Disclaimer- Do I look like J.K. Rowling? No! So that means I don't own Harry Potter and the songs I use. Who knew? (Seriously, who knew? I thought all this time that J.K. Rowling owed me money! Could've used a reality check!)

Yes, I changed the rule for werewolves. Everyone does it (it's fun when we screw with everything)! Their transformations hurt for the first twelve times (the first one being the worst) and then their bodies become accustomed to them, leaving the transformations pain-free. If you don't think that's not possible, think about this: why doesn't it hurt for an Animagus to shift? Oh, and they magically (pun intended) still have their clothes on when they shift back.

Note- If something isn't canon, it means I changed it. So, please, leave the Harry Potter books at the door because they won't be able to help you here.

Note 2- Okay, I've experiencing pain in both of my hands (more in my right; the left only hurts if I use it too long in the stead of the right) which I suspect is carpal tunnel syndrome. You know what that means? It means I typed the last half of this chapter with only my frickin' left hand (and my dominate hand is my right one!).

Ever since I could remember, everything inside of me just wanted to fit in.
I was never one for pretenders, everything I tried to be just wouldn't settle in.

Monster by Imagine Dragons

Chapter Four

His human side was currently unavailable to consult with, but he, the wolf side of Harry Potter, was certain that the human wizards and werewolf before him were deceased. Resisting the urge to look back his cub, he continued to stare at them with bared teeth in the hope that they would refrain from touching his cub again. Here he was in familiar yet unfamiliar territory and he had awoken to his cub pleading for rescue from the red-haired witch. Surely they had known better than to pick up a werewolf's cub without permission. If they had not obviously gained the trust of another werewolf, he would have sunken his teeth into each and every one of them until their screams died.

. . . Maybe.

He recognized most of their scents as pack members, members that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were dead. That left him debating whether or not he should just kill them. After all, they had touched his cub and that was punishable by death in the werewolf community. You just did not mess with someone's cub. Period. But since they were pack, didn't that give them the right to touch his cub? The werewolf part of Harry could not figure this situation out. His pack was dead yet they were standing before him, staring at him with eyes that didn't recognize him.

That tore him up inside.

Pack always recognized each other. Always.

Then why didn't they recognize him?

With that issue aside, he knew that one of his enemies was just several feet away from him. This enemy, one equal with the Snake, was the one he had deemed as the Betrayer. It was another impossibility because he knew that the Betrayer was dead. Yet the old man was standing there with curious, grim eyes. Was the Betrayer planning on controlling his human side again? Was that why he had somehow come back from the dead? If so, why was his pack by side his side? Why were they obviously siding with the old when they swore their loyalty was with his human side?

No, they wouldn't do that.

They would rather die.

His pack . . . these familiar scents were not his pack. His pack would have never looked at him with such eyes, eyes that spoke of fear, anxiety and curiosity. They wouldn't have feared to near him since they knew that he would not attack them. They would have opened the doors and allowed him to run free in the forest with his fellow werewolf, Lupin.

Ah, their werewolf appeared to be and smelled of Lupin, a name he remembered only because of Lupin's werewolf status. But Lupin wouldn't have stayed away from him with such caution. No, Lupin would have playfully tackled him and moved on to nuzzle the cub behind him. The cub that he knew that was of Lupin's blood, someone his Lupin would have never failed to recognize.

That werewolf was not Lupin.

These people were not his pack.

Then what made the Betrayer? Was he an imposter as well? Or was he the original who had brought forth such imposters? What of the red-haired witch and dark-haired wizard beside the Betrayer? Their scents were new yet their faces were not. He, being a werewolf, did not rely on faces to know whom he was dealing with. No, he relied on scent and scent alone. But his nose didn't recognize them.

Maybe his human side would.

"Da-Da!"

His head twitched as he resisted the urge to gaze at his cub. He could not afford to take his eyes off these people. He did not know if they were merely waiting for his guard to lower or if they truly were peaceful. If they tried anything . . . He would kill them. Between the Betrayer and the Rat, there was no telling what could happen. It was not as if he would have the Unfortunate One on his side. If the Betrayer was once again alive, the Unfortunate One was probably once again, well, unfortunate.

He was on his own.

"Da-Da!" his cub repeated, patting his soft, black fur. "Da-Da!"

His cub clearly wanted his attention, but what was an upset cub compared to a possible attack from half a dozen magic-wielding humans? He had already failed his cub's blood father and mother; he would not fail his cub as well.

"Albus, get the child away from him! Do you understand what he could do to that baby?!"

Werewolves may be thought as ignorant of human languages during the full moon, but that was not so. Yes, it was a struggle and took years to learn to decipher what filth fell from their mouths, but it wasn't impossible. That was why he snarled at the elderly woman who smelled of countless potions and cleanliness, a scent that was also familiar to him.

How had he missed the witch that had helped him through his first transition and had kept his human side alive? Had he been so throw off by his dead pack mates' imposters that he had not caught her scent? He shouldn't have allowed himself to be distracted as such. This woman was probably the only person that he knew was alive and well, something that made his shoulders slightly relaxed.

But was she an imposter as well? She smelled the same.

Then again, so did the others.

Baring his teeth, his eyes flickered to the Betrayer and cursed him. The Betrayer was probably playing another game, another game that would end with piles of bodies on another battlefield during another war. The Betrayer always took a great interest in examining his reactions of his human side and dissecting until he knew more ways of manipulating his human side.

He would not play this game again.

Not unless the Betrayer desired to play a game of predator and prey, casting himself as the prey that he, the werewolf, would take great joy in hunting down. Yes, that was a game that he would have much pleasure in. He didn't think that the Betrayer would agree to that kind of game, though. Unless he provided an even less likable option—

"We cannot, Poppy," answered Albus. "It would seem that the baby is his child."

He, the werewolf side of Harry Potter, could sense that the Betrayer did not intend to take his cub, but he had been fooled by the old man before. Who was to say he wouldn't again? So until the sunrise came, he would keep an eye on the Betrayer and the Imposters.

Then it would his human side's problem.

Lily took a step towards the Master of Death and his child. "I agree with Madam Pomfrey."

"Whoa there!" Sirius shouted, waving his arms wildly above his head. "The guy just wanted his kid back! Now you want to take him away?! Do you guys want to be torn apart by a werewolf? I'm too young to die!"

Remus barked as if he were in agreement with Sirius.

"See! Moony agrees with me! Tell them, Siless. Tell them that they're crazy!"

Severus ignored Sirius as he turned and walked steadily towards the doors. "If they are unaware of their lack of sanity, Sirius, then you have already made it quite clear to them."

"Where are you going?" James asked with a frown.

"I have taken notice that the werewolf is hostile towards our presence and wish to not agitate him further. I suggest you all do the same should he decide that one of you would make a delicious snack."

Of course, Severus' words started an argument in which Madam Pomfrey and Lily were against leaving a human baby with a werewolf who hadn't taken Wolfsbane. Sirius and James, on the other hand, stood by what Severus had relayed from Remus' mind (a task that was always difficult to do). Peter, like always, was in the middle where he could see both sides and could only watch as his friends descended into chaos. Remus chose to pace back and forth, watching the other werewolf intently as if he were trying to dissect the Master of Death.

Albus was the only one who took notice before he spoke and tried to establish peace once again.

Remus knew this scent.

He knew it.

Yet it wasn't the same. There was something off about it and unfamiliar which he assumed was the werewolf part of his scent. But that didn't really matter; what mattered was the fact that Remus had a sneaky suspicion about the Master of Death's true identity. If Remus was correct about the boy's identity, then the color of his hair was false. There was no way that he would have brown hair unless he had dyed it or had a glamour on.

But if the boy was who Remus thought he was, then why had he growled at them? Why did he feel threatened? They would have been considered pack and he would have not minded that Lily had been holding his cub.

None of this made any sense—

Remus' left ear twitched and he turned his head, his eyes catching the image of his pack exiting the Infirmary. He blinked. It would seem that Albus had been able to get his pack mates to calm down and leave as Severus had suggested.

Good, Moony growled in the back of his mind.

"Stay with them, won't you, Remus?" Albus said softly as he patted Madam Pomfrey's shoulder and sent her to her rooms.

Remus nodded and resumed his pacing.

It would seem he would have all night to wonder about the identity of the Master of Death.

. . . It was going to be a long night.

Back in his office, Albus paced about as he muttered to himself. His mind was whirling with thoughts about the Master of Death. There was something that didn't add up. When Albus had first looked at the boy, he had been sure that the boy's face was his true one, but the wolf's fur had not been brown as his hair.

It had been black as ink.

So unlike his brown hair.

How curious.

"If James also had the cloak in the other dimension, how did this boy get it? Did another Harry Potter bestow it upon him? Where did he find the stone? And what about the wand?" Albus murmured to himself, his right hand stroking his silvery beard.

So many questions that could not be answered for at least another twelve hours.

What a tragedy.

"Perhaps they were not given to him," Albus whispered sadly, visualizing the boy killing a Harry Potter for the cloak. "Perhaps he—"

"It cannot be so, Albus Dumbledore."

Albus turned his head to see the Sorting Hat awake on his high shelf, staring with his unseeing, nonexistent eyes. How long had the Sorting Hat been watching him, Albus wondered as he gazed at the aged hat.

"Why not?" Albus inquired. "Is that not how the Elder Wand passes from one master to another?"

The Sorting Hat waited a moment before answering.

"Do the Deathly Hallows not differ, Albus Dumbledore? If so, then how can you say that their claiming is one and the same?"

Albus blinked, the wheels turning round and round inside his mind. "I fear that I do not understand."

The Sorting Hat heaved a sighed. "Very well. We shall start at the beginning. Albus Dumbledore, you must first understand that the Deathly Hallows are like wands. They choose the Master of Death."

"They choose?" Albus breathed, his surprise clearly written across his wrinkles.

"Yes. Should they find one whom they deem worthy, that is," the Sorting Hat answered before going on. "The Elder Wand amuses itself with temporary masters and clouds their minds whilst driving them to insanity. That would not be the case should the wielder be the Master of Death. The Resurrection Stone tends to hide from witches and wizards, hoping one day its brothers will speak of one who is worthy. The Cloak of Invisibility currently enjoys being passed down from parent to child within the Potter family. They do these things as they search for a new Master of Death."

Albus nodded absentmindedly as he mulled over that information. "So if they found another Master, they could leave their current masters without any bloodshed."

"Yes."

"So this Master of Death could be anyone, someone unfamiliar to us," Albus whispered before something struck him.

"Could the Master of Death be Dark?"

"The Deathly Hallows do not see Light and Dark magic. They take into account only that their master would not abuse them and their powers. So, yes, the Master of Death could be of Dark magic."

"Then the boy could have been on Tom's side of the war. If there had been a war in his world, that is."

"Possibly."

Albus sighed.

How could they expect this person to help them if he had been on the wrong side?

They couldn't.

Morning came quickly, its light lazily warming Harry as he shifted back into his human form. His head was then bombarded by clips of his wolf's side memory from last night's transformation, a transformation that shouldn't have happened yet. Nevertheless, Harry dove into the clips and absorbed what his wolf had seen and experienced. A few moments later Harry's mouth twisted into a snarl and his loose hands became fists.

Dumbledore . . . I should have known he'd be the one to summon me!

A/N— Okay, I know it's mean to end the chapter like that, but I want you guys to wonder . . . Stuff happened, though. Remus is suspicious about Harry's scent, Albus and the Sorting Hat had a discussion about the Deathly Hallows, you guys got to see through Harry's wolf's eyes, and apparently, Harry knows he can be summoned! 0_0 This was published on 6-23-14 with the length of 2,586 words.