close your eyes and think of your beloved. What do you see?”

Hermione gasped as the vision came to her. She stood in a dewy glade, morning sunlight slicing through the trees. She was dressed in a white gown and carrying a bouquet of roses. Harry stood a ways off beneath an archway woven with vines and more roses. He smiled and beckoned out to her. He looked older, somehow–the boyishness had left his features, and he stood tall and confident next to a heavily scarred Remus Lupin. 

Ron stood on Lupin’s other side. Like Harry, the boyishness had left Ron’s features and he carried himself with a self-assurance Hermione had never seen. As she passed, he reached out and took the bouquet from her. “No need for this during the handfasting,” he explained. “I’ll keep it safe.”

A hand appeared on her shoulder, and she turned toward Harry’s green eyes. The scars on his face had faded slightly, though they were still a dominant feature. Beyond the scars, there was an effulgence of love on his face as he guided her beneath the arch. 

“The couple will say their vows, and their marriage will be completed with handfasting,” a voice wheezed. Hermione hadn’t even noticed the tiny little wizard that stood no taller than Harry’s elbow. 

Harry began, his words clear as a gentle breeze fluffed his hair. “Hermione, you were everything for me when I couldn’t be. Because of you, I found myself. You remind me to be human: to love, to cry, to laugh, to grieve, to smile, to work, to fail, to try again. You saved me when I was at my lowest. You guided me home. I pledge myself to you today–” 

Harry continued speaking, but Hermione was hearing it as if from a great distance as the vision was overtaken by a tortured, drawn out scream so terrible that she silently begged it to end. The beautiful glade was now dying; petals fell from the bouquet in Ron’s hands, and long shadows darkened the trees. The grass beneath her feet turned brown and dry. 

When it seemed like she could not bear a moment more, the vision faded to black. Hermione blinked, her awareness coming back to the hard floor of the fifth-year-girls’ dormitory. 

Lavender and Pavarti were looking at her, though with awe or fear, it was impossible to tell. “Don’t tell us what you saw,” Parvati said in a low whisper. “It’s for your Inner Eye only.”

“The final step is to reveal the cards,” Lavender said, turning over the first card. “This is what you chose for Harry.”

It was a glossy king of diamonds. Parvati reached for her divination textbook and read, “‘The choice of the king of diamonds, accompanied by a peaceful vision, indicates strong moral fiber and leadership. If accompanied by a painful or sad vision, the king of diamonds indicates stubbornness and pride.’”

Hermione nodded mutely as her stomach twisted unpleasantly. 

“Let’s check the other card.” Lavender flipped it over and revealed what Hermione had chosen for herself: a queen of hearts. 

“‘A queen of hearts accompanied by a peaceful vision indicates great love and courage. If accompanied by a painful or sad vision, the queen of hearts indicates a propensity for the relationship to be strained or even dissolved by violent means,’” Parvati recited.

The girls looked expectantly at Hermione. She cleared her throat awkwardly and stood. “Well, that was, um, enlightening,” she stuttered. “S-see you in class.”

As she shouldered her backpack and walked through the door, she couldn’t stop her racing thoughts. Before today, she had taken no stock in Divination. It was fake magic, illogical, and unconventional. But she couldn’t deny the vision that had been opened to her. It had been so real that she could still feel the forest sun on her skin and Harry’s hand on her shoulder. And that tortured scream still echoed in her ears with horrible clarity. The Divination textbook had made everything black and white: if the vision was peaceful, this is what it meant; if the vision was sad or painful, this is what it meant. But her vision had been peaceful, sad, and painful. What was she supposed to make of that?

Later, when she took her usual place in Defense amid Umbridge’s simpering smile, Hermione’s thoughts returned to the vision: What do you do if your greatest joy is surrounded by the most exquisite darkness? What could that mean for Harry and I?

—

Harry and Jake returned the following morning with their overflowing bags of pastry. They handed the bags to Greyback without ceremony. He immediately combed through the bags, taking the best items for himself. He scoffed at the day-old bag, but Harry was ready when he turned to them with an upraised hand. 

“We were interrupted by the owner, Alpha,” Harry explained evenly. “We got everything within easy reach to make sure there was enough for the pack.”

Greyback grunted. “You weren’t supposed to get caught. You’ve brought enough for everyone in the pack except yourselves. Get out of my sight.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Jake grabbed him by the elbow and marched him toward their tent. “I’m hungry, too,” he muttered. “This happens every time he sends kids out to get food. Don’t worry. Zenna will bring something by.”

Jake’s words proved true. Zenna approached the tent thirty minutes later with two pastries wrapped in cloth. She handed them to the boys with a sad smile. “This is all I could take without being discovered. I wish it was more.”

“Thanks, Zenna,” Jake said, tearing into the pastry with abandon. The action reminded him so much of Ron that Harry felt a jolt of homesickness.

Zenna turned her attention to Harry. “Harry, I promised that I could help you control your wolf, and it’s time that I made good on my promise. But I'll need to do some spellwork to diagnose what is going on. This spellwork is delicate and cannot be interrupted. We'll need to leave the pack and return once the spellwork is complete.”

Harry exchanged a worried glance with Jake. “Can Jake come, too?” 

Zenna shook her head. “He is needed in the pack. Gather your things. We leave in ten minutes.”

As she turned and strode away, Harry turned to Jake. “You’ll be okay, right? While we’re gone?”

Jake snorted. “I survived in this pack five years before you were even turned, Potter. I think I can handle it.” But Harry noticed how he cast his eyes to his feet as he spoke.

There wasn’t much to pack. All Harry had to do was gather his knapsack beneath the cot and wait for Zenna to return. When she came, she carried a quiver of arrows and a longbow across her shoulders. “We aren’t taking food with us,” she said in response to Harry’s anxious glance. “We will hunt as we go. Come.”

They walked into the dense forest, the sounds and smells of the pack fading. Zenna cast charms behind them as they walked. “Protection charms,” she explained. 

“Do you think Jake will be okay?” Harry asked timidly. 

Zenna nodded. “He’s stronger than he looks, Harry. He’ll be just fine when we return. You don’t need to protect him.”

Harry gave a noncommittal hum. They walked for what seemed hours in the forest until they stopped at the top of a cliff. “We will make camp here,” Zenna said, removing the bow and quiver from her back. She untied a knapsack around her waist and handed it to Harry. “This has an undetectable expansion charm on the inside. Can you get the two tents out and pitch them?”

Harry reached into the bag, shocked when the inside opened up much larger than expected. He found and pitched the tents without effort while Zenna started a fire. For a moment, it almost felt like he was going on a backpacking trip with a cool aunt instead of preparing for a medical evaluation. 

Zenna left with her bow and arrow, returning about an hour later with two hares. She taught Harry to skin and clean them, and they sat around the fire as the meat cooked. “What do you think of pack life, Harry?” Zenna asked casually. 

Harry paused, then decided to risk honesty as he looked into Zenna’s earnest face. “I didn’t know it was Greyback’s pack,” he admitted. “I don’t think I would've come if I had known.”

Zenna nodded stiffly. “I understand,” she whispered, and Harry once more saw a glimpse of sadness flash across her features. “Has Jake treated you well?” she continued.

“Yeah. He’s great.” Harry cast his eyes for something else to discuss. "Can you teach me how to use this?" he asked, gesturing to the bow. "It would feel better than stealing."

Zenna nodded. "We can have some target practice on the way back. For now I don't want to lose any arrows."

Preparing the rabbits had taken most of the day. They are slowly, and Harry felt full for the first time in a week as he tore the juicy meat from the bone with his teeth. 

"We will start the examination tomorrow. Rest well, Harry Potter."

Harry retired to his tent. It was furnished with a warm sleeping bag and cot. His stomach was full and, if all went well tomorrow, he could be closer to conquering Albion. Harry slept soundly for the first time since the full moon. 

The next morning, Zenna instructed Harry to take his cot near the fire and lay upon it. He swallowed nervously as she palmed her wand. "Tell me about your wolf," Zenna said. "What is he like from your perspective?"

Seeing no reason to keep anything secret, Harry described the wager with Albion during the first moon, the possession (though he left out identifying details about Grimmauld Place and the Order), being saved through soul travel, and containing Albion within the clear, mental dome.

"The wolf has its own complex emotions, correct? It made its own plans?"

Harry nodded. 

"And what about after containment? What was the wolf like on the last two full moons?"

In halting tones, Harry described the next moon: the immunity to Wolfsbane and his horrific injuries. Though he couldn't stop the sobs that escaped, he described the second moon and the fatal injuries Albion had inflicted.

At these words, Zenna met his gaze with a gasp. "Remus Lupin is dead?" 

Harry nodded, shamefaced. "H-he said n-nothing would happen but i-it d-did."

Grief flashed across Zenna's features. "Lupin was a good wolf."

"He was a great man," Harry contended. 

Zenna didn't argue the fact. "Harry, I will examine your mind now," she said softly. "To do so can be exquisitely painful if you offer any sort of resistance. I'm going to ask that you trust me. I do not wish to harm you, only to see what we are dealing with. Lay back and think of a happy memory to distract yourself."

Harry closed his eyes. The recollection of kissing Hermione in the common room would do nicely.

—

Tonks, Bill, and Sirius apparated into the trees around the quiet town of Bakeworth. Sirius immediately transformed into Padfoot, sniffing the ground for any trace of Harry's scent. 

"Can't we track Harry using his wand?" Bill asked. "It sounds like they used magic to enter the bakery."

"I wish," Tonks sighed. "The Ministry doesn't want underage wizards to know about it, but the Ministry’s tracking of underage magic is seriously flawed. In wizarding households, the magic isn't tracked at all, and in muggle locations like this, magic is only tracked inside the homes of muggle-born witches and wizards. Since this isn't among any of Harry's known locations, the magic from his wand will not register."

"That's ridiculous," Bill scoffed. 

"It's politics," Tonks responded with a shrug. "The Improper Use of Magic Office has been understaffed and underpaid for decades. They can't have eyes everywhere, so the Trace only tracks in the most likely places. Obviously, that tiny detail is a closely guarded Ministry secret.”

Bill snorted. “Obviously.”

They followed Padfoot up the main street, though passersby gave them wary glances. Some even paled noticeably when they saw the wounds across Bill’s face. “They’re jumpy here, too,” Bill observed dryly. 

“Let’s see if we can learn some of the gossip,” Tonks said. She gestured to a nearby pub. Padfoot ran into a side street and emerged as Sirius, a hand on the wand in his jacket. 

“Shouldn’t we be tracking Harry, not enjoying a drink?” he hissed vehemently. 

“We need to know the pack’s movements. If we know when newcomers usually arrive, we can avoid Greyback getting an early tip off of our presence.” She gave Sirius a scathing sneer. “I do know what I’m doing, cousin.”

As they stepped into the pub, the young blonde at the counter gasped audibly and all chatter ceased. “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” she stammered, her eyes on Bill’s face. “J-just take what you want and go.”

“We’re not here to rob you,” Bill retorted indignantly. 

With some silent spellwork that would have made Mad-Eye proud, Tonks transfigured a button on the inside pocket of her jacket to a shiny police badge. She slid it across the counter to the barkeep. “Agent Thomas,” Tonks explained, gesturing to herself, then jutting a thumb behind her to Sirius and Bill. “This is Agent White and Agent Stoat. We're here to investigate the robberies and break-ins. Can I ask you a few questions while White and Stoat ask your patrons what they know?”

They left the pub twenty minutes later. The young woman had turned out to be a hive of information, especially regarding when the pack most recently appeared in the town. They stopped at a park bench to compare notes. 

“It looks like they always come in twos and threes usually at dusk and from the northwest following a dirt road that leads into the mountains. It’s still mid-morning. If we lay some tracking charms on the road, hopefully we can get there before Greyback sends Harry and that kid off on another raid for food,” Tonks said.

“Okay, we know how to get there. What do we do once we're there? We need to think this through,” Bill stated. 

“What is there to think through? We lie low close by and–”

“No,” Sirius interjected. “Bill’s right. Any werewolf will hear and smell us way before we stumble across their camp. We need to be able to travel undetected. Once we have eyes on Harry, we can make a plan.”

“We also need a way to communicate in case we are separated,” Bill added. 

Sirius strode down the street to a cobbler’s shop. “Think they’ll sell me some leather scraps?”

Sirius purchased three leather straps while Tonks and Bill looked on in confusion. They followed Sirius down the dirt road leading into the forest, and stepped into the cover of the trees. Sirius set the strips down on a flat rock and turned toward them. “Since I was stuck in the cottage until my name was clear, Remus taught me a few tricks. I’m going to embed these bracelets with protection runes and communication symbols. We will still need a disillusionment charm, and for Pete’s sake, Tonks, don’t trip over anything. We’ll still need to be relatively quiet. But the runes will help mask our scent and any minor noise.”

“That’s brilliant,” Bill observed. 

“Well, code breaker, get over here. You can help make the other two.”

A slurry of spellcasting later, and the trio walked into the forest, each with a strap fastened to their wrist. They had disillusioned themselves, and the only thing Tonks could see was a faint shimmer to indicate that Sirius was walking in front of her.

They crept further into the trees. Sirius would occasionally turn into Padfoot, but they were not forced to change course. The scent of the pack was clear and recent. Tonks’s heart beat loudly with anticipation. We are almost there, Harry. With any luck, we’ll bring you home by nightfall.

—

As Zenna’s spell was cast, Harry was thrust back onto the Hogwarts grounds near the dome that held Albion. Harry turned toward the monster, sick bile rising in his throat. Albion was leaning casually against the side of the dome, his arms crossed. He appeared almost bored, though there was a horrible triumph was upon his features. 

“You!” Harry snarled. He looked around for anything that would maim Albion, but paused in his bloodlust. Attacking Albion would, of course, weaken the dome and risk his own daytime possession. “I hate you,” Harry spat.

Albion smirked. “Now, Harry, is that how you treat an old friend?”

“You killed Remus! I showed mercy to you and you–you–”

“The idiot wolf had it coming. I was going to spare him. All he had to do was leave me alone to do what I needed to do.”

“Which was what?” Harry demanded. 

“Injure your wolf form enough that I could take control after the moon set. We may have both died in the attempt, but it was a risk I was willing to take. So when he intervened, I fought back. He lasted a lot longer than I thought he would. He’s stronger than I gave him credit for. The moon set before I could do anything other than fight him off.”

A sick feeling twisted Harry’s stomach. “Why are you doing this? Why are you obsessed with controlling me? No one else's wolf does this.”

“Because I lied to you from the beginning.”

Harry gaped at the monster. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not a wolf, Harry. I’m not here because you have lycanthropy. I’m a horcrux. I’ve been with you since you were a year old, though it wasn't until you were infected with lycanthropy that I had the power to create my embodiment as Albion.”

“W-what?” Harry stammered. His knees felt weak, as if the ground was lurching beneath him. 

“I’m a piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul, blended irretrievably with yours.”

A stick snapped behind Harry, and he turned to see Zenna staring between Harry and Albion, her mouth gaping open. With a wave of her wand, Harry returned to his body on the cot in the clearing, and Zenna was eyeing him with the same shocked expression. Her hands were shaking. “This is not what I expected," she murmured softly.

Harry felt shaky and resisted the urge to vomit what little food was in his stomach. He felt unclean. He had kissed Hermione with a fragment of Voldemort’s soul within him. Did that mean Hermione had also kissed Voldemort? The possibility was almost too horrible to imagine. No one in their right mind would ship that, Harry thought with a shudder. Forcing the unpleasant thoughts away, he shifted his gaze to Zenna. “Can you get rid of it? This piece of soul or whatever it is?”

Zenna cast her eyes to the wand between her fingers. When she looked up, her face was more despondent than Harry had ever seen her. “Harry . . . I-I don’t know how.”

—

It had taken most of the day to arrive in the clearing of ramshackle tents where the pack was assembled. Disillusioned, Tonks, Sirius, and Bill crouched beneath thick oak brush and observed the pack’s movements. Tonks cast a silent muffliato and grimaced. “I don’t see him. I don’t think he’s here.”

Sirius shook his head. “He has to be. He was on the surveillance footage. We know he was with Greyback, and we know this is his pack. We just have to keep watching.”

Bill opened his mouth to respond, but his words were interrupted by the blast of a horn. The clearing became a hive of activity as every pack member stood in a single file line. At the end of the line, a boy with brown hair stood quivering. 

“That’s the kid!” Tonks breathed. “The one that was with Harry in the bakery!”

“But no Harry,” Bill murmured beside her. 

Greyback swept the length of the line, pausing here and there to praise or jibe at his packmates. He paused at the end of the assembly and chuckled–a deep, ominous sound that grated against Tonks’s ears. 

“Ramson, step forward.”

The boy, who couldn’t be a day older than sixteen, took a step forward, his head low. “Alpha.”

“Ramson brought us the delicacies we have enjoyed this morning, but I have a question for you, boy. Ever heard of a vegetable? I need to maintain my figure, you know.”

It would have been funny had it not been so terrifying. As the other pack members laughed, Tonks had eyes only for the boy’s petrified features and wide eyes.

“I-I didn’t think–”

The clearing was punctuated with more laughter.

“You rarely think, Ramson. That’s why you’re the omega. Well, Potter’s the omega for now, but I’m sure he’ll pass you on the next full moon.”

More laughter, but Sirius’s gasp was loud in her ear at the mention of Harry’s name. 

The boy quivered in front of his alpha. “I’m sorry, Alpha.”

Greyback stepped back to appraise the boy. “I don’t think words are adequate for the number of times you’ve failed me, Ramson. Remove your shirt.”

The boy took a frantic step back, only to have another pack member in the line shove him forward. “Alpha, please no,” the boy begged. 

Greyback was not deterred. Another pack member approached, carrying a large whip with a sharpened metal point dangling from the end. At Greyback’s command, two men grabbed the boy, drug him to the center of the clearing, and tore apart his shirt. They forced the boy to his knees. Greyback stood over him, the cruel whip in his hand.

Even disillusioned, Tonks felt Bill grab her wrist. “Don’t do anything stupid, Tonks,” he whispered. “We can’t be discovered.”

The whip cracked, echoing through the clearing. The boy yelped and sobbed as the whip came down upon him, leaving bloody marks across his back. 

“Zenna isn’t here to save your neck, is she?” Greyback taunted, raising the whip a second time. “No one else will step up for you. And your little sister is dead. I always stayed my hand for her benefit, but now she’s gone. Everyone has left you.”

Behind the oak brush, Tonks shook with rage. She hated that monster, hated him more than she had ever hated anyone or anything. She became an auror to stop the bullies–to give power to the powerless and to save the downtrodden.

She would not stand idly by. 

Ignoring Sirius and Bill’s frantic whispers calling her back, she blocked Greyback’s third whiplash with a shield from her wand. Greyback whirled around and Tonks strode into the clearing. She disillusioned herself and raised her wand. “Don’t touch him. Ever again.”

Greyback leered hungrily at her, his eyes murderous. “Ah, Lupin’s pet came to play.”

Chapter Text

Greyback leered hungrily at her, his eyes murderous. “Ah, Lupin’s pet came to play.”

Relying on years of harsh auror training and with Mad-Eye’s scream of “constant vigilance!” in her ear, Tonks sent off two rapid curses. Greyback deflected the first easily but had to dodge the second. The curse flew toward the line of assembled pack mates. They broke formation with a shriek. 

“Pack up! We make for a new location as soon as she’s dead,” Greyback ordered. Simultaneously, he sent two silent curses her way. 

Tonks blocked them and focused on controlling her breathing. Mad-Eye had once told her that dueling a werewolf would put her at a disadvantage. Their sensitive hearing could pick up the quick draw of breath before a muttered spell or an increased heart rate prior to making a surprise move. She had no doubt that Greyback used his abilities to their fullest potential.  

But she was strong, determined, and fierce. Greyback and Tonks faced each other in a circle, not taking their eyes from each other. In the corner of her vision, Tonks spotted a slight disturbance in the air and hoped one of her disillusioned friends was providing backup. 

“Too bad it wasn’t closer to the full moon,” Greyback growled. “I was planning to capture and turn you, but you chose death instead.”

“What a shame,” Tonks responded, rolling her eyes. She cast three more curses in quick succession. Greyback deflected two but took the third on the chest. The curse glanced off his skin as if it was no more than a stream of water. 

That’s when Tonks felt the first trickle of fear and self-doubt. She cast the thought aside as she deflected two more curses. The whipped boy was staggering toward a collection of tents, blood dripping down his back. The sight returned Tonks’s courage, and she redoubled her efforts, dancing across the clearing and gaining a slight upper hand on the beast in front of her. Greyback’s lips curled into a sneer and then a grimace as he deflected curse after curse. 

As the fight wore on minute after minute, Tonks began to tire. She calculated each step on the uneven ground and fought to keep her energy reserves up. Where are Bill and Sirius? she mentally growled, though she didn’t dare turn to see if they had been captured. 

She was dodged a torture curse and realized her mistake seconds too late. Greyback had been waiting for that moment–the precious seconds where her concentration was focused on avoiding the unforgivable. He had cast a second curse almost immediately after the first, directing it in the direction he knew she would dodge. 

Pain like she had never before felt sliced across her torso from shoulder to hip. She heard a muffled yell (maybe from her own lips?), but an awful roaring in her ears drowned out the noise. Limp fingers dropped her wand, and her hands weakly clutched at the gaping wound across her breast. It was pouring blood, pooling in torrents around her, bleeding more profusely than even a severe wound should. Spots appeared in her vision and Tonks coughed, bloody vomit adding to the pool. 

Greyback stepped over her limp body, triumph on his face. “You’re going to die the same way Lupin’s first mate died. Lupin should've learned the first time. Pack! Move out!” he shouted. With a resounding crack, Greyback apparated.

Tonks’s fingers reached weakly for her wand, but the trembling digits would not cooperate. Blackness closed fully around her. Remus, love, this wasn’t your fault , she thought, desperately wishing Remus would believe the words when she was gone. 

—

Zenna’s face was more despondent than Harry had ever seen her. “Harry . . . I-I don’t know how.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how to get rid of it?” Harry demanded angrily. Tears of desperation pricked at his eyes, and he rubbed them away in irritation. “You said you knew how!”

Zenna met Harry’s tortured gaze with tears sparkling in her own eyes. “I thought we were dealing with a simple possession–a forest demon or common sprite that took advantage of your weakness prior to the full moon. That would have require a simple spell to lure out the spirit. But Albion isn't a spirit. He's a soul, a horcrux.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Harry yelled. He felt contaminated, like something was crawling beneath his skin. 

“A horcrux is powerful dark magic," Zenna explained patiently. "It requires an act of murder to split a person’s soul. This second part of the soul is then hidden within an object or a living being. It is a way to approach immortality.”

“Voldemort made me into a horcrux? On purpose?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think a horcrux can be made on accident, unless the soul was already quite fragmented. But we cannot speculate.”

“How do you get rid of it?" 

Zenna looked at him evenly. “You destroy the container that hosts the horcrux. I don't know how to get rid of it and keep you alive.”

Harry’s breath caught, and the full impact of what they had discovered came to his mind. “But you heard what Albion said. He’ll try to possess me again on the next full moon.”

“We don’t know if that's possible,” Zenna contended. 

“Albion killed Remus!” Harry burst out. “Nothing is going to stop him! I need you to try to get rid of it. By the full moon, Albion will either take over or he will kill us both trying.” Harry dropped his gaze to his shaking knees. “I’m dead either way.”

Zenna held out her hand and helped Harry rise from the cot. “You are a strong wolf, Harry Potter,” she murmured, admiration in her eyes. “You are certainly a Gryffindor through-and-through.”

Harry felt a pang of homesickness but also a jolt of pride. He scuffed his sneakers against the dirt. “Will you try to remove it?” he pressed.

Zenna hesitated, then nodded. “You have my word.”

Investigating Albion had forced Harry to be vulnerable and honest. Now he desired the same honesty from her. He needed to know–once and for all–if he could trust her. “Zenna, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you with Greyback?”

Zenna walked to the fire and spoke to the dying embers. “I was the alpha of my pack. A good, peaceable pack that worked together. We didn’t steal. We hunted and farmed, sometimes taking an odd job in nearby muggle towns. Six weeks ago Greyback took over my pack and forced us into his servitude. It was join him or die. If I didn’t have to care for the rest of my pack, I would have chosen death. But my responsibility is to keep my pack safe and fed, despite the current situation we are in.”

“Why don’t you fight him?” Harry challenged. 

“Greyback is too strong. If I fail, he will kill every wolf that was part of my pack. I can risk my own life, but I can’t risk everyone else’s.” Zenna added three sticks to the fire and watched deadenly as the flames licked the dry bark. 

She looked so miserable that Harry almost didn’t ask his next question. But he had to know–he couldn’t trust her without knowing the answer. “Did you send those letters to me on Greyback’s orders?”

“I did. Greyback has eyes and ears in Hogwarts. A rat, an animagus, was watching how you were adapting and reporting back to him. I was told to use that information to craft my messages.” 

“So Wormtail spied for Greyback.”

Zenna nodded. “We haven’t heard from him since the last full moon, so I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Why would Greyback bother to bring me here?” 

Zenna reached a hand toward the flames. “Greyback thought–” but she stopped and took a deep, shaking breath. She turned fully to Harry, two tears making their way down her cheeks. “I’m trying to be brave like you, Harry Potter, please do not hate me for what I am about to tell you. Greyback thought that I could extract the possessing force. He would then harness the force’s power to become even more savage and beast-like.”

“Can he do that?”

Zenna shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Why did you agree to it?” 

“He was going to kill the pups–Jack and Lizzie–if I didn’t. I thought he was insane, and I didn’t actually think a common demon would give him any power. I could do what he wanted and keep the pups safe. At the time, I didn’t care about what that meant for you. Please forgive me for my utter idiocy.”

“You did what you needed to do,” Harry whispered. He saw Ron and Hermione’s faces in his mind’s eye, and knew he would do exactly as she had if it meant keeping them safe. “So, what do we do now?”

“We return to the pack, and I will ponder how to help you. But you must understand that it could kill you.”

“I’m dead either way,” Harry reiterated fiercely. “The deadline is the next full moon. I need you to try to get rid of it before then. Do whatever it takes.”

Zenna squared her shoulders. “You have my word.”

—

Tonks gradually gained awareness. She opened her eyes, but her vision was blurry. A shape stood over her, but it had neither form nor distinction. “Remus?” she whispered. 

The figure had been muttering something with frenzied words but ceased at the sound of her voice. “Tonks!” the figure yelled. “Sirius, she’s awake!” 

Tonks fought to understand the words, but her brain felt fuzzy. “Bill?” she croaked. She blinked a few more times, and Bill’s pale face came into view. He was visibly shaking, blood coating his hands and soaking his pants where he had knelt in front of her. She tried to rise, but fell back with a gasp of pain. There was the sound of heavy footfalls, and Sirius’s features came into her vision. His brows were furrowed with concern, but his mouth was turned down in anger. 

“Are you sure she’s going to be okay?” he pressed.

“I think so. The bleeding has stopped.”

Sirius gave Bill a grateful nod, then turned to her, his jaw set. “What on earth were you thinking, Tonks?” he snapped. “That was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done! We were so close to finding Harry, and you ruined it for nothing!”

Tonks bristled. She tried to command her voice to yell but couldn’t muster the energy. “I saved that kid’s life,” she wheezed. 

“You did nothing!” Sirius spat. “The kid went with the pack without a second glance. Greyback is probably finishing the whipping as we speak. The kid didn’t care!”

Tears pricked at Tonks’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I care,” she returned with conviction. “It mattered to me.”

“You almost died! Thank Merlin that Bill saw this exact same curse in Egypt and knew the counter! Otherwise, you would be dead!” Sirius roared. 

“Where was my backup?” Tonks snapped. “I didn’t have any help from you!”

“He was trying to find Harry before the only lead we had dried up,” Bill responded quietly. “I shielded you from two curses that you couldn’t block, but a pack member figured out where I was, and we had to duel.”

Tonks cast her eyes down in shame. “Oh. Sorry.” 

Bill murmured a spell and bandages tightly wrapped around Tonks’s torso from shoulder to hip. “The cut will need to heal naturally. Dittany might speed the healing, but this particular curse is a nasty one. You’ll probably need a week or two of bed rest.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” Tonks quipped, but softened her gaze. “Really, th-thank you, Bill. I thought that was the end of it.”

Bill hugged her gently. It was a hug that would have had Molly Weasley ringing wedding bells in the street, but Tonks had known Bill long enough to recognize the gesture as nothing more than platonic. “What are friends for? Besides, I had no desire to tell your fiance that we let his future wife die.”

Tonks groaned. “Remus is not going to like this.” She struggled to stand, but the world swam around her. 

“There’s no way she can side-along,” Sirius observed. “I’ll make a portkey.”

While Sirius looked for a suitable piece of rubbish to turn into a portkey, Bill gathered Tonks in his arms. One nauseating spin later, they landed on the grounds of the cottage. 

Remus stumbled out the door toward them, fear upon his features. 

Sirius intervened, “She’s okay.”

Remus brushed Tonks’s natural hair out of her face. “What happened?” he demanded. No one answered as Bill carried her into the house. “Lay her in here,” Remus commanded, entering his room and pulling the duvet back. Bill lay her gently onto the pillows, though Tonks gasped in pain as her extensive wound tore beneath the bandages. 

With even tones, Bill explained tracking Greyback’s pack, the boy’s punishment, and Tonks trying to intervene. Remus kept his face stoic, though Tonks could see the firm set of his jaw as Bill spoke. 

“Save the lecture, Remus,” Tonks muttered. Her eyelids felt heavy and she fought against the blessed oblivion of sleep. “Sirius already chewed me out for you.”

Remus opened his mouth but kissed her on the crown of the head instead. His voice had a hard edge as he said, “The next time you track Greyback, I’m coming with you. If it’s a choice between me or you, it’s going to be me.”

“Will you be up to it?” Bill asked skeptically, eyeing the crutches leaning against the bedroom wall. 

“Werewolf-inflicted wounds always heal completely before the next full moon. It will take at least a week, maybe two, to track Greyback down again. He’ll be covering his tracks even more carefully now. I’ll be back to normal–or close to it–before we find the pack again. And at least that long to get Dora back on her feet.”

Sirius handed Remus a pain relieving potion, and Remus tipped it against Tonks's lips. She swallowed and closed her eyes. Soon her chest was rising and falling rhythmically. Remus pulled the duvet to her shoulders and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. He walked to the living room where Bill summoned a teapot and pressed a cup of tea into his shaking hands. 

"I know what you're thinking," Bill murmured with a glance toward the bedroom door. "But you're wrong. Tonks would have done what she did even if she wasn't in a relationship with you. That's just who she is. And Greyback still would have attacked her for it."

Remus shook his head. "He'll kill her, Bill. He won't rest until she's dead or turned."

"Then we get him first," Sirius responded savagely. "We track him, we save Harry, and we end this once and for all."

Remus rubbed his temples. "It's probably our only choice, but it will take half the Order to take him down."

"No. It will take you and Tonks in a fair fight. You're the best duelists in the Order. We just need you to be completely recovered ."

"It also has to be before the next full moon," Remus interjected. "Sirius, I could tell what Albion was planning. If we can't rescue Harry and remove the soul shard before the moon, Albion will try to take control, even if it kills both of them."

“So we have less than twenty days to get healed up, track down Greyback, rescue our runaway, and find out how to perform heretofore unknown magic to remove a fragment of Voldemort’s soul?” Bill questioned wryly.

“That’s correct.”

The corner of Bill's mouth quirked. "Well, Remus, you're a professor. You're used to setting and working within deadlines."

"Deadlines with significantly lower stakes," Remus muttered. 

Later that night, after Sirius had retired to his room and Bill returned to his flat, Remus crept into his room where Tonks was resting. Her brown hair was splayed upon his pillow, and Remus was once again struck by how exquisitely beautiful she was. Morphed or with her natural features, it didn’t matter. It was all part of the colorful, loud, and fierce woman he loved.

Reaching his armoire, Remus removed a change of clothes, a spare blanket, and a pillow, wincing when the aged wood squeaked loudly. 

Tonks stirred and opened her eyes. “Is that you, love?”

Remus bent to kiss her brow. "I’m just grabbing some of my things. I love you, Dora. I'll be on the couch. Pull on your bracelet if you need anything."

She tugged weaky at his wrist. "Stay?" she whispered. 

Remus hesitated, his eyes drawn to the vacant side of the bed. Though he knew she would not be up to anything physically intimate until her wound healed, the invitation opened a door Remus had kept tightly closed. "Not tonight."

"When?"

Remus knew she was talking about more than sleeping by her side. He stroked her pale cheek with his fingers. His heart pounded with desire, but he resisted the emotion. "When you take my name. That's when I'll know it's the right decision."

Dora gave him a ghost of a smile. "You Gryffindors and your nobility."

"You Hufflepuffs and your ability to love even a monster," Remus returned. 

"New Years Day," Tonks whispered. 

"Come again?" Remus asked, wondering if the volley of pain relieving and blood replenishing potions had finally gone to her head.

Tonks blinked and looked at Remus with lucid eyes. "New Year's Day. January first. That's when I want to take your name. New year, new life together. A day of luck and new beginnings."

Remus placed a kiss upon her lips. "New Year's Day sounds perfect. We'll have fourteen months to plan–"

"Not next year's New Year’s Day. This one."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Dora, it's October. What will your mother say if you give her two months to plan a wedding?" 

"She'll go insane. Then she'll pull it off. This is what I want–if it's what you want, too."

Remus hesitated. Of course he had asked her to marry him, but having a date, a deadline of sorts, threw the reality into sharp clarity. He kissed her brow a second time. "New Year’s Day it is."

Despite the lumpiness of the couch and his own healing injuries, Remus slept deeply that night with a wide smile on his face.

—

“The pack has moved,” Zenna observed in confusion as she and Harry surveyed the vacant clearing. Zenna studied a rust-colored area of damp grass that was rapidly drawing flies. “And someone was bleeding. Terribly.”

“Where are they?” Harry asked. “What happened?”

Zenna shook her head. “I don’t know. Greyback has several locations the pack could move in the event of an emergency.” She waved her wand, and a shimmer disturbed the air. “Several portkeys left this area less than an hour ago. Come, I will apparate with you to each emergency location. We’ll find the pack that way.”

Without a second glance at the pool of blood, Zenna and Harry disappeared with a sharp crack. 

Though it took three different locations and repeated apparition, Zenna located the pack just as the sun descended below the mountain peaks. It was a blustery, miserable area where frost had already dusted the ground. With a shiver, Harry adjusted the pack on his shoulder and walked to the smallest tent. 

Jake was lying facedown on the cot when Harry entered. Bloody slashes colored his back. 

“What happened?” Harry demanded. 

Jake looked at him, his face hard. “Just another day in the pack,” he growled. “Not everyone gets to go backpacking with Zenna to get out of punishment. But you’re better than the rest of us.”

“You know nothing about me,” Harry snapped, the revelation about the horcrux eliminating his already thin patience. 

“Get out,” Jake muttered. 

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. Without unpacking his knapsack, he turned toward the center of camp. However, his sensitive hearing picked up the sound of his name from within Greyback’s tent. 

Harry dodged behind a large pine and tossed his invisibility cloak over his head. He crept toward the tent, careful to maintain enough distance that Greyback wouldn’t pick up his scent. 

“Did you figure it out, then?” Greyback demanded. There were heavy footfalls, and Harry imagined Greyback pacing the length of his tent. 

“I have an accurate diagnosis,” Zenna responded stiffly. 

“Well?! What is it?”

“The boy is not possessed by a sprite or a demon. It’s something else.”

“Is it strong?” Greyback pressed, his voice hungry. “Don’t lie to me, Zenna. I’ll know if you lie. You may be an Occlumens but the boy is not. I can torture the information from him just as easily.”

“Th-the possessing force is very strong, Alpha.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Contain it and bring it to me.”

Harry heard Zenna’s breath hitch. “It’s not that simple. I need more time–”

“Your time is up. You will do it tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned cool and crisp, the sun sparkling across the frost tinting the sparse grass. Bare stones dotted the barren landscape. The first pack members were stirring, emerging from tents, and gathering thin twigs to rekindle the fire. Zenna gave a respectful nod toward Bruin, her former Beta, as he struck flint against steel. Bruin was a burly man with a tufted beard and a hard appearance, but the man inside was gentle as a teddy bear–or, at least he had been prior to Greyback usurping her pack. Now Zenna was dismayed to see him embracing the more wolfish aspects of the curse--holding Jake’s arms while Greyback whipped the boy was proof of that. 

Jake and Harry exited their tent, Jake moving slowly with a stiff set to his shoulders. Zenna approached them, removing a salve of silver and dittany. Lupin had given it to her months ago, and it was nearly spent, though a small amount was still collected beneath the lid. 

“Jake, take this,” she whispered, pressing the salve into his hands. “Harry, help him apply it to the wounds on his back. Tell no one.”

Jake and Harry returned to the tent, emerging a few minutes later with the jar wiped clean. Jake stood more uprightly now and gave Zenna a relieved smile. Zenna tousled his hair. She had grown fond of the boy who had suffered so terribly as a long-term member of Greyback’s pack. “Jake, could you please help Bruin with the fire? I have a separate task for Harry.”

An ugly look flashed across Jake’s face–jealousy, perhaps?–but it was replaced with an obedient nod. The boy turned away without another word. 

Zenna waited for Jake to walk to the end of the clearing before she asked, “Are you and Jake not getting along as tentmates?”

Harry sighed. “He thinks that I got out of the punishment we both should have had.”

“Ah. Have you not told him why we left?”

The raven-haired teen shook his head. “I didn’t really want to talk about it.”

Zenna took a deep breath of mountain air and tried to work the fatigue out of her muscles. She had tossed and turned restlessly, her mind working over all the possession cases she had handled as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. “Greyback has given me a deadline to remove the horcrux,” she admitted. 

Harry blanched, but covered the action with a firm set of his jaw. “When?”

“Today.”

“Do you, er, know what you’re doing?”

Zenna settled for the truth. “I have a theory but no time to test it. To move ahead without additional data will be incredibly painful and may end in abject failure.”

“Can’t he give us more time? What will Greyback do if it doesn’t happen today?” Harry asked.

“My life is forfeit at sundown.” She controlled her voice to be factual and even. After all, the deadline was not the boy’s fault. 

Harry swallowed hard. “That won’t happen. You’re the nicest person I’ve met in this pack. Jake and your old pack need you. Do whatever you need to do.”

Zenna gave him a sad smile. “I gave you my word that I would try to remove it, and I will keep that promise. I need some supplies from the nearby muggle town, but I will be back by midday. Please eat something for breakfast and rest if you can. Stay out of Alpha’s way.”

Harry nodded. “What supplies do you need?”

“Silver rods and a knife.”

—

As waiting for unpleasant events do, time seemed to speed up until Zenna returned, carrying two rods carefully wrapped in thick leather. She bore thick leather gloves and held the thin rods away from her body. Harry had been gathering more dead wood with Jake when Jake broke his vow of stony silence and eyed the silver warily. “What d’you think she is doing with those?”

“Just be glad they aren’t being used on you,” Harry retorted, depositing an armload of decaying wood next to the fire. “You’ll be grateful that you aren’t me in a few minutes.”

Jake grimaced. “Okay, forget I asked. I don’t want to know.” He sighed and rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes. “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday, all right? I was just hurting.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s forgotten.” After all, an argument with his surly tentmate was hardly the worst thing that was going to happen today.

Zenna beckoned to Harry, who approached on shaking legs. She lifted a flap of one of the larger tents and ushered him inside. A cot lay in the center of the space, one of the pack’s rare pillows at the head. “Lay back and try to relax, Harry.”

“No problem. This will be a piece of cake. You do this kind of thing every day, right?” Harry joked in an attempt to cover his pounding heartbeat. 

Zenna appraised Harry sadly. Her hands were shaking as she handled the silver rods with her thick gloves. “A horcrux within a living soul is like a twisted rope. Both souls have become entwined over the years. There is a collection of spells that Unspeakables use to untwine the souls and eliminate the possession. This is very effective for sprites, demons, and the like. The difference in your case is Albion’s ability to evaluate, plan, and make coherent decisions. Sprites and demons are simple creatures with simple needs. Since Albion is a fragment of a human soul, he is incredibly complex and may not leave easily. However, there is some hope. Unlike horcruxes contained within material vessels, a horcrux within a living being may–under very specific circumstances– choose to leave its weakened host for another vessel. In essence, my spell will unravel the soul fragment from the soul of the dying host–you.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

Zenna continued as if he hadn’t spoken. Her words were clipped, as if she thought that speaking them in a faster cadence would make them less horrifying. “The plan is to show the horcrux that its host is no longer viable. To do this, I am going to insert silver into your bloodstream and begin the incantations to unwind the souls. The silver poisoning will bring you to the brink of death, Harry. We must get close enough that the soul’s binding to the container–you–has no more strength. Then the horcrux will flee for the chance to possess another vessel.” Zenna picked up an amulet with a green stone in the center. “This amulet has been in my family for generations, but it will now have a higher calling. I have specifically charmed the amulet to draw the soul into it. Once the horcrux abandons you for the amulet, I will bind the soul to the amulet so he cannot leave, similar to how you contained Albion within your own mind.”

“What happens if the soul doesn’t go into the amulet?”

“Albion will regain his possession over you.”

Harry nodded shortly. He had suspected as much. “If that happens, don’t bring me back. Make sure that silver kills me. Albion will not overpower me again. I would rather die than live under his captivity.”

Zenna looked at Harry evenly. “You have my word, Harry Potter.”

“If this works and the horcrux goes in the amulet, what happens to me?”

“I will use additional incantations to siphon the silver from your bloodstream. This version of blood magic is not widely known and incredibly difficult to cast. When I was an Unspeakable, the incantations were still in the developmental stages. As far as I know, I am the only werewolf who can cast them.”

Harry lay his head back on the pillow with a nod.

The tent flap flipped back, and Greyback rushed into the tent. “When is this happening, Zenna?” he growled. 

Zenna’s eyes flashed. “This is an incredibly delicate operation. You cannot interrupt me. I need absolute silence and no observers until I tell you the work is finished.”

There was a heavy pause as Greyback eyed her with hatred. “I don’t trust you, Zenna.”

“I don’t need you to trust me. I need you to leave me alone.”

Greyback’s lip curled. “If you fail me, your life is forfeit,” he snarled before sweeping from the tent. 

Zenna rolled her eyes toward the domed ceiling, then squeezed Harry’s shoulder in a motherly way. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

With a wave of her wand, Harry was immobilized and silenced. Harry had no way to flinch as Zenna raised a silver knife so grotesquely similar to the one that Snape had made Harry use a lifetime ago. With deft movements, she sliced the flesh across the top of his wrists. Harry allowed himself to cry out silently as the cut burned and his hand throbbed. The pain was nothing compared to what happened next as Zenna thrust the first silver rod beneath his skin through the opening created by the wound. 

Harry screamed until his throat was sore, though no sound was heard. Zenna’s pale face swam in his vision as every heartbeat circulated the silver further through his bloodstream. His muscles burned, his arms begged for relief. His head was pounding and his heartbeat accelerated. In his panic, Harry wondered how many heartbeats he would have left. 

He was dying. He had to be. This was worse than the pain brought on by moonrise, and Harry had thought his monthly torture had no equal. 

There was no going back from this.

Darkness tugged around him, promising relief, promising rest, promising a release from the indescribable agony shaking his entire body. 

He tried to fight it. Surely he wanted to live, didn’t he?

Didn’t he?

But what did he actually have to live for? His former life was gone. There was no Remus, Hermione, or Hogwarts. No quidditch or Hogsmeade. No Hogwarts Express or Hedwig.

Perhaps eternal rest would be better than a lifetime without the things he loved. 

Harry closed his eyes and let the darkness take him. 

The first thing he noticed was the absence of pain. Harry rose from the ground and studied his surroundings. It was a train station–maybe King’s Cross?–but bathed in white and clean. 

“Harry,” a soft voice whispered. 

Harry wheeled around. A man with dark hair approached him, and Harry took in a sharp breath. He had seen his ghostly image erupt from Voldemort’s wand only months ago, but this figure was no mere imprint. 

James Potter was walking toward him. 

In a daze, Harry stumbled forward as James broke into a jog and then a run. He met Harry mid-stride in a bear hug tight enough to squeeze the breath from his lungs. Harry returned the hug, burying his face in the man’s jacket. A sob racked Harry’s frame. 

“I’m here, son. It’s okay. Everything is okay now.”

“Dad?”

James nodded, tears pooling in his hazel eyes. “I died before you were old enough to say that word. You were still saying ‘Da.’ It’s nice to hear it now.”

Harry swallowed. “So this is it? I died? That’s why I can see you?”

James gestured to a bench. “Let’s sit for a moment. Your mother wanted to come, but Death would only allow one. She thought I would be a better fit for the discussion at hand.”

“About what?”

“The rest of your life,” James responded evenly. “And what you do–or don’t do–with it.”

“I’m not following,” Harry admitted. 

“Zenna is fulfilling her promise. She is trying to remove the horcrux. Whether she can bring you back from the brink of death is up to you.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond that of course he would be heading back, but he hesitated. It was so calm here; so serene and painless and hopeful. Perhaps Remus was waiting alongside his mother, also free from the horrible injuries he had been forced to endure. “I-I don’t know what I want,” Harry admitted. 

James nodded. “Fair. Let's evaluate both options. What is worth it to keep you here?”

“You. Mum . . . O-others.” Harry bit his lip. How much did his father know? Would he go away if he knew that his son had murdered his best friend?

“What is worth going back for?” James pressed, not acknowledging Harry's hesitation.

Harry considered, then shook his head despondently. “Nothing. Everything that used to be wonderful about life is gone.”

“For now.”

“Forever,” Harry argued. 

The corner of James’s lips twitched. “No one can guarantee forever. Not even Seers have that much confidence.” He held out his hand. “Can I show you something?”

Harry guardedly took his hand, and the scene changed. It was springtime. A modest white home stood in front of them, red roses blooming magnificently along the porch. With a crack of apparition, a dark-haired man appeared at the end of the cobblestone path. At first, Harry thought it was James, but the man looked up, and three distinct scars across his face stared back in glaring detail. 

As this older Harry opened the gate to the front yard, the house’s screen door burst open. “DADDY!” came a shout, followed by a green-eyed girl whose mass of brown curls flew behind her as she ran down the path as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. 

The vision Harry knelt down on one knee and scooped up the girl in a bear hug. “I love you, my sweet Lily Rose."

The girl responded with a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “I wuv you, Daddy.”

The vision Harry rose with the girl in his arms and carried her toward the house. 

“Do you recognize the robes he’s wearing?” James asked quietly. 

Harry studied the red cloth and shook his head. 

“The head auror wears those robes.”

Harry gaped at James, but his attention was diverted back to the porch. A woman had appeared, and Harry gasped. Though she was older, her features more defined, and her body that of a grown woman, there was no mistaking the collection of freckles across her nose, those chocolate eyes, and the mane of curls. This Hermione–perhaps in her late twenties like his older self–exuded an easy self-assurance that Harry found wildly attractive. She was confident. She was stunning. She was his .

She was pregnant.

The man released the daughter– their daughter, Harry realized with a jolt–who ran, squealing, into the house. Looking deeply into Hermione's eyes, the adult Harry met her lips for a lingering, passionate kiss that left the teenage Harry's cheeks burning. Harry cast his gaze down to the couple's clasped hands and spotted two gold bands. Ending the kiss, his older self placed a hand on his wife's rounded stomach. “Were you okay today?” he asked. “I was worried that the first day of maternity leave would be hard for you. I know how much you value your work."

Hermione rubbed a loving hand along her abdomen. “Fantastic, actually. I'm really glad I'm taking these extra two weeks. It will be nice to spend some one-on-one time with Lily before her sister comes. And I'm not totally out of the loop. I got an update this morning. You will never guess how the Wizengamot responded to the proposed house elf protection laws–”

The scene dissolved as the couple made their way into the white house, his older self holding the door open for his wife. Harry tried to cling to the vision, but it disappeared like water trickling between his fingers. “W-what did I just see?” Harry stammered. 

“A possibility,” James whispered. “An option of what could be.”

“It’s not guaranteed?” Harry asked with a twist in his stomach. 

“Nothing is guaranteed. But–by extension–nothing is impossible.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Did you just come here to talk in riddles?”

James grinned. “No. But there are some things I cannot tell you. I am operating under strict laws; your choices must be your own, not influenced by additional knowledge that would tempt fate and destiny. Aside from this one vision and an occasional prompt in the right direction, I can't reveal anything else about your life.”

“But what if I screw it up? What if it isn’t even real? I can’t go back to Hermione after all that's happened, and no one is going to hire a werewolf as an auror, let alone let them lead the department.”

“Well, you certainly won’t with that attitude,” James responded, then grimaced. “Ugh. Now I sound like my dad.” He sighed and looked at Harry seriously. “Harry, Lily and I didn’t have the choice that you do. No one offered either of us the chance to come back and raise you. If we had, we would’ve done it in a second, even though it would have been hard. Even though it would’ve been scary. Even though there would have been miserable, terrible, horrible days ahead. Why? Because life is worth living and living well. Life is to be enjoyed, despite the inevitable pains that we all endure. You've seen the joy, Harry. Go back for that. Do it for that young girl and your unborn baby. Do it for that beautiful woman that will make you happier than your wildest dreams.”

“What about Hermione, though? Is she happy?”

James raised an eyebrow. “Did she seem unhappy to you?”

“No, but it can’t be easy. She’s married to a were–”

“Wonderful man,” James interrupted fiercely. “A wonderful man who treats her like the queen she is. Hermione knows what she’s doing, Harry. She has always known. She brings out the best in you, and you bring out the best in her. You remind her that life isn’t just about work and stress and organization; she makes you driven and goal-oriented.”

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t believe the vision–despite yearning for it with every fiber of his being. “There’s a war. I don’t even know if we will survive–”

“Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” James challenged fiercely. “Or am I taking you back with me to the afterlife?”

A warm feeling spread through Harry’s chest as he thought of the couple on the porch. He remembered Hermione giving him their first, fleeting kiss late one night in Grimmauld Place. “I’ll take the risk.”

James nodded, his eyes full of admiration. “Spoken like a true Gryffindor. I need to go, but know that we are never really far away. Good luck, my son. There is still a battle to be had. Bear it well. And," he added, a hint of mischievousness in his smile, "make sure to take things slow, okay? I don't want a grandchild for a few years yet."

—

Zenna frowned as the silver continued to poison the teen's body. His heartbeat had pounded rapidly through application of the second rod, then stilled completely. His breathing had been shallow through the procedure but was now absent. The boy's lips turned a deep shade of blue.

She had completed the last of the incantations to unwind the souls, but the amulet remained motionless, the green center stone dull.

Despite everything, the horcrux would not enter the amulet.

She knew they had only seconds. If oxygen was cut off from Harry's brain for too long, he could risk permanent disability even if he were to survive. She shuddered to think how Greyback would respond to a child who was no more than a vegetable. What else can I do? she thought desperately. 

—

Kings Cross dissolved, and Harry was facing the dome that held Albion. The glass had shattered inward, but Albion stood motionless at the entrance, murder on his features.

"What have you done, Potter?" he growled.

"What it takes to end this once and for all."

"You're luring me away. I can feel the draw of some sort of object. But I'm not stupid. I can tell a front when I see one."

Harry shrugged carelessly and sat upon the grass. James wouldn’t send him here just to die. There had to be a way. Harry was emboldened by his vision, but he concealed the emotion and arranged his features into a mask of simple hatred. "You're underestimating how much I want to be free of you. If you stay here, we’ll both die."

"You wouldn't kill yourself to be rid of me."

"I will, and I’ll have immense satisfaction watching it happen."

Fear flashed upon Albion's features, and Harry was struck by a sudden realization: Voldemort was terrified of death. Though he had thought Albion would take over or die trying, Albion was far more concerned about that worst-case scenario than Harry had ever been.

The idea that Voldemort could have a weakness was something Harry had never previously considered. Voldemort wasn't impenetrable after all. He was nothing more than human. The revelation filled Harry with strength, even as his vision blurred at the edges and his limbs became curiously weak. 

“You don’t have much time,” Harry observed. “I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.”

Albion hesitated, his eyes flashing with hatred. “I could just kill you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Way ahead of you. If you possess me, Zenna will just kill my body. There’s only one way to save yourself. Are you going to take it?”

“No.”

Though Harry’s heart plummeted at the word, he stretched causally out on the grass. “Suit yourself.”

Albion took a hesitant step forward then crossed his arms resolutely. “So be it.”

Harry’s response was interrupted by a melodious cadence. It was a woman’s voice speaking Latin, but it held the same strength-sustaining power of a phoenix song. Harry’s heart swelled at the sound and the words though there was no one in sight.

Albion didn’t have the same experience. He grimaced and clapped his hands over his ears. “What is that?” he hissed. "Make it stop!"

“You know how to end this,” Harry returned. “Save yourself. Go into the amulet, or this will be the last thing you ever hear.”

With a tormented shriek, Albion dissolved. 

Harry gasped as he felt a ripping sensation through his chest, as if something was being bodily torn from his being. The world dissolved again, and this time Harry was fully aware of intense pain as he blinked his eyes and looked into Zenna’s worried face. 

“Did it work?” he rasped through his parched throat and cottony mouth. 

Zenna raised the amulet, where the center stone glowed a vicious green. “He’s contained. Don’t try to move too much. I was able to remove the silver, but there will be residual effects from the poisoning for the next several hours.”

Tears dripped down Harry’s cheeks. “He’s . . . gone?”

“You’re free, Harry Potter.” Zenna hung the amulet on a hook using a gloved hand. “But there was some muscle damage, especially on your wand-arm. That arm had the rod for the longest length of time. You won’t be able to move that arm with a full range of motion for a while.”

“But it will heal, right?”

Zenna didn’t immediately respond. 

“Zenna?”

“It should heal,” she began carefully. “But I do not know how long it will take. It could be a few days. It could be weeks. It may not ever return to full mobility. You may want to learn to cast spells left-handed.”

Harry swallowed his disappointment and tried to move his fingers. The left hand twitched jerkily at his command, but his right remained motionless. His arms were lacerated with red scars that perfectly marked the veins beneath his skin. Zenna had bound the large wounds on his wrists with thick bandages, but there was no bandage for the silver damage beneath his skin. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. The soul wouldn’t enter the amulet right away, so it exposed you to higher levels of the silver than I wanted it to.”

“It’s okay,” he said, the first stirrings of excitement within him. “You did it, Zenna! Were you singing something? That’s what made Albion leave. Someone was singing a song, and it seemed to affect him badly.”

Zenna smiled. “I was singing a traditional lycan healing song. It has elements of healing magic, but is most widely known to be torturous for nonwerewolves. Since you are the werewolf, not Albion, he could not bear the sound.”

For the second time that day, the flap of the tent was ripped open. Greyback marched into the tent, his eyes boring into Harry’s. “Well?” he demanded. 

“The possessing force has been contained,” Zenna responded evenly. 

“Where is it?” Greyback snapped. “Don’t leave me waiting, Zenna.”

Zenna took a step forward, her wand drawn but pointed down. “You don’t know what you are risking, Alpha. The possessing force will not want a partnership–”

Greyback strode forward, striking Zenna across the side of the face. “You do as I say!” he roared. “Do as I say and nothing else! Where is it?”

Zenna crossed her arms. “It needs to be destroyed, not used. It is too dangerous.”

“That’s not your decision!” he roared.

Harry struggled to rise, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate. This was the part of the plot they hadn’t had time to think through--the consequence that Harry wasn’t sure he would survive to see. He cast his eyes around desperately for inspiration.

Almost as if hearing a voice beyond the veil, Harry knew what to do, but it was an insane option. But it was as if his envisioned destiny was balanced on the tip of a knife, and there was only one way that the events from the vision would be assured. “Give it to him, Zenna,” he rasped. “Let him have Albion.”

Zenna stared at Harry with wide eyes. At Harry’s insistent nod, she lifted the amulet with a gloved hand. “It is here, Alpha. The force is contained within.”

Greedily, Greyback pulled the amulet over his head. It rested against his heart, the center stone pulsing with Greyback's heartbeat. He breathed in deeply, euphorically. 

His eyes flashed amber. 

Chapter Text

Greyback had been curiously calm in the days after Harry's separation from the horcrux. The alpha wore the amulet constantly, its center gem brightening and dimming as if the soul inside was breathing. Despite Harry’s trepidation, pack life went on normally. Zenna had taken it upon herself to aid Harry’s recovery of the use of his right arm. It still hung limply at his side, though if he concentrated with all his might, he could get a finger to twitch weakly at his command. 

Another three days passed with almost startling normalcy. Greyback and a few other members of the pack returned with plentiful food from a nearby village, and Harry felt full for the first time in weeks. Each day, Harry gathered firewood with Jake, practiced using his lame arm with Zenna, and attended roll call. The ease of the schedule, however, made Harry’s neck prickle with unease. 

His worries were confirmed while on another firewood hunt with Jake. “Alpha’s been awful quiet lately,” Jake observed.

“That’s a bad thing?” Harry asked as he struggled to carry a segment of branch one-handed. 

Jake eyed him levelly. “This is how he acts right before a big raid or invasion. When he wants us to do something, he’ll wait until everyone is nice and fat and comfortable. Then he’ll spring it on us.”

“What will he make us do?”

Jake shrugged carelessly and added another stick to his pile. He gave Harry a rueful grin. “Hopefully something that doesn’t cripple your other arm. If you can’t use either of your hands, I’m making your wolf name Stumpy.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though the friendly quip did nothing to ease the twist in his stomach. 

That twist turned into a clenched fist as the roll call horn sounded across the plain. Abandoning their wood, Harry and Jake rushed back, taking their places at the end of the pack line. 

Greyback stood in the center of the clearing, surveying his pack with a hungry look. "We've been complacent, wolves," he began, the amulet shining brightly on his chest. Harry shuddered as he heard Albion's cool mannerisms from Greyback's lips. "We’ve been hungry. We’ve been hunted. We’ve been despised by the Wizarding World for years. That ends today. No more will you hunger. No more will you fear. No more will you wallow in your poverty. I promise you an end to all this misery!"

Harry felt a chill creep up his spine as the more ruthless pack members cheered and stomped their feet. Through the fringe of his hair, he risked a glance at Zenna. Her face was stoic, but there was a firm set to her shoulders that screamed defiance. Next to him, Jake was watching wide-eyed, though there was a curious look on his face Harry had never seen before--a desire that matched Greyback’s. Harry felt an upswing of anger but almost as suddenly he understood. Jake had no ties to the wizarding world beyond an abusive father and the Order killing his sister. Greyback’s promises were all Jake could cling to.

Harry had to change his mind.

Greyback paced the length of the pack line. "We are the top of the food chain!" he roared. "The wizards are our prey! It is time we take our rightful place of control and dominion! We will cripple the wizards who’ve held us down! We will fight! Who is with me? Who will bring forth the new regime? Who will stand at my side to rule?"

A roar of approval swept through the pack, accompanied by a discordant howl that tugged at something primal and wild beneath Harry’s skin. Every fiber of his lycanthropic being wanted to join in, to taste the power, to run with the pack. 

But Harry remained silent. 

So did Zenna.

And, to Harry's immense relief, so did Jake. 

Greyback's eyes swept the pack, resting on Harry. The alpha’s lips curled into a sneer. "Our takeover begins with a show of force. The attack on the orphanage was a failure. We must set our sights bigger. This new stratagem will not fail.” He stood toe-to-toe with Harry, triumphant revenge upon his features. “And you, Potter, are an integral part of that plan.”

—-

The floo flashed in the cottage’s hearth a week after Tonks’s attack by Greyback. Kingsley stepped over the grate and surveyed the pale faces in front of him: Remus looked ill and wan, though the wounds on his face had completely healed and he no longer walked with a limp; Sirius stood, arms-folded across his chest as he glared mutinously at the Daily Prophet and its apparent inability to report on anything relating to Greyback or his pack; Bill sat at the kitchen table, wand in hand, as he brewed more potions to speed Tonks’s recovery. 

The auror was sleeping in Remus’s room, her mouth slightly open, ignorant that Kingsley was about to take away her restful bliss. 

“Can I wake her?” Kingsley asked quietly. 

“I’ll do it,” Remus responded, rising from the couch and kneeling next to the bed. He whispered something in her ear and kissed her lightly on the lips. Tonks’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at her fiance with such an effulgent love that any lingering doubt regarding their relationship that Kingsley had fought to quell was driven forcefully away. 

Theirs was a love like no other. A love that superseded the frivolous attraction praised in children’s fairy tales. It was a love forged of pain, and worry, and fear, and passion, and persistence, and triumph.

Kingsley had witnessed such love only once before–that which had been shared between Lily and James Potter. As Remus helped Tonks rise laboriously to her feet and supported her weight with a steady arm around her waist, Kingsley wished with all his being that the couple before him would not be condemned to the Potter’s same fate. How he hoped that Remus and Tonks would not culminate their love with the birth of a child only to sacrifice themselves as the Potters had done. 

Kingsley knew fate was cruel. Fate didn’t care how much someone suffered or how deeply someone loved. Fate didn’t care how few years someone had had upon the earth. Fate didn’t care how good or kind or fair you were. 

If fate wanted to take you, it took you. 

Kingsley could only hope that fate wouldn’t care about the forbidden love between a werewolf and an auror. 

As Remus eased Tonks onto the couch cushions and rested her head on a pillow, Kingsley’s stomach twisted with anxiety. He wiped his sweaty hands on his auror robes.

“Wotcher, Kingsley,” Tonks said with a weak smile. “Did you come to brighten this place up? It feels like a morgue in here. No entertainment at all.”

Kingsley returned her smile then took a deep breath that sent Tonks’s smile faltering at the edges. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

Kingsley placed an envelope on the desk in front of her. “I need you in the office.”

There was a heavy pause. Bill stoppered some newly-brewed potion and handed the vial to Remus. As Remus steadied Tonks’s shaking hand enough to drink, Bill said, “Kingsley, don’t be ridiculous. She's in no shape–”

“I know she isn’t,” Kingsley interjected. “But Fudge has finally admitted the reality of Voldemort’s return after the squirmish in Kent, Pettigrew’s confession, and a few muggle attacks that caught the minister’s attention. However, that means that he is scrambling to make up for lost time and fighting to retain his position. No more personal leave is being granted to any aurors, and all aurors must report for mandatory overtime for the foreseeable future.”

Remus’s eyes swept Tonks’s form.  A bandage around her side was seeping blood again. He muttered a charm to change the bandages, eased her legs into his lap, and traced his knuckles along the top of her hand. “Kingsley, if you could just give us one more week–”

But Kingsley was already shaking his head. “I tried. Fudge is adamant; anyone not present tomorrow morning will be sacked. Tonks, the Order needs you right where you are. We can’t lose you as an auror.”

“Then polyjuice someone as her,” Sirius suggested. “I’ll do it.”

“We can’t do that,” Kingsley said. “The entire department has been extensively charmed to prevent any deceit in appearance. You would be discovered before you crossed the foyer.”

“I’ll do it, Kingsley,” Tonks rasped giving him a weak thumbs up and a winning smile. “You can count on me.” She made to rise from the couch but collapsed with a grunt of pain. “Maybe.”

Kingsley groaned and hid his face in his hands. “I can give you desk work for the week–perhaps we could even do a work-from-home arrangement if we are careful–the aurors will be too busy to notice if you are absent from the office–but you have to be present for the big meeting tomorrow. Fudge will be addressing the aurors. There's no way around it.”

Remus turned contemplative. “Sirius, do you still have those leather bracelets you made when you were tracking Greyback in Bakeworth?”

Sirius nodded and summoned them from his room. Remus took them, grimacing at the rust-colored stain of blood that coated the one Tonks had worn. “In werewolf packs, there is limited medical care and knowledge of healing magic. One of the things that was created to help werewolves heal from injuries is a transfer spell imbibed in bracelets like these.”

“Transfer spell?” Kingsley said with alarm. “Transfer spells are–”

“Dark magic,” Remus finished, “because dark wizards have used transfer spells to extend pain and suffering by transferring the torture of the cruciatus curse from one prisoner to another via runes. But that is not their only use. Transfer spells can be used to aid the injured by linking the host’s magic with the recipient. The host’s magic will provide extra strength and healing while the runes are active.”

“Why haven’t we done this before?” Sirius asked. “Seems like it would have helped speed your recovery.” 

“Because it can go horribly wrong,” Remus admitted. “There isn’t an even transfer of power from host to recipient, especially if there is a lot of physical distance between them. At its core, it is a parasitic spell that–if done incorrectly–can leach the host until his magic is spent. In a pack, the burden is shared; the bracelet is transferred from member to member if the host feels too drained.”

His words were met with contemplative silence. Tonks asked, “No chance I can just call out sick tomorrow?”

“None.”

“Then, let’s do it,” Tonks said decisively. “Remus, if anyone can do it correctly, it’s you.”

“And the bracelet can be passed among us,” Bill added. “We’ll all share the burden.”

Sirius sighed and stared gloomily out the window. “We should be tracking Greyback, not pandering to Fudge.”

“I know,” Kingsley said. “If there was any other way, I would take it.”

The day was spent perfecting the runes and adding the transfer spell to the leather bracelets. As Dora drifted off into another slumber around dinner time, Remus shrugged on his cloak. 

“Where are you going?” Bill asked. 

“Diagon Alley. I have an errand to run.”

Bill and Sirius raised their eyebrows at the cryptic response. Remus’s lips quirked into a smile. “You’ll see. I will be back by seven.”

With a crack of apparition, Remus arrived in a dark alley adjacent to the Leaky Cauldron. He ducked through the doorframe, the hood of his cloak shadowing his features. A witch at the bar looked up, then gave a start as she recognized him. She turned resolutely away. Remus’s stomach clenched; he had been amiable friends with the young Ravenclaw as a Hogwarts student. Evidently, his exposure as the monstrous werewolf professor was enough to taint those past hours spent sharing pots in Herbology.

Remus was used to this treatment. At least, he should be used to it by now. It shouldn’t affect him. But a part of him worried about Tonks receiving the same. 

I’m insane to do this, he thought. Her life will never be the same when she’s married to me. 

But the thought of a lifetime without her by his side was infinitely more painful than a glare from a former classmate. Squaring his shoulders, Remus tapped the appropriate brick with his wand and entered the alley. A light drizzle had begun to fall, plastering Remus’s sandy hair to his forehead. He mounted the Gringotts steps and nodded respectfully to the goblin at the entrance. 

For obvious reasons, Gringotts was not a usual stop for Remus. Indeed, his vault held only a handful of sickles and a small trinket box of family heirlooms. One nauseating cart ride later, Remus stepped into the vault and knelt next to the box. His mother had died of a muggle ailment–probably cancer–a month before Remus’s graduation. His father, torn with his own grief, had pushed the box into his hands with a command to take it to their vault. 

With shaking hands and a glance toward the impatient goblin behind him, Remus flipped the clasp and looked inside at the contents for the first time in twenty years. Nestled in purple velvet was a necklace of pearls, white and delicate and lovely in their simplicity. He moved it carefully aside to reveal two wedding bands. The men’s band was made of simple silver, and Remus sighed. Due to his lycanthropy, he would not be able to wear his father’s band. 

He scrubbed his face with his hands. His lycanthropy–the ever-present elephant in the room–was once again ruining his happiness. 

Carefully moving the silver ring aside, he revealed his mother’s band. The gold band twisted toward a single white pearl nestled in the center.  It was a muggle band, not the wizarding version that would never dull or fade. Slight blemishes and tarnishes could be seen on the surface if one looked closely. 

It was not the band he would have chosen for the spunky, pink-haired woman he was to marry, but it was the best he had. 

He pocketed the ring and returned to the cart.

The rain had stopped when he left the bank. He turned toward the Leaky Cauldron, but paused as he saw two hooded figures step into the shadow in Knockturn Alley. The wind shifted, sending the scent Remus’s way. His spine tightened, and he gripped his wand. The men’s scent returned long-dead memories to Remus’s mind: memories of being discovered kissing Eliza and begging that the taller man would not tell the alpha, memories of following the other man beneath the window of Malfoy manor the fateful night Remus had been tricked into turning Artemis. 

For a moment, Remus hesitated. Order protocol dictated that all work be done in pairs, but he didn’t want to risk losing them while waiting for Bill or Sirius to provide backup. Pulling the hood of his cloak to shadow his features, he crept behind the pair, grateful that the wind would blow his scent away from their noses. 

The pair stepped inside a tavern. Remus counted to one hundred, then walked in after them. The air in the tavern was thick with cigar smoke, and patrons sat at dingy tables, nursing liquor. Remus strode to a table away from the bar, hoping the barkeep would remain ignorant of his presence. Greyback’s werewolves had taken a seat beneath a corner window with cracked glasses of Firewhiskey. Remus strained to hear their words over the din of the other patrons. 

“Think he’ll show?” one was saying. 

The other nodded slowly. “If he doesn’t, he’ll wish he had.”

Remus kept his head down as the door opened and heavy footsteps approached the tavern. “Ah, Bode, you made it. Thank you for coming.”

“How c-can I help you, gentleman?” the man asked, his voice wavering only slightly. But Remus could smell the fear emanating from the man like waves and the sweat that accumulated on his palms and under his arms. 

“We are here to get your answer. Can it be done?” one of the werewolves hissed. 

Bode paused. The wait must have been too long, for one of the werewolves pounded a fist on the table, clattering the glasses. “Can it be done?” he roared. 

The other patrons, evidently used to violent exclamations in this establishment, made no reaction to the noise. 

“I-It can be done,” Bode said. He withdrew a thick envelope. “Th-the incantations are all in here. This has everything you need to know.”

One of the werewolves gave a satisfied grunt as he removed the parchment and scanned the words with his beady eyes. “Well done,” he purred. “You may return to your everyday duties. We will be in touch.”

Bode blanched. “Y-you said that if I helped you, you wouldn’t h-hurt them. I th-thought this is all that you would want.”

“You’ve proved your usefulness,” the other werewolf reassured. “We trust that you will continue to be useful. That alone will keep them alive and uninfected.”

With a jerky, terrified nod, Bode left the tavern. 

As he left, one of the werewolves pocketed the envelope. “Coward,” he chuckled.

“We should pay him a visit at the next full moon, anyway. I hear his wife is quite the looker.”

“I wonder if he’d still like her with claws and teeth,” the other laughed.

Remus fought to remain unseen, though the words made his blood boil and he longed to draw his wand. It didn’t take too much imagination to assume that similar threats were being made about his precious Dora. The werewolves' next words, however, chased even that fear from his mind. 

“It’s the start of a New World Order. Werewolves will reign, and we will rip apart any man, woman, or child who dares defy us.”

—-

“Do you know anyone by the name of Bode?” Remus demanded as he rushed into the cottage twenty minutes later. 

Dora was sitting up, sipping a bowl of broth. “Bode? Like Broderick Bode?”

Quickly, Remus recounted the conversation in the tavern. He was shaking from adrenaline and fear and horror. 

“A new world order?” Sirius questioned. “Do you think they’re strong enough to do that?”

“Greyback is planning something big. He has to be. Dora, who is Broderick Bode?”

“Bode works for the Department of Mysteries. I don’t know much about his work, aside from the fact that he was assigned to add more protective enchantments to Hogwarts after Sirius’s escape and to alter those enchantments to allow for visitors during the tournament. An auror had to be with him at all times and verify that the work was completed and the castle still secure. I worked with him a time or two.”

Remus swayed, grabbing a chair to steady himself. “He deals with protective charms at Hogwarts?”

Bill looked at Remus in confusion and then horrified alarm. “You don’t think–”

Remus swallowed, speaking around the tightness in his throat, “Greyback is planning to attack Hogwarts on the next full moon.”

Chapter Text

Bill apparated to Tonks’s flat to retrieve her auror robes while Sirius and Remus inspected the runes on the bracelet for any mistakes that may hinder the transfer spell. When he appeared, Bill was startled by a cry and a swiftly-cast curse that he barely deflected. 

“Who are you?” a voice demanded. 

With a muffled charm from Bill’s wand, the electric fixtures overhead flooded the untidy flat with light. Bill looked into the started face of a blonde woman about Tonks’s age who had evidently been sleeping on the couch–a pillow rested at the head and she fought to extricate herself from a pile of blankets. “Stay back! I’m warning you–” She raised both her fists and adopted a fighting stance.

She was interrupted by Bill’s laugh. He made a show of pocketing his wand. “I don’t mean any harm. Tonks just asked me to grab her auror robes.”

“Are you her fiancé?”

“No, just a friend of the couple. Bill Weasley. And you are?” 

“Julie Carmichael. Friend of Tonks. I’ve had a key to her flat for ages and broke up with my latest beau, so I’ve been crashing here. She doesn’t mind."

The blonde’s oval face and blue eyes were surprisingly familiar. “Did you go to Hogwarts with Tonks? She and I were in the same year," Bill said.

The blonde shrugged. “Sort of. But I’m two years older than her and was in Slytherin. We weren’t friends until we met at the department.”

“You’re an auror?” Bill asked in surprise. 

“I’m the secretary,” she replied, a bit shame-faced. 

Bill shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”

Julie gave him a smile and an appraising look. Bill cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’m just going to grab what I came here for and get out of your hair. I have a dinner date with my girlfriend.”

Julie’s face fell slightly, though she covered it admirably. “Her wardrobe won’t be hard to find. The flat only has one bedroom. Now finding a pair of robes that are clean? That’s another thing entirely . . . I hope her fiancé's a neat freak. It would drive her insane.”

“He is quite tidy,” Bill commented as he entered the cluttered bedroom and tried to assess which laundry was clean and which was dirty. Giving it up as a lost cause, he summoned the scarlet auror robes and applied a cleaning charm. He wasn’t as adept with the charm as his mother, but they were at least presentable. 

“Will Tonks be back for the meeting?” Julie asked conversationally. “Her beau feeling better?”

Bill hesitated, then affirmed. After all, he wasn’t divulging any secrets. “Yes, he’s much better.”

Julie settled into the couch and rested her feet on the coffee table. “She’s very secretive about him,” she said, her eyes glinting. “I didn’t even know she was dating anyone, and all of a sudden she’s engaged. What’s he like?”

Bill had been preparing to apparate from the living room but paused. He turned to Julie and thought about what he could say about the intelligent, gentle, but self-loathing and heavily-scarred lycan professor. And then he remembered their joy. He had walked in on Tonks and Remus kissing a few days ago, and there was something so incredibly tender about the way he held her. Tonks's vivacious personality pulled Remus out of his moods and made him laugh, the weary lines on his face easing when she was with him. Remus, for his part, made Tonks grounded and focused as they faced the horrors of war together. 

“He’s her soul mate, Julie,” Bill answered honestly. “I’ve never seen two people more perfectly suited for each other. Just . . . remember that when you meet him for the first time, okay?”

He disappeared with a crack before Julie could process his words. 

—

Later that evening, Remus affixed the bracelet high on Tonks’s forearm. “These bracelets will be recognizable by any aurors who have worked with werewolves,” he explained. “Covering it with your robes will avoid any awkward questions. And, now, let’s test it.” He took the complementary bracelet and Tonks tied it to his wrist. Remus activated the runes with a murmured spell, and they thrummed with a soft yellow light. Remus felt a slight exertion on his magic. 

“Well?” Sirius asked anxiously. “Does it work?”

Tonks squared her shoulders, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “The pain is almost entirely gone.” She stood carefully and took a few steps forward unassisted. She beamed at Remus. “Remus, you’re brilliant!” 

“We know it works. The real test will be over a large distance. Kingsley will be watching for any sudden health concerns during the meeting. Hopefully, all will go well tomorrow.”

“We’ll all share the burden,” Bill added. “But don’t get into any fights while you’re out okay? We don’t know how long it will last.”

Tonks gave Bill a mischievous grin. “You mean I can’t punch Fudge in the nose for being an imbecile? Shame.”

Remus placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him. “I have something else for you. It’s the reason I was in Diagon Alley in the first place.” Remus reached into his pocket and removed the wedding band. He knelt. “Dora, I know you’ve already said yes, but will you accept this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you?”

Tonks nodded, blinking tears from her eyes as Remus slid it onto her left hand. To his relief, it fit perfectly. “Remus, it’s beautiful,” Tonks breathed, admiring the pearl and gold band as it caught the soft light. “How did you–”

“It was my mother’s,” he said softly. “She would have loved for you to have it. She has a necklace of matching pearls, too. You can wear them for our wedding if you want to, but it’s okay if you don’t.”

Tonks swallowed tightly. “I would love to.” She embraced Remus tightly, then sat on the couch, pulling him to a seat next to her. “You’ll tell me about the Order meeting? I hate to miss it.”

Sirius shook his head. “Dumbledore is doing it after the Ministry meeting. He didn’t want you and Kingsley to miss out. There’s talk Scrimgeour may even pull Mad-Eye in.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow. “You know Fudge is uncomfortable when he brings Mad-Eye back.”

“He just wants allies, and Mad-Eye is high-profile with Dumbledore,” Remus corrected. “It’s all political.”

“Which is a giant waste of time when you have actual problems,” Sirius interjected, folding his arms across his chest. “Like Greyback’s plan to attack Hogwarts.”

“We have ten days until the full moon,” Remus said softly. “We will do what we can from the cottage to try to track the pack, but we can’t be getting into duels and traipsing through the forest while there is a draw on our magic from the transfer spell.”

Sirius crumpled onto the couch, his face more despondent than Remus had ever seen it. “I would give anything to get Harry back. Anything . And,” Sirius swallowed, and the tears he had refused for weeks to shed made his way down his cheeks, “if we can’t find him soon and if Greyback’s plan works, the next time we see him will be with us on one side of a war and Harry on the other. He could die . One of us could kill him trying to protect the others. And I don’t–I can’t–”

Remus met Sirius’s gaze. “Sirius, we will come to that if we must, but right now we can’t waste our energy and fears into something that may not happen. We need everyone focused and strong to get Dora through that meeting and meet with the Order.”

Sirius nodded jerkily, but Remus knew that his words did nothing to ease the guilt festering at Sirius’s conscience. 

An hour later, Remus walked Tonks to his room and kissed her good-night. “Be safe tomorrow, Dora,” he murmured.

"I promise," she returned. "And I always keep my promises. Always."

—**Greyback’s Pack, Ten Days Before Moonrise**--

Greyback did not immediately elaborate on his grand plan or how Harry would help fulfill it. As another three days passed–and with moonrise ten days away–Harry noticed movement among the pack as Greyback sent the adults on various missions. After one such mission, two high ranking members of the pack returned, passed the alpha an envelope, and hissed, "Greetings from Bode."

The words were senseless to Harry, but based on Greyback's grin, he knew it didn't bode well for Harry. In response, Greyback handed the two men a clear vial and sent them away with the words, "You know what to do."

After a scant lunch of venison harvested by Zenna's bow, Harry lay down on his cot. The ache of the full moon was already sapping his strength, and his right arm dangled uselessly over the cot.

"Moon getting to you already?" Jake asked sympathetically. 

Harry nodded. "I thought it would be easier in the forest, but it's worse."

"Your mental state affects your symptoms. If you're stressed, it’s worse," Jake explained with a shrug.

Harry closed his eyes as homesickness overtook him. Madam Pomfrey had said almost the exact same words back in September. 

The roll call horn interrupted his thoughts, and, groaning, he followed Jake to the end of the line. 

Greyback's arms were folded as he scrutinized the pack members with Albion’s amber eyes. "Our New World Order begins on the next moon. Our show of strength and fortitude and savagery will swell our ranks. We will double or triple the size of our pack. After the next moon, no one will dare defy us! No one will stand in our way! The world will be ours!"

His words were met with a roar of approval and stomping feet. Once more, Harry, Jake, and Zenna remained silent. 

The defiance was not lost on Greyback. His bottom lip curled in a sneer, he said, “Potter, step forward.”

Harry stepped forward, uncomfortably aware of the rest of the pack’s eyes on his back. He inclined his head in a slight gesture of deference, though it was nothing like the customary low bow that was required of his station in the pack. “Alpha.”

Ignoring Harry, Greyback turned toward the pack. "Some of you may not know this, but Omega left behind a girlfriend at Hogwarts. I think it's only fair that we reunite them. After all, long-distance relationships never last."

There was a hearty chuckle from some of the pack while Harry’s heart dropped to some unknown cavity in his navel. Greyback couldn't, he wouldn't . . . 

But he would. Albion–Voldemort–had no use for a bright, muggle-born witch. His only concern was breaking Harry to his will. If Harry turned Hermione on the full moon, there would be no leaving the pack. Harry would have to stay–obeying the alpha to protect her–until the day he died. 

His stomach clenched at the thought of his vision. He and Hermione didn't live with the pack; they lived in a beautiful white house. They had a daughter named Lily Rose and Hermione was pregnant. Female werewolves couldn't bear children of their own, as the monthly transformations prevented any fetus from reaching viability.

Ergo, Hermione had been human in his vision. 

She had to stay human–no matter what it took. 

Zenna walked forward, her head in a bow to the alpha. She shot Harry a pitying look as her hair fell forward and obscured her face from Greyback's view. "Permission to speak, Alpha."

"Granted."

"The boy is young. There is time–years–for him to find another, more suitable mate. Someone who is already a werewolf. There is no need to go after the girl."

Greyback leered at her, his face triumphant. "You do not know Potter as I do. The girl is critical. She will be turned, and the boy will be the one to do it."

Harry's insides churned with anger, and an iron will gripped his chest. "I won't," he vowed. "You can't make me."

Greyback's face moved very close to Harry's, his gaze murderous. "You don't get a choice. You exist to obey me. Maybe that reality of pack life hasn't sunk in yet."

“I won’t turn her,” Harry snapped, his words laced with venom.

Without a word, Greyback snapped his fingers and two pack members took Harry by the upper arms. With a single wrench, Greyback tore the shirt from Harry's back. Harry struggled against his captors, but it was as fruitless as fighting against a brick wall. 

“Omega, you need a reminder of your place.”

Harry heard the whip crack before he felt it.

And then he felt it. 

Boy, did he feel it.

The impact drove him to his knees, and he let out an involuntary cry of pain. He had no time to recover as the whip flashed and struck again and again across his shoulders, the nape of his neck, and the small of his back.

Harry’s face was driven into the dirt as the whip cracked again. Unable to move, unable to reach his wand, he had no choice but wait for it to end.

It wouldn't end. 

As the seconds turned to minutes, spots appeared at Harry's vision and his back throbbed with agony. And still the whip cracked against his back. 

That's when the fear finally gripped him. Greyback wasn't just punishing him. Greyback was taking it too far. He–

"Stop! You're going to kill him!" Zenna shouted. As she spoke, she drew her wand, blocking a whiplash with a shield charm. 

Greyback turned toward her with murder in his gaze. "The pup hasn't learned his lesson."

"I will take the rest of his punishment, Alpha. This is too much for the boy." Zenna interjected. "Stay your hand."

For a moment, the clearing was silent, the only sound Harry's gasping, uneven breaths that he couldn't seem to control. Something felt wrong with his ribs and lungs, like the air was being pinched away before it could refresh him. He was visibly shaking as blood dripped down his back.

Then Greyback grinned, a horrible, malicious grin that made Zenna take a faltering step back. "I have another idea. Ramson! Get up here."

Jake approached the alpha on shaking legs. 

"It's going to be Ramson's choice, not yours, Zenna. Ramson, you choose: you can take the rest of the omega's punishment or you can make the pup bear it himself."

"That's not–" Zenna began in outrage. 

Greyback silenced her with a quick draw of his wand. His amber eyes flickered to Jake. "Your call, Ramson."

Jake stared down at Harry, the older boy's face torn with pity and misery. But there was a fire in his eyes that Harry hadn't seen before–a fire born of helplessness, pain, and abuse. A fire strong enough to break cycles and change destinies. Jake squared his shoulders and faced the alpha. "If this is your New World Order, Alpha, I want no part in it," he spat. He removed his shirt, dropping it to the dust at his feet. "Do your worst."

Greyback grinned his awful grin. "So be it." 

He thrust the whip toward Zenna, who backed up with wide eyes. 

"What's wrong, Zenna?" he asked in a sickly sweet voice that reminded Harry forcibly of Umbridge. "You told me to stop. I'm just giving you what you asked for."

"No! This is barbaric! This–"

Greyback cracked the whip across Zenna’s face and torso. She gasped, staggering backward and blinking the blood from her eyes.

Greyback threw the whip at her feet. "Get on with it."

Zenna hesitated.

"Zenna, it's okay. Just do it," Jake said.

Zenna stared at the boy. “Jake, no, I–"

"Just do it, please. I can't let him hurt you again, Den Mother!" Jake was begging now, tears streaming down his face. He was trembling uncontrollably, but the unquenchable fire was still there. He sobbed out the last torturous words. "You're all I have."

With shaking hands, Zenna drew the whip through the air and across Jake's back. Like Harry, the impact drove him to the dirt. He found Harry's wrist and squeezed it tightly. 

"I won't let him hurt your mate," Jake promised. "We'll do something to stop it."

The minutes dragged on as the whip was applied to Jake's back. Every time Zenna tried to stop, Greyback forced her to continue. 

It was only after Jake lost consciousness that Greyback raised a hand. "Enough. And let it be a lesson to any others who think they can defy me." He turned his hard gaze on Harry. “Especially you.”

—**Ministry of Magic, Nine Days Before Moonrise**--

Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour called the meeting to order, and Tonks eased herself into a seat next to Julie, who immediately brought Tonks's left hand to her eye level to examine the delicate ring on her finger. Tonks was spared from conversation when Kingsley pointedly cleared his throat, bringing Julie's attention back to the work at hand. 

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge sat at the head of the conference room table, his face pale and stubble gracing his cheeks. Evidently, being publicly humiliated by the press for delaying action for months after Voldemort's return was doing little for his self-care. 

But, to Tonks's surprise, Voldemort was not the first topic of discussion. Instead, Scrimgeour said, "There has been a credible tip that Fenrir Greyback and his pack will attack Hogwarts on the full moon the Tuesday after next."

There was a murmur of unease and surprise from the assembled aurors and hit wizards. Tonks, for her part, was confused. They had alerted Dumbledore immediately, but Dumbledore had been confident that the Order and teachers would be enough to secure the castle and eliminate the threat. But how would the Ministry know?

Then the answer came to her clearly: Umbridge. She was not one to protect students from dirty half-breeds. She would bring in others to do the dirty work. 

“Every auror in this room is assigned to protect Hogwarts on the full moon. Headmaster Dumbledore is also insisting on a handful of handpicked civilians on whom he has promised his trust.”

Tonks’s heart thundered in her ears, and she felt renewed pain from her injury. Not wanting to weaken the current wearer of the bracelet more than she had to, Tonks took deep, steadying breaths.But her brain was whirring. The Order and the Ministry had remained separate and distinct; now it felt like the two sides of her life were on course for a head-on collision.

“Civilians?” Dawlish scoffed. “They’ll just get in the way.”

“Dumbledore is insistent,” Scrimgeor repeated in a tone that communicated there would be no discussion. 

Tonks suddenly felt an overwhelming pain under the bandages hiding her wound. Unconsciously, she placed a hand across her chest, and Kingsley looked at her in concern. Just as quickly, the pain faded, and Tonks realized that the bracelet must have been transferred to a new host. 

The next few hours passed in a blur as additional security measures at Hogwarts were discussed and, with that squared away, Fudge blustered through an acknowledgement of Voldemort’s return, and assignments were given. Tonks breathed an inner sigh of relief when she was assigned the task of locating all former Death Eaters and identifying likely contacts. It was boring work with ministry files that Tonks normally hated, but her wound had started bleeding anew, and all she wanted to do was return to Remus’s strong arms and tender care.

Tonks gathered a stack of files from the dusty records hall and returned to her cramped corner office. She was studying the movements of the aurors and waited for the moment she could unobtrusively take her leave when a fellow auror stepped into the doorway. 

Dawlish was not a tall man. A bit stocky, he nevertheless had strong shoulders and piercing blue eyes. His face was unremarkable but not ugly, and Tonks was never one to gauge much on appearances. 

It was his personality that made him so unbelievably unappealing. 

Tonks kept her head down as long as she dared, pretending that she didn’t realize his presence. She feigned a startled look up and adopted a mask of clear professionalism. “Auror Dawlish, I didn’t see you there. I’m afraid these reports will not be ready for another day or two.”

Dawlish stepped into the office and closed the door. Perhaps it was the sheer number of horrible things that had happened in the past few months, but the simple action set Tonks on edge. The transfer bracelet responded to the added stress, and she knew that it would be forced to draw more magic from its host to keep her upright. 

Dawlish balanced a white container in one hand as he gestured toward the ring on her left. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said evenly, though his tone was flat and his eyes cold.

Tonks felt a chill up her spine. She had always been an excellent read on body language and her fight-or-flight response was screaming in her head. Fit and healthy, she could take Dawlish with one hand tied behind her back, but she didn’t stand a chance in her current state. She felt blood dripping beneath her bandages and fought to calm herself. “Thank you,” Tonks replied stiffly. She gestured to the door. “I know you are busy–as we all are–so I won’t keep you here with idle chatter.”

Dawlish didn’t move. “Who is your betrothed?” he demanded. 

Tonks bristled, and she dropped any semblance of friendliness. “I hardly see why that is your concern, Auror Dawlish.”

His features were stoic, though there was a hardness to his gaze that Tonks didn’t like. “You are right, Auror Tonks,” he replied smoothly. “Forgive me for being too forward.” He thrust the white container toward her. “I stopped by the cafeteria for lunch and saw that you didn’t make it down. I brought it back for you.”

Tonks hesitated. She was starving and had skipped lunch to round up the necessary files to take back to the cottage. But there was something too eager in Dawlish's gaze. Though she thought he was a bit of an idiot, she had never thought he was malicious. 

Before now.

“Thank you, Auror Dawlish. Please leave it on the corner of my desk.” Tonks turned resolutely back to the files. 

Recognizing the dismissal, Dawlish swept from the office. 

An hour later, Tonks made a hasty escape, the files shrunk in a pocket of her robes and the food container in one hand. The food had a strong, sage-like scent that made her head swim. She apparated back to the cottage, stumbling a bit when a wave of dizziness overcame her. “Did the spell work ok on this end?”

Remus, Sirius, and Bill were seated in the living room, all looking exhausted with a sheen of sweat on each brow. Bill gave her a weak thumbs up. 

“What happened about an hour ago, Dora?” Remus asked. “There was quite a drain on the bracelet.”

“You tell me,” she said and thrust the box toward Remus’s nose.

Remus immediately coughed and looked askance at Tonks. “Don’t eat that!” 

Tonks rolled her eyes affectionately. “I figured as much, but I wanted my werewolf fiancé's sensitive nose to diagnose it for me.”

“It’s laced with amortentia,” Remus returned. “ Strong amortentia.”

There was a heavy pause as Sirius and Bill regarded her with wide eyes. “Who gave that to you?” Sirius demanded. 

“Dawlish. He’s been bugging me to go out with him for the past two years.” With a careless shrug, she vanished the food. 

The men exchanged a look, and there was a firm set to Remus’s jaw. “What?” Tonks asked. “I knew he was being shifty and didn’t trust him. No harm done.”

Bill raised an eyebrow, his face set into a hard line. “It’s the intent. Tonks, I love you like a sister, and I would never be okay with someone lacing my sister’s food with love potion.”

“And this isn’t a weak love potion found in a teen’s joke shop,” Remus added. “Tonks, you know that amortentia is highly regulated by the Ministry, and for good reason.”

“He’s a git,” Tonks said with another shrug. “He should have known better than to think I’d fall for it.”

“He’s more than a git,” Sirius said darkly. “Tonks, I think you are being a bit naïve about this.”

“At the very least he wanted to ruin your relationship,” Remus added. “At the most, well–”

Tonks placed a hand on his wrist and lightly kissed his lips. She turned to Sirius and Bill. “I’ll keep an eye on him, okay? Besides,” she reached into her pocket and unshrunk the files on the coffee table, “I’m working from home for the next nine days. He can’t try anything here.”

Bill wasn’t dissuaded. “You should report him.”

“I’ll let Kingsley and Mad-Eye know at the meeting,” Tonks assured him. “There’s no use reporting him to Scrimgeour–they’re third cousins or something. Nepotism is the only reason he's an auror in the first place.”

Remus nodded shortly and placed a kiss on her brow. “Please do. If for no other reason than to have two more people to back you up if this continues.”

Bill checked his watch. “Meeting is in five minutes. We should floo over.” Without preamble, Bill and Sirius flooed from the cottage. 

Tonks traced a finger along Remus’s jaw. “I know what you’re thinking,” she murmured softly. “And you’re wrong. Dawlish doesn’t know who my fiancé is. He didn’t target me because you’re a werewolf.”

“That’s what worries me, Dora,” Remus responded. “I don’t know what he will try when he does find out.”

“I’m going to tell you what you told Sirius. Don’t agonize over what hasn’t happened yet.”

Remus stood with a sigh and eased her to a standing position, the bracelet on his wrist responding to the exertion. “We should go.”

Tonks took his elbow. “Before we do, can you tell me one thing?”

“What?”

Her eyes glinted. “What does amortentia smell like to you?”

“Honey, cinnamon, leather boots, and chocolate cake,” Remus replied immediately. “All things that I associate with you.”

Tonks grinned and slipped her arms around his neck. “I smell sage and black coffee.”

“Really?”

“Really. You promised me a few weeks ago that I can steal your coffee whenever I feel like it, and I intend to make good on that promise every day of our lives.”

Remus chuckled. “I’ll be sure to make extra.”

Hand-in-hand they walked into the Grimmauld kitchen, taking seats next to Sirius. Every Order member was present, including McGonagall and Snape. 

Dumbledore called the meeting to order and summarized Greyback’s threat. He finished with, “The Ministry received word of the attack from one of the other professors. The aurors have been called in to make a show of force and protect the students. However, I want every Order member who can be spared to fight, as well. I’ve informed Scrimgeour of your presence.”

Remus’s insides squirmed with unease, but he knew what had to be done. “I’m coming, Albus,” he said softly. “I will fight.”

His words were met with shocked silence, but Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. “Yes, Remus, I assumed you would, which is why I took it upon myself to meet with the Wizengamot this morning to waive the anti-werewolf education laws for twenty-four hours preceding and proceeding the full moon.”

“How did you convince them?” Arthur Weasley asked in surprise.

“I was honest,” Dumbledore said simply. “Even the Wizengamot couldn’t argue the value that a medicated werewolf familiar with Greyback’s movements could have on turning the tide of this battle.”

“Why not just send the children home on the train?” Molly asked. “Take them away from the danger.”

“Because Greyback is smarter than he looks,” Remus answered. “I’m sure he already has a contingency plan to hijack the train and kidnap as many students as possible.”

“Why do this?” Elphias demanded. “It’s no use to just kill a bunch of kids.”

“Greyback doesn’t want to kill them,” Remus clarified. “This is the orphanage all over again. He wants to increase his ranks.”

“So we have to stop him,” Kingsley finished. “We have to be willing to do whatever it takes.”

“What about Harry?” Sirius demanded. “He’ll be caught up in the fighting.”

Remus’s heart clenched. “We have to protect the students first, Sirius. I will try to find Harry and pull him away from the fighting, but we can’t hesitate every time we see a black wolf. That hesitation will get someone killed or turned.”

“Do the students know, Albus?” Molly asked. 

Dumbledore shook his head. “Not yet. The students are spending the day in Hogsmeade, and it is important that they have one day of light-hearted frivolity before bearing this burden. I will inform the students during the dinner hour.”

—

Hermione did not want to go to Hogsmeade. In fact, she didn’t want to do much of anything. But somehow Lavender and Pavarti had cajoled her into going, and now she walked aimlessly around Honeydukes with Ron and tried not to be a complete raincloud. 

But it was hard. The longer Harry spent away from Hogwarts, the more Hermione felt he was slipping through her fingers. His absence had left a palpable ache in her heart, and no amount of Toothflossing Stringmints or Ice Mice were going to make it better. 

Ron made his purchase and turned toward Hermione. “Want to head to the Three Broomsticks?”

Hermione shrugged and followed him out of the crowded candy shop. There was a hint of winter in the air, and a few errant snowflakes fluttered past her hat. They were walking past two storefronts when a hand grabbed Hermione’s wrist. 

“Hey, let me go!” she yelled, fear clutching her heart. The man was dirty, with rotten teeth and a leering smile. 

Ron reached for his wand, but he was immediately disarmed by a second man. “Let her go,” he yelled. Ron leapt forward, but the second man blocked him with a shield.  

Their shouting had drawn the attention of a few older students, who were rushing toward them. The man holding Hermione removed a dagger from his belt and–before Hermione could do anything more than gasp in horror–slashed into her forearm. Blood poured freely from the cut, and he collected it in a glass vial while the other man kept the older students back with a slew of spells. “We’re done here.”

He shoved Hermione to the ground, and the two men disappeared with a crack of apparition. 

“Hermione!” Ron yelled, kneeling down next to her and placing his scarf against the wound. Hermione’s vision was fading as the wound continued to bleed. “Somebody find a teacher!” he yelled. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank was located at the Three Broomsticks, and she rushed to Hermione’s side. The professor’s face swam in Hermione’s vision before blackness overtook her.

—

Remus had just replaced Tonks’s bandages with a muttered spell and eased her back onto the couch when the floo flashed and Professor McGonagall stepped out, her face drawn in apprehension. 

“Lupin, why would a werewolf take blood from a human prior to the full moon?”

The color drained from Lupin’s face. “What happened?” he demanded. 

“Hermione Granger was attacked by two men in Hogsmeade. They collected her blood in a vial and disapparated. Witness descriptions matched them to members of Greyback’s pack.”

“Is she okay?” Bill asked tightly. 

McGonagall nodded. “Poppy cleaned the wound and said there isn’t any trace of poison or other contaminants. Ms. Granger was still unconscious, but she is expected to come around in a few minutes. Lupin, why would this happen?”

Remus looked at the deputy head with agonized eyes. “Because Greyback wants to turn her on the full moon. He’s marked her specifically.” Remus scrubbed his face with his hands, embarrassed by the information that he was about to divulge, but knowing it was incredibly necessary for Hermione’s safety. “The blood–her scent–will be given to a werewolf just before moonrise. The transformed werewolf, driven mad by the scent, will track it and find the owner, ignoring any other prey until its thirst is satisfied.”

His words were met with silent horror. “Why Hermione?” Sirius asked tightly. “We know all the students are in danger, but why target Hermione specifically?”

“Because she’s close to Harry,” Remus replied tightly. “Somehow, Greyback must have discovered that. He’s trying to break Harry to his will. And Greyback will make Harry do it. Harry won’t have control. Harry won’t have a choice.”

Chapter Text

Hermione stood in front of the bathroom mirror three days before the full moon. She raised her forearm to eye level, the large wound by the man’s knife invisible to the eye. Pomfrey had healed the cut in a matter of minutes, but Hermione still felt violated, as if the knife wound had cut more than just skin. Her very soul felt contaminated, and she blinked tears away as she once more relived the horror of the man’s tight grip on her wrist and his rancid breath in her face. 

Intellectually, she knew it made no sense, but she felt guilty about what had happened. If only she had been more attentive to her surroundings; if only she hadn’t gone to Hogsmeade in the first place. 

If only Harry had been there to protect her-h e would have smelled the man before he ever had a chance to harm her.

A sob escaped Hermione’s lips, and she slid to the floor, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. She couldn’t look at her arm again. She couldn’t bear the memory of what had been taken from her. 

“Hermione, is that you? Are you okay?” a voice sounded through the door. 

“I-I’m fine, L-lavender,” Hermione stuttered through sobs. 

“You don’t sound fine,” another voice returned. “We’re coming in.”

Before Hermione could think of a reasonable excuse, the door burst open, and her roommates came in. Hermione had thought them frivolous and immature, but all judgments were chased from her mind when they wrapped their arms around her and hugged her tightly from both sides. Hermione sobbed openly in their arms, great gasping sobs that shook her entire body. 

“Is it about the man who took your blood?” Lavender asked gently. 

Hermione nodded, dabbing at her nose with her sleeve. Parvati handed her a handkerchief. “I feel so . . . violated. I feel like it was my f-fault, like I should have known better. I feel–”

Parvati gripped Hermione by the shoulders with surprising strength. “Hermione, have you talked to someone about this?”

Hermione gave her a quizzical look. “I’m talking to you, arent I? And Dumbledore wrote to my parents.”

“Have you talked with your parents about how it’s affecting you?” Lavender asked, seeming to key into her best friend’s thought process. 

Hermione shook her head. “Ever since being petrified in second year, they have been a bit overprotective. If they think that I’m traumatized, I’m worried they’ll bring me straight home.”

“So you’ve told them everything is fine?”

Hermione nodded and pushed up the sleeve of her robes, revealing the unblemished skin of her arm. “It is fine . . . physically. But . . . I’m having terrible nightmares. I worry those men will come back. I’m afraid to go to Hogsmeade.”

And–though she would never admit it to her dormmates–the attack had made her terrified of werewolves. 

But Harry was a werewolf; was she now afraid of him? 

The possibility was too terrible to contemplate. 

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool tile. “I just wish it never happened,” she murmured. 

“Hermione, you need to talk to someone about this,” Pavarti said seriously. She seemed to hesitate, taking a deep breath before she began. “My sister Padma had something horrible happen to her last summer. She had a row with our mom and was walking around in the dark to cool off. Then, uh, well she doesn’t want people to know what happened, so I won’t tell you. But our parents took her to a healer for physical healing, and that healer sent her to see someone for her mental state. She’s not completely like she used to be–I think that will take a long, long time, but she’s better now that she has the mind healer to talk to. They floo call from Dumbledore’s office once a week.”

“Is a mind healer like a therapist?” Hermione asked in confusion. 

“I think so? Do they help people move past trauma?”

Hermione nodded while her dormmates gave her another tight squeeze. Lavender pulled Hermione to a standing position, then hugged her tightly again. “What happened wasn’t your fault,” she whispered. “Please, please remember that.”

The words were a balm to Hermione’s soul. But as she walked from class to class, she was accosted by the stares and whispers of the entire student body, who had learned of the attack from the rampant rumor mill. 

Hermione was thankful that her ears were not as sensitive as Harry’s–she had no desire to be privy to their conversations about her. By lunch the festering guilt and shame had returned, and she found herself walking into the Hospital Wing, having shaken off Ron at the Gryffindor table. 

Madame Pomfrey looked up as she approached. There was only one other occupant–Colin Creevy had somehow managed to transfigure his ears to turnips. Turning back to her patient, the matron reversed the transfiguration and handed him an orange potion. “Here, Mr. Creevy. This will prevent any regrowth and eliminate the ringing in your ears. And–for Pete’s sake–leave advanced transfiguration to the NEWT students. The seventh years are better equipped to handle advanced magic.”

Colin took the potion with shaking fingers. “Seventh years get to do everything,” he muttered.

“Because they have three years’ more experience than you do,” the matron interjected. “They can handle more and be responsible for more.”

“The war isn’t waiting for anyone,” Colin snapped. “You-Know-Who is out there now. Werewolves are going to attack us in two days. The least I can do is try some advanced magic to try to be prepared.”

“You are a child,” Pomfrey interjected sternly. “Others will fight this fight. When you are old enough, rise to the occasion. But not right now. Understand?”

Colin shrugged and swallowed the potion. “Can I go now?” he demanded, his tone abrasive. 

Madam Pomfrey gave him an appraising look, then relented. “Off with you.”

Hermione waited until Colin’s footsteps had faded before sitting on an adjacent bed. She took a deep breath. “Madame Pomfrey, I think I need to see someone to talk about the incident at Hogsmeade. I’m physically fine, but–”

“But your emotional and mental health are experiencing severe trauma,” Pomfrey finished. She had waggled her wand over Hermione’s head and examined the runes that appeared. She sat on a chair adjacent to Hermione. “Who would you like to talk with?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t really know anyone trained in mind healing.”

“The aurors are trained to help support victims. Did you like the auror who took your statement?”

Hermione allowed a ghost of a smile to grace her features. “Auror Tonks is great.”

“Would you feel comfortable speaking with her? I can find a formal mind healer for long-term care, if needed, but I can pull some strings to get Auror Tonks here very soon.”

“Okay.” Hermione settled onto the pillows and allowed Madame Pomfrey to conjure her some hot chocolate. 

“You don’t have to suffer, Hermione,” the matron said softly. “Let us help you.”

Hermione must have dozed off, but she was awakened when someone tripped over the leg of the hospital bed. She opened her eyes and was met with a heart-shaped face and pink hair. 

“Wotcher,” Tonks said, pulling up a chair next to Hermione’s bedside. “Poppy sent me. It seems that you might need a bit of support.”

“Can you silence the curtains?”

Tonks complied with a flick of her wand. 

In halting tones, Hermione explained the nightmares, the guilt, the shame, and lying to her parents. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t study. I don’t know what to do to make this stop,” she admitted. Tears fell down her cheeks and she kept her gaze focused on her shaking hands. 

Tonks squeezed her wrist. “This wasn’t your fault, Hermione,” she said softly. 

“Everyone keeps saying that. I wish I could believe it,” Hermione returned. 

“When I applied for auror training,” Tonks began, “everyone in my year laughed and said I could never do it. I was too clumsy, too kind, too sensitive. Mad-Eye himself told me he would be surprised if I lasted a week.”

“So what did you do?”

“I proved them all wrong. All of them. I decided the world wasn’t going to tell me what was and wasn’t possible. By my second month of auror training, I was Mad-Eye’s protegee and had watched eighteen colleagues drop out. It was hard, and some days I cried myself to sleep because it was so immensely difficult. But I knew it was what I wanted to do. And I did it. I overcame every barrier because I was stronger than my circumstances.”

“It’s easy to say that when you’re on the other side of things,” Hermione quipped. 

Tonks took her hands and squeezed them tightly. “Hermione, you are easily the most talented witch in this castle. You’re brave, fierce, and intelligent. You will overcome this. Don’t let those horrible men have any more power over you. Don’t give them that satisfaction.”

Hermione nodded. 

“And you have my word that I will find them,” Tonks continued fiercely. “I will find them and arrest them. They will rot in Azkaban.”

“What if you don’t?” Hermione contended. “What if they get away? I can’t even walk out on the grounds without looking over my shoulder. I feel like I can’t rest until they are gone. And McGonagall explained what they would do with my blood on the full moon. Tonks, they want to hunt me down, and I’m so afraid.”

Tonks hugged her fiercely. “We won’t let that happen. You will be safe in your dormitory. The entire Order and all the aurors will be here to make sure you and everyone else is safe.”

“I’m afraid of werewolves now,” Hermione confessed. “I l-love Harry, I really do, but I c-can’t–”

Tonks grinned and raised her left hand. A gold band with a pearl flickered in the candlelight. “Did you know that we have something in common?”

“What?”

“We’re both in love with a werewolf.”

Hermione stared at her in confusion. “Who?”

“Professor Lupin. We’re getting married on New Year’s Day.”

Hermione beamed. “Really? That’s wonderful!”

“And the reason I tell you this now,” she continued, “is because there is something else that we have in common–we’ve both been attacked by other werewolves. I was dueling Fenrir Greyback two weeks ago, and he hit me with a bloodletting curse.”

Hermione gaped at her with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

Tonks nodded. “The wound is almost completely healed now. But the important thing to remember is that lycanthropy doesn’t replace someone’s humanity. Greyback and the two men who attacked you did that all on their own. Harry isn’t like them, and neither is Remus. They choose humanity. That’s why you love Harry and why I love Remus. They are both incredible people.”

“Yeah. They are,” Hermione agreed, her gaze drawn to the bracelet of runes affixed to her wrist. “I wish Harry would come home so he could hear it himself.”

“Remus will do everything he can to separate Harry from the pack. We will find him, Hermione. We won’t ever stop looking.”

A half an hour later, Hermione walked to Arithmancy with her shoulders back. She repeated the mantra Tonks had taught her as she walked. I am brave. I am intelligent. I am determined. I won’t let those men harm me all over again by holding on to guilt and shame. They have no power over me.

—

Harry lay on his cot on his stomach, livid at the power Greyback held over him. The whipping had been a week ago, but without dittany and silver to close the wounds, it was still immensely painful, and Zenna feared the wounds were becoming infected. She had been applying a poultice made from tree sap, but it didn’t seem to be helping. 

And still Greyback’s plan to attack Hogwarts moved unrelentingly forward. 

Jake had fared no better than Harry. He was also face-down on his cot, Lizzie’s teddy bear Milo securely tucked under one arm. 

“We can’t let him do this,” Harry said for the thousandth time that afternoon. “We have to stop it somehow.”

“I know,” Jake said with a grunt as he tried to move into a more comfortable position. “If you have a plan, I’m all ears.”

Harry sighed. “I’m trying, but I can't think of a solid plan. We’re no use to anyone if we just get ourselves killed.”

“Greyback’s even worse now because of that amulet, isn’t he?” Jake asked astutely. “There’s something weird about it.”

Harry nodded. “The amulet contains a piece of Voldemort’s soul. It’s possessing him.”

Jake shivered. “Ew. I remember seeing pictures of that guy in one of the wizarding history books in my house. Super creepy.”

“I never thought I would say it, but maybe possessing Greyback is an improvement in his looks. At least now he has a nose.”

Jake snorted with laughter, stifling the noise with an arm over his face. “Dark wizard beauty plan–”

“Nose not guaranteed–”

“No woman will come within a kilometer of you–”

“But if you want to smell like a rotting corpse, this is for you!”

Harry and Jake grinned at each other. The rebellion was small and would be severely punished if they were discovered, but neither boy cared as tears of laughter streaked down their cheeks. 

—

“Greyback will be moving his pack in the next twenty-four hours,” Remus explained to the assembled Order members. An empty, still-smoking goblet rested next to his left hand, and he felt the draw of the moon only forty-eight hours away. “They will be nearby, but I do not think they will try to take down the wards until closer to moonrise. It is more likely that they will be hiding a few kilometers from Hogsmeade.”

“Why don’t we track them before the moon?” Bill asked. “If we can take out Greyback before the moon even rises, problem solved.”

“If we can find them, we will do that,” Remus assured him. “But remember that Greyback is a skilled strategist. He will be making his pack scarce and planting spies in the forest. We can’t risk an ambush as we stumble around for a scent to track. They will want to decimate our forces as much as we want to decimate theirs.”

“Thank you, Remus,” Dumbledore said. “McGonagall, can I have your update?”

Remus sat as the deputy head stood. “Ms. Granger is aware of the unique danger she is in after the attack in Hogsmeade. She will ensure she is safely in Gryffindor tower from moonrise to moonset. Two days hence, students will be served dinner and then assembled afterward for a debriefing by the Order and auror members. Remus will lead this debrief.”

Remus nodded in response to the surprised looks sent his way. Snape scoffed and folded his arms, his customary response each time any of the Marauders were provided some semblance of responsibility. “It’s necessary that the students understand that I will not harm them but other werewolves will. It will be better if the information comes from me directly.”

“Kingsley, your report?” Dumbledore continued. 

Kingsley stood. “Aurors have been at Hogwarts strengthening the wards and identifying areas of weakness in the castle. All are ready to protect according to the commands of the Head Auror.”

“Will the wolves still break through with the strengthened wards?” Sirius asked. 

Kingsley shrugged. “It depends on what and how much information Bode shared with them. And we have been unable to track Bode to confirm–he seems to have fled the country with his family.”

“So we’ll need to be ready,” Tonks said. “Hope for the best but anticipate the worst.”

Dumbledore’s eyes swept the occupants of the room, resting on Remus and Tonks’s clasped hands. “It is also important that Kingsley and Tonks retain their current positions as aurors. If you were not acquaintances prior to the Order, it is important that you remain aloof of them while we are all at Hogwarts. Scrimgeour and Fudge will be watching for what they perceive to be any wavering alliances. Alas, Voldemort’s return has not endeared Fudge to me as much as one would expect.”

Remus squeezed Tonks’s hand and tried to hide his disappointment. Was this how their relationship was destined to be? Dodging and hiding their affections to protect her status in the Ministry? 

Dumbledore excused the meeting and Tonks followed Remus to the floo. While the other Order members lingered over Molly’s freshly baked pie, Tonks turned her fiancé to face her. “Love, what’s wrong?”

“In forty hours I can’t even say I know your name,” he confessed, threading his fingers through hers and resting his forehead against her own. “It’s more painful than I could have possibly imagined.”

Tonks kissed him gently. “I am yours, Remus. And you are mine. No amount of pretending is going to change that. And it's only until moonset. Things will be back to normal soon.”

“But it won’t be back to normal ever. Marrying a werewolf is illegal, Dora. We will always be hiding what we’ve done. It will always be like this.”

Tonks stroked her knuckles along the stubble lining his jaw. “Then consider our marriage an act of rebellion,” she said with a wink. “Live a little.”

“That’s just it. I want you to have the fullest life possible,” Remus responded sincerely, though his heart felt like it was tearing itself in half. 

“I already am living my fullest life,” Tonks returned. “The only thing that could make my life more fulfilling is if January first could come faster.”

“You mean it?” Remus whispered. He felt as if a bandage was wrapping his heart back together.

“Yes. No matter what the future holds, I’m by your side.” 

Remus gathered her in his arms for a tight embrace and a lingering kiss.

They were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. “I hate to interrupt, but you two are blocking the floo.”

Remus and Tonks flushed and stepped aside to allow the Hogwarts staff access to return to Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling as he looked at them. “We need more love in the world,” he said. “Cherish one another.”

Chapter Text

Greyback awakened them at dawn the morning before the full moon and forced everyone in the pack to use a combination of apparition and portkeys to move to an unknown location. It didn’t take long for the dread to clutch Harry’s chest–from the camp’s vantage point in the mountains, he could see the village of Hogsmeade below: Honeydukes sparkled in the burgeoning morning light, the colorful Zonko’s sign waved in the wind, and the Shrieking Shack stood out like a black monolith on an adjacent rise to the west. 

And the castle–the beautiful edifice that had so long been his only home–stood stately in the distance, its towers barely visible and the Black Lake nothing more than a hazy line in the horizon.

Harry was filled with an odd combination of longing and dread as he stared at the tallest spires. A noise sounded behind him, and he turned to see Jake approaching. The brown-haired boy looked at the castle with unconcealed longing. “That’s Hogwarts, huh?”

Harry nodded. 

“It’s really beautiful.”

“It is–until Greyback is through with it.” Harry’s voice was hallow, deadened.

“Do you think they know we’re going to attack?” Jake asked, dropping his voice to a thin whisper and looking over his shoulder to ensure they were alone. 

Harry’s stomach clenched. He had been so focused on forming a plan to eliminate Greyback and somehow turn the pack against the alpha–plans which were, at best, a psychotic death wish and, at worst, would result in severe punishment or death to Jake and Zenna–that he had neglected to think about those who would stand in their way. 

The Order would fight of course–as long as they knew about it. 

“We need to find a way to contact someone," Harry stated.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Got an owl?”

“I used to, but I don’t think she will come. I gave her to my best friend when I left for the pack, so she's not truly mine anymore.”

Jake scuffed the ground with his foot. “Got any spells that let you send messages?”

Harry was about to shake his head when he remembered the desperate patronus call he had made the fateful morning after the last month’s full moon. Of course, it hadn’t mattered in the end; Remus was still dead. 

But Harry could send a patronus to McGonagall or Dumbledore or Tonks . . . Maybe not Tonks, Harry amended mentally, she probably hates me for killing her boyfriend. And Sirius was definitely out–after all, this new threat fell solidly under the category of “you’ve done enough. Sirius wouldn’t want to associate with Harry the murderer. 

The thought brought a renewed wave of grief and guilt, but Harry squared his shoulders. Surely someone in the Order would listen. Surely someone would protect the students. 

He focused hard on the memory of him and Jake making fun of Voldemort’s nose and raised his wand awkwardly with his left hand. “ Expecto Pat–”

“We’ll have none of that.” The wand was jerked forcibly from his hand and into Greyback’s fingers. He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, his amber eyes glittering with malice. “Do you never learn, Harry Potter?”

“Well, I’m not a Ravenclaw,” Harry returned. “Maybe I’m a slow study.”

“You’re not a Ravenclaw,” Greyback agreed maliciously. “You’re not anything. Not human. Not welcome. Not loved. Everything you wish you had is gone. You relied on the wrong people to help you. You need to put your faith in me now.” Greyback continued his stealthy approach, like a wild animal that had locked onto a piece of particularly juicy prey. “What did you think you were going to do with a patronus?” he growled. 

Harry clamped his jaw shut and folded his arms, his right arm having a bit of trouble with the movement as it jerked into place. 

Greyback looked into Harry’s eyes and Harry felt an alien presence in his mind–an invasion and intrusion on his thoughts as his conversations with Jake and his furious planning were revisited before his eyes. 

Greyback stared back unblinkingly, his face full of contempt. The alien force receded from Harry’s mind, and Harry staggered backward, shaking his head. He was interrupted as Greyback gave another low growl in his throat. 

“I am the strongest Alpha there is, Harry Potter. You exist to obey me, and after tonight, I will prove that you have no power over me.” Greyback waved his wand and thick silver handcuffs clicked against Harry’s ankles and wrists. Harry yelped in pain as the cuffs–so disgustingly similar to the ones Albion had first used to imprison him–burned deeply into his flesh. 

“Hey! What’re you–? Get those off!” Jake yelled, leaping forward to help Harry. He grabbed at the cuffs but yelped when they burned his palms. 

With another wave of his wand, Greyback affixed Jake with his own handcuffs on his ankles and wrists. Harry felt nauseated as the scent of Jake’s burning flesh assaulted his nose and Jake let out a cry of agony. 

With a final wave of his wand, Greyback sent both boys hard against a nearby pine tree and summoned ropes, which bound the young werewolves tightly against the trunk. Greyback approached, and Harry looked up through streaming eyes. 

“It would be so easy to kill you, Harry Potter,” Greyback growled. “But that would be far too painless. You deserve to suffer. If you thought you knew pain, if you thought you knew sorrow, if you thought you knew regret, it will be nothing compared to what you will feel after you wake up from the full moon and realize what you have done on my orders. It’s pointless to fight it–your life is mine, and I will ensure that it is a long, miserable, and painful one.”

–

Zenna crept between two quaint Hogsmeade cottages, staying to the shadows as much as possible. She was disillusioned, though her outline would shimmer with any sudden movement. She felt a heavy burden of guilt–so, so much heavier than she ever had to carry–as she removed a handful of charmed objects from her coat pocket. 

To the untrained eye, they were nothing more than forest refuse: a grey rock, a curved stick, a green leaf with prominent veins. But to Zenna, they represented hours of careful spellwork. She was not proud of the work, even though it had taken all her prowess and skill. 

She had thought to lie, to botch the project–after all, Greyback could not perform Legilimency on her. He would never know. But those desperate plans had been dashed with Greyback’s next words: “If you fail me, Zenna, I will kill the Potter and the Ramson boy after moonset. If you don’t get us in, they will die.”

So Zenna had made sure they would work. She had spent hours deciphering Boderick Bode’s tiny, uneven script. She had tested and retested the spells on various items until finding those innocuous enough to be ignored by even the most trained auror. 

Zenna crept through the village, remaining in the shadows. There was a flurry of activity as aurors in their maroon robes talked to customers and shopkeepers. Zenna inclined an ear as the snatches of conversation reached her hearing: 

Yes, it is very important to reinforce all of your wards on the shop tonight. 

If you have somewhere else to go, I recommend that you do so. The Leaky Cauldron is available if you need a place to stay.

Ensure that no Hogwarts students try to buy goods. If you see any students, alert the school or an auror immediately. 

Zenna recognized two of the three aurors: Kingsley Shacklebolt, a fellow Ravenclaw who had graduated the same year she had, still spoke with his slow, melodious voice; and Mad-Eye Moody was immediately recognizable with his wooden leg and magical eye (Zenna gave Mad-Eye a wide berth–she was sure his magical eye would see through her disillusionment charm rather quickly). 

But the third auror was unknown to Zenna. She had a heart-shaped face and vibrantly pink hair. She exuded youthful energy, enthusiasm, and determination that reminded Zenna of a younger version of herself when she first began work as an Unspeakable. 

The comparison left Zenna panged. She had relished her work in the Department of Mysteries and had wanted to make a better life for all humanoid creatures. But one walk with her fiancé in the moonlight had changed everything–her fiancé had died from horrendous wounds, and Zenna’s life had been forever altered. 

Zenna shivered, her gaze once again locked on the youthful auror. Perhaps her fate will be different, Zenna thought. Perhaps destiny will deal kindly with her tonight.

Or perhaps not. 

Fate and destiny didn’t deal kindly very often.

Forcing the unknown auror from her mind, Zenna crept toward the castle’s wrought-iron gates and removed the grey stone. She placed the stone at the base of the steelwork, nestling it into the ground so that it appeared to have always been there. She walked along the outer boundary and entered the forest, her wand out to detect the edge of the shimmering wards. The green leaf was nestled within the hollow of a dead tree, and the curved stick found a home inside heavy brush. 

The items placed, Zenna murmured a final spell. Each item responded with a warm glow that dimmed almost immediately. It was a latency spell, set to expire at moonrise. Once the latency spell ended, the secret talismans would shatter the wards and allow the wolves free reign of everyone within the castle’s walls. 

Zenna ignored the twist in her stomach as she turned resolutely away. 

–

The Order of the Phoenix assembled at Grimmauld Place and flooed to Dumbledore’s office. Remus felt the draw of the moon with startling acuteness–his eyes were bloodshot, his bones ached beneath his skin, and his stomach roiled from the floo transport. 

He looked down in confusion as Sirius tied something to his wrist. Immediately, the premoon aches disappeared. 

“It’s Tonks’s transfer bracelet,” Sirius explained, raising his wrist to show the complement. “Bill and I will share the burden until moonrise. The last thing we need is Dumbledore’s werewolf showing up looking like a bad hangover.”

Remus nodded tightly. “Thanks.”

“The aurors have been in Hogsmeade throughout the day notifying residents of the danger. They have reported no suspicious activity or persons within the village. It would be unwise to try to track the pack in the remaining hours before moonrise,” Dumbledore stated. 

The words were not news to Remus. Greyback wasn’t stupid; he knew when to hide and when to fight. Bill and Sirius grimaced at the words, and Remus could feel the hope drain out of them. 

“But . . . Harry . . .” Sirius whispered. 

“I will try to find him,” Remus promised. “I will do everything I can.”

“Our first duty is to protect the students,” Dumbledore added firmly. “Other  . . . stipulations will need to be considered only second to protecting the current residents at Hogwarts.”

Remus fought the emergence of his wolf. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe what Dumbledore had said, but it was the way in which Dumbledore had said it. The words reminded Remus forcibly of Dumbledore’s plan to have Voldemort kill Harry to get rid of the horcrux. 

To Dumbledore, Harry was a tool, a stipulation that could only be dealt with when convenient. 

But not to Remus. 

To Remus, the raven-haired boy was irreplaceable. Nothing could take the place of Harry in Remus’s heart. 

That’s when Remus realized the truth, a truth that he had used casually but had never fully acknowledged out of fear of what the boy would think. Harry is not just my ward or my deceased best friend’s kid, Remus acknowledged. Harry is my son. I may not have sired him, but Harry is mine. He is my child. And I will go to the ends of the earth–sacrifice whatever is required–to make my family whole again. My son, I will never stop looking for you. I will never abandon you, Remus vowed, even while he forced his face to remain stoic and uncaring in response to Dumbledore’s words.

“The aurors have assembled in the Great Hall for a debrief while the students are in classes. We are to make our way to them. Be prepared for them to be skeptical, even callous toward your presence. It is rather unorthodox to have civilians fighting a war.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, and Remus resisted the forceful urge to roll his eyes. There had been only lip service from the Ministry during the first war. Remus expected little else during this one.

As the assembled Order members followed Dumbledore to the Great Hall, Remus experienced a pang of nostalgia at the noises of classes in session, the smells wafting down from the kitchens, and Peeves’s cackle down one of the hallways. How he had missed it. 

His recollection fled from his mind as he entered the Great Hall and he was forced to studiously avoid looking at the pink-haired auror standing between Kingsley and Mad-Eye. A tall blond woman was present on Tonks’s left, though she wore black robes rather than the aurors’ maroon. Remus vaguely wondered who she was.

“Head Auror Scrimgeour, these are the civilians who will be fighting alongside the aurors. They have each proven themselves loyal to me and to my students. They are skilled fighters–”

Dumbledore’s words were interrupted with a loud snort from the auror standing farthest from Tonks. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” the man muttered in a carrying whisper that was audible to even those without werewolf hearing. 

Remus didn’t need an introduction to the man as he focused on the man’s scent and connected it with the lingering scent from the takeaway box given to Tonks. Dawlish was rather unremarkable, though much closer to Tonks’s age than Remus. He was, however, arrogant, cocky, and outlandish. 

Remus hated him immediately. 

“I could disarm you with one hand behind my back,” Remus returned forcefully. The words had escaped him before he could contain himself, and an uneasy silence fell between the two groups.

Sirius hid a grin behind his hand.

“Oho!” Dawlish responded. “I’d like to see that.” He removed his cloak and draped it on a bench. “C’mon, then. I don’t have all day.”

Remus turned to Dumbledore. “This is your school, sir,” he said evenly. “May we conjure a dueling dome and have a short contest? I think it is necessary that we put the aurors’ minds at ease and show them that they should have no concerns working alongside us.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “We have a few minutes. After all, what is a friendly contest amongst friends?”

Dumbledore conjured the dueling dome–a spell-neutralizing ward that would prevent any deflected curses from going awry. Remus stepped around the Weasley parents and Dumbledore to face the group of aurors. He met Dawlish’s gaze and gestured to the dome. “After you, sir.”

Now that he was close enough for the other aurors to see him, they had the expected reaction–there was a muffled gasp and a collection of fierce whispers as experienced eyes took in the scars on his face and the pallor of his skin that even the transfer bracelet could not remove. If they did not already recognize him from the front page of the Prophet two years ago, they now knew unequivocally the identity of Dumbledore’s werewolf. 

Everyone, that is, except Dawlish. 

He still looked at Remus with the same arrogant face, and Remus knew it wasn’t because of Dawlish’s previously unknown affection toward werewolves. Indeed, Dawlish would probably have had a much louder adverse reaction. 

Instead, Dawlish didn’t recognize him . Remus could have laughed out loud as he followed Dawlish into the protective dome. What an amateur. 

They stood on opposite sides of the dome and faced one another. “I promised one hand behind my back,” Remus stated, placing his right hand firmly behind his back. “Would you like me to cast with my non-dominant hand, as well?”

There was a loud snort from one of the Order members, though Bill Weasley managed to turn it into a hacking cough. 

“That is hardly necessary,” Dawlish returned icily. Without waiting for a countdown, Dawlish cast two curses, which Remus deflected with a lazy flick of his wand. 

“You’ll need to do a bit better than that,” Remus taunted. 

Dawlish’s eyes squinted into slits as he sent another volley of curses. Remus worked defensively, allowing the auror’s anger and frustration to build as curse after curse was deflected and absorbed into the dome. 

Even without werewolf senses to consider, it was an uneven match. The auror’s movements were jerky and predictable. Remus allowed it to go on for another minute before shifting to the offensive. With a single nonverbal spell, Remus sent Dawlish to the ground with a tripping jinx, followed by tight ropes that bound him from head to toe. A third spell was sent nonverbally almost immediately after the second, though its purpose or effect was invisible to the observers. 

With an extravagance that would have done the teenage marauders proud, Remus removed his right hand from behind his back and bowed his head slightly toward the bound auror. The Order members cheered. 

With a muttered spell, Remus ubound the ropes. Dawlish staggered to his feet, his eyes wide with appreciation. “W-why aren’t you an auror?!” he demanded. “We could use someone like you!”

Remus raised an eyebrow as an unsettled silence fell. “Werewolves aren’t allowed to be aurors,” Remus responded airily. “Something about how halfbreeds cannot be trusted to enforce laws. We are supposed to be dumb, brutish beasts, you see.”

A thousand emotions flashed across Dawlish’s face: shock, revulsion, fear, anger. “You–! You–!” he spluttered incoherently. “You tricked me!”

“I didn’t trick you,” Remus replied in the same even tone, though anger licked at his spine. “You are, however, shockingly unobservant. I’d work on that if I were you. It’s not a good look for an auror.”

Remus turned his back on the auror and walked toward the exit of the dome when he heard Dawlish’s muttered spell from behind. Without turning around, Remus disarmed Dawlish of his wand and tossed it to a stunned Scrimgeour. He then turned back toward Dawlish. 

“Our duel was over,” he stated, allowing a touch of venom to lace his words. 

Properly cowed, Dawlish slunk to the bench at the back of the cusp of aurors. 

“Maybe someone else should try,” the blonde in the black robes suggested. “Someone with really good dueling skills.”

“Or we can be finished,” Remus responded evenly. “I’ve seen what I need to see. Perhaps we should be the ones focused on watching the aurors' backs, not the other way around.” Again, the words swept past his lips without his restraint. Inwardly, Remus cursed; he was not usually so brash, so inexcusably commanding. Perhaps his wolf was making more of an appearance than he had thought. 

But it didn’t feel that way. 

And then Remus understood. 

Remus stood on shaky ground, a monster among humans, a beast among men. But his defeat of Dawlish had replaced the distrust and revulsion on the other aurors’ faces with curiosity. Remus realized that probably none of them had been this close to another of his kind–close enough to engage in rational conversation, close enough to engage in a friendly duel. 

And if there was anything Remus knew about moonrise, it was critical that they trust him. If they couldn’t trust him as a human, they wouldn’t trust him as a beast. 

“Wait just a moment,” Scrimgeour responded. “Julie is right. I think we have time for one more duel.”

Remus stepped back into the dome. “Am I allowed to use both hands this time?”

The side of Scrimgeour’s mouth twitched. “Yes, you’ll need any advantage you can get.” He turned to the pink-haired auror on his right. “Tonks? If you may?”

Tonks grinned, looking at Remus for the first time that evening. “It would be my pleasure.” She entered the dome and faced Remus, raising her wand at the ready. 

“On three,” Sirius said as Remus and Tonks bowed to one another. “One . . . two  . . . three.”

It was like watching someone dance. With a flurry of spellcasting that would be discussed at the auror office for months to come, Tonks and Remus cast spell after spell, neither able to gain an upper hand over the other. Their fighting styles were complimentary, as if they were long time friends instead of opposites. 

A smile tugged at the sides of Remus’s cheeks as they dueled, the action mirrored by Tonks’s own grin. They paced in a circle and cast verbally and nonverbally. The duel continued minute after minute, though the time felt like only moments to the fighters in the dome. Kingsley had moved to the junior aurors and was pointing out exemplary dueling technique: “Do you see how he is placing his feet? That’s how you keep from stumbling. Look at Tonks’s elbows. They aren’t locked but still remain in a controlled motion. Notice how . . .”

Twenty minutes into the duel, the opponents were beginning to tire, and the ending spell was cast. Remus narrowly clipped Tonks in the side with a jelly-legs jinx, though casting the curse from an odd angle had left his right shoulder vulnerable. Tonks’s spell soared over Remus’s shield charm and onto his shoulder. Immediately, Remus was doubled over in laughter, tears streaming down his face. 

Tonks muttered the countercurse for the jelly legs jinx and approached Remus with a grin. “What . . . did . . . you . . . . hit . . . me . . . with?” he demanded between bouts of laughter. 

“A cheering charm! I thought you could use a bit of cheering up! I may have overdid it a bit,” Tonks returned. 

“A . . . bit . . .” Remus agreed, sinking down to one knee with a hand on his aching ribs. 

Tonks muttered the countercurse, and the laughter died away. She held out a hand to Remus, and Remus took it, rising on shaking legs. Not wanting anyone to read too much into the action, he let her hand fall. “Very well done, Auror Tonks.”

“Not too shabby yourself, Professor Lupin,” she returned brightly. 

They exited the dome as one, though they both moved back to their groups without sharing a second glance. Sirius clapped Remus on the shoulder as he returned. “That, my friend, was the highlight of my year.”

Bill leaned forward. “You handled Dawlish well. I thought he would be a slug by the time you were done with him.”

Remus’s lips quirked into a smile. “Did you see the third spell I cast right after binding him?”

“I did,” Bill said. “But it didn’t seem to do anything.”

“It’s a stinging hex overlaid with a latency and trigger charm,” Remus explained in an undertone. “I couldn’t risk the mission, so it won’t kick in until after moonset. But every time he tries to manipulate a woman in any way–lying, boasting, using love potions, whatever–his body from his waist to his toes is going to be in extreme discomfort. The regular countercurse won’t work. The only way to break it is if he stops mistreating women.”

“Oh, that’s petty,” Bill said with a laugh. “I love it. He’s going to be dealing with that curse for a long time.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and silence fell as Bill and Remus turned to attention. “The students will be gathering for dinner in ten minutes’ time. A second table behind the staff table has been prepared for you. Remus will address the students after the meal has been served.” His eyes swept the assembled Order members and the aurors. “Though this is an unlikely alliance, you may find that we have more in common than expected. Feel free to introduce yourselves and mingle during dinner if you so wish. May we have a moment of camaraderie prior to our very important fight tonight.”

Chapter Text

While the Order members and aurors took places at the table prepared for them in preparation for meeting the students, Remus excused himself and made his way to McGonagall’s office, acutely aware of the aurors' concerned eyes in his direction. He swept from the hall just as Dumbledore explained, “Remus is securing a location for his transformation. He will return forthwith.”

Remus completed his work in McGonagall's office in moments, his practiced hands securing silencing charms and adding determent charms for passersby immediately before moonrise and after moonset. Pocketing his wand, he took a deep, steadying breath and began the journey back to the Great Hall. 

He passed a vacant classroom when Tonks’s scent assaulted his nose, accompanied by a tug on his sleeve.

Tonks pulled him into the classroom and shut the door. Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're quite the duelist, Remus Lupin."

Remus placed a kiss along her jaw, noting Tonks' increased heartbeat. "As are you, Dora. How did you get away?"

She grinned. “Even aurors have to use the bathroom once in a while. Julie was talking with Kingsley, so I knew there was no one that could follow me.” She sighed and traced a finger lightly against a scar over his brow. "I hate pretending that we don't know each other."

Remus kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose. "No need to pretend now," he murmured. 

Tonks's lips met his, her fingers snaking through his hair. Remus returned the kiss, a secure arm around her waist drawing her close to him, the other hand tangled in her pink locks—

They were interrupted by a sharp zap between their lips and a buffering shield charm that forced them apart. Remus looked up and blanched. McGonagall stood in the doorway, her lips the thinnest of lines. He felt the heat rise in his face and Tonks's hair flushed a deep red. 

“Here I thought I was interrupting two seventh-years, not two colleagues who really should know better." McGonagall said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I am overjoyed by your impending nuptials as much as the next person, but right now you are representing the Ministry and Dumbledore's trust in a werewolf on the full moon. Please tell me that I don't have to explain to the two of you why this is horribly inappropriate?"

"No need to explain, Professor," Tonks murmured, studying her black combat boots. Remus was looking anywhere but the deputy head's face. He gave a short nod in agreement. 

"Then for heaven’s sake avoid empty classrooms. I trust neither of you wish to mar your reputations with unfettered hormones." McGonagall held the door open wide and gestured for them to walk through. They did so, still blushing furiously. 

Tonks squeezed his hand and disappeared toward the girl’s bathroom on the second floor and on to the west entrance of the Great Hall. Remus was forced to walk alongside McGonagall back to the Great Hall, feeling every bit the chastised school boy. 

He and McGonagall emerged from the north entrance as Tonks reclaimed her seat next to Julie. Remus took a seat between Sirius and Bill. Sirius raised an eyebrow, his eyes flickering between Tonks and McGonagall. Remus shook his head as the large doors on the north side of the Great Hall were thrown open. Students poured into the hall, taking their seats at one of the four house tables. At first, their eyes were on one another as they jostled for seats, but more and more students turned curiously to watch the strangers seated slightly behind the staff table. 

Remus watched Neville Longbottom arrive at the Gryffindor table, accompanied by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnagan. Ron and Hermione–the latter looking more pale than Remus had remembered–followed behind. Neville glanced at the new table, then did a double-take as his eyes met Remus’s. He punched the air with his fist and shouted, “Guys! Professor Lupin is back!”

His shout caught the attention of most of the Hall. There was a surprised silence, and Remus tried not to quail as hundreds of faces turned toward him. This was a terrible idea , he thought. They won’t trust me. They won’t–

Then the cheering started. 

Beginning at the Gryffindor table, it spread to the Hufflepuffs, the older students pointing him out to their younger classmates. Remus’s acute hearing caught snatches of the explanation: 

He taught a student how to dress a Snape boggart in grandma clothes! 

He had the best lessons! 

He taught us how to duel! 

I got an O on my DADA OWL because of him! 

And more evaluative comments from the Ravenclaw table: 

Sure he’s a werewolf, but there’s wolfsbane, right? So it doesn’t matter. 

He was a great teacher. I wonder what he’s doing here. 

Do you think he's replacing Umbridge? That would be wicked! 

There was even a smattering of conversation amongst the older Slytherins:

Do you think he’s fighting the other werewolves? 

I still use some of the curses and countercurses he taught us in fifth year. 

My father didn’t like him–called him a half-breed–but he’s still my favorite teacher. 

Students began waving and Remus bemusedly returned their waves. Fred and George Weasley rose from the Gryffindor table and ran up to shake Remus’s hand. “Glad to see you back in the castle, ol’ chap,” Fred said in a remarkable impersonation of his brother Percy. Remus laughed and took the proffered hand. 

“We’re not telling you our DADA marks, though,” George said. “They were better when you were here.”

“What was that, George Weasley?” Molly asked from her place at the far end of the table. 

George gave her a winning smile. “Nothing, Mum. Just telling our favorite professor about our study habits. C’mon, Fred. It’s NEWT year. Best hit some books during dinner.” With identical conspiratorial winks, the twins returned to the Gryffindor table. 

Whimsical Luna Lovegood was the next one to approach the table. She looked at Remus with her luminescent eyes. “Did you bring a hinkypunk to Hogwarts, Professor?”

Remus smiled as he remembered introducing Luna to the creature. He had interrupted a group of Gryffindor boys who had been taunting her and calling her names. After rewarding the boys with a detention each, he had invited Luna to the classroom to see the creature while he questioned her about the extent of the bullying. 

“No hinkypunks today, Miss Lovegood.”

Luna nodded shortly, then cocked her head to one side. “There are many wrackspurts around your head, Professor. Daddy says they bring good luck.”

“Thank you, Miss Lovegood. I will take all the luck I can get.”

She beamed and skipped away without another word, waving at Ginny Weasley as she passed the Gryffindor table. 

"Professor Lupin, it looks like you left quite an impression on your former students," Kingsley observed in surprise. 

Remus smiled. "I enjoyed every minute of teaching." The words were not accompanied by the usual pang of guilt around his publicized exit. Instead, he smiled at the students still craning to get a good look at him. 

The food appeared, effectively distracting most of the students. Remus sat patiently as the Order and aurors dug in. The heavy smells of the food were rather acute two hours to moonrise, and Remus winced at the beginning of a sensory migraine that the transfer bracelet couldn't quite eliminate. 

“Not eating anything, Mr. Lupin?” a voice asked. “Do werewolves have a special diet or something?” The voice belonged to the blonde woman in the black robes–Julie. 

A hint of his marauder days once again resurfaced as he replied casually, “Nothing here quite fits the appetite. We tend to prefer copious amounts of brandy and the flesh of newly slaughtered livestock.”

Bill choked on his pumpkin juice, and Tonks placed a hand to her mouth to hide a snigger.

“Don’t forget that muggle convenience food you are rather fond of,” Sirius added.

“Ah, yes. Chicken nuggets are a delicacy, but we can only stomach them when the moon wanes.”

Their conversation had caught the attention of most of the table, and Dumbledore looked on in amusement while Dawlish curled his lip in disgust. Bill was desperately trying to keep a straight face, though it looked like his ribs may crack from repressed laughter. 

“What about chocolate?” Tonks deadpanned. “I seem to have read somewhere that werewolves are deathly allergic to chocolate.”

Remus pursed his lips and took a chocolate cupcake from a nearby plate. He met her eyes, raised it to his mouth, then returned it to the plate with a shake of his head. “That will have to be a mystery for another day, Auror Tonks. I can’t reveal all my secrets.”

Sirius could no longer hold in his laughter. He snorted loudly. 

Julie looked at him and Bill, then turned a sharp gaze on Remus. “Alright, you guys are having me on, aren’t you?”

Remus nodded. “The real answer is incredibly boring. Werewolves eat the same food as humans. I’m not eating because I can’t eat in the hours before or after a full moon. It makes me sick, and nausea during the transformation makes something already horrible much worse.”

“Oh.” Julie’s voice was quiet, and she fiddled with the napkin on her lap. “I-I guess I never really thought about what it would be like, you know, t-to live with that every month. Sorry.” She brightened and picked up the cupcake. “So you’re not allergic to chocolate?”

Remus shook his head. "No. I wouldn’t give any to your dog, though."

The food disappeared and Dumbledore stood. An uneasy silence fell, the students’ anxious faces flickering in the candlelight. “I wish I were addressing you with lighter matters,” he began, “but as you know our time is sliding away, and it is imperative that you remain safe within these castle walls. Everyone you see behind me is here to ensure your safety. Treat them with the same respect you would give one of our staff, and follow their orders exactly. Professor Lupin is here and will give you a few more words of warning.”

 Remus took a deep breath and stood. He approached the Headmaster’s podium and pointed his wand toward his throat. He began to speak, his voice amplified over the crowded hall. “Professor Dumbledore has no doubt told you about the danger that the full moon poses. I, and everyone with me, are here to ensure your safety.”

“But how can–” a Hufflepuff blurted from the front row. 

Remus raised a hand to silence him. “I am under Wolfsbane. You will be in no danger from me.” He turned back to the assembled faces. “But that is not the case with the werewolves who wish to do you harm. You must understand that the danger is very real. An unmedicated, transformed werewolf will attack any human it can reach. It doesn’t care about your age or your house or your blood status. Do not act foolishly. This is not the night to wander the castle or explore the Forbidden Forest. Keep yourselves and your friends safe from harm. Stay in your dormitories. Alert your heads of house about anything that may be suspicious. Prefects, ensure that everyone is accounted for in your house.” Remus took a shaking breath. It was off-putting to see the students’ heads turned in rapt attention toward him, almost as if he was back in the classroom. 

Except now everyone knew what he was. 

But they weren’t acting like he had expected. With a few scattered exceptions, there was no revulsion, no hatred on their features. Just curiosity and hope as a few heads nodded in agreement at his words. A chunk of ice Remus had held deep in his heart warmed. Almost without conscious thought, he slipped back into the teacher role–he became Professor Lupin–as he stepped forward and asked, “Does anyone have any questions?”

“What if we’re of age?” Fred Weasley called loudly from the Gryffindor table. “What if we want to fight?”

His question was met with murmured agreement. Behind him, Remus could sense Molly bristling with fear. But he saw in the faces of the seventh years the same fight he had seen years before in Sirius, Gideon, Fabian, James, Lily, and himself. 

This was their war, and they were ready to meet it.

“If you are of age,” Remus began, and the hall immediately stilled, the students collectively holding their breath in anticipation. “You may choose to fight.”

A roar of approval went up at the words. Fred crossed his arms across his chest, his face set with determination. 

“But,” Remus added, and the roar dimmed, “you are under no obligation to fight. Anyone eligible who chooses not to do so is not to be regarded as a coward or lesser than someone who chooses to fight. You know yourself. You know whether your talents will be useful, or if you can assist the effort in other ways. There is nothing wrong with seventh-years who stay to comfort the younger students and secure their common rooms.” He surveyed the faces of the older students around him. “If you choose to fight, you must meet with me to be instructed in werewolf-specific curses. Only those students who can master the curse will be able to fight. I won’t have you out here unprepared.”

“What are you going to do, Professor Lupin?” a voice asked from the Ravenclaw table, though he couldn’t pinpoint the speaker. 

“I will protect you and everyone else by whatever means necessary.”

His words were met by a heavy pause. “Professor Lupin, can you come back and teach us?” To Remus’s surprise, the voice came from the Slytherin table, the speaker a sixth-year girl with high cheekbones. Remus remembered Alexis well: quiet but perhaps the most talented artist Remus had ever seen. Her eyes often spoke of sorrow and pain, but now, with her shoulders back and her face reflected by firelight, Remus only saw intense ambition and courage to rival a Gryffindor’s. 

Her words were met with another round of sweeping approval. Remus’s stomach clenched with regret, though the warm acceptance was back–a feeling he hadn’t had since his own Hogwarts days and acceptance as a Marauder. He shook his head. “You already have a Defense professor.”

“Who isn’t even here!” Alexis exclaimed loudly. “She’s off in London while everyone else risks their necks. I know who I’d rather have teaching us.”

Her words were met with another roar of approval. Snape swept, bat-like, toward Alexis. "Enough, Pendragon! Your outburst is a disgrace to your house."

Alexis defiantly jutted out her chin and crossed her arms. "I don't care. Lupin's the best teacher we ever had. He deserves to come back."

Remus intervened before things could get ugly with the head of Slytherin house. "Moonrise is approaching. You are excused to go to your dormitories. Do not dally. Any of age students wishing to fight may remain here."

There was a great scraping of chairs and bustle as the students gathered their books and separated toward their dormitories. Remus felt light, the feeling he had had each day he taught defense.

How much he missed it.

There was a brief altercation when fourth year Colin Creevy tried to remain behind to fight, but he was sent sternly to the tower by a grim Professor McGonagall. It was only after the hem of Colin’s robes disappeared around the corner toward Gryffindor tower that Remus turned to face the assembled Order members and aurors behind him. Tonks was beaming, though she hid her smile behind the sleeve of her auror robes. 

Sirius clapped him on the back. "Well done, Professor."

Twenty of age students remained behind–twenty students that Remus had taught two years prior. They gathered nervously in the center of the room, looking lost and unsure. Remus approached them. "We don't have much time. Draw your wands. I will teach you the curse. This will incapacitate a werewolf but not kill. The aurors will be using lethal curses, but I don’t want that on your conscience. And I especially don’t need you hesitating at the wrong moment. Anyone fighting will be paired with a more experienced group. You are to do exactly as they direct, understood?"

There was a flurry of nods. Fred and George were accompanied by Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. 

Of the twenty seventh-years, seven mastered the spell within the hour. The other thirteen were sent back to their common rooms, though Remus commended them for their efforts. Fred, George, and Angelina remained to represent the Gryffindors, and they were accompanied by two Hufflepuffs, one Ravenclaw, and one Slytherin. 

Remus deactivated the bracelet on his wrist, not wanting to drain Sirius’s energy prior to the fight. The effect was immediate; Remus felt the draw in his bones, and the original bite on his shoulder throbbed. 

Amber was slowly overtaking his hazel eyes. He knew this was unnerving all the seventh-years, but none of them mentioned it. 

Tonks had been in conference with the aurors and now swept over with a wide smile. "Auror Tonks," she said by way of introduction. She directed four of the 17 year-olds to join various auror groups before turning to the twins and Angelina. "You three will be with me, Remus, and Sirius at first. We are the largest group, and we'll be stationed right at the doors. Depending on how the fighting goes, we might have you join other groups later."

The Gryffindors nodded solemnly, tight grips on their wands. 

He turned to Tonks and held out his wand. "Auror Tonks, will you hold onto this until moonset?"

She took his wand, her hand purposely brushing against his. "You can count on me, Professor. Always."

Kingsley approached with a smoking goblet and a grimace. "Scrimgeour is insisting on an extra dose of Wolfsbane that he witnesses you drinking. It won't affect you negatively, will it?"

"No. It's just a waste of expensive resources.” Remus stepped back and drained the goblet in three large gulps, raising the still-smoking rim in a toast to the grim-faced auror.  Remus wandlessly vanished the goblet and turned back to his young fighters. "This is the last time I can speak to you until moonset. My final advice is this: take care of each other. Have each other's backs. Don't allow yourselves to be separated. I will do everything I can to make sure you get out of this safe and unscathed.”

“And we’ve got your back, Lupin,” George promised while Fred and Angelina nodded. Fred threaded his hand through Angelina’s fingers and gave them a squeeze. 

As the fighters gathered together for a final debriefing, Remus rose on shaking legs. He climbed the stairs to McGonagall’s empty office, every step an incredible effort. He folded his robes with trembling fingers as the first moments of the change overtook him. Harry, I will find you, he vowed. And I will make sure nothing happens to you or those you love.

—

The draw of the moon on Harry’s bones had reached a crisis point. The course ropes seemed to stab into his skin as the wolf inside fought against its unwilling bounds, and the silver cuffs burned with even more agony in preparation for the transformation. Jake panted next to him, tears streaking down his face. 

“I’ve never had a moon this bad,” he forced out. 

“Our  wolves don’t like the ropes. We didn’t choose to be restrained, so the wolves are fighting back.”

“That doesn’t bode well for us, does it?”

Harry screwed his eyes to the horizon, where the faintest light of twilight was rapidly fading. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what happens to me as long as Hermione is okay.”

“That’s her name? Hermione?” Jake asked. 

Harry nodded. 

“It’s from Shakespeare, isn’t it? My mum loved Shakespeare. She'd read it to Lizzie and me at bedtime. There’s a Shakespeare play with a character named Hermione.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“What’s she like?” Jake asked.

Harry smiled, allowing earlier, kinder memories to distance himself from the bones twisting beneath his skin. “She’s amazing, Jake,” he replied. “She’s really smart and witty. She’s driven. She’s fair. She’s beautiful.”

“All those things in one person, huh?” Jake asked, and Harry heard the smile in his words. 

“Yeah. She has curly hair and chocolate-colored eyes. Thick eyelashes. Beautiful lips.”

“She sounds like a pretty great girlfriend.”

Harry nodded, but somehow the words didn’t adequately describe his feelings. Hermione was a great girlfriend, of course, but the statement left him empty. He remembered his vision, watching his older self greet his pregnant wife with a lingering kiss. “I-I love her,” he admitted, whispering the words in the gathering dark. He felt the heat on his cheeks, but he knew that he could not face the upcoming moonrise without voicing his feelings.

Jake was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then you need to go back. If you love her and she loves you, you’ll get through anything. You’re not meant to be in a pack, Harry. You’re meant to be with her. You’re meant to change the world for your mate and the rest of us.” Jake struggled against his bindings before collapsing against the tree with a sigh. “After moonset, I’m getting you back to that castle,” he vowed. “No matter what it takes.”

A warm feeling spread through Harry’s chest and he opened his mouth to respond, but his sensitive nose picked up on Greyback’s scent, and Harry clamped his mouth shut. 

After a moment, Greyback emerged from the surrounding forest and stood in front of the tree with a wicked grin on his features. He breathed in deeply. “Moonrise is in five minutes. The bindings and cuffs will release at that time, allowing your wolves free reign. Ramson, you’ll be with Bruin. Your wolf will follow him. Your job is to infect everyone you come across.”

Jake’s heart rate picked up markedly at those words, and a whine of regret tore from deep within his throat. 

Greyback turned glittering amber eyes to Harry. He removed a vial of red liquid from an inner pocket of his cloak and raised it to Harry’s eye level. “Potter, you have a specific target. Turn or kill her.” 

Fear unlike anything Harry had ever felt clutched his chest as Greyback unstoppered the vial, and Harry was met with a metallic scent interlaced with parchment and candles. He has Hermione’s blood, a horrified part of him realized. How did he get Hermione’s blood ?

Harry had no time to ruminate on the question as Greyback dumped the vial onto Harry’s face. The blood ran down Harry’s lips and assaulted his senses. His wolfish form fought for release, and Harry resisted the almost overwhelming urge to lick his lips. He kept his mouth tightly shut as Greyback rubbed the blood over the scars on Harry’s cheeks and across his forehead. Reaching forward, Greyback plugged Harry’s nose, cutting off his only airway. 

Harry yanked his head away, but Greyback redoubled his grip. Spots appeared at the corners of Harry’s vision, and he was forced to take a great, shuddering gasp of air. His mouth was immediately filled with the metallic taste of Hermione’s blood. 

Greyback stepped back triumphantly and cleaned his hands with a murmured charm. He leered at Harry. “Love is messy, boy, especially when you refuse to stay with your own kind. Enjoy your feast tonight.” Greyback disappeared in the gathering dark, and Harry desperately fought against the cuffs. He had to stop this. He had to get her scent off. He had–

He was too late. The bindings released him as the first moments of the change began, and he heard Jake fall solidly next to him. Harry’s hands would not obey any orders, and he felt his human mind giving way to the wolf as the pain of moonrise pierced along every nerve and muscle. With no other option, Harry desperately clung to his fading humanity, repeating the anguished words: My name is Harry Potter. I am a werewolf, but I am not a monster. I will not harm Hermione. I will not turn her. I love her. One day, we will have a family together. My name is Harr–

The final thread of his humanity faded away as a black wolf rose on sure paws, licking greedily at the blood coating his snout and jaws. The Alpha wolf–a grey behemoth that towered over the other wolves–howled. The howl was a call to gather and a promise of good hunting. 

The black wolf eagerly gathered around the alpha with the remainder of the pack, though he paced back and forth impatiently as his prey’s scent assaulted his nose. 

Soon, so very soon, his thirst would be satisfied.

Chapter Text

As the moon rose, Bill gave a violent shake of his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his palms. 

“You alright?” Sirius asked hesitantly. Molly and Arthur looked on with anguished faces.

Bill stretched his arms above his head, his scarred face pained. “Y-yeah,” he said slowly. “But Lupin wasn’t kidding when he said there could be some contamination. All my muscles hurt like I’m getting the flu. Y-you don’t think I could–?”

“No,” Sirius insisted. “It’s two minutes past moonrise. You wouldn’t be speaking to me if you were going through the change. The pain is a lot worse than a bout of flu, and you would be sprouting fur by now.”

Bill shook his arms loosely by his sides. “Remus is a brave man. I couldn’t do it every month.”

“Nor could I,” Sirius said tightly. There was a heavy silence as the remainder of the three minutes and thirty-five seconds required to for the change elapsed. 

“Maybe they won’t be able to get past the wards, after all,” Julie said hesitantly, unable to bear the crushing silence. 

“We can hope, Ms. Carmichael,” Dumbledore said solemnly. McGonagal nodded next to the headmaster. 

Snape stood aloof from both groups, his back resolutely turned away from Sirius. Tonks's cousin, likewise, was pretending like the potions master did not exist. Tonks was secretly relieved–she had no idea if old prejudices would resurface during the night. 

People could die–there was no time for childish squabbles. 

The assembled fighters looked up the marble staircase as the sound of sharp claws clicking on marble echoed down the passage. Tonks’s breath caught in her lungs as a sandy-colored wolf with brilliant amber eyes descended the marble steps. The wolf was muscular, every inch of the man turned monster meant to maim and kill. He had strong, vice-like jaws and curved claws lengthened to a razor-point. Scars old and new riddled his body. 

Despite the beast’s commanding appearance, the wolf kept its head down, and Tonks could almost feel Remus’s embarrassment as the auror team and assembled Order members examined the monster before them. 

“He-he’s safe, right?” Julie asked quietly. 

Raising his head, Remus met the blonde's gaze and nodded affirmatively. 

Tonks strode forward, removing a white collar etched with protective runes. The collar had been Kingsley's suggestion and a final project she had completed while her wound healed. “I know you don’t want to wear this, but it will protect you from most curses and keep anyone on our side from mistaking you for a member of Greyback’s pack.”

Behind her, Tonks heard Kingsley’s deep voice, “If any auror thinks they are a vigilante and attacks Remus Lupin, I will ensure that it is the last thing that you will ever do in this department. You will treat him as both your comrade and your equal. You will work to protect his life just as you are trained to protect each other.”

The other auror members shifted anxiously, but no one argued. 

Tonks reached around Remus’s neck and affixed the buckle. She sat back on her heels and looked deeply into his eyes. “Remus, I know you can never love this part of yourself, and that’s okay. But know this: I love even this part of you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, her fingers brushing the fur on his back. Remus returned the hug by resting his powerful head over Tonks’s shoulders. With a final squeeze, Tonks stepped back, realizing the audience that had seen and heard her words of affection. 

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Julie said, her palms in the air as she looked between the woman and the wolf in shock. “Is Remus Lupin your fiancé?”

Tonks hesitated, then threw caution to the wind. She straightened her shoulders and stood tall. “Yes.”

“B-but that’s illegal!” Dawlish sputtered. “You can’t do that, Auror Tonks!”

“Oh, like how lacing someone’s food with amortentia is illegal?” Bill growled pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Irrelevant,” Dawlish retorted. Dawlish was nearly apoplectic, and a vein worked angrily along his jaw as he pointed a finger at Tonks and the wolf by her side. “It’s an abomination! He isn’t even human! She can’t do that !” 

“Watch me,” Tonks returned. 

“Relax, Dawlish. Just because she turned you down and picked a man of substance doesn’t mean you can criticize her choice,” Julie argued.

While Dawlish sputtered werewolf obscenities, Julie apprehensively approached Remus, who watched her carefully with his amber eyes. “This is really your guy?” 

“Yes, Jules,” Tonks said with an eye roll. 

“Hey, Julie, scratch him behind the ears,” Sirius advised with a hint of laughter in his tone.

Julie grinned and scratched Remus behind his sandy, pointed ears. Against Remus’s volition, his tail wagged enthusiastically. Julie laughed. “He’s gentle enough, I suppose.”

Tonks returned her best friend’s grin. “A complete animal on the full moon, though.”

The sandy wolf between them snorted with what could only be a repressed laugh. 

"As his roommate, I should probably also tell you that he snores," Sirius continued. "But don't worry, his personality makes up for it–give him enough chocolate and he will do anything you ask."

Julie raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting. "Quite the werewolf tamer, aren't you, Black?"

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner if you're interested," Sirius responded suavely.

The sandy wolf let out a huff of disgust and covered his ears with his paws.

Julie laughed. "I get off at five on Friday."

"I'll have a table at the Three Broomsticks ready."

Remus rolled his eyes but tensed. He stood on his paws, his ears flicked forward.

“Lupin, are they here? Did they get through?” Kingsley asked. 

The sandy wolf nodded as a howl pierced through the night. Tonks rose and peered through the Great Hall’s windows and toward the Forbidden Forest. 

“So it begins,” Julie murmured, gripping her wand tightly. The seven seventh-years took their places with the auror groups, looking pale but determined. 

“Go to your positions. Stay in groups. No one fights alone,” Dawlish barked. Tonks rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she and Julie made their way to the grounds with the Gryffindor seventh-years in tow. Sirius and Remus accompanied them. Tonks could feel Remus’s hot breath against the palm of her hand. 

They gathered outside, the light from the Great Hall’s front doors spilling onto the grounds. The moon overhead shone full and bright, and Remus’s wolfish eyes were able to pick out tiny details in the gathering dark–-details that those assembled with him couldn’t discern. 

Tonight his lycanthropy placed him at an advantage. Remus’s sensitive ears heard a small rustle to his left and he leapt forward, striking down an advancing tawny wolf with a slash of one of his paws. There was a gasp from the humans behind him and Sirius’s exclamation of “I didn’t even see that wolf coming!”

“We need more light!” Mad-Eye ordered. The aurors sent balls of light onto the grounds, and Tonks’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight. 

They were against an army–a literal army of bloodthirsty wolves. 

They were rabbits against lions. 

And there were so many of them. Thirty wolves of various sizes and colors stalked forward, lurking in the flickering shadows created by the lights overhead. She was tempted to search for a black wolf, but resisted the urge. Remus would help Harry. Her duty was to her school and the students within. 

Tonks could feel the seventh-years trembling next to her. She turned to them, her expression kind. “You can go back to the castle at any time. No one will judge you. Do what you need to do.”

“We’re not leaving,” Angelina insisted. 

There was no more time to talk as four wolves broke ranks and rushed the group at the doors. Tonks cut one down with a flash of green light, and one of the twins blasted one back with a nonlethal curse. Sirius and Julie blasted the other two back. 

“Nice curse,” Sirius said. 

Julie smiled. “Don’t underestimate the secretary.”

The other groups of aurors fought back, driving the wolves a few steps backward. Lupin leapt forward, taking a wolf down that had tried sneaking up on Molly Weasley. His claws raked the wolf down the side, and the wolf retreated with a yelp. 

“Thanks, Remus,” Arthur said shakily. 

Remus nodded. The scent of lycan blood assaulted his nose, and he was grateful for the Wolfsbane that kept him from greedily licking his bloodied paws. And that’s when he felt a thrum of magic beneath his spine. It was something he had felt one or twice over the past ten years–an urge to lead, to take control of the pack around him. Remus shook his head, quelling the instinct. 

He scanned the dark grounds desperately for a flash of black fur, and counted three wolves that would match the description. Remus’s heart sank. Without being close enough to distinguish Harry’s scent, he had no way of knowing which wolf was his son. 

The fight came in waves. Wolves surged forward, five or six at a time, and were sent backward by the fighter’s curses. A few lycan bodies were scattered across the grounds as the feverish minutes passed. 

A commanding howl pierced through the darkness. The wolves hesitated, then retreated back into the trees, leaving behind an eerie calm. 

“I, uh, I thought werewolves attacked indiscriminately,” Julie said. “Why are they leaving?”

“They’re regrouping, lass,” Mad-Eye explained solemnly. “A lone wolf will kill indiscriminately. A pack operates more with intelligence. They’re making a plan, trying to exploit our weaknesses. Right, Lupin?”

Remus nodded mutely. 

“Then we need a better plan,” Tonks added. 

Scrimgeour assessed his aurors. “They may attack from either side. We need to spread out, but in no smaller groups than five. Bring the attack to them on the grounds and away from the castle.”

Remus shook his head emphatically. He growled to get the head auror’s attention. Scrimgeour was not amused. “I’m not taking orders from a dog.”

Tonks grit her teeth, but it was Sirius who spoke. “Then you’ll kill your aurors. Get them on open ground, you’ll have them surrounded. You’re condemning everyone to die or be bitten.”

A heavy silence met his words. Dumbledore spoke, “Scrimgeour, you are not the expert in this situation and neither am I. I trust Remus with my life. We all need to do the same.”

Scrimgeour folded his arms but made no further comment. Taking the silence as an opening, Remus surveyed the line of fighters. With a frustrating collection of paw gestures and head nods, he spread them out, the fighters moving into eight smaller groups that spanned the entrances to the castle, including the reinforced–but not impenetrable–dungeon windows of the Slytherin common room. The rest of the windows were too high for a werewolf’s reach. The only access points were the oak front doors and those tiny basement windows. Remus ensured every fighter had solid stone against their back and weaker fighters were paired with stronger fighters. 

“The lad makes a good plan,” Mad-Eye observed while Scrimgeour grunted noncommittally. 

There was no time to celebrate as Remus took his place to prepare for the fighting, standing about ten meters in front of the humans. The wolves burst back into the grounds. This time, there was no working in waves. The entire group broke into three groups, two leaping toward the fighters protecting the basement windows while the third sprinted directly for the doors. 

Just like Remus knew they would. 

Remus had leapt toward a brown wolf and taken it down when an anguished cry met his ears. He wheeled around, trying to place the sound with the fighters behind him. There were no bodies on the ground, and the Order members looked uneasily toward one another. 

The cry sounded again–terrified and high-pitched. 

A child’s cry. 

Ignoring the wolves around him, Remus sprinted toward the sound, passed the fighters toward the northern corner of the castle. Here, a wolf was biting, teeth ripping at a cloaked figure in Gryffindor robes. 

Rage unlike anything Remus had ever felt overcame him as he tackled the wolf and grabbed its neck in his jaws. He yanked, snapping the wolf’s neck. The wolf crumpled, lifeless, to Remus’s paws. 

The child’s cry had also alerted Kingsley and Tonks, who had rushed forward and turned the figure over. Remus could smell the blood of the boy’s serious wound, but could not place the scent. He leapt toward the boy as Tonks raked his hair back from his face. 

Colin Creevy. 

“Can you hear me?” Tonks asked. 

Colin nodded, though his breath came in gasping sobs. His mangled arm–the muscle bitten clean away–lay lifeless next to him.

“Why weren’t you in the castle? Is anyone else with you?” Kingsley demanded. 

Colin shook his head. Tears poured down his face, and his skin was grey. “Just  . . . me . . . I . . . wanted . . . to . . . help.”

At the sound of a muffled step, Remus wheeled around. A grey wolf approached, drawn by the scent of the boy’s spilled blood. Lupin leapt toward it and sent it backward with a serious wound from his razor-like claws. Three more wolves approached, and Remus snarled, pinning his ears back and raising his hackles. The wolves hesitated, then continued more carefully. 

“Tonks, get him to the hospital wing,” Kingsley ordered, raising his wand and eyeing the wolves. “Lupin and I will cover you.”

Tonks levitated the boy and sprinted toward the castle. Two of the wolves leapt forward after her. One fell beneath Kingsley’s wand, and the other was met by Lupin’s savagery as claws slashed at the wolf’s soft underbelly and its entrails spilled across the grass. The wolf gave an anguished cry, thrashing violently on the ground. 

It was a terrible way to die. Guilt clutched Remus’s heart, but he turned resolutely away as the third wolf retreated toward the rest of the pack.

He had to protect Dora. Anything to save his precious Dora. 

~Gryffindor Tower: One Hour After Moonrise~

Hermione rubbed her temples in frustration. The younger students were panicked and restless, and it was almost impossible to keep track of them. “Fourth years, are you all accounted for? Where’s Colin?”

“He told me he was headed upstairs a while ago,” his brother, Dennis, responded. “He wasn’t feeling well after dinner.”

“Coward,” a fourth year muttered to his friend, who emphatically nodded.

Hermione glared at him. “All fourth years, go to your dormitories. No exceptions.”

The group returned Hermione’s glare as they went upstairs and slammed doors with unnecessary force. 

“Third years are accounted for. I sent them up,” Ron said, walking to her side. 

“Thank you, Ron. Will you count up the first years? I’ll take the second years.”

Hermione moved to the clutch of second years, who had moved to the good armchairs next to the fire. “Is everyone accounted for?” The boys nodded, so she sent them upstairs. The girls, however, were avoiding each others’ gazes. One girl in particular was wringing her hands in her lap. “Who is missing?” Hermione asked, her face hard. “You should have told me right away!”

“We thought Evie would come back!” the girl retorted angrily. “She’s such a crybaby.”

Hermione had vivid flashbacks of a troll first year. “Where is she?”

Another girl spoke. “I-I think she went to the bathroom on the second floor. Bridget told Evie she was a bossy know-it-all with no friends.”

The flashbacks came stronger now, and Hermione forced them from her mind. She waved Ron over. “We’re missing a second year girl.”

He blanched. “What do we do? Tell the older prefects? The Head Boy?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’ll just go get her. I understand how she's feeling. She needs me.”

“Maybe I should go . . .” Ron said with an anxious glance at the flashes of curses on the grounds. 

“To the girl’s bathroom?” Hermione asked. 

“Been there before,” Ron muttered. 

Hermione placed a hand on his arm. “I’ll be back in five minutes with her. The rest of you,” she added, turning toward the girls with obvious anger, “get to your dorm and think about how to treat your dormmate. She doesn’t deserve what you’ve done.”

Gathering her courage, Hermione opened the portrait hole and sprinted toward the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. 

—

It was never-ending. Fight, run, claw, bite, repeat. 

And still the wolves came. 

Remus was fighting alongside Tonks when another howl pierced the night, and a monstrous grey wolf stealthily approached. Greyback’s scent washed over Remus, and hatred licked his spine. 

Greyback had forever ruined his life. 

Greyback had bitten Harry. 

Greyback had lured his son away from the castle. 

Greyback had caused his son suffering. 

Remus leapt forward to meet the beast when he smelled blood on the beast’s muzzle.

Honey. Cinnamon. Leather boots.

Greyback had Tonks’s blood. 

In growing horror, Remus wheeled around and pushed Tonks toward the doors, desperately trying to communicate mutely that she had to stay safe, she had to–

“Remus, what are you doing?” Tonks demanded angrily as he continued to push her toward the oak front doors with his skull. “I’m an auror, Remus! Leave me alone.”

“Tonks, he has a reason,” Sirius said, his face pale. He grabbed a rock from the ground and lobbed it solidly at Greyback’s shoulder. “Hey! Hey, Alpha! Over here.”

The wolf ignored the stone, his eyes trained on Tonks. His mouth opened in a snarl, revealing sharpened teeth. 

“Tonks! Get out of here! The bloodletting curse! Bakeworth! He has your blood! He’s tracking you!” Sirius yelled, unable to form a coherent sentence as the wolf continued its deadly ascent.

Tonks placed a steady hand on Remus’s forehead and raised her wand. “I’m not running. Fight him with me.” She stepped away from Remus and faced the wolf. 

Remus leapt toward the wolf, jumping on the beast’s back and slashing with claws. He won’t touch her, Remus silently vowed as the wolf snarled and threw Remus from his back. Remus landed in the grass a few feet away and leapt toward the wolf again, but was blocked by two more wolves protecting their alpha. Remus fought desperately against them with claw and teeth, the blood pooling in his mouth and dripping down his gums like rivulets. 

Tonks had eyes only for the bloodthirsty alpha. She cast a lethal curse, which hit the beast solidly in the shoulder and then bounced off as if it had been no more than water. She cast two more curses, and was met with the same result. She turned to the Gryffindor seventh-years next to her. “Run!”

They hesitated, looking between her and the wolf. 

“That’s an order!” Tonks yelled. 

The words spurred them into action. Fred grabbed Angelina’s hand as they leapt toward the nearest group of fighters, blasting wolves back with their nonlethal curses. 

Remus broke free of the wolves and leapt onto Greyback’s back, his jaws aiming for the wolf’s jugular. Greyback threw him off with a mighty wrench. Lupin slammed into the castle wall. There was an audible crack as stone met bone. Remus tried to draw breath, but it was pained and labored. Spots appeared in his vision, and his legs wouldn’t obey his commands. 

Tonks ran toward Remus, casting curse after curse as she went. Other aurors and Order members were sprinting toward her, though their curses were no more effective than Tonks’s. Greyback surged forward, swiping her off her feet with a padded paw, much like a cat would with a mouse. Tonks fell hard against the stone near Remus’s prone figure. She felt Greyback’s hot breath on her face and let out an involuntary primal cry of fear. 

Her hand closed on Remus’s wand tucked into the pocket of her robes. With a final, desperate effort, she raised both wands and cast a powerful Reducto curse at the beast’s soft underbelly. The wolf was blasted backward, and Tonks collapsed against Remus’s side, sobbing great sobs of fear and relief. Remus raised his head to look at her before collapsing back onto the stone with a grunt of pain. 

“Tonks!” Bill yelled, pulling her upright with surprising force. “Where are you hurt? I have silver and dittany. It will be okay–”

“Bill, I’m fine. I wasn’t bitten.”

“We can manage this. You’ll be okay. Everything is going to be–”

“Bill!” Tonks shouted. “I’m fine! Look.” She raised her arms and turned in a circle.

 Bill collapsed against the castle wall. “That was the scariest thing I have ever seen. I couldn’t get here fast enough. There were too many of them.”

But Tonks wasn’t listening. She knelt next to Remus, noting his labored breathing and closed eyes. “Remus, love. Can you hear me?”

Sirius rushed to them and began diagnostic charms. “Bill, cover us. He has a broken spine and ribs. Poppy is busy with the Creevy boy, but I will see what I can do.” He muttered several spells, but Remus’s labored breaths didn’t ease. 

“Let me help,” Julie said, kneeling next to Remus. She began a slew of spellcasting and the bones aligned themselves with an audible crack. 

“How did you–?”

“I was training to become a Healer a few years back. I, uh, dated an awful guy at the time who didn’t want me to make more galleons than him, so I gave it up. I only had two years left.”

Sirius looked at her. “If it was something you wanted to do, you shouldn’t let a man stand in your way. Ever. Take it from the ex-convict: life is too short.”

Remus groaned and raised himself to his feet, coughing up blood.

“Everything feel okay, Lupin?”

Remus shook his muscles and stretched before nodding. He turned concerned eyes to Tonks. 

“I’m fine, too.” Tonks squeezed him tightly. “I love you.” She adjusted the collar around Remus’s throat. 

Returning to the fight, Remus stood and leapt through the darkness toward a wolf that had been sneaking up on Dawlish and the Weasley twins, who were posted on the southern corner of the castle walls. He sent it backward with a swipe of his paws, but he yelped in surprise as white-hot pain sliced through his shoulder. He tried to stand, but no longer had use of his left limb. Spots appeared at the edges of his vision. I was hit? What? Remus fought to make sense of the situation, but didn’t understand. Fred’s shout, however, brought it into sharp clarity. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, yanking down Dawlish’s wand arm. “Lupin’s on our side!”

Dawlish grinned vengefully at the wolf struggling to regain his footing. “Lupin’s a beast. The only good werewolf is a dead werewolf.” He raised his wand, a lethal curse on his lips. 

With a roar, Fred slammed into the auror, throwing him hard onto the dirt. He grappled for Dawlish’s wand, managing to pry it from his limp fingers as George secured him with a body bind. 

“Real hero, that one,” George said bitingly. “Lupin, you okay?”

His words were met with a weak whine. Lupin rose on three paws, though the left shoulder was useless. From the light of Angelina’s wand, they saw the extent of the curse: a large cut had ripped open the shoulder and dislocated the bone from the joint. He was bleeding profusely, his breathing labored, as he swayed on his paws. 

“We need to get him inside,” Fred said nervously. “He needs help.”

“We should leave Dawlish out here. He can be a peace offering for the wolves,” George added bitingly. Dawlish’s eyes widened in terror. 

“Let’s get them both inside,” Angelina replied. “The head auror can decide what to do with him.” Angelina levitated the bound Dawlish. A howl pierced the night. 

“George, cover her,” Fred ordered. “She won’t be able to cast curses while levitating.”

George and Angelina ran toward the light spilling onto the grounds from the great hall. Fred turned to Lupin, enraged by the needless injury. He murmured a levitation spell and sprinted back toward the cusp of aurors who had met Dawlish and Angelina at the doors. Fred arrived inside just in time to her Tonks’s loud exclamation of “He did what?!” and witness Tonks's solid slap across Dawlish's face.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” Dawlish spat. “That beast doesn't deserve you.”

Kingsley’s eyes stormed with fury. “Secure former auror Dawlish in an empty classroom somewhere,” he ordered a junior auror. “He is not to be unbound.”

Fred lowered Lupin onto the cold tile. The wolf’s eyes were shut, his breathing labored. Blood soaked every part of his body. Immediately, someone was by his side. 

“Let me help,” Julie said as she passed her wand over the injury. She was soon joined by Tonks who knelt next to Lupin and placed his head in his lap, her eyes raging with hurt and anger. With a murmured spell, Julie reset the bone.

Madam Pomfrey, having stabilized Colin, arrived and began muttering the countercurse. The wound ceased its relentless bleeding, but would not close. “The collar deflected most of the lethal curse. You are very lucky, but I can’t heal the wound completely until moonset,” she apologized. “But let me wrap it so you can bear some weight on it.” She gave Lupin a humorless smile. “I would tell you to take it easy until moonset, but I’ve been your matron long enough to know that you won’t be listening.”

The loss of fighters–the junior auror handling Dawlish and the cusp of people huddled around Remus–had devastating effects for those remaining. There was a murmured shout and a clattering of claws as a black wolf broke through the defenses and sprinted up the stairs, its sole focus satisfying the insane thirst created by a single scent.

Chapter Text

Hermione raced to the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. Booms, snarls, shouts, and crashes sounded from below her feet. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs as she threw the door open and rushed toward a girl with short brown hair and thick glasses. The girl looked up, tears streaking down her round face.

“We need to go back to the tower, Evie,” Hermione said desperately, pulling the girl up from the cold floor. “It’s not safe to be here tonight.”

Evie shook her head. “I c-can’t. I’ll just stay here.”

Hermione bit back her frustration. “Look, I know you don’t want to deal with them, but that is a lot better than getting bitten by a werewolf.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” she sniffed. 

Hermione huffed and raked her curls back. When had twelve-year-old girls gotten so stupid? “You wouldn’t say that if you had actually ever met a werewolf.”

Evie shrugged.

Hermione grit her teeth. “I don't have time for this. Walk back on your own, or I’m levitating you there.”

Evie glared at her but walked out of the bathroom. In the floors below, Hermione heard shouts of curses, howling, and cries of alarm. Her stomach clenched. Harry was out there somewhere, driven mad by his insatiable thirst and Albion’s savagery. There was a muffled curse, followed by a yell: “Block the stairs!”

Hermione realized what had happened a moment too late as a black wolf appeared at the edge of the passageway. It turned its amber eyes toward her, and Evie shrieked in terror, hiding behind Hermione and burying her face in her robes. “I take it back!” the young girl sobbed. “Take me back to the tower! I don’t want to die!”

Shouts continued from below, but it sounded like other wolves were trying to break through. Hermione knew instinctively that help would not arrive in time.

The wolf approached stealthily, its claws clicking against the stone. He had a light lightning bolt of lighter fur across his forehead, and Hermione realized with a sinking feeling which wolf she was looking at.

The wolf stopped its stalking ascent and now looked at her with what Hermione could only take as confusion. “Harry, I know you don’t want to hurt me,” Hermione said softly. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I know that you wouldn’t do this if you had control. Whatever happens, I know it isn’t your fault. Whatever happens, please know that I am not angry with you.”

The black wolf took two steps forward and hesitated again. Hermione raised her wand, a werewolf-specific curse on her tongue. 

At the sight of the wand, the wolf pinned his ears back and growled, a look of betrayal on his features, though incredibly, he did not attack. Hermione loosened the grip on her wand and pointed it toward the ground. “I don’t want to hurt you, Harry, but you need to understand that I need to protect her.” Her voice was quiet but unwavering. Incredibly, in the face of death, she only felt a profound calm. Hopefully her death would allow enough time for the fighters to save Evie.

The wolf whined, a low, tortured sound that tore at Hermione’s heart. He licked his jaws, exposing fangs the length of Hermione’s favorite eagle feather quill. He shook his head side to side, as if trying to get water out of his ears. 

Her eyes widening, Hermione took a cautious step forward. “You don’t want to hurt me, Harry. Do you?” Knowing it was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done, and knowing that it defied everything she had ever read about unmedicated, transformed werewolves, she held out her hand to the wolf. “Do you know me?”

Sirius and Tonks arrived at the end of the passage with a shout. The wolf whirled away from Hermione, planting himself between the Order members and the girls with a long, low growl. He leapt for Tonks’s throat but was sent backward by a nonlethal curse. 

“Stop!” Hermione yelled. “He wasn’t attacking!”

It was as if someone had pressed the pause button. Tonks and Sirius looked at her in confusion, their wands raised. 

“Watch,” Hermione commanded. She held out her hand to the wolf again. The wolf stepped forward with the same confusion before tentatively licking her palm. She laughed and scratched the wolf’s head. 

“Is he under Wolfsbane?” Sirius asked. 

It was as if a lightswitch had been switched. Harry wheeled around, every inch the powerful monster as he leapt toward Sirius. 

“Nope!” Tonks yelped, sending the wolf backward with the same curse. 

“And he’s still mad at me. Great,” Sirius muttered. 

There was a clattering of claws behind them, and Hermione wheeled around, raising her wand. 

“Hermione, it’s Remus!” Tonks shouted as the sandy wolf appeared at the end of the passage, favoring his front right leg, where a white bandage was becoming saturated with blood. 

Remus leapt forward, landing awkwardly on three paws, and placed himself firmly between the black wolf and Hermione. The black wolf growled, pinning his ears back. But after a moment the growling ceased. The black wolf shook his head again, and stared at Lupin as if inspecting him. The wolf approached Remus and sniffed him. Remus stood still, watching the black wolf carefully. 

Harry barked loudly and wagged his tail. He nuzzled Remus in the side and jumped around him, every bit the playful puppy as joy overwhelmed the wolf. He rolled onto his back, paws in the air, his tongue lolling out. Hermione stifled a giggle. Harry leapt to his paws, as if remembering Hermione, and walked toward her. Remus began to growl a warning, but Hermione held up her hand. “Professor Lupin, he’s not attacking.” Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck. “I’ve missed you, Harry,” she murmured into the black fur. 

“How is this possible?” Sirius asked. 

Remus shook his head in relieved disbelief. 

Releasing the black wolf, Hermione turned to Tonks and Sirius. “If I lead him into a classroom, can you apply the containment charms? Professor Lupin, can you protect Evie?”

The girl had remained comatose behind Hermione. Lupin walked forward and stood in front of the young girl who sobbed louder. “Evie, this is Professor Lupin. He won't hurt you.”

Hermione pried the girl’s vice grip from her robes. She kept an eye on the black wolf as Lupin stepped firmly in front of the girl. The black wolf ignored Evie, having eyes only for Hermione. 

“The runes classroom is to your left, Hermione,” Tonks said. “Let’s lead him in there.”

Hermione kept one hand out to the wolf. “Harry, please come with me. I will make sure that you are safe until moonset, okay?”

The black wolf followed, placing his muzzle against her palm. She maintained eye contact as she walked backward toward the classroom. Sirius and Tonks followed, Sirius looking distinctly pale. 

She backed into the classroom with the black wolf and turned toward the door. “I need you to stay.”

The black wolf followed. 

Hermione blew air out of her cheeks. Her eyes caught sight of the leather bracelet tied to her wrist. She untied it and handed it out to the wolf. “Keep this safe for me okay?”

Harry carefully took the bracelet in his jaws and backed into the classroom, his sensitive snout inhaling her scent. Hermione backed out of the room, and Sirius slammed the door magically shut. He and Tonks applied a slew of containment charms. 

“We need to get downstairs quickly and seal that window from the outside,” Tonks said. “Hermione, can you and Evie run back to the tower?” 

Hermione took Evie’s hand and they sprinted down the hallway. 

–

Tonks sprinted downstairs and outside. She turned, aiming her wand toward the second-floor classroom window. She secured it with three containment spells. The black wolf leapt toward the window but could not break free. She breathed a massive sigh of relief.

Only then did she turn around to see the absolute carnage behind her. 

Fred, George, and Angelina stood in a tight group, blood splattered across their faces and coating their arms. Angelina’s face was streaked with tears. The Order and Dumbledore were actively fighting seven wolves. 

Greyback–having survived Tonks’s reducto curse–was away from the fighting, tearing viciously at a cloaked figure with a wooden leg. 

“No!” Tonks screamed, leaping forward. 

She was pulled back by Sirius and Bill. They drug her back toward the relative safety of the castle wall. “We need to help him! Mad-Eye!” Tonks screamed, trying to yank her arms out of their firm grasp.

“Tonks, he’s already gone,” Fred said, his voice hollow. “The alpha tried to follow you when you went after the black wolf, and Mad-Eye got in the way to prevent him from getting to you.”

Tonks stared at him in horror.

“He’d want to go down fighting and protecting his protege,” Sirius said. “This is how he'd want it to end.”

“I don’t think anyone wants it to end like this,” Tonks shrieked, pointing to the desecrated body and the wolf’s muzzle glistening with blood. “Why didn't anyone help him?” she demanded.

“The Gryffindor seventh years were there until I ordered them back once it was obvious their curses were useless. Three junior aurors remained with Mad-Eye. They are dead, too,” Kingsley said solemnly. “No one else could get to him. The other wolves fought us to protect their alpha.”

Their conversation was interrupted when three more wolves surged forward. Remus cut one down with his claws. Julie appeared next to him, blasting another back with a curse. Her fingers trembled from fear and exhaustion as she clutched her wand. 

Sirius cursed down the third wolf, and squeezed Julie's fingers. She gave him a half-smile, though her eyes were tormented.

“Gather at the doors!” Scrimgeour shouted. “We’re spread too thin! We need to regroup!”

They gathered together, a tight-knit group of fighters with saddened, bloodied faces. Tonks threw additional reinforcements against the basement windows. How long they would hold, she didn’t know.

“Severus and Minerva, evacuate Slytherin house into the other common rooms. Seal all entrances to the dungeons once every student is accounted for,” Dumbledore ordered grimly. 

Snape and McGonagall left immediately.

Fred peered at his watch as he retreated to the lights flooding from the Great Hall. “We still have three hours of this?! There’s no way. We won’t be able to hold them back. Not with the alpha out there impervious to magic.”

Tonks wanted to offer some comfort, but there was none. Even Kingsley looked out over the grounds, his face grave. 

They all knew the truth. They would be overcome.

“We need to send the seventh-years back to their Common Rooms,” Molly said. “We need to save them.”