Chapter 6: Wolfbrother
Time passes and seasons change. A gentle spring breeze blew across the meadow, ruffling the already wild hair of a young boy of nine years sitting beneath a beech tree. The boy's face was blank, and his hands rested on his knees. Beside him lay a leather bag, out of which peaked pen and parchment, along with several book titles. The first was The Art of the Defensive Mind by Sir Reed Brell, underneath lay the Aeneid, in the original latin with English side translation. Still in the bag lay several books on woodland flora and fauna, both magical and mundane, along with grammar and maths texts. In the boy's lap was Voyage au centre de la Terre, in the original french without English notation, though a small English to French primer was nestled in the grass, well worn and with plenty of notes scribbled in the margins. A half forgotten essay in French on Jules Verne's novel lay in the grass.
The scene was pastoral, peaceful, but above, the nearly full moon was rising. It was still daylight, still early afternoon, but inside Harry Potter a battle raged. It took every ounce of his control to not allow the wolf to bleed through. Once the sun set, he would transform, but for now the sun's rays prevented such an occurrence. Harry's eyes snapped open, and with a deep breath he picked up his things and stuffed them in his bag, walking with carefully measured steps back to the cottage across the meadow.
Inside, his adoptive father was attempting to read a book, but his fingers nervously drummed on the spine, his eyes unfocused.
"I can't get anything done," Harry complained, slumping in a chair across from his father and plucking a piece of fruit from the bowl on table. He sniffed it, then blanched and set it aside. Wolves did not enjoy oranges.
Remus set his book aside and nodded, rubbing his forehead. "Neither can I. What do you say to a bit of dreamless sleep? We can nod off until near sunset. The moon will have set by then, so our furry problem won't be as pronounced."
"Yeah, sounds good," Harry agreed. The two werewolves each took a few drops of potion and slept until nightfall. The next day they both felt so miserable they once again took sleeping potion. The night of the full moon, Remus was the first to awaken, and he gently shook Harry. Groggily, the two undressed and tossed their clothes in the hamper by the door, then stepped out. It was a few minutes until sunset, but both of them just wanted to get it over with. They stood in silence, both bracing themselves as the sun's rays faded.
The forest filled with howls of pain and rage as bones broke and mended and skin shredded and grew into fur. Two wolves stood where the men had moments before; one a rangy, dun colored older wolf, the other a dark and scrawny youngster with a silver lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Together they bounded off into the trees, yipping and playing as they half heartedly hunted for prey. Both of the wolves knew they would find no humans to prey upon, and while that frustrated them, they had their pack, and life was good.
While the experience was still terrifying and painful for the human hosts of the wolves, it was a familiar wound that they could soldier on through. As so many had discovered on fields of death, holds of slave ships, or other conditions that pushed the human body and spirit to the limit, that which does not kill you must be endured, and what must be endured can be, if a loved one is at your side. Father and son dragged themselves out of the woods at dawn, exhausted, battered, and bruised, but alive. Their battle was over for another month.
"I guess that wasn't so bad," Harry panted as he swallowed numbing potion. He passed the vial to Remus, he polished off the rest of the draught.
"No. But when the moon does rise during the day like that it drives me batty all day."
"Yeah. Same. Well, sleep well, dad."
"You too, Harry. The cold rabbit meat is in the ice box, help yourself when you wake."
"Bigwig the lesser will be much missed," Harry joked as he stumbled to his room, trying to smile but mostly just grimacing.
It was later afternoon when Harry awoke, and he ate cold rabbit with a ravenous hunger that shamed him. He felt dirty as he eagerly stripped the bones and half gnawed them, but he also knew that he needed the food. Remus joined him as Harry was licking his fingers, eating his own rabbit with gusto. Harry got up and poured two tall glasses of milk, handing one to Remus who nodded thankfully and drank his down quickly. After the two sat in silence, sharing their pain and misery of post transformation aches, pains, and regret. Their bellies fully, the two men retreated to their rooms to rest and recover once more, content that they were not alone.
The next morning both felt rather better. Harry cooked as he often did so, making beans and bacon with toast. He and Remus made impromptu little sandwiches, munching away as bacon grease and bean juice dripped down their faces. Normally Remus was a stickler for table manners, having taught Harry that as a celebrity and as a werewolf people would always judge his every action, but a quiet breakfast alone so soon after the full moon was an exception.
"Looking forward to our little holiday?" Remus asked, wiping his chin with a napkin.
Harry nodded, then said, "How do you you find my French? Not too bad, I hope. I have been practicing as much as I can."
"You are not bad," Remus answered, his own French must clearer and less accented than Harry's. "Still stiff and with a thick accent, but a bit of practice with the locals will soon fix that."
"I just hope not to make a fool of myself," Harry said, looking nervous. "Do you think there will be other children there? Anyone my age?"
"Yes, a girl of eight and a boy of twelve. The girl was a muggle who was bitten and rescued by the pack, and the boy grew up in the pack. He is not a werewolf, though his mother tells me he is tempted to be become one. He attends Beauxbaton."
"That is stupid. Who'd ever choose to be a werewolf?"
"Most everyone he grew up with is a werewolf, as are his father and mother. He thinks only of the separation and longs to be able to be a part of the pack. Personally, I hope he chooses otherwise."
"He could become an animagus, like the, um, how do you say? Marauders?"
"Maraudeurs," Remus said, smiling at Harry.
Harry groaned and slapped his forehead, feeling stupid. Of course Marauder was a French word! He should have remembered that.
"Anyway, Harry," Remus said, switching back to English. "Not every wizard is powerful enough to become an animagus. And to do so requires years of hard work and study. A bite might seem like the easy way out."
"That's like not wanting to read a book and instead choosing to get bashed in the head with a bludger once a month for a whole night instead," Harry grumbled.
"Perhaps you can convince the lad of the wisdom of not being bitten," Remus said with a shrug, . "Anyway, do you have everything packed? No need to bring your school things."
"Yes. What about the rabbits and chickens? Who'll take care of them while we're gone?"
"Why my dear boy, I believe Nipsey would be delighted to assist you with with your chores during your French Holiday," a merry voice called through the open window.
"Headmaster!" Harry cried, hurrying to open the door. "There's still some breakfast if you're hungry. Bacon, beans and toast."
"A bit of toast would be lovely, Harry, thank you."
"Coffee or tea, sir?"
"Coffee this morning I think, thank you young man."
Harry quickly set a platter of toast with butter and jam in front of Dumbledore along with a cup of coffee loaded with cream and sugar. It was barely coffee in Remus' opinion, who prefered his black with a pinch of salt, but Dumbledore's sweet tooth was legendary.
Harry sat next to the headmaster, waiting patiently for the elderly wizard to finish his breakfast. When he was done the boy and old man locked eyes for a minute, as Dumbledore probed Harry's mind gently.
"All is in good order it seems. Good initial resistance. You have mastered the meditation techniques you have been taught. In a few more years you will be ready for your occlumens training I should think."
"Can't I start it now?" Harry asked. "You said that once I become an occlumens I can start taking wolfsbane."
"I believe I postulated that once you master occlumency you may be able to take wolfsbane," Dumbledore corrected gently. "And no, Harry. Your mind is still forming and delicate. Any younger than 13 is dangerous. Fourteen or fifteen would be much better. There is no rush, at least not right at the moment." Dumbledore hesitated, then sighed. "Well, that is not entirely honest. There may infact be a bit of a rush."
"Why, what have you heard?" Harry asked, feeling a sudden sense of dread. "You-Know-Who, sorry sir, that is, Voldemort, he's not back is he?"
"What's going on, sir?" Remus said, leaning forward and setting aside the last of his breakfast.
"There are rumors of a dark place in South-Eastern europe, somewhere in the region of Montenegro. It may be simply a powerful new vampire coven, or a powerful sorcerer working black magics, but there are tales of serpents congregating too, which leads me to suspect certain things. I have dispatched a certain trusted individual to check on things for me. It is early yet, we still have time."
"Do you think we should cancel our trip to the French Alps to visit the Two Rivers Pack?" Remus asked. Harry looked slightly crestfallen at the words, but he didn't protest.
Shaking his head, Dumbledore smiled. "No. That is distant enough that I believe you to be safe, and I trust the Two Rivers Pack would protect you if there was a threat. Their Alpha is strong willed, and never bent the knee to Voldemort or the werewolf ideology those like Greyback proselytise. By all means, go and enjoy yourselves. I believe it will be the first time Harry has ever been out of the country, yes?"
"We did go to Ireland last year," Harry said. "But I don't know if that really counts since we were in Northern Ireland for the most part."
"Well, Northern Ireland is a rather different culture, so I would say yes. Still, France is far more exotic, is it not?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he winked at Harry and switched languages. "And how is your French coming along?"
"Very well my father says. I hope to not embarrass myself or him," Harry said in french.
"You will do just fine, son. No matter what you do, you will not be an embarrassment to me as long as you try your best."
Harry looked down and nodded his thanks. Soon after the Headmaster departed, wishing them all success and promising to visit the Two Rivers Pack after the full moon, ostensibly to cement an alliance on the continent, but really to check on Harry's sleeping curse.
The next day Remus and Harry mounted on broomsticks, Harry having gotten a full sized broom at Christmas, and took off for the French Alps. The ride was hours long, but the late spring weather was pleasant and Harry enjoyed flying enough not to mind the long journey. They stopped several times to stretch their legs and eat, and for Remus to renew the disillusionment and notice-me-not charms that kept the safe from the notice of muggles.
As they approached their destination, Harry looked in awe at the mountains and rugged landscape that was fast approaching. Guiding their brooms through mountain passes, Harry shivered at the cold winds blowing down from the mountain. He was grateful for his thick flying robes and goggles, though even through his protective gear he felt a chill. Finally, they arrived in Queyras Regional Nature Park, and flew towards the hidden valley guarded by two streams where the Two Rivers Pack dwelt. There was a landing strip lit by torch light, where a small group of people waited. Harry waved as he guided the broom in a sharp approach, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He'd seen other children before of course, even played with a few in Diagon Alley on occasion, but he'd never spent much time around his peers. Especially not other kids who would know who and what he was.
"Welcome, welcome!" A huge man with an enormous blonde beard streaked with grey boomed as Remus and Harry landed. "Ah, Remus, my old companion! It is good to see you again!" The strangers accent was mild, and his golden eyes glowed in the torchlight. This was Perrin Yeux D'Or, alpha of the Two River's pack, and the man Harry and Remus had traveled so far to see.
"It is good to see you again, Perrin," Remus said as he greeted his host with gallic kisses and hugs, with Perrin wrapping his enormous, well muscled arms around Remus tight enough to crush the breath from him. Harry was greeted in a similar fashion to his embarrassment, with Perrin easily lifting him off the ground slightly in a wolfish embrace.
"Ah, this must be young Harry," an asian woman with long dark hair said as she came to stand beside Perrin. Her English had a distinctly asian lilt to it, which surprised Harry in this remote French local.
"Ah, my darling, this is the man I have told you so much of, Remus Lupin, and his son Harry. Remus, Harry, this is my wife, Shonkhotei. We met not long after the war."
"It is good to meet the both of you," Harry said, trying out his French on a native for the first time.
Perrin beamed and a deep chuckle rumbled from his enormous chest. "Ah, you speak a civilized tongue I see! Good, good, not many of my packmates are very good in their english!"
"My father insisted upon a classical education, sir," Harry said, speaking slowly and carefully.
"Very good, every good, come, let us introduce you to everyone! This is my adoptive daughter, Marie. She is not so much younger than you, Harry."
The young girl hugged Harry enthusiastically, her blond pigtails bouncing. The right side of her face was a happy grin with a twinkling blue eye. The left, however, was marred by long claw marks, and her right eye was a milky white. "It will be so good to have someone my own age to play with! Only Jacque is young enough to still want to play with me and he is off at Beauxbaton so often! You must stay until the full moon, you simply must!"
"We plan on staying until the end of the summer Holidays," Harry said, smiling and not letting his gaze linger on Marie's scar. He had enough of his own to know how uncomfortable it was when someone ogled old wounds.
"Then you will be here for two full moons! Excellent!"
"And this is Jacque, the son of my strong right hand Reynard, and his wife Dolores. He is one of the pack and a wizard, but he does not run with us during the full moon," Perrin said, introducing a good looking boy a few years older than Harry who grinned at him easily and extended his hand.
"Perhaps you will allow me to finally join you this full moon so that Harry is not loney, alpha," Jacque said, looking at Harry wistfully.
"You don't want that," Harry blurted. Jacque looked at him in shook, his handsome face distorting with anger. "Take it from someone who knows. Being bitten is not pleasant, and it is the most pleasant part of becoming and being a wolf."
"I am shocked that you would say such a thing!" Jacque said coldly, his brown eyes glittering with anger. "Your father is a wolf, and obviously he allowed you to be bitten! You should understand what it is to be left alone while the others you love are together on the night of the full moon. I am aware of the price and would gladly pay it!"
"Harry is adopted, as is Marie," Remus said, coming to place a hand on Harry's shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. "He is also an orphan, as Marie is. I knew his parents, and they died saving him."
"We should just tell them dad," Harry said, sighing. "Jacque is a wizard. He probably knows the story."
"I do not know every silly story you Englishmen tell," Jacque sulked.
Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder again. "Go ahead. I trust Perrin and his pack."
Harry lifted his fring, exposing his lightning scar.
"Mon dieu!"
"You did not tell us this was the Harry Potter, Alpha!"
Jacque gaped at Harry, then swallowed and bowed. "My apologies, I did not realise...of course, we in France do know the story of The-Boy-Who-Lived. I cannot think of a single civilized wizard who does not. And, I confess, I did not realize that you were, well…"
"A cursed monster?" Harry supplied, unable to keep an edge of bitterness and anger out of his voice, he flushed and lowered his gaze. Many werewolves did not take kindly to their condition being decried or being pitied, and he may have just poisoned his relationship with everyone present.
"You should be more cautious in your words, Harry," Perrins aid, crossing his arms across his chest. He cut an imposing figure, tall and muscled with a large woodsman's axe hanging from his belt. Perrin was not a wizard, but Harry was certain the big man did not need magic to break him like a matchstick. However, the big man's words were gentle. "No one in our pack would disagree with you. We all know that we are cursed. However, we have many friends and allies who do not think as we do. We must be diplomatic, and avoid giving them insult. Jacque does not see it as a curse, try as I and his parents have to convince him otherwise. Perhaps your words will penetrate his thick skull."
"Forgive me, I spoke in anger and haste," Harry said, looking up at Jacque and offering a his hand. "Let us start over. Hello, I am Harry Potter, and I am a wizard and werewolf."
Jacque took Harry's hand, considering Harry in a new light. "And I am Jacque LeMay. A wizard, but not a wolf. We must talk, Harry. I have only ever heard from adults that one should not aspire to become a werewolf. I think perhaps your experience is closer to mine, and I will consider your words carefully. I make no promises, it is hard to be separated from my parents in such a way, but listen I shall."
Marie punched Jacque in the arm. "You swine! I have told you many times that no one would ever want to become a werewolf!"
"Yes, but you are a girl, and very young."
While the two other children continue their argument, Harry was introduced to the rest of the pack. There was Reynard and Sophia LeMay, the parents of Jacques and both magical. They were a middle aged couple around Remus' age, Reynard with outrageous bushy red eyebrows and Sophia with curly brown hair and a rounded, motherly face. Sophia embraced Harry and assured him that he would be at home with the pack, while Reynard whispered something about hoping that Harry took after Remus and his legendary pranks. Hans and Daphne Schubert were of blond German stock, and had come to the Two Rivers pack when they had both been bitten 15 years ago in a twin attack. Hans was a squib, and Daphne was muggle herself. They had an infant son and a three year old daughter, neither of which were werewolves. Harry got the sense that while they loved their children very much, they were uncertain of what their future would hold.
Louise Romain was an older single man who had been raised as a werewolf from birth, having been bitten shortly after he was born by his father. "Some packs think they have to keep the blood strong by initiating young children regularly," he told Harry later. "It is a foolish practice. Many children go wolf mad from birth, nothing more than feral savages. I was one of the lucky ones, probably thanks to my magic. I went to Durmstrang and fell in with a bad crowd. Perrin was my first bite. He was just a boy then. When I saw what I had done to him, I panicked. I healed him and hid him from my pack. He helped show us a new way."
"Not a large pack, but a good one," Perrin told Harry proudly at dinner. "Luis keeps our wards up with his magic, he was fully trained at Durmstrang and is quite the wizard, let me tell you, and Shonkhotei helps him now that he is getting older. All told we are seven wolves, nine now that you and Remus are here."
Harry did some quick mental calculations. "I thought there should be eight of you. Who isn't cursed?"
"I am not," Shonkhotei said, surprising Harry.
"You married Perrin even knowing he was a werewolf while you were not?" Remus asked, looking a bit taken aback.
"He is a good man, save for a single night of the month. And besides, if I was not with him, he might try to do foolish things while in his wolf form," Shonkhotei explained.
Harry nodded his understanding. "You're an animagus."
"Ha! Wisdom from one so young! Indeed, she is my falcon, my guardian angel," Perrin said, stroking his wife's cheek.
"Remus told me all about how the Marauder's all became animagus to stay with him during the full moon. Did you become an animagus before or after you met Alpha Perrin?"
"Before. I was a shaman's daughter back in mongolia. My father had no sons, but he taught me his secret arts, including that of shapeshifting, what you English call an animagus. In Mongolia being a werewolf does not carry with it the stigma it does here in Europe. One of my cousins is a werewolf, and in his travels to Europe he met Perrin. When I visited him, Perrin fell in love, and followed me home. A few years later, he brought me back to the pack as his wife."
That night, Harry slept in a loft with Jacque in one of the wooden cabins the pack had constructed.
"Is being a wolf really so bad?" Jacque asked quietly as they settled down.
Harry closed his eyes, trying to think of how to respond. "Have you ever hit your head really bad, or been so sick that you felt like you couldn't control yourself?"
"Yes, I got a concussion playing quidditch at school. I was hit in the head with a bludger."
"Did you feel like you couldn't control your motions, did you get frustrated by how your body just wouldn't listen to you?"
"Ah, yes, so being a werewolf is like that? That is not so bad a sacrifice to make."
"No. Being a wolf is a thousand times worse. Imagine that the bludger beats you horribly, worse than you have ever been beaten in your life. It breaks all your bones, bursts your spleen and ruptures your lungs and your heart explodes. It rips and tears your skin, and your hair is yanked out of your head."
Nervously, Jacque gulped audibly, but Harry did not relent. "But that's just the physical pain. Honestly, if it was just that, I might think being a wolf would be worth it. The idea of turning into a powerful monster that cannot be controlled is appealing. I thought that way on the night of my first full moon. I was a stupid baby. I had seen too many muggle monster movies. The worst part is you lose control. The wolf takes over, and locks you in the back of your mind, and everything you do that night is not your own action. You can still sort of see and hear what's happening, but it's the wolf that does everything."
Harry took a nervous breath. "And then, when it's all over, you get really, really sick. It's the guilt, the horror, and the pain. You hurt everywhere, you feel physically ill. And for a few days you crave raw meat and every once in awhile, if you're not careful and lose control, the wolf can force it's way back out for a moment and you do something stupid." Harry looked Jacques dead in the eye. "There is nothing fun, nothing glamorous, nothing good about being a werewolf. It's a curse. The worse night of my life was when I was bitten. You are lucky you were born to a pack that understands that. Listen to them."
For a few moments, Jacques was quiet, looking out the small window at the mountain peaks. "I have heard others say much the same as you have before," Jacques said. "But I confess, I still wanted to join my parents. Perhaps it was all just a foolish, childish fantasy. I do not know. It is different hearing for you, Harry, somehow. Thank you."
Harry struggled to sleep that night. Had he been honest with Jacques? Did he really think his life was worse being a werewolf? If he hadn't been bitten, would he still live with his awful relatives? He sort of understood now that was the Dursley's had done to him was abuse. It had been evil and wrong. But was it less evil and wrong that being a werewolf? Aside from the week of the full moon when his symptoms were at their worst, life was good for Harry now. He loved his dad Remus dearly, and in turn he was loved. That was something he'd never had with the Dursleys. True, he had no friends his own age and rarely saw other children and he was occasionally lonely. However when he'd gone to muggle school he'd been surrounded by his peers and far lonelier. He glanced over at Jacque's sleeping form. Maybe he could have a friend now.
