Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews guys! I'm a little shocked at how well this story was received, actually. But I'm pleased that my ambush by plot bunnies amounted to something good! ^^

Aseptic Vitality
Chapter One: Inheritance

"I've never believed in child saviors," Elphaba said. "As far as I'm concerned, children are the ones who need saving." (Wicked by Gregory Maguire)

Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a dad. (Unknown)

"We're every one of us alone in this world, Gemma." He doesn't say it bitterly. "But you have company, if you want it." (The Sweet Far Thing by Libba Bray)

"As it says in another very fine book, it's terribly easy to persuade children that they are worthless." (Inkheart by Cornelia Funke)

Flesh of his flesh. Child. Such a powerful word. The most powerful of all. (Inkdeath by Cornelia Funke)

No upbringing can completely eradicate a person's essential character. (Brilliance of the Moon)

We're each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion trying to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one can live in the light all the time. (A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray)

"It is one thing to prepare for greatness. It is another entirely to have it thrust upon you." (The Sweet Far Thing by Libba Bray)

Wesley closed his eyes. There was pain coming and he had to be ready for it. (William Goldman, The Princess Bride)

Does the walker choose the path or the path the walker? (Garth Nix, Sabriel)

It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy. (Lucille Ball)

Scotland, Remus' Home
July 26th, 1996

There was a light shining across his eyes, and Harry Potter didn't appreciate it one bit. He shifted restlessly, trying to escape the strip of light, but it was relentless in it's pursuit of his face. Groaning he slowly opened his eyes, only to have them blinded by the same strip of pesky light. Huffing in annoyance, Harry tried to roll on his side, only to end up gasping in pain as he did so.

"Harry?!" he heard a strangely familiar voice exclaim. "Cub, are you awake?"

"Remus?" Harry croaked out, his throat feeling dry and parched. He tried to turn and see the werewolf, but his back ached in protest and another groan spilled from Harry's lips. "Ouch," he murmured.

Remus' husky laugh hit his ears and Harry frowned when he realized that it was slightly hysterical. "Ouch indeed," the older man said. "You do have every reason to be in pain considering the injuries that man inflicted on you." Harry winced away when he heard Remus' voice fill with passionate anger. The last time someone had been angry around him, it hadn't been a pleasant experience.

"Cub?" Remus' voice had calmed and Harry relaxed slightly. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to get angry. But I can't stand that that muggle laid his hands on you . . . . It wasn't you I was angry with, Harry. I will never be angry with you, you know that right?"

Harry turned his head and finally managed to connect with Remus' amber eyes. He saw the warmth in them and hesitantly gave a slight nod of the head. "I know, Remus," he said quietly. He didn't add that even if he knew that in his head it wouldn't stop his body from reacting. "How did you find me?" he asked suddenly. He remembered being beaten by Vernon – what has caused it was fuzzy in his memory but he thought it had something to do with breaking dishes by accidental magic – but after that everything was a blank.

"I was worried about you," Remus said calmly. "The Headmaster," Harry blinked – he couldn't remember Remus ever being so disdainful when he said Dumbledore's name, "was going to let me see you, but I wanted to see how they were treating you without him notifying them. I found you in the cupboard." Narrow amber eyes were staring at Harry's face.

Harry sighed. "Where are we?" he asked, trying to change the subject. Remus' lips pursed, but he didn't force the topic.

"We're in my home," he said. "I brought you here after I found you." He hesitated for a moment. "You were in a bad way for a while, but Poppy managed to stabilize you."

Harry blinked. "Madame Pomphrey?" he asked quizzically. "But isn't she . . . ." he trailed off.

"Close to the Headmaster?" Remus asked wryly. "Not as much as you'd think. Although, Cub, I do think that it was you that kept her mouth closed more than anything. She's very fond of you."

Harry blinked again. "I never noticed," he admitted. "I like her as well – she always healed everyone, no matter who they were or how serious their wounds were. And she's fun to ruffle," he added with a smile, remembering a time when he'd been in the hospital wing, bored out of his mind, and had started to poke at Madame Pomphrey. It had been a fun experience – she was a witty, sharp-tongued woman and Harry had liked bantering with her.

Remus laughed. "Your father and Sirius annoyed her to no end," he said, and for the first time since his best friend's death he managed to say Sirius' name without stuttering. "They would always try to sneak me out before I could leave, and when they visited me they always made sure to be as charming as possible to fluster her." Harry smiled gently.

"I wish I could have seen that," he said quietly, meaning it with all of his heart. He knew that his father and Sirius weren't perfect people, but he loved them all the same – maybe even more so, because the love he'd felt for his father before knowing his flaws was idolization. Now, knowing that his father had been a living, breathing human with faults and weaknesses like everyone else Harry knew, he felt that he loved him better.

Remus watched Harry with sad eyes. He knew that it must pain his Cub to have lost his parents so early – especially when everyone insisted on talking about them. 'Myself included,' he thought wryly.

"What happens now?" Harry asked, after a few moments of silence.

Remus sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It had grown longer from many months of forgetting to cut it, and it now grazed his shoulders. "I don't want you near Dumbledore anymore," he said bluntly. "That old man has not been looking after you, and I don't trust his motives as much as I did when I was a naïve young adult. I thought that maybe . . . ." he hesitated. "I thought maybe we could go away for a while, just the two of us."

Harry's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"I mean that we leave the wizarding world for a while," Remus said. "We can go explore the world and get away from the problems here. And if you want, I can train you, if you want to come back. If you don't . . . well I wouldn't blame you." Remus sighed. "Too much has been placed on your shoulders Harry. If you want to dump those shackles, I would not blame you in the least."

Harry's head tilted to the side and his bright green eyes were thoughtful. "I know I can't escape this," he said quietly, after a few moments of consideration. "I have to fight Voldemort. Even if it weren't for the . . . prophecy," he sent a questioning look Remus' way and the older man nodded. Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy. "I would still want to fight him. No one else seems to be doing it – not even Dumbledore and the Order. When there's evil like Voldemort, it should be destroyed. If everyone is determined for me to do it, I will. But I want to survive. I don't want to die." Harry's eyes blazed as he said this and Remus marveled at the strength his Cub showed. How could a boy so abused, both mentally and physically, have such strength of will? His question must have shown on his face, for Harry gave a quiet smile and said, "I'm still damaged. But I have people I love now, and I don't plan on leaving them behind. Death isn't so scary – but I don't want the people I love to grieve for me."

Remus' eyes deepened with sadness. How could a boy – not yet sixteen years old! – say that Death wasn't scary with such a calm face?! He should be terrified of leaving this world! 'Oh Harry, what have we done to you?' Remus thought and silently mourned the childhood that Harry had surely lost, if he'd ever had it in the first place.

"So you want to leave?" he asked quietly, just to be sure.

Harry nodded. "I think it's best that I stay out of the limelight right now," he admitted. "Voldemort probably won't focus as much on Hogwarts if I'm not there, and Dumbledore can take care of the war for now. If I'm going to do this, I want to do this right. No more pretending everything's all right when it isn't. I can't be the one wrapped in cotton wool, Remus."

"I know, Cub," Remus said quietly. "When you recover your strength, we'll start training. And where we're going, there'll be plenty of people willing to teach you different skills than what you would have learned at Hogwarts."

"Oh?" Harry raised an eyebrow – a neat trick that he'd learned from years of secretly watching Snape and copying him. "Where are we going?"

Remus smiled. "I planned some of it out while you were sleeping," he admitted. "First, we're going to Egypt – or, more specifically, to see Bill." Harry frowned.

"He's a member of the Order though, isn't he?" he asked cautiously. "Isn't he with Dumbledore?"

"Bill has always been a rebel," Remus said fondly. "He works with Dumbledore because he's the leader of the light side – he doesn't have any fondness for him. In fact, I daresay he likes you much more than he likes Dumbledore." Harry blinked – it looked like he had plenty of unexpected people on his side. Next Remus would be telling him Snape had a secret soft spot for him. Harry laughed inwardly at that thought. "After that, I thought we could head out to Asia – China and Japan, definitely, but maybe visit some of the smaller countries." Harry gave Remus a questioning look. "Asia is very thorough in magical studies," Remus explained, "more so than the European countries. If you want to learn the arts to defeat Voldemort, that's the place to start. And after that, I thought America. I know just the city too." He smiled mischievously and Harry smiled with him.

It was good to see Remus behaving more like himself – the last time he'd seen the older man had been when he'd been ravaged with grief over Sirius' death. Perhaps it was the sense of purpose their trip had given him or time to be alone and mourn, but Remus seemed better than he had been. Harry was glad for it.

Harry gave a sudden jaw-cracking yawn that made Remus look at him tenderly. "Time for sleep, I think," he said. "I shouldn't have kept you up so long as it is." He covered Harry carefully, laying him back down so that he was comfortable for sleeping. Harry felt his eyelids start to droop and his mind turned fuzzy. However, as he was on the edge of sleep, he heard Remus start to get up. Panicked, he grabbed for him, only just managing to get the edge of Remus' sweater.

"Harry?" Remus' voice was concerned.

"Will you stay here?" he asked, feeling the fright of an empty room and all of his memories swarming up on him. He didn't want to be left alone to his thoughts. Remus, seemingly understanding this, sat back down and grasped Harry's hand.

"I won't leave you alone, Cub," he said firmly. "Never."

Harry knew that he was not awake. His eyes were open, but there was no way he could be awake, for all around him was a stretch of gray, blank area. The gray was a dark charcoal and there was no sign of any other color anywhere that Harry could see. There weren't even different shades of the gray signifying ground or sky – just an all-encompassing shadowy color.

The sudden sound of footsteps took him off-guard. Harry turned (or, at least, he thought he did) and saw a person coming towards him. Or, at least, he thought it was a person. The gray color blurred his vision; he'd had it happen to him during twilight time in the real world. But what he could tell of the person was that they were tall and definitely not gray colored.

"Who are you?" he called out to the person. The person just continued walking towards him. And suddenly it was there, in front of him, as if it had appeared from one point to the next. Up close, Harry could suddenly see all the little details that had been blurred to him because of the shadows. The person was a man – an intolerably beautiful one, but a man nonetheless. His hair was long and chocolate brown, but his eyes were a calm silver color. He was dressed in rich blue robes that stood out all the more for the lack of bright colors in the landscape. However, the most interesting part of the man was the tiny tattooed patterns on his face – they followed his eyes and cheekbones almost like a mask and disappeared down the side of his neck.

"I lost my name long ago, little one," the man said gently, and Harry frowned, trying to place the voice. He was sure he'd heard something like it before . . . perhaps in another dream. "But you may call me Arrian."

"Arrian," Harry said, tasting the name in his mouth. "Where are we?"

"Terra di Ombra," Arrian said. "The Land of Shadows, as my people calls it. It is a place of limbo, where those neither dead nor alive live. But that is not why you are here."

"Why am I here then?" Harry asked bluntly, not one to mince words.

"I suppose you do not remember what he told you at the last meeting," Arrian said, almost to himself. "But that cannot be helped – you were not in a good state of mind, and you were being watched. But I will tell you what you need to know now. Sit; this will be a long story."

Harry sat hesitantly and absently wondered what exactly he was sitting on. It didn't feel like cold hard ground – it felt more like a cot, round and soft. Arrian sat with him, folding his robe around him like a lady's skirt.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "What am I here for?"

"Wait a moment, youngling," Arrian said. After a moment of silence he took a deep breath. "Have you ever heard of the beings called arcàngelo?"

Harry searched his memory. "No."

"Not surprising. You are English, and magical England is not very open-minded about magical creatures. But I shall tell you about them. Arcàngelo is the Italian word for archangel. Do you know what an archangel is?"

Harry frowned. It sounded vaguely familiar – he might have heard of them from the few times the Dursleys had been forced to bring him to church. "Aren't they a division of angels?" he suggested feebly.

He got laughter again. "In the muggle world, yes they are. But in the magical world, they are a magical creature, one that was born in L'Italia, Italy, thus our Italian name. Arcàngelo are what wizards would call "dark creatures", although wizards always seem to forget that dark does not necessarily mean evil. Dark creatures are merely creatures that use predominately dark magic, and while that magic is wilder and deeper than light magic, it is anything but evil. Do you understand this?"

Harry thought of Remus, who was a dark creature but so kind and nodded. He had had bad experiences with dark wizards, but he couldn't believe that everything dark was evil.

"These creatures are descended from the seven archangels of muggle religions – but over time they have become magical on their own right. They have wings – of course, what is an angel without wings! – and extraordinary powers; heightened senses, aura sight, the ability to see in the future, the ability to enter and change dreams, elemental skills, and so much more. In the time when we were plentiful, we were considered great healers and peacemakers."

"That's all very interesting, Arrian, but why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, but a sense of foreboding had fallen upon him – he had an idea why Arrian was talking about this.

"Because, Harry, you are an arcàngelo yourself."

There was silence for a few beats as Harry swallowed this knowledge. "N-no!" he cried finally. "I can't be!" 'I don't want to be even more different than I already am!' he thought with despair. 'I want to be normal!'

Arrian sighed, as if he could sense Harry's thoughts. "You are. Your mother, god bless her soul, had the line dormant inside of her. There aren't many female arcàngelo; usually the blood stays dormant until they have a son. Your grandmother's family had the blood, but it's skipped many generations. You're the first Evans arcàngelo for nearly two centuries."

"But--!" Harry wanted to protest. Surely there had to be some way to deny this, someway to stop this from happening to him.

"Harry," Arrian's eyes were stern as they turned down on him. "This may be difficult for you to accept, but you must. If you struggle with your creature self it could resolve in harm during your rinascita."

"Rinascita?" Harry asked, his tongue stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables.

"In English, I believe the word would be rebirth. It happens on your sixteenth birthday. Every arcàngelo goes through it. It is the time when your gifts flourish and you develop your wings, tattoos, and true physical body."

"Tattoos?" Harry said weakly. His head was spinning from the amount of shocking information being thrown at him. He felt like a character in a book he'd read as a child – Alice, that was her name. Arrian, seemingly realizing Harry's confusion, sighed.

"I suppose you'd better rest. We can talk more about this the next time you dream. I will have to prepare you for your rinascita."

"Why am I seeing you like this?" Harry asked, unwilling to leave without this final question answered. "Why do you appear in my dreams?"

Arrian's eyes seemed to soften. "Every arcàngelo has a mentor, a regolare. They are the one to guide the arcàngelo through the process of their rinascita and everything that happens afterwards until their arcàngelo finds its mate. They are usually the dead spirits of arcàngelo. I am your regolare."

Harry stared at him. "We die then?" he said, asking the only question that could make its way past his lips. He wasn't sure how to react to the fact that he was probably talking to a spirit.

"Every creature must die, Harry Potter," Arrian said formally. "It is only a matter of when they do it. We live much longer than humans; the oldest among us can be up to thousands of years old. But we die. Death is a part of life, and to try and escape it is folly. But you must leave now. You need to be well rested." Arrian stood and then bent down and laid a dry, cool kiss to Harry's forehead. "Sleep, fanciullo."

And suddenly, the world of gray was gone.

Scotland, Remus' Home
July 27th, 1996

"So let me get this straight," Remus said, trying to contain a stoic face. "You are a descendant of a powerful race of archangels. You're supposed to go into this inheritance thing in less than a week, and you have a mentor that may or may not be a ghost." He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Only you Harry, only you."

Harry grinned nervously, picking absently at the bandage around his arm. "I know. It does sound crazy, but I think that Arrian is telling the truth. These dreams, Remus – they don't feel like dreams." He frowned, wondering how he could explain it to Remus. "It feels real – I don't know how to say it," he said, spreading his hands helplessly. "I just know I'm not imagining the whole thing."

"It's alright – I believe you. You're not the type to make up stories for attention – after all, you have more than enough of it as it is. But my question is if this awakening thing – you called it the rebirth, didn't you? – is going to hurt. I'm not sure how well your body can stand up to more injuries, Harry." Remus was all worry. Harry smiled slightly.

"I'll ask Arrian tonight," he said, his eyes glowing slightly. Remus refused to acknowledge the slight amount of jealousy he felt at Harry having someone else to confide in. Harry was his Cub, but that didn't mean he was going to horde the boy. He was allowed to have other people to talk to, even if Moony railed against that idea.

"By the way – did you say something about wings? And tattoos?"

Harry groaned. "I know! I'm going to look . . . freakish." There was loathing in his voice as he said that word.

Remus' eyes narrowed. "Harry?" he asked with an edge on his voice.

Harry blinked and then cursed himself inwardly. He hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. "Uhm . . . I'm going to look strange?" he offered weakly, though he knew Remus didn't buy it.

"What did they say to you?!" Remus asked, and his eyes were starting to turn golden at the edges. Harry hunkered down in his bed, shivering slightly. "What did those muggles that call themselves your relatives call you, Harry?!"

"I . . . don't know what you mean," he said.

"Harry." Remus' voice left no room for argument.

Harry bit his lip. He didn't want to tell Remus. He never wanted anyone to find out about the Dursleys; he didn't want people to know of the shaming things they'd done to him. He didn't want to see the pity in their eyes for poor, abused Harry Potter. He knew that it would happen – especially with the Weasley family, who didn't seem to comprehend that other families sometimes didn't have the same love for each that they did. It would just be another sob-story spread around, and no doubt people like Malfoy and Snape would sneer at him and think him an attention-seeker for letting it. Harry laughed bitterly to himself – as if he had any say in the gossip that went around.

"Harry!" Remus' barked and Harry flinched. Instantly, Remus' eyes softened and turned back to their usual amber color. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "But I want to know. I need to know."

Harry swallowed thickly. Remus had already seen his wounds, but no sign of pity was on his face. There was compassion perhaps, and sadness, but no pity. He knew he could trust Remus – even if he hadn't been friends with his father, Remus was more than trustworthy. He was one of the kindest people Harry knew, and he was a good man. So maybe, just maybe, Harry could confide in him.

"They . . . called me freak. Some of the time," he said quietly. "My name until I was six was boy. I learned that my name was Harry Potter from one of the grade school teachers. They said that I was worthless. That I was the child of two people that were better off dead and that they wished that I'd been killed in the car crash too." Harry laughed, and the sound was bitter and cold. "Sometimes I wish I'd died too."

Remus' eyes were hard. "No you don't."

Harry sighed. "No, I don't," he admitted. "But death would be so much easier. My mum and dad would be there, and Sirius . . . ." Harry sounded so wistful, which alarmed Remus quite a bit. No teenager should wish to be dead.

"But I'm here, Harry. So are Hermione and Ron and the people you care about." He grasped Harry's hand.

"I know," Harry said. "But living is hard Remus. Do you notice? Some days are so hard that I really do wish that I'd died. Because death is so much easier."

Remus sighed. "Some days, Harry, I felt the same. But you know? It takes courage to live. And you have courage in abundance."

Harry smiled slightly. "I'd like to think so. But doesn't everyone want to be brave?"

"You are, Harry. You're braver than anyone I know." 'You're braver than Lily, who had to face her sister's hate, and braver than Sirius who had to face his family's prejudice. Perhaps even braver than Severus, who would have fitted in easily in Gryffindor for all the courage that he's shown. But then, it's a different kind of courage than Gryffindors are used to.'

"Thanks Remus," Harry said, subdued. He sighed and rubbed his face wearily. "I'd better get some more sleep . . . . I feel like I only slept for a few hours instead of ten." He sank back down into the bed, groaning as his wounds throbbed. They had healed somewhat, but the bruises were taking longer than expected to fade, and his ribs were still sore. But he would be forever grateful to Madame Pomphrey for getting rid of his scars. He shivered slightly as he remembered the wild look in Vernon's eyes as he carved into Harry's flesh – that day would be burned into his memory forever.

Remus watched with concern as Harry's face turned haggard. "Sleep, cub," he said, smoothing blankets over Harry's pale, thin form. "I'll stay with you until you do."

Harry turned a sleepy smile Remus' way and Remus felt a fierce stab of protectiveness and love. Remus considered Harry to be his child, though he doubted Harry realized the true significance of the term cub. 'Or maybe he does,' Remus thought, gripping Harry's hand as his breathing deepened. 'Harry was always much smarter than people gave him credit for. Perhaps when compared to someone like Hermione, people like Harry can just slip under notice.'

Remus straightened in his chair, his brow furrowing. 'Maybe that's what he wanted to do,' he thought. 'But is Harry sneaky enough to do that sort of thing? I don't know.' Remus stared at Harry's sleeping form. He'd have to ask him, when he woke.

"I will tell you all the details you need to know about the rinascita now, Harry," Arrian told him the night before Harry's rebirth. Arrian had been refusing to tell him for the last three days, insisting it was knowledge best left to the last minute. And now, only hours before Harry would change completely, he was offering up said knowledge.

"It is better you did not know it before – you would have panicked," Arrian said apologetically.

Harry sighed. "I know. But not knowing what was going to happen drove me crazy as well."

Arrian smiled. Harry had started to get to know the strange arcàngelo more over the past few days, and he found himself getting comfortable in his company.

"Now – the rinascita is, very literally, a rebirth," Arrian said, launching into his explanation. "Never has an arcàngelo gone through it and looked the same afterwards. It usually begins at the exact time the arcàngelo entered the world sixteen years ago – for you, this would be the thirty-first of July, at 11:58 P.M. correct?" Harry nodded. "So it will be then, for you. The pain is, well, excruciating. To put it mildly." Harry must have looked alarmed, for Arrian rushed to reassure him. "It only lasts a little while. Your body goes through very rapid changes, and that causes a lot of pain."

"Will it affect my healing process?" Harry asked apprehensively. He and Remus wanted to leave soon after Harry's birthday – he didn't want to be stuck in bed for much longer.

"No!" Arrian said. "In fact, after the pain you will be completely healed. Arcàngelo are remarkable healers – I wouldn't be surprised if your remaining wounds disappear after this as well."

"That's great!" Harry cried. They might be able to leave sooner than they planned, if that was the case.

"Now, as to what you shall see after your rinascita," Arrian said. "You will have received your tattoos, of course, and your wings."

"Tattoos of what?" Harry asked. Arrian frowned.

"They depend a lot on the individual arcàngelo," he said. "There will be a pattern down your arms – if you are elemental than it will probably be of your element, and if not, than it will be of a pattern that you have good memories of. On your back you will have your animal spirit."

"Animal spirit?" Harry asked feeling slightly panicked. He'd never been into the whole "teenage rebellion" thing, like Dudley had been. Tattoos and body piercings had never been his thing, and now he found that he was going to have his entire body painted!

"Yes. Arcàngelo are extremely connected to nature – we are one of the only creatures able to control the elements," Arrian explained. "We all have an animal spirit – a sort of bestial guide, if you will. Some arcàngelo have likened it to the wizard's Animagus transformation." Harry relaxed slightly – that didn't sound so bad. "Your legs will have the same designs as your arms," Arrian continued briskly. "But your face will be left clear. It is a ritual for an arcàngelo's 17th birthday to choose what design they want to put on their face as a sign that while many things are predestined, there are still some paths that can be chosen."

"What about the wings?" Harry asked, wanting to get on some solid ground. That tattoos sounded confusing and complicated, but surely the wings would be simple. How complicated could wings be?

"Your wings will likely be twice your height in span so that they can hold your weight, and will have feathers like all the angel pictures muggles like to make. However, the color of them is dependent on the arcàngelo. Sometimes the color is based off personality, sometimes off of gift. Also, if your wings are rimmed in gold or silver, it means that you have the power of the Sight. I doubt yours will though – there haven't been any Seers in the Evans line. More likely, you'll have Aura Sight."

"Aura Sight?" Harry asked.

"The ability to see and decipher auras," Arrian explained. "It's what made your family such a wonderful healing group. They also usually received the gift of empathy as well."

"Merlin," Harry said, feeling slightly overwhelmed. He would be entirely different in just a few hours and he didn't know exactly what he was supposed to think of that.

"Your wings will be able to be retracted, of course, but pulling them in and out the first few times will be extremely painful and bloody," Arrian continued. "The more you do it, the more you'll get used to it, though. The wings will retract into your body and leave thin white scars behind – if you think about wanting them to be out, they will be. The simplicity of magic," he added with a wry smile.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Harry asked anxiously. "About my gifts or if I'll have any new instincts once I wake up . . . .?"

"Hmm . . . . Well, you will have a heat period," Arrian admitted. Harry gaped at him. "What? It's true. Your heat will only last three weeks – the last three weeks of February, as it is. But if you mate with someone, then it will only be focused on them."

"Mate?! Do we have a chosen mate?!" Harry asked frantically, remembering what he'd read of Werewolves and Veela.

"No! We choose who we wish to mate with . . . . You might feel more of a pull to other creatures than to wizards, but it is your choice who you want to mate with. I'd suggest you stay away from creatures during your heat though . . . they'll probably be drawn to you."

"Remus is a werewolf," Harry said anxiously, having told Arrian of his guardian at their second meeting.

"He won't be affected," Arrian said. "His werewolf sees you as his "cub", or his child. Since he is your "parent" he won't feel the urge to mate with you."

"I see," Harry said with a sigh. "It seems so complicated."

"Turning into a new creature always is," Arrian said with a half-smile. "But isn't being a wizard complicated as well?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Harry said, thinking back on all the social rules and regulations wizards had.

They sat in silence for a few moments. "Arrian, are you dead?" Harry asked before he could stop himself and then blinked as he realized how blunt that had been. He hadn't meant to blurt it out so crudely, but the question had been weighing on his mind for the last couple of days.

Arrian laughed. "Yes, child, I am. I have been dead for many long years. Now I exist here – in the Land of Shadow."

"Isn't there a better place for you to go to?" Harry asked. "Why are you stuck here?"

"Yes, there is a place to go to," Arrian said. "We call it Terra di perfezione – the Land of Perfection. It is what mortals call "Heaven". This land is, as I told you before, a place in between. Regolare stay here to mentor their arcàngelo students and then, when they have mated, they progress to Terra di perfezione."

Harry frowned. "Don't you wish you weren't a . . . regolare?" he asked, his tongue stumbling over the word.

"Not really, no," Arrian said with a shake of his head. "I enjoy it here. After you have mated, I will be free to move on, but I am glad to have stayed behind." He gave Harry a gentle smile. "But now, I believe that your rinascita will soon be starting. You must rest." He placed a hand over Harry's forehead and before he could protest, Harry sank into the darkness.

Harry had endured Crucio's from Voldemort himself, but this pain beat out any dark spell ever uttered in his direction. It was pain at its truest form – mind-numbing, bone-tearing, heart-breaking, tear-inducing pain.

Harry knew, in the back of his mind, that he was screaming. He also knew that there was two people holding him down – he could feel four hands pressed against his arms and legs, pressing him into the bed so he wouldn't flail around. But at the moment, most of his mind was focused on the pain tearing through his back and arms and legs. His back was the worst area. The muscles there felt bunched and torn, and he could feel something trying to push its way through the layer of skin between his shoulder-blades. It was excruciating, and Harry tried to twist so he was on his stomach, thinking that maybe taking the pressure off of it would help, but the hands held him down. Harry screamed again as he felt something burst out of his back, and felt the warm splatter of blood across his body.

Harry panted slightly and then his head tilted back as new pain came roaring down his arms and legs. The pain started out as tiny prickles but then escalated until Harry felt as if someone was digging numerous knives deep into his skin. Then, unexpectedly, the pain on his back roared up again and Harry screamed and screamed until his voice went hoarse. Then, suddenly, the pain stopped and Harry fell to the bed limp and panting.

"Harry?" Remus' voice came only minutes later. Harry felt desperately exhausted, and he was lying awkwardly on his back, but he opened his weary eyes to look into Remus' worried face. He gave an exhausted smile.

"I'm fine," he said. "Can you get me up?"

"Mr. Potter!" Poppy Pomphrey's voice came from the other side of the bed. "You are in no condition to even be awake, let alone moved . . . ." She trailed off and watched in surprise as Harry lifted himself up and wearily tried to stand. Despite being covered in his own blood and bone-tired, Harry felt surprisingly strong. Remus reached out and clasped his elbow, helping Harry to the bathroom, where a floor-length mirror (courtesy of Sirius, in Remus' early days of living there) stood. Harry blinked when he saw himself.

He'd always been short. It had irritated him greatly over the years, being the shortest kid in his year (and shorter than half of the younger years). Thus, Harry was grateful that he hadn't gotten any shorter than his current 5'3", but he was also greatly annoyed that he hadn't grown any taller either. His hair, which had been starting to grow long from neglect on Harry's part, had shot down past his shoulders. It was still as wild as ever, making a general mess of itself as it made its way down Harry's back. Harry, to his surprise, found he liked that style. When it was short, it looked ridiculous, but longer it looked better.

His skin had been tanned, but with the rebirth it had lightened several shades until his skin was colored, to Harry's embarrassment, an almost ivory color. It made his eyes – still the same shade of sharp emerald green, to Harry's relief – stand out sharply. The planes of his face had sharpened and narrowed as well, giving his face less of a boyish look. His body, thankfully, was the same as it always had been – too skinny, but wiry with muscles gained from years of doing hard chores and Quidditch. Only his hands had changed – instead of the small palm and short fingers, he had longer, more elegant hands that reminded him of Arrian's.

But, the most surprising changes were not in his body or face, but in the proud objects jutting out from his back: wings. They were gloriously black, a deep stark color that reminded Harry, oddly enough, of Snape's eyes, but they had deep rivulets of color running through them; dark green, midnight blue, and royal purple. They jutted from his shoulder-blades and raised a full head and a half higher than him, making Harry's height seem all the more extraordinarily small, to the black-haired arcàngelo's disgruntlement.

There were also the tattoos. Everything Arrian could have said about them would not have prepared Harry for the reality of having them.

A dark crimson colored flame pattern circled around Harry's left side, moving down his arm, around his torso, down his legs, and finishing in a spiral on his foot. The pattern followed along his collarbone and then connected with another pattern – one of a gust of air, colored a light gold that should have clashed with the red but didn't. The gust of air pattern followed the same path as the fire did, going only a step lower when it circled his chest, and made for a very odd looking picture for Harry to look down at. The pattern on his collarbone was the most beautiful, in Harry's opinion. The red fire and gold air didn't just join together – in between them was a black crescent moon, in the exact middle of his collarbone, where the red fire and gold air both connected. It made for a very mesmerizing looking picture.

Harry turned slightly and winced at the look of bloody, ripped skin on his back. He hoped Arrian was right about his healing powers. But that wasn't what he wanted to look at – it was more the picture covering the bottom half of his back, where the skin hadn't been ripped up by his wings. Harry tried to flutter the wings apart so he could look at the tattoo more closely, but they suddenly jutted apart as he spread them as far as he could in the tiny room.

"Whoa!" Remus cried, and Harry started when he realized his guardian was still in the room, looking at Harry's new body with awe. Harry flushed slightly, but since he wanted to look at the tattoo on his back he didn't retract his wings. Instead, he craned his head around and blinked when he saw the animal on his back.

It was of a cat – Harry knew that much. Although this cat wasn't like any one Harry had ever seen. He thought that its body shape was very much like a jaguar's, but it's fur was colored a brilliant white with only the slightest of light silver markings on its paws and around its eyes. Its eyes were a brilliant green – the same color as Harry's own – and even though its mouth was closed, two long, sharp teeth curved out over its lower lip. Harry was suddenly reminded of a Saber tooth Tiger – the kind he'd learned about in school before he'd went to Hogwarts.

"That's a Nundu!" (1) Remus cried out when he saw the picture on Harry's back. "A Snow Nundu," he murmured more quietly. "One of the rarest animals in the world, both muggle and magical."

Harry sighed. It seemed even his animal guide was fated to be special. But he liked the cat tattoo – there was something comforting about it. Harry smiled slightly and then turned his focus to his wings. He'd need to retract them if he wanted to sleep . . . and boy, did he ever want to sleep. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. 'I want my wings inside,' he thought calmly. He repeated the thought and then fell to the ground as agonizing pain ripped through him.

"Harry!" Remus called out frantically, but as soon as the pain had started, it ended. Harry blinked and cautiously looked over his shoulder, only to smile in relief when he saw that his wings were gone. He looked in the mirror and, just as Arrian had promised, there were white scars running down his shoulder-blades where the wings came out.

Harry sighed and took off the tattered remains of his pants. He must have been clawing through them, for there were long tears down the seams, and his fingers were red and bruised. He was glad that his boxers had survived the fray.

"Could I get some new pajamas, please?" Harry asked Remus quietly. "I think I need to sleep for a bit."

Remus nodded and turned to go get the clothes.

"Remus." Remus halted in the doorway. "When I wake up . . . we can leave."

Remus looked over his shoulder and together both guardian and charge smiled in satisfaction.

Author's Note: Whew! Finally done. This chapter turned out a lot longer than I originally planned . . . . Now, I know you all want to see Edward and Harry meet, but there was some stuff I needed to get done before I moved Remus and Harry to Forks. Next chapter we'll see them in Forks, and Harry and Edward will meet for the first time . . . . –plays Twilight Zone theme music- What will happen? Who knows. XD Please leave a review!

(1) I know that the Nundu is a desert animal, and shouldn't be white, but I decided to make my own sub-species – the Ice Nundu! Just as dangerous as its desert cousin, the Snow Nundu has a breath that can freeze anyone in a seven mile radius. It can move in total silence and survive temperatures under -50 degrees.

fanciullo: Child