Easter came and Easter went, but Harry stayed the same. The same could not be said for his fellow Hufflepuffs. Months ago, they had realized that Professor Carrow was overly fond of docking House points, so they made a fun game out of it. The goal was simple: whoever lost the most points without getting a detention, won. Hufflepuff already had the fewest House points by a significant margin, so none of them were overly bothered with spoiling their chances of winning the House Cup. Except Gondoline; she had needed convincing. It wasn't until everyone else had agreed to attend every Quidditch match that she finally agreed to join in. Harry suspected Gondoline had played hard to get.

An unforeseen consequence of their game, however, was the undue amount of stress it placed on their fragile minds. Answering questions wrong was a sure way to lose a point, and so at first, their game progressed slowly and quietly. But Hazel, the conniving piece of trash, went, in the middle of class, on a two minute furious rant on how idiotic and immature Sean was. She flung every insult she had ever heard: waste of space, ignorant savage, filthy mudblood, cultural void. Hazel lost twenty points, propelling her far into the lead.

With Hazel having such an enormous leave, no one was content with only losing a single point every now and then. Dominic was the first to fall to his own hubris, answering five questions wrong in a row. Professor Carrow was absolutely furious and assigned a week's worth of detention for such a display of incomprehensible idiocy. This didn't deter the others, rather, it just encouraged them to play smarter. Cyprian was the only to play the long game, losing only a moderate amount of points so as to dramatically reduce his chance of getting eliminated. Wilfred took a more academic route and interviewed students from other classes to see what Professor Carrow docked points for. They thought they were helping him avoid losing losing points, and he didn't bother to correct them.

As the school year progressed, everyone got more and more vicious and more and more desperate. Hazel often found herself magically petrified the second class started. Unable to talk, she was no threat. Once, she toppled over in class and Professor Carrow kept on lecturing without a second glance. Now, nearing the end of the year, there were only seven students remaining. Harry had the lead. They weren't the sweet, innocent Hufflepuffs they were last year, that's for sure. They all knew the sting of betrayal and the sweet, sweet rush that accompanies revenge.

"Professor, why don't we learn more spells?" asked Carol. No one had a good grasp of what her strategy was, so they had all assumed that she had none and so wasn't a threat.

"Because you're idiots, incapable of memorization," said Professor Carrow. Carol slumped in defeat. Her approach was too weak, or perhaps Carrow had grown so accustomed to the Hufflepuffs that it took a lot more to rattle him.

The bell rang, and the students gathered all their books and bags and shuffled out into the hall. There were a few stragglers, including Calvin, who, sensing an opportunity, knocked his ink well off his desk and onto the floor.

"Oh no! What I mess I've made," he said. Calvin never lost points during class, not wanting to tarnish his reputation as an excellent student. Minor disturbances outside of class did not warrant detention - he knew since he had asked the Headmaster personally - so he became a bumbling fool, always dropping and breaking things.

"Waters," Professor Carrow said. "Detention. Tonight. Six o'clock." He then continued to flip through the stack of parchments on his desk, as if he hadn't shattered Harry's world. Calvin, the traitor that he was, quickly cleaned up his mess and skedaddled. Harry tried to protest, and the words almost came out. How it wasn't even his inkwell. How he had only stayed behind to help because he was a good friend and because he wanted Calvin's Herbology notes, which were by far the most legible. But what would he gain? The others would insist that a detention was a detention. And Calvin certainly didn't deserve a detention.

Harry was quite ready for tomorrow to be today already. He had to make a quick stop at the Common Room to get some books, to decline a friendly game of Gobstones, to explain that he had a Herbology essay to start, and to repeatedly assert that he knew very well that it was due tomorrow and that they had had over a week to finish it.

It wasn't a lie. There certainly was an essay to write, but he also had to meet Remus. So he bravely strode past Ms. Pince, and navigated his way to the back of the Library. It was a very indirect path, one which took longer than strictly necessary. There were books to get, afterall, and right next to "Plants, Plants, Plants!" was a thin book of hexes that was begging to be read. When he eventually plopped down in the chair next to Remus, Harry forewent politeness and pleasantries.

"We've tested everyone, Remus," he said. And he had. He had snuck out of the infirmary after having faked a terrible cold, and had waited hidden outside the Transfiguration classroom. It was a two day affair, and he had gotten a few detentions, but were there better causes than the pursuit of knowledge and the protection of others? His stake out was a disappointment. There were no screams of agony; no werewolf had handled a silver essay. And, other than him, there had been no absences in any of the classes. Professor McGonagall confirmed that herself while she berated him for his appalling behavior.

"Everyone, everyone?" Remus said. His tone was odd, either in pure awe of the accomplishment, or in a healthy skepticism that even Harry was starting to feel after being caught up in all this intrigue. "I still have a few Gryffindors that you wanted me to -"

"I've tested every single student in the castle," Harry said. "And not one of them is a werewolf. And it makes no sense, because I know there's a werewolf." Harry looked at the ceiling, looking pensive. He'd seen Cyprian do it and Harry had been very impressed. Remus didn't look very impressed now, but that was probably because of the distressing news. Faces, after all, can only hold so many emotions.

"I believe you when you say you checked everyone. I do. But how can there be one and not be one at the same time?"

"I don't know. I've no what idea what to do now. I'm stuck." Harry thought about Ione. She was who knows where, doing who knows what. He was sending letters, but letters were boring, and he wasn't getting any in return. But she was really shy, or maybe she wasn't allowed to send letters. How awful. "I can't send a letter and say 'Hogwarts is safe, nothing has changed.'"

"Harry," said Remus. "You can't tell anyone about the werewolf. We've talked about this."

"But don't you see, Remus. There isn't a werewolf. She left and there's nothing that can bring her back."

Remus didn't respond, instead he went back to reading his book. A very complicated book, since five minutes later he was still angrily reading the same page. Harry took out his own, entitled "Hypnotic Harebells: If You Can't Eat Them, Join Them." Minutes passed, and then more minutes passed, and then Harry had a parchment filled with fun facts that Professor Sprout would have no choice but to like, despite being only half the required length.

You haven't started that yet?" asked Remus. He was talking again! Good! But Harry had had enough of people yelling at him for being behind in his schoolwork.

"It's not like I haven't tried different methods, you know," Harry said. He smoothly segued back into their old conversation on the werewolf, deftly avoiding any embarrassing or frustrating topics. "I found out who is admitted to the Hospital Wing around the full moons, but it seems like everyone is there. I'm not even joking, almost every student has been there. I've been keeping track. We're some of the only people never there."

"I'm not?" said Remus.

"No, not on the full moon. You're always out with Sirius doing who knows what." Not that Harry was jealous. He had his own friends that he could do fun things with. It just would have been nice to have been asked, that's all.

"He told you that?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason, really," said Remus. He slammed his book shut. "I'm going to go to the Great Hall, get some food. You coming?"

"What time is it?"

"A little after six."

"Oh bugger."

Harry ran to Professor Carrow's office. It was a route he knew well: exit the Library, turn left, down the hallway, wait for the staircase with the chipped first step, down another hallway, and turn a corner. He'd done it so many times, that every painting, suit of armor, and statue was familiar.

"You're late," said a voice.

Professor Carrow was still at his desk, going over what were probably the same parchments from earlier that afternoon. They must have been crazy interesting, because he never looked up, even as he talked to Harry.

"Sorry, Professor."

"You can start where you left off last time."

In front of him were various books, tomes, and pamphlets, each claiming to be the definitive source of information about a specific creature ranging from Krups to Nundus. Harry's task was to compile all that information onto a separate parchment, clearly marking what information came from which source. He had been scared that his job would be hands-on, but was relieved that it was just bookwork. Relieved was the wrong word, because bookwork was the worst, but at least there were no growling beasts around.

It was relatively interesting to see the differing opinions on what could and couldn't kill a dragon. Now if it hadn't taken Harry weeks compile, then Harry would have been quite satisfied with his work. He had long forgotten how he got roped into doing this, and it was mostly fear of Professor Carrow that kept him from complaining. At least the books didn't have claws.

Outside, the sun was setting undramatically. The cheers and hollers of the Slytherin team practicing on the nearby Quidditch Pitch softly echoed around the room. Harry looked down at his books, all open to pages about Grindylows. Fascinating creatures, true, but not when compared to more fascinating creatures. And all the books seemed to agree on the information, except for a really old scroll that claimed that they were actually the unmetamorphosed young of the merpeople, like the tadpole of the frog.

"The full moon is tonight," Professor Carrow said. It was, and Harry supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised that the professor knew. But it was odd that Carrow would be the one to interrupt their workflow, so usually an uncomfortable silence, and Harry was not one to waste this opportunity. He might be stuck in this room for the next few hours, but that doesn't mean he has to stop his search.

"Professor, sir." Harry said. "I was wondering, you know, in the spirit of things. The moon and all, it being a full, I mean. Could we focus on werewolves?"

Professor Carrow smiled. Not a real smile, though. His lips twitched upwards and his teeth snapped shut.

"Yes, I do believe it is time to confront the terror of this school."

"The lack of educational ambition?"

Professor Carrow glared at Harry, who in turn glared at his books. But still! What a stroke of luck! Professor Carrow had all of the Restricted Books and even a few rarer ones that weren't available at Hogwarts.

With such amazing resources under his nose, Harry honestly didn't even feel the time passing. Hours later, Professor Carrow returned to the classroom and dismissed Harry who hadn't even noticed that he was alone. It seemed like a wonderful end to a horrid day. Maybe the staircases would be cooperative. One could hope, anyway.

They weren't. He was a tad lost, but quickly found a group of people all heading in the same direction. Harry followed them, confident in their ability to be less lost than him. Then they all stopped, and someone spoke.

"Stay where you are," they said. "Don't come closer."

Harry walked forward. He was feeling particularly rebellious today. The someone, a prefect badge pinned to their robes, went around warning people away, but Harry didn't stop and slipped out of the prefect's grip and finally saw what they were trying so hard to make him not see. A student.

She was on the floor, unconscious. Her legs were scarred, three deep gashes running down the calf. Her innards poured out her abdomen as a prefect tried desperately to keep them in place. And the blood. It pooled around her, staining her skin and the stone she laid on. An older boy stood, lost and confused, while the Head Boy knelt besides her, resting a trembling hand on her brow as he casted his spells. Nothing worked. The wound on her stomach burst anew every time the flesh magically knit itself back together.

And suddenly Professor Dumbledore was there. He ushered the distraught Head Boy out of the way and waved his wand. The girl's skin sewed itself shut and burst open. A small frown formed on his face. He reached deep into his robes and took out a small vial of clear liquid. He dropped to a knee, uncorked the vial, and let a single drop fall onto the wound. The effects were immediate: the wound healed, the , and the colour returned to the girl's complexion.

"Back to your dormitories," said the Head Boy. He looked awful, with his baggy eyes and his long blond hair matted with dried blood. "All of you."

Harry followed the others, not looking, just putting one foot in front of the other. Another attack on another full moon. A mysterious werewolf loose at Hogwarts that the Headmaster knew about but did nothing about. It was living among the students, pretending to be one of them.

And his only defense was this broken wand that refused to work properly. Harry cast a Disarming Charm, but only a single spark fizzled out his wand. It was useless, absolutely useless. He walked huddled alongside fellow Hufflepuffs, never having felt so alone.