Title: Choices and Changes

Author: Jane Delight

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise does not belong to me.

A/N: This story will have two Parts, with every Part having its own set of warnings. If you're easily freaked out in an 'eeeuw-what-kind-of-person-even-thinks-about-these-things'-way, then I suggest you go read something else. It's the simple 'don't like, don't read' principle.

I started writing this in… Summer 2007, I think. Yeah. I have so far written 5 chapters. That's right. 5 chapters in 2 years. I know, I rule. So, learning from this, I have decided to post those 5 chapters (with plenty of space between each update :P) so maybe this new tactic will get me writing more frequently.

I love this plot with all my heart, so I will not be abandoning this story. Ever. Encouragement is much appreciated, though 

Summary: HPSS slash with a twist. Harry is rescued from his abusive relatives only to find himself living and falling in love with the most unlikely person. Things take a big turn at that point though, and the two must work together to distinguish the truth from the lie.

Choices and Changes

Part I – Changes

Warnings: Child abuse, slash. A lot of slash.

Carlos:

[…]

O dreadful fate! Why was it so decreed?
Why should two men, in all things else apart,
Concur so fearfully in one desire?
Roderigo, here thou seest two hostile stars,
That in the lapse of ages, only once,
As they sweep onwards in their orbed course,
Touch with a crash that shakes them to the centre,
Then rush apart forever and forever.

(Act 1, Scene 2 of Don Carlos by Johann Friedrich Schiller)

Chapter One – The Werewolf

Pain. He had forgotten how it felt when it was absent. Over the loud pounding in his ears, Harry James Potter could identify the sound of his uncle closing the door to his bedroom, followed by loud thuds created by said uncle walking down the stairs, presumably into the kitchen, where his wife, Petunia, would be in the middle of cooking dinner.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and tried to make out his surroundings, which, in the absence of his glasses, were rather blurry.

He was lying on the floor, on his back, at the opposite end of the room as his bed. Upon noticing this, Harry let out a frustrated groan. It seemed as though he'd have to spend the night on the floor again, as it was unlikely that he'd make it all the way to the somewhat soft bed.

Not that his room was terribly big, mind you, but today had been the third day in a row that he'd been beaten quite extensively by his uncle and occasionally his cousin, so he really was in no fit state to move at all.

Upon arrival at number 4 Privet Drive, Harry had immediately been locked into his room, being occasionally let out to use the bathroom for no more than a few minutes. Food was delivered through the cat flap, which had been installed in his door the summer before his second year.

From what Harry had learned from the shouting matches between his uncle and aunt, Grunnings, the company where his uncle worked, was having some financial problems, causing his uncle to have a shorter temper than usual, as the possibility of losing his job became more and more realistic.

Harry had, in light of recent events, taken up a new role in the Dursley household. He was now the way to relieve stress, taking up the title of 'punch bag'.

However, a small part of Harry was thankful for the beating and the pain. It distracted him, however momentarily, from thinking about his late godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius, who'd been the closest thing to a father figure for Harry for the short time that he'd known of his existence and of his innocence, who'd been taken away from him, one minute he had been there, the next, he'd been swallowed by the 'Veil of Death', as Harry had dubbed it in his mind. A large aching gap had appeared where once Harry's hope of a future with his godfather had been, making him unable to feel any positive emotions - quite like a Dementor - every time he thought of his beloved godfather.

He wondered how Remus Lupin, the last true Marauder, was fairing. Probably worse than he, although at that moment in time Harry had trouble imagining how anyone could be feeling worse than himself. That thought, coupled with the burning pain as he tried to move himself into a more comfortable position, brought him onto the topic of that damned prophecy.

Any choice he'd previously had in regard to his future had been taking away from him – by Trelawny, at that. The thought that maybe he hadn't been so wrong after all last year, when he'd thought that he was the weapon the Order had discussed, had crossed his mind repeatedly since the start of the summer holidays. In hindsight, Harry had realized that Dumbeldore wasn't all he was cut out to be. Sure, he was powerful and sure, Voldemort feared him, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts had made many a mistake in his time as well. If he'd known the prophecy all along, then why hadn't he trained Harry? Told him the prophecy? And how come the apparently omniscient headmaster had always been absent when Harry had had to confront Voldemort and his Death Eaters?

His breath had become laboured, and without a reason to keep hold on consciousness, Harry's world went black.

ChangesChangesChangesChangesChanges

In a small, neglected room at number 12 Grimmauld Place, Remus Lupin was trying to drown his sorrows. Trying, being the key word. Werewolves didn't lose their inhibitions easily, a fact which the shabbily dressed man was rediscovering this very minute.

Weeks had passed since he'd lost his mate, Sirius Black, and he was still grieving, with no end in sight. He'd actually contemplated killing himself, yet he knew that that wasn't an option. He was needed, by the Order, but most importantly, by Harry.

Yet every night when he lay down in his bed, a bed which he used to share with Sirius, Remus imagined he could smell the remnants of his aroma on the pillows, the duvet - hell, even the mattress - and he'd think about death, if he would find peace there, with his lover, or if it would just be dark, cold nothingness.

He yearned for Sirius. Every second of every minute of every day, since the day he'd discovered his love for the canine animagus. He couldn't concentrate on anything; the only time that he'd forced himself to pay attention was when Dumbeldore had forbidden anyone from contacting Harry. The wizened headmaster seemed to think that the isolation would be good for him. Remus couldn't imagine why it would be. He only hoped that Harry was fairing better than him, yet knew that that would be unlikely.

He had lost his best friend, his lover, his life mate. There would be no other for him – that, he knew. Harry had lost something resembling a father for him and with him hope for a better future, away from his relatives.

At the thought of the Durselys Remus let out a near animalistic growl. He didn't like the family and could smell the resentment they held for Harry a mile of. Something didn't seem right with them; the fact that both male members of the Dursley family were so blatantly overweight, whereas Harry was rather malnourished. He knew Harry didn't like his relatives, and the more he thought about the matter, the more suspicious and uneasy he became.

Finishing his glass, he made a spontaneous decision to pay a visit to the Dursley residence, to check that the Dursleys had indeed heeded the Order's warning to not harm Harry. Pausing in his actions, he remembered Dumbeldore's insistence to not bother Harry, to let him grieve in peace. Shrugging mentally, Remus went out into the hall to grab his coat. Dumbeldore had made mistakes before, and he personally thought it would be a good idea to let Harry know that he was there for him, that he wasn't alone.

Exiting the old house, he felt a cool breeze blow across his face, sweeping his greying hair back. Then, with a small 'pop', he was gone.