Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I don’t-” the boy starts, looking around. He’s shaking- there’s so much blood. Is it his? Someone else’s? He doesn’t know what’s worse. “I can’t-”

“Shh,” the girl says, closing a steadying hand over his. “It’s alright, shh.”

The boy’s teeth start to chatter. He’s sitting on the ground- he couldn’t stand up if he wanted to. He feels light-headed. Must be his blood, then- but he can’t feel any pain. Can’t feel anything at all, really.

“What- what h-happened?” The boy asks, still looking around. His eyes can’t seem to focus.

“You were an idiot,” the girl says, then reaches one of her hands- bloody, now- to touch his cheek. “As per usual.”

She guides his face so that his eyes are trained on hers. She’s on the verge of tears, but there’s steel in her brown-eyed gaze. The boy feels himself relax, just a bit- shuddering as he does.

“You-” the girl’s voice cuts off, but then she clears her throat. “You jumped in front of me, pushed me back. Fought it off.”

“Fought what-”

The girl bites her lower lip. “Don’t- Arthur, don’t worry about it right now. We’re- look. Hey. Can you stand?”

Arthur shakes his head quickly. He’s so overwhelmed he feels tears well up in his own eyes. The girl closes her eyes, nostrils flaring. Then her eyes snap open, and the steel is back.

“Well. I’m not just sitting here to watch you bleed out. Lay down.”

Arthur is too tired and confused to argue- although, even if he had been in tip-top shape, he’d listen to her anyways. He knows better than to disobey this girl when she gets that tone. She guides him to the ground, arranging his limbs so they’re not so tangled up.

“This is going to hurt,” is the only warning he gets before there are sparks of white-hot pain bursting behind his eyes.

He lets out a choked gasp, and the girl grits her teeth, before forcibly relaxing her expression.

“It got you on the shoulder. I’m washing it out- lucky we had some vodka on hand, huh?”

“What- what got me?” Arthur gasps out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t remember.”

Well- that’s not entirely true. They'd been walking back from the shop, having just bought a bottle of alcohol and some groceries. Then Arthur remembers a low growl coming from the alley they’d been walking by, a huge shape shifting in the darkness, the growl turning into a snarl, then movement, then- pain.

The girl has paused what she’s doing, and Arthur opens his eyes again. She’s pursing her lips. “What got me,” Arthur repeats.

The girl just shakes her head again, then tears the sleeve off of her sweater in one swift motion. Arthur would be impressed if he wasn’t so panicked.

Arthur lifts his good arm and grabs at her hand, stopping her from wrapping the sleeve around his shoulder. “Molly. Tell me.”

Molly’s eyes flash dangerously, and he lets his arm fall back. She continues dressing his wound. For a moment, Arthur is worried that she isn’t going to answer him. But then-

“Werewolf,” she says conversationally. “It’s gone now. Ran off. You got it good- in the eye, I think. I’ll never make fun of your pocket knife carrying habit ever again. Did you know the blade was silver? I didn’t, but a good thing it was-”

Arthur isn’t listening anymore.

“Molly,” Arthur says, feeling as though he’s a million miles away from himself.

“Yes?” Molly asks, looking at Arthur. She holds his gaze unflinchingly, because she’s Molly Prewett so of course she does.

Arthur can hardly hear himself as he dully says, “did it bite me?”

Molly doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

The rest of the night is a blur- Molly somehow manages to get them both back to Arthur’s flat. The next thing Arthur remembers is Molly swearing to herself as she rifles through his kitchen drawers.

“Arthur,” she snaps.

Arthur blinks as he comes back into himself. He's sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless. The odd sort of numbness has spread- which doesn’t seem like a particularly good sign.

“Needle and thread,” Molly says. “It won’t accio out of whatever drawer it’s in.”

“Next drawer down,” Arthur hears someone say. He thinks it might be him.

Arthur feels himself slip away again- the last thing he sees is Molly’s face, grim but determined.

Somehow he makes it to bed- Molly does, too. He’d hoped the first time he’d shared a bed with Molly would be- well. Not this, that’s for damn sure.

The morning sun is leaking in through the cracked windows of Arthur’s dingy flat. There’s not a lot of light, but it drives a spike of pain into Arthur’s head anyways. He groans, then immediately regrets it as Molly sits up straight and leans over him.

Her red hair is flying out of the messy braid she’d tied it into- it’s more flyaway than braid, at this point- and she’s in the same clothes she’d been in last night- although she seems to have sewed the sleeve back onto her sweater. There are bags under her eyes, her fingernails have dried blood underneath them, and her eyes are puffy from sleep and lack thereof.

She’s the most beautiful woman Arthur has ever seen. Not that that’s news, of course.

“Arthur,” Molly says, cool fingers brushing over his face.

Arthur has no time to respond before she’s pulling his blanket down to his waist, then relaxes. “It’s healing,” she says, relief bleeding into her tone.

Arthur has followed her gaze. He blinks- he’s still not wearing a shirt, but that’s the least of his concerns.

There, in a messy semi-circle over his shoulder and collarbone, is the very clear outline of a giant bite-mark. Even though it does look surprisingly healed, with nice neat stitches keeping the flesh together, Arthur feels bile rising up in his throat.

That’s- yes, that is undoubtedly a bite. There’s no way Arthur isn’t a werewolf. A werewolf.

He looks back up to Molly, who’s looking at him too. Her brown eyes are big and sad.

“Well,” Arthur says, then clears his throat. He blinks some tears back. “Well. It was- thank you, Molly. It was nice, um, to know you. I’d walk you out, but-”

Molly gets up and leaves without a word. Arthur leans back in the bed, letting the tears spill over and down his cheeks. That’s that, then. Goodbye, love of his life. Not that he’s going to blame her. Arthur’s a monster now, and- well. To be frank, his life is over- at just nineteen years old. The werewolf may as well have finished the job.

Arthur buries his face in his hands, trying to muffle the sobs. His shoulders are shaking so badly that he can feel the stitches pulling, but he can’t get himself to stop. Doesn’t want to stop. He deserves this now, deserves to hurt, deserves-

He hears the sound of someone putting something down on the nightstand, but doesn’t look up until he feels a dip in the bed beside him and arms encircle around him. Molly’s familiar scent envelops him (is it his imagination, or is it stronger now?) and she leans her head gently on his uninjured shoulder. She rubs his back.

Arthur cries harder, knowing he should push her away. He wants to tell her to go, to run, to forget he ever existed, but he can’t. He’s too selfish. Well, and he’s crying so hard he can hardly breath, let alone talk.

They sit like that for a long moment, Molly holding him as he cries. Finally, he seems to run out of tears. His teeth feel like they're buzzing, he’s cried so hard. He looks up from his hands and over at Molly, who once again meets his gaze unflinchingly.

“You need to drink this,” Molly says, holding a glass of water up to him. “You’ve lost a lot of water.”

Arthur doesn’t move, and she clicks her tongue at him before holding it up to his mouth and tipping it back. He splutters a bit, but he isn’t going to push her away, so he drinks.

Once Molly is satisfied, she puts the glass back down. Arthur wipes his mouth with a shaky hand. He can’t meet her gaze.

“You should go,” he says, tracing a circle in the blanket.

“Maybe,” Molly agrees. “But I’m not going to.”

Arthur closes his eyes. Despite the water, his head is still pounding. He’s cried too much.

“I’m a monster,” he whispers brokenly.

Molly actually laughs, and Arthur’s eyes snap open. He feels an extremely inappropriate burst of indignation.

“If you’re a monster, I’m a Malfoy,” Molly snorts, then sobers up. “Arthur, I’m not leaving you. I love you, you dolt.”

Arthur looks at her. She looks back. They just… look, for a long while.

“There’s a ring of amber around your pupils now,” Molly says, staring unabashedly.

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur says, a bit breathless. He hasn’t really heard her.

“I know,” Molly agrees, then reaches a hand up and brushes a lock of hair behind Arthur’s ears. “You are too.”

Arthur should probably tell her to go. He’s already poor- barely an assistant to an assistant to an assistant at the ministry. And now he’s a werewolf. He’s dangerous. Hell, he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to keep his job at all.

“You’re staying?” Arthur whispers instead of making any of those incredibly salient points.

“Couldn’t keep me away if you tried, darling,” Molly agrees.

Chapter Text

“Red hair, hand-me-down clothes… must be a Weasley,” the blond git sneers.

“Malfoy,” Ron says. He’s maybe not trying as hard as he should be, keeping the low growl out of his tone.

Malfoy’s silver eyes narrow, then turn back to Harry. Ron feels a surge of protectiveness rush up as he sees the slight boy shrink in on himself, big green eyes darting anxiously from Malfoy and then back to Ron.

Malfoy sticks out a hand, and sniffs imperiously. “Stick with me, Potter- I can show you the right sort.”

Ron wants to throw Malfoy out of the compartment, followed shortly by his two lackeys. Wants to bundle Harry up, get his brothers to turn the train around, and then ask his mum to give the boy a good meal or two or eighteen. He doesn’t do any of those things, though- he needs to let Harry fight his own battles. Ron won’t always be there for him- doubly so if they end up in different houses.

“I think I can tell the right sort for myself, thanks,” Harry says, tone icy.

Ron has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep himself from bursting into laughter. He knew it, knew he didn’t need to be worried about this one.

Well. He’s still going to be, as Harry is far too small and flinches at loud movements in a way that sets off all sorts of alarm bells ringing in Ron’s head, but at least Ron can rest easy knowing that Harry will bite back if push comes to shove.

(Ron might only be eleven, but he’s not an idiot. Something is not right here, not right with whatever situation Harry came from.)

Malfoy blinks, then goes pale- although his ears are bright pink. He pulls his hand back as though he’s been stung. Without another word, he spins around and stalks out of the compartment, his two bodyguards going to follow- glaring all the while.

“Mate,” Ron says, smiling hugely at his friend. “That was incredible!”

Harry scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t like bullies,” he mutters.

A couple hours later, and the compartment door slides open once more- startling Harry so badly he drops the cards he’d been looking at. Ron looks up, feeling a growl rumble in his chest. With some difficulty, he swallows it down.

He’s too young for his eyes to bleed into amber just yet- he’s still a ‘cub’, which makes him all sorts of indignant- so he’s sure his eyes are as icy-blue as ever. It’s a good thing, really- Ron’s always been a bit more prone to giving in to his wolf than his brothers. (He takes after his mum like that.)

His dad and Bill and Charlie never seem phased by anything, Percy has an iron-clad grip on his emotions, the twins burn off steam via their assorted shenanigans- the only sibling Ron does have that leans into the wolf like he does is Ginny, who won’t be at school until next year.

His parents had wanted the twins to stick with him on the train, but Ron isn’t about to spend the next five years being babied by his older siblings- and surprisingly enough, Percy was the one who came to his defense.

“Ronald needs to learn how to manage himself,” Percy had said. “He’s not stupid. He’ll be careful.”

“Besides,” Fred had cut in, “if the secret didn’t get out after the Percy incident-”

“Fred,” Mum had snapped, eyes flashing a dangerous shade of gold.

Percy had gone completely still from where he’d been letting Luna (who had, as she often is, just sort of… been there) play with his hand, and Ron had exchanged a worried look with Ginny. Even George had looked apprehensive.

And Dad- Dad had gotten a really tired, really sad expression on his face.

That, more than anything else, had shut Fred up- but it had also been the end of the discussion, and Ron can breathe easy knowing he won’t be suffocated by his brothers. Well, not more so than he usually is.

“Er,” Harry says, looking up at the interlopers.

“Have you seen a toad?” One of the interlopers asks, hands on her hips. “Neville has lost his.”

She’s got dark brown skin- darker than Harry’s- sharp brown eyes, and a really rather impressive mane of brown curly hair. The other interloper, ‘Neville’, is short (but not as short as Harry), pink, and rather chubby. His hair is a straw blond, and he looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Then his hazel eyes look up and meet Ron’s own, and Ron sees the steel snap into place.

The boy pushes past the girl and sticks out a bold hand towards Ron. “Neville Longbottom,” he says.

“Oh,” Ron says, blinking down at the hand. “Neat- I mean, Ron. Ron Weasley.”

“Call me Neville,” Neville says firmly.

“Ron, then,” Ron says.

Longbottom- his mum had said something about the Longbottoms, hadn’t she? One of the few families that still claim an alliance with the Weasley’s, despite all the blood-traitor-y-ness. Which explains the reaction- Neville is acting as an heir right now, not as a scared eleven-year-old.

Ron goes to say something else, but the girl is done being patient, apparently.

“And you are?” She asks, turning to Harry.

“Er,” Harry says again.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” the girl- Hermione- bulldozes on, not giving Harry a second to breathe. “I’m so excited for school, aren’t you? I only learned about magic a year ago, and I already know a couple spells-”

“Hermione,” Neville whispers.

Hermione stops, surprised. “Oh,” she says, then looks a bit embarrassed. “I was doing it again, was I?”

Neville nods.

“Sorry about that,” Hermione says, then closes her mouth and nods for Harry to introduce himself.

“Er,” Harry says for a third time, and then says, “I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” Hermione repeats. Her eyes flicker up to Harry’s forehead, and he shrinks further in on himself.

“Potter,” Hermione continues. It’s not really a question.

Harry nods anyway.

“I’ve read about you, you know,” Hermione says, sitting down.

Harry doesn’t respond, just looks down at his hands. Ron glares at Hermione- he’d just managed to get Harry out of his shell, and here she is, ruining all his hard work.

“Well,” Hermione says after a tense moment. “Best be off- do let us know if you find a toad.”

Neville’s back to looking sad and scared, and Ron feels a pang. He’s not going to offer his own services, because being able to sniff out the toad immediately would be beyond suspicious and he doesn’t really want to spend any more time with Hermione then he has to, but-

“Have you asked one of the prefects for help?”

Hermione blinks, then blinks again. “Oh,” she says. “I hadn’t thought of that- do you think they might know a spell to find a toad?”

That, or one of them is a werewolf and has considerably more practice at pretending not to be then Ron does. Percy would easily be able to sniff the toad out and then pretend it was an accident, no doubt about it.

Ron nods, and Hermione stands up. “Well then- come on, Neville! We’ll find Trevor in no time.”

Neville lets the girl pull him away, but not without giving both Ron and Harry a shaky wave goodbye. Ron returns it in kind, but Harry just looks out the window.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Is it gonna be like that with everyone?” Harry asks, not looking away from the landscape rushing by.

Ron leans back in his chair, feeling resolve harden further in his chest. “Probably at first,” he says. Ron feels sorry for him, but Harry deserves the truth.

Harry sighs, and it sounds so sad that Ron suddenly wants to cry. The ‘get Harry to the Burrow as soon as possible’ plan is looking more and more appealing every second.

“But,” Ron continues as he forces his wolf back, “if anyone bothers you, I’ll- well, I’ll just bite em.”

He shouldn’t even be joking about that, but it gets a laugh out of Harry, so he can’t bring himself to regret it. Besides, it’s not like Harry knows about the werewolf thing- no one does.

It feels like no time at all before the train is finally pulling into Hogsmeade station. Ron snatches Harry’s hand, and grimaces at the other boy’s full-body flinch. But he doesn’t let go- he’s not going to risk losing this absolute wisp of a kid in the crowd.

“Firs’ years over here!”

Ron (hopefully) gently tugs Harry with him, following the giant man’s words.

The crowd threaten to separate Ron and Harry, but Ron glares their way through, all the way until they’re securely in a boat. Harry is staring unabashed at everything, drinking the sights and sounds.

Ron feels a rush of fondness for his new friend- Harry hasn’t even seen Hogwarts and already Ron thinks that if Harry gets any more wonder in his expression he’ll break in two, or something.

Although, Ron hasn’t seen Hogwarts either- not yet. He’s just heard the stories. Which is why, when it comes into view, Ron is shocked into breathlessness alongside his friend and the two other occupants of the boat (a blonde girl and a brunette boy- they didn’t introduce themselves, and so Ron hadn’t either).

Hogwarts glows golden in the dark of the night- it screams warmth, and safety, and strength, and family.

“Oh,” Harry says. Ron can’t help but agree.

Ron once again grabs Harry’s hand as they hit the shore, and a good thing he did- Harry is so busy staring that he’s not paying attention to anything else, other people and the landscape included.

Ron manages to get Harry to the castle without any major injuries, and they hold hands all throughout Professor McGonagall’s spiel (is it just Ron, or does her gaze linger on him longer than anyone else?), through the Entrance Hall, into the side room, past the ghosts, through the other spiel, and then all the way to the Great Hall, where there’s a singing hat.

So much for fighting a troll- Ron had been sort of looking forward to that.

The closer Harry’s name gets to being called, the tighter he holds on to Ron. Ron subtly shifts so he’s leaning against him- the physical proximity seems to relax Harry, and Ron mentally congratulates himself. He’s known Harry for all of six hours, and already Harry is more comfortable with Ron’s touchiness.

This is good, because Ron was raised on physical affection. Even from before he was a werewolf, his parents always have been- and all wolves tend to communicate via physical contact more than anything else, werewolves included. Ron doesn’t know if he could tone it down if he wanted to.

He would do his best, though- if Harry needed him to.

Harry’s name is called at last, and Ron has to force himself to let go. Harry looks smaller than ever as he walks up to the stool- but his back is straight, and his jaw is set.

Ron’s eyes catch on the Headmaster, who’s watching Harry over steepled fingers. Ron furrows his brow- something about the way Dumbledore is looking at Harry has Ron feeling distinctly uneasy. Ron files that thought away for later. He knows better than to dismiss it, but there’s nothing to be done about it right now.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Ron lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He’s not surprised, but he also really hadn’t wanted to have to convince the Hat to send him somewhere other than Gryffindor. Ron wants to be independent, true, but he also knows hiding his family’s secret is going to be hard enough as it is with his older brothers there to back him up in his house.

Once it’s Ron’s turn (whoever invented the order of the alphabet can get stuffed), he hurries over to the stool, ready to get this over with. There’s silence for a moment as the hat is placed on his head, covering his eyes with its brim. Then-

“Another werewolf? And here I was thinking the twins had been an unfortunate fluke. What happened?”

“I’m here to be sorted, not to spill my life story,” Ron thinks, scowling.

Besides, the Hat almost certainly already knows what happened. It’s clearly a mind-reading hat. Of course it bloody knows.

“No matter,” the Hat projects into Ron’s head. “It’s as you say. I’m here to sort, and I already know exactly where to put you. I look forward to meeting your sister next year- maybe she’ll be the one to surprise me.”

Ron feels a burst of indignation, but smothers it. The hat chuckles, and Ron shivers.

“If you’re so eager to stand out, I could be convinced to place you among the snakes-”

“Nope,” Ron thinks, shutting that idea down fast. Maybe if Harry had gone there, Ron could have dealt with it, but he hadn’t, so-

The hat chuckles again, and Ron swallows down a growl.

“As I thought. Very well- better be… GRYFFINDOR!”

Chapter Text

“And you’re sure you’re ready,” Percy says, for the tenth time. “Teeth brushed? Homework done?”

“It’s not my first time turning,” Ron grumbles. His bones hurt. “And you’re not mum.”

Percy puffs up, no doubt seconds from launching into yet another lecture on good dental habits and responsibilities and being there for each other while away from home- but then the twins come crashing into the common room.

“Let's get this train rolling,” George says, grinning.

“Choo choo,” Fred agrees.

“Quiet,” Percy hisses, looking around.

He shouldn't have been worried. The common room isn’t empty, not by a long shot- but it’s Gryffindor, and so no one is really paying attention to the brothers. They all have their own chaos to deal with.

Harry is asleep already- even a month into school, and the boy is still catching up on whatever sleep he wasn’t getting at his sorry excuse for a family’s. Ron bites back a growl- now is not the time to think about that.

“Ah lighten up, Perce,” Fred says, slinging an arm around Percy’s shoulder. “If they haven’t caught on yet, they never will.”

Percy opens his mouth to respond, but Ron is tired of this- everything aches, and he’s been feeling like he’s about to snap and go full wolf on someone for a week now.

He’s not used to having to fight that impulse- usually he just finds Ginny and annoys her until they’re rolling on the floor and both have bloody noses. He can’t exactly do that at school. Well- not until Ginny gets here, anyhow.

“Let’s just go,” Ron says.

Percy snaps his mouth closed and nods curtly. He escorts them out the portrait, looking especially stiff and unapproachable as he stands by and lets the three go before him. Ron catches a couple people watching, but they don’t seem all that concerned. It occurs to Ron that, for many of them, it’s not the first time they’ve seen the Weasley’s head off into the night, not to be seen until the next morning.

“How come no one’s caught on yet?” Ron asks as they walk, scratching idly at the bite on his arm. The moon is close- everything is starting to feel buzz-y. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

“Filch,” George says instead of answering, bodily pulling Ron into a side corridor. Fred follows, stuffing the old parchment the twins had been consulting into his pocket. The three watch with bated breath as Percy nods at Filch, who grumbles as he walks by.

They walk in silence for a long moment, still on edge from the close call.

“It’s because they think we’re backwater wizards who believe in the old ways,” Percy finally says as they continue their trek down to the forest.

“We are that,” Fred points out.

“Not all of us,” Percy sniffs.

“The cool ones are,” George says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Har har,” Percy says, rolling his eyes.

“Come on, Perce- you leave the bread and milk out as often as mum does,” Fred says, elbowing Percy. “And I know you have a horseshoe or two squirreled away somewhere.”

Percy rubs his arm and scowls, but clearly doesn’t have a response to that.

“So what,” Ron says, “they think we’re doing… a ritual, or something?”

“That’s the theory,” George says, nodding. “At least- I think it is. I’m not sure. They might just think we’re Mormon, or something.”

“And we’re not going around asking, so-” Fred starts.

“We’re here,” Percy announces, drawing up short.

Ron looks around. It’s getting a bit dark, but nothing he can’t handle- his eyes are sensitive enough as it is. A little dusk is nothing compared to his dark vision- not this close to the moon.

They’re a fair way past the treeline. The area they’ve stopped at looks like every other bit of forest. There’s nothing to distinguish it- nothing but the scent, and the feel of the wards that are causing Ron’s arm hair to stick straight up.

“Bill wasn’t kidding around when he made these,” he whispers. “You’re sure we can pass?”

“We can,” Fred says. “You need to bleed on it.”

“Yay,” Ron says without any enthusiasm. “I love bleeding.”

“Here,” Percy says, handing Ron a cloth-covered knife, handle facing Ron.

Ron takes it gingerly- pulling it from the cloth Percy holds tight to. The silver blade gleams bright in the rapidly encroaching darkness. Ron stares at it, feeling abruptly dry-mouthed.

“We don’t have all night, Ron,” Percy says pointedly.

The twins are already past the ward line, running and jumping excitedly. The full moon always makes them energetic- Ron knows they must be hurting as much as he is, and he doesn’t know how they manage to run around like they do.

Ron pricks his finger, hissing at the burn he feels. A drop of his blood wells up and out, and he lets it drip onto the forest floor. Nothing happens- nothing other than the fact that the hair on Ron’s arms is suddenly laying flat again.

“In,” Percy says, grabbing the knife with the cloth once again.

Ron stumbles past the wardline, feeling a bit shaky. He sticks his finger in his mouth. This cut is one that isn't going to be affected by his accelerated healing. Silver- true silver- is not something Ron particularly enjoys interacting with. It makes him feel weak- and because of that, his wolf is railing against him, begging to be let out, begging to fight the perceived threat of the knife.

Ron generally quite likes being a werewolf. There are some parts he does not enjoy, though, and the loss of rational thought around the moon is one of those things.

That, and all the pain.

Percy wraps the knife all the way up, then carefully places it onto the ground. Then he goes to join the twins, walking next to Ron as he does. They walk for a couple minutes- at one point, Percy reaches out and wraps an arm around Ron to support him.

Ron appreciates it- the moon is close, and there’s sweat pouring down his face. His legs are trembling so bad he’s surprised he’s standing at all. Percy looks stoic as ever, but he’s especially pale. He’s clearly not much better off then Ron is- he’s just better at hiding it.

Finally they come to a stop. The twins are already there, sitting on the ground and wrapped in blankets. Percy throws Ron a blanket, and shows Ron where to fold his clothes so that they won’t be able to tear them up as wolves (a warded, hollowed out stump, which is where they’d pulled the blankets from as well).

Then they sit in a circle, just staring up at the sky. Ron shivers- it’s late September, and the thin blanket isn’t doing much to keep the chill out.

“And there’s dittany and what-not in the stump,” Percy is saying, “so don’t worry about after, in case we get into anything really rough. I’m not worried, though-”

Ron is. Surprisingly so, in fact. He doesn’t feel very grown-up right now. He’s just a little kid, and he’s hurting, and he misses his mum.

“I wish mum or dad or Gin were here,” Ron says softly. “Or Scabbers.”

There’s a moment of quiet. Scabbers is really good company during a moon- fearless, for a rat. It’s like he was born to be the family pet to a group of werewolves.

“It’s better that he’s with Ginny,” Percy says pragmatically. “You know that. She’s having a hard enough time this year, even with Luna.”

“Yeah,” Ron says, letting out a shaky sigh. His brothers exchange a worried glance.

And then the moon rises, and Ron is focused on not screaming and then- then everything goes black.

Well, sort of. Ron can never really remember what happens during the moons, but he does get… impressions. It’s like having a dream that you can’t quite recall, before it fades into nothing but feelings.

There’s a lot of excitement, a lot of rolling around and throwing things- the blankets probably don’t last more than thirty seconds before they’re torn up into shreds. It’s a new area (at least for Ron), and the other wolves spend a lot of the night reacquainting themselves with the territory. At one point, Ron thinks he may have tried to cross Bill’s ward line- he remembers a sharp pain, reminiscent of the wards at home. He doesn’t think he makes that mistake more than once.

Mostly there’s running, and some hunting- although the pickings are slim. After four years of this, the animals know better than to live in this stretch of forest.

When Ron next comes to, he’s lying on the ground and covered in mud. He has a couple scratches, but they’re healing up as he lies there. The morning sun is just peeking through the trees, and does nothing for the freezing cold temperatures. Winter is going to be awful.

“Ow,” he says.

“Seconded,” calls a twin from somewhere a fair distance aways.

“Yeah, well I feel great,” croaks the other twin. They’re too far away for Ron to be able to smell which is which.

“Anyone need medical attention?” Percy calls, all business despite the raspiness in his voice.

“No,” call the other three.

They make quick work of getting dressed. Ron scowls as Percy casts three cleaning charms on him, but can’t actually say they aren't unwarranted. He wishes he could, though- Ron’s bloody exhausted, and wants to bite someone’s head off. Metaphorically.

Or literally, he thinks, glaring into his breakfast as Hermione goes on and on and on about something or another. He just wants to sleep. But no, he has to go to class and act like a normal human person that hadn’t broken every single bone last night. Twice.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, almost under his breath. He looks meaningfully at the white-knuckled grip Ron has on his fork.

Ron forces himself to relax, and nods. “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” he whispers back.

“You weren’t in the dorm,” Harry says, big green eyes full of worry. “Where did you go?”

Ron takes a big bite of eggs and sausages that has Hermione looking a bit green. Good. As he chews, he thinks about what to say. He’d really been hoping that Harry wouldn’t notice. Ah well.

“Family stuff,” is what he finally settles on.

Harry nods, obviously content with that answer.

Hermione, though- she looks at Ron with narrowed eyes. She opens her mouth, likely to ask him what family stuff, when Neville turns to look at her.

“Hey Hermione,” he says. “Will you run me through the charms essay again? I don’t think I totally get the theory.”

Ron lets out a quiet sigh of relief as Hermione launches into a lecture. That was really good timing.

Class that day is, as expected, absolutely miserable. Ron is pretty sure he genuinely falls asleep during Transfiguration, but can’t be sure- McGonagall doesn’t say anything, anyhow.

Fortunately, Harry has quidditch practice after class lets out, so Ron is able to steal a couple hours of sleep before dinner without having to explain himself. Not that he would have to- Harry is really very good at minding his own business. Unlike some people.

“What family stuff?” Hermione asks over dinner. So much for that reprieve.

“You know,” Ron says, still feeling beyond exhausted despite the nap. “Stuff.”

“Does anyone know how the portraits move?” Asks an older year, a bit loudly. She’s waving a pen around in the air. “My mum wants to know the magic behind it.”

(Everything sounds loud right now. Really, really loud. Ron should see if Percy has another pain potion for him- the last one has just about worn off.)

Hermione’s eyes light up, and Ron nearly collapses into his potatoes in relief.

After that, Ron manages to get back to the dorm and into bed without too much trouble. One moon down, sixty to go. Awesome.

Chapter Text

“She doesn’t know about the troll!”

Ron meets Harry’s horrified gaze, and feels a grim determination fill his chest.

“Let’s go then,” he says- and then they’re off.

Well. Looks like Ron might get to try his hand at fighting a troll after all. He’s much less excited about the prospect than he was a couple months ago- but it’s his fault Hermione’s been crying all day, and even if it weren’t, he isn’t about to stand by and let Harry get himself killed.

Ron doesn’t even have much of an excuse for the thing he said. It’s not even close enough to the moon to blame his wolf. But Hermione just hasn’t dropped the 'family stuff' thing yet. She’s ridiculously nosey, and eventually the string of lucky distractions that keep happening is going to end.

He runs after Harry, who is surprisingly fast for being so small- he’s almost like a snitch. No wonder he’s so good at catching the things. Of course, Ron is a werewolf and therefore needs to slow himself down to match Harry’s pace anyways, but still, he’s impressed.

Ron manages to pull Harry aside just in time to keep them both from running right into a furiously-muttering Snape, and then they’re running again.

They reach an intersection of corridors- although if they wanted to, they could keep running straight into the conveniently located door at the end of their hall.

Then, the smell hits Ron so hard that he thinks he might have actually fallen over, if not for Harry’s steadying hand in his own. It’s like a bloody sledgehammer on his sinuses. Ron’s eyes are watering- he almost prefers the garlic-infused nightmare that is Defense.

In fact, Ron can smell garlic now. Moldy garlic, rotten meat, sewage- every bad smell he can think of, rolled up into one.

“Ron?” Harry asks, worried.

“Troll,” Ron gasps out, hand over his nose and mouth. He drags Harry behind a suit of armor and forces him into a crouch. Harry’s gone stiff, as he is wont to do when Ron forgets not to manhandle the other boy, but he doesn’t protest.

Despite the stiffness, Harry has a confused look on his face. He’s about to say something- probably ask Ron how he knows, when the smell obviously hits him, too. Harry’s hands shoot up to cover his own face, and Ron can’t help but gag as the troll trudges past, dragging its club behind it.

It’s huge. At least ten feet tall. The Charlie that lives in Ron’s head labels it a mountain troll- and Ron is inclined to trust that instinct.

It looks almost like a mountain itself. It’s gray, and where there isn’t lichen and fungus clinging to it, there looks to be a shiny layer of slimy mold. There are flies buzzing around its lumpy head- one lands on its eyeball, and it doesn’t so much as blink. There’s something fishlike about its dead eyed stare.

On that note, there’s something fishlike about the stench, too. It really is every bad smell.

Fortunately, the troll doesn’t seem to hear Ron’s quiet gagging-turned-retching. Ron distantly notices the fact that Harry has gone very still, and very tense. Almost as though he’s about to pounce. Ron tightens his grip on the boy, who shoots him a narrow-eyed glare.

The troll stops, and Ron’s heart stops with it. His breathing stops too- and by the sound of it, Harry’s elected to hold his breath as well.

The troll turns to face the door, it’s head cocking slowly to the side. Ron continues to hold his breath, but feels his heart stutter and start up again as the troll reaches a hand out and pushes the door slowly open instead of turning to look at where Ron and Harry are. The creaking sound thunders in Ron’s head. His wolf is pacing in his chest, ready for action- heightening Ron’s senses to the point that it’s almost a hindrance. Almost.

“We could lock it in,” Harry whispers, obviously gearing up to go do just that.

“No,” Ron says, staring at where the troll has now entered the room.

The room that, if the muffled but unmistakable sound of rapid breathing and a racing heartbeat is any indication, is the bathroom Hermione’s been hiding out in.

There’s a short scream, and Ron and Harry shoot up, racing to the door. Ron gets there first- of course he does. If he wasn’t so young, he knows his eyes would be bleeding gold.

Ron’s never really had to worry about turning outside of a full moon- not until now. With some effort, he manages to push his wolf back just enough to keep it from taking over completely.

Ron doesn’t slow down, though- he catches a glimpse of Hermione’s terrified face, sees the troll raising its club high above its head, sees the remains of the stalls that have been torn apart like they’d been made of paper- and he leaps, hands outstretched and curled into talons. He makes it, just barely, to the troll’s head, arms wrapping around its massive neck. Ron hears an enraged bellow, and isn’t sure if it came from the troll or from him.

The club comes crashing down, missing Hermione by inches. The sound of it falling echoes in Ron’s ears, thundering alongside the rushing blood.

“Ron!” Someone shouts- probably Harry.

Ron has other things to worry about, though- the troll is now swatting at him. A heavy blow catches him on the shoulder and Ron hears something crack. He doesn’t feel any pain, the adrenaline takes care of that, so he doesn’t pay it any mind. The important thing is that he’s managed to hold on.

Not only that, but he’s swung a leg up and over the troll’s shoulder, which means he’s no longer dangling. The troll takes another swing at him, but Ron presses himself against the cold clammy flesh and the fist misses him by inches- he can feel the breeze it causes ruffle his hair. The smell is making his eyes water.

Someone shouts his name again, and Ron grits his teeth. Can’t they see he’s busy? And why haven’t they gotten away yet?

Doesn’t matter. None of that matters.

Ron grabs onto one of the troll’s misshapen ears with one hand, and manages to grip into the troll’s eye socket with the other, on the opposite side of its massive head. There’s a squelching sound, and the troll lets out a scream that has Ron’s teeth vibrating in his skull.

Ron distantly thinks that he is most definitely going to get yelled at for this; readjusts his grip just a little (the troll gets in another hit that knocks the air out of Ron’s lungs, but doesn’t knock him off); and then twists, with all his might.

There’s a horrible sort of splintering sound that Ron knows for a fact is the sound of a bone (or bones) snapping, and the troll falls over, completely dead.

As it falls, Ron manages to spin and jump away from it. The last thing he wants is to be crushed underneath the world's smelliest mountain of flesh. Fortunately, that does the trick. He ends up a good way away from it.

Ron lays there on the bathroom floor, staring up at the ceiling. The tiles are nice and cool underneath him. He can’t hear anything- there’s too much ringing in his ears. Ron can’t bring himself to be upset about this. Between the smell, the bright lights, and the way the world is spinning, everything is already overwhelming enough without the added sounds.

He takes in a short breath, but can’t manage more than that. Ron thinks his ribs are broken. He’s having a really hard time breathing- there’s a chance one or two managed to puncture a lung.

His shoulder is definitely broken. The adrenaline has worn off enough for Ron to gather that much. It hurts. Ron feels a single tear squeeze out of his eye and trickle down the side of his face, dripping into his ear.

Distantly, through the haze of pain, he sees Harry fall to his knees beside him. His face is so bloodless it’s almost gray, and he’s shaking. Ron reaches a hand out and manages to grab onto Harry’s arm on the first try.

“Don’t move him,” Hermione is saying- oh, she’s there on his other side. Ron reaches a hand out to grab onto her, as well. He thinks he got her leg, but that’s fine. Just so long as he can feel her there, know that she’s safe and here and whole. His wolf settles.

“Just,” Ron gasps out, “give me- one second.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hermione snaps, hands fluttering anxiously over him. “We saw it hit you. You should be dead- there’s no way you got out of that without something broken.”

Ron can feel his bones shifting underneath his skin. He lets out a sharp gasp as there’s a burst of agony in one of his lungs, then starts breathing a bit easier. Definitely punctured. But not anymore, at least.

“You- must have- seen wrong,” Ron says. He’s still gasping out his words, but that’s more due to the pain now. He’s seeing more star bursts than bathroom ceiling at this point as his bones continue to shift and crunch back together again.

“I have an eidetic memory,” Hermione snaps again.

“I don’t-” Ron starts, “know what that means. Also- I am so sorry-”

“For what?” Hermione explodes.

“Mean,” Ron says, lifting his hand off of her leg and pointing a finger at himself.

Hermione snorts, and Ron feels a grin slip onto his face.

Then he hears Harry hiccup, and he turns to look at the boy. There are tears streaming down his face. “Hey, no, don’t- I’m okay, see?”

And he is, now- mostly, anyways. His bones still feel sore (which isn’t a nice feeling) but they aren’t broken any longer. Ron demonstrates this by sitting up.

Hermione lets out an angry little exclamation, but Harry launches himself at Ron.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Harry is saying, pressing his face into Ron’s now healed shoulder.

Ron exchanges a wide-eyed look with Hermione, who looks completely lost.

“What?” Hermione mouths.

Ron just shakes his head. Then he readjusts his grip on Harry, and pulls Hermione into the embrace. She’d looked over at the troll, and has started shaking almost as badly as Harry is. She lets Ron pull her, and wraps her arms around the two boys.

Ron thinks he might be shaking, too- but he closes his eyes, and breathes in slowly, and lets himself relax as the scents of his two friends (and if Hermione doesn’t think she’s a friend now, she’s kidding herself) wash over him.

That’s the scene the professors burst in on- the three kids, huddled on the floor, just a few feet away from the fallen troll.

There’s a line of black blood trickling from its mouth, and its remaining eye has gone misty. Ron’s trying not to look, but thanks to the angle of its neck, it's looking right at him. He shudders, and Hermione shifts so that she’s blocking his view. Ron isn’t sure if that had been intentional, but he appreciates it either way.

Quirrel lets out a puff of air as he takes in the scene, sounding as though he’s been punched in the stomach, and sits down heavily on a twisted piece of bathroom stall door.

Harry has stopped apologizing, at least, but there are still tears streaming down his face, and Ron doesn’t think he’s going to be letting go of either Ron or Hermione any time soon.

“What,” Professor McGonagall starts, voice shaking, “happened?”

“And is everyone alive,” Snape says, sounding for all the world like he couldn’t care less.

Ron hates that man so much.

“Yes,” Hermione says, trying in vain to remove herself from Ron and Harry’s grip.

“No,” Ron says. “The troll is pretty dead.”

Harry just hiccups.

“I need an explanation right now,” McGonagall says. She’s trembling, and Ron feels a rush of guilt. He doesn’t regret anything, but McGonagall doesn’t deserve the kind of stress this is absolutely causing her.

Snape, on the other hand, has waved his wand- encasing the three in a soft golden glow. Ron’s pretty sure it’s a simple diagnostic charm, so hopefully lycanthropy doesn’t show up on it. Not much he can do about it now if it does, of course, but- a boy can hope.

“It was my fault,” Hermione says, voice muffled from where Harry has somehow managed to press her face into his tiny shoulder. She tries again to move out of the embrace before giving up and settling back with a huff. The angry warning glint in Harry’s eyes turns sad and scared again, and he hiccups again.

“Do tell,” McGonagall prompts, looking and sounding distinctly unimpressed.

“Couple scrapes, otherwise unharmed,” Snape reports. McGonagall’s shoulders relax, just a bit.

“I- uh, s-someone, said, uh, something, that had me upset. I hid in the bathroom, and that’s why I was here,” Hermione continues.

Hermione is not a very good liar, Ron decides. He won’t hold that against her, though- not after she just tried to cover for him.

“We came to warn her,” Ron adds.

“And then you killed a fully grown mountain troll,” Snape says, raising an eyebrow.

A wheeze escapes from Quirrell, whose face is so white he looks translucent.

“Yes?” Ron says, looking over at the troll.

“Thought that would be obvious,” Harry says, sniffling. Despite this, he’s also glaring steadily at the potion’s professor.

Snape pinches his nose, and says something under his breath that Ron is ninety-nine percent sure is “oh god, the menace took after his mother.”

Ron files that away as ‘interesting’.

“How?” McGonagall asks.

Ron panics- he can’t just say he broke the thing’s neck (which is something he is not going to think about), as that should be an impossible feat for an adult, much less an eleven year old. But how to explain-

“Ron used a charm and floated the club up while it was distracted by Harry and I, then let it drop. We got lucky,” Hermione says.

Oh. Maybe she’s a good liar after all.

Ron shoots her a grateful look. She gives him one back that he instantly knows means, “I covered for you, but you better have a damn good explanation for me later.”

Harry nods furiously as McGonagall turns her steely-eyed gaze on him, and Ron gives her his best sheepish smile as her gaze finally falls on him.

“I suppose it was too much to hope for another Percival,” she says tiredly.

Chapter Text

“You’re welcome to let go of me whenever,” Ron says, although it’s muffled since his face is being firmly pressed into his mum’s shoulder.

“Good,” his mum says into his hair. “I choose never.”

Ron groans, and Ginny snorts from where she’s examining what seems to be a giant red bird sitting on an ornate golden stand. The Headmaster’s office is full of all kinds of trinkets and books and maps, but besides the assorted buzzing and humming, it’s only just visually overwhelming. Still a headache for Ron, but not as bad as it could be.

Despite the fact that they’re in the Headmaster’s office, the Headmaster himself is nowhere to be found. He must still be dealing with the troll fallout- it’s still technically Halloween, if only just barely.

“You wouldn’t be in this predicament if you hadn’t chased after a troll, Ronald,” Percy says, sounding grumpier than Ron has ever heard him. Whoops- Ron must have really freaked him out.

“And where were you when your baby brother ran after said troll?” Mum asks, turning to the twins.

“Um,” George says, folding his arms, “not doing that?”

“Besides, Ron was fine,” Fred says. Then, in a mutter, he adds, “plus Percy wouldn’t let us run after him.”

Mum gives Percy an approving nod, and Ron rolls his eyes.

“Where’s dad?” Ron asks, finally freeing himself from his mum’s iron grasp.

“There was an emergency at work,” Mum says. “He’d be here if he could.”

“More like he didn’t want to be here to see Mum chew out the headmaster,” George mutters.

Mum shoots him a glare, and he shrugs. Ron doesn’t know why anyone in this family bothers to mutter at all- they all have super-hearing, so it’s completely pointless.

“Oh, do we get to be here to see that?” Ginny asks, coming back to where the others are sitting.

“I’m not going to ‘chew him out’,” Mum says. She’s instantly on the receiving end of five flat stares, and a little smile slips onto her face. “And no. You’re going to go to bed.”

“Me too?” Ginny asks hopefully.

Mum hesitates.

“I can show her around,” Percy suggests. “I don’t mind- I’m not very tired, and I’m a prefect so I’m allowed to be out after curfew.”

Mum shakes her head. “Absolutely not. There’s been one troll tonight already- I’m not risking another.”

“It took me less than a minute to take this one out,” Ron counters. “I think Percy would be alright.”

Mum glares at him, and he settles back with a huff. Fine then. See if he ever talks to any one of them ever again.

“Where are your little friends?” Mum asks.

“They went to bed,” Ron says, instantly losing his resolve.

Mum furrows her brow. “Aren’t their parents worried?”

“Hermione’s a muggleborn, so I reckon they won’t hear about anything until tomorrow,” Ron says.

“What about that Harry?” Mum presses.

Ever since meeting him on the platform, Mum has asked after Harry in every letter she's sent Ron- and Ron's been more than happy to keep her updated.

“Harry said that his family, and I quote, ‘couldn’t care less if he got squashed to death by a troll’, and would probably be disappointed he hadn’t,” Ron says, kicking at the ground. He has to push his wolf down, which isn’t too difficult considering how tired it is- killing a troll will do that to a werewolf, apparently.

There’s a long moment of silence. Percy’s eyes are narrowed, and the twins share a glance. Even Ginny, who is usually reduced to a spluttering mess at the mere mention of ‘Harry Potter’ looks like she’s ready to tear into someone- probably Harry’s relatives.

“I see,” Mum says carefully.

The sudden grating sound of the passage into the office sliding open has all six of them swiveling in their chairs. Mum’s eyes have been more yellow than brown this whole night, but now they’re truly golden.

“Ah,” Dumbledore says, blue eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene. “I apologize for my tardiness.”

Dumbledore seems to zero in on Ron, and the twinkle in his eye dims slightly. Ron tries to keep his face impassive, but can’t be sure he’s not scowling. The events of the night are catching up to him, and he feels suddenly exhausted.

“Yes,” Mum says. Then, she says, “care to explain how a troll managed to get into the castle, and then nearly kill my baby boy?”

Dumbledore hesitates, then says, “I would be more than happy to share my theories, Molly- but perhaps these boys should get to bed?”

“Percy,” Mum snaps.

Percy stands up in one smooth motion, inclines his head to the Headmaster, then begins to not-so-subtly herd his brothers out the door.

“I’m going too,” Ginny says, going to stand up.

“No you aren’t,” Mum says, reaching out a hand and grabbing the back of Ginny’s shirt. Ginny scowls, but allows Mum to pull her into her lap.

At this point, Ron is too tired to do anything but let Percy pull him all the way back to Gryffindor tower.

“At least this way Ginny’ll be able to tell us what happens,” George muses as they stop in front of the entrance.

“They’ll put up a privacy charm,” Percy says, shaking his head.

“Damn,” Fred says, kicking the wall besides the portrait.

“Be polite, nephew,” the portrait warns him. Fred has the decency to look abashed.

Percy gives the portrait the password, and it swings open. Ron has hardly a second before he’s being barrelled over by two friend-shaped blurs.

“We thought you might be taken out of school,” Harry says, burrowing his face into Ron’s shoulder.

“In which case we’d have followed you and snuck you back,” Hermione adds matter-of-factly into Ron’s other shoulder. “Because that is what friends do.”

“I had to tell her we’re friends now,” Harry whispers.

Hermione manages to smack Harry’s arm- gently, Ron notices. Harry snorts.

“Er, thanks,” Ron says. “Uh, I’m pretty tired, so-”

“Nuh uh,” Hermione says, shaking her head. “You need to tell us what happened. What really happened.”

“I actually have to agree with Ronald,” Percy says, cutting in. “I’m afraid it’s bedtime- for all three of you.”

Hermione narrows her eyes, but begrudgingly lets go of Ron and heads up to her own room without another word of complaint. Ron’s never been so relieved to have a prefect for an older brother.

Ron gets into his own bed not too long after that. He stares up at the canopy for all of thirty seconds before he realizes he’s absolutely not going to be able to sleep, despite the exhaustion that’s weighing down his bones. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the misty-eyed troll, lying there on the ground as still as the mountain it was named for.

He presses his hands to his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He feels a couple tears spilling from his eyes, but he’s not crying. Not really. He’s too tired to cry. He misses Scabbers- he knows the old thing wouldn’t actually do anything to comfort him, not as such, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.

Ron’s never felt alone before, not like he’s feeling tonight. He doesn’t think he likes it very much.

Ron lets out another shuddery breath. The gray tones of the darkness around him feels suffocating. His heart skips a beat, then another, and breathing is getting harder and harder and-

“Hey Ron,” says a quiet voice- so quiet Ron would be surprised if a normal person could hear it at all. It’s Neville. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Ron whispers back, although the other boy has actually surprised his lungs into a couple of normal breaths. “Not really.”

There’s the sound of shuffling, then Ron’s canopy is pushed aside. Neville’s hair is sticking out everywhere, and his eyes are bleary. His blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. Ron wonders if the boy was asleep.

“Me neither,” Neville whispers, voice hoarse.

Then Ron sees the tear-tracks running down his face, and abruptly remembers what day it is. Definitely not asleep, then.

Neville’s been quiet all day. Well, he’s always quiet, but it’s been really noticeable today. So noticeable, in fact, that Ron is now kicking himself for not noticing. Ron knows what happened to the Longbottoms- his mum has told him that much about them. Merlin, Neville’s day must have been shitty- and the troll couldn’t have helped, even if he hadn’t actually faced it.

Ron doesn’t even pause, doesn’t even think about the fact that besides some pleasantries, he and Neville aren’t especially close- he just scoots over and pats the bed beside him.

Neville clambers in, shuffling a bit as he gets comfortable. He seems a little tense (Neville is an only child and probably isn’t as used to the idea of casual physical contact like Ron is), but Ron is too tired to worry about that- he just curls up into Neville’s side, wrapping an arm around him.

Neville relaxes after that, and his breathing evens out in no time- Ron smiles to himself as he feels sleep creeping up on him as well.

The next morning has Ron waking up early, a grumpy looking Percy spelling the bed curtains apart.

“Up,” Percy snaps.

“What gives?” Ron asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Headmaster wants to see you before classes start,” Percy says.

Neville rolls over and lets out a snore, and Percy winces as Ron glares.

“He’s not going to wait all day,” Percy says, although he is considerably quieter this time.

“Wha’s goin’ on,” Harry says, stumbling out of bed.

“Nothing,” Ron says. “Go back to bed.”

“Ron just has to meet with the Headmaster,” Percy adds. This is the wrong thing to say, because Harry is now obviously wide-awake.

“It’s probably just about the- the troll thing,” Ron adds, the events of last night crashing into him all at once. By the look on Harry’s face, the same has just happened to him.

“I’m coming with,” Harry decides.

“Incorrect,” Percy says, eyes flashing gold so quickly that Ron thinks he may have imagined it.

“Wha’s goin’ on,” Neville mumbles, sitting up. His hair is ridiculously messy. Not quite Harry levels, but still impressive.

“Awesome,” Ron says, glaring at Percy. “Just awesome. Thanks, Perce.”

“Everyone who isn’t Ron goes back to sleep,” Percy says. “Ron’s going to meet with the Headmaster, and then coming right back. Alright? It’s technically before you’re allowed to be up and about, and if I need to take points I will.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ron adds.

Harry and Neville look at Percy with identical glares that makes Ron want to burst into laughter despite the nervousness he's feeling. Percy just looks exasperated. Harry hesitates, then crawls into Ron’s bed.

“I’m staying here until you get back,” he warns Ron. Neville nods firmly, despite the fact that he’s still clearly at least half asleep.

“Okay,” Percy says. “Great. Let's go, please.”

Ron waves Harry goodbye, and then follows his older brother back to the Headmaster’s office.

“Do you know what this is really about?” Ron asks, feeling a thrum of apprehension.

Percy shakes his head.

“Do you think it’s about-”

“Maybe,” Percy says. “Just- stick with whatever story you gave them last night, alright? The Headmaster can’t read your mind.”

Ron snorts, but Percy looks so serious that his stomach flips. “Wait, can the Headmaster- can he usually read minds?”

“Legilimancy,” Percy says grimly, which explains a lot less than Ron had hoped.

“But we’re immune?” Ron presses.

Percy nods.

The rest of the walk is shrouded in silence, until they reach the gargoyle. Percy gives it the password, lets Ron know that he’d wait for him to be done, and then nods for him to go up the stairs.

Unlike last night, the Headmaster is already there when Ron walks in.

“Ah, young Mister Weasley- please, sit. Lemon drop?”

Ron shakes his head, feeling his stomach flip again and again.

“Er, sir? What is this about?”

“Well,” the Headmaster starts, hands clasped in front of him on the desk, “simply put, I wanted to check in with you!”

“What,” Ron says. That doesn’t make any sense to him at all. His wolf stirs, sensing that something is up. Ron is inclined to agree.

“I understand that you spend most of your time with Mister Potter,” Dumbledore says.

Ron nods, not liking at all where this conversation might be headed. The Headmaster looks hesitant, which has Ron feeling all the more apprehensive.

“I wonder,” Dumbledore continues, “if… now, see, young friendship is a wonderful thing. It’s very flexible- and young Mister Potter is bound to be popular. I’d encourage you to think about who you spend your time with. Some friendships are bound to last, while some… might not be as… long-lasting- and that’s not a bad thing.”

“Are you saying I should stop being friends with Harry?” Ron asks, hardly able to believe it.

Dumbledore shakes his head. “Not at all! In fact, I encourage you to continue to spend time with him. But from what I’ve heard about the boy, he has the same streak of recklessness his father had.

“It’s been all of two months, and he’s already broken countless school rules- up to and including running after a troll. Your mother wants you to stay safe- and I’m not certain Mister Potter is going to lead a life conducive to that.”

Ron feels his fingernails digging into the plush of the chair’s arms. There’s an ominous creaking sound and he forces himself to relax, not willing to try and explain away a broken chair to the man. His wolf is baying for blood, and it’s taking a lot to keep the growl from his voice as he says, “I understand completely, sir.”

The Headmaster nods, the twinkle in his eyes back in full force.

The twinkle dims as Ron continues, “and I’ll do my very best to keep Harry out of trouble- after all, that’s what friends are for.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the Headmaster says, inclining his head. Ron isn’t so sure that’s true, but he isn’t about to call the man on it. Dumbledore continues, saying, “I’ll let you go now. Have a good day.”

“You too, sir,” Ron says before he stands up and leaves. His wolf is railing against him in his chest, and he finds he can’t blame it. He can’t blame it, but he can’t afford to give in, either.

After all- Ron has work to do. Starting with looking up whatever this ‘legilimency’ thing is. Harry’s almost certainly going to need to know how to counter that- and if that means Ron has to do research, then so be it.

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Hermione says, leaning into Ron. “Explanation now.”

To an outsider, it would look like they’re huddling for warmth. Ron knows better- he’s managed to put it off, but Hermione wants answers, and apparently she has decided the best time to ask for said answers is in the middle of a quidditch game, surrounded by half of the school.

“I’ve already told you,” Ron protests. “It was the adrenaline. I’m lucky to be alive, even.”

“Was it adrenaline when you managed to hear Filch before me or Harry that night with the stupid duel set up Malfoy pulled, then got us back without running into anyone else? Or what about how you didn’t die during the troll thing, huh? I’ve replayed the memory a bunch of times- that troll hit you. Twice. I heard a crack. And what about all those family things you’ve had?”

“There have only been two so far,” Ron mutters. Stupid eid-whatever memory.

“I know something isn’t adding up,” Hermione says, bulldozing straight past his (admittedly weak) protests. “And it isn’t just you- on the train, Percy managed to find Trevor in less than five minutes!”

Ron takes back any kind thought he’s ever had about his older brother ever.

Ron casts around desperately, but there’s no help to be found. The twins are in the air, Percy is next to Lee in the announcer’s box watching Oliver dart around… the only other person that Ron even knows is Neville on his other side, who’s watching Harry through binoculars and either resolutely ignoring the whispered discussion Hermione and Ron are having, or is genuinely that worried about Harry falling to his death.

“How about I tell you later,” Ron suggests.

“How about you tell me now?”

“You don’t actually need to know everything all the time, you know,” Ron snaps. He didn’t mean to, but his patience is running thin, and his wolf is straining against his control.

Hermione’s face crumples, then she draws herself up, smoothing her expression over. “Well then,” she starts.

“Guys,” Neville says, turning to look at them. His eyes are huge. “Harry- he’s-”

Ron and Hermione turn as one. It’s not hard to locate Harry- he’s the one that’s hanging on for dear life, on a bucking broom that’s more than fifty feet off the ground.

Ron turns to look at Hermione, at a loss as to what to do, but the girl is already moving- she snatches the binoculars from Neville (who has to lean over to allow for her to use them, since they’re still hanging from around his neck) and is scanning the field. Or, no- she’s watching the stands. Where the faculty is seated.

“What-” Ron starts, struggling to breathe evenly as he sees Harry nearly lose his grip entirely. His wolf is howling in his chest, and Ron is having a hard time keeping a good grip on it.

“Student can’t-” Hermione says, a bit breathlessly. “Has to- Snape- he’s- come on, we don’t have time!”

Hermione grabs onto Ron and Neville, and starts pulling them. They struggle with the crowd at first, but then people get a good look at Ron’s face and something (probably the glare that feels like it’s bordering on feral) makes them get out of the trio’s way. Ron thinks he sees a Hufflepuff actually throw themselves onto a friend to avoid being in their path.

As they run, Ron decides that he has maybe two choices: come clean to Hermione, or research memory charms (and Ron already has one research project, since the Headmaster can read minds). She’s just too damn smart, she’ll have it figured out in no time.

“Hermione,” Ron gasps out. “I’m sorry- I’ll tell you-”

“Not now, Ronald,” Hermione says, looking back at him. Her expression is stormy, but Ron thinks he sees a flicker of relief in her expression.

They make it to behind the teacher’s stands in record time. It’s cooler back here, and blessedly the outside sounds are muffled. Not by a lot, but there is a difference. Hermione lets go of Ron and Neville and procures her wand, expression determined as she fixes her stare on the edge of Snape’s cloak, creeping ever closer.

Ron feels suddenly frozen. Not because he’s got cold feet (if anyone deserves to get whatever it is Hermione is about to dole out, it’s Snape), but because-

Ron’s never been afraid of snakes, but something about the sound of this hissing has his blood turned to ice in his veins and the hair on his arms sticking straight up. His wolf lets out a little whimper- he might as well, he isn’t sure.

“Hermione,” Neville says, voice sounding urgent. He’s staring at Ron, face pale and drawn.

“What?” Hermione whispers back, whirling around.

Wordlessly, Ron points a shaking finger up at where Quirrell is sitting, just behind Snape. There’s no doubt about it. The hissing is coming from their Defense professor. In fact, Ron is surprised no one else is hearing it- it feels so pervasive, so overwhelming, that it’s making Ron feel like he’s drowning as he stands there in the dim light under the stands.

Hermione doesn’t even ask- she just acts. Quick as a flash, she’s turned her wand on Quirrell’s pant leg, and is muttering a quiet incantation. A wisp of smoke curls up, and the smell of garlic is replaced momentarily with the smell of burning fabric.

Then- chaos. Quirrell shrieks, the sound ringing in Ron’s ear, and someone swears. Snape, maybe. The hissing has stopped, and Ron feels like he can breathe again.

“Time to go,” Neville decides, grabbing onto Ron and tugging him away. Hermione follows closely behind, pushing a little as she does in her haste.

“Well,” Hermione says as they hurry back to their seats, “if it wasn’t actually Quirrell, there’s no way that didn’t distract the actual culprit.”

“It was Quirrell,” Ron says- he feels a little sick. Physically ill.

What the hell was in that hissing?

Hermione purses her lips, but for once in her life, doesn’t ask the questions Ron knows she must have.

“Guys,” Neville says, sounding urgent once more. “Harry, look-”

Ron and Hermione turn just in time to see their friend fall into- Ron’s jaw drops. Either Harry is plummeting to his death, or that’s the steepest dive Ron has ever seen. Hermione’s hand is suddenly clutching Ron’s in a vice-like grip that has his bones protesting even despite the whole werewolf thing.

Ron’s heart leaps into his throat as he sees Harry shoot towards the ground, and then falls into his stomach as he sees Harry pull up at the very last second, managing only just to slow his descent enough to keep from splattering into the ground. The tiny (who let him on a broom in the first place, honestly) boy tumbles off his broom, somersaults a couple times, and then sits up, looking dazed even from a distance.

Ron is already running for the pitch. As he goes, he hears the crowd erupt into chaos- there’s booing and cheering alike. That doesn’t matter right now, though- what matters is Harry.

Ron skids to a stop just before reaching the pitch itself, blinking at the scene in front of him. He sees Harry being hoisted into the air by his brothers, and an excited Oliver is cheering and jumping around. The other team members look just as elated- and Harry himself has the biggest smile Ron’s ever seen him wear as he pumps the snitch (he’d done it! He’d caught the snitch!) in the air.

Hermione and Neville come up behind Ron, both out of breath.

“He’s okay,” Ron hears himself say. He turns to Hermione. “You did it- Hermione, you-”

“Don’t be daft,” Hermione says, shaking her head. “It was a team-effort.”

“Hermione,” Ron says. There’s no one around- they’re either on the pitch or still on the stands. If he’s going to tell her, it’s going to be now. “About the family-stuff-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione says, waving him off.

“I’m- what?” Ron says, blinking. That’s… she’s been going on about this for months, did she really just change her mind, just like that?

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione repeats. “It’s not really my business. Let’s go talk to Harry, yeah? He needs to know about the murder attempt.”

Ron feels whatever disbelieving statement he was going to say next die in his throat. Murder attempt. Right. Because that is what that was, isn’t it?

Neville looks just as queasy as Ron suddenly feels. Oh right- Neville. Whoops. It’s a good thing Ron hadn’t told Hermione after all. He’d somehow forgotten Neville was standing right there.

Hermione nods her head towards where Harry is still being hoisted in the air by the twins (at this point, it seems like the other team members have gone to celebrate with their respective friends), and with lack of a better option, Ron goes to follow her.

“It was Quirrell,” Neville whispers. “Right?”

“He was hissing,” Ron says, shivering. “It was- it sounded evil, Nev.”

Neville nods once, a determined look on his face despite the fact that he’s so pale his face looks bloodless. Then he hurries to catch up to Hermione.

Harry catches sight of them, and instantly starts struggling to get down from his perch.

“Not so fast,” Fred says, reaching up and putting a hand on Harry’s arm, keeping him stuck.

“Ground is for kids that don’t give their brothers mid-air panic-attacks,” George agrees, nodding his head solemnly. Ron is inclined to agree- maybe not with the ruling, but definitely with the sentiment.

Harry pauses momentarily, a confused expression on his face.

“Harry, jump!” Ron says, waving his hands.

The confused expression turns into one of delight and Harry uses the twins to launch himself up and over to Ron, who catches him far easier than he should have been able to, werewolf or not. Merlin, it’s like Harry hasn’t had a single meal in his life.

Despite this, Ron plasters a grin on his face as Harry laughs. Hermione and Neville crowd around, helping keep Harry up- not that Ron needs the help.

“Don’t let him touch the ground!” Fred cries, waving his arms.

“If he touches the ground he explodes,” George agrees.

“That’s enough,” McGonagall says, appearing very suddenly.

Ron puts Harry on the ground, feeling sheepish.

“Kaboom,” whispers Fred. George elbows him, and Fred sticks his tongue out at his brother.

“Mister Potter,” McGonagall says.

Harry goes stiff besides Ron, and it takes a lot not to push the boy behind him in the face of their stern head-of-house.

“Congratulations,” McGonagall says, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

Harry relaxes, and Ron does too. Behind him, he can almost sense the twins standing down as well.

“Now. Do you have any idea as to what your broom was doing?”

Harry shakes his head quickly. “I’ve never felt anything like it, Professor- it’s like someone else was trying to grab control, almost.”

McGonagall’s lips thin into a little white slash across her face. “I see. Very well- rest assured, this will be looked into. Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?”

Harry shakes his head again. “I’m alright, Professor.”

“That was quite the tumble,” McGonagall presses.

“I’m good at falling,” Harry says, a bit proudly.

Hermione’s eyes narrow, and Ron feels a growl rumble deep in his chest. That sure sounds like something someone who’s used to being pushed around would be good at.

“Professor, if it’s all the same to you, I think Harry ought to go anyway,” Percy says. “It is better to be safe than to be sorry, after all.”

Ron jumps, and he sees the twins start as well. Looks like none of them had heard their brother come up from behind them. Ron scowls. Percy has always been uncannily good at popping up unexpectedly. Ron’s beginning to think Percy’s charmed, or something.

Harry shoots a glare at Percy, who is clearly completely unbothered by it.

McGonagall hesitates, then shakes her head. “If Mister Potter says he’s alright, I’m inclined to believe him.”

Percy nods his head. Ron sighs- he thinks he might agree with Percy on this one. He’d felt Harry’s ribs through his uniform- and based on the looks the twins are sharing with each other, they had too.

“Let’s go get lunch,” Ron says instead of voicing any of those concerns. “I’m starving.”

Chapter Text

“Say, Percy,” Ron starts, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

It’s been all of two days since the quidditch game, and so far Harry, Hermione, and Neville haven’t been able to think of a single thing to do about the Quirrell situation. Ron can’t either- which is why he’s now turning to his brothers.

When he’d suggested that, Hermione had gotten such a relieved look on her face that Ron had almost laughed- she’d been the one pushing for them to go to a teacher, but after Dumbledore and Quirrell, Ron is disinclined to trust any adult that isn’t his mum or dad right now.

(Neville and Harry both had been a bit hesitant, but Hermione had won them over via logic- namely that the worst thing that could happen if they tell is that they get dismissed as silly children, whereas the worst thing that could happen if they don’t tell is that Quirrell manages to kill Harry.)

But then regular life had gotten in the way, and Ron hasn’t been able to ask his brothers- until now, after class has let out for the day.

Percy looks up from the book he’d been reading. “Yes?”

“Can you call a family meeting? I think we need to talk,” Ron says.

Percy’s eyes go narrowed, and they flash golden for all of half a second before he snaps the book he’d been reading closed. “I’ll find the twins. You get Harry, and we’ll all meet at the library.”

Ron smiles and nods, feeling relief flood over him. Percy is going to take care of things now- it’s out of Ron’s hands.

Ron jogs up the stairs to his dorm, where he’s ninety-percent sure Harry is. He slips inside, closing the door softly behind him.

“Harry?” He calls.

“He’s taking a nap,” Seamus says from where he’s reading at the foot of his bed.

Ron winces at the thought of waking Harry up, but- well, a family meeting is a family meeting, so…

“Harry,” Ron says again, sliding the bed canopy to the side.

Harry is already awake- he’s a light sleeper, so he’d probably woken up the first time Ron had said his name. That said, he’s clearly not all the way awake: his glasses are askew on his face, there’s lines on his cheek from where he’d been pressing his face into his pillow, and his already ridiculously crazy hair has somehow doubled in volume.

“Whazzat?” Harry says, automatically reaching up and patting his hair down.

“Family meeting,” Ron says. “Library.”

“Family- what?” Harry asks, looking more awake, but also more confused.

“Percy’s calling a family meeting,” Ron repeats. He’s not sure what part Harry’s getting stuck on here- it’s pretty straight-forward, he thinks.

“Oh- okay?” Harry says.

He makes no move to get up, though, and Ron lets out a huff. His wolf feels as antsy as he does. If they can’t figure this out tonight, they’ll have to suffer through Defense tomorrow- and Ron isn’t willing to risk Harry over that.

“Do you want to walk down together or not?”

Harry blinks. He must be more asleep than Ron had thought.

“Harry?”

“Um. Together?” It sounds like a question, but Ron will take what he can get.

Ron nods, and Harry slides out of bed, casting about for his shoes. Ron waits, albeit a bit impatiently, but at last they’re on their way down to the library.

“What, um,” Harry starts.

“The Quirrell thing, remember?” Ron says.

“Oh,” Harry says, confusion finally clearing from his face. “And I’m a witness, so I need to be there.”

“I’d argue that you’re a target,” Ron says, “but yes. And because it’s a family meeting.”

The confusion is back, but Ron is too distracted by the sudden appearance of the twins to dwell on that. They’ve clearly been running, which puts Ron on high alert- Ron and his wolf.

“Ron,” Fred gasps out, reaching out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry.”

“You have to help us,” George says, leaning on Ron. “We think Percy is after us-”

“We don’t have the slightest idea as to why-”

“But it was hypothetically a big one-”

“And he really might kill us this time,” Fred finishes.

“He’s trying to call a family meeting,” Ron says, rolling his eyes.

The twins pause, then straighten up in one smooth, synchronized movement.

“Oh,” George says. “Right.”

“We knew that,” Fred adds.

“Good, you found them,” Percy says.

They all four jump.

“How do you do that?” Ron asks, scowling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Percy sniffs. “Library. Come on, we’re not far.”

“Thank Merlin Perce is here to guide us,” Fred says.

“Otherwise we might have never found our way there,” George agrees.

Harry giggles, then slams a hand over his mouth.

“I’m looking forward to stepping foot in the library for the first time ever,” Fred continues, trying and failing to hide a smile at Harry’s reaction.

“Maybe I’ll finally start passing my classes!” George says.

“One can only dream,” Percy says dryly.

Harry laughs for real this time, and Ron can’t help but join in. The twins are radiating smugness- they tend to do that when they manage to get a laugh out of their brothers.

Percy rolls his eyes, but Ron thinks it’s fond.

They make it to the library without any major disasters, and Percy herds them to an isolated table near the back. It’s right next to a massive window overlooking the lake, and the view is rather spectacular for a room on the ground level of the school. It’s quiet, and there seems to be… a personal bookcase of some sort next to it?

Ron’s arms prickle as they go to sit down, and he whips his head up to look at Percy.

“Bill,” Percy explains. “It’s attuned to the family, but as long as you come with, you can let anyone through.”

“Wicked,” Ron breathes.

That would explain why it’s not already been snatched up by any other students- Ron can’t be sure, but it seems to him that this is as close to a perfect table as one could get in the library. Hermione is going to be ecstatic.

“Wait, first the woods, and now this- are there any other wards Bill left laying around the place?” Ron asks.

Percy shrugs. “I haven’t found any others- but I can’t say for sure.”

“Yes,” the twins say at the same time.

Percy looks over at them. “Where?”

“No way,” Fred says.

“You have to find it yourself,” George agrees, crossing his arms. “Bill said so.”

Percy huffs out a sigh. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the twins say.

“What’s this about, anyways?” George asks.

Percy jerks his head over at Ron. “Ask him- he asked me to call the meeting.”

“Quirrell- er, there is a privacy charm built into the wards, right?” Ron asks.

Percy nods, leaning forward. “What about Quirrell?”

“He tried to kill Harry,” Ron says, feeling a scowl slip onto his face.

He can almost sense his wolf pawing miserably at its snout- neither it nor Ron have been very happy with letting the issue go on as long as it has.

At the mention of his name, Harry starts- he’d been staring off into the distance, clearly checked out of the conversation until now.

“He tried to what,” Percy growls- and it is more of a growl than a voice.

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry says quickly.

Ron stares, and Harry looks away. Ron cannot believe this kid- ‘not a big deal’? Merlin’s balls.

“Bullshit,” George snaps- his eyes are golden.

(He’s just old enough for that to start happening, which both Ron and Fred are all insanely jealous about. Although Ron doesn’t know why Fred bothers to care- as if his eyes aren’t going to start flashing any day now.)

“Not a big deal,” Fred repeats, eyes narrowed at the tiny boy. There’s a clear warning note in his tone that has Harry avoiding his gaze.

“We’ll address that later,” Percy decides before turning to look at Ron and Harry. “Explain. Is this about the broom?”

“And the troll, we think,” Ron says. “Quirrell was acting scared, but-”

“Ever since Halloween he keeps staring at Ron,” Harry says, irritated. Because of course he’s more upset about that than the actual attempt on his literal life. Ron’s scowl deepens.

“Like he’s mad Ron ruined all his hard work, or something,” Harry continues.

“Getting a troll around a castle without anyone noticing is really difficult,” Fred muses.

“Would be,” George cuts in, shooting a severe look at Fred.

“Would be really difficult,” Fred says, not missing a beat.

“We’re addressing that later too,” Percy warns. The twins shrug, clearly not too broken up about the idea.

“So, Quirrell tried to kill Harry. Now what?” George asks.

“Wait, aren’t you- are you just taking our word for it?” Harry asks, looking startled.

“Yes,” the three say simultaneously, the twins matter-of-factly and Percy as though Harry is a bit daft for thinking they’d do anything but.

“Although, you should tell us what you know so we have a better idea of the situation,” Percy continues.

Harry blinks. There’s a baffled look on his face.

“Hermione realized that someone must be cursing Harry’s broom,” Ron says, “and she figured it must be an adult. She thought it was Snape because he was making eye contact and saying something, but when she went to light him on fire-”

“Ah,” Percy says.

“What,” Harry asks, clearly gearing up to defend Hermione’s actions.

“Nothing,” Percy says hurriedly. “Just- I’d been wondering why the Hat placed her in Gryffindor, and now I know.”

“Ron sure knows how to pick em,” Fred snorts.

Ron doesn't bother to take offense- Fred is right, after all. Ron does know how to pick them.

“As I was saying,” Ron says, “when she went to light him on fire, I heard this awful hissing noise coming from Quirrell- no one else could hear it, so it must have been too low for the others to register, but it was horrible. It made me want to throw up.”

Percy nods, gesturing for Ron to continue. Harry looks a bit confused, but Ron thinks Harry might just be in a baffled sort of mood today.

“Anyways, Hermione lit him on fire instead, which is right when Harry got control over his broom back.”

“And my scar hurts during his classes,” Harry pipes up, then shrinks in on himself again as he’s on the receiving end of four wide-eyed stares.

“Your scar hurts?” Percy clarifies.

Harry nods, absently rubbing at the pale lines that branch across his forehead. “I thought it was just the garlic smell causing my head to hurt-”

“You and me both,” George mutters.

“But normal headaches aren’t usually centered on scars,” Harry continues, brow furrowed. “And it hurt during the feast, too, when I caught his eyes-” Harry cuts himself off with a gasp.

Ron feels his heart skip a beat as a bolt of fear has him sitting straight up. “You don’t think-”

“That legilimency stuff you were talking about,” Harry says, green eyes huge. “I’ll bet he was using it on me!”

“Well,” Percy says grimly, looking a bit ill. “No more of meeting his gaze for Harry, then.”

“No more of interacting with him for Harry!” Fred bursts out.

“What are we going to do?” George asks, looking panicked.

“I mean, he hasn’t tried anything outright,” Harry starts, and then sits back as he’s once again on the receiving end of four stares- although this time, they’re distinctly unimpressed ones.

“Fred,” Percy starts, a thoughtful expression on his face, “George- have you explored the third-floor corridor yet?”

“Of course not,” George says, looking and sounding offended.

“Unless you promise not to tell on us,” Fred adds, raising an eyebrow.

“This is family stuff,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to lecture you- I just want to know if you figured out what was going on with it.”

“Do you think it has something to do with Quirrell?” Ron asks.

“Maybe,” Percy says. “I can’t think as to why he’d have let loose that troll on Halloween otherwise- it had to have been a distraction, and I heard a couple ghosts talking about a treasure-”

“Here,” Fred says, tossing a little package at Percy.

Percy catches it, looking surprised. Harry gasps again.

“That- I’ve seen that package before!” Harry says. “Hagrid pulled it from Gringotts when he took me to get my supplies- he said it was for Dumbledore.”

“Gringotts?” Ron says, filing the fact that Hagrid took Harry to get his supplies away for later. “Huh. Reckon it’s valuable?”

“We don’t know what it does,” George says, shrugging, “but that’s what was at the end.”

“The end?” Percy asks, unwrapping the paper package.

He looks down at whatever it is for a moment, then rewraps it up and slips it into his pocket. Ron doesn’t comment- as far as he’s concerned, as long as the twins don’t care, then neither does he.

“It was an obstacle course,” Fred says, rolling his eyes. “A shit one, too- the only really difficult part was the giant chess game.”

“Hard for us,” George says, sounding miserable. “I hate chess.”

Damn- now Ron is feeling like he’s missed out. Maybe he’ll swing by later to check it out, see if the chess board is still set up.

“And the mirror was a bit tricky,” George continues.

“The Cerberus would be hard for someone else,” Fred muses.

Maybe Ron doesn’t actually want to swing by to check it out after all.

“Aw, George, George Two, and Fred? He’s nothing but a softie,” George says.

Percy buries his face in his hands. “Mum should be given a medal for raising you two,” he mutters.

“Hey, watch it,” Fred snaps.

“Yeah- Dad did his part,” George says, scowling. “He should get one too!”

Percy mutters something about how he should get a medal, but then sits up and sighs. “Okay- so. Quirrell is trying to kill Harry, and steal the- the package. Why.”

“Does it matter?” Fred asks, leaning back in his chair. “I say we kill him and be done with it.”

Ron forgets, sometimes, that Fred routinely has to borrow George’s moral compass.

“We can’t just kill Quirrell,” George says, demonstrating that fact perfectly.

“I agree with George,” Harry says quickly.

“We could tell Mum,” Ron suggests.

There’s a long moment of quiet.

“I’ll write to her,” Percy decides. “In the meantime, Harry doesn’t go anywhere alone.”

Ron nods, and sees Fred and George do the same.

“What about the moons?” George asks.

“What?” Harry asks.

He’s ignored as Ron and the others think.

“Don’t suppose we could take him with us?” Fred asks.

Percy shakes his head. “Too dangerous- Mum would have our heads.”

“What?” Harry asks again.

“Is Oliver any good at dueling?” George asks. “Could he watch him?”

Percy makes a so/so motion. “He’s alright- I wouldn’t go so far as to say we should trust him with this, though.”

“We could leave him with Fred, Fred Two, and George,” Fred suggests.

“The cerberus?” Ron says, looking at him in disbelief.

“We’ll just have to make sure he stays in the dorm,” Percy decides, ignoring them. “You will stay in the dorms, won’t you?”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Harry says.

That seems to be good enough for Percy, who nods. “Good plan- family meeting adjourned. Wait, Fred, George, what troll were you talking about?”

Fred and George look at each other, and then back at Percy.

“Too late,” Fred says.

“You adjourned the meeting,” George says.

With that, they run off, an irate Percy stalking after the two of them as he mumbles under his breath about OWLS and medals.

“I’m really lost,” Harry says again.

“You’ll get used to it,” Ron says- after all, his family can be a bit overwhelming.

Chapter Text

Percy,

I have reached out to Dumbledore regarding your concerns. To the surprise of no one, he has dismissed them.

Unfortunately, until we have solid evidence we cannot afford to take our own action against Quirrell. Keep a close watch on that man, keep Harry nearby, and if Quirrell does try something- rip the man's head off.

I’d tell you to keep your brothers safe- only, I already know you will.

With love,

Mum

At the bottom of the (surprisingly short) letter, there's a postscript in Ginny's handwriting:

P.S. Percy, if you can't keep Harry Potter alive long enough for me to meet him and then wrestle him to death, I'll never forgive you.

P.P.S. In case it wasn't clear, I'm wrestling him to death because then basically I'm the one who defeated You-Know-Who, if you really think about it.

Well. At least that ridiculous crush of hers seems to be gone.

Percy sighs, leaning back in his chair and wincing as he does. The moon is in less than a week, and his bones feel as though they’re rubbing up against themselves- Percy tries not to feel like he’s being eroded, but it’s a losing battle.

He hates this. Hates being a werewolf. Not only are his prospects completely shot if it ever gets out, but the pain- he hurts, hurts all of the time. And he’s going to be like this for the rest of his life. It’s been almost four years exactly now, since his life has been ruined- and all because of some-

Percy closes his eyes, breathing in and out through his nose, trying to keep himself from getting pulled into the images he can feel dancing on the edge of his awareness.

He’s too late.

A giant shape in the night- what seem like hundreds of jagged fangs jutting out from a gaping maw, glistening in the moonlight and dripping saliva onto Percy’s face- he struggles in vain to breath or move or think as he’s pinned under its massive claws- all he can see in the darkness besides those horrible teeth is one glowing golden eye seeming as big as a moon itself; bloodshot and staring unblinking at Percy, getting closer and closer and closer- a scream-

“Percy?”

Percy exhales in a rush, feeling himself come back to the here and now. His heart is racing, and his hands are freezing cold. Percy scowls, clasping his hands together, willing them to warm back up again. He’s shaking, but that could just be the moon.

Percy looks up from his hands and into the face of Oliver. He looks worried.

“Are you alright?”

Percy forces his hands to still, and nods. “Yes- sorry. Just… thinking.”

Oliver’s mouth turns down at the corners, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he says, “are you coming to dinner? Only, you missed lunch, and breakfast, so-”

Percy has more important things to worry about then dinner right now, and he nearly tells the other boy as much. But then he stops himself.

He is shaky, and now that he thinks about it, lightheaded and a bit nauseous. Food… isn’t the worst idea. Plus, this way he can make sure Harry’s safe- check in with his other brothers, double-check that everyone is doing their part in not letting Harry be alone and unguarded.

Percy nods in agreement and goes to stand up. He feels his heart skip a beat at the relieved smile Oliver sends his way despite himself.

“I’ll walk with you,” Oliver decides.

Percy tries not to limp as he walks through the halls. Usually the moons aren’t quite so bad as all this, but between being a prefect, being a werewolf, the OWLs he’s trying to score, and keeping his brothers alive- well, Percy thinks that maybe the stress isn’t helping things, is all. And next year Ginny will be in school, and she's almost as bad as the twins, especially when paired with Luna-

A muscle in Percy’s leg spasms and he almost falls, biting back a curse. Maybe if his parents could afford the ingredients to make the pain potions, this whole ordeal wouldn’t be so horrible. As it is, they barely have enough for the twins and Ron. (Although Percy would rather die before letting the twins know that he’s been giving them his share, they’d never let him live it down.)

Ah well. Once he figures out how the damn Philosopher’s Stone works, they won’t have to worry about money ever again. Assuming it is the Stone- although if it is the real deal, why it’s here at all is beyond Percy.

Percy nearly falls again and Oliver not-so-casually reaches an arm out and links it with Percy’s, so they’re walking arm-in-arm. Percy tries not to lean on Oliver, but gives in after just a moment. It’s a relief, and one that Oliver is offering it freely.

It’s times like these that make Percy think Oliver might know more than he lets on about Percy’s… condition. He does things like that- getting things for Percy so Percy doesn’t have to move, seeking him out to get him to eat, offering a quiet support all around. It honestly makes Percy want to throw up a little bit thanks to the tangle of emotions that creates, so Percy mostly tries not to think about it all that much.

That’s his strategy for a lot of things- if it’s not relevant, or otherwise stupid or gets in the way, he’s not thinking about it. Easy as that.

Another flash of that golden eye in his mind has Percy gritting his teeth and shoving it into the back of his mind. Well. Not so easy, maybe.

Percy has considered officially telling Oliver, but- well, if Percy ever wants to be Minister, it’s better that no one knows. It'd be a prime blackmailing opportunity, and just because the Oliver of today is the kind of person who would rather die than blackmail anyone over anything doesn’t mean he’ll be that Oliver in five, ten years. No- no one can know.

Of course, becoming Minister at all is a pipe-dream at best, because Percy is a werewolf, thanks to that damnable one-eyed-

He doesn’t notice his breathing quickening until Oliver gives his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Just thinking?” Oliver asks, a teasing tone in his voice despite the worry still evident on his face.

Percy clears his throat, pushing the memories (nightmares?) away once more. “Just thinking,” he agrees.

Stupid moon.

The moon itself is… bad, as it usually is. Worse, even, since this time Percy is stressed about Harry the whole time- and based on his brothers’ expressions and the tense way they react to everything, they are too.

“And you’re positive he’ll stay put,” George presses as they all four sit in the forest, waiting for the moon. “Harry- well, me and Fred are on the quidditch team with him, so we know better than most that he’s not exactly the most careful person on the planet.”

Fred nods earnestly. Percy wonders if they feel responsible for the absolutely suicidal dives Harry keeps attempting during practice- Percy hopes they do. Maybe they’ll try to do something about it. Percy has tried to talk to Oliver about it, but Oliver has far too much faith in Harry.

Ron blows out a puff of air, then sighs. “I have Nev keeping an eye on him, and Harry- he’s reckless, but he’s not stupid. He’ll stay put.”

“Does Neville know?” Percy asks, feeling a burst of panic.

Ron levels a steady glare at him. “No,” he says coldly. “I’m not an idiot. Nev is just a good bloke- he doesn’t ask questions.”

Percy nods, feeling a pang of guilt for doubting his second-to-youngest brother (Harry is younger than Ron by a couple months, and Percy knows Ron is secretly elated at not being the baby-that's-not-Ginny anymore).

Percy squashes the guilt- it had been a fair question, and if Ron had answered in the affirmative then they’d have had to work quickly to do damage-control. There’s a reason Percy has researched memory charms.

And then the moon rises, and Percy is focused less on his brothers and how safe they may or may not be, and more on not screaming.

Bill has sound-proofed the wards, but it’s the principle of the thing. His whole family is like this- they might be werewolves, and be beholden to a stupid curse that forces them into the shape of a monster once a month, but they’re damn well not going to scream about it.

Percy would scoff at the shallowness, but- well, he does it too. Anything for the illusion of control.

The transformation ends, but before Percy can process anything that’s going on, he’s waking up covered in dirt, staring blankly at the early-morning sky. There’s frost on the ground- Bill’s wardwork keeps most of the worst weather out, but he wasn’t able to do much about the temperature.

Every single moon Percy thinks the worst part about being a werewolf is the lead up to the transformation. And then every single moon Percy is forcibly reminded that it’s actually the aftermath, the waking up feeling like if you just think hard enough, you’d be able to remember the night. Percy never can- it’s impossible, and he knows it. It makes him feel hollow.

“Everyone alive?” Percy calls despite the scratchiness in his throat and the pounding in his head. He sits up, scowling at the world for daring to spin as he does.

His brothers sound off and Percy feels some tension bleed from his muscles. He always wakes up like this from the moons- positive that something terrible has happened in the night, something that he wouldn’t even be able to remember.

Something to do with a one-eyed monster.

Percy doesn’t know what would happen if he lost one of his brothers- if he’d stay human long enough to feel the emptiness hit, or if he’d just turn back into the wolf and stay that way right off the bat.

They all four make quick work of getting dressed. On the way back, Fred and George are not-so-subtly supporting a pale-faced and shaking Ron between them, despite the fact that they don’t look much better off.

Percy stomps down on the feeling of dull rage he feels at seeing his baby brother (as much as Ron would like to think otherwise, Harry being younger and smaller doesn’t mean that Ron isn’t still the baby brother- just that Percy now has two of those) and resolutely keeps walking.

He tries not to think about the tendrils of guilt that are curling around the edge of his squashed feelings. It is not Percy’s fault that his brothers are werewolves. They made their choice. The wrong choice, but they’d made it nonetheless.

“What are we going to do about Christmas?” Ron asks suddenly.

There’s a moment of quiet in the woods as Percy and the others think. He doesn’t need to ask Ron what he’s talking about, because he knows. In fact, he’s annoyed he hasn’t thought to consider it before.

“Will Harry have to go back to his relatives?” George asks.

“We can’t let him do that,” Fred says, shaking his head.

“We won’t,” Percy says, feeling a growl rumble deep in his chest. He swallows it down, feeling a bit disturbed- even this close after the moon, it isn’t like him to be so… wolf-y.

“Can we take him home with us?” Ron asks. “I haven’t asked Mum yet, but I’m sure that’s what she’s expecting.”

Percy grimaces. “I don’t know if that will be allowed,” he says.

“By who?” Fred demands.

“Dumbledore,” Percy says. He’s sure his eyes flash gold, and he stamps down on the impulse to lean into it.

“Why does Dumbledore get any say in the matter?” Ron asks, scowling.

“He’s Harry’s magical guardian,” Percy says.

“How do you know that?” George asks, brow furrowed.

“We might just have to stay at school with him,” Percy continues. “I’m sure Mum and Dad and Gin won’t mind too much, so long as it’s to keep Harry safe.”

George and Fred share an irritated look, obviously annoyed that Percy had ignored the question. Percy doesn’t care.

As if he’d tell them. The twins don’t need more resources than they already have- that stupid Map alone is enough to make Percy want to get his hands on whoever those ‘Marauders’ were and strangle them to death.

The truth is that he’d been curious, and decided on asking Hagrid- Percy doesn’t just love spending time with the giant man, but he is a useful well of information. Between the groundskeeper, the ghosts, and the Elves, Percy is able to know a lot more than he lets on- especially about the castle itself.

It’s useful stuff, and Percy isn’t about to tell anyone about it. If they can’t think to use the resources readily available to them, then that’s not Percy’s problem. Privately, he enjoys the upper hand it gives him. Knowing the castle in and out like he does makes his job as a prefect much simpler.

Certainly makes it easier to sneak up on his brothers; in any case.

Chapter Text

“So, Harry has an invisibility cloak now, and he keeps waking up crying because of that mirror he found,” Ron growls.

Ron does that a lot, Harry’s realized- growls, that is. And there really isn’t a different word for it. In fact, now that Harry has met Ron, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to hear someone say something and think of it as a ‘growl’ ever again. Not unless they’re a Weasley, apparently- since the other three do it too.

“I’m almost positive Dumbledore engineered that one, by the way,” Ron continues. “Because why else would it be in some random classroom, and not at the end of the obstacle course? Probably some stupid test of character, or something.”

“Yeah, it was probably Dumbledore,” Harry agrees, yawning. “He wanted to know what I saw in it.”

Ron had been livid when he’d learned that Harry had snuck off using his cloak, but Harry had been feeling a bit suffocated. They’d had a fight over that that had lasted all of two hours, before they decided it was too much work fighting and decided to play exploding snaps instead. Not before Ron had made Harry promise not to do it again, though- at least, not without him.

Harry yawns again, the fire of the Gryffindor common room warming his face to the point where it’s almost uncomfortable. He blinks out the dryness in his eyes- he’d forgotten to blink again, staring into the flames.

He still shudders when he thinks about the mirror, about its empty promises that made him feel sick to his stomach. Which is why he’s not planning on thinking about it anymore. Never again.

Now if only he could get that message to his subconscious.

“I can’t leave you two alone for one second,” Hermione grouses, running a hand through her hair to try and untangle some of the curls. “Also, an invisibility cloak? Aren’t those really rare?”

Ron snorts. Hermione levels a glare at him, and he shrugs. “It’s just- it took you less than five seconds to go from irritated to academically curious.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, but there's a smile tugging at her lips as well.

Harry feels a smile twitch at his lips too- he hadn’t thought Hermione would ever be a friend, but turns out she’s one of the coolest people in the whole school. How lucky is he? First Ron, then Neville, now Hermione… if the trade off for that is having to deal with Malfoy and Snape and (to a surprisingly lesser extent considering all the murder-y stuff) Quirrell- well, Harry can’t bring himself to mind at all. It’s better than the Dursleys in any case.

Although, anything would be better than the Durselys.

Harry realizes that Hermione is looking at him expectantly, and he casts his mind back as to what she might be… oh right, the cloak.

“The note said it’s an heirloom,” Harry says, turning to face his friends a little better.

He doesn’t really want anyone to know about the cloak- except for Ron and Hermione and Neville, of course. Fortunately, the common room is surprisingly empty, and the few students that are hanging around are embroiled in their own conversations and studies, so Harry isn’t worried about being overheard. Neville isn’t here, though- he’s gone to bed early.

“Also,” Harry continues, thinking even further back on the conversation, “you don’t need to talk about me like I’m not right here.”

“You don’t think the mirror was that big of a deal,” Ron counters, eyes narrowed. “So you don’t get a say in the matter anymore.”

Harry doesn’t really have a response for that, so instead he sticks his tongue out at Ron, who responds in kind. It’s not that he doesn’t think the mirror isn’t a big deal, it’s just- it could be worse.

He could be at the Dursleys, for example, and not a magical school for magical students where they learn magic.

The next couple months go by without much fanfare, other than the quidditch game that Harry wins handily. Even Malfoy seems to back off a bit- he’s seemed almost subdued since Christmas.

Although, of course, right after the quidditch game was the conversation Harry saw in the forest between Quirrell and Snape- which had sent Hermione into a bit of a panic-y spiral that ended in the four of them deciding that Quirrell was most definitely after whatever the treasure is, and that they should ultimately stop worrying about it.

After all, the treasure isn’t actually in the third floor corridor any longer, thanks to the twins- Quirrell can’t steal what isn’t there.

Hermione had briefly been worried about Quirrell figuring out that Percy has it, but Harry had pointed out that the conversation he’d overheard makes it sound like Quirrell isn’t anywhere near close to figuring out even the first obstacle, much less the other ones- and in order for him to even start to figure out the treasure is with Percy, he has to get to the end of the obstacle course first. Hermione had relaxed after that.

(The twins are, come to find out, scary competent- so it’s not really a surprise that they managed to figure out the entire course while Quirrell is stuck on the first step.)

To be extra sure, Harry and Ron had asked Percy about it- and he’d said he’s keeping it in the forest for safe-keeping. This didn’t make very much sense to Harry- nothing about how the Weasley’s keep mentioning the forest does. Then Harry decided it was about their family stuff, and figured that if the forest is good enough for Percy and Ron, it’s probably a good place for the treasure too. Ron seemed satisfied, at least- which definitely helped to put Harry at ease.

The other thing Harry has to get used to is the fact that Ron and his brothers continue to be bafflingly concerned with Harry, going above and beyond. Over the months they are constantly:

Making sure he’s eating (all four); making sure he’s never alone in the halls (all four); teaching him tips and tricks such as shortcuts, what ghosts to ask what things, where the kitchens are, and how the library is organized (Percy, mostly); pranking Quirrell within an inch of his life (the twins); helping him with homework and reminding him to study (Percy); telling him to stop studying and have fun (the twins); slipping him snacks (Percy and the twins); and routinely including him in their family meetings.

The first one Harry had gone to had been apparently more serious then they usually are- the subsequent ones have touched on Quirrell stuff, but seem mostly to be a way for the brothers to regroup and update each other on things in general.

Oddly enough, after Christmas and the sweater, Molly has started reaching out to Harry as well. Harry writes back, because what else is he supposed to do?

(Although thanks to the postscripts he now can’t wait to meet Ginny in real life- she reminds him of Ron, albeit a bit more violent. Harry thinks they’ll really get along- Ron is the best, but he treats Harry with kid gloves a lot of the time. Harry wants to interact with someone who won't hold back while wrestling, and Ginny is very clearly going to be that person.

If Harry were to pause to think about it, he might come to the conclusion that the reason he’s itching to fight someone is because that’s the only way he knows how to interact with a cousin that in another, kinder life could have been more of a brother to him- but he doesn’t want to pause to think about it, so he doesn’t.)

Even Arthur usually takes the time to write a couple paragraphs. Whenever Harry reflects on this, on how readily (and instinctively, almost) they include him, he gets a weird feeling in his stomach. It’s not bad, per se, but it’s also… well, it’s weird, so he tries not to think about it too much. When he does think about it, the closest comparison he has is how he feels at Hogwarts, which doesn’t make sense to him at all.

The brothers do whatever ritual they do a couple times as well, each time asking Neville to keep an eye on Harry while they’re gone.

Neville takes his job very seriously, but Harry doesn’t mind. He gets to know the other boy better, and Neville helps him learn about what Malfoy’s whole deal is. Harry thinks the pureblood stuff is stupid, but parts of it are clearly important to Neville, so he keeps that information to himself.

Once it hits March, Hermione has them start studying for their exams in earnest, which Harry finds he doesn’t mind so much. It’s… relaxing, almost, to focus on something without having to worry about his own life. If he’s busy memorizing potions ingredients and why they do what they do, he can’t be busy thinking about the odd flashes of green light that has haunted his dreams ever since seeing his parents in the mirror, standing amongst the Weasleys as though they’re just as much a part of the family as Ron or Percy.

Of course, Ron hates it- he just can’t seem to focus for long enough to keep anything in his head. Harry can’t blame him, not really, since he’s the same way when he’s studying History or Herbology or Astronomy or the technical aspects of Charms or Transfiguration-

And just like that, Harry comes to a horrifying realization.

“Hermione, you have to help me,” Harry says, slamming his books down on the tabletop beside her. (It's Percy's turn with the warded table, so they're using a general one instead.)

She and Neville both jump about a million feet into the air, then level matching glares at Harry. Harry cringes.

Ron just looks up from… is that an Arithmancy textbook? Or, no, there’s a smaller comic book hidden within its pages, that makes more sense. Harry makes a mental note to ask him to borrow it later- wizard comics are much cooler than muggle ones, simply because the pictures move.

“Sorry, it’s just-” Harry starts, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Something terrible has happened.”

Hermione’s expression goes from furious to concerned in an instant. Ron looks similarly. Neville puts his own Herbology book down.

“Is it Quirrell? Has he tried something again?” Neville asks quietly.

Harry shakes his head. “No- that would be preferable, honestly.”

“What happened?” Ron asks, eyes narrowed. There it is again- the undercurrent of a growl that Harry can almost hear. He can’t decide if he’s imagining it or not.

Harry slumps into the chair next to her and buries his face in his hands, pressing his glasses into his face. “I think Potions is my favorite subject,” he mutters.

“Oh no,” Hermione says, horrified.

“Oh no,” Ron says, looking genuinely queasy.

Neville says nothing at all- he just looks at Harry as though he’s completely lost his mind.

“I know,” Harry says, thunking his head onto the table.

“How?” Hermione asks, disbelief bleeding into her tone. “And are you sure?”

“Look,” Harry says in lieu of an explanation, sliding his latest essay over.

“Mate,” Ron says gravely, picking it up.

“There’s no red ink at all,” Harry confirms, putting his face in his hands again. “Except for the bit that’s making fun of my handwriting.”

Hermione shakes her head, snatching the paper from Ron and scanning over the essay. “This doesn’t look graded even- oh, no, there it is. In the corner.”

“I think that’s the tiniest ‘E’ I’ve ever seen,” Ron marvels. “I didn’t think they came that small. Does that even count, still?”

“This doesn’t mean it’s got to be your favorite though,” Neville tries. “Hermione gets good grades on everything.”

Harry just shakes his head. “I was reading my textbook last night. For fun.”

Well, not fun exactly- more so that he’d woken up from another nightmare and the textbook was the only thing that kept him from spiraling into the hollow feeling it opened up in his chest.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, heavy with despair. At least, it seems that way to Harry.

“Well,” Ron says, pressing his lips into a thin line. “There’s no coming back from that one.”

Harry groans, long and loud.

“What’s all this about, then?” Says a booming voice that has Harry, Neville, and Hermione jumping a million feet in the air. It’s just no fair- Ron’s never startled, not unless Percy is the one doing the startling.

“Shh-!” Madam Pince hisses.

“Sorry, Irma,” Hagrid says sheepishly. Madam Pince narrows her eyes, then slinks away.

“Hagrid,” Neville says, “what are you doing here?”

Hagrid immediately becomes extremely suspicious. After some needling, he tells the four to meet him at his hut later that evening.

“On the bright side,” Hermione remarks as they head back up to their common room that night, “at least the Potions thing doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

“I’d take a baby dragon over Potions being my favorite,” Harry says quickly.

“And who could blame you?” Neville agrees.

“Too bad you get both, now,” Ron says, laughing.

Harry tackles him to the ground, yelling, which only just results in them getting lectured by Filch (who very nearly keeps them past curfew).

Harry thinks it’s worth it.

Chapter Text

Charlie looks down at the envelope, although he’s not really seeing it. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, and he thinks he may be holding his breath.

He’s not there anymore- not sitting at his usual desk, going through paperwork at the tent he and the others have set up for fieldwork. He’s not even in Romania- thanks to a single piece of mail, he’s back at Hogwarts, at thirteen.

His little brother (usually so reserved, stuffy even at eleven) is screaming.

He won’t stop- there’s blood everywhere, soaking through his clothes and Bill’s clothes and it’s on Charlie’s hands and they can’t go for help because it’s already too late and it’s his fault they were in the forest at all and the screaming-

“Charlie?”

And just like that, he’s back. Charlie looks up from the mail and over at the owner of the voice- it’s Tangerine. (That’s not her real name, which is Mandy, but she hates that so Tangerine it is.)

Of course it’s Tangerine- Mac and Favio are out doing an egg check, and Lenora is still out cold from that unlucky encounter they had earlier with a herd of peryton.

Tangerine is looking at him with an expression of concern, swirling tattoos standing out especially fiercely on her bald head in the lantern light of the tent. She cocks her head, her lip piercing glinting as she does.

He smiles sheepishly- although it feels a bit feral, even to him. Fortunately, she doesn’t comment- everyone here is more than used to Charlie’s… oddities.

The fact that he’s a werewolf, that is. Everyone knows. No one cares. There are much more dangerous things to be found here- and Charlie has saved the life of everyone here at least once, thanks to his strength and healing and heightened senses. In fact, his strength is why Lenora is just out cold, and not dead.

“Is everything alright? You spiked really bad there.”

Charlie grimaces. If he was nervous enough that it registered for Tangerine, he was really nervous. More than he’d thought, even. Tangerine is a natural legilimens- a real one. She usually can’t read Charlie, thanks to the whole werewolf thing, but sometimes the really strong emotions bleed through.

Charlie sighs, looking back at the envelope. “It’s-” his voice gets caught in his throat, and he clears it. Then he tries again. “It’s probably nothing. I should just open it and get it over with.”

“You haven’t even read it yet?” Tangerine asks, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not like you, Chuck.”

Charlie shoots a glare at her for the nickname, which doesn’t bother her in the slightest.

“You don’t usually react like this to letters,” Tangerine continues, sitting down on the ground, cross legged. “What gives?”

Charlie picks the envelope up and tosses it to her. She catches it easily and turns it over, reading the information on the front.

“Your brother?” She asks after a moment.

“One of them,” Charlie says. “I’m worried- he doesn’t usually write, not unless Mum makes him.”

“Brothers are like that,” Tangerine agrees. “And I know you’re worried, dumbass. That’s my whole fuckin’ deal.”

Charlie snorts.

“Want me to read it for you?” Tangerine suggests.

Charlie stops, considering. Then he nods. “Skim it, maybe. Just- just I don’t think I’ll be able to, yet.”

Tangerine cracks the messy wax seal and slides the letter out. As she does, she says, “what’s the worst-case scenario here?”

“One of my siblings is dead,” Charlie says immediately.

“You and your packs,” Tangerine snorts.

“I don’t think being worried about someone in my immediate family dying is a werewolf thing, Reen,” Charlie says, folding his arms. “I think probably it’s a fairly normal thing. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you worry about Mac in a similar way all of the time.”

Tangerine shrugs, then starts scanning the paper, tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth.

Charlie fidgets as she goes through the letter. Tangerine has a hard time reading even printed material, so asking her to parse a letter written by Ron is almost cruel- but she offered, and Charlie really doesn’t think he can do it himself.

To be honest, he isn’t actually all that worried that one of his siblings is dead- Ron wouldn’t be the one to write to him, if that was the case. (Unless everyone but Ron had died, but that’s not likely.)

What he’s worried about is that the one-eyed wolf is back, and did something to Ron or Harry or the twins or Percy (again), and no one but Ron is willing to tell Charlie, because Ron has always been impatient with the idea of keeping things from people to soften the blow-

Charlie tries to tell himself that the wolf couldn’t do much to anyone, not now that they’re all wolves, but it doesn’t really help.

(Especially considering that they’re not all wolves. Harry’s still just a regular kid- well, as regular as a miraculous boy-savior can be, anyhow.

And Luna: she's not an adopted sibling like Harry is, but she's practically part of the family anyways- and just because none of their wolves will bite her for whatever reason doesn’t mean that the one-eyed wolf won’t.)

Werewolves can heal from a lot, but not everything- not when silver is involved especially- and Charlie can’t stand the idea of his baby brother (or any sibling of his) being disfigured by that monster. How far does its idea of revenge go? Charlie doesn’t know- and that’s the worst part. It could strike again, at any time. It’s already proven that it’s willing to seek the family out to hurt them- to hurt children.

Tangerine lets out a loud delighted laugh, and the undercurrent of anxiety that’s been making Charlie’s bones feel buzzy immediately dissolves, leaving behind nothing but an echo of adrenaline.

“What?” He demands.

Tangerine hands the letter back to him, shaking her head. “The family resemblance is uncanny,” she says, sounding both disbelieving and ecstatic.

Charlie isn’t listening- instead, he’s reading the letter over.

He gets through with it much faster than Tangerine did, and when he does he can’t help but lean back in his chair and groan.

“How does this even happen?” He asks no one in particular.

“Maybe it’s the Potter kid,” Tangerine suggests.

When Charlie had gotten the letter from Mum saying that he had a new brother and that he'd chased after a troll and nearly died and by the way he’s Harry Potter, he’d been so caught off-guard that he’d made the mistake of telling his crew.

It had immediately spiraled, and now they’ve taken to blaming just about everything on ‘that Potter kid’, for some reason. Charlie tries not to take it to heart, but it’s hard sometimes- that’s his brother they’re sort-of making fun of, after all.

Granted, Charlie’s never met the kid, but that hardly matters. A younger brother is a younger brother.

Charlie skims through the letter again, this time trying to read between the lines. “You know,” he says, “this time it really might be. At least in part.”

“What,” Tangerine says, “you don’t think your brother is the one taking responsibility for the situation?”

Charlie scoffs. He loves Ron, but that kid isn’t the most responsible of his siblings. Especially when the situation isn’t his fault. This sounds much more like Harry ‘let’s go chase a troll to save some girl we don’t know’ Potter.

“Well,” Charlie says, folding the letter back up into its envelope. “Think we can spare the manpower to help out?”

Tangerine leans back, uncrossing her legs. Her dark eyes go narrowed as she considers.

“Me and Nora were planning on visiting her step-dad’s new shop over Nora’s birthday,” she muses. “We could stop by on our way back, pick the little nipper up.”

“That might work,” Charlie says, pursing his lips.

Lenora’s birthday is just a few days away, but the two probably wouldn’t be coming back for a week or so. The timing isn’t ideal, but neither is any part of this damn baby dragon situation.

Hagrid is absolutely one of Charlie’s favorite people on the planet, but Charlie can definitely admit to himself that the man doesn’t always think things through.

“Let’s plan on that,” Charlie decides, pulling out a new sheet of parchment. “I’ll write him back and let him know. When do you think you’ll be there?”

Tangerine helps him figure out the details of the letter, which he then sends off with one of the reserve’s owls. It glares at him, but takes the letter without complaint. None of the owls here like him very much. Mac asked him once if it was a werewolf thing- but no, the owls at Hogwarts liked Charlie just fine. It’s just these owls, for some reason.

“Are you and Lenora heading out tomorrow?” Charlie asks.

Tangerine shrugs as she cracks the fridge open. “That was the plan,” she says, “but after today-”

“You might have to push it off a bit,” Charlie agrees, wincing. Peryton venom is not something to be sneezed at.

“Beer?” Tangerine offers, pulling out a second bottle.

“Eh,” Charlie says. “Why not.”

“I want one too,” calls Lenora from where she’s been laying in her room. Her voice is raspy and she sounds faint.

“Go back to bed, idiot,” Tangerine yells back.

“Okay,” Lenora says. It sounds like she falls asleep halfway through the word, even.

Charlie snorts, and feels his wolf sigh contentedly within him. His family is safe, his crew is safe, he spends all day with dragons, and he’s got access to shitty beer- what more could a guy ask for.

Chapter Text

“Look, just get under the cloak!” Harry hisses.

Ron glares at him, not moving an inch. He’s surprised he’s not baring his teeth at the other boy- his wolf certainly is, deep in his chest. Hermione and Neville are watching, wide-eyed, holding the cloak just above their heads. Neville shivers. It’s chilly, despite the April weather- the astronomy tower is the highest point at Hogwarts, and it shows.

“I’m not leaving you to deal with the fallout by yourself,” Ron finally says. “That’s dumb.”

It's too bad Charlie's friends have just left, they seemed the type to want to help Ron and his friends avoid getting in trouble.

“What’s dumb is us both getting caught! I’m used to it, Ron- I used to get into trouble all the time at my old school. Come on, the cloak will fit three! Hurry!”

Ron continues to glare, and Harry buries his face into his hands. Ron doesn’t know what the other boy expected- that argument was never going to get him anywhere.

“I know you’re up there,” Filch calls. The light from his lantern starts to move- even without being able to hear it, Ron would know that he’s begun to make his way up the stairs.

“Filch has a bad knee,” Harry finally says, jaw clenched. “If you’re really serious about this, we should go meet him, at least. So he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Ron cannot believe this kid, and based on the look Hermione is giving him, she can’t either. Neville nods, though- which is just awesome. Because that’s exactly what he needs- two self-sacrificing idiots. Goddamnit.

Hermione and Neville will be able to get off without any issue, at least.

Filch is as furious as Ron thought he’d be- but McGonagall is angrier than Ron has ever seen her be. Harry sort of shuts down halfway through her lecture, so Ron takes over as the voice of the operation- namely, denying everything.

“Dragon? That’s a stupid idea for a prank,” Ron says, folding his arms and trying to keep his wolf under tight wraps. “Malfoy’s probably just delusional. Got it from his dad, I suspect. Have you checked to see if he was under imperio?”

Hm. That was maybe a little too far.

McGonagall’s nostrils flare, and her mouth is nothing more than a little white line across her face.

“Very well. Fifty points each,” she says finally, “and a detention.”

Ron feels his heart sink- they are not going to be popular, come morning. He nods, though, and grabs for Harry’s arm. Harry goes without complaint, and Ron can’t help but tighten his hold on his brother.

For someone used to getting into trouble, Harry sure seems to shut down in the face of an angry authority figure. Ron’s doubly glad that he hadn’t left Harry alone.

As suspected, both Harry and Ron are summarily shunned by their house. The problem is, once Ron sees that it doesn’t seem to bother Harry, Ron can’t bring himself to care all that much. Neville and Hermione refuse to participate (since they know the truth); the twins are, if anything, elated at this turn of events; and Percy is only mad that Ron hadn’t come to him for advice.

When Ron had mentioned asking Charlie for help, Percy had softened considerably- exactly as Ron had figured he would. Percy wasn’t mad at the dragon thing, just the idea that Ron might have tried to solve things on his own.

The next moon arrives without much in the way of fanfare- as per usual, Ron and the others make their way down to the woods after making sure Harry and Neville are safe in the dorms.

“Which is when Fred told Binns to fuck off, and finally got the guy to take points. It’s only been three years,” George is saying.

Percy stops suddenly, holding up a forestalling hand. His eyes are golden, and Ron feels a bolt of apprehension. Percy’s eyes never stay gold for long, not even this close to the moon. Something is wrong.

“Something is wrong,” Percy whispers. “Stay here.”

The twins exchange a look, then each go to stand on either side of Ron. Percy nods once, then starts moving again- considerably slower this time.

Ron is, despite the fear thrumming in his veins, impressed- Percy isn’t making any sound. No wonder he can sneak up on them so easily- he’s so aware of his surroundings and himself that he manages to make himself fit into the auditory environment perfectly.

Fred looks at George and mouths, “holy shit,” and Ron nods, swallowing.

They wait a moment, and Ron feels his breathing come quicker and quicker the closer the moon gets. If they can’t figure out what’s going on before they turn, that would be devastating. Hogsmeade is only a couple miles away- and the wolves would run right for it.

Just as Ron is about to suggest going towards the wards again, Percy appears again (causing Fred and George to startle so significantly that they shove Ron behind them).

“It’s alright,” Percy says. “I thought- it’s just- well. You’ll see. Come on, quickly.”

Percy doesn’t have to say it twice- Ron and the others move so quickly they’re practically running, despite the bone-deep pain that’s pulsing through Ron. Stupid moon- this is horrible.

There’s sweat rolling down Ron’s face and he’s surprised he’s still standing at all when they finally reach the wardline. As they do, Ron immediately forgets every complaint he’d been chanting in his head.

“Are those-” he starts.

“In,” Percy says, motioning. “They won’t hurt you.”

Ron does as Percy says, although that doesn’t stop him from warily eyeing the beasts: so white they almost look blue, glowing in the dim light of twilight. They’re each around the size and shape of a deer, which makes the massive spear-like spiral horn growing from each of their foreheads even more startling.

“What are they doing here?” George asks, eyes huge as he takes the unicorns in.

“Must be a whole herd- did you know we had a herd in the forest?” Fred asks.

“We have everything in this forest,” Percy says. “Believe me.”

“How do you know?” Ron asks, not taking his eyes off of a particularly sharp-horned unicorn that seems to be making eye contact with him. His wolf whines, and he’s sure once the moon rises Ron will be doing his best to curl up into a ball and hide. Why are they so scary?

“Charlie,” Percy says. “He spent most of his time out here, and me and Bill got to hear all about it- whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sounds wicked,” George says.

“Uh huh,” Percy says. “Moon’s rising, let’s get moving please.”

The unicorns are still there come morning- in fact, Ron wakes up with one pressed right next to him. He yelps, and the thing is gone so fast it’s more or less a blur.

“Why, though?” George asks again as they head up to the castle. “And how did they get past?”

“Bill probably just didn’t ward against them,” Percy says. “And- I don’t know.”

“Maybe they’re hiding from something,” Ron says.

He had intended it as a joke, but all of a sudden the forest looks much bigger than it had before- the shadows stretching in the light of the dawn, looking somehow darker than they had in the evening light.

“Right,” Percy says. “Well. I’ll write to Bill, ask him if he’s heard of something like this. Maybe- maybe his wards attract unicorns, for some reason.”

“Yeah,” George says.

“Maybe,” Fred echoes.

Ron doesn’t think any one of them really believes it.

All of ten days later, Ron and Harry receive notes detailing their detentions. Harry looks up at Ron, confusions evident on his face. Ron feels similarly.

“Why so late?” Hermione asks, taking the note from Ron and reading it over. “What are you going to be doing?”

“No idea,” Ron says, before leaning back and waving the twins over.

“Yes?” George asks as he swings his legs over the bench and comes over.

“How can we help, second favorite little brother?” Fred asks. Harry snorts, and Fred gets a smile on his face.

“Have you ever had a detention this late?” Ron asks, not bothering to rise to the jab.

Fred and George read over the note, heads cocked in the same way.

“Not that I can think of,” George says, brow furrowed.

“Should I ask Perce about it?” Ron asks.

Fred purses his lips. “Maybe,” he allows. “Might be better to be safe than sorry- especially with all the shit going down this year. Harry has detention too?”

“Yes,” Harry says, a bit glumly.

Fred and George exchange a glance, then look back at Ron. “Yeah,” George says. “Better let Percy know. Just in case.”

Percy is, as expected, livid.

“Why on earth would they have you breaking curfew,” he says (for the fifth time), “for breaking curfew?”

Ron sighs miserably. “I don’t know,” he says (also for the fifth time).

Percy shakes his head. “Ugh- regardless, there’s not much I can do about it. I’m sure it’ll be some sort of cleaning job- or maybe helping Snape or Sprout with some ingredient thing.”

Ron wrinkles his nose at the idea of having detention with Snape, but Harry looks considerably more cheered at the idea of anything to do with Potions- even if he dislikes Snape just as much as Ron does.

During class, Harry is attentive and asks questions, which is at least entertaining- Snape is clearly less-than-interested in the idea of actually teaching anyone anything, much less Harry Potter (who he seems to try, for the most part, to pretend doesn’t exist). Snape keeps answering the questions in the most convoluted way possible, which just has Harry throwing himself into the research even more.

It’s honestly quite fun to watch- Neville especially seems to enjoy himself. Ron mostly likes the part where Malfoy keeps getting more and more flustered when Harry constantly out-performs him during class. Hermione gets like that too, but is much more gracious about it.

(Ron is almost seventy percent sure that Snape knew Harry’s mum, thanks to that thing he said during the troll incident. If that is the case, Ron thinks that Snape really, really didn't like Lily. Why else would he hate Harry so much?)

“Regardless,” Percy continues, “keep your head about you- and don’t let anything happen to Harry.”

“I know,” Ron says.

“Gee, thanks,” Harry says. “I’m right here, you know.”

“Sorry,” Percy says, turning to look at him. “Harry, Ron is going to try to keep you alive. Don’t make his job any harder than it has to be.”

Harry pokes his tongue out at Percy, who rolls his eyes- but can’t seem to help but reach a hand out to try to pat down Harry’s wild mop of curly hair.

That night, Harry and Ron walk down to the Entrance Hall. Ron has a tight hold on his wolf- it’s pacing around in his chest, making him especially jumpy. When they get there, they see Filch standing next to an uncomfortable looking Malfoy. Ron has to repress both a groan and a growl (his wolf dislikes Malfoy just as much as Ron does, if not more).

But of course Malfoy has detention, same as them- he’d been out after curfew just as much as they had.

“Follow me,” Filch says, before turning and heading out of the castle and down towards the treeline.

Ron panics for a second, then forces himself to relax. They’re probably just going down to Hagrid’s hut, is all- besides, even if there is something in that forest, it’s not going to be any match for Ron. Probably.

“Don’t get your hopes up, kids- I know you and Hagrid are chums, but it’s the forest you’re heading into tonight. Bet you’ll think twice about breaking curfew next time, eh?”

Damn it.

“You can’t be serious,” Malfoy says, voice wavering slightly. “The forest? At night. I’ve heard there are things in there, you know- like, I don't know, werewolves, and such.”

Ron’s heart stops. Malfoy doesn’t know, does he? No, he can’t- if he knew, he’d tell his father, who’d immediately use that information to bring Ron and his family to ruin. It’s just a stupid coincidence.

A really stupid coincidence, considering the moon isn’t even half-full.

“Should have thought of werewolves before breaking curfew,” Filch says. Then, “stay put. I’m getting Hagrid.”

The three boys stand in silence for a moment. Despite his heightened senses, the forest seems especially dark- and the various sounds of hooting and the occasional twig snapping does nothing to assuage Ron’s rising panic. How is he supposed to keep Harry alive in the forest at night? There really are things in there, if Percy is to be believed. Not werewolves, obviously (not yet, anyways), but definitely things.

Harry squints into the forest- Ron doubts he can see more than a couple dark smudges past the treeline.

“What’s a werewolf?” Harry asks. He, of course, doesn’t sound worried at all. Just curious.

Then what he said hits Ron, and it takes everything in him not to burst into laughter. How on earth does Harry not know what a werewolf is? Have they- wait, have they not told him?

Thinking back, Ron realizes that the answer to that is a resounding yes. They’d just sort of assumed he’d known, once he became part of the family. Well, that explains how confused Harry seems to be during family meetings, at least.

Ron is so taken aback that he accidentally shares a baffled look with Malfoy, which is just- the worst.

“How do you not know what a werewolf is?” Malfoy asks, voice dripping with derision. “Even muggles know what werewolves are.”

Harry flushes. “I mean, I can guess that it has something to do with wolves,” he says. “But I- my relatives didn’t like me learning about any of that stuff, okay?”

“Any of that- you mean magic?” Malfoy asks. He no longer sounds deriding. Now he just sounds incredulous.

“Are you going to answer the question or not?” Harry says, folding his arms and scowling.

Ron doesn’t especially want Harry’s first introduction to the idea of a werewolf to be from Malfoy. Problem is, he can’t think of any unsuspicious way to keep Malfoy from talking, short of tackling him to the ground and killing him.

No, scratch that, that definitely counts as suspicious. And illegal.

“Barbaric, the lot of them,” Malfoy mutters, then, louder, says, “a werewolf is- is a monster."

Malfoy folds his arms and looks into the forest. His eyes are narrowed. He continues, saying, “the thing is, they usually just look like people. Wixen, like m- like you or Weasel here. But when the moon is full-”

Ron clears his throat and points up, and Harry smothers a laugh as he takes in the decidedly un-full moon.

Malfoy looks over at them, glaring, “or the werewolf is upset enough, they turn into a huge wolf.”

“That doesn’t seem so monstrous,” Harry says, cocking his head.

Ron feels a burst of warmth for his friend. Unfortunately, he needs to say something soon- just in case any part of Malfoy suspects. He can clarify things to Harry later, right now he just needs to throw the git off his trail.

“Right,” Ron agrees, deciding now’s his chance. “Only, the wolf hates people- when it sees one, it’s going to stop at nothing to try and tear them apart.”

“Oh,” Harry says. Then he frowns. “Does the werewolf remember? In the morning, I mean?”

Both Ron and Malfoy shake their heads, then glare at each other. That’s already two-too-many moments of camaraderie, and Ron genuinely doesn’t think he could stomach another.

“They lose their mind to the beast completely,” Malfoy continues when Ron says nothing.

He’s looking over into the forest again. He’s gone very pale- between that and the sharp scent of fear that’s emanating from the other boy, apparently Malfoy is genuinely scared of werewolves. Ha- serves him right.

“There’s no reasoning with them after that,” Malfoy says, voice going a bit quiet.

Ron swallows down the uncomfortable twisty feeling that’s rising in his stomach. Alright then. Maybe- maybe he doesn’t actually want to be feared. Even by the slimiest git in the world.

“Oh,” Harry says again. Then- “that’s awful. Isn’t there anything we can do for them? A spell, or a potion or something?”

Malfoy stares at Harry in shock, open-mouthed. Then he closes his mouth with a snap and his expression shutters.

“Why bother?” He sniffs. “They might look like people, but they aren’t. Like I said. They’re monsters.”

“That’s just stupid,” Harry decides. “Have you even met a werewolf?”

Malfoy presses his lips into a tight line, then says, “have you?”

Where the hell is Hagrid? Ron doesn’t know how much more of this he can take without bursting into laughter. Or tears. His wolf wants him to do something, in any case.

“Hey there! Come over here, will you? We’ll be heading off in a mo’.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron mutters.

“What?” Malfoy asks, turning to look at him.

“Nothing,” Ron says.

Chapter Text

“I cannot believe,” Ron complains from where he’s perched high in the tree, “that Malfoy was right. You proved Malfoy right. Are you happy now?”

No one answers him- although a low growl rumbles through the clearing, making the hair on Ron’s arms stick straight up. Ron’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he feels as though perhaps this whole night has been a massive prank played on him by the universe.

“Don’t suppose you’re the one killing unicorns?” Ron calls down.

Another low growl, and the tree gives a shudder as the massive shape barrels into it. Ron holds on tight to the trunk, feeling the rough bark dig into his palms. He lets out a long breath, trying to relax.

The only thing is, it’s considerably difficult to relax when the monster that’s been terrorizing your family for literal decades is currently doing its best to rip you to shreds.

“You could just leave,” Ron tries.

The wolf lets out a long howl, then barrels into the tree again. There’s an ominous creaking sound, and Ron leans his clammy forehead against the tree.

“Stay strong, mate,” he whispers.

He’s half talking to the tree, and half to himself- his wolf is railing against him in his chest, baying for blood. The urge to fight to defend himself and the territory is not mixing very smoothly with the fear cloying up his throat. It’s taking everything in Ron to keep from losing his grip on the tree and turning outside of the moon- just as the one-eyed monster clearly has.

At least Harry isn’t here- Ron had gotten himself separated from the others, because he’s an idiot. He’d caught wind of a concentration of unicorn blood, and decided to slip away and follow it, figuring he’d ‘stumble’ upon it, then call the others over. It had seemed closer than it was, though, and now he’s here. In a tree. With a crazier-than-usual wolf after him.

The worst part is, Ron should have been safe, where he’s at right now. He’s well within the wardline that only he and his brothers can access- only, the ward line seems to be completely gone. The wards and the unicorns both. Ron needs to get out of this alive if only to warn his brothers of that fact.

The tree shudders again, and then with a cracking sound, begins to topple over. The wolf lets out another howl, this one in triumph.

Except for- well, Ron isn’t planning on dying tonight.

The world seems to be moving in slow motion as Ron lets go of the trunk and braces himself, watching carefully as the ground gets closer and closer. Just as the tree is about to crash into the ground, Ron leaps more than fifteen feet into the air, barely grabbing onto another, smaller branch of a nearby tree.

Ron scrabbles a bit, but manages to pull himself up onto the branch and then higher still into the tree. This tree is much less sturdier looking than the other, but Ron’s in a forest. He’s not going to be running out of trees anytime soon.

The wolf lets out yet another low growl, and Ron shakes his hands out as they heal. They’re scraped raw. He’s shaking quite badly- and his legs hurt. Vertical leaps will do that- his legs had been sore after the troll, too.

“Might as well quit while you’re ahead,” Ron calls down once he has his breathing under control and his hands don’t hurt so much.

Ron knows, technically, that the wolf can’t be reasoned with. Except- there’s no reason for it to be going after him, and not Harry or Malfoy (who are still probably traipsing around the forest, no doubt at each other's throats). Ron is a werewolf, not a human. The bloodlust shouldn’t count Ron at all. So maybe there is something in there- and if there is, Ron’s going to try and exploit it. Even if his odds are miserable.

The wolf steps forward, and a shaft of moonlight briefly illuminates its hulking form.

It’s huge and dark gray, bigger than any normal wolf has any right to be- around six feet tall, standing on all fours. Its teeth are huge and jutting out of its mouth, glistening in the moonlight. Its singular golden eye is wide and mostly unblinking, and any pupil it has is nothing more than a pinprick in its iris.

Its other eye is gone- there’s only a sliver of a scar over its eyelid, which makes Ron think that his dad, when faced with the thing all those years ago, hadn’t slashed so much as stabbed. Good on him.

For all that Ron and his whole family are wolves, Ron’s only ever seen a wolf up close once before while still human. It could be his bias, but he thinks that Bill’s wolf form is much nicer than this one’s- even while Bill was sinking his teeth into Ron’s arm.

The wolf hasn’t really stopped growling, and it takes another step forward. With a jolt of sudden fear shooting up his spine, Ron realizes that it seems to be tensing up- as if to jump. Ron’s eyes flicker up to the higher branches, and he grimaces. He doesn’t think those are going to support his weight.

He’s going to have to try and dodge- dodge a full grown wolf, while simultaneously holding tight to a tree. If the wolf doesn’t get him, Ron thinks the forest floor below might.

He squeezes his eyes shut, takes in a couple measured breaths, then opens his eyes again and looks down. The wolf is definitely tensed to spring- but had waited until Ron was watching. It’s pupil dilates further, somehow, and it’s mouth falls open in a horrible facsimile of a grin.

“I think I hate you,” Ron breathes.

The wolf leaps.

There’s a cracking sound.

Then the wolf shrieks, and the forest echoes with the sound. It crashes into the ground, then turns tail and runs away without looking back. Ron lets out a startled breath, then breathes in deeply and reflexively as his body realizes that it’s still alive. Ron looks down, trying to parse out what exactly had just saved him- oh.

Ron can hardly believe his eyes. There, in the darkness of the woods, stands a centaur.

The centaur’s nostrils flare, and he shakes his head- long black hair flowing behind him like an actual mane would.

Then the centaur takes the frankly ridiculously sized log (now snapped in two, barely hanging together by a thread), and tosses it to the side as though it’s little more than a toothpick, muscles in his chest and arms bunching as he does.

There’s the sharp smell of blood on the wood- Ron can smell it even from where he’s still sitting in his tree. He must have really hurt the one-eyed wolf. Good.

“There are many trespassers in our forest tonight,” the centaur remarks in a deep voice, before looking up at Ron.

Ron feels frozen under the centaur’s considering stare, and for once his wolf is cowed in his chest.

The centaur seems to be waiting for something, so Ron clears his throat and then says, “er, sorry? Um.”

The centaur snorts and tosses his head again. His front hoof plows into the ground a couple times, sending a spray of dirt and leaves up into the air.

“You are no trespasser,” the centaur says. He sounds vaguely amused. “As you are now, perhaps, but you have staked claim in our forest and defended your territory as valiantly as any other denizen here has.”

“Oh,” Ron says, not really sure what the centaur is hoping to gain here.

Ron realizes then that he’s still shaking, and his hands are clutching to the branches around him in a white-knuckled grip. He forces himself to relax his hands.

The centaur stills suddenly, then cranes his neck to look up into the sky. He mutters something that sounds like, ‘fur ends’. A name, maybe?

“I leave you now,” the centaur says, louder. “The stars shift once more.”

With that, the centaur bolts. Only then does Ron remember himself. “Thank you!” He calls.

The darkness of the forest is all that answers him.

Ron decides then that it’s time for him to go.

He manages to mostly slide down the tree. Well, somewhat slides. Alright, it’s more of a fall than anything else. He does in fact have to lay on the floor for a moment, allowing a couple snapped ribs the time to heal.

Fortunately, the one-eyed monster really does seem to be gone for good. From down here, the log the centaur had cracked against its head looks less like a log and more like a whole tree. Ron makes a note to himself not to fuck with centaurs, then uses the trunk of the tree he’d taken refuge in to stand up, albeit shakily.

With effort, Ron pushes the panicked feelings that are trying to rush him to the side. Now is not the time. The centaur had mentioned other trespassers. He could have just been talking about Harry and Malfoy, but Ron isn’t about to risk Harry’s life on an assumption.

If there’s something else in this forest, Ron needs to be there to keep Harry from getting himself killed- which means heading deeper into the forest, instead of towards the castle and warmth and safety and his other brothers. Oh well- nothing else for it.

He’s already going to get an earful from Percy for letting Harry off on his own, even if he really had thought he’d be gone for two minutes tops.

Besides, he can’t bring himself to regret it- not now that he’s discovered the breach in the wards. And by breach he does mean total destruction- he can’t feel them anywhere. Ron isn’t the most ward-savvy, but he can feel that, at least.

Ron mostly follows his nose, figuring that if he finds the dead unicorn that surely Harry and the others won’t be far behind. He’s right- in a way, anyways.

Because there, in the clearing Ron’s nose has led him to, lying just a few feet away from the unicorn corpse, is Harry, out cold- and he has a snarling and bloodied Malfoy crouching over him, teeth bared towards yet another centaur.

Chapter Text

“How’d he lose him?” Malfoy is asking. “Oaf.”

Harry grits his teeth. “It’s not Hagrid’s fault,” he says, again. “You didn’t notice him slip off either, you know.”

“You don’t know that,” Malfoy says.

Harry feels his temper flare. Just because Malfoy’s been less of a thorn in his side since Christmas doesn’t mean he’s not as irritating as always. More so, even- since he’s not being a prick all the time now, the moments he is seem that much worse.

“So what- you noticed, and just… didn’t say anything?”

Malfoy doesn’t seem to have a response to that. Good. Serves him right.

Fang, from where he’s pressed close to Harry’s side, shivers and lets out a little whimper as a breeze blows through the woods. Malfoy’s pointy nose wrinkles, and he shakes his head.

“I hate this forest,” he mutters.

“Bit dark,” Harry agrees.

“This way,” Malfoy says, jerking his head and ignoring Harry’s comment. “I think I saw more blood over here.”

“We could just wait for Hagrid and Ron to get back,” Harry tries. It’s only been a couple minutes since Hagrid has left to try and find Ron, after all.

“What are you, scared?” Malfoy says, a nasty smirk on his face.

“No,” Harry shoots back, even though he is a little.

Then he takes a breath and feels himself relax. The forest isn’t as terrible as Vernon on a bad day, at least. Could always be worse. Harry knows that very well. Things can always, always be worse.

They walk for a couple minutes in silence when Harry feels his scar prickle. He stops dead, and Malfoy turns back to look at him, brow furrowed. Harry reaches a hand up to his scar, and frowns. The prickle is gone.

“Alright?” Malfoy asks, sounding uncharacteristically unsure.

“Yeah, just- yeah,” Harry says. “Let’s keep moving.”

Malfoy hesitates, then nods.

They squeeze through a particularly dense copse of trees, Malfoy leading the way. Fang won’t even try to follow, shaking as he watches Harry through whale-eyes. Harry shakes his head at the cowardly thing, then follows Malfoy into the trees.

Harry feels the branches snag at his clothes, and he lets out a little huff of irritation as he pulls free. He pulls too hard, though, because the branches release him very abruptly, sending him straight into Malfoy.

“Sorry,” Harry says reflexively, then grimaces at himself. Malfoy’s going to have a field day with that, no doubt about it.

Only- he doesn’t. Instead, he seems as frozen solid as a marble statue.

“Malfoy?” Harry tries.

Malfoy turns his head to the side just enough to look at Harry out of the corner of his eyes, shining bright silver in the moonlight. Harry feels his stomach bottom out as he takes in the expression of unbridled terror on Malfoy’s face.

“Do you hear that?” Malfoy asks, in a strangled voice that’s so quiet Harry almost doesn’t hear at all.

Harry shakes his head, and Malfoy closes his eyes before breathing out slowly through his nose, looking as though that’s what he’d suspected.

Harry’s gaze falls just past where Malfoy is standing, and he feels his breath catch in his throat as he takes in the clearing ahead of them.

“Unicorn,” he whispers.

Malfoy nods, a bit jerkily. He seems to still be listening for the thing only he can hear.

Harry tries not to look at the beast, but it doesn’t seem possible- it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, so a part of him doesn’t want to look away. The other part can’t look away- it’s just too horrible.

The unicorn’s eyes are dull and unseeing, and its brilliant white coat is soaked in its own mercurial blood. Its legs are splayed underneath it, looking broken. Whatever killed it, killed it while it was trying to run away. Harry feels abruptly like he’s about to throw up.

“Malfoy,” he tries again. “We should send up sparks.”

Malfoy doesn’t move. Harry reaches out a hand, grabbing onto the other boy’s sleeve and tugs. “Malfoy,” he repeats. “We should send up sparks, and then go.”

This does the trick. Malfoy turns to him, face so white it looks translucent. He starts pushing at Harry, who turns to leave from the way they’d entered.

Sh sh sh.

It’s Harry’s turn to freeze.

“Hurry!” Malfoy whispers.

Harry tries to get his legs to move, he does, but he can’t. Instead, he turns once more to look towards where he’d heard the dry slithering sound. His hand, almost of its own accord, reaches up to touch his scar.

Malfoy tries to push him into moving again, but must realize it’s a losing battle because he stops and just looks at Harry instead.

“Your scar,” he says, dread coloring his tone.

It’s not a question, so Harry doesn’t answer. Couldn’t if he wanted to. The prickling is back- and the feeling of nausea that Harry had felt as he looked at the unicorn returns in full force.

Because there, crawling out of the brush, is a monster. It’s shrouded in a cloak, but its movements are jerky. It looks like a marionette- one being puppeted by an amateur. It scuttles over to the corpse, then bends down.

Malfoy closes his eyes again. He seems to be struggling not to hyperventilate as he bows his head, leaning until he’s pressing it gently against Harry’s shoulder. Harry looks down at him, hand still on his own forehead. He feels a million miles away from himself, but even so he can recognize that either this is throwing Malfoy way off balance, or something is seriously wrong with the other boy.

“Okay,” Malfoy whispers, seemingly to himself. “Okay.”

Then the slurping sound starts, and Malfoy presses his head harder into Harry’s shoulder. He’s shaking. Harry isn’t- he feels as though he’s been carved from wood.

“If we don’t run now,” Malfoy whispers, “I think we might die.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and Malfoy stills.

Harry didn’t mean for it to be so loud- but it’s too late for that now.

The monster whips its head up, turning to face Harry and Malfoy. There’s silver blood dripping down its robe. Its face is shrouded in the darkness of its hood, but it doesn’t matter. Harry’s scar stops prickling, and instead starts to stab.

Harry sinks to the forest floor with a muffled cry, both hands clutching at his scar now. He claws at it. He knows it’s irrational, but the pain is so great he can hardly see, and he thinks that if he can only just try hard enough- he might be able to scratch the pain out.

Malfoy goes down with him, hands on either shoulder keeping him from outright collapsing. Malfoy lays him down on his side, almost gently, then stands up and turns to face the rapidly approaching creature.

His expression is completely blank, and that more than anything has Harry’s heart lurching into his throat.

Harry doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but he doesn’t think it's going to end well for Malfoy- and Harry can’t do anything but weakly scratch at his own face, tears pouring down his cheeks as he does.

Why is he so useless?

Harry can’t see much from where he’s on the ground, not with the position he’s in mixed with the almost blinding pain pulsing through his head with every beat of his heart. Besides, what he does see doesn’t make any sense.

He just can’t think of a world in which Malfoy would run towards the creature, and not away.

Then there’s another stab of pain, and Harry lets the blackness that’s been ebbing at the corner of his vision take him away.

When he next comes to, he hears an all-too familiar growling sound, right next to his head.

“Ron?” He mumbles, trying to open his eyes. His face feels sticky for some reason.

“Ha,” says the slightly hysterical-sounding voice of Draco Malfoy. “He lives! You can back off now, Weasley.”

“Not a chance,” Ron says. He sounds further away than Malfoy, but not by a lot.

Harry flails a hand out, hitting something solid and holding on tight. His head hurts.

“My head hurts,” he says.

“Looks like it,” Malfoy says, sounding decidedly unsympathetic. “Your face is positively covered in blood, did you know that?”

Harry manages to crack an eye open, only to see Malfoy staring back at him with a completely indecipherable expression on his face.

“You’re one to talk,” Harry says, reaching his other (extremely shaky) hand up to poke at Malfoy’s own bloody cheek.

Malfoy scoffs and bats the hand away. As he does, Harry realizes that Malfoy’s been supporting him, keeping his head and shoulders up off the ground.

“Mate,” Ron says, sounding dismayed. “First potions, now this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says, frowning. The world is spinning around Malfoy, and his head really, really hurts. “My head really, really hurts.”

“Where the hell is that oaf?” Malfoy asks, looking away from Harry and over into the forest. “I think that Scarhead here needs to go to the infirmary. Otherwise we might lose our precious savior, and then where would we be?”

“That’s mean,” Harry says, feeling his frown deepen.

“What,” Malfoy says. His tone is oscillating between sarcastic and hysterical at a frankly impressive rate. “Don’t pretend like you don’t eat that savior talk right up-”

“No, not that” Harry says, hazarding a shake of his head (which is a mistake, judging by the stars that burst into his vision). “Hagrid isn’t an oaf, he’s my friend.”

There’s a pause, then Malfoy lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Is that why everyone loves you so much? Because you don’t give half a damn about yourself? I’m surprised the self-deprecating act works on anyone at all-”

“Well it worked on you,” Ron cuts in. “Clearly. And the centaur thought so too.”

“We are not talking about that centaur,” Malfoy grits out.

Harry doesn’t know what any of that is supposed to mean, and his head hurts, so he decides not to worry about it. Instead he focuses on the sound of yet another growly sound, right by Harry’s head. It’s not too loud- in fact, in all honesty, the tones are a bit soothing to his pounding head. The sound itself sorta sounds like it's emanating from Malfoy, but that doesn’t make sense to Harry.

Harry can’t really see it, but he’s sure that Malfoy and Ron are glaring daggers at each other. The rumbly sound gets louder, and Harry sighs contentedly. His head is hurting less and less with every passing moment.

“How about you shoot up some sparks,” Malfoy eventually grits out instead of responding to Ron, “and we can put an end to the hellscape that has been tonight.”

It’s Ron’s turn to let out a bitter laugh as he twists his wand, shooting up red sparks. “You have no idea.”

Chapter Text

Bill looks up from Percy’s letter, deep in thought. Then, he opens up a drawer and pulls out a couple other letters- these ones from his Mum. He unfolds them, spreading them out on his desk.

He has to push a couple unfinished projects aside to make room, taking care not to let the assorted withering and decay curses on said unfinished projects touch his bare skin- or as bare as his skin can be, what with the many runic alphabet tattoos that are constantly dancing up and down his arms and hands.

He reads the papers over, chewing on his bottom lip. Absently, he reaches up and tugs on his earring. It sends out a little affectionate spark of magic into his fingertips, letting him know that its own runes are up and running still. Good.

Bill rereads the letters one more time (troll, new brother, Defense teacher, wards, unicorns-) and then stands up, making a decision.

“Hey Max,” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“I’m taking my lunch a bit early- might be a little late coming back, too.”

“Alright- don’t take too long, please- we have that debrief later today when the others get back.”

“Yep,” Bill says, before grabbing his jacket from where it was draped over his chair. He stands for a moment, thinking. Then, he grabs a couple more things. Better safe than sorry.

Bill finishes strapping the knives to his forearm by the time he reaches the fireplace. He takes a pinch of the powder in his gloved hands, tosses the powder in, and says, “Hog’s Head.”

He waits, feeling a bit impatient, until the fire turns green- signaling that Aberforth is letting him through. Bill looks back into their headquarters once, then ventures into the flames.

Aberforth doesn’t even look up from where he’s wiping tables. He just grunts, and Bill nods in return.

“Not stayin’?”

“Not this time, Abe,” Bill says. “I’ve got to take care of something up at the school.”

“One of yer brothers causin’ trouble?” Aberforth asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s got a toothpick in between his teeth.

“In a sense,” Bill says. “I’ll be back in a couple hours, yeah?”

“Sure, sure,” Aberforth says.

Bill pauses at the doorway. “And Abe,” he starts.

“Yeah?”

“You never saw me, alright?”

“I never do,” Aberforth agrees.

Bill smiles to himself, then heads off, whistling to himself as he goes. He flicks a golden coin up and down as he goes, watching as it spins in the air.

He doesn’t bother running- it’s not as though the wards are going to get any less destroyed by the time he gets there. Besides, even if there are shreds of it left, Bill’s planning on tearing it all the way down- it’s around the time he should be recreating them anyhow. With Ron at school now, and both Ginny and Luna coming in next year- yeah, a new ward setup is definitely the play here.

(Luna isn’t a wolf, or a sibling, but she likes to be in the wards during the moon anyways. They’ve tried to keep her out- which as near as Bill can tell, is not possible.)

It takes him forty minutes to get to where the wards should be. He surveys the area, grimacing at where there’s a fallen tree next to a splintered log. Must be where that bastard tried to off his little brother. Yeah- that’s not going to happen again.

After a cursory walk around the territory, refreshing his memory as to where the anchor points are, Bill heads inwards, towards the keystone. When he gets to the hollowed out stump, he raises an eyebrow. The wards on this one are still intact, since they’re separate from the main body of the wards.

A good thing, too, since if Bill isn’t mistaken, that’s a massively powerful magical artifact sitting innocuously amongst the clean bandages, pile of blankets, and first-aid kits.

Bill considers investigating the package further, but decides against it. It’s probably one of the twins’ projects, and therefore not his problem. Besides, it’s not really his business either. He’s not his Mum- he doesn’t make it a habit to pry into his brothers’ lives.

The sort of meddling he does is the sort that compensates for the kind his mother does, not replicates it.

Bill crouches down, getting to work. He lets himself get lost in the process of rebuilding the wards. He’s learned more than a few things since he’s last worked on these wards, and he’s excited to implement them. Bill’s passion is and always will be runes, but wards is a close second. A hobby, of sorts. A hobby that has routinely saved his life and made his job much, much easier.

It’s been a while since Bill’s let himself work on a ward setup- he just hasn’t found the time, these last couple of years. Between curse-breaking and rune-writing, Bill has other priorities. This is nice. The forest is familiar, and a part of Bill feels sort of like he’s come home. Bill has a lot of homes- and Hogwarts will always be one of those. More specifically, this stretch of forest.

Bill wonders idly, as he continues to work the wards, if Dumbledore has figured their family out yet. It baffles him to think that the Headmaster hasn’t, but then again, it baffles him to think that they’ve managed to keep the werewolf thing a secret from anyone at all. People really do just… see what they want to see, he supposes.

At one point he hesitates, the thrum of magic curling around his gloved fingers, ready to surge as he commands. On the one hand, the unicorns are harmless (to werewolves), and had clearly just been looking for sanctuary. On the other hand, Bill is nearly positive that they’re the reason the wards were torn down in the first place.

He decides to ward against them. The unicorns can find their own sanctuary.

Bill finishes the wards up with a snapping sensation, and stands up, nodding. He’ll do another walk around the lines, make sure things are nice and clean, but if he’s not mistaken, his work in the forest is done.

There are a few snags in the line that he cleans up, and he refreshes two of the five anchor points- and then the ward is done. He’s mildly impressed with himself- it’s a nice piece of wardwork. He’d almost go so far as to say he’s outdone himself, if not for that particularly finicky ward he’d constructed on the fly back during the Malmö incident of ‘89.

Bill sighs, satisfied. He flexes his fingers, feeling the residue magic still clinging to them slip away. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls the coin out again, and resumes flipping it into the air as he walks off.

There- that’s one problem solved.

And soon, Bill thinks as he stops at the treeline and looks up and over at the giant castle on the hill, there will be two.

Bill feels the wards of Hogwarts brush over him, and his earring give another little spark as it lets him walk through without issue. He probably has twenty minutes before the scrambling rune gives out, and Dumbledore is alerted to his presence.

He’s going to give himself ten- just to be safe.

The grounds of Hogwarts are lush and green in the late spring weather, and Bill breathes in the scent of it deeply. He loves his job, but it doesn’t let him outside in weather like this very often. Mostly, it has him in museums; deep underground, in tombs; or in ruins high in the mountains- with freezing temperatures and not enough oxygen to go around.

“Hey, Bill- is that you?”

“Hagrid!” Bill says, turning to look at the gameskeeper, feeling a grin stretch across his face at the sight of the man. “How are you?”

“I should be asking you the same thing! What are you doing here?”

“I’m not,” Bill says, grin widening. He twitches his fingers and feels the magic pull from the tattooed runes he knows are now lining his fingers under his gloves.

Hagrid turns back to his gardening without another word, and Bill continues to make his way up to the castle, stamping down on the curl of guilt he feels creeping up on him.

Bill’s gotten pretty good with his memory modification runes over the years, but he doesn’t just love using them- it’s the one part of his work he ever feels guilty about. The robbery is fine, a little maiming is alright too (guards usually know what they’ve signed up for), but the memory runes? That feels like a step too far.

Unfortunately, they’re too damn useful not to use, and no one is ever suspecting them because no one but Bill knows they exist.

Oh sure, memory charms exist, but those are sledgehammers compared to the rune’s scalpel-level of precision. Bill would in all honesty rather die than use a memory charm, but they are the only reason he was able to figure out the memory runes. Bill takes after his father in that respect- he can’t help but reverse-engineer things. Arthur has his muggle inventions, and Bill his runes.

It’s what makes Bill good at what he does- his ability to use runes in place of spells. According to Max, if he’d been born a muggle Bill would be a prodigy at chemistry, or maybe computer coding. As it stands, Bill’s planning on giving those a try someday anyhow. Maybe once he retires.

Of course, the memory runes won’t work on occluders, which means Bill’s going to have to avoid running into Dumbledore, Snape, and Flitwick- or any of his brothers, other than Harry.

As Bill walks through the halls of Hogwarts, he pulls at his runes to wipe himself from the minds of the students walking through the halls. Fortunately it isn’t too busy- he only has so much energy to burn before he’ll start to feel the effects of running runes exclusively off of his own magic.

Bill takes the moving stairs two at a time, half letting his nose guide him, half relying on memory as to where the Defense classroom is. All four of his brothers had mentioned the garlic smell, and Bill thinks he has a pretty good idea as to why, now. He’d thought that surely it wouldn’t be so bad- he’d been wrong. It is that bad.

Forget vampires, this garlic shit is almost as effective against werewolves.

Bill pauses in front of the door to what he assumes is the Defense professor’s office. It was certainly an office in his time, and the garlic smell is incredibly strong here. He flips the coin in his hands one more time, then knocks on the door after catching it deftly in his gloved hand.

“C-come in-!”

Bill raises an eyebrow, feeling beyond pleased with himself. He hadn’t been sure, but it looks like his memory is as good as he’d hoped. Thursday, eleven fifteen. Free period for the Defense professor.

Bill walks confidently into the room. He lets the door close behind him, making sure to face the odious little man all the while. Bill is surprised his nose is still working at all and not on some strike, the garlic is so pungent.

The Professor opens his mouth, brow furrowed and a confused expression on his face. He seems to be gearing up to ask just who Bill thinks he is. Bill doesn’t give him the chance. He just smiles.

“Here, catch.”

The coin catches the light beautifully as it spins in the air, towards the Professor. He automatically reaches up, and Bill’s grin widens further still. It feels like it’s splitting his face in two. He’s sure his eyes are practically bleeding gold- matching the golden shine of the sparkling coin.

Professor Quirrell catches the coin right before it hits him in the face.

The withering curse activates.

And he doesn’t even have the time to scream.

Chapter Text

Molly sits, legs crossed at the ankles. She’s put her best, ‘who, me? I’m just a stay-at-home mother of seven’ face- even though she really didn’t do anything, this time.

Arthur is sitting next to her, staring in undisguised fascination at the assorted trinkets scattered around Albus’s office. Albus’s phoenix is on Arthur’s shoulder, pressing its face against the top of his head and cooing softly.

Albus himself is sitting across from them, at his desk. His fingers are steepled together, and there’s a rare frown on his face.

“I’m sure you can understand where I’m coming from,” Albus is saying. “I cannot think of what may have happened, and you seemed to have had concerns about him-”

“Accusing us of murder, though? That seems a tad extreme,” Molly says, raising an eyebrow. She’s sure her eyes are golden underneath the colored contacts she’d slipped into her eyes before coming to this meeting.

Albus just shakes his head. “Not murder,” he assures her. “Nor an accusation. I’m simply trying to parse together the events that led up to Quirinus’s death.”

“As I’ve told you,” Molly says, “it was clearly an accident, or perhaps the result of the curse. Quirinus was playing with magic he shouldn’t have been playing with, and paid the toll for it.”

Albus frowns again. “Maybe so,” he allows.

Molly doesn’t quite understand why this is bothering the Headmaster so much. The professor’s untimely demise was… unfortunate (according to some), but Albus has encountered worse- not just in the war, but as Headmaster. The curse on the Defense position has resulted in some particularly nasty fatalities. They’re rare, but they do happen.

“I believe that’s all the questions I have,” Albus says finally. “Thank you for your time, Molly, Arthur.”

“Of course,” Molly says, then smiles sweetly. “Although, if you don’t mind, I have something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Albus spreads his hands out as though to say, ‘ask away’.

“Harry- Arthur and I would like to take him into our home. For good.”

Albus looks at her, very obviously taken aback. “Molly,” he starts.

“His relatives don’t care for him,” Molly continues. “And if you don’t believe me on that, you can just ask Harry about it yourself. He’s- the things Ron has told me are worrying at best. Horrifying at worst. I know you’re his magical guardian, in lieu of Black. Let us take him, Albus.”

Albus clears his throat. “Be that as it may,” he starts.

Molly’s eyes narrow, and Arthur stills beside her.

“There… is a powerful protection, on his relatives home. So long as he considers their home his own, and he resides with someone of his mother's blood, Harry is protected against those who would wish to seek him out and harm him in the name of their fallen Lord.”

“And I’m to believe that there are no other methods of protection that might be implemented,” Molly says. Her tone is icy, and Albus must know he needs to tread lightly. Molly knows he does, because she can smell a flash of fear emanating off of him.

Dumbledore may not know that she's a werewolf, but he's not an idiot. If it came down to a fight, Molly would lose- but she'd do some damage on the way out.

“The protection is ancient magic. It is his best shot. I’m sorry, Molly.”

“You’re sorry,” Molly says flatly.

“I am,” Albus says. He does, to his credit, look very tired. “I will return the boy home to his relatives myself, and ensure that they are reminded that Harry is family, and to treat him as such.”

“Thank you,” Arthur says, cutting in. He’s looking at Albus with an extremely mild expression, that’s bordering on downright friendly. Molly has to swallow back a growl. “That’s all we ask- we just want Harry to be safe, and protected. We both appreciate the lengths you’ve gone to ensure that’s the case.”

This, if anything, makes Albus seem even more exhausted.

“Of course,” he says.

“We’ll take our leave now,” Arthur says, smiling easily.

Albus just nods, and Arthur stands, helping Molly up. She takes his hand and allows for him to help, but she’s positive her expression tells him just how displeased she is with what he’s done here.

Arthur should know better than to cut in like that- it’s not like him. He’d better have a damn good explanation for her- one that justifies rolling over and letting the idea of leaving an abused child in an abusive home slide.

And not just any child- their child.

“Fawkes,” Albus says, holding up his arm.

Before flying off, the phoenix sheds a single tear- which Arthur was ready for, catching it in a handkerchief and folding it up carefully before tucking it into his breast pocket. Then it flies off of his shoulder and alights on Albus's outstretched arm.

“How many is that now?” Molly murmurs as they walk up to the fireplace, curious despite the undercurrent of irritation still thrumming in her veins.

“I believe I’m up to eight now,” Arthur says. “If Albus dies before I do, that phoenix is headed straight to me. According to Albus, anyways.”

Molly isn’t surprised in the least.

“So,” she says after they have walked through the floo back into the Burrow’s living room, “what the hell?”

“We were never going to win that fight, Molly,” Arthur says, dusting some ash off of his robed shoulder.

“So, what- we’re just going to leave our boy with those- those monsters?”

Arthur turns to look at her, an incredulous expression on his face. “Of course not, Molly- and I know you know me better than that.”

Molly takes a deep breath in, willing herself to calm down. Arthur is right, she’s letting her emotions get the better of her. She does know her husband better than that- and she shouldn’t have doubted him for a second. “You’re right. I’m sorry, dear.”

Arthur nods, looking mollified. “Albus told us everything we need to know- about Harry, his relatives, and the magic.”

Molly pauses, thinking back, then feels a smile stretch across her face. “Oh,” she breathes. “There are a couple angles we could work with, aren’t there.”

“Exactly,” Arthur says, returning the smile with one of his own. Then the smile fades. “What do you think Quirrell-”

“Oh, that was Bill,” Molly says, waving a hand.

“Did he tell you?” Arthur says, blinking.

Molly feels a wry smile make its way onto her face. “Of course not,” she says. “But you know Bill, darling- one complaint from any one of his brothers too many and he’d have gotten it into his head to take care of the problem. And a withering curse is just his style- it was probably just one of those things he had on hand.”

Arthur is quiet for a moment, and Molly pats his arm. Arthur has always been softer than she, and so it doesn’t surprise her that he’s having trouble reconciling the idea of their oldest child brutally murdering a man in cold blood.

Molly doesn’t have a single issue with it- as far as she’s concerned, the professor had signed his death warrant the second he tried to hurt one of her children. If not Bill, Molly is sure she would’ve managed to get around to it- eventually.

Better it be Bill, though- that boy’s entire job is breaking into places. He’s just better at that sort of thing than Molly is. Molly’s sure she could’ve done it- but she’s not so sure she could’ve done it without getting caught.

“Mum,” Ginny calls from the kitchen. “Are you home?”

“Yes, dear,” Molly calls.

“Okay,” Ginny says. Then, “don’t come in here for a second, please!”

Arthur and Molly exchange a look, and then Molly ventures, “why not?”

A pause, and the sound of a muffled screech.

“Just because,” Ginny says.

Arthur and Molly are both already hurrying into the other room. When Molly sees the damage, she just sighs.

The back door is wide open, letting in the late spring weather. In the middle of the room sits a washing tub, full of shallow, soapy water- that’s tinged an unfortunate shade of purple. They must have dragged the tub inside.

Inside the tub is the household ghoul- looking extremely put-out, for a giant bat-spider-knife thing.

“Luna, honey, what are you doing?” Molly tries.

Luna looks up from where she’d been sitting in the tub (fully clothed) next to the now once-again screeching ghoul, which is completely purple- as are Luna’s hands and most of her sopping hair. Luna won’t meet Molly’s eyes, but Molly knows better than to think that’s an admission of guilt.

“I’m trying to see if Albert is allergic to the color purple,” Luna says airily. “Ginny is helping me.”

Ginny grins sheepishly from where she’s standing in the tub, jeans rolled up to her knees, next to the ghoul with a dish-sponge. Molly sighs again- at least she recognizes the dye as the sort she uses to dye some of her yarn. It’s non-toxic. When one is a mother to seven werewolves, one learns to make sure to own things that are at the very least non-fatal when ingested or otherwise meddled with.

On second thought, Ginny was like this before becoming a werewolf too. She’s always liked to chew on things. She’s a biter- to her older brothers’ dismay.

“What are your findings so far?” Arthur asks, coming into the room behind Molly. Molly can tell he’s amused and trying to hide it under an air of scientific interest. It works on the kids, it does not work on her.

Of course, the situation is rather funny. Poor, dear Albert.

“Inconclusive,” Luna says, before going back to what she was doing- namely, pouring the soapy water over the ghoul’s head. It gives another plaintive screech, and one of its giant ears twitches miserably.

“Don’t be like that,” Molly says, looking right at its pale yellow lamp-like eyes. “You and I both know that if you wanted out, you’d just leave.”

The ghoul settles back, a grumpy expression on its batlike face.

Chapter Text

Draco is halfway to falling asleep when he hears the compartment door slide open.

“What are you doing here?” Pansy asks, voice dripping with distaste. Draco appreciates Pansy- say what you will about her nastiness, at least she doesn’t bother being fake about people.

“I need to talk to Malfoy,” Weasley says.

Draco’s eyes snap open, and then he narrows them. He doesn’t look up from where he’d been pressing the side of his face against the train window, though.

Maybe if he pretends to be dead, Weasley will go away.

“Why?” Pansy asks, her tone the perfect mix between incredulous and disparaging. Good man, Pansy Parkinson.

Vince and Greg shift, and Draco just knows that they’ve dialed their ‘threatening presence’ up to eleven. His friends- he just loves them so much.

There’s that sound again, the one that seems to crop up around Potter and his ilk. The one that Draco can’t help but to think of as a growl, even though he knows that’s irrational. Weasley doesn’t say anything, but Draco can tell he doesn’t leave either.

“You can go now,” Pansy clarifies.

“Thanks,” Weasley says. “But no thanks. I really need to talk to Malfoy.”

“Talk, then,” Draco says, sitting up at last. It’s time for whatever this is shaping up to be to end.

“Alone,” Weasley continues. His eyes are narrowed, and his arms are folded. His jaw is clenched, too- interesting. Weasley doesn’t want to be doing this just as much as Draco wants him to not be doing this.

“Anything you say to me you can say to my compatriots,” Draco says, feeling himself mirroring Weasley’s tense body language.

Weasley’s eyes go even more narrowed, and then he relaxes and shrugs. “Alright then- I was just going to ask you how the last moon-”

He cuts off with a yelp as Draco launches up and out of his seat, grabbing Weasley’s arm and dragging him into the corridor and then into the empty compartment across the way, slamming him up against the window as he does.

“I don’t know what you think you know,” Draco hisses, feeling a growl rumbling deep in his chest. “But you’re wrong.”

“Care to explain how you’re holding me half a foot in the air without any problem at all, then? Or, say, the growling? I can hear you, Malfoy. I’m not deaf. And in the forest, you chased You-Know-Who off, followed by an entire centaur- who was, I'll remind you, just trying to help. Come on.”

Draco closes his eyes and breathes in, trying to calm the raging feeling inside of him that’s begging him to tear Weasley apart. The reminder as to Firenze's suspicions doesn't help much, but he manages to hold off. Then he drops the other boy, and steps back as smoothly as he’s able.

“What do you want,” Draco hears himself ask as he pushes his feelings of panic and shame down and down.

Weasley looks at him, then snorts. “From you? Nothing, you git.”

Draco closes his eyes again. He feels a bit light-headed. After months of this, months of hiding it- everything is going to be completely ruined, by a Weasley.

Maybe he should kill him. It’d basically be doing the world a service. Plus then maybe Ha- Potter would come to his senses, and be Draco’s friend instead.

“So you’re what, just going to ruin my life? Not very Gryffindor of you.”

Draco can’t kill Weasley. He’s too weak- emotionally, that is. Of course he is. His Grandfather is right.

Weasley snorts again. “Really just assuming the worst of people today, are we? How very Malfoy of you, Malfoy.”

“Would you stop drawing it out?” Draco snaps. “Just get it over with. I’m a monster. Let Potter know that he can come slay me whenever- I’ll stay put.”

“You’re not a monster,” Weasley says, smirk falling off his face. “And Harry wouldn’t- he’s under the bizarre impression that you’re friends now, so I’m pretty sure ‘slaying’ is off the table.”

Draco shoves the burst of warmth he feels down as deep as it can possibly go and sniffs imperiously.

“Well, you can go ahead and relieve him of that particular delusion,” he says.

“I’ve tried,” Weasley growls.

Draco blinks. Wait. That- that was a growl. What.

“What.”

Weasley looks at him, then snorts again. “Finally catching on, are you? I’m surprised you’re one of the top scorers of our year, honestly.”

“Wait,” Draco says. His brain feels slow- he has the answer, he’s hit upon it, he knows he has- but he can’t believe it. He just can’t. “That- that’s not possible. How?”

“Not any less possible than whatever you have going on,” Weasley counters, raising an eyebrow. “When did it happen for you? Christmas, I’m guessing. And how have you been transforming without anyone noticing?”

Draco doesn’t answer him. Instead, he sits down on the bench. Weasley, a werewolf. Just like him. What had the rumors said? He’d taken down a troll? That doesn’t sound so implausible, now. Wait, could Draco take down a troll?

He hopes he doesn’t have to find out, but still- nice to know. Wait, is it just this Weasley? Or is-

“Hello? Earth to Malfoy?” Weasley says, waving a hand in front of Draco’s face.

“Don’t,” Draco snaps, stamping down on another growl. He hates Weasley so much- and the wolf part of him agrees wholeheartedly, demonstrating that his wolf-y aspects aren’t wrong all the time.

Just most of the time.

“Just- why are you telling me this? What’s stopping me from-” Draco trails off, heart sinking. He doesn't bother finishing that thought.

“Uh huh,” Weasley says. The smirk is back, and it’s sharpening into a grin as Draco watches. “If you tell, I’ll tell too. People might not believe me, not at first, but once the idea is out there…”

Draco feels a bit sick. “Then what do you want?”

That manages to wipe the grin off of Weasley’s face, for some reason. He doesn’t answer right away, looking out the window instead. Draco is about to prompt him again, when he finally says something- so quiet that if Draco didn’t have sharpened hearing, he wouldn’t have caught it at all.

“I can’t just leave you to deal with it alone,” he says, not looking over at Draco.

Draco feels like he’s been punched.

How- that’s- how dare Weasley? Draco is doing just fine, thank you. In fact, he’s doing better than fine! He’s managed to find the space to transform in the castle without being found out for months now. He’d like to see Weasley do half as well as he has. Hell, Draco is in the house that, historically, has the most to fear from Draco- most of his house are purebloods, so they know exactly just how horrible werewolves are- and he’s still managing to not only survive, but genuinely thrive.

Draco opens his mouth to verbally eviscerate Weasley, but-

It’s just, well. He doesn’t want to deal with it alone.

“What are you proposing?”

Weasley sits down, across from Draco. He leans his head back.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t- I don’t know if it would be safe, transforming together. My wolf hates you, and I don’t think-”

“Mine hates you too,” Draco confirms.

“So-” Weasley starts, then stops, sighing. “Okay. I think we should try to be friends.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Weasley says, grimacing. “Yeah, I feel similarly. Only- maybe that'll help our wolves play nice and you can transform with- with me, someday. Also, it's just logical: Harry is a part of your pack, and he’s a part of my pack-”

“Hang on,” Draco says. “What?”

Weasley rolls his eyes. “Don’t you know anything about this?”

“Yes,” Draco says, a bit coldly. “But I didn’t think- you need to be a werewolf to be pack, I thought.”

Weasley shakes his head. “Nah- Harry and Hermione and Neville are mine, and none of them are wolves. I assume Crabbe and Goyle and Parkinson are yours, plus Harry.”

Well. This is news to Draco.

“Can you… fix that?” Draco tries.

Weasley actually laughs at that. “Yeah, no. I would if I could, believe me- I don’t want Harry anywhere near you, you pompous git.”

“Well, you don’t get a say in that matter,” Draco shoots back, feeling like if he had hackles they would be raised.

“I know! I know I don’t! That’s the whole thing!”

Draco shuts his mouth and glares, despite feeling a bit taken aback by Weasley’s outburst.

Weasley breathes in, then out, nostrils flaring. “Okay. Okay. Look, let’s just- try, yeah? I assume you want Harry around, and I don’t- I can’t like, morally let you be all- all angsty, about the werewolf thing, so- friends?”

Weasley’s stuck his hand out, even though he looks decidedly uncomfortable at the idea. Draco can relate, unfortunately- his ‘wolf’, as Weasley put it, is pacing in his chest and snarling at the mere thought of the handshake, let alone an actual friendship. But-

Well. Harry, for one. Draco hates it, hates to admit it, and cannot believe that it was obvious enough for Ron Weasley to see through it, but Harry is a part of Draco’s ‘pack’. Somehow.

And- dammit, Draco doesn’t want to be alone in this anymore. He’s flying blind, and every moon he lives in fear that his (admittedly shoddy) wardwork is going to fail, and he’ll manage to get out of his abandoned dungeon classroom, and then he’ll wake up and realize he’s killed a bunch of students, and is slated to be executed and-

Also, Weasley’s obviously been a wolf longer than he has, so- at the very, very least, this could be a beneficial arrangement. For educational purposes.

With that thought in mind, Draco takes Weasley’s hand. “Draco,” he grits out.

“Ron,” Ron says, grimacing. “If you hurt me or mine, I’ll kill you.”

“Likewise,” Draco says, then releases Ron’s hand.

Chapter Text

There’s a smart rap on Ron’s doorway, and Ron looks up from where he’d been looking at Fred’s old second-year charms textbook. Not reading- just looking. He’s too damn stressed to read anything at all, much less homework. Harry still hasn’t responded to any of his letters- it’s been three weeks now.

Draco Malfoy has sent Ron more letters than Harry has. That's just wrong.

Ron doesn’t know who could have a reason to bother him right now, considering that it’s late- there’s maybe only an hour till midnight. It might be Ginny- she’s as stressed as the rest of them about Harry, and likely wants to wrestle. It’s a good way to burn nervous energy, and Ron is fully prepared to accept- even if it wakes their parents and they get yelled at. It’s not Ginny who’s standing in the doorway, though.

It’s Percy, which at least explains why Ron hadn’t heard him coming. It doesn’t explain much else, though. Anything, really.

“Come on,” Percy says, jerking his head and not giving Ron a chance to ask what’s going on.

“What? Where?” Ron asks, although he’s already sitting up and going for his shoes.

“Anything from Harry?” Percy asks, instead of answering the question like a normal person- er, werewolf.

“No,” Ron growls, then feels a spike of sharp hope as he looks up from tying his shoes into Percy’s stony expression. “Are we-”

“Yes,” Percy says, already turning away from Ron’s room.

Ron finishes getting his shoes on and runs after his older brother, hope and apprehension and excitement and fear getting all tangled in his chest as he does.

“How?”

“Car,” Percy says.

Ron comes to a dead stop, staring at his brother- who still hasn’t turned back to look at him. The car? They’re taking the car? Who signed off on this?

Then he decides it doesn’t matter and forces his legs to move again, and he catches up to Percy, who’s stopped in the living room. Fred and George are already there, and they’re wearing matching black beanies and turtlenecks. It looks like they’re planning a heist, not a-

Well, kidnapping, apparently. So maybe it’s not the worst getup after all.

“Are we ready?” Percy asks, a bit stiffly. The moon is in just a few days, so everyone is especially on edge, Harry problem notwithstanding. It’s hard to be patient with each other when everyone’s bones are hurting.

“We leaving Gin?” George asks, cocking his head.

“She’s going to be pissed,” Fred says.

“Ginny’s still just a kid. I didn’t want to bring Ron,” Percy says, which has Ron stamping down on a flare of indignation. “But since he’s the only one of us who’s taken out a troll, I figured-”

“Incorrect,” Fred says.

“That doesn’t count,” George counters. “Our troll is alive and living her best troll life. Percy’s point still stands.”

“Can we go?” Ron cuts in.

He’s getting impatient, and Percy has that look in his eye that means something of an interrogation might be on its way. Ron doesn’t know why Percy bothers- if the twins don’t want to share, there’s nothing in the world that will make them do so; short of Mum, or one of Dad’s disappointed looks.

Besides, the reminder of last Halloween, that troll’s sightless eyes staring- it’s not really something he wants to dwell on. Maybe one day he’ll be able to appreciate the fact that he killed a fully grown mountain troll at eleven, but not- not yet.

“Ron’s right,” Percy decides. “We’re leaving now.”

They head out into the night- the summer night air feeling pleasantly warm, despite the late hour. The car is parked a couple hundred feet away from the Burrow, a tarp thrown haphazardly over it. Percy sends the tarp flying off the car with nothing more than a sharp flick of his wrist, and Ron can’t help but be impressed. Wandless and nonverbal spell? Woah.

Fred whistles. “Who knew- all that practice was doing something for you after all.”

Percy shrugs, but he looks a little smug.

George is already sliding into the car- the front seat, behind the wheel. Percy just looks at him, and he sighs loudly but scoots the rest of the way over. Ron squeezes in after him, and Fred sits in the back, stretching his legs out.

Percy takes his position in front of the wheel, adjusts the seat and mirrors, buckles his seat belt, gives everyone a stern look until they buckle their seatbelts, and then starts the car.

“Wait, does Mum-” Ron starts, but then is thrown back against his seat as Percy floors it, shooting the car into the night sky. The back window is open, courtesy of the last time they’d driven the car (Ginny likes sticking her head out), so Ron’s senses are suddenly being buffeted by the wind. He resists the urge to slam his hands over his ears.

“There’s a cloaking option,” Fred yells over the sound of the roaring wind, reaching an arm up and pointing.

“We don’t need to cloak yet,” George disagrees, shouting back. “There’s no one around for miles!”

“Can someone roll up that window?” Ron yells.

No one talks for a moment as Fred leans over and cranks the window back up. Ron can feel the tension bleed from his shoulders as the wind gets quieter and quieter and then- gone.

“Thank you,” he says, sitting back.

“We’re not cloaking yet,” Percy says. “It puts too much on the car. We’ll cloak when we get close- for now, we just look like an airplane. That’s why we’re going at night.”

“Does Mum know, then?” Ron tries again. “That we’re taking the car, I mean.”

Percy’s hands tighten on the wheel, then he visibly relaxes. “Not… as such,” he says. “Which is another reason for the night thing.”

Ron blinks. “You- you stole the car?”

Percy doesn’t say anything, but his jaw ticks.

“You?” Ron continues. He knows his brother is annoyed, knows he shouldn’t push, but he simply cannot believe his ears. “Percy? You?”

“I’ve never been prouder to call you my brother, Perce,” Fred says, reaching an arm up and clasping Percy’s shoulder.

“I’m driving,” Percy snaps.

Fred withdraws his arm as quickly as though he’d been stung- or literally snapped at. “Jesus, alright,” Fred mutters.

Before Hogwarts, Ron had always thought it was silly when Fred and George and even Percy used Muggle curses. Then he’d gone to Hogwarts and befriended Hermione and Harry, and now he’s just as bad as they are- when he’s not around Mum, of course.

“So are we allowed to blame you?” George asks. “When we get caught later, I mean.”

When, not if. Ron swallows. He’s excited to see Harry again, and knows this is important, but- well, the prospect of Mum’s ire is daunting. And what if Dad is disappointed? That’s even worse.

“You’re going to blame me,” Percy says firmly. “I’m the oldest.”

Ron nods. That would’ve been what happened anyways, but it’s good to know that Percy is aware of his responsibility. Not really a surprise, of course, but good to know.

“Bill is the oldest,” Fred says.

“I’m the oldest right now,” Percy says, rolling his eyes before putting them back on the non-existent road. “If Bill were here, then we’d be blaming him.”

“If Bill were here, Harry’s relatives wouldn’t make it the night,” George says.

Percy manages a glare before he looks back up front. This driving business seems to be stressing him out more than anything else. Ron isn’t sure why- it’s not like there’s anything to hit up here, other than the ground.

Oh, wait- Ron maybe gets it, actually.

“I still can’t believe we have two brothers that have managed to vanquish the Dark Lord,” Fred says.

“Maybe we’ll all get a turn,” George jokes, then grimaces. It seems to have occurred to him that, what with the Dark Lord not being dead and all, that’s an actual possibility.

Not that they know for sure that that’s what the wraith Bill had to dodge was, of course. But the centaur in the woods had all but told Ron and Draco while Harry was out cold that that’s who’d been murdering the unicorns, and the fact that that whole clearing had smelled of garlic- yeah. It all adds up to paint a not-so-pretty picture. Ron is really, really grateful Bill had managed to nip that one in the bud.

(Although according to Bill, he wouldn’t have told his siblings about Quirrell at all if not for the wraith.

“I just have the feeling that this isn’t the last time one of us will have to deal with shit like this,” Bill had said. “What with Harry being the Boy-Who-Lived, and whatnot.”

Everyone had rolled their eyes at that particular moniker.

“Should we tell Mum and Dad?” Ginny had then asked. “About You-Know-Who?”

“Yeah, I’ll let em know- Charlie, too,” Bill had said. And that had been that.)

“I wouldn’t worry about us getting in too much trouble, though,” Percy says after another moment of quiet.

“Why not?” Ron asks.

“Mum's been wanting to do this herself for weeks,” Percy says. "She just can't, because she's an adult and would get in serious legal trouble."

“Hang on,” Fred says. “How do you know where we’re going?”

Percy shoots him an exasperated look, but doesn’t bother responding.

“Harry gave his address to me and Hermione,” Ron says. “For mail. I gave it to Mum, who put it on the fridge.”

“Which you’d know if you listened to our mother at all ever,” Percy says.

“Oh,” Fred says, ignoring Percy. “Muggle-raised, right.”

Ron nods. Harry wouldn’t know that to most wixen, the idea of a home address for mail is a bit silly- the owls do all the leg-work (wing-work) there. If wixen exchange anything, it’s floo-addresses.

Besides, Hermione doesn’t have an owl. She uses the post- which is why Ron now has a little collection of stamps. It’s kind of fun- Ron’s starting to get why Dad is so passionate about this sort of thing.

Not that a home address or the post matters when Harry hasn’t responded at all to anything.

Ron looks over at the speedometer. They’re going four hundred kilometers per hour.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Ron asks anyway.

“Be polite,” Percy warns. “She’s doing her best.”

Ron huffs, but settles back in his seat.

It takes longer than Ron would like, but finally Percy eases the car down from the clouds, turning the cloaking option on as he does. He maneuvers the car just above a muggle neighborhood. Thanks to the streetlamps and Ron’s night-vision, he can see a lot of details- and he’s not very impressed.

“Bit… monotonous,” Percy says.

“Yeah,” George says, nose wrinkled. “Ew.”

“We should have brought paint,” Fred muses. “We could have done a couple rooftop murals.”

“Let’s please just get Harry,” Ron says. He's almost sick with worry at this point. Ron's not totally sure what shape Harry is going to be in- hell, he doesn't know if Harry is even alive.

The worry must bleed into his tone, because the twins quiet down and Percy nods, a grim look on his face.

“Keep an eye out for Number 4,” he says.

“There,” Fred says, pointing. He’s rolled the window down again, but they’re not traveling at breakneck speeds, so it’s not loud.

Percy cranes his neck to look at what Fred is pointing at, then nods again and brings the car over. He puts it in park, so it’s levitating just above the rooftop of the drab little house.

“Now what?” Ron whispers, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

“Our turn,” Fred says, a sharp grin making his expression look a bit feral.

George pulls his beanie down over his face, revealing that it’s actually a balaclava. He grins as well, the white of his teeth a stark contrast against the dark mask.

“Be careful,” Percy says.

George gives a salute, then follows Fred out the car, landing lightly on the roof. Even with Ron’s night-vision, they very quickly disappear into the shadows of the night.

“Why don’t you go in, Perce?” Ron asks. “You’re so good at keeping quiet.”

Percy gets a little smile on his face. “Yes,” he agrees. “But I’m hopeless with locks. And the twins aren’t half-bad when they put their minds to it. They just prefer to be loud.”

“You should teach me,” Ron says.

“It’s an instinctive thing,” Percy says, waving him off. “Just practice, and you’ll get the hang of it.”

Ron isn’t so sure, but he’s run out of responses, so he settles back into his seat once more, trying to convince himself that everything is going to be alright and that nothing is the matter and that soon, very soon, Harry will finally be safe, and home.

Chapter Text

Fred

“Hey George,” Fred hears himself say. He’s a bit surprised at how cheery he sounds. Then again, he’s also feeling rather removed from the situation, and doesn’t have much of a say over his tone. Not right now.

They’d ended up going in through the back door, which had had a lock that was almost depressingly easy to crack- it’d taken two and a half hairpins, and less than ten seconds.

From there, they’d snuck in through the kitchen that Fred couldn’t help but think of as soulless, past what seems to be the sitting room (a beige-toned hellscape), and then George had started slowly up the stairs, since that’s where the sounds of people are emanating from. Four people, if Fred’s adrenaline sharpened hearing is to be trusted. The aunt, uncle, cousin, and Harry.

Fred had almost followed him, but something had stopped him. Something had seemed… off.

And now Fred is looking into the little cupboard under the stairs, and he thinks perhaps that he’s going to become a murderer tonight.

“Come on,” George hisses. “Fred!”

His brother is frozen at the top of the stairs, and talking so quietly that a normal person with normal hearing wouldn’t have been able to hear him from two feet away. Fred has no trouble hearing him at all, since he’s not a normal person and has in fact, very good hearing.

Fred looks up at George, feeling his grin frozen across his face. There’s a dull undercurrent of rage threatening to swallow up any rational thoughts he might have, and he’s not sure he wants to stop it. The heartbeats of Harry’s relatives seem louder, all of a sudden. Loud, and so, so fragile. He feels his gaze slide past George, into the dark hallway of the upper level of the house.

“Fred?” George is saying. He looks and sounds concerned. “Oh, your eyes-”

Fred blinks, coming back to himself all at once. The heartbeats fade into the background, but the unfortunate iron smell of old blood remains, stinking up his nostrils. “My- oh.”

His eyes must be glowing. Hell of a time for that to start.

George has made his way back down the stairs, expertly avoiding the steps likely to squeak or groan. After years at Hogwarts and sneaking around the Burrow, it’s something of second-nature. They’re not as good as Percy (which is all sorts of unfair), but they are good.

George falls into place next to Fred, then stills as he takes in the horrible cramped space. He swallows.

“That looks like Harry’s trunk,” George finally says, looking away from the cupboard and at the ceiling instead, as though he can’t bear to look any longer. His eyes are burning gold- same as Fred’s are, he assumes.

The darkness inside seems suffocating to Fred, despite the fact that his eyesight cuts through it easily. There’s a cot in there, and some old and broken toys. A couple scraps of paper, with assorted childish drawings. The cot has dried blood on it. It looks lived in. Not now, obviously, but-

“You grab it,” George continues, saying, “I’ll get Harry. Start getting the trunk out to the car, yeah? We’ll probably want a speedy getaway.”

Fred clicks his teeth together a couple times, then nods.

“And Fred,” George starts.

Fred looks over at his brother. The smile is still there on his face, unbidden- it’s so big it almost hurts.

“When you get to the car- stay out there. Send Percy if I’m not back in ten minutes.”

Fred doesn’t argue. He’s long since learned that when he ignores George on the matters of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, he only ever regrets it. Eventually.

Fred takes the trunk handles and lifts it off the ground. It’s unwieldy, but not heavy at all- not to him. He nods, and George gives him a small, tense smile. Then Fred turns around and walks out the way they came, not looking back.

He’s not going to argue with George, but it’ll be a while before he can forgive his brother for this.

George

George creeps back up the stairs, resolutely ignoring the past three minutes or so. If he doesn’t ignore, then he might do something he’ll regret later.

Not something like Fred would do, nothing so drastic as that, but still- they’re already on thin ice here. Kidnapping is no joke, and kidnapping Harry Potter?

Better that they don’t commit any more crimes than they already are.

But that cupboard, that-

George breaths out through his nose, then in again, focusing on the smells. There are four people in this house, and barging in on the wrong one would be utterly disastrous. His nose leads him to the right, past a bathroom and a linen closet (maybe George had better check if they’d stuck another orphan in that one) before he arrives at the first of (what he assumes) are the two bedrooms on this side of the house.

George takes in another breath- he needs to be sure- and smiles to himself as he smells owl. This one is Harry’s, no doubt about it. He goes for the doorknob, then pauses. Then he can’t help the huff of bitter laughter that slips out.

He shouldn’t have bothered with trying to smell Harry out at all- this door may be the only one in the house that locks from the outside, other than that fucking cupboard.

George unlocks it, then swings the door open. He has to admit, when he’d come inside and heard four heartbeats, he’d felt a wave of relief. Harry is, at the very least, alive. That doesn’t mean he’s in good shape, but he’s alive. They can work with that.

The door doesn’t make a sound, since George is more than practiced at opening even the squeakiest of doors silently. George can’t help but hold his breath as he creeps through the room. Harry’s pretty white owl is wide awake, looking at him with a judgy expression.

George gives her a little wave, and she seems to relax. Then, George makes it to Harry’s bed. He’s asleep, still, which doesn’t bode well for his health. Harry’s a really light sleeper- at least, that’s what Ron says.

“Harry,” George whispers, giving the tiny boy a little poke on the shoulder. He can’t help but frown at how bony Harry is. And his cheeks look hollow- it’s been three weeks. What have his relatives been feeding him, nothing?

George thinks he might know the answer to that, and wishes he didn’t.

Harry doesn’t stir, and George gives him another, sharper poke. George had been worried that he might have to carry Harry out, but this does the trick- Harry’s green eyes snap open, and he stares up at George. He doesn’t make a sound, but his eyes are huge and his expression is terrified. George doesn’t like that one bit- if he were Harry, and he was woken up by a masked stranger in the middle of the night, he’d be screaming bloody-murder. What child doesn’t scream for help?

One that’s used to not receiving it, that’s what.

George quickly pulls the mask off his face, and gives Harry the cheeriest smile he can muster right now. He should’ve pulled it off his face before waking Harry up, but it’s a little late to regret that now.

“It’s me! George! We’re leaving, get your stuff and let's get out of here, yeah?”

Harry’s expression cycles from terrified to confused to relieved to despairing, which has George’s heart sinking.

“I can’t,” Harry says.

Why not- oh, right. The stupid reason they were told they couldn’t take him in the first place.

“If this is about the blood protections, don’t worry about it- we’ve got a plan to keep you safe,” George lies.

Well, it’s not a lie, not exactly. It’s just not so much that they have a plan, and more so that they’ve got a Bill. And seven werewolves on the property. And usually Luna too, who might very well be better protection than any blood magic could be all on her own.

Harry licks his lips (they look dry, has he been getting enough water?), then looks over at the open doorway.

“If I go, they might come after my relatives,” he says.

George has to stop himself from saying ‘good’, and instead says, “we can protect them too- trust us, Harry.”

Harry’s shoulders slump, and he lets out a little sigh. “Okay,” he says.

The kid doesn’t sound anything but exhausted, and George abruptly feels so angry that he wants to throw up. Instead, he goes to open the window, ‘accidentally’ breaking the lock as he does. He could have picked it, but he figures Harry’s relatives deserve at least a little property damage.

“That was locked,” Harry says, brow furrowed.

“Whoops,” George says. “Go let your owl out, she can fly home.”

“Um, we are home,” Harry says.

“The Burrow, I mean,” George says. Ah well, Harry will think of it as home soon enough.

Harry clambers out of bed, swaying a little as he stands up. It’s hard to tell at night even with George’s dark vision, but he thinks the boy is shaking as well. George puts that thought in the back of his mind for now. They can worry about that later.

Harry opens the door to the owl’s cage, and she nips affectionately at his fingers before leaping out and gliding out the open window. Harry watches her go, then begins to shuffle around the room, gathering things as he goes.

George watches, trying not to feel impatient. He’s sure Harry is going as quick as he can, considering the circumstances, but still- they have a bit of a time limit, here.

George hears the quiet purr of the car’s engine become marginally louder, and he looks out into the night. He doesn’t see anything, but he’s certain the car is now parked right outside the window. His certainty is confirmed when he sees a window roll down out of seemingly thin air.

“We saw the owl,” Ron whispers. “Is Harry-”

“He’s alive,” George confirms.

Ron scowls, seemingly reading between the lines of what George said.

“Hey Ron,” Harry says tiredly, coming up beside George. He has a ratty backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you respond to any of our letters?” Ron asks, scowl turning into a frown.

Harry gets a confused look on his face. “Because you didn’t… send… any?”

George decides that this is something they can figure out later. “Not now,” he says. Ron closes his mouth and nods.

George snatches the owl’s cage, and holds it out the window. Ron grabs it, and pulls it into the car, then opens the door. He’s moved to the back seat at some point. Fred is beside him, looking resolutely out the opposite window. George can’t help but wince- they’re going to be having a fight later. He knew it, but the confirmation still starts dread pooling in his stomach.

Not that he thinks there should really be a fight over whether or not Fred should murder people in cold blood, but ah well.

“In,” Percy says, ducking down so his face is visible through the open car door. “Quickly now. The car can only cloak for so long before getting antsy.”

“Percy?” Harry says, blinking sleepily. In the light of the moon, the bags under his eyes are much more prominent.

“Come on,” George says, pushing lightly at the boy.

Harry climbs up onto the window sill, and reaches out for Ron, who easily grabs and pulls him into the car. George follows him, not bothering to shut the window behind him. He hopes it rains mud and gets all over Harry’s relatives’ stupid pristine house.

“Seatbelts,” Percy says as George climbs over his brothers in the backseat and into shotgun.

There’s the sound of three belts clicking, and then Percy floors it once more, and they shoot off into the night sky. George smiles grimly to himself as the house gets further and further away- if he gets his way, that’ll be the last time any of them see that wretched place.

Chapter Text

Harry falls asleep in the car. He hadn’t meant to, he’d meant to ask questions- such as what the hell is going on, why are the Weasley’s here, what’s with the letters, is every single Weasley effortlessly strong; things like that.

But the car is warm, he hasn’t really slept since getting back from school and Petunia’s been working him to the bone, and- well, it’s just that he finally feels safe for the first time in three weeks. Sleep comes easily.

Harry wakes with a start, after what feels like all of two seconds.

“We’re here,” Ron says, voice not quite a whisper.

It’s still dark outside, but there are the sounds of crickets and the moon is almost full and bright in the night sky, so Harry can tell that they’re parked outside somewhere. The night air is fresh and clean- nothing like the stuffy suburban atmosphere of Privet Drive. Harry’s never been out in the country, but he thinks he loves it.

“Where is here?” Harry asks, unbuckling his seatbelt and then opening the door to the car.

“The Burrow,” Percy says, all business. “Our home. It’s not far, you’re just facing the wrong way.”

Harry gets out of the car and turns around, managing not to fall over despite feeling as though he’s seconds from doing so. Sleeping aside, he hasn’t really eaten for three weeks either, other than the occasional piece of burnt toast- and it’s hitting hard.

Despite the moonlight, he’s not really able to see anything but the shape of a building silhouetted against the sky. It’s probably just that he’s seeing it in the dark, but to him it looks like an architectural impossibility, leaning to the side and top-heavy. The very thought of it would have Petunia fainting outright.

Harry once again thinks he might love it. Something settles inside his chest, just as it had when he’d first seen Hogwarts.

“Come on,” Ron says, tugging at his arm.

“My stuff,” Harry says, going to turn.

“The twins will grab it,” Ron says, pulling again.

Harry sees that the twins are indeed grabbing his trunk and pack, and lets Ron pull him. Normally he’d put up more of a fight, but right now he could hardly carry his bag, much less an entire trunk. The twins also seem to have no issue at all with his things, once again reminding him of how easily George had snapped the lock on his window.

Maybe it’s a part of their ‘family stuff’.

Percy leads the way into the house, and the twins bring up the rear. Ron doesn’t let go of Harry’s arm, which Harry appreciates. He thinks he might be too wobbly to stand on his own right now. The house is dark, and Harry takes care to step as quietly as he can. The others do the same. Harry gets the idea that his rescue wasn’t exactly approved-of-by-Molly-or-Arthur, and he has to stamp down on the dull fear that begins to curl in his stomach, making him feel more nauseous than he already does (thanks to the hunger).

His fear is confirmed when, as the twins close the door behind them, the lights flick on, revealing Molly, sitting at a crowded kitchen table in an incredibly homey kitchen. If Harry weren’t so worried, he’d be marveling over how different it is from Surrey.

As it is, instead Harry freezes- as do the twins, and Ron. Percy just folds his arms and raises his chin, blue eyes bright and jaw clenched.

“Don’t lie to me now,” Molly says quietly. “Did you take the car to get Harry from his relatives?”

“Yes,” Percy says. Nothing else, no other excuse- just a blank assurance. He places the keys on the nearby counter with a clicking sound.

Harry isn’t sure as to whether he should be impressed with or terrified for the older boy. He settles on a healthy dose of both.

“And you are aware that it is incredibly illegal for you to drive at all, much less in a magic car.”

Some icy anger is bleeding into Molly’s tone, and Harry tenses up- he can’t help it, his body is telling him to run. Ron tightens his grip on Harry’s arm, but continues to just warily watch his mum and brother.

“Yes,” Percy says, just as blankly.

“You gave me and your father heart attacks,” Molly says. “We thought you might have died. Your father has been beating himself up about leaving the keys in an area accessible to you all night, working himself to exhaustion.”

The first flicker of emotion crosses Percy’s expression- it’s guilt, though, not fear. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m not,” one of the twins (Fred, if Harry’s keeping track correctly) says, ears red.

Molly and Percy both shoot him matching glares and he backs down, but he doesn’t look happy about it. George grimaces sympathetically, but Fred still won’t look at him. Harry doesn’t know what happened, but he’s pretty sure the twins are fighting.

“I’m not sorry for getting Harry,” Percy clarifies. “But I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”

“Well, you did,” Molly snaps. Then she sighs, and her shoulders slump. “I’m just- so relieved you’re home safe. All of you.”

She looks up at Harry then, who feels himself relax the slightest amount at the soft warmth in her eyes. A part of him thinks (hopes) she meant to include him in that statement. A bigger part of him knows that’s wishful thinking.

“Percy, take Harry’s things up to Ron’s room.”

Percy nods, looking the tiniest bit relieved. He grabs Harry’s things from the twins, and hurries out of the room- but not before giving Harry a big (and very out of character) smile that has Harry blinking in confusion.

“Harry,” Molly says.

Harry jumps, then puts a hand up to his head as the world tilts to the side.

“Whoah,” Ron says, reaching out a hand and placing it on his other arm. “Steady, mate.”

“Sit down, dear,” Molly says, although she sounds very far away.

Harry blinks, then blinks again as he realizes he’s somehow transported to the kitchen table, where he’s now sitting. Molly places a bowl of what smells like broth in front of him, as well as a couple rolls.

“Eat,” she says. “Not too fast, mind you.”

Harry reaches for the spoon almost mechanically and starts to sip at the broth. It tastes as delicious as it smells. After his first few bites, he has to hold himself back from shoveling the rest in his mouth, but he manages to keep his pace slow and even. He’d learned his lesson very well that first night at Hogwarts, after throwing up most of the feast food he'd eaten.

He looks up from his bowl, into Ron’s face, which is pale and drawn. Molly and the twins are across the room. They’re having a whispered argument of some kind- one of the twins is gesturing animatedly, and the other is standing still, fists clenched. Molly’s arms are folded, and one of her fingers is tapping on her arm.

“Is,” Harry starts, then stops, kicking himself. It’s not any of his business.

“Is everything okay?” Ron prompts, then closes his eyes and breathes in. “Not really. It’s been a long night, and it’s… hard for us to see you like this. Is all.”

“What?” Harry asks, feeling confused. “Why?”

Ron just looks at him, expression torn between exhaustion, worry, and anger- Harry can’t even begin to decipher it.

“Bed’s made up,” Percy says, appearing out of nowhere.

Ron jumps, then shoots a glare at an unapologetic Percy. Harry’s too tired to even startle, so he just blinks up at the older boy.

“I’m sorry you got in trouble because of me,” he says. Harry feels like his head is full of cotton, and the broth has started sinking into bone-deep, making him feel warm and sleepy.

“I knew what I was getting into,” Percy says, “and I’d do it again. Ron, help Harry find your room- I think he’s about to fall asleep.”

Ron nods, far too grimly- Harry thinks- for someone tasked with something as easy as helping a friend to their room, then stands up.

Harry goes to stand up too, and promptly falls over- into Ron’s arms. “Yeah, that’s about what I figured,” Ron says.

“Sorry,” Harry mutters.

Then he blinks again, and sits up, blankets falling off of him as he does. What?

Where is he? What’s- oh, the Weasleys, right. Damn. Harry doesn’t even remember climbing the stairs, much less getting into a bed, but here he is- in a room that’s got walls positively plastered with orange posters, and one extremely orange dresser. It's all very… orange.

The room is small, but not as small as Harry’s room back at the Dursleys, and a mansion compared to his cupboard. There’s a twin-sized bed pressed up against the corner- unmade and messy, but unoccupied (with bright orange sheets that match the room’s decor and a jarringly blue blanket).

The room is brightly lit thanks to the sun pouring in from the windows. If Harry had to guess, he’d say it’s noon- or just before, maybe.

Harry draws his legs up to his chest. The bed he’s on is less a bed and more a mattress on the floor, but it still manages to be more comfortable then the bed at home. He feels warm, like the soup from last night has yet to completely leave him. Then and there, Harry decides that Molly Weasley is magic.

Well, more magic than everyone else, anyways.

Harry’s still a little sleepy, but he puts that down to having just woken up. He feels surprisingly well-rested for the amount of sleep he’s gotten in the past few weeks. He goes to stand up, and realizes then that the room isn’t actually empty.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Uh. Hello?”

The rat doesn’t respond, since it is a rat, but it does blink, and then clean its whiskers before trundling off, not looking back.

Harry smiles to himself (he’s always quite liked rats, for some reason), then climbs to his feet. He’s still in his clothes, which is something of a relief. He doesn’t like that he can’t remember getting to bed, so the fact that it seems like maybe Ron just took off his shoes and then put him under the covers is comforting.

He ventures over to the open doorway, poking his head out into the hallway, which has walls covered in moving photos where there aren’t doors leading into (what he presumes are) other bedrooms.

“ 'ello,” says a muffled sounding voice from right behind him.

Harry turns, then feels a smile spread across his face.

There, in the hall, standing with a toothbrush in her mouth, is a girl. She’s got the red-orange hair (which is in utter disarray, although Harry very much doubts it looks worse than his does even on a good day), the freckles, the blue eyes and round face- which means she can only be…

“Ginny!”

“ 'arry!” Ginny responds, still talking (and now smiling) around the toothbrush.

Ginny’s smile falls, and she gets a very serious look on her face. Harry feels a spike of nervousness. She takes the toothbrush out of her mouth.

“Harry, are you feeling okay?” Ginny asks.

“Yes,” Harry says slowly, feeling all sorts of apprehensive.

The smile is back- and it looks feral, now.

“Good,” she says, nodding. “If you give me a second, we can fight to the death.”

“Oh! Okay, cool,” Harry says happily, leaning back against Ron’s door frame.

Ginny nods again, then pops back into what seems to be the bathroom. Harry hears the sound of someone spitting, the sink running briefly, and then Ginny is back in the hallway, sleeves rolled up and teeth bared.

“Er,” Harry says, eyes darting to the open doorway. “Think I could actually-”

Ginny sighs, long and loud, then folds her arms. “Fine,” she says, standing aside and letting Harry into the bathroom.

All of fifteen minutes later (most of which were spent rolling around and hitting at each other) the two of them are sitting in the hall across from one another, panting.

“You’re pretty good,” Ginny remarks, wiping her nose.

“Sorry,” Harry says, grimacing. The bloody nose had been an accident- he’d flailed too hard and gotten her in the face.

“Don’t apologize, are you kidding me? No wonder you managed to take You-Know-Who out as a baby- you have a mean right hook. And you’re wiley- even wilier than Ron. You’re now my wiliest brother. Congratulations.”

“You still won,” Harry points out, ignoring the flare of warmth her words conjure up. He won’t even let himself think about having a little sister, much less one like Ginny. It would hurt too much.

“Yeah, but come on- I’m a werewolf,” Ginny says, waving a hand. “Super-strength and healing and all that rot. You’re just some kid.”

A good many things click for Harry all at once.

Not only that, but he also abruptly feels much prouder of himself. “I did do pretty well, I guess,” Harry says, feeling a smile spread across his face.

“I still won,” Ginny says, pointing at him and narrowing her eyes. “Don’t forget that bit.”

Harry snorts.

“Don’t be too pleased with yourself,” Percy says, walking out of the bathroom. He’d apparently managed to get past them without either of them noticing. Ginny jumps, then glares at Percy, which doesn’t seem to phase him in the slightest. “Harry’s practically emaciated. You shouldn’t have been fighting at all, not before he's been on a good meal regimen for a while.”

“I’m not talking to you right now,” Ginny says, turning her nose up. "You should have taken me with you last night."

“And I’m not-” Harry tries.

Percy just looks at him, looking incredibly unimpressed. Harry sits back, scowling. It’s not like he can argue Percy’s point, not when he can count his ribs just by running a hand over his shirt.

“Go eat breakfast,” Percy says, then checks his watch. “Or, lunch now. Ginny, you might have to carry him.”

“Hell yes,” Ginny says, hopping up and obviously gearing up to do just that.

Harry doesn’t wait, he just bolts for the stairs. Behind him, Ginny lets out a guttural war-cry.

Chapter Text

Draco stands by his father, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as Father peruses the wares of Borgin and Burkes. Normally the shop doesn’t bother him, but now… he can’t actually smell dark magic, but something in here is making his nose itchy, and he thinks it’s probably a curse, or something like it.

He feels his nose twitch again, and then he freezes as it catches onto a decidedly out-of-place scent. Surely- surely not. Why here?

Draco turns to his father.

“Father, I’m going to go explore,” he says.

“Don’t touch anything,” Father says absently.

Mr. Borgin watches as Draco slips off, eyes glinting shrewdly. Draco has to withhold a shiver under his considering stare, and remind himself that- according to Ron’s letters- even if the old man were capable of it, legilimency doesn’t work on him. Not anymore. At least Draco has that going for him.

Draco tries not to move too fast or without much purpose, but it’s hard not too. His nose had, as it usually is, been completely right, and the sound of Potter bungling around the place now seems absolutely deafening to Draco’s ears. How no one else can hear it is beyond Draco.

He finds the other boy without too much trouble. Potter seems to be covered in soot, and in a glaring contest with a shriveled up hand with an eyeball set in the palm. His glasses are hanging off his face, nearly in two pieces.

“Don’t stare at it,” Draco snaps. “That’ll get you cursed, idiot.”

Potter jumps half a foot in the air, then whirls around. He looks incredibly guilty, which is a little bit of a surprise to Draco, who’d honestly thought Potter would already be going for his throat. Draco decides not to read into that.

“You can’t be here,” Draco whispers. He’s all too aware of his father up front, still busy haggling with Borgin.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Potter mutters.

“Give me those,” Draco says, reaching up and snatching the glasses off of Potter’s face.

As he taps his wand on the glasses to repair them and hands them back, he tells himself it’s just because it was offending his sensibilities.

Not that that justification helps when Potter is looking at him with those wide bright-green eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he looks down at the now repaired (and cleaned, because honestly) glasses.

Draco’s heart skips a beat and he swallows. Forget what Ron has to say- there is no good part about being a werewolf. It’s all shit.

“Draco?”

Draco jumps, heart quickening further. Damn- that was his father. Draco grabs Potter’s arms and pushes the other boy into a nearby half-opened cabinet, trying not to notice how stiff Potter goes at his touch. He closes the door until it’s opened just a crack, then turns around.

“Yes?” he calls, trying to breathe evenly through his nose. It helps to slow his heartbeat, but not by much.

“You aren’t touching anything, are you?”

“No, Father,” Draco says. “I was just startled.”

“Alright then. I’m almost done here, please be ready to leave.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco says.

“Um, Draco,” says a quiet voice from the cabinet behind him.

“What,” Draco hisses.

“We are friends now,” the voice says.

“Now is really not the time,” Draco says, despite the pleased flush he feels creeping across his face.

“Just thought you ought to know,” Harry says, sounding altogether far too happy with himself.

Draco bites back a scoff. Why his wolf likes Harry at all is beyond him- the other boy is just so- so infuriating. And smug. And insufferable. And Draco hates him, he doesn’t care what anyone else has to say on the matter.

“Draco,” Father says, a warning note in his tone.

“Coming,” Draco calls, then whispers, “wait a minute after we leave, then sneak out- don’t let the door close on you all the way, it might be cursed.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers back, looking at Draco through the crack in the door. The shaft of light illuminates one of his green eyes, and emphasizes the warm tones of his dark brown skin. He’s smiling.

Draco blinks once, then turns and leaves without looking back.

Fuck.

It’s just Draco’s luck that it’s not even the last time he runs into Harry- and this time he’s with the Weasley’s, which is a billion times worse.

And is that Granger standing next to them? Oh, wonderful. Trillion times worse, then.

At least his mother has rejoined them. Draco finds himself unconsciously pressing into her side in reaction to the throngs of people. Diagon is always busy, and so is Flourish and Blotts- but this is on a completely different level. Mother must realize he’s getting uncomfortable, because she puts a cool hand on his shoulder.

Draco tries to breathe in through his mouth to mitigate the overwhelming smells of everything, but that doesn’t do a thing about the noises- Draco has to keep himself from clasping his hands over his ears. Children laughing, babies screaming, adults gossiping, camera shutters clicking, some absolute pompous buffoon (Lockhart, if the signs are to be believed) going on about Potter-

Wait, hang on.

His mother’s hand on his shoulder is all that keeps him from going up and snatching Harry away from the idiot, who’s got an arm around Harry to keep him from running off. Harry looks positively furious, which would be amusing if Draco wasn’t a werewolf with vested interest in Harry’s emotional and physical wellbeing.

Draco hates being a goddamn werewolf.

He catches Ron’s eye from across the room, who looks just as furious as Draco feels. Like Draco, Ron’s mother’s hand is on his shoulder- and also seems to be keeping Ron from doing anything. But why?

Draco looks up at Mrs. Weasley, who is watching Lockhart with eyes glittering with barely concealed contempt. Okay, so she’s not happy with it either, but then-

Another camera flashes, and Draco realizes abruptly why the Weasleys can’t just grab Harry back. For a family of secret werewolves (and Draco is nearly positive that it is the whole family), any press at all is bad press.

Lockhart squeezes Harry's shoulders. Harry tenses almost imperceptibly and Draco realizes that there is a definite undercurrent of fear to Harry’s rage. All at once, Draco finds that he can’t watch this any longer- not without going completely feral, anyways.

Draco manages to slip out from his mother’s grasp with a whispered, “I’m going to get my books while everyone is distracted.”

Mother actually lets him go, which is actually something of a surprise. Ever since the beginning of summer, ever since she’d learned what had happened to him…

Well, Narcissa Malfoy has always been a protective mother.

She’s been treating him as particularly fragile since then, which makes Draco mostly just want to scream in frustration.

Ron was able to single-handedly take a mountain-troll out, in fifteen seconds flat- which gives Draco a pretty good idea as to what he’d be capable of, even without counting the events of that night in the forest (which Draco is not thinking about, thank you very much). Draco would count himself approximately as fragile as a grizzly bear.

Or a literal wolf. Whatever.

(Of course, then the moon rolls around and Draco spends an evening breaking his own bones and clawing at his skin and- well. Maybe a part of him, a tiny part, feels like Mother is right to treat him as breakable.)

Draco makes his way through the crowd, trying not to snap or growl at anyone as he does. When he passes through the crowds and into the darker quiet of the shelves beyond, he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

And then a yelp as someone taps him on the shoulder. Draco whirls around, baring his teeth.

Granger (and here Draco thought his day couldn’t get worse) just looks at him, completely unimpressed. Her hair is tied back with a tie of some kind, but all that does is keep it out of her face- it’s as impressively poofy as ever. Draco is sure the smell of her cheap shampoo would’ve been enough to alert him to her presence, if not for the fact that his senses are still being completely overwhelmed by everything, even outside of the immediate crowd.

“What,” Draco says. He’s not quite able to keep the growl out of his tone.

Granger raises an eyebrow and Draco feels a sudden spike of nervousness. Ron had promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone about Draco, but can Draco really be sure that his ‘friend’ will keep his promise?

Draco swallows, then resolutely pushes his nerves to the side. Yes, he’s sure. Draco knows that Ron knows that if he tells anyone, Draco will tell too. That has to be enough for Draco to trust the other boy, because the only other option is murder, and Draco isn’t- he’s too much of a coward for that.

“Ron says you’re friends now,” Granger says. “Harry too.”

“And?” Draco says, crossing his arms.

“And I want in,” Granger says.

“Absolutely not,” Draco says. A werewolf blood traitor and the actual Boy-Who-Lived is bad enough without having to throw in a mudblood.

“Oh please,” Granger says. “I don’t know why you’re all friends now, but I’m sure it’s less to do with friendship and more to do with… circumstance.”

“Circumstance?” Draco really can’t tell if she knows, and he’s getting worried.

“You know,” Granger says, waving a hand, “benefits. Friends for benefits.”

Draco snorts, then does his best to pretend like he hadn’t.

Granger has a pleased gleam in her eye, and Draco sniffs. “And? What if it is?”

“I said already,” Granger says. It’s her turn to cross her arms. “I want in.”

“And I already said no,” Draco says, then goes to leave. The girl is lucky he’s not going for her throat. Granger further tests his patience by putting an arm out to stop him. He really does have to swallow a growl down.

“I love Harry and Ron and Neville,” Granger says, “but they aren’t the most academically inclined, other than Nev and his plants, or Harry and his potions-” (Draco does not appreciate that reminder) “and let’s face it: we’re the two smartest students in the year.”

Draco narrows his eyes. He thinks he knows where this is headed, and he… well, he’s listening.

“I’m listening,” he says.

“Research partners,” Granger says easily. “A study group of two.”

Draco grits his teeth. It’s smart, is the thing. And it might help get him from ‘second best in the year’ to, at the very least, tied for first. Then maybe his grandfather won’t yell at him for being bested by a mudblood.

Of course, if Grandfather ever learned it’s because of said mudblood, Draco would likely be in for worse than some yelling.

“No one can know,” Draco says. “I’m serious. Ron shouldn’t have told you about the friendship thing in the first place-”

“Of course,” Granger says easily. “And he didn’t. Tell me, I mean.”

Draco stares.

“I had my suspicions after that late-night detention a couple months ago,” Granger continues. “Harry stopped complaining about you, and Ron didn’t freak out when Harry slipped up and called your eyes cool in front of me and Nev-”

“He thinks my eyes are cool?” Draco hears himself ask.

Granger snorts, and Draco glares. Then she says, “And then I saw you and Ron exchange a look, just now- over the Lockhart thing, I’d guess. That, to me, says a secret alliance of some kind- which you just confirmed. Thanks for that.”

Draco can’t believe it. Outsmarted by a mudblood. Worse, outsmarted by a Gryffindor. At this point, Draco can only hope a friendship (even if it’s a friendship in name only) will keep the girl from outright working against him. If there’s anyone who’s in danger of connecting the dots vis a vis the werewolf thing and then immediately telling everyone, it’s Granger.

“Call me Draco,” is all he can bring himself to say.

“Hermione,” Hermione says, a surprisingly genuine smile on her face as she clasps his hand and firmly shakes it.

Chapter Text

Ginny looks down at the pile of assorted dirty clothes, blankets, toys, and trash, hands on her hips. Then she nods to herself and crouches down. Now for the hard part.

It’s easy enough to push the things at first. Then she hits her bed- namely, the space under her bed, which is already pretty much filled to bursting. Ginny sticks out her tongue and shoves, managing, with some effort, to squeeze the stuff in. She sits back, smiling to herself.

There’s probably room for her to do that one, maybe two more times before she starts accidentally breaking things. Or lifts her bed off the ground completely.

Across the room from her, Luna is opening and closing drawers at her dresser.

“What are you doing, Lune?” Ginny asks, leaping up to her bed from her seated position in one smooth motion.

Luna hums, then opens and closes another drawer.

“Luna?”

“Oh,” Luna says as though she’s just noticed that she’s not alone, then turns and looks at Ginny. “I’m just noticing how empty all these drawers are.”

“Fuck off,” Ginny mutters.

“Ginny!” Mum snaps from where she’s all the way downstairs in the kitchen.

Stupid werewolf hearing attuned to swear words.

“I said duck! I said duck!” Ginny yells back.

“No way she said duck,” Ron yells from his own room.

“You’re on dish duty tonight,” Mum decides. “You need to watch your language.”

Ginny buries her face in her hands and groans. She’s going to find Ron later and kill him. And then Harry too, since he’s probably with Ron and therefore an accessory.

Luna, meanwhile, has moved on from the drawers and over to the bag of old books they’d gotten at Diagon earlier. She starts rifling through it. Ginny doesn’t really think much of it- Luna doesn’t really get the concept of privacy when it’s not spelled out for her, and Ginny doesn’t care much either way.

Then Luna stops, and Ginny gets a foreboding little feeling.

“Ginny,” she says, her tone as dreamy as ever. She pulls a little book out of the bag. “What is this?”

Ginny looks at it, then blinks. It’s just a little black book, but she doesn’t recognize it at all. She slides off of her bed and walks over, then pulls the book out of Luna’s unresisting fingers.

“Huh,” Ginny says, turning it over in her hands.

It’s completely blank, other than a little note declaring it the ‘property of T. M. Riddle’ and a little shop logo.

“It’s old,” Ginny says, pointing out the date. “Older than dad and mum, even.”

Luna pulls the book back and holds it close to her face. Her nose wrinkles. “It’s disgusting,” she decides.

“What?” Ginny asks, stomach flipping over.

Luna is a lot of things, but queasy isn’t one of them- much less getting queasy over a book. Something is wrong here.

“Luna, can I see that?”

Luna seems to hesitate, then hands the book back over. Ginny takes it and flips through it again. Blank.

“What’s gross about it?” Ginny asks.

“Just is. It’s nauseating. We should write in it and see what it does.” There’s a sharp gleam of interest in Luna’s crystal blue eyes.

Ah, that’s more like Luna.

Ginny isn’t so sure, though. “Is it dangerous?”

Luna shrugs. “It’s just…” she trails off, looking frustrated. She waves her hands around, but that doesn’t clear anything up for Ginny and Luna seems to know it. Finally, she seems to decide on a word. “Sticky. But if we’re careful, I think it’ll be okay.”

Ginny looks the little unassuming book over. She is curious as to what its deal is, and Luna did say it would be okay if they were careful about it…

“Okay,” Ginny says, then goes to find something to write with.

In the end, they decide to take the Diary to school with them. It’s a little reckless, but Tom is so, so entertaining. And Luna is fascinated with him. Hell, Ginny is too- she’s never heard of a magical item like this. As far as she can tell, Tom is actually sapient.

He’s not a ghost, though- according to Luna, anyways. Luna’s being raised by a ghost, so Ginny is inclined to trust her on this one- if anyone knows ghosts, it’s Luna.

They’ve elected to trade Tom off between the two of them. It makes him less sticky, apparently. Ginny gets the first shift, so he goes into her trunk.

Finally, after what feels like centuries of waiting, the day has come: Ginny is going to Hogwarts.

“I don’t know if we’re all going to fit,” Dad says, looking at the car, then back at Mum.

“Hm,” Mum says.

“I can apparate,” Luna says. “I don’t mind.”

“Your mum does,” Mum says. “You aren’t apparating. You shouldn’t even know how.”

Ginny scoffs, and Mum levels a tired look at her.

“Sorry,” she says. “That’s just- you have met Luna, haven’t you?”

“What’s, um, apparating?” Harry asks.

“Mate,” Ron says, sounding miserable. “You really have a problem, you know that?”

Harry elbows him, which Ginny thinks is completely fair.

“I’ll show you,” Luna says- and before anyone can stop her, she’s reached a hand out and grabbed onto Harry’s arm. Then there’s a cracking sound, and they’re gone.

“Luna!” Mum says, too late.

The Weasleys stare at where the two had been only moments ago in shocked silence.

“Ginny, why didn’t you stop her?” Ron finally asks, rounding on Ginny.

“You think I could stop her?” Ginny asks, feeling a spike of irritation cut through the rising panic. They could be anywhere, and Harry is wily but he’s just a kid, he’s not a werewolf- he’s too small, and breakable.

There’s another cracking sound and the two reappear, to the relief of literally everyone. Harry’s glasses are crooked on his face and his hair is flattened on one side. Mum rushes up to Harry and grabs his arms, looking him up and down, checking to make sure he has all of his limbs. “Are you alright?” She asks.

“Um,” Harry says. “I just- what?”

“Normally it’s a lot more uncomfortable,” Luna is saying. “I made it comfortable for you, though. You’re welcome.”

“Um,” Harry says again.

“Luna, honey,” Dad says, voice sounding a bit strained. “We don’t apparate people without their say-so, remember?”

“Oh,” Luna says, then looks down. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Harry manages to say.

“We’re running late,” Percy says, evidently deciding that they’re all done with freaking out about what just happened. The twins and Ron glare at him, but Ginny finds herself agreeing: the sooner they leave, the sooner she gets to go to Hogwarts.

“Harry and Luna will be in the front with us. Everyone else in the back.” Dad decides.

“There are five of us,” Ron says, looking around.

“You can make it work,” Mum says.

Ginny finds herself sitting on top of all four of the brothers that end up in the back seat, somehow. Fortunately, the cramped conditions makes it relatively easy for Mum to cave when Dad asks to fly, which means they make it to the station with several moments to spare.

“Fred, George, you first,” Mum says, then nods as they run through to the platform. “Percy, good, yes-”

Ginny ends up going through with Luna, Dad and Mum planning on coming in after Harry and Ron. Luna and Ginny wait by the wall for a long moment. Then, Ginny frowns and looks over at Luna.

“You’d think they’d be through by now,” she says.

“Look,” Luna says, pointing.

Ginny looks, but doesn’t see anything- until she does.

“Wicked,” she breathes as a silver phoenix manifests into thin air.

In her dad’s voice, the phoenix says, “the platform won’t let us through, for some reason. We think it might be the Elf again. Luna, would you be a dear and see if you can get around it?”

The phoenix disappears, and Ginny looks back over to Luna. The excitement that’s been fluttering around her chest this whole time is souring into anxiety. What if they can’t get through at all? And can’t that stupid Elf just… leave Harry alone?

Luna meets her gaze, pale blue eyes as clear as crystal. Then she blinks, once. And then, with a crack, she’s gone.

Ginny hardly has a second to react when Luna is back, towing Ron and Harry with her as she does.

“I don’t think I like that,” Harry announces, holding a hand out to brace himself on Ron.

“Trust me,” Ron says, looking a bit green, “Luna’s being easy on us. It’s usually way worse.”

Another crack, then another, and Ginny’s parents are here too.

“Thank you,” Dad says, straightening out his robes.

“You said not to do that,” Luna points out.

“Luna,” Mum says, tiredly.

“This was an exception, not the rule,” Dad says, a bit hurriedly. Mum shoots a look at him, and he winces then says, “don’t do it again, alright? Not until you’re old enough. You could really hurt yourself- and you know Pandora worries.”

Luna just hums, in what Ginny thinks is most definitely not agreement- but then the scarlet train blows its whistle, and her parents seem content to drop the issue in favor of shepherding Ginny, Luna, Harry, and Ron over to where Ginny’s other brothers are standing.

“Finally,” George says. “We were beginning to think you’d died.”

“George,” Mum says, a warning note in her tone.

“Right. Well, not that this hasn’t been fun, but I’ve got to meet with the other prefects,” Percy says, checking his watch.

“Ooh,” Fred says. “Fancy.”

“Just- try to remember us, won’t you?” George asks. “Your family, your humble origins-”

“Our Percy just- he’s just grown up so fast,” Fred says, shaking his head.

Percy rolls his eyes, then gives a quick hug to Mum and Dad before jogging off.

As he goes, the twins collapse into each other’s arms, fake crying.

“Oh!” Mum says, sounding frustrated. “You know I hate the crying.”

“Sorry Mum,” George says, straightening back up.

“Won’t happen again,” Fred promises.

“You say that every time,” Ginny points out.

“Won’t happen again until the next time it happens,” Fred amends, not skipping a beat.

Mum looks like she’s about to say something else, but then the train gives another whistle and she just sighs instead, shaking her head as the twins jump in for a hug, and then bound off. Then her gaze falls on Ginny, and she goes a little misty-eyed.

“Oh my darling,” she says, reaching a hand out and brushing a lock of Ginny’s hair back. “You’re so grown-up.”

A part of Ginny wants to point out that this is exactly what the twins had just been mocking.

A bigger part of her wants to throw herself into her parents arms- which she does. Both Dad and Mum wrap their arms around her, and she closes her eyes and lets herself sink into the embrace. It’s the last hug she’s going to be getting from her parents for months, after all.

“Miss you,” she whispers.

She feels a kiss on the top of her head.

“Go, you’re going to be late,” Mum says, finally relinquishing her. She thinks she sees Dad furtively wipe his eyes, but he’s smiling widely.

Ginny nods at them, then grabs onto Luna and pulls her onto the train. Behind her, she just catches the tail end of Harry and Ron trying to slip off before being pulled into a hug of their own.

Then she sits down in the first empty compartment she finds, and feels a smile spread across her face. Here goes nothing.

Chapter Text

“Okay, how are we doing this,” Hermione asks, folding her arms and leaning back.

“Doing what? And also, um, quick question, what is Malfoy doing here?” Neville asks, looking nervously over at where Draco is sitting stiffly on the bench, nearest to the compartment door.

“We’re all friends now,” Harry says.

Both Neville and Draco get queasy sort of looks on their faces, which Ron would find funny if he didn’t also feel similarly.

“It’s better to just get it over with,” Ron says in an exaggerated whisper. “It’s not like he’s going to take no for an answer.”

Harry beams at the three of them. Hermione smiles, then pretends she hadn’t when Ron shoots a look at her.

Neville eyes Draco, who glares right back. Then, Draco rolls his eyes and sticks out a hand. Neville hesitates a second longer, then clasps it. They shake, once.

“Draco,” Draco mutters.

“Neville,” Neville says, slowly.

“Great,” Hermione says. “My questions stands.”

"Right, no one can know about any of this,” Draco says, gesturing at the other four.

“Why?” Harry asks, cocking his head.

“Well,” Draco says, with faux thoughtfulness, “I probably wouldn’t be disowned, but it’s not really one of those things you risk.”

Ron’s stomach flips over. He doesn’t like Draco, but the idea of getting him disowned… well. It’s not something Ron wants to have happen, if only because he doesn’t think he could stand taking responsibility for that.

He’s already taking more responsibility for Draco than he needs to.

“Oh, okay,” Harry says, shrugging. “That’s fair.”

Draco blinks, then smiles. “It is, isn’t it.”

Hermione bursts into laughter, and both Harry and Draco turn to look at her. Harry looks bemused, but Draco looks decidedly irritated.

“Sorry,” Hermione gasps out. “It’s just- Ron’s face.”

Draco sits back, looking considerably more cheered. Ron sticks his tongue out at Hermione. It’s not his fault that the idea of Draco genuinely smiling at Harry gives him hives.

“We need a place to meet,” Neville says. “If you’re all actually serious about this friendship thing.”

“Which we are,” Harry reminds everyone.

“Well,” Draco starts, “there’s- in the dungeon, there’s-”

“Nope,” Ron says, needing very suddenly to shut that particular idea right down. An image of Draco transforming alone in one of those classrooms flashes through his mind. “Absolutely not.”

Draco gets a relieved look on his face, but says, “I’d like to see you do better.”

“If we’re going the abandoned classroom route, there are plenty outside the dungeon,” Ron points out.

“Can we really risk someone walking in on us? At least in the dungeons, the likelihood of that goes way down. Students are always using the classrooms for one thing or another,” Hermione says.

“We could meet in that bathroom,” Neville says.

“A bathroom?” Draco says.

“What bath- oh, you mean Myrtle?” Hermione asks. Neville nods.

“Myrtle’s bathroom?” Ron says.

“Oh, that would work,” Draco says.

Ron looks at the other boy, not bothering to mask the disbelief in his tone as he says, “you’re alright with Moaning Myrtle?”

“One, she doesn’t like being called that. Two, she’s- uh, she’s-” Draco stops, then looks up at the ceiling. “Been nice to me in the past, when she didn’t need to be. Kept me, um, company on some- some darker days.”

Neville and Hermione stare at Draco. Harry’s eyes go big and sad.

“Oh,” Ron says, feeling a pang of guilt. “Not so bad, then?”

“Not so bad,” Draco agrees, relaxing a bit.

“I’d be okay with meeting there,” Hermione says, evidently deciding to move past what had just happened. “We can even ask her to act as a look out for us- I’m sure she won’t mind, assuming we don’t antagonize her.”

Ron thinks that not antagonizing Myrtle is going to be a lot harder than it sounds, but decides to keep that thought to himself.

He doesn’t like Draco, doesn’t understand why Harry does, and his wolf agrees whole-heartedly. Draco Malfoy is a git. But then he says something like that, something that helps to paint the picture of just how lonely transforming has been for him.

Ron got to choose this. He chose to be a werewolf. Draco- he’s been frustratingly tight-lipped as to how he was turned, but Ron knows it wasn’t Draco’s idea. Of course it wasn’t- Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy name? Purer-blooded than most purebloods?

If it gets out that Ron is a werewolf, it would be bad, but ultimately not too life-ruining. He’d just move to Romania and work with Charlie, or find a way to learn something that’d make him useful to Bill’s team.

If it gets out that Draco is a werewolf, his life would be over. He’d likely lose all of his pack, sans Harry, in one fell swoop- and be disowned on top of it all, since that’s the only way the Malfoys could save any face.

Ron doesn’t want to give a shit about that, he really doesn’t. The Weasleys and the Malfoys are famously rivals, and for good reason (namely, that the Malfoys are gits).

The problem is that Ron can’t help but think of how Percy was. Of how Percy might have had to go through something like this, if Bill and Charlie hadn’t stepped up.

And that’s why Ron has to at least try to convince himself to like Malfoy. Him and his wolf. So that Malfoy doesn’t have to go through it alone.

Hell, who knows: maybe Draco will even get over himself.

“So I think you should really play up the blood supremacist stuff in public this year,” Hermione says. “To me, I mean. It’ll keep people off the s- trail.”

Or maybe not.

“Makes sense,” Draco muses.

“You could at least pretend to be a little more beat-up about it,” Ron mutters.

Draco just sniffs.

“We aren’t friends because we like each other, we’re friends because it’s useful,” Hermione reminds everyone.

“Thank Merlin,” Neville says, leaning back in his seat and getting a relieved look on his face.

“Not me,” Harry says, frowning. “I like Draco a lot, he’s neat.”

Draco’s face has gone completely pink, which Ron thinks is quite possibly the most hilarious thing he’s ever seen.

“You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not right here,” he mutters.

“Wait,” Neville says. “Why is it useful? To be friends?”

Ron very pointedly does not look at Draco, and assumes the other boy is doing the same.

“Draco chased off Voldemort in the forest, so now he has to be our friend because Voldemort is going to want to kill him either way,” Harry says lightly.

Draco chokes.

Hermione stares at Harry, then at Ron. Her face has gone a bit ashen. “I’m sorry, what? Is that true?”

“You-Know-Who was in the forest?” Neville squeaks.

Harry looks over at Ron, scowling. “You said you told them!”

Ron gives Harry his best ‘whoops sorry’ smile, then says, “I told them, um, most of it?”

“You said there was a dead unicorn, and Harry fell down and hit his head when he saw it, which is why he had to spend the night in the hospital wing,” Neville says, flatly.

Harry lets out an indignant scoff and Ron shrinks in his seat under Hermione and Neville’s twin glares.

The truth is, Ron hadn’t wanted them to worry- or get involved at all. They’re so… not werewolves. Draco and Ron can handle this kind of thing- but Hermione and Neville wouldn’t be able to walk off a broken spine.

In fact, if he’d had his way, Harry wouldn’t know about it either.

“Yeah, sounds like you really cleared it up for them,” Draco says, and although his tone is biting, he’s much paler than usual.

“Don’t tell me you hadn’t realized what you’d done,” Ron says, folding his arms.

“Why would I have- of course I hadn’t! What gave you the impression that I did?”

“I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it!”

“I didn’t want to think about it,” Draco says, leaning forward and clutching his stomach.

“Are you going to be sick?” Hermione asks, eyeing him warily. Draco does look a little queasy.

“We can switch spots,” Neville suggests. “Looking out the window might help.”

Draco just looks at him for a long moment. Neville holds his gaze.

“Yeah, okay,” Draco says.

They switch spots.

“Okay, want to explain what actually happened this time?” Hermione says.

“Quirrell was being possessed by Voldemort,” Harry says.

“The whole year?” Neville asks, eyes huge.

“Far as we can tell,” Ron agrees.

“He was in the forest- he’d been killing the unicorns and drinking their blood,” Harry says. “When he looked at me my scar hurt so bad I passed out. I don’t really- it’s sort of fuzzy after that. The last thing I remember is his coming towards us.”

“I only saw the aftermath,” Ron admits.

Hermione, Harry, and Neville turn as one to Draco, who’s been looking out the window as though it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane of existence.

“I- I think I just got lucky,” Draco whispers. “I spooked him, when I- um. When I ran at him.”

“You what?” Hermione says, sitting up straight.

Draco slumps into his seat, hands buried in his face. “Ran at him.”

Ron thinks that maybe Draco isn’t telling the whole truth. When Ron had come into the clearing, Draco’s face had been bloodied.

Which makes him think Draco took the Dark Lord on in a one-on-one brawl, and won.

“It was that or just let him kill Harry, which- which is rather unfortunately off the table,” Draco continues, voice a bit muffled by his hands.

“Holy shit,” Neville says. “You might actually not be so bad, M- Draco.”

Draco looks up at him in surprise, then Ron sees his gaze slide past Neville to look at Harry, who looks a bit discomfited- but gives Draco a huge smile when he catches him looking. Draco looks away, but there’s a little bit of a smile playing on his lips.

Ron forces his own smile down. Draco Malfoy chased off the Dark Lord to protect Harry Potter, and it doesn’t look like he can bring himself to regret it.

Which means that the chances of Draco Malfoy turning into someone that Ron might actually want to be friends with has just gone up considerably.

“Oh, and then I think there was a centaur too,” Harry says. “At some point.”

“Firenze,” Draco says, nodding. “He’s the one who told us it was the Dark Lord, and not just… some guy.”

Hermione smiles over at Ron. “Ron,” she says, sweetly.

“Um, yes?” Ron asks, feeling suddenly very on edge.

“If you ever try to keep something like this away from me again, I will murder you and make it look like an accident.”

“Right,” Ron says, swallowing. “Understood.”

Chapter Text

Severus Snape has been a teacher for nearly eleven years now, and every year he likes it less and less. He’s quite possibly one of the best potioneers in the world, he should be spending his time making potions, not managing brats. He’s not patient, he’s acerbic, and hell- he doesn’t even like people.

But the one thing he hates, more than anything else, is when he gets a student that shows promise.

He can justify half-assing a teaching position when the students wouldn’t care either way. Sure, there are some passions he’s squashed- no doubt about it- but Severus has done much, much worse in his life.

To be frank, Severus could probably also find it in himself to half-ass the teaching to students with actual aptitude for the craft. Except.

The problem with the students that show promise, actual promise, is that they won’t take no for an answer. They always find a way to try to learn the art, with or without Severus’s help.

This actually works in his favor, most of the time- the Weasley twins are two such students.

Severus doesn’t mind letting those two self-study (although he does have the Elves and ghosts watching them for any major accidents) because there are two of them, they’re competent, and… well, the Weasleys are lucky.

(The Ron one took out a troll last year, at eleven. And the amount of times that Charlie one likely almost got eaten in that Forest… Severus thinks perhaps the whole lot of them have Felix Felicis running through their veins.)

Then there are the students Severus can foist off onto other students- that happens when he gets two students showing promise with only a couple of years difference between them. He’s been somewhat lucky himself, in that respect- he hasn’t had to actually give out extra lessons since Nymphadora Tonks (which had been dreadful).

For example, he has Gemma Farley, a seventh-year Slytherin prefect, tutoring Leslie Wellbowl, a third year Hufflepuff- and all Severus has to do is provide the ingredients they require and some extra credit for Farley.

But again, those two are at the very least capable of common sense and generally cautious. Tonks had not been, which is why Severus had had to actually teach her.

It’s been years, blessed years, since there’s been a student like Tonks. And now there is once more- and it is the worst-case scenario.

Like Tonks, Harry Potter doesn’t have a whit of common sense, nor is he cautious. He’s just stubborn. Which is why Severus’s eleven years of teaching, having gotten progressively worse over the years, is about to completely tank into the depths of Hell.

“Excuse me, Professor- will you teach me how to make pain potions?”

Severus looks up from his cauldron, leveling the flattest look he can at the tiny idiot. He’s been expecting this for some time now, but he is a little surprised at how brazen the boy is being. Gryffindor indeed.

It’s just after the first second year Gryffindor/Slytherin class of the year, and Potter had spent the entire class time trying to get Severus to- in detail- go through the itinerary for the year. And now, instead of going to lunch with his little group of menaces, he’s standing here, in front of Severus’s desk, asking to be tutored. By Severus.

Severus doesn’t know how, but James Potter is undoubtedly behind this.

And Lily probably helped.

“Absolutely not,” Severus says, after the stare does nothing at all to dissuade the boy.

“Oh, okay,” Potter says, nodding.

Severus narrows his eyes. Knowing this particularly (horrible) child, that is nowhere near the end of it.

Sure enough, Potter doesn’t go to leave. He just keeps standing there, bright green eyes watching intently as Severus unconsciously continues to work on the potion he’d been in the middle of brewing.

“Can you teach me how to owl-order ingredients then?” Potter asks after a moment, looking back up to Severus.

Severus had been in the process of dropping a pinch of powdered mouse-tail into his potion, but he’s so momentarily overwhelmed with horror at the prospect of Potter attempting to self-study that he nearly drops in two pinches instead- which would have resulted in an incredibly venomous cloud of gas emanating from the potion.

Not poisonous, no- venomous.

After just managing to keep that from happening, Severus elects to put a stasis charm on the potion instead of continuing to work on it.

“Why,” he starts, “do you want to know how to brew pain potions?”

“Because I don’t like being in pain,” Potter says, shrugging. “When I get hurt.”

Severus manages to keep himself from pinching his nose, but only just.

“Am I to believe you are incapable of going to Madam Pomfrey when such an occasion arises?”

“Yeah, okay, but what about when I get hurt during the summer?” Potter asks.

Potter’s tone has remained light and his attitude relaxed; but he is twelve years old, and Severus has spent decades as a spy. He pushes down the horrible feeling of foreboding rising in his chest and begins to fish for details.

“And where, pray tell, do you spend your summers? Running feral in the woods? Because surely if you’re hurt, you can get the medical care you require simply by asking,” Severus says, letting some contempt slip into his voice.

Potter doesn’t do anything so telling as to flinch, but he somehow manages to shrink in on himself without moving. Severus slams down hard on the completely unexpected, out-of-character, and unwarranted curl of guilt he feels- something isn’t right here, and if he wants to fulfill his promise he made to Lily’s memory, he needs to get information.

And that had been very informative.

“Actually, I’ll just ask the twins,” Potter says, before turning to go.

“You didn’t answer my question, Potter,” Severus says, raising an eyebrow.

Potter doesn’t turn back around, but he does stop. Good- Severus had been worried he’d pushed too far.

“I’m with my aunt during the summers,” Potter says. His tone is flat- indicating that he’s putting effort into not letting emotions bleed through. “She's a muggle. I don’t have access to things like potions. I just thought it would be a convenient thing to know how to do.”

Oh, so the boy’s been sent to live with Petunia and her oaf of a husband.

Interesting.

Severus is going to kill Albus.

“I see,” Severus says, somewhat carefully.

No need to alarm the boy by letting anything he’s feeling filter through his tone. In fact, there’s really no need to let himself feel anything he’s feeling either.

Potter (the boy is so small, surely Potter the older had never been that small- how had Severus missed that?) turns back around, shoulders relaxing minutely as he does (which very likely means he doesn’t like having his back turned on authority figures, or possibly just adults in general). His expression hasn’t relaxed, though- his jaw is set determinedly and his green eyes are flinty (of course, traumatized children tend to be more oppositional).

Severus closes his mind against the observations, both past and present, that are flooding in now that he’s had the illusion of a coddled boy-savior torn down. It’d been gone the instant Potter had said the words 'with my aunt'.

Not that that’s any sort of excuse- Lily would have his head for this, for letting Albus convince him into thinking the boy was safe simply by telling him as much. How is it that he’s managed to become even less forgivable- no, none of that. Severus pushes it down and down and down and down. He’s learned occlumency for a reason, after all.

“Very well,” Severus hears himself say through the haze of numbness he’s forcing himself into. “You've convinced me. I will teach you.”

Potter goes from looking as defiant as Lily so often did at twelve to… still like Lily, to be honest. (Once Severus had seen it during the troll debacle, it’s been hard not to since). There’s undisguised hope shining in his eyes.

“Really? I mean, thank you! I mean, when do we start?”

Severus gives himself a moment to regret every single decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and then says, “Mondays. After class lets out for the day. Don’t be late. I will not hesitate to revoke this privilege.”

“Okay, thank you! I won’t let you down, Professor. See you around! I mean, goodbye. Thank you!”

Severus watches the boy hurry away, waits a long moment, and then sinks his head onto his desk and into his arms. He can almost hear Lily laughing at him.

Then, he straightens up and returns to his potion, letting himself get lost in the process.

Unfortunately, this only lasts until he finds himself bottling it up, and then he has to deal with the reality of the situation.

It could be worse- at least Potter is good at potions.

Severus snorts. Right- Severus is becoming more and more sure that the boy is a victim of abuse, but at least there’s that. It doesn't help.

Severus pulls out a piece of parchment and starts drawing up a plan for Potter’s studies. He’s not going to start the boy out on pain potions, since those tend to be more complicated than they look. Potter will have to work up to those- starting with a re-introduction to the basics.

Maybe, Severus thinks, if he makes the process tedious enough, the boy will lose interest in potions.

Ha, yeah right. It’s not like that’s the strategy Severus has been trying to use for the last year, or anything.

Besides, best not to scare the child away just yet- Severus needs to get him to open up more, so he can get the information he needs to know to keep Potter from ever going back to Petunia.

Chapter Text

Ron races into the woods, running after a shriek-laughing Ginny. He has a half-grin, half-snarl frozen on his face. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed transforming with Ginny until he’d gotten home from school, and now she’s here at school with them, and everything is going to be awesome.

“We do have to be somewhat subtle,” Percy calls.

“Ah, let ‘em run,” Fred says from beside Percy, shaking his head and smiling.

“Why do you sound seventy years old?” George asks.

“You sound seventy years old,” Fred shoots back.

“Wow,” George says. “Hit me where it hurts, why don’t you?”

Ron isn’t paying attention to his brothers any more- he and Ginny are pretty evenly-matched, but he knows this forest better than she does, and he’s gaining. Ginny stumbles on a protruding root, and Ron sees his chance.

Ron leaps- only, Ginny skips to the side at the last second, so he misses her by inches. He hits the ground rolling, and uses the momentum of his roll to stand back up- except he overshoots and manages to launch right into a tree, slamming his head into it and falling right back onto the ground.

Ginny bursts into laughter.

“Ow,” Ron says, blinking up at the sky. He sits up, then picks a leaf out of his hair and flicks it away, scowling. He’s sure he’d have a massive goose-egg if not for his healing, but as it stands, the ache in his head is already fading.

“That was completely on you,” Percy says, coming up and pulling Ron to his feet. “And we're here, so quit rough-housing.”

Ginny has wandered over to the ward line, where she’s now standing and rubbing her arms. “Bill wasn’t kidding around when he made these,” she says.

“They’re brand new,” Fred says, nodding. “All nice and shiny.”

“Do we think he made them before or after he kill-” George starts.

“George,” Percy says, a clear note of warning in his tone.

George lets out a huff, but he doesn't finish that thought. Instead he walks through the wards, then into the forest beyond. Fred follows closely behind.

“You too Ron,” Percy says, reaching down and picking up a cloth-wrapped bundle. “I need to help Ginny bleed on the line.”

“And Scabbers,” Ginny says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the little lump of a rat. Scabbers looks around confusedly, and his beady little eyes zero in on the cloth-covered knife. He gives a squeak of alarm.

“Scabbers was factored into the base wards. We’re not stabbing the rat,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. Scabbers seems to relax minutely. “Please hurry, the moon is due in just a couple minutes.”

Ron nods, then heads off into the wards, shivering just a little as he feels them brush over his magic. His bones are really starting to ache, now- running around right before the moon is catching up with him.

The actual transformation is as horrible as it always is, but as Ron blinks blearily up at the morning sky hours later, he thinks his wolf feels particularly content.

They’re not missing anyone, now- other than his oldest siblings, and their parents. But Ron’s used to transforming without Bill and Charlie around, and Mum and Dad- well, he gets the feeling that they don’t stop being parents during the moons. Meanwhile, his wolf can really let loose at school.

Despite himself, he thinks of Draco- transforming all alone, in the cold of the dungeons. Ron pushes the thought of that as well as the rising guilt away- he’s already doing what he can for that pompous idiot. More than he deserves, that’s for sure.

Ron doesn’t know what Harry sees in the kid, honestly.

They get dressed (in order of youngest to oldest, to provide a semblance of privacy), and then start to head out.

“That was a nice moon,” Luna decides from where she’s walking right next to Fred.

Fred shrieks and startles so hard that he accidentally catapults into George, who trips and falls into Ginny, and they collapse into a heap on the ground. Percy glares down at Ron, and he guiltily lets go of Percy’s arms. He’d been trying to hide himself behind his older brother.

“Luna,” Percy says, turning back to look at the girl. “What are you-”

“You forgot to get me last night,” Luna says, frowning. “I had to come down by myself.”

“Well, we weren’t planning on getting you at all,” Percy tries to explain. “Considering the fact that you’re not a werewolf, and are in fact an eleven-year old that needs sleep, and most definitely do not need to spend your night in the company of five transformed werewolves.”

Luna just hums.

“I don’t think you’re winning this argument,” Fred says, finally managing to extrapolate himself from the dogpile on the ground.

“If Dad can’t convince her to stay away at home, there’s no way you’re going to be able to keep her away here,” George agrees, helping Ginny up. “It’s fruitless.”

“School is different,” Percy insists. “You could get into trouble- and what if you got caught? You could get us found out!”

“I wouldn’t get caught,” Luna says, sounding genuinely affronted.

“And what if you’re hurt?” Percy continues. “Just because our wolves don’t seem to care about you now doesn’t mean that’ll keep up.”

“She’s been sneaking into the wards at home to be with us during the moons for four years now,” Fred says, rolling his eyes. “I think it’ll keep up.”

Percy rubs his temples, letting out a groan.

Ron, on the other hand, has had something of an idea. He keeps it to himself, though, until they get back to the castle.

“Luna,” Ron says before the girl can slip off again, “I have a question for you.”

Both Ginny and Luna turn to look at Ron as one.

“Um,” Ron says. “Just Luna, I mean. I’ll walk you back to Ravenclaw?”

Ginny rolls her eyes, but the moon is clearly getting to her because she goes to follow Percy and the twins back up to Gryffindor without putting up any protest. It’s a Sunday, so they get to sleep the day away.

Or, Ron had been planning on sleeping the day away; but he has to do this first, because he’s got a bloody bleeding heart.

“Aren’t you related to the Malfoys?” Ron asks as they walk.

“Distantly,” Luna agrees, voice sounding far away despite the fact they’re walking right next to each other.

There’s a moment of silence as Ron tries to figure out how best to do this without betraying his- his friend’s (unfortunately) trust.

“Have you ever met Draco Malfoy?” Ron tries. “My age, heir to the Malfoy line-”

“No,” Luna says, then cocks her head. “Should I?”

“He’s a git,” Ron says immediately, then sighs. “But I think- it might be beneficial, for him and for you, if you were to introduce yourself. He could use a friend like you, I think.”

Luna hums again, and they walk the rest of the way to Ravenclaw in a companionable silence.

Ron likes Luna a lot. Not as much as Ginny likes Luna, since Luna is Ginny’s best friend, but all the same- she’s over at the Burrow so much she’s a near permanent fixture, almost in the same vein as the household ghoul.

Luna is a bit odd, yes, but so is an entire family of werewolves. Although- without her, Ron doesn’t think they’d be an entire family of werewolves.

After all, Luna is the one that opened the hole in the wards that allowed Ron and the others to stick their arms through, the caveat being that she too was allowed to become a werewolf (which obviously didn’t happen- none of them will bite Luna, for some reason).

Fred and George are geniuses, but had only been ten at the time; Ginny was only six (they hadn’t wanted to let her join in, but they couldn’t tell her no, not when Luna was being included); and Ron’s never been very keen on wards but especially not at eight.

Luna, even at six, had always really gotten magic. She understands it in a way that Ron doesn’t think anyone else ever has, except for maybe Merlin. Which is why they turned to her- and sure enough she delivered as easily as anything.

Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie and Percy had been livid, of course, but Ron has never regretted it. They’re a family. Ron wasn’t going to stand by and watch his older family members go through all that each month. It was hard enough when it was just Mum and Dad, but after they saw what that monster had done to Percy…

He’d just been so sad.

Percy isn’t usually sad. He gets mean when he’s upset, he lashes out. But after he’d come home from school that summer, after they all learned what had happened… it was like Percy had gone to school, and someone else had come home in his stead. He’d gone back to normal eventually, but it had taken months.

Mum and Dad couldn’t even bring themselves to get mad at Percy for not immediately telling them when it had happened.

They did get mad at Bill, and Charlie, but those two had been completely unrepentant. That’s where Ron and the others had gotten the idea to cut a hole in the wards in the first place- apparently the two older brothers had lasted all of Percy’s first transformation before turning to each other and (as they tell it) simultaneously telling the other that they were going to have Percy bite them.

They’d laughed, and then Bill had opened the wards, and then the Burrow had gotten three new werewolves- not that they’d told anyone until school let out, of course.

Yeah, everyone but Percy had spent that whole summer grounded. Although Mum had had to resort to also grounding Luna (no sweets, no playing with Albert) because she just wouldn’t stay away.

It’s very difficult to keep Luna from something once she’s put her mind to it. Ron thinks that’s a part of why she keeps spending the moons with them- he wonders how many strategies she’s tried to get them to even look at her, let alone bite her.

Maybe Draco will bite her- Ron hopes so. Of course, that requires Luna and Draco meeting, Luna finding out he's a werewolf, and then Luna befriending him to the point where she spends the moons with him and not the Weasleys.

It's a long-shot, but Ron is optimistic- if only because of how much Luna likes werewolves. She's fascinated with them, and really, really wants to be one. She wouldn’t look at them, much less talk to them for weeks after the wolves just ignored her after she'd opened the hole in the wards up and Ron the others had been bitten already.

She still showed up to the Burrow, of course, but Ron thinks that was to really hammer in the silent treatment.

Ron considers going to find Draco and seeing if he’s alright, but decides against it. He’s probably already asleep in bed- which is where Ron would like to be.

“Oh,” Ron says, coming into the common room only to find Neville sitting up in bed, reading a book. He hadn’t thought anyone would be awake, not this early in the morning. “Hey, Nev. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Neville says. There are bags under his eyes.

“Didn’t sleep well?”

“Nah,” Neville says. “You should go to bed, though.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Ron says, heading for his bed. His bones hurt.

Chapter Text

Harry sighs in contentment as he lets himself get lost in the act of chopping up grasshoppers. Snape has had him prepping ingredients for the last three extra classes, but he doesn’t mind. It’s like at Petunia’s, only he’s not starving or bruised and he’s doing it of his own volition- plus, it’s magic.

Even though he’s enjoying it fine, he’s still getting antsy to work on pain potions. That’s the whole reason for any of this- he can’t cure lycanthropy, but he can do this for the Weasleys. He knows it hurts, he’s done the research. Ron and the others are likely in a lot more pain than they let on, a lot of the time.

The actual goal is to get to the point where Harry can make wolfsbane, but that’s- well, he’s a ways away from that. Not to mention asking to learn a highly difficult and specific potion like that would be beyond suspicious. Snape had seemed suspicious enough over Harry’s excuse for the pain potions- so asking him outright is off the table.

There’s a soft knock on the door-frame that has Harry looking up from the now finely chopped grasshoppers. Snape looks up from his potion as well, an irritated look on his face that clears as soon as he sees who it is.

“‘Ello professor, Harry- uh, is now a good time?”

“Hagrid! Hi,” Harry says, smiling.

Snape waves a hand over his cauldron, sticking a stasis spell on it. Harry wonders how hard it would be to learn that- seems like it’d be useful.

“You have what I asked for?” Snape asks. “Already?”

“As luck would have it, I found one wanderin’ around- picked her up and figured I’d bring her by.”

As Hagrid is talking, he’s pulling out a little linen sack from his coat, tied at the top with a drawstring. Harry stares at it for a moment, then puts down the knife he’d been using to cut the ingredients up with. He doesn’t know what this is about, but he’s excited to find out.

Snape nods, then beckons for Hagrid to come inside. He clears off a desk and summons over a couple empty vials.

“I may require your assistance,” he says to the groundskeeper.

“Happy to help!” Hagrid says, smiling.

Harry wanders over, hoping to get close, but Snape levels a fierce glare at him that has him stopping in his tracks a good several feet away from them.

“Ready when you are,” Snape says.

Hagrid smiles, then opens the bag and plunges a hand in. Harry cranes his head to see what’s going on, but then-

“Unhand me or live to regret it!”

Harry starts, then takes an unbidden step forward as Hagrid pulls out a long green snake, one hand holding her carefully right behind the head, and the other supporting her coils.

“Do I dare ask why there was a boomslang wandering around the forest?” Snape asks, staring at the thing with glittering eyes.

“All sorts of beasties crop up in that forest,” Hagrid says, shrugging. “My bet is on the centaurs or the merfolk, trading amongst themselves.”

“I’m going to bite and kill and eat you!” the snake yells. Harry frowns. He thinks she might be scared- why isn’t anyone helping her calm down? Snape ignoring the snake makes sense, because that’s Snape for you, but Hagrid?

Ah well, looks like it’s up to him.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, looking the snake in the eye.

The room goes dead quiet. The snake stops writhing around, instead looking over at Harry.

“They’re just going to take some of your venom,” Harry continues. That’s what he assumes the vials are for, anyways- plus, he knows of at least three potions off the top of his head that require boomslang venom.

“They could have asked,” the snake finally says, sounding a bit grumpy.

“Sorry- er, is it okay if we take some of your venom?”

“My venom is very strong,” the snake muses. Then, her tongue flickers, and she says, “I suppose- but only for you, Speaker.”

Harry gives it a grin. “Thank you!”

Then he looks back up to Hagrid and Snape.

“She says we can take her venom, I don’t think you need to worry about her- oh. Um.”

Snape is staring at Harry with a completely blank expression, although his already pale skin seems to have gone three shades paler. Hagrid is curiously still, eyes darting between Harry, Snape, and the snake.

“What’d I say?” Harry asks, confused.

“Potter,” Snape starts. His voice is completely flat. “Have you always been able to speak with snakes?”

“Um,” Harry says, furrowing his brow. “Yes? Is that- oh, is that not normal?”

Great, just his luck. The boy-savior thing is bad enough.

Snape looks over at Hagrid, who looks back at him. Hagrid then looks down at the snake, her tongue flickering in earnest now.

“Well,” Hagrid says, obviously forcing some cheer into his voice. “Best not to keep her waiting, then.”

“Quite,” Snape says, before picking up a vial.

The snake very graciously allows for them to take some of her venom, and it takes less time than Harry thinks it would’ve if she were still panicking.

Then Hagrid packs the snake back up, wishing Harry and Snape a good day before leaving. Harry manages to give the snake a quick goodbye as well, which has Snape’s expression going even flatter.

“So,” Harry says. “Should I stop doing that? Only, I don’t know what the big deal is, because snakes- okay, they aren’t always nice, but they seem to like me well enough and-”

“The Dark Lord very famously spoke with snakes,” Snape says, returning to his potion. He won’t even look Harry’s way. “And being a parselmouth is rare enough that many thought he was the only one capable of such a feat.”

Harry’s mouth has gone a bit dry. “Oh,” he gets out.

“Yes,” Snape says. “I would recommend keeping that particular talent of yours quiet.”

“Oh,” Harry says again. He goes back to chopping up grasshoppers.

The next day, Harry gets out of class and walks with Hermione, Ron, and Neville down to the library. They get the nice table today, and Harry has been waiting to tell them about the snake thing until they are within the safety of the privacy wards. He’ll have to talk to Draco about it later.

They haven’t even sat down when Harry blurts out, “I can talk to snakes.”

Silence.

“That’s… cool,” Neville says, although he looks a bit queasy.

“Like Voldemort?” Hermione asks. Ron and Neville both flinch.

“Why?” Ron asks.

Harry isn’t sure if it’s rhetorical or not, so he errs on the side of caution. “Magic?” Harry suggests.

Ron buries his head in his hands.

“Well, don’t go around advertising that,” is what he manages to get out.

“That’s the plan,” Harry says. “Sorry, just thought you ought to know.”

“Oh good,” Ginny says from where she has suddenly appeared from around a bookshelf. She’s a bit out of breath, and towing Luna behind her. “You’re already here. Um, Percy’s calling a family meeting.”

Ron and Harry look at each other.

On the other hand, Hermione and Neville go to put their things away, then stand up.

“We’ll be at a different table,” Hermione says. “Come get us when you’re done.”

Ron nods, and Harry wonders if he should go too. He decides against it- he wants to tell the Weasleys about the snake thing as well, and they’ve made it a point to include him in these meetings for some reason.

Ginny sits down, and pulls Luna with her.

“What’s this about?” Ron asks. “Do you know?”

“Just wait,” Ginny says. Luna is staring out the window.

“What’s this about?” one of the twins asks, coming into the wards. “We were in the middle of doing, um, something.”

“Yeah, this had better be good,” the other agrees, following shortly behind. They both seem to be covered in a thin layer of shiny glitter. One of the twins is smoking a bit.

“Ginny assures me it is,” Percy says from where he’s sitting at the table.

Everyone (sans Luna) jumps.

“Jesus Christ,” Ron says, clutching his chest. “What the fuck?”

“Two points from Gryffindor,” Percy says.

Ron glares, and Harry bites back a laugh. There’s a glint of amusement in Percy’s eye.

“Okay,” Ginny says. “So. Um.”

“We lost Tom,” Luna says, looking down at her hands.

Harry looks around, trying to see if maybe the others know what that means. Judging by their expressions, they do not.

“Okay,” Ron says. “Uh, great. Who is Tom?”

Ginny purses her lips, then sighs. “A cursed, sapient diary.”

“Ginny,” Percy starts, sounding so genuinely disappointed that Harry thinks that Arthur must have been giving him lessons.

“Look, we were going to tell someone about it, but Luna wanted to experiment and we were being careful I swear-”

“Ginny,” Percy says again, closing his eyes. He pauses, then mutters something that- to Harry- sounds like, ‘I knew they’d be worse than the twins.’

Then he says, “how did you lose the diary, if you were being so careful with it?”

“We were switching off,” Luna says. “I thought Ginny had it, but she thought I had it. We don’t know how long it’s been gone.”

“Why’d you even keep it?” one of the twins asks.

“And where did you get it?” the other adds.

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same,” Ginny snaps. “And I dunno- it was with my books, when we got back from Diagon.”

“Great. Awesome. Do we know what it does?” Ron asks.

“As far as we can tell, it’s just a talking diary. Bit manipulative, but I didn’t notice anything else. But-”

“It’s sticky,” Luna cuts in, nose wrinkling. “And disgusting.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Even the twins look a little grim. Harry doesn’t know Luna knows as well as the Weasleys do, but she is not the sort to be put-off by something, not like this. Half of the ‘experiments’ Luna showed Harry involved roadkill she found.

Of course, they were pretty cool, and surprisingly scientific. Harry wasn’t surprised in the least when the girl went to Ravenclaw.

“So we need to find the diary,” Percy says. “Then destroy it.”

Ginny snorts. “Yeah, we tried that. Not happening.”

“What did you try?” One of the twins asks, perking up.

“The basics,” Ginny says, shrugging. “Fire, water, tearing it apart, leaving it out during a moon, Albert- you know. That sort of thing.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Percy decides. “For now, keep an eye out. What does it look like?”

“Little black journal,” Ginny says, arms folded. “Blank pages, except for where it says ‘property of T. M. Riddle’ on the first page.”

“And it’s sticky,” Luna reminds them.

Harry makes a note to keep an eye out for little black books, sticky or otherwise.

“Well. Anything else?” Percy asks.

There’s a moment of quiet as everyone looks around at each other. Harry thinks this is going to be as good a time as any.

“Uh, yeah- I can talk to snakes,” Harry says, raising his hand.

Percy stares at Harry for a moment, before closing his eyes and letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

Chapter Text

“You can’t hear that?” Harry asks, eyes wide.

“The sounds of the pipes must be too loud,” Ron says, although he doesn’t really believe it.

Harry stares another moment, then shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, it’s going to kill someone- we need to go!”

And with that, he’s racing away- towards whatever it is that’s about to kill someone. Ron looks at Hermione, who lets out a shaky sigh- but then tears after Harry as well. Ron throws his hands in the air, before going after them.

Ron knew they shouldn’t have gone to the stupid death-day party. He’d had a bad feeling about skipping the feast, and now here they are, about to get unceremoniously murdered. At least Neville isn’t here- he’d been planning on skipping the feast too, and Ron can’t exactly blame him. Halloween is hard on the son of Alice and Frank Longbottom.

Ron catches up with Hermione and Harry in no time at all, and grabs onto both of their hands. Harry continues to pull them, following the sound of a voice only he can hear. Ron strains his own ears, but the pipes are just so loud.

“This way,” Harry gasps, before taking a hard right, and then skidding to a stop so fast that Hermione and Ron nearly bowl him over. Harry’s gone so still that Ron is momentarily worried he’s turned to stone, somehow.

“What,” Hermione starts, then stops. “Oh god,” she says.

Ron blinks up at the wall they’ve stopped in front of. There, in blood red letters written across the wall, are the words:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

But the words aren’t even the worst part. Not by a long shot. Ron swallows, then looks back at the words. He’s never had the easiest time with animal death, and this one- Mrs. Norris looks terrified, for a cat.

“Oh god,” Hermione says again, hand on her mouth.

Harry lets out a little gasp. He must’ve caught sight of the cat.

Ron drops his friends’ hands and goes up to the wall. He brushes his fingers over the writing, resolutely trying to ignore Mrs. Norris’s glassy stare.

“Dry,” he announces.

“Blood?” Hermione asks, voice quavering a bit.

Ron shakes his head. “Just paint,” he says quietly.

“We need to go,” Hermione whispers. “We can’t get caught here.”

“We can’t just leave her,” Harry says, turning to look at Ron and Hermione. There are tears shining in his eyes. “She’s-”

“She’s dead, Harry,” Hermione says, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “There isn’t anything we can do for her.”

“It’s too late,” Ron says- but he’s not just agreeing with Hermione. “We can’t leave now, the feast just let out.”

Sure enough, the noise of students chattering and laughing spills into the halls. And by the sound of it, they’re all headed this way.

“Cloak?” Hermione asks, turning to Harry.

Harry just shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line.

Ron decides then and there to get his Mum to make Harry a bag, of some kind. That’s not the sort of thing you just leave in a dorm.

Soon, the students have surrounded them. All Ron can think to do is push his friends behind him, keeping himself between them and the crowd.

Most of them are staring, although there are plenty of whispers and shocked mutters. Behind him, Ron can feel Harry- he’s stiff as a board. Hermione reaches up and grabs Ron’s hand- her own hand is freezing cold. Ron stamps down hard on the growl he feels rumbling in his chest.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods,” Draco yells.

Ron turns to look at him, eyes narrowed. He gets that they’re supposed to put up a front, but is now really the time?

Draco’s expression is jeering, but Ron’s wolf relaxes minutely at the veiled worry he sees dancing behind Draco’s eyes. Oddly enough, Harry seems to relax as well.

It’s not too difficult from there to seek out his siblings. Percy is staring at Mrs. Norris, brow furrowed. The twins look like they’re barely holding themselves back from rushing up to see if Harry and Ron are alright. Ginny and Luna are huddled together, whispering about something. Ron might be able to make it out if not for the fact that everyone seems to be whispering about something.

And then Filch shows up, and everything gets that much worse.

Ron is literally seconds from going for the man’s throat (anything to stop him from yelling at Harry), when the Headmaster finally intervenes, walking through the amassed crowd as though they aren’t even there. Behind him, Snape and McGonagall hurry after him. Lockhart is there too, but Ron has taken to ignoring that man as much as possible, since the alternative is murder.

“Argus, with me,” Dumbledore says, waving a hand and detaching the cat’s corpse from the wall without a word.

Filch sniffs loudly, but backs off and stalks over to stand by the Headmaster. Ron has hardly a second to feel relieved when- “Misters Potter, Weasley, and Miss Granger- you’d best come as well.”

Ron scowls, and looks over at where Percy is standing, hoping he can do something. Percy just sort of shrugs, and Ron sighs but goes to follow the Headmaster and the other teachers.

“We can use my office,” Lockhart says, smiling widely. “It’s not far!”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore says, inclining his head.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron are all quiet as they walk. Ron tries not to feel too worried- if they get expelled, he’ll just bundle everyone up and move to Romania. Same plan as always. Charlie would be thrilled to finally meet Harry, at least.

They file into Lockhart’s office, where Hermione pulls them over to a couple of seats, out of the way of the teachers.

“What’s the plan?” she asks, so quiet that Ron’s surprised Harry manages to catch it.

But he does- and he just shakes his head, looking miserable.

“We were at the Death-Day party, and we stumbled on the words on our way back,” Ron says, firmly.

Hermione winces, but nods. Harry continues to look miserable, but Ron decides to take that as an agreement. They won’t tell anyone about the voice- not until they ask Percy and the others about what to do about it.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” Dumbledore says.

Harry shoots up in his seat, an expression of wild hope on his face. Hermione puts her hand to her mouth again. Ron looks at the cat in disbelief. Not dead? She doesn’t smell dead, sure, but she doesn’t smell like anything at all, really.

Which, in hindsight, is really very weird.

“But- what- how?” Filch asks.

“She’s been petrified,” Dumbledore continues, a bit grimly.

“Is there a cure?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore says. “A draught, using mandrake root- which as luck would have it, we have access to here at Hogwarts. It may take a couple months, but Mrs. Norris is going to be fine.”

Filch bursts into a new round of tears. Ron very suddenly goes a bit lightheaded in relief- he doesn’t like Mrs. Norris, or Filch, but he hadn’t wanted something like this to happen to them. Who would? That’s just cruel.

Well, someone obviously- since they’d literally done it. But who-

“Ron,” Harry whispers, eyes wide. “Do you think- Tom?”

Oh. Oh, yeah. Well, that would explain as to what Luna and Ginny had been whispering about.

Ron nods, then turns his attention back to the faculty. Hermione, on the other hand, is watching the two of them with narrowed eyes. Right- they should probably let Hermione know about that, if only so she can keep an eye out.

Damn, Ron’s going to be in for another lecture later, and he’s going to deserve it.

“I’d be more than happy to make such a draught,” Lockhart is saying.

Snape actually snorts, then tries to turn it into a cough. Ron thinks he could have tried harder, but Lockhart either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

“If it’s all the same to you,” Dumbledore says mildly, “I believe we’ll have our resident Potion’s Master make the draught.”

“Of course, but if you need any pointers-”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to consult you,” Snape says.

Ron’s surprised Lockhart’s still standing- that amount of sarcasm had to have been lethal. Behind them, McGonagall seems suddenly very interested in the wall.

“Now,” Dumbledore says, turning to look at Harry. “Tell us- how is it you three came across Mrs. Norris?”

Harry lets out a little breath, and then launches into an explanation.

Between the three of them, they manage to convince the teachers that it had been nothing more than an unlucky coincidence, and then head off to Gryffindor tower together after the Headmaster lets them go.

At this point, none of them are really feeling like talking, so they decide to call it a day. Ron is fine with this- they can tell Neville and Draco everything tomorrow, and let Hermione know about the diary as well.

Not that that’s going to go down very well, of course.

And Ron is right- it doesn’t go down very well at all.

“So there’s a lost cursed diary floating around the place and you didn’t think to tell us?” Draco asks, arms folded. He’s leaning against a stall- they’re all five standing because the bathroom floor is wet, thanks to Myrtle.

“Look, I said I was sorry! It slipped my mind,” Ron protests, trying and failing not to feel guilty about it.

“Mine too. And, to be fair,” Harry points out, “it wasn’t like it had actually done anything yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. You need to tell us these things,” Hermione says, scowling. “What if one of us had found it, and it really hurt us?”

There’s a sort of wet smacking sound as a little black diary is thrown onto the ground in front of them. Ron looks up from it to Neville, who’s staring resolutely down at the thing. His bag is open and his hands are clutching at its straps with a white-knuckled grip.

“Yeah,” Neville says. “I agree with Hermione on that one.”

There’s a moment of dead silence as the five stare down at the innocuous little thing.

“Ooh, look at me, I’m a spooky diary,” Myrtle says, head poking out from the floor underneath it.

“Myrtle,” Ron says, closing his eyes.

“It was a little funny,” Draco mutters.

Chapter Text

Harry smiles as he feels the wind fly through his hair. He’s needed this.

The week following Halloween had been somewhat stressful, what with Neville having had the diary (and Harry is trying very hard not to feel guilty about not catching that- in retrospect, the boy had been much quieter than usual), the petrification, the rumors that Harry’d opened the chamber, and everything else.

At least the diary is out of the picture now- or, at least, as out of the picture as an apparently indestructible diary can be.

As near as they could figure, Tom had somehow managed to snag a little bit onto Ginny and Luna, tricking them into dropping the diary instead of exchanging it. From there it was just a matter of Neville picking it up and writing in it- and the diary was home free.

Or at least it must have thought so- but not anymore, now that they’ve found it again. Percy had stuck it into a little bag, then put it in the forest- which Harry is much less confused about, now that he knows about them being werewolves.

Harry figures that whatever sort of setup can keep werewolves in is going to be very good at keeping the diary in as well, so he’s decided not to be worried about the diary any more. Instead, he’s started focusing once more on potions. He’s getting close to feeling like he could make a pain potion.

Snape thinks otherwise, of course, but Harry’s sure he could convince the Professor to let him at least attempt one, right?

Actually, now that Harry is thinking about it, he’s not so sure.

On the bright side, Draco and Neville seem to be that much closer to being friends now. Harry thinks it has something to do with the fact that Draco, instead of expressing sympathy or pity over Neville’s tangle with the diary, makes scathing comments about the whole affair- but specifically about Tom.

Neville hasn’t shared much about Tom, or what the diary said to him, but out of everyone, Draco has learned the most about it, simply by virtue of being acerbic.

Harry doesn’t know for sure if Draco is doing it on purpose, but he’d like to think so. Although, the idea of Draco accidentally befriending Neville for real is also really fun to think about, so-

“Watch out!”

Harry jerks his broom up, feeling a bludger skim right past, inches from his face. Harry stares at it, heart thundering in his ears. They are not supposed to be that fast. What’s-

A twin shoots past him (wearing Fred’s jersey number), twirling his beater’s bat and staring at the bludger like its days are now numbered. Harry appreciates the vengeful attitude, but he doesn’t think the situation requires it. Sure, that had been a close call, but it’d missed him, so he should be in the clear.

Or no, wait- it’s turning around.

Fred hits it away again, but it circles back, which confirms that there is something seriously wrong with that bludger.

“Potter, you idiot, move!” Draco yells, flying over to Harry and nearly crashing into him.

Harry forces himself to move up in the air a bit, but doesn’t know what else to do- the bludger is clearly targeting Harry, and if he flies off then it might get past Fred.

“What’s going on?” the other twin yells, as Fred hits the bludger away for a third time.

“Stupid bludger won’t leave Harry alone!” Fred yells back.

“If I were you, I’d call a timeout,” Draco calls, circling in the air just below Harry. “Otherwise you might lose Scarhead here.”

Harry knows the mocking tone is faked, but George doesn’t, so the twin’s sudden stormy expression isn’t necessarily unexpected. What is unexpected is the way it goes from stormy to alarmed, and then confused, and finally considering.

This is because the bludger has slipped past Fred, flown by George so fast it looks more like a rocket than a ball, and shot straight for Harry- except, Draco has gone from circling under Harry to shooting up in front of him, putting himself right in the bludger’s way.

Harry’s strangled ‘Draco’ dies in his throat as he watches the bludger stop dead, right before it would have crashed right into Draco’s face. Draco’s jaw is clenched, and his eyes closed. Then, he cracks an eye open. The bludger buzzes a bit in midair, then shoots away again.

“Don’t do that,” Harry says, tone so icy that he surprises himself.

Although- he can hardly hear himself speak over the rage and adrenaline that’s rushing through his head. Harry takes a slightly shaking hand off of his broom, wipes it on his shirt, and then grabs the snitch that’s fluttering over Draco’s shoulder.

“Never again,” Harry continues. “I’m serious.”

Draco just stares at him, cheeks tinged pink and eyes bright. “Did you honestly just catch the snitch? Are you kidding me?”

“Oh,” Harry says, looking down at the little golden ball. Distantly, he hears a whistle blow.

Draco looks like he wants to say something more, but instead he just shoots a glare at Harry, then starts to urge his broom down.

“We are not done with this conversation,” Harry yells after him.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco yells, not looking back.

“Incoming!” Fred shouts.

Harry looks up just in time to see George fly up and intercept the rogue bludger- only with his chest and arms, and not his face like Draco had been planning to do. Except- the bludger doesn’t stop this time. There’s a wet crunching sort of sound, and Harry feels very suddenly like he’s going to be sick. He pushes it down- he has other things to worry about right now.

“George, are you-” Harry starts, urging his broom over.

George’s face is twisted in pain, but he takes the (now fervently fighting) bludger in his hands and, with a grunt, tears it in half. Sand explodes everywhere, and starts immediately to drift away in the wind. He tosses the two pieces of messily torn leather away as well, a disgusted look on his face.

Harry can’t help but stare at the older boy. George winces again, and rubs his chest a couple times.

“Fuckin’ bludger,” George gasps out, before spitting down after its remains. The spit is tinged red.

Harry decides, then and there, that he no longer wants people to take hits for him. The forest had been bad enough.

George looks up at Harry suddenly, a terrified expression on his face. “Harry, behind you!”

It’s too late. A crack, and his vision whites out before everything goes dark.

As Harry comes to, it’s to the thought that even though he wants to take his own hits, he hadn't necessarily meant so soon.

“Two bludgers,” someone is saying right by his head. “There are two bludgers in a game. How did we forget-”

“Not your fault,” Harry slurs. He tries to push away from whoever it is that’s carrying him, but even thinking about moving his arm has sparks bursting behind his eyelids. The arms around him tighten, and he gives in.

“Of course it was our fault,” says the twin (Harry’s pretty sure it’s a twin, anyways). He sounds on the verge of tears. “You’re our kid brother and it’s our job to take care of you and we didn’t and now you’re hurt-”

“Hm,” Harry says. “That would be nice.”

A pause. Harry becomes aware of the feeling of a broomstick underneath him, which makes him think that they might still be midair. Good thing he didn’t push away after all, then.

“What would be nice?” The twin asks.

“Brothers,” Harry says. His thoughts feel slow. “And Ginny, as a sister. I wish-”

“Harry,” the twin says, cutting him off. He sounds uncharacteristically serious. “You are our brother. We’re brothers, and Ginny is our sister. It’s not- we don’t kid around with that sort of thing. Percy, Ron, everyone.”

Harry forces his eyes open. His heart has leapt so high he feels once more like he might throw up. Or, well, that might be the pain, actually.

George (Harry knows it’s George because there’s a line of dried blood running down his chin from his mouth) is looking down at Harry. There isn’t even a hint of a joke in his expression.

“Oh,” Harry says, then squeezes his eyes shut. He feels a tear slip past his eyelids anyways. He feels sort of like he’s been emotionally punched in the chest, which considering the fact that his arm is also most definitely extremely broken, is a bit overwhelming.

“And Mum and Dad see you as their own,” George continues. “You- Harry, you do understand that, don’t you?”

Harry’s thoughts feel far too slow for him to try and convince George that he’s mistaken, so instead he decides to let himself slip off again.

He wakes up to Ron, Percy, Ginny, and both of the twins all crouched around him. They aren’t looking at him, though- instead, they’re looking up at Lockhart. By the sound of it, they’re all five growling. Harry hopes no one can hear it, because it sounds plenty loud from where he’s laying.

Harry tries not to think about that in the context of what George was saying (he's still too overwhelmed to consider that), and instead focuses on what’s going on.

Lockhart is brandishing a wand, which is why Harry thinks most of the assembled students (audience members and quidditch players alike) are a good several feet away. Hopefully that, at least, will keep them from hearing the growls.

Hermione and Neville are standing as close as they dare. Draco, though, is nowhere to be seen.

“If you just let me-” Lockhart tries.

“Absolutely not,” Ron snaps.

“I really could heal-”

“I don’t think you could, to be honest,” one of the twins says, a vicious smile splitting his face.

“Five points from-”

“Leave,” Percy says, eyes glowing gold even despite the noonday sun.

Lockhart takes a step back, then two- and then he’s running away from the Weasleys as though the hounds of hell are after him.

“Perce,” Ron whispers nervously. “D’you think-”

“Yes,” Percy says, sighing. “I’d better take care of that. Get Harry to the hospital wing. Pomfrey should be able to fix that right up.”

“Um,” Harry says as Percy starts after the professor. The four remaining Weasleys look down at him as one. “Take care of what?”

“Tell you later,” one of the twins says, eyes darting meaningfully to the amassed crowd. “Let's get you to Pomfrey, yeah?”

Harry’s attention is brought very unhelpfully back to his arm, and he manages to nod.

They make quick work of getting him to Pomfrey, who then makes quicker work of healing up his arm. Hermione and Neville sneak in at some point, and sit down with the Weasleys (sans Percy) as they wait anxiously for Pomfrey’s judgment.

“You should be good to go by nightfall, Mister Potter,” Pomfrey decides. “I’ll take the sling off then. Everyone else needs to go- Mister Potter needs his sleep, healing takes it out of the best of us.”

Harry tries to protest, but instead he yawns.

“Thank you Madam Pomfrey,” Percy says, standing up and gesturing for the others to do the same. “We’ll take our leave.”

The others jump at his sudden appearance, but Pomfrey just nods. “Take care, Mister Weasley.”

Harry watches them go through half-lidded eyes. The last thing he sees before falling asleep is Hermione, Neville, and Ron waving him goodbye.

Chapter Text

“Potter,” someone is saying. “Potter, wake up.”

Harry groans, then uses his free hand to swat at whoever is poking at his cheek.

“Harry,” Draco finally says.

Harry manages to get an eye open. Judging by the sun, he’s only been asleep a couple hours. “What?”

“Oh good, you’re alive,” Draco says, leaning back.

“Obviously I’m alive,” Harry says, rubbing some of the sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing here? Someone might-”

“See me? Sort of like how they saw me try to take a bludger to the face for you?”

Harry sits up, heart lurching unpleasantly in his chest. “Oh no,” he says. “Draco is- are you going to be alright?”

Draco looks out the window, lips pursed. “We’ll see,” he says. “I expect I will be receiving a couple letters in the next few days.”

Harry looks down at the bed cover, then up at Draco, a grim determination filling his chest.

“No matter what, we’ll stand by you,” he promises.

Draco smiles down at his hands, then seems to manually smooth his face over.

“Right. Well. Of course, Pansy and Vince and Greg are wanting to meet you now- officially, that is.”

Harry tries not to let the distaste he feels show on his face. He doesn’t think he does a very good job of it.

Draco narrows his eyes. “They’re also standing by me, even after learning I’ve been hiding being friends with you lot. You might give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“Right,” Harry says, then shakes his head. “Right. Sorry.”

Draco settles back in his seat, but his sharp silver eyes are still narrowed.

“Of course,” Harry says, looking back down at his hands. He starts to pick at a loose thread on the blanket. “If you hadn’t tried to take a bludger to the face for me, you wouldn’t be in this predicament-”

“I’d do it again,” Draco cuts in. “And it didn’t even end up hurting me, so-”

“It was going to!” Harry bursts out. “It was going to hurt you! You almost died, because of me! Again!”

“Harry?” Draco asks, sounding a bit unsure.

Harry forces himself to relax. He’d been holding his free arm around himself, and breathing faster than normal. He takes a big breath in, then lets it out slowly.

“What,” Harry says, not looking over at the boy.

“I wouldn’t have died,” Draco says.

“What?” Harry says, looking up at Draco. “You can’t know that.”

“Yes I- look, just trust me on this. I wouldn’t have died.”

Harry decides that it’s not worth arguing. “Okay, but still- I don’t want you, or anyone, getting hurt for me.”

“Well, that’s not really a decision you get to make for people,” Draco snaps.

Harry grits his teeth together, then forces his jaw to relax. All this tensing up can’t be good for him. “Okay then,” he says, “but you can’t get mad when I do the same for you, someday.”

Draco shoots up boltright in his chair. “That is not happening,” he growls.

Harry stares at him. Draco stares back, face going from pink to white in an instant.

“Oh,” Harry says.

Draco buries his face in his hands.

“So you really wouldn’t have died then,” Harry says.

Draco says nothing, and doesn’t look up from his hands.

“Reckon it’d be hard to explain surviving that away, though, so it’s still a good thing-”

“Harry,” Draco says, into his hands.

“That it stopped right before- yes?”

Draco looks up from his hands. “Is there a point in me trying to convince you that I’m not a monster?”

Harry lets out a laugh, then clasps his good hand over his mouth. Then he puts the hand down. “Draco, you are not a monster. I’ve met monsters.”

And Harry’s met Vernon.

There's a long moment where Draco just stares at Harry, seemingly in disbelief.

“Right then,” Draco says, a bit faintly. “I don’t really- I don’t really know what I expected there. But Potter, Harry- no one can know. Understand? Ron knows, and maybe my cousin, but no one else.”

Harry nods, but on the inside he’s scoffing. As if he’d tell. He’s done the research, he knows about the stigma-

“How did it even happen?” Harry asks, because he really hadn’t thought Draco being a werewolf even possible, considering how they’re viewed by wixen kind. However it happened, it had to have been nuts.

… And probably at least somewhat traumatizing, so maybe he shouldn’t have asked Draco about it outright.

Harry looks up at Draco, who’s gone still. “Not that you need to tell me, I mean!”

“Good, because I’m not going to,” Draco says sharply.

“Sorry,” Harry says, grimacing.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped,” Draco says, looking down. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says.

“So does the Heir Malfoy want for the Potter boy to die? Because that is what Dobby is gathering from the situation.”

Harry and Draco both start, but Draco actually jumps to his feet and puts an arm out as though to keep the Elf from going for Harry’s throat.

“Draco! We just talked about this,” Harry says as Draco puts his arm down and smoothly brushes a piece of lint off of his robes.

“And if you’ll recall,” Draco says, going to sit down again, “we pretty much decided that it was going to be a race as to which of us can die for the other first, which is stupid because I’m just about indestructible.”

Well, at least he had been listening.

“Dobby, what the hell are you doing here?” Draco asks, turning to the house Elf, who is sitting in a crouched position on the footboard of the bed like some kind of terrifying gargoyle.

“Wait,” Harry says, looking between the Elf and Draco. “You know Dobby?”

“Do I know- of course I know Dobby, he’s the Malfoy Elf. How do you know Dobby?”

“The Malfoy Elf? What?”

“Is this another one of those things I’m going to have to explain to you, even though you really should have known it from practically day one?”

“Okay,” Harry says, feeling a rush of anger shoot up inside him. “For one, I was raised by muggles who hate magic stuff. For another, there isn’t exactly a pamphlet on this sort of thing! Not all of us have the luxury of being raised in this world, Draco.”

Draco at least has the decency to look a bit abashed. Not- not a lot abashed, but a tiny bit.

“And for your information, I do know what Elves are. I spent the summer at the Weasleys and they told me all about them. I just wanted to know why the Elf that’s been trying to keep me from Hogwarts is the Malfoy Elf.”

Draco looks up, a confused expression on his face.

“Dobby is trying to save the Potter boy,” Dobby says, spindly fingers tapping on his legs rhythmically. “The Potter boy and the Malfoy Heir and the Wolves and the Pale One is making this incredibly difficult for Dobby to do.”

“Dobby, you- wait, were you behind the bludger?” Draco asks, rounding on the Elf.

“If the Potter boy is taken out of Hogwarts due to grievous injury, the Potter boy is safe,” Dobby says, waving a dismissive hand. On top of that, his lamp-like eyes are narrowed into slits, and his lips are pursed. Harry has never really met Draco’s mother, but he saw her across the bookstore and the similarities between Mrs. Malfoy’s and this Elf’s mannerism are almost comical.

Not enough to laugh over, though, especially considering what it is the Elf had just said.

“I can guarantee to you that I’m safer at Hogwarts than I am at home,” Harry says, although when he says the word ‘home’ his mind flashes unbidden to the Burrow.

There’s a little growl from Draco, but he tries to mask it with a cough. Harry lets him get away with it, if only because he doesn’t actually want to know how much Draco knows about his home-life. Surely it isn’t that much.

Hopefully it isn't that much.

“Dobby, your definition of ‘safe’ leaves a lot to be desired,” Draco says.

Something about how he says it makes Harry think that maybe they aren’t just talking about the bludger any more.

Dobby smiles at Draco then, and Harry can’t help but shiver. That Elf has far too many teeth, and they seem almost needlelike in the watery light of the sun shining in through the windows.

“The Malfoy Heir is safer now than before,” Dobby says, slowly and clearly enunciating each word he speaks. “Dobby has been over this with the Lady Malfoy, and Dobby has been over this with the Malfoy Heir.

“And, and and and, Dobby was told not to meddle. Old terms, older than the Malfoy Heir, were invoked.”

“I actually don’t want to talk about this right now,” Draco says, looking up at the ceiling. Dobby’s smile (snarl?) widens.

“You sure seem like you’re meddling now,” Harry points out, deciding now is probably the best time to bring the conversation back on track.

“Oh- right. And you still haven’t told us why,” Draco says, looking back at the Elf.

Dobby rocks forward a bit, just far enough that Harry thinks he might be about to fall onto the bed, but then he stops.

“A great danger has been unleashed upon Hogwarts,” Dobby whispers.

“Oh, the diary?” Harry asks. “Because we took care of that.”

Dobby’s grin widens, and his teeth seem to grow even longer. “It is true,” he concedes, “that the broken magic seems to have been… redirected. And yet- a danger unleashed is not so easy to put to sleep once more.”

Then Dobby looks up, right into Harry’s eyes. He feels suddenly frozen.

“Dobby has warned the Potter boy three times now. The Potter boy will hear from Dobby no more.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, Dobby is gone.

Harry looks over at Draco, who’s staring at the spot Dobby used to occupy. He seems to be thinking.

“Draco?” Harry tries.

Draco blinks, then looks over to Harry. “Right,” he says. Then he stands up. “Right. Well, I’m going to find Hermione, and then I’m going to tell her everything that just happened, and then we’re going to, to- to solve it.”

“Oh,” Harry says, then yawns. “Oh, okay. Good luck.”

Draco stands there for a moment more, then turns and walks off. Harry watches him go, then closes his eyes. He’s ready to go back to sleep.

Chapter Text

The news of Colin Creevey’s petrification spreads like wildfire. It takes all of five days before the general public has decided that Harry is behind it, and that’s why Draco is being his friend.

It’s a damn good thing they don’t know he’s a parselmouth, because that would make everyone go absolutely crazy. The ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ stuff makes it hard enough for Harry to dodge rumors.

At least Ron and his siblings have managed to make Gryffindors see reason, for the most part. Although Ron isn’t entirely sure as to how much help Ginny is actually being when she goes around proclaiming that she’s the heir of Slytherin, but what can you do.

“And you’re sure you can’t do anything,” Draco asks again, folding his arms.

There are deep purple bags under his eyes- the rumors are getting to him just as much if not more than they’re getting to Harry. According to him, he also still hasn’t heard back from his parents about the whole ‘very obviously deliberately putting himself in harm's way to save Harry Potter’ thing, which can’t be easy to deal with either.

Ron hopes Luna is making headway with becoming his friend- although knowing her, she probably just keeps showing up and not leaving until he learns to accept her presence.

Pansy lets out a long sigh, and rests her head back against the stall door. “I’m getting there, but no. The school’s rumor mill is a beast, and it takes more than a year and a half to tame. And trust me when I say, Draco, that it could be much, much worse.”

“Hey, is there a reason we’re still meeting in the bathroom?” Neville asks from where he’s sitting underneath a sink, herbology book open in front of him. “Because everyone knows about this now, so…”

Greg nods in agreement from where he’s sitting by Neville, methodically folding little stars out of strips of paper and depositing them in Neville’s robe pocket.

Ron would also like to know the answer to this, but he’s currently a bit distracted by the game of chess laid out in front of him. At least the floor is dry.

“Your move,” Vince says.

“I know,” Ron says, putting his hand on his mouth and resting his elbow on his knee. “I’m thinking.”

“Harry wants to brew, and we can’t do that in the library,” Hermione says from where she’s sitting on the floor reading a massive book. “Oh, speak of the devil- hello, Harry.”

Ron and Vince both look up from the board as Harry runs into the bathroom, door swinging behind him. He’s carrying an iron cauldron, and it seems to be full of dried ingredients.

“Hi, sorry I’m late, I heard the voice again and had to chase after it.”

Pansy, Greg, Vince, and Draco all stare at Harry, horrified. Ron buries his face in his hands.

That gets Hermione to finally look up from her book at least, interest gleaming in her eyes. “Did you find it?” she asks.

Harry plops his cauldron down in front of her, then begins to lay the ingredients out. “No,” he sighs. “It got annoyed that it couldn’t ‘find a way out’ and then stopped talking.”

“And no one else could hear it,” Hermione confirms.

“Not that I saw,” Harry says, frowning. He pauses what he’s doing, and his frown deepens. “It’s just so annoying- it’s like I can’t go more than a couple months without finding out some new thing about myself and my life. Last year was magic and the ‘chosen one’ stuff, this year the voice and the talking to snakes-”

There’s a loud collective gasp, and then the sound of Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Draco all simultaneously shouting, “it’s a snake!” causes Pansy, Greg, and Vince to nearly jump out of their own skins in fright.

“Wait, Harry can talk to snakes?” Pansy asks, although she’s still clutching her heart. “Are we sure he’s not the one-”

“Yes,” Ron cuts in. “We’re sure. The monster isn’t under anyone’s control right now- we already took care of that.”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that much at least,” Pansy says, waving a hand. “But still- that’s weird, right?”

“What’s weird is a snake that can petrify people is apparently running- uh, slithering around Hogwarts,” Hermione says. “Let’s talk about that some more. Anyone know of a creature that sounds like that?”

“I mean,” Greg says, folding up another piece of paper, “yes, but basilisks don’t exist, so, no?”

There’s a long moment of quiet. Ron swallows. The cool air of the bathroom suddenly feels downright chilly.

“What’s a basilisk?” Harry asks.

“Giant snake that lives forever and can kill with a single look,” Greg recites. “Incurable venom, unpierceable hide- the works.”

“But- but no one’s died,” Pansy points out, voice a little shaky. “Creevey and the cat are still alive, they said.”

“Right, but that’d be because no one looked at it directly, I’ll bet,” Greg says, going to sit up a bit better. “Creevey always has his camera, and Mrs. Norris- I dunno, probably has cool cat powers-”

“The floor was wet,” Vince says. “On Halloween, I mean. Myrtle flooded this bathroom, and it got outside. I’ll bet the cat saw the basilisk as a reflection on the water.”

“All of this is great, except for the part where basilisks don’t exist,” Draco says.

Another long moment of quiet.

“I just,” Neville says, then shivers. “I just think that, as far as monsters representing the house of Slytherin goes, a giant king of the serpents isn’t a bad way to go.”

“Plus, I mean, I died the last time the chamber opened and I’m pretty sure that the last thing I remember is a pair of big yellow eyes,” Myrtle muses from where she’s poked her head up through the floor through Ron and Vince’s abandoned game.

There's a long moment where the only sound in the room is the steady dripping of water from the perpetually leaking faucet.

“Myrtle,” Hermione starts. “Did it occur to you that this might’ve been something we were interested in hearing about before now?”

Myrtle sniffs. “You never asked,” she says.

“Right,” Ron says, going to stand up. “Right. I’m writing to Charlie.”

“That’s the dragon one, right?” Draco asks.

“That’s the dragon one,” Ron confirms.

“Yeah,” Pansy says, rubbing her arms. “You do that.”

“In the meanwhile,” Hermione says, putting her book away in her bag, “everyone needs to start carrying mirrors around.”

“A letter is going to take a long time,” Greg points out. “What if someone dies before then? Not one of us, but someone else?”

“Let’s go to Dumbledore,” Neville suggests.

“Is he even going to believe us?” Hermione asks. “Assuming everyone thinks basilisks are mythical, we don’t exactly have a whole lot of evidence to go off of.”

“We don’t need evidence,” Pansy says. “Not when the students start talking about the basilisk sighting.”

“There’s been a sighting?” Ron asks, turning to look at the girl in surprise.

Her smile sharpens into a shark-like grin. “No,” she says.

Ron feels a smile spread across his own face.

In the end, Ron hadn’t even need to write to Charlie at all. Apparently, him and his crew are the ministry’s go-to when it comes to things like this- and even though a basilisk isn’t technically a dragon, it is close enough that they call him in anyways.

It takes a couple weeks before the rumors get serious enough for that to happen, though- but fortunately, Pansy’s rumor works quick enough to get everyone carrying around mirrors and traveling in packs in just a few days. The twins actually start selling mirrors, and make something of a killing.

There is one more petrification (a Ravenclaw fifth year), but that does nothing but make the basilisk theory seem more likely, and Charlie is called in within the week.

Of course, before that happens, Lockhart starts going around and claiming that he’s going to be the one to slay the basilisk. It’s getting to the point where Ron would actually like to see him try- Percy had obliviated the man when he’d clearly made the werewolf connection (hard not to, when Percy’s eyes are glowing and everyone is growling), but Ron thinks that Percy should’ve taken the opportunity to also obliviate the rest of him, too.

Okay, Ron doesn’t really think that, but Lockhart is so, so obnoxious.

“Charlie’s here,” the twins say, bursting into Ron and Harry’s dorm.

“Come on, let's go say hi!” George says.

“We’re not allowed to leave our dorms right now,” Ron points out.

The twins turn as one to Harry, who’s already pulling out his cloak. He grins sheepishly, and Ron rolls his eyes- but goes to hide under the cloak with Harry anyways, because it’s been a long time since he’s seen his older brother and he misses him.

After grabbing Ginny and Luna as well, the twins herd them through the halls, all the while consulting their odd little scrap of paper. Ron doesn’t know what it is, but he does know that it lets them know where to go to avoid running into anyone else. It’s efficient enough that Harry and Ron give up on the invisibility cloak about halfway down.

It’s odd, seeing the halls so empty- although according to the twins, they’re constantly avoiding the assorted ministry employees that are mapping out the place as they go.

When they make it down to the Great Hall, they see Charlie leaning over a levitating blueprint of the place, pointing a part of it out to the person next to him- probably a member of his crew. The crew member is wearing a sturdy-looking helmet with shiny blackout goggles built in, mirrors affixed to the edges. Charlie has one too, but he’s holding it at his side.

The crew member looks up at Charlie, nods, then runs off. Charlie folds his arms and watches them go, looking for all the world like this is just another day on the job.

“Charlie!” Fred calls, folding the paper and putting it away into a pocket.

Charlie turns around, a huge smile already on his face.

“I thought I heard you sneaking in. You are extremely not allowed to be here,” Charlie says, walking over. The smile on his face doesn’t waver.

He grunts as Ginny throws herself into his arms, but catches her easily. Luna stands to the side, looking impatient. He opens his arms again and Luna slots herself in, humming in satisfaction.

“Nice to see you again, Gin, Lune- how is everything? Other than the cursed diary and the giant thought-to-be mythical snake, I mean.”

“Nargles,” Luna sighs.

Charlie nods sagely, as though he has any idea as to what she’s talking about. Ron sure doesn’t, in any case.

Charlie’s gaze falls on Harry, and his smile grows even wider. Harry returns it with a small, shy smile of his own.

“Harry! It’s so nice to meet you,” Charlie says, briefly letting go of Luna to pull Harry into the embrace as well. “Although when Mum wrote letting me know that I had a new brother, I didn’t want to then immediately read that he’d run after a troll. Be more careful, yeah? What if I’d never got to meet you? That’d have been shit.”

Harry’s small smile falters, and then goes huge on his face.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Definitely.”

“Try living with him,” Ron agrees, before wiggling his way into the hug as well.

“Ron, you’re squashing me to death,” Ginny complains.

“Not me,” Luna says. She’s somehow managed to get out of the hug and instead is now clinging to Charlie’s neck from behind, dangling off the floor.

“You’re about to get more squished,” Charlie warns.

“Can confirm,” Fred says, then jumps at Charlie, who’s already trying to make room in the hug.

“Ah!” Ginny yells.

“Toughen up, Gin,” George says from where he’s managed to squeeze in between Ron and Ginny.

“You’ll regret this,” Ginny promises.

Charlie laughs. “My arms are not long enough for this,” he says.

“Should’ve thought about that before trying to hug all six of us,” Ron says.

“Where’s Perce?” Charlie asks, finally relinquishing them.

“I would assume he’s up in the dorm,” Fred says. “Considering that we are definitely, definitely not allowed to be here.”

“You’re lucky I’m in charge of the operation around here,” Charlie says. “I cleared the teachers out, too. You’d get in huge trouble.”

“They’re going to get into huge trouble anyways,” Percy says, folding his arms and looking extremely put-out.

“Don’t do that,” Charlie says, putting his wand back into its holster. “I was going to curse you!”

“And you’d have deserved it,” Ginny agrees, scowling as she pulls herself out of George’s arms.

Charlie and Percy hug, and then Charlie settles back, smiling. “Unfortunately, I do think I’m going to have to pull the ‘older brother’ card and make you all go back to your dorms- we’re getting close to getting the old girl out, and you do not want to be here when that happens.”

“I would personally actually like very much to be here,” Ginny says.

“Let me rephrase: I do not want you to be here when that happens,” Charlie says.

They say their goodbyes, and Percy escorts them back. Ron falls asleep that night with a smile on his face- another year, another crisis averted.

Chapter Text

A selection of letters from home, to Draco Malfoy:

Son.

You are a Slytherin- but more importantly, above all, you are a Malfoy.

It would do you well to remember that, and in particular to keep our family history in mind. I do not wish to see you hurt, or to compromise on the things our family stands for.

I know better than most how… loyal, a Malfoy can be- and I understand that one does not always have a choice in regards to where such loyalty may end up lying.

It might hurt, but it is possible to weaken such a connection with diligence and strength of will.

I know you will do the family name proud.

Be safe, my son.

Signed,

Your Father

Dearest Draco,

Although I am less-than-thrilled with the reckless behavior you have exhibited, I cannot deny that the likelihood of you surviving such an accident is much higher than Mister Potter’s.

As for these rumors of you being friends with Mister Potter, well- I’ll simply say that I would never have expected my beautiful boy to stand by and allow even his worst enemy to die from something he might have prevented, but if it just so happens that you are friends, well- you could do worse than the heir to the Potter and Black family name.

And Mister Potter certainly couldn’t do better, for a friend. You will be able to help him navigate our world much better than any Weasley might.

I’m proud of you, Draco. Always.

Love,

Your Mother

P.S. I understand that, in order to remain close to Mister Potter, you may have to compromise on some of the family values vis a vis spending your time around mudbloods and blood traitors.

In regards to that, all I’ll say is: being a Slytherin means to be open to compromise. Remember that, and you will do well.

Stay strong, love- and know that, no matter what, you are my priority.

Grandson.

We will discuss those you have been spending your time around in further detail when you return home.

Grandfather.

A correspondence between Severus Snape and Molly Weasley:

Mrs. Molly Weasley,

It has come to my attention that Mister Potter has been living with his aunt. I’ve met Petunia, and therefore understand better than most as to how unacceptable this is. As I’m sure you know, however, Albus believes it to be otherwise.

I have heard that you also take umbrage with Albus’s outlook. Assuming my sources are correct, and that you do intend to take the boy into your home to the best of your ability, just know: I will give you what support I can in order for you to take the boy away from his aunt’s residence.

Professor Severus Snape.

Prof. Snape,

Your sources, as you put it, are correct- but even more than that: as far as I’m concerned, Harry is one of my children.

I will do whatever it takes to get him out of his odious relatives’ house- although, as you may suspect, there is the matter of those pesky laws (and that pesky Headmaster) getting in the way. That said, there is a plan in the works- one that will, ideally, completely remove the possibility of Harry ever returning to that place.

Rereading what I have written thus, it looks as though I am intending on murdering Harry’s relatives. Rest assured, that is not in the cards.

Although I am confident we have the situation well in hand, your support is appreciated. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Molly Weasley

P.S. Harry has mentioned how much he loves learning potions from you- Lily would be proud.

A selection of letters from older brothers, to Percy Weasley:

Perce,

I'm really sorry to hear about Scabbers. He was getting on in age, but still- I know how much you guys cared about that old thing. I know they all think there's still a chance he'll show up again, but- well, you and I both know that's not likely.

Let me know as soon as you and the kiddos are ready for a new pet. I have something in mind.

Love,

Charlie

P.S. Just kidding, you don’t get a choice in the matter. Surprise! It’s the owl that brought this letter to you. He hates me, so good riddance. Tell Ginny she gets to name him, she always comes up with the best names.

Dear Perce,

I still can’t believe you lost the Philosopher’s Stone. That’s fucking hilarious. I am glad you managed to squeeze a good couple of gold transfigurations out of it, though. Hopefully that’ll help to pave your way into the ministry- aside from the pieces you set aside for the others, I mean.

As for your question? Well, you came to the right place. Now presenting: Bill Weasley’s Full-Proof Get-Away-With-It-Every-Time MONEY LAUNDERING Scheme.

(Enclosed is a clearly home-made pamphlet, colored in with crayons. There are diagrams.)

Hope that helps, little brother! But even if it doesn’t, I’m going to be visiting for the summer. We can talk more then. Maybe you can tell me more about this cursed diary you also somehow managed to lose.

Love,

Bill

A selection of letters from home, to Harry Potter:

Dear Harry,

I’ll skip the pleasantries- do you remember how, over the summer, you expressed interest in finding out the fate of that broken flying motorbike that came into work?

I managed to bring her home- she’s in rough shape, but I think with a little (a lot) of love, we’ll be able to get her up and running once more. Maybe she’ll even be in rideable shape before next year!

Love,

Arthur

P.S. Don’t tell Molly.

Dear Harry,

Once again, Dumbledore has insisted we allow you return to your relatives over the summer. Unfortunately, there’s little I can do about this- Dumbledore is too powerful, has too much sway. You will have to return to your relatives.

You will not have to stay.

You’ll be there for no more than three days, although we’re aiming for twenty-four hours. Be ready to leave with Bill when he arrives- he will be ensuring your relatives are protected from the Dark Lord’s followers in your absence.

If you feel it necessary, say your goodbyes to your relatives in this time, since you won’t be seeing them again.

My darling boy, we’re bringing you home- for good.

Love,

Molly

P.S. I know I don’t need to tell you this, but please keep this quiet- Dumbledore can’t stop what he doesn’t know. Be brave.

P.P.S. If you really insist on riding that Death Trap, it will be with a helmet and EXTREME supervision. We’ll talk about it some more when you get home.

Chapter Text

Severus

Severus sits up boltright in bed, heart pounding. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the panic rising in his chest. He needs to get it together- it was just a nightmare.

Severus gets those, even all these years later. They slip through the occlumency sometimes- especially the ones that tend to exhibit as phantom feelings instead of just memories.

Sometimes he wakes up shaking from the aftereffects of an imagined crucio, sometimes he wakes up feeling a shadow of the high that casting an unforgivable gives a person, and sometimes, his left forearm is burning.

Usually it fades after waking, though- not intensifies.

Severus tears his blankets off, rolls his sleeve up, and then stares.

“Fuck,” he says.

Of course, Severus thinks as he hurriedly gets dressed and begins to make his way to Albus’s office, something like this was bound to happen, wasn’t it.

The year had been blessedly quiet after the ministry managed to clear the basilisk out just before Winter Holidays, with only one or two petrifications, no fatalities. It had felt somewhat anticlimactic after the stir the petrifications had caused, but Severus wasn’t about to complain.

The most exciting thing that had happened after that was, just before exams started, Lockhart was exposed as a fraud thanks to a couple enterprising fifth years- a Hufflepuff boy and Ravenclaw girl. Lockhart had to leave the country in shame, and Severus still gets a smile on his face when he thinks about that.

Not now, though, considering that- if the pitch-black brand burning on his forearm is any indication- the fucking Dark Lord has just returned to power.

“Albus,” Severus hisses, knocking urgently on the man’s private quarters door.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his arm as he waits in the darkened hallway, but fortunately he doesn’t have to wait long. The wards are set to alert Albus about anyone asking after him so long as they’re in front of the entrance, even this late at night. Technically, Severus hadn’t even had to knock.

Albus opens the door, revealing that he is, as always, wearing a completely ridiculous getup. It’s like the man saw a spray-painted wizard on the side of a van and decided to make that his whole aesthetic. It’s irritating at the best of times, and now is not the best of times.

Severus pushes inside the room, already rolling his sleeve up again. He thrusts his arm out and grits his teeth, trying (and failing) not to feel like he’s still trapped in a horrible nightmare.

Albus just looks at it, face impassive. The twinkle in his eye is completely gone.

“Do you know how this could have happened?” Albus asks, voice quiet.

“No,” Severus says, although his shields are coming up easier now. This- this is a report to his war general, he can do reports. “There’s been nothing. Not even a rumor, a whisper of a rumor. This is completely without preamble.”

“That we know of,” Albus says. Then, “have you been summoned?”

Severus shakes his head, shoving the rising panic even further down. “Not yet.”

Albus lets out a long sigh, then nods. “Well then. It seems to me that we have some work to do.”

Bellatrix

Bellatrix stares down at her arm, baring her teeth at it, daring the mark to vanish again.

Just try it.

After several long moments (possibly it’s been seconds, possibly it’s been hours), the mark continues to burn bright on her arm. Bella smiles, and sighs happily. She sits back on her heels, deciding that they’re in the clear.

It’s like a warm embrace from an old friend- welcome especially because these rags they provide prisoners with does nothing at all against the salty island chill that sinks to the bone.

Bellatrix wouldn’t be surprised if she was the warmest prisoner in the whole place- warmest and coziest.

Then she hears a little shuffling sound from across the way, and her eyes go narrow. She lets out a little hiss through her teeth. Bella forgot. She’s not the warmest, or the coziest. She hasn’t been this whole time.

Over a decade in this hell, and she’s had to spend it watching her cousin just live it up. Even though out of the two of them, he’s the one that deserves to suffer. He does! He isn’t even a little bit loyal to their Lord, not like she is.

Bellatrix thinks she might be breathing too fast, she’s feeling a bit woozy. There’s so much rage flowing through her veins that she feels almost electrified from it. Her hair might even be sparking with potential energy, who’s to say? Not her, that’s for sure. She can’t really see past the red.

Bellatrix usually likes dogs just fine. She hates this one.

Then the dark mark pulses again, and she feels her bared and clenched teeth relax into a softer smile. Her vision clears. Her breathing comes easier.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she whispers. Then she looks up, trying to make out the bundle of fur and bones that is her cousin even despite the darkness of the cloudy night.

“Cousin,” she croons. “Cousin, I would like to talk with you…”

She squints. Nothing.

“It’ll be different this time,” she promises. “I won’t even mention the Longbottoms and how they sounded as I tortured them, or your little brother’s last words to me, or anything like that! I miss you, dear cousin, I just want to talk, baby cousin.”

A low growl. Bellatrix frowns. He’s still going to be like that? Even after she said she wouldn’t mention those things?

“Just look,” Bellatrix tries again, pressing up against the bars of her cell. “Look!”

She shoves her arm outside and waves it around. Still nothing.

She’s just about to give up when-

“What is that,” Sirius croaks.

Bellatrix feels a huge grin split across her face.

“Cousin!”

“Bellatrix, what is that?” Sirius asks, sounding more urgent. She can see his gaunt frame push against his own bars in an attempt to get closer.

“He’s back,” Bellatrix says, before a little giggle bubbles up and out of her chest. “Siri, he’s back! And he’s going to come get me and we’re going to go after your brat, and you won’t be able to do a thing to stop him! You’ll die in here.”

Sirius, already gray from lack of sun, looks almost translucent as he stares down at her arm. The clouds have passed by, and a shaft of moonlight has hit her forearm, beautifully illuminating the mark. He’s gone very, very still.

“Maybe I’ll come back,” Bellatrix continues, voice soft. “Pat your little doggy head and tell you all about how the boy sounded as he screamed and cried for mercy.”

“Hey Bella,” Sirius says, not taking his eyes off of her arm.

Bellatrix narrows her eyes and pulls her arm back, before sitting up straight. She doesn’t like that tone.

“Watch this,” Sirius continues.

Even the comforting presence of the mark can’t stop the tidal wave of rage that erupts from Bellatrix’s chest and lungs as she watches her cousin turn back into a dog, slip through the bars of his cell, and walk away- not looking back even once.

Lucius

Lucius looks down at his arm, feeling… well. He isn’t entirely sure, to be honest. Afraid, a bit. Excited as well. Vindicated, in part.

Mostly apprehensive.

One thing he knows, though, is that he needs to talk to his father about this.

Lucius leans a bit heavily on his cane as he walks. His hip aches, but no matter- it’s nothing compared to the burning mark on his arm.

He goes to knock on his father’s room doors, but it swings open before he can.

“Son,” Abraxas says, smiling at Lucius.

“Father,” Lucius says.

“Come in,” Abraxas says, opening the door wider. He gestures for Lucius to follow him, and he does.

Abraxas sits down in his favorite armchair, and Lucius takes a seat across from him in the slightly less comfortable, but slightly more modern chair left for him.

“So,” Abraxas says, looking meaningfully at Lucius’s arm.

“Please. You know as well as I that he is back,” Lucius says, shooting a meaningful glance of his own at his father’s arm.

“That I do,” Abraxas concedes. “Are you afraid of what this means?”

Lucius hesitates.

“Fear of change is normal,” Abraxas continues. “I would not think less of you for being afraid.”

“I- my thoughts lie with Draco. War is coming,” Lucius says, forcing his fingers to relax their white-knuckled hold on his cane.

“Yes,” Abraxas says, resting his ankle on his knee and looking out the window. “That it is.”

Then he looks back at Lucius.

“But Draco is a Malfoy. We are Malfoys,” Abraxas says, smiling once more. “We will come out on top.”

“We always do,” Lucius agrees.

Abraxas’s smile widens into something nearly wolfish, and as it does, a glint of sunlight catches on the golden filigree of his ivory-white eyepatch.

Chapter Text

Harry is sitting on the park swing, idly pushing himself back and forth in tiny increments. It’s been all of two hours since he’s returned to his relatives’ house and already he’s been exiled from the house- apparently Vernon has some sort of important business dinner, and they don’t want to risk anything ‘freaky’ happening.

According to his aunt, he’d been lucky they’d shown up to pick him up at all.

Harry doesn’t think it’d have been so bad if they hadn’t- then he could’ve gone home, to the Weasley’s, that much sooner. As it is, he needs to wait for Bill.

Harry is really looking forward to meeting Bill, but he’s nervous too. He’s heard so much about the oldest Weasley kid. Harry feels completely justified in feeling intimidated, considering that it’s not every day a kid gets an older brother that’d kill a man to protect a sibling he’s never even met before.

(Harry is still a bit conflicted about that- he thinks that, when he meets Bill, he’ll ask him not to kill anyone for him again. Not in cold blood, anyways.)

When Bill does come to get Harry, Harry’s hoping it’ll be as quick and easy as Bill showing up, doing a couple wards while Harry grabs the few things he wants to take with him, and then leaving. Harry’s school things are already safe at the Weasley’s, Hedwig included, so Harry doesn’t even need to grab all that many things.

This has the added benefit of making sure that Harry doesn’t have to worry about Vernon or Dudley doing anything to his school stuff while he’s out of the house. Not that Harry would be particularly worried about that anyways, since the twins had done some basic warding on his trunk.

They’d taken that upon themselves after some students had managed to get to his bookbag and spell it so his quills hissed back before the basilisk thing had been taken care of.

(“Only we’re allowed to prank our brothers’ stuff,” George had muttered as he’d etched some runes into the wood.

“Damn right,” Fred had agreed, waving his wand over the runes, turning them light orange.)

Harry comes to a stop on the swing, trainers scuffing in the dirt on the ground. It’s summertime, so it doesn’t get dark until late- but the sun is definitely in danger of setting in the next half hour or so.

Petunia had told Harry point blank not to come back until eleven, just in case. Harry had wanted to point out that he doesn’t have any way of telling the time, but had instead elected to just leave without a fuss. As it is, he’s already got a developing black eye from Dudley as a ‘welcome home’ present.

A summer breeze blows through the empty park, sending the unoccupied swings rattling softly and the leaves on the overgrown hedge just a couple feet in front of him rustling.

Harry looks up from where he’d been digging a hole into the ground with the toe of his shoe, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It could just be the wind, but suddenly he feels like something is wrong.

It isn’t dark, not yet- but there’s no one else around. Harry almost feels like he could be the only person left in the whole world.

With a thought like that, the sun doesn’t have to be down at all for Harry to feel like the shadows have grown a little deeper. A little longer. A little more alive.

Hang on- that shadow there, just inside the hedge- that one actually does have eyes. And teeth.

Harry stares at the huge, shapeless form. It stares back. Harry doesn’t dare blink. His mind is racing.

What does he do here? His wand is in his back pocket, he doesn’t know if he’d be able to reach it before the shadow leaps. After a summer living with Ginny, he’s better at fighting, but- well, he doesn’t even know what this is. It’s certainly not human, in any case. Maybe a dog?

A low growl begins to emanate from the bush.

Definitely a dog then- or a wolf.

Harry swallows, then slowly- slow as he can- reaches his hand down. The dog-wolf-thing bares its teeth, and the growl grows in volume. Harry freezes. The growling doesn’t stop- if anything, it gets louder.

Harry’s heart is racing so fast he feels like it’s going to explode. He hasn’t told the Weasleys this, but he hates dogs. (He hopes they don’t take it too personally when they inevitably find out.)

Hard not to dislike dogs, not after a childhood spent being routinely terrorized by Marge’s beasts.

“Hey kid- you from around here?”

Harry looks behind him, just over his shoulder. There, standing as though he’d been there all along, is a man. He’s pretty average looking, not too tall or short, or fat or thin. Even his clothes blend in- he’s just wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Ultimately he is very non-descript.

Except for the fact that he’s twirling a wand in his fingers.

“Er,” Harry says, desperately hoping that his hair is covering his forehead enough to keep the scar from showing. He doesn’t know who this guy is, but he has a really, really bad feeling about all of this.

The man is still waiting, so Harry settles on a nod. That doesn’t give too much away, right?

Behind him, the growling grows even louder. Great- stuck between a rock and a hard place, and all Harry has is a rusty swing set and a wand stuck in his pocket.

“You don’t say,” the man says, before grinning. He has a gold tooth.

All at once, Harry is sure that this man knows exactly who he is, that he’s alone, and that he’s completely unprotected.

The man’s grin widens as he takes in Harry’s expression. “Ah, fun’s over I guess. So, Potter- what’s it gonna be? You going to make this easy, or hard?”

“Who are you?” Harry asks. Even if his heart hadn’t been racing before, it certainly would be now.

A part of Harry is hoping that this is Bill, and Harry’s just grossly misunderstanding the situation.

A much bigger, much more rational part of him knows that that’s not even close to what’s happening here. For one, the man has brown hair, not red. For another, he’s just rolled up his sleeves- and even though Harry’s never seen one in person, he knows what a Dark Mark is and what it looks like.

“Doesn’t matter much,” the man says, shrugging. “Either way, the big guy wants to meet you- finish up some unfinished business, if you catch my drift.”

Harry feels completely frozen. The growling has stopped, but he’s sure the dog is still there in the bush, waiting for a chance to leap. Except it’s not like Harry’s going to just roll over and go with the man, either.

“Come on, kid- up you pop,” the man says, wand still twirling in his fingers.

Harry decides that, ultimately, a dog in the bush is better than a Death Eater in the hand. He leaps up out of the swing and then immediately falls to the ground in a roll, feeling a spell miss him be inches. He doesn't stop to think about what he's doing, he just scrambles into the hedge.

Harry thinks he feels a spell shoot over his head at least one more time, but he can’t be sure. He’s too busy tearing his way into the dense foliage, trying in vain to dodge the worst of the scratchy twigs poking into his face and hands. Harry doesn’t know where the dog went. Maybe it ran off? Harry doesn't really care- he's mostly just relieved it's gone.

“Alright,” the man says. It doesn’t sound like he’s stopped smiling. “I admit, I was hoping you’d go this route- the boss told me that if you resisted, I got to make you hurt.”

Harry has, at this point, hit a wall. Because apparently the hedge is growing over a stupid wall. There’s nowhere to go- nowhere but back out there. Harry squeezes his eyes shut. He’s started to shake now, almost too badly to wipe at the sweat pouring down his face.

“Come on, kid- I’ll get you one way or another. Don’t make me drag you out of there.”

Harry doesn’t want to hurt. He’s already hurting, thanks to Dudley and the scratches now littering his face and hands and arms. And there are so, so many ways a wizard could make him hurt- Hermione had told him that there was a spell just to torture people. What if this man knows that one?

Harry feels his breathing quicken. He grits his teeth, eyes still shut. He needs to think, and to relax- he won’t be able to get out of this one if he passes out. He might not get out of this one either way, but at least he’ll have a chance with oxygen in his lungs.

Before he can try to slow his breathing at all, though, he suddenly feels something touch his hand. Something wet.

Harry’s eyes snap open just in time to see the huge black dog lick his hand again. He snatches his hand away, realizing belatedly that this probably just makes his hand look even more like a chew-toy. But the dog only looks up at him, big gray eyes wide and almost… worried looking. Then, as it catches him looking, it opens its mouth and lets its tongue loll. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say it was smiling at him.

It occurs to Harry that his breathing seems to have evened out. The dog has managed to startle him out of hyperventilating.

Now if only the dog could fix his other problems.

The leaves around Harry rustle, and then the hedge blinks out of existence around him and the dog. The Death Eater stands there, grin still on his face. Harry presses his back against the stone wall, gauging the likelihood of his survival should he try to go for the man’s eyes.

“Ah, gotcha-”

The dog leaps, snarling.

Oh- Harry hadn't actually thought the dog would solve his other problems, but he's not complaining.

The man screams, but Harry isn’t about to find out who wins that fight. He’s already getting to his feet (albeit shakily) and booking it- towards the entrance to the park. He needs to try to find someone else, anyone else- Mrs. Figg, maybe.

Behind him, Harry hears a snapping sound, and then another scream. Then, the sound of a loud crack- and then, silence.

He hazards a look behind him. Then, he stops running entirely, skidding to a stop. The man is gone, but the dog is still there- sitting down. As it sees him looking, it’s tail gives a wag.

Harry really doesn’t like dogs. He especially doesn’t like dogs that are big enough that they wouldn’t have any difficulty biting his face, much less his legs.

But this dog- it just saved him, didn’t it? Harry owes it now- if only to check it for injuries, that sort of thing.

Then Harry takes a second look at the dog and moves ‘get the dog some food’ up to the top of his list. This dog looks awful. His fur is matted and choppy, but even despite that Harry can still see and count each and every rib the dog has. His eyes are bloodshot, his big black nose is chapped, his teeth are yellow and broken in places. The dog is huge, granted, but he still looks like a stiff wind could blow him over.

“Oh boy,” Harry says.

The dog’s tail gives another wag, and then he falls into a play-bow and gives a little woof.

Harry feels himself walk back over to the swings, then sit down again. The dog follows him happily, tongue lolling and tail wagging. There are still some vestiges of adrenaline running through Harry's veins, but it's draining out of him fast.

“I don’t suppose you have a loving home you’re missing from?” Harry asks, although he’s not optimistic.

The dog is a dog and so he doesn’t answer, but he does push his nose into Harry’s hand, which had been resting on his knee. Harry grimaces at the idea of touching the matted mess that is this dog, but- well, the dog had saved his life, and honestly Harry’s seen and felt worse things. He gives the dog a pat on the head.

The dog leans right into it, and lets out a sigh of contentment. Despite himself, Harry’s heart gives a pang. He’s no dog expert, but this dog- well, Harry thinks that maybe this dog hasn’t felt a kind hand in a long, long time.

“I get it,” Harry whispers.

The dog’s eyes open, and he gives a little whine.

“Yeah,” Harry says, then gestures at his bruised eye. “You think I got this from running into a door? No way.”

The dog steps back, flinching. Harry lowers his hand, slower this time. “Sorry, sorry- I promise I won’t hit,” he says. Then he laughs. “Although, even if you could understand me, I reckon you probably wouldn’t believe me. Not yet. That’s just how it is. Sorry.”

The dog lets out a long, broken whine, and then steps forward again, resting his paw on Harry’s knee.

Harry laughs some more, then scratches the dog’s head again.

“Don’t worry,” Harry hears himself say. “Things are looking up now, for you and me both. I have a new home, and there's this family- they’re coming to get me any day now.”

He’s probably just imagining it, but the dog seems to perk up at this.

“You too,” Harry decides. “I don’t- look, no offense, but I don’t really like dogs.”

The dog does, in fact, look offended. Harry decides he’s imagining it again- although, who knew dogs could be so expressive, projected emotions or otherwise?

“They scare me, and they’re too loud,” Harry explains anyway. “And in my experience, most dogs don’t like me much either.”

The dog gives his hand another lick, as though to say, “I like you!”

Harry pats his head again. “Yeah, I gathered that much- although, I don’t know why. Guess I got lucky. You don’t seem so bad, for a dog- I’ll bet my- my Weasleys will like you loads.”

The dog gives a little woof, as though he’s excited at the prospect.

“They have a ton of land for you to run around- and they’re definitely dog people.”

Harry takes a moment to congratulate himself on that joke as he continues to scratch the dog’s ears.

They sit like that for a moment more, the dog seemingly content to just sit and be pet. And then Harry decides that, eleven o’clock or not, they really probably shouldn’t stay in the same place a Death Eater had somehow managed to find Harry in.

“Well, let's go,” Harry says, standing up. As he does, the dog stands up from his seated position as well, shakes off, and then looks up at Harry, tail wagging. Harry continues, saying, “I gotta grab some things, and then we can leave.”

The dog lets out another woof, and Harry decides to interpret this one as questioning.

“Yeah, the only reason I was sticking around my relatives is because I was told I couldn’t be found by people who wanted to hurt me if I did and… that ship seems to have sailed.”

Of course, Harry’ll need to find a way to get a message to the Weasleys just in case he can't get to a floo before they send Bill, letting them know he's gone to Diagon- maybe he’ll have the time to write a quick note at the Dursleys, and then… find an owl? Ah well, he’ll figure it out.

Harry isn’t actually sure if the dog is going to come with, but sure enough- as he walks off, the dog goes to follow, sticking as close to Harry’s side as he can manage.

“Huh. Do I have a dog now?” Harry asks, half to himself.

The dog licks his hand, which Harry interprets as an emphatic 'yes'.

Chapter Text

Bill raises his fist to the door to knock, even though he thinks maybe he should just let himself in. He’s heard more than enough about the Dursleys to know that they don’t deserve any sort of courtesy- to be frank, they’re lucky that he’s not killing them.

Well. He still hasn’t quite decided on that, not after what Fred had told him.

No, wait, yes he has- Mum made it very clear that Harry doesn’t want his relatives hurt at all, much less killed. Bill needs to respect that. Also, there’s a kid Harry’s age, who would be orphaned. Bill can be a bit cold-hearted, but he’s not a monster.

Plus, Bill is rather looking forward to the conversation he’s about to have with the relatives.

He's missing something of an important work thing, but after hearing about Sirius Black... Bill decided to come by early. Harry is more important than work by a long shot.

He waits all of five seconds after the knock before he decides to go ahead and let himself in anyways. It’s not his fault that they didn’t get to the door in time.

A wandless alohamora as he twists the doorknob takes care of the lock, and the door swings open easily. Bill steps into the house, trying and failing not to wrinkle his nose at the onslaught of dull that’s threatening to overtake his every sense.

And he’d thought the outside neighborhood had been bad. Honestly. Even the dinner they’re clearly having in the other room smells bland.

Despite the overwhelming suffocating atmosphere, Bill feels a smile spread over his face as he picks up on some of the conversation happening in the other room. It sounds like the relatives have people over- important people, if the simpering is any indication.

A woman (the aunt, Bill presumes) makes one last excuse before getting up from the table to “check on who’s at the door”.

The aunt comes into the hall, and Bill watches in amusement as her expression goes from warm (as she’s still in view of the dining room), to disgusted as she drops the mask, to alarmed as she sees Bill.

Bill gives a little wave, smiling widely.

“Hello,” he says, not bothering to keep his voice down.

“Who the hell are you?” The aunt asks, alarm turning to fury.

Bill looks around, acting as though he doesn’t know quite who she’s talking about. “Oh,” he says. “Me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” the woman spits. “I know you’re one of them- but who exactly are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Big night?” Bill asks instead of answering her question, nodding towards where the sounds of talking and eating are still emanating from (what is likely) the dining room.

The woman follows his gaze, and her furious expression goes terrified.

“Don’t-”

Bill is already pushing past her and heading straight for the room. He feels a hand grab his arm, but he shoots a wordless and wandless spark of magic at it (no stronger than a static shock) and the woman withdraws her hand as though she’d been stung. Which, to be fair, she sort of had.

As he enters the room, he sees a table set with nice china, a sunday sort of roast, and wine-filled glasses. The cousin Harry’s age is nowhere to be seen, but there are three nicely-dressed adults at the table- Bill assumes the wiry man and woman sitting next to each other are the guests, and the heavy-set man with the mustache sitting across from them is the uncle.

All three look up at him, and he feels his grin grow even wider. Behind Bill, he feels the presence of the woman, hovering anxiously nearby. She doesn’t seem to dare try to push past him.

“Petunia,” the uncle says, eyes darting between the woman and Bill. “What-”

“Get out,” Bill says, to the guests. He’s already losing his patience with these people, and he’s been here less than a minute. It also doesn’t help that he can’t hear Harry anywhere in the house.

“Dursley, what is the meaning of this?” the wiry man asks. The woman looks similarly aghast.

“I don’t know who you think you are, just waltzing into our home, but-” the uncle starts, face red and mustache bristling.

Bill flexes his fingers, and one of the wine glasses explodes.

The wiry man and woman push their seats back, screaming.

The uncle blinks, momentarily stunned as wine drips down his face. The aunt lets out a little despairing moan.

“Get out,” Bill says to the guests once more.

They don’t look back as they rush out of the room, pushing past the horrified looking aunt.

“The good news,” Bill says, as the front door slams, “is that I’m not going to kill you for what you did to Harry. I’m not even going to hurt you!”

The uncle’s face is going a bit purple, but Bill can smell the fear. The aunt, on the other hand, raises her chin in defiance.

She smells afraid, too.

“Although,” Bill says, inclining his head, “mostly that’s thanks to Harry asking me not to. Count yourself lucky.”

“How dare-”

“Shut up,” Bill snaps, feeling his eyes bleed into gold. The uncle closes his mouth. “Harry didn’t stop there, either- he wants me to make sure you lot stay safe, even after I take him home.”

“What’s the bad news, then?” The aunt asks, voice going a bit quavery despite the defiant front she’s putting on.

Bill feels a feral grin spread across his face. The aunt shudders, and the uncle’s gone a bit pale.

“Harry wants me to make sure you stay safe,” Bill repeats. “Which is why I'm now telling you to flee the country.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then-

“You can’t be serious,” the uncle says.

“Funny you should mention him,” Bill says, leaning against the wall.

The aunt goes from looking defiant to looking confused. “Wh-”

“Sirius Black- ringing a bell?”

“The escaped convict?” The aunt asks. “What’s he got to do with-”

“He’s after Harry,” Bill says, even though they don’t technically know that for sure. “And he’s not the only one. You’re lucky I got here before anyone else did- not everyone is as nice as I am and it is not hard to find where the most famous boy in all of magical Britain is spending his time.”

“Dumbledore said-”

“That you’d be safe as long as Harry considered your home his own?”

The aunt hesitates, then nods.

“Hm,” Bill says. “Maybe you should have thought about that before shoving him into a cupboard. Not very homey, is it.”

“He wouldn’t stop crying unless we put him-”

The other three glasses shatter, and the aunt slams her mouth closed.

“Sorry, I guess I should’ve been more clear,” Bill says, laughing lightly. “If you want to live, you’ll give me Harry and then take your family and flee the country.”

“Was that a threat?” The uncle growls, rising from his seat.

“Do you really want to find out?” Bill asks, raising an eyebrow.

He hopes so.

Unfortunately, neither the aunt nor the uncle seem to be able to meet his eyes. Bill is unimpressed.

“Where is Harry?” Bill asks, deciding that he’s done here. “We’re leaving.”

“He’s out,” the aunt says. Her voice is definitely shaking now, and the defiance is nowhere to be found.

“Out,” Bill repeats, an icy note bleeding into his tone. The temperature in the room seems to drop by a couple degrees- but that could just be Bill.

The aunt closes her eyes, and breathes out through her nose. “At the park,” she says.

“Where are his things,” Bill asks.

“Upstairs,” the aunt whispers.

Bill lets his wand slide into his hand. “Get packed,” he informs them. “The sooner you get out, the more likely it is that you’ll live.”

Then, he turns and leaves the room. He feels now as though he might be running on something of a time limit.

Bill heads upstairs, taking the stairs three at a time. It’s not hard to figure out which room is Harry’s, because it’s got the lock on the outside. Bill doesn’t bother with the door knob, he just kicks the door open. It flies off the hinges.

The room is sparse, and mostly bare. Bill waves his wand, and both the closet door and the drawers on the rickety dresser open. Bill flips his satchel open and floats just about everything in the room that isn’t furniture into the bag- it’s magically expanded, so space is not even close to an issue.

When that’s done, Bill turns back around, runs down the hall, and jumps down the whole flight of stairs before tearing out the front door.

(He doesn’t bother with the doorknob on the front door, either- in his opinion, the more property damage, the better.)

As he leaves, he hears the aunt sobbing and the uncle swearing loudly. Good.

Bill realizes, as he runs down the street, that he doesn’t know where the park is. This, fortunately, doesn’t end up an issue- because as soon as he has that thought, he almost runs right into Harry, who’s walking with his wand out and held in front of him.

“Harry!” Bill says, feeling his racing heart slow as he comes to a stop in front of the boy. He stops himself from gathering his youngest brother up in a hug, but only just.

Harry blinks up at him, green eyes entirely too big for his small frame. One of his eyes seems to be bruised.

Bill decides then and there that if he ever sees Harry’s relatives again, he’s going to kill them- whether Harry wants him to or not.

Then there’s the sound of low growling that has Bill’s wolf baring its teeth and Bill bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. He looks down, only to meet the eyes of what may or may not be an omen of death.

“Bill?” Harry asks, sounding decidedly wary. His wand is still up.

“Why do you have a grim?” Bill asks.

The grim’s growl deepens, and its lips pull back into a snarl.

“This is a dog,” Harry says, looking down at the thing. He lowers his wand.

“Right,” Bill says, then looks away from the dog/grim and back up to Harry. “Well- I have your stuff already, and your relatives are safe. We’re good to go!”

Harry’s face breaks into a huge smile. “Really?”

Bill nods, feeling a soft smile spread across his own face. Man, this kid is cute. He has the cutest siblings. He extends his hand.

“Have you ever side-apparated before?”

Harry nods his head, but before he can grab Bill’s hand, the dog lets out another low growl.

Bill pulls his hand back, and looks down again. “What is his problem?”

Harry follows his gaze, then shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve only known him for a couple minutes. I think he might not like… adults?”

Bill cocks his head. “What makes you think that?”

“Well,” Harry says, “cause earlier he chased away the one that was trying to hurt me.”

Bill feels his heart lurch. “Lead with that next time,” he gets out.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Sorry. Um. A Death Eater tried to kidnap me, and the dog saved me.”

Bill sort of wants to sit down, but that would put him at eye-level with the dog, and that’s not a good idea- not when the dog hasn’t stopped growling. Instead, he closes his eyes.

“Harry,” he says, then opens his eyes again. “Can I hug you?”

Bill wants to make sure Harry is here, and alive, and not kidnapped, or being tortured, or killed-

Holy shit- if not for this dog, Bill might not have met his brother at all.

Speaking of, the dog lets out a bark. It sounds mean. Looks like hugging is off the table, then.

“Bill is nice,” Harry tries, looking at the dog. “Will you let me hug him please? He’s a part of the family I was telling you about.”

The dog stares at Bill, who tries not to let his wolf get the better of him as he stares back (his wolf wants him to maintain eye-contact- or to possibly go for the throat). Although, this is a dog, and they have places to be, dog be damned. Bill should just grab Harry and go.

But then again, the dog saved Harry, and Bill’s heard of weirder familiars.

So instead of ignoring the dog, Bill crouches down (while making sure he keeps from crouching over the thing) and sticks out a hand for him to sniff. The dog eyes it warily.

“Look,” he says softly. “I know you’re a dog, and can’t understand me, but we need to get Harry off the streets. He’s been attacked once already, and there’s this escaped- never mind, not important. What is important is that you trust me to get Harry to safety.”

The dog growls again, but it sounds less mean and more apprehensive.

“Do you want me to tell Harry something only I would know?” Bill says, half joking and half out of desperation. The shadows are looming and Bill keeps thinking he’s seeing movement out of the corner of his eyes.

The growling stops. Bill blinks. The dog sits, head cocked.

“That’s a yes,” Harry says, unhelpfully.

“Weird dog,” Bill mutters. Then, he stands up again and sticks out his hand to the boy, while simultaneously activating a simple rune sequence on his arm, creating a bubble of privacy. One can never be too careful, not with this. “Bill Weasley- we’re all werewolves. It’s nice to meet you.”

The dog inhales, and then sneezes. Bill thinks that’s probably a good sign.

Harry’s face breaks into a smile again, and he clasps Bill’s hand. The dog still seems a bit on edge, but he seems to be content to let Harry take Bill’s hand, so Bill decides to jot this one down as a victory. Dog-trust acquired. Awesome.

Bill doesn’t even like dogs.

“Harry Potter,” Harry says. “Nice to meet you too.”

Bill pulls Harry into a hug, and closes his eyes as he rests his chin on Harry’s curly-haired head. Harry is tense at first, but relaxes into the hug quickly enough.

“I can’t believe you almost died. I would never have met my youngest brother. That would have been shit.”

Harry lets out a laugh. “Charlie said pretty much the same thing when I met him.”

“You do get how that’s a bad thing, right?” Bill asks, putting Harry at arms lengths and looking at him.

Harry just shrugs, looking completely unbothered. Bill pulls him back into the hug. The dog lets out a little bark, and Bill reaches a hand down to rest on his head- slowly, just in case he changes his mind about biting. The dog leans into it, and then further presses himself into Bill’s legs, as though he knows what’s coming.

Maybe the dog is a grim- he sure as hell seems too smart for some random dog, familiar or not.

Ah well. To be honest, Bill doesn’t really care what he is- not as long as the thing keeps watching over Harry.

“Brace yourself,” Bill warns.

“Yep,” Harry says, squeezing his eyes shut.

Then, with a crack, they’re gone.

Chapter Text

Harry would have fallen over upon arrival, if not for both Bill steadying his landing, as well as the dog pressing into him. As it is, he still has to push away from Bill and retch into the grass.

Luna hadn’t been lying- she really did make it more comfortable for Harry when she’d done it.

The dog whines as Harry heaves, but Harry recovers fairly quickly.

“Alright?” Bill asks, looking a little worried.

“Yep,” Harry says, wiping his mouth. He stands up straight and turns in place. Then he feels a huge smile spread across his face. There, just a little ways away- the Burrow.

He’s home.

“Come on, then,” Bill says, a hint of a laugh in his tone. “Mum will want to see you- we’ve been worried, you know.”

“I saw them just a couple hours ago,” Harry points out as they walk, the dog pressed close to Harry as they do.

“Harry, come on- I know you know your family better than that,” Bill says, shaking his head.

Harry’s smile widens, and he looks down at the ground.

“Besides,” Bill continues, then hesitates. “We hadn’t heard that Sirius Black escaped prison until a couple hours ago. It- we had good reason to worry.”

Harry looks up at Bill, idly noting that the dog has gone a bit stiff. “Who’s that?”

Bill stops in his tracks, then starts walking again. “Uh,” he says. “Hm. I’m going to let the parents explain that one, actually.”

Harry tries and fails not to feel his stomach turning. Whoever this Sirius Black is, he doesn’t think it’s going to be good.

The dog presses his nose into Harry’s hand as though he senses Harry’s anxiety, and Harry reflexively grabs his scruff. Then, something occurs to Harry.

“Oh, do you think the dog will be allowed to stay?”

“Mum probably won’t be pleased at first,” Bill says, reaching for the front door knob, “but after she hears what he’s done for you? He’ll be the guest of honor.”

The dog woofs excitedly, and Bill smiles as he swings the door open, gesturing for Harry and the dog to go in first.

“We’re home!” Bill yells, closing the door behind them.

Harry is swamped by Weasleys in what he thinks might be record time, each one trying to hug him around the others. Molly gets there first- checking him over, and tsking at his black eye. After that, he’s passed to Arthur, who gives him a big hug, and then over to the kids.

“Harry! It’s been so long,” one of the twins is fake-crying.

“I’d forgotten what you’d looked like,” the other twin agrees, shaking his head.

“You have a room now, come look! Me and Luna picked the colors and I think you’re going to hate it,” Ginny says, tugging at his hand.

“You’re really going to hate it,” Ron says. “I didn’t think maroon could get that bright. But I’ll help you repaint, alright?”

“I-” Harry starts.

“Why do you have a grim?” Percy asks, blinking down at the dog.

Does no one in the wizarding world know what a dog is? Harry knows what a grim is (Vince had told him about those last year) and this is not that- since Harry is pretty sure grims are incorporeal.

The front hall falls dead quiet, other than the sudden audible growling emanating from practically every single person. The dog doesn’t back down, though- he plants his feet, pressing further into Harry. He starts to growl too, but at the look Harry gives him, he stops.

Are most dogs like this? Maybe Harry should give the species another chance.

“Harry,” Molly starts, and Harry’s heart sinks. That sounds like the dog won’t be staying after all.

“Before you cast judgment on the dog,” Bill says. “He’s the reason Harry’s here, and not dead.”

Now the front hall really is completely quiet.

“He’s what?” Molly growls.

“I might not have died,” Harry tries, although the protest sounds weak to his own ears. The dog lets out a snort.

“Explain?” Arthur says, looking pale.

“Uh,” Harry starts, feeling all of a sudden very much like he doesn’t want to do that at all. “Well.”

“Lets go to the kitchen, and you can explain over some dinner,” Molly decides, guiding him through the house. “We can get something for the- the dog, too.”

The dog’s tail gives a tired wag. Harry realizes he must be running on steam at this point- he looks exhausted, for a dog.

Soon Harry is sitting at the table, making his way through some dinner- bread and meat and vegetables. It’s delicious, because of course it is. Everything Molly makes is delicious.

The dog has been set up with some scraps of meat, which he practically inhaled; and a bowl of water, which he seems to be nearly falling asleep into. Arthur keeps slipping the dog more food, which Harry thinks might be the only reason he’s still awake at all.

“So. What happened?” Molly asks from where she’s sitting across from Harry.

“Um,” Harry says, then decides it’s better to get it over with. “I was at the park and a Death Eater tried to kidnap me but then this dog came out of nowhere and attacked him and chased him off. Now the dog won’t leave me alone.”

The dog presses his nose into Harry’s leg.

“He’s smart too, for a dog,” Bill remarks, pushing some potatoes around on his plate. “Wouldn’t let Harry leave with me until I confirmed my identity.”

“Are all dogs that smart?” Ginny asks, brow furrowed.

“Wait, wouldn’t you know?” Harry asks.

Ginny sticks her tongue out at him, and he grins despite thinking that it was a fair question.

“We’re wolves, darling,” Molly says, a bit chidingly. “We don’t interact with dogs if we can help it.”

“They don’t agree with our constitution,” one of the twins says.

“Besides, wolves are much cooler,” Ron says.

The dog looks a bit put-out, and Arthur pats his head consolingly. Harry gets the feeling that maybe Arthur is the odd Weasley out when it comes to his attitude towards dogs.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Molly says kindly.

“So, is the dog staying?” The other twin asks, looking down at him with a slightly wrinkled nose.

Harry holds his breath as Molly thinks. He doesn’t like dogs, but this one- well, he’s grown on Harry, is all.

“You’re not going to leave him alone even if I say no,” Molly accuses the dog. The dog woofs in, Harry thinks, the affirmative. Molly sighs, then smiles. “I think the answer to that is yes- but only if you can get him to take a bath. He stinks.”

Harry thinks that that’s going to be a pain for everyone involved, but if anything, the dog seems to perk up at the idea.

“I want to help,” Ginny says quickly.

“After dinner,” Molly says, then turns to Harry. “Did you recognize the Death Eater?”

Harry shakes his head no. “But I also don’t know any Death Eaters,” he says.

“Snape used to be one,” Percy says.

The dog lets out a long and low growl that makes the hair on Harry’s arms stand straight up. This dog really doesn’t like Death Eaters, apparently. Well- he’ll have to get over his dislike of this one, at least.

“Percy,” Molly says, disapprovingly. Percy shrugs, looking unbothered.

“Oh, I knew that,” Harry says, “but he doesn’t count. He was a spy, remember?”

Ron stares at him, looking aghast. “You knew that? And he’s still your favorite teacher?”

The growling cuts off very abruptly.

Harry shrugs. “Sorry,” he says again, even though he isn’t, not really.

Ron groans.

“Harry,” Arthur starts, sounding hesitant. “Have you heard that Sirius Black escaped from prison?”

“Yes,” Harry says, picking apart a roll. He feels nervous again. “But I don’t know who he is.”

Molly and Arthur exchange a look, which doesn’t help Harry feel any better at all. What does help is the dog resting his head on Harry’s knee, sighing. Harry reaches a hand down and scratches at the dog’s ears.

“Kids,” Arthur says. “How about you take the dog and give him a bath while we talk to Harry?”

“Um,” Harry says. “Actually, can the- can he stay?”

The dog has been helping him feel less scared, if he's being honest with himself.

Molly’s brown eyes go soft. “Of course, dear,” she says. Then, she turns to her other kids. “Out, out.”

The kids leave, and Molly and Arthur work together to explain who Sirius Black is, and what he did.

“He was their friend,” Harry whispers to the (freshly washed) dog later that night. “Their best friend.”

The dog whines from where he’s lying on the ground, next to Harry’s bed. Ginny wasn’t kidding- the maroon is awful. But that’s not something Harry can bring himself to care about right now. He’d put off breaking down until now, in favor of washing the dog and getting settled in and what not. But now he’s alone, and feels a little bit like he’s being crushed under the weight of everything that’s happened today.

Harry turns over and looks down at the dog. The dog is looking back up at him with sad gray eyes. Harry thinks he might have a real problem with projecting his own emotions on the dog, because he thinks the dog looks just as despairing as Harry feels.

“If things had been different,” Harry says, then closes his eyes, feeling tears well up. “If he had been different, I could’ve grown up with someone who- who loved me.”

This, apparently, is too much for the dog. He stands up and puts his paws on Harry’s bed, and when Harry doesn’t do anything, clambers his way into the bed. Harry opens his arms, and the dog wiggles into them, licking Harry’s face as he lets the tears finally fall.

“It’s okay,” Harry tells both the dog and himself as he cries. “I’m home now, I have a home now.”

The dog presses his head into Harry’s shoulder, and he falls asleep like that- feeling, for some reason, like he’s more home than he even knows.

Chapter Text

Draco feels a bit numb, to be honest. He’s sitting at the table, in his own home, surrounded by his family, friends of the family, business partners, people he’s known his whole life-

And also the Dark Lord Voldemort.

The man looks a lot more… normal, then Draco thought he would. He’s got dark hair, high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, warm eyes- he’s definitely got charisma in spades, but Draco is struggling to reconcile the image of this with the abomination he’d fought in the forest-

Nope, Draco is not thinking about that. He knows Voldemort can’t read his mind thanks to the werewolf thing, but that doesn’t matter. Draco caught a glimpse of the thing’s face under its hood in the forest- and it still has him waking up in terror at least once a month.

More often now that the thing is here. In his home. Laughing with Draco’s father, his grandfather, all these people- and the cheerful looking man they call Pettigrew.

Draco honestly has no idea who this Pettigrew character is- Father has never mentioned him, and the man doesn’t seem to have the Dark Mark. But he’s clearly someone of note, since he’s sitting close to the head of the table with the Malfoys and Voldemort himself.

Voldemort hasn’t looked Draco’s way once, which makes him think that either the man doesn’t remember the forest at all, or that he’s biding his time and just trying to make Draco nervous.

It’s working.

This man has murdered children. Why is everyone okay with him just… sitting here? Why are they laughing with him?

Damn it all- Draco had so been hoping the mudblood agenda wasn’t getting to him, but Granger is the conniving sort.

Well, to be completely honest, up till now Draco had still been on board with pureblood supremacy. It just makes sense.

Except for the part where Voldemort tried to kill Harry. (Among other things. Alright, so it doesn’t actually make that much sense. Not when put together with things like Harry’s mother, Granger, and- a lot of things. Damn it all.)

Everything about it all seems so much more real now that Voldemort is back- and now the idea of supremacy anything is making Draco’s stomach turn.

That probably makes Draco a terrible person- the fact it took living with a genocidal maniac for him to realize that he probably shouldn’t be aligning his morals with the man who has tried to kill Harry twice now doesn’t bode well for the strength of Draco’s moral fiber.

Yeah right, like he didn’t know that already. The second he’d decided to disregard his father’s advice to drop Harry had proven that much.

Draco doesn’t think he’s a very good Malfoy.

“A toast,” Grandfather calls out suddenly, causing Draco to startle so badly he nearly knocks his glass over.

Ever since returning home, Draco’s been waiting for Grandfather to pull him aside and yell at him for spending time with mudbloods and blood-traitors and Harry Potter. He hasn’t yet- and it’s another one of those things that has Draco constantly on the edge. So far, the summer has been a bit shit.

Voldemort looks over at Grandfather, eyebrow raised and a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“To old friends,” Grandfather continues, smiling. “And new beginnings.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Pettigrew agrees.

“Indeed,” Voldemort agrees, lifting his own glass. The others around the table do the same, smiling widely. Father does so elegantly, and Pettigrew almost casually.

Besides Draco, his mother takes a sip of her own glass. She hasn’t looked at Draco once this entire meal- Draco has a feeling it’s to keep attention off of him, but it still makes him feel very small and incredibly alone.

Voldemort had requested the whole Malfoy family appear at dinner, which is why Draco’s here and not in his room. Draco is trying not to think of the implications of this.

Probably Voldemort isn’t going to outright kill him, right? Then he’d have to find somewhere else to stay.

That or be dead, because Narcissa Malfoy would murder him or die trying. That thought doesn’t actually comfort Draco all that much.

Draco watches his grandfather as the old man takes a drink from his glass, completing the toast. He’s looking over at Voldemort as he does so, maintaining eye contact. Grandfather’s smile is warm, but there’s a glint in his eye… Draco has to hold back a shiver.

He’s never, not in his whole thirteen years of living on the planet, seen his Grandfather’s eye look so cold.

Dinner finishes up after what feels like an eternity and a half, and finally the guests leave, his parents go to bed, Grandfather and Voldemort retire to the sitting room, and Draco is able to excuse himself to go to his own room.

Or, he should go to his room. He should really, really go to his room.

But honestly- it’s only been like three days of this, and already he’s sick of living in fear. Draco needs to know why he was required to be at dinner- and come on. He’s practically built for eavesdropping now.

Besides, Draco reasons as he goes around to the armory (it shares a wall with the sitting room), it probably won’t even work- why wouldn’t they put up a privacy ward?

Draco takes a deep breath, holds it in, and then presses his ear up to the wall.

He’s so sure that they would have put up at least a silencing charm that when he hears voices, he actually jumps. Then, trying to will his racing heart to slow, he presses his ear back to the wall and closes his eyes.

It’s dangerous, what he’s doing. But what if it helps Harry? He knows Voldemort is going to go after the other boy- he’s done it twice already. The fact that Harry is twelve years old and Voldemort is basically a thousand doesn’t seem to dissuade the madman in the slightest.

“...considerable benefits,” Grandfather finishes.

“I will hear nothing more of this,” Voldemort hisses. “I had thought this silly delusion of yours put to rest, Abraxas.”

Draco has to repress a shudder- then he remembers he’s alone, and gives in.

“I apologize,” Grandfather says smoothly. “I will not suggest it again. I had simply thought- it is no matter.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Draco presses the side of his face even harder into the wall. What are they talking about?

“Abraxas,” Voldemort finally says, voice sounding much less impatient and much more business-like. “Have you spoken with your grandson yet?”

Draco feels a chill run down his spine.

“Not yet,” Grandfather says. “I will soon.”

About what?

“He is like you,” Voldemort confirms.

“A werewolf? Old friend, it isn’t a curse word,” Grandfather says, sounding a bit amused.

“Answer the question,” Voldemort says, sounding tired.

“He carries on the Malfoy legacy, yes,” Grandfather says.

Draco has to keep himself from scoffing. Instead, he wrinkles his nose.

Hell of a legacy- Draco’s known his whole life that the Malfoys are werewolves, but it never really seemed like something he would have to worry about. Not with Mother there, blocking his Grandfather’s schemes every step of the way, refusing to let herself or her son be turned.

Draco should have known that it couldn’t last forever. And now he’s carrying ‘the Malfoy legacy’ on, whether he wants to or not. Which he doesn’t. Being a werewolf is awful. He wouldn’t inflict this on his worst enemy, much less any child of his. Not ever.

“What do you think,” Voldemort starts. “Is the boy a lost cause?”

“All due respect, my Lord,” Grandfather says, “that is no concern of yours. He is my Heir, and is doing a satisfactory job.”

Well, at least now Draco knows that they have no idea he’s here- Abraxas Malfoy wouldn’t be caught dead letting Draco know that particular tidbit.

Draco sort of wishes he hadn’t heard that. He’s terrified of Grandfather, and would very much like to hate him. But- he’s his Grandfather. And apparently, is proud of Draco.

Oh, this is all just… too complicated. Draco pushes his thoughts and feelings aside for now, and tunes back into what the two men are discussing.

“Be that as that may, you are loyal first and foremost to me,” Voldemort says. “You are my friend, and I respect you, but it would do you well to remember where the power lies here.”

“Draco is just a boy,” Grandfather says. “He is misguided, but he will bring honor to us- the name, and the cause. Whether he wants to or not.”

Another long moment of silence, most of which Draco spends trying to keep his breathing even. Yes. That’s more like the Grandfather Draco knows.

“He clearly cares for the Potter boy,” Voldemort muses.

Inside his chest, Draco’s wolf snarls. Draco himself bares his teeth at the wall. How dare Voldemort mention Harry, say Harry’s name. How dare he.

“What,” Voldemort says- now he’s the one sounding amused. “Not denying it?”

“There is no point. You have told me what occurred that night in the woods. Why would I deny what is so clearly true?”

“You don’t seem all that concerned,” Voldemort says, a warning note in his tone.

“Why should I be? Draco is twelve years old. Every twelve year old boy has phases. Even you had yours, Marvolo.”

Marvolo?

“Abraxas,” Voldemort says. The warning note is more obvious now.

“Apologies,” Grandfather says, sounding the perfect picture of innocence.

“Mm,” Voldemort says. He doesn’t sound convinced, but he seems willing to drop it in favor of moving the conversation on: “Either way, we can use this.”

Wait, use what?

“Yes,” Grandfather says. “I daresay we could.”

No, wait, what are they using?

“I don’t suppose he’d be a willing participant,” Voldemort says.

Draco is getting colder and colder as he racks his brain, trying to grasp what it is they’re talking about.

“Unlikely.”

“I see. Well. Unwilling participant it is.”

“All I ask is that you do not harm him,” Grandfather says. “He is my grandson.”

“I wouldn’t dream of harming him,” Voldemort says, soothingly. “Permanently, anyways.”

The two men laugh.

Draco does not. In fact, he feels suddenly very much like crying. Because he’s figured it out- they know he cares about Harry, and they know Harry cares about him (which is still unbelievable to Draco). Which means- they’re in the perfect position to set up a trap.

And Draco is going to be the bait.

Chapter Text

Ron still can’t believe that Harry is going to be able to take a whole dog to Hogwarts. But apparently, with the protection the dog has afforded him, the school is willing to make an exception- especially considering the whole ‘Sirius Black’ thing.

The other thing Ron can’t believe is that they still haven’t found a name for the thing. It’s been months.

“I still think we should call him Rhinogeddon,” Ginny says, looking down at the dog.

They’re waiting by the car- Fred forgot something inside. Percy’s already apparated away- he was worried about time- and Dad’s at work. Mum’s helping Fred look for whatever it is he’s lost.

“We tried that,” Ron points out.

“He hates it,” Luna sighs.

“Well, he has horrible taste,” George says, folding his arms. Besides Ginny, George is the one who’s tried the most names. Harry, as far as Ron knows, has tried the least.

“We knew that,” Ginny points out. “He spends all his time around Harry.”

The dog lets out a little huff, and Harry pats his head absently. “We’ll figure something out,” he says, ignoring Ginny’s jab. “Don’t worry.”

The dog licks his hand, and Harry wipes his hand on his shirt. “Ew,” he says. “Don’t do that.”

The dog licks his hand again.

“Dogs,” Harry mutters.

Ron is inclined to agree. If it weren’t for the fact that this dog clearly has Harry’s best interests in mind, Ron thinks that he wouldn’t be able to stand him at all. He doesn’t like dogs. It’s nothing against them, it’s just- they’re just… not wolves.

“Got it, let’s go!” Fred says, running back outside and waving a piece of paper in his hands.

“Got what?” Ginny asks.

“Nothin’,” Fred says, tucking the paper away.

The dog’s eyes seem to follow the action, head cocked.

That’s the other thing about this dog- he seems much smarter than he has any right to be. It gives Ron the creeps, to be honest.

“In the car,” Mum says, coming out of the house. “We have to go!”

They pile in- the dog goes to get into the front seat with Harry and Luna, which Ron thinks is just completely unfair.

Apparently, Mum thinks so as well. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Into the back with you.”

The dog lets out a sigh, but acquiesces.

“Can I sit in the front?” Ron asks.

“I’m oldest,” the twins say, simultaneously. Then they glare at each other. The moon is tomorrow night, so everyone is especially on edge- and the general chaos involved with going to school doesn’t help matters, not in the least.

“We’re running late,” Mum says. “Just get settled- we’ll be there in no time.”

Ron sits back, scowling. Harry shoots him an apologetic look, and Ron softens. After all, it makes sense that Harry and Luna are the ones who get seat belts- they don’t have werewolf healing. The dog, meanwhile, is doing his best to squish in between Ron and Fred.

“Hey, what gives?” Fred asks as the dog noses into his pocket. “Not for dogs! No!”

The dog manages to pull the paper out, which only works because Ron thinks Fred is worried about tearing it if he tries to take it back. He doesn’t know exactly what the paper does, but he’s pretty sure it’s the same one the twins use to sneak through the halls of Hogwarts.

“Bad dog,” Fred says, going for the parchment.

“Drop it,” George says, sounding a bit panicky.

The dog does drop it- in Harry’s lap. “Uh,” Harry says, picking it up in between his thumb and forefinger and turning around. “I don’t want this.”

The dog lets out a disgruntled little huff as Harry tries to hand it back to the twins, and noses his hand away.

“This dog is messed up,” Ron says. The dog shoots a glare at him, which Ron thinks proves his point.

“Hey Fred,” George says, looking at the paper through shrewd eyes.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Fred asks. George nods.

“Here,” Harry says, going to hand the paper back again.

"Hang on to it," George says. Harry looks confused, but the dog gives an approving bark.

"We'll tell you about it later," Fred clarifies. At that, Harry shrugs and goes to pocket the paper.

After that, the drive to the station is remarkably uneventful. Ginny and the dog get into a little bit of a fight over who gets to stick their head out the window, but beyond that, they get to the station with no problem at all.

The closer they get, the more antsy Ron is getting. Hermione and Neville have both visited over the summer, but he hasn’t seen any of the Slytherins all summer- and it’s been nothing but radio silence from them, which has Ron a bit worried.

He isn’t especially excited to see Draco, but the others are alright in his book- and Vince is the only person he knows who’ll still play chess with him.

Huh, maybe Draco and the dog will get along- they occupy the same sort of ‘tolerate them because of Harry’ space in Ron’s brain.

They make it to the train with moments to spare.

“Think you could find where the others are sitting?” Harry asks Ron, hand holding the dog’s scruff firmly (as though the dog is in any danger of running off- this dog would have to be dragged kicking and biting away from Harry).

“I don’t need to,” Ron says, pointing at where Hermione is waving at them from one of the compartments. The train lets out a long whistle, and Ron shares a glance with Harry before they both hurry onto the train.

Ron goes to open the compartment that Hermione was in, but something stops him. He looks back at Harry, and then down at the dog. Then, Ron blinks.

It’s been months of living with this dog, and never- not once- has Ron seen him look this terrified. His ears are pinned all the way back, and his tail is completely tucked. Hell, he’s shaking.

“You good, mate?” Ron asks, hesitant.

The dog lets out a little whine, so high-pitched that Ron isn’t sure Harry can hear it. He looks up at Ron, whale-eyed.

“Should we sit somewhere else?” Harry asks, looking at Ron with equally wide eyes.

“Hermione is in there,” Ron says, shaking his head. “If there’s something in there, something that is scaring the dog like this- we need to get her out of there, at least.”

Harry nods once, firmly. Then, he turns to look at the dog. “You can stay out here, if you like.”

The dog seems to hesitate, and then he straightens up. His tail is still tucked and his ears pinned, but he’s clearly intending on following them in.

“I think your dog is a Gryffindor,” Ron says.

The dog, despite the fact that he still looks terrified, also looks a little proud all of a sudden. Ron scowls at himself. He needs to stop projecting on the dog- he’s a dog.

Ron slides the door open.

“Harry, Ron,” Hermione whispers, smiling hugely.

The reason she’s whispering is immediately obvious. There, in the corner of the compartment, is a man- who’s dead asleep. The man looks to be in his late thirties. Despite this, his sandy brown hair is already streaked with gray. There are deep bags under his eyes, and his clothes are frayed and patchworked. He seems… dusty, almost. And there’s something else about him, something Ron can’t put his finger on.

Ron looks down at the dog, who seems a bit frozen as he stares at the man. Then Ron looks up at Hermione. “Who is he?”

“He was here when I got here,” Hermione says, waving him off. “Although,” she says, turning to Harry, “your dog doesn’t seem to like him. Sorry, but I couldn’t find another compartment that wasn’t already full. Neville is looking, but I’m not optimistic- unless the Slytherins have room.”

Ron grimaces. “We’ll probably have to stay here, then. We’ll just keep a close eye on him, is all.”

“Lupin,” Harry mutters.

“What?” Ron asks, turning to look at him. Harry points at the man’s trunk, which is labeled.

“R. J. Lupin,” he says. The dog seems to be doing his best to hide behind Harry’s legs. The dog is huge, so it doesn’t work at all.

“Oh,” Ron says. Then, he looks at the man again. “Reckon he’s this year’s Defense professor?”

“Could be,” Hermione muses.

Just then, the compartment door slides open again. Ron feels a grin spread across his face as he takes in the welcome sight of Neville Longbottom. “Nev!”

Neville closes the door behind him and goes to sit down. He looks tired, and something in his expression has Ron’s smile falling. Ron sits down as well, Hermione and Harry following suit. The dog takes a position nearest the door, and furthest from the sleeping man- but still comfortably close to Harry.

“What’s the matter?” Ron asks.

“When we get to school, we need to pretend to hate the Slytherins again,” Neville says.

Ron has a bad feeling about this. That can’t mean anything good- and also, Harry is going to be morose.

“No,” Harry groans, proving Ron’s point. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Neville says, grimacing. “Pansy just pulled me aside and told me that we had to pretend not to like each other, and that we could talk about why later.”

There’s a moment of heavy quiet. Then, Hermione nods. “Alright, then. There’s nothing to do about that right now, so let’s not worry about it.”

Harry doesn’t look convinced, and Ron can’t blame him. He feels similarly, after all.

Neville sighs, but nods. Then, he looks down at the dog. “Nice to see you again,” he says.

The dog’s tail wags, once- which is a really subdued reaction to Neville, who’s met him before and got on famously with him. Neville is one of the only people Ron knows who is a dog person (other than Dad, and probably Greg too).

“What’s the matter with him?” Neville asks. Then, his gaze falls on the sleeping (possible) professor. “And do we know who that is?”

“Lupin,” Harry says. “And we think the dog doesn’t like him.”

The dog lets out a little whine.

“Oh,” Neville says. “That doesn’t really explain anything.”

“Sure doesn’t,” Harry agrees.

They spend the next couple of hours keeping their minds off of the Slytherins by chatting, laughing at how taken Hermione’s new cat (who Ron privately thinks is infinitely more likable than certain other animals) seems to be with Harry’s dog, playing card games, and, in Ron’s case, keeping a half of an eye on the man.

He hasn’t stirred once. Ron would be impressed, if he wasn’t starting to get a bit concerned. Is he sick? Even Ron isn’t that tired, and the full moon is tomorrow. What’s this man’s excuse?

Ron figures it can’t be anything especially contagious at least, because otherwise the dog wouldn’t let Harry stay at all.

Ron hadn’t really believed Bill or Harry about how protective the dog is, until yet another Death Eater somehow got through the wards and tried to grab Harry. The dog hadn’t hesitated- he’d just gone for the throat, allowing Bill and Mum to swoop in, with Percy and the twins getting the others inside the house.

Ron still doesn’t know if the man survived. He and Harry have elected not to think about it.

Regardless, whoever this Lupin character is, he can’t be too dangerous- not to Harry, in any case.

Then the train grinds to a sudden stop, and Hermione looks up from her book.

“Are we here? Already?” Ron asks, going to look out the window. It’s both foggy and dark out- he can’t see a thing, thanks to the reflection of the lights on the glass.

“No,” Hermione says, frowning. “We can’t be. There’s still an hour to go.”

“Then what-” Neville starts.

The lights flicker once, and then turn off. The dog starts to growl, long and low.

Ron feels the hairs on his arm stick up- something is not right here. He takes another look outside- now that the lights are off, he should be able to see better. Except, he can’t. It’s too foggy. He thinks- maybe he can see some movement, but nothing more.

Instead, he looks around the compartment. Harry is holding tight to the dog’s scruff, who is staring intently at the door- not making a sound. Hermione is rubbing her arms, and Neville is sitting up straight in his seat. Ron doesn’t think any of them can see- they don’t have night vision like him.

“What should we-” Harry starts, then the door slides open. The dog doesn’t so much as growl, so Ron isn’t that worried, but he is still relieved when he sees Ginny’s face.

“Ron, Harry,” Ginny says. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Harry says, also sounding relieved. “Come here, come sit-”

Ginny comes in, pulling Luna in behind her. “What’s happening?” Ginny asks as she gently guides Luna to sit down on the bench, and then takes a seat next to her and Neville.

“I don’t know,” Ron says. “But look-”

He points at Harry’s dog, who’s still staring out the door. His hackles are completely raised.

“Let’s- um. Let’s close the door again,” Ginny says, a bit nervously.

Ron leans over to do just that. The dog doesn’t relax.

“We should go talk to the driver,” Hermione says, going to stand up. The dog does growl now, and Hermione sits back down as though on reflex. “Or not,” she says.

“Is it getting cold in here?” Neville asks, rubbing his arms. His breath is coming out in clouds.

Then there’s a little crackling noise, and then the compartment is suddenly illuminated. Ron turns in time to see the now awake Lupin holding up a handful of flickering blue flames. He’s pale and a bit gray. In the light of the fire Ron sees that the man’s face is covered in white scars, standing out harshly in the blue light.

“Quiet,” Lupin says, in a hoarse voice. “I think I hear-”

His brown-eyed gaze catches on the dog.

Chapter Text

Remus’s day had started out… fine. Or, as fine as the day before a full moon while Sirius Black is at large can be.

It had started out fine- but so had October 31st, 1981.

And now?

Now, Remus’s day is very, very bad.

Chapter Text

Ron sees it the instant that Lupin’s gaze falls on the dog (who is still standing at attention in front of the door)- because his already pale face goes paler, he bares his teeth, and- most notably of all- his eyes go completely golden.

How many werewolves can one school even have?

That’s about all Ron has the time to think, because then he’s busy grabbing the man’s arm as he whips a wand out of his holster, and trains it on Harry’s dog. The man is fast, but Ron is faster- just fast enough, in fact, to throw the man’s spell wide, where it bursts harmlessly against the wall of the compartment in little sparks of red.

The dog’s ear flicks, but he doesn’t look back. His attention is still trained on the door- clearly, the greater danger is still out there. Which is, in hindsight, a thought that doesn’t actually make Ron feel that much better.

“What gives?” Ginny asks, breaking the frosty silence.

The man’s eyes are still glowing so golden they’re practically luminescent, so Ron doesn’t let go of his arm. He seems to be struggling to keep his breathing even. For a moment, Ron is worried that he’s going to turn right here and right now. But no- he closes his eyes, takes in another breath, and then opens his eyes again- which are now a much more reasonable amber color.

“I apologize,” he says, voice clipped. His eyes flicker to Harry, and then back to the dog. “I’ve had… bad experiences. With- with dogs.”

The dog’s ear flicks again, but he doesn’t spare a glance for the man.

“That’s not much of an excuse,” Harry says, arms folded. He’s scowling, and Ron feels a rush of pride for his brother. “I’ve had plenty of bad experiences with dogs, and I’m not running around cursing them.”

Lupin doesn’t seem to have a response to that. Unfortunately, he still looks as though he might be on the verge of strangling Harry’s dog to death with his bare hands.

“I don’t like dogs either,” Ron says, since the man hasn’t quite relaxed yet, “but this one is different, trust me.”

“I see. Well. I can’t say that surprises me,” Lupin says, lips pulled back in what might, if one were feeling gracious, be considered a smile.

Another ear flick- and then the dog growls. Ron and Lupin both turn to the door as one. The door slides open. Ron’s arm falls to his side, letting the man’s own arm free.

“Shit,” Lupin breathes.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

Ron’s wolf is instantly pulled to the forefront of his consciousness as he stares at the wraith that’s floating in the doorway. It’s mouth is gaping and it’s fingers are long and bony- and the smell. It’s like a hundred of Luna’s terrible experiments on a hot day.

Ron feels as though every sense of his is being overwhelmed. He can’t move- and even if he could, he thinks he’d just throw up. He’s shaking with the effort of keeping his wolf down enough to keep from turning. It’s far too close to the moon for this.

And it’s so cold. Why is it so cold?

The dog is barking loudly, which doesn’t help things. Ron tears his attention from the wraith and brings it over to Harry, who’s staring at the thing with huge eyes. His face has drained of blood, and Neville seems to be just barely holding him upright. The wraith seems fascinated by his brother- it’s drifting closer and closer, and Ron only seems able to just stand there and watch.

Then, Ron becomes conscious of a growling sound emanating from Lupin. His eyes haven’t been brown since he’d first seen the dog, but they’ve fluctuated from amber back to a burning gold color.

Ron isn’t usually afraid of werewolves (because duh) but the way the man is moving- everything, from the silver scars still shining in the blue light of the fire that is now crawling up his forearms, to the no-nonsense way he’s brandishing his wand- it all screams ‘predator’.

Ron has to remind himself that not only does the man have two eyes, he’s also not old enough to be the one-eyed werewolf. He’s not a monster- not any more so than Ron is.

Bill- that’s who Lupin reminds Ron of. Bill looked like this the night he and Mum had gone after that Death Eater.

That doesn’t make Ron feel much better.

“Leave,” Lupin says hoarsely, then clears his throat. “Sirius Black isn’t- there are children here. And you need to leave.”

On the last word, he flicks his wand and a stream of silver pours from it, coalescing into a form that might be canine in nature. Ron blinks- is his patronus a wolf? That’s… ironic.

It does the trick, though- the wraith stops reaching for Harry, and begins to back off instead. Apparently not fast enough for the dog, though- it leaps at the thing, hackles raised and snarling something awful. Between the dog and the fuzzy patronus, the wraith retreats fully.

The door slides shut, and the compartment is quiet once more- although the lights do flicker back on, to Ron’s relief. He can see in the dark, but- well, it was starting to feel a bit oppressive.

Lupin is staring at the dog, an unreadable expression on his face. The dog, meanwhile, has gone over to Harry and is now trying to lick him back into consciousness.

Oh, shit.

“Harry?” Ron says, moving over to him. Neville has his head in his lap, and Ginny is hovering anxiously nearby. Hermione is sitting on the bench with her legs pulled up, holding Crookshanks tightly in her arms. She’s still shivering.

Luna pokes Harry’s face with a shaky finger. “He’s breathing,” she announces, which does actually help Ron’s wolf relax.

It also seems to snap Lupin out of whatever one-sided staring contest he’d been trying to incite. He turns instead to his trunk and withdraws something- Ron narrows his eyes. It smells like chocolate, for some reason.

Lupin turns back around breaking a piece off of the bar he’d pulled out from his things. Ah, so it smells like chocolate because it is, in fact, chocolate. Ron can’t be sure, but he’s pretty sure now is not the time.

In the meanwhile, Harry has woken up and is now sitting up- which has Ron feeling so relieved he might cry. Unfortunately, Harry looks awful- and Ron doesn’t think he’s totally awake yet. He seems off-balance.

“Who- who screamed?” Harry asks, looking around.

Case in point.

“Harry… no one screamed,” Hermione says, looking worried.

Harry looks down at his shaking hands, brow furrowed.

Lupin pushes Luna gently to the side and goes to hand Harry the chocolate. Ron tenses up, ready to step in to keep the dog from going for Lupin’s throat. Ginny looks similarly prepared. But instead, the dog steps back, making it easier for Lupin to get to Harry and not so much as letting out a single growl.

“What the hell, mate?” Ron asks the dog.

According to Bill, he’d had to practically bare his soul to get the dog to trust him. And now here the dog is, just- just letting some stranger approach Harry while he’s especially vulnerable? Something really weird is going on here, but Ron can’t even begin to fathom as to what it might be.

The dog is a dog, so it doesn’t respond to Ron’s question. But he does paw at his nose- so he’s not happy about stepping aside, in any case.

Or maybe he’s just not happy at all. Ron sure isn’t- whatever that wraith was, it’s made Ron feel like he might never be happy again.

“Everyone needs to take a piece,” Lupin says, turning to look at the others after Harry has taken the chocolate and taken a bite.

Ron reflexively takes the piece as it’s handed to him.

“Oh,” Harry says, looking down at the half-eaten chocolate.

Lupin gets the first genuine smile on his face that Ron’s seen so far. Then his gaze catches on the dog again, and the smile is gone in an instant.

“It really helps, guys,” Harry says, turning to look at Ron.

“Eat the chocolate,” Lupin agrees, tearing his eyes away from the dog. “Any healer worth their salt would have you eat some after any level of dementor exposure.”

“That’s what that was?” Neville asks. Ron frowns. He hadn’t noticed before, but Neville looks awful- almost as bad as Harry. There are tear tracks running down his cheeks. Inside Ron’s chest, his wolf is whining. His pack had been in danger, and he’d been completely useless.

Although, if that really was a dementor, Ron should maybe cut himself some slack. Greg was talking about them last year, and they’re nasty.

“Yes,” Lupin confirms. “They must have stopped the train to search for Sirius Black.”

The dog leans into Harry’s legs, and lets out a little whine before he seems to cut himself off.

“It would be stupid of him to try and hitch a ride on the train,” Hermione remarks. “He’d be found out in an instant.”

“You’d think that,” Lupin agrees. He seems to be ignoring the dog for now.

The compartment door slams open, revealing Percy. Ron jumps, and Lupin’s wand is out again- but he lowers it just as quickly as he’d raised it, likely realizing that it’s just another student.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Percy says, relaxing as he sees Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Luna. “There were dementors on board-”

“We know,” Ron, Harry, Neville, Ginny, Hermione, and Luna all say simultaneously.

Percy goes still. “And how,” he asks, “do you know that?”

“Don’t worry, the Professor chased it off,” Luna says. “And the dog helped.”

Percy closes his eyes, clearly struggling to get his wolf under control. Ron exchanges a look with Ginny and Harry, feeling his stomach turn unpleasantly. It is not like Percy to lose control of his wolf. Ron gets why he would in this situation, of course, but still- it’s discomfiting to see Percy like this.

“Thank you,” Percy finally says, looking over at Lupin. Lupin just nods, a bit stiffly. Then Percy looks down at the dog. “Good dog.”

The dog’s tail gives a tired wag, but then he leans back into Harry. He’s seemed subdued since the dementor- hang on, do dementors even bother dogs? They must, right?

Lupin looks down and mutters something under his breath so quietly that even Ron doesn’t catch it, and then he looks up. “How long have you had the dog?” He asks, looking at Harry.

“Um,” Harry says, frowning in confusion. “Since the beginning of summer?”

“He saved Harry from a Death Eater,” Ron says, folding his arms. Clearly this guy still hasn’t gotten over whatever thing he has against this dog. Ron doesn’t like the dog either, but he’s allowed. This guy doesn’t even know the dog.

“Twice,” Ginny adds. The dog’s tail gives another wag.

“And before you say anything, we’ve already cleared the dog with Dumbledore,” Percy says, eyes narrowed. Ron smiles to himself. Looks like his siblings feel similarly. Then, something occurs to him.

“Hey, where are the twins?”

“They’re with Lee and Oliver,” Percy says, waving a dismissive hand. “Keeping an eye on them.”

Ron nods, feeling himself relax. Safe, then.

“And you haven’t named him yet?” Lupin presses. For a second, Ron is confused. Then he realizes that the man seems to still be stuck on the dog thing.

“He doesn’t like any of the ones we pick,” Luna says, tracing a circle on the back of Ginny’s hand.

“Really,” Lupin says.

The dog lets out a little huff.

“You’re welcome to give it a shot,” Harry says, shrugging.

Lupin stares at Harry for a long moment, seemingly warring with himself.

What sort of experience does Lupin have with dogs that makes him hate them this much? Ron isn’t sure he wants to know. Lupin’s acting like a dog was responsible for the death of his best friend, or something.

Finally, Lupin clears his throat. “You should call him Snuffles,” he says.

The dog lets out an offended bark, and for the briefest of seconds, Ron could swear he sees a flash of hatred cross the Professor’s face.

“See?” Harry says, frowning. “It’s like this with every name.”

Lupin closes his eyes. “Really,” he says again, almost to himself.

“Really,” Harry agrees. “We’ve tried everything, basically.”

“Sounds like something of a stubborn… dog,” Lupin says. Ron gets the feeling that Lupin would prefer to use a different word, but is refraining.

“Yeah, well,” Harry says, shrugging. “He’s smart.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Lupin says, almost reflexively.

The dog whines again, and there the malice is again- gone so quickly that Ron is once again thinking that he’s imagining things.

“He is! You don’t know him,” Harry says, offended. Ron is inclined to agree, and judging by the others’ faces, they do too. The dog leans into Harry’s legs even further, and Harry starts patting his head, still glaring daggers at the Professor.

“Right. Right. Sorry,” Lupin says, before letting out a long sigh and running a hand through his hair. Then he looks up at the ceiling, as though he can’t believe what he’s saying. “I… you could call him-” (here he breaks off into more of that inaudible muttering before swallowing, forcing his expression into a neutral one, and then saying) “Padfoot.”

The occupants of the compartment, Ron included, turn to look at the dog as one- whose tail has started wagging furiously. Ron stares. It’s been months. And this is the name the dog likes? Padfoot?

Hang on, he’s going to let this guy name him? How is that fair?

“Harry, your dog is kind of weird,” Neville finally says.

Hermione nods, staring at the thing with a furrowed brow.

“Well, I like it,” Harry decides, a smile spreading across his face. “Padfoot. Nice!”

“Okay! Okay, actually, I can’t- I have to-” Lupin starts, before pushing past where Percy is standing in the door frame and walking out of the compartment, not taking his eyes off the dog- who is still wagging his tail. Lupin is clutching at his stomach- Ron wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“I’m- going to check in with the driver,” Lupin says. “You- you should stay put. Just- I have to go.”

And then he’s gone. Padfoot whines again, but once again seems to cut himself off.

“What did dogs do to him?” Neville asks.

Chapter Text

Harry sits with his knees drawn up to his chest on the oversized windowsill of their dorm room, staring out the window blankly. Padfoot whines and noses at his hand, but Harry doesn’t so much as look down at him.

Dumbledore had pulled him aside earlier that day to tell him about what had happened over the summer, and Pansy had further confirmed it- as well as let them know even more terrible news.

Harry doesn’t know what to feel worse about: the fact that Voldemort is definitely back, or the fact that they can’t be friends with the Slytherins any more. With Draco, specifically- although all of their families could be in danger if they kept up the friendship.

Okay, the Voldemort thing is definitely worse.

Or- well, it should be the Voldemort thing. Not only is the mass murdering genocidal maniac up and running again, Snape can’t teach Harry any more- and he has to dial up ‘being a dick’ by eleven.

(Snape hadn’t mentioned the dog during class, which was something of a relief- Harry had not wanted to see that fight happen. As it is, Padfoot just lies down next to Harry’s workstation, keeping a watchful eye on Snape the whole time.)

But Harry misses Draco, dammit. He wants to go back to how things were- but now they’re going to have to ignore each other in the halls and during class. And all that is according to Pansy- Harry hasn’t actually interacted with Draco since the end of last year. And now- maybe he won’t ever get to again.

It makes Harry feel sick. Even Ron seems to be a little down about it.

Harry sighs and presses his face into his hands, squishing his glasses against his cheek. Padfoot sighs as well, putting his head on his paws.

At least Draco wasn’t killed outright for that time he fought Voldemort off in the woods.

Ha, yeah, that’s the worst bright-side Harry’s ever heard of in his life.

It maybe wouldn’t be so bad if not for the fact that Draco has looked like he’s on the verge of passing out all day. Not that Harry is watching him, or anything. Well- he is, but that’s just because he’s worried, is all.

Harry just wants to sit Draco down and wrap him in a blanket and make him some soup while he yells at him for not taking care of himself. But he can’t do that- not unless he wants to risk Draco or his family.

The full moon is rising in less than an hour, and Draco is going to be transforming all alone, down in the dungeons. Harry’s done the research, he knows how bad it is for a wolf to transform alone. And in an enclosed space, without room to run? Draco’s going to be trying to tear himself apart the whole night.

Harry looks down at Padfoot, feeling miserable.

And then, something occurs to him.

“Hey boy,” Harry says.

Padfoot looks up at him, ears cocked.

“How do you feel about helping a friend out?”

Padfoot’s tail wags once, twice. Harry takes this as a yes.

Harry jumps up off of the window sill, then walks over to his trunk. It takes some rummaging, but he manages to pull his cloak out without too much trouble. Padfoot gets really excited when he sees it, falling into a play bow and barking at it.

“Sh,” Harry says, shooting a glare at the dog. Having a dog at Hogwarts is already drawing enough attention. Sure, it’s technically been allowed- but Harry doesn’t just love being made the exception again.

Padfoot sits, looking a bit abashed.

Then, after a moment of consideration, Harry reaches for the parchment the twins had lent him. They’d pulled him aside and told him how it works, but he hasn’t had the chance to open it up yet. He’s a little apprehensive- a part of him is worried it’s another prank.

He taps the parchment with his wand and says, “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good.”

Harry feels a huge grin slide across his face as he sees the lines of ink spread across the thing. Looks like the twins hadn’t been pulling his leg at all.

Then he reads what's on the paper, and blinks.

“Huh,” he says, looking from the dog sitting at attention besides him and the words ‘Mssr. Padfoot’ on the paper. “Kind of a weird coincidence,” he says, half to himself.

Padfoot’s tail wags, and Harry shakes his head before fully unfolding the parchment. “Here we go,” he says.

Even though the twins had told him what the Map was and how it works, it’s still something else to see it in action. Harry wonders who the Marauders were. Something tells him he’d have gotten along with them.

Probably just wishful thinking on his part.

Harry locates himself on the Map and snorts as he sees the little paw print sitting besides his own name. “Cute,” he says. “How do you think they managed this?”

Padfoot’s tail wags again, and he seems to sit up a little straighter. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say he looked a little proud.

Harry scans the Map. The Weasleys have left for the woods already, Neville and Hermione are in the common room, the Slytherins are in their own dorm, and Draco… there. On the move, heading deeper into the dungeons.

“Let’s go,” Harry says, nodding to himself. “Stick close- we can’t be seen, alright?”

Before Harry leaves the common room, he sidles up beside Neville.

“Nev,” he whispers.

Neville jumps, then looks around. “Harry?” He asks in a whisper.

“I’m taking the cloak and Padfoot down to- um. Over to Ravenclaw, to keep an eye on Luna. I’m telling you so you don’t get worried if I’m not in the dorm when you come up for bed.”

Neville sits back. He looks conflicted. “Should I come with?”

“Padfoot will keep me safe,” Harry says, shaking his head even though he knows Neville can’t see it. “And I have the cloak. And Luna. I’ll be fine.”

Neville puffs out his cheeks, then sighs and nods. “Alright,” he says. “Be safe.”

Padfoot lets out a little woof, and Neville smiles down in the direction of the dog. “Will do,” Harry says. “Bye.”

Then, he takes the cloak, the Map, and Padfoot, and they’re off- down to the dungeons.

Fortunately, Padfoot seems to be a natural, as far as staying under the cloak goes. He even helps to keep Harry’s feet covered at certain points.

Harry can’t be there for Draco during the day without putting Draco in danger, and he can’t be there for him during the moons because he’s not Luna, but he does have a scary smart dog on his side- and according to his research, werewolves like other animals.

The trick is going to be convincing Padfoot to leave Harry alone.

Harry manages to get them down to the dungeons without any issue at all. Assuming the Map is correct, they’re just outside the room Draco is in. But now what? Harry doesn’t want to risk opening the door and breaking any of the wards Draco’s stuck on it.

Harry stops. He maybe hasn’t thought this out all the way. According to the Map, the full moon is less than ten minutes away from rising. (Why the Map has that little diagram is beyond Harry, but he’s certainly not complaining. Maybe it has something to do with Mssr. Moony?)

Padfoot goes over to the doorway, sniffing around. Harry, in the meanwhile, sinks down to the floor- he’s staying under the cloak even though no one else is around, because one can never be too careful. Harry stares at the doorway. It looks so innocuous. It’s hard to believe that, just behind that wooden door, is what many would consider a monster.

Harry doesn’t think Draco is a monster. Not now, not ever- he’s just a kid, just like Harry. And he’s Harry’s friend.

Which is why, when the Map says the moon has risen and the screaming (faint, but there) begins, Harry doesn’t think twice before shedding the cloak and going for the doorknob. He isn’t thinking at all, actually- all he knows is that Draco is in there, and hurting, and Harry is out here doing nothing and that needs to be remedied immediately.

Then Harry is on the ground, blinking up into Padfoot’s face. The dog had- the dog had knocked him down? Yes- down and away from the door.

“No,” Harry says, trying in vain to push Padfoot off of him. It doesn’t work very well- Padfoot is just about as heavy as Harry is, especially after months of good food. “No. Off,” Harry grunts.

Padfoot lays down instead- right on Harry. The screaming sound goes a little hoarse, and Harry starts kicking. Padfoot lets out a little grunt, but if anything, just doubles down.

“Get off,” Harry says. He’s hitting now, too- and it’s doing absolutely nothing. Padfoot doesn’t even try to stop Harry from hurting him- he’s completely focused on keeping Harry from being able to get into that room. From helping.

Harry hates Padfoot. He thinks he says as much- and Padfoot just lets out a frustrated little bark.

Then the howling starts and Harry goes limp, the fight running out of him all at once. He just lies there and listens, breathing shallowly.

The howling is somehow worse than the screaming.

Harry’s no stranger to the sound of howling, not after months at the Burrow. But this- this howling is sad. And not just sad- it’s devastated. And afraid. And alone.

Harry can’t help it- he starts to cry, and it’s not long before he’s shaking with sobs. Padfoot whines, and presses his nose into Harry’s shoulder. Harry grabs at the dog, pulling him closer and squeezing his own eyes shut. Padfoot shifts, but it’s so that Harry can get to him easier.

“It’s not fair,” Harry cries. He knows he’s being unreasonable, knows that life isn’t fair- but why can’t it be just unfair to him?

Padfoot whines again. Harry takes in a shuddery breath.

“Can’t I- just go in there? He- he wouldn’t be alone, then.”

Padfoot closes his eyes and sighs, leaning even further into Harry.

“I can be a- werewolf,” Harry tries. He can’t believe he’s arguing this with a dog. “I don’t- mind.”

He does, actually. He doesn’t want to be a werewolf. Maybe someday, but- well, it’s hard enough for the Weasleys to keep that a secret, but the Boy-Who-Lived? No way. And Harry has enough on his plate.

Which means not only is Harry arguing with a dog, the dog is somehow winning.

Padfoot presses a paw into Harry’s chest, and just looks at him. His eyes are big and sad. Harry lets out another shuddering sigh, and goes to sit up. Padfoot eyes him warily, but he’s not trying to fight Harry on it, at least. Harry scoots back, so his back is against the wall. He reaches for the cloak again, wrapping it around himself like a blanket.

“Sorry,” Harry says, resting his chin on his knees. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Padfoot sneezes, which- Harry doesn’t know what else he expected. Harry takes another breath, then wipes his eyes. “Okay. Right. To be honest, I don’t know what to do from here. We can’t just open the door, not now that he’s a wolf.”

Padfoot watches Harry, head tilted. Harry leans his head against the wall, then lets out a bitter laugh. He really should have thought this through a little better.

“I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

Padfoot suddenly jumps up, tail wagging furiously. Harry looks at him, confused. Padfoot falls into a play-bow, then barks excitedly.

“What are you doing? You don’t- do you actually have an idea?”

Padfoot runs a couple feet away, and then back.

“You- okay, do you want me to follow you?”

Padfoot barks again.

Harry goes to stand up, readjusting the cloak again, making sure it’s covering him up. He doesn’t want to leave Draco, but… well, there’s not really anything Harry can do for Draco right now. Plus, what if Padfoot actually does have an idea? He’s a smart dog, it’s not impossible.

Well, whatever Padfoot is excited about, he seems to know exactly where it is they’re going. He leads Harry straight out of the dungeons, past the Great Hall, up a couple flights of stairs, past Myrtle’s bathroom, and into…

A completely innocuous looking classroom. It’s abandoned, but Harry doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary beyond that.

Padfoot isn’t done, though- he comes up behind Harry and starts to push his legs, herding him in the direction of the furthest wall. Harry lets Padfoot push him there, although he’s beginning to feel a bit disappointed. Why did he think this was going to result in anything? Padfoot is smart, but he’s a dog.

Harry comes to a stop in front of the wall, and Padfoot looks up at him expectantly. Harry looks back down at him.

“I don’t-”

Padfoot huffs out a sigh, and noses at Harry’s pocket. Harry withdraws the Map, and Padfoot sits back again, tail wagging. Harry looks at Padfoot, then up at the blank wall, and finally down at the Map in his hands- which now has the word ‘retegimus’ floating by where Harry and the paw print are standing.

“Uh,” Harry says. Padfoot lets out another huff, then noses at the Map one more time. “Uh,” Harry repeats, and then says, “retegimus?”

Nothing happens, and Harry folds the Map back up, feeling silly. Then, he turns to leave- only to stop as one of the stones of the wall slides out with a loud grating sound, revealing a small compartment with nothing more than what seems to be an old textbook and a few simple notebooks- muggle in design.

Harry hesitates briefly- what if there are curses? Then he decides he’s being silly. Why go through the trouble of hiding something so thoroughly only to then curse it?

He reaches up, and manages to snag the textbook. Its cover is faded to the point of illegibility (Ani- something?)- but it’s clearly professionally bound, unlike the spiral bound notebooks.

He flips open the cover, and reads the brief introduction. Then, he looks down at Padfoot, who’s staring up at him with his tail wagging and his tongue lolling.

Padfoot is smart, but this- there’s only so much a person can explain away. Getting Bill to confirm his identity, getting the Map from the twins- how did the dog know that this was even here? And now…

He looks back down at the book. Rereads the introduction. Then he looks back into the compartment. Specifically, at the notebooks.

Well. Harry thinks he might have his answer.

Chapter Text

Ron is a little worried about class- it’s their first Defense Class with Lupin (since the first class he’d been absent due to the moon), and Ron has no idea what to expect. He hasn’t had the chance to debrief with any of his siblings yet- anything could happen.

Although the chances of Lupin being worse than Lockhart is pretty much zero, so at least there’s that.

Ron sticks close to his friends as they walk into the room. They’re running early, since they’re friends with Hermione, and the classroom is practically empty.

Not completely empty, however- Lupin is already there, sitting at his desk up front. He looks up as they enter, and his eyes turn briefly amber as they catch on Padfoot. Ron watches him warily- if he keeps pushing the dog thing, Ron doesn’t think he’s going to like Lupin much at all. Surely, after seeing Padfoot take on a dementor, Lupin understands that Harry only benefits from the dog’s company?

Unless Lupin doesn’t have Harry’s best interests in mind, which- well, historically, the Defense Professors haven’t.

Regardless, Ron is going to be keeping a close eye on Lupin.

“Good afternoon,” Lupin says, gaze sliding from the dog and up to Ron and the others. “I trust you haven’t run into any more dementors?”

Hermione, Neville, and Harry all break into small smiles. Ron doesn’t- but he does relax. Doesn’t seem like the dog thing is going to be an issue after all.

“No, sir,” Hermione says.

“Good, good,” Lupin says, looking back down at his papers. Then, he says, “you’re welcome to sit- although class won’t be starting for another couple minutes.”

Ron goes to follow Hermione, who has decided to sit near the back. It seems like an odd choice on her part, but then Ron realizes that she must distrust Lupin as much as he does- she wants them to have a clear exit route.

Ron loves Hermione so much.

“Mister Potter, do you mind coming up here for a moment? I wanted to speak with you about the logistics of having a dog during class,” Lupin calls, right before Harry sits down.

Oh- great, looks like the dog thing might be an issue after all.

Ron shoots a worried look at Harry, but Harry just sort of shrugs. He then walks up to the Professor’s desk. Padfoot hesitates (which is completely out of character for this particular dog, and does not make Ron feel any better about any of this) but soon he hurries after Harry.

The Professor is talking quietly, likely in an attempt to keep the conversation private- which makes Ron think that there’s a chance (a slim one, but a chance nonetheless) that the Professor doesn’t know he’s a werewolf.

Fortunately, he is a werewolf, so he can hear them no problem.

“This dog,” Lupin starts. Ron tenses, and he can tell both Harry and Padfoot do as well. “He’s been… protecting you.”

It doesn’t sound like a question. If anything, it sounds disbelieving.

“Yes,” Harry says, in a somewhat stilted voice. He has Padfoot’s scruff held tight in his hand.

“I see,” Lupin says, in a decidedly flat tone. “Very well. Assuming he stays out of the way for some of the more practical elements of class, I don’t see why there would be an issue.”

Ron relaxes, and goes to unpack his bag as he does.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry says, then goes to turn away.

“There is-” Lupin starts, then stops. Harry looks back at him. “There’s one more thing, although it isn’t to do with class,” he finally says.

“Yes?”

“Well. I- I was friends with your parents,” Lupin finally says.

Ron drops the book he’d been pulling from his bag, but manages to catch it again before it hits the ground. What?

Is that true? How good of friends?

And where the fuck was he for the last twelve years of Harry’s life?

Padfoot’s tail gives a single wag, but Ron doesn’t think Harry or Lupin sees it. Lupin is too busy looking down at his scarred hands (scars- on a werewolf. Did he get into a silver knife fight with someone? Ron doesn’t think he wants to know) and Harry is staring at the Professor, jaw practically on the floor.

“I’d like- if you’d like, I could- tell you about them,” Lupin says, a tad awkwardly. “Over tea, sometime.”

“Yes,” Harry says, recovering from his shock and getting a huge smile on his face. “Absolutely. Definitely. Thank you, Professor.”

Lupin smiles softly then, shoulders relaxing.

Then Harry pauses. “Er,” he says. “Is Padfoot allowed to come?”

Ron was expecting Lupin’s smile to drop, since historically he hasn’t been the biggest fan of Padfoot.

Instead, his smile widens into something nearly wolfish, and Ron shivers. There it is again, the resemblance to Bill.

“Yes,” Lupin says, eyes flashing amber. “I’m sure he’d love to hear what I have to say about your parents and their friends.”

Padfoot’s tail has gone tucked, and Ron has to swallow down a growl. He doesn’t know what the fuck this guy’s deal is, but something is going on and Ron doesn’t like it one bit.

Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to pick up on any of that. His smile is back on his face, warm and sincere.

“Yeah! Plus then maybe you can learn that he’s not as bad as you think he is,” Harry says.

Lupin’s smile goes wooden. “Hm. Perhaps.” He doesn’t sound convinced. Then, he blinks. “Well then- I’ll send you an owl invite later. Thank you for your time.”

Harry nods, and then turns and walks back to his desk, gently tugging Padfoot along with him. As he sits down he looks down at Padfoot, smile turning from sincere to almost smug. Padfoot just lets out a huff, then goes to lay down, trying his damndest to fit under Harry’s chair, despite being as big as it.

Ron blinks, beyond confused. He’d ask Harry what the hell any of that was about, but then Lupin would hear, and know that Ron could hear, and then he’d definitely realize Ron’s a werewolf- and Ron’s not sure he wants the Professor to know that just yet, if he doesn’t already.

Although Ron can’t imagine how Lupin wouldn’t know- surely he’d seen Percy’s eyes glowing on the train? Or heard Ron growling?

Then again, it took Draco pretty much a thousand years to catch on to Ron being a werewolf, so it’s not impossible.

Either way, so far class has been extremely informative- and it’s been all of five minutes. Ron can’t wait to ask his siblings what they think about the man- maybe they’ll have a better idea as to what’s going on with him.

Unfortunately, during their first family meeting of the year, Ron comes to find out that that doesn’t seem to be his siblings’ priority. Or- not the twins’, at least.

“Sorry, you named him Padfoot?” Fred is asking. “And that’s the one he’s okay with?” George is just staring at Harry’s dog, eyes narrowed.

Harry just nods, smiling sheepishly.

“Was it before or after the M-” George starts, but is cut off by Fred elbowing his gut.

Ron knows better than to try and ask what that was about, so he puts that interaction down on his ever growing ‘what is going on’ list- but he’s not happy about it.

“Professor Lupin named him on the train,” Ginny says, not looking up from the essay she’s working through.

Fred and George look at her, and then at each other, and then down at Padfoot- who wags his tail.

“Speaking of Professor Lupin,” Ron cuts in, desperate. “Please can we talk about him?”

“What is there to talk about?” Harry asks, looking over at Ron.

Ron stares at him in disbelief- and he’s not the only one. In fact, everyone but Luna is staring at Harry.

“Harry, there’s quite a lot to talk about there,” Percy says. “For one-”

“For one, he’s a werewolf named Remus Lupin,” George cuts in.

“How ironic is that?” Fred agrees.

“And I think his patronus is a wolf,” Ginny says. “Which is just-”

“Kind of sad,” Percy says, frowning.

For some reason, Padfoot lets out another one of those odd cut-off whines.

“Wait, he’s a werewolf?” Harry asks, blinking.

For the second time in as many minutes, he’s on the receiving end of five disbelieving stares. No, wait- six if Ron counts the dog, which he’s going to.

“Yes,” Luna says, although she’s not looking up from where she’s doodling over Ginny’s essay. “It’s extremely obvious.”

“Not to me,” Harry says, sounding put-out.

“Do we think Dumbledore knows?” Ginny asks.

The dog lets out a woof, which Ron thinks might be a yes, even though that doesn’t make sense. How would the dog even know?

“Yes,” Harry says.

“How would you- Harry, you didn’t even know he was a werewolf until ten seconds ago,” Percy says, looking tired.

“Just a feeling,” Harry says, shrugging. “Besides, didn’t he take the day off for the full moon? I’ll bet that’s part of his contract.”

There’s a moment of quiet.

“I mean,” George says. “I guess we’ll know for sure if he keeps skipping those days, right?”

“Why don’t we get the day off?” Fred asks, folding his arms.

“Because no one knows about our thing,” Percy says, in a tone that Ron thinks might mean ‘and no one better find out either or so help me’.

“Wait, does he know?” Ginny asks. “About our thing, I mean.”

Percy nods, but Ron cuts him off before he can say anything.

“I don’t think so,” Ron says, shaking his head. “He tried to have a private conversation with Harry while I was twenty feet away.”

Percy gets a perplexed look on his face. “But how can he possibly not know?”

Ron shrugs. “People see what they want to see. I’ll bet we wouldn’t have picked up on it if not for him being there for the dementor thing,” he says.

Percy shakes his head. “No way,” he says. “We’d know if there was another werewolf in the school.”

Fred, George, and Ginny all nod.

Ron thinks of Draco, and exchanges a brief look with Harry.

“Right,” Ron says.

“Makes sense to me,” Harry says.

Luna just sighs, shaking her head sadly. Ron wonders how that’s going- is she friends with Draco yet? He hopes so. Voldemort wouldn’t kill Draco’s family over him hanging out with some random Ravenclaw, right?

“Well,” Percy says. “Great. Anything else we need to talk about?”

“Yes,” Ron says, folding his arms. “We’re not done with Lupin.”

“What else is there to say?” Ginny asks.

“Well, for one, he doesn’t like Harry’s dog,” Ron says.

“None of us like dogs,” Fred points out. “That’s just him showing good taste.”

The dog lets out a huff, and Fred shoots an apologetic look at him. “Sorry. I don’t mean you specifically.”

Ron could point out that it’s weird that Fred feels it necessary to apologize to a dog, but they have bigger fish to fry.

“Also,” Ron says, trying and failing to keep the growl from his voice, “he was friends with Harry’s parents.”

This gets a reaction- and by reaction, Ron means that everyone goes still. The twins’ eyes flash amber. Ginny lets out a little growl.

“Hang on,” Harry says, looking around. “I don’t- that’s a good thing, right?”

“Where the hell was he?” Percy asks, over the growling emanating from his chest. Ron nods. Good- they’ve all caught on as quickly as he had.

“Twelve years,” Fred says, eyes narrowed. “Twelve years Harry was in there. In a cupboard.”

Padfoot whips his head over to Harry, who shrinks back in his chair, looking embarrassed. Ron wants to shake him a little bit, but he refrains.

Can’t Harry see that it’s not something to be ashamed of? Can’t he see that something horrible was done to him and he deserves people being angry about it on his behalf?

Ron knows the answer to that is no, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

“Well, let's go,” George says, going to stand up.

“Go where?” Harry asks, expression turning apprehensive.

“Go ask him where the hell he was,” George says, as though it’s obvious.

Padfoot goes to stand up too, looking for all the world like he’s going to follow George and do just that. Harry puts a hand on his scruff, and glares down at him. The dog, because he’s fucking weird, glares back.

“You are not doing that,” Harry says, half to George and half to the dog.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Fred asks, leaning back in his seat.

Harry glares at him, and says, “because he might be one of the only people left on the planet that can actually tell me stories about my parents, and I don’t want you scaring him off?”

Fred unfolds his arm, looking chagrined. Padfoot paws at his snout.

“Okay,” Percy says, nodding. “We won’t confront him- yet. But we are going to figure it out, Harry.”

“And he’d better have a damn good excuse,” Ron mutters.

The dog lets out a low growl that sounds like he might be in agreement.

Harry rolls his eyes, but sits back.

“Does that mean he was friends with Sirius Black, too?” Ginny asks suddenly. “Since Black was-” she cuts herself off, looking guilty.

Harry doesn’t look bothered, though- instead, he nods. “I reckon so- maybe I’ll get stories about him, too. That would be- um. Sad. For me. I mean.”

Ron stares down at the dog, who seems to have placed a paw on Harry’s knee halfway through that sentence. Then he looks up at Harry, who is now very obviously trying to look put out. It doesn’t work very well.

Well. That’s getting added to the list.

“Right,” Percy says finally. Then he clears his throat. “Well. Anyone else have any other orders of business?”

“Where do we think he’s transforming?” George asks suddenly.

“Huh,” Fred says. “Good question.”

“Harry, see if you can figure that out,” Percy says.

“Okay,” Harry says, then pauses. “Um, why?”

“So we can make sure he’s not hurting himself,” Percy says, matter-of-factly. “It’s not good for werewolves to transform alone, you know. Also, control your dog.”

Padfoot has started trying to jump up on Percy to lick his face, and Percy is holding him off with a single hand, at arm's length.

“Padfoot,” Harry says, a warning tone in his voice. Padfoot backs off, albeit seemingly reluctantly. “And yeah- I’ll see if I can figure it out.”

“Me too,” Luna says, a determined look on her face.

Although Ron gets the feeling that she’s less interested in helping the man out, and more interested in seeing if he’ll bite her.

Percy obviously is thinking along the same lines, because he points at her. “No,” he says.

Luna doesn’t bother responding.

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin breathes in through his nose and out again, slowly. He’s trying very hard to remain calm, but inside of his chest Moony is going absolutely insane. It feels like he has two hearts- one of which is beating very fast and very loud, and the other running in circles and screaming.

Remus is surprised his eyes haven’t shifted to become permanently amber, to be frank. Although- he should know better than to be surprised. He has plenty of practice with things like this, keeping calm in the face of… agitating scenarios. All that spying was good for something, apparently.

In front of him sits James’s son, who’s holding a mug of cocoa in his hands and looking out the window, distracted.

Harry. Just that would be enough to warrant this reaction from Moony, since the boy is (somehow) still a part of Remus’s pack, and up until the train ride, Remus hadn’t seen Harry in over a decade- Albus had made it very clear that Remus would do more harm than good, remaining in his life, and Remus had had no choice but to agree. He is a werewolf, after all.

And then there’s the matter of Padfoot.

Remus would like to tear the dog limb-from-limb. He would also settle for a quick stunner and alerting Albus or the nearest authorities. Instead, he has to sit here. Just. Sit here.

Maybe if he hadn’t taken that stupid unbreakable vow James had suggested, he’d be able to tell someone that Harry’s new dog is actually the man that all but murdered his parents. Unfortunately, that’s off the table- and unless Remus wants to be asked some very difficult and unanswerable questions, just straight up murdering the dog is equally off the table.

Not that even that would normally stop him- except apparently Sirius did some soul-searching while in Azkaban, and now, in a sorry attempt at reparations, is dedicating his time to protecting Harry. (And if the way he’d thrown himself at the dementor is any indication, Padfoot’s willing to lay down his own life in that pursuit.)

This is fine. Good, even, since Harry could apparently use the protection, what with Voldemort having returned and all- which is another thing Remus is having an ongoing panic attack about- but it doesn’t bring James or Lily back. And Padfoot has the audacity to refuse any name but the one James gave him?

It makes Remus want to throw up. It doesn’t help that Harry looks identical to his father at thirteen. It doesn’t help at all.

(A part of Remus wants to think that maybe, somehow, Sirius is… he doesn’t even know. Not a traitor, somehow- that this ‘protecting Harry business’ is simply because he’s Harry, James’s son.

But of course this feeling is nothing new- and completely irrational. In a moment of weakness several years ago, Remus had gone to look for the trial documents. And, of course, the trial confirmed it. Sirius is the traitor. There’s nothing Remus can do to change that.)

“Sir?” Harry asks, looking away from the window and back to Remus. This manages to startle Remus- he’s been on edge lately. For some reason.

“Yes? Sorry, I was lost in thought,” Remus says, trying and failing to get his heart (and Moony) to relax.

“That’s okay,” Harry says, smiling a big smile that makes him look even more like James. “I was just wondering- you said you were friends with my parents?”

Ha. Haaa. This is going to be miserable.

“Yes,” Remus says, lifting his own cup to take a sip. “Since our very first year of school. Although I admit, at least in the beginning, I was closer with your father. James.”

It’s true, but also has the added benefit of hurting Padfoot more.

Harry cocks his head. “That’s alright,” he says. “James is the one I’ve heard the least about.”

Interesting. So, did Harry go to someone who knew Lily? (Something inside Remus is yelling at him for not knowing this, not knowing where Harry’s been, but he ignores it. He’s just being selfish.)

“I see,” Remus says, forcing a soft smile. He’s hyper-aware of Padfoot, lying beside Harry, head resting on his paws. So far, the dog has let out maybe one sigh- but he’s probably tempering his reaction, so as not to give Remus the satisfaction.

Remus is planning on getting it anyway.

“James was- he was like a walking ray of sunshine,” Remus starts. “Not only that, but he was- he was so open-minded. He could- he had a bit of a vindictive streak to him, and didn’t always know where to draw certain lines, but he was-”

Turns out, after a decade of doing his best not to think about James at all, trying to tell his son about him is very, very difficult to do.

“He was an incredible person,” Remus finishes, albeit a bit lamely. Fortunately, Padfoot’s tail has gone tucked, and his ears pinned back. Good.

Harry is looking down at his cocoa, looking a little lost. Remus’s heart pangs- Harry never got to know James. Remus’s priority here should be helping Harry learn about his late father, not hurting Sirius. Even though Remus really, really, really wants to hurt Sirius.

Then Harry blinks, and looks back up at Remus.

“You said he was open-minded?” Harry asks.

Remus pauses, then nods. Where is Harry going with this?

“About what sorts of things?”

Padfoot looks up at Harry, leveling a flat stare at him. Harry either ignores this or doesn’t notice.

(Remus hates, hates that he still knows how to read the dog as easily as an open book.)

“Uh,” Remus says. How does he- what does he even say here? “All sorts- he was raised to be an heir to the Potter name, a pureblood lord. But he was always doing his best to learn about muggle culture, asking me and- and Peter, was his name, another of our friends-”

Padfoot lets out a low growl, and Remus is going for his wand before he can think about stopping himself. He thinks his eyes have probably gone amber again.

How dare he. How dare Padfoot growl at the mention of Pete, when it’s his fault he’s dead.

Then he forces himself to relax. Not the time. Remus will find his chance, and then he’ll take it, but for now- for now, he has to keep it together. For Harry.

Harry seems to have stuck his leg in front of Padfoot as though to shield him from Remus- but he’s not looking at Remus at all. Instead, he’s staring down at the dog. “Cut it out,” he says sternly. “Professor Lupin doesn’t like dogs, and you aren’t helping things.”

Padfoot won’t look at either of them, but he’s no longer growling either.

“Smart dog,” Remus says, trying his best to both make it sound like that’s extremely suspicious, and not at all a compliment. Harry doesn’t seem to catch on, unfortunately.

“Stubborn, though,” Harry says, staring at the thing with narrowed eyes. Padfoot has continued to not look at either of them.

“Hm,” Remus says. Stubborn is definitely one word for what Padfoot is.

Traitor is another, but sure. Stubborn is good too.

“So,” Harry says, looking back at Remus. “Just muggle things?”

For a second, Remus doesn’t know what Harry is talking about. And then he remembers that they had been talking about James.

“Or- um,” Harry continues. “Anything else? Like, uh- what did he think of Hagrid?”

Remus blinks, then finds himself actually smiling. Harry just looks so concerned- Hagrid must be a friend of his. Like father, like son.

“We all got along with Hagrid,” Remus says. “But if you’re asking if James was concerned with the fact that Hagrid is half giant, he wasn’t- not in the slightest. That was one thing you could always count on James being alright with. Creature rights.

“There was one time he tried to lobby for letting mermaids come to Hogwarts at twelve years old- nevermind the fact that they didn’t want a thing to do with him. And he was always trying to befriend the centaurs- he made surprisingly good headway, from what I heard. And, then, of course-”

Remus blinks, then comes back to himself, catching himself just in time.

Oh, that could have been bad. He’d been so lost in the memories, he’d almost given away the one thing he cannot afford to give away.

Remus is going to have to keep an eye on that- Moony considers Harry a part of the pack, which makes it extremely easy to forget that Harry doesn’t actually know Remus, doesn’t know about Moony.

Except- except, Harry is smiling hugely up at him. “That’s really, really good to hear,” Harry says, nodding.

Hm. Something- something about how Harry said that- wait. Does he know?

No. That’s impossible. He wouldn’t be here if he did, sitting and listening to stories- Padfoot there to protect him or not.

Although- he is the son of James Potter.

Remus shakes his head. There’s no way. He’s been too careful, and Harry has no reason to assume that Remus would be a werewolf. And if Remus wants to be able to stay on as a teacher, and keep Harry’s trust, he needs to keep it that way.

And keeping Harry’s trust is imperative, because otherwise Sirius might be able to get away for good- and that is not an option. Not after everything Sirius did.

Hopefully, with some luck, Padfoot will be forced to transform on the grounds of Hogwarts at some point, the dementors will be alerted instantly, and this nightmare will finally, finally be over- all without Remus having to lift a finger.

He’s not optimistic, though- which means Remus needs to get into a position that will allow him to catch Sirius out.

Remus will let Padfoot lie for now, as he has since the beginning of the school year, but not forever- Harry deserves better than that. James, Lily, Pete- all deserve better than that. Hell, Remus deserves better than that.

He just has to bide his time, and wait for his chance. That’s all.

Remus ignores the desperate, lonely howling of Moony deep in his chest- the howling that hasn’t stopped since he’d first seen Padfoot. The howling that should be furious snarling- the howling that is, instead, a desperate bid for Remus to grab Sirius up in his arms and never, ever let go.

Chapter Text

Severus tries and fails to keep his hands from shaking. He stares at them, scowling. Of course, this isn’t the biggest concern he’s got right now. For one, he’s bleeding pretty profusely from a couple gashes on his leg and arms and chest. For another, he’s just- sitting. On the floor. In the halls of Hogwarts.

Fortunately, he’s in the dungeons, and it’s after curfew. The chances of a student running into him is slim at best. But still- he needs to get up. Get to his quarters, where he has his supplies. He made it this far, surely he can make it another couple hundred feet?

Severus slowly moves himself into a better position in which to stand up from, grimacing. His occlumency shields are up as high as they can go, but that doesn’t do a thing for the pain. It just keeps him from being terrified out of his wits.

He’d anticipated being tortured, of course, but that doesn’t make it feel better. Returning to the Dark Lord was always going to be a painful affair- loyal follower or not, Severus hasn’t exactly spent the last twelve years working to bring him back.

(At least this means his position as a spy is safe- otherwise he’d be outright dead. Or still being tortured. Gruesomely.)

Severus manages to stand up, and then get halfway down the hall before he’s falling over again. He’s- damn. He’s lost too much blood (something he’ll have to remember to clean up later) and he’s just so shaky. His limbs aren’t cooperating how they should be.

Severus stares up at the ceiling blankly. His wand is in his hand. He just needs to cast a Patronus, and tell Albus or Poppy to come get him. Easy. This should be the easiest thing in the world.

The worst thing Severus’s father ever gave him was his pride.

Severus goes to raise his wand, bracing himself to lower his shields- and then he freezes. He’s abruptly aware of the fact that he is no longer alone. Severus turns his head, eyes narrowing at the shape approaching in the darkness. There is the quiet sound of evenly spaced clicking, and Severus closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose as he realizes what the shape is.

That dog- the one that’s Potter’s familiar. Ugh.

Potter’s been the topic of many an informal faculty meeting- mostly those between Albus, Severus, Poppy, and Minerva.

Severus had had to act surprised when Albus had informed the three of them that Harry would be staying with the Weasleys from here on out, as his relatives seemed to have vanished and the blood wards on his home had fallen- not to mention that Molly’s oldest had somehow managed to create wards that not even Albus could find a way through.

That, of everything, made Albus relent. Of course Severus had not been surprised that the Weasley’s had won that particular argument in the least- and he’d made a special note to avoid getting on Molly Weasley’s bad side.

On top of that, it turns out that Potter has managed to find a dog that seems hell-bent on protecting the boy. When Albus had told the faculty that, Severus had been at first relieved. Then he’d been annoyed, because he’d realized the dog would be accompanying Potter to class- and a Potions classroom is not the place for any animals, much less a dog. Fortunately, the dog is surprisingly well-behaved.

“Potter, if you’re here too- you better not be,” Severus warns.

Not his best work, but he’s running on fumes right now. There’s no response- and Severus also isn’t being suddenly fretted over by a thirteen year old idiot. Huh. Looks like the mutt is on his own, this time.

“Go away,” Severus says, looking the dog dead in the eye. “Back to the menace.”

The dog narrows his eyes at Severus, and Severus wonders idly if the dog is going to finish the job. He gets the oddest feeling that the thing doesn’t like him. His shields keep him from feeling any fear over the idea, at least.

Then something horrible occurs to him, and he can feel his shields crack as a trickle of fear flows in. He also catches a glimpse of everything he’s been repressing, and it’s- well, it's not good.

That’s not his concern right now, though. Right now, he’s going to try and have a conversation with a dog.

“Potter,” Severus says, trying and failing to sit up. “Is he alright?”

The dog stops in his tracks. Severus stares at him, and the dog stares back. Then, the dog lets out a quiet woof sound- that has Severus’s racing heart calming considerably. Potter is fine. Otherwise, his dog would be going berserk.

With that thought, Severus lays back down. He’s lost a lot of blood, and is feeling rather tired because of it. His eyelids feel heavy.

He hadn’t intended on falling asleep, but he must have- at least for a second- because suddenly the dog is right by him, nosing at his still shaking wand hand with a cold nose. Severus cracks an eye open, then tries to push the dog away. It doesn’t go.

“You’re as bad as Potter is,” Severus decides. The dog lets out another woof that makes Severus think the thing agrees.

Severus may or may not be a tad delusional. The dog noses his hand again, and Severus raises his shields again. He needs- he needs to focus. The shields are handy, but- well, he’s in real danger here, and the occlumency is keeping him from truly realizing that. He doesn’t feel afraid for himself- but he should.

Okay. What are his options?

Casting a Patronus is no longer on the table, since that would require dropping the shields- and at that point, Severus is going to be spending the next several minutes having a panic attack.

He has seen one person cast a Patronus while in the midst of a panic-attack, and Severus is no Albus Dumbledore.

Severus has already done the healing he can on himself, and it obviously didn’t do much. His healing potions and muggle first-aid are all in his chambers, which are still a fair distance away and have anti-summoning wards… all of which means he’s pretty much fucked.

Unless-

“You- you aren’t a retriever, are you?” Severus asks the dog.

The dog growls, and Severus closes his eyes. Apparently not. “Won’t happen again,” Seveus mutters.

The mutt stops growling.

“Well. Do tell Potter not to be too broken up about my death,” Severus continues.

The dog lets out a huffing sound.

“Don’t ask me why he cares,” Severus says, feeling suddenly defensive. (Delirious. One-hundred percent delirious.) “Heaven knows I don’t deserve it.”

And he really, truly doesn’t. All the potions tutoring, all the stories about Lily (not that he's managed to get through more than two or three)- none of it could ever make up for telling the Dark Lord about that prophecy. But Severus can try, at least. He owes it to Lily to try.

“He takes after his mother like that,” Severus continues.

Now the dog whines.

“Yes,” Severus agrees, letting his head fall back. “I feel similarly.”

Then his eyes snap open as he feels himself being pulled suddenly forward jerkily. He cranes his neck to make sure he’s understanding the situation correctly.

He is.

The dog has grabbed onto his uninjured leg and has started pulling him towards his chamber. Severus very, very briefly considers kicking the dog.

Then he remembers that he’s not an idiot, and also not planning on dying tonight. Instead, he lets the dog carry on.

They make surprisingly good time- and the dog stops right in front of Severus’s chambers, allowing him to press a hand to the entrance. This triggers the wards, and the door slides open.

The dog, having momentarily dropped Severus’s leg, paws at his nose as though he can’t believe he’s doing this, and then resumes pulling, until Severus is in the middle of the room. He’s bleeding all over the rug, but Severus thinks maybe he has bigger things to worry about.

Namely, getting some blood-replenishing potions into him before he passes out and then dies. Fortunately, now that he’s inside his chambers, the summoning spells work with no difficulty at all- and after a couple potions, he feels considerably less like he’s about to perish.

Severus manages to stand at this point, and looks over to the dog- who is currently sitting by the now closed door to Severus’s chambers, pawing at the stone wall so frantically that Severus wonders if the dog thinks Severus is going to kill him.

He is not. The dog just saved his life- and assuming Molly Weasley is telling the truth (and she has no reason not to, not when it comes to her children’s safety), Potter’s as well, countless times.

Plus, the Wolf doesn’t like him- which is hilarious. Who knew? Apparently, wolves and dogs are like oil and water.

Severus waves his hand, and the door slides back open. The dog is off like a shot, not sparing a single glance backwards. Hopefully he’s going back to Potter- that boy shouldn’t be left alone for any period of time.

Then Severus stops. Wait. Are all dogs like that? He can’t be sure (thanks to all the ‘being delusional’ he was doing), but he’s pretty sure that that had not been typical dog behavior. Except- this dog is a familiar.

Mrs. Norris is intelligent like that, and she’s a cat familiar- it stands to reason that dog familiars might have the same sort of intelligence. Besides, animals that turn into familiars tend to adapt to whatever it is their owners need- and Potter could absolutely benefit from a dog that’s inclined to saving people’s lives.

Yes- Severus is going to continue operating under the assumption that dog is normal. True or not, it's better for everyone that way.

Chapter Text

“Bill! We have a big one,” Max says, running into the room and waving a parchment around.

Bill looks up, blinking at his coworker. They’re practically vibrating in excitement- and that makes Bill’s heart start to beat much faster. Max is considerably more reserved than he is- so being this excited? It really is going to be a big one.

“Give it here,” Bill says, reaching out and snagging the parchment. Max lets him, bouncing on their feet as they wait for him to read through it.

Bill’s eyes grow wider and wider with every word. “No way,” he breathes, looking up at Max.

“Yes way,” Max says, grinning.

“But the goblins-”

“A million galleons,” Max interrupts.

Bill looks back down at the paper, heart still racing. He can hear it pounding in his head. A million galleons. That is a life-changing sum of money- and yet.

“This would be really difficult to pull off,” Bill says, rereading the details.

“Yeah,” Max nods, smiling.

“Have you checked with the others yet?”

Max shakes their head. “No- I wanted your opinion first.”

“What opinion is there to give?” Bill asks. “It’s a million galleons. I don’t think we can morally turn this down, anonymous or otherwise.”

Max’s smile flickers, and Bill realizes what this is, why they aren’t already storming Gringotts.

“Oh,” he says. “You want me to convince you this is moral.”

Max hesitates, then nods. “I know I dismissed you earlier, but- the goblins would be pretty pissed.”

“Well,” Bill starts, leaning back. He has to think about this. “I mean- there is a reason they have us hired on. To a certain extent, they are expecting us to try and pull something like this at some point.”

After all, Bill and his crew are literally freelance robbers- it would be downright idiotic of the goblins to expect that they wouldn’t be hired to go after a vault in Gringotts eventually.

“Would it be too much of a betrayal of trust?” Max asks, leaning against the wall.

Bill grimaces. “I mean- only if we get caught?”

Max stares at him, and then snorts. “You’re not very good at this.”

Bill shrugs. “Never said that I would be.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“A million galleons,” Max sighs.

“Yeah,” Bill agrees, then reads over the paper one more time. “Okay- here’s what we should do. Let’s get some research going, figure out what it is we’re stealing exactly, and from who. If we start to get a little grossed out, we drop the whole thing.”

Max hesitates, then nods. “Yeah- no, yeah. And it’s liberating, not stealing.”

“Right, sorry,” Bill says, waving them off. “Also, maybe let's keep it on the down low until we decide for sure.”

“Alright- consider yourself on the project,” Max says.

Bill smiles. “The goblins do like me the best,” he says.

“I still don’t know how you managed the ‘curse-breaker’ title when Tasnim was right there.”

Bill agrees wholeheartedly, but knows better than to say so- Tasnim would undoubtedly hear about it, and then she’d have a field day.

Speaking of having a field day, that’s sort of how Bill feels all of twenty-four hours later as he tears through the office, nearly running straight into Max.

“Woah,” Max says, raising an eyebrow. “No running in the office, remember.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill says, then waves a paper in their face. “Look- I figured out who we’d be stealing from.”

“Liberating from,” Max corrects, a bit reproachfully.

“The vault belongs to Bellatrix Lestrange,” Bill says, feeling a feral smile spread across his own face.

“Stealing it is,” Max says without missing a beat, before a smile spreads across their own face.

After that, it’s just a matter of telling the others- aside from Tasnim, they’re a bit leery about the whole Gringotts thing, but it doesn’t take much to convince them to go for it. A million galleons to steal from Bellatrix Lestrange?

Hell, Bill would steal from Lestrange for far less. He knows what she did to the Longbottoms.

One benefit that comes with working as closely with the goblins as they have is the fact that stealing from them becomes that much easier.

A part of Bill wonders if that’s on purpose. It might be a bit conceited, but he thinks maybe that the trust afforded to him and his teammates means that the goblins think that if they are stealing from Gringotts, they have a damn good reason.

It takes them a couple weeks to get ready- although, to be frank, Bill thinks they could’ve gone in with less preparation.

“Remember,” Max says as they slip gloves onto their hands, “if it’s goblin made, we need to give it straight to them- I don’t want us even leaving the building. They shouldn’t kill us for that- they wouldn’t even see it as robbing, at that point.”

Bill nods, and sees the others do the same.

“If it’s otherwise historically significant or belongs to a different culture, we give it back to them as soon as we clear it of curses. I know the letter says we’re to destroy it no matter what, but we have standards.”

Bill isn’t sure why Max is trying to convince them of this- it’s not like they need to. Stealing things from people and governments who’ve stolen things from the cultures they belong to is nearly ninety-percent of their job. It’s quite literally why they do what they do.

He says as much, and Max snorts. “I know,” they say. “I’m just nervous.”

“Ah,” Tasnim says, throwing an arm around Max’s shoulders. “Don’t be nervous- this is not going to be hard.”

“Not with you on our team,” Max agrees.

Faye mimes gagging, and Bill has to stifle a laugh. He doesn’t do a good enough job, apparently, because he’s suddenly on the receiving end of two venomous glares.

“Okay, let’s go,” Faye says, apparently getting fed up with waiting.

One Hour Later

Bill can’t help but let out a whoop as they all four rocket down the track, sparks flying behind them as they do.

“Max, you’ve been holding out on us!” Faye yells.

“Do you want us to get caught?” Max yells back, even though they look pretty pleased at the compliment.

All Bill cares about is that he gets to take one of these home to his dad- if anyone would appreciate a magic skateboard, it’s Arthur Weasley.

Another Hour Later

“Sh- hey, sh- yes, yes, here you go- have as many as you’d like-”

“We should send your brother a gift basket,” Max remarks as they watch Faye try and fail to get the excited opaleye to stop nosing into her pocket for more milkbones. “Who knew, right?”

“Nah, he’ll be pleased enough to hear that the goblins' attempt at rehabilitating the poor thing is going well,” Bill says.

“Please can we take her home with us?” Tasnim asks, turning to look at Max with stars in her big brown eyes.

“No,” Bill cuts in. Max is hopeless against Tasnim’s puppy-dog eyes.

Ten Minutes Later

“Got it,” Tasnim says, stepping back from the vault door- that’s now creaking open. She flicks the end of her hijab back over her shoulder as she does.

“Wow,” Max says, stars in their eyes.

This time Bill is the one faking the gagging. Max smacks him, and he lets out a laugh.

Twenty Minutes After That

“Ow, hot, ow,” Bill says, wading through the rapidly growing piles of gold and holding his prize high above his head.

“You good?” Max calls down from where they’re hanging from a rope, high above the burning treasure.

“Yep, just- ow- just peachy,” Bill calls back.

“Alright,” Max says. They don’t sound convinced.

“Why’d we bother with the rope if Bill was just going to run in?” Tasnim asks, spinning slowly in the air, suspended just like Max is.

“Because Bill wasn't supposed to just run in,” Faye says from where she’s standing by the other end of the rig.

“It was- ow- right there,” Bill says.

“You’re lucky there’s no silver in there,” Max says.

“I don’t know what- ow- you’re talking- ow- about,” Bill says, sniffing imperiously.

“Uh huh,” Max says.

“Um,” Tasnim says. “Mind- uh, getting us down, now?”

“Ow,” Bill mutters, under his breath.

Five Minutes Later

“I’m going to throw up,” Faye announces, before doubling over and beginning to retch.

“You weren’t touching it,” Bill says, staring at the innocuous little cup. His hands feel slimy.

“On the bright side,” Max says, albeit incredibly shakily, “the goblins are probably going to thank us when we take this to them.”

Tasnim doesn’t look up from where she’s burying her face into Max’s shoulder, she just nods.

Two Days Later

Bill pushes his chair back from his desk, groaning (the moon was last night, and it was a bad one). Ever since the horcrux’s discovery and subsequent destruction (fortunately, they managed to salvage the cup), something has been bothering him. He just can’t figure out what it is.

The others have been bothered too, thanks to the fact that they were all so close to the thing, but Bill doesn’t think that that’s it.

He presses his palms into his eyes, thinking hard. Bill feels like it’s important, is the problem. Something about the way the horcrux felt- it was nauseating, of course, but something else…

“Mail for you,” Max says, coming over and breaking him out of his reverie.

Bill holds a hand out without opening his eyes, and Max hands him the letters before leaving without another word. The office has been pretty quiet since the big job. They haven’t gotten paid yet, and it’s looking like it had been too good to be true after all- but Bill can’t bring himself to care. He’d have done that job for free, now that he knows what the job was.

He sighs, and then opens his eyes. He shuffles through the letters- there’s a hefty one from Gringotts, likely detailing their new contract (probably with more specific language in regards to them not robbing the place), one from Mum, one from Ginny, one from Harry-

Bill sits up boltright, heart pounding.

“Oh shit,” he says.

“No running!” Max calls out as he shoots past their office.

Bill doesn’t respond, and he certainly doesn’t slow down. After four years of doing this job, he’s gotten pretty good at feeling for certain magics. Especially curses. He does it without noticing, half the time- sort of like auto-pilot.

Harry is where he’s felt that kind of magic before. And knowing what he does about the horcrux ritual, and about the events of that night, twelve years ago (twelve years ago on the dot, now that he’s thinking about it)-

Yeah. ‘Shit’ is something of an understatement.

Chapter Text

Ron watches as Harry rubs at his scar furiously, teeth grit. He’s been doing that almost unconsciously more often than not after the thing with Bill- whatever that was. They won’t tell Ron- or any of the others.

As far as they know, Halloween night Bill showed up with Mum and Dad in tow, pulled Harry and Padfoot out of school for a couple days (Ron doesn’t know specifically when they got official custody of Harry, but he’s not complaining), and then sent him back with a newly healed over scar and, if Ron’s instincts are to be trusted, even more trauma.

He’s sure that the trauma wasn’t Bill or Mum or Dad’s fault, but still- Ron would like to know why his brother seems to be so off, and no one will tell him.

Padfoot noses at Harry’s hand, and Harry stops scratching at his forehead- although not before shooting a glare at the dog. For some reason, ever since the beginning of school, Harry seems to be somehow simultaneously less inclined to be patient with the thing, and more inclined to listen to him.

“Hey,” Ron says. “You good?”

“Yes,” Harry mutters.

“You don’t seem it,” Hermione puts in.

“We’re getting worried,” Neville agrees.

“Well, sorry if I’m not all roses and sunshine right now,” Harry snaps, then hops up off of his seat and stalks off without another word. Padfoot trails after him, although not before shooting what Ron could swear was an apologetic look at Hermione, Neville, and Ron.

The three look at each other, and then Hermione snaps her book closed. “We need to fix this,” she says.

“We can’t fix Harry,” Ron says.

“Yeah, ‘cause there’s nothing to be fixed,” Neville says, arms folded.

“That’s not what I meant,” Hermione says, frowning.

“What did you mean, then?” Ron asks. He feels a little indignant on behalf of Harry, but if Hermione actually has a plan, then- well, Hermione is one of the smartest people he knows.

“The Slytherins,” Hermione says. “I think that’s the main thing.”

There’s a moment of quiet. They’ve all been missing the Slytherins. Not Draco, because he’s a prick, but the others are alright.

Okay, maybe the others miss Draco, but Ron sure doesn’t. Not even when Draco hasn’t looked their way once the last two months.

“Yeah,” Neville says. “That sounds about right.”

“But we literally can’t interact with them without them being in serious danger,” Ron points out.

Hermione grimaces. “I know that,” she says.

“So what are you proposing?” Neville asks.

Hermione puffs her cheeks out, then blows out slowly. “We need to find a way to meet in secret.”

“We tried arguing that already, remember?” Ron points out. “We decided it would be too risky, regardless.”

“I have-” Hermione starts, then lets out a sigh. Her hand goes to her throat, for some reason. “I have one more possible option, as far as meeting in secret goes.”

“What is it?” Neville asks.

“I’ll- let's gather the Slytherins, I’ll tell you then.”

Ron narrows his eyes, but he trusts Hermione, so- waiting it is.

“What the fuck,” Pansy says, all of three hours later.

Harry isn’t here (last Ron had seen, he’d been deep in conversation with Luna about something), and neither are Draco or Greg or Vince- Pansy seems to be the sort of spokesman for the Slytherins. Ron wonders if it’s an official title. The Slytherins seem the type to do something like that.

“Why in the hell did they give this to you?” Pansy continues.

Ron would actually also very much like to know the answer to that. Seems a bit irresponsible, even if Hermione is one of the best and smartest people in the whole world.

Hermione shrugs, although she definitely looks smug. “Doesn’t matter. Is this going to work or not?”

Pansy stares down at the little golden charm, obviously thinking. Ron doesn’t know what there is to think about- meeting secretly back in time? No one is going to pick up on that.

The alibi is perfect- all they need to do is find somewhere no one will accidentally stumble on them. Maybe the twins will know somewhere- or Bill. Ron’s not opposed to writing to him to see if he has any useful wards lying around the place.

“I’m… hm. Maybe,” Pansy finally says, and Ron’s heart leaps. “I’ll check with Greg and Vince and- and Draco, but I’ll tell you right now not to get your hopes up.”

“They’re already out the roof,” Neville says, grinning.

Pansy smiles back, then scowls. Ron has to stifle a snort- Pansy likes to pretend she’s nasty, and she usually is, but Neville is really good at catching people off-guard. It’s fun to watch.

“I’ll get back to you soon,” Pansy finally says, then checks the time. “I have to go now, though- since not all of us can cheat.”

Hermione smiles widely at her, and Pansy rolls her eyes before hurrying away.

Sure enough, by the end of the day, they have their answer: if they can find a good enough meeting place, they can use the time turner to catch up with each other. Well- according to Pansy Draco didn’t actually say he’d be there for the long-haul, but he does want to talk to them. At least.

Hermione seems a little conflicted over using the time turner like this, but Ron doesn’t care- Harry is elated when he hears the news. He spends the rest of the night smiling as he looks over his Map (turns out the paper the twins had was a literal map of Hogwarts- which explains a lot). Harry also spends the night talking to his dog.

Harry’s always talked to Padfoot like he could understand him, and Ron doesn’t blame him- the dog has an uncanny way of seeming like he can do just that. But it’s gotten even worse over the last couple months.

“You know any good spots?” Harry is asking Padfoot. “And remember, if it’s not good enough Draco could die.”

Padfoot lets out a huff, but doesn’t respond other than that- considering the fact that he is literally a dog.

“And I get you probably don’t like him because of his dad,” Harry continues, “but he’s nice.”

Oh, the dog doesn’t like Draco? Good taste.

“I don’t like him either,” Ron puts in.

Harry starts, then looks guiltily up at Ron as though he’d forgotten Ron was there.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Ron says.

“S’okay,” Harry says, hand moving up to rub at his scar. Padfoot gently noses his hand back down. Ron hates to admit it, but he thinks the dog is growing on him.

“Are you worried for the game tomorrow?” Ron asks, deciding now is a good time to change the subject.

“I’m not,” Harry says, glaring down at the dog, who does somehow look worried.

Ron agrees with the dog- historically, the first game of the year tends to end… poorly.

Maybe it’ll be different this year?

All of twelve hours later, Ron is yelling at himself for even having that thought as the rain and wind buffeting him does its best to keep him from getting down to the pitch, where Harry is lying.

Why on earth did they even let him off the ground? The first game always ends badly.

Even if Harry is okay, Ron will never, ever, get the image of his tiny frame plummeting towards the ground.

By the time Ron gets to the pitch, Percy and the twins are already there- plus Professor Lupin, who’s staring at Harry with amber eyes. He’s shaking.

Percy is crouched over Harry, holding him close. The twins are hovering anxiously on either side of him, and Padfoot is licking desperately at Harry’s face.

“Is he okay?” Ron asks, yelling over the rain.

“He’s alive,” Percy confirms, although it sounds like he’s struggling to control his breathing. “But I don’t know if the dementors-”

Ron’s heart lurches right into his throat, and his wolf is pulled straight to the forefront of his consciousness.

“The dementors didn’t get him,” Lupin says, voice sounding hollow. Ron almost falls over, he’s so relieved. “They almost did, they could’ve- but Padfoot-”

He cuts himself off, and Padfoot whines as he continues to lick at Harry’s face.

“Your patronus helped,” George says, although his voice is trembling.

“Doesn’t quite make up for the last twelve years, but at least it’s a start,” Fred mutters.

Lupin gets a somewhat confused look on his face, but shakes it off. “Doesn’t matter- we need to get him to Pomfrey. I can take him-”

“No,” Percy snaps, standing up in one smooth motion, clutching Harry close to his chest. Harry’s head lolls, and Ron feels abruptly like throwing up. “We’ll take him. You figure out why there were dementors on school grounds.”

Lupin nods, closing his eyes. He’s growling, but so is Ron and Percy and the twins. It’s a growling sort of situation. “Yes. Yes, I will do that.”

With that, Percy begins to head for the Hospital Wing, Harry in tow. Ron and the twins aren’t far behind, and Ginny and Luna show up soon after. Hermione and Neville meet them at the wing.

“Bring him here,” Pomfrey says, gesturing to a bed.

“Is he going to be okay?” Ginny asks, voice wavering.

“Yes,” Pomfrey says. Ron’s knees almost buckle again, the relief is so strong. “But he needs rest. You need to leave.”

After that, there’s no arguing with her. Although- Ron supposes that, if rest is really what Harry needs, then who are they to go against her orders?

At least Padfoot gets to stay, although Pomfrey doesn’t seem too happy about it.

Ron lasts all of two hours before he’s trying to sneak back into the Hospital Wing. He feels a little guilty about borrowing the invisibility cloak without asking first, but if Harry didn’t want him using it, he shouldn’t have told Ron where he keeps it.

Ron is nearly there when he literally runs into Draco, who’s bolting in the other direction.

They fall to the floor in a heap of tangled half-invisible limbs, and it takes all of Ron’s strength not to give in to his wolf and lean into the fighting, go for the eyes- that sort of thing.

Honestly, Ron doesn’t know why his wolf hates Draco’s wolf so much, but it’s really putting a damper on the whole ‘we should try and be friends thing’.

“Let me in,” Draco hisses, before somehow managing to wrap the cloak over him as well. “And move, we need to get out of the middle of the hall-”

“Draco, what the hell?” Ron asks.

“Move, move,” Draco says, pushing Ron over to the wall. Then he pulls Ron to the ground, so the cloak is more than covering the two of them.

“Wh-” Ron tries again, only to get a hand shoved over his mouth.

Ron starts to growl, long and low. Draco starts growling too, but he’s not even looking at Ron. Instead, he’s fumbling with his wand, and then waving it around and muttering a quick incantation. It sounds like a rudimentary silencing charm, and as it settles over the two of them it feels especially shaky to Ron.

Which means they’re going to need to stay quiet for it to work at all.

Then Draco is peering down the hall, eyes so amber they look almost gold. He’s holding his breath.

Hang on- how is that fair? Draco’s eyes have started changing? Before his? Come on.

Ron blinks, shaking his head. Now is not the time- something is obviously really wrong if Draco’s eyes have changed that drastically- and the silencing charm doesn’t bode well. Ron realizes he’s started to hold his breath too.

Sure enough, the sound of someone walking leisurely down the hall begins to grow louder.

As it approaches, Draco gets more and more frozen- which doesn’t help Ron relax even one bit. He wants to ask Draco what’s going on, but he doesn’t dare risk it. Instead, he just watches- watches as an older looking gentleman walks right past them, smiling to himself as he tosses what seems to be a tiara of sorts between his hands.

The silencing charm obviously works, because he doesn’t even hesitate as he walks past Ron and Draco. Soon enough, he’s gone completely, and Draco lets out a long breath of relief.

Ron does not. Ron feels, in fact, like he may be made of ice.

Because that man had looked a hell of a lot like Draco.

Because that man was, without a doubt, a werewolf.

And, most of all, because that man had only one eye.

Chapter Text

Draco feels himself relax as the sounds of his Grandfather walking down the halls recede. He can’t be sure the old man hadn’t noticed them, but that’s a problem for another day. Instead, he turns to look at Ron-

Who is staring at Draco with bright golden eyes.

“Uh,” Draco starts, but before he can get anything else out, Ron is standing up, grabbing Draco by the lapels of his robe and hauling him into a nearby classroom.

It’s Saturday, so the classroom is empty, but Draco is less concerned with that and more concerned with grabbing Harry’s invisibility cloak so it doesn’t slip off of them and is then found by some random, incredibly lucky student.

Okay, so that’s not actually the only thing he’s concerned about here.

As they pass the threshold of the classroom, the door slams behind them without anyone touching it- and Draco’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t think Ron even noticed doing that- which means, golden eyes aside, the other boy is really, dangerously upset.

Draco is too much of a coward to murder anyone. Can the same be said for a Gryffindor?

“Ron,” he starts.

“Don’t call me that,” Ron snarls, shoving Draco up against a wall, hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

Oh, this is bad.

“Weasley, then,” Draco wheezes, trying to stay calm as he regains control of his breathing. Inside of his chest, his wolf is pressed as far back as it can go- looks like it’s just as unhappy with this turn of events as Draco is. Ugh. Ron can never know how afraid his wolf is of Ron’s.

The fact that Ron can probably smell his fear is not something Draco is going to think about right now.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip your throat out,” Ron growls.

Draco considers kicking the boy off of him, but he’s not- he doesn’t think he wants to start that fight. Draco is strong, but Ron- he lives on a farm, or something. Right? All those chores and rolling around in the mud with his feral sister have likely made him much stronger than Draco could hope to be, what with his much more dignified upbringing.

He is a Malfoy, and a Slytherin, and brute-forcing his way out of things is not how he was raised to act.

“Harry would be mad?” Draco tries.

Ron doesn’t let up- but he also doesn’t go for Draco’s throat, which was the goal. His eyes are still a burning amber color, though, so Draco still has work to do. First and foremost is trying to figure out what set the other boy off.

And there’s only one thing he can think of:

“Look,” Draco says. “I’m sorry for shoving you around, but-”

Ron’s eyes narrow, and Draco stops himself, swallowing down his words and also his heart, which has lurched into his throat at some point in the last ten minutes and has yet to find its place back in his chest.

Draco would like to keep arguing his case, but something about Ron’s expression makes Draco think that he should let Ron think things through. And also that maybe, possibly, he’d gotten it wrong.

“You mean that,” Ron says. “You really mean that.”

Draco nods. Yes- he definitely means that. He is sorry, since apparently it turned Ron from a usually surprisingly level-headed person to a madman.

Ron’s eyes bleed back into blue. Draco’s heart slows a bit at the sight.

“You have no idea why I’m so mad,” Ron says. It’s not a question, but Draco nods again anyway. So it wasn’t the shoving around- which means Draco definitely doesn’t know why Ron is upset.

Draco knows why he’s upset, since he’d just had a very close run-in with his Grandfather, and thought maybe that the man had been ready to- to kidnap him, or something, into being their bait in plan ‘two-adult-wizards-one-of-which-is-a-werewolf-try-to-kill-a-thirteen-year-old’, but he has no clue why Ron would be upset, if not because of the man-handling. Wolf-handling. Whatever.

(So far Draco hasn’t come up with a plan better than ‘avoid Harry at all cost’ to keep that from happening. Unfortunately, Harry is not helping- the other boy is spending pretty much every waking moment watching Draco with those stupid big sad green eyes, and it’s making Draco feel panicky. There is no doubt in his mind that the second Draco goes missing, Harry is going to be tearing after him- falling right into Voldemort’s hands.

Draco would tell Harry not to do that, but he knows for a fact that if Harry actually knows what’s going to be happening at some point, he’s going to be even more determined to follow Draco. Stupid idiot.

Draco had been hoping Hermione or Pansy or even Ron would be able to actually figure something out when they met using Hermione’s ridiculous time-travel device tonight, but he’s not sure that’s going to be happening anymore. Not now that Ron has apparently gone completely insane.)

Ron finally, finally steps back, letting Draco down. And down he goes- all the way to the floor. At some point, his legs seemed to have turned to jelly. Ron stares down at him for a moment, and then, with a huge sigh, sinks to the floor as well.

“So,” Draco says, trying not to sound too shaky as his heart begins to regain a normal pace within his chest, “what the hell?”

Ron is quiet for a long moment, obviously thinking through what he’s about to say. Then, he lets out another sigh.

“When my father was nineteen years old, he was attacked by a werewolf,” Ron says. “He had a silver pocket knife on him, and he managed to fight it off, but not before getting bit.”

Draco suddenly feels something he thought he would never, ever, in a million years: a burst of respect for Arthur Weasley. Draco’s seen werewolves after they’ve transformed, and fighting one off at all would be a massive undertaking- but fighting one off with nothing but a pocket knife, after being bit? Damn.

Draco also feels incredibly apprehensive, because he’s not an idiot, and has a pretty good idea as to where this story is headed. Sure enough, Ron then says:

“He got it in the eye.”

Damn it all to hell. Draco’s heart sinks. So that’s why Ron had been so upset. Draco can’t find it in himself to blame him.

“My grandfather-”

“I’m not done,” Ron says, eyes flashing again. Draco closes his mouth, but he’s furrowing his brow in thought.

How is that not the end of the story? The apprehensive feeling gets worse.

After all, Arthur Weasley isn’t the only werewolf in their family.

Ron takes a big breath, and looks down at his hands. “Six years ago, the one-eyed wolf came back,” Ron says.

Draco closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose. Of course he did.

“He got Percy,” Ron continues.

Of course he did.

“After that, we all decided to become werewolves ourselves,” Ron says, looking back up at Draco.

Oh good, so his grandfather hadn’t ruined all of their lives- just two of them.

Wait. Wait, Ron did what? At- six years ago, he said, so- he decided to become a werewolf at seven years old?

“Why?” Draco hears himself ask.

Ron looks at him like he’s daft. “Because we didn’t want Percy going through it alone?”

Draco could point out that Percy had his father, and probably mother too. But he doesn’t- because he’s too busy blinking away the unexpected and entirely unwanted tears that have suddenly filled his eyes.

Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to have someone like that in his life, a sibling that would sacrifice something like that just to give him a modicum of comfort.

Except- except, he does have that, doesn’t he?

Ron is doing that for him. It’s a little different, but- but he’s going way, way out of his way to get to the point where Draco doesn’t have to go it alone either. For no reason other than to be kind.

And now, even now, after he’s seen Draco’s grandfather and connected the dots- Ron is sitting here, explaining things to Draco instead of cutting him off completely.

All at once, something inside of Draco clicks, and the undercurrent of fear that always seems to be present when he spends time around Ron vanishes. Draco blinks in surprise, then looks up at Ron.

Ron is looking at him, confused. “What?”

“Nothing,” Draco says, looking away. Looks like that’s a one-sided development. That’s fine. “Nothing- keep talking.”

Ron looks at him a moment more, then shrugs. For a second, Draco hopes that that’ll be the last of his grandfather’s meddling with the Weasleys. He’s wrong.

“Remember that night in the forest?” Ron asks.

Draco can’t help it- he scoffs. Of course he remembers that night. Ron rolls his eyes, then says, “well, while you were off fighting You-Know-Who, I was trying not to get torn to shreds by the One-Eyed monster.”

Draco feels a chill run down his spine at the moniker. “He was- he was there?”

Ron nods.

“In the forest.”

Ron nods again.

“With Harry?”

Ron lets out an exasperated sigh, then mutters, “at least you didn’t know anything about it.”

“Obviously not,” Draco says, trying and failing to keep his breathing even. That could- if he’d- if Ron hadn’t- wasn’t Voldemort bad enough?

“Woah, mate,” Ron says, going to put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. He sounds worried. “You need to breathe.”

Draco is breathing. Too much, one might say. He brings his knees up to his ears and clutches the back of his neck with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut and his teeth together.

He’s distantly aware of Ron patting his back, a bit awkwardly. It doesn’t help much- not against the idea of his Grandfather coming across Harry as a wolf and tearing him apart, while Draco can do nothing but watch- but it does help. A little.

All at once, Draco is desperate to tell Ron about what happened that Christmas. Tale for a tale, and all that.

“He’s- the one- who turned me,” Draco gasps out. “He’s always- wanted to, he and- and Father.”

Well- more so that Father had been too weak to tell his own father no, but there’s not much of a distinction in Draco’s head.

The patting pauses, and then resumes.

“My- my mother- she did her best, stopping him- but she was called away, for business,” Draco continues, all the while taking great big breaths every other couple words. “And he- took advantage of the fact- got himself agitated enough to transform-”

After all, there’s no way in hell Narcissa Malfoy would have ever left Draco on a full-moon.

“The Elf didn’t, didn’t stop him, because-”

“It’s a legacy thing for you,” Ron cuts in, the sound of realization dawning in his voice. “Is that what it is? It’s important to your family.”

“Yes,” Draco manages, before taking in another shaky breath. The fear clawing up his throat and chest seems to be receding- although his jaw sort of hurts now, from clenching it so hard.

“Holy shit,” Ron breathes.

“Yes,” Draco says again, looking up at Ron- who seems rather pale-faced. Probably not as pale as he’d been the night Draco’s grandfather tried to murder him, of course, but pale nonetheless. At that thought, Draco’s head falls forward again, only he catches it in his hands.

“I cannot believe this,” Draco says.

Only- he can. He doesn’t know why Grandfather went after Arthur Weasley that night, but he does know that after losing an eye to the man, his Grandfather wouldn’t stop until revenge was had.

Only, Draco thought the adage was ‘an eye for an eye’, not an eye for a son. Or two. Or, now that Harry is on the menu thanks to Voldemort, three.

No- Abraxas wouldn’t stop there, either. He’s likely not going to rest until he’s taken everything from Arthur Weasley.

Draco thinks he might throw up.

“What was he doing here?” Ron asks.

“I don’t know,” Draco says into his hands. “I thought he might be here for me, but-”

But apparently, he’d been here for a crown. Or something.

“Wait, why would he be after you?”

Draco looks up at Ron, and something in his expression must show how terrified he’s feeling, how terrified he’s felt this whole year, because Ron pales again, and his hand comes up as though to grasp Draco’s shoulder again. He holds himself back, though.

“Because the Dark Lord is living in my house,” Draco says. “Because the Dark Lord knows I care about Harry. Because- because the Dark Lord knows that Harry cares about me back.”

Ron’s eyes widen in horror. Draco grimaces. At least the other boy is quick on the uptake- quicker than Draco had been.

“I don’t know how, or when, but they’re going to be going after Harry- and they’re going to be using me as bait,” Draco says.

“And Harry would walk right in, eyes wide open,” Ron says in a hushed voice. “He wouldn’t even blink.”

“You have to help me figure out how to stop him from doing that,” Draco says, feeling desperate.

Something in Ron’s eyes harden, and he stares at Draco with cold blue eyes. Draco feels his stomach flip- he hadn’t thought he’d be able to convince Harry to abandon him, but Ron might be able to- doubly so if he manages to get his siblings in on it.

It’s just- the idea of that sort of makes Draco want to die, is the problem.

Although if that’s what it takes to keep Harry safe- Draco is in. One-hundred percent.

Except that’s not what Ron says. Ron says nothing of the sort. Instead, he says:

“You’re not going back there.”

Draco blinks. What?

“It’s time you meet my siblings,” Ron says, firmly. “For real.”

What is he talking about? That doesn’t- Ron just doesn’t understand, that’s all.

“I don’t think you-” Draco starts.

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Ron says, pointing menacingly at Draco. “You’re in danger- and for some reason, you think I’m just going to stand by and let that lie? Well, I’m not. None of us are. That isn’t what friends do, Draco.”

Oh. Maybe- maybe his wolf finally coming to terms with Ron’s hadn’t been a one-sided development after all.

Chapter Text

Ron half walks, half pulls Draco through the halls, intent on making it to the library as soon as possible. To say there have been developments is something of an understatement, and it’s time for Percy to call another family meeting.

“I’m not so sure-” Draco starts, but Ron silences him with a glare. Tough luck, Draco. Ron’s wolf finally accepts Draco’s as a friend, and Ron’s going to make that everyone’s problem.

Of course, it had taken finding out that Draco’s grandfather of all people is the one who’s trying to make the Weasley’s life a living hell, and then a heart-to-heart, but it is what it is.

A teeny, tiny part of Ron wonders if he should be telling Percy the identity of the wolf who’d turned him with said wolf’s grandson sitting right there.

Every other part of him squashes that thought immediately. This is most definitely, one-hundred-percent without-a-doubt, a family thing.

Fortunately, there are only so many places Percy would be- and the Library is an especially safe bet, since Harry is currently in the Hospital Wing and Percy tends to deal with worry by throwing himself into his studies.

Sure enough, Percy is at their warded table already, pouring over three books simultaneously.

“Percy,” Ron says, pulling up short. Behind him, Draco finally manages to wrench himself free from Ron’s iron-grip on his wrist. He scowls at Ron, but doesn’t run, so Ron doesn’t grab him again.

Percy looks up at Ron, blinking. “Yes?”

Then his gaze catches on Draco, and his eyes narrow. Draco seems suddenly incapable of looking anywhere but off and to the right. Ron rolls his eyes.

“Family meeting?” Percy asks.

Ron nods.

Percy sighs, and then, with a flick of his wrist, shoots his wand out of its holster. His brow furrows in concentration, and he swishes his wand in a circular motion, before saying, “expecto patronum.”

Draco is no longer looking off and to the side- now he, like Ron, is staring, wide-eyed at the stream of silver mist flowing from Percy’s wand, coalescing into a shining peacock shape.

“Fred- family meeting in the library. Get Ginny and Luna as well. George too, obviously.”

The peacock levels a flat stare at Percy (who returns it in kind), and then dissipates- presumably to deliver its message.

“You can cast a Patronus?” Draco asks, sounding incredibly impressed.

He’s so impressed, apparently, that he’s seemed to have forgotten that Percy still thinks Ron and Draco are enemies. Not that that’s something they’re going to have to keep up for much longer, of course.

(Ron’s siblings know Harry and Draco are friends, of course, but apparently they’d assumed Ron and Draco were just putting up with each other for Harry’s sake. Which was, of course, not entirely incorrect- until all of twenty minutes ago.)

Percy looks at him oddly, then nods. “Obviously,” he says.

“How?” Draco asks, leaning unconsciously forward.

Percy goes from looking confused to smug. “I asked Professor Lupin for pointers, and he was happy to oblige.”

Yeah, that sounds about right- Ron hadn’t wanted to like the Professor, but he is a very competent teacher. Not only that, he’s fun. Nearly everyone loves him.

Although, now Ron has a more pressing question.

“Where was that during the Quidditch game?” Ron asks, folding his arms and resolutely pushing the image of Harry falling out of his mind’s eye.

“Could you have cast a patronus during that?” Percy asks, glaring.

“Wait,” Draco says, looking between the two of them. “What happened during the Quidditch game?”

Ron and Percy turn to look at him as one. Ron feels his stomach swoop- Draco doesn’t know? Uh oh.

“Dementors,” Percy says, as though Draco might be stupid.

Draco goes very still and very pale, and then whirls on Ron. “Is-”

Ron nods quickly, and Draco relaxes considerably- eyes fading back into their usual silver color. “He’s sleeping it off in the Hospital Wing,” Ron adds.

“Okay,” Draco says, closing his eyes. “Okay.”

“Alright,” Percy says, shutting his book and placing his hands flat on the table. Ron guesses that that had been one inexplicable thing too much for him. “What exactly is Malfoy doing here?”

“Er,” Ron says. “That- that’s a part of why we need to have a family meeting.”

A big part, actually. Most of the part, even.

Percy’s eyes are narrowed again, but he doesn’t press it- when there’s an issue to be discussed in a family meeting, it needs to wait until everyone is there. That’s the rules. Unofficial rules, but rules nonetheless.

Draco shrinks under Percy’s considering stare, looking uncharacteristically unsure. Ron frowns. This isn’t like him- usually he responds to things like this with a smarmy facade. Then Ron’s frown fades as he realizes that Draco must actually want Percy and the others to like him. Aw, how- like Harry. Hm. Maybe they are good for each other.

Then something else occurs to Ron- something that would have had him feeling nauseated just a couple hours prior, but now has him nearly bursting into laughter here and now.

His siblings had better get over any apprehension they have towards Draco, and quick- because something tells Ron that Draco’s going to be an actual part of the family someday, whether anyone likes it or not.

Percy opens his mouth to say something, when the unmistakable sound of Ginny and Luna crashing through the library filters in through the wards- followed by the sound of the twins, also managing to crash.

Percy cringes, and Ron has to stifle another laugh. It’s not their fault that they can’t seamlessly blend into their auditory environments like Percy can.

Sure enough, after just a moment more, the Weasley siblings sans Harry are gathered around the table. Ron goes to sit as well, pulling a stiff Draco Malfoy into the seat next to him- and making sure Luna is the one on Draco’s other side.

Just because this is definitely a family matter doesn’t mean Ron is an idiot- he needs to make sure Draco isn’t in a prime position to be mauled to death by four angry werewolves before Ron can finish explaining things.

It had clearly been a good judgment call on his part, because the second Draco sits down, Luna snatches his hand and starts to play with it- and Draco seems to relax. Ron smiles to himself. He’d known introducing the two of them had been a good idea.

“What’s Malfoy doing here?” Ginny asks, looking at the boy with furrowed brows. She doesn't seem angry, just confused. The twins seem to be feeling similarly.

“Ron?” Percy asks.

“Well,” Ron says, then licks his suddenly dry lips. Hoo boy- this is going to be interesting. Where to start, though? The beginning, probably.

“So, Draco has secretly been mine and Harry’s friend since the end of first year,” Ron says.

“We knew that,” Fred says, folding his arms.

“Well, not the ‘since first year’ thing,” George counters.

“And not that you were his friend too,” Fred amends.

“So really you didn’t know anything at all basically,” Ginny says.

Fred and George level twin glares at her, and she shrugs. Ron decides it’s time to move this on- by answering the question he’s sure everyone has.

“This is because Draco decked the Dark Lord in the face to keep him from hurting Harry.”

Draco buries his face in his free hand as everyone turns to look at him as one. Ron feels a smile spread across his face- it’s not often he gets the chance to say a sentence as good as that.

“Excuse me?” Percy asks, blinking. He looks completely taken aback. “Malfoy, is this true?”

“I didn’t deck him,” Draco mutters. “I- it was more of a scratch.”

“Scratch,” Fred says, voice flat.

“Uh. Several. Several scratches,” Draco says.

Privately, Ron cheers- he hasn’t been able to get Draco to elaborate on how exactly he’d chased the Dark Lord off, and now he has.

“And why, exactly, did you do that?” Percy asks, folding his arms.

Ron frowns to himself. Of course Percy would assume Draco had some kind of agenda- Ron can hardly blame him for that- but still.

“Well,” Draco says. Then he stops. Then he looks at Ron helplessly.

“You want me to tell them?” Ron asks. Seriously?

“Yes please,” Draco whispers.

Ron blinks. He’s not sure he likes this unsure version of Draco- and the sooner they can get this over with the sooner Draco can go back to normal. Which means if he’s the one that has to explain everything, then that’s just going to be how it is.

“Draco is a werewolf,” Luna remarks. “And Harry is a part of his pack.”

Ah, damn, Luna beat him to it. Oh well.

Draco lets out a huge sigh.

The twins are staring at Draco with matching stunned expressions. Ginny is blinking rapidly, like she’s trying and failing to compute what Luna had just said.

“Not now, Luna,” Percy says, looking at Ron. Then- “Hang on, what?”

Draco manages a shrug. He looks miserable- more like a wet cat than a werewolf.

“How long? Where have you been transforming?” Percy asks, looking like he’s not quite sure if he should believe them.

“Since first year,” Draco mutters. “And the dungeons.”

Percy’s face goes a bit pale, and he swallows. The twins look equally queasy, and Ginny is full-on frowning.

“You should have said something,” she informs Ron. “We could have stopped this forever ago.”

“He didn’t want it spread around,” Ron protests, despite the spike of guilt he feels. “And until an hour ago, my wolf hated his. We wouldn’t have been able to transform together anyways.”

“We still could have figured something out,” Percy says, shaking his head. “We would have figured something out.”

Draco is looking a bit overwhelmed at this point, so Ron decides to move this along. It’ll probably get worse before it gets better, and he thinks they shouldn’t draw it out any longer than they have to.

“How did Malfoy get turned?” Fred asks, cocking his head and segueing perfectly into the next point of concern. “It wasn’t- there’s no way it was one of us.”

“That’s the other thing,” Ron says, then hesitates. “Um, before I say this next bit, just remember that Draco was turned against his will and also that he had no idea and also that you can’t choose your family and that Harry quite likes him and-”

Percy has gone very, very still. His eyes are golden as he stares at Draco. Draco shrinks even further back into his seat, pulling his hand from Luna’s.

“Ron,” Percy says. “Please spit it out.”

Ron gets the feeling Percy might know where this is going. With that thought in mind, he pushes through the apprehension that’s rising steadily in his gut and says, “so, it turns out that Draco’s grandfather has just, uh, just the one eye.”

The library goes dead silent.

“Oh, is that all?” George asks, breaking the silence. He lets out a little strained laugh. “I was getting worried it was something bad-”

Fred elbows him, and he goes quiet. Percy’s eyes are completely closed, and he’s clearly struggling to keep his breathing even. His hands are gripping so tightly to the table that Ron wouldn’t be surprised to find brand new finger-shaped indents in the polished wood.

Draco seems seconds from bolting, and Ron slowly reaches a hand out, snagging it on Draco’s sleeve. Running would be a monumentally bad idea. One does not run from a werewolf. Not when they’re this agitated.

“Hm,” Percy finally says, shoulders relaxing and eyes snapping open. His eyes are thankfully back to their usual blue color. “I see.”

Draco blinks at him for a moment. “You- is that all you have to say?” He asks, sounding, for the first time, a bit like himself.

Unfortunately, now is really not the time.

“No,” Percy says, slowly as though talking to a child. “I have rather a lot to say about this. However, seeing as- according to Ron- none of this is your fault, I thought I would refrain until I can think about it without having to keep myself from ripping someone’s head off.”

Ron forces himself to breathe in, and then out. It’s a damn good thing Percy has the level of control he does over his wolf- since apparently he’s scarier than Bill.

“Right,” Draco croaks. He looks as frozen solid as Ron feels. “Understood.”

“Any other order of business we need to discuss?” Percy asks lightly.

Yes, but Ron isn’t about to bring up the Voldemort thing now. Then Percy really might lose it, and that’s not something Ron is going to risk.

Luna raises her hand, demonstrating that she is by far the bravest person sitting at this table. She seems to have pulled a little notebook out of her bag, and is tapping a pen against it.

Percy inclines his head at her.

“Me and Harry have agreed on a month-long vow of silence in protest of the treatment of Dabberblimps, starting the twenty-ninth,” she says. “Would anyone like to join? I’ll take your names down now.”

Ron blinks at her. The others look similarly taken-aback- even Ginny seems caught-off guard. This is a little out there, even for Luna. A month? Really? How did she get Harry to agree to that?

“I think we’re probably going to sit this one out,” Percy finally says.

Luna hums, then puts her notebook away, looking for all the world like it’s their loss.

Chapter Text

“You didn’t bring up the Dark Lord,” Draco accuses Ron in a hushed whisper.

It’s been all of ten minutes since the family meeting ended, and now they’re sneaking back to the Hospital Wing- since Draco heard about the game, he’d insisted on using the invisibility cloak to visit Harry, and make sure he’s okay. Obviously Ron wasn’t about to let him go on his own, so now here they are.

Ron looks at him, wondering if he might be crazy. Draco stares back, unabashed. “Did you miss the part where Percy almost killed someone?”

Draco narrows his eyes. “Did you miss the part where the Dark Lord really will kill Harry?”

Ron accidentally-on-purpose stomps on Draco’s foot, and Draco yelps and skips away as far as the cloak allows him.

“I’m obviously worried about that,” Ron says, ignoring the truly vicious glare being shot his way. “But trust me- we wouldn’t have gotten anywhere provoking Percy any more than we already did. Well- we might have had a transformed werewolf in the Library, but beyond that, I mean.”

Draco is quiet for a moment as they walk.

“My Grandfather really hurt your family,” Draco says. “Didn’t he.”

Ron doesn’t say anything. It wasn’t a question anyways. Let Draco draw his own conclusions there.

They make it to the Hospital Wing not long after that. Ron opens the door as quietly as he can, with the intention of slipping in without opening the door very much at all, but all of a sudden Draco is pushing past him, pulling the cloak off of Ron as he does.

“Malfoy,” Ron hisses. “What gives?”

“Ron?” Harry asks, blinking. He goes to sit up- he’d clearly been sleeping. His hair is all over the place- and there are deep bags under his eyes. His glasses are nowhere to be seen.

“Harry!” Ron says, feeling a smile spread across his face despite himself. His wolf calms a bit, seeing his brother safe and whole and awake. “You’re okay!”

“I’m- oof,” Harry says, suddenly being pressed back into the bed. “Um,” he says. “Hello?”

Padfoot, who’d been curled up at the foot of his bed, lets out a snort- Ron thinks his easy attitude may be why Harry is looking just confused, and not afraid.

“You stupid idiot,” Draco says, from where (Ron assumes) he’s hugging Harry- or tackling him. One of the two. “Dementors?”

“Draco!” Harry yells, and then instantly looks chagrined. “I mean- Draco!”

The last ‘Draco’ is considerably quieter. More of a whisper than anything. Then Harry wraps his arms around where Ron assumes Draco is, still wrapped in the cloak. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Ron rolls his eyes as he walks over to the two of them, but privately he’s feeling pleased. Harry looks delighted, and suddenly much less… drained. It’s been months since he’s been able to interact with Draco, and it’s absolutely been weighing on him.

Harry sits like that for a moment, embracing the invisible boy, and then he seems to push Draco off of him, looking confused. (It’s sort of surreal to watch- like Harry’s suddenly become a master at pantomiming.)

“Why are you in here? I thought you couldn’t risk-”

“I can’t,” Draco agrees, sounding grumpy. “But then you went and almost got eaten by a dementor-”

“Pretty sure there was more than one,” Ron mutters.

“How many?” Draco asks.

Harry seems suddenly very interested in his hands.

“Harry,” Draco says. Ron isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe the other boy is growling a bit.

“Lots,” Harry admits.

“Oh Merlin,” Draco says. It sounds like he’s maybe burying his face in his hands.

“Right. Well. My question stands,” Harry says, folding his arms.

“You didn’t really ask a question,” Ron points out. He holds his hands up in what he hopes is a placating gesture as Harry rounds on him, eyes narrowed.

Actually, Harry still isn’t wearing his glasses. He might just be squinting.

“Why are you here?”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay,” Draco mutters.

Harry gets a smile on his face, that’s quickly replaced with an impatient frown. “That’s not worth risking you-”

“God, see? This is exactly the attitude that’s going to get you-”

Draco cuts himself off, but it’s too late. Ron groans. Harry’s eyes are definitely narrowed now.

“Going to what?” Harry asks.

Draco doesn’t say anything. Neither does Ron. The unspoken ‘killed’ hangs in the air between them.

“Going to what?” Harry asks again, reaching a hand out and clasping it on what is likely Draco’s upper arm- that or his shoulder. Padfoot lets out a little growl, and Ron shoots a glare at the thing. The dog, as he is wont to do, glares back.

Fucking dogs.

“When do you get out of here?” Ron asks, instead of answering Harry’s question.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harry says. “But-”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, then,” Ron decides. “All of us- Hermione, Nev, the Slytherins- answer your question then.”

Harry purses his lips, but the burst of energy that he’d seemed to get from seeing Draco seems to be wearing off, and quick. “Okay,” he says.

“In the meanwhile, we’ll let you sleep,” Ron continues.

Harry’s pursed lips turn into a frown, but he releases Draco- who, by the sound of it, slides off the bed just as reluctantly as Harry had let go of him.

“Tomorrow, though,” Harry warns.

“Yep,” Ron says.

Later that night, Ron surveys his friends, feeling pleased with himself. He’d managed to get the twins to tell him about one of Bill’s warded areas. It’s just an abandoned classroom, nothing fancy- except for the ridiculous privacy and repelling wards stuck on it. Ron wouldn’t have found it himself, not in a million years. It’s perfect for meeting with the Slytherins.

“Why are we meeting without Harry?” Pansy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought it’s ‘cause he’s in the hospital wing till tomorrow,” Vince says.

“He is that,” Neville agrees.

“Why aren’t we waiting, I mean,” Pansy says, rolling her eyes.

“Because he’s an idiot that can’t go one second without someone or something trying to kill him,” Draco says. “Including his own reckless attitude, after he hears about this. And I wanted a chance to talk to you guys about it first- we can tell Harry all about it tomorrow.”

“About what?” Hermione asks, narrowing her eyes at Ron.

Ron shakes his head quickly. “I swear I didn’t keep anything from you this time. It was all Draco.”

Hermione’s eyes go even more narrowed, and then she turns her steely glare on Draco, who sniffs imperiously.

“I don’t regret a thing,” he says.

“You will when I get through with you,” Hermione warns.

Ron believes it. Draco, by the look of it, does too. He seems to wilt a bit in his seat before rallying.

“Well,” he says. “The Dark Lord is back to being a massive pain.”

“We knew that,” Greg says. Ron snorts- he’d had no idea that the Slytherins were as put-out about the whole Voldemort thing as they are, but he supposes it makes sense. Although, a part of him wonders how much of that is due to them being friends- or if they’d have felt at least a little inconvenienced either way. He hopes so, because then maybe the other children of Death Eaters do too- it’s comforting to think that even the most indoctrinated of kids know that the return of a genocidal maniac isn’t ideal for anyone.

“Yeah, but now Draco is telling us specifics,” Vince says. “Right?”

“Finally,” Pansy says. “Are you done ignoring us too?”

Draco grimaces.

“Hang on,” Neville says, brow furrowed. “He’s been ignoring you?”

Pansy, Vince, and Greg all nod, glaring at Draco.

Ron decides to take pity on the other boy. “Guys. You-Know-Who knows Draco cares about Harry. He didn’t want you dragged into that with him.”

Everyone goes quiet. Draco looks a bit vindicated, but mostly he looks ill. Ron can’t especially blame him. It’s not exactly a comforting thought, not by a long shot.

“Because of the forest, right?” Neville finally asks.

Draco just looks down at his hands. Ron nods for him.

“How come you aren’t dead, then?” Hermione asks. She’s folding her arms, but there’s also concern dancing behind her eyes. “We’d figured that you’d managed to convince him otherwise, or something- and that you needed to maintain that facade.”

“Yeah,” Pansy agrees, brow furrowed.

“When we heard that he was living at your house, we’d thought you were a dead man,” Greg puts in. Vince smacks his arm, and Greg glares at the other boy. “I didn’t say I was happy about it!”

“We were all very broken up about it,” Pansy agrees. She sounds like, without a doubt, the least sincere person in the world. Despite this, Ron believes her- and would go so far as to say she’s probably under-selling it.

“He knows Harry cares about Draco too,” Ron says, deciding it’s time to move this along.

“Oh god,” Hermione says, hand shooting up to her mouth.

“Oh Merlin,” Neville says, simultaneously. He reaches a hand out to steady himself on Vince, who’s gone ashen.

“Oh, wonderful,” Pansy says. “Harry is going to get himself killed.”

Ron loves his friends, they’re all just so smart and capable. Speaking of capable-

“So how do we stop him from doing that?” Ron asks.

“You could ask me,” Harry says grumpily.

Neville catapults himself into Vince, who’s fallen into Greg. Draco startles so badly he just about falls over. Pansy and Hermione both have their wands out and leveled straight at where Harry is sitting between Neville and Padfoot.

Ron almost draws his wand too. Instead of doing that, he clutches his heart, willing it to slow down. It doesn’t work.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“Does it matter?” Harry asks, glaring.

Ron thinks so, since not only are they in an incredibly securely warded area, two of them are werewolves. They should absolutely have heard Harry and the dog coming- even if Ron didn’t still have Harry’s cloak.

“Yes,” he says.

Harry looks put out, but he says, “I saw you guys meeting on the Map and took a secret passage here.”

The Map thing tracks, but…

“I have also maybe been taking lessons from Percy,” Harry continues.

Yep. There it is. Leave it to Harry to convince Percy to try and teach him something Percy himself has claimed is ‘instinct more than anything’. Damn it all.

“There’s really a passage leading straight here?” Ron manages to ask, instead of swearing at the very concept of Percy.

“I can’t believe you guys were meeting without me!” Harry says, turning to the others after shooting Ron a look that clearly means, ‘obviously’.

“You were in the Hospital Wing,” Neville tries to point out.

“Yeah, till tomorrow morning. Would it have killed you to wait?”

“Might have killed you,” Pansy says, glaring.

Harry returns her glare steadily. Pansy doesn’t back down. Ron decides it might be time to cut in.

“Fine. We’re sorry. What did you hear?”

Harry turns to look at him, although he’s still scowling. “That Voldemort is going to kidnap Draco because he knows Draco cares about me and that I care about him.”

Ron notices that, despite everything, Draco’s face goes a little pink.

“That does just about sum it up,” Hermione says, inclining her head.

“Anyways, I actually have a foolproof plan to get Draco to safety if he gets kidnapped. Bet that makes you feel bad for not waiting, huh?” Harry says, raising his eyebrow.

Ron sighs. He’s almost positive this foolproof plan is going to end terribly, simply because he knows what Harry’s plans look like, and foolproof is not a word he would use to describe them. Foolhardy, maybe. Reckless, definitely.

“The plan,” Pansy says, as less of a question and more of a demand.

“Hermione has access to a literal time machine,” Harry says. “What do you think the plan is?”

Oh- hang on.

“That’s not bad,” Hermione says, looking as impressed as Ron feels. Neville nods, looking thoughtful.

Harry lets out a huff. “Yes,” he says. “I know.”

“Needs some workshopping, though,” Pansy decides.

Draco sits for a moment, then says, “Yeah, but regardless of anything- you still need to promise not to run after me yourself.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “And why not?”

Draco lets out a miserable groan and buries his face in his hands. Ron feels similarly.

“Because you’ll get yourself killed,” Pansy says flatly.

“Are you sure the hat considered you for Slytherin?” Vince asks. Harry shoots him a glare, and he shrugs. Then Harry turns back to Pansy, going from indignant to confused.

“Why would I get myself killed because of that?” Harry asks.

Everyone in the room stares at him in disbelief- dog included.

“Potter,” Draco says. “Voldemort is trying to kill you.”

Harry opens his mouth, and then shuts it. Then he says, “okay, but. Time machine.”

Padfoot lowers his head to the floor and puts his paws over his nose, looking exactly as despairing as Ron feels.

Chapter Text

It’s been two days since the quidditch incident. Which means Percy has had two days to come to terms with the whole ‘we know who the One-Eyed Monster is and it’s Draco’s granddad’ thing. Ron isn’t sure that’s going to be enough time for Percy to be in the right headspace to receive the information on the Dark Lord and his whole master plan to kill Harry- but it’s going to have to be, because every day they go without calling another family meeting is another day that both Draco and Harry are in danger.

“Hey Percy,” Ron says, standing in the library and holding tight to Draco’s arm. Draco is glaring at him, but he’s not fighting it. It’s actually very reminiscent of the scene just two days ago- only this time, Harry is on Draco’s other side, pressed up against him. On second thought, that might be why Draco isn’t fighting to get away from Ron’s grip- he’d have to risk giving up proximity to Harry.

Percy looks up from his books, expression going from bemused to just tired. “Again?” He asks. “What is it this time?”

“Uh,” Ron says.

“I thought the whole family needed to be here before we talk about it,” Harry puts in.

Percy narrows his eyes at Harry, and Harry just shrugs. Then Percy rubs his temples. “Okay,” he says. “But you need to get the others. I’m not doing it.”

“It’s somewhat time-sensitive,” Draco says, although he sounds a bit unsure.

“Fucking of course it is,” Percy mutters, half-under his breath. “Because nothing could be easy, with you people. Go to the table, Ginny is already there. It’s her turn.” The last bit is spoken in a more normal tone of voice, although Ron isn’t sure why Percy bothered- even Harry probably heard the muttering.

Harry nods, though, and goes to tug Draco towards the warded table. Ron follows, walking besides Padfoot. His stomach is turning uncomfortably. Seems like he’d been right- Percy is obviously still having something of a hard time of it. Great. Just… great.

“Think Bill warded it so that if one of us transformed at the table it would keep an angry werewolf in?” Ron asks the dog half-heartedly.

The dog is a dog, and so he doesn’t answer besides a snuffle-y sort of sound, and a side-eye.

It makes Ron feel a little better anyways.

“Hey Gin,” Harry says, as they come up to the table.

Ginny looks up, scowling. “My turn,” she says. “Get lost.”

Luna nods, although she doesn’t look up from the… whatever it is they’re doing. Building a miniature version of Hogwarts out of… paper and toothpicks? Ron can’t be sure, but he’d bet that’s what they’re doing- and so far it looks to scale, even. One of the papers, half torn, looks like it might be a discarded charms essay. In fact, most of the paper seems to be of that nature.

“Family meeting,” Ron says, then gestures to the homework. “You should probably hide that for when Percy comes by.”

“Eh, it’s not mine,” Ginny says, following his gaze.

“People give Ginny their homework for when they want it to disappear,” Luna agrees.

“And I make it disappear,” she says.

“...okay,” Ron says.

The twins arrive shortly after that, and of course Percy manages to appear at the table without anyone noticing. Which reminds Ron-

“You’re teaching Harry how to be quiet?” He asks, pointing at Percy. “How is that fair?”

Percy stares at Ron in disbelief. “That’s what this is about? That?”

“No,” Ron says, folding his arms and scowling. “I just want to know.”

Percy stares at him for a moment more, than sniffs. “For your information, Harry is rather naturally talented at it. Also, I thought he could use the ability to get in and out of things unnoticed- what with him being a natural magnet for trouble, and everything. Bill agreed to help me in this endeavor.”

Ron doesn’t even want to know what that means.

“Speaking of,” Draco cuts in. “Everyone’s here now, right? Can we- can we talk about the real reason we’re gathered here?”

Everyone turns to Ron, and he has to suppress a groan.

Why is it always him that needs to explain things?

“Old Voldie is going to be trying to kidnap Draco at some point so that I run after him,” Harry says, completely unperturbed.

Every single person at the table, sans Luna, starts growling, eyes bleeding amber.

Right. Right, that’s why.

“Gin, your eyes,” Harry says, sounding impressed. “I didn’t know they did that yet!”

Ginny blinks, eyes going back to blue, then looks over at Luna. “Really?”

Luna lets out a little sigh, then says, “yes. It’s very flattering.”

Ginny goes a little pink, and Ron rolls his eyes. Although- huh. Luna usually reacts with a little more… envy, when it comes to werewolf things. Maybe she’s finally gotten over it?

“What,” Percy growls, eyes still flashing.

Oh. Yeah. The Voldemort thing.

“We have a plan already,” Harry says, quickly. His hand goes to his neck unconsciously, touching the charm Hermione had lent him. “But we thought you should know anyways.”

“Tell us,” Percy says. “The plan.”

Ron swallows down some of the dread rising into his throat. Percy really, really wasn’t in the headspace for this. Oh boy.

“It’s sort of a work-in-progress,” Ron says.

Hermione, Pansy, and the others had done their best, but they hadn’t really managed anything further than ‘Harry has a time-turner and gets help with it’ before they’d called it a night- although Hermione had promised to do a bunch of research on the thing, just in case she finds anything useful.

“You’re not telling us the plan,” Fred says, frowning. “Tell us the plan.”

Ron sighs. But he’s not going to let Harry do it, since he’s apparently just the worst at explaining things. So he launches into an explanation.

Except, he only gets as far as; “Hermione has a time-turner,” before the table has burst into chaos. It’s so loud that Ron reflexively looks around for Madam Pince, before remembering the silencing wards.

“A time what?” Ginny asks, a gleam in her eyes that seems altogether too bright for Ron’s comfort.

“I want to see,” Luna says.

“Where do we get a time-turner?” Fred asks.

“Is that legal?” George asks.

“Obviously, it’s a ministry program,” Draco says.

Percy is the only one not speaking- but that’s because his head is buried in his hands. Padfoot walks over, nosing his arm with his nose. This, at least, gets Percy to look up. Blessedly, his eyes are blue.

“Keep talking,” he says.

His voice is quiet, but it silences the others at the table just the same.

Ron nods, then says, “right. Hermione has a time-turner- only now, I guess, Harry has it.”

“Give it to me,” Luna cuts in, staring straight at Harry.

“No,” Ron says, pointing at her.

“Absolutely not,” Harry says, hands going to his neck again.

“Luna,” Percy says, a warning note in his tone. Luna slumps back, looking for all the world like the most petulant child in existence. But she isn’t fighting it, so Ron decides to count his blessings.

“Can I please finish talking?” Ron asks.

“Yes,” Percy says, looking at the others with an expression that, to Ron, says, ‘don’t any one of you dare interrupt again.’

“Harry has it now. We figure that, when the Dark Lord, er, kidnaps Draco, he’ll be pretty quick to gloat about it to Harry, so we aren’t too worried about Draco having to let us know.”

Besides Ron, Draco looks down at his hands and swallows. Harry scoots his chair over, to be closer to the other boy.

“I don’t know if I love that,” George says. “What if they hurt Draco?”

Ron grimaces. He feels similarly- but what else are they supposed to do?

“I don’t think they will,” Draco says, although he won’t meet anyone’s eyes. (Ron doesn’t know if that’s because he’s nervous, or because he’s lying.) “My grandfather is in on it, and- um. I’m still named his heir, so.”

Ron braves a look at Percy, who simply inclines his head, then gestures for Ron to keep talking. So he does: “anyways. The point is, once Harry gets word from, uh, You-Know-Who, we figure he’ll be on something of a time-limit to get to Draco before, uh, consequences.”

“I thought you said they wouldn’t hurt you,” Ginny accuses.

“Not… badly,” Draco says. “They won’t kill me. Probably.”

The table goes quiet. Ron has to take a couple steadying breaths, keeping his wolf under tight wraps. They all know that ‘not badly’ means ‘not fatally’. Probably, according to Draco.

“But it won’t get to that,” Harry says, jaw set. “Because I’ll have plenty of time. I’ll go back a couple of hours and get some help.”

“And then what?” Percy asks. His eyes are still blue, but Ron thinks they might be on the verge of going amber again. “What do you think that’s going to do?”

Another long moment of silence. Ron hadn’t really thought of that- mostly he’d just been relieved that Harry wasn’t going to go after Draco alone.

“If you don’t come after me at all, I’ll probably be alright,” Draco tries. “I’m- I can handle pain.”

“Why not have Draco have the time-turner?” Fred asks, ignoring Draco- just like everyone else at the table seems intent on doing. Honestly- he’s almost as bad as Harry.

“We thought of that,” Ron says, because they had. “But- do we really want them getting their hands on-”

“Good point, good point,” Fred says, cutting in. “Yeah, scratch that.”

“He could go back when he sees them coming,” Ginny tries.

“I won’t see them coming,” Draco says.

“You and Percy are really good at ruining a mood,” George says, after yet another moment of silence.

“What the hell sort of mood do you think we have running here?” Fred asks, turning to look at his twin. “Because I’ll let you in on it- the mood is somber, George. It’s all somber.”

George scowls, but clearly doesn’t have a response.

“Should we just tell mum?” Ginny asks.

Percy sighs. “I just don’t know what she could do- it would be different if it were just Harry. But Draco… we can’t just bring the Malfoy heir to our house. They’d crush us.”

“So Draco is getting kidnapped,” Fred clarifies.

Ron doesn’t want to admit it, but he thinks Fred is right. He can’t really see a way around that- Voldemort has too much power over Draco, over Lord Malfoy. From how Draco was telling it… yeah. Draco’s getting kidnapped.

“Well, then. The goal is to get him un-kidnapped,” Harry says. “Presumably the… however Voldemort tells me to come get him will have details, right? Surely getting help would do something.”

Yeah it would- it would keep Harry from running in alone, is what it would do.

“Here’s the plan,” Percy says, effectively hijacking the whole conversation, taking over for Ron. (Ron isn’t bothered, though- no, if anything he’s relieved.) “Draco is kidnapped, and the second Harry learns about it, he goes back in time. You go straight to Dumbledore- he can come with you under that cloak of yours. He’s powerful, he can hide himself. Then, when you two arrive, Dumbledore will be able to fight while you get Draco and run.”

Ron sits there, reeling. He… he hates that.

“I hate that,” Draco says, face looking three shades paler than usual.

“Yes,” Percy says, before taking a deep breath. His hands are on the table, and they’re shaking. “Yes, I also hate that. This is- this is not a good situation.”

“I won’t just get Dumbledore,” Harry decides. “I’ll get Remus, and you, and Snape, and I’ll have Padfoot-”

“And me,” Luna adds.

“And Luna,” Harry agrees.

“No,” the entire table choruses.

“Why don’t we just tell Dumbledore right now?” Ginny asks after Luna is done slumping even further back into her chair and Harry has finished scowling.

“Ha,” Draco scoffs. “Yeah- I thought of that forever ago. The problem is that, as much as we call this kidnapping-”

“It isn’t,” Ron realizes. “Oh. Right.”

“Yeah-” Draco says, laughing bitterly. “Legally, Dumbledore can’t do anything. Not until Harry is the one in danger.”

Ron stares down at the table, feeling miserable. This is- it’s just not fair. Why is Voldemort so obsessed? It doesn’t make sense.

“We’ll be okay,” Harry says. His expression is grim, but determined. “I know it.”

Ron just isn’t so sure.

Chapter Text

“So,” Harry says, eyes tracking something just outside the window. “Do you think you could teach me how to do a Patronus?”

Remus blinks. Then he blinks again. Harry is still looking out the window, and he’s fiddling with his hands- he must think Remus is going to tell him no.

“I can certainly try,” Remus agrees.

Harry is looking straight at him, hope shining in his eyes and a huge smile on his face. “Really?” He asks.

Remus feels a smile spread across his own face. “Really,” he says.

As if he’d tell a student no when they ask him for help in furthering their education. As if he’d tell the son of James Potter, Harry “Dementor Magnet” Potter, no. Besides the boy, Padfoot sneezes. He clearly agrees with Remus on that one.

Remus tears his attention away from Padfoot for now. And also for the foreseeable future. Ever since Padfoot had literally bitten a dementor to keep Harry from getting his soul sucked out… yes. It is clear that Harry needs Padfoot around. Remus wants to hurt Padfoot, hurt Sirius, but- he can’t risk chasing him off. Not yet. Not with Voldemort back.

But he can’t bring himself to play nice, either. So ignoring the dog it is.

“Do you know anything about the spell?” Remus asks, setting his teacup down.

Harry nods excitedly. “Yeah! It’s like- uh, the most important part is having a happy enough thought.”

Remus feels another smile spread across his face. “Yes! Good. Do you know the wand movement?”

They spend the next twenty minutes working on polishing up Harry’s technique. He picks things up fast- of course he does, he’s the son of two of the smartest people Remus knew. By the time the twenty minutes are up, Harry is executing the motion flawlessly nearly every time.

“I’m really impressed,” Remus says, sitting back. “Although, you are one of my best Defense students, so-”

“Really?” Harry asks, perking up.

Well, it could just be that Remus is incredibly biased, since the wolf that lives permanently inside of his chest considers Harry a part of his family- but yes. Really. Harry is a talented kid.

Remus laughs, but he nods too. “Maybe don’t spread that around,” he says.

“I won’t,” Harry promises.

Padfoot lets out a little woof, and both Harry and Remus look down at him- although Remus looks away again immediately, pushing away any and all emotions to do with Padfoot or Sirius far, far away.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Right. Uh, I gotta get going.”

It is getting a bit late, Remus supposes.

“Very well,” Remus says. “Think about some happy memories you think might work- we’ll give the actual spell a shot next time.”

Harry nods, then stands up. “Okay. Thank you!”

“Goodbye, Harry,” Remus says, smiling.

Harry rushes off, Padfoot trailing behind him like a second shadow. Remus watches them go, feeling abruptly more hollow than he’s ever felt before. Inside of his chest, Moony whines.

It’s the day before Winter Break (and a week until the next full moon) when Remus decides it’s time to bite the bullet and teach the one third-year lesson he’s been dreading all year. He really, really doesn’t want to, but it’s important for these kids to know about this topic- and Remus isn’t about to trust anyone but himself with this one.

Which is why he’s now standing in front of a classroom filled with Gryffindor and Slytherin third-years, trying to look completely at ease with his hands in his pockets as he’s standing in front of a chalkboard that will, by the end of class, be filled with effective ways to kill him.

“Werewolves,” Remus says to the gathered students. “What are they?”

Everyone knows what a werewolf is, but Remus wants to get a baseline so he knows what he needs to clarify for them. Except-

Not a single hand is raised. The students are either looking down at their books, looking around the room, or in some cases, staring straight at Remus- something like, possibly, concern dancing behind their eyes- except that doesn’t make any sense.

Finally, Ron Weasley raises his hand. Remus nods at him, feeling relieved. For a moment there, he’d thought somehow no one knew what a werewolf was, and that’s- not possible.

“Er,” Ron says, before looking around. Nearly everyone is looking at him with narrowed eyes. He blinks, then seems to rally. “A werewolf is, um, someone who transforms into a wolf on the full moon.”

Remus nods in what he hopes is an encouraging way. “Somewhat simplified explanation, but yes- that is the gist of it. Anyone else?”

He’d thought at least Miss Granger would know. Or Draco Malfoy, who is one of the students staring resolutely at his own hands. Harry looks a little like he’d like to raise his hand, but as far as Remus knows, he’s still got a week on his little ‘silent protest’ he’s doing with Luna Lovegood.

(Remus finds it really sweet that Harry is doing this for his friend. He also, for some reason, gets an intense bout of deja-vu whenever he thinks about it, but he can’t for the life of him figure out why. That, and he hasn’t actually spared much thought to it- he has enough to worry about this year.)

Finally someone else raises their hand- Lavender Brown.

“Miss Brown?” Remus says.

The Gryffindor lowers her hand. Her expression is steely. “I just don’t get why this lesson is necessary. Aren’t we supposed to be learning about creatures this year? Werewolves aren’t creatures, they’re people.”

Around her, the other students are nodding in agreement- with the exception of Malfoy, who is looking in surprise at Brown; Ron Weasley, who is also looking towards Brown but with narrowed eyes; and Harry, who is grinning right at Remus (for some reason).

Padfoot is looking towards the Gryffindor girl and wagging his tail, but that’s- Remus is not thinking about that. Remus loves- loved, Sirius, at one time, but James had always been Remus’s staunchest defender, and Sirius took James away, so- no. Nope.

Remus himself is at a bit off a loss for words. “I-” he starts.

“They are technically considered beasts,” another student pipes up, a Slytherin (Daphne Greengrass), “but I think I speak for just about everyone when I say that’s stupid as hell, pardon the language. They’re beings, plain and simple.”

A couple students, mostly Gryffindors, had been glaring at her- but now they’re all nodding along, and even looking relieved.

“I-” Remus starts again. Why is- what is happening?

“What even is the point of this lesson? To watch out for wolves during a full moon?” Mandy Brocklehurst asks, scowling.

Remus manages a nod. Brocklehurst lets out an actual scoff, and Remus blinks. This is completely out of character behavior for- well, Brocklehurst, but also for everyone else.

“Great,” Parvati Patil adds, arms folded. “Good to know. Will do. Are we moving on now?”

“The syllabus-” Remus tries, then clears his throat. “The syllabus requires we go through, um, specific measures of Defense. Against werewolves.”

This causes something of a stir. Most of the students are frowning, and a couple even mutter things like, “fuckin’ school board,” and “completely ridiculous”.

“Like, how to kill them?” asks Tracey Davis, raising her hand. She looks a little queasy.

“Well,” Remus says.

“This is bull,” Dean Thomas interrupts. “Let’s just get what’s-her-face in here, learn about dabberblimps.”

“Hey, yeah,” Millicent Bulstrode says, nodding. “I like her!”

Theodore Nott snorts from where he’s reading his book.

Thomas looks briefly surprised, then returns her smile. Remus, at this point, feels as though he has completely lost the plot. He’s sure he looks absolutely baffled.

At least he isn’t alone- Malfoy and Weasley look similarly. Although Malfoy doesn’t just look confused, he also is beginning to look a little frustrated. And then, all at once, it clearly becomes too much for him.

“Werewolves are dangerous,” Malfoy snaps, putting his hands palm-down on his desk. “They could hurt you. You people should- you should know how to protect yourself!”

Remus nearly draws his wand on instinct- that’s how quickly everyone in the room is suddenly turned to look at Malfoy, most of which are glaring daggers at him. He manages not to, but only just. Malfoy is suddenly shrinking in his seat, and Remus feels a sharp stab of pity for the boy.

“Of course you’d think that, Malfoy,” Seamus Finnegan says.

Remus only sees what happens next because he’s constantly keeping half of an eye on Padfoot at all times (despite his resolve to ignore the dog).

Harry actually goes to draw his wand on Finnegan. But Padfoot- he puts a paw on Harry’s hand, keeping it below the desk. Harry looks down at Padfoot, a glint in his eye that has Remus thinking very suddenly of Lily- Harry is not happy, and he is not joking. Padfoot must catch on, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he lets out a little warning growl.

Before that can escalate any further, though, Weasley says, “shove off, Seamus- it’s not like he’s wrong.”

“Okay, I personally think we shouldn’t let Weasley, Professor Lupin, or Draco say anything about werewolves,” Blaise Zabini says, leaning back in his chair. “What does everyone else say?”

“Hear hear,” Vincent Crabbe mutters.

“I’ll toast to that,” Gregory Goyle says, lifting his quill. Parkinson, on the other hand, looks suddenly down at her desk, seemingly deep in thought.

“What is happening,” Malfoy says, so quietly that Remus only just catches it.

“No clue,” is what it sounds like Weasley says, but it would have been impossible for the other boy to hear Malfoy, so clearly Remus is mistaken.

“Silver will do the trick,” Weasley says, turning back to face Remus. “So will the killing curse.”

Remus turns around and writes that down, seizing the opportunity for some normalcy. Honestly, what is going on? What happened between these kids and werewolves?

And why does it seem like they’re trying to defend werewolves?

“Very good,” Remus says. “Two points-”

“No,” Neville Longbottom says. Not only is it the first time he’s spoken out of turn in class, but his voice rings out crystal clear and it is icy cold- so much so it nearly has Remus dropping the chalk. “Don’t you dare give points for that.”

Remus closes his open mouth, then finds himself nodding.

Longbottom firmly nods once in return. His jaw is set and his eyes are bright, and for a second all Remus can see is Alice. Weasley turns again to look at the other boy, brows furrowed.

Meanwhile Harry is looking incredibly triumphant, and not for the first time Remus wonders if Harry knows about his… thing…

Hang on. Does… is… does everyone know? Is that why they’re all so- so weird about this?

No. No, that’s not possible, because they wouldn’t be responding like this. They’d be responding with fear. Remus needs to remember that. It has to be something else.

“It’s dangerous,” Malfoy tries again. “It’s- it’s okay to be scared of something dangerous, you know.”

He doesn’t sound scared, though. He just sounds resigned. Remus only has a second to think about why that might be when there’s suddenly a loud gasping sound coming from Parkinson. The girl is staring straight at Malfoy, eyes wide. Malfoy is matching her gaze, eyes somehow even wider and face much, much paler.

“You-” Parkinson starts, before she’s suddenly being hauled out of her seat by none other than Hermione Granger.

Remus is so stunned he doesn’t say anything as the two girls hurry out of the room, one being pulled by the other. As they go, Hermione is saying something like, “we are going to go find somewhere else for you to have this revelation.”

Crabbe and Goyle exchange a look, before they too are hurrying off. Again Remus doesn’t say anything- but this time it’s because he’s had a horrible thought.

This whole affair has been inexplicable. Even if he does allow for the possible, slightest chance that these students know about him and are, for some reason, trying to defend him instead of turning on him, it still only explains about half of what’s happened.

(Why are they so adamant that he doesn’t teach against killing a werewolf when he clearly wants them to know? Why do Malfoy and Weasley seem as confused as he is? And what revelation was Parkinson having?)

There’s only one thing he can think of to explain any of it.

Something so terrible, so unthinkable, that he almost shuts the thought out all the way, not giving it the time of day. Except, except… Remus can’t stop the thought from spinning and spinning around in his head.

What if one of his students is a werewolf too?

Remus feels himself turn unbidden to look at Draco Malfoy, who is still staring at where the others have exited. The classroom is dead quiet, and Weasley and Harry are looking at the boy with expressions of open concern, but none of that is what Remus is worried about right now. What he’s worried about is the fact that Malfoy’s back is straight as a rod, he’s pale as a ghost- and his eyes are burning gold.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Draco feels frozen and there seems to be some sort of high-pitched ringing in his ears, which is why he almost doesn’t hear it when Professor Lupin clears his throat once, twice- three times.

“Class dismissed,” Professor Lupin finally croaks out.

The class clears in an instant, suspiciously quiet. Draco thinks about going too, but- what’s the point? His life is over. He may as well die in this very spot. At least then Voldemort wouldn’t have his bartering chip.

“Harry, Mister Weasely,” Professor Lupin starts, obviously about to ask them to leave as well.

Harry shakes his head, expression stormy.

Draco is sure Harry’d have plenty to say, if not for that stupid bet he’s got going on with Draco’s cousin. (They told everyone it’s a protest, but Draco is almost certain it’s a bet, and one day he’ll get them to tell him the stakes.)

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ron agrees, folding his arms.

Something in Draco relaxes, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Then, of course, he can’t figure out a way to inhale again- but he’s sure he’ll get there.

Suddenly, there’s something cold nosing at his hand, and he takes a reflexive breath in. Draco looks down at the dog, feeling a spike of indignation cut through all the panic that’s making him light-headed, making his wolf feel like it’s about to bolt or lash out.

Draco ignores that for now.

“I probably could,” Draco starts, then takes another lungfull in, “have gotten there on my own.”

The dog lets out a snort. Apparently he doesn’t believe Draco. Ugh. Dogs.

Professor Lupin hasn’t stopped looking at Draco, not since he’d dismissed class- but Draco doesn’t think he’s seeing him. Draco isn’t sure he’s seeing at all- and his face has gone rather gray, making the scars stand out even more. His eyes, too- they’re golden. But Draco doesn’t feel like he’s in any danger.

Well. Not in any danger from Lupin, in any case. He does think he might be in rather a lot of danger from everyone that had been in that class, though, assuming they’d all seen what Lupin had. And, once they let the proverbial wolf out of the bag, a great deal more people than even that.

“Hang on,” Ron says, sitting up. “Hang on, this is going to be a family thing. I’m- Harry, one of us needs to get Percy.”

Draco tears his eyes away from the old man to look over at his friends. Harry and Ron are looking at each other, seemingly having a silent argument.

Finally, Harry looks down at Padfoot and jerks his head towards the door.

Padfoot sneezes, gives one last look at Draco (Draco must be going insane because that had looked worried, somehow), and then bounds off, nosing the door open as he goes.

Alright, so maybe Draco doesn’t mind that dog.

“Okay, the others will be here soon,” Ron says, looking at Draco. “Just- hang in until then. Okay?”

Draco doesn’t know what Ron is talking about. He’s doing just fine, thank you.

Although- okay, so he wouldn’t necessarily mind if the others were here. (Even the thought has his wolf relaxing, and his breathing coming the tiniest bit easier.)

Draco’s attended all of the Weasley’s ‘family meetings’ since the day of the Quidditch game, and… well. They. Hm.

Suffice it to say that, should Draco ever claim the title of Lord Malfoy, the blood feud is officially over. Forever. In fact, he thinks he might even owe them. No, scratch that- he definitely does.

He hasn’t gotten the chance to transform with them, not yet, but they’re working tirelessly to make sure it’ll be safe for Draco when they do.

Between the warm fuzzy feelings (gross) he gets when he thinks about what the Weasley family is doing for him, and being able to interact with Harry and the others again (there’s not much of a point in hiding from them anymore)- well, the last month hasn’t been too bad.

Until now, of course.

“Family thing,” Lupin repeats, then blinks. “No, hang on, Mister Weasley and Harry- you really need to go. I won’t-”

“This is a family thing, Professor,” Ron says, folding his arms. “And I know it’s your first family meeting, so just so you know- we wait for the rest of the family to show up before we discuss anything.”

Lupin stares at Ron, who just raises his eyebrow. Draco is somewhat impressed- to say that Lupin seems like he might be having a hard time keeping it together would be an understatement, and Ron doesn’t even flinch. Although Draco doesn’t know why he’s surprised, the other boy is really very level-headed.

Finally Lupin breaks eye contact, and looks back at Draco. An expression flashes across his face- it’s too quick to know for sure, but if Draco had to say, he’d say it was something like ‘insurmountable grief’.

That thought makes him feel very- something, so he elects not to think about it at all. He has enough on his plate.

“Mister Malfoy, do you want them to stay?”

Draco finds himself nodding before the Professor even finishes his sentence. “Yes,” he gasps out (he may have forgotten to breathe again. So sue him.) “They stay.”

Another flash of something that might be grief (or panic), but then Lupin nods. “Very well.”

Then the door slams open, and there’s Percy standing in the doorway, eyes flashing dangerously. “Where’s Harry- Harry,” he says, relaxing significantly as his gaze catches on the other boy. Harry gives a wave. Padfoot comes slipping in besides Percy, tail wagging as he settles back into his spot at Harry’s feet.

“Thank Merlin,” Percy says. “When Padfoot showed up without you I’d thought- what’s going on? Draco, are you alright?”

Percy had caught sight of Draco. The older boy’s reaction isn’t exactly unwarranted- Draco can admit to himself that he probably doesn’t look… exactly at ease, right now. In fact, he’d be surprised if his eyes were anywhere near their usual gray color right now. The problem is he can’t get himself to move. It feels a little like he’s turned into stone. The events of the last half hour or so just keep slamming into him, and his wolf is becoming really very frantic.

Percy’s gaze goes from Draco up to Lupin, and then the chalkboard beyond. His eyes narrow. “They were having you teach the werewolf lesson,” he says. It’s not a question.

“It’s in the syllabus,” Lupin protests weakly. Padfoot growls, and Lupin’s eyes glance down to him. Another flash of grief.

What is this guy’s deal? He needs- he needs- a nap, or something. A blanket, maybe. Some soup. Why is he so tired-looking?

Ah, damn it all. Stupid being-a-werewolf thing. Draco hates this. How big can someone’s pack even be? First his Slytherin friends, then Harry, then the Gryffindors, then the Weasleys, and now this? Some guy? Ugh.

(Draco is trying very hard to not think about the fact that he’s most definitely lost all of his friends outside of Harry and Ron, because when he does that he forgets how to breathe again.)

“Bastards,” Percy says, voice flat.

Lupin blinks, then blinks again. Then he sits down in his chair behind his desk, rather heavily. “Would, uh, would someone maybe mind explaining to me why everyone seems so keen to protest this lesson in particular?”

“What?” Percy asks, cocking his head. “You mean you didn’t-”

“Can we get the others in here?” Ron interrupts. “This is a family thing.”

Percy shakes himself, then nods. “Yes. Sorry.”

He summons his Patronus and sends it off with a message telling Fred to gather the others and come to Lupin’s classroom.

“Very good,” Lupin says, although it sounds reflexive more than anything.

“Yes, well, I had a competent teacher,” Percy says, waving his hand. “A supremely dense one, apparently, but competent.”

Lupin’s mouth opens, and then shuts. Apparently, he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Percy, give him a break,” Ron says. “You didn’t know about Draco until-”

“We’re waiting for the others,” Percy says, in a tone that brokers no argument.

Ron lets out a huff, but sits back. There’s a long moment where everyone is just sitting. Draco takes the opportunity to try and manually level his breathing out.

“Wait,” Percy says, suddenly, sitting up straight in his chair. “Everyone in class? But-”

“Family. Meeting.” Ron says, glaring at his older brother.

Percy narrows his eyes. Fortunately it doesn’t take long after that before Fred, George, Ginny, and Luna are walking in through the door.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Ginny says, taking in the occupants of the room. “I’ve been waiting for this!”

Fred, meanwhile, takes one look at the chalkboard before saying, “Dumbledore really made you teach this one? Wow.”

“Ha, bet that didn’t go over very well with anyone,” George adds, going to sit besides Harry. Harry snorts, and George gets a smile on his face.

Lupin’s expression goes, somehow, even more confused. And, also, worried. And also devastated. Lupin is clearly going through it.

Of course, Draco is as well, but he’s a kid that was just almost certainly outed as a werewolf to half of his year, and definitely outed as a werewolf to his closest friend- who is not going to take kindly to that, not in the slightest.

At this thought, Draco feels both his heart and his breathing quicken again. The ringing in his ears is back as well. His wolf lets out a little whine.

“Draco, are you alright?” Ginny asks, standing next to where Luna has slipped into the chair next to him. “Do you want to hold Luna’s hand?”

Luna holds her hand up towards him obligingly.

Draco does, actually, want to hold his cousin’s hand. He takes it, and feels himself relax. The others being here helps too.

“Okay,” Percy says, looking up at Lupin. “Let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

“Let’s talk,” Percy says, staring straight at Professor Lupin.

Lupin’s eyes dart from Percy to Draco and back again. “I don’t think-” he starts.

Ron doesn’t give him the chance to finish that thought. He’s sick of tip-toeing around the issue, sick of waiting for Harry to figure out where Lupin is transforming. The sooner they get this over with, the sooner they can work on figuring out how to keep Lupin and Draco from tearing themselves apart.

Ron is sick of it all. His wolf is doubly so. This is his pack (although how or why Lupin managed to sneak in without him noticing is beyond him), and they are hurting. There’s enough going on this year without all this- this.

In short, it is high time they clear things up.

“With the exception of Harry and Luna, everyone in this room is a werewolf,” Ron says.

Lupin’s face somehow goes even more gray than he had been before, and he leans back in his chair as though he’s had the air knocked out of him.

“Excuse- excuse me?” Lupin manages to get out.

“And now everyone knows about me,” Draco says, in that same flat tone he’s been using since the end of class, the same tone that’s had Ron’s wolf pacing worriedly in his chest. Draco is really, really close to losing it- and Ron doesn’t think the other boy even realizes it.

“Everyone,” Percy repeats, eyes narrowed.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Ron hurriedly puts in. “But- Pansy Parkinson for sure, and-”

Oh, Percy is going to go spare.

“Probably Hermione too,” he finishes.

Percy stills, then (after what looks like something of an internal struggle) lets out a little puff of air. He doesn’t say anything, though- and that has Ron feeling a bit queasy.

Percy, after all, has everything to lose if people find out he’s a werewolf. His dreams would be shattered.

Also, Percy’s been a wolf for seven years now, and Ron’s only seen him almost lose control a handful of times- and a good half of those times have been this year. Judging by the amber flashing off and on in Percy’s irises, this counts as one of those times.

George, on the other hand, pipes up, “oh, come on- as if Hermione hasn’t known since day one.”

Hm. George is definitely right (to the point where it honestly hadn’t occurred to Ron to actually tell Hermione, since the chances of her not knowing had been next to none)- except it wouldn’t have been day one, more like…

Oh, right, that first quidditch game- she’d been badgering Ron about family stuff, and then dropped it so abruptly that Ron had made note of how odd it had been. She must have realized it then, when she was walking with Neville down to see Harry on the pitch.

…Neville.

Neville, who’d shut down the idea of Lupin giving Ron points for detailing a werewolf's weaknesses with such an icy rage that Ron had actually gotten chills. Neville, who’d watched Harry without question every full moon. Neville, who’d been responsible for at least half of the convenient distractions keeping Hermione from asking questions back in first year (not that it’d stopped her in the end, of course).

Ron’s stomach drops out.

Fuck.

Neville knows. That in and of itself wouldn’t be bad, not really, except for the fact that (if Ron is right) Neville has known from day one, or as good as. But there’s only one way that could have happened.

Ron thinks back on those responsible for the other half of the convenient distractions, the way each and every one of his classmates had been so staunchly against Lupin’s lesson… the way that the Weasleys have been disappearing every full moon, once a month, for seven school years.

Everyone knows. Holy shit. Everyone already knows.

Ron realizes he’s gripping his desk hard enough for it to be groaning in protest, and his breathing is coming faster than usual. He’s sure his eyes are golden.

Thank god Percy doesn’t seem to notice- because he’s somehow moved on from having a crisis that may or may not end in violence to comforting Lupin, who has buried his face in his hands. Percy is trying to assuage the older man that really it has nothing to do with him and honestly most of them quite like being werewolves and ‘where did you say you were transforming? Are you alright?’

Ginny and Luna and Harry and Padfoot are distracted too. Ginny is talking quietly with Draco (mostly cracking jokes, by the sound of it), and Harry and Luna are holding one of his hands each. Padfoot has a paw resting on Draco’s knee. It seems to be working- Draco is breathing easier now.

“Ron,” Fred says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ron can’t help it- he jumps. The twins have both managed to sneak up on him- probably while he was busy having the worst revelation of his life.

“Let’s go outside for a second,” Fred continues.

“What-”

“Chess question,” George adds (a bit loudly), grabbing his other shoulder and pushing him towards the door.

Ron is still reeling, so he lets them both pull him without putting up any sort of fight at all. Percy and the others don’t seem to notice at all.

The twins pull him a ways down the hall, before pushing him behind a tapestry covering a convenient nook. George weaves a simple privacy charm into existence, and Fred leans against the wall, eyebrow raised.

“So,” Fred says. “You’ve caught on, then.”

Caught on…? Are they talking about what he thinks they are?

“Only a matter of time, really,” George continues.

“Surprised it took you this long,” Fred adds.

“Poor Longbottom’s basically been telling you straight up for years now,” George finishes.

“Wait, you knew?” Ron asks, feeling a sudden spike of indignation.

The twins share a tired look. “Ron,” George says. “Of course we knew. We know everything, all of the time.”

Ron leans back against the wall, trying and failing to come to terms with this development. Any of these developments.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Percy would absolutely lose it?” Fred says.

Ron hesitates. That is true. Percy can never, never know. But-

“To me,” Ron pushes.

Fred actually scoffs.

“Not our fault you can’t see what’s right in front of your face,” George huffs.

Ron has to take a couple deep breaths. The twins are being unreasonably obnoxious, and complete dicks, and Ron will be having more words with them. But right now, he has bigger things to worry about.

“But- then how- how are we still-”

“In school?” Fred asks, then shrugs. “No clue.”

So much for them knowing everything all of the time.

“It’s an open secret,” George says, “but we’re pretty sure it’s still a secret, you know?”

“No,” Ron says, feeling beyond annoyed. The twins' cryptic bullshit is tiring on the best of days, and this is not the best of days. “I don’t. What are you talking about?”

“The professors don’t know,” Fred elaborates. “And Dumbledore definitely doesn’t know.”

“Some of the more hard-ass pureblood kids don’t know,” George adds.

“And probably some kids that just haven’t figured it out or had it told to them,” Fred says.

“That still doesn’t explain why we haven’t been- I don’t know, shunned, or something,” Ron says. After all, he knows what people think about werewolves.

“Honestly?” George says, leaning back as well, then letting out a little laugh. “Do you honestly want to know why I think people haven’t spilled the secret, why they’ve been so careful?”

“Obviously I do,” Ron says, glaring. He loves his older brothers but Merlin are they annoying.

“I think it’s because everyone likes Bill and Charlie and Percy so much,” George says.

Oh. Oh, that actually- no that definitely tracks.

“Ah,” Ron says, feeling himself settle a bit. “Yeah that would do it.”

Not only that, but (despite the fact that they’re a massive pain in the ass) people love the twins. And Lupin- if everyone knows he’s a werewolf too (which, by the sound of the lesson, they definitely do) they’d definitely want to keep that under-wraps, just so they don’t lose the best Defense teacher they’ve ever had.

“Which is why we’re worried about Draco,” Fred continues.

Ron’s stomach twists. Oh. Right.

“People like Draco,” he tries, even though he knows it’s pointless.

“Slytherins like Draco,” George corrects. “And we like Draco.”

“That isn’t everyone, though,” Fred says. “And Gryffindors-”

Ron feels sick. Gryffindors indeed.

“I gotta go,” he gets out. “Damage control.”

The twins don’t stop him as he runs off, heading straight for the tower. It might be too late, but- he can’t just- they can’t out Draco as a werewolf to the school. If they do, Draco will be disowned, probably. Or worse, even.

He’d lose whatever immunity he has as the heir to the Malfoy name. There’d be nothing stopping Voldemort from killing him.

That settles it. If Draco gets revealed as a werewolf, Ron- well, he’ll come out as a werewolf too. Say he got bit in a freak, one-off incident. That had nothing to do with Draco or his brothers or Lupin.

Ron nods to himself as he tears through the hall. If Draco goes down, Ron’s going down with him. He doesn’t know how much it’ll help, but at least it’s something.

Ron makes it to the Gryffindor tower in record time, and he’s breathing hard as he comes up on the portrait. He doesn’t even know if his classmates are in the tower, but it’s the only place he can think of where they might be gathered. If they aren’t here, he’ll try the library next.

He bursts into the common room, then freezes as he’s suddenly being stared at by approximately seven of his Gryffindor classmates- everyone but Hermione is there.

Then Ron rallies- he has a job to do. He takes in a deep breath and then begins to make his case.

He gets all the way through: “you can’t-” before Neville (who seems to be standing in front of the other six, for some reason) cuts him off:

“Ron! Good to see you, mate- we’d just been discussing the lesson, and how completely and totally uneventful it had been,” he says, smiling widely and pointedly not looking at any of the others.

Speaking of the others, they’re nodding- although Seamus looks a little put-out about it.

“Totally normal class,” Parvati adds.

“Rather dull, even,” Sally-Anne says. “Especially for Lupin’s usual lessons.”

The others all agree in muttered, muted voices.

“Right,” Ron says, after a moment where they all stare at him. Then he realizes he’s still bracing himself on walls framing the entrance to the common room, and straightens up. He clears his throat. “Sure. Well. Good. I’ll- be off, then.”

“See ya,” Neville says.

Ron backs out of the common room, not daring to look away from his peers (in case they vanish in a puff of smoke, which may as well happen after the fever-dream that has been today) until the portrait closes on him.

“What. The hell,” he says out loud.

“Language, young man,” the portrait sniffs.

Chapter Text

Remus takes in a breath, and then lets it out as slowly as he is able. He’s had many panic attacks over the last twelve years, but he’s pretty damn good at holding them off until he’s alone.

Usually. Usually he’s good at that.

But then today’s lesson happened, and it had been… bad.

For one, Malfoy is a werewolf. That in and of itself was enough to send Remus spiraling straight down. Malfoy, a werewolf.

It just isn’t fair. He’s so small. Remus knows what it’s like, knows exactly how it feels to experience the window between losing consciousness and not being in control of one’s self. Remus knows exactly what it feels like to tear his own face off.

And so does this child. It makes Remus feel, quite literally, like he’s going to throw up.

But that wasn’t all- no, it had to get worse. Because it turns out Malfoy isn’t the only one.

A part of Remus is glad that Malfoy isn’t alone in this. A bigger part of Remus is horrified. Because, to his count, instead of there being one werewolf student (already unthinkable, already making it difficult to breathe at all) there are six.

Which is why he’s currently having a panic attack instead of holding it off until he’s alone. Because frankly, it’d be impossible to hold this off. Not without knocking himself out. Although, he feels so dizzy he might knock himself out anyways, whether he likes it or not.

The good news is that Remus used to be a spy, so on the off-chance he’d have a panic attack in front of people, he’d forced himself to figure out how to keep them both quick and quiet. Namely- holding his breath. He holds his breath until he’s seeing spots, and then lets himself breathe in and out a couple times. It keeps the hyperventilating down, at least.

He can’t really hear what’s going on around him, or tell time, but he’s sure he’s putting up a really rather remarkable front. He just has to hold out through the panic that’s threatening to claw his chest open and release Moony out into the world, and then he can deal with- deal with everything else.

This particular skill of his came in handy more than a few times. And these kids- they’re werewolves, and therefore more likely to pick up on something being wrong, but they don’t know him. Remus is sure that he’d be able to push through the attack with no one the wiser.

Except for the bad news, which is that (because the universe clearly has it out for Remus) the one person that knows Remus better than anyone else in the world is here too.

Which is why when he comes to, he’s pretty much completely unsurprised to find out that Padfoot is leaning heavily into his legs, and that he himself is clutching tightly to Padfoot’s scruff. He pulls his hands away as quickly as though he’s realized he’s touching a hot iron (he wishes he had been touching a hot iron instead, at least he could heal from that) and pushes backwards in his seat, stomach lurching as he does.

God, he doesn’t want to look at Padfoot, much less touch him, or- or lean on him for support. Holy shit. Remus feels sick- and not just because of the ‘every child in this room sans two is a werewolf’ reason.

Padfoot skips back, gives him a look (that Remus returns with the most vicious glare he can manage), then trots back over to Harry- who’s watching Remus with a small smile on his face, reminiscent of the one James wore whenever Remus and Sirius would do something particularly ‘we’re in love with each other but neither of us believe the other is’.

Remus decides he’s projecting.

Instead, he pushes his steadily rising nausea away, resolutely ignores Padfoot (who is now looking at his paws) and turns to face the werewolf students- of which there is one missing.

“Where is Ron?” Remus asks, blinking.

“Oh, are you done?” Ginny asks, sounding unimpressed. “Finally.”

Damn it all, Padfoot- gave him away. Remus manages to keep the grimace off his face, but only just.

“Gin,” Percy says, frowning. “Give him a break.”

“You had one of those too and it took you way less time,” Ginny says, obviously undeterred.

The grimace is harder to keep away this time. Great- one of his students had a panic attack in front of him, and Remus didn’t even notice. Great teaching moment there, Moony.

Granted, he was having an attack of his own, but still. He should be better than this.

“Also, I thought you hated dogs?” George asks, raising an eyebrow. There’s a glint of something in his eye.

Remus isn’t going to grace that with an answer so instead he turns to look at Draco, since apparently no one else is going to be helpful.

“Draco, where is Ron?”

Draco gives a little, miserable shrug. “Probably trying to keep everyone from ruining my life,” he says.

Remus regrets asking. He regrets a lot of things, actually.

“I wouldn’t be too worried,” Fred puts in.

Wait, why?

“Why?” Percy asks, eyes narrowed.

Harry snorts, and Percy turns his narrow-eyed glare on him. Harry can’t talk though, so he just shrugs as well.

“Let’s not worry about it,” Ginny agrees. “Either Draco’s life is over, or it’s not. Whatever.”

Draco does not seem to agree with this consensus. If anything, he goes even paler.

“Chin up, Draco,” Fred says. “Worse-case scenario, you just drop out of school and come live at the Burrow with us.”

Contrary to what Remus would expect (an indignant glare, namely) Draco seems to relax.

“You think so?” he asks, hands fidgeting.

Everyone nods, and he relaxes further.

“No problem,” Ginny says.

“Mum would be thrilled to have you,” George says.

“Dad, too,” Fred adds.

“Assuming you’re alright with helping out around the house,” Percy says.

Draco looks down, clearly a bit overwhelmed.

“Right,” Remus says, deciding he’d like answers now. “Why are all of you-”

“Werewolves?” Ginny prompts.

Remus was going to say ‘friends’, actually. The Malfoys and the Weasleys hate each other. Or- he thought they did.

Although Remus would actually like to know that too, so he just nods.

There’s a long moment of quiet.

Then- “my Grandfather,” Draco says.

Remus manages to simply nod again instead of tearing to Malfoy Manor and ripping Lord Malfoy apart. Padfoot (why is Remus still looking at Padfoot stop looking at Padfoot) looks similarly, which is an interesting expression for a dog to be wearing. Then Remus looks at the others, who also nod. He blinks. Why are they all nodding- wait.

“Lord Malfoy turned all of you?”

Every single person in the room looks to Percy, who sighs heavily. “Just me,” he says, waving a tired hand at himself. “And Dad.”

Remus swallows. There’s a story there, he knows there is, but he- he doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear it. Not right now. (At least that probably explains why the Malfoys and Weasleys hate each other.)

“And we weren’t going to stand by and watch,” Fred adds.

“So we had Luna get past the wards and got ourselves bit the next time they all turned,” Ginny says, smiling widely. Luna looks put-out, for some reason.

Percy’s face twists into a grimace, but then he smooths his expression over.

Remus, on the other hand, feels a bit light-headed. There are a lot of questions he has about that, but mostly:

“You got bitten,” he starts, “on purpose.”

“Obviously,” George says, as though it really is obvious and not, in fact, completely insane. “Ron, too. And our two older brothers.”

This is… unsurprising, actually, based on what Remus knows about the Weasleys. Most Gryffindors, even.

And then Remus’s heart stops as something else horrible occurs to him. “Harry,” he says. The boy looks up at him, clearly startled. He seems to have been lost in thought. “You are not going to get yourself bit.”

It’s not a question, because Remus isn’t asking. Harry becoming a werewolf? That is the worst case scenario. Remus wouldn’t- he would- he just couldn’t.

Harry scowls, but doesn’t respond. Even still, the scowl puts Remus at ease a bit- it was the same scowl James gave Remus when he’d said as much to his friend, the scowl that means ‘you win for now but I’m not happy about it’

Padfoot, on the other hand, lets out an indignant bark, as though to say, ‘I am doing my job, you know.’

Remus doubles down on ignoring Padfoot, which is apparently obvious in and of itself as the kids all look at him a little oddly- but Remus is pretty sure they’ve chalked up Padfoot and Remus’s interactions as ‘inexplicable’ and therefore are not anticipating getting answers about that anytime soon. Unfortunately. Remus wouldn’t mind a little digging, in that regard.

One day, Sirius will be revealed and they’ll all regret not following that up more, and Remus will feel both vindicated and also like his heart is breaking all over again. But that isn’t Remus’s concern right now. Right now, he’s more concerned with Ron’s sudden reappearance.

“I think you’re in the clear,” Ron is saying to Draco. “At least with the Gryffindors.”

The twins let out- well, twin sighs of relief. Ginny relaxes too, and Luna nods. Harry smiles widely, and Percy cocks his head.

“How?” Draco bursts out, looking up at Ron.

“Er,” Ron says, eyes darting impossibly fast to Percy. “Tell you later?”

“No,” Percy says. “No, absolutely not. Tell us now, Ron.”

The twins are staring at Ron with narrowed eyes, and Harry is furrowing his brow. Ginny and Luna are looking at each other a bit worriedly. Draco is looking between Ron and Percy, still seeming a bit on edge.

“Er,” Ron says again. “Hermione is surprisingly good at memory charms?”

Remus feels himself relax. That’s not ideal, and he takes umbrage with memory charms on principle, but better that than Draco being outed as a wolf.

Percy hasn’t relaxed at all, though.

“You’re telling me,” Percy says, staring at Ron, “she wiped the memory of everyone in class.”

Ron nods without hesitation. Percy shakes his head. “I don’t believe you,” he says.

“You don’t need to believe me for it to be true,” Ron counters.

Percy actually growls at this. Remus finds himself holding his breath as he realizes the boy’s eyes are burning golden- but Ron holds his gaze.

Finally, Percy looks away. “I’ll just figure out the truth for myself,” he mutters. The twins exchange a look, but Percy seems finally ready to move on from the subject.

Remus thinks they’re lucky Percy is dropping it as easy as all that, even though Remus thinks that Ron is most likely telling the truth (Miss Granger definitely seems the type to do that)- Percy clearly has a lot to lose if it gets out that he’s a werewolf- and Remus knows more than anyone how that feels.

“On the bright side,” Remus hedges, “if she’s known this long, it sounds like Miss Granger is a valuable asset to keeping your secret.”

Percy hesitates, then nods. Then he straightens up, eyes going steely with resolve. “Okay, next order of business. Tell us where you’ve been transforming.”

Remus blinks. The kids look at him expectantly.

“Uh,” he says. “My office?”

The reaction is immediate. Draco has the tamest reaction, nodding as though that’s about what he’d expected. The Weasleys do not seem to share that expectation. Fred throws his hands into the air, George lets out a groan, Ron scowls, Ginny smacks her forehead, and Percy buries his face in his hands. Harry and Luna share a look, then shake their heads sadly.

“What- where have you been transforming?” Remus asks, which he thinks is a fair question.

Despite this, the Weasleys look at him like he’s stupid.

“The forest,” Ron says, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. “In a warded area. The real question is why are you not also doing that?”

“You will be also doing that,” Ginny says, pointing menacingly. “You and Draco both.”

Remus is shaking his head before she’s even done talking. That would be so dangerous. “No, absolutely not.”

“You get that when a wolf transforms alone they tear themselves apart, right?” Fred says.

Remus feels a flash of irritation that he stamps down on, hard. “I’ve been a werewolf my whole life. How would I not know that?”

Fred at least has the decency to look abashed. Percy, on the other hand, says, “I’m sorry Professor but there’s no argument you can make here that will convince any of us to let you transform alone. Harry, dog.”

Harry’s already reaching for Padfoot’s scruff, who’s furiously wagging his tail and looking for all the world like he’s going to be launching himself at Percy. God, that is not something Remus needs right now.

“I have access to wolfsbane,” Remus tries, tearing his attention away from Padfoot. “So really I don’t need to transform with anyone. It’d be pointless.”

Harry sits up straight in his seat, looking incredibly interested all at once. Oh right- Harry loves potions, and apparently his whole adopted family are werewolves. Knowing Harry, he’s probably been working towards wolfsbane this whole time.

Which reminds him- Remus now needs to find a way to convince one of them to take the potion in his stead. But which one?

Fuck, maybe he’ll just ask Severus to times the recipe by six. Ha, yeah, because that’d go over well.

“Doesn’t matter,” Percy decides, in a no-nonsense tone that reminds Remus very much of himself. “The family transforms together. This is non-negotiable.”

The others all nod- even Draco, which has Remus feeling irrationally like he’s been betrayed by his one ally.

Remus sinks into his seat, staring up at the ceiling as the pack of absolutely ridiculous werewolf children (that have. Adopted him?) begin to make their case as to why he most definitely is not transforming alone ever again, and begins to formulate his own arguments.

It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Chapter Text

“You know, you could have told us this at any point,” Fred points out, scowling. Ron is inclined to agree, even if he’s too tired to voice that out loud.

They’ve been at this family meeting for hours now, going over the logistics of being a pack of werewolves at school. They’d had to tell Remus everything at least three times before he seemed able to believe that they’d really managed to keep it a secret from Dumbledore and the other professors.

Not anyone else, apparently, but at least there’s that.

At least they’d managed to convince the man to transform with them- right before they’d had to spend another hour yelling at Percy, who apparently has been rich this whole time, and has been laundering actual money for a year.

(“I’ll talk to Severus and find a way to get him to make more wolfsbane,” Remus had decided. “I don’t know how, but-”

“Oh, no need,” Percy had said. “I have our first delivery coming today.”

The room had then broken out into pandemonium.)

“These things take time,” Percy protests, scowling just as deeply. There are bags under his eyes. This has been exhausting for everyone. Good and important, but exhausting. “I wasn’t able to get it going until now without someone becoming suspicious- the timing is a coincidence, that’s all.”

Ron tunes them out, instead staring down at the mealy potion he’s supposed to be drinking. It smells awful. But- it’ll be worth it. Definitely, absolutely worth it. Ron takes in a deep breath, plugs his nose with one hand, and downs the goblet.

He manages to avoid throwing it back up, but only just. Great- now he just needs to do that six more times, over the next six days. Awesome.

“Cocoa?” Remus asks, already floating a mug over to him. Ron accepts it gratefully. Over on the other side of the room is Draco, nursing his own cup of cocoa. He’d downed the potion the instant it had been handed to him, and now he’s sitting quietly with Harry pressed right up next to him. Draco looks half asleep- he seems more exhausted than everyone else, which Ron thinks is fair considering the events of the day.

(That had been another minor fight- Draco's been telling everyone he's been taking his own potions sent from home, but that had been a lie. He's just been dumping them. On the one hand, Ron is furious at him for doing that. On the other hand, Voldemort. Really it's just a good thing that Percy had had the foresight to order extra potions- which also goes to show just how rich he is now.)

“Is there anything else we need to discuss?” Percy asks.

“No,” Remus says. “Draco needs to go to bed. As do all of you. Curfew is coming up fast.”

Draco gets up to go, nodding sleepily.

“We’re not kids,” Fred says, folding his arms and frowning.

Remus clearly does his best not to smile at that. He doesn't do a very good job of it.

Ron, on the other hand, lets out a snort. That’s the most ‘I’m a kid’ thing he’s ever heard. Fred must be real tired, he usually wouldn’t fall into that.

“Yeah, we’re going to bed,” George decides. “That was rough, Freddie. Sides, we have that meeting with A-”

“Good point, let's go,” Fred says, cutting George off as he’s suddenly out of his chair and pulling George out of the room. Ron’s too tired to care about what that might have been about- besides, the twins are just like that.

Unfortunately for Ron and Draco and Harry, the second they leave the classroom they’re pulled to the side and down the hall a ways. It’s a testament to how tired Ron is that he only blinks at the kidnappers. Fortunately, they aren’t Voldemort. Even more fortunately, they’re Hermione and Neville.

“What,” Draco says, very eloquently.

“Bathroom,” Neville says.

“We’ve been waiting all day for this,” Hermione says, sounding impatient.

“You literally can- can do the, the time thing,” Ron says. Okay, so he’s not at his most eloquent either. So sue him.

Hermione doesn’t dignify that with a response. Probably good- Ron’s too tired to be sure, but he thinks maybe that he remembers the time turner not working like that at all. And also something else about that doesn't sound right, but he doesn't quite remember what it is.

Oh yeah. Harry has that. Haha. Oh man does Ron need sleep.

Ron thinks he may have fallen asleep standing up as the two of them drag them down the hall, but he comes to in time to see the door to Myrtle’s bathroom swinging open, revealing none other than-

“Pansy,” Draco says. He sounds so sad and hopeful and scared all at once that Ron sort of wants to cry.

He’s actually going to blame that on the exhaustion.

“We’re here too,” Greg says, waving.

“Hullo,” Vince says.

Ron waves back. He’s much less worried about these two- he’d bet money that they knew about Draco and Ron before class today, just like Neville.

“You,” Pansy says, eyes narrowed. Her arms are folded, and her eyes are somewhat puffy.

“I’m so-” Draco starts.

“Shut up,” Pansy snaps, and Ron’s heart sinks.

At her tone, Draco shrinks in on himself. Ron feels himself bristle but at a look from Hermione, he sits himself down instead, next to Vince. Harry looks just as ready to tear into Pansy, but Padfoot tugs on his sleeve and he sits down too- only to immediately fall asleep on Padfoot. Man, they really need to get to bed.

“Did it ever occur to you,” Pansy starts, finger tapping impatiently on her arm, “that I, as someone who has pretty much perfect control over the gossip mill, at fourteen, might have been helpful in keeping this a secret?”

Draco’s mouth falls open, and Ron feels a huge smile spread across his face.

Pansy sniffs. “What, you didn’t really think I’d- argh!”

Draco has launched across the room and grabbed Pansy in a huge hug, lifting her all the way up off the floor.

“Put me down, oaf!” Pansy says, hitting Draco on the head.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Draco is saying.

“Goons, help!”

Greg shakes his head disappointedly. “Pans, you know we don’t respond to ‘goon’ anymore.”

“We unionized,” Vince says, leaning into Ron. There’s a wry smile on his face, but Ron is too tired to tell if they’re joking or not.

“I was talking to Hermione and Neville,” Pansy says.

Neville and Hermione share a look, then a sigh, and then they walk over to Pansy and Draco. Between the two of them and Pansy, they manage to pry Draco off of her. He seems suspiciously teary-eyed.

“We’re talking about this some more later, after you’ve rested,” Pansy warns. “I’m still very angry.”

Draco nods hurriedly, although he looks a little wobbly on his feet. Ron wonders how much of this he’s even going to remember.

“Okay, speaking of- time for bed,” Greg announces, going to stand up and helping Vince up with him. The others hurry to agree- they must be tired too, and it’s definitely past curfew now.

That night, despite everything, Ron falls asleep with a smile. It had been a long day, true, and full of all sorts of horrible revelations, but- it had turned out alright. And- well, Ron just feels rather loved by his classmates, is all. It’s nice.

The next week passes by fairly quickly, particularly once class lets out for the winter holidays. The potions are as horrible as the first time, but at least Remus seems more and more relaxed every dose he supervises the others taking. Poor guy- hearing that a good six of his students are wolves really messed with him. First the dog, now this- Remus deserves to catch a break.

Pansy and Draco must have had a conversation, because they’ve gone back to normal. Ron has tried to talk to Hermione and Neville about knowing about the whole werewolf thing, but they both brush him off.

(“Honestly, of course I knew. Have you started studying for exams yet?” and “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” respectively.)

When the full moon comes up, it’s one that Ron is actually looking forward to- mostly because it’s the first time Draco will be transforming with them and they’ll all have been on wolfsbane, but also because Harry’s stupid silent protest is over. It’s really been the longest month of Ron’s life.

“Are you done?” Ron asks, pulling Harry’s bed curtains aside. “Can you talk yet?”

Harry sits up, hair looking absolutely insane and eyes only half open. He just looks at Ron, then rolls his eyes and lies back down to go back to sleep.

Ron huffs, then goes to get ready for the day. “Fine, be that way,” he mutters. Padfoot lets out a snore from where he’s curled up at the foot of Harry’s bed.

Turns out Harry actually has to wait till tomorrow to talk, which Ron thinks is stupid, but Harry and Luna both have gone this far, so he won’t try and convince Harry to break it before it’s time.

Very much.

“Please,” Ron begs. “I’ve literally forgotten what you sound like.”

Harry slides him a note. It reads, ‘I wish I could forget what you sound like’.

Ron promptly eats the note (to Hermione’s disgust and Neville’s confusion), glaring at Harry the whole time. Harry just bursts into laughter, which had not been the intended effect of that particular threat. Even Padfoot lets out a snuffle or two that could possibly be construed as laughter. Dumb dog.

Fortunately, Ron still has the transformation to look forward to- and he’d been right, it is amazing.

The transformation itself is painful, as it always is, but then Ron comes to- and he’s a wolf. He wastes no time in finding the others (they transformed separately for privacy reasons), relishing in the feeling of running through the forest and the sights and sounds and smells-

He can’t tell, because it turns out werewolves are just as colorblind as regular wolves, but he thinks his siblings may all have reddish bronze colored coats. Draco is silver, of course, and Remus is a sandy gold color. The whole lot of them would fit right in at a bank.

Padfoot is there too (Ron still isn’t sure how, but Harry had managed to non-verbally convince everyone that the dog would be more useful watching over Draco- both because of Voldemort, and also because just because Ron's wolf is on board with the other boy doesn't mean the others are, and wolfsbane or not, it's better to be safe than sorry), and he keeps up surprisingly well with them- although at times it is a bit weird.

Not bad- just weird. For one, Padfoot and Remus seem to work in tandem to keep some of the rowdier wolves (namely everyone but Draco and Percy) from hurting themselves or each other. The way they act- it makes Ron think that probably that’s how Mum and Dad are as wolves. It feels familiar to Ron and his wolf, in any case.

The other odd thing is the way Remus keeps trying to kill Padfoot, only to turn it into play at the last second. Ron could be wrong, it could just be play, but- he doesn’t think so.

It’s almost like- almost like Remus keeps catching himself, or his wolf does, or something. Either way, it’s somewhat hilarious to watch (once the initial fear of ‘oh Merlin Padfoot is about to be eaten by a giant wolf’ wears off). Towards the end of the night, Remus seemed to have given up completely, doing his best to just ignore the dog.

Which also doesn’t really work. If Ron didn’t know better, he’d say that Remus’s wolf and Padfoot were best friends. But Ron does know better, and that's impossible.

The next day, Ron is exhausted and aching- but he’s happy too. The night had been fun, for once. Even Percy seems more content than he usually is after a moon.

It helps that Harry and Luna are back to talking again, finally- although Luna is doing her best to give Padfoot the silent treatment, which is funny for many reasons but mostly because it highlights exactly what Remus has been doing to the dog the whole year.

(Luna tried to show up around midnight, obviously hoping to be bit now that they all kept their human brains ((for the most part, anyways)), but Padfoot had herded her right out of the wards and presumably back to bed.)

“I’m so happy Remus is a part of the family now,” Harry sighs that night during dinner. He seems tired too- although Ron doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s contagious.

“Me too,” Ron says, smiling up at where the gray looking man is sitting with the faculty. Remus smiles back, albeit a bit hesitantly.

“I can’t wait until he likes Padfoot again,” Harry says, picking at his food. Besides him, Padfoot lets out a quiet snorting sound- of disbelief, if Ron had to guess.

“Me too- wait, again?” Ron says.

“Uh,” Harry says, sitting up straight and looking completely awake all of a sudden. “You- because you said he liked him last night?”

Oh, right. Right. Ron nods, then goes back to his dinner. He feels similarly- maybe Remus will even like him outside of full moons, one day.

Judging by the way Remus now seems to be trying to glare Padfoot to death, Ron thinks that might be something of a pipe-dream. Ah well- maybe someday.

Ron’s really just happy they managed to convince him to transform with the family. Now the trick is going to be convincing him to move into the Burrow this summer.

Chapter Text

Padfoot

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Remus asks Harry.

Padfoot would also actually very much like to know this. Because, in his humble opinion, the answer should be a resounding no.

But it’s not like Padfoot has a decade worth of experience with his worst fears, or anything.

Harry swallows and looks at the old wardrobe Remus is standing next to, which gives a menacing shake. He looks nervous. Then the kid’s jaw goes set, and he nods. “I need to know- I need to be able to do this,” Harry says, fingers tightening around his wand. “It’s important.”

Not that important. After all, Padfoot is here to throw himself at any dementor the kid might run into- and as weirdly obsessed with his godson the dementors are, they wouldn’t be able to resist Sirius transforming right in front of them.

Remus hesitates, then nods as well. “Alright. Remember, I’ll be here to step in if I need to. And-” he cuts himself off. Then he asks, “you are sure that-”’

Remus has asked this question a million times- but Padfoot supposes it doesn’t hurt to ask again. In fact, Padfoot would suggest asking it a million more times, and then perhaps lighting the wardrobe on fire.

“It’ll be a dementor,” Harry agrees.

When Harry had asked Remus if he’d help Harry find an actual dementor to practice the Patronus charm on, he’d shut that down immediately, because Moony is not insane (and is in fact smart and capable and handsome as hell). Then apparently one of the Professors ran into a boggart and Remus had mentioned it to Harry and- now here they are.

If only Harry wasn’t so damn good at making people do what he wants- but he is. He clearly got the perfect mix of James and Lily’s charisma. Padfoot is surprised that the Death Eaters that have tried to kidnap the kid don’t just turn around and go the other way when they see Harry- he’s such a cute kid.

Okay, so Padfoot is a bit biased- and he can admit that.

But! Bias does not account for Draco Malfoy being head-over-heels for Harry, or Snape (ugh) being concerned for Harry’s wellbeing, or an entire family of werewolves up and adopting him.

Man, some day Padfoot will be able to sit Harry down and ask him questions much more specific than ‘pointing in the general direction of something and giving a questioning ‘woof’', and he’ll get answers.

Padfoot is sure that Harry does his best, but he is a thirteen year old kid and is therefore very good at not answering things he doesn’t want to answer. And being very stubborn. And also somewhat delusional.

For example, trying to get Remus to forgive Padfoot.

It took the kid all of three minutes of ‘yes or no’ questions to realize that Sirius is innocent (arguably, anyways), and another two to realize that not only is Remus ‘Mssr. Moony’, but that he doesn’t know about the whole innocent thing. It had taken some quick thinking and some serious (ha) puppy-dog eyes to keep Harry from marching straight over to Remus and telling him everything- which would have been disastrous.

Padfoot likes it in theory, he really does- but Remus clearly wants nothing to do with him. (And who is Padfoot to blame him for that?) Remus is too smart not to have put two-and-two together when he’d first seen Padfoot protecting Harry. He’d have looked into the trial (or lack there-of), and realized they’d switched, or something like that. Why else wouldn’t Remus have told anyone about Padfoot being Sirius Black?

No- Remus doesn’t want anything to do with Sirius, and that’s okay. That’s fine.

Even if he did (Padfoot doesn’t let himself think about that all that much) it wouldn’t matter, because Padfoot isn’t turning into Sirius Black again until he knows his kid is safe for good. Going back to himself would either involve either a quick and messy death at the hands of a dementor or three, or it would involve an incredibly lengthy trial process- both of which would take Padfoot away from his godson.

Plus there’s the matter of the years-long recovery he’s going to have to go through, assuming he survives that long. Padfoot is a really very healthy dog, thanks to Harry and the Weasleys- but Sirius Black is a really very incredibly unhealthy person. When he does transform again, it’ll be… bad. Really bad. So, for the time being, he’s a dog. Maybe forever, even.

Unfortunately, being a dog has its limitations. For example, Padfoot can’t exactly whip out a wand and shoot a reducto at the boggart Remus has just let loose from the wardrobe.

Which is why, instead of doing just that as the dementor-shaped monster floats dangerously close to his godson (who has now fallen to the floor, because apparently even fake dementors have him hearing Lily dying), Padfoot has no choice but to leap at it himself.

Sure, he could have waited for Moony to step in, and he’d more-than-likely been moments from doing so, but- Padfoot’s instincts sort of took over. Harry had been falling, the dementor approaching, and Padfoot had already been in the process of leaping.

Remus’s wand is out and pointed at the thing (or at Padfoot himself, Padfoot isn’t sure), but it’s too late- Padfoot is already baring his teeth and growling at the apparition as he’s standing over Harry.

Standing between it and Harry.

Belatedly, Padfoot remembers what this means.

And then the boggart is cocking its head, and then it’s backing up, and then it’s warping and changing shape, and then it’s-

Remus

All Remus can really think, as he stares at James and Lily lying there dead on the ground, is that it’s a damn good thing Harry is out cold.

Padfoot, on the other hand, looks completely frozen, standing there between Harry and the bodies.

A part of Remus wonders if that’s because he can’t move, or if it’s because moving would expose Harry to the boggart again.

A bigger part of Remus is feeling suddenly very lost- not in the sense that he’s confused (although he is, he definitely is), but in the sense that he might as well be adrift at sea, alone on a ship in the middle of a storm. There’s a high buzzing in his ears, and Moony is howling and howling and howling inside of his chest. Remus should be- he needs to move, do something-

But that’s James and Lily and they’re dead and this might be a boggart but that’s never not going to be true and the horror of it all is hitting Remus over and over and over again, made worse by the fact that this is somehow Padfoot’s worst fear (his tail has gone completely tucked, and he’s so terrified that he’s panting) and how does that- how does that make sense? It’s- something is not right here, something’s been not right this whole year and-

And Remus… Remus is just standing there.

That breaks him out of it. He throws himself in front of Harry and Padfoot, wand out and already moving. The boggart doesn’t have the chance to change into a moon (even after everything, Remus is still his own worst fear) before it’s being thrown back into the wardrobe, door slamming shut behind it.

With another flick of his wand, the door to the wardrobe locks with a clicking sound that seems to echo through the otherwise dead silent room. The silence drags on for a moment- until it’s all of a sudden unbearable to Remus.

“Padfoot,” Remus starts. And then he stops, words getting caught in his throat.

What does he even say here? ‘Bark once if I’m missing something? Bark twice if you want to rip my heart out of my chest again, missing something or otherwise? Turn back into a man and tell me to my face that you didn’t kill our best friends, please and thank you?’

Because if Remus is missing something, if Sirius is-

He can’t even think it. He shouldn’t be thinking it. Sirius is guilty. Remus has seen the trial documents. Sure, he hadn’t read them all that closely, and thinking back they’d seemed a little… flat, maybe, but-

God, this is exactly the problem. If Remus lets himself fall into this, then either his hope being dashed will kill him, or the guilt of having let Sirius rot will do it instead. And that’s all there is to it.

Ha- who is Remus kidding. Of course that’s not all there is to it. The chances of him letting this lie are approximately zero. He has some major research to do. But first…

First he has to deal with whatever this is.

“Padfoot,” Remus repeats. He doesn’t know what he’s going to ask. But saying the dog’s name is a comfort in and of itself, and it’s one he’s going to give to himself. He’s barely hanging on to Moony as it is- he needs all the comfort he can get.

And then none of what he’s feeling right now matters anymore, because Harry is sitting up, one hand on his forehead and the other propping himself off the floor.

“Remus?” Harry asks. “Padfoot?”

Remus is by the boy’s side in an instant, uncomfortably aware of how close Padfoot is- although the dog is laser-focused on Harry, making sure he’s alright, prioritizing him; just like he always is.

Remus had thought that was because Sirius was trying to make up for what he’d done. But if, by some miracle, Sirius is innocent, then-

Then Sirius broke out of an inescapable prison just to keep his godson safe.

God. Remus didn’t think he’d ever hurt more than he had that Halloween night, but this- this year, everything that’s happened- it’s coming close. It's coming really close.

“Harry, are you alright?” Remus asks, resolutely pushing any and all of his thoughts on Sirius and James and Lily away. Well, that and pushing Moony deep into his chest. He can have a crisis later. Later.

Harry doesn’t answer. He just draws his knees up to his chest, and he won’t look at either of them.

“Harry?” Remus asks again, heart panging. Yeah- now is really not the time for his own crisis.

Padfoot noses at the boy’s hand, and Harry absently scratches his ear. Something in Remus feels suddenly absurdly grateful for Padfoot- and he squashes that fast. Just because he’s going to look into the trial a little more doesn’t mean he should be already thinking of Sirius as innocent. That’s a really good way to get his heart ripped to shreds all over again. (More than it already will be, anyhow.)

Guilty until proven innocent, for once. Delightful.

Inside of his chest, Moony is close to having a conniption.

“I just,” Harry says, then buries his face in his hands so that what he says next is muffled: “I just don’t want to be helpless any more.”

Padfoot whines, then paws at his snout. Remus ignores him. Ignores everything that’s threatening to drown him from the inside out- and he does instead what he’s best at doing.

With a wave of his wand, a chocolate bar is floating from his desk and into his hands. He snaps a piece off and hands it to Harry, who takes it. He still looks miserable, though, so Remus decides it’s time to move on to the other thing he’s good at- teaching.

“Let’s go again,” Remus suggests. “Without the- the boggart, this time.”

Harry gets a resolute look on his face, Padfoot lets out an almost inaudible whine, and Remus- Remus forces a smile.

Chapter Text

Remus lets out a huge sigh and, with some reluctance, puts the papers he’d been going through away. He’s no closer to figuring out whether or not Sirius was innocent then he was a month ago, when he’d started this whole project, and he's been feeling progressively more and more nauseous the longer he looks into it without there being any progress.

He’d been right to be suspicious of the trial- it looks fine on the surface, but with a little digging Remus had been able to find out that something about it was probably faked, or at least smoothed over. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything- and was also the only big breakthrough he’d had.

Remus is just sort of going in circles at this point. The one thing he’s stuck on is the secret-keeper thing. How could Sirius have given away the Potters unintentionally? He couldn’t have- unless Voldemort had found a way around the fidelius. Which- isn’t entirely out of the question. But it’s not like Remus can ask the Dark Lord Voldemort- that sounds like a really very good way to get killed immediately.

Just because war hasn't broken out again upon Voldemort's return doesn't mean it won't at all- which is another one of those things Remus is simply not thinking about. The likelihood of him being asked to go back to the packs is high, and- nope. Not thinking about it. The Sirius stuff is hard enough to manage.

None of that matters right now- right now, Remus needs to focus on Harry. They’re meeting for tea again.

Hell, maybe Remus will just… ask Padfoot point-blank. It would beat all the wondering, wouldn’t it? He’d probably have to get Harry out of the room so not to violate the terms of the Unbreakable Vow, but-

No. He can’t. For one, this is already a pipe-dream that Remus has indulged in way too much. For another, even if by some miracle (devastating or otherwise) that Sirius is innocent, then the fact remains that he hasn’t tried to tell Remus, other than how devoted he’s been to protecting Harry.

Sirius, innocent or not, wants nothing to do with Remus. And that’s- that’s fine. Expected, even.

Remus just can’t leave it alone, though. He’s always been a bit selfish when it comes to his pack. Why else would he have let the Weasley kids convince him to transform with them? He tries to tell himself it’s so he can keep an eye on them (and heaven knows they need it, with Ginny, Ron, and the twins)- but he knows it’s really just because he’s weak. Weak, and tired of being alone.

“Remus?” Harry asks, knocking on the door frame. “Hello?”

“Harry,” Remus says, spirits lifting at the very sight of James’s boy. “Come in!”

Remus and Harry both consider this ‘tea-time’, but they spend the hour drinking nothing but hot chocolate- as is right and good.

Remus had just finished telling a story that had been surprisingly neutral towards Sirius (he needs to get a better grip on himself), when Harry asks, “what’s with the nicknames, anyways?”

Remus pauses, mug halfway to his mouth, heart racing suddenly. How does he answer this? Besides Harry, Padfoot has whipped his head up, looking at the boy with narrowed eyes.

“Well,” Remus starts. “It’s-”

“Something to do with animals, right? But why? I mean, ‘Moony’ makes sense for you, obviously, but Prongs?”

Oh, Remus can answer that no problem. He feels himself relax, and even lets out a little laugh. "That's a good one. James overheard Lily talking about the Patronus charm and decided to learn it to impress her- we were in fourth year at the time.”

Harry’s eyes are shining as he listens to Remus, and Remus finds himself smiling easily. He loves this- loves being able to remember his friends while simultaneously sharing their memories with their son. It hurts, too, but- well. It’s nice. Hard to believe he’d started the whole thing with the intention to hurt Sirius.

Not his whole reason, of course, but still- enough to feel guilty about it.

“None of us really thought he would be able to do it,” Remus continues, shoving that thought aside. “The Patronus is, as you well know, really difficult.”

“But he did do it,” Harry prompts, getting excited.

“He did do it,” Remus agrees, full on grinning at the memory of James leaping onto the Gryffindor table during breakfast, yelling for everyone to watch him, and then summoning Prongs in all of his silver shining glory, sending him prancing through the room to the assorted sounds of shouting and people ducking for cover.

(Most of the students and a good chunk of the faculty had, by then, learnt that the second James or Sirius yelled something in the Great Hall, the best place to be is under the tables.)

Lily had watched the stag prance around with stars in her eyes, not unlike the stars in Harry’s as he listens to Remus speak.

Then James had dismissed the Patronus and bowed, and things had gone back to normal. Well- Lily seemed to have developed the slightest bit of begrudging respect for him, but there was no undying declaration of love, which is what Remus is sure James had been hoping for.

Although- thinking back, that may have been the start of it all.

Remus swallows, then looks down at his mug, feeling abruptly overwhelmed by grief. He accidentally catches Padfoot’s big gray eyes, and is taken aback by the grief he sees swimming in the dog’s eyes as well.

Remus almost manages to catch the small reflexive smile he shoots the dog’s way. Almost- but not quite.

He drops the smile almost as soon as it appears, but Remus can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Padfoot regardless.

Padfoot looks away first, and Remus blinks, suddenly furious at himself. What was that? He can not afford to get soft- not now. Not when the jury is still out on Sirius being innocent. Extremely, extremely out.

“So what was it?” Harry asks, pulling Remus right out of the building storm of emotions swirling in his chest.

“Sorry?” Remus asks.

“The Patronus?” Harry asks.

Remus sighs. Right. “A stag,” he says. “Your mother’s was a doe- they matched, without either of them changing for the other.”

“Woah,” Harry says, eyes huge. “Does that mean- were they soulmates?”

Remus lets out a little bitter laugh. “No- or at least, not that any of us believed.”

Padfoot lets out a snort. And then Remus does something he hasn’t done before, because he is, at heart, a weak man.

“Well, Sirius did,” Remus says. “But I always thought that theory was nothing more than superstition. James, for once, took my side over his.”

Padfoot and Harry both are staring at Remus with huge eyes, and Remus feels like kicking himself. Fuck- that’s right. As far as Harry knows, Sirius is nothing more than the man that got his parents killed.

Hell, as far as Remus knows, that’s all Sirius is. Damn it all. That had been a mistake, a massive-

“I’ll bet he was so mad about that,” Harry says, face splitting into a grin.

All at once Remus is in third year again, watching James leap at the chance to poke fun at Sirius. Then he blinks, and he’s back to the present.

“What about the other names?” Harry asks, fortunately giving something for Remus to cling to, to keep himself spiraling into more flashbacks.

Except, he doesn’t really know how to answer this one, either- and thinking up a good reason for the name thing keeps him from giving any real thought to Harry’s bizarre reaction to the mention of Sirius. (Does he- does he not know who Sirius Black was to James? That- that can’t be right. Or- what is going on?)

“Was it the Patronus for everyone?” Harry continues, clearly oblivious to Remus’s rising panic and mild confusion.

Remus latches onto that. “Yes,” he says, with finality.

Padfoot lets out a snort, and Remus shoots him a glare. Padfoot just snorts again. Harry, on the other hand, is looking thoughtful.

“That’s a pretty powerful spell for all of you to learn in fourth year,” he says. “But sure! Um, what were the others? We had a stag and a wolf, and…”

“A big black dog,” Remus says, staring straight at Padfoot.

“Oh, just like Padfoot,” Harry says, looking down at the dog as well and smiling. Padfoot sinks his head onto the ground and literally covers his eyes with his paws.

Remus, on the other hand, wants to scream. Why did Harry have to inherit his father’s obliviousness? He really, really could have done with some of Lily’s common-sense. Unless-

Wait. Does Harry know?

“Yes,” Remus gets out.

“And Wormtail?” Harry asks, looking back up at Remus.

“Well,” Remus says. “Peter-” a low growl from Padfoot- “his Patronus was a rat.”

Except Remus isn’t really listening to himself anymore. Now, he’s staring down at Padfoot, something chilling occurring to him.

Padfoot always growls at the mention of Peter. Remus had thought that was because Sirius had somehow nurtured a hatred for their old friend that grew over the years until it reached the point of murder- just as it’d done with James and Lily. That the growling was just a reflex based on that. But-

“A rat,” Harry says, as though from a far distance away. He’s frowning, for some reason. “Dang, I always liked rats.”

Sirius Black was the Potter’s Secret Keeper, and therefore he is the reason they are dead. There was a trial, and veritaserum, both of which confirmed it.

“I dunno why,” Harry continues, apparently more than willing to ramble as Remus’s mind races. “I’ve never really met any especially nice or interesting ones.”

But the trial documents were faked. Maybe not all the way, but enough to be noticeable. Remus knows this, but it wasn’t enough for him to be convinced of the pipe-dream that is Sirius’s innocence- the Secret Keeper issue kept getting in the way. Sirius was the Secret Keeper. Remus knew it. Dumbledore knew it. Everyone knew it.

Voldemort would have known it.

Sirius and James would have known Voldemort would have known it.

“I mean, there was the Weasley’s rat Scabbers,” Harry says, looking down at his hands. “But he’s gone now, and he wasn’t interesting either. Oh! Except for where he was missing a finger, I guess.”

Chapter Text

Remus is standing up, having tipped his chair back onto the ground in his haste.

Padfoot is standing too, poised to run or to do something, anything- heart clenching inside of his chest, skipping every other beat. He feels sick.

Peter. Alive. Definitely, one-hundred-percent alive. And he’d lived with Harry. How had he not known? Had Harry known? Is that why he’d brought the rat up? Padfoot doesn’t think so, doesn’t think Harry would drop something that big on Padfoot like that. It must have been a coincidence.

Which means- which means not only is Peter alive, not only did he live with Harry- but there’s a chance that, in another life, Padfoot would have never found out.

“It was him,” Remus says, staring straight at Padfoot. He’s breathing hard and his face has gone almost completely white- and Padfoot doesn’t feel much better off.

In fact, he’s sure that if he were a person, he’d be looking just as gray. As it is, he just feels numb- all the way down to his bones. Numb and nauseated.

First things first, Padfoot is going to throw up. And then he is going to find Peter and tear his head off.

“It was Wormtail,” Remus growls. His eyes are bleeding amber.

It sure was Wormtail. Fucking Peter. Padfoot can’t help but growl too- like he hasn't been able to help growling at every mention of the traitor.

And then the implications of what Remus is saying sinks in, and Padfoot’s growl cuts off.

Padfoot wants to transform just so he can shake Remus- or himself, he doesn’t know. Remus didn’t know? What the fuck?

Has he just been… what? Operating under the assumption that Padfoot isn’t innocent? That he’s just protecting Harry out of some- some sense of obligation? But then why not say something about Padfoot-

All at once, Padfoot remembers one of the many, many unbreakable vows he and James had made with each other. Specifically, the only one they ever got Remus and Peter to take too.

Oh.

OH.

Merlin’s tits. Remus thought he was guilty. This whole time. Oh, shit. Padfoot knows Remus thought so at first, but he’d assumed that he’d figured it out at some point, had made a conscious choice not to bring it up because he didn’t want- Padfoot doesn’t even know. What he does know is that Remus must have been so confused. And hurting. And scared. And-

And this explains a hell of a lot, actually. Not only that, but it means- it means-

It means Remus might want something to do with him after all.

Padfoot is actually going to throw up.

“Padfoot, you need to tell me this right now,” Remus says, eyes golden. “Was it Wormtail?”

Padfoot barks in the affirmative (that code they’d come up with is so ingrained in that it might as well be a second language- and he knows Remus still knows it), still too stunned to do anything but that.

Remus stares at him for a long moment. Padfoot stares back. Neither of them blink.

And then Remus is on the ground, clutching his stomach and breathing hard. Padfoot is by his side in an instant, not pausing to think about how this probably doesn’t change anything, that now Remus has a whole new thing to be mad about (why hadn’t they told him too? They should have told him). All Padfoot knows, all that matters, is that Moony is hurting and Padfoot can do something about it.

Like he had during his last panic-attack a couple months ago, Remus reaches for him automatically, pulling Padfoot into his arms as though it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to do. Padfoot closes his eyes and leans in, allowing himself this one small comfort.

He’s sure that once Remus comes back to himself, he’ll be pushing Padfoot away again- but that’s a problem for later. For now, Padfoot is going to let himself be hugged by the man he loves. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting like this, but he’s going to treasure every second of it, because he knows it’s the last time he’s going to be getting anything of the sort.

Only- only Remus’s breathing is evening out now. And he’s not letting go. Why isn’t he letting go?

“Thank you,” Remus whispers.

Padfoot feels himself go tense. Thank- wait, thanks for what?

Fortunately, Remus seems to be about to explain himself.

“I know you-” Remus’s voice breaks here, but he keeps talking. “I know you don’t want anything to do with me-”

What.

Padfoot pulls himself back, and levels the most disbelieving look he can at Remus.

He knows it reads, because Remus looks back with a confused expression.

“You don’t want anything to do with me,” Remus says again. It’s not a question. It’s a statement. An incredibly incorrect statement.

Padfoot, as intentionally as he can, presses his nose into Remus’s hand. If that doesn’t convey ‘I actually want everything to do with you, it’s only just that I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, and I’ve been trying really very hard to respect your boundaries all year, thank you very much’ to Remus, he doesn’t know what will.

Remus stares at where Padfoot’s snout meets his hand. He doesn’t pull back, but he doesn’t move forward either. Padfoot can almost hear the thoughts racing in Moony’s mind.

“You,” Remus says, speaking with absolute finality, “should not want anything at all to do with me. Do you understand? Tell me you understand that.”

Padfoot once again has to resist the urge to transform, simply so he can shake some sense into his idiot werewolf. Instead, he growls once, softly. And then he presses up against Remus again, wriggling into his arms.

“You bastard,” Remus says- although it sounds like he’s trying not to cry, so Padfoot decides not to take it to heart. “We are going to clear your name, and then we are absolutely going to be talking about your terrible taste in- in friends.”

Friends. Friends, not- not partners. Hm. Does that mean Remus doesn’t want to go back to-

No, wait, that’s not even close to what Padfoot should be worried about right now. Right now, he should be worried about the first part of that sentence.

He can’t get his name cleared- not yet. Not while Harry is still in danger from Voldemort. Padfoot does his best to convey this with a couple soft barks and a low growl. It doesn’t work- Remus just shakes his head, expression still looking torn between utter bafflement and a lost and lonely hope (which of course makes Padfoot’s heart want to break into a million pieces- but he can let it do that later).

Padfoot wrinkles his snout, thinking. How does he convey how important this is to Remus?

Oh, Harry knows! Padfoot had spent way too long getting Harry to understand that- it’s the only reason Harry hadn’t marched straight up to Dumbledore demanding he get Sirius’s name cleared the second he’d realized Sirius was innocent. Harry can explain everything to Remus.

In fact, Padfoot probably should have remembered that Harry was still here before now. How long has he been sitting there, just watching? Padfoot has no idea how long Moony’s panic attack had lasted.

Damn it all, Harry is probably so smug right now.

Padfoot looks over his shoulder, bracing himself for the ‘I-told-you-so’ look from his godson.

And his heart drops right into the floor, because Harry isn’t doing anything of the sort.

In fact, Harry isn’t there at all.

Chapter Text

Draco is terrified- so scared he’s having a hard time breathing. Inside of his chest, his wolf is straining to get out, to run, to hide, to do anything. It’s all he can do to keep hold of it.

He’d been studying in the common room, feeling pretty good on the whole- finals are coming up, and he just knows he’s going to get top-scores this year. (Okay, maybe not over Hermione, but some day he’ll get there.)

Then he’d been kidnapped.

The actual kidnapping had happened without preamble, and he hadn’t had the chance to fight it at all. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was him, he’d have been impressed at how smooth the whole thing had been- they’d imperio-d a student into imperio-ing him, and before he knew it he’d come to in some horrible little shack, sitting on the ground as he watched his Grandfather, the man called Pettigrew, and Lord Voldemort himself weave wards around the place.

“Just sit and be quiet like the good pure-blooded heir you’re supposed to be,” Voldemort said, without looking up from what he’d been doing. That had been bad enough even before he'd added; “and we won’t have to crucio you.”

Grandfather had laughed. Draco had not. Instead, he’d done what he’d been told- he really, really didn’t want to be crucio-d.

The pleasant haze of being imperio-d had worn off all at once, and all that had been left was his racing heart and the rising tide of nausea as he waited for them to finish. There was nothing he could do- even if it had been just his Grandfather, he didn’t stand a chance fighting his way out. All he could do was hope that their plan, the one they’d come up with all those months ago, held.

He hadn’t bothered hoping that Harry wouldn't come at all. Stupid Potter.

That had been smooth, too- luring Harry into the trap, that is. Voldemort simply summoned a garter snake, hissed something to it, and sent it on its way. Draco had no doubt it was sent to go get Harry. Subtle, and Harry’s the only one besides Voldemort who could understand it.

And now here they are. Draco, sitting on the floor, back against the wall, feeling cold and terrified and completely powerless. They’d taken his wand, of course- not that he thinks that would have helped anything. What’s the point of a wand if it doesn’t keep Harry from literally walking into a trap, with nothing but his own wand, a dog, and a desperate plan that feels more and more flimsy the more Draco thinks about it?

Draco thinks he might throw up.

None of the men seem worried about Harry not showing up, or showing up with back-up. They spend the next several minutes leaning against the wall, or sitting, just chatting. Draco does his best to listen despite the panic making it hard to focus, hoping they might talk about something sensitive around him, but no luck. At one point Voldemort asks Grandfather something about how the peacocks are doing.

Not exactly a conversation topic that strikes fear in the heart of anyone. Draco’s afraid anyway.

Draco and Grandfather clearly hear Harry approaching before Voldemort or Pettigrew do- but Draco shooting his head up is enough to have Voldemort standing up straight, brushing an invisible piece of lint off of his shoulder.

“He’s alone,” Grandfather says, head cocked as he listens.

Draco can’t hear anyone else, either, but- but he’d better not be alone. He can’t be. What about the plan?

No, it’s just a silencing charm keeping them from hearing anyone else. That’s all.

The snake slithers in first, but Harry is following close behind, wand out and green eyes flashing- and at the sight of him, Draco’s heart sinks. The dog is nowhere to be found- and something tells Draco that means the plan changed. And he doesn’t think it’s going to be for the better, either.

Sure enough, the second Harry crosses the threshold of the doorway, it caves in- dirt and wood packing in so thoroughly it would take hours to dig through without magic. Probably with magic, too, what with all the wards the three men had been weaving.

That’s already bad. But what’s worse is that, unless Dumbledore had been walking ahead of both Harry and the snake, then he’s either on the other side of that cave in-

Or he isn’t here at all.

All at once, a rush of anger manages to momentarily overwhelm the fear still clawing the inside of Draco’s chest and throat. He’d known Harry was going to pull something like that. Draco just doesn’t understand why. Why would Harry go it alone?

And now he’s going to die.

All at once, the fear is back.

Harry doesn’t flinch at the cave-in- he’d been too busy looking around the room to even really notice, probably. He opens his mouth to say something, only for his eyes to fall on Draco. And then he has the audacity to smile- in relief, it looks like.

That settles it. If they get out of this one, Draco is going to kill him.

“So nice of you to join us,” Voldemort says, smooth voice deceptively sincere. Draco grabs desperately onto his wolf as it flails in his chest, howling and screaming. He doesn’t think it sank in that Harry is going to die here- not really, not until now.

Draco has to force himself to take in a lungful of air. It doesn’t really help.

“Not like I had much of a choice,” Harry snaps back, expression turning cold and gaze going to Voldemort instead of Draco. In contrast to Draco himself, if Harry’s at all afraid, Draco can’t pick up on any of it.

(His own fear might be clouding his senses too much. Not only that, but his wolf is now doing nothing but whimpering in his chest- it must have realized how completely and totally powerless Draco is here, in this situation. Useless. He’s completely useless.)

“True,” Voldemort admits, inclining his head. “And I see you’ve come alone- I’m not one for breaking my promises. The boy lives.”

Draco doesn’t think anyone else notices it, but his Grandfather’s shoulders relax just the slightest bit at that. (He hadn't even realized the man was tense to begin with.)

Oh, so Voldemort really would have killed him.

Draco feels all at once a little light-headed. Maybe- maybe he’s the tiniest bit relieved that Harry hadn’t risked getting anyone, after all.

In fact, that’s probably exactly why he hadn’t. The snake- it could have told on Harry to Voldemort if Harry had gone back in time, if Harry had done anything but come straight here.

The complicated tangle of relief and fear and horror in Draco’s chest is beginning to feel suffocating.

And then, all at once, Draco isn’t feeling any of that at all. Because all he’s feeling is pain.

It’s the worst pain he’s ever felt in his life (which is saying something, considering the fact that he literally tears himself apart once a month)- lighting up every nerve in his body. It’s like transforming, only ten times worse. It’s also somehow- more. At least when every bone in Draco’s body breaks, he can tell what’s happening (for the most part). But this.

This is just… pain.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the pain ends, and Draco comes back to himself. He’s lying on the cold dirty floor, breathing heavily. His throat feels raw- he must have been screaming. There are tremors rolling through him every other second, bringing another wave of pain with them as his nerves seem to… unclench.

Draco blinks, trying to bring his thoughts back to the situation at hand. It’s difficult. He feels scattered, like the pain had grabbed his brain in its teeth and shook. What happened? Was that… was that a crucio?

He hadn’t even seen Voldemort move. Just how good is he?

“You promised,” Harry shouts, somewhere on the edge of Draco’s awareness. At some point he’d moved to stand nearer to Draco- not near enough to touch, but nearer. Something in Draco relaxes from the sheer proximity, and more of the pain ebbs away.

“I promised not to kill him, idiot boy,” Voldemort says. Then he raises his wand again. “Move.”

Draco can’t help it- he curls up on himself, shaking even harder, more in fear than in pain this time. He isn’t really thinking about anything but the fact that the last thing he wants is to go through that again. For the first time, he wonders if any of this was worth it- Harry, Ron, any of it. At that thought, he has to bite back a sob.

He’s just a kid. They’re all just kids.

“Move,” Voldemort says again, tone ice cold.

“No,” Harry says, placing himself directly in front of Draco. His voice is all iron- matching Voldemort’s- and his back straight.

In short, he’s doing exactly what everyone knew he would, demonstrating perfectly why none of them had wanted Harry to follow Draco at all. Damn it all.

Draco does try to say something then, but as it turns out his teeth are chattering too hard to do so. Just as well- he doesn’t know what he’d have said. Protested, maybe? Cursed at Harry? Begged the Dark Lord for mercy?

“Very well,” Voldemort says, looking terrifyingly amused.

Draco’s heart goes from his stomach to his throat at the sight. He takes it all back. All of it. The Dark Lord can hurt Draco as much as he pleases, just not Harry, please, he’s so fragile-

It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It doesn’t stop anything. All at once the Dark Lord is crucio-ing Harry, and there’s nothing Draco can do but lie there and shake, just listening to the other boy’s hoarse screams. A couple tears leak out of his eyes, then- although, judging by how wet his face feels, he’d cried during the crucio, too.

Draco tries to focus on breathing instead of his best friend on the floor screaming only a couple feet away. It doesn’t really help, but it does keep him from hyperventilating. Everything still feels rather foggy, but some survival instinct buried deep in the fiber of Draco’s being doesn’t let himself fall into a panic attack.

After all, he needs to stay present if he wants Harry to get out of this alive- and if he can get close enough to the other boy to get the time-turner’s chain looped around both of their necks, they might be able to do just that.

So instead of looking at Harry (which would absolutely have had him breaking down), his gaze falls on the other two men in the room- Grandfather is standing beside Voldemort, expression blank. He doesn’t meet Draco’s gaze, but not out of shame- Draco gets the feeling it’s more so because Draco isn’t worth the attention right now. He only has eyes, or eye, for his old friend.

Pettigrew, on the other hand, isn’t watching any of it. Instead, he’s cleaning his fingernails. He looks utterly unbothered by everything occurring. All at once, Draco thinks he might hate the man.

Finally, finally, Voldemort ends the spell- although Harry’s screams are going to be ringing in Draco’s ears for a long, long time.

Voldemort looks at Harry expectantly- although Draco doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. An apology? Begging, like Draco had been considering?

Either way, he isn’t going to be getting it any time soon. This is Harry they’re talking about, after all.

He’s going to get them both killed.

“Wow,” Harry says, panting on the floor. His voice is hoarse from the screaming and he’s shaking all over, tremors to match the ones Draco is still having bouts of. That said, Harry’s voice is surprisingly firm despite the hoarseness, and his expression hard as ever. “What a big bad evil Dark Lord, crucio-ing a couple of defenseless kids. Bet that makes you feel powerful. Can we hurry this along? My dog is going to realize I’ve gone any second now.”

Voldemort pauses, then, red eyes glittering- and Draco’s heart sinks impossibly further. Why. Why does Harry have to be himself? Now Voldemort is going to want to hurt them more.

Which, actually, might have been the goal. Hurting isn’t dead, after all.

(Draco wonders where Harry picked that mentality up from, and then he wishes he hadn’t.)

“Ah, yes,” Voldemort says, slowly, voice sending chills down Draco’s spine. “The dog.”

A flash of fear crosses Harry’s face. Draco would like very much to shake some sense into him, if not for the fact that he thinks he probably wouldn’t be able to move that far. That’s what it takes? Not getting crucio-d, not the threat to his own life or to Draco’s- but threatening his dog?

“Ohh, the dog,” Pettigrew pipes up, expression going from disinterested to delighted. Harry’s eyes flick over to him, and Draco thinks he sees a hint of confusion in there- which Draco is sure is expressed on his own face as well. “You think he’s going to show?”

“I don’t doubt it,” Voldemort says, eyes cold despite the smile spreading across his face. “He’s such a nuisance when it comes to the boy. Perhaps we should make tearing him apart something of a game- between the two of us. What say you, Wormtail?”

Draco only hears it because he’s a werewolf, but Harry takes in a sharp little intake of breath at that.

“I like it- but I’ll bet we could imperio the kid into doing it himself,” Pettigrew says, smile widening further.

Harry’s expression goes so terrified that Draco knows all at once that they need to get out of there, and fast. He doesn’t know why the dog is so important to everyone, but it doesn’t matter right now. Right now, all that matters is the fact that if Harry were to be forced to do that, it would break him.

Draco is a coward, but even he has his limits. And, as it turns out, standing by and letting them break Harry is one of those limits. That’s his Harry they’re talking about. The crucio was bad enough.

With difficulty, he props himself up on his still shaking arms, aiming to scoot towards where Harry is half-lying, half-crouched on the ground, green eyes now glazed over in fear. Draco just needs to get- a tiny bit closer-

“Move another inch and I’ll take an arm off,” Voldemort says. He’s not even looking at Draco- his eyes are still on Pettigrew. Grandfather sighs from where he’s standing near Voldemort, shaking his head as though Draco is being nothing more than an unruly child.

Draco goes still again, although all at once he wants to scream in rage- or, hang on. That might be his wolf. With some difficulty, he pulls it back once more. Harry, meanwhile, whips his head around, expression clearly trying to convey to Draco that he needs to do as Voldemort says. Unfortunately for Harry, Draco is supremely uninterested in anything the other boy has to say about any of this, because so far he’s been nothing but a colossal idiot about the whole thing. It’s Draco’s turn. Who needs two arms anyways?

Draco moves again, faster now. It’s still not enough. Voldemort does look his way, this time, and Draco freezes under his considering stare. He looks a bit bemused. “Did you think I was bluffing?”

Draco doesn’t respond, just presses his lips into a tight line. He’s too scared to talk, so he doesn’t bother trying. He’d just embarrass himself. Instead, he takes a moment to mourn his two-armed life and prepare to otherwise leap for where Harry is at. Arm loss or no, if he can just get to Harry, they can use the time-turner and get out of here.

“Hm,” Voldemort says, before his wand is raised again.

Draco closes his eyes, bracing himself for the pain. At least it won’t be worse than a crucio, probably. Harry lets out a strangled cry. And then- nothing happens.

After another moment, Draco cracks an eye open. Then, his eyes are widening of their own accord, and he nearly lets out a cry himself at the scene in front of him.

Voldemort is standing there, in the middle of the room, hands held up to his neck and terror painting his expression as he stares in disbelief at Draco’s grandfather.

“You know, old friend,” Grandfather says, staring back at Voldemort with no pity to be found in his tone or his face, “if you’d have let me turn you all those years ago, you’d be able to heal from that.”

(Distantly, Draco registers the fact that Pettigrew is laughing into his hands, clearly elated at this turn of events.)

What- where did Grandfather even get that knife? What is happening?

Voldemort doesn’t say anything to Grandfather, but he tries- only for blood to pour out of his mouth instead of words.

Draco reasons, numbly, that it is probably rather difficult to talk through a knife-wound to the throat.

At some point Harry had scooted backwards towards Draco, eyes huge and expression horrified. Draco automatically meets him in the middle and Harry wraps his arms around Draco, somehow pulling the two of them back towards the wall despite the fact that he’s clearly still suffering from the after-effects of the crucio.

And there the two of them sit, shaking as they watch in stunned silence as Voldemort crumples to the floor and dies.

Chapter Text

Remus seems to have followed Padfoot’s gaze, because behind him, Padfoot hears Remus say, “where did he-”

And that’s all Padfoot hears, because now he’s tearing out into the hall, trusting his nose to get him back to Harry. His heart is pounding terribly fast and loud in his head.

Where could Harry have gone? Why did he leave? Padfoot tries to tell himself that it’s probably just that he wanted to give Remus and Padfoot some space, time to clear things up without an audience- but something deep in his gut tells him that’s not the case.

It’s too close to the end of the year- they’re only a month and a half out from exams- and Voldemort hasn’t tried anything since the beginning of school. Padfoot’s spent the whole year waiting for the other shoe to drop- and he thinks it just did.

And he’d been distracted.

Padfoot hates himself.

No, wait, not the time- he can languish in self-loathing later. Right now, he has a godson to catch up to, and protect. With his life, if necessary.

James’s son is not dying today. Harry is not dying today. Not today, not ever. Not if Padfoot has anything to say about it.

His nose takes him all the way out the front door and down the grounds, straight to-

Somehow, his heart sinks even further into his chest.

The trail leads right to the Whomping Willow. Specifically, the secret path underneath it. There are very few people that know about that path, and as far as Padfoot knows, Voldemort isn’t one of them. Or, he wasn’t, anyways.

God damn it all, Wormtail. First James and Lily, and now their son?

That’s it. After he gets Harry out of here, he’s bundling the kid up and they’re going to the Burrow and Sirius is explaining everything and Molly won’t ever let Harry out of her sight again and Sirius will be free to hunt Peter down and tear him to shreds, so he doesn’t ever, ever get the chance to hurt Harry ever again.

And Remus will of course also be welcome along.

Padfoot breathes hard through his mouth as he runs. Has this passage always been this long? It’s horrible. What is also horrible is the way that he’s not just smelling Harry’s scent- now that there’s less scents to distract him, he can smell the other people that have come down this path recently.

There’s Harry, yes, but also- Draco Malfoy. Damn. Definitely Voldie, then- and rescuing one kid is going to be hard enough.

For a fleeting moment, Padfoot hopes that maybe this is just a silly teenager thing, two boys sneaking off to have a moment alone away from their dog/godfather.

The scent of three other unknown presences pretty soundly destroys that hope.

Hang on- not all of them are unknown.

Padfoot knows that smell.

He growls despite himself. But hey, on the bright side, looks like he won’t have to hunt Peter down at all, since by the smell of it, he’ll be at the end of the tunnel.

Padfoot just needs to live long enough to kill him, is all. Easy peasy.

Why hadn’t Harry gotten anyone? That had been the plan, hadn’t it? Why- no. Doesn’t matter. Focus on running.

Finally, finally, the tunnel slopes up, letting into the shack. Or- it should have. Instead, it just stops in a mass of dirt and shards of wood, packed in tightly to what should be the entrance. Not only that, but there are wards all over the place. Strong wards- strong enough that the hair on Padfoot’s neck is standing straight up.

Shit, shit, shit.

Okay-

“They must have caved it in. Can you do anything about the wards? I can get rid of the dirt if you do.” Moony asks, rolling his sleeves up as he stares at the wall, brow furrowed. He isn’t out of breath or anything- but his eyes are dangerously golden.

Padfoot doesn’t know why he’s even surprised Remus is here. Although, he’d clearly been more distracted than he’d thought if he hadn’t noticed Moony following him.

For a moment, Padfoot considers simply trying to dig through the dirt. But- he doesn’t want to chance the wards being tuned to him, and Moony definitely couldn’t get through regardless.

Which means he’s going to have to transform.

So, without thinking too hard about what that means for him, he does, finding himself in his own body for the first time in almost a year, wearing his old prison rags and simply sitting on the dirt floor. He’s glad he’d thought to sit down first- he won’t be standing on his own as a person any time soon.

There’s an aborted sort of cry from Remus, but Sirius doesn’t pay any mind to that. He’s too busy gritting his teeth so hard that they might be in danger of cracking.

Damn- the pain really is… not good. The worst of it is a bone-deep soreness, that he’s sure needs to be countered with potions or something. Ha- maybe Harry can brew him some, since he loves the subject so much.

No, wait, he has a job to do- he can’t afford to be distracted.

“Wand,” Sirius croaks, holding an intensely shaking hand out. He doesn’t look Remus’s way. If he looks Remus’s way, he’ll burst into tears. His brain just feels so fuzzy- it doesn’t bother him so much as a dog, but as a person, he knows he should be thinking clearer than this. But he can’t- so many of his thoughts feel like they’re on the other side of a foggy glass.

Fortunately, ward-breaking is not something the dementors deigned to try and take from him. He doesn’t think they could have if they tried- it’s too deep in there. (Walburga made sure of that, at least.) It’d be like the dementors trying to take the memory of breathing away.

On second thought, they probably tried doing that too. Sirius isn’t sure- can’t remember.

Remus’s wand is placed in his hand, and he slips into the schema with a flick of his wrist.

The wards are strong in terms of brute-strength, as he’d anticipated (which is not going to be a problem against Sirius’s technical skill), and somewhat knotted up. Almost as though the person who made them knew that Sirius was going to be going at them, and tried to compensate for their own lack of skill in weaving by tangling everything up instead.

It takes Sirius thirty seconds to unravel it completely.

He’s vaguely aware of something on the other side, more wards- intended to keep people in and not out, but that’s not something he can deal with from out here. Besides, every second they’re out here is another second Harry is in there, with Peter.

(And also probably Voldemort, and someone else. But mostly Peter, that fucker.)

Sirius wordlessly surfaces and hands the wand back to Remus, all without looking back at the man. “I can’t move,” he rasps. “Not like this. I’m going to have to transform again.”

Remus doesn’t say anything. He probably can’t. Sirius doesn’t know what he looks like, but judging by how he feels three-quarters dead, it isn’t good. It can’t be easy for Remus to see him like this- especially not when he’d only learned of his innocence all of half an hour ago.

What can Sirius say? He’s basically the world champion of hurting the people he cares about.

With that thought, Sirius decides it’s time to go back to being a dog. So he does- and almost falls over again, simply from relief. He is never turning back into a person ever again.

Remus is staring at him, eyes somehow even more gold than they’d been before. Padfoot barks at him, trying to snap him out of it- they don’t have time for this. He’d been subtle, but he can’t be sure they didn’t notice the wards falling apart.

Fortunately, Remus catches on- and as easily as twirling his wand, vanishes the mound of dirt. Almost before it’s gone, Padfoot is leaping forwards, snarling.

He can feel the wards closing in around him as he does- but he doesn’t pay them any mind. He can tear those down later- they’re not going to stop them from killing Peter or rescuing Harry, just keep them from trying to leave.

Then he’s no longer thinking about the wards at all. Instead, he’s freezing in place as he takes in the scene in front of him. It’s so inexplicable that he almost doesn’t even notice the altogether overwhelming smell of blood.

Harry and Draco are sitting on the far side of the room, backs pressed up against the wall, hugging each other tightly and shaking (why are they shaking) as they stare ashen-faced and wide-eyed at Padfoot. Safe- for now. The sight has Padfoot’s heart slowing, but only minutely. (Although Draco’s eyes are burning gold, which might be bad- Padfoot is just going to have to hope the boy has himself under control enough to not turn into a wolf, because then they’d have a whole new set of problems.)

In the middle of the room stands Peter, looking healthy and altogether too happy. Padfoot will be remedying that shortly. He’d be remedying it now, but Peter’s wand is pointed straight at the two boys, and Padfoot can’t risk Peter getting a spell off. Peter must know this, because he’s looking at Padfoot with a smug smile on his face.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see them- they must have felt the wards come down, after all. Padfoot feels his hackles rising at the sight, but forces himself to remain still, for now.

The two unknown people are here too- one of which is a man that can only be Lord Malfoy, standing just in front of Peter. He’s wearing a set of fancy white and gold robes, and an eyepatch to match (because he’s a pretentious ass). In his hand is an elegant looking knife, intricately carved- a fact that’s highlighted by the sheen of blood coating its blade. Lord Malfoy’s remaining eye is golden too- but there’s an easy expression on his face. It’s almost warm, even. He’s not looking Padfoot’s way, though- instead he’s looking at the source of the final unknown scent, crumpled in a heap on the floor.

The heap that is undoubtedly Lord Voldemort lying in a pool of his own blood, a gaping knife wound in his neck. He is, without question, completely dead.

What the fuck.

“What good timing!” Peter says, his smug smile turning into a huge grin. “Oh, and Moony is here too- long time no see.”

Speaking of Remus, Padfoot is aware of him standing behind him- but he’s not making a sound, other than a low growl emanating from his chest. Padfoot doesn’t even need to look to know that his eyes are literally glowing by this point.

“Peter, ignore them,” Lord Malfoy says, finally looking up from the body of the most feared Dark Lord in a century. “We have better things to be doing. We’re leaving.”

“Aw, so soon?” Peter asks, wand not wavering. “Without cleaning any of this up?”

Padfoot gets the feeling Peter isn’t talking about the corpse.

Padfoot almost leaps for him, but stops himself. Peter isn’t as good at dueling as Remus is, but he is good- and he’s still pointing that wand at Harry. And Remus- Padfoot doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he probably is just as unwilling to risk Harry’s life as Padfoot is. He’s probably just biding his time, is all.

“Please,” Lord Malfoy says, nose wrinkling. He brushes an invisible piece of lint off of his shoulder. “Of course not. We’re not animals.”

Padfoot is inclined to disagree.

“Grandfather-” Draco starts, voice small and a little bit waver-y. And suspiciously hoarse. Padfoot feels his hackles raise even further at the implications.

“Quiet, Draco,” Lord Malfoy snaps. Draco goes still, and once again Padfoot has to keep himself from leaping- although this time it’s to keep from tearing the old bastard’s throat out. That’s Harry’s Draco. And also a child.

It’s really not that difficult to be nice to children.

“I’ve let this go on long enough. It’s time you relearn what it means to be a Malfoy.”

Padfoot’s heart lurches into his throat, and he tenses up somehow even more. He doesn’t know exactly what they’re talking about (damn dementors, damn limited cognitive capability), but he doesn’t think it’s good.

“I know,” Draco says, sounding desperate. His hands tightens around Harry’s arm, likely tight enough to bruise. “I do know- don’t- I can’t lose him,” he finishes, and Padfoot’s heart stops.

Besides Draco, Harry’s green eyes go impossibly wider. He’s terrified- but he also isn’t moving. Come on, Harry- Padfoot knows he could get himself and Draco out of this one- take the time turner and go. Why isn’t he moving?

Harry’s eyes flicker to Padfoot, which has him realizing why all at once.

Fuck. He’s worried for Padfoot. God damn it all. Forget never transforming again- if they get out of this one, Padfoot is transforming back into a person just to tell Harry he’s grounded.

“You can,” Lord Malfoy says simply, eye cold and face hard. Then, he turns to Peter. “Finish this. I don’t care how. Although, if you hurt my grandson, I’ll kill you. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Peter says, smiling and inclining his head. Lord Malfoy nods, then vanishes with a cracking sound. Padfoot can almost feel the wards moving around the man, letting him go after verifying his identity.

Padfoot goes to leap for Wormy’s throat, since it’s now or never. Only- Peter’s not pointing his wand at Harry any more. Now, it’s leveled straight at Padfoot. Padfoot freezes on instinct- and because maybe, just maybe, if he doesn’t fight, Peter will keep pointing his wand at Padfoot and not at Harry.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt him- kid grew on me while I was living at the Weasley’s,” Peter says, as though reading Padfoot’s mind. (Harry lets out a little choked gasp, but Peter doesn’t look his way.) Padfoot has half a second to feel relieved before Peter continues, saying, “No, I’m not going to hurt him. I don’t need to.”

Besides him, the growling sound coming from Remus increases in volume. Peter just laughs, even though Padfoot is sure that any second now, Remus is going to be flinging spells Peter’s way. Any second now.

Padfoot risks a look towards Harry, trying to convey with his eyes that he needs to get out of here, while he still can. Harry, having inherited the absolute worst of everything from his parents (namely the stubbornness and hero-complex), very pointedly ignores him.

“Hey, Moony, you’ll like this,” Peter says. “You’ve always been a fan of irony, right?”

Harry, from behind them, looks like he’s about to bolt forward, run towards Padfoot and Remus- but blessedly Draco keeps a tight hold on him, face white.

Any day now, Moony…

“Sectumsempra,” Peter says, wand still pointed straight at Padfoot.

Oh, Padfoot knows that one. Hm. This is going to be… not good.

That’s the curse that would crop up occasionally during the war, the one only Lily knew the counter to- the one no one else could learn, no matter how hard she tried to teach them.

It would have honestly been kinder to cast a killing curse. But of course, this is Peter. Of course he was never going to be kind.

Fortunately, Padfoot’s so stunned that he doesn’t even feel the pain as the spell hits and his body slices open- just a numb sort of burning. He slumps to the ground, legs giving out underneath him and the smell of blood doubling in his nose. His own blood, this time.

Behind him, over the sudden buzzing noise in his head, he becomes aware of Remus sinking to the floor beside him. Padfoot feels a rush of anger- at Remus. What is he doing?

Don’t worry about Padfoot, worry about Harry. Or go for Peter- Peter, who’s intently watching Padfoot bleed out with a gleam in his eye; Peter, who’s not moving at all; Peter, who’s right there for Moony to kill.

Come on. Remus is usually smarter than this, what’s-

Something horrible occurs to Padfoot even as his thoughts slow to a crawl thanks to all the blood loss.

Remus lets out a muffled scream, and Padfoot’s blood turns to ice even as it continues to pour out of him. He’s not worried about Harry, not anymore, since Peter’s plan has just become clear, and- jokes on him- it’s absolutely not going to work.

But he is worried about Remus. Because-

Remus has never, not in all of the years Padfoot has known him, lost control of Moony. But Remus has also never had to watch Padfoot die, never had to lose him only an hour after getting him back.

And apparently, that’s what it takes.

“There we go,” Peter says, nodding to himself. “There’s the Moony I know. Anyways, Have fun!” Then, with a cracking sound that echoes in Padfoot’s ears, Peter is gone.

Chapter Text

“Harry,” Draco says, shaking Harry slightly in his arms. “Harry, we have to go. We have to go now.”

Harry barely hears him over the sound of the ringing in his ears. He can’t tear his eyes away from the blood pouring from Padfoot’s body. It’s- there’s so much of it. (He hardly notices Remus convulsing on the floor next to him, trying and failing not to scream as his own bones tear him apart. Or- Harry tries not to notice, in any case.)

Is Padfoot already dead? What was that spell? Snape had mentioned it, once, but- Harry hadn’t thought it would be like that.

Harry is having a hard time breathing, a hard time thinking at all.

He could handle the pain of being crucio-d. He could handle seeing Voldemort die (he’s dead, and that should be a relief, but Harry can’t stop thinking about the fear on his face). He could handle the lonely, terrifying run down the secret passageway, the terror that Draco might die and it would be all his fault. He almost couldn’t handle Draco being crucio-d, but he’d managed.

He can’t, not in any world, not in a million years, handle this.

“Harry,” Draco says, giving him another shake, harder this time.

“We can’t leave him,” Harry rasps out, forcing himself to look at Draco instead of Padfoot. He doesn’t want to look away, but he has to make Draco understand- that isn’t a regular dog, that’s, that’s his dad’s best friend, that’s his godfather.

“You are an idiot,” Draco says, voice biting despite the terror painting his face. And then, in one swift motion, he grabs for the chain looped around Harry’s neck, tugging it from where it’d been safely tucked under Harry’s shirt and loops it around his own as well.

“No-” is all Harry gets out before Draco is turning the charm- just once- and the world is spinning around them.

Harry manages to pull free after that, ducking under the chain and feeling like he’s about to throw up- or scream. He falls to the floor in a crouch, hand automatically held out to forestall Draco, assuming the boy is going to try and grab him. His breathing is coming too fast.

Draco just watches for a moment, golden eyes seemingly impassive despite the whiteness of his face and the shaking of his hands.

“You made me leave him,” Harry gets out, even though he can hardly believe it himself. There’s a rising tide of bitterness coming up his throat at the betrayal. He doesn’t know if he can forgive Draco for this.

“He’s a dog,” Draco protests.

Harry shoots to his feet, all of a sudden unable to hear anything over the roaring in his ears. How can Draco still think that, after everything? Do wizards really, honestly, not know what dogs are actually like?

“He is not!”

Draco’s mouth opens and shuts for a moment, wordlessly. Then he throws his hands in the air. “You are impossible,” he says. Then he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. We need to go.”

Harry shakes his head too, gritting his teeth. “No.”

Draco stares at him. “I only took us back an hour,” he says. “They could come in any second- with me. We have to go.”

Harry feels his heart skip a beat as actual logical reasoning finally manages to creep through the terror and adrenaline and grief that had been clouding his thoughts. Right. Time-turner. They’re back in time.

Padfoot isn’t going to die for another hour.

And Harry knows that spell. More importantly, he knows someone who knows the counter to that spell.

“Let’s go,” he says, determination filling his body.

Only, Draco isn’t moving this time. Instead, he’s watching Harry through narrowed eyes. “What are you planning?”

“We only have an hour,” Harry says, pulling his invisibility cloak out of the little bag Molly had knitted for him, enchanted to lie flat under his clothes. “An hour to get back to the school, get Snape, and get back here.”

“Get Snape- what are you talking about?” Draco asks. “Get back here? Are you kidding me?”

Harry pauses, feeling disbelief course through his veins. Is Draco being serious? “Of course not! I’m not leaving Padfoot to die.”

Not that it’s going to happen, of course. Not now that Harry has a plan.

Draco buries his face in his hands.

Harry drapes the invisibility cloak around the two of them. Honestly, it’s like Draco’s never even met him. “Come on. We gotta go, we’re running out of time.”

Draco shakes his head, pulling his hands back down. His golden eyes are hard. “No. No, we’re- we’re safe, now, and Voldemort is dead- or will be. We’re going back, and going to the Hospital Wing, or to Dumbledore, and-”

“No,” Harry says, stamping down on the rush of anger curling in his gut. “We’re saving Sirius.”

“Sirius?” Draco asks, eyes going huge. “Sirius Black?”

Honestly.

“I told you,” Harry says, trying to keep his breathing even and his temper under control. They really don’t have the time for this. “He is not just a dog.”

Draco’s eyes bleed impossibly more gold. “Your dog,” he starts, “is mass-murderer-”

“Talk later,” Harry says, grabbing his hand. “Walk now.”

Draco lets himself be pulled, but Harry thinks that might just be because he’s too stunned to protest.

They walk in silence for a moment, before Draco says, “I’m furious at you.”

“I’m furious at you too,” Harry agrees. And he is- Draco had been planning on losing an arm to get to Harry. That’s unacceptable.

There’s another long moment of silence.

“We’ll fight about it later, then?” Harry suggests.

“Sh,” Draco says, eyes glowing in the dim light. Harry’s heart skips a beat. Then Draco grabs his arm and pulls him to the side of the tunnel, pressing them against the wall as he hisses, “silencing charm-”

Harry isn’t going to risk a flimsy spell on this. Instead, he reaches back into the bag Molly’d given him and pulls out the little rectangular charm Bill had made him when he’d last come to visit, checking up on Harry and his scar- among other orders of business, apparently. He’d been annoyed about the dementors, or something- Harry doesn’t really know. He was mostly excited about the gift. It’s definitely one of the coolest things he owns now.

The charm is an old combination lock, numbers replaced with basic runic symbols. With a little fidgeting, he manages to line the runes up into a silencing array, before he pushes the little button on the side, triggering the array. He can feel it working, the silence going up around them like a bubble.

Despite this, both he and Draco hold their breath as the sound of people walking down the passageway becomes louder and louder. They’re not bothering to keep their own voices down.

Harry watches as Pettigrew, Draco’s grandfather, Voldemort, and Draco himself walk by. The other Draco’s expression is lax, and he looks dazed as he follows the three men without resisting. For a fleeting second, Harry wonders if he should jump out at them- but no. That would be suicidal at best- Hermione had lectured Harry on the danger of paradoxes for hours. So instead, Harry stands there, holding his breath as they watch the procession. Besides Harry, the current Draco grimaces.

Harry squeezes his hand, hoping to convey ‘it’s not your fault’ with the gesture. He doesn’t know if it works- but Draco squeezes his hand back, so he’s optimistic.

Finally, the four pass by, letting Harry and Draco continue down the path. Harry cancels the array after a couple more minutes, not wanting to keep it running for too long. He doesn’t know how many charges it has, so he tries to be careful with it. It’s too useful for sneaking around- among other things- and lessons from Percy can only go so far.

(Not as far as he’d like, either- although between the charm and the lessons, Harry has plenty of opportunities to mess with Ron and Ginny and even the twins, and that’s the greatest gift he could ever have hoped to receive from two of his older brothers.)

They spend another moment just standing there before Draco says, “they really like talking about peacocks.”

Harry can’t help it- he laughs. Draco gets a small pleased smile on his own face, and Harry feels something in him soften at the sight of it.

“We gotta go,” Harry says. Draco nods, and they’re off- not quite running, but close enough.

As they move down the path, Draco says, “Sirius Black. Innocent, I assume?”

Harry nods, although his throat has tightened at the reminder of Sirius there on the floor, bleeding out.

“He and- and Pettigrew switched,” Harry says.

Draco blinks. “Pettigrew, that- the other man in there? Switched?”

Harry doesn’t really want to talk about this. But Draco at least deserves an explanation, after what he’d just gone through. After what he’d gone through because of Harry.

“Switched secret keepers. Pettigrew used to be my parents’ friend. So they were still betrayed, just not- not by Sirius, is all.”

And then apparently after all that Pettigrew got away- specifically, to the Weasley’s house. No wonder both Remus and Padfoot had been so alarmed at the idea of a rat missing a finger- not that Harry had had that much time to dwell on it, what with all the ‘talking to a really very mean surprise snake’ he was abruptly doing.

Harry decides that he doesn’t especially want to think about the implications of Scabbers being- yeah. Yeah, no. (Scabbers went missing at the same time the Diary and the Stone did, Scabbers was surprisingly good at running the moons with werewolves, Scabbers was twelve years old- wait, no, not thinking about it. Right.)

“How long did you know? That Black wasn’t actually a dog, I mean,” Draco asks, after another couple feet of almost-running in silence.

“Since,” Harry says, then clears his throat. “Since the beginning of the school year.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Draco asks, looking at Harry in disbelief.

“I wanted to,” Harry protests, “but he asked me not to.”

Draco hums noncommittally. Harry thinks he may have just added that to the list of things they’re going to be fighting about later.

That’s fine. Harry doesn’t care about any of that- just so long as they can get Snape in there, get Padfoot healed. That’s all that matters.

At that thought, Harry breaks into a full run. Draco doesn’t say anything about that, just keeps pace as easily as anything. Harry thinks about telling him to go on ahead, get Snape now, but thinks better of it- he still needs to tell Draco the actual plan, after all.

And then also convince him of said plan.

Harry focuses on running.

Finally, after what feels like years, they get to the end of the passage, and past the Whomping Willow’s branches. They don’t stop there, though- Harry pulls Draco all the way inside the school, stopping only once they’re well out of the way of the path Harry himself took when he followed that snake.

“Okay,” Harry says, tugging the cloak off and putting it back into the bag. “We have to get Snape and bring him to the shack-”

“Why Snape?” Draco cuts in. “And not Dumbledore?”

“Snape knows the counter to that spell,” Harry explains. What he doesn’t say is that that’s because Snape made the spell with Lily. (Harry is trying not to think about his mum having a thing to do with the spell that might end up killing Padfoot. There are several things Harry is trying not to think about right now.)

“And didn’t you hear?” Harry continues. “Dumbledore is gone. He’s at a meeting with the Minister. Why do you think they picked today?”

Draco frowns. Harry feels similarly. But they don’t have time to stress about any of that, so he continues talking.

“Regardless, we don’t have time-”

“What about the full grown werewolf that’s going to be right there?” Draco asks, still frowning. “It’s going to be hard enough to convince Snape to go out of his way to save a dog’s life, much less risk his own.”

And here’s the part Draco’s not going to like.

“You worry about Snape. I’ll take care of Moony- er, Remus’s wolf. Me and Luna, we’ll lure him to the wards in the forest. It isn’t far, we’ll be alright.”

Harry spoke so fast to get that out that he’s not sure Draco even heard. Then he sees Draco’s expression, and that fear dissipates- and is replaced with a new one. Oh, Draco definitely heard.

“No,” Draco snaps.

Harry stops. No? What? Surely Draco doesn’t still think that they should leave Padfoot to die. Not when he knows he’s a person.

“No, absolutely not,” Draco continues, expression still furious. “I’ll lure, you get Snape.”

Harry is already shaking his head, although he is relieved that Draco seems to at least be on board with rescuing Padfoot now. “He won’t chase you, not when the alternative is a human. You know that. It has to be me- I’ll be alright, really I will.”

Draco grabs his upper arms, face drawn and eyes burning gold. “I cannot lose you,” he says, enunciating each word.

Harry’s throat closes up even more than it already has been. Draco normally isn’t this- this sincere. He’s really worried.

“We’ll figure something else out,” Draco begs. “Please, Harry. We’ve already- hell, you’re still shaking. Can’t we be done? We’ve been through enough. We’re lucky to be alive at all.”

Draco isn’t wrong, is the thing, and is in fact still shaking as well- but Harry’s barely keeping it together as it is. They might be able to leave it to Snape, or get Percy to figure it out- but Harry knows his plan will work, and they don’t have time and he might lose Sirius before he’s even had the chance to see him, have a conversation with him, be hugged by him.

All of a sudden Draco is covering Harry’s eyes- palms held up and pressed gently against them, pushing his glasses up and out of the way. Harry is so startled that he doesn’t move at all. He just goes still.

“What are you-” Harry starts, going to grab Draco’s wrists to pull his hands down.

“You were going to cry. And if you do that, then I’m going to listen to you, and you’re going to get yourself killed,” Draco says, sounding impatient- as though he’s explaining something that should have been obvious to Harry from the beginning.

Harry can feel his face flush despite everything. Thank god his blushes aren’t very visible- now is really not the time.

Harry manages to pull Draco’s hands down, staring intently at the other boy. Draco, despite his tone, is biting his lip and looking remarkably small and unsure. He really doesn’t want Harry to do this, and a part of Harry feels the slightest bit guilty over that.

But Harry’s plan will work. He knows it will. And he’s got a pretty good idea as to how he can convince Draco of that.

“Draco,” Harry starts. Draco blinks at him. “Me and Luna weren’t having a silent protest.”

Draco looks a little taken aback by the subject change.

“Or a bet,” Harry adds, because he knows Draco thought that at one point.

“Then what were you-”

Harry sees the moment it clicks for him. It’s not that far of a leap for Draco to make, after all- they’d had a lesson on animagus this year in Transfiguration, and Harry’s dog isn’t really a dog. No, it’s not a hard leap to make at all.

“Show me,” Draco demands, in a tone that Harry knows full well not to argue with. Not that he would, in this case.

So, Harry shows him.

“Oh, you bastard,” Draco says, once Harry is back to himself. “You couldn’t have done that earlier? You absolute-”

“Please, Draco,” Harry says, grabbing his hands in his own. He feels as though they’re running dangerously short on time, even though he doesn’t actually know that for sure. “We have to go.”

Draco looks at him for a long moment, obviously warring with himself. Then, he sighs, and pulls the time-turner chain over his head and loops the chain around Harry’s neck once more. “I’ll get Snape. You get Luna and meet outside the shack. Keep the turner- it’ll tell you when it’s close to itself, and you can have her open the wards once it’s no longer hot to the touch, and take the wall down too. She should be able to manage that.”

Harry feels his spirits lifting with every word Draco says, feels a smile spreading across his face. The relief he feels flooding his chest is almost overwhelming enough to get him to fall to the ground, but instead he simply nods. Draco is basically just saying the course of action he’d already been planning on, after all.

“Do not die,” Draco finishes, freeing one of his hands and pointing threateningly at Harry.

“Okay,” Harry says, staring into Draco’s eyes- still burning gold, of course. It’s a good color on him- not as nice as silver, but still good.

For a moment, they stand like that- one of Draco’s hands still enclosed in Harry’s, faces inches from each other- and for a heartbeat, Harry thinks they might-

But then Draco pulls back, and nods curtly. “Don’t die,” he says again.

“Okay,” Harry repeats, pushing past the burst of disappointment. Really not the time.

And then they make a break for it.

Chapter Text

Severus is in the middle of cleaning up after a particularly unruly second-year class, bemoaning his general life choices (as he is wont to do after dealing with Ravenclaws) when Draco Malfoy bursts in, slight tremors rocking through his frame every other second.

Severus has all of one second to get out, “what is the meaning of-” before the boy cuts in, saying:

“You have to help us.”

Severus’s blood runs cold, before he pulls up his shields. He cleans his hand with a wandless charm and says, “and who is ‘us’?”

He has a sinking suspicion he already knows- and sure enough, Malfoy says, “Harry, and me, and, um, his dog.”

“And what am I helping with?”

Malfoy seems to struggle with himself for a moment, before he says, “it’d be easier to explain as we go- we don’t have a lot of time.”

Severus’s eyes narrow. Malfoy usually avoids Severus like the plague (sitting in the back during potions, keeping their rare discussions over grades or house-life impressively short, the works)- so either there’s a good chance that something is genuinely wrong, or this is a trap.

Unfortunately, Malfoy has a nasty habit of avoiding eye-contact, so Legilimancy is off the table. Also unfortunately, Severus is a goddamn bleeding heart and he is the boy’s head of house… also, it’s Potter.

“Show me,” Severus says.

Malfoy’s shoulders relax, and he nods- then, he races off. Severus feels another bolt of fear slip through his shields, but he follows the boy, keeping pace easily.

“Explain,” Severus says.

Malfoy is quiet for a moment as they run, and then he says, “Voldemort is dead and Harry’s dog is bleeding out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, and Harry thinks you’re the only one who can heal that for some reason.”

Severus actually stops in his tracks, shields bursting all at once. Numbly, he goes for the sleeve of his left arm, rolling it up. Then he narrows his eyes. The mark is still there, so either the boy is lying, imperio-d (in which case Severus needs to follow him anyways), or-

“Granger had a time-turner,” Malfoy explains quickly, coming to a stop as well.

Well, that’s it. Severus is done. He doesn’t care what anyone else says. He’s quitting after today.

But that means… assuming the boy isn’t imperio-d, or lying; if the Dark Lord isn’t dead now- then he will be. Soon. Severus’s heart is racing as he shakily rolls his sleeve back down.

But how? And- oh, a run in with the Dark Lord would explain why the boy is shaking. Fuck- he should have grabbed some nerve-regeneration potions the second he saw that. Potter is probably just as badly off. Or- he doesn’t even know. What exactly happened?

Also, he is not a veterinarian. Potter should know better-

Potter does know better. There’s something else going on here.

Damn it all, that dog wasn’t normal after all, was it?

And, quite frankly- if the dog is who Severus thinks he is, he’s going to finish the job when he gets to that infernal Shack.

Or- wait, is he? Fuck, where are his shields, he needs his shields.

“Please, sir- I don’t know how much time we have left, but it’s not much,” Malfoy says. “We only went back an hour.”

This gets Severus moving again. (The fact that he’s got a semblance of his shields back is also helpful.) “Is Potter alright?”

“Not unless we can stop his dog from dying,” Malfoy says.

“Where is Potter?” Severus asks, even though he’s sure the answer is ‘besides the mutt, unwilling to leave his side’.

“The Shack,” Malfoy says, easily, confirming Severus’s suspicions.

Except-

Sometimes, Severus hates that he’s so good at being a spy. Because, even running down the hall, desperately holding onto his shields with everything he has, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Draco Malfoy is lying to him.

“Tell me the truth, Mister Malfoy,” Snape says. “What are we going to find when we get to the end of that passage?”

Malfoy just shakes his head, and Severus decides to drop it- the boy is running hard, and if his own breathing is becoming labored, then he’s sure Malfoy isn’t faring much better.

But when they get to the Willow and they pause for Severus to levitate a branch, stopping the tree’s flailing branches, he asks again. “Mister Malfoy,” Severus says. “I need to know what I’m going into.”

Malfoy swallows, obviously warring with himself. Then, he seems to make a decision.

For the first time since perhaps the beginning of first year, Draco Malfoy meets Severus’s eyes.

And his eyes are burning gold.

Severus’s shields slip from his hold once again.

“If Harry does his job,” Malfoy says, before looking away, “then we won’t have to worry about finding anything but a half-dead dog and the corpse of a former Dark Lord.”

It’s not an answer. But Severus doesn’t really care about that- not now.

Severus doesn’t know what to do. A very small part of him (the one that’s got ahold of what’s left of his rational thinking) is wondering if this has something to do with the random spike in the wolfsbane orders he’s suddenly received this year. Another part of him reflexively wants to draw his wand, but that’s just his own irrational fear speaking. Malfoy probably couldn’t hurt a fly even in his wolf form- he’s simply too small. Comically small, even.

Severus is going to kill Remus Lupin.

Ha- funny how things work out like that. At that point, assuming Severus is right about the identity of the dog, Severus will be responsible for the deaths of three of the four Marauders- and he’d never had any real gripe with Pettigrew anyways.

It’s a scenario that should be filling him with satisfaction. Unfortunately, all he can manage right now is a dull burning dread. And, in contrast, a sudden sharp burning feeling on his forearm.

Severus numbly rolls his sleeve up again, only to stare down at the now unmarred flesh. Malfoy follows his gaze, then exhales sharply through his gritted teeth. “We’re running out of time,” he says.

Then he’s off again, and Severus doesn’t see what else he can do but follow the boy, reaching for his shields once more. This is- hang on, what exactly had Malfoy meant by Potter doing his job?

The feeling of dread gets worse.

In retrospect, he should have sent Albus a Patronus far before this point- in fact, he should have sent one off the moment Malfoy had said Potter needed help. It’s too late for that now, though. He won’t be able to get a Patronus off. Now, it’s just up to Severus.

Or, hang on.

“Go back,” Severus says. “Tell Pomfrey to get Albus back here as soon as possible.”

“No- you’ll need me there,” Malfoy says, shaking his head.

“I highly doubt that,” Severus says, readying himself to cast a stunner on the boy. If he won’t return, then at least he can stay safely out of the way in this tunnel. In fact, he should have done this much earlier- he’s off his game (for good reason), but that isn’t an excuse to let a student run into danger.

“If Harry doesn’t do his job, you’ll need me there,” Malfoy says, looking at Severus like he knows what he’s thinking.

Something about the way he said it…

Severus thinks that maybe he’ll hold off on stunning the boy. He doesn’t want to be murdered by Narcissa Malfoy anyways.

They run the rest of the way in silence.

Malfoy pulls up short just outside of the Shack’s entrance, holding an arm out to keep Severus running in as well. Severus himself has to focus hard on the present, since the alternative is being flung straight back to that moment in fifth year, when he’d almost died, would have died if not for James Potter.

All because of Sirius Black.

Severus needs to get a grip. Focus. His shields are doing all they can, but he needs to put the work in as well- and he’s clearly not doing enough, because he can almost hear the growling-

Hang on.

“Mister Malfoy,” Severus says, feeling suddenly very, very cold. “Is there, possibly, something you neglected to tell me about what would be at the end of this tunnel?

“Come on,” Malfoy whispers, almost under his breath. He’s holding his arm out still- and somehow, blessedly, the wolf hasn’t noticed the two of them.

Maybe that’s because his own scent is being masked by that of another werewolf. Severus is abruptly grateful for that fact, as horrified as he still is at the fact that Malfoy has been turned (without him noticing. How did- no, time for that later. After Remus Lupin and Sirius Black are dead and Potter and Malfoy are safe.)

“Come on, come on,” Malfoy repeats, closing his eyes. It’s like he’s praying.

And, just as Severus has that thought, there’s the sound of an explosion, rattling the Shack’s wall to the point that even Severus can feel it from outside the room.

“Nice one, Luna,” Potter (the fucking menace) shouts.

“Yes,” Lovegood calls back.

“Fifty points from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor and Slytherin,” is all Severus can think to say- almost under his own breath.

Assuming they all survive this, there will be detentions for the rest of the year in store for these idiots as well.

Malfoy doesn’t even look his way, he’s so busy sagging in relief. Which is how Severus nearly gets past him, intent on getting the beast’s attention after all. Better he die than Potter.

Unfortunately, Malfoy is faster than him (blasted lycanthropy), and grabs his arm in an iron grip. Severus is so taken aback by the boy’s audacity that he finds himself stopping of his own accord.

“Trust him,” Malfoy says. “Luna won’t be in danger anyways. Please- the dog.”

Severus looks down at the boy, shields shattering once more as there’s another low snarling sort of growling sound, and then the sound of snapping jaws.

“Potter will die,” he says. His heart is racing so loudly he thinks it might be audible to him. After everything, Potter is still going to die.

“No, he won’t,” Malfoy, the intolerable brat, says. “The dog. Come on-”

At this, Malfoy tugs Severus into the shack. Severus half expects to be mauled to death the instant they cross the threshold- but no. Potter’s ‘done his job’, which was apparently to be torn apart by a fucking werewolf.

Severus is so unexpectedly distraught by this that he almost doesn’t notice the Dark Lord’s corpse- and then, of course, that’s all that he notices. He’s lying on the floor, an ugly knife wound in his neck. His red eyes are dull and glassy, and his face is frozen in horror. It’s a terrible sight.

And it’s one that fills Severus with a fierce joy.

…until his gaze falls on the dog.

Well, that would explain why it had to be him. Potter is lucky Severus had told him about that spell at all- although, not lucky enough that Severus is actually going to cast the counter, of course.

He is not, under any circumstances, fixing that dog. The thing is pretty much dead anyways, blood sluggishly spurting out of him in unsteady intervals- with his slowing heartbeat, Severus would think.

“Please,” Malfoy says, clearly picking up on the reluctance. “I know you think he’s just a dog-”

Oh, brats. All of them.

“You knew that was Sirius Black,” Severus says. It’s not really a question, but he waits for an answer anyways.

Malfoy shuts his mouth. Then, he nods. Then- “please, he’s innocent- it was Pettigrew, I think they switched-”

Well, that does make sense. It’s exactly the sort of thing they’d think up. And, on top of that, would explain how Lupin managed to lose control. If he’d been confronted by this fact, and then saw the dog fall to a spell he assumed was fatal…

Not that any of that matters. Severus still isn’t going to-

“What- are you- doing here?” Sirius Black asks, before coughing up some blood.

Oh dear god. He looks horrible.

(Severus rushes for his shields again, but it’s a bit late for that.)

“Get Harry, you- useless bastard,” Black says, eyes wild. He looks literal seconds from death. And still, he’s saying- “you have- to make sure he’s safe. Dementors-”

Fucking god damn it all to hell and back again.

Severus pulls out his wand, very briefly considers killing himself (it’s almost preferable to what he’s about to do here, but not quite), then sinks to the floor beside the man he hates more than anyone else on the planet.

Or- that might actually be Pettigrew now.

Second most, then.

Wait, unless Lupin turned Malfoy.

Third. Third most.

“Go away,” Black says. It looks like he’s trying to literally push Severus away, but he’s too weak- and keeps slipping on his own blood. “You- can’t do anything- for me- anyways-”

Severus, as quick and dispassionately as he can, begins the counter. Even that wouldn’t be enough at this point, except for Severus has of late taken to carrying around blood replenishing potions- if Severus can get the wounds closed, he can have Black take a potion or two, and he should survive.

Wonderful.

Black falls silent, expression a mix of confusion and disgust. Severus feels similarly. But- well, the dog had saved Severus’s life, that one time. This is just- this is just repaying that, is all.

And also, Potter would never forgive Severus for letting the man die. Severus has done enough unforgivable things to that boy and his family.

“I need to do this at least three more times,” Severus says, in between rounds. “Mister Malfoy, go stop Mister Potter from being torn apart by a werewolf- if you would.”

Malfoy hesitates for only a moment, before he nods and runs off- into the forest, following the disaster that is Harry Potter.

Severus can only hope he won’t be too late.

Chapter Text

Ron is having an alright day, all things considered. He’d been spending it pointedly not studying, mostly- sitting in the library and reading up on the latest Quidditch news.

Or, he was up until the twins ran up to him, carrying an old piece of paper between them. Hang on-

“Is that the Map?” Ron asks, blinking. He doesn’t know why he asked. It clearly isn’t. Or, not the one he’s used to. (Looking back, it doesn’t surprise him at all that the twins had managed to make a copycat version. They’d given the original up too easily for that not to have already been a work in progress, Harry in danger of Death Eaters or otherwise.)

Fred grabs his arm and hauls him to his feet, not gently at all. “No time to explain,” he says. The two begin to pull him, breaking into a run. Belatedly, Ron realizes their eyes are a matching burning gold.

“Explain anyways,” Ron says, although he’s already trying to get his feet underneath him to run alongside. It’s the twins trying to get him to follow them somewhere without an explanation, yes, but something tells him this isn’t a prank, and it’s not just their eyes.

His heart is beating rather hard in his chest, actually. He tries to keep his breathing even, but it’s something of a losing battle. He doesn’t know if it’s what he thinks it is, but…

“Harry’s in the forest,” George says.

Ron’s stomach drops into his shoes. There’s no reason for that to cause such a reaction in him, but-

“We think he’s being chased by Remus’s wolf,” George finishes.

Ron doesn’t need the twins to pull him at all any more. Now, he’s running alongside them. Not Voldemort, not like he’d feared, but still really, really, really bad.

What happened?

“Where,” he asks, voice clipped as he focuses on breathing. (He isn’t in danger of running out of breath, but he sure as hell is in danger of hyperventilating.)

“Towards the wards,” Fred says, and Ron feels a burst of wild hope shoot through the fear. Harry’s got a chance, then. Not a lot of a chance, not if he can’t get there in time- but a chance nonetheless.

“The others?” Ron asks.

“No time,” George says. “You were closest.”

“Right there- we were in the library, too,” Fred agrees.

That could be… bad. But there’s nothing to be done about it now, so Ron just nods, and then busies himself with running.

Usually, they give themselves an hour before full moons to get to the forest. But that’s factoring in the fact that all their bones feel like breaking, as well as adding a bit of a grace-period- just in case.

Ron’s never really timed how long it takes to get from the Library to the woods, but he’s sort of wishing he had now, even though that would have been a ridiculous thing to do. It feels like the run is stretching on for miles and miles- an eternity. Is Harry even alive, still? And where the fuck is Padfoot?

Oh god, Remus is going to kill himself if he hurts Harry.

Ron thought he’d already been running as fast as he could, but he runs faster at that thought.

Finally, finally, they reach the clearing- only for Ron to run directly into Draco, right at the ward line.

“Draco!” Ron says, grabbing the other boy to keep him from falling over. Draco is shaking, for some reason- which doesn’t bode well. “Harry-”

“Safe,” Draco gasps out. “He’s safe.”

The relief flowing through Ron is so strong it nearly knocks him over.

“Where?” Ron asks, breathing hard. Apparently it is possible for him to get out of breath.

Draco doesn’t say anything- he just points, with a shaking finger. Ron follows Draco’s gaze and then-

He’s confused for a second. And then, a great many things click into place at once, and he can’t help himself. He bursts into a relieved laughter.

There, in the clearing, is Remus’s wolf- huge, golden, terrifying- except for he’s not scary. Not now, now with the way he’s romping around, tongue lolling and eyes bright and happy. He’s clearly elated- and for good reason. He’s found a new play-mate.

Around his head, a little brown and white barn owl swoops around, gracefully dodging the playful snaps being thrown his way by the massive golden wolf. He gives a couple haunting hoots, then does an impressive corkscrew. Ron had no idea an owl could look so smug. In fact, Ron thinks he might be showing off.

“That’s Harry?” George asks, mouth open.

Besides him, Fred is looking at their map, squinting over it.

“Yeah,” Draco says. His voice is hoarse, and all at once Ron’s wolf is on high-alert. Harry is safe, and Ron’s relief at that fact had momentarily distracted him, but-

“What happened?” Ron asks.

Draco lets out a shaky laugh. “I don’t even know where to start,” he says.

“Anywhere,” Ron says.

“Well, Voldemort is dead,” Draco says.

Fred drops the map.

Ron hardly notices- he’s too busy staring at Draco and trying to focus on something other than the sudden buzzing in his head.

So it was Voldemort. And- and he’s dead now? How did that happen? How did- how are- oh god. Draco, he’s shaking, and his voice is hoarse, and- and all at once, it’s too much for Ron. He rushes forward, grabbing Draco into a tight hug. Draco wheezes, clearly caught off-guard.

“I am so glad you two are safe,” Ron says, trying to will his heart to slow in his chest as he closes his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Not- really,” Draco gets out.

Ron relaxes his grip and then lets go, stepping back and feeling a little guilty. Whoops- too tight.

“Guys,” George says. “Not to alarm anyone, but, uh-”

Ron looks over at his brother, and then at where he’s pointing. There, in the forest- instead of Remus’s wolf playing with the owl, he’s now playing with the owl and with-

“Who is that?” Ron asks, blinking at the three animals running around in the clearing. “That isn’t one of ours-”

Oh wait. Yes it is. Ron bursts into laughter again- although it’s considerably more strained this time, since now he feels like he may be on the edge of a breakdown.

“At least she doesn’t need to try to get any of us to bite her anymore,” Fred says, as he watches the smaller white wolf try to take down the bigger golden one- she doesn’t succeed, but it looks like she’s having a good time trying.

“She probably will anyway,” George says, rubbing his arms.

“Where is Padfoot?” Ron asks, turning back to Draco. “Is he in there too? And also, what exactly happened?”

Draco’s expression falls, and Ron’s heart falls with it. Oh no. He hadn’t- he jokes, about not liking the dog, but-

Well, he doesn’t know how, but the dog is a part of his pack as much as Remus, or Draco. Losing him would be devastating- not to mention the effect it would have on Harry. Ron shivers at the very thought.

“He’s at the Shack,” Draco says, swallowing. “He was hurt, bad. That’s- that’s why Remus turned. Snape is there, trying to heal him, but- I left before I saw if he was okay.”

Ron nods, although his mind is reeling. He feels more lost than ever. Remus hates Padfoot. Why would he turn if he was hurt? He’s a part of Ron’s pack, yeah, but he is just a dog-

For some reason, Ron is suddenly brought to mind of that moment in the library, all those months ago, where Harry had started saying something, but Padfoot had stopped him. What had they been talking about?

Right. Remus, and his friends. Specifically, hearing about stories on Sirius Black.

“Oh my god,” Ron says, as a great deal many more things click into place.

Fred absentmindedly pats his shoulder, although his attention is still mostly on their map.

“Did you know?” Ron asks, whirling on Draco.

Draco scowls. “That Harry’s dog was Sirius Black? Of course not,” he says. Ron settles back, feeling another spike of guilt. Draco is really shaky- and he keeps shivering. Ron doesn’t like it, not one bit.

“Oh, wow,” George says. “Sirius Black? Wow.”

Ron narrows his eyes at George. That tone- hang on, had they known?

“Uh,” Fred says.

“What now?” Ron asks. Fred rolls his eyes.

“Relax. Nothing bad. In fact, it’s good news- they’re headed this way. Snape and Padfoot, I mean.”

Ron feels his heart leap. “What direction?”

It’s Fred’s turn to point, but he doesn’t need to- Ron is already hearing them crash through the underbrush. Snape is muttering to himself (he’s still too far for Ron to hear what he’s saying), and Padfoot- well, he’s a dog (right now, anyways), so he isn’t talking at all.

Snape sees them, and stops in his tracks. Padfoot has no such reservations- he just wags his tail, albeit a bit weakly, and continues to limp forward. Ron sucks a breath in through his teeth- he doesn’t look too good. His fur is matted over with blood, and there are thin white lines criss-crossing over his chest and side and back, cutting into his fur.

All of a sudden, a little brown blur is swooping past Ron, rocketing towards Padfoot. Ron wants to say something, tell Harry to be careful- but he needn’t have worried. Harry pulls up short right before he hits the dog, and then is transforming back into himself- sliding on his knees and gently wrapping his arms around Padfoot.

Snape throws his hands into the air, but Ron doesn’t really care about that right now. He’s more concerned with Harry, and the dog.

“I’m so, so, so, so happy you’re okay,” Harry is saying. He’s shaking too.

Then, where Padfoot once was-

Sirius Black (who looks awful, holy shit- that’s more of a skeleton then it is a person) wraps his own trembling arms around Harry.

“You’re grounded,” Sirius croaks.

Harry just shakes his head and buries his face further into Sirius’s chest. Sirius looks up at Ron and the others. “Um,” he says. “Surprise?”

“Yeah, wow,” Fred says, not looking up from the map. “I’m simply aghast.”

“Ahh, Sirius Black, oh noo,” George says, although his eyes are still on the two wolves in the clearing.

Sirius lets out a raspy little laugh, then closes his eyes and leans into the hug. He’s shivering, but he looks content.

Ron, meanwhile, is going to kill his brothers. He looks over at Draco, hoping for someone to commiserate with- but he’s just watching Harry with soft eyes. Ugh.

“Will someone explain to me exactly what the hell is happening?” Snape asks. At some point he’d walked closer, although he keeps eyeing Remus’s wolf in the clearing nervously. Which, for Snape, of course means that he’s terrified. Ron files that away as ‘interesting’.

“He’s coming back to himself,” Luna calls from where she’s transformed- not bothering to move out of the warded area. Snape lets out a little choking sound, and goes for his wand- but stops when he sees that Remus’s wolf isn’t going for Luna’s throat. In fact, Remus’s wolf has turned away from Luna, as though she’s a particularly worrisome bug that he’s elected to pretend like doesn’t exist.

“What,” Snape says, in a completely flat voice.

“Oh, whoops- sorry, kid, gotta go,” Sirius says. “Moony needs me.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, stepping back. He wipes his eyes with his forearm- he sounds a little sniffly. He’s still shaking- and now his teeth are chattering. Ron frowns. What did Voldemort do?

Sirius transforms back into Padfoot then begins limping towards Remus’s wolf- who’s collapsed in the clearing, whimpering and shaking and pawing at his snout. Ron decides not to watch as Remus transforms- it’s been a long, long time since he’s seen someone transform without transforming himself, and from what he remembers, it’s not pretty.

“Isn’t it s-supposed to be May?” Draco complains from where he’s standing near the ward line. His teeth are chattering too. “Why is it s-so cold?”

Ron snorts- that's more like Draco. Although- now that he thinks about it, it is cold. Why is that? It wasn’t so cold earlier-

Oh no.

“Fuck,” Snape says.

Chapter Text

“Fuck,” is all Severus can think to say as he sees the mist creeping in. He can’t be sure, but- he thinks they’ve been surrounded- without him even noticing.

Of course, what with everything going on… maybe he shouldn’t blame himself.

Then again, that’s not really a thought that makes him feel any better at the prospect of six students and himself getting their souls eaten. (If Black and Lupin get kissed by the dementors, that’s really on them.)

“Wards, in the w-wards, come on-” one of the twins says, from where he’s somehow appeared next to Weasley, Potter, and Malfoy, beginning to tug the three of them towards the clearing. They stumble alongside him. Malfoy’s face has gone completely white, and Potter’s eyes are huge. Oh yes, because after everything they’ve already been through this is exactly what they-

Severus pulls his shields up again, numbing himself even further. Unfortunately, waves of terror (there are dementors everywhere) and glee (the Dark Lord is dead) and horror (Malfoy is a werewolf) keep crashing into him over and over, buffeting against the shields, cracking them bit by bit. It’s taking everything he has to stay standing- much less move.

Maybe Lily had been right when she’d said the occlumency was a crutch. Well- a little late for regrets on that front.

Also, wards? What wards-

“Sorry, sir,” says the other twin, somehow popping up right beside Severus without his noticing and beginning to tug him towards the clearing as well. (What is it with today and being man-handled by students? Just- the worst.) “Don’t suppose you have any silver knives on you?”

Does he have- of course he doesn’t have any silver knives on him, who does Weasley think-

“A scalpel would work, too,” the twin adds.

Oh. Oh, well a scalpel Severus can do. (One never knows when they need to harvest rare magical ingredients.)

Severus manages to withdraw it from its case and hands it to the Weasley twin.

The twin grimaces, but grabs it carefully by the handle- avoiding the blade like it’s a hot iron as he does.

The sheer effort of trying to keep the shields up is making it really rather difficult to think, true. But not that difficult.

Severus's shields, for what feels like the tenth time today, burst. “Why,” he starts, voice shaking a bit in rage, “are all of you blasted werewolves?”

“Not all of u-us,” the twin says, giving him a rather impressive side-eye despite his now chattering teeth. “And that’s n-not really your business.”

“It-” Severus starts, before taking a deep breath- exhaling in a puff of white vapor. He can hardly feel the cold at all, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. A fresh wave of fear rolls over him as he remembers what’s on the other side of that mist- the mist that’s slowly but surely creeping in and in and in.

It may be his business, especially if Lupin is the one who turned them, but- well. Time and place and all that.

He can kill Lupin later. Assuming they don’t all get eaten by dementors.

“Hand,” the twin says, brandishing the scalpel like a child who has yet to learn to use any sort of utensil at all.

Severus isn’t an idiot. There are wards here, and although he doesn’t know why for sure, he would bet real money that Bill Weasley had something to do with them- which of course means blood magic. He holds his hand out, and hardly grimaces at all as the twin pricks his finger with the scalpel.

“B-bleed on it,” the twin says, pointing at the ground. Severus glares, but he does as the boy says.

Within the clearing, he sees the others sitting huddled up next to a stump. At some point, Lupin had turned back into himself and somehow procured some shabby looking robes. Sitting pressed right up next to him is the dog, and besides that are sitting Lovegood, Potter, Malfoy, and the youngest Weasley boy, all sitting practically on top of each other and looking very worried. The other twin is asking something to Lupin, who’s shaking his head and wearing an expression of despair.

Severus looks back over at the mist, and has to keep himself from shuddering. He hasn’t had the dubious pleasure of interacting with dementors nearly as much as, say, Black has, but he has interacted with them. Within the mist he can almost see the tendrils of their ratty cloaks drifting around, searching… hungry.

Severus decides that they're done standing here. He grabs the twin’s shoulder and starts walking them both over to where the others are gathered. Blessedly, the wards let them both through. Although-

“Is the place warded against dementors?”

“No i-idea,” the twin says, looking nervously behind his shoulder. “I doubt it- Bill wouldn’t have had much of a r-reason to account for them.”

Of course not. And Severus is lucky he’s still standing, much less capable of casting a Patronus. (He’d never admit it to anyone, but the Patronus spell is one that he finds tricky on the best of days- and this is not the best of days. That isn’t to say he won’t try, but- if one of the others can cast it, he’d prefer to let them do so.)

That said, the Patronus isn’t the only spell that can keep a dementor at bay- so when they reach the others, he releases the Weasley’s arm in favor of withdrawing his wand and casting a domed protego around everyone. He briefly considers leaving the wolf and the mutt out of it, but that would be petty. And tricky, since they’re practically surrounded on all sides by idiot students.

Who are also, apparently, werewolves.

(Except for Potter, of course- Severus doesn’t know how the others kept it a secret, but Potter would not have been able to keep that from him.

Or- he hopes so, anyways. Severus doesn’t know if- doesn’t know what he’d do if it turns out Potter is a werewolf. A murder spree, probably. Starting with whatever bastard turned him.)

The protego will buy them some time should the dementors get through the wards, but not much. They need to figure something else out- and clearly, the others have caught on to that.

“Harry,” one of the twins says. “Time t-turner?”

Severus turns on the boy, feeling a spike of sharp hope, but- no. Potter is shaking his head.

“I had to t-toss it with- toss it b-before transforming- you can’t transfigure that sort of m-magical artifact with yourself like you c-can clothes.”

Wonderful. That means there’s a massively powerful magical object lying somewhere in the forbidden forest. And somehow that’s the least of their problems.

“I should have-” Harry starts, then clears his throat. “I should have g-grabbed it. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” the twin says, although he’s gone somewhat shaky. “Not your f-fault.”

Severus begs to differ, but no matter. He turns to the wolf. “Can you cast a Patronus?”

“I don’t,” Lupin starts, “have my wand. And also, n-not right now. I d-don’t think.”

Of course not. (The man does look like utter shit- dried blood on his face, angry red lines from where he’d scratched himself up while transforming that have yet to fully heal, deep purple bags under his still-glowing eyes. Severus can hardly blame him for not being in the right headspace after everything that’s happened- not when he can’t cast a Patronus either. He’s going to blame him anyway.)

The infernal dog whines, and Severus turns on him. “Black,” he says. The dog has the audacity to growl, which has Severus feeling so momentarily furious he almost flings an unforgivable the mutt’s way.

He should really try to get his shields back up.

“Are you k-kidding me?” Malfoy asks, sounding disbelieving. “Did you see h-him?”

Severus looks up at the sky in askance. Surely there has to be one person with rational thinking left. Surely. “I wasn’t asking if he could cast a Patronus. I was going to ask him if he thinks they’d chase after someone who runs, leaving you brats alone.”

“I’ll go,” the Weasleys, Lovegood, and Potter all say simultaneously.

Severus doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response- although he is somewhat pleased at the many truly venomous glares being shot Potter’s way after that particular proclamation.

Black, meanwhile, has transformed again. He looks just as badly as he did before. Severus is trying not to feel about that, because he doesn’t know what he'd feel. Mostly pity, probably. (Disgusting.) All the while Lupin continues to hold Black, looking for all the world like if he lets go, Black is going to disappear in a puff of smoke.

(It’s no less than what Lupin deserves. Not if he’d turned any of these students.)

“They’d d-definitely run after me,” Black says, brow furrowed. “I just d-don’t know if I can run, like- like this. I c-can try, though.”

Lupin closes his eyes and presses his face into Black’s back, tightening his grip. He clearly doesn’t just love that idea- but Severus couldn’t care less. In fact, he’s mostly trying to figure out if there's a way for Black to be able to do just that. After all, they would go after the man, and better Black dead then Potter. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“No,” the youngest Weasley boy says, pointing at Black. “We’re not- we’re n-not sacrificing you to them. We’ll f-figure something else out.” Potter nods vehemently.

Well. It’d been too good to be true, apparently.

Severus tries very hard not to notice the mist creeping ever closer as they spend precious seconds deliberating. As it crawls in, frost begins to coalesce on the otherwise green grass, just ahead of the mist’s reach. If it hasn’t reached the wardline yet, it will soon.

What had the twin said? That the oldest Weasley would have had no reason to ward against dementors? Severus thinks back on what Bill Weasley had been like in class. Whip-smart, hard working, Gryffindor…

Regardless, it’s far too much to hope he’d warded against a monster that lives on a single island hundreds of miles away from here.

Severus hopes for it anyways.

The group has fallen silent, all watching in apprehension as the mist continues in. Finally, the mist reaches where Severus is sure the wardline must be, and- nothing. He abruptly feels a little light-headed, then, and goes to turn and tell the students that he’ll be taking the dog and trying to run for it, when-

A spark, and the tendril is flung back, with a high-pitched screeching sound. The mist seems to recede a bit.

Severus stares. So does everyone else.

“No way,” the youngest Weasley breathes.

“Ohh,” Potter says, “that’s what he was talking about.”