The Wolves at your Back.
Harriet sat at the kitchen table of the Burrow, the normally scrubbed table dull with lack of care.
She and Hermione were peeling an endless sack of potatoes that Fleur had set them, the rhythmic scraping of the knife the only noise in the room.
Once the Burrow had been a cheerful place, but the deaths of three beloved family members had changed all that. Now the house was an echo of itself; a shrine to what was.
Harriet felt a faint stab of guilt go through her heart, but it was an old hurt that had been with her since the second year when she had failed to save Ginny. Now she barely felt the prick that marked her failure, it was a part of her, and she paid no more heed to it.
As Harriet began a new potato, she looked over to Hermione. Once Hermione would have asked her what was wrong or boldly demand they discuss whatever they both were feeling.
But time had changed them both; they were no longer the girls to charge into the fray and boldly confront the enemy. Failure had worn away their fiery edges, and they were left with the keen understanding of their abilities. So Hermione looked away from Harriet, her pale face puffy and drawn, throwing the fine, silvery scars on her face into stark relief.
Harriet turns back to her task, feeling the pain of the bruises on her back and chest, the last lingering pain before the potions cause them to disappear.
Both women look up as the door opens, bringing Ron and Fred, both of them dirty from de-gnoming the garden. Harriet remembers that once this chore would have been the perfect opportunity for a joke but the grim set of the men, kills any remark Harriet may have made.
And these were men, the death of a beloved twin brother, sister and father at the hands of death eaters had robbed the remaining Weasley children of their innocence. But the last encounter with Voldemort's Death Eaters, when the Order of the Phoenix had retrieved Harriet from her relatives had taken much from many.
"Do you know if Fleur needs anything else," Fred asked in a mumble, as he and Ron washed there hands in the sink.
"I think she needed someone to put the cauldrons in the shed," Hermione said, half rising from her chair, "I can ask her, to be sure," she offered putting her knife down.
"No, don't worry about it, I'll ask her," Fred said bounding up the rickety stairs.
With just the three of them there an awkward ensued, with Harriet avoiding the eyes of them both, while they exchanged the wordless communication of couples.
"Harry," Ron began, "we want you to stop reading the stuff your reading, it's not right, it's messing with your head."
"We know why you're doing it," Hermione broke in quickly, with a reproving glance at Ron, "but it's not worth the risk, the magic isn't right," Hermione stopped her face paling with fear, "it's tainted, it's," she paused and whispered, "evil."
Harriet turned to them, opening her mouth for a retort but she was saved by the tinkling voice of Fleur coming down the stairs.
"Oui, you must stack ze cauldrons, Fred," Fleur said as she floated into the Weasley kitchen.
Fleur paused as she took in the obviously tense air of the group.
Harriet turned back to her potatoes not wanting to see the questioning look on Fleurs lovely face.
"Would someone also collect ze eggs," Fleur said, looking back and forth between the three of them.
Harriet leapt up, "I'll go," she said and grabbed the basket by the door on her way out.
"Merci, 'Arriet," Fleur called out behind her.
Harriet let out a breath in relief when no one followed her out to the coop.
She looked back at the Burrow, marvelling with sorrow how things had changed for her and almost everyone knows.
But the changes to herself, Harriet acknowledged, were mostly her own fault and she knew in her heart of hearts that even if she wanted to, she couldn't go back.
Ever since Ginny's death, Harriet vowed to herself to become better, to know more and not have to rely on friends to provide information, that could ultimately get them killed.
So in this quest, Harriet began studying with a zeal that surprised even Hermione, and for a while, they were as close as two best friends could be. Bonding over learning the way they never bonded over anything else in their lives.
But their friendship had been tense for years, for although Hermione was brilliant, she soon learned she didn't have to stomach for some of darker, bloodier knowledge held in the bowls of Hogwarts library.
Harriet had discovered that she had more than just the stomach for the black arts, she had displayed a talent that sometimes scared her. So she tore through all the knowledge that Hogwarts had to offer; sneaking out at night in her invisibility cloak when Dumbledore forbid her to go into the restricted section or to read anything that could be considered dark.
But Hogwarts was only one source of information, and Harriet had the entire Black family library at her disposal after Sirius died. Besides, there were plenty of bookshops in Knockturn Alley that were happy to sell questionable material without asking any pesky details.
As Harriet bent down to collect the speckled brown hen's eggs, she acknowledged to herself that all her knowledge wouldn't help her kill Voldemort.
The Dark Lord had fifty years more learning and experience than her and had undergone so many transformations to make himself powerful. Harriet knew the chances of killing him like she was now, were slim.
After dodging an indignant peck from a chicken, Harriet lingered outside the coop not willing to go back inside and face another inquisition from her friends. Seeing the veiled accusation on their faces.
It wasn't supposed to be this way
Harriet put her head in her hands and silenced the scream in her throat. Hermione wasn't supposed to be scared and barren, and Ron wasn't meant to be only capable of using just one hand.
George, Arthur, Sirius, and Ginny weren't supposed to be dead, and Mrs Weasley wasn't meant to be a shell of her former self.
But Harriet realised early that life wasn't fair, and wishes and hopes didn't save a life.
She heard the crunch of grass, and she turned to see Remus's approaching her from the house.
Harriet collected the last few eggs and turned to meet him. As Remus got closer, she could see the broad lines of worry etched into his face and his hair that now had more grey than brown in it.
Harriet felt a wave of pity flow through her as she watched him make her way slowly towards her.
"Are you OK, Harriet," Remus asked, the constant worry on his face deepening.
"I'm fine, just lost in thought," she assured him.
Remus nodded slowly, "The orders here," he gestured in front of him, "shall we."
Harriet inclined her head with a small smile and proceeded Remus into the Burrow.
Putting down her basket, Harriet took a seat next to Kingsley Shacklebolt and surveyed the reduced Order of the Phoenix.
Everyone looked grim and hunched over, clutching the cups of tea Hermione was handing out like a lifeline.
At Kingsley's direction, they all gave reports.
It was worse than expected.
The losses they sustained were huge, countless wizards and witches falling.
Worse of all, it was heavily publicised in the Prophet. No one would be willing to join their cause.
Voldemort could defeat them with sheer numbers alone.
There was silence as they digested the news. A bottle of firewhiskey was passed around.
Harriet was numb as she took a gulp of the burning liquid before passing it to Ron.
How had they gotten here? They had set out with such high hopes, they were symbols of Light, and it was unthinkable that they would lose.
Then the defeats came and there. Light began to fade in the eyes of the Wizarding World. Where once they were greeted with cheer and open arms, they would now have fleeting glances and mumbled apologies. No one wanted to be too close to them.
Not when the death count was so high.
They were losing this war and badly.
As Harriet looked at the worn faces around them, she knew that one more defeat would break them.
Scatter them on the wind like autumn leaves.
"Call Fenrir," She said.
Her voice was barely a breath of sound, but every face turned towards her.
"No, Harriet, we agreed. What he wants is outrageous," Remus replied, his voice hard.
"We have no choice. We do what Fenrir wants, or we die."
It was true. It was only a matter of time before the wards fell and when that happened, the death eaters would slaughter them.
It would be total annihilation for the Order of the Phoenix.
"Get a meeting set up," Harriet said.
She turned to Remus and watched his face fall. His eyes were darting, trying to find a way out of this. She ran a gentle hand down his face.
"Please, be calm Remus. There is nothing you or I can do, it must be done. And truthfully I would dine with the Devil himself if it meant killing Voldemort."
Remus bowed his head, his lips pursed but he didn't say anything else.
What could he say?
They were out of ideas, no witch or wizard with any self-preservation instincts would go near the order of the Phoenix.
They had to go to the werewolves, a ready-made army of fearsome fighters and battle-hardened warriors.
All they wanted was Harriet.
Not just her specifically, but all she represented in the wizarding world. Power, Hope and a future that could triumph over anything. Along with all the perks that came along with it.
No one in their right mind would give it to them, and even Voldemort who was so far down the road of insanity would not give it to them.
But as crazy as Voldemort was, he didn't have what Harriet had.
Desperation.
Harriet has long come to the conclusion that there was nothing she wouldn't do for the cause. It was only Ron and Hermione shrill fears and the Orders misplaced morals that held her back.
That had come to an end.
It was the night before the Full Moon, and the moon hung heavy and pregnant in the sky.
The meeting place was a large field in the centre of the forbidden forest. The centaurs who had been asked to adjudicate and the bind the agreement pawed the ground restlessly.
Harriet stood in the centre waiting for Fenrir to arrive. She felt like the eye of a storm. Everyone around her was shifting and nervous. But she was utterly calm and curiously dissociated from it all.
She rather liked the feeling but doubted it would last long.
And it didn't as soon as she saw shifting shadows moving closer, and her skin began to crawl.
Fenrir emerged first, a hulking mass of muscle and rank aggression. He was a lot older than she thought he would be, given all that Remus had said about him.
He was tall, towering over the tallest wizards and a few of the centaurs. When he saw her, he gave her a menacing smile full of teeth.
Harriet felt sick, with a gnawing feeling in her belly that she had just made a terrible mistake.
A slender werewolf with darting eyes and a black spell scar on the side of his face slinked forward and laid out the terms of the agreement.
All the werewolves under Fenrir Greyback's command would fight for Harriet and help them defeat Voldemort.
In return, Harriet Potter was turned into a werewolf and married to Fenrir Greyback. With it came the understanding that Harriet would fight for the werewolf cause. Although Fenrir sneered at that.
It would give the werewolves an unprecedented standing in wizarding society.
Harriet was ready, although there was the taste of bile in her throat.
She would sign her life away.
It was what any good Hero would do.