A/N: Sorry for the long update, but school started, and I had no motivation to start writing. Honestly. The more reviews I get, the faster the chapters come. And with what I got…just didn't really seem…whatever. Thanks to those who did review…all three of you. I really do appreciate it, and to you, I apologize for the delay. To the rest…just review. Please.

Chapter Ten: From Two to Eleven, Part V
OR: Not Your Standard Circus Animals.

Lily was sobbing into her hands uncontrollably. She didn't know how she could continue to watch her future son's life play on the screen. Every minute she saw seemed to tear into her, showing her just how much she failed to care for and to protect her son. It was Peter…It was Peter…Peter's fault…it's his fault… It took all of her self control not to pounce onto the filthy rat and beat him into a pulp. He was their friend! Or, had been. After all, Peter had been one of the Marauders. Maybe not as smart or as talented, but he was kind, and funny, and always ready to lend a helping hand. When had he changed? Had he changed? Could he still be the same Peter that they thought he was? Lily snorted. He probably was. But that didn't make the pain go away. Her son just tried to commit suicide, and it was only his intense magical power that kept him alive. The way things were going…maybe it would have been better if he died. How much hell did her son have to go through?

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

It had been several years since little Harry tried to kill himself. He was now a small, malnourished boy of nine. Of course, one couldn't tell. He looked like he was still six or seven.

Aunt Petunia had long ago been forced by the school to buy Harry a pair of glasses. (A short clip shown to the school.) They now rested on his cupboard shelf, a black, ugly pair with the nosepiece broken from being hit too many times.

Dudley Dursley, along with his father, Vernon, was comfortably seated in the living room, watching a cartoon on the telly. Uncle Vernon was reading a newspaper, every once in a while looking up to smile proudly at his son. Aunt Petunia was in the sitting room, working on a lovely piece of embroidery.

Harry snorted. How can someone so mean make something so pretty? he asked himself. Aunt Petunia was very talented in making beautiful stitches on a piece of cloth, he though, ripping weeds out of the garden. She was also very talented in giving him concussions, burns, and a near non-existent stomach, not to mention a low self-esteem.

Uncle Vernon stood up, folding the newspaper under his arm and stretching. "Time for bed, Dudley," he said, fondly ruffling the blonde hair on his large son's head. "Petunia," he called into the sitting room, "I'll be upstairs." He stood up and walked over to the kitchen window, and leaned out, nearly knocking over the clock, which now read 10:45 pm.

"Boy!" he hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I see you've been too lazy to paint the fence, wash the car, or clean out the garage!"

Harry looked up wearily. "I'm sorry, Uncle," he whispered, "I had to finish the chores Aunt Petunia gave me."

Vernon sneered. "I don't care how long it takes, you little piece of filth, but you're not coming inside until all your chores are done." He grinned malevolently. "I'll see you tomorrow, freak." With that, Vernon shut the window, and proceeded to lock all the doors and windows.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Remus sighed. He could see that it was a full moon on the screen, and was more than thankful that at least, at this time, Harry was far away from any Wizarding area's that might have had Werewolves about.

…Oops.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Harry sighed. Another all-nighter. At least it was a full moon, so he could see what he was doing. He remembered the last time he had to work all night, and had asked Aunt Petunia for a torch (flashlight). He grimaced as he ran his hand over his chest, feeling the scars that were inflicted that night.

Harry had only just finished with the garden when his Aunt shut off the lights, and went to bed. He stretched and yawned, looking balefully at the car. What he would give for Uncle Vernon not to notice if it wasn't washed…but Harry had tried that before, and had earned even more injuries from it. He grunted as he went to fill a large bucket with soap and water, so he could wash it without waking the neighbors.

Harry glanced at his watch as he lugged the bucket toward the car. 11:15. He doubted he would get any sleep tonight. He sighed again as he pushed up his sleeves and reached for the sponge. Before he could pick it up, however, he heard a loud, deep howl. Harry tensed his whole body, and began to look around the street for wherever the dog could have been.

He didn't have to look far. In a patch of moonlight from behind Number Twelve, Harry saw a large, grey creature step out, brown eyes darting all over as white fangs gleamed in the light.

It was a wolf. And there seemed to be several more with it.

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"So this is another MOMENTOUS moment in my son's life? He becomes a WEREWOLF? WHY CAN'T HE BE BLOODY NORMAL?" James was standing on his chair, screaming at the image of Harry nervously crouching behind the car. "Erm…" James suddenly sat down, and turned to Remus, "No offense, or anything Moony. I just…well…you know…."

Remus smiled. It was so nice to hear his friends fumble for words. He gave a slight nod to indicate that he understood and wasn't upset, but he decided to let James translate it as he would. A little bit of revenge.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Harry slowly lowered the bucket, eyeing the wolves fearfully. He couldn't tell what, but something seemed almost wrong.

One of the wolves howled again, and began to advance on Harry.

Harry froze, still looking closely at the wolf.

The grey beast was thin, so thin, in fact, that its ribs could be seen beneath the thick fur. Its brown eyes looked at Harry hungrily, seeing a chance at some food. It slowly advanced, shaking its head, and letting out a sort of snort. He could smell the flesh on the boy, it was little, but enough.

Harry trembled as the animal crept closer. He might have had a shitty life, but he sure as heck had no desire to die.

He raised his hand to his pocket, suddenly remembering the bacon he had managed to sneak out that morning. He pulled the single piece out, and began to shred it in his hands. Perhaps, if the pack was just hungry, they'd eat the bacon and leave him alone.

With his childish mentality firmly in place, Harry slowly walked forwards, holding the shredded bacon in his outstretched hand.

"Hey," he whispered, "I know it's not much, but it's something at least."

The Leader of the pack halted his approach, his ears pricked up at the sound of Harry's voice. He cocked his head to the side, looking curiously at the human who tried to reason with him.

"You look pretty thin," Harry continued, keeping his eyes locked with the Leader's, his hand still reaching out. "You kind of remind me of, well, me. Underfed and all, I mean. You all can have this you know," he said, raising his voice slightly so the rest of the pack could hear. The wolf also gave a sharp nod, and slowly, the other four wolves began to slink forwards, keeping in the light as to not startle the child, though why they were being so cautious, none of them knew. All the wolves wanted to do was rip the boy to pieces and eat him, but something was holding them back. Something warm was gently wrapped around them, stroking them, petting them, and whatever it was kept them from charging the boy, and instead, made the bacon seem like a better meal.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Remus exhaled sharply. Perhaps…perhaps some sort of mental cure had been created for werewolves, so that they would remember who they were. But then, why hadn't it worked before now? After all, for the first few moments, all the wolves seemed ready to charge little Harry down.

Severus was staring at the screen, muttering softly under his breath. His mind was working at an overly-quick pace, trying to figure out what could have been used to prevent the beasts from attacking. Without removing his eyes from the scene, he reached into his bag and pulled out a quill and some parchment and ink, and began to write notes down in his scrawling hand, now messier than ever because he wasn't looking at where he was writing.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Harry sat on the ground, in the middle of a large circle of wolves. He smiled as they butted their heads against him, searching for the elusive bacon. Harry leaned forwards and began to spread the small amount of meat in a circle around him.

Harry blinked. And blinked again. He'd only had one piece of bacon, right? So why was he laying out fistfuls?

The wolves lay down, resting their muzzles right next to the bacon for easy access. As the boy stroked their sides, they contentedly ate the bacon, languidly stretching out, feeling the magic continue its gentle caress.

The small congregation remained like that for hours. Harry would pet a wolf, then move on to run his hand over the next one. It wasn't until he came around to a light brown wolf for the second, or was it third-or fifth-or more (he couldn't remember), time, that the idleness of the scene was disturbed.

The female werewolf's muzzle was around Harry's hand in an instant, holding it imprisoned, but not puncturing the skin. The rest of her pack turned their eyes to see what had disturbed her, and they all saw the thin white scars running up Harry's arm.

Harry blushed, noticing what had caught these animals' eyes. "I-it's nothing, really," he said, stuttering slightly, "It's not like they hurt any more, Uncle Vernon was just…a little upset at the time." He tried to tug his arm away, but the female refused to let go. She gazed at him, as if saying Show Us.

Harry blinked. Had he just heard…? But that's impossible… Show us, Little One. Show us where he hurt you. There it was again. Even though Harry knew that he didn't know who was talking to him (for it couldn't be the wolf, could it?) and he didn't know who was watching, he slowly removed his shirt and pants, leaving his underwear on for modesty's sake.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"I'll kill them. I'll fucking murder them all."

"James—"

"I don't care if she's your sister, I'll fucking kill her!"

"I know—but I have to help."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Pale skin shone in the moonlight, pure white scars carved into almost every inch of now visible flesh. Most were just jagged lines running down the length of the back, but there were several burn scars as well. And in the center of Harry's back lay the work FREAK permanently etched into his body, a small sign for the world to see just what he was. At least, that's what he thought.

The pack talked mentally to each other, leaving Harry out of the link. Then, as one, they raised their heads and howled to the sky. It was a low, mournful cry, one full of tears and pain, but it contained hope, and pleading.

The night sky suddenly lit up, as bright flashes of white fire began to spark all over the sky. From each fire came swooping down a pure white bird with golden markings. Harry had never seen birds like these, their tails were long, their wings were broad, and the song they chirped made him feel as if he could do anything, as if he were loved by every one.

Flash after flash lit the sky, song after warbling song filled the air, and Phoenix after Phoenix (though Harry didn't know what they were) landed on the ground. The flames slowed, then ceased as over one hundred gleaming Phoenixes gathered, all of their many colored eyes focused on Harry. They saw the scars running along his flesh, and they felt his magic unconsciously reach out and caress them. They felt the pureness that was Harry, for it was a pureness that no human being could fake having, and so far, it was a pureness that nobody had ever had. 'Course, then there was Harry. He was not even aware of the fact that he had broken so many rules already, or that he would continue to do so for his life.

One by one, the Phoenixes launched themselves into the air, singing their mournful, wonderful song, circling around Harry. One by one, their tears fell through the air, until Harry felt as if he was standing in the middle of a hurricane without the wind. His green eyes remained focused on the white cloud of birds flying above him, and so he did not notice his scars (minus the one on his head) begin to fade, nor did he pay any attention to the werewolves slinking away. All he knew at the moment was that the song was filling him as he'd never felt before, unless at one point, he had felt this way in his mother's arms.

All at once, the Phoenixes vanished in their fire, leaving Privet Drive much darker than before, and just as empty as it was at the very start of the night.

Harry stood there, shocked. Had it all just been a dream, a dream he would have loved to have over and over again? He looked around, there were his unfinished chores, plus one for the dream scenario, but over there in the street was a pile of shredded bacon, still good to eat, and on his arms, (and the rest of him body, though he would not find out till tomorrow) his scars were gone. Plus infinity for reality.

In a daze, Harry raced through his chores, finishing long before his Uncle woke up, and leaving enough time for him to feast on the pile of bacon before him.

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A/N: Wow! Done, finally. Sorry it took so long, but I really wanted to get all of it in there. I don't know when the next one will come (chapter, that is), but I do know that it will come MUCH faster if I get some reviews. Till then, ja!